Chapter Text
“Mistrust is the most necessary characteristic of the Chess player” (Siegbert Tarrasch)
Too much lyrium. He had known this at the time but it had been one tough dragon. Anything to give them the edge, help them defeat the beast without any casualties. As such, it was inevitable that his dreams would take him back to the Fade. How long had it been since he had last entered here? How long since that last demon had tried to win him over with delectable words and a fine body? A desire demon, of course. They always were; temptation was forever going to be his weakness and they knew it.
This time the Fade resembled a mess of features from Skyhold: tall keep walls, open courtyards, banners dancing in the breeze. The decorations were lavish, however, with silk and gold brocade giving it a touch of refinement that it could never achieve in real life. It was also empty of people and the air warm, quite unlike the usual sting of chill from the Frostbacks. He wandered for a time finding his anticipation build for whatever delights the latest demon would have to offer him, what physical pleasures he could lure from the demon without letting it reach the point of possession. A small part of him hoped for a change, for there to be a pride demon in the form of Madame Giselle for him to torment. Now that would be fun.
Eventually, his exploration led to the garden courtyard where a lone person - demon - sat waiting for him at the chessboard in the guise of Commander Cullen. An unexpected apparition, but certainly not unwelcome.
"My, my, you've come to tempt me as that handsome thing?"
The demon gave a perfectly Cullenesque self-conscious laugh and, to Dorian's surprise, actually blushed. It gestured towards the board with a gloved hand and asked, "Would you like to play?"
"Oh, I'd love to play with you."
Dorian seated himself opposite noting the improvement in the now-armless and padded chairs, running an appraising eye over the demon's form as he did so. The Commander was a delicious gift to the eyes, especially when practising with the soldiers, sweat lining his brow, muscles hefting sword and shield. It was a damn shame he insisted on wearing that appalling rug, hiding what Dorian suspected to be particularly fine assets when viewed from behind. He was disappointed to see the rug making an appearance today.
"Winner takes all?" The demon asked coyly.
"Oh, I don't think so. Your stakes are a bit too rich for my tastes. We'll play for fun but you can still try your best to tempt me. I must say I don't rate your chances: I have played this game several times before and, as you can see, am yet to be possessed."
The game proceeded rather predictably, with the demon gaining the upper hand as the Commander would and Dorian resorting to his usual slight-of-hand to cheat his way out of tight spots. Although he enjoyed flirting throughout and seeing the demon's approximation of the Commander's pink-tinged skin at every innuendo-laden remark, it highlighted why his usual teasing only went so far. The Commander was a painfully timid creature when it came to blunt allusions of a sexual nature, leaving Dorian wondering if he had any experience with men or women. The fantasy of taking someone for the first time, of coaxing them into the unknown, luring them out of shyness, was not one that Dorian relished, preferring someone a little more self-assured. Having higher expectations of a desire demon, it wasn't long before their game of chess began to bore him.
"Determined to play it coy, then? " he asked. "Going to make me do all the chasing today?"
"I thought you enjoyed the thrill of the chase," the demon replied, its resolute tone of voice now a stark contrast to the softer, weaker pitch it had used when fully immersing itself in the role of the Commander only moments before.
"Only when the prey is worth catching."
"But I know you find this form appealing."
"The body, yes; the whole package, less so. And, if we're here for you to tempt me, then persistent bashful evasion of anything physical is certainly not going to win me over."
The demon eyed him with consideration before leaning forward, resting chin in hand, elbows on the table knocking several pieces over and biting at its lower lip thoughtfully.
"So we'll dispense with how your Commander usually behaves and get straight to business?"
"That sounds a little more agreeable."
"I could let you devour this body every night. There would be no 'bashful evasion', just unadulterated lust. All the parts of the man that you'd love to get to know intimately without having to deal with his inexperience."
"I like where some of this is going."
"Only some?"
"Oh, you know the part that I'm reluctant to indulge in. Besides, I might like to look at the man but it doesn't actually mean I'll enjoy the reality. Perhaps you should let me have a taster before I agree to anything?" Dorian felt a booted foot rub up against his leg under the table and smiled coquettishly. It was ironic, he considered, how easily some of these desire demons could be manipulated. "Is that all I get? A game of footsie? Surely you have more to offer than that?"
The demon drew back and nonchalantly used the same foot to tip the table over to one side with a thud, chess board and pieces sent scattering across the stone paving. Taking its time, it stood and moved closer, step by step, until the bulk of the Commander's body was leaning over him. Dorian's breath caught at the proximity and then again when the demon rested a hand on his shoulder as it bent down to sit astride him.
"Now this is definitely more promising," Dorian purred, running his hands up and down firmly along the broad thighs, feeling the weight of the Commander in his lap and smelling the tang of leather and metal polish from the plates of armour. This attention to detail on the part of the demon was going to make this delightful.
Drawing the Commander's face towards his own, Dorian leaned in but stopped briefly in surprise before letting their lips make contact. It was the tang of lyrium on the Commander's breath that had given him a moment's pause, an element that felt wrong. Templars during training or out in the field would reek of it as it permeated through their sweat, and those whom Dorian had spoken to in the Herald's Rest exhaled it on their ale-sodden breaths. He had assumed lyrium was part and parcel of the Commander's way of life, too, and the demon had evidently picked up on this assumption. It was only now that he realised the Commander didn't smell like other Templars. Pushing the thought to one side for further consideration at a later date, he focussed on the feel of the mouth working its way against his own, stubble grazing his face and the soldier's muscled legs under his hands. A soft moan of pleasure escaped from his lips and to his dismay the demon pulled back breaking the kiss.
"Is that the entirety of my 'taster'?" Dorian asked as he ran his hands up the front of the Commander's chest plate, stopping at buckles that fixed it in place at the shoulders. "Or am I allowed to peruse the merchandise beneath the armour?"
The demon smiled and nodded, shifting in Dorian's lap as buckles were loosened, rug unpinned and plates peeled off to reveal an undershirt with laces that started at the neckline and promisingly ended mid-chest. Toying with the threads of fabric, Dorian idly ran the tips of his fingers across the ridge of collarbone underneath. He slipped an index finger around one of the laces and tugged it free from the first hole, then the next, then... a sudden pull around his throat yanked him backwards. For a moment he couldn't breathe. His vision faded, images blurring to a dull grey. A ring of sharp pain wound its way around his neck at the same time that his pool of magic was being dragged away out of reach. Although he writhed and clawed at a leather strap that seemed to be the source of his pain, he was helpless. The last time - the only time - he had experienced this was... no, it couldn't be. His father wouldn't, not again? Crying out in desperation, Dorian stilled suddenly at the weight of an iron boot placed firmly on his chest and the edge of a sharp blade held under his jaw.
"Be still, demon."
His eyes having been squeezed tight from the pain, were cautiously opened and he winced at the brightness. The dark outline of Cassandra stood over him holding a sword to his throat.
"Get off me!" he hissed, trying to sound less vulnerable than he felt.
"Silence! We don't need to hear your poisonous words." The sword pressed closer and he froze, wondering what on Thedas he done to deserve this treatment as Cassandra barked out the order, "Bind his wrists."
"Are you sure that's really necessary?"
"We can't take any chances, Inquisitor. Even without access to magic, an abomination can be dangerous."
Dorian couldn't help himself from speaking out again, despite the ever-present point of blade at his neck. "Abomination? You can't be ser--"
The boot pressed harder in warning. "I will end you. If you are not possessed, then I suggest you behave and we can confirm your claims back at Skyhold."
At these words, he had to fight the panic rising within him: Skyhold was at least four hours ride away. Four hours of having this device strapped around his neck. Four hours of being unable to defend himself, of playing the part of their slave. How he hated these southern barbarians.
**