[ The light touch tickles, if anything, a faint distraction that has his nostrils flaring as he glances upwards. Right. That's closer to what he wanted, that surprised but pleased look, and a grin stretches over his lips as he shifts the back of Dorian's knee to rest against his shoulder. ]
I'll bet. They're not gonna break, you know.
[ And with a chuckle he's back to it, more slow, deliberate laps against the length of him, drawing it out, working until he can feel him tense before finally wrapping his lips around him. Let him sink into that heat and forget the chill in the air. Push away everything outside this tent, if only for a time.
[ And Dorian does sink, relaxing back properly with a luxurious sigh as he gets what he wants. Relief, warmth, attention, even if it all comes in a form he didn't quite anticipate when he climbed into Bull's tent. And drank his wine, which he still feels thrumming in his bloodstream, making his joints loose where he sprawls. One hand keeps a fisted grip in the furs beneath him, and the other slides down, finding a place to rest at the bend of Bull's horn.
He doesn't pull so much as firm up his grip as he levers his hips up in a subtle twitch, responsive and needful. His heel planted against Bull's muscular back digs in ever so, little coils of bodily tension that give and release. ]
[ Shame that candle had to be put out. That's a sight he could stand setting to memory. Dorian somehow finds a way to retain that feline elegance of his even when sprawled and at his mercy, hips flexing and hair almost certainly a mess where he lies in that pile of fur and silk. Figures.
Another dip of his head and Bull takes him in further, tightening the pull of his mouth as he draws back and flicks his tongue against the head of his cock before swallowing him down again. A little further each time, this time with a low hum, this time with a swipe at his slit. Dorian's needy little shifts unconsciously set a rhythm that he follows, his eye still open, still resting on the mage where he lies.
He was right. Disheveled was a good look for him. ]
[ His hands communicate whatever it is he can't fully verbalise, keeping quiet save for the rough edge of heavier breathing, but even that's kept moderated. The squeeze and gentle tug of Dorian's hand mirrors the thrill of tension winding tighter, playing at pulling Bull closer when the other man lowers his head.
Dorian's other hand kneads at furs until he remembers that it's his clothing, and finds instead to rest first on his own belly, then downwards, knuckles brushing along the rough texture of Bull's jaw line, resting at the bend of shoulder and neck.
Fingernails bite, and he makes a sound. Getting close, and there's no part of him that desires to delay the inevitable. ]
[ His answer is Bull sinking low, rolling his tongue up purposefully against the underside of his cock. A single, wordless growl works out of his throat, resonating against skin, urging him on. He felt that telltale tension before Dorian's even gasped out a single word.
But oh. The way his name sounds on his lips. Yeah. He could get used to that, faster than he might admit to. ]
[ He can imagine games he'd play, such as, seeing how long he can make this last, perhaps evoking a second growl, or an even deeper sinking of his cock into Bull's mouth; but the idea of later ghosts along after the reality that that reverberating, humming growl and the tight-wet-hot sensation of Bull's mouth unravel him promptly.
Dorian is not quite as quiet as advertised, if by no means loud, restraint in his shuddering exhale of relief. Muscles tense, hand grips, and his back arches as his orgasm is dragged out of him, taking long seconds before it's done, setting back, hands sliding away and off to come up rake fingers through his own hair in the processing of collecting himself.
His leg slides off of Bull's shoulder. It will take some time yet for the cold to creep back in, content as he is to sprawl nakedly as the last of his own tension trickles out from his system. ]
You know, [ he says, breathing still not quite even, addressing the ceiling of the tent ] I suspect you might have done that before.
[ One hand comes up to swipe against the corner of his mouth as Dorian resettles against his thoroughly rumpled cloak, and he's certain he looks smug even in the dark. There's a hum of agreement before a hand settles against Dorian's stomach, as though to smooth away the last of those shudders with some modicum of warmth to ease the way. ]
Can't put anything past you, can I?
[ He's still hard, of course, but there's no move made to tend to that just yet, choosing instead to lean against his own bedroll, propped on an elbow and watching Dorian start to catch his breath again. ]
[ And he laughs a little at his own dry wit, and it will probably take some time and more laters for him to realise he doesn't often do that, in this sort of circumstance. And possibly decide it's just because how awful everything is in contrast, making him feel nicer than he might otherwise.
For now, he rolls a look towards Bull, matching watchfulness with regard, absent-mindedly wetting the corner of his mouth with his tongue before he pulls himself to roll over, the beginning of progression nearer.
Droll; ]
But I'm no Ben-Hassrath. I couldn't put a figure on it, or anything.
[ Modesty, even false modesty, doesn't suit him. That laugh, on the other hand. It's a shade different from the chuckles he gives during battle, or sparring. Different from the usual derisive laughter before some coy remark intended to cast shade on someone or something that had managed to displease him. Dorian's never short on smiles, but they general come with a sharper edge than this.
[ If this were a serious conversation, Dorian might concede that assumptions are different things to deductions, and he has more of one than the other. But he isn't being serious, getting to his hands and knees so as best to move through the tight space of the tent. ]
But your capacity to surprise does you a credit. I'm sure you find me, on the other hand, entirely predictable.
[ This, delivered a little wry, as he prowls on over with rather clear intent. Dorian's own disarray continues obvious, now that he's more upright, curls loosened out of their usual controlled formation, skin flush, other details difficult to pick out in the dark. His body is smooth and scarless and lean.
He settles on a hip further down the length of Bull's body, a hand skimming over the other man's hip, before he reaches and-- collects up the wine bottle they'd previously set aside, that somehow had not toppled over from their activities.
Dorian's crooked smile flashes in the dark before he takes a swig. ]
Find you several things. A tease being pretty high on the list.
[ Though he's in no real rush, Dorian's doing this on purpose. And it's not as though he can't appreciate the art of a good tease, how good a thing is when you've been denied a few times.
Besides, it's as though he isn't enjoying the view right now. Regardless of what Dorian's got his hands on, at the moment. ]
[ Dorian takes a second swig, the winked tipped Bull's way only just visible. Thusly fortified, he moves to straddle the other man's legs, settling warmly, still loose and relaxed from how Bull had left him a moment ago.
Leaning in and down, he reaches to carefully set the bottle down and aside, placing his hands warm on Bull's hips. ]
Well, that's very bad of me. And after you've been so good to begin with.
[ Dorian affords himself a second to consider some logistics. Bull is about as large as one can only anticipate from a man of his proportions, worthy of commentary, but only a second. He circles his fingers back around Bull's length, squeezing at the base and feeling in the dark, his thumb following a path up the underside.
A glance upwards checks in before he does much else. ]
[ Now propped on both elbows, Bull simply shakes his head at the wink, settling in. Dorian obviously doesn't intend to leave him in this state, and he can't really argue. Nor does he feel any particular inclination to.
It's not like he hasn't thought about it, prior to this moment. Dorian's mouth is, at times, very distracting.
So when Dorian wraps his fingers around his cock it's easy to let out a quiet sigh of approval, that eyes fixed on him even in the near darkness on the tent, the corner of his lip curling upwards. ]
[ Mock-chiding doesn't slow progress, even if that progress remains incremental for no apparent reason other than Dorian desires it to be. A few slow strokes soak up the feeling of blood-firm flesh, before he goes to lean in.
Just as slowly, he licks a long, deliberate stripe along the underside, his fisted hand stroking up again just after, before lowering his mouth again in warm, open nearly-kisses progressing up along Bull's cock, tongue and lips and the incidental blunt hint of tooth. ]
[ He certainly works like he means to drive him up a wall. Deliberate to the last. But Bull makes no effort to rush him, even as his hand shifts to card his fingers through Dorian's hair. No urging, there. Just a touch, a sweep of his thumb across his temple. ]
That a complaint?
[ Not the only one who knows what he's doing here, after all. ]
You know me, [ Dorian says, his mouth only just raised enough to talk. The tickle of his breath livens skin made damp with saliva as he tips a look up at Bull. ] If I'm complaining, you know it without needing to ask.
[ The touch to his hair doesn't get complaints either, head tipping beneath it as he returns to teasing out sensation with his mouth, his hand, his other hand braced against Bull's hip. When he takes him in his mouth, its still shallow, a hand gripping firmly, his tongue doing much of the work, closing his eyes sedately as he focuses instead on the feeling of Iron Bull in his mouth. The taste of him.
That he works a little quicker is almost purely to stop himself from getting worked up again. ]
[ It's only as much of a tease as he'd given him earlier. Fair is fair. And feeling that heat slip around him, spit-slick and tight as his lips close over the head of his cock, is enough to forgive the slow start.
Bull's fingers close a little tighter in his hair with another sound deep in his throat, low and pleased. The urge comes, perhaps, to cant his hips upwards, to feel more, but he holds himself in check. He wants to watch, wants what Dorian is willing to give.
This all has been a long time coming. No reason to rush, even his pulse beats heavy with need and want as Dorian's clever tongue darts against him. ]
[ Bull's near-growl gets a responding hum of contentment from Dorian. He teases out only as much as he has the patience to, swapping out the pressure of his mouth with touches of his tongue only, before settling in, taking him deeper, a fist kept wrapped around the existing length that likely will not be making it into his mouth.
His weight settles in too, heavy on Bull's legs, his hips, although heavy being something of a relative term that in this instance describes mostly how Dorian assumes his sprawled won't bother the qunari. He picks out his own rhythm, head ducking, shoulder blades pressed up. Idly, the top of his foot settles and idles against one of Bull's calves.
When he lifts his head again, it's to take a breath, but in return, his hand begins to pump Bull a little faster, firmer, no teasing intended. He turns his head to nudge the bridge of his nose against Bull's wrist, absent nuzzle. ]
[ That hand slips lower, fingers playing against his cheek, just beneath that smear of black kohl beneath his eyes. Next time, they're definitely doing this by better lighting.
But he's been holding on for a while now. There's little on his mind save what comes next, the sweep of Dorian's foot against his leg, the warm nudge as his own thigh presses against his hip, or the elegant arch of his back where he rests now, fingers quickly stroking out that rhythm he's set.
Bull's throat goes a little dry as he watches, feeling something tighten in his gut that he can't ignore. Try as he might. ]
[ The touch at his cheek earns eye contact, slithered up the length of Bull's body. There is a touch of a smile at his mouth in response to watchful attention, basking in it, and he holds eye contact just long enough to cease the strokes of his hand to gently ease Bull's cock nearer again to his mouth. By now, sweat and saliva and pre-ejaculate has made a slicker, easier path for his hand, giving one last slide before he lowers his mouth down around Bull's member.
He gives a small, muffled moan, near hungry, taking Bull in as comfortably as he'll go, tongue pressed flat against swollen skin, imagining he can sense the other man's pulse against his tongue, against his lips. When he comes back, it's barely even shallow before he goes down again, in long, coaxing pulls of his mouth. ]
[ It's then that he finally tears his gaze away, eye rolling shut with a quiet sound, fingers kneading against Dorian's scalp as his head bobs, feeling the slick pull of lips and tongue and letting himself just feel. Not think of anything, anything else save the low vibrations of that moan.
He was going to be trouble from the start. The pretty ones always were.
When that straining knot of tension finally snaps, it's with a sharp intake of breath, less a sound than an effort to suppress it. There's a squeeze just before to warn him, to let him pull back if he'd rather, but then Bull's shuddering full and heavy and the world blurs for a moment.
A second later, there's breath, heavier and more full, and a chuckle soon follows. ]
[ Dorian doesn't pull back, this time, the squeeze of Iron Bull's hand having the dual affect of warning him off as well as sending a sense of warmth through him that pools low. It doesn't come as a surprise, tuned in as he is to every hint of what the qunari has to give away, rare as that seems to be, and he swallows around Bull's cock instead, lifting his head once he's sure he can do so neatly.
There's an answering chuckle at Bull's assessment, a little dry, still quiet, and Dorian lists aside and off of him, if only after picking up the wine bottle as he goes.
The heavy slosh of liquid indicates another sip taken. ]
[ He's not getting far. One arm slides around Dorian's waist, fingers smoothing against the slight curve of his hip, before straying upwards to catch at the corner of his mouth. It's a comfortable moment to settle into, body still thrumming and heart still pounding away, and if it's cold outside he's barely noticed. There's certainly heat in the tent to spare. ]
[ There is, only, a moment's hesitation that follows sinking bodily into a companionable intimacy, the temptation of the moment an easy one to slide into. His mouth turns up a little under the brush of Iron Bull's hand, and his laugh eases out of him, dry and quiet.
It's still warm, here, specifically how it emanates off of Iron Bull. No one else has to know about what feels like ice crystals beginning to form within, sharp and irritating at his own luxurious mood. ]
Still you, I think, [ he says, lightly. ] But all thanks to me.
[ Dorian's allowed to wall in the mood for a little while longer at least, even if Bull doesn't expect him to stay.
While he does, he'll have this. Bull's arm remains draped halfway over him, sharing that heat, as his head tips back into the head of his bedroll with a low, pleased sound. ]
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I'll bet. They're not gonna break, you know.
[ And with a chuckle he's back to it, more slow, deliberate laps against the length of him, drawing it out, working until he can feel him tense before finally wrapping his lips around him. Let him sink into that heat and forget the chill in the air. Push away everything outside this tent, if only for a time.
This is for him. ]
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He doesn't pull so much as firm up his grip as he levers his hips up in a subtle twitch, responsive and needful. His heel planted against Bull's muscular back digs in ever so, little coils of bodily tension that give and release. ]
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Another dip of his head and Bull takes him in further, tightening the pull of his mouth as he draws back and flicks his tongue against the head of his cock before swallowing him down again. A little further each time, this time with a low hum, this time with a swipe at his slit. Dorian's needy little shifts unconsciously set a rhythm that he follows, his eye still open, still resting on the mage where he lies.
He was right. Disheveled was a good look for him. ]
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Dorian's other hand kneads at furs until he remembers that it's his clothing, and finds instead to rest first on his own belly, then downwards, knuckles brushing along the rough texture of Bull's jaw line, resting at the bend of shoulder and neck.
Fingernails bite, and he makes a sound. Getting close, and there's no part of him that desires to delay the inevitable. ]
Bull--
[ Fair warning, really. ]
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But oh. The way his name sounds on his lips. Yeah. He could get used to that, faster than he might admit to. ]
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Dorian is not quite as quiet as advertised, if by no means loud, restraint in his shuddering exhale of relief. Muscles tense, hand grips, and his back arches as his orgasm is dragged out of him, taking long seconds before it's done, setting back, hands sliding away and off to come up rake fingers through his own hair in the processing of collecting himself.
His leg slides off of Bull's shoulder. It will take some time yet for the cold to creep back in, content as he is to sprawl nakedly as the last of his own tension trickles out from his system. ]
You know, [ he says, breathing still not quite even, addressing the ceiling of the tent ] I suspect you might have done that before.
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Can't put anything past you, can I?
[ He's still hard, of course, but there's no move made to tend to that just yet, choosing instead to lean against his own bedroll, propped on an elbow and watching Dorian start to catch his breath again. ]
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[ And he laughs a little at his own dry wit, and it will probably take some time and more laters for him to realise he doesn't often do that, in this sort of circumstance. And possibly decide it's just because how awful everything is in contrast, making him feel nicer than he might otherwise.
For now, he rolls a look towards Bull, matching watchfulness with regard, absent-mindedly wetting the corner of his mouth with his tongue before he pulls himself to roll over, the beginning of progression nearer.
Droll; ]
But I'm no Ben-Hassrath. I couldn't put a figure on it, or anything.
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[ Modesty, even false modesty, doesn't suit him. That laugh, on the other hand. It's a shade different from the chuckles he gives during battle, or sparring. Different from the usual derisive laughter before some coy remark intended to cast shade on someone or something that had managed to displease him. Dorian's never short on smiles, but they general come with a sharper edge than this.
Bull snorts faintly. ]
Managed to deduce anything else?
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[ If this were a serious conversation, Dorian might concede that assumptions are different things to deductions, and he has more of one than the other. But he isn't being serious, getting to his hands and knees so as best to move through the tight space of the tent. ]
But your capacity to surprise does you a credit. I'm sure you find me, on the other hand, entirely predictable.
[ This, delivered a little wry, as he prowls on over with rather clear intent. Dorian's own disarray continues obvious, now that he's more upright, curls loosened out of their usual controlled formation, skin flush, other details difficult to pick out in the dark. His body is smooth and scarless and lean.
He settles on a hip further down the length of Bull's body, a hand skimming over the other man's hip, before he reaches and-- collects up the wine bottle they'd previously set aside, that somehow had not toppled over from their activities.
Dorian's crooked smile flashes in the dark before he takes a swig. ]
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Find you several things. A tease being pretty high on the list.
[ Though he's in no real rush, Dorian's doing this on purpose. And it's not as though he can't appreciate the art of a good tease, how good a thing is when you've been denied a few times.
Besides, it's as though he isn't enjoying the view right now. Regardless of what Dorian's got his hands on, at the moment. ]
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Leaning in and down, he reaches to carefully set the bottle down and aside, placing his hands warm on Bull's hips. ]
Well, that's very bad of me. And after you've been so good to begin with.
[ Dorian affords himself a second to consider some logistics. Bull is about as large as one can only anticipate from a man of his proportions, worthy of commentary, but only a second. He circles his fingers back around Bull's length, squeezing at the base and feeling in the dark, his thumb following a path up the underside.
A glance upwards checks in before he does much else. ]
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It's not like he hasn't thought about it, prior to this moment. Dorian's mouth is, at times, very distracting.
So when Dorian wraps his fingers around his cock it's easy to let out a quiet sigh of approval, that eyes fixed on him even in the near darkness on the tent, the corner of his lip curling upwards. ]
You know me. I do what I can.
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[ Mock-chiding doesn't slow progress, even if that progress remains incremental for no apparent reason other than Dorian desires it to be. A few slow strokes soak up the feeling of blood-firm flesh, before he goes to lean in.
Just as slowly, he licks a long, deliberate stripe along the underside, his fisted hand stroking up again just after, before lowering his mouth again in warm, open nearly-kisses progressing up along Bull's cock, tongue and lips and the incidental blunt hint of tooth. ]
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That a complaint?
[ Not the only one who knows what he's doing here, after all. ]
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[ The touch to his hair doesn't get complaints either, head tipping beneath it as he returns to teasing out sensation with his mouth, his hand, his other hand braced against Bull's hip. When he takes him in his mouth, its still shallow, a hand gripping firmly, his tongue doing much of the work, closing his eyes sedately as he focuses instead on the feeling of Iron Bull in his mouth. The taste of him.
That he works a little quicker is almost purely to stop himself from getting worked up again. ]
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Bull's fingers close a little tighter in his hair with another sound deep in his throat, low and pleased. The urge comes, perhaps, to cant his hips upwards, to feel more, but he holds himself in check. He wants to watch, wants what Dorian is willing to give.
This all has been a long time coming. No reason to rush, even his pulse beats heavy with need and want as Dorian's clever tongue darts against him. ]
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His weight settles in too, heavy on Bull's legs, his hips, although heavy being something of a relative term that in this instance describes mostly how Dorian assumes his sprawled won't bother the qunari. He picks out his own rhythm, head ducking, shoulder blades pressed up. Idly, the top of his foot settles and idles against one of Bull's calves.
When he lifts his head again, it's to take a breath, but in return, his hand begins to pump Bull a little faster, firmer, no teasing intended. He turns his head to nudge the bridge of his nose against Bull's wrist, absent nuzzle. ]
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But he's been holding on for a while now. There's little on his mind save what comes next, the sweep of Dorian's foot against his leg, the warm nudge as his own thigh presses against his hip, or the elegant arch of his back where he rests now, fingers quickly stroking out that rhythm he's set.
Bull's throat goes a little dry as he watches, feeling something tighten in his gut that he can't ignore. Try as he might. ]
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He gives a small, muffled moan, near hungry, taking Bull in as comfortably as he'll go, tongue pressed flat against swollen skin, imagining he can sense the other man's pulse against his tongue, against his lips. When he comes back, it's barely even shallow before he goes down again, in long, coaxing pulls of his mouth. ]
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He was going to be trouble from the start. The pretty ones always were.
When that straining knot of tension finally snaps, it's with a sharp intake of breath, less a sound than an effort to suppress it. There's a squeeze just before to warn him, to let him pull back if he'd rather, but then Bull's shuddering full and heavy and the world blurs for a moment.
A second later, there's breath, heavier and more full, and a chuckle soon follows. ]
Damn.
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There's an answering chuckle at Bull's assessment, a little dry, still quiet, and Dorian lists aside and off of him, if only after picking up the wine bottle as he goes.
The heavy slosh of liquid indicates another sip taken. ]
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[ He's not getting far. One arm slides around Dorian's waist, fingers smoothing against the slight curve of his hip, before straying upwards to catch at the corner of his mouth. It's a comfortable moment to settle into, body still thrumming and heart still pounding away, and if it's cold outside he's barely noticed. There's certainly heat in the tent to spare. ]
Now who looks pleased with himself?
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It's still warm, here, specifically how it emanates off of Iron Bull. No one else has to know about what feels like ice crystals beginning to form within, sharp and irritating at his own luxurious mood. ]
Still you, I think, [ he says, lightly. ] But all thanks to me.
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[ Dorian's allowed to wall in the mood for a little while longer at least, even if Bull doesn't expect him to stay.
While he does, he'll have this. Bull's arm remains draped halfway over him, sharing that heat, as his head tips back into the head of his bedroll with a low, pleased sound. ]
Not gonna get argument from me.
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