[ Bull's palm and fingers bring an end(?) to sarcasm, because the sound Dorian makes is certainly sincere. His heels find leverage against the mattress to push his hips up into it, before his attention is paired between that and Bull's mouth straying back to his chest.
Another inward hiss at the first touch of teeth, head falling back against the sheets as he shifts beneath Bull in the mess that's been made of his robes, trousers caught up around his thighs. Certainly vain enough to be taken by the image he certainly must make (to Bull, and to anonymous disapproving onlookers that always seem to take an audience in the back of his mind), he still drinks in what he can of silvery skin, weathered horns, the impressive horizon of a warrior's shoulder span adapted to heavy armor and heavy weapons, the friction of stubble where it scrapes at his torso.
He pushes back, picking up the challenge he hears poised in Bull's words, still getting used to the security of the knowledge that Bull means what he says. ]
no subject
Another inward hiss at the first touch of teeth, head falling back against the sheets as he shifts beneath Bull in the mess that's been made of his robes, trousers caught up around his thighs. Certainly vain enough to be taken by the image he certainly must make (to Bull, and to anonymous disapproving onlookers that always seem to take an audience in the back of his mind), he still drinks in what he can of silvery skin, weathered horns, the impressive horizon of a warrior's shoulder span adapted to heavy armor and heavy weapons, the friction of stubble where it scrapes at his torso.
He pushes back, picking up the challenge he hears poised in Bull's words, still getting used to the security of the knowledge that Bull means what he says. ]