"Thank you," he says quietly. The sincerity is heavy in his voice and he turns his head to press a kiss to Dorian's palm. And then Dorian recites a part of the Qun to him and Bull closes his eye. His hand reaches up to cover Dorian's hand with his own.
"Kadan," he murmurs. That's all and he offers no translation.
Bull lifts his head and pulls Dorian down into a tender kiss. He lingers, then gives the mage a gentle push.
"Come on. Breakfast. Otherwise we'll be late and Vivienne while have my very considerable hide for new boots."
The Bull speaks only a few words in response, but Dorian feels the significance in each of them like a physical weight--not burdens placed on him by someone else, but responsibilities he wants. An honor bestowed. He's never heard Bull speak that particular Qunlat word before, not in all his guttural dirty talk during sex or sweet nothings after. There's a particular rhythm to it, and a clear significance. But Bull provides no translation, and Dorian doesn't ask. If he wanted him to know what it meant, he'd say so.
The kiss that follows is so gentle and sweet that Dorian lingers for a moment afterward, touched. It's no wonder he's fallen so deeply for this man. Whether or not it's true in the way he might want--and it can't be, surely--he feels loved.
The spell is broken soon enough, which is probably for the best. "And your horns for a hat," Dorian points out, still chuckling when he concedes to Bull's prompting and slips out of bed again, still not wearing a stitch. He retrieves his coffee from the night table and nurses it between both hands. "I'm still feeling quite exhausted from our efforts last night," he laments. "The only recourse is for you to hand feed me berry tarts and little scones while wearing even less clothing than you normally do."
Bull chuckles quietly. "Get back in bed, then. Or bring the tray over and then settle in. I'll make sure you don't starve."
Whatever had passed between them wasn't gone, but it was a strange relief to be able to move away from it. Bull doesn't know what will happen if or when he decides to examine those feelings more closely. He called Dorian kadan, like he's called Krem before, and yet nothing like the way he's used the word with Krem. The little Vint is his comrade, his friend, his second-in-command. Of course Bull cares about him, very deeply even. But the way he feels for Dorian is entirely different.
Bull finds himself grateful that they will have a distraction for the rest of the afternoon.
That is exactly what Dorian does, and they spend the next half hour chatting and laughing together as Bull attempts to feed Dorian every kind of food on the breakfast tray, to varying degrees of success. By the time they make themselves get out of bed, there are definitely crumbs on the comforter.
Possibly only by the Maker's grace, they are properly washed and dressed by the time Vivienne does arrive at their door, knocking promptly at noon with two sharp raps of her knuckles. "Are you decent, my dears?" She speaks through the door. "I should hope so, as your appointment is in less than an hour."
Frowning just a little, Dorian stalks to the door and opens it himself, just to prove that they haven't spent all morning fucking off--just most of it.
"Good afternoon, Vivienne," he greets as she sweeps into the room, cool and confident and impeccably put together as ever. "I understand if it's a nuisance, but I wonder if I might--"
"--accompany myself and the Bull to his appointment? Of course, darling. I expected it." She says it so dismissively, even as Dorian's brow furrows.
"Did you?"
"Why should I not? As his paramour and a proponent of fashion yourself, I thought you might provide some insight of value."
"I--well, one of those things is true, at least," is what Dorian manages, baffled and a bit dazed to hear that word aloud, referring to the two of them as though it's a given. This is what other people really think about them?
"Indeed," Vivienne agrees airily. "Now that you share a room, it's obvious to anyone."
"No," Dorian huffs, "I meant--vishante kaffas, we do not share a room!"
But Vivienne's response to that is merely an artfully arched brow and a sweeping turn away from Dorian towards the Bull. "I trust you are prepared to face the seamster's fussing for a few hours, Bull dear?"
Bull listen's with a faint smile, and he doesn't let it fall when Dorian' insists that they aren't what she says they are. No, they don't share a room at Skyhold, per se. But they're with each other often enough that they might as well.
Or not.
He finishes pulling his boots on, then carefully adjusts his brace.
"Yes, ma'am," he answers when she addresses him. He likes Vivienne: she makes sense to him, fits a mold that already exists in his head. And having a tamassran at that moment offers him some comfort.
He gets up with a quiet grunt and adjusts his eye patch.
"If I can handle getting fitted for armor, I can manage a tailor."
Notable that Bull hadn't reacted to Dorian's little back-and-forth with Vivienne at all. Does he truly not care if others think they're something they aren't? That's probably a stupid thing to wonder; of course he doesn't. They've talked about this before. But Dorian cares. If they aren't together, why shouldn't he correct people when they assume that they are? If he doesn't, he'll truly look the fool when Bull moves on without much fanfare, or takes someone else to his bed, or--
That line of thought drains his previous good mood very quickly, and so he makes every effort to put it aside.
"I am glad that your view is so pragmatic," Vivienne says, a hint of approval in her tone just as there always is when the Bull says something she agrees with. Dorian finds the way she treats him a bit patronizing, but Bull seems to feel otherwise, which is what really matters. Something about her reminding him of a tamassran. Dorian doesn't particularly want to know more than that. "What one wears to appear at court is armor of another sort, and must be crafted with equal care," she continues loftily, and though Dorian actually agrees with the sentiment, he nearly rolls his eyes anyway. There are times, admittedly, when he gets along well with Vivienne. At others, he finds her insufferable. There's little doubt that she thinks much the same of him.
But she does care about Bull in her way, so Dorian will do his best tolerate her today, just as she seems to be doing. Perhaps this could even prove enjoyable.
She tells them that she'll be expecting both of them downstairs in fifteen minutes, and as she's very much in charge of this whole production, Dorian doesn't argue. When she leaves, he turns to Bull with a tentative smile. "I hope you know I'm doing this for your sake," he says, "and I'll expect repayment in some form in due time."
Bull has a deep appreciation for who Vivienne is as a person and how she conducts herself; he understands her, even if they don't always share a view point. And he finds himself grateful for the way she takes charge - including the way she takes charge of him. She seems to recognize the need for it and, in her role, it suits her. It feels as natural to defer to her as it does to any other tamassran in his life.
When she leaves, Bull looks at Dorian.
"I know." He wants to offer Dorian a way out, wants to tell him that he doesn't have to come. But he also doesn't want to cheapen Dorian's offer by saying it. He offers a warm smile. "You can name any repayment you want."
Kadan.
Bull makes his way to Dorian and gently cradles his face, holding him still for a tender kiss.
Dorian is relieved when Bull smiles at him, a warm, bubbly feeling filling his chest when those huge hands cradle his face so that Bull can kiss him. Nothing's amiss, then.
"You may regret that offer," he teases quietly afterward, smiling softly even as he brushes another kiss to Bull's lips. His hands rest at his waist, fingers hooking under the wide belt there, tethering them together. "You'll be rubbing my feet for a month." As though Bull wouldn't do that on request anyway.
"Never," he says warmly as he strokes his thumbs over Dorian's cheeks. He grins at the suggested service. "I'll even paint your toes."
Bull leans down to kiss Dorian again. He lingers long enough to make them both breathless, but not so long that he starts getting too many ideas regarding what can be accomplished in fifteen minutes.
They make it downstairs unruffled and Bull dutifully follows Dorian and Vivenne through the familiar streets to the appointment. Bull ducks and turns his head to make it through the door without hitting his horns on the frame. At least the ceilings inside are much higher.
By the time they make it back downstairs, Dorian's mood is again much improved. Flirting and kissing will do that. What he feels for Bull is very much still on his mind, but so is his decision to just let things play out as they are. He's happy. Certainly, things could be better, but he's happy for now. That's enough.
He chats with Vivienne as they make their way to the shop, a surprisingly quaint looking two-story building with huge glass windows that let in as much of the early afternoon sunlight as possible. He turns just in time to see the Bull angle himself to get through the doorway, and considers for a moment how much he really takes for granted.
Vivienne speaks with the tailor, who immediately offers all of them wine--which Dorian, of course, accepts--and directs them to sit in the comfortably furnished front area while she fetches the mock-up she'd drafted to Vivienne's specifications. To her credit, she doesn't seem surprised that her client is a Qunari; but Vivienne had certainly informed her ahead of time. And honestly, who else would have measurements like that? The mages sit on either side of Bull on a long, plush sofa, and Dorian swirls the wine in his glass idly as he looks up at Bull sidelong, smiling.
"I can't wait to see the size of this jacket," he says. "Have you ever had to wear one before, Bull?"
Bull is surprised to see the main color - white - and he finds himself wondering if Vivienne intervened with Josephine to make styling choices. He can hear it now: something that will stand out, darling, but something dignified.
Bull gets up when the seamstress gestures for him to do so and he looks back at Dorian ruefully.
"When I'm cold enough," he huffs, though there's a smile tugging at his scarred mouth. "Nothing like this. Chargers don't get invited to a lot of soirees."
"This isn't the final product, of course," the tailor is saying as she directs Bull to stretch his arms back so that she can help him slide them into the jacket. She's far too short to actually help him put it over his shoulders. "The fabric you chose, Madame de Fer, will look much brighter--"
"I should hope so," Vivienne cuts in. "The sheen on this isn't nearly what I'd imagined."
Dorian hears the conversation, but he's so focused on Bull that he doesn't bother weighing in. He grins, chuckling softly. "Bull, didn't you tell me only last night that you went to an employer's party with Cremisius and Rocky? Were you bare chested there? Truly?"
Bull looks over his shoulder and gives Dorian a smirk. "Of course I was. Had to make an impression."
It what their patron wanted, in the end. They wanted to show off the brutal mercenaries they'd hired, and, that night, Krem had been the most civilized of the bunch. Bull is good at playing his part and sometimes he quite enjoys himself.
"Do you think they really would have wanted me all dressed up?"
"I wouldn't presume to know what anyone wants when they hire you." Dorian doesn't laugh aloud, but his eyes are dancing with it, and he brings his wineglass to his lips. It's the finest vintage he's had in months, truthfully, but he's thinking more about Bull--about the smirk on his lips and the way the fabric of the jacket draws tight across his shoulders when it settles there.
The seamstress--presumably standing in front of Bull, though Dorian can't see her--gives an annoyed huff as she apparently tries to pull the jacket closed. "Your shoulders weren't supposed to be this wide," she grumbles, and Dorian couldn't disagree more. The way the Bull's shoulders look now--Maker, he wouldn't trade them for anything.
"It's not for my conversational skills," he quips in answer.
Bull resists the urge to roll his eye when she fusses over the breadth of his shoulders. Still, he puts a smile on as he looks back at Vivienne. "Didn't warn her?"
He stands patiently while the seamstress does whatever she needs to do. He turns, lifts his arms, adjusts his stance. All the while, he listens to Vivienne and Dorian. Both of them seem to have plenty to say about the outfit he will eventually be wearing.
"I sent the correct measurements, darling," Vivienne assures. "But I'm sure the reality of you is far more than mere numbers on a page could convey."
Privately, Dorian concurs. It's strange to sit on the sofa with Vivienne, drinking wine and attempting to be objective while they chat about Bull's prospective outfit. The seamstress takes the jacket away for adjustments, leaving the Bull with a shirt (with buttons) to wear beneath, and fabric swatches spread out on the table, which the two mages sort through, arguing nuances of texture and color.
When the seamstress returns with the mock-up jacket, the fit is much better. She's able to close it properly, and Dorian can't take his eyes off Bull, even to bicker with Vivienne. Who would have thought that adding clothing could make him so alluring? The way it shows his broad shoulders, the size of his arms, and falls to his waist, accentuated by a sash--he looks good. Very good.
"I take it our Lord Dorian approves," says Vivienne, and Dorian can hear the satisfied smirk in her voice.
"I--" he begins, but it's pointless to argue. He's been caught staring, and he knows it. "I think the fit is exactly right, yes." He makes an effort not to, but he catches Bull's eye anyway. He wants to reach out and touch where the crisp lines of the jacket highlight the body he knows so well. Like this, the Bull nearly looks respectable. Almost. But Dorian wouldn't find him nearly so attractive if he did.
Bull is patient and obedient through the whole thing. It isn't his first fitting, though it is for something like this. With Dorian and Vivienne watching, he has extra incentive to behave. He won't embarrass Vivienne in front of her seamstress.
When told, he turns so that the two mages can see the full look. He catches the way that Dorian looks at him and Bull allows himself a warm, almost tender smile when his eye meets Dorian's.
"I'm never going to hear the end of this," he complains mildly, though there's still a smile in his voice.
With the way Bull looks now, that smile is nearly enough to make his heart skip a beat. If he looks like this at Halamshiral, Dorian thinks, everyone will want him. Perhaps they won't admit it, but how could they not?
"The end of what? Being forced to look decent for the first time in your life?" He tries to inject some of his usual wry humor. "I dare say it's something that all of us would like to remember."
"Some more than others," Vivienne adds blithely, and Dorian proudly resists the temptation to turn and glare at her. "But you do look quite handsome, dear," the Court Enchanter assures. She rises with regal poise, several swatches in hand, and motions for the seamstress. They go together to a counter across the room, where they discuss plans for the final product and when it will be finished. This leaves Dorian in the rather awkward position of admiring Bull all on his own, seated on the otherwise empty sofa.
When Vivienne and the seamstress are gone, Bull offers Dorian a warm, private smile - something just for him.
"I have to spend an entire night in this? Boss better make it worth it."
It fits well, at least. Bull doesn't feel restricted or pinched anywhere. He isn't exactly a judge of fashion - he's wearing this because Josephine and Vivienne are both insisting that the Inquisition look like they're uniform and coordinated, and even if it seems ridiculous, Bull knows how powerful that image can be. The Inquisition as a force of its own. It's what they need right now if purses are to open and diplomats are to cooperate.
That smile is so difficult to resist. Every time Bull directs at him, it melts something in his heart that he's deliberately kept frozen for a long time. It opens him up to feeling things he shouldn't. But he adores it, and he never wants Bull to stop looking at him that way.
"Oh, you'll survive," Dorian makes a show of huffing, "so long as you can still flex your muscles at anyone who so much as glances your way."
"No flexing, darling," Vivienne calls from across the room. "The fabric doesn't stretch."
"Ah. So you'll have to come up with another way to flirt," Dorian corrects, pushing himself up off the couch to draw closer to Bull, making the excuse to himself that he wants a better look at the jacket. "I have every faith that it will be equally absurd."
Bull rolls his eye when he hears Vivienne. But his attention is on Dorian and Bull feels betrayed by the way his heart beats a little faster as Dorian approaches him. He wants to reach out and touch, wants to gather Dorian into a kiss just to feel him close.
For the most part, he keeps his hands to himself. He lets the backs of his fingers brush along Dorian's arm as Dorian takes a moment to look him over.
"If it doesn't stretch, I'm going to need a forgiving cut," he says with a quiet laugh, just for Dorian.
He must be smiling stupidly, he thinks, when Bull's fingers brush along his bare arm. He reaches for him in turn, unable to stop himself from following the lines of the jacket over Bull's broad chest. He glances quickly across the room at Vivienne and her tailor. They're engaged in conversation, leaning over something and paying the two of them no attention in the least. On those grounds, Dorian feels bold enough to stand on his tip-toes and leave a kiss on Bull's cheek.
"I rather like this cut," he says. "You almost look presentable. Like the sort of dashing and dangerous figure some comte's younger sister might dance with to court an acceptable amount of scandal."
“And what about a magister’s only son?” he murmurs after that kiss to his cheek.
He wouldn’t mind dancing with Dorian in front of all those people. But would Dorian? Bull suddenly wishes they were alone: he wants to kiss Dorian properly but he doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of Vivienne or the seamstress.
Surprise flits visibly across Dorian's face. He'd been mostly joking, of course, and the last thing he expected was to be offered a dance himself. He can almost picture it: Bull's big hand on his waist, an arm around him, looking down at him with that warm smile. They'd spin in wide, smooth circles across the floor, and everyone else would move out of their way, for fear of being stepped on. But there would be no need to worry; Bull would be remarkably graceful, and always contentious of the other dancers. Still, they'd see him like that anyway.
It would be Dorian's first time dancing with a man in public. And now that he's thought about it, he wants it so badly it hurts.
"I suppose, if you're so inclined." Is his cautious answer. He doesn't think Bull was joking, but best not to appear too eager, just in case. His fingers curl into the fabric covering Bull's arms as he steps in and nudges him into a half turn, putting Bull's body between himself and the women across the room as he tilts his chin up and offers his mouth.
Bull smiles, just for Dorian, as the mage positions them just so and leans up. He takes the cue and gathers Dorian close so he can kiss him. Kadan, his mind whispers, and at least this time he keeps himself from saying it out loud.
He lingers as long as he thinks he can, and as they part, Bull strokes his fingers along Dorian's cheek.
"I'm so inclined," he murmurs. Maybe Dorian won't believe him, but Bull absolutely intends to ask him to dance before their evening at the palace is over. He's determined now.
Reluctantly, he straightens out when he hears Vivienne's heels clicking closer.
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"Thank you," he says quietly. The sincerity is heavy in his voice and he turns his head to press a kiss to Dorian's palm. And then Dorian recites a part of the Qun to him and Bull closes his eye. His hand reaches up to cover Dorian's hand with his own.
"Kadan," he murmurs. That's all and he offers no translation.
Bull lifts his head and pulls Dorian down into a tender kiss. He lingers, then gives the mage a gentle push.
"Come on. Breakfast. Otherwise we'll be late and Vivienne while have my very considerable hide for new boots."
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The kiss that follows is so gentle and sweet that Dorian lingers for a moment afterward, touched. It's no wonder he's fallen so deeply for this man. Whether or not it's true in the way he might want--and it can't be, surely--he feels loved.
The spell is broken soon enough, which is probably for the best. "And your horns for a hat," Dorian points out, still chuckling when he concedes to Bull's prompting and slips out of bed again, still not wearing a stitch. He retrieves his coffee from the night table and nurses it between both hands. "I'm still feeling quite exhausted from our efforts last night," he laments. "The only recourse is for you to hand feed me berry tarts and little scones while wearing even less clothing than you normally do."
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Whatever had passed between them wasn't gone, but it was a strange relief to be able to move away from it. Bull doesn't know what will happen if or when he decides to examine those feelings more closely. He called Dorian kadan, like he's called Krem before, and yet nothing like the way he's used the word with Krem. The little Vint is his comrade, his friend, his second-in-command. Of course Bull cares about him, very deeply even. But the way he feels for Dorian is entirely different.
Bull finds himself grateful that they will have a distraction for the rest of the afternoon.
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Possibly only by the Maker's grace, they are properly washed and dressed by the time Vivienne does arrive at their door, knocking promptly at noon with two sharp raps of her knuckles. "Are you decent, my dears?" She speaks through the door. "I should hope so, as your appointment is in less than an hour."
Frowning just a little, Dorian stalks to the door and opens it himself, just to prove that they haven't spent all morning fucking off--just most of it.
"Good afternoon, Vivienne," he greets as she sweeps into the room, cool and confident and impeccably put together as ever. "I understand if it's a nuisance, but I wonder if I might--"
"--accompany myself and the Bull to his appointment? Of course, darling. I expected it." She says it so dismissively, even as Dorian's brow furrows.
"Did you?"
"Why should I not? As his paramour and a proponent of fashion yourself, I thought you might provide some insight of value."
"I--well, one of those things is true, at least," is what Dorian manages, baffled and a bit dazed to hear that word aloud, referring to the two of them as though it's a given. This is what other people really think about them?
"Indeed," Vivienne agrees airily. "Now that you share a room, it's obvious to anyone."
"No," Dorian huffs, "I meant--vishante kaffas, we do not share a room!"
But Vivienne's response to that is merely an artfully arched brow and a sweeping turn away from Dorian towards the Bull. "I trust you are prepared to face the seamster's fussing for a few hours, Bull dear?"
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Or not.
He finishes pulling his boots on, then carefully adjusts his brace.
"Yes, ma'am," he answers when she addresses him. He likes Vivienne: she makes sense to him, fits a mold that already exists in his head. And having a tamassran at that moment offers him some comfort.
He gets up with a quiet grunt and adjusts his eye patch.
"If I can handle getting fitted for armor, I can manage a tailor."
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That line of thought drains his previous good mood very quickly, and so he makes every effort to put it aside.
"I am glad that your view is so pragmatic," Vivienne says, a hint of approval in her tone just as there always is when the Bull says something she agrees with. Dorian finds the way she treats him a bit patronizing, but Bull seems to feel otherwise, which is what really matters. Something about her reminding him of a tamassran. Dorian doesn't particularly want to know more than that. "What one wears to appear at court is armor of another sort, and must be crafted with equal care," she continues loftily, and though Dorian actually agrees with the sentiment, he nearly rolls his eyes anyway. There are times, admittedly, when he gets along well with Vivienne. At others, he finds her insufferable. There's little doubt that she thinks much the same of him.
But she does care about Bull in her way, so Dorian will do his best tolerate her today, just as she seems to be doing. Perhaps this could even prove enjoyable.
She tells them that she'll be expecting both of them downstairs in fifteen minutes, and as she's very much in charge of this whole production, Dorian doesn't argue. When she leaves, he turns to Bull with a tentative smile. "I hope you know I'm doing this for your sake," he says, "and I'll expect repayment in some form in due time."
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When she leaves, Bull looks at Dorian.
"I know." He wants to offer Dorian a way out, wants to tell him that he doesn't have to come. But he also doesn't want to cheapen Dorian's offer by saying it. He offers a warm smile. "You can name any repayment you want."
Kadan.
Bull makes his way to Dorian and gently cradles his face, holding him still for a tender kiss.
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"You may regret that offer," he teases quietly afterward, smiling softly even as he brushes another kiss to Bull's lips. His hands rest at his waist, fingers hooking under the wide belt there, tethering them together. "You'll be rubbing my feet for a month." As though Bull wouldn't do that on request anyway.
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Bull leans down to kiss Dorian again. He lingers long enough to make them both breathless, but not so long that he starts getting too many ideas regarding what can be accomplished in fifteen minutes.
They make it downstairs unruffled and Bull dutifully follows Dorian and Vivenne through the familiar streets to the appointment. Bull ducks and turns his head to make it through the door without hitting his horns on the frame. At least the ceilings inside are much higher.
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He chats with Vivienne as they make their way to the shop, a surprisingly quaint looking two-story building with huge glass windows that let in as much of the early afternoon sunlight as possible. He turns just in time to see the Bull angle himself to get through the doorway, and considers for a moment how much he really takes for granted.
Vivienne speaks with the tailor, who immediately offers all of them wine--which Dorian, of course, accepts--and directs them to sit in the comfortably furnished front area while she fetches the mock-up she'd drafted to Vivienne's specifications. To her credit, she doesn't seem surprised that her client is a Qunari; but Vivienne had certainly informed her ahead of time. And honestly, who else would have measurements like that? The mages sit on either side of Bull on a long, plush sofa, and Dorian swirls the wine in his glass idly as he looks up at Bull sidelong, smiling.
"I can't wait to see the size of this jacket," he says. "Have you ever had to wear one before, Bull?"
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Bull gets up when the seamstress gestures for him to do so and he looks back at Dorian ruefully.
"When I'm cold enough," he huffs, though there's a smile tugging at his scarred mouth. "Nothing like this. Chargers don't get invited to a lot of soirees."
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"I should hope so," Vivienne cuts in. "The sheen on this isn't nearly what I'd imagined."
Dorian hears the conversation, but he's so focused on Bull that he doesn't bother weighing in. He grins, chuckling softly. "Bull, didn't you tell me only last night that you went to an employer's party with Cremisius and Rocky? Were you bare chested there? Truly?"
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It what their patron wanted, in the end. They wanted to show off the brutal mercenaries they'd hired, and, that night, Krem had been the most civilized of the bunch. Bull is good at playing his part and sometimes he quite enjoys himself.
"Do you think they really would have wanted me all dressed up?"
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The seamstress--presumably standing in front of Bull, though Dorian can't see her--gives an annoyed huff as she apparently tries to pull the jacket closed. "Your shoulders weren't supposed to be this wide," she grumbles, and Dorian couldn't disagree more. The way the Bull's shoulders look now--Maker, he wouldn't trade them for anything.
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Bull resists the urge to roll his eye when she fusses over the breadth of his shoulders. Still, he puts a smile on as he looks back at Vivienne. "Didn't warn her?"
He stands patiently while the seamstress does whatever she needs to do. He turns, lifts his arms, adjusts his stance. All the while, he listens to Vivienne and Dorian. Both of them seem to have plenty to say about the outfit he will eventually be wearing.
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Privately, Dorian concurs. It's strange to sit on the sofa with Vivienne, drinking wine and attempting to be objective while they chat about Bull's prospective outfit. The seamstress takes the jacket away for adjustments, leaving the Bull with a shirt (with buttons) to wear beneath, and fabric swatches spread out on the table, which the two mages sort through, arguing nuances of texture and color.
When the seamstress returns with the mock-up jacket, the fit is much better. She's able to close it properly, and Dorian can't take his eyes off Bull, even to bicker with Vivienne. Who would have thought that adding clothing could make him so alluring? The way it shows his broad shoulders, the size of his arms, and falls to his waist, accentuated by a sash--he looks good. Very good.
"I take it our Lord Dorian approves," says Vivienne, and Dorian can hear the satisfied smirk in her voice.
"I--" he begins, but it's pointless to argue. He's been caught staring, and he knows it. "I think the fit is exactly right, yes." He makes an effort not to, but he catches Bull's eye anyway. He wants to reach out and touch where the crisp lines of the jacket highlight the body he knows so well. Like this, the Bull nearly looks respectable. Almost. But Dorian wouldn't find him nearly so attractive if he did.
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When told, he turns so that the two mages can see the full look. He catches the way that Dorian looks at him and Bull allows himself a warm, almost tender smile when his eye meets Dorian's.
"I'm never going to hear the end of this," he complains mildly, though there's still a smile in his voice.
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"The end of what? Being forced to look decent for the first time in your life?" He tries to inject some of his usual wry humor. "I dare say it's something that all of us would like to remember."
"Some more than others," Vivienne adds blithely, and Dorian proudly resists the temptation to turn and glare at her. "But you do look quite handsome, dear," the Court Enchanter assures. She rises with regal poise, several swatches in hand, and motions for the seamstress. They go together to a counter across the room, where they discuss plans for the final product and when it will be finished. This leaves Dorian in the rather awkward position of admiring Bull all on his own, seated on the otherwise empty sofa.
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"I have to spend an entire night in this? Boss better make it worth it."
It fits well, at least. Bull doesn't feel restricted or pinched anywhere. He isn't exactly a judge of fashion - he's wearing this because Josephine and Vivienne are both insisting that the Inquisition look like they're uniform and coordinated, and even if it seems ridiculous, Bull knows how powerful that image can be. The Inquisition as a force of its own. It's what they need right now if purses are to open and diplomats are to cooperate.
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"Oh, you'll survive," Dorian makes a show of huffing, "so long as you can still flex your muscles at anyone who so much as glances your way."
"No flexing, darling," Vivienne calls from across the room. "The fabric doesn't stretch."
"Ah. So you'll have to come up with another way to flirt," Dorian corrects, pushing himself up off the couch to draw closer to Bull, making the excuse to himself that he wants a better look at the jacket. "I have every faith that it will be equally absurd."
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For the most part, he keeps his hands to himself. He lets the backs of his fingers brush along Dorian's arm as Dorian takes a moment to look him over.
"If it doesn't stretch, I'm going to need a forgiving cut," he says with a quiet laugh, just for Dorian.
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"I rather like this cut," he says. "You almost look presentable. Like the sort of dashing and dangerous figure some comte's younger sister might dance with to court an acceptable amount of scandal."
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He wouldn’t mind dancing with Dorian in front of all those people. But would Dorian? Bull suddenly wishes they were alone: he wants to kiss Dorian properly but he doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of Vivienne or the seamstress.
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It would be Dorian's first time dancing with a man in public. And now that he's thought about it, he wants it so badly it hurts.
"I suppose, if you're so inclined." Is his cautious answer. He doesn't think Bull was joking, but best not to appear too eager, just in case. His fingers curl into the fabric covering Bull's arms as he steps in and nudges him into a half turn, putting Bull's body between himself and the women across the room as he tilts his chin up and offers his mouth.
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He lingers as long as he thinks he can, and as they part, Bull strokes his fingers along Dorian's cheek.
"I'm so inclined," he murmurs. Maybe Dorian won't believe him, but Bull absolutely intends to ask him to dance before their evening at the palace is over. He's determined now.
Reluctantly, he straightens out when he hears Vivienne's heels clicking closer.
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