middaeg | Anywhere I would have followed you // closed

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Anywhere I would have followed you // closed

Who: the Iron Bull

aban_aqun and Dorian Pavus

bestdressed
When: Four days after arriving
Where: their cottage
What: feelings
Warnings: feelings; will be updated as necessary

Slowly but surely, Dorian and Bull have been exploring their cottage and attempting to make it feel more like home. Dorian's spent time exploring the clearly magicked platforms and stairs above the house, and Bull-- has watched from the ground, for now. As much as Dorian assures him that it appears entirely stable and unlikely to fall out of the sky, Bull is content to simply trust the magic and not engage with it. For now.

Learning to trust magic has been an on-going process since he left Seheron. Bull likes to think he's made exceptional progress in the past decade or so.

Despite their focus on trying to settle, Bull hasn't forgotten the weight Dorian is carrying: the one that's been on his shoulders since they arrived. The one that's nothing to do with being here.

"Hey, found someone getting rid of these and thought you'd like them," he says when he finds Dorian in their bedroom. Draped across the Bull's arms are gauzy curtains that would look good draped around the bare canopy of the bed.

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Bull feels awful for the way he's snapped at Dorian recently. He's ashamed of himself for losing his temper, for losing control. It shouldn't matter how bad he's feeling, Dorian should never have to bear the brunt of it for any reason. Even worse, he knows that Dorian is only worried about him, and that the mage's worry is his fault: if he weren't so stubborn, if he were more willing to embrace magic as a solution to his problems rather than a cause--

But everything seems to get under his usually thick skin lately. He he itches. Little does he know that there are scales growing in little patches on his back - he can't see them yet, only feels the itch.

It doesn't help that he feels like he can't stay still.

He looks down at Dorian with a dry little smile. "I think I've gotten very good at it, don't you?" he teases, managing to embrace the levity Dorian's offering, at least. Bull looks toward the entrance of the mage and he would be lying if he said there isn't some appeal in the prospect of hunting his lover. His sense of smell has always been a big stronger than a human's, but lately--

Lately he feels like he notices everything.

"The best," Dorian agrees lightly, his smile reaching his eyes enough to deepen the creases at the corners that he pretends aren't there. He leans gently into Bull's side, shoulder to arm, the angle of his body open and receptive. Bull has been irritable as of late, true, but Dorian recognizes it for what it is, and it only makes him more determined to keep the connection between them open and understanding and as normal as possible. It's the least he can do.

And this will be fun! He's interested in the concept, and it seems as though Bull is as well. It'll also keep both of them distracted and occupied as the day winds to a close and the moons begin to rise in the sky. "If we're to participate, it seems as though I should be getting a head start," he points out playfully.

Bull pulls Dorian close to him and leans down, burying his nose in the mage's hair. He breathes him deep, letting Dorian's scent roll over him before he lets him go again. "Go on," he urges as he takes a step back. "I can't give you that much of a head start... you're faster than me."

He swears he can taste Dorian in the air between them.

He's surprised when Bull pulls him closer, though he should have expected it. Instinctively he stiffens against his side, even as he tells himself there's no reason for it. Though there is a reason, of course. Dorian is still slowly but surely shedding his discomfort with open affection and physical contact. By the time Bull leans back, he's relaxed at least somewhat--enough to look up at him and smile, at least. "The objective isn't to chase me, you brute, but to find me," he teases. "Though what happens if you do is entirely up to you."

He steps away for a moment to say a few words to the coordinator at the maze's entrance, confirming that they'll be allowed in. Afterward he returns to Bull, planting a hand on his hip and leaning close to murmur, "Catch me and you may claim your prize." Nothing at all cryptic there. He leaves with that parting message, and enters the maze without so much as a look back.

The hedges tower over him, tall and imposing, but he doesn't waste time gawking up. He moves quickly to put distance between himself and the entrance, taking the first path he finds and following it. That will be predictable, but as the maze opens up further and more routes present themselves, he begins choosing with a strategy in mind. Flowers bloom at several key turning points, and he remembers the ones nearest the turns he picks. The maze is sprawling, gigantic; it cuts through at least one building, the skeleton of an old dockside warehouse. Bull must be pursuing him by now, he thinks. Whether he's been able to follow his trail closely or not remains to be seen.

Dorian opts to stop here for now, using the setting sun to his advantage and hiding on the deeply shadowed side of sharp corner. Peering around it, he'll see anyone turning onto the path before they see him. His heart beats hard, blood pounding through him loud enough that he can hear it in his ears. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air. He feels jittery, on edge, though it isn't with fear, but exhilaration.

Bull follows Dorian at a slower pace, letting him keep his lead. He's amazed by the way his lover's scent lingers, but-- he's always known that it does. The scent of Dorian's pomade on the pillows, his lotion and cologne in the alcove of the library that he likes best. And beneath it all? Something so very personally Dorian.

He's always been aware of it, he realizes, but now it's more vivid in his mind, easier to pick out among the wafting scents of various flowers and plants and earth.

When he feels lost, all he has to do is wait a moment for the breeze to shift.

Eventually, he catches up. Bull tries to clear his mind as he approaches a sharp corner - he can smell Dorian, swears that he feels close, but he can't see him. Bull's heart is pounding and it has nothing to do with exertion: he's excited. Dorian's voice, the promise, still rings in his head as he carefully moves toward the corner, focused and prickling with awareness as he looks for some sign of the mage.

The moons are already rising even before the sun has fully set, and Dorian eyes them as he hears the muffled steps that signal Bull's approach. He's very quiet, especially given his size, but Dorian picks up on the movement through the wall of greenery separating them. It's this splitsecond of advance warning that gives him time to react. And sure enough, a moment later Bull comes into sight. Dorian considers his options. He doesn't want to be caught so soon, and to that end, he doesn't want to be cornered. His only real course, then, is to take the path he'd left open to him at his back.

He has to dart out of his hiding place to veer around the corner. He breaks into a sprint, boots pounding the ground as he runs, following the hedge further along the wall of the warehouse. It will be night very soon, but with a roof above them--even a deteriorating one--it's already quite dark in the maze. He doesn't look over his shoulder to see if Bull is behind him, but rather follows the long corridor to the end, then takes the righthand turn. There has to be a way that he can double back, confuse him by hiding beneath his already existing scent, find a hiding spot--something.

Bull's head snaps to the side as Dorian sprints by him and down another path. He darts after him, surprisingly quick given his size. He has him now and he doesn't want to lose the trail, even if he loses sight of him from turn to turn.

As they lose sunlight, Bull's vision suffers. It's the twilight: he's better in the full dark, even, than he is in these in-between hours. Bull stills for a moment, taking deep breaths as he tries to sort out where Dorian is again. He goes to the right and is rewarded with a breath of fresh scent.

He forces himself to move slower, thinking that Dorian might be close. He's also almost certain there's a dead end ahead.

Dorian delays for a moment at one crossroads, hurriedly trying to decide which way is more likely to take him toward the other side of the maze. He opts to go right again, though truthfully he'd stopped making his decisions strategically several turns ago. With Bull so close behind, taking time to analyze his choices could cost him the game. As it is, he hadn't expected him to catch up so quickly. Was there something about the path he'd taken that was predictable, or has Bull's already keen sense of smell been amplified as he begins the process of transformation? He'd wanted to make this more of a challenge, but Bull is good.

The path twists ahead of him, though it doesn't branch. He turns to follow it, and has to stop short as he nearly runs straight into a wall of greenery blocking his path. A definitive dead end. "Kaffas," he curses under his breath. His gaze darts about, looking for somewhere to hide himself in the hope that Bull might pass by, but there is no convenient corner here that leaves him with an escape route.

But his adrenaline is high, blood thrumming, and even faced with what is quite literally an insurmountable obstacle, he can't bring himself to just stand still and give up. So with a murmured word, he gathers power from within himself--still strange, no matter how much he's been practicing--and casts. It's a very simple illusion spell, though this is the first time he's attempted it in any seriousness. It creates a false noise, the sound of a twig snapping and branches rustling on the next path over from where he stands now. He can't obscure his scent, but he can cast some doubt, at least, in a last-ditch effort not to lose just yet.

Bull hears the sounds and turns his head; he goes still on the path, frowning. He's certain he's following the right trail, but--

A breeze brings Dorian's scent back to him and he looks toward his original direction. The trail is too fresh for him to be thrown for long, but he is moving slower now so that he can listen. Maybe the wind changed direction, maybe he's wrong.

He can see a wall rising as he turns the next corner - a dead end. His heartbeat is quick, his blood thrumming with the excitement of the pursuit as he tries to focus in the fading light.

"Kadan," he rumbles, moving so that he can block as much of the path as possible. He doesn't want Dorian escaping past him.

Dorian stands with his back to the high hedge wall behind him, well and truly cornered. In some ways, it really does feel like he's being hunted, though he feels only bubbling anticipation and a desire not to give in easily. When he's really putting effort into something, he's a sore loser.

He'd known that Bull likely wouldn't be fooled by his magic trickery, but it was worth the effort. Standing in the middle of the path, Bull is nearly as much of an obstacle as the wall behind him. But if he can just get him to come closer, he might be able to dart around before he can grab hold of him.

"Amatus," he greets quietly, though he doesn't move closer. "You found me more quickly than I expected."

Bull sways as he moves but he's steady on his feet - it's a tactic, he's trying to make sure Dorian's view of the way past him is obscured, trying to make sure that it doesn't seem like a good idea. His eye focuses on his lover once he hears Dorian's voice and something in him shivers; it feels like victory but he hasn't won yet. He doesn't have Dorian in his arms.

He knows how competitive Dorian can be. Bull is almost overwhelmed by his smell so close - he wants to bury his face against Dorian's skin, he wants to hold him close, he wants to feel their bodies pressed together. A shiver races over his skin.

"I'll always find you."

It's working so far. Dorian doesn't budge, and indeed questions whether he'll actually be able to get by Bull at all. Dorian isn't small, and Bull is hardly leaving him much space. Still, he resolves to try, at least--what's to lose, after all, besides their little game? (And truly, he won't be losing even if Bull wins.)

"I've no doubt of that," he concedes, and can't help a small smile. Always is a wouldn't have believed not so long ago. But ever since Bull promised to be there for him, he has been. Even here. "Well?" Some playful impatience in his voice as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Aren't you interested in your reward?"

Bull straightens his back as he closes the distance between them. He goes slowly, still watching Dorian's every move as best he can. The crossing of his arms feels like a false flag - he's projecting something that might not be accurate. Bull does it on battlefields all the time but now he's distracted by how close Dorian is.

He resists the urge to lunge at him, still in his right mind enough that he doesn't want to risk hurting him. He's stopped his swaying and weaving, though, his movements more focused as he gets closer.

It's bold of Dorian to think that he might be able to fool Bull with his body language, but he certainly tries. He's a good liar. Tevinter has taught him that. He takes a step forward as Bull nears, uncrossing his arms and extending a hand as though to reach for him. But when he's near enough to do so, he ducks to the side, slipping past Bull at the expense of scraping his shoulder on the hedge as he squeezes through. It's a very near thing, and he knows he won't get another chance at this.

"It'll have to be later!" He calls over his shoulder, grinning, as he takes to the path again at a run, back the way he'd come and then veering off to the left as soon as he gets the chance. He's having much more fun with this than he thought he would, though he is beginning to tire. The sun, too, is all but gone from the bright red sky, and the moons have risen to full height. This began as a way to preoccupy Bull tonight, and he's determined to do just that.

Dorian is quick and when Bull tries to turn, his horn plows into the side of the hedge, stuck enough that it gives Dorian another head start. With a growl and a grunt, Bull yanks his horn free, leaving a gouge in the hedge as he tries to figure out which way Dorian had gone. The moonlight helps now that the dusky twilight has faded. He groans quietly and hurries down the path, pausing to catch Dorian's scent again before he veers left.

He slows down again, conserving his energy-- for what? He might be hunting, but stalking and killing does not await him at the end of this. His blood warms when he thinks of the prize Dorian mentioned and he tries not to get too distracted. He takes a breath, eye nearly closing when he catches the familiar, pleasant scent of Dorian's pomade.

Bull thinks he might have the advantage of stamina. He's used to going long distances in his armor and he isn't wearing it now. Relatively unencumbered, he doesn't feel tired, only frustrated that his quarry has disappeared again.

A faint smile tugs his mouth when he thinks of the exuberance in Dorian's voice as he darted past him and he finds himself grateful that his lover is so pleased with the maze.

Dorian isn't so much looking to run away as he is looking to explore, and perhaps to make his way further into the maze. Beating Bull to the other side without being caught would mean he wins, wouldn't it? And then perhaps he might be owed a prize of his own. Its likeness to Bull's prize is, of course, purely coincidental.

He slows down, saving the sprinting for later and catching his breath. He begins to record his progress again, noting more carefully the turns he takes. Impossible to remember all of them, of course, but he has a good mind for recollection, and the flowers blooming throughout the hedges help quite a bit. He emerges into the night again fairly soon, leaving the old warehouse behind. The moons are bright overhead, so it isn't truly dark, but everything is cast in a strange light, silvery but tinged with red. It's enough for him to see by, anyway, so that he doesn't have to give himself away conjuring a magical light source. He rounds a corner into a sort of clearing, a wide open space from which branch at least six more paths. In the center is a small fountain, bubbling quietly.

Approaching out of curiosity, Dorian remembers a silly folktale he's heard from a few of the locals recently; something about gazing into a fountain at night during the festival of Litha and seeing one's future romantic partner. He doesn't for a moment believe it's true, and it isn't yet Litha anyway. But still he stops to look, considering his distorted reflection in the dark water.

Bull follows Dorian's scent and he swears it lingers more, like Dorian's slowed down. He's never noticed something like that before. He can hear the fountain but he can't see it yet; Dorian's scent goes in that direction and Bull takes a chance, deviating down another path to circle around. He lets the sound of the fountain guide him instead of scent, and before long he appears at one of the other entrances to the little courtyard.

He moves closer slowly, admiring Dorian as he stares down into the water. He knows that contemplative look: if he's careful, Dorian won't notice him at all until he's close.

His reflection appears in the water as he nears the edge of the fountain.

True to Bull's prediction, Dorian doesn't notice him. He's lost in thought right up until Bull's reflection materializes in the water across from him, and for the barest second, he's fooled into thinking that it's actually worked--and what a ridiculous thought that is, in more ways than one. He startles back away from the edge of the water, gaze snapping up to see Bull standing there on the other side. His heart pounds. Of course. How could it be otherwise?

"Fasta vass, Bull," he intones, a shaky and exasperated exhale. "Don't frighten me that way."

The fountain separates them, but as he looks across at him, he finds that he doesn't want it to. He wants to go to him, to fold himself into his arms and stay there. He's worried for Bull, and it's difficult to keep his mind off it for long. He's been told by Witch and Monster alike that a Bond is the only way to help mitigate the pain and discomfort of transformation, and to help the Monster in question retain themselves during the full moon. He wants to help, but Bull is...stubborn. So damned stubborn. Dorian can't fault him for his distrust of foreign magic. However--

Well. That's what he'd accepted emergency supplies from the Coven for, he supposes.

Something in him responds to the shiver in Dorian's breath, to the way he jumps when he's startled. Whatever it is, Bull holds it back and he stays still, watching the mage, meeting his gaze across the fountain. Suddenly the game feels over; suddenly, Dorian is too far away. Bull doesn't move yet, still unnerved by the predatory instinct that had been so easy to find, so easy to encourage.

"Kadan," he murmurs, as if to reassure Dorian that he's-- himself.

Bull looks down at the fountain again and a faint smile tugs at his mouth.

"Saw you in the fountain... that's supposed to mean something, right?"

As ridiculous and embarrassing as it is, he'll never tire of hearing Bull coo kadan at him. He loves that damned word, loves the way it rumbles up from deep in Bull's chest, how it sounds like a heartbeat when he says it. Ka-dan. Surprisingly poetic, for Qunlat.

"Only if you're fool enough to believe in superstition, you lummox," he sniffs, but can't help a small smile in return. "It isn't even the right day." Dorian remains where he is, but there's a palpable connection stretching between them. He feels it; it isn't magical, or physical, or knowable in any way except how he feels. But somehow it seems plain to him that there is an undeniable link between himself and Bull.

It is this thought that prompts Dorian to move, walking slowly around the lip of the fountain until he can finally reach out and touch Bull, fingers skimming up his arms as he steps into him.

"I forfeit," he says softly, pressing his face into Bull's chest.

Bull wraps Dorian in a tight embrace as he leans into his chest. "Thank you," he murmurs as he tips his head down, burying his nose in Dorian's hair. He holds him close, standing there for who knows how long. Bull could stand here all night if it means keeping Dorian close to him. He pulls back just enough to tip Dorian's chin so he can kiss him, an embrace as lingering as the last.

"Feels more like surrender," he teases, but there's something warm in his voice that suggests surrender isn't such a bad thing. Bull strokes his fingers along the line of Dorian's jaw and he kisses him again. Dorian is his tether to sanity and it feels unfair to depend on him as the moons pull at him, but-- the influence is clear. Above all other things and people in this place, Bull trusts Dorian.

He huffs a soft laugh.

"Are we getting out of here together?"

Dorian lets himself drift for a bit as Bull holds him, still feeling strangely tethered when Bull kisses him. He smiles as he asserts, "Ridiculous. I have never once surrendered in all my life." They both know that it isn't true, of course, but that is why he says it with such conviction.

The second kiss makes Dorian wish they were elsewhere; his lips come away from it swollen and slick, and his heart aches. Luckily, Bull suggests just that.

"Yes," Dorian decides, feeling such fondness as he looks up at the Bull's familiar scarred face that it's almost frightening. He trusts Bull, he does, but--Maker, it's so much. Too much. It verges on painful sometimes, how much he cares.

"Let's find the way out. You did win, and I believe I promised you something."

"Never," he confirms with a wry smile. Even now that he's suggested leaving, even after Dorian agrees, Bull just stands there for a moment, looking at him. Everything about arriving in this place has torn at his carefully constructed sense of control. Foreign, dangerous magic and the possibility - no, the near certainty - that he is going to change somehow are among his deepest fears, and here they are, in a place throwing both at him.

But he also has Dorian. Whatever happens, whatever they encounter, he feels better just knowing that Dorian is with him. The fears that haunt him still linger, but he doesn't have to cope with them alone. Dorian has enough hope and tenacity for the both of them.

He leans down for one more kiss and he murmurs something soft and tender in Qunlat in the quiet space between them before he stands up again.

"You did promise me something," he quips, smiling again as he moves toward a path across the clearing.

It's easier to navigate now that he isn't concerned with being pursued, and actually quite fun to walk the maze together. He stays close to Bull's side, providing his presence as the night wears on. He manages to keep himself from glancing nervously up at the moons. No point to that when he only has to look at Bull to detect any changes. He seems genial enough, though Dorian doesn't exactly let himself relax. The night is still young, after all.

Apparently still feeling charged enough by their game of chase that it's difficult to keep apart for long, they stop to kiss again more than once before they reach the end, whether chastely or less so. It's the latter at the moment, tucked into a corner where the hedges are dotted with small white flowers. Dorian reaches up to drape his arms over Bull's shoulders, leaning more weight on Bull than his own feet, which barely touch the ground. Their mouths slide together slickly and Dorian hums approvingly, finds himself gripping one of Bull's horns for support.

Bull feels better with Dorian by his side. He doesn't know if it's something to do with the weird bonding (even if it had only been temporary) or if it's simply Dorian that makes him feel better. He's willing to believe the latter - it wouldn't be the first time.

He's also not particularly disappointed with how the chase has left him feeling. He welcomes Dorian into his arms whenever they stop, and he almost forgets what they're meant to be doing as Dorian's mouth claims his, as his hand grips one of his horns. Realizing, vaguely, that Dorian must be up on the balls of his feet, Bull leans down more and pushes the mage against the hedge, finding some support there. His hands wander more than they did before, sliding over Dorian's sides and his hips, reaching further so he can feel his thighs and the curve of his ass. He growls quietly and makes himself lift his head effectively breaking the kiss.

"We're almost out," he breathes, as if it is some consolation - or at least a reason - to stop now.

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bestdressed - 2019-06-30 02:40 (UTC) - Expand

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aban_aqun - 2019-07-10 05:54 (UTC) - Expand

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