[ 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. ]
[ That moment, when it comes -- pun perhaps intended -- is beautiful to watch. Like everything Dorian does. There's a haze to his eyes, a slackness to his mouth while his breath stutters, body frozen for a moment in the ecstasy of release. Bull drinks it in, feeling the warmth of that spent issue between them, now coating his fingers as he draws him through the last shudders.
The laugh causes a brow to arch, however, and Dorian can't see the curious look he's giving him from where he's bent close. Instead, there's a hum like a question as both hands draw free, leaving him to recover for a few moments, still straddled close enough to share the warmth of that fresh flush in his skin. ]
[ A contented noise escapes him before he can win back the rest of his self-control as Bull moves his hands and allows him to remain as is, relaxing more bodily. There's a slight shake of his head, more felt than seen, in response to wordless question. Nothing, nothing.
He answers anyway. ] Sometimes we strike me as strange. And you surprise me.
[ Now he pushes himself back, settling into straddle, picking a little at his clothing without actually attempting to adjust it. It's going to come off sooner than come back on. He's left a slight streak of kohl on Bull's shoulder, smudged in turn at the corner, a less precise cat-eye.
Not quite willing to elaborate too much further, not when he can feel Bull's firmness beneath him, and he spies that hand that was handling him. A half-smile gives indication of thought, and he takes Bull's hand into both of his own, drawing it up so that he might run his tongue along one finger, cleaning it of his own fluid. ]
[ That's one way to ensure the issue slides past, unremarked.
It certainly earns a reaction. Bull goes still a moment to watch him, eye fixed on him utterly, watching the sweep of that pink tongue. Dorian would almost certainly feel the twitch that resulted.
Then that hand turns in his grip, the calloused pad of his finger tracing along Dorian's lower lip, inviting him to take them into his mouth. He does look fucking gorgeous with those lips wrapped around his cock, and the sight would hardly seem diminished to see them at work here as well. ]
You're not the only one, big guy.
[ It could have been a teasing tone, but it's lower. Husky with want. Dorian always did know how to put on a show. ]
[ He can't help but feel unduly pleased with himself whenever he manages to inspire true, unbidden reaction out of Bull, and the corner of his mouth stays curved as fingertips tease at his lips. Eye contact remains even and steady and warm as the tip of his tongue teases back, feeling rough skin and tasting the bitter result of his own climax, but takes invitation as is, drawing two of Bull's fingers into his mouth. His tongue sweeps along the more sensitive undersides of both, teeth setting gently against knuckle, before there's that warm closing, the gentle pressure of sucking away ejaculate.
His eyes close mostly for show, but it doesn't change the fact that he truly is enjoying himself, a shift of his hips resuming that teasing pressure down against Bull's erection. ]
[ That lazy pace seems to have resumed, now that some of the edge has been taken off. Oh, he's still hard, still suppressing the need to drag Dorian down onto the sheets and tear the rest of his clothes off. But there's pleasure to be had in dragging this out.
And he'd meant what he said about more. So much more. ]
Just look at you.
[ There's real fondness in there, tinging that heat in his voice as Dorian's tongue rolls over his fingers, that sweet, wet warmth pool straight down to his cock. Then his hips arch, enough to drag up against Dorian's thigh, enough for him to feel just what he's encouraging. ]
[ There is already the dull glow of faint arousal beginning once more, but it's a slow heat to stoke, a subtle climb in his bloodstream. Dorian is content to take his time and bask in attention and having Bull's fingers come away clean save for damp saliva. With one hand still holding Bull's wrist, the other drops to splay fingers low along his belly, the subtle scratch of nails of slightly softer skin, fingertips contemplating the edges of his trousers, before reaching down further between them to palm him through his pants.
He tips his head to kiss away a stray streak at the edge of Bull's hand, swallowing as he leans in to kiss, putting a little pressure on that hand as he does. The taste if there, just a touch of it, beneath the usual sour edge of wine. ]
Edited (even more words than before) 2016-03-30 06:21 (UTC)
[ The scent of it is still in the air, but combined with that tart flavor he's come to associate with Dorian? It prompts a nip at his lower lip, a low growl and a squeeze against Dorian's ass with his free hand. ]
Looking for something there, big guy?
[ It's hard not to press up, to arch into the friction Dorian's hand provides, but it's good. So good, just the same. Those talented fingers know how to grip, he's watched the way he works that staff of his. The comparison has been noted before, usually to a disgruntled groan, and Bull smiles against the mage's lips. ]
[ The use of that nickname, while most times going uncommented on -- secretly liked, even, feeling the affection within it -- gets an eyeroll now, only just visible. His hand doesn't stop, feeling around for those sensitive points that Bull founds so easily on him, pressing through thick fabric, squeezing by way of answer. Yes, looking for something.
He lifts his head back, head tipped and considering while his hand doesn't stop. ]
I think I want my name, [ he asserts, primly. ] You do remember it, I hope.
[ What does he want, though? It's the kind of question the bears weight, that makes his heart twinge mysteriously, in a context that doesn't apply. 'Fuck me' is an easy enough thing to say, but it wants for specificity. The sort he's rarely had opportunity to indulge in before.
It's a struggle, to keep uncertainty out of his expression. It's not a quality meant to coincide with licking your own come off someone's fingers.
He settles a little further down Bull's lap, only somewhat incidentally pushing back into that grip on his ass, his own hands occupied now with tugging open Bull's belt. The coarse friction of a belt and the jangle of metal. His own trousers and underwear ride lower, caught around his kneeling legs. ]
A week, [ he says, after a moment. ] That's how long I had to conceal parts of my neck all the way West. They may have lasted longer, but I cheated, a little, magically -- reluctant though I was to do so. The heat just became intolerable the further we travelled. Now, those little ones you left on my hip I allowed to stay as long as they liked, but alas, they too faded away.
[ Opening Bull's trousers, he bends his wrist to slide his hand within, fingers curling around solid flesh, drawing it out into the cooler air of the room. ]
[ It's not uncertainty he sees in his eyes, but thoughtfulness. Consideration. He's really thinking about it instead of giving a throw-away answer, which means this isn't just a throw-away encounter. Not that they've given that impression before, but...
He knows Dorian has hang-ups about this sort of thing. And the answer, if anything, proves that maybe there's a chance at something real here. Provided he's ever comfortable with that idea.
He...isn't sure what to think of that himself, really. It's not an easy thing to keep his mind on with those elegant fingers working him over, first through his pants and then tugging him out into the open, warm and firm. There's a flare of heat behind his eye, a deep inhale, before hands shift downward to catch on the edge of his smalls.
These? Can go now. ]
Like it when I leave my mark on you? Leave you a little dirty?
[ His voice is a quiet rumble, still close enough to snare his mouth with another sharp-edged kiss. ]
[ The sound Dorian makes into the kiss is affirmation enough, pushing back with pressure and gentle bite, the grizzled friction at Bull's chin and the delicate tickle of his own mustache. And between them, his hand finding a firm grip, stroking, long and deliberate, with pauses only to sweep his thumb against that blunt, warm end.
But this state of half-dress can't go on.
Dorian evades the next kiss, finally shifting aside, the mattress creaking beneath the redistribution of weight, one leg still flung over Bull's thighs, nudging in indication as he lists back onto his elbows. ]
[ No sooner said than done. He'd already been headed in that direction, and it's like they're moving in synch, Bull shifting and tugging down with that grip on the waist of his smalls, peeling them down past his thighs and bunching the fabric against the low sling of his trousers. It's a matter of two tugs, total, to get them completely off.
And then there he is, make-up just a touch smeared, lips red from kisses and bites, and laid out across his bed. Bull grins sharply. ]
Now that we got that out of the way...
[ One hand sees fit to curl around his wrist as he leans in over him, finding familiar ground along his throat where he hasn't marked him quite yet. But he remembers. He remembers exactly where he left every one of those marks, and if Dorian wants them back? He gets them. And then some. ]
[ There's a hint of smile by the time sighting it is out of periphery, and Bull's mouth finds its place at Dorian's neck. He gives a sigh that doesn't come out easily, a little jagged, at that immediately sharp balance between pain and pleasure, kisses hard enough to bruise. His hand, where he is caught at the wrist, flexes into a fist.
Picking between sliding atop of Bull or having Bull over him wouldn't be fair. Both have their merits, with his general qunari enormity felt in different ways. It's its own intoxication to have him bearing down on him, regardless, Dorian lifting his chin and turning it aside to accommodate, the sounds he makes felt against Bull's mouth, along with his climbing pulse.
In their tangle, Dorian feels Bull's erection between them, lifting a thigh to rub against it, squirming. ]
[ That friction is satisfying, no doubt, the slide of a warm, firm thigh against his cock coaxing a curl of heat from the pit of his stomach, and there's a deliberate drag of his hips to show for it. Pressing right up against the crease of Dorian's thigh, even as he teases those blood-dark blushes to Dorian's skin.
Because he's not just marking him. Those marks are gonna be toyed with, teased, until that sensitivity borders on too much. He means to feel that pulse hitch when he bites, and makes his way downwards only once he does.
There's the briefest of pauses to glance upwards, to catch Dorian's eyes and grin, before teeth pinch at the next little patch of flesh to carry his mark. ]
[ Dorian's body language opens up to accommodate. He could reach down and resume his stroking, and opts not to, not when he can coax Bull into shifting against him so nicely by treating him only to the general nearly accidental feeling of the pressure and rub between their bodies, the nudge of his thigh. His own cock, still thick feeling, twitches in the beginnings of renewed arousal.
Eye sight caught, snagged upon, the trace of an answering smile before Bull is lowering his head again, the coarse brush of his horns in blurry view.
Dorian closes his eyes as Bull's mouth finds that next, vaguely familiar spot, lower down. He isn't shy about the little sounds he will deny later, but does try not to give Bull too much satisfaction, remaining mostly still, a hand laying flat and warm at the base of a horn, fingernails toying with craggy grooves.
And then that sensation over sensitised flesh keeps going, making that line between pleasure and pain all the finer. This time, Dorian does shift where he lays, as if undecided about whether or not he wants to twist away. ]
[ He knows those points, the edge of pain that just shies away. There's a world of difference between pain and hurt, and what Dorian needs is warmer, a bone-deep ache and the occasional jolt, thrill, the reminder of danger without threat.
Another mark works its way above his collarbone. Then lower, along the line of his ribs. He remembers where the press of his fingers lay upon his hips but leaves them be for now, sinking lower instead, intent on laying a new mark close against the inside of his thigh instead. A huff of breath against damp skin marks Dorian's grip against his horns, the faint, itching tickle it sets under his skin that wants for something more.
It's teasing, is what it is. And taking it out on the stretch of unblemished skin he finds along the stretch of his thigh is good enough for him. ]
[ Heels digging into rumpled covers, Dorian minutely collapses back out of whatever sitting up he was contemplating doing, answering to that mouth working at his thigh with grips, scratches, tugs at Bull's horns. ]
You're improvising, [ he notes, good humoured, rough voiced, a growl rumbled out of him at the next hint of tooth against bruising skin. His thighs part a little wider, a hand sliding down further to scratch nails gently along the back of Bull's neck. It's both a part of the game itself as well as curiousity that has him carrying on, huskily; ] Do you like this? Laying these little reminders -- the Iron Bull was here.
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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. ]
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[ 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.
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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?
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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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The laugh causes a brow to arch, however, and Dorian can't see the curious look he's giving him from where he's bent close. Instead, there's a hum like a question as both hands draw free, leaving him to recover for a few moments, still straddled close enough to share the warmth of that fresh flush in his skin. ]
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He answers anyway. ] Sometimes we strike me as strange. And you surprise me.
[ Now he pushes himself back, settling into straddle, picking a little at his clothing without actually attempting to adjust it. It's going to come off sooner than come back on. He's left a slight streak of kohl on Bull's shoulder, smudged in turn at the corner, a less precise cat-eye.
Not quite willing to elaborate too much further, not when he can feel Bull's firmness beneath him, and he spies that hand that was handling him. A half-smile gives indication of thought, and he takes Bull's hand into both of his own, drawing it up so that he might run his tongue along one finger, cleaning it of his own fluid. ]
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It certainly earns a reaction. Bull goes still a moment to watch him, eye fixed on him utterly, watching the sweep of that pink tongue. Dorian would almost certainly feel the twitch that resulted.
Then that hand turns in his grip, the calloused pad of his finger tracing along Dorian's lower lip, inviting him to take them into his mouth. He does look fucking gorgeous with those lips wrapped around his cock, and the sight would hardly seem diminished to see them at work here as well. ]
You're not the only one, big guy.
[ It could have been a teasing tone, but it's lower. Husky with want. Dorian always did know how to put on a show. ]
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His eyes close mostly for show, but it doesn't change the fact that he truly is enjoying himself, a shift of his hips resuming that teasing pressure down against Bull's erection. ]
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And he'd meant what he said about more. So much more. ]
Just look at you.
[ There's real fondness in there, tinging that heat in his voice as Dorian's tongue rolls over his fingers, that sweet, wet warmth pool straight down to his cock. Then his hips arch, enough to drag up against Dorian's thigh, enough for him to feel just what he's encouraging. ]
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He tips his head to kiss away a stray streak at the edge of Bull's hand, swallowing as he leans in to kiss, putting a little pressure on that hand as he does. The taste if there, just a touch of it, beneath the usual sour edge of wine. ]
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Looking for something there, big guy?
[ It's hard not to press up, to arch into the friction Dorian's hand provides, but it's good. So good, just the same. Those talented fingers know how to grip, he's watched the way he works that staff of his. The comparison has been noted before, usually to a disgruntled groan, and Bull smiles against the mage's lips. ]
Your turn. Tell me what you want.
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He lifts his head back, head tipped and considering while his hand doesn't stop. ]
I think I want my name, [ he asserts, primly. ] You do remember it, I hope.
[ What does he want, though? It's the kind of question the bears weight, that makes his heart twinge mysteriously, in a context that doesn't apply. 'Fuck me' is an easy enough thing to say, but it wants for specificity. The sort he's rarely had opportunity to indulge in before.
It's a struggle, to keep uncertainty out of his expression. It's not a quality meant to coincide with licking your own come off someone's fingers.
He settles a little further down Bull's lap, only somewhat incidentally pushing back into that grip on his ass, his own hands occupied now with tugging open Bull's belt. The coarse friction of a belt and the jangle of metal. His own trousers and underwear ride lower, caught around his kneeling legs. ]
A week, [ he says, after a moment. ] That's how long I had to conceal parts of my neck all the way West. They may have lasted longer, but I cheated, a little, magically -- reluctant though I was to do so. The heat just became intolerable the further we travelled. Now, those little ones you left on my hip I allowed to stay as long as they liked, but alas, they too faded away.
[ Opening Bull's trousers, he bends his wrist to slide his hand within, fingers curling around solid flesh, drawing it out into the cooler air of the room. ]
I want them all back.
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He knows Dorian has hang-ups about this sort of thing. And the answer, if anything, proves that maybe there's a chance at something real here. Provided he's ever comfortable with that idea.
He...isn't sure what to think of that himself, really. It's not an easy thing to keep his mind on with those elegant fingers working him over, first through his pants and then tugging him out into the open, warm and firm. There's a flare of heat behind his eye, a deep inhale, before hands shift downward to catch on the edge of his smalls.
These? Can go now. ]
Like it when I leave my mark on you? Leave you a little dirty?
[ His voice is a quiet rumble, still close enough to snare his mouth with another sharp-edged kiss. ]
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But this state of half-dress can't go on.
Dorian evades the next kiss, finally shifting aside, the mattress creaking beneath the redistribution of weight, one leg still flung over Bull's thighs, nudging in indication as he lists back onto his elbows. ]
But you can start by helping me with these.
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And then there he is, make-up just a touch smeared, lips red from kisses and bites, and laid out across his bed. Bull grins sharply. ]
Now that we got that out of the way...
[ One hand sees fit to curl around his wrist as he leans in over him, finding familiar ground along his throat where he hasn't marked him quite yet. But he remembers. He remembers exactly where he left every one of those marks, and if Dorian wants them back? He gets them. And then some. ]
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Picking between sliding atop of Bull or having Bull over him wouldn't be fair. Both have their merits, with his general qunari enormity felt in different ways. It's its own intoxication to have him bearing down on him, regardless, Dorian lifting his chin and turning it aside to accommodate, the sounds he makes felt against Bull's mouth, along with his climbing pulse.
In their tangle, Dorian feels Bull's erection between them, lifting a thigh to rub against it, squirming. ]
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Because he's not just marking him. Those marks are gonna be toyed with, teased, until that sensitivity borders on too much. He means to feel that pulse hitch when he bites, and makes his way downwards only once he does.
There's the briefest of pauses to glance upwards, to catch Dorian's eyes and grin, before teeth pinch at the next little patch of flesh to carry his mark. ]
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Eye sight caught, snagged upon, the trace of an answering smile before Bull is lowering his head again, the coarse brush of his horns in blurry view.
Dorian closes his eyes as Bull's mouth finds that next, vaguely familiar spot, lower down. He isn't shy about the little sounds he will deny later, but does try not to give Bull too much satisfaction, remaining mostly still, a hand laying flat and warm at the base of a horn, fingernails toying with craggy grooves.
And then that sensation over sensitised flesh keeps going, making that line between pleasure and pain all the finer. This time, Dorian does shift where he lays, as if undecided about whether or not he wants to twist away. ]
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Another mark works its way above his collarbone. Then lower, along the line of his ribs. He remembers where the press of his fingers lay upon his hips but leaves them be for now, sinking lower instead, intent on laying a new mark close against the inside of his thigh instead. A huff of breath against damp skin marks Dorian's grip against his horns, the faint, itching tickle it sets under his skin that wants for something more.
It's teasing, is what it is. And taking it out on the stretch of unblemished skin he finds along the stretch of his thigh is good enough for him. ]
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[ Heels digging into rumpled covers, Dorian minutely collapses back out of whatever sitting up he was contemplating doing, answering to that mouth working at his thigh with grips, scratches, tugs at Bull's horns. ]
You're improvising, [ he notes, good humoured, rough voiced, a growl rumbled out of him at the next hint of tooth against bruising skin. His thighs part a little wider, a hand sliding down further to scratch nails gently along the back of Bull's neck. It's both a part of the game itself as well as curiousity that has him carrying on, huskily; ] Do you like this? Laying these little reminders -- the Iron Bull was here.
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