aban_aqun | The Hissing Wastes

Had Bull not chosen that moment to begin stroking his cock, Dorian might have had a wittier response. As it is, he manages, "It's easy enough," followed by a low moan as Bull's hand drags along his length. Bull's hands are rough and warm and huge, and Dorian takes a few moments to simply enjoy the sensation, letting pleasure spread through him in with each stroke as he gradually grows hard.

Not to be outdone, however, he reaches for the massive buckle of the Bull's belt, and has to use both hands to undo it. It's good that he isn't wearing his full kit, at least, or else he'd need help with it. Once the belt is open, however, it's a simple matter of rearranging his voluminous pants and sitting up enough to free Bull's cock.

It's a stark contrast when they do this together, Bull's hand on him and his on Bull. Even soft, or nearly so, Dorian's fingers barely meet around his girth, whereas Bull's palm covers nearly the entirety of Dorian's cock; not because Dorian is small, but because Bull is big. Dorian bites back another moan--one never knows how sound may carry in a place like this--as he tilts his chin down to watch. He pumps Bull slowly, base to tip, fingers squeezing lightly around the head. For lack of options, he uses a spell to conjure oil in his hand, spreading it to make his strokes easier, slicker.

Bull groans quietly and drops his head back. He grunts when it hits the rock behind him but he doesn't seem overly concerned, much more interested in the way Dorian's hand strokes along his cock, suddenly slick and easy. He huffs a laugh.

"Might start to love that spell."

He looks down between them and can't help but enjoy the way Dorian's hand looks wrapped around his heavy cock. Bull nudges into a kiss and gets an arm around Dorian's hips to pull him closer. It takes little effort to wrap his around around Dorian's cock and his own and he hides a moan against the mage's mouth as he strokes them together.

Dorian gives a cheeky grin, meeting Bull's eye. "I've given you good reason," he teases, and then gives him another--a slow, slick stroke along the length of Bull's shaft. He leans happily into Bull as the Qunari urges him closer. He's glad he isn't the only one stifling his sounds of pleasure in their kiss. He's only a little reluctant to relinquish his hold to Bull, though once a rhythm is established his hips roll almost of their own accord. He rubs his cock shamelessly against Bull's, held tight in the grip of his huge hand.

When he wraps his arms tight around Bull's neck it brings them flush together again, and Dorian lets himself sink deep into the feeling of Bull's warm bulk against him and the steady waves of pleasure that roll through him with each stroke of his hand, consistent as the tide. He knows he'll come quickly if this keeps up, and he doesn't protest or move to slow their momentum, despite what else is on offer. He kisses Bull again to keep himself quiet, though the occasional whimper is still audible, drawn involuntarily from his throat.

Bull tightens his jaw to avoid making too much noise after they break from the kiss. He barely needs to do anything as Dorian moves his hips, giving him the friction he needs. With a low moan he meets the next kiss, his arm tight around Dorian to give him support and to keep them close together.

The words that come next sound almost pained for what they offer: "If you want more, we need to stop," he breathes, almost dazed. "We have to move." He'd told Dorian he would hold him against the rocks if that's what he wanted, but-- He could finish like this. He knows he can and he will, quickly, if they keep it up.

"Dorian..."

Dorian does want more. He always does. These days he misses the fullness of Bull inside him like he belongs there. How it feels to be with him, split open and spread wide and cherished for it. Increasingly, stolen moments like this have begun to give him a very similar feeling of contentment.

"I don't care," he gasps, and presses his mouth to Bull's again, desperately, imploringly. "Bull, don't move, please."

Dorian clings to him, thrusts into his fingers, against his cock. Bull's arm is locked around his back, unyielding, and Dorian absolutely can't imagine pulling away for long enough to undress more. For the moment, he just wants Bull, however he can have him.

Bull groans in answer to Dorian's desperate encouragement. He makes a wordless, assuring sound and meets the next kiss with a heady mix of relief and urgency. Relief that this doesn't have to stop; urgency to meet the crest rising in him. They can't be gone long. The last thing they need is for a scout to find them like this.

"Come for me," he murmurs, heavy and low between them. Bull voices the command, the request, just moments before his own peak hits him. He growls and buries his face against Dorian's neck, biting him to avoid making a louder sound. His cock pulses between them, spilling over his hand and over Dorian. He makes some attempt to contain the mess but it-- isn't easy.

He breathes heavily against Dorian's skin, dizzy with the scent of him and the way the mage's body feels tucked against his. "Dorian-- Dorian let me have it. Come on."

Dorian probably doesn't need the encouragement, but Bull gives it all the same.

He doesn't need it, but he loves it. "Oh Maker, Bull," he gasps, watching the way Bull's cock throbs between them, the mess he makes as he comes hard all over both of them. The slide of Dorian's cock is that much slicker now with Bull's release, and he whimpers as he continues to thrust against Bull's softening length and into his fist. It builds so quickly it's dizzying, and he comes barely a few breaths after Bull finishes, his entire body seizing tight for a moment and then releasing as he comes all over Bull's cock in a quick succession of steady pulses. It's a satisfying sight.

He clings to Bull, and his shoulder stings with the fresh bite he'd left there, and he lets the warm, lingering effects of orgasm make his head light, his vision unfocused, as he leans against his much larger lover.

Bull pulls Dorian tighter against him when he feels the mage come. Dorian is beautiful when he falls apart and all Bull wants to do is savor the moment. His hand slows and stop but he doesn't quite let go of them yet. He likes feeling Dorian cling to him like this, loves the sound of his breathing and the tension in his hands and arms. Bull nuzzles against his neck, pressing a kiss where he's left a bruise.

"Still with me?" he murmurs as Dorian's weight sinks against him. Bull manages to find a handkerchief to clean them both off, at least as best he could out here without any water. He gently tucks Dorian away first. Bull doesn't care if anyone catches him exposed, but he'll save Dorian's dignity if he can.

He turns his head to catch Dorian in a lazy kiss.

"Mm," Dorian hums in confirmation, still drifting. But he's present enough to return Bull's kiss, lax as it is. It feels good not to have to rush back to the real world after things are over, knowing that Bull is there holding him, getting him cleaned up and presentable again. What an infuriatingly reliable man. Dorian kisses him again for his trouble. He rests a hand flat on Bull's broad chest as the other curls around the base of a horn, thumb stroking gently at the skin there. "You're so good to me," he murmurs absently.

He's had kind lovers and considerate lovers, yes, plenty of them--not all of his trysts have left him bad off, or he'd have stopped doing this altogether long ago. (No, no, he probably wouldn't have.) But none who have cared for him quite as diligently or completely as the Bull, who seems to truly take some kind of personal satisfaction from it. Dorian likes it very much.

"We have to go back soon, I suppose," he sighs, and forces himself to begin reconciling with the idea of getting to his feet and walking. Straight back to their tent, he hopes.

Bull offers a small, soft smile and brushes a kiss to Dorian's cheek. It makes him feel good to take care of people. He likes pampering his lovers, when they let him. Dorian is particularly satisfying to give that kind of attention to: he soaks it up, relishes it, appreciates it.

"Soon," he agrees as he reaches between them to right his own clothes. It's a significantly easier process than putting Dorian back in order. Just like that, they're covered up. "Otherwise Harding is going to set some poor scout on our trail, and the're already terrified of me."

Bull smiles and smooths his hands down Dorian's back and over his thighs. He wants to offer to carry Dorian, but he doesn't think the mage's dignity will allow it.

Dorian smiles just as softly at the press of Bull's lips, indeed soaking up the attention, just as Bull notes. He loves feeling wanted, and Bull never makes him feel anything less, even after sex. If anything, he's especially considerate then, which puts to rest many of Dorian's concerns.

"Terrified of you?" He can't help but scoff. "I think they're more afraid of me, frankly." Bull is friendly and likable, and at least he has the Chargers vouching for him; Vashoth mercenaries aren't exactly common in southern Thedas this side of the Waking Sea, but they're certainly more so than evil Tevinter magisters. Still, he understands where Bull is coming from. "Let's head back then, shall we?"

He uses Bull's shoulders for support as he gets up out of his lap and stands, dusting some sand from his robes and fixing his hair, though it had never gotten mussed in the first place. He looks perfectly well in order, no sign of a semi-public liaison anywhere--apart from the bite on his shoulder, which he tugs his robe over with only a slight frown.

"Mm. Might have caught a few of them talking about you. About us." Bull stays still while Dorian leverages himself up. He reaches back to grip the rocks behind him so that he can get himself up. The downside about his size is that there are few people that can brace themselves enough to actually help him get up. He has to rely on the landscape or sheer force of will.

He stretches carefully once he's upright and adjusts his belt to make sure that he's not in danger of losing his pants.

Bull catches Dorian trying to cover the bruise on his shoulder and he has the decency to look apologetic. "Sorry. I should've been more careful."

"Quite all right," Dorian says somewhat stiffly. "I didn't discourage you, so it's as much my fault as yours." It's nothing the application of a little magic can't fix. He isn't an adept healer by any means, but with a little concentration, the bruise lightens and then fades entirely, replaced by healthy, unblemished skin. "There we are. No harm done." Literally.

Turning back in the direction of camp, Dorian waits for Bull to join him. "What were they saying?" He asks, doing quite a good job of seeming unaffected. And he is, for the most part. Curious, but not morbidly so. Unfavorable rumors about himself are nothing new, and he's long learned to live with them, even if he doesn't like them. But he does like to know what's being whispered, at least. And these days he worries about his association casting the Inquisitor in a bad light. Or Bull, in this case. "About me? Us?"

Bull isn't sure what he feels as he watches the mark disappear. Some kind of loss or disappointment, he isn't sure how to name it. He pushes it out of his mind and gives Dorian a quick smile when he proclaims himself healed.

"Mm, something about how they wondered how you haven't been crushed yet. Then some lewd but creative suggestions about positions."

The gossip is as much about Bull as they are about Dorian. He can handle it, but he knows that Dorian would prefer things private. The least he can do is scare the shit out of people that think that kind of thing is worth spreading around. Soldiers will always gossip, can't stop it. Especially about things like the members of the Inquisitor's inner circle. But he can try.

Dorian's lip curls. "So that's it," he says disdainfully. It's certainly no worse than anything else that's ever been said about him, but something about this gossip in particular annoys him to the point where he wants to spite it by waltzing back into camp with Bull's arm around him, or holding his hand, or tucked against his side. It makes him want to kiss Bull where anyone can see, as sweetly as they'd kissed just now. If everyone thinks he's fucking Bull just for the Qunari experience, then let them see that it isn't like they suppose. He cares for Bull far more than that.

But that would start the wrong kind of rumors, too. And so he lets it lie.

"How tiresome. I'm sure I've thought of ten better just today," Dorian sniffs instead. "It probably doesn't bother you, does it?" He asks. He isn't sure whether he wants Bull to disagree or not.

There's something about Dorian's righteous annoyance that makes Bull feel... warm. He wants to smile, and nearly does. The question is more complicated than it should be, he thinks, but he owes Dorian an answer.

Bull sighs quietly and stops walking for a moment as he looks toward the camp. He tries to parse out where his feelings for Dorian are tangled with his ideas of self-worth, his feelings of confidence and value.

"For what it may do to your reputation, yes. People always think I'm a brute, that's not new."

It bothers him, now and then, but for the most part he's learned to let it go. They aren't wrong: he is brutal.

Bull stops, and Dorian stops with him, raising a skeptical brow. "Considering I've got no reputation to speak of beyond untrustworthy Tevinter, I don't think you have much to worry about," he says wryly. "And you are a brute," he teases, and leans up to kiss Bull again before they're too close to camp, a hand braced on his chest. His voice lowers as he smiles against Bull's mouth, amused and wicked. Just the way I like it is implied. "But also a considerate and worthwhile lover," he adds, and barely registers that it's the first time he's used that word to describe Bull aloud. "That's the rumor I heard about you, at least, before I considered finding out for myself."

Stepping back again, he glances out across the desert for a moment before he turns his face back up to Bull. He doesn't need to confirm that the rumors, spread mostly from tavern and castle staff Bull had tumbled at one time or another, were correct in this case.

"Shouldn't you be proud, Iron Bull?" He wonders, finding himself genuinely curious. "You certainly weren't subtle about your overtures. Now everyone knows you've conquered me at last."

"But you do," he says quietly. "The longer you're here, the longer you're part of the Inquisition... More people are realizing what you contribute and how much the Inquisitor trusts you. Yeah, there's bad rumors out there. But there's some impressed ones, too."

And he doesn't want to ruin Dorian's chances at being considered-- respectable. Whatever it is that might make him feel good and worthy.

"No, I wasn't. But it was never about conquest for me."

There's a crack there, he knows. A hint of vulnerability. He teased Dorian about ravaging and conquest but mostly because he knew it would get a rise out of him and that Dorian might very much like the idea of being held down and conquered.

Perhaps Bull is right. The regular librarians and researchers who have gotten to know him well certainly speak highly of him, he knows that much--apart from his propensity to leave books lying around, that is. He's beginning to carve his own niche. But he can't imagine that any of the people who've actually come to like him might like him less because he's sleeping with Bull. But the reverse may not be true. What will Bull's Chargers think when they find out?

Likely the same thing everyone else thinks, Dorian's mind supplies at once. A conquest.

But Bull tells him otherwise.

"Then what was it about?" Confusion overtakes Dorian's face. He understands that Bull had likely said those things to get a rise out of him--and because he read him correctly. But he'd certainly seemed pleased by the idea of getting Dorian in bed, and didn't mind others knowing about it.

Perhaps that's all it is. Bull isn't ashamed of him, but rather--well, rather the opposite. Dorian isn't a prize, but he is prized. There's a notable difference. His voice lowers, softens.

"And what is it about now?"

"I like you, Dorian." Bull starts there because it's simple and it's true. "You're witty, the back and forth was fun. Then it turned into real flirting and--"

He frowns faintly but not at Dorian. He looks at a point in the sand, trying to pull together words to articulate feelings that he doesn't entirely know what to do with. He wants to be blunt, he wants to explain that for Qunari sex and friendship are two things that just don't overlap. Emotional intimacy but not necessarily physical intimacy. That's what tamassrans are for. But that feels weak in the face of how he feels about the mage standing next to him. Dorian is his friend, and he enjoys that. He also enjoys having sex with him. A lot, as it turns out.

Bull resists the urge to make any frustrated noises; he doesn't want Dorian to misinterpret them.

"I enjoy what we have," he manages at last. "I don't want you to.. regret it. Not for any reason. Least of all because of nasty gossip."

Dorian's nerves are high, stomach suddenly twisting itself into knots. Bull takes his time explaining, and pauses for so long that Dorian begins to worry. It's unlike Bull to stumble so over his words. As crude as he can be, he's also incredibly articulate. But what he finally settles on stuns him.

What we have, he says, like there's...something there to have, something concrete. Dorian's heart flutters in his chest, though he knows that can't be how Bull means it. Qunari, he reminds himself for the thousandth time, as though it weren't glaringly obvious. Still, it's nice to confirm that he isn't the only one adrift in unfamiliar waters. They're friends, ultimately, and Dorian doesn't want Bull to feel badly about this.

"I won't regret it. Certainly not over something so trivial," he assures, moving close to settle his hands lightly on Bull's forearms. It's touching, really, that Bull is being so considerate of him. "I may not care for it, but I understand that gossip is inevitable, Bull," he says quietly. "You know I think far more of you than that, yes? Than what they--imply I want you for." He swallows tightly, yet manages a suitably coquettish smile--one that's also warm and genuine. "Of course, your cock is impressive, and I thank the Maker for it daily, but it isn't the reason I like you, you oaf. In case that was at all in doubt."

I won't regret it. Bull leans down and gently grips Dorian's chin to hold him still as he kisses him. It's sweet and lingering and full of the feelings that Bull doesn't know how to rightly put into words, or the ones he's too afraid to speak.

"I know," he murmurs in the quiet space between them. "But it's also nice to hear."

He strokes his thumb over the dark patch beneath Dorian's lip and kisses him again before he lets him go. He can see the faint tension from holding something back and he won't press for answers. It's enough to have what Dorian has given him, especially with that smile. He huffs a quiet laugh and gives Dorian a gentle push.

"Yeah, I know. It's impossible to keep you from thanking the Maker right in the middle of things..." It's teasing banter but that's what they're good at. He wants Dorian to know that he appreciates the sentiment but he won't linger on it to the point of making the mage uncomfortable. I hear you. I see you.

Dorian's smile doesn't fade as Bull kisses him. If anything it grows brighter, surer, and he grips Bull's arms for a long few moments as they linger together. And he can't help but think--sentimental fool that he is--that if he never has anything more than this in his life, then he should still be happy. Perhaps Bull can't love him, but he clearly cares for him, wants the best for him, and wants to look after him. It's more than he's ever had before, and likely more than he ever will. He simply has to be conscious and realistic. So long as he doesn't mistake this for a romance or expect too much out of it, he should be fine. Bull says that he enjoys what they have. Why shouldn't Dorian?

He lets Bull take his time, kiss him until he's satisfied. They aren't within sight of camp yet, he likes the quiet affection in the way Bull touches his face. And the moonlight does wonderful things for Bull's skin, makes it look gorgeously silver. He's marvelous.

But he'll be glad to return to their tent, too. He laughs when Bull nudges him to get him moving again, and makes a point of huffing at his comment. "You should be thanking him too," he play-scolds, mock serious. "I don't know how anyone could deny his presence in the world, Qunari or not. My ass had to have been molded by a divine hand, after all, and it is a gift graciously bestowed upon you."

Bull laughs quietly, fond and tender as he looks down at Dorian. "If Qunari had gods, I'd thank every single one of them," he teases as he slides his hand over the ass in question. He pulls Dorian into one more kiss, telling himself that this is the last, if only until they get back to the tent.

He lets Dorian go and gives him a gentle smack. "Come on, before the Inquisitor starts worrying."

Bull's hand lingers on the small of Dorian's back as they walk, and he only (reluctantly) stops touching him when they're in sight of the camp. Still, he walks close. He doesn't have to give that up.

"As you should," Dorian snips, and gladly submits to another kiss with Bull's wide palm settled over the curve of his ass. And that's all it takes, really, to ignite a certain desire. Before Bull he'd gone months without sex--a dismally long dry spell, to be sure. But now he's all but insatiable. It's ridiculous, or would be, perhaps, if Bull didn't want him just as badly. Happily, all signs indicate that he does.

That warmth settles happily in the pit of Dorian's stomach during their walk back to camp. He allows Bull his touch for as long as he pleases, and doesn't put any more distance between them even after it falls away. He's in a lighthearted mood after unburdening so much tonight, and chats playfully with Bull past the guards, through camp, and all the way back to their tent. He finds he doesn't mind entering it together in the least, conspicuous as that may be. They're about to be a lot more conspicuous anyway, if he gets his way.

He begins undressing almost immediately once the tent flaps are tied up, all at once eager to be out of his constrictive clothing and to feel the air on his skin. "There's some oil in the trunk there," he mentions as he undoes the buckles holding the top half of his robes in place, though it's more like an instruction. "It does wonders for dry skin. I can rub it around your horns, if you like." He's been using it on himself since they got to the desert, so Bull should be familiar with the bottle, and its jasmine scent.

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