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[shok_ebasit_hissra]

One morning Bull woke up, no longer Askaashi, once more seeing the world through just one eye. It felt strange, but good. His memories felt close, felt real. It had been one hell of a week. He was glad Krem thought to keep some of his adult clothes around. He got dressed and headed out; they sky was heavy and overcast, and every time the wind kicked up he could smell rain.

He made his way to the library; he remembered that Dorian had to work, which was how he'd ended up at Krem's. Or maybe it was because he'd kept trying to itch his horn nubs on everything Dorian owned.

It felt really good to be an adult again.

The rain started before he reached the library; when he got there he saw a familiar figure just coming out. Bull grinned.

"Dorian! I'm back."

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His cock was already hard, mostly there by the time Dorian touched him. He groaned quietly and tried to stay focused. It took some effort but Bull managed to get the rest of his clothes off with Dorian's insistent assistance. His back hit the bed and he kept one hand on Dorian's hip to steady him as he moved them toward the center of the bed.

"I felt the same," he admitted, voice low and unhappy at the memory. "When I heard reports from the Fallow Mire." Bull wasn't upset to miss all the apparent undead, but he'd wanted to be there. "When I was waiting for you to come back."

He pulled Dorian down to him, holding his face tenderly as he anchored him for another kiss.

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Dorian kissed back, this time more urgently. Not like the slow savor beneath the steps of the library.

"Mercy, please don't bring up the Fallow Mire when we're about to have sex, Bull. I don't want to make love to you thinking about the smell."

Which had been Dorian's largest misgiving. The undead, well, those were just more tools for Dorian's magic. Wading in a fetid bog? Something else entirely.

Dorian slipped back just far enough to position the cleft of his ass over Bull's already stiff cock. He wrapped his hands around Bull's thick shoulders, enjoying the familiar feel of Bull's skin, and then bore down on top of Bull's erection. Just the touch of it on his arsecheeks, hot and damp, and the memory of the way Bull smelled down there. He couldn't swallow back a deep, unsatisfied groan.

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"Easy there, big guy." Bull's voice was tight and he gripped Dorian's hips to keep him from going too far. He reached, grabbed the lubricant from his nightstand so he could slick himself. His fingers teased over Dorian's hole, encouraging him. Bull still found Dorian's urgent impatience endearing; he was struggling with his own, wanting nothing more right then than to feel Dorian around him, moving on top of him.

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Dorian made a low noise of frustration at Bull's words, which tightened into something needier when Bull's fingers brushed the sensitive skin around his hole. Anticipation might already have him undone. His cock was attentive between his legs, a pearly drop already on the tip of it.

"Missed you, Bull," he said again.

He pressed himself up on his knees, straddled above Bull as best he could. Enough room for hands to work. He brushed his palms over Bull's nipples, purple sparks, barely there, dancing along his fingers. He was wound up, tighter than viola strings. His whole body shivered, his magic sung.

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Dorian's magic made him shiver. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to how it felt when Dorian actually directed it at him. Something a little sharp and sweet danced over his skin, threatened his careful focus as he worked Dorian open, as he did his best to make sure he wouldn't get hurt.

Dorian was wound up and Bull wanted to make him snap apart. "Do you feel ready?" he asked, breathless and urgent.

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Bull's fingers slipped inside, stretching him. The familiar heat in his abdomen built, and he rolled against the touch with a keening noise that was followed by a laugh. All joyful delight. He rushed Bull's hands away when they started working out again.

"I am."

Dorian took Bull's cock in his own hands; it was big as life, even the feel of it. A shiver fled down his spine like a dozen tiny minnows at the thought of it. He was more than ready. Dorian guided himself down onto it carefully, and then, when he was certain of himself, sank down until he could feel Bull's hips against his arse.

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Bull let Dorian take control of the show; he needed it, and Bull was okay with that. His hands steadied Dorian's hip, his thigh, providing support as he moved, as he sank down onto his cock. The heat of him pulled a moan deep from Bull's chest and his hands tightened; there'd likely be bruises before they were done. Finger-shaped, hand shaped. Dorian could look in a mirror and see where the Bull had gripped him.

Bull liked that idea.

"Look at you," he breathed, all desire and need. "Kadan."

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"Bull, I can't," Dorian ground out. His thighs trembled, feeling hot and too tight under Bull's strong fingers, holding him balanced above Bull so that he could ride his cock. He was going to be sore in strange places the next day, but it would be a sweet sort of ache.

"But we could rearrange." He grunted deeply, lifted one hand to wipe the smallest rivulet of sweat and leftover rainwater. "Move the mirror."

He knew he must be a mess, hair matted and glossy, face and chest ruddy, mouth still swollen from hard meeting of mouths.

Dorian lifted himself, up and down along Bull's slick cock. It filled him up, brushed all sides of him where he needed it most. He stumbled in his smooth rhythm, hands slipping in the thin sheen of old rainwater between them sinuous figure eights becoming a hard drop. He gasped brightly.

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The Bull had absolutely no interest in moving, in stopping for even a moment. "You'll just have to believe me," he panted, "when I say you look amazing." He loved the mess Dorian was, loved the way he moved with desperation as he chased that feeling.

He adjusted himself, getting his right foot planted on the mattress so he had the leverage to rock his hips up to meet Dorian every time he dropped down. The sound of skin meeting skin was deliciously obscene, especially punctuated by Dorian's gasping breaths.

His hand slid from Dorian's hip to wrap around his cock; he didn't even bother to really stroke him, just let Dorian move between his cock and his hand.

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"I believe you." Dorian's voice was thick and warm, his smile a wry thing beneath kind eyes. It was the truth.

As if to make up for the gentle love of the sentiment, Dorian redoubled the ferocity of their coupling, slamming himself down on Bull's cock, fit to bruise the man -- it certainly would have, if Bull hadn't been blessed with Qunari skin.

"Maker, you're so fucking big."

He tossed his head, black hair in his eyes, dark with pupils swollen. Sweat dripped from the tips of his bangs, onto Bull's chest, little droplets chilled by the air. He pawed shamelessly at Bull's abdomen, the thick muscle of his chest. Dorian's nails found Bull's dusky nipples, blunt but greedy. They touched without reason or goal, hungry.

"Oh, darling--" Dorian's voice tripped over itself. "I'm going to--"

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"Fuck, Dorian," he moaned, struggling to keep his gaze focused on Dorian's face, on his body, as Dorian tightened above him. Strong as his skin might be, he still felt the drag of Dorian's nails, sending shocks racing across his nerves, down into his core. His voice was tight, heavy when he said, "Let me see you. Let me feel you."

Bull felt that familiar, delicious tension twisting up inside him, building as Dorian moved relentlessly, urgently. He managed to hold off until he felt Dorian shivering above him, felt him coming. Then he grabbed Dorian's hips, tightly, and held him while he rocked his hips up, finally moving at his own pace until that tension snapped in him. Bull cursed in Qunlat and held Dorian against him as he came.

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"Ah, Bull!" Dorian came with that, and no more, milky white come making long ropes down Bull's belly and chest, dashing him on the stubble on his chin. Just the sight of it made Dorian lose himself all over again, even before the white and blue flashes had cleared out of his eyes, while every muscle in his body was still coiled tight and burning.

Bull came, only moments later. It didn't surprise Dorian -- they'd been damn near rutting. But the feel of it inside, that it was Bull, the obscene amount of it there always was. Something unhooked inside of Dorian, released. The energy of it gathered itself up and out of Dorian somehow, a wave of primal energy that twisted around the room long enough to knock everything light enough off the shelves and bureaus, and knock the curtain rod off from above the window.

Dorian made high, loud sound of relief, almost a sob, and pounded his fists on Bull's pecs, acting all on overwhelmed instinct.

"Yes, thank you. Bull. My gods, my gods. You are ... so good to me."

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Bull could take whatever Dorian dished out: not much fazed him anymore. Not the pound of Dorian's fists against his chest, not the sounds he made, and not the magic that, occasionally, just spilled out of him in moments like this.

The sudden rush of energy did have Bull moving protectively, though. One hand went to the back of Dorian's head, making sure nothing could hit it, while the other arm wrapped around him, covering as much of Dorian's vulnerable back as he could, even if they were in the center of the odd vortex.

Only when it calmed did he relax his hold, allowing Dorian to move as he needed or wanted to. Bull smiled small, still catching his breath as he stroked his fingers tenderly through Dorian's damp hair. His thumb brushed across one of the mage's eyebrows, tracing his brow.

"You're easy to be good to," he said softly. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Dorian's. Bull kissed him tenderly.

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He lay there on top of Bull for some time, shivering but un-moving, kissing him back with exhausted gentleness. He could feel Bull slowly going softer inside him, could smell sex and dampness and magic thick in the air around them. Somehow, it made the room seem smaller, quieter, intimate. He stirred more only once he'd had enough of the taste of Bull's lips and tongue.

"Your room's a mess." The voice was too satisfied and raw to be properly apologetic. "It was a split-second decision. I liked these drapes too much to make for a repeat."

He shifted off of Bull gingerly, and rolled to the side, picking at all of the places his hair was plastered to his face. He was certain his moustache was wrecked.

The lights still hurt his sensitive eyes, but the way it made everything seem glowing, fuzzed out the details ... oddly romantic.

"I missed you."

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Every kiss was met, soft and sweet in the wake of their spent need. His hands moved over Dorian's sides and back, gently touching him, soothing after leaving so many bruises: hand prints on Dorian's hips and thighs, mostly. Satisfaction settled in his chest at the sight of them.

Bull stayed still as Dorian finally pulled away; he shivered faintly. The air felt cold after the heat of Dorian's body. He moved slowly, propping his back up with pillows as Dorian settled against his side. He tried to use his body to block some of the more direct light.

"I missed you," he echoed. "It was strange seeing you and... not seeing you." Not in the same way. Ashkaari couldn't feel what the Iron Bull did for Dorian: he was just a child.

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Dorian felt confessional at that. He so rarely felt confessional. But he could understand why, if he cared to understand it at all. Bull as a little one -- Ashkaari, he supposed -- had been living proof. Had wiped away any doubts that Dorian might have had, about why Bull was there, what Bull felt for him. Because the little boy saw Dorian only as a man, and he'd loved Dorian, in the way a child does, with implicit trust and need.

Dorian could be an insecure man. He could belittle himself. But Bull was not in his bed because Dorian was very pretty, and young, or some kind of foreign fetish. Bull was there because they loved one another.

"I love you," he said, from where he was pressed against Bull's side, body boneless and prickling.

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Everything in him softened, suffuse with warmth. Bull tucked his arm beneath his head so he could lay fully on his side, so he could face Dorian as the mage snuggled to his side.

"I love you, Dorian."

It was not something he had ever, ever had occasion to say to anyone else before Dorian. He'd been Hissrad, and only Hissrad, dedicated to the Qun. Under the Qun there were no relationships like this: no families, no lovers. But here he was, holding Dorian close to his chest as he murmured those words: there was no equivalent in Qunlat.

Hissrad could never say those words and mean them.

But the Iron Bull could.

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Dorian's chest felt filled to bursting with those little words. He wrapped his arm across Bull's chest, fingers playing at the short stubble just showing at the base of his skull. The skin still felt warm there. He could see the flush still on the long tips of Bull's ears. Dorian smiled at him, almost painfully broad, and filled with absolute fondness.

When he spoke again, the words were sweet, and bitter. But the later simply complexity to the former. Making it richer, making it kinder.

"Well, there you have it. Now we're both well and truly fucked."

He pulled in closer; he fumbled for the blankets.

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"That isn't what your smile says," Bull said warmly. He kissed the dimple on Dorian's cheek and reached over him, his longer arm easily catching, pulling the blankets over both of them. Dorian still had drying rainwater and now sweat on his skin, and Bull was more concerned about him staying warm. But the blanket would trap his body heat, would share it, and that would help.

He kissed Dorian's forehead.

"Does saying it still make you feel vulnerable, kadan?" Bull asked the question kindly, gently, not wanting to upset Dorian in the asking. He knew what the mage had been through here, for the most part; he knew what Dorian had been through in Thedas. For the most part.

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"Yes," he said. The word was small, but felt giant in its honesty. He dried his face thoughtlessly on the edge of the blanket. His hair was finally drying enough to try to keep it swept up out of the way.

"But I know you're here. And you're not going anywhere. That's why I said it."

He traced gentle circles on the center of Bull's chest with his fingers, self-soothing.

"And anyway, it's about time at least one of the men under House Pavus tried not to be an admitted coward."

He said it again.

"I love you, Bull."

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"You're very brave, Dorian. Leaving Tevinter, doing everything you did to help the Inquisition. You were brave long before you met me." He kissed Dorian's hair and squeezed him close.

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." He said that with conviction. "And I am free to love you." In a way that wouldn't have been possible, allowed, in the version of history he came from. Bull was glad that there was some version of reality that involved him becoming Tal-Vashoth. He was glad that was the man that Dorian knew before coming here.

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"Yes, well, I don't always feel like it." It was more aching honesty, more gentle wryness. But Bull loved him, and that mattered. It also mattered how Bull felt now. It mattered that Dorian listened, so he did, crefully and with compassion.

He could never think like a man who'd been raised under the Qun, not really. But they were both trying so very hard, to be themselves out from under a heavy burden.

"You know, Bull," he murmured. He was tight against Bull's side, warm and comfortable and sore in only good ways.

"Where I came from, Solas said something to you once when we were out ... that you aren't Tal-Vashoth, not really. It seemed like it was good for you to hear it. And maybe he was right. You're Iron Bull."

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Bull considered that. He and Solas had always sort of circled each other; Bull had never quite trusted him. "I wonder if he considered me Vashoth. That's what we usually call those born outside the Qun, but... sometimes we also call those that reject the Qun but don't turn against it Vashoth, too."

He wondered if that was where he fell. It did bring him a strange sort of comfort, that both sides of himself could exist with less conflict. He nuzzled Dorian's temple.

"Thank you, Dorian."

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Dorian laughed, softly and sweetly, at the nuzzle against his temple. Bull could be almost alarmingly gentle, for such a large creature, with such broad horns. It reminded him sometimes of the musk deer on the property at home, in Asariel. They would eat grain right out of your hands in the springtime, when they all gathered for mating season.

His father used to hunt them, but Dorian had never had the heart to join Halward.

"I'm here for you Bull, whatever you might need me for." He lay his head on Bull's shoulder, overtaken by exhaustion and warm comfort.

"As long as we're both here."

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"I'll always have your back, Dorian. And not just for the view." He had to tease, he had to lighten the moment because everything he felt was too much and too good. He cradled Dorian to him, intent on keeping him warm and safe.

"Have you given any more thought toward possibly moving?" he asked, quiet but curious. Things had been slightly interrupted by his sudden age regression, but little Ashkaari had grown up again.