"I'm being outfitted as the Inquisition can afford, apparently. Josephine is the last person I'll complain to," he says dismissively. What he doesn't say is that it's because Josephine had recently discovered his bad habit of pilfering bottles of wine from the cellars, so he's already walking on thin ice.
Dorian buckles himself into the layers of leather that make up the second part of his outfit, using it largely as an excuse not to look at Bull where he still lounges, warm and welcoming and invitingly bare. Every time he looks, he wants to return to him. It always happens this way. As he leans over to pick up his discarded robe, he meets Bull's eye. He bunches the fabric in his hand as he rises, and against his better judgement, goes to sit on the edge of the bed. He shouldn't linger, he knows; that only makes leaving more difficult. But the affection he has for Bull has not abated even slightly, and tends to surface most at highly inopportune moments.
Robe in hand, he leans in first to kiss Bull's stubbled cheek, then his scarred brow. He may have chosen not to sleep beside him anymore, but he doesn't want Bull to think that he no longer cares. They've been through far too much together for that to be the case.
"Do you have nothing else to do this afternoon?" He wonders, half teasing and half genuine inquiry.
"Nothing particularly pressing," he says as he props himself up on one arm. It lets him lay more on his side as Dorian joins him on the bed. Only sitting, but it's better than nothing. Bull wants to kiss him again.
Dorian takes the initiative and Bull can't help but smile as warm lips brush his cheek, his brow. He closes his eye, savoring the moment.
"I'll head back down to the Rest, check in with Krem and the boys when they get back. Watch the comings and goings."
Bull has the tendency to set up places. Everyone knows his chair at the rest: against the far wall where he can see the main door. But now and then he'll sit in the main hall and the garden, listening to visiting guests as they chat where they think no one is particularly listening. Bull has the ability to disappear, despite his size.
Bull's smile at the brief kisses he'd bestowed on him stirs something warm in Dorian, and makes him smile too, soft and fond. "You intend to spend the rest of the day eating, drinking, and eavesdropping, then," Dorian surmises, but manages to sound amused rather than accusatory, as he once might have.
He raises a hand to Bull's face and strokes his cheek briefly before allowing himself a sigh and getting to his feet again. "Well, don't let me distract you from important spy work." His robe is much easier to put on than the rest of his outfit. It's all a matter of draping it correctly and then belting it in the right places.
"If you're still about when I finish my work, I'll join you," he offers, though he knows he probably shouldn't. One romp a day should really be enough.
"That about sums it up," Bull rumbles with amusement. He tips his head into Dorian's touch and he's disappointed to lose it as Dorian stands again. He watches the way Dorian puts his robe back on - he's undressed the mage enough times to know how it works in reverse.
"I'll be around, unless someone decides they need me for something pressing."
It's his way of leaving an open invitation: of course Dorian can join him. People watching with a Tevinter mage isn't an awful way to spend an afternoon.
Dorian's lips quirk at the corners, pulling into a fond half smile. Truly, he cherishes opportunities to spend time together, even if it's only sitting side by side in the great hall as Bull listens and watches. They'll talk for as long as they like, and then Dorian will read. It's companionable. Though if he's smart, he'll excuse himself before it turns into joining Bull here again at night.
His boots are the last part of his ensemble, and for lack of options he sits on the edge of the bed again to pull them on.
"Shall I find you a new pair of trousers, or are you going to keep on lazing about?" He asks, only half teasing.
"You wanna dress me?" he says, half teasing and half intrigued. Dorian wouldn't exactly have a large wardrobe to choose from, but Bull wouldn't mind the mage picking out what he'll wear. Maybe it's an unusual intimacy, but Bull finds himself wanting to offer it all the same.
While Dorian leans forward to get his boots on, Bull runs his fingers along the mage's back. It's no longer quite so easy to tantalize him, but he'll take the excuse to touch him all the same.
"If I must." Dorian fakes exasperation well, but can't keep up the charade when Bull touches his back. "Incorrigible," he scolds, trying to hide his smile as he looks away to buckle his boots. "I'm making important contributions to this Inquisition, you know. Just because you can justify staying in bed all day doesn't mean that--"
About to pull away, he stops himself as he glances back at Bull over his shoulder. Catching his eye makes Dorian hesitate, a moment of clear reluctance before he forces himself to stand up and step away from the bed. Away from Bull.
He crosses the room, opening the trunk containing Bull's clothing--or what passes for clothing, anyway. As he begins to sort through it, he wonders, "Bull, do you have a favorite color?"
As much as Dorian tries to hide his hesitation, Bull catches the reluctance. He has lived in the south long enough to understand it, even if there is some deeply Qunari part of him that doesn't. Why does Dorian deny himself this when Bull knows it brings him comfort and, maybe, happiness? But he knows it is, and always will be, more complicated than that for most humans. He says nothing and instead watches Dorian open his trunk.
A smirk flickers across his scarred mouth.
"Pink," he answers easily. "Keep telling Krem I want an entire armor set made out of dawnstone."
Dorian pauses for a moment, stunned, and then laughs outright, bright and full. He turns toward Bull, crossing the room again with a pair of striped trousers in hand. "Of course. I knew already that you love dawnstone, but..." But he'd never quite made the full connection. He chuckles again, smiling as he hands Bull a fresh pair of pants. "Well, I suppose grey and pink do go well together."
He can't resist bracing a hand on Bull's shoulder and leaning close to kiss his cheek again, amused and fond. He's incredibly fond of the Bull, in truth, and far closer to him than he's been to any lover before--although that isn't saying much, really. It's so difficult to leave at times like this. Bull clearly wants him to stay, expresses it in his own way, even if Dorian knows he would never ask outright. And Dorian wants nothing more than to do so.
That feeling alone is reason enough as to why he should not. He doesn't--can't--blame Bull for being Qunari, and therefore not understanding the very human nuances of this sort of relationship. But that means he has to take precautionary measures to protect himself. The sort of relationship he would ideally want from a man he was sleeping with and sleeping beside every night is not one Bull would (or could?) ever offer him, and so he must manage his expectations with that in mind.
Bull turns his head to catch a full kiss before Dorian pulls away again. Then he leverages himself off the bed so that he can actually get dressed. Before long, he's wearing what Dorian picked out for him and he takes a moment to tie his eye patch back on. Bull sits on the edge of his bed to get his boots ad brace on. He isn't going far, but he doesn't want to be caught without it.
"Come join me in the main hall when you're finished. Or when you hit a dead end."
He says something else with a quiet rumble of Qunlat and gathers Dorian close so that he can dip him for a kiss.
Bull is being terribly affectionate today, which is making this whole leaving thing that much more difficult. Dorian is still reeling from being drawn in for not one, but two parting kisses. He gathers himself enough to laugh, "You know I can't resist a scandalous rumor."
Dorian peels carefully away from Bull, putting himself out of the Qunari's reach in case he gets the urge to tug him back for a third kiss. He knows he wouldn't be able to resist. Even now, standing half a room apart, Bull's mouth is tempting. It's always like this. It would be so much easier to slip back into bed, into Bull's arms, as he's done before many times. Bull is always tactile after sex, never fails to hold him close and tell him how wonderful he is. Always urges him through gestures alone to lay back, to relax, to fall asleep against the warmth of his chest, to the comforting sound of his thunderous heartbeat, the now familiar weight of a heavy arm around his waist.
And Dorian wants to. He aches to. Ironically, he's never slept so well as he had those months sharing a tent with Bull. He thinks it was good for Bull, too. Bull never asks for anything, and Dorian hates to deny him something he clearly wants. But the question of why burns inside him, the root of so many of his trepidations. Why does Bull want him? What does he want from him--from this?
Probably nothing beyond the obvious. But hovering by the door, Dorian concludes that there will never be a good time to ask any of these things. He might as well stick his foot in his mouth now and be done with it. Then, at least, he will know where to go next. "Bull," he begins, "am I correct in assuming that you'd prefer I sleep here more often?"
The question is worded in such a way that the answer is potentially tricky. Bull tips his head, regarding Dorian now that he's asked. The simple answer, of course, is yes. He likes sleeping next to Dorian; he feels peace, or if not peace, then a modicum of safety. These are not things he has come by easily in his life, and he is loath to give them up. He also likes seeing the way Dorian looks when he wakes up, groggy and mussed and a little cranky.
None of these answers feel particularly safe, and all of them might push Dorian further away. Still. The Iron Bull rarely truly lies to anyone.
"I would like it, yeah. Got used to sharing on the road, it was nice." On the road and in the first few days after they got back. "I having you here. But I won't guilt you into staying, either."
Dorian should sleep where he wants to, and if that is in his own room or someone else's bed, that isn't Bull's concern.
"When I say my door is open to you, it is because I want you here."
Nothing that Bull says comes as a surprise, exactly, but speaks so carefully--diplomatically, really--in answer is a sign that he understands where Dorian is coming from in asking this question more than he thought he would. And he's casual about it, but sincere. As expected of the Bull, really.
"I want to be here," Dorian admits. His hands fold in front of him to stop them from fidgeting or gesticulating too much, a nervous habit. He feels lightheaded, almost, with the worry that Bull will somehow misunderstand him or think him foolish, thinking that he is reaching for something beyond his grasp. Not that Bull would be cruel even if he did think that. "But among humans, as I'm sure you know, casual lovers don't share a bed regularly. That intimacy is reserved for more established relationships."
Which, of course, is off the table here. The two of them are...not anything specific, in human terms, but still something, certainly. That's become more and more clear with every hour they seek to spend together, in bed and otherwise. But the Bull is Qunari, and human understanding of these bonds cannot be applied to him.
"I know that it must be different for you, and far less complicated. It will take me a little time to adjust my own conception, but I'd like to." Even if it is nothing more meaningful than being nice. Dorian has to agree; it is nice. Perhaps Bull has the right of it. Less worrying about what things mean and more enjoyment of them. "I'd like to do what makes us both happiest."
Far less complicated. Bull doesn't laugh, though part of him wants to. There is nothing uncomplicated about the feelings he has for Dorian, but Dorian has no way of knowing that. He isn't Qunari, nor has he spent any time around Qunari culture outside of what he might glean from Bull. He doesn't argue, just gives a faint nod. It's better to let it go.
"Then do what makes you happy, Dorian. I'm here."
Whatever that means, Bull is here and his door is open. He isn't interested in taking another lover, though he might start looking if Dorian ultimately decides that he didn't want to stay together so often. He isn't in a hurry. He likes Dorian too much to rush.
A smile tugs at Bull's mouth. "Go to your library, Vint. Come join me in the hall later."
But it isn't just me, Dorian wants to insist. It's you as well. Bull is just as much a part of things, and his happiness matters too. But given that he's just told Dorian it would please him if he stayed overnight more often, he holds his tongue. He can do that. It only takes a little reframing.
"All right." He gives a tight smile. "I'll see you tonight, Bull." He's successful at resisting the urge to cross the room and kiss the Bull again. Instead, he finally turns and leaves.
For the next several hours he works in the library and gets very little accomplished. His progress is slowed by constant thoughts of Bull. Dorian spends quite some time considering not whether he can call what they have one thing or another, or if it will last. He instead considers what it means to him; here, now, without any expectations. It's an entirely new perspective, and one that grants him some peace of mind. He still doesn't know what's going on--tells the Inquisitor as much, when she catches him sometime before dinner and asks him how things are with the Bull. He doesn't think that Bull knows either, and something about that is oddly comforting. But does it matter, really? So long as Dorian doesn't expect it to end in a marriage proposal, they can simply enjoy their time together and let it be whatever it is. Bull is good, and Dorian wants to be good to him.
When he finishes up for the day, he isn't even annoyed by his lack of progress. He's discovered something else today, and is content with that. He descends the winding stairs from the mage tower to the great hall and finds Bull seated at the head of one of the long tables just beside a fireplace. Dorian takes the seat on Bull's left and lets the fire warm his back.
"I hope I haven't missed much," he greets with a quirk of a smile. "Has Varric fleeced anyone at cards yet?" He gestures with a tilt of his head to the next table down, where the dwarf sits customarily--and tonight as well, though it seems he's spending this evening writing rather than carousing.
Bull has spent most of his day lighting eating, slowly drinking, and watching. He talks to people that sit down with him; he listens to those that don't. He watches the comings and goings: who heads for Josephine's office, for Leliana's tower? He has someone embedded in Cullen's men so he doesn't need to watch the commander to much.
He smiles when Dorian joins him.
"A delegation from Orlais has arrived," he says with a nod toward Josephine's closed door. "They've been in there for the better part of an hour. Someone came out to order food brought in."
He sets his almost-full tankard down near Dorian, in case he's interested in sharing.
"Orlesians spending hours in Josephine's office? Nothing new there," Dorian comments as he takes Bull's offered tankard in both hands and raises it to his lips for a long, deep drink. Ah--he knows what kind of beer Dorian likes, damn him. "No doubt our ambassador will secure a hefty donation before the evening is out."
He drums his fingers against the table and snorts at Bull's question. "Not far, really," he admits. "Nothing promising today, so I decided to quit a little early." And here he lets his hand settle over the back of Bull's where it rests on the table. "I had other things on my mind."
With one laid over the other like this in plain sight between them, it's even more apparent than usual how large Bull's hands are in comparison to Dorian's. Dorian's thumb smooths idly over Bull's thick knuckles, back and forth slowly.
"They're from Halamshiral," he adds, watching the door as Dorian takes a deep drink from the tankard. "They're here with an invitation for the Inquisitor. Before they arrived, Leliana was talking in low tones with the Inquisitor about what you saw in the possible future of Thedas. About the empress being assassinated."
It's been an eventful day, apparently. Some of this was information that Bull already had, but now he's watching some of the pieces fall into place. He shifts his weight, absently stretching his left leg out. He smiles and spares a look to Dorian when the mage's hand covers his. The touch is nice and Bull wishes he could focus on that alone.
"Anyway, the envoy is directly from the empress, judging by their masks and their colors."
While Dorian had been aware of at least a little of what Bull mentions, it becomes clear quickly that Bull had gained the rest of that information entirely on his own, through careful observation during the last several hours. It really is amazing what one can simply overhear, when thinking critically, and with a background of knowledge useful for gleaning information. Not for the first time, Dorian is impressed by Bull--his mind, chiefly. Here is the agent of the Ben-Hassrath so often belied by the crude mercenary captain. It seems a privilege to him to be allowed to witness Bull this way, trusted with knowing what he's really capable of.
His hand folds further over Bull's, fingers curling around his to tuck beneath his palm, squeezing lightly. He wonders, idly, if anyone gives them a second glance--if anyone notices or cares.
"I wonder if we'll all go to the Winter Palace," Dorian murmurs, sounding a bit hopeful. He may not care much for Orlesians, but he is in favor of parties. Mostly in favor of the wine he might find at such a party. "Surely, in the interest of preventing the Empress' assassination, we'll be wanted there--if only to serve as a suitable distraction while everyone else sneaks off?" Dorian angles a grin up at Bull. Leaving the Inquisition's Tevinter and Qunari for the Empress' guests to gawk over wouldn't be a half bad plan, actually.
"There's supposed to be some event," Bull says absently. "Josie's been trying to secure invitations for the Inquisitor and a party. This is the first time a delegation from Celene's household has come, which means she's either making progress or they will be leaving invitations here with her before they depart. Leliana predicts a gathering like that would be the perfect place for a very public assassination and she isn't wrong. Imagine the political turmoil of the empress and other high-ranking officials all dying at once."
Bull can. Has. And never mind how he knows what Leliana has been corresponding about or discussing with the Inquisitor and her agents. Bull is working for the Inquisition, he is passing information from his contacts, but he is still Ben-Hassrath and he does not like to have missing pieces. He needs to know where they all are on the board if he's going to provide reliable reasons to prevent a full Qunari invasion of the south.
Dorian's hand is warm against his, the gentle squeeze drawing his attention from the door to the mage next to him. Bull returns the squeeze when he hears the hopeful note in Dorian's voice.
"Boss must have a plan if we're going to show a public face. You and Vivienne should probably start planning what to wear."
Bull assumes they'll at the top of the list. Vivienne is familiar with the Game and the Orlesian court and Dorian lives and breathes political intrigue.
"I saw the effects of that political turmoil first-hand. It wasn't good." He knows that Bull doesn't much like to hear about the magic involved in that incident, and not even Dorian can blame him for that. But Dorian has told him more than once the details of the future he'd seen. The one thing he hasn't talked much with him about is the Bull he'd met there--imprisoned for a year, infected by red lyrium, ready to die fighting. He hadn't known Bull then, had barely spoken to him before. These days, remembering it makes him feel ill and slightly murderous. If he wasn't already holding the Bull's hand, he'd have reached for it now.
"Vivienne, certainly," Dorian agrees more lightly. "But you really think the Inquisitor would choose to bring along a Tevinter pariah to Empress Celene's soiree?" He and the Inquisitor are close, true, and perhaps she would want him there for support. But surely one of her advisers would see what a poor image that would present and counsel her against it. "Even if I am the best authority present on fine wine, food, literature, high society, and parties potentially involving political assassination," he adds.
But he certainly won't turn down such an opportunity if he is chosen. A suitable outfit will most certainly be required. "And you?" He can't help but tease. "Will I witness Madame de Fer force you into a shirt and jacket at last?"
"Are you kidding? The Orlesians will eat the scandal up. It's not their scandal, after all," he says of Dorian's presence at the ball. "You're an obvious choice. Not only do you know how court intrigue works, but you'll command attention. You'll be a focal point of gossip and intrigue yourself. People will thrill themselves by engaging you in conversation. The fallen Tevinter scion and close adviser to the Inquisitor."
Bull considers the suggestion that he might be in the party chosen to go. There are benefits to his presence, of course: Bull knows Orlais and the nobility remarkably well. He has information and contacts that could be useful throughout their investigation. He's good in a fight and he's good at improvising. And more than anything, Bull knows how to gather information.
But he also stands out like a sore thumb, head and shoulders above everyone else and twice as broad as most of them.
"I'm not a shoe-in," he says quietly. "Too big and obvious. Be hell to tailor something to fit me. I've got useful skills but ultimately they need to decide if the benefits outweigh everything else."
Never mind that Bull knows how to disappear in a room, despite being massive.
"Well, if you put it that way, I'll be the most popular guest in attendance," Dorian laughs, and makes a show of drawing himself up, self-important. He can't imagine he'll be so well received as all that, but Bull's perspective is encouraging, at least. He'd rather be a walking scandal than completely ignored. "I suppose it remains to be seen if I'll be given that chance."
He'd like to come along anyway, even if he isn't to go to the party itself. Orlais is Orlais, but it is the closest he'll get to civilized society here in the south.
"Nonsense," he insists of Bull's dismissal of his own chances. "You've made a career of being obvious, and your insight would be invaluable. You've probably done jobs for many of these nobles already, and have information on them that might prove useful to the Inquisition. Plus, the perspective of a skilled spy at the event itself--"
It occurs to him that he's going on about Bull's virtues, which is hardly typical for him. But Bull is so very competent at what he does that Dorian can't imagine leaving him behind for a crucial venture such as this one.
"Perhaps we'll both go," Dorian suggests with some warm amusement. "To balance one another out. And fear not, Bull; I hear Madame de Fer's tailors are the very best in southern Thedas. Surely something could be made to fit even your measurements." Some curious part of Dorian has to wonder what those measurements actually are.
"You just want to see Madam de Fer and Josephine force me into something they deem appropriate for court," he says with a dry smile Dorian's way. It's strange, but not unpleasant, to hear the mage touting his virtues.
His thumb brushes along Dorian's tenderly before he lets go of his hand; the door to Josephine's office opens and Bull is paying keen attention, even if his posture doesn't shift otherwise. The masks hide minute expressions but they don't hide body language or tone of voice if he can hear.
Bull narrows his eye slightly.
"They left something with Josephine," he says quietly, definitively.
Leliana appears from nowhere to sweep across the hall and into Josephine's office; the door promptly shuts again.
"You can't deny that it would be amusing." Dorian's lips quirk up at the corners. "She'll have to buy yards upon yards of expensive fabric to cover that expansive chest of yours." As Bull releases his hand, he lets go of Bull's as well, withdrawing as the Qunari's attention turns back toward the door. He misses it immediately, but he doesn't need it.
He's amazed, truly, by how much information Bull can glean from so little evidence. The Orlesians take their leave, and Dorian would have thought little of it but for Bull's commentary. If they've left something with Josephine, it means they'll be getting their invitations after all.
Dorian's gaze follows Leliana as she crosses the hall quick as a shadow, disappearing behind the door. Bards.
"Then it means she knows that you've been watching, too," Dorian points out. "Though I suppose she must expect that." His fingers, no longer curled around Bull's, drum against the table. "They'll make the announcement soon, I'd wager. Everyone will need time to prepare. Which means..." He grins, elated. "A visit to Val Royeaux is in order." A proper city, at last.
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Dorian buckles himself into the layers of leather that make up the second part of his outfit, using it largely as an excuse not to look at Bull where he still lounges, warm and welcoming and invitingly bare. Every time he looks, he wants to return to him. It always happens this way. As he leans over to pick up his discarded robe, he meets Bull's eye. He bunches the fabric in his hand as he rises, and against his better judgement, goes to sit on the edge of the bed. He shouldn't linger, he knows; that only makes leaving more difficult. But the affection he has for Bull has not abated even slightly, and tends to surface most at highly inopportune moments.
Robe in hand, he leans in first to kiss Bull's stubbled cheek, then his scarred brow. He may have chosen not to sleep beside him anymore, but he doesn't want Bull to think that he no longer cares. They've been through far too much together for that to be the case.
"Do you have nothing else to do this afternoon?" He wonders, half teasing and half genuine inquiry.
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Dorian takes the initiative and Bull can't help but smile as warm lips brush his cheek, his brow. He closes his eye, savoring the moment.
"I'll head back down to the Rest, check in with Krem and the boys when they get back. Watch the comings and goings."
Bull has the tendency to set up places. Everyone knows his chair at the rest: against the far wall where he can see the main door. But now and then he'll sit in the main hall and the garden, listening to visiting guests as they chat where they think no one is particularly listening. Bull has the ability to disappear, despite his size.
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He raises a hand to Bull's face and strokes his cheek briefly before allowing himself a sigh and getting to his feet again. "Well, don't let me distract you from important spy work." His robe is much easier to put on than the rest of his outfit. It's all a matter of draping it correctly and then belting it in the right places.
"If you're still about when I finish my work, I'll join you," he offers, though he knows he probably shouldn't. One romp a day should really be enough.
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"I'll be around, unless someone decides they need me for something pressing."
It's his way of leaving an open invitation: of course Dorian can join him. People watching with a Tevinter mage isn't an awful way to spend an afternoon.
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His boots are the last part of his ensemble, and for lack of options he sits on the edge of the bed again to pull them on.
"Shall I find you a new pair of trousers, or are you going to keep on lazing about?" He asks, only half teasing.
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While Dorian leans forward to get his boots on, Bull runs his fingers along the mage's back. It's no longer quite so easy to tantalize him, but he'll take the excuse to touch him all the same.
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About to pull away, he stops himself as he glances back at Bull over his shoulder. Catching his eye makes Dorian hesitate, a moment of clear reluctance before he forces himself to stand up and step away from the bed. Away from Bull.
He crosses the room, opening the trunk containing Bull's clothing--or what passes for clothing, anyway. As he begins to sort through it, he wonders, "Bull, do you have a favorite color?"
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A smirk flickers across his scarred mouth.
"Pink," he answers easily. "Keep telling Krem I want an entire armor set made out of dawnstone."
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He can't resist bracing a hand on Bull's shoulder and leaning close to kiss his cheek again, amused and fond. He's incredibly fond of the Bull, in truth, and far closer to him than he's been to any lover before--although that isn't saying much, really. It's so difficult to leave at times like this. Bull clearly wants him to stay, expresses it in his own way, even if Dorian knows he would never ask outright. And Dorian wants nothing more than to do so.
That feeling alone is reason enough as to why he should not. He doesn't--can't--blame Bull for being Qunari, and therefore not understanding the very human nuances of this sort of relationship. But that means he has to take precautionary measures to protect himself. The sort of relationship he would ideally want from a man he was sleeping with and sleeping beside every night is not one Bull would (or could?) ever offer him, and so he must manage his expectations with that in mind.
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"Come join me in the main hall when you're finished. Or when you hit a dead end."
He says something else with a quiet rumble of Qunlat and gathers Dorian close so that he can dip him for a kiss.
"I'll have gossip."
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Dorian peels carefully away from Bull, putting himself out of the Qunari's reach in case he gets the urge to tug him back for a third kiss. He knows he wouldn't be able to resist. Even now, standing half a room apart, Bull's mouth is tempting. It's always like this. It would be so much easier to slip back into bed, into Bull's arms, as he's done before many times. Bull is always tactile after sex, never fails to hold him close and tell him how wonderful he is. Always urges him through gestures alone to lay back, to relax, to fall asleep against the warmth of his chest, to the comforting sound of his thunderous heartbeat, the now familiar weight of a heavy arm around his waist.
And Dorian wants to. He aches to. Ironically, he's never slept so well as he had those months sharing a tent with Bull. He thinks it was good for Bull, too. Bull never asks for anything, and Dorian hates to deny him something he clearly wants. But the question of why burns inside him, the root of so many of his trepidations. Why does Bull want him? What does he want from him--from this?
Probably nothing beyond the obvious. But hovering by the door, Dorian concludes that there will never be a good time to ask any of these things. He might as well stick his foot in his mouth now and be done with it. Then, at least, he will know where to go next. "Bull," he begins, "am I correct in assuming that you'd prefer I sleep here more often?"
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None of these answers feel particularly safe, and all of them might push Dorian further away. Still. The Iron Bull rarely truly lies to anyone.
"I would like it, yeah. Got used to sharing on the road, it was nice." On the road and in the first few days after they got back. "I having you here. But I won't guilt you into staying, either."
Dorian should sleep where he wants to, and if that is in his own room or someone else's bed, that isn't Bull's concern.
"When I say my door is open to you, it is because I want you here."
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"I want to be here," Dorian admits. His hands fold in front of him to stop them from fidgeting or gesticulating too much, a nervous habit. He feels lightheaded, almost, with the worry that Bull will somehow misunderstand him or think him foolish, thinking that he is reaching for something beyond his grasp. Not that Bull would be cruel even if he did think that. "But among humans, as I'm sure you know, casual lovers don't share a bed regularly. That intimacy is reserved for more established relationships."
Which, of course, is off the table here. The two of them are...not anything specific, in human terms, but still something, certainly. That's become more and more clear with every hour they seek to spend together, in bed and otherwise. But the Bull is Qunari, and human understanding of these bonds cannot be applied to him.
"I know that it must be different for you, and far less complicated. It will take me a little time to adjust my own conception, but I'd like to." Even if it is nothing more meaningful than being nice. Dorian has to agree; it is nice. Perhaps Bull has the right of it. Less worrying about what things mean and more enjoyment of them. "I'd like to do what makes us both happiest."
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"Then do what makes you happy, Dorian. I'm here."
Whatever that means, Bull is here and his door is open. He isn't interested in taking another lover, though he might start looking if Dorian ultimately decides that he didn't want to stay together so often. He isn't in a hurry. He likes Dorian too much to rush.
A smile tugs at Bull's mouth. "Go to your library, Vint. Come join me in the hall later."
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"All right." He gives a tight smile. "I'll see you tonight, Bull." He's successful at resisting the urge to cross the room and kiss the Bull again. Instead, he finally turns and leaves.
For the next several hours he works in the library and gets very little accomplished. His progress is slowed by constant thoughts of Bull. Dorian spends quite some time considering not whether he can call what they have one thing or another, or if it will last. He instead considers what it means to him; here, now, without any expectations. It's an entirely new perspective, and one that grants him some peace of mind. He still doesn't know what's going on--tells the Inquisitor as much, when she catches him sometime before dinner and asks him how things are with the Bull. He doesn't think that Bull knows either, and something about that is oddly comforting. But does it matter, really? So long as Dorian doesn't expect it to end in a marriage proposal, they can simply enjoy their time together and let it be whatever it is. Bull is good, and Dorian wants to be good to him.
When he finishes up for the day, he isn't even annoyed by his lack of progress. He's discovered something else today, and is content with that. He descends the winding stairs from the mage tower to the great hall and finds Bull seated at the head of one of the long tables just beside a fireplace. Dorian takes the seat on Bull's left and lets the fire warm his back.
"I hope I haven't missed much," he greets with a quirk of a smile. "Has Varric fleeced anyone at cards yet?" He gestures with a tilt of his head to the next table down, where the dwarf sits customarily--and tonight as well, though it seems he's spending this evening writing rather than carousing.
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He smiles when Dorian joins him.
"A delegation from Orlais has arrived," he says with a nod toward Josephine's closed door. "They've been in there for the better part of an hour. Someone came out to order food brought in."
He sets his almost-full tankard down near Dorian, in case he's interested in sharing.
"How goes the research?"
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He drums his fingers against the table and snorts at Bull's question. "Not far, really," he admits. "Nothing promising today, so I decided to quit a little early." And here he lets his hand settle over the back of Bull's where it rests on the table. "I had other things on my mind."
With one laid over the other like this in plain sight between them, it's even more apparent than usual how large Bull's hands are in comparison to Dorian's. Dorian's thumb smooths idly over Bull's thick knuckles, back and forth slowly.
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It's been an eventful day, apparently. Some of this was information that Bull already had, but now he's watching some of the pieces fall into place. He shifts his weight, absently stretching his left leg out. He smiles and spares a look to Dorian when the mage's hand covers his. The touch is nice and Bull wishes he could focus on that alone.
"Anyway, the envoy is directly from the empress, judging by their masks and their colors."
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His hand folds further over Bull's, fingers curling around his to tuck beneath his palm, squeezing lightly. He wonders, idly, if anyone gives them a second glance--if anyone notices or cares.
"I wonder if we'll all go to the Winter Palace," Dorian murmurs, sounding a bit hopeful. He may not care much for Orlesians, but he is in favor of parties. Mostly in favor of the wine he might find at such a party. "Surely, in the interest of preventing the Empress' assassination, we'll be wanted there--if only to serve as a suitable distraction while everyone else sneaks off?" Dorian angles a grin up at Bull. Leaving the Inquisition's Tevinter and Qunari for the Empress' guests to gawk over wouldn't be a half bad plan, actually.
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Bull can. Has. And never mind how he knows what Leliana has been corresponding about or discussing with the Inquisitor and her agents. Bull is working for the Inquisition, he is passing information from his contacts, but he is still Ben-Hassrath and he does not like to have missing pieces. He needs to know where they all are on the board if he's going to provide reliable reasons to prevent a full Qunari invasion of the south.
Dorian's hand is warm against his, the gentle squeeze drawing his attention from the door to the mage next to him. Bull returns the squeeze when he hears the hopeful note in Dorian's voice.
"Boss must have a plan if we're going to show a public face. You and Vivienne should probably start planning what to wear."
Bull assumes they'll at the top of the list. Vivienne is familiar with the Game and the Orlesian court and Dorian lives and breathes political intrigue.
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"Vivienne, certainly," Dorian agrees more lightly. "But you really think the Inquisitor would choose to bring along a Tevinter pariah to Empress Celene's soiree?" He and the Inquisitor are close, true, and perhaps she would want him there for support. But surely one of her advisers would see what a poor image that would present and counsel her against it. "Even if I am the best authority present on fine wine, food, literature, high society, and parties potentially involving political assassination," he adds.
But he certainly won't turn down such an opportunity if he is chosen. A suitable outfit will most certainly be required. "And you?" He can't help but tease. "Will I witness Madame de Fer force you into a shirt and jacket at last?"
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Bull considers the suggestion that he might be in the party chosen to go. There are benefits to his presence, of course: Bull knows Orlais and the nobility remarkably well. He has information and contacts that could be useful throughout their investigation. He's good in a fight and he's good at improvising. And more than anything, Bull knows how to gather information.
But he also stands out like a sore thumb, head and shoulders above everyone else and twice as broad as most of them.
"I'm not a shoe-in," he says quietly. "Too big and obvious. Be hell to tailor something to fit me. I've got useful skills but ultimately they need to decide if the benefits outweigh everything else."
Never mind that Bull knows how to disappear in a room, despite being massive.
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He'd like to come along anyway, even if he isn't to go to the party itself. Orlais is Orlais, but it is the closest he'll get to civilized society here in the south.
"Nonsense," he insists of Bull's dismissal of his own chances. "You've made a career of being obvious, and your insight would be invaluable. You've probably done jobs for many of these nobles already, and have information on them that might prove useful to the Inquisition. Plus, the perspective of a skilled spy at the event itself--"
It occurs to him that he's going on about Bull's virtues, which is hardly typical for him. But Bull is so very competent at what he does that Dorian can't imagine leaving him behind for a crucial venture such as this one.
"Perhaps we'll both go," Dorian suggests with some warm amusement. "To balance one another out. And fear not, Bull; I hear Madame de Fer's tailors are the very best in southern Thedas. Surely something could be made to fit even your measurements." Some curious part of Dorian has to wonder what those measurements actually are.
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His thumb brushes along Dorian's tenderly before he lets go of his hand; the door to Josephine's office opens and Bull is paying keen attention, even if his posture doesn't shift otherwise. The masks hide minute expressions but they don't hide body language or tone of voice if he can hear.
Bull narrows his eye slightly.
"They left something with Josephine," he says quietly, definitively.
Leliana appears from nowhere to sweep across the hall and into Josephine's office; the door promptly shuts again.
"Hm. Red's been watching, too."
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He's amazed, truly, by how much information Bull can glean from so little evidence. The Orlesians take their leave, and Dorian would have thought little of it but for Bull's commentary. If they've left something with Josephine, it means they'll be getting their invitations after all.
Dorian's gaze follows Leliana as she crosses the hall quick as a shadow, disappearing behind the door. Bards.
"Then it means she knows that you've been watching, too," Dorian points out. "Though I suppose she must expect that." His fingers, no longer curled around Bull's, drum against the table. "They'll make the announcement soon, I'd wager. Everyone will need time to prepare. Which means..." He grins, elated. "A visit to Val Royeaux is in order." A proper city, at last.
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