aban_aqun | Exalted Plains

"Well, we can't have that," he teases right back. He considers it for a moment, bringing Bull off after he's done tending to his leg and his horns, giving him release with the same devotion. It isn't a bad idea. He'll hold onto it, revisit it later when he can decide whether or not he has the energy.

With Bull's trousers removed, it's far easier to do what he needs to with his knee. He rubs around it slowly at first, letting the heat sink in down to his bones, before he begins to massage carefully, patiently, at the thick scarring. This part takes the most time, naturally, as it's the worst injury of the lot, but Dorian is in no rush. He's glad that Bull still allows this, still trusts him with this, after his untimely remark earlier. He won't disappoint him.

His eye nearly closes while Dorian works. Bull tries to let his mind drift pleasantly, focusing on the immediate sensation of Dorian's hands on his knee, the warmth of the treatment, even Dorian's scent and the quiet sounds he makes when he runs into knots of tension or spots of pain.

When he feels himself drifting too far, Bull forces his eye open again, intent on staying awake until Dorian joins him beneath the blankets.

"Thank you," he murmurs. He wants to make sure he says it on the off chance that he does fall asleep. Which is entirely possible once Dorian breaks out the horn balm.

Dorian wouldn't mind it if Bull fell asleep. It would mean he was doing this well. He takes his time with his knee, repeating motions that get a positive reaction and radiating heat into Bull's skin until his muscles feel relaxed. He moves a little further up as well, fingers kneading into the thick muscle of his thigh.

It's sweet how Bull refuses to nod off, though, despite how much he clearly wants to. Finally finished with his leg, Dorian gathers the horn balm and shifts up the bed close enough to press a kiss to his brow.

"Feel better?" He asks, trailing fingers lightly from Bull's temple up to the base of a horn. "How would you like to do this? Your head in my lap?" That's how Dorian prefers it, anyway, finding it both intimate and practical.

Bull closes his eye as Dorian's fingers trail along the surprisingly sensitive skin at the base of his horn. "Yeah, that," he agrees. He knows Dorian likes it and if he does fall asleep... well. It'll be relatively easy for Dorian to get out from under him if he needs to.

Slowly, he slides forward and waits for Dorian to settle the way he'd like before resting his head in the mage's lap. He looks up at Dorian and there's something on the tip of his tongue that he swallows back. Dorian wouldn't understand, so there's no point in saying it in the first place.

"You put a scent in it when you make it. What is it?"

Bull has to admit, the balm Dorian makes is more or less identical to what he'd had when he lived on Par Vollen and Seheron. Stitches had done the best he could with what he knew, but it was never quite this good.

Pleased, Dorian settles with his legs crossed, and helps Bull ease his head down until it's resting in his lap. His horns curve out on either side of Dorian, and he smiles at Bull's question as he releases the lid on the tin. "Clove," he murmurs, sounding happy that Bull had noticed. "The oil has pain relieving properties, and it smells quite nice." Sweet-spicy. It reminds him a bit of home.

He scoops some of the balm into the palm of one hand before he smooths it across the Bull's left horn near the base, taking care to rub it thoroughly into each groove, and especially where it meets his skin, as he's told him before that's where it tends to itch most. Dorian is slightly gentler there, as he had been when massaging Bull's leg, but as he works his way further up along the horn itself his hands become firmer as he uses both hands to work the balm into the ridges of growth. The smell of clove wafts strong and spicy from his hands, and now from the Bull's horns, made smooth and slick and fragrant.

"It smells like home."

Bull's eye drifts shut again as Dorian works the balm into the dry, cracked skin right where his horns erupt from his skull. One hand drifts back, careful not to interrupt Dorian's work, so that Bull can loosely drape it around the mage's back. It isn't long before he's drifting off in Dorian's lap. The weight of his head settles more on Dorian's legs now that he isn't making any effort at all to hold it up.

He sleeps through the application on his other horn but starts to wake when Dorian stops. Bull forces himself back to consciousness, vaguely aware that he has Dorian pinned under him. It probably wouldn't be a hassle for the mage to free himself, but--

"Sorry," he says, still groggy. "Didn't mean to drift off."

It smells like home. The comment startles Dorian for a moment, given how he'd been thinking much the same thing. But it makes perfect sense. They're both from the north, where clove is used far more frequently than here in the south. Some things transcend borders, wars, cultures. It makes Dorian smile to hear it. He's glad to have brought Bull a little comfort this way, and that this is something they can share.

It's quite sweet, actually, that Bull falls asleep as Dorian works the balm into his horns. It's an immense show of comfort and trust, and it makes something in Dorian's chest twist in quite the opposite way to how he'd felt not long ago. He covers the right horn as diligently as he'd done the left, though this time he works from the top down. Bull wakes eventually when he gets to the base, slick fingers rubbing soothingly over the skin there.

"It's quite all right, Bull," he says quietly, a smile in his voice. "Now's the time for that, anyway." He lets his fingers drift a little down Bull's face, following the firm line of his jaw. There's nothing he wants more right now than to curl up at Bull's side and drift off as well.

"C'mon," he urges quietly. "Get down here." Bull wants to feel Dorian close, too. He lifts his head to make it easier for Dorian to get out from under him, then settles down on his bolster. He feels heavy and tired, but in a better way than he had just an hour ago. His skin smells like cloves and the scent is lulling him as much as Dorian's touch.

He moves over more on their combined bedrolls so that Dorian has room to actually settle in next to him. Bull keeps his eye open, intent on staying awake at least until Dorian is at his side. He likes likes watching Dorian's evening routine.

"All right," Dorian laughs, slipping out from beneath Bull's horns and helping to place his pillow there instead. "A moment, please." If the promise of being in Bull's arms makes him hurry through his nighttime routine, only Bull will really know.

He twists his hands together, rubbing the excess of the balm into his skin. Not its intended purpose, but it does serve as an effective moisturizer for him as well. He removes the rest of his clothing swiftly down to his smalls, tossing everything into a bit of a haphazard pile atop his other belongings. He thoroughly rinses his face of the day's dirt and sweat and his makeup, and then there's a scrub for his teeth. There might be another step or two at times, depending upon his needs, but tonight he forgoes any extra. He meets Bull's eye with a quirk of his lips, and then moves to lay down with him, pressed to his side and within the crook of his arm, a position that's become usual for them.

Strange to think of this gradually becoming normal.

His head rests between Bull's shoulder and chest, and a hand wanders low on his belly, tracing idle, aimless patterns into his skin. Lips press to Bull's clavicle as Dorian tilts his head up, eyes still open. Before the adoring look in them can give him away, Dorian flicks a finger and extinguishes the lantern, plunging them into semi-darkness, only the campfire still burning outside their tent filtering a sliver of light through the front flap.

Bull breathes a quiet sigh as Dorian settles against him. He welcomes the familiar weight of Dorian's head on his shoulder and he slides his arm around the mage to keep him close. The flickering lamp goes out with Dorian's gesture and for several long moments, Bull lays there without completely relaxing. He listens to the sounds in the camp outside, the river not far away. He'd been so lulled just a moment ago and the darkness makes things shift in his mind. Bull tries to push it aside and he twists carefully. Since Dorian has known him, Bull has slept on his back. But now he manages to get on his side, half on top of Dorian but in a position that keeps his weight braced so that he won't crush the man he's holding against him.

He buries his nose in Dorian's dark hair and makes himself breathe deep and slow. Even if he can't quiet his mind, he can quiet his body. He listens to Dorian breathe ans closes his eye. "Is this alright?" he asks after a moment, realizing the position might not be comfortable for Dorian.

It's somewhat surprising, after nearly two months of sleeping one way, to have Bull turning onto his side and pulling him close. There's nothing bad about it from Dorian's perspective, and in fact there's something about the certainty of Bull's weight over and around him that he rather likes. But that isn't all there is to consider.

"It's all right with me," He says slowly. "But it doesn't seem particularly comfortable for you." How is Bull going to keep his weight braced like that all night? Dorian can't help but notice that all the loose-limbed relaxation he'd managed to bring Bull with the massage and horn rub down has dissipated like so much smoke now that the light is gone. Bull is tense again, too awake. A stark contrast to how he'd been dozing off in his lap not so long ago. Both Dorian's hands rub soothingly up over Bull's chest in wide, gentle circles. "Don't you want to sleep?" He wonders softly. There's one thing that he still hasn't done that might help.

Bull shifts a little more: he stretches out the arm he's laying on and uses it to hold his bolster beneath his head. His horns are too unforgiving so he has to keep turning his head until it's tipped down and his horn is resting on the ground behind him. The position would put Bull on his stomach if he let his weight shift any further. It means being closer to Dorian, nearly wrapped around the mage, but it also ensures that the majority of Bull's weight is supported by his side and braced on the outstretched arm. It is, actually, relatively comfortable.

"I want to sleep," he confesses quietly, allowing himself to sound as exhausted as he feels. "I don't know if this place will let me."

Usually, having another body near his own helps keep the worst of the memories and nightmares at bay. But the Veil is apparently thin and everything about this place brings him back to Seheron.

That confession bothers him. He's been working for the last hour to make Bull calm enough to rest, and he'll be damned if he sees him go without sleep tonight. "I'm here, Bull," he assures, and leans up to kiss him, lingering. His hands continue to wander Bull's chest slowly, then back down over his stomach. "Let me help you."

Without any rush, Dorian slides a hand further over Bull's belly and between his legs, fingers brushing over his smallclothes until he finds the shape of his cock--not difficult--and cups as much of it as he can in a gentle palm. Kissing the corner of Bull's mouth, Dorian makes a soft, pleased noise as he strokes him languidly through the fabric. Masturbation before bed is a time-honored method of inducing sleep and relaxation, as Dorian well knows, except that with him here, Bull doesn't have to do it himself. He just has to let Dorian take care of him, as he's been doing all evening.

Edited 2019-10-02 19:35 (UTC)

Bull doesn't actually realize what Dorian is getting at until his hand disappears between them. He huffs a quiet breath and turns his head as much as he can, burying his face against Dorian's hair. At first, Bull thinks he might be beyond even this. But it's Dorian, and Dorian knows him well now. He thinks, briefly, of tamassrans and their ways of helping people. He exhales heavily again but this time it's in response to the desire finally stirring in him. He presses a kiss to Dorian's temple and he keeps his arm tight around the mage.

Before long his cock is hard beneath Dorian's gentle insistence, but Bull's mind has already shifted to other comforts. It takes nothing for him to roll onto his knees, to push close between Dorian's thighs so that he as more than just Dorian's hand to rut against. As sudden as the shift is, Bull remains tender: he braces his weight on his forearms and one hand gently frames Dorian's head.

It's quite relaxing for Dorian too as he works Bull gradually to hardness with the patient grip of his hand. He'd have been happy to do this with some variation--pulling Bull's cock out of his smalls, for example--until Bull spilled, but apparently he has other ideas. It's almost automatic the way Dorian's legs spread to accommodate Bull between them.

"You're supposed to let me do all the work, remember?" Dorian huffs, though it's undeniably fond. But in truth, whatever works for Bull at the moment works for him. Bull is warm and heavy and laying over him close enough to kiss his cheek, at least, with the way the qunari has his face buried in Dorian's hair like the scent of it is tethering him to this moment. "Just let me--here," the mage fusses, getting his hands between them to ease Bull's cock out of his smalls.

He keeps a loose grip around the warm, thick flesh as he guides Bull to rut against his stomach and his silk-clad cock. He hadn't really been intending to include himself in this, but it's impossible not to become aroused when so much about this plays into his own desires. Bull's hard cock slides against his with only a thin layer of fabric separating them, and Dorian can't help but make a soft, wanting noise.

The only answer or acknowledgement Dorian gets for a moment is a slight nod of Bull's head against his own. He knows he's supposed to be letting Dorian take care of him, and he still is. Bull is seeking comfort without thinking and he doesn't resist as Dorian tries to fuss between them. His breath catches and his fingers tighten briefly as Dorian draws his heavy cock out to let Bull rut against him. He can feel Dorian's arousal grow as he moves.

Dorian's voice, soft as it is, sends heat sinking through him. Bull works his hips steadily, falling into a now-familiar rhythm as he seeks relief from-- something. From the thoughts plaguing him, from a restless mind searching for something to be worried about. He is here, with Dorian, and they are as safe as they can be.

He just has to be here.

"Dorian--" Bull's voice is quiet and heavy and he speaks his lover's name like a question. He needs to hear him.

It takes hearing his name in that voice for Dorian to fully realize that Bull is still letting Dorian take care of him. He's doing exactly what he needs to be doing, wherever his head is at. That is somehow even more meaningful, that Bull should finally, finally seek something that Dorian can give to him for a change. That he should show Dorian his needs and allow him to fulfill them.

It feels, at long last, like something equalizing between them. This is not an indulgence on either of their part, but a necessity for both.

"Bull," he replies, equally quiet but lighter, earnest. Relieved, almost. He's hard beneath the smooth silk of his smalls, and Bull's hot, heavy cock leaks onto the warm tan skin of his stomach as he ruts against him in a way that borders on demanding, desperate. "I'm here, I'm here," he assures, and lets one arm loop over Bull's shoulder to settle a hand at the back of his thick neck, gripping there to ground them both. Whatever you need, he nearly whispers, for you, anything. "Keep going," he breathes instead, reassuring and encouraging.

Relief shivers through him at the sound of Dorian's voice. Bull adjusts their position so that he can hold Dorian. He closes his eye as the mage's arms circle his neck. One hand slides down until he can grip Dorian's thigh, holding it against his hip as he moves. For that moment, his entire world narrows. There is nothing outside of this: no war, no death, no misery, no memories. All he can smell, hear, taste, and feel is Dorian. Bull whispers something in heavy Qunlat, the words lost between them.

The way he moves is demanding but not particularly hard or fast. Bull nuzzles Dorian's neck, he kisses him there almost like an apology. He thinks, if he could, he would just push into him. But this-- this is more than he could ask for, and Dorian is giving it to him without questioning why Bull needs it and without offering judgement.

He lifts his head just enough to catch Dorian in a kiss, pouring his gratitude there.

Dorian wishes, not for the first time, that he understood more Qunlat. But the tone of Bull's voice is always enough, and this time it sounds especially appreciative. He holds Bull close as surely as Bull holds him, using all the strength he can muster. Bull is giving him an intensity that he does his best to match, staying with him every step of the way. He can feel each heavy breath through the bellows of his huge chest, can feel the deep rumble of his voice low in his throat all the way down his spine, the softness of his lips against his neck. And the heat his body gives off is immense, making Dorian hot too, even bare as he is. He shifts back into the movements Bull demands, allowing him to choose and following his guidance. It feels so good to be trusted with this, to see this rare side of Bull, a side that needs things for himself, too. It's elating.

Some part of him wishes, too, that Bull could just be inside him. But he isn't nearly stretched enough, and somehow he doubts either of them have the coordination for that now, deep into this almost trancelike state as they are. He makes a soft, needy sound against Bull's mouth when he kisses him, opening up to him at once, receptive and welcoming. Maker, he just wants to make this man happy. The feeling twists in his chest, complex but comforting. Nothing else matters right now.

"Bull," he whispers, "do you want to put it between my thighs?" he offers. If he knows Bull and his stamina--which he does--it will take him quite a while to reach completion this way. Not that Dorian would mind that; he's almost blissfully content like this, just rocking together and feeling Bull above him, around him, smelling cloves on his skin. But he knows that Bull likes it that way, and might find that it satisfies a particular urge.

Bull's shoulders sag when Dorian offers an alternative. "Yes," he manages. He thinks that might be better, might lead to less frustration on his part even if, under any other circumstance, he might be content to do just this. But he needs-- control. Or he needs something that feels like control.

Reluctantly, Bull pushes himself up so that Dorian can actually move. He knows he should find their oil but his mind hasn't quite caught up beyond need. He looks down and his hand brushes over Dorian's thighs as the other braces his weight. He eases back more, letting Dorian take initiative more than he ever has before once they've gotten this far. He looks to Dorian for direction, for encouragement, and he follows it almost without thought.

Dorian smiles softly as Bull agrees, and gives him a kiss on the cheek as a reward for his cooperation. He takes a deep breath for the first time in several long minutes as Bull eases back, though he finds he misses his presence almost immediately. But that can be quickly remedied. He slides his smallclothes down his legs and off, guides Bull to do the same, and then reaches for the oil they typically use for this purpose, always near to hand. He slicks his inner thighs generously, then hands the bottle to the Bull with instructions.

"Use plenty on your cock," he asks fondly. "And then come here. I want you on top of me again." He doesn't want to give up that feeling, and there's a perfectly comfortable way to do it. Dorian lays down on his side rather than his back, pressing his thighs together tight. It's interesting--and humbling--that the Bull is so quietly receptive to his instructions, when normally after they both decide what they want he's content to take the lead. He's putting himself entirely in Dorian's hands, and Dorian won't give him any less than his best, just as the Bull always does for him.

When Bull is ready, Dorian guides him to lay over him much as he had been before, though he takes the Bull's oiled cock in hand himself and guides it to the thick muscles of his thighs, making a soft, appreciative noise when slides smoothly between them. He hopes that he's giving Bull what he needs.

Bull slicks himself as Dorian gets settled where he'll be comfortable. He caps the oil again and carefully sets it aside so it won't get lost in the bedroll. He moves close again, grateful that Dorian has chosen to lay on his side: Bull isn't sure how he'd feel to be denied seeing his face after all this. His nose brushes Dorian's temple as he pushes his cock between Dorian's thighs. A low sound of relief escapes him. The friction and the tension are perfect and he murmurs his gratitude in the quiet space between them.

His lips drift over Dorian's cheek and his neck as he finally falls into a rhythm that feels easy and natural. Even in the thick of things, Bull is thinking of Dorian; he tries to adjust his position just so, making sure that every time he thrusts into the tightness of Dorian's thighs, he also rubs past the mage's cock. He won't have him neglected, not when Dorian is giving him so much comfort.

Everything feels easier now that he's able to rut the way he needs to, chasing pleasure to silence the earlier frustration and uncertainty.

Bull's gratification is Dorian's. He feels so deeply attuned to his needs that every time Bull groans in relief, every time he expresses his gratitude, when he begins to get lost in his pleasure, when he can tell that everything is exactly right for him, it feels that good for Dorian, too, a rush of satisfaction and arousal. In the moment, he wants exactly what Bull wants. He wants to make this perfect for him. (Is this how Bull feels all the time? He wonders.)

Bull's cock is hot between his thighs, the friction slick and perfect. The way Bull fucks him is needy, but not rough. There's clearly something about this that is satisfying him, that meets the needs of his body and his mind. He doesn't know if he's ever seen Bull quite like this.

It occurs to Dorian, as he's gasping and moaning under Bull with each grind of that huge cock against his own, that he isn't just providing Bull with pleasure, but with genuine release; like this, he doesn't need to worry about anything. Dorian is taking care of him. Dorian is making sure his needs are met. Dorian whimpers, tilts his chin up with Bull nuzzles at his neck, giving him room to kiss there, to nibble, to bite if he so wishes. The sharp sound of Bull's thighs against the back of his own is loud within the tent, and Dorian encourages him. "Yes, oh Bull, that's so good," he gasps, bracing a hand against the bedroll to grind back against him on the next thrust in. "You're so good for me."

Letting go is the gift. Bull rarely allows his mind to go blank and it is only in moments like this that he can let that happen. Someone else is taking care of things. Someone else is taking care of him. Bull's teeth graze Dorian's skin, but he doesn't bite. The mage's voice drifts in and out - he hears Dorian, but he doesn't really comprehend anything beyond tone. He doesn't need to, especially when Dorian is urging him on so sweetly.

Holding out isn't the point of this exercise. Bull gives in to his pleasure, gives in to his--need, and he lets his body do what it needs to. He touches his brow to Dorian's temple and holds him close as best he can without restricting him. It doesn't take very long for Bull to spill, for him to moan in quiet relief as he as he shudders above Dorian. He says something that sounds almost like a prayer between them, or maybe just something that is breathlessly grateful. It doesn't matter: whatever it is, it's for Dorian.

Even after he's spent, Bull keeps up with slower thrusts that have lost all urgency. But, somewhere in his mind, it's still important to him to know that Dorian feels good, too. To offer him release after everything Dorian has given him.

Likewise, Dorian certainly can't understand what the Bull is saying when he slips exclusively into Qunlat--something Dorian hasn't witnessed before--but tone is everything, and Bull is nothing but appreciative to the point of being worshipful. It's a deeply moving experience for Dorian as well, just to see him like this, to know that it's something he's been able to give him. That Bull has entrusted him with his care. His heart aches in his chest as Bull nuzzles against him, holding him close, like he's something precious.

Despite his size and strength and the active role he's taking in sex, there is something very vulnerable about Bull right now. It's nothing less than beautiful to witness. Tenderly, Dorian reaches for Bull's hand, find it just as Bull's hips stutter, giving a groan like a tremor as his cock throbs between his legs and he spills heavily over Dorian's bronze skin--his stomach, his thighs, his cock. Dorian clenches his thighs, works him tenderly through his orgasm until he's certain he's wrung out every bit of it he can. Still Bull ruts gently between his thighs, pressing his softening cock against Dorian's in the mess of his release.

He isn't close, but Maker, that doesn't even matter to him right now. He turns enough that he can take Bull's face--his perfect, kind, handsome face--and kiss him soundly with an almost overwhelming wave of affection. Is it odd that it's Dorian who feels like he wants to cry?

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