Archive of Our Own

The crowd at the Herald’s Rest had thinned out considerably since Hawke had arrived. The bard had stopped playing some time ago, the patrons muting their murmurings after the infamous once-Champion of Kirkwall walked past to sit alone at a table. Soldiers, mages, workers, all standing under the banner of the Inquisition, sneaking glances back at the rogue who had crawled out of the fade. The man who sacrificed himself and returned, when so many had lost their lives at the battle at Adamant Fortress.

Hawke prickled under their gazes, their hushed tones, and drowned himself his in ale. He would be leaving Skyhold soon and until then, the living company was better than the ghosts that haunted him behind his closed eyes. Even if he despised every minute of it.

It was too easy to get lost to the dark spiral within himself. He couldn’t hear the hushed conversations around him so his mind supplied possibilities.

“ The Champion of Kirkwall - wasn’t he the one who lead the Inquisitor to Adamant?”

“ All those good men, dead. I’m not surprised, you know what happened in Kirkwall.”

“ He unleashed Corypheus years ago. None of this wouldn’t have happened if he-”

“Hey,” A low rumble, too real in the wake of the dark whispers, startled Hawke, “Anyone sitting here?”

The Iron Bull did not wait for an answer, pulling out the chair next to Hawke and settling himself down as if he had been invited. Hawke considered getting up and leaving, but his ale was not yet empty. He was not particularly fond of the qunari or his tendency to insert himself into Hawke’s business. Varric had told him that Bull was Ben-Hasarath and so far he did not disappoint in that capacity.

Hawke would empty his tankard and leave, the qunari wouldn’t be able to crack him in that little time.

“What a week,” Iron Bull crossed his huge arms over the small bar table, bending just slightly to meet Hawke’s eye. Hawke stared at the wall pointedly. “The whole Inquisition thinks you’re dead and then- bam -” Bull’s fist pounded on the table, shaking under Hawke’s forearms. “You’re back, from the Fade .”

Hawke did not need reminding, “Sure.”

“All that demon crap got into my head,” Iron Bull pushed himself upright, he seemed even bigger in the small alcove of the tavern. Hawke was used to being the biggest guy in the room, comparable to most qunari but Bull’s arms were thick as both of Hawke’s put together. If they ever fought, Hawke would have to depend on more than his strength and size to topple this giant. “But I was only in the Fade for a few hours, not a few days. How are you holding up?”

Hawke stiffened, it had only been a couple of days back in the real world and he had not fully adjusted yet. He had suppressed the obvious parts of his paranoia, the constant checking over his shoulder or chasing unseen shadows with his eyes. But the ale in his belly was real, the food he had been feasting on was real, once he left Skyhold and had his blades in his hands and was sleeping on the hard ground he would feel normal again. He hoped.

“Fine,” He said when he realized Iron Bull was waiting for a response. 

Iron Bull grunted, “I would offer you a drink but I don’t think that's what you need.”

Hawke met Iron Bull’s eye, “And you know what I need?”

Iron Bull smirked , the small expression lit something hot and fierce in Hawke. “Yeah,” Iron Bull said, thrown down on the small table between them like a challenge. “I have a pretty good idea.”

Hawke finished his drink, tipping the bottom up so he could get the last dregs of foam with it. His insides felt sharp, like a dozen needles settling into his abdomen. He wanted to fight the qunari, that would make him feel grounded and real enough, wouldn’t it? 

“Alright,” Hawke responded mockingly, his tankard wobbling uneasily on the table. “What do I need ?”

“A good kick in the ass,” Iron Bull grinned, nothing but good nature behind the statement. Hawke hated it. “It’s what I needed. The Seeker hit me with a wooden beam for an hour and I felt much better.”

Hawke raised his eyebrows, trying to picture that, trying to understand what exactly the qunari was getting at, “And that helped you?”

“Yeah,” Iron Bull’s gaze rolled over Hawke, almost suggestively. Maybe the drink was just getting to Hawke. “I let go of my fear, learned from it, got stronger.”

“I’m not afraid,” Hawke smiled tightly, raising his tankard to his lips before remembering it was empty. 

Iron Bull shrugged one massive shoulder at him, “Maybe not, but you still want that, don’t you?”

“The Seeker to hit me with a piece of wood? Not really.” Hawke stood, unsteady despite how little he had drank. “I don’t need your help. Or your opinion. What I need is to get out of here before-” Anyone else gets hurt, because of me . 

The Iron Bull stood, much taller than Hawke, his rack of horns only just clearing the ceiling. “Hawke,” He growled, growled , like a warning. “We’re not done talking.”

Fight ran through Hawke’s veins, tensed immediately as if he had been wrung too tightly. Was the Iron Bull threatening him? Had the Inquisitor sent him? The Qunari? The Seeker? What other enemies had he forgotten? Who else had he crossed on his disastrous path?

Hawke gripped his dagger in its scabbard, cloak pulled back that Iron Bull could see it in the dim light, “Let me pass,” Hawke growled back.

“No,” Iron Bull’s posture was loose, deadly if he chose to be. He might as well have been a stone wall between Hawke and the rest of the tavern. He stepped forward, caging Hawke further with his body. “You cannot move on like this. You blame yourself for what happened at Adamant and what happened to the Inquisition. You need to reconcile that.”

Hawke stared up at him, futilely trying to read his veiled expression. The Ben-Hasrath had read him like a book, and he hated it.

“Right,” Hawke refrained from rolling his eyes, just barely. He lowered his hand from his dagger, but did not relax.  “I should have killed Corypheus when I had the chance, stopped all of this from happening.”

“And what do you want?” Iron Bull titled his gaze just slightly, not unlike a cat eyeing an injured mouse. “You want to be punished for that?”

Hawke’s heart hit his ribs and he swallowed hard. What exactly was the qunari challenging him to? Did he think Hawke was so weak and pathetic that he would simply roll over and beg for something like that? He knew the Iron Bull’s more intimate reputation, he understood what he might be suggesting. He bristled at it, but a deeper, needier and weaker part of him softened at the thought of being beaten and used for all the trouble he had caused. Made of service to someone who was wrapped up in his mistakes.

“You going to hit me with a stick?” Hawke mocked, unable to concede, no matter how much he wanted it deep in his gut.

“I could hit you with something else if you prefer,” Iron Bull didn’t smile or sour, completely impartial. Total control. Hawke felt small in his shadow. “You wanna talk this out, or?”

Or? Hawke huffed a laugh. There was no mistaking it now, the Iron Bull was inviting him, “Where do you want to do this?”

Iron Bull was quiet for a moment as if measuring Hawke with his steady gaze, “Upstairs. My room.”

---------

If someone had told Hawke weeks ago that he was going to be following this massive qunari back to his room in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t have believed them. He barely believed it now. He had heard Iron Bull joke about bondage and discipline in a sexual way, open and unrestrained, and it had put him off. Varric had shrugged at it, told Hawke that Iron Bull was pretty open about his casual conquests.

Hawke wouldn’t have thought he would be willing to walk into something like this.

The Iron Bull’s room above the tavern was sparse, but extremely tidy. A bed, a writing desk, two chests, a large rucksack and an armload of weapons on a rack. If the qunari needed to abandon the keep, he could take his necessary belongings within a moment’s notice. 

It was dark, cold, but the Iron Bull made a point to go straight to the fireplace and start putting together a fire. Hawke stood out of place and tense, questioning whether he should really be here.

“So,” Iron Bull broke the silence as the set sparks with his flint, “Shall we talk about your issues with control?”

Hawke balked, his shoulders tightening, “What?”

“You think everything is your responsibility,” Iron Bull continued, the tinder finally caught and he tended to its small flame. “You pushed against the Boss’ orders at Adamant, you refuse to stand down and whatever you can’t control you evade.” Iron Bull turned to meet Hawke’s eyes, “Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t come for a lecture,” Hawke narrowed his eyes. He dared Bull to ask what he came for, to continue to challenge him, but he knew he didn’t have a good answer. He wanted something from Bull, he wanted to be punished, to be made use of and released. 

But Hawke couldn’t bear to let the thought fully materialize. This would be so much easier if he was drunk.

“Right,” Iron Bull raised his eyebrow and stood. “Strip.”

Hawke squared, his breath shallow in his chest. He wanted to refuse, to fight, but he came for this didn’t he? He knew what he was walking into.

“Would you rather talk about this?” Iron Bull crossed his arms and took a slow step towards him.

Hawke undid his cloak and let it fall. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the first time he had made an ill-advised turn to bed with a man he barely knew, it had just been a long time. He dropped his daggers, tactically naked save for the one hidden in the back of his boot. He unlaced his leather armour, letting it sag off him before pulling it free from his muscled body.

Mid-strip, Bull stepped back, reaching for the single chair at the desk and pulling it around. A lump formed in Hawke’s throat at the motion, expecting the huge warrior to recline and watch Hawke undress. It was one thing to strip this armor and clothes away, it was another to be made into a spectacle. But then again, what had he expected?

The chair remained empty, Iron Bull stepped forward just as Hawke pulled his threadbare tunic over his head revealing his battle-scarred chest.

Hawke held Bull’s gaze, stiffened as the qunari’s massive hand rose and gripped him by the back of his neck and moved him as if he weighed nothing, “Sit,” He ordered. 

Hawke fought his initial instinct to resist, to push back, to free the blade from his boot and sink it into the qunari’s stomach. He let himself be led towards the chair, a breath of fear echoing down his spine at the strength Bull used to shove him down. The qunari moved him as if he were a rag doll. Hawke couldn’t remember the last time someone had been able to overpower him on size and strength alone. 

“You want out?” Iron Bull asked, standing over Hawke and throwing off his minimal armour. “All you need to do is say so.”

It’s not a challenge, Hawke realizes, it's a consideration. Hawke bristles at the thought that the Iron Bull is proving him an out, as if he might be scared. He won’t back down, he will take whatever the qunari decides to throw at him. 

And if he knows the Ben-Hasarath, he knows that it might not look pretty.

But, to his surprise, Bull crouches down before him. His huge scarred hands plant firmly on Hawke’s thick, still-dressed thighs. Oh . Hawke swallows, his buried arousal breaking the surface and making itself known. Iron Bull wrenches his knees apart, his one eye glinting in the dim light as he watches Hawke for a response.

“Take this off,” Bull orders, tapping a thick finger against Hawke’s greaves. 

Hawke loosens the laces, acutely aware of his growing erection contained behind them. He knows Iron Bull can see it, how quickly he is able to pull a response from Hawke. No matter, it’s what Hawke came here for, wasn’t it? Although a part of him fears what will come next, uneasy with how close Bull is to his cock after Hawke came for a punishment.

The greaves fall away as the laces are undone, revealing Hawke’s half-hard prick between his thick thighs before he is able to pull the leather completely free. The Iron Bull’s gaze does not falter, indifferent yet direct upon Hawke’s face. It feels less like a sexual encounter and more like an interrogation, although Bull has yet to make his purpose known.

Bull’s hand moves from Hawke’s thigh and Hawke braces. He expects an iron grip to close around him, a punishing squeeze or a clamp at his scrotum. Instead, Bull’s hand wraps around his length. Hawke trembles at the firm, intimate touch, surprise sparking white stars of light in the corners of his eyes as he watches Bull start to stroke him gently. 

Iron Bull’s hand is big, almost dwarfing Hawke’s fat cock in his hold. The qunari is firm, but careful, Hawke’s cock would vanish in his fist if he closed it tighter. Hawke shudders, powerless, vulnerable, and his cock hardens in turn. This is unexpected, gentle but firm, and not at all what Hawke wanted. And Bull is still watching him, his expression even, unphased, and in complete control.

Hawke shudders again, “Wait.”

“No,” Iron Bull challenges, working Hawke’s foreskin luxuriously over his cock’s head. The slow drag is torturous, the shifting against the heat of his erection would be welcoming in any other context. His grip tightens, the rhythm building as Hawke is worked like a goddamn puppet. 

“What-” Hawke’s hand grip the loose panels of his greaves, the leather the only thing protecting his palms from his nails. Pleasure spreads under Hawke’s skin, suddenly sweating and hot. This wasn’t what he came for, this is too simple, too easy. “What the fuck are you doing-”

“Relax,” It’s an order this time. Iron Bull squeezes Hawke’s thigh, not reassuring but in warning. Possessive almost. If Hawke doesn’t relax, Iron Bull will make him. The threat is not lost on Hawke.

And somehow, it works. Hawke doesn’t deserve pleasure, he doesn’t deserve to be jerked off so expertly when he came looking for punishment. But Bull gives his body no choice. His grip is firm, his rhythm intoxicating, the subtlest twists wrenching more and more pleasure from Hawke until he hears himself panting. He bites down on his lip, unwilling to let the pathetic noises out that bubble in his throat. But soon he won’t be able to control that either and he hates how quick Iron Bull is able to break him down like this.

And just like that, it feels like a challenge again. The relaxation slips off of Hawke and his body becomes rigid again, his limbs stiff and iron-boned. He wants to come, he wants to buck out of Iron Bull’s massive hands, he wants to leave, he wants to come. It’s all too much, a million conflicting desires and fears and needs clash together and Hawke is overcome.

Iron Bull slows his rhythm. Hawke cries out in frustration, voice hoarse, and grabs Iron Bull’s forearm to speed him back up. Bull stops immediately. The qunari stands, towering over Hawke as he blinks in surprise, his cock achingly hard in the air.

“Get up,” Iron Bull commands, his eye is locked with Hawke’s and sharp.

Something inside of Hawke buckles, “What?”

Iron Bull’s massive hand grabs Hawke by his bicep and pulls him up. Hawke trips on his half-undone greaves, tangled and confused. Bull holds him up, ignoring his twisted balance and pushes him towards the bed. Hawke falls against it, cock still hard where it slams against the mattress, anger boiling in his chest.

“What the fuck- Hey!” Hawke shouts but Bull is already upon him. Pushing him flat against the bed with a heavy, massive palm. His other hand snatches Hawke’s wrists and restrains him easily. The cot creaks under their combined weight. Hawke bucks and struggles, throwing his weight back and meeting nothing but stone. As if it were a demon shackling him to the creaking mattress and not a qunari. 

Hawke kicks out in panic, legs tethered by the greaves around his ankles. Iron Bull simply pushes harder against his back and Hawke thrashes. “Get off me!”

“No,” Iron Bull’s voice is firm, almost as firm as his grip around Hawke’s wrists. He struggles in vain, knowing that there is no way he could wrestle Bull off of him like this. Despite his own size and strength he is at a disadvantage in this position. It makes him want to fight all the harder. “If you want to leave, all you need to do is say so.”

Hawke hesitates, even as he feels rope loop around his wrists and tighten. He doesn’t understand what the Iron Bull is trying to do, working him up like that only to toss him around and bind him as soon as he is about to burst from it. But perhaps this is the punishment. His cock is still as hard as ever where it lies pressed between him and the mattress, twitching as the ropes on his wrists are pulled tight and taunt. 

Powerless. Hawke is powerless. The terror it lights in him makes his arousal burn even brighter.

“No,” Hawke grunts against the mattress, the tug at his wrists loosen for just a moment. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The ropes knot behind Hawke’s back, shaking his twisted and bound arms. The rope is tight and firm, any lower quality or sloppier tie and Hawke would easily be able to flex and snap the fibers. But Bull is a qunari, and seems accustomed to tying down large men. 

There is a finality to it, like a noose nudging snugly under a prisoner’s chin. Hawke accepts it, or he tries to, he doesn’t want to back down or let the Iron Bull get to him. Massive hands grip Hawke’s hips and lift him. Lifts him . He can’t remember the last time he has been lifted. Hawke’s breath hangs in the air before he is tossed onto the bed. His chest flat against the mattress, his legs twist in his tangled greaves. Heat fills his thighs, trailing up to his cheeks as he realizes how exposed and how powerless he is. If the qunari truly wanted to have his way with him, there would be little Hawke could do to stop him.

Hawke’s breath pants out of him, hot with humiliation and need, as rough hands pull away his boots and what's left of his greaves. The dagger hidden in his boot clatters loudly on the stone ground and Hawke flinches. His body trembles like a pulled string of a lute, wound so tight he might snap. Iron Bull didn’t know that he still carried a blade on him, Hawke didn’t intend for him to know, and now he is found out. Naked and bound and bared.

But Iron Bull simply grunts, Hawke wrenches his face around from where it is pressed against the bed to watch him pick it up and put it aside. Face still impartial, any response he has is hidden under the stone cold mask he wears. 

“Keep your ass up,” Bull orders and immediately Hawke wants to wriggle away or let his hips fall flat against the bed. But Bull’s hand is wrapped around his hips, holding him like a fish on a hook as he produces a small bottle of oil from his pocket. 

Ah, so this is it. Hawke thinks and hides his face against the mattress. Iron Bull will sink into him, rut him until he is satisfied, and that will be all. This is more what Hawke expected and he accepts it. If the Iron Bull will not beat and bruise him in corporal punishment, at least Hawke can be bruised by being used. It's better than nothing, he supposes.

Hawke twitches as cold oil slides over his hole. It oozes gently down between his cheeks, coating him and slipping down over his taint. Iron Bull holds his cheek open, a blunt fingertip catches the dripping oil and drags it back to his hole. Hawke swallows thickly, tensing and pulling against his bonds. His cock is arched under his stomach, his balls full and aching under the attentions and the humiliation of it all. Soon it will be done , he thinks, soon he will be filled up and used. 

Iron Bull’s finger traces Hawke’s hole slowly, gently, too gently . Hawke imagines that thick digit pushing in, forcing him open and wrenching his tight walls apart painfully. But it doesn’t happen, instead Bull traces and coaxes and teases until Hawke’s hole begins to ease and relax. 

Iron Bull’s second hand finds Hawke’s aching cock under him and tightens. Hawke bucks against it, knees shaking and shoulders twisting as if to get away. He doesn't want it, it’s too much. But Iron Bull’s gentle strokes drive pleasure straight through his spine and he can barely resist thrusting into his hand. Something about being pressed on his chest, arms bound as his hole and cock are worked makes him feel animal, inhuman. Like this is just a menial task, mechanical as sharpening an axe or tacking up a horse. Bull isn’t saying anything, he’s not making any sound. Is he even enjoying this? 

But it feels good and Hawke groans lowly despite himself. It's only then that Bull’s finger breaches him, easing gently in and out of Hawke’s sensitive ring and Hawke writhes under the pleasure of it. It isn’t even his full finger, barely past the first knuckle, but its girth and its expert stroking is enough to drive Hawke to the edge.

Hawke’s back is dewy with sweat and his muscles ache where he has twisted his front. He’s panting, trying to crane his head to see Iron Bull’s expression but he is turned away from him. Iron Bull’s hand slows on his cock. Doesn’t stroke, simply holds in his large warm hand and suddenly everything is too much. Hawke warbles an embarrassing sound from deep in his throat, urgent as his balls tighten close and his skin breaks into gooseflesh.

“Ask for it,” Iron Bull’s voice is dark, his fingers ring and grip around the base of Hawke’s cock, effectively stopping up his budding orgasm. “Ask to come.”

Hawke nearly chokes, indignant and angry. The words tap something hard and rotten inside of his chest and he goes cold, “No.”

“No?” Iron Bull’s voice is low.

“No,” Hawke growls. He wriggles in Bull’s grasp, either to escape or to demand more pleasure, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he will not be made to mewl and beg to come. He doesn’t deserve it, not like this, nor will he be made into one of Bull’s subservient conquests.

Iron Bull hums his displeasure and Hawke imagines he can hear amusement in the tone. His finger recedes from Hawke’s entrance, the grip around his cock falls away with Iron Bull’s warmth. Hawke bites hard on his lip to keep his protest from escaping his lips. He didn’t want to come so it's fine, but the Bull is on his feet and walking away to riffle through one of the chests.

He pulls something from the chest, just out of Hawke’s view as he struggles to pull himself up to sit back on his knees. Iron Bull’s horns cast a long, crooked shadow as he shakes his head slowly.

“Don’t like that,” Bull says. His voice is quiet and firm, Hawke expects him to turn with a device meant for interrogation that tone. “We talked about how you have issues following orders, didn’t we?”

Hawke bristles, pulling at his wrist restraints and rethinking this situation, “I didn’t come here to-”

“You came to be punished,” Iron Bull cuts him off, turning just enough to meet his eye. His face is unreadable and Hawke feels his fight or flight flare up inside of him. “You refused my order, so now you are going to get punished.”

Hawke can’t argue with that, but when Bull returns he can’t help but stare at what he brings with him. Hawke expected a flogger or something else meant to dole out pain and punishment. What Bull has in his hands is two lengths of thick leather, too flimsy to be for belting, but the buckle shining on the one strap lights an indignant flare inside of Hawke.

Bull’s hand is in Hawke’s hair before he can protest, the qunari grips at his hair and wrenches him back until his neck is craning and exposed. The leather slips around him, its length long enough to fit around Hawke’s thick neck. Hawke fights the grip in his hair but Iron Bull secures the buckle deftly with his one hand, practised. 

“Fuck you,” Hawke growls, Bull tugs back on the collar, gagging him just slightly. “I’m not your fucking dog take it off!”

Iron Bull grunts, secures the long leather lead to the collar, and drops him back against the bed.

“You are going to be what I say you are,” Iron Bull says, shoves Hawke’s thighs up so his ass is back in the air. “You came to my room. You follow my rules. You are mine to collar tonight.”

Hawke is humiliated, anger huffing out in wet breaths around his gritted teeth. Rage blinds him, white bursts flashing in his eyes as the leash goes taunt behind him, gagging him as his neck is craned backwards. He pulls against the ropes at his wrists, they soften but it’s not enough to free him. His cock remains as hard as ever, beading painfully at the subjection.

Iron Bull spanks Hawke, the sound ringing painfully in Hawke’s ears before he even registers the sting of it. He groans, humiliated further, bound and wrenched and presented to the qunari. Iron Bull holding him taut with the leash in his fist as his other hand comes down hard on Hawke’s other cheek.

And it hurts . Hawke tries to pull free, but only manages to wriggle in place. The slaps sting on his cheeks long after each hit, and Iron Bull spanks him hard- two at a time- before slowly and rubbing soothing circles on Hawke’s burning ass. It feels good. Hawke hates it, its cheating to offer comfort after doling out pain.

“Fuck you,” Hawke groans weakly, his eyes watering. 

A finger slides gently into Hawke’s still-slicked hole and Hawke is once again a lightning rod for pleasure. He shivers, the leash loosens and he lets his face fall flat into the mattress again. Bull’s thick digit eases in and out, dragging against his walls, coaxing him open more and more. He thumbs against Hawke’s entrance, rubbing and tapping at the muscle that feels swollen as it gapes just so. Bull pushes back in, his finger thick as two, sinking slowly in and out. Hawke wants more, feels tortured by how slow and sweet it is. Bull twists just so, brushing against Hawke’s prostate almost innocently. Hawke cries out, his cock heavy and aching.

The pleasure vanishes and Bull spanks Hawke again. Once, twice, the sting mounting on top of the previous hits, three, four and oh fuck . Hawke had forgotten the punishment, caught off guard like this it feels good . The leash pulls again, forcing his attention, his body strung tight. He can’t ignore anything that's happening to him, can’t control it or how his body responds. Iron Bull almost purrs as he rubs a soft circle on Hawke’s burning skin. Five, six hits now, and Hawke is moaning.

“That’s it,” Iron Bull praises, fingering Hawke again. His time he reaches in farther, kicks his rhythm up a notch. Hawke is putty in his hands, tightly bound putty. He moans, the burn in his cheeks amping up the pleasure of the sensual lazy strokes inside of his hole. He could come from this, he could, if Bull jerked his cock just a bit he would be completely undone. Hawke pushes back against Bull’s finger, seeking friction for his neglected cock. 

Iron Bull grunts, pulls out, and spanks Hawke harder . Hawke cries out, the pain sparking worse than before, so much that he writhes and fights to get away. It’s amazing . His cock drips. He doesn’t know why and he can’t form a thought, can’t question why being spanked by the massive qunari makes him want to come so badly .

“Please,” Hawke cracks, trembling. “Please I want to come, please, I’m so close just- please-”

Pleading is foreign to Hawke, but something about it feels good coming out. Like something thick being released from deep inside of his chest. Thrust out from deep inside him, poison bubbling and hissing to the surface.

Iron Bull hums as he rubs out the sting from Hawke’s ass, “I’ll consider it.”

Hawke cries out urgently as Bull’s hands leave his body. He needs them back, needs pleasure or pain or both . Iron Bull can’t just leave him like this. Hawke is panting, sweat dewed over his skin and his cock hurting from neglect. He twists on the bed, looking back to Iron Bull who is sitting back and just watching him. Impassive, emotionless, and it infuriates Hawke instantly.

“What the fuck ,” Hawke spits, thrashing against the bed and his bonds. He wrenches his arms, the rope at his wrists bruising but softening at each purposeful yank he gives them. They are loosening, slowly but surely, and if Hawke can maneuver just enough he can push himself upright, look Bull in the eye like a man and-

Hawke is shoved flat to the bed, Iron Bull’s hand too wide and his arm too strong to push against. Hawke rails against the hold, kicking out and pushing back as much as he can. Feeling helpless is not a feeling he is familiar with. But his indignation mixes with his arousal and his cock twitches where its pinned between his stomach and the mattress.

“Keep that up and I won’t consider letting you come at all,” Iron Bull’s voice is loud and hot against Hawke’s ear. He yanks at the knot at Hawke’s wrists, sighing as if disappointed, “Looks like you aren’t taking this seriously.”

“What?” Hawke spits against the mattress, the sheet under his face wet from his mouth. “The fuck is that suposed to mean? Just fuck me already!”

Hawke is surprised by his words, but he’s tired of being yanking around figuratively and literally. Iron Bull is playing a game with him he did not agree to, a game he never got to learn the rules for, and he’s just about had it. His cock demands his attention. Part of him is willing to do whatever it takes to release the pleasure and tension in his body struggling to get out, the other part wanting to punch it back down into the dark and punch the Iron Bull while he’s at it.

Iron Bull gets up and goes back to the chest. Hawke huffs and pulls against the loosening knot again, struggling up to his knees and pulling himself upright. He’s dizzy as he sits up, his vision blurred by arousal and the distinct rushing of blood. He can barely keep his balance, gritting his teeth as he pulls against the rope and stares down at his swollen and red cock. It stands at attention, the cold brush of air at its tip too much for Hawke to handle. 

Bull returns with another leather contraption. Hawke tries to throw himself to his feet, his eyes searching for his dagger. But he’s too slow, Bull’s grip is at his bicep and forcing him to turn on his numb feet. Hawke pulls against him but the qunari is too strong, Hawke can’t break away from his grasp. 

“Still,” Bull orders. Hawke trembles, his legs weak beneath him. But he stills. He obeys and that small acquiescence loosens something in him. It feels unnatural, but it feels good. Previous thoughts of fight or flight slide off of him as Iron Bull lets go of his arm and runs a knuckle down his spine, “You are not in control, not here. Let it happen.”

Hawke swallows thickly. Bull’s voice is low, powerful and somehow hypnotic. It’s the only explanation, that or his overwhelming need to get his release. His cock has only flagged slightly, attuned to the sound of Bull’s voice, to the gentle touch. 

The cool touch of leather slides up Hawke’s arms. He shivers and jerks against it, but Bull pulls back on the leash and Hawke is held tight against the encroaching leather. He hears the distinct sound of cord tightening through metal grommets before he feels the leather tighten slowly around his arms.

Bull huffs a small laugh, “This is the first time I’ve gotten to pull out this arm binder,” His tone is light, and it undermines the now punishing tightness of the device around Hawke’s flexing arms. “This was made for qunari, Hawke. You may be big and you may be strong, but I can still control you.”

Hawke grits his teeth at that, the relaxation of submission rising and falling on him like a tide in a storm. One moment at ease with it the next, ready to realitate. Its exhausting. The arm binder tightens around him, encasing both of his strong arms closer and closer together behind his back. His chest opens, shoulders wrenched back, his posture forced and he breathes out low, long breaths as his vision blurs again. It feels surprisingly good. Like a stretch caught and frozen, a movement he cannot complete. His chest forward, thick pectorals on full display. His upper body is bridled, mastered and he knows his strength and his balance has been taken only to be fed back at Iron Bull’s discretion. 

“Better?” Iron Bull knots off the laces, checking each set before deftly cutting away the softened rope from Hawke’s exposed wrists. 

Hawke doesn’t answer. He has no answer. He can barely string a full thought together. He parts his lips to attempt and only a breathy, almost-whimper escapes.

“Good,” Bull runs a finger up Hawke’s back where his muscles fold and knot behind the binder’s pull. His hand reaches Hawke’s neck and holds him overtop of his leather collar. Hawke’s eyelids flutter. He barely registers Bull shifting, the soft flop of a pillow falling over his toes and being kicked away. “Down, Hawke.”

Hawke is pushed down by his shoulders, the floor jumping up to meet him and cushioning his knees. He blinks rapidly, head swimming, cock half hard against his thigh as he tries to make sense of what is happening to him.

Iron Bull leans over the open chest again and turns with a carved phallus held delicately in his massive hand. The image is like a splash of cold water in Hawke’s face. His peace is gone, his heart kicks up and he struggles against the binds. 

“No, fuck off,” Hawke spits before Bull can respond. On his knees with his arms snugly in the binder he effectively cannot move. His only real option is to flop onto his side, put himself in an even more vulnerable position. He pushes himself up on his knees, off balance immediately with his arms soldered behind him and almost falls. “You can’t keep toying with me like this!”

“Yes I can,” Iron Bull uncorks a vial of oil and pours it liberally over the stone phallus. It’s not too long, not too girthy, nothing outwardly humiliating or exaggerated as Hawke is sure the Iron Bull’s actual cock will be. It’s about average, but smoother, made for working an ass open. Hawke can already tell its weight, its heft as the oil runs down its sides in thick streams. “Ass up.”

“No,” Hawke protests, knowing he is in no position to. Bull grunts, still expressionless, and rounds him. Hawke cranes his neck to see but is immediately pushed forward with the lightest of shoves at his back. He has no purchase, no strength like this, teetering on his knees with Bull’s hand braced against the spot between his tense shoulder blades. 

The phallus nudges at his hole and Hawke wriggles. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to be speared by an object while being effectively turned into one. He wants a real fuck, he wants the Iron Bull to just take him already. “Get it the fuck away from me!”

Iron Bull swats at Hawke’s ass hard and all the sting of the previous spankings rise to life. Hawke whimpers, shoved forward again as the tip of the toy breaches him, “Enough, Hawke, if you want to leave you need to say so. Otherwise, I’m doing what I like with you.”

A knot swells in Hawke’s throat, he doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to admit defeat, to admit that the qunari was right about him being unable to let go of his control. He doesn’t want to dress and leave through the snow to find his room and jerk himself till his cock is raw. 

What does he want? Does he want this?

“Hawke,” Iron Bull’s voice pulls all focus. The phallus is set on the ground, its tip snug just past the tight ring of Hawke’s ass. “Ease back on it, slowly.”

Hawke grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes closed.

“Do you want to stop?” Iron Bull’s voice softens and Hawke knows he is asking seriously. It tugs at something in Hawke’s chest, something tight and knotted and sore. “We can stop, or you can follow my orders. You want to come, you follow my orders, Hawke.”

Hawke blinks, sighs out a long breath from deep inside his chest, and lowers himself onto the phallus. He eases slowly, as instructed, blinking up at Bull as he takes the leather leash into his hand and watches. The leather swings between them, the stone cock stretching Hawke’s hole open gently as he sits back on it. It feels bigger now that it is inside of him, the cool stone unforgiving and solid against Hawke’s trembling walls. He lowers until his cheeks meet the floor. His chest quivers around a strangled breath, staring up at Bull as his cock oozes another drop of precome.

“That’s it,” Bull says softly, he runs a hand affectionately through Hawke’s hair. “That’s good, stay there and let yourself adjust.”

The praise pools in Hawke’s belly, warm and fluttering. It feels good. He feels good. The cock sheathed fully inside of him, his arms bound, Bull holding the leash that hangs from his neck. His balls feel swollen where they sit against the floor. Its too much. Its intoxicating and Hawke can barely piece together what it is that is making him feel drunk and soft. 

He feels humiliated, conquered, and he never wanted that. He is powerless. He is losing. But the thoughts run without conclusions, slipping into mumbling abyss as Hawke’s ass relaxes around the stone toy lodged in him, He would give anything to come right now, like this, and have everything make sense again.

The thought becomes jagged as Iron Bull undoes his belt and lets his trousers fall open. Hawke’s ass tightens against the toy for just a moment as he takes in the sight of the qunari. How his huge chest softens over his stomach, sparse hair leading down to his massive cock, dark and half hard. Bull casually jerks it to life and Hawke can’t help but whimper out a breath. It’s thicker than any cock Hawke has seen, as long as his forearm as it hardens to attention. He can’t imagine how Bull fits it anywhere . 

“Go on,” Bull flicks the leash in his fist, the metal ring at Hawke’s throat clicking. “Fuck yourself.”

Hawke is overwhelmed but he obeys, lifting his ass as much as he can in his position. The slicked cock remains firm as his hole pulls away, still gripping and sensitive, then pushing back down. It feels amazing. As if his bound arms, his cowed position all make him more susceptible to pleasure. Its as if nothing of Hawke exists outside of his stretched hole, easing on and off the cock gently as he shudders.

“Good boy,” Bull’s voice is low in his chest, his cock hard in his fist. “You’re listening so well now, aren’t you?”

An insult jumps on Hawke’s tongue but he swallows it down, focusing instead on the way the sooth stone brushes his prostate just so. He shifts, angles, and milks the sensation with small, measured wriggles of his ass. He’s moaning now, the swollen pleasure inside of him burning away everything else. 

“Don’t get greedy,” Bull steps forward, wrapping the leather leash around his fist until Hawke’s head is pulled to attention. Hawke blinks rapidly at the qunari’s cock before it slaps him with an impressive weight. “Open up.”

Hawke sits back down on the cock, swallows his pride and opens his mouth. He can already taste the Iron Bull’s musk on the air, this close he can smell the erotic scent of the qunari’s cock and balls. 

“Tongue flat, you know how to do this,” Bull instructs, lazily jerking himself until Hawke can see a silvery drop of precome pearl from its tip. “Don’t forget to make that cock in your ass feel good too.”

It’s borderline absurd, but the suggestion sends a jolt of arousal down Hawke’s spine and he resumes his stilted rocking on the phallus. He sticks his tongue out over his lower teeth, blinking up at Bull even as thoughts of rebellion dance in his mind. Despite the thick, pounding need in his cock, he feels like a prisoner, taken advantage of. The thought is coloured, not quite right but induces a sneer as the Iron Bull’s cock presses and strokes his tongue.

Hawke can taste the wetness from the tip of Bull’s cock and denies its erotic affect. He growls as Bull rolls his hips slowly, easing his cockhead in and out of Hawke’s mouth. The leash is pulled tighter, Hawke can’t pull off even if he wants to, he only has the smallest window of space to rut himself back and off the cock wedged between his meaty thighs. Bull ruts gently against his mouth, as if warming him up, but Hawke knows there is no way he can fit the whole cock into his mouth, let alone his throat.

“You like this?” Iron Bull asks with only the smallest quirk at the corner of his mouth. His taste is heavy on Hawke’s tongue, his cock’s head thick as it probes and rubs against the back of his mouth. 

Hawke glares at him in response, letting his mouth hang slack and open as the cock inches further and further inside him. Still his lips stretch around the Bull’s girth, forced and wrenched, Hawke gags softly as the tip of the cock nudges at the back of his throat.

“Suck,” Bull orders softly with a tug of the leash. 

It pulls Hawke forward onto the cock, pushing at the back of his throat as if its a threat. He narrows his eyes up at Bull but suctions him lips tight around the intrusion, sucking just slightly on the warm flesh occupying his mouth. Iron Bull loosens his grip on the leash, a reward, and Hawkes sinks deeper on the phallus unexpectedly. How had he forgotten about the cock spearing him? All he can taste and smell is Bull and his eyelids flutter, his vision going sideways.

“That’s it,” Iron Bull whispers, Hawke slows to hear him. The qunari’s hand moves from his cock to cradle Hawke’s chin, his thumb urging his jaw to widen. “Keep your eyes on mine, that’s it, good. Good boy, keep sucking me.”

It’s hypnotic, it’s warm, and the gentle suckling and bobbing has Hawke writhing on the cock beneath him. Both of his holes used in tandem, Bull’s long thick cock thrusting in shallow ruts against his tongue. He wants to come. He’s over sensitive and needy and can feel the throbbing hot knot of orgasm gathering low in his abdomen. 

But Bull is paying him no mind, at least not his cock. His eyes are locked with Hawke’s, tugging softly on the leash to direct his attention back when the pleasure starts to cloud him. Hawke can’t look away, eyes craning as tears well in their corners. He glares as best as he can, his hands curling into fists behind his back. He’s being used , controlled and disregarded and he can’t stand it.

“Hold still,” Iron Bull steadies Hawke with the hand cradling his chin, Hawke has no choice but to obey. “Good boy, nice and still, just relax for me.”

The praise spikes in Hawke’s stomach, his cock fit to burst just as Bull begins to fuck his face. He thrusts in short, strong strokes, his cock pressing and demanding space Hawke’s mouth cannot give. Hawke gags, saliva bursting from the corners of his mouth as his body attempts to lubricate the intrusion. He tries to pull away, he can feel the throb and twitch of the cock against his tongue. Hawke squeezes his eyes closed, defying Bull in any way he can, but his mouth is slack now. Just a fuckhole for the massive qunari cock, his prostate throbbing against the stone cock still inside of him.

Hot salt fills Hawke’s mouth. Bull’s hand clamps against the back of his head, the leash slapping Hawke’s shoulder as Bull rolls his hips, his hands prying Hawke open and keeping him still. Hawke chokes almost immediately, gagging against the probing, spilling end that is pushing just past the ring at the back of his throat.

“Swallow,” Iron Bull grunts. Hawke’s arms jolt in their bonds, waiting to push against Bull’s thighs to force him off. But he can’t, all he can do is accept what he is being given. He swallows thickly around the cock and only then does Bull slowly slide back. His cock is heavy on Hawke’s tongue and twitches, coming again in thick spurts on the back of his tongue. Hawke drinks it down, lightheaded, thrusting his own cock instinctively and fucking against the toy. Mindless, drunk, he takes another burst of come and sucks it dry from Bull’s slit.

Hawke whines as Bull pulls out and lets go of his head. His cock is slack, shiny and damp against his sac and Hawke can’t help but gaze upon it hungrily as he writhes on the toy in his ass. The taste of the qunari is still on his tongue, its sharp musk pressing behind his eyes and glazing his vision.

Bull strokes his face, catches a string of his cum and brings it to Hawke’s lips. Hawke tongues it off him, moaning softly at its taste. Bull hums appreciatively, Hawke nuzzles against his knuckles. His mind is soft, warm and he hungers. 

“You want me to fuck you, Hawke?” Bull presses in close, intimate, Hawke can feel the warmth of his breath on his lips.

“Yes…” Hawke gasps. He clamps down on the toy inside of him, its size and weight and stillness too little to satisfy. 

Bull ruffles his sweat-damp hair and straightens, a small smile on his lips for only a moment before he gives his wilted cock a couple of tight jerks, “Show me,” He steps close to Hawke, caging him against his muscled thighs. “Get me nice and hard for you.”

Hawke doesn’t need to be told twice. All the anger and indignation melted away to reveal something small and starving in him. He wants to make Bull feel good , he wants to be of service, he wants to be held fast and tight and forced to take what will make him better. He opens his mouth, string of saliva dripping from his tongue as he leans forward off the toy and mouths messily at Bull’s half-hard cock. It tastes amazing, he can’t deny it this time. The distant flavor of his come meeting Hawke’s worshipping tongue. He kisses the tip, swirls his tongue around its head and sinks into the slit. 

Bull lets out a low breath and Hawke blinks up eagerly, it's the first sound of arousal he’s heard from the qunari and his cock twitches. He wants more of that. He sucks up the cock, cradling it in his mouth and suckling at Bull’s softness. Iron Bull swells just so, responding to Hawke’s sweet sucking. He pulls off to press his lips against Bull’s heavy sac, breathing in his scent as he slowly takes a ball into his mouth to knead gently.

“Good boy,” Bull praises, rubs a heavy hand up and down Hawke’s back. Hawke moans at the praise, the gentle touch, the promise of getting fucked .

Iron Bull’s cock is slowly swelling against Hawke’s face as he tongues and mouths at his sac. The weight increasing, heavy with purpose as Bull softly rolls his hips against Hawke’s mouth. Hawke pulls back, mouth open and accepting as Bull’s cock drags slowly from his face and lands on his tongue. He’s larger than the last time Hawke suckled and cradled his soft length in his mouth, returning to the punishing and demanding length that rutted his face earlier. 

Hawke groans around Bull’s shaft, sucking sweetly as he imagines it fucking him properly. Pounding where the lackluster toy is sliding gently inside of him. Splitting him open and spearing the deepest recesses until Hawke forgets his own name. He sucks harder, bobbing on the hardening cock and on the toy that's gripped between the heels of his feet. 

He cranes his eyes up to Bull’s, wanting to communicate how badly he wants this, how grateful he feels towards Bull’s cock thickening on his tongue. Bull’s lips pull into a small smirk, just for a moment, “That’s better, isn’t it? Just listening and existing for me like this?”

Hawke nods, cock thick in his mouth. He barely remembers fighting against this feeling, and what he does he barely understands why now. He feels so good. His mind finally quiet and soft for the first time in years. All that exists is the pleasure he gives and receives, and all he wants is more of it. To fully surrender.

“That’s enough,” Bull pulls Hawke’s head off of his slicked, hard prick. Hawke groans hungrily, not quite a protest or an agreement. “Come off the toy, slowly, then up on your feet.”

The orders are necessary, Hawke’s mind too far gone to remember how to shift and function as he is bound and hard and blurry with need. Bull rounds him, fingers trailing along his shoulder and arms as he does as if rounding a nervous horse, and takes the toy in hand. Hawke can feel the life in the phallus, sprung on by a single shift in control, and for a moment forgets he is supposed to slide off of it and instead wriggles deeper into Iron Bull’s hold.

Bull swats at his ass, not unkindly, “Come off it.”

Hawke leans forward, balancing as best as he can without his arms, and Bull pulls the toy from him. It slides out gently, Hawke’s hole nice and relaxed and now empty without it. He whines at its loss and Bull rewards him with a gentle hook of his finger, checking his stretch.

“Nice and loose for me,” Iron Bull’s voice is low behind Hawke. He removes his finger and braces Hawke with a palm against his heaving chest, “Up.”

Bull guides him up, giving him balance as he staggers to his numb feet. He feels unnatural upright like this, too heavy for himself despite the undeniable strength knotted in his legs and shoulders. His arms are bound tightly, the leash falls loose with its length tapping against Hawke’s hard cock and swollen sac. He’s little more than hot flesh being molded by the straps and restraints upon him, keeping him from falling apart into pieces on the floor. He’s done up how Bull wants him and he desires nothing more than that.

Walking is unsteady but Bull’s hands balance him and lead him towards the bed. Hawke pictures flopping face first, arching his back under the arm binder and presenting on his toes for the massive qunari. But Bull turns him, his large warm hands brushing over Hawke’s sore muscles, and eases him back onto the bed.

Hawke lays against his arms, his shoulders pulled back so that his body follows its curve. His cock stands, his knees bent and open as Bull follows Hawke. Bull leans over him, hands braced on either side of Hawke’s head, his stomach pushing Hawke’s cock down between them, their chests a breath’s width from one another. Bull’s body is warm, heat radiating off of him. His chest and arms bigger now above Hawke than they ever were. Hawke knows he’s a big guy too, but feeling smaller is comforting. He doesn’t need to be the strongest in this room. He doesn’t need to protect Bull or prove his own strength here. 

The slicked tip of Bull’s cock prods at Hawke’s cheeks, just as needy as he feels. Iron Bull captures his gaze and Hawke longs to run his hands up and down those thick shoulder, to lock lips and let the man dominate his mouth again.

“Tell me you want it,” Bull orders, dragging a heavy hand down Hawke’s shoulder to his pectoral and down his stomach. 

Callused fingers flourish at Hawke’s hip and he groans, “I want your cock, I want you to fuck me, please, please fuck me.”

Large hands hold him and Bull locks eyes with Hawke as his cock presses at his hole. It eases in slowly, stretching Hawke at each millimeter. Hawke releases a breathy whine from his tightened chest and Bull hums gently at him, running a firm hand up and down through his chest hair. Hawke relaxes, trying to picture the massive cock breaching him, the stretch he feels tight around it. His cock aches , desperate, and Iron Bull is taking his sweet time.

And still, he eases in, pulling back only a little to coax Hawke’s hole wider on the next gentle roll. Hawke is moaning openly, unable to control the way his throat opens, the thick cock is forcing it out of him already. Hawke wants him to go faster, to thrust hard into him and spear him open. He wants Iron Bull to unleash, to chase his pleasure in Hawke’s needy and welcoming body. But he eases, rolling as gentle laps against a lakeside beach. Unrushed. 

Hawke thinks to push against him, to try and lower himself on the thick, long cock. But he remains in place, pliant, soft, and moaning as the cock stretches him impossibly wide. 

“That’s it,” Bull praises, a small strain in his voice at his own arousal. “You want the whole thing?”

Hawke’s eyes snap open at the realization that Bull isn't even fully inside of him yet. He’s fully replaced the toy that had been lodged inside of him, girthier and prodding gently at where Hawke’s walls had not yet been stretched. It's so much already. How much more can his body take? How much further can his hole be coaxed open? How much cock can his ass swallow up? 

“I want it,” Hawke’s voice is foreign to him, trembling with unbridled need. “I need it, please, please Bull.”

Bull flashes a quick smirk, pushing himself up on his hands so he towers over Hawke. Hawke’s cock stands from under Iron Bull’s stomach, caught and flushed red. Hawke wishes he could just come now, burst all over his stomach and be rutted while limp under Bull’s huge body. But Bull pays it no mind, instead holds eye contact as he pushes deeper and deeper and deeper inside of Hawke.

He’s big. Bigger than any Hawke has taken. He whines, whether in pain, fear or pleasure, he isn't sure. But Bull is gentle, too gentle, and pushes until-

Bull’s hips meet his inner thighs and Hawke feels the heat of his sac against his cheeks. He forgets to breathe. He is full . His inner walls tight and shuddering around the massive cock inside of him, aching when he accidentally tightened around it, pleasure spasming relentlessly through him.

“Relax,” Bull orders, one of his huge hands runs through Hawke’s sweat-damp hair. His hand becomes a fist, lighting a whole other set of nerves. “You did it, now just relax and let me take over for you.”

Hawke’s throat tightens, he would like that. He wants to be taken care of. To be taken over. He wants to be at Bull’s service, wants to be good for him. He lets his eyelids flutter, his shoulders and arms relax in their bindings and Bull sighs as Hawke’s ass softens around him.

Iron Bull fucks him. Slowly, softly, as much as it is possible with how wide and deep his cock is in Hawke. It feels amazing and Hawke is moaning, his eyes rolling back, he wants faster, harder, but he is not in control. Bull’s hips meet his thighs in perfect, steady rhythm, rolling until Hawke is boneless and drooling. He is hot, his insides sparking and lighting a pleasure that burns deep in his gut. He doesn’t want this to stop, not ever, just an endless existence as a cock sheath for the huge qunari.

He barely registers when Bull lets go of his hair. The qunari sits back, gathers Hawke’s thick thighs and hooks his knees over his shoulders. Hawke whimpers at the reach, at how much deeper Bull is rutting him now. Still slow, still shallow, Hawke is barely on the bed as he balances clumsily where his bound arms keep him anchored to the mattress. 

Bull grunts softly, biting his lip, dipping his hips downward into Hawke. His cock strokes against Hawke’s swollen prostate, lighting flashes in Hawke’s eyes as soundless cries stutter from his throat. He is being worked inside out, the gentle pounding working away at the last of his sanity. His eyes roll back, surrendering as Bull pulls almost all the way out and slowly spears his cock back in to the hilt, again and again. Emptying and filling.

“Hey,” Bull’s out of breath. He leans forward bending Hawke nearly in half. “Look at me.”

Hawke blinks against the waves of pleasure working through him and looks up into Bull’s watching gaze.

“Good, don’t look away,” Bull orders, increasing his speed by only a degree. “Stay here, who is in control of you?”

“Y-you,” Hawke’s voice is weak, his vision softening between blinks. 

“Good,” Bull voice is a low growl, he adjusts and rolls his engorged cock harder against the swollen pleasure inside of Hawke. “Come like this.”

Hawke shudders a breath. He wants to. He wants to come with Bull propping his legs up between them, with his cock sheathed and fucking into him so sweetly. He wants to listen, to let go, to follow Bull’s voice wherever it would take him. 

His cock is still untouched, but caught between them again. The slightest motion working it from Bull’s body as he fucks Hawke slowly and purposefully. Hawke works his lips around groaning grasps, unable to find the words to beg for touch . Somehow he knows Bull would not give it to him, would simply keep his intense gaze on Hawke just waiting .

The rest of the world is long gone. The only sensation in Hawke’s body the heavy, steady thrust in and out of his swollen hole. The press of Bull’s sac against his cheeks. The slight pressure against his balls, on his cock as Bull’s stomach rubs against it on each thrust. All Hawke can hear is the steady lewd slap of skin on skin, damp and hot. All Hawke can see is Bull’s watchful eye, impartial, steady, waiting …

Hawke wants to be good for him. Wants to do what he is told. It's all he has ever wanted and he cannot remember a desire so engulfing.

Hawke cries out as he comes. His cock spurts, thick and wet onto his chest and stomach. He groans, Bull stroking his prostate from inside, as his balls tighten and release again and again until Hawke is trembling. Bull fucks him through it gently, his strong arms steadying Hawke’s trembling thighs with long lingering touches.

Hawke melts, boneless, drenched in euphoria and blinking hard. Bull’s massive cock is still thrusting, slower now, but he’s more sensitive than he was a moment ago, and it suddenly feels like too much. He warbles out a whine, a noise that almost sounds like a sob as it bubbles from him.

“Good boy,” Bull soothes, “Easy, I’m going to finish, then you can rest.”

Hawke moans his approval. Yes, he wants Bull to finish in him. He wants to rest. He wants and wants and yet he is nothing more than a leaf delicately riding the mercy of the river. Sensitivity heightens as Bull lets down his legs, soothing strokes against his sweat dewed skin. Bull pumps, faster but shallower than before, no longer hunting for Hawke’s pleasure but his own.

Hawke is made to be a tool, a thing for Bull to work his massive cock in until he is satisfied. Hawke’s eyes roll back, the bliss and pleasure and the warm waters Bull has led him to are all too intoxicating to navigate.

Iron Bull grunts and Hawke is flooded. Heat bursts and pools inside of him, coating and filling his battered and well-used hole as Bull slowly pulls out. It happens so fast, but Bull has his cock in his hand and is working it over Hawke’s limp and spent prick. Hawke arcs up, leaning into his bound shoulders to be a basin for Bull. To receive. Hot seed spills against his own, Hawke’s limp cock twitching in subdued interest.

“Easy,” Bull breathes, “Relax.”

Hawke does. His muscles relax. He expects his body to roll on his stiffened shoulders and his bound arms, but Iron Bull’s hands are already steadying him. Leading him, arranging him. He lets him. He wants it.

Bull bends over Hawke’s prone and spent form, their heaving chests almost touching. Hawke parts his lips, pilant, expectant, but blinks as Bull simply detaches the leash from his collar. It rattles something in his chest, disappointment or something very much like it. He hopes within his blissed out mind that Bull will leave the collar.

The leash falls over the edge of the bed to the floor. The collar is left untouched. Bull moves off the bed, stumbling only slightly as he stands. Hawke’s eyes rove hungrily over his body, not having had the proper chance or mindset before to appreciate the way Iron Bull’s body moves. How the muscles ripple and tighten, where his limbs remain thick, the soft fall of his spent dick over his large sac. The sheen of sweat luminating his grey skin in the low light.

Iron Bull sighs and turns, his gaze soft in the dark under the reach of his horns. Hawke hums, unable to piece words together, unable to voice the want and need he feels burning dimly inside him. He whines at a cold, wet touch on his chest before he looks down to see Bull wiping him clean.

“We’re not done,” Bull says. It's not an order, it's a reassurance. 

Hawke’s breath is tight as Bull wipes him down. The cold, rough touch reminds him of a tongue and he wonders what exactly Iron Bull wants from him next and if he can stay conscious for it. He feels sleep tugging on him but he wants to be good. He wants to take everything Bull would give him.

Iron Bull throws the rag aside and rolls Hawke to his side with one strong arm. His shoulders light up in pain, no longer numb from the pressure of Hawke’s torso. He cries out, a shuddering pathetic noise catching in his throat. He should be embarrassed but he can’t find the energy.

“I got you,” Bull rumbles behind him. He lays Hawke slowly onto his front, hands stroking up and down Hawke’s bound arms. He unties the laces and the release of the pressure almost feels like pain. Hawke bites his lip and presses his face into the sheets. Bull squeezes Hawke’s upper arm, keeping pressure on as he slowly undoes the laces. “There we go, nice and easy.”

Hawke groans, sheets wet under his mouth, and the binder slides away from his sore and sweaty arms. Like a second skin peeled away, Hawke feels newly vulnerable. It's almost overwhelming as Bull gently guides his arms to his sides. They hurt and Hawke thinks distantly of a butterfly’s wet wings unfurling from a cocoon. 

“On your back, slowly, good boy,” Bull intones, low and husky. Hawke obeys, aided by Bull’s massive hands against his tensing and aching muscles. The praise is a balm against the neediness, the vulnerability Hawke feels trembling through his body.

Iron Bull guides his arms up over his chest, holds his wrists close in one hand as another wraps a rope around them. Hawke doesn’t resist, doesn’t even think of it. He wants it, relieved that he won’t need to think about what to do with his newly freed arms. The rope is soft from use but unrelenting as Bull wraps and tightens and knots it. He slips a digit under the binding, testing in an intimate brush against the inside of Hawke’s wrist. Satisfied, he ties off the tail and lets it fall against Hawke’s hairy and sweat-damp chest.

Hawke watches him with heavily lidded eyes, exhausted but attentive. Bull adjusts his place on the bed, moving his heavy body over before laying on his side next to him. Hawke curves, makes himself small in the shadow of the qunari’s body, the only time he can remember feeling smaller than someone like this. He nuzzles in, mindless, seeking approval and affection. 

Iron Bull runs a firm hand up and down his side, “Good,” He breathes, and Hawke hears the fatigue in his voice, just on the edge. “Relax, you’re going to sleep here with me, just like this.”

Hawke exhales a hot breath against Bull’s neck, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the qunari’s body against him. He feels soft, small, and taken care of in a way he can’t explore while under its weight.

He obeys Bull, laying still on his side with his hands bound and his collar resting against his adam’s apple. Iron Bull rolls heavily onto his back, breathing deeply and caressing Hawke’s sweat-dewed back. Hawke pulls up close, tucking himself against Bull’s side, held by Bull’s arm. He watches the rise and fall of Bull’s massive chest, matches its rhythm, and drifts to sleep.

Hawke sleeps heavily. What little he dreams are the thick, dark recollections of their encounter. Moving as if through deep water, presenting, filled, blood rushing between his legs as water pours over his open lips. He moved fluidly, sucking and gasping as the heat beats off Iron Bull’s body onto his. Tangled, wet, hot and engorged. Pleasure and need twisting and dissipating like soap suds in a rushing river.

A dim pink glow illuminates the room as Hawke’s eyes slip open. The earliest light of dawn, when the world is still and cold and sleeping, fills the nearby window. Soft, otherworldly, and Hawke feels as if he is still dreaming.

His hands are bound in front of him. His fingers posed delicately against the Iron Bull’s side, dull white scars illuminated by the eerie glow from the window. They both are still completely nude, but Hawke’s cock is half hard from his position subdued next to the massive qunari and from his fluid dreams.

Hawke licks his dry lips and remembers the taste of Bull on them. He heats under his collar at the memory, his mouth used not once but twice , used fully and rendered into something meant just for pleasure. He wants it again. Wants to smooth himself over the qunari like a healing salve, to be nothing more than an exchange of power and pleasure for both of them.

Mostly, he wants to suck Iron Bull’s thick cock again.

Iron Bull is sleeping, one arm around Hawke and the other under his head, his horns laid out against the pillows. All Hawke can hear is the sound of his steady breathing and all he can smell is the inciting scent of his sweat, of his cock. Hungry, Hawke presses himself closer, his hardening cock flush against Bull’s side, and kisses along his warm skin. 

It wets Hawke’s appetite. Sleepily he works his kisses along Iron Bull’s side, tracing muscle down his ribs to his hip. Bull sighs but doesn’t stir, not yet. Hawke pulls himself to his knees clumsily, sleep and restraints pulling on his movements. He takes in the sight of Bull, laid out in sleep, his massive body still save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He’s so big, and still Hawke is in awe of a body bigger and stronger than his. 

He wants to press his chest against Bull’s, compare their size, the heat off their pectorals. He wants to feel the soft brush of Bull’s fine, sparse hair against his dense, soft hair. He wants to press his groin against Bull’s measure how many inches differentiates them, to feel the combined strength of their thighs as they rut against each other.

But Hawke settles with exploring Bull with his mouth. He kisses under the swell of Bull’s pectoral, savoring the salt of his sweat. He laps and sucks, working his lips needily down over Bull’s stomach as he begins to stir. Hawke pretends he doesn’t notice the change in Bull’s breathing, the small sharp inhale of waking. He makes himself a pretty picture, eyes eased closed as he leaves a wet trail of kisses from Bull’s navel down his treasure trail.

Bull rumbles appreciation, his hand resting heavy and warm on Hawke’s back and falling away sleepily. Hawke continues, keeping his eyes closed in focus, in pleasure, even as he feels Bull’s hand cup and squeeze one of his cheeks. He’s fully hard now, warm with desire, and even though he wants Bull to touch his balls or his cock, he doesn't shift or ask. He simply continues, working hard to be soft and pliable and whatever Bull wants him to be.

Bull continues to fondle Hawke’s ass, watching him with a single lidded eye. He’s warm and soft under Hawke’s mouth and Hawke is so hungry for him. He frames Bull’s slowly thickening cock with kisses, teething on the edges of his hips and lapping softly where his thick thighs begin. Bull parts his legs just so, his sac heavy and impressive under his cock and Hawke breathes him in.

Iron Bull hums, a soft noise that becomes a needy rumble low in his chest, “That’s it, good boy.”

Praise trickles down Hawke’s spine, gathering behind his hard cock. He adjusts on his knees so he might better reach, Bull’s hand still holding his ass. Hawke kisses and suckles at the soft skin on the inside of Bull’s thick, muscled thighs. Kissing and nipping at the soft give of flesh where he finds it between hard muscle. Bull sighs appreciatively, his fingers brushing casually against the sensitive ring of his entrance. 

Hawke does his best to ignore it, to not press or wriggle for more attention, but to simply accept the affection as a gift while he worships the qunari. Bull is almost fully hard, his cock dark and heavy where it lays against his abdomen. Hawke eyes it, trailing his tongue and lips everywhere but upon it. He waits not to tease, but for permission, and the realization warms him deep inside.

Iron Bull hums again, leaning further back into the pillows and hooks his free hand around the back of Hawke’s head. Hawke lets himself be guided, mouth open and willing, up to Bull’s cock.

“Shit, yeah,” Bull groans when he sees Hawke’s blissed out face, his tongue laid out against his wet lips. It stirs Hawke, coaxing a thick bead of precum from his cock where its pressed against Bull’s thigh. 

Hawke kisses the underside of Bull’s cock, wet and open mouthed. Bull hooks his fingers under the collar at the back of his neck, tugging gently against Hawke’s adam’s apple as he suctions his lips against the shaft. He tongues at the seam of his cock, savoring the salty musk, working himself up and down the underside. Bull is humming, groaning sleepily as he holds Hawke’s collar tight to his cock, gently flicking his fingertips along Hawke’s still-oiled hole.

Iron Bull tastes and smells so good, Hawke wants to bend further and fill his mouth with the qunari’s sack, but Bull keeps him firmly in place by his collar. Hawke instead reaches with his bound hands, awkwardly brings them between Bull’s thighs to fondle them. Bull groans, bucking his hips in a lazy, subdued arousal. Bull pulls Hawke up by his collar, Hawke drags his tongue lazily against warm flesh until he finds Bull’s wet slit. Pearls of precum lapped up, their flavor erotic and overwhelming on Hawke’s tongue. He presses his tongue as deep in the silt as he can, tonguing under Bull’s foreskin and pulling back to flick his tongue over the head in sloppy crosshatches.

Bull’s finger breaches Hawke’s ass, slowly, casually and Hawke moans and plunges his mouth down onto the cock before him. Bull isn’t even fingering him, not really, just gently stroking and playing with Hawke’s tight ring. It maddening, but Hawke can’t move or ask for more. He just works harder, kneading Bull’s heavy sac in hid bound hands, sucking hard on the head of his cock. He lowers himself onto it, working his throat into accepting the length, forcing up more and more salvia to coat and smooth.

Bull guides Hawke by the collar, a fluid downward suck and then off until just the tip is suctioned in his swollen lips. Bull lets go and Hawke understands, repeats the motion again, and again, and again until Bull is groaning low and hot under him. He takes Bull deeper each time, slowly coaxing his throat open, coating the cock until Bull’s balls are slick and wet in his bound hands. 

Hawke wants him lodged deep in his throat, to fully sheath inside of him and unload everything he’s carrying directly into his stomach. No swallowing needed, just a perfect face fuck. Bull works his hole shallowly, never pushing past his first knuckle, and Hawke is putty in his hands. He wants his come, he wants to be fucked, he wants everything and nothing in particular. If the world unravelled and became nothing but sucking off Bull and rocking back gently on his finger for eternity, Hawke would be satisfied. 

Bull groans and Hawke sucks hard, suctioning as Bull comes down his throat. Not quite deepthroating, but still deep enough that Hawke has to only milk and drink down the thick hot come as it spurts from Bull’s cock. He kneads into his tightened balls, coaxing every drop out, as if he might starve without it. Bull bucks up once, his newly awakened state not quite caught up with his self control, and Hawke hums loudly around the softening prick in his mouth.

Bull almost growls as he sits up, gently guides Hawke’s head off his cock, “Enough,” he says softly, and Hawke relents, “ What a good little thing you are, huh? So needy.”

Hawke nods, still savoring the taste on his tongue. Bull guides him to lay back, moves his hands up over his head and quickly ties off the tail to the bed frame. Hawke huffs a hot breath, ready, willing, parting his legs around the Iron Bull.

“So much better when you surrender,” Bull muses softly, leaning off the bed to retrieve an eroticly carved stone and a bottle of oil. The toy is different from the previous, less phallic and more curved and rounded, the shape is suggestive although Hawke cannot place what exactly it suggests. It arouses him, knowing what Bull will probably decide to do with it. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Hawke smiles. Something inside of him aches and lightens all at once. Bull smirks, pours oil generously over the toy in his hands and Hawke’s exposed hole. He presses his fingers to it, gently working it stroking and hooking over the still-tight muscle there. Hawke moans openly, his cock beading again. Bull grips around the base of Hawke’s cock, standing it and sparking pleasure up and down Hawke’s spine.

Hawke bucks up and is pushed back down immediately. He goes limp, soft under the authoritative touch, and licks his lips hungrily as he watches Bull slowly press and coax the cold stone toy against his hole. Its wide and smooth, greedy in what it asks of Hawke, but Hawke is ready and willing. He breathes out in long, low breaths, the smooth surface pressing and stroking and stretching and stretching. It almost hurts, but Hawke knows it will be worth it in the end. He cries out as it breaches him with an almost audible pop. Its thick, wide and unrelenting. Hawke moans and writhes on it, full before it even sinks deeper. 

Bull leaves it where it is, Hawke left stretched and occupied, and runs his wide hands up and down Hawke’s legs. “Feel good?”

Hawke groans breathily.

Bull adjusts, smoothes out Hawke’s thighs under his hands and leans over Hawke’s erect cock. Hawke holds his breath as he watches Bull’s wet, pink tongue lavishly lick up his precum. Oh, oh , it feels so good. Iron Bull lapping at his cock, the stone toy heavy and demanding inside of him. 

“Don’t come until I say you can,” Bull reminds Hawke, his lips against Hawke’s length. Hawke is glad for the reminder, otherwise he might come here and now.

Hawke wills himself to stillness as Bull sucks down on him. His mouth is wet and warm and soft around him. His tongue is wide, rough, and drags up and down Hawke’s underside as Bull suctions and relents. The toy inside of him shifts, slowly pulling and Hawke’s breath catches as he realizes Bull is going to fuck him through this blowjob.

Hawke whimpers helplessly, fingers twitching where they remind bound, and the toy stretches him around its girth. Its too much, pulled out to its widest point and Hawke’s hole is tight and hugging it greedily. Then all at once its urged back in, oil squelching and oozing somewhere under Hawke’s panting breath. 

Bull laps at Hawke’s cock head, swirls his tongue and descends. He takes Hawke’s cock easily, needing almost no warm up to press himself all the way down. Hawke trembles as his cock breaches deeper and deeper into the qunari’s mouth and down into his throat. Tight as anything, softly vibrating as Bull hums a distant approval. 

Hawke feels worked . Bull shows a level of expertise that Hawke is not accostumed to, at least not in recent memory, and the steady cloying fucking of the toy and steady slick sucking of his cock might as well be turning him inside out. He doesn’t know how much he can take, long much Iron Bull will demand of him before he is allowed to come down.

The smooth toy twists inside of him, stretching him in different directions and presses firmly against his prostate. Hawke cries out, arms jolting against their bonds. Bull blinks up and slowly drags himself off Hawke’s cock with a wet “pop”.

“Hmm,” Bull hums, jerking Hawke’s dick lazily as the toy massages at his prostate. “Keep your eyes on me, like last time.”

Hawke locks his eyes with Bull’s hazy gaze. Hawke’s cock twitches in Bull’s hand. He whimpers as the toy presses down on his swollen need inside of him.

“I am going to suck you down,” Bull says slowly, stroking Hawke in time with his words. “You are going to count down from ten, then you can come for me. Understand?”

Hawke whines urgently.

Bull stops stroking his cock and raises a brow.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, I understand!” Hawke blurts, voice cracking.

Bull smirks before taking Hawke back in his mouth. Hawke moans around the warm wetness enveloping him again, having to shake himself from it to count.

“Ten…”

Bull watches him, almost sultry as he suckles. Tongue lapping against him like waves against a boat. He works him deeper and Hawke can feel his cock ease to his throat.

“N-nine…”

The toy inside of him presses, unrelenting and almost cruel in its constant, rhythmic thrusts against Hawke’s prostate over and over. Just as Hawke gets used to it, it changes, pulling back, stretching his hole wide to tease before pushing home.

“Eight!”

Hawke’s legs are trembling but held in place, pinned by Iron Bull’s upper arms. Thick like tree branches, immovable as stone, Hawke wriggles in place just to feel it. Savoring how powerless and small he is made to feel when he is anything but…

“Seven…”

Bull bobs his head, his horns accenting every movement, as if their weight add to the overwhelming pleasure the qunari is working from Hawke’s aching cock. Fit to burst. Hawke’s groin and sac are wet from Bull’s sucking, salvia dripping thick as the lewd sound of sucking fills Hawke’s ears.

“S-s-s-six, fuck, please-”

The toy pulls away from his prostate and Hawke groans his frustration. He needs it to hammer him, needs it out of him, needs more and needs less. How will he hold back from coming for another five counts? How will he release when he reaches zero?

“Five…!”

Bull is still watching, his eye wincing and watering as he gurgles on Hawke’s length. Hawke imagines his come spurting deep in his throat, dripping from his lips, caught in the fine hair framing his mouth. The toy feels as if its vibrating, moving so quickly that Hawke can do nothing but melt and moan around the next number.

“Four….”

Hawke’s balls are tight against him, aching and fit to burst. Bull’s grip at the base of his cock relents to grab blindly at his sac and Hawke cries out.

“Three!!”

Bull pulls off, cock slick and balanced against his swollen lips, “Good boy, two more.” The words are maddening breezes against Hawke’s tip before Bull dives down, bobbing and sucking louder than before.

“T-two!”

Hawke might die before he reaches the next second. The toy is pounding hard against him now, in beat with his own heart against the swell, and-

“One!”

Bull takes him to the base. The toy presses down and Hawke nearly screams as he bursts deep inside of Iron Bull. He thrusts up mindlessly, his come sucked clean as it spurts, the toy gently stroking against him, milking him for everything he has. His eyes roll, his body convulses, and if he did not remember the climax of the night before, he would have thought this the best he ever had.

Hawke moans through it, bucking weakly as Bull eases off. Bull sits back, licking his lips and soothing Hawke’s trembling legs, “That’s it, let it all out.”

Hawke doesn’t register the toy’s shifting until it’s pulled to its widest width and he whimpers. Bull coos reassuringly, stroking through the hair on his thighs until Hawke relaxes enough to let the toy slide free. He groans at its loss, imagines he must be gaping and empty. A tremble wavers through his chest at the expectation of Bull pushing himself inside the stretched space, both want and exhaustion twisting up until Hawke’s feet are planted and he angles himself up towards Bull.

“Easy,” Bull says softly, his expression no longer has tension, the exacting focus long gone. “Rest.”

Hawke sighs, his limbs falling limp and useless even as his wrists remain tied to the headboard. Maybe now it’s time to sleep again? Bull leans back on his hand and watches with a soft gaze for a moment before easing off the bed, “I’m just getting some water, right over here.”

His voice is gentle and Hawke’s brows knit at it. It’s too soft but so very welcome. He hopes it’s because he did good. He hopes he satisfied Bull, that he was made useful, that he listened.

Bull returns with a flask of water and carefully brings it to Hawke’s lips. The water is refreshing and Hawke whines for more as soon as Bull pulls it away.

“In a moment,” Bull reassures. He reaches for Hawke’s bound wrists, unties them from the headboard and gently guides Hawke’s still-bound wrists to his chest. Hawke rolls his shoulders, blinking as the afterglow smothers and relents in equal measure. 

Bull settles on the bed next to him, their bodies a hairbreadth from touching. Hawke thinks about curving into him but waits for direction, uneasy under the soft warmth slowly slipping from him. He knows he can either commit to the fucked out warmth or rise from its waters and shake it off. He looks to Bull, eager for a sign.

“You did good,” Bull says, eye flicking up and down Hawke, settling in his gaze. “You want your hands untied, Hawke?”

Hawke blinks slowly. The words’ meanings fill in seconds later. He brings his wrists to Bull, choosing, blinking hard as the action strips away a later of the hazy warmth he was trapped in.

“Yeah, here we go,” Bull says softly as he makes quick work of the ropes. He gives Hawke’s wrists a gentle stroke each, rubbing feeling into them. “That’s better, hey, Hawke?”

Each mention of his name is like a chime, clearing out the blurry and dreamy layers. He stretches, but his body is behind him, still caught up in his recent climax, “Uhh…”

“Hey, take it easy,” Bull smiles, a genuine one. It breaches something in Hawke’s chest, some vulnerability remaining even as his walls slowly return. “There’s no rush. Do you want me to touch you?”

The reality of the situation slowly crawls back to Hawke and he is able to look back on their night and their morning with a clearer mind. He stops, as soon as it stretches before him, overwhelming and almost frightening. “Yeah…”

Bull closes the distance between them, their legs touching. Bull props his head up with his hand, keeping his arms away from Hawke as he watches him, “This good?”

“Yeah,” Hawke frowns, both wanting more and wanting to pull away. He gives in to the soft, vulnerable part of him and pulls himself a little bit closer.

Bull grunts, “So, feeling good?”

Hawke wants to let out a low whistle but has forgotten how, so he just nods. 

“Uh,” Hawke tries to voice his jumbled thoughts, “Do you want me to leave?”

Bull waits a beat before answering, “No, I don’t want you to do anything. I would like it if you stayed for a bit.”

This is unlike every encounter Hawke has had since leaving Kirkwall. He can’t even remember the last time he fell asleep with someone and woke to them still beside him. But everything about this encounter had been drastically different than any other he had.

He touches the leather collar still around his neck uneasily.

“You can take that off, when you’re ready,” Bull says, settling himself back into the pillows.

Hawke thinks about it, about how offended and angry he was when Bull put it on him hours ago. How now he finds it grounding, reassuring in a way he can’t really explain.

“What did you do to me?” Hawke asks, genuine curiosity winning out over what he assumed would be anger. In fact, now that he looks for it, he cannot find any offence or anger in him towards the Iron Bull. “Was that some sort of qunari mind control or?”

Bull chuckles, “What do you think? Did I mind control you?”

Hawke huffs and curls further against Bull, comforted by his warmth, “No.”

“Did you like it?” Bull asks, small smile pulling on his lips.

Hawke senses about himself, his mind and his blissfully relaxed body, “I did. I don’t know why.”

“You got to let go, not be in control, it can feel good sometimes,” Bull yawns and stretches against the bed, his arms falling limp around Hawke. “Usually I talk people through it first, you know, negotiate. But you are a special case.”

Hawke isn’t even offended, hours ago he would have bristled and riled against Bull’s words. But now he takes them for what they are and understands them better.

“It… felt good,” Hawke admits, even as his chest trembles at the confession. “I think I feel better.”

“Good,” Bull sighs, “You were very good. If you like, we can do this again sometime, we can even talk about it first.”

Hawke slowly unbuckles the collar around his neck and lets it fall away. Bull takes it up from Hawke’s hands and lets it fall off the side of the bed.

“I... “ Hawke frowns at himself, searching, “I think I could do that.”

Iron Bull grunts his approval, “You can always pull out, no need to commit.”

Bull rolls, parts Hawke’s legs with his own and sighs into his hair.

“You want breakfast?” He asks, flattening under the pull of his horns. “Or you wanna stay?”

Hawke’s eyelids flutter. He’s tired, spent, and without the grounding affirmation of the leather collar he feels nothing but safe exhaustion, “I could stay.”

Bull huffs a laugh into the bed and holds Hawke a little tighter, “Nice.”