Chapter Text
Bull shouldered the door open with a covered platter in one arm and a medical kit he borrowed (stole) from Stitches. It was quiet inside the large, airy room, but Bull wasn’t going to complain about that. Quiet was much better than the primal scream and crashing of furniture that greeted him and Dorian earlier. It was something of a minor miracle that the door didn’t completely fly off its hinges when they burst in.
The reason for the silence explained itself as Bull rounded the corner into the room proper; Dorian and Caim were still where he left them, though Caim had apparently slid down and was currently curled in Dorian’s lap, clinging to his waist. Dorian was occupied with brushing his fingers through the elf’s long hair with an expression that came very close to adoring.
“I could get used to sights like this,” Bull said quietly, setting his burdens on the edge of the bed before scooting over to Dorian’s side. “It’s cute.”
“Don’t wake him up!” Dorian scolded in a whisper, his fingers still tangled in Caim’s copper locks. It was a soft sort of thing that didn’t fit with the sharp-tongued rebellious ‘Vint persona that Dorian usually projected. Bull considered himself a lucky man that he was allowed past that prickly exterior.
“We’ll have to wake him up eventually. Those cuts aren’t deep, but they’ll get nasty if they get infected,” Bull pointed out, speaking from years of experience with lacerations. The ones on Caim’s hands didn’t look too bad, but it was better to be safe than sorry. There’d be a lot of really unhappy people if the Inquisitor lost that Fade thing of his. “How long has he been out like this?”
Dorian shifted slightly to lean against Bull. “Pretty much since you left,” he admitted. “I think he pretty thoroughly exhausted himself. And he wasn’t exactly sleeping on the return journey. Let him sleep just a little longer?” He was just shy of actually begging as he looked up at Bull.
Bull swallowed back an indulgent smile. Dorian had a way with tugging on heartstrings Bull had thought long since cut during his days as a spy. But lately, it felt as though the walls he’d erected to keep himself from feeling too much on the job had grown thinner, worn down by the mage next to him. And if he was honest, Dorian wasn’t the only one. Bull thought he could truly put a date on when his heart opened, and it was the same day a sarcastic elf the size of his bicep yelled at him for doubt that he was a good man.
“Well, we could try treating those cuts while he’s asleep, but I’m not sure he’ll stay asleep while we do that.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Dorian decided. “Look at his face! Waking him up probably counts as a criminal act.”
Bull favored Dorian with a raised eyebrow, but took up the medicine kit and pried Caim’s arms off of the mage as gently as he could, resulting in a sleepy mutter that would have melted his heart if he hadn’t been such a strong, capable warrior. There wasn’t any glass in the cuts, amazingly, and they weren’t deep enough to require stitches. Really all they needed was cleaning and some bandages. In Bull’s opinion, that was the best outcome for anything involving glass.
He took up the gentle task of cleaning the cuts with some sort of pre-prepared wash that Stitches had threatened to quit over should Bull try to drink it. Not that Bull would-- brandy wasn't that appealing in the best of circumstances. He worked quietly, enjoying the rare moment of peace, until the hand he was wrapping stiffened and tried to pull away.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked, keeping hold of the hand. Caim could have it back after it was treated.
Caim shifted as though he’d sit up, but apparently thought the better of it as Dorian stroked his back. “I’d say it was a dream, but it feels as though there’s someone hitting my head with a maul and setting my hands on fire,” he answered. For a moment, he sounded like his normal, near-irritated self. Then fragile uncertainty entered his voice. “... You didn't leave.”
“And abandon this fine bed? Perish the thought!” Dorian exclaimed. “And really, it would be churlish to sneak away, wouldn't it?”
“That and you had a death grip on him,” Bull grunted in amusement as he finished with the last bit of bandages. Keep things light, he told himself. Whatever was going through Caim’s head was likely to try to drive him away. “You can take your hand if you want.”
Caim sat up slowly from Dorian’s lap, tugging his hand out of Bull’s grip. (With reluctance, he noticed with a hint of hope.) He wasn't at his best, with hair mussed and eyeliner streaking his dark cheeks. “I… Ah… Thank you,” he said, cradling his hands in his lap to inspect the bandages.
“I’m probably supposed to give you all sorts of instructions on how to take care of that, but you’ve probably done this crap before, and we probably need to talk about other stuff.”
Bull couldn't see Caim’s face behind the curtain of hair, but he could practically feel the consideration rolling between those pointy ears. He and Dorian exchanged a glance of mixed worry and expectation, waiting for Caim to choose his answer. Bull didn't think he’d shut himself off again, not after all of this, but he’d been wrong about him before.
But he didn't think he was wrong. Not this time, when all of the carefully built facades and masks were stripped away.
The bandaged hands clenched into fists with a shaky sigh, and Caim drew himself up, pushing his hair from his face. “Alright,” he said. One word, but it the promise of more to come. It was a start, but to what, Bull could only hope.
The three of them looked at each other for a moment, waiting for someone to volunteer first. Bull raised an eyebrow as Dorian’s lip quirked into wry smile. “What?”
Dorian shook his head, the smile growing more crooked and dry. “I was just thinking if this was one of those romance tales the Seeker is so fond of, this would be the point of heartfelt confessions and tearful, tender lovemaking. Bit unrealistic, actually. This is far more complicated.”
“How many of those have you read?” Bull asked, blinking. Even after all these months, the mage still managed to get one or two surprises on him.
“Enough to know they’re absolute rubbish,” Dorian replied primly. “In any case, it’s really not important at the moment.”
He had a point, but Bull filed that tidbit away for future use. He’d get some mileage out of it. He glanced at Caim and nearly laughed aloud as he saw a similar calculating expression on his weary face. If this worked out, the altus’s days of dignity were numbered.
“I can see I am going to regret mentioning that,” Dorian said with a dramatic sigh, throwing himself back against Bull and raising a hand to his brow in what was probably supposed to be some show of dismay. “You two will be the death of me, I just know it!”
“I’d rather not,” Caim said softly, looking up at them with somber honey-gold eyes. Bull shifted expectantly, silently urging him to speak. “It’s… I’m not sure how to say this…” He frowned at his own inarticulation, and Bull found himself resisting the urge to reach around and pat him on the shoulder. (Dorian, he noticed, had no such inhibitions, placing a hand on the elf’s knee.) He’d never seen the Inquisitor at such as loss for words, but then… This wasn't the Inquisitor sitting on the bed beside them. The title was still a role, a persona he hadn't yet reconciled with himself. Bull sympathized-- figuring out the line between self and duty was hard.
Caim swallowed and clenched his fists. “I care about you. Both of you,” he said, taking a deep breath. “And I wish… Well… I wish I could give you everything, every part of me.”
“I’m hearing a ‘but’ in there,” Dorian said mildly. The only sign he gave of worry was his hand on Bull’s arm tightening.
“It isn't right or fair for me to give you promises I cannot keep. I… can’t give you my heart, or… I suppose I can. I already have. But I’m… The Inquisition, it’s demanding! For all of us, and I can't take more from you! My time isn't my own, I’m probably supposed to be somewhere now even, and I cannot just… Leave you to hang while I’m being pulled everywhere at once! And I’m your employer what if that becomes an issue? I--”
“Calm down, Boss,” Bull interrupted. Now he placed a hand on Caim’s shoulder. Part of him wanted to rejoice in the fact Caim admitted into giving them his heart, but there would be time for that later. “Dorian, you wanna go through the list?”
Dorian nodded and sat up, looking for all the world like a professor about to give a lecture. “We already know that you’ll be busy. So are we. It will not be difficult to figure some manner of schedule or other. To be quite honest, you really should take more breaks. I understand you leading this, but you can't do much if you work yourself into an early grave.” Dorian paused and aimed a very pointed look at him. The altus’s lips twitched slightly as Caim had the grace to flush.
“Furthermore, you may employ us but do not think for minute that either of us give two shits for that, pardon my Orlesian.” He leaned forward, dark eyes earnest. “Caim. We love you. We’ll work it out.”
Bull’s heart soared for a moment. Dorian had a mouth on him and used it without sense sometimes, but this… The quiet passion and honesty he poured into such a small phrase… That was the man he loved. Well, one of them. As for the other, he was currently doing a remarkable impression of a fish.
“Got any other arguments for us, Boss? Dorian actually did made a list. With bullet points.”
Caim shook his head as a slow, genuine smile dawned on his face as he realized the truth in Dorian’s speech. Bull was proud of that; they didn't see that expression often. Usually it was hidden by snark and sarcasm. “No. I know when I’ve been beaten. I surrender.”
“Sensible of you,” Dorian replied with an air of finality. He tugged Caim into his lap once more, flopping against Bull. “Now, if you don't mind, it has been far too long.”
“Far too long since what?” Caim asked as he settled in. Bull caught the gleam in Dorian’s eye a split second before the mage bent his head and pressed his lips to the other’s. Bull snorted at that-- Caim’s face was priceless even as he relaxed into it, sighing in relief and happiness. He did clear his throat as the kiss went a little long.
“Don’t forget. I want a turn.” He did his best to assume a sorrowful expression as they broke apart to look at him, though it was hard when he felt like grinning for the rest of the year.
“Of course,” Caim said and tilted his face up expectantly. Bull let the grin shine through and leaned over Dorian to steal a kiss of his own. Dorian protested with a squeak, but Bull didn't pay him much mind. Besides. Making Dorian squeak was one of the highlights of his day. Caim sighed against him, too, lips parting in content.
Bull decided he’d need to make a proper examination in comparing his lovers’ (Lovers. With an s. What a fucking great day this was!) preferences and styles. It’d be a tough experiment, but as a fully trained spy and analyst, he felt he was up to the task.
All too soon, however, Caim pulled away. “I really should go check on things before we get too carried away,” he said ruefully, apology clear in his eyes. “I’m amazed I don't have an army of healers trying to break down my door.”
“Uh, about that, Boss,” Bull started. “I bumped into Red on the way back. Seems both Varric and Vivienne took turns imploring your Council to send you on a vacation or something before you work yourself to death. Apparently that was the cause of your, eh, ‘heat stroke’ in the desert.”
Both Caim and Dorian gaped at him for a moment. Bull shrugged. “Leliana said to pack when you’re ready. It’ll only be a week or so, but, we could work something out.”
“Varric and Vivienne?” Dorian blinked. “Maker you’ve got some fast talkers in your corner.”
Caim leaned against Dorian, biting his lip in thought. It was actually kind of cute. “A week…” he mused, hands seeking (and grabbing) Bull’s and Dorian’s alike.
“We can work with that.”