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Dorian waited until it sounded like Bull was sleeping before he started to gently wiggle out from under his arm. It wasn't that he didn't want to stay, he did, but it seemed wrong somehow. They were no more than friends, and not even close ones at that, it wasn't right to stay the night like a pair of young lovers chasing the dawn. Dorian swore quietly under his breath as he searched through the dark room for his scattered clothing, frowning when he noticed that one of his belts had torn from the force of Bull ripping his robe open hours earlier. Damn beast.
Iron Bull was still sleeping deeply as Dorian pulled on his boots, his robes hanging haphazardly because he couldn't properly buckle them anymore. This was his fifth time falling into Iron Bull's bed, he should have learned by now not to wear clothing he was fond of. Well... five times fucking a Qunari mercenary had probably satisfied all his curiosity, this would be the last time. Surely he didn't need it to become a habit.
Dorian liked to think he wasn't a creature of habit, but in his more honest moments—usually while drunk—he admitted that he quite enjoyed his habits. He enjoyed the quiet as he walked to the Skyhold library to study, he liked the soft noises Solas made bumming about on the lower levels, and the smell of paints and oils lifting past his balcony. Dorian liked spending his evenings in the taverns with a drink and his weekends in the practice ring staying sharp. He liked falling into bed with the Iron Bull night after night, and he liked, quite secretly, when Bull would beam at him every time he walked into the tavern. Dorian preened under such positive attention, feeling wanted and appreciated in a way he hadn't in a very long time.
“Hey there Big Guy!” Bull greeted jovially as Dorian stepped into the tavern, rubbing his hands together and trying to blow the frost from where it seemed to have settled inside his bones. A warmth that didn't have to do with the roaring fire bloomed in his belly as he was waved over to join the Chargers.
“Bull,” Dorian said smugly, taking the empty seat beside him, “one might think you were waiting for me to show up with how quickly you spotted me.”
Iron Bull's eye danced with mirth, lips quirked in a crooked smile, “Hey, hard to miss someone so stunning.”
Krem made a gagging noise, “Take it elsewhere, you idiots,” he said.
“I understand, Krem,” said Dorian, fussily curling the corner of his mustache around one finger, “it can exhausting to be around someone as perfect as I.”
Everyone laughed and Dorian warmed again as a drink was shoved into his hands. He'd avoided this corner at first, but since he'd started fucking around with Iron Bull--a purely physical attraction and he was very much done with it-- the Chargers had more or less accepted him into their fold during the evening.
So they drank and sang, well Dorian didn't sing but he did watch Bull from the corner of his eye as the man with a voice as massive as his body belted out a wildly inappropriate song about a maid meeting a talking horse. It ended fairly predictably, with Dalish and Skinner falling to the floor in peals of laughter and Krem slamming his tankard onto the table. Iron Bull wrapped one arm around Dorian, practically haul him into his lap. Dorian was just drunk enough not to freak out, but not drunk enough not to squeal in surprise, wriggling against Bull's grasp. He was let go and the hand at his hips slapped him cheerily on the back. It was the sheer strength behind the move that seemed to dissolve any thoughts of not falling into bed with him.
Dorian reached over to squeeze Bull's upper thigh, enjoying the way his tankard paused on the way to his mouth. He sat up, feeling how hot Bull's skin was through the thick fabric of his pants as he rest his weight on it, whispering an idea right against the shell of Bull's pointed ear. A little something about a horse having nothing on a Bull .
Six. Six times sneaking out of Iron Bull's rooms while he snored loudly.
But it wasn't a habit .
Some habits were more powerful than others, for example he would forego an evening of drinking if he got too absorbed in his research. The desire to know superseded all else, even the desire to eat or drink. He could lose himself in the books and notes, chasing off Tranquil and annoying Fiona with his constant muttered swearing.
The smell of food reached him first and he was confused. No one should be eating at this time, it was well past midnight, the watch having just declared it three in the morning probably half an hour ago. Who would be here to eat? Still, his stomach clenched to smell it and he was reminded that he hadn't eaten anything all day.
“We missed you in the Tavern.”
Dorian's head whipped up to see Bull, on feet so silent as to be unheared, coming up the last step of the spiral staircase, a bowl of thick beef stew and a plate of bread rolls on a platter balanced on his splayed fingers. “What are you doing?” he asked, mind feeling too sluggish to process this.
Iron Bull chuckled, gently making room on Dorian's table so he could set the platter down, “Well you weren't in the tavern so I asked around. Apparently you've been up here since early morning, haven't you?”
“I hardly need to explain myself to you!” Dorian said churlishly, feeling like a scolded child.
“Peace, Dorian,” Bull rumbled, pulling up a nearby chair that creaking worryingly when he sat on it, “just wanted to make sure you ate something, see if I couldn't talk you into heading to bed. This kinda stuff fucks a man up, I should know.”
“I'm too tired to do anything tonight, Bull,” Dorian muttered, soaking bread rolls in his stew to rip off juicy chunks with his teeth, scooping up bits of beef and chewing them up.
“Yeah, I know,” said Iron Bull, and there was something gentle in his voice, like he really cared about Dorian, “but I'd like to help you up to your rooms if that's alright. Or I can help you to mine. Just sleep either way.” He assured him when Dorian gave him a tired side-eye.
Now that he'd eaten Dorian felt as if he could curl up in his chair and sleep, it wouldn't be the first time, but Bull was staring at him and he reluctantly reached out so he could be helped to his feet. “My rooms, if you please,” he said, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.
“I've got you,” Bull murmured, one arm around Dorian's waist, half carrying him through Skyhold to Dorian's lonely tower rooms. He dozed against Bull's muscled arm, knees week and eyes so heavy he kept blinking and finding himself in totally different rooms.
“Stay with me,” he whispered as he felt himself laid out over his furs, grasping blinding until his fingers curled around the belt against Bull's chest. It surely meant nothing that his lips curling into a smile as a heavy, warm body pressed up against him and settled comfortably. He was asleep between one breath and the next.
Dorian expected to feel awkward, waking up tangled around Iron Bull, but it felt weirdly natural and led to some lazy morning sex. He was afraid to admit to himself that it wasn't just Bull's body he craved anymore. That was dangerous.
A month later and Dorian stopped leaving Bull's rooms at night, finally letting himself fall asleep with his head pillowed on Bull's chest.
“Hey Dorian.”
Dorian glanced up, meeting Bull's eye in the reflection of the mirror. He was applying a lotion to his hands, the parchment tended to dry them out something fierce. “Yes?” he hummed, rubbing between each finger.
“I've been wondering...how you want to treat this.” Iron Bull shifted on the bed, but his voice was steady.
“Treat what?” asked Dorian, eyes narrowing as he watched Bull through the mirror, hands pausing their rubbing, “Do you have something I wasn't aware of?”
For some reason Bull found that funny, which just irritated Dorian who felt left out of the loop. “Nah, well, maybe,” he mused, lips quirked, “but nah, I mean this, us,” he made a motion to indicate the space between them.
“Why should we treat it like anything?” Dorian spat out at once, stomach curling. Was Bull expecting something? Did he know how Dorian was starting to feel? Was it merely pity or disgust that he felt? He wasn't going to panic, not with that all-seeing eye boring a hole into the back of his neck, but Dorian did grip the edge of the vanity so hard his knuckles turned white. “Do not fool yourself into thinking this is anything but a distraction, a bit of fun.” The words clawed their way, almost unbidden, from his throat. Dorian's heart was safe so long as he kept his distance, which didn't explain why it hurt so bad right now.
Iron Bull was silent for a long time, too long. Then quietly, as if soothing a frightened animal, he said, “Whatever you want, Dorian.”
At that moment Dorian wanted to flee; so he did.
Some habits were nearly impossible to break, and now Dorian found himself resisting two of them: falling into Bull's bed, and spending his evenings in the tavern. His throat was practically parched for a drink, his ears ached to hear Maryden's songs and the din of people releasing steam after a long day. He wanted to feel a huge hand curling at the back of his neck as a great booming laugh rose above everyone else. No. That he could not do... but surely he could go back to having a drink? He needn't sit with the Chargers, no, there were plenty of perfectly serviceable dark corners for him to brood in. A good brooding never hurt anyone anyway.
As expected, the Chargers were in their usual corner, and Iron Bull was sitting with his legs splayed and- Dorian felt a jolt deep in his belly, bile rising to the back of his throat. One of the kitchen girls was wriggling in Bull's lap, her skirt bunched up on her thighs with Bull's hands squeezing her ass as she squealed and laughed in delight. Dorian's breath hitched, hitched again, his hands curled into shaking fists. To his horror tears sprang into the corner of his eyes even as he felt like setting the Bull's pants on fire.
Their eyes met and Bull smirk, instead of fading, grew wider. Do something about it , it dared. Yet why? Why even react like this? Iron Bull had asked him and- logical thought seemed to fizzle, all he felt was betrayed and infuriated. Dorian stormed over, feet moving of their own accord until he was looming as best he could over Bull, fists shaking at his sides.
“So-” Dorian said acidly, voice so low he would be surprised if anyone heard him over the din of the tavern. “So... you...”
Iron Bull raised his eyebrow, having the absolute gall to look innocent, “You made it quite clear how you felt, Dorian. Which is fine! So I didn't think you'd mind if I had a little fun with Lyssa here, unless...”
“Get off of him!” Dorian snarled at the woman, who looked like she'd much rather be anywhere else. She quite happily slipped away, leaving Bull looking rather amused. Dorian wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “What are you smiling about?” he snapped.
Iron Bull stood up, towering over Dorian and cracking his knuckles, “Oh, just proving a point. Do you really want to have this conversation here?”
Dorian became acutely aware of all the Chargers smirking at him over their drinks and he flushed, anger and embarrassment fighting for control. “No,” he muttered, hands clenching and unclenching at his side.
Once they were alone in Bull's rooms Dorian let his bottom lip tremble, rage siphoning away into something...worse. Iron Bull came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Dorian and resting his chin on his head, “Hey now, Big Guy, tell me what's on your mind.”
“I think...” Dorian said, voice tight as he tried to talk around the knot in his throat, “I think this might... be more the physical.”
“Mmm, I've thought as much,” said Bull lowly, “shoulda seen the look on your face. Didn't know you were the jealous type, Kadan.”
“Me either,” Dorian admitted reluctantly, turning around Bull's arms to look up at him. “No more kitchen girls while we're...doing whatever this is.”
“You ready to have a talk about it?”
Dorian nodded slowly, clenching his teeth as he realized he'd just been played from start to finish. Oh, Bull would pay for this... but later, once Dorian could stop leaning against him and reassuring himself that all of this, was his . Iron Bull was instilling him with all sorts of bad habits.