Lavellan rolled his eyes, but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dorian was always so gentle with him. It made his heart ache again, knowing the mage wanted to be careful as they learned more about each other. The elf didn’t mind when he knew it came from a place of affection. "You still worry that you will," he pointed out, settling without complaint on top of him. Lavellan rewarded those valiant efforts by massaging the mage’s scalp in earnest, using both hands to work through the tension. He did have very clever fingers, and rather liked having Dorian at his mercy like this. But he wasn’t about to say that yet.
"You risked everything you ever knew to fight for a cause you believed in," he said, and if it still felt a little terrifying to lay his heart out like this, he ignored it. This was important. Dorian had to know what Lavellan thought of him—what he’d always thought, really, but never had the courage to say. "That is more than noble. It’s selfless, and I admire you." Dragging his hands down to frame Dorian’s face, he gently pressed his mouth to the mage’s chin, then under each eye, hoping he could convey even a small part of the immense pride he felt to know and to be with this man.
He returned his hands to their previous task, pressing his thumbs in a bit harder to work out any lingering tension. "I can’t promise it won’t happen again. But I will try to prevent it."