My Adoribull - What You Want of Me
* Last time, I swear. But these two have been bickering in my head for days and this seemed the best way to get them both to shut up. I don’t normally do fanfiction, always too afraid that I’m mucking about with someone else’s baby too much. But, like I said, this story wanted to be told and, when all was written and done, I thought it was pretty good. So apologies in advance if my Adoribull isn’t your Adoribull. And, if you don’t already know, I am, by nature, an erotica writer, so ya know, mind the filthy, filthy smut.
Half-way up the stairs, far from prying eyes, the Bull felt Dorian reach for his hand, tucking his elegant fingers into his own large, calloused grasp. He loved the touch of Dorian’s skin against his. It was a soft luxury, finely crafted. Like a forbidden treasure he was never fully sure he wasn’t about to break or have taken away. In the shadows, he stared at their entwined hands as Dorian lay his head against the Bull’s forearm. They were so different, in size, looks, and manner, with centuries of both their people between them. Impossibly held in that small twist of mismatched hands. They walked in silence and the Bull wondered what that would look like in the light. Wondered what, through others’ eyes, they would see.
He shook his head. Didn’t matter. Asit tal-eb. It is to be. This was what they were. They existed in the shadows. In stolen moments behind closed doors. And, even if he wasn’t altogether sure exactly why that was—discretion, past ghosts, or some damn thing or another—the Bull supposed it was better than nothing. Touching hidden treasure still beat the shit out of an empty hand.
After all, he was Hissrad, Keeper of Illusions. A spy and a liar, by nature. Maybe he belonged to the shadows and had no business thinking about the light.
He watched Dorian enter his room as if it were his own, as if he had every right to be there. As if he belonged there. Which, admittedly, he did. His room—his bed—was theirs in a way Dorian’s never would be.
Which was fine.
All his things were here. He could just imagine the horrified look on Dorian’s face, if they got caught bringing rope or his tools into the Tevinter’s fine, pristine room. No, it was just more practical to come here. To his space. His domain.
And it wasn’t as if he cared if his curtains caught fire.
“Are you all right?”
The Bull blinked as he turned to see the man he would always think of as his, whether or not the claim was returned, lit by the lamp, the light making his pale skin seem to glow. “Sure,” he said as Dorian reached for his belt. “Finally got you all to myself; my night’s definitely looking up.”
Dorian shook his head with a small smile, rolling his eyes indulgently as he shrugged out of his clothes. Left in little more than trousers and his boots, he placed a hand on his coyly cocked hip. “Well, now that you have me here, Qunari, what do you plan to do with me?”
The Ben-Hassrath agent in him studied the mage, for a moment. He’d taken off his shirt, but left the pants. That meant slow. He wanted the Bull to take his time. Not too much—or he’d have made him strip him layer by layer—but he was definitely in the mood to play. The hand on that thrust out hip was deliberate. Meant to draw his eye down as those slim, elegant fingers tapped impatiently against the tight, taut muscles of his ass.
The Bull smiled. He could work with that.
“Come here,” he told Dorian as he took a seat on the bed.
Dorian frowned, as if considering it, before sauntering over to stand between his knees, looking put out. The Bull narrowed his gaze at the man. It was a weird game the mage liked to play. Pretend not to want what you clearly want. Ask for something by acting like you don’t want it.
But the Bull supposed he’d played weirder games before. Sure, that milkmaid/new steer game he’d played with a particularly inventive serving wench had been an odd experience, but at least the rules had been easy enough to learn. Dorian’s game always seemed to have new or changing rules. Ravish me in the bedroom. But don't touch me in the tavern. Talk dirty to me. But say nothing in front of anyone else. Tell me what I want. But don’t make me say it.
The Bull shook his head. He wanted the contrary man all the time. Like, all the time. He could have his sword hilt-deep into the belly of an enemy, feeling their blood hot and spraying all over the battlefield and he still wanted the eye-rolling, little mage.
But Dorian seemed to need these four walls, needed his games and the shadows, to want him. The Bull wished he didn’t need to know why. Didn’t need to know when what they did—who they were—together was acceptable and when it wasn’t.
He knew it was complicated—the mage had told him so enough times. Knew Dorian’s past held darkness that overshadowed his present. And hiding, for the Bull, was easier than coming out into the light was for Dorian. He knew that.
It’s enough to be wanted, he told himself as he reached out to grab the band of Dorian’s pants, pulling him close for a kiss. After all, what the hell did he know about love? About relationships? Even though this—what he had with Dorian—felt like more than he’d known before, what did he know, really? It just felt strange that he could talk and be free about relationships built on little more than heat and fun, meant only to last for the space of a night or two, but here, with his mage, he had to hide. Had to be hidden. Maybe, for all the crap Varric filled his books with, that was all there was to love. The games lovers played. Maybe it was enough to know, within this moment, within this space, he was needed. Even if, outside that, he wasn’t.
Dorian stepped back as he laid a hand against the Bull’s shoulder. “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
“Sure.” The Bull shrugged. He’d been quite literally inside of the man; felt only fair to let him in a bit as well. “What do you want to know?”
Dorian pursed his lips indecisively. “I was talking to Cole—”
“Oh great,” the Bull groaned. “What did the demon boy have to say now?”
Dorian smiled slightly. “Nothing really. Just...” He sniffed and fidgeted awkwardly. "He'd said that I was losing you. That 'the tighter you held me, the farther I slipped away.' " He shook his head and laughed. "Doesn't even make sense." He looked at the Bull. "It's not true," he told him, his tone insistent and obvious. "I'm not going anywhere."
The Bull nodded. They weren't going anywhere. Not moving further away. But not exactly moving closer either. He nodded again. "I understand."
It was enough. To have his strong, wise, arrogant, little mage—even for a moment, to be able to call him his—was enough. It made him feel powerful and proud. Made him feel worthy.
And, if that was all they had, it had to be enough.
Dorian sighed relieved. "And, well, I just thought you should know." He tilted his head curiously as his gaze swept over the other man. “He also said that I should ask you what you want.”
The Bull let out a confused laugh. “What do you mean?”
Dorian shrugged as his hand idly stroked the Bull’s broad shoulder, touching the tough leather that covered it. “You’re always saying you know what I want.” He gave a little nod as he drew small spirals over his skin, sending tingles through the Bull’s body with each light stroke. “And we always end up doing exactly what I want. Sometimes, even before I know I want it!” His hand stopped as he frowned, making the Bull instantly miss the touch. “But it occurs to me that I really have no idea what it is you want.”
He grabbed the mage’s hand and kissed his fingers gently. “Don’t worry about me, kadan; believe me, I’m just fine.” He smiled at all the smooth, naked flesh in front of him. “No complaints here.”
Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not worried, so much as curious.”
The Bull leaned back and sighed. So, now the man wanted to talk? He shrugged. All right. “Well, I really like seeing you go all tense and hearing you moan when I—”
“No, no, no,” Dorian said, waving his hand out as a silly, sweet blush flushed his pale neck and cheeks, “again that’s what you’re doing to me.” He shuffled his feet a bit, shifting his weight from one side to the other. “What if I…” he shrugged as his voice trailed off, “you know...want to do things to you?”
The Bull raised his eyebrows. “You want to do things to me?” He sat back up again, intrigued. “Like what?”
Dorian rolled his eyes and huffed. “I don’t know.” He smacked the Bull’s shoulder. “Not specifics anyway. Not exactly.” He shook his head. “Everything we’ve done is just so different than what I’ve known in the past. Before, with others, it’d been more hurried. More rash. More meaningless, if I’m being perfectly honest. But this, us…” He shrugged. “It’s just more. Sometimes more than I know what to do with. Anyway, that’s why I asked if there were things that you want me to do.” He made an impatient sound and waved his hand expectantly. “Are there things you want me to do?”
The Bull frowned and blinked. “Uh,” he said, taken aback by the question, “I mean, I don’t know.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
Dorian balked. “You’ve never thought about me touching you?” he accused, his voice practically screeching. “Well, that’s flattering.”
“Not like that.” It wasn’t like he didn’t think about them together. He did. A lot, in fact. Probably more than he should. It’s just that, in his fantasies, he was always the one doing. Tying up Dorian. Wielding tools on Dorian. His hands on Dorian’s body. Him giving Dorian pleasure. He shook his head. Wasn’t that enough?“ I just… “ Wasn’t that what Dorian wanted? “I’m happy with...” What more could the damned Tevinter want? “I mean, we could just keep doing what we’re doing.” What more could the Bull give?
“Is that what you want?”
The Qunari agent lowered his gaze and leaned back. The bed gave under his shifting weight as he pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged onto the bed. “I don’t...” He shook his head, feeling the game’s rules change. Again. This wasn’t how this worked. Wasn’t how they worked. He had a role, a job, within…whatever it was they were doing. But, within the space of a few words, the Bull felt that role slip, felt the balance between them shift. Damn demon kid, couldn’t he just stay out of what was better left alone? He felt heat rise under his skin, making his neck and face feel itchy as his shoulders slumped in on himself. “I don’t even know what you’re asking.”
What did it matter what he wanted? What difference did that really make, in the grand scheme of things? He enjoyed what they did; knew for damned sure Dorian enjoyed it as well. Wasn’t that enough?
The Bull felt more than saw Dorian step closer. He peered up at the man who stood tall near the bed. The perspective from below was weird and made him feel more than a little uneasy. “It’s a simple question, Bull.” The mage smiled sadly as he touched the Bull’s beard roughened cheek, lifting his face up gently and straightening his spine until they looked at each other eye-to-eye. Taking a lighter tone, he teased, “Don’t make me drag Cole up here.”
The Bull let out a small laugh. “Hey, I’m all for bringing in more partners, but—even for me—that’d be weird.”
Dorian gave him a wry glare and sat on the bed beside him. “Then answer the question.” He gave him a pointed look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about me touching you.” Dorian let his hand slide down over the Bull’s chest, brushing over his nipples. “My hands on your body.” His voice lowered as his fingers dipped low to stroke his thigh. “The taste of you on my tongue.”
The Bull swallowed hard. “Well, when you say it like that…”
Read Part Two Here