aban_aqun | Skyhold

"I don't think it would take another drink if I made my argument just right," he purrs against Dorian's ear. He says it just to get a rise out of the mage. He knows Dorian's boundaries well enough that something so obvious, something that would make him so vulnerable in public, is out of the question. But he likes seeing Dorian flustered, likes the way he looks when he's somewhere between scandalized and aroused.

And he can nurture the idea all the same.

He catches Dorian's chin to guide him into another kiss. He rumbles his pleasure and gently bites Dorian's lip before they part again.

"I should have gotten you something to eat," he teases.

Dorian's breath catches and a shiver courses through his body, hot and dizzying, at the rumble of the Bull's voice in his ear. And indeed, when he pulls back enough to look at Bull's face, his pupils are blown and lips parted with interest, bronze skin warming with a light flush, but his brow furrows in reproach. Scandalized and aroused. The Bull so often has that effect on him.

Yet he's led into another kiss before he can protest, and he is't going to refuse. Bull's teeth drag over his full lower lip, stinging in the most delightful way, and Dorian has to take a long moment to collect himself, to stop himself from simply kissing him again, becoming gradually more involved. The freedom he feels to sit here in the Bull's lap and do this is at least as intoxicating as what he's been drinking.

Speaking of which--

"I'm not so drunk as that," he huffs, frowning. "It's not as if I'd let--" Let what? Let Bull lay him out, pull his leggings down, and lick into him with that absurdly large tongue? Or work three or four fingers inside until he's so slick and open that Bull can slide his cock in easily, holding his hips down against the table? "--let them see me ruined by that ridiculous Qunari cock of yours."

Maker, they might as well be doing just that, with how turned on he's becoming. "Kaffas," he curses under his breath. They have to go, before his treacherous mind can run with this any further.

Bull shivers and heat sinks through him as Dorian talks. He swears he can feel the warmth rolling off the mage and he hears the way Dorian's breath catches.

"Tab's taken care of," he purrs. "C'mon. I'll bend you over the desk in the room. Or the balcony balustrade."

A grin creeps across the Bull's face and he gives Dorian's ass a light smack before he coaxes him back to his feet. He doesn't want to stand and send Dorian sprawling, and he thinks it might be better for Dorian's dignity if he lets the mage walk rather than carrying him. As soon as they're both standing, however, Bull gathers Dorian up into a more heated embrace, a more intense kiss.

The pros to carrying on with a spy; the Bull seems to anticipate everything. It's a relief to know that their tab is already paid, and they can leave right away--especially when Bull begins murmuring alternative suggestions into his ear. Dorian barely restrains a moan. It comes out as a whimper, choked off.

What he can't restrain is an offended gasp as Bull's wide palm connects sharply with his backside, causing him to slide from Bull's lap quickly and entirely under his own power. "Vishante kaffas, you bar--"

He doesn't quite get to finish that insult, as he's cut off by another kiss, and his ire all but evaporates when he's pulled flush with the Bull's huge, warm body. Maker, he thinks, he's so weak for this man--had always been, in a way, but it's become so much more evident lately. Who else would he allow this from? Who else would he enjoy this with? Who else could make him feel safe enough to even permit it?

Dorian kisses with fervor, reaching up to grab onto the Bull's horns to steady himself, and to keep Bull from pulling away too soon. His toes just barely scrape the floor. He feels elated. He wants more. He wants to feel the night air on his skin and the Bull's hands covering his hips, the stone balustrade against his arms, the hot, steady friction of the Bull's cock inside him. He wants to be adored, wants to be worshiped and cared for. He wants Bull, and he doesn't want to hide.

The words are nearly out of his mouth: Let's go, amatus.

He swears he feels his heart stutter.

"Come on," he says instead, a hoarse whisper, as they break apart. The tavern seems a blur of people as they leave, and the city, too, dark now, lanterns hanging from high Orlesian arches and the stars overhead. There are other people, other voices, other things to pay attention to, but in his mind there is only the Bull.

"Mmhm."

Bull lets Dorian pull away and keeps the mage ahead of him as they leave the tavern. Anyone that sees Bull coming moves to make way, and so they part before Dorian easily. When they're out in the cool night air, Bull's hand slides down between Dorian's shoulders to the small of his back, intent on keeping their bodies close even as they walk.

They aren't in an entirely safe place anymore, but it'll be easy to drop his hand if he needs to.

Val Royaeux is impressively quiet at night, save for the occasional passing city guard or small gaggle of revelers going from one party to another. It isn't hard to avoid people on the way back to the inn. Bull is intensely aware of how warm Dorian feels beneath his hand, of the soft scent of his pomade and oils and lotions.

Dorian doesn't stray from Bull on their return trip, or even attempt to dislodge his hand. He's content to feel it there as they walk--no, more than that. He wants it there. He smiles up at him, certain that there must be the most embarrassing sort of naked adoration in his expression, but unable to conceal it. The Bull has given him something wonderful tonight. And Dorian has realized something--about himself, about them--that he can never forget, whether for good or ill.

When they reach their inn, Dorian continues to lead the way up the stairs to their own room. It's just as lovely after dark, and he leaves Bull only to light the lamps and throw open the balcony doors to let the fresh night air in. Quickly as he can, he rids himself of the outermost layer of his robes before returning to Bull, reaching as far up as he can to settle his hands on his shoulders and draw him down for a kiss.

"I hope you were quite serious," he murmurs, "about the balustrade."

"I was," he answers, voice low and full of promise as Dorian pulls him close. Bull slides his arms around Dorian's back; there's still too much fabric between them, but he knows exactly the face Dorian will make if he rips anything. So his hands move more deliberately than that, finding the familiar fastenings of Dorian's inner layers. He grins.

"Should I leave you somewhat dressed? Just in case someone walking by looks up?"

He shouldn't tease Dorian, but it's a real concern, isn't it? How exposed does he want to be? Even as he waits for an answer, Bull steers them in the general direction of their balcony.

The Bull's smile is a dazzling thing, somewhere between sweet and filthy. Dorian likes that smile very much. Seeing it makes his heart lighter, and he can't look away even as Bull fastidiously undoes the fastenings that hold his leathers together.

"Obviously," Dorian scoffs, a little affronted. "I shouldn't want to be left entirely bare. I'm not certain the citizens of Val Royeaux could properly appreciate such a gift." His lips twitch up, mischievous in the way it reaches his eyes. "But I have an idea. Help me out of this first."

And so it happens that Dorian winds up digging through his pack wearing only his smalls--a dark burgundy color today, which compliments his skin quite well--until he finds what he's looking for with a triumphant exclamation. He's brought with him the well-loved--and well-worn--robe he wears around his room (or, lately, the Bull's room) on chillier nights in Skyhold, plum-colored quilted cotton with soft velvet lining around the sleeves and collar. It's nearly long enough to reach his ankles, and when he does up the tie around his waist, it seems reasonably respectable, even while he's wearing very little underneath.

"This should be enough to keep most of my dignity in tact," Dorian decides. And easy for Bull to work around--or beneath?--as well. His heart pounds in his chest, adoration and excitement and arousal, as he leans up to press a kiss to the Bull's neck, the nearest he can reach without making him duck his head. "Find what you'll need and join me," he instructs, and steps out onto the balcony with a knowing smirk over his shoulder.

The stone is cold beneath his bare feet, but the air isn't so bad. It's the beginning of summer, and while it's hardly as warm as it would be in Tevinter this time of year, the breeze feels refreshing. The square below is all but deserted now, with the market having closed up hours ago. There's some activity around the taverns and other inns dotting the street, but Dorian doesn't feel apprehensive or concerned with being seen. In fact, as the fantasy they'd entertained earlier lingers in his mind, it feels exhilarating.

After helping the mage out of his layers, Bull watches intently as Dorian changes into something more... accessible. The robe is familiar, of course, and immediately conjures memories of Dorian in his room.

The brush of Dorian's lips against his neck earns a quiet hum of approval.

He waits, letting the moment draw out as Dorian walks away from him to so casually lean against the balustrade. Bull finally moves; it doesn't take him very long to find their oil and, soon enough, he joins Dorian out on the balcony.

"It's a nice night, at least," he murmurs as he presses against Dorian's back. He nuzzles the mage's neck and murmurs something low in Qunlat as his hands start gathering up the robe. He's careful to make sure the whole thing doesn't hike up as he works. "Will I have to cover your mouth?"

As expected, it doesn't take long for Bull to follow. Dorian casts a glance up over his shoulder as Bull steps up behind him. Warmth radiates from his body, and Dorian allows himself to lean back against him even as Bull crowds him. His hands are braced on the cool stone in front of him, and he casts another look around the square below with an affected disinterest, even as Bull--oh, damn it, fine--as Bull hikes up his skirts.

Feeling the brush of Bull's fingers and the drag of his blunted claws against the sensitive skin of his hips and thighs is exhilarating even normally. Tonight, when coupled with the upward drag of his robe to reveal his mostly bare body to the night air, it's enough to make his head spin with heady anticipation and arousal. Bull's stubble scrapes at his neck, but his lips are soft. Dorian can feel the rumble of his voice down to his toes.

"That depends entirely on your performance," he quips in return. So far, the Bull is doing remarkably well without even really trying, but it's not as if Dorian is going to admit as much.

Bull slides his hands beneath the robe to push Dorian's smalls out of his way. He lingers, letting his fingers drift over Dorian's hips and thighs. He lets his lips drift over the back of Dorian's neck and he eventually retrieves the oil he brought with him. Bull deftly slicks his fingers before he teases them between Dorian's cheeks. He isn't in a terrible hurry and for a moment all he does is rub and tease the outside of his hole, intent on working the mage up a little.

What's the fun if he doesn't test that resolve?

"Hm, I'll endeavor to earn it," he quips warmly. Just a breath later, Bull carefully eases the first finger in.

Bull is very good at teasing, when he wants to be. Dorian leans forward a little more, sighing at the feeling of Bull's oiled finger rubbing gently at his hole. He lets him do it without protest, enjoying the sensation itself and knowing that a demand for more might only cause Bull to want to tease him further, if he's in that sort of playful mood. He gets that finger inside him soon enough in a slow, careful press, just as it always is to start. Dorian hums softly, pleased, and cants his hips back. Even one of Bull's fingers is a stretch, but he's become accustomed to it--eager for it.

It's impossible not to think back to how it had felt to kiss Bull in the tavern, to sit in his lap with arms around him and devour his mouth knowing that the whole room could watch. The idea had turned him on enough that they're now here doing this--risky, thrilling, and just short of entirely shameless.

"How would you have fucked me?" He asks, slightly breathless. "If we'd done it right there?"

Bull grins against Dorian's ear as he carefully works him up to a second finger. "I would've had you in my lap," he murmurs. "It wouldn't be difficult with these robes you wear."

His fingers move slowly in and out, teasing Dorian as much as he works him open.

"I'd have you facing the tavern, I think." Cruel, making Dorian try to hide his arousal, his pleasure. But Bull thinks the angle might, ultimately, be easier. "Then again, if I have you facing me, it'll be easier to touch you without everyone seeing everything."

He tips his head so he can brush his lips over Dorian's neck.

"And you could ride me, just like that."

Is there anything that gets him hard faster, really, than when Bull indulges him in dirty talk? When he tells him exactly what he'd do to him in that low, gravelly voice of his, when he praises Dorian's body, tells him how good he is--no, there's nothing better. Bull's thick fingers stretch his hole, a wonderfully familiar ache, and his cock swells between his thighs without a touch.

"Fuck, Bull," he curses under his breath, half a whine. He can barely hide his arousal now. Maker. He knows--he just knows--that he wouldn't have been able to conceal it in his expression if they'd done this right there.

Oh, he wants it. It will never happen, of course, but he wants it. But this, here and now, is close enough that looking down, watching the people weaving in and out of open doors across the square, clouds his head and makes arousal sink deep through his body, an all-encompassing, radiating heat. He thinks of facing Bull, too, burying his face against his thick neck to hide his wanton expression and his sounds of pleasure. He thinks of rolling his hips slowly in Bull's lap, fucking himself subtly as he could on the Bull's cock.

Shivering outright at the touch of the Bull's lips against the back of his neck, Dorian's fingers curl against the stone beneath his hands. "It would still be too obvious," he says, like that's somehow a problem--like part of the fantasy isn't having eyes on them, being watched.

Bull grins when he hears the quiet desperation in Dorian's voice.

"Mm, you're right," he murmurs. Bull slides his fingers free so he can slick his cock. His breath catches as he carefully guides himself in. "But I think you'd like that. I think you want people to see what you have, what they don't. You want them to see you indulging in all the pleasure they could never allow themselves."

His breath escapes in a heavy sigh as he pushes deep. One hand grips the balustrade next to Dorian's and the other strokes over the mage's thigh.

"I'd fuck you on the floor of the Magisterium if I thought you wanted it. Let everyone gasp behind their fans, clutch their gold and pearls. Let them see how free you are. How wanted."

Dorian's head drops lower between his shoulders as he feels the Bull's fingers withdraw. He takes a deep, quivering breath, relaxing his body so that when the thick head of Bull's cock begins to press inside him, he opens for it easily. Yes, there it is--the stretch he craves so much, the way Bull fills him inch by inch in a perfect steady slide, a pleasure that goes straight to his cock, then suffuses through the rest of his body. Bull always feels right, feels exactly how Dorian wants him to, and tonight is no different. Heightened, perhaps, by the real risk of being seen, and the filth he continues to speak into his ear, voice grown even rougher with arousal. Maker, Dorian graves it--the sound of it, the way he can feel it.

"Venhedis," he curses under his breath, picturing the scene Bull paints for him. He groans, soft but encouraging, and his cock throbs between his legs.

Bull is right, of course, even if this is something Dorian hadn't fully understood about himself until now. He doesn't want to hide. He wants to be seen and envied for his freedom, for indulging in the pleasures others deny themselves for the sake of fitting a mold. He wants to be adored openly, wanted by someone who wants to show the world what they have. What they have together.

"Bull," he whimpers again, shifting to press the curve of his ass back against the Bull's hips when he's finally seated entirely inside him, huge and heavy and hot. "You--I'd let you fuck me anywhere," he says, low and breathless. It isn't true, of course, but in the moment he feels like it is. "Just you."

Bull huffs a heavy breath when their bodies finally meet. For a moment, Bull stays right where he is. He lets Dorian adjust to being so full. He growls quietly when Dorian whispers that he'd let Bull fuck him anywhere. He can imagine it, clear as anything. It feels like a memory more than a fantasy. Dorian in all his altus splendor, laid out in ecstasy and fucked by the biggest Qunari anyone present has ever seen. Because Pavus would find the biggest, most brutal of the forbidden to enjoy. Not just a man, but a Qunari. Not just a Qunari, but one of the Ben-Hassrath spies. Hissrad absolutely taking apart Halward's scion before the entire Magisterium, with Dorian deliriously enjoying every second of it for all to see.

Bull growls and bites Dorian's shoulder to keep himself from going for his neck. Fabric and flesh catches between his teeth and he gives a harder thrust as he builds a rhythm.

"Dorian," he groans low and urgent. He feels good, he's all Bull wants.

"I would," he rumbles. "If you said the word, I would."

Quickly, Bull begins fucking him with steady, deliberate thrusts. Dorian's body adjusts faster than most, but then, he's probably--and oh, what an idle thought to have--he's certainly fucked Bull more than anyone else has. And by a significant margin. It's the same for Dorian; he's never been with anyone like he has Bull. His body doesn't react like this for anyone else. He's never felt as desired, as acknowledged, as fulfilled with anyone else. They have something--something--

They have something. Perhaps no modifier is needed.

Bull's growl vibrates against his back, and he feels half the bright, welcome pain of his teeth against his shoulder. He breathes in harshly, and removes one supporting hand from the balustrade just to hurriedly tug at the neck of his robe, exposing his throat in a deliberate offer. "Please," is all he says, hoping that it conveys his willingness and his desperation enough. He shudders at the sensation of Bull's cock grinding against his prostate--deliberately or otherwise--and he whispers, warm and urgent, "I want it. I want you, Bull, always. Show them how good you make me feel. How good I make you feel."

Bull growls and his mouth slides over the newly exposed skin along Dorian's throat. He bites hard enough to bruise but not enough to draw blood and he groans against the mage's warm, sweet-smelling skin. He wraps an arm around Dorian's chest, holding the mage against him as the other hand stays planted on the balustrade to make sure he isn't pinning Dorian in a way that will hurt him.

It's best to keep his mouth occupied. Even if Dorian can't understand Qunlat, the words tumbling around in his head are dangerous to speak out loud. Bull moves faster, harder, and Dorian's delirious whispering fills him.

He finally releases Dorian's throat to kiss up his neck to his ear.

"Come for me," he rumbles. His hand slides down to offer Dorian more friction to work against. He traps the mage between his palm and his cock. Kadan.

There's a demand that makes his knees go weak. Not only the words themselves--the certainty, the confidence inherent in them--but the Bull's voice, sunk into that deep, deep register that feels and sounds like a tremor of the earth. He feels the vibrations through his whole body. His cock throbs in the Bull's hand, grinding into his wide palm with every hard thrust. The hard, deep grinding thrusts of Bull's cock keep him feeling so full, the friction overwhelming. His neck smarts where he'd been bitten, exactly as he wanted, and the pain blends so well with overload of pleasure he feels that it might as well not be pain at all.

Still, as compelled as he is, Dorian shakes his head, stubborn. Resistant. He doesn't want this to be over so soon; he doesn't ever want it to be over at all. The night air is cool against his feverish skin, the balustrade rough beneath his palm on the hand he still has braced against it. And Bull holds him, unafraid and glad to be with him, anywhere--everywhere--

"Make me," he gasps defiantly, too boldly for the way his body is singing beneath Bull's expert ministrations, pushed to the edge so quickly. At this point, it's willpower alone keeping him from coming on the spot.

The challenge makes Bull hot all over and he growls his answer in heavy Qunlat against Dorian's skin. Make him? He can do that.

He pushes himself up and he pushes Dorian down, forcing the mage's chest against the balcony rail. The new position lets him get more power behind each thrust and more control over pace and angle; he keeps one big hand between Dorian's shoulders, just in case he gets any ideas about trying to push himself up.

Bull's free hand rakes over the bare skin of Dorian's hip, blunt nails digging in.

From the moment he hears those low, foreign words, Dorian knows he's going to lose. But that's the fun of it, isn't it? To rile Bull up, make him--make him push him down against the railing, scrambling for purchase as he sets a brutal pace.

The angle is--fuck, it's perfect. The wide head of Bull's cock drags directly over his sweet spot with every powerful, targeted thrust, and the muscles of Dorian's thighs begin to shake. Bull takes him mercilessly, holds him down and fucks him, and even if Dorian wanted to get up, he couldn't; Bull's big hand is against his back, holding him down, immovable. The other claws at him, scraping over the sensitive skin of his hip. Though his claws aren't sharp, they still leave bright red scratches. His chest scrapes roughly against the rail. Like the ache of the bite on his throat, the pain resonates with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body, heightening it.

Dorian whimpers, gasps and pleads in Tevene, both antithetical and strangely complimentary to the resonating growl of Qunlat in his ear. He's wound tight, clenching around Bull's cock already, barely able to even think a word outside his native tongue. Only Bull can reduce him to this; only Bull can make this kind of complete surrender feel good, freeing, empowering rather than desperate and embarrassing.

When he comes, it feels dragged out of him in the most delicious, delirious way; gradual, but powerful as the tide. It rolls through him, makes his thoughts and vision hazy, and he trembles at its peak, a low, guttural moan punched out of him. He spills copiously onto the stone beneath his feet, cock pulsing with the pressure against his prostate. Everything feels bright and hot, but especially everywhere the Bull touches.

Bull shudders hard when he feels Dorian go tight. He keeps talking, all in Qunlat because he isn't sure he can say any of this to Dorian in a language they both understand. Just a breath later, he shudders on top of Dorian and joins him in that release.

His pleasure comes out in a sharp, deep moan. He pushes deep and stays there like he's intent on filling Dorian to the brim.

Slowly, slowly, Bull sinks down enough to brush a tender kiss to the back of Dorian's neck. He wraps his arms around the mage, holding him close and offering him support, offering him some padding between the rail and his chest. For a long moment, all he's aware of is the sound of their heavy breathing.

Eventually, reluctantly, Bull pushes himself up enough that he can pull out. They can't stay on the balcony all night.

Truly, there is no feeling as viscerally satisfying as the Bull finishing inside him. Dorian has at least enough self-awareness by the time Bull reaches his peak to appreciate it, giving a soft, sympathetic moan in response. He has no idea what Bull is saying, those low murmurs in a heavy, unintelligible tongue, but he's sure they must be complimentary, so he feels satisfied enough.

So soon after his own orgasm, everything feels like too much and not enough. He shudders at the kiss against the back of his neck, and is glad when Bull curls around him, holding him close again. He needs that support and comfort more than anything. They come down together, and Dorian's eyes close as he focuses on the way that Bull breathes, the way he can feel his cock gradually softening inside him. He's dizzy still, high on the sheer intensity of this experience, but Bull keeps him safe and grounded.

Amatus, he thinks again, and even forms the word with his lips, though no sound leaves his mouth. He shakes when Bull pulls out of him, makes a soft, deprived sound, but stands on his unsteady legs and turns around as soon as he can and buries his face against Bull's warm chest, embracing him, leaning heavily against him.

"Take me to bed," he says, and his voice is small, barely a whisper. But he knows, with a deep, unshakable certainty, that Bull will hear and obey.

As Dorian turns to him and makes his request, Bull adjusts their position so he can sweep the mage into his arms. No need to make Dorian walk, even if it isn't far. He hears, he obeys. He leans down to kiss Dorian, soft and sound on the mouth. His chest feels full to bursting and Bull doesn't dare examine that feeling too closely.

He brings them back into their room and gently lays Dorian on the bed. Finds a cloth to clean Dorian with, knowing well the mess he always leaves behind. The mage never complains, though. Not really.

When that's done, Bull gets ready for bed and finally eases down to join Dorian. The mattress dips at first, but, as Bull settles propped up against a mountain of pillows, the pressure evens out some. His weight still makes a dip, though, and inevitably Dorian is forced against him. That's alright, though. Bull gathers Dorian close, wanting to hold him.

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