Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3247769.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Dragon_Age:_Inquisition, Dragon_Age_(Video_Games)
  Relationship:
      Iron_Bull/Male_Lavellan, Dorian/Male_Lavellan, Iron_Bull/Lavellan/Dorian,
      Iron_Bull/Dorian_Pavus
  Character:
      Iron_Bull, Lavellan, Dorian_Pavus
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, kinkmeme_inspired, Dom/sub, Size_Difference, Knotting, Oral, Anal,
      Threesome, Consensual, Switching, Piercings, OT3, PWP, Voyeurism,
      Exhibitionism
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-28 Updated: 2015-02-07 Chapters: 3/4 Words: 5189
****** Inquisitions of an El'vhen Nature ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     In which Dorian interrupts personal time between the Iron Bull and
     Maharon Lavellan and decides to join them. Four-part story.
     Somewhat inspired by a prompt at the Dragon Age kinkmeme on
     Livejournal. Prompt mentioned within notes.
Notes
     Wow, this was supposed to be a PWP but it just ended up as some long
     tirade… :’) And all I wanted was to have my fluffy OT3 smut.
     The prompt that inspired this went along the lines of:
     (super paraphrased meme) “Qunari are constantly written with strange
     genitals; give Lavellan them too! Knots, genital slits, hell even
     mpreg could be possible!”
     I’m taking author’s liberty and twisting this meme and adding a few
     of my own headcanons on the different races of DA. I’m not sorry for
     the number of kinks. ;)
     Kinks involved: sub/dom, praise, size difference, knots, voice,
     beard/hair, (slight) underage, oral, anal, consensual, voyeurism/
     exhibitionism, piercings, switching, magic, xenophilia, poly/
     threesome, established/new relationship, multiple orgasms
***** 1/4 *****
As ironic as it may have been, Maharon of Clan Lavellan had never been
inquisitive, nor was he a born leader.
Before the Conclave had—well, happened, he’d been perfectly content to serve
his clan as their First and learn at the feet of their Keeper all the many ways
to coax his magic from the Beyond and into being.
His seventeen summers of peace albeit in hiding had kept him sweet.
Knowing nothing but the love of a mother and her clan, learning the joys of
magic and reveling in the delightful search for their people’s history—Maharon
had no need to leave his clan, no wish or want to learn more about
the shem’len who lived beyond the thick of the forest.
Indeed, he’d protested to being sent out to the Conclave, desiring not to
interact with humans and dwarves and city elves—but he’d gone nonetheless.
Oftentimes, he wondered whether he should have insisted that someone else
leave, if only to spare himself of this seemingly eternal fight against
Corypheus.
But his passivity and innocence had faded away after the exposure to war, of
being Inquisitor and Herald of the shem’len god Andraste—for when the Breach
had torn the skies, all he had known to do was to give life, to Create; to be
as sweet and loving as protector Mythal, to grant healing to those who
suffered: to show mercy where none remained.
He’d soon learned the ruthlessness of Andruil, to whom he prayed every time he
called upon the Primal magic that he’d forced himself to learn.
The drastic changes that had occurred within a mere winter—the very winter
after which he would have celebrated the coming of his eighteenth summer!— had
left him floundering and confused, disoriented by the sudden power that he now
commanded.
He had control over world-changing events when all he’d ever wanted was to
learn to lead his clan.
And it was then that he’d found solace in the Iron Bull.
***** 2/4 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'd prewritten this. The third part might take a while to come out.
“I find it stranger that you shem’len would paint your body instead of your
face with vallaslin,” Maharon explained as the Iron Bull stroked the gypsum-
white lines that arched over his brow and cheeks, caressing the curved lines of
his eyes.
Closing his eyes in pleasure at the affectionate touch, he leaned into the
large palm, ignoring with ease how his fingers and palm could easily wrap
around his head and crush it. He’d long gotten used to the sheer size
difference between the Qunari and himself – and really, he found it… exciting
that the Iron Bull was so obviously larger and stronger than he was.
“Why would you ink yourself with patterns that have no meaning behind them,
Bull?” He asked finally, when his lover didn’t respond.
The Qunari laughed at that, fingers curling to brush against the patch of skin
behind Maharon’s ear. He shivered at the light touch, opening his eyes to look
up at the Iron Bull.
“Don’t let other people hear you ask that, Kadan. They might take offense at
your words,” ‘Bull said rather blithely, looking amused at how the elf moved to
stretch himself out against the Qunari’s side on the bed, maximising how much
contact they had with each other.
“It’s a legitimate question, ma’lath…which you still haven’t answered,” Maharon
replied reproachfully, settling his cheek against the Iron Bull’s chest.
He could hear the strong thudding of his heart, and the elf’s head was raised
with each breath that he took.
The sheer warmth that radiated from the Qunari made Maharon sigh softly,
relaxing against him contentedly as he waited for his lover to find his words.
(The mountaintop cold constantly pervaded Skyhold, for all of fireplaces it
had, and Maharon was more than happy to take advantage of what resources he had
to stay warm. ‘Bull didn’t seem to mind, in any case.)
“These tattoos that I have are… ah, a reminder that I’ve etched upon my skin
when I had been Ben-Hassrath.” The Iron Bull answered finally, letting his hand
drift from Maharon’s head to his back. “You’ll have to forgive me, Kadan, for
not wanting to say anymore.”
“It’s fine, ma’lath.” Maharon replied placatingly, accepting his lover’s desire
to keep some of his secrets with a smile.
He couldn’t expect ‘Bull to not keep things from him; Ben-Hassrath was too
integral to his being to not keep secrets from everyone else.
“I’m not expecting you to answer all of my questions—ah!”
He yelped when he was suddenly moved from his position at ‘Bull’s side, hands
quickly moving to grab onto the nearest stationary object—‘Bull’s shoulders.
The large hand resting against his back had moved south, cupping his backside
and pulling him on top of the Iron Bull in a swift and easy movement.
Now splayed on top of his lover’s body with their faces directly opposite each
other, the elf averted his eyes almost shyly at their close proximity.
“You’re already ready for more?” Maharon asked, almost whining as ‘Bull laughed
beneath him.
It was a testiment to how deep ‘Bull’s voice was that he could feel the
vibrations of his laugh in his thighs and stomach.
Each heave of his laugh pressed ‘Bull’s chest up and between his legs,
distracting the elf enough that when a rough stubble brushed against his
shoulder, followed by chapped lips kissing and biting at his sensitive ears, a
quivering moan left Maharon’s lips.
A slick, hot and barbed tongue slid up to the tip of his ear, sending thrills
down his spine at the sensation. Maharon squirmed against the Iron Bull, the
teasing sensations quickly building up into a physical display of arousal—one
that the both of them could feel, very easily.
A flush began to spread across his cheeks at the sight of the Iron Bull’s smug
smirk.
“I love how you go red all over, Kadan,” ‘Bull murmured, his voice low and
sensual. “From the tips of your ears to the tip of your dick… blushing like a
virgin from head to toe makes you look reallydamnindecent.”
A thick index finger pressed again Maharon’s growing arousal, sliding down from
the tip to the base. The light touch made it swell further, hardening even as
the head of his dick began to sag under the weight of the knot that was slowly
growing.
Maharon shuddered at the stimulation, a throaty moan leaving him.
‘Bull had always told him to be as loud as he wanted (I like to know that you
love what I’m doing to you,Kadan), but he’d always been self-conscious of the
possibility that other people could listen in on their private affections.
It was why his lover had adopted a strategy where he’d prevent the elf from
being able to think.
All of Maharon’s attention quickly centred on wherever ‘Bull was touching him:
the warmth of his abdomen between his legs, the finger pressing against his
most sensitive organ, the hand that was still cupping his backside… the sheer
size and bulk of his lover had him completely enveloped on all sides.
And frankly, that was exactly how Maharon wanted it.
He wanted to feel small within the Iron Bull’s embrace, to know that he’d be
safe despite the sheer strength that lay in his limbs, to be able to break his
lover’s control enough that he’d let loose all of his desire on Maharon’s
willing body.
El’vhen physiology may have been hard to cope with at the onset of sexual
maturity, but Maharon had come to view it favourably: there was no other way to
keep up with his lover’s sheer drive without the ability to orgasm numerous
times repeatedly.
“I want you to touch me more,” Maharon confessed heatedly, even as large
fingers began to press against the soft flesh on his backside. “I don’t want
foreplay—nngh!”
The finger moving against his erection pulled away momentarily, making him moan
at the loss. However, it was a signal for Maharon to get off of the Iron Bull,
which he did as quick as he could.
Quickly lying down on his back with his neck supported by pillows, he spread
his arms in invitation for the Iron Bull.
The Qunari chuckled at his enthusiasm, moving much more sedately as he situated
himself above the elf. “Are you really that eager to ride the bull? You’re
flattering me, Kadan,” he teased.
A small hand made its way up, wrapping around the base of a horn and holding
onto it tightly as if it were an anchor to keep Maharon grounded. ‘Bull dipped
his head in response to the hold, resting his forehead against the other’s. His
single eye was gleaming, amused by Maharon’s sudden forwardness.
“Kiss me,” the elf demanded imperiously instead of responding to his teasing.
He tilted his head up to brush his lips against the stubble on his chin, trying
to coax the other into doing wht he said.
The other didn’t respond to his command immediately, watching him with his
single eye as he continued to kiss the faint mat of dark hairs that covered his
jaw.
“Was that an order, Inquisitor?” ‘Bull asked finally, letting his hands settle
on lithe and narrow hips.
Maharon, in turn, didn’t respond immediately to his question, huffing softly
against his skin.
The short bristles pricked at Maharon’s lips, but the elf ignored the strange
sensation in favour of his momentary fascination with facial hair. There was
nothing smooth about the skin on the Iron Bull’s face, and the elf still found
it novel despite the hours he spent just petting ‘Bull’s numerous features.
However, his fascination quickly faded away as he glanced at ‘Bull’s lips.
“Kiss me. Now,” Maharon repeated insistently. “I’m commanding you as your
leader!”
It was only when he began to nip sharply at ‘Bull’s lower lip, trying to get
him to part his mouth that the Iron Bull chuckled, finally letting the elf pull
him into a deep kiss.
The Iron Bull’s lips were pliant against Maharon’s careful assault, parting
almost obediently as the young elf gained enough confidence to lap greedily at
his lips and mouth—at anything he could reach.
The rough sand-like texture of the Qunari’s tongue against Maharon’s thinner
and smoother one was… nice; it was alien, it was strange, and Maharon utterly
loved the sheer differences between ‘Bull and his anatomy.
The elf let out little gasps for air in between kisses as one of those large
hands moved from his hip to grab his leg, pulling it around his waist and
holding it there. Then, ‘Bull pulled away from the kiss to lick a long trail up
his neck.
The friction between his slick, rough tongue against his soft skin was enough
to make Maharon squirm futilely beneath him. Hooking his other leg around the
Qunari’s waist, he clung desperately onto the other with his hips pressed
against his abdomen, needing to feel something down there.
The sensitive knot at the tip of his erection was beginning to ache, leaking a
pearly white liquid despite the lack of stimulation. With each rut of his hips
up and against the Iron Bull, it left a sticky trail upon his stomach—but he
paid it no mind, panting desperately at the feeling of sweet, sweet friction.
“Do you want to come already?” ‘Bull asked, amusement clear in his voice.
Maharon nodded wordlessly, his mind clouded over with a primal need to orgasm.
“Ask me to let you.”
There was no hesitation on the elf’s part: he immediately cried out a loud and
shameless, “Let me come, Bull!”
Showering ‘Bull with desperate kisses, he tried to convince his lover to show
him mercy, to help him reach his end when he knew that Maharon wouldn’t be able
to orgasm if he didn’t have his touch in or out of him.
“I want—I need it,” Maharon pleaded, begged as the pain between his legs began
to grow.
With each throb of his dick, he could feel himself becoming more and more
lightheaded: it was as if he couldn’t breathe properly, running out of air—and
it was starting to make him panic because if ‘Bull wouldn’t let him, he’d die
from the need!
The Iron Bull didn’t grant him mercy, not yet. What was he doing wrong? He was
pleading, and he was begging—why wouldn’t he just let him come?
“Ma’lath, please. Would you let me come?”
Staring up at him with dazed blue eyes, Maharon was slowly losing his mind to
the haze that came with unfulfilled El’vhen arousal.
Fortunately for the elf, he’d asked exactly what ‘Bull wanted to hear.
Unrestrained gasps and whimpers left Maharon as the Iron Bull began to coax
Maharon closer to his first climax with rough licks and heavy petting, fingers
and lips traveling over what skin he could reach.
The space between them was balmy and hot, quickly heating up with every touch
exchanged.
Tugging at ‘Bull’s horns, Maharon let out a loud curse as Bull’s entire hand
curled around his erection and squeezed, tightening around his dick so much
that he momentarily blanked out—
“Oh. Well, I honestly wasn’t expecting this kind of welcome when I came all the
way up here. Now I see why Solas’d been hiding in the library.”
Through the haziness of his arousal, Maharon wondered why he could hear
Dorian’s voice in his room.
***** 3/4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It took Maharon more than a few seconds to realise that his hearing had been
true, and that indeed, Dorian was standing at the doorway with a wry look on
his face.
With Maharon’s hips suspended awkwardly between the bed and ‘Bull, white-
knuckled fists gripping onto his horns, the elf was in a precarious situation
where he was mostly off of the bed and clinging onto his larger lover. His
entire body was bared for Dorian to see, and a rush of shame went through him.
But it wasn't enough to stop the arousal and desire that coursed through his
body; nothing would be enough to stop it until he'd been completely exhausted.
Burying his face into a tattooed shoulder, he could feel his face and ears
turning completely red.
—Oh Creators. What would Dorian think of him now, being so completely hard and
wanton beneath 'Bull? It had been bad enough that his advisors had caught them
while Maharon had been dressing and 'Bull was completely naked. This time,
someone had finally caught them in the act.
He couldn't think of any words to say.
But it didn't really matter: he had a greater problem to deal with than being
caught.
Fen'harel take me, he thought desperately, he was so close to coming! Why did
Dorian have to enter in at that precise moment? And why couldn't he just leave?
A large arm went around Maharon's back, pulling him tightly against 'Bull's
body, seemingly as if the Qunari had felt Maharon's conflicting emotions of
sheer frustration and humiliation.
"So, what brought you up here, 'Vint?" The Iron Bull asked casually, moving so
that he was seated on the bed. Before Maharon could duck beneath the blankets,
his hips were caught by large hands, moving to plant him firmly in his lap. The
thickness of the Qunari's erection slid against his ass as he was settled into
position, hard and hot against his skin.
One of his hands moved in between them, curling around his still-weeping
arousal, making the elf gasp and curse with a strangled voice. "'Bull!" He
choked out in frustrated irritation, though his protest quickly turning into a
keen-like whine as a thumb all but crushed the tip of his dick.
The pleasure wrought despite his humiliation sent electricity through his
veins, his vision blurring at the edges as his eyes fluttered shut.
The sensual touch continued to alternate between rough and gentle pumps,
coaxing out all kinds of sounds from his mouth, both loud and breathy. But he
could lose sight of where he was and what doing, moaning like some kind of—...
courtesan! Dorian was right there, watching them!
He grabbed 'Bull's hand, trying to tug it away in vain. But with each
commanding stroke, he could feel his strength sap away, indecent moans and
mewls continuing to leave him before he'd covered his mouth with a hand.
Even as Maharon struggled, the mage bantered with 'Bull as if they weren't in a
compromising situation.
"A little birdie told me that our dear Inquisitor had been expecting a visit
from me; but I see he's currently occupied. Should I return in a few hours?"
Dorian asked in his Tevene drawl. "I'd rather not have to leave, you see;
traversing stairs from morning to night really is quite the ordeal... And
totally unrelated to the exertion is the fact that I quite enjoy the view."
The Iron Bull let out a hum of considering, purportedly thinking it over.
Maharon wanted to send the Tevinter man away before the situation got any
worse. Unluckily for him, 'Bull took that moment of thought to make him gasp
out lewdly: the fingers squeezing and touching him, rough callouses rubbing
against the sensitive knot—and ridding him of all rational thought as he cried
out in pleasure.
"An audience has never bothered me, but it really does depend on what Kadan has
to say about this," the Iron Bull said finally, lips curling into a smirk.
Perched on his lap with indecently spread legs, Maharon panted, looking up at
him with hooded eyes.
Frustration at the teasing and the subsequent humiliation of being displayed
like some—exhibition had left Maharon desperate for release.
It was almost enough to make him want to ignore Dorian and break the Iron
Bull's iron-clad will, forcing him to lose control and just fuck Maharon
already.
The Dalish elf only had qualms about presenting his naked body to someone other
than his lover (and possibly healers), but that particular discomfort had
already been dealt with, since Dorian was still occupying his room. Showing
someone how intimate he was with the Iron Bull when that someone already knew
it wasn't that big of a deal, right?
He couldn't see the mage's reaction when he finally, but hesitantly, nodded.
The movement was small, but it had the Iron Bull smirking widely at his nearly
imperceptible answer. That was enough to tell him that 'Bull was pleased—and
possibly Dorian too.
However, the hand gripping his dick pulled away, leaving him with a sudden loss
in sensation.
Maharon let out an instinctive whine, quickly placing his fingers over his
mouth to muffle the noise. The knowledge that Dorian was watching them had him
so self-conscious of everything he was doing, and especially the sounds he
would make.
And worse still was the knowledge that 'Bull knew how to pull out the strangest
of sounds from his throat, unbidden and uninhibited in pleasure.
Nevertheless, he muffled his voice with a trembling hand as the Iron Bull
coated his fingers with an oily liquid, begin to pry him open initially with
two fingers and filling him up enough to make him squirm with discomfort.
Biting down on the flesh part of his palm when that familiar touch began to
drift further and further into himself, he was distantly aware of 'Bull's
amused stare.
The thickness of his fingers inside of him was already enough to make Maharon
heady and so full, and knowing that 'Bull was only preparing him to take
something bigger still surprised him at times.
"Oh, don't muffle those sounds on my account. I find them fascinating," Dorian
commented suddenly, even as the Iron Bull bade Maharon to get up onto his
knees, planting them on either side of his thighs. His voice sounded closer
than before, as if he were no longer at the doorway and was walking towards the
bed.
It made Maharon shiver, feeling the heavy weight of a gaze upon his back.
It was strange, alien; it was nothing he'd ever done before. He didn't
understand the appeal of having another person watching them in their most
intimate of moments, but he knew that 'Bull found it stimulating. The hardness
pressing against his ass was telling, as was the carefully controlled thrusting
of fingers inside of him.
A shy moan left his parted lips, his hand dropping from his face to 'Bull's
shoulder and gripping hard.
His attempt at banishing his embarrassment was rewarded almost immediately.
"You're so good, Kadan," 'Bull murmured into his ear, kissing it as he curled
his fingers inside. It wasn't enough to touch him where he needed it, but it
made Maharon shudder in pleasure. The sensitive flesh of his ear continued to
tingle even after 'Bull pulled away. "Your body's opening up already; wanting
to take me in."
The Iron Bull rutted upwards, the heavy hardness of his erection rubbing
against the curve of his ass. Another finger found its way inside of him and
Maharon let out a strangled whimper, the pressure between his legs only
becoming more painful at the neglect—but he kept his hands firmly on 'Bull's
shoulders, knowing that the Qunari expected him to wait for permission.
Burying his face into 'Bull's neck, he let out breathy gasps and moans with
each thrust of his fingers into his ass, squirming at the way each knuckle
would stretch his entrance. He was leaking, he was so hard and it was getting
so hard to think; he wanted it so badly.
Nails dug into rough skin, threatening to draw blood as the Iron Bull
deliberately touched him everywhere but his sweet spot, making him all but
writhe in denied pleasure.
Any thought he could spare for his audience was promptly ignored for the way
'Bull would tease and toy with him, holding his hips still whenever he would
try to force him to touch him where he wanted and oh—!
He saw stars and white as he came, a strangled cry leaving his lips.
'Bull didn't stop moving inside of him, drawing out his orgasm, making him cry
out brokenly at the stimulation. His stomach was sticky with his own fluids,
but he was still mad with desire, caught within this thrall of sex and pleasure
that 'Bull could always draw him into.
He was so full, he was still hard, he was insatiable still.
Grabbing 'Bull by his horns, he pulled him into a kiss, forcing their lips
together as he hungrily rutted against his fingers. The barbed tongue tangling
with his own was an exquisite sensation in its own right; painful in the best
of ways, dragging against his smoother one with just enough of a hint of danger
that had Maharon aching to feel it upon him.
But he made no such a demand, making himself content with what 'Bull would
offer him.
Too distracted by 'Bull's touch on his body, Maharon didn't react to the sound
of Dorian behind him, fabric rustling in interesting ways. There was the sound
of wood hitting stone. Perhaps it was Dorian's staff, having fallen slack
within his grip and falling.
It didn't matter to Maharon; he finally had the Iron Bull kissing him, his
fingers buried inside, the promise of more pleasure awaiting him if he
continued to be good, and obey 'Bull's innumerable implicit and explicit
commands.
"Can you really fit into him? The Inquisitor is quite a small man." Dorian
sounded—different, flustered perhaps.
The Iron Bull broke the kiss, barely panting in comparison to Maharon, who was
gasping for air. His lips were slick and wet, and Maharon stared at them
greedily as he spoke. He wanted to have them on his own again.
The Qunari had a smirk on his face. It belied his smugness, however, that was
present in the way he continued to fondle Maharon—making him whimper and gasp
lewdly, puncturing the sudden conversation with the music of a brothel. "Why?
You offering to ride the bull too?"
"An interesting proposal, I'm sure, but the Inquisitor seems to be unwilling to
share you." Dorian was closer; he could feel the mage near his back.
Maharon's hip was stroked lightly as the Iron Bull's large hand moved a hand to
grip his thigh, making him shiver.
"Nevertheless, I am a generous man, and I'm perfectly amenable to being the
one shared," the mage finished magnanimously. There was a hand on his neck, and
Maharon tensed, eyes widening as he tore his eyes away from the Iron Bull's
lips to the mage.
He was suddenly kissed, and he couldn't help but let out a moan. He couldn't
resist even if he tried; elvish physiology demanded that he be touched, that he
sate himself sexually, whether by someone he loved or not.
But he couldn't help but note that Dorian kissed differently to the Iron Bull.
Where the Qunari was rough and domineering, the mage was... softer. He was
quick and talented, using the lightest of touches and the unbelievably
dexterity of his tongue to draw out strange noises from Maharon. His clever
tongue was useful for more than just words, that much was immediately obvious.
A hand curled into his hair, pulling him into a deeper kiss; it was hungry, it
was dirty, he could feel drool starting to slip out of his open mouth and down
his chin in an entirely indecent manner.
Maharon couldn't bring himself to care: those fingers inside of him were moving
again, he could feel 'Bull's eyes upon his face—how could he have honestly
considered refusing Dorian's presence when it was clear that 'Bull was pleased?
If anything, he seemed to be enjoying the show. The pulsing heat pressed
against his ass told him that much.
Gloved hands slid down his chest, avoiding his nipples and exploring the light
contours of his abdomen. Nimble fingers smeared pearly liquid across the
heaving flesh of his abdomen before they dipped lower, taking hold of a heavy
erection and making Maharon scream into Dorian's mouth.
Those curious fingers explored him so thoroughly: gripping him from his very
base and sliding upwards, firmly and tightly. A thumb and two other fingers
curled delicately around the swollen knot at the tip, squeezing it and rubbing
at it, making it leak pre-come readily despite how he had reached his orgasm
only minutes prior.
Maharon bucked his hips upwards, unable to decide whether to move into 'Bull's
fingers or Dorian's fist, clenching his eyes shut.
Creators, he wanted more.
"To answer your question," 'Bull suddenly spoke, his voice more rough than
usual. "He certainly can fit me inside of his tight ass."
The sheer desire within his lascivious words made Maharon tremble, almost able
to be swept away by the intensity of his need. The heady kiss wasn't helping
him much; he wanted to drown in pleasure, wanted to feel 'Bull's fullness
inside, wanted to have Dorian's mouth and hands on him.
He couldn't help himself, reaching up to grab Dorian by the hair and demanding
physically that he do more.
Dorian let out a soft huff of a laugh into his mouth, surrendering into
Maharon's insistent tugs and bending over even more to kiss him properly, the
heavy weight of his robes pressing down against Maharon's shoulders. Hungrily,
the elf bit and sucked at Dorian's lips, loving the alien sensation of his
mustache rubbing against his face.
Just as different as 'Bull was to him, Dorian's physiology was something that
soon became something that fascinated Maharon: his fingers slid over rounded
ears, found how they were round and small and delightfully warm under his
touch. Tilting his head back to rest it against Dorian's chest as he was
continued to be kissed so wonderfully, his fingers slid down from his ears,
touching and cupping what little he could reach of the other's larger and human
body.
However, he found 'Bull's fingers leaving him, making him gasp and tremble at
the sudden emptiness inside. Large hands grabbed his hips, pulling him away
from Dorian and turning him around. His back now to the Iron Bull, he faced
Dorian with wide eyes, a flush quickly appearing on his cheeks when he realised
he was now face to face with the human.
Who had a smirk on his face, and a pleasant flush on his cheeks.
"You might as well disrobe, vint," 'Bull's voice was gravelly, and Maharon
could feel it where his back was pressed against the other's chest. "It's
suffocating just looking at you."
A thick, muscular arm went around Maharon's waist, pulling him flush against a
hot and heavy erection. Spreading his legs almost instinctively, it slid
between his legs, rubbing so very deliciously against the underside of his dick
and testicles. It was almost gargantuan in size compared to the elf's, but
after how many times he'd let 'Bull take care of him, there was no hint of
threat, only pleasure.
Squeezing his thighs together, the elf delighted in the moan he elicited from
the Qunari, mischief quickly forming on his features. He squeezed again a
second time, turning his head enough to send 'Bull a cheeky grin.
The Iron Bull let out a chuckle, charmed by the elf's sudden playfulness.
Dorian had stripped himself of his gaudy robes by the time the Iron Bull had
his hands on Maharon's hips, making him bounce on his lap and fucking his
thighs. Maharon let out moans and gasps, unable to set the pace himself thanks
to the tight grip on his hips, only able to hold onto the Qunari's wrists. The
touch of Dorian's hand on him earlier had been enough to stimulate his body
into a desperate need; this rough pace, so very similar to actually having
'Bull inside, was enough to make him want to come already.
"This should prove to be an interesting experience," Dorian murmured almost
offhandedly, staring unabashedly at the sheer differences between the two on
the bed. The elf, though distracted by the feeling of heated flesh between his
legs, found his eyes trailing down the human's body.
Unlike the Qunari, Dorian had a lither frame; his neck was thinner, his
shoulders and arms less bulky, but it was clear that he trained often in more
than just magic unlike Maharon. But what interested Maharon the most was the
trail of hair that began at his navel, thickening the further down Maharon
looked. A dark coat of hair surrounded his erection, and the elf found himself
leaning forward despite the heated thrusts against him, staring inappropriately
at the novelty of looking at human genitalia.
Maharon's was hooked and bulbous at the head and thinner at the base, and
though it was shorter than either of the other two's, it was thicker overall in
proportion. Bull's was tapered, almost terrifyingly large in length and girth.
Dorian's didn't taper nor did it have any ridges like 'Bull's, but what made
Maharon stare was the gleaming jewel at the very tip of his.
And all he could wonder was, didn't it hurt to have that pierced?
How would that feel inside? his next thought was.
Chapter End Notes
     This is turning out to be the smut that never ends; it'll be
     continued in a fourth chapter //cries
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