aban_aqun | Skyhold

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.

Just as he'd hoped he would, Bull scoops him up into his arms right away. Dorian's arms curl around his neck at once, and he meets Bull's kiss with a grateful noise; more than anything, he lets himself be kissed, energy mostly sapped. Afterward, as Bull carries him to bed, he buries his face into the familiar junction between neck and shoulder, nuzzling against the thick muscle there.

He's grown to expect what comes after. He lays, drowsy and sated and comfortable, as Bull cleans him up, wiping away the remnants of his own release, though Dorian knows from experience it isn't quite that simple. Qunari, he thinks with some amusement, and feels his lips twitch into a hazy smile. With help, he also rids himself of his dressing gown, letting it pool on the floor beside the bed as he crawls under the blankets. Bull joins him shortly, and Dorian slides into the space next to him--he has little choice, really, given how the mattress accommodates his weight.

It's no matter. This is exactly where he would choose to be. It's familiar now, curling into Bull's side, an arm draped across the expanse of his body and his head pillowed on his chest. For good measure, he also hooks a leg over Bull's nearest thigh, pressing himself flush. He's glad that Bull had undressed before joining him; this feels best skin to skin, with nothing between them. He feels an arm fall across his back and smiles softly, pressing his lips to Bull's chest without much thought.

As though that's given him a good idea, he tilts his chin up and plaintively requests, "You might kiss me again." But he doesn't wait for Bull to comply. On limbs that still feel mostly like jelly, he supports himself enough to lean up and reach Bull's mouth, steadying a hand against his sternum as he licks gently over Bull's lower lip.

Bull smiles as Dorian leans up to kiss him. It's nothing for him to take the weight of Dorian's hand pressing into his sternum and Bull adjusts his arms to hold Dorian in place. He leans down to meet Dorian part way; the little lick makes Bull smile and he follows it with a proper kiss.

Kissing Dorian is swiftly becoming one of his favorite things; not many of his previous lovers had been particularly interested in indulging and Bull rarely seeks it for himself. But Dorian--Dorian kisses like a dream and it's easy to lose himself against the plush softness of his lips, the tempting warmth of his mouth.

He sighs with quiet contentment and he kisses Dorian until the mage pulls away to breathe.

Dorian has encountered similar issues, in the past; men who wouldn't kiss him, or who would, but only out of obligation, or only as a prelude to what happens after. But kissing Bull is so utterly different. He loves to do it, and it's clear Bull enjoys it just as much, whether it's soft and lazy, like this, or longing and passionate. Bull is the first man Dorian's ever kissed who would do it out of simple affection.

Bull's chest rumbles beneath him now, showing just how pleased and happy he is, and Dorian feels like he could drown in the swell of adoration that stirs in him, as though he hadn't been starry-eyed enough already. He kisses Bull for several moments longer, drawing it out before he has to stop to catch his breath. Even then, he nuzzles against Bull's jaw, feeling the wonderfully familiar scrape of his beard against his own smooth cheek.

"I don't want to stop," he confesses in a murmur, voice low and sweet. He kisses gently along Bull's throat before he finds his lips again, the press of his mouth firm and seeking, but tender.

"We don't have to," he assures. Bull slides his hand down Dorian's back and lets his fingertips tease over the mage's still-slick hole. He could probably get away with more penetration, but he thinks they'll need the oil again if that's what Dorian wants. For now, he keeps his touch teasing, light, and entirely external.

He kisses Dorian again, soft and lingering but with an edge of heat. Promise. Bull is certainly up to the task of getting Dorian off again, though he isn't sure he'll make it there himself.

"We'll need the oil again," he says eventually, a smile curving his mouth.

Dorian makes a relieved, pleased noise at Bull's easy assent. He wants to keep being close, and his body is still craving Bull. Straddled across one of Bull's thighs, his legs are spread enough to make it easy for Bull to slide his fingers between his cheeks and tease over his stretched hole, still wet with oil and seed. Dorian whimpers at even that sensation, and his hole yields with the slightest pressure, eager to take Bull's fingers.

Between that and the kiss, his cock begins slowly to stir against the thick muscle of Bull's thigh, and he sighs against his throat at the possibility of having to disentangle themselves even for long enough to find the oil.

"Where did you leave it?" he asks sleepily into Bull's neck.

"Hm." Bull lifts his head enough to look. "There." He can see the saddle bag on the floor; thankfully it's close enough that Bull just has to reach down to dig into it. He holds onto Dorian to make sure he doesn't fall off him.

As soon as he's settled again, Bull carefully slicks his fingers. He nuzzles Dorian's dark hair and it takes little effort to push two fingers back into him. He likes feeling Dorian's hard cock against his thigh, likes feeling his breath against his neck.

"You going to fall asleep like this?" he teases as he works his fingers in slow, lazy thrusts.

Dorian is jostled a little as Bull reaches off the bed, but at least he isn't removed from atop Bull completely, and he likes how Bull's arm settles around him to hold him close, so he only grumbles a little.

Bull's fingers press inside him easily, slick and not nearly as wide as his cock, and Dorian makes a low, approving noise, shifting against Bull's thigh until he finally makes the effort to swing it over both, straddling Bull's lap properly, though he continues to lay flat against his chest.

"Not until I've had your cock again," he quips in return, though his lethargic smile and the way he stretches only slowly, languidly toward the fingers rocking inside him likely doesn't help his case. He feels deeply relaxed and content, and the only thing he wants in the world in this moment is for it never to end. He wants to be wrapped up in Bull, secure and cared for and full of affection. This soft bed in this high-end inn in this corner of Val Royeaux is a liminal space, removed from the rest of the world. Only he and the Bull occupy it, and that's exactly how he likes it.

Bull huffs a quiet sound - not quite a laugh - when Dorian makes that particular demand. He doesn't answer right away, but instead eases a third finger in so he can offer Dorian that stretch. He nuzzles his dark hair, breathes his scent.

"Mmm. Might not manage that again tonight," he murmurs. Maybe it isn't fair to say that as he pushes his fingers deep. He can get Dorian off just like this, he knows it. Especially if the mage rubs his cock against the warm skin on Bull's thigh or belly.

He knows he can make this good for Dorian. He just isn't sure his body will catch up.

The addition of a third finger has Dorian sighing contentedly, rocking his hips with slightly more intent. That's more like it. Even three fingers can't quite compare to the Bull's cock, but they're more than big enough for him to really feel them. Dorian pants into the dip of Bull's collarbone, absently kissing across the warm grey skin of his chest, swollen, sensitive lips brushing over raised scars and deep gouges alike. His head still feels cloudy, like he's floating, still caught up in the high of their fuck on the balcony; the things that Bull had done to him, that he'd made him feel.

His own cock is barely half hard, but he feels the pleasant buzz of arousal through his body all the same. Bull's response is distracting, but the deliberate way he moves his fingers is even more so.

"Really?" He sounds incredulous, and slightly more awake. Bull has always been able to keep up with him before. Being refused is new. Breathlessly, and almost tentatively, he asks, "Is something wrong?" With him, he means.

Bull keeps his fingers right where they are - he doesn't want to stop. "No," he answers easily, voice warm. "I'm just an old man."

And while there are nights when he can proudly manage two or three times in a row, he isn't sure tonight is one of them. But he realizes how it might look to Dorian, how it might feel. Despite Bull's considerable devotion, Dorian still has issues to work through.

"By the time I get it up again, you'll be asleep." His free hand slides up to hold Dorian's chin, catching him for a kiss. "And I like getting you off."

"You aren't old," Dorian grumbles, rehashing a conversation they've had before. But he isn't awake enough to pursue the topic further, or to feel discomfited by the idea of taking pleasure without giving it. Dorian has always thought of that sort of thing as reciprocal. For the moment, he takes Bull at his word; he's probably right, anyway. He's this close to being asleep already.

Bull tilts his chin up to kiss him, and Dorian returns it eagerly as he can, eyes fluttering closed. His cock nudges against the soft curve of Bull's stomach, and his hips shift back against his fingers in slow, languid rolls. It feels good, warm, right, and he can hear the smile in Bull's voice.

"I suppose if you're certain..." He trails off, and opts to kiss Bull again instead. If he can't get Bull off, he can at least express his appreciation. And at the moment, he never wants to stop kissing.

Bull chuckles quietly when Dorian insists he isn't old. Given Bull's profession and his life so far, he's definitely old. But he doesn't argue; instead, he encourages the lazy roll of Dorian's hips as he moves between Bull's fingers and his belly.

"Very certain," he says in his warm rumble, just before Dorian quiets him with another kiss. He doesn't mind indulging this at all and he doesn't pull back until Dorian does, until both of them are breathless.

He adjusts the angle of his fingers just so, making sure that he's providing pressure where Dorian needs it.

Thankfully, Dorian forgets quickly enough, losing himself in the pleasure building in his body, hot and powerful, but not urgent. He's in no hurry, and his cock isn't even entirely hard. But it is leaking from the way the pads of Bull's fingers stroke constantly over his prostate, leaving a slick trail of precome over the curve of Bull's belly as he rubs off against it.

He sinks deep, laying flat against Bull's torso, eyes closed and pressing lazy kisses to his mouth and jaw and throat when he feels compelled to. He lets Bull take care of him, moving only to provide friction for his cock and rocking lazily back against the fingers shifting slowly inside him.

He's never done anything like this before--never had anyone who would indulge him like the Bull does, who would take care of him, who would insist on giving him pleasure while asking for nothing in return. He feels safe and adored and appreciated, and he moans softly against Bull's skin, heat and pressure building low in his belly far more quickly than he would have anticipated.

"Oh, Bull," he whispers breathlessly, barely thinking about the words falling from his lips. "The way you touch me, amatus--" He shudders, moans, and kisses Bull's chest feverishly, lips soft and wet, and has no idea at all what he's admitted to. "Oh," he gasps, "I'm nearly--" Sensitive as he is, it won't take him long to reach his peak.

Bull loves feeling Dorian move so lazily against him, seeking his pleasure against the soft-firm of his belly. He encourages that with every thrust of his fingers. He nuzzles Dorian's hair, meets every indulgent kiss as the mage chases his pleasure. It's beautiful to watch, really.

The sweetness in Dorian's voice and the tender words that fall from his lips, sear across Bull's mind. His free hand slides up Dorian's back and into his hair, cradling him as his mouth trails over his chest.

"There you go," he urges quietly. He adjusts the angle of his fingers as best he can, changes the pressure just so. "Let me feel you, Dorian." There's no need to hold back. There's nothing to wait for.

With Bull's encouragement, both physical and verbal, Dorian comes undone quickly. There's very little warning; it builds fast, and in a moment Dorian is gasping soft words in Tevene as he spills gently between their bodies, still rocking slowly between Bull's belly and his fingers. He comes down gradually, his tired mind slow to surface from the haze of pleasure he'd slipped into.

He seeks out Bull's lips again at once. He really doesn't ever want to stop kissing him. Stubbornly, perhaps, he doesn't want to leave his arms, or this bed. He wants to wake up tomorrow morning, still entangled, and do this all over again. He thinks of Bull kissing him in the tavern, and of how relieved he'd been when Dorian had agreed to go with him to his tailoring appointment; how readily he spends time with him, how tenderly he looks at him, and how ready he is to forgive even Dorian's most egregious missteps.

He thinks of that night in the Exalted Plains, when Bull had needed Dorian to take care of him. Something had changed between them that night, just as something does tonight; a sweet ache in Dorian's chest, longing for--

Well. For more.

Tonight, he feels these things without examining them, for once. He nestles against Bull, happy and sated, and murmurs, "Let's sleep in tomorrow," with a smile curving his lips, like it's something scandalous.

Bull murmurs his rumbling approval when he feels Dorian spill between them, when his body goes tight around his fingers. He closes his eye as he meets the tender kiss Dorian gives him, slow and sweet and indulgent. He keeps after Dorian, gently, until he's certain there's nothing left to give, and only then does he pull his fingers free.

He wraps his arms around Dorian, keeping him right where he is despite the mess.

"Let's," he agrees quietly. "The appointment isn't until mid-afternoon."

So there's no need for them to rush out of bed in the morning. Bull's already thinking to have breakfast sent up.

Dorian certainly won't appreciate falling asleep still sticky, but at the moment, he's finding it difficult to lift even his eyelids, let alone any of his limbs. He smiles, lazy and pleased. "I knew you'd say yes," he murmurs. "So that means--"

Dorian's stipulations for this are interrupted by a yawn, which he stifles against Bull's shoulder.

"It means," he continues a moment later, "that you aren't to get out of bed until I'm good and ready to let you. No getting up for morning drills, no bringing up breakfast. I want..." Dorian's voice fades a little more. Even rambling and half asleep, he still manages to sound vulnerable. "I want to wake up next to you."

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