Dorian certainly won't appreciate falling asleep still sticky, but at the moment, he's finding it difficult to lift even his eyelids, let alone any of his limbs. He smiles, lazy and pleased. "I knew you'd say yes," he murmurs. "So that means--"
Dorian's stipulations for this are interrupted by a yawn, which he stifles against Bull's shoulder.
"It means," he continues a moment later, "that you aren't to get out of bed until I'm good and ready to let you. No getting up for morning drills, no bringing up breakfast. I want..." Dorian's voice fades a little more. Even rambling and half asleep, he still manages to sound vulnerable. "I want to wake up next to you."
He does know Dorian would rather not fall asleep stuck together. Eventually, Bull coaxes Dorian off him and onto his side. He finds a cloth within reach to clean them both while his lover tries to talk around yawns.
Bull gives Dorian a very fond look at that quiet, but firm request. How could Bull deny him anything when he asks like that?
"I'll be here when you wake up," he promises. "Now go to sleep."
"Oh, if you insist," he grumbles, like he's somehow put upon by this request. But he's smiling even as he says it, settling against Bull's side with an arm across his middle and his head pillowed on his chest--the same way he's fallen asleep night after night for months now. The steady rise and fall of Bull's chest and the thump of his heart have become a metronome for him, lulling him to sleep. On the occasions they haven't shared a bed lately, Dorian's found it absurdly difficult to get any rest.
That isn't an issue tonight. Clean and satisfied and assured that Bull will still be with him in the morning, Dorian drifts off fairly quickly, breathing soft and even against Bull's chest.
Bull would like to drift off as easily as Dorian does. Instead, while the mage sleeps, Bull's mind is awake and troubled. Amatus. There is no mistaking what Dorian called him, and there is no misinterpreting its meaning. Bull spoke Tevene well enough to be clear on that. He looks down at Dorian, studying the peace on his face, the utter relaxation in every line of his body. Dorian trusts him, he's happy to be here with him.
And Dorian loves him.
He's handled little crushes before, but this is something else altogether. He's very fond of Dorian, and he's concerned now that he might harbor the same feelings. This is nothing he's ever had to worry about before: Bull has never once mixed friendships with sex. He shouldn't even think of Dorian as a friend, never mind where he's thoughts have been going lately.
Amatus.
How often has he nearly murmured the only equivalent that exists in Qunlat? How many times has he looked at Dorian and unwittingly thought kadan? Bull strokes his fingers down Dorian's arm and he sighs quietly. This is getting messy. They are tangled together in ways that Bull isn't sure how to undo, not without severing the knot entirely. And that will only leave frayed ends.
He realizes that he doesn't want to hurt Dorian. He's been hurt enough.
When thinking about it starts to give him an ache, Bull makes himself stop. He'll be up all night if he doesn't, and he would like to enjoy the bed, the company, and the chance to sleep in.
But as he closes his eye, all he can hear is Dorian's voice whispering amatus against his skin.
Dorian wakes several times before he is ready to be awake. Each time, he feels the weight of Bull's arm around him and stretches languidly, or cracks an eye open to gaze blearily up at his face, before slipping back into the Fade once more.
It's well into mid morning by the time he stays awake. The light from the balcony doors and the windows on either side streams in warm and white, and he can hear the sounds of the market below, already loud and active with far earlier risers. But Dorian doesn't regret his lazy morning for a moment. He is with Bull, and his body aches pleasantly--sore muscles, bruises, bites. Reminders of a night very well spent.
He remembers the tavern very well, and the way they'd fucked on the balcony afterward; hazier is the time after that, when they'd fallen into bed together, but he knows they had sex again. Or--no, that isn't quite right. He realizes, with slowly dawning dread, what had actually happened. Bull had shown him such a wonderful evening, taken care of him so well from start to finish, and he'd repaid that generosity by selfishly demanding pleasure without making sure Bull would get the same in return. He'd been tipsy and tired and still reeling from their first round, but he hadn't lost his wits completely. He should have made more of an effort.
Shame is the very last thing he'd wanted to feel this morning, after a night as rare as last night. But he feels his face heat and his stomach clench with it as he leans heavily into Bull's side. He should apologize. It's the least he can do.
"Bull," he murmurs. His voice is scratchy with sleep. "Are you awake?"
"Hm?" Bull makes an acknowledging sound and rolls slightly so that he can wrap around Dorian more fully. He's careful of his horns and the wall, and he's careful not to roll on top of Dorian. It was late when Bull finally drifted off, and even if they've slept late, he thinks he could sleep some more. But Dorian is awake and that's reason enough for him to be the same.
"Mhm," he adds a moment later as he buries his nose in Dorian's hair. Bull is careful to keep his weight off the mage. He doesn't want to smother him into the mattress.
"Morning," he manages at last, voice quiet and rough with sleep. ".... S'it still morning?"
Though the subject he intends to broach weighs heavily on him, Dorian can't help a small, secret smile when Bull gathers him closer, apparently still half asleep. That gives him a little more confidence that Bull isn't upset with him, at least. Dorian gladly leans into him, allowing Bull to breathe him in.
"I don't have an answer to that question, I'm afraid," Dorian half chuckles. "Though I am confident that had we overslept egregiously, Vivienne would have notified us."
He uses a few moments to take a steadying breath. A hand finds Bull's face, fingers fitting tenderly along the lines of his scars on the left side. "I want to thank you for last night. I haven't had such an enjoyable evening out in quite some time. I'm only sorry that I failed to show my appreciation properly toward the end."
Bull listens to the apology patiently. He presses a kiss to Dorian's hair once he's finished.
"You have nothing to apologize for, Dorian," he murmurs, soft and warm. "Do you think I'd do anything that I felt bad doing? Or that I didn't want to?"
He eases back, just enough for Dorian to see his face.
"I wanted to give you that and I knew I wouldn't be in any state to give you what you really wanted any time soon. I enjoyed myself, Dorian. Everything we did last night, If found pleasure in."
"No, I--" Dorian's protest breaks off, and he forces himself to rethink what he's about to say. There are times when Bull's very reasonable responses make him feel a bit childish. But the truth is that he doesn't always have the most healthy or mature attitude about sex, because his experiences thus far in life--in Tevinter, really--haven't been conducive to teaching him that. He hadn't thought that Bull felt bad about doing what he had; he'd only meant to express that he felt bad about not returning the favor.
(And that's the problem, isn't it? That he thinks of it that way in the first place.)
"I don't doubt that you enjoyed yourself. I only mean that I wish I'd been able to reciprocate," he explains, earnestly trying to make Bull understand his point of view. "I'm normally not one to take without giving back. This sort of thing should be an equal exchange, yes?"
"Dorian." Bull sits up slowly and props himself against the back of the bed. It lets him fully meet Dorian's gaze. "You would have reciprocated with what? Something I didn't ask for?"
He lifts his dark brow, fixing Dorian with a gentle look.
"Equal exchange means both partners get what they want, and I did. I got everything that I wanted,including the chance to make you feel good again"
This is just as frustrating and embarrassing as Dorian had expected it to be, yet somehow for entirely different reasons. He feels suddenly worse than clueless, out of his depth. Bull is so kind, so impossibly gentle, but that only makes him feel worse. Apparently, at more than thirty years old and after months of steady sex, he still needs these things explained to him.
Bull has moved to look at him, but now Dorian refuses to meet his eye. He stares at the sheets covering his body instead, bare legs shifting idly beneath them. His foot brushes the muscle of Bull's calf and withdraws.
"In Tevinter, having an orgasm is the entire point of a tryst like this," he says plainly, trying to sound disaffected. "I wouldn't be worth any man's time if I didn't get him off in return." Though he still doesn't look at Bull, his brow furrows. "And now you tell me that isn't important to you?"
Bull listens quietly and the revelation doesn't really surprise him. When Dorian finishes, Bull reaches to gently tip his chin up and gives him a kiss.
"Well, it's not the entire point for me," he murmurs. "I take great pleasure in--giving you what you want. Yeah, getting off is fun. Great, even. But... it's not the only reason I'm here. I'm old enough that my cock can't always keep up with the demand," he says with a wry smile. "But the rest of me again."
He doesn't know if this is helping at all, but he wants Dorian to know.
"You are worth my time, Dorian. Whether my cock is hard or not."
Dorian lets Bull kiss him, even though he feels a bit miserable. He's still weak to that sort of affection. As he listens to the explanation that follows, it's impossible not to think about how very different the Bull is to everyone he's ever slept with before him. Everything about him is dissimilar, and Dorian has known for some time that his horns and the size of his cock are the least of it. This only further confirms that idea.
"Crude," he sniffs in an attempt to sound haughty. He at least feels decent enough to lay down against Bull again, listening to the steady drumbeat of his heart. "For what it's worth, I don't feel that way either. About this...arrangement of ours." In the loosest possible terms. "I know that I've said this before, but it bears repeating. You're worth far more to me than what we do in bed--or over priceless furniture, or against outdoor architecture." He feels tight, from his lips all the way to the feeling in his chest, when he makes himself smile. "We're friends, after all."
The words, even from his own lips, ring hollow and painful inside him. He'd thought of Bull as amatus last night. That isn't friendship, and he well knows it. But what can he do? It isn't as though he can very well ask a Qunari to be with him in any meaningful way. He'd decided, when he began to sleep in the Bull's bed again, that he would take what he could get from this and be satisfied. He's never had anything better, and likely never will. As long as he's realistic about the terms of engagement, he can still come out of this with his heart in tact when it inevitably ends.
Bull smiles at the accusation and it hides the shiver in his chest when Dorian breathes the truth of their friendship in the space between them. The part that makes the rest of this so difficult. Bull leans close to kiss him, tender and lingering.
"Don't forget the war table," he teases. He knows Cullen never will.
"We are friends," he murmurs, and Bull knows that he is neither lying nor bending the truth. He's gotten close to Dorian in a way that's--different. If the order came tomorrow, he could kill any other member of the Inquisition. He might be somewhat sad after the fact, but he wouldn't hesitate. But Dorian... Could he do it?
He squeezes Dorian against him.
"Might've told the maid that was in here earlier to bring us breakfast."
Even as Bull kisses him, Dorian feels like his heart is being rent. Bull confirming their friendship--a word Dorian had used himself--shouldn't make him feel like this, but here he is, hurting far more than he ever expected to over this...dalliance with a Qunari spy. He wants more. He's tried to avoid thinking about it up until now, but last night had made it unavoidable. He wants more with Bull, and he'll never have it, and Maker, it hurts.
Still, Bull cares about him. Truly cares. That's something. That is, in a way, more. More than he's ever had, at least.
"There was someone in here?" Instinctively, he shrinks a little further into Bull's side, though he knows they're quite alone now. "Kaffas, why didn't you wake me? I might've put on something to cover my ass, at least."
Bull chuckles quietly. "Your ass was covered. I doubt she even saw you on the other side of me," he assures warmly.
He gives Dorian another soothing kiss and hums quietly.
"She came in to light the fire and replace the water in the basin." With a quiet, content sigh, Bull holds Dorian against him and kisses the top of his head. "Didn't want to wake you for nothing. You were dead asleep."
And if Bull notices the momentary--something--that passed between them, he doesn't acknowledge it. He can't. Whatever he might want, in the end, is irrelevant. The Qun must come first. For all his life to make sense, it must.
"At last, your ridiculous size becomes useful," Dorian grumbles, though he doesn't move away from Bull. Defiantly, he grips the sheet and draws it up further over his body, covering his shoulders. He knows that they'll have to get up soon, but the opportunity to laze about in a huge, soft bed like this with Bull beside him isn't so easily dismissed.
He lets his foot brush Bull's calf again beneath the covers, this time deliberately. He traces the curve of the muscle with his toes, then hooks them around, sliding his thigh over Bull's and pulling himself closer.
"What time is your appointment?" He asks, half dreading the answer. The thought of seeing Vivienne, and of having to sit through several hours with her, her tailor, and Bull being poked and prodded and sized and analyzed, doesn't sit well with him. But he imagines it doesn't sit well with Bull either--which is why he's agreed to accompany him. Moral support, and all that.
"Later this afternoon," he says as Dorian nestles against him. "I don't think she was inclined to be up early, either."
Bull strokes his fingers along Dorian's side, just enjoying the warmth of him against his side. He thinks he could stay here for hours. There's a knock at the door and Bull absently shifts his position to obscure Dorian more as a rather shy maid comes in with a typical Orlesian breakfast spread. Maybe twice as much, given the Bull's size and the fact that there is more than one person that will be eating.
He thanks the girl in Orlesian and she hurries right back out. Bull relaxes back against the headboard with a lazy sigh.
"Mmm, she brought coffee." He saw the pot on the tray, but now the smell starts to waft across the room.
Dorian feels a surge of relief as Bull pulls him closer at the sound of the knock. He buries his face against the Qunari's side as the door opens, only daring to peek up when he hears the sound of trays and glassware being set down. He sees the girl steal a glance toward the bed as Bull thanks her, but doesn't think she sees him, with Bull very much in the way. Still, he breathes a sigh of relief when she finally exits. Dorian doesn't mind others knowing about himself and Bull; it's far too late to pretend otherwise, anyway. But knowing is far less embarrassing than actually being caught in bed together.
The smell of coffee prompts Dorian to sit up, eyeing the steaming pot. "I don't trust coffee in the south," he grumbles. "But one must make do."
He kisses Bull's cheek before he slides out of bed. Naked, he crosses the room and pours two mugs of coffee, adding sugar only to Bull's, before returning to the bed with both.
Bull watches Dorian cross the room; he allows himself to thoroughly enjoy the view as a very naked Dorian Pavus pours him coffee and fixes it the way he likes. That fond look is still in his eye when Dorian returns to him with the mug. Bull accepts his carefully in one hand and the other gently catches Dorian so he can kiss him before releasing him again.
"Thank you. And it isn't so bad in Orlais. They at least have some appreciation for it. Fereldens just make sludge."
He feels the weight of Bull's gaze plainly enough. He counts on it, even, and enjoys it. Dorian does so love to be admired. By his estimation, he's more than earned the kiss that he returns to.
"That much is true," Dorian mutters, and gives the coffee a try. The flavor isn't as robust as he's used to, but it really isn't all that bad. Still, he makes a bit of a face on principle, even as he continues to drink it.
He used to have it much more often back in Tevinter--more often after dinner than in the morning, even. Just another bit of home to miss.
"Bull," he says softly, feeling a bit pensive still--slightly off, after his realization about their future (or lack thereof) together. "What was it like for you, when you first came south? Did you have the faintest idea about how to live among humans and non-Qunari? Or did you have to learn on your own?" He doesn't say: it must have been very lonely. He doesn't say: I think I understand.
Bull looks at his coffee as he considers his answer. Eventually, he gives a small nod of his head, as if granting himself permission.
"I'd lived around humans, elves, and a few dwarves before," he starts. "Viddathari on Seheron. But coming south, ostensibly as Tal-Vashoth was--"
He pauses, either trying to gather his thoughts or lost in the memory for a moment.
"I knew what I had to do," he says at last. "No one really expects even Tal-Vasoth to know how to live among other people, so it gave me some time to adjust. Didn't talk much for the first six months, just getting used to languages I hadn't practiced in some time."
Orlesian, in particular, had required some immersion before Bull felt comfortable speaking it again.
"Day to day things I learned on my own. No one messed with me too much, though they talked. They talked a lot when they thought I only understood every third word."
Though this was a decade ago, Dorian thinks that he can feel Bull's loneliness and frustration from that time lingering even now. He frowns at the idea of humans talking over and around him, thinking him stupid. But he isn't innocent in this matter. If he hadn't known from the outset of their acquaintanceship that Bull was Ben-Hassrath, he might have also believed him to be a huge, muscled simpleton for quite some time. What a mistake that would've been.
"They didn't accept you," Dorian murmurs. "Not remotely." With the hand not holding his mug of coffee, he reaches for Bull's hand, folding their fingers together. "Was there anyone who was kind to you? Who wanted to teach you?" The idea of Bull being entirely by himself is deeply sad. He can imagine what was said about him right in front of him. He can imagine Bull, teaching himself how to behave as a part of non-Qunari society, learning and adapting even as he was largely scorned.
"It still bothers me," he corrects quietly. Part of him can't believe he said it out loud. "But, shok ebasit hissra, Dorian. There is nothing to struggle against. The tide rises, the tide falls, and the sea remains."
The strange loneliness is the worst part. He has built a small family in the Chargers, but it isn't the same as having a people. There is no one in the Inquisition like Bull; there is no one in the Chargers like him. There is no one like him in southern Thedas. Other spies are all Viddathari. And he is not Tal-Vashoth. Bull can't blend in anywhere: he's too big, too noticeable, too Qunari. Even if everyone assumes he's Tal-Vashoth, he still stands out as the biggest one anyone has ever seen.
Dorian, for as Tevinter as he is, could pass unnoticed if he chose to. He could blend in, he could pass as Rivani or Nevarran.
No, for a decade, Bull has existed alone in foreign lands, playing a role.
Dorian has the sense to appreciate the rarity of the vulnerability that Bull chooses to show him now. It breaks his heart to hear him talk this way, but he recognizes it as a show of trust. Bull doesn't let others see what bothers him, and he certainly doesn't tell them about it. The Iron Bull is all about being untouchable; nothing gets to him. To know that it isn't true, to be picked as Bull's confidante, is a great responsibility. He's determined not to fuck it up.
Amatus, he thinks again. It's difficult to stifle as he sets his coffee aside on the bedside table so that he can lay his hand gently against his face. "Bull," he murmurs. "I..."
He what? How is he to finish that thought in a way that won't ruin both of them?
"I am so very glad to know you," he says, with such open honesty that he feels like he's showing some part of himself no one else has ever seen. "And I will always accept you. I do hope you'll remember that." In all his life, he never could have imagined he would be saying such things to a Qunari. But strangely, that only makes them more clearly true. They aren't based on some preconception, some idealization of a bond he'd hoped to have one day, but on feelings that have developed organically and strengthened on their own. He appreciates Bull not because he is anything like what he ever expected to want, but because Bull is so uniquely himself.
This is entirely foolish, and his pronunciation is probably terrible, but Dorian pulls from his mind a phrase that has stuck there since Bull had recited it to him in the Hissing Wastes. He'd gone over it again and again after that, even going so far as to look it up again himself to be sure he had it right. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. You are exactly as you should be, Bull."
Ridiculous--a Tevinter Altus reciting the Qun to his Ben-Hassrath lover. But perhaps this part of the Qun can be true, at least.
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Dorian's stipulations for this are interrupted by a yawn, which he stifles against Bull's shoulder.
"It means," he continues a moment later, "that you aren't to get out of bed until I'm good and ready to let you. No getting up for morning drills, no bringing up breakfast. I want..." Dorian's voice fades a little more. Even rambling and half asleep, he still manages to sound vulnerable. "I want to wake up next to you."
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Bull gives Dorian a very fond look at that quiet, but firm request. How could Bull deny him anything when he asks like that?
"I'll be here when you wake up," he promises. "Now go to sleep."
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That isn't an issue tonight. Clean and satisfied and assured that Bull will still be with him in the morning, Dorian drifts off fairly quickly, breathing soft and even against Bull's chest.
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And Dorian loves him.
He's handled little crushes before, but this is something else altogether. He's very fond of Dorian, and he's concerned now that he might harbor the same feelings. This is nothing he's ever had to worry about before: Bull has never once mixed friendships with sex. He shouldn't even think of Dorian as a friend, never mind where he's thoughts have been going lately.
Amatus.
How often has he nearly murmured the only equivalent that exists in Qunlat? How many times has he looked at Dorian and unwittingly thought kadan? Bull strokes his fingers down Dorian's arm and he sighs quietly. This is getting messy. They are tangled together in ways that Bull isn't sure how to undo, not without severing the knot entirely. And that will only leave frayed ends.
He realizes that he doesn't want to hurt Dorian. He's been hurt enough.
When thinking about it starts to give him an ache, Bull makes himself stop. He'll be up all night if he doesn't, and he would like to enjoy the bed, the company, and the chance to sleep in.
But as he closes his eye, all he can hear is Dorian's voice whispering amatus against his skin.
the following day
It's well into mid morning by the time he stays awake. The light from the balcony doors and the windows on either side streams in warm and white, and he can hear the sounds of the market below, already loud and active with far earlier risers. But Dorian doesn't regret his lazy morning for a moment. He is with Bull, and his body aches pleasantly--sore muscles, bruises, bites. Reminders of a night very well spent.
He remembers the tavern very well, and the way they'd fucked on the balcony afterward; hazier is the time after that, when they'd fallen into bed together, but he knows they had sex again. Or--no, that isn't quite right. He realizes, with slowly dawning dread, what had actually happened. Bull had shown him such a wonderful evening, taken care of him so well from start to finish, and he'd repaid that generosity by selfishly demanding pleasure without making sure Bull would get the same in return. He'd been tipsy and tired and still reeling from their first round, but he hadn't lost his wits completely. He should have made more of an effort.
Shame is the very last thing he'd wanted to feel this morning, after a night as rare as last night. But he feels his face heat and his stomach clench with it as he leans heavily into Bull's side. He should apologize. It's the least he can do.
"Bull," he murmurs. His voice is scratchy with sleep. "Are you awake?"
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"Mhm," he adds a moment later as he buries his nose in Dorian's hair. Bull is careful to keep his weight off the mage. He doesn't want to smother him into the mattress.
"Morning," he manages at last, voice quiet and rough with sleep. ".... S'it still morning?"
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"I don't have an answer to that question, I'm afraid," Dorian half chuckles. "Though I am confident that had we overslept egregiously, Vivienne would have notified us."
He uses a few moments to take a steadying breath. A hand finds Bull's face, fingers fitting tenderly along the lines of his scars on the left side. "I want to thank you for last night. I haven't had such an enjoyable evening out in quite some time. I'm only sorry that I failed to show my appreciation properly toward the end."
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"You have nothing to apologize for, Dorian," he murmurs, soft and warm. "Do you think I'd do anything that I felt bad doing? Or that I didn't want to?"
He eases back, just enough for Dorian to see his face.
"I wanted to give you that and I knew I wouldn't be in any state to give you what you really wanted any time soon. I enjoyed myself, Dorian. Everything we did last night, If found pleasure in."
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(And that's the problem, isn't it? That he thinks of it that way in the first place.)
"I don't doubt that you enjoyed yourself. I only mean that I wish I'd been able to reciprocate," he explains, earnestly trying to make Bull understand his point of view. "I'm normally not one to take without giving back. This sort of thing should be an equal exchange, yes?"
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He lifts his dark brow, fixing Dorian with a gentle look.
"Equal exchange means both partners get what they want, and I did. I got everything that I wanted,including the chance to make you feel good again"
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Bull has moved to look at him, but now Dorian refuses to meet his eye. He stares at the sheets covering his body instead, bare legs shifting idly beneath them. His foot brushes the muscle of Bull's calf and withdraws.
"In Tevinter, having an orgasm is the entire point of a tryst like this," he says plainly, trying to sound disaffected. "I wouldn't be worth any man's time if I didn't get him off in return." Though he still doesn't look at Bull, his brow furrows. "And now you tell me that isn't important to you?"
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"Well, it's not the entire point for me," he murmurs. "I take great pleasure in--giving you what you want. Yeah, getting off is fun. Great, even. But... it's not the only reason I'm here. I'm old enough that my cock can't always keep up with the demand," he says with a wry smile. "But the rest of me again."
He doesn't know if this is helping at all, but he wants Dorian to know.
"You are worth my time, Dorian. Whether my cock is hard or not."
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"Crude," he sniffs in an attempt to sound haughty. He at least feels decent enough to lay down against Bull again, listening to the steady drumbeat of his heart. "For what it's worth, I don't feel that way either. About this...arrangement of ours." In the loosest possible terms. "I know that I've said this before, but it bears repeating. You're worth far more to me than what we do in bed--or over priceless furniture, or against outdoor architecture." He feels tight, from his lips all the way to the feeling in his chest, when he makes himself smile. "We're friends, after all."
The words, even from his own lips, ring hollow and painful inside him. He'd thought of Bull as amatus last night. That isn't friendship, and he well knows it. But what can he do? It isn't as though he can very well ask a Qunari to be with him in any meaningful way. He'd decided, when he began to sleep in the Bull's bed again, that he would take what he could get from this and be satisfied. He's never had anything better, and likely never will. As long as he's realistic about the terms of engagement, he can still come out of this with his heart in tact when it inevitably ends.
Or that was the plan, at least.
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"Don't forget the war table," he teases. He knows Cullen never will.
"We are friends," he murmurs, and Bull knows that he is neither lying nor bending the truth. He's gotten close to Dorian in a way that's--different. If the order came tomorrow, he could kill any other member of the Inquisition. He might be somewhat sad after the fact, but he wouldn't hesitate. But Dorian... Could he do it?
He squeezes Dorian against him.
"Might've told the maid that was in here earlier to bring us breakfast."
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Still, Bull cares about him. Truly cares. That's something. That is, in a way, more. More than he's ever had, at least.
"There was someone in here?" Instinctively, he shrinks a little further into Bull's side, though he knows they're quite alone now. "Kaffas, why didn't you wake me? I might've put on something to cover my ass, at least."
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He gives Dorian another soothing kiss and hums quietly.
"She came in to light the fire and replace the water in the basin." With a quiet, content sigh, Bull holds Dorian against him and kisses the top of his head. "Didn't want to wake you for nothing. You were dead asleep."
And if Bull notices the momentary--something--that passed between them, he doesn't acknowledge it. He can't. Whatever he might want, in the end, is irrelevant. The Qun must come first. For all his life to make sense, it must.
But he can't stop wanting.
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He lets his foot brush Bull's calf again beneath the covers, this time deliberately. He traces the curve of the muscle with his toes, then hooks them around, sliding his thigh over Bull's and pulling himself closer.
"What time is your appointment?" He asks, half dreading the answer. The thought of seeing Vivienne, and of having to sit through several hours with her, her tailor, and Bull being poked and prodded and sized and analyzed, doesn't sit well with him. But he imagines it doesn't sit well with Bull either--which is why he's agreed to accompany him. Moral support, and all that.
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Bull strokes his fingers along Dorian's side, just enjoying the warmth of him against his side. He thinks he could stay here for hours. There's a knock at the door and Bull absently shifts his position to obscure Dorian more as a rather shy maid comes in with a typical Orlesian breakfast spread. Maybe twice as much, given the Bull's size and the fact that there is more than one person that will be eating.
He thanks the girl in Orlesian and she hurries right back out. Bull relaxes back against the headboard with a lazy sigh.
"Mmm, she brought coffee." He saw the pot on the tray, but now the smell starts to waft across the room.
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The smell of coffee prompts Dorian to sit up, eyeing the steaming pot. "I don't trust coffee in the south," he grumbles. "But one must make do."
He kisses Bull's cheek before he slides out of bed. Naked, he crosses the room and pours two mugs of coffee, adding sugar only to Bull's, before returning to the bed with both.
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"Thank you. And it isn't so bad in Orlais. They at least have some appreciation for it. Fereldens just make sludge."
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"That much is true," Dorian mutters, and gives the coffee a try. The flavor isn't as robust as he's used to, but it really isn't all that bad. Still, he makes a bit of a face on principle, even as he continues to drink it.
He used to have it much more often back in Tevinter--more often after dinner than in the morning, even. Just another bit of home to miss.
"Bull," he says softly, feeling a bit pensive still--slightly off, after his realization about their future (or lack thereof) together. "What was it like for you, when you first came south? Did you have the faintest idea about how to live among humans and non-Qunari? Or did you have to learn on your own?" He doesn't say: it must have been very lonely. He doesn't say: I think I understand.
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"I'd lived around humans, elves, and a few dwarves before," he starts. "Viddathari on Seheron. But coming south, ostensibly as Tal-Vashoth was--"
He pauses, either trying to gather his thoughts or lost in the memory for a moment.
"I knew what I had to do," he says at last. "No one really expects even Tal-Vasoth to know how to live among other people, so it gave me some time to adjust. Didn't talk much for the first six months, just getting used to languages I hadn't practiced in some time."
Orlesian, in particular, had required some immersion before Bull felt comfortable speaking it again.
"Day to day things I learned on my own. No one messed with me too much, though they talked. They talked a lot when they thought I only understood every third word."
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"They didn't accept you," Dorian murmurs. "Not remotely." With the hand not holding his mug of coffee, he reaches for Bull's hand, folding their fingers together. "Was there anyone who was kind to you? Who wanted to teach you?" The idea of Bull being entirely by himself is deeply sad. He can imagine what was said about him right in front of him. He can imagine Bull, teaching himself how to behave as a part of non-Qunari society, learning and adapting even as he was largely scorned.
He knows how it feels, at least in part.
"Did it bother you?" He wonders softly.
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The strange loneliness is the worst part. He has built a small family in the Chargers, but it isn't the same as having a people. There is no one in the Inquisition like Bull; there is no one in the Chargers like him. There is no one like him in southern Thedas. Other spies are all Viddathari. And he is not Tal-Vashoth. Bull can't blend in anywhere: he's too big, too noticeable, too Qunari. Even if everyone assumes he's Tal-Vashoth, he still stands out as the biggest one anyone has ever seen.
Dorian, for as Tevinter as he is, could pass unnoticed if he chose to. He could blend in, he could pass as Rivani or Nevarran.
No, for a decade, Bull has existed alone in foreign lands, playing a role.
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Amatus, he thinks again. It's difficult to stifle as he sets his coffee aside on the bedside table so that he can lay his hand gently against his face. "Bull," he murmurs. "I..."
He what? How is he to finish that thought in a way that won't ruin both of them?
"I am so very glad to know you," he says, with such open honesty that he feels like he's showing some part of himself no one else has ever seen. "And I will always accept you. I do hope you'll remember that." In all his life, he never could have imagined he would be saying such things to a Qunari. But strangely, that only makes them more clearly true. They aren't based on some preconception, some idealization of a bond he'd hoped to have one day, but on feelings that have developed organically and strengthened on their own. He appreciates Bull not because he is anything like what he ever expected to want, but because Bull is so uniquely himself.
This is entirely foolish, and his pronunciation is probably terrible, but Dorian pulls from his mind a phrase that has stuck there since Bull had recited it to him in the Hissing Wastes. He'd gone over it again and again after that, even going so far as to look it up again himself to be sure he had it right. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. You are exactly as you should be, Bull."
Ridiculous--a Tevinter Altus reciting the Qun to his Ben-Hassrath lover. But perhaps this part of the Qun can be true, at least.
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