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The Inquisitor didn't know how to dance, and Dorian didn't know why that seemed odd. Dwarfs were not exactly renowned for their dancing skills in the first place, and Kharis certainly came from a rough background. But it seemed like something he would know. When he cautiously admitted that he didn't know the first thing about Orlesian ballroom dancing, Dorian knew he had to see the lessons Leliana offered.
Unfortunately, while Kharis was exceptionally skilled at placing his feet exactly where he wanted them to go, he was no real prodigy. Since it seemed he'd get neither a fantastic nor a terrible show, Dorian took to reading on the couch through most of the dwarf's lessons. Occasionally he took a turn while Leliana would observe their technique, which was decent practice for being led, at least. Which was not to say he didn't very much enjoy being whirled around the room by his amatus, but it was very much practice and not pleasure.
About a week before the ball, Dorian noticed something odd as they worked through the steps of one of the more fashionable dances of the moment. "Are you... taller?"
Kharis chortled, the sound coming from the back of his throat. "Yeah, the boots I ordered for this shindig came in. Full inch in the sole and another two past that in the heel. Somea these fuckin' dances have dips, the extra height helps me get the angle right. Like the cobbler we got on hand too, did the bottoms just like I like-- and three, and four, and out and turn, and back and fuck, my liquids are off. Let's get some small talk going, you two."
"What do you mean, your liquids?" asked Dorian, turning most emphatically at the proscribed moment. "Your accent does sound different than usual."
"Elbow higher, Inquisitor," said Leliana, moving around the pair. "Is that an Orlesian accent you're affecting?"
"Not quite," said Kharis, elbow lifting half an inch. "Here? No, if I sound Orlesian I'm going too far. But I want a bit of it. Sound more familiar, less dwarf, less Marcher. It should be inexplicable, if I get this right. The rain in Orlais falls mainly on the plain. Leliana, what am I doing with my hair, and don't say cutting it."
"Yes, much better," said Leliana. "I have some thoughts. Dorian, do you want to go over the pictures with me before we decide?"
"Of course," said Dorian. "I'll be interested to see what pedestrian looks are in fashion this season. It won't hold a candle to the styles in Minrathous, of course. But we'll make do."
"I don't care what you do," said Kharis. "So long as we get me presentable enough to show in front of the Court. I can handle the rest, no matter what Josephine thinks. I'm not going to accidentally call the Empress a shitfucker or anything. Yes, better, I think I have this now. How do I sound now, how do you think?"
Dorian shook his head a few times. "That's uncanny now that I hear it. Yes, I think you've got it right. I think you've got this dance, too, unless Leliana has any more issues with your elbows?"
"Your elbows are just fine," said Leliana. "I think we're ready to move on."
The Inquisitor proved to clean up far better than even Dorian imagined. Most of the credit was due to the sheer wonders of modern cosmetics, which smoothed over his scars and darkened his complexion down from dead-for-a-week pallid to merely pale. But Dorian was quite pleased with the hairstyle he and Leliana had picked out after several hours' deliberation; the thick white hair had been manhandled into loose curls, tousled away from his face.
He looked good. Honestly good. Even if he was bristling with knives underneath that dress uniform. Really, Dorian wouldn't believe how many there were if he hadn't watched the dwarf dress.
"Kiss me for luck," he'd said before following Grand Duke Gaspard off, and of course Dorian had obliged, bending to kiss Kharis full on the mouth. Kharis pulled in for it, hands 'conveniently' landing to squeeze Dorian's bottom, hard and tight. "Keep an eye peeled, sugar," he added into Dorian's ear. "But might be I'll get some time and we can get some fun out of this whole thing, eh babe?"
"Is it 'babe' now, too?" asked Dorian, shaking his head. He can't hide the smile it puts on his lips. "Honestly, the things you come up with... but you mustn't linger."
"Would that I could," said Kharis, eyes going distant for a moment. "But I fear the Grand Duke, and the Empress herself await. Remain where I might see you, once the introductions are complete. I do so like to look."
Dorian's smile simply will not be banished. "I hope you don't turn that syrup upon the Grand Duke. I would be most distressed to hear of such a thing."
"As would I. But my register is correct, and so I must quit your presence, though it rend my heart. Bonne soirée, mon cher." Kharis slides his hands away from Dorian, one hand lingering a second or two longer than proper. So little discretion sometimes, that dwarf. My, but he looked good in that shade of red.
When the formalities were complete, Dorian ambled his way to the garden to mingle (oh, fine, and to drink). The air was clear enough over there to clear the scent of lavender from his nostrils. Who had decided that scent would be of the moment this season? But it did add an ineffable kick to the punch, and he could appreciate that. It helped him ignore how the other guests looked at him.
It wasn't like he didn't expect that here, and it certainly cut down on him being offered eligible daughters' hands in marriage. But he was not cut out for being a wallflower, so it did rankle, a little. Ah, well, the better to eavesdrop on gossip with. So much delicious double-dealing to watch out for.
Standing around as a distraction while Kharis scaled a wall was, perhaps, less entertaining, if only because he couldn't enjoy the view. At least it didn't take very long. He really was remarkably quick for someone who outweighed him at two-thirds the height. Never mind how he creeeped like that, with metal plates screwed into his bootheels. And he'd seen Kharis try to demonstrate that one before. Oh, just a matter of what hits the ground first, he'd said, but that struck Dorian as awfully chancy.
But he did like danger, didn't he? The dwarf would be the death of him, Dorian was sure of it. But what a death. Dorian slid his tongue over his teeth, tuning out a hilariously indiscreet political conversation between two noblemen. Shame there didn't seem to be anywhere very private around here... a proper Tevinter party would have such accomodations. Still. Maybe best to not be so distracted, what with the work to be done.
The punch truly was excellent. Where was the time going? Even on the fringes like this, the party was downright homey.
Kharis' bootheels announced his approach. Dorian turned to see the Inquisitor beelining for him, only pausing twice to exchange pleasantries with other guests. When he reached Dorian, his fingers settled on Dorian's waist.
"Hey, babe," he murmured, voice pitched low enough to make Dorian's moustache quiver. "I got some leads so's I'm gonna collect the gang in a bit. Got something I wanna show you before we gear up, though. C'mon. You ain't too drunk, right?"
"I've been drinking, naturally," said Dorian, following. "But I still have my wits about me. I am very good at that, you know."
"Good," said Kharis, leading him in the direction of the vestibule. "Now, stay close 'cause I ain't repeating it or talkin' any louder. The target's Florianne. Or-- no, that ain't right. She an' Gaspard were in on it together. She's playin' for herself now. He don't know it yet. I dunno her game yet but she's pushing him under the wagon. Shouldn't complicate things too much; people assume they're together, so one shot should do for two."
"Huh," said Dorian. "You got all that? No offense, but I never pictured you as tolerating the Game that well. Another thing I don't know about you?"
The dwarf shrugged. "Nah, it's all bullshit. But it ain't that different than dealing with the Carta bosses, same's most of this Inquisiting shit. Florianne gave me most of that shit herself, the rest just falls out naturally if you hold those premises as true."
"Logic now, too? How does a Carta enforcer get so well-rounded an education?" They ascended a staircase in the vestibule, and paused by a door.
"I was a sick kid. Yeah, it happens even to dwarfs," said Kharis, producing a wavy bit of wire and a small wrench from a pocket. He slid the wrench into the lock without even glancing over his shoulder. "Stand right there, this next bit can make some noise. Anyway, this Nevarran fucker decided he didn't wanna pay up. So we took his fuckin' library. He didn't have much else worth takin'. Anyway I was stuck in the wagon a lot 'cause of my troubles, so I read."
Dorian stood where Kharis indicated, and glanced over his shoulder. No one seemed the slightest bit interested that they were up here. "Wait, so you're completely self-taught?"
"Most'f the book-learning, yeah, 'cept for numbers. Ma taught me that," said Kharis absently, then thrust the wire into the lock. Then, rapidly, he started jiggling it. After only a few seconds, he twisted the wrench and pushed the door open. "Got it. Remind me never t'hire an Orlesian locksmith. It's a fuckin' palace, that trick shouldn't work. Okay, come on in, quick."
That Kharis had snuck him into the library was for once not surprising in the least. Dorian turned around a time or three, drinking it all in. Even in the dark it looked bigger than Skyhold's. Probably far less focused on dreary religious texts, too.
"You like it?" said Kharis, settling his hands on Dorian's hips. "We ain't got a ton of time, so much as I'd love to sift through everything, mn, c'mere, the room itself ain't what I wanted you to see." And he caught Dorian's hand in his, squeezed it, and pulled him over to a reading nook.
Oh, that romantic little devil. He'd smuggled in a rather fantastic bottle of wine, going by the year, and a book of poetry lay casually open on the table. "Goodness. You found time to do all this and investigate the Grand Duchess? You're such an over-achiever. If I didn't know you better, I'd accuse you of trying too hard."
Kharis slipped up onto a stool he must have brought over earlier, and turned to pour the wine. "I try exactly as hard as I need to, and not one bit more." But before he let Dorian at a glass, he reached up, caught Dorian's face, and pulled him down for a kiss. The cold taste of mint was mingled with those of wine and brandy both, and Dorian leaned in for another kiss or three before his fingers found the wineglass.
The wine was as good as Dorian had guessed. There was probably a joke he wasn't going to make in Kharis' preference for tart whites, but in this it paid off. The notes of pear and spices sang down his throat, and a faint floral character lingered in his nose. "Ah," he said. "They didn't have this out for the guests, did they?"
A smile and bowed head as Kharis lifted his glass in acknowledgement. "Ain't you lucky to find someone who takes locks as an encouragement? Now, nn, we got some time before we gotta get going. Not a ton, but I got an eye on the schedule." He drained the glass, too quickly for such a superlative wine. Dorian supposed there were worse bad habits. It probably wasn't even Kharis' worst. Still, such a waste. "So, what do you wanna do with the time, eh?"
Maybe it was the wine, or the punch, or the atmosphere, or a vague sense of homesickness, or even the novelty of having Kharis at eye level for once, but Dorian answered by setting his hands on Kharis' sides, and kissing him again. Harder, this time, tongue sliding over the dwarf's lips. When they parted, Dorian pressed his tongue into Kharis' mouth, only for it to get swept up by his. Kharis' deft tongue enfolded Dorian's, still tasting of the wine. Andraste's painted fingernails, but he could use his tongue. Kharis slid a hand around, squeezing Dorian's backside, hard, but just barely not too hard. "Oh, I think I have some ideas," said Dorian, breaking the kiss. "Think of the scandal if we were caught in here..."
"You ain't feelin' too shy, sugar-cube?" asked Kharis, pressing Dorian toward a bookcase. He stepped off the stool long enough to tug it forward, then got right back onto it. "It can wait, if'n you want it to. We still gotta come outta this lookin', nn, you know, presentable-like." He set his heavy hands on Dorian's shoulders, pushing him back to the shelf, and kissed him again, tongue swiping Dorian's lips, then retreating.
Dorian slid his hands down Kharis' rock-solid chest. "These uniforms do have an advantage," he murmured. "They're much easier to deal with than anything fashionable would be. How bad are you feeling? A silly question, I know." Dorian tugged the buttons just far enough undone to get his hands inside, slid his fingers over the thin silk shirt underneath. Was almost as good as nothing at all, it felt so smooth and warm under his hands.
Kharis reached up, tugging Dorian's ear to his mouth. "If we could get away with it, I'd fuck you out on the snack table, right in front'f everyone. You don't mind a quickie? I came prepared." He reached back, flipping open a pouch on his belt.
"Just this once," said Dorian. "You came prepared? You're incorrigible." He finished getting Kharis' jacket open, at least as far as the sash, then pressed a kiss to his throat. His fingers curled up tight in Kharis' shirt.
"Damn straight," hissed Kharis. His hands groped up beneath Dorian's jacket. Both hands settled on his rear, grabbing tight enough to make Dorian gasp. "You know what I did when they told me about this party? I got a fuckin' floorplan an' looked for a good private spot. First fuckin' thing. I been lookin' forward to this for weeks. Shit, this is better'n I thought. All these fuckin' books... never quiet enough at home. Fuck me, I love the smell of books."
"I don't think we have time," said Dorian. "Poor us, it'll just have to be me today. Well, maybe when we get back to the inn tonight..." He slid his hands down, pulling up Kharis' jacket enough to undo his pants. "You've got me feeling almost at home. The scheming, these canapés, hasty liasons... you do know how to treat a man."
"Hopefully I treat you better than those Tevinter floozies did," Kharis said, getting Dorian's pants open in turn. One hand slipped inside and found Dorian half-hard already. "Shit, this ain't gonna do." He stepped back and off the stool, going onto one knee atop it. He didn't wait a second more, just lowered his head, sliding his mouth down the length of Dorian's cock.
Dorian gripped the edge of the shelf, leaning his head back against the books. "Ahh--! So you want me to rank you against everyone I've ever--?" Kharis worked his tongue down from tip to base, then enveloped the whole length in his mouth. "Well that right there puts you in the top two thirds. Ah, just like that, like that."
Kharis twisted his head, tongue slurping all around. His lips squeezed tight, and he lifted a hand, working Dorian fully hard. He pulled his head away, and whispered, "I'd take an itemized list. We could compare notes. I like your diagrams. Aright, let go 'a that." He gave Dorian's ass a sharp little swat before he straightened.
Dorian barely got away from the bookshelf before Kharis had pulled around behind him, pushed him down onto the table. One heavy hand settled onto the small of his back, pressing him downward. Still, Dorian had enough room to twist and pour himself another glass of wine while Kharis readied himself. "A little project? I admit, any excuse to get more papers with your personal mix of love poetry and obscene doodles in the margins. Ah!" The last as Kharis' cold, slick finger worked its way around Dorian's opening.
"I'll do it up special for you," said Kharis, kicking the stool back in place. "Now shut up and let me fuck you. Careful, sweetie, I think that's an open balcony over there."
"Wait, wha--?"
But then Kharis was inside him, with a single hard motion. Dorian gasped, fingers tightening around the stem of the wineglass. He lifted it to his lips, drank, as much to keep the noise down. Because there would be noise otherwise. Sweet Andraste there would be noise. Kharis was far from the most subtle lover Dorian had ever had, but he was experienced, and he was skilled. For all that his thrusts were so emphatic as to make Dorian's teeth rattle, there was his right hand at the small of his back, stroking upwards. Left in front, stroking his member with callused fingers, squeezing out a deft counterpoint. Heavy breath would be landing between Dorian's shoulders if they weren't clothed, but he could hear the low undertone of each, a growl like the purring of a cat.
Dorian hurriedly finished the wine and just gasped once it was gone, closing his eyes. He reached out, squeezing the far edge of the table. He bit his lower lip hard, which damped his sounds down to thin, nasal whines. Kharis squeezed his left hand harder, making Dorian's back pull into a tight, sudden arch.
"Fuck, yeah," Kharis hissed against Dorian's back, shifting his hand to a better angle. "Okay, let's wrap this up." Right hand shifted, smacking Dorian's ass. He shifted his weight just so, working just a little harder.
"Just a little more," Dorian said, breath rushing out as he nodded. Kharis worked his hand slickly down Dorian's length, squeezing firmly enough for him to see sparks.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," said Kharis in a heavy rush of air. Two, three more rapid thrusts, going shorter and deeper and staying in tighter. His hips clung tight against Dorian's backside, holding tight there. His hand stepped up just a little more, squeezing and rubbing, thumb working against the motion.
Just a few strokes more and Dorian's back went all rigid, heat washing through him. He let out a thick spurt, then again, letting out right onto the floor. He groaned onto his wrist, biting to keep the sound down.
A few moments more just to relax, all a-quiver against the table. Kharis slowly backed out, and off the stool, breathing hard. Dorian took a little longer to catch his breath, then pushed back up to his feet. He caught his pants, did them back up.
"Shit, sorry," said Kharis, making a rueful smile while he buckled back up too. "You deserve way better'n that. We'll go somewhere fancy 'fore we clear outta town. Like, fancy that we're allowed to be at."
Dorian bent to kiss Kharis on the cheek. "I liked that," he said. "Homey. In a good way. But make those plans anyway. We're-- not cleaning any of this up, are we?"
"Nah," said Kharis, reaching for the wine-bottle and just draining it. "Ain't nobody gonna know who it was fuckin' in here. I mean, unless they do. But who's gonna say anything? I mean I think there's a flower pot we can ditch this thing in on the way out. But we got some murders to investigate, let's go grab Viv and the Bull."
"Wait, murders?" Dorian straightened out some of the books he'd accidentally pushed out of the way. "You didn't mention any murders. You should have, it was the last little taste of home I needed."
"Oh, huh, didn't I say?" asked Kharis, shrugging. "Oh, yeah, nobody gone into the servants' wing's come out in like ages. Probably all dead. Figure we're gonna go in, see what's going on, maybe bust some heads."
"It's going to take a lot of work to top this evening, amatus."
"Don't I know it," said Kharis, smacking Dorian's backside. "C'mon, sexy."