[ 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. ]
[ Bull's sharp smile gets an answering one by the time Dorian's arm is bent back up over his head, knife-quick and edged, then blurred away under a deep exhale as Bull withdraws his hand. The muscles in that arm, coiled, promptly relax. It's a raw feeling, this, a sort of exposure of blood close to the surface and activated nerve endings, but distraction is one of those things he's always associated with sex.
One he likes. His breath catches a little at the sounds he can't see of leather sliding and dropping. His free hand intercepts where Bull is taking up the oil again. ]
[ But he'll hear no argument. Bull's thumb brushes against the flat of Dorian's wrist, head cocking as he relinquishes the oil, curiosity getting the better of him.
That, and the notion of Dorian getting those elegant, calloused hands on him is not the worst thought he's ever had, by any means. ]
[ Getting a good amount on his palm and fingers is a messy affair, and Dorian experiencing any guilt about making liberal use of Bull's oil for his own gain seems unlikely. Enough to coat his hand, dripping between them, leaving a track of moisture low at Bull's belly as he reaches. This time, there's no teasing.
Knees and fingers both push trousers down and out of the way, and Dorian makes quick work of wrapping a fist around Bull's length. His palm slides easy and sublimely down warm flesh, more preoccupied in soaking him in oil at first, reaching as far as the hang of his sack tucked deeper between his legs. But it doesn't take long for practicality to become pleasure, in the say way Bull had hooked his fingers within Dorian just to see him react.
Here, it's a coaxing, negotiating a knife edge between teasing and relief, becoming the former the longer it might take for Bull to call time. ]
[ It isn't as soon as he realizes, which is pretty early on. Instead he lets Dorian indulge, savoring the slip and glide of his fingers as they squeeze around him, too slow and deliberate to truly take the edge off. But fair's fair. He's done worse already just to wind him up. Dorian wants to tease him? Let him.
It all comes down to the same thing. Neither of them plans on backing down and leaving things be. As if to remind him, Bull ducks his head to scrape teeth across his chest, tongue toying against one taut nipple. ]
Fasta vass, [ Dorian hisses, head having lifted just enough to make the sound of it falling back against the pillows audible along with the gesture. Both in response to the scrape of Bull's teeth and the word uttered into his chest, but mostly the latter.
[ Bull chuckles, though it trails off at the squeeze into something darker, and Dorian's thigh earns a faint smack with the palm of his hand. ]
Then get those hips up for me.
[ It might be easier with Dorian on top, to start, but the sight of him sprawled across the sheets like this is too intoxicating all on its own. He wants him just like this when he takes him for the first time.
Just had to watch him, to know when it's too much, and when it's too much. ]
[ Dorian has to swallow another laugh at the smack, mouth pressed into a thin smile as he instead draws his hand away, brushing off against sheets before finding a place to settle high on Bull's waist. Anticipation simmers back to the fore as he shifts as he's being urged to, the logistics of being fucked by a qunari only a little bit more complicated than the more equal match of other human men, or slender elves.
He remembers the word. It hasn't shaped itself inside his mouth at any point, but its existence had let him provoke and behave as he might not have done otherwise. Now, Dorian obliges Iron Bull with a nod, sober and swift, if still with a glimmer of amusement in his eye. ]
[ Amusement is good. The corner of Bull's mouth quirks upwards before he leans in, close enough to smell the body-warm scent of him. One hand drags against his belly, warm and steadying, before slipping lower to catch hold of himself.
It's a different matter when you've had a few goes, ridden the Bull a few times before, and you know what you're in for. First time should always go slow, at least to start.
The head of his cock drags against him, shallowly circling where he's been stretched and slickened, before it catches. And damn, even with all the prep work, Dorian's still incredibly tight, all clench and heat as Bull arches and pushes in, just an inch or two to start. ]
[ Bold words of moments ago dry up quickly as Dorian's mouth parts at the first feeling of pressure, of that girth entering him exquisitely slowly, smoothly. His own body acts of its own accord in a ring of pressure and resistance despite the slick, despite his hips tilting to receive him, legs finding a more secure settle high and folded against Bull's sides.
Bull is close, intimate in ways that don't seem altogether incidental. It would be easy for touches to turn into caresses, for heat to turn to affection. When he lifts his head to steal a kiss, he makes sure there's some bite. ]
[ Gentle affection isn't really their thing, he's noticed. But that doesn't mean he gives any less, a sharp kiss met with one just as hungry, just as wanting.
More, now, easing into him and feeling that slick heat pressing tight around him. Bull's hands shift to grip Dorian's lean thighs, holding him steady, ready to slow if the tension builds too quickly and pleasure turns too readily to pain. He has to be mindful, always.
But Dorian can take it. He wants to, wants this, no question there. And that should be enough. ]
[ Dorian's muscles are firm and coiled in tension beneath Bull's hands, but it's not a protesting, unwelcoming tension, assisting mainly in the angle of his hips. He tries to keep the parts of him that matter relaxed, in the same way his breathing streams steady, if a little fluttery, in the space between kisses.
His head falls back again as Bull pushes in deeper, filling him, pressing and stretching. Muscles twitch, contract of their own free will, making him gasp in.
Before it can be misconstrued-- ]
Keep going, [ he utters. He refocuses vision that had wandered over Bull's features, settling on his remaining, pale eye. ] Don't stop.
[ Can't rightly refuse him anything. It's something of a problem, just not right now.
Gazes locked, Bull lets him have those last few inches in one slick thrust, hips smacking against the back of his thighs. He can feel the instinctive quiver, the tension of his body struggling to adjust, and one hand smooths against his thigh. ]
That's it. Just breathe.
[ Bull's got him, he's not going anywhere. That shivering tension will ease, enough to move without hurting him, and he's watching him carefully. Even as he marvels inwardly at how good it feels to be buried inside of him, feeling the way he clutches tight around him.
[ Breathing is a good idea, having temporarily forgotten when Bull slid inside of him, a sensation that feels both completely easy and natural and slick and then, immediately, foreign, invasive, a ripple of muscle forcing a soft, shuddering sound out of Dorian, hands in sheets and clenching.
Breathing, though. He does so shallowly, and his eyes close as he waits out this moment of adaptation. He shifts, just a little, as if conflicted between attempting to lessen what borders on too much and already needing that movement, that relief, where Bull inside him presses unrelentingly against sensitive spots.
Dorian's hands have landed on the sheets and torn robe fabric on either side of them, gripping, loosening. ]
You feel--
[ Another internal shiver squeezes around Bull, slightly more deliberate than compulsive, even if every sound out of Dorian comes unbidden, a little strangled. ]
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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. ]
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[ 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. ]
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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. ]
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[ 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. ]
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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.
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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.
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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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One he likes. His breath catches a little at the sounds he can't see of leather sliding and dropping. His free hand intercepts where Bull is taking up the oil again. ]
Then that must certainly be for me.
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[ But he'll hear no argument. Bull's thumb brushes against the flat of Dorian's wrist, head cocking as he relinquishes the oil, curiosity getting the better of him.
That, and the notion of Dorian getting those elegant, calloused hands on him is not the worst thought he's ever had, by any means. ]
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Knees and fingers both push trousers down and out of the way, and Dorian makes quick work of wrapping a fist around Bull's length. His palm slides easy and sublimely down warm flesh, more preoccupied in soaking him in oil at first, reaching as far as the hang of his sack tucked deeper between his legs. But it doesn't take long for practicality to become pleasure, in the say way Bull had hooked his fingers within Dorian just to see him react.
Here, it's a coaxing, negotiating a knife edge between teasing and relief, becoming the former the longer it might take for Bull to call time. ]
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It all comes down to the same thing. Neither of them plans on backing down and leaving things be. As if to remind him, Bull ducks his head to scrape teeth across his chest, tongue toying against one taut nipple. ]
Stalling?
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His hand squeezes, all demand. ]
Not intentionally.
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Then get those hips up for me.
[ It might be easier with Dorian on top, to start, but the sight of him sprawled across the sheets like this is too intoxicating all on its own. He wants him just like this when he takes him for the first time.
Just had to watch him, to know when it's too much, and when it's too much. ]
Remember the word?
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He remembers the word. It hasn't shaped itself inside his mouth at any point, but its existence had let him provoke and behave as he might not have done otherwise. Now, Dorian obliges Iron Bull with a nod, sober and swift, if still with a glimmer of amusement in his eye. ]
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[ Amusement is good. The corner of Bull's mouth quirks upwards before he leans in, close enough to smell the body-warm scent of him. One hand drags against his belly, warm and steadying, before slipping lower to catch hold of himself.
It's a different matter when you've had a few goes, ridden the Bull a few times before, and you know what you're in for. First time should always go slow, at least to start.
The head of his cock drags against him, shallowly circling where he's been stretched and slickened, before it catches. And damn, even with all the prep work, Dorian's still incredibly tight, all clench and heat as Bull arches and pushes in, just an inch or two to start. ]
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Bull is close, intimate in ways that don't seem altogether incidental. It would be easy for touches to turn into caresses, for heat to turn to affection. When he lifts his head to steal a kiss, he makes sure there's some bite. ]
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More, now, easing into him and feeling that slick heat pressing tight around him. Bull's hands shift to grip Dorian's lean thighs, holding him steady, ready to slow if the tension builds too quickly and pleasure turns too readily to pain. He has to be mindful, always.
But Dorian can take it. He wants to, wants this, no question there. And that should be enough. ]
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His head falls back again as Bull pushes in deeper, filling him, pressing and stretching. Muscles twitch, contract of their own free will, making him gasp in.
Before it can be misconstrued-- ]
Keep going, [ he utters. He refocuses vision that had wandered over Bull's features, settling on his remaining, pale eye. ] Don't stop.
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Gazes locked, Bull lets him have those last few inches in one slick thrust, hips smacking against the back of his thighs. He can feel the instinctive quiver, the tension of his body struggling to adjust, and one hand smooths against his thigh. ]
That's it. Just breathe.
[ Bull's got him, he's not going anywhere. That shivering tension will ease, enough to move without hurting him, and he's watching him carefully. Even as he marvels inwardly at how good it feels to be buried inside of him, feeling the way he clutches tight around him.
Dorian's always run hot, now's no exception. ]
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Breathing, though. He does so shallowly, and his eyes close as he waits out this moment of adaptation. He shifts, just a little, as if conflicted between attempting to lessen what borders on too much and already needing that movement, that relief, where Bull inside him presses unrelentingly against sensitive spots.
Dorian's hands have landed on the sheets and torn robe fabric on either side of them, gripping, loosening. ]
You feel--
[ Another internal shiver squeezes around Bull, slightly more deliberate than compulsive, even if every sound out of Dorian comes unbidden, a little strangled. ]
--very, deeply good.
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