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It hits him suddenly at the most inopportune time. Like so many things, it isn’t something Orym is looking for so, of course, there it is. Of course. After six years he has been content to never feel flutters around his shattered heart again. Flutters that could turn it to dust if he isn’t careful, he has always believed. He has been so sure. He didn’t even want to feel it again. But suddenly there it is. Suddenly there he is. Sudden the flutters, sudden the ache out of nowhere.
A blind man would be able to tell that Dorian is beautiful. It’s in every part of him; in the way he holds himself with a well practised boldness, but with glowing cracks in the facade that offer glimpses of his glorious awkwardness beneath, cracks that have grown as they became more comfortable with each other, until the boldness is a mask he just wears around strangers, the typical bard suit that he steps into then sheds when they are all alone. It’s in the soft way he speaks, the gentleness of his manner, the way he has with words. It’s in the music he plays, each song a little bit of his person woven into the melody, pieces of him shared with the world, and they are so vibrant or melancholy or hopeful.
It’s when Orym is taking watch one night that the flutters start, though if he looks back he knows it’s not the first, really. But this time the flutters brush close enough to his heart to be acknowledged, armed with little barbs of jealousy that Orym hasn’t seen since his youth. He watches from the tree as Dariax and Dorian talk quietly, so close together, then fall asleep back to back, obviously touching beneath their shared blanket. Orym knows he won’t say anything. He won’t say anything out loud. He won’t even acknowledge this again. He thinks he can convince himself that the flutters are nothing. It’s just a blip. He’s fine alone. He made his vows and promised forever and maybe that means never falling in love again. The gods blessed him with the love of his life. He won’t ask for more. He won’t ask for again.
The two of them fall asleep the same way the next night, though this time there is barely a discussion. They just settle down back to back, the blanket shared over them. Better this way, Orym thinks. Better the temptation has been removed. Better that Dorian finds affection with someone else. Not that Orym thinks he was ever an option. But this is how it should be.
It doesn’t stop his eyes from wandering, though. It doesn’t stop him from sighing to himself when he thinks of Dorian in that beautiful outfit he’d worn in Byroden, when he was wowing everyone that laid eyes on him and Orym was pretending to be Opal’s child. How and why would this man, this talented, humble, bashful man see anything in him? Orym had another talented, beautiful man love him once, he had a man who saw Orym as more than his height and his intense thoughts and his constant concern and searching eyes. And though whatever is blooming between Dorian and Dariax implies that Dorian doesn’t mind leaning down, it’s easier for Orym to think he’s not ever going to be in the running because he would have to reach up to hold Dorian’s hand, because Dorian would have to get on his knees just to kiss him. Dorian should be swept off his feet, and not just because he has to sit down to be close to his partner.
They take Opal back to Byroden. She has a great weight on her shoulders, and what else do they have to do? They have nothing but time on their hands.
They’ve barely been there two days when the message comes in from Zephra. The summoning home.
Dariax says he’ll stay here with Opal, she shouldn’t be left alone. Fearne is absolutely ready to move on again. Orym assumes then that Dorian will stay here, he’ll remain with Dariax, explore this new thing they’re starting. So he’s genuinely surprised and taken aback when Dorian looks him straight in the eye and says ‘where you go I’ll go’, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As though Orym should have known. Shouldn’t have doubted.
It’s unfair to say that he would have preferred Dorian to stay, because a) it’s not true, and b) a part of him of course wants Dorian with him. A very big part. Just to look at him. Just to hear him play at night, just to be near him. It’s gotten worse, no, stronger . This feeling. This longing to just briefly feel the warmth of Dorian’s hand against his own and learn, just for one night, how their bodies might fit together.
They don’t have to travel home on foot. He doesn’t have to worry about how he’s going to sleep at night, or whether he’s going to be able to resist trying to lay back to back with Dorian. The messenger transports them via the biggest tree in Bydoren, and Orym leads his two companions through into the brilliant blue skies and fresh breeze of Zephrah.
It has been a while since he was last here, but it feels- the daunting prospect of being here and staying here for a few days doesn’t feel as daunting with Fearne and Dorian beside him. They’ve been through so much together, his own personal ghosts are far more easy to face up to now.
“Oh my goodness,” Fearne whispers when she steps through the tree, but it’s Dorian that Orym is looking at.
The genasi’s eyes are wide, the same shade of blue as the sky, and he’s looking around with such wonder in his expression. Another strong breeze blows through and Dorian’s eyes close, a smile on his face as the wind catches his hair and blows it around him. He looks as though he is the one who just arrived home.
Orym brought an air genasi to the home of the air ashari. What did he expect? It just makes him tumble even deeper into these feelings.
Fearne has already walked a few paces away towards where the trees are in full bloom with tiny pink flowers, their petals scattering like raindrops in the breeze. The messenger has already left them, heading back into town, and Orym can wait to follow. He has time.
He reaches up a hand to pat Dorian’s hip, and the other man startles out of his reverie, his cheeks darkening as though he were caught doing something wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, but Orym holds up a hand to stop him from saying anything more.
“We just have to head into town. I promise it’s equally as breezy there,” Orym replies gently.
“It’s so beautiful,” Dorian breathes, his earnestness a weight in his voice. “Your home is so beautiful. Orym.”
He has no idea, Orym thinks, gazing up at him. There is nothing more beautiful than the view I have right now.
The short walk back into town takes longer than usual because Orym is letting his friends enjoy the sights and sounds and smells of Zephrah. Fearne is stopping to examine every flower and Dorian just looks like a picture. As they walk some of the falling petals catch in his dark hair, like stars in the night sky. Orym is staring, he knows he is, but what is he supposed to do? Dorian is a dream.
Though Orym goes to speak with the Voice of the Tempest alone, it is agreed that his friends can be party to the information and are allowed to go with him on the next stage of his journey. They will be provided with transport and everything they might need to get to Marquet.
People look at Dorian. They look at Fearne with interest and curiosity, but they look at Dorian with wonder and admiration, and Orym fully understands. Dorian seems oblivious to that in the same way he was oblivious to the way Dariax looked at him, Orym realises. He thinks about holding Dorian’s hand, he thinks that maybe Dorian wouldn’t even question it. But Orym knows these people will talk, and words travel fast on the breeze here.
He takes them back to his house. His feet feel like lead as he crosses over the threshold into the home he all but abandoned over half a decade ago, just a night here and there through the years. It’s hard. It’s hard because the scent of them both still lingers in the air and things are still where they had been left one morning long ago-
Fearne muses out loud that it’s strange that Orym’s furniture is too big for him, normal people size, could he not get halfling chairs?
“It’s because that would be really awkward for visitors,” Dorian says without missing a beat, though Orym sees him moving away from the mantel where the mementos from Orym’s wedding lay, Will’s wedding ring, a small carved plaque, the tiny box of ashes that could be saved. Will's weapon hangs above the mantle too, clearly too big to be something Orym would wield. Dorian isn’t stupid. Dorian is brilliant. He’s seen the evidence and deflected the conversation away from the fact that someone taller used to live here, too.
Orym wants to thank him, but he also doesn’t want to have that conversation. Ever.
There’s room in the bed for the two of them -probably even all three of them- but both Dorian and Fearne politely decline the offer of the bed and sleep in the lounge. It’s fine. It’s for the best. Orym needs to be alone here. He hasn’t been home in so long, he needs this. Just one more night.
He lays in the bed, over his side, his arms wrapped around himself. The voices in the room beyond gradually fade to nothing as the other two settle down to sleep. Orym keeps his eyes closed, trying to do the same thing, to little success for an hour or so.
It is then, unbidden, that Orym thinks of Dorian pressing him into the bed. Not this bed, no, but the one they had stayed in in Emon. Dorian’s weight is exquisite and their mouths move hungrily against each other.
Orym’s eyes fly open wide and he stares at the dark ceiling. His heart is hammering hard in his chest, and his cock is twitching against his stomach. Was he dreaming? It felt so real, so real that he misses Dorian’s body against his own. So much that he thinks about going to find the genasi and asking him to join him, just for one wild moment.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, Orym draws in a breath and rolls onto his side, facing the empty space and thinking about the task he has been assigned, the information he was given, maps out so many different possibilities and plans in his head until sleep takes him finally.
It’s nice to have a little break. And it really is nice to be home. It’s been so long, but things haven’t really changed. It’s as beautiful as it has ever been. The air smells sweet and fresh, the nostalgia feels both like a hug and a painful twist in his stomach.
Dorian and Fearne seem to be happy enough just wandering around, and Orym does try to spend a bit of time with them outside of meals, but he has things to do; there are plans being made and he has to be in attendance for them, he needs the information and the instructions, all the fine details. He needs them and he’s hungry for them. He needs to get vengeance. He needs Will to rest peacefully.
That, and being around Dorian is suddenly really difficult. Every time he glances across at the genasi it feels as though memories flood into his head. He knows now that they are definitely memories, not just vivid fantasies. He gets flashes of Dorian naked beneath him, and Orym can feel the press of fingers against his back where Dorian had clung to him as he moved, as he pushed into the heat of his body.
There are other flashes of Dorian on his knees whilst Orym is spread out over the bed, the pretty, warm mouth wrapped around his cock, those same fingers now gripping his thighs where they are wound around his shoulders.
The recent realisation of these feelings and these sudden memories make it difficult for Orym to look at his friend, especially when he sees Dorian from a distance looking so perfectly at home in Zephrah, as though the bracing breezes billowing around him are a loving embrace, welcoming him to this place that Orym has lived his whole life. He wants to feel as though it’s an insult to Will’s memory to share their space with the man he had drunkenly fucked and forgotten about, but the feelings of guilt never come, no matter how long he waits.
Dorian is so beautiful. Other people notice. Orym sees them staring, he sees them turning their head to keep looking a little longer when he passes by. Orym wants to stop them, or he wants to go and take Dorian’s hand (hands that he can now remember all over his body) just to make sure everyone knows that there is no point in fantasising because Dorian is spoken for. Even if he isn’t. Even if it’s only because Orym has memories of them claiming each other fiercely over and over again in the course of a drunken week and then forgetting about it. Never speaking about it again.
The first time they had kissed had been messy and lazy, after the two of them had woken up together. Orym remembers Dorian curled up beside him, arms around him, and they had just kissed. There hadn’t been any question about it. Orym had been attracted to Dorian right from the start, but he hadn’t felt that kind of thing for so long he hadn’t known what to do with it.
Until they kissed.
And apparently did so much more.
Dorian has braids in his hair, some of the little blossoms threaded into them, and Orym finds himself staring at dinner on their third night in Zephrah. It’s almost time to leave again, and though Dorian and Fearne are looking blissful and relaxed, Orym still doesn’t know how he’s supposed to deal with these feelings if they continue to spend time together. Trying to keep away hasn’t done any good, the memories keep coming back relentlessly.
They have an important mission to go on. They have answers they have to find. He has justice he needs to bring about.
Then they head to Marquet. Orym gets one more view of Dorian with petals in his hair, another moment of watching him stand in the breeze, looking as though he’s perfectly at home where Orym once was.
“Do you miss your home?” Orym asks, waiting for Dorian to finish what looks like a fond goodbye. The genasi’s cheeks turn a slightly deeper shade of blue, and he glances away bashfully, back towards the town.
“Oh, no. Not really. I’m just being silly,” Dorian says dismissively, turning and hurrying his steps to catch up with Fearne.
“You look beautiful,” Orym says without thinking, but he’s saved the embarrassment because Dorian doesn’t seem to hear him, the wind carrying his voice away.
The air ship isn’t busy at all. It’s really just for them and about a dozen other people, so the two days and two nights are going to be a little bit dull.
Fearne asks a lot of questions, steals things, and then causes a ruckus with Mister and his fire belching in the bowels of the wooden ship.
Dorian strums his lute, writes a few little songs. Orym catches him singing, but he usually stops, and then sometimes packs up his instruments altogether and pretends he isn’t doing anything. Orym doesn’t know why. He’s played in front of him a whole bunch of times.
But he respects Dorian’s privacy. Maybe it’s personal. It’s how Dorian works out his thoughts and feelings, and maybe he’s going through something too. It doesn’t matter.
The three of them share a sleeping quarters, one big bed, and Orym is in the middle. He likes it in the middle. Fearne smells like a meadow. Dorian smells like ozone. It’s the perfect place to be.
Fearne sprawls out and takes up more than her fair share of bed. Dorian, on the other hand, curls into a little ball, and it’s difficult for Orym to not touch him too much. And not just because there isn’t much bed to spare. It doesn’t help that Dorian sleeps in a flowing shirt that is a little on the transparent side.
He’s so beautiful, Orym can’t stop thinking about him now. Since the realisation hit him that this is something more - has been something more - he’s hopelessly attracted to Dorian, he can’t stop looking. It’s now undeniable. It feels like it’s in every breath. He can’t stop the flutters in his chest that seem to be knitting his fractured heart together again. Orym didn’t think it would happen. He didn’t think something like this would ever float gently into his lap.
Because it isn’t like falling, it’s like drifting into love.
***
“There’s no debt between us,” Dorian says with a smile. Their hands touch briefly, their gazes linger longer as though on a tether. Orym thinks of rescinding his goodnight and remaining down here longer, in the bar with his new friends, but he doesn’t want to stay too long. He doesn’t want to push too much. There can be too much of a good thing.
Sometimes Orym thinks that Dorian is looking at him, too. Sometimes he wonders if they’re doing this dance together. Orym has settled into a comfortable space where he has accepted these feelings. He feels good around Dorian. He wants to take care of him. He wants to believe - even if a part of him doesn’t - that when Dorian looks to him for guidance, when he runs into danger for him, when he reaches out to heal him it’s because he feels the same.
Orym kind of wants to keep it platonic because then there’s no chance of it hurting. If he just admires Dorian from a distance there’s no chance of his delicate heart being bruised and broken again. And that’s why it’s a good idea that he go to bed and pretend that nothing is happening. That everyone in the bar isn’t falling in love with Dorian, too.
He is under the covers and the lights are off when there's a soft knock on the door, as though the person on the other side doesn’t actually want to be heard and doesn't want to be acknowledged.
Instinctively, Orym looks to where his weapon is propped up by the wall. But if someone was going to attack him they probably wouldn’t knock beforehand.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Oh. Hi.” Dorian’s voice is soft and surprised, like Orym is knocking on his door. “May I come in?”
Getting out of bed is a lot easier than getting in, and if it were anyone else he would have been annoyed at having to scale it again. But it’s Dorian. Anything for Dorian.
It’s also some effort for Orym to reach up to open the door, but it’s Dorian.
“Hey.” Orym smiles up at him.
“Hi. Did I- I’m sorry, I got you out of bed”
Orym steps aside and lets Dorian in, pushing the door closed.
“It’s all good.” he shrugs. “Are you okay?”
Dorian fiddles with his own fingers. “I wondered if I could sleep in here with you tonight?” he asks, giving every impression that he thinks Orym is going to kick him out.
Orym laughs. “Of course.” There’s pleasure in his voice at the idea, the thought that Dorian had chosen to come here to him. To sleep. “Any time you want. Get yourself comfortable.”
Dorian smiles, letting out a sigh of relief as he immediately begins to undress, putting his pack on the floor at the end of the bed.
Orym climbs back up onto the bed, forgetting even a whisper of annoyance at the effort it takes. And he watches. Dorian has always been very methodical in his undressing. He takes things off, places them down carefully, folds his clothes, puts things away. It’s very soothing to watch, and he can claim it’s that and not that he just wants to stare.
He really can’t help but stare. Orym is dressed in just his sleeping pants, bare chested, and Dorian isn’t staring at him .
But no one could blame him. Dorian peels off his upper clothing and displays the beautiful panes of his body, the muscles that are so nicely defined. There’s the little flickers of gold around his nipples and navel that pull Orym’s gaze as they must be intended to, unnecessary adornments if Dorian is trying to make himself more beautiful. He doesn’t need anything else.
He’s so fucking pretty.
Dorian begins to take off his pants after folding his shirt and placing it carefully in his pile.
He’s wearing the prettiest underwear, too.
Orym sits up in bed with wide eyes. Dorian’s nice, already gorgeous backside is fitted perfectly into a pair of little black lacy panties that look so good against his skin, and Orym is convinced that he has never seen any of this before. Because he would absolutely have remembered. And now Dorian is slowly, slowly folding his pants to give Orym a good view. He bends over to pull his sleeping clothes out of his bag and it’s all Orym can do to hold back a moan..
Oh, no, just his sleeping shirt. He pulls it on and it tumbles over his body like water. He must know Orym is looking. This whole show is for him.
Dorian finally turns around, pulling his long hair out of the back of his shirt, smiling at Orym.
“Do you have a preferred side of the bed?” he asks brightly, moving closer to where Orym is sitting, still staring.
Gods. He’s so fucking pretty.
“I- don’t care,” Orym moves over, just picking a side. Dorian pulls back the covers and slides under, shirt riding up to show more of his thighs. He settles down and Orym does the same. Dorian rolls onto his side, facing Orym, and he really can’t stop himself from mirroring the position to face the genasi.
“Is everything okay?” Orym asks, wondering if there’s a reason for this impromptu but not unwelcome visit.
Dorian’s neat brow furrows for a second, and he lifts a hand and brushes his hair back behind his ear. “I was scared I was going to lose you today,” he finally says. “It’s getting more difficult. I wish you were always within reach. I wish I could always- be touching you.”
It sounds like a come on but Orym has been around long enough to not jump straight on that.
“You can touch me whenever you want. Whenever you can,” he says instead.
Dorian reaches across and touches his fingers to Orym’s tattooed arm.
There’s another memory as there had been in Zephrah, flashes of that week they lost in Emon when they first met, the two of them stripping off each other’s clothes, mouths hungry on each other’s skin. Dorian’s cheeks flushed and his lips swollen, begging Orym to touch him even as Orym’s hands moved over his body.
“I keep thinking I’m remembering things, but I don’t know if they’re real or if I’m just dreaming,” he continues. Orym flexes, and Dorian smiles. “You don't have to impress me. You always have me. My attention is always on you.”
Orym feels his cheeks flood with heat, and he tentatively reaches out his own hand to press it to Dorian’s chest.
“What did you remember?” Orym asks, his fingers finding the collar of Dorian’s shirt and tracing around it, barely grazing the genasi’s skin.
“I remember something like this,” Dorian whispers, as though there are other people around who might hear. “I remember us being in bed together.”
Orym swallows and nods, his cheeks growing more pink. The images that had come to him when they were in Zephra, the memories of Dorian dancing and the way his hair smelt, the way he had undressed for only Orym, making a show of it. It’s different to how he undressed tonight, different to other times, to the time they had all but ripped each other’s clothes off, to the time they hadn’t taken their clothes off at all, just unfastened what they needed to.
Orym doesn’t know how many times they fucked in that week. Or why he is remembering now. Or why Dorian is.
“I’ve remembered a few things, too,” he admits. “Like this. And other things.”
“I remember you fingering me,” Dorian says in a rush. “And I remember you coming on me. And- and I don’t think both of those things happened in one…session.”
“Oh,” Orym says, almost in a moan. “Yeah. I remember.” He nods, running his fingers up Dorian’s neck, seeing the shiver that runs through him. “I remember a lot of things. The way you undressed for me. The way- the sweet sounds you made when I ran my fingers up your thighs-” Dorian makes a sound like a gasp, his body twitching slightly as though he wants to move closer but doesn’t. “I remember how you tasted-” then, after another pause. “All of you.” He has the vaguest memory of having Dorian in his mouth, but he remembers him coming. He also now remembers coming over Dorian. How it had looked against his skin. White on blue. “I might like to refresh my memory.”
Dorian breathes out a laugh. “I thought about it in Zephrah but that…it wasn’t the right time.”
“Oh,” Orym says, because that is accurate. Dorian had been the one to notice the remnants of Orym’s marriage, after all. He hadn’t asked, and Orym hadn’t shared, but it also hadn’t been the right time to talk about what had happened, even if Orym had been thinking about it then, too.
“I don’t know if now is a good time, still,” Dorian continues in a whisper, his fingers tracing the patterns of Orym’s tattoos. He doesn’t meet Orym’s eyes, but that’s okay because Orym is staring at his mouth and wondering if Dorian will let him kiss him again. To refresh his memory. But then Dorian’s words catch up to him. Was now not a good time? It feels like a great time.
“Because of the others?” he tries. Because they have a job to do and they might distract each other? They’re doing a terrible job of being careful right now. It can’t get any worse.
Dorian sighs. “We were drunk before. I guess you didn’t know what you were going-”
“I don’t remember, but I’m pretty sure I knew what I was doing,” Orym replies, tracing his fingers over Dorian’s jaw and then over his lips. “Dorian? Did this- ? I don’t regret it,” he adds, because that seems to be something Dorian needs to hear right now.
Dorian’s beautiful eyes flick up to meet Orym’s. “It didn’t seem as though you were ready to move on,” the genasi says. “In Zephrah. And I don’t mind. I can wait or- I mean- it isn’t as though I can turn my feelings off.”
There’s a lot to unpack in those two sentences, and Orym pauses, his fingers sliding up into Dorian’s hair and resting there. He gives himself a few seconds to process his thoughts.
Is he ready to move on? He didn’t think he would ever be, but then he had found himself with these unexpected feelings for Dorian. Feelings that had apparently emerged when he was drunk, over and over again. Is he ready for something else? Yes. Maybe. Does he want Dorian to wait? He can’t believe the offer is even there, but it doesn’t seem like something he could ask, because if it was anyone but Dorian he wouldn’t know if he would ever be ready. But Dorian has feelings ? For Orym? That is entirely mutual.
“I have feelings for you, too,” Orym replies, starting to gently stroke Dorian’s hair. “I don’t- I didn’t realise it until almost the end of our last journey, before we went back to Zephrah. But the memories I have of our time together at the beginning…I guess the attraction was instantly there-” The colour rises in Dorian’s cheeks again, clearly focusing on his own memories of that first week. “And if there were anyone else, I don’t think I would be ready, but there’s something about you-” Orym laughs softly. “And if you want to take this…if you want to be something more we should do that. I’d like that.”
Dorian nods his head slowly, his eyes searching Orym’s face for any signs of uncertainty, which Orym doesn’t feel at all. A smile curls on his lips, and he’s so, so beautiful.
“You’re so beautiful,” Orym sighs, verbalising his thoughts with wonder in his voice because, honestly, how did he get this lucky for a second time?
Dorian chuckles, then leans in and closes the space between them, kissing Orym softly. Considering the things the two of them have done, it’s chaste and shy but it’s perfect. Orym sighs, leaning into it, parting his lips and purring as Dorian’s tongue slides between them. Orym remembers the way he tastes. He remembers the desperate kisses, the way they had kissed like starving men not just the first time, but every time they had been alone. He doesn’t even think they waited until they were alone some of the time. But they are right now, and the kiss is amazing.
Dorian shifts closer and Orym welcomes him by sliding a leg between his thighs, humming his encouragement as Dorian slings his own leg over Orym’s hip. Dorian has incredible thighs, and Orym really hopes he gets the opportunity to have them wrapped around him again in all the ways he vaguely remembers; around his head, around his hips, around his shoulders-
He moves his hand to the thigh that is around his hip, stroking up all the way until his fingers can push gently beneath one leg of the pants that Dorian is wearing.
Dorian cups Orym’s face gently, sliding his fingers up into his hair. It’s so gentle and so sweet, and distantly Orym feels the pulse of Dorian’s cock against his belly.
“I remember kissing you so much,” Dorian murmurs, their lips barely parted as he speaks.
“We can do anything you remember,” Orym promises, because that’s absolutely what he wants.
“Over time,” Dorian says lightly with a laugh in his voice, though when he speaks again there’s a note of uncertainty in it. “Only if you want to. If you want more than just tonight?”
“I absolutely do,” Orym says without having to think about it. No, he’s already thought about it. And he wants Dorian completely. “Where do you want to start?”
Dorian licks his lips, tongue grazing over Orym’s, too. “I don’t think anything too heavy. I guess I’m going to have to walk tomorrow-”
It’s flattering, because even though Orym is a little bigger than average for a halfing, he’s still not huge, and he knows that Dorian can take him easily, even if he fully appreciated all of the noises that Dorian had made when Orym had fucked him.
Oh yes, he remembers that.
“Well, we can do whatever you want,” Orym says softly, his fingers still sliding around the leg of Dorian’s underwear, stroking around the top of his thigh and around to where Dorian’s cock is tenting the fabric.
“Just something gentle for tonight?” he whispers, his fingers dancing over the tip of Dorian’s cock through the soft material, pleased at the shuddering breath that brushes over his lips. Dorian’s hand moves away from Orym’s face and starts to move down, but Orym stops him. “Just relax,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”
Dorian hesitates for a moment, then returns his fingers to Orym’s hair.
That’s enough. It’s really enough for Orym. Fingers in his hair as his own start to tease Dorian’s cock. He doesn’t care how many times they have done this before, this time his brain is clear and he knows he is going to remember everything when he wakes up. And Dorian is going to, too.
His hand pushes into Dorian’s underwear, his palm sliding up and down him. Dorian sighs out softly against Orym’s lips, his hips stuttering slightly though he tries to hold back on that.
Dorian is nicely sized for Orym. He fits in to Orym’s hand perfectly, and he remembers how good he felt in his mouth. His fingers can barely touch around Dorian’s shaft, but it’s enough. It’s enough to allow him to give a lot of friction.
His thumb rubs over the tip, pleased at how wet Dorian is and at how sweet the sounds are that slip from the genasi’s lips when Orym’s hand starts to stroke up and down him again, as far as he can reach. One of the only problems of being half Dorian’s height is that he has to choose between kissing and being able to touch all of Dorian’s length, but right now all he wants to do is kiss Dorian, and everything else will just fall into place.
He touches their lips together and Dorian kisses back eagerly, as though he were just waiting for permission to kiss again. His fingers hold onto the back of Orym’s head gently, because now that they've started he doesn’t want to stop. Orym is fully on board with this.
“Do you remember having your mouth on me?” Orym asks with another swipe of his fingers across the head of Dorian’s cock.
“Mhm,” Dorian hums. “Yeah. I remember your fingers in my hair,” he whispers. “I remember the filthy things you said to me whilst I was doing it. Not word for word-” a shiver runs through Dorian again. “But I remember thinking how hot you were, how I never imagined you would say such filthy things.”
“Bring your leg up a bit more, sweetheart? I want to touch more of you,” Orym replies, smiling as Dorian immediately obeys and allows him to reach more of his cock. “Good boy. That’s better,” he compliments, feeling yet another shiver run through Dorian. He remembers then, too, just how much Dorian likes being told how good he is, how beautiful he is, and that isn’t a difficulty.
Orym strokes up and down, gratified at getting more of the genasi’s cock in his hand, and Dorian’s fingers slowly massage Orym’s scalp, brushing their lips together. “You deserve all of the wonderful things. I want to give you everything,” Orym says between their kisses, trying to verbalise the thoughts that have been rolling around in his head for some time now.
“I only need you,” Dorian insists, pressing their lips together again, firmer than before, as though he doesn’t want Orym to say anything else, as though it is enough already.
Orym isn’t complaining. He kisses back with just as much enthusiasm.
Every part of them seems to fit together perfectly, as though the difference in their sizes is predestined to allow this. Dorian’s tongue slides into Orym’s mouth again just as Orym’s thumb slides once more over the head of his cock, and it feels like a spark ignites between them, making them gasp into each other’s mouths.
“Should have done this sooner,” Orym manages, back to stroking up and down Dorian’s length with renewed enthusiasm.
“Wasn’t- wasn't the right time-” Dorian rasps, his fingers tracing the shell of Orym’s ear which is so beautiful and intimate. “Orym, I’m going to come.”
“Good. Let it go. I want to watch you. I want to remember,” he adds. More than just a flashback, more than just an image he can only just recall in glimpses. He wants to be able to recall it when he wants to. It means they have to break their kiss so that he can watch, but it’s worth it.
Dorian’s eyes are closed, his impossibly long eyelashes fanned out over his pretty, flushed cheeks, his lips parted and swollen from their kisses as he breathes raggedly. “Yes, Orym. Yes. Oh-” his lovely brows furrow as though perplexed, and his hips twitch before there is a rush of heat against his fingers and Dorian groans.
“There, good boy,” Orym rasps, his voice rougher than it had been. He’s delighted. “You’re so beautiful.” He continues to move his hand, though his grip is lighter, teasing the other man through the aftershocks until Dorian’s fingers touch his wrist and he stills. There’s a pause as Dorian catches his breath, and Orym just takes a few moments to admire the genasi. His genasi
“Wow, it’s much better sober,” Dorian replies quietly at length, amusement in his voice. “Not that there was anything- it was good before, I know that-”
“I’m just glad I’ll remember it all,” Orym whispers back, reluctantly letting go of Dorian so that he doesn't overstimulate him..
A few more moments pass as Dorian continues to catch his breath, his nose bumping against Orym’s.
“Does that mean we have to do all of the things we did before?” Dorian asks finally, smiling.
“Well, I was hoping so,” Orym replies warmly. “Just to make sure we did it right the first time.”
Dorian laughs. “Oh I know you were doing it right, I know you left me feeling boneless. We both kept coming back for more.”
“I would have come back to you even if we never had sex,” Orym tells him. “I can’t keep away from you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Dorian kisses him softly, and it’s enough to know that he feels the same way.
“I want your fingers in my hair,” Dorian murmurs, grinning when Orym lifts his clean hand to touch the long, dark strands. “No, not like this.” He pecks one more kiss to Orym’s lips and then pushes him gently over onto his back, moving the short way down the bed to his hips. Orym spreads his legs without question to accommodate his beautiful boy between them.
“Oh,” Orym smiles. “I see what you mean.”
He doesn’t need to be instructed again. He slides his fingers through Dorian’s hair, letting the strands flow between them before they come to rest on the back of Dorian’s head. His gaze is fixed on the other man as he kisses one of Orym’s thighs, then his belly, then his other thigh before his lips finally part and his mouth closes around Orym’s cock. It’s just enough that Dorian struggles a tiny bit, and that’s very satisfying for Orym. Even when he was inside Dorian, even when it was obvious he wasn’t filling him completely, the genasi had moaned like Orym’s was the greatest cock he had ever had. Maybe that is true, but Dorian also makes him feel huge .
He gathers Dorian’s hair in his hand on one side of his head - all the better to see his mouth wrapped around him - the other touching Dorian’s cheek where his cock is pressing. Dorian lifts his eyes to look at Orym, his lips dragging slowly up and down his length. Dorian is good at this, but Orym doesn’t feel the need to be jealous. As many people as there may have been before, there won’t need to be any more after.
“Beautiful boy,” Orym whispers, his thighs trembling slightly when Dorian’s tongue drags up his length and teases the tip of his cock before sliding down again. Orym groans, his muscles beginning to tense up already, the heat building in his belly, his breathing ragged. Dorian looks amazing, he would never have been able to imagine anything more lovely, and he’s glad that he gets to see this sober. “Don’t stop,” Orym pants, even though he knows that Dorian has no intention of doing so. He’s moaning shamelessly as he works over Orym’s cock, and his fingers, though they had been resting lightly against Orym’s tense thighs, begin to press harder, gripping.
Orym moans in frustration when Dorian pulls off completely, though there’s a smile on his boy’s lips and he desperately wants to know what filthy thought has warranted this pause.
“You know I can hold my breath indefinitely, Orym?” Dorian asks, a rasp in his voice. “You can just wrap your legs around my head and I’d be absolutely fine.”
Orym’s eyes widen, because he had forgotten that. “That’s going to be useful information for another time,” he whispers, putting a little bit of pressure on Dorian’s head with his fingers to coax him back to his cock.
Dorian goes obediently without another comment, sliding his lips down Orym’s length. The pause has made everything so much more sensitive, and Orym cries out at the rush of pleasure that rolls through him.
“Fuck. Yes. Don’t stop,” he groans, his muscles once more tensing up, trembling, his back arching slightly so that he can press himself into his lover’s mouth. Little thrusts that Dorian accepts with a happy moan, loosening the ring of his lips so that Orym can fuck his mouth.
That’s all Orym needs. He cries out as the pleasure floods through him suddenly. Again it’s better, again he doesn’t think that anything compares to this. None of the sex they had had in that lost week. Nothing before.
He relaxes, slumps onto the bed, his fingers still wound in Dorian’s hair, aware of his hot mouth moving over Orym’s belly.
“Wow,” Orym sighs.
“I know,” Dorian replies, his voice muffled by Orym’s hip where his mouth is resting. “Orym, I’ve thought about you so often. I’ve thought about you like this- it feels like forever.”
“Hey- hey-” Orym sits up slightly, running his fingers over Dorian’s cheek. “It’s okay now-” Dorian seems upset, and Orym wants to make sure he has nothing to worry about. “We’re here now. We’re- we’re together now.”
Dorian’s eyes are sparkling with unshed tears, but his expression immediately brightens.
Gods, it’s such a big thing to say. For Orym it’s a big deal. Moving on. Being with someone else when he had told himself that was never going to happen.
But looking at Dorian smiling up at him from between his spread legs, that beautiful face with all that affection aimed at him, and the things he had been feeling since they met- he could be happy again. He’s going to be happy again.
Orym thinks that as they wind around each other to sleep, and he thinks how wonderful it is in those few bleary seconds when he wakes up again with Dorian pillowed against him; those few seconds just before he realises it is the hammering on their bedroom door and the frantic calling of his name that woke him up.