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A Bad Night, A Better Morning

for @labarkour

Rating: T
Summary: In which Dorian experiences two semi-polite awakenings within only minutes of each other, which he probably deserves.

[link to AO3 will go here]
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A long day, a bad night. Dorian had found himself outside the Bull’s door, which has ever had been left unlocked, and had opened it without much input from his thoughts. At the desk by the hearth sat the Bull, head resting on his left hand, quill dangling uselessly from his right. He’d looked up, and sighed.

Dorian…

Not – not that. Will you allow, that is, may I

A grey morning. Dorian wakes slowly to warmth to his front, cold to his back, and identifies the warmth eventually as the Bull, still slumbering beneath him. A pang, then. Last night he’d been an intruder, creeping into the Bull’s bed for some kind of comfort – and whenever had he begun to find comfort there? Dorian had woken just briefly as the Bull settled in beside him, just long enough to press closer until the Bull wrapped a hand around his back to hold him there.

“I should go,” Dorian says, all but silently, a test of the words. His voice rasps in his throat.

The Bull stirs then, and Dorian stills. Warmth against his left shoulderblade, then, as the Bull wraps an arm around him once again. “Mmm. Morning.” In a slow movement the Bull drags his hand a short way up and down Dorian’s back, soothing until Dorian recognizes the nature of the act. He doesn’t stiffen, but his heart sets to pounding. The Bull must feel it, pressed together as they are.

It’s too much, after the frustration and despair of the night before. Sequestered from morning to evening in the forge with Dagna, delicately prodding at Calpernia’s crystal, and not a thing to show for it. Another snide letter from the Head Librarian of the Minrathian Circle refusing his requests in the most insulting means possible without directly condemning him. The perpetual distaste and distrust of a keep full of southerners who manage never to notice his commitment to the cause. A cold night, and a dragging sorrow, until there’d been nothing for it but to give in, and—

“I should go,” Dorian says, and his voice is rough, and he says it with his face pressed into the Bull’s shoulder.

The Bull says nothing. He’d said little the night before. Dorian, and sure, and that had been it. Something despondent in the curve of his back, and Dorian hadn’t thought to ask—no, that isn’t it. Had not wanted to ask, in the expectation of being rebuffed. And the Bull had held him all night, is holding him now, despite whatever it is that weighs on him.

Selfish, to have come; selfish yet, to linger. Selfish once more, to angle his face up to say, “Unless…”

“Go,” says the Bull, and something sharp stabs through Dorian’s chest even as the Bull continues, “or stay. It’s your call.”

Keep reading

Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange canon submission

Forever is a State of Mind

My gift is for @serenityfails, from @ohgodsalazarwhy

Prompts filled: Dorian taking care of Bull and: Dorian and Bull happy and retired and alive long after the events of Trespasser

Rating: G

———————–

The wind this time of year was cold, but not biting. Not quite yet. They still had a few more weeks before the chill sank into the ground and killed the last of the stubborn plants in their modest garden. Right now the wind was blowing his hair about as he spread out kernels of corn for their clucking chickens. Dorian watched idly as they scratched through the dirt and chased each other around with loud angry burrs and screeching. Horrible animals. Dorian could hardly believe they owned them.

If asked as a child what sort of home he’d live in as an old man he would have confidently replied that he would die in the Pavus estate, surrounded by wealth and comfort. Dorian smiled to himself as he pictured his younger self’s reaction to being told he’d live in a comfortable, but modest, cottage with a little garden, some goats, a stubborn donkey, and a flock of screeching chickens; and that he was content, no, happy.

The Imperium held many wonders and Dorian had been happy to indulge in his youth. He’d almost had to as a Magister. Those days were done, and the Pavus homes and lands were given to the burgeoning Lucerni. His seed had sprouted, and it was strong enough to go on without him. The Pavus name? Dorian could have passed it on to any one of his many apprentices, but he thought it best that it die with him. Dorian would be the final Pavus, and his vanity demanded he remain the greatest.

The tin bucket was finally bereft of corn, so Dorian set it aside. He squinted up at the sky, trying to gauge how much time had passed since The Bull had gone into town to grab some supplies for winter. He should return soon. Dorian grabbed his staff and a pair of big tin buckets, hoisting them by their handles over his forearm so he could walk slowly to their well. His body ached these days, and the cold did him no favors, but his back was still straight and his mind still sharp, so he couldn’t complain too much. He did, but that was beside the point.

The well had been a project that they’d worked on together many, many years ago. A summer spent with The Chargers and dirt always under his fingernails. Dorian smiled fondly at the memory, pulling up water and dumping it into his tin buckets. The work had been well worth it, Dorian was hardly a young man anymore, he couldn’t walk half a mile every time he needed water drawn. When both buckets were filled to the brim, Dorian waved his hand and both floated three feet off the ground, drifting gently just ahead of Dorian as he walked them to the house.

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Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange canon Trespassers submission

Aroma FOR Siujerkjai.

For @siujerkjai​, by @solar-windswept

This had been going on long enough that the Bull could now discern when Dorian wanted sex by scent alone.

Dorian would walk into the tavern and sit next to him at the usual corner. They’d play cards and tip back their drinks, laughing along with whatever stories were brought to the table, no matter who was telling them - Varric or Adaar or one of the Bull’s boys.

Then the mage would reach over and brush the inside of Bull’s wrist against his warm, but slightly twitching fingers. 

Dorian wore his cologne like a proper gentleman: just a small dip on his wrists, behind both ears, and in the hollow of his throat. The usual scent he preferred was a mild jasmine. Flowery, but not overwhelming or sweet; elegant in a way that would never really be out of fashion.

But on the nights where Dorian was randy, the cologne he wore bore traces of cinnamon and cloves. The hint of spice filled the Bull’s nose and it burned him in more ways than one. All the while, the sneaky little Vint would just sit next to him, discussing some sort of magical crap with Dalish as if nothing was different. Such a goddamn tease.

The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice the change, or at least they weren’t commenting on it.

“Bull?”

Keep reading

Adoribull Adoribull Holiday Exchange NSFW submission Solar-Windswept