"I remember," Dorian confirms, though he doesn't think it's necessary. He well remembers how Bull had looked washing in that pool beneath the waterfall, and how Bull had noticed him watching. Of course he'd bring it up now. Dorian arches a brow even as he smiles up at him, drifting closer as they walk, close enough that his shoulder presses to Bull's bicep. "I might even let you watch me. Provided you have enough restraint to keep your hands to yourself while I'm bathing," he flirts coyly.
It's easy to forget, with Bull's teasing and flattery distracting him, that they'd had quite the revealing conversation several minutes ago. They'd learned things about one another that--in Dorian's case, at the very least, he wouldn't tell anyone else. It makes him feel closer to Bull than ever, for better or worse.
Even looking back to the Western Approach, when he'd begun to seriously consider actually taking Bull up on his longtime offer, he hadn't thought he'd ever count Bull as the person he'd become closest to here in the south. But here they are, and Dorian can't help but think that Bull may be his closest friend. (The word seems wrong, even in his head; friend. But he wouldn't dare lay claim to any other term.) They've been willing to share openly the multitude of things that make them different, and in doing so have discovered some remarkable similarities. Bull understands him in a way that no one else in their group possibly could.
Dorian slows to a halt, pressed against Bull's side as he looks up past him, up at the stars littering the night sky, nearly as plentiful as the sand below their feet. He thinks of that passage from the Qun.
"How does it go again?" He wonders, knows that Bull will know what he's talking about.
"You're asking something considerable," Bull quips. He's watched Dorian bathe before, though never overtly before they started-- whatever this is. And now the thought of watching water trickle over Dorian's golden skin makes him want.
Bull doesn't know what to do with the feeling that stirs in his chest when Dorian asks him to repeat part of the canto he'd recited earlier. He usually keeps the Qun to himself; it doesn't suit the story of a Tal-Vashoth and he isn't interested in converting anyone. But it feels good to be able to share these words that he finds comfort in. He squeezes Dorian's hand and, while the mage looks at the sky, Bull quietly admires him.
"Emptiness is an illusion. Beneath my feet, grains of sand beyond counting. Above my head, a sea of stars. Alone, they are small: a faint and flickering light in the darkness, a lost and fallen fragment of earth. Alone, they make the emptiness real. Together, they are the bones of the world."
Dorian's smile becomes a little softer, undeniably fond. Bull repeats exactly the words he was looking for. "Thank you," he says quietly--for a number of things. "It really is beautiful." The view, the poetry, and both together, especially in Bull's low baritone.
When he looks back at Bull, he expects him to be looking up as well, or out over the expanse of waste. Instead, he finds that Bull is looking at him. It startles him briefly, surprise flickering across his features.
His breath catches in his throat, and he doesn't know what to say. He meets Bull's eye, and all he manages is a soft, breathy exhale. "Oh." Barely a word at all.
Bull feels a hitch in his throat when Dorian meets his gaze; he's been caught but he isn't ashamed and he doesn't try to hide it. His other hand reaches up to stroke along Dorian's cheek and without a world, Bull leans down into a tender kiss.
He's been wanting to kiss Dorian since he appeared from the camp and now Bull indulges. He pulls Dorian's body against his, until they're flush together. Dorian deserves to feel good, to feel cared for and admired. He deserves to know that he is worthy of whatever he seeks.
Bull slides hand down Dorian's back, letting it rest just at the dip just before the swell of his rear. By all that sacred, Dorian is attractive. But it's more than that now and Bull knows it.
Dorian isn't exactly surprised that Bull kisses him, but he is immensely taken by it. With Bull guiding him to press against him, with his fingers gently curled around his jaw, with his hand covering the small of his back, with the way he'd been looking at him, Dorian can't help but interpret this as some evidence of passion beyond a simple desire to fuck him. He can't possibly know what that means, or what this--this thing between them means to Bull. Dorian doesn't even know for certain what it means to him. But it is enough that Bull would look at him that way, and kiss him like this. It's very sweet.
Arms circling around Bull's waist--wide enough that his hands can't quite meet around his back--he returns that kiss with tenderness of his own. He wants Bull to feel as desired as Bull makes him feel; like Bull wants and embraces all of him, everything about him. I am grateful to know you, he'd said. Even if that's all this is, Dorian will take it. He'll be glad to know that there is at least one person who likes him exactly as he is, and doesn't mind expressing it.
He loves how Bull towers over him, but bends enough when they kiss that Dorian doesn't have to strain. One of many ways that Bull is considerate. But it must be murder on his neck, especially with his horns. Dorian leans into Bull to steady himself as he presses up onto his tip-toes, alleviating some of their height difference. He slides his tongue past Bull's lips almost gently, but the way he clutches at his back, nails scratching lightly at his bare skin, are a better indicator of how much he craves this--this intimacy, this bright, hopeful spark of something.
He'd woken up still feeling their earlier exertions in the pleasant ache of his body, and though he'd washed well enough that any lingering scent would be undetectable to a human, perhaps not so to a Qunari. Perhaps it's merely wishful thinking, but he thinks he can smell some trace of it on Bull still. But perhaps he's merely grown to associate the scent of Bull's skin with comfort and pleasure.
Dorian Pavus makes Bull feel things that he's never really had to work through before. The mage has crossed the line between friend and sex partner, a line that has always been so clearly and easily delineated for Bull. No person has ever occupied both roles at once, not the way that Dorian does now.
And with the way that Dorian surges up onto the balls of his feet, pressing into him and gaining height to give Bull some relief, Bull finds himself utterly smitten. He slides his hand across Dorian's back so that his forearm is there instead, offering the mage support as his body leans more heavily into Bull's.
He closes his eye, giving himself over to the way Dorian kisses him back, igniting something that is never anything less than banked between them these days. All it takes is a spark, a rush of air, for the flame to light again.
Bull realizes their is a solution to the problem of their height difference. His hands slide lower until he catches the back of Dorian's thighs. It takes nothing to lift the mage from there, suddenly bringing them even. He breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, to touch his forehead to Dorian's now that he's able to do so.
Though this isn't the first time Bull has lifted him this way, Dorian still gasps with delighted surprise, feeling the same thrill go through him that he always does when Bull displays his strength--and uses it on him. He'd worry that holding him up like this might be too much, except that Bull displays no exertion at all when he does it; has indeed commented that most of the weapons he wields regularly are heavier than Dorian is. There's something in that that Dorian finds deeply attractive on a base level. Sharing intimacy mostly in tents as they have been, there's been little chance for this sort of thing.
Dorian's arms drape around Bull's neck as he nudges their foreheads together, and Dorian takes this moment to breathe as well, to feel Bull's grip on his thighs, the warmth of his skin and the solid mass of his body against him. His legs circle Bull's waist almost instinctively, though he can't get much leverage with how wide he has to spread them. But that's always been appealing, too.
"Bull," he murmurs quietly, and lets their lips brush again briefly as he appreciates the rare opportunity to be on eye level. "I'm grateful to know you, too." And because he can't simply say something heartfelt and just let it lie, he adds with good humor, "Despite your crude behavior and complete lack of taste for anything refined." A pause as his lips curl into a soft, amused smile. "Apart from myself, of course. One could hardly malign your preferences there."
Bull doesn't even try to tease Dorian about his duplicity; he's content to just kiss him again and know that the more serious he is, the less serious he tries to sound. He moves them beneath a wind-carved arch, affording them some privacy before he sinks down to his knees. Bull keeps Dorian close against him as he slowly eases forward, laying the mage on his back in the still-warm sand.
He knows how many people look at Dorian - men and women both, though the latter soon enough learn their flirting will bear no reward. He knows the kind of men Dorian's taken to bed before. Bull is not like any of them in so many ways. He's too big, too rough, too broken and scarred. And not the dashing kind of scars the chevalier had. He's heard the whispers, wondering what the well-bred Vint could see in him. The answer is almost inevitably along the lines of, you know what it is.
But Dorian's never treated him like that and Bull finds himself resenting the comments.
Now, he leans over Dorian, protective and looming as he admires the way the moonlight plays across Dorian's skin. He leans down to kiss the mage's bare shoulder; Bull has teased him more than once about his aesthetic, but even the rough Qunari has to admit that Dorian knows how to dress to advantage.
Dorian makes at least some effort to steady Bull as he lowers himself to his knees, though there's not much he can do while being held the way he is. The moons light Bull from behind, making looking at his face very intimate as he carefully sets Dorian down. It's all very--well, very romantic, though Dorian staunchly avoids lingering on that idea.
Feeling sand against his back helps with that almost immediately. Bull leans over him, presses a very sweet kiss to his bare shoulder--quite near the obvious bruise he'd left there earlier--but Dorian isn't having it. He's eager for this, so much so that he's willing to do it out here, but not laying on the bloody sand, which is inevitably going to get into absolutely everything, and he'll be pouring it out of his leathers for days.
"Oh no," he chides, pressing a hand to Bull's chest to give him space as he pushes himself up off the sand, sitting rather than laying. "Absolutely not." His brow furrows. He's got standards--really, he does. "Either you pick me up again, or we do this standing."
Bull laughs as Dorian pushes him back and sits up. He reaches to help the mage back into his lap, straddling him so he doesn't have to hold himself up. "So demanding," he rumbles, not sounding the least bit put off by the refusal-- or rather, the insistence regarding how this should happen.
He eases back, sitting carefully so he can put his shoulders against a rock. "I'll be in the sand," he quips as he looks down at Dorian's thighs, appreciating how they look on either side of him. "But if you really want me to hold you up and do this standing... we can."
Now that Dorian's mentioned it, it's an option he's willing to indulge in. Though he does worry about scraping Dorian's back against the rocks.
Settling across Bull's lap is infinitely better than where he had been. Bull is clearly nothing less than amused by Dorian's insistence, which Dorian can't decide if he's pleased or annoyed by. He's quite serious about this, after all. But before he can decide, Bull gives him a choice. And even though he'd just suggested Bull picking him up again himself, the fact that Bull is actually giving it consideration and acknowledging it as a possibility has Dorian reeling. That might just be a long-time fantasy. But he can't appear too eager. That would give Bull far too much ammunition to tease him with.
"Let's see where this goes, shall we?" He says lightly, as though it doesn't matter to him either way. "Just don't put me down again," he instructs, and shifts his hips to settle more firmly in Bull's lap. Grinding down against Bull in the process is, of course, entirely deliberate. He settles his hands on Bull's wide chest and leans in to kiss him again, keen on distracting himself that way for a bit.
Bull's breath catches as Dorian grinds against him. Even if Dorian's trying to hide it, he saw the way he reacted to the possibility of being held up during sex. Maybe they'll have to try it tonight after all.
He leans in to meet the kiss and slides his hands over Dorian's thighs and the perfect curve of his ass. He'll say this: Dorian knows how to dress to advantage. After they started having sex regularly it became impossible for Bull to ignore. As his hands move, he starts working free buckles and straps. It'd be too much to undress Dorian entirely, especially out here, where they aren't really protected. But they don't need to be naked for this. Bull has everything else they need.
"Too bad you don't like those robes the Enchanters here like," he murmurs as he slides his mouth down Dorian's neck. "Easy to just lift those up." He grins against the mage's skin and scrapes his teeth over his pulse.
Dorian hums his approval when Bull's hand slide up his thighs and over his ass. It's almost disappointing when they wander further to begin unbuckling various straps on his person. Bull's gotten good at remembering which of them hold up the most important pieces of the garment in order to get him out of it quickly.
"Oh, so you've finally noticed that I don't wear a skirt?" Dorian quips, even as he tilts his chin to let Bull kiss and nip along his neck. It shouldn't be as arousing as it is, though, that Bull laments him not wearing a different outfit just for ease of access. It conjures a...certain image. More embarrassing things have made his cock hard, he supposes. "If I did," he says lightly, "I'd be depriving you of an excellent view. Whatever would you look at while we traverse the countryside? The scenery?"
His pulse beats hard and fast beneath Bull's lips and his fingers curl into his chest, unvarnished nails dragging against Bull's skin.
"Maybe I wouldn't have the view, but I'd have my imagination to keep me entertained," he quips as he works loose and open the most important parts of Dorian's gear. Bull pauses his mission to give some attention to Dorian's cock as soon as he can get to it. He meets the mage's gaze as he strokes him.
"Besides, this would be much easier," he quips, his voice warm as he teases Dorian, letting his palm graze the head of his cock before he strokes down again. He can feel Dorian's blunt nails digging against his chest and he suddenly wonders what it might take to have Dorian clawing at him. He shouldn't keep them out here too long: someone will come looking for them, especially if they find their abandoned dinner bowls. Better to be quick this time.
Had Bull not chosen that moment to begin stroking his cock, Dorian might have had a wittier response. As it is, he manages, "It's easy enough," followed by a low moan as Bull's hand drags along his length. Bull's hands are rough and warm and huge, and Dorian takes a few moments to simply enjoy the sensation, letting pleasure spread through him in with each stroke as he gradually grows hard.
Not to be outdone, however, he reaches for the massive buckle of the Bull's belt, and has to use both hands to undo it. It's good that he isn't wearing his full kit, at least, or else he'd need help with it. Once the belt is open, however, it's a simple matter of rearranging his voluminous pants and sitting up enough to free Bull's cock.
It's a stark contrast when they do this together, Bull's hand on him and his on Bull. Even soft, or nearly so, Dorian's fingers barely meet around his girth, whereas Bull's palm covers nearly the entirety of Dorian's cock; not because Dorian is small, but because Bull is big. Dorian bites back another moan--one never knows how sound may carry in a place like this--as he tilts his chin down to watch. He pumps Bull slowly, base to tip, fingers squeezing lightly around the head. For lack of options, he uses a spell to conjure oil in his hand, spreading it to make his strokes easier, slicker.
Bull groans quietly and drops his head back. He grunts when it hits the rock behind him but he doesn't seem overly concerned, much more interested in the way Dorian's hand strokes along his cock, suddenly slick and easy. He huffs a laugh.
"Might start to love that spell."
He looks down between them and can't help but enjoy the way Dorian's hand looks wrapped around his heavy cock. Bull nudges into a kiss and gets an arm around Dorian's hips to pull him closer. It takes little effort to wrap his around around Dorian's cock and his own and he hides a moan against the mage's mouth as he strokes them together.
Dorian gives a cheeky grin, meeting Bull's eye. "I've given you good reason," he teases, and then gives him another--a slow, slick stroke along the length of Bull's shaft. He leans happily into Bull as the Qunari urges him closer. He's glad he isn't the only one stifling his sounds of pleasure in their kiss. He's only a little reluctant to relinquish his hold to Bull, though once a rhythm is established his hips roll almost of their own accord. He rubs his cock shamelessly against Bull's, held tight in the grip of his huge hand.
When he wraps his arms tight around Bull's neck it brings them flush together again, and Dorian lets himself sink deep into the feeling of Bull's warm bulk against him and the steady waves of pleasure that roll through him with each stroke of his hand, consistent as the tide. He knows he'll come quickly if this keeps up, and he doesn't protest or move to slow their momentum, despite what else is on offer. He kisses Bull again to keep himself quiet, though the occasional whimper is still audible, drawn involuntarily from his throat.
Bull tightens his jaw to avoid making too much noise after they break from the kiss. He barely needs to do anything as Dorian moves his hips, giving him the friction he needs. With a low moan he meets the next kiss, his arm tight around Dorian to give him support and to keep them close together.
The words that come next sound almost pained for what they offer: "If you want more, we need to stop," he breathes, almost dazed. "We have to move." He'd told Dorian he would hold him against the rocks if that's what he wanted, but-- He could finish like this. He knows he can and he will, quickly, if they keep it up.
Dorian does want more. He always does. These days he misses the fullness of Bull inside him like he belongs there. How it feels to be with him, split open and spread wide and cherished for it. Increasingly, stolen moments like this have begun to give him a very similar feeling of contentment.
"I don't care," he gasps, and presses his mouth to Bull's again, desperately, imploringly. "Bull, don't move, please."
Dorian clings to him, thrusts into his fingers, against his cock. Bull's arm is locked around his back, unyielding, and Dorian absolutely can't imagine pulling away for long enough to undress more. For the moment, he just wants Bull, however he can have him.
Bull groans in answer to Dorian's desperate encouragement. He makes a wordless, assuring sound and meets the next kiss with a heady mix of relief and urgency. Relief that this doesn't have to stop; urgency to meet the crest rising in him. They can't be gone long. The last thing they need is for a scout to find them like this.
"Come for me," he murmurs, heavy and low between them. Bull voices the command, the request, just moments before his own peak hits him. He growls and buries his face against Dorian's neck, biting him to avoid making a louder sound. His cock pulses between them, spilling over his hand and over Dorian. He makes some attempt to contain the mess but it-- isn't easy.
He breathes heavily against Dorian's skin, dizzy with the scent of him and the way the mage's body feels tucked against his. "Dorian-- Dorian let me have it. Come on."
Dorian probably doesn't need the encouragement, but Bull gives it all the same.
He doesn't need it, but he loves it. "Oh Maker, Bull," he gasps, watching the way Bull's cock throbs between them, the mess he makes as he comes hard all over both of them. The slide of Dorian's cock is that much slicker now with Bull's release, and he whimpers as he continues to thrust against Bull's softening length and into his fist. It builds so quickly it's dizzying, and he comes barely a few breaths after Bull finishes, his entire body seizing tight for a moment and then releasing as he comes all over Bull's cock in a quick succession of steady pulses. It's a satisfying sight.
He clings to Bull, and his shoulder stings with the fresh bite he'd left there, and he lets the warm, lingering effects of orgasm make his head light, his vision unfocused, as he leans against his much larger lover.
Bull pulls Dorian tighter against him when he feels the mage come. Dorian is beautiful when he falls apart and all Bull wants to do is savor the moment. His hand slows and stop but he doesn't quite let go of them yet. He likes feeling Dorian cling to him like this, loves the sound of his breathing and the tension in his hands and arms. Bull nuzzles against his neck, pressing a kiss where he's left a bruise.
"Still with me?" he murmurs as Dorian's weight sinks against him. Bull manages to find a handkerchief to clean them both off, at least as best he could out here without any water. He gently tucks Dorian away first. Bull doesn't care if anyone catches him exposed, but he'll save Dorian's dignity if he can.
"Mm," Dorian hums in confirmation, still drifting. But he's present enough to return Bull's kiss, lax as it is. It feels good not to have to rush back to the real world after things are over, knowing that Bull is there holding him, getting him cleaned up and presentable again. What an infuriatingly reliable man. Dorian kisses him again for his trouble. He rests a hand flat on Bull's broad chest as the other curls around the base of a horn, thumb stroking gently at the skin there. "You're so good to me," he murmurs absently.
He's had kind lovers and considerate lovers, yes, plenty of them--not all of his trysts have left him bad off, or he'd have stopped doing this altogether long ago. (No, no, he probably wouldn't have.) But none who have cared for him quite as diligently or completely as the Bull, who seems to truly take some kind of personal satisfaction from it. Dorian likes it very much.
"We have to go back soon, I suppose," he sighs, and forces himself to begin reconciling with the idea of getting to his feet and walking. Straight back to their tent, he hopes.
Bull offers a small, soft smile and brushes a kiss to Dorian's cheek. It makes him feel good to take care of people. He likes pampering his lovers, when they let him. Dorian is particularly satisfying to give that kind of attention to: he soaks it up, relishes it, appreciates it.
"Soon," he agrees as he reaches between them to right his own clothes. It's a significantly easier process than putting Dorian back in order. Just like that, they're covered up. "Otherwise Harding is going to set some poor scout on our trail, and the're already terrified of me."
Bull smiles and smooths his hands down Dorian's back and over his thighs. He wants to offer to carry Dorian, but he doesn't think the mage's dignity will allow it.
Dorian smiles just as softly at the press of Bull's lips, indeed soaking up the attention, just as Bull notes. He loves feeling wanted, and Bull never makes him feel anything less, even after sex. If anything, he's especially considerate then, which puts to rest many of Dorian's concerns.
"Terrified of you?" He can't help but scoff. "I think they're more afraid of me, frankly." Bull is friendly and likable, and at least he has the Chargers vouching for him; Vashoth mercenaries aren't exactly common in southern Thedas this side of the Waking Sea, but they're certainly more so than evil Tevinter magisters. Still, he understands where Bull is coming from. "Let's head back then, shall we?"
He uses Bull's shoulders for support as he gets up out of his lap and stands, dusting some sand from his robes and fixing his hair, though it had never gotten mussed in the first place. He looks perfectly well in order, no sign of a semi-public liaison anywhere--apart from the bite on his shoulder, which he tugs his robe over with only a slight frown.
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It's easy to forget, with Bull's teasing and flattery distracting him, that they'd had quite the revealing conversation several minutes ago. They'd learned things about one another that--in Dorian's case, at the very least, he wouldn't tell anyone else. It makes him feel closer to Bull than ever, for better or worse.
Even looking back to the Western Approach, when he'd begun to seriously consider actually taking Bull up on his longtime offer, he hadn't thought he'd ever count Bull as the person he'd become closest to here in the south. But here they are, and Dorian can't help but think that Bull may be his closest friend. (The word seems wrong, even in his head; friend. But he wouldn't dare lay claim to any other term.) They've been willing to share openly the multitude of things that make them different, and in doing so have discovered some remarkable similarities. Bull understands him in a way that no one else in their group possibly could.
Dorian slows to a halt, pressed against Bull's side as he looks up past him, up at the stars littering the night sky, nearly as plentiful as the sand below their feet. He thinks of that passage from the Qun.
"How does it go again?" He wonders, knows that Bull will know what he's talking about.
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Bull doesn't know what to do with the feeling that stirs in his chest when Dorian asks him to repeat part of the canto he'd recited earlier. He usually keeps the Qun to himself; it doesn't suit the story of a Tal-Vashoth and he isn't interested in converting anyone. But it feels good to be able to share these words that he finds comfort in. He squeezes Dorian's hand and, while the mage looks at the sky, Bull quietly admires him.
"Emptiness is an illusion. Beneath my feet, grains of sand beyond counting. Above my head, a sea of stars. Alone, they are small: a faint and flickering light in the darkness, a lost and fallen fragment of earth. Alone, they make the emptiness real. Together, they are the bones of the world."
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When he looks back at Bull, he expects him to be looking up as well, or out over the expanse of waste. Instead, he finds that Bull is looking at him. It startles him briefly, surprise flickering across his features.
His breath catches in his throat, and he doesn't know what to say. He meets Bull's eye, and all he manages is a soft, breathy exhale. "Oh." Barely a word at all.
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He's been wanting to kiss Dorian since he appeared from the camp and now Bull indulges. He pulls Dorian's body against his, until they're flush together. Dorian deserves to feel good, to feel cared for and admired. He deserves to know that he is worthy of whatever he seeks.
Bull slides hand down Dorian's back, letting it rest just at the dip just before the swell of his rear. By all that sacred, Dorian is attractive. But it's more than that now and Bull knows it.
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Arms circling around Bull's waist--wide enough that his hands can't quite meet around his back--he returns that kiss with tenderness of his own. He wants Bull to feel as desired as Bull makes him feel; like Bull wants and embraces all of him, everything about him. I am grateful to know you, he'd said. Even if that's all this is, Dorian will take it. He'll be glad to know that there is at least one person who likes him exactly as he is, and doesn't mind expressing it.
He loves how Bull towers over him, but bends enough when they kiss that Dorian doesn't have to strain. One of many ways that Bull is considerate. But it must be murder on his neck, especially with his horns. Dorian leans into Bull to steady himself as he presses up onto his tip-toes, alleviating some of their height difference. He slides his tongue past Bull's lips almost gently, but the way he clutches at his back, nails scratching lightly at his bare skin, are a better indicator of how much he craves this--this intimacy, this bright, hopeful spark of something.
He'd woken up still feeling their earlier exertions in the pleasant ache of his body, and though he'd washed well enough that any lingering scent would be undetectable to a human, perhaps not so to a Qunari. Perhaps it's merely wishful thinking, but he thinks he can smell some trace of it on Bull still. But perhaps he's merely grown to associate the scent of Bull's skin with comfort and pleasure.
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And with the way that Dorian surges up onto the balls of his feet, pressing into him and gaining height to give Bull some relief, Bull finds himself utterly smitten. He slides his hand across Dorian's back so that his forearm is there instead, offering the mage support as his body leans more heavily into Bull's.
He closes his eye, giving himself over to the way Dorian kisses him back, igniting something that is never anything less than banked between them these days. All it takes is a spark, a rush of air, for the flame to light again.
Bull realizes their is a solution to the problem of their height difference. His hands slide lower until he catches the back of Dorian's thighs. It takes nothing to lift the mage from there, suddenly bringing them even. He breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, to touch his forehead to Dorian's now that he's able to do so.
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Dorian's arms drape around Bull's neck as he nudges their foreheads together, and Dorian takes this moment to breathe as well, to feel Bull's grip on his thighs, the warmth of his skin and the solid mass of his body against him. His legs circle Bull's waist almost instinctively, though he can't get much leverage with how wide he has to spread them. But that's always been appealing, too.
"Bull," he murmurs quietly, and lets their lips brush again briefly as he appreciates the rare opportunity to be on eye level. "I'm grateful to know you, too." And because he can't simply say something heartfelt and just let it lie, he adds with good humor, "Despite your crude behavior and complete lack of taste for anything refined." A pause as his lips curl into a soft, amused smile. "Apart from myself, of course. One could hardly malign your preferences there."
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He knows how many people look at Dorian - men and women both, though the latter soon enough learn their flirting will bear no reward. He knows the kind of men Dorian's taken to bed before. Bull is not like any of them in so many ways. He's too big, too rough, too broken and scarred. And not the dashing kind of scars the chevalier had. He's heard the whispers, wondering what the well-bred Vint could see in him. The answer is almost inevitably along the lines of, you know what it is.
But Dorian's never treated him like that and Bull finds himself resenting the comments.
Now, he leans over Dorian, protective and looming as he admires the way the moonlight plays across Dorian's skin. He leans down to kiss the mage's bare shoulder; Bull has teased him more than once about his aesthetic, but even the rough Qunari has to admit that Dorian knows how to dress to advantage.
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Feeling sand against his back helps with that almost immediately. Bull leans over him, presses a very sweet kiss to his bare shoulder--quite near the obvious bruise he'd left there earlier--but Dorian isn't having it. He's eager for this, so much so that he's willing to do it out here, but not laying on the bloody sand, which is inevitably going to get into absolutely everything, and he'll be pouring it out of his leathers for days.
"Oh no," he chides, pressing a hand to Bull's chest to give him space as he pushes himself up off the sand, sitting rather than laying. "Absolutely not." His brow furrows. He's got standards--really, he does. "Either you pick me up again, or we do this standing."
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He eases back, sitting carefully so he can put his shoulders against a rock. "I'll be in the sand," he quips as he looks down at Dorian's thighs, appreciating how they look on either side of him. "But if you really want me to hold you up and do this standing... we can."
Now that Dorian's mentioned it, it's an option he's willing to indulge in. Though he does worry about scraping Dorian's back against the rocks.
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"Let's see where this goes, shall we?" He says lightly, as though it doesn't matter to him either way. "Just don't put me down again," he instructs, and shifts his hips to settle more firmly in Bull's lap. Grinding down against Bull in the process is, of course, entirely deliberate. He settles his hands on Bull's wide chest and leans in to kiss him again, keen on distracting himself that way for a bit.
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He leans in to meet the kiss and slides his hands over Dorian's thighs and the perfect curve of his ass. He'll say this: Dorian knows how to dress to advantage. After they started having sex regularly it became impossible for Bull to ignore. As his hands move, he starts working free buckles and straps. It'd be too much to undress Dorian entirely, especially out here, where they aren't really protected. But they don't need to be naked for this. Bull has everything else they need.
"Too bad you don't like those robes the Enchanters here like," he murmurs as he slides his mouth down Dorian's neck. "Easy to just lift those up." He grins against the mage's skin and scrapes his teeth over his pulse.
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"Oh, so you've finally noticed that I don't wear a skirt?" Dorian quips, even as he tilts his chin to let Bull kiss and nip along his neck. It shouldn't be as arousing as it is, though, that Bull laments him not wearing a different outfit just for ease of access. It conjures a...certain image. More embarrassing things have made his cock hard, he supposes. "If I did," he says lightly, "I'd be depriving you of an excellent view. Whatever would you look at while we traverse the countryside? The scenery?"
His pulse beats hard and fast beneath Bull's lips and his fingers curl into his chest, unvarnished nails dragging against Bull's skin.
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"Besides, this would be much easier," he quips, his voice warm as he teases Dorian, letting his palm graze the head of his cock before he strokes down again. He can feel Dorian's blunt nails digging against his chest and he suddenly wonders what it might take to have Dorian clawing at him. He shouldn't keep them out here too long: someone will come looking for them, especially if they find their abandoned dinner bowls. Better to be quick this time.
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Not to be outdone, however, he reaches for the massive buckle of the Bull's belt, and has to use both hands to undo it. It's good that he isn't wearing his full kit, at least, or else he'd need help with it. Once the belt is open, however, it's a simple matter of rearranging his voluminous pants and sitting up enough to free Bull's cock.
It's a stark contrast when they do this together, Bull's hand on him and his on Bull. Even soft, or nearly so, Dorian's fingers barely meet around his girth, whereas Bull's palm covers nearly the entirety of Dorian's cock; not because Dorian is small, but because Bull is big. Dorian bites back another moan--one never knows how sound may carry in a place like this--as he tilts his chin down to watch. He pumps Bull slowly, base to tip, fingers squeezing lightly around the head. For lack of options, he uses a spell to conjure oil in his hand, spreading it to make his strokes easier, slicker.
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"Might start to love that spell."
He looks down between them and can't help but enjoy the way Dorian's hand looks wrapped around his heavy cock. Bull nudges into a kiss and gets an arm around Dorian's hips to pull him closer. It takes little effort to wrap his around around Dorian's cock and his own and he hides a moan against the mage's mouth as he strokes them together.
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When he wraps his arms tight around Bull's neck it brings them flush together again, and Dorian lets himself sink deep into the feeling of Bull's warm bulk against him and the steady waves of pleasure that roll through him with each stroke of his hand, consistent as the tide. He knows he'll come quickly if this keeps up, and he doesn't protest or move to slow their momentum, despite what else is on offer. He kisses Bull again to keep himself quiet, though the occasional whimper is still audible, drawn involuntarily from his throat.
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The words that come next sound almost pained for what they offer: "If you want more, we need to stop," he breathes, almost dazed. "We have to move." He'd told Dorian he would hold him against the rocks if that's what he wanted, but-- He could finish like this. He knows he can and he will, quickly, if they keep it up.
"Dorian..."
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"I don't care," he gasps, and presses his mouth to Bull's again, desperately, imploringly. "Bull, don't move, please."
Dorian clings to him, thrusts into his fingers, against his cock. Bull's arm is locked around his back, unyielding, and Dorian absolutely can't imagine pulling away for long enough to undress more. For the moment, he just wants Bull, however he can have him.
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"Come for me," he murmurs, heavy and low between them. Bull voices the command, the request, just moments before his own peak hits him. He growls and buries his face against Dorian's neck, biting him to avoid making a louder sound. His cock pulses between them, spilling over his hand and over Dorian. He makes some attempt to contain the mess but it-- isn't easy.
He breathes heavily against Dorian's skin, dizzy with the scent of him and the way the mage's body feels tucked against his. "Dorian-- Dorian let me have it. Come on."
Dorian probably doesn't need the encouragement, but Bull gives it all the same.
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He clings to Bull, and his shoulder stings with the fresh bite he'd left there, and he lets the warm, lingering effects of orgasm make his head light, his vision unfocused, as he leans against his much larger lover.
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"Still with me?" he murmurs as Dorian's weight sinks against him. Bull manages to find a handkerchief to clean them both off, at least as best he could out here without any water. He gently tucks Dorian away first. Bull doesn't care if anyone catches him exposed, but he'll save Dorian's dignity if he can.
He turns his head to catch Dorian in a lazy kiss.
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He's had kind lovers and considerate lovers, yes, plenty of them--not all of his trysts have left him bad off, or he'd have stopped doing this altogether long ago. (No, no, he probably wouldn't have.) But none who have cared for him quite as diligently or completely as the Bull, who seems to truly take some kind of personal satisfaction from it. Dorian likes it very much.
"We have to go back soon, I suppose," he sighs, and forces himself to begin reconciling with the idea of getting to his feet and walking. Straight back to their tent, he hopes.
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"Soon," he agrees as he reaches between them to right his own clothes. It's a significantly easier process than putting Dorian back in order. Just like that, they're covered up. "Otherwise Harding is going to set some poor scout on our trail, and the're already terrified of me."
Bull smiles and smooths his hands down Dorian's back and over his thighs. He wants to offer to carry Dorian, but he doesn't think the mage's dignity will allow it.
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"Terrified of you?" He can't help but scoff. "I think they're more afraid of me, frankly." Bull is friendly and likable, and at least he has the Chargers vouching for him; Vashoth mercenaries aren't exactly common in southern Thedas this side of the Waking Sea, but they're certainly more so than evil Tevinter magisters. Still, he understands where Bull is coming from. "Let's head back then, shall we?"
He uses Bull's shoulders for support as he gets up out of his lap and stands, dusting some sand from his robes and fixing his hair, though it had never gotten mussed in the first place. He looks perfectly well in order, no sign of a semi-public liaison anywhere--apart from the bite on his shoulder, which he tugs his robe over with only a slight frown.
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