[ There's a huff of a nearly laugh at the idea of them not fitting because that would be a fucking tragedy, but it sharpens into a moan when Bull drives back into him, low beneath Bull's words. Beneath his weight, Dorian's pinned arm coils, flexes a protest that isn't, resistance without struggle. His fingers close in his palm, tendons pressing close to skin.
Bull is big. In the crude sense, yes, but also in every other fathomable way; hard to see past, hard to struggle out from underneath, hard to think about anything else.
Which, really, is how Dorian likes it.
His available hand runs up the broad expanse of Bull's chest. His eyes are half-closed, slivers of silver between kohl-smudged eyelashes. The only thing stopping him from crumbling completely is the slight reprieve he'd been granted while slathering Bull up, and the neglect of his cock, hard against his belly and leaking, and the slow build is so necessary, and so good.
All the same-- ]
If I take it well, [ he says, voice tight in his chest, all strain and velvet ] I hope you intend on giving it to me.
[ Big words, but playful ones, humour and heat both simmering in his tone, his nails setting in on emphasis. ]
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Bull is big. In the crude sense, yes, but also in every other fathomable way; hard to see past, hard to struggle out from underneath, hard to think about anything else.
Which, really, is how Dorian likes it.
His available hand runs up the broad expanse of Bull's chest. His eyes are half-closed, slivers of silver between kohl-smudged eyelashes. The only thing stopping him from crumbling completely is the slight reprieve he'd been granted while slathering Bull up, and the neglect of his cock, hard against his belly and leaking, and the slow build is so necessary, and so good.
All the same-- ]
If I take it well, [ he says, voice tight in his chest, all strain and velvet ] I hope you intend on giving it to me.
[ Big words, but playful ones, humour and heat both simmering in his tone, his nails setting in on emphasis. ]