[ It's a distant sensation against the actual horn, but still felt. Still pleasurable. And Zevran seems to be enjoying himself. He really needs to invest in that mirror, someday.
In the meanwhile he's happy with what he has, here in his hands. Slipping the waist of Zevran's trousers down over his hips is an easy thing, peeling downward in slow tugs, inch by inch, until that beautiful cock of his falls free, easily caught in the curl of his palm. ]
Is there anything else you'd like to hear me say? Much as for you it's always the horns- for me?
[ He cuts himself off with a soft moan, shivering from toe tip to ear tip at the heat of Bull's palm. Qunari and Wardens- they always run hot. ] It is the accent. Or the tattoos.
[ More than just the horns, the scars, the fine point of Bull's ears- duller than an elf's and far less delicate- call to Zevran's attention. One hand still trailing and stroking along Bull's horn he dips his head enough to bite at the point, soothing it afterward with the brush of his tongue. ]
[ With Zevran tilting his head to get at his ear -- a move that has a low almost-growl coming out of the Qunari -- he's left his throat open. A move Bull doesn't hesitate to use, lips and teeth bearing down to suck against his skin slow, rhythmically.
All as he lets his fingers roll over Zevran's cock, squeezing firm now and then just to feel the slide of warm, hard flesh rubbing against the inside of his palm. ]
[ Curled close like this Zevran's moan is more felt than heard- a subvocal rumble through his throat that burrs past his lips where they're fastened around the tip of Bull's ear. Languid. That's the word for this-
Languid. Savoring. Before it'd been slow and hard and aching and this is- if not sweeter? Kinder. Giving him a gentler descent.
Slow and dreamy Zevran rolls his hips into that too large, too hot hand, relishing the rough glide. Clever of bull to wind him down a little, lead him into it. If asked outright at the beginning Zevran wouldn't have known what to say. But like this? It's easy to ask for what he wants. ]
I want you to open me up slow and make me come on your fingers, and then? I want to ride you, slow, until either your resolve breaks- or mine does.
[ That he's here at all says a great deal about how far he's come. Might have been that this would have been too much, that he'd need more time, more adjustment. Some never let themselves be touched again, after trauma like that.
But here Zevran is, warming under his hands and dictating exactly what he wants, and Bull's proud of him, in an odd way. The knots are coming untangled slow, and he hums in agreement and tips his head, nipping a little higher on his throat this time. ]
Go get the oil, then.
[ And he releases his hold on him with a little swat to his thigh. Gives him the chance to finish disrobing, too. ]
[ Zevran crackles a soft, half hitched laugh, torn between rolling into Bull's palm yet again or slipping off for the oil. It is the swat that makes the choice for him, rolling free to stand off to the side of the bed and strip off his trousers. It is not half so graceful as he might manage- no one looks terribly alluring hopping on one foot while attempting to untangle the other-
But he need not be terribly alluring with Bull. He needs only to be honest. It's refreshing, actually.
[ Bull's already shifted back to lean against the headboard of the bed, taking the opportunity to finish disrobing as well. Might as well. Save them the trouble later, when he's got him all worked up again.
This has no pretense to it, no need for Zevran to perform. He's a friend, here, and occasionally a friend with whom Bull will get up to all sorts of creative misadventures in bed. And there's nothing but warmth in that eye as he watches Zevran approach.
Warmth, and appreciation. Elf's still one hot piece of ass, no question there. Bull lets out a low whistle. ]
Sure you didn't drop something behind you? Might want to check.
[ Actually rolling his eyes it not something Zevran does with his lovers- he is to be charming, suave, mysterious. Such an action is none of these things and infinitely closer to his actual self for it, and yet he does it all the same with Bull, turning about and bending over to stretch out his spine and legs if nothing else. ]
I do not see anything, perhaps you are mistaken.
[ That his spine pops should worry him more than it does. It's what he gets for skipping his usual morning routine. Rolling back up pops a few more times and he sighs. Tomorrow he will start up again. ]
[ There is an ease here, a lack of need for showmanship. Not that any of that makes Zevran any less of a lover. Yet it's still refreshing to see him as he is, without the masks, and still in the process of healing.
It's always going to be a process. But that smirk is real enough. ]
Not nearly. Come here.
[ And he grins unrepentantly, crooking a finger to beckon him closer. ]
[ Again- warm and curling, a little teasing, mocking the sentiment of chivalrous affection as much as he plays into it, sweeping back to Bull's side- though he does not straddle him just yet. He stands before his massive friend, hands on his hips, head tilted faintly to the side.
An opportunity for Bull to get a good, long look. All the little tan cuts interrupting the tattoo from where the mages pulled from him he has yet to fill in. The sharpness that came from not eating well (not eating at all for awhile), the scars on his face. Not a challenge to find him handsome but-
Proving to himself he can stand under such scrutiny. That he can bear it. ]
[ And Bull grins at the sight, cocking his head slightly and not bothering to hide how he's drinking in the sight. What Zevran sees as flaws are easily just another point of interest, something that's been lived in. Has texture, a story, even if it's a terrible one.
He has his own written plainly across his body, points at which he might have fractured, fallen, and didn't. Why on Earth would he find that unappealing on anyone else? ]
[ Zevran crackles a laugh, ducking his head for a moment as he clears his throat. No there is no flush to his cheeks- dark as his skin is? Normally he does not need to worry about hiding it.
But such open appraisal not only of his perfection, but of his flaws. Appreciating them- he does not know how to take it even as he is warmed by it. Of course Bull being Bull will tell.
Oddly enough, he doesn't mind it half so much as he should.
Zevran slips into Bull's lap, arms sliding about broad shoulders as he nuzzles his way along the line of Bull's throat. ]
Hey. Dagger's every bit as good as a broadsword. All depends on what you do with it.
[ Bull chuckles, though he can't resist reaching down at the remark, smoothing a hand over his thigh before dipping between, pressing his palm up against his cock once more like a cage. A bit of friction to rub up against.
Nor can he resist giving the lobe of his ear another brief nip. ]
[ He crackles a soft laugh, hips rolling easily into Bull's hand. Slow at first, then with a faint insistence as it's a bit of friction rather than a full grip.
Not at all above such tactics he whines, pulling back enough to give Bull his saddest, most hangdog look- eartips dipped low, eyes wide and doelike. ]
No? War hammer? I'd say battleaxe, but people get funny ideas about us to start with. Don't want their imaginations going to the wrong place.
[ That grin stretches wider, letting Zevran press and rub as he tried to sate that itch, or at least push it in the right direction. It makes for a nice image, him all squirmy and needy like that.
[ And his hand pauses, arches back enough that the pressure eases, and there's a lot less to be rubbed up against. He doesn't plan leaving him like that for long, though. He's not that cruel.
[ And he does, just like that, leaving Zevran pouting in full, ears dipped to the lowest possible angle he can manage without spraining something, eyes wide and a little wet, lips in a moue of displeasure. ]
[ But Bull's got a fix for that, reaching to tug Zevran in and kiss those pouting lips. His version of an apology, perhaps. A rather vehement apology, as that. ]
You like it.
[ The words smear against his mouth with an unrepentant grin as he pops the cork, warming the oil on his fingers first before curling an arm around the elf propped against his lap. Just one finger at first, trailing back and forth, circling him before beginning to press shallowly against that initial resistance. ]
Besides, you know I give you what you want. Eventually.
[ Vehement and marvelous. Zevran melts against him in an instant, all feigned petulance dropping away in favor of sincere enjoyment.
Not that Bull's entirely forgiven, he tips his head to the side enough to nip at his bottom lip in reproach at that gradual, sliding finger. He can take more. Has. Even if he felt precarious and fragile at the moment.
Perhaps it is better that Bull is taking his time. ]
Usually when I've completely forgotten how to speak Common, but, yes.
[ They're taking it slow. Better Zevran squirm a little in impatience than trip over something they're not expecting and stopping. So he'll have to cope with a little gentle handling, easing into him as Bull occupies Zevran's mouth.
Another nip counters, tugging briefly before humming in thought. ]
[ Slow is good. Slow is what he craves, for all the frantic energy prickling at his spine. Breathing through what he wants, to lay that in someone else's hands and trust him to give him perhaps not that, but what he needs?
Does not come easily. But he tries. Hooks his hands along Bull's horns to massage the space where bone meets skin, bite back at those lips as much as he pants out soft sighs. ]
Enough to get by. Never could learn to speak it, though.
[ Common was difficult enough, for most Qunari. But there were some things that didn't need translating. Zevran when he got excited, when he was moaning out words in that slurred pitch? Said all he needed to understand.
It's the sort of thing he listens for, even now, to know when to flex his finger or thrust up, playing him open as he pants softly against his lips. ]
[ There it is. Something like a rhythm, the beginning of one, matching the shift of Zevran's hips and stroking against him from the inside. Quick, at first, then slow, long, dragging upon withdrawal.
Bull's forehead presses against his as a second finger starts nudging. He can take it, sure, but he wants to make certain he enjoys every second of it. ]
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In the meanwhile he's happy with what he has, here in his hands. Slipping the waist of Zevran's trousers down over his hips is an easy thing, peeling downward in slow tugs, inch by inch, until that beautiful cock of his falls free, easily caught in the curl of his palm. ]
It's true. I just like hearing you say it.
[ It's the simple things, truly. ]
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[ He cuts himself off with a soft moan, shivering from toe tip to ear tip at the heat of Bull's palm. Qunari and Wardens- they always run hot. ] It is the accent. Or the tattoos.
[ More than just the horns, the scars, the fine point of Bull's ears- duller than an elf's and far less delicate- call to Zevran's attention. One hand still trailing and stroking along Bull's horn he dips his head enough to bite at the point, soothing it afterward with the brush of his tongue. ]
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[ With Zevran tilting his head to get at his ear -- a move that has a low almost-growl coming out of the Qunari -- he's left his throat open. A move Bull doesn't hesitate to use, lips and teeth bearing down to suck against his skin slow, rhythmically.
All as he lets his fingers roll over Zevran's cock, squeezing firm now and then just to feel the slide of warm, hard flesh rubbing against the inside of his palm. ]
Like what you want me to do to you, tonight.
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[ Curled close like this Zevran's moan is more felt than heard- a subvocal rumble through his throat that burrs past his lips where they're fastened around the tip of Bull's ear. Languid. That's the word for this-
Languid. Savoring. Before it'd been slow and hard and aching and this is- if not sweeter? Kinder. Giving him a gentler descent.
Slow and dreamy Zevran rolls his hips into that too large, too hot hand, relishing the rough glide. Clever of bull to wind him down a little, lead him into it. If asked outright at the beginning Zevran wouldn't have known what to say. But like this? It's easy to ask for what he wants. ]
I want you to open me up slow and make me come on your fingers, and then? I want to ride you, slow, until either your resolve breaks- or mine does.
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But here Zevran is, warming under his hands and dictating exactly what he wants, and Bull's proud of him, in an odd way. The knots are coming untangled slow, and he hums in agreement and tips his head, nipping a little higher on his throat this time. ]
Go get the oil, then.
[ And he releases his hold on him with a little swat to his thigh. Gives him the chance to finish disrobing, too. ]
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[ Zevran crackles a soft, half hitched laugh, torn between rolling into Bull's palm yet again or slipping off for the oil. It is the swat that makes the choice for him, rolling free to stand off to the side of the bed and strip off his trousers. It is not half so graceful as he might manage- no one looks terribly alluring hopping on one foot while attempting to untangle the other-
But he need not be terribly alluring with Bull. He needs only to be honest. It's refreshing, actually.
Oil in hand he turns on his heel, smirking. ]
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This has no pretense to it, no need for Zevran to perform. He's a friend, here, and occasionally a friend with whom Bull will get up to all sorts of creative misadventures in bed. And there's nothing but warmth in that eye as he watches Zevran approach.
Warmth, and appreciation. Elf's still one hot piece of ass, no question there. Bull lets out a low whistle. ]
Sure you didn't drop something behind you? Might want to check.
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I do not see anything, perhaps you are mistaken.
[ That his spine pops should worry him more than it does. It's what he gets for skipping his usual morning routine. Rolling back up pops a few more times and he sighs. Tomorrow he will start up again. ]
Satisfied?
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It's always going to be a process. But that smirk is real enough. ]
Not nearly. Come here.
[ And he grins unrepentantly, crooking a finger to beckon him closer. ]
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[ Again- warm and curling, a little teasing, mocking the sentiment of chivalrous affection as much as he plays into it, sweeping back to Bull's side- though he does not straddle him just yet. He stands before his massive friend, hands on his hips, head tilted faintly to the side.
An opportunity for Bull to get a good, long look. All the little tan cuts interrupting the tattoo from where the mages pulled from him he has yet to fill in. The sharpness that came from not eating well (not eating at all for awhile), the scars on his face. Not a challenge to find him handsome but-
Proving to himself he can stand under such scrutiny. That he can bear it. ]
Here I am, Toro.
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[ And Bull grins at the sight, cocking his head slightly and not bothering to hide how he's drinking in the sight. What Zevran sees as flaws are easily just another point of interest, something that's been lived in. Has texture, a story, even if it's a terrible one.
He has his own written plainly across his body, points at which he might have fractured, fallen, and didn't. Why on Earth would he find that unappealing on anyone else? ]
A whole lot of badass in that little package.
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But such open appraisal not only of his perfection, but of his flaws. Appreciating them- he does not know how to take it even as he is warmed by it. Of course Bull being Bull will tell.
Oddly enough, he doesn't mind it half so much as he should.
Zevran slips into Bull's lap, arms sliding about broad shoulders as he nuzzles his way along the line of Bull's throat. ]
I would not call my package little.
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[ Bull chuckles, though he can't resist reaching down at the remark, smoothing a hand over his thigh before dipping between, pressing his palm up against his cock once more like a cage. A bit of friction to rub up against.
Nor can he resist giving the lobe of his ear another brief nip. ]
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[ He crackles a soft laugh, hips rolling easily into Bull's hand. Slow at first, then with a faint insistence as it's a bit of friction rather than a full grip.
Not at all above such tactics he whines, pulling back enough to give Bull his saddest, most hangdog look- eartips dipped low, eyes wide and doelike. ]
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[ That grin stretches wider, letting Zevran press and rub as he tried to sate that itch, or at least push it in the right direction. It makes for a nice image, him all squirmy and needy like that.
But at the puppy look he groans. ]
No, don't start with that. That's not fair.
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[ The more he squirms and earns little for it, the sadder his eyes become, the lower his ears droop. ]
Neither is teasing me. [ Is he pouting? Yes, just a little. ]
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[ And his hand pauses, arches back enough that the pressure eases, and there's a lot less to be rubbed up against. He doesn't plan leaving him like that for long, though. He's not that cruel.
But his expression will probably be worth it. ]
C'mon. Hand over the oil.
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[ And he does, just like that, leaving Zevran pouting in full, ears dipped to the lowest possible angle he can manage without spraining something, eyes wide and a little wet, lips in a moue of displeasure. ]
So cruel to me, Toro. So cruel.
[ He passes the oil along, still pouting. ]
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You like it.
[ The words smear against his mouth with an unrepentant grin as he pops the cork, warming the oil on his fingers first before curling an arm around the elf propped against his lap. Just one finger at first, trailing back and forth, circling him before beginning to press shallowly against that initial resistance. ]
Besides, you know I give you what you want. Eventually.
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Not that Bull's entirely forgiven, he tips his head to the side enough to nip at his bottom lip in reproach at that gradual, sliding finger. He can take more. Has. Even if he felt precarious and fragile at the moment.
Perhaps it is better that Bull is taking his time. ]
Usually when I've completely forgotten how to speak Common, but, yes.
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Another nip counters, tugging briefly before humming in thought. ]
We've only just started. There's time yet.
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Does not come easily. But he tries. Hooks his hands along Bull's horns to massage the space where bone meets skin, bite back at those lips as much as he pants out soft sighs. ]
Do you even understand that much Antivan?
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[ Common was difficult enough, for most Qunari. But there were some things that didn't need translating. Zevran when he got excited, when he was moaning out words in that slurred pitch? Said all he needed to understand.
It's the sort of thing he listens for, even now, to know when to flex his finger or thrust up, playing him open as he pants softly against his lips. ]
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[ Wait, give him a moment, it is hard to think past the slow press of Bull's finger. Unrelenting indeed.
His breath hitches, hips rocking up for a half moment before rolling down, taking more as he attempts to find his thread of thought. ]
Challenging.
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[ There it is. Something like a rhythm, the beginning of one, matching the shift of Zevran's hips and stroking against him from the inside. Quick, at first, then slow, long, dragging upon withdrawal.
Bull's forehead presses against his as a second finger starts nudging. He can take it, sure, but he wants to make certain he enjoys every second of it. ]
You've got a clever enough tongue.
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