Bull smiles when Dorian mentions looking presentable. "Chargers might be delighted by your house coat, but if you don't want any of them making comments, yeah, you might want to get dressed."
He rises to collect their plates and bowls and tankards onto the tray again. He'll bring it down with them and hand them off to some kitchen maid or another.
When they do make it downstairs (delayed slightly by Bull helping Dorian dress), the Chargers are in their corner, already a few drinks in.
Dorian, dressed in the nicest set of robes he's worn in a month and with his hair and face tamed and made up, makes his way to the bar to order their drinks as Bull drops off their trays. He keeps a close eye on Bull's progress, trailing him to the Chargers' table with tankards in hand.
In truth, he doesn't quite know what to make of the Chargers. There are times that he likes them very much, and thinks perhaps he's liked back, and others when he feels like he's still regarded with suspicion. After it was apparent that he and Bull were fucking (and, additionally, sharing a room) regularly and unlikely to stop, it seemed that his presence had been accepted on a conditional basis. Yet he still gets the sense that he's mostly tolerated for Bull's sake.
Still, what can he do but armor himself in his typical confidence? He lets Bull take his usual seat, and then sweeps in to place a tankard in front of him. "As thanks for dinner," he says, as though he needs a real reason to buy Bull a drink.
Bull settles down and accepts the tankard Dorian offers. He gently kicks out a seat next to him, dragged over so that Dorian could join the already-settled Chargers. Krem is the first to offer a little welcome, and soon after the rest of them chime in.
Stitches launches into asking about plants and the Avaar, and Dalish is morbidly fascinated whenever Dorian mentions the walking dead. Bull smiles as he listens, content to let his boys play as long as they behave. And if anyone sounds more catty or sharper than he likes, it's a quick warning look their way.
Dorian doesn't need harassing, regardless of his relation to the Bull.
Dorian is happy to expound upon the details of his trip for the amusement of the group a large, occasionally overplaying his own irritation or discomfort with mundane things to get a laugh from the group. Dorian knows how to fool others, too; how to draw their attention away from true problems by fabricating smaller ones. He's quite good at the high and mighty noble Tevinter act, sniffing at southerners and complaining at every inconvenience. Some find it amusing, others irritating, but it's worked well enough for him so far. No one pries too far into his personal affairs.
Apart from, of course, his affair with the Bull.
There are a few teasing words about how the chief might have welcomed him back after that display in the courtyard, and Dorian--as per usual, when this topic comes up--clams up almost at once. "I don't see how that concerns any of you," he says tightly.
Skinner, several seats down the table, gives a lazy half shrug. "Chief doesn't fuck anyone for this long," she drawls, the vowels of her lower-class Orlesian accent drawn out. "Just want to know you didn't put a spell on his dick, shem."
Dorian had known already, of course, that as far as the Bull's sexual history is concerned, he's a special case. But if even his company is noting it as unusual, it must truly be unprecedented. Arching a single brow, Dorian turns to Bull beside him, and with a remarkably straight face asks, "Have I put a spell on your dick, Bull?"
Bull is content to listen and watch, but his gaze cuts to Skinner when she decides to chime in with that. Dorian's voice is already tight before she jumps in.
"No one fucks me for this long," he counters in a heavy drawl of his own. He sees Krem lean forward, ready to call order or jump to some kind of defense, but he knows timing and he stays silent for now.
Dorian's question, his recovery, makes Bull want to smile. But he keeps himself solemn.
"I wouldn't put it past a Vint," he says slyly; his eye is bright. "But I think I'll survive."
Bull wants nothing more then than to kiss him or touch him, but he doesn't want to ruin Dorian's spiky momentum. Serves Skinner right.
Bull's response brings a smile to Dorian's lips, enough that he reaches beneath the table to slip his hand into Bull's. "See? He'll live. A relief for us all."
Apparently that's enough to satisfy Skinner, who leans back and begins talking to Rocky around Dalish. Dorian is aware that it was (probably) a joke. He's also well aware that Skinner is the slowest of the bunch to warm up to anyone new, let alone a human Tevinter mage, and that if she can manage to tolerate him, the rest probably like him just fine. Still, it's a relief to have it over with.
Their chairs are close enough that Dorian can lean into Bull--and up--to murmur at least near his ear, "I think it's time we had a proper reunion, yes?"
Bull brushes his thumb over Dorian's knuckles and relaxes back in his chair. He listens to the conversation carry on, but soon enough he has Dorian's voice in his ear.
"Mm, yeah. You go ahead, I'll catch up."
Might as well give Dorian a slight head start. Or maybe some dignity in leaving before him - without him - directly on his heels. Everyone knows, but he can give Dorian things like this.
"No need." If Bull is making the suggestion for his sake, then Dorian decides that tonight it isn't necessary. Everyone knows. Everyone knows. Let him, for once in his life, go upstairs with the man he's sleeping with. Everyone in the tavern can turn and look, for all he cares. He squeezes Bull's hand.
Walking up the stairs to Bull's room has never felt so exhilarating--not even the first time. Dorian feels relieved, excited, but above all, proud. The world hasn't ended because he and Bull had gone upstairs together, nor because Bull had kissed him in the courtyard today. Everyone knows they're intimate, and no one respects him less for it--or if they do, they're hardly someone worth knowing in the first place.
Brimming with restless energy, Dorian turns and reaches for the Bull as soon as they hit the landing, still half the hall away from his door and within view of the tables upstairs. He lays his hands over his biceps, squeezing gently, and he steps close enough that the fabric of his shirt brushes the Bull's bare chest. He tilts his chin to look up at him, a greater distance when they stand so close, and his expression is open and warm.
"It was terribly rude of you," he says, "to spend a month here cozy and drunk while I was freezing to death in a coprse-infested bog." In other words: I missed you.
"It was rude of you to disappear into the wilderness to kill things with the boss while I was stuck here, twiddling my thumbs and bothering Red to keep myself entertained."
I missed you, too.
Bull slides his arms around Dorian's back and closes the shred of distance between them, enjoying the way his body feels pressed up against him. Then the Bull leans down and kisses Dorian soundly. He reminds himself that they're still on the landing, but he's already done this in the courtyard, in full view of half of Skyhold. What's a few drunks?
With a quiet groan against Dorian's mouth, Bull's hands slide lower to catch him by the thighs so he can lift him up. He'll carry him the rest of the way, if Dorian lets him get away with it. He doesn't want to stop kissing him.
Dorian had been expecting a kiss, and leans up into it eagerly, reaching as far as he can so that Bull won't have to strain his neck too much. But that isn't a problem for long, as Bull gets those big hands of his beneath his thighs and lifts him. Dorian inhales sharply as he immediately recalls the last time Bull had lifted him like this. He'd held him so easily against the wall in that alleyway as he fucked up into him urgently. The Bull's strength had been astounding, and still is now.
His implicit agreement is in the way he lets his thighs spread around Bull's waist, enabling him to hold him closer. His hands slide up his arms to rest on his shoulders as they kiss again.
"They were all dead to begin with, so it wasn't the fun sort of killing things," he murmurs with amusement, leaning his forehead against Bull's. He can't stop smiling. "You wouldn't have liked it."
But I would have been with you. Bull holds that back but he lets himself smile as their brows meet. He kisses Dorian again, adjusting his hold so he has one arm beneath Dorian's ass with the other hand free to slide up his back. It takes nothing to maneuver them the rest of the way to his room.
He apologizes to Dorian when he uses the mage to push the door open and he promptly kicks it closed again once they're inside. The roof repairs are complete and the windows have glass in them. The room is almost cozy, save for the fact that it's--still Bull's room. Broken bookcase, a heavy battle axe stuck in a large timber, bottles of booze, candles melting onto a table top rather than in candle holders.
Anyone walking into the room might think he's a savage. And that's how Bull prefers it. But since Dorian started spending more time there, he made a small effort to at least make it hospitable.
Dorian huffs a little about having to open the door himself--complaining, of course, being his natural state of being--but he quiets when he looks up.
"You fixed the roof!" He's both stunned and delighted. He'd been exhausted enough to miss that earlier, and then distracted by dinner and Bull's company. "I hadn't expected you to actually do it." Something about that is deeply touching. The hole hadn't bothered Bull, but it bothered him, and Bull had done something about it for his sake. Overcome by the sweetness and consideration of that gesture, he wraps his arms tight around Bull's neck and presses a grateful kiss to his cheek. "It's almost as though you want me to move in," he jokes warmly. "But I know that can't be the case, or you'd have tidied up more."
Not that Dorian's room is anything resembling tidy by any means.
Bull nuzzles against Dorian's neck as the mage tips his head to look at the ceiling. "Mhm," he hums against his warm skin as his mouth slides over Dorian's pulse. He realizes he wouldn't mind it if Dorian moved all his things in here.
"Tidy? This from the man with books on every surface and three empty bottles of wine last I counted."
He grins as Dorian kisses his cheek and he returns the affectionate gesture before he settles on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he just looks at Dorian and drinks in the sight of him.
"We never did get to try out some of the things I got in Val Royeaux," he muses with a sly smile. "Game for it?"
"I got rid of the bottles before we left for Val Royeaux, thank you," Dorian protests, though his smile doesn't fade. Making himself comfortable, he can't seem to look away from Bull's face, drawn in by the warmth in his eye and the bright curve of his smile. Even in Bull's lap, he has to look up at him. He feels a bit less ridiculous for how much he'd longed for the Bull's presence this last month. Apparently he's been missed as well.
With the roof fixed, glass in the windows, a fire in the hearth, and Bull so close, Dorian feels truly warm for the first time since they'd parted ways. His hands smooth over his shoulders just to touch him.
"So long as that means you'll finally tie me up," he purrs. "Or tie me down, I suppose, if you'd prefer."
A shiver of excitement runs down his back as Dorian suggests the ropes. Bull kisses him again with more heat.
"Well, I do have new rafters," he rumbles quietly, his eye focused on Dorian to gauge the mage's response to the suggestion. As far as he knows, this will be new for Dorian. And even if it isn't, entirely, the way Bull does things might be. In fact, he can almost be sure of that.
Oh. The way that Bull kisses him, intense and lingering, steals his breath for several moments afterward. Clearly this is something that Bull has a great deal of personal interest in. It's exciting to learn, when Dorian has spent the last several months trying to ferret out the things that Bull enjoys. Stumbling upon a discovery like this is rare and precious.
Bull's suggestion makes Dorian glance up. Indeed, sturdy new rafters which must have been built to lend support to the roof span the room. He can picture Bull with a small team of builders raising them and repairing the roof, and something about that image makes him feel very tender. His smile grows, and he settles his hands against Bull's chest, feeling his breath and the drumbeat of his heart. "I'd hate to waste an opportunity like that," he says. "I've never been tied that way before," he admits. In truth, any time he has been tied it's been incredibly simple, and always for the purpose of binding his hands during sex. "But I'd like to try."
"But you have been tied before?" Bull's curious. He gently eases Dorian off his lap and onto the bed so he can get up to find what he needs. He still wants an answer, though, and gives Dorian a prompting look before he crouches down in front of his chest.
It takes some digging, but Bull eventually produces the deep purple silk ropes he'd purchased in Val Royaeux. He drapes several lengths over his shoulder, then picks up another set: white. Dorian looks good in white, the contrast against his warm skin is striking. Bull thinks the colors together will look good. And it will let him keep track of what he's tied and where.
Dorian makes himself comfortable sitting on the bed, folding his legs under him as Bull begins to rummage through the large chest in which Dorian knows he keeps most of his things. He watches as he draws out rope in two different colors. He recognizes the purple at once, and feels an odd sense of pride at the memory. Bull holding it against his skin, telling him this was his color. Like he might not use it with anyone else.
"A little. Usually only to bind my arms. Once around my legs to hold them open." He still remembers exactly how the ropes had felt digging into his thighs. He wouldn't mind repeating it with Bull doing the tying. "There typically wasn't the time or place for anything more involved."
Bull lays the ropes on the end of the bed. "Stand up so I can undress you." He wants to take his time with it. He's missed Dorian and he's not interested in rushing anything.
Undressing Dorian is relatively easy, at least. Bull is intimately familiar with all of the fastenings and buckles and ties.
"What I do will be different," he cautions. "Have you seen the ropes I wear?"
Bull doesn't wear them often, and when he does, they usually disappear beneath some of his heavier armor.
Dorian slides from the bed when directed, standing before Bull in just a few steps. He lets him take the lead here, remaining helpful but passive in the process of disrobing. It seems like something Bull wants to do himself, and Dorian is perfectly content to let him. Bull had helped him dress today, so he might as well help him undress as well.
"Of course I've seen them," he says, like it's obvious. Even if the glimpses were brief, he could never miss the way those ropes weave across Bull's arms and torso, complex and intriguing in a similar way to how he sees vitaar; distinctly Qunari, but pleasing to look at. "Are you going to put something similar on me?" He's deeply curious about that, both the functionality and the significance.
"Yes and no," he answers. He lifts his gaze to give Dorian a sly smile. "I wouldn't use Ben-Hassrath colors or knots on you. But the idea is similar."
He finishes undressing Dorian and makes sure all of his clothes end up folded over a chair. That done, Bull starts measuring out lengths of purple and white rope.
"Hold your arms out a little and... yeah, feet further apart."
That will make it easier for him to work. When Dorian is ready, Bull starts weaving together a harness of intricate patterns.
Dorian's eyebrows raise as a more genteel alternative to rolling his eyes. Of course Bull isn't going to put him in Ben-Hassrath garb. He's fairly certain that fucking one doesn't make you qualify. He shivers a little when his bare feet hit the floor, and his skin pebbles in the cool air.
The feel of the silk rope is decadent in a way he hadn't expected, and he relaxes as Bull directs him to one pose after the next to wrap and tie the rope around him. It feels snug, but not so much that it will hurt if pressure is put on it. He feels secure, and he mellows gradually, breath slowing.
A faint smile appears as he listens to Dorian's breathing change. There's something very meditative for him, too, as he works the knots and weaves the ropes in and out of each other. When Bull is satisfied with everything he's done on Dorian's torso, he coaxes the mage onto the bed.
"Face down," he murmurs as he presses a hand between Dorian's shoulder blades. Once he's in position, Bull takes up more rope and starts working it around Dorian's thighs. By the time he's done, Dorian's ankles are bound to his thighs and his wrists are bound there as well. Bull wants Dorian to feel vulnerable and secure all at once, in a way only the ropes can offer.
"Nothing's too tight?" he asks as he checks his work. He wants to make sure there's no chance of any of the knots slipping.
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He rises to collect their plates and bowls and tankards onto the tray again. He'll bring it down with them and hand them off to some kitchen maid or another.
When they do make it downstairs (delayed slightly by Bull helping Dorian dress), the Chargers are in their corner, already a few drinks in.
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In truth, he doesn't quite know what to make of the Chargers. There are times that he likes them very much, and thinks perhaps he's liked back, and others when he feels like he's still regarded with suspicion. After it was apparent that he and Bull were fucking (and, additionally, sharing a room) regularly and unlikely to stop, it seemed that his presence had been accepted on a conditional basis. Yet he still gets the sense that he's mostly tolerated for Bull's sake.
Still, what can he do but armor himself in his typical confidence? He lets Bull take his usual seat, and then sweeps in to place a tankard in front of him. "As thanks for dinner," he says, as though he needs a real reason to buy Bull a drink.
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Stitches launches into asking about plants and the Avaar, and Dalish is morbidly fascinated whenever Dorian mentions the walking dead. Bull smiles as he listens, content to let his boys play as long as they behave. And if anyone sounds more catty or sharper than he likes, it's a quick warning look their way.
Dorian doesn't need harassing, regardless of his relation to the Bull.
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Apart from, of course, his affair with the Bull.
There are a few teasing words about how the chief might have welcomed him back after that display in the courtyard, and Dorian--as per usual, when this topic comes up--clams up almost at once. "I don't see how that concerns any of you," he says tightly.
Skinner, several seats down the table, gives a lazy half shrug. "Chief doesn't fuck anyone for this long," she drawls, the vowels of her lower-class Orlesian accent drawn out. "Just want to know you didn't put a spell on his dick, shem."
Dorian had known already, of course, that as far as the Bull's sexual history is concerned, he's a special case. But if even his company is noting it as unusual, it must truly be unprecedented. Arching a single brow, Dorian turns to Bull beside him, and with a remarkably straight face asks, "Have I put a spell on your dick, Bull?"
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"No one fucks me for this long," he counters in a heavy drawl of his own. He sees Krem lean forward, ready to call order or jump to some kind of defense, but he knows timing and he stays silent for now.
Dorian's question, his recovery, makes Bull want to smile. But he keeps himself solemn.
"I wouldn't put it past a Vint," he says slyly; his eye is bright. "But I think I'll survive."
Bull wants nothing more then than to kiss him or touch him, but he doesn't want to ruin Dorian's spiky momentum. Serves Skinner right.
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Apparently that's enough to satisfy Skinner, who leans back and begins talking to Rocky around Dalish. Dorian is aware that it was (probably) a joke. He's also well aware that Skinner is the slowest of the bunch to warm up to anyone new, let alone a human Tevinter mage, and that if she can manage to tolerate him, the rest probably like him just fine. Still, it's a relief to have it over with.
Their chairs are close enough that Dorian can lean into Bull--and up--to murmur at least near his ear, "I think it's time we had a proper reunion, yes?"
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"Mm, yeah. You go ahead, I'll catch up."
Might as well give Dorian a slight head start. Or maybe some dignity in leaving before him - without him - directly on his heels. Everyone knows, but he can give Dorian things like this.
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"Let's go together, Bull."
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"Tavern better still be here in the morning," he warns his boys with a pointed nod to Krem. Then he follows Dorian up the stairs.
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Brimming with restless energy, Dorian turns and reaches for the Bull as soon as they hit the landing, still half the hall away from his door and within view of the tables upstairs. He lays his hands over his biceps, squeezing gently, and he steps close enough that the fabric of his shirt brushes the Bull's bare chest. He tilts his chin to look up at him, a greater distance when they stand so close, and his expression is open and warm.
"It was terribly rude of you," he says, "to spend a month here cozy and drunk while I was freezing to death in a coprse-infested bog." In other words: I missed you.
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I missed you, too.
Bull slides his arms around Dorian's back and closes the shred of distance between them, enjoying the way his body feels pressed up against him. Then the Bull leans down and kisses Dorian soundly. He reminds himself that they're still on the landing, but he's already done this in the courtyard, in full view of half of Skyhold. What's a few drunks?
With a quiet groan against Dorian's mouth, Bull's hands slide lower to catch him by the thighs so he can lift him up. He'll carry him the rest of the way, if Dorian lets him get away with it. He doesn't want to stop kissing him.
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His implicit agreement is in the way he lets his thighs spread around Bull's waist, enabling him to hold him closer. His hands slide up his arms to rest on his shoulders as they kiss again.
"They were all dead to begin with, so it wasn't the fun sort of killing things," he murmurs with amusement, leaning his forehead against Bull's. He can't stop smiling. "You wouldn't have liked it."
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He apologizes to Dorian when he uses the mage to push the door open and he promptly kicks it closed again once they're inside. The roof repairs are complete and the windows have glass in them. The room is almost cozy, save for the fact that it's--still Bull's room. Broken bookcase, a heavy battle axe stuck in a large timber, bottles of booze, candles melting onto a table top rather than in candle holders.
Anyone walking into the room might think he's a savage. And that's how Bull prefers it. But since Dorian started spending more time there, he made a small effort to at least make it hospitable.
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"You fixed the roof!" He's both stunned and delighted. He'd been exhausted enough to miss that earlier, and then distracted by dinner and Bull's company. "I hadn't expected you to actually do it." Something about that is deeply touching. The hole hadn't bothered Bull, but it bothered him, and Bull had done something about it for his sake. Overcome by the sweetness and consideration of that gesture, he wraps his arms tight around Bull's neck and presses a grateful kiss to his cheek. "It's almost as though you want me to move in," he jokes warmly. "But I know that can't be the case, or you'd have tidied up more."
Not that Dorian's room is anything resembling tidy by any means.
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"Tidy? This from the man with books on every surface and three empty bottles of wine last I counted."
He grins as Dorian kisses his cheek and he returns the affectionate gesture before he settles on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he just looks at Dorian and drinks in the sight of him.
"We never did get to try out some of the things I got in Val Royeaux," he muses with a sly smile. "Game for it?"
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With the roof fixed, glass in the windows, a fire in the hearth, and Bull so close, Dorian feels truly warm for the first time since they'd parted ways. His hands smooth over his shoulders just to touch him.
"So long as that means you'll finally tie me up," he purrs. "Or tie me down, I suppose, if you'd prefer."
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"Well, I do have new rafters," he rumbles quietly, his eye focused on Dorian to gauge the mage's response to the suggestion. As far as he knows, this will be new for Dorian. And even if it isn't, entirely, the way Bull does things might be. In fact, he can almost be sure of that.
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Bull's suggestion makes Dorian glance up. Indeed, sturdy new rafters which must have been built to lend support to the roof span the room. He can picture Bull with a small team of builders raising them and repairing the roof, and something about that image makes him feel very tender. His smile grows, and he settles his hands against Bull's chest, feeling his breath and the drumbeat of his heart. "I'd hate to waste an opportunity like that," he says. "I've never been tied that way before," he admits. In truth, any time he has been tied it's been incredibly simple, and always for the purpose of binding his hands during sex. "But I'd like to try."
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It takes some digging, but Bull eventually produces the deep purple silk ropes he'd purchased in Val Royaeux. He drapes several lengths over his shoulder, then picks up another set: white. Dorian looks good in white, the contrast against his warm skin is striking. Bull thinks the colors together will look good. And it will let him keep track of what he's tied and where.
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"A little. Usually only to bind my arms. Once around my legs to hold them open." He still remembers exactly how the ropes had felt digging into his thighs. He wouldn't mind repeating it with Bull doing the tying. "There typically wasn't the time or place for anything more involved."
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Undressing Dorian is relatively easy, at least. Bull is intimately familiar with all of the fastenings and buckles and ties.
"What I do will be different," he cautions. "Have you seen the ropes I wear?"
Bull doesn't wear them often, and when he does, they usually disappear beneath some of his heavier armor.
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"Of course I've seen them," he says, like it's obvious. Even if the glimpses were brief, he could never miss the way those ropes weave across Bull's arms and torso, complex and intriguing in a similar way to how he sees vitaar; distinctly Qunari, but pleasing to look at. "Are you going to put something similar on me?" He's deeply curious about that, both the functionality and the significance.
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He finishes undressing Dorian and makes sure all of his clothes end up folded over a chair. That done, Bull starts measuring out lengths of purple and white rope.
"Hold your arms out a little and... yeah, feet further apart."
That will make it easier for him to work. When Dorian is ready, Bull starts weaving together a harness of intricate patterns.
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The feel of the silk rope is decadent in a way he hadn't expected, and he relaxes as Bull directs him to one pose after the next to wrap and tie the rope around him. It feels snug, but not so much that it will hurt if pressure is put on it. He feels secure, and he mellows gradually, breath slowing.
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"Face down," he murmurs as he presses a hand between Dorian's shoulder blades. Once he's in position, Bull takes up more rope and starts working it around Dorian's thighs. By the time he's done, Dorian's ankles are bound to his thighs and his wrists are bound there as well. Bull wants Dorian to feel vulnerable and secure all at once, in a way only the ropes can offer.
"Nothing's too tight?" he asks as he checks his work. He wants to make sure there's no chance of any of the knots slipping.
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