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.
"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.
The shift in Dorian's mood is palpable and Bull finds himself content. He seems happy, and that's what matters in the long run. They talk on their way through camp and once they're back in the generously sized tent, Bull turns to make sure the fastenings are tied shut. It's the illusion of privacy but an important illusion none the less.
He settles down carefully to get his brace and his boots off, though he loses track of what he's doing as he watches Dorian begin to disrobe. He likes watching the mage's hands work. He always has. It's the suggested command that snaps Bull out of it and he leans over to find the oil in question.
"I wouldn't mind," Bull admits. He's been doing his best to protect his skin but it isn't the top priority. Qunari skin is thick but it still needs moisturizing, especially given the climate Bull grew up in.
Dorian lights the lantern in the center of the tent with an idle wave of his hand, illuminating things better so that Bull can find the bottle. As he does, Dorian leans down to pull off his own boots, setting them neatly by the front flap of the tent before he continues disrobing. He's quick about it, knowing best which buckles and straps are necessary to get out of his complex-looking outfit, and before long he's folding it up by layers and setting it aside. He wears only his smalls, the thin black silk fitted tight against his body. The color is a stark contrast to his golden skin, bright and luminous in the lamp light.
"Sit back, then," he asks, and sinks to his knees on their shared bedroll, taking it upon himself to help Bull with his brace after his boots are off.
Bull does as he's told once more and eases back onto the bedroll so that Dorian could take over his brace. It's for the best, really, because Bull is now entirely distracted by the fact that Dorian is down to his smalls and just how they look on him with nothing else in the way. He tries to remember if he even appreciated them earlier. Not adequately, that's for sure.
Now, he reaches to touch as Dorian takes over taking care of him, letting his fingers skate along the slippery silk and the softness of Dorian's skin.
While Bull is clearly distracted, much to Dorian's satisfaction, he remains concentrated on his own task, gaze only flickering up briefly to shoot Bull a smirk as his rough fingers trail over his hip. He unhooks the brace in slow, careful steps he's learned over the last month, taking the time to get it right. He pulls it away from Bull's leg with equal attention, setting it aside where it will be easily accessible to Bull in the morning.
"There," he murmurs, and then proceeds to climb into Bull's lap much as he'd been earlier, picking up the bottle along the way. Though this time, of course, he is wearing far less. After he uncaps the bottle, the scent of jasmine permeates the air quickly. Dorian pours an ample amount into his palm before setting it aside, then rubs his hands together, making them suitably slick.
"You'll thank me for this," he nearly purrs, and raises his hands to the base of Bull's horns. The skin there is especially prone to dryness, he's observed, and is likely much of the cause for the itchiness Bull complains of sometimes. Dorian spreads the oil there with a firm caress, leaving it slick and sticky and--when he's done--well moisturized.
Bull relaxes with his back against a trunk he found and dragged into the tent to use just for this purpose. Well, he hadn't envisioned Dorian in his lap at the time, but. It feels good to be able to sit up and lean back. Bull's eye drifts shut for a moment when Dorian gets started and he can't help the quiet groan. The oil feels good on his dry skin - it's starting to crack at the base of his horns - but more than that the pressure of Dorian's hands is... nice.
His hands rest on Dorian's thighs, mostly just to touch him and to offer some support as Dorian works. "Thank you," he murmurs at some point, lulled and comfortable. He could do this himself, and often does at Skyhold, but having Dorian's hands on him like this is good. Really good. Never mind that he's doing all of this in his black, silky smallclothes.
After a good long moment, Bull peeks his eye open again so that he can watch Dorian as he works.
Dorian acknowledges Bull's thanks with a satisfied hum, as though to say I told you so, didn't I? He works over the base of his horns for a bit, one at a time and using both hands, rubbing upward. He knows that the pressure feels nearly as good as the oil itself, so he squeezes and strokes in a way he imagines must be soothing, given the way Bull's eye drifts closed and the noises he makes. He can't help but smile to himself, pleased with his handiwork.
It's only after he's gotten his own sort of satisfaction from it--he rather likes touching Bull's horns, after all, and will take nearly any excuse to do so--that he moves on, trailing his fingers lightly down Bull's neck. He avoids areas with vitaar on principle, not certain how it will react with the oil if it's sloughed all over it, but he rubs his hands diligently over Bull's chest, leaving his skin shining appealingly as he rubs and massages at the muscle there, taking his time. It's then that he leans up for a kiss, slow and languid and warm, as his hands travel lower. They follow the curve of Bull's belly, gradual and appreciative, until they reach his belt, slick fingers sliding over the metal of the buckle as he opens it.
"I want you to fuck me again, Bull," he says, voice low between them. "After you return the favor." The bottle of oil is pressed into Bull's palm, and Dorian's lips press to the scarred corner of his mouth, then just beneath his jaw.
Bull ends up quietly lulled as Dorian works and he resists the urge to make a soft, disappointed sound when Dorian stops. It's easy, because when Dorian stops he gets a kiss and oiled hands slide lower to work his belt loose. Bull's eye opens again and a smirk curves his scarred mouth as Dorian makes his demands.
"Do you want to stay perched here? Or lay on the bedroll?"
It makes no difference to Bull but he wants to give Dorian the option; he can think of advantages either way. He keeps the bottle in one hand while the other very deliberately slides over Dorian's silky black smalls, then beneath them.
"These will have to come off. Or do you expect me to work around them?"
"I'll lie down," Dorian murmurs, though he gives Bull another kiss before he does, moaning low against his mouth at the way Bull gropes at his ass. "Why don't you get creative, hm?" He teases, and slips from his lap only a little reluctantly.
Dorian doesn't merely lay down on the bedroll. He arranges himself. After a slow stretch, he settles down on his stomach, legs extended and arms folded beneath his head, which is turned to look at Bull. His back is arched inward to emphasize the curve of his ass hugged by those black smalls--as though he needs any help with that--and after a moment's consideration, he lifts his hips briefly to slide a pillow beneath them.
He knows how he looks, judging by the self-satisfied curl of his lips, a come-hither sort of smirk which drips confidence. And when oil is rubbed into his skin and he shines like burnished bronze in the warm lantern light, all the better.
Bull moves out of the way so that Dorian can position himself as he likes. He applies the oil to his hands while the mage adjusts himself just so, going so far as to tuck a pillow beneath his hips. Bull sets the bottle aside carefully and moves closer to slide his hands down Dorian's back with careful, measured pressure. He knows where all of Dorian's tense and sore spots hide by now, he's learned them and guessed them through observation and experimenting. It doesn't hurt that his hands are big enough to nearly cover the breadth of Dorian's back. He doesn't go immediately for the perfect curve of Dorian's ass but instead takes his time on his shoulders, his back: intent on leaving the mage in a puddle before he finishes the game. Bull has patience on his side.
Just when it seems like he might be going low enough, Bull skips over Dorian's rear entirely in favor of carefully working his way up his leg. Eventually his thumbs sweep over the back of Dorian's thigh, brushing just beneath the black silk fabric. Bull does the same on the other leg, and it feels like ages before he finally teases his fingers beneath the silk.
Dorian has quickly come to love how Bull's hands feel on him. Bull is so very intentional in his touch, mindful of his strength and size, but unafraid to remind Dorian of it in a way that thrills him. He still shudders when Bull's hands span nearly the entirety of his back, and moans softly into the circle of his arms as his oil-slicked fingers dig deep into his muscles, finding where they've gone tight and working the tension out. He takes his time about it, and given how good it feels, Dorian certainly isn't about to rush him.
It isn't even too frustrating when Bull skips his ass entirely in favor of doing the same to his legs. It simply ensures that by the time he does get to it, Dorian is relaxed enough that he feels sunken--into the blankets under him, and into himself.
"Oh, Bull," he sighs, feeling well worked over already. His limbs are wonderfully heavy, his entire body loose and warm. Moving even his lips is a monumental effort, but luckily it seems he won't have to do more than that. "I want you inside me," he murmurs, eyes sliding open to look up at Bull over his shoulder.
"Already?" he teases, finding that he rather likes the heavy, sweet sound of Dorian's voice when he's so relaxed. Bull finally starts working the black silk off and tosses Dorian's smalls across the tent. He lets his oiled hands run along Dorian's sides, but rather than fingers it's Bull's tongue that teases between Dorian's cheeks as one arm slides beneath his hips to lift him more, to give Bull easier access to him.
Dorian wants to be appreciated and Bull has every intention of appreciating him thoroughly before he takes him.
Besides, Bull likes taking him apart. It's been a long ride and they'll be in the desert longer yet. It's been a long night even if they didn't talk as long as they could have. He wants Dorian to sleep like the dead without the weight of the world on him. He wants to give him that.
If Bull has other plans for him, he's in no mood to protest. He's entirely pliant as his smalls are gradually removed, and when Bull lifts him, he holds the position required. Even if all his body wants to do is sink back down again, Bull makes what little effort he needs to put in worth it.
"Kaffas," he hisses under his breath as Bull's tongue brushes his hole. Even if he's already anticipating Bull's cock, this is something he'll never refuse. He rocks slowly, almost unconsciously, against Bull's mouth, eyes sliding closed again and lips parted for soft, appreciative sounds.
It's only been a few hours since Bull was last inside him, and his rim is still tender with it. The gentle probing of Bull's tongue feels good in the way that touch against over-sensitized skin always does, and he moans against his arm as he seeks more of it.
Bull knows exactly what Dorian's been through today and he's keen on offering a bit of tenderness before they go again. Besides, it feels like they rarely have time to really indulge in one another on the road. As long as they're in a settled, safe camp, he'll take his time.
"Relax," he murmurs against Dorian's skin. "I've got you."
With that he goes back to his work, tenderly teasing Dorian until he's moving his hips, however subtle, to chase the feeling Bull is giving him. Only then does Bull draw back to find oil - not Dorian's jasmine oil, he doesn't want to waste that - but his own supply. He wordlessly slicks his fingers and lets his tongue get back to work, finally teasing it into Dorian rather than just lavishing the outside. Just a moment later, a slick finger follows.
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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?"
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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."
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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."
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"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.
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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."
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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.
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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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He settles down carefully to get his brace and his boots off, though he loses track of what he's doing as he watches Dorian begin to disrobe. He likes watching the mage's hands work. He always has. It's the suggested command that snaps Bull out of it and he leans over to find the oil in question.
"I wouldn't mind," Bull admits. He's been doing his best to protect his skin but it isn't the top priority. Qunari skin is thick but it still needs moisturizing, especially given the climate Bull grew up in.
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"Sit back, then," he asks, and sinks to his knees on their shared bedroll, taking it upon himself to help Bull with his brace after his boots are off.
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Now, he reaches to touch as Dorian takes over taking care of him, letting his fingers skate along the slippery silk and the softness of Dorian's skin.
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"There," he murmurs, and then proceeds to climb into Bull's lap much as he'd been earlier, picking up the bottle along the way. Though this time, of course, he is wearing far less. After he uncaps the bottle, the scent of jasmine permeates the air quickly. Dorian pours an ample amount into his palm before setting it aside, then rubs his hands together, making them suitably slick.
"You'll thank me for this," he nearly purrs, and raises his hands to the base of Bull's horns. The skin there is especially prone to dryness, he's observed, and is likely much of the cause for the itchiness Bull complains of sometimes. Dorian spreads the oil there with a firm caress, leaving it slick and sticky and--when he's done--well moisturized.
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His hands rest on Dorian's thighs, mostly just to touch him and to offer some support as Dorian works. "Thank you," he murmurs at some point, lulled and comfortable. He could do this himself, and often does at Skyhold, but having Dorian's hands on him like this is good. Really good. Never mind that he's doing all of this in his black, silky smallclothes.
After a good long moment, Bull peeks his eye open again so that he can watch Dorian as he works.
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It's only after he's gotten his own sort of satisfaction from it--he rather likes touching Bull's horns, after all, and will take nearly any excuse to do so--that he moves on, trailing his fingers lightly down Bull's neck. He avoids areas with vitaar on principle, not certain how it will react with the oil if it's sloughed all over it, but he rubs his hands diligently over Bull's chest, leaving his skin shining appealingly as he rubs and massages at the muscle there, taking his time. It's then that he leans up for a kiss, slow and languid and warm, as his hands travel lower. They follow the curve of Bull's belly, gradual and appreciative, until they reach his belt, slick fingers sliding over the metal of the buckle as he opens it.
"I want you to fuck me again, Bull," he says, voice low between them. "After you return the favor." The bottle of oil is pressed into Bull's palm, and Dorian's lips press to the scarred corner of his mouth, then just beneath his jaw.
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"Do you want to stay perched here? Or lay on the bedroll?"
It makes no difference to Bull but he wants to give Dorian the option; he can think of advantages either way. He keeps the bottle in one hand while the other very deliberately slides over Dorian's silky black smalls, then beneath them.
"These will have to come off. Or do you expect me to work around them?"
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Dorian doesn't merely lay down on the bedroll. He arranges himself. After a slow stretch, he settles down on his stomach, legs extended and arms folded beneath his head, which is turned to look at Bull. His back is arched inward to emphasize the curve of his ass hugged by those black smalls--as though he needs any help with that--and after a moment's consideration, he lifts his hips briefly to slide a pillow beneath them.
He knows how he looks, judging by the self-satisfied curl of his lips, a come-hither sort of smirk which drips confidence. And when oil is rubbed into his skin and he shines like burnished bronze in the warm lantern light, all the better.
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Just when it seems like he might be going low enough, Bull skips over Dorian's rear entirely in favor of carefully working his way up his leg. Eventually his thumbs sweep over the back of Dorian's thigh, brushing just beneath the black silk fabric. Bull does the same on the other leg, and it feels like ages before he finally teases his fingers beneath the silk.
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It isn't even too frustrating when Bull skips his ass entirely in favor of doing the same to his legs. It simply ensures that by the time he does get to it, Dorian is relaxed enough that he feels sunken--into the blankets under him, and into himself.
"Oh, Bull," he sighs, feeling well worked over already. His limbs are wonderfully heavy, his entire body loose and warm. Moving even his lips is a monumental effort, but luckily it seems he won't have to do more than that. "I want you inside me," he murmurs, eyes sliding open to look up at Bull over his shoulder.
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Dorian wants to be appreciated and Bull has every intention of appreciating him thoroughly before he takes him.
Besides, Bull likes taking him apart. It's been a long ride and they'll be in the desert longer yet. It's been a long night even if they didn't talk as long as they could have. He wants Dorian to sleep like the dead without the weight of the world on him. He wants to give him that.
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"Kaffas," he hisses under his breath as Bull's tongue brushes his hole. Even if he's already anticipating Bull's cock, this is something he'll never refuse. He rocks slowly, almost unconsciously, against Bull's mouth, eyes sliding closed again and lips parted for soft, appreciative sounds.
It's only been a few hours since Bull was last inside him, and his rim is still tender with it. The gentle probing of Bull's tongue feels good in the way that touch against over-sensitized skin always does, and he moans against his arm as he seeks more of it.
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"Relax," he murmurs against Dorian's skin. "I've got you."
With that he goes back to his work, tenderly teasing Dorian until he's moving his hips, however subtle, to chase the feeling Bull is giving him. Only then does Bull draw back to find oil - not Dorian's jasmine oil, he doesn't want to waste that - but his own supply. He wordlessly slicks his fingers and lets his tongue get back to work, finally teasing it into Dorian rather than just lavishing the outside. Just a moment later, a slick finger follows.
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