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There were a great many things Bull discovered about Dorian after they started doing whatever it is they did, but perhaps the most surprising turned out to be that Dorian was… quiet, so quiet it was almost disturbing.
Bull had to do twice his usual talking while in bed with him because in some moments it could seem like something was going wrong, like Bull was going wrong. The only reassurance was the fact that Dorian came to his room himself, time after time, always fully sober except for that first time when they were both more than a little tipsy and horny. All the weeks of shameless flirting finally catching up with them, resulting in Dorian pushing Bull against the wall behind the tavern, kissing him silly. At that moment, Bull couldn’t gather enough will to say no. He was a weak, weak man.
And Dorian’s body was definitely sending all the right signals, but Bull was a little bit paranoid when it came to someone else’s pleasure; it was just his thing. He couldn’t enjoy himself if he didn’t know for sure, one hundred percent, that the other person was at least as much into this as he was. It was a normal thing, in his opinion, but he knew that surprisingly few people shared this viewpoint.
Considering that usually Dorian couldn’t shut up for the life of him, always had to have the last word, using his sharp wit at every turn just as skillfully as he used his staff in battle, it was rather disconcerting.
On top of that, Dorian went out of his way to hide his face – against Bull’s shoulder, in a pillow, behind his own bent elbow. So yeah, it was pretty hard to judge whether a man was truly enjoying himself when you couldn’t see his Maker damned face or hear his voice. And, don’t get him wrong, Bull always made sure to get Dorian off, but, no matter what anyone else said, getting someone to come was not all there was to sex. It was a popular belief that an orgasm was the ultimate goal, a blasted Golden City in the world of sex, that you just had to reach to see the Maker’s face, but Bull would just roll his eyes, hard, if anyone tried to convince him of it. Some people just wouldn’t know a good fucking if it came and hit them with a ten-foot pole.
“Okay?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time. Dorian just reached back, fumbling a little to find his hand and give it a short squeeze. Bull had come to a conclusion that this was what Dorian considered a proper form of giving consent. He had to make do with what he got.
So, Dorian was mostly silent, to the point where Bull felt weird for making any noises himself. On the other hand, he just had to fill the silence with something, so he talked.
“Look at you, all spread out for me.” This sort of thing came to him naturally. He loved telling the person he was with just how much he reveled in everything going on at the moment, every little detail that he personally found arousing, pleasing, enjoyable. And Dorian was all three, times one hundred, every time, every minute they were together. The notion was actually scary if one bothered giving it thought. Bull didn’t. “So good, taking me all the way, so pretty.”
Dorian was kneeling on the bed, his legs spread just right, not so wide as to strain, just enough to take Bull’s cock comfortably. His face was buried in the sheets, back arching. Bull’s knees bracketed his legs as opposed to pushing them apart, giving him a surer stance. He was going slow. He liked going slow, with Dorian especially; liked seeing Dorian getting sweaty with the strain of holding the position for so long, pressing back to meet Bull’s thrusts a trifle desperately. They had all night after all, and as far as he knew the Inquisitor wasn’t planning on venturing somewhere wild and full of Red Templars or bears or possessed nugs or whatever early in the morning. He loved having the time to go slow. Maybe he was getting old. Who knew. Bull was in no hurry, and he clasped his hands around Dorian’s hips, forcing him to stay still, and just take. That earned him a low frustrated whine. Bull smiled, pleased with himself. The whine was inspiring. He could do this all night. He would do this all night if he had any say in it. And he did.
Dorian wasn’t a small man, but Bull was huge – it’s what you got for being born a Qunari. Bull was aware of that, and that’s why sometimes people he was with seemed fragile, in a way. That’s why his hands seemed to span Dorian’s hips almost completely, stilling him most effectively.
But Dorian was not fragile. He was dangerous, and wild, and so fucking quiet it set Bull’s teeth on edge with the desire to make him scream, to make him lose control. If he thought about it, the restraint was not that surprising. Dorian could appear hotheaded, with his clever words, with his fire spells, with his northern appearance – but only at first glance; and Bull glanced at him often in past months, since their very first meeting in Redcliffe.
The pretty ones are always the worst.
If only he’d known back then.
Dorian was getting impatient, judging from the way he tried to push back against Bull’s hands holding him in place, from the way he reached back with one hand and tried to pry one of Bull’s palms from his hip. It absolutely delighted Bull when Dorian got passive-aggressively bossy. He chuckled and let go of one hip in order to take that wandering hand into his own and pin it to the bed, leaning over Dorian’s back more closely. Dorian’s answering growl was rewarding to hear.
“Are you planning on fucking me anytime soon?” Dorian went for sarcasm like it was sturdy and familiar armor, protecting him from any threat, real or imagined.
Bull decided to ignore the jab for now and get straight to the point.
“You’ll have to do the work if you want it faster,” he said with a smirk, not that Dorian could see it. Bull pulled out of him, leisurely, giving himself time to admire the view and noting the way Dorian pushed back a little, like he was reluctant to let go.
Bull leaned back as comfortably as he could on his haunches. He knew his bad knee would give him trouble later, but he was willing to pay this price. He coaxed Dorian to lean back in his lap, his back to Bull’s chest, but was not giving any further help. Dorian looked back, for the first time this evening, probably, and glared at him. Bull shrugged.
“Come on, big guy. Do your thing.”
“You’re such an asshole,” the words sounded like music to Bull’s ears. He was so fucked.
Be glad I didn’t make you beg, he wanted to say, but held his tongue. They would work towards that, eventually. Bull was a patient man, especially when the goal was worth the wait.
Dorian reached back to wrap his fingers around the base of Bull’s cock, steadying him, and then began slowly sinking down. He let his head fall back against Bull’s shoulder, inched his legs a little bit further apart as he eased himself down the length of his cock.
It was excruciating. It was heady and everything Bull could’ve wanted in that moment. Something pulled at his chest as he turned his head a bit, nuzzling Dorian just behind his ear, where his hair was short and prickly. He smelled nice, a barely there hint of some unnecessarily expensive Orlesian stuff he used to style his hair into a horrifyingly perfect submission that could survive the rain on the Storm Coast and the wind in the Hissing Wastes. But, apparently, not the fucking for any prolonged amount of time, because right now Dorian’s hair was a sweaty mess, clinging to his forehead, sticking on top of his head in all directions. Dorian would probably bitch about it later, but there and then he couldn’t care less, it seemed. That knowledge was remarkably satisfying.
Bull put his hands on Dorian’s hips – lightly, this time, just to feel the smooth skin and the strain of muscles as Dorian moved in a steady up-and-down, and a bit back-and-forth, motion. He was slow, at first, but quickly began picking up pace to his liking. His cock was hard and leaking; Bull decided against touching it just yet. When Dorian tried to bring his own hand to his cock, Bull just caught his wrist gently, pulling it back between their bodies, then catching his other hand to hold both wrists together in his palm behind the small of Dorian’s back.
That earned him a heated swearing in Tevene.
“Don’t be impatient, Dorian. You should learn to enjoy life’s pleasures in an unhurried, mature manner.”
“Fuck you, Bull. Just… fuck me.”
“So elaborate and clever, as always.”
Any other time, Dorian would’ve surely set him on fire for something like this. But right now he only sped up, trying to move his hips just so Bull would be hitting the right spot inside him.
Bull didn’t know how much time has passed; only that he enjoyed every second of it, every hitched breath he pulled from Dorian with a well-timed push of his hips, a scrape of teeth against his neck and shoulder (the one Dorian liked to leave bare in his ridiculous Tevinter outfits). He let go of Dorian’s wrists, finally, to still his hips again one last time for the evening, pushing himself up, pushing Dorian down, to come inside him as deep as he could. Dorian’s hand was on his own cock when Bull started paying attention again. He joined his palm to Dorian’s, and it took just a few firm strokes and a sweep of thumb over the head for Dorian to arch his back and come silently.
Bull was sure no one could be this quiet during an orgasm. If his hand wasn’t covered in Dorian’s spunk, he could’ve sworn the man didn’t reach completion.
Dorian all but collapsed forward, sliding from his lap, burying his face in the pillows with a barely there sigh. Maybe it was a content sigh. Who the fuck knew, what with Dorian hiding his face. Maker forbid someone seeing or hearing him come undone. Bull was not frustrated. He wasn’t. He just had amazing sex. Mind-blowing sex. He was happy and sated. Calm and satisfied. He was.
Bull stood from the bed, noting that Dorian seemed inclined to stay where he was, as opposed to his usual springing up like the bed caught fire as soon as they were both finished. Bull cleaned up a bit with a cloth, and then turned back to bed, where Dorian just lay, looking so good that he had a fleeting thought about another round.
But he dismissed it. He had to be cautious, he knew it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew. Maybe because he was a good Ben-Hassrath. Maybe because he was getting better at reading Dorian. Or maybe he just imagined everything he thought he knew about Dorian. He suspected that was part of the reason he was so interested in the man. He thought about all this distractedly, approaching the bed slowly and lying beside Dorian, not quite touching him, pulling the blanket over them both. He felt like he was trying not to spook a wild animal that came to his house stepping about warily, ready to bolt at any moment, to run away and never come back. But Bull was good at being cautious, good at being patient. This time, the wait was almost agonizing, but the reason for it too enticing to pass up.
Dorian turned to him a bit, his eyes closed, his hand coming to rest lightly against his side, barely touching.
Bull could wait.