"That staff's in pretty good shape, Dorian." He winked. "You spend a lot of time polishing it?"
"Ahh." A sigh was all he got for that one—a sigh that perfectly expressed rolling eyes and "your painful, peasant attempts at wit bore me" without Dorian having to lower himself to such plebian words and mannerisms.
Damn. It was disappointing not to get sniped at. Better luck next time.
Traveling together was becoming more frequent. Trevelyan hadn't asked Dorian along much before this. Krem said it was because fighting alongside someone you were attracted to was a bad idea. Led to mistakes in battle, messed with your focus. And now, apparently, that was no longer a concern, so Dorian was becoming the favored mage in their parties, and Bull was still getting the call because the boss was worried about him, wanted to make sure he had plenty of shit to do.
So Bull and Dorian were spending a lot more time on the road together. And Bull was thinking Krem was wrong this time, because fighting with Dorian wasn't difficult at all. It was hot, watching what Dorian could do, but it didn't distract him. It sharpened his focus even more, looking for those moments when he could swing just right and turn their attack into a combined assault of pure power and beauty.
They were starting to harmonize on the battlefield in ways that did things to Bull's dick.
A shout—a group ahead had spotted them. Looked like Venatori, or maybe…Who cares? Bad guys!
It was a good battle. Fighting and taking guys apart was always fun, but when lightning and fire were raining down around you? Ataashi…
"Nice work with the magic back there Dorian. You're pretty good at blowing guys up."
"It's significantly more impressive than hitting them with a sharp piece of metal." This, apparently, was how Dorian accepted a compliment.
"Hey, woah, let's not get crazy." Dorian tossed his head and picked up the pace, creating distance…and a nice rear view.
They hadn't "talked."
Really, there had been no opportunity. Time in Skyhold had been scant lately; time together on the road was plentiful, but there was no privacy, and Bull didn't need Ben-Hassrath skills to figure out that Dorian probably didn't want to discuss any incredibly hot drunken kissing with the rest of their companions all sitting around listening.
Dorian also hadn't been to the tavern lately. Bull didn't know when things had decisively ended between him and the boss, but one of Trevelyan's good qualities was honesty, so he guessed the Inquisitor hadn't made a move with Josephine until he'd cleared things up with Dorian. So Dorian probably knew before the rest of Skyhold heard, but he'd decided to handle this one privately. Bull fully intended to respect that.
"Watch where you're pointing that thing!" This, as Dorian ducked to avoid the blade of his axe when the narrowing trail pushing them a little too close together. Not that Dorian was really in danger; he had about two feet of clearance, and Bull was well aware of every inch. He had horns—he was used to watching out for the unwitting who got too close.
However, explaining all that wouldn't be fun at all, so instead Bull just grinned. "Dirty!"
"Vishante kaffas, I meant your weapon!"
There it was. That fire, that snapping, sparking heat. Damn, that was exciting. This was making up for all the bad shit that had happened lately, because Bull had never really flirted with the 'Vint before. The boss had taken a shine to him pretty quickly, and Bull had a job to do at the time—get in good with the Inquisitor and learn everything he could. Humans could get territorial about the people they had sex with, and Bull wasn't always sure where those lines were. So, he'd just made a habit of not flirting if he could tell someone else had an interest there; and until now, someone very important had been interested in Dorian.
Now, all bets were off, and at the risk of overdoing it, Bull was having fun making up for lost time.
"Oh, pardon me. I do have a pretty big weapon. You could hold it some time, if you wanted. Get a feel for the weight, the size…"
He stopped abruptly when a small bolt of very hot lightning zapped past his face and fried a nearby tree—probably left a little blister on his nose, too, it was that close. Dorian, calm and regal as could be, declared, "I think not. Qunari weapons may be big, but size will not guarantee your safety. I might accidentally damage your weapon," he flicked his fingers as though studying his trimmed nails, and more sparks darted along their elegant lengths, "and we wouldn't want that."
Hot.
Bull wondered if Dorian dyed his hair. There was a real streak of redheaded temper in there.
"These big, muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns, I. Would. Conquer. You."
Squeezing his eyes shut, Dorian put his book down. "Cole, your impression of the Bull is absolutely terrible. Please never do it again."
"Sorry, Dorian. But you kept thinking it, dreaming it, hearing it…"
"Yes yes, all right."
It was true. Several weeks of traveling on various missions, and the Bull had decided to get painfully, inescapably clear about his intentions. Two weeks later, finally back in Skyhold for a short rest, and Dorian still couldn't get it out of his mind.
Or rather, there was one specific part he couldn't get out of his mind.
It wasn't the pinning and it wasn't the conquering, though admittedly Dorian liked big men who could do both. And it certainly wasn't the threat to his beautiful robes—although, again, Dorian had cherished a few fantasies about the Inquisitor tearing his clothes off, but that had been early on, when he was stuck wearing some functional but not at all attractive robes purely for the practical benefits.
"Gripping, holding, hanging from wide, rough horns…"
"Honestly Cole, please!" Dorian snapped the book closed and turned to glare at the spirit. He huffed. "You can sense when people are feeling…arousal? Desire? Yes?"
"Yes." A slow blink. "Warm, wanting, tingling, breathless, burning in the belly…"
"Quite so," Dorian cut him off. "Now, try to remember this—whenever you sense people feeling that way, you should definitely not speak what they are thinking about. In fact, you should try your best not to even hear those thoughts. They are private. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I understand private," Cole cocked his head. "But it's hard. Sometimes the wanting is so strong, it calls me like a hurt. I want to help you, Dorian. You wouldn't let me help with Maxwell; can't I help you this time?"
Taking a deep breath, Dorian composed himself. That ache was nearly two months old, and really, it was nearly gone. He was a little surprised at how quickly his dashed hopes had faded. Rilienus had stung so much longer…but perhaps one grew seasoned by disappointment. Who knew? Either way, it was true that Cole had been terribly distressed at first. Dorian had been forced to have a talk with him, because Cole's wish to help was making him offer things he shouldn't, and Dorian did not want to become a danger to Cole's very nature. Solas had been most helpful—he'd convinced the Inquisitor to take himself and Cole away from Skyhold for a while, without giving away the true reason. By the time they returned, Dorian had dealt with the worst of the pain, and Solas had probably given Cole some good advice to help him see why it was vital that he not lose himself in trying to help another.
"Cole, I'm fine. I didn't need your help with…the Inquisitor. I recovered on my own. Sometimes we humans need to do that. It makes us strong."
"Will thinking about The Iron Bull's horns make you strong?"
"Eh…" Dorian floundered. "Ah, perhaps."
"But it always makes you feel so weak…"
"Enough! This…I can't begin to explain it right now. Go help someone else, I'm desperately in need of silence."
Cole nodded and was gone, but the subject lingered.
And as you gripped my horns…
The trouble was, the idea was entirely new. He'd never done a thing like that. Never bedded a qunari, after all, so there had never been any opportunity.
The trouble also was, Dorian could so easily picture it.
He could imagine the thick, rough, solid horns in his hands, could feel himself gripping them so tight his palms would begin to sting. Then he'd hold on and lean back, holding himself up by those horns…and the Bull would take half his weight with his neck and back muscles alone. The thought of that, the memory of watching Bull's muscles bunch and tighten in battle…made Dorian shiver.
He wondered if Bull could hold him up entirely, those massive hands under his thighs and arse, carrying his weight while Dorian held on to his horns and Bull thrust up into him so hard, so powerfully that it overwhelmed him. He imagined his arms would feel limp and useless after something like that—maybe every inch of his body would ache with exhaustion and a bone-deep satisfaction.
As you gripped my horns…
Dorian heard a snort and startled, straightening up suddenly and yanking his thumb away from his mouth, embarrassed to realize he'd been chewing the nail. Sera was right there in front of him, giving him an utterly blatant smirk.
"Thinkin about jousting?"
"I'm thinking," Dorian sighed, "about locking myself in my room to avoid these interruptions." Not that it would help, he reflected. Neither Cole nor Sera were deterred by locks.
"Nah," Sera dismissed with a flapping hand. "You're thinkin about bumpin naughty bits with someone. And I bet I know who, too!"
"I assure you…"
"You've got a thing for Bull! His thing in your thing…doing things. You want to see what all the fuss is about."
"Sera…"
"Look Dorian, I don't know when you had your last tumble, yeah? But you need one. I always know. But Bull says he can't slam you up against a wall unless you asks him to, so…"
Dorian choked. He felt faint. "Of course…naturally you've discussed my level of sexual activity with Iron Bull. Why should anything in Skyhold be considered personal?
"Oh, shut it." Sera hopped to her feet. "Go get your Qun-y cherry popped before I have to get my beehive." As if that made her point perfectly, Sera vanished.
Doggedly, Dorian returned to his book, determined to forget both horns and his recently dubbed "qunari virginity."
It wasn't fifteen minutes before Maxwell Trevelyan showed up. Oh, Maker.
Smile brightly. "I heard a little rumor about you. Someone's been doing some training—as an assassin, no less."
The Inquisitor was, quite unfairly, adorable as he discussed his training—earnest in his desire to do his job better, humble in his accomplishments so far. That little thread of longing left in Dorian tugged his heart with every sweet smile. He envied Josephine, and he was nowhere near a good enough man to feel guilty about it either. She had the heart of such a wonderful man; she should be prepared for some envy.
"In any case, you didn't come to discuss your dagger lessons with a mage. It there something I can help with?"
The Inquisitor grinned. "Indeed. I've a special mission and I'd like you to come. It involves fine wine, food, music, politics, high society, and probably murderous plotting. You should be brilliant for it."
Eyebrows raised, Dorian hummed. "It sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"
The Inquisitor shrugged. "Orlesians."
Dorian waved that off. "The wine alone should make up for that. Anything else?"
A slight wince. "You'll have to wear red…"
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "Well…that isn't exactly good to hear, but a man of my incredible beauty can make even a garish color look appealing."
"…Shoulder pads."
Dorian's expression froze in horror. "Please tell me you're joking."
The Chargers' training had been interrupted so many times this afternoon that Bull was beginning to wonder if he should just start running around like the boss, paying everyone a visit for a quick chat and making sure they didn't need anything. Then start his boys on their drills. Maybe that was why Trevelyan did it—to avoid interruptions later.
Thank his luck for Krem—always ready to take over giving orders while Bull dealt with another visitor.
First it had been Sera, scooping pie into her mouth while prodding him with innuendos and then abruptly asking when he was planning to plow Dorian Pavus into the nearest horizontal—or vertical—surface.
Then it was Cole, perching on a dummy in defiance of gravity and alliterating cryptically about wants, needs, and fears. Bull wanted to help the kid get his head out of the clouds and work better with people, but he was a bit busy at the moment. Cole eventually vanished.
After that, the boss swung by to discuss an upcoming mission. "I'd like you to bring the Chargers on this. Maker knows having a little backup nearby isn't a bad idea, and there's a chance we may have work for them after, depending on how things go." An apologetic slap on the arm. "I'd bring you to the ball, but the situation is delicate, so I'm avoiding scandalous gossip this time. Cassandra, Vivienne, and Dorian will blend in better in the Winter Palace. Well," he winced, "maybe not Dorian, once they hear 'Tevinter,' but he can handle that. Rejection doesn't bother him."
Bull blinked, his expression pleasant, blank, and frozen. "Sure, boss." After the thing with his father, after you dumped him for someone else… Of course, Trevelyan probably wasn't thinking in personal terms; he was thinking in the context of high society. Still, it seemed to Bull to be an awfully glib thing to say. Do you even really know if it bothers him or not? Maybe the Inquisitor was also an insensitive ass. Still better than if he'd meant to be cruel, which Bull knew he hadn't—even so… "We traveling with your group or arriving separate?"
"We'll travel there together, but then split outside Val Royeaux. We don't want to show up with anything that could be construed as military force; things are volatile enough as it is. You'll bring the Chargers in a little later. I'll have Josephine book you into the inn closest to the palace—which should be very nice accommodations. Not the Winter Palace itself, but I didn't think you'd mind."
"Sounds good boss. I'll have the boys ready."
"Excellent. We depart five days hence, at dawn as usual."
Once the Inquisitor had gone, Krem joined him, standing side by side and surveying the drills.
"You could ask to stay in the palace if you like, Chief."
"Trying to get rid of me, Krem de la Crème?" Bull slapped his back. "You know I won't get between you and the barmaids."
Krem snorted. "Just thought you might like to be closer to the Inquisitor's group. More accessible, like. All that finery, and being away from all the eyes and ears around Skyhold…could make certain people more comfortable. Maybe somebody'd pay you a visit, if they had a good chance."
Grinning, Bull rubbed his chin. "You think the Seeker will finally decide to share one of those rose-petal baths with me? I'm good with that…though I still might try to talk her into violets."
Eyes rolling, Krem left to march down the line again and bark more orders.
As if on cue, Cassandra appeared. She was stomping across the yard like she was out for blood—and headed straight for Bull.
Nah…humans don't hear that good…
Still not knowing what the problem was, Bull braced for a lashing—whether verbal or physical, he wasn't sure.
Instead, the Seeker marched straight up to him, then stopped and stiffly turned to stand beside him, in Krem's recently vacated spot. Her posture was tight and stiff, her hands clasped together like she was trying not to punch someone, and her scowl was…well, a terrifying thing of beauty.
"Something wrong, Seeker?" Bull ventured carefully. He didn't think he'd done anything to earn her ire, but she was clearly upset about something, and he'd help if he could.
She cleared her throat. Swept her eyes over the Chargers. Finally glanced at him, nervously. "I…enjoy fighting at your side, Bull. I respect your abilities. And…I hope I may consider you…a friend."
"Sure. Same here." Hm. Unexpected.
"You must know that there are some matters in which I am not the most experienced…nor the most qualified to offer advice. However, when a friend is suffering, one does what one can."
"Yeah…" Bull's mind was already busily ticking through everyone he knew, trying to imagine who Cassandra could be talking about.
"And so…allow me to say…you have my support."
Bull blinked. "Pardon?"
"If you truly love each other, you should be happy, no matter who objects. Such love is worth fighting for. And if there is ever anything a friend can do to help, you have only to ask." She straightened even further, letting out a sharp exhale. "There. That is all I wished to say." With a curt nod, the Seeker turned and was gone.
Bull was left rooted in place by his utter bewilderment…until he heard a raspy chuckle some distance behind him. He turned and looked, but saw no one. However, his ears tracked the laughter easily, and Bull soon discovered Varric on the other side of a low wall, leaning against the stone and red in the face from laughter.
"Alright…not sure I want to know, but—who am I supposed to be in love with?"
Varric coughed, trying to get a hold of himself. "Don't ask me, Tiny. I didn't tell her anything."
Bull crossed his arms over his chest. "Right. And you being here right now is just a big coincidence. Come on, Varric. No Ben-Hassrath would buy that."
"Honest—I didn't." Varric shrugged, still grinning. "I am working on a short novel, though. It's possible the Seeker caught a glimpse of the manuscript." He pulled a little bound journal out. Bull took it, but didn't need to read further than the first page.
"The Magister's Qunari Lover?" Under that was a tag line: "Two worlds tearing them apart: Tevinter and Qunari, with only love to keep them together." Bull sighed at the final caption. "'Inspired by a true story' Varric? Really?"
More muffled chuckling. "I guess she put a few things together and came up with her own version of what's going on."
Dorian would probably incinerate the little book in a puff of flame, Bull was sure, but he handed it back to the owner, all patience and tolerance. "Sorry to disappoint, but there is no story to be inspired by. You're making the whole thing up."
"Am I, Tiny?" Varric tucked the book away again. "'Inspired by' doesn't need much—just an idea. And you two have been eyeing each other for long enough to give everybody that particular idea. I'm only surprised you seem to have missed it."
"Since when does looking mean 'planning to elope'?" Bull shook his head. He was used to being a little confused by the people outside the Qun, but this was a whole new level of weird.
"Hey, I didn't say anything about eloping. Just pointing out that there's been a lot of looking."
"I didn't say there wasn't, and it's no secret as far as I'm concerned. I'd be happy to have sex with Dorian any time, if he wanted it. But he hasn't asked, so there's nothing going on." He narrowed his eye at Varric. "Give the guy a break, Varric. He has enough crap to deal with. He doesn't need half of Skyhold planning his wedding."
Unapologetically shrugging, Varric clarified, "Hey, I'm not publishing. Yet. It's just an outline and some notes. I'm waiting until it happens, so I can get some details to add in. For realism." He winked. "And I didn't show the Seeker on purpose, I just caught her snooping through my writing. I'll go explain to her, if it'll make you feel better."
"Please do." Not that Bull cared, but Dorian might have a stroke if this continued, and he'd be a lot less hot if he were dead.
With that, Bull turned back to the training grounds, hoping he could finally focus on his boys before training finished for the day.
Within five minutes, Vivienne was strolling regally up to him. Bull managed to suppress his growl, turn it into an exasperated sigh instead. "Not you, too."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Ma'am, if you're here to tell me I should be having sex with Dorian, I really think I've heard that enough for one day."
A regally arched eyebrow was Vivienne's only concession to surprise. "Actually, I was coming to tell you that the suit arrived from Val Royeaux this morning. Join me for tea this afternoon and we'll make sure it still fits you."
"Oh." Bull cleared his throat. "Sure, sounds good." With only the slightest downward tilt of her chin, Vivienne indicated her opinion, and Bull quickly amended, "Uh, I mean, yes ma'am." Her expression relaxed to indicate satisfaction.
"As for Dorian," she pronounced, and Bull straightened up again, slightly. "Of course, it's none of my business with whom you pass your time, darling, but if opinions are requested, I would rather you did not engage in any intimate dalliances with our resident Tevinter. I shouldn't like to see you hurt."
That was…surprising. "Um, why do you think sleeping with Dorian would hurt me?"
With a cool glance, Vivienne calmly explained, "You have a protective streak a mile wide, my dear, and you tend to become attached to those who inspire those protective feelings. As a Tevinter in the South, Dorian provides ample opportunity for that very situation to arise."
"So you think I'd get too attached."
A single dip forward of her head—this time, an affirmative one. "Your attachment would not necessarily be a problem. Maker knows you deserve happiness as much as anyone. But Dorian is a member of the nobility—Tevinter nobility, but that is not the point—and though he may be happily living beneath his class at the moment, it cannot continue forever. Eventually, he must return to the world in which he was born…" Her gaze met Bull's, gentle but firm, "leaving you behind."
This was all very unexpected. Usually, Vivienne's appearance of kindness was an act—even toward Bull. She fooled some people, but wasn't good enough to fool a Ben-Hassrath. Maybe he was getting soft…or maybe there was a sliver of genuine kindness in her somewhere. Perhaps that was why he was still playing the imekari around her. He didn't need to, but…well, it didn't hurt.
"So…you think I shouldn't have sex with Dorian because he'll break my heart." Vivienne just hummed—she wasn't in the habit of repeating herself. Bull shook his head. "No offense, ma'am, but Dorian's pretty badass. Have you seen him fight? He's not helpless, and I don't feel any need to protect him."
Undeterred, Madam de Fer just gave him a steady look. "Don't you? I made no mention of battles, darling. There are injuries that combat skills cannot defend against."
With that, Vivienne seemed to have nothing more to say, and she departed, leaving Bull with his Chargers just as the hour for calling it quits arrived. With a less-than-enthused huff, Bull took over just to dismiss everyone. He hadn't been able to teach his boys a thing today, or to check on their progress and see how everyone was doing. He'd have to ask Krem to update him.
Luckily, Krem asked to spar, which gave Bull a nice opportunity to feel useful after all, even if only to his lieutenant.
Dorian sipped his wine and observed the dancers. He'd already done quite a bit of dancing, but when the Inquisitor led his pretty Antivan ambassador out onto the dance floor, Dorian retreated to drink and watch.
They'd already had a most exciting evening, and the sneaking around and fighting had been a welcome respite from the Orlesians. All that was concluded now, and Dorian was taking advantage of his first access to good wine since coming south. Not that it was the same—Tevinter vintages would always taste best to him, and Orlesians did seem to like to overcrowd their wines with too many flavors. Still, it was strong and went down delightfully smooth, and with all the threats and machinations dealt with, Dorian could happily indulge.
"Josie looks happy," a soft voice commented, and Dorian glanced over, unsure how long Leliana had been standing there. He didn't startle, of course—he had too much good breeding for that, not to mention the extra practice in equanimity that living near Cole provided.
Instead, he returned his eyes to the dance floor, where Inquisitor Trevelyan was being dashing, with his beloved beauty on his arm. The court was all admiration as they watched, and Dorian felt very…hollow. "She should be," he answered with a tired smile. "The most powerful, charming, sought-after man in Thedas loves her. That's cause enough for happiness, surely."
"Are you jealous?" Just as quietly asked, with a sidelong glance. Dorian sighed.
"A little, perhaps."
"She was not trying to steal him from you."
Dorian tsked. "Oh, I know, and it's not that. It's more her general condition I envy than the specific person involved."
"I see." Leliana fell silent for a few moments, then said only, "Enjoy the rest of your evening," before she slipped away.
Dorian took another glass of wine, determined to do just that. He wouldn't have minded a few more dances, even, but a rather ostentatious Orlesian had begun trying to monopolize him, and Dorian had only been able to free himself by insisting that he was too tired for any more dancing. Even that hadn't freed him from the man's presence; that was why he was in a shadowed corner now, alone with his wine. He'd slipped away and was keeping out of sight—not that he even understood his own reasons why. The man was obnoxious, but clearly not a bad man. Dorian really had no reason to act so coy; if someone wanted him, he could always spend the night with him. He had never been in the habit of turning such an offer down, and at present it had been an eternity since he'd last had sex. He could go back out there, be found within five minutes…
Or he could stay right here and drink wine.
Dorian emptied his glass and contemplated the bottle. There was a tipping point, when drinking wine, and he always felt it when he was there. It was the moment when he was still quite capable of stopping, but if he took another glass, by the time that one was gone he would probably take another without thinking about it. Then he'd consider stopping, but by that point he wouldn't care, and he'd have another glass, and after that he wouldn't care about much at all. A few glasses later, he'd wake up in the morning to the sound of someone snoring, and he would probably never find his smallclothes in his rush to sneak out.
The pattern was so familiar from his licentious days that when Dorian had begun to clean his life up somewhat, he'd instituted a rule. Every time he stood upon the tipping point, before he took that next glass of wine, he made himself drink a glass of water with lemon. He'd made far fewer mistakes since adopting that rule.
Orlais had no lemons, unfortunately. They had strawberries, and Dorian tried to make do, but the tang of citrus had become a familiar, friendly reminder. Without it, the water didn't seem to work quite as well. It slowed him down a bit, but it didn't do anything to curb his interest in another glass of wine.
So there Dorian was, hiding in the shadows of the ballroom, back to staring at the bottle of wine. It seemed to be showing him his future—the dark glass surface reflecting a vision of the rest of his night, not that Dorian needed the help. He knew exactly where he'd end up if he passed the tipping point and followed his old pattern—and it wasn't anywhere within the Winter Palace.
Dorian poured himself another glass.
