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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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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.