Little But Not Less | ✓

Cologne

"The Inquisitor?" Dorian asked, the maid in front of him weary as she hefted the basket of fresh linen against her waist, nodding her head towards the undercroft. Thanking her quickly, Dorian's heels clacked against the stone as he descended the stairs, the air getting noticeably colder as he continued to climb down. Pressing his hands on the heavy doors of the undercroft, Dorian stepped through them, immediately hearing the merry humming of a certain Dalish elf.

Gael's lips were pressed together in a carefree smile as he hummed a Dalish children's song, his hair loose and tucked behind his pointed ears to clearly show the neat row of silver piercings that adorned them. The elf's hands worked quickly in practised motions, the steady grind of the stone mortar grating against the Inquisitor's own melodic voice. 

As the door behind him clicked shut, Gael's eyes twitched as he turned to the source of the noise, his eyes clouding with alertness before relaxing again when he saw that it was just Dorian. Unfortunately, being overly cautious and jumping at every noise in a secluded hallway were a hazard of the elf's job, with moments of true relaxation and safety far and few in between bouts of violence and danger. 

"I didn't disturb you, did I?" Dorian asked, Gael simply laughing in response.

"You did, but you are a welcome disturbance." Dorian felt giddy with his friend's words, not quite able to walk to his side fast enough. When he neared, Dorian raised a curious brow at the mess on Gael's alchemy bench, which was cluttered with glass vials and containers filled with herbs that he had harvested on their expeditions to the greater areas of Thedas. 

"What in the Fade is that pungent smell?" Dorian asked, his face twisting into disgust as Gael's eyes crinkled, picking up the mortar to thrust in front of Dorian's nose. Inhaling, Dorian quickly pushed away the bowl before pinching his assaulted nose bridge. "That's positively horrendous. It smells like Bull's boots three days deep in Fallow Mire muck! How can you stand it?"

"It's only crushed blood lotus, Dorian," Gael said, shoving Dorian's side with his elbow as he picked up another sprig of the herb to throw into the bowl. Grinding, the smell only got stronger as more of it was churned up into an oozing paste. "You should smell crushed deathroot. Apparently its aroma can wake up the dead." Pausing for a moment, Gael's eyes brightened. "That sounds a lot like you!"

"I think not," Dorian gasped in mock offence. "I may practice necromancy, but I definitely do not reek l'eau de corpse!" 

Putting down the pestle, the stone rattling against the bowl, Gael wiped his hands with a cloth and stepped closer towards Dorian. The Tevinter felt his heart beat a fraction faster as the elf leaned forward, the top of his head almost brushing Dorian's chin as his nose bumped the collar of his shirt. Dorian could smell the snowcapped mountains in the crest of Gael's hair, and it was intoxicating. It took Dorian a few shaky breaths to collect his thoughts, finally registering the way Gael was breathing him in deeply. Then, Gael let out a low noise, before pulling back with his nose crinkled.

"That is not the reaction I usually get," Dorian said, giving his arm a sniff on his own in concern. Gael snickered at his action, crossing his arms over his chest.

"New cologne?" Gael asked, Dorian nodding.

"Yes, from Orlais," Dorian said slowly, Gael humming as if it all made sense to him. "Now, now, I know most Orlesian goods are... interesting, to say the least, but I sniffed this myself in the store. It didn't offend my senses then, and frankly neither does it now."

"It smells so..." Gael started, tilting his head to the side as he fished around for the right word. "Artificial."

Ah.

For someone who enjoyed the natural scents of trees in the spring and water rushing over frosted rocks, Dorian could see how Gael was not a fan of his new fragrance. Dorian immediately made a note to never wear the cologne again, already picturing the spot at the back of his chamber's shelving that would house it, alongside the other small cosmetics or clothing items that Gael had balked at.

Pulling a damp cloth from his workbench, Gael grabbed Dorian's wrists and rubbed away at the spots where he had smothered the scented oil onto earlier that day. After thoroughly removing any trace of the smell from his wrists, Gael moved upwards to Dorian's neck. Cupping one side of his tanned skin as the other was gently rubbed with the cloth, Dorian found himself holding a tensed breath. 

He's so close. Too close... but not close enough. 

"I know it's a little high, but maybe if you stand on your toes you can reach the spot better," Dorian's tongue cast out abruptly, Gael's fingers pinching the skin at his neck sharply. Dorian let out a strangled, unrefined noise as Gael's nails bit into his flesh, the elf shooting him a glare. 

"Really, Dorian?" Gael huffed, eyes afire as he fumed. "Really?" Dorian grew hot with Gael's challenging eyes on him, but straightened his back and forced his muscles to relax as he pulled a sleepy smile onto his face. Seeing Dorian's teasing nonchalance, Gael let out an exasperated sigh, before walking back to his workstation. Pulling out a step ladder that was shoved underneath the bench, Gael nimbly stepped up onto it to pluck a small bottle from the top shelf, his calf muscles tightening as he rose on his toes. The movement made his shirt heft up slightly, revealing the smooth expanse of pale skin just above the waistline of his grey leathers. Dorian couldn't help but stare as he swallowed a bolus of spit, suddenly very parched. The skin soon hid itself beneath cloth again as Gael hopped down from the stool, pressing the bottle into Dorian's open palm.

"What's this?" Dorian asked, curious. Gael told him to open it, and Dorian complied, popping open the cork with his thumb. Giving the clear contents a sniff, Dorian's head snapped towards Gael.

"It smells like you," Dorian said, his voice a little too eager as Gael flushed, coughing nervously. Forests and streams, with a dash of something else that Dorian couldn't place, but something that soothed his soul and warmed his heart even in the thick ice of the Frostbacks.

"It's smelling oil made with herbs that my clan used to grow," Gael said, his eyes glossing as he remembered a far away time, sad longing resting on his features for a brief moment. Shaking his head slightly, as if to physically cast away his heavy thoughts, Gael looked up at Dorian with a gentle smile. "It smells much better than that Orlesian sewer water."

"Thank you... Gael."

Gael's smile widened at Dorian's use of his name, the tips of his ears growing pink. The sight of the smaller elf coyly biting his lower lip made Dorian's heart swell, the foreign mage growing restless as his fingers itched to touch the man in front of him. 

Fasta vass, the things this elf does to me. 

A/N: I honestly grow more in love with these boys every day :') I know I release chapters randomly and that sometimes I can go months without releasing, so those that still read these newer chapters I'm so grateful! You guys are the best!