Chapter Text
Dorian supposed he should be thankful to have a roof over his head that wasn’t made of canvas. Somehow, the knowledge he’d only have it for a couple days before heading back through the entirely frozen ass of Orlais made the small comforts of Suledin Keep intolerable.
Emprise du Lion was, in Dorian’s opinion, a nightmare that would be just as well abandoned and forgotten. It was positively freezing, even with extra pairs of socks and thick traveling cloak. The only real heat he’d experienced in days was near the forbidding juts of red lyrium, which unfortunately brought disturbing whispers and actual nightmares with them. Why Evelyn had thought it a good idea to come here at all, much less bring Dorian, was beyond him and he was never going to forgive her for this.
It was all so miserable that Dorian was delighted to learn that Inquisition agents had uncovered a proper undercroft to explore. By no means was it grand or much warmer than the surface, but it did give him a chance to hide away from the blinding gleam of snow and get distracted by the ancient artifacts left behind.
Nothing they came across was particularly interesting, to be honest, but at this point he would take any distraction.
Dorian really would never forgive the Inquisitor.
It was only him and the Iron Bull for now, as Evelyn was off doing some important Inquisitor business with some of Leliana’s agents, who had arrived mere hours after they’d captured the keep as if by magic. Bull moved aside debris while Dorian maintained mage lights that emitted just enough warmth to pretend that they were not about to freeze to death. Dorian could have easily done the heavy lifting with magic, but Bull seemed intent to do that part himself and Dorian was happy to oblige.
The activity probably helped the Qunari keep warm. But of course Bull was still shirtless, despite the fact that Dorian was certain he could be no more comfortable than Dorian was considering the climate they were both accustomed to in the north.
No one could possibly like living in this sort of environment.
Except perhaps, for reasons Dorian would never understand, Commander Cullen.
Cullen would linger on the battlements of Skyhold at all hours and in any weather. It was like the cold didn’t touch him, even when it turned his ears red or the wind burned his cheeks. More than once Dorian had run into him when taking a brisk walk to clear his head or when getting sidetracked on his way from the tavern. Dorian would shiver and make a derogatory comment about the weather or Ferelden and Cullen would never laugh, although sometimes Dorian would be treated to the tiniest upturn of scarred lips.
Those were some of the only times he’d felt properly warm since coming south, were he entirely honest with himself.
“Vint!”
Bull caught Dorian before the mage even realized he had tripped on some overturned vase.
Dorian had barely started to demand that Bull unhand him before the Qunari had set him on his feet and moved away. Dorian stared for a bewildered moment before following Bull to the next collapsed set of stones.
The Iron Bull rarely missed an opportunity to flirt openly with the mage. It had always made Dorian somewhat uncomfortable, but he had noticed when the flirtation just…stopped. Not that he missed the bluntly suggestive comments, but he had appreciated the attention. He’d almost started considering the brute a friend.
Not that Dorian really had friends. Felix was gone, and Evelyn…well, she might count, actually. But the majority of the time they spent together was when fighting for their lives or traipsing through the worst terrain Thedas had to offer, so he couldn’t really feel especially grateful for that relationship.
And then there was Cullen. Maybe. He hoped, anyway. The two shared fairly regular games of chess in the garden together (the man was honestly brilliant, though Dorian would never dare admit it to his face) and the occasional late night drink (which surely one day Cullen would prompt, rather than Dorian popping into his office with a pilfered bottle of wine). And sometimes those moments on the battlements, of course.
It was a little self-centered of him, but Dorian couldn’t help but consider that any non-Commander moment of Cullen’s was shared by him. That could not possibly be true, of course — the man must have some off time Dorian had not managed to intrude upon. After all, Dorian was so often out following the Inquisitor to horrendous corners of the continent.
Privately though, Dorian worried that maybe he did share any time Cullen had as simply himself. It wasn’t easy to miss how his tense shoulders slouched under the weight of his duties and how he seemed to work on reports as much as their lovely Ambassador. The Commander could use more time not being in charge of so many serious matters. Perhaps if he allowed himself that small comfort, Dorian might witness him truly smile. He could see it sometimes, in his mind. The way Cullen’s amber eyes would glow like that faint glimmer Dorian sometimes caught the smallest hint of, the stretch of that scar over his lip that just begged to be kissed….
“Hey, Dorian!”
Bull was standing alarmingly close, arms full of a variety of dusty artifacts. “You all right, Vint?” Bull asked, his eye sharp with that damnable Ben-Hassrath stare.
“My toes are just about frostbitten, but otherwise —.”
“Dorian, your light?”
Dorian glanced over at the mage light, which had become a dark shade of amber identical to his vision of the Commander’s eyes. “Apologies,” he said, returning the magical light to a brighter shine. “Was just thinking of sitting by a warm fire,” he added reflexively, but when he met the Iron Bull’s gaze again his heart leapt into his throat.
It felt like Bull was staring straight into his mind, easily reading him like a book. Thankfully the beast chose not to address it, instead expectantly holding out a few items. Dorian halfheartedly took them to help carry the dusty artifacts over to a stone slab in order to separate them out. Dorian tried not to think how much the flat stone looked ready-made for blood sacrifice.
Bull periodically took the items from Dorian’s hands only to hand him another, apparently disliking how he was setting them out.
“We’re surrounded by all sorts of elven artifacts and you’ve barely given them a look.” Bull held out another item that Dorian mindlessly accepted.
“Elven junk,” Dorian scoffed, haplessly waving the polished dawnstone Bull had most recently handed him. “Solas might find this enough to blow his bald head, but —.”
Bull snorted with what appeared to be a genuine burst of laughter. “You are distracted.”
“I am cold and miserable, you lummox. Some dismal elven relics will not solve that,” Dorian lamented.
Bull’s eye shifted down to the item he’d left Dorian uselessly dangling from his fingers. “I’m not certain that counts as a relic,” he said with a roguish smile.
Dorian looked at the random object he had in hand. The pale pink stone was carved into a thick, long curve with one end sculpted a bit flatter and wider — a primitive club, perhaps? But it was oddly polished for such a weapon, and it surely wasn’t big enough to do any real damage. He had to bring the light a little closer and return it to the bright white rather than the chilly blue it had become to get a clearer look.
And then he promptly dropped it, stepping back with a startled gasp.
Bull seemed to know the reaction was coming as he snatched the artifact out of midair. “Careful, you might chip it,” he chastised, running his large fingers over the phallic object as if to check for potential damage — or possibly just for the sake of fondling it.
“Why not?” Dorian spat. “You plan on using it?”
Bull chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, it’s on the small side for me, and the ones I have suit me fine.” Dorian truly did not need to know that, but had no idea what to say in response to such information. Bull grinned as he held the ancient toy out in offering. “But for you, it’s perfect.”
“Why in the Maker’s name would you think that?” Dorian managed, gaping with increasing incredulity that this was a conversation he was even having.
“Because there’s nothing wrong with liking it up the arse.” Dorian couldn’t even manage to form a proper retort, instead sputtering a formless half-denial. Bull shrugged as he gave the artifact a lazy once over, observing it as he might a blade. “And because it’s a fair match for the Commander.”
“A fair — how the fuck would you know that?” Dorian hissed before he could think better of it.
Bull’s small smile was infuriating and Dorian had half a mind to burn it off.
Dorian’s jaw tensed as he suddenly considered that perhaps Cullen’s private moments weren’t exclusive to the mage after all. Not that he had any right to claim them, but…well, Bull made it very plain what he was willing to do for anyone who wanted or needed it. And for someone like Cullen, with the weight of the world on his shoulders…the man could certainly use an outlet.
“Relax, big guy. I’ve seen him in the bath, just as you could if you graced the communals with your magical presence,” Bull said with a short laugh. “Your face, though — you’ve got it bad.”
Dorian’s blood hadn’t stopped thundering in his ears quite yet. “Are the Skyhold baths quite different than I envision?” Bull looked a touch confused, an expression Dorian thought he should have more often. “Like that of an elven whorehouse, perhaps?” he clarified, motioning to the facsimile of what was clearly hard and not at all shriveled from cool water.
That was a thought, though. All the muscles the Commander must have hiding under that armor and hideous mantle, dripping wet and gleaming, the opportunity to see the beautiful man bared for real rather than his mind’s eye on lonely nights…maybe sharing the baths wouldn’t be such a terrible idea after all.
Or it would be worse, as he already couldn’t help how his mind drifted far too often.
Dorian was really starting to hate Bull’s knowing chuckle. “If you’ve seen enough little soldiers, you can use your imagination to, uh, fill the blanks,” he explained with a suggestively raised brow. “We can’t have you so distracted by our handsome ex-templar next time we face a dragon.”
“I wasn’t —.”
“I lost my best breastplate to that fire when I shielded you,” Bull pointed out unapologetically, offering the offending toy again. “Get some of that out of your system. It’ll do you good.”
Dorian raised his hand, shielding his face with his palm out to clearly indicate to stop and that this conversation was over. He wasn’t sure he could suffer this humiliation further, and anything he could say would only serve to prove Bull’s theory about the source of his distraction correct.
“If I’ve noticed, others won’t be far behind. Would you rather Red inform the Commander of your hopeless infatuation?” Dorian glared as harshly as he could manage while pretending a hot flush wasn’t rising up his neck. “Unless you plan on telling him yourself,” Bull added.
There were enough reasons why Dorian would never do such a thing to match the longest treatise he’d ever written during his studies. Instead, Dorian smirked and replied, “He’s a handsome specimen, for a Fereldan, but I’ve already cast my charms and he’s simply not interested. Nothing more to be done about that.”
He probably would have been best off saying nothing, what with how even he noticed the touch of sadness in his otherwise casual demeanor.
Bull grunted with minute irritation. “Dorian, Blondie doesn’t take hints. He’s straightforward, nothing like you evil Magisters.”
Dorian chuckled humorlessly. “He’s certainly straight, I’ll give you that much. Now put that thing down before it gives you some awful disease.”
Bull sighed irritably, setting it aside with the rest of the elven trash. “You’re hopeless.”
Dorian feigned interest in the remaining artifacts in a desperate attempt to seem unflustered and unaffected. Unfortunately, he knew that Bull’s observation skills surely picked up on the way he kept looking at the ancient toy. Not due to any desire to shove a used, millennia old stone phallus up his arse, but more due to Bull’s observation that it resembled the good Commander.
Did it truly, Dorian wondered. It was larger than most elven manhoods he’d become familiar with in that brothel back in Minrathous, both in length and girth. Considering Cullen’s broad frame, it would be fitting to have the goods to match. Was that curve accurate, too?
Dorian caught Bull eyeing him knowingly and promptly resumed brushing dirt from a bronze plate to reveal the intricate etching beneath.
Get a hold of yourself, Pavus, he chided. It wasn’t like it mattered. That thing was staying here and Dorian would never see Cullen’s manhood in all its glory in order to compare anyway.
During the next foray into the bowels beneath the keep, it was himself and Evelyn. She was mainly curious about the partially crumbled mosaics on the walls, and Dorian was happy to provide his own commentary about what the half-decayed scenes might depict.
“This one is obviously a tea party,” he offered with a grin, though he kept his tone entirely serious. “A reference to the amiable exchange of pleasantries between ancient magisters and the leaders of Arlathan. Just before the ruthless slaughter, of course.”
Evelyn snorted. “Dorian, that’s terrible.”
“Prove me wrong,” Dorian challenged, picking up a fallen tile and holding it up to an image of what did appear surprisingly like a little cup. “Tea is always the center of such negotiations, in the absence of wine, at least. Do you think they’d invented wine yet?” He smoothed down his mustache thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, probably not. I’d bet that’s why things turned violent.”
Evelyn snatched the tile away from him. “I’m trying to take this seriously,” she said with a little pout.
“That’s your problem,” Dorian retorted, glad to see Evelyn’s smile grow with unwitting amusement.
Evelyn set aside the tile and waved her own light closer to the next one. “Maybe this one will prove more insightful,” she said as she approached. “Less of it seems to have fallen apart, at any rate.”
Dorian gulped, his eyes flitting toward the stone slab that still had multiple items he and Bull had chosen to leave behind. They’d left the phallus, which Dorian had thought a good idea until Evelyn had decided that she wanted to take a look around down here. Dorian wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know how she would react to such a thing, assuming she recognized it for what it was. He pulled his mage light, tinged slightly orange this time, along behind him as he followed.
His eyes narrowed as he skimmed the discarded artifacts scattered on the stone. While Dorian distinctly remembered leaving that awful toy behind, the sizable cock was nowhere to be seen.
“Could you make your light a bit less red?” Evelyn requested.
Dorian obliged, shaking off the concern that Bull had returned for the sole purpose of claiming the toy. He’d said it was too small for him — he could have been lying, of course. Or maybe he’d decided having what he considered a fair likeness of the Commander’s cock to be an asset in any case.
That thought brought the imagined memory back to mind, with Cullen stepping out of a bath, bared and beautiful and dripping wet. This time, Dorian’s imagination unhelpfully added an impressive erection, thick and flushed and….
Maker.
“Dorian, are you all right?”
Dorian blinked the image away. “Always,” he lied.
“Well, you haven’t said anything about this one,” Evelyn said slowly, blue eyes looking over him suspiciously. “Surely you’ve got some input.”
Dorian examined the mosaic for a short time, taking in the scene featuring an owl flanked by two ravens. “Just a depiction of the savagery of the ancients,” he said finally.
“What, like setting animals to fight to the death?” Evelyn guessed with a roll of her eyes.
“Nothing so trite. The creatures are clearly a metaphor. See how the raven’s claws are digging into the owl’s outstretched wing?” he said, pointing to one of them. “They’re holding the owl — an obvious reference to a woman of the night — spread open for their pleasure.”
“Dorian!” Evelyn gasped.
“That or it’s just a pretty picture of some common birds,” Dorian added with an innocent smile.
“You are awful.” Evelyn covered her mouth in an effort to suppress a giggle.
“I’m certain Solas could confirm that the ancients were just as perverted as the rest of us,” Dorian said with a shrug.
“‘The rest of us’ meaning you.”
“Oh? Of course, I forgot. The Herald of Andraste is incapable of a naughty thought.”
“That’s not —.” Evelyn caught the trap a moment too late.
“Maker have mercy!” he gasped theatrically. “The pure, devout Herald, sullied by filthy thoughts?” He nudged her playfully. “I promise, I won’t tell a soul.”
Evelyn was flushed with embarrassment, but still grinning. Dorian was grateful that she had such a sense of humor, though she generally lacked his wicked tongue. “Well, Andraste did have two husbands,” she murmured before turning back to examine the mosaic.
“Blasphemy!” Dorian exclaimed with delight. “O Maker, hear my cry —.”
“Don’t go quoting the Chant to me,” Evelyn cut him off. “I’ll never hear it the same way again,” she added under her breath. “Perhaps I should have brought Solas,” she mused as she started looking through the broken artifacts on the stone slab.
“Yes, perhaps you should have,” Dorian agreed. “Mountains. Cold. Let’s bring Dorian! I’ve no idea what you were thinking.”
“I was thinking I’d prefer a friend to someone who’d chat my ear off about the glories of the Fade,” Evelyn replied easily.
Dorian did not have a witty reply for that. He almost felt like he was about to blush at the overt declaration that she considered him a friend.
“Quite unusual for you to be speechless,” Evelyn commented a short time later. “Do you not have a word for that in Tevene?” she teased pleasantly.
Dorian swallowed back a little pride and admitted, “Not one I find much use for.”
“Well, there you are then. You’re much better off here in the mountains and cold.”
She didn’t press any further, for which he was thankful. Dorian tried to take the next mosaics a little more seriously, just for her.
It wasn’t until they were preparing to leave the next morning, gathering polished weapons, cleaned armor, and fresh supplies of food and potions, before Dorian had reason to think on that damned toy again.
Unfortunately, the reason he had to think of it now was that it had fallen out of his pack while he had been looking for his little bottle of scented oil.
“Whoa, Sparkler!” Varric exclaimed, noticing it tumble onto the floor before Dorian had even realized what had happened. “So that’s how you’ve been keeping warm, eh?”
“What on — Bull!” Dorian hissed, casting a cleansing charm over the thing before picking it up. “This isn’t funny.”
“Yes, it is,” the Qunari replied with a wink.
“What isn’t funny?” Evelyn said, peering over Dorian’s shoulder. “Oh!” she gasped a moment later.
He’d rather she didn’t realize what the bloody thing was for.
“Bull found it in the undercroft,” Dorian explained defensively. “And found it an amusing prank to hide it in my bag, apparently.”
“It’s a gift.”
The scratch of Varric’s quill pen was far more irritating than usual as Dorian squared his shoulders. “This isn’t something you just gift, Bull.”
Bull shrugged. “Why not? It’s something you’ll enjoy.”
“I most certainly will not,” Dorian insisted, looking around for somewhere else to put it. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed, having half a mind to just chuck it and let it break wherever it landed.
“Hang on, that’s an artifact?” Evelyn said with interest. “Maybe we should study it.”
“Don’t you encourage this,” Dorian said, wide eyes pleading with her to just let the entire subject die.
“It might be magic,” she continued. “A lot of the things down there had faded remnants of spells.” She cracked a smile. “Imagine the look on Solas’ face if we present it to him for study.” She broke down into giggles, which were unfortunately contagious as Varric let out a hearty laugh and even Dorian couldn’t help the amused grin that tugged on his lips.
“Okay, fine, we’ll bring it back for scientific study,” Dorian acquiesced, wrapping it in a spare undershirt and tucking it into the bottom of his pack. “The things you demand of me, Inquisitor. I deserve a pay raise.”
“I don’t pay you,” Evelyn managed between giggles.
“That proves my point,” Dorian retorted.
He did his best to avoid looking at Bull, though it was difficult considering he could feel the beast’s eye boring into him.
When it came time to make camp that night, Dorian found himself oddly miffed about the sleeping arrangements. Usually he didn’t especially mind sharing a tent with Bull. The Qunari was massive and gave off a surprising amount of heat while he was asleep, and Dorian would take whatever he could get when he was being dragged through ice and snow.
This time, however, he was feeling quite warm enough on his own. His mind kept drifting to the ridiculous artifact they were bringing back, and then inevitably to the reason he deigned to think about it at all. His mind tortured him with visions of the Commander, often still wet from the bath, though sometimes fully clothed but debauched in various corners of Skyhold. Dorian had a rather vivid imagination, and it was difficult to make it stop once it got going.
Were he alone in the tent, he would certainly be touching himself to the indecent scenarios running rampant in his mind. However, he couldn’t take such a risk when Bull had already proven himself a light sleeper in the past. He’d probably barely get his hand down his trousers and the Qunari would be alerted to what Dorian was wanting to do.
Dorian pressed his hand against his desperate length, willing it to calm down and let him sleep — but, of course, it didn’t. Dorian’s lips parted with a strained sigh as he rubbed his hand over himself through the cloth. Bull grunted softly, but still appeared to be asleep.
Frustrated, Dorian pulled his hand away and clenched his eyes shut tight. He had to get some sleep. There was nothing to be done about this problem for now.
Until a few nights later that is, when there was an opportunity. Finally.
They were camped even more ‘in the middle of nowhere’ than usual. No Inquisition agents were stationed out here, no towns in the distance — so, for safety, the group agreed to a rotating watch.
Dorian took the first one, mostly since that meant he was stuck outside in what should be the least cold time of night. He brought his pack with him in order to wrap himself in every bit of clothing he had available.
That effort was how he ended up with the stone phallus tucked into an inner pocket of his robes. Just due to necessity, of course. No intentions of using it. He did take it out once everyone had quieted down, but only to cast an additional cleansing charm over it. Not to examine it in the firelight or marvel at how finely crafted and surprisingly realistic it was. Not to be reminded of the man he’d never have because Cullen was obviously not interested.
Dorian flirted with almost everyone as a rule, but with Cullen he had done it seriously, from very early on. Sometimes the man would get an adorable hint of a flush coloring his cheeks, but he never returned any of the motions. They would just continue their chess game, finish their drinks, or go their separate ways on the battlements. Dorian still continued to flirt, of course, but he didn’t expect anything in return. Cullen seemed okay with the banter as he never asked Dorian to stop, and so Dorian would take the little pleasures where he could.
Dorian couldn’t help but curiously examine the artifact a little further while he awaited the end of his shift. He cast another cleansing charm, despite the fact it was evidently fully clean already, and had an additional poke around for any hints of latent magic set within it. There was a little etching at the base that seemed to indicate that it had once been enchanted, but it didn’t react in the slightest to anything Dorian did to it. Whatever it had been formerly charmed to do had clearly died away over the centuries, which really was to be expected.
When he and Bull switched places and Dorian was able to shed some of the layers he’d been wrapped up in, he hesitated to put the toy back in the safekeeping of his pack. He didn’t dare undress enough to properly use it, not when it was quite possible that he would freeze to death out here, but…well, it could be an aid regardless.
Dorian loosened his trousers to better slip his hand down to grasp his length. He would need to be as quiet and still as possible so as not to draw Bull’s attention. The fact that Varric was in the next tent over and snoring so loudly that it was almost comical would certainly help with that.
But Maker, did he need some relief.
When Dorian closed his eyes, he didn’t intentionally think about Cullen. It just happened, as it nearly always did. He brought the stone phallus to his mouth, giving it a bit of an experimental lick, just as if he was testing the waters before greedily swallowing the Commander whole. He didn’t move his other hand yet, simply holding onto his throbbing erection as he continued, letting his mind indulge in the fantasy of lavishing Cullen’s cock.
The visions continued unguided from that point. Dorian imagined being on his knees in Cullen’s office, the man only undressed perfunctorily as if this was a thrillingly dirty moment that someone could walk in on at any time. The consideration made Dorian’s cock pulse under his fingers, and he gently squeezed while drawing his hand over himself.
Cullen leaned against his desk for support, amber eyes dark with needy lust as his assuredly beautiful cock sunk deeper into Dorian’s mouth and poked at the back of his throat. A bit-back moan echoed in his ears as the Commander warily glanced toward one of the doors, knowing that soldiers were likely stationed mere steps away. Dorian let the stone sink deeper into his throat, the object so realistically crafted that it was easy to imagine it was hardened flesh instead.
Having Cullen try to keep quiet in his fantasy was useful in keeping himself quiet, considering he certainly did not want anyone to come check on him in this state. He didn’t like rushing pleasure, but considering the circumstances he allowed his hand to move a little faster, though only small motions so as to keep the noise to a minimum.
A hand would grasp at his hair with complete disregard for Dorian’s careful styling as Cullen roughly tugged him along his length. Dorian readily swallowed him, his tongue laving along the underside, enjoying the heavy breathing and groans the Commander couldn’t hold back. Cullen’s face was red, his legs shaky as Dorian and his wicked tongue expertly worked him towards completion, worshiping his cock just as it should be appreciated. His own hand moved a little faster, and Dorian imagined that Cullen had to swallow another moan, even more turned on in knowing how Dorian was touching himself, too.
And then Cullen would fall apart, unable to entirely silence the sensual groan ripped from his chest as his head fell back and he spilled down Dorian’s throat.
Another few strokes and Dorian came right along with him.
Breathing fairly heavily, Dorian gave the phallus a few appreciative licks, vaguely wondering just what Cullen would taste like before he set the damned thing aside. He carefully magicked away the mess in his hand, biting his lip to keep from moaning as lingering pleasure pulsed through him at the light touch.
He then quickly wrapped the artifact and shoved it in his bag.
Rolling over and tugging the bedroll over his head, Dorian bit back the shame of using the Commander in a fashion the man would never approve of — and the fact he’d come to use that cursed toy after all.
Despite his embarrassed flush and pounding heart, Dorian finally managed to fall asleep.
Back in Skyhold, Cullen suddenly opened his eyes, drenched in sweat that, for once, wasn’t cold, and with an unusually determined hard-on.