“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.
For the moment that their lips meet, Dorian nearly forgets where they are. Anything beyond the circle of Bull's arms around him may as well be irrelevant. His grip tightens on Bull's jacket, surely creasing the fabric, as he returns the kiss with gentle insistence. It's still astounding to him that Bull wants to kiss him outside the bedroom at all, let alone after asking him for a dance at the Winter Palace.
He knows that he shouldn't read into it, but whether Bull knows what he's doing or not, everything about the way he's treated Dorian recently has been...romantic.
Apart from, of course, the part where they'd talked about being friends. That certainly puts a damper on things. Knowing how the Bull operates, he's probably happy just to give Dorian what he wants. And what Dorian wants, clearly, is to pretend at a relationship that doesn't exist.
That draws him away from Bull even more so than the sound of Vivienne's heels. No matter what passes between them, he mustn't allow his heart to get away from his head. He has to be realistic. He can be glad to share this bond with Bull, temporary as it might be, without losing himself in a fantasy.
He smiles tightly, stepping back slowly as Vivienne approaches.
"That should conclude things for today," she declares. "Go ahead and undress, Bull, and leave Mariana with your coat. She'll be finished with the final version well before the ball."
Quietly, Dorian retreats back to the couch, and empties the rest of the glass of wine he'd set aside. "What do you say," he says, helping himself to regain his good mood, "to a little shopping, Bull? There are a few things I was hoping to collect while we're here in the city. We could go together."
Bull carefully removes the jacket and returns it to Mariana. Once he’s back in his own things entirely, Bull rejoins Dorian and gestures toward the door. He pauses to quietly thank Vivienne for her time and effort in arranging all this. He is grateful.
As they leave, he finds himself staying close to Dorian. His mind wanders back to the potential of approaching Dorian in the Winter Palace. He pushes it out of his mind for now. Maybe Dorian will change his mind.
By the time they emerge from the tailor's, the afternoon sun is high in the sky, and the city is teeming with activity. They're already near the part of the city Dorian wants to be in, and the shops and bazaar he has in mind are just a few streets away.
"I happen to know of a few merchants who specialize in northern imports," he smiles, walking close to Bull's side. "Doubtless you're already aware, given that you are more familiar with the city than I am," he continues, "but I thought we might stop by. I also have a few cosmetics I'd like to collect, as well as some ingredients." His lips quirk. "Including cloves for the horn balm you prefer."
Bull smiles almost to himself when Dorian mentions getting cloves for his horn balm.
"You're going to make Stitches feel inadequate," he teases. Truth be told, Bull prefers the balm Dorian makes: the mage is more familiar with the regular ingredients, and more of an alchemist than Stitches will ever be. The stuff the healer made for him always smelled medicinal.
"And you're right, by now I think I can find just about anything you'd want in this city."
"It only stands to reason," Dorian smirks, "that I could make a more fragrant salve than your company medic. The lot of you would smell better, otherwise."
And rubbing it into Bull's horns for him has become a ritual he enjoys very much. It pleases him to do that for Bull, and it fills him with satisfaction to catch the lingering scent of cloves on him for some time afterward.
Playfully, Dorian lets his shoulder lean into Bull's arm, glancing up at him side-long. "Oh? Anything you might recommend? I'm certain the Orlesians have any number of clandestine shops stocked with tasteless curiosities."
A smirk curves his scarred mouth and he lolls his head to look at Dorian.
"I know a place," he says, drawing it out slyly as he gives Dorian a wolfish grin. "Most Orlesians go in pairs or surreptitiously alone."
Bull remembers the place well, he's been there a handful of times, sometimes just to look but sometimes to actively browse. It's been a couple years, though, since he's been back.
Something about the way Bull smirks like that is deeply appealing. The knowing curve of his lips, the playful glint in his eye--something flips in the vague proximity of Dorian's stomach. Damn him.
"Well, we're a pair, aren't we?" Dorian challenges, knowing what Bull must be implying. There are such places in Minrathous too, of course. Orlesians hardly have a monopoly on decadent novelties. In fact, he'd venture to say that he's probably seen stranger ones in Tevinter, where the addition of magic makes everything that much more interesting.
He only realizes after he's said it, of course, exactly what he's so casually implied. He'd only meant that the two of them are together now, of course, and not necessarily that they are...paired in any other sense. But that isn't what it sounds like. He doesn't correct himself for fear of making things even more awkward by drawing attention to his faux pas.
"We are," he answers with a warm rumble. Bull finds himself liking that idea, that they're a pair. Bull steers them through familiar side-streets, operating on memory until they end up in a lively little back alley behind the full market. The only way to mark the shop is the red banners fluttering in the breeze and the throng of Orlesian nobility hiding behind fans despite their masks.
There isn't much to see facing the street, but the crowd parts for Bull and inside there are plenty of novelties to see. Cocks of all sizes and of all kinds of material and harnesses to wear them, silk ropes of all colors, gilded chains and fur-lined cuffs. Exotic aphrodisiacs, claiming to be from Tevinter and beyond. Bull lets a hand rest on Dorian's back just so he doesn't lose him.
And just like that, Dorian's worries are proven to be ridiculous. Bull agrees with him seemingly without a second thought. The swell of affection Dorian feels in response is probably incongruous with what Bull actually means, but he can't conceal his delight. He grins up at Bull, and gladly remains near him as they walk together.
The shop itself is inconspicuous, as expected, but Dorian gleans all he needs to know simply from those lingering nearby. He gives a surreptitious smirk as they part for Bull with soft murmurs. Inside the light is tastefully low, but the wares are displayed blatantly--obscenely, one might say. Dorian finds it more amusing than anything. He turns his nose up at the multitude of cocks and harnesses, quite confident that none could be more appealing than Bull's. With that big hand covering the small of his back, he's feels that he's in a good position to be discerning.
It's the ropes that first draw his attention and hold it. There are so many colors, and when he reaches out to curiously touch one, it's far softer than he expected. He's no stranger to rope, but these are both sturdier and lovelier than any he's used in the past.
Bull runs a rope through his fingers as he considers the offerings.
“This is similar to what I use,” he muses. “Silk and silk blends won’t bite into skin quite as much. Less likely to cause friction burn as long as you’re using them right.”
He looks down at Dorian and offers a faint smirk.
“I’ve always preferred rope work.”
Why not? It’s the chance for Dorian to learn some new things.
"Oh?" Even as he asks, Dorian feels as though he'd already known that, somehow--that this was something Bull likes, that he's experienced with. Something to do with the ropes he occasionally ties to wear as armor. The idea is...appealing. Very much so. And there's that smirk again.
"I look good in rope," Dorian ventures, and reaches out to place his own hand over Bull's where he rubs the strand between this fingers. "If you had an interest in tying me up, you might have mentioned it sooner."
Bull tips his head as he considers Dorian, like he might be picturing it. "Hm. Violet for you," he muses absently. "And gold."
He can see the colors against Dorian's warm skin and the thought of just the act of tying him up sends a pleasant shiver down his back. He wants nothing more than to touch Dorian more just then: a stroke across his cheek, a gentle grip on his chin. A kiss.
Something about this feels significant. Perhaps it's the careful way that that Bull looks at him, both intently and with apparent affection.
"Why those colors?" Dorian certainly isn't denying that they would look good, but he's curious about why Bull thinks so, and as to whether there's any significance beyond the obvious. His hand remains on Bull's much larger one, thumb stroking across his scarred knuckles.
Bull seems to consider as he runs his fingers over silk instead of Dorian's skin. He enjoys the tender brush against his knuckles on the hand Dorian is still touching. "Because those are your colors," he says. "Asit tal-eb."
They are Dorian as much as Dorian embodies them, he thinks. Certainly there are other colors that would look good - green and gold, for example - but something about the rich purple sticks in his mind, the same way that Ben-Hassrath red does. It's simply Dorian, to him.
"I see." Dorian's smile is fond, and more than a little pleased as he recognizes the Qunlat. "I agree, actually. And I expect to be tied in them at your earliest convenience." Smiling, he leans close to let his lips press to Bull's chest, which is as near as he can get to his mouth without actually going up on his tip-toes and dragging him down by his horns.
Without any fuss, Dorian slips his hand into Bull's, interlacing their fingers. There's something about the idea of purchasing things like this together--to be used together, implying that they'll be together for some time to come--that makes him bold.
Dorian's touch sets little fires burning in Bull. There's no reason for him to be this affected, particularly in public, but Dorian's touch, and the inspiration of their surroundings, sets him aflame.
He lets Dorian draw him on to another part of the shop, where there's a selection of exotic cocks. Bull huffs a quiet laugh when he sees one boasting to be Qunari.
Bull's chuckle draws Dorian's attention, and his laugh isn't quite as quiet. He snorts outright, leaning against Bull as he looks over the supposed Qunari model. "Hmmm," he hums, false consideration. "I could point out a few distinct inaccuracies." He glances sidelong up at Bull, a smirk playing over his lips. "I consider myself rather an expert."
The size is fine for a Qunari slightly smaller than Bull, perhaps, but there are a few things notably missing--everything that makes the shape distinct from a human, in fact. "A shame, really. There's far more to like than just the size."
He likes listening to Dorian talk, and if he's going to get heated, he might as well have a damn good reason for it. Bull steers them in another direction, but gives Dorian a prompting look. No changing the subject.
The direction Bull turns them in holds even more of interest: leather goods, including cuffs, other bindings, tools for impact play, and circlets of various sizes that tie tightly closed, which Dorian recognizes at once as cock rings. He's done his fair share of experimentation over the years.
"What? Here?" Dorian sounds dubious, but there's something deeply appealing about Bull asking him to talk dirty here and now. He licks his lips, wetting them. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low--there's a real risk of being overhead--and stays as close to Bull as he can. "I suppose the most notable thing is the way it curves up at the end--or rather, the way their model doesn't. When I'm sitting on your cock or you're fucking me from behind, that angle is...exactly what I need."
He's never had to explain this sort of thing aloud before, and his face is heating gradually with a sort of excited embarrassment. But Bull had asked, and he doesn't feel inclined to stop. He'll praise his cock as much as he likes.
"The head of yours is wider, and thicker, and more rounded--and I feel that every time you move inside me, pressed against every damned spot that drives me mad, whether you mean to or not." His teeth rake briefly across the fullness of his lower lip. "Did you know that I've never had a man before who could make me come just by fucking me? Not until you." Almost shyly, he meets Bull's eye, but there's a brightness in Dorian's gaze--arousal and something else. "Just beneath the head there are these--oh, ridges, I suppose, that get so full and swollen when you're hard. I love how they feel on my tongue, but I love how they feel grinding inside me even more. And you get wider around the base, thicker--enough to stretch me that much further when you bury yourself all the way inside, just when I think I can't possibly open more for you." Almost wistfully, he murmurs, "But it feels so good, Bull, that stretch. Makes me want to be full of you for hours." And all this talk of it is making him want to be full of him right now. "And that is where they were wrong, and why I think that I shall perhaps never be quite satisfied by a human man again."
Bull called Dorian's bluff without knowing how far the mage would rise to the challenge. For one of the few times in recent memory, Bull has woefully underestimated what someone might be willing to do. Heat sinks through him and it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to growl or otherwise reveal just the impact Dorian's poetic monologue has.
No one has ever talked about his body - no part of it, even his cock - the way Dorian does now. The way Dorian looks at him doesn't help. The bright look in his eyes, the color in his face. The way his teeth skate over his bottom lip.
Bull brushes his fingers along Dorian's bare arm and he rather intently looms over him, closing whatever space is left between them. His breathing is still deep and even, but it's slightly faster than usual. Bull lifts his hand and lets his fingers drift along Dorian's jaw, then over the fullness of his mouth.
"It's a shame they don't have private rooms here," he rumbles quietly. He's ready, and he would be hard pressed to believe that Dorian isn't.
The intensity of Bull's gaze is overwhelming. The tension between them is palpable, and Dorian gets the sense that if he thought it would be permissible, Bull would be sweeping him off his feet to press him against the wall right now. Maker, even the restraint it must take to not do that is deeply attractive. They're so close, his chest pressed flush to Bull's bare skin. Dorian gazes up at him, flushed and adoring, like he'd be content if there was nothing in the world but the Bull. Even the slight touch of his fingers along his bare arm makes Dorian's heart beat faster, his breath hitch. His eyes grow darker as heat trails through him.
By the time his fingers trail over his face--and then trace the shape of his mouth--he has to keep himself from voicing an outright moan. He's more than ready, and Bull's voice sinks through him, deep and hot.
"Let's get whatever seems interesting and go." He proposes. Squeezes Bull's hand, the one he'd never let go of. His voice is barely a whisper. "I want you badly. I want to tell you how much I adore every bit of you."
His hand slides over the small of Dorian's back. Bull wants to kiss him, but doesn't. Instead, he nods.
"Outside, five minutes."
It'd be easier to part ways rather than browse together if the goal is to get out with something quickly. Bull knows what he wants, anyway. Purple silk, soft leather. It doesn't take him long and he manages to make it out first. Bull waits across the small alley, his eye fixed on the entrance to the shop.
He wants to throw Dorian over his shoulder, wants to take him in an alley up against a wall. He will make it back to their room at the inn, if only because he doesn't want to do something that Dorian might ultimately regret, no matter how satisfying it might be for both of them in the moment.
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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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He knows that he shouldn't read into it, but whether Bull knows what he's doing or not, everything about the way he's treated Dorian recently has been...romantic.
Apart from, of course, the part where they'd talked about being friends. That certainly puts a damper on things. Knowing how the Bull operates, he's probably happy just to give Dorian what he wants. And what Dorian wants, clearly, is to pretend at a relationship that doesn't exist.
That draws him away from Bull even more so than the sound of Vivienne's heels. No matter what passes between them, he mustn't allow his heart to get away from his head. He has to be realistic. He can be glad to share this bond with Bull, temporary as it might be, without losing himself in a fantasy.
He smiles tightly, stepping back slowly as Vivienne approaches.
"That should conclude things for today," she declares. "Go ahead and undress, Bull, and leave Mariana with your coat. She'll be finished with the final version well before the ball."
Quietly, Dorian retreats back to the couch, and empties the rest of the glass of wine he'd set aside. "What do you say," he says, helping himself to regain his good mood, "to a little shopping, Bull? There are a few things I was hoping to collect while we're here in the city. We could go together."
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Bull carefully removes the jacket and returns it to Mariana. Once he’s back in his own things entirely, Bull rejoins Dorian and gestures toward the door. He pauses to quietly thank Vivienne for her time and effort in arranging all this. He is grateful.
As they leave, he finds himself staying close to Dorian. His mind wanders back to the potential of approaching Dorian in the Winter Palace. He pushes it out of his mind for now. Maybe Dorian will change his mind.
“What are you looking for?”
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"I happen to know of a few merchants who specialize in northern imports," he smiles, walking close to Bull's side. "Doubtless you're already aware, given that you are more familiar with the city than I am," he continues, "but I thought we might stop by. I also have a few cosmetics I'd like to collect, as well as some ingredients." His lips quirk. "Including cloves for the horn balm you prefer."
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"You're going to make Stitches feel inadequate," he teases. Truth be told, Bull prefers the balm Dorian makes: the mage is more familiar with the regular ingredients, and more of an alchemist than Stitches will ever be. The stuff the healer made for him always smelled medicinal.
"And you're right, by now I think I can find just about anything you'd want in this city."
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And rubbing it into Bull's horns for him has become a ritual he enjoys very much. It pleases him to do that for Bull, and it fills him with satisfaction to catch the lingering scent of cloves on him for some time afterward.
Playfully, Dorian lets his shoulder lean into Bull's arm, glancing up at him side-long. "Oh? Anything you might recommend? I'm certain the Orlesians have any number of clandestine shops stocked with tasteless curiosities."
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"I know a place," he says, drawing it out slyly as he gives Dorian a wolfish grin. "Most Orlesians go in pairs or surreptitiously alone."
Bull remembers the place well, he's been there a handful of times, sometimes just to look but sometimes to actively browse. It's been a couple years, though, since he's been back.
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"Well, we're a pair, aren't we?" Dorian challenges, knowing what Bull must be implying. There are such places in Minrathous too, of course. Orlesians hardly have a monopoly on decadent novelties. In fact, he'd venture to say that he's probably seen stranger ones in Tevinter, where the addition of magic makes everything that much more interesting.
He only realizes after he's said it, of course, exactly what he's so casually implied. He'd only meant that the two of them are together now, of course, and not necessarily that they are...paired in any other sense. But that isn't what it sounds like. He doesn't correct himself for fear of making things even more awkward by drawing attention to his faux pas.
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There isn't much to see facing the street, but the crowd parts for Bull and inside there are plenty of novelties to see. Cocks of all sizes and of all kinds of material and harnesses to wear them, silk ropes of all colors, gilded chains and fur-lined cuffs. Exotic aphrodisiacs, claiming to be from Tevinter and beyond. Bull lets a hand rest on Dorian's back just so he doesn't lose him.
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The shop itself is inconspicuous, as expected, but Dorian gleans all he needs to know simply from those lingering nearby. He gives a surreptitious smirk as they part for Bull with soft murmurs. Inside the light is tastefully low, but the wares are displayed blatantly--obscenely, one might say. Dorian finds it more amusing than anything. He turns his nose up at the multitude of cocks and harnesses, quite confident that none could be more appealing than Bull's. With that big hand covering the small of his back, he's feels that he's in a good position to be discerning.
It's the ropes that first draw his attention and hold it. There are so many colors, and when he reaches out to curiously touch one, it's far softer than he expected. He's no stranger to rope, but these are both sturdier and lovelier than any he's used in the past.
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Bull runs a rope through his fingers as he considers the offerings.
“This is similar to what I use,” he muses. “Silk and silk blends won’t bite into skin quite as much. Less likely to cause friction burn as long as you’re using them right.”
He looks down at Dorian and offers a faint smirk.
“I’ve always preferred rope work.”
Why not? It’s the chance for Dorian to learn some new things.
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"I look good in rope," Dorian ventures, and reaches out to place his own hand over Bull's where he rubs the strand between this fingers. "If you had an interest in tying me up, you might have mentioned it sooner."
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He can see the colors against Dorian's warm skin and the thought of just the act of tying him up sends a pleasant shiver down his back. He wants nothing more than to touch Dorian more just then: a stroke across his cheek, a gentle grip on his chin. A kiss.
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"Why those colors?" Dorian certainly isn't denying that they would look good, but he's curious about why Bull thinks so, and as to whether there's any significance beyond the obvious. His hand remains on Bull's much larger one, thumb stroking across his scarred knuckles.
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They are Dorian as much as Dorian embodies them, he thinks. Certainly there are other colors that would look good - green and gold, for example - but something about the rich purple sticks in his mind, the same way that Ben-Hassrath red does. It's simply Dorian, to him.
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Without any fuss, Dorian slips his hand into Bull's, interlacing their fingers. There's something about the idea of purchasing things like this together--to be used together, implying that they'll be together for some time to come--that makes him bold.
"Let's keep looking, shall we?"
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He lets Dorian draw him on to another part of the shop, where there's a selection of exotic cocks. Bull huffs a quiet laugh when he sees one boasting to be Qunari.
It looks rather... human. Large, but human.
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The size is fine for a Qunari slightly smaller than Bull, perhaps, but there are a few things notably missing--everything that makes the shape distinct from a human, in fact. "A shame, really. There's far more to like than just the size."
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"Oh? Do go on."
He likes listening to Dorian talk, and if he's going to get heated, he might as well have a damn good reason for it. Bull steers them in another direction, but gives Dorian a prompting look. No changing the subject.
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"What? Here?" Dorian sounds dubious, but there's something deeply appealing about Bull asking him to talk dirty here and now. He licks his lips, wetting them. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low--there's a real risk of being overhead--and stays as close to Bull as he can. "I suppose the most notable thing is the way it curves up at the end--or rather, the way their model doesn't. When I'm sitting on your cock or you're fucking me from behind, that angle is...exactly what I need."
He's never had to explain this sort of thing aloud before, and his face is heating gradually with a sort of excited embarrassment. But Bull had asked, and he doesn't feel inclined to stop. He'll praise his cock as much as he likes.
"The head of yours is wider, and thicker, and more rounded--and I feel that every time you move inside me, pressed against every damned spot that drives me mad, whether you mean to or not." His teeth rake briefly across the fullness of his lower lip. "Did you know that I've never had a man before who could make me come just by fucking me? Not until you." Almost shyly, he meets Bull's eye, but there's a brightness in Dorian's gaze--arousal and something else. "Just beneath the head there are these--oh, ridges, I suppose, that get so full and swollen when you're hard. I love how they feel on my tongue, but I love how they feel grinding inside me even more. And you get wider around the base, thicker--enough to stretch me that much further when you bury yourself all the way inside, just when I think I can't possibly open more for you." Almost wistfully, he murmurs, "But it feels so good, Bull, that stretch. Makes me want to be full of you for hours." And all this talk of it is making him want to be full of him right now. "And that is where they were wrong, and why I think that I shall perhaps never be quite satisfied by a human man again."
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No one has ever talked about his body - no part of it, even his cock - the way Dorian does now. The way Dorian looks at him doesn't help. The bright look in his eyes, the color in his face. The way his teeth skate over his bottom lip.
Bull brushes his fingers along Dorian's bare arm and he rather intently looms over him, closing whatever space is left between them. His breathing is still deep and even, but it's slightly faster than usual. Bull lifts his hand and lets his fingers drift along Dorian's jaw, then over the fullness of his mouth.
"It's a shame they don't have private rooms here," he rumbles quietly. He's ready, and he would be hard pressed to believe that Dorian isn't.
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By the time his fingers trail over his face--and then trace the shape of his mouth--he has to keep himself from voicing an outright moan. He's more than ready, and Bull's voice sinks through him, deep and hot.
"Let's get whatever seems interesting and go." He proposes. Squeezes Bull's hand, the one he'd never let go of. His voice is barely a whisper. "I want you badly. I want to tell you how much I adore every bit of you."
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"Outside, five minutes."
It'd be easier to part ways rather than browse together if the goal is to get out with something quickly. Bull knows what he wants, anyway. Purple silk, soft leather. It doesn't take him long and he manages to make it out first. Bull waits across the small alley, his eye fixed on the entrance to the shop.
He wants to throw Dorian over his shoulder, wants to take him in an alley up against a wall. He will make it back to their room at the inn, if only because he doesn't want to do something that Dorian might ultimately regret, no matter how satisfying it might be for both of them in the moment.
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