Giving Dorian what he needs is a pleasure unto itself for Bull. He's careful with his mouth, gentle but insistent, and when he realizes that Dorian's hands are straining and then curling into fists, he slides his free hand down to coax Dorian's fingers apart so they can lace together.
The position isn't easy for Dorian, he knows that. Bull can give him this.
He moves the toy just a bit faster, adjusts the angle so that every gentle thrust counts as Dorian grows hard and eager in his mouth. Bull can hear the impending climax just in the way Dorian breathes, in the way he gasps and moans and writhes in his bonds, and he has every intention of tasting him.
Gratefully, Dorian grasps Bull's fingers like a lifeline. He grips hard as Bull works him up further, whimpering with each thrust of the toy inside him, lighting up his nerves and making his entire body shudder. The gentle suction around his cock feels far more intense than it really is, and his hips hitch and shift with the movement of Bull's head. Perhaps that is what his hands itch to grasp; normally he would have free reign to hold Bull's horns, if he wasn't laid out with his legs propped up on them instead.
But when he comes, it's at first with the feeling of a gentle tide washing over him, gradual and sweet as he builds up to it. But at its peak, it's like the pull of a riptide, a sudden and intense tug from deep inside him. He cries out, too loud, but he can't help it, and doesn't even think to muffle himself. His mind goes white, and his orgasm lasts for far longer than either of the previous two, though he spills comparatively little. The whole of his body shakes with it, held secure by the ropes. And he is not quick to come down from it afterward, moaning low in his throat as his overworked body processes the eddies of far too much sensation.
Bull lifts his head slowly and just holds Dorian's cock as the mage shivers through the aftershocks of his orgasm. His thumb rubs gently up the length and he lets the toy go still. He watches Dorian, feeling a quiet rush as his lover trembles and makes sweet sounds even after he's come. Bull wonders if he has anything left, if the next one will be dry. It's been a long time since he's pushed anyone this far, and a long time since he's found it so satisfying.
He squeezes Dorian's hand, then slowly lets him go. He eases the toy out and pulls away to set it aside. When he returns, he starts loosening the ropes holding Dorian up. He lowers the mage into his arms, then lets the support ropes fall to the floor. He'll collect them later. Bull carries Dorian to the bed and carefully settles him on his back; he sits on the bed beside him.
"Hey, big guy," he murmurs tenderly as he strokes Dorian's hair back.
Dorian's breathing is uneven and his vision is still a little blurred as Bull eases the toy out of his body--a shudder, at that--and begins to untie him. He closes his eyes, letting his body go slack. Soon enough he's in Bull's arms. If he'd felt like he was floating before, he feels like he's being returned to solid ground now. The warmth and strength and solidity of Bull against him is a welcome relief, and he gives a soft sigh when he's lowered to the bed.
"Oh," he says thinly, a tired edge of sarcasm just barely evident, "am I still alive?" His hair sticks to his face with sweat, and he tilts his chin in the direction of Bull's hand. He feels hollow and scraped open, but still he craves Bull's touch, and finds that the low timbre of his voice still warms something in him, despite his exhaustion.
"As far as I can tell," he teases, smiling at the faint sarcasm in Dorian's exhausted voice. Bull starts loosening the knots around Dorian's wrists and legs, slowly unwrapping him. When he finishes one leg, Bull carefully helps Dorian to stretch it and offers a gentle massage to get the blood flowing properly again. And maybe just to pamper Dorian for a while.
When he's satisfied, he moves on to the other leg and arm, giving them the same treatment. Bull coils the ropes up so he can put them away later and admires Dorian, still in the harness. Bull reaches to brush his fingers down the center of Dorian's body.
Dorian exhales slowly, relieved as Bull begins to untie him. He'd just been about to ask. As much as he's enjoyed the ropes, his wrists and knees were beginning to smart, and he's past the point where their restraint is the fun sort of frustrating. He wants to be able to touch Bull, which he does gladly as soon as he's able, laying a hand against his thigh and squeezing.
Having his limbs massaged as he's untied is just the sort of pampering he could use. Bull is gentle, but thorough and attentive, and Dorian finds himself smiling dreamily up at him. It grounds him again, and the frantic beat of his heart slows, though his body remains so sensitive that even the sheets against his back feel like they're chafing, let alone the ropes that remain around his torso.
Still, when he lays unbound and sore in the center of the Bull's bed with that single eye taking him in with a softness and fondness and heat that stirs his heart, how could he refuse him anything? Even if he's fairly certain he won't--can't--come again, he wants very much to bring the Bull to his end. He wants to feel Bull moving inside him, wants that connection.
"Yes," he says with certainty, shivering at the light scratch of Bull's blunted claws. "Have me."
Bull smiles and leans down to kiss Dorian, deep and sweet. He lingers, indulging every kiss he didn't give sooner. But then he draws back and gets up to finish undressing and to get the oil. He slicks himself as he eases onto the bed again, then moves between Dorian's thighs. Oil-coated fingers gently rub over Dorian's hole and he manages to push three in on the first try, thanks to the toy. Bull groans quietly and withdraws them. The toy isn't quite as big as he is, but he also knows that Dorian like that stretch.
Leaning over the mage, Bull guides himself and pushes in carefully. The relative ease of it makes him shiver and he murmurs Dorian's name as he sinks deeper. He makes himself go slowly for Dorian's sake more than his own, but after so much waiting the tight heat of him makes Bull want to push deep.
Watching Bull slick his cock bring an unexpected rush of desire--well, perhaps not entirely unexpected. Dorian could be half dead and still find that sight appealing. He spreads his legs readily enough, and only whimpers a little when the wide head nudges his sore entrance and then presses inside. Even going slowly, and even opened up wide, it's a whole rush of sensation at once, and his fingers dig into the sheets beneath him for something to steady himself.
Dorian could never forget the feeling of Bull inside him; his size, his shape, his weight. But after a month apart and after coming three times, it feels like his first time taking him all over again. The toy was big, but Bull is bigger. He stretches his already tender hole that much further, and rubs against that sweet spot inside him with no effort at all, sending a plethora of signals to his already overwhelmed nerves. Dorian is all but boneless beneath him, thighs quivering where they're stretched wide on either side of Bull's waist, muscles aching still from being bound. The entry is incredibly smooth. Bull likes that, he knows. Likes when he's open enough that it's easy to fuck into him.
"Oh, Maker," Dorian gasps as Bull pushes all the way inside him. His voice rasps, wrecked from all the sounds Bull has skillfully drawn from him so far. "It's so much."
Bull slides one hand along Dorian's arm to catch his fingers, to tangle them together. He pins Dorian's head above his head but leaves the other one free to touch or grab wherever Dorian wants to. He sighs and bows his head when his hips meet the perfect curve of Dorian's ass. He murmurs something in heavy, adoring Qunlat.
His other hand grips Dorian's thigh to guide him as Bull pulls back, then sinks in again. The pace is slow, agonizing to him, but he won't rush now. He's taken time all night, he can take time now.
"You feel good," he manages at last, accent heavy. "Dorian."
Without any idea as to what those words in Qunlat actually mean, Dorian still feels a flush of pride and affection. Bull is praising him. Bull is telling him how good he is. How could it be anything else, when he says it so sweetly? Dorian's lips twitch into a brief smile despite himself. The hand not secured over his head he raises to Bull's face, his touch as tender as the look in his eyes.
"Kaffas Bull, I love how you--" so close, so close; I love--you, "--how you fill me." His fingers lace with Bull's, and breathlessly he asks, "Tell me more. About how good I feel."
For his part, he isn't certain how to categorize how he feels. It felt like Bull had already wrung every drop of pleasure and arousal from him, leaving him little more than a raw bundle of nerves, twitching and shaking at even the slightest touch, gasping and whimpering with each slow drag of the Bull's cock inside him. But there is heat in him still, and it lingers near the base of his spine like dying embers slowly being stirred. It edges into painful, and into a sensation beyond pleasure or pain; so much that it's nearly euphoric. It doesn't concentrate in his cock, or anywhere familiar, but spreads throughout his body, and it and Bull's every thrust against his prostate, every touch to the marks on his thigh where the ropes had dug into his skin, feeds into it.
"The way you take me is perfect," he rumbles, losing his grip on the common language as he goes.
Bull braces his knees further apart and, for his own sake, moves faster. Every stroke is deep and Bull struggles against his own need. He lowers his weight onto his forearm, fingers still tangled with Dorian's, and he hunches down to get a kiss from him. He's certain he can coax one more orgasm from Dorian, even if it's a dry one. He grabs a pillow and pushes it beneath Dorian's back to adjust the angle of his hips and to keep them that way.
He feels delirious with desire. Bull is lost in the scents, the sounds, and how good it feels to be inside Dorian, to have the mage beneath him. He can feel himself on the plateau, teetering on the edge. He's close, desperately close.
Dorian's hand slides from Bull's face down his neck, and then further down to rest against his chest, over the great thudding of his huge heart. Bull fucks into him faster, and Dorian's breath comes harder as he becomes more and more overwhelmed with that inscrutable sensation. He feels stripped bare, and everything is too much. It's because of that perhaps that the bursts of pleasure he feels are nearly enough to make him weep. His cock, against all odds, fills a little where it lays against his stomach, but certainly not enough to say that he's hard.
But he feels like he is with Bull; like he loses himself as Bull does, feels his needs, his desire. Like their connection is deeper than merely physical. It isn't, isn't it?
"You're perfect," he finds himself whispering. The pillow Bull slides beneath him tilts his hips up at an angle that has him crying out--and then pleading in mixed Tevene and Common for release. That heat builds inside him until it is an inferno he has no hope of controlling. Unknown to him, he is becoming physically hotter, too, inside and out. The decadent warmth of his body around Bull's cock becomes hotter, as do his hands where they're tangled with Bull's and resting against his chest, and his lips, when they kiss. Sweat beads at his temples. Dorian knows that he has never felt this much at once--not physically, and not in his heart. There is only the Bull.
Bull doesn't notice at first. Dorian is hot and slick and perfect, and nothing else quite sinks in until he realizes Dorian's hands are hot against him. He doesn't have time to linger on the thought, though, or the wherewithal. Because as Dorian whispers sweetly, as he touches Bull wherever he can reach, Bull hits his peak. He grabs Dorian's thigh to pull him close, to make him meet the next drive of his hips until Bull is as deep as he can get. He growls, hands tightening where they hold, as he finally, finally comes.
It's blinding. He's been waiting all night for this and the wait has been worth it to see Dorian completely undone. He fucks the mage through his release, aware that it will makes more of a mess between them but quite unable to stop.
Beneath him, dragged close to his body and into that last thrust, Dorian nearly sobs. Bull spills inside him, but continues to move through it, and the head of his cock is pressed to and rubbing over that spot again and again--
It's too much to keep inside himself. Miraculously, unexpectedly, he comes again, consumed by it head to toe, a searing hot wave of pure sensation like flame rushing over a surface coated in oil, burned up in one moment of intensity. But he doesn't spill a drop. He does sob, the sound torn from his throat, and clutch to Bull like he is the only thing keeping him anchored.
So distracted by the pure sensation of it, Dorian doesn't even notice the burst of power he conjures, the pure magical energy pulled straight from the Fade that gently rocks several objects around Bull's room like a gentle earthquake, and then--the flame, a physical manifestation of the heat he feels, that bursts to bright, crackling life near the middle of the curtains covering the Bull's newly paned window.
Bull feels the magic. He doesn't think about it at first, not with the way Dorian sounds and feels beneath him, but when the curtains burst into flame, his first instinct is to protectively cover the man beneath him. He's never really seen Dorian lose control before, not beyond a little shock or chill here or there when they get intense. Nothing has ever caught on fire before.
It takes Bull far too long to react to the curtains being on fire. He looks over, laughs breathlessly, and slides a hand up to turn Dorian's head.
Floating high on what had undoubtedly been the most intense orgasm of his life, Dorian barely registers the smell of something burning, nor the curious flicker at the edge of his vision.
Thankfully, Bull does. He's all at once covered by Bull's bulk, pressed deep into the bed. He thinks for a moment he's being embraced, and returns the gesture as well as he can. But then Bull's hand settles against his face, not to caress, but to turn it toward the wall, where--
"Fasta vass!" Dorian's voice is utterly wrecked, which makes the exclamation more of a croak, but it conveys his shock and dismay well enough. Even utterly exhausted, he's more than capable of pulling together a fast and efficient ice spell, which surrounds and contains the growing flames until they're dampened. The curtains are left a charred, damp ruin. Completely unsalvageable.
Slowly, Dorian lowers the hand he'd flung out to cast, letting it fall bonelessly back onto the bed. And then, as if in defiance of the embarrassment that threatens to encroach on his afterglow, he begins to laugh. The spike of adrenaline and surprise mellows, and he looks up at the Bull with real mirth. What else can he do? What else had he expected? No one else has ever made him feel like that.
Bull is impressed by how quickly Dorian manages to react, all things consider. His skin prickles again with the distinct feeling of energy and focus flying by him, but soon the flames are taken care of and it's once more just the two of them wrecked in bed together.
A smile grows as Dorian starts laughing. Bull's eye is bright with amusement and adoration as Dorian looks up at him, delirious and mirthful. His hand cradles Dorian's cheek and holds him still so Bull can kiss his smiling mouth. When they finally part, Bull stokes his fingers along Dorian's jaw and just admires him for a long moment.
"Not bad," he teases. "Never had anything spontaneously combust before."
Bull smiling only makes Dorian smile more, and he is grinning when they kiss. He gives a deeply contented sigh afterward, still feeling the dregs of his orgasm in his body as his muscles twitch and clench and his limbs feel far lighter than they actually are. The weight of Bull still inside him is steadying.
Dorian soaks up the attention, languidly shifting and stretching and tilting his chin for Bull to admire him. But Bull isn't the only one admiring. Dorian is looking up at him just as appreciatively, drinking in the attractive curve of his smile, the warmth in his clear, sharp eye, the lines of his face that he finds so ruggedly handsome. And he knows that he is seeing, with absolute certainty, the best man he's ever loved.
"I've never come four times in one night before," Dorian counters. "Frankly, I didn't think it was possible without magical intervention of some sort."
Bull brushes a kiss to Dorian's brow and slowly, slowly pulls out of him. He finds a cloth he can use to gently clean the mage so he doesn't have to be sticky while he relaxes.
"Nah," he says with a sly grin. "Just patience and dedication."
He starts releasing Dorian from the rope harness, undoing it a bit at a time until the ropes fall away entirely. Like the last set, Bull coils them carefully and sets them aside. Rather than sinking into bed, though, he gets up to get a cup of water. He returns with it and eases into bed, passing it to Dorian as he helps the mage to sit up. Bull moves so Dorian can lean on him, if he wants to.
Dorian does want to. He wants to be as close to Bull as possible, finding that skinship comforting.
"You've made that apparent," he chuckles. "I do hope that you're prepared to deliver all of my meals tomorrow, along with anything else I might need. I doubt that I'll be able to move from your bed." He raises his hand, deliberately showing Bull the mark on his wrist from the rope. There are similar ones around his thighs and ankles as well. "And I'd like to keep these just a little longer." He isn't quite ready for anyone else to see them, but the idea of having the marks there to admire in the morning is a strangely pleasant one.
It's a relief to have all of the ropes off though, as much as he'd liked them. After everything they'd begun to feel a little too tight, to brush uncomfortably against his skin despite the fine silk weave.
"I think I can live with that." Bull settles back against the headboard and strokes his fingers down Dorian's side as the mage settles against him. He's tired now. He feels like he could sleep for a week now that he has Dorian back in his bed.
He turns his head to brush a tender kiss to the mage's brow.
"How are you feeling, though? Really."
He runs his fingers over some of the marks the ropes have left, very aware that he probably let Dorian stay in them for too long, given that this is the first time he's done anything like this.
It's so easy to relax with his body and mind both thoroughly exhausted. If he closed his eyes he could probably fall asleep against Bull right now, sitting up. Bull's fingers are big and warm, and while touching the rope marks smarts a little, it's an ache he'll appreciate tomorrow.
"I feel wonderful, Bull," he assures. There isn't a thought in his head right now that isn't content, which is saying something. He stretches his legs, working the muscles that had begun to go tight while he was tied. "You spoil me just as you should."
Bull steals the cup of water away once Dorian has had what he wants from it. He takes a drink himself and leaves it aside, then sinks back and pulls Dorian with him. They have nowhere to be tonight, and there's no reason not to just sleep. Especially when Dorian is as boneless as he is.
"Mm, had to give you a proper welcome back," he rumbles quietly. Bull brushes a kiss to the top of Dorian's head. "I'll bring up breakfast tomorrow. Try not to complain too much when I move."
He's mostly teasing. If he's right, Dorian will still be dead asleep at the time Bull usually gets up.
"I make no promises," Dorian sniffs, and wraps his arms as far around Bull's middle as they'll reach. "You're ridiculously warm, and so quite convenient to sleep beside in this climate." Indeed, when he lays his head against Bull's chest now, it radiates heat. This is what he'd been missing in the Fallow Mire. If he'd had Bull to curl up beside in the comfort of a shared bedroll, maybe it wouldn't have felt like his feet were soggy blocks of ice liable to drop off at any moment.
His eyelids droop, but he happens to glance up at the ceiling once more before they fall shut. "I hope it wasn't too much of a hassle," he says softly. "Fixing the roof."
Bull drapes his arm around Dorian as the mage snuggles close. This feels better; it feels right. He's missed the familiar press of Dorian's body against him as he sleeps. His fingers stroke along warm, exposed skin.
"It wasn't," he murmurs. "It was worth it."
He leans down to kiss the top of Dorian's head. "Go to sleep."
Bull has already decided that if Dorian does sleep late, he'll bring breakfast and coffee up for them.
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The position isn't easy for Dorian, he knows that. Bull can give him this.
He moves the toy just a bit faster, adjusts the angle so that every gentle thrust counts as Dorian grows hard and eager in his mouth. Bull can hear the impending climax just in the way Dorian breathes, in the way he gasps and moans and writhes in his bonds, and he has every intention of tasting him.
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But when he comes, it's at first with the feeling of a gentle tide washing over him, gradual and sweet as he builds up to it. But at its peak, it's like the pull of a riptide, a sudden and intense tug from deep inside him. He cries out, too loud, but he can't help it, and doesn't even think to muffle himself. His mind goes white, and his orgasm lasts for far longer than either of the previous two, though he spills comparatively little. The whole of his body shakes with it, held secure by the ropes. And he is not quick to come down from it afterward, moaning low in his throat as his overworked body processes the eddies of far too much sensation.
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He squeezes Dorian's hand, then slowly lets him go. He eases the toy out and pulls away to set it aside. When he returns, he starts loosening the ropes holding Dorian up. He lowers the mage into his arms, then lets the support ropes fall to the floor. He'll collect them later. Bull carries Dorian to the bed and carefully settles him on his back; he sits on the bed beside him.
"Hey, big guy," he murmurs tenderly as he strokes Dorian's hair back.
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"Oh," he says thinly, a tired edge of sarcasm just barely evident, "am I still alive?" His hair sticks to his face with sweat, and he tilts his chin in the direction of Bull's hand. He feels hollow and scraped open, but still he craves Bull's touch, and finds that the low timbre of his voice still warms something in him, despite his exhaustion.
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When he's satisfied, he moves on to the other leg and arm, giving them the same treatment. Bull coils the ropes up so he can put them away later and admires Dorian, still in the harness. Bull reaches to brush his fingers down the center of Dorian's body.
"Can I have you, Dorian?"
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Having his limbs massaged as he's untied is just the sort of pampering he could use. Bull is gentle, but thorough and attentive, and Dorian finds himself smiling dreamily up at him. It grounds him again, and the frantic beat of his heart slows, though his body remains so sensitive that even the sheets against his back feel like they're chafing, let alone the ropes that remain around his torso.
Still, when he lays unbound and sore in the center of the Bull's bed with that single eye taking him in with a softness and fondness and heat that stirs his heart, how could he refuse him anything? Even if he's fairly certain he won't--can't--come again, he wants very much to bring the Bull to his end. He wants to feel Bull moving inside him, wants that connection.
"Yes," he says with certainty, shivering at the light scratch of Bull's blunted claws. "Have me."
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Leaning over the mage, Bull guides himself and pushes in carefully. The relative ease of it makes him shiver and he murmurs Dorian's name as he sinks deeper. He makes himself go slowly for Dorian's sake more than his own, but after so much waiting the tight heat of him makes Bull want to push deep.
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Dorian could never forget the feeling of Bull inside him; his size, his shape, his weight. But after a month apart and after coming three times, it feels like his first time taking him all over again. The toy was big, but Bull is bigger. He stretches his already tender hole that much further, and rubs against that sweet spot inside him with no effort at all, sending a plethora of signals to his already overwhelmed nerves. Dorian is all but boneless beneath him, thighs quivering where they're stretched wide on either side of Bull's waist, muscles aching still from being bound. The entry is incredibly smooth. Bull likes that, he knows. Likes when he's open enough that it's easy to fuck into him.
"Oh, Maker," Dorian gasps as Bull pushes all the way inside him. His voice rasps, wrecked from all the sounds Bull has skillfully drawn from him so far. "It's so much."
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His other hand grips Dorian's thigh to guide him as Bull pulls back, then sinks in again. The pace is slow, agonizing to him, but he won't rush now. He's taken time all night, he can take time now.
"You feel good," he manages at last, accent heavy. "Dorian."
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"Kaffas Bull, I love how you--" so close, so close; I love--you, "--how you fill me." His fingers lace with Bull's, and breathlessly he asks, "Tell me more. About how good I feel."
For his part, he isn't certain how to categorize how he feels. It felt like Bull had already wrung every drop of pleasure and arousal from him, leaving him little more than a raw bundle of nerves, twitching and shaking at even the slightest touch, gasping and whimpering with each slow drag of the Bull's cock inside him. But there is heat in him still, and it lingers near the base of his spine like dying embers slowly being stirred. It edges into painful, and into a sensation beyond pleasure or pain; so much that it's nearly euphoric. It doesn't concentrate in his cock, or anywhere familiar, but spreads throughout his body, and it and Bull's every thrust against his prostate, every touch to the marks on his thigh where the ropes had dug into his skin, feeds into it.
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Bull braces his knees further apart and, for his own sake, moves faster. Every stroke is deep and Bull struggles against his own need. He lowers his weight onto his forearm, fingers still tangled with Dorian's, and he hunches down to get a kiss from him. He's certain he can coax one more orgasm from Dorian, even if it's a dry one. He grabs a pillow and pushes it beneath Dorian's back to adjust the angle of his hips and to keep them that way.
He feels delirious with desire. Bull is lost in the scents, the sounds, and how good it feels to be inside Dorian, to have the mage beneath him. He can feel himself on the plateau, teetering on the edge. He's close, desperately close.
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But he feels like he is with Bull; like he loses himself as Bull does, feels his needs, his desire. Like their connection is deeper than merely physical. It isn't, isn't it?
"You're perfect," he finds himself whispering. The pillow Bull slides beneath him tilts his hips up at an angle that has him crying out--and then pleading in mixed Tevene and Common for release. That heat builds inside him until it is an inferno he has no hope of controlling. Unknown to him, he is becoming physically hotter, too, inside and out. The decadent warmth of his body around Bull's cock becomes hotter, as do his hands where they're tangled with Bull's and resting against his chest, and his lips, when they kiss. Sweat beads at his temples. Dorian knows that he has never felt this much at once--not physically, and not in his heart. There is only the Bull.
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It's blinding. He's been waiting all night for this and the wait has been worth it to see Dorian completely undone. He fucks the mage through his release, aware that it will makes more of a mess between them but quite unable to stop.
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It's too much to keep inside himself. Miraculously, unexpectedly, he comes again, consumed by it head to toe, a searing hot wave of pure sensation like flame rushing over a surface coated in oil, burned up in one moment of intensity. But he doesn't spill a drop. He does sob, the sound torn from his throat, and clutch to Bull like he is the only thing keeping him anchored.
So distracted by the pure sensation of it, Dorian doesn't even notice the burst of power he conjures, the pure magical energy pulled straight from the Fade that gently rocks several objects around Bull's room like a gentle earthquake, and then--the flame, a physical manifestation of the heat he feels, that bursts to bright, crackling life near the middle of the curtains covering the Bull's newly paned window.
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It takes Bull far too long to react to the curtains being on fire. He looks over, laughs breathlessly, and slides a hand up to turn Dorian's head.
"You wanna get that or should I?"
Because if he does it, he'll have to pull out.
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Thankfully, Bull does. He's all at once covered by Bull's bulk, pressed deep into the bed. He thinks for a moment he's being embraced, and returns the gesture as well as he can. But then Bull's hand settles against his face, not to caress, but to turn it toward the wall, where--
"Fasta vass!" Dorian's voice is utterly wrecked, which makes the exclamation more of a croak, but it conveys his shock and dismay well enough. Even utterly exhausted, he's more than capable of pulling together a fast and efficient ice spell, which surrounds and contains the growing flames until they're dampened. The curtains are left a charred, damp ruin. Completely unsalvageable.
Slowly, Dorian lowers the hand he'd flung out to cast, letting it fall bonelessly back onto the bed. And then, as if in defiance of the embarrassment that threatens to encroach on his afterglow, he begins to laugh. The spike of adrenaline and surprise mellows, and he looks up at the Bull with real mirth. What else can he do? What else had he expected? No one else has ever made him feel like that.
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A smile grows as Dorian starts laughing. Bull's eye is bright with amusement and adoration as Dorian looks up at him, delirious and mirthful. His hand cradles Dorian's cheek and holds him still so Bull can kiss his smiling mouth. When they finally part, Bull stokes his fingers along Dorian's jaw and just admires him for a long moment.
"Not bad," he teases. "Never had anything spontaneously combust before."
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Dorian soaks up the attention, languidly shifting and stretching and tilting his chin for Bull to admire him. But Bull isn't the only one admiring. Dorian is looking up at him just as appreciatively, drinking in the attractive curve of his smile, the warmth in his clear, sharp eye, the lines of his face that he finds so ruggedly handsome. And he knows that he is seeing, with absolute certainty, the best man he's ever loved.
"I've never come four times in one night before," Dorian counters. "Frankly, I didn't think it was possible without magical intervention of some sort."
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"Nah," he says with a sly grin. "Just patience and dedication."
He starts releasing Dorian from the rope harness, undoing it a bit at a time until the ropes fall away entirely. Like the last set, Bull coils them carefully and sets them aside. Rather than sinking into bed, though, he gets up to get a cup of water. He returns with it and eases into bed, passing it to Dorian as he helps the mage to sit up. Bull moves so Dorian can lean on him, if he wants to.
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"You've made that apparent," he chuckles. "I do hope that you're prepared to deliver all of my meals tomorrow, along with anything else I might need. I doubt that I'll be able to move from your bed." He raises his hand, deliberately showing Bull the mark on his wrist from the rope. There are similar ones around his thighs and ankles as well. "And I'd like to keep these just a little longer." He isn't quite ready for anyone else to see them, but the idea of having the marks there to admire in the morning is a strangely pleasant one.
It's a relief to have all of the ropes off though, as much as he'd liked them. After everything they'd begun to feel a little too tight, to brush uncomfortably against his skin despite the fine silk weave.
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He turns his head to brush a tender kiss to the mage's brow.
"How are you feeling, though? Really."
He runs his fingers over some of the marks the ropes have left, very aware that he probably let Dorian stay in them for too long, given that this is the first time he's done anything like this.
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"I feel wonderful, Bull," he assures. There isn't a thought in his head right now that isn't content, which is saying something. He stretches his legs, working the muscles that had begun to go tight while he was tied. "You spoil me just as you should."
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"Mm, had to give you a proper welcome back," he rumbles quietly. Bull brushes a kiss to the top of Dorian's head. "I'll bring up breakfast tomorrow. Try not to complain too much when I move."
He's mostly teasing. If he's right, Dorian will still be dead asleep at the time Bull usually gets up.
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His eyelids droop, but he happens to glance up at the ceiling once more before they fall shut. "I hope it wasn't too much of a hassle," he says softly. "Fixing the roof."
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"It wasn't," he murmurs. "It was worth it."
He leans down to kiss the top of Dorian's head. "Go to sleep."
Bull has already decided that if Dorian does sleep late, he'll bring breakfast and coffee up for them.
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