[ 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. ]
[ Those little shifts and squeezes around him are perfect, and as slick as he is there's still that little scrap of friction when Dorian shifts against the sheets. ]
Mmm. If you were any tighter, we wouldn't fit. But you take it...
[ One of Dorian's hands is pried upwards, pinned above his head, and then Bull draws back, slowly, feeling the drag over every inch before his hips arch and he drives back in, sharply enough to feel the slap of Dorian's thighs against his hips. ]
...so well. Like I knew you would.
[ Again. And again, It's a slow build because it has to be, but a good portion of that is because Dorian does feel incredible. He looks a sight splayed out under him like this, tension playing in ripples across his leanly muscled form, and if Bull doesn't go slow he could lose himself in this too quickly.
[ There's a huff of a nearly laugh at the idea of them not fitting because that would be a fucking tragedy, but it sharpens into a moan when Bull drives back into him, low beneath Bull's words. Beneath his weight, Dorian's pinned arm coils, flexes a protest that isn't, resistance without struggle. His fingers close in his palm, tendons pressing close to skin.
Bull is big. In the crude sense, yes, but also in every other fathomable way; hard to see past, hard to struggle out from underneath, hard to think about anything else.
Which, really, is how Dorian likes it.
His available hand runs up the broad expanse of Bull's chest. His eyes are half-closed, slivers of silver between kohl-smudged eyelashes. The only thing stopping him from crumbling completely is the slight reprieve he'd been granted while slathering Bull up, and the neglect of his cock, hard against his belly and leaking, and the slow build is so necessary, and so good.
All the same-- ]
If I take it well, [ he says, voice tight in his chest, all strain and velvet ] I hope you intend on giving it to me.
[ Big words, but playful ones, humour and heat both simmering in his tone, his nails setting in on emphasis. ]
[ Bull lets out an amused noise of his own before leaning low. Low enough to graze teeth against his ear and bite, and that next thrust rucks Dorian up against the sheets. ]
Believe the word you used was 'ruin'.
[ Another snap of his hips and the mattress itself bounces, and the pace isn't slowing. He needs him too, wants to feel the way his body holds him fast, like it doesn't want to let go, only to surrender to him all over again. Another thrust, another slick slapping noise, and he reaches to pinch at Dorian's still-swollen nipple. ]
Got to say, it's got some appeal. After all, I've got you right where I want you. How long do you think I can keep you like this?
[ A chuckle, another heavy thrust, and this time no relenting pause, no second's rest to draw breath before driving deep and watching the instinctive twitch of his limbs as he's filled entire. ]
[ Dorian did use that word. Why did he use that word.
(He knows why he used that word, for the same reason it gives him a pulse of dark arousal now when Bull repeats it back at him.)
This time, the bed seems to move with them, and thrust of invasive tension takes away any humour Dorian might see in it. The bite at his ear still stings, and the pinch around sensitised, swollen flesh draws a sharp, inarticulate sound from him, these little prods of sharp driving him mad in ways specifically appropriate for the setting. ]
How l-long would-- [ Banter cuts off as Bull thrusts into him swifter than anticipated, a strangled moan mangling words, body locking up against and into as Dorian revels in that sensation, the drag of withdraw, the force of re-entry.
He doesn't remember what he was saying. He starts again. ] Kaffas. How long do you want me like this?
[ Bull's breath huffs warm against Dorian's jaw with the words, close enough for him to savor those little hitched moans and sharp breaths. And he wants more. The edge of his thumbnail catches against tender skin, just for a moment, another sharp tease before rocking his body back into the sheets once more. ]
...to have you begging for me to let you come.
[ As if to prove the point, Bull's hand drops to curl around Dorian's cock where it lies, hard and flat against his belly. But instead of urging him onward, his fingers slide towards the base and grip, tight, intent on holding him off. ]
[ In unintellectual response, Dorian knows a thrill of anticipation at the feeling of Bull's hand, hips twitching up into it just as that pressure rings a circle around the base of his cock. He gasps, sharp, his body twisting just a little beneath the other man, where his hips are pushed into the mattress and thighs spread wide. His free hand grips a big, silvery bicep.
Temporarily an open book, his expression softer and eyes bright, there's something like vulnerability behind them. The idea of demonstrating that much need. The idea of wanting to, and the more psychological arousal at words and action. Of being driven to that place.
Despite that-- ]
Then we might be here for sometime.
[ And what a tragedy that would be. But even Dorian doesn't even sound that convinced in his own staying power, eyes shutting again under the next wave of feeling, another word in Tevene snipped in half between his teeth. ]
[ Oh. And it wouldn't it have been a shame to miss that look. He pulls back just in time to catch it, the haze in those silver-bright eyes, and something in that look curls and hooks into his gut.
Good as it feels rutting into him, feeling him twitch and writhe, it's that look that earns a low noise from the Bull, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. ]
Want to find out?
[ It requires as much restraint from him as it does Dorian, after all. But there's a definite thrill in the idea of keeping him here, pushing into him and filling him, watching his face as every button he has gets pressed again and again, until he forgets to be dignified and stubborn for a few seconds. ]
[ It's an easy question, with an easy answer, for all that none of it ever comes from a place of ease. ]
Yes.
[ It almost hurts. All of this almost hurts. But treatment prior and care taken between guises of brutish ravishment mean that it truly is only an almost, his body pliant, raw, with just enough push to counter give. The real edge comes from the pressure at his cock and the clawing desperation for relief making him ache.
He angles his hips where he can, legs squeezing tighter around Bull, heels pressing. Everyone involved is going to have to earn Dorian Pavus begging for anything. ]
That means taking up the pace, letting Dorian wrap his legs around him and pounding into him at a near-relentless pace. It's almost satisfying that urge of his to just pin his legs back and fuck, to take him in earnest and toss the game aside.
Instead, when that pressure starts to wind up, when he feels Dorian's legs start to tremble, he eases back. Those thrusts come slower, longer. He lets himself feel the friction of muscle pulling tight around him and yielding, over and over again.
He catches Dorian's lower lip in his teeth, grins against his jaw, and renews that reddened patch against his throat, just in case the mage didn't have enough to squirm over. ]
[ His moan is quiet but easily felt where Bull sets his mouth on Dorian's long neck, a sound that has a touch of whine in it, but how much he wants his skin unmarked is about as much as he wanted his clothing unruined, the evidence of the latter strewn around them, and evidence of the former in the way his chin tips back and aside.
The slowing down feels like something slipping away, an urgency dimming, even if the rest of his body doesn't know that. A little like a tide going out, still teasing at the edges in gentler, slowly, deliberate pushes, and he strains for more.
His hand finds its secure perch at the bend of Bull's horn, squeezing, a tug that encourages the biting, sucking feeling of his mouth. ]
[ More than just biting, too. His tongue traces the line of his pulse, warm and thrumming. There's two of those bruises at his throat now, still in easy-to-hide spots...but those places of him that hid under his clothes were tender, easier to mark. Easier to nip and scrape and watch him shiver under his teeth, feeling it the length of him through as Dorian struggled to cant his hips upwards. ]
Easy, big guy...
[ Content that he's not going to wind himself up and off any time soon, Bull's hand grows lax in its grip, enough to move in slow, steady strokes along the length of Dorian's cock. Every time he flexes, arches up into the thrust of Bull's hips, he's sliding along the inside of his palm, the crook of his fingers.
It's enough, but too slow, strained, dragging it all out until he's not certain he can take it anymore. Then it starts to build again. The muscles in his thighs strain as he starts to pound him open again, a little faster. A littler harder.
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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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[ Those little shifts and squeezes around him are perfect, and as slick as he is there's still that little scrap of friction when Dorian shifts against the sheets. ]
Mmm. If you were any tighter, we wouldn't fit. But you take it...
[ One of Dorian's hands is pried upwards, pinned above his head, and then Bull draws back, slowly, feeling the drag over every inch before his hips arch and he drives back in, sharply enough to feel the slap of Dorian's thighs against his hips. ]
...so well. Like I knew you would.
[ Again. And again, It's a slow build because it has to be, but a good portion of that is because Dorian does feel incredible. He looks a sight splayed out under him like this, tension playing in ripples across his leanly muscled form, and if Bull doesn't go slow he could lose himself in this too quickly.
And they're just getting started, now. ]
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Bull is big. In the crude sense, yes, but also in every other fathomable way; hard to see past, hard to struggle out from underneath, hard to think about anything else.
Which, really, is how Dorian likes it.
His available hand runs up the broad expanse of Bull's chest. His eyes are half-closed, slivers of silver between kohl-smudged eyelashes. The only thing stopping him from crumbling completely is the slight reprieve he'd been granted while slathering Bull up, and the neglect of his cock, hard against his belly and leaking, and the slow build is so necessary, and so good.
All the same-- ]
If I take it well, [ he says, voice tight in his chest, all strain and velvet ] I hope you intend on giving it to me.
[ Big words, but playful ones, humour and heat both simmering in his tone, his nails setting in on emphasis. ]
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Believe the word you used was 'ruin'.
[ Another snap of his hips and the mattress itself bounces, and the pace isn't slowing. He needs him too, wants to feel the way his body holds him fast, like it doesn't want to let go, only to surrender to him all over again. Another thrust, another slick slapping noise, and he reaches to pinch at Dorian's still-swollen nipple. ]
Got to say, it's got some appeal. After all, I've got you right where I want you. How long do you think I can keep you like this?
[ A chuckle, another heavy thrust, and this time no relenting pause, no second's rest to draw breath before driving deep and watching the instinctive twitch of his limbs as he's filled entire. ]
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(He knows why he used that word, for the same reason it gives him a pulse of dark arousal now when Bull repeats it back at him.)
This time, the bed seems to move with them, and thrust of invasive tension takes away any humour Dorian might see in it. The bite at his ear still stings, and the pinch around sensitised, swollen flesh draws a sharp, inarticulate sound from him, these little prods of sharp driving him mad in ways specifically appropriate for the setting. ]
How l-long would-- [ Banter cuts off as Bull thrusts into him swifter than anticipated, a strangled moan mangling words, body locking up against and into as Dorian revels in that sensation, the drag of withdraw, the force of re-entry.
He doesn't remember what he was saying. He starts again. ] Kaffas. How long do you want me like this?
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[ Bull's breath huffs warm against Dorian's jaw with the words, close enough for him to savor those little hitched moans and sharp breaths. And he wants more. The edge of his thumbnail catches against tender skin, just for a moment, another sharp tease before rocking his body back into the sheets once more. ]
...to have you begging for me to let you come.
[ As if to prove the point, Bull's hand drops to curl around Dorian's cock where it lies, hard and flat against his belly. But instead of urging him onward, his fingers slide towards the base and grip, tight, intent on holding him off. ]
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Temporarily an open book, his expression softer and eyes bright, there's something like vulnerability behind them. The idea of demonstrating that much need. The idea of wanting to, and the more psychological arousal at words and action. Of being driven to that place.
Despite that-- ]
Then we might be here for sometime.
[ And what a tragedy that would be. But even Dorian doesn't even sound that convinced in his own staying power, eyes shutting again under the next wave of feeling, another word in Tevene snipped in half between his teeth. ]
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Good as it feels rutting into him, feeling him twitch and writhe, it's that look that earns a low noise from the Bull, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. ]
Want to find out?
[ It requires as much restraint from him as it does Dorian, after all. But there's a definite thrill in the idea of keeping him here, pushing into him and filling him, watching his face as every button he has gets pressed again and again, until he forgets to be dignified and stubborn for a few seconds. ]
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[ It's an easy question, with an easy answer, for all that none of it ever comes from a place of ease. ]
Yes.
[ It almost hurts. All of this almost hurts. But treatment prior and care taken between guises of brutish ravishment mean that it truly is only an almost, his body pliant, raw, with just enough push to counter give. The real edge comes from the pressure at his cock and the clawing desperation for relief making him ache.
He angles his hips where he can, legs squeezing tighter around Bull, heels pressing. Everyone involved is going to have to earn Dorian Pavus begging for anything. ]
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That means taking up the pace, letting Dorian wrap his legs around him and pounding into him at a near-relentless pace. It's almost satisfying that urge of his to just pin his legs back and fuck, to take him in earnest and toss the game aside.
Instead, when that pressure starts to wind up, when he feels Dorian's legs start to tremble, he eases back. Those thrusts come slower, longer. He lets himself feel the friction of muscle pulling tight around him and yielding, over and over again.
He catches Dorian's lower lip in his teeth, grins against his jaw, and renews that reddened patch against his throat, just in case the mage didn't have enough to squirm over. ]
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The slowing down feels like something slipping away, an urgency dimming, even if the rest of his body doesn't know that. A little like a tide going out, still teasing at the edges in gentler, slowly, deliberate pushes, and he strains for more.
His hand finds its secure perch at the bend of Bull's horn, squeezing, a tug that encourages the biting, sucking feeling of his mouth. ]
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Easy, big guy...
[ Content that he's not going to wind himself up and off any time soon, Bull's hand grows lax in its grip, enough to move in slow, steady strokes along the length of Dorian's cock. Every time he flexes, arches up into the thrust of Bull's hips, he's sliding along the inside of his palm, the crook of his fingers.
It's enough, but too slow, strained, dragging it all out until he's not certain he can take it anymore. Then it starts to build again. The muscles in his thighs strain as he starts to pound him open again, a little faster. A littler harder.
More. More. ]
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