#his goddamn Scottish accent is too thick for ''-ing''s and ''and''s so i have so edit out any that slip through

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—I Liked The Tradition—

Pairing: Dorian Pavus x Male Lavellan

Pairing Type: M/M

Words: 3,113

Warnings: OCD and Bipolar Character, Angst, Non-Explicit Smut, Nerds in Love, Why Do I Always Make Birthday Fics Contain So Much Goddamn Angst, Sorry Fellas, I Swear It's Cute Too 

Dorian loved people-watching. He really did. Simply sitting back and relaxing, gazing at the people going by, attending to whatever business they found themselves fretting over. Such a habit was ever so fun in Minrathous, as the people of Tevinter were always busy and the weather was always perfect. Unfortunately, the people of Skyhold were far less interesting—they dressed far worse and their problems were far less interesting—and the Ferelden weather was dreadful. 

But, after only a little while of being a part of the Inquisition, Dorian found the perfect subject for his people-watching: the Inquisitor himself. Lavellan was certainly a fascinating subject, always in the midst of a new crisis that was ever so delightful to watch and, on occasion, assist in. But sometimes, Lavellan's problems would be these little, complex things that would set him into a state of extreme focus for hours. He would never accept any help, so Dorian could simply sit across from him, a book in hand, and observe the elf's mind work in the incomprehensible way it did. 

Such a little crisis was currently underway. 

Dorian—sitting in his favorite armchair in the Skyhold library, of course—was currently glued to the display the elf was putting on. It was hard to feign indifference, truthfully. Lavellan was sitting at the most abhorrent angle in a large, squishy armchair, one leg over one armrest while the other curled up beneath his rear, back hunched over and an intense look burned into his soft elven features. His flat, freckled nose was wrinkled in concentration, the tattoos on his forehead squished together and the ones on his cheeks puffed out. He was adorable, in a manic sort of way. He had a little metal cube held just above his stomach, where his beige shirt had scooted up a little and showed off his thin, freckled stomach. 

"Stop lookin' at me," he muttered, his floppy ears flickering in annoyance. "I can feel your eyes burnin' into the side of my head, Dorian." His accent made every vowel in Dorian's name stretch twice its length. 

"But why look away?" Dorian asked, chuckling lightly. "I find you fascinating." 

"I'm tryin' to concentrate," he said back, words barely making it past his teeth as they were clenched in concentration. "This is very complicated." 

Dorian stood up, setting his book on the side table and wandering over to the elf. Lavellan huffed and looked up at Dorian, who easily towered over him. "And what is it you're tinkering with today?" 

Lavellan looked back at the little cube of mismatched metals in his hand, and then back to Dorian. "It's complicated." 

Dorian hummed, smiling and nodding. A few pieces of his black hair slipped from his hairstyle and fell forward against his forehead as he leaned over Lavellan's cramped figure. His lithe form was easily dwarfed by any plush human chair he took up residence in. "You mentioned that, yes." 

Lavellan's lips twitched for a second before he flung his right hand from the cube to his ear, tugging on the sensitive, freckled skin. It was one of his several nervous tics. Black grease was now smeared onto his pretty skin and into his orange and silver hair. "You're an ass." 

Dorian smiled, nodding in agreement as he set his hands on Lavellan's shoulders. "Yes, well, you do quite enjoy that, don't you?" Lavellan's floppy ears lit up pink. "Come now, explain for my simple self, hmm?" 

"Uh," Lavellan looked back at his little cube, tugging on his ear. "Well, see how the metal is all... mis... matched?" Dorian nodded. "I made it that way." 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Out of character, isn't it?" Lavellan never made anything mismatched or unsymmetrical. 

"Shush. I was talkin'," he said, the usual annoyance in his voice noticeably absent. "See, I made it mismatched so I could fix it." He hesitantly gave the little contraption to Dorian, who took it despite the fact that it left black grease on his usually immaculate hands. Lavellan unfolded himself from himself, standing on his knees and putting his heavily freckled hand on Dorian's. "Okay, look," he said, a nervous smile on his lips. "You can twist it, see?" A row of five little cubes twisted, shifting to another face of the cube. 

"And you made this yourself?" Dorian's question made Lavellan's face light up in nervous delight. "Impressive." 

"Of course it is," Lavellan said, his false confidence undermined by his nervous ear-tugging. "I finished it last night." 

"What time last night?" Finishing something last night usually meant some ungodly hour in the morning when it came to the elf. 

"Fine. Sunrise," Lavellan huffed. "But I still got to my meetin' with Cassandra on time." The elf never seemed to get more than two hours of sleep a night unless Dorian was there to force him to bed, and even that was a struggle. 

Dorian shook his head in an amused sort of disapproval. "And let me guess, all the metals are intended to create a uniform side when you finish?"

Lavellan nodded, his big green eyes narrowing a little as a rare smile graced his features. "It lights up when it's all uniform," he said. "There's a little rune in there."

"Did Dagna give it to you?" Dorian asked, rubbing the back of Lavellan's hand. "Runes aren't all that easy to come by."

Lavellan rambled on, not seeming to notice Dorian's gentle touching. "Turns out she likes me a lot more when we have somethin' in common," he said, looking up into Dorian's eyes. There was a sparkle in his features that always shone when he was rambling. "She was actually willin' to work with me, even if I'm, uh, a little... much."

It was nice to know the elf had some semblance of self-awareness.

"Any reason for it?" Dorian wiggled his way into the armchair next to Lavellan, who quickly flopped back down, tossing his legs over Dorian and the armrest.

"I like makin' myself one new playthin' every year." Dorian tried to keep his mind from making some suggestive comment on Lavellan's word choice. Maker, he'd been spending far too much time with Bull. "Most hardly last over a month before I break 'em," he sighed, eyes flickering down to the little cube he had taken back into his hands. His thin, calloused fingers worked at a dizzying pace as his nerves acted up. Talking about himself always seemed to make Lavellan far more fidgety than normal.

"And why today, hm?" Dorian asked, resting his cheek on the top of Lavellan's head. Even if his lover was constantly moving and muttering and glaring, Dorian somehow managed to find relaxation in his presence.

Lavellan shrugged. "My mother used'ta gift me little trinkets when I was younger, an' she would always save the best ones for today," he mumbled, struggling to talk while looking away from Dorian. Lavellan needed to look at people to talk to them, so it was obvious he was significantly shy about whatever he was saying. His ears were a bright pink. "When I got older... an' weirder... she stopped. I was too much for her to handle, so she did her best in keepin' her distance from me. I... I don't blame 'er."

Poor dear, Dorian thought, feeling pity blossom in his heart. He knew what a handful Lavellan could be, but it was truly unfortunate a mother could give up on her son like that. Well, at least he knew a thing or two about being unfavorable due to an excess of queerness.

"But I liked the tradition, really, so I kept it up myself," Lavellan rambled on, his voice quiet and devoid of any of his usual passion. "An' I look forward to it every year." He paused. "Pathetic, isn't it?" His hands tightened their grip on his project.

"Absolutely not," Dorian said, prying Lavellan's grip off the metal and taking the elf's small hands in his. "Come now, deep breaths. In," he instructed, internally sighing in relief when Lavellan followed along. "... And out." Lavellan was looking up at him through messy orange and silver bangs. Dorian repeated the process several times. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Lavellan said, quiet and defeated. "I was right, though. About how sad it is that I make myself so... so happy over these stupid toys that keep me from yankin' my hair out. I should really be a grown man by now."

"You're not stupid or childish, and neither are your projects," Dorian sighed. "They're brilliant. You're brilliant."

"Oh, shut it. You're the brilliant one outta the two of us," Lavellan huffed. "What with all your magical research an' your time shit an' your... books."

"I know I'm brilliant," Dorian chuckled, kissing Lavellan on the head. "That doesn't discount from you being so, too, though."

Lavellan sank further into a horrendous position on the chair, wiggling his hips further into Dorian's lap before turning on his side to rest his cheek on the armrest. That had to be hell on his spine.

"Dorian?"

"Yes, Lavellan?" He found his hand running through Lavellan's silky hair.

"What day is it? On the human calendar?"

Dorian thought for a second, trying to recall the date. Days spent fighting monsters and researching in the library started to really blend together after a while. "The twentieth of Cloudreach, why?"

Lavellan just shrugged and hummed a little dismissive noise. "Nothin' important."

Dorian ran his hands through Lavellan's hair, working out the knots that often formed when the elf messed with it. "Are you sure?"

Lavellan curled up further into himself, his hands never ceasing in their nervous movements. "Dorian?" He looked up into Dorian's eyes, his dark green irises portraying his hesitancy. The black tattoos around them only made them that much more intense. "How old're you?"

"Twenty-five, turning twenty-six later this year," he said. "Why?"

Lavellan tightened his grip on the little object in his hands, biting down on his lip. "Bein' Dalish really messes with your mind. You don't realize how different everythin' is until you're surrounded by humans," he sighed, his eyebrows pushing together. "I forget that just 'cause you don't have any vallaslin... That it don't mean you're immature or younger than me, an' I'm sure that- that if you were Dalish you'd've gotten yours right out the womb."

"Lavellan, what-?"

"You're less than five years older than me an' yet I can't help but feel that it's more like decades," Lavellan said, trying and failing to repress the shake in his voice. "I'll never catch up to brilliant people like you no matter how hard I try or how old I get. I-"

"No," Dorian said, cutting Lavellan off before he could continue. "I know you dislike it, but I must interrupt you." Dorian took Lavellan's face between his hands, rubbing his thumbs in circles on the elf's full, high cheeks. "I've never met a man other than myself who can swing from painful arrogance to such deep self-loathing so quickly," he said. "But I must correct you. You're brilliant in your own way, and whatever is compelling you to say such things..." Dorian sighed. "You're not yourself today, Lavellan. What's wrong?"

Lavellan's lower lip pushed out a little, and it was obvious he was making a serious attempt to hold back an emotional outburst. But, unlike his usual outbursts, the anger wasn't there. Usually, Lavellan would spend what seemed like hours pacing and ranting and pulling at his hair and ears and pinching at his skin until he was covered in little pink welts. Dorian usually took steps to calm him down with the promise of an herbal tea that seemed to soothe the elf. Now, however, there was just a pervasive sadness that looked wholly foreign on Lavellan's face.

"Dorian..." He sighed, struggling to find the right words. "Do you think I'll ever get better?"

"What-?"

"I'm twenty-two years old now. I've been this way since I was twelve, an' I haven't gotten any better. I've... gotten worse. I... I don't make no sense, do I?"

"Lavellan, please. You're not broken," Dorian said, kissing him softly on the forehead, lips touching the little diamond on the elf's temple. "I adore you just the way you are, and I am known for my excellent taste." That got the elf to smile a little, at least, even if it was a sad, pathetic little smile. "And... Wait," Dorian said, pausing as his eyebrows pushed together in confusion. "I thought you were twenty-one?"

"I- I was," Lavellan said, looking startled, as if Dorian had caught him in a lie. "Yesterday."

"It's your birthday?" Lavellan shrunk from Dorian's question, squirming to escape from the hands on his face. "No, no, this should be a happy day!" Dorian smiled, cupping Lavellan's jaw. "Oh, you should've said something earlier!" He sighed, shaking his head in a sort of disappointment amusement. "It's dark out already!"

"We- we don't need to do anythin'," Lavellan whined, managing to wiggle his way out of Dorian's lap. He held his little cube close to his chest. "I don't wanna do anythin', it's not a big deal!" His hands were tight around his little trinket. "I've already celebrated in my own way."

Dorian sighed, leaning back in the chair and resting his arms on the armrests. "Ah, of course," he said, tilting his head a little. "But come now, dear, what say you about a... little bit of intimacy?" He smiled up at the elf, raising an eyebrow. "Anything you like. Consider it my gift to you."

"I- I don't-" Dorian knew he was hesitant to refuse. Lavellan wasn't an overtly sexual man, but it wasn't as if he didn't have his own drive. Besides, Dorian hadn't been able to distract him from his projects for weeks now—surely, the man had to be a little pent up. Lavellan huffed, shoved his little trinket in his pocket, and yanked Dorian out of the chair. "You know, you really are a vile little temptress."

"Oh, I do try my best," Dorian laughed, trailing behind the delightfully short Dalish elf. People were always confused when they saw the twitchy little elf that didn't even surpass a hundred pounds dragging around the supposedly dastardly Tevinter magister. "And you're quite the challenge to tempt."

"I know, I know, you just love a challenge," Lavellan said, actually managing to let a little chuckle slip out. "Now come'ere," he demanded as they slipped into his chambers, turning around and pushing Dorian against the door. He had to stand on his toes in addition to pulling Dorian down, his hands gripping Dorian's face. But, truthfully, Dorian didn't mind his excited roughness. If anything, he really did enjoy it.

Dorian pulled back after a moment, unable to contain his laughter. Lavellan's eyes went a little wide in concern. "My dearest Inquisitor, did you, per chance, ingest some sort of motor lubricant?"

"I-" Lavellan attempted to protest, but cut himself off with an audible cringe. "I may have forgotten I had grease on my hands when put 'em in my mouth..."

"Lavellan!" Dorian couldn't help but laugh.

"I didn't mean to!" Lavellan groaned, smiling. "I forgot!"

"How do you-?" Dorian shook his head. "Oh, whatever," he chuckled, bending over to kiss the elf again. "I've tasted Ferelden cooking. Motor grease is hardly the worst thing that's been in my mouth."

Maker, the way Lavellan's face lit up when he smiled was something Dorian would be taken aback by every time. Every one of his seemingly hundreds of freckles shifted, his tattoos were shoved aside by his grin, and the little tears that squeezed out of his dark green eyes reflected the light like morning dewdrops.

"What're you waitin' for?" Lavellan laughed, pulling Dorian up the final, short flight of stairs to his chambers. "Come on, you know how long it takes to fold those ridiculous clothes'a yours!" Lavellan always needed to fold their clothes neatly before they got into bed. It would be frustrating if it didn't mean also getting to view that pert, freckled ass as he bent over to get the creases just right.

"So, what say you add another tradition to your birthday, hm?" Dorian asked, looking down as Lavellan undid one of the belts strapped across his chest.

"Dorian, traditions take many years to form an' a new habit of mine can't just be requested like a tavern song," Lavellan explained, looking up with an amused glare.

"So what you're saying is that if we have birthday sex often enough, it'll just become a habit?" Dorian grinned. "Well, that does sound like a fun task." Lavellan didn't say anything, but the way he bit down on his lower lip was telling enough. "What about every Saturday night? We could start forming the tradition now, too!"

"Don't push your luck," Lavellan said, rolling his eyes. He folded Dorian's shirt against his chest. "I'd hate for sex to turn into a habit of charity, after all."

"Charity?" Dorian gasped, holding a jokingly offended hand to his chest. "My ass is a gift I give to you, Lavellan!"

Lavellan laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Okay, you might be right about that..."

Dorian—even if most knew him as a bit of a selfish man—was more than willing to give gifts to people he particularly liked, and with Lavellan, really, his gifts were hardly without a good gift in return.

"Happy birthday, Lavellan," Dorian said through heavy breaths, looking up at the elf above him, his vision slightly obscured by the pieces of his once neat hair falling into his eyes.

"Thanks?" Lavellan said back, smiling a little awkwardly. "I'm... not quite sure how to respond to that. Was that right?"

Dorian wrapped his arms around the back of the elf's neck, pulling him down into a kiss. "Absolutely perfect," Dorian said between kisses. "Now, keep going, will you?"

"I'm tryin', but you keep distractin' me with your words!" Lavellan laughed.

Oh, Aelon, Dorian thought, happy to call the Inquisitor his first name in the privacy of his own head. The bed shook and Dorian buried his hands in Lavellan's silky hair as his heart rate switched into double time. He could only hope that, whatever birthdays the elf had in the future, that they only improved and that he was included in them. Sure, ancient darkspawn claiming to be magister lords and holes in the sky were pressing issues, but making Lavellan happy as can be and securing a place by his side was on the same level—if not higher. I love you, amatus. Happy birthday.