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“Sex was lovely. Sex was sublime. This night sex was starlight. Sex was oxygen. Sex was us, and we were beautiful, beautiful and perfect in each other's arms.” - Amy Lane
The sunset over the Frostbacks look like they're painted with stained glass, or with jewels, new night after night. The citrine light of this particular sunset comes in through Bull's window – curtain long burned away – and makes Dorian glow. It's a good look on him, like the beacon of an evening fire, brown skin shimmering deep and coppery with a layer of sweat, naked and smiling in his bed.
“You look so good.”
The sound Dorian makes as he stretches – arms then back, tips his hips upward like an invitation – is not unlike a cat, an independent thing deigning to allow himself to be worshipped. There is no worship under the Qun, no prayer, but there is reverence, and he never thought he'd find something for that purpose. A dragon in the sky and a mage in his bed, and he begins to understand why his people once, long ago, believed in gods.
“Don't I always?”
“Yeah, but I like to be able to take some of the credit, getting you like this.”
His cock is hard and leaking clear fluid in a little puddle below his navel, and it speaks to his languid, lazy mood that he hasn't fussed about Bull taking his time to tease him there. He traces one digit up the vein on the underside to where the foreskin has pulled back from the head, and worries the sensitive frenulum with the pad of his finger.
“All loose and ready for whatever I do to you.”
“Not loose yet.”
Bull laughs. “You think you could even sit up if I asked you to?”
Dorian hums. “Are you going to ask me to?”
“No, I'll take care of you.”
As Bull drags his finger over the head of his cock, Dorian's eyes flutter shut. “I'm inclined to let you.”
Bull leans forward and kisses him, and Dorian parts his lips and invites Bull's tongue into his mouth, giving himself up to it with no hesitation.
He kisses his way over his jaw, down his neck, the salt of sweat on his mouth as he travels his chest, fingers slipping into the groves between ribs that show when he fills his lungs.
“You're a tease.”
“You like it.”
Dorian groans long and low as he presses his tongue against the very bottom of the vein on the underside of his cock. Slowly, he traces the increasingly familiar shape upwards, feels the shift of skin and blood under his tongue, and that sure is something, that power.
Teasing him has made him sensitive, and he whines from the back of his throat when Bull lifts his cock so he can take the head into his mouth and suck at the very tip. Bull has always liked those intimate tastes, and Dorian tastes especially good there.
He's not small, but Bull is very large, so it would be so easy to swallow him all down. Instead, he sucks the head and more into his mouth with a wicked swirl of his tongue. Dorian lifts his hips into the sensation, and while Bull doesn't hold his hips down, he doesn't let the man push any further into his mouth that he wants to take him. He likes to tease, and Dorian knows he'll see him through to a glorious end.
Bull draws back slowly, giving Dorian what he knows is an obscene show of his cock re-emerging from between his lips, making Dorian's fingers flex where they're resting against his belly. Bull grins and slowly, because he knows it will drive Dorian crazy, dips his head to swipe the broad flat of his tongue over his balls.
“Yes!”
The little gasp is everything he wanted to hear, so he sucks one into his mouth and feels the structure shift within the skin, the weight of it on his tongue so very satisfying. The first time Bull had sucked Dorian's balls he'd fallen apart quickly under the attention, and he'd managed to coax a somewhat embarrassed confession out of him that nobody had really ever paid much attention to that part of him.
Bull, of course, was only too happy to introduce Dorian to everything he'd missed, things neglected outright and those that hadn't been explored to their full potential. He eases Dorian's legs apart to give him room, manoeuvres the other ball into his mouth alongside the first, and hums.
“Andraste's ass!” Dorian groans, and his palms skim up his chest to brush against his erect nipples. Bull groans at that too; he loves it when Dorian helps his own body feel good alongside Bull's efforts. Dorian giving himself over to Bull completely is good in its own way, but everything else, through to Dorian taking full control is also wonderful.
He releases Dorian's balls with a satisfied sound and takes his cock back into his mouth, sucking him into the warm wet heat.
“Kafffas, Bull!”
Dorian openly admits to enjoying swearing, especially in Old Tevene, of which the curses are the only relatable part to the majority of Tevinter. He finds the same joy in bed.
“Fuck, your mouth.”
“You can, if you like.”
Dorian's laugh is breathless and lilting, effortless and real and just for Bull. He doesn't dwell too long on how that makes him swell with pride, and ache with sadness at the same time.
Dorian manages to pitch his body forward in a boneless lurch, and hooks his hands around Bull's horns. Bull swallows him down as Dorian tugs on them, and he doesn't have the girth that qunari seem to have in their breeding, but he's larger than most humans Bull's been with, and the head of his cock pushes insistently at the back of Bull's throat as he lets Dorian fuck upwards into his mouth. He grabs Dorian's hips to help him, and lets him into his throat.
“Bull!”
His name on the man's lips is even better than his creative swearing and inferred threats of bodily harm if he stops, and Bull works his throat around him as he presses his nose into the hair at the base of the man's cock. It's a snug fit, and it cuts off his air just the same as any any qunari-proportioned cock would, but Dorian is more comfortable to take, and he can let the man get messy and frantic without worrying too much about discomfort.
Dorian tugs on his horns as his hips buck erratically, Bull helping to ease him up and down, fucking into his mouth and throat until the sounds between them are obscene; wet sloppy sucking, Dorian's groaning and swearing, and he's sure both of them know they're broadcasting to all of the tavern at the very least, and neither caring a bit.
“Bull,” Dorian groans, warning him with an insistent twist of his hands around his horns, a courtesy Bull's found across cultures. He keeps Dorian's hips canted up and sucks him until he comes down his throat, body spasming in his grasp, and shouting something that isn't quite a word.
He goes boneless a moment later, laughing breathlessly as Bull sets him back down on the bed.
“You have fun there, kadan?”
“If I say no, will you do it again to make sure I do?”
Bull gives him a look from the place where he's kissing his bent knee. “C'mon, you know you don't have to trick me into sucking you off.”
Dorian hums, smiling lazily at him. “That's true.”
“I can suck you again if you want.”
Dorian stretches, back arching beautifully and arms stretched overhead.
“I want you to fuck me.”
The way he doesn't hesitate, the way it's easy and relaxed; that's so good.
“Then I've got to get you ready. Can you turn over for me?”
Dorian makes a slow but valiant effort of turning over, and Bull helps his post-release body to cooperate, turning his hips and helping to tuck his knees under him so his pert backside is canted upwards. He smooths his hands down his back, across his ass, and gently parts him, revealing him.
“You have the prettiest little hole, Dorian.”
Bull has seen a lot of ass in his time, but Dorian stands out in his mind, the way he just has to picture it to feel himself getting hard, and literally salivating at the thought.
“The prettiest, hm?”
“Yeah. All neat and cute, just waiting to be played with. Thinking about how much a little thing can stretch out around my cock, drives me wild.”
He leans forward and swipes his tongue across the crinkled flesh. Dorian gasps and then pushes back, not expecting it but welcoming the attention. He tastes good, and Bull can pick up the faint smell of soap, but it's a nice, sharp smell that works with the rich heady tones that Dorian's skin puts out. The man would scoff to know Bull's thinking of him in wine terms.
He laps at Dorian's hole, holding his cheeks apart so he can tease the sensitive flesh. Dorian is absolutely weak for it, pushing back and moaning, his spent cock already twitching with interest. It wasn't much of a surprise to find out Dorian had never had anyone do this to him, and the look on his face the first time Bull had asked if he could had been the most gorgeous mix of desire and surprise.
He presses his tongue past the guarding muscle and Dorian yells, hips jumping forward away from the sudden sensation. Bull pulls him back onto his tongue, and the sound that comes out of him sends a jolt straight down to Bull's own cock.
Eventually Dorian bears back into the intrusion, meeting the thrusts of Bull's tongue with little motions of his hips. Bull draws back to swipe the broad flat of his tongue over his twitching hole, and presses his thumb against Dorian's perineum.
“I could eat your hole all day. Grab handfuls of your ass, hold you open and fuck you with my tongue until you're screaming.”
“Maker, I want you to fuck me,” Dorian groans. “Get me ready for your cock!”
“Bossy! How about I eat your ass until you come another time, then?”
Dorian laughs breathlessly. “I'll make sure you do.”
Bull swats his backside, and smacks his lips much louder than he needs to, as he peers around for the oil. There's an ornate glass phial on the bedside table, something that could be mistaken for a perfume bottle. It's just out of reach, Bull's fingertips only just reaching it. It wobbles despite the flat base, and Dorian tuts.
“Don't break this one.”
“Hey, that was your fault, too.” There's still an oil mark on the carpet where the last bottle smashed.
“You were the one who kicked it off the bed.”
“Because you were driving me crazy.”
“I don't remember you complaining at the time.”
“Never,” Bull chuckles, as he manages to hook his fingers around the glass neck and retrieve the phial.
He reaches down to give Dorian's cock a few tugs, already filling out again. Dorian always does recover fast, the sly dog. He presses a slick finger to Dorian's hole, and he teases the delicate muscle but doesn't anticipate Dorian pushing back hard against him, impaling himself on the exploring digit.
Bull laughs. “Eager!”
Another time, another mood, he'd have pulled his finger out and spanked Dorian for being cheeky, but it's not that kind of night; it's not about fighting or holding him down or a firm hand that Dorian isn't comfortable calling 'discipline' but wants Bull to dish out to him all the same. It's a night where Dorian wants, and works for it, and Bull meets him halfway and doesn't push back or tease too much. He twists his finger within Dorian's body, and his lover sighs happily.
He's alternating between looking back at Bull and pressing his face into the pillows, leaning on his arms for the leverage it gives him to push back into Bull's finger. He works around the outer ring, coaxing his body to relax for him.
“Kaffas.”
“You okay?”
“Very,” Dorian groans, peering back at him. “You've ruined me for other men.”
It's figurative, he knows, because Dorian's body is still as tight and responsive as the first time, even though familiarity has made this progression easier.
“You'll just have to keep me around, then.”
“As if I'd give up those fingers. Or your cock. I suppose your company in general isn't to be sniffed at, either.”
Bull huffs a laugh and leans forward to bite at Dorian's backside. He gasps, but after a second he's pushing back into teeth and the lazy thrusting of his finger. Bull sucks a mark into the brown flesh, because he knows the one on Dorian's inner thigh is almost faded, the the man likes to be marked.
“Yes, amatus!”
Now that they're beyond uncertainty and doubt, he thinks, Dorian's affections are free and generously given. He's earned them, like he's earned a word he knows is weighted and significant. Sometimes fighting is fun, and Dorian is much too clever not to match wits with regularly, but there's an easy ebb and flow to it, unlike the hard edge the early days of what they were had.
Happy with his work, a generous bite of Dorian's backside reddy-purple with freshly drawn blood under the surface, he laves his tongue over the new mark, then gently puts kisses over it.
“That's gonna be a big one.”
Dorian laughs into the pillows. “I hope so.”
A wicked thought occurs to Bull.
“What do you think of me bruising your ass all over? Both cheeks, spank you purple? Not now, but some other time.”
Dorian's breath hitches, and he gazes back from amongst the pillows.
“I'd be sore for a week, at least.”
“Probably.”
“I'd feel where you spanked me every time I sat down.”
“Most likely.”
“It'd be almost unbearable if I had to ride anywhere.”
“Yup.”
Dorian groans and wiggles his hips back on Bull's still thrusting finger.
“I expect the utmost of care paid to my backside afterwards.”
“I'll look after you, sweetheart.”
“Of course you will, that's why I expect it.”
Bull kisses the bruise again, as he slides his finger out so he can coat a second. He rubs over his hole, teasing pressure passing up over it, then down to press along his perineum. Dorian's body lets him slide them inside to the second knuckle before it clamps down. He scissors his fingers, easing his lover's body to adjust to the size of them. When he's got them pressed in as far as they'll go, he wiggles them, tapping them in a drumming rhythm against his prostate. Dorian cries out, lightning sparking between his fingers.
Once, early on, Dorian held back every surge of magic that came with a body under pleasurable assault, until a fateful curtain fire brought the fact that it was going on to the fore. Bull should have known then, as he told Dorian he didn't have to hold his magic back instead of kindly but firmly saying 'thanks, but this isn't for me', that this was something different. Magic in general makes him uneasy, but Dorian has long been different.
They move promptly onto three fingers, and Dorian reaches back to lazily stroke his cock, hanging hard and heavy now between his legs. The stretch is so much more than two, but he slowly, steadily opens up around Bull's fingers. Eventually he's panting and pushing back, fucking himself on them.
“You ready?”
Bull slips his fingers free, and Dorian wiggles his hips.
“Fuck me.”
Bull grins. “Yes, ser!”
Dorian hums with amusement. “Ser. We should try that sometime, too.”
“You wanna be the boss of me sometime, huh?”
“I'm the boss of you all the time, Bull.”
He chuckled. “I suppose you are, kadan.”
He slicks his cock, sighing for the relief of touching his straining erection. He doesn't mind waiting, likes to get Dorian off before he even thinks of himself, but now he's about to fuck him he has to keep control and not rush for the sweet ending.
Dorian shifts around, knees wider on the bed as Bull kneels in place. He's amazed, still, by how they look like this. He rests his cock, huge and heavy, dark grey with a ruddy head, against the smooth brown skin of Dorian's generous offering, slides it slick up the crack of his ass.
“I'm waiting, Bull.”
“Bossy, bossy,” he chides, no heat to it, and presses the head of his cock against Dorian's hole. He savours the moment, pressing forward but not in, then easing back, coaxing, teasing. Dorian does not disappoint, and with a grunt, pushes himself back, breeching himself on Bull's cock. He growls, grabs Dorian's hips and helps to pull him back until he feels his body resist a few inches in.
“You're good,” he breathes, and his fingers flex on his lover's hips. “You're so good, you take it so well.”
He pulls back slow, skin cool when it leaves Dorian's heat, then pushes back in farther. Dorian meets his motion, rolling his hips back in a way that would make a weaker man lose it in a few short thrusts. That trick has almost caught him out more than once.
He pushes and pulls, giving Dorian more and more until their thighs are touching, the front of his to the back of Dorian's, and takes a moment to breathe.
“You're so tight, so hot,” he murmurs, hand sliding up his back to gently squeeze the back of his neck. Dorian turns his head and peers at him, eyelids heavy, smile blissful and so fucking beautiful Bull could melt.
He moves before Dorian can demand it; even though he likes it when he's bossy, he also likes to remind him he knows how to anticipate him and give him what he needs. He pulls back slowly and then pushes forward, building the pace steadily. Dorian falls into rhythm with him, back as he pushes forward, pressing themselves together again and again. A practised, familiar, amazing motion, pace perfect for them both, enough for friction but no rush, confident in the inevitability of the thing.
They're both making little grunts with the effort, unrestrained sounds for the space between them as they move together. Dorian drops his weight onto his chest instead of his forearms, so he can reach back and grab his ass in hand, and hold himself open.
“Harder, Bull.”
Bull growls and bears down on him, because that is something's he's more than happy to oblige Dorian with. He pulls his hips back and then slams forward, pushing him up the bed and making him groan.
“Yes, yes, like that!”
The way Dorian's body is stretched so wide around him, the way he's holding himself open, painted black nails framing where their bodies are joined, the way he's pushing back as Bull repeatedly slams into him, all of it is completely breathtaking. Dorian truly loves being fucked, maybe more than anything else they do, and Bull knows he wants to give that to him forever.
“Want to see you,” Dorian groans, releasing his hold on himself, even as he continues to push back. “Want to look at you.”
“Shit yeah.” Bull slows, and runs his hands up Dorian's back. He's so beautiful, and he's here, in a room they share, in a place they call home.
He pulls out, groaning at the reluctant squeeze of Dorian's body. He lets Dorian move them, deciding their next position; he manoeuvres Bull against the headboard, pillows at his back, and climbs into his lap.
“That's it,” Dorian murmurs, mouth an inch from Bull's, and then there's no space at all and Dorian is kissing him like he's drowning, and Bull's mouth is the only way to breathe. Bull gives him his breath, parts his lips and meets his tongue in kind, clever and wicked and known.
He grabs Dorian's backside with one hand and holds his cock in place with the other. Dorian finds purchase on Bull's horn, and helps to position himself back on his cock, where he sinks down with a groan that breaks the kiss.
Dorian digs his fingers into Bull's neck and brings him back, licks into his mouth with a hum of approval as he begins to move. It's an undulating roll, thighs and hips and torso all moving, fingers pressing hard into the muscles under them as he uses that leverage to help move himself. For a moment all Bull can do is hang onto his ass and kiss him back, before his mind catches up and he begins to work his body against him.
“Bull, Bull.” Dorian is all breath, keeping them close. Their foreheads rest together when he's not kissing him, eager and insistent, when the roll of their bodies is too much, too distracting. Bull can feel Dorian's cock rubbing against his belly, smearing precome over him. Dorian rolls into the sensation, hips not losing their rhythm.
“You're so good, Dorian,” Bull tells him, spreads his fingers wide on his ass, pressing his half fingers into the fresh bruise. Dorian keens. “So fucking good.”
“Bull,” he groans, and his mouth moves against the corner of Bull's like he wants to say something, but words are difficult. Instead, he exposes his neck and guides Bull's face into it. “Bull.”
He's sure he knows what Dorian wants, but he has to make sure. “You want another bruise?”
Dorian finds his voice. “Yes, bite me. Mark me, amatus.”
Bull bites down where Dorian's shoulder meets his neck, and Dorian yells, but holds him tighter, the roll of his hips becoming faster, more erratic. He sucks hard at the skin, pinches it with his teeth and soothes with his tongue, as Dorian gets even louder.
He's so sensitive, so responsive, and Bull knows he's almost gone. He's barely managing to keep himself seated, and Bull has to hold him tight to stop his cock slipping out.
“Come for me, kadan,” he says, and he can taste the hint of blood where he's broken the skin under his mouth, knows Dorian will be happy to have a scab to go with an impressive bruise right under his collar.
Dorian doesn't sob, but it's a close thing as his body spasms and he comes all over Bull's stomach, his own cock, nails digging into his neck hard enough to leave little moon marks in the skin.
It's easy to follow Dorian over the edge, his hips still moving through the sensation, and Bull thrusts up into him half a dozen times and he's gone too, emptying into him and growling into his neck.
They come down slowly, sinking into the sweat-soaked afterwards, breathing just out of time. Bull smooths his hand down his back and kisses his temple. They both like to lie together after, still connected as their bodies thrum with residual sensation.
“You okay?”
“M'good,” Dorian murmurs, settling against Bull's chest.
They have always had this. Even when Dorian didn't stay, when it was just sex for sex's sake, they always lingered together in the aftermath, catching their breath and just existing as two bodies in a world of just them. Now, unlike then, it doesn't end, not really, until they leave the room and rejoin the world at large.
Dorian's breathing changes, and Bull knows he's falling asleep. The pillows at his back are comfortable, and Dorian's weight is sure and steady, and he's not sure he wants to move yet. He kisses the top of his head again, and allows himself to rest his face against his lover's, breathing becoming even again in the dwindling firelight. Sleep creeps on him and he doesn't fight it, body still connected with Dorian as they slip under within moments of each other.
---
Dawn is breaking over the Frostbacks when Dorian wakes, can sense the light creeping in through the window without opening his eyes.
The fire must have survived the night, because the air is cool but not biting. He's still warm, though, and as consciousness gathers he realises he never left Bull's lap. He snuggles into his chest, pulls his arms against him from where they'd dropped around him as he slept, and listens to the slow, steady beat of his heart.
It takes long minutes for Dorian to register the rest of his body. His legs don't hurt, despite the position he's slept in, his neck isn't cricked, and— oh. Iron Bull's cock is still inside him.
He cracks his eyes open then, and shifts experimentally; he's well and truly seated, feels the tug and the sensation of fullness when he tries to move. Bull begins to stir from sleep as he shifts again, and reaches back with one hand to feel where their bodies connect. There's still oil there, but the nights are short at this time of year, so they probably haven't slept more than a few hours.
His body has shrunk, or at least made an attempt at it, and he can feel how Bull's flaccid cock has been squeezed by his hole. He can feel his own cock stirring at the thought.
“Morning.”
Bull's awake now, hand smoothing down his back. Dorian rests his head back against his chest, kisses the part of Bull's jaw he can reach, and allows himself to savour the sensation as Bull comes to realisation.
“I'm still inside you,” he says eventually, surprised. “I was gonna move you, Dorian, I'm sorry.”
“It's alright.” He eases back, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms out to the side and up over his head in a dramatic arc. Bull takes the opportunity to run his huge hands down his sides, too firm to tickle.
“You feeling okay?”
“I feel good,” he says, hooks his hands around Bull's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. It's slow and languid, gentle but teasing at something more.
The thought he has isn't new; he's had it before, daydreamed about it in the haze of orgasm on the verge of sleep. Something he could only have fantasised about with Bull, too intimate and too impossible before.
“Let's fuck again.”
“Sure, big guy, I'll take care of you.” He brushes Dorian's hair back from his forehead with one large hand, smiling gently at him. “Maybe we'll go to the bathhouse, it's probably early enough to be empty.”
That's not what he means, and he makes his point by squeezing his muscles. Bull grunts.
“Oh, you want to just go again,” he says approvingly, and shifts around, jostling them. He makes an attempt to lift Dorian's hips, and grunts again. “Looks like I'm not going anywhere. I'm trapped.”
Dorian laughs. “I can remedy that.”
He squeezes again, then relaxes, then squeezes. He's gratified when he feels Bull's cock stir inside him.
“You gonna be okay without oil?”
“I'll be fine,” Dorian murmurs, as he takes Bull's face in hand to guide him into a kiss. His lips are deceptively soft, scarred as they are, and he lets Dorian lead it, snaking his tongue past his lips, teeth, to curl against its match.
He rocks his hips gently; it doesn't do much, Bull is quite stuck even as his cock begins to harden inside him. Dorian can feel the pressure on his hole, and it feels strange and good, to have Bull's swelling cock stretching him open.
He squeezes around Bull again as the man drop his hand between them and brushes his knuckles over Dorian's cock. There's semen still between them, some dried, some still sticky where their bodies were pressed together as they slept. It's sordid and a little filthy, and Dorian groans into the kiss.
Bull grips his backside and he's reminded of the mark he sucked into his ass the night before, pain flaring warm and sharp across the skin. Bull mouths along his jaw, and his neck to the other mark, pressing enough to remind Dorian of that one too.
“Got you good last night,” Bull say against his skin. “You're going to love it, or want to kill me.”
Dorian can't imagine the latter, not for Bull giving him exactly what he wanted, and he gives an experimental roll of his hips. Bull's cock is hard enough to allow the motion, his body adjusting to the unfamiliar stretch, the friction of the drag just shy of painful.
A few more rolls, Bull's hips beginning to work against his motion, and it gets easier. He reaches back, and realises their motion has displaced Bull's release from the night before. He groans at the sordid thought of it, and buries his face in Bull's neck, kissing the skin there, smelling the familiar, wonderful morning smell of him.
Their tempo builds, the roll of their hips, the slide of Bull within him, the rub of his cock against Bull's belly. They're a glorious mess, sweat and bruises and hours-old oil and release, but it's perfect.
“Flip me,” Dorian says. Bull grunts, nipping at his ear and tugging the lobe into his mouth. “Flip me and fuck me until you come, Bull.”
Bull manages to tip them back, planting Dorian on his back on the bed and covering him with his body without his cock slipping free, and begins to fuck him in earnest. The bed, a solid wooden thing made especially for mornings like this, stands up admirably to the strain, barely creaking as Bull pounds into him, making Dorian cry out with each thrust inward.
“You're so perfect, Dorian,” Bull says, kissing and nipping at his mouth, his jaw. “So fucking good to me, so beautiful like this.”
Every time the Iron Bull fucks him he feels his magic thrumming through him, the Fade within grasp, pulling at the frayed edges of him as he skirts some gentle oblivion. He digs his heels into Bull's backside and urges him on, fingers digging firmly into his shoulders as they pant and moan, and a spark dances over Dorian's knuckles, crackling purple.
Bull pushes a hand between their bodies and grabs Dorian's cock, stroking him to match his fierce pace, and even though Dorian tries to hold back he's lost, yelling as he flies past the end and empties his release over Bull's hand. Bull keeps stroking him as he fucks him, and the over-stimulation is verging on painful, but it's delicious all the same.
When Bull comes, it's with Dorian whining below him, and limbs gripping him as if he might disappear if he doesn't cling on. Bull's thrusts become erratic with the last pulses of his orgasm, that Dorian can feel deep inside of him, filling him even fuller, making him Bull's beyond any doubt.
“Bull,” he groans, and gives him a sloppy, needy kiss as they shudder through the last of their orgasms. Bull finally sags, but is always so careful, so Dorian presses down on his back, encouraging him to rest on him. Bull goes, and Dorian hums at the curve of his belly and the solid, comforting weight of him. They kiss again, a slide of lips against each other as they pant for breath. He is for the Bull and the Bull is for him, given and received without hesitation.
Eventually Bull eases himself up and pulls out slowly. The loss seems even more strange and vast than usual, but Dorian resists the urge to close his legs. Bull touches his tender hole, checking to see if they were overenthusiastic, but his fingers come away with only his own release on them. He wipes them on the bedsheets and settles beside Dorian.
“Maker, that was some good morning,” Dorian says, warm and satisfied and more in love than he could ever have dreamed. “I'll have to fall asleep on your cock more often.”
Bull laughs, low and rumbling from his chest, and leans in to kiss him.
“This is what it means to be loved... when someone wants to touch you, to be tender...” - Banana Yoshimoto