[ 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. 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. ]