[ The sass is ready on his lips, curling them. Something about how he does have an inkling as to what he looks, but pre- and post-primping, different to this, smeary eyed and perspiring and the evidence of his own emission drying on his thighs. (And he imagines Bull behind him in reflection, grey skin silvery where Dorian's marked him with his mouth, his hands broad and that one eye giving so little away, but maybe in a mirror, he'd catch something.)
But one blunt nail scratches, and he tips his chin aside as if shearing off his own response, the glint of teeth showing, and his hands no longer have a job to do as his thigh is manipulated upwards. Oil-slick hands fall on the thick arms, smoothing along that gathered tension, as if admiring of what he's created in Bull.
Dorian opens up his other thigh, knee lifting, a twitch of eyelashes as a yes to Bull's querying eyebrow. ]
no subject
But one blunt nail scratches, and he tips his chin aside as if shearing off his own response, the glint of teeth showing, and his hands no longer have a job to do as his thigh is manipulated upwards. Oil-slick hands fall on the thick arms, smoothing along that gathered tension, as if admiring of what he's created in Bull.
Dorian opens up his other thigh, knee lifting, a twitch of eyelashes as a yes to Bull's querying eyebrow. ]