"Later than your usual," he says warmly, the smile evident in his voice. He brushes a kiss to Dorian's sleep-tousled hair after that first brush of lips. Bull's hand slides down Dorian's back and up again, content to feel him so close.
"Did you sleep well?"
As far as Bull can tell, Dorian slept like a rock. The mage hadn't moved much and there had been no soft sounds to draw Bull out of his dozing.
"Better than I've ever slept on the ground or in a drafty castle room, certainly," Dorian replies with an amused curl of his lips. His back arches into Bull's touch with a gentle roll of his shoulders, but soon he gets an arm against the bed to push himself up. He reaches for Bull with one hand, tracing along the curve of a horn with a light touch. "But I'm ready to be up now. I need a bath badly."
He leans over to kiss the space between both horns, settling his hands on Bull's shoulders. "And how did you sleep? It must have been nice to fit entirely on the bed for once."
"Well enough. It did feel good to actually fit on a bed." He gives Dorian's ass a light smack. "Come on, up you go. They brought water for a bath, though you might have to heat it up again."
Which Bull knows isn't really a problem for Dorian. Once the mage starts moving, Bull rolls onto his back with a quiet groan. He adjusts the pillow beneath his head. He does miss his bolster, he should have considered bringing it.
Bull knows he should bathe, too, though he isn't sure he'll fit into the tub hiding behind the privacy screen.
Startled by that smack, Dorian instinctively moves toward the edge of the bed, and from there just keeps going. "Brute," he grumbles half-heartedly, sliding from the bed. On his feet, he raises his arms to stretch, rolling his shoulders and his neck slowly before he strides around the partition to inspect the tub. There is, indeed, clean water and a respectable selection of expensive soaps, lotions, oils, and scrubs.
"It'll do," he declares with a sniff, as though it only just barely passes muster. A finger against the edge of the tub draws a fire glyph and the water is steaming again in seconds. "I'll ask them to bring something bigger later," he declares as he climbs in. "You should come and get washed up for now."
Bull groans quietly in protest, but eventually he eases out of bed and follows the sound of Dorian's voice. Along with the tub there is a basin and pitcher and several wash cloths. Well, he can make himself presentable, at least. A full bath, apparently, is a bit too much luxury for someone of his size to expect in Orlais.
"I'm not sure they have bigger."
He wets one of the wash cloths in the tub and starts dutifully scrubbing himself down. Bull takes his time, at least, appreciating the warm water and the fire on this side of the screen.
"This is the empress' winter palace, and Orlesians like their indulgences. They must have something," Dorian insists, and determines to hunt down a proper bath for Bull today if he has to ask Celene herself. Part of the magic of being here is feeling pampered in a way that he hasn't since coming south. Bull deserves to have all of those nice things as well.
From the tub, Dorian reaches a hand out to him, curling his fingers to gesture for the cloth. "Come here. I'll wash you." Bracing a hand on the edge, he gets to his feet. His skin sluices water, bright and golden in the morning sunlight. "And you can do the same for me, if you like."
Bull smiles warmly and offers the cloth to Dorian. He moves closer so that Dorian can reach wherever he'd like and he takes a moment to appreciate the way the water looks running over Dorian's golden skin.
"I might," he says in a gentle rumble. "I did make a mess of you."
It's an intimate thing to have Dorian take over and Bull stands obediently still for the mage as he tends to him.
"You did," Dorian agrees with a knowing smirk. "A complete mess. So I think it's only fair, yes?"
He embraces Bull when he comes near enough, kissing his chest and then his lips and pressing his water warm body against him. But he does get to washing after that, taking soap and cloth in hand. He lathers and scrubs and rinses Bull's skin in turns, even rubs oil across his shoulders and into the drier skin at the base of his horns. It's as good a treatment as he can give without actually getting Bull in the bath.
"There," he pronounces at last, draping the cloth over the edge of the tub. "Decent at last." Certainly decent enough to merit another kiss, which he imparts with satisfaction.
Bull enjoys the process and he feels like he could fall asleep again as Dorian works. When the mage is finished, he leans in to meet the kiss with a quiet hum of approval.
"Back down into the tub," he murmurs. "Your turn."
As Dorian sinks back into the water, Bull eases down onto his knees and picks up the cloth so that he can dutifully, tenderly return the favor. Bull lingers over muscles he knows must be sore.
Dorian doesn't have to be told twice. They've done this several times by now, and Dorian has always enjoyed Bull's thorough, singular attention as he helps him bathe. He sinks back down into the water, though he clucks at Bull as he gets onto his knees. "Don't be down there too long. Your poor knee." He'll gladly spend whatever time is required soothing it, of course, but he'd like to walk the palace with Bull today, and he'd like for him not to be in pain while they do so.
But he relaxes into Bull's touch quickly enough, sighing his appreciation as he not only washes, but digs his fingers into overworked muscles. "You know that I adore you?" He groans. "Even if you're often half the reason I'm sore in the first place."
Bull works slowly and diligently, going so far as to gently massage Dorian's hands and feet before he's done. Then he turns to sit with his side against the tub, one arm in the water so he can keep touching Dorian.
He could get used to this. He knows that he shouldn't, but he could. This sense of relative peace, the gentle domesticity of this moment. Dorian.
Laying in the water with Bull's hand against his knee, Dorian can't imagine a better way to spend his morning. His body feels relaxed and clean, and he's never been surer of his affections for anyone. Eventually, however, he makes himself sit up.
"You should go to breakfast," Dorian urges gently, lifting Bull's hand to press his lips to his knuckles. "Save me a seat beside you. I still have to make myself presentable."
Bull gets up carefully to spare his knee. It's still sore from last night and he doesn't want Dorian to worry.
"I'll see you in a little while." He brushes his fingers through the mage's hair as he passes. Bull gets dressed again in something comfortable and puts his brace on before he leaves the room. He runs into Vivienne along the way and talks quietly with her all the way to breakfast. Several other members of the Inquisition are there; apparently Cullen has already come and gone, but Josephine is enjoying a late breakfast.
Dorian drags himself out of the bath as Bull dresses, then bids him goodbye again with a kiss by the door, wearing nothing but a towel around his shoulders to catch the water dripping from his hair. With the lingering pressure of Bull's lips on his, it isn't difficult to go about preparing for the day, the focal point of which is the surprise he has kept for Bull for months now, since they were last in Val Royeaux together.
When he arrives downstairs at last, Dorian is dressed well, though not so elaborately as the night before. Rather than leather he wears simple cotton trousers beneath an elaborately embroidered silk robe, sleveless and tied at his waist by a thick belt. His eyes are bright and lively, highlighted by a generous amount of kohl lining, his mustache is curled impeccably, and there is a noticeable flush on his face, though in addition to hiding more than one bruise in the shape of Bull's mouth, his high collar prevents speculation as to how far that flush might continue. His hair is coiffed and his mustache curled impeccably, and he all but beams at Bull as he approaches.
"Good morning," he announces to the room at large. His fingers skate lightly across Bull's shoulders as he passes him on his way to take the seat on his opposite side. "I trust at least a little food has been saved for those of us who don't rise at the break of dawn?"
Bull's smile is mostly in his eye when he Dorian appears, but there's a warm hint of it across his mouth. He looks good, but of course he does. They're in the palace and he isn't surprised Dorian's taken as much time, if not more, than he does in Skyhold to look presentable.
Pleasant chills slide down his back as the mage's fingers brush along his shoulder before taking his seat.
Josephine looks up from her coffee and her pastries to say, "Plenty. The Empress - or the kitchens - are assuming we've worked up quite the appetite."
"They didn't even start serving it until an hour or two ago," Vivienne remarks. "Early risers had to wait."
"As they should," Dorian chuckles, and then greets each of the ladies in turn, engaging them in light conversation as he fills a plate. It's a truly decadent meal even for breakfast, but what else can one expect at the Winter Palace? He takes only a little of the richest foods, knowing his body well enough to avoid them so soon after waking. What remains is still significantly more variety than he could ever hope for at Skyhold, let alone while traveling.
He lays a hand briefly on Bull's arm when he settles back, giving him a smile that is very much just for him. But of course, both Josephine and Vivienne see this anyway.
"Lord Dorian," Josephine pipes up with a smile, "I was just telling the Iron Bull about how impressed I was by your dancing last night. It was the talk of the court for some time."
"And why shouldn't it be?" Dorian accepts the compliment with his typical humility--which is to say, none at all. "I'm an excellent dancer." Another glance at Bull, and another warm smile. "And the Bull proved a quite decent partner."
"Didn't even knock anyone over," he says with a warm rumble. He allows himself to give Dorian a fond look. It feels dangerous, somehow, to let himself do this here. Josephine and Vivienne know, of course, but there are more people here than just them, and they all know how servant-spies work.
Maybe it doesn't matter.
Maybe thinking that is dangerous.
Bull puts it out of his mind for now and eats while everyone else chats. He listens, of course, occasionally contributes, but for the most part he's happy to let the conversation go on without him.
As far as Dorian is concerned, he'd made his statement last night. He'd kissed Bull in the middle of a crowded hallway and then danced with him for hours after. There's no denying how special he is to him.
He talks enough throughout the meal to more than make up for the Bull's relative quiet. But beneath the table, his leg jostles restlessly, and his foot continually bumps Bull's as though he can't be without contact for too long. Both Vivienne and Josephine eventually depart to begin their day, doubtlessly both doing far more important work than either Dorian or Bull are slated for--which doesn't take much, as they've both been left to their own devices today.
When the two of them are more or less alone and Dorian's plate is more or less empty, he turns slowly, carefully in his chair to look at Bull properly. He'd made some mention of wanting to spend the day together, but for things to work out as he wants, he has to be certain. "I'd thought of walking the gardens and seeing the library today," he says. "Will you join me?"
At some point during the meal, Bull lets his hand fall to rest on Dorian's thigh, wondering if more contact might soothe whatever has the mage so restless. He leaves his hand there for a while, even as Vivienne and Josephine make their excuses and leave.
He sits back and moves his hand so he can drape his arm around the back of Dorian's chair instead.
"Mmhm. I'm at your disposal today," he answers. No one includes mercenaries on peace talks and whatever else is happening today, so Bull is more or less cut loose until they need to return to Skyhold or some other pressing matter catches the Inquisitor's attention.
The weight of Bull's hand helped a little, but being reassured of his companionship today does more to settle whatever nerves have Dorian on edge. He smiles, leaning back in his chair just to feel Bull's arm behind him.
"At my disposal, are you? Then I suppose I'll keep you to myself all day," he threatens. Even after more than a year of knowing him, being friends with him for more than half of that, and lovers for going on six months, he's still delighted that Bull chooses to spend so much time with him outside of the bedroom.
Dorian had decided last night that he wants this enough to pursue it, but that doesn't mean he thinks it wise. But he loves Bull already; trusts him. He'll be heartbroken no matter when or how this ends. He might as well do what he can now. "I've heard that the portrait gallery is on the way to the library," he comments. "Won't you join me as it criticize Orlesian fashion through the ages?"
Bull chuckles and brushes his fingers along Dorian's arm. "Yes," he answers. "I think I will join you."
More than anything, it's an excuse to spend time with Dorian, to listen to him provide snarky commentary about every portrait they pass. To watch his eyes light up and his mouth curve with amusement at his own cleverness, or maybe at the look Bull gets on his face. He is enamored and there's no way around it.
He might as well enjoy it while he can.
"Come on, big guy."
Bull gets up with a quiet grunt and then offers Dorian his hand.
Dorian puts his hand in Bull's and allows him to help him up. His smile strains tight for a moment, then relaxes. "All right. Give me your arm, then. We'll do this properly."
As if they hadn't created enough of a scandal last night. But there aren't many who'd stayed in the palace over night, and fewer still who are likely to see them. In truth, Dorian just likes the idea of being close--and of being with Bull in a way that is evident and visible. As Bull had pointed out previously, he likes to show off.
They set out together with Dorian strolling at an exceptionally leisurely pace. It's clear that he's going to indulge in having no obligations and an entire palace at his fingertips to both explore and mock. He does plenty of the latter, certainly, as they make their way through the halls of the guest quarters with its vaulted ceilings and marble statues.
He'd been very close to the grand library where he'd been stationed last night in the gardens, and it had irked him that he couldn't go see it. He won't miss the chance today. Before that, however, is the hall of portraits, where he walks still more slowly so that he can pause at each one to make a snide comment or point out a ridiculous detail to Bull. Dorian is clearly in an exceptionally good mood, bright-eyed and loose-limbed and smiling constantly, though he occasionally stutters or gasps under his breath or grasps Bull's arm a little more tightly before continuing.
Bull doesn't mind Dorian showing him off; there are courtiers still around, even if many went back to their own homes for the night. Court will never be empty. But they find plenty of quite, unpopulated places, including the portrait gallery. Dorian makes him laugh, and the bright look in the mage's eyes is enchanting, as is his smile.
But he can't help but notice the way Dorian's breath catches now and then, or the way his grip tightens.
At some point, maybe three quarters of the way down the gallery, Bull pulls Dorian closer.
Though Dorian had been entirely aware that Bull would notice eventually--counting on it, in fact--he hadn't expected for him to show so much concern. It's too soon, far too soon; while Dorian is well aware that he can't possibly make it through the whole day, he still wants to make more of it than this, and to impress Bull later with his patience and dedication.
Still, Bull's concern is incredibly touching. He feels his heart fill to bursting every time Bull makes it clear how much he really cares for him. "I'm fine, amatus," he assures gratefully, laying a hand on his chest. His tongue tingles like using that word is some kind of magic unto itself. He'd said it more than once last night, but he'd been quite tipsy then. He's entirely sober now. "In fact, I'm wonderful."
He doesn't offer any further explanation, trusting Bull to trust him.
Bull's concern lingers, but he trusts Dorian to know himself. He leans down to kiss the mage, to taste the sweetness of that word on Dorian's lips.
"Alright," he rumbles quietly. "Then I believe you were saying something about the Marquis over here."
His hand smooths down Dorian's back, offering contact and support if he needs it. Maybe he's still worn out from the night before - Bull is still sore from the fighting, but it's aches that he's used to.
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"Did you sleep well?"
As far as Bull can tell, Dorian slept like a rock. The mage hadn't moved much and there had been no soft sounds to draw Bull out of his dozing.
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He leans over to kiss the space between both horns, settling his hands on Bull's shoulders. "And how did you sleep? It must have been nice to fit entirely on the bed for once."
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Which Bull knows isn't really a problem for Dorian. Once the mage starts moving, Bull rolls onto his back with a quiet groan. He adjusts the pillow beneath his head. He does miss his bolster, he should have considered bringing it.
Bull knows he should bathe, too, though he isn't sure he'll fit into the tub hiding behind the privacy screen.
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"It'll do," he declares with a sniff, as though it only just barely passes muster. A finger against the edge of the tub draws a fire glyph and the water is steaming again in seconds. "I'll ask them to bring something bigger later," he declares as he climbs in. "You should come and get washed up for now."
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"I'm not sure they have bigger."
He wets one of the wash cloths in the tub and starts dutifully scrubbing himself down. Bull takes his time, at least, appreciating the warm water and the fire on this side of the screen.
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From the tub, Dorian reaches a hand out to him, curling his fingers to gesture for the cloth. "Come here. I'll wash you." Bracing a hand on the edge, he gets to his feet. His skin sluices water, bright and golden in the morning sunlight. "And you can do the same for me, if you like."
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"I might," he says in a gentle rumble. "I did make a mess of you."
It's an intimate thing to have Dorian take over and Bull stands obediently still for the mage as he tends to him.
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He embraces Bull when he comes near enough, kissing his chest and then his lips and pressing his water warm body against him. But he does get to washing after that, taking soap and cloth in hand. He lathers and scrubs and rinses Bull's skin in turns, even rubs oil across his shoulders and into the drier skin at the base of his horns. It's as good a treatment as he can give without actually getting Bull in the bath.
"There," he pronounces at last, draping the cloth over the edge of the tub. "Decent at last." Certainly decent enough to merit another kiss, which he imparts with satisfaction.
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"Back down into the tub," he murmurs. "Your turn."
As Dorian sinks back into the water, Bull eases down onto his knees and picks up the cloth so that he can dutifully, tenderly return the favor. Bull lingers over muscles he knows must be sore.
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But he relaxes into Bull's touch quickly enough, sighing his appreciation as he not only washes, but digs his fingers into overworked muscles. "You know that I adore you?" He groans. "Even if you're often half the reason I'm sore in the first place."
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Bull works slowly and diligently, going so far as to gently massage Dorian's hands and feet before he's done. Then he turns to sit with his side against the tub, one arm in the water so he can keep touching Dorian.
He could get used to this. He knows that he shouldn't, but he could. This sense of relative peace, the gentle domesticity of this moment. Dorian.
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"You should go to breakfast," Dorian urges gently, lifting Bull's hand to press his lips to his knuckles. "Save me a seat beside you. I still have to make myself presentable."
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"I'll see you in a little while." He brushes his fingers through the mage's hair as he passes. Bull gets dressed again in something comfortable and puts his brace on before he leaves the room. He runs into Vivienne along the way and talks quietly with her all the way to breakfast. Several other members of the Inquisition are there; apparently Cullen has already come and gone, but Josephine is enjoying a late breakfast.
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When he arrives downstairs at last, Dorian is dressed well, though not so elaborately as the night before. Rather than leather he wears simple cotton trousers beneath an elaborately embroidered silk robe, sleveless and tied at his waist by a thick belt. His eyes are bright and lively, highlighted by a generous amount of kohl lining, his mustache is curled impeccably, and there is a noticeable flush on his face, though in addition to hiding more than one bruise in the shape of Bull's mouth, his high collar prevents speculation as to how far that flush might continue. His hair is coiffed and his mustache curled impeccably, and he all but beams at Bull as he approaches.
"Good morning," he announces to the room at large. His fingers skate lightly across Bull's shoulders as he passes him on his way to take the seat on his opposite side. "I trust at least a little food has been saved for those of us who don't rise at the break of dawn?"
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Pleasant chills slide down his back as the mage's fingers brush along his shoulder before taking his seat.
Josephine looks up from her coffee and her pastries to say, "Plenty. The Empress - or the kitchens - are assuming we've worked up quite the appetite."
"They didn't even start serving it until an hour or two ago," Vivienne remarks. "Early risers had to wait."
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He lays a hand briefly on Bull's arm when he settles back, giving him a smile that is very much just for him. But of course, both Josephine and Vivienne see this anyway.
"Lord Dorian," Josephine pipes up with a smile, "I was just telling the Iron Bull about how impressed I was by your dancing last night. It was the talk of the court for some time."
"And why shouldn't it be?" Dorian accepts the compliment with his typical humility--which is to say, none at all. "I'm an excellent dancer." Another glance at Bull, and another warm smile. "And the Bull proved a quite decent partner."
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Maybe it doesn't matter.
Maybe thinking that is dangerous.
Bull puts it out of his mind for now and eats while everyone else chats. He listens, of course, occasionally contributes, but for the most part he's happy to let the conversation go on without him.
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He talks enough throughout the meal to more than make up for the Bull's relative quiet. But beneath the table, his leg jostles restlessly, and his foot continually bumps Bull's as though he can't be without contact for too long. Both Vivienne and Josephine eventually depart to begin their day, doubtlessly both doing far more important work than either Dorian or Bull are slated for--which doesn't take much, as they've both been left to their own devices today.
When the two of them are more or less alone and Dorian's plate is more or less empty, he turns slowly, carefully in his chair to look at Bull properly. He'd made some mention of wanting to spend the day together, but for things to work out as he wants, he has to be certain. "I'd thought of walking the gardens and seeing the library today," he says. "Will you join me?"
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He sits back and moves his hand so he can drape his arm around the back of Dorian's chair instead.
"Mmhm. I'm at your disposal today," he answers. No one includes mercenaries on peace talks and whatever else is happening today, so Bull is more or less cut loose until they need to return to Skyhold or some other pressing matter catches the Inquisitor's attention.
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"At my disposal, are you? Then I suppose I'll keep you to myself all day," he threatens. Even after more than a year of knowing him, being friends with him for more than half of that, and lovers for going on six months, he's still delighted that Bull chooses to spend so much time with him outside of the bedroom.
Dorian had decided last night that he wants this enough to pursue it, but that doesn't mean he thinks it wise. But he loves Bull already; trusts him. He'll be heartbroken no matter when or how this ends. He might as well do what he can now. "I've heard that the portrait gallery is on the way to the library," he comments. "Won't you join me as it criticize Orlesian fashion through the ages?"
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More than anything, it's an excuse to spend time with Dorian, to listen to him provide snarky commentary about every portrait they pass. To watch his eyes light up and his mouth curve with amusement at his own cleverness, or maybe at the look Bull gets on his face. He is enamored and there's no way around it.
He might as well enjoy it while he can.
"Come on, big guy."
Bull gets up with a quiet grunt and then offers Dorian his hand.
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As if they hadn't created enough of a scandal last night. But there aren't many who'd stayed in the palace over night, and fewer still who are likely to see them. In truth, Dorian just likes the idea of being close--and of being with Bull in a way that is evident and visible. As Bull had pointed out previously, he likes to show off.
They set out together with Dorian strolling at an exceptionally leisurely pace. It's clear that he's going to indulge in having no obligations and an entire palace at his fingertips to both explore and mock. He does plenty of the latter, certainly, as they make their way through the halls of the guest quarters with its vaulted ceilings and marble statues.
He'd been very close to the grand library where he'd been stationed last night in the gardens, and it had irked him that he couldn't go see it. He won't miss the chance today. Before that, however, is the hall of portraits, where he walks still more slowly so that he can pause at each one to make a snide comment or point out a ridiculous detail to Bull. Dorian is clearly in an exceptionally good mood, bright-eyed and loose-limbed and smiling constantly, though he occasionally stutters or gasps under his breath or grasps Bull's arm a little more tightly before continuing.
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But he can't help but notice the way Dorian's breath catches now and then, or the way his grip tightens.
At some point, maybe three quarters of the way down the gallery, Bull pulls Dorian closer.
"Are you alright?"
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Still, Bull's concern is incredibly touching. He feels his heart fill to bursting every time Bull makes it clear how much he really cares for him. "I'm fine, amatus," he assures gratefully, laying a hand on his chest. His tongue tingles like using that word is some kind of magic unto itself. He'd said it more than once last night, but he'd been quite tipsy then. He's entirely sober now. "In fact, I'm wonderful."
He doesn't offer any further explanation, trusting Bull to trust him.
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"Alright," he rumbles quietly. "Then I believe you were saying something about the Marquis over here."
His hand smooths down Dorian's back, offering contact and support if he needs it. Maybe he's still worn out from the night before - Bull is still sore from the fighting, but it's aches that he's used to.
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