Oh. The way that Bull kisses him, intense and lingering, steals his breath for several moments afterward. Clearly this is something that Bull has a great deal of personal interest in. It's exciting to learn, when Dorian has spent the last several months trying to ferret out the things that Bull enjoys. Stumbling upon a discovery like this is rare and precious.
Bull's suggestion makes Dorian glance up. Indeed, sturdy new rafters which must have been built to lend support to the roof span the room. He can picture Bull with a small team of builders raising them and repairing the roof, and something about that image makes him feel very tender. His smile grows, and he settles his hands against Bull's chest, feeling his breath and the drumbeat of his heart. "I'd hate to waste an opportunity like that," he says. "I've never been tied that way before," he admits. In truth, any time he has been tied it's been incredibly simple, and always for the purpose of binding his hands during sex. "But I'd like to try."
"But you have been tied before?" Bull's curious. He gently eases Dorian off his lap and onto the bed so he can get up to find what he needs. He still wants an answer, though, and gives Dorian a prompting look before he crouches down in front of his chest.
It takes some digging, but Bull eventually produces the deep purple silk ropes he'd purchased in Val Royaeux. He drapes several lengths over his shoulder, then picks up another set: white. Dorian looks good in white, the contrast against his warm skin is striking. Bull thinks the colors together will look good. And it will let him keep track of what he's tied and where.
Dorian makes himself comfortable sitting on the bed, folding his legs under him as Bull begins to rummage through the large chest in which Dorian knows he keeps most of his things. He watches as he draws out rope in two different colors. He recognizes the purple at once, and feels an odd sense of pride at the memory. Bull holding it against his skin, telling him this was his color. Like he might not use it with anyone else.
"A little. Usually only to bind my arms. Once around my legs to hold them open." He still remembers exactly how the ropes had felt digging into his thighs. He wouldn't mind repeating it with Bull doing the tying. "There typically wasn't the time or place for anything more involved."
Bull lays the ropes on the end of the bed. "Stand up so I can undress you." He wants to take his time with it. He's missed Dorian and he's not interested in rushing anything.
Undressing Dorian is relatively easy, at least. Bull is intimately familiar with all of the fastenings and buckles and ties.
"What I do will be different," he cautions. "Have you seen the ropes I wear?"
Bull doesn't wear them often, and when he does, they usually disappear beneath some of his heavier armor.
Dorian slides from the bed when directed, standing before Bull in just a few steps. He lets him take the lead here, remaining helpful but passive in the process of disrobing. It seems like something Bull wants to do himself, and Dorian is perfectly content to let him. Bull had helped him dress today, so he might as well help him undress as well.
"Of course I've seen them," he says, like it's obvious. Even if the glimpses were brief, he could never miss the way those ropes weave across Bull's arms and torso, complex and intriguing in a similar way to how he sees vitaar; distinctly Qunari, but pleasing to look at. "Are you going to put something similar on me?" He's deeply curious about that, both the functionality and the significance.
"Yes and no," he answers. He lifts his gaze to give Dorian a sly smile. "I wouldn't use Ben-Hassrath colors or knots on you. But the idea is similar."
He finishes undressing Dorian and makes sure all of his clothes end up folded over a chair. That done, Bull starts measuring out lengths of purple and white rope.
"Hold your arms out a little and... yeah, feet further apart."
That will make it easier for him to work. When Dorian is ready, Bull starts weaving together a harness of intricate patterns.
Dorian's eyebrows raise as a more genteel alternative to rolling his eyes. Of course Bull isn't going to put him in Ben-Hassrath garb. He's fairly certain that fucking one doesn't make you qualify. He shivers a little when his bare feet hit the floor, and his skin pebbles in the cool air.
The feel of the silk rope is decadent in a way he hadn't expected, and he relaxes as Bull directs him to one pose after the next to wrap and tie the rope around him. It feels snug, but not so much that it will hurt if pressure is put on it. He feels secure, and he mellows gradually, breath slowing.
A faint smile appears as he listens to Dorian's breathing change. There's something very meditative for him, too, as he works the knots and weaves the ropes in and out of each other. When Bull is satisfied with everything he's done on Dorian's torso, he coaxes the mage onto the bed.
"Face down," he murmurs as he presses a hand between Dorian's shoulder blades. Once he's in position, Bull takes up more rope and starts working it around Dorian's thighs. By the time he's done, Dorian's ankles are bound to his thighs and his wrists are bound there as well. Bull wants Dorian to feel vulnerable and secure all at once, in a way only the ropes can offer.
"Nothing's too tight?" he asks as he checks his work. He wants to make sure there's no chance of any of the knots slipping.
Just as he has been, Dorian follows Bull's direction and lays down on the bed. He presses his face into the sheets and breathes, slow and steady, as Bull bends and moves and ties his limbs in the way he's chosen. He expected this process to be quite different. Instead of speeding up, his heart slows. It's soothing. Not that Bull's deft hands all over his body tying intimate knots against his skin isn't arousing; it is, and his cock is half hard between his belly and the bed. But it simply doesn't feel like a priority.
By the time Bull asks his question, Dorian is floating, hazy and comfortable even as his hands and ankles are bound to his thighs. Bull directs, and his body bends. It's so simple. He smiles, turning his face to the side so that he can look up at Bull from the bed. He tests the ropes, exerting real pressure on them for the first time, and his breath stutters when they don't budge. He couldn't move his arms or press his legs together if he wanted to. He feels exposed, but safe.
Bull leans down to give Dorian a tender kiss. "I'll be right back."
He lets his fingers brush down Dorian's back before he moves away from the bed. From his chest he takes a different kind of rope, thicker than the silk wrapped around Dorian. He returns to Dorian to thread the new rope through the harness, making sure that Dorian's weight will be distributed evenly when he's hanging.
Then, Bull picks Dorian up from the bed. He carries the mage tenderly until they reach a spot he likes it. He tosses one end of the rope over the beam and slowly releases his grip on Dorian as he hoists him up. When Dorian's at a satisfactory height - almost eye level with Bull - he ties the other end of the rope off and steps back to let Dorian adjust to the new feeling.
Dorian knows what is happening, and yet somehow is still surprised when it actually does. He loves being in Bull's arms for the duration of time it takes him to arrange the ropes properly. He nuzzles against his neck, kisses the thick muscle there, and lets his warmth sink into his skin. A moment later Bull lets him go, gently, slowly. But he doesn't fall.
There isn't any sudden drop, or even a real shift in how his weight is distributed, but he tenses on instinct, like that's what will keep him from tumbling to the ground. But he isn't in control of that at all. The Bull is, and the Bull would never let anything happen to him. He's lifted higher, higher than he would be if he were standing, and Bull is right there watching him. Reassured, he lets his body relax, he is held. Without doing a single thing, he is suspended in the air, and the ropes hold him. He feels the pressure all over his body as they take his full weight, feels where the knots press into his skin, where the ropes rub against sensitive places, or dig into his thighs. But nothing about it feels off.
"It feels like I'm floating," he laughs, and looks up at Bull through his eyelashes--and for once, he doesn't have to look up very far. "I had no idea it would be so nice."
Bull smiles as Dorian gives him a dreamy sort of look. He holds the mage by his chin and gives him another kiss - no real leaning this time. It's a novelty to have Dorian at about his height while he's standing.
"There's something comforting in them," he agrees. "The feeling of being held. Contained."
He moves in a slow circle around Dorian, absently adjusting a knot here or where a rope pulls there. When he's satisifed that Dorian's weight is distributed well enough that nothing will go numb or start losing circulation, Bull finally touches Dorian's cock. Just a brush of his fingers at first, reminding Dorian that he hasn't forgotten. But then he focuses, stroking slowly to make sure Dorian is fully aroused.
Dorian makes a soft noise in agreement, lips still feeling the press of Bull's. He feels oddly more sensitive--or simply more aware of his body, perhaps. Each touch and each drag and pull of the ropes against his skin lingers.
And then Bull's fingers are on his cock, and Dorian moans, low and needy and surprised by how strong that feeling is. He'd all but forgotten about it until just now, but Bull's hand, when it wraps around him properly, is so big and warm and rough, perfect. He strains in his ropes, trying to get more, anything, but it's a pointless endeavor. He can't move. There is nothing, nothing he can do but let Bull stroke him, nice and slow, and feel his cock throb to life until it's full and aching.
"Bull," he whimpers. He feels on display in a way that's more intimate than usual, but that only contributes to the hot feeling of arousal building inside him, making him flush and pant as Bull works him over.
"Hm?" Bull smiles and brushes a few kisses along Dorian's back. He stokes until he can feel precome escaping the head, and then he stops. He steps away to find the oil they like and slips it into a pocket so he has it close at hand.
After looking at Dorian for a moment, deliberating, Bull moves closer. Carefully, slowly, he adjusts Dorian's position and the way the ropes suspending him slide through the harness until Dorian is on his back, cradled still. Bull finds another length of silk and uses it to make a sling for Dorian's head: he doesn't want his neck strained with the effort of holding it up.
"There," he murmurs, apparently pleased. One big hand cradles Dorian's head, guiding the mage into a kiss as the other wraps around his cock again. He strokes slowly but very deliberately, doing the small things he knows Dorian will like. He twists his wrist just so, lets his thumb and palm tease over the slick head.
The rush of cool air against his heated skin when Bull steps away is jarring, and Dorian takes a deep breath to keep himself from saying anything too embarrassing. He closes his eyes instead and feels the way the ropes around him are manipulated to change his position rather than watching as it happens. As far as feeling exposed goes, being on his back makes the feeling that much more acute. At least he can lay down properly now, releasing the tension from his core to let the ropes take all of his weight.
Bull cradles his head better than the sling he created, however, and Dorian leans into the touch like he's starved for it. They kiss, and Dorian instinctively wants to reach for him, to drape his arms across his wide shoulders as he has so many times before. The muscles in his arms strain as he tries and fails, and somehow that frustration, that denial, is arousing in and of itself.
The noises he makes as Bull touches him are half muffled by Dorian's insistence on kissing. His cock throbs in Bull's hand, flushed dark and slick with the precome that Bull's fingers smear across the head. Bull knows every trick there is to bring him to the edge quickly, and Dorian is powerless to resist. "Oh," he breathes, far too gently for how close he feels. His thighs tense gradually as he draws tight. Does Bull really want him to come already? The thought flickers across his mind, but there is little he can do about it either way. "Bull, please--" Stop, continue? Even he isn't certain.
"I want you to come," he murmurs sweetly against Dorian's mouth as soon as he hears the plea. "We have a long night ahead of us."
Bull wants to see Dorian utterly boneless by the time he's finished, wants to see him at the point where he needs the ropes to hold him in a position. But more than anything, he wants to make it very clear how much he missed Dorian: every single inch of him.
He gives Dorian's cock a gentle squeeze on the next stroke, coaxing him toward the edge.
A long night, he says, as though this is just the beginning. Dorian tries to wrap his mind around that, the idea that there's much more to come, but his needs right now are far too immediate. Whatever is in store, he trusts Bull to take good care of him.
Something flickers at the edge of his mind--a memory. The night Bull had come to his room after they'd returned to Skyhold last time, after Dorian thought he might give Bull a little space. But Bull hadn't wanted that. Dorian asked him what he wanted, if he could choose something, and he'd said he wanted a night together where Dorian would give himself over to him completely. Is this what he'd meant? It must be. Dorian's never felt so completely at someone else's mercy, and never enjoyed the idea so much.
He twists and jerks in his binds as his pleasure builds, thrusting his hips up as much as the ropes will allow--very little, of course--and with Bull's hand tight around him, he comes with a groan, spilling over Bull's fingers, his own stomach, and the ropes crossed over his body there.
Bull turns his head to watch as Dorian comes, enjoying the sight of it as he makes a beautiful mess of himself. All of Dorian's squirming makes him sway a bit as he hangs and Bull doesn't try to steady him too much.
When he's certain Dorian has nothing left to give, he stops. He brushes his fingers through the mess on Dorian's stomach and then lifts his fingers to the mage's lips, pressing gently to encourage him.
His mind is already turning toward what else he has to work with here and an idea flickers to life.
Dorian is still shaking, stomach muscles clenching and vision hazy, when Bull's hand releases him. He feels spent, dizzy, unsteady, but the ropes hold him firmly in place. It's comforting, in a way. His softening cock brushes the ropes against his belly, and even that much sensation feels like a brush to an exposed nerve.
A flush rises to Dorian's face as he parts his lips to allow Bull's thick fingers into his mouth, tasting himself strongly as they press against his tongue. This sort of thing might be embarrassing if he were with anyone else, and he feels a hot twist of it in the pit of his stomach anyway, in much the same way that the vulnerability of the ropes makes him feel. But for Bull, he purses his lips and sucks gently, tracing his tongue over the rough pads of his fingers and familiar callouses and the tips of blunted claws.
Bull holds Dorian's head again as he takes his fingers, reveling in the perfect softness of his tongue and cheeks, the brush of his teeth. He can feel his cock throb, but he'll deal with that later. Right now, his focus is Dorian and Dorian alone.
When he's satisfied that his fingers are clean, he slips his fingers free and brushes them tenderly along the line of Dorian's jaw. Bull gives him a kiss before he moves away again. He retrieves the oil from his pocket, warmed now by his body, and carefully slicks his fingers out of Dorian's line of sight. When he returns, he teases his fingers over Dorian's hole while he watches the mage's face. He doesn't press in yet, not deep. He only rubs and lets just the tip of a finger slip in, never for very long.
Bull's fingers slide wetly from his mouth, and Dorian sighs contentedly as Bull replaces them with his lips, kissing him sweetly. He's come back to himself by now, and feels the press and slide of the ropes even more acutely after his orgasm. His body is more sensitive everywhere, which means that even the gentle press of Bull's oiled fingers against his hole sends a tremor along his spine.
Measuring his breaths, Dorian makes himself relax further with each exhale, sinking deeper into the ropes. They've done this before many times, of course. He's taken Bull's cock like this, loose and recently spent and still craving more, and Bull's never failed to work him up to another orgasm in the process. The sensation of Bull teasing his hole with circling touches and gentle penetration is achingly familiar. Dorian lets his eyes fall closed as he murmurs, "Stop teasing and fuck me, if that's what you intend." As though he has any say in what happens now.
"No," Bull says mildly, sounding almost amused by the quiet demand. "I told you, Dorian. I have all night, and right now it's my prerogative if I want to take it."
The mage agreed to this and now he's at Bull's mercy, unless he chooses to use the watchword. Bull brushes a kiss to Dorian's thigh and teases him for another moment before he lets a single finger sink into him, slowly.
"And if I fuck you, it will be when I want to, not when you demand it. You can't even stamp your feet." He grins and bites Dorian's thigh, just hard enough to leave a red mark but not enough to bruise. Not yet. He's going to take his time with that, too.
It takes a moment for Dorian to register that he's actually being refused. He's never bedded a man before who would hesitate to follow that particular directive, let alone deny him entirely. His eyes snap open, and the expression of incredulous shock on his face is probably nearly comical before it melts into a sharp gasp when Bull finally eases his finger inside, followed in short order by teeth grazing his thigh, a sharp and resonating point of pain that thrums through his body like a plucked string.
"Is that not the point of this little exercise? You tie me up and have your way with me?" He asks, voice strained. Something new and strangely exciting threatens to settle within him and rekindle his arousal. He's so used to demanding, as Bull puts it. If is barely a word in Dorian's vocabulary, and yet here he is, entirely helpless. Bull will choose what happens, and Dorian will accept it. Those are the rules of this encounter. Why should being denied appeal to him so?
As if to remind him of this, Bull's finger rocks slowly inside him. It feels unusually big after a month without this sort of touch, and Dorian is tight and slow to adjust.
Bull looks up along the line of Dorian's body and he smirks when he sees the incredulous look on Dorian's face. He wonders if anyone has ever really denied him before. If Dorian has ever been refused by someone he wants. Bull doubts it. He can be very commanding in the bedroom, regardless of what position he takes. Dorian Pavus knows what he wants and demands it.
He can demand it all he likes. Bull isn't nearly there yet.
"What makes you think I'm not having my way with you right now? This is what I want."
With tedious care, Bull pushes another finger into Dorian, coaxing his body to stretch. It's been a long month and he refuses to hurt Dorian by being overzealous. His free hand gently cradles the mage's cock and Bull manages to maintain eye contact as he licks a stripe up the length. It doesn't matter if Dorian's hard or not yet - Bull will get him there.
Dorian's pulse is pounding. The heat in Bull's eye, that attractive smirk on his lips--Maker, he knows exactly what he's doing, and he's doing exactly as he pleases. Bull tells him as much with easy confidence as he eases a second finger inside him. Dorian whimpers, feeling the dull ache as his body stretches to accommodate it, slowly, gradually. Two of the Bull's fingers is a significant step up from one, especially when his body is still so sensitive.
Compounding this, Bull holds his cock in place as he applies his tongue, and Dorian cries out sharply, hips straining up. He isn't hard yet, not so soon, but the potential is there, emphasized by the way it twitches, swelling a little against Bull's tongue. "I can't possibly," Dorian says anyway, shaking his head. One of the few movements he can make freely. "Not so quickly." As sensitive as the rest of his body is, his cock is most of all. Coming twice is par for the course for him when they fuck, but typically Bull lets Dorian get hard again on his own without this sort of deliberate coaxing.
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Bull's suggestion makes Dorian glance up. Indeed, sturdy new rafters which must have been built to lend support to the roof span the room. He can picture Bull with a small team of builders raising them and repairing the roof, and something about that image makes him feel very tender. His smile grows, and he settles his hands against Bull's chest, feeling his breath and the drumbeat of his heart. "I'd hate to waste an opportunity like that," he says. "I've never been tied that way before," he admits. In truth, any time he has been tied it's been incredibly simple, and always for the purpose of binding his hands during sex. "But I'd like to try."
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It takes some digging, but Bull eventually produces the deep purple silk ropes he'd purchased in Val Royaeux. He drapes several lengths over his shoulder, then picks up another set: white. Dorian looks good in white, the contrast against his warm skin is striking. Bull thinks the colors together will look good. And it will let him keep track of what he's tied and where.
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"A little. Usually only to bind my arms. Once around my legs to hold them open." He still remembers exactly how the ropes had felt digging into his thighs. He wouldn't mind repeating it with Bull doing the tying. "There typically wasn't the time or place for anything more involved."
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Undressing Dorian is relatively easy, at least. Bull is intimately familiar with all of the fastenings and buckles and ties.
"What I do will be different," he cautions. "Have you seen the ropes I wear?"
Bull doesn't wear them often, and when he does, they usually disappear beneath some of his heavier armor.
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"Of course I've seen them," he says, like it's obvious. Even if the glimpses were brief, he could never miss the way those ropes weave across Bull's arms and torso, complex and intriguing in a similar way to how he sees vitaar; distinctly Qunari, but pleasing to look at. "Are you going to put something similar on me?" He's deeply curious about that, both the functionality and the significance.
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He finishes undressing Dorian and makes sure all of his clothes end up folded over a chair. That done, Bull starts measuring out lengths of purple and white rope.
"Hold your arms out a little and... yeah, feet further apart."
That will make it easier for him to work. When Dorian is ready, Bull starts weaving together a harness of intricate patterns.
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The feel of the silk rope is decadent in a way he hadn't expected, and he relaxes as Bull directs him to one pose after the next to wrap and tie the rope around him. It feels snug, but not so much that it will hurt if pressure is put on it. He feels secure, and he mellows gradually, breath slowing.
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"Face down," he murmurs as he presses a hand between Dorian's shoulder blades. Once he's in position, Bull takes up more rope and starts working it around Dorian's thighs. By the time he's done, Dorian's ankles are bound to his thighs and his wrists are bound there as well. Bull wants Dorian to feel vulnerable and secure all at once, in a way only the ropes can offer.
"Nothing's too tight?" he asks as he checks his work. He wants to make sure there's no chance of any of the knots slipping.
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By the time Bull asks his question, Dorian is floating, hazy and comfortable even as his hands and ankles are bound to his thighs. Bull directs, and his body bends. It's so simple. He smiles, turning his face to the side so that he can look up at Bull from the bed. He tests the ropes, exerting real pressure on them for the first time, and his breath stutters when they don't budge. He couldn't move his arms or press his legs together if he wanted to. He feels exposed, but safe.
"No," he says. "It feels good."
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He lets his fingers brush down Dorian's back before he moves away from the bed. From his chest he takes a different kind of rope, thicker than the silk wrapped around Dorian. He returns to Dorian to thread the new rope through the harness, making sure that Dorian's weight will be distributed evenly when he's hanging.
Then, Bull picks Dorian up from the bed. He carries the mage tenderly until they reach a spot he likes it. He tosses one end of the rope over the beam and slowly releases his grip on Dorian as he hoists him up. When Dorian's at a satisfactory height - almost eye level with Bull - he ties the other end of the rope off and steps back to let Dorian adjust to the new feeling.
"Still alright? Nothing going numb?"
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There isn't any sudden drop, or even a real shift in how his weight is distributed, but he tenses on instinct, like that's what will keep him from tumbling to the ground. But he isn't in control of that at all. The Bull is, and the Bull would never let anything happen to him. He's lifted higher, higher than he would be if he were standing, and Bull is right there watching him. Reassured, he lets his body relax, he is held. Without doing a single thing, he is suspended in the air, and the ropes hold him. He feels the pressure all over his body as they take his full weight, feels where the knots press into his skin, where the ropes rub against sensitive places, or dig into his thighs. But nothing about it feels off.
"It feels like I'm floating," he laughs, and looks up at Bull through his eyelashes--and for once, he doesn't have to look up very far. "I had no idea it would be so nice."
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"There's something comforting in them," he agrees. "The feeling of being held. Contained."
He moves in a slow circle around Dorian, absently adjusting a knot here or where a rope pulls there. When he's satisifed that Dorian's weight is distributed well enough that nothing will go numb or start losing circulation, Bull finally touches Dorian's cock. Just a brush of his fingers at first, reminding Dorian that he hasn't forgotten. But then he focuses, stroking slowly to make sure Dorian is fully aroused.
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And then Bull's fingers are on his cock, and Dorian moans, low and needy and surprised by how strong that feeling is. He'd all but forgotten about it until just now, but Bull's hand, when it wraps around him properly, is so big and warm and rough, perfect. He strains in his ropes, trying to get more, anything, but it's a pointless endeavor. He can't move. There is nothing, nothing he can do but let Bull stroke him, nice and slow, and feel his cock throb to life until it's full and aching.
"Bull," he whimpers. He feels on display in a way that's more intimate than usual, but that only contributes to the hot feeling of arousal building inside him, making him flush and pant as Bull works him over.
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After looking at Dorian for a moment, deliberating, Bull moves closer. Carefully, slowly, he adjusts Dorian's position and the way the ropes suspending him slide through the harness until Dorian is on his back, cradled still. Bull finds another length of silk and uses it to make a sling for Dorian's head: he doesn't want his neck strained with the effort of holding it up.
"There," he murmurs, apparently pleased. One big hand cradles Dorian's head, guiding the mage into a kiss as the other wraps around his cock again. He strokes slowly but very deliberately, doing the small things he knows Dorian will like. He twists his wrist just so, lets his thumb and palm tease over the slick head.
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Bull cradles his head better than the sling he created, however, and Dorian leans into the touch like he's starved for it. They kiss, and Dorian instinctively wants to reach for him, to drape his arms across his wide shoulders as he has so many times before. The muscles in his arms strain as he tries and fails, and somehow that frustration, that denial, is arousing in and of itself.
The noises he makes as Bull touches him are half muffled by Dorian's insistence on kissing. His cock throbs in Bull's hand, flushed dark and slick with the precome that Bull's fingers smear across the head. Bull knows every trick there is to bring him to the edge quickly, and Dorian is powerless to resist. "Oh," he breathes, far too gently for how close he feels. His thighs tense gradually as he draws tight. Does Bull really want him to come already? The thought flickers across his mind, but there is little he can do about it either way. "Bull, please--" Stop, continue? Even he isn't certain.
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Bull wants to see Dorian utterly boneless by the time he's finished, wants to see him at the point where he needs the ropes to hold him in a position. But more than anything, he wants to make it very clear how much he missed Dorian: every single inch of him.
He gives Dorian's cock a gentle squeeze on the next stroke, coaxing him toward the edge.
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Something flickers at the edge of his mind--a memory. The night Bull had come to his room after they'd returned to Skyhold last time, after Dorian thought he might give Bull a little space. But Bull hadn't wanted that. Dorian asked him what he wanted, if he could choose something, and he'd said he wanted a night together where Dorian would give himself over to him completely. Is this what he'd meant? It must be. Dorian's never felt so completely at someone else's mercy, and never enjoyed the idea so much.
He twists and jerks in his binds as his pleasure builds, thrusting his hips up as much as the ropes will allow--very little, of course--and with Bull's hand tight around him, he comes with a groan, spilling over Bull's fingers, his own stomach, and the ropes crossed over his body there.
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When he's certain Dorian has nothing left to give, he stops. He brushes his fingers through the mess on Dorian's stomach and then lifts his fingers to the mage's lips, pressing gently to encourage him.
His mind is already turning toward what else he has to work with here and an idea flickers to life.
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A flush rises to Dorian's face as he parts his lips to allow Bull's thick fingers into his mouth, tasting himself strongly as they press against his tongue. This sort of thing might be embarrassing if he were with anyone else, and he feels a hot twist of it in the pit of his stomach anyway, in much the same way that the vulnerability of the ropes makes him feel. But for Bull, he purses his lips and sucks gently, tracing his tongue over the rough pads of his fingers and familiar callouses and the tips of blunted claws.
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When he's satisfied that his fingers are clean, he slips his fingers free and brushes them tenderly along the line of Dorian's jaw. Bull gives him a kiss before he moves away again. He retrieves the oil from his pocket, warmed now by his body, and carefully slicks his fingers out of Dorian's line of sight. When he returns, he teases his fingers over Dorian's hole while he watches the mage's face. He doesn't press in yet, not deep. He only rubs and lets just the tip of a finger slip in, never for very long.
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Measuring his breaths, Dorian makes himself relax further with each exhale, sinking deeper into the ropes. They've done this before many times, of course. He's taken Bull's cock like this, loose and recently spent and still craving more, and Bull's never failed to work him up to another orgasm in the process. The sensation of Bull teasing his hole with circling touches and gentle penetration is achingly familiar. Dorian lets his eyes fall closed as he murmurs, "Stop teasing and fuck me, if that's what you intend." As though he has any say in what happens now.
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The mage agreed to this and now he's at Bull's mercy, unless he chooses to use the watchword. Bull brushes a kiss to Dorian's thigh and teases him for another moment before he lets a single finger sink into him, slowly.
"And if I fuck you, it will be when I want to, not when you demand it. You can't even stamp your feet." He grins and bites Dorian's thigh, just hard enough to leave a red mark but not enough to bruise. Not yet. He's going to take his time with that, too.
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It takes a moment for Dorian to register that he's actually being refused. He's never bedded a man before who would hesitate to follow that particular directive, let alone deny him entirely. His eyes snap open, and the expression of incredulous shock on his face is probably nearly comical before it melts into a sharp gasp when Bull finally eases his finger inside, followed in short order by teeth grazing his thigh, a sharp and resonating point of pain that thrums through his body like a plucked string.
"Is that not the point of this little exercise? You tie me up and have your way with me?" He asks, voice strained. Something new and strangely exciting threatens to settle within him and rekindle his arousal. He's so used to demanding, as Bull puts it. If is barely a word in Dorian's vocabulary, and yet here he is, entirely helpless. Bull will choose what happens, and Dorian will accept it. Those are the rules of this encounter. Why should being denied appeal to him so?
As if to remind him of this, Bull's finger rocks slowly inside him. It feels unusually big after a month without this sort of touch, and Dorian is tight and slow to adjust.
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He can demand it all he likes. Bull isn't nearly there yet.
"What makes you think I'm not having my way with you right now? This is what I want."
With tedious care, Bull pushes another finger into Dorian, coaxing his body to stretch. It's been a long month and he refuses to hurt Dorian by being overzealous. His free hand gently cradles the mage's cock and Bull manages to maintain eye contact as he licks a stripe up the length. It doesn't matter if Dorian's hard or not yet - Bull will get him there.
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Compounding this, Bull holds his cock in place as he applies his tongue, and Dorian cries out sharply, hips straining up. He isn't hard yet, not so soon, but the potential is there, emphasized by the way it twitches, swelling a little against Bull's tongue. "I can't possibly," Dorian says anyway, shaking his head. One of the few movements he can make freely. "Not so quickly." As sensitive as the rest of his body is, his cock is most of all. Coming twice is par for the course for him when they fuck, but typically Bull lets Dorian get hard again on his own without this sort of deliberate coaxing.
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