faderift | iix. closed.

WHO: Dorian Pavus and Iron Bull
WHAT: After some time away, Dorian arranges a nice fucking romantic evening in, in which nothing goes wrong!!
WHEN: Late Wintermarch.
WHERE: Skyhold, Iron Bull's room.
NOTES: None yet!

[ As soon as he's done, Dorian realises the dreadful mistake he's made.

It's too-- something. Perhaps each individual element would be fine, innocuous even, on their own, but altogether -- the new bedsheets and drapery he'd ordered in Halamshiral, the candle sticks which smell far too strongly of vanilla (now that he's lit four of the fucking things), the wine, the book he'd bought on a whim that he suspected Iron Bull might like, the dainty array of summery fruits and cheeses to see them through the bleakness of winter-- what was he thinking? It's just too--

Something.

Exasperated, Dorian puts out all four candles, lights one again, then two when it looks suggestive, stashes the other unused two into a drawer, then eyes the bedsheets before allowing them to stay, but the window dressings he'd bought out of a desperate desire to do something about the draft should definitely come down. They're meant to drink and then fuck each other until staying the night seems like a health and safety measure, at what point does interior decoration come into that? But first, the food can go, and without yet knowing exactly what to do with it, Dorian lifts the small platter, the edge of which catches on the edge of the candleholder.

The candle tips, the flame catching the edge of the Orlesian drapery. ]

Fucking--

[ Dorian sets the tray down with a slam and waves his hand to extinguish the flames with a gust of ice magic, but not before the smell of burning silk has mingled something hideous with the vanilla still lingering in the air. And several dates have bounced their way onto the floor, and so by the time Iron Bull does arrive, Dorian is already on his hands and knees. Ha ha. (He thought he had more time.)

(He did not.) ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ In fairness, if everything had gone perfectly? It'd have made quite the stunning picture to walk into. The image isn't exactly ruined now, as Bull can quickly piece together at a glance what's happened here. Contextual clues, that sort of thing.

Still, nothing's currently on fire, so it feels safe to tease, from the safety of the door, leaning against the frame with his eyes very purposefully lingering on the long slope of Dorian's back. ]

Need a hand, kadan?

[ And he will help, if Dorian honestly needs it, but it looks as though the matter's already pretty well in hand. It's kind of adorable seeing him stumble like this, when Dorian always prides himself on being so put-together and poised. He is, most days.

There's usually a reason for that, too. This is him a little less guarded, fewer masks and pretenses. They've kind of gotten past that bit, by now. ]

If you could reverse time by approximately five minutes.

[ There's a wry slant of self-deprecation in that, but they've come far enough that threats of indignity against his image can't smother out the humour in that too. Dorian picks up the rest in gathered handfuls and gets up by himself, tipping them back carelessly into a bowl.

Turning to Iron Bull, hands on hips, he adds; ]

Alternatively, walk back out and come back in as if nothing happened.

[ The scent of burned fabric is still acrid in the air, a thin amount of smoke slow to disperse as Dorian waves a hand, then gestures; ]

Tada.

[ Alright, small hiccups aside? It's still a sweet gesture. And Dorian is at his core, whether he likes to admit it or not, kind of a sweetheart. The corners of Bull's eyes crinkle, even under the patch, before he makes his way in to look around. ]

Nice set-up.

[ And Dorian is about to find one of those massive hands encircling his waist to pull him in. See if the smell of burning fabric still bothers him, now. If it does? He can always up his game until it becomes a distant detail.

Or at least a little less prominent in his mind. ]

Do I get to guess what it's for?

If you don't say it's for me, you'll be half wrong at least. Someone had to introduce a little style to these lodgings.

[ He goes easy, hands resting on the broad expanse of Bull's chest, ever gravitated to that core of warmth.

And-- good. The slant of dry teasing out of Bull doesn't imply that Dorian's over done it as he'd imagined, with the sort of romantic overtures that can make lesser men reverse back out of the room. Not that he'd been truly concerned as to that outcome. ]

Especially if you wish me to stay over night as a course of habit.

[ Bull's nose wrinkles visibly. ]

What's wrong with my room?

[ A huff follows, as though offended, but there's no heat or traction to it. It's more or less invitation to let Dorian make his case, because he's obviously put some thought into this.

Maybe a little too much, but Dorian's an intellectual. It's like expecting a mabari not to mark its territory. That's just what they do. ]

[ Dorian laughs the kind of laugh you might laugh when someone makes a joke of moderate humour and will laugh too.

Then-- ]

Ah. Well. [ His affects some throat clearing, twisting around just a little in Bull's hold to take in the room, what he's done with it, what it's lacking. ] Nothing I would necessarily attribute to your sensibilities save that you and so many others don't seem to mind living in the ruins of a castle.

Not a castle. [ Patpat, his hand against Bull's chest. ] The ruins of.

[ A bit of an exaggeration on Dorian's part. It's got standing walls and a roof! Most of one. It keeps the weather and the draft out, except where it doesn't, but there's pillows and Bull's own body heat to compensate, so...

It could be worse? He's definitely slept in worse. ]

Hey. So the old girl's got a few battle scars. Gives it character.

[ Bull snorts audibly before stepping forward, nudging Dorian back towards those very comfortable looking sheets. They can continue this chat off of his feet, right? Because that is sounding like the best kind of plan, right now. ]

[ It could be worse, and this has literally never stopped Dorian from complaining before, or equally, curling up against Bull to soak up that body heat, glad for the excuse of it--

And we're reversing. ]

And now she has curtains, [ he says, indulgently, walking as nudged. ] That is, until I singed them. [ He lifts a foot to rest his knee and shin back against the bed, climbing up onto it backwards.

The bedsheets will inevitably be of achingly fine quality. Best experienced without any clothes on. ]

Perhaps I'll bring by a throw rug, next time. Some pot plants. Ooh, a chandelier.

[ There's a thoughtful rumble as he presses his forehead to Dorian's, climbing in after him before sinking down into the mattress alongside him. ]

Maybe a few of those fancy Orlesian massage oils?

[ It's sign enough that Bull doesn't question Dorian's careful maneuvering of things that are unmistakably him into his space. In fact, he's already considering the weight of their presence when one or the other is out and away, and this little space is what comfort there'll be until they come back.

Dorian, you big secret sap, you. ]

I think you're rather reading into my attempts to civilise, [ he says, of massage oils, and the uses that they could be put too. He may or may not be full of shit with this remark, and decides to cut Bull off at the pass to counter this by kissing him.

Leaning in to do so, a lizardy sprawl against Bull's greater mass, fingers hooking into harness. ]

But I shan't stop you.

[ Bull simply chuckles against the crease of his mouth. ]

What? Massage isn't civilized?

[ And as if to make his point, those massive hands crept up Dorian's back to knead at his shoulders in slow, rolling motions. Just steadily working down the graceful curve of his back, not with any real goal in mind, but...

This was nice. Easy. They deserved easy every once in a while, the way things tended to go around here. ]

iix. closed.

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