[ The safety, if one were to call it that (and Dorian would not), that settles around these interactions is seamless as to go unnoticed. It's only ever after that Dorian can despair how comfortable it was, how nice it is, how easy. How it manifests in this moment is a matched hunger in kiss, the absence of hesitation, sharp and bite in contrast to the gentler sweep of his thumb higher on Bull's cheek, closer to scarred topography.
But Bull's hand is also doing wonderful things and driving him slowly insane. He maintains those little shifts, the dull pressure of his body attempting to crudely work Bull just a fraction of how his hand works Dorian. Every detail becomes vivid against sensitised flesh, from where silk still cradles him low on hips and between his legs, to the dull warmth of Bull's hand, the rough texture of his thumb running against damp skin.
He moans, finally, a little faltering, tinged in demand. ]
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But Bull's hand is also doing wonderful things and driving him slowly insane. He maintains those little shifts, the dull pressure of his body attempting to crudely work Bull just a fraction of how his hand works Dorian. Every detail becomes vivid against sensitised flesh, from where silk still cradles him low on hips and between his legs, to the dull warmth of Bull's hand, the rough texture of his thumb running against damp skin.
He moans, finally, a little faltering, tinged in demand. ]