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Locks, Keys and a Mess

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Several locks, lockpicks and various little gears and bolts were scattered about in front of the fireplace in the Inquisitor's quarters. In the middle of the mess was Inquisitor Trevelyan himself, seated on the carpet, fiddling with a particularly large and intricate looking lock and— Maker, were those several flasks of fire littered around him?

Trust Trevelyan to be so engrossed in his latest endeavors he probably hadn't even noticed the several fire hazards precariously rolling nearby, ready to explode at moment's notice and so close to the fireplace.

With a small, exasperated sigh (really Trevelyan and his Maker-forsaken mess) Dorian began to tiptoe his way across the room towards the bookshelf behind the desk, because he really needed that copy of Philosophy and the Arcane right that moment and he wouldn't have had to make this perilous trek from one end of the room to the other if Trevelyan didn't pluck that book from the library shelves so he could read it earlier that week. Curse the man.

"Careful with my tempest potions," Trevelyan said absently as a telltale click sounded from the lock. Trevelyan turned the unlocked knob to and fro as he smiled up at Dorian, all glee and sunshine. He must have been successful in testing his lockpicking skills and somehow involved those potions of his, for whatever reason Dorian could not yet grasp. "Don't want to burn yourself."

"I wouldn't have to face the perils of your concoctions if you put them back where they belonged," Dorian snapped, managing to cross the Trevelyan sea of clutter to the shelves.

"I was trying to see if I could melt away the mechanism. I can manage some of the more complicated locks, but for the really special ones I'll need a bit more time. So I thought perhaps the cocoction would help, but it just made it worse," Trevelyan explained. Placing the doorknob in his hands down on the carpet and moving on to a more complicated one.

Dorian suppressed a sigh as he paused his hunt. Trust Trevelyan to not arrange the books in any order whatsoever. "Didn't it occur to you it might have simply exploded in your face?" he asked, aiming a pointed look at Trevelyan before he resumed.

"I used only a few drops," Trevelyan said, examining the new doorknob and consulted his notes on lockpicking (courtesy of their spymaster). "I was curious. Have to use every tool at our disposal, after all."

Stopping as he pointed at mid-shelf, Dorian slowly turned to look at the Inquisitor again.

"Although I suppose using the proper tool for the job have their merits."

Oh, Trevelyan most certainly did not just reference that ridiculous conversation with Sera.

"A properly used tool, after all, is the best kind of tool," Trevelyan continued, his grin so wide his face might have split in two. "Wouldn't you agree?"

And Trevelyan most certainly did, Maker preserve him. Dorian exhaled another sigh. One day they will write about Trevelyan and when that time came, Dorian would make sure to include details over how many were lucky they didn't have to deal with the Inquisitor and his antics on a daily basis. "Don't cram it where it's not wanted, amatus," Dorian retorted dryly, earning him a delighted snort from Trevelyan.

"Oh? But I do recall being asked to 'hurry up and put it in' the other night," Trevelyan mused, putting down the doorknob and the notes. He drew one knee up to rest an elbow on it and regarded Dorian with a small, knowing smirk.

Dorian could not help but return the expression, conceding to his defeat in doing so. "Oh? My memory seems to be a little hazy."

Trevelyan rose from the carpet and navigated the clutter over to the shelves with his deadly fighter's grace, all fluid, careful motions. Had Dorian not been quite aroused at the sight, he might have been annoyed how easy it seemed for Trevelyan to walk around the mess, but he was, and so all his attention was quite focused on Trevelyan and those warm hands that rested on his hips.

"Is a reminder in order then?" Trevelyan murmured, gently pushing Dorian against the shelves as he leaned into him so that their bodies pressed together, separated only by layers of clothing. "I promise to be thorough."

The unmistakable length of Trevelyan's cock pressed against Dorian's thigh while a calloused hand gently cupped his cheek. Dorian leaned into the touch, Trevelyan's hands were hard in places where the handles of his twin blades dug into skin too much, but soft in the places otherwise, something Dorian adored, though didn't admit outloud.

"If you must," Dorian said through a small smirk of his own.

Trevelyan's hand on his cheek moved to his neck and then chest where he found the first few buttons that would undo his clothing. "I most certainly will," he said, before claiming Dorian's lips in a searing kiss.

As with nearly all of Trevelyan's kisses, they were fierce and nowhere near chaste, leaving Dorian breathless and slightly dazed, enough that Trevelyan could easily maneuver him to the desk instead of the shelves. With a sweep of his arm, Trevelyan cleared the desk of various books and reports and had Dorian sitting on the desk.

"There is a perfectly good bed somewhere close by," Dorian protested as Trevelyan continued undressing him, focusing on the lower half this time.

"I'm quite impatient to get on with things," Trevelyan murmured as knelt in front of Dorian. He pulled Dorian's breeches completely and began to mouth the growing bulge in Dorian's underwear.

"Brat," Dorian managed to say before his breath hitched. Trevelyan teased Dorian through the layer of silk before he finally pulled those down to join the breeches.

Trevelyan took Dorian's freed member in hand, his grip strong and sure. With an opened mouth, he breathed on the head, making Dorian shiver at the promise of warmth. He hissed when Trevelyan's mouth, hot, wet and generous, enveloped him entirely. A whimper escaped from Dorian and he brought a hand to Trevelyan's hair, gently urging him on.

Without need to be asked a second time, Trevelyan took Dorian in as far as the root, sucking eagerly all the while while his tongue swirled about the base. The man was no stranger to this act and at that moment Dorian could not be more grateful. He withdrew slowly, dragging Dorian's rigid length across smooth tongue before swallowing him whole again without much difficulty. It was nice to know Trevelyan's big mouth and silver tongue had other uses than constantly teasing him.

Breathing became a bit difficult as waves of pleasure coursed through Dorian. Trevelyan's pace was slow and languid, not enough to bring him to completion, but soon Trevelyan pulled away and hoisted Dorian's knees up, letting on leg rest on his shoulder while pushing the other further back, making Dorian spread his legs and lie down on the desk.

Trevelyan paused for a moment, surveying the scene of Dorian spread on his desk, just almost fully undressed from waist up, breathing heavily, rigid cock resting on his flat belly, just at the first stage of being debauched. Trevelyan used the lull to unbutton his own clothing a little, the shirt and his own breeches, to give him some room to breathe. "What a lovely sight you make, Dorian," he murmured when he finished, leaning in to run his fingers on Dorian's lips.

"I should, considering who's responsible for my current state," Dorian returned before gently swiping his tongue against those fingers. They tasted of salt and metal from handling the locks, but Dorian sucked and licked eagerly when Trevelyan pushed two fingers into his mouth. When Trevelyan took them away, they were coated thick with spit.

Pleased, Trevelyan dipped his head to take Dorian into his mouth again, one hand on the leg that was propped up on his shoulder while the other teased at his entrance, rubbing and teasing. As his mouth worked, he gently pushed one finger inside, earning him a sharp hiss. Trevelyan smiled to himself and pushed inside further with one finger before allowing the second digit to join in, earning him a small cry of pleasure this time, along with several books and rolls of parchment tumbling to the floor.

Dorian kept himself from writhing too much as Trevelyan lavished him with attention and made small appreciative noises instead. Trevelyan's fingers dug into him. Those skillfull fingers pleasured as they sought, not so different from Trevelyan and his lockpicking. In went two thin metal rods with hooks at the end and the picks then begin looking for the fine little mechanisms that needed to be pressed so the lock would give way. The analogy was not lost on Dorian and he would have chuckled, if Trevelyan didn't have him under his complete and utter mercy.

Trevelyan eventually rose to occupy his lips with slender neck and exposed clavicle and then moved toward hard chest and pert nipples. Still, his fingers persisted and sometimes they would brush past that spot, reducing him to nothing but a pile of wanton need. Trevelyan undoubtedly had found the exact location where he could unravel his lover, but chose to prolong Dorian's sweet suffering, taunting his climax but never quite truly delivering the decisive press of fingers that would undo Dorian in a mere moment.

Wordless pleas rose from Dorian as he writhed and moved his hips, agonized though still restrained. Years of taking his pleasures where he can had made Dorian a quiet lover, which only served to make Trevelyan slow his advances further, disabling Dorian from seeking climax on his own.

A hand gripped at Trevelyan's arm. "A-Amatus," Dorian murmured breathlessly, a trace of a whimper laced in the single word, looking at him with eyes only half-opened. "Amatus, please," he repeated.

"What is it, my love?" Trevelyan asked, unable to fully feign innocence as he failed to suppress a satisfied smile.

"Maker," Dorian swore, for Trevelyan usually used that endearment when he was planning something particularly mischievous. He gripped more tightly at Trevelyan's arm, not that it would do anything to urge him on. "Fuck me, damn you,"

The words earned him a peck on the lips. "As you wish," Trevelyan said with a smile brimming with mischief. He withdrew from his hand and had Dorian straddle his waist. While the position would have been ideal for what Dorian wished to happen next, Trevelyan, ever devious, used the arrangement of their bodies to lift Dorian into an awkward embrace to carry him to the bed.

Aware in the folly of hitting someone who was only barely able to bear his weight, Dorian did nothing but let out a small growl of protest as soon as he was laid down onto their bed. Maker, he had been on the edge, but the delay pushed him back several paces. He ached to touch himself, to bring himself release, but his hunger for Trevelyan's attentions stayed his hand and he watched as Trevelyan undressed.

Trevelyan grinned at the sight of his lover. His own breathing was ragged, but he forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. He pulled off his clothes and tossed the sweat dampened garments onto the floor. He then grabbed a small vial of oil from the nightstand before he climbed back on top of the bed.

He ground his groin against Dorian's, hard cock to hard cock and caught Dorian's lips in a deep, dominating kiss, swallowing Dorian's soft groans. Impatient now to seek his own pleasure, Trevelyan bit off the cork of the vial with his teeth and poured a generous amount of it on his erection. He then took both of Dorian's legs, bringing them up to his waist, and slowly pushed into him.

Dorian's small, keening moan caught in his throught as Trevelyan split him open and filled him little by little. The pace was considerate but Trevelyan neither stopped nor dallied, tipping himself over Dorian until he was buried to the hilt and Dorian's legs were up in the air. Only then did Trevelyan pause for a little, just for a moment to allow Dorian to adjust, then he began to move his hips to fuck Dorian in earnest.

Appreciative groans rose from Dorian and he threw his arms around Trevelyan, holding him tightly, nails digging into his shoulderblades. Trevelyan in turn had Dorian in a loose embrace, hands underneath either of Dorian's shoulders, keeping him in place as he surged into him in a steady rhythm. Again and again he bore the entirety of his weight into Dorian, basking in the near unbearable warmth and tightness, each thrust earning louder and louder affirmations.

It was Dorian who came first, unraveling in an eruption of warm, messy spurts. Trevelyan did not stop his onslaught yet even as Dorian squeezed him, driving into that exact place he knew would wring the most pleasure out of him. Dorian shook in throes of pleasure, mumbling in incoherent Tevene and releasing a subtle wave of shifting magic, all lost to Trevelyan as his own climax took him and spilled himself deeply into his lover.

Exhausted, both collapsed limply onto the mattress. Trevelyan took a moment to catch his breath, but considered how he must be keeping Dorian from doing the same. He rose, pulling away from Dorian and grabbed a stray shirt on the bed to clean himself and Dorian up. He then lay on his side, sliding his arms around Dorian for a tight embrace, closing his eyes and burying his face in the crook of Dorian's neck.

Dorian, reduced to bonelessness from exertion, allowed himself to be smothered in Trevelyan's attentions. When his breathing relaxed and his limbs returned to some semblance of operation, he reached to stroke Trevelyan's hair in small, soothing motions.

When he regained breath and some strength, Trevelyan lifted his head and pressed his lips onto Dorian's once more. No less passionate, but less urgent, giving way for tongues to meet and tangle in lazy dances. The position allowed Dorian enough leverage to pin Trevelyan underneath him instead.

When they broke apart, Dorian nipped at the Inquisitor's bottom lip and straddled his hips. "You will be the death of me," he murmured, butting their foreheads together.

Trevelyan chuckled, running his hand through Dorian's now unruly hair to further untidy it, looking up at his lover with a smile full of affection with a dash of mischief. "Oh, is that a complement? Did I use my tools too effectively?"

Dorian jabbed a finger at the Inquisitor's side, a ticklish spot of his and nearly the only effective means of making him behave. Trevelyan flinched in pain and laughed at the same time. "Stop saying 'tool'."

Giggling impishly, Trevelyan brought both hands to Dorian's waist and sat up, pressing open mouthed kisses onto Dorian's neck. "Only if I get kiss from you, love."

Dorian complied, if only to hide the sudden blush blooming on his face. He would have protested such underhanded use of endearments, but the stupidly happy grin plastered on Trevelyan's features when they drew back made Dorian suddenly forget what he should have been irritated about. Sighing softly, Dorian leaned into Trevelyan's embrace as they both settled back onto the bed to laze the rest of the afternoon away.

"You scorched a bit of the bedposts when you came," Trevelyan murmured absently after awhile. "You can smell something burnt."

"All your fault," Dorian muttered in return.

Trevelyan laughed, basking in self-satisfaction. "It is, isn't it? Just that good with the tools."

Dorian nonchalantly pinched Trevelyan's side in retaliation.