Archive of Our Own

It’s like something out of an Orlesian farce. For all the absurd situations Dorian has found himself in since joining the Inquisition, being trapped at the bottom of a pit with his – with the man he had regular sex with is certainly a new one.

Having sex with regularly, Dorian corrects himself. There is certainly nothing regular about the sex they've been having except for its frequency. Or maybe there is. Perhaps all over Thedas people are falling asleep feeling as though somehow they’ve been shown the meaning of life in their own ass, but it seems unlikely.

However, that is not strictly relevant at the moment. What is relevant is that during a brief reprieve in things trying to kill the group, he and Bull were sent to fetch more water and supplies, and had suddenly stepped onto what Dorian could only assume was a trap for hunting bears. Whatever it was, the ground had given way underneath them and here they are, down at the bottom of a very deep hole with escape looking doubtful.

The whole situation is further complicated by the fact that, before the ground gave way, Dorian was doing his very best to ignore Bull while retaining plausible deniability that he was doing any such thing. A tricky balance to maintain even in ideal circumstances, but almost impossible when trapped in a hole in the ground with someone.

This attempt to ignore Bull was decided on this morning after the realization that sex with The Iron Bull was ruining his life. Here he is: a smart, interesting, young man boldly embarking on a new chapter of his life, far from everything he has ever known, surely with many complex and fascinating things to consider. But instead of considering those things he seems unable to let his thoughts wander in any direction without them coming back to Bull.

This morning was worse than usual because last night he noticed a pattern. He noticed that Bull has, sometime in the last week or two, stopped saying certain kinds of things during sex. He’s stopped telling Dorian “you’re mine.” Which is especially notable because usually Bull talked about everything he was going to do or not do during sex. Really, the entire act of sex is discussed so exhaustively before, during and after that sometimes Dorian feels as though he ought to be taking notes in case there was a test later. After the first time he had ever said, “you’re mine”, Bull very carefully made sure to clarify afterward that it was just because it seemed like Dorian was into possessive shit and it didn’t mean Dorian wasn’t free to do what he wanted.

Which was, like many of Bull’s observations, startlingly correct. Dorian it turns out is indeed very into possessive shit. And so, like with most things Dorian has turned out to be really into, it soon became a regular feature in their sex life… Until it wasn’t. Which he noticed last night. He fell asleep thinking about it and he woke up still thinking about it. Presumably, in his sleep he’d thought about it. The idea of asking Bull was unthinkable, to stop thinking about it apparently impossible, so the only option left was to ignore. Which is of course why today he was sent off on his own with Bull, and of course this would be the day they ended up stuck in a pit together. It’s not that Dorian necessarily believes the universe revolves around inconveniencing him, but he’s had very little evidence otherwise.

Their attempts to free themselves are thorough, but disastrous. Dorian would estimate, using the tools available, that the hole is at least four Iron Bulls deep and the crumbling dirt walls made any kind of climbing clearly impossible. Not that they don’t attempt to climb, but the less said about that the better. As nail ruining and disheartening as climbing is, magic was even worse. Cramped spaces are not the most opportune venue for magic even under the best circumstances, and a mage whose areas of expertise would be more suited to setting the pit on fire or raising the pit from the dead, attempting to lift an enormous Qunari who is uncomfortable with magic is not, by any stretch of the imagination, the best circumstances.

Luckily they are very close to a camp so it is unlikely they’ll be down here very long without a scout passing by. Really there is nothing they can do but wait to be rescued.

It's more boring than anything else. Bull seems disinclined to conversation for once, perhaps still frustrated that he isn’t able to get them out of the pit simply by flexing extra hard. Ignoring someone is a lot less satisfying when they aren’t attempting to talk to you.

“At least,” Dorian says, after a long stretch of silence, “neither one of us is claustrophobic.” He punctuates this by knocking over the small stack of rocks he has been absentmindedly stacking.

“Actually, small spaces aren’t exactly my favorite thing,” says Bull, who is sitting perfectly and annoyingly still with his head tipped back, staring up at the hole they fell through.

“Oh, mine neither, I would venture a guess that they don’t actually have many devoted fans. But at least neither of us are rending our garments about the walls closing in; that would make the whole process of waiting for rescue completely unbearable instead of merely the normal levels of unbearable I’ve learned to accept in life.”

Bull chuckles, “I could do with a little less talk about walls closing in.”

It takes Dorian a moment to process what Bull had said, because it is so out of place with the way he says it. Bull doesn’t like small spaces. This whole time they’ve been down here Bull has been uncomfortable and upset and Dorian hasn’t been able to tell. Now that he looks closer he can see the tension in Bull’s stillness, the sheen of sweat on his shoulders. He should have thought to check.

For a fleeting moment Dorian feels the urge to use his watchword. As though maybe if he just says katoh Bull will stop being scared and unhappy. But this isn’t a game. He feels powerless, and chasing that powerlessness comes anger. It’s not fair that he should expect himself to fix something that Bull didn’t even find relevant to mention.

His thoughts chase each others’ tails. Why would he not tell me leading into why should he tell me and looping back again. Dorian isn’t sure that if the situation were reversed he would want to tell Bull how he felt, but he knows Bull would help him. He wouldn’t even think about not doing it. Dorian sighs; he’s being stubborn. He’s putting his own feelings over the pain of someone who he cares about by even considering not helping Bull. He still considers it. There is also the matter of not knowing how to help Bull, which may, he admits, also be a factor.

“You,” he says, pointing at Bull, “are truly ridiculous. Absurd.” Which is perhaps not the most sensitive way to put it, but it’s true.

Bull shrugs, and his voice comes out steady. “Either way, we’re in a pit. I don’t know how me acting scared would help the situation.” Bull’s head is still tipped back. Dorian isn’t sure whether he’s keeping an eye out for danger, an eye out for rescue or if it’s simply that he wants to see the sky. It does, however, give Dorian an idea for making Bull more comfortable.

Dorian glances around the pit, hoping to discover a way to maneuver in the limited space. He’s sure Bull would know immediately know how to make him feel better. Lacking in any seemingly all-purpose Ben-Hassrath training, Dorian resigns himself to simply guessing.

“Bull, is it okay if I touch you?”

“If I knew there was going to be touching,” Bull says with a leer, “I would have told you a lot sooner.”

“I am not offering to have sex with you in a dirt pit while we’re waiting for rescue!”

Probably that would help. Bull could hold Dorian down, make himself feel in control and Dorian feel safe. But this wasn’t about making Dorian feel safe. Not today, not down here.

“But,” continues Dorian, leaning against the wall and crossing his legs, “if you would like to rest your head on something, my lap is available.”

Bull raises an eyebrow but mercifully spares Dorian any double entendres about an available lap. He takes a deep breath and rearranges himself so that his head is resting on Dorian’s lap. It’s a tight fit, with his feet up against on one side of the pit and his horns digging a bit into the wall on either side of Dorian. Luckily, Dorian isn’t the one who has a problem with small spaces, because he is effectively trapped between those horns. Apparently, Bull will be holding him down after all.

He lets his hands come to rest on Bull’s head. Gently stroking over the place where horn becomes skin. It’s rare that Dorian gets to look at Bull when Bull isn’t looking back. It seems like whenever he looks Bull’s way, Bull is already looking at him. He didn’t close his eye when they kiss, and Dorian rarely sees him when he’s asleep due to Bull being, on top of his myriad of other flaws, a morning person. But right now Bull doesn't seem interested in looking away from the hole they had fallen through, which gives Dorian a rare opportunity to study his face without feeling as though he is being studied back.

Beautiful. When did he start finding The Iron Bull beautiful? Hot, imposing, sexy, rugged, these are words better suited for this man. This beast. But none of them capture the curve of his mouth or the unexpected elegance of his nose. Dorian wishes for a moment that he could call back the feeling of how terrified he was when he first saw Bull. He can remember that he was, he can remember why he was, but he can’t remember what it felt like. If he tries to picture those first days now, they’re written over with this, with the feelings of someone who thinks this enormous heap of muscles and scars is beautiful.

Maybe in a year he won’t be able to remember how he feels now. He could live with that. He could live without this.

But here he is being selfish again. There will be time for introspection later, and preferably in more comfortable surroundings. For now, he asks Bull: “would you like me to talk?”

“If you want,” Bull replies. Still no hint of anything unusual in his voice. For a moment Dorian suspects some kind of trick. That maybe this whole experience has been some sort of joke at his expense. Ha ha, Bull would boast, I made Dorian think I was so scared that he held me and stroked my head. Then all the Chargers throw their heads back laughing and slap each other’s backs. It would have to be quite an elaborate joke for Bull’s heartbeat to be so convincingly fluttering, but it’s hard to rule that sort of thing out. It’s simply another chance Dorian will have to take.

Dorian speaks. He doesn’t pay much attention to what he’s saying. He tells Bull bits of things he’s read recently, about a strange dream he had, about how much he hates when other people tell him their dreams, whatever comes to mind. He doesn’t tell Bull about the inevitability of rescue; Bull knows that. He doesn’t say much of anything, really, regarding their situation, but Dorian can feel Bull breathing steady as he talks, so he keeps going.

Dorian isn’t sure how long they stay like that. Eventually Bull starts talking back to him, falling into an easy rhythm of jokes and teasing. I did this, Dorian thinks. I did this by being here. Maybe he shouldn’t be so proud of that, but he is.

Eventually, as predicted, they are rescued. It is quite a production, with ropes and yelling, and ends up with Dorian falling on his face the moment he gets out. Bull makes a more graceful exit and appears extraordinarily jovial for a man with a fear of small spaces who has just been in a pit for the better part of a day. Part of Dorian wants everyone to know what happened. He wants them to know that Bull was scared and he was strong. But more than anything he’s happy to be out of that pit and happy to hear Bull laugh, so he lets it go. He also decides to forget he was supposed to be ignoring Bull today.

***

The first thing Dorian does when he returns to Skyhold is bathe. He has, after all, been in a pit. Afterwards he decides to head down to the tavern. Bull always makes such a fuss about waving Dorian over to sit with him and the Chargers; maybe tonight he’ll do something he almost never does and take him up on it.

Nothing against the Chargers, of course, it’s just that if he wishes drink with company he has his own friends. Ones Bull is free to join him with if he feels like doing so. And honestly, there are only so many songs he doesn't know the words to, references to events he's never witnessed and punchlines without any apparent set ups that a man can be expected to stand.

Maybe a different man, one more patient, more sociable and less petty would feel differently. Speculating on the behavior of hypothetical better men is a useless endeavor that won’t stop Dorian from feeling spiteful, jealous and out of place. Which must be something specific relating to the man he is, because he’s seen plenty of people happily join the Chargers for drinks and conversation. More than there would be if everyone found themselves feeling like awkward children unable to resist assuming that every time Skinner whispers something to Dalish it must be about them.

And then on top of all of that, there's Krem.

Bull's lieutenant, his right hand man, His best friend surely, his confidante probably, and presumably many other things that Dorian can't think of right now, but are all very important.

Krem who doesn't talk to Dorian unless he absolutely has to, and then always with a sort of cold politeness. Not that anyone could blame him for that. The unfortunate truth is no matter how big The Iron Bull may be, he’s not as big as Tevinter, which seems to always be hanging between the two of them. Leaving Dorian feeling awkward and wondering when his treacherous mind will stop telling him useless things like, "there's no reason to be worried about what some backwoods soporati thinks of you". Thoughts he has not asked himself to think, that shouldn't still manage to comfort him for a split second before they make him feel like shit.

There are a lot of reasons Dorian doesn’t usually like to join Bull and “his guys”, but tonight he feels generous with the world at large and will happily grace them with his presence.

Only as it turns out, Bull is not actually in the tavern tonight. The Chargers have taken over their usual tables, with the Bull’s core group holding court right in the middle of things, but with the very noticeable absence of The Iron Bull himself. Frustrating to be sure, but amusingly ironic. Of course the night he decides to take Bull up on his offers would be a night Bull chose to be elsewhere. The fact that both of them behaved uncharacteristically tonight? Likely just a coincidence. No need to connect it to the events of the day without further proof.

Dorian finds other company, other conversation, and barely lets his thoughts drift over to the laughter he hears coming from the back of the room.

The evening wears on. Swirling the last sip of beer at the bottom of his glass, Dorian decides it’s time to make his retreat for the night and excuses himself from a lively conversation about delicious food items unavailable in Skyhold and what would be given up for a chance to eat them. Before leaving, however, he decides he should venture over to the Chargers' table and inquire as to the whereabouts of their captain.

As Dorian approaches their table, he finds himself right in the middle of a collaborative recounting of a thoroughly unbelievable story about an enemy soldier catching Krem and Rocky in the middle of some sort of pre-battle romp and Krem managing to dispatch of that solider without Rocky ever taking his face out from between Krem's legs. Everyone seems to have heard the story, as their contributions involve more arguing over the location where this took place as opposed to the rather more pertinent question,

"Why didn't you stop when you were attacked?" Dorian blurts out, his voice sounding a little too loud in his own ears. The rhythm of the conversation falters around a sudden interjection from an outsider.

“We don’t know where the chief is, best bet is his quarters” replies Stitches. Which, while not the question Dorian actually asked, was what he came to find out, so he simply thanks him and turns to make his exit.

As Dorian starts to walk away from the table, he feels a hand on his shoulder. His first thought is Bull, despite the obviously human size of the hand and the fact that Bull is not actually in the room. That would still make more sense than who the hand in question belongs to, which was Krem, who asks if the two of them can speak privately.

Dorian considers whether Bull’s absence tonight is connected to whatever Krem wants to talk to him about. If something were truly wrong then Krem would be dealing with that, not engaging in, and presumably winning, sexual anecdote one-upmanship with the rest of the Chargers. So perhaps the conversation they are about to have is at Bull’s request. There are two reasons Dorian can imagine Bull asking Krem to talk to him privately. One would be if Bull asked Krem to break it off with Dorian for him, which would be humiliating, especially since they were not actually together in any sort of agreed upon way. Meaning that if Bull thought Dorian needed a brush off through an intermediary, he’d come across as especially clingy. The other would be if Bull had encouraged Krem to be nicer to Dorian, which would honestly be even more humiliating.

Krem leads Dorian over to an empty table; still in public, then, meaning that Krem killing Dorian also isn't going to be the result of this conversation. Not that it was ever a particularly likely outcome, but you never know what might happen once you start spending your free time with mercenaries.

It’s awkward. Krem clears his throat what is clearly an unnecessary number of times before saying: “So… I heard you and the chief fell in a pit today.” It’s not a question, but Krem seems to be expecting an answer. Possibly Krem unnervingly debriefs anyone who has an unusual adventure with Bull.

Just in case, Dorian attempts to convey the information as seriously as possible. “Yes. We were in a pit for a few hours. Neither of us were injured.” Then he smiles in a way he’s always felt was quite charming. Krem appears not to be charmed. Instead he seems increasingly frustrated, as though he suspects Dorian of withholding some kind of vital information from him. Two can play at this staring contest, thinks Dorian, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Krem breaks the silence first, asking, of all things, if Dorian can tell him a little more about the pit they were in.

“You want to know about the pit?”

He wants to know how big it was, Dorian realizes. He didn’t want to ask directly because he wasn’t sure if, even having spent an afternoon with him in a pit, Dorian was aware of Bull’s discomfort in small spaces. Dorian considers being offended by this, but that Krem is asking him instead of Bull speaks more to Krem’s years of experience with Bull being selective about personal information than it does to his low opinion of Dorian.

“It was small enough that Bull had a rather rough go of things, but I did my best to make sure it wasn’t too bad.” And there’s possessiveness to the way he says it. An underlying statement that of course he also knows this about Bull and that Krem shouldn’t doubt him. Even if, in truth, Krem has every reason to doubt that. It may not be what a better man might do, but Dorian thinks he’s earned it.

Krem looks relieved and stands up abruptly as though he intends to leave without saying another word. But then there’s his hand on Dorian’s shoulder again. A brief pat, a pale imitation of the shoulder clasps he’s seen exchanged between Chargers, but frankly he’s seen how hard those can be and he can’t say he’s interested.

“I’m glad you were looking out for him. That’s… I’m glad.”

And Dorian wants to say something back, but the only words that are coming to mind are quite grandiose. Things like “always”, which while appealingly dramatic for the moment aren't exactly appropriate. Before Dorian can think of something fitting to say, Krem has already turned around and started heading back to the Charger tables.

Dorian leaves shortly after, returning to his own room.

***

Dorian has been sitting on his bed posed with a book for what felt like a very long time. He accepted that he was posing and not reading after he had gone over the same page five times without actually retaining any of the content. No matter, he refuses to put it down because he doesn't want to look as though he is just waiting around for Bull to show up. He is, of course, just waiting around for Bull to show up. But hopefully when Bull arrives he won't look that way.

Eventually he has to admit that the likelihood of Bull coming to see him tonight seems very low. There is no reason to expect that he would; they haven’t made any definite plans. But they spend more nights together than apart and on their way back to Skyhold Bull hadn’t been any less affectionate than usual. In fact, there had been several mentions of activities that might take place later tonight.

Probably Bull just expected Dorian to show up at his room whenever he was ready. His door is, after all, always open. Though it is a little unclear how far that frequently made offer extends. It’s true Bull has never turned him away. Whenever Dorian has wanted to fuck or wanted to talk Bull has let him in, smiled at him, made him feel comfortable, allowed whatever excuses Dorian made up so that he can pretend he doesn’t want to be there to roll off him. But every time still feels like a risk.

For someone who talks so much about open doors Bull is quite the closed door himself. Ha! A clever way to put it. He should save that one for next time they fight. Though “next time” isn't quite right, he realizes. Because they’ve never actually fought, have they? They’ve bickered, they’ve traded insults, or well, Dorian has insulted Bull and Bull has occasionally responded. But they’d never fought. Not really. Not about anything where it would be relevant to the subject matter to bring up Bull being such a closed off open door.

But apparently in Dorian’s mind they had. It feels natural to think of fighting with Bull. As though it happens every morning before he kisses Bull on the cheek and tells him to have a productive day of fighting things. Apparently, somewhere along the line Dorian has forgotten that him and Bull aren’t in a relationship. If he understands Bull’s views on sex correctly, it's possible that Bull doesn't even think of them as friends. It sounds like the setup for a bad joke: which is worse, trying to play house with a Ben-Hassrath agent or trying to play house with a Tal-Vashoth mercenary? The punchline being that Dorian has somehow managed to do both at once.

For all the times he's reminded himself that he can live without this, without Bull, he's never thought to ask himself if he could live with this. Continue on forever with the way things are now. It's not a concern that's able to take root when you are certain from the start that things inevitably will end.

But now, he considers it. To be with Bull, but not. To have Bull for whenever he wanted for whatever he wanted, but not to have him. A relationship in all but name. Dorian comes to the conclusion that no, he couldn’t live with that. Which means that this thing between them either has to change or it has to end. Those aren’t the only options, but they’re the ones he chooses.

They have to talk. It has to be tonight or else Dorian knows he’ll lose his nerve. And it’s already been a rather long day so if it’s going to be tonight it has to be now. Right now, tonight, Dorian will go to Bull’s room and talk to him about their relationship. He has no idea what the result will be. The feeling is amazing, exhilarating, like the possibility of lighting before it leaves your fingers. He is going to have a relationship talk with The Iron Bull, change or end. Somehow this is where his life has taken him.

He changes clothes twice, checks his hair in the mirror for greys. Not that he’s found any yet, but tonight isn’t the night to take risks. Then he heads out toward Bull’s room and whatever might occur there. When he reaches Bull’s door, he hesitates. Should he knock or simply burst in and declare it all? Wouldn’t it possibly be better to have the conversation tomorrow when they were both well rested? Should he have kept waiting for Bull to come to him? Before the answers to any of these important questions are able to take shape Bull opens his door.

“I heard you out there doing… whatever it is you’re doing. You want to get in here or should I just leave you to your hallway time?”

He looks so fond, as though Dorian pacing in the hallway and muttering to himself is equivalent to Dorian having shown up with roses and chocolates. He looks so fond and so perfectly like himself that Dorian wants to change his mind. He can live with this. He can walk up to Bull right now and kiss him. Then Bull will take him to bed, they’ll enjoy each other thoroughly and fall asleep pressed close together. There will always be another day for talking, and depending on how that goes this might be his last chance for this.

He follows Bull in and they’re kissing. Any moment Dorian will stop being a coward and step back to tell Bull what he’s been thinking, what he’s been feeling, but it’s Bull who breaks the kiss.

His hand is massive and gentle on Dorian’s face. “You’ve got something on your mind, big guy?”

Dorian looks around the room; everything seems put away. There’s no indication here that Bull has been doing anything other than just waiting for him. Bull never cares about things like that. It’s admirable.

This is the moment.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with you, after this morning’s subterranean incident.”

It’s not what he wanted to say, but it’s close. After all, expressions of concern are what people in relationships do. That can be a test run and afterwards he can say, “look Bull, look at how well we did, let’s make this a regular thing, too.” More indirect, but surely a better plan than delivering an ultimatum. Nobody enjoys an ultimatum except for the person giving it.

Bull sits down on his bed and Dorian can’t decide whether to join him there or to remain standing. Which is better for having a serious conversation? Should he give Bull space or be there to… touch his arm? Or something? He tries to calm down. It is not as though he’s never interacted with anyone before. This is what happens when you put pressure on a conversation, perhaps he should just try this whole thing again tomorrow.

But Bull is looking at him in that way again. As though Dorian is unbelievable for simply asking, as though he’s done something above and beyond just by being here. Dorian pulls a chair in front of Bull’s bed and sits across from him, there, a happy compromise.

Bull puts his hand on Dorian’s knee. “Aw, that’s sweet. You’re a good guy and I appreciate it, but there’s not really anything to say.”

As much as Dorian likes being called sweet and good, which, is more than he would probably admit out loud, he knows a brush off when he hears one. He has committed to having this conversation and will not be dissuaded so soon. Luckily, he’s not afraid to play a bit dirty.

“Really? Because you’ll never guess who was asking me questions at the tavern tonight.”

“There’s always people at the tavern asking you questions.” Bull is frowning now. Dorian could make him smile again just by dropping the subject. It would be so easy. He’s never met anyone who smiles as easily as Bull. Hopefully that means it will be okay to allow him to frown for just a little bit longer; surely there’s no chance of Dorian being responsible for his face sticking like that.

“True, but tonight it was a mercenary by the name of Cremisius, seemed like quite a rough character from what I observed, ever heard of him?”

“Shit. What-” The look of pure confusion on Bull’s face is something to behold.

“Relax. He didn’t accost me or threaten me. He just wanted to ask me some questions about the matter of us falling into a small enclosed space when he knows that you happen to be afraid of small enclosed spaces. It seems you didn’t give him any details and he was worried about you.” He puts his hand over Bull’s hand. “Should I be worried about you?”

And here Bull is, smiling again already. “Nah, that’s just Krem being Krem. I didn’t say anything to him because I didn’t want him to worry, but I should have guessed he’d find out anyway. I’ll let him know everything’s okay. Thanks for the heads up.”

Dorian isn’t sure what to say next. The matter would appear to be settled. If not, at least he has Bull’s assurances he would speak to Krem who surely through his years of experience would be able to tell if the matter was in fact settled. Dorian considers continuing to push, but he doesn’t want to overstep.

“Well… Good. Be sure that you do. I would hate for him to come bothering me about it again.”

Bull laughs and shakes his head. “You know, a lot of people would be asking me to hold off talking to him to get another chance at a one on one with the Krem of the crop.”

He’s joking, but there’s a piece of sincerity to it. Bull doesn’t seem to know what to do with the idea that a person wouldn’t want to spend as much time as possible around Krem. And this is a man who said Dorian was a sweet guy. Dorian climbs into Bull’s lap and kisses him.

Bull says something terrible about Dorian looking to explore another hole with him today and Dorian informs him that he will not be rewarding disgusting wordplay, but his actions may be sending a mixed message.

Dorian’s shirt is off in moments. In dressing he chose to sacrifice style for ease of removal - a difficult trade, but a worthwhile one. Bull, of course has been completely shirtless the entire time. At some point Dorian has come to distinguish Bull’s regular everyday shirtlessness from Bull without his shoulder harness, which feels even more shirtless. Here Dorian is, making out with a man who has levels of shirtlessness, the places life takes you.

Dorian tips his head back and Bull is kissing his neck with determination. They may not be talking, but it feels like communication. Dorian reaches a hand up and pinches Bull’s nipple, hard. Not that Bull has any sensation in his nipples, possibly due to years of varying levels of shirtlessness. But why not? Plus it’s likely to instigate – yes. There it is. Bull’s hand in Dorian’s hair, but he doesn’t pull. He just holds it there. Dorian finds himself moving his own head back, forward, trying to get something resembling the sweet sting of Bull pulling his hair. Gently, slowly, Bull twists his hand and Dorian lets out a hiss of pleasure. “You can’t get enough can you?” Bull leans down close to Dorian’s ear. “You know, if you grew out your chest hair I could pull that too.”

It’s somehow all at once sexy and hilarious and, current fashion back home aside, not a terrible idea. The nails of Bull’s other hand are running over his chest. Bull could have claws if he stopped filing them. Sometimes Dorian thinks he could give up being fingered for as long as it took to grow them if only to know what it feels like to have them on his skin.

Between kisses Bull starts to move into the call and response Dorian already knows so well. Do you like this? Let me hear you. Ask me for it. Beg me for it. This is where I’m going to touch you. This is how long I’m gonna make it last. Do you know how incredible you look like this? Do you know how loud I’m gonna make you scream? Yes. Yes and yes and yes.

Mine, Dorian thinks. Mine, only mine. Because even if Bull won’t say it anymore, even if Bull only ever said it to get Dorian off, there’s nothing wrong with Dorian thinking it, is there?

Only that it’s not true, which in the grand scheme of things isn’t so big a deal. Hardly even a problem. After all, Bull thinks they’ll be together long enough to see his chest hair grow out. Bull is here and Dorian’s whole field of vision seems to be just vast stretches of grey skin that he can touch or lick any way he pleases. Dorian can live with that.

But he still wants more. Selfish. To have all this and feel like it’s not enough. It’s no surprise, when has anything ever been enough for him?

Dorian climbs off of Bull, selfishness winning over cowardice. Not the first time for that, certainly, though possibly the first time the more selfish option has involved climbing off an eager, handsome man.

Trying to catch his breath Dorian manages: “We need to, that is, I would like to, can we talk?”

Dorian didn’t plan to do this flushed, sweaty and half dressed. Maybe he should have assumed. But as it is he feels foolish, that he is going to stand here after writhing against Bull and moaning, to say: I’ve noticed we seem to be more than sex, maybe even more than friends. He wishes that Bull would laugh or make a joke. Under any other circumstance he’d never willingly hope for one of Bull’s jokes, but it would be better than this. Bull is regarding him so seriously. He feels like a fraud; what has he done to create the assumption that what he had to say deserved that kind of attention?

“We can always talk.” Bull says, “about whatever you like.” His voice is warm and open. It’s almost too much. Dorian wishes he had a shirt on.

Dorian paces to the other side of the room. If he were Bull right now he’d probably make an offer. He’d tell Bull that a relationship could be here whenever he wanted it. Anytime you want to make an emotional commitment that probably neither of us is ready for that will surely complicate both of our already complicated lives, you know where to find me! Who could resist. If Bull were Dorian it might very well work. But he isn’t Bull and Bull isn’t him, they are only themselves.

So he starts with the question that somehow managed to get them here. So Dorian, still shirtless, crosses his arms, stands straight, tips up his chin and tries to find a way that’s not pathetic and needy sounding to ask this, fails, asks anyway.

“It’s been a while since you told me that I was yours during sex. You used to say it a lot and then you stopped. I would like to know why.”

It’s foolish to be so serious about this, but Bull doesn’t seem to think so. “I should have known you were too sharp not to notice, somehow you’re always surprising me.”

Dorian doesn’t know what to do with this; surprising Bull is something he’s always believed to be a feat of immense difficulty. Something worth noting when it happened. Dorian’s estimate for himself had been closer to six than it was to always.

“Dorian, when we were down there today do you know what I thought about? Don’t worry, this isn’t just me talking crap, there’s a point to it.”

Dorian fishes his shirt off the ground and punctuates his response with the process of putting it back on. “Hm, well, I’m not a mind reader, but I would guess it was something about how scary it is to be a very large man in a tight space. When will help arrive? Will I be tragically forced to eat this handsome human to survive? Those sorts of things.”

Bull laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “There was some of that. But later, when you were talking to me. You said something about architecture, and I thought… I thought about taking you to Par Vollen. I pictured your face when you saw the aqueducts.”

“I’m pretty sure there are a number of reasons that’s impossible.”

“I know. But I thought about it anyway.”

Bull says the words as though they exhaust him. As though he is drained by the effort. It’s terrifying. At least in the pit Dorian could understand what was wrong. This is what he chose. Tonight could have been easy. He could have been fucked by now. He could have even been asleep by now. But this is what he wanted and there’s something to be said for getting what you want even if it winds up with you in over your head. So he tries to reach out.

“It was just a thought. Really, it’s quite a nice thought. I’ve often thought myself of you and I going to the opera in Minrathous together. Slightly less impossible, but still, unlikely.”

Somehow he’s made it worse. Bull sighs deeply and Dorian watches as his face goes blank.

“I’m a Qunari with no Qun. I need be careful. I need to have things in my life that make sense. Not things that can never happen.”

“A Qunari with no Qun. You know, I think there’s actually a word for that.” His mouth has gotten ahead of him again. This was too far, too sharp. But hearing Bull talking about things that can never happen, Dorian is pretty sure that he didn’t just mean sightseeing trips to Par Vollen, and it hurt. Bull was the one who told Dorian that things are possible, that the two of them were possible, but apparently that had been a lie.

“Yes. There is. And you might think you know what it means, but you don’t.”

“So tell me. Because from where I stand you are captain of the Chargers and a member of the Inquisition just like you were the day I met you. For such an unimaginable change that I apparently can’t possibly comprehend you seem to act exactly the same. So tell me why it matters.”

Bull is angry. Bull is on his feet now. Dorian shouldn’t feel victorious that here they are now, fighting. Really truly fighting. There’s something wrong with him to feel this lightness when he’s made Bull so upset. There’s something wrong with him that it feels so similar to the pride he felt for making Bull feel comfortable earlier today.

It doesn’t matter because soon it’s gone. Bull sits down again. No signs of the previous turmoil evident. Voice as steady as it was when he explained that, Dorian, you actually are in a pit with someone claustrophobic.

"So is that what you think you need, Dorian? Someone to yell at you, someone to be cruel, and angry, someone to make you feel bad? Because I'm not going to give you that, you’ll have to get it somewhere else."

"Well, it's good to know at least that you have some limits when it comes to giving a person what they need.”

"I’m not going to give it to you because you don't need it."

And somehow they've changed course. Somehow, they are once again talking again about what Dorian does or doesn't need. Dorian is out of his depth, hopelessly and completely out of his depth. Maybe he should just leave. There is no way he is qualified to do this with Bull, to figure out how to do this with Bull.

But he can’t leave without an answer to his question. He thinks he knows, but he needs to hear Bull say it. He needs to hear Bull say it about him.

“What I need right now is for you to answer my question. Why did you stop telling me I was yours during sex?”

And asking a second time feels less foolish. Because he knows now that it isn’t going to be simply that he was bored with it, or that he’d found some more satisfying ways to explore Dorian’s interest in possessive shit. He doesn’t need to square his shoulders or tip his chin up, because there’s no chance he’s reading too much into it.

“Because I wanted it to be true and I knew it couldn’t be.”

All this time Dorian had imagined he was the only one who had a foot out the door. After all, Bull had done everything first, which doesn’t strike Dorian as the way someone expecting failure behaves. He’d been the first to say a kind word. The first to speak on the attraction they both were feeling. The first to point out the potential similarities in their situations. He’d even been the first tonight - if he hadn’t opened that door, there’s no telling if Dorian would have worked up the nerve to come in. Dorian can be the first one here, for once. He can ask for something that hasn’t been offered.

“When we started whatever this is, I thought it was just going to be a one-time thing. Then a two-time thing. Then a three-time thing. And no matter how many times it’s been, I tell myself to be prepared for it to be the last time. I want to stop doing that. I want to be yours and I want you to be mine. I want to be an us. I don’t want to be prepared anymore. If you leave me, I want it to take me by surprise. I want it to rip me to pieces because I thought we were a sure thing. Every time I said we were being impossible or foolish you, told me we weren’t. Apparently you didn’t believe yourself, and that’s fine, I didn’t believe you either, but we could start to.”

By the end of it he’s shouting and gesturing and quite possibly the makeup on his left eye has started to run.

“You never have to worry about me leaving you, kadan.”

Why his left eye always starts to tear up well before his right eye is a question he might never have the answer to. It doesn’t matter. There it is. There is the answer he wanted to hear. Unfortunately, Bull continues. And in continuing explains that Dorian never has to worry about him leaving because he will, of course, always be there for Dorian in whatever way Dorian needs. If Dorian wants them to be in a relationship then of course they will be. But he didn’t want Dorian to feel obligated to anything. He is very clear on that. The lack of obligation on Dorian’s part. It’s supposed to be reassuring.

Oh. Bull didn’t behave as though he were expecting failure, because he hadn’t been expecting failure. To him a relationship where Dorian takes what he needs and leaves when he is ready would be a success. Dorian has kept one foot out the door because he has been afraid things would go badly. What Bull has been doing, well Dorian can’t describe it in anything resembling a standard door metaphor. Bull is all in, both feet behind the door, but somehow not even in the building. Or he is expecting the building to be destroyed. Nonstandard door metaphors didn’t seem to apply here either.

Dorian feels sick. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to track down every person who ever made this wonderful man feel like this was all he deserved and have some strong words with them, perhaps test their flammability. But he’s not sure exactly what makes him any better than them.

Because here he is, he has grown. Before he met Bull he could never have done what he did tonight. He has used Bull’s steadiness, his confidence, to fill in the places where his own is lacking, but when something huge had happened in Bull’s life Dorian had quickly assumed that there were better people for him to talk about it with. But for all he knew Bull hadn’t talked to anyone and now when they did get close to talking about it, Dorian was so angry and hurt that he had told him it didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry Bull. I’m sorry that I haven’t been more there for you. That is inexcusable.”

“Hey-”

“No, listen. I don’t want excuses made for me, not from you, not from anyone. I wanted to, but I was afraid that it would be too much and I would lose you. I didn’t try to help you and I’m sorry.”

“You helped Dorian. We didn’t talk about it, but you helped.”

“Right now I find that hard to believe.”

Here they are, at another impasse. Bull talks a lot about honesty and trust, but maybe that only applies to sex and battle.

“Krem thinks you’re good for me. He doesn’t like you, but he thinks you’re good for me.”

That shouldn’t mean so much, but it does. It seems backwards that Bull telling him he helped seems doubtful, but the word of someone Dorian barely knows holds weight. Or maybe it’s that Bull told him about it at all. There’s no way to know for sure when it comes to feelings. One of their most inconvenient traits.

Well, the Imperium wasn’t built in a day, as they say. Neither, he supposes, is learning how to do this. Maybe Bull still thought that Dorian was just waiting for something better to come along. Hopefully in time they’ll find a way past that. Right now what Dorian feels most is a strange sense of relief that it turns out he hasn’t been overthinking the two of them, but instead underthinking.

He goes over to sit by Bull and gives him a nudge with his shoulder.

"I would say for two men who have never been in a proper relationship before, our first relationship talk went very well. In fact, I don't see what people are always complaining about."

He feels Bull relax against him. “Bunch of whiners.”

“I’d long suspected.”

Things aren’t settled. Dorian had always imagined that a relationship should begin with a confession of love and a passionate embrace. Neither of them have even approached the word love. The part where they agree to be together got skipped over almost entirely. Frankly the whole thing was a mess. But both of them have been willing to make themselves vulnerable, briefly but at the same time. So Dorian thinks it’s not presumptuous to categorize it as a tentative win.

The series of very passionate embraces that follow also serve to confirm the notion.

***

“Bull.” Dorian pokes Bull in his side. “Don’t fall asleep yet. I have a question.”

Bull responds with a ludicrously fake snore, and then props himself up on his elbow, attentive.

“Did Krem really kill someone while Rocky was going down on him?”

Bull laughs. Bull laughs so hard that he’s shaking with it. The bed is shaking with it.

“Just give me a second. That is… not what I expected you to ask.”

“You know me, always full of surprises,” Dorian says. “What did you think I wanted to know? Wait, tell me about Krem and Rocky first, then tell me what you thought I was going to ask.”

“As far as I know, yes. Krem really did. Nobody else saw it. Well, nobody who lived to tell the tale. But Krem doesn’t usually exaggerate that sort of thing and if Rocky had made it up it would be a lot weirder. Like, a lot weirder.”

Dorian makes a mental note to learn more about the extent of Rocky’s imagination later. “Well. Since apparently this isn’t a clear rule around here. I would like to say one thing. Bull, listen very carefully. If we are ever in danger of any kind while engaging in carnal pleasure please prioritize our physical safety.”

“You’d really want me to stop going down on you just because someone was trying to kills us?”

“I know you’ve never had the pleasure of your own mouth, but I assure you it is not so amazing that I am willing to die for it.”

Bull gives a comically offended snort. Dorian stretches, letting his limbs fall where they may on top of Bull.

“You still have to tell me what it is you thought I was going to ask about, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“I just figured you were going to ask what kadan meant. Didn’t know you’d been thinking about Krem and Rocky this whole time.”

“Using my tremendous intellect and application of context clues I assumed it was a Qunari endearment. Am I correct?”

“I meant the word itself.”

“You know, it’s interesting, I’ve never found the specific meanings of endearments to be all that important. An endearment is an endearment, it means that you like me. It’s like how some people want to make a big fuss over how people from Orlais don’t say I miss you, they say you are missing from me, as though it were a matter of romance not a matter of grammar.”

Dorian catches himself; this isn’t about if he wants to know or not, and it’s certainly not about Dorian’s thoughts on the way people talk about languages, this is about how Bull wants to tell him what it means. This is Bull asking. He’s asking badly. But it’s a start.

“Bull, would you like to tell me what kadan means?”

“Not anymore. You’ve convinced me about this whole endearment thing. If I ever need to strategically distract a bunch of nerds I’ll be sure to bring it up.”

Dorian flutters his eyelashes. “Please, Iron Bull, tell me about this beautiful word from your culture that doesn’t believe in romance.”

For a moment Dorian is afraid he’s ruined things again. That after the conversation they’ve just had he should be putting Qun jokes on the shelf for good. Sometimes it helps, though, when you feel like you don’t know yourself, to know others still see you the parts of you that you think you’ve lost. He’ll have to ask. He’ll have to ask later because right now Bull is pulling him close and Dorian is rethinking his stance on endearments because he needs to know what the next words out of Bull’s mouth will be.

“It means you’re my heart.”

“Are you telling me that you called me your heart in the same breath as saying I could always leave you whenever I wanted.”

“…Yes.”

Dorian snuggles in deeper and lays a small kiss on the part of Bull closest to his face. “That’s fucked up. You do know that right?”

“Do we… have to talk about it?”

“Eventually we probably do, but not tonight.”