aban_aqun | The Winter Palace

Bull finds Dorian after the dust settles. He smiles when he notices the mage holding an extra drink and he lightly touches Dorian's arm once he's close enough.

"That for me?" he asks, voice warm and quiet. Florianne's reveal hadn't surprised him, but he hadn't expected her to be so fully aligned with Corypheus, desperate enough to think she might get what he promised her.

There's still potential for instability in Orlais, but it won't be completely compromised. Bull doesn't know how well the populace - or the court - will take to having Briala so close to the empress. Bull thinks, though, with some political savvy, they could make it work. If Celene can improve relations with elves in general, it might bode well for her reign.

But he doesn't want to think about any of that now. Not when Dorian looks as beautiful as he does. Not when the danger is passed and the night is theirs.

Just as he expected, Bull comes to him eventually. He smiles coyly up at him, and drifts closer almost without meaning to, drawn in merely by the Bull's presence. "Oh, no. It's all for me," he teases, even as he hands it over. "I deserve to celebrate, you see. We've won a grand victory, and I've managed to tolerate the sneering and sniveling of the Orlesian court all evening without being drunk at all. I intend to change that very soon."

To demonstrate, he raises his glass to his lips and drinks generously. "But I suppose it is more fun with a companion." His eyes are bright, reflecting the thousands of dancing flames illuminating the ballroom, and he wants nothing more, really, than to spend the rest of this night with Bull.

"You've managed to keep your jacket in good order," he notes, and absolutely uses the observation as an excuse to lay a hand against Bull's chest.

"Couldn't risk surviving the night just to have Vivienne kill me for getting blood on it or ripping it," he says with a dry smile. Bull takes a drink from his glass, appreciating the taste but mostly the company.

Bull hesitates as he gets lost in how Dorian looks. It's now or never, he realizes. If he doesn't ask now, the moment is gone.

In Tevene, he asks, "Would you dance with me?"

It isn't how Dorian imagined it. Because he had imagined, much as he'd hate to acknowledge that. But how could it be? He couldn't have imagined the warmth and focus with which Bull looks at him, like he's the most impressive thing in the whole palace. He certainly couldn't have imagined that request in his own language from someone he actually gives a damn about dancing with. All of it is still so surreal. It's nearly impossible to believe that he actually gets to do this--to have this.

"Yes," he answers. What else? "I've been waiting all night."

Bull smiles and promptly downs his drink. Maybe uncouth, but he has more important things he wants to do. He sets the glass aside and offers Dorian his hand.

This time, he escorts Dorian all the way to the ballroom. It's no small thing to do this and he knows it. When they reach the dance floor, Bull turns to face Dorian and draws him close. He's grateful it's a waltz - it's one of the few dances he actually feels confident leading.

He can already feel the eyes turning their way. Not only the Orlesians, but he catches sight of members of their own party looking surprised or concerned.

Uncouth, certainly, but Dorian does it too. The two of them really are so different and yet in some ways, perfectly alike. Dorian sets his own glass down beside Bull's with a barely restrained grin, and puts his hand in the Qunari's much larger palm.

Anticipation coils in his belly, growing with every step. By the time Bull puts his hands on him to lead him into the dance, that feelings has bubbled all the way up into his throat. Yet nervous as he is, he's equally elated. Leading, following--Dorian can do both equally well, and knows all of the dances popular here nearly as well as he does the ones in Tevinter. He likes dancing very much. It's an incredibly silly thing, but he'd always harbored some hope--some fantasy, more like--that he might one day do it with the man he loves. Just like this.

He loves Bull. That much has been evident to him for some time. With his hand on Bull's bicep rather than his shoulder--awkward, to reach that far--he looks up at him and smiles. He loves how the fine fabric of his jacket is soft beneath his palm, Bull's skin warm beneath. And he loves Bull's face, his neatly trimmed beard, his bright, shining new eye patch. He looks fine and handsome tonight--but then, he always does. Dorian loves him as much covered in blood and sweat, shirtless, and after weeks together in a tent, as he does now. Whether in the glittering ballroom of the winter palace or beneath the light of the moons in the Hissing Waste, it makes no difference.

That Bull wants to dance with him here and now--that matters. He follows his lead with little thought for movements which come naturally to him. "How did you get this idea in your head?" he asks. "Wanting to dance?"

"How often am I going to be at the Winter Palace in a uniform?" he asks with a wry little smile. But it softens into something much warmer as he meets Dorian's gaze.

"I thought you might like it," he admits. "And I knew tonight might be difficult... I wanted to give you something you'd enjoy."

He wanted to make Dorian smile. The realization that this man's smile means so much to him is a little earth shaking. Bull has spent a considerable amount of time thinking of ways to make Dorian's life a bit brighter: getting Varric to find cocoa, leaving pastries he likes in his nook of the library, keeping a bottle of wine in his room that he happens to know Dorian prefers, having Josephine mention to the one of the merchants at Skyhold that there were those that might appreciate a supply of kohl or nail lacquer. Small things to make a life away from home more bearable. Things that might put that small, almost secretive smile he loves so much on Dorian's face.

Love.

He loves Dorian.

"All for me, then?" Dorian sounds vaguely amazed, looking up at Bull as though he almost can't believe he's real. And truly, he does seem too good to be true. He's doing this--dancing with him here, in front of absolutely anyone--because he thought it would make him happy. Dorian is stunned. He is stunned and grateful and so, so happy.

His chest tightens as he smiles, small and genuine and just for Bull. He wants to bury his face against his chest and be wrapped in his arms, to sway with him in their own dance. But the way he squeezes Bull's hand will have to be enough to convey that wealth of emotion.

"You were right," he says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. "I--" He he draws a breath somehow through that overwhelming, cloying feeling. "I didn't know how much I wanted this until you asked." He can't possibly overstate how much this means to him. It isn't exaggerating to say that he'll remember it for the rest of his life. "Thank you, Bull." With all the Tevene they've been speaking he very nearly says something else. He wants to, he realizes. He wants to say that word aloud to Bull, to call him by that name, to claim him that way. Perhaps he'll even have the courage to do so tonight, after everything he's already done.

"You're welcome, Dorian."

Always.

Bull leads them effortlessly through the rest of the dance, and as many after that as Dorian wants. He knows people are watching them, knows there are likely whispers all around the ballroom, but he doesn't care. The only part of his world that matters right now is the man in his arms. He only hopes that this won't come back to bite Dorian later. He thinks he catches sight of the Inquisitor at one point, but Lavellen certainly doesn't seem perturbed. If anything, she's smiling.

Vivienne cuts in just once so that Lavellen can have a spin with Dorian.

And as the night finally catches up to Bull, he waits to reunite with Dorian an leans down to speak in his ear.

"What do you say we retire?" he offers quietly. "See if I can grab someone to bring food up to your room or mine."

Dorian remains on or around the dance floor in some regard for the next few hours, and he spends all of it but a dance or two with Bull. He's quite pleasantly drunk by the time Bull proposes they turn in--not that anyone who didn't know him would be able to tell, as he neither stumbles nor slurs. He does laugh and smile more openly, and tends to ramble on topics of his particular interest even more than usual.

"What a wonderful idea," he approves at once, tilting his chin up to smile warmly at Bull. "Mine," he requests. "Get your things and meet me there." They go up together, bidding goodnight to the friends that still remain, and separate at Dorian's door.

By the time Bull returns, Dorian has been able to make it through most of his evening routine and is lounging luxuriantly in the center of the wide feather bed wearing nothing but a soft emerald green velvet robe and drinking straight from a bottle of Antivan red.

Bull changes otu of his formal wear and into something considerably more comfortable. He catches one of the staff in passing and quietly requests some food be brought up to Dorian's room. He suspects the mage is going to need it.

He lets himself into Dorian's room and he can't help but chuckle when he sees Dorian luxuriating in bed with a bottle of wine.

"You look like a lush," he teases warmly. "Decadent. I'm having food brought up."

Bull is grateful for the size of the beds: most of them are nearly big enough to accommodate a Qunari, even if that wasn't their original intent.

Bull's arrival prompts Dorian to sit up enough to actually lean against the headboard--or the pile of pillows propped against the headboard, at least--if only so that he can raise his bottle in a toast without risking any of it spilling.

"I should be offended," he says with a sly little grin, not sounding very offended at all. "But I'm prepared to forgive you if you hurry and join me." With his free hand, he pats the bed beside him demonstratively. "Drinking alone simply isn't as enjoyable."

That, and he wants to touch the Bull's bare skin. He's missed it tonight, even as he enjoyed the figure Bull cut in his fine jacket.

Bull nudges his boots off at the end of the bed - he left his brace in his room - and eases onto it to join Dorian. He takes a moment to arrange himself, grateful that the Orlesians appreciated beds that are ridiculously proportioned. At least, Orlesians that could afford it. It's not the first big bed he's seen in this country.

He welcomes Dorian close as soon as the mage tumbles against his side. Bull steals the bottle of wine away just for a taste before he passes it back to Dorian.

"Am I forgiven?" he rumbles warmly.

Naturally, the mattress shifts beneath his weight when Bull settles down on it, causing Dorian to topple against him. He doesn't even make an attempt at avoiding it, instead using it as an opportunity to snuggle against him, ducking beneath his arm so that he can lay his head against his broad chest. The bottle passes back and forth between them and Dorian takes another swig.

"Hmmm," he hums, pretending to consider. "I may have another task for you to that end." He stretches his legs out on the bed, his knees brushing Bull's thighs as he curls against him. "I hurt all over from all the dancing we did. You might see to that."

Bull chuckles quietly and shifts so he can pull Dorian's legs into his lap. He slides his hands over Dorian's thigh and calf as he picks a leg to start with.

"I think I can do that."

A knock at the door announces the arrival of their food - something more hearty than the canapes but still easy to eat - and a moment later a servant comes in carrying a tray. Bull doesn't stop what he's doing, but he does thank the servant as they leave the tray on a table nearby. The servant leaves again and Bull wonders if this, the way he and Dorian are, will make for gossip in the quarters below. He shifts his hold and gently starts working at the sore muscles in Dorian's legs.

"Though you might need something to soak up all that wine," he teases warmly.

Even when a servant brings dinner, Dorian doesn't flinch away from Bull. It helps that Bull doesn't move at all either, but continues to rub Dorian's aching muscles even as he the elf before he goes. It's all very casual in a way that Dorian isn't used to, and yet he doesn't question it. Bull makes the strangest things feel right.

"Oh? Will you be feeding me as well? You really do want to get back into my good graces," Dorian simpers, smiling with nothing short of adoration. He shifts just enough to relax fully against Bull with his legs pulled across his lap, his bottle of wine held loosely in his lap.

"What did you send for?"

"Mostly finger foods," he admits as he moves from one leg to the other. "Sandwiches, fruit, vegetables."

The sandwiches should be filling enough, but the rest is to nibble on. Enough to soak up some of the booze in Dorian's system, at least. Bull sweeps his thumb along the arch of Dorian's foot before his hand moves up his calf.

"Do you want me to bring the tray over?"

Dorian groans as Bull's large, strong fingers dig into his muscles, massaging away the tension there with the perfect amount of pressure. "Maker, you're good at this," he mutters, and tilts his head up to kiss beneath Bull's jaw. Reluctantly, he shifts his legs enough to free Bull's lap so that he can move.

"Please," he requests. "I was so preoccupied with drinking that I nearly forgot about eating." And now that he thinks about it, he's starving.

With a quiet grunt, Bull gets up carefully to avoid launching Dorian off the bed. He returns with the tray; the bed is massive so he doesn't feel bad sliding the tray right onto it, close enough for Dorian to take what he wants from it.

Bull eases back onto his side of the bed and pauses for a moment to get more of his clothes off, until he's down to his smalls. He can't quite bring himself to strip all the way: unless he's had sex with Dorian, he very rarely sleeps naked when they're away from Skyhold.

Dorian sits up enough to reach for a sandwich, balancing the wine bottle in his lap as he eats. But he pays attention to neither his food nor his drink. How could he when Bull is busy undressing in front of him? It's something he's seen--without exaggeration--a hundred times by now, but it's never become any less appealing. After this long, he doesn't think it ever will.

As soon as Bull is beside him and settled again he takes another swig from the bottle, then hands it off. With a hand free to help balance himself, it's easy to swing a leg over one of Bull's and press close, his thighs one either side of one of Bull's. His robe shifts, revealing a tempting measure of golden skin from knee to hip. "If you care to remove that last layer, I'll make it worth your while," he promises with an inviting curl of his lips. It would be a shame not to take advantage of this bed while they have it, wouldn't it?

Bull breathes a sigh as Dorian straddles his thigh and presses close. He sets the wine somewhere it won't be compromised and then slides his hands over Dorian's thighs. It almost frightens him knowing that he could spend hours just touching Dorian, contented by his scent and the sound of his voice.

He chuckles at the proposition.

"You sure you got it in you, big guy?"

It's been a long night, but Bull suspects that won't stop Dorian. Much.

Relieved of the wine and with Bull's big hands grasping his thighs, Dorian crowds closer. Warm skin against warm skin, he feels a spark of excitement, but more than that--and perhaps more importantly--he feels safe and happy, content in a way that has everything to do with Bull.

"I don't have it in me yet," Dorian says. The laughter in his voice is dangerously close to a drunken giggle. "But soon enough, yes?" He cradles Bull's jaw in his palm to steady him as he leans in to kiss the corner of his lips. "I've wanted you all night."

Bull turns his head as Dorian's lips brush against the corner of his mouth. He smiles and pulls the mage closer against him, encouraging the rock of his hips and the steady grind against his thigh and hip.

"It was the uniform, wasn't it?" he teased, his eye bright as he looks at Dorian's face. His hands slide over his hips and the perfect curve of his ass, then down along his thighs again. Bull just wants to touch him everywhere. It's been a long night.

With Bull pulling him closer, rocking against him is the obvious choice. It's gentle at first, a languid roll of his hips against Bull's thigh and hip, friction for the slow stirring of his cock. He hums approvingly low in his throat as Bull's hands wander over his body, holding and caressing. Dorian's eyes are equally as bright when they meet Bull's.

"It was how handsome you looked in the uniform," he makes a minor correction. "I wouldn't have appreciated it nearly so much on anyone else." His other hand finds a place against Bull's jaw as well, thumbs tracing the cleanly-shaved lines of his beard. "But you looked just as good sweating and shirtless and covered in blood. Choosing not to return to the party then was a very near thing."

"That big kitchen table was tempting," he admits as he pulls Dorian into a full kiss. His own cock stirs and he's halfway to full arousal as Dorian rocks against him. He can feel Dorian's cock getting hard against him and that spurs on the rush of heat. His hands slide up to cradle Dorian's face, holding him still as he tastes the wine on his tongue.

"Started wondering how quick we could be."

He'd even broken it down in his head, the different options, until they were interrupted.

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