Chapter Text
The lights of Jrusar are a lot brighter than many places Orym has been before. Perhaps because everything here is built upwards, and Orym isn’t a very tall man. Emon had been the biggest place he had ever been until now, but the sprawling streets had felt more manageable than here, where they have to jump between one tall tower and the other, and it’s hard to remember where everything is because there’s no real structure to the placement.
Dorian seems equally as displeased by the chaos, and spent a lot of time the last few evenings they’ve been here cleaning himself and his clothes and his things.
Fearne thrives. Orym isn’t surprised about this. And they really haven’t made a lot of progress on the mission they came here for. The heat of the continent, the dusty air, it’s all very stressful. The hotel they’re staying in is kept pleasantly cool, but the problem with that is that it lulls all of them into a false sense of comfort, because the moment they step outside again it’s warm and sticky and their enthusiasm wilts like a daisy.
Jrusar is awake all night, and Orym tried the night before to go out in the neighbouring area and get some information once the temperature had dropped, but prices for information seem to go up as the sun and the heat goes down and he wasn't really sure of who to talk to, anyway. Most of the people present were rich, affluent, they wouldn’t have spoken to him anyway, and the working folk weren’t particularly keen, either.
It’s frustrating .
He doesn’t really know what to do.
Orym is a great believer in mediation to clear his head, which makes it even worse when that really doesn’t work. He has all these questions, more and more questions every time he tries to seek answers.
“Good evening,” the voice from behind the counter sends a shiver down Orym’s spine, but the owner of it is genuinely pleasant. She sticks out like a sore thumb among the elegant decor of the hotel, though she does try very hard not to look too scary. Right now there is a delicate red flower in her hair, even if it is looking a little brown around the edges.
“Hey, Laudna,” Orym smiles, standing in the middle of the shiny, tiled entrance, looking out at the darkening city beyond. He had thought of trying again tonight, but he’s exhausted. “How’s it going? Busy evening?”
“Oh, good. You know, business is steady-” there’s no one else here right now, but there have been a lot of people at breakfast each morning, so presumably they’re all out enjoying the evening or attending to their own business. “How is your work going?” Laudna slides over the desk slightly, propping her head up on one thin hand. “Have you made any progress?”
Orym heaves a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. “Not yet. Still working on it.” He doesn’t want to admit that they have nothing, really. That they’ve been here on a lead for two days and have gained nothing. He has all this money and he can’t get any information. He wasn’t made for this. He’s just a security guard.
“Well, at least if you’re not making any progress you’re staying somewhere nice, right? Silver linings.”
This is all on the company's money. And Orym has tried to not take advantage of the generosity, but they have paid for a suite with three rooms so that they don’t have to share, and so that they have space to work out their notes. Which are rather sparse at the moment.
“It is such a beautiful place,” he agrees, because Laudna always seems to look so pleased at any praise towards her place of work.
She beams.
“Well, we owe part of it to our handyman, of course, and our generous patron, but I like to think Imogen and I add a little something to the ambiance.”
“You sure do,” Orym smiles. “Hey-” A thought suddenly occurs to him. “The owner of this place- he’s lived in Jrusar a while, right?”
“Rumour has it that he laid one of the first foundation stones,” Laudna replies with a twinkle in her eyes. Orym knows as well as she does that these spires, all of them, are natural formations. Incredible natural formations. “He has, yes. I don’t know how long exactly, but a while.”
“Is he around at the moment?” Orym asks, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice.
Laudna frowns and slinks back behind the desk, pulling up a huge, black, leather book from under the table, the pages gilded with gold and a little worn. It takes some effort for her to move it, but she immediately starts to flick through, and Orym moves closer to the desk, using a small set of steps provided for shorter patrons to reach the counter.
“He’s back tomorrow in the afternoon. And it looks like he’ll be here the rest of the week,” Laudna says brightly.
“Do you think there’s a chance we can set up a meeting with him?” I can pay for his time-” Orym replies in a rush, trying to peer over the edge of the desk as though he can see the available times.
“Tomorrow before dinner?” Laudna asks, picking up a pen between her thin fingers, poised over the page.
“Yeah. Amazing! Perfect!” Orym nods excitedly. It isn’t answers, but it’s something and it might lead to anything more than the nothing he already has. Which automatically makes it a win. “Thank you!”
“Of course! Happy to help!” Laudna replies cheerily, writing down the appointment in the book as Orym climbs down from the steps.
He bounces off towards the big ornate staircase, heading back to the suite to tell his companions, calling more words of gratitude and appreciation over his shoulder. He’s excited, and it gives him more energy than he feels as though he has had in days, and maybe he’s going a little too fast because an old, angry voice snaps at him from somewhere.
“Hey! No running! You might damage the wood with those heavy steps!”
“Sorry, Mr. Pock O’Pea! There was some good news!” Orym calls out, though he continues running up another flight of stairs and along to where they’re staying.
He bursts into the room, entering into the main body of the suite, filled with big sofas and ornate wooden furniture that makes it far more luxurious than anywhere Orym has ever been before. Even in Whitestone the rooms were not as elaborate as this. Each of them have their own bedroom, the doors of which sit on each opposite wall, with a fireplace on the unoccupied one. The sofas are situated in the middle of the living room, and that is where his friends have settled.
Dorian is sitting on one sofa, legs crossed beneath him, clad in one of the soft, white cotton dressing gowns provided by the hotel, his hair up in a matching towel, a book open in his lap. Fearne is sprawled on her back on another sofa, humming something that cuts off as Orym appears in a flurry through the main door.
“We have a meeting with Lord Eshteross tomorrow! So we can ask him everything he knows about anyone or anything that might link back to the assassins, or if he knows anyone we can talk to!” Orym says in a rush, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet like a child.
“Oh!” Dorian sits up straighter and folds his book closed, looking interested. “With Lord Eshteross? That’s huge! He’s incredibly important-” they all know that. But Orym is glad the weight of this is apparent to someone else. That Dorian seems as excited as he is. Orym nods his confirmation.
“We should take a few of the things we have with us-” he starts, looking at the table in the middle of the sofas with its array of papers that are, for the most part, the things that Orym brought with him from Zephrah.
“Well, we don’t have much-” Dorian replies, though he has never seemed as disappointed as Orym always is when they come up short. It’s Orym’s job, after all. Dorian and Fearne are just tagging along for moral support, and whilst they have absolutely been supporting him, Orym also knows they’re enjoying everything being paid for. Nice things. Things the two of them are used to but that are a luxury for him.
Oryms sighs, and Dorian immediately looks apologetic.
“It’s a great opportunity, Orym! It really is! We won’t need to say or ask much, I’m sure he’ll know just from the description we give, I’m sure he’ll know- he’s a great man.”
Orym forces a smile on his face. He likes Dorian a lot. A lot a lot, and it’s difficult that this mission, the time they’re really getting to know each other and spending so much time together, is a mission that relates back to Orym’s late husband.
Perhaps it’s serendipitous, perhaps it was always meant to be like this. A little bit complicated but a good story to tell on their wedding day.
Orym really needs to let off some steam, to work out this energy or frustration or whatever it is buzzing in his veins. He wants to climb Dorian right here and pull that gown from his body and enjoy him. Fearne wouldn’t care. Orym doesn’t even mind if she watches at this point. He doesn’t think he’d even notice once he had his hands on Dorian’s bare skin.
But Dorian is just gazing benignly back at him, and Orym knows it’s stupid. His poor heart has been broken for so long that he’s unable to think rationally around a man who makes him feel like he could love again. He isn’t thinking straight, but he could be putting this energy into something else, something more productive than just going to his room and taking care of himself.
It’s after sunset, he’s already learnt that information costs more now, but fuck it-
“I’m going out again,” he says, a little part of him hoping that Dorian stops him or gives him a reason not to.
“Oh.” Dorian does seem surprised. “Oh. Well. If- I don’t know what you’ll gain.”
“I just don’t want Eshteross thinking we’re coming to him to be spoon fed. I don’t want him to think we haven’t put in any effort-” that sounds like a good enough excuse. Orym is very work motivated.
Fearne hasn’t said anything this whole time but Orym feels her eyes on him. He looks at her and she smiles back.
“I’m sure we’ll be able to tease some information out of him, even if we have nothing much to offer,” she says sweetly.
“Yeah. Thank you,” Orym says with a little nod, turning and heading for the door, adding disappointment to the list of feelings threatening to overwhelm him.
This time he treats the wooden hallways with the reverence they deserve, but Chetney isn’t around to praise him for his care.
When he reaches the entrance hall he sees that Laudna has been joined by Imogen, who is leaning against the back wall, sipping her coffee and smiling down at her friend. The latter is telling some kind of story, her hands animated. Imogen’s expression is so fond, and Orym misses that type of easy affection.
“Hey,” he says quietly as he crosses the floor, watching their demeanors change to something a little more professional. “I’m looking to find out some information. About some people who might not want to be found-” he didn’t ask the two of them the day before, which seems like a huge oversight now.
Imogen raises her eyebrows and Laudna looks brighter and more interested.
“Oh, how exciting! I didn’t know you were up to something so intriguing, Mr. Orym,” Laudna says brightly.
“Well, we’re coming up against a lot of walls- I figured this would be… a way under the wall? Over the wall?” Orym shrugs his shoulders, exasperated with himself.
Laudna looks over at Imogen, who holds her coffee up to her lips and continues to just watch Orym for a moment before she moves her gaze to Laudna for their eyes to meet. Perhaps they can speak telepathically, perhaps they just know each other really well, but Laudna turns back to Orym a few seconds later, smiling.
“If you go downtown from here, wend your way down the tower a little, you’ll eventually come to…a little less - upmarket area,” Laudna says softly, walking with her fingers to demonstrate his path. “There are a lot of people there who will be happy to give you information.”
Orym had mistakenly assumed that the whole spire was as upmarket as the area the hotel is in, with clothing boutiques and incredible food. It seems odd that the lower half would be less economically sound than the top half of the same tower, but he’s interested. This is a good idea.
“Thank you,” he nods. “Amazing. I’ll be back later.”
“Good luck!” Laudna calls after him in a sing-songy voice as Orym heads to the door.
The energy is tingling through him again, the possibility, the new hope, and the desire to go back and climb Dorian, which is a problem for another time.
The air is cooler, and he’s sure he’s going to regret not putting something else on by the time he’s finished with his evening. The upper part of the spire is buzzing with people walking to dinner and finishing shopping, heading to bars. It’s a lovely place. It smells incredible. Orym really wishes he could lift this weight from his shoulders so that he could enjoy his surroundings a little more.
The cable car between spires is busy with people going out and coming in, a majority of whom are dressed to impress. Orym continues past it into the part of the spire he hasn’t been to before, though it takes another ten minutes or so before he really starts to see a difference.
The buildings look a little less fresh, the lights are a little more dim. The people are a lot less well put together, though he doesn’t feel particularly threatened.
Residents loiter in small groups, some turning to watch him as he passes.
There are open shop fronts that seem to be selling all kinds of paraphernalia; drugs in many forms, clothes not suitable for the upper part of the spire (or for most public places), adult toys displayed in windows, actual adults-
Orym has seen the places offering companionship in Emon, and he had thought that that was quite open and brazen, but here it’s even more apparent. As Orym’s eyes move around he sees multiple people clearly looking to offer something this evening, and perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised, but there are definitely people from higher up the spire doing a little shopping down here.
“You looking for something in particular?” A voice to Orym’s right reaches him out of the darkness, and he turns slowly to find the source of the offer.
A genasi leans casually against a wall, clad in a very provocative combination of leather and net. He’s very attractive, muscles effortlessly flexing as he leans there. Something sparkles around his head that draws Orym’s attention away from trying to work out what the streetlight is catching on across their skin.
“Uh,” Orym clears his throat and stops himself short of running his fingers through his hair. This is unfortunate. He’s handsome. “Actually, I was looking for some information. I’m on a job. It was recommended I come down here-”
“Oh, huh. Interesting. And will any old person be able to help you?” The genasi has a lovely voice, and Orym is really starting to feel concerned at how easily tempted he is finding himself. But he’s on a job. A very important job. To find out who tried to assassinate The Voice of the Tempest. And who killed his husband.
“Well, it depends on how knowledgeable everyone over here is,” Orym replies, wondering why he’s making conversation this way and not just asking what he wants to know. Either way, he can’t really have a conversation shouting across the road at the other - other because of Dorian - genasi.
Orym starts forward. His co-converser continues to lean, possibly because he has no apparent reason to fear Orym, and because he looks as solid as the wall he is leaning against. This becomes even more apparent as he approaches and gets a better view of the other man, the gems that jut out of his head in place of his hair, surrounding the sparking point on his head. And as he gets closer Orym looks him up and down properly. He wears a black and red leather vest, and shorts that are apparently made of the same fabric. His legs are clad in net that is only really visible from mid-thigh to knee, because there are boots concealing the rest, thick-soled and covered in buckles. He can still see the way the light is catching on parts of his skin, but Orym can’t quite work out what it is.
All of this takes barely a second, but the leaning genasi is probably used to taking note of admiring looks because there is a little smirk on his face.
“Is there anything else you want? Other than answers?”
Orym huffs out a laugh. He has his own money, he wouldn’t be using the money his employer had given him for his mission. His mission to find out who killed his husband.
“Just answers,” he replies, though he doesn’t quite manage to cover up the tone in his voice that says he’s tempted. “What will it cost to ask a few questions and get a few answers?”
He’s flashed the most disarming smile that makes heat creep through him.
“Two gold for your standard questions and answers. Three if you want them with a blowjob, five if you want them in bed. After.”
The temptation is almost blinding. Orym takes a deep breath. He would have paid more for any of that. But maybe he’ll just throw in the five gold because he could be a client but he isn’t.
“Just questions,” Orym replies. “But it’s quite sensitive.”
The genasi grins, and Orym rolls his eyes, about to clarify that that wasn’t supposed to be innuendo, but he’s cut off before he can start.
“I’m always discrete, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Okay,” Orym nods, looking around. “Well-”
“Would you like to take this somewhere a little more private?” The offer doesn’t come with the colouring of implication that would be expected; it’s sincere, and Orym would feel much safer anywhere but out on these streets. The other times he’d asked around he’d felt less like there were hundreds of untrusting or suspicious pairs of eyes on him.
“Yeah, if you have somewhere,” Orym nods, trying not to look about questiontingly so as not to insult his helper.
“Of course I do.” There’s that disarming smile again, and a little cock of his head that indicates that Orym should follow him down the alley he stands beside.
Orym follows, because apparently he’s willing to trust this stranger with his life.
He doesn’t have to go far before light suddenly pours out of a door thrown open ahead of him, leading into the central column of the spire. The genasi holds the door and stands aside to let Orym in.
It’s warm. And beautiful. And busy. It’s a completely different world to the one outside. Light comes from lanterns and cables and orbs and other tiny, indecipherable sources. Everywhere fabric is draped in different colours, holding things up, acting as a mode of travel between platforms, or as curtains to little cubbies.
There are smells of cooking and incense and life, and Orym loves it immediately.
“We’re not too far,” his host says cheerily, and Orym can really only keep an eye on him out of his periphery as he tries to take in everything around them. They walk along platforms, and a few people greet the genasi. Orym finally catches his name. He could have been polite and asked, but now he at least knows he’s with Ashton. Ash.
A curtain is pulled aside and Ashton ducks in, holding it back for Orym to follow. It opens into what was probably once a conventional lounge but now resembles a workshop. A kitchen is evident at the back, the sound of another body moving around there evident.
“Ashton?” a voice calls out.
“Yeah. I’m working.” Ashton calls back, and Orym feels his cheeks heat up.
Well. He’s supposed that it’s not not true.
“Alright.” Comes the reply as the two of them walk along to a door, which is mostly a plank, but probably serves the purpose of being a little more soundproof than a curtain.
The room Orym steps into is surprising. It’s softly lit by little glowing balls that gather against the ceiling. The walls are covered in pictures and sketches, one side taken up completely by a bookshelf, the opposite one taken up by a huge, neatly made bed with blood red sheets. There is a dressing table with an assortment of bits and pieces that Orym wouldn’t know what to do with, and a wardrobe that has a little bit of sheer fabric poking out the bottom of it. Of course Orym wonders what that is, but he isn’t here for that.
Now that they’re in a better lit place, and Orym isn’t being bombarded with the incredible sights of an entire town built within the middle of the spire, he’s left with only one incredible sight. He can finally see Ashton properly as he moves around the room and settles on the end of his bed. His skin is the kind of green Orym has only ever seen in emeralds, his hair solid purple rocks like amethysts. Only now can he see that the dancing lights come from a covering over his head, translucent like glass - possibly it is just glass - and the streetlamps had been catching on seams of gold across that beautiful skin.
Ashton’s head is tipped slightly so that he can fix Orym with what is clearly his good eye, watching him look.
“I’m going to start charging more if you keep making those eyes at me.”
Orym blinks, feeling his cheeks flush again. “I didn’t get to see you properly outside,” he replies, realising immediately that he needs to elaborate on that because it could be taken as a negative, and Ashton’s eyebrow is starting to raise. “You’re stunning.”
The genasi’s expression softens again. “Well, I was going to say, I don’t need to be pretty to give you information.”
“You’re- you really are-” in a different way to how Dorian is pretty. Dorian is carefully manicured and well kept and he is a feast for the eyes, but Ashton is pretty in the way a raw, uncut gem is pretty. Breathtaking. “You must do well for yourself.”
Ashton’s brilliant, rumbling laugh is cut off by a knock on the door, and Orym is blushing so hard he’s worried he might burst into flames.
“Yeah?” Ashton asked casually, face still alight from his amusement.
“Hi, Ashton. May I come in?”
It’s a different voice to the one Orym had heard earlier, and he shifts away from the door.
“Yeah. Come in.”
The door opens and a golden automaton only a little taller than Orym rolls in on a single wheel.
“Smiley day to you!” the automaton greets Orym. “Hope you’re well?”
“Uh, yes. Thank you-” Orym nods, watching as their attention turns to Ashton, who smiles back at Orym.
“You pay them now,” he says. “Makes it a little easier.”
“Oh, of course.” Orym jumps to get his purse, not the one with the money from The Tempest, because it doesn’t feel right to use that for this. He takes five gold from his personal stash and passes it over.
“That’s five gold, Ashton,” the robot says brightly, making Orym’s stomach drop to his boots.
Ashton’s eyebrows raise again, a tiny, almost indiscernible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thank you, Letters.”
“Have a great time!” Letters says, turning and rolling back out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“Five gold?” Ashton asks as the door closes quietly. He leans back slightly on his strong arms, and the creak of the leather he wears is like a lure, drawing Orym closer. He knows already without question that Ashton will smell incredible once he’s near enough.
“I figure you could have been getting paid by an actual client rather than just answering some questions,” Orym replies with a smile as he starts to close the space between them, heading to the bed but approaching slowly because he’s not really sure what he might do.
“Very kind of you, sir,” Ashton replies, sitting up straight again, crossing his hands over his knees.
Orym hasn’t even told him his name yet.
“My name is Orym.” There isn’t any hesitation in giving out his real name, and that surprises him.
“Orym. I’m Ashton,” the genasi nods. “Do you need help up?”
Normally Orym would be offended by such a question, but Ashton’s bed is high, and he would rather like to feel those arms around him. But he shakes his head.
“I’m good, thank you,” Orym replies, bracing himself against the top of the mattress and pulling himself up.
“Oh, you’re strong,” Ashton says, very obviously impressed, and that makes Orym’s already glowing cheeks light up like the sun, he’s sure. This very impressive, obviously strong man complimenting him on his own strength is a lot.
“We should arm wrestle and we can see who is stronger,” Orym says off-handedly, and it feels like flirting. And it feels safe.
“After?” Ashton asks with a gorgeous, lopsided smile.
“After would be fine,” Orym nods, unable to keep his eyes from fluttering over Ashton, feeling bolder now that they’re alone and undisturbed. He can ask his questions and just enjoy the view until he has to go.
Ashton smells spicy. Like cake, but beneath that also like minerals. It’s wonderful.
“Well, let’s get started,” Ashton winks and slides towards the pillows, propping himself up against them. Without his smile breaking, Ashton pats the area beside him, and Orym doesn’t need any more encouragement, moving into the space and sitting next to him, close enough that their legs touch just a fraction.
“Now, what are your questions?” Ashton stretches, all of his muscles flexing before he rolls onto his side, propped up on one elbow, his hand resting in the very small gap between them. It means their legs aren’t touching anymore, but that hand is placed there as a temptation. One that Orym can resist for now.
He takes a breath to choose where to start. “The leader of my home has sent me out to find information. An attempt was made on her life, but the assassins were shadows. They committed their crimes, failed - they failed to take her, but they took others. And they melted away without a trace. Her own contacts pointed us to Jrusar, but since getting here the trail has gone cold. So- I wonder if you know anything about assassins? Or someone who might want to hire someone to attack the Ashari, or the Voice of the Tempest specifically. Or people who are able to turn into shadows?”
Ashton’s expression grows solemn, his teeth working on his lower lip as he thinks. “I know there are mercenaries for hire. Not so many in Jrusar, but in Bassuras in the south- that’s the place you’d go if you wanted to hire someone to kill someone else. You could definitely find some people in town who’d do it, but they would be a single man job rather than a group. And usually around here we’re just hired as muscle, to escort the rich people and their things where they need to go, to protect them at events-” he pauses, his good eye turning towards the ceiling, a few dull sparks lighting up beneath the glass in his head. “I’ve never heard of the Ashari, so I couldn’t tell you who or how many people here might know of them, but I don't know anyone who can turn into a shadow, either. Not literally.”
He seems genuinely disappointed that he is unable to do anything to help, that he doesn’t have any real answers for Orym. “I can ask someone though. One of my clients. She hires a lot of people, perhaps there have been offers made of shadow assassins-?”
Orym feels uncomfortable with the notion of Ashton asking one of his other clients. Other? Fuck, Orym is just here for some answers, he’s nothing. He isn’t important or anything special. He’s just his money, and he needs to remember that. They’re nothing to each other.
“If you don’t want me spreading your business around that’s understandable- '' Ashton says, interpreting Orym’s hesitation as a desire to not have his intentions in town shared with other people, which is a fair assumption. And really, Orym should take everything he could get. He shouldn’t feel weird about it. “-but she’s used to me asking questions, and she wouldn’t be able to trace it back to you.”
No, Orym needs to accept this offer. He needs everything he can get. “If it isn’t too much trouble for you,” he says softly. “I’ll pay you for your time of course.”
Ashton shrugs his shoulders gently. “We’ll see what I come up with before we put a price on it,” he says. “So far I haven’t been particularly helpful.”
“That isn’t true!” Orym objects, placing his hand over Ashton’s finally. It feels like a clunky move, the kind he would have made as a teenager, the old stretch-and-put-an-arm-around-the-shoulder move. “This has been helpful. Bassuras?” Orym supposes that will be their next stop. “Tell me about it? How do I get there?”
For the first time Ashton looks hesitant. “It’s further south. It’s run by gangs. The main one is the Paragon’s Call. It’s run by a guy named Ratanish. If anyone is going to know about assassins, groups of assassins working abroad, it’s going to be him. But I don’t know how you’re going to get in touch with him-”
“Well, I’ll go to Bassuras,” Orym replies, because that seems obvious.
“No,” Ashton says quickly, a flicker of genuine concern passing his face. “No- that town- that town isn’t safe. You can’t go there.”
Orym is taken aback by the sincerity and protectiveness in the man he doesn’t know, who doesn’t know him. His eyes widen and his hand grips Ashton’s tighter as though that might reassure him. “If he might know something, anything, then I have to talk to him. I have to go there, Ashton. I promise, I can take care of myself. I might look small but I’m a fighter.”
Ashton’s intense gaze moves away, slides from Orym, across his wall and up to his ceiling again. The sparks in his head flicker frantically for a moment but then dull. “It’s in the south. It’ll take the better part of a week to get there. I’ll draw you a map. Of the route and the town.”
“Ashton- ”
“And it would be great if you could bring it back to me when you’re done.”
Orym doesn’t need to be any kind of professional to understand what’s being asked of him.
“Of course- and another paym-”
“I don’t need paying for everything,” Ashton interrupts quickly. “It’s fine. I do well for myself, like you said. I just need to know you’re safe.”
There’s a few moments of silence between them, and Ashton finally turns to look at him again. Orym’s heart skips in his chest.
“Deal,” he whispers, and even that feels too loud in this intimate space between them.
“I’ll talk to my client tomorrow. I can send you a letter to let you know-” Ashton replies, equally as quiet.
“I’ll come to you. I’ll meet you where we met before. I’ll wait if you’re busy,” Orym interjects. Because he needs to. He needs to see Ashton. He wants to hear it from him.
Ashton looks as though he’s thinking of arguing, but he doesn’t. He just gives his shoulder a little shrug.
“Thank you,” Orym continues earnestly. “Thank you for your help. This- it’s more than I’ve gotten in a long time. It’s more than I hoped for when I came out this evening.”
“You’re welcome,” Ashton nods, a tiny smile crawling over his face. “It was a pleasure.”
Another pause, another soft silence settles between them, and Orym can’t seem to drag his eyes away.
“I guess I’ll be going, then,” Orym says after what feels like an age, though it’s been just a few breaths, his voice still soft and making no move to follow through on the statement.
“You paid five gold,” Ashton whispers the words that settle like a weight in Orym’s chest, like a spark landing on the kindling of all the emotions that have been building up inside him. There doesn’t seem to be a moment where he thinks about it, but one second he is gazing back at Ashton and within the next heartbeat he is so much closer, their lips are meeting softly, then hungrily, and then his hands are moving. One cups Ashton’s cheek gently and the other rests against his chest, a gentle pressure that Ashton reacts to immediately, rolling onto his back in a way that allows them both to keep kissing as they change position.
“How do you like it?” Orym asks, as though he is the one offering services, but the kiss has set him on fire. It’s been so long and he wants everything and it’s so much he needs to lose that choice.
“I want you inside me,” Ashton replies, his sincerity the only thing stopping Orym from questioning that reply, because it surprises him. He really wouldn’t have complained if Ashton had wanted to flip him over and fill him up and make him lose his mind, but this is also good. This is so good.
“Uh huh, of course,” he replies, pressing their lips together again, wanting so much, everything, all of Ashton. He tastes of the wild and it reminds Orym of home
He’s forgotten what kissing is like, the reality of intimacy that isn’t just a fantasy built around a friend you can’t have. Ashton’s hands on Orym’s hips make it intimate. They grip needily but there’s a comfort to it. Orym feels it all the way through him, grounding.
“I haven’t done this for a while,” he pants when they break to breathe again, though Ashton doesn’t pause for long, moving his mouth to Orym’s throat and kissing deeply and passionately, in a way that makes Orym’s cock jump. Six years is a long time, and he’s going about it like a starving man at a buffet.
“You’re going to be so good,” Ashton murmurs against his skin, the words vibrating through Orym all the way down to his core.
It’s encouragement that he didn’t really need, but he’ll take it the same way he will soak up any praise Ashton gives him.
One of his legs slides over Ashton’s chest, an ache already building in his thighs at the amount they have to stretch. He isn’t ready to move away from kissing yet, and they’re going to have to if Orym is going to fuck him.
“Do we have time?” he asks, though it’s not the best formed question. He doesn’t want to take up any more of Ashton’s time if he has other people he needs to see.
“All the time you want,” Ashton replies, pulling back so that their eyes can meet again. His cheeks are flushed, his pupil wide, the glass in his head sparking like fireworks going off in his brain.
“You’re a really handsome guy,” Orym laughs breathlessly.
Ashton’s lips curl in another little smile. “A handsome something , I suppose. Perhaps not a guy.”
Orym’s eyes widen, even in his daze. “Oh. I’m sorry,” he rasps, quickly trying to amend every thought he’d had since they met, correcting himself.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Ashton says, a little bubble of laughter in their voice. “You didn’t know. It’s usually a conversation I have before sex, but you kind of made the usual chat slip my mind.”
Their hand lifts up and slides roughly through Orym’s hair, tugging him down for another kiss, their tongue sliding into Orym’s mouth and making him moan.
Orym’s fingers twist in the leather of Ashton’s vest, giving it a tug because he wants to just pull it off, to rip it from Ashton’s chest so that he can reach more skin. Ashton smiles into the kiss, and it’s such a nice thing that Orym didn’t realise he’d been missing. Little things. The fingers in his hair tug again and pull Orym back, their lips parting with a soft, delicious sound.
“Shift back, darling. Let me get this off for you.”
Orym preens at the pet name and shuffles back to sit on Ashton’s lap and oh. Oh. He’s forgotten about that too. He can’t help but grind himself down on Ashton’s crotch, pulling the sweetest sound from the genasi, the movement of taking off the vest is aborted for a moment as their hips twitch up. Orym is paying for this, he accepts that there’s going to be a little bit of a show involved, but it still feels really good to make someone else - Ashton - feel good.
The vest finally makes its way off of Ashton’s body and wow . Orym lets out a breath and immediately runs his hands over the exposed skin, over the muscles of their abs and up to their pecs, feeling them flex beneath his fingers as far as he can reach whilst keeping himself sat on Ashton’s dick.
There aren’t many times Orym wishes he was taller than he is, but this is one of them. Because he’s greedy. He wants everything right now. Gods, it’s been so long. His own cock aches, feeling far too constricted in his pants.
At the very least, for now he can take his shirt off, trying not to look completely desperate, though that ship may have already sailed.
“Do you want everything off?” Ashton asks, sliding their hands over Orym’s now bare chest in the same way Orym had, though one of their splayed hands covers so much of Orym’s body. It’s an incredible turn on. And yes, he wants Ashton naked.
That means that Orym has to climb off momentarily, sliding back onto the bed whilst Ashton sits up to pull off their boots.
Orym takes this opportunity to touch as much as he can, tracing his fingers over the muscles of Ashton’s arms and shoulders, admiring all of the lines of gold that criss-cross through the beautiful green skin. Ashton doesn’t pull away or say no, so Orym continues, moving behind to touch their strong back. His lips graze the back of their neck and it’s so wonderful to be able to enjoy another body in this way. It’s only been in the last year or so that he’s even been able to think about it, to indulge himself when he’s alone, so the memory of this closeness, the thrill of being able to touch and kiss and feel the beat and pulse of Ashton’s body, alive and responsive, makes Orym giddy.
He isn’t paying much attention to Ashton’s progress, he’s far more focused on lavishing kisses and stroking his fingers everywhere, so he’s a little surprised when Ashton pulls away and stands up, leaving Orym positioned around the space they had occupied, embracing the ghost of their presence.
“Sorry, I thought you might want everything off -” Ashton replies as they turn to face Orym, who gets a magnificent view. Ashton’s hips curl into their shorts in a gorgeous V shape, and standing shows off their muscles even more, the dips of their abs and their pecs. Orym had thought that Dorian’s blue skin was starting to be his favourite colour but he has always loved green. Green and gold.
He watches as Ashton’s hands move to the fastening of their shorts and tug on them, loosening the leather easily and then letting them fall.
Orym gapes, not bothering to hide the hunger in his expression as he stares at Ashton, now in just the net tights and black, fine lace underwear that doesn’t hide very much at all.
He wants to touch again, his mouth is watering, and gods2 he gets to fuck Ashton soon. He can’t promise he’s going to last long, but if he doesn’t there are a thousand ways he wants to try to get them off.
“More?" Ashton asks, their thumbs hooking into the waistband of their tights.
Orym licks his lips, wondering if he should offer to help with the last bit, but he thinks he needs a few more moments to pull himself together.
“Just the tights -” he says, because he’s itching to run his fingers over Ashton through that lace and perhaps repeat that with his mouth.
Ashton complies without question, just another little smirk on their face as they push the tights down their incredible thighs and gracefully pull them off. They start towards the bed again, reaching their hands out to Orym who mirrors the gesture; Ashton’s fingers slide through his hair whilst Orym’s fit against their hips. Even on the bed he is almost at the perfect height to be level with Ashton’s crotch, and there are no complaints from Orym. His touch moves lower to dance over the firm muscles of Ashton’s backside through the black lace as the genasi leans down for a kiss, guiding Orym in and kissing him with a talent that makes Orym giddy.
“Get yourself comfortable,” Ashton murmurs, huffing out a soft laugh as Orym’s fingers slide under the edge of the panties indulgently. “I need to get some bits out of my drawer. Unless you’ve changed your mind on letting me pick and want to do something else?”
“No,” Orym breathes. “I want to fuck you.” If he’s going to have sex with someone then he’s going to have it all.
Ashton presses a lingering kiss to Orym’s lips and then pulls away again, making Orym whine and try to hold onto them for longer, his fingers stretched out in their wake.
His eyes follow Ashton around the bed towards the drawers. It stands to reason that they would have a lot of things for a lot of different tastes. And he really should be getting himself a little more ready than he currently is. He hasn’t been naked and aroused in front of anyone for- well, obviously for six years - and it’s making him somewhat shy, but it does occur to him that Ashton has seen a lot of bodies and probably been with a lot of people. Nothing Orym has is going to be a surprise.
He eases open the fastening of his trousers and feels an immediate wave of relief as the pressure eases around his cock and he lets out a quiet moan, pulling the fabric down along with his underwear. It feels good and, honestly, it feels a little bit naughty to be naked and hard in a stranger’s room, but that adds to the excitement and how much he wants to continue with this. How much he wants Ashton right now.
He has just kicked his clothes to the floor as Ashton turns again, throwing two things onto the bed, their eyes immediately on naked Orym. Orym knows that he looks good naked. He takes care of himself, he has a great body, and he loves the way Ashton drinks him in.
Dorian looks away whenever all of them have been naked together, but Ashton isn’t looking away. Their eyes are fixed between Orym’s legs, their tongue dancing across their lips.
The thought of Ashton’s mouth around his cock makes it jump under that heavy gaze, but Orym can’t be shy now.
“You want to open me up or do you want to watch me do it?” Ashton asks, finally dragging their eyes up to meet Orym’s.
There’s a concern that he might come if he pushes his fingers into Ashton. He swallows and tries to form the words.
“I’d quite like it if you- I’ll watch this time-“ the last two words slip out before he can contain them, but he hopes that Ashton will probably forgive his brain being a little muddled.
“You got it,” Ashton replies with a wink, climbing back onto the bed. “Do you want me to keep these on?”
The lace is clinging to the shape of Ashton’s cock and it’s such a beautiful sight. It’s something that is going to remain seared in Orym’s memory for the rest of his life. He blinks, staring, trying to defog his mind and focus on the question, but again, if it’s just this once, he wants everything he can get.
“I’d like you naked,” he whispers, nodding.
Ashton smiles and kneels up. Staring unashamedly, Orym follows with his eyes as the delicate lace is pulled down to reveal, honestly, the prettiest cock that Orym has ever seen. Orym really, really loves cock. He wants it in his mouth so that he can overindulge, and he does almost change his mind, but if he finishes as quickly as he thinks he will then he’ll owe Ashton a little something to round off their time together.
The black lace sliding down Ashton’s thighs is also an incredible sight, and Orym is honestly surprised that he hasn’t come untouched. He takes a deep, steadying breath, watching Ashton settle back against the pillows and spread their legs, giving him a beautiful view.
“I’ll let you know when,” they say, picking up one of the things they retrieved from the drawer - the lubricant - squeezing some out onto their fingers. They toss the other thing down towards Orym, and he finds it to be condoms, specifically for a halfling. Not that he thinks he’s small; he’s a good size, but it’s proportional. If Ashton ever wants to fuck him it will take a little while to get him prepared.
Not that it will ever come to that - it’s just this once.
Ashton’s fingers move down between their legs, and Orym doesn’t look away, despite it feeling like a private moment. This is for him, after all.
He bites back a moan as one slick finger slides into Asthon’s body. The genasi isn’t as shy, it seems, and they do allow themselves to moan, loud enough that Orym believes it. It feels good to think that Ashton could get genuine pleasure from doing this. He watches, breathing growing heavier as one and then two fingers press into them, stretching and spreading and making everything shiny with the lubricant. They move in and out quicker and quicker, the sound slick and just such an incredible turn on. Ashton’s moans continue, their cock twitching every so often to make sure Orym knows that they’re really enjoying it.
He reaches for the condoms, pulling one out with surprisingly unsteady hands. The sound of the wrapping opening is very loud after nothing but their heavy breathing and soft moans. Ashton’s hips buck up at the sound, their head lifting slightly to look at Orym from between their legs. Their eyes are half lidded and Orym is enchanted by the sparks behind the glass in their head.
“Are you ready?” They ask, their voice rough.
Orym opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t trust himself to form words, so he just nods his head, even as his trembling fingers ease the condom over his cock.
“Oh, fuck-“ his vision whites for a moment at the pleasure that washes through him at the touch to his aching erection. “Oh. That. Yes- Yes, I’m ready -”
Ashon smiles, shifting on the bed so that they can draw their legs up a little more, which in turn means that Orym will be closer to them once they are joined.
“Take your time,” Ashton says softly, getting comfy against the pillows. “I have all the time in the world for you.”
That reassures Orym. He feels good about that. He needs to take his time. “It’s been a while -” he says again quietly as he moves towards Ashton, reaching out to run his hands down their thighs, all the way down to their hips.
Their skin is warm and firm and muscled, and Orym is addicted to this already. He takes a breath, eyes moving over Ashton’s cock and the little wet spot they’ve made on their belly, then up, up to meet Ashton’s eyes where he is greeted with a warm smile.
He didn’t think it would feel like this ever again. One hand continues to hold Ashton’s thigh, the other reaches down to touch his own cock, holding it steady to guide to Ashton’s entrance. His heart is thrumming hard in his chest and the sound of blood is rushing in his ears, but Ashton holds eye contact and draws in a slow breath, letting Orym match the pace.
The tip of his cock pushes into Ashton, and despite everything, Orym forgets how to use his lungs as all of the air leaves them in a moan. It’s tight and brilliant and feels so- incredible.
“Ashton,” Orym whines, pausing, eyes squeezed closed as his whole world focuses on the point they are joined.
“I’m here. I’m here. Keep going.”
Orym feels like it’s the first time all over again. It seems like it. His uncertainty at how to do this or whether he’ll be able to make it good- he really wants it to be good.
Inching forward, he pushes a little more of his cock into Ashton, finally able to take his other thigh in his hand too, gripping tightly. As tightly as Ashton’s body is gripping him.
When he opens his eyes again, Ashton is still looking at him, though their eyes are almost closed, their lips parted, begging to be kissed. Orym might be able to reach if he pushes all the way in-
That’s as much motivation as he needs, taking a deep breath and thrusting forward to get as deep as he possibly can. He hears himself moan loudly, the sound shivering through him and pooling with the heat in his belly.
Ashton’s muscles twitch around him briefly, and Orym is finally a little more in control of himself. He wants- just wants. And it’s such an amazing feeling.
“You look like you remember what to do after all this time,” Ashton purrs, slowly drawing their knees up further so that Orym can move closer. And with Ashton’s knees drawn up, with them almost bent double, it makes them tighter and makes Orym feel bigger, like he can really satisfy Ashton. He used to before, of course. He knew how to make his partner moan and come and writhe on him- it’s been a long time but he wants that again.
And in this position, if they both lean in slightly, they can kiss.
Their tongues slide against each other slowly with Orym buried deep inside Ashton, their cock pressed between both of them. Once Orym starts moving it’s going to feel so good.
Fuck, it already feels so good. Orym never wants to stop kissing. He would pay just to kiss.
Ashton’s hips twitch slightly, a reminder to Orym there is so much more fun to be had.
He begins to move slowly, pushing deep into Ashton before sliding his hips back slightly. He always liked it like this, the slow press of bodies, keeping them as close as they physically can be. There’s no reason why it should be any different now.
The first move draws a sweet sound from Ashton’s lips and that’s just more encouragement.
One of Ashton’s hands slides into Orym’s hair, pulling him into another kiss, holding him there whilst the other splays across Orym’s back.
“Good,” Orym whispers, sliding his tongue over Ashton’s lips before they kiss again. Ashton is good. So good.
The fire builds up inside him, his limbs feel weak with pleasure, but Orym can’t stop. He wants more, he wants everything.
Beneath him Ashton shifts, gently canting their hips and wiggling, pushing up against Orym and down onto his cock. The hardness of their erection rubs against Orym’s belly and that is as amazing as everything else. Despite the rough movements of his hips, their kisses are slow and indulgent. Orym is chasing his pleasure, he can’t stop now, he’s in the heavens among the stars.
Ashton pants between kisses, their hips moving erratically as though they don’t know which part of their pleasure to chase.
When Orym touches himself it’s an effort to get there, a rapid cycle in his mind through everything that has ever turned him on, but now, with Ashton, his mind is clear and calm and just focused on the beautiful creature beneath him.
“I’m close -” he pants, not breaking the rhythm yet, not stopping, because this is perfect.
“Good. Yes,” Ashton replies, the only two words they allow before they claim Orym’s mouth once more.
Orym can’t stop. He doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to.
The intensity of his orgasm shocks him, punches a cry from his lips and all of the breath from his lungs. Tremors run through his body like waves breaking against rocks, and Orym- Orym can’t put it into words.
He slows with another moan, becoming more aware of the fact that Ashton is still hard, their muscles tight and trembling like they’re close, but not quite there.
Even through the haze Orym needs Ashton to come. He might be overwhelmed by his own orgasm but it will only feel good if Ashton comes with him.
He braces himself on one arm, gripping Ashton’s thigh and reaching between them with the other hand for Ashton’s cock. His fingers can't meet all the way around it, which is incredibly hot (Orym isn’t a size queen, honestly), and as soon as he gets them in place Ashton groans again, their muscles clenching around Orym’s still sensitive dick.
His fingers move as best they can and honestly, the desire to have their cock his mouth is incredibly strong, but he also wants to stay inside Ashton as they come. With each stroke the tension in their body increases, their muscles tightening. It makes Orym dizzy, makes the heat build up again inside him, not really having given it a chance to wane.
Ashton looks incredible, Orym can’t take his eyes off of them, but he also doesn’t know where to look; at the cock in his hand? At their flexing muscles? The expression on their face? The fireworks going off in their head?
“Orym- ” his name sounds so soft and sweet, but Ashton’s expression is one of absolute pleasure. They let out a gasp and a cry, and then their cock twitches in Orym’s hand before they come over their stomach, their muscles quivering and gripping Orym’s dick in a way that makes him see stars again. He lets out a moan of his own, his eyes closing despite his desire to keep watching the way Ashton comes all over themselves, white against their flushed green skin.
Slowly, together, their breathing calms. Orym is still trembling, his skin is tingling, he’s worried if he lets go of Ashton then he’s just going to float away.
The genasi’s hand reaches for him as though reading his mind, sliding over Orym’s skin affectionately.
Orym’s eyes finally crack open once more to gaze down at Ashton, who is looking right back at him.
“Thank you,” Ashton whispers before Orym can say something along the same lines, and whilst Orym doesn’t know much about people in Ashton’s line of work, he’s pretty sure that he’s the one who should be offering gratitude.
“I was going to say the same thing,” Orym says softly, taking a deep breath and sliding reluctantly out of his lover, kneeling between their spread legs a few moments more to enjoy the view and remove the condom. Ashton’s legs lower back onto the mattress, and they look gorgeous. All these little things that Orym has forgotten- the shiny, sweaty skin, the expressions, the warmth in the air around them.
He tosses the condom into a bin that he sees over the side of the bed, then crawls up to the pillows to settle beside Ashton. Do they kiss now? Can they kiss? The transaction seems to be over-
But Ashton reaches for him again, drawing him in close, and if they aren’t supposed to kiss then Orym will apologise later, because all he wants is another. Ashton’s mouth is warm and fuck, Orym loves kisses. He loves these kisses with this person.
“I hope that was worth the five gold,” Ashton murmurs, though Orym can feel their grin against his lips.
“That was incredible,” Orym replies sincerely, his voice catching on the last word. He swallows, trying to stop the sudden urge to cry that’s welling up inside him.
“Good. I enjoyed it too,” Ashton continues, and that’s too much for Orym. He feels the tears sting his eyes. It’s also been so long since he cried. Because nothing in six years has ever hurt as much as that loss, and after a year it felt more like a void than a pain. An ache over tears. But here he is, with someone who is making all of the walls and the stubbornness break down, crumble away.
Ashton’s arms wind around him and pull him closer, allowing Orym to press his face into their shoulder, to let the tears fall for as long as he needs to.
There are no windows in Ashton’s room, so Orym doesn’t really know how long the two of them lay there together, Orym curled against Ashton, Ashton’s arm wrapped around him. He listens to the steady thumping of their heart and their slow breathing. Orym is sure Ashton will tell him when he’s outstayed his five gold’s worth of welcome, but he isn’t asked to leave. Ashton just breathes steadily and holds on.
The time comes when Orym knows he has to get up and go, though. He extracts himself from the half-embrace and stretches out.
"I need to- I think I should probably get going,” Orym says quietly.
“Hm. I suppose we do need to get on with our lives,” Ashton smiles, stretching out on the bed. “Shame, really.”
Orym is glad he’s looking away because he’s blushing again, and he thinks there’s absolutely a danger that he will burst into tears once more if Ashton is looking at him with anything other than a smirk.
He gathers up his things whilst Ashton cleans up and the two of them dress again.
“I’ll get whatever information I can for you tomorrow,” Ashton says, putting on their shorts without their tights so that Orym gets to enjoy their gorgeous legs.
“I’ll come and find you -” Orym says.
“I- sure,” Ashton nods, starting to pull on their boots. Orym doesn’t know why they seem so hesitant, but he doesn’t think it’s appropriate to ask. He’s thankful, this has been a wonderful experience, and he shouldn’t think to ask for more.
“Thank you,” Orym says instead, fully dressed and with no other excuse to stay here. “Thank you, Ashton.”
“You’re welcome. I had a lovely time,” Ashton replies sincerely, which confuses Orym even more, but he reaches out his hand to his host, and Ashton reaches back, leaning down to press a kiss to Orym’s cheek and then his lips. It lingers, but it’s not too long.
Ashton continues to hold his hand as they exit the room though, leading him back towards the curtain they came in through. The sound of metal on metal comes from the room they passed on the way in, but Orym doesn’t look. He focuses on these last few moments with Ashton. He doesn’t look at the amazing sub-city within the core, either. He has to focus on leaving and getting back to the hotel. Getting back to his real life.
It’s definitely colder and much darker when they step outside again, and Orym knew he would regret not wrapping up more. His skin still feels warm from sex, which just makes the night air seem all the more colder. There are more bodies hanging around the streets, going about their business, whatever that might be.
“Do you want me to walk you up to the cable car?” Ashton asks when they’re back in the street proper.
“Not if it’s going to take you away from…anything else you need to do?” Orym says, certain he’s taken up enough of Ashton’s time.
“It’s fine. I’d rather know you’re safe.”
“I can take care of myself,” Orym replies, not meaning the words to come out as accusing as they do. He winces, apologetic.
“Well, just for my peace of mind, then,” Ashton shrugs. “It’s not far.”
“I know. Thank you. I appreciate it,” Orym nods. “Thank you for the consideration.”
They walk silently back up towards the cable car, still hand in hand, the gradient of the path more obvious now that they’re going up.
There are eyes on them, but Orym supposes that’s because Ashton is a rather striking figure and the people around here know them. They’re probably interested in their current client, particularly one from higher up the spire. Orym hasn’t been here long, but he understands general social politics well enough.
The area around the cable car is less busy than it had been when he’d come by earlier, they’re in the lull in time between everyone going out and coming home again. The clock above the cable car says that it’s almost half past nine. Orym had left the hotel…some time after half seven. Two hours in Ashton’s company for five gold. Orym feels as though he’s ripping them off. He could pay ten times that from his personal funds and not be concerned about it. If Ashton is worried about losing money though, they don’t say anything about it.
“I’ll see you -” Ashton says, letting go of Orym’s hand finally. “Thank you for a good time. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“You too. Thank you for everything,” Orym says, because he absolutely doesn't have time to go into the significance of all this with Ashton. But his gratitude is immense.
Ashton waits, a small smile on their face, and Orym realises that he has to leave.
He gives a little nod and then turns, still hesitant, but he at least makes the move to walk away. He takes ten or so steps and then turns, gratified to see that Ashton is still there. They lift their hand in a wave that Orym returns. A few more steps and he turns back again, but this time Ashton is gone.
Orym lowers his head and quickens his pace, climbing back up to the top of the spire where the hotel is situated.
The lights inside are incredibly bright compared to the ones outside, and Orym is pretty sure the smell of sex must be following him around, especially into this bright, clean lobby.
Laudna is still behind the front desk, playing with her creepy puppets and not really paying attention to anyone coming or going.
Orym continues past her and up the stairs, keeping a respectful, Pock o’Pea approved pace. The other two are obviously going to be awake, and Orym is obviously not going to tell them the whole story about where he’s been. He can say he actually made a bit of headway, and though it cost him five gold, he might have their next port of call -
He has all of his excuses and reasons ready by the time he reaches the suite door. There is music coming from inside, and when he steps through he sees his friends dancing around, glasses of something bubbly in their hands.
“Orym!” Dorian exclaims. “You’re back! Do you want some champagne? To celebrate or… drown your sorrows? It’s on me,” he adds quickly, not wanting Orym to think he’s charged the room for it, clearly.
“Well,” he considers it, but he thinks he should shower off the smell of sex and Ashton before he hangs out with Dorian. “It is something to celebrate. I got a lead we can follow and some more information on the way tomorrow -”
“Orym! That’s amazing!” Dorian exclaims, dancing forward and picking up a third glass. He looks incredible, even for just spending the night in. Orym looks him over with admiration, but there isn’t the tingle and rush there usually is. It doesn’t bother him. Not right now.
“I’m just going to shower off and warm up,” Orym replies, taking the glass from Dorian and sipping it with a word of thanks before heading to his room, closing the door behind him. He leans back against his door and takes a deep breath, feeling the ghost of Ashton’s kisses against his lips, craving them, missing their presence like an ache.
Sleeping with someone, opening himself up in that way with another person has obviously been a terrible idea, because now Orym just wants to see them again, and even trying to think about his task in hand makes his thoughts veer back to Ashton.
He shouldn’t have done it. All of the desire that had been building up for Dorian has been misplaced onto another person that Orym is probably never going to see again after tomorrow evening.
And he absolutely can’t have sex with Ashton tomorrow.
Slowly, Orym takes himself through the shower, then gets dressed, trying to slip his mind into that blank place that gives him so much comfort. It’s not as difficult to get there as it has been in the last few days, even though there are soft images of Ashton’s naked body floating through the beautiful space in his head. He stands under the water, letting it pour over him in a soothing thrum, pushing down that niggling feeling of wanting to see the other genasi again.
He dries himself off and finds his softest clothes because he really wants to feel like he’s being held, but he doesn’t want to ask for that, not from Fearne and absolutely not from Dorian.
The two of them are still dancing when Orym steps back into the main body of the suite. Orym wonders how many of the complimentary and not so complimentary things Fearne has put in her bag to take with them -
He makes his way back to his glass of champagne, watching the way Dorian’s hair flows around him as he dances. Orym had thought that that was serendipitous, too. That Dorian is an air genasi, and that he, Orym, is of the air Ashari. And he is so beautiful. Orym hasn’t changed his mind on that. No one could dispute it.
“Orym!” Dorian turns and sees him again, face lighting up. “I didn’t hear you come back in!”
He moves around the closest sofa and then flops gracefully onto it, hair and robes billowing as he falls, facing Orym.
“Tell me everything! I want to know everything you found out! I’m so proud of you! Was it dangerous?”
Orym takes a seat on the edge of the sofa opposite and tries to remember what it was he was going to say, that he planned out so meticulously as his part cover. Because what he can say and what he wants to say are quite divorced from each other.
“I met someone, they told me that most groups of assassins are hired out of Bassuras, south of here. Apparently it’s a pretty dangerous place, but they’re going to get us a map, and we should speak to someone- someone called Ratanish?” He’s sure that’s the name Ashton gave him.
“Go to Bassuras, find Ratanish! Amazing! That’s a really big step. Oh, and ask Ratanish about assassins.” Dorian lists them all off gleefully on his fingers, making it sound so, so easy.
“Apparently the people here in Jrusar are just used for- they work solo and they just do security detail and the like.” It occurs to Orym that Ashton probably does that, too. That they are security for richer people. A strange wave of relief washes through him thinking that it might not always have something to do with sex. The client that Ashton is going to see might just be someone rich that they protect. And they are built for it. They’d cut a very intimidating figure.
“Orym?”
“Huh?” Orym looks up and sees Dorian looking expectantly at him. “Sorry.”
“Do you think we still need to speak to Eshteross,” Dorian says slower, clearly repeating himself.
“Oh.” Orym hasn’t even considered that, but it seems like a wasted opportunity if they don’t. “Well, like I said, Bassuras isn’t particularly safe,” he goes back over what Ashton had said to him. “If there’s a way to find the same information without going then we should really consider that-”
Dorian nods, leaning forward to pour himself more champagne. He smells like a rainstorm, or the air in the mountains. It reminds Orym of home, but the image of Ashton’s legs spread for him fills his mind, and Orym chokes on nothing. He drinks his champagne like that’s a good idea, which it isn’t.
“Do you want to dance?” Dorian asks, leaning back in his seat, one arm draped across the backrest.
“With you?” Orym chokes again, eyebrows raising, eyes watering.
“Well-“ Dorian gives him a little smile, as beautiful as the rest of him. “I will be dancing. And if you’re dancing too, then we will be dancing together,” he replies in a cheerful, teasing way.
Orym hasn’t danced with someone… well, the timeline is very apparent by this point. And yes, Orym would love to be close to Dorian, he would love to be pressed against him and moving. But the ghost of Ashton feels as though it is still all around him. Why tonight? Why does this have to happen now?
Fearne starts to sing along with the next song that comes on and Orym thinks that he may as well dance. He may as well enjoy his time with his friends. He doesn’t want to burn the foundations of the bridge he and Dorian might be starting to build just because of a one night stand.
He stands, drink still in hand, and moves to the makeshift dance floor the two of them have established.
It’s fun. He hasn’t even danced on his own for a long, long time, and it’s freeing, it’s easy. It feels good. Orym is enjoying feeling good again. He doesn't know how long he was planning to go without it. He doesn’t want to go without it again.