[ 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. ]
Good. I shouldn't have to suffer backchat and pillowtalk at the same time.
[ He could certainly picture himself staying. It would be far too easy, to drag his cloak over, set aside the wine, and drift off with the weight of Iron Bull's arm draped over him. As it is, he's comfortably settled against Bull, watching the other man a little, and slowly aware of the air cool against his bare skin.
And while he's there, then, his fingers smooth along scar-seams in qunari-grey skin where his hand is settled, touching what he's only allowed himself to look at up until now. ]
[ Bull watches him, lips curled in a half smirk, following the lines of his elegant fingers as they trace old wounds in his skin. Places where the world tried to pry him open, to stop him, and he'd kept on going. Dorian has no such scars. He's damn near flawless and knows it.
No. All his scars are on the inside. Sometimes he thinks he sees a glimpse of them, a flicker of fear or uncertainty with no real explanation. But those scars aren't quite as sexy to explore.
Instead his fingers trace small circles into Dorian's back as he stares quietly down at him, the barest hint of illumination along the curve of his features. ]
[ The peace persists for a good few minutes, content in gentle touches and the vaguely hypnotising sensation of Iron Bull's hand at his back, but eventually, the wind kicks up, reminding Dorian of the outside world. He shivers, once, settling a touch closer.
But only for a second, catching Bull's eye and remembering himself. ]
Well. The heartless cold isn't going to get any warmer.
[ Not before morning, anyway, and we can't have that. He climbs out of his sprawl and out from underneath Bull's arm, feeling his way in the dark for the crumpled disarray of his clothing. He abruptly wishes he was already dressed, some unease settling at the fact he has to do this within a foot of the other man, for no reason that's at all personal.
There's nothing much to be done for it, anyway -- inconvenience and awkwardness is what he gets for risking this whilst camping. ]
[ Not as though he will. But the offer is there, all the same.
As Dorian moves away Bull shifts, rolling onto his side to watch as he plucks up his scattered, crumple piles of clothing. It's entirely possible that he's through, now that he's had that taste. For some, once is enough to satisfy any curiosity they might have.
But this doesn't feel the same. For reasons he can't quite put a finger on. ]
[ The laugh that produces is barely that, more of a tonal element to the next breath outward. The slide of leather and silks against skin, the jangle of metal attachments, don't pause or cease; he isn't rushing, either, save for a slight urgency to fend off the cold. ]
I prefer to do my morning after walks while it's still dark. Benuta might send a search party, besides.
[ Rolled into a sit, he does up his boots, chancing a glance over at Bull mid-buckle. ] This was fun, [ he offers, lightly. ] There isn't an awful lot of that going around, these days.
[ Or, maybe, there is, but he is fairly selective in where he gets his fun. He thinks he is, anyway. ]
[ There's a noise of acknowledgement from Bull, brow raising as Dorian slips back underneath layer after layer. ]
You ever feel like it again, you just let me know.
[ There. An open door for him to take advantage of. If all Dorian wants is fun, a little distraction, a warm body, there are worse things in the world. Probably best not to get too invested, considering the role he might still have to play here.
[ Of course seems appropriate, for now. Bull is exactly the sort who should be the kind that Dorian can have fun with, if he's going to do that to anyone; but being here hadn't gone exactly how he thought it might go, even if he could not say why, and thus, the future is uncertain beyond the bracing, cold walk he's anticipating.
But Bull's invitation is a nice thing to have, all the same. Dorian throws his cloak back around his shoulders, and opts to lean in to steal for himself one last kiss, pulling Bull in via hand to horn.
Just in case.
It isn't sweet, particularly, about the same tone as their kisses of moments ago, a little rakish and rough, but it also doesn't linger. In the dark, Dorian's smile is crooked, before he's moving off to slither on out the tent flaps, minimising the amount of cold blowing in from his departure. ]
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no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
That a complaint?
[ Not the only one who knows what he's doing here, after all. ]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[ He could certainly picture himself staying. It would be far too easy, to drag his cloak over, set aside the wine, and drift off with the weight of Iron Bull's arm draped over him. As it is, he's comfortably settled against Bull, watching the other man a little, and slowly aware of the air cool against his bare skin.
And while he's there, then, his fingers smooth along scar-seams in qunari-grey skin where his hand is settled, touching what he's only allowed himself to look at up until now. ]
no subject
No. All his scars are on the inside. Sometimes he thinks he sees a glimpse of them, a flicker of fear or uncertainty with no real explanation. But those scars aren't quite as sexy to explore.
Instead his fingers trace small circles into Dorian's back as he stares quietly down at him, the barest hint of illumination along the curve of his features. ]
no subject
But only for a second, catching Bull's eye and remembering himself. ]
Well. The heartless cold isn't going to get any warmer.
[ Not before morning, anyway, and we can't have that. He climbs out of his sprawl and out from underneath Bull's arm, feeling his way in the dark for the crumpled disarray of his clothing. He abruptly wishes he was already dressed, some unease settling at the fact he has to do this within a foot of the other man, for no reason that's at all personal.
There's nothing much to be done for it, anyway -- inconvenience and awkwardness is what he gets for risking this whilst camping. ]
no subject
[ Not as though he will. But the offer is there, all the same.
As Dorian moves away Bull shifts, rolling onto his side to watch as he plucks up his scattered, crumple piles of clothing. It's entirely possible that he's through, now that he's had that taste. For some, once is enough to satisfy any curiosity they might have.
But this doesn't feel the same. For reasons he can't quite put a finger on. ]
no subject
I prefer to do my morning after walks while it's still dark. Benuta might send a search party, besides.
[ Rolled into a sit, he does up his boots, chancing a glance over at Bull mid-buckle. ] This was fun, [ he offers, lightly. ] There isn't an awful lot of that going around, these days.
[ Or, maybe, there is, but he is fairly selective in where he gets his fun. He thinks he is, anyway. ]
no subject
[ There's a noise of acknowledgement from Bull, brow raising as Dorian slips back underneath layer after layer. ]
You ever feel like it again, you just let me know.
[ There. An open door for him to take advantage of. If all Dorian wants is fun, a little distraction, a warm body, there are worse things in the world. Probably best not to get too invested, considering the role he might still have to play here.
But fun? Yeah. They can both live with that. ]
no subject
[ Of course seems appropriate, for now. Bull is exactly the sort who should be the kind that Dorian can have fun with, if he's going to do that to anyone; but being here hadn't gone exactly how he thought it might go, even if he could not say why, and thus, the future is uncertain beyond the bracing, cold walk he's anticipating.
But Bull's invitation is a nice thing to have, all the same. Dorian throws his cloak back around his shoulders, and opts to lean in to steal for himself one last kiss, pulling Bull in via hand to horn.
Just in case.
It isn't sweet, particularly, about the same tone as their kisses of moments ago, a little rakish and rough, but it also doesn't linger. In the dark, Dorian's smile is crooked, before he's moving off to slither on out the tent flaps, minimising the amount of cold blowing in from his departure. ]