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You hold me down in the best way

No quarter from these chains that I've

Slapped on my heart for a feeling

Why can't I let my demons lie?


Wild Horses - Bishop Briggs



The room was close and hot, with the fire banked high and candles scattered over what seemed like half the flat surfaces available. Cullen, who had been allowed to remove his heavy fur mantle and nothing else, felt a droplet of sweat start to trickle down his neck, more gathering at the hollow of his throat, the hair of his temples.

His sword was at his hip, a small knife in his boot and a larger one in his belt. He wore gloves, greaves, and his breastplate. There was still enough lyrium left in his system - in his bones, still caught in his marrow - to power a Smite, if it came to it.

He’d rarely felt more vulnerable in his life.

“Commander,” Dorian started, his voice low and clear, and Cullen felt himself blush, immensely, the heat prickling up his skin. He was Cullen always, now, except in - play. This was play , though it felt anything but. Commander meant that they were slipping into their roles, and even though he was armed to the hilt and fully dressed, Cullen knew his role well.

“Are you paying attention, Commander?”

“Yes, Dorian.” He blinked his eyes wide, tried to look attentive and alert. There was sweat on his upper lip, and he licked at it nervously as Dorian smiled.

“That blush, Commander. You’re just so lovely like this.”

Cullen didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what was expected of him, and, as always in these situations, when he was lost or unsure, he looked to the Bull.

He was, after all, rather hard to miss.

“Be gentle, kadan,” Bull rumbled, addressing Dorian. “This is new.”

“It’s all new,” Dorian agreed, and kissed Bull’s shoulder, looking over it at Cullen. “The Commander doesn’t want gentle.”

“The Commander gets what he needs, not what he wants.”

Dorian smirked at him, and Cullen drew in a long, deep breath.

It was going to be an interesting night.


“We’re going to be keeping things simple tonight,” Bull said, as Cullen unclasped his cloak and set it to one side. “No watch words for you to worry about.

Cullen looked up, startled, and felt his mouth go dry, his heart beat a little faster. “No - but how-”

“Hey, calm down,” Bull smiled at him, wide and friendly, and cupped one massive grey hand to his cheek for a moment. “No watch words. You’re going to be sitting in this chair, right here, and if you want things to end, for any reason, any reason at all.” He shrugged. “You just stand up. Get out of that chair and everything stops.”

Cullen looked at said chair in confusion. “I...okay. I’ll be in the chair, where will you and Dorian be?”

“Dorian and I will be on the bed.” Bull’s smile turned into a grin. “Watching you in the chair.”

Cullen rubbed his chin. “Maker,” he said faintly, intrigue trickling through his apprehension and confusion. “And what will I be doing in the chair?”

Bull winked. “Watching me and Dorian on the bed, of course.” He tilted his head to the side, horns swaying. “No, don’t undress. You’re perfect just like that.”

Cullen paused in the act of pulling off his glove, and slowly tugged it back into place, the leather snug and smooth. “But it’s hot,” he complained, softly, and Bull caught a handful of curls at the base of his skull, tugging oh, so gently.

“Yeah. It’s gonna get hotter .”


The rules were deceptively simple. If Cullen moved from the chair, everything stopped. If Bull thought Cullen looked like he wanted to move from the chair, everything stopped. If Bull thought either of them, or any of them, was looking too uncomfortable, or things were getting too intense, or really for any reason he decided on at all, everything stopped.

And in the meantime, Bull was to be tied up on display while Dorian demonstrated his skills in the use of sex magic on his bound, naked body.


“Sex magic…” Cullen was flustered, and a little disturbed, and a little afraid and a little turned on. “Dorian, I don’t...I don’t know.”

“It’s not really sex magic,” Dorian had tried to reassure him, twining around his naked body some weeks previous, sucking kisses into his freckled shoulder as they watched Bull working at his enormous cock on the other half of the bed. “It’s magic that can be used during sex. There’s a difference. Sex magic in its purest form is rather like blood-”


Bull’s voice was mild, not chiding, exactly, just throwing a wall up in the middle of Dorian’s rambling before it could run down paths Cullen didn’t want it to run down. Not here, not in bed, not where he was safe.

“Yes, well, it’s not, anyway,” Dorian continued, undisturbed. “Magic during sex, even the slightest hint, can feel incredible, Cullen. Look at Bull. Look at the way he’s stroking himself, look at how much he’s enjoying it. Now think of just a tendril of heat, like a warm breath, blowing over the head, think of beads of slick, hot moisture coating him, think of a touch, light as a feather, over his balls, teasing him, coaxing him to his climax, all without my laying a hand on him. Think of it…”

Cullen closed his eyes. He was here. Here was safe. He was with these two men who, beyond all rhyme and reason, cared for him. He was in bed, and he could do - he could do this.

“Yes but I can do all of that too,” he said, voice low and smooth, though he knew the ever-present blush was high on his cheeks. “And I don’t have any magic to speak of.” And he leant in, breath hot and damp over Bull’s cock, fingers a soft tease up the inside of his thigh, higher.

“He’s got you there, kadan.” Bull groaned, and pulled Cullen in closer. “Yeah, use your mouth, Commander. Show me what you Templars can do.”

“It’s not a competition ,” Dorian grumbled behind him, but he left it, didn’t bring the magic up again, and then Cullen wasn’t thinking of anything at all except Bull, and Bull, and how much of Bull he could take down his throat before he had to struggle and choke and beg…


“Commander Rutherford.”

Cullen blinked, and refocused on the bed. Bull and Dorian were regarding him with identical little smirks that were oddly similar for two men who were in every other regard so vastly different. Bull was kneeling facing him, massive body on display, massive cock half hard, plumping up against his thick thigh. It was hard - difficult to draw his eye away but Cullen managed to drag his gaze back up, flicked it to Dorian who was looking amused from over Bull’s shoulder.

“Are you with us, Commander?”

“Just barely,” he admitted, voice hoarse, and Dorian chuckled softly, reached around Bull to drag light fingers down his side, just pressing into the fat and muscle and leaving a soft, indented trail.

“We need you focused,” Dorian chided. “I know it’s easy to be distracted…” and his fingers found Bull’s prick, still light, still teasing as they danced their way down the shaft to the fat head, full and round and darkening to a deep plum. Cullen licked his lips, and they both laughed, soft and gentle.

“I’m going to bind him now,” Dorian continued. “He will be able to escape if he really puts those brutish muscles to use, and he has his own watch word if he needs it. Yes?”

“You’re…” he had to pause and clear his throat, blinking again. “You’re sure?”

“He trusts me with this,” Dorian said softly. “I’m not doing anything to him that I haven’t done before, and that he hasn’t loved before.”

Cullen nodded slowly.

Trust. There was trust in this room, between the three of them. Cullen was slowly starting to give himself over to it.

Dorian picked up a length of rope from the bed and stood, a hand on Bull’s shoulder until he found his balance on the soft mattress. Dorian was still dressed, tight leathers gleaming in the candle light, but his feet and arms were bare, the soft golden bronze almost glowing. “Arms out, if you please,” he said, tapping Bull lightly on the shoulder. Bull complied, and Dorian quickly but carefully wrapped a rope about each forearm and wrist, stretching out to tie the loose ends off to the top of the bed frame, near the canopy.

Bull was big enough, Cullen noted through the gentle haze that was settling over him, that a couple more inches a side and he could have grasped the posts himself.

The position left him spread open, on display. Arms up and out, and the warrior in Cullen noted all his vulnerabilities, the soft places under his arms, the exposed belly. There was something terrifying about it, dizzying, and he had to concentrate on slowing his heartbeat down as Dorian went on, winding the rope in a complicated wrap around Bull’s wide thighs, pulling them open and tying off again to the bed posts either side. Bull grunted, and flexed, thigh muscles bulging and making the rope creak in warning. Cullen licked his lips and kept an eye on the bedpost, half expecting it to crack under the enormous strain of confining the Bull and his incredible, improbable, mass. It held.

Dorian, watching him, chuckled. “We’ve practiced this,” he said in that low, intimate voice that felt like it was being whispered directly in Cullen’s ear, making him shiver. “It’s quite strong enough to hold him unless he really makes an effort.”

Bull tested the ropes binding his wrists next, flexing the muscles in his arms, shoulders and chest in a slow, rippling wave. Deep silver skin shone in the golden candlelight, darker in the dips and valleys of him, almost glowing, deep and glittering with a soft sheen of perspiration in places. His cock, more than half hard now, hung low, and long, twitching occasionally as it thickened. Cullen bit at his lips, staring as it plumped, as Dorian’s strong hand snaked down towards it.

“How much of your Templar abilities do you retain, Commander?” Dorian asked suddenly, and Cullen blinked dumbly. Being asked to think coherently now of all times seemed a near impossibility.

He coughed, cast his mind back to his uncomfortable thoughts from earlier. The lyrium still in his system. “I...certainly some. I could…” he trailed off and stared as Dorian took Bull’s cock in hand, stroked it firmly once from base to tip, and then held it up almost as on display as the rest of him.

“You could…?” Dorian prompted gently, thumb passing over the fat head. “Tell us, Commander.”

“I...oh, I could manage a Smite if required, though it would take it out of me.” Cullen closed his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. He disliked dwelling on the limitations caused by the dwindling lyrium in his bones, as they both well knew.

“Anything further?” Dorian pressed, and Cullen shifted uncomfortably. The warmth that had suffused him became clammy, a chill starting to make it’s way down his neck. He’d trained very hard after - he’d trained very hard to perfect the Templar abilities that could negate spellcasting. That they were eroding along with his health was no comfort.

“A Cleanse, though I’m not sure how effective it would be. More than nothing.” He frowned, the soft, easy float towards pleasure abruptly halted. He was back in his head, and when he opened his eyes he knew he couldn’t hide the irritation present in them. “The lyrium is a part of my blood and my bones now. I daresay I could hold my own before drawing on it would reignite the cravings and send me insensate with withdrawal.”


“If you’d like a demonstration, gentlemen, you’re going about it rather the wrong way.”


The Bull, a deep rumble of command in his voice that cut through the static building in Cullen’s ears. Cullen paused, and realised that he’d straightened, about to stand up out of the chair they’d placed him in.

He’d never said his watchword, but he’d almost done this.

“Do you need to leave?” Bull asked, seeing he had Cullen’s attention. Cullen was struck by the aura of control he exerted, despite being bound naked and spread eagled at the theoretical mercy of a mage and a Templar.

“That depends on whether or not you’re done with the interrogation,” Cullen said testily, but he relaxed back fractionally into his seat.

“Well aren’t you lippy tonight,” Bull said casually, eyebrows raised. “You think we’d be asking just for the hell of it, Commander?”


“Remind me who is in charge, Commander Rutherford. Who do you belong to right now?”

Oh. The Bull was staring him down, fire in his eye, and Cullen settled further back into place.

“You, Bull.”

“And that means I can ask you…?”

“Anything you like, Bull,” Cullen whispered. The irritation was still there, the tension still there too. But Bull, with a few words as Dorian smirked over his shoulder, was unraveling him.

“And what can I do to you, Commander?”

Cullen swallowed. The chill was receding, like the very act of Bull commanding him was building the fires in is chest back up until they roared. “Anything you like, Bull.”

“Any fucking thing I like.” The ropes creaked dangerously as Bull leaned forward. Any second they could snap, and Bull would be on him. No Smite or Cleanse would make a lick of difference.

Cullen was not at the mercy of his own limitations. He was at the mercy of The Iron Bull.

He relaxed further, the tension draining from his muscles under Bull’s hard gaze. Dorian was watching too, cool and calm, chin pressed to Bull’s shoulder, hand still wrapped around his cock.

“If you’re both quite finished,” he said archly, eyebrow raised. “Commander, when I ask you a question I expect an answer. If you can’t abide by these simple instructions I’ll send you back to your tower and carry on without you. Do you understand?”

Cullen quirked the side of his mouth into a smile. It was Bull’s gaze, not Dorian’s threat, that made him answer.

“Yes, Dorian. Sorry Dorian.”

Dorian sniffed.

“You’ve got a lot less attitude when your mouth is full of cock. Maybe we should gag you tonight. Yes? Just leave you there with that pretty mouth stuffed and useless while we play.”

Cullen caught his breath. He’d never been gagged before, in this. Bull liked to hear him, liked him to humiliate himself with his stutters and moans. The thought of it, though, the promise…

“Whatever…” he paused, coughed, as Dorian smirked at him knowingly. “Whatever you like, Dorian.”

“Indeed. Not tonight. Tonight, you watch.” He shifted, brought his other hand around to rest lightly back on Bull’s stomach, right below his navel. “You can produce a Smite, you can manage a Cleanse. I daresay you’re stronger than you think, you Ferelden Chantry types are bred hardy. You could clear the room if you needed to and put me on my ass.”

He inclined his head, expecting a reply. The answer didn’t throw Cullen out of himself this time. Bull had him. They both had him.

“Yes, probably. I could hold my own.”

Dorian set his nails into Bull’s skin, drawing them lightly back and forth. “Oh of course you could. Big, tough Templar boys always can. And yet.”

And there, the shift in the air, the smell , as Dorian gathered his magic around him, pulled it into the hand on Bull’s stomach. Cullen let out a soft gasp, Bull stared at him, steady.

“And yet there you are, helpless, willingly helpless. All that power etched into your bones and really you’re just a slut for a mage and a one eyed Tal-Vashoth mercenary.”

Bull’s groan echoed Cullen’s, then, as he arched his back and shuddered at what Dorian was doing to his body. Sparks, purple and white hot, glittered around Dorian’s hand and were pressed into Bull’s flesh as Bull twitched and tensed and writhed with it.

The only thing stopping Cullen from leaping from his chair and draining every ounce of magic from the room was Bull’s cock, hard as stone now, and the thick drop of clear liquid hanging suspended from the head. Whatever was happening to Bull, whatever magic Dorian was forcing into his muscles and bones, it felt good. Good enough to have him leaking in seconds. Bull, who normally had the iron control of a saint.

“Dorian, fuck,” Bull groaned, as Dorian looked with satisfaction down at the mess he was starting to make. “You didn’t feel like startling off easy?”

“Not particularly.” Dorian hummed and shook his hand out, sparks showering down like confetti and evaporating before they hit the bed. “Just priming the pump, so to speak.”

Bull laughed breathlessly. “Prime it much more and this will all be over before the Commander gets his demonstration,” he said. “Gently, kadan.”

Dorian kept eye contact with Cullen as he licked a slow, wet stripe up the thick trunk of Bull’s neck, up the twitching tendons to Bull’s ear, the point of which he drew into his mouth. Bull groaned, his whole shoulder jerking up with the shivery, tickly pleasure.

“Gently,” Dorian whispered back to him, softly mocking. “Oh, that can be arranged.”

Cullen was surely dying.

His clothes were wet, sticking to his damp skin. He felt like he was in a steam room, like he’d been standing in the noonday sun in dress armour, waiting for the Knight-Captain’s inspection, like he’d been teasing himself for an hour, wrapped in furs in the solitude of his room, with the fire banked too high and the windows locked tight. Sweat slicked his face, he felt his hair springing into impossible curls, he tasted salt on his lips. Dorian had a single finger trailing slowly down the length of Bull’s dick and the rumble that was drawn from the depth of Bull’s chest could be felt in Cullen’s.


Dorian’s finger lit up purple again, and Cullen jumped in time with Bull, whose rumbling moan turned abruptly to a sharp gasp.

“Dorian, fuck yeah,” Bull squeezed his eye shut, then snapped it open to look at Cullen. “He makes buzz, like lightning trapped beneath his skin. A million pinpricks all at once, but soft, tea-easing! Shit, that’s…” he trailed off, bit his lip as Dorian stroked the most sensitive part of him, just under the ridge surrounding the thick head. He was leaking a little puddle onto the blanket between his thighs, a steady stream of clear, sticky fluid drooling from his cock.

Cullen’s mouth watered.

“You know,” said Dorian conversationally, as he continued the aimless, twisting path of that single finger over and around Bull’s cock and down to his balls. “I can make him come like this. One finger would take a while but it’s possible. It’s been done.” He slipped it into the slit, just dipping it in, and the ropes creaked as every muscle in Bull’s body went tight again, relaxing after a few seconds as he panted. “Mmmm. One finger, that might take awhile. But two?” The purple-white glow expanded, and he stretched his first two fingers as wide as they could go, catching Bull’s shaft between them.

“Fuck, kadan, I-"

“Shhh.” Dorian slid his fingers up and down a few times, milking more precome, making Bull shake. “He can come with two and a little friction. Gently.” He winked. “Just like this. Might drive him temporarily mad in the process, of course.”

“Driving me mad,” Cullen managed, his throat hoarse and mouth dry. “Sweet Andraste in her bower…”

They both laughed then, breathless and giddy, and Cullen smiled. He was used to that, the easygoing laughter at him, it didn’t sting.

Dorian flicked his fingers again, shaking out more sparks and letting the glow fade. He lifted his hand, arm still looped around Bull’s middle, and snapped, and suddenly, the room smelled of smoke and incense, flowers and resin thrown over a hot coal.

It was so needlessly showy that Cullen had to shake his head in admiration. Dorian Pavus could snap his fingers again and take out half the people in the castle, if he wanted to, but instead he was doing this. Playing. Showing off for his - his lovers.

Cullen’s heart lifted. He raised an eyebrow, cocked his head, and waited.

“Yeah,” Bull agreed, catching his expression. “He’s a flashy little motherfucker.”

“Sparkler,” Cullen whispered, and Dorian snapped his fingers again, before pointing at Cullen. His fingertip was glowing orange now.

“Quiet, you,” he said mildly. “Unless you’d like a turn?”

And did he? Cullen sucked at his bottom lip, tasted at the sweat on it. “Whatever you’d like, Dorian,” he said, obedient as he knew how to be. “Whatever you say.”

“Stay. Be quiet. Watch. When we’re ready I’m sure we’ll find a use for that smart mouth of yours.” The fingers, still glowing, returned to Bull’s skin, right below his left nipple.

“Ahh,” Bull gasped, skin twitching like the flank of a horse being bothered by a fly. “Dorian-!”

“Heat trick,” Dorian explained, and dragged the finger up, circled over Bull’s nipple and across. “Not enough to burn or damage, of course. But certainly enough for him to feel it.”

“Koslun’s right nut, kadan,” Bull grunted. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“Just getting started, amatus,” Dorian shot back, and snapped the fingers on his other hand. Blue ice, and the scent of Andraste’s Grace in snow. He followed the path of heat he’d just made over Bull’s chest, and Cullen could imagine the goosebumps springing up in the wake of his touch. He tried to put himself in Bull’s place, tried to guess how it would feel. Could he enjoy that, the play of sensation over his body? Bull certainly was, making a show of it, making it obvious, perhaps for Cullen’s sake, how much he liked what Dorian was doing. Could Cullen let that happen to him, give in enough to allow it?

He shifted. His cock was hard, of course, and uncomfortably restrained. He had no idea if he’d be allowed to come tonight, if the scene they’d conjured up for him had room for his orgasm. If this was about positive reinforcement then surely…? Bull’s hips were moving, minute thrusts, and Dorian wasn’t even anywhere near his cock, still playing the competing sensations over Bull’s chest and stomach. Cullen could taste the magic in the air, as visceral and organic as the sweat on his mouth. It tasted like Dorian - metallic, like (not like blood) like copper, or the deepest parts of him. It tasted like a storm. It tasted like sex.

Cullen had the vivid image of taking one of those glowing fingers into his mouth, sucking the power like hard candy, rolling it on his tongue… he shuddered, flinched away from the picture even as he yearned for it. It was too much, too much -

“Commander. Cullen. Open your eyes.”

The Bull’s voice was not to be disobeyed. Cullen opened his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said, slow and soft. Dorian still had his hands splayed across Bull’s body, but the glow was gone, and the smell of magic in the air was not so sharp. Cullen shook his head. “Please. I’m fine.”

“Do you need to get up?” Bull asked, relentless. Dorian’s gaze wasn’t so hard. Speculative, maybe.

“Only to get closer to the two of you,” Cullen admitted. “And escape this damn tease.”


“Eager, impatient, impossible man,” Dorian said, and shook his head. “Oh, Commander.”

“Obedient,” Cullen corrected. “Your servant, if you’ll have me.”

He wanted, very desperately, to go to them.

“Please,” he added, quietly. “Please don’t stop.”

Dorian tilted his head and quirked a look at Bull, brushing a light kiss over the point of his cheekbone. “Amatus?”

Bull shifted slightly, tested the ropes, tensed and released the muscles in his arms and thighs. “Keep going,” he instructed, gaze fixed firmly on Cullen. “And don’t stop.”

Cullen felt the magic drawing in again, could almost feel it rush through him as it coalesced back into Dorian’s hands. He shuddered, hard, but kept his face up, eyes open. He tossed his head a little to flick the sweat out of his hair, and Bull’s crooked grin was feral.

“Oh, you’re so fucken pretty, just look at you. Bet that cock’s just about soaking through your trews by now and we haven’t even touched you.”

It was true, Cullen thought he might die with the ache of it. But he could hold. All that was required of him was his gaze, and his obedience. He could hold. He lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I imagine I’ll come when it pleases you,” he said, demurely. ‘If it pleases you.”

Dorian laughed, delighted, and drew down the magic.

Oil, this time, dripping from his fingers and streaking shiny paths down Bull’s chest and belly. He smeared it around, producing more and more as he rubbed it in, let it flow down through Bull’s pubic hair to his prick, let it drip down to his balls. Bull moaned appreciatively, and Cullen imagined how good that must feel, warm and slick, slippery.

“As you can guess, this little trick comes in very handy,” DorIan said with an arched eyebrow, and Bull grunted.

“Yeah, he gives great field massages - ow, fuck kadan.” For Dorian had sighed, and made a sharp gesture, and brought the purple glow back, more intense now, suffusing the whole of his right hand.

“Shall I stop?” he asked tartly, and Bull, mouth hanging open, could only shake his head as Dorian dragged that buzzing hand down through the mess of oil to his balls, cupping and stroking them gently as Bull trembled. “Or shall I finish this?”



“Yes, either will do,” Dorian said smugly, and took a light grip on Bull’s cock. He kept his hand still, the span of it covering Bull from the round head to halfway up his shaft, and Cullen felt the breath leave his lungs as the magic in the air intensified.

Bull froze.

“Kadan,” he warned, shaking, head hanging down to watch. “This will-”

“Make you come, yes.” Dorian agreed, and started idly rubbing his free hand over Bull’s slick skin, from his chest all the way down to his thigh. “One finger is the torture of hours. Two gets you there, oh, eventually. My whole hand?”

“Please,” Cullen whispered, ‘Oh, please, please.” Like it was his cock in that lightening grip, like he could feel it, like Dorian’s magic extended to where he still sat, tense and on fire, in his chair.

Bull’s hips jerked. Cullen knew the look on his face, the one that meant he was close, oh, so close…

“It’s agony,” Dorian murmured in Bull’s ear. “No friction. No - no drive to get there. Just the orgasm forced out of him by the vibrations, the spend dribbling out of him so slowly. It feels like it goes on forever, just a sweet torture…”

Cullen realised he was leaning forward, about to break his only rule in the eagerness to get closer. He wanted - no, he needed. The magic seemed a far away concern, it was just Dorian, Dorian controlling the storm and reigning in the Bull for Cullen’s amusement and Cullen had to do something.

“You - you said my mouth,” he stammered, gaze darting between the two of them. “You said it was good for something. Let it be good for this.”

Dorian looked a little amused. “I believe I have the matter well in hand, Commander,” he said, and Cullen shook his head, frustrated.

“No, not to - just this. Just this.” And he opened his mouth, knew his lips were wet and glistening, and tipped his head back. Let the meaning be obvious. Use me.

Dorian’s face was thunderstruck, his own mouth falling open in unconscious imitation, the colour high in his cheeks. “Oh, Cullen.”

“Let me?” Cullen looked to Bull. “Let me kneel for you, let me take what Dorian coaxes from you, let me-”

“Get the fuck over here,” Bull growled, and Cullen almost fell to the floor in his eagerness. “Crawl.”

It was awkward, in his armour. But Cullen made do, shuffling to them on his knees, like he was groping through fog, like they were the only light in a dark sky.


The word felt like it was wrenched from Bull’s chest by force, and Cullen froze, so close, heart racing.

“Cullen - the magic. Can you be this close to the magic?”

Yes,” Cullen blurted. “I don’t care.”

“The magic of the fade, flowing through Dorian’s hands. Being used on my body, being used to - to force reactions - ohhh, fuck-”

“Please, yes, I know, I understand, just let me -”

He was desperate. They towered above him on the bed, Bull a colossus and Dorian winding round him like a snake. His lovers, his, and he didn’t have to let anything keep him from them. Everything they were, from the crudeness to the dazzling power, was his. And there was Bull, trying to hold back the forces of nature and the fade itself to take care of him.

Cullen took a deep breath, and placed a hand of Bull’s thigh, his fingertips smearing with oil. Magic, a part of his brain whispered, and instead of shying away, he acknowledged it. Dorian’s magic. Dorian.

“Let me do this,” he said and tried to make his voice clear like a bell, his eyes like steel. “Let me be this for you. Use me.” And once again, he opened his mouth, pushing his tongue out a little and letting saliva coat his lips.

“Fucking pretty indeed,” Dorian breathed, and aimed Bull’s cock down. “Amatus, whenever you will.”

It was not the first time, by far, that Bull had spent himself in Cullen’s mouth - Cullen thought he knew what to expect. And yet, the initial hot jet did not come, the sharp splash against the roof of his mouth he’d been anticipating. No, this was new, and Dorian’s soft, approving murmur of “Oh, yes, gently,” was only his first clue.

He thought that Bull might scream, but for the moment, the room was silent. And Bull began to leak, a slow drool that came in pulses, not spurts. Dorian holding Bull steady with his glowing hand, strong fingers barely spanning the girth of him. Not pumping, just letting the magic do the work as Cullen tipped his head back and took what Dorian teased from Bull’s cock.

It went for an eternity. Cullen had never heard Bull make sounds quite like the ones he was making, a long, continuous ‘ahh, ahh’, broken up by the occasional hitch, full body shudder. Cullen wanted to lean up, engulf him completely, but Dorian was glittering with magic and he couldn’t yet, he - he could only do this for them, right now.

“Don’t swallow,” Dorian whispered. Cullen blinked at him through wet lashes. “Not yet Commander. Hold it for us.”

And so Cullen, obedient, closed the back of his throat and let his mouth fill with seed, felt it coat his tongue, some spilling down over his lip to his chin. He clasped his gloved hands behind his back, a crude imitation of parade rest down there on his knees, his face a mess of sweat and come.

He thought, distantly, that he might spend himself in his trousers before either of them deigned to put a hand on him.

The Bull grew louder, briefly, approaching some peak in the long, drawn out agony of his orgasm. The stream slowed, Dorian’s aim faltering so the last few drops hit Cullen’s upper lip, over his scar. Cullen wanted to lick it away, swipe the back of his glove over his mouth. He held. Awaited orders.

“Bull,” Dorian said, urgently. “Do you need-”

“Yeah, I got it.” Bull’s vice was rough with pleasure, or torture, or both. He flexed, and yanked sharply to one side, and then the rope that had bound his right arm was in tatters, strands of it uncoiling around his arm and falling to the bed.

Fasta vass,” Dorian swore, and took a small knife to the ropes around Bulls thigh as Bull took care of his second arm.

Cullen let out a thin moan. Oh, he was close, ridiculously so. He still had not closed his mouth, nor swallowed what was in it. The taste engulfed him, thick and heady and bitter, and the sight of the ropes falling away from the mountain of Bull’s body sent shivers up his spine.

He wanted to beg, but they had arranged him so he couldn’t even do that. Instead, he pleaded with his eyes, with the arch of his body towards them, as Dorian slipped for the first time around to the front of Bull, half standing in the close space between Cullen and the bed, half slumping back against Bull’s body.

“Show me,” Dorian demanded, and flicked the last of the magic out his hands in a soft shower of sparks before reaching out to grip Cullen’s jaw, tilting his head back further. “Ahh, venhedis, Commander, I -”

“Now you, kadan,” Bull rumbled from behind him, one knee nudging Dorian’s hip. “His face.”

“Oh yes.”

He was still as fully dressed as Cullen. There were laces to undo, some complicated set of buttons that he flicked open effortlessly one handed on the way to pulling his prick out, grip still firm on Cullen’s jaw. “I don’t need magic for this,” he added, and spat down into his palm, stroking himself rough and quick. “Keep your fucking mouth open, Commander.”

The taste was overwhelming, the heat, the sensory overload of seeing Bull so completely undone with hardly a touch. And Dorian was there, so close the dark head of his cock was rubbing against Cullen’s cheek every other stroke, he could smell him, ozone and oil and musk. Cullen struggled not to cry out, to hold his mouth open under Dorian’s hot gaze, but it was spilling over his lips and he wanted it, fuck , sweet Andraste, he -

Dorian pressed a leather clad shin to his groin and shoved a thumb into the mess of his mouth at the same time, and oh, Cullen was done. He spilled at the pressure, the tension of the night finally bubbling over and releasing seconds before Dorian gasped and splattered his face - lips, chin, up in a sharp arc over his cheekbone to drip down into his stubble. Bull was there too, a strong hand tangled in the curls at the back of his head, and Cullen was held between them, at the mercy of the power of them - magic and muscle; Dorian’s arcana and the brutish, crude physicality of the Bull. Cullen came, and came, and swallowed lest he choke and came even harder for it. He was a river bursting its banks and the crash of snow down a mountain, and a man, on his knees, held fast between the two he loved. And this - this was a type of magic of its own.

It receded in waves, like the tide going out. Cullen smiled as he thought of the Qunlat phrase Bull still sometimes used - the tide rises, the tide falls, meraad astaarit, meraad something. He felt like something profound had washed over him, and through him, even if it had left him with sticky drawers and a face full of seed.

His smile grew, and he opened his eyes to the two of them peering down at him closely, Dorian still flushed and panting, chest heaving.

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Cullen unclasped his hands, placed a finger between his teeth, and slowly started to work his glove off. They kept watching him expectantly. He felt as if, having run several laps of the training ground in full plate, he was now expected to do something clever and important.

He freed the last finger, spat the glove to the ground between his knees, and used the back of his hand to wipe his chin. Then, thoughtfully, he licked it clean.

With a thump, Bull’s back hit the bed, a groan of tired laughter following. “Koslun’s prick, Rutherford.”

“You see,” Dorian chided. “We’ll never fall for the innocent chantry act again, now. You’ve shown your hand.”

“Well, we all know I’m no good at Wicked Grace,” Cullen shrugged, and used Dorian’s hip to help haul himself to his feet, knees creaking. “Sweet Maker. You’ve ruined me.”

He made to maneuver around Dorian, planning on pulling him down into a heap next to Bull, but Dorian caught him, hand tight on his arm, and gaze ever so slightly anxious.

Are you well?”

Cullen knew he had a tendency to get giddy and stupid after sex. He was tired. Something had changed in him, loosened or maybe been shored up. He wanted time, to sleep, to think, to come to terms with the tender new places inside of himself. It had taken the other two, surprisingly chatty and open about sex, some time to learn how to deal with Cullen’s need to prevaricate after the fact; they’d gotten better at it, over the months.

He supposed he could understand Dorian pushing, now.

“I am,” he said, and found it true. “Very well.” He took up Dorian’s hand - strong, brown, callused despite the creams he sent away for, from hours with his staff. “You crossed no lines. You were marvellous.”

He kissed Dorian’s fingertips, one at a time, and fancied he could still feel the power thrumming beneath his warm skin. A part of him that he suspected might never truly die still wanted to flinch from the magic. But that part was weak, and small, and getting easier to ignore.

“You’re a mess,” Dorian replied fondly, eyes crinkling in a smile. “My Commander.

“Your servant.” He kissed Dorian’s wrist, and let him go. Bull was watching them, face soft. It was too much, the emotion, the implication. Cullen let it rise, and fall, like his breath, like the tide.

“I’m going to wash this away,” he said, turning from them. Only to the wash basin, to a cool cloth and a stand for his armour. A moment to breathe, to himself. To stretch his tired limbs and marvel at the boldness he hadn’t known he still possessed. To be so close to magic, with the sword on his hip never once drawn, to be next to such an imposition on another’s will without the need to draw on the lyrium that stained his bones.

They would be there, sure as stone, when he was ready.


“What happened to you, Cullen?”


“We don’t need details, but I need - if we’re going to do this, if we set this up, we need an idea.”

The days of torture. The pain and madness. The crawling, itching, sting of magic creeping over his skin and through his veins.

Cullen looked between the two of them, their matching concern, their dear, handsome faces. Dorian who crackled with power without even noticing, Bull, steady as a mountainside. He loved them. He loved them.

“Nothing you could do to me,” he said. “Would ever be anything like what was done to me. Nothing.”

They exchanged glances. Cullen held firm, even as his heart pattered like a rabbit’s.

“If you’re sure,” Bull said. “If you’re sure.”

Cullen wasn’t, really. But he was sure of them .

“Yes,” he said, and quirked a smile. “I will be.”