The Herald's Rest was rowdy tonight. Some Inquisition forces recently returned from several successful scouting missions throughout Orlais, and after an arduous trip, it's clear the soldiers and agents needed the well-earned rest and reprieve. Dorian prefers when the tavern is full of life, versus the sometimes eerie calm that settles when most agents are away on dangerous missions, or the Inquisitor has left on an expedition of their own (without their favorite mage - the audacity). The uncertainty of the Herald's safety usually brings about a palpable nervous energy that Dorian deeply dislikes, because it means he's also worried.
Thankfully, there's none of that to be had tonight, the festive energy a welcome change, not only from nerves about the future but his own muddled thoughts. He shares a few drinks and friendly games of Wicked Grace with Varric and some of the others (whoever could tolerate Varric winning nearly every round, that is), keenly aware the entire evening that the Iron Bull is on the other side of the tavern, most likely socializing with the Chargers and other soldiers. Dorian has pointedly not been eavesdropping, for reasons he's been trying to ignore with more rounds of beer.
He doesn't realize how late it's become until Varric even retires for the evening, leaving Dorian with a suspicious pat on the shoulder before the dwarf retreats to his own nook in the main keep. The mage stares into the last dregs of his drink before deciding to set it down for good, and as he slowly rises to his feet, he's far more sober than he hoped he'd be. In fact, a part of him was rather counting on not being sober at all, and that would serve as a good enough excuse to not succumb to temptation. He should know better by now that while Ferelden beer is surprisingly decent, it's not nearly strong enough.
Eyes sweep over the rest of the tavern, finally taking in the fact that the majority of the party has long since faded. The barkeep is cleaning up as well, and no one is bothering to kick out the soldiers who have passed out at their tables. When his gaze finally dares to land on Bull's usual corner of the establishment, his stomach drops in realizing he isn't there. For a Qunari so bloody large, he knows how to slip away without making a scene, doesn't he? Dorian could go upstairs and hope no one notices, but he'd rather not risk it, opting to leave the building entirely.
...Only to turn around and find the stairs that lead up to the battlement walkways. There's another door that leads to Bull's room, and don't ask him why he knows, he just does. The crisp night air is refreshing enough to reawaken his senses, though he isn't sure where his common sense has gone, because the fact that he's considering this at all is utterly ridiculous. He's hesitant for many reasons, frustrated by others, and deep down he knows that if he does indeed step through that door, there's no coming back from that decision. Then again, why should he deny his curiosity? For all his unabashed flair when it comes to defending his homeland, it's these more personal choices that bring him pause. The only potential risk here is his pride, of which he has plenty, but thankfully, Dorian also has a wealth of nerve.
When he finally stops pacing along the wall and knocks on the door it's brisk and sharp, both hands landing on his hips as he waits for a response, standing straight and proud, as if to give the illusion this was his confident plan all along. He is well aware of how Bull's invitation included an open door, but Dorian doesn't have it in him to burst through unannounced, especially if he's about to walk in on an evening Bull is sharing with another, perhaps too delayed in his own decision-making.
The general atmosphere in the tavern puts Bull in a good mood. The scouts have made it back more or less in one piece, and he has no doubt Leliana will be working through the information they've amassed for the rest of the night. For his part, Bull talks to them - or rather, he lets them talk, giving various agents the opportunity to do so. They feel safe here; even if any of them are still guarded information, Bull can learn a lot from what they do talk about.
He sits the where he always does: back against the wall, Krem to his left, and a good view of the door. Once he's settled, he's there for hours as the circle around him grows and recedes. Bull doesn't get up again until the buzz in the tavern starts to die down, with people trickling out one or two at a time and others passing out where they sit. One moment he's there, the next he's gone. He knows how to time his exits to make sure he can slip away unnoticed when he wants to. Bull knows that habit - talent - baffles most of the people who meet him. He's slow as he climbs up the stairs to his room, leaning more of his weight onto the railing as he goes.
The roof on his room over the tavern has a new, more permanent patch since the last storm that blew through. Bull kind of misses the aesthetic of the tarp he had nailed up there, or the original hole, but this is better in the long run. And it helps to keep the heat from the wood stove. It's not as impressive as some of the hearths and fireplaces throughout the rest of Skyhold, but it's more efficient and it throws off heat once it gets going. He stirs the embers and adds more wood to get it going again.
Bull sits on the edge of the big bed that's not quite in the center of the room and stretches his left leg out. With methodical patience, he removes the brace, then his boot. He flexes his foot, carefully stretching muscles and tendons and scar tissue. It's the latter that sends a jolt up his leg, but he works through it before getting the other boot off.
The knock at the door actually takes him by surprise. It isn't on the tavern side, but the battlement side. Messengers, guards, Cullen, and Cassandra all tend to use that door if they come looking for him here at all. For a few seconds his mind races, but... someone here to do harm wouldn't knock. And if they are, and they did, then they're stupid enough to give him a warning. The person he finds standing there when he pulls the heavy wood door open is almost as much of a surprise as the knock: Dorian Pavus, imperiously standing with hands on his hips. For some reason, the entire presentation makes him think of a cat that missed a jump but landed on its feet anyway. He doesn't laugh, but a smile tugs his scarred mouth and Bull tips his head.
"Dorian." He says the mage's name in a warm, low tone and, after seeming to consider a moment, he moves out of the way in a silent invitation. It's soon very apparent that Bull does not have any other company.
He hears the heavy footsteps on the other side before the door swings open, and Dorian somehow doesn't lose his cool. Thankfully, he's practiced at keeping up appearances, hands only slightly flexing their hold on his hips as he's faced with his decision head-on. It's one he's been mulling over for quite some time now, beyond just tonight, though this evening had been completely consumed with the idea of ripping it off like a bloody bandage.
And here he is. Meeting the consequences of his spontaneity.
There's only a hesitant beat before Dorian accepts the silent invitation and walks inside, stepping over a broken bottle that captures his attention almost immediately. He raises a brow at some of the general mess in the room, though it's warmer than he'd anticipated, and he can appreciate that. He also takes in the relaxed state of Bull who was clearly getting ready for bed. Dorian can't recall ever seeing him without his brace on.
"I wasn't sure if you'd have company," he starts, rubbing his hands together to warm his chilled fingers. He'd been pacing out there for quite some time. Facing Bull in private like this though, Dorian is struck by how to... proposition this. He isn't someone who is easily embarrassed but he's also never approached a man like the Iron Bull before. He can admit to being a little intimidated.
Only a little.
"Which you clearly do not." Another pause, Dorian's chin lifting again as he regards the other, one hand landing on a hip again while the other gestures in the air between them. "Consider this me giving in. I accept."
The first impression of the Iron Bull's room is the one that most people don't see past. There is a sense of chaotic or careless disarray: a few bottles, the axe that was lodged in the foot board of the bed is now stuck in the side of an old wardrobe like someone threw it there or took a deliberate swing at the piece of furniture; there are a few beams from the repair job on the roof still on the floor.
There is also trunk against once side of the bed. On it sits a portable writing desk and a small stack of books. His armor is neatly sitting on a training dummy he took from the yard. Beneath it is the pack he tends to carry when he goes on missions with the Inquisitor, ready to go at a moment's notice.
Bull closes the door and takes a few steps further into the room and huffs a quiet laugh when Dorian voices his assumption.
"Are you kidding? Pickings were slim, most of the people down there were too drunk to stand by the time I left." Dorian's been drinking most of the night and Bull may be trying to discern if he is capable of making this decision with a clear mind. He moves closer, steady on his feet but a discerning eye might catch a slight limp favoring the left leg.
"Is that what this is?" Bull tips his head. "Giving in?"
Bull's close enough to loom over the mage (not difficult, given that he's more than a foot taller than the human).
The door shutting feels like another nail in the coffin of his decisions, even though it technically isn't. He can leave at any time, can claim he's actually too drunk after all (he isn't) or he's changed his mind (he hasn't), because for all of Bull's talk he doesn't seem like the kind of person to force anything on anyone. That's all it's ever been: talk. That's partly why Dorian's felt comfortable considering this at all.
That, and he knows he can just set the Qunari's horns on fire if he really needs to. He'd rather avoid that.
Bull steps closer and it really does take some effort for Dorian to look up at him, the man is so bloody tall. And large. And wide. Even now though, he feels the need to hold up some sort of display of pride, to show he isn't giving in because of anything but his own willpower.
"You know to what," he insists, meeting Bull's one eye with a determined expression - more stubborn than anything, probably. "The 'forbidden', as you put it, yes? I'm here to put an end to my curiosity once and for all, but I won't have you gloat about it."
The question is gentle, but pointed. Right now the mage is putting on a show and Bull doesn't mind that at all - it's one of the things Dorian does that he finds attractive. But he also knows that Dorian is, like he once said, inclined to do or want the forbidden. Bull knows he represents that in every way. If Dorian wants to sate his curiosity, that's fine. He wouldn't be the first. Bull said this and not me for a reason.
But he wants to know there is desire there, not just stubbornness or an attempt to prove a point. Because Dorian is right: Bull will not force anything on anyone, whatever their motivations may be.
Arrogance is a trait Dorian hides behind, not quite a mask but a comfortable shield he uses to protect himself from hurt, rejection, or embarrassment. He's used to people having a certain expectation of him, a reputation of his countrymen following him the moment he explains where he's from, despite rejecting the worst of the magisterium. Sometimes he doesn't know how to let that shield slip away even though it would benefit him, even though he knows his defenses are fully up when he's here because he wants to be.
So the fact that Bull asks that question is both insightful and comforting. Giving in is not something Dorian does easily but he doesn't know how else to say it without feeling like too much of that armor is being stripped away.
"Yes," he answers simply after a poignant pause, forcing the tense set of his shoulders to relax some. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I've been thinking about it for some time now, it isn't a decision made after one night of drinking."
"If you were actually drunk, I'd have sent you back down by now." Bull doesn't mind an impulsive decision - those can be fun - but this isn't one he wants to indulge with someone too deep in their cups.
Bull curls his fingers beneath Dorian's chin to tip his head further, then leans down to kiss him. Not all of his partners want it or welcome it, but it's an educated guess with the mage, and this is the only way to really test the waters. He keeps it brief, but doesn't stand to his full height after he breaks the kiss. Just enough to speak; just enough to see Dorian's face, to read his expression.
"This only goes as far as you want it to."
He says it to ever partner, every time. Even if he teases Dorian about wanting to be held down and conquered, it's in the context of fantasy. What makes it possible - what makes it good - is that Dorian can make it stop. Bull is too big to be careless, too conscientious to be mindless. He'll hurt someone if they want it, but he will not allow it to be an accident.
His flirtation may have been in part to get a rise out of the mage, but he did mean it when he said his door is always open. Well, at the very least it's rarely locked.
The kiss is an effective way of shutting Dorian up and calming him down, partly because he didn't see it coming, and also because it's so unexpectedly soft. Naturally, he assumed things would start off hot and heavy without much room to budge, but that's an assumption that came from playful flirtation and nothing more.
Eyes lift to find Bull's once they part and he needs a moment to take this all in, to finally decide that yes, even after being this close to the other, this is indeed what he wants. It's an added comfort to know they aren't rushing into any of it after all.
"Alright," he agrees with far less pomp this time, no longer trying to put on airs. "Fortunately or unfortunately for us, I'm rather impulsive in bed. I'm not sure how far is far."
"I can handle that." The Bull smirks then, a playful expression that belies more serious intent: he'll pay attention, he'll stop if he thinks Dorian needs to, even if the mage doesn't say it himself. He's good at reading people, this is just another application.
"And just in case... You need to know the word katoh. If for some reason I'm too caught up to notice something, I'll stop. Immediately." It's a Qunlat word, and Bull knows it will get his attention and trigger a quick response. It's not a word he could possibly ignore, even if it's coming from a Tevinter mage instead of a tamassran.
Bull gives Dorian another kiss and he lingers this time. One hand slides up Dorian's back, drawing him closer still. It also makes clear just how much of the other man Bull can touch at once.
While Dorian's had plenty of experience in the bedroom he can already tell this is going to be a different one from his past dalliances, and not only because the person he's with is Qunari. He's heard of such words before but never used them himself, but even if he didn't know what Bull meant, the seriousness of his tone is all the information Dorian needs to understand its importance.
"Katoh," he repeats, as a reminder to himself but also to feel the word against his tongue. "I'd ask what it means but we can get into linguistics later."
This time, Dorian feels more prepared for the oncoming kiss and leans into it with intent, his body pressing closer to Bull's. He has to push up onto his feet a bit for a more comfortable position but the hand at his back is encouraging, and yes - Maker - the realization of how broad said hand is on his body doesn't go unnoticed.
His hands finally reach out to touch as well, not quite hesitant but incredibly curious as they skim over the broadness of Bull's chest - whatever part of him he can reach from this height, anyway. The scarred skin feels as tough as he'd imagined beneath his far smoother fingertips, because despite how many staves Dorian's fought with, and how much magic he's wielded, he's also taken every precaution possible to ensure his hands don't callous. He likes the dichotomy between them.
"I agree," he speaks pressed to Bull's mouth, hands distractedly following a path of scars down one side of his chest. "I'd offer you the opportunity to rip them off my body, but I'm wearing my good leathers." Which is to say: absolutely not. Maybe next time - if there is a next time - he'll wear something far more disposable.
For now, he's content to handle the frustratingly numerous buckles and ties himself, because as complicated as Dorian's outfit seems, it's actually much simpler than meets the eye. He doesn't put too much distance between them but reaches to untie a couple bindings at his exposed shoulder, a buckle or two coming undone as well, until he can slip off the top half of his outfit easily, gloves included. Dorian isn't shy about being naked, but somehow, this scenario is putting him more on edge than usual. Perhaps it's the innate, ingrained fear that was drilled into him since his birth regarding Qunari, though he has no logical reason to fear Bull at all. And he doesn't.
"We can talk about vocabulary later, but you're definitely finding out what I can do with my tongue before the night's out." Bull grins, unable to resist saying it.
While Dorian sets to undressing himself, Bull decides to be the opposite of helpful. He's careful not to impede Dorian's hands, but he does lean lower to kiss along the mage's neck and shoulder once it's bare. He's careful with his horns, aware of where they are despite their size.
"I would, you know," he murmurs at one point. "Unwrap you. Whether I take my time or tear it all off is entirely up to you."
Bull is very open to a next time. As the leathers fall away, he catches a slight but growing tension in Dorian's shoulders. With a last kiss, Bull stands up straight and backs off a bit. He doesn't think Dorian is actually afraid of him, but being naked means being vulnerable. Bull removes the heavy belt he favors; given that he typically foregoes a shirt, there isn't much he has to remove. So rather than stripping entirely, Bull sits down on the edge of his bed. It knocks a few feet off his height, at least, and it gives Dorian the chance to come to him on his own terms. It also gives Bull a very nice view of the mage's newly revealed skin.
He isn't surprised to see how well-kept Dorian is - he can't immediately see any scars, and he has to imagine Dorian is quick to heal them himself if he can or quick to see a healer otherwise. Like his hands, it's not immediately obvious that Dorian is the proficient battle caster that he is. But the muscle in his arms, his shoulders, his back all reveal that he's been twirling that staff for a long time.
"Come here," he urges. "This saves my neck some strain." That's true, but hopefully it makes his physical presence slightly less intimidating for someone who's grown up hearing the absolute worst propaganda about Qunari. He gets it.
A quiet laugh under his breath at that promise with his tongue, Dorian's curiosity endlessly piqued. "I hope to."
The kisses to his neck and shoulder are very appreciated, albeit a little distracting as he removes some of his garments, kicking off his shoes as well by the time Bull is moving to the bed. He finds he misses the closeness already, though Dorian isn't one to shy away from being watched either. He's very clearly comfortable in his own skin as he works his trousers open next, even if this is entirely new territory. The most he's nervous about is what may come after.
But that's for after. Not now. Future Dorian can be concerned with all of that.
Eyes curiously glance down to those ridiculous pants Bull wears once the belt is off, though they haven't been removed just yet. His own are dropped and kicked off with the rest of his clothes, leaving Dorian naked. He turns to face the other and lingers only a moment before listening to the quiet demand, eyes sweeping over Bull's form before he climbs into his lap easily. He's honestly surprised by his own lack of hesitation.
"Yes, this is much better," he agrees as arms sling across Bull's shoulders, one hand tracing curiously along the very prominent muscle there. It hasn't gone past him how wide his legs have stretched to straggle the Qunari properly either. "You are very large. I suppose you can't help it."
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Thankfully, there's none of that to be had tonight, the festive energy a welcome change, not only from nerves about the future but his own muddled thoughts. He shares a few drinks and friendly games of Wicked Grace with Varric and some of the others (whoever could tolerate Varric winning nearly every round, that is), keenly aware the entire evening that the Iron Bull is on the other side of the tavern, most likely socializing with the Chargers and other soldiers. Dorian has pointedly not been eavesdropping, for reasons he's been trying to ignore with more rounds of beer.
He doesn't realize how late it's become until Varric even retires for the evening, leaving Dorian with a suspicious pat on the shoulder before the dwarf retreats to his own nook in the main keep. The mage stares into the last dregs of his drink before deciding to set it down for good, and as he slowly rises to his feet, he's far more sober than he hoped he'd be. In fact, a part of him was rather counting on not being sober at all, and that would serve as a good enough excuse to not succumb to temptation. He should know better by now that while Ferelden beer is surprisingly decent, it's not nearly strong enough.
Eyes sweep over the rest of the tavern, finally taking in the fact that the majority of the party has long since faded. The barkeep is cleaning up as well, and no one is bothering to kick out the soldiers who have passed out at their tables. When his gaze finally dares to land on Bull's usual corner of the establishment, his stomach drops in realizing he isn't there. For a Qunari so bloody large, he knows how to slip away without making a scene, doesn't he? Dorian could go upstairs and hope no one notices, but he'd rather not risk it, opting to leave the building entirely.
...Only to turn around and find the stairs that lead up to the battlement walkways. There's another door that leads to Bull's room, and don't ask him why he knows, he just does. The crisp night air is refreshing enough to reawaken his senses, though he isn't sure where his common sense has gone, because the fact that he's considering this at all is utterly ridiculous. He's hesitant for many reasons, frustrated by others, and deep down he knows that if he does indeed step through that door, there's no coming back from that decision. Then again, why should he deny his curiosity? For all his unabashed flair when it comes to defending his homeland, it's these more personal choices that bring him pause. The only potential risk here is his pride, of which he has plenty, but thankfully, Dorian also has a wealth of nerve.
When he finally stops pacing along the wall and knocks on the door it's brisk and sharp, both hands landing on his hips as he waits for a response, standing straight and proud, as if to give the illusion this was his confident plan all along. He is well aware of how Bull's invitation included an open door, but Dorian doesn't have it in him to burst through unannounced, especially if he's about to walk in on an evening Bull is sharing with another, perhaps too delayed in his own decision-making.
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He sits the where he always does: back against the wall, Krem to his left, and a good view of the door. Once he's settled, he's there for hours as the circle around him grows and recedes. Bull doesn't get up again until the buzz in the tavern starts to die down, with people trickling out one or two at a time and others passing out where they sit. One moment he's there, the next he's gone. He knows how to time his exits to make sure he can slip away unnoticed when he wants to. Bull knows that habit - talent - baffles most of the people who meet him. He's slow as he climbs up the stairs to his room, leaning more of his weight onto the railing as he goes.
The roof on his room over the tavern has a new, more permanent patch since the last storm that blew through. Bull kind of misses the aesthetic of the tarp he had nailed up there, or the original hole, but this is better in the long run. And it helps to keep the heat from the wood stove. It's not as impressive as some of the hearths and fireplaces throughout the rest of Skyhold, but it's more efficient and it throws off heat once it gets going. He stirs the embers and adds more wood to get it going again.
Bull sits on the edge of the big bed that's not quite in the center of the room and stretches his left leg out. With methodical patience, he removes the brace, then his boot. He flexes his foot, carefully stretching muscles and tendons and scar tissue. It's the latter that sends a jolt up his leg, but he works through it before getting the other boot off.
The knock at the door actually takes him by surprise. It isn't on the tavern side, but the battlement side. Messengers, guards, Cullen, and Cassandra all tend to use that door if they come looking for him here at all. For a few seconds his mind races, but... someone here to do harm wouldn't knock. And if they are, and they did, then they're stupid enough to give him a warning. The person he finds standing there when he pulls the heavy wood door open is almost as much of a surprise as the knock: Dorian Pavus, imperiously standing with hands on his hips. For some reason, the entire presentation makes him think of a cat that missed a jump but landed on its feet anyway. He doesn't laugh, but a smile tugs his scarred mouth and Bull tips his head.
"Dorian." He says the mage's name in a warm, low tone and, after seeming to consider a moment, he moves out of the way in a silent invitation. It's soon very apparent that Bull does not have any other company.
"What can I do for you?"
Yeah, he's gonna make Dorian say it.
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And here he is. Meeting the consequences of his spontaneity.
There's only a hesitant beat before Dorian accepts the silent invitation and walks inside, stepping over a broken bottle that captures his attention almost immediately. He raises a brow at some of the general mess in the room, though it's warmer than he'd anticipated, and he can appreciate that. He also takes in the relaxed state of Bull who was clearly getting ready for bed. Dorian can't recall ever seeing him without his brace on.
"I wasn't sure if you'd have company," he starts, rubbing his hands together to warm his chilled fingers. He'd been pacing out there for quite some time. Facing Bull in private like this though, Dorian is struck by how to... proposition this. He isn't someone who is easily embarrassed but he's also never approached a man like the Iron Bull before. He can admit to being a little intimidated.
Only a little.
"Which you clearly do not." Another pause, Dorian's chin lifting again as he regards the other, one hand landing on a hip again while the other gestures in the air between them. "Consider this me giving in. I accept."
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There is also trunk against once side of the bed. On it sits a portable writing desk and a small stack of books. His armor is neatly sitting on a training dummy he took from the yard. Beneath it is the pack he tends to carry when he goes on missions with the Inquisitor, ready to go at a moment's notice.
Bull closes the door and takes a few steps further into the room and huffs a quiet laugh when Dorian voices his assumption.
"Are you kidding? Pickings were slim, most of the people down there were too drunk to stand by the time I left." Dorian's been drinking most of the night and Bull may be trying to discern if he is capable of making this decision with a clear mind. He moves closer, steady on his feet but a discerning eye might catch a slight limp favoring the left leg.
"Is that what this is?" Bull tips his head. "Giving in?"
Bull's close enough to loom over the mage (not difficult, given that he's more than a foot taller than the human).
"To what?"
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That, and he knows he can just set the Qunari's horns on fire if he really needs to. He'd rather avoid that.
Bull steps closer and it really does take some effort for Dorian to look up at him, the man is so bloody tall. And large. And wide. Even now though, he feels the need to hold up some sort of display of pride, to show he isn't giving in because of anything but his own willpower.
"You know to what," he insists, meeting Bull's one eye with a determined expression - more stubborn than anything, probably. "The 'forbidden', as you put it, yes? I'm here to put an end to my curiosity once and for all, but I won't have you gloat about it."
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The question is gentle, but pointed. Right now the mage is putting on a show and Bull doesn't mind that at all - it's one of the things Dorian does that he finds attractive. But he also knows that Dorian is, like he once said, inclined to do or want the forbidden. Bull knows he represents that in every way. If Dorian wants to sate his curiosity, that's fine. He wouldn't be the first. Bull said this and not me for a reason.
But he wants to know there is desire there, not just stubbornness or an attempt to prove a point. Because Dorian is right: Bull will not force anything on anyone, whatever their motivations may be.
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So the fact that Bull asks that question is both insightful and comforting. Giving in is not something Dorian does easily but he doesn't know how else to say it without feeling like too much of that armor is being stripped away.
"Yes," he answers simply after a poignant pause, forcing the tense set of his shoulders to relax some. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I've been thinking about it for some time now, it isn't a decision made after one night of drinking."
Just, you know, several.
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Bull curls his fingers beneath Dorian's chin to tip his head further, then leans down to kiss him. Not all of his partners want it or welcome it, but it's an educated guess with the mage, and this is the only way to really test the waters. He keeps it brief, but doesn't stand to his full height after he breaks the kiss. Just enough to speak; just enough to see Dorian's face, to read his expression.
"This only goes as far as you want it to."
He says it to ever partner, every time. Even if he teases Dorian about wanting to be held down and conquered, it's in the context of fantasy. What makes it possible - what makes it good - is that Dorian can make it stop. Bull is too big to be careless, too conscientious to be mindless. He'll hurt someone if they want it, but he will not allow it to be an accident.
His flirtation may have been in part to get a rise out of the mage, but he did mean it when he said his door is always open. Well, at the very least it's rarely locked.
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Eyes lift to find Bull's once they part and he needs a moment to take this all in, to finally decide that yes, even after being this close to the other, this is indeed what he wants. It's an added comfort to know they aren't rushing into any of it after all.
"Alright," he agrees with far less pomp this time, no longer trying to put on airs. "Fortunately or unfortunately for us, I'm rather impulsive in bed. I'm not sure how far is far."
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"And just in case... You need to know the word katoh. If for some reason I'm too caught up to notice something, I'll stop. Immediately." It's a Qunlat word, and Bull knows it will get his attention and trigger a quick response. It's not a word he could possibly ignore, even if it's coming from a Tevinter mage instead of a tamassran.
Bull gives Dorian another kiss and he lingers this time. One hand slides up Dorian's back, drawing him closer still. It also makes clear just how much of the other man Bull can touch at once.
"You're wearing too many clothes."
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"Katoh," he repeats, as a reminder to himself but also to feel the word against his tongue. "I'd ask what it means but we can get into linguistics later."
This time, Dorian feels more prepared for the oncoming kiss and leans into it with intent, his body pressing closer to Bull's. He has to push up onto his feet a bit for a more comfortable position but the hand at his back is encouraging, and yes - Maker - the realization of how broad said hand is on his body doesn't go unnoticed.
His hands finally reach out to touch as well, not quite hesitant but incredibly curious as they skim over the broadness of Bull's chest - whatever part of him he can reach from this height, anyway. The scarred skin feels as tough as he'd imagined beneath his far smoother fingertips, because despite how many staves Dorian's fought with, and how much magic he's wielded, he's also taken every precaution possible to ensure his hands don't callous. He likes the dichotomy between them.
"I agree," he speaks pressed to Bull's mouth, hands distractedly following a path of scars down one side of his chest. "I'd offer you the opportunity to rip them off my body, but I'm wearing my good leathers." Which is to say: absolutely not. Maybe next time - if there is a next time - he'll wear something far more disposable.
For now, he's content to handle the frustratingly numerous buckles and ties himself, because as complicated as Dorian's outfit seems, it's actually much simpler than meets the eye. He doesn't put too much distance between them but reaches to untie a couple bindings at his exposed shoulder, a buckle or two coming undone as well, until he can slip off the top half of his outfit easily, gloves included. Dorian isn't shy about being naked, but somehow, this scenario is putting him more on edge than usual. Perhaps it's the innate, ingrained fear that was drilled into him since his birth regarding Qunari, though he has no logical reason to fear Bull at all. And he doesn't.
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While Dorian sets to undressing himself, Bull decides to be the opposite of helpful. He's careful not to impede Dorian's hands, but he does lean lower to kiss along the mage's neck and shoulder once it's bare. He's careful with his horns, aware of where they are despite their size.
"I would, you know," he murmurs at one point. "Unwrap you. Whether I take my time or tear it all off is entirely up to you."
Bull is very open to a next time. As the leathers fall away, he catches a slight but growing tension in Dorian's shoulders. With a last kiss, Bull stands up straight and backs off a bit. He doesn't think Dorian is actually afraid of him, but being naked means being vulnerable. Bull removes the heavy belt he favors; given that he typically foregoes a shirt, there isn't much he has to remove. So rather than stripping entirely, Bull sits down on the edge of his bed. It knocks a few feet off his height, at least, and it gives Dorian the chance to come to him on his own terms. It also gives Bull a very nice view of the mage's newly revealed skin.
He isn't surprised to see how well-kept Dorian is - he can't immediately see any scars, and he has to imagine Dorian is quick to heal them himself if he can or quick to see a healer otherwise. Like his hands, it's not immediately obvious that Dorian is the proficient battle caster that he is. But the muscle in his arms, his shoulders, his back all reveal that he's been twirling that staff for a long time.
"Come here," he urges. "This saves my neck some strain." That's true, but hopefully it makes his physical presence slightly less intimidating for someone who's grown up hearing the absolute worst propaganda about Qunari. He gets it.
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The kisses to his neck and shoulder are very appreciated, albeit a little distracting as he removes some of his garments, kicking off his shoes as well by the time Bull is moving to the bed. He finds he misses the closeness already, though Dorian isn't one to shy away from being watched either. He's very clearly comfortable in his own skin as he works his trousers open next, even if this is entirely new territory. The most he's nervous about is what may come after.
But that's for after. Not now. Future Dorian can be concerned with all of that.
Eyes curiously glance down to those ridiculous pants Bull wears once the belt is off, though they haven't been removed just yet. His own are dropped and kicked off with the rest of his clothes, leaving Dorian naked. He turns to face the other and lingers only a moment before listening to the quiet demand, eyes sweeping over Bull's form before he climbs into his lap easily. He's honestly surprised by his own lack of hesitation.
"Yes, this is much better," he agrees as arms sling across Bull's shoulders, one hand tracing curiously along the very prominent muscle there. It hasn't gone past him how wide his legs have stretched to straggle the Qunari properly either. "You are very large. I suppose you can't help it."