"I'm fine, Bull.". The Iron Bull had heard the words one too many times from his Kadan. He didn't believe it, of course. His years of Ben-Hassrath training easily allowed him to decipher the lie from your less than subtle body language alone.

That, and because he knew your body and your very mind like the back of his battle worn hands.

Bull could see the fatigue. He could see the evident weight dragging down on your shoulders, threatening to make you crumble under its weight. It only worsened after returning from Halamshiral, having run about like a blood hound to save the Empress of Orlais.

One step closer to stopping Corypheus. One step closer to the inevitable confrontation that may or may not have the possibility of getting killed in the process.

And so the only rational solution was to relieve you from the stress you so adamantly attempted to hide and dismiss from him from your role as Inquisitor.

Which is how you found yourself sat on Bull's lap, your hands bound by silk ribbons behind your arched back. Your arms, torso, legs, and body constricted tenderly with rope, his calloused palms grappled onto the sides of your hips to keep you flushed against him.

Behind the closed doors of your chambers, you were no longer Inquisitor, but merely someone seeking the comfort of their love in the form of having another take charge for once.