"I love the stars," Bull says, as he all but drags Dorian out of the gate at Skyhold one night, into the woods. "They make me feel so..." He grunts, low and pleased. "Insignificant."
Dorian shakes his head, looking skyward at the sliver of moon in the sky, at the stars that Bull is dragging him out on this ridiculous camping trip to go see. He's not sure why he agreed, except Bull just got back from a week out with the Inquisitor, and Dorian found himself unpleasantly at a loss for what to do for much of the time.
It would be far less ridiculous if his and Bull's private relationship consisted of something more than two nights after their usual evening drinks at Herald's Rest--which is where good ideas go to die, as far as Dorian is concerned--and one subsequent morning. But that is it: two sloppy times in the dark, and one slightly less sloppy time with Bull painted red and orange with the sunrise and both of them reckless with the knowledge that Bull would be gone in an hour, possibly never to come back.
(It's not that Dorian thinks of it that way, so much as he's aware of the dangers, and everyone knew they were setting out to kill a dragon, besides.)
But Bull came back, and Dorian feels rather foolish now, about having worried at all. He wants to drown his foolishness in that Ferelden dog piss that they call ale, but Bull's decided that a night under the stars is in order, so, here they are.
"Kadan?" Bull asks, the sound of his footsteps pausing.
Dorian looks away from the sky, directly at Bull, and wants very badly to pretend like he doesn't know what kadan means. He shouldn't--no Tevinter nobility in their right minds would admit to knowing Qunlat--but he does, and the fact that Bull's saying it to him already makes him want to run as far and fast as his feet will take him. "What does that mean?"
Bull gives Dorian an indecipherable look, then presses his lips into a thin line. "My heart."
"Ah, we're at the endearment stage, are we?" Dorian asks, holding tightly on the fear spiraling in his mind so it doesn't show at all. "Shall I call you amatus?"
He's watching Bull, so it's not a surprise when all at once Bull shifts and is right there, grabbing the leather crossing Dorian's chest, pushing him backward, dragging him backward, until Dorian's gasping from the rough feel of evergreen bark digging into his back and Bull's pressing a kiss against Dorian's lips. Still, he gasps, still he's surprised by Bull's intensity, by Bull's need when Bull pushes a leg between Dorian's and grinds their hips together and oh, yes, that is the thing Dorian needed. That, right there, the hot, hard feel of Bull's cock pressed against him, even through layers of clothes.
Dorian groans into the kiss when Bull's cold hands find their way inside his shirt, groans again at the way Bull pulls at Dorian's nipple rings, stretching his nipples out until Dorian's breaking the kiss, gasping, turning his face away because he's going to--to embarrass himself if this continues.
Bull just takes it as invitation to pull down Dorian's collar, to pull Dorian away from the tree enough that he may press his lips against Dorian's neck and suck. It's gentle at first, and then all at once he starts to suck hard and Dorian's eyes roll back, his knees go week, his cock throbs and he's trembling. He rests on nothing but Bull's thigh now, hips rocking back and forth against that strong, hard flesh with not a care in the world about anything but how badly he needs Bull in this moment.
"Please," Dorian begs, knowing from the last three times that Bull won't give him what he wants until he asks. Be specific. "Your mouth--"
"Yes," Bull growls, like it's what he's been waiting for. Maybe it is.
In the next few seconds there's a scramble that ends up with Dorian holding tightly to the tree branch above his head--Bull put his hands there--and Bull on his knees, forehead against Dorian's belly as he sucks every bit of Dorian's length down. Dorian tries not to let his eyes cross, but it's hard, when he can feel Bull's throat around him, feel Bull's gag reflex slowly, slowly coming to life the more the head of Dorian's cock bumps against the back of his throat.
Bull comes off of Dorian's cock panting, and wraps his hand around it instead, and Dorian's eyes really are crossing, now, and his fingers dig into the tree branch while his knees shake with the effort to remain standing. "You fall, I stop," Bull says, the words less a threat and more promise. If Bull stops this, he will start something else.
Dorian sucks in breath as best he can and tries to imagine his knees as steel, unyielding, but it's far easier to just hold on with his hands when Bull leans in again, licking and then following with teeth and Dorian is going to die, this is it: he's going to die and Bull will have to tell them the way it happened and that will be it.
He doesn't, though, and Bull grips Dorian's hips, holding him in place as he starts to carefully, carefully, give Dorian a blow job with teeth. The pain is--it's a different kind of intensity, a type that feels like it must be raking along Dorian's bones, waking up things in him that he hasn't thought about in years, since he was a rebellious teenager learning Qunlat to spite his father and for supposedly academic purposes.
There's nothing academic about the way Dorian wants to hear Bull speak it, about the part of him that wants Bull to bend him over and hiss words that he shouldn't know in his ear. Nothing anywhere near academic about the coiled tight feeling in his balls as Bull keeps going.
The very opposite of academic, when Bull looks up at Dorian, when Bull whisper-growls kadan and sighs on Dorian's cock and Dorian comes, just like that.
He maybe loses a little time, but when he pays attention again, he's still gripping the damn branch and the cool night air seems a lot more important than it was a minute ago. Only Bull's got an arm around Dorian and he's trying to get him to let go, I got you. Dorian nods, head lolling, and lets go, slumping down into Bull's arms, not anywhere near coherent enough to care about the fact that Bull is outright carrying him.
Maybe he'll care more in the morning.
It is, to be fair, far easier to care less when Dorian wakes up with Bull curled up behind him and still at least half in a haze from last night. Bull really meant it when he said fucking outdoors was good for him, and it's an idea that makes Dorian smile as he leans back against Bull's bulk and warmth.
Despite the lingering good feelings from the night before, the morning is cold and Dorian can't help but complain once they're both properly awake and Bull coaxing life back into the fire--he already told Dorian not to help, said he needed the practice. They haven't bothered with clothes, yet, just the blankets and the fire against the early morning chill. "You know, if you considered bringing a tent next time, I might consider doing this again."
"You didn't seem to mind the lack of a tent last night," Bull says, in his rumbly morning voice. "Is it only when there's the danger of being fucked in the light of day that you mind?" His tone is mild enough that for a moment Dorian doesn't process that it's a jibe.
When he does, though, he can't stop the frown. Bull's more right than Dorian wants him to be, as per usual. But that doesn't mean Dorian has to back down--quite the opposite. "There's something I've always wanted to do, and which is easier both out-of-doors and in the morning," he says, before he can marshall any arguments against himself.
"Yeah?" Bull asks, and the fire has come to life now, and crackles the way wood fires do. "Lay it on me."
Dorian knows that he should, by all rights, ask. Knows that some things aren't things which should be sprung unawares on the people who are willing to fuck you, but also knows that he does not, at this point, particularly care. He points to the ruin of stone on the other side of the fire, which is half-covered by dirt, barely visible, from some long ago house outside of Skyhold. "There. Kneel, face away from the fire."
Bull raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything as he moves to obey.
"No," Dorian says with great relish, letting his blanket fall away, skin prickling at the morning coolness that he's too focused to truly notice. "I'm not going to tell you what I'm about to do."
Either Bull has a good idea of what Dorian's about to do or he doesn't really care, because he kneels on the stone and dirt without complaint and sits back on his heels, head bowed a little. The sight of him makes Dorian's breath catch for a moment. Beautiful muscles of his back, and the way they ripple when a bug lands on one shoulder and Bull shrugs just slightly.
But Dorian's got more pressing things to worry about, since now that he's paying attention, he's uncomfortably aware of exactly how full his bladder is. He stands behind Bull, close enough that he can touch Bull's horns without leaning forward at all if he likes, feet shoulder width apart, and doesn't allow himself to think, just to do what comes naturally, pulling the ring in the head of his cock down a little so his stream is as uninterrupted as possible.
At the first touch of hot piss to his skin--right between his shoulder blades--Bull gasps, sharp and quick. He doesn't turn, but his hands, at his sides, dig into the shallow dirt and Dorian doesn't quite know how to interpret that.
Dorian might worry about it, but the sight of his piss on Bull's muscles, the sharp smell of it in the morning, the sound of it on the stone and dirt just about makes Dorian too hard to finish emptying his bladder. He lets go of the ring in his cock and as his cock hardens, the stream moves up Bull's back. When it hits the back of Bull's neck, Bull--turns, lets it run down his chest, Dorian's eyes eyes roll back into his head and his knees go a little weak and he stumbles forward and--Bull's moaning, saying kadan again, damn him, and all at once Dorian's leaning against him and watching the last of his piss run down Bull's stomach, over his cock, which is--just as hard as Dorian's. Harder.
Fuck, Dorian thinks, staring at the sight, dumbstruck. I should've known, he thinks, and all at once has a pressing need to be anywhere but here. "I'll see you back at Skyhold," he says, his voice less steady than he wants it to be but more steady than he expects, and untangles himself from Bull.
He's busy pulling on his boots when Bull catches him, pulls both boots off, and drags Dorian back over to the other side of the fire, back over to the dirt that smells of piss and the stone where some has even puddled and oh god, Dorian's hard again, so hard he can barely even see straight.
"You could've asked," Bull growls, as he pushes Dorian onto the ground, as Dorian's arse half rests in the puddle of his own goddamned piss. "You will ask next time, won't you?"
Bull doesn't growl the words, but Dorian still feels compelled to answer. "I don't see why--"
"You won't disgust me into leaving you," Bull says, and this time the words are a growl, low and dangerous. "Accept that, and ask next time, or don't, and I'll make you fucking regret it."
Dorian nods. There's nothing else he can do. Deny that that was his intent? It's too obvious. And he's still too hard to think, especially with Bull looming over him, with the anger in Bull's eyes and the danger inherent in Bull's hulking form.
"Good. Now, do you want me to fuck?"
"Yes," Dorian says, whines, arching toward Bull's hand even as Bull turns Dorian onto his side, grabs Dorian's hand, brings it down so Dorian's cupping his own arse.
"Finger yourself for me," he says, low and rumbly but not at all a growl this time. He's not angry, which is a fact that does far more to make Dorian's pulse race than it should. "And don't even tell me that you actually need something more than spit to ease the way, because I know you well enough to laugh at the idea."
Dorian doesn't argue, brings his hand back to his mouth and then without thought to anything but doing what Bull says and the need clawing at his mind presses his middle finger inside of himself. The feel, the sight, of the sunlight on his skin makes it difficult to think in ways he wouldn't have imagined possible, and words just won't come, no matter how badly Dorian wants to speak.
"Good," Bull says, voice warm, pleased, and leans down to suck the head of Dorian's cock into his mouth, to pull at the ring with his tongue, his teeth. "Ah, kadan. Never thought you'd let me have so much of you, so soon."
Part of Dorian wants to be horrified, but the boy who secretly studied the Qun, the boy who secretly wanted them in all their beastly glory, revels. He fucks his finger deeper and lets his head rest on his arm as Bull leans in and sucks and Maker, this--this is what, who, Dorian was made for, he thinks.
It's a foolish thought, but it is, perhaps, a thought more honest than he is ready to examine.
Lucky for him, Bull is good at what he does, and between the finger in his arse and Bull's mouth, he allows himself to come undone just as quickly as he can.