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.
For once, Dorian's imagination doesn't get away from him. He thinks only of the warmth of Bull's body, the handsome curve of his smile, and the gentle way he guides him to lay beside him, curled up there sated and secure as he has so many other nights over the last month. Perhaps the combination of sex and magic have worn him out especially, but he can't bring himself to think of anything beyond this moment, and the way his fondness for Bull aches sweetly within him.
"A charming turn of phrase," Dorian sighs, nuzzling against Bull's chest as he settles into place beside him. He sleeps on Bull more often than he does a real pillow, these days. He's begun to grow used to it. "Wake me before you go," he murmurs, a little softer. He's grown to prefer waking with Bull still next to him to finding him already gone.
Bull nuzzles Dorian's hair and gives him a gentle squeeze. "I will," he promises quietly. "Can't have you missing breakfast."
He suspects it will be a long day, hopefully one that involved killing Venatori. There's only so much they can get done in the daylight, though. It's easier to travel at night, less likely to exhaust any of them. They'll cover what ground they can, he suspects, before finding somewhere to shelter until the worst of the heat has passed.
His fingers brush lazily over Dorian's back in absent circles. He won't leave Dorian to wake up alone again. Not if he has a choice.
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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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"A charming turn of phrase," Dorian sighs, nuzzling against Bull's chest as he settles into place beside him. He sleeps on Bull more often than he does a real pillow, these days. He's begun to grow used to it. "Wake me before you go," he murmurs, a little softer. He's grown to prefer waking with Bull still next to him to finding him already gone.
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He suspects it will be a long day, hopefully one that involved killing Venatori. There's only so much they can get done in the daylight, though. It's easier to travel at night, less likely to exhaust any of them. They'll cover what ground they can, he suspects, before finding somewhere to shelter until the worst of the heat has passed.
His fingers brush lazily over Dorian's back in absent circles. He won't leave Dorian to wake up alone again. Not if he has a choice.