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One
What they have together is new and fragile, and Bull is still trying to find Dorian’s boundaries. So far he hasn’t seemed to rub up against any of the ‘Vint’s limits. Dorian has bragged about his long and sordid sexual history many times, but some part of Bull thought it was mostly talk. He’s seen the kind before. They were all swagger and pretence outside the bedroom, but once they got inside, their tastes were almost vanilla. Not that there was anything wrong with vanilla, but Bull didn’t understand why they put on the act.
But then he started fucking the ‘Vint, and Bull discovered Dorian really did seem to be up for anything. It was a bit of a thrill to have a partner who was willing to let Bull experiment in ways he couldn’t before. More than that, it was amazing to have a partner who was just as eager.
Dorian hadn’t used his watchword once so far.
Bull kept an ear out for it. Kept asking Dorian if he remembered it. Kept prompting Dorian, if he seemed a little hesitant or overwhelmed. Dorian had always shaken his head or said “no” or egged Bull on in other delightful ways.
But now they're in the Herald’s rest, having a drink with the Chargers. Dorian is laughing at something Dalish said, and he looks radiant. Dorian laughs so rarely. It transforms his face. There is no pretence of the haughty Tevinter Altus here, just Dorian being Dorian. Bull can’t get enough of it.
Bull runs his hand along Dorian’s thigh, under the table. Bull feels Dorian stiffen under his touch. The laughter shudders and dies.
Dorian leans a little closer to Bull, licking his lips.
‘Katoh.’ He whispers.
Bull’s hand drops away immediately. Dorian’s shoulders slacken and he lets out a breath. He looks Bull in the eye and offers him a limp smile.
‘Sorry.’
Bull smiles back.
‘Don’t be.’
It's actually a relief to know Dorian will say the word, under the right circumstances.
Two
Dorian hasn’t said anything since he came out of the Redcliffe Tavern. Neither has the boss. Bull keeps looking over at Dorian, trying to catch his eye. Dorian seems the find the back of his horse’s head more interesting.
That night, Dorian rolls out his sleeping mat on the opposite side of the tent to Bull’s. He hasn’t done that since they first started sleeping together; usually their mats are side by side so they can share blankets and body heat and sleepy morning kisses.
Bull doesn’t comment. He just blows out the candle in the lantern and settles himself down. He makes himself close his eye instead of watching Dorian’s silhouette.
‘It wasn’t a retainer.’ Bull’s eye snaps open at Dorian’s words. Dorian is whispering, but in the silence, it seems to echo. ‘It was my father.’
Bull sits up on his elbows.
‘What? Your father?’
‘Yes. Came all the way from Tevinter for a quick chat, it seems.’
‘Are you okay?’
Dorian sniffs. ‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘Dorian, if you need to talk--‘
‘Katoh.’ Dorian blurts out. Bull stops. There is a grunt of frustration from Dorian, and Bull feels something inside himself ache.
Bull wonders when this thing they have turned from “I want to make you feel good” to “I feel pain when you're hurting”.
Dorian runs his hand down his face.
‘Sorry. I’m not angry with you.’
Bull doesn’t reply. He gives Dorian the breathing room to think of a response.
‘I want to tell you what happened today.’ Dorian sighs. ‘And I will. I just-- Not tonight, Bull. I can’t tonight.’
Bull nods, even though he doubts Dorian can see it. Part of Bull tells him to leave Dorian alone. Another part is still aching.
‘Do you want me to come over there and keep you warm?’ Bull offers. It's going to be the last offer he makes, regardless of Dorian’s answer. The question sits in the tent’s air.
‘Yes.’ Dorian says. He almost manages to keep his voice steady. ‘I would like that very much.’
Three
Dorian doesn’t come to greet Bull at the stables when the Inquisitor’s party gets back. That isn't unusual. Sometimes word of the Inquisitor’s arrival doesn't get back before the party. Bull gives his horse to a stable boy to be rubbed down, and goes off in search of his mage.
Dorian’s not in the Herald’s rest. Also not unusual. It's just mid-day after all, and Dorian isn't a morning drinker. Unless he had stayed up all night.
Dorian’s not in Bull’s room, either. Maybe that had been wishful thinking on Bull’s part.
Dorian’s not in the library. Now Bull is getting concerned. Helisma says she has not seen Dorian all day.
Concern turns to unease when Helisma says that Dorian hasn’t been in the library since Thursday.
Vivienne hasn’t seen him either. Nor Solas. Nor Varric. Nor Sera. Cole says something cryptic, but Bull can’t work it out.
Bull goes to Dorian’s quarters. The quarters he rarely uses anymore.
‘Dorian? You in there?’
Bull can hear the sound of clattering and scrambling from the other side of the door. ‘Just a minute!’ Dorian calls out. He sounds flustered, but there is something else off with his voice. But Bull isn’t focused on that; some tight knot in Bull’s gut had loosened when he heard Dorian reply. If Dorian hadn’t been here, Bull would have gotten the Chargers to form a make-shift search party.
The door opens.
Dorian’s hair is sleep-tousled. He has a blanket around his shoulders. He’s only wearing his underwear.
Bull smiles a soft smile. Dorian is too cute.
‘Having a nap in the middle of the day?’ Bull says and stoops down a little to kiss him. Dorian puts a hand on Bull’s chest and leans away.
‘Katoh.’
Bull pulls back and peers down at Dorian. His skin is duller than normal and there are grey bruises under his eyes. The palm on his chest is scalding.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Bull,’ Dorian says, and then sniffs, ‘but it wouldn’t be wise for you to kiss me in my current state.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve contracted some terrible disease. The healers say it’s the common cold, but I am certain I will be dead within the week.’
Bull laughs, and then laughs at Dorian’s scowl.
‘You’re mocking me on my death-bed?’ Dorian says. ‘I should have let you kiss me. See how much you enjoy a slow and lingering demise.’
Bull tugs Dorian into a loose hug. Dorian’s cheek is warm against his chest. Too warm.
‘C’mon. Let’s go back to my room. I’ll get you some soup or something. Soup is the food you give sick people, right?’
Dorian pulls back, but remains in Bull’s arms. ‘Bull, I quarantined myself in my chambers for a reason. It’s best we keep away from each other until I recover. Take my word, you don’t want to feel as miserable as I do.’
Bull reaches down and loops an arm around Dorian’s waist. ‘Quarantine, eh? Is that why no one has seen you for days?’
Dorian shrugs. ‘I didn’t want to infect anyone else. We can’t defeat Corypheus by sneezing on him.’
‘Then who's been looking after you?’
Dorian looks up at Bull from under his eyebrows. ‘I’m a grown man, Bull. Not an infant. I don’t need a nursemaid to look after--‘
He loses the rest of his sentence under an avalanche of coughs. Bull’s arm holds him tighter.
‘Alright, I’ve heard enough. I don’t care if it’s your room or mine, but you’re getting into bed, pronto. No arguments.’
Dorian may not need a nursemaid, but he gets one, regardless.
Four
‘You idiot.’ Those are the first words Bull hears when he wakes up. There's no battlefield anymore. No red Templars. And, thankfully, no longer a fucking giant who wants to use him as a kickball. There is a tent, though. And a bedroll. And Dorian.
Yeah, almost worth being kicked by a giant for that last one.
Dorian is holding Bull’s head in his lap, while the healer performs some sort of spell. He's glaring down at Bull in a way that’s both terrifying and heartwarming. Bull knows he can’t be that badly hurt if he’s getting an earful.
‘You bloody, stupid bastard.’
‘You say the sweetest things.’
‘Shut up.’ Dorian’s words are harsh, but his thumb is stroking the underside of Bull’s jaw. Bull does shut up, but he smiles up into Dorian’s face. Dorian scowls.
‘You are aware you’re not indestructible, right? That giant could have crushed your skull. Even as thick as it is.’
‘C’mon, Dorian. It’s not that bad.’
The healer, with the most ironic timing, does something that feels like a sharp, hot needle piercing his skin. Bull can’t suppress a wince. Dorian’s eyes widen a fraction and his mouth becomes a thin line.
‘Are you alright, Amatus?’ Dorian asks.
‘He’ll be fine,’ says the healer, as though Dorian had asked him the question. The man looks like he is a hundred and ninety-four. He wipes his bloody fingers on his apron as he speaks. ‘He’ll be on his feet in a day or two. But he’ll need to head back to Skyhold to recover properly. Trekking through the Emerald Graves won’t do that wound any good.’
‘Thank you.’ Dorian says. ‘We’ll be heading back tomorrow.’
‘We?’ Bull says. ‘Dorian you don’t need--‘
Dorian talks to the healer over the top of Bull. ‘Is there anything else we can do to speed the process?’
‘Not taking on giants alone usually helps.’ The healer replies. ‘Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go tell the Seeker she’ll need bed-rest for four days. Pray for me.’
The healer shuffles out of the tent, leaving the two men to their silence.
It’s Dorian who breaks it.
‘I thought you were dead.’
Bull reaches up to cup Dorian’s cheek. ‘Kadan--‘
Dorian wrenches Bull’s hand away from his face. ‘No! Katoh! You will stop and listen to me, the Iron Bull. You are not allowed to die on me. Do you understand? That is not an option. You are not allowed to take on giants without backup. You are not allowed to run ahead of the party because a wyvern's getting away. You are not allowed to fling yourself in front of every blade that threatens one of our team-mates because “I’m built to take those hits.” And for the love of the Maker’s left ball, you will, unless specifically instructed otherwise by our fearless leader, leave all dragons alone. Understand?’
‘Dorian--‘
‘Do you understand?’
Bull swallows. ‘Yes, Dorian. I understand.’
‘Good.’ Dorian says and scrubs his eye with the heel of his hand. Bull notices for the first time that they are red-rimmed and Dorian’s kohl is smudged. Bull runs his thumb across Dorian’s cheekbone. This time Dorian smiles and turns his face to kiss Bull’s palm.
‘How far did I go when I got kicked?’ Bull asks absently.
‘At least 150 feet.’ Dorian says. ‘Very impressive. Now do you understand why Sera won’t allow you to hurl her head-first into battles?’
Five
The Herald’s Rest is packed tonight. There are some visiting dignitaries from Ferelden. The nobles have decided to join the riff-raff in the tavern instead of a feast in the main hall. Red, of all people, is in a corner, laughing her head off with a king. A king, for fuck's sake!
Everyone seems to be having a good time. The Chargers are singing along with Maryden. Sera is in the corner with Dagna in her lap. Varric is conning everyone out of their coin. What more could you ask for?
The company of a hot ‘Vint mage, maybe.
Bull looks over and sees Dorian in a corner. A Templar has his hand on the wall beside Dorian’s head and is leaning into Dorian’s space.
That wouldn’t be a red flag normally. Dorian enjoys flirting as much as Bull does, and neither of them is the jealous type. But Dorian’s arms are folded tight across his chest. His jaw is tight. And Bull can see his eyes darting around the tavern, looking for something. Dorian’s eyes lock onto Bull’s and he smiles. Bull sees Dorian mutter a few words to the Templar and make to push past him. The Templar blocks him off.
What was that saying? “If the mountain can’t come to Koslun, then Koslun must go to the mountain”?
Bull weaves his way through the throng of people towards Dorian. The Templar has his back to Bull, so he doesn’t see him coming. The guy’s voice his high and a little nasal.
‘I’m just saying that the Inquisitor could make better use of the Templars if she only--‘
‘Hey Dorian! I’ve been looking for you.’ Bull says, sliding next to the two men. He claps Dorian on the shoulder. ‘Blackwall says you still owe him a drink for blocking that arrow last week.’
‘Excuse me, we were having a private convers--‘ the Templar trails off as he takes in Bull’s… Bullness.
Dorian slides away from the Templar and wraps an arm around Bull’s side. ‘Bull this is Derek; Derek this is the Iron Bull. The mercenary I was telling you about before, remember.’
Derek the Templar frowns. ‘Oh.’
‘Yes, sorry to dash off, but I shouldn't keep Blackwall waiting. One drink can make all the difference between diatribes about duty and honour and stories about fighting darkspawn without pants on.’
Derek just nods, and Bull begins to lead Dorian away. If Derek had known about Qunari's excellent hearing, maybe he wouldn’t have muttered to himself:
‘Stupid, spoiled, Tevinter bastard. Leading me on.’
Derek’s head makes a satisfying “thwack” sound as Bull shoves it against the wall. He holds it there in one large hand while the man squirms.
‘I think you should apologise.’
Derek makes a whimpering, gurgle-like noise.
‘That doesn’t sound like an apology--‘
‘Bull,’ says Dorian, resting his hand on Bull’s elbow. ‘Katoh.’
Bull looks at Dorian. His expression is so calm and endearing. Bull sighs and lets go of Derek’s head. The Templar slides to the floor.
‘You’re going to get into trouble for that,’ Dorian says as he leads Bull to their usual seats. Sera, from halfway across the room, is giving them a thumbs up.
‘Yeah, well.’ Bull rubs the back of his neck as they sit down. ‘I think it was worth it.’
Dorian chuckles and knocks his knee against Bull’s under the table. He turns to catch the eye of a barmaid and tell her to send a tankard Blackwall’s way. Bull is studying Dorian’s face, his posture. He looks so regal, but, at the same time, so relaxed. It reminds him of that time in this very tavern, a few months ago, when he first heard Dorian say “Katoh.”
Bull pauses for a moment, and decides to test the waters.
Slowly, he slips his hand under the table and runs his palm along Dorian’s thigh. Dorian stops and turns to look at Bull.
Dorian’s eyes soften, and Bull feels Dorian’s hand come to rest on the one that is holding his thigh. Bull flips his hand over and laces their fingers together.
They sit there without words while the tavern begins a rousing rendition of ‘Sera was Never’.