Who: Dorian Pavus (Jim Kirk mentioned) What: narrative When: a day or two after Halloween Where: Orrinshire Rating: PG-13? Status: complete
Dorian hadn't been planning to start anything with Jim. It was fun — friendly, even. They were both naturally outgoing, naturally flirtatious, and more than that, they worked well together on the Council. He hadn't missed, of course, that Jim was an attractive man, and intelligent, and his stories of space travel were absolutely fascinating. Magic could do a lot, and Dorian was an especially talented Mage who had grown up in the epicenter of magic in Thedas. He'd seen some of the most brilliant magic man could come up with — and some of the most dangerous — had had access to the sorts of libraries and collections that few people could ever do more than dream of. He could control fire as easily as he breathed and raise the dead or summon a spirit with barely any more effort than that.
And yet for all magic could do, for all that he could roam the Fade in his dreams, people on Jim's Earth, who, as far as he was aware, had no magic at all, had been able to physically leave their planet and venture out into the wider universe. If he hadn't been in Winterdale for so long he wouldn't have believed it. He'd never even considered the possibility of that sort of thing. Technology, electronics — all of it had taken some getting used to, but Dorian had developed a definite appreciation for the multitude of ways that people had come up with to make their lives easier.
Once he'd gotten over the shock, anyway. And had pulled himself out of the utterly miserable state he'd been in when he'd arrived. It had taken some time to clear the fog of depression out of his head, but he'd managed. Barely, maybe, and not without getting lost in some pretty dark places, but he'd managed. He was too stubborn to ultimately give up, and if he hadn't been able to pull himself together back in Tevinter after struggling for a year to do so, well. Here, at least, it felt like was doing something good. It wasn't grand plans to change his homeland into something better, into the country he knew it could be, but it was still good.
He would take it.
And he'd take Jim's offer to skip straight to coming over for coffee, even if it didn't lead to much of anything beyond getting tipsy with a friend. Oh, he wouldn't say no to more, not at all. He probably should, or should at least consider the possible consequences here for more than thirty seconds, but Dorian had always had trouble resisting temptation. In the scheme of things, this was harmless, anyway. Probably. Right? Maker, what was he even doing? Dorian rubbed at his forehead, laughed at himself. Overthinking an affair like this wasn't like him, or it hadn't been. Of course, he'd never had a "friend" he'd slept with that he'd regret losing.
He was lonely, he thought, with a birthday a couple weeks past, and a ridiculous crisis over being almost forty to go with it. He knew he was being emotional and silly, but on another level, he also missed being close to another person. It had been… well, a while, since he'd done anything besides playfully flirt with someone. He knew himself — oh, he knew himself painfully well — and he'd gone out of his way since arriving in Winterdale to keep from falling back into using sex as a distraction from all his problems. It had never made him feel better in the long run. In fact, it was usually the opposite. He'd find the wrong people to sleep with as if he had some point to make, or wanted to prove that he was everything his father had feared he might be, spiteful and proud and stupid in the decisions he'd made when drinking so much he could hardly remember his own name, let alone who he'd tumbled into a bed with, had seemed a better option than facing his life head-on.
Dorian had thought he'd gotten over that. Things with Bull — no. He wasn't going to think about him, or the aftermath where he'd slowly fallen apart to the point where he'd wondered if it was worth even fighting anymore. It hit him suddenly, then, how distant all of that felt, how much he'd changed and settled in the five years he'd been in Winterdale. Old habits and fears didn't have a hold on him here. His past couldn't hurt him because he wouldn't let it. He'd finally moved beyond all of that without really noticing, because it hadn't been one large, significant moment, or some astounding epiphany about life and the meaning thereof or… whatever. It had been so many small things, slowly adding up over weeks and months and years, and here he'd been, sulking about turning thirty-nine, about finding a few grey hairs.
He was, perhaps, being somewhat overdramatic about the entire thing.
Whatever happened that evening would happen. Dorian took a few minutes to consider how and what he was feeling, and he was good. Honestly good. He cut off his circling thoughts, glanced around his house to make sure things were suitably tidy, and, finding they were, took a shower to calm his nerves — him! nervous! It was preposterous. He didn't get nervous — which, yes, was a lie, but one he was fine telling himself. He was going to have coffee — and a drink or two — with a friend. An incredibly handsome friend, who, apparently, was fine with flirting at the least and very possibly more, if he hadn't misread their conversation, and he didn't think he had.
Unless Jim had decided to make a long stop somewhere, Dorian judged that he had just enough time to set his coffee machine to be ready to go and spend a few more minutes fussing over his appearance. Not that he needed to, or felt like he had to to make an impression, but still. Nothing wrong with dazzling a potential partner when one got the chance, after all, and Dorian was rather good at it. No need to go overboard — people were so casual here, and he wanted to be comfortable, not make Jim feel out of place.
He didn't bother doing much with his hair, didn't have time for it, and besides, slightly tousled was a good look on him. As tempting as it had been to pull out some robes from back home, he stuck to clothes that weren't too different from something he might have worn to meet Jim somewhere for drinks, though he'd rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and left the top few buttons undone. Undone was also a good look on him. A very good one. His doorbell chimed just as he finished artfully smudging some kohl around his eyes — it was one of the small things he missed in his day-to-day life. If he were honest, he rather liked the simplicity of not worrying too much.
It was nice.
When Dorian answered the door, it was with a warm smile and a heavy-lidded gaze — no matter where things went, if Jim wanted a smolder, he was certainly getting one.