I wanted to write some ace!Dorian so here ya go
You learn not to hope for more, Dorian had told the Inquisitor, and the truth of that statement left an ache in his chest. He could remember every man he had fallen for, how desperately he had wanted to be with them in ways even he didnāt fully understand. He couldnāt care so much, that was weakness, and there was no such thing in Tevinter as romance between men. If sex was the only way he could get any sort of closeness, that was fine. For a time he could hold and be held and imagine what it could be like to have more and he needed that.
He couldn't do it any longer though. He cared too much for the inquisitor. Pretending he didn't, using and being used in return just wasn't enough anymore. He could break himself apart like he always did, but he couldnāt silence that need for something else any longer. He wanted to sleep with the Inquisitor once, it was really the only thing he knew when it came to this sort of thing and he wanted to be close so badly (and a little fun never hurt anyone), but if thatās all there was to whatever they had, he would walk away. Heād ripped his heart out of his chest too many times. But things never seemed to go as expected with the Inquisitor.
āDo we need to move things this quickly?ā
The Inquisitor wanted more as well. More, more than just sex, more than stolen kisses in back rooms. No, the Inquisitor wanted things Dorian hadnāt even thought possible. He wanted affection and tenderness and as they kissed Dorian felt dizzy from the possibilities, from the genuine emotion from this man that he cared for so much more than he should. And for once he was cared for in return.
Heād confessed it all, then; the sick feeling in his gut, waiting to be cast aside when he was no longer useful. He was breaking from how little he had left to give. Once he had confessed it all he thought surely, now, it would end like it always did. Now the Inquisitor would realize he wasnāt worth it.
Instead, he felt arms around him, holding him close. None of it mattered. The Inquisitor still cared, still wanted to hold his hand, kiss his lips. He didnāt call Dorian broken. He didnāt want to change him. They could make this work.Ā
All Dorian could do was hold onto the Inquisitor, trying to contain the swell of emotions in him; grief at the wasted time, wasted energy heād poured into people who hadnāt cared, had only taken from him, but also joy, affection, appreciation and so much more he was too overwhelmed to distinguish. For once, he cared and was cared for. For once, he didnāt have to be afraid. For once, he truly thought it all might be all right. They could make this work.
