"Beat me at my own damn game
Fucking with my goddamn brain
Now I will never win again
Better to love than to have and to hold."
"Deep Green" ~ Marika Hackman
It had started thus:
They had been waiting for Solas to activate one of those odd elven artifacts they kept encountering after a nasty clash with Venatori operatives. Dorian had been in a foul, foul mood, feeling particularly upset about Tevinter, its politics, and how out of control the Venatori had become. During combat he had not held back. The raging fire he'd cast over their opponents, charring them to a morbid crisp, still smoldered inside the cave they had rushed into. Afterwards he had overheard Blackwall complain about his beard getting singed.
"Of all the affronts to decency and coiffure, my modest burning of your unruly beard can hardly be considered a crime," Dorian stated, his hand still clenched tightly around his staff even after the battle.
"Stand guard while we set up the wards. We'll head back once we're done," Evelyn announced as she and Solas climbed down a rickety ladder into a crudely dug out shaft beneath the cave.
They'd watched as Evelyn and Solas reached the bottom, the torch of ghostly veilfire fading from their view as the two below turned a corner.
"I need some air," Bull exhaled, wandering to the cavern's entrance.
Dorian followed soon after, growing annoyed at Blackwall's passive-aggressive beard rubbing. He remained at a slight distance, his eyes casually drifting to the muscular Qunari stretching out his stiff muscles, filling his chest with air. After a bit, Bull realized he was not alone and met his gaze.
"Quite the stink eye you've got going, Dorian," the Qunari told him.
He glared, his anger still burning within, a restlessness and dissatisfaction he could not explain even to himself surfacing.
"You stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden, with no thought save conquest!"
Far from being stung by Dorian's words, Bull simply crossed his large, strong arms across his strapping chest with a provocative half smile.
"That's right. 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."
Completely off guard.
"Um... what?"
"Oh. Is that not where we're going?" Bull retorted with a mix of surprise and…was it disappointment? Sheepishness? More mockery? Dorian couldn't tell. And that annoyed him even further.
"No. It was very much not," the mage huffed.
Ridiculous! he thought, forcing himself to avert his eyes from the heaving chest whittled in scars.
A loud burst from underneath the cave shook the ground.
"Spiders!" echoed the warning.
Blackwall immediately gripped the ladder and slid down into the dark shaft.
"What is he doing? Dorian growled. "There is no light down there!"
He ran towards the opening to follow him. If he didn't incinerate something right then, if he did not find any release for his tension, he was quite sure he was going to lose his mind.
Back at Skyhold a couple days later he had engaged in the usual theatrics he performed to preserve his reputation as a sophisticated connoisseur of finer things. An agreement between himself and the bartender Cabot, sealed with a few well spent coins for his silence on the matter, ensured that anytime he ordered "the usual," a tankard of nondescript ale would be placed on the bar with no further announcement or information. The nondescript ale was, of course, Fereldan beer, something he went to great pains to conceal from his companions. The fact most of them, even Varric, would not touch the stuff except under great duress, made him very self conscious of his predilections.
But he liked the bitter, hops-filled flavor, savoring every sip, licking the foam off his lips blissfully.
The first tankard went down smoothly.
"Only the good stuff, isn't that so?" Varric had remarked, watching the expression of contentment cross his face as he set the empty tankard down with a heavy thunk. "Heard you pay some pretty coin to get your Tevinter ale," he continued. Dorian smiled inwardly. He'd have to reward Cabot for that one. "I could see if my contacts could get you a better deal. Trade with Tevinter isn't really sanctioned, but it all depends on who's doing the trading, you know…" Varric offered, in a low voice.
"I'll keep it in mind," he said flippantly, pointing at his empty tankard while seeking to catch Cabot's attention behind the bar.
Our little secret.
One of the many I've had to keep about myself during the course of my life, isn't it? Dorian thought dourly.
The second tankard went down quickly. Varric and Blackwall glanced over with mild interest as he slammed the tankard down again.
I wonder if it would be this complicated to be myself if I weren't the heir of the great august House Pavus, he wondered bitterly. He pointed at his empty tankard again. The third order arrived at their table promptly.
I wonder if it would be this complicated to be myself if I weren't Tevinter. Perhaps I'd be better off if I'd been born Fereldan, in some rustic backwater, living happily with some illiterate, but charming, and definitely virile, shepherd, both of us as ungroomed as druffalos and perhaps just as odorous…but it wouldn't matter, because we'd be wildly in love, he thought with bitter sarcasm, pounding down the tankard. What good is all this rank, all this privilege? Has it truly made me any happier? Another tankard. He pointed at the empty one with singular determination.
The ales were going down quickly, and by the fifth, Varric and Blackwall were staring at him with concern.
"You might want to slow down there," Varric suggested.
I wonder, he thought, the room beginning to sway, if it would be this complicated to be myself…if I weren't myself.
All these lies, all these ruses. Look at me! I'm your Tevinter ally! I reject Tevinter's ways…But have I only gotten this far because Tevinter rejected ME, first?
"You're not looking so good, Sparkler," Varric offered warily.
Dorian woozily stared past their heads, to the back of the inn, where he saw Bull bid his crew a good night and head for the door.
I would conquer you, he recalled, remembering the slightest hint of a rasp in Bull's voice as he uttered the words to him.
Dorian threw his head back and laughed heartily, startling Varric and Blackwall once more. He leaned in towards them and beckoned them closer. As they huddled nearer, Dorian pointed at them, his eyes blinking slowly.
"I'd like to see that happen. Because if anyone is the conqueror, if anyone gets to claim victory and walk away with the spoils, unscathed, it is I," he asserted meaningfully, in a drunken drawl. Blackwall nodded appeasingly and glanced at Varric out of the corner of his eyes.
"Right. I'm cutting you off," Varric waved to the bar.
The first time had been an honest to goodness mistake. Or so he kept telling himself. He was, he reasoned afterwards, very, very drunk. It didn't matter that he remembered wandering down the wrong hallway, his fingers trailing lazily along the stone walls, and being fully aware that he was nowhere near his quarters. It didn't matter that he had paused and hesitated for a moment to catch his breath before daringly turning the knob and flinging the door into Bull's room wide open.
Dorian found him standing before a dresser, his back turned to him, shirtless, in those ridiculous striped pantaloons he tended to wear.
"Shit, Dorian! You surprised me!" Bull turned, peeved.
"Your door," Dorian said haughtily while stumbling sideways, "is unlocked. Did you know that?"
"I appreciate the safety tip," Bull muttered, observing the mage. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be drunk off your ass right now, would you?"
"What about my ass?" Dorian teased. Bull rolled his eye. "What? You were the one who brought it up."
"Hmm... Right now? I'd like to kick it. Most definitely."
"I'd like to see you try," Dorian staggered backwards, barely catching his balance."Go ahead!" he challenged him, an unruly spark in his eye. "You're all noise and no action."
Bull sighed, dropping his hands by his sides.
"Come on, let's get you back to your room," he muttered.
He swayed to and fro where he stood, staring at the Qunari.
"Not yet," he said quietly, his head suddenly reeling. "Not yet."
I don't want to be alone.
Bull examined his face and nodded.
"Sit down. I'll get you some water."
He glanced around the sparse room. There was nothing except for the bed, the dresser and a few chests lined against one of the walls. He watched Bull step out into the hallway as he allowed himself to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Kaffas," he whispered to himself in Tevene, rubbing his hands over his head. He collapsed onto the cover, tossing his arm over his head.
He lost track of how long Bull had been away, but startled when he felt something cold against his cheek. Bull stood over him, a cup filled with water meeting his eyes as he turned his head. He dragged himself up into a sitting position and began to sip the water.
"Thank you," he managed to say, between gulps.
Bull remained silent, contemplating him as he drank slowly, draining the cup.
"What I'd like to know is how is it that you get blitzed on crappy Fereldan beer and then end up here, of all places?" Bull asked pointedly.
Dorian almost spat out the water.
"What makes you think it's Fereldan beer?" he retorted, trying to mask his panic with outrage.
"Ben-Hassrath." He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, emphasizing his bulging muscles. "Plus, you reek of the stuff. Better not snap your fingers or you might combust," he joked.
Dorian immediately turned his head towards his shoulder and sniffed.
"I reek?" he asked, horrified.
"Like a dwarven brewer," Bull confirmed.
Dorian could barely conceal his expression of disgust.
"This won't do," he complained. "This won't do at all. I need to…air these out," he continued, restlessly, finally standing up.
"Whoa—what do you think you are doing?"
Bull watched him frantically pull his shirt off, dropping it onto the ground. Dorian examined the Qunari's face to see if his little ruse had achieved the desired effect. He could see Bull taking in his strong, chiseled physique and felt triumphant.
Who is conquering whom? he thought cockily.
He met the Qunari's gaze, a solitary light grey eye peering at him. He held it, unflinching, taking in his rugged face, the lined complexion, marred by scars, high cheekbones and cracked lips. And those horns. Maker, those horns… straight out of a cautionary fairytale from his childhood.
"I have the feeling you might be more sober than you let on," Bull began, an amused tone in his voice. "But…whatever you need to tell yourself to justify being here."
Dorian blinked slowly.
"So you want to ride The Iron Bull," he teased, approaching the mage.
He'd stood before Bull so many times before, he thought, keenly aware of his imposing physical presence.
"I'll admit to a mild curiosity. I'm usually a trendsetter, but in this case, it seems all the novelty is gone, since all of Skyhold has beaten me to it…" he said provocatively, watching Bull begin unfastening the large leather belt he wore.
"I guess I'm curious, too. I've never done it with a mage." He dropped the belt to his side, never withdrawing his gaze from Dorian's face.
"Oh, it's good fun—there are fireworks at the end," Dorian teased. Bull raised his eyebrows. "I mean that quite literally."
"Just make sure you steer clear of the horns. I wouldn't want to impale you…or rather, I would…but just not with these," he continued, pointing at the formidable horns jutting from the sides of his head.
"Come again?" Dorian asked in disbelief.
"I haven't… Not yet…" His lips curled up into a grin before he reached across and pulled Dorian closer.
When Dorian's eyes shot open, he found his mouth dry and his head fuzzy. The room was still cast in early morning grey. Beside him, breathing deeply and soundly, lay the hulking shape of Bull. Dorian inhaled and swung his legs over the side of the bed, trying to locate his scattered clothing. He had to rush away from there before he was seen. He rose, the chill of the air hitting his naked skin. For a short moment, he stood quietly, contemplating the Qunari sleeping so peacefully. The previous evening had definitely been strange, Dorian thought; their need for each other had been urgent, raw, almost primal. At times it had been awkward, even clumsy, as they moved about each other unfamiliarly, but it only heightened their intensity as they sought release.
Ah, but I needed that, he concluded, stretching.
Dear mother, he thought amusedly, as he collected his clothes, I prefer to bed men, I am currently allied with the Inquisition, and I refuse to spoon soup away from myself, as is expected, and spoon it towards me, which is perhaps your most regrettable failure in raising me, but I wish to let you know that now you can add the final insult to this list of disappointments: I've slept with the enemy. I trust you will be informing me about the many, many ways in which I've been disowned.
He smirked derisively as he finished dressing himself. He debated whether or not he should wake Bull up or just leave him be. That was the awkward part. The goodbyes after the deed. An awkward conversation normally preceded those and usually consisted of his dashing any expectations, any hopes of promises or commitments. He hoped his rapport with the Qunari wouldn't change after that. He doubted he needed to worry about it, though. He was certain Bull wouldn't have misunderstood what the evening had meant: it was just a one-time thing, an escape, a moment. That was all.
As he picked up his boots and tiptoed towards the door, he heard Bull's voice.
"See you around, Dorian," he said, with a small wave, before sprawling over the newly freed-up bed.
See you around.
See. You. Around.
Dorian had mulled those words over and over again in his head since departing from Bull's room. Not so much the words, but the tone. How had it sounded? He hadn't perceived any sadness, or longing…Resignation? No. Not that, either.
And that was the problem.
Anything else, he would have understood: anger, frustration, desire, hopefulness, and so forth. But Bull's reaction? He had waved, right? The wave had been a friendly gesture. Or perhaps he was reading too much into it? But the tone…He gripped his head.
Relief or indifference?
Meeting Bull later on for a debriefing meeting at the War Table did not help, either. The Qunari acted in an infuriatingly normal way— no winks, no meaningful smiles. Nothing. Nothing whatsoever to indicate, Dorian surmised, that in the night before they'd had a most torrid tryst. Bull hadn't been cool or withdrawn, either. Even that would have been an expected reaction. A regrettable one, but a familiar one, nonetheless. It was the same disorienting feeling he'd experienced when he emerged from the time portal with Evelyn and gazed upon Leliana afterwards. He'd initially felt a surge of relief, of gratitude towards the spy who had rushed into battle for their sakes, buying them every minute they needed to right the world again, and who'd died gruesomely before their eyes. But the woman they'd found back in their timeline had known none of that, hadn't done anything of the sort for him, he'd realized, marveling at the loop of confusion his brain found itself in.
But that wasn't the case here, he told himself, stealing a glimpse of Bull. He appeared to be listening to Cullen intently as he babbled on about something or other and placed flags over Maker knew where on the map.
It will have to do, right? He should be grateful for the lack of entanglements. It really is the ideal situation, he told himself.
At one point of the meeting, he crossed his arms exasperatedly.
At least something, some form of acknowledgement! Out of…courtesy, even! he thought indignantly.
Their night together didn't have to mean everything, but it should have meant at least something!
He was snappy and cross after the meeting, storming off before the others could catch up with him.
He could have left it at that.
He could have, he told himself when he found himself before Bull's door again a second night.
But he didn't.
A/N: I read that Tevinter is somewhat based on the Roman Empire and Tevene has much in common with Latin. Hence, the Latin title here. The dialogue about the stink eye is straight from the game, as is the fact Dorian claims he is drunk the first time he and Bull hook up. Just as I was about to post this chapter, I saw a pm from RyderofClouds over on FanFiction asking me to write a Bull/Dorian fic. Synchronicity! Thanks for the telepathic prompt! These chapters are also for Winterbourne, who asked for a Dorian-centered fic. Her own rendering of Dorian is so wonderfully witty and saucy, he feels like canon. Part II has already been written and will be up soon...