Panic. That’s what Sebastian Lavellan felt in this moment. Not to mention confusion, distress and the overwhelming urge to just cry. He’d been coming to this club for a couple of weeks now on and off, a place specifically designed for people exploring the BDSM lifestyle and finding their footing in it. He hadn’t tried any scenes in all that time, trying to just observe and maybe talk to a few people until he was ready and willing to find someone to try things with. Unfortunately his eventual choice had been a bad one, feeling perhaps a little too needy and on the edge of a submissive headspace had made him agree to the scene with a total stranger that he might have otherwise said no to. 

Which is how he found himself on the floor, kneeling in the main floor of the club with a rough pair of fingers in his hair, tugging violently enough to make him yell as he head condescending, vulgar words being taunted at him by the nameless Dominant above him. This didn’t feel right, it was supposed to feel good wasn’t it? But it didn’t, every harsh tug and cruel word just made Sebastian feel worse and worse, his head spinning into a completely different kind of headspace as the young man was completely ill equipped to handle this. No disucssed limits, safe words or easing into anything and the longer it went on the worse the panic got and the more helpless he felt. Tears welling up in his eyes, his body shaking and wanting to say something, anything to get this man to stop but it was just getting worse and worse and he felt more and more helpless. But it wasn’t until he felt that large hand slap his cheek and felt the sting against his skin that the first tear fell and a broken sob passed his lips as Sebastian felt his entire world spin.

Truthfully Lavellan couldn’t have guessed his life would take this turn. Everything from gaining the anchor, being praised as the Herald to a god he didn’t even worship to this - having been captured by a group of rogues, the leader of which was currently looming over him in this dingy cell in heavens only knows where, buried deep inside him as dirty, taunting words slipped passed his lips. The Inquisitor had no idea about who these men was, particularly the leader currently pressing his large, human frame against the elf’s leaner, slimmer one. Were they hired by someone or working on their own accord, was he captured for ransom, slavery, execution or something else entirely? He had no idea.

He also wasn’t sure how his clever tongue, a shared bottle of wine with his kidnapper had led to this. But here he was, sprawled out on the sad excuse for a bed on this cell and legs forced open as the mage elf felt was fucked by the very man who had caught him. Flush filling his cheek, shame and arousal coursing through his body at the taunting words about his men seeing them like this, seeing the Herald being used like a common wench. Hands cuffed, throat collared and back arching at a particular thrust that made the world seem dizzy for a moment and a strangled moan passed his lips. “And what...does that make you then?” He managed to say, voice shaking and trying to show some defiance to the man looming above him. “Is..this part of the job to, to do- ah...this?”

The Winter Palace had already proven it to be quite the event - what with an assassination plot lingering in the background, a couple of dead bodies already found and apparently an elven army somewhere in the distance ready to go to war if need be. All of which and more was currently on Inquisitor Lavellan’s plate to deal with but right now his attention was focused very much elsewhere, specifically on his Commander and the men and women currently flocked around him. Lavellan didn’t have to be close or hear them to know these men and women of nobility were shamelessly flirting with the Commander, perhaps even seduce the man. After all he was the leading Commander of the Inquisitor’s army which was a powerful and impressive title and considering Orlesians loved to play ‘the game’ and advance themselves in the world having a husband with that kind of title and power would be most impressive. Then again perhaps some of them simply wished to say they’d slept with the Commander and were living out some wicked little fantasy while they remained masked and somewhat anonymous. 

Lavellan watched on with some amusement and sympathy for Cullen, seeing by his posture and expression he was a mixture of uncomfortable, annoyed, tired and a little flustered by the attention. The elf couldn’t help but wonder if the Commander was just not interested because he hated the game and saw through their act or was there perhaps a small part of him that was denying those advances because of his interest laying elsewhere. Lavellan and the Commander had indeed had some interesting...moments, together. Nothing scandalous, a playful flirtatious comment from Lavellan which would get a bashful laugh and lingering gaze from the Commander before he’d quickly stop himself and go back into ‘work’ mode. Those moments had been happening more and more and each time the elven mage could of sworn he’d felt Cullen’s lingering gaze on him every time he walked away. 

Perhaps it was the thrill of the night, the drama of it all or the second glass of some incredibly expensive Orlesian champagne talking but Lavellan felt himself becoming more daring the longer he watched Cullen being surrounded and perhaps just the smallest bit possessive in the same moment. Whatever the reason, he found himself walking over with his head held high and a charming smile of his own on his face. “My apologies ladies and gentlemen, but I must steal my Commander from you. If you’ll excuse me” Lavellan said with his most charming of smiles before his arm snaked around Cullen’s waist securely and tugged him along and couldn’t help but hope everyone read into the rather intimate gesture as his long, soft fingers rested on the man’s hip in an ever so slightly possessive manner and began to walk away with the man. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”

Since coming to Skyhold and the Inquisition finally finding their leader there had been many who had made the journey to the fortress and many of them offering aid of varying kinds. Some provided materials or supplies, others offered agents or soldiers and some offered themselves specifically for their skill and abilities. But of all the individuals that had come through here there were two particular unusual and peculiar. The Antonello brothers, twins originally from Orlais that had both made the journey to Skyhold to offer their magical abilities to the cause; what had been peculiar though was they had both come as individuals, not as a pair and since then had spent very little time together and seemingly been at odds with each other whenever they did happen to interact or were forced to communicate. 

From what time he’d been able to spend with each of them it became clear despite being twins they were rather different in personality. Ivan was confident bordering on cocky, with wandering eyes and a shameless flirt while his brother Ravus was more...reserved, determined to make a difference and perhaps a little aggressive sometimes but he clearly cared about the cause and Lavellan had a feeling his little girl he’d brought along might be why he was so focused either way; what better motivation for saving the world then your very own child. Still for the most part they left each other alone and focused on their work, but the elf had noticed tension between them seemed to be growng and Leliana had warned him that something seemed to bothering Ravus in particular and perhaps talk to him about it the next time they went on a mission together. But it seemed the Inquisitor didn’t even get the chance to do that before the mage came to him instead.

Turning his head, brown eyes looking at his personal quarters front door that he’d heard a knocking coming from. Odd, it was too late for most visits from his council and no doubt if it had been urgent Cassandra or Cullen would have made it clear by yelling for him or barging in. “Come in” He said, turning his body to face the door and placing the book he’d been examining on the small wooden table next to him. 

If there was one thing the elven mage would have been certain of is that he was never going to have it off with a Templar. Most of them had spent their time trying to drag him to the Circle despite him being part of a clan keeping mostly to themselves and away from any of the cities. Needless to say a free mage of any kind was not usually the kind of person a Templar liked with tensions building and even now becoming the Herald of Andraste and Inquisitor he had no doubt there were a few ex-Templars that secretly would like to put him in chains and keep him powerless though they’d dare not say it out loud or act on it. Sadly for them there was only one Templar he had and would enjoy being chained up for and he was currently looking right at him.

He’d been discussing things with Cullen in the War Room, going over the last mission’s success and what the plan should be now they’d pushed the enemy forces out of the Hinterlands for the moment. It wasn’t anything particularly important but it was a good distraction, that was until an even better distraction happened to be coming through. François Valmont himself, a Templar who had worked under Cullen during Kirkwall and recruited by him to join him in Skyhold to fight for the Inquisition. He was quite the sight indeed, a broad and powerful hidden under armor that rivaled Cullen himself and piercing blue eyes and a jawline that could cut glass. He was beauty and power and strength rolled up into one and he’d caught the elven mage’s eye on day one. For a while nothing had happened, then things were getting a little more tense between them which had finally bottled up not but two days ago when the tension had finally snapped and the Templar had pinned the lean elven mage against the wall and ravaged him there, rough and intense and made Lavellan feel pleasure and rush he had not felt in perhaps ever and he still had the slight bruising and wonderful sensation to remind him.

Brown eyes met blue for a moment before a message was delivered to Cullen, something about needing to talk to the troops and finishing the reports before he was gone with a bow to Lavellan and walking out, leaving the Inquisitor and the messenger and Templar in the War Room. “Thank you for bringing the message, Knight François. Though I wonder if there are not messengers or younger lads for such a task yet you chose to do so yourself” He remarked, flicking his tongue over his lips a little. “Perhaps you had another reason?” He asked with a playful raise of his eyebrow. 

Lavellan couldn't believe this was happening right now, because how was he supposed to keep composure or not feel the flush of shame or humiliation as he felt it. The feel of the large human man so close to him, that rough hand brushing across his robes and teasing him - like a a creature teasing his prey. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, trying not to make it so obvious what was happening because there were others around, people who could see this and then...

"You can't be..." He tried to say, voice cut off as he felt those fingers moving across his thighs, body feeling tight and face getting more and more flushed. Just a touch like this and he didn't feel like the Inquisitor, but the man's little elf all over again.

Being the Inquisitor as well an Elven Mage meant there were plenty of people and groups that opposed him, such as warriors like Templars or Tevinters who saw him being a mage or elven perhaps a bit of an issue or bandits, mercenary groups or certain factions within kingdoms. So needless to say, Lavellan was used to ending up in scuffles or fights or conflict with a variety of people.

What he wasn't used to was this, finding himself in the grasp the leader or main warrior of one of those groups. The sound of fabric tearing as his robes were ripped with ease by those huge hands and powerful arms - sudden wave of heat, humiliation and something else at the sheer display of strength. Lavellan squirming in their grasp, suddenly feeling a lot less like the Inquisitor and more like a helpless little elf in the grasp of the warrior.

Who would of thought in a hundred years that the elven mage would find himself with a Tevinter mage of all people, taboo as taboo can be given their cultural clashes. Still, Dorian has so effortlessly slipped past every defence he had in place and wrapped his coils around him and well, now Lavellan was his and that didn't seem to be changing any time soon.

"Hm, someone? Try everyone and you enjoy the attention far too much" He huffed, though his words had no bite and were somewhere between a small sulk and being playful. Eyes fluttering at the tease of a chaste kiss from the taller mage. "You know, if it's not such a big deal perhaps I should go allow a couple of men or followers flirt with their Inquisitor, hm?" He retorted, a slight smirk on his lips. "Since you've already said it's not an issue, you wouldn't mind would you Dorian?"