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“I hope it doesn’t bother you to travel alongside a ‘Vint’, Iron Bull.” Dorian idly kicked a pebble, lips slightly pursed against the thoughts churning in his head.
“That what you are? You people all kinda look the same to me.” Iron Bull shrugs, leaning heavily on his great axe.
Dorian balks, a habitual scoff pushed from his chest, thought temporarily coming to a screeching halt.
“I’m also a mage. Would you prefer me bound and leashed?”
“I’d buy you dinner first.”
Oh, would he now? Dorian turned fully to the large Qunari man, brows knitted together. The sun was an endless glare upon them all, even more so without the current shelter of trees that scattered the Hinterlands.
“Hopefully before you sewed my mouth shut.”
Iron Bull chuckles; it’s that deep rolling sort of sound that makes sure everyone can hear him within a ten-foot radius. Dorian’s jaw clenches against it. Damn him.
“Depends on how much you keep yapping.” The words were meant to nip, supposed to irk him, and curl his lips into a deep frown.
But that is not what Dorian felt; it’s not what happened. Instead, he caught the flicker of Iron Bull’s eyes lower, lips perhaps? Probably not.
There had been something simmering between them for a time. Something neither of them wanted to acknowledge too fast, too soon. There were other things that needed their attention anyway. Iron Bull had his Chargers, having gone against the Qun- his people, his culture; it was a marvel he still stood beside the Inquisition in the first place. Dorian has his own set of issues as well. Running away from it all, the Inquisition was the place where he believed he could make a real difference in all of this. He needed to make a difference. Tevinter could not always be the one place where everyone poured their hate and malice into. Even if it was- well- deserved.
Not everyone was a power-hungry blood mage.
So, that meant that neither of them wanted to examine anything that was happening between them. Especially around others. Most definitely not around others.
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Why was it always so cold here? Even in the sun, it wasn’t warm enough; the wind bit at his cheeks and ears, making his back ache as his jaw clenched and he forced himself not to shiver. Just a few more hours until they finally make it back to Skyhold. Just a few more. The entire group was tired and aching. How the Inquisitor did it, he wasn’t sure, but then again- she had cloaks. Heavy ones, nice ones. Ones that Dorian himself would put on her, much to her disgruntlement on not wanting to accept anything from people.
However, even with his own nice cloaks and heavy clothing, he was still just as cold as she was. A small slip of solidarity, as he knew just as well that as soon as they were back in Skyhold and they were all finally able to bathe and rid themselves of their gear, they would all pile into The Herald’s Rest and drink the night away. Warming their skin and bellies with cheap swill that often made him feel sick the next morning, but it was better than nothing.
“Why is it always so cold?” He bites out, pulling his cloak tighter around himself, his head turning towards Sera, “How do you southerners stand it?”
Sera smiled, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Iron Bull cut in,
“What’s the matter?” Great. Dorian could already tell where this was going just by the sly smile on the Qunari’s face. “Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies?”
Dorian’s jaw tightened further, eyes narrowing as he tossed a mild glare towards him,
“My footsies are freezing, thank you.” He nips back.
Sera practically throws her head back in a boisterous laugh, and he catches the small snicker from the Inquisitor that she tries to hide behind her fingers. His glare moving to them as well.
These few hours are going to be exhausting.
The Herald’s Rest is the reprieve he needs and has been looking forward to ever since they even mentioned heading back. He’s quick to bathe and remove the heavy travel gear that’s been plaguing him for over a week now.
Feeling a million times better already, he stepped back out and immediately regretted it. Vishante kaffaas it’s cold.
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Iron Bull grumbled quietly as he tossed another drink back, sighing heavily around a series of unintelligible words. He points a slightly wavering finger at the Inquisitor,
“There’s nothing better than putting some chest on your chest.” He mumbles, or rather slurs, the Inquisitor laughs brightly.
“This stuff is by far the worst I’ve ever tasted, Bull. I don’t know how you’re able to drink barrels of this stuff a night.”
He laughs loudly, slapping a heavy hand onto the table, causing the other mugs and even the plates to rattle loudly,
“That’s the point! Eventually, all the nerve endings die in your throat!”
The Inquisitor groaned, but the smile on her face was enough to keep the mood light, Iron Bull needed it anyway. These past weeks have been awful, what with all of the fighting and his decision to leave behind- everything. Everyone. He still had his Chargers at least, and the Inquisition was still something he could absolutely benefit from. Good. But to still be Tal-Vashoth at the very end of it all. To go against everything he knows and everything he was and to just… pretend it was fine and that he wasn’t quietly questioning everything he had grown into.
And then of course, there was the Vint. The pretty Vint. Dorian. The pretty ones were always the ones that got you, and he could already tell that Dorian was getting to him. The nights that he sat just a little too close, the endless banter, the fact that Dorian… just… He squinted at nothing.
The Inquisitor grimaced as she finished what was left in her mug, then tilted her head at him.
“What are you thinking about, you big lug?”
He opens his mouth to answer, only for his eyes to flick up when the door opens again, and of course, in saunters none other than Dorian. A wide, bright smile splits his face before he knows it, and he opens his arms in greeting,
“There’s my favorite Vint.” He laughs causing Dorian to roll his eyes almost loudly, a scoff rolling out.
As expected, Dorian comes in with Sera and sits next to him on the table. Him. Nowhere else.
There’s signs, there’s always signs. Iron Bull knows who he is and what he is, always has and always will. Even when he sometimes- doesn’t. Identity crises aren’t really his ‘thing’. If anything, He’ll ask the Inquisitor to hit him again later if he’s still feeling down about it. Which he won’t. That’s not what he does.
Though when he sits down, wrinkles his nose and orders his own ale, Iron Bull can’t help but tease him just a little, it would make him feel better after all.
“You know, I noticed that staff’s in pretty good shape.” He grins cheekily, “You sound a lot of time polishing it?”
The groan that leaves Dorian’s mouth is amazing and immediately brightens Iron Bull’s mood immensely, and he takes another long swig of his drink in silent victory.
Much of the night is just like any of the others, people coming and going inside the tavern, conversations, games of cards, plenty of drinking. Iron Bull regaling everyone about the time they all slay that Dragon in the Hinterlands.
“A great beast it was! Horns bigger than my own!” He waved his hands theatrically, causing many to laugh loudly. Dorian rolled his eyes again, almost playfully this time, as a small smile curled his lips. Underneath that- rather pompous- mustache, Iron Bull could see the glint of endearment.
“All Dragon horns are bigger than yours, because all Dragons are bigger than you.” Dorian retorts, shaking his head and taking another swig of his drink. “I thought the damn thing was going to eat him, at the very least, I figured it had taken a chunk out of him with how loud he was screaming.”
“It was a battle cry!” Iron Bull interjected, laughing boisterously, “I figured you’d know the difference considering how much you like to scream!” He teased back as if on habit.
Dorian gaped then leaned over to smack him, earning another peal of laughter from the large Qunari.
“You are impossible!”
“Good! I like that energy! Stoke those fires, big guy!”
Iron Bull leaned over to wrap one burly arm around Dorian, pressing the much smaller man close as he laughed and slapped the table. In the very back of his inebriated mind, he thought Dorian fit… rather well there. Most of the time, smaller people fit well against him. He was a very large man, but somehow Dorian just felt- better- there than most. Warm and easy. He had done this a few times, mostly while yanking the Mage backwards and then protecting him from wide swings of a sword or axe. He felt not terrible those times, too but, Iron Bull had other things to worry about at the time. But right now, he just felt right. Perhaps that should have perturbed him more. Made him think on it further.
But, in all fairness, Iron Bull was drunk, and so was everyone else around him, feeding into the warmer night and making things feel light and easy around him where it hadn’t felt like that in weeks. So he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.
The conversations rolled ever onwards, none of them quite knowing just how long into the night it had become, when suddenly, it was only a few stragglers left. Sera had retired to her room on the second floor. Varric, Solas, and Blackwall had all vanished after their rounds of cards. The Inquisitor, having slipped out shortly after, well-toasted and humming to herself. It wasn’t until it was just the two of them, him and pretty Dorian, that Iron Bull even realized that he was giving the Mage that lopsided smile he normally reserved for those he was truly interested in. When did he become interested in the man? He wasn’t too sure. And currently, he couldn’t dig through his brain enough to find out the exact moment either.
There’s a soft sort of pause between their seemingly regular banter, Dorian being very firm that Bull was- in fact- very worried about him more often than not. Iron Bull was regularly countering such accusations, smiling the entire time. He was worried about him. Squishy little pretty Mage that would trip over his skirts.
“It’s not a skirt.” Dorian said firmly, pointing a very stern finger at him, elbow hitting the table with a dull thunk. Iron Bull chuckled,
“When you trip over whatever it is, don’t come crying to me about it.”
“We all know you’d end up rushing to my side before I fell anyway.” Dorian tilts his chin up, finishing off his nth drink. Both of them had lost count of just how many they had. Iron Bull much sooner than any of the others. But he’s been nursing this one for a while now, his belly good and warm and his veins even warmer.
Iron Bull couldn’t help the snort that rushed out of him, shaking his head again before quieting, his mind drifting to exactly why he was here in the first place. Having gone against everything he knows and has known for the longest time. His friends are still here, his Chargers, the Inquisition. But, everything felt just- upended- like he’d been turned on his head and then his horns buried in the mud.
“You doing alright? I know family stuff can be rough.” Iron Bull asks suddenly, his voice quieting. Why he’s asking such a thing, he’s not sure. Perhaps solidarity? Maybe he’s just trying to make himself feel better in his own, strange way.
Dorian’s brows furrowed, and Iron Bull could see the retort on his tongue. But when their eyes met again, Iron Bull watched it die a little.
“What would you know about it?”
“Finding out you don’t fit in with the people who raised you? Having to walk away from everything you grew up with, knowing you’ve disappointed the ones who loved you?” Iron Bull sighs, “I might know a bit. Takes a tough man to do it, too. So good on you, you big old fop.”
Dorian rolls his eyes at that, and there’s a smile curling his lips again, that frown melting away into something that almost echoes endearment. Solidarity in a way that even Iron Bull didn’t expect to come from himself.
“Yay, good on me.” Dorian’s voice is flat, but that smile remains, and there’s something softer in his eyes.
This sort of banter had been going on between them for months, Iron Bull always pushing, poking, and prodding where he could, and though Dorian would push back, there was always something that made the pushing softer and softer each time. Perhaps it was the drink, or the warmth, or just the breaking of those smaller walls brick by stubborn brick. But after a time, Iron Bull somehow noticed Dorian starting to lean forward a bit.
“Are you inclined to do the forbidden?” He asks lowly, voice seeming to vibrate the slowly shrinking space between them. He can almost feel the warmth rolling off of Dorian at this point.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dorian’s voice had dropped into a whisper, neither of them wanting to openly acknowledge the shrinking space, the closeness of their lips.
“I’ve told you before, if you ever wanted to explore that, my door’s always open.” He flashes a toothy grin, giving him one last out, one last chance to flee. To think better of himself and to back away.
But he doesn’t, and their lips meet in something that’s very chaste but also so full of heat that it’s hard to ignore.
It’s a blur after that, not sure where one kiss begins and the other ends, hardly any words exchanged as they practically appeared in his room. All heavy breaths and wandering hands.
No need to trip over that skirt now with it being pushed up.
Iron Bull had never been one much for softness, not when it came to sex anyway; his want to conquer was something he would never tire of. Especially with such a pretty little Vint that was practically asking for it.
He crowded Dorian against the closed door, having to bend low to keep his head pressed close, mindful always of his horns even as he reached up and grabbed a fistful of Dorian’s hair. Dorian squirmed, gasping, eyes going dark,
“Unhand me, you brute.” He bites, squirming uselessly against him, and Bull can see the twitch of his lips, how he holds back a smile even as he grabs Bull’s wrist tight. Those muscled arms flexing against the strength he had on his hair.
“Oh, hush, you like it.” Bull rumbles, eyes flicking down to Dorian’s other hand now tracing over his bare chest, sliding slow and light, “Point taken.”
“Don’t know what you’re- ah-“ Dorian’s rebuttal was cut off when Bull pushed his thigh between his legs, pressed tight enough for a small grunt as Dorian’s leg hooked over his hip, like a man desperate to climb the big Quanri. Bull couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips, all teeth and heat and want.
Drunk as they may be, as much as Dorian may think this would be a mistake or just a one-night thing, they both knew it wouldn’t be. That the next morning, they wouldn’t be able to ignore this, the heat between their biting words. The arguments that only ever counted as foreplay between the two of them.
“So fucking pretty.” Bull groans, pressing his hips forward and grinding his thigh against the very prominent hard line of Dorian’s cock through his clothes. He doesn’t care what Dorian calls it; it’s a fucking skirt. He grabs a fistful of it, yanking it high and bunching it around Dorian’s hips, earning a gasp. Dorian’s hips grind hard against Bull’s thigh, the pretty moan that left him going straight to his gut, “Desperate little thing aren’t you?”
“Fuck right off.” Dorian spat back, and Bull chuckled low and thick, all that heat in his gut making itself known in the flush of his skin.
“Do you want me to fuck off, or fuck you?” Bull leaned close and nipped the shell of Dorian’s ear, earning another grunt as he rolled his hips again, breaths heaving quick as he turned his head.
“You know what I want.”
“Do I?”
“Fuck you.”
“I think I want to hear it.”
Bull pulled back just enough to look at him, catching the flush of his cheeks, the dark wanting in his eyes, parted lips. His tongue darting out to wet those pretty lips, leaving them glistening in the candlelight, Bull easily blocking most of it to create something warm and flickering that caught the edges of him. Sharp jawline and perfectly carved features, it’s always the pretty ones that get you, and this pretty one had certainly gotten Iron Bull. Dorian’s hips were a constant now, his leg shaking over Bull’s hip, that skirt exposing all of that lean leg that Bull’s hand smooths over, feeling the deep shiver through the smaller man.
“Come on, pretty boy, tell me what it is that you want from the big bad Qunari.”
“Fuck- Bull-“ Dorian gasps again, hips grinding hard against his thigh, a snip of a glare on his face that he tosses at Bull for besting him even just a little, “Fuck me.”
Iron Bull smiled wickedly,
“That’s it.”
He bit Dorian’s neck, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hear another one of those pretty groans to come out of his mouth. Dorian’s hips continue to grind down hard on Bull’s thigh, moaning sweetly now, and Bull bites back a rumbling chuckle,
“Careful, or you’ll ruin your…” He looks down and sees silk, very pretty silk, “very pretty silk underthings.”
His hand moves of its own accord, down to press against that hot, hard line of Dorian’s cock with a groan.
Dorian’s head falls back,
“Then take it off so I don’t.” He makes a feeble attempt at squirming out of his grasp, but Bull holds firm and smiles wickedly,
“I don’t think I will.” His voice lowers into something heated and terrible, more akin to a growl than anything, “Go ahead and ruin them for me.”
Dorian let out something akin to a growl of a moan as his hips ground forward into Bull’s hand, his grip tight and hot. Those noises quickly turned into whimpers as he continued to fuck into his hand, growing more desperate and whining as he started to shake in his hold. Bull couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by the sight of this pretty Vint, whom he should hate, but just couldn’t find reason to at the moment. Especially not now with them being so similar, even if Dorian would openly deny it any chance he got.
He tightened his grip, feeling the soft silk slide between his palm and the heated flesh beneath, Dorian’s eyes falling shut as he tipped his head back against the door once more. Rutting against him roughly until his body tightened, that hooked leg shaking hard now as it clamped and curled harder around Bull’s hip, and he had to grab hold of it before Dorian toppled over. Dorian gasped, a deep groan leaving him, and Bull felt his cock pulse and spill inside those pretty underthings. A deep groan of his own rolling out of his chest as he worked him through it, keeping his hand tight on his cock, wanting to feel every throb, every pulse. His own cock throbbing almost painfully in his pants, but he didn’t- couldn’t- focus on that right now. Dorian fell forward into his chest, breathing hard and shaky, and Bull steadied him, holding him close.
He finally let Dorian’s leg down,
“You alright?”
“You owe me new underwear.” Dorian’s voice was biting, but his breaths were still shaky and quick, pressing his face tight to Bull’s chest. “And you’re going to give me what I actually want now.”
“Will I?”
Dorian looked up at him, all want, and heat, and Bull nearly dropped to his knees right then and there, somehow this much shorter man completely able to look down his nose at him, even with Bull towering over him. He’d give him anything he could want. Dorian seemed to know that as a wry smirk curled the corner of his lips,
“Yes, you will, because you like it.”
Dorian’s hand came up to trace along Bull’s chest again before hooking around his shoulder strap and pulling him down for another kiss. And he was very much right. Bull didn’t stop the low rolling chuckle that rumbled through his chest as he reached down to grab Dorian’s ass tightly, that rucked-up skirt giving him glorious access to those taught globes. Reveling in the shaky gasp that he earned from his rough groping before he lifted the smaller man and guided his legs to wrap around his waist, each kiss leading into the other, making it so they simply didn’t end, even as they gasped between each one.
They landed hard on the bed together, Bull automatically caging the smaller man beneath him, a wide grin plastered to his face as his eye traced over Dorian. All flushed and panting, wanting, beautiful. The pretty one went and got him. And if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.
“Stop staring, I already know you like what you see.” Dorian nips; he tries to keep that haughty attitude there, but his hands on Bull’s chest, pulling at the leather strap, the wry smile that sits just beneath his attempted composure. Bull chuckles deeply again, shaking his head,
“No. I could look at you forever, and I think I will.” His hands push up Dorian’s sides, earning a shaky gasp, all that flushed golden skin looking radiant in the candlelight. He revels in the sight as he pushes Dorian’s ‘robes’ higher. As the smaller man demands they’re called regularly. He still likes to refer to them as dresses, just to watch that scowl appear on the man’s face.
He makes sure to get rid of those- very ruined- underthings as well, tossing everything aside to bask in Dorian’s full nakedness. Swatting away Dorian’s hands that fly over himself in a meek attempt at dignity or modesty.
“I already told you I’m going to stare whether you like it or not.” His smile was wide, turning slightly sharp in its wickedness as he pinned his wrists down against the bed.
Dorian opens his mouth to protest, only for it to melt away in a gasp and then a warbling groan as Bull lowers down to press open-mouth kisses over his chest, tasting the salt-sweet of his heated skin, devouring him as he wanted to since he gave him that heated look in The Herald’s Rest. How many hours ago was that? He couldn’t tell; all he really knew was that his cock was aching, straining against the front of his trousers almost angrily now. Demanding attention the same way Dorian was demanding attention beneath him. Straining against his hold on him, back arching, and head tossed to the side.
Iron Bull pressed himself down against him, letting him feel just what all those pretty sounds and that pretty body is doing to him.
“You said you wanted me to fuck you, pretty boy?” Bull nipped at his ribs, knowing that it would make it difficult for him to answer.
“Don’t keep me waiting, yes, I want you to fuck me.”
“But I like teasing you, you make such pretty noises for me.”
“Bull,” Dorian warned, and he chuckled against it, getting impatient himself as his cock throbbed painfully.
Reaching over to the side table, he grabbed a bottle of oil, then sat back on his heels, pressing his knees between those muscled thighs as he ran his hands up them, feeling the shiver. He hikes one of Dorian’s legs up, curling his arm around it before kissing the inside of his knee as he poured oil onto his fingers. Bull knows the kind of man he is, big. And many quite like that, but it does mean that preparation is very important. Though he knew Dorian probably wanted it hard and close, considering that’s what he wanted as well, he had no intention of hurting the much smaller man.
He glanced up at Dorian for just a moment, drinking in the sight with a smile as he brought his oiled fingers to his entrance. A deep, guttural groan rolling through him at the tightness of him, wetting his lips hungrily.
Dorian’s breath hitched, a groan of his own falling from his lips before he reached up suddenly and grabbed hold of that leather strap again, yanking Bull down into a rough kiss, nipping his bottom lip harshly. Bull responded in kind, another groan from the back of his throat as he pushed a finger inside that tight, clenching heat. Fuck, he’s tight.
He takes his time with him, kissing and nipping at his skin, leaving behind little marks that he will happily tease Dorian about tomorrow. Dorian’s hands wander restlessly against his skin as he moans, all that defiance and haughty attitude melting away the moment Bull had found that perfect spot.
“There we go.” He murmured against Dorian’s jaw, curling his finger relentlessly against it.
He kept his other hand wrapped around that hiked leg, feeling the muscles strain and clench, his leg kicking when Bull pressed just right. And he stared, greedily, hungrily, watching the smaller man’s back arch, his head thrown back, his throat working around those fucking perfect moans. That was until Dorian’s hand suddenly came up from where it was clutching the sheet to grab at his horn.
Bull’s eye widened, and he was temporarily stunned into stillness by the sudden yank,
“If you keep-“ Dorian tried, failed, licked his lips, and then opened his eyes. They were glassy, hazy, wondrous. “If you keep that up, I’m going to finish before you actually give me what I want.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he glanced down to see Dorian’s cock rock hard and leaking already. And here he thought his own refractory period was legendary. He looked back up, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face. Dorian huffed out an indignant sound, surely another warning on his tongue, but he wasn’t interested in any of that.
He cut him off mercilessly with another press to that perfect spot, killing it with another moan.
“First, your pretty underthings, and now again? You just can’t get enough, can you? Greedy little thing.” Bull’s voice was hot, pressed tightly against Dorian’s neck, and he pressed another finger inside.
“Fuck- Bull-“
“Go on, do it again, come for me again, pretty boy, and then I’ll stop teasing you. I promise.” Then he returns to pressing and rubbing that spot mercilessly.
Dorian gasps, a warbling moan leaving him as his back arches, and that leg Bull still has his arm wrapped around, tenses harshly. It only takes a few more seconds before Dorian’s moan hitches and his head throws back against the sheets, and he comes undone with a deep groan and shudder, spilling against his stomach. Another wide smile splits Bull’s face, another victory. Dorian is a mess beneath him, flushed and panting and shaking, his groan turning into a whimper when he removes his fingers from that clenching heat.
He moves up, pressing his chest against Dorian’s heaving one, mindful of the smaller man’s grip loosening on his horn as he props himself up on his forearm.
“Still want it?”
“Shut up and fuck me already.” Dorian pants heavily, his skin so flushed he looks almost feverish, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Bull raises a brow at him, but when Dorian looks at him, all wanting again, he can’t say no to him. He’s sure he’ll never be able to say no ever again, even if he tried.
Careless and probably a lot faster than necessary, Bull shucks off his trousers, sighing in relief as his cock finally springs free from the confines. He catches Dorian’s tongue sliding over his lips again, that hungry glint in his eyes as he grabs his cock and gives it one tantalizing stroke. Heat snaking up his spine and making him huff.
“Spread for me nice and pretty now,” He murmurs, grabbing the oil and applying a very generous amount to himself.
Dorian does just that, his hands back to twisting in the sheets as he props himself up on his elbows to look down at Bull’s cock. Looking like he wants nothing more than to devour him just as much as Bull wants to do to him. A complete mess, and Dorian still has an immense amount of control over him, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Just the sight of him is enough to make Bull want to worship every inch of his skin. Maybe he will later. Maybe he’ll let Dorian take control next time. He mentally chastises himself, already fantasizing a next time.
“You look like you need it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself too much; there would be no living with you for it.”
“Already too late for that.”
Dorian doesn’t try to hide his smile this time, apparently already too blissed-out to act all high and mighty currently after two orgasms. Bull hikes both of his legs up onto his hips, his eye making sure to catch every little breath, tremor, and expression he could as he started to press inside.
Even with all that preparation, Dorian was still so tight, and Bull groaned out a curse as his eye fell shut and his head tipped back, getting lost in the sensation as heat and pleasure coiled around his abdomen. He only allowed himself a second of bliss, though, focusing back on Dorian as he wanted to sear this moment into his brain, wanted to remember it until the very day he died, just in case. Just in case.
There’s a heavy sigh from both of them when he finally bottoms out, and Bull has to stop himself from crushing the poor man beneath him as he folds forward, catching himself on his forearms. Both of them breathing hard as Bull tries to control himself; he’s sure Dorian is well beyond what would be comfortable for the common man. But Dorian is apparently no common man, as he whimpers out a mumbled curse and his hips canter upwards, silently demanding movement. It’s what breaks him; whatever shred of control he once had slips away as Bull groans heavily, one arm coming down to snake around Dorian’s shoulders, and he’s moving.
Hard and heavy thrusts push Dorian into the mattress as Bull busies himself with kissing, nipping, and sucking marks into the smaller man’s shoulder, neck, and collarbone. He can almost feel the buzz of magic at the ends of Dorian’s fingertips that dig into the muscles of his back, the bubble of heat that surrounds them made entirely of breath, groans, and moans. A language that only lovers know. He’s not sure that he’s allowed to call them lovers yet, but damn does he want to.
Dorian’s moans are breathless, sweet like honey, mumbled curses underneath his breath that make no true sense at all. And they’re amazing. His hips snap forward brutally, hardly pulling out; he doesn’t want to be separated from this heat, from this tightness, from this bliss. Sweat smears over their pressed together chests, skin slick and sliding just right to cause friction where Bull wanted it most. Skin-to-skin. This closeness that he can’t help but memorize.
He feels Dorian’s legs tighten around his hips, the mumbled breathless moans of his name, clipped with every thrust, take a moment to actually gather his attention.
“I’m- I’m close.” Dorian breathes, eyes squeezing shut as he presses his forehead against Bull’s shoulder, and Bull responds with a heavy, growling groan.
“Again? Gonna come for me again? Madman.” He can’t help the teasing lit to his voice even as he starts to feel that pressure start to build low in his gut, his balls starting to draw tight.
Dorian retorts only with a smack against his back, and he’s sure he felt the snap of magic underneath his palm at the contact. He presses his face to the underside of Dorian’s jaw, forcing him to tilt his head back and away from his shoulder. He doesn’t want those sounds muffled. Keeping one arm wrapped around Dorian’s shoulders while the other glides down his side, coming to grip that gloriously muscled thigh tight as he fucks into him hard enough to hear the slap of skin-on-skin. He changes the angle minutely, pulling Dorian’s thigh just a touch higher, and when Dorian practically keens, he knows he found that perfect angle and keeps it.
He can feel Dorian tightening; he doesn’t need to look when his back arches, but he does anyway, temporarily forgetting his own limit starting to approach. The gasp, the groan, now familiar tells, and Bull feels him clench hard around his sawing cock, and he loses it. His eye squeezes shut, unable to hold back his own deep groan as his hips stutter and then press, rocking forward with nowhere else to go before spilling inside the smaller man.
They lay there for what felt like hours but were surely minutes, breathing hard and trembling, coming down from their pleasure.
“A bath,” Dorian breathes eventually, “and some actually good wine.” Dorian tosses an arm over his eyes, his other hand going loose and shaky against Bull’s back.
Bull chuckles in response,
“No such thing as good wine here.” Dorian groans out in what could actually be agony if he didn’t know better, “But a bath does sound good.”
“Good, because you smell.”
Iron Bull laughs heartily at that, knowing that he will more than likely be waking with a very hungover and prickly Dorian. But he’s okay with that.
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The sun burns the back of his neck, and Dorian pulls the collar of his coat high, grumbling quietly against it. The waiting was by far the worst of it, moving so little during the day in the Wester Approach and waiting for the sun to start falling behind the horizon just to get a touch of coolness back into the simmering air. At least it wasn’t the Hissing Wastes. Then it was too cold.
Iron Bull chuckled from where he practically lunged against the rock he had perched himself on, basking in it like he were a damned lizard.
“So, Dorian, about last night…”
Dorian’s face, already overly hot, felt like it had just been engulfed in flames. His brows furrowed, and he balked at the overly large Qunari before letting out a long-suffering sigh,
“Discretion isn’t your thing, is it?”
“Three times! Also, do you want those silky underthings back, or did you leave those like a token?” Iron Bull tilted his chin high, overly pleased with himself, while Dorian was trying not to crawl out of his skin as the Inquisitor’s brows rose and she looked directly at the two of them with her lips caught between her teeth, “Or…” Iron Bull continued unbothered, “Wait, did you ‘forget’ them so you’d have an excuse to come back? You sly dog!” Iron Bull laughed loudly.
Dorian’s jaw clenched, and he pressed his lips into a thin line before biting back,
“If you choose to leave your door unlocked like a savage, I may or may not come.”
Iron Bull’s brows wriggle, his smile turning sly, and Dorian staring daggers at him.
“Speak for yourself.”