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.
At his urging, Dorian does relax again, allowing Bull to do most of the work in holding his hips up. After Bull fusses with the oil for a moment, Dorian feels the familiar rasp of his stubble against his skin, and then the warm, slick sensation of his tongue curling into him. He's gasping softly even before an oiled finger pushes into him as well, though there's no urgency to it, nor to the almost lazy way that his cock slowly fills. He has no trouble at all accommodating a single finger alongside Bull's tongue, not when he'd fucked him so well earlier this afternoon.
He feels loose and tender and open, heavy with relaxation. His skin is smooth and bright with oil, and Bull's grip is strong on his hips, tethering him. Bull has him. "Please," he says quietly, just that word. His fingers curl into the blankets beneath him, forehead pressing into a pillow. He breathes in slow, shuddering breaths. There is something inside of him that needs so badly to be filled; Bull is the only one who's ever come close to it. Who's ever made him feel precisely like this: protected, treasured, desired.
Bull loves feeling the way that Dorian gives in to him, the way he relaxes beneath him, the way he trusts him in these moments. When he hears the sweet, whispered word, Bull lifts his head and carefully adds another finger. He knows Dorian can take it, it hasn't been that long since they were last together like this. A handful of hours. Bull carefully wipes his face dry with his free hand before he leans down to kiss Dorian's back as his fingers work slowly in and out, barely thrusting at all. His mouth trails up the mage's spine and, after a long and agonizing few moments, Bull adds a third finger with a quiet sigh.
He murmurs something sweet in soft Qunlat against Dorian's golden, gleaming skin. Bull leans over him, protective and cherishing as he works.
"You feel ready?" Even if he knows the answer, he still feels compelled to ask. He keeps after Dorian for a moment more, regardless of the answer, because he is nothing if not thorough. Eventually he picks up the oil again an slips his fingers free so that he can slick himself.
Bull's fingers, as they slide smoothly into him one by one, feel good, but like a prelude is the exciting, anticipatory taste one gets before the full book. Sometimes Bull's fingers are quite enough, stretching him enough to be pleasant, to be challenging, without making him feel overfull. But sometimes they aren't. Sometimes--often--Dorian craves the too-full feeling, and nothing gives it to him like the heavy press of Bull's cock inside him. He feels triumphant every time he takes him to the hilt, and the way Bull fucks him is his reward.
Tonight, Bull's fingers barely stretch him. It feels more like he's testing, reassuring himself that Dorian is still open enough. He sighs longingly as they press deep, slowly, almost agonizingly so. Bull's mouth brushes over his back, laying a path of warm kisses up his spine, and covering him with his bulk. Dorian hadn't thought it possible to melt further beneath him, but he does.
"Yes, entirely," Dorian responds almost dreamily. He makes a soft, vaguely disappointed noise as Bull's fingers leave him, but he can't be too upset, as he knows it's only because he's going to get what he really wants. "You should fuck me now."
Bull smiles at Dorian's encouragement; he doesn't need more prompting than that. He adjusts his position and coaxes Dorian's hips higher. He makes an almost apologetic sound, a smile hidden behind it, as he forces the mage to hold himself up rather than laying on the pillows. Bull could probably fuck him like that, but this is easier.
He covers the mage as he leans over him, looms, really, thanks to his height. It takes nothing to guide himself in. He still can't quite bring himself to just push deep in a single thrust, even if it feels so much easier now than it had earlier in the day. Bull murmurs praise in heavy, quiet Qunlat as he slowly sinks deep. He drops his head, letting his brow bump gently against the back of Dorian's neck. He kisses the mage there, lifting his head only when their bodies fully meet.
Bull runs his free hand up Dorian's thigh and along his side, touching him everywhere that he can as he moves his hips in lazy, indulgent thrusts. He doesn't know how long Dorian will let him get away with it, but he'll enjoy it while he can.
As it turns out, Dorian will let him get away with it for quite some time. He grumbles a bit at having to hold himself up, but once Bull's cock is inside him, he quite forgets to protest. His slow, lazy pace means equally slow, rolling waves of pleasure, a feeling that moves up Dorian's spine and suffuses through every limb before starting again, making his toes curl and his fingers clutch at the bedding beneath him every time Bull bottoms out. He moans soft and low, unbidden, the sound muffled by the pillow and his arm. His cock throbs steadily between his thighs, and the worst part of this position is that he can no longer grind it down against the sheets.
He feels almost too hot, warmed by the Bull's hands on him, rubbing the ache from his muscles, and the Bull's bulk above him, pressing over his back--just heavy enough to really feel his presence, his size. That alone is enough to make him weak-kneed. Before that first night, he'd never been with anyone like Bull. He'd acted as confidently as he could, intent on showing him that he could give as good as he got, that he wasn't frightened or intimidated or cowed, but truthfully, it had been an entirely novel experience. Bull has since shown him the absolute extent of pleasure his body can feel, as no one else has ever managed to. And not only that. Being held through the night after is somehow an even more novel experience.
"Like that, just like that," he gasps, eyes closed, lids fluttering. Bull's thick cock drags slowly across the most sensitive spot inside him, and his thighs shake.
Bull smiles above him. The way Dorian moves, the sounds he makes, the subtle tension every time Bull moves just right: all of it makes for a heady mix. There's even some appeal in the way he tries to keep quiet - there's part of Bull that wants to see what it would take to make him lose that control. Maybe not here, not in a camp surrounded by so many when there are already rumors flying.
There are things he's getting used to, too. Things that he's noticed about other lovers but never gotten the chance to explore or experience more than once. It isn't hard for him to learn someone's needs and wants, but it's different to be able to practice that again and again. The satisfaction he feels seeing the euphoric look on Dorian's face after Bull bites him, or the desperate way the mage will clutch at him, grabbing any part of him that he can reach, when they're face to face. Sometimes when they're not.
Just like that. The command sinks pleasantly through Bull's mind, even if Dorian didn't mean it as one. He adjusts their position just a bit, using his knees to push Dorian's further apart. It doesn't quite bring the mage down far enough to find relief against the blankets, but it does force Bull to stay slow. Can't get ahead of himself, no matter how good he feels. He's willing to wait until Dorian begs for something else. Maybe he won't. Maybe this is all he needs tonight.
Dorian makes a startled noise as Bull nudges his legs open further until they're spread indecently wide, bracketing Bull's. He sinks a little lower, rests more weight on his upper half than on his knees. It feels like Bull is fucking him into the bedroll with every slow, deep thrust. It feels like Bull's cock is the only thing keeping him grounded, preventing him from simply drifting off, lost in the heat and the loose, tingling feeling spreading through his body. Sweat beads at the back of his neck, and where Bull's damp skin rubs against his. He whimpers into the crook of his arm.
Bull grinds into him, so deep Dorian can feel his hips against the curve of his ass every time. The rhythmic slap of skin on skin is, obscenely, the loudest sound in the tent. Dorian tilts his head to the side, eyes sliding slowly open, half-lidded as he gazes up at Bull over his shoulder. His pupils are blown wide, so dark they nearly swallow the gray of his irises.
"Put your hands on my hips," is his only request, so soft it's nearly a whisper. Bull will have to lean back, and as much as Dorian will miss his weight against his back, the idea of Bull's fingers (blunt claws) digging into his hips and dragging him back onto his cock with every thrust is enough to make up for it.
Bull huffs a sound, almost a laugh, when Dorian makes his request. He pushes himself up, reluctantly pulling back. His hands drag along Dorian's sides until he can grip the mage's hips. He lets his blunt nails dig against Dorian's skin, lets him feel it, before he starts moving his hips again. Bull bites back a groan. It adjusts the angle, lets him get a bit deeper as he pulls Dorian back to meet him. His hands completely cover Dorian's hips and that alone sends a pleasant rush out to his fingertips.
The only downside is that he can't kiss or bite Dorian anymore, so Bull tries to make up for the loss with the snap of his hips, the grind every time he drags Dorian back. One hand lets go so he can run it up Dorian's back just to feel the muscles move beneath golden skin.
"Dorian." He Bull sighs his name like a prayer, the only sound he's willing to let breathe.
Beneath him Dorian shudders, fingers curling into the blankets as Bull draws back, shifting the angle of his thrusts just enough to put him in more direct contact with his prostate, the fat head grinding sweetly against it as Bull pulls him roughly, perfectly, back against his hips every time his cock sinks into him. Between his legs, Dorian's cock is wet with precome, dripping more steadily with the bright bursts of sensation Bull is wringing from his already sensitive body.
Bull's hands are huge, covering his hips entirely and clutching at the softer flesh there with a bruising strength, his nails a sharper pressure. It's a perfect counterpoint to the almost mind-numbing pleasure, the perfect way Bull's cock fills him, the way it glides smoothly into his stretched hole, driving him wonderfully made with the slow, steady build of energy in his body. His back cools quickly without Bull covering him, breaking into goosebumps. He shivers at the touch of cool air, a relief from the overwhelming heat.
When he moves his fingers from the blankets, he leaves ice crystals behind in the shape of his handprint. Face buried against the crook of his other arm, he doesn't notice. He does gasp harshly when he reaches between his legs and begins pumping his own cock, but by then his touch is hot again--unnaturally so.
"Oh, Bull," he groans, responding viscerally to the sound of his name in the Bull's wonderful low voice, "yes, harder, yes--" He manages to keep his eyes open, manages to watch Bull over his shoulder. He looks magnificent towering over him like this, all wide shoulders and flexing muscle and Andraste's pyre, his horns. "Bull," he gasps, "I'll--you're going to make me--" It's difficult even to finish the thought, let alone voice it.
As Dorian starts to stroke himself, Bull tips his head down, watching the place where their bodies meet, where Dorian stretches to accommodation him. This is the most regular sex Bull has ever had - the longest he's ever had a single partner - and there's a thrill and a comfort in that, knowing that Dorian can take him, that he wants to.
Bull will never get tired of this. The way Dorian practically trembles to pieces, the soft, urgent sound of his voice as he reaches his peak. He mutters softly as Dorian gets tighter, adjusting his place just to make sure that he doesn't hurt Dorian as he comes. To that end, Bull pushes deep at the tell-tale gasps, the soft, breathless warning. He stays deep, grinding his hips as he slowly sinks down over Dorian again, completely covering him. One hand presses to the bedroll while the other arm wraps around the mages chest.
"That's it," he murmurs, heavy and deep. "Let me feel it."
It's only a moment after Dorian voices his warning that he feels his pleasure crest, bright and white-hot, obscuring all else. His eyes slam shut and his thighs quiver as he comes, spilling over the blanket beneath them, a rhythmic clench and release of muscles as he works himself through it, stroking his cock as he tightens around Bull's. He muffles his sharp, shuddering moan, teeth sinking into his forearm to do it.
From the sweltering heat of their bed, a sheet of magical ice races across the tent floor, nearly all the way to their packs and the trunk in the corner. The excess magic races through Dorian as surely as his orgasm had, overflowing in much the same way, unbidden and uncontrolled. He can't sustain the spell, so the ice begins to melt almost immediately. Dorian's head is still spinning, aftershocks of his climax and magic both making his body thrum.
Bull is grounding, centering as he leans over him, a thick, impossibly strong arm holding him secure. A final shiver races down Dorian's spine with the sound of Bull's voice in his ear, the thrilling depth and gravelly quality of it.
Sometime in the midst of Dorian's orgasm, Bull hits his own. He grabs Dorian close to him, pushes deep in lazy thrusts as he finishes, careful not to draw out too far as he fills Dorian, marks him in the most primal way. Bull looks over as ice spreads across the floor of their tent and he shivers at the sight of it and the sudden chill that rolls off it. But it melts almost as quickly as it appeared and Bull actually chuckles. He trails languid kisses over Dorian's shoulder and murmurs soft praise.
Slowly, Bull adjusts their position. He pulls out reluctantly and eases onto his back next to the mage, and just as quickly pulls Dorian against his side. "Get a little overwhelmed there, big guy?" Bull can't help but smile and he gives Dorian a kiss before he can get too annoyed. The magical misfires are new to Bull still, but at least now he knows that they can happen.
It's deeply gratifying to feel Bull spill inside him, marking him as surely as the bruises he's left on his hips. The moments after they've both finished, as they're both readjusting, are perhaps some of the most intimate of the whole process. Dorian appreciates that Bull doesn't pull out immediately. There's little that breaks him out of his pleasant post-orgasmic haze more jarringly than an immediate withdrawal. Still, the emptiness Bull leaves is uniquely disappointing. The way he draws him into his arms almost immediately does a great deal to make up for it, however.
"If I did, it's entirely your fault," Dorian grumbles, though he accepts Bull's kiss. In truth, he's deeply embarrassed about losing control. As powerful and experienced as he is, that simply shouldn't happen.
"Mm, I can live with that." Bull smiles and tips his head to brush his lips over Dorian's dark hair. Before they can cool down too much, Bull grabs a blanket to pull over them. He should probably grab a cloth to help Dorian clean off, but-- this first. Just for a little while.
Bull feels warm and heavy in all the best ways, especially with Dorian tucked against his side, held there easily. He tries not to let his mind drift too much - to the next day, the next week, returning to Skyhold. Will this change? Will Dorian decide he's had enough or that the risk isn't worth it?
"Least we'll both sleep like the dead tonight." And if Dorian doesn't, Bull can't be blamed. He's done his part.
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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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He feels loose and tender and open, heavy with relaxation. His skin is smooth and bright with oil, and Bull's grip is strong on his hips, tethering him. Bull has him. "Please," he says quietly, just that word. His fingers curl into the blankets beneath him, forehead pressing into a pillow. He breathes in slow, shuddering breaths. There is something inside of him that needs so badly to be filled; Bull is the only one who's ever come close to it. Who's ever made him feel precisely like this: protected, treasured, desired.
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He murmurs something sweet in soft Qunlat against Dorian's golden, gleaming skin. Bull leans over him, protective and cherishing as he works.
"You feel ready?" Even if he knows the answer, he still feels compelled to ask. He keeps after Dorian for a moment more, regardless of the answer, because he is nothing if not thorough. Eventually he picks up the oil again an slips his fingers free so that he can slick himself.
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Tonight, Bull's fingers barely stretch him. It feels more like he's testing, reassuring himself that Dorian is still open enough. He sighs longingly as they press deep, slowly, almost agonizingly so. Bull's mouth brushes over his back, laying a path of warm kisses up his spine, and covering him with his bulk. Dorian hadn't thought it possible to melt further beneath him, but he does.
"Yes, entirely," Dorian responds almost dreamily. He makes a soft, vaguely disappointed noise as Bull's fingers leave him, but he can't be too upset, as he knows it's only because he's going to get what he really wants. "You should fuck me now."
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He covers the mage as he leans over him, looms, really, thanks to his height. It takes nothing to guide himself in. He still can't quite bring himself to just push deep in a single thrust, even if it feels so much easier now than it had earlier in the day. Bull murmurs praise in heavy, quiet Qunlat as he slowly sinks deep. He drops his head, letting his brow bump gently against the back of Dorian's neck. He kisses the mage there, lifting his head only when their bodies fully meet.
Bull runs his free hand up Dorian's thigh and along his side, touching him everywhere that he can as he moves his hips in lazy, indulgent thrusts. He doesn't know how long Dorian will let him get away with it, but he'll enjoy it while he can.
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He feels almost too hot, warmed by the Bull's hands on him, rubbing the ache from his muscles, and the Bull's bulk above him, pressing over his back--just heavy enough to really feel his presence, his size. That alone is enough to make him weak-kneed. Before that first night, he'd never been with anyone like Bull. He'd acted as confidently as he could, intent on showing him that he could give as good as he got, that he wasn't frightened or intimidated or cowed, but truthfully, it had been an entirely novel experience. Bull has since shown him the absolute extent of pleasure his body can feel, as no one else has ever managed to. And not only that. Being held through the night after is somehow an even more novel experience.
"Like that, just like that," he gasps, eyes closed, lids fluttering. Bull's thick cock drags slowly across the most sensitive spot inside him, and his thighs shake.
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There are things he's getting used to, too. Things that he's noticed about other lovers but never gotten the chance to explore or experience more than once. It isn't hard for him to learn someone's needs and wants, but it's different to be able to practice that again and again. The satisfaction he feels seeing the euphoric look on Dorian's face after Bull bites him, or the desperate way the mage will clutch at him, grabbing any part of him that he can reach, when they're face to face. Sometimes when they're not.
Just like that. The command sinks pleasantly through Bull's mind, even if Dorian didn't mean it as one. He adjusts their position just a bit, using his knees to push Dorian's further apart. It doesn't quite bring the mage down far enough to find relief against the blankets, but it does force Bull to stay slow. Can't get ahead of himself, no matter how good he feels. He's willing to wait until Dorian begs for something else. Maybe he won't. Maybe this is all he needs tonight.
Bull would be content with that, too.
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Bull grinds into him, so deep Dorian can feel his hips against the curve of his ass every time. The rhythmic slap of skin on skin is, obscenely, the loudest sound in the tent. Dorian tilts his head to the side, eyes sliding slowly open, half-lidded as he gazes up at Bull over his shoulder. His pupils are blown wide, so dark they nearly swallow the gray of his irises.
"Put your hands on my hips," is his only request, so soft it's nearly a whisper. Bull will have to lean back, and as much as Dorian will miss his weight against his back, the idea of Bull's fingers (blunt claws) digging into his hips and dragging him back onto his cock with every thrust is enough to make up for it.
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The only downside is that he can't kiss or bite Dorian anymore, so Bull tries to make up for the loss with the snap of his hips, the grind every time he drags Dorian back. One hand lets go so he can run it up Dorian's back just to feel the muscles move beneath golden skin.
"Dorian." He Bull sighs his name like a prayer, the only sound he's willing to let breathe.
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Bull's hands are huge, covering his hips entirely and clutching at the softer flesh there with a bruising strength, his nails a sharper pressure. It's a perfect counterpoint to the almost mind-numbing pleasure, the perfect way Bull's cock fills him, the way it glides smoothly into his stretched hole, driving him wonderfully made with the slow, steady build of energy in his body. His back cools quickly without Bull covering him, breaking into goosebumps. He shivers at the touch of cool air, a relief from the overwhelming heat.
When he moves his fingers from the blankets, he leaves ice crystals behind in the shape of his handprint. Face buried against the crook of his other arm, he doesn't notice. He does gasp harshly when he reaches between his legs and begins pumping his own cock, but by then his touch is hot again--unnaturally so.
"Oh, Bull," he groans, responding viscerally to the sound of his name in the Bull's wonderful low voice, "yes, harder, yes--" He manages to keep his eyes open, manages to watch Bull over his shoulder. He looks magnificent towering over him like this, all wide shoulders and flexing muscle and Andraste's pyre, his horns. "Bull," he gasps, "I'll--you're going to make me--" It's difficult even to finish the thought, let alone voice it.
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Bull will never get tired of this. The way Dorian practically trembles to pieces, the soft, urgent sound of his voice as he reaches his peak. He mutters softly as Dorian gets tighter, adjusting his place just to make sure that he doesn't hurt Dorian as he comes. To that end, Bull pushes deep at the tell-tale gasps, the soft, breathless warning. He stays deep, grinding his hips as he slowly sinks down over Dorian again, completely covering him. One hand presses to the bedroll while the other arm wraps around the mages chest.
"That's it," he murmurs, heavy and deep. "Let me feel it."
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From the sweltering heat of their bed, a sheet of magical ice races across the tent floor, nearly all the way to their packs and the trunk in the corner. The excess magic races through Dorian as surely as his orgasm had, overflowing in much the same way, unbidden and uncontrolled. He can't sustain the spell, so the ice begins to melt almost immediately. Dorian's head is still spinning, aftershocks of his climax and magic both making his body thrum.
Bull is grounding, centering as he leans over him, a thick, impossibly strong arm holding him secure. A final shiver races down Dorian's spine with the sound of Bull's voice in his ear, the thrilling depth and gravelly quality of it.
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Slowly, Bull adjusts their position. He pulls out reluctantly and eases onto his back next to the mage, and just as quickly pulls Dorian against his side. "Get a little overwhelmed there, big guy?" Bull can't help but smile and he gives Dorian a kiss before he can get too annoyed. The magical misfires are new to Bull still, but at least now he knows that they can happen.
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"If I did, it's entirely your fault," Dorian grumbles, though he accepts Bull's kiss. In truth, he's deeply embarrassed about losing control. As powerful and experienced as he is, that simply shouldn't happen.
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Bull feels warm and heavy in all the best ways, especially with Dorian tucked against his side, held there easily. He tries not to let his mind drift too much - to the next day, the next week, returning to Skyhold. Will this change? Will Dorian decide he's had enough or that the risk isn't worth it?
"Least we'll both sleep like the dead tonight." And if Dorian doesn't, Bull can't be blamed. He's done his part.
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