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Bull groaned quietly when he woke. It wasn't weird to have a man's body in bed next to him: usually it was Dorian, now and then Krem. But he knew it was Steve, though it took him a moment to remember the exact circumstances of why he was here.

Right, Robert. He got up slowly, snorting a quiet laugh when he realized Steve must have stripped in his sleep. He shook his head and got up slowly. He didn't bother to put a shirt on as he shuffled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to make coffee, figuring that would be a good idea. He'd start breakfast when he know what Steve wanted. Once the coffee was done he poured two mugs and came back into the bedroom, resting one on the nightstand on Steve's side. The Bull sat down on the edge of the bed, still a bit sleepy. His eyepatch was gone, revealing the heavy scarring and missing eye on the left. His entire torso, really, was a criss-cross of scars, a map of old injuries.

He sipped his coffee, wondering how bad Steve's hangover would be. Bull remembered bringing him home because drunk Steve hadn't wanted to be alone, had clung and begged for companionship. He understood; he didn't mind. Though Steve waking up naked could be a fun thing to explain.

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the Iron Bull

April 2020

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