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Sex was a great way to work off stress.
So it really wasn’t about sex, or really even Lavellan himself. The Inquisitor had an entire world on his shoulders. Two, depending on which way one looked at it, considering the Fade was no doubt at risk as well. That type of stress needed an outlet. That’s why the Qunari practically had an entire job dedicated to its alleviation. Being the only Qunari around, and pretty much the only person that he trusted to do this for the Inquisitor, it was easy enough for the Iron Bull to get himself into the Inquisitor’s bed.
He’d already told Lavellan about the tamassrans, so he didn’t expect anything from their arrangement. In fact, the elf seemed to see the benefit of the arrangement from Bull’s point-of-view, and so far had made no attempts to seek a more monogamous arrangement.
Around Skyhold and in his bedroom, Lavellan seemed so very fragile. Wearing only that pale brown underarmor, one could see how thin he was, and Bull was always afraid of putting too much pressure on the elf beneath him. It wasn’t until the day that they faced the dragon in Crestwood that his opinion of the elf began to shift.
His armor could barely be called that, just leather and enchantment keeping him safe. Yet as they landed blow after blow, Lavellan moved with a grace that could hardly be described. Bull found himself wishing he was a poet, just so he could put a name to the way the elf moved. Grace simply didn’t do it justice.
Every movement flowed perfectly into the next, nimble fingers on blades, eyes sharp and focused, footing sure and confident. As much as he wanted to be the one to fell the dragon, it was Lavellan who delivered the final blow. As the dragon’s head came low to strike at the Vint, the elf stepped nimbly onto it, following the ridge of its brow and spinning, dropping to one knee and bringing both daggers down into the vulnerable flesh at the back of its skull.
Bull was frozen from the moment he had stepped up, watching the muscles beneath the leather flex with every step, and he could feel those same thigh muscles wrapping around his waist. Hips centered underneath his torso, tucked forward to keep his center of gravity, and Bull could feel those hips grinding down on him, thighs tense, helping him rise and fall. Fingers wrapped around handles that could’ve easily been his shaft, and as he turned, raising the daggers high, Bull could close his eyes and see the tensing of his abdomen, his core tightening to control the movement, the same way he did thrusting forward into his hand, just before he came undone.
Him being covered in dragon’s blood just made it all the better. Bull went straight over as the beast fell to the ground and picked Lavellan off the dragon’s head, kissing him hard. He tasted the dragon’s blood on his lips, felt it as Lavellan curled his delicate hands under Bull’s jaw, tracing up to his horns the way he knew Bull liked, slick and warm and rough from Lavellan's calloused hands. He was so small in Bull’s arms, but if he could take down a dragon, he could handle Bull at his best.
As Dorian and Varric caught their breath, he set Lavellan down and walked over to the dragon’s gaping maw. He grabbed one of the large fangs and wrenched it free in one solid piece. He looked back at Lavellan and grinned.
Maybe it wasn’t as casual as he thought. Because there was no way he could see himself ever wanting anyone else again.
An elf as fierce as any Qunari, bathed in dragon’s blood, and grinning at him, body like a coiled snake ready to strike. Grace like leaves on the wind, fluid as the sea in the wildest storm.
Kadan.
Watch how I soar.