[ It's hot, it's marvelous, it's sinful- so many options and none of them feel like it's enough. Not a one. ]
You are teasing me.
[ And yet he sounds terribly pleased about this, struggling to prop himself up with his hands bound behind him and watch- golden eyes dark with desire, thigh locked tight against the trailing tip of his own dagger. ]
[ Instead of leaving the blade to drop off the edge of the bed, it drops to the sheets between Zevran's thighs, the better to make use of later. Can't forget it's there, though. Have to keep focused.
Hard thing to do, admittedly, with Zev peering down at him, eyes all blown, hair tousled. Yeah. It's every bit the image he was hoping for, and Bull's return grin is unrepentant. ]
You like it.
[ One lean leg gets caught beneath the knee, hoisted higher, before Bull's teeth rake against that tense muscle tone. One huff of breath and the scent of his skin catches, encourages a low sound in his throat, and that nip at the end is nearly sharp enough to draw blood.
All it leaves instead is a bright red mark blushing outward under his skin. ]
[ Zevran crackles a breathless laugh rather than answer- which is answer enough. This is already far better than he'd expected though that often is the case when he does not know what it is to expect.
Honestly he probably should have expected the teeth, the tease, the bite just on this side of too much that has his head dropping back down and moaning through the twinge. ]
[ Bull only chuckles, and pulls his leg higher. This time he's hoisting him off the bed entirely, one knee kept crooked at his shoulder, giving him just enough leverage to lay in with another slow, sucking bite against his thigh. Higher, this time.
But Zevran's dangling now, solely by the grip the Qunari has at his waist. Not for too long, blood rushing to the brain and all that, but this is gonna get fun for a second. ]
You sure? You're a leggy elf. I could probably leave 'em down one side...
Oh merda- [ Still laughing, still breathless though both give way to another groan- he could curl up and rest himself against Bull's torso alone but there is an appeal to hanging here. Suspension isn't usually something he gets to enjoy himself and like this? It's safer. Easier to relax and not worry about having to unravel himself later.
Bull will take care of him- he can trust that. ]
I am very, very sure.
[ He squirms a little at the next bite, a shivering sigh rolling out of him. ]
[ He's not giving up his pacing, not when he intends to rend him down to a boneless, panting wreck. But the elf's got a pretty tongue, and there's a reason he hasn't gagged him yet.
Meanwhile, he had every notion of continuing. So he turns his head to pay mind to the other leg, unmarred as of yet, lips and teeth closing against tanned flesh and drawing tight, tongue rolling over that pinch of skin caught there with every intent of leaving another blood bruise beneath the surface. ]
Please? [ Still warm, still breathless, still teasing. He has not quite hit the space where begging is second nature. ] Please keep- haa- biting? The idea of having your bruises for the next few days is-
[ Oh maker another bite and his breath catches in his throat at that, stuttering out into a drawn out groan. ]
[ It's a command this time, low and rough, and the next bite is harder still, the noise accompanying it that of hunger. Oh, he'll be feeling this one for days, without doubt, set low enough that it'll brush against anything he sits on. Then his teeth scrape against it again. And again. A slow drag against over-sensitized skin meant to drag more of those little fluttering breaths out of him.
But then he's easing him back against the sheets, tongue trailing across his lips. There's definitely more of him to mark, and he's even got the outline of a trail against his skin to follow. ]
[ Titles, they didn't discuss them but rather than dip into the usual 'ser' he opts for nothing. Bull doesn't strike Zevran as a Ser; until he is told otherwise? It seems safest to not. The twist in his voice, the way it cracks under the force of the bite should be more than enough. ]
Please.
[ Maker's breath, the slow scrape over and over has him jerking subtly- breath catching around little twists of sound with each drag. Back on the sheets and his legs spread, shamelessly, hips canted for Bull's view. ]
[ The next bite finds itself just above the juncture of thigh and hip, between those dark swirls of ink staining his skin. It's impossible not to notice the way that pretty cock stands against Zevran's belly, but he's not getting touched there for a while yet.
Which doesn't mean he plans to neglect him, by any means. The blunt edge of a nail trails down his thigh even as he gifts him with another mark, slowly scraping inward. Pain can be every bit as liberating as being tied up. It's punishment and pleasure all in one, but there are ways of pinning someone down and making them hurt without the need to go dark or power-trip over it.
Zevran's allowed to laugh, to joke, if only because the need for it is going to fall away in time. They'll push to see how far he goes before he starts to crack in earnest, before thought surrenders and gives in to simply feeling. Existing, all floaty and above it all.
That's where he needs to be, for a little while at least. ]
[ Bright little crackles under his skin, sparks that layer little by little until they're as molten as the heat pooling at the base of his spine. He thought he'd known what he was getting into, here. What he'd asked for. Expecting to be overwhelmed and finding himself on the edge of it before Bull's even touched him properly would be mortifying for Zevran if he didn't need it quite so badly.
He hasn't been told to be still. To be quiet. To watch or to close his eyes and those shreds of freedom he falls into gladly- curling one of his legs around the broad expanse of Bull to feel more of his skin. Try tugging him up, tugging him close, urge him to go about his business faster. Between one scrape and the next his breath twists into a low, drawn out whine.
It's good- it's just about where he needs it and the word slips out before he can think to stop himself- or think of what he's asking for. ]
[ Instead of moving on, making a new mark, perhaps even biting hard enough to draw blood, Bull instead teases the mark he's just made. The skin pinches between his teeth, pulled slow, watching it turn redder still. ]
You think you've earned that, yet? I don't think you have.
[ He's free to make noise, to try and buck up and get what Bull won't give him just yet, but that doesn't mean Bull is just going to let him. One solid grip on his ankle later, he's drawing back, enough to spin Zevran around onto his stomach instead.
He's been lying on his bound arms long enough. And besides, there's a whole expanse of pert, pretty ass there that needs marking too. ]
[ The moan Bull drags out with that is low, wounded, and obscene. Half the work is posture, he'd been trained, the rest is the voice. Burned into him are the lilts and sighs and sounds that are to be pleasing and enticing, what noblemen want to hear when they take a lover to their bed, when they ravish a demure elf. That training lingers still, but there is an honest edge to the way his breath hitches after, the way he twists to try and press his legs harder against Bull's mouth if he would not do it himself. ]
Please-
[ And flipped. Like he weighs nothing, he's flipped and lands not with a laugh, but with a whine, hips hitching and grinding against the sheets for some manner of friction. ]
[ But he doesn't get long to try. Fingers pluck at his bindings, pulling him away from the sheets and onto his knees once more. Bull hums, cocking his head thoughtfully. ]
Trying to get yourself off without me? I didn't say you could do that, did I?
[ His free hand drops to caress Zevran's thigh, up along the curve of his ass before squeezing, hard. A swift, sharp smack follows, loud enough to catch against the stone walls and echo, just slightly. ]
No but- [ He sucks in a breath as he's pulled back, turning to peer over his shoulder. ] You didn't say I could not.
[ Not argumentative, but not contrite. An assassin lives in the world of technicalities and semantics but every last argument he might have made for why what he did wasn't entirely wrong was shocked out of him by the quick crack of Bull's hand. He jumps, shoulders going tight and wrists straining against the bods. ]
[ Smack! His hand fell across Zevran's ass again. The first one had been sharp, but really only just enough to get his attention, more noise than strength. The second was definitely meant to leave a sting, and a warm pink mark in its wake. ]
To get yourself off? Rubbing against the bed like some desperate animal?
[ Bull's voice was still even, still low, hadn't raised an octave but had collected that firm edge once more. It was almost soothing, and he'd paused his abuse to palm over muscle and skin, kneading gently for a moment.
All before drawing back and giving that cheek another smack, and watching the way it quivered it response. ]
[ Zevran bites down on his bottom lip to muffle the sound, brain swinging wildly between endure and enjoy, nerves a skittering jangle. Don't cry out, don't flinch, don't think, be elsewhere and he's scrabbling to not go there- the place the Crows taught him of that is cold and hard edged and no comfort whatsoever. He does not wish to sink, he wishes to glide. The voice, the heat, the hand yank him back from all those bone deep instincts and he relaxes. Swallows the word that had been on his tongue.
Enjoy, not endure.
No one that had beat him before had been so steady, been so kind in their strikes. This is good. This is safe. He leans back into the next hit, breath hitching sharply. ]
[ He gives him more. Steady, as before. There's opportunity to pause between them, to rub against reddened skin already starting to glow with heat, until he feels those anxious knots begin to unravel. Then another sharp smack follows. ]
Good. Breathe.
[ There's a difference between beating and this, just as there's a difference between pain and hurting. Zevran can stop this, any time he wants, but if he stays? He'll bring him back from that edge, let him float just as long as he wants.
Finally, the blows stop. There's a heady rumble from behind Zevran as he's pulled back up off of that vulnerable, kneeling position, tugged instead to sit against Bull's thigh. He's still got those ridiculous stripped pants on, Orlesian silk, and he's willing to bet Zevran's going to be grateful for the smooth feeling against his skin right now. ]
That's right. I've got you.
[ One hand smooths against his hip, his thigh, the other pressed flat against his chest. Zevran can lean back into him or forward, and either way he's supported, able to relax for a few short breaths. ]
[ Good, it's good. He's good. It isn't what his instincts called it- this isn't anywhere he's ever been that ended with bruises and blood and cold words- this isn't like anyone he's ever been with before. The hands too large, too warm, the voice too deep, the precise force too careful. He melts into the hits- breathing as he's bid.
It aches but it does not cut into him. This- he's chosen this, choosing this, and he's dragged back from the ragged edge.
He floats a little more with every strike, mouth hanging open for half hitched breaths that smooth out into soft moans as he forgets not to keep quiet. As the instinct to keep still leaves him. Zevran lolls back against Bull, pliant, soft, and faintly adoring, head rolling to rest against his chest. The pressure is intense but the silk- cool and soothing against his reddened skin. ]
Thank you... [ He doesn't know if he's supposed to or if he's not but he's floating, and it's good, and Bull's hands are so warm. That frantic tension uncoils; leaving him boneless. ]
[ Good. He's exactly where he needs to be. He feels that heartbeat rabbiting up under his palm, and it slides, searching out a nipple to pinch, rolling between those calloused fingertips. Gentle, at first. ]
Still want those marks for afterwords?
[ The words ghost against the outer shell of his ear, a hint of a promise. There's a bruise on his hip from earlier and he lets his thumb press into the hollow, dragging against where teeth had marked him not too long ago. ]
Give you something to focus on while I get you good and ready for me.
[ His eyes slip closed, drifting on the slow pass of Bull's palm, pulse slow and steady. Even the pinch doesn't earn a flinch but an arch, pressing into it for more contact to either ground him or drag him higher. ]
Yes-
[ Breathless and on the edge of begging- but the promise of having something to remember him, something to touch afterward and remember this bone deep ache? Massively appeals. ]
[ There is still that single, thin dagger that wasn't discarded, lying in the sheets. This is delicate work, but his hands are steady when they close around the hilt, and a shift of his thigh brings Zevran's legs further apart, urging him to lean back further.
He should be able to watch, to know what's coming, to say if it's too much. Always that sliver of control, even as the tip of the blade starts to press against the inside of his thigh. The lowest bruise to start, just a scrape against mottled skin. Then a slow, steady drag upwards, just enough to leave a thin trail of scarlet beading up behind in its wake. ]
[ He'd forgotten about the knife. He'd forgotten about the knife and that- there's a hitch of anxiety that's shortlived as he leans back further into Bull's chest. He's safe here, Bull can focus on everything else. He doesn't need to think. He only needs to float and to feel. Shivering through the scrape it isn't pain. It isn't anything more a lick of white hot sensation so intense it makes his cock twitch and spurt against his abdomen.
When the command to breathe comes he realizes he's stopped, everything narrowed down to the fine point of his knife. He exhales in a rush and gasps, trying to steady himself. ]
[ He gets to focus on the little things, the praise in that low voice, the pinpoint of sharp, bright sensation and the burn that follows in the tickle of the cool air. ]
Two more.
[ They're small, they'll barely bleed, and they'll heal. But for a few days he'll have a vivid reminder of this to look back on. Meanwhile Bull will have the memory of him like this, bound and gasping for air, that hazy look in his eyes and the glisten of precome on his belly.
Seconds tick by before he sets the blade's tip to his skin again. Just as slow, another line scratches into his skin, thin and red and lined perfectly with the first, connecting those lurid red marks together. ]
Breathe.
[ He's lowered his head, nose resting at his temple, the stirrings of breath a faint tickle against soft, blond hair. He could almost envy him this, the singularity of it, free of need to do anything but focus and feel.
[ Higher and higher, drifting more outside of his skin than in it until that second line drags him back into his skin in a sharp, crackling of light and sensation, sucking the air from his lungs. He needs that reminder to breathe desperately, too wound up in focusing on the parting of his skin under the blade in so slim and subtle a manner.
THe order comes and he breathes, gasping through the self induced dizzy spell, cheek turning to press against Bull's skin in an effort to ground himself without. It doesn't last, there's nothing but the knife and the slow thrumming of Bull's pulse behind him. He matches his breathing to that and it helps keep him from floating so far that the next cut is a shock. Trying to keep track, to count how long until it comes is useless- all he need to do is breathe.
Melt back against him, precome dribbling steadily down his cock, and breathe.
Zevran tips his head back and angles his face in the direction of Bull's, aching for a kiss and uncertain how to ask for it.. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 12:11 am (UTC)You are teasing me.
[ And yet he sounds terribly pleased about this, struggling to prop himself up with his hands bound behind him and watch- golden eyes dark with desire, thigh locked tight against the trailing tip of his own dagger. ]
Mi sta facendo impazzire-
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Date: 2015-12-29 12:31 am (UTC)Hard thing to do, admittedly, with Zev peering down at him, eyes all blown, hair tousled. Yeah. It's every bit the image he was hoping for, and Bull's return grin is unrepentant. ]
You like it.
[ One lean leg gets caught beneath the knee, hoisted higher, before Bull's teeth rake against that tense muscle tone. One huff of breath and the scent of his skin catches, encourages a low sound in his throat, and that nip at the end is nearly sharp enough to draw blood.
All it leaves instead is a bright red mark blushing outward under his skin. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 02:39 am (UTC)Honestly he probably should have expected the teeth, the tease, the bite just on this side of too much that has his head dropping back down and moaning through the twinge. ]
Yes- that. More of that.
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Date: 2015-12-29 02:59 am (UTC)But Zevran's dangling now, solely by the grip the Qunari has at his waist. Not for too long, blood rushing to the brain and all that, but this is gonna get fun for a second. ]
You sure? You're a leggy elf. I could probably leave 'em down one side...
[ Another nip grazes already darkening skin. ]
And up the other.
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Date: 2015-12-29 03:31 am (UTC)Bull will take care of him- he can trust that. ]
I am very, very sure.
[ He squirms a little at the next bite, a shivering sigh rolling out of him. ]
Would you like me to ask sweetly?
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Date: 2015-12-29 03:58 am (UTC)[ He's not giving up his pacing, not when he intends to rend him down to a boneless, panting wreck. But the elf's got a pretty tongue, and there's a reason he hasn't gagged him yet.
Meanwhile, he had every notion of continuing. So he turns his head to pay mind to the other leg, unmarred as of yet, lips and teeth closing against tanned flesh and drawing tight, tongue rolling over that pinch of skin caught there with every intent of leaving another blood bruise beneath the surface. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 04:13 am (UTC)[ Oh maker another bite and his breath catches in his throat at that, stuttering out into a drawn out groan. ]
Marvelous.
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Date: 2015-12-29 04:34 am (UTC)[ It's a command this time, low and rough, and the next bite is harder still, the noise accompanying it that of hunger. Oh, he'll be feeling this one for days, without doubt, set low enough that it'll brush against anything he sits on. Then his teeth scrape against it again. And again. A slow drag against over-sensitized skin meant to drag more of those little fluttering breaths out of him.
But then he's easing him back against the sheets, tongue trailing across his lips. There's definitely more of him to mark, and he's even got the outline of a trail against his skin to follow. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 06:20 am (UTC)[ Titles, they didn't discuss them but rather than dip into the usual 'ser' he opts for nothing. Bull doesn't strike Zevran as a Ser; until he is told otherwise? It seems safest to not. The twist in his voice, the way it cracks under the force of the bite should be more than enough. ]
Please.
[ Maker's breath, the slow scrape over and over has him jerking subtly- breath catching around little twists of sound with each drag. Back on the sheets and his legs spread, shamelessly, hips canted for Bull's view. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 05:20 pm (UTC)Which doesn't mean he plans to neglect him, by any means. The blunt edge of a nail trails down his thigh even as he gifts him with another mark, slowly scraping inward. Pain can be every bit as liberating as being tied up. It's punishment and pleasure all in one, but there are ways of pinning someone down and making them hurt without the need to go dark or power-trip over it.
Zevran's allowed to laugh, to joke, if only because the need for it is going to fall away in time. They'll push to see how far he goes before he starts to crack in earnest, before thought surrenders and gives in to simply feeling. Existing, all floaty and above it all.
That's where he needs to be, for a little while at least. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-12-30 08:33 am (UTC)He hasn't been told to be still. To be quiet. To watch or to close his eyes and those shreds of freedom he falls into gladly- curling one of his legs around the broad expanse of Bull to feel more of his skin. Try tugging him up, tugging him close, urge him to go about his business faster. Between one scrape and the next his breath twists into a low, drawn out whine.
It's good- it's just about where he needs it and the word slips out before he can think to stop himself- or think of what he's asking for. ]
Harder, please-
no subject
Date: 2015-12-31 04:41 am (UTC)[ Instead of moving on, making a new mark, perhaps even biting hard enough to draw blood, Bull instead teases the mark he's just made. The skin pinches between his teeth, pulled slow, watching it turn redder still. ]
You think you've earned that, yet? I don't think you have.
[ He's free to make noise, to try and buck up and get what Bull won't give him just yet, but that doesn't mean Bull is just going to let him. One solid grip on his ankle later, he's drawing back, enough to spin Zevran around onto his stomach instead.
He's been lying on his bound arms long enough. And besides, there's a whole expanse of pert, pretty ass there that needs marking too. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-01 10:52 am (UTC)Please-
[ And flipped. Like he weighs nothing, he's flipped and lands not with a laugh, but with a whine, hips hitching and grinding against the sheets for some manner of friction. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-02 04:07 am (UTC)Trying to get yourself off without me? I didn't say you could do that, did I?
[ His free hand drops to caress Zevran's thigh, up along the curve of his ass before squeezing, hard. A swift, sharp smack follows, loud enough to catch against the stone walls and echo, just slightly. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-03 11:31 am (UTC)[ Not argumentative, but not contrite. An assassin lives in the world of technicalities and semantics but every last argument he might have made for why what he did wasn't entirely wrong was shocked out of him by the quick crack of Bull's hand. He jumps, shoulders going tight and wrists straining against the bods. ]
Brasca-
no subject
Date: 2016-01-03 06:05 pm (UTC)[ Smack! His hand fell across Zevran's ass again. The first one had been sharp, but really only just enough to get his attention, more noise than strength. The second was definitely meant to leave a sting, and a warm pink mark in its wake. ]
To get yourself off? Rubbing against the bed like some desperate animal?
[ Bull's voice was still even, still low, hadn't raised an octave but had collected that firm edge once more. It was almost soothing, and he'd paused his abuse to palm over muscle and skin, kneading gently for a moment.
All before drawing back and giving that cheek another smack, and watching the way it quivered it response. ]
Or do you want more?
no subject
Date: 2016-01-04 08:05 pm (UTC)[ Zevran bites down on his bottom lip to muffle the sound, brain swinging wildly between endure and enjoy, nerves a skittering jangle. Don't cry out, don't flinch, don't think, be elsewhere and he's scrabbling to not go there- the place the Crows taught him of that is cold and hard edged and no comfort whatsoever. He does not wish to sink, he wishes to glide. The voice, the heat, the hand yank him back from all those bone deep instincts and he relaxes. Swallows the word that had been on his tongue.
Enjoy, not endure.
No one that had beat him before had been so steady, been so kind in their strikes. This is good. This is safe. He leans back into the next hit, breath hitching sharply. ]
More- please.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-04 09:26 pm (UTC)Good. Breathe.
[ There's a difference between beating and this, just as there's a difference between pain and hurting. Zevran can stop this, any time he wants, but if he stays? He'll bring him back from that edge, let him float just as long as he wants.
Finally, the blows stop. There's a heady rumble from behind Zevran as he's pulled back up off of that vulnerable, kneeling position, tugged instead to sit against Bull's thigh. He's still got those ridiculous stripped pants on, Orlesian silk, and he's willing to bet Zevran's going to be grateful for the smooth feeling against his skin right now. ]
That's right. I've got you.
[ One hand smooths against his hip, his thigh, the other pressed flat against his chest. Zevran can lean back into him or forward, and either way he's supported, able to relax for a few short breaths. ]
That's it.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 05:58 am (UTC)It aches but it does not cut into him. This- he's chosen this, choosing this, and he's dragged back from the ragged edge.
He floats a little more with every strike, mouth hanging open for half hitched breaths that smooth out into soft moans as he forgets not to keep quiet. As the instinct to keep still leaves him. Zevran lolls back against Bull, pliant, soft, and faintly adoring, head rolling to rest against his chest. The pressure is intense but the silk- cool and soothing against his reddened skin. ]
Thank you... [ He doesn't know if he's supposed to or if he's not but he's floating, and it's good, and Bull's hands are so warm. That frantic tension uncoils; leaving him boneless. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 06:10 am (UTC)Still want those marks for afterwords?
[ The words ghost against the outer shell of his ear, a hint of a promise. There's a bruise on his hip from earlier and he lets his thumb press into the hollow, dragging against where teeth had marked him not too long ago. ]
Give you something to focus on while I get you good and ready for me.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 06:24 am (UTC)Yes-
[ Breathless and on the edge of begging- but the promise of having something to remember him, something to touch afterward and remember this bone deep ache? Massively appeals. ]
Yes please.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 06:29 am (UTC)He should be able to watch, to know what's coming, to say if it's too much. Always that sliver of control, even as the tip of the blade starts to press against the inside of his thigh. The lowest bruise to start, just a scrape against mottled skin. Then a slow, steady drag upwards, just enough to leave a thin trail of scarlet beading up behind in its wake. ]
Breathe.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 06:47 am (UTC)When the command to breathe comes he realizes he's stopped, everything narrowed down to the fine point of his knife. He exhales in a rush and gasps, trying to steady himself. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 06:58 am (UTC)[ He gets to focus on the little things, the praise in that low voice, the pinpoint of sharp, bright sensation and the burn that follows in the tickle of the cool air. ]
Two more.
[ They're small, they'll barely bleed, and they'll heal. But for a few days he'll have a vivid reminder of this to look back on. Meanwhile Bull will have the memory of him like this, bound and gasping for air, that hazy look in his eyes and the glisten of precome on his belly.
Seconds tick by before he sets the blade's tip to his skin again. Just as slow, another line scratches into his skin, thin and red and lined perfectly with the first, connecting those lurid red marks together. ]
Breathe.
[ He's lowered his head, nose resting at his temple, the stirrings of breath a faint tickle against soft, blond hair. He could almost envy him this, the singularity of it, free of need to do anything but focus and feel.
Not all of his scars came from battle. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-05 07:27 am (UTC)THe order comes and he breathes, gasping through the self induced dizzy spell, cheek turning to press against Bull's skin in an effort to ground himself without. It doesn't last, there's nothing but the knife and the slow thrumming of Bull's pulse behind him. He matches his breathing to that and it helps keep him from floating so far that the next cut is a shock. Trying to keep track, to count how long until it comes is useless- all he need to do is breathe.
Melt back against him, precome dribbling steadily down his cock, and breathe.
Zevran tips his head back and angles his face in the direction of Bull's, aching for a kiss and uncertain how to ask for it.. ]
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