Work Text:
The sun would soon rise over the Hissing Wastes, and Bull couldn’t sleep.
The Wastes were true desert, brutal and shelterless. To save the whole of the Inquisition from heatstroke, they chased Venatori in the dark and made camp as the sky turned gray with morning. According to Scout Harding’s people, the Venatori did the same – had to. It left Bull restless every time, some part of him remembering the day-and-a-half and two-day watches he’d had to pull in the worst of Seheron. He could stay up all night still; to do it and then go to sleep was, for some fucking reason, harder.
He climbed out of the tent, shaking out his arms, and pulled his boots back on, resettling the brace. A walk might help; it had in the past, when sleep had been hard. He waved to Isobel from Requisitions, still bent over her table, and headed off up the shifting side of the dune.
Light gleamed on a pale figure just over the crest. Bull blinked, reaching for a sword he wasn’t carrying – not the smartest idea, though he’d thought it safe enough with the Inquisition’s scouts on watch – and then recognized him.
“Hey,” he said, dropping onto the sand next to Solas. Solas hadn’t even been back to the tent, or had trusted the Inquisitor’s people less than Bull; he was still in full armor, staff lying at his side. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” Solas said, smiling. “I wanted to watch the stars for a moment, before I retired.”
“Feels like all we did last night was look at them,” Bull sighed. He tilted his head back, though. The horizon was lightening to the east, but most of the sky was still dark enough to show the silver pinpricks of the stars. The immense moon had set some hours ago. “I get it, though. It’s not the same.”
“Easier to look at the stars when one isn’t waiting for a companion to fall off a ridge,” Solas said, a little wryly. “I do wish Adaar would watch her steps better.”
“She’s Vashoth, she can take a few falls,” Bull said.
“Mmm,” Solas said, more acknowledgement than agreement. Bull settled onto his elbows, gazing up, and let the soft shushing sound of the wind roll over them for a moment.
“You know,” he said, “we’re far enough south from Par Vollen that the stars are different. Not just the constellations, how people think of ‘em, but the actual stars.”
“Constellations seem fanciful, for the Qun,” Solas said, raising an eyebrow. Bull shrugged, brushing against Solas’s shoulder as he did.
“They’re good for navigation, I guess,” he said. “Easier to keep track of particular clusters when you have a name for ‘em.”
“Was it very isolating, to look up at a strange sky?” Solas asked. Bull blew out his breath.
“At first, yeah,” he said. “Really just the first couple of nights. After that… the rest of the world looked different enough that the sky couldn’t throw me off that much. And I started to find a few things that're the same wherever you go. People like to laugh, they like a drink or two, they give each other a hard time. They like to know their work’s appreciated, like to feel like you like them, tend to feel good about you if you ask ‘em for a favor that’s not a lot of work. It’s the same everywhere.”
“Surely that last is the other way round?” Solas asked, tilting his head.
“You’d think, but no,” Bull said. “It’s a thing the Ben-Hassrath noticed. Nobody likes to be put to trouble, but if you ask someone for directions, drink of water maybe, something easy like that, they’ll start liking you. I think it’s an association thing. You do favors for people who’re part of your crew, your team, so if you do someone a favor some part of your mind thinks they must be on your side. That’s just my guess, though.”
“Interesting,” Solas mused, pursing his lips in consideration. “That makes a great deal of sense. I wonder – no, it’s rather a complex process for a spirit to reflect. I hadn’t observed it, regardless. It sounds... perilous.”
“Maybe,” Bull granted. “It’s why we – I mean, why the Ben-Hassrath thought it was worth noticing.”
“Mmm.” Solas bit his lip, shifting; probably looking to say something.
“I appreciated the chess game,” Bull said, forestalling any offer of help Solas might be planning to make. It was a beautiful night, and he'd managed to put his exile out of his mind for a few days; he didn't want to bring it back just yet. “You’ve travelled around a lot,” he said instead. “You ever get so far the sky looked different?”
“I don’t need to travel for the sky to be strange,” Solas said, so soft that Bull could barely hear it. Bull blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh…” Solas shrugged. “I suppose it is I who have changed. I used to find the stars comforting, you know,” he said. “Serene. They used to give me peace. Now, I find they merely remind me of how very small we all are. How vast the world is, to change at our action, or refuse to change.”
“Not great for getting a good night’s sleep,” Bull said, rolling his neck on his shoulders. “I get the feeling it’s good for us, though. I don’t feel small very often.”
Solas laughed, looking him over. “I can imagine you do not.”
“Yeah,” Bull said, grinning, “I’m pretty huge. You like it, huh?” It was reflexive, more than anything – people liked to be liked, and liked to be flattered, everywhere in the world he'd been. But Solas glanced away when he laughed, and the rising sun shed enough light to show pinkness washing over his cheeks. He was a good-looking man, Bull thought. Lithe. Nice cheekbones, too.
“Hey,” Bull said. “Solas.”
This was the other thing about the early mornings: like being drunk, but clearer; like being half-asleep, but closer. The faint sense that everything around him was a few degrees off real; something, perhaps, like a dream.
Bull caught Solas’s chin with a finger, tipped his face up and kissed him.
Solas let out a shocked little sound, barely more than a breath; Bull smiled into the kiss, catching Solas’s lower lip briefly between his own. He pulled back, and Solas let out another tiny whimper and followed him, kissing him with open-mouthed hunger: once, twice, thrice, a fourth time, breaking off and coming back to him. His hand caught at Bull’s arm; his fingers shook. Bull was good, but not that good, definitely not when he hadn’t even used tongue yet. How long had it been since anyone touched Solas like this – shit, since anyone touched Solas at all? A very long time.
Bull cupped Solas’s cheek in his palm, the press of his bones delicate against Bull’s hand. Solas’s breath caught, and Bull didn't escalate, just kept kissing him slowly as the sun came up over the dunes. Solas kept his hands still, one on Bull’s forearm and the other bracing himself on the sand, but he didn't move to pull away.
When finally he did, the sun was full-risen over the horizon. He blinked, hard; tears in his eyes, Bull realized. Yeah, he thought it had been a very long time.
“My friend,” Solas said, hoarse. “You do me a kindness I do not deserve.”
“I can be a lot less nice, if you want,” Bull offered, rubbing his thumb along the line of Solas’s cheek. Solas shook his head, the gesture minute under Bull’s hand.
“My friend,” he said again. “I thank you. Your offer is a kindness, and… tempting,” he confessed. “But I cannot. My reasons are my own. I beg you – please don’t ask.”
“Hey,” Bull said, dropping his hand. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. You don’t want to, that’s it. End of discussion. I wasn’t gonna ask you for a reason.”
“You,” Solas said, looking at him, “are a very good man.”
“Psh,” Bull snorted. “Just for that? I –”
“No.” Lightning-quick, he caught at Bull’s hand, pulling it up to his mouth. “Not for that.” He dotted a kiss to Bull’s palm; his lips were still wet from their earlier embrace. “And again, I thank you.” And with that, he stood. “Sleep well, Bull. As I had better do, if I wish to make it through tomorrow without falling off a ridge myself.” And with that, bracing himself on his staff, he made his way down the edge of the dune.
Bull glanced down at his palm, the tiny spot still shining from Solas’s mouth. The air was dry here; it would be gone in a moment.
“Huh,” he said, his voice lost in the vastness of the desert air.
(Two years later, Adaar stumbled out of an Eluvian with her sleeve hanging empty by her side, crying silently and without reserve. “Solas is Fen’Harel,” she gasped, slumping forward into Cassandra’s arms, and Bull glanced down at his own right palm and thought, again, of the light of the stars, and Solas kissing him like he was starving for touch.)