#nerdssssss

If he looks out the window, he’ll see Bull in the training ring with Krem, smashing their shields together, or something equally physical and aggressive. Often, Dorian appreciates the sight, from a purely aesthetic standpoint. Bull, in his element, laughing with excitement-- there are few things Dorian relishes more. But he keeps his eyes angrily locked on his book. It’s unfair, that Bull torture him so, with his muscles and his smile and…

For some reason, he’d thought that being desperately in love with someone who didn’t love you back was supposed to be tragic. Instead, it’s just frustrating. In the books he reads-- the same books he teases Cassandra for reading-- love is soft caresses and moonlit confessions and all those things he can’t ask for. Asking means admitting that he wants those things, from Bull. And while Dorian’s being honest, that scares him.

He glares at the book in his hands some more. It’s just more writings on Tevinter bloodlines, just more chronicling things that barely matter. Or at least, don’t matter as much as everyone back home likes to pretend.

“Don’t set it on fire,” says a voice behind him. “That’s a genuine concern with you, you know.”

“Shouldn’t you be out there?” Dorian snaps at Bull. “Swinging swords or-- or drinking that awful Qunari liquor of yours?”

“Maraas-Lok’s more than just liquor.” Bull leans on the bookshelf in front of Dorian, grinning. It makes Dorian want to smile, just to see him. “And I’ve got some free time before I’m scheduled to get my hands on any more swords.”

It’s an opening for Dorian, to joke or flirt, but he ignores it and opens his book again.

“You all right there, kadan?” Bull sounds concerned, but Dorian doesn’t let himself feel guilty. It’s Bull’s fault he’s so frustrated anyways. If he weren’t so damnably handsome, and kind and--

“I’m trying to read,” he says tersely.

“You’ve been staring at the same spot on the same page for ages now, and that’s when the book’s even open.” Bull kneels down next to Dorian’s chair, gestures careful despite his teasing tone. “What’s wrong?”

He knows it’s himself he’s upset with, not Bull. Bull hasn’t done anything wrong. Dorian’s the one who wants more, and he’s the one who can’t ask for it. And the way Bull takes his hand and looks at him with such concern-- it’s nearly unbearable. His annoyance seems childish in the face of Bull’s presence, his attention. Dorian should be satisfied with this; it’s far more than he has any right to expect from Bull.

“Did something happen?” Bull asks. “You were fine this morning when I left.”

“No-- yes, I was fine.” Bull’s hand on his own is comforting, and he smells like leather and sweat, like a day in the sun. And he came to the library, with the books and the dust that makes his eye itch… just to see Dorian? “I’ve had a trying day, that’s all.”

“Anything in particular?”

Bull will laugh, if Dorian tells him. A kiss is such a silly little thing, so insubstantial, not worth as much weight as it’s taken on in his mind. And yet.

“Are you busy tonight?” Dorian finds himself asking.

Bull smiles, like he always does. “The Boss did promise to buy me a drink since I missed that last dragon she found, but you know you’re always welcome.”

Dorian watches his hand in Bull’s, the way Bull’s thumb rubs over his palm. It’s a transparently placating gesture, but he doesn’t mind. “And after? Do you have any commitments?”

“Maybe,” Bull says. He raises Dorian’s hand to his lips, briefly. It could be casual. Dorian’s heart races all the same. “Depends on you.”

“In that case, you absolutely do.”

He might have fallen in love with Bull’s smile alone, Dorian thinks. Or maybe it’s only because he’s so besotted that it seems to brighten the dark interior of the library.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Now that Bull’s here, he very nearly is. Of course, that fact is its own brand of aggravating. “I am, amatus.”

“Who’s that now?” Bull keeps smiling. Dorian’s not sure if he’s serious, or if he knows exactly what Dorian means.

Dorian’s cheeks heat, but he keeps his chin lifted. “You’re not the only one allowed to have pet names, you know.”

“I’m not complaining.” Bull stands. “Tonight then?”

Dorian stands too, instinctively. Bull touches his cheek, uncommonly gentle. As he always does just before Bull leaves, Dorian wants to prolong this moment. He wants Bull to kiss him, to tell him…. He wants “kadan” to mean the same thing as “amatus.” He wants so many things he shouldn’t want. He covers Bull’s hand with own, turns his face to press his lips to Bull’s palm.

“Hey, this morning,” Bull starts, and then stops. He clears his throat. “You were fine when I left, right? There wasn’t anything wrong?”

Dorian sighs. He can’t help it. “Nothing reasonable.”

“Is there anything I can do? Now, I mean. To make up for this morning.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Dorian sputters. “It’s nothing, really.”

“But there was something you needed,” Bull presses.

He looks down at Dorian, solemn and focused. Dorian looks back, distressed.

Bull waits.

“Kiss me,” Dorian finally says, under his breath. “I wanted you to kiss me before you left.”

“Is that all?” Maker knows what Bull had been imagining, but he relaxes quickly, a smile back on his face.

Dorian scowls. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, kadan.” Bull strokes his thumb over Dorian’s cheekbone. “I’m just glad it’s something I can fix.”

It’s not so simple as that, but when Dorian opens his mouth to explain, Bull kisses him. Slow and sweet, like he had the night before, and Dorian melts against him. His hand on Dorian’s cheek tips his face up, and his other holds Dorian’s hip with a steady weight.

Dorian loves the way Bull kisses him, like he’s the center of the world. But really, Dorian’s the one caught in Bull’s orbit. He wants nothing more than to stay in this place, but it ends too soon. Bull pulls back, and Dorian’s left leaning into nothing.

“Like that?” Bull asks, and Dorian nods, helpless. “This morning? Or every morning? Because I could get used to that, I think.”

What’s the point, Dorian wonders. What’s the point of loving Bull if he can’t even tell him? “Always?” he offers, quietly. “Every day.”

Bull kisses him again. “I’m holding you to that, you know.”