#mulldori

the initial post

relationship chart set during the One Year Of Pining

context for the dorian and cullen rivalry (plus dorianders hookup)

some of my early doodles for it

helpful mulledrian venn diagram

fic: not long after mulledrian has gotten together

more doodles

mulledrian asks x

fic: pre-blowjob in ed's truck (mulledwin)

mullein getting his ass ate at the bass pro shops pyramid bit

AUs. of the modern au

bg3 mulledrian (and dream guardian dorian) x/x/x/x/x/x/x

inquisitor edwin x companion mullein x dorian x

knight edwin x prince mullein x runaway prince dorian x

dragon's dogma 2 (arisen edwin, pawn mullein) x

Mullein slipped through the halls of Mae’s Minrathous estate, the lightness of his footsteps so practiced in his years of sneaking around cities and castles in his spare time that it had become habit. On his way in, he’d found himself crawling after a runaway orange whilst stammering an apology to a member of the kitchen staff he’d inadvertently startled into dropping his bag of groceries.

It wasn’t the first time the former Inquisitor had wound up on his knees in these halls, but the circumstances were usually much different. He thought fondly of his last visit—they hadn’t even made it to Dorian’s quarters, sloppy kisses igniting the air between them like a spark in a field of brush, their hands on one another after months apart only adding more fuel to the fire until Dorian was against a wall with Mullein knelt before him and taking him fully, reveling in the pain at the back of his throat and the death grip in his hair, doing everything in his power to keep quiet as he rutted against his lover’s leg with enough pent-up desperation that he might have just exploded if he’d spent any longer with Dorian out of his reach.

At least they’d had the good fortune then of Mullein’s arrival being in the dead of night. This time, it was early afternoon, the household staff were out and about, and the summer sun felt as though it might melt Mullein’s prosthetic arm into a puddle of metal sludge on the courtyard’s marble floor.

He couldn’t say he’d ever been nervous to visit Dorian before. He’d come to Minrathous with changes to his appearance plenty of times—piercings, tattoos, that one time he tried to magically bleach his hair and it turned a putrid shade of green for a few months (which didn’t stop Dorian from wanting to fuck him, thankfully)—but none of them were like this. Those had all been intentional, at least to some degree.

The new scar that ran across his nose was different. Just thinking about it made him touch it, his fingertip tracing the line of raised skin that he still wasn’t quite used to.

He knew that there wasn’t really any reason to worry, that Dorian would make a teasing quip or two and then go back to gazing at Mullein like he was the finest jewel in Thedas. But his heart leapt like a rabbit all the same.

Two more left turns down winding hallways, and he stood in front of a familiar door, the one he could navigate to with his eyes closed. He took a deep breath and knocked twice.

“Mae?” came the voice that lived in his daydreams and wet dreams from the other side of the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a meeting? The one with the—”

”Amatus,” Mullein said, and he heard Dorian cut himself off with a sharp inhale.

The sound of a chair being pushed back so quickly that it nearly fell over (and a muffled kaffas as Dorian caught it and set it to rights) made Mullein snort with laughter, and when the door swung open and jeweled hands found his waist, his lips met his lover’s in a smile.

Dorian squeezed Mullein’s hipbone teasingly. “Oh, hush. Forgive me for having awaited your return since the very moment you left.” He pecked Mullein’s lips again, then his cheek, his jaw, his throat, and he gave a self-satisfied hum at the little gasp Mullein let out when he felt teeth scrape against the sensitive spot behind his pointed ear. “Actually,” Dorian murmured into soft skin, “I don’t need your forgiveness. I’m not sorry, and I won’t apologize. Maker, l’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Dorian,” Mullein said with a giggle. “Now, do you want to stay here in the doorway where anyone can see us, or shall I invite myself into your study?”

”By all means,” Dorian said, allowing Mullein to slip into the room under his arm. “Although, it’s bold of you to pretend you don’t get off on being seen.”

Mullein rolled his eyes and hopped up on Dorian’s desk. “I think there was enough accidental exhibitionism at Skyhold to last me a lifetime.”

“Don’t remind me.” Dorian huffed, closing the door behind him carefully.

The quiet click of the lock didn’t escape Mullein’s notice. Instinctively, his legs spread in invitation, and Dorian fell into place between them. “We may not have as much time together, these days, but we do have the luxury of privacy,” Mullein hummed. His metallic hand stroked Dorian’s cheek fondly, and he laughed at the way its cold touch made him jump.

“Thank the Maker for that.” A carefully manicured hand found Mullein’s artificial one and brought it to soft lips. Despite the lack of feeling in them, the kiss on his knuckles made Mullein shiver. It was the principle of the thing: the left hand that had borne the cursed Anchor, the mark that had made Mullein an idol before a man, twisted into a representative of things he didn’t believe in, forced to make choices far graver than what a disgraced Dalish mage of twenty-four could ever have expected to handle. The left hand that he’d written with, used to wield his staff, first indisposed and then disposed of completely, leaving him to train his right to take its place, among all the other things he didn’t have enough time for. And even now, after losing it and having Dagna craft a replacement, now that it was steel and not skin—still, Dorian cared for it, held it tenderly, kissed it like he would flesh and bone.

Mullein smiled, feigning innocence despite the heat already coursing through his body as Dorian stroked his silver fingers with his thumb. It felt more erotic than it had any right to be, but maybe that was just the effect Dorian had on him. Or maybe it was the months and the distance and the steamy words exchanged by letter and sending crystal, the gasps and moans he heard from the other end as he encouraged Dorian to touch himself, tease himself, stroke his thumb over the head of his cock with the same gentleness he used to caress Mullein’s knuckles.

He cleared his throat. As much as he loved imagining sex with Dorian, it was distracting him from actually having sex with Dorian. “And what do you plan to do with that privacy?” he asked, looking up to meet his lover’s eyes.

“Well, you’re already on the desk very nicely for me…” Dorian started, leaning back a little to cradle Mullein’s jaw in his free hand, tilt his head upward, poke at his lower lip.

Mullein watched Dorian’s brow furrow, and after a moment, his eyes widened as the realization clicked.

“Is something wrong?”

“Maker’s balls, when did that happen?” The hand on his jaw moved to touch the small scar on the bridge of his nose. Dorian carefully inspected the mark, moving Mullein’s head from side to side so he could get a better look. “How did I not notice? What kind of monster would dare mar your gorgeous face? Were you in danger? Tell me everyone’s alright—”

“Dorian,” Mullein laughed. He pressed a metal finger to Dorian’s lips, one of the few methods known to successfully make Dorian Pavus stop talking. “I’m fine. Sera and Dagna are fine. It’s just a small cut, really, there isn’t anything to worry about.”

Dorian looked impressively like a kicked puppy—eyes glimmering with the beginnings of tears, lips somewhere between a pout and a frown. “Amatus, you know I can’t bear to see you hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt, I promise.” Mullein poked the scar with his fingertip to prove his point. It did make him wince a little, though, and he mentally cursed his body for giving a counterargument. “Alright, it hurts just a bit. But it wasn’t too bad when I got it. A lot of blood, but facial wounds will do that…”

“You’ll have to tell me the story,” Dorian said. He lightly nudged Mullein’s chin up, and Mullein complied easily; both of Dorian’s hands cupped his face, and Mullein’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt Dorian’s mustache brushing his forehead, a lingering kiss on the scar. “If it’s not impressive, make up something better. I don’t want to hear about the dread Inquisitor losing a fight to a kitchen knife.”

“You’ll be sorely disappointed, I’m afraid," Mullein said with a sigh. “It was only—”

The tongue being shoved into his mouth made it a bit difficult for him to continue his story. He leaned up into the kiss, his right hand mussing up Dorian’s carefully-styled hair—and if he took advantage of Dorian’s choice to start growing it longer, tugging on the wavy strands just to hungrily swallow the moan it drew from him, well, he couldn’t be blamed for giving in to such a worthwhile temptation.

Dorian pulled back after a while, breathing heavily, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t spoil the fun yet,” he purred, and he nipped at Mullein’s pointed ear. “Surely such a thrilling tale deserves some suspense, some gravitas to its delivery. And at least two glasses of wine. Tell me tonight, once we’ve had our fun. I’ll decide whether your daring exploits are exciting enough to warrant you another round.”

“I’m not much of a storyteller,” Mullein said sheepishly. “I can certainly try, but…”

“Mullein, I would listen to you read the entire catalogue of Skyhold’s horrible little library, and you know it.” Dorian took both of his hands and pushed him down until he was lying on the desk, slender legs wrapped around Dorian’s waist. “But we’ll get to that. It has been four tragic, miserable months since your last visit, and if you don’t mind, I have other things I’d like to hear from you first.”

Mullein felt his cheeks flush as Dorian leaned over him, one hand deftly opening his belt buckle, the other pinning him to the polished rosewood. “Such as?”

A sharp bite to his throat drew a wanton whimper past his lips. “A perfect example,” Dorian said smugly. “Louder, perhaps, and much more of that.”

“You’ll have to earn it,” Mullein chuckled.

“Oh, will I? That shouldn’t be hard. I just need to touch you here—”

“Dorian—”

“Ah, wonderful! You’re already riled up, aren’t you?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine,” Dorian said proudly. He ran his hand over Mullein’s chest beneath his loosened shirt. “And I’d happily do it again.”

“I shall hold you to that.”

Dorian pressed another kiss to Mullein’s nose, tracing the little scar with his tongue. “You know, I think it suits you,” he mused.

Mullein raised an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”

“I do. It’s honestly rather adorable.”

“It won’t be as adorable when I tell you how I got it,” Mullein snorted. “It was truly just—mmngh—”

Pinned down on Dorian’s desk, laughing into his lips—Mullein wished he could spend the rest of his life like this, wished they could take as much time as they wanted to indulge in each other, get lost in pleasure, trace each other’s scars and marks and freckles again and again even though they already knew each other by heart. He wished they could be melted down and forged into one so they’d never have to let each other go. Months apart for a handful of days together wasn’t nearly enough; he wanted to freeze time, spend thousands of years with his hands on Dorian’s skin with no end to think of, no duties or deadlines to tear them apart.

But he’d just have to make the most of the time they had. He tugged Dorian impossibly closer with fingers tangled in soft locks, the bright citrus scent of his hair oil flooding Mullein’s senses, and breathing him in was like being reborn, a flower blooming in a desolate wasteland that finally had rain after decades of thirst. “I love you, I love you,” he whispered in every moment between kisses, as if this was the only chance he’d ever have to say it.

“I love you, too,” Dorian murmured in response. “Someday you’ll visit for the last time, and you’ll never have to leave.”

Mullein blinked away a tear that he didn’t want to let fall. “Soon,” he said, more a breath than a word.

“It’s really over.” Dorian swirled his overfull wine glass as he leaned over the balcony’s handrail, watching the sun set against a sky that was decidedly no longer green.

“Apparently not. Leliana says the Orlesian nobles are lining up to meet me. And I have to deal with Ferelden, too. And all of Josephine’s Antivan contacts, and I need to write to the Mourn Watch in Nevarra…” Mullein sighed, taking a long swig from his own glass. “And there’s that banquet Josephine is planning soon that I must prepare for. I have… maybe a day or two to rest, if I’m lucky.”

Dorian hummed. “Yes, well. The majority of your actual inquisiting is in the past. Now you get to be a socialite! So many balls and jousts to attend. So many lords and ladies kissing your arse and swooning over you. Maybe you’ll even be dragged up to Tevinter to watch a light show alongside Minrathous’s most influential magisters.”

“…You know how much I hate all of that,” Mullein grumbled ruefully, resting his forehead on the railing. “I’d much rather be doing anything else at all than listening to a duke try to weasel a favor out of me.”

“Anything else? Do you have ideas? We could float them by your ambassador and beg for her approval.”

“I don’t think Josephine would be too enthusiastic about me abandoning all my duties to spend a month in bed with you.”

Dorain barked a laugh, and Mullein was entranced as always by the way his eyes glimmered when he smiled. “An entire month? I think we might run out of sex to have.”

“Nonsense,” Mullein said with a fond smile. “We would get creative. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with doing the same thing again if it works.”

“Alright, then, if you are the expert on the topic of ‘sex with Dorian Pavus,’ elucidate me.” Dorian finished his glass of wine and took Mullein’s from where it was in his hand, dangling precariously off the balcony, then set them both on the desk inside. “Were you to be given a month devoted to naught but my pleasure and yours, where would you start?”

Mullein turned and leaned his back against the handrail thoughtfully. “I would start by sucking you off,” he mused. “I would be in no hurry, if we truly had that long, but I would make my way onto my knees and take you in my mouth as deeply as I can, which you and I both know is all the way.”

“Do go on,” Dorian purred, returning to the balcony to rest his broad hands on top of Mullein’s small and lithe ones on the railing.

Their difference in height had Mullein leaning back to look at him, pale cheeks burning with a blush that he knew Dorian delighted in seeing. “I could make you finish down my throat quickly, as I have on many occasions in a cave or against a tree, but I think I would rather take my time with you, watch you quiver as small sensations start to become too much to bear. Your hands would be tangled in my hair, and you would tighten your grip to hold me still.”

Mullein stood on his toes to get closer to Dorian, lips not quite reaching his ear but settling on a spot on the side of his neck that Mullein knew would draw a groan if he kissed it—which he didn’t, not yet; he did always delight in teasing Dorian until he snapped, always felt satisfaction when those gorgeous hands grabbed his hips roughly and tossed him onto his stomach on the bed, or when they held him in place while Dorian took his pleasure with force and abandon.

“You would fuck my mouth like it was the last thing you would ever do, despite knowing how much time we would have to indulge in each other,” he continued. He felt Dorian step even closer into his space, his thigh brushing against Mullein’s hardening cock, and he couldn’t fight back the pathetic gasp that escaped him at the contact, but he did his best to keep his words steady. “How naughty of you to rush things so needlessly. So I would pull back, stroke you until you painted my face with your spend, and order you to clean up your mess with your tongue, and to do it slowly.”

“That’s an awful lot of demanding that you think you’ll be doing,” Dorian countered with a raised eyebrow, but from the hitch in his voice, he was clearly affected by the notion. “How long do you plan on maintaining a leading role?”

“Oh, until you wrest it from me yourself,” Mullein murmured, placing the softest of kisses on Dorian’s throat. “Do you think the Inquisitor would so easily give up his power to the Tevinter mage in his bed?”

Dorian scoffed. “I do think that, in fact. He has done so countless times. In my experience, the Inquisitor far prefers to be powerless, bent over his desk or tied to his bedposts, rendered unable to resist that Tevinter mage’s many charms and talents.”

“Hmm. Well, perhaps he does want that, in the end.” Mullein nipped at Dorian’s neck, sucking slowly but forcefully enough that he drew a deep, shuddering noise from the back of Dorian’s throat. “But he does get a thrill out of having power taken from him. Is it not more rewarding, at times, to take control than to have it handed to you?”

Mullein felt a hand curl around his ponytail and pull, tilting his head backwards, and his eyes locked with Dorian’s, bright and sparkling with mischief. Dorian grinned down at him. “Amatus, if you so badly want to be taken, you only have to ask.”

Mullein giggled. “Oh, but what’s the fun in asking?”

Dorian’s other arm found Mullein’s waist and brought him close, their chests as flush as they could get with a foot between them in height, thigh still nestled between scrawny legs. “You make a fair enough point,” Dorian said lowly against his lips. “I won’t ask, then.”

The kiss remained chaste for all of two seconds before Mullein whined at the sheer agression of it, tongues tangled together inside Mullein’s mouth, a bite on his lower lip that made his knees nearly buckle. The hand on his waist found his ass and squeezed tightly enough that Mullein worried it would bruise—not that he would mind; much the opposite, in fact—but he was hoping they would get to that later in the night, slowing down after the inevitable first round consumed by passion and need, as Dorian consumed him now, sucking on his tongue like he was a dying man drawing life from it.

Dorian pulled back just long enough for both of them to catch their breath before diving in again, leaving Mullein no room to give a witty quip (though it wasn’t like he could come up with one now, anyway; all of his thoughts and worries from before were drowned out by the hands on his body and the pressure on his cock and the tongue in his mouth and Dorian).

They would find their way into the bed, Mullein on his back with Dorian between his legs, peppering Mullein with kisses and bites and bruises that his high-collared Inquisition uniform would do its best to hide come tomorrow. And they would indulge in each other far past sunset, still lost in sweaty ecstasy long after the stars took to the sky. It wasn’t of much concern to either of them whether the rest of Skyhold could hear the Inquisitor shouting the Tevinter mage’s name; it would not be the first time Dorian had taken him apart in this bed, and it would certainly not be the last.