[ Dorian makes a sound of mock protest as to the treatment of his smallclothes, both hypothetically and in the moment, but it's not super convincing, as if he had to struggle not to respond to the mental image himself.

These ideas, these fantasies of desiring Bull to do what he wants with him, have taken a different tone of late. Filtered through a lens of peculiar trust of intent.

For instance--

Dorian shifts just enough to press his body back down against Bull, finding the shape of his own hardening erection through fabric against the warm juncture of his thighs. As Bull lifts his head, his hands slide up his chest, his neck, fingertips brushing along the rough texture of his jaw, setting in a little firmer as if to assert some minor control.

The effect of Bull's hand without interruption against his cock induces a visible shift in Dorian's expression, a softening, hazier effect, and he rolls his hips against that hand, and against the other man's hips, bending his head to bite-kiss briefly. ]

And then after, mingling among them. Would you like that, watching me trying to ignore all those lingering little marks and aches while carrying out polite conversation? Just a little less put together than I was before? Still, beneath my robes, a little hard for you? [ Fingernails make blunt-sharp points of contact where they lay. ] A little dirty?