log: bull+dorian WHO: Dorian Pavus and the Iron Bull WHEN:Flashback to Thedas, about two and a half years ago WHERE: The Winter Palace, in the city of Halamshiral, the nation of Orlais WHAT: This is a flashback set prior to the game. For context: Inquisitor Adaar has stopped an assassination attempt on the Empress Celene at a ball at the Winter Palace, and everyone is finally letting their guard down to celebrate and party. Bull, who has been in a (mostly secret) sexual relationship with Dorian for a short time, asks Dorian for a dance. WARNINGS: N/A
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Today was a good day. They'd kept the Empress from being assassinated, they'd all escaped with their lives, and Dorian managed to fight off assassins while somewhat staggeringly drunk.
Save for some investigation and combat away from the ball itself, Dorian had spent the evening in the gardens, picking up drinks as they were offered from elven servants with trays and listening to gossip while the elite of Orlais turned up their noses at the Tevinter mage that the Inquisition had dragged in. It was no hardship to be at an elegant soiree, truly, but it was a few sacrificial slaves away from being a party in the Imperium.
His friends had more or less scattered because none of them were truly here for social reasons, and to be alone in such a place was an exercise in smiling politely while being sneered at. Dorian tended to marinate himself in red wine when he needed to deal with such things.
This time, it was red wine and some spicy punch that was definitely stronger than it seemed. Combat and the rush of magic had sobered him up, but as the excitement wound down and true celebrations began he was back to feeling quite pleasantly relaxed. The Inquisition was allowed to calm down and actually enjoy things.
Dorian had considered going after the Inquisitor for a word or two, but he spotted Sera sneaking off to do just that. They were an odd pair, perhaps, Adaar and Sera, but he wasn't privy to their private moments. Given his current situation with a Qunari, he was in no place to judge.
He hadn't seen the Iron Bull for some time, he realized, and he found himself scanning the crowd and looking over everyone's heads to try and catch a glimpse of him. Of course, when he realized he was doing such a thing, he stuffed a puff pastry into his mouth and went to refill his punch.
He must have been drunk, if he found himself pining for the brute like some kind of lovesick schoolboy. His affair with the Iron Bull was one of purely sexual excitement, passionate but also tawdry and embarrassing.
The Iron Bull had spotted Dorian several times as things wrapped up, and had spent the first two times talking himself out of going after the Vint. Especially after the combat, when his blood was pumping and he was starting to get annoyed at enough of this Orlesian crap. Sure, he got the game, but he found himself more and more annoyed with it as time went on.
He just wanted to have a damn drink and a fuck and call it a night. But there was still music playing, even if crowds were dispersing, and he knew these things could go all night. There was always information to track down and he doubted Cullen or Leliana’s jobs were ever going to be done, but at least they were off the hook for the rest of the evening. Unless assassins popped back up.
But. Fuck. It was quiet, for now, and Dorian was loitering in his eyeshot. Bull couldn’t help the lingering gaze, the slightly longing expression that was accompanied and nagging feeling that he’d just like to be spending time with the human.
Bull employed his Ben Hassrath training when he slid up next to Dorian, completely silent before he finally spoke, low against Dorian’s ear. “You know, heard a joke about seven veils earlier tonight. Coulda sworn it came from you. Wanna elaborate?”
"Kaffas!" Dorian spat, almost choking on his punch.
How could a man so big be so silent? He'd been searching the room for him and hadn't seen him, and somehow Bull had managed to sidle up next to him without being noticed. It made his heart skip a beat, made his body feel alert and alive. Every time the Qunari was beside him, it felt electric. Thrilling. Terrible. No one needed to know about this. Really.
He glanced up at Bull and then away, a slight twitch of a smile on his lips. "It was ten silk scarves, if you must know."
Bull barked out a loud laugh, at least somewhat disappointed Dorian hadn’t spilled his drink on him. If that had happened, him staying contained and good likely wouldn’t have been an option. Dragging him to a back room and ripping those fancy clothes off would have happened, and then the Boss would’ve been mad.
But goddamn, who could blame him? Bull was happy to just stand back and stare at the Vint, if that said anything. Hands on was more fun, though.
“Ten silk scarves.” Oh, the image that gave him. He closed his eye, shook his head and gave a little moan. “Damn, that’s a good thing to imagine.” It would’ve probably been easy to distract Dorian, pull him away from the dispersing crowd, keep him for his own. But Bull knew they had to stick around, in full view, just in case. His eye swept the room behind them, a few couples on the floor dancing. “Wanna dance? Set some tongues wagging?”
Dorian inhaled audibly, his shoulders going rather stiff. His answer wasn't an answer: he sipped at his punch and decided that the best thing to look at was anything that wasn't the man towering over him.
It wasn't just that Dorian was embarrassed by his weakness when it came to a certain Qunari that he found he couldn't resist. The Iron Bull was a brute, blunt and barbaric, but he was also clever and rather surprisingly kind. It was that kindness that got to him, that made him ache with longing for what was supposed to be a purely carnal affair.
In fact, his hesitation had very little to do with the Iron Bull at all. As much as Dorian enjoyed being a pariah and a disappointment, he wasn't sure he was ready to dance proudly with another man in front of the Orlesian court. To be hated for being Tevinter was one thing, but to expose himself to ridicule or scandal with a man he was actually rather fond of seemed like opening a raw wound and pouring salt into it.
"Mm," was what he said.
It meant Yes, I want to just as much as it meant No, I can't.
Bull knew that decision immediately, and nodded without anything more having to be said. He was getting pretty good at reading Dorian’s cues, in the half-dozen times they’d hooked up (he was counting separate instances, cause thinking three times! just got him grinning again) but he wouldn’t go as far as saying he knew Dorian. Sometimes he still got puzzled by how the man thought, or just the fact that he thought too damn much.
He knew that playing the game here meant they couldn’t dance in public. Still didn’t make Bull want it any less.
Flexing his hand a few times, he finally growled out a little huff of frustration and glanced behind him, through the window and into the quiet gardens. “C’mon.” A little gentle nudge and he was pushing Dorian through the door, away from people and into the quiet.
Dorian stumbled a little, no matter how gentle the nudge was on Bull's end. He huffed, taking a moment to straighten his sash and down the rest of his punch. "What are you — why."
He grumbled, yes, but he let himself be pushed into the gardens. The air was crisp and cool and far more pleasant than the overly-perfumed warmth inside. Orlesian perfume made Dorian's nose itch, and he'd been fighting off sneezing any time he went indoors. He'd rather deal with the hay fever of being outdoors, thank you.
This particular garden was abandoned, the party's other guests preferring to be indoors for dancing and drinking. It meant that Dorian was all too aware of the Iron Bull's presence at his back. Things happened when they were alone.
"I'm not letting you take me up against the ivy," he said, in a way that was half a warning and half a suggestion. Kaffas, what was the matter with him?
“Ha! Give me five minutes and you’d be begging for it.” But that hadn’t really been Bull’s intent, even if the thought was shuffling around in the back of his brain. When it came to Dorian, he was pretty much always thinking about sex, at least as a second reserve. But for now, he was content to just give Dorian some peace and quiet, or get him alone.
To talk. Shit, had he really become that person? Being a Tal-Vashoth wasn’t really that different than what he’d been pretending for the last decade, but somehow it seemed more real. Maybe it was real because he found he actually liked the company of his newfound lover. More than he usually did with a tumble.
“Just thought you could use a little peace and quiet, away from all the bullshit.” With as observant as Bull was, it probably wasn’t much of a shock that he pulled out a pristine, white handkerchief and held it out for Dorian. “‘Case you decide to smell the roses.”
Dorian's gaze flickered down to the offered handkerchief. His mouth twitched again, like he was starting to smile and then deciding against it. Bull cared enough to notice that he had allergies? No, of course not, came a critical inner voice. Bull was clearly mocking him, instead. He wasn't about to fall for that sort of teasing only to look a fool.
And yet …
He sniffled a little, glancing away because it was quite undignified. "The perfumes in there are all melding together and it's atrocious," he said, plucking the handkerchief from Bull's hand.
“Stuffed my nose with sausages earlier, can’t smell a thing but nug bacon.” Bull grinned at Dorian’s turned head, content just watching the way Dorian moved and well, looked. Damn he was pretty.
And completely, utterly, trying to avoid anything nice at all. Bull knew that Dorian was only in this for pleasure, and he couldn’t fault the Vint. It made him a little sad, and he hadn’t quite qualified that with a reason why, just yet. That involved thinking about things. So he tried small-talk. “You’re used to big parties like this, yeah? Ever like them?”
"Of course I like them. It's hard to not be surrounded by over-rich food and fine wine and not enjoy it, particularly when the late-evening orgy begins." Whether or not Dorian was joking wasn't clear. "It's …"
He pressed the handkerchief to his nose, trying not to sneeze. "It's exhausting. A little tedious. I'm sure that makes me sound ungrateful, but one can only take so much backstabbing and double-speak and false compliments before one wants to stab one's own eyes out. I just …"
Dorian had walls up, all the time. He was very tightly controlled, very aware of how he was perceived even when he was pretending he didn't care how he was perceived.
"I'd simply like to be myself sometimes, really."
“Damn, you had me at orgies.” Bull waggled his eyebrow and began moving slowly around the small garden. It was nice, quiet, the dull sound of music drifting through the doors, a good break from being stared at like some freak. He usually didn’t mind the judgement, but it got grating after a while, though with Adaar, things seemed to settle. She had a way with people, and Bull’s way was a lot more blunt.
He stopped at a bench and leaned down, running his index finger along the spine of a book that had been abandoned there. “Let’s try not to stab anybody’s eyes out, yeah? You don’t need to match me, yours are too damn pretty to waste.” Snagging the book, he turned back around and walked slowly towards Dorian, his free hand coming up to loosen the collar of his dress shirt. Damn thing was fucking constricting as shit.
“The real Dorian Pavus. Mage, nerd, chess fan, allergic to weeds?” All things he knew, most of which he’d picked up before he even started sleeping with Dorian.
For a moment, Dorian didn't answer, because he was too busy looking at that loosened collar. The Qunari was so infuriating. Dorian had spent long hours soul-searching, trying to understand how it had come to this, how he'd fallen into bed with Bull a half dozen times and still craved more like a person needing water in the desert. He'd thought of it as having a lust for the forbidden, knowing how angry it would make his father if he knew, or simply the thrill of being with an enemy. He'd thought it was the need to sate his darker passions, ones that other men hadn't really gone in for or thought to bring up — the ropes, the gags, the floggers.
Those were all easy answers, but they weren't the whole story.
Bull paid attention to him. He looked past Dorian as a foppish Tevinter peacock and saw him as a vulnerable man. It was unnerving, and Dorian wasn't certain what to do with it. It was far easier to go in for the sex and insist he didn't care. Everything about him said that he did, even if his words were flippant and his attitude standoffish.
"Correct on all counts," he said quietly.
Bull kept walking towards his lover slowly, step by step, almost as if he was stalking his prey. Book in one hand, Dorian’s attention in the other. He lived for this. Dorian just looking at him with that stare set him on fire more than he was willing to admit, the passion between them still burned bright enough that he wondered if he’d ever get bored.
Hopefully not anytime soon. He had a lot left to experience with the ‘Vint. All of it was damn fun and he wasn’t ready to let go - and fun enough that he worried Dorian would be done with them soon enough.
“Yeah, you’re pretty easy if somebody looks past all the bluster. I know all the things that drive you mad, too. Thrilling, ain’t it?” Bull knew the answer without even waiting for confirmation. When he stepped into Dorian’s personal bubble, he held the book up. “You wanna take some time to read to me, or-” He held up his free hand, “You wanna dance?”
Dorian's breath caught in his throat. He always felt like his heart started pounding when Bull got into his space, when he towered over him and he could feel the deep rumble of Bull's voice penetrating down into his bones.
"I…"
He could settle down and read to him, to sit by the fountain and curl up against him while doing his best not to butcher his Orlesian pronunciation. He wanted that. He wanted a lot of things, quiet things. Those very best moments with the Iron Bull were the ones after sex, when they were both breathless and raw, and Dorian felt limp and wrecked and vulnerable — and Bull would quietly wrap him in his arms and soothe him. He could get sex from other people. He was certain that he couldn't get that.
But the music was still lingering inside, drifting out into the garden, and it was a tune he was rather fond of.
"If I spare a dance for you now, might I read to you later?" he asked, tucking the handkerchief into his sleeve.
Bull’s grin turned a little lecherous as he dropped the book down on some… fuck. Topiary? What the hell was that thing, anyway? Looked like a cross between a dragon and a peacock. Either way, he only spared it a second glance before turning back to Dorian and holding that free hand out again for him to take. “Dunno if I’m gonna hold you to it, cause you may wanna jump me once you get your hands on me.”
But truly, Dorian reading was one of his favorite things. He admittedly hung around the tower more than not these days, looking for excuses to bug Solas, or harass Leliana, just so he’d have a reason to stop by and bug Dorian when it was quiet around Skyhold. Sometimes he managed to convince Dorian to read to him, and damn he enjoyed that.
He pulled Dorian in, large hand wrapping around the Vint’s back in a warm, snug hold as they began moving to the music. “Or you’re gonna want to take me against the ivy when you see what a damn good dancer I am.”
Dorian had been formally trained in all of Tevinter's court dances, and informally trained in the most popular dances in Minrathous brothels. He still didn't consider himself to be a dancer, or particularly graceful in that way. He was wrong, he was able to dance, light and silent on his feet, but he was far more content to forego steps entirely and simply spend time pressed up against his lover.
"You say that like I don't want you every time I look at you," he admitted. For how often he claimed he wasn't actually interested, this was probably a first.
Bull’s heart warmed almost instantly, and he let out a noise that he was pretty sure was indignified. But he didn’t give a fuck. Instead, he pulled Dorian even closer, and wrapped an arm around him rather than the traditional hand-hold. The height difference kept him from reaching down to grab Dorian’s ass and haul him closer, so things were relatively tame as far as they were concerned.
Probably for the best. There was still a crowd a few feet away, outside the garden.
“Mmm, you really know what to say to warm a guy’s heart, yeah?” Bull grumbled against Dorian’s head, pressing a brief - but incredibly soft and gentle - kiss to his lover’s temple. His voice was soft and gentle, unlike Bull’s normal tone. “Just enjoy the moment, Dorian. No pressure here, no outside influences. No assholes with judgements.”
Enjoy the moment.
What Dorian truly needed was the permission. He'd never been free to be with who he wanted, he'd never felt like he could simply be with someone without glancing over his shoulder in fear. He'd even been standoffish in the bedroom, in total privacy, before he got comfortable — after all, the last time he'd had a lover, he'd been caught in bed with him, then made a prisoner in his own home.
Now, he settled against Bull, melting against his body when he was pulled in and resting his head against the larger man's chest. Bull felt safe, despite centuries of war between their people. Bull was able to wrap Dorian up in his arms and envelop him and suddenly become everything. He could feel Bull's heartbeat thudding steadily against his ear. He was silent. No quips, nothing.