aban_aqun | Exalted Plains

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?

Bull stills as Dorian kisses him. He pushes as close as he can get, burying himself between Dorian's thighs as their lips meet. Finally, his mind feels blissfully clear. One hand holds on to Dorian's while the other gently strokes back his dark hair. He isn't the one to break the kiss even as he tries to catch his breath. Bull is malleable now, pliable beneath Dorian's hands.

He murmurs a question in Qunlat and brushes a kiss to the corner of Dorian's mouth when they finally part. Bull can feel Dorian's cock still hard against his own and he wants to bring him relief if he can. Dorian hasn't asked him or told him to do anything to that end yet, but he is more than willing.

Rough fingertips stroke tenderly along Dorian's cheek and down his neck and Bull kisses him again, better able to linger this time now that he isn't panting.

Their kiss lasts for quite some time, tender and longing, until Dorian finally breaks it to draw in a shaky breath. He's still hard, yes, but that seems like the least of his concerns--or it would be if Bull hadn't made it his primary one. But Dorian certainly wouldn't mind getting off. Bull's voice is soft and intimate when he asks him what's clearly a question still in Qunlat before giving him the sweetest little kiss. Of course, he can't understand a word Bull is saying, so he can't very well answer his question.

The fact that Bull is still only communicating in his native tongue is telling. He seems, in this state, like he would do anything he was asked. It's an immense amount of responsibility, and an immense amount of trust, and Dorian treasures both. Bull is so important to him, he wants to do this well.

Dorian makes a soft, appreciative noise as Bull gives him another gentle kiss, so full of trust and devotion it hurts. If he only has this for the rest of his life--if no man ever treats him with as much plain adoration as the Bull is now--then he will still count himself lucky. He shifts beneath his massive form gradually, releasing Bull's softening cock from between his thighs and turning to lay on his back again, the better to look up into Bull's face. He feels his eyes stinging, and still refuses to let any tears fall. But he's so damned happy, and Bull is so wonderful, so impossibly perfect.

"You are impossible," he murmurs, painfully fond, as his hands play over Bull's neck and along his shoulders. "Get me cleaned up," he instructs softly. "Then I want you to hold me and use your hand."

Even if he isn't speaking Common, Bull clearly still comprehends it. He finds a wash cloth and the small basin of water near the tent flap. It's gone cold now but it's better than nothing. He returns to Dorian and gently cleans the oil and come from Dorian's skin with quiet adoration and absolute tenderness. When he's finished, he tosses the cloth so that it lands near the basin so that he doesn't have to pull away from Dorian again.

Bull eases back down onto the bedroll and arranges himself carefully. He pulls Dorian against him before taking him in hand. He knows exactly how Dorian likes to be touched now and he performs his task with perfect devotion. Bull strokes the mage steadily, grateful to have just enough oil left on his palm to ease the way. His breathing is deep and even, his mind finally quiet again after all of Dorian's effort. He wants to do this, now. He wants to give Dorian even a fraction of the relief he feels now, if he can.

As much as he likes to watch, Bull's eye drifts shut as he holds Dorian against him. Kadan.

One thing Dorian notices almost immediately is Bull's reluctance to leave his side. He gets the cloth quickly, and when it comes time to return it to the bowl, he opts to toss it rather than get up again. It's very sweet. The entire cleaning process is, actually. Bull is as gentle and attentive and thorough as he always is, and Dorian is happy to lay there and let him wash away the mess he'd made of him.

By the time he's wrapped in Bull's arms, he's a little chilly, so very happy to be engulfed in Qunari body heat. His erection has flagged a little during the whole process, but once Bull's hand is around him and working him over in exactly the way he knows he likes best, he's hard and wanting again in no time at all. But he doesn't feel desperate to come, or in any particular pressure. He's comfortable and secure and adored, held by a man who's spent all night looking at him like he personally hung the moons in the sky. What more could he need?

Bull's breath is soothing, lulling Dorian into a similar state of relaxation. Pleasure rolls through his body like gentle waves with the urging of Bull's slick finges, and Dorian finds himself drifting, matching his breathing with Bull's, with the occasional hitch or soft moan. Tingling warmth drips up and down his spine, pressure gathers in his belly, building slowly, slowly--until it isn't slow at all. After some few minutes, Dorian gasps, just a quiet, "Oh, Bull--" as Bull's calloused palm rubs just right over the sensitive head of his cock, and he comes with a stuttered groan, hips jumping as his body tenses and then relaxes.

It feels good to have Dorian shiver and gasp in his arms, to feel him reach his peak just like that. Bull continues stroking, though he slows, until he's certain Dorian has nothing left to give. He makes sure to stop before over-sensitivity can set in. Bull finds something to gently clean them both off with, realizing he'd been premature in getting rid of the wash cloth. He does the best he can, then coaxes Dorian to tuck against him.

It takes a long moment for Bull to really recover his voice; he murmurs his gratitude first in Qunlat, then in heavily accented Common. He wants Dorian to know how much this means to him before he drifts off. He makes sure to get a blanket over them, knowing Dorian might get cold without it. For a long moment Bull resists sleep, but not for the same reasons he had earlier. He feels good and he wants to experience this for as long as he can. He knows there is no guarantee of tomorrow: all they have is this.

Though it feels very much like Bull is taking care of him now, Dorian can recognize that this is something Bull needs, too. That seems to be a constant for him. Taking care of others is a natural inclination. So he lets Bull clean him up again, then relaxes happily back into his arms, letting the rumble of his voice in Qunlat--and then finally in Common--roll through him. His accent is thicker than Dorian's ever heard it, and Dorian smiles, reaching up to brush his fingers gently over Bull's cheeks, urging him to tilt his head down for another kiss.

Wrapped up in Bull and beneath a blanket, there's nowhere else Dorian would rather be. He feels warm, comfortable, satisfied, and cared for. "Thank you," he murmurs, because Bull has given him something truly special tonight. Yet he can't help but think, this is going to change something between us. He isn't yet sure how, or how much, but an experience like this can't simply pass without comment. He feels as though he understands Bull now more deeply than he ever has before. That alone is worth further consideration, even sleepy as he is.

Finally, finally, Bull drifts off. He sleeps soundly through the night, more so than he has in the past few weeks on the road. Bull is generally a light sleeper anyway, but that night he doesn't even move.

It isn't until the camp is in full swing the next morning that he starts to stir. He can smell the campfires and whatever's being made for breakfast. He hears quiet chatter. Safe, his mind whispers. He can smell Dorian and the blankets are still warm from his presence even if the mage isn't in his arms when he wakes up.

Bull sits up slowly, absently rubbing his head and his neck as he catches up with himself.

It's only a moment later when Dorian reenters the tent, holding two servings of breakfast food. He puts them down on the trunk before tying the front flap closed again, then turns to Bull with a warm smile as he delivers breakfast in bed, settling down beside him. He's dressed simply in a soft tunic and breeches, apparently having forgone getting entirely dressed for the day. He wasn't sure how much longer Bull would need him, or in what way. He wouldn't turn down another hour or two of groggy cuddling after breakfast, that's certain. After letting the Inquisitor know they'd need a little more time this morning after yesterday, they have a few hours to waste yet.

"Finally awake?" he teases, and leans up to kiss Bull's cheek. Breakfast is modest, as camp breakfast usually is, but sausage, tomato, and dark bread with butter are nothing to complain about, especially after he'd begged a little spice from Varric, who hates bland food nearly as much as he does. "I'm glad you got some rest," he says, softer. In truth, he'd barely been able to extract himself to get up. Bull had been holding him so tightly through the night.

Bull doesn’t answer right away, but he does sit up more so that he can accept the food. He’s still groggy but becoming more clear-headed the longer he’s upright. And he remembers, with some mild shame, the way he’d leaned into Dorian last night.

“Thank you for your part in that,” he says as Dorian settles down. Bull isn’t sure how to articulate what that meant to him. “Did you sleep alright?”

He’s sure it can’t have been that comfortable to have a Qunari half on top of him through the night.

Dorian doesn't feel ashamed in the least, for once, though he's navigating things carefully just in case. Last night had been...something very different. For both of them. It's difficult to tell how the whole experience has settled for the Bull.

"Remarkably well, actually," Dorian assures, and takes a moment to dig into his breakfast. He's quite good at acting casual when he's really just burning to know where they stand. It occurs to him that he's never felt for anyone quite the way he does for the Iron Bull, whatever it is that means. It's only natural, he supposes. He's never become quite so close to anyone else in this way as he has to Bull. He's never had anyone who would happily be open about sleeping with him, let alone simply sharing a bed with him for months on end. It's resulted in a very particular sort of intimacy.

It's also occurred to him more than once that this must be very similar to what it's like to actually be in a relationship. Apart from them...decidedly not being in a relationship. That would be quite impossible, especially between the two of them. But he does care for Bull a great deal (far more than he should, probably, considering), and he wants to do right by him, and he's beyond happy that Bull had trusted him the way he did last night. Dorian has done some thinking this morning, trying to imagine what it was he'd done to put Bull in that state, to help him like he had. It hadn't taken long to follow the clues from similarities to Seheron. Who would Bull have been able to go to when he needed to forget things for a while, get out of his own head, and have the needs of both his mind and body safely cared for? The answer then becomes quite obvious.

"You're welcome, by the way," he adds, and puts down his utensils to place a hand on Bull's sizable bicep. "I'm happy that I could help. Truly. Honestly, I wanted to...to thank you. For letting me."

Bull doesn't know what to do with a friendship like this. He's never had one like this. The people he has sex with and his friends are, usually, in two entirely different categories. Emotional intimacy and physical intimacy rarely go hand-in-hand, and never like this. It blurs all the clear lines that have defined his life for almost forty years.

He looks over at Dorian as the mage touches his arm. Bull nods to acknowledge Dorian's gratitude, though it feel strange to be offered that.

"I haven't-- I haven't had anyone to ask for these things in years."

Despite there being Qunari colonies on the northern coast, Bull has not been around an enclave of his people in a long time. He would never consider foisting his needs on-- anyone that isn't a tamssran, actually. But he had last night and Dorian had given him everything he could.

Dorian nods slowly in acknowledgement. He can imagine why, given the care that Bull always expresses with sex. "It must have been difficult," Dorian sympathizes softly. "To go so long without someone who could see to you like that. But I was happy to do it. I want you to be able to get what you need, too, from--" and here Dorian makes a wide gesture, encompassing both of them and the space itself. "--this." No better or more specific word for it, whatever's going on between them. He doesn't know, really, apart from that it is something, far more than he'd ever thought it would be.

Though Bull seems uncertain, Dorian ventures further, prompting for a little more information, to see if what he's supposed it correct. "It's the sort of thing you'd...normally see one of your tamassrans for, yes? Not many of those here in the south."

"Yes," he admits. He hasn't seen a tamassran in a decade at this point. He's been doing his best to take care of himself, to find outlets where he can. But it isn't the same as completely giving himself over to someone.

He looks over at Dorian and gives him a wan smile.

"I'm not used to things like this overlapping." Dorian has fulfilled so many roles that Bull doesn't know how to untangle them, and that feels dangerous somehow.

"Tamassrans take care of us, whatever that looks like. Sometimes it's just sex or someone to talk to, other times it's... more involved." As Dorian has now seen. That isn't even the most involved Bull has been.

"I don't exactly have experience with this either," Dorian admits with a sardonic little laugh. "Frankly, I've never slept with the same man consistently for this long." Let alone shared space with them daily. It's actually remarkable how well he and Bull have gotten on these last few months, despite Dorian's occasional petty complaints.

It's strange to see the Bull so clearly out of his element. Dorian hopes he hasn't caused him any stress this way. He slides his hand from Bull's bicep down his arm until he can interlace their fingers, something both conciliatory and reassuring in the gesture. He wants to be someone Bull can trust. "But that certainly wasn't any hardship for me, last night." In fact, he'd rather enjoyed it. Pampering Bull and then providing something he clearly needed had brought him a deep sense of satisfaction. "I'm no tamassran, of course, but I am happy to do those things, Bull."

Talking, sex, or...something more involved. He'd proven he was capable enough last night, hadn't he?

Bull squeezes Dorian's hand and looks down at where their fingers are laced together. He hasn't had such a regular partner either, and he definitely hasn't had anyone that he has been so physically and emotionally intimate with. Dorian has become too much, but he still wants more.

He leans closer to kiss Dorian's brow.

"I will try to remember that," he concedes quietly. It did feel good. It helped. And if he can't have a tamassran, maybe this is somehow a compromise he can live with. A faint smile ticks his scarred mouth.

"Definitely not a tamassran," he teases.

It's impossible not to smile as Bull leans down to kiss him, the gesture tender and fond. Impossible not to feel that in return, like a small, comforting flame burning in his chest. When Bull merely agrees, he feels lighter, relieved. He'd worried for a moment that Bull would tell him that it was a one time sort of thing, that the trust he'd shown last night only went so far.

His hand feels small in Bull's, as it always does, but somehow he feels as though it's him supporting Bull, for a change. It's nice.

"Definitely not," Dorian agrees, chuckling. "Rather too male and not Qunari enough for that. And I'd be terrible at raising children."

"Most tamassrans don't do all of those things. They specialize, like anyone else," he says with a wry smile, but Dorian is entirely right on one point: he's too masculine, and he would never consent to being identified otherwise. Bull finds he doesn't mind at all. He likes Dorian's masculinity.

Bull knows he should eat and focus on getting ready for the day, but it feels nice to just sit there with Dorian and ignore the world beyond their tent.

"Did you hear anything about where we might be off to?"

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