[ He's going to have to lay down some wardrobe groundrules, he thinks, but in this instance, he already has, and his startle at the sound of fabric giving beneath Bull's hands is a different response to a flinch. On either side of Bull, Dorian's legs lock, revelling in the security of solid, unmoving presence as he pushes against him, a hand splayed against ribcage he can't quite feel through slabs of muscle.
Fingernails rake, coarsely. He assumes Bull can make his own katoh known as needed.
But then the semi-familiar feeling of Bull's mouth back on him, the rough scratch of stubble and the graze of either, but the pressure of shallow bruises rising is a new one. The noise Dorian makes is a guttural sound, not even close to articulate enough to convey a feigned no. ]
no subject
Fingernails rake, coarsely. He assumes Bull can make his own katoh known as needed.
But then the semi-familiar feeling of Bull's mouth back on him, the rough scratch of stubble and the graze of either, but the pressure of shallow bruises rising is a new one. The noise Dorian makes is a guttural sound, not even close to articulate enough to convey a feigned no. ]