aban_aqun | Modern Thedas AU

If he weren't in dire financial straits, Dorian would never have chosen Sera for a roommate. Certainly, they get on remarkably well, as much as two people who are fundamentally different in nearly every possible way can; she's been a true friend, and he would never presume to take her for granted. But as much as he appreciates her, he'd never wanted to live with her. Most of her friends don't care for him, and she likes the color yellow far too much, and she never remembers to set her own alarms, so she's constantly rushing him in the bathroom while he's trying to get ready in the morning because she woke up late and has to be to work in five minutes.

She also throws the most ridiculous parties. Dorian is a social creature, and is more than capable of enjoying such a gathering; indeed, he could drink most who attend them under the table. But as his graduate work takes up more and more of his time--and energy, and sanity--he simply doesn't have the patience for them that he used to. The one last night he'd failed to appear at entirely, despite it happening just outside his bedroom door. He'd locked himself away in his room all night, headphones in a vain attempt to drown out the noise as he attempted to get some writing done.

In the end, he'd accomplished very little, and hardly slept at all. He might as well have been drinking himself into a stupor, really. He'd rather hate himself this morning for being hung over than for simply being cranky and bitter.

It will be some time before Sera wakes, of course, so when he peeks out into the living room and finds no one asleep on the couch, floor, or myriad other horizontal surfaces, he assumes he'll be alone for a bit. But he smells coffee, which is odd, and something a little sweeter, a little spicier. Still looking more than a little sleep-disheveled, hair in its natural messy waves, mustache only just holding its shape, yesterday's makeup smudged softly around his eyes, glasses perched on his nose, and wearing only a flannel shirt over his shoulders and the pair of shorts he'd slept in, he pads barefoot into the kitchen to investigate. What he finds would surely shock anyone.

There is a Qunari in his kitchen.

And he is...making breakfast?

For a long moment, Dorian can only mutely process the situation. Not only is there a Qunari, but the largest one he's ever seen, tall and thick with muscle, and a pair of truly impressive horns as wide as his massive shoulders. He's scarred all across his body, his face in particular, but is strikingly handsome nonetheless. This is all quite easy to observe, as said Qunari happens to be wearing very little actual clothing. Not that Dorian is either, but he lives here. He has an excuse.

Even after he finds his voice again, he apparently still needs a moment to collect his wits, because all he can manage to say is, "I'm sorry--who are you?"

Bull glances up when he hears a voice, and he can't help the roguish smile that flickers across his scarred mouth when he sees the person it belongs to. Must be the roommate. He's Tevinter, that's a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. Especially not looking so soft, so mussed, and kind of adorably owlish at the sight of a Qunari in his kitchen.

"Hey," he says, quiet and amicable. "I'm the Bull. Friend of Sera's. You must be Dorian."

Sera's said the name exactly one time; every other time it's been a less-than-flattering nickname. Bull is aware that he probably should have put some clothes on now that he's standing there in just some boxer briefs. Eh, too late now.

"There's sweet bread if you want it. Coffee's almost done."

"I--yes, but..." Dorian's brow furrows. So this is...the Bull? Of course. He's heard Sera mention a Bull before in conversation, had thought in passing that it was a ridiculous name. But now that he's face to face with the man, it's hard to imagine he could be called anything else. Dorian can't help but stare; he's wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination. Dorian is at least wearing a shirt in addition to his own--even if it is unbuttoned. But once again; his own home.

It's not precisely a complaint, though. In fact, Dorian is having a rather difficult time keeping his gaze from roving shamelessly over the displayed grey skin, lingering on the thick muscles of his arms or legs, or his broad back, or his appealingly bulky middle or--well, one truly must wonder if Qunari are built so sturdy everywhere.

But that's--terribly rude, of course, especially when he's gone to the trouble of baking, apparently. "Fasta vass, when did you have the time to make sweet bread?" He slowly approaches the stove where the bread is cooling. It smells incredible; it's been too long since Dorian's had a real homemade breakfast. A real homemade any meal, really.

"I get up early," he answers with a rueful smile. "No matter what, most days. Figured I'd raid the kitchen as an apology."

Bull finds mugs and gets a few down, assuming Sera will also want coffee whenever she appears. He watches Dorian without being terribly obvious, admiring the way the open shirt drapes over his shoulders, noticing where the fabric stops. His gaze is drawn again to the messy curls of dark hair, the glasses.

Damn.

"Didn't think you were in last night. Realized you must've been when I heard you moving around after everyone left."

Not much moving around, but Dorian had shuffled into the bathroom and then right back to his room at some point while Bull was on the couch in the dark.

Maker, the way his muscles move when he does something as simple as reaching for mugs has Dorian's pulse picking up a tick. It's utterly absurd. To distract himself, he opens a cupboard to grab plates, and then a drawer for utensils.

"That is...remarkably thoughtful of you," he admits. "At least I didn't suffer through all that shouting and questionable music without any return at all." He hesitates for only a moment before moving a little closer to Bull in order to grab a mug, anticipating the coffee being ready. He'll drink a cup of that before he eats anything. It's simply how his body functions these days.

"As I'm certain that Sera has been calling me by any number of unflattering nicknames, I'll introduce myself properly. Dorian Pavus." He offers a hand--to be polite, of course, and not because he's deeply curious about what Bull's hands feel like. "I must admit, you were perhaps the last person I expected to find in my kitchen this morning."

Bull turns toward Dorian when he offers his hand. He accepts it like a man that is very aware of his size and his strength, and is rather gentle in the way he handles Dorian before he lets him go again. "Glad to finally meet you. And I wouldn't say they're unflattering... just creative," he says with a dry smile.

He lets Dorian have at the coffee first, then pours his own cup. He chuckles quietly and leans back against the counter, leaving plenty of room for Dorian to get to the sweet bread, too.

"I think most people would feel that way if they saw a nearly naked guy my size in their kitchen."

Bull's grip is remarkably gentle, simply because it's so clear that he must be consciously restraining himself. The strength in his body is evident; the fact that he doesn't use it speaks to an incredible amount of self-control. Dorian's own grip is light in return, but even so, he feels the brush of Bull's fingers even after they release one another.

He sips his coffee, leaning back against the counter and looking up (has he ever felt so small next to anyone?) at Bull over the rim of his glasses. "True. I think I'm handling it rather well, actually." He hasn't asked Bull to get dressed yet, anyway.

Once he's had enough coffee, he cuts himself a slice of sweet bread, which he eats with a fork, naturally. The first bite is a pleasant surprise. "This is wonderful," he compliments, meeting Bull's eye. It isn't the first time he notices that he has just the one, but it is the first time he really looks. "Not that I thought it would be less," he adds quickly. "It's just that I hadn't expected I'd eat anything worthwhile for breakfast this morning."

"I didn't expect Sera to have cardamom," he quips, smiling behind his mug as Dorian enjoys the bread. Bull likes seeing people take pleasure in things he's made and this is no different. Especially because Dorian, of all people, will likely appreciate the flavors - he's from the north, too, and must be as familiar with them as Bull is.

"I'll leave the loaves here for you two. Consider it my apology and a gesture of good will." It's likely they'll run into each other again and he didn't need to have another Vint side-eyeing him at every opportunity.

"Sera said you're a student. Of what?"

Might as well make conversation while the elf in question remains dead to the world. Bull thinks he should get dressed eventually, but Dorian hasn't complained.

"Neither did I," Dorian chuckles. The flavors do remind him of home, which is a rare thing these days. There are places in Val Royeaux that serve Northern food, of course--even Tevinter food, specifically. But of the ones Dorian's tried, he's yet to find anything that tastes like something he might find on the streets of Minrathous as much as this particular sweet bread cooked by a Qunari in his own kitchen. It's quite literally a slice of home. "As I am the wronged party in this situation, I believe I should be the sole recipient of your apologies and good will. Therefore, I shall be eating them both." Dorian declares, and takes another bite as though to prove himself.

He hesitates just a moment when asked about his studies. While it is a viable field, the study of magic--and mages themselves--are still stigmatized here in the south, let alone under the Qun. Still, he has no reason to believe that Bull would feel that way, beyond being...well, very large and horned. But if he's figured out that he's Tevinter, he probably already suspects that he's a mage anyway. Most people tend to. And they're still having quite a pleasant conversation, which is a good sign.

"Thaumaturgy," he says, opting for the simplest answer. "My master's thesis involved research of temporal magic. My advisor then was the man who developed it to begin with," he says with evident pride. "Mostly it's quite a lot of writing, when I'm not teaching the basics of entropy magic and introduction to advanced theory, of course." He doesn't resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Most of which we learn as children in our Circles back home."

"Not everywhere can be Tevinter," he says with a dry look Dorian's way. Most people assume that Bull is Tal Vasoth and he's content not to correct them. And while the theory Dorian talks about is not completely beyond his grasp, it's also not his area of expertise or interest. "I hear there were several wars about it."

Maybe that's not a fair jab, especially when Bull has no particular reason to defend the southern Circles or their practices. But, it is his home, for now. Bull takes a long drink from his mug, glad that the coffee is good, at least. He suspects that's Dorian's influence; Sera has no taste for these things.

Well, perhaps he should have expected more contention; and here he'd been trying to play nice.

"No, it certainly isn't," Dorian agrees, a little sharply. "Nor do I think that everywhere should be Tevinter. But the south could certainly stand to update a few policies and procedures, so that its treatment of mages might serve to reflect the Age we live in, at the very least. They're still afraid of mages knowing too much here, as though being aware of how to cast a simulacrum will make one more susceptible to possession. Honestly, the southern Chanrty understands so little about how magic actually works it's laughable."

Dorian takes a deep drink of his coffee almost as a second thought. It's clear they've stumbled upon a topic about which he has very strong opinions. "The only system in Thedas that is actually worse for mages is the Qun," he observes, no longer above taking a pass with claws extended. "I assume I need not expand on why."

"The Circles should be secular," he says mildly, apparently not interested in rising to the comment about the Qun. He knows. "Having the Chantry involved only conflates morality with magic, as if having it is already a sin and mages need to pay some penance for being born this way. Magic is amoral and has nothing to do with religion."

Bull shrugs one shoulder.

"But I am neither a mage nor a cleric. My opinion doesn't count for much."

It's plain that Dorian hadn't expected Bull to agree with him. It takes him a moment to move past that initial shock, to hide it away again. And it's also...well, it isn't as though he'd expected Bull to be dim, but he also hadn't expected to discuss Chantry ethics this early in the morning. It's oddly refreshing.

"Well, at least you know that your approval isn't required," he snips. He drains his cup, eats a few more bites of the sweet bread in silence before he adds, "But you're right, for what it's worth. It's difficult to get most people here to acknowledge even that much."

The mage's shock registers and Bull hides his smile behind his coffee. "No, of course not," he says of his approval, still quietly amused. Bull sets his mug down and turns to finally cut himself a piece of bread. He eats it just like that, pleased with how it came out.

"Do you have class? Or are you always an early riser after hiding from a party all night?"

Dorian sighs with the helpless resignation of a man remembering a prior engagement while caught in the midst of a far more pleasant diversion. "I do. Which is the reason I spent last night hiding, as you put it. I'll have to start getting ready soon." Dorian certainly isn't an early riser by choice, which makes him curious about Bull in turn. He'd mentioned not being able to sleep past a certain time, and he has to wonder why.

"And you?" He ventures, a teasing note as his voice softens. He pours himself another cup of coffee. "Do you typically spend the early hours of the morning baking in someone else's kitchen?" It's clear that Bull has quite a bit of experience with baking in general, which Dorian can't help but find surprising, however much it speaks to some internal bias borne of being raised with Tevinter propaganda about Qunari. He's trying to unlearn, but truthfully, there aren't many Qunari this far south either, Tal-Vashoth or otherwise.

"Mm, I used to," he admits. "But I got kind of tired of the screaming, y'know?"

A sly smile curves his scarred mouth and he waits for the joke to hit Dorian as he takes another drink from his mug. He should probably get dressed and see himself out. There's no need to take too much advantage of Dorian's hospitality.

"Now I try to stick to the kitchens of friends and acquaintances."

Even if the joke is objectively bad, Dorian still finds himself startled into a laugh, even as he's tempted to roll his eyes. "It was rather a shock to see you, even being aware that Sera has a friend called Bull."

But this hasn't been unpleasant. Rather the opposite, for the most part. "How long have you been baking for?" He can't help but wonder. He should be getting ready for class soon, but Bull is deeply intriguing, and he finds he still has a number of things he'd like to talk to him about. He isn't done looking at him just yet, either. "If this is indicative of your other work," a gesture with an open palm toward the loaf of sweet bread, "you're quite skilled."

“I’ve been dabbling for a few years,” he says, vague but convincing. Bull finishes his coffee and cleans the mug. It’s been a decade now that he’s lived in the south and eight years in his current job.

Reluctantly, Bull finds his clothes to start getting dressed, but he keeps talking.

“How long have you been in the south?”

Dorian smiles over the rim of his second cup of coffee as Bull replies, then proceeds to clean his own cup. What a considerate houseguest. It's a little disappointing when Bull moves to get dressed, but Dorian casually follows, coffee in hand, so they can continue talking. He entertains, for a moment, a fantasy: how this morning might go differently if he didn't need to get to class. How he might invite Bull to spend a few more hours in his company--in his room. It seems like he would be interested, if the offer was made. The strength of his attraction to Bull is startling to Dorian. The draw to him feels almost magnetic.

He follows the movement of Bull's hands as he dresses and notices for the first time that he is missing half of the last two fingers on his left. He's a deeply interesting man. Dorian thinks that they could as easily spend those few hours engaged in conversations as easily as other activities.

"Not long," he admits. "A little less than six months." Not long enough yet for him to have settled in any meaningful way. "And you?" Much longer, he thinks--that much is obvious. But he's very curious about Bull's history, and feels some kinship with him, despite the obvious reasons as to why he shouldn't. But they are bother former northerners who now find themselves here. Isn't that something relatable enough to begin with?

Bull carefully works his shirt - a deep v-neck - carefully over one horn and then the other before he gets it on the rest of the way. He should probably give in to Krem's advice and get more shirts with buttons, but these look good. And buttons are fiddly.

"Years, now," he answers. Bull looks over at the mage that's trailed after him, and he can't deny the temptation to touch him. But Dorian's had a good sense of humor about having a massive, unexpected guest. He shouldn't push it.

Instead, Bull finds a scrap of paper and writes a number down - his number.

"Call me sometime," he says as he offers it to Dorian.

Watching Bull dress is an experience Dorian is eager to repeat, ideally in a more intimate setting--plus, it answers the obvious question regarding shirts and horns. Bull looks good in his simple tee and jeans; the tight fit of the shirt only serves to further highlight the width of his shoulders and the breadth of his biceps. Dorian suppresses the urge to trace his fingers along the edge of that deep v and the portion of chest it shows. He can't help feeling a little exposed now that Bull is fully clothed, but that can't be helped.

Hearing that Bull's made a home in the south for quite some time doesn't surprise him at all. He's clearly settled in; it has to have been quite a long time since he recieved the scars that cover his body.

It's quite flattering, and more than a little exciting, to be offered a phone number. As Dorian accepts the slip of paper, he allows his fingers to brush Bull's--a touch that lasts only a moment, but feels significant. He's deeply relieved that it hasn't just been him who was enjoying their repartee.

"To what end?" He asks with a coy curl of his lips. "Are you so eager to make breakfast for me again?"

"Maybe dinner first, then breakfast," he rumbles with a smile as he sits to get his boots on. The lingering touch suggests he might not be out of line in saying it. Bull finishes lacing up and stands with a quiet grunt. He hadn't worn his brace and he's regretting it now, but he'll make it home in one piece.

"It was nice to meet you, Dorian. I'd hide one of those loaves before Sera gets up if you want it to last more than a day."

Dorian scoffs, playing at affront while being actually quite pleased, his confidence bolstered by the blatant suggestion of Bull's flirtation. "How presumptuous," he says, tucking the slip of paper into the breast pocket of his flannel. His smile lingers. "Perhaps if dinner is good enough, I may allow you to make me breakfast again."

He leans against the back of the sofa as Bull laces up his boots--sturdy things made for function over style, though Dorian suspects he has little choice, given his size. If he were to put his foot, or his hand, against Bull's, how small would it seem by comparison? Perhaps he'll have occasion to find out.

"You hardly have to tell me," he laughs. "It wouldn't last past noon." He stands to meet Bull at the door, ostensibly to close it behind him. "It was good to meet you. And thank you for the bread."

They plan to see each other but it falls through. Bull isn't upset but understanding when Dorian explains (sounding frustrated over the phone) that he's been slammed with things for his coursework, and that it's getting near to finals time, and he has projects and experiments and--

Bull gently told him that they would see each other when they could. Dorian's coursework is important and a date can wait. They keep in touch in the meantime; Bull even downloads Snapchat so that Dorian can update him on his goings on that way. He has to admit, he likes getting the pictures. He's even sent some back.

He's heard his phone buzz once or twice that afternoon, but he hasn't had time to check it. Because it is finals season, students and professors alike are frequenting the cafe and buying things to take home. He's doing a second massive batch of their most popular items. He can smell the curry from the other kitchen; a lot of people come here for comfort food and though there's a lull, it's never a bad idea to start making more of staple dishes, especially ones that cook slow.

It isn't that he doesn't want to see Bull. In fact, it's quite the opposite. He's lamented every missed opportunity, every time class or coursework or just plain exhaustion got in the way. He exchanges texts and photos with Bull regularly, which has helped him get to know him even more than their initial meeting, and makes Dorian doubly sure that spending time with Bull would be enjoyable and worthwhile. Bull is amusing and crude and charming, and incredibly intelligent, even if it seems as though he's trying to downplay it much of the time.

He is also, thankfully, incredibly understanding. Dorian hopes that he doesn't think he's lost interest, given how much he's had to rearrange--cancel, really. While he might be able to find an hour or two somewhere to meet, he doesn't want this to be rushed or perfunctory. He wants to show Bull himself at his best, and he wants to be able to take his time, to focus on the present without worrying that he could be doing something arguably more essential.

But he still has to eat, after all, which is why late afternoon one weekday finds him wandering into a cafe-bakery spot he's never tried before. It was the smell that drew him, really; if he'd closed his eyes for a moment, he could swear he was standing somewhere on the streets of Minrathous. He's never smelled such convincing Tevinter food in the south before, and a taste of home is just what he needs at the moment. The hour is late enough that the lunch rush has mostly died down, and the cheerful Dalish elf working behind the counter tells him to seat himself and come up when he's ready.

He drops his satchel into a chair and drapes his coat over, and barely has to peruse the menu. The only thing he can think of eating now is the curry he's smelling, and that is what he orders.

"I'll have that curry, when it's ready," he says, which makes the elf laugh. "Do take your time. It smells well worth waiting for." He can take out his laptop and answer a few emails in the meantime, he thinks. Not a moment wasted.

Bull hears him through the open door. He chuckles quietly and puts the last batch into the oven before he heads to the cafe front. He gets there in time to see Dorian going back to his seat, nestled away with work.

He waits for Dorian to get absorbed before he makes a full appearance. Bull can go unnoticed surprisingly well for a man his size, and after a little while he stops by Dorian's table to drop off a cup of spiced tea that he suspects the mage would like.

"To tide you over until the curry is done," he says with a wry smile.

Absorbed in his work, Dorian truly doesn't notice the massive Qunari approaching until he hears the well-remembered rumble of Bull's voice. He gives a startled laugh as he accepts the cup of tea, and feels a smile tugging at his lips as he looks up at him.

"Bull! You--" to his credit, he puts two and two together rather quickly. "You must be the baker here." It would only make sense, give the excellent sweet bread. "Maker, it's good to see you. I'm sorry it hasn't been sooner."

Bull offers a warm smile. "It's my cafe," he answers. "It's alright, you've been busy. I have an inkling of what your schedule is like."

Students of all levels pass through and Bull tends to listen to them. Bull lets his hand rest on Dorian's shoulder for a moment and offers a gentle squeeze.

"I know you're here to work, but I have some time later, if you want to chat a while. We could make a dinner out of it."

Dorian's eyes widen a little at the correction. Of all the careers he might have imagined a man like Bull to have, cafe owner wouldn't have been among his first choices--yet in context, it makes perfect sense. "Oh! Of course it is." He feels relieved, or something like it. The menu certainly makes more sense. "If everything here is half as good as the bread you made me, you must be very successful."

He doesn't like to make excuses, but he's glad that Bull understands why it's been difficult for him to meet. Now that he sees him again, he wishes he hadn't been so particular. There is something about Bull's presence that is reassuring--something more than Dorian's irresistible attraction to him.

Still, he can't help noticing that Bull's hand covers his shoulder entirely, and there is something deeply thrilling about that. "Yes," he answers, surprising even himself with how earnest he sounds. "I'd like that. Frankly, I could use a break. And I had hoped to see you soon." He smiles. What Bull describes sounds very much like a date, which he isn't opposed to in the least. "Will you be making dinner, or shall we let someone else do that?"

"Depends," he says lightly. "If you want to eat somewhere quiet and private, we can go back to my place. If you want to stay here and work while we eat, Krem can make us dinner."

Hey, Krem is amazing in the kitchen and Bull is certain that Dorian will appreciate some very lovely, very homey Tevinter dishes. But Bull is solid in the kitchen these days and he has a handle on northern cooking himself.

"Should I check in with you in a couple hours and we can decide then?"

Dorian shakes his head. "No need. Quiet and private sounds best," he decides without hesitation, and gives a thin smile. "If we're to spend time together, I'd prefer not to work through it." He's been looking forward to this, and the last thing he wants is to make Bull sit with him while he's distracted by his work. Bull deserves his full attention.

"And I think it's only fair that I see where you live, as you've already seen mine," he adds, gently teasing. There's something about that which makes him oddly giddy. He's gone on dinner dates before, yes, but never at anyone's home. If he's invited there, it tends to be for a different reason entirely. Which isn't to say that Bull isn't intending that, or that Dorian would be upset if he was. But it's nice to have at least the pretense of something more.

With that reassurance, Dorian lays a hand lightly against Bull's arm. "A few more hours and I'll be done for the day," he decides.

"I'll check on you in a few hours," he promises. His shift will be up then anyway; the timing is perfect. Bull squeezes Dorian's shoulder before he turns away, and for the rest of his shift, someone always appears to give Dorian more tea when his cup is empty.

At the end of his shift, Bull checks in with the crew coming on to cover the evening. Then he goes to check on Dorian.

"Ready to go?"

Bull likes the idea of having Dorian in his home. As they walk out, Bull shrugs on a leather jacket - a gift from Krem, and pulls something out of his bag. He passes Dorian a helmet.

The hours Dorian spends working in the cafe are actually pleasant. He gets some grading out of the way, then has a little time left over to work on his own writing. Someone--Bull, he assumes--makes sure that his cup is never empty, and he feels satisfied enough with his progress by the time Bull comes to collect him that he doesn't feel guilty taking the night off. He's excited, actually; at last, the long-awaited date. If he'd known it was going to happen tonight he'd probably have dressed up more, but he looks smart enough in his fitted black denim and low-cut v neck to be passable. He's been going between the same two jackets for months; it's the lightweight one today, a sleek black bomber, rather than the wool coat he dons when it's colder.

Still, when Bull shrugs on a leather jacket and hands him a helmet, he suspects he may yet be underprepared. Certainly, he wasn't ready for the sight of Bull's shoulders in a well cut motorcycle style.

"Is this for what I think it is?" he asks with disbelief. Surely this would be too good to be true? Bull can't look like this, act like this, and drive him home on his motorcycle to cook him dinner. Men like that simply don't exist.

Except they do, apparently, because there is the bike--massive, as it must be to belong to a Qunari as oversized as the Bull. Dorian can't help an incredulous laugh. "I've never actually ridden one before," he admits. But he's clearly enthusiastic about trying.

"Just hold on. Promise I won't lose you," Bull says. Impressively, a helmet exists that fits over his horns - something custom, obviously. He settles on the bike and waits for Dorian to climb on behind him.

It isn't usually a long ride home, but Bull, maybe, takes a slightly more scenic route. What? Dorian's never been on a motorcycle before and there's no rush to get back. Far be it from Bull to cut the experience short.

But, eventually, they end up in front of a house and Bull parks in an alley off to the side.

"Come on," he says after he's helped Dorian down. "We'll go in through the back."

That means entering through a back porch and into the kitchen. It's sized for a human but is open enough that it isn't difficult for Bull to get around.

"I should hope not," Dorian laughs, carefully smoothing his hair back before putting on the helmet he's been given. He settles behind Bull, and only hesitates a moment before wrapping his arms as far around his middle as they'll reach, bringing him flush against his back. Bull is clearly huge, but looking at him and feeling it for himself are very different. His fingers curl into Bull's jacket, and as soon as he gives the okay, Bull starts the bike and pulls away.

The ride is exhilarating. Having never been on a motorcycle before, he has nothing to compare it to, but it's fun to feel the wind on his face, to feel unrestricted and free and slightly daring. But best of all, Dorian is pleased to note, is the necessary proximity to Bull. It's so nice that he's reluctant to relinquish his hold when they come to a stop. At least he has plenty to look forward to. His arms fall from around Bull's waist, and afterward Bull helps him off the unusually large machine, so Dorian winds up having to pull his hands away from Bull twice, which is really quite unfair.

Bull's home is small, but especially compared to Dorian's current living arrangements, it feels spacious. It's been some time since he's known anyone with a proper house. He looks around curiously, can't help it. The ceilings are high, but that's no surprise. They would have to be. The kitchen is genuinely cute, and sports several more pink accent towels than he was expecting. "This is charming," he compliments. "Has it always been just you here?"

It strikes him after he asks that the question could be construed in a far more personal way than he'd intended it. Hopefully Bull doesn't mind.

Bull smiles as Dorian takes in the kitchen. "No, Krem lived with me for a while, but he has his own place now."

He kind of misses having the company, but Krem has plenty of reasons to want to live alone, not the least of which being that he is finally, tentatively, starting to date and having a massive Qunari roommate is not always conducive to that. Bull doesn't mind: he's still an excellent wing man when Krem needs it.

He nods to the pegs on the wall where Dorian can hang his helmet and his jacket, if he wants. Bull shrugs out of his own to leave it there.

"Had to remember how to cook after he moved out," he quips. "Krem does the menu at the cafe."

Just his friend, then. That's an interesting tidbit to file away for later. Both helmet and jacket are removed and hung up quickly enough, and Dorian runs his fingers briefly through his hair to put it back in order. He'll follow Bull's lead when it comes to shoes. His boots are easy enough to slip off.

"If he was responsible for the curry today, perhaps I've made dinner plans with the wrong man," he teases. It had been a true taste of home, unlike anything he's eaten since leaving Tevinter. He drifts closer to Bull as he talks, far enough into his personal space as to be clear in his interest, yet not quite bold enough to touch. "But then, I haven't so quickly forgotten your sweetbread. You've set expectations high, Bull."

Bull laughs quietly. "I'll try not to disappoint. Want to help or just observe?"

The way he asks suggests that there is no wrong answer - if Dorian would rather sit at the little kitchen table and hold conversation from there, Bull is just as content to do the work himself. He turns on a few more lights so the space over the counter top is bright.

"Did Sera get any of the bread or did you hoard it?" He looks over with a grin and lifts his eyebrow. Dorian seemed quite enamored with it and Bull wouldn't be surprised if the only evidence of its existence had been the lingering scent of cardamom in the air.

"I'll help," Dorian offers, surprising even himself. But he wants to see the process up close, and more than that, wants to be near Bull.

As they talk, Dorian quickly removes his jacket, hanging it near Bull's, and then joins him by the counter. "Because I am a considerate friend and roommate, she got a loaf to herself," he sighs regretfully. "Not that she deserved it. She ate so quickly that I'm not certain she actually tasted it."

But Bull's smile is quite charming, and Dorian can't really be annoyed. He smiles back a moment later. "What will we make today?"

"Are you tired of curry?" he asks with a wry smile. It's an easy enough dish with so much room for variation, and it's a taste of home that Bull indulges in fairly frequently. He checks to see what he has to work with before he rattles off a few possibilities.

"Butter chicken, lemongrass curry with shrimp and rice. If you want something hot, we can do lamb in chili curry."

Bull's gotten better at adjusting spice levels for people that aren't used to the punch chili peppers can pack. But Dorian's from the north, and Bull can't help but wonder where his tastes fall.

Modern Thedas AU

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