aban_aqun | Skyhold

That kiss, small as it is, carries a weight that Dorian doesn't think even the Bull is fully aware of. He's never had anyone do that to him before; not even such a minor gesture of affection where an entire tavern full of people could see. But of course, there is no one to judge them here, not when so many others are being far more overt. His fingers tighten on Bull's arm for a moment as he takes a shaky breath, then releases it with a small, warm smile. It's a relief to hear that Bull has no interest in leaving him tonight, either.

"The latter. I'd prefer not to stand all evening. Though first--" Dorian extends a hand to ge the bartender's attention again, and orders two fingers of brandy for them both. The bartender, a dwarven woman with impressive braids, obliges him and produces two empty glasses, pouring generously right away. Dorian thanks her and pays from his own pocket, then takes one glass for himself and hands the other to Bull. "What shall we drink to?" he asks gamely. His eyes are lively, his smile bright. "Present company?"

Dorian's eyes are bright and beautiful and Bull isn't sure how much he should let that thought linger.

"To present company," he agrees as he touches his glass to Dorian's. Bull takes a drink before he gestures Dorian back through the crowd. He can see an empty space against the wall with a table.

Regardless of where he is, Bull always has his back to a wall, even when he's relaxing. Ideally, against a wall with a view of an entry/exit. It isn't too hard to maneuver back through the crowd.

Bull settles with a quiet sigh and immediately stretches his left leg out beneath the table.

With their toast decided, Dorian clinks his glass to Bull's and then downs half of it at once. Thankfully, he has two hands with which to carry his drink and his beer to the table that Bull has selected. He follows close at the Bull's back once again. People flow naturally to either side of him like so much water as Bull moves forward, and Dorian is glad to be in his wake.

They're lucky that one of the remaining tables is an advantageous one. Knowing the Bull as well as he does, Dorian is well aware that he likely wouldn't have settled at one that didn't have a wall behind it, let alone a clear vantage point of the rest of the room. Dorian, for one, appreciates his caution. Tevinter has taught him that much.

Dorian sits to the Bull's left, as he has lately become accustomed to doing. Another precaution, perhaps, but he is glad to watch Bull's blind spot, especially if it puts him more at ease. Easier that way, too, to lay a hand against his thigh beneath his table and channel magical warmth down to his knee. Dorian sits closer than he normally might, the bench with the wall behind them providing the opportunity to lean in, enough that Bull might put an arm around him if he so chose. But Dorian certainly isn't going to make that suggestion aloud. Instead, he quickly drinks the remainder of his brandy and sets the glass aside.

"The noble you were bedding who told you about this place--how did you meet? Was he one of your contractors?" Dorian wonders, leaning in to be heard above the cacophony of other voices and the strumming of the bard.

Bull finds himself comfortable with Dorian at his left. There are few that he lets sit there; most often it's Krem, sometimes the boss or Vivienne. Dorian, though, has earned a frequent place there.

His arm slides around Dorian to keep him close, content to feel him against his side. It feels natural to hold him now.

"Hm? No, we met at some soiree thrown by one of my contractors. They were so pleased with our work, they said they'd throw a party to introduce me around. Krem and Rocky came, too."

Ah, there it is. Bull's arm circles around him, and while Dorian knows that it's subtle, he can't help feeling like even this simple gesture is a declaration. A mixture of nerves and excitement make his stomach flutter, though all evidence shows that this is possibly the least provocative thing happening in the tavern this evening. He notes a few eyes on them still, but can at least rationalize this as being curiosity about a Tevinter and a Qunari being so familiar--or being here in this corner of Val Royeaux at all, really. A look of interest is very different from one of hostility, and Dorian has learned to detect both over the years.

Thankfully, the Bull's story provides just the distraction he needs to stop thinking about what others might assume. It shouldn't matter. He wanted to go out and enjoy the evening together, and that is precisely what he intends to do.

"Cremisius I can understand inviting. I'm sure he cleans up well. But Rocky?" He does, in fact, feel as aghast as he sounds. "Did your contractors need some light demolition done at their party?"

"Eh, figured he'd be a distraction," Bull admits. "He's good at getting and keeping attention."

Which was helpful if a spy wanted to be able to mingle with fewer eyes on him. And Bull had done exactly that, quietly collecting information and gossip and a handful of potential new patrons.

"But I met the noble there and he told me to call the next time I happened to be in Val Royeaux, so I did. We ended up here after dinner for some diversion." Bull rolls his eye. It'd been a brief affair, as most of them were, but Bull got what he wanted out of it and he's fairly certain the marquis did, too.

"Some diversion," Dorian echoes, stressing the word just as Bull had, though perhaps with a bit of an extra scoff. He's well aware that Bull has had many past lovers--as he has himself, if they could be called that. Still, something unpleasantly sharp and acidic gnaws at the pit of his stomach when he gives it too much thought. "How long ago was this? I'm surprised that no one here remembers you. You do tend to stand out."

It's easy enough to quell that part of him with the simple fact that Bull is here with him tonight, an arm around him and not sparing so much as a glance at anyone else. No reason for ill feelings about trysts of the past.

Dorian sips at his ale and says idly, with only a hint of venom, "Well, at least he bothered with dinner first."

He notes, as he looks down at his hand around his cup, that he'll need to paint his nails before the tailoring appointment he's agreed to attend with Bull. If Bull had shaved for it, the least Dorian can do is look his best as well.

"Did you need information from him?" He's actually a little surprised to find himself asking outright. His eyes remain averted, so as not to seem overly interested in the answer. "Or was he really so beguiling?"

"Years," he answers, briefly and genuinely forgetting the exact count. "Four, maybe."

Bull relaxes his weight back against the wall and lets his arm settle heavily around Dorian. He trusts the mage will move or will tell him to adjust his position if it gets to be too much. A smirk ticks his mouth at the venom Dorian spits.

"Hey, I don't turn down good food that I don't have to pay for," he quips. "But he was well connected. Knew about some of the merchant guilds, spent a lot of time at court. Wasn't in the imperial household but was adjacent enough."

Bull does not add that the noble in question was still young - only just in his twenties when they met - and had not yet learned that part of the Game is not giving away too much in pillow talk. Then again, lips become very loose around a Tal Vashoth mercenary. Who is he going to tell? How much would he even understand?

"So it was about information." He doesn't know if that makes him feel better or not, and doesn't examine it closely enough to decide. He doesn't know why he'd decided that this matters to him. It's none of his business.

What should matter is the weight of Bull's arm around him now. Dorian allows it, and in fact quietly enjoys it. This is an entirely novel experience, and Bull has brought him here to enjoy himself, not to sit and grow sour over some misguided feeling of jealousy. It isn't his place to feel jealous about any of the Bull's partners--past, present, or future.

As he considers this, it takes him very little time to finish his beer. "I'm sure you know this already," Dorian begins, "but there isn't anywhere quite like this in Tevinter. Not even in Minrathous, where--well, there are places one can go for sex, specifically. But that's quite different."

Bull realizes that Dorian might have been jealous. It doesn't make sense for him to be troubled by a tryst some four years old, but Bull knows damn well that sense doesn't always enter into the equation when--

He shouldn't chase that thought. Bull lets it go and finishes his brandy so that he can switch back to his beer. His thumb brushes Dorian's arm.

"I know," he says as he looks back out at the room. Brothels that specialize in specific clientele - or that always have workers that can - are likely everywhere, but Bull knows how unlikely a place for socializing would be. "That's why I wanted to bring you."

If only so Dorian could feel comfortable - or at least safe - showing affection or just relaxing into talking to whoever he'd like with the knowledge that they probably share his tastes. There is relatively little risk here. The worst that could happen, like for the young man at the bar, is rejection. And that is far more survivable.

Dorian is actively doing his best to move past that feeling. It's embarrassing, and the last thing he would want is for Bull to pick up on it and read into it. It's just that he's never been this close with a lover before, let alone for this long. It's been months. But that isn't an excuse. What he and the Bull have works perfectly for him just as it is, and the last thing he wants is to ruin it, or lose Bull by being overly clingy.

"I knew that the south was different, but I still hadn't imagined..." He trails off, but gestures at the room with one hand. He's grateful to Bull for bringing him here, for understanding that it would mean something to him. Yet he can't seem to say the words outright. He hopes that Bull understands what he means when he squeezes his thigh beneath the table and doesn't flinch away from his touch, but leans into it.

No, he decides, this is far too good a thing to be compromised by his own petty jealousy. And as he thinks of how very different this place is from home, something occurs to him--something to show Bull that he isn't going to be upset if he takes another lover. "But there is somewhere here in the city that reminds me of home," he says, "even if the architecture isn't as impressive. I've been once before--a bathhouse not so far from here off the Avenue of Spring, near the pleasure houses. We could go there together after your appointment tomorrow, if you'd like?" He wonders if the Bull knows that place he's talking about. He wouldn't be surprised. "It could be fun."

"I won't say this is particularly common," he admits. But it exists, it is allowed to exist, and that's the difference. Bull leans to kiss the top of Dorian's head, careful not to bang his horns against the wall. The only downside of having his back to it: he has to lean forward or sit up if he wants to turn his head.

"Mm, soaking in a big bath sounds nice, actually."

It sounds wonderful. Bull doesn't really fit in places that are designed for humans or elves. He can manage, he has learned to manage, but that doesn't make it any less uncomfortable. A public bath would have big pools. Submerging completely in hot water sounds like paradise.

"I'm game."

Dorian submits to that kiss without so much as a hint of protest, which is highly unusual. Then again, Bull has not dared to display affection publicly like this since they fell out over it in the Exalted Plains some months ago. Dorian had said something that day that he still regrets, though his apologies have long been made. Bull must only be doing it, Dorian concludes, because of the environment they find themselves in. While he may not have the initiative to return the gestures tonight, Dorian appreciates them.

"Doesn't it?" he beams. "I miss the public baths constantly. This one can't quite compare, naturally, but it does serve a purpose. Beyond a good soak, even."

That certainly wasn't all he'd gotten the last time he was there.

With an exaggerated tilt of his cup, Dorian demonstrates how empty it is, glancing up at the Bull sidelong, with a smirk to match. "Ah, but it seems I've run dry. Won't you get me another drink, Iron Bull?"

Edited 2020-01-27 03:32 (UTC)

Bull huffs a laugh and forces himself up with a quiet grunt. "You just want to watch me walk away," he teases as he leaves the table. The benefit of making Bull get the drinks is that there's no chance they'll get spilled as he crosses the room again.

He slides their tankards onto the table before he sinks down again, taking his place at Dorian's side and draping his arm behind the mage as he settles. He rather likes this, and he finds he might be looking forward to escorting a drunk Dorian back to their room.

Drunk Dorian is very opinionated.

Bull catches Dorian's chin and guides him into a kiss with a quiet hum of approval. "For the drink," he rumbles.

Dorian neither confirms nor denies that playful accusation, merely smiling coyly as Bull makes his way back across the bar. He certainly doesn't mind the excuse, watching the low light in the room play over the powerful muscles of the Bull's back. He isn't the only one looking, he notices, but he feels a sense of smug satisfaction about that. And why shouldn't he? Bull is returning to him, after all.

When he settles back down, a heavy hand resting again on his hip, Dorian has ample opportunity to pull back or refuse the kiss that Bull leads him into. But he doesn't refuse. He allows it, feeling a distinct rush of warmth and satisfaction that has nothing at all to do with the alcohol. Bull has never been shy about what's between them, and it feels good to not be shy about it either, for once. He's never kissed anyone openly like this; had never thought he'd be able to so casually. When they separate, Dorian is smiling. "I suppose you're owed that, at least," he says, and then clinks his glass against Bull's.

They continue to talk and laugh and drink, and by the time Bull returns with their next round, Dorian is pleasantly tipsy enough that he lays a hand against the back of Bull's neck and tips his head down to bestow a kiss himself. "For the drink," he echoes, and can't keep the satisfied smile from his lips.

Bull hums quietly against Dorian's mouth and resists the urge to just haul the mange into his lap. Maybe later. But he does kiss Dorian again, and one more time, before he finally lets them really part.

Then he sinks back with his drink, looking as pleased with himself as Dorian does. He thinks it's becoming exceedingly clear to some of their admirers that both of them might be spoken for, at least tonight. Though Bull wouldn't put it past someone to try to be a third all the same.

"We're out here as late as you like," he murmurs. "Though we probably shouldn't be hung over tomorrow."

He doesn't want to imagine what Vivienne would put him through if he shows up hung over to the fitting.

All the kissing makes Dorian's heart race, nervous but giddy. He shifts a little further into Bull with each one, and doesn't move away again when Bull finally leans back. Instead, he lets himself nestle comfortably between Bull's arm and his side, thigh to thigh, the back of his head against Bull's shoulder. He knows they're being watched, but defiantly looks at no one but Bull. His heart is full of pride and affection, and he's feeling not only safe, but daring.

"You're right, of course," Dorian laughs--practically giggles, though he'd never admit it--as he imagines Vivienne's face if they turned up at her precious tailor's still clearly feeling the after-effects of tonight's venture. It would almost be worth it. "She would blame me," he continues lightly, before his voice drops conspiratorially. "I'm a terrible influence."

With the taste of beer still on his tongue, he reaches for Bull again boldly to initiate another kiss, parting his lips to deepen it as he hasn't yet dared to.

"Terrible influence," Bull agrees, his voice just a low rumble right before their lips meet again. The touch of Dorian's tongue earns a quiet growl of approval.

Alright, it earns more than that. Leaning over is becoming tiresome, and without much warning, Bull just pulls Dorian into his lap, gaining some height for the mage. That's better - less straining his neck with turning and bending.

And it gives Bull the perfect excuse to slide his hands over Dorian's thighs.

As much as he hadn't been expecting to be pulled into Bull's lap, Dorian finds that he quite appreciates it once he's there. Rather than pulling away, he redoubles his efforts, encircling Bull's neck with his arms as he leans into him, letting their kiss continue with a bold press of his tongue. He makes a distinctly longing noise against Bull's mouth as his hands cover his thighs, and this is--Maker, entirely inappropriate for a public venue of any sort. He waits to feel shame, discomfort, paranoia--but it never comes. Their lips part wetly, but Dorian doesn't move. He breathes, deliberately slow, and assesses this newfound sense of freedom, and the excitement he feels because of it.

Are others still watching? They must be.

"I don't think we can stay much longer, Bull," he murmurs, a distinctively suggestive warmth in the way he drops his voice. His lips just barely brush the pointed tip of Bull's ear. "If I have another drink, I might let you bend me over the table."

He wouldn't, of course, even if he were far more inebriated than he actually is. But the fantasy of it sends a hot spike of desire through him, and he distinctly remembers, soon after their relationship became physical, Bull confessing to thinking about fucking him over his study table in the library for all to see. How much the thought of that had appealed to him too, impossible as it is. But even this, an overt but harmless display that he has seen and glanced past in any number of taverns over the course of his life, is brand new and exciting.

"I don't think it would take another drink if I made my argument just right," he purrs against Dorian's ear. He says it just to get a rise out of the mage. He knows Dorian's boundaries well enough that something so obvious, something that would make him so vulnerable in public, is out of the question. But he likes seeing Dorian flustered, likes the way he looks when he's somewhere between scandalized and aroused.

And he can nurture the idea all the same.

He catches Dorian's chin to guide him into another kiss. He rumbles his pleasure and gently bites Dorian's lip before they part again.

"I should have gotten you something to eat," he teases.

Dorian's breath catches and a shiver courses through his body, hot and dizzying, at the rumble of the Bull's voice in his ear. And indeed, when he pulls back enough to look at Bull's face, his pupils are blown and lips parted with interest, bronze skin warming with a light flush, but his brow furrows in reproach. Scandalized and aroused. The Bull so often has that effect on him.

Yet he's led into another kiss before he can protest, and he is't going to refuse. Bull's teeth drag over his full lower lip, stinging in the most delightful way, and Dorian has to take a long moment to collect himself, to stop himself from simply kissing him again, becoming gradually more involved. The freedom he feels to sit here in the Bull's lap and do this is at least as intoxicating as what he's been drinking.

Speaking of which--

"I'm not so drunk as that," he huffs, frowning. "It's not as if I'd let--" Let what? Let Bull lay him out, pull his leggings down, and lick into him with that absurdly large tongue? Or work three or four fingers inside until he's so slick and open that Bull can slide his cock in easily, holding his hips down against the table? "--let them see me ruined by that ridiculous Qunari cock of yours."

Maker, they might as well be doing just that, with how turned on he's becoming. "Kaffas," he curses under his breath. They have to go, before his treacherous mind can run with this any further.

Bull shivers and heat sinks through him as Dorian talks. He swears he can feel the warmth rolling off the mage and he hears the way Dorian's breath catches.

"Tab's taken care of," he purrs. "C'mon. I'll bend you over the desk in the room. Or the balcony balustrade."

A grin creeps across the Bull's face and he gives Dorian's ass a light smack before he coaxes him back to his feet. He doesn't want to stand and send Dorian sprawling, and he thinks it might be better for Dorian's dignity if he lets the mage walk rather than carrying him. As soon as they're both standing, however, Bull gathers Dorian up into a more heated embrace, a more intense kiss.

The pros to carrying on with a spy; the Bull seems to anticipate everything. It's a relief to know that their tab is already paid, and they can leave right away--especially when Bull begins murmuring alternative suggestions into his ear. Dorian barely restrains a moan. It comes out as a whimper, choked off.

What he can't restrain is an offended gasp as Bull's wide palm connects sharply with his backside, causing him to slide from Bull's lap quickly and entirely under his own power. "Vishante kaffas, you bar--"

He doesn't quite get to finish that insult, as he's cut off by another kiss, and his ire all but evaporates when he's pulled flush with the Bull's huge, warm body. Maker, he thinks, he's so weak for this man--had always been, in a way, but it's become so much more evident lately. Who else would he allow this from? Who else would he enjoy this with? Who else could make him feel safe enough to even permit it?

Dorian kisses with fervor, reaching up to grab onto the Bull's horns to steady himself, and to keep Bull from pulling away too soon. His toes just barely scrape the floor. He feels elated. He wants more. He wants to feel the night air on his skin and the Bull's hands covering his hips, the stone balustrade against his arms, the hot, steady friction of the Bull's cock inside him. He wants to be adored, wants to be worshiped and cared for. He wants Bull, and he doesn't want to hide.

The words are nearly out of his mouth: Let's go, amatus.

He swears he feels his heart stutter.

"Come on," he says instead, a hoarse whisper, as they break apart. The tavern seems a blur of people as they leave, and the city, too, dark now, lanterns hanging from high Orlesian arches and the stars overhead. There are other people, other voices, other things to pay attention to, but in his mind there is only the Bull.

"Mmhm."

Bull lets Dorian pull away and keeps the mage ahead of him as they leave the tavern. Anyone that sees Bull coming moves to make way, and so they part before Dorian easily. When they're out in the cool night air, Bull's hand slides down between Dorian's shoulders to the small of his back, intent on keeping their bodies close even as they walk.

They aren't in an entirely safe place anymore, but it'll be easy to drop his hand if he needs to.

Val Royaeux is impressively quiet at night, save for the occasional passing city guard or small gaggle of revelers going from one party to another. It isn't hard to avoid people on the way back to the inn. Bull is intensely aware of how warm Dorian feels beneath his hand, of the soft scent of his pomade and oils and lotions.

Dorian doesn't stray from Bull on their return trip, or even attempt to dislodge his hand. He's content to feel it there as they walk--no, more than that. He wants it there. He smiles up at him, certain that there must be the most embarrassing sort of naked adoration in his expression, but unable to conceal it. The Bull has given him something wonderful tonight. And Dorian has realized something--about himself, about them--that he can never forget, whether for good or ill.

When they reach their inn, Dorian continues to lead the way up the stairs to their own room. It's just as lovely after dark, and he leaves Bull only to light the lamps and throw open the balcony doors to let the fresh night air in. Quickly as he can, he rids himself of the outermost layer of his robes before returning to Bull, reaching as far up as he can to settle his hands on his shoulders and draw him down for a kiss.

"I hope you were quite serious," he murmurs, "about the balustrade."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject