[ 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.
[ It's a preemptive relief, the feeling of Bull's hand opening around his cock, and Dorian rewards it by matching that long, deliberate rhythm. Easy, he's told, and easy he gives, at once tense and languid. There's something in this withdrawing from the brink he enjoys, something about luxuriating in it more than a simple race to the finish allows.
All the same. As Bull begins to build them back towards that threshold, Dorian greedily relaxes into allowing it, save for where he can't relax, the twitches and flexes and gasps. ]
Yes... [ he breathes out, the s cut sharp on his teeth. The bed moves beneath them, straining under weight, the driving movements of the man above him, which makes it feel as if perhaps all of Skyhold is rocking gently. ] Bull...
[ But he abandons his grip on Dorian's cock, in favor of grasping at his other wrist, pinning both above his head. The effect of it, leaving Dorian stretched against the bed at a wanton angle, encouraged a twitch of his own cock as it stretched him wide again and again. Faster. Harder. Hard enough to have his balls smacking against the back of Dorian's slick thighs, sinking hilt-deep with each thrust.
After that? It's easy to pin both his wrists in the grasp of one massive hand, leaving the other free to give the curve of his ass a firm, encouraging smack.
The words are all but growled into the curve of his jaw. ]
[ Pinning Dorian to the bed is an easy affair, even beside Bull's equally easy strength; resistance coiled in his arms is reflexive only, firms up a little as that one big hand grasps his wrists like he is far more dainty than he's actually is. The sensation is a compelling one, his blood rushing in a way that makes him feel the entirety of his body is blushing.
Basking in Bull's gaze is not remotely abashed, however. He clings where he can with the press of his knees, a soft noise of complaint, for the hand lifting away from his cock, sharply cut off with the next driving thrust, his hands knotting into fists as his eyes close, face turning aside into his own open elbow.
The smack is rewarded mainly with a soft gasp, too in the moment to play at indignance, his whole body going taut like a bowstring between the juncture of their hips, and his wrists pinned to the mattress. ]
Bull, [ he echoes, eyes opening with hard blinks, chin tipping to open his throat to Bull's husky growl, warm against his throat. His words come at a mumble, pressed along the other man's scarred cheek. ] Oh, Bull, don't stop, please don't--
[ Please, he says. And the slip earns a grin before Bull complies, teeth scraping at his throat with a hungry noise. ]
Don't worry.
[ Even with his knee starting to ache, he barely pays it any mind. How could he? A deep breath and Bull nuzzles beneath Dorian's jaw, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat and that odd aroma of his, fancy soaps and something near electric just under the surface. ]
I'm going to take you, just like this, for as long as you want. Watching you take my cock like you were born to do it.
[ Another firm smack against his cheek and Bull settles his grip against Dorian's thigh, fingers curling in to grip muscle tense under dark skin. A small tug up, further against his hip, and the angle of those pounding thrusts changes just so. Oh, it's still smooth and easy, just rutting into him and watching Dorian take it so eagerly, body flush and arched, pressing back for all he's worth. ]
[ You don't say please when you can just take something, and when it comes to the things outside of your grasp-- well, you don't ask for them at all. Bull above him, rutting into him, his hands tight on his thigh, his wrist, is giving in a way that's going to ache tomorrow (and the day after) (and the day after that).
But there is something else, withheld. Impossible to tease, as easily shifted as a continental shelf. Like being fucked by a very attentive granite statue. (And he isn't. Bull is a thinking, feeling, sensory creature, and he's seen it. Thoughts for another time, when he has the capacity.)
He could claw and bite and wiggle and clench, but in the end-- ]
Bull, [ he repeats, again, after having sunk into more of this. His own cock is aching, pre-come slick between them, but the incidental press of bodies isn't enough, not unless he truly wants his orgasm dragged out of him like it hurts. A pulse of wires crossed calls to mind katoh, but-- no, that's not the finishing he needs nor wants, and the idea of just stopping-- ] Please.
[ He breathes out the word, as if avoiding giving it all the richness of his voice. More words clatter out, noisier; ] Enough, enough, touch me-- Iron Bull--
[ And just like that, he gives him what he's after, warm hand cupping against his cock and rubbing the heel of his palm into that stiff length, nearly fast enough to match the steady slap of thighs against hips.
Dorian begs like that, and he wants to give it to him, to watch him crack and spill over, unguarded even by the cover of darkness. He can see him like this, watch his face as he drives into him, breathes him in, and feel something tighten inside of his chest in the process.
Trouble. This is gonna be so much trouble. ]
I've got you. Come on. Come for me, big guy.
[ And he'll keep him here, keep pounding into him and dragging his thumb over the head of his cock and coaxing him to that edge until he lets himself fall. Those things outside this room that he had to wonder about, had to question, they didn't belong in here. ]
[ Dorian throws his head back at the feeling of Bull's rough palm working against his swollen cock, the span of his hand big and warm and blunt but then immediately attentive and specific and knowing. There's no point at playing at further resistance, save for one token scrabble for purchase as ivory teeth bite on his own bottom lip and hands make fists--
He's already feels like he's been falling, or sliding down a slope he can only occasionally entertain purchase, and what is termed as letting go feels more like a crash landing. In a satisfying, pounding sort of way. He spills warm between them, the sound he makes without reserve, louder than he's been before, dimly reminiscent of when he conjures some spell to particular excess (which should recontextualise battles in interesting ways).
It's not quick. Several seconds of shudder and gasp, before his hands relax, and he blinks open his eyes, breathing hard.
His legs don't stop clinging, heels digging in to the backs of Bull's thighs. There's a second, shuddering groan as his internal muscles twitch and cling and resist the push and pull back of Bull's cock, making for friction, tension, tightness. ]
[ Of course he is. Of course he still digs in his heels and gives, pushes back. That's so very him that Bull almost laughs, a breathless noise against his lips before he takes them in a kiss, warm and searching.
Dorian would find his hands suddenly free, too, as Bull's drop to his hips, steadying him as he continued to thrust into that tight, flexing hole, feeling that tension string tighter and tighter still and content to let it snap at its own pace. He wants to savor it, savor him, every second he can. When that moment does comes -- when he comes -- it's with a low groan half-buried against Dorian's mouth, with fingers digging their claim into the narrow jet of the mage's hips.
If he's lucky, there might be bruises there later, something to remember the encounter by. Dorian seems the type, quietly holding onto things he doesn't need to ask permission to keep. Simple exchanges.
Another hum of contentment and he pulls free of that kiss, forehead pressing against Dorian's, basking in the lazy, warm haze that falls in the renewed silence of the room. ]
[ Dorian kisses back, after at first mostly being warm and open and passive. No dirty biting or plunder, just a sinking into heated affection. His arms now free, they sink onto Bull's shoulders, hands laying along the back of his neck, up at the base of his horns. His nails dig in ever so in mirror of the blunter press of Bull's fingers into his hips.
And just like that, it's over. Dorian's legs relax, the soles of his feet finding the bed, knees still bent. Other sensations are registering, now; his hips aren't going to thank him tomorrow when he's riding across Orlais. He feels wet all over, sweat and saliva and oil and semen all variously clinging to his skin. The kiss-bruises at his neck tingle.
It's good, all of it good, and he remains just here, in the midst of it, before cold opinions to the contrary can yet creep in.
The sound he makes is content, along with a flutter of a laugh, eyes shut as he becomes more concious of where Bull's brow maps against his own, and something in his chest area feels as though it flips over. Not an entirely unfamiliar twinge, just a rare one, an unlikely one, easily ignored. The qunari cock he begged for is still inside of him, the issue of their rutting dirty on his--
--oh, please. All of that can wait. He tips his nose up to nudge against Bull, his hands remembering where they are and running along the shaven skin at the back of the other man's skull, fingers toying around where skin roughs out into bone. ]
If you fall asleep like this, there'll truly be no escape.
[ His response, almost without hesitation, is a mock-snore that flares his nostils, momentarily going lax against him.
That's before pulling upright at least somewhat, grinning unrepentantly. ]
Guess you're not going anywhere after all, then.
[ Right about now is when he pulls away, reaches for a towel to start mopping up, putting one another to rights before he disappears. But there's something comfortable in the moment that he doesn't want to pull away from just yet. All he does instead is ease out of him, shift to one side and resettle himself, one arm curling around Dorian in the process.
Sweaty and dirty they might be, but he doesn't mind. Not one bit, in fact. ]
[ That gets a huff of complaint, Dorian's fingers splaying, but by the time Bull lifts his head, showing his teeth, the last of his own smile is being ushered away, still evident as a trace in his eyes. ]
Certainly not until I remember how walking works, no.
[ And Dorian, ultimately, doesn't mind the mess either, in the same way he didn't mind his clothing getting torn, but Maker help Bull if the murder of an enemy beneath his axe gets blood splatter on Dorian's robes the next time they're fighting together.
He makes a soft sound as Bull withdraws, and as if by magnetism, settles in as Bull settles, a hand resting splayed on the wide span of his chest. There's a complaining crinkle at his brow as his body sorts out what aches in new ways, but nothing about his body language speaks to recoil or aggravation, muscles lax and long. ]
Don't fall in love with anyone while I'm away, [ he says, lazy and quiet. It sounds like a line, something he might have said before. ] I might yet have use for you.
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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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All the same. As Bull begins to build them back towards that threshold, Dorian greedily relaxes into allowing it, save for where he can't relax, the twitches and flexes and gasps. ]
Yes... [ he breathes out, the s cut sharp on his teeth. The bed moves beneath them, straining under weight, the driving movements of the man above him, which makes it feel as if perhaps all of Skyhold is rocking gently. ] Bull...
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[ But he abandons his grip on Dorian's cock, in favor of grasping at his other wrist, pinning both above his head. The effect of it, leaving Dorian stretched against the bed at a wanton angle, encouraged a twitch of his own cock as it stretched him wide again and again. Faster. Harder. Hard enough to have his balls smacking against the back of Dorian's slick thighs, sinking hilt-deep with each thrust.
After that? It's easy to pin both his wrists in the grasp of one massive hand, leaving the other free to give the curve of his ass a firm, encouraging smack.
The words are all but growled into the curve of his jaw. ]
Say my name.
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Basking in Bull's gaze is not remotely abashed, however. He clings where he can with the press of his knees, a soft noise of complaint, for the hand lifting away from his cock, sharply cut off with the next driving thrust, his hands knotting into fists as his eyes close, face turning aside into his own open elbow.
The smack is rewarded mainly with a soft gasp, too in the moment to play at indignance, his whole body going taut like a bowstring between the juncture of their hips, and his wrists pinned to the mattress. ]
Bull, [ he echoes, eyes opening with hard blinks, chin tipping to open his throat to Bull's husky growl, warm against his throat. His words come at a mumble, pressed along the other man's scarred cheek. ] Oh, Bull, don't stop, please don't--
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Don't worry.
[ Even with his knee starting to ache, he barely pays it any mind. How could he? A deep breath and Bull nuzzles beneath Dorian's jaw, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat and that odd aroma of his, fancy soaps and something near electric just under the surface. ]
I'm going to take you, just like this, for as long as you want. Watching you take my cock like you were born to do it.
[ Another firm smack against his cheek and Bull settles his grip against Dorian's thigh, fingers curling in to grip muscle tense under dark skin. A small tug up, further against his hip, and the angle of those pounding thrusts changes just so. Oh, it's still smooth and easy, just rutting into him and watching Dorian take it so eagerly, body flush and arched, pressing back for all he's worth. ]
And when you want to come...you know what to do.
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But there is something else, withheld. Impossible to tease, as easily shifted as a continental shelf. Like being fucked by a very attentive granite statue. (And he isn't. Bull is a thinking, feeling, sensory creature, and he's seen it. Thoughts for another time, when he has the capacity.)
He could claw and bite and wiggle and clench, but in the end-- ]
Bull, [ he repeats, again, after having sunk into more of this. His own cock is aching, pre-come slick between them, but the incidental press of bodies isn't enough, not unless he truly wants his orgasm dragged out of him like it hurts. A pulse of wires crossed calls to mind katoh, but-- no, that's not the finishing he needs nor wants, and the idea of just stopping-- ] Please.
[ He breathes out the word, as if avoiding giving it all the richness of his voice. More words clatter out, noisier; ] Enough, enough, touch me-- Iron Bull--
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Dorian begs like that, and he wants to give it to him, to watch him crack and spill over, unguarded even by the cover of darkness. He can see him like this, watch his face as he drives into him, breathes him in, and feel something tighten inside of his chest in the process.
Trouble. This is gonna be so much trouble. ]
I've got you. Come on. Come for me, big guy.
[ And he'll keep him here, keep pounding into him and dragging his thumb over the head of his cock and coaxing him to that edge until he lets himself fall. Those things outside this room that he had to wonder about, had to question, they didn't belong in here. ]
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He's already feels like he's been falling, or sliding down a slope he can only occasionally entertain purchase, and what is termed as letting go feels more like a crash landing. In a satisfying, pounding sort of way. He spills warm between them, the sound he makes without reserve, louder than he's been before, dimly reminiscent of when he conjures some spell to particular excess (which should recontextualise battles in interesting ways).
It's not quick. Several seconds of shudder and gasp, before his hands relax, and he blinks open his eyes, breathing hard.
His legs don't stop clinging, heels digging in to the backs of Bull's thighs. There's a second, shuddering groan as his internal muscles twitch and cling and resist the push and pull back of Bull's cock, making for friction, tension, tightness. ]
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Dorian would find his hands suddenly free, too, as Bull's drop to his hips, steadying him as he continued to thrust into that tight, flexing hole, feeling that tension string tighter and tighter still and content to let it snap at its own pace. He wants to savor it, savor him, every second he can. When that moment does comes -- when he comes -- it's with a low groan half-buried against Dorian's mouth, with fingers digging their claim into the narrow jet of the mage's hips.
If he's lucky, there might be bruises there later, something to remember the encounter by. Dorian seems the type, quietly holding onto things he doesn't need to ask permission to keep. Simple exchanges.
Another hum of contentment and he pulls free of that kiss, forehead pressing against Dorian's, basking in the lazy, warm haze that falls in the renewed silence of the room. ]
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And just like that, it's over. Dorian's legs relax, the soles of his feet finding the bed, knees still bent. Other sensations are registering, now; his hips aren't going to thank him tomorrow when he's riding across Orlais. He feels wet all over, sweat and saliva and oil and semen all variously clinging to his skin. The kiss-bruises at his neck tingle.
It's good, all of it good, and he remains just here, in the midst of it, before cold opinions to the contrary can yet creep in.
The sound he makes is content, along with a flutter of a laugh, eyes shut as he becomes more concious of where Bull's brow maps against his own, and something in his chest area feels as though it flips over. Not an entirely unfamiliar twinge, just a rare one, an unlikely one, easily ignored. The qunari cock he begged for is still inside of him, the issue of their rutting dirty on his--
--oh, please. All of that can wait. He tips his nose up to nudge against Bull, his hands remembering where they are and running along the shaven skin at the back of the other man's skull, fingers toying around where skin roughs out into bone. ]
If you fall asleep like this, there'll truly be no escape.
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That's before pulling upright at least somewhat, grinning unrepentantly. ]
Guess you're not going anywhere after all, then.
[ Right about now is when he pulls away, reaches for a towel to start mopping up, putting one another to rights before he disappears. But there's something comfortable in the moment that he doesn't want to pull away from just yet. All he does instead is ease out of him, shift to one side and resettle himself, one arm curling around Dorian in the process.
Sweaty and dirty they might be, but he doesn't mind. Not one bit, in fact. ]
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Certainly not until I remember how walking works, no.
[ And Dorian, ultimately, doesn't mind the mess either, in the same way he didn't mind his clothing getting torn, but Maker help Bull if the murder of an enemy beneath his axe gets blood splatter on Dorian's robes the next time they're fighting together.
He makes a soft sound as Bull withdraws, and as if by magnetism, settles in as Bull settles, a hand resting splayed on the wide span of his chest. There's a complaining crinkle at his brow as his body sorts out what aches in new ways, but nothing about his body language speaks to recoil or aggravation, muscles lax and long. ]
Don't fall in love with anyone while I'm away, [ he says, lazy and quiet. It sounds like a line, something he might have said before. ] I might yet have use for you.
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