Work Text:
“Where do you think we are, kadan?”
Dorian’s familiar enough with the feel of a blindfold across his face that he no longer opens his eyes, trying to see despite it. He concentrates past the weight of Bull’s hands curled around his shoulders, the heat of Bull’s breath against the back of his neck. Focuses on the soft brush of a breeze against his cheeks, the cool stone against the soles of his feet, the aroma of freshly-extinguished candles. He beckons to the fade, nudging up against the old magic that spills through Skyhold, and hums low. “The hall.”
He hears Bull smile, his lips pulling back from his teeth, and Dorian shudders when Bull whispers good boy into his ear.
“I’ve got you something,” Bull tells him, and presses his thumbs into Dorian’s skin, urging him to again walk forward, bare feet shuffling over stone.
The day of my birth should be celebrated with feasting and bounteous gifts strewn at my feet, Dorian had said, and Bull had replied with a wide grin.
I expect to be worshipped, Dorian had said, and his mouth had gone dry when Bull had replied, teeth gleaming, You will be.
“A surprise?” Dorian asks, and Bull chuckles, and guides Dorian to a stop with his careful hands.
Dorian shivers when Bull’s teeth drag across the back of his neck, followed by a kiss. “Only in the delivery.”
Dorian leans back into Bull’s hold. His fingers ache to remove the blindfold, but he curls them into fists at his sides. “You tease me.”
“Be patient,” Bull tells him, and wraps his hands around Dorian’s, circling his thumbs over the delicate bones of his wrists. He glances up, and Adaar leans forward on his throne, arms across his thighs, fingers steepled.
Bull had been torn between disbelief and amusement when Adaar had Josephine commission the throne, golden qunari flexing on either side of the ostentatious seat, both of ‘em nearly buck naked and wielding weapons. He'd grown to respect how fucking in-your-face it was though, especially when he'd seen all the nobles' reactions to it.
Now, Dorian blindfolded and shivering with barely suppressed excitement, Bull's really digging the aesthetic.
You’ve got a body made to be touched. I don’t do you justice, Bull had said, and Dorian had stuttered out a breathless laugh.
Should get you what you deserve. Think you’d like that? Bull had said, and Dorian had shaken apart above him, eyes wide and wild, and replied, Oh fuck me.
Adaar shifts in his seat, the bangles he wears tinkling against the arms of the throne, and Bull hears Dorian gasp. Dorian twists his wrists in Bull's grip until he can touch Bull's knuckles with his fingertips.
“Tell me your watchword,” Bull says against Dorian’s neck. Dorian sways back, bumping into Bull’s chest.
“Fuck,” he hisses, and when Adaar chuckles Dorian breathes in sharply. “Archon.”
Bull raises one of Dorian’s hands to his mouth and scrapes his teeth across the fleshy edge of his palm, then kisses the reddened skin.
When Bull had prompted Dorian to turn, had carefully blindfolded him, Dorian had assumed it was to make his gift a surprise. Now he knows it’s part of it:
He can hear the Inquisitor, sense the magic spilling from the mark on his hand, even as his attention is taken up almost entirely by the gentle hold of Bull’s hands guiding him slowly up the steps before the throne.
There’s the quiet rustle of fabric and the metallic clang of jewelry, and then there’s warmth in front of Dorian as well as behind, and a blunted nail tracing over his collar bone — the simple touch hitting him like a bolt, with how it sets him shaking. He leans back against Bull’s sturdy form. Breathes in and out too quickly.
I deserve so many things, Dorian had said, and Bull had pulled him closer, tucked against his side.
You could summon the very limits of the Inquisition and it would still be found wanting, Dorian had said, his lips curling into what he knew was his most charming grin, and Bull had replied, I’ll bet that could be arranged.
Bull’s hands leave his wrists, and then there are fingers at his waist, several sets of them, Bull’s broad and thick and Adaar’s thinner, but there is little hope in telling them apart after the initial contact.
Dorian reaches up, making contact with the sides of Bull’s neck and sliding his hands up until he has a grip around Bull’s horns, and then there’s a hand, gentle, on one of his — Adaar’s, the callouses unfamiliar — tugging it off of Bull and leaving it to curl around one of Adaar’s horns, gnarled where Bull’s are straight.
“Oh sweet fuck,” Dorian whispers, and two sets of teeth scrape against his skin, at his jaw and the back of his neck, and it’s only the grip on two sets of horns that keeps him upright.
It’s nothing unusual for Dorian to be beautiful, and Bull has always found him particularly riveting when he’s overwhelmed, held on the edge of orgasm for long minutes, arms above his head and eyes closed and mouth open and gasping.
“You look so good, kadan,” Bull says against his flushed skin, and Dorian tugs on Bull’s horn, twists his head to the side and breathes hot against Bull’s jaw. “You enjoying it so far?”
Adaar’s hands are still working at the ties at the front of Dorian’s leather leggings, but he glances up and watches Dorian’s face until Dorian nods several times, almost frantic.
“...Unexpected,” Dorian says, his voice surprisingly steady given the color on his cheeks, the speed of his breathing. He bites at Bull’s jaw and Bull hums, and slides one of his arms around Dorian’s chest, his other hand dipping below the waistband of Dorian’s leggings when Adaar gets the ties undone.
Would you want that, kadan? Another man’s mouth on your cock while I fuck you? Bull had said, and Dorian had let out a long moan, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets.
Or two tongues opening up your pretty little hole until you’re begging for it? Bull had said, and Dorian had laughed, high and desperate, and had replied, I’m holding you to this, amatus.
Dorian shivers when the cool air of the hall hits his hips, his thighs, and Bull strengthens his hold on him, expecting the way his knees go weak when Adaar lowers himself to the stones of the hall.
“I understand that you wish to be worshipped,” Adaar says, his hands spreading across Dorian’s thighs, and Dorian shakes and laughs, resettling his hand on Adaar’s horn more comfortably, fingers sliding along the grooves.
Bull mouths at the join of Dorian’s neck and shoulder, working his teeth into the skin, and watches Adaar’s pupils dilate, watches Dorian’s cock fill when Adaar sucks at his inner thigh.
A hand circles the base of Dorian’s cock and he tips his head back onto Bull’s shoulder, letting out a long shuddering breath. Bull whispers something and it doesn’t make sense, the words too-loud and melting together in Dorian’s ears.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Bull enunciates, at the same time that Dorian’s cock slides into wet heat, and Dorian shudders and gasps in air.
Bull rumbles, the vibration shaking through Dorian’s chest, and then there’s a hand covering Dorian’s on Adaar’s horn, tugging Adaar’s head forward but — stopping, not close enough, sweet Maker. “He wants you to guide him, hold him there. Fuck his mouth, kadan. Do you want that?”
It’d not be a selfless gift on your part, Dorian had said, and Bull had let himself look sheepish, then mischievous, pressing his smile against the inside of Dorian’s thigh.
You’d rather enjoy dictating another man’s fucking me, Dorian had said, and had laughed outright when Bull found the ticklish patch of skin behind Dorian’s knee, then replied, Can you blame me?
“Yes,” Dorian hisses, straining forward into Adaar’s mouth as far as he can, held in place still by Bull’s grip on the back of his leggings. “Bull, please.”
Bull releases Dorian’s hand and Dorian tugs Adaar forward by his horn, pulling him further onto his cock, his mouth hot and smooth and so fucking sweet. Adaar hums low in his throat and Dorian cries out, the sensation reverberating up to his skull.
Bull moves behind him, and Dorian goes tense with the sudden adrift feeling — but Bull only sinks to his knees, and Dorian’s hand on Bull’s horn stays, arm twisting but hold firm.
A rush of cool air hits his arse as Bull slides his leggings down around his thighs, the leather holding his legs tight together, and he almost forgets about the sweet heat around his cock when teeth sink into one of his arsecheeks. “Fasta vass, Bull.”
“Mm, you even talk pretty,” Bull laughs, and licks over the teeth marks, white on Dorian’s brown skin. Dorian’s hand tightens on his horn, pulling him forward, and Bull lets himself be led, working his tongue across Dorian’s pert little ass until he can lick down the dip between his cheeks.
Dorian curves forward when Bull circles his tongue around his hole, his hand falling from Bull’s horn and scrabbling for Adaar’s. Bull hears Adaar pull back with a heavy inhale of breath, followed by Dorian crying out — and shit, Bull had known Adaar’d be up for having some fun, but Bull’s not gonna let him have all of it.
Bull straightens his tongue and works Dorian’s gorgeous hole open, listening to Dorian’s voice subside into these sweet little whimpers, how he sounds sometimes when Bull won’t let him come. Bull curls his hands around Dorian’s thighs, pressing the tips of his fingers into flushed brown skin, and closes his mouth around Dorian’s hole, fucking into him with his tongue.
Could take you down into the hall late at night, Bull had said, and Dorian had hummed deep in his chest and looked up at him, intrigued.
Spread you out on that throne until your voice echoed in the rafters, Bull had said, picturing it, deep bronze skin laid out across gold, and Dorian had replied, You’ll tell me everything and ruin the surprise.
Bull slides one of his fingers alongside his tongue and Dorian swears, voice crackling, body stuck in a steady shake. Adaar’s working him to the edge and letting him linger there. “Fucking gorgeous,” Bull breathes hot against Dorian’s spit-shined hole, and one of Dorian’s hands comes skittering around his side, on Bull’s shoulder and around his neck.
“You’re doing so good,” Bull whispers, and Dorian’s response comes back a wordless sob. “D’you wanna come, sweetheart?”
Dorian opens his mouth to say yes, forms the word with his lips, but the sound is lost in another moan, Bull’s mouth so close and Adaar’s grip sliding slowly over his aching cock. He squeezes what he can reach of Bull, taut skin underneath his hand, and holds onto Adaar’s horn like a crutch.
Yes, he tries to say again, and he sways into Bull’s hold on his thighs, into the press of his tongue. Yes, he mouths, and shudders when Adaar’s hot mouth slides over the tip of his cock.
“Fuck me,” he finally gasps out, and the loss of sensation on his cock and his arse is like being plunged into cool water. His fingers stutter across Bull’s neck until a hand wraps around them, followed by the wet press of a kiss against his palm.
Is it Blackwall? Cullen? Dorian had said, more teasing than sincere, and Bull had let out a bellow of a laugh and shaken his head.
Or an unnamed soldier, young and muscled and eager to prove himself? Dorian had said, and while he entertained the idea, Bull had replied, Now who’s trying to ruin the surprise.
“Please,” he says, and there’s movement again, hands over his hips, guiding forward from behind and before. Each point of contact feels overwhelming, as though his arousal is tied to four great hands sliding across his skin, and he feels himself sinking back into it, into the headiness of it.
“You’re doing great, kadan, look at you,” Bull rumbles, and Dorian tips back into his chest, and the hands at his sides lift more than guide now, a welcome kind of weightlessness. “You’re so good, kadan,” and Dorian reaches up and finds horns, losing himself in the furrowed textures beneath his fingertips until he’s sat across someone’s lap. Bull’s lap, body familiar, he knows the feel of his skin, the heavy weight of Bull’s cock pressing into his back.
“Amatus,” he whispers, and a hand slides under his arse to work him open, warm and slick, fingers thick and calloused. “Amatus.”
“Imagine what you look like,” Bull says against Dorian’s neck, trailing bruising kisses across his skin. Adaar chuckles from where he kneels before them, his hands curling over Dorian’s thighs, thumbs sliding up to massage over Dorian’s perineum.
“Laid out across a Qunari throne, the strongest man in the Inquisition at your feet,” Bull says into Dorian’s ear, and Dorian shudders and shifts on Bull’s lap, working Bull’s fingers up into his own ass.
Dorian reaches out again, grabbing Bull by the neck, and he tips his head back, his mouth dropping open, soundless save for his ragged breathing. Bull growls at the sight, Dorian’s skin flushed darker, beads of sweat trailing down his cheekbones, his lips swollen from his own teeth. Bull bites at Dorian’s ear. “With a Tal-Vashoth at your beck and call.”
“Fuck me,” Dorian says, digging his fingers into the back of Bull’s neck, and he lets out a shout when Adaar takes him into his mouth again.
“Fuck, Bull,” Dorian says, turning his head towards Bull’s, his temple pressed to Bull’s jawline, and Bull bites back his own shout when he guides Dorian down on his cock.