aban_aqun | Skyhold

"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."

"I was," he answers, voice low and full of promise as Dorian pulls him close. Bull slides his arms around Dorian's back; there's still too much fabric between them, but he knows exactly the face Dorian will make if he rips anything. So his hands move more deliberately than that, finding the familiar fastenings of Dorian's inner layers. He grins.

"Should I leave you somewhat dressed? Just in case someone walking by looks up?"

He shouldn't tease Dorian, but it's a real concern, isn't it? How exposed does he want to be? Even as he waits for an answer, Bull steers them in the general direction of their balcony.

The Bull's smile is a dazzling thing, somewhere between sweet and filthy. Dorian likes that smile very much. Seeing it makes his heart lighter, and he can't look away even as Bull fastidiously undoes the fastenings that hold his leathers together.

"Obviously," Dorian scoffs, a little affronted. "I shouldn't want to be left entirely bare. I'm not certain the citizens of Val Royeaux could properly appreciate such a gift." His lips twitch up, mischievous in the way it reaches his eyes. "But I have an idea. Help me out of this first."

And so it happens that Dorian winds up digging through his pack wearing only his smalls--a dark burgundy color today, which compliments his skin quite well--until he finds what he's looking for with a triumphant exclamation. He's brought with him the well-loved--and well-worn--robe he wears around his room (or, lately, the Bull's room) on chillier nights in Skyhold, plum-colored quilted cotton with soft velvet lining around the sleeves and collar. It's nearly long enough to reach his ankles, and when he does up the tie around his waist, it seems reasonably respectable, even while he's wearing very little underneath.

"This should be enough to keep most of my dignity in tact," Dorian decides. And easy for Bull to work around--or beneath?--as well. His heart pounds in his chest, adoration and excitement and arousal, as he leans up to press a kiss to the Bull's neck, the nearest he can reach without making him duck his head. "Find what you'll need and join me," he instructs, and steps out onto the balcony with a knowing smirk over his shoulder.

The stone is cold beneath his bare feet, but the air isn't so bad. It's the beginning of summer, and while it's hardly as warm as it would be in Tevinter this time of year, the breeze feels refreshing. The square below is all but deserted now, with the market having closed up hours ago. There's some activity around the taverns and other inns dotting the street, but Dorian doesn't feel apprehensive or concerned with being seen. In fact, as the fantasy they'd entertained earlier lingers in his mind, it feels exhilarating.

After helping the mage out of his layers, Bull watches intently as Dorian changes into something more... accessible. The robe is familiar, of course, and immediately conjures memories of Dorian in his room.

The brush of Dorian's lips against his neck earns a quiet hum of approval.

He waits, letting the moment draw out as Dorian walks away from him to so casually lean against the balustrade. Bull finally moves; it doesn't take him very long to find their oil and, soon enough, he joins Dorian out on the balcony.

"It's a nice night, at least," he murmurs as he presses against Dorian's back. He nuzzles the mage's neck and murmurs something low in Qunlat as his hands start gathering up the robe. He's careful to make sure the whole thing doesn't hike up as he works. "Will I have to cover your mouth?"

As expected, it doesn't take long for Bull to follow. Dorian casts a glance up over his shoulder as Bull steps up behind him. Warmth radiates from his body, and Dorian allows himself to lean back against him even as Bull crowds him. His hands are braced on the cool stone in front of him, and he casts another look around the square below with an affected disinterest, even as Bull--oh, damn it, fine--as Bull hikes up his skirts.

Feeling the brush of Bull's fingers and the drag of his blunted claws against the sensitive skin of his hips and thighs is exhilarating even normally. Tonight, when coupled with the upward drag of his robe to reveal his mostly bare body to the night air, it's enough to make his head spin with heady anticipation and arousal. Bull's stubble scrapes at his neck, but his lips are soft. Dorian can feel the rumble of his voice down to his toes.

"That depends entirely on your performance," he quips in return. So far, the Bull is doing remarkably well without even really trying, but it's not as if Dorian is going to admit as much.

Bull slides his hands beneath the robe to push Dorian's smalls out of his way. He lingers, letting his fingers drift over Dorian's hips and thighs. He lets his lips drift over the back of Dorian's neck and he eventually retrieves the oil he brought with him. Bull deftly slicks his fingers before he teases them between Dorian's cheeks. He isn't in a terrible hurry and for a moment all he does is rub and tease the outside of his hole, intent on working the mage up a little.

What's the fun if he doesn't test that resolve?

"Hm, I'll endeavor to earn it," he quips warmly. Just a breath later, Bull carefully eases the first finger in.

Bull is very good at teasing, when he wants to be. Dorian leans forward a little more, sighing at the feeling of Bull's oiled finger rubbing gently at his hole. He lets him do it without protest, enjoying the sensation itself and knowing that a demand for more might only cause Bull to want to tease him further, if he's in that sort of playful mood. He gets that finger inside him soon enough in a slow, careful press, just as it always is to start. Dorian hums softly, pleased, and cants his hips back. Even one of Bull's fingers is a stretch, but he's become accustomed to it--eager for it.

It's impossible not to think back to how it had felt to kiss Bull in the tavern, to sit in his lap with arms around him and devour his mouth knowing that the whole room could watch. The idea had turned him on enough that they're now here doing this--risky, thrilling, and just short of entirely shameless.

"How would you have fucked me?" He asks, slightly breathless. "If we'd done it right there?"

Bull grins against Dorian's ear as he carefully works him up to a second finger. "I would've had you in my lap," he murmurs. "It wouldn't be difficult with these robes you wear."

His fingers move slowly in and out, teasing Dorian as much as he works him open.

"I'd have you facing the tavern, I think." Cruel, making Dorian try to hide his arousal, his pleasure. But Bull thinks the angle might, ultimately, be easier. "Then again, if I have you facing me, it'll be easier to touch you without everyone seeing everything."

He tips his head so he can brush his lips over Dorian's neck.

"And you could ride me, just like that."

Is there anything that gets him hard faster, really, than when Bull indulges him in dirty talk? When he tells him exactly what he'd do to him in that low, gravelly voice of his, when he praises Dorian's body, tells him how good he is--no, there's nothing better. Bull's thick fingers stretch his hole, a wonderfully familiar ache, and his cock swells between his thighs without a touch.

"Fuck, Bull," he curses under his breath, half a whine. He can barely hide his arousal now. Maker. He knows--he just knows--that he wouldn't have been able to conceal it in his expression if they'd done this right there.

Oh, he wants it. It will never happen, of course, but he wants it. But this, here and now, is close enough that looking down, watching the people weaving in and out of open doors across the square, clouds his head and makes arousal sink deep through his body, an all-encompassing, radiating heat. He thinks of facing Bull, too, burying his face against his thick neck to hide his wanton expression and his sounds of pleasure. He thinks of rolling his hips slowly in Bull's lap, fucking himself subtly as he could on the Bull's cock.

Shivering outright at the touch of the Bull's lips against the back of his neck, Dorian's fingers curl against the stone beneath his hands. "It would still be too obvious," he says, like that's somehow a problem--like part of the fantasy isn't having eyes on them, being watched.

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