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“I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a hot-gushing, butt-cramping, gut hosing orgasm.” - Chuck Palahniuk
First impressions are something Almer's always forgetting don't really cover everything to know about a person.
Never met a Tevinter before. Heard a lot of bad stuff about everything Dorian Pavus is, though – Magister, mage, noble – and Almer's an elf, so it sounds double bad. He's thrown more than one book at someone over daft Orlesian comments about slavery, and he can only imagine it's going to be worse with a Tevinter around.
So Almer doesn't like him on sight, even if he knows he can't get away with banning him from the Skyhold library. He'll just have to keep a watch on him. If he says one thing—
“If you think yourself a scholar, I'd have thought you'd treat the books with more respect!”
One of the archivists, ruffled and shrill at Dorian's nook.
“It's a sixth edition Serault Compendium, pressed the year before last, it's hardly going to crumble.”
“But did you have to throw it?”
“Well, it's utter dross, so I feel I was obliged to throw it.”
Almer hadn't expected Dorian Pavus to be funny. Or nice, or willing to spar him on his opinions of many of the texts in the library. Before long, he's thinking it's a shame he hasn't met more Tevinters; his colouring is similar to Almer's, brown skin and dark hair, but in profile Dorian – just Dorian, weeks after they first talked – is a sight.
“Oh, you have an office!” Dorian says. “If I'd known managing the library came with a private space, I might have offered myself to the position.”
“You'd be bad at it, I think,” Almer says, as Dorian puts himself on his desk, gestures Almer into his chair. “You never re-shelve books.”
“You do? Surely that's archivist work. Your status must give you some perks, like exclusion from drudgery.”
He's still a bit like he imagined a Magister would be, even though he's not actually that, some noble title below that. Won't even re-shelve his own books, but that's half the upbringing and half always being neck deep in a dozen research books, Almer thinks.
“Perks,” Almer says. “Like a private office.”
Dorian's smirk is wicked.
“Quite.”
Selfish – that's something else Almer thought Dorian would be. Being wrong about him is turning into a boon.
Dorian, under his desk, swallows around Almer's dick. He can feel himself pressing at the back of Dorian's throat, can feel Dorian's fingertips gripping the insides of his thighs, can feel the spit dripping down his balls. It's sloppy, and Dorian doesn't seem to mind as he sucks and Almer grips the arms of his chairs and thrusts up into Dorian's mouth.
“Andraste preserve me!”
It hasn't been that long since he last had a mouth on him, but if he'd have known Dorian was gifted like this he'd have got to him sooner, even if he was still under the impression he was an evil slave-keeping blood mage Magister.
Dorian does something with his tongue – rolls it against the underside of Almer's dick, and it has him shouting, thumping the arm of the chair with the palm of his hand so hard it stings. Again and again Dorian does it, until Almer cries out and spends himself down Dorian's throat.
“Andraste preserve me,” he says again, breathless, as Dorian wipes spit from his chin.
*
Pavus has definitely had dwarves before, that's clear enough now. Lad knows what he's doing, isn't put off by the stout thickness of his pipe. He rides him like a champ, and Rocky's definitely still caught up in the surprise of winding up bedding the 'Vint.
They only shared drinks together, got into talking about a shared love of blowing things up. He's funny, and he's a good looking lad; tall for a human, well build for a mage. Rocky's not great at flirting, but a few drinks in he doesn't really think about what he's saying.
“You ever bedded a dwarf?”
Dorian grins, leaning in close. Doesn't seem to mind the question.
“Is this where I say no, and you offer the experience?”
“Hey, I'm offering anyway.”
They finish their pints and leave the Rest together, happy drunk, and the Chargers cheer after their retreating backs.
Now, in the Charger's barracks, where there's a half dozen people sleeping, or listening in, or pretending they're deaf, Pavus is groaning as if the curtains are doing a great job of keeping the sound in. Or maybe Pavus just doesn't care that much.
“Kaffas, your hands,” Pavus gasps. Rocky knows they're rough, probably almost painful on Pavus' hardness. It doesn't stop him moving his hips into it, while he rocks on top of him.
“You'll rub me raw,” Pavus says, after he hisses with his discomfort as Rocky grasps him in his fist.
So Rocky stops and reaches for the oil, discarded somewhere amongst the blankets, but Pavus leans forward and grabs his forearm.
“None of that.”
“You want to be be rubbed raw?”
“I've a fancy to be.”
Rocky laughs and goes back to it, with the muscles of Pavus' thighs twitching with the effort of riding him, with his body squeezing around his thick pipe.
And boy, does Pavus sodding ride him. They go rough, and long, Rocky grunts and grunts, Pavus moans and moans until the point where Rocky would pull out and put more oil between them, but he doesn't stop. The friction is sodding catastrophic, and Pavus yells like he's torn between leaping from off Rocky's pipe and doubling down for the long haul.
“Kaffas, your cock, you fucking cock—”
There's always a joke about explosions when Rocky finishes, but this feels like the sodding substrate of himself is crumbling away as he comes and comes, Pavus rides out the shock of it and the tremors that follow, until Rocky is aware enough to twist his fist and finish Pavus off too.
It sounds sodding painful as he splatters over Rocky's hand and his hairy chest, but it's the most satisfied someone has sounded on top of him in – maybe ever. He thinks – laughing breathlessly at the thought – the very Stone is going to remember a night like this.
*
There's definitely an inevitability to it. Took longer than the Bull thought for Dorian to show up at his room but soon he realises it's worth the wait.
“So much talk of conquest,” Dorian says, “I would hate for it to be all talk.”
“Come here, I'll show you just how much I meant it.”
“What people in history have ever gone willingly to conquest?”
“Like that, huh?”
For a moment, Dorian's teeth seem as sharp as a qunari. Or a dragon.
Definitely a dragon, when they're biting the thick muscle of the Bull's throat as he pins Dorian to the bed and jerks him off.
He struggles, trying to lever himself around to grab at the Bull's cock, hot and heavy and dripping over the crease of Dorian's thigh. The Bull can hold both of Dorian's sturdy wrists in one hand.
“And as you struggle, helpless in my grip...”
Dorian bites him especially hard right over the notch in his throat, and as the Bull gasps Dorian wiggles, a sneaky manoeuvre that makes the Bull's heavy cock slip off his thigh into the space between, where Dorian promptly traps it with his thick thighs.
“I have never been helpless.”
He can't get the purchase to pull himself free – Dorian's thighs hold him tightly, his cock pressed up under his balls, against the curve of his ass. He squeezes, and the Bull gasps.
“Crap!”
They race to get each other off then, and pinned to the bed, squeezing like a fucking python, Dorian wins when the Bull comes between the vice of his thighs and groans into the damp hollow of Dorian's throat.
Not for the first time, he thinks Ataashi.
“Don't tell me you're done.” Dorian tsks, as he moves the Bull onto the edge of the bed and slips onto the floor between his knees, without bothering to wipe down his thighs. “I'll be very disappointed if that is all I get out of you, after all the talk.”
The Bull laughs, groans when Dorian strokes his cock, coaxing a last dribble of come out of him. He licks it off, and the Bull reaches out to mess his fingers in Dorian's hair.
“I'm not done.”
“Good,” Dorian says, and sets to task.
It's obvious that Dorian loves to suck cock. He's delighted when the Bull doesn't go fully soft, and before long he's completely hard again, as Dorian stretches his lips around the fat head.
Dorian takes his time, sucks at him and strokes where his mouth doesn't reach, slowly, so slowly works himself up to taking the better part of the Bull's massive cock into his mouth and then his throat. The Bull has to fist his hands in the sheets has to fight to keep his hips from bucking up into the heat of Dorian's throat.
“Fuck, Dorian. Your mouth feels amazing.”
Dorian groans around him.
“So good, taking me so deep. You must really enjoy the feeling of me stretching you out.”
He groans again, pushes farther, swallows around the Bull's cock. Shit, the Bull knew Dorian would be good, but now he feels bad for underestimating him.
When he comes it's over Dorian's face at his insistence. He stripes Dorian's cheeks, chin, into his moustache, his chest and neck too. His dark skin covered in the Bull's come – shit, yeah. That's a sight.
He finally gets to stroke Dorian off afterwards, as he kisses and licks away his come. Dorian make an indignant sound as he presses his tongue against his moustache, but soon he's moaning open-mouthed against the Bull's mouth as he comes.
“You ought to conquer me now,” Dorian tells him. The Bull's pretty sure Dorian already mastered him with that first manoeuvre, but he manhandles him gamely onto the bed anyway.
Dorian opens up on his fingers slowly, gradually. He does things properly, and by the time the Bull is pushing his oiled cock into him – with Dorian's legs over his shoulders – he's hard and panting and cursing at him to get on with it.
“Fuck me now, would you?”
The Bull fucks him into the mattress. Dorian yells and moans and gasps “harder!” until the bed is creaking ominously and the Bull can feel a faint ache everywhere.
“You're huge, kaffas, fuck, fuck me, fuck me!”
Somewhere between them Dorian comes, messy onto his own belly and the press of the Bull's, and it doesn't take much after that, with Dorian's body spasming around him to push himself close.
“Fuck, you feel so good. I'm going to come, fuck, Dorian—”
“Inside me,” Dorian moans, breath hot against his mouth, and the Bull takes him in a kiss that's more teeth than anything else as he empties into Dorian's body.
He fucks shallowly into him for long minutes after, as Dorian practically purrs beneath him.
“You're fucking gorgeous.”
“You're not bad yourself.”
Dorian kisses him lazily after that, bodies still together, and the Bull doesn't feel like he's done any conquering at all tonight.
*
The stone is rough on his knees, but it doesn't much matter when Dorian's prick feels so good inside him. It's been an age since Delrin has been on his knees, and Dorian doesn't disappoint – long, deep strokes with a thick, curved prick, and a calloused hand reaching around to tug him off.
Ah, maybe it matters a little.
“My knee, can we move?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” Dorian says. Presses Delrin down onto his stomach, traps his prick between his tunic and the stone floor. He hisses at the cold, then groans at the feel of Dorian over him, pressing his prick in deep.
“How long since you got fucked? You're twitchy.”
Delrin laughs.
“A while. Been busy.”
“Oh, not never then,” Dorian purrs. “And here I was, thinking you were a good religious boy.”
“I say my prayers and do my duty, I don't think Andraste cares how else I spend my time.”
“Oh, I'm sure she'd be delighted that you're getting fucked on the floor of the chantry.”
It's – shit. It's not like he hasn't snuck off for this sort of thing before. Maybe there's scandal in being fucked in Skyhold's chantry by the resident untrustworthy Tevinter, but Delrin never much cared for gossip. Dorian's nice, and hot, and currently fucking him so deep he's whimpering.
Funnily enough, not the only time private prayer has turned into sex.
Before he can suffer for much longer on the stone, Dorian pulls out and turns him onto his back. He lines up their pricks and strokes them both.
The statue of Andraste looks on them, always kindly, always hard as steel. Dorian nudges at his jaw, gentling him.
“Let her see your pleasure.”
They come all over Delrin's tunic there on the floor of the chantry, with their lady and the Maker watching, moans quieted against each other's shoulders.
*
“What, that Tevinter?”
“Yeah. Me and Robert, when we were on break. Robert reckons they've been flirting, and then he shows up while we're playing cards.”
“And?”
“Sucks us both off, doesn't he? Kneeling there, both of our dicks out. Takes turns, swallows when we're both done.”
“Ha, wow.”
“I don't know much about him, but mate, if John had sucked me off like that I'd still be married to him.”
*
Dorian clings to his horns and digs his heels into the Bull's shoulders as he comes in the Bull's mouth, shouting before he can think to force his mouth shut and muffle it.
It's impossible that the whole camp didn't just hear that. It's impossible that the Bull has ever heard anything as breathtaking as Dorian when he comes.
Dorian doesn't seem to care as the Bull kisses up his body, boneless in the bedroll and flushed beautifully.
“You are the most beautiful fucking man,” he murmurs. It's true. It's always been true.
“Sweet of you to notice,” Dorian drawls, and the Bull kisses the side of his mouth as he settles in beside him, mindful of his horns.
“I'm a very observant guy, you know.”
“I noticed.”
There's gentleness in his voice – he doesn't mention the Qun, or the ex-Spy thing. Hasn't touched any of those barbs since the Storm Coast. He's a sweet guy like that.
Dorian's hand find the Bull's cock half-hard, resting against his thigh. He sighs happily as he curls his fist around it.
“You don't have to, we can sleep. Got to get moving early.”
“I admire your dedication to my pleasure, but I always play fair.”
The Bull snorts a laugh. “Since when?”
“Since always.”
Dorian is a notorious cheat, in cards and chess and fucking, but the Bull lets him make his claim. Dorian's hand is sure and firm, twisting him leisurely until the Bull is thrusting into his hand.
It feels fucking good, and kissing Dorian while he strokes him off somehow makes it so much better. When he comes it's with Dorian's tongue in his mouth and his hand cradling his head, and fuck, fuck, he wants this every night, to feel this with his k—
He groans into the kiss.
*
Doesn't remember the lowlander's name. Doesn't matter really. Doesn't matter that he's a 'Vint, probably. Or Antivan; that nose could be neither. But Ruadhan only came to sell his swords, and the man didn't wilt when he was rude to him, and looked at him and lingered, in a way that Ruadhan knows meant he wanted to fuck.
And Ruadhan likes to fuck.
The lowlander bites down on Ruadhan's fingers, as he bears down on his cock. A strong man, not much shorter than Ruadhan, and built in a way that would make a good fighter. It's clear he's never held a shield in his life, even if it weren't obvious he was a mage.
Ruadhan doesn't like to talk when he fucks, and the lowlander wanted to talk, so Ruadhan thrust his fingers in his mouth as he pressed him against the stone wall of the keep and fucked the tight channel of his body. The lowlander pushes back, fucked himself on Ruadhan's cock.
He doesn't fuck lowlanders, but if he can find where this one was made, maybe he will. He practically sings on Ruadhan's cock. He bites hard and moans and bucks, takes all of Ruadhan's cock over and over.
Ruadhan can fuck for hours – but the lowlander is a wild thing, and the fuck ends with his seed deep inside the lowlander, and the lowlander's over the stone wall.
*
“What's got you so happy?” Varric asks.
Hawke smothers the stupid grin he's wearing. Then he remembers why, and starts grinning again.
“Other than our impending trip to the Western Approach?”
“Other than that, yes.”
“Nothing. Just happy be spending time with my best friend in the whole wide world.”
“One of these days I'm going to get my feelings hurt, you keep taking the piss.”
Hawke doesn't pay attention to what comes next, peering past Varric towards the table with the big qunari and his gang, with the wonder Vint mixed up in the middle. He's grinning again.
“Wait,” Varric says, now looking where Hawke is looking and cottoning on fast. “Oh, that's why you're so cheerful. Good for you. Glad you didn't have Kirkwall flashbacks getting in the way of having fun with Tiny over there.”
“Who?”
“The Iron Bull? The qunari?”
“Oh. He bought me a drink. We haven't had time to chat yet.”
“No? Then – wait, Sparkler?”
“Yeah, that sounds more like it.”
“Shit. Well, good for you.”
“I think I'm in love, Varric,” Hawke says. He's joking, but given a few more rounds, maybe he could be serious. Maybe his arse is in love already.
“I wouldn't go getting smitten, Hawke,” Varric says knowingly. “Pretty sure you'll only ever warm his bed, not his heart.”
“Why's that?”
“Maybe it's just the storyteller in me, but there's a story over there. Two worlds, at war with each other...”
He sees it then – the Iron Bull looking at Dorian Pavus, their bodies leaning into each other, Dorian Pavus looking at the Iron Bull – like they can't keep their eyes away for long.
Hawke sighs, putting his cheek on his hand.
“It's like they say; the best ones are always in love with giant one-eyed qunari.”
*
Dorian fits between the Bull's thighs and fucks him slowly. They can't kiss like this, but Dorian kissed him while he fingered him open and now he puts kisses on the Bull's knee, where he can reach.
He hasn't been fucked since his last visit to a Tamassran, years and years ago. It's never really been something he did beyond that – too much about sorting his head out.
For months he's been thinking about Dorian fucking him.
Now he's here, and sliding his thick cock deep, slow, steadily into the Bull, and the Bull had forgotten what it felt like to be taken apart like this. To be unmade and reformed in the space of a fuck.
“Kadan, fuck, you feel so good.”
Dorian gasps, and his hips stutter. He strokes the Bull's cock, thumbs over the wet head, smears precome down to ease the way.
“Bull, oh, you ought—ought to tell me what kadan means before I say something foolish.”
“Say what?”
Dorian presses harder into him, thrusts faster, deeper.
“Fuck- my heart. It means 'my heart'.”
Dorian works him with his fist until the Bull comes all over Dorian's hand, copiously onto his belly, clutching the bedroll and groaning.
Dorian fucks him through it, rides the waves of his orgasm until it's done, and then keeps going. He gasps and pants as he fucks into the Bull until he's there too, a wordless shout against the Bull's knee as he comes inside him.
Later, when they're not so breathless, the Bull strokes Dorian's hair where he rests against his chest.
“What foolish thing were you going to say?”
Dorian yawns. Then he turns his face and presses his lips to the Bull's skin.
“That I love you, of course. But you rendered that un-foolish, I think, loving me too. So thank you for that.”
The Bull laughs softly.
“You're welcome, kadan.”
Dorian hums happily as the Bull moves to kiss him.
“Sex is a different medium, refracting time and sense, a biological hyperspace as remote from conscious existence as dreams, or as water is from air.” - Ian McEwan