Dorian hums happily at that assessment. He might've made a witty remark in return--I'll remember you said that the next time I have complaints about the weather--but all too quickly Bull is kissing him again, and Dorian doesn't mind shutting up for that.
The wall is cool against his back, even through his layers, but Bull is so hot against him that he barely notices. He keeps his arms around Bull's shoulders as his lover works open his clothing. Impressive, really, that he can now do it without looking. Dorian's whole body reacts when he feels Bull touch him, an involuntary thrust of his hips as his manicured nails dig hard into the sloping muscles of Bull's shoulders.
"Fuck," he breathes, "your hands..." He swallows, forces himself to voice what's on his mind. "Huge, rough, warm--so perfect around my cock."
Bull loses himself in the sound of Dorian's voice and the heat of his skin. "Lean into the wall, press against me," he murmurs against Dorian's throat. With a little effort, he can free both his hands. Once he feels the mage's weight braced between him and the wall, Bull starts tugging Dorian's leathers down, just enough to expose him. Bull's hands cover Dorian's ass, fingers sliding lightly down the cleft.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, voice heavy with desire and need. "Tell me exactly what you want."
Because Bull has no intention of giving it to Dorian until he does.
With Bull's instruction, he braces himself against the wall, enabling a little more clever maneuvering to get his leathers down just far enough to make the curve of his ass accessible. There's too much urgency for much else. These are his good robes, as he could hardly go out into the city with Madame de Fer wearing anything less. Later, he'll appreciate Bull being careful with them, despite the desperate need between them.
There's no embarrassment, even when he outright whimpers when Bull's fingers tease at pushing between his cheeks. "Fuck me," he answers, immediate and obvious. The depth of Bull's voice, the rough, needy edge to it, is intoxicating. "Just like this--my back to the wall, your hands on my ass holding me open while you fill me with every inch of that perfect qunari cock."
He kisses Bull again, deep and filthy. His lips feel tender from hard kisses and scraping teeth. "Lift me higher," he instructs, barely pulling away from his mouth. Trusting that Bull can (and will), Dorian uses his leverage against the wall to push himself up as well, hooking his knees up over Bull's arms rather than around his waist. It feels terribly vulnerable, but it lets Bull use the full strength of his arms as well as the wall to hold him. Not that he likely needs the help, Dorian reminds himself; he's boasted many times about how Dorian must weigh less than his favorite axe.
Bull adjusts his arms when he realizes what Dorian is trying to do. He manages to get something out of the pouch he's wearing - oil he's just bought. He'd put it there mostly to avoid it getting jostled on the way back, but now he's grateful for it. He leans in to kiss Dorian again, biting gently at his lip. Bull slicks his fingers and gets the oil stoppered and back into his pouch. Then it's easy to adjust his hold, to tease his fingers over Dorian's hole.
But he doesn't tease for long. Just a breath later, he pushes a finger in and follows quickly with a second. He knows he should be more careful, should take his time, but they'd only just fucked last night, and he hopes it won't strain Dorian too much to move quickly now.
Dorian knows the watch word. Bull trusts him now to use it.
From the moment Bull's slick fingers brush his hole, Dorian feels quite the opposite of strained. He moans against Bull's mouth as the first sinks easily in, and takes the second with an eager hiss, encountering little resistance. A little cursory movement with two fingers will tell Bull exactly what he expects: that Dorian's body still hasn't recovered entirely from the night before, and it will take only a little stretching to open him up enough to take his cock again.
Dorian himself seems to think that he could do it without any stretching at all.
"Kaffas, Bull, hurry," he urges, panting against his neck. With no way to rock back against Bull's fingers, his only recourse to move this more quickly is his words. Luckily for him, those have proved quite capable of getting him exactly what he wants today. "I need to feel you--fuck, need to feel you fucking me open, filling me. You're so good, Bull--I'll come for you, from just your cock."
Bull growls something in rough Qunlat as Dorian pants and gasps and speaks against his skin. It isn't long before he adds a third finger, because even if Dorian feels like he can take it, even in this state Bull wants to be sure.
As soon as he's satisfied, he pull his fingers free and slicks his cock with whatever oil is left on them. He leans into Dorian - into the wall, as he guides himself and lets gravity do the rest of the work. He moans deep in his chest as Dorian sinks down on him. Bull lowers his head, presses his face against Dorian's neck as he lets go of his cock and wraps his arm around Dorian again, keeping him spread as much as his leathers will allow.
"Dorian," he sighs his pleasure, his relief, and he nuzzles aside fabric with the intent of leaving a bruise on Dorian's neck.
Any complaint Dorian has about Bull having taken the time to add third finger quickly dies on his lips as he feels the thick head of his cock nudge up against his loosened hole. Ah, yes--perhaps he'd been a bit too hasty. It's good that he had Bull to ground him, even now. The stretch as the wide crown sinks into him is perfect, and with that first hurdle cleared Bull proceeds to slide into him with one long, deep thrust. Dorian moans, tucking his head against Bull's shoulder. Just as he'd described earlier, it's exactly what he needs. And judging by the way Bull sighs his name, it's entirely mutual.
Bull’s hands on his ass keep him spread wide, and like this, with his own weight bearing him all the way down to the thick base, Bull feels bigger even then usual. Impossible, of course, but Dorian feels full, and entirely at Bull's mercy. He's never been fucked like this, or handled this way, like he weighs nothing. He's never had a man who could do it, and he's mesmerized by the flexing of Bull's arms and chest.
“Please don’t hold back,” he murmurs, taking a hand from Bull's shoulder just to loosen his robes at the collar so Bull can mark him up as he wishes. He's long past the point of caring how that looks. “Fuck me hard, Bull."
There is only so much he can do while keeping Dorian off the ground, but Bull gives Dorian what he asks for. He keeps one arm against Dorian's back to keep him balanced and he braces the other hand against the wall just to make sure he doesn't hurt Dorian.
Bull moves in steady, deep thrusts: he fucks Dorian as hard as he can without risking slamming him into the plaster wall. He adjusts their position, puts just enough space between himself and the wall that Dorian's braced but not pinned.
"I can't ever take my eye off you," he breathes against Dorian's skin. Bull lifts his head to make his point. "Every turn, every pose, every thoughtless gesture--they're all stuck in my head. I can hear you talking in another room and know exactly how you're standing and the way you're moving."
Dorian's arms drape over Bull's shoulders, wrapping around his neck as Bull settles into a rhythm of steady thrusting, each stroke beautifully deep. Dorian is all but putty in his hands, pleasure building quickly now that Bull is grinding across that white-hot spot inside him, making his cock drip between his legs. And when Bull shifts their position just slightly, Dorian sputters Tevene under his breath.
And as if the thick head of Bull's cock pounding directly against his prostate weren't enough, he has to go and say something like that. Dorian meets his eye as Bull pulls back to look at him. He's sure he looks a wreck, eyes dark with pleasure, lips slightly parted, slick and swollen, bronze skin flushed. But Bull--Bull looks desperate. Like Dorian has wrecked him, made him this way. Like he needs Dorian to understand this. Understanding comes slowly when he's so distracted by the earth-shaking shift of Bull inside him, but as it dawns on him, Dorian feels his breath shorten as something twists in his chest.
"I thought--it felt like you were always watching me," he whispers. "You were. You do." Difficult to speak louder when his air is being stolen from him every other moment. That Bull thinks of him this much--that Bull thinks of him at all--makes Dorian want to hold onto him and never release him. You want him to love you,, he thinks. And yes, of course he does. He kisses the scarred corner of Bull's mouth. "I want you to. I'm--terribly selfish, you see."
"I do," he confirms, quiet and breathless. Bull slows down for a moment, grinding into Dorian in short rocking motions, staying deep in him. He licks into Dorian's mouth when they kiss, needing to taste him again. The words are sweet on his lips when Dorian speaks them. "All the time."
It feels like something he shouldn't admit, something he shouldn't say. But he does. He watches Dorian in the study, on the parapets, when he crosses the yard between the keep and the tavern. In the hall and in the garden. While he reads by candlelight in his room or in Bull's. He has committed every part of the mage to memory and now--now he's burrowed so deep into Bull's mind that there will be no uprooting him. And Bull doesn't know what to do about it, doesn't know what he can do, except allow himself moments like this.
He kisses Dorian again, slick and deep, as he resumes moving with quicker, more demanding thrusts. Bull wants to feel him fall apart in his arms.
It's so much--so much at once, Bull's tongue filling his mouth, his cock pressed deep, deep inside him, and his voice, rumbling through his body and sticking somewhere low against his spine. There is nothing Dorian can do at this point but cling to the mountain of sweaty qunari as he is fucked nearly out of his mind. Bull pounds up into him--little lead-up, and probably little holding back. It's brutal, but tender.
It's perfect.
"Bull," he moans, voice rising in pitch and volume as he quickly loses control. "So fucking good--so big, Maker, so strong--"
Dorian can barely think, can't let his head get cluttered with pesky emotions he's still trying to compartmentalize. He also can’t last long, with Bull ramming his prostate over and over like that. He can't keep quiet, just as he can't stop looking at Bull. As promised, he comes from Bull's cock alone, and it's intense, moving through him like lightning. As he curls against Bull, muffling his cry against his shoulder and shaking, spilling a sticky mess between them, tendrils of the Fade gather close. They manifest through his own wayward power as bright white sparks dancing across his skin, and he's left gasping.
Bull is just a few breaths behind Dorian. He feels too good to worry about holding back. With a low growl, he pushes Dorian fully against the wall, firmly pinning him in place as he finishes. Bull pushes deep and he stays there as he comes; he shudders when sparks of electricity lick over his skin, jumping from Dorian to him wherever they touch. It isn't more than a little shock. He's had much worse.
And for a long moment, he just stands there. The wall takes their weight and Bull nuzzles tiredly against Dorian's jaw, utterly sated for the moment. He murmurs something that sounds sweet and carefully adjusts his arms so they're more free, so that Dorian's legs aren't pushed up quite so far.
When Bull's caught his breath more, he lifts his head and strokes his fingers over Dorian's cheek.
Dorian is still coming down when Bull hits his peak, and he makes a satisfied noise low in his throat as Bull pins against the wall to finish inside him. With a pleased hum, he kisses lazily along Bull's collarbone. He'll never tire of that feeling. The sparks fade before Dorian even really registers them, slipping back into the flow of magic around them. He happily lets Bull remain as they are a little while longer. Dorian usually finds it quite jarring to part too quickly, especially when he's still floating like this, content and connected.
Bull asks him something, but it takes Dorian a moment to comprehend. "Hm? Oh--yes, I only..." It's impossible not to lean into Bull's touch, the soft caress against his cheek. He chuckles, low and warm. "I needed a moment. Fasta vass, you're magnificent."
He leans in for a kiss, sweet and lingering. When he pulls back, his expression is soft, as is his voice. "Truly. You are."
Bull closes his eye and rests his brow gently against Dorian's. He keeps them just like this, letting the minutes draw out before he finally pulls out. Once he has Dorian on his feet, Bull produces a handkerchief to clean him, knowing well now just how much of a mess he makes.
Gently, Bull helps get Dorian's leathers up and fastened again.
Through it all, he kisses Dorian again and again, lingering over each touch. When they're both put back together, he moves away enough to allow Dorian some space to breathe and stand on his own. Tender sentiment sits on the tip of his tongue; Bull makes himself swallow it back.
"Let's go back to the inn," he murmurs. "Get some rest before dinner."
Bull is as considerate as ever in the aftermath, but possibly even more affectionate. It seems he can hardly stop kissing Dorian, which Dorian certainly won't complain about. When they're both at last in a fit state to be in public again, he looks up at Bull with an expression that he knows is far too besotted, and takes his hand. He holds it all the way back through the complex network of alleyways they'd wandered down, and nearly until they reach the main road.
At the inn that night, they don't wind up using any of their new purchases. They wash and re-dress for dinner, eat, and spend the evening talking and laughing in their room, sipping wine on the balcony or simply laying side by side on the bed as they relay stories and ask questions.
And when they sleep, Dorian lets Bull pull him close to kiss him. He falls asleep like that, as he has on so many other nights now; tucked up against Bull's left side, listening to his heart.
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The wall is cool against his back, even through his layers, but Bull is so hot against him that he barely notices. He keeps his arms around Bull's shoulders as his lover works open his clothing. Impressive, really, that he can now do it without looking. Dorian's whole body reacts when he feels Bull touch him, an involuntary thrust of his hips as his manicured nails dig hard into the sloping muscles of Bull's shoulders.
"Fuck," he breathes, "your hands..." He swallows, forces himself to voice what's on his mind. "Huge, rough, warm--so perfect around my cock."
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"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, voice heavy with desire and need. "Tell me exactly what you want."
Because Bull has no intention of giving it to Dorian until he does.
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There's no embarrassment, even when he outright whimpers when Bull's fingers tease at pushing between his cheeks. "Fuck me," he answers, immediate and obvious. The depth of Bull's voice, the rough, needy edge to it, is intoxicating. "Just like this--my back to the wall, your hands on my ass holding me open while you fill me with every inch of that perfect qunari cock."
He kisses Bull again, deep and filthy. His lips feel tender from hard kisses and scraping teeth. "Lift me higher," he instructs, barely pulling away from his mouth. Trusting that Bull can (and will), Dorian uses his leverage against the wall to push himself up as well, hooking his knees up over Bull's arms rather than around his waist. It feels terribly vulnerable, but it lets Bull use the full strength of his arms as well as the wall to hold him. Not that he likely needs the help, Dorian reminds himself; he's boasted many times about how Dorian must weigh less than his favorite axe.
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Bull adjusts his arms when he realizes what Dorian is trying to do. He manages to get something out of the pouch he's wearing - oil he's just bought. He'd put it there mostly to avoid it getting jostled on the way back, but now he's grateful for it. He leans in to kiss Dorian again, biting gently at his lip. Bull slicks his fingers and gets the oil stoppered and back into his pouch. Then it's easy to adjust his hold, to tease his fingers over Dorian's hole.
But he doesn't tease for long. Just a breath later, he pushes a finger in and follows quickly with a second. He knows he should be more careful, should take his time, but they'd only just fucked last night, and he hopes it won't strain Dorian too much to move quickly now.
Dorian knows the watch word. Bull trusts him now to use it.
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Dorian himself seems to think that he could do it without any stretching at all.
"Kaffas, Bull, hurry," he urges, panting against his neck. With no way to rock back against Bull's fingers, his only recourse to move this more quickly is his words. Luckily for him, those have proved quite capable of getting him exactly what he wants today. "I need to feel you--fuck, need to feel you fucking me open, filling me. You're so good, Bull--I'll come for you, from just your cock."
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As soon as he's satisfied, he pull his fingers free and slicks his cock with whatever oil is left on them. He leans into Dorian - into the wall, as he guides himself and lets gravity do the rest of the work. He moans deep in his chest as Dorian sinks down on him. Bull lowers his head, presses his face against Dorian's neck as he lets go of his cock and wraps his arm around Dorian again, keeping him spread as much as his leathers will allow.
"Dorian," he sighs his pleasure, his relief, and he nuzzles aside fabric with the intent of leaving a bruise on Dorian's neck.
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Bull’s hands on his ass keep him spread wide, and like this, with his own weight bearing him all the way down to the thick base, Bull feels bigger even then usual. Impossible, of course, but Dorian feels full, and entirely at Bull's mercy. He's never been fucked like this, or handled this way, like he weighs nothing. He's never had a man who could do it, and he's mesmerized by the flexing of Bull's arms and chest.
“Please don’t hold back,” he murmurs, taking a hand from Bull's shoulder just to loosen his robes at the collar so Bull can mark him up as he wishes. He's long past the point of caring how that looks. “Fuck me hard, Bull."
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Bull moves in steady, deep thrusts: he fucks Dorian as hard as he can without risking slamming him into the plaster wall. He adjusts their position, puts just enough space between himself and the wall that Dorian's braced but not pinned.
"I can't ever take my eye off you," he breathes against Dorian's skin. Bull lifts his head to make his point. "Every turn, every pose, every thoughtless gesture--they're all stuck in my head. I can hear you talking in another room and know exactly how you're standing and the way you're moving."
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And as if the thick head of Bull's cock pounding directly against his prostate weren't enough, he has to go and say something like that. Dorian meets his eye as Bull pulls back to look at him. He's sure he looks a wreck, eyes dark with pleasure, lips slightly parted, slick and swollen, bronze skin flushed. But Bull--Bull looks desperate. Like Dorian has wrecked him, made him this way. Like he needs Dorian to understand this. Understanding comes slowly when he's so distracted by the earth-shaking shift of Bull inside him, but as it dawns on him, Dorian feels his breath shorten as something twists in his chest.
"I thought--it felt like you were always watching me," he whispers. "You were. You do." Difficult to speak louder when his air is being stolen from him every other moment. That Bull thinks of him this much--that Bull thinks of him at all--makes Dorian want to hold onto him and never release him. You want him to love you,, he thinks. And yes, of course he does. He kisses the scarred corner of Bull's mouth. "I want you to. I'm--terribly selfish, you see."
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It feels like something he shouldn't admit, something he shouldn't say. But he does. He watches Dorian in the study, on the parapets, when he crosses the yard between the keep and the tavern. In the hall and in the garden. While he reads by candlelight in his room or in Bull's. He has committed every part of the mage to memory and now--now he's burrowed so deep into Bull's mind that there will be no uprooting him. And Bull doesn't know what to do about it, doesn't know what he can do, except allow himself moments like this.
He kisses Dorian again, slick and deep, as he resumes moving with quicker, more demanding thrusts. Bull wants to feel him fall apart in his arms.
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It's perfect.
"Bull," he moans, voice rising in pitch and volume as he quickly loses control. "So fucking good--so big, Maker, so strong--"
Dorian can barely think, can't let his head get cluttered with pesky emotions he's still trying to compartmentalize. He also can’t last long, with Bull ramming his prostate over and over like that. He can't keep quiet, just as he can't stop looking at Bull. As promised, he comes from Bull's cock alone, and it's intense, moving through him like lightning. As he curls against Bull, muffling his cry against his shoulder and shaking, spilling a sticky mess between them, tendrils of the Fade gather close. They manifest through his own wayward power as bright white sparks dancing across his skin, and he's left gasping.
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And for a long moment, he just stands there. The wall takes their weight and Bull nuzzles tiredly against Dorian's jaw, utterly sated for the moment. He murmurs something that sounds sweet and carefully adjusts his arms so they're more free, so that Dorian's legs aren't pushed up quite so far.
When Bull's caught his breath more, he lifts his head and strokes his fingers over Dorian's cheek.
"Still with me, big guy?"
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Bull asks him something, but it takes Dorian a moment to comprehend. "Hm? Oh--yes, I only..." It's impossible not to lean into Bull's touch, the soft caress against his cheek. He chuckles, low and warm. "I needed a moment. Fasta vass, you're magnificent."
He leans in for a kiss, sweet and lingering. When he pulls back, his expression is soft, as is his voice. "Truly. You are."
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Gently, Bull helps get Dorian's leathers up and fastened again.
Through it all, he kisses Dorian again and again, lingering over each touch. When they're both put back together, he moves away enough to allow Dorian some space to breathe and stand on his own. Tender sentiment sits on the tip of his tongue; Bull makes himself swallow it back.
"Let's go back to the inn," he murmurs. "Get some rest before dinner."
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At the inn that night, they don't wind up using any of their new purchases. They wash and re-dress for dinner, eat, and spend the evening talking and laughing in their room, sipping wine on the balcony or simply laying side by side on the bed as they relay stories and ask questions.
And when they sleep, Dorian lets Bull pull him close to kiss him. He falls asleep like that, as he has on so many other nights now; tucked up against Bull's left side, listening to his heart.