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A spring wedding. Dorian had always liked the sound of it. They’d had more than a year to plan, to arrange, to compromise. The pink hydrangeas had grown on him, not that he’d ever phrase it that way where Bull could hear him.
They’d been a concession, a battle lost in the larger war of “No, darling, we are absolutely not livestreaming the wedding on the company’s YouTube channel.”
Regardless, the hydrangeas were still painfully pink. Dorian had tempered them with cream-colored ribbons and vases, deep blue morning glories anywhere they could reasonably trail or climb, and mountains of baby’s breath, but shockingly pink they remained. Livia loved them. At least they were better than hibiscus. If Dorian had let Bull near the hibiscus their wedding would probably have been postponed to summer and moved to the Storm Coast. Bull would have worn a lei and swim trunks.
And Dorian would have let him, because love made one do foolish things.
Ad Infinitum Wedding Planners was, naturally, a Vint-owned company, and as Bull pulled into the driveway, Dorian was suddenly paralyzed. He’d forgotten to tell the owners that the chuppah they were renting would be over two men. And that one was a Qunari.
Well, “forgotten” was a strong word. More accurately, he had intentionally omitted the information. More accurate still, he had lied. On purpose. Like a coward.
Bull parked the truck, but Dorian was frozen to his seat. Bull, observant, caring man that he was, put a gentle hand over Dorian’s. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?”
Dorian smiled, not very convincingly, he was sure. “Yes.”
Bull didn’t call him out, but he unbuckled his seatbelt without opening the door. “We’ll go in whenever you’re ready,” he said, and leaned over to kiss Dorian on the cheek. “Felix will be here soon, too.”
Dorian nodded, and took a deep breath. He kept breathing, and eventually Felix pulled up next to them and got out of his SmartCar. It had been purchased over Livia’s strong objections. The phrase, “beating it once does not give you the right to taunt death with a one star crash rating,” had been thrown around on more than one occasion.
Felix knocked on Dorian’s window with a confused but genial smile, and Dorian smiled weakly back. Time to deal with the nuggalope in the room. Specifically, the nuggalope currently wearing a pink argyle sweater, an engagement ring, and a gentle, concerned expression.
He climbed out of Bull’s unnecessarily tall pickup and squared his shoulders. He led Felix and Bull across the parking lot. He forgot to mention--well-- intentionally omitted (again) that he had omitted and/or lied about a few things. Like a coward. It was something of a theme.
They were met at the door by a cheerful middle aged woman with thick spectacles and honey blonde hair. “Hello!” She smiled brightly up at all of them. She was short enough that she did in fact have to smile up at all of them, even Felix.
“Is every ‘Vint nearsighted?” Bull blurted. Dorian glowered at him from beneath his glasses. Felix wore contacts, and thus had to content himself with glowering at Bull in the regular manner.
The woman laughed. “Would you be the bride, then?”
“I er-- forgot to mention...,” Dorian mumbled.
“Omitted,” Felix supplied helpfully.
“Lied.” The woman finished, giving Dorian a cheerful pat on the arm. “Don’t worry dear, it happens all the time. Perfectly natural. I just wish I had known how tall he was.” She ushered them into the building, holding the door wide. “We don’t usually set up more than a few canopies, but if you want, we can do some experimenting ‘till we get one that’s just right.”
Felix nodded enthusiastically. he loved experiments, the nerd.
Dorian could feel Bull watching him out of the corner of his eye, but he just twisted his ring and looked straight ahead. Bull turned to the saleswoman. “Ma’am--”
“Aurelia, dear.”
“Aurelia, ma’am.”
Aurelia sighed.
“Could we have the room for a moment, please?”
“I’ll come help you set up experimental chuppahs,” Felix volunteered. He sounded disgustingly eager.
Bull waited for the door to close behind them before turning to Dorian.
“I’m sorry,” Dorian said. He had intended it to sound defensive, confident at least. It came out sounding a bit more on the small, guilty side.
“I’m not upset, Dorian.” Bull towed him gently to the plush couch near the door. “But you’re freaking out a little bit right now and I thought you might need some space.”
“I am most certainly not freaking out,” Dorian sniffed. “And I don’t need space. I am perfectly fine. You don’t have to manage me.” It would be more convincing, he thought, if his hands could stop trembling. He was certain Bull could feel them.
“What happened to you in Tevinter was fucked up,” Bull said succinctly. “It’s natural you’d be nervous about anything ‘Vinty after that shit.”
Dorian’s hands, contrary to his brain’s repeated requests, had yet to stop shaking. He didn’t want to speak for fear that his voice would have a quaver in it.
“It’s not-- shouldn’t be-- a big deal,” he insisted.
“You aren’t obligated to be all right, Dorian.” Bull looked at him with such genuine concern and understanding that Dorian actually believed him.
“Stop being so appallingly kind.” Dorian muttered, and kissed him.
Bull smiled and pulled him to his feet, brushing imaginary dust off Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian leaned against him, allowed the excuse for touch. It occurred to him after a long moment of leaning into Bulls bulk that he was being affectionate with another man, a Qunari no less, inside a Tevene bridal shop. He was not sure if the electric feeling in his gut was anxiety or pride.
Bull held him until he was ready, then allowed Dorian to lead him into the showroom, filled with experimental chuppahs. Felix and Aurelia were chatting off to the side, and turned to Dorian and Bull with matching smiles. Nerds. Dorian was surrounded by them.
Dorian surveyed his choices. He’d liked the idea of having some of their friends hold a small canopy over them, but that would mean choosing four friends, which would probably turn into some complicated trading of favors and bribery and possibly hurt feelings. A freestanding structure was likely better for everyone involved.
For lack of any strong preference, he started on the far right and worked his way in.
The first was too lacy. The second, too pink (despite Bull’s protests to the contrary, too pink was definitely possible). The third was a monstrously complicated weaving of five separate cloths and white iron latticing. The fourth was promising.
The frame was simple, made of birch saplings, and Aurelia had attached a large spray of flowers to the front. The canopy was simple, just a plain white cloth, a relief next to some of the more vibrant options.
“The design company says I’m supposed to tell you the saplings are symbolic of your youthful love,” said Aurelia. “It’ll grow stronger and deeper with age. Like a tree. I think the brochure said it a little nicer.”
“Aren’t these ones a little... you know, dead?”
“Shut up, Felix,” said Dorian, not taking his eyes from the terribly romantic metaphor. “Bull, see if you fit.”
They ducked under the canopy together and stood up.
There was a loud ripping noise.
“Whoops,” Bull mumbled. Not only had the fabric torn, Bull now appeared to be more than a little stuck, his horns tangled in the white gauzy fabric.
Aurelia stepped forward to free him with a can-do attitude and a folding step stool, and Felix snickered behind his hand. Bull pulled carefully at the fabric dangling in front of his face.
Dorian, who had been reminded once already today that he was quite allowed to not be all right, decided to take full advantage of that. Tastefully and subtly, of course. He began hyperventilating and made a hasty exit.
He ducked down a darkened hallway and through an unlocked door. It led into one of the large lounges used for trying on bridal gowns, and it was, thankfully, empty. Dorian was confronted by his reflection in the wide mirror, eyes wide and face tight. The door opened behind him.
He ducked into the smaller fitting room, pulling a curtain over the door.
“It’s just me, Dorian.” Felix said, and Dorian poked his head around the curtain. “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” He emerged, a little shamefaced.
Felix leveled a look at Dorian that he had clearly learned from Livia and crossed his arms. Dorian started to pace.
“Calm down.” Felix leaned against a wall, and Dorian paced.
“I’m perfectly calm. ” He winced at the hysterical squeak in his voice. “It’s just that the chuppah ripped, and if I had just told Aurelia what to plan for, then we wouldn’t be in this situation, if I hadn’t lied, then it--”
Felix put both his hands on Dorian’s shoulders, stopping him mid-turn. “I thought we already established that no one’s upset with you for... the surprise. And don’t feel bad about the tear, that’s my fault, really. I should have known it was too low. I’ve already offered to cover the damages and Aurelia’s already accepted.”
“It’s not that.” Dorian sank onto a nearby couch and ran his hands through his hair. “It ripped, Felix. The chuppah’s supposed to represent the home we’re building together, and it ripped, because I lied.”
“Dorian.” Felix’s voice was gentle. Oh, how Dorian hated him. “Calm the fuck down. It’s just a piece of cloth. Attached to dead trees. It’s not even your piece of cloth attached to dead trees. It’s not an omen, it’s not a literal representation of your relationship with Bull, and mostly, it was an accident.”
Dorian knew that. He rolled his eyes at Felix to prove it.
“You’re still freaking out, Dorian.”
“You absolutely cannot prove that,” Dorian told him. There. that ought to buy him a few minutes.
Sure enough, Felix paused thoughtfully. “If you can walk back into that room right now, I will count that as sufficient evidence to disprove my theory that you’re not going to be just fine.”
“Why is the burden of proof always on me?” Dorian huffed.
Felix shrugged. “Did you ever think that maybe it’s because you spend all your time trying to prove something?”
Dorian took several confident steps towards the door then stopped. He took several confident steps away from the door and sat down on the ground. Felix, as always, remained endlessly patient with his experiment.
The door opened of its own accord. “Oh good,” Bull said. “I tried like five other fitting rooms.” He still had a few threads caught in his horns.
Dorian glanced up from where he had curled himself around his knees and glowered at him. Bull simply crossed the room and slid down the wall to sit next to him.
“We’re going to have to get you up from there, you know.”
Bull shrugged. “New knee’s gotta be good for something, right?”
Dorian burrowed himself further into a knot.
“So,” Bull said, “I just had an interesting conversation with Aurelia.”
“I’m sure the ‘please stop piercing my things with your enormous rack’ talk must have been scintillating.”
“Nah, we were just talking about the metaphorical purpose of a chuppah. You know, while I was getting myself untangled from where it got all fucked up. Something about representing the fragility of the newlywed’s home and the life they’re building together?”
“Don’t be stupid, Bull. It’s not some sort of portent. It’s just some cloth with dead trees on it.”
“Yeah,” said Bull, nudging Dorian gently with a shoulder, “no reason to get worked up at all.”
Dorian looked up at Bull in time to see Felix drop something lacy and white onto Bull’s head. Bull adjusted the wedding veil so that it draped more elegantly between his horns.
Dorian snorted.
“See?” Felix said, “Proof.”
“So why are we sneaking?” Bull had no problem with sneaking, but sneaking with Merrill was an adventure. It involved matching black catsuits, for one. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know where she’d found one in his size.
“Because what we’re doing is technically against the law.” She handed him one of the large pots of morning glories that she’d stuck in the back of his truck. “Put on your mask.”
Bull did, because there was no point in arguing with Merrill when she was on a mission. He took the other pot of flowers from her, because it looked heavy. She pulled on her own mask and slung a duffle bag over her shoulder, and he followed her through a rusty gate at the bottom of the wide lawns behind the historic Halamshiral palace.
“Technically,” Merrill said as they crept along a hedgerow, “this is trespassing, defacing of government property and interfering with the integrity of a historic landmark.”
“I know, Merrill. We already went over all the ways we’d get screwed over if we mess up. I’m really not planning to be in jail instead of at my wedding.” He hoisted her over a fence.
“Oh, I’m not trying to make you nervous, The Iron Bull! I think it’s romantic!” He passed her the flower pots. “For our first date, Isabela broke us into the Kirkwall Art Museum after hours and we spent the night looking at paintings all alone. The Elf With the Pearl Earring is such a beautiful painting, you know.”
They worked their way slowly into the main gardens, not talking much. There was, apparently, a night guard or two, but Isabela had said she’d distract them. Bull thought he would be better off being able to plead ignorance of the that part of this whole operation.
“Does Dorian know you’re doing this?” Merrill asked conversationally, and Bull had a minor heart attack.
“Not exactly.” Bull coughed awkwardly. “He wouldn’t think it was a good idea.”
“That’s probably for the best.” Merrill said blithely. “Is he still trying work through the bureaucracy?”
“I think he gave up after his meeting today. They said morning glories would be anachronistic and that they wouldn’t plant them, even for a wedding.” They finally reached the patio where the ceremony would happen. He put down the pots and and Merrill dropped the bag next to a flower bed.
“Well, so’s all this embrium if you want to get really specific. They were considered a peasant flower until they wound up on the endangered species list.” She unzipped her bag and handed him a spade and a large pair of gardening gloves.
“Embrium is endangered?” Bull asked, carefully turning over the soil the way Merrill had described when they’d met to plan. He watched her out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was doing it right.
“Oh yes, very much so. All the specimens are labelled and tracked. It’s tightly controlled by the government. No seed sales or anything.”
“There’s so much outside your studio, I just assumed--”
She gently worked one of the morning glory plants out of the soil in the pot and patted it carefully into the hole Bull had dug. “Yes, well, you see, there’s an interesting story that explains all that.”
Bull waited. Merrill said nothing else. She took a water bottle out of the bag and sprinkled a few drops over the flower, then started digging another hole nearby.
Merrill sliced her hand with her trowel at one point. “Oh good, that ought to save me a bit of trouble,” she muttered, inspecting the cut.
“What?” Bull asked.
“Nothing,” Merrill said quickly.
Bull kept waiting for the story, but they transplanted all the flowers into the plot before Merrill opened her mouth again.
“Now, this next bit is going to get terribly magicky,” she warned. “Also bright. Running might be a good idea after this.”
Bull nodded, and Merrill raised her hand.
The vines glowed with a golden light, then thickened and lengthened, wrapping their way up the entire trellis and budding as they went. The scent was so thick Bull would have sworn he could taste nectar on the air.
The plants dimmed, now thoroughly ensnared in the historic trellis. “Just see if they can dig those out,” Merrill sniffed.
A door banged open on the balcony above them, and Bull grabbed the pots, and the bag, and bolted. Merrill was right behind him, laughing maniacally as they crossed the lawn at a dead run.
As they drove slowly down the service road, headlights off, Bull gave himself a small pat on the back. Dorian would have the flowers he wanted.
Bull had gotten used to Dorian’s magic. He didn’t startle in the morning when Dorian heated a cup of tea with flames from his hands instead of the microwave, or at night when the light clicked out with a wave of Dorian’s hand.
Dorian’s magic was a part of him, and so Bull loved it. He even loved it when Dorian fried the alarm clock on an early morning or boiled his martini by accident at the end of a hard day. If someone had told him five years ago that one day he’d be perfectly comfortable around magic, he would’ve thought it was a pretty shitty joke.
In the days leading up to the wedding, Bull was reminded that it wasn’t magic in general he was comfortable with, it was really just Dorian’s magic. The issues came to a head at the rehearsal dinner.
Livia sniffed decorously into a handkerchief when Felix gave a speech, and grasped Dorian’s hand with a watery smile and kissed him on the cheek. Gereon sniffled less but was clearly just as emotional. Felix just grinned a lot.
Livia stood up and raised her wine glass, her voice wobbling just a little. “I’m so happy--” she began, and turned to Dorian and Bull with a teary smile. The tea candles on the table flickered, then burned bright blue. Bull practically fell out of his chair. Livia stuttered through a sentence more before she burst into full-blown tears, and the candles around Bull surged and sparked. He gripped tightly at the napkin on his lap, twisting it until he heard the fabric rip.
Dorian waited until Gereon and Felix were thoroughly distracted with his mother before turning towards Bull in his seat.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, taking Bull’s hand. even in the comforting motion Bull could feel the static jump of Dorian’s nervous electricity. Magic simply bled from him, from his whole family. A family, Bull realized a bit belatedly, that he would be marrying into and interacting with on a regular basis.
“What do you mean?” Bull asked, affecting nonchalance.
“I mean that my mother just made about thirty candles explode in your face and you know it,” Dorian murmured. “I’m surprised no one else at the table is missing an eye.”
“Does that happen often?” Bull asked.
“Only at special events,” Dorian reassured him. “Weddings, birthdays, the High Holy days. She once shorted out the power for our entire block when Gereon surprised her on their anniversary.”
Bull gave a noncommittal grunt. “Just when we’d be visiting, then.”
“You aren’t obligated to be all right, you know.” Dorian was smirking at him. Smirking.
Bull glanced down at the puddle of cooling wax soaking into the rented tablecloth. They were definitely not getting their damages deposit back. He looked back at his hand, Dorian’s resting on top. Were there any candlelight left, Dorian’s ring would be glinting in it. “I think... I am pretty all right, actually.”
“Really?” Ever the skeptic.
Bull picked up his husband-to-be’s hand and kissed it, “Really,” he said, and stood to check on Livia.
Dorian woke up warm and happy, curled against Bull’s side, Bull’s arm tucked around his shoulders. He basked for just a moment, but he was buzzing with energy.
He poked Bull’s side, making him grunt. “Bull,” Dorian whispered into his ear, making it twitch. Bull groaned and swatted at him. “Darling,” Dorian sing-songed, “light of my life, cor meum...”
Bull rolled over onto him with an inarticulate grumble. He covered Dorian’s mouth with his hand. “Hush,” he grumbled. He was awake, though, eye sleepy and fond.
Dorian grinned up at him, and wriggled a little, thoroughly trapped. He pressed a kiss to Bull’s fingers and tried to pull Bull down against him. Bull stayed resolutely still, leaning on one hand over Dorian.
Bull’s other hand traveled slowly across his face, tracing his lips, tugging at his mustache, thumb brushing his cheekbones and then across his forehead and brow. Dorian chuckled, and Bull’s finally leaned down to kiss Dorian, deep and slow. “And what has you in such a good mood?” Bull rumbled, voice still a little rough with sleep. “You don’t like mornings.”
Dorian shrugged. “Nothing in particular,” he said airily. He levered himself up on his elbows. “I just love you.”
Bull kissed him again, and then pressed his lips to Dorian’s neck, just below his ear. He muttered into Dorian’s skin, dropping kisses in between every sweet word, until Dorian fell back down against the bed, laughing and breathless. He reveled in Bull’s solid, reassuring weight above him, and ran his hands happily over every inch of Bull’s wide back.
He pushed against Bull’s shoulder at the first light hint of teeth against his neck. “None of that, you menace.” Bull tucked his face into the crook of Dorian’s shoulder, lips curving against his skin in a slow smile.
“Why’d you wake me up then?” He mumbled, barely audible. Dorian squeezed his ass, and he raised his head. “Sending some mixed messages there, sweetheart.”
“I was hoping you might want to make me breakfast.”
Bull dropped his face again, this time to Dorian’s chest. He nosed along Dorian’s sternum, teeth and tongue making Dorian shiver. “What’s in it for me?” He asked Dorian’s collarbones, breath warm against his bare skin. Dorian gasped and arched into Bull’s touch when a hand skimmed up his ribs to pinch at a nipple. “Why shouldn’t I keep you right here for the rest of the day?”
“Well,” Dorian tried to keep his tone even, and failed horribly, voice quavering when Bull’s teeth scraped over his chest. “We do have plans in the afternoon.” Bull made a noncommittal noise and shifted lower on the bed, hands drifting down to grip Dorian’s hips. His thumbs brushed firmly over Dorian’s pelvis, and he chuckled when Dorian moaned and pressed up against him. “Someone has to make breakfast,” Dorian insisted breathlessly. “And I know you wouldn’t inflict my omelets upon us today of all days.”
“You’re right.” He could feel Bull smile as he pressed a kiss to Dorian’s thigh. “But we’re not getting up yet.” Dorian had a hand on Bull’s horn, the other tangled in the sheets. He stared at the ceiling and took long, shaky breaths as Bull moved slowly across his body.
“Why’s that?” He giggled when Bull’s hand skimmed down his leg, fingers winding up behind his knee. He let Bull move him, and wound up with one leg over Bull’s shoulder, a little off balance. He looked down and saw Bull smiling back at him, wide and happy.
“I’m celebrating.” Bull pressed a kiss to the inside of Dorian’s thigh.
“You’re teasing.”
“I’m celebrating,” Bull talked over him, “the last morning of my unmarried life. Apparently after this, it gets boring.”
Dorian tugged on a horn, mock-offended. “You’re celebrating the looming spectre of boring sex?” Bull didn’t answer him. Instead, he nipped lightly at Dorian’ hipbones, then sucked a small bruise into the skin just above his cock, making Dorian moan.
He licked a stripe from the base of Dorian’s cock to the tip, lips curving in a smile when Dorian’s other hand landed on his horn and pulled harder. Bull’s morning stubble scraped against his skin.
This position usually made Dorian feel like he was in control, but apparently Bull wasn’t playing that game this morning. He slid back down Dorian’s cock with infuriating slowness, tongue working until Dorian was growling curses at him in Tevene.
His fingers hooked under Dorian’s ass, holding him up and immobile. Dorian nudged his heel against the muscle of Bull’s back, legs flexing against his shoulders as Bull pulled away from Dorian’s cock and nosed his way down.
“You heathen,” Dorian’s admonishment was somewhat broken off by a loud moan as Bull’s tongue worked its way into his ass. Bull grunted happily in response when Dorian pushed against him, angling for more contact.
Bull skipped his mouth away, still teasing, and Dorian groaned. “We have plans today, Bull. We’re busy.”
“Nah. I mean, it’s not like they can start our wedding without us.” Bull’s breath blew hot and wet with every word he spoke
Dorian smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Bull pulled his head up and away without giving up the vicelike grip on Dorian’s hips. “Oh, sorry, let me just--”
“Don’t you dare,” Dorian growled at him.
Bull smirked and returned to business. His fingers kneaded against Dorian’s ass in the same dizzying rhythm as his tongue. Dorian was still a little surprised by how good Bull was able to make everything feel, the way he could pull Dorian to the edge in a matter of minutes when he set his mind to it.
He worked Dorian up methodically, adding pressure and going deeper without speeding up his thrusts. Before Bull, Dorian had never known a man who actually enjoyed eating his partner out. But Bull, four years into the relationship, would spend hours keeping Dorian on edge, simply because he could.
It felt as though Bull’s “celebration” was gearing up to be another marathon session. Dorian eased into the feeling, squirming where he was laid out on the mattress. After all, Bull was right; the wedding couldn’t start without them.
That, of course, was when Dumat appeared.
Their mabari had been named ironically--Dorian was not sure the creature had stopped barking since they’d first gotten him.
Dorian jumped up-- awkwardly, tangling in the sheets and falling over his own feet-- and grabbed Dumat’s collar, trying to pull him out of the room with no success.
Bull laughed. “I’ll let him out, sweetheart, you stay put.” He lifted Dumat bodily into his arms as though carrying an especially large and squirmy baby and, stark naked, slung him out of the bedroom. Dorian slammed the door and resolutely ignored the pitiful whining.
“Back to business,” Bull said, and just as matter-of-factly as he’d removed the dog, picked up Dorian and tossed him back into the bed.
Later, Bull pulled Dorian close against him. They lay together, quiet and happy, until Dorian almost dozed off again. “I’m celebrating,” Bull murmured, “because I get to spend the rest of my life having boring married sex with you.”
Dorian snorted. “Is that supposed to be romantic?” He wriggled out of Bull’s arms and dropped a kiss on his forehead before sitting up all the way and feeling around on the nightstand for his glasses. He stood up and stretched, arms over his head, and heard Bull slowly getting up behind him.
Wide arms wrapped around his waist, and Bull kissed his shoulder. “Hey, Dorian.”
“Yes, darling?” He rested his hands on Bull’s wrists and leaned back against him.
“You wanna get married?”
“Only if you make me breakfast.”
Vivienne had told Dorian that the last two things anyone should consider including in their wedding ceremony were children and animals, so naturally, that was exactly what wound up happening.
Callie Cadash looked as sweet as it was possible for a rambunctious nine-year-old to look, though now she was frowning viciously at Dorian from behind a bookcase in an out-of-the-way room of Halamshiral’s extensive library. “I don’t want to wear pink anymore!” She stamped her tiny foot against the tiles. “Pink’s stupid, it’s for boys!”
Growing up with Bull as a major male figure in her life had certainly influenced Callie’s perceptions of gender, and Dorian was sure that Buttercup would be very proud. Any other day, he would have bought her a nice blue dress to reinforce her assertiveness, but today he needed her to wear the pink tuxedo. It matched Dustin’s smaller one, and Dumat’s hydrangea flower crown, and most importantly, it was the one thing Bull had actually insisted on. Every other ridiculous request, he’d let Dorian veto, but this, apparently, was important.
It was also too late to change anything about the ceremony, considering that Callie was supposed to be walking the rings down the aisle in less than half an hour. “You liked it yesterday,” he reminded her gently, “and remember how happy Bull was when you tried it on?”
“Yes,” She nodded, and came slowly out from behind the shelf, but to Dorian’s horror, started to sniffle. He looked around frantically for someone who knew more about children, preferably Livia, or Callie’s mother, but alas, they were alone.
“Could you, um--” Callie’s eyes were welling up. “Oh God please don’t cry.”
Callie began to cry. She grabbed at his shoulders and buried her face in his chest. Gingerly, Dorian wrapped his arms around her as well.
“If you really hate the pink that much…” he frantically tried to remember if she’d already been dressed when her family had arrived, or she’d put the tuxedo on after getting there, “do you have other clothes?”
She shook her head and heaved an even louder sob. “No! These are my only clothes, and I’m never gonna wear any of my other clothes again.”
Dorian had no idea what to do with that, so he just held her until her breathing calmed and she pulled away a little bit. He pulled out the packet of tissues he’d stashed in an inner pocket of his suit jacket and wiped gently at her face. She took them from him and blew her nose forcefully.
“So,” he offered cautiously, “do you want to find something else to wear? There are some suits of armor on the mannequins two floors up. You could wear something from the Divine age.” She shook her head, but giggled, breath still catching a little.
She wiped at the front of his cream-colored suit, and Dorian determinedly didn’t think about whether she’d ruined it or not. “Is this really about the color?” He asked gently. He’d picked up a few skills from Bull over the years.
Callie frowned at him and sketched some vague shapes with her hands, half-starting a sentence a couple times. “Imekari? From school?” her voice hitched and tilted up the way it did whenever she was nervous about what she was saying. “He says that when his big sister got married, she moved away and now he only talks to her on the phone? She didn’t even come back for his birthday.”
Dorian wiped the new tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. “You’re worried that Bull and I won’t have time for you once we’re married?” She nodded and hid her face in his shoulder again. He patted her back again, more confident now that he had some idea of the problem. “It’s not really going to be that different, you know. We’re going to stay in our house, you can still take Dumat for walks, we’ll come to all your birthday parties, and Dustin’s too. It’s just… we’ll file taxes differently. That's actually the only big change, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
She sniffed. “Really? Just taxes?”
Dorian ruffled her hair, then carefully fixed it. “Just taxes.”
The hydrangeas had grown on him.
It was terrible, honestly. Dorian used to have the whole thing planned out: a small wedding, tasteful and understated, with a color scheme done entirely in gold and cream. No fussy floral arrangements for someone to botch at the last minute, just stretches of clean pale cloth and gold embroidery. There was going to be a string quartet at the reception, with milling waiters serving wine and canapes. He and a faceless, imaginary man who presumably loved him would wear matching suits and dance beautifully before leaving for a honeymoon in Rivain.
Then, there was their group of friends, now too large to cram into the tiny venue he’d imagined. The jazz band for the reception, and the sushi and samosas, of all things, that was the final compromise for Hors D’oeuvres. There would still be wine, of course, but it turned out that Dorian couldn’t dance at all and Bull technically still had a price on his head in Rivain.
Their suits would not match, and nearly every bit of Dorian’s carefully laid plans had been completely destroyed, but mostly, Dorian had met Bull, and suddenly there were flowers. Big, fluffy pink ones that grew best where the soil was acidic and hard. Flowers that looked fragile, but cropped up where no one was expecting them to grow. Flowers that were hard to kill.
Dorian couldn’t say he had been in love before this, but Bull let Dorian put his cold toes against him while they slept and kissed him when they woke up without regard to his morning breath. Bull trusted him with his scars and his fears and, apparently, illegally tampered with historic trellises for him. Besides true love, Dorian was not sure what else it could be. He took a deep breath and opened the library door.
Bull wore a suit the same blue as the morning glories, the same blue as the shirt Dorian wore under his own cream-colored suit--because they went together, that’s what this was all about, that they went together no matter what--and despite Dorian’s repeated complaints to the contrary, the pink tie and pocket square did not make him look at all ridiculous. Instead, he seemed to glow from the inside, radiant in his happiness. That’s for me, Dorian thought. I’m the one who’s making him smile like that. His knees almost buckled right there, three steps from the doorway.
The chuppah, which Aurelia told them was the tallest one she’d ever seen, was laden heavy with flowers, the hydrangeas frothing over every edge of fabric while the morning glories trailed around the corners. Dorian did not miss understated elegance at all. Not when he had Bull looking at him.
They made it most of the way through the ceremony without incident. Livia, naturally, was crying the entire time, her dignified sniffs echoing off the vaulted ceiling of the Halamshiral library just as loudly as Varric’s voice.
Bull knew that Dorian had given Varric a script, but he also knew better than to expect Varric to stick to it very closely. He did not, however, know that he was going to tear up during his own damn vows.
He barely choked out an “I do,” before he was sobbing, clinging to Dorian as if to his life.
When Cole received his invitation to the wedding, he’d gone straight to Bull and volunteered his services as a bartender. Had Dorian been in charge of the decision, he liked to think it wouldn’t have wound up this way. He’d told Bull this once or twice already.
They had actual, trained bartenders of course, from the catering company, but Cole had found his way behind the bar an hour into the reception.
“Bull, is he even old enough to drink? We can’t have him serving alcohol if he’s not.” Dorian had been agonizing over it all evening.
All things considered, it was hardly the worst thing for him to fixate on, but Bull really hoped he’d be able to relax and enjoy the party soon. Cole flipped a shaker full of very expensive tequila, and Dorian clutched at Bull’s arm like he was juggling knives. It was probably not the best evening to tell Dorian about that particular side job.
Bull sighed and steered Dorian around a corner, out of sight of the bar. He put a finger under Dorian’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Sweetheart, can you take a deep breath for me and just concentrate on how well everything has gone today? You put together a gorgeous ceremony, kept all our friends in one place all day, and nothing’s even on fire.”
Dorian snorted and straightened Bull’s pocket square. “I hardly did it alone.”
“Exactly.” Bull kissed him softly, and some of Dorian’s tension melted away. “Nothing’s really gone wrong, has it? The hard part’s over, let’s just have fun, yeah?”
“The hard part?”
“Marrying me, in front of people and everything.”
Dorian looked honestly offended. “That was the easiest decision I’ve ever made. the hard part was deciding on a font for the invitations.”
Bull laughed. “Then let’s let Cole get us drunk, dance till three in the morning, and then go and have horribly boring married-person sex.”
“I’ll admit I’m eager to watch my relatives lift you up on a chair.”
Bull felt himself pale a bit, and Dorian laughed. “They’re mages, Bull. They’re not going to drop you.”
“Even better.”
Dorian smirked and kissed him before leading him back to the dance floor by one arm.
After a particularly nerve-wracking and drunken rendition of the Horah, Bull leaned against the bar to reacquaint himself with a solid floor, watching Dorian and Livia spinning around the dancefloor in a dizzying waltz. They looked so happy and bright and beautiful, and Bull felt unimaginably lucky.
The party wasn’t over. The party would last hours yet. There were more photos to take, more hugs to be be given by teary-eyed friends, more color-coordinated drinks to narrowly miss spilling on tablecloths and expensive clothes. The party wasn’t over, so where was Dorian?
Cole pointed Bull in the direction of the balcony, and it didn’t take him that long to make it there, all things considered. Only three people stopped him, and he was able to shake all of them off by saying he was looking for his husband. That got him waved away with indulgent grins, and his heart swelled every time he said the words.
His husband. Fucking hell.
His husband was leaning on the balcony overlooking the gardens, a glass of red wine in his hand. He had taken off his suit jacket, draped it carefully on the railing and rolled his sleeves above his elbows to lean his forearms against the stone without damaging the fabric. He faced away from him, but Bull knew he had heard the door open.
He crossed the balcony and leaned against it as well, facing the warm light of the party rather than the night. Dorian turned to look at him and placed his wine carefully on the wide railing. “Hey, sweetheart,” Bull said with a smile that stretched his face and crinkled his eye, and Dorian leaned up to kiss him.
“I’m sorry to run off, I-- it just now hit me, I suppose. I was just standing there and Krem asked me where my husband was and I-- I never really thought--”
“Me either,” Bull told him, and held on tight.
Dorian’s lips were warm against Bull’s and he tasted like the wine, like the chocolates Josephine had brought them, like himself. Dorian wrapped his arms around Bull and pressed them close together. Behind them, in the gardens, the hydrangeas bloomed.