Author's Note: I'm honestly not sure how this happened, friends. There I was, playing through Inquisition for the umpteenth time, somewhat unsatisfied with the romance options available for my Inquisitor. Then, on a whim, I watched some YouTube videos people had uploaded of party banter. There is one where Cole helpfully tells the entire party about the sexual power dynamic between the Inquisitor and Iron Bull. Mortifying, but undeniably kinda...hot. When he said the words, "She submits, but he...serves," this fell right outta my brain and onto my keyboard.
What do you all think, shall I continue this one?
This was not the first time.
That had been awhile ago, actually, and he had initiated. She wouldn't have ever approached him, though she'd been dropping hints. So he just showed up in her bedroom and gave her a choice. Asked her if she really wanted him, though he could tell from her breathing and her posture and her eyes that she did. They had a very pleasant encounter, and when it was over, it was over. She acted no differently toward him, and his demeanor certainly didn't shift.
But that afternoon hung there like an unanswered question. It was, in fact, another choice for her to make. Ben Hassrath training had instilled in him a preternatural patience (and an objectivity that made Tranquils seem excitable in comparison), but he had to admit to being pleased when he saw her making side-long glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. She also tended to lick her lips slightly more often than usual in his presence, and when they all sat around a campfire at night, though she pointedly avoided sitting next to him, she unconsciously pointed her knees in his direction. She was an inspirational leader, a skilled fighter, and even a passable diplomat, but she would have made a truly lousy spy.
The Iron Bull let their first encounter rest in her mind, allowed it enough time to germinate and send its roots down into her thoughts. Then he just sat back and watched her wrestle with herself. The Hissrad had instructed him to facilitate her success, make sure she didn't burn out or get herself killed. He could protect her and her companions with or without her cognizance, but the other half of that equation...she had to decide about on her own. He waited.
Weeks later, she stomped into the tavern just after sunset and sat next to him. When she ordered them both beer, he knew the choice had been made.
Mira Trevellyan (called her given name, Mirabelle, only by those with a death wish) had rebelled against her illustrious and entitled family since, he'd wagered, the very beginning. He could see her now, shimmying out of bedroom windows and down rain spouts, getting into adventures and fights, occasionally tumbling a visiting dignitary or barmaid, perhaps.
Yes, she was a hellion by high society's standards, but she still played by the same general rules; drinks, then small talk, then inviting a man to bend you over the furniture. It was sort of quaint, honestly. He dutifully drank his beer and talked about how the training of the Inquisition's troops progressed, all the while watching as tension made her shoulders creep up toward her earlobes. Night had fallen before she finally asked him up to her quarters-ostensibly to talk-in private.
And talking had led them to the current moment.
He loosened a single knot above each wrist and she was freed. Mira sank into him and he caught her, chuckling, though not unkindly. She was a limp, sweaty shell of her former self, muscles still trembling in her upper arms and behind her shoulder blades. He hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. She sighed into his neck, one arm dangling, the other bent so she could rest her hand at the base of his skull.
Bull smirked, padding silently across the floor toward her enormous bed. He found her complete lack of pretense charming. Others would try to act cool at this point, break away, or fill the silence with talk. Mira was silent and still, content enough to breath her hot breath into his neck. She trusted him completely, not only in carnal interactions but, more interestingly, in those vulnerable moments immediately after. She was lucky he was on her side. He lie down on his back carefully, Mira following, naturally, and sprawling out unconcernedly atop him.
"Sweet fucking Maker." Mira declared, her voice muffled by the fact that she was speaking directly into his chest.
He looked down, amused. He could only see a rumpled head of hair and the rounded peaks of her rather spectacular backside.
"For a nonbeliever you certainly do pray a lot." He observed.
Mira finally looked up, pushing sweaty hair back and away from her face. The apples of her cheeks were flushed. She's been wearing kohl around her eyes that was now running. He looked down at himself. She'd left two slightly smeary impressions of her eyes just below his collarbone. He tactfully did not comment on this.
"Just tell me one thing, Bull." She said, grinning, eyes narrowed, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "When you helped hang the crest, were you already planning to tie me to it?"
The crest she was referring to was the royal insignia of the House of Valmont, a gift from a very grateful Empress Celene. It was gigantic and heavy and ostentatious, all stone and steel, depicting a triumphant silver falcon, the golden ramparts of Halamshiral, the Sunburst Throne, the traditional helm of the Knights of blah, blah, blah, etcetera etcetera. He'd helped several soldiers affix it to the Inquisitor's wall. Coincidentally at precisely the right height to just barely keep her toes on the ground when she was tied to it by the wrists.
He shrugged modestly.
"Those little metal loopdy-loops at the bottom, conveniently just about four feet apart? Too perfect."
"You bastard. And at the time, you kept spouting all that nonsense about how proud I should be."
"Hey, hey. That wasn't nonsense. You saved the Empress' life, ended a civil war, and improved relations between Orlais and Ferelden to boot. You should be proud. I was proud of you. It's just that I was also thinking about tying you to this very, ah, pride-inducing crest in an astaarit configuration and making you come until you couldn't see straight."
She faceplanted back into his chest with a thump.
"Well. Mission accomplished." She sighed.
He chuckled, running a hand through her damp hair, down her spine, and back up.
"Mmm, glad to hear it." He murmured, cupping her skull with one hand and pressing a kiss onto her forehead.
She looked up at him, smiling slyly, then scooted up to kiss him on the mouth.
Mira's lips were soft and felt superheated, and her tongue ghosted over his softly, in sharp contrast to how their lips had met only a short time ago, when he was working her over. She broke the kiss with a grin, rolled sideways, and slid off of him.
Bull looked over at her as she stretched languidly. Mira was a tall, small-breasted and narrow-hipped, more striking than beautiful, dark of hair and eyes. As a youngster, she'd had the advantage of decent food and a fencing instructor rather than millet gruel and farm labor. It had made her strong and hale, longer of limb and fairer than most of Ferelden's peasantry. Regardless, she wasn't to the taste of most Fereldeners, who tended to like their women short and buxom and blonde, but Cremesius had commented once that she would go over well in Rivain or Antiva or even Tevinter, then bit his lip and made a sort of "Umph" sound. Bull, when he wasn't thinking like a Ben Hassrath, thought she was hotter than nine hells, especially when she was kicking ass and taking names. Or when she had his cock in her mouth.
Mira sat up, her lips forming an O, eyes narrowed. She was a little sore but mostly unscathed, he observed, other than a few mouth-shaped marks on her torso, and one tucked away, he knew, on the softer flesh of her inner thigh.
"Oh my." She said, standing carefully and stretching again, going up on her toes, the long, lean muscles of her calves and thighs flexing. She padded off toward the little room where she kept her washbasin and other toilette.
"None the worse for the wear, I hope?" He called after her.
"Hah. No. I actually feel like I've had a full body massage as well as being fucked senseless." She called around the corner, then groaned. "Though I'll be walking like someone who's been too long in the saddle tomorrow."
Bull smiled to himself, and finally stood. He had mostly redressed when she emerged, looking freshly scrubbed.
"Are we back in the field tomorrow, boss?" He asked, slipping back into his usual role along with his armor.
Mira slid back into bed, throwing an arm over her face.
"Oh yes, more demons, reanimated corpses, murderous Templars, and probably pissed-off wildlife out in the middle of podunk-nowhere. You game?"
"Wow, fun-and-a-half. Count me in." He said dryly, walking toward the staircase.
She laughed, and he turned back for a moment. Mira had already closed her eyes. She looked minute in the gigantic bed, the coverlet pulled up to her chin, dark hair unbound and unruly, falling around her like a disorderly shadow, lashes dark against her cheeks.
Unable to help himself, he went back to her bedside, bending down to kiss each eyelid softly. Then he pinched out the candle.