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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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.

He loves when the Bull is like this, eager and tactile and just on the edge of rough. He loves how his big hands roam his body, stroking and squeezing in an almost covetous sort of way that makes very clear to Dorian how much he's desired. The branches behind him dig into his back in a way that's not entirely comfortable, but is tolerable for the sake of kissing Bull, especially when he doesn't have to crane his neck so much. The low rumble of Bull's growl only makes Dorian want to press closer still, but before he can kiss him again, there's far too much distance between their mouths. Unfortunate.

"Are we?" Dorian's voice is soft between them, and reluctantly his grip falls from Bull's horn back to his neck. He smiles nonetheless. "How can you tell?"

"I can hear people," he answers. "The air smells different that way."

He kisses Dorian again but refuses to let himself linger. "Let's get home, kadan," he murmurs as he strokes his fingers along Dorian's neck. "The bed will be more comfortable than the hedge."

More than anything, he finds himself wanting to be somewhere that feels safe and familiar. The thrill of the hunt feels like something he should be avoiding with the way he's been feeling, but Dorian-- how could he resist Dorian?

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Anywhere I would have followed you // closed

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