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The Iron Bull can tell it's been a good night the moment he throws open the tavern door. The fog of beer and sweat that rolls out is thick enough to choke a guy, and he's probably at least one drink up just breathing it in.
Stepping over the threshold makes his calves twinge, but it's nothing compared to the agony of ducking under the doorframe on his shoulders. He groans. Somewhere to put his feet up and something strong down his throat, that's what he needs right now.
"Oi, Chief!" Krem yells from the bar. "They get you on your tiptoes yet?"
"Nah," he calls back. "They didn't want to block out the sun for all you little people."
That gets him a laugh and a round of lifted mugs from the few Chargers at the bar. It doesn't take him long to place the others. Stitches & Dalish are sat in their usual spots and leaning in as Rocky tells the kind of story that comes with hand gestures. Varric's dealing in a game nearby, and he spots Sera by the wall, chatting up the barmaid. The woman has a thing for blondes, he knows, despite that fun time he talked her into stretching her tastes, so Sera's probably got an in there.
It means the only person who watches him cross the floor is Dorian. Judging by the empty mug in front of him, he's probably on his second drink of the evening, and he's sat on the table right next to the Chargers'. It's close enough to listen without quite being in the group. He's been creeping more and more into that weird sort of no-man's land recently.
His eyes meet Bull's.
Bull sits himself down on the opposite side of the same table. It's a judged cross between friendly invitation and respectful distance. Dorian's been known to sit himself down next to him, when there's a lack of seats to blame, but Bull's not dumb enough to push it when the place is only three-quarters full.
Dorian's eyes narrow when he grabs the nearest mug off the next table - an abandoned one of Krem's, going by the placing - and takes a swig. It's pretty piss-poor ale, but he's worked up enough of a thirst that it hits the spot just right.
"You're late," says Dorian. "You missed Stitches's rendition of the time he had to surgically remove a nobleman from a tree."
Now Bull's sorry he missed the early part of the evening, because that's a damn good story and Stitches always forgets the part where the nobleman tried to bribe them to secrecy with all the apples that fell on their heads. But there'll be other evenings and other stories, and he'll be free to go to all of them after tomorrow.
"You've been late all week," says Dorian, and now he's put the mug down and is eyeing the Bull up. He frowns. "Have you been... training? Without the Chargers? At this time of night?"
Bull wonders what he's picking up on. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and across his chest? The bag he's carrying round with him? The way he's stretching his legs out under the table to loosen the muscles like after a good fight or fuck? It's not a bad conclusion, considering it's wrong.
He leans back and savours the moment he gets to tell Dorian, "Dance lessons."
A smile plays over Dorian's lips as he's about to come back with some one-liner, then his eyes widen when he figures out that Bull was completely serious. A few seconds pass, and Bull realises that he's gone and got Dorian speechless. It's impressive. He awards himself a point for it. Normally, it takes his dick in Dorian's mouth to stop him from getting the last word in, and sometimes not even then.
"You - dance lessons?" Dorian finally bursts out.
Bull reaches into the bag he's had slung over his shoulder, and pulls out a pair of boots worked in soft leather.
"Josephine got these made for me. Said my normal boots were too heavy for the ballroom."
Dorian takes a boot and turns it over in his hands. He's still looking disbelieving, but Bull doesn't miss the way he runs a finger over the smooth surface. He wonders if he can get Josephine to order another commission. Boots, and maybe other things.
"Well, I'm glad you'll only crush people's feet a little bit!" says Dorian, handing the boot back, "But why?"
Bull grins. "Why don't I want to crush feet properly?"
"That too, I suppose."
"Halamshiral," says the Bull. "The Boss wants to really rub the Inquisition in the nobles' faces, so Josephine's roping everyone she can into dance lessons."
It wasn't something he'd ever seen himself doing, but the Chargers do enough work running security or prep for fancy Orlesian events that he can't say he'd never need to do it. It'd be stupid to turn down the chance to get a potentially useful new skill.
"Hmm. I can't wait to see you send half the Orlesian court off limping," says Dorian, grinning.
"There's another lesson tomorrow. You could come with me if you want," says Bull, and leans across the table. "I bet you'd look fantastic getting dipped."
Dorian flushes a little, but going by the scorn on his face it's more from the tone than the offer. "I could go, if I really wanted to relive my childhood. How about I write to my ex-nanny and try to track down her book of nursery stories while I'm at it?"
"You got taught to dance when you were a kid?" says the Bull.
"I'm an Altus. Of course they taught me to dance," says Dorian. "However would I go to parties and sweet-talk magisters into their support otherwise?"
"Then you should come tomorrow. Come on, big guy, you know you want to show off your skills."
He smiles, but Dorian's expression has gone tighter, and the Bull realises it's the first time he's invited him anywhere but his bed.
"I... No. No, I think perhaps I'd better not," says Dorian.
The Bull's not one for putting that look on anyone, so he drops it.
"Think you can sweet-talk Celene into her support at this do, then?" he says instead. "It'd save a lot of time."
Dorian laughs. He looks delicious when he laughs, really laughs, not sarcastic or mocking. Part of it is because Bull likes to see him relaxed and happy, and part of it is the way his throat tips back and he gets that same delight in his eyes as the first time he got a nice hard spanking.
The Bull lets the appreciation show on his face, in the slow curve of his mouth. Dorian notices. The chuckles settle into a smile. The air grows a little warmer.
Dorian looks around, then stands up from the table. He makes as if to leave, but not before stopping by the Bull's side.
"I'll drop by your room in fifteen minutes, if you want me to teach you a few moves of my own," Dorian murmurs into his ear.
- - -
The next evening sees Bull back in the armoury they've commandeered as a dance studio. It's dark outside by the time the session wraps up. The Bull doesn't join in the groans of the surrounding soldiers, but he does rub his leg, trying to massage it back into working order. He's not used to moving the way he has been for the last hour, and it shows. His muscles ache and his knee is on fire. It feels more like he's been fighting Venatori than trying to master the Orlesian Waltz.
It's probably a sign things are going right, though. He's grinning as picks up the bag with his dance shoes in and follows the soldiers filtering out.
"Iron Bull!"
He turns. Madame Feuillard, the dance mistress, sweeps past the guardsman trying to catch her eye and approaches the Bull.
"Your chassé today was a marvel," she says. "You have spent time in Orlais, have you not?"
He thinks back to the years spent traipsing up and down hills and mansions with his Chargers. "A while, yeah," he says.
"And you've truly never danced before? You don't have to lie to me."
"Madame, I promise I'm -" not shitting you, he almost says, but looking back at her tilted head and feet perfectly - and carefully - placed in third position, he reins it in a bit. "- I'd never set foot on a dancefloor before this week."
The warrior training's helped more than he thought it would. Learning that one foot goes here and the other there and drilling it over and over again was half his education. The other half of dancing seems to be mostly acting, loosening the muscles and pretending the whole thing is effortless, and if there's one thing he can do, it's act. Years of stealth missions have also made him pretty light on his feet when he needs to be, he's got a good memory for steps, and he's not half-bad at picking out a beat. It's turned out those things were all he really needed.
Feuillard's eyes gleam. "Really? I'd never taught a Qunari before this week. I had no idea your people had such... grace."
"Yeah, we like to keep it under wraps. Gaatlok and dancing, our two big secrets," says the Bull.
The dance mistress looks a bit unsure at how to respond to that, but she rallies magnificently.
"Well," she says. "I'm honoured to have given you your introduction to Orlesian dance." She coughs. "I don't suppose you'd like to come to dinner with me? If you have any questions we could... sit and talk, perhaps, for a while."
The Bull looks at her properly, at the blue dress she's wearing because it brings out her eyes, a little lower cut than usual, and the bag she's holding with spare shoes that are fancier than the ones she's been wearing all week. She's had this planned, probably after talking to some of her Orlesian friends. The gossip about him gets around.
She's not bad looking. The teacher thing is probably ingrained, and he'd guess she usually likes to take charge in bed. But she's away from home and teaching a bunch of low-rank soldiers up in the mountains, so she'd probably like a bit of pampering. He imagines they might have some fun back-and-forth before she'd let him.
But then there's Dorian, and last time they did it, they managed to break the bed while Dorian was laid out and cursing while the Bull fucked him, head thrown back and static bolts prickling around his fingers.
He realises that it doesn't occur to him that Dorian won't be waiting in the tavern, because he doubts it's occurred to him that Bull might not come.
He's not sure what that means.
"Sorry," he says, as kindly as he can. "Don't think that doesn't sound great, but I've made plans for tonight. If you're looking for company, though, Sergeant Raleigh doesn't get off shift till late. He'll probably be wanting dinner in about half an hour. You'll find him over by the main gate."
He's seen the admiring looks the guy's been sending her, and he's big and bulky enough that he's not a bad second choice next to the Bull. From the way she nods, he's pretty sure Feuillard is thinking the same.
"I'll take my leave then," she says, sounding disappointed but not bitter. "I hope to see you dance at the ball!"
She heads out in the direction of the gate, and he makes for the tavern. He's had Dorian in his bed four times now. He wonders when the chance of a fifth became more interesting than a night with a woman trained to wrap her legs behind her head.
- - -
Dorian is exactly where Bull expected him to be, and after a drink and a little conversation, ends up exactly where Bull hoped he'd end up. They use Bull's room, as always - and isn't that strange, that there's an always, that he's fucked Dorian enough times for it to become a habit. He's still not bored. He thinks - he thinks this could be one of those things, like hanging out with the Chargers or relaxing in the tavern at the end of the day, something that just slips comfortably into his daily routine.
He's just so gorgeous laid out on the sheets. Bull wants to break down all the details and keep them locked in his head for rainy days: Dorian's hair mussed, sweat running down his neck, the way his back arches. The moment his eyes stop tracking the Bull's movements and close against the pleasure, and the Bull gets to watch and know it's him, it's him that's making Dorian lose himself. There's also the way Dorian likes to challenge him, but that's harder to quantify. It's something about his grin, something about the eye contact he makes before grabbing Bull's horns.
Another thing about sleeping with the same person several times in a row: he gets to learn Dorian's habits. A couple of times he's tied Dorian's wrists to the bedpost, but last time he left the restraints off and noticed Dorian's hand move to his chest, clutching as he got close. He keeps a careful eye out this time, and when Dorian's fingers twitch, he backs off.
"Vishante kaffas - what are you stopping for?" growls Dorian, through gritted teeth.
"Practice," says Bull, with a grin. "You know what to say if you get bored."
He dives in again, and though Dorian moans the next time he pulls out, the words he hears aren't "Katoh", and sound a lot more like a strangled, "Don't you fucking dare!" so he slows down before building things back up again.
The third time he brings Dorian to the brink, though, he's not expecting Dorian's arms to come up and lock around Bull's shoulders instead of going to his own chest. He definitely doesn't expect Dorian to yank himself up and against him, pulling himself deeper onto the Bull's dick, and gasping, "Please" against Bull's ear.
Whatever plans Bull had are ruined in that moment as he loses himself deep inside Dorian. Dorian shudders with it, and Bull pushes him back down on the bed and sucks him off, quick and hard and filthy.
When he finally lets Dorian come, he thinks for a wild, blissed-out second that the guy's literally glowing, till he realises that the curtains on the window near the bed are on fire.
The next few minutes involve snapping Dorian out of his afterglow, ripping the curtains off the wall, and a lot of stomping and ice spells.
There's a smoking black patch on the floor when they're done. Dorian dusts the frost off his hands next to it and doesn't look at the Bull. He's shifting like he's not sure whether he should be bolting. The Bull takes one good look at him, standing naked over the cremated curtains with his hair frazzled and a snowflake caught on his moustache, and laughs and laughs and laughs.
It gets Dorian to meet his eyes, startled, and then he looks back at the floor and starts to giggle helplessly. He staggers back over to the bed, and the two of them laugh till they're crying.
"Your face!" gasps Dorian.
The Bull's never had an opportunity to see anyone's expression after their lover set the curtains on fire, but he can take a guess at his own. "Got to admit, you surprised me."
Not many people surprise him. He's not sure whether this counts as a good surprise or a bad one, but it happened after they were done, and made him laugh harder than the time Rocky got stuck in the middle of a nug pen in mating season, so he figures it's good enough.
"I'm sorry," says Dorian, calming down enough to look guiltily at the mess. "That was an unforgivable lapse of control. I won't let it happen again, I swear, and I'll replace the curtains."
Bull doesn't like that expression on him much, so he says, "Ah, don't worry about it. I never liked those anyway."
Dorian looks about to argue, but then he just nods and says, "I suppose I'd better go before I burn any more of your things. Except those, maybe." He gestures to Bull's pants, discarded on the floor. "Perhaps you should hang them up like a target next time? Just in case it happens again."
"Thought you said it wouldn't?"
Dorian glares at the pants. "It can for a good cause."
"You know..." said the Bull, watching Dorian's face. He tries something new. "You must be pretty shattered after all that. If you want to stay here tonight..."
"Your room smells of burnt fabric," Dorian says, but slowly.
Bull waits. There isn't a no.
"There's a hole in the roof," he says. "That'll take care of the smell, if it's all you're worried about."
Dorian still looks torn, so Bull just falls back on the bed, sprawling as usual, and pats the free side with a hand. Apparently that's all that was needed to push Dorian over the edge, because he gets this tiny smile and lies back with an eye-roll.
He's still a little stiff at first, but the Bull starts running fingers over his shoulder (he's tempted to tangle them in Dorian's hair, but he's learnt that lesson the hard way), and Dorian gradually melts back into the bed.
"Hey," he says.
"What?" asks Dorian, stretching a little.
The Bull takes a second to admire the view, then says, "You really want to repay me for the curtains?"
He continues before Dorian can get more than wary: "At Halamshiral. Save a dance for me."
"I... I'm not sure it's -" says Dorian, propping himself up on an elbow.
"You did set my curtains on fire," Bull reminds him.
"You said you didn't like them anyway! Besides, that was at least half your fault with what you were doing to me, you -"
"You've got complaints?" asks Bull.
Dorian scowls. "Well, no, not as such."
"Right," says Bull. "One dance it is."
Dorian sighs, and then manages to surprise Bull again by smiling slightly.
"I expect you to leave at least two of my toes uncrushed," he says. "One on each foot, for balance."
"Maybe I'll shock you," says the Bull.
Dorian gets a strange look in his eyes, and rather than coming back with another joke, says, "Well, it wouldn't be the first time."
Seeing Dorian with bedhead the next morning is almost, almost as good as round 2.
- - -
As it turns out, half his time at Halamshiral is spent working through the buffet, and the other half is spent chasing down various nobles' mercs, lackies, and demons, then watching the show at the end when the boss takes down the Duchess. All in all, it's about as good an evening as he could've hoped for somewhere so stuffy, so he's feeling cheery enough to whistle when he saunters into the garden where a little bird told him Dorian's been most of the night.
"The Grand Duchess," says Dorian, as he approaches, twirling the glass in his hand. "Quite frankly, I'm ashamed none of us worked it out. Everyone knows the culprit in a murder mystery is the one you'd least suspect."
"Have you been reading Varric's stuff?" Bull asks.
"Varric writes hack pieces designed to appeal to the lowest common market," says Dorian, and Bull notices that's not a denial.
He makes a mental note to bring it up when it's going to be funniest, and says, "So, is this sort of party you like? Been mingling with the nobles?"
"Hardly," says Dorian, sniffing and casting a glance at a bunch huddled by a climbing vine. "Half of them are scared of the evil Tevinter mage, the other half don't have the imagination to be. Oh, remind me to ask our dear Inquisitor if she can find a crisis somewhere in Antiva next! I hear they're much more fun."
He smiles, and says, "But still, good food and exquisite wine in the finest palace the Orlesians have at their disposal? I suppose I can stomach it for the rest of the evening. How about you?"
"Not bad. These people may be glittery power-grabbing assholes, but they know how to lay on a good spread."
The Bull pats his stomach for emphasis.
Dorian smiles, and there's something fond to it. "I'll toast to that."
He raises his glass in a mock salute, drains it, and places it on a nearby sundial.
"So," says the Bull, "You know, I spent all that time learning to dance, and then I never got to try it out?"
"That's... a shame," says Dorian, and his eyes dart to the exit.
"One dance, you agreed. Let me take you for a spin?" asks the Bull, then softens his tone a little, lets it become a little more serious. "But only if you want."
"Back in the ballroom?" asks Dorian, on edge, and okay, Bull can understand the feeling. He'd kind of like to go off and parade Dorian in front of all those masked dicks, but even he can admit there's added need for caution here, with nobles nosing around looking for any pieces of information they can trade on the Inquisition.
"How about here?" he suggests. "We go behind that wall, we'll be able to hear the music from the upper window but there'll be no good vantage point for anyone to watch us from."
"Alright," says Dorian, and he looks less likely to snap and run, but not entirely happy.
"Hey," says the Bull. "You sure?"
Dorian nods, and draws himself up. Puts on a teasing smile.
"A private spot in Halamshiral?" he says. "This I have to see."
He strides off towards the wall, and the Bull follows.
The Bull was right. The sound of strings floats through the window above, but he can see no-one's there, and the view is blocked on all sides by the wall and some bushes. They're safe.
He isn't sure if Dorian is going to want to lead. He hopes he doesn't, since no-one taught him that bit, but figures he'll wing it if he has to. But Dorian just stands there, so it's up to Bull to put his arms out and draw Dorian into hold the way he was taught. Dorian comes, if a little stiffly, and places his arm on Bull's.
They start moving, and Bull relaxes almost instantly. He thought the problem was him. He's been wondering if he pushed Dorian into this.
As it turns out, the problem is that Dorian is a terrible dancer.
He overthinks it, that's his flaw. He's got grace but no rhythm, and he holds his upper body way too rigidly. It's like someone made him memorise the position once and he's concentrating very hard on perfecting the one bit of this he's confident of. Bull saw worse in his class, but then, he was in a class of beginners, and most of them were more used to chokeholds than holds. And none of them danced like they'd snap in two if someone spun them too fast.
He doesn't say anything though, because as far as he's concerned Dorian's still gorgeous and the pressure of his arm around the Bull is better than any of the times he practised with the dance instructor. And he sees Dorian relax as the Bull smiles and stays silent, because he thinks Bull's too much of a beginner to tell.
He can't resist asking, "So how am I doing?" as he sweeps them into a spin.
"I'm uninjured so far," says Dorian. "I suppose I can't really ask for more."
"I won't hurt you," says the Bull, and it comes out sounding more serious than either he or Dorian had expected. He can see Dorian's eyes widen.
In the end, all Dorian manages to come back with is a weak-sounding, "Good to know."
The music stops and the ensemble switches to an interlude piece. Bull stops the waltz steps, but he doesn't let go. Dorian doesn't make a move to leave. They keep turning, ever so slowly, shuffling with the music that's left.
The garden is quiet, apart from the strains from the window. Everyone else must've gone inside.
Bull wonders if he's the only person outside of Tevinter who's managed to learn that Dorian's bad at dancing.
"The music's stopped," Dorian points out.
"You want to stop?"
Dorian pauses, then presses himself in tighter. "Maybe in a minute. We can... let's wait and see what the next dance is, at least."
Bull smiles and nods.
And yeah, he's thinking about the things they could get up to behind the wall, if he moved Dorian's hand a little lower and backed him up a bit further, but he's not going to. He doesn't even really want to, he realises, it's just the automatic stuff going on in the back of his head. This - this is good.
He's not dumb. He knows what a human would call it, something that's not sexual or platonic but definitely intimate. He's weirdly okay with it. Qunari don't do heavy drinking, or extravagant meals, or a lot of the other things he's done under cover. He figures he can work in romance somehow.
"What?" says Dorian, noticing him smiling.
Bull laughs, scoops Dorian into a dip, and kisses the protests off his mouth while the music plays.