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The first time Dorian had stripped it had felt amazing.
He liked feeling desirable, and there was nothing that fed his ego better than people literally throwing money at him in return for seeing more of his body. He’d let some of the men take him home, and spread him out on their beds, take off the remaining clothes that he hadn’t removed on stage, and let them fuck him, murmuring into his ear how hot he was. It had been worth being a little sore at work the next day.
There was also a bitter, petty part of him that couldn’t help but think about what his father would do if he could see him now, working at – an albeit high-end – strip club in the South. He could imagine the way Halward’s face would twist, and that made his career choice all the more appealing.
The problem of course came when he realised that finding other work in the South was nearly impossible. His qualifications, while impressive, were all but useless in here, and no one wanted to talk to a ‘Vint unless they were taking their clothes off. Striping quickly stopped feeling fun, and just made him feel like he needed to take a long, scalding hot shower.
Bitterness lasted a little longer, but even that faded and eventually it was only the knowledge that if he wanted to keep a roof over his head, he had to work, that convinced him to drag himself out of bed, throw on a fake smile, and perform.
It was common courtesy to not ask how his co-workers had entered this profession, and he certainly hadn’t been forth coming with his history, so he had no idea how Sera had ended up here, only that she had been here a little longer than him, and seemed committed to ruining the lives of their clientele, one suited businessman at a time.
“Shite,” she said, flopping down next to him, almost messing up his careful application of his eyeliner. “I fuckin’ hate men. So grabby, think the world owes then sommit.”
He also knew she was like him, and somehow she had become one of the closest things to a friend he had here.
“I’ll see if can keep my hands to myself,” Dorian said, throwing her a smile.
“Wasn’t talking about you.” She pulled a face. “Everyone knows you like dangly bits. They as,” she paused to mime fiddling with Dorians’ crotch, “as they are with the other girls?”
Dorian shrugged. There were always people who tried to get a little more handsy than Dorian would like, and maybe it was because he was more sensitive to when women were making attempts, but he hadn’t really noticed much of a difference between when the men and women paid him too much attention. He knew it was slightly different for the female strippers however.
“Dorian, you’re on in five minutes,” Josephine didn’t stop to chat, or even look up from her clipboard, as she rushed past, trying to make sure everyone was where they were meant to be.
Dorian swore and quickly returned to finishing his make-up, glaring at Sera for distracting him. She stuck out her tongue, but ran off to do a costume change. Finally finished, he got to his feet, not even a little unsteady in the tall heels he wore, and joined Josephine by the entrance to the stage.
“The crowd’s a little rowdy, there’s a big group, but no one has been trying anything they shouldn’t,” she warned him, but he didn’t have a chance to answer before the music changed, and she patted him on the back and rushed off again.
“Please welcome to the stage, our very own Basilisk!”
Dorian took a deep breath, pulling his mask tightly around him, and stalked onto stage.
---
Dorian hated the way the clothes clung to him after a show. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, which was cooling on his skin, and his remaining clothes were chaffing. And even though had pulled out the notes stuffed into his underwear he could still feel the hands of the people who had shoved the money there.
“Dorian,” Josephine appeared again, looking stressed but smiling. “You made an impression out there, you’re wanted for a birthday lap dance.”
Dorian nodded, feeling pleased, but only because of the extra tips the work would bring in. “What does he want?”
“The young man who paid for it requested something pink,” Josephine caught sight of Harding over Dorian’s shoulder and rushed off with a pat on Dorian’s arm as goodbye.
Dorian could do pink.
He stripped off, grabbing a pair of lacy pink underwear, changing quickly, in the moderate privacy of his curtained off section of the room. He changed his jewellery, from gold to silver, adding necklaces and bracelets. He grabbed a white shirt, large enough that it came down to his mid thighs and then a pair of knee-high black leather boots with silver buckles. The shirt was soft, but thin enough that it was almost see-though and the studs in his nipples caused enough of a disruption to the material to be seen.
Finally, he pulled a dressing gown over the top of everything.
---
The room was mostly set up already, with just a few things left for Dorian to adjust. He had his playlist of choice set up for the speakers, a chair in the middle the room, several mirrors behind where he would be dancing so the client could see him from all angles and finally pulled off his robe. He folded it carefully, and placed it down next to the speakers.
There was a knock on the door, and Cassandra poked her head in.
“Are you ready for him?” She asked, sweeping her eyes over the room to make sure everything was as it should be. Dorian could take care of himself, but it was still incredibly reassuring to know that Cassandra was right outside if anyone overstepped their boundaries.
“Send him in,” Dorian said, leaning against the table, pulling his face into a smirk.
The door closed, and Dorian had time to pull in one deep breath and release it slowly before it opened again.
Only the fact that he was a professional prevented Dorian from gaping. Standing in the doorway was the biggest Qunari Dorian had ever seen. Admittedly, he hadn’t seen many, but none had even come close to being as tall or as broad as the one standing before him. This was at least going to be enjoyable for Dorian, and he was going to have a pleasant image to recall when he wanted to get himself off later.
They stared each other for too long, the Qunari’s mouth slowly curling into a smile, seemingly completely aware of the effect he was having on Dorian, while Dorian stared at him dumbly.
A noise from out in the hall startled him back to the present.
“What’s your name, sweetheart,” Dorian purred, dropping his head a little so he could stare at Bull from under his eyelashes even with the distance between them.
“I’m the Iron Bull,” he said. His voice wasn’t quite what Dorian expected, but it made his knees a little week. “You can call me Bull. What do you want me to call you?”
“I’m Basilisk,” Dorian jutted his head up as he said it, a clear challenge, one Bull didn’t back away from.
“Not your real name, I take it?” Bull asked, taking another step into the room, close to Dorian.
“Is the Iron Bull yours?” Dorian snapped back, something about Bull riling him up enough to break characters.
Bull shrugged, and kept smiling.
“Cassandra told you the rules?” Dorian asked.
“Yeah, I know the drill.” Bull was wearing a dark purple shirt that strained across his broad chest. Dorian was almost drowning in the shirt he was wearing, and he suspected that Bull’s was even bigger. Dorian decided not to dwell on how that made him feel.
Bull settled into the chair and Dorian turned quickly to avoid thinking about how thick each of Bull’s thighs were, and how it would feel to have his own legs on either side of them.
It was easier once he started dancing. Rolling his body in time to the music was second nature by this point and even Bull’s passionate stare couldn’t cause him to miss a beat. He climbed onto Bull’s lap, noting that even up on his knees he was only a little taller than Bull. He smirked down at Bull, mock grinding his hips into Bull’s crotch but never actually bringing them close enough to touch.
He tried to maintain eye contract as he started undoing the buttons of his shirt, starting at his collar and working his way down. However, while his clients were normally too busy being transfixed by the dark skin he was revealing, Bull returned the favour, his single eye meeting Dorian’s pair.
It was only when Dorian had to look away, unable to handle the intensity, that Bull looked down at Dorian’s chest. Dorian dropped the shirt, letting it pool at Bull’s feet, leaving him in only his lacy pink panties, and leather boots.
Dorian placed his arms on the back of the chair, going as high on his knees as he could, trying to tower over Bull. The half inch of air between them seemed endless.
Bull groaned under him, and Dorian was only grateful that he wouldn’t be the first to make an unintended noise. Bull’s hands were gripping the arms of the chair so hard Dorian almost worried for the chair. He tried to keep his focus on the music and his dancing, but Bull was right there, looking up at him like he was the most beautiful thing Bull had ever seen.
Dorian was used to feeling desired, which was ultimately a selfish emotion; Bull made him feel worshipped.
“Can I touch you?” Bull asked, voice low and deep, sending shivers through Dorian.
Dorian only just managed to bite back what would have surely been a pathetically needy ‘please’. They weren’t meant to let clients touch them when performing privately like this, and while he hadn’t broken those rules since his first couple of weeks, he was still risking his tips for the night if he was caught.
But maker, he had never waned anyone’s hands on him as much as much as he wanted Bull’s on him right now.
“All right,” he said, mouth dry. “But only my hips. If you try anything else I’ll have you thrown out.”
Bull smiled up at him, and it was far too sweet a smile considering Dorian was currently grinding in his lap. Bull brought his hands up, hovering them over Dorian’s hips, waiting for another nod of consent before he brought them down.
Bull’s hands were big and warm against his skin, and while they held him firmly, Bull didn’t try to guide his dancing, or bring him any closer to his crotch. Dorian rolled his hips in time to the music, closing his eyes, focusing entirely on the music and the heavy weight of Bull’s hands. He knew his mouth was slightly open, and while Dorian was sure it look good, it was a far cry from the sexy smirk he normally put on for this kind of thing.
He continued to dancing, Bull’s hands dragging slightly against his panties and his skin, but his hands moved naturally with the rhythm of Dorian’s hips. Each shift of his hips caused his underwear to drag across his crotch and he felt himself start to harden as he danced, Bull’s hands having far more effect on him than he would have liked to admit. He closed his eyes, as if not being able to see Bull’s face would lessen how nice his hands felt.
He only noticed Bull’s erection when it brushed his backside. Dorian gasped and jerked up, away from the contact. He stared at Bull a second, who looked ready to apologies. But before Bull could get the words out, Dorian sunk fully into Bull’s lap, trapping his own cock between his stomach and Bull’s, and leaving Bull’s pressing into his arse. Bull groaned, and Dorian rolled his hips again, this time providing them both with glorious friction.
He wasn’t even making an attempt at dancing now, just riding Bull’s lap, the beat of the music completely forgotten.
His hands came down on Bull’s shoulders and he could feel the warmth of Bull’s skin through his shirt, and hard muscles under his fingers. His hips stammered in their movement, momentarily distracted by the feeling of Bull everywhere. Hands on his hips, strong thighs under him, shoulders under his hands, and the expanse of Bull’s chest against his own.
“You with me Basilisk?” Bull asked, and Dorian nodded, words escaping him.
“You don’t need to carry on, if you don’t want to,” Bull said, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Dorian’s hips.
That spurred Dorian back into action, rubbing against Bull with more intent this time, feeling proud of the low noises he drew from Bull, despite the needy sounds he knew he was making.
“You’re beautiful,” Bull said, and Dorian almost begged Bull to fuck him right there on the floor. Dorian felt beautiful with Bull holding him like that, and in far more ways than just how he looked.
Dorian gripped Bull’s shoulders tighter, dropping his head down, hiding his face in Bull’s neck. He rolled his hips again, rubbing himself against Bull’s belly. He could feel Bull’s sizeable erection pressing up against him, and when the angle was just right, it rubbed against his arse, causing him to shudder.
Dorian came with a stifled groan, collapsing against Bull, messing the inside of his underwear. He felt Bull tense under him, and grunt softly, lifting his hips up a fraction as he too fell over the edge.
Dorian lay against Bull, panting for breath, wishing Bull would bring his arms up and wrap them around Dorian, but, just as Bull had agreed, his hands had never left Dorian’s hips.
“You all right?” Bull’s chest rumbled as he spoke, and while the words were soft, and soothing, they had the exact opposite effect on Dorian.
He wrenched himself out of Bull’s grip, who despite looking startled made no move to stop him. Dorian had gone from blissed out to nearing a panic attack in only a split second. He grabbed his robe, leaving the rest of his clothes on the floor, and was already half way out of the room before it was fully on.
He heard Bull call after him, and Cassandra only a second later but he ignored both of them.
---
Dorian pulled his coat tightly around him, keeping his head down as he walked towards the bus stop. He was dressed in ugly grey sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, with all his make-up washed off. He still dressed nicely on his days off, but after a night dancing, the last thing he wanted was more attention.
He reached the bus stop, waiting several metres away from the shelter and the other people waiting, not wanting to risk any conversation. The couple there seemed too busy caught up in each other to pay any attention to him anyway.
He had been checked up by Sera, then Cassandra, and finally Josephine, all of whom he had told some lie about Bull saying something that reminded him of an ex-boyfriend, and he had freaked out. He had assured them each repeatedly that Bull had done nothing wrong. Josephine hadn’t seemed inclined to believe him until Cassandra had pointed out that Bull had left a generous tip, so clearly no one was too upset over it.
Even Sera, who wouldn’t have got him in any trouble, got that version, rather than the truth that he really couldn’t stand to want more things he couldn’t have. He was miserable enough already.
A bus drew up and the couple climbed on, barely letting go of each other.
Dorian had hurriedly washed the messed panties in the bathroom sink before throwing them in the laundry pile, hoping that would be enough to hide any evidence that he had come in them. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, but Dorian didn’t want to draw attention to the evening.
Dorian dropped his head as he heard someone approaching, but as their large shadow crossed him, he couldn’t help but glance up at them. He froze when he recognised the very distinguishable silhouette of the Iron Bull.
Bull did a double take as he passed, recognising Dorian, and for a second they stared at each other without talking. Bull looked rather like a deer caught in headlights, and Dorian was willing to bet he had a similar expression.
“Bull,” Dorian choked out. He had run into people who recognised him before, but this was hardly the same. “How did you know I would be here?”
“I was walking some of my boys home; they had had a little too much to drink,” Bull said, covering his shock far better than Dorian had. “It’s just coincidence, I promise I wasn’t following you.”
Dorian for a second considered running, but he remembered how gentle Bull’s hands on him had been, and how respectful of Dorian’s boundaries he had been. If it had been anyone else, Dorian wouldn’t have believed them, but he doubted Bull had tracked him here on purpose.
“Forgive me,” Dorian said, coming back to himself. “I’ve been stalked from the club before, so you must understand why I’m cautious.”
Bull nodded, not seeming even the slightest bit insulted. “I’m sorry if I upset you earlier,” he said instead.
Dorian threw on a fake smile, the one he used when he was working. “Considering my line of work, it’s not exactly something I’m unused to.”
“That doesn’t excuse my actions. I shouldn’t have asked you to bend the rules for me.” Bull sounded so serious, as if the idea that he had upset Dorian actually mattered to him. Dorian had always had such a weakness for kind men.
“I liked it,” Dorian admitted softly, unwillingly recalling the size of Bull’s hands and the strength in them as he had gripped him.
“You weren’t exactly sending clear signals, running off like that.”
Dorian shrugged helplessly, not sure how he was meant to put into words how he had felt.
“My name’s Dorian,” He blurted out suddenly, cringing internally.
Bull looked him up and down, and Dorian was suddenly self-conscious of the way he was dressed.
“I was thinking about asking for your number,” Bull said at last.
Dorian could hear the ‘but’ coming, and dreaded it. “I bet you say that to all the stripers who rub one off against you,” he said, hoping to put off the inevitable.
“No,” Bull said far too seriously. “Only the ones who look like they would be just as interesting out of my bed as in it. So just you.”
“Oh…”
“As I was saying, I was going to ask, but here’s mine instead. It’s on you Big Guy, you never want to see me again, and you don’t have to. I won’t come by the club again, there’s always the one on the other side of town.”
Bull held out a scrap of paper, with eleven numbers neatly written on one side. Dorian focused on keeping his head steady as he reached for it.
“That would be a shame,” Dorian said, smirking to cover the way his heart leapt to his throat as their fingers brushed, “their stripers aren’t nearly as good as ours.”
Bull laughed. “I believe that.” He gave Dorian another once over, and Dorian felt his checks heat up ever so slightly, self-consciousness forgotten in the wake of Bull’s continued interest.
Headlights appeared at the end of the road, lighting them up. Dorian glanced over his shoulder but he already knew it would be his bus.
Dorian stepped out to the curb, and the bus pulled into the bay.
“Good night, Bull,” Dorian said, not knowing what else to do. Leaving without touching Bull seemed wrong somehow, but equally a kiss seemed to forward, despite what had occurred between them earlier.
Bull leant down and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s cheek, before he disappeared down the pavement with a single wave over his shoulder.
Dorian barely registered getting on, paying, or finding a seat on the bus; his world had narrowed to the lingering feeling of Bull’s lips against his skin.
Dorian gripped the paper too tightly in his hands, crumpling it in on itself. He wanted to see Bull again. Even if all Bull wanted was a quick fuck, Dorian could imagine how gently Bull would fuck him, and how good he would make Dorian feel. He’d felt the outline of Bull’s cock through their clothes; it was wonderfully proportional, and Dorian wanted it inside him.
More than anything, he wanted Bull to speak to him like he had before, call him beautiful again.
He’d be damned if he wasn’t a weak, weak man.
He pulled out his phone.
“I like spicy food and am off Monday evening.” He pressed send before he could think better of it.
“I know a place. I’ll send you the address.” The reply came almost immediately. Before Dorian could type another response his phone buzzed again. “Text me so I know you get home safe?”
“I will. I look forward to Monday.”
“Me too, Dorian.”