11. Audeamus (Part II)
"To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."
― Federico García Lorca
"Look at this! Anyone could just freely wander in here," Dorian announced to Bull in a tone of censure as he burst into the room.
Bull peered up hazily from his bed, where he had drifted off into sleep, still dressed.
"Yes. You make a good point. But it has never been a problem until now," he mumbled.
"I could have come here with a nefarious purpose," Dorian continued, approaching the bed, watching Bull's large hand splayed tantalizingly over his rippled stomach.
"I like to think it helps keep me on my guard... Keeps my skills sharp," he stated, propping a pillow behind his head.
They remained in an awkward silence.
"Love what you've done with the place. Very alienage-chic, I have to say," Dorian muttered, glancing around the room.
Bull chuckled— a low, knowing sound that caused him to bristle.
"Listen, Vint, did you come here to decorate my room or to fuck? Because we sure as the Fade aren't doing both."
Dorian recoiled at his words.
"No need to be so crass," he said, offended.
He was of a good mind to turn on his heels and go, but he found himself unable to move. What was he doing? Waiting? Hoping? They remained in that odd little impasse for a few moments longer.
This was a mistake, Dorian thought, his mind clouding.
"I'll show myself out," he said, finally moving towards the door.
Before he could make sense of what was happening, he felt a pair of firm hands seize him by the shoulders and drag him back to the bed. The room flipped as his body was turned and he was tossed on his back over the covers. Bull gripped his wrists tightly and held them down.
"I think we both know you're not leaving this room yet," he stated suggestively, leaning in, his breath warm on his cheek. His tone became gentler as he spoke closer to his ear. "Damn it, Dorian. Why can't you just say what you really want?"
Dorian turned his head away, silent.
This isn't playing out the way I expected, he sulked. I'm the one supposed to be calling the shots here, not you, you big lug. You were the one supposed to come to me afterwards, not the other way around, he thought crossly.
"I see," Bull finally said.
He released Dorian's wrists and turned away from him, moving towards the dresser. For a sinking moment he thought that was it. He heard Bull riffle through one of the drawers and then return to his side, taking in his serious expression. Without further warning, he once again grasped his wrists, this time bringing them together over his head, and expertly tied them to each other with a thin sash.
"What are you—"
"Sssh," Bull appeased him, tying the other end of the sash to one of the bedposts. "If you won't tell me, then I'll make you tell me," he said. He leaned in again. "Here is how it goes: anytime you need to stop whatever we are doing, just say…Um…" he appraised the mage in deep thought.
"I'm waiting," he said impatiently.
"Peacock!" Bull exclaimed. "That's a good one."
"So if I say 'Peacock,' you will be obliged to stop."
"Always."
"I see," Dorian nodded. "Peacock!" he shouted.
Bull tilted his head.
"Really? But we didn't even get started…"
He sounded so comically disappointed that Dorian almost cracked a smile. Bull shrugged and began to tug at the sash gloomily.
You keep trying to make away with my excuses, but I feel rather defenseless without them, he thought, watching Bull in stern concentration as he worked on undoing a knot.
"Hang on, I'm having a little trouble," Bull apologized.
Dorian sighed with exasperation.
"Well, as long as we're here…"
Bull halted and gave him a sideways glance.
"See? That's exactly what we need to work on. You shouldn't say 'Peacock' unless you really mean it. That's not something I mess around with. I'd never—"
"Fine," Dorian admitted guiltily. "But you should know that this isn't easy for me."
"I know," Bull nodded. "Believe me. I do." They stared at each other lustily. "It's hard," he said.
"Yes," Dorian retorted. "I think I find it difficult because—"
"No, I'm talking about something else," he interrupted huskily, glancing down at himself.
Dorian's eyes widened and he felt the blood thrum in his ears; he couldn't discern whether the excitement coursing through him came from desire... or a twinge of fear.
Perhaps both.
They both lay side by side, panting, exhausted. Bull grunted, pleased.
"That was…really, really, really good."
Dorian caught his breath and turned his head towards him.
"I should go," he finally said.
Bull brushed a lock of hair off Dorian's sweaty forehead.
"Why don't you stay? We can grab some breakfast later on," he said simply, yawning tiredly.
Just like that. No complicity with any secrecy.
Might as well, Dorian told himself, agreeing to stay longer. Since this is the last time and all. Best to end it on a positive note.
It is a good plan.
Absolutely.
He was willing to stick to it, too, and became quite convinced he would succeed. Except, when night time arrived, he felt himself pulled, like the tide summoned by the moon, to a certain hallway in Skyhold, impelled by something inside that hungered and yearned and thwarted his best, convoluted plans.
That's how he found himself before Bull's door for the third night in a row.