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The Herald's Rest was packed with bodies.
The party had returned from the Hissing Wastes with a wagonload of casks of fine Orlesian Brandy, Fereldan Whiskey, and Tevinter wine. The Inquisitor was celebrating survival with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that only came from surviving something that was seemingly unsurvivable and she’d insisted on the rest of the inner circle join in and “let loose for a night”. The Chargers had pushed tables together in the center of the room. Sera was teaching a group of recruits a drinking song that would have made a brothel madam blush. Adaar had talked Josephine into another dance, picking her up around the waist to swing her in whorl, Josephine’s head was tossed back, cheeks flushed with drink, her laughter carrying above the din.
Cullen had claimed a corner near the fire, tankard in hand, watching the festivities with a small smile he didn't realize he was wearing. Three drinks in—four, maybe—and the warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the flames crackling in the hearth. For once, the constant buzz of lyrium craving was quiet. Drowned out by laughter, by music, by the simple pleasure of watching his people find some small bit of joy in the chaos.
He didn't notice Dorian approaching until the mage dropped into the chair across from him, legs crossing elegantly, wineglass held with practiced ease.
"Commander," Dorian grinned at him, in that clever way of his, "You look almost relaxed. Should I be concerned?"
"I'm allowed to enjoy myself, Dorian."
"Of course you are, my good man, but the point is you usually chose very pointedly not to. I saw you grinning into your cups and assumed you’d been poisoned," Dorian sipped his wine, watching Cullen over the rim, "You should do it more often. The not-scowling. It's an appealing look on you."
Cullen huffed a laugh.
"I'll take that under advisement."
The chair to his left scraped back, and Iron Bull dropped into it with enough force to rattle the table. His tankard was nearly the size of Cullen's head, and he set it down with a satisfied thud.
"Commander! You're still here! I told Dorian you'd sneak off by now to do paperwork or polish your sword or whatever it is you do alone in your tower."
"Reports, usually.”
"See, that's the problem," Bull leaned back, arm draping across the back of Cullen's chair in a way that felt deliberate. Casual. The kind of casual that was anything but. Cullen felt the heat rising in his cheeks, "You work too hard. Gotta let loose sometimes."
"Last time I let loose, Josephine took the clothes off my back. Literally," Cullen gestured vaguely at his tankard, "This is loose as I’m getting from now on. Lesson learned."
Dorian made a sound that was almost a laugh.
"That was barely a warm-up, Cullen. In Minrathos, losing your trousers at the card table is just an appetizer," Dorian hummed, propping his chin on his fist, fixing Cullen with the same pointed gaze he sometimes did over a chess board. It was strange to see it, outside the context of a game, without the comfort of telling himself that Dorian was watching him that way to throw him off, “The party can’t even really start while everyone has their clothes on.”
Bull's thumb found the back of Cullen's neck, pressed against the tension gathered there. Cullen stiffened—then melted, despite himself, as Bull worked the knot with practiced ease.
"Tight as a bowstring," Bull shook his head, clicking his tongue. "When's the last time someone took care of you, Commander?"
The question landed differently than Cullen expected.
"I manage," Cullen hummed, valiantly trying to will away the very visceral reaction his body was having to the question.
"That's not what I asked."
Dorian leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching Cullen with those dark, knowing eyes.
"He's right, you know. You give and give and give to this Inquisition. To your soldiers. To the cause," His voice dropped, soft enough that Cullen had to strain to hear it over the noise of the tavern, "When was the last time you let someone give you something?"
"I don't…" Cullen shifted, suddenly too aware of Bull's hand on his neck, Dorian's proximity, the way the two of them had effectively caged him in without seeming to do anything at all, "I’m fine…"
"When's the last time you let someone else take the reins?" Bull's thumb pressed harder, found a spot that made Cullen's breath catch, "Let someone else make the decisions for a while?"
Cullen opened his mouth. Closed it.
The problem was, he knew exactly what they were doing. He wasn't stupid—weeks of comments, of looks, of carefully casual touches had added up to something he couldn't ignore. But knowing and believing were different things. Knowing was safe. Everyone knew how Bull was; he offered sex easily and without strings, and while he’d seemingly slowed down after taking up with Dorian, Cullen had heard enough barrack’s gossip to know they weren’t exclusive. And Dorian flirted, endlessly and with great gusto, with everyone. He’d told Cullen once, half drunk and in confidence, that he and his family didn’t speak because Dorian was only attracted to men, much to his parents disapproval. But that didn’t stop him and the Inquisitor from making pointedly bawdy jokes to one another and Dorian was even worse when Sera was around. Knowing was easy because knowing meant he was part of a friendship, that he was trusted with the flirting and the easy touches, that it didn’t have to many anything more than that. But believing was differ and dangerous. If he beilieved the things they said, the flirting and the touches and half veiled offers, that meant wanting, and wanting meant risk, and Cullen had spent so long keeping himself locked away that the idea of reaching for something—someone—felt impossible.
"I should…" He started to rise.
Bull's big hand squeezed the back of Cullen’s neck, the touch gentle and unhurried, maybe even friendly, to a passerby. It wouldn’t take much for Cullen to pull away, shrug it off. But Bull’s palm was pleasantly warm against his bare skin, and Cullen found that while he knew - logically - that he should pull away, he very much didn’t want to. That was dangerous territory indeed.
"Finish your drink first," Bull offered, conversationally, but the was an edge to his voice, an almost-command that send a shiver of pleasure up Cullen’s spine.
"I really should…" Cullen said, with less conviction this time, as Bull’s thumb rubbed slow circles behind the hinge of Cullen’s jaw.
"Stay. Just for a little while," Dorian's voice was quiet, and there was something in his smile that made Cullen’s heart stutter in his chest. Under the table, the toe of Dorian’s boot trailed a line up the inside of Cullen’s calf. A small, innocent gesture, but strangely intimate.
Cullen sighed, settling back into his seat, pinned to the spot as if they’d held him down.
Dorian smiled, something warm flickering behind his eyes, and raised his glass in a silent toast.
"Good,” Dorian hummed into his glass, seemingly pleased with himself, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Cullen laughed despite himself, and the tension cracked, just a little.
An hour passed. Then two.
Cullen lost count of the drinks somewhere in the middle of the second hour, when Cabot brought over a round without being asked and Bull pressed a fresh tankard into Cullen's hand with a look that brooked no argument. The tavern had gotten louder, wilder, Sera now standing on a table leading an increasingly bawdy chorus while Josephine hid her face in her hands while Adaar sang along.
Bull regaled them with stories, occasionally pulling one of the Chargers in to back up one of his ridiculous claims. Dorian joined in with tales of his own, almost cagey at first, but the more he drank the more he opened, sharing tales of his escapades with his darling Mae- a name Cullen recognized only belatedly as their contact in Minrathos, Maevaris Telani, a magister and an Imperium Upstart in her own right.
Cullen was... floating. Not drunk, not fully, not the way he’d been so many nights in his youth, surrounded by the men and women he’d all but grown up with, nor as he’d been so many nights after, hoping to forget the touches and the voices and the screams. He was loosed-limbed and more relaxed than he'd been in months. His guard was down. He could feel it slipping, the careful walls he'd maintained crumbling under the combined assault of alcohol and warmth and the two people flanking him.
And Maker…they made it so easy, some-how, the two of them. Cullen was a soldier of pure Fereldan stock. He’d fought and killed mages not half as powerful as Dorian, and he’d fought and killed Qunari in Kirkwall, a night he still could not believe he'd survived. And yet now he sat beside one of each, people he’d been taught his whole life to fear, representations of some distant evil, and yet somehow, he’d not felt as safe as he did not, bracketed between them, since his parents had died.
Dorian had migrated closer at some point, his knee pressed against Cullen's under the table. His hand found Cullen's arm when he spoke, fingers lingering on the inside of his wrist, thumb tracing circles against his pulse point.
Bull's arm had stayed around Cullen's chair the entire time. At some point it had shifted, Bull's hand now resting on his shoulder, thumb occasionally sweeping against the side of his neck in a way that made concentration difficult.
Dorian had that way about him. Cullen had noticed, even back at Haven. Dorian, to the point of making a point of it, but he was also the sort of person who wanted to make the world better than it was. He was ruthless in his optimism, fierce in his desire to shape a world worth living in, and Cullen had been drawn to him from the first moment Dorian had sat across the chess board from him.
When he’s taken up with Bull, Cullen had resigned himself to the place he’d never had any intention of leaving, watching Dorian care for and be cared for by someone more deserving of him. Cullen liked Bull. Though they came from different worlds, they were cut from a similar cloth, like recognizing like, and it would be a lie to say Cullen’s gaze hadn’t lingered a little long at times on the muscles of Bull’s arms and back in the training yard, in a way that had nothing to do with appreciation of his form.
He’d not bee surprised when they had taken up together. He’d done what he’d always done, bit down on the small beast of jealousy that had nested in his chest. They wouldn’t have chosen him anyway.
Adarr had joined them, her own massive bulk wedged into a table barely able to fit one qunari body, let alone two. They were talking about something—rifts, maybe—but Cullen had lost the thread. He was too aware of the heat of them on either side, the casual intimacy they shared, the way Dorian's eyes crinkled when he laughed and the rumble of Bull's voice through his chest.
"—don't you think, Commander?"
Cullen blinked.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Dorian exchanged a look with Bull. Something passed between them—a conversation in glances, the kind that came from knowing someone intimately.
"I said," Dorian repeated, leaning closer, "that it's getting late. And we were thinking of retiring."
Adaar took that as her cue. She stood, clapping Bull on the shoulder hard enough that Cullen felt the motion through him, and wandered back to Josephine, her long legs unsteady with drink.
They watched her go, the pause deliberate.
"You could join us," Dorian offered softly.
The words hung in the air between them.
Cullen's mouth went dry.
"Join you?"
"For a nightcap," Bull said, voice low and warm, "I keep a bottle of the good stuff upstairs.”
Cullen swallowed hard, sharply aware of the way Dorian was leaned against him, pressed along the length of his body.
“Nothing more,” Bull said, fixing Cullen with a heated look, “Unless you want more…"
"We've been very patient," Dorian added, his hand landing on Cullen’s thigh in a way that left little to suggestion and there was something raw beneath the lightness of his tone, "I think we’ve all passed the point of dancing around the question, don’t you?"
Cullen’s heart hammered behind his ribs. It had been a very long time since he’d allowed himself the luxury of desire, of comfort, of pleasurable company. It had been hard to allow himself to be touched, after Kinloch, and in Kirkwall he’d trusted very few to do so. He’d satisfied himself with the occasional tumble with a traveling Templar or Seeker, someone he wouldn’t risk getting to know, getting attached to.
He’d told himself there was no harm in looking. Bull was a mountain of a man, he knew he was attractive, and he did little to hide it. Dorian was much the same, and for all that he’d been catty in the beginning, Cullen had found he very much enjoyed the man’s company; Dorian was smart in a way a great number of people were not, and kind in a way a great number of people pretended to be but weren’t.
"Yes," Cullen replied, before he could lose his nerve, “I do.”
Dorian's eyes widened slightly. Bull's hand tightened on his shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Yes," Cullen's voice was steadier than he felt.
Bull's room above the tavern was small but warm, lit by a fire crackling in the hearth and a few candles scattered across surfaces cluttered with weapons and books and the detritus of a life lived fully. The bed was enormous—necessary, given Bull's size—and covered in furs that looked softer than anything Cullen had owned in years.
Cullen stood just inside the door, suddenly uncertain. The balm of alcohol was fading under the sobering influence of adrenaline, leaving him feeling coltish and nervous. What had been suggestion below, in the tavern, was suddenly very real. He was in Iron Bull's room with Iron Bull and Dorian, and they wanted….
"We can stop," Dorian's voice came from behind him, close enough that Cullen could feel his breath on the back of his neck, "Right now. Say the word and we have that night cap and pretend this never happened."
They would too. Bull had been a spy before the quanri had cut him loose, and from the sound of things, he’d been a damn good one. And Dorian had, by his own admission, been raised in a place where secrets were knives and while Cullen trusted Dorian not to turn that knife against him, he did trust him not to allow anyone else to.
But Cullen, to his own surprise, very much didn’t want to leave. Because Bull was right. When had he last let someone touch him? Let someone take care of him in that way? Too long, he knew that, and - Maker forgive him - he longed for it. To be touched and held and tended to. He didn’t know how to be, how to let himself have that or let someone give it but he knew deep in his chest that if anyone could show him, it would be these two.
"I don't want to stop," Cullen heard himself say, the words finding a path straight from his mind to his mouth without waiting for his permission. His voice sounded so small to his own ears, so meek, it should have been embarrassing but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
"Then turn around," Dorian said softly, so close Cullen could feel the breath on his neck.
Cullen turned.
Dorian’s dark eyes reflect the firelight, expression open in a way Cullen had rarely seen. His hand came up, cupped Cullen's jaw, and held him there—looking, searching, smiling, as he found whatever he was looking for.
"You're certain?"
"No," Cullen admitted. "But if I leave now I know I’ll regret it. Of that I’m certain."
Dorian's smile was sunrise, warm and glowing, and maybe it was the strong drink still swirling in his blood, but the smile warmed Cullen to his bones.
He kissed Cullen—soft at first, a question, then deeper when Cullen opened for him, Dorian’s hands still cradling his face. Dorian’s skin was warm where Cullen’s hands found his bare forearms, and the ozone smell that always lingered around mages filled Cullen’s senses, terrifying and exciting all at once. He’d never kissed a mage before, and though he was no longer a templar, something about it still felt forbidden.
Dorian kissed like he did everything: precisely, skillfully, with an undercurrent of passion that threatened to consume. His tongue swept into Cullen's mouth and tasted him, claimed him, and Cullen made a sound against his lips that he'd be embarrassed about later.
Then Bull's hands found his hips from behind, and Cullen gasped into Dorian's mouth as the Qunari leaned into him, the massive bulk of him pressed to Cullen’s back.
"My turn," Bull rumbled against his ear, and Dorian pulled back, mouth wet and kiss bruised, his moustache distinctly mussed.
Bull spun him around Cullen around to face him, one big hand catching Cullen’s jaw and titling his head up. Make he was huge. Cullen was not a small man by any measure and he certainly wasn’t used to having to look up at the people he was kissing. Bull’s fingers, almost delicate when compared to the rest of him, stroked over Cullen’s cheek and Cullen was suddenly, acutely aware of just how easy it would be for Bull to shift his hold and curse the breath from him. A thrill of desire shivered up his spine.
Bull kissed differently than Dorian. Where Dorian was precision, Bull was force—claiming Cullen's mouth with a hunger that stole his breath, tongue fucking past his lips in a way that made Cullen's knees weak. The wide hand still holding his hip slid back to grab a handful of his ass, dragging him closer, and Cullen could feel Bull’s half hard cock pressing against his belly through the layers of his clothes. He whimpered against Bull’s tongue. Cock pressing against him was fucking huge.
"Maker," Cullen breathed when Bull released him.
"Not quite," Bull grinned, all teeth, "But I'll take it as a compliment."
Dorian appeared at Cullen's side, pressing against him, mouth finding the curve of his neck.
"You're overdressed, I think. Allow us."
They worked together with an ease that spoke of practice—Bull's hands making quick work of Cullen's armor while Dorian's fingers found the laces of his shirt. Each piece of clothing that fell away was replaced by lips and tongues: Dorian pressing a kiss to his collarbone, Bull's mouth hot against his shoulder, both of them mapping newly revealed skin with devastating thoroughness.
When Cullen's shirt came off, Dorian's fingers found his scars. Cullen tensed automatically—but Bull's hand caught his chin, tilted his face up, and kissed him before the shame could take root.
"Beautiful," Bull said against his lips, " I knew you would be."
Dorian's mouth traced one of the silver lines.
"He's right. Every inch of you."
Cullen's breath shuddered out of him. His hands found them—one on Bull's shoulder, one in Dorian's hair—and held on.
Bull pulled back just long enough to rid himself of his own clothing. He had to sit to pull off his brace, and Dorian kissed bruises into Cullen’s neck while he did, pawing at the front of Cullen’s trousers, clever fingers slowly unlacing them while Cullen cursed. Bull unbuckled and set aside his harness and his belt, revealing the dark lines of ink, and Dorian slipped his hand into Cullen’s pants, to palm his half hard cock.
Cullen cursed, and he grabbed a handful of whatever part of Dorian he could reach.
“I know right?” Bull said, toeing out of his boots, and reaching for the laces of his loose trousers, “The mouth on him….”
Bull stepped out of his pants, tossing them aside, leaving him naked. He wore no small clothes underneath. Cullen's mouth went dry at the sight of him. Bull was massive — every part of him was thick by every measure of the word, a mount of muscle and flesh, his gray skin knotted with scar tissue, thick lines of black ink, and a surprisingly sparse dusting of dark hair. Cullen let his eyes wander, taking him in, but his gaze kept coming back the Bull’s groin. His cock was enormous, even for a man of his size and it hung thick and half hard between his thighs. Cullen stared at it with a mix of apprehension and want that made his pulse race.
Dorian, still pressed against his side, laughed softly.
"I had the same reaction the first time. Don't worry—he's surprisingly gentle when he wants to be."
"Only if gentle’s what you want," Bull said, and his grin was sharp enough to cut.
Dorian shed his own clothes with characteristic elegance, and Cullen moved to help him with trembling fingers. His robes, infinitely more complicated that Cullen’s or Bull’s but with each piece removed, revealed a body that was leaner than Bull's but no less impressive. Dorian was built more like a duelist than a mage, with the lean practical muscles that came from using his staff as much as a weapon as a conduit. Dorian’s bronze skin was warm and smooth under Cullen’s hands, not wholly without blemish, but none of a soldier’s scars. Cullen let out a small laugh, when Dorian’s undershirt slid off his shoulders. He had his nipples and his navel pierced, Cullen slid his fingers curiously over the skin warmed metal, watching, fascinated at the way Dorian’s breath caught. Dorian worked the laces of his own trousers open but Cullen’s hands joined his when he pushed them down his hips. His cock was hard, curving up against his stomach, a more manageable size but not less alluring, and Cullen found he couldn't stop looking at him either.
"You're staring," Dorian said, hand sliding down his own stomach, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"I'm—" Cullen swallowed. "I can't believe this is real."
Bull's hand found his jaw, turned his face up.
"It's as real as you want it to be,” he said, as Dorian pressed himself against Cullen’s back, skin to skin.
“And we're going to take such good care of you tonight."
Then Bull kissed him again, and Dorian's hands found his waistband, and then Cullen couldn't think at all.
They stripped him the rest of the way with agonizing slowness. Every time he tried to help, to speed things along, one of them would pin his hands and murmur let us or patience or we've waited months for this, Commander, you can wait a few more minutes. By the time he was bare, he was trembling with it—anticipation and arousal and the overwhelming sensation of being wanted. It was a far cry from the hurried touches of hands and mouths he’d grown used to over the years.
Bull guided him to the bed, and climbed in beside him, arranging Cullen to kneel, his back to Bull’s front, between Bull’s massive, spread thighs. That massive arm wrapped around his torso, hand splaying across his stomach, holding him in place. Cullen felt small like this. Cradled against Bull's bulk, head tipped back against his shoulder, utterly exposed.
Dorian settled in front of him, cross-legged on the furs, watching with dark eyes. He reached out, traced the line of Cullen's jaw with one finger.
"Nervous?" Dorian asked.
"Yes," Cullen admitted.
“Don’t be," Dorian leaned in, lips brushing Cullen’s, "You’re in the most capable of hands."
He kissed Cullen slow and deep, swallowing the soft sound Cullen made. His hands found Cullen's shoulders, slid down his chest, mapped the terrain of muscle and scar with thorough appreciation. Behind him, Bull's mouth found the curve of his neck, teeth grazing skin, and Cullen shivered between them.
Bull's hand slid lower, fingers dragging through the trail of hair below Cullen's navel, teasing. Cullen's cock was already half-hard, twitching under the attention, and he made an embarrassed sound when Dorian pulled back to look.
"Don't," Dorian murmured. "Don't hide from us."
"I'm not—it's just been—a long time."
"How long?"
Cullen's face burned.
"Years."
Something shifted in Dorian's expression—softer, fiercer, more tender than Cullen could handle.
"Then we'll take our time. Make it count."
Dorian kissed him again, deeper this time, tongue sliding against Cullen's with deliberate slowness. His hand wrapped around Cullen's cock, stroking him to full hardness with gentle, knowing touches. Cullen moaned into his mouth, hips twitching, already overwhelmed.
Behind him, Bull's hand drifted lower still. Cullen felt slick fingers—when had Bull grabbed the oil?—tracing down, pressing behind his balls, finding the tight ring of muscle there.
"Breathe," Bull murmured against his ear, "Just breathe."
Bull stroked over the tight ring of muscle, and despite himself, Cullen’s body seized. He’d only been taken there once before, and while the experience had been quite pleasurable, that had been a very, very long time ago. As if sensing his hesitation, Bull’s touch drifted, pressing to the the soft skin behind his balls, fondling his sack in his hot, oil slicked palm until Cullen moaned into Dorian’s mouth. Bull kissed his shoulders and neck, ran his hands over Cullen’s thighs and stomach while Dorian worked his cock, before starting the whole cycle over again. Over and over, occasionally adding to the oil, until the brush of his finger over Cullen’s hole had Cullen shifting his hips, chasing the touch.
The first finger breached him, and Cullen gasped against Dorian’s mouth, head falling back against Bull’s shoulder as his fingers dug into Dorian’s biceps. Dorian bent his head, pressing open- mouthed kisses to the exposed column of Cullen’s throat. His body clenched around the intrusion, fighting it despite the pleasure of Dorian's hand on his cock, his mouth on Cullen’s skin. Bull held still, letting him adjust, but Cullen couldn't seem to relax—every muscle locked tight, his mind spinning with too much sensation and not enough air.
“Easy,” Bull hummed in his ear, hand running up Cullen’s flank, “We’ve got you. Let me in.”
The breath rattled out of Cullen and some small bit of fight with it. He was already here, naked between them, sweat beading on his skin, Dorian’s hand on his cock and Bull’s long finger inside him. What was holding him back? They had done him the courtesy of waiting for him to come to them, patiently, and now he was here, held in a way he’d never even known he’d wanted. Bull and Dorian had given him a gift he hadn’t even known he needed, the least he could do was accept it with grace. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the warmth of them and slowly, his body began to relax. Bull hummed, pleased.
Bull worked Cullen open patiently, enjoying the process, if the heavy weight of his cock against Cullen’s back was anything to go by. He worked more oil into Cullen, pressing deep, and occasionally curling his finger into the bundle of nerves within Cullen that made his eyes cross. Cullen found himself leaning forward, into Dorian, pushing his hips back, chasing the pleasure, his shins sliding on the furs as he pushed his knees wider. When Bull added a second finger, Cullen made a sound that was half-gasp, half-whimper, tearing his mouth from Dorian's to pant. He caught Dorian’s wrist, halting the lazy stroking.
"Maker…." Cullen gasped, “You keep going like this I’m going embrass myself.”
"Shh," Bull's voice was calm, steady. His other arm tightened around Cullen's chest, anchoring him, "You're doing fine. "
Dorian exchanged a look with Bull over Cullen's shoulder—another one of those silent conversations—and then Dorian was moving, sliding down the bed, settling between Cullen's spread thighs.
He took Cullen's cock into his mouth.
Cullen let out a choked groan, his fingers scrambling against Dorian’s shoulders and back.
Dorian's lips sealed around him, tongue working the underside of his shaft, and Cullen's brain short-circuited. His mouth was hot and wet and perfect. The pleasure crashed through him, drowning out everything else There was only Dorian's mouth, clever and relentless, taking him deeper with each bob of his head and Bull’s fingers inside him, working him open with slow, clever precision.
Behind him, Bull groaned.
"That's it. Fuck, you two are gorgeous."
Bull's fingers crooked inside him, pressing against the spot he’d only brushed before, sending a jolt of electricity up Cullen's spine, and his body finally unclenched. The tension drained out of him like water, replaced by liquid heat, and Bull's fingers slid in easier now—third finger joining the first two, stretching him open while Dorian worked his cock.
"That's it," Bull rumbled, “I knew you could be unraveled, you just needed a little bit of help."
Cullen couldn't have formed words if he tried. His head fell back against Bull's shoulder, mouth open, sounds spilling out that he couldn't control—gasps and moans and broken fragments of please and more and don't stop. Dorian was relentless, swallowing him down to the root, throat working around the head of his cock, and Bull's fingers were everywhere, pressing and rubbing and finding that spot inside him that made his vision blur.
"Going to make you come," Bull said against his ear, voice rough, "Going to feel you fall apart on our fingers and our tongues, and then we're going to do it again. You want that, Commander?"
"Yes—" Cullen's voice cracked, "Yes, please—"
Dorian hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through his groin, and redoubled his efforts. His head bobbed faster, cheeks hollowing, tongue doing something absolutely filthy to the sensitive head of Cullen's cock. At the same time, Bull's fingers found his prostate and pressed—hard, deliberate, unrelenting—and Cullen shattered.
His orgasm hit him like a thunderclap. His whole body seized, back arching, fingers burying themselves in Dorian’s thick, dark hair, cock pulsing into Dorian's willing mouth as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through him. Dorian swallowed every drop, throat working around him, milking him through it until Cullen was whimpering from the oversensitivity.
Bull's fingers stilled inside him, holding him through the aftershocks. His arm around Cullen's chest kept him from collapsing entirely, cradling him against that broad chest while his breathing slowly returned to normal.
Dorian pulled off with an obscene pop, lips swollen and red, and smiled up at Cullen with an expression of pure satisfaction.
"You taste even better than I imagined, amatus."
Cullen made a sound that might have been a laugh if he had any breath left. His whole body felt like liquid, boneless, warm, utterly spent. Bull pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, and Dorian crawled back up the bed to claim Cullen's mouth in a slow, dirty kiss that let Cullen taste himself on Dorian's tongue.
Bull eased Cullen back against his chest, and Dorian straightened Cullen’s coltish legs before he settled between them, pressing his chest to Cullen’s own. him back against the furs, settling on either side of him. For a long moment, there was only the sound of breathing and the crackle of the fire—Dorian's fingers tracing idle patterns on Cullen's chest, Bull's hand warm and heavy on his thigh.
"You okay?" Bull asked, voice softer than Cullen had ever heard it.
"Yes," Cullen turned his head, pressed his face into Bull's shoulder, "More than I’ve been in a long while. "
"Good," Dorian's mouth found his jaw, pressed a kiss there, "Because we're not done with you yet."
Cullen's spent cock gave a valiant twitch where it was trapped between them. Dorian laughed, low and knowing, and let his hand drift down Cullen's stomach toward it.
"Already?" Dorian's voice was warm with amusement, “You’re even more virile than I thought.”
His fingers wrapped around Cullen's cock again, stroking lightly, just enough to keep the interest sparked. Cullen groaned, still sensitive. Bull's mouth found Cullen's throat, teeth grazing his pulse point, and Cullen's breath hitched.
They took their time. Kissing him, touching him, mapping every inch of his skin with lips and tongues and fingers. Bull's mouth found his chest, tongue circling a nipple while his hand slid down to cup Cullen's ass, squeezing. Dorian kissed him slow and deep, swallowing every sound Cullen made, hand still working his cock with maddening gentleness.
By the time Cullen started to harden again under Dorian's touch, he was desperate.
"Please," he gasped against Dorian's mouth, "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" Dorian pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes dark, smile sharp, "Tell us."
"I need you. Both of you. I need sweet Maker.."
He couldn't find the words. Months of desire tangled with years of loneliness and he couldn’t find a way to explain the desire he felt in his bones. Not just for sex - though Maker forgive him, he could not remember a better feeling than Dorian’s hand on his cock - but the heat of their bodies and the closeness of them. If this was all he ever had with them, it would be enough.
Dorian reached past him, fumbled in the sheets, and produced a small bottle of oil. He shifted back, on to his knees, and Cullen watched—fascinated, hungry—as Dorian slicked his own fingers and reached behind himself.
"I want you to fuck me," Dorian said, voice steady despite the flush on his cheeks, "Please, say you’ll fuck me…”
Cullen nodded dumbly.
Bull chuckled, and Cullen could feel it in his bones.
“He’s been thinking about your cock in him for weeks…”
Cullen groaned. His fingers wrapped around Bull’s forearm.
“I want you too,” he said, looking over his shoulder before he could loose the nerve.
Bull raised an eyebrow at him.
“You sure? I know it’s a lot. No shame in working up to it.”
“I’m sure. Maker’s grace I’m sure.”
Bull was already moving, retrieving the oil, slicking his fingers. He settled behind Cullen again, pulling him back against his chest, and those broad hands spread Cullen's thighs apart.
"Watch him," Bull murmured against his ear, "Watch him get himself ready for your cock."
Cullen couldn't look away if he’d wanted to. Dorian's head was tipped back, lips parted, eyes half-closed in pleasure as his fingers worked inside himself. His cock was hard again, flushed dark, twitching with every movement of his hand. He looked obscene —beautiful and depraved and everything Cullen had never let himself want.
Bull's fingers found his hole again, sliding in easier this time, his body still loose, remembering, welcoming. Cullen gasped, hips rocking back into the touch, and Bull chuckled against his neck.
"Eager now, aren't you? That's it. Open up for me."
Bull worked him slowly, thoroughly, stretching him while whispering against his ear in that low, rumbling voice. Filthy things, about how good Cullen looked spread open on his fingers, how badly Bull wanted to fuck him, how he was going to fill Cullen up until he screamed.
"Going to take you apart," Bull growled, fingers pressing deep, finding that spot that made Cullen see stars, "Going to fuck you so hard you feel me for days. Every time you sit down at your desk, you're going to remember this.”
Bull’s other hand was locked around his chest and he pinched Cullen’s nipple meanly between his fingers, untile Cullen arched into the touch. No one had ever done this for him before, touched him the way Bull was touching. And Maker, watching Dorian watch him, his expression open and hungry, breath catching as he prepared himself for Cullen. No quick please in a dark room could ever compare to this. This was worlds away from simple companionship, from filling a need, scratching and it. Cullen could die in their arms tonight and step beyond the veil having learned more in a scant handful of hours in this bed than he’d learned in his whole life.
Cullen was fully hard again, cock aching, precome leaking onto his stomach. He was trembling, overwhelmed, begging—but Bull kept the pace tortuously slow, driving him higher without letting him tip over the edge.
"Please—" Cullen's voice was wrecked. "Please, I need—I can't—"
"What do you say Kadan,should we take mercy on our commander," Bull's fingers twisted inside him, and Cullen sobbed, “Are you ready for him?”
"Yes," Dorian said, and his voice was rough, wrecked, "Maker, I'm so ready. Come here, Cullen. Come here."
Bull withdrew his fingers, and Cullen whimpered at the loss. He was being guided, positioned, pushed onto his hands and knees. Dorian slid down the bed beneath him, legs spreading, pulling Cullen down on top of him. Their cocks brushed together, and both of them gasped.
"I need you inside me," Dorian said, raching for Cullen, pulling him down for a frantic kiss, "Now. Please."
Bull reached beneath Cullen’s body, positioned him against Dorian's hot, slick hole.
“Fuck him like you mean it, Commander,” Bull hummed against Cullen’s shoulder as Cullen’s cock breached Dorian.
Dorian's body opened for him like a greeting, walls clenching around his cock, and Cullen groaned as he sank to the root. It was hot and tight and perfect. Dorian's back arched off the bed, a sound spilling from his lips that might have been Trevene, but Cullen - who had lost all capacity for speak - couldn’t be sure.
Cullen held still, trembling with the effort, he could feel himself tetting on the edge. Dorian was *tight*impossibly tight, and hot and the minute Cullen had pushed into him he had felt his own balls draw up and his cock twitch and he refused to embarrass himself by spending before Dorian had even gotten what he’d asked for.
Bull’s broad hand smoothed down his spine.
“Cullen,” Dorian huffed against his mouth, “Are you…”
“I just need a moment,” he groaned.
“Look Dorian, you’ve turned our stoic captain into a knock-kneed recruit,” Bull chuckled, “Don’t be too embarrassed Cullen. Dorian will do that to a man. That ass is a thing of beauty.”
Dorian huffed a soft laugh, his hands running up Cullen’s sides. He kissed Cullen’s check and Cullen tried to remember how to breathe. They stayed like that for a long moment, the touches almost chaste, while Cullen eased back from the edge.
Then Dorian rolled his hips, experimentally, and they both moaned.
"As much as I’m enjoying the view," Dorian breathed, "for the love of all things good in this world Cullen, I need you to fuck me."
Cullen started to move.
He set a slow rhythm at first, pulling back and pushing in, watching Dorian's face for every reaction. Dorian was beautiful like this, undone, open, the mask of wit and irony stripped away to reveal raw want beneath. His cock was trapped between their stomachs, leaking, and every thrust dragged it against Cullen's skin.
Then Bull's hands found backside, exposing his hole, and Cullen's breath caught at the massive heat of his slick cock dragged between Cullen’s spread cheeks.
“You still want this?”
“Yes,” Cullen all but wheezed, more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.
Dorian’s fingers tangled in Cullen’s hair.
“He’s going to ruin you,” Dorian hummed, as Bull slowly fucked his length against Cullen’s hole, allowing Cullen to feel every staggering inch of it, “He’s like nothing else you’ve ever had before and nothing you’ll ever have again.”
“Please Bull, Maker….”
"I want to hear you ask for it," Bull rumbled behind him.
“Fuck me,” Cullen groaned, desperate as Dorian clenched around his cock.
Cullen felt the blunt head of Bull's cock pressing against his entrance—still slick from the oil, still open from Bull's fingers—and his whole body shuddered. Bull pushed inside, slowly, in a little, out a little, then back in deeper. The steady rhythm and the growing pressure had stilled Cullen’s own hips and he stayed, buried to the hilt in Dorian while his body shook and shuttered, stretched wider than he’d ever been, as Bull seemed to push endlessly deeper and deeper inside him. Dorian kissed him, slow and lazy, his hands roaming, rocking his hips, clenching the muscles around Cullen’s cock even as it started to flag. Bull, though slow and steady, was relentless, his grip on Cullen's hips bruising, and when their bodies finally meant, Bull’s pelvis pushing flush against his backside, Cullen's mind went white.
The stretch was overwhelming. More than fingers, more than anything Cullen had ever taken, he was so much and he left Cullen burning and full and impossibly good. He could feel Bull's cock pressing against his prostate, feel the weight of him settling deep inside, and the dual sensation of being filled while filling Dorian was almost too much to bear.
"Maker.." Cullen gasped. "I can't…I won’t last…"
"You can," Bull's voice was strained, rough, the control barely holding. "You're taking us so well, Cullen. Just like we knew you would.”
Cullen whimpered against Dorian’s mouth as Dorian’s fingers scratched over his scalp.
“Let go, amatus, we have you,” Dorian hummed, rocking against Cullen in a smooth, practiced rhythm.
Cullen shuttered, surrender over taking him, and the pleasure rattled over his spine.
Bull started to move.
The first thrust drove Cullen deeper into Dorian, a chain reaction—Bull into Cullen into Dorian, all three of them connected. Cullen's arms shook, barely holding him up, as pleasure crashed through him from both directions. Each time Bull thrust forward, Cullen's cock drove into Dorian; each time Bull pulled back, Cullen followed, and the rhythm built like a wave.
"Faster," Dorian demanded, heels pressing into the mattress as he pushed up to meet each punishing thrust, "Harder. I won't break."
Bull obeyed, forcing Cullen, by virtue of position, to do the same.
The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by Cullen's desperate gasps, sounds he’d be embarrassed about come morning. Dorian's incoherent moans became increaslingy incoherent, grabble of pitched please and Trevene curse words. Bull made a low sound of pleasure that was akin to a growl, his breath hot on Cullen’s skin. The bed creaked beneath them, furs bunching and tangling, the fire crackling in the hearth like a counterpoint to their rhythm.
Cullen was lost. Drowning in sensation — Dorian tight and hot around him, Bull thick and relentless inside him. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but take what they gave him. The pleasure built and built, layering on itself, every nerve ending alight.
"I’m close,” Cullen whined, as he felt the heat pool low in his guts again. He knew there would be no holding it off this time.
“Come inside me,” Dorian gasped out, "I want to feel you."
Cullen whimpered.
“What me to fill you up too,” Bull huffed, bending over Cullen’s back, pushing impossinly deeper, “Or should I pull out, come on your ass?”
“Inside,” Cullen rattled out, before he could stop himself, “Inside me.”
“Fuck,” Bull cursed and Cullen swore he could feel the massive cock twitch in his guts.
Bull laid into Cullen, fucking him so deep and hard that the head board smacked against the stone. Dorian was almost shouting now, the sharp sounds of pleasure punching out of him, each time Cullen was forced deeper inside him. He grabbed handfuls of Cullen, his shoulder, his biceps, fingernails scratching down his back, and his back arched, angling his hips despite the punishing force.
"Come for us," Dorian gasped, his voice pitched and desperate, "Come on, amatus, fill me up—"
Dorian’s back arched, head pressing into the pillows as his eyes rolled back, as he came hot and hard against Cullen’s stomach. Bull's hand fisted in Cullen's hair, pulled his head back, and bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulder. The sharp sting of teeth was all Cullen needed.
His orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave. His whole body seized, cock pulsing inside Dorian, filling him with heat. The clench of his body around Bull's cock triggered a chain reaction—Bull roaring his completion, driving deep one final time.
They collapsed together.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Cullen was pinned between them, unable to move, unable to think. Bull's weight pressed him down into Dorian, and Dorian's arms wrapped around both of them, and the three of them lay there in a tangled heap of sweat and satisfaction.
Bull withdrew first slowly, gently, before rolling to the side, and Cullen whimpered at the loss. Then he pulled out of Dorian, and Dorian made a sound of protest that melted into a sigh when Bull dragged both of them into his arms, arranging them against his chest and pulling the furs over them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Cullen's head found the hollow of Bull's shoulder. Dorian's pressed against his other side, mustache tickling Cullen's neck. Their legs tangled together beneath the furs.
"You're staying," Bull said into his hair. It was not a question.
Cullen nodded. Dorian wrapped an arm around Cullen’s waist, pressed a lazy kiss to the back of his shoulder.
"Glad you’ve decided to come quietly. Because I refuse to let you retreat behind that stoic Commander facade again,” he huffed, cuddling into Cullen more fully, “You're ours now, amatus. No take-backs."
Bull's laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating into Cullen.
"Better listen Cullen. These altus mages, they’re used to getting their way…" Bull teased.
Cullen closed his eyes. Dorian was warm and solid at his back and he could hear the slow, steady thunder of Bull’s heartbeat under his cheek. For the first time in years, he felt…something close to safe.
"We’ll if Dorian commands it…" he murmured, and felt them both smile against his skin.