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.
[ He lets it play right off, as Dorian no doubt hopes. It's safer that way, to give the words no weight at all. But that flippancy is somewhat belied by the tender way his fingers sweep up and along Dorian's spine, or the way he nuzzles down into his now thoroughly mussed hair.
They're so screwed. He knows it. Knows this is going to lead to hard choices later on. It's not that he's having sex with Dorian that's the problem, oh no.
This, what's happening right now, heavy in his ribs, is a conscious choice, not a play for his cover or an excuse to endear himself. He wants this.
[ Game reply doesn't skip a beat, eyes shutting beneath the feeling of Bull's face pressing into loose curls. The gesture in itself gains, once again, another twinge, but it's too nice, too comfortable, that Dorian can convince himself to take advantage of affection as its given, just as he took bruises, pinches, kisses.
He taps Bull's chest, not going so far as to mimic his tone as he echoes; ] You like it.
[ Without the immediacy and urgency of sex tugging at them, these gestures turn blunt. More softness and affection than need. It's different in a way that puzzles him, which bothers him, because most puzzles are solved easily enough.
There are no simple answers for why the tap of Dorian's fingers should catch under his ribs and thrum there in answering echo, or why the smell of his hair is an important detail to save for later.
So he tugs back at the familiar, lowering his head to nip bluntly at the edge of Dorian's ear. ]
That little noise you make when I bite down on your neck, for example.
[ Dorian makes a similar noise, probably, even as he says right on the back of it; ] I don't make little noises.
[ He turns his face up as if to nudge Bull away, bridge of his nose bumping into the grizzled grain of Bull's cheek, and the impulse to kiss him tugs at him sharply. Ridiculous, really. Kisses as parting gifts is as sweet as he prefers to veer, or kisses to rekindle, to tease. He's not sure he could actually make good on rekindling.
So there is no kiss, just a returning, blunt-nosed nuzzle that serves to push back as well as respond. Dorian twists a little, settling higher with his elbow against the pillow, palm balancing his head. ]
I might be making some noises in the morning. Something something look what that barbarian's done to my neck, and Western Approach is hardly scarf weather.
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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...
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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--
no subject
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.
no subject
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--
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ He lets it play right off, as Dorian no doubt hopes. It's safer that way, to give the words no weight at all. But that flippancy is somewhat belied by the tender way his fingers sweep up and along Dorian's spine, or the way he nuzzles down into his now thoroughly mussed hair.
They're so screwed. He knows it. Knows this is going to lead to hard choices later on. It's not that he's having sex with Dorian that's the problem, oh no.
This, what's happening right now, heavy in his ribs, is a conscious choice, not a play for his cover or an excuse to endear himself. He wants this.
Might be easier, otherwise. ]
no subject
[ Game reply doesn't skip a beat, eyes shutting beneath the feeling of Bull's face pressing into loose curls. The gesture in itself gains, once again, another twinge, but it's too nice, too comfortable, that Dorian can convince himself to take advantage of affection as its given, just as he took bruises, pinches, kisses.
He taps Bull's chest, not going so far as to mimic his tone as he echoes; ] You like it.
no subject
[ Without the immediacy and urgency of sex tugging at them, these gestures turn blunt. More softness and affection than need. It's different in a way that puzzles him, which bothers him, because most puzzles are solved easily enough.
There are no simple answers for why the tap of Dorian's fingers should catch under his ribs and thrum there in answering echo, or why the smell of his hair is an important detail to save for later.
So he tugs back at the familiar, lowering his head to nip bluntly at the edge of Dorian's ear. ]
That little noise you make when I bite down on your neck, for example.
no subject
[ He turns his face up as if to nudge Bull away, bridge of his nose bumping into the grizzled grain of Bull's cheek, and the impulse to kiss him tugs at him sharply. Ridiculous, really. Kisses as parting gifts is as sweet as he prefers to veer, or kisses to rekindle, to tease. He's not sure he could actually make good on rekindling.
So there is no kiss, just a returning, blunt-nosed nuzzle that serves to push back as well as respond. Dorian twists a little, settling higher with his elbow against the pillow, palm balancing his head. ]
I might be making some noises in the morning. Something something look what that barbarian's done to my neck, and Western Approach is hardly scarf weather.