[ The sound Dorian makes is purely sexual, no similarity to spellcasting, no attempt to smother it in growls or sighs, no purpose like affirmation or denial, just something raw and uninhibited. Bull is a lot to take, and inner muscles clench reflexively, that thin line between pain and pleasure sharp and aching as he goes from empty to full in a matter of that one smooth thrust.
His nails bite Bull's arms, and his legs feel ungainly around him, but he otherwise relaxes, inasmuch as is possible. His brow smooths and his eyes hood, studying Bull's face above him, scars and all. Those little tics of tension. He'd touch them if he wasn't reflexively holding on to Bull as if for dear life.
Breathes, before he can be told not to forget to. ]
no subject
His nails bite Bull's arms, and his legs feel ungainly around him, but he otherwise relaxes, inasmuch as is possible. His brow smooths and his eyes hood, studying Bull's face above him, scars and all. Those little tics of tension. He'd touch them if he wasn't reflexively holding on to Bull as if for dear life.
Breathes, before he can be told not to forget to. ]