[ Dorian lets himself in, shutting the door behind him. Latching it.
As far as fancy outfits go, Dorian's made life comparatively easy for himself. While his usual wardrobe is ordinarily all buckles and straps and fitted leather, these black satin-blends drape and wrap, cinched by sashes instead of belts. As he wanders closer, the part in his robes show trousers of similar stuff, and light shoes. Shoes that he dispenses with, balancing a hand against the end of Bull's bed while his other shucks them off.
His mouth hitches into a crooked smile at the sight of the glimmering metal and stone still decorating the impressive rack of jagged bone. ]
Sure seemed like it. Guess I underestimated how long the nobles planned on staying upright. Saw a few sneak down to the side-party before I left.
[ Bull chuckles softly. Honestly? Good on them. There were definitely benefits to slumming it with the rabble, including far fewer opportunities to offend someone by glancing in their direction too long.
But that particular charade's all done with, for now. ]
You had any doubt? I'm not that easy to hook.
[ And as he says it one hand lifts, a finger crooking to beckon Dorian closer. He's looking a little less polished than earlier in the evening, but only just.
We are quite the entertaining circus, up here. And we nobles are notoriously nocturnal.
[ Shoes are set down with a little care. This is not the kind of outfit he wishes to see ripped at the seams, although if he was truly afraid of endangering his clothes, he would have changed into something even more comfortable.
And he must marvel at the stupid physical response he is immediately flushed with at a simple hand gesture from Iron Bull. Perhaps it's the effect of being out in the desert for however long it was, or enduring the Game for a few hours with latent anticipation since their dance, or all this wine, but nonetheless. Outwardly, his eyes narrow in dark amusement, and moves as if he's indulging Bull, and not himself.
The mattress dips where he climbs onto it knee first, a hand resting on one big qunari shoulder as he smoothly goes to straddle Bull's thighs. ]
[ But it's worth the patience, worth the laying of hints and innuendos and just waiting to see if anything came of it. It's worth it to feel the warm of him pressing in against him in that much-slighter frame, before cupping a hand to Dorian's cheek and drawing him in.
This is slow, comfortable, a low-burning heat that's been settled in his skin since their dance in the hall, and all it needs is a little kindling.
Dorian's been drinking fancy again, he can taste it on his tongue. ]
[ And Bull has been drinking cheap, something full-bodied and served from a barrel, and it isn't a bad thing, judging by the pliant reception of Dorian's mouth under Bull's, the hum of contentment. Settling in warmly as he is drawn into the kiss, Dorian's hands rest on Bull's chest, fingertips idly tracing the raised outlines of scar tissue where they blindly find it. The outer world dims like torches guttering out.
Slow doesn't have to equate to sweet, although there's no urgency in any hint of bite. His claws aren't out yet, but he fits his hips in snugly. ]
[ There'll be time for that, for clawing at the sheets and mussing him up proper. He can say with certainty that he's missed this, the way Dorian cocks his head and parts his lips, the weight of him settled against him. Sweet? No. This is heady, dry and tart like the taste of his mouth, and those exploratory touches earn the first of those low growls of approval.
Before his hands slip low to the that sash of bright metallic fabric around his waist. ]
Guessing you like these clothes a little better than last time.
[ His drops a hand to direct one of Bull's hands to where it knots at the side, a far simpler mechanisms than his usual predisposition of buckles that vary between being decorate and practical without any visible difference. With his other hand, using only gently exploratory fingers, he investigates where the horn jewellery catches, and goes to gently remove one of the rings. ]
Did you pick these out yourself? I must afford you better credit where fashion is concerned if so.
[ But they'll, you know, get in the way. Later. His eyes also catch over where Bull's eyepatch rings its laces around a horn, consdering. ]
Nah. Vivienne picked them out. Seems everyone had an opinion on how I was gonna make an impression on the visiting nobles.
[ He's never felt much of a need to impress anyone. Being in the room was generally enough. But a part of him still might remember to thank Vivienne and Dorian's Nevarran friend later for the suggestions, if only for the keen look in Dorian's eyes just now.
The fabric comes loose with a slithering rustle, dropped to the side of the bed without much ceremony, leaving Dorian's robes with a very intriguing gap that merited exploration of his own. His fingers catch on the fine fabric, tugging it open further. ]
Polish up the Qunari brute. Something to that effect. Think it worked?
[ He collects the jewellery into his palm. The second ring, the two amethyst tips, and he reaches to set them carefully down on whatever flat surface is available nearest the bed. ] But as for polishing up the Qunari brute, I think I'll take it from here.
[ iykwim
Nothing from desert adventures has managed to leave any permanent marks, chest bare beneath robes and, as usual, scarless. The trousers beneath are similarly soft and draping, held together with finicky ties and silver catches, slightly suggestive where they lace down his front, now visible from beneath sashes and robes. He shrugs a shoulder to allow smooth fabric to slip away from it.
Meanwhile, Dorian follows the line of eyepatch tie with a fingertip, and inquires; ] Would you prefer this remains?
[ It's all well and good to be unshy about derobing and removing embellishment, but who knows, what limits of comfort another man might have? ]
[ And just when he thinks Dorian is done surprising him. ]
Only if you think it'll put you off. It's not pretty.
[ Flail wounds don't heal pretty. There isn't much under there besides mottled scar tissue, the indention of where an eye should be. It puts some people off, the only real reason for the eye patch in the first place.
But there's no flinch, no hesitation there. The good eye he has is still more concerned with peeling Dorian out of his robes, though he pauses long enough to let him carry on with taking off the patch, if it pleases him to do so. ]
[ Dorian has a moment of pause over Bull's words, the same pause he experienced when he was asked to dance. As if he's brushed against some line that they're meant to be maintaining, like perhaps he ought to be put off, or not experience some mysterious Feeling at the answer he gets. But it's all a little too late for second-guessing, so he must do as is honest.
With only a little bit of blind fidgeting, he unwinds the strap, taking care, not actually looking at the wound until he's set the eyepatch aside amongst the rest. The ripple of scar tissue is as gruesome as he was warned, and something of a distraction, if not entirely for the more obvious reasons.
And not an overpowering distraction, at that. Dorian squirms in place contentedly as Bull sets about removing his robes, hands dropping to allow it. ]
Well, what is it you said, that first time? You can't trust the pretty ones.
[ Eye contact is warm once it's reclaimed, and he rolls his hips against Bull's in emphasis. ]
[ There's a small grunt as Dorian grinds all too purposefully, one hand cupping against his ass and squeezing in retaliation, dragging him in closer. ]
Still true.
[ Though there's something that stirs when Dorian looks at him, really looks at him, and doesn't shy away. Dangerous. Gets him thinking what else he could share, how much it would take for him to turn away. He doesn't really want the answer to that. Hopefully, they never find out.
This time it's his hips that lift, his hands that tug, pressing them together until slick silk moving against silk isn't nearly enough to ignore the way he's already half-hard for him. Already deciding just what he plans on doing once he gets Dorian out of the rest of his clothes.
Ahh, [ Dorian says, in mock-enlightenment of correction, laughter more in his eyes than the subtlety of his smile.
And no protest forthcoming.
Especially with Bull's hands on him, and that feeling of his cock through layers of fabric. It's a thrill, as are the subtle grunts and growls he can get out of Bull, especially before either of them are all the way undressed. Dorian's hands slip downward to toy with the ties of his own trousers, tugging them apart with dexterous fingers.
He pushes himself up to balance on his knees, foregoing friction for pushing trousers down a few inches, as far as the spread of his thighs can allow. The smallcloths beneath are appropriate for black, silky clothing, being black and silky in turn, if a great deal more fitted.
In the same motion, he's leaning in to steal a kiss, the changed landscape of Bull's face rendered irrelevant. ]
[ There's a thoughtful hum, as his gaze trails from the curve of Dorian's mouth down the lean scape of muscle and tan, flawless skin. ]
Matching all the way down, huh?
[ Commitment to the cause. He can appreciate that, almost as much as the view of Dorian's cock caught behind that thin layer of silk. And as Dorian leans in for that kiss, Bull's hand slips between them, the warm of his palm cupping against the tight stretch of fine fabric and squeezing firm. ]
Like this new outfit of yours better.
[ The words catch against his lips, soft in comparison to the nip of teeth that follow. ]
[ Why wouldn't you match all the way down, is what a faint twitch upwards of an eyebrow seems to say, but it's useless asking these rhetorics of a man who dresses like a preemptive strike. But then Bull's hand -- which, for being such large, scarred things, have such a way of sliding into tight spots just beyond Dorian's notice -- is on him, and the kiss is immediately a little less precise, faltering, twitching beneath fine silk.
There is the beginnings of a smile by the time kiss gets bitey. Likewise, his arousal has him well on his way to hard, thick and warm against Bull's palm. ]
Finally, some appreciation around here, [ his muttered against Bull's jaw, wry and quiet. His hands, settled on Bull's chest, scratch blunt nails just to liven the nerves. ] How would you like me?
[ The scratch is but a faint tingle, enough to whet his appetite without slaking it. Bull's eye narrows as his free hand snakes into Dorian's hair, tugging his head back just enough to graze teeth against the line of his jaw in answer. ]
You want a list? I was going through one at the party.
[ Again his hand squeezes, strokes upwards as he feels Dorian start to fill under his grasp, and his thumb presses to circle against his head where it threatens to push past the hem of his smalls. ]
Getting you into one of those little side-rooms, pressed up against the door. Have to be quick, or they'd notice we were gone, you trying to keep quiet and catch your breath while I fucked you open.
[ Bull's teeth find a particularly soft stretch of Dorian's throat with a hum, and the slide of his teeth pinches that skin until it turns pink. ]
All those sneering assholes in their masks just on the other side, without a clue.
[ Dorian is distinctly aware of his mouth going dry as Bull says wonderfulterrible things into the crook of his neck, but not quite as aware of that as he is fingertips getting more specific against his groin where blood rushes downwards, making him want to squirm, which he denies himself. For now. His eyes close, having gotten heavier when Bull's fingers found a grip in his hair.
He manages a chuckle, dry in his throat, already huskier than it was before. It catches when Bull's teeth mark a mark, breaking into a grunt. ]
Oh, I couldn't possibly, [ he says ] without something to bite.
[ His hands continue to smooth along Bull's gesture, over scars, over where armor normally lies flat, and down, teasing a blunt fingernail over a nipple, retracing that path again once he's discovered it. ]
[ And his fingers pinch, shallowly enough to pull silk away from skin before letting it snap back into place. And that does make for an intriguing image, that luxurious little bit of cloth stuffed between his teeth, gagged and breathing heavily as those silver eyes go hazy...
Damn, though.
Of course, there's the moment to take advantage of, tongue tracing the darkening mark left behind before he lifts his head. ]
Or maybe I'd just cover your mouth with my hand. You can bite all you want, but it won't move. Won't let the sound out.
[ And as he speaks, fingers slip past the waist of his smalls, closing around hot, hard flesh instead. ]
'Cause whatever sounds you make are for me. Not them. Not anyone else.
[ Dorian makes a sound of mock protest as to the treatment of his smallclothes, both hypothetically and in the moment, but it's not super convincing, as if he had to struggle not to respond to the mental image himself.
These ideas, these fantasies of desiring Bull to do what he wants with him, have taken a different tone of late. Filtered through a lens of peculiar trust of intent.
For instance--
Dorian shifts just enough to press his body back down against Bull, finding the shape of his own hardening erection through fabric against the warm juncture of his thighs. As Bull lifts his head, his hands slide up his chest, his neck, fingertips brushing along the rough texture of his jaw, setting in a little firmer as if to assert some minor control.
The effect of Bull's hand without interruption against his cock induces a visible shift in Dorian's expression, a softening, hazier effect, and he rolls his hips against that hand, and against the other man's hips, bending his head to bite-kiss briefly. ]
And then after, mingling among them. Would you like that, watching me trying to ignore all those lingering little marks and aches while carrying out polite conversation? Just a little less put together than I was before? Still, beneath my robes, a little hard for you? [ Fingernails make blunt-sharp points of contact where they lay. ] A little dirty?
[ Oh, that is a fucking hot image. And hearing it come rolling off of Dorian's own lips, easy as anything, makes it even hotter. There's a deep noise of approval at that before he tips his head into Dorian's touch, taking his mouth with a renewed hunger.
The point, of course, is that Dorian can continue to hide whatever goes on between them. But not out of shame. This is privacy, this is respect, and that desire for him won't flag between. If anything, he's harder still, while Dorian grinds against him and his own fingers run the length of his cock, thumb pressing beneath the head of his cock and running slow, firm circles about the tip. ]
[ The safety, if one were to call it that (and Dorian would not), that settles around these interactions is seamless as to go unnoticed. It's only ever after that Dorian can despair how comfortable it was, how nice it is, how easy. How it manifests in this moment is a matched hunger in kiss, the absence of hesitation, sharp and bite in contrast to the gentler sweep of his thumb higher on Bull's cheek, closer to scarred topography.
But Bull's hand is also doing wonderful things and driving him slowly insane. He maintains those little shifts, the dull pressure of his body attempting to crudely work Bull just a fraction of how his hand works Dorian. Every detail becomes vivid against sensitised flesh, from where silk still cradles him low on hips and between his legs, to the dull warmth of Bull's hand, the rough texture of his thumb running against damp skin.
He moans, finally, a little faltering, tinged in demand. ]
[ More. That's what that noise means, and he happens to agree.
So the hand on his hair loosens, sinking back behind him to the pillows, where he's already stashed that bottle of oil, knowing full well it might come in handy to have it close at hand. But he doesn't bother continuing to undress him, not yet. There's something about having him just like this, half-undressed and nearly there but unable -- or unwilling -- to part long enough to finish. Getting him to mess up at least some of that pretty clothing he's so proud of.
The smell of the oil is unmistakable, once it gets warm on his fingers. And without missing a beat, without breaking off that eager kiss or ceasing the thorough stroking of Dorian's cock, he draws those silky smalls aside just far enough to stroke a finger between the cleft of his ass, drawing against that tight clench of muscle in a few slow, teasing strokes before sinking inward. ]
[ On the feeling of Bull's fingers sliding out of curls now ruffled into slight disarray, Dorian had perhaps imagined that they'd move on past this point. But that hand continues to work him, and the kiss doesn't break, and then--
Dorian kneels up just a little to help, drawing in a long breath at the feeling of Bull's fingers stroking him, and he doesn't have to make any specific sound before that first invasive push sinks in. His hands land on Bull's shoulders, gripping on rather than attempting to generate sensation, and his push and shift of his hips is entirely indulgent.
He could come right here, like this. And soon. The idea is slightly mortifying.
But not mortifying enough, sinking into sensation for all that he clings on to control. He eases his thighs a little wider apart, feeling the strain of it and not caring, lifting back from the kiss to snag eye contact as if to telepathically read intention. ]
[ The intent is there, plain to see, if he can't already feel it. The hand around his cock grows firm, letting Dorian rub himself against the inside of his palm with pre-come slicking the way, stroking against that tight heat on the slow, rhythmic movement urged by the roll of his hips. ]
Don't worry. We're a long way from done yet.
[ Bull's mouth crooks in a smirk as he feels him shift to adjust to the strain, waiting for it to ease before pressing in with another finger, tight against the first. Even two seems enough to fill him up, tight-wound as he is, and it's easier to push even deeper this way. ]
Plan on having you all sorts of ways tonight. But first...
[ There. That's what he'd been aiming for, and that smirk draws wider. ]
[ Tevene has a way of sounding like an incantation, which is appropriate, given givens. It's muttered, now, as Dorian tips his head back a little when Bull pushes in two fingers, deeper past knuckles, finding that spot that puts fire in his blood. The state of his clothing is ignored save for factoring in as a minimal amount of restriction, an additional texture.
It's a first, this. Not every interaction Dorian has had with other men has been solely about stealing what they could from one another, but enough that moments when it isn't about that still stand out stark to him. Conversely, he is ordinarily in the habit of navigating that by giving for hope of return.
Here, he has ceased trying, trusting that when Bull says he wants to see him come for him just like this, he means it.
It won't take too long. The twin sensations of Bull's broad hand wrapping tight around his cock and the expert thrust of fingers are the kind of sensations he's accustomed to giving in to, and he opts not to try and drag this out. His body moves in subtle rolls and pushes, and a kiss is broken off when the moment catches him by surprise, a gentle vocalisation as his body locks up tight. Damp spatters against Bull's wrist and belly, Dorian's still clothed thighs, his abdomen, relief a sustained guttering until he finally relaxes, sinking down.
And tipping in, forehead to qunari shoulder, hiding a muffled laugh. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Dorian lets himself in, shutting the door behind him. Latching it.
As far as fancy outfits go, Dorian's made life comparatively easy for himself. While his usual wardrobe is ordinarily all buckles and straps and fitted leather, these black satin-blends drape and wrap, cinched by sashes instead of belts. As he wanders closer, the part in his robes show trousers of similar stuff, and light shoes. Shoes that he dispenses with, balancing a hand against the end of Bull's bed while his other shucks them off.
His mouth hitches into a crooked smile at the sight of the glimmering metal and stone still decorating the impressive rack of jagged bone. ]
Good of you to make it out alive. And unleashed.
no subject
[ Bull chuckles softly. Honestly? Good on them. There were definitely benefits to slumming it with the rabble, including far fewer opportunities to offend someone by glancing in their direction too long.
But that particular charade's all done with, for now. ]
You had any doubt? I'm not that easy to hook.
[ And as he says it one hand lifts, a finger crooking to beckon Dorian closer. He's looking a little less polished than earlier in the evening, but only just.
That can be fixed, in short order. ]
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[ Shoes are set down with a little care. This is not the kind of outfit he wishes to see ripped at the seams, although if he was truly afraid of endangering his clothes, he would have changed into something even more comfortable.
And he must marvel at the stupid physical response he is immediately flushed with at a simple hand gesture from Iron Bull. Perhaps it's the effect of being out in the desert for however long it was, or enduring the Game for a few hours with latent anticipation since their dance, or all this wine, but nonetheless. Outwardly, his eyes narrow in dark amusement, and moves as if he's indulging Bull, and not himself.
The mattress dips where he climbs onto it knee first, a hand resting on one big qunari shoulder as he smoothly goes to straddle Bull's thighs. ]
Neither am I, [ he says, despite this. ]
no subject
Believe me, I know it.
[ But it's worth the patience, worth the laying of hints and innuendos and just waiting to see if anything came of it. It's worth it to feel the warm of him pressing in against him in that much-slighter frame, before cupping a hand to Dorian's cheek and drawing him in.
This is slow, comfortable, a low-burning heat that's been settled in his skin since their dance in the hall, and all it needs is a little kindling.
Dorian's been drinking fancy again, he can taste it on his tongue. ]
no subject
Slow doesn't have to equate to sweet, although there's no urgency in any hint of bite. His claws aren't out yet, but he fits his hips in snugly. ]
no subject
Before his hands slip low to the that sash of bright metallic fabric around his waist. ]
Guessing you like these clothes a little better than last time.
no subject
You guess correctly.
[ His drops a hand to direct one of Bull's hands to where it knots at the side, a far simpler mechanisms than his usual predisposition of buckles that vary between being decorate and practical without any visible difference. With his other hand, using only gently exploratory fingers, he investigates where the horn jewellery catches, and goes to gently remove one of the rings. ]
Did you pick these out yourself? I must afford you better credit where fashion is concerned if so.
[ But they'll, you know, get in the way. Later. His eyes also catch over where Bull's eyepatch rings its laces around a horn, consdering. ]
no subject
[ He's never felt much of a need to impress anyone. Being in the room was generally enough. But a part of him still might remember to thank Vivienne and Dorian's Nevarran friend later for the suggestions, if only for the keen look in Dorian's eyes just now.
The fabric comes loose with a slithering rustle, dropped to the side of the bed without much ceremony, leaving Dorian's robes with a very intriguing gap that merited exploration of his own. His fingers catch on the fine fabric, tugging it open further. ]
Polish up the Qunari brute. Something to that effect. Think it worked?
no subject
[ He collects the jewellery into his palm. The second ring, the two amethyst tips, and he reaches to set them carefully down on whatever flat surface is available nearest the bed. ] But as for polishing up the Qunari brute, I think I'll take it from here.
[ iykwim
Nothing from desert adventures has managed to leave any permanent marks, chest bare beneath robes and, as usual, scarless. The trousers beneath are similarly soft and draping, held together with finicky ties and silver catches, slightly suggestive where they lace down his front, now visible from beneath sashes and robes. He shrugs a shoulder to allow smooth fabric to slip away from it.
Meanwhile, Dorian follows the line of eyepatch tie with a fingertip, and inquires; ] Would you prefer this remains?
[ It's all well and good to be unshy about derobing and removing embellishment, but who knows, what limits of comfort another man might have? ]
no subject
Only if you think it'll put you off. It's not pretty.
[ Flail wounds don't heal pretty. There isn't much under there besides mottled scar tissue, the indention of where an eye should be. It puts some people off, the only real reason for the eye patch in the first place.
But there's no flinch, no hesitation there. The good eye he has is still more concerned with peeling Dorian out of his robes, though he pauses long enough to let him carry on with taking off the patch, if it pleases him to do so. ]
no subject
With only a little bit of blind fidgeting, he unwinds the strap, taking care, not actually looking at the wound until he's set the eyepatch aside amongst the rest. The ripple of scar tissue is as gruesome as he was warned, and something of a distraction, if not entirely for the more obvious reasons.
And not an overpowering distraction, at that. Dorian squirms in place contentedly as Bull sets about removing his robes, hands dropping to allow it. ]
Well, what is it you said, that first time? You can't trust the pretty ones.
[ Eye contact is warm once it's reclaimed, and he rolls his hips against Bull's in emphasis. ]
no subject
[ There's a small grunt as Dorian grinds all too purposefully, one hand cupping against his ass and squeezing in retaliation, dragging him in closer. ]
Still true.
[ Though there's something that stirs when Dorian looks at him, really looks at him, and doesn't shy away. Dangerous. Gets him thinking what else he could share, how much it would take for him to turn away. He doesn't really want the answer to that. Hopefully, they never find out.
This time it's his hips that lift, his hands that tug, pressing them together until slick silk moving against silk isn't nearly enough to ignore the way he's already half-hard for him. Already deciding just what he plans on doing once he gets Dorian out of the rest of his clothes.
Maybe even before. ]
no subject
And no protest forthcoming.
Especially with Bull's hands on him, and that feeling of his cock through layers of fabric. It's a thrill, as are the subtle grunts and growls he can get out of Bull, especially before either of them are all the way undressed. Dorian's hands slip downward to toy with the ties of his own trousers, tugging them apart with dexterous fingers.
He pushes himself up to balance on his knees, foregoing friction for pushing trousers down a few inches, as far as the spread of his thighs can allow. The smallcloths beneath are appropriate for black, silky clothing, being black and silky in turn, if a great deal more fitted.
In the same motion, he's leaning in to steal a kiss, the changed landscape of Bull's face rendered irrelevant. ]
no subject
Matching all the way down, huh?
[ Commitment to the cause. He can appreciate that, almost as much as the view of Dorian's cock caught behind that thin layer of silk. And as Dorian leans in for that kiss, Bull's hand slips between them, the warm of his palm cupping against the tight stretch of fine fabric and squeezing firm. ]
Like this new outfit of yours better.
[ The words catch against his lips, soft in comparison to the nip of teeth that follow. ]
no subject
There is the beginnings of a smile by the time kiss gets bitey. Likewise, his arousal has him well on his way to hard, thick and warm against Bull's palm. ]
Finally, some appreciation around here, [ his muttered against Bull's jaw, wry and quiet. His hands, settled on Bull's chest, scratch blunt nails just to liven the nerves. ] How would you like me?
no subject
You want a list? I was going through one at the party.
[ Again his hand squeezes, strokes upwards as he feels Dorian start to fill under his grasp, and his thumb presses to circle against his head where it threatens to push past the hem of his smalls. ]
Getting you into one of those little side-rooms, pressed up against the door. Have to be quick, or they'd notice we were gone, you trying to keep quiet and catch your breath while I fucked you open.
[ Bull's teeth find a particularly soft stretch of Dorian's throat with a hum, and the slide of his teeth pinches that skin until it turns pink. ]
All those sneering assholes in their masks just on the other side, without a clue.
no subject
He manages a chuckle, dry in his throat, already huskier than it was before. It catches when Bull's teeth mark a mark, breaking into a grunt. ]
Oh, I couldn't possibly, [ he says ] without something to bite.
[ His hands continue to smooth along Bull's gesture, over scars, over where armor normally lies flat, and down, teasing a blunt fingernail over a nipple, retracing that path again once he's discovered it. ]
no subject
[ And his fingers pinch, shallowly enough to pull silk away from skin before letting it snap back into place. And that does make for an intriguing image, that luxurious little bit of cloth stuffed between his teeth, gagged and breathing heavily as those silver eyes go hazy...
Damn, though.
Of course, there's the moment to take advantage of, tongue tracing the darkening mark left behind before he lifts his head. ]
Or maybe I'd just cover your mouth with my hand. You can bite all you want, but it won't move. Won't let the sound out.
[ And as he speaks, fingers slip past the waist of his smalls, closing around hot, hard flesh instead. ]
'Cause whatever sounds you make are for me. Not them. Not anyone else.
no subject
These ideas, these fantasies of desiring Bull to do what he wants with him, have taken a different tone of late. Filtered through a lens of peculiar trust of intent.
For instance--
Dorian shifts just enough to press his body back down against Bull, finding the shape of his own hardening erection through fabric against the warm juncture of his thighs. As Bull lifts his head, his hands slide up his chest, his neck, fingertips brushing along the rough texture of his jaw, setting in a little firmer as if to assert some minor control.
The effect of Bull's hand without interruption against his cock induces a visible shift in Dorian's expression, a softening, hazier effect, and he rolls his hips against that hand, and against the other man's hips, bending his head to bite-kiss briefly. ]
And then after, mingling among them. Would you like that, watching me trying to ignore all those lingering little marks and aches while carrying out polite conversation? Just a little less put together than I was before? Still, beneath my robes, a little hard for you? [ Fingernails make blunt-sharp points of contact where they lay. ] A little dirty?
no subject
The point, of course, is that Dorian can continue to hide whatever goes on between them. But not out of shame. This is privacy, this is respect, and that desire for him won't flag between. If anything, he's harder still, while Dorian grinds against him and his own fingers run the length of his cock, thumb pressing beneath the head of his cock and running slow, firm circles about the tip. ]
no subject
But Bull's hand is also doing wonderful things and driving him slowly insane. He maintains those little shifts, the dull pressure of his body attempting to crudely work Bull just a fraction of how his hand works Dorian. Every detail becomes vivid against sensitised flesh, from where silk still cradles him low on hips and between his legs, to the dull warmth of Bull's hand, the rough texture of his thumb running against damp skin.
He moans, finally, a little faltering, tinged in demand. ]
no subject
So the hand on his hair loosens, sinking back behind him to the pillows, where he's already stashed that bottle of oil, knowing full well it might come in handy to have it close at hand. But he doesn't bother continuing to undress him, not yet. There's something about having him just like this, half-undressed and nearly there but unable -- or unwilling -- to part long enough to finish. Getting him to mess up at least some of that pretty clothing he's so proud of.
The smell of the oil is unmistakable, once it gets warm on his fingers. And without missing a beat, without breaking off that eager kiss or ceasing the thorough stroking of Dorian's cock, he draws those silky smalls aside just far enough to stroke a finger between the cleft of his ass, drawing against that tight clench of muscle in a few slow, teasing strokes before sinking inward. ]
no subject
Dorian kneels up just a little to help, drawing in a long breath at the feeling of Bull's fingers stroking him, and he doesn't have to make any specific sound before that first invasive push sinks in. His hands land on Bull's shoulders, gripping on rather than attempting to generate sensation, and his push and shift of his hips is entirely indulgent.
He could come right here, like this. And soon. The idea is slightly mortifying.
But not mortifying enough, sinking into sensation for all that he clings on to control. He eases his thighs a little wider apart, feeling the strain of it and not caring, lifting back from the kiss to snag eye contact as if to telepathically read intention. ]
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Don't worry. We're a long way from done yet.
[ Bull's mouth crooks in a smirk as he feels him shift to adjust to the strain, waiting for it to ease before pressing in with another finger, tight against the first. Even two seems enough to fill him up, tight-wound as he is, and it's easier to push even deeper this way. ]
Plan on having you all sorts of ways tonight. But first...
[ There. That's what he'd been aiming for, and that smirk draws wider. ]
I want to see you come for me. Just. Like. This.
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[ Tevene has a way of sounding like an incantation, which is appropriate, given givens. It's muttered, now, as Dorian tips his head back a little when Bull pushes in two fingers, deeper past knuckles, finding that spot that puts fire in his blood. The state of his clothing is ignored save for factoring in as a minimal amount of restriction, an additional texture.
It's a first, this. Not every interaction Dorian has had with other men has been solely about stealing what they could from one another, but enough that moments when it isn't about that still stand out stark to him. Conversely, he is ordinarily in the habit of navigating that by giving for hope of return.
Here, he has ceased trying, trusting that when Bull says he wants to see him come for him just like this, he means it.
It won't take too long. The twin sensations of Bull's broad hand wrapping tight around his cock and the expert thrust of fingers are the kind of sensations he's accustomed to giving in to, and he opts not to try and drag this out. His body moves in subtle rolls and pushes, and a kiss is broken off when the moment catches him by surprise, a gentle vocalisation as his body locks up tight. Damp spatters against Bull's wrist and belly, Dorian's still clothed thighs, his abdomen, relief a sustained guttering until he finally relaxes, sinking down.
And tipping in, forehead to qunari shoulder, hiding a muffled laugh. ]
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