aban_aqun | The Hissing Wastes

It doesn't bother him. That's more than can be said for any other man Dorian's fucked. But he shouldn't read too much into it, he chides himself. There are relatively few things that actively bother Bull. He's an entirely different creature--quite literally--than any of Dorian's past lovers.

"How wonderful for you," Dorian says quietly, more than a little bitter, "that it didn't bear correcting." He can't help but hear the words I only wanted what was best for you.

His dinner is set aside again as his hands wind together with nerves. He feels compelled to tell Bull, here and now. Perhaps because Bull has deigned to share things with him, perhaps because Bull has told him that he's willing to acknowledge Dorian in a way he hadn't anticipated. He trusts him, he realizes. More than anyone else he knows.

"My father felt that it did." Dorian's voice remains strong, though low. "He grew so weary of the scandal my predilections caused, of my refusal to live a lie and marry the woman they'd assigned to the unfortunate task of becoming my wife."

Dorian doesn't take a deep breath, doesn't pause. If he does, he knows he won't continue.

"He tried to change me. He wanted to use a dangerous blood magic ritual to alter my mind, make me...acceptable." And there it is, out in the open. Dorian hadn't meant to make this confession tonight--or ever, really--but as with so many other instances, the Iron Bull draws out truths and emotions from him that he didn't expect. Kaffas, he thinks; he really is good at what he does.

Bull listens in silence as Dorian delves into the part of his life that Bull knows so little about. He knows that the Inquisitor and Dorian went to confront Halward - not an agent, as previously believed - in Redcliffe. He did not dig for more after that, given Dorian's mood when he returned.

What he could not have imagined was that Halward Pavus would have tried to use blood magic, particularly dangerous blood magic, on his own son. His expression changes subtly: a quiet but profound anger. Bull takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly, trying to let his rage go with it. He looks out at the desert but one large hand slides over, gently covering both of Dorian's to stop their anxious wringing.

"I'm sorry, Dorian." The words are small and they feel useless in the face of what he had to face. Bull looks at him. He wants nothing more than to pull Dorian into his arms and offer him comfort the way he knows best. He wants to hold him, to let him feel supported and cared for and protected. But Dorian has asked that he avoid such public displays.

Bull tells himself he would do it for anyone, but that doesn't matter. Dorian has asked him not to. So he squeezes the mage's hands.

"He was wrong to try to do that to you. Wrong to try to make you anything less than what and who you are."

He knows what Bull must be thinking; or what he assumes he's thinking, at least. Tevinters and blood magic go hand in hand. But his father wasn't like that. Or at least, Dorian had thought he wasn't. The mistaken assumption that his father still had some principle left, some compunctions about using the sort of magic he'd always taught Dorian to abhor, had nearly cost Dorian his life--or his sanity. The same either way.

But there's no I-told-you-so. Bull apologizes quietly and takes his hand. It's still something of a marvel, the way Bull's hands so completely engulf his own.

"I know that, of course." Dorian murmurs, and finds that though there are a hundred more things he could say about this, he can't manage to actually find the words for any of them. He settles on, "But it's good to hear you say it anyway. Thank you."

"It's one thing to know it and another to hear it."

Bull's quiet for a moment, considering carefully before he asks, "Halward was in Redcliffe, wasn't he? An agent might have pissed you off, but..."

He'd never spoken to Dorian - or anyone - about what he did or didn't know about the Inquisitor's trip to Redcliffe. All he could confirm (and even that was on shaky ground) was that it sounded like a conversation between father and son and beyond that the details are bare. Tavern walls had ears, even when they seemed empty, and Bull doubts that Halward would take notice of servants.

"What did he want?"

"He was," Dorian confirms with a sardonic little chuckle. "He wanted the same thing he's always wanted: for me to come back home and do my duty to House Pavus. He thought that coming all the way here and joining the Inquisition was just another one of my little rebellions. Goes to show that he doesn't really know me at all." Clutching hard at Bull's hand, Dorian shakes his head. The smile on his lips is not a happy one. "I came here because I wanted to do the right thing. Getting away from him was merely a happy coincidence."

He stares out at the horizon, at the sand stretching on for miles beneath the moon. Thinks of Bull's words from the Qun, about how angry and lonely he'd felt after seeing his father. He hand't felt like he was a part of anything at all.

"He said that what he tried to do was for my sake, because he always has to be so self-righteous. But he only cares for himself--for the good name of House Pavus. He cares more about that than about anyone who actually bears that name."

Bull stays quiet, weighing everything that Dorian tells him. Halward is selfish in the worst way. He wants Dorian to change for the sake of what - a name? Lineage? Prestige? It doesn't matter. The lengths he was willing to go to, the actions he was willing to take against his own flesh and blood--

It bothers Bull in a way he can't entirely articulate.

"Asit tal-eb," he murmurs quietly. "You are Dorian Pavus, and you can be no other way than this. To try to change the nature of a thing is a failure to understand it and value it." He wants to say, it is an abomination, but that is not a word to use lightly around mages and Bull knows it.

"What you bring to the world is something only you can give. I am grateful to know you. Not what your father or Tevinter would have you be."

Well, he won't be changing any time soon. It's a relief to hear that Bull appreciates him as he is; he hasn't heard that nearly enough times in his life, and it's enough to make him a little misty-eyed, though he certainly doesn't look at Bull, hoping that he can hide the depth of emotion this conversation has brought forth in him by turning his face away. He hadn't expected to talk about this with Bull; hadn't thought he ever would, really. But he's glad he has, even if he won't say as much.

"I--" Dorian swallows hard and resists the urge to reach up and wrap his arms around Bull's neck, to bring himself closer and fold into his embrace. "I am rather spectacular. And I have far more value here than I ever would following convention back home."

After taking a moment to blink slowly, breathe deeply, and collect himself, Dorian stands up. He doesn't release Bull's hand, but rather uses it to urge him to stand as well. "Let's go for a walk, shall we?" He suggests, finally glancing at Bull with a tight smile. The desert is beautiful under the moon, and he wants to appreciate it together a little longer--and a little further from camp.

Bull gets up slowly. He braces his free hand against a rock to leverage himself upward so that he doesn't drag on Dorian's hand.

Of course he'll go for a walk. He wouldn't mind a bit more privacy, if that's what it takes for Dorian to allow an embrace or some other comfort. His good eye is bright as he looks down at the mage.

"I expect you to protect me if we run into anything that wants to eat us," he quips. "I'm not armed."

As if his own body is not weapon enough. As if he has never grappled with something twice his size in an effort to kill it.

"You're safe with me," Dorian assures, managing a genuinely amused smile. Bull's teasing quickly puts him in a better mood, as does the sustained grip of their hands. He's never walked hand in hand with someone like this before. It always seemed far too intimate, like something real lovers would do. It makes him strangely giddy. "Luckily, I am always armed."

As though Bull wouldn't happily fight something with his bare hands anyway. Dorian's seen him do it, at times simply for the joy and satisfaction it apparently brings him. Dorian will never understand, but he can't deny that it does things to him, the way Bull swaggers about after a particularly hard-won victory, grinning, boasting, muscles gleaming with perspiration, gaze hot and knowing when it meets Dorian's--

--the point being, Dorian isn't worried about them encountering anything that, as Bull puts it, wants to eat them.

Dorian leads the way, though he has no idea where he's going. Further from camp, at least, around an outcropping of rock, tall boulders with edges smoothed by sand and time. "I hope the next camp's near a lovely oasis surrounded by lush greenery," he jokes. "I could use a proper wash, and something other than sand to look at."

Bull strokes his thumb along Dorian's, smiling as they walk. He lets Dorian lead them, not really worried about getting lost; Bull has a solid sense of direction and has known how to navigate by the stars for decades.

The nice thing about the Hissing Wastes and the Western Approach are the rock formations that can act as markers.

He notices Dorian sort of drifting off into his own head for a moment and he lifts his eyebrow when he comes back. Bull chuckles at the mention of an oasis.

"I wouldn't mind it," he admits. "Remember the place with the waterfall out in the Approach? It was nice after we killed the giant."

Bull smirks as he looks down at Dorian. "I wouldn't mind watching you have a proper wash."

"I remember," Dorian confirms, though he doesn't think it's necessary. He well remembers how Bull had looked washing in that pool beneath the waterfall, and how Bull had noticed him watching. Of course he'd bring it up now. Dorian arches a brow even as he smiles up at him, drifting closer as they walk, close enough that his shoulder presses to Bull's bicep. "I might even let you watch me. Provided you have enough restraint to keep your hands to yourself while I'm bathing," he flirts coyly.

It's easy to forget, with Bull's teasing and flattery distracting him, that they'd had quite the revealing conversation several minutes ago. They'd learned things about one another that--in Dorian's case, at the very least, he wouldn't tell anyone else. It makes him feel closer to Bull than ever, for better or worse.

Even looking back to the Western Approach, when he'd begun to seriously consider actually taking Bull up on his longtime offer, he hadn't thought he'd ever count Bull as the person he'd become closest to here in the south. But here they are, and Dorian can't help but think that Bull may be his closest friend. (The word seems wrong, even in his head; friend. But he wouldn't dare lay claim to any other term.) They've been willing to share openly the multitude of things that make them different, and in doing so have discovered some remarkable similarities. Bull understands him in a way that no one else in their group possibly could.

Dorian slows to a halt, pressed against Bull's side as he looks up past him, up at the stars littering the night sky, nearly as plentiful as the sand below their feet. He thinks of that passage from the Qun.

"How does it go again?" He wonders, knows that Bull will know what he's talking about.

"You're asking something considerable," Bull quips. He's watched Dorian bathe before, though never overtly before they started-- whatever this is. And now the thought of watching water trickle over Dorian's golden skin makes him want.

Bull doesn't know what to do with the feeling that stirs in his chest when Dorian asks him to repeat part of the canto he'd recited earlier. He usually keeps the Qun to himself; it doesn't suit the story of a Tal-Vashoth and he isn't interested in converting anyone. But it feels good to be able to share these words that he finds comfort in. He squeezes Dorian's hand and, while the mage looks at the sky, Bull quietly admires him.

"Emptiness is an illusion. Beneath my feet, grains of sand beyond counting. Above my head, a sea of stars. Alone, they are small: a faint and flickering light in the darkness, a lost and fallen fragment of earth. Alone, they make the emptiness real. Together, they are the bones of the world."

Dorian's smile becomes a little softer, undeniably fond. Bull repeats exactly the words he was looking for. "Thank you," he says quietly--for a number of things. "It really is beautiful." The view, the poetry, and both together, especially in Bull's low baritone.

When he looks back at Bull, he expects him to be looking up as well, or out over the expanse of waste. Instead, he finds that Bull is looking at him. It startles him briefly, surprise flickering across his features.

His breath catches in his throat, and he doesn't know what to say. He meets Bull's eye, and all he manages is a soft, breathy exhale. "Oh." Barely a word at all.

Bull feels a hitch in his throat when Dorian meets his gaze; he's been caught but he isn't ashamed and he doesn't try to hide it. His other hand reaches up to stroke along Dorian's cheek and without a world, Bull leans down into a tender kiss.

He's been wanting to kiss Dorian since he appeared from the camp and now Bull indulges. He pulls Dorian's body against his, until they're flush together. Dorian deserves to feel good, to feel cared for and admired. He deserves to know that he is worthy of whatever he seeks.

Bull slides hand down Dorian's back, letting it rest just at the dip just before the swell of his rear. By all that sacred, Dorian is attractive. But it's more than that now and Bull knows it.

Dorian isn't exactly surprised that Bull kisses him, but he is immensely taken by it. With Bull guiding him to press against him, with his fingers gently curled around his jaw, with his hand covering the small of his back, with the way he'd been looking at him, Dorian can't help but interpret this as some evidence of passion beyond a simple desire to fuck him. He can't possibly know what that means, or what this--this thing between them means to Bull. Dorian doesn't even know for certain what it means to him. But it is enough that Bull would look at him that way, and kiss him like this. It's very sweet.

Arms circling around Bull's waist--wide enough that his hands can't quite meet around his back--he returns that kiss with tenderness of his own. He wants Bull to feel as desired as Bull makes him feel; like Bull wants and embraces all of him, everything about him. I am grateful to know you, he'd said. Even if that's all this is, Dorian will take it. He'll be glad to know that there is at least one person who likes him exactly as he is, and doesn't mind expressing it.

He loves how Bull towers over him, but bends enough when they kiss that Dorian doesn't have to strain. One of many ways that Bull is considerate. But it must be murder on his neck, especially with his horns. Dorian leans into Bull to steady himself as he presses up onto his tip-toes, alleviating some of their height difference. He slides his tongue past Bull's lips almost gently, but the way he clutches at his back, nails scratching lightly at his bare skin, are a better indicator of how much he craves this--this intimacy, this bright, hopeful spark of something.

He'd woken up still feeling their earlier exertions in the pleasant ache of his body, and though he'd washed well enough that any lingering scent would be undetectable to a human, perhaps not so to a Qunari. Perhaps it's merely wishful thinking, but he thinks he can smell some trace of it on Bull still. But perhaps he's merely grown to associate the scent of Bull's skin with comfort and pleasure.

Dorian Pavus makes Bull feel things that he's never really had to work through before. The mage has crossed the line between friend and sex partner, a line that has always been so clearly and easily delineated for Bull. No person has ever occupied both roles at once, not the way that Dorian does now.

And with the way that Dorian surges up onto the balls of his feet, pressing into him and gaining height to give Bull some relief, Bull finds himself utterly smitten. He slides his hand across Dorian's back so that his forearm is there instead, offering the mage support as his body leans more heavily into Bull's.

He closes his eye, giving himself over to the way Dorian kisses him back, igniting something that is never anything less than banked between them these days. All it takes is a spark, a rush of air, for the flame to light again.

Bull realizes their is a solution to the problem of their height difference. His hands slide lower until he catches the back of Dorian's thighs. It takes nothing to lift the mage from there, suddenly bringing them even. He breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, to touch his forehead to Dorian's now that he's able to do so.

Though this isn't the first time Bull has lifted him this way, Dorian still gasps with delighted surprise, feeling the same thrill go through him that he always does when Bull displays his strength--and uses it on him. He'd worry that holding him up like this might be too much, except that Bull displays no exertion at all when he does it; has indeed commented that most of the weapons he wields regularly are heavier than Dorian is. There's something in that that Dorian finds deeply attractive on a base level. Sharing intimacy mostly in tents as they have been, there's been little chance for this sort of thing.

Dorian's arms drape around Bull's neck as he nudges their foreheads together, and Dorian takes this moment to breathe as well, to feel Bull's grip on his thighs, the warmth of his skin and the solid mass of his body against him. His legs circle Bull's waist almost instinctively, though he can't get much leverage with how wide he has to spread them. But that's always been appealing, too.

"Bull," he murmurs quietly, and lets their lips brush again briefly as he appreciates the rare opportunity to be on eye level. "I'm grateful to know you, too." And because he can't simply say something heartfelt and just let it lie, he adds with good humor, "Despite your crude behavior and complete lack of taste for anything refined." A pause as his lips curl into a soft, amused smile. "Apart from myself, of course. One could hardly malign your preferences there."

Edited 2019-08-29 15:41 (UTC)

Bull doesn't even try to tease Dorian about his duplicity; he's content to just kiss him again and know that the more serious he is, the less serious he tries to sound. He moves them beneath a wind-carved arch, affording them some privacy before he sinks down to his knees. Bull keeps Dorian close against him as he slowly eases forward, laying the mage on his back in the still-warm sand.

He knows how many people look at Dorian - men and women both, though the latter soon enough learn their flirting will bear no reward. He knows the kind of men Dorian's taken to bed before. Bull is not like any of them in so many ways. He's too big, too rough, too broken and scarred. And not the dashing kind of scars the chevalier had. He's heard the whispers, wondering what the well-bred Vint could see in him. The answer is almost inevitably along the lines of, you know what it is.

But Dorian's never treated him like that and Bull finds himself resenting the comments.

Now, he leans over Dorian, protective and looming as he admires the way the moonlight plays across Dorian's skin. He leans down to kiss the mage's bare shoulder; Bull has teased him more than once about his aesthetic, but even the rough Qunari has to admit that Dorian knows how to dress to advantage.

Dorian makes at least some effort to steady Bull as he lowers himself to his knees, though there's not much he can do while being held the way he is. The moons light Bull from behind, making looking at his face very intimate as he carefully sets Dorian down. It's all very--well, very romantic, though Dorian staunchly avoids lingering on that idea.

Feeling sand against his back helps with that almost immediately. Bull leans over him, presses a very sweet kiss to his bare shoulder--quite near the obvious bruise he'd left there earlier--but Dorian isn't having it. He's eager for this, so much so that he's willing to do it out here, but not laying on the bloody sand, which is inevitably going to get into absolutely everything, and he'll be pouring it out of his leathers for days.

"Oh no," he chides, pressing a hand to Bull's chest to give him space as he pushes himself up off the sand, sitting rather than laying. "Absolutely not." His brow furrows. He's got standards--really, he does. "Either you pick me up again, or we do this standing."

Bull laughs as Dorian pushes him back and sits up. He reaches to help the mage back into his lap, straddling him so he doesn't have to hold himself up. "So demanding," he rumbles, not sounding the least bit put off by the refusal-- or rather, the insistence regarding how this should happen.

He eases back, sitting carefully so he can put his shoulders against a rock. "I'll be in the sand," he quips as he looks down at Dorian's thighs, appreciating how they look on either side of him. "But if you really want me to hold you up and do this standing... we can."

Now that Dorian's mentioned it, it's an option he's willing to indulge in. Though he does worry about scraping Dorian's back against the rocks.

Settling across Bull's lap is infinitely better than where he had been. Bull is clearly nothing less than amused by Dorian's insistence, which Dorian can't decide if he's pleased or annoyed by. He's quite serious about this, after all. But before he can decide, Bull gives him a choice. And even though he'd just suggested Bull picking him up again himself, the fact that Bull is actually giving it consideration and acknowledging it as a possibility has Dorian reeling. That might just be a long-time fantasy. But he can't appear too eager. That would give Bull far too much ammunition to tease him with.

"Let's see where this goes, shall we?" He says lightly, as though it doesn't matter to him either way. "Just don't put me down again," he instructs, and shifts his hips to settle more firmly in Bull's lap. Grinding down against Bull in the process is, of course, entirely deliberate. He settles his hands on Bull's wide chest and leans in to kiss him again, keen on distracting himself that way for a bit.

Bull's breath catches as Dorian grinds against him. Even if Dorian's trying to hide it, he saw the way he reacted to the possibility of being held up during sex. Maybe they'll have to try it tonight after all.

He leans in to meet the kiss and slides his hands over Dorian's thighs and the perfect curve of his ass. He'll say this: Dorian knows how to dress to advantage. After they started having sex regularly it became impossible for Bull to ignore. As his hands move, he starts working free buckles and straps. It'd be too much to undress Dorian entirely, especially out here, where they aren't really protected. But they don't need to be naked for this. Bull has everything else they need.

"Too bad you don't like those robes the Enchanters here like," he murmurs as he slides his mouth down Dorian's neck. "Easy to just lift those up." He grins against the mage's skin and scrapes his teeth over his pulse.

Dorian hums his approval when Bull's hand slide up his thighs and over his ass. It's almost disappointing when they wander further to begin unbuckling various straps on his person. Bull's gotten good at remembering which of them hold up the most important pieces of the garment in order to get him out of it quickly.

"Oh, so you've finally noticed that I don't wear a skirt?" Dorian quips, even as he tilts his chin to let Bull kiss and nip along his neck. It shouldn't be as arousing as it is, though, that Bull laments him not wearing a different outfit just for ease of access. It conjures a...certain image. More embarrassing things have made his cock hard, he supposes. "If I did," he says lightly, "I'd be depriving you of an excellent view. Whatever would you look at while we traverse the countryside? The scenery?"

His pulse beats hard and fast beneath Bull's lips and his fingers curl into his chest, unvarnished nails dragging against Bull's skin.

"Maybe I wouldn't have the view, but I'd have my imagination to keep me entertained," he quips as he works loose and open the most important parts of Dorian's gear. Bull pauses his mission to give some attention to Dorian's cock as soon as he can get to it. He meets the mage's gaze as he strokes him.

"Besides, this would be much easier," he quips, his voice warm as he teases Dorian, letting his palm graze the head of his cock before he strokes down again. He can feel Dorian's blunt nails digging against his chest and he suddenly wonders what it might take to have Dorian clawing at him. He shouldn't keep them out here too long: someone will come looking for them, especially if they find their abandoned dinner bowls. Better to be quick this time.

Had Bull not chosen that moment to begin stroking his cock, Dorian might have had a wittier response. As it is, he manages, "It's easy enough," followed by a low moan as Bull's hand drags along his length. Bull's hands are rough and warm and huge, and Dorian takes a few moments to simply enjoy the sensation, letting pleasure spread through him in with each stroke as he gradually grows hard.

Not to be outdone, however, he reaches for the massive buckle of the Bull's belt, and has to use both hands to undo it. It's good that he isn't wearing his full kit, at least, or else he'd need help with it. Once the belt is open, however, it's a simple matter of rearranging his voluminous pants and sitting up enough to free Bull's cock.

It's a stark contrast when they do this together, Bull's hand on him and his on Bull. Even soft, or nearly so, Dorian's fingers barely meet around his girth, whereas Bull's palm covers nearly the entirety of Dorian's cock; not because Dorian is small, but because Bull is big. Dorian bites back another moan--one never knows how sound may carry in a place like this--as he tilts his chin down to watch. He pumps Bull slowly, base to tip, fingers squeezing lightly around the head. For lack of options, he uses a spell to conjure oil in his hand, spreading it to make his strokes easier, slicker.

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