Prompt #10 for my 30 days of writing challenge: The Iron Bull - A Fire Brigade
Trouble at the Herald’s Rest gets smoky and steamy. (Generally SFW, Adoribull)
I’ll post this to AO3 tomorrow. Enjoy!
The corner of his tavern was on fire.
“Down it goes!” he yelled cheerily, despite the furrow in his leathery brow. A large barrel’s worth of water sloshed across the scorching room in a wave, pushing back the fire and sending forth a plume of smoke. He ducked, holding his breath as he hurried from the Herald’s Rest in great strides, barrel in tow.
Outside the door, a young recruit pulled the barrel from his hands and began rolling it toward the smithy at a breakneck pace. Another filled barrel was on its way from the broad building across the yard, and buckets were passed from hand to hand beside him, in a smaller version of his own fire brigade.
Cullen and Blackwall reached him then, and he pulled the barrel close, one arm around the top, the other beneath.
“Be careful, Bull!” the burly warden admonished. “The mages are on the way!” Blackwall ran sideways for a few steps, headed back for another pass.
Grim and Krem dodged under his elbow on the right as he ducked back into the common room, where drunken patrons had danced only minutes before. Three, four steps, and he was at the kitchen door, heaving the water toward the blazing stove.
“Damn it!” He lifted the barrel onto his shoulder, turning it and his missing eye toward the collapsing ceiling. Twisting on the ball of one foot, he spun toward the open door.
Steam hissed toward him suddenly, spreading from the outer wall. Ice streaked in along cracks in the boards, flashes of white before they evaporated.
“Ha! A battle of the elements, indeed.” He ducked low as he reached the door, shielding barrel scraping the lintel.
Vivienne stood in the yard, frigid magic streaming from her imperious hand.
The bucket brigade beside him continued with grim enthusiasm as the enchanter held it in check. A flash of orange flared from the second story, and he dodged through the line, concerned that a second fire had begun.
On the balcony above, brilliant scarlet wreathed Dorian’s well-dressed form.
“Hey, are you sure that’s a good--” he started, not bothering to smother a grin at the sight of the handsome ‘Vint.
A muffled implosion sounded from the kitchen, and the roar of the inferno was instantly gone.
“You were saying, my well-muscled friend?” Dorian strolled casually down the stairs, a confident smirk curving his lips.
“Damn, that was good.” He shook his head, impressed with their work despite his lingering misgivings where mages were concerned. “I could kiss you right now, Dorian.”
Dorian raised an amused eyebrow as they surveyed the dispersing smoke, and the near edge of the brigade peered cautiously through the doorway.
“Oh, please do,” he quipped with a dramatic sigh. “It’s been far too long.”
He caught the back of Dorian’s neck, hesitating as he felt the mage jerk at the sudden contact. Surprise was what he saw in the dim light though, not fear. Their lips met in a fierce, hungry kiss. His blood was already racing from the battle with the fire, and Dorian tasted of wine on a hot summer night. A low growl of pleasure filled his throat as the mage’s eager tongue parted his lips.
Krem’s chagrined laugh was the only warning he had before a bucket’s worth of water hit him in the back of the neck.
