Little But Not Less | ✓

It's the Company That Sweetens the Drink - Part II

"There's a reason why I don't drink, Dorian. Do you want to know why?"

Dorian gulped, the Inquisitor's glimmering eyes half-lidded and tantalising. As Gael leaned over the small table, his earthy scent filling the air around him, Dorian almost couldn't breathe. Lips quirking upwards, Gael's fingers looped under a buckle on Dorian's chest, pulling him forwards. Noses bumped, breaths were shared. Dorian felt his cheeks flush as Gael's lips hovered in front of his own, the gloss of ale glinting on his lips. He almost didn't notice when Gael's lips grazed his own. The touch was so light and fleeting Dorian could have mistaken it for a breath. 

Gael suddenly giggled as he jumped up from his chair, his own cheeks flushed, but not with embarrassment or arousal. He was drunk. 

"Kaffas, he's drunk?" Dorian gasped, as Gael spun around on his heel and skipped over to the bar, where some Inquisition foot soldiers were getting their fill of cheap ale before retiring for the night. They nearly shit themselves as the Inquisitor draped his arms over their shoulders, their bodies freezing as they didn't know what to do with themselves as the Inquisitor draped himself over them. 

"The armour looks good on you," Gael slurred, his hand stroking the Inquisition under amour with light fingers. Dorian bristled as the soldier blushed, mouth popping open in surprise. 

"Th-Thank you, Inquisitor," the man stammered, his eyes darting around as people began to take note of what was going on. Gael nodded happily, before planting a sloppy kiss on the soldier's cheek. Dorian nearly threw up with the sight, his chest constricting as his heart thundered. The Inquisitor is a flirt when drunk. The room was aroused in an incredulous silence as Gael giggled again, prancing over to another table, where a young female cook sat with her friend. Gael clapped his hands together as he pulled up a chair next to the woman, gently stroking her thick, auburn braid in his fingers. 

"You have pretty hair," Gael cooed, bringing the hair to his lips, kissing the bundled tendrils sultrily, his eyes peering up at the woman's, who suddenly fanned herself with shaky palms.

"I-Inquisitor, I have a-" the woman started, her voice hushed as Gael shook his head, pressing a slender finger against her lips. Dorian bolted from his seat as he shook himself out of his shocked stupor, pushing past the crown that had no doubt gathered to witness the Inquisitor's sudden change in behaviour.

"You have a..." Gael purred, his hand creeping up the young woman's braid as she flushed a shade of crimson deeper than her hair. 

"A lover," she whispered, eyes closing as Gael's face moved closer to hers. "B-But, if you want, I could..." 

"And stop right there," Dorian huffed, wrapping his arms around the Inquisitor's waist and pulling him up from the chair. Gael squirmed and whined as he puckered his lips, making kissing noises from the air. With Dorian holding him, his legs barely scraped the ground, his small boots kicking up dust as they struggled to find solid footing. Dorian's arms tightened around the smaller man's frame, his hands fitting snugly around his sides.

Dorian cleared his throat, plastering a deceptively friendly smile on his face as he faced the young woman, bowing slightly as the Inquisitor began to still in his arms. "Apologies, young lady. It appears that our dear Inquisitor here has inconvenienced you. He had a bit too much to drink, I'm afraid. I do hope you will forget this ever happened?" The young woman just nodded, cheeks still flushed, as Dorian carried the inebriated Inquisitor out of the tavern. 

Gael had quietened down now, and had managed to stabilise himself by wrapping his arms around Dorian's neck, snuggling against his wider frame. Dorian's throat suddenly felt dry as the Inquisitor's nose rubbed against the bare skin of his neck. Gael giggled to himself as Dorian hastily made his way to the Inquisitor's chambers, muttering apologies to those he passed and trying to explain that the Inquisitor had too much drink and that he wasn't trying to kidnap their Herald or do very indecent, ungodly things to him.

After Dorian kicked open the door to the Inquisitor's room, Gael slipped from his arms and landed lightly on the floor, skipping with an unstable gait onto the embellished chaise lounge on the far side of the room. He stretched his lithe body along its length, not quite tall enough for his legs to dangle off the ends. Dorian chuckled at the sight, the small elf almost being swallowed by the plush expanse of the seat. 

"So you become a kissing fiend when drunk," Dorian mused, as Gael rolled around on the seat, snaking his arms around a long pillow that rested upon it. His legs wrapped around it as he snuggled into the fabric, lips resting against the seams. "You only had half a glass too." Dorian slowly approached Gael, who had started to quieten down, his eyelids heavy. Dorian gently settled himself on the empty end of the chaise lounge at the Inquisitor's feet, peering down at the small form in front of him. 

As Gael's breathing began to slow, his chest rising and falling against the pillow he was hugging, Dorian tentatively ran his fingers through the elf's hair, which had grown to fall just past his shoulders in silky waves. Dorian caught himself, snatching his outstretched arm away and sprang up from the chair. 

Get yourself together, Dorian. 

Steeling himself, Dorian strode to the bed and pulled away the large blanket, draping it over Gael's tiny frame. Despite himself, Dorian smiled, thinking that the Inquisitor's small stature was somewhat endearing. 

Closing the door to the Inquisitor's room behind him, Dorian walked through the evening chill, his fingers brushing across his lips which barely remembered the touch of the Inquisitor's own. 

"It tastes like tea," Dorian murmured quietly to himself, his chest warming at the thought. 

It really is the company that makes the drink taste sweet.