"Not going soft on me now, are you Inquisitor?" Varric chuckled, know that was probably a little too cute by half, but some people flush and stammer when they get nervous—Varric tells bad jokes. Above him, Inquisitor Lavellan laughed, ducking his head so that his hair covered his wide eyes.
"Definitely not." He grinned with less confidence than usual, the red tips of his elongated, delicate ears betraying everything Varric needed to know. "Just never thought I’d…we’d…Maker’s breath, but I sound like a fool."
"There’s a war on, the Veil’s torn, and we’re in bed together. I’d say we’re all a little foolish." With a sideways grin, Varric stroked the Inquisitor’s side, placing his hand firm on his lower back to draw him near. "Now I know I’m a little rusty, but if I remember correctly…" he ran his fingers up Lavellan’s spine, smiling at the shiver as he reached his neck and cupped his cheek. Gentle pressure brought him close enough to kiss one of those flushed ears, and the Inquisitor made a quiet, strangled noise low in his throat. "Yep," said Varric. "That’s the spot right there."
"Maker," murmured Lavellen.
"I prefer "handsome" as a nickname, but I’ll take that for now."
"You’re too much," he said with a nervous smile.
"I certainly hope not."
The inquisitor laughed again, but this time he brought his lips to Varric’s, tentative at first, but gaining confidence with the tilt of Varric’s head and the pressure of his hand cradling the back of his neck. He shifted his weight, straddled Varric’s thigh, and kissed him hard, all tongue and need as he slid his fingers into Varric’s hair and gripped it, finally relaxing enough to rest against Varric’s barrel chest.
When they parted, Varric caught a glimpse of his eyes, all pupil, half-lidded and hungry, and for the first time in years, found himself speechless.