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Krem traces every scar on Bull’s torso with the tip of his finger. It could be chaste, could be Krem remembering the stories behind each one, each skirmish, each border fight, each time Bull’s saved him, each time he’s saved Bull.
It could be chaste, but it isn’t. Krem knows Bull can take harsh touches, could take it if he grasped at him, dug his fingernails into Bull’s skin. The one thing Bull can’t take is soft touches, little brushes of skin against skin that promise so much and deliver so little. Krem can feel the flex of each muscle under Bull’s skin as he touches him like this, feel every quiver of frustration. It’s just like the moments before they spar, the moments when it feels like every muscle in both their bodies curls up with the static of anticipation. He keeps going until Bull places a hand over his in a grip that is just a little too firm and half hisses and half growls his name.
Bull is plenty wet but always insists they still use oil, so Krem’s already placed a bottle by the side of the bed. It’s too delicate and pretty for both of them, an engraved Tevinter affair, but it does the job. Krem’s fingers are slick before he even enters Bull. He likes to do it slowly, pressing the first finger in tortuously slow, watches Bull’s face and tries to figure out what he’s thinking. Watching his mind work always reminds Krem of watching the intricate gears of some mechanical curiosity, and he loves drawing it out, guessing what kind of thoughts and emotions he’s inspired. One finger turns to two, and then three, and the bedsheets are so soaked with oil that Krem is pretty certain they’ve ruined the mattress as well when Bull tells him what he wants.
“You sure chief?” He asks, and he knows that if the answer was no, Bull wouldn’t have said it. But he likes the routine of checking, likes getting reminded that yes, Bull wants to fuck him, no, Bull wants him to fuck him. His hands are small compared to Bull, and he knows it, but that doesn’t make his skin flush bright red with pride any less, make his breath heavy any less, make his heart rate rise any less. Bull is stretched around his fist, and he can feel Bull clench around his fingers as he spreads them, rolls his knuckles back and forth, rotates his wrist just a little.
Krem doesn’t know what Bull takes, but he wants to know, because Bull has a cock even if he still has a front hole, and it twitches as he stretches him out. Krem already knows it’s large enough for Bull to fuck him with it, and as he strokes Bull’s dick with his free hand, he wonders if he could go down on Bull at the same time as fisting him. He thinks about his mouth stretched around Bull, about his lips and tongue covered in oil and slick as he kisses and sucks and licks at Bull. And then he thinks of other things.
“I could fit my other fist into your other hole”, he says, and it’s a thought spoken out loud, but it sounds like a filthy promise of a next-time. Bull takes in a deep breath, and the sound reverberates through their two bodies like a crashing wave.
The fingers of his free hand clasp around the base of Bull’s cock, and Bull strains against him. Krem knows Bull could break free of his hold if he wanted to, but he doesn’t and Krem doesn’t care about anything beyond that. Because Bull is almost coming, thighs shaking, and teeth biting down into his bottom lip, and it’s probably partly for Krem’s benefit, but he doesn’t care.
“Maker”, says Krem, and his voice is breathless with wonder. “Maker, I want to fuck you.”
“Fuck me then”, Bull says, and he smiles at the end, corner of his lips twisting up into a grin that makes Krem’s stomach curl and cock throb.
Krem pulls the wooden box from under the bed, but then hesitates, hand hovering above each dick in the box. There’s the pale white of the straight shaft nugskin dick- the very first dick he owned, that he remembers storing under his pillow back in the army, trying to think of the best way to hide it in his pack. There’s the everite one- bright silver and with a deliciously curved shaft- that he found wrapped up and placed on the bed in his quarters after that incident at the Storm Coast, the one that Bull says he has nothing to do with, but the one Krem knows better than to believe him about. And there’s the one made from dark snakewood, ripples of dark brown against red, sanded and polished until it’s smooth and shiny. He glances back at Bull, unable to make a decision, and Bull-Bull, who is so good at not being readable- looks back at him with a gaze that lets Krem know everything.
Krem picks the largest dick because he wants to keep Bull stretched out, wants Bull to clench around him, wants to give Bull as much as he can. The dick is a dark green stone, heavy and firm, and Krem coats it in a good amount of oil before he presses it into Bull slowly. Bull groans, a deep, raw groan, and Krem fucks into him with a ferocity, a lust, a love that feels like it’s been there from the beginning.
“You like this Chief?” Krem says it like it’s a question even though he knows the answer, hears something in his voice crack with the strain of something he doesn’t want to put a name to, but it feels like he’s known forever. He knows the answer before Bull speaks.
Krem likes the way it smells when they fuck even more than he likes the way it smells when they fight. It’s a mix of sweat and leather, and maybe there isn’t the sparks of metal on metal that there is when they spar, but the two of them are so close- the single layer of Krem’s binder between them- that everything seems more intense. It clogs up his senses, makes him forget that there’s anything outside this room, outside the two of them, outside of the way his skin heats up like fire where it touches Bull’s.
The leather of his harness is broken in enough that it doesn’t jab him any more, and it makes it easier to fuck Bull, makes it easier to pound into him as they kiss roughly, Bull’s stubble burning against Krem’s cheek. Krem still misses the firmer leather a little, misses being able to feel exactly how hard he’s fucking Bull. But he also likes how the harness feels like a part of him now, how he can keep fucking Bull until Bull comes. When Bull comes, he’s glorious, thighs shaking and horns trembling, so loud that when he’s ordered to keep quiet he bites down on his lip so hard Krem worries he’ll bite through it. He keeps his eye on Krem if they’re fucking face to face, or at least he does until he can’t any more. And knowing that he doesn’t have to worry that he’ll come before early is one of the things that makes Krem feel more okay with himself. Even good sometimes.
Bull comes just as beautifully as he has every time before, and his hands are gripped tightly around Krem’s wrists. If they hadn’t ruined the mattress before, they have now, the sheets soaked with sweat and oil, and maker the smell is everything.
Neither of them says those three words. It’s not their style, they don’t do words. But Krem can read Bull, and Bull can definitely read Krem, so they know. They both know.