Dorian doesn't want to stop kissing for some time, so they don't. He's surrounded by Bull, and full of him, and the taste of him is strong on his tongue, but it still doesn't feel like enough. Ridiculous, but in the moment, he feels a need for him unlike anything else. He can't help wondering if that's what love really is, in the end. And if at a certain point, the nuances cease to matter.
When they part for long enough to speak again, Dorian clicks his tongue, tutting gently. "You shouldn't feel badly at all, Bull," he insists. "As I mentioned, I'm rather enjoying the experience." His thumb strokes along the hard line of Bull's jaw as he smiles up at him. "In fact, I wouldn't be opposed to repeating it."
"Wait until your legs start falling asleep," he teases tenderly. If Dorian can tease him, Bull can tease back. He gives Dorian another tender kiss.
"I don't know if I can promise a predictable repeat performance," he admits. "It either happens or it doesn't."
That isn't entirely true. The tamassrans that run the breeding programs have become very good at inducing this state to make sure things take, but he isn't breeding Dorian. He strokes his fingers through Dorian's dark hair and nuzzles his jaw.
His tongue passes over his lips as he considers that he likely has little choice or influence over whether or not this will occur again. If Bull was so surprised by it, surely it must be rare indeed outside the biological imperative for which it was intended. Now that he knows it's possible, it's a disappointing thought, but he won't despair. Now is the time for action.
"I'd best take advantage of it then," Dorian decides, "while it lasts."
Which is easy enough to do with Bull still buried inside him, when even rocking a little up against him causes a wave of heat to roll through him, making his eyelids flutter and his lips part in a wordless moan. "Can you move?" He asks gently. "Or is it too much?"
Bull groans when Dorian moves his hips and his hand slides to grip the mage's thigh. Dorian's moan echoes in his head.
"Not much," he warns: he's concerned about hurting Dorian if he moves too much. He huffs a breathless laugh and nuzzles against Dorian's jaw, breathing in the perfect scent of him. His hand rubs over his thigh and hip, not discouraging him but just--warning.
Bull doesn't so much move his hips as he does shift his weight experimentally. He wonders if it will make the knot last longer. Bull's never done anything quite what he thinks Dorian is asking.
"Not to worry," Dorian says, deceptively lightly for how intensely he's feeling the shift of Bull inside him, however little he's actually able to move. "This will do nicely."
He loves the size and the sure grip of Bull's hands on his hip, his thigh. He loves the warm puff of breath against his neck, the coarse brush of his newly tidy beard. He loves the way Bull's voice always seems to sink through him and then settle there low in his belly, a welcome weight. He loves that Bull is so willing to indulge him--always, even now.
"Just--" he gasps, thighs squeezing around Bull's middle. "It feels good having you inside me like this. It's distracting."
"Mmhm," he hums his agreement: it is distracting. Bull gets his arm around Dorian and he moves slowly, carefully. He lifts the mage as much as he can and turns until he's got his back propped against the headboard with Dorian settling in his lap. There. Now he's not quite so worried about smothering the mage beneath him.
And besides, this gives him a better view and it gives Dorian more control. He slides his hands over Dorian's perfect thighs.
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When they part for long enough to speak again, Dorian clicks his tongue, tutting gently. "You shouldn't feel badly at all, Bull," he insists. "As I mentioned, I'm rather enjoying the experience." His thumb strokes along the hard line of Bull's jaw as he smiles up at him. "In fact, I wouldn't be opposed to repeating it."
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"I don't know if I can promise a predictable repeat performance," he admits. "It either happens or it doesn't."
That isn't entirely true. The tamassrans that run the breeding programs have become very good at inducing this state to make sure things take, but he isn't breeding Dorian. He strokes his fingers through Dorian's dark hair and nuzzles his jaw.
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"I'd best take advantage of it then," Dorian decides, "while it lasts."
Which is easy enough to do with Bull still buried inside him, when even rocking a little up against him causes a wave of heat to roll through him, making his eyelids flutter and his lips part in a wordless moan. "Can you move?" He asks gently. "Or is it too much?"
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"Not much," he warns: he's concerned about hurting Dorian if he moves too much. He huffs a breathless laugh and nuzzles against Dorian's jaw, breathing in the perfect scent of him. His hand rubs over his thigh and hip, not discouraging him but just--warning.
Bull doesn't so much move his hips as he does shift his weight experimentally. He wonders if it will make the knot last longer. Bull's never done anything quite what he thinks Dorian is asking.
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He loves the size and the sure grip of Bull's hands on his hip, his thigh. He loves the warm puff of breath against his neck, the coarse brush of his newly tidy beard. He loves the way Bull's voice always seems to sink through him and then settle there low in his belly, a welcome weight. He loves that Bull is so willing to indulge him--always, even now.
"Just--" he gasps, thighs squeezing around Bull's middle. "It feels good having you inside me like this. It's distracting."
no subject
And besides, this gives him a better view and it gives Dorian more control. He slides his hands over Dorian's perfect thighs.
"Is this alright?"