aban_aqun | Skyhold

"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."

He does know Dorian would rather not fall asleep stuck together. Eventually, Bull coaxes Dorian off him and onto his side. He finds a cloth within reach to clean them both while his lover tries to talk around yawns.

Bull gives Dorian a very fond look at that quiet, but firm request. How could Bull deny him anything when he asks like that?

"I'll be here when you wake up," he promises. "Now go to sleep."

"Oh, if you insist," he grumbles, like he's somehow put upon by this request. But he's smiling even as he says it, settling against Bull's side with an arm across his middle and his head pillowed on his chest--the same way he's fallen asleep night after night for months now. The steady rise and fall of Bull's chest and the thump of his heart have become a metronome for him, lulling him to sleep. On the occasions they haven't shared a bed lately, Dorian's found it absurdly difficult to get any rest.

That isn't an issue tonight. Clean and satisfied and assured that Bull will still be with him in the morning, Dorian drifts off fairly quickly, breathing soft and even against Bull's chest.

Bull would like to drift off as easily as Dorian does. Instead, while the mage sleeps, Bull's mind is awake and troubled. Amatus. There is no mistaking what Dorian called him, and there is no misinterpreting its meaning. Bull spoke Tevene well enough to be clear on that. He looks down at Dorian, studying the peace on his face, the utter relaxation in every line of his body. Dorian trusts him, he's happy to be here with him.

And Dorian loves him.

He's handled little crushes before, but this is something else altogether. He's very fond of Dorian, and he's concerned now that he might harbor the same feelings. This is nothing he's ever had to worry about before: Bull has never once mixed friendships with sex. He shouldn't even think of Dorian as a friend, never mind where he's thoughts have been going lately.

Amatus.

How often has he nearly murmured the only equivalent that exists in Qunlat? How many times has he looked at Dorian and unwittingly thought kadan? Bull strokes his fingers down Dorian's arm and he sighs quietly. This is getting messy. They are tangled together in ways that Bull isn't sure how to undo, not without severing the knot entirely. And that will only leave frayed ends.

He realizes that he doesn't want to hurt Dorian. He's been hurt enough.

When thinking about it starts to give him an ache, Bull makes himself stop. He'll be up all night if he doesn't, and he would like to enjoy the bed, the company, and the chance to sleep in.

But as he closes his eye, all he can hear is Dorian's voice whispering amatus against his skin.

Dorian wakes several times before he is ready to be awake. Each time, he feels the weight of Bull's arm around him and stretches languidly, or cracks an eye open to gaze blearily up at his face, before slipping back into the Fade once more.

It's well into mid morning by the time he stays awake. The light from the balcony doors and the windows on either side streams in warm and white, and he can hear the sounds of the market below, already loud and active with far earlier risers. But Dorian doesn't regret his lazy morning for a moment. He is with Bull, and his body aches pleasantly--sore muscles, bruises, bites. Reminders of a night very well spent.

He remembers the tavern very well, and the way they'd fucked on the balcony afterward; hazier is the time after that, when they'd fallen into bed together, but he knows they had sex again. Or--no, that isn't quite right. He realizes, with slowly dawning dread, what had actually happened. Bull had shown him such a wonderful evening, taken care of him so well from start to finish, and he'd repaid that generosity by selfishly demanding pleasure without making sure Bull would get the same in return. He'd been tipsy and tired and still reeling from their first round, but he hadn't lost his wits completely. He should have made more of an effort.

Shame is the very last thing he'd wanted to feel this morning, after a night as rare as last night. But he feels his face heat and his stomach clench with it as he leans heavily into Bull's side. He should apologize. It's the least he can do.

"Bull," he murmurs. His voice is scratchy with sleep. "Are you awake?"

"Hm?" Bull makes an acknowledging sound and rolls slightly so that he can wrap around Dorian more fully. He's careful of his horns and the wall, and he's careful not to roll on top of Dorian. It was late when Bull finally drifted off, and even if they've slept late, he thinks he could sleep some more. But Dorian is awake and that's reason enough for him to be the same.

"Mhm," he adds a moment later as he buries his nose in Dorian's hair. Bull is careful to keep his weight off the mage. He doesn't want to smother him into the mattress.

"Morning," he manages at last, voice quiet and rough with sleep. ".... S'it still morning?"

Though the subject he intends to broach weighs heavily on him, Dorian can't help a small, secret smile when Bull gathers him closer, apparently still half asleep. That gives him a little more confidence that Bull isn't upset with him, at least. Dorian gladly leans into him, allowing Bull to breathe him in.

"I don't have an answer to that question, I'm afraid," Dorian half chuckles. "Though I am confident that had we overslept egregiously, Vivienne would have notified us."

He uses a few moments to take a steadying breath. A hand finds Bull's face, fingers fitting tenderly along the lines of his scars on the left side. "I want to thank you for last night. I haven't had such an enjoyable evening out in quite some time. I'm only sorry that I failed to show my appreciation properly toward the end."

Bull listens to the apology patiently. He presses a kiss to Dorian's hair once he's finished.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Dorian," he murmurs, soft and warm. "Do you think I'd do anything that I felt bad doing? Or that I didn't want to?"

He eases back, just enough for Dorian to see his face.

"I wanted to give you that and I knew I wouldn't be in any state to give you what you really wanted any time soon. I enjoyed myself, Dorian. Everything we did last night, If found pleasure in."

"No, I--" Dorian's protest breaks off, and he forces himself to rethink what he's about to say. There are times when Bull's very reasonable responses make him feel a bit childish. But the truth is that he doesn't always have the most healthy or mature attitude about sex, because his experiences thus far in life--in Tevinter, really--haven't been conducive to teaching him that. He hadn't thought that Bull felt bad about doing what he had; he'd only meant to express that he felt bad about not returning the favor.

(And that's the problem, isn't it? That he thinks of it that way in the first place.)

"I don't doubt that you enjoyed yourself. I only mean that I wish I'd been able to reciprocate," he explains, earnestly trying to make Bull understand his point of view. "I'm normally not one to take without giving back. This sort of thing should be an equal exchange, yes?"

"Dorian." Bull sits up slowly and props himself against the back of the bed. It lets him fully meet Dorian's gaze. "You would have reciprocated with what? Something I didn't ask for?"

He lifts his dark brow, fixing Dorian with a gentle look.

"Equal exchange means both partners get what they want, and I did. I got everything that I wanted,including the chance to make you feel good again"

This is just as frustrating and embarrassing as Dorian had expected it to be, yet somehow for entirely different reasons. He feels suddenly worse than clueless, out of his depth. Bull is so kind, so impossibly gentle, but that only makes him feel worse. Apparently, at more than thirty years old and after months of steady sex, he still needs these things explained to him.

Bull has moved to look at him, but now Dorian refuses to meet his eye. He stares at the sheets covering his body instead, bare legs shifting idly beneath them. His foot brushes the muscle of Bull's calf and withdraws.

"In Tevinter, having an orgasm is the entire point of a tryst like this," he says plainly, trying to sound disaffected. "I wouldn't be worth any man's time if I didn't get him off in return." Though he still doesn't look at Bull, his brow furrows. "And now you tell me that isn't important to you?"

Bull listens quietly and the revelation doesn't really surprise him. When Dorian finishes, Bull reaches to gently tip his chin up and gives him a kiss.

"Well, it's not the entire point for me," he murmurs. "I take great pleasure in--giving you what you want. Yeah, getting off is fun. Great, even. But... it's not the only reason I'm here. I'm old enough that my cock can't always keep up with the demand," he says with a wry smile. "But the rest of me again."

He doesn't know if this is helping at all, but he wants Dorian to know.

"You are worth my time, Dorian. Whether my cock is hard or not."

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