[ He gets a few inches before Bull hooks his fingers into his belt, dragging him back down under in a fraction of a second. Not quite restraint yet, but certainly the idea of being inescapable.
Interesting how that all ties in, the Ben-Hassrath part of his brain thinks, Dorian and his need to run. To untangle himself before he gets hurt. But he doesn't want to run from this, and if he can't? So much the easier. ]
You like it.
[ The gap in his robes is yanked open further, and this is definitely a sight made better by decent lighting. One hand spans the warm musculature of his stomach, lean and taut, before turning his nails inward and pulling upwards in a slow, blunt scrape. ]
[ Dorian makes a sound at the back of his throat as he's dragged back in those few inches, mirth more in the flash in his eyes than anywhere else. He isn't quite still by the time the wide span of Bull's palm lays on his belly, but movements aren't geared towards struggle by the time blunt nails drag temporary lines on his skin. More of an arch, chin tipping up.
He does like it.
And he likes that the attraction of gravity that causes his thoughts to wander Bull's way is turned into something physical, something he can't get away from in the form of big hands, and even the mattress sloping down where Bull has settled his weight.
This last part gets a chuckle, a little breathless. ] Is that what you like?
[ His hands travel downwards, this time participating, undoing the ties that lace up the front of his trousers. A little slower and a lot more prim than the treatment of his robes, which will be tossed at a seamstress along with a generous tip and zero explanation. ]
[ There's a hum that might be agreement as he watches Dorian's fingers tug at his lacings. Elegant hands that should be noble, never see a day of work in their lifetime, calloused only by the grip he keeps on his staff in battle.
Noble, but willing to fight tooth and nail. ]
I like a lot of things.
[ Bull's lips curve, as he reaches to unbuckle the leather harness at his shoulder. The straps slither free of their fastenings, falling heavily the floor beside the bed before leans low, nuzzling a line up along one of those brief indentions of pink against his belly. ]
Keeping my promises among them.
[ Which is all the warning he gets before his tongue darts out against Dorian's nipple, teeth soon to follow in a slow drag against his skin. ]
[ Laces come loose in his fingers by the time teeth are scraping along sensitive skin, and Dorian lets out a reflexive hiss. ]
I'm getting that about you.
[ The less clothing he has and the more his nerves spark under touch and the more blood drains groinwards, the more his own inhibitions (the ones he might claim he doesn't have, just manners) crumble. He grips a horn roughly, above where it curves, the dull feeling of a distant squeeze and the slight pressure of indirect wrangling. ]
And I have every intention of leaving [ he says, tone velvety, huskier ] with vivid recollection. I want to feel this tomorrow.
[ Bull chuckles darkly, hiding whatever noise he might have made at the tug to his horn. ]
Day after that, too.
[ With those laces loosened, it's still a task to wedge his fingers beneath the waist of his pants. Must have used blood magic to wriggle into them, he thinks dryly, before tugging them down over his hips, as far as they'll go without him having to move just yet.
There's time yet. Meanwhile he gives him another sharp nip, teasing him between teeth before releasing him, eye lifting. ]
Maybe the day after that. You'll have to let me know. Gives me something to work towards.
If I survive the ordeals to come, [ he says, by way of casual reminder of the stakes, Iron Bull, the stakes.
He's heard something about desert fleas.
But he isn't thinking about desert fleas or even his imminent potential death, not in great detail, by the time his trousers are being pulled passed his hips, exposing hotter skin to cooler air, the rough press of Iron's belt, the sturdy, rough fabric of his own pants. A slight wriggle helps the process along until there's nothing much else to do for it until Bull opts to move.
Dorian can't bring himself to urge him away. Not when he's doing wonderful things with his mouth, teeth against skin, oversensitising to the point of near discomfort, unable to get away from it and unsure if he wants to.
With Bull's harness gone, it gives Dorian unimpeded access, hands dragging away from horns to skim palms over the back of Bull's thick neck -- who knew that such an area could have so many dips and valleys, with his own neckline being a fairly fine swoop -- and down his back, fingernails setting in hard. ]
[ Stakes, indeed. Bull's answer comes in the form of scraping that trail right back down his stomach, barely pausing before his fingers wrap around Dorian's cock instead, giving the mage a firm squeeze. ]
You're not going anywhere right now.
[ Death's a present enough threat for any of them, doing what they do. Not the thing to worry about here, not now, and he's got more than one idea of how to draw Dorian's attention away from the prospect.
But first, he fully intends on making sure the job's not halfway finished. He leaves that sensitized nub puffy and reddened before turning his attention to the other. ]
[ Bull's palm and fingers bring an end(?) to sarcasm, because the sound Dorian makes is certainly sincere. His heels find leverage against the mattress to push his hips up into it, before his attention is paired between that and Bull's mouth straying back to his chest.
Another inward hiss at the first touch of teeth, head falling back against the sheets as he shifts beneath Bull in the mess that's been made of his robes, trousers caught up around his thighs. Certainly vain enough to be taken by the image he certainly must make (to Bull, and to anonymous disapproving onlookers that always seem to take an audience in the back of his mind), he still drinks in what he can of silvery skin, weathered horns, the impressive horizon of a warrior's shoulder span adapted to heavy armor and heavy weapons, the friction of stubble where it scrapes at his torso.
He pushes back, picking up the challenge he hears poised in Bull's words, still getting used to the security of the knowledge that Bull means what he says. ]
[ It takes a not entirely insignificant measure of restraint to pull himself away, even for a moment. He's playing the brute here but the truth is just a mask or two away, and he doubts even Dorian realizes just how badly he wants him.
One of a thousand things kept carefully in check, even when he pretends not to.
So it's very deliberate, the way he loosens his grip in the wake of that strangled, throaty noise that goes straight to his cock, and hitches his hands at Dorian's thighs, pushing his legs up far enough to finish tugging his trousers free and sending them sailing to land on the bed's edge. That done, there has to be a moment taken to admire the picture he makes, because yes. It's everything Dorian thinks it is.
And there's that love bite, dark against the crook of his neck. Bull's fingers move to trace against it, before giving it a testing press. Like this, it's easy to slip his hand further back, to encircle his throat. Just to hold him in place while he squirms. Dorian likes the danger, after all, the tease of roughness, because he thinks he's not supposed to enjoy this. Lying with a Qunari. With a man.
Bull just likes that thrill Dorian gets that lights up his eyes. ]
Maybe I'll just keep you here. Find ways of keeping you...occupied.
[ The press to the damp bruise nestled at his neck gets a token protest, chin steering away, before his throat is captured in the twin sensations of careful and firm that he's beginning to associate with Bull. Not gentle, exactly, but considered, measured, so in control that if Dorian was in the habit of having insecurity about his worth in bed, it might give him a twinge.
It doesn't, and he knows better. Enough, anyway. He swallows under the dull pressure, eyes bright, his pulse easily detected and hiking up in pace, chin tilting higher to give himself room as his hands settle on Bull's arm. ]
Some--
[ Answering banter comes out more strained and fluttery than is dignified, blinking hard at himself before trying again. ] Some might notice. Eventually.
[ Hands and mouth and handling has ensured he's already hard, erection firm against his belly and heavy feeling. He has no idea how Bull is faring, and attempts to push his thigh between his legs as if to find out. ]
[ Bull's teeth flash in a grin, leaning in just low enough to linger above his lips, a tease of what he could have, when he feels Dorian shift and press up against the tent of his pants and yes. Bull is definitely hard, noticeably so with him pressed up against him like that.
Only response is in kind, shifting and pressing a thigh between Dorian's own, leaning forward until his hips trap Dorian's cock firmly against his stomach. Any movement at all results in tugging, rubbing, fresh friction as he cocks his head knowingly. ]
Looking for something?
[ And then his free hand find the jut of Dorian's hip, curls there firm, claiming, pulling him upwards off the sheets, and damn but he feels good against him. ]
[ Yes, very funny, Dorian's lips twitching into the beginning of an answering sneer before he manages to push his thigh up against the juncture of Bull's-- and then the answering pressure as Bull pushes back down, pulls him in.
He has to wrangle his own restraint to stop himself from simply rutting against the other man and into all that friction and pressure; but he's not still, forcing the squirm of his hips up against the qunari into something more deliberate, hooking his outer leg to wrap up around his waist, heel against the back of his thigh as leverage, as if attempting to push back on Bull's composure (considering the state of his own). To find those cracks he's not even aware of existing. ]
[ It does more than he knows, even with the low growl it earns, Bull's breath warm against his lips even as teeth nip at him in response. The game of it falls in and out of importance as they both grind together, savoring the contact, the texture and the urgency of it pressing ever closer. ]
Then let's see if we can't help you with that.
[ The grip on his throat eases, and Bull reaches instead for the battered little end-table that the wine now sits so precariously on, past the bottle for another, before prying the cork free with a tug of his teeth.
The oil smells much the same as it did in the tent, and his fingers get a generous amount spilled over them before pries Dorian's thighs apart, just far enough to get between them. He doesn't move far, however, keeps close enough to hover, to keep him pinned to the bed as that first coaxing touch trails over that tight ring of muscle. ]
[ Dorian's thighs open beneath the cursory shove of Bull's hands, unfolded, but strain still sets in his muscles in subtle twitches up along his thighs, low in his abdomen, pushing back against where he's kept pushed into the bed. Revelling in it, as he has been, drinking in the extra focus necessary to keep him in place.
And it's been a little while, actually, since he's done this, and naturally it's the sort of thought that intrudes right as it's happening and otherwise unremarked on the rest of the time save to, now and then, make light of all the sex he's not been having. No nerves, save for the ones that generate feelings of anticipation.
He makes a soft, unbidden sound at that initial touch, the comparatively cool, slick suggestion of oil. His jaw firms, like he's biting back any urge to spur Bull along, that soft ah all he's getting. ]
[ It could be a tease as much as a command, the way he nips at his ear as one finger circles slow. Even a savage brute could tell that he'll get hurt unnecessarily if they move too quickly, and this is less gentle than it is methodical. Taking back whatever composure might have been lost if only to make certain that Dorian's ready when that first slick digit nudges inside.
That tight, that heat, puts another crack on the facade, however. His voice is a little rougher this time. ]
Come on, big guy. Don't forget to breathe.
[ And there's emphasis on the word, the way he drags free and presses back in, down to the second knuckle, flexing against that initial resistance as he gives his throat another slow, sucking bite. ]
[ Dorian's knees edge a little higher, relenting. Relaxing. Breathing, too, breath warm and damp where it whispers along Bull's scarred cheek, verging on an indignant huff at what is either teasing or command and most certainly that accursed nickname (that he's never protested)-- indignant, anyway, until he feels Bull's mouth on his throat again.
He closes his eyes, melting beneath it as his head tips aside, his hands having wandered up onto Bull's arms, gripping.
Remaining otherwise still while Bull's hand works between his legs, oil warming swiftly between them, painting up the inner tops of his thighs as obscenely as the way he can feel his own pulse in his cock. Dorian slides his hands up back along shoulders, tracking a path that's becoming familiar, to better hook hands around horns. And tugging, but inwards, encouraging the feeling of tongue and teeth and sucking pressure, and the growls he usually gains when he does that. ]
[ The word smears against his skin with a low chuckle, a rough breath, and then a second finger presses in against the first. Tight again, where he'd been relaxing so well, but he's got to take more. So much more, and it's gonna feel so good once they're there, but he'll not have him regretting a second of this. Not for anything he can help.
There are other factors too, reasons he expects when it's done, but they don't have a place here and now. Everything about Dorian says yes right now, the way he tips his head back and gives, gripping and trying to please as he's being pleased. No, not greedy at all.
So he gives, too. Lips brush his ear and another low rumble catches in his throat as his fingers push deep, working him open in steady, rhythmic thrusts, the slick sound audible easily over the distinct lack of words. ]
[ Spurious accusation gets an answering chuckle, one that hitches and turns into something else as another finger pushes in along with the first, that familiar burn and pressure and slow easing as instinctive resistance is coaxed away.
His hands slide down away from rough-textured horns, down Bull's jaw and throat, fingernails scratching along stubble. He turns his head to track that same path with his mouth, lips and tongue against rough, scratchy skin, muttering words into it; ]
[ Every little noise is filed away, from the throaty chuckles to the slight catches in his breath. It's habit to study people, the way they react, the way they move and speak, and put all that to use.
But this is different. He wants to know for himself the shape Dorian's mouth takes when he pushes deeper and scrapes against that little patch of nerves. He wants the scent of his skin and his ridiculous soaps and the tickle of his now throughly untidy mustache as he mouths a path down Bull's jawline.
He wants, selfishly. And he knows how dangerous that is. ]
Maybe more than you can handle.
[ It's got the edge of a tease, safer that way, and he turns his head to nuzzle messily into Dorian's dark hair and thrusts, curling his thick fingers against him once more. ]
[ Dorian's witty repartee comes out as more of an indignant moue, inarticulate as Bull's fingers push deeply and hook wickedly. The next breath out comes out shuddery, felt in close quarters, eyes closed as he feels the indistinct push of Bull's face into his hair. It's an odd feeling, an affectionate feeling, somehow throwing itself into the foreground of sensory input and planting a tiny smolder in his heart, despite the fact he has two large fingers working his arse.
Which isn't underestimated either, thighs spread wide, small twitches of abortive movements to keep his hips still. His next kiss beneath Bull's jaw is more of a bite of his troubles. ]
I can handle you, [ he asserts, once he has his voice back, on a delay. Playing at prim and bossy is undermined by strain, the sound of his breathing. Hands settled on Bull's shoulders rake down, a nail catching past a nipple, over the lingering indentation of his harness, over scars. ] All bits of you. Including that giant qunari cock of yours you've neglected this wh-whole time.
[ One sharp intake of breath later, and Dorian has Bull's fingers winding in his hair, tugging his head upwards, and those fingers sink in as deeply as they can go. ]
Think so? Already got a pretty picture in your head?
[ The words growl into the corner of his mouth, drawing back slow and only pushing back with a third slick digit, twisting slowly on the press back inside Dorian's body. Almost there, and the anticipation of it is doing as much as the mage's attempts to crack his composure. His efforts earn a sharp nip to his lower lip. ]
The way you're going to look with my cock stretching that slick hole of yours open?
[ He wants to play that game? Bull's happy to oblige him. ]
[ Cracks in composure, retaliation-- both of these are ideal outcomes, and the noise of protest Dorian makes as he's pulled back sounds more pleased with himself than actual discomfort. He sets his teeth against his own abused bottom lip, grey eyes warm and hooded. His dark skin is flushed and hot, throat swallowing around the words pressed near his mouth.
He sets his heels up and behind Bull's waist, pushing, pulling him in, inasmuch as he is something of an immovable option, but the point is mainly to be felt. ]
Oh, yes. I do make a lovely visage, don't I?
[ Eyes flashing, he moves a hand, and Bull can feel the graze of his knuckles against his stomach, reaching down in between them, Dorian seeking out his own trapped cock with a level stare back up at him. ]
Folded up under you, trying to move as you do, saying your name...
[ And whether that's in regards to the words or the exploratory touches, it hardly seems to matter. Though Bull does cock his hips forward, pressing up into the warmth of Dorian's palm, the lid of his eye lowering slightly.
Meanwhile his fingers flex, spreading slightly inside of him, stretching as they withdraw and pressing together again on the slick slide back. It's coming easier now, as close to being ready as he can get him, and every little shudder he can pluck out of his taut body is just another win.
[ Fingernails scratch over belt buckle, over the rough fabric of trousers, finding the shape of Bull's cock through it and not doing very much about it save to goad him in the same way words are shaped to.
Words he still has, but they're distractable, rough in his throat. ]
This, inside me, every inch. Leaving me ruined, exhausted, dripping, insensible. Finish me off and then take what you've earned until you're satisfied.
[ His hand strays, winding fingers around his own cock, and the next low sound he makes is pushed more deliberately past his teeth. ]
That is, of course, if I don't see to things myself--
[ It's quite abrupt when he snares Dorian's wrist, pinning into the pillows above his head. That sharp smile returns, one eyebrow crooking. ]
Oh, no. That? Is for me.
[ The bottle of oil is still nearby, thankfully, and a good thing too. Dorian's patience is starting to slip, and his, not doing much better. But it means pulling those fingers out of him, feeling the way his body still clings to them as they slip free...
The sound of leather slipping free is obvious enough, as is the heavy 'thump' over the side that follows. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ He gets a few inches before Bull hooks his fingers into his belt, dragging him back down under in a fraction of a second. Not quite restraint yet, but certainly the idea of being inescapable.
Interesting how that all ties in, the Ben-Hassrath part of his brain thinks, Dorian and his need to run. To untangle himself before he gets hurt. But he doesn't want to run from this, and if he can't? So much the easier. ]
You like it.
[ The gap in his robes is yanked open further, and this is definitely a sight made better by decent lighting. One hand spans the warm musculature of his stomach, lean and taut, before turning his nails inward and pulling upwards in a slow, blunt scrape. ]
Not really so delicate as all that.
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He does like it.
And he likes that the attraction of gravity that causes his thoughts to wander Bull's way is turned into something physical, something he can't get away from in the form of big hands, and even the mattress sloping down where Bull has settled his weight.
This last part gets a chuckle, a little breathless. ] Is that what you like?
[ His hands travel downwards, this time participating, undoing the ties that lace up the front of his trousers. A little slower and a lot more prim than the treatment of his robes, which will be tossed at a seamstress along with a generous tip and zero explanation. ]
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Noble, but willing to fight tooth and nail. ]
I like a lot of things.
[ Bull's lips curve, as he reaches to unbuckle the leather harness at his shoulder. The straps slither free of their fastenings, falling heavily the floor beside the bed before leans low, nuzzling a line up along one of those brief indentions of pink against his belly. ]
Keeping my promises among them.
[ Which is all the warning he gets before his tongue darts out against Dorian's nipple, teeth soon to follow in a slow drag against his skin. ]
no subject
I'm getting that about you.
[ The less clothing he has and the more his nerves spark under touch and the more blood drains groinwards, the more his own inhibitions (the ones he might claim he doesn't have, just manners) crumble. He grips a horn roughly, above where it curves, the dull feeling of a distant squeeze and the slight pressure of indirect wrangling. ]
And I have every intention of leaving [ he says, tone velvety, huskier ] with vivid recollection. I want to feel this tomorrow.
no subject
Day after that, too.
[ With those laces loosened, it's still a task to wedge his fingers beneath the waist of his pants. Must have used blood magic to wriggle into them, he thinks dryly, before tugging them down over his hips, as far as they'll go without him having to move just yet.
There's time yet. Meanwhile he gives him another sharp nip, teasing him between teeth before releasing him, eye lifting. ]
Maybe the day after that. You'll have to let me know. Gives me something to work towards.
no subject
He's heard something about desert fleas.
But he isn't thinking about desert fleas or even his imminent potential death, not in great detail, by the time his trousers are being pulled passed his hips, exposing hotter skin to cooler air, the rough press of Iron's belt, the sturdy, rough fabric of his own pants. A slight wriggle helps the process along until there's nothing much else to do for it until Bull opts to move.
Dorian can't bring himself to urge him away. Not when he's doing wonderful things with his mouth, teeth against skin, oversensitising to the point of near discomfort, unable to get away from it and unsure if he wants to.
With Bull's harness gone, it gives Dorian unimpeded access, hands dragging away from horns to skim palms over the back of Bull's thick neck -- who knew that such an area could have so many dips and valleys, with his own neckline being a fairly fine swoop -- and down his back, fingernails setting in hard. ]
no subject
[ Stakes, indeed. Bull's answer comes in the form of scraping that trail right back down his stomach, barely pausing before his fingers wrap around Dorian's cock instead, giving the mage a firm squeeze. ]
You're not going anywhere right now.
[ Death's a present enough threat for any of them, doing what they do. Not the thing to worry about here, not now, and he's got more than one idea of how to draw Dorian's attention away from the prospect.
But first, he fully intends on making sure the job's not halfway finished. He leaves that sensitized nub puffy and reddened before turning his attention to the other. ]
no subject
Another inward hiss at the first touch of teeth, head falling back against the sheets as he shifts beneath Bull in the mess that's been made of his robes, trousers caught up around his thighs. Certainly vain enough to be taken by the image he certainly must make (to Bull, and to anonymous disapproving onlookers that always seem to take an audience in the back of his mind), he still drinks in what he can of silvery skin, weathered horns, the impressive horizon of a warrior's shoulder span adapted to heavy armor and heavy weapons, the friction of stubble where it scrapes at his torso.
He pushes back, picking up the challenge he hears poised in Bull's words, still getting used to the security of the knowledge that Bull means what he says. ]
no subject
One of a thousand things kept carefully in check, even when he pretends not to.
So it's very deliberate, the way he loosens his grip in the wake of that strangled, throaty noise that goes straight to his cock, and hitches his hands at Dorian's thighs, pushing his legs up far enough to finish tugging his trousers free and sending them sailing to land on the bed's edge. That done, there has to be a moment taken to admire the picture he makes, because yes. It's everything Dorian thinks it is.
And there's that love bite, dark against the crook of his neck. Bull's fingers move to trace against it, before giving it a testing press. Like this, it's easy to slip his hand further back, to encircle his throat. Just to hold him in place while he squirms. Dorian likes the danger, after all, the tease of roughness, because he thinks he's not supposed to enjoy this. Lying with a Qunari. With a man.
Bull just likes that thrill Dorian gets that lights up his eyes. ]
Maybe I'll just keep you here. Find ways of keeping you...occupied.
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It doesn't, and he knows better. Enough, anyway. He swallows under the dull pressure, eyes bright, his pulse easily detected and hiking up in pace, chin tilting higher to give himself room as his hands settle on Bull's arm. ]
Some--
[ Answering banter comes out more strained and fluttery than is dignified, blinking hard at himself before trying again. ] Some might notice. Eventually.
[ Hands and mouth and handling has ensured he's already hard, erection firm against his belly and heavy feeling. He has no idea how Bull is faring, and attempts to push his thigh between his legs as if to find out. ]
no subject
[ Bull's teeth flash in a grin, leaning in just low enough to linger above his lips, a tease of what he could have, when he feels Dorian shift and press up against the tent of his pants and yes. Bull is definitely hard, noticeably so with him pressed up against him like that.
Only response is in kind, shifting and pressing a thigh between Dorian's own, leaning forward until his hips trap Dorian's cock firmly against his stomach. Any movement at all results in tugging, rubbing, fresh friction as he cocks his head knowingly. ]
Looking for something?
[ And then his free hand find the jut of Dorian's hip, curls there firm, claiming, pulling him upwards off the sheets, and damn but he feels good against him. ]
no subject
He has to wrangle his own restraint to stop himself from simply rutting against the other man and into all that friction and pressure; but he's not still, forcing the squirm of his hips up against the qunari into something more deliberate, hooking his outer leg to wrap up around his waist, heel against the back of his thigh as leverage, as if attempting to push back on Bull's composure (considering the state of his own). To find those cracks he's not even aware of existing. ]
I am, [ he confirms, at a husky purr. ]
no subject
Then let's see if we can't help you with that.
[ The grip on his throat eases, and Bull reaches instead for the battered little end-table that the wine now sits so precariously on, past the bottle for another, before prying the cork free with a tug of his teeth.
The oil smells much the same as it did in the tent, and his fingers get a generous amount spilled over them before pries Dorian's thighs apart, just far enough to get between them. He doesn't move far, however, keeps close enough to hover, to keep him pinned to the bed as that first coaxing touch trails over that tight ring of muscle. ]
no subject
And it's been a little while, actually, since he's done this, and naturally it's the sort of thought that intrudes right as it's happening and otherwise unremarked on the rest of the time save to, now and then, make light of all the sex he's not been having. No nerves, save for the ones that generate feelings of anticipation.
He makes a soft, unbidden sound at that initial touch, the comparatively cool, slick suggestion of oil. His jaw firms, like he's biting back any urge to spur Bull along, that soft ah all he's getting. ]
no subject
[ It could be a tease as much as a command, the way he nips at his ear as one finger circles slow. Even a savage brute could tell that he'll get hurt unnecessarily if they move too quickly, and this is less gentle than it is methodical. Taking back whatever composure might have been lost if only to make certain that Dorian's ready when that first slick digit nudges inside.
That tight, that heat, puts another crack on the facade, however. His voice is a little rougher this time. ]
Come on, big guy. Don't forget to breathe.
[ And there's emphasis on the word, the way he drags free and presses back in, down to the second knuckle, flexing against that initial resistance as he gives his throat another slow, sucking bite. ]
no subject
He closes his eyes, melting beneath it as his head tips aside, his hands having wandered up onto Bull's arms, gripping.
Remaining otherwise still while Bull's hand works between his legs, oil warming swiftly between them, painting up the inner tops of his thighs as obscenely as the way he can feel his own pulse in his cock. Dorian slides his hands up back along shoulders, tracking a path that's becoming familiar, to better hook hands around horns. And tugging, but inwards, encouraging the feeling of tongue and teeth and sucking pressure, and the growls he usually gains when he does that. ]
no subject
[ The word smears against his skin with a low chuckle, a rough breath, and then a second finger presses in against the first. Tight again, where he'd been relaxing so well, but he's got to take more. So much more, and it's gonna feel so good once they're there, but he'll not have him regretting a second of this. Not for anything he can help.
There are other factors too, reasons he expects when it's done, but they don't have a place here and now. Everything about Dorian says yes right now, the way he tips his head back and gives, gripping and trying to please as he's being pleased. No, not greedy at all.
So he gives, too. Lips brush his ear and another low rumble catches in his throat as his fingers push deep, working him open in steady, rhythmic thrusts, the slick sound audible easily over the distinct lack of words. ]
no subject
His hands slide down away from rough-textured horns, down Bull's jaw and throat, fingernails scratching along stubble. He turns his head to track that same path with his mouth, lips and tongue against rough, scratchy skin, muttering words into it; ]
Good thing there's so very much of you.
no subject
But this is different. He wants to know for himself the shape Dorian's mouth takes when he pushes deeper and scrapes against that little patch of nerves. He wants the scent of his skin and his ridiculous soaps and the tickle of his now throughly untidy mustache as he mouths a path down Bull's jawline.
He wants, selfishly. And he knows how dangerous that is. ]
Maybe more than you can handle.
[ It's got the edge of a tease, safer that way, and he turns his head to nuzzle messily into Dorian's dark hair and thrusts, curling his thick fingers against him once more. ]
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Which isn't underestimated either, thighs spread wide, small twitches of abortive movements to keep his hips still. His next kiss beneath Bull's jaw is more of a bite of his troubles. ]
I can handle you, [ he asserts, once he has his voice back, on a delay. Playing at prim and bossy is undermined by strain, the sound of his breathing. Hands settled on Bull's shoulders rake down, a nail catching past a nipple, over the lingering indentation of his harness, over scars. ] All bits of you. Including that giant qunari cock of yours you've neglected this wh-whole time.
no subject
Think so? Already got a pretty picture in your head?
[ The words growl into the corner of his mouth, drawing back slow and only pushing back with a third slick digit, twisting slowly on the press back inside Dorian's body. Almost there, and the anticipation of it is doing as much as the mage's attempts to crack his composure. His efforts earn a sharp nip to his lower lip. ]
The way you're going to look with my cock stretching that slick hole of yours open?
[ He wants to play that game? Bull's happy to oblige him. ]
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He sets his heels up and behind Bull's waist, pushing, pulling him in, inasmuch as he is something of an immovable option, but the point is mainly to be felt. ]
Oh, yes. I do make a lovely visage, don't I?
[ Eyes flashing, he moves a hand, and Bull can feel the graze of his knuckles against his stomach, reaching down in between them, Dorian seeking out his own trapped cock with a level stare back up at him. ]
Folded up under you, trying to move as you do, saying your name...
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[ And whether that's in regards to the words or the exploratory touches, it hardly seems to matter. Though Bull does cock his hips forward, pressing up into the warmth of Dorian's palm, the lid of his eye lowering slightly.
Meanwhile his fingers flex, spreading slightly inside of him, stretching as they withdraw and pressing together again on the slick slide back. It's coming easier now, as close to being ready as he can get him, and every little shudder he can pluck out of his taut body is just another win.
For both of them, really. ]
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Words he still has, but they're distractable, rough in his throat. ]
This, inside me, every inch. Leaving me ruined, exhausted, dripping, insensible. Finish me off and then take what you've earned until you're satisfied.
[ His hand strays, winding fingers around his own cock, and the next low sound he makes is pushed more deliberately past his teeth. ]
That is, of course, if I don't see to things myself--
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Oh, no. That? Is for me.
[ The bottle of oil is still nearby, thankfully, and a good thing too. Dorian's patience is starting to slip, and his, not doing much better. But it means pulling those fingers out of him, feeling the way his body still clings to them as they slip free...
The sound of leather slipping free is obvious enough, as is the heavy 'thump' over the side that follows. ]
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