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"You were kind of an asshole today, Dorian."

Dorian laughs, low in his throat, and continues taking off his boots. "I didn't notice," he says, and drops each boot onto the floor next to Bull's bed. He'd been surprised the first time Bull asked him to keep his things to certain parts of the room, had taken it personally until Bull had explained about too many years in a warzone -- and then he'd been delighted by what he called Bull's "uncharacteristic rigidity".

He rightly knows Bull likes to keep the space around the bed clear.

"You're kind of being an asshole right now," Bull clarifies, and he grabs Dorian's boots and sets them by the door where they're supposed to go.

Dorian laughs again and leans back on his hands, lets his magic work the buckles on his ridiculous tunic. Bull never would've thought he'd find that hot. It's hotter when Dorian's hands are occupied with other things, to be fair, but Bull knows where this is going -- has known since Dorian called him a smelly beast that morning over breakfast, slapped his hand away and told him the bathe. (Krem had buried his face in his palm, muttered something about having the common decency to leave unwilling innocents out of their bedroom games.)

"I think you rather like it," Dorian says, and he's not wrong.

Bull moves to stand in front of him, doing the looming thing Dorian won't admit he's into -- but Bull's got an eye, he knows when Dorian starts to breathe faster, when the flush creeps up his neck, when his pupils dilate. "I think you've been angling for some discipline since you woke up."

"I'd never." Dorian parts the fabric of his tunic with a careful hand, sliding it back off of his shoulders. Bull holds back the grunt of approval he wants to make at the sight of dark unblemished skin, the urge to bite those fucking delectable collarbones. Dorian seems to know anyway, because of course he does, he's a frigging menace, and he lifts a stockinged foot to Bull's thigh. "Move, so I can take my trousers off."

Bull doesn't move, reaches down and catches Dorian's ankle in his hand instead. "Roll over."

Dorian kicks his foot out, or tries to, Bull's grip too solid to allow for much movement.

"Roll over," Bull repeats, and Dorian smirks up at him.

"Make me."

Bull doesn't grin back, but it's a close thing. "Watchword."

"Archon," Dorian says, and then tries to kick him again. Bull sidesteps and Dorian swears when he starts to slide off of the mattress. Bull watches him slip with not insignificant amusement, but keeps his face blank, even when he reaches down and grabs Dorian by the hips, lifts him up onto the center of the bed. Dorian reaches for the tie on his trousers and Bull smacks his hands away, flips Dorian onto his stomach in one easy move, kneels one knee on the mattress between Dorian's legs.

Dorian moans, quiet, and Bull closes his eye against the sound, briefly considers rolling him back over, tugging his trousers down and swallowing his cock -- but Dorian's clearly had a plan since he woke up this morning, and Bull's not going to let a day of effort go to waste. He lays one broad palm against the dip of Dorian's back, curves his other hand around one of Dorian's lovely asscheeks. The leather of Dorian's trousers is thin enough that Bull knows there'll only be the slightest loss of sensation, and when he cups the flesh in his hand and squeezes Dorian breathes out sharply, his back tensing under Bull's touch. Bull presses his fingertips down, massaging in circles, and Dorian lifts himself up on his elbows as much as he's able, hangs his head between his shoulders.

"If I'd wanted a grope, I'd have conscripted one of Cullen's many eager recruits," Dorian says, looking back at Bull.

Bull doesn't get jealous, but Dorian likes it, even if it's for show -- so Bull bares his teeth, drops his head and presses an open-mouthed kiss above his hand splayed across Dorian's back. "You think one of those boys would give you what you need?" He smacks Dorian's ass once, hand closed, and Dorian hisses and drops his head. Bull waits a moment, smacks him again, then rubs his palm across the taut leather.

"'Think they'd know what to do when you're asking for it?" He spreads his fingers and spanks Dorian, the sound loud above Dorian's stuttered breathing. "You think I'd let them get close enough to you to try?" He gets a good rhythm going, slow, spaced out, and Dorian slowly sinks down until his shoulders touch the mattress, a low whine slipping past his lips.

"Take them -- fuck, get these off me," Dorian eventually says between strikes, reaching down to grab at the top of his trousers. Bull rubs his hand against Dorian's ass before tugging Dorian up onto his knees so Dorian can untie the trousers, yank them down over his hips, the swell of his reddened ass. Dorian keeps pulling them down and Bull stops him with a hand on his back, guides him back down on the bed, his trousers around his knees.

"Always so bossy," Bull says, and smacks Dorian on the other cheek, satisfaction welling in his chest at the surprised sound that escapes Dorian's lips, the way his body jumps.

Dorian stretches his hands above his head, twisting them in the comforter, then grinds out, "Bossy and beginning to think you'd rather tease me than -- shit." He jerks when Bull strikes him with his palm, and turns his face against the mattress.

Bull swallows his laugh, spreads his fingers again when he spanks him, five stinging points, and Dorian shudders on the mattress, the sounds he’s making muffled. “Let me hear you,” Bull commands, and stays his hand until Dorian’s head turns -- he makes the most delicate noises, needy, breathing in sharply after each hit.

Dorian’s skin is hot to the touch and Bull’s hand is tingling by the time he next slows, curves both hands around Dorian’s ass, digs his fingertips into each cheek. Dorian’s shaking gently under him, but his breathing’s measured, his grip of the comforter loosening. Bull kisses the base of his spine and Dorian chuckles at the feeling, his voice low, worn out.

“Am I still a beast?” Bull asks, rubbing circles into Dorian’s skin. He should’ve grabbed the muscle salve from his dresser before they started. He’ll grab it in a bit -- he’s gotta enjoy this for a while longer, place careful kisses on each cheek, next to his massaging hands.

“That, and many other things,” Dorian says, pressing his forehead against his arm. He sounds like he’s floating, and Bull stands enough to carefully rearrange Dorian on the bed, head to foot instead of straight across. Bull maneuvers his legs out of his trousers, pulls off his stockings -- sighs as he drops them to the floor, but what else is he gonna do. He’ll deal with it later.

Dorian curls up on his side and wraps his hand around Bull’s wrist. “For now, you’re rather wonderful.”

“Aww.” Bull smiles down at Dorian, who’s too relaxed to complain about the tease in his voice, who stretches on his side and blinks half-lidded eyes like he’s on his way to sleep. Dorian’s fucking gorgeous on even the worst days, but like this, after they’ve done something, he’s riveting. “C’mon, back on your stomach. Let me worship you some more.”

“What a punishment.”

“Yeah, yeah.”