Chapter Text
Lavellan walks into his quarters and drops everything he was carrying.
There, seated on his bed -- which is too large, and too soft, and too annoying in every way, he sleeps on the floor -- is several hundred pounds of qunari warrior, hunkered over with his elbows on his knees and his head ducked so he doesn't scrape his horns on the canopy. (Lavellan recalls, upon their initial meeting, idly commenting 'nice rack' and hearing his booming laughter for the first time.) He glances towards the door, wondering if maybe he's wandered into the wrong room by mistake -- Skyhold's large, that's possible, isn't it? But there's no mistaking the three flights of stairs and two doors you have to get through to get to the Inquisitor's private chambers.
"So, listen," Bull says, turning towards him. "I've caught the hints. I get what you're saying. You want to ride the Bull."
Lavellan stares, feeling a slow creeping warmth inching its way up his neck. He's dark enough that a blush is not immediately apparent.
"Uh," he says, eloquently.
Bull hauls himself upright, the tip of his left horn catching on one of the curtains hanging from the bed's canopy and brushing it out of the way. "Can't say I blame you," he continues, approaching Lavellan casually, as if they're in the tavern having a friendly discussion about strategy or whether shemlen piss-water can accurately be called whiskey. "But I'm not sure you know what you're asking. Not sure if you're ready for it."
His approach may be casual, but it takes so long for Lavellan's head to catch up with his eyes that it seems like he just teleported halfway across the room. He's there, all of a sudden, tall, impossibly broad, like staring down a mountain. Which, to be fair -- Lavellan has kicked down two mountains so far, but neither of them could talk or hit back or swing a sword, so there's that. And, to be even more fair, he's not staring down anything. He's looking up. Way, way up. This close, it's apparent that he comes up... roughly nipple-high on Bull.
And speaking of, remember how Bull never wears a shirt? Remember that lengthy conversation he had with Sera, where they considered how qunari got dressed to begin with, and how he'd discussed it later with Krem, who had deadpanned that qunari don't believe in shirts and are agnostic on the subject of pants --
Bull is looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.
"I, uh," Lavellan begins. "Erm, that is." He gestures with his empty hands so violently he would have flung those papers out the balcony had he not dropped them immediately upon entering. "Which is -- to say, uh -- ah -- I, you... uh... you..." He blinks several times in quick succession. His brain keeps groping for words, any words, that when arranged in order will resemble some sort of sense. "Ready for... what?"
Bull chuckles, shakes his head, and spreads his hands magnanimously in a 'no harm, no foul' gesture. "That's what I thought." He rolls his neck and shoulders, steps slightly out of Lavellan's way. "Don't worry about it, boss."
He's turning, heading towards the stairs. Lavellan's mouth goes dry, and inwardly there's an even tinier elf screeching and pulling out his hair and stamping his feet, pointing emphatically towards the exit and demanding that he do! something!! about this, but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out and he has to close it again, then repeat the process all over again. Bull is halfway there when he chokes out, "Wait. No. Stop."
Bull does stop, and turns halfway around to look at him -- he could go either way. Come closer, walk away. He raises the eyebrow above his remaining eye.
How many times had Lavellan fantasized about this exact scenario, or something like it? Not just Bull coming to him, but Bull coming to him. This is... certainly, this is not how he pictured it. In his head, there had been more... ravishing. In an immediate sense. He'd been pushed into a wall, or bent over a desk, or hauled into a lap, or clambered over in his tent at night, and then things had sort of amorphously gone on from there in a sort of vague question mark in his head. Like, Ah Yes, and then The Sex, of course, the Thing that I have Done Many Times and Know How To Do.
Obviously he knows how to have sex. Obviously. You put the one thing inside of the other. Duh.
He opens his mouth again, this time to try to say something, anything, to sound confident and assured the way he does in his official capacity as Inquisitor, or seductive in the way he'd always hoped he would be when the time came, but what he blurts out instead is honesty.
"You're right," he says. "I don't know what I'm doing." There's a pause, heavy with opportunity. "But I -- but I want to."
He's looking directly at Bull's face rather than at his neck or massive shoulders or sculpted pecs the way he would normally be inclined to, so he sees the little play of features there, the faint quirk of his mouth, his eye glimmering with interest and approval. But though he turns back to him, he says, "See, you say that, but... you really don't know what that means."
Lavellan stares up at him, trying to catch up. He's typically quick on his feet, so it doesn't take him long to cycle through what he knows that is relevant here. It's never escaped his notice how many partners Bull has had, first at Haven and then in Skyhold. Mostly women, but a few men here or there, too, even that one surface dwarf from the Marches who claimed neither. He's heard the way they talk about it, other women gossiping about how so-and-so was walking funny the next day, and then... speculating... about the details.
Bull is right again; he's not entirely sure what he's talking about.
"So why don't you show me?" he says, shocked to hear how calm his voice is. How bold.
Bull huffs out a chuckle, breath heavy like a bear's, and before Lavellan can react he's taken one step closer and grabbed both of his wrists in one of his massive hands, lifting them above Lavellan's hand and pinning them to the wall behind him. Lavellan's breath catches in his throat as an electric current jolts through his body as surely as if he'd magicked himself. Something totally foreign to him stirs between his leg, a single warm throb of desire like he's never felt before, and he is shocked by both the suddenness and the strength with which he immediately responds to this.
Bull leans in close, very close, his face mere inches from his. So close that when he speaks, Lavellan can feel his breath, hot and soft, against his face -- his breath clear, no trace of liquor on it. He's stone cold sober when he gazes down at him with that hungry look in his eye, so close Lavellan can see the beat of his pulse in one of the massive veins in his tree trunk neck.
"Last chance," he murmurs, voice soft in contrast to the hard, heavy weight of the rest of him, the faint squeeze of his hand around Lavellan's wrist, a single hand all he needs to hold him steady in place. Without magic, Lavellan would never be able to fight him off.
If he wanted to fight him off.
He clears his throat and swallows so hard he can feel the lump go down. His heart hammers in his chest and his throat so hard he can practically feel it in his head. Every hair on his body is standing up in anticipation the way it does just before a storm, when there's lightning in the air that he could reach out and grab in his fist. But he can't reach and grab this storm -- it's got him by the wrists, pinned him to the wall like a butterfly in a glass case.
He wants to be pinned.
"Won't you... please stay," he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.
Bull chuckles again, a low rumble, and for what feels like an eternity he does not move, just stands there staring down at him directly in the face, his one good eye boring into both of Lavellan's luminous eyes. Something tender and desirous passes over his face like a shadow, and then his left arm wraps around his back to literally sweep Lavellan off his feet. His right hand never releases his wrists, but manipulates them out of the way as he hauls him the few feet over to the bed, which he tosses him onto unceremoniously so that Lavellan lands on his back with a faint whump, just hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs again. He opens his mouth but finds he has nothing to say, but before he can close it Bull has reached out and gripped him by the jaw, his thumb sliding between Lavellan's full lips and pressing into his mouth.
He jolts, this time a wave of fire crashing through his belly as he is instantly aroused, his head tipping up and his mouth opening instinctively as the rest of him goes limp. Bull looks over him with a slow, considering glance, and nods his head as he begins to stroke over Lavellan's tongue with that single digit. "That's what I thought, too," he says, the rest of his fingers lightly stroking his jaw like you might pet an affectionate cat.
Lavellan moans once, quick -- "Ah," just like that.
"Take off your shirt," Bull commands. "Let me see."
His hands reach up like they have a mind of their own. He had thought he might hesitate, need time to consider every action carefully to weigh the pros and cons, but instead he responds to him immediately. His fingers work on the heavy clasps, and it feels like there are approximately twenty thousand of the damn things holding this straight-jacket onto him, but soon enough he's fumbled enough of them open that he can tug the rest apart and shrug out of the heavy casual shirt he wears that covers him from hip to halfway up his neck and all the way down his arms, sexlessly and prudishly.
Bull won't let go of him, but his eye travels down the length of Lavellan's body, taking note of his slim, compact figure. His eyes linger on every scar, no judgement on his face, just something closer to tender curiosity and approval at the signs of a body that's spent any amount of time on a battlefield, mage or no. His eye traces over the subtle lean muscle under his skin, the curve of his bicep, the faint outline of his abs in the center of his tiny waist. Lavellan is largely self-conscious about his youth, but he knows it shows in the taut firmness of the form underneath his clothes.
"Nice," the Iron Bull says, the tone so typically, casually Bull that Lavellan would laugh if he weren't so... distracted.
His hands reach for the lacings of his trousers but Bull slaps his knuckles hard enough to sting. "Nah," he says. "Not yet."
He releases his hold on Lavellan's jaw and reaches to his own waist, unbuckling the massive buckle holding his belt around his hips and sliding it out of the loops with the soft whirr of leather against fabric. Rather than discard it, he loops it in his hand and grasps Lavellan's wrists again, hauling them over his head and inside the loop of leather, the metal chiming softly as he slips the tongue through and tightens it all the way so that Lavellan's wrists knock together, arms tightening over his head. Bull shoves the post through the leather, locking it in place, and releases him, watches the slowly spreading shock and arousal over Lavellan's beautiful face.
"Better," he comments. He trails his fingertips over the side of Lavellan's face, tender as any normal lover might, and then further still down his long, graceful neck and over the flat plane of his chest. He keeps his finger pressed, slightly too hard, right in the center, tracing a heavy line between his pecs and down the center of his ribcage to his belly, where his hand spreads out flat over his taut skin and presses experimentally with the palm. He slides that hand to the side and lets it be joined by his other hand, both now wrapping around his waist loosely but still touching each other, fingertip to fingertip. "Mm," he breathes, accompanied with a faint hissing intake of breath as Lavellan stiffens and gasps, wildly aroused at the feeling of his slight body enfolded in just Bull's heavy, rough hands, his thumbs pressed to his belly, fingers crooking into the small of his back to lift him and haul him down the bed towards himself. His hands inch down from waist to Lavellan's hips, resting loosely there, though he can still feel the warmth through the supple leather of his trousers.
"You're sure you want this?" Bull asks. "If you want me to stop, say so, and I'll stop. And we'll never talk about it again."
Is he actually crazy? Stop? Now? He shakes his head but Bull still does not move and it occurs to Lavellan that he is waiting specifically for a verbal answer. For him to express his consent in clear terms.
"I want this," he says, forcing every word to come out clearly and neatly, so there can be no misunderstanding him. His voice is husky with desire, and low. "I want you."
Bull releases him and Lavellan lets out a choked whine -- why, why? He just said yes! -- but he is quickly rewarded for his obedience by Bull sitting on the edge of the bed and hauling him over his massive lap, Lavellan's thighs over one of his, his ribs over the other, and his belly in between, pressed so tightly that he can feel Bull's large and growing erection as it tents his pants. "Ah," he says, and then, louder, "ah!" as Bull grips Lavellan's sturdy leather trousers and, casually, as if they were made of paper, rips them open. Gripping the ruined remnants, he yanks them down over Lavellan's ass all the way to his knees, exposing his backside to the freezing mountain air of his quarters -- an icy shock.
Lavellan's whole face goes hot, and he's sure that he's blushing from neck to the tips of his ears, though he can't see himself. Bull makes a pleased rumble, his hand sliding now over Lavellan's bare back and taking the time to trace every one of his scars individually and with great appreciation. Those little touches soon turn into petting strokes, like one might run their hand over a cat, starting from between Lavellan's shoulderblades to the small of his back and gradually growing longer, moving lower, until his hand rests over the curve of his ass and gropes there. Lavellan groans, lowering his head between his bound arms, his breath already coming out in hot heated pants as Bull lets that meaty hand explore, stroke, grip, squeeze, knead. He uses both hands to grip either one of the elf's cheeks and pry them apart, then release them so he can watch his ass clap, his cock twitching against Lavellan's belly.
Bull pulls his hand back and cracks him once against the ass. Smack.
Lavellan cries out, his whole body jerking forward, head up and eyes wide in shock, and Bull reels back and slaps him again on the other cheek hard enough for the sting to travel all the way up Lavellan's spine. Bull reaches back a third time and then a fourth, this time hitting the same spots until Lavellan is whimpering and squirming in his lap, inadvertantly grinding against his cock. Then he stops.
"Good?" Bull says, then adds, "Nod or shake your head."
Lavellan is glad for the specific instruction; he's not sure he could have adequately scraped a word together to answer that, not even a three-letter one. He nods emphatically, his lips parted, eyes half-hooded.
"If you want me to stop," Bull says again, "then say no, or say stop, and I'll stop."
Lavellan is not quite sure why he feels the need to keep saying what seems fairly obvious, but something about it -- the constant reassurance, the frequent reminder that he does not have to endure anything he does not want to -- is... comforting. He feels secure. Safe, despite the fact that his hands are tied and he's bent over his lap with his pants tangled around his knees in the most compromising position he's ever been in in his life, and that Bull could snap him in half with one hand.
Bull reaches back and swats him across the ass once more, then continues, slowly, methodical, but growing stronger with every smack until Lavellan is whining, tears in his eyes blurring his vision so that he has to lower his head and squeeze his eyes shut, stiff sobs occasionally racking his chest as he struggles to deal with the pain of it. It's humiliating. It's wonderful. He does not understand why this is so wildly arousing to him, why he desperately wants the qunari to continue, to smack that ass until it burns and stings in the exposed air, flesh bright red and heated.
But he does stop after a time, reaching down to rub and grope his abused flesh, fingers a light touch but even that gentleness is enough to sting. "Ah," Lavellan cries again, chest heaving as he sucks in air through his clenched teeth.
"You're a good little boy, aren't you?" Bull murmurs, affectionate, gentle, a sharp contrast to how rough his hands are as they knead at Lavellan's flesh, cruelly slapping and pinching at him. "You just want to be a good boy." One of his hands slides between Lavellan's legs and cups his groin, fingers prying between his cheeks and stroking the sensitive flesh there, but leaving his achingly hard cock as an afterthought. "I had you pegged the moment I saw you. Nobody's ever treated you right, huh?" His thumb grinds into the cleft of Lavellan's ass until he presses it against his hole, and Lavellan shudders with his whole body. "Never given you what you need. What you crave."
Lavellan groans, teeth sinking into his lip until it hurts. "What... what is that?" he manages to pant, and Bull reaches out with his other hand to grasp him by the jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks, wrenching his head to look him in the eye.
"You want to submit. You need to submit."
Lavellan's cock throbs, and he can feel a growing wet patch on Bull's trousers below him. He can't tell if that's his own precum or his. Bull is staring him straight in the eye and holding his head in place so Lavellan cannot move his head away to escape his gaze, though Lavellan's eyes dart wildly around, afraid of the intensity he sees there, but there is nowhere for him to run and he is forced to confront Bull head-on, to face this honestly and directly.
"Yes," he breathes.
Bull spanks him again, but it's much softer this time, though even such a light touch has Lavellan's whole body wrench and then writhe. The qunari reaches up to grasp his belted wrists, the other holding his thigh, and uses that grip to lift him off his lap and toss him back onto the bed slightly more gently than before, so that Lavellan lands on his stomach before him, his knees slightly spread. He tries to turn, but Bull grasps him by the neck and shoves him facefirst into the bed, leaning over him as his hands explore his backside, from the nape of his neck down to the cleft of his ass.
"Has anyone ever penetrated you before?" he asks. "Be honest."
"No," Lavellan says in a small voice, face burning. He's never spoken of such things so openly, in such explicit terms.
"What about you? You ever been inside of anyone before?"
"No."
"Ever sucked anyone's cock? Been sucked?"
"No."
Bull sighs, not disappointed or resigned exactly, but as if he's confronting some sort of problem. But when he leans forward his lips are so close to one of Lavellan's long ears that he can feel his breath in it. "I don't normally fuck virgins," he murmurs. "Don't wanna break anything. But I'll make an exception for you, boss." Lavellan can hear the rustle of fabric, and though he can't see it, their bodies are close enough together that he can feel the heat of it when Bull frees his cock from the confines of his trousers and lets it settle, heavy and throbbing, against Lavellan's backside, nestled between his burning cheeks.
He can't see it, but is shocked by just what he can feel. The length of it, the thickness. It feels like it comes at least to the small of his back, feels at least as thick as his own forearm. He has to be exaggerating that in his head, there's no way it's actually that big, because if it is there is no way, absolutely no way, that that is going to fit inside of him, ever. Bull uses his free hand to push down on his cock so that it splays between Lavellan's ass, gripped there, and lets out a soft, low grunt of appreciation for the tight heat wrapped around his shaft. Lavellan whines.
Bull rocks his hips slowly, tantalizingly, and Lavellan goes limp under him, moaning wantonly. He's not even inside of him yet and Lavellan's cock is throbbing, threatening to blow. He rocks his own hips desperately, humping the bed under him and grinding against Bull's cock, all thought cleared from his mind as he focuses in only on how fucking amazing that feels -- the heft of him buried in there, hot, a thick splay of precum dribbling from the head to smear over Lavellan's bare back. "Ah," he pants, then "ahh --" and then, louder, "anh!" as Bull cracks his hips up once so that he slaps into Lavellan's stinging ass, the elf jerking and writhing under him.
"You've got such a tight little body," the qunari grunts. "Can't believe no one's taken you before. Lotta dumbasses in this world. Don't know what they're missing. You know, if it weren't for that mark on your hand, I wouldn't have made an offer. I'd've just bent you over and ripped your clothes off and fucked you like you deserved to be fucked." He pulls back, leaving Lavellan bare and wanting, panting, little mewls caught in his throat as he tries to thrust back for his cock, wanting that heavy heat again.
"No, please, don't," he pants, and Bull pauses until Lavellan continues, "please don't go -- don't stop, please -- please, I want it --"
"And you beg so pretty, too," Bull says with a gratified chuckle. "Don't worry, boss, I'm not goin' anywhere." Lavellan can feel his hands on either side of his thighs, pushing them together so that his knees clack together and then pushing that forward, forcing his ass in the air, bent over.
"Keep your knees together," he says. "Press them tight." So Lavellan does, so hard his knees ache a little bit. Bull settles in on his knees behind him, and for a moment he just rubs his hands over the curve of Lavellan's ass and thighs, making no move to do anything else no matter how Lavellan grinds back and whimpers with need. He wants so badly, achingly badly, for Bull to plunge his entire cock inside of him, to fuck him into the mattress until he's bruised and raw, to grasp his hair between his thick fingers and pull hard, to use him roughly while he screams. Later he'll have time to feel bad for such thoughts, but right now all he feels is a fierce, gnawing desire, for him, specifically to be claimed by him, fucked by him, ruined by him.
Bull spits, hot saliva splattering over Lavellan's hole, making him jerk. He can feel that wetness dribble between his legs, over his balls until it trails over his thighs, joined by a second and a third before Bull reaches over his back and swipes his fingers over the still-damp precum he's smeared over him. He gathers it up and reaches between Lavellan's legs, rubbing that slick cum into his tightly pressed thighs.
"I'm not going to fuck you tonight," Bull says, his voice low, holding him through the jerk of disappointment that runs through him. "You're not ready for it. But I'm not going to leave you like this, boss. Don't worry. Let the Iron Bull take care of you."
His hand gropes under him, thick hand wrapping around his shaft. His hand is so big he nearly envelops the whole thing in just his palm, and Lavellan groans so loudly he's afraid they'll hear it down in the throne room. Bull strokes so gently, thumb rubbing over the length of him, teasing at his head until he coaxes a little bit of precum from it. He adds that to the slickness between Lavellan's thighs, fingers groping and grinding into his tender flesh.
He strokes his cock a few more times, his grip feather-light to keep him from coming too soon, though even that's too much. "Ah, you're ready to pop off. Do you want to come right now?"
"No," Lavellan says, strangled. No, that's not what he wants.
Bull releases him, slides his hand affectionately over the length of his body. "All right, boss." The bed creaks and groans under his weight, and he has to duck his head to avoid catching his horns on the canopy -- Lavellan idly notes that he's going to have to get rid of that -- as he settles in behind him on his knees, hands on either side of Lavellan's hips and squeezing tightly. "If you want me to stop, tell me to stop." He reaches back and gives another couple of smacks across his ass, and Lavellan cries out, his whole body tensing up just as the Iron Bull takes his hefty cock in his hand and slides it between Lavellan's thighs.
He is not inside of him, but Lavellan can feel his girth just as clearly as if he were. He gasps, then groans long and low, his knees pressed together as tightly as they can. Bull's breath has caught and he can feel him struggling to even it out behind him -- which is gratifying, to know that this effect is not entirely one-sided. Once he's settled in there, Bull's hands go back to Lavellan's hips and hold on tightly, and with a slow, fluid movement he grinds forward.
The moan that escapes Lavellan's mouth is the filthiest noise he has ever made in his life.
"Fuck," he hisses. Though it's not quite exactly what he wanted, it's close enough. Bull's cock is hard as steel, burning between Lavellan's legs and throbbing, engorged, as the qunari begins fucking him slowly and steadily.
At first, anyway.
At first he's languid and easy, grinding up into him, their bodies pressed so tightly together that every thrust has his cock grinding against Lavellan's. The elf mewls, his back arched with his ass high in the air, wanting desperately to spread his legs wide but knowing he has to keep them tightly pressed together. "Fuck," he gasps again. "Ah, fuck -- Bull, fuck me --"
Bull bends over fluidly, his thick chest pressed into Lavellan's trembling back, and hisses into his ear, "Shhh." His hand slides over Lavellan's cock under him over his chest and neck until he captures him by the jaw and shoves two of his fingers into Lavellan's open mouth, the elf instinctively wrapping his lips around them and eagerly suckling, moaning, whining. Bull's hips speed up until he's properly fucking Lavellan's thighs, his heavy balls swinging and smacking into the backs of his legs with an obscene clapping sound in counterpoint to the lewd wet suckling noise of Lavellan's mouth around his fingers. He can feel Bull's fingers bearing down into his mouth, stroking his tongue, pinching the muscle between them, exploring the wet hot cavern of his mouth, spreading his lips and cheek open so that a little bit of drool escapes Lavellan's mouth and dribbles down his chin.
"That's it," he sighs, hips clapping into Lavellan's ass as he fucks into him. "That's a good boy. Take it. You take that cock. Show me you can take it. Prove it." Lavellan groans, shudders, and struggles to free his hands from the belt binding them together, but the belt is just too tight. Bull's hips are gradually slowing, forcing Lavellan to whine and rock back against him instead, forcing him to ride him as best he can though his rhythm is so much less smooth, more erratic and wild. "Show me what you want, boss."
Gods, all the gods above, he wants this desperately, has never, he thinks, wanted anything more. All he can think about is what it is going to feel like when Bull is actually inside of him, stretching him wide open, fucking into his tight little hole, ruining it, rearranging Lavellan's insides to suit his cock --
Lavellan's cock throbs and twitches. He desperately thrusts back, fucking himself on Bull's hard length, groaning at the way the head grinds from Lavellan's groin all the way up his belly, while he imagines the full length of that inside of him, spearing him, taking him --
His eyes roll back up in his head and he grunts, groans, gurgles, then screams wetly around Bull's fingers as he comes so hard his whole body jerks forward, toes curling and thighs squeezing in a vice grip around Bull's cock. His cum spurts over the bed below them, some of it shooting up over Lavellan's chest, some of it dribbling down Bull's cock underneath him, slicking it further as he doesn't see so much as feel the qunari behind him grinning crazily as he rocks back and then slams into him so hard Lavellan jerks forward and lays flat on the mattress. Bull reels back and slams forward again and begins to pound him in earnest, his grunts rising in volume as his hips slap into Lavellan's ass over and over and over, stinging, pressing, and then he's bellowing, and with a mighty roar his hand slams out to grip Lavellan by the neck and hold him dead still as he comes with such force that the thick hot spunk splatters all over the bed below them and coats Lavellan's entire stomach and chest.
It's an eternity before he finally slows to a trickle, still hard and throbbing between Lavellan's thighs, fingers still crammed into the elf's open mouth while the other hand pins him down by the neck. Then slowly, finger by finger, his grip loosens. His hand extracts from Lavellan's mouth. Lavellan gasps a breath he had not been aware he'd been lacking as Bull climbs off of him, kneeling next to him, breathing heavy and hard as he reaches over and carefully, very carefully, turns him over.
Lavellan is limp as a pile of rags. His bound hands lay over his head loosely, his eyes glassy and heavy, face flushed and hot. Bull's cum has smeared all over his chest and stomach, over his thighs, coating his cock, sticky and musky and thick enough to feel smothering. He twitches. He's vaguely aware his feet are horribly cramping, feels like he wrenched something when his toes curled. His mouth is parted, breath hotly gusting through his open lips, as Bull reaches down and spreads his legs open, gazing over him with an expression of frank admiration. Clearly inspecting his handiwork.
Tenderly he reaches over Lavellan's head, undoing the belt tying his hands easily, and lets it slip away from him. He grips the leather between two fingers and jerks it so that he tosses it casually over the edge of the bed and lets it settle on the stone floor with a clatter. His hand rests on Lavellan's neck, then, watching him as the elf does not move, his blurred vision gradually making out shapes above him and then meandering over towards the qunari leaning over him, watching his face intently.
"You did great, boss," Bull says, his voice low and affectionate as he rests a hand on his waist now and gently rubs up and down. "You did a real good job. You're a good boy. Very good."
Something about the praises causes a hot flush of pleasure to spread through him, starting around his stomach. "Good boy?" he repeats hazily, and Bull chuckles and bends over to press a strangely gentle kiss to his forehead.
"Good boy," he repeats. "That's a good boy." He pats his side, eye sweeping over his form again. "You all right, boss? Nod or shake your head." Lavellan groans, and Bull prods him. "Check in with me."
Lavellan nods; it's the most he can do. He can't stop looking at him, struck by how handsome Bull is -- unconventionally so, maybe, but handsome all the same, his features strong, loud, broad, so much of him to look at. His build so powerful, strength carried in every inch of him, from the broad swathe of his shoulders to the sheer mass of his hands to the tapered point of his horns, his flesh scarred and imperfect, a testament to all the times others had tried to kill him and failed. No wonder half the women in Skyhold are enamoured with him.
Bull lowers his head so carefully to press his nose gently to Lavellan's. "Next time," he murmurs. "We'll try something else."
"Next time?" Lavellan says, dazed and foggy, the concept of time completely lost on him.
Bull pulls back and cups his cheek with one of his broad hands. "Next time," he repeats, a barely contained hunger still stirring somewhere inside of him, thrumming and feral. His fingers slide gently over Lavellan's long ears and gently caress the sensitive skin there, watching as the elf sighs and shivers for him. "Nod for yes," he says.
Lavellan nods.