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~*~
“Snow on my boots. Snow on my hair. Snow on my armor - “
“Skirt,“ Bull says, watching with a hidden smile as Dorian stomps around his quarters, yanking off his snow-spotted battle gear while he complains. Bull reaches for the straps of his own armor and begins to pull it off.
Dorian shoots him a dirty look. “I see you want some of this snow down your trousers, although I say trousers in the loosest sense of the word.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Bull tosses most of his armor onto a nearby chair, working on his belt.
Dorian, now stripped down to just the silky things he wears beneath his armor, sprawls elegantly on Bull’s bed like he owns it. “We’ll see how much you like my dirty talk when you wake up to find your smallclothes strewn in snow piles throughout the courtyard.”
He’s a mix of lush and mouthy that gets Bull’s blood hot in new and heady ways. He takes off his belt, pulling the leather taut between his hands. “You turn into such a brat when you get teased,” he says, as if it isn’t turning him on.
The fires in the wall sconces suddenly flicker faintly. It would be wholly unremarkable to an untrained eye: less movement than what might be caused by a gentle breeze, and there’s a hole in the ceiling, after all. Someone who hadn’t spent years honing his senses, particularly against ‘Vints, would never even have noticed.
Bull’s gaze, however, darts instantly from the fires to the mage on his bed. Dorian claims he’s as harmless as a discarded sword, and lets people forget that he’s the frighteningly powerful result of generations of selective magical breeding. But the fires never forget their master, and since he joined the Inquisition Bull has observed that nearby flames respond to Dorian’s stronger emotions. He wonders if Dorian is even aware of the tell himself.
Dorian is watching Bull now with eyes just a bit wild around the edges and not in a good way. And Bull realizes he’s looming over him, holding a belt in his hands and calling Dorian a brat. He dealt out a playful spanking two nights ago after they engaged in similar bickering, and Dorian probably thinks Bull now intends to take it up a notch.
Which no, actually, previous partners notwithstanding, Bull’s not particularly interested in thrashing Dorian like that. If he’s with someone who likes it, wants it, needs it, Bull’s got no problems dishing out the harder punishments. But the mage is only a bratty prince on the surface, and underneath Bull suspects there hides a lonely Tevinter runaway who’s starved for affection, not pain.
That spanking had gotten Bull some indignant squealing and squirming, not these flickering fires and scared eyes. Bull feels a moment of shame that he made Dorian afraid, no matter how unintentional, and expects to hear a katoh from Dorian right then and there.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, Dorian’s expression morphs, and he’s smiling prettily up at Bull. “Blackwall called me a brat in the Emprise du Lion yesterday. I’m sure I don’t know what I’ve done for you both to malign me so.”
He’s adorable, and Bull wants to toss the belt aside and jump him. But there’s something resigned about Dorian’s pretty smile, and a little warning bell is going off in Bull’s head.
Why didn’t Dorian say katoh?
Bull considers for a moment. Then he steps forward, belt still in in hand. He hates himself for scaring Dorian like this but he needs to know. “Maybe I should do the Warden and myself a favor and fix that bratty attitude of yours.”
Dorian swallows and shrinks away, the movement small but nevertheless observable when Bull’s looking for it. But he says, “Plenty before you have already tried; I’m afraid I might be hopeless.”
Bull narrows his eye. “You’re something alright.” He snaps the belt, the cracking sound of leather on leather bouncing off the room’s rock walls..
Dorian flinches.
Someone without Bull’s training - or his level of care for Dorian, he tries not to think - might mistake Dorian’s behavior as coy play-acting or excitement. Bull, however, knows hidden fear when he sees it. “You remember your watchword, don’t you?”
Dorian looks - he looks angry, for a moment, angry and defiant. “Katoh,” he says, and oh, no one else can get that haughty little head-toss right, the one that says you are a sad little peasant and I can’t believe I just wasted perfectly good air speaking to you. The head-toss looks especially good when he’s butchering Bull’s mother tongue. “You’ve made me practice it enough.”
“If I’ve made you practice it enough, why aren’t you saying it now?”
“What are you talking about?”
Bull sighs. Then he snaps the belt again, very loudly. On the bed, Dorian jumps. “I’m talking about this,” Bull says. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you want to get smacked with this thing?”
Dorian bristles. “Does anyone actually wish to get smacked with a giant Qunari fashion accessory of questionable taste?” he says, which is a no if Bull’s ever heard one.
“Plenty of folks, but you’re obviously not one of them. So I’ll ask again: why aren’t you using your watchword?”
“What good would it do me?”
Bull stares at him. His gut twists like he’s just been sucker punched. “Because if you use your watchword,” he says, very slowly, “I’ll stop.”
Dorian gives a quiet snort.
“You don’t believe me.” How could Bull have missed this? “You don’t trust me.”
“It’s not personal, so you can stop looking at me like you’re going to be ill. You must know I’m not some naive ingenue when it comes to sex.”
“Never thought you were,” Bull says, and it’s mostly true, although he’s beginning to realize that Dorian doesn’t know as much about good sex as either of them thought.
“Then we can dispense with the hollow pleasantries, yes? I am fully aware watchwords are just lies people say in bed, like yes, I’ll still be here tomorrow and no, of course I won’t regret this.”
Something in Bull’s chest clenches. He would be relieved that it’s not something about him personally that caused Dorian’s distrust but for the implications of Dorian’s words. “Some ‘Vint tell you that?” Did some ‘Vint hurt you, lay his hands on you how they weren’t wanted -
“What does it matter?”
“It matters because it’s wrong. You say katoh to me, everything stops.” Dorian rolls his eyes. “Hey,” Bull snaps. “You say katoh, I stop. No questions, no judgment. You never have to let me do anything you don’t want.”
“My goodness, such gallantry.” Dorian puts a mocking hand to his heart. “Do your red-headed serving girls simply eat that up?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Bull says flatly. “We don’t have these conversations.”
“Oh, watchwords are only for your special tumbles in the sheets?”
“Yes.” His matter-of-fact tone makes Dorian blink in confusion, and Bull hates that being called special confuses Dorian. “And I don’t do special tumbles without watchwords.”
“But - “
“Real ones.” Bull tosses the belt to the stone floor, angry that he didn’t catch that Dorian has had no real watchword all this time, sick that he let his own lust for the mage override his ability to read people. “Ones both of us can trust.”
“I - “ Dorian looks like he’s trying to add one and one and keeps coming up with three. He shakes his head. “Really, this entire conversation is moot. I don’t need a watchword, I have magic.”
Bull raises his eyebrow skeptically. “You’d use your magic to stop me if I was going to do something you didn’t like in bed?” Bull doesn’t actually believe Dorian would use magic against him like that anymore than he’d hit the little mage in an argument, and the horrified look that crosses Dorian’s face confirms this.
“Vishante kaffas, certainly not!” Dorian shudders. “I would never hurt a bed partner with magic, least of all you.“
“Least of all me?”
Dorian looks caught for a second, and Bull’s pretty sure he hadn’t meant to say that. “Festis bei umo canavarum,” he mutters. “I simply meant that you have so far proven to be a - a not inconsiderate lover, and you needn’t worry that I would be so crass as to repay that with magical torment.”
“Now who’s gallant?” Bull says, but it’s actually kind of sweet. He can’t remember the last time someone felt that they needed to reassure him.
Dorian gives him a withering look. “I was referring to the use of magic on myself only. I can cast a very subtle barrier spell on my own skin. You won’t even notice it’s there, and then you can do as you like to me and leave little lasting damage. If that still troubles you, my skill at rejuvenation magic is - ”
“Stop.” Bull’s heart hurts. “You shouldn’t already know this.”
“I - “ Dorian looks taken aback, and Dorian being shocked that anyone seems to give two shits about the way he’s been treated in the past does not make Bull feel better. The mage recovers quickly though, and with a smile that doesn’t quite ring true says, “Come now, I’m not sure what you’re fussing over. Surely the Ben-Hassrath know that using our magic for deviant sex is practically the national pastime.”
Bull folds his arms over his chest. “That right.”
“But of course,” Dorian says, all charm now that he thinks he’s steered the conversation back to their familiar Vint vs. Qun banter. “I realize Southerners wet their smalls at the smallest of spells, but among the Altus using our magic for pleasure is as common as kissing.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever thought about,” Bull says, which is surprising. Three times he’s had Dorian in his bed and he’s been so focused on what he wants to do to that gorgeous body that he never stopped to consider what a mage might bring to the table.
Bull isn’t a fan of magic - he likes being able to judge his enemies on sight, and likes being the biggest, baddest thing in the room even more. Magic fucks the natural order of things right up the ass, and he’s seen too many fighters shredded to gorey piles of limbs because they didn’t peg the spindly elf in the corner as a blood mage.
He’s never taken a mage to bed before because, Dalish aside, they make him jumpy as balls. But this is Dorian. The mage would deny it to the death, but he’s sweet. Gentle. Bull’s seen people spit when they meet him, watched Mother Giselle imply he’s a maleficar, heard Blackwall call him a spoilt prince to his face, and while Dorian’s tongue is sharp in return, he’s never threatened to retaliate with magic.
Bull knows the feel of Dorian’s magic in battle, would recognize the ozone smell of his lightning or the cool tingle of one of Dorian’s barriers in his sleep. The thought of letting Dorian use magic on him during sex, though - that would be new territory. New, uncharted, dangerous territory.
There’s a stirring of interest in his body, like the time he saw a dragon fly over the Hinterlands. Well, shit. He always did like danger.
“Well of course you wouldn’t think about magic - “ Dorian begins.
“I’m sure as hell thinking about it now.”
Dorian’s eyes widen. “Oh no, no I wouldn’t, Bull. I gave you my word and I meant it. I wouldn’t cast on you. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Pretty sure that’s my line,” Bull muses. He hasn’t forgotten the watchword conversation, but he’s willing to continue this line of conversation for now. Because being told he doesn’t have to be afraid by a little firestarter who might actually be able to back it up?
Hot.
“I promise I have no intentions of even offering. I know you harbor no great love for magic.”
“I don’t have anything against your magic.”
“You...don’t?”
“I’m not saying I want to be ass-deep in demons or fire or shit like that, but...maybe, if it was something small…”
“I can keep it small.” Dorian looks guardedly hopeful, and Bull wonders if it’s been hard on the mage to hold back something such a part of him. Bull certainly enjoys using his own size and strength to make sure everyone’s having a good time in his bed.
That thought in mind, he sits on the edge of the bed next to Dorian and lifts the mage over to straddle his lap. Bull knows Dorian’s eager when he lets himself be manhandled without complaint. “So exactly what sort of evil sex magic are we talking here?” Bull says, settling Dorian in his lap face-to-face and realizing the conversation has already made Bull half-hard.
“Care for a taste?” Dorian holds up his hands, and his fingers light up with tiny sparks of dancing electricity, an echo of the lightning bolts he brings down on the battlefield. It’s kind of beautiful.
Bull gives a nod and Dorian drapes his arms around Bull’s shoulders. He draws in a sharp breath when Dorian skirts electrified fingers down the back of Bull’s neck and his every nerve lights up in response. “Whoa.”
Dorian instantly pulls his hands away.
“Whoa good.” Bull reaches for Dorian’s arms and wraps them back around his neck. “Do that again.”
“You must be the first Qunari to order a ‘Vint to use magic,” Dorian says, but he looks pleased. Slim fingers rest against his neck again, although without the electricity. “I can make you feel so good, Bull. But if you dislike anything I do, you must let me know.”
“Are you sure?” Bull asks innocently. “You wouldn’t rather just do whatever you want with me whether I like it or not?”
“Fasta vass, absolutely not! I want you to enjoy it.”
“Does that really matter to you? I’m pretty strong, you know. I’m sure I can take whatever you dish out.”
“Are you being obtuse on purpose? I can do things to your body that no amount of strength could save you from, that would put you completely at my mercy - “ and it can’t be normal to be this turned on by the reminder that Bull’s bedding someone dangerous - “but despite what you appear to think of me, I am capable of the basic tenets of empathy and I would not wish to harm you or do anything other than bring you pleasure.”
“In that case,” Bull says, far too casually, as he pulls back to stare directly into Dorian’s eyes, “it’s a good thing I trust you to stop if I say katoh.”
Dorian goes still.
“And I bet that’s nice for you,” Bull continues breezily, as if Dorian isn’t having an epiphany on his lap, “being able to trust that your partner, who’s completely at your mercy, will tell you if they want to stop, because they know you would never want to hurt them or do anything they don’t like.”
There is a moment of silence. “That was eloquently done,” Dorian finally says, a rueful little smile tugging at his lips.
“I thought so,” the Bull says, not without some pride.
Dorian drops his hands again with a quiet sigh. “So was it all a ruse then, to make me understand the need for a genuine watchword? You’re not actually interested in experiencing magic in bed? Not that I’m not appreciative - ”
Iron Bull puts Dorian’s hand directly on his crotch, which blew past half-hard somewhere around the miniature thunderstorm on his neck. “That feel like a ruse to you?”
Dorian rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. “A rather less eloquent argument.”
“That’s more inches of eloquence than you’ll find anywhere else in Southern Thedas.”
“I despair of you.” Dorian sounds incongruously fond.
Bull wraps his arms around Dorian’s waist and pulls him just a little closer. “For the record,” he says, “I wasn’t going to use that belt on you anyway.”
Not for the first time, Dorian seems completely clueless as to how to deal with careful handling. For a fleeting moment, Bull can see the vulnerability Dorian hides beneath that bluster when the mage says, “Truly?”
“Nah. It’s not what you need.” And to head off the mage’s protests, because Dorian thinks his needs are only unwelcome burdens on others, Bull adds, “And a pretty thing like you? Rather spoil you rotten.”
He says it both to needle Dorian and because it’s the truth. Bull likes the idea. He knows he’s overprotective of the people he considers his own, a list Dorian landed himself on the first time he risked his life for Bull’s life on the battlefield. The Qun would disapprove of his possessive feelings, towards a bas saarebas Tevinter noble of all beings, but Par Vollen is far away and Dorian is right here in his arms.
Dorian looks suspicious, grudgingly flattered and a touch murderous at being called pretty. “You’d tire of catering to my whims, I suspect. I’m told I can be rather demanding.”
“Please. You’re a kitten,” Bull tells him, just to watch him fluff up in indignation. “Besides, I like giving you want you want.”
Dorin scoffs. “What could you possibly get out of giving me what I want?”
“You’ve obviously never seen yourself come.”
Dorian makes a strangled sound and his hands come up to hide his face. “You are impossible.”
Bull grins. “You like it.”
“Ugh.” Dorian hesitantly lowers his hands. “Bull, if belts and beatings are something you desire - surely you could find a partner more adventurous than I - ”
“You’re an adventure for me,” Bull says, and he’s not just talking about the magic.
“But you obviously enjoy your - “ Dorian waves a hand, “ - power thing, and I’m not a particularly compliant sort.”
Bull suspects that in the dark and with the right leverage - pleasure, not pain - Dorian might actually become very compliant. But Bull thinks he’s hot either way. “I like brats,” he says.
“Oh you do, do you.” Dorian narrows his eyes. “Because I distinctly recall you calling me at brat two nights ago and then finding myself turned over your knee.”
“Well, yeah. That’s why I like brats.” Bull’s smile fades then, and he says, very seriously, “Joking aside, I won’t spank you again.” It’d been playful and hot and he’d thought Dorian was having fun at the time, but he learned tonight that he hadn’t read Dorian as well as he thought he had, and if he’s done something Dorian didn’t want he’s not going to forgive himself for a long time.
“Well.” Dorian bites his lower lip and says, with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “I suppose I should be gracious enough to admit that I was behaving perhaps slightly insufferably at the time, and you didn’t spank me very hard at all.”
Bull cradles the back of his head in one hand, drawing their foreheads together. “When you’re with me,” he says, “nothing happens to you that you don’t want, insufferable or not, hard or otherwise. Got it?”
“There’s that gallantry of yours again.” There’s no mockery in the words this time though, and when Dorian hesitates, Bull waits, because whatever this is, he wants to hear it. After a long moment, Dorian looks up with a shy smile that makes Bull want to kiss him. “Suppose we agree that should you be so barbaric as to attempt to spank me a second time, I know what to say if I want you to stop?”
He’s soft in Bull’s arms, not tense, and the room’s fires hold steady. Bull lets out a breath. “And you better say it.”
“Yes, yes,” Dorian says, as if he’s exasperated, but his tone is warm.
Bull’s still going to ask first. He’s going to ask, and ask, and read the little liar’s body language and his fire-tells and then ask again. Dorian’s going to get so pissed at him. It’ll be glorious.
And later, maybe when they’re sated and safe beneath Bull’s covers - or maybe over the breakfast Bull will drag Dorian to after the mage thinks he’s snuck out without waking Bull - they are going to have a thorough conversation about limits, because while Dorian will prevaricate and deny his own needs, he has a hard time lying directly to Bull’s face.They’re also going to talk about Dorian’s expectations of how his partners should treat him, and Bull’s bloodlust is going to have him fantasizing about what he’d like to do to the ‘Vints who hurt Dorian before.
But for now, he lifts Dorian’s arms and wraps them snugly around his shoulders again, aligning those magical fingers with the back of his neck. “The watchword is katoh,” he says.
~*~