Chapter Text
Jim tries not to stumble as he hurries down the hallway. It’s only the first day of class and he cannot afford to be late – not for this class, not for this professor. Dr. Pavus is a known stickler. He’s not as bad as Dr. de Fer, because she will lock the doors and refuse to open for any reason, but he will make a sarcastic comment about being late and then move along. Jim hasn’t had Dr. Pavus as a professor yet, and the last thing he wants to do is start off the first day being the subject of scrutiny by the man. Jim has only heard positive things from older students about Dr. Pavus, and he’s had Mr. Alexius already, who only speaks positively of Dr. Pavus. Jim has even seen the man before, bothering Mr. Alexius either before or after his class. The two chat so often with such fondness in their “Dorian” and “Felix” greetings that everyone agrees that there is probably some form of inter-department romance happening between the two.
Jim gets into the lecture hall just in time to slide into a seat near the front, right before Dr. Pavus stands up and clears his throat. Jim quietly tries to unpack his laptop, his notebook, and a pen while the class silences almost immediately. Everyone knows Dr. Pavus’ reputation and that he has a cutting remark ready for anyone who dares interrupt him. Dr. de Fer will say such a comment on principle – at least Dr. Pavus waits until someone has wronged him before making the remark.
Dr. Pavus is perhaps the most well-dressed of all the professors on campus, though Dr. de Fer would probably eviscerate someone for even implying that. He wears well-tailored suits every single day – pressed pants, shined shoes, beautiful vests, crisp shirts with the top few buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows – which has just about every student with an interest in men swooning over him on sight. He’s got glasses attached to a chain around his neck, which just adds to the “hot professor” vibes he has. Jim isn’t a particularly adventurous person, or is even interested in anybody like that, but he can understand and appreciate beautiful aesthetics.
“Good morning. Now that you have all gotten comfortable in your places, I want everyone to get up and move closer. Fill in the front rows.” Dr. Pavus looks pointedly at the people sitting in the far back. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite. I won’t even throw anything. I’ll reserve that for our interloper.”
Jim looks back to see Coach Iron Bull lounging in the center of the back row. He’s leaning back, hands cupped behind his head with his legs stretched out in front of him. Coach Iron Bull is intimidating at the best of times. First off, he's a qunari, which already makes him physically larger than even the broadest human, but he’s big even for a qunari, well over seven feet tall. He’s missing an eye, with massive scarring lingering behind the eyepatch, but that doesn’t seem to affect him because he still somehow sees everything. He dresses the exact opposite of Dr. Pavus – loose sweatpants and with a tank top that has the largest neck he can find so he can angle his horns up and through to actually wear a shirt. Jim’s heard rumors that Coach Iron Bull goes shirtless as often as he can, just to avoid having to manage his horns around shirts.
Coach Iron Bull grins at the attention of all the students who have turned around and gives a little wave, pointing a finger gun at Dr. Pavus with what is apparently a wink, though it’s hard to tell when he only has one eye. Jim quickly turns back to Dr. Pavus, trying to focus on his professor and the classwork at hand, not the qunari looming in the back. Jim has no idea why Coach Iron Bull likes to sit in on Dr. Pavus’ classes, but the rumor mill says it’s because he likes to annoy Dr. Pavus with his presence. The upperclassmen say that Coach Iron Bull never says anything, but his existence in the lecture hall is sometimes enough to get Dr. Pavus flush with anger. To be fair to Dr. Pavus, he never says or does anything inappropriate or even untoward, but it’s obvious he doesn’t like Coach Iron Bull’s presence at all.
Dr. Pavus rolls his eyes and begins class in earnest. He goes through his syllabus, and then decides to spend the rest of class with the first lesson. Jim knows some of his classmates are annoyed by that, hoping for a short class the first day, but Jim likes the fact that he feels like he’s getting full value out of this class. Dr. Pavus is wasting no time. Jim gets lost in the cadence of Dr. Pavus’ voice. He speaks a little quickly, but he’s very matter-of-fact and his knowledge and expertise are obvious in an instant. He’s got a sharp wit and a great sense of humor and has no problems taking pauses or breaks to allow for questions. Jim doesn’t even realize class is over until Dr. Pavus announces it.
“With that, we shall stop for the day. Homework is to get a copy of the textbook. I will see you all on Thursday.”
Jim packs his things slowly, waiting for the rush of students to pass. A couple of his classmates stop by the front desk to talk to Dr. Pavus, already with questions about his syllabus. Jim likes to introduce himself to his professors on the first day, just to put a face with a name, and also because he tends to go to office hours, and it helps to already have had a discussion with them. Jim stares, wide-eyed, as Coach Iron Bull walks down the steps to get towards Dr. Pavus.
“H-hello, Dr. Pavus,” Jim introduces himself, stumbling over his words. The last thing he wants is to be stuck between a ‘Vint and a qunari if he can help it. Sure, things aren’t too terribly bad between the two countries anymore, but there’s still a lot of prejudice there. “I’m Jim.”
“Do you have a question, Jim?” Dr. Pavus asks, not unkindly.
“Oh, uhm, no.” Jim shakes his head. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I like to be a person and not just a name on a sheet.”
Dr. Pavus smiles and nods with a little chuckle. “Fair enough. I respect it. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jim. I won’t forget it. You’re one of the only people not afraid to sit in the front row without prompting.”
Jim smiles back. He can understand why Dr. Pavus is the favorite professor in the anthropology department. When Jim turns to leave, he jumps in surprise at Coach Iron Bull, looming against the whiteboard with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. Jim scurries past the qunari, eyes downcast to avoid any and all contact.
“Scaring my students is uncalled for,” Dr. Pavus says, voice snippy.
“Aww, I thought you liked me big and scary,” Coach Iron Bull teases, voice a deep rumble. Jim’s been to football games. He knows how well Coach Bull’s voice can carry. He’s never heard it so… gentle.
Curiosity has always been Jim’s downfall. Well, that and obliviousness. Jim slips out the door, but holds it open, just a bit, eavesdropping on his professor.
“One of these days, I’ll come up with a good reason to kick you out of my classes and I’ll finally be free of you,” Dr. Pavus retorts, voice harsh.
“That’s a shame, because I am a gift,” Coach Iron Bull says, mildly.
“You’re something alright.” Dr. Pavus sounds more than a little irritated. “I have work to do. Please leave.”
“What work? The semester just started.” It sounds like, and Jim knows he’s got to be mishearing this, Coach Iron Bull is whining.
“And I’m already busy.” Dr. Pavus snaps. “Don’t you have a training session to go handle?”
“Don’t you have a meeting to attend?” Coach Bull parrots back.
“Go away, Mr. I-Can’t-Go-One-Hour-Without-Being-Annoying.”
“At least my students love me, Mr. I’m-Emotionally-Stunted.”
“Excuse you, I am beloved!”
“Sure you are.” Coach Iron Bull replies, sarcastically.
“You’re a dick,” Dr. Pavus says.
“Yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself.”
“Asshole.”
“Bitch.”
Jim quickly retreats from the door and heads over to the campus bookstore. He hopes nothing bad happens between the two professors, but at least they seem reasonably civil. They’re not going to kill each other, but they’re definitely not friends.
“Why do I like you again?” Dorian asks, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.
“‘Cause I am really good with my tongue,” Bull murmurs against the skin of Dorian’s neck. “And hands.”
Dorian tamps down a moan in his chest as those big hands slide into Dorian’s trousers, getting a firm grip on his ass. “Maker’s breath, you are so annoying.”
“Keep complaining. See how much more annoying I can get,” Bull chuckles. It’s not a threat – it’s a promise. And Dorian knows all too well what such a promise will do to him. Namely, give him the most intense, leg-shaking, body-aching orgasm of all time. It’s not the first time he’s pushed against Bull, not the first time they’ve found themselves in such a position, not the first time they’ve given into their baser instincts and pushed beyond a professional relationship into the sensual, sordid, and sinful.
Dorian swears in Qunlat and rocks his hips forward, grinding into the hard muscle of Bull’s thigh. Bull sucks in air, far too aroused at hearing his native tongue on Dorian’s lips. It’s not quite a kink, but Dorian can get Bull hard in an instant, just by murmuring something in Qunlat. It doesn’t even have to be something inappropriate – a banal comment about the weather works as well as something filthy about Bull’s cock. Dorian has exactly no shame in abusing this knowledge.
“Fuck…” Bull mumbles, grinding his hips forward while his hands pull Dorian’s hips to meet his. Dorian’s eyes roll back in his head and he tilts his head back, trying to give Bull more room to work with. “Wish I had time to ruin you,” Bull murmurs, his teeth grazing against Dorian’s throat.
Dorian gets his hands under Bull’s stupid tank top and drags his nails down the man’s chest, relishing in the moan that rumbles through said chest. “Ruin me anyway,” Dorian murmurs.
They don’t have time, not really. Bull has maybe fifteen minutes until he’s got to run a football practice, and Dorian has a staff meeting to attend, but Dorian cannot bring himself to care. He’s gone to meetings in worse shape before, and he’s like to do it again, since Bull has decided to continue being a large, lumbering distraction at all times.
Bull groans and bites down on the junction of Dorian’s neck and shoulder, rocketing pleasure through Dorian’s body. Dorian bites his lip in the attempt to quiet his moan. They’re locked in Dorian’s office, but he has no wish to have his cohorts overhear anything salacious. That’s why he bought quality sound-proofing for the walls of his office the moment he and Bull began this arrangement.
“Don’t have time to fuck you properly,” Bull complains, dragging one of his hands out from Dorian’s pants. Normally, that would be something to whine about, but Dorian knows he’s just going for the bottle of lube.
“Only because you’re chronically incapable of quickies,” Dorian retorts. He’s not wrong, because Bull loves to take his time, to drag pleasure through him and Dorian until they’re both sore and quaking in aftershocks. Dorian writhes against the wall, thrusting idly into Bull’s thigh while Bull slicks a finger up to press against Dorian’s hole in well-practiced motions. Bull lifts his head to steal Dorian’s lips as he breaches Dorian’s ass, pushing into Dorian just on the edge of roughness. Dorian moans into Bull’s lips, trying to rock onto Bull’s finger, to force him inside harder, faster…
Bull pushes another finger inside Dorian while his other hand slides around Dorian’s hip, shifting his pants down just enough to free his cock. Dorian whimpers as pleasure crashes into him in perfect time with the thrusting of Bull’s fingers. Bull shifts his stance, lifting Dorian effortlessly onto his hips before pressing his back into the wall. Dorian adores that the qunari is able to just manhandle him so easily. Dorian clings hard to Bull, trying to get more of everything – more of his fingers, more of his lips, more of his cock.
“So eager for me,” Bull teases, rolling his hips forward to helpfully remind Dorian of his rock-hard cock. As if Dorian needs the reminder. He’s basically addicted at this point.
“Fuck me.” Dorian doesn’t know if he’s swearing or asking, every nerve on fire for Bull.
“Later,” Bull promises, getting his hand between them to wrap around their cocks.
Pleasure rocks through Dorian and he moans, letting his head fall back into the wall, knowing full well that Bull cannot help himself. Sure enough, the qunari gets his lips on Dorian’s throat, tasting every inch of skin he can reach. Dorian has no idea how the man can focus on anything other than his desire, because he is fingering Dorian with one hand, stroking their cocks with the other, and kissing all the little sensitive spots on Dorian all at the same time and somehow not losing his rhythm.
Dorian whines, the sound needy and pathetic and exactly enough to drive Bull wild. Bull curses under his breath and pushes a third finger into Dorian, thrusting his hips forward in time with his stroking. It almost feels like fucking at this point, but there is no amount of fingers that can compete with the sheer size of Bull’s cock. Dorian hates that he can’t get the man inside him right now, but they don’t have time.
Dorian clings hard to Bull’s shoulders, rolling his hips forward into Bull’s hand, rocking back onto Bull’s fingers, and feeling like some creature of pure lust – full of desire and arousal and overwhelming pleasure. Bull groans when Dorian’s ass clenches around his fingers, knowing what that feels like around his cock. Dorian knows he, too, would rather be buried inside Dorian, but needs must. And those needs are garbage.
“Kaffas…” Dorian moans, eyes rolling back as his body tightens in preparation for his orgasm.
“Gonna cum for me?” Bull asks.
Dorian can’t respond verbally, too caught up in the sensations crashing through him. Bull bites down on Dorian’s throat, the pain startling Dorian into his orgasm. He manages to get his hand over his mouth just in time for him to cry out, every part of him jerking through the ecstasy flooding his veins. His cock twitches, shooting an almighty mess between them.
“Good boy,” Bull mutters into Dorian’s skin.
The noise Dorian makes in response is pitiful, his cock trying to release more, to squeeze out the last drops of his cum. He had no idea about the praise kink before he started sleeping with Bull, and now the man likes to use it at every given opportunity. Dorian moans as Bull keeps going – thrusting his hips, stroking their cocks, curling his fingers in Dorian’s ass. Dorian tilts his head forward, nipping at Bull’s ear with his teeth.
“Ataash varin kata,” he murmurs.
Bull chokes. His body jerks against Dorian’s, cock spilling between them as his orgasm slams into him. Dorian smiles to himself, listening to the panting half-moans pulled from the qunari’s chest in time with the throbbing of his cock. Dorian shuts his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the aftermath of his orgasm, body trembling as he clings to Bull. Bull gets his arms around Dorian’s waist, hugging him tight while he breathes through the pleasure.
“You gotta stop doing that,” Bull complains. Dorian is entirely unwilling to move, despite the fact that the clock on his wall says they are quickly running out of time. Bull is going to be late at this point, because the practice field is across campus. At least Dorian just has to walk down the hall.
“Doing what?” Dorian plays dumb, because it’s more fun that way. They both know Bull is referring to the apparent hair trigger he has for Dorian speaking Qunlat.
Bull pulls back just enough to get a good look at Dorian’s face, looking more smug and amused than anything else. “You’re cute.”
“I am not,” Dorian argues.
“Crap, I’m gonna be late,” Bull groans. Gingerly, he lowers Dorian so his feet can touch the floor and then reluctantly steps back, leaning heavily on Dorian’s desk while he figures out if his legs can handle standing after such an orgasm. Both of them are absolutely covered in semen, which is unfortunate, but happens regularly enough that Dorian’s got a bag of clothes in the back corner of his office.
That the bag also has extra clothes for Bull is entirely irrelevant.
“You’re the one who just had to jump me,” Dorian points out, walking on wobbly legs to the bag of clothes.
“I didn’t hear any arguments from you,” Bull retorts. Dorian tosses him a new shirt, aiming for Bull’s face, but the qunari catches the clothing easily with a smirk. Dorian pretends like Bull has said nothing, quickly unbuttoning his shirt to pull on a new one. Fortunately, Bull likes Dorian’s vests too much for them to get caught in the crossfire and therefore pulled the vest from Dorian’s chest before they even got started, so Dorian won’t even look like he’s changed clothes by the time he’s done redressing.
Bull doesn’t look like he’s changed either, but that’s because the man’s shirt selection is exclusively white tank tops. Most of the shirts have writing on them, usually something crude – “this would look great on your bedroom floor” and “waking up is the second hardest thing in the morning” – but Dorian doesn’t keep any of those in his office. Dorian knows the only reason Bull hasn’t gotten into trouble for wearing such inappropriate clothing in front of the students is because President Lavellan’s sense of humor is arguably worse. Dorian tosses his shirt into a plastic bag to be cleaned when he gets home, snatching Bull’s dirty shirt to clean as well.
“I sincerely doubt Krem needs you in order to start practice,” Dorian says, working on buttoning up his vest.
“It’s the principle of the thing. I’m the head coach. I should be there,” Bull grumbles, mostly to himself because he knows he’s got no one else to blame.
“Then you need to hurry. You’ve still got a couple minutes.” Dorian looks up at Bull with a smile. Bull gets a gentle grip on Dorian’s chin and holds him still for a kiss so thorough and intense that Dorian feels like he’s been fucked by the time Bull releases him. Dorian pants for air while Bull grins, utterly shamelessly.
“Still want me to fuck you later?” He asks, straightening off Dorian’s desk.
“Seriously?” Dorian stares at the man, trying to restart his brain from that kiss – that claim – and blinks hard. Bull’s smug smirk is more than enough to startle him out of the post-orgasmic high.
“You were begging so sweetly for me,” Bull continues, completely heedless of how insufferable he is like this. Dorian really will kill the man at some point. “I know you can’t go longer than a few hours without me.”
Dorian splutters for air, offended on every possible level and knowing that Bull is doing it on purpose, but still being unable to keep himself from getting so viscerally frustrated. “You… I hate you!”
Bull laughs and walks to the door, a swagger in his step that is as attractive as it is aggravating. “Before or after dinner tonight?” He asks.
“I hope you trip on the way to the field,” Dorian snaps.
Bull nods knowingly and walks out of the office. “Got it. After, it is.”
Dorian growls in frustration as the man leaves.
Honestly, Dorian would be much happier without Bull in his life.
That’s a flat lie. Dorian is relatively certain he wouldn’t know what to do with his life if Bull weren’t around, helping keep him sane.