Chapter Text
The first time Bull noticed something seemed wrong he actually thought he was jealous. Sure, Adaar had started bedding Dorian several weeks prior but Bull had harbored no ill will over that, not really: he liked the look of the mage, loved sparring for hours against that sharpened silver tongue as they traipsed about the wilderness, but Bull had made his offers and the 'vint had gone elsewhere. No big deal. He and the boss seemed happy and Bull was fine with that.
"Frigging grabby-hands all day and night, those two," Sera had laughed, making obscene motions to accompany the observation. So it was...though Bull had noticed the grabbing to be somewhat one-sided. Given that Adaar was only a half-head shorter than he and comparably large, maybe it wasn't surprising that the mace-wielding Inquisitor did most of the initiation.
...still seemed like something wasn't quite right, though.
The tavern was bustling--pretty par for the course, honestly--and the boss and the 'vint had taken up residence in a corner on the opposite side of the room from Bull and his Chargers. His boys were noisy, just back from a job and celebrating accordingly. He joined them, smiling and nodding through the stories, eye watching everything and everyone at once, much like always.
Even across the sea of bodies in the room the Bull couldn't help but notice the dark flush of blood in Dorian's face, obvious even in the shadows of the corner. From the look of it the mage was either in Adaar's lap or damn closed to it, his eyes darting around and appraising the tavern's other occupants almost in a panic. The mage had one hand braced against the Inquisitor's as the latter's much larger fist bobbed conspicuously up and down over the former's lap. Adaar's face was tucked up close alongside Dorian's neck, nipping and biting periodically as he muttered in the 'vint's ear. Bull couldn't read his lips to catch what Dorian said in reply but it made Adaar throw his head back and laugh. His hand didn't stop moving, either.
Never took Dorian for the exhibitionist type, the qunari mused, taking a nice deep draw from his ale. Too much Tevinter in that 'vint; knowing what he did about the Imperium and what they thought of Dorian's so-called 'perversions' it was just one more check in the shit that doesn't add up column. Irritated about the niggling thoughts in the back of his head Bull put his attention back with his boys, leaving the boss and his man to their games.
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"Things going alright for you and the boss, 'vint?" Bull asked Dorian as they stopped for a rest in the shade. Adaar was off talking to some scouts and Cole was...somewhere...so it was just the two of them in the lee of the stone.
"I don't see what business it is of yours," Dorian replied with a sniff, sitting with his back to a smooth boulder. He had his arms wrapped around his knees.
"You two kinda make it everyone's business when he's playing with you in front of the whole tavern," Bull remarked, curious to see what reaction it would garner. Dorian jumped at the words, his eyes meeting Bull's while shock--shame?--dropped his jaw open. A flash later and the mage realized he was staring and slammed his mouth closed so hard his teeth clacked. Crimson washed up from his neck to stain his attractive bronze skin several shades darker.
"Yes. Well." It didn't take a Ben-Hassrath to catch the unease in Dorian's speech and body language, though the man was trying rather hard to buff his veneers back to gleaming. "Adaar is rather proud of showing me off, as he should be. I am exquisite, after all." After a rather deliberate pause he added: "It's none of your concern." The mage was very fastidiously not making eye contact.
"Whatever you say 'vint," the qunari replied, watching the younger man flinch at the epithet...something he had never done, even over months of the two of them slinging racial insults as a way to begin casual conversation with each other. Internally the qunari sighed, but he dropped it.