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With Ashton, it’s usually better just not to ask questions.
Like when he scuttles through the Spire by Fire’s tavern, hugging the wall and escorting a small, cloaked figure back up the stairs to his room, pointedly ignoring the rest of the group, minus Orym and Letters. It’s not like Ashton to pass up a drink, but presumably whatever he’s got going on with the cloaked figure is more appealing. Dorian doesn’t need to know specifics.
One mildly terrifying arm-wrestling match with Laudna later, Dorian’s forgotten all about it as he heads back toward the bathroom. As he relieves himself, he resolves to stay for one more drink and then leave. He’s lightly buzzed now, but he’s gotten in trouble by pacing himself against Fearne more than once, and he doesn’t relish wasting his healing on his own hangover first thing in the morning. So far, he’s been too proud to go begging to FCG.
He’s just exiting the bathroom, wondering where Letters might be, when a green hand shoots out of the darkness and grabs his wrist, yanking him aside with a grunt. Dorian nearly gets off a spell before he realizes it’s just Ashton, but then he startles a little at the look on Ashton’s face.
“Need your help,” they say, declining to elaborate further as they stride off toward the stairs, dragging Dorian with them.
Moments later, Ashton shoves the door to their own room open, and Dorian sees a small, shivering lump of limbs and fabric on the floor. As he steps inside, he realizes it’s Orym. “Pelor’s balls, Orym, what hap—”
He tries to kneel down next to him, but Ashton’s hand is still on his wrist, holding him back. “Don’t touch him, Dorian. Not yet.”
“Wha—?”
“’m fine,” Orym groans, and even though it’s badly muffled by layers of cloak and possibly one of his own arms, it’s clear he’s not.
“He got dosed with something,” Ashton explains as he closes and locks the door.
Orym whimpers.
“’Something’?” Dorian asks incredulously.
Ashton sighs. “An aphrodisiac.”
“And you’re being squirrelly about this because…” Dorian’s eyes go wide. “You’re the one that did it?”
“No,” Orym groans, echoed by Ashton’s own forceful “no, you fucker.”
He continues, “Remember how we were supposed to be looking for healing potions in Elder’s Post? Well, there was a scuffle and some asshole tried to throw a handful of powder at this tiefling woman’s face, but I knocked his legs out from under him. Orym went to grab his hand and got hit with a full dose,” Ashton says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Like, a full dose for somebody our size.”
“Well, let go of my wrist and I’ll heal him.”
“Letters already tried.”
“Didn’t help,” Orym grunts, twisting a little so that Dorian can almost see the side of his face. His short hair is soaked with sweat. “’m not injured. Just—” The lump that is Orym writhes on the ground, letting out a tortured moan.
Not a moan of pain.
Dorian freezes where he is. “So. Uh.”
“I’ve offered my, uh, help,” Ashton says, finally letting go of Dorian’s wrist. “Orym declined.”
“This won’t. Kill me,” Orym says, panting between every other word. It’s less than convincing.
Dorian leans toward Ashton, dropping his voice to ask, “Will this kill him? Or permanently hurt him?”
“I don’t… think so?”
That, if possible, is even less convincing.
Ashton continues, “It shouldn’t be dangerous for someone our size, just give us either a really good or really bad night. For someone of Orym’s body mass, though…”
Orym whimpers again, rolling onto his back, still tangled up on the cloak. “No one,” he gets out. “Ever died. Of horny.”
“His heart was beating extremely fast, and his skin was very hot to the touch,” Ashton says. “That was, like, fifteen minutes ago, and it seems to be getting worse. But he asked me not to touch him anymore, so.”
“Made it worse,” Orym gasps. “Would’ve… done things.”
Ashton holds up their hands. “Would’ve been fine by me, for the record. Orym’s fuckin’ hot, and I’d let him boss me around any day, but—”
Orym whines and curls in on himself.
Dorian’s jaw has been working this whole time, but he hasn’t quite been able to speak. Finally, manages, “Does it… does it hurt?”
“’s fine.”
“Pretty sure it’s not fine,” Ashton says to Dorian. “That’s why I went and got you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Talk some sense into him! He trusts you, and he doesn’t have to suffer like this. It’ll work through his system in an hour, maybe two, if he gets off a few times. If he doesn’t, I don’t know how long it’ll take for him to be back to normal.”
Dorian mulls this over, trying to block out the writhing ball of hormones on the floor. “Can’t we just give him the room and some oil and let him, y’know, work himself through it?”
Ashton shakes his head. “That’s not how this stuff works. It requires… fluid exchange.”
Narrowing his eyes, Dorian asks, “Wait, how do you know that? Have you used this stuff on someone before?”
Ashton scoffs and gestures at himself. “Does it look like I need to use that shit on anyone?” When Dorian doesn’t answer, he continues. “No, okay? That’s extremely fucking gross. But it’s kind of notorious around here – I recognized it from the color. You can find it for sale pretty easily in the sketchier parts of Jrusar.”
“Is there an antidote?”
“Maybe?” Ashton says, scratching his chin. “I don’t know. I think most people take it on purpose. Or else they just fuck it out and deal with it.”
“Oh my gods, what’s wrong with this place?” Dorian yelps, throwing his hands up.
“Excuse you, is Tal’Dorei so fucking fantastic?”
“It’s not this rape-y!”
“How sure are you of that?”
Dorian opens his mouth to supply a clever retort, but none comes out. Frankly, he’s not sure Tal’Dorei is really all that much better than Marquet, particularly given what he knows about the underworld of Emon, so maybe it’s time for him to end that line of argument. Besides, none of this is helping Orym. Dorian can see Orym trying to take deep breaths, trying to relax, but he doesn’t seem to be able to do either.
Gods, it hurts to see him like this, such a proud, self-reliant man in the grips of something he can’t even fight. Dorian’s entertained a surprising range of feelings for Orym over the few months of their acquaintance – jealousy, suspicion, admiration, more late-night lust than he’d like to admit to – and his skin crawls to see his friend in distress like this, especially if there’s something he can do about it.
Dorian’s not sure whether talking will help, or how much Orym is really able to talk, but he kneels down on the floor a few feet from the halfling. “Hey, Orym?” he says softly. “What do you want us to do?”
“Just go,” he grits out. “Maybe. Guard the door.”
Dorian takes a deep breath. Ashton offered, and there’s really no reason to think that Orym would feel any differently if the suggestion came from Dorian, but he has to try. “What if we could help you?”
“Can’t.”
“I mean,” Dorian says more firmly, “what if we could help you?”
Orym just whimpers. It’s not a no, which is encouraging, but it’s also far from a yes.
“Ashton’s right,” Dorian continues. “You don’t have to suffer. I’m not going to talk you into anything you don’t want, but there’s no shame in needing this, and it never has to be mentioned again outside this room.” He pauses, and Orym seems to have stilled a bit. “C’mon, when has taking your medicine ever been this fun?”
Something that might be a laugh ushers from Orym’s throat. “Won’t make. You suffer. Too.”
Dorian glances at Ashton. “Is this contagious?”
Ashton gives a dry, cracked laugh. “No. Though maybe he’s implying that fucking him would be a hardship for us.”
“Okay, no?” Dorian says, looking back at Orym. “No, that’s ridiculous.”
“But you wouldn’t,” Orym gasps. “If I weren’t.”
“Who fuckin’ says?” Ashton interjects, then holds their hands up at Dorian’s glare. “Sorry, sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” Dorian says, smiling a little even though his heart is in his throat. “Who fuckin’ says, Orym? Who says I haven’t had my eye on you for the last few months? Huh? Who says I haven’t been biding my time, trying to work up the courage to make a move? You know you’re pretty intimidating.”
It’s much, much closer to the truth than Dorian has wanted to admit out loud, but he’s spent a lot of time thinking if circumstances were different. If they didn’t have a mission. If Orym wasn’t so focused on that mission at all times. If they had the time and the privacy. If Dorian could think of the right words.
He says the only ones he can think of now: “Please, Orym, let me help you.”
For the first time all night, Orym looks him right in the eyes, and Dorian can tell it isn’t easy for him. Orym says nothing for the space of one heartbeat, then two. Then: “yes.”
For a moment, Dorian’s not sure he heard it right. “Yes?”
“Yes, yes, please,” Orym groans, body starting to shudder again.
“Okay,” Dorian says, mostly to himself. When did his hands get so clammy? “Okay. Um.”
“Should I go?” Ashton says, directing the question to Orym.
“N-no. Stay. Both of you.” Orym looks over to Dorian again. “If that’s…?”
“If it’s what you want, it’s fine,” Dorian says firmly. Maybe it should hurt a little, that Dorian’s not the only one Orym trusts to be here. But, no, it’s better this way. This isn’t some romantic moment – it’s practically healing magic. Practically. “Can we touch you now?”
As soon as Orym nods, Dorian reaches out and soothes a hand over Orym’s brow. Just as Ashton had said, he feels feverish, and that cloak tangled around him has to be making it worse. Because Dorian can’t help it, he hums a quick tune to attempt a healing spell, but he can feel it pass through Orym with no effect. Orym just moans, pressing his face into the touch like it’s a lifeline, and Dorian feels that moan resonate into his bones.
Ashton, on the other hand, isn’t quite so hesitant, reaching down to scoop the entire bundle of Orym into his arms. “C’mon, let’s get you unwrapped and on the bed.”
That’s really a one-person job, so Dorian casts about the room for anything they might need. There’s a jug of fresh water and a washstand, though no towels, so Dorian sacrifices his shirt to the cause. The water is cold, and his flimsy shirt holds enough of it to make a decent compress.
Back on the bed, Ashton is untangling Orym from the cloak with deft hands, so Dorian takes a moment to rest the damp shirt on Orym’s forehead before going for his boots. Orym had apparently been in full armor in the marketplace, so their work is cut out for them, but together, Dorian and Ashton manage it. A few times, Orym tries to help, but his hand are shaking too badly, and the best he can do is to try to keep still while the other two work on the buckles.
“Be honest with me this time,” Dorian says as he tugs Orym’s gloves off and lays them gently down on the table by the bed. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” Orym manages as Ashton rolls him on his side to pull his backplate off. “Not pain. Not really. But… throbbing. Sensitive. Like I’ve… like I’ve been. Hard for days.”
Dorian supposes he knows something like the feeling Orym’s talking about, though probably a much less intense version from his teenage years. “Don’t worry, Orym. We’re here.”
Orym grabs Dorian’s hand, squeezes it hard enough that the bones creak. “Thank you. So embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Dorian says, using his other hand to shake out the damp shirt to cool it and then dab Orym’s neck. “You need something and we can give it to you.”
Ashton lets out an inelegant snort. “Yeah, I’d say we’re about to give it to him.”
Dorian definitely hadn’t intended the double entendre and is thinking about scolding Ashton when Orym’s face splits into an anguished smile. “’s kinda funny.”
Dorian smiles back. “Yeah, I guess it kinda is.”
“If you like what we’re doing,” Ashton says, “I want to hear the word ‘yes.” A lot.”
“Yes,” Orym replies immediately. “Okay. Can do.”
Armor gone, they settle Orym on his back, and Dorian helps him pull his sweaty tunic up and off while Ashton takes care of the halfling’s trousers. Orym groans loudly, like even the pull of fabric over skin feels good, and Dorian feels his own cock stir. It happens again when Orym turns his liquid gaze back to Dorian. “You too,” he says, tugging awkwardly at the waistband of Dorian’s leggings.
Dorian’s acutely aware of Orym’s eyes on him as he removes the remainder of his clothing, unsure of whether to stop at the smallclothes. But Ashton hadn’t bothered, either for Orym or himself, so Dorian goes ahead and pulls them off, too.
Orym looks him up and down hungrily, opening his mouth to speak when his body suddenly convulses on the bed, head jerking back as he yelps, “Oh gods, yes.”
When Dorian looks down, Ashton’s fingers are already around Orym’s cock, slick with spit and carefully testing his sensitivity. Instead of attempting to take Orym’s erection in hand, Ashton presses it up against Orym’s belly, using nothing but his large thumb to stroke him steadily up and down, up and down. Suddenly, it all seems like it’s moving so fast that Dorian feels like he should protest, should slow things down so Orym has a chance to process what’s going on, but of course Ashton’s probably got the better instinct here, having seen Orym struggle with this since he’d gotten dosed.
As Ashton’s thumb focuses in on the spot under the crown, Orym wails. Dorian feels himself looking on helplessly, wondering how soundproof the inn’s walls are, as Orym’s whole body shakes, his release splattering his own belly and chest with surprising force. Orym’s hand shoots out in Dorian’s direction, grasping for him, and the sight breaks through the haze in Dorian’s brain. He slides onto the bed, slipping an arm under Orym’s shoulders and cradling him as the halfling shakes through the aftershocks.
“We’ve got you,” Dorian murmurs mindlessly, sliding a hand into Orym’s again and squeezing. Before he can second-guess himself, he presses a kiss to Orym’s forehead and is surprised when Orym’s chin tilts up, clearly seeking Dorian’s mouth. It’s odd, as first kisses go, Orym too dizzy with relief to do much more than clumsily press his lips to Dorian’s. But it shoots through Dorian like lightning all the same, and he responds as tenderly as he can manage.
When he pulls back, Orym relaxes down on the bed and breathes in – maybe the first deep breath he’s gotten in a while – but the relief, it would seem, is somewhat limited. When Ashton pulls his hand away, Orym’s cock springs back up, still as hard as it was before.
“Are we..?” Dorian starts awkwardly.
“It’s better, for the moment,” Orym says, still panting but sounding a little more like himself now. “Not gone, but better.”
“Yeah, no, we’re not done,” Ashton says, and they don’t even have the good grace not to look smug about what they accomplished with a single finger. “Not by a long shot. But we’re gonna need something slick if we want to keep going.”
“How many times…” Dorian starts, then thinks better of it. “How long will it last?”
Ashton shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Groaning, Orym throws an arm over his face. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I let this happen. I should’ve seen what was in that guy’s hand and been more careful. Or at least dodged it.”
“Hey, no, none of that,” Dorian says, able to think a little more clearly now that Orym is talking in complete sentences again. “And frankly, I’m just happy Ashton didn’t have to drag you back here poisoned or with a sword sticking out of you.”
“Easier to fix that,” Orym mutters, barely audible over the sounds of Ashton digging through his pack and tossing what sounds like a whole kitchen’s worth of pots and pans on the floor.
Dorian can’t help glancing down at the scar that runs diagonally from the base of Orym’s ribs to his opposite hipbone, the one that had nearly disemboweled him in their first fight with Duggar. No matter how silver his tongue, Dorian’s never going to be able to talk Orym into developing a sense of self-preservation, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop trying. Plus, indignation is preferable to attempting to think through where this is all going, how awkward it’s going to be tomorrow.
“Easier for you, maybe. Not for me. You think I like wondering whether your internal organs are going to stay internal this time? You think I like learning all the different kinds of wounds it’s possible for one person to acquire?”
“I don’t try to get myself stabbed. Or bitten. Or slashed. Or—”
“Found it!” Ashton pops up off the floor triumphantly. “This gives us a lot more possibilities.”
Dorian swallows, hoping it’s not as loud to the others as it sounds in his head. Possibilities…
“What do you want?” Ashton asks Orym, sliding back onto the bed. “I’m down for most configurations, but I figure it should be your pick.”
Dorian watches as Orym clearly tries to think it over, which causes his muscles to start to tense up again with whatever the drug is doing to him.
Ashton sees it, too, and fixes their fingers on Orym’s chin to get his attention. “I don’t know what you usually like, but from what I know, this shit should make your body… particularly receptive. So don’t worry too much about size differences.”
Orym gives a tortured groan, starting to curl up again, and Dorian needs that to stop before it starts. “Hey, Orym, you’ve gotta help us here. We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want, so you need to tell us what you do want.”
“Feel empty,” Orym manages. “Need something in me.”
“You take this one,” Ashton says, tossing the vial of lube to Dorian before he knows what’s happening. By some small miracle, Dorian manages not to drop it.
It makes sense – Ashton’s fingers are much thicker than Dorian’s, and no matter what Ashton says about the effects of this stuff, Dorian’s still a little concerned about the size difference.
As Dorian slicks up his fingers, Orym rolls onto his belly, tucking his knees up under his body, and Dorian’s struck with sudden disappointment that he won’t be able to see Orym’s face. “Hey,” Dorian says, “let me know if I’m doing anything you don’t like.”
Orym laughs, but it’s a pained sound. “Honestly, and I don’t say this lightly, I’m going to like anything you do to me right now. I think that’s the point.”
Maybe the thought of the effects of the drug should turn Dorian’s stomach, but it’s not his stomach reacting to Orym’s words. “Okay,” Dorian says, half to himself. “Okay, I’m gonna start slow, with just one—”
He touches his index finger to Orym’s hole, intending to circle around it lightly, but with the slightest bit of pressure, Orym opens to him, Dorian’s finger sinking in to the second knuckle with ease. The sound Orym lets out – a deep, lustful moan – is like nothing Dorian’s ever heard from him before. It’s entirely uninhibited, like Orym couldn’t try to stop it or even make it quieter, and the sound makes Dorian bite down on a whimper himself. “That’s good?” Dorian asks, a little stupidly.
He gets a “yes, hnnnngh, keep going” as Orym pushes back.
Getting two of his fingers into Orym, even relatively slender as they are, shouldn’t be this easy, but apparently Ashton was right about that bit. Ashton’s currently got a hand spread against the small of Orym’s back – spreading across most of his back, actually – possibly just reminding Orym he’s there. Dorian barely needs to do anything here, just holds his hand steady as Orym ruts back against it.
“More, please,” Orym gasps, not letting up.
Before Dorian can say anything, Ashton applies pressure with his hand, slowing Orym down. “That’s it, that’s good,” Ashton says, his voice firm but kind. “Just ask us for what you want. But then you gotta give us time to do it. We won’t let you hurt yourself.”
“S-sorry,” Orym says, hips stuttering to a halt.
“No need to apologize,” Dorian says, squeezing Orym’s arm with his free hand.
“Can’t—” Orym pants. “Hard to. Control myself.”
Unexpectedly, Ashton chuckles. “That we can help you with. Want me to hold you still?”
Orym nods, cheek scraping against the bed. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”
Without waiting for another word, Ashton settles at the head of the bed, leaning back on a stack of pillows before reaching down and hauling Orym up. Orym lets out an anguished groan as Dorian’s fingers slip out of him, but then Ashton’s turning him, handling him as if he weighs nothing and laying him back against their chest. Dorian winces slightly, as he knows Orym usually hates being manhandled, but in this instance, all he does is shiver and press back against Ashton’s broad chest, groaning softly as Ashton’s arms wrap around him. For a moment, Dorian thinks Ashton’s just going to pin Orym’s arms to his sides, but instead, their hands curve over Orym’s thighs, tugging them gently apart.
“This okay?” Ashton asks, dropping a kiss against the sweaty mat of Orym’s hair.
Orym wriggles against Ashton, but he’s only testing their hold, not trying to get free. “Yes, good,” Orym says. “Dorian, please.”
“I’ve got you,” Dorian says, shifting until he’s between Ashton’s spread legs.
Getting to three fingers takes a little bit of work, and he can feel Orym’s hole flexing and twitching around him. Dorian works his hand slowly, waiting until Orym’s relaxed a little to press up with his fingertips, searching for that sweet spot. He knows he’s found it when Orym jerks in Ashton’s arms, yelping.
Grinning, Dorian does it again, massaging that spot with sustained pressure.
This time, Orym howls, abs flexing and hips pushing against Ashton’s grip as his cock jerks and spits a stream of come against his belly.
“Holy shit,” Ashton mutters.
Dorian quickly brings his other hand up to gently stroke Orym’s cock, wringing a few more pulses out of him by working with his hand and fingers together. He stops when Orym’s grunts turn into a high whine, withdrawing both hands.
For a few moments, Dorian can do nothing but stare helplessly at Orym. He’s never made a man come without touching his cock – he wasn’t even sure that was possible – but Orym’s so sensitive right now that it’s not so difficult to believe. When Ashton lets his legs free, Orym’s still trembling, flushed chest heaving, and all Dorian can think to do is dig around for his damp shirt to wipe the remnants of two quick orgasms off of Orym’s chest.
At the feeling of the cloth on his skin, Orym groans and turns his head to the side. “Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Hey,” Dorian says, dropping the soiled shirt and putting his fingers to Orym’s chin to make him face forward again. Orym, to his credit, opens his eyes and doesn’t shy away again. “This is fine. We – me and Ashton – are happy to be here. You don’t need to thank us.”
But Orym doesn’t reply. He’s got his brave face on, the one Dorian’s seen him wear into battles where the odds were stacked high against them, and it breaks his heart a little. So Dorian tries to let a bit of his own vulnerability show on his face, if it isn’t already. “Can I kiss you again?”
Orym still doesn’t say anything, but this time he reaches out, and Dorian takes it as the invitation it is. Orym is noticeably more lucid for this kiss, though his lips are still slack and trembling, and Dorian keeps the pace slow even as he licks into Orym’s open mouth. Orym’s arms go around his neck to pull him close, and then Dorian’s aware of two much larger hands tugging at his waist. Ashton yanks until Dorian overbalances and tips forward, trapping Orym between their bodies. Dorian has half a mind to pull back and apologize, but Orym keens softly into the kiss, one hand fisting in Dorian’s hair to keep him there.
Dorian only surfaces when Orym pulls away, gasping for breath, but then one of Ashton’s hands cups the back of his head, guiding him up and away from Orym until Ashton’s mouth lands on his. It’s an entirely welcome surprise, and Ashton kisses him aggressively, like he’s searching for the taste of Orym’s mouth on Dorian’s tongue.
It’s Orym’s teeth against Dorian’s collarbone that brings him back to the present, and despite his own deceptively light body weight, he suddenly worries that he might be crushing Orym. But when he pushes back, Orym’s hands catch his shoulders. “Don’t—don’t go far,” Orym gasps. “This feels good, with both of you. Feels safe.”
Dorian nods mutely, unable to find words in the face of the slightly starry look in Orym’s eyes. He’s drugged, that’s the real reason for it, but he looks up at Dorian with such open trust and affection that Dorian’s voice fails him entirely.
“You are safe with us,” Ashton says, and it’s entirely matter-of-fact, devoid of the soothing tone that Dorian’s been using but somehow just as effective. “Do you want Dorian to fuck you now?”
Orym groans, and Dorian swears he can feel the sound reverberating in his own balls. “Yes, please.”
Dorian has to hunt through the sheets for the vial of lube with already-slippery fingers, and it takes him so long to find it that he’s sure his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment by the time he manages. He’s distantly aware of Ashton talking softly to Orym and Orym making affirmative noises back, but he doesn’t pay attention to the individual words.
Thus he nearly drops the lube again when he kneels back up to see Orym still resting against Ashton’s chest, but now with his knees close to his ears as Ashton holds the backs of his thighs this time, keeping him spread open.
It’s Dorian’s turn to say, “Holy shit.”
“I’m ready,” Orym gasps, then lets his head drop back against Ashton’s chest.
Given the tableau before him, it would be pointless, Dorian supposes, to ask nonsense questions like “Is that even comfortable?” or “Are you sure about this?” Instead, he merely slicks his cock and gets into position between Orym’s thighs. Still, he can’t help bending down to press a kiss to Orym’s chest, right over his pounding heart. He has to remember this is for Orym’s sake, not his own.
The sound Orym makes when Dorian pushes in will live forever in Dorian’s head, in places he might not admit to but visits often enough at night. It’s deep and sustained, and it makes Dorian’s gut clench in the sweetest way. Ashton got the “receptive” part right – Orym is deliciously tight around Dorian’s cock, but he doesn’t appear to be feeling any pain right about now. The sound turns to a whimper as Dorian bottoms out, then trails off entirely as Dorian rocks his weight gently against Orym without pulling out.
“Yes, yes, so good,” Orym groans, reaching out for Dorian and getting a grip in the long, smooth strands of his hair. “Just right.”
“Told you you could take all of him,” Ashton murmurs into Orym’s ear with a low chuckle that Dorian can feel vibrating through the firm cushion of Orym’s body. Dorian’s resolve of a moment ago that this is all for Orym is suddenly wavering.
But when Orym gasps out, “Please, you can—” Dorian needs no extra motivation to start moving.
He keeps the pace slow at first, since no matter what the drug is doing to Orym, Dorian’s nearly twice his size. What’s more, Dorian’s never had to work around this many arms and legs in bed, and finding a place to brace his own arms takes some trial and error until Ashton sighs and says, “Just put your hands on my arms, idiot. The two of you together weigh about five fuckin’ pounds.”
Too distracted to bicker, Dorian plants his hands on Ashton’s biceps, shivering a little at the way the thick muscle flexes under his palms. Ashton makes for a solid brace, and when Dorian starts moving again, it’s much easier to fall into a steady rhythm.
Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise by now, but Orym is loud when he’s getting fucked. Maybe it’s a result of the drug, but he lets out the most guttural, hungry moans every time Dorian thrusts in. Dorian is far from unaffected by it, especially when Ashton starts up a running commentary, too.
“That’s it,” Ashton murmurs, and Dorian can see their lips smearing against Orym’s hair. “Show us what it feels like, taking that pretty blue cock.” When Orym tries to turn his head to the side, a big, green hand comes up and redirects him to look forward again. “No, no, keep watching Dorian. See how much he likes fucking you? See how good you’re making him feel? I don’t think he’s going to last very long, not with you moaning and squirming like that. Want him to come inside you? I bet he’ll do it. All you have to do is ask.”
The very thought makes Dorian shiver and tip forward incautiously, trying to bury his face against Orym’s neck. The angle isn’t quite right for it, with Orym so much shorter, and he ends up pressing his face half against Ashton’s chest and half against the side of Orym’s head. Orym groans, and Dorian realizes he’s resting his weight against Orym’s legs, deepening the stretch and folding his body more sharply. “Shit, shit, I—”
“’s good,” Orym moans. “Stay close.”
Helpless to obey, Dorian regrips his hands over Ashton’s shoulders, grinding up instead of forward, and Orym shouts an affirmative. “Yeah,” Dorian hears Ashton echo, and he feels two large, rough hands cup his ass, guiding his thrusts. He must be leaning hard enough against Orym that Orym no longer needs Ashton’s hands to stay in place.
Dorian finds a good rhythm again, gritting his teeth and resolving to fuck Orym through at least one more orgasm before coming himself. He’s fairly confident he can manage it, too, until he hears Orym start to whimper plaintively and Ashton say, “Ask him nicely, Orym.”
“Want—” Orym tries. “Want you—nngh.”
“He won’t do it if you can’t get the words out,” Ashton teases, and Dorian wonders if they’re pushing it too far, but Orym’s writhing between the two of them, clearly on the brink of coming again.
“Come—come inside—m-m—” Orym tosses his head back, the back of his skull colliding with Ashton’s collarbone so hard Dorian can hear it, but Ashton doesn’t even flinch.
“Say please, Orym.”
The sound that tears its way out of Orym’s mouth isn’t a word, and his cock doesn’t leak more than a few drops, but he comes so hard he convulses, yanking Dorian over the edge with him. It feels incredible, the way Orym bucks and clenches on his cock, and if it weren’t for Ashton’s arms around him, Dorian’s sure both he and Orym would have toppled over. But Ashton holds them all steady.
“Nicely done,” Dorian hears Ashton murmur with more than a little admiration, and though he’s probably talking to Orym, it makes something in Dorian’s belly flutter, too.
Pulling out of Orym’s twitching body is hard, but Dorian’s well aware that if the position Orym’s in was ever comfortable, it isn’t anymore, so he slips out carefully. Then Dorian helps him bring his legs down to plant his feet on Ashton’s hips, though most of Orym’s weight is still resting back against Ashton’s chest. He shivers a little, and Dorian sees a trickle of his own spend dripping down the insides of Orym’s thighs.
Dorian’s legs feel like jelly, too, but he steadies himself on his knees and reaches for Orym’s face, brushing a few short, sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. “You good?”
Orym doesn’t speak, still gasping, but he nods, putting a shaky hand over Dorian’s and turning his head to kiss Dorian’s palm.
There’s silence for a moment, nothing but their shared panting breath, but then Ashton clears their throat. “Way I see it, you’ve got three options. If you’re done, great. Mission accomplished. We’ll help you clean up and tuck you into bed to get some well-earned rest. Or we can take a break for a few minutes and reset. Or…”
“Or?”
Ashton glances down past Orym, between their own legs, and it’s escaped Dorian’s notice until just now, but Ashton is – Dorian clamps down on a sex-drunk giggle – rock hard. “Or you can slide right down on my dick and keep getting fucked.”
Orym lets out a high-pitched whimper, and Dorian’s genuinely not sure from the sound whether the halfling finds the prospect enticing or overwhelming. But then he looks up at Dorian and asks, “The—the oil?” and Dorian has his answer.
Orym’s too shaky and Ashton too clumsy with arousal to manage things quickly, so it’s a good thing Dorian’s there to slick Ashton’s generously-proportioned cock and help Orym settle onto it. Orym tries to lower himself into a squatting position, but his legs won’t hold him and he slips, taking another few inches of Ashton’s cock all at once. He makes a pained sound and pitches forward, but Dorian’s there to catch him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs softly, supporting Orym’s weight. As dense as his small body is with muscle, he’s still so light in Dorian’s arms, and his limbs move sluggishly. He’s clearly tired, and his body temperature doesn’t seem to be as high as it was before, but when Dorian glances down, he can see that Orym’s cock is hard again. Or maybe it’s still hard. “You sure you don’t want to rest?”
“No,” Orym moans, pressing his face against Dorian’s shoulder and throwing his arms around Dorian’s neck. “Don’t want to be empty.”
Orym sounds more determined than pitiable, but it still makes something painful clench in Dorian’s gut. But Ashton’s there to pick up the slack. “Okay,” he says, with a surprising amount of self-control considering the first stimulation his cock’s gotten tonight is the halfling currently impaled on it. “We won’t leave you empty. Besides, this is a good look on you, now that Dorian’s gotten you nice and sloppy.”
There’s a wet squelch as Ashton pushes up with his hips, driving his cock in another inch, and then pulling back. When Dorian looks down, he can see his own cum glazing Ashton’s cock, and it makes him groan. If Orym needs Dorian for another round, he might not have to wait long.
Blame it on the shock of the whole situation, but it’s only then that Dorian’s brain sparks out an idea it should have had a while ago. He holds Orym tighter and bends down to sing breathlessly in his ear. It’s a soft tune, little more than humming, really, and it’s not like Orym’s wounded, but a little healing magic might bolster tired muscles.
It actually seems to work, and Orym squeezes his arms tighter around Dorian for a moment before letting go and pushing off Dorian’s shoulder to lean back against Ashton’s chest. “Okay,” he says, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. “Thank you, I needed that.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Ashton says, voice starting to show some strain. “Dorian, move over next to me.”
Glad to be given an instruction, Dorian moves from between Ashton’s legs, which close until Ashton’s knees are more or less together. Then they heft Orym’s weight easily, tilting him forward until Orym can support his own weight with his hands on their knees. They don’t thrust any deeper, but it changes Orym’s angle on their cock, and Orym lets out a pleased grunt.
“It’s a little unconventional,” Ashton says, a little breathless, “but it should work. Can you ride me like this?”
Orym shifts his weight carefully forward and back, and Dorian sees Ashton bite back a groan. “Can you bring your knees up a little?”
“Yeah,” Ashton says, putting his feet flat on the bed and giving Orym a better surface to work against.
“Yes, oh, that’s—yeah,” Orym groans, sliding down a little further on Ashton’s cock before pushing himself back up. It’s not the easiest position for Orym, as he has to spread his legs fairly wide to straddle Ashton’s hips, but the way he moans as he sinks back down makes it clear it’s working for him.
Dorian’s watched this repositioning with his jaw hanging open, hardly able to move. Ashton’s cock is thicker than his own, and watching it slowly disappear into Orym’s body is fascinating, as is the look of concentration on Orym’s face. There’s a crease in his forehead that appears every time he pushes up and then smooths out every time he sinks back down.
This time, he’s quiet as he works himself on Ashton’s cock, but Ashton isn’t. “Fuck me,” they groan, smoothing a hand up and down Orym’s back. Eventually, that hand comes to rest low on Orym’s back, Ashton’s thumb stroking over Orym’s rim where it’s stretched around their cock. “I’ve had goliaths that didn’t take my dick this well.”
“L-liar,” Orym shoots back, an unsteady smile curling his lips, and Dorian’s heart clenches. It’s the first time Orym’s shown any humor in a while, and it’s a good sign. The fact that Dorian suddenly feels like an intruder to this scene shouldn’t matter.
But then Orym turns to look at him and gasps, “Touch me. Please.”
“W-where?” Dorian stutters, a little surprised to be brought into the scene.
“Anywhere, please,” Orym groans, speeding up.
Nodding dumbly, Dorian shifts forward on his knees until he can get his hands on Orym, feeling the halfling’s strong thighs flex with every thrust. He’s building up speed now, pushing down and back with surprising force. Meanwhile, Ashton is doing a remarkably good job at remaining mostly still while Orym humps back against their cock, but Dorian can also feel the tension in their body, and he reaches up and squeezes Ashton’s wrist in acknowledgement.
Orym’s working hard, sweat dripping down his temples, but even with the healing, his legs are obviously tiring again. He has to be close, but with the way his thighs are starting to tremble, he might not get there before his legs give out. He also needs to support his weight on his hands, so it occurs to Dorian that maybe after several rapid-fire orgasms, Orym needs a little help.
So he drags a hand through the sweat on Orym’s chest and grips his cock, giving him something to thrust into as he lifts up off Ashton. Orym yelps, and he must tighten up on Ashton, because Ashton swears loudly, a ripple of tension running through his body as he fights to keep still. Orym moves with renewed vigor, bucking on Ashton’s cock as he thrusts into Dorian’s hand until the rhythm breaks down and he shudders all over. From the sounds he’s making, he’s clearly coming, even though his cock’s got nothing more to give.
Neither do his legs, Orym’s second wind seeming to fade as his body slumps down. Ashton grunts and reaches for him. “Do you need to—”
“No,” Orym gasps. “Don’t stop on my account.”
He tries to get back up on his knees, but his thighs are shaking with exhaustion, and Dorian wonders whether he and Ashton are going to need to overrule Orym soon, no matter what his body is telling him it still wants. But Orym currently seems determined to keep going, so Dorian does the only thing he can think to do – he moves back to his spot between Ashton’s legs and slips his arms around Orym to hold him up.
It’s more than a little awkward, but it gives Ashton room to piston up into Orym, who groans gratefully and shivers in Dorian’s arms. “Still good?” Dorian murmurs, holding on tight.
“Y-yeah,” Orym sighs, voice jostling with Ashton’s thrusts. “Know I probably need to stop soon. But not yet. Just a little more.”
The fact that “just a little more” is getting pounded from below by an earth genasi twice Orym’s size doesn’t escape Dorian’s notice, and he chuckles. “You’re a madman, Orym of the Air Ashari.”
Orym snorts, rocking his body against Ashton’s thrusts the best he can. The best Dorian will let him, still keeping him close and his weight supported. His feet are technically under him on either side of Ashton’s hips, but there’s no way he’d be upright without Dorian. As a result, even though Orym’s moaning softly, Dorian can’t spare a hand to put around his cock. The best he can do is press kiss after kiss to Orym’s temple and hold him steady.
Fortunately, Ashton finishes quickly, groaning and tugging Orym down onto his cock and out of Dorian’s hold. Orym quivers along with Ashton, tipping back against his chest, and Dorian wonders for a moment if he put his palm over the flat muscles of Orym’s thin belly, whether he’d be able to feel an actual bulge from the sheer bulk of Ashton’s cock still inside him.
But with Ashton holding Orym and Orym content for the moment to rest on Ashton’s softening dick, Dorian needs to spare a thought for something other than one of them getting off. He walks on shaky legs to the water jug, filling one of the provided mugs and bringing it back to the bed. He takes a deep breath and then smacks Ashton on the side, putting on the best no-nonsense tone of voice he can muster while naked. “Sit up. Both of you.”
Fortunately, they both respond, Ashton more so than Orym, and he gets Orym to a more or less sitting position without slipping out of him. Dorian sits once more between Ashton’s spread legs and holds the mug to Orym’s lips. “Drink. Doesn’t have to be a lot, but you need to get some fluids in you before you literally run dry. I should probably make you eat something, too, but all I’ve got are rations and none of us are fit to go downstairs for anything else.”
Orym, still possessing common sense even when thoroughly fucked out, tries to take the mug from Dorian, but he’s so exhausted that his arms can barely hold it up. Dorian’s heart twinges again, and he helps Orym take a few substantial drinks before pulling it away.
At which point Ashton grabs it and downs the rest.
Eventually, Ashton has to move, and their softened cock slips out of Orym, along with a wet rush of cum that makes Orym whimper. “Still want to be full?” Dorian asks softly, swooping in to help Orym off Ashton’s lap.
“Y-yeah, please,” Orym says, but the request is barely audible through a huge yawn.
If pressed, Dorian could probably fuck Orym again, but the poor man seems so drained that it’s no longer all that enticing a prospect. He looks like he can barely keep his eyes open as Dorian helps to settle him back on the bed.
“Okay,” Ashton says, kneeling on Orym’s other side and slipping a hand between his legs. Two fingers slide in easily, and Orym sighs with bliss. But it’s the sigh of someone finally getting into bed after a long day, and Dorian knows the night is coming to a close, at least for now.
But Orym’s cock is still mostly hard, and Dorian wants to give him something nice and gentle to go out on, so he bends down to take Orym in his mouth, earning another sweet little sigh for his troubles. The halfling’s cock is an easy fit, and it’s a simple thing to bob up and down gently while Ashton’s fingers work inside Orym. He seems to be using more of a rubbing motion than a thrust, and the combination of their efforts is rewarded with soft, mewling breaths from Orym.
Dorian’s hair is a mess of sweaty tendrils by now, and just as he’s realizing he should have pulled it back, he feels broad fingers sweeping it up, keeping it in a loose twist on the back of his neck. Ashton’s free hand is a welcome weight, completing the triangle somehow. He’s saying something to Orym in that same tone he’s been using all evening, firm and straightforward, but softer now. Dorian catches only single words here and there: good. Rest. Done.
Orym’s cock never quite hardens all the way, but Dorian still feels it in Orym’s body when he comes. It starts as a quivering in his belly and works its way outward, twitching through his limbs. Orym makes no more sound than a few breathy exhales, but it seems to go on a long time before the shivering subsides and he starts to soften rapidly in Dorian’s mouth.
Dorian sits up to see Ashton gazing awestruck at Orym. “Damn,” they say, and Dorian’s inclined to agree.
Orym is entirely, unquestionably asleep, and to be honest, Dorian’s not at all sure at what point over the last few minutes that happened. But he finally looks relaxed, all the tension drained from his muscles, and even the creases on his forehead have smoothed out.
Dorian’s briefly worried about waking him as he and Ashton do their best to clean him up and get him under the covers, but Orym doesn’t so much as twitch, even when Ashton lifts him so Dorian can pull the blankets out from under him.
It’s not until after they’ve gotten Orym settled that Dorian remembers that this is Ashton’s room and Ashton’s bed. “What, um,” he starts, not even sure where he’s going with the question. His brain isn’t working at top efficiency, either.
“We shouldn’t leave him alone,” Ashton says, still gazing down at Orym’s sleeping form. “I’m not completely sure it’s out of his system, and if he wakes in the night… well, we don’t want him wandering down the hall, looking for… more.”
Dorian swallows awkwardly; he doesn’t want to leave Orym until he’s sure he’s back to normal, but this is Ashton’s room. “Should I…?”
“Stay,” Ashton says, shaking his head. “If either of us stays, it should be you he wakes up next to.”
Dorian takes another look at the bed; it’s not impossible that it could fit the three of them. “I mean, I don’t move around that much in my sleep.”
Ashton, who clearly didn’t need much convincing, shrugs. “Works for me.”
So Dorian slips under the covers on one side of Orym, and Ashton lays atop them on the other. Dorian’s not entirely sure, but Orym’s body temperature feels like it’s somewhat back to normal, though he’s still warm where Dorian’s arm overlaps his.
Almost immediately, Dorian feels himself dropping off to sleep. He’s not entirely sure if he’s already dreaming when he feels a large hand reach over Orym and come to rest between his shoulders, keeping the three of them connected still.
&&&
When Dorian finally opens his eyes, the sun has clearly been up for a while, shining brightly in through the opened curtains. As he yawns and stretches, his first thought is that these sheets are a fucking nightmare of dried fluids. They either need to tip the cleaning staff extremely well, or probably just pay the inn the cost of the sheets and then take them out back to burn them.
As he goes to voice his first thought to whoever’s around, his second is that he seems to be alone.
He is, in fact, alone, and he washes up as quickly as possible in the room’s basin before throwing on his clothes from the night before. Then he realizes he has to stop by his own room first, because yesterday’s shirt is too stiff to even uncrumple, let alone wear in polite company.
Though there’s no real reason to think anything’s gone wrong, or that there’s anything different he could possibly do for Orym if it has, he lunges down the stairs toward the tavern. The tables are full of diners finishing their breakfasts, and he spots the rest of their party, minus Orym, at a table on the far side. At first he takes it at a run – where the hell is Orym? – but he skids to a stop a few meters away. How much does everyone else know about what happened last night? How much would Orym want them to know?
Luckily, Ashton sees him and stands from the table, stepping away from what seems like a particularly engrossing (or possibly just gross) story from Laudna and pulling Dorian aside. “Orym’s fine,” they say quickly, gripping Dorian by the bicep and squeezing gently. “Had Letters top him up with healing this morning just in case, and now he’s back in his own room getting some more rest.”
Dorian opens his mouth to ask about dozen questions, but Ashton keeps going. “The, uh, symptoms were gone, but he was still exhausted. I kept him up just long enough to eat a little something and drink about a gallon of water. The others think he got some bad shellfish at the market and was up all night puking. Well, Letters knows what’s really going on, but they can actually keep their mouth shut when they try.”
All Dorian seems to be able to do with this information is blink rapidly. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
One side of Ashton’s mouth curls up in a smile. “We tried, several times. You were really out, and Orym insisted on letting you sleep. Don’t worry, I saved you some food – though I’m pretty sure Fearne stole your bacon the second I got up from the table.”
Frankly, the thoroughness of care was not at all what Dorian was expecting from Ashton, and he thinks he might need to reevaluate his opinion of the genasi. The shock must show on his face, because Ashton has to put a hand on the small of his back and gently shove him in the direction of the table to get him moving.
As Dorian sits down, Fearne looks up with a pleased smile and puts half a strip of bacon back on Dorian’s plate. The teeth marks on it look remarkably small and simian.
He forces himself to eat slowly – or he tries to, at any rate. He knows Orym needs his rest, but not being able to see him up and walking around after the shape he was in last night is making Dorian a little crazy. Imogen even asks him if he’d had the bad luck to try any of Orym’s oysters, and thankfully it’s not a lie when he says “no.” But she clearly knows something’s up, even if she doesn’t push into his brain to find out more.
They’re planning to scope out a factory in the Lucent Spire today for more shade creeper holes, but they agree it would be best to wait until the lunch when many of the workers will probably be on break. Imogen and Laudna have a few errands to run for Zhudanna, and Fearne wants to go with them. Ashton’s characteristically vague about having to go ask a merchant about a personal thing, and of course FCG is at his side. That leaves Dorian trying not to race back up the stairs to check on Orym.
He should probably just let Orym sleep, which is what he tells himself all the way to Orym’s door, even as he’s raising his hand to knock. He’ll just knock softly, and if Orym happens to be up, maybe Dorian can just hear his voice, hear that Orym can string full sentences together once again, and Dorian will happily go on his way.
After a brief moment of indecision, he raps on the door with his knuckles. “Orym?” he says, wincing at his own intrusiveness. “It’s me. It’s Dorian.”
He can hear some kind of quiet movement somewhere behind the door, but for a long moment, no words come. But just as Dorian’s trying to convince himself to walk away and give Orym some privacy, he hears, “Just you?”
“Yeah. Just me.”
“You can come in.”
Dorian does, quickly shutting the door behind him. He sees the outline of Orym silhouetted against the open window, sitting on the bed and facing away from Dorian. Orym doesn’t turn around or acknowledge Dorian, so Dorian goes to him.
“Hey, I know you need to rest, I don’t mean to bother you, but I just wanted to see—oh.”
When Dorian rounds the corner of the bed, Orym finally turns to look at him, and it’s obvious the halfling’s been crying. His eyes are mostly dry now, but they’re unmistakably red and puffy, and he’s got a green handkerchief clutched in one fist. Dorian’s heart sinks.
“This—this is probably a dumb question,” Dorian stammers, “but are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Orym says, closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah, I think so. I just… needed some time alone.”
Dorian swallows against the rising lump in his throat. “Did we… hurt you?”
At that, Orym’s eyes fly open. “No, gods, nothing like that. I mean, I’m a little sore and probably still massively dehydrated, but I’m not—no, Dorian.”
It might be worse that whatever he’s dealing with isn’t physical pain. “But you’re upset about last night?”
“Maybe not for the reasons you’re thinking,” Orym says softly and pats the bed next to him, an invitation for Dorian to sit down, which Dorian obeys. “I’m just… feeling a lot of things I don’t know how to reconcile. Do you remember me telling you about my husband?”
Dorian nods, the queasy feeling still heavy in his stomach. He doesn’t remember the man’s name, but he knows that Orym’s husband died violently, and that Orym lost a good few years to grief before being sent on a mission by his tribe’s leader.
“I haven’t been with anyone since he died,” Orym continues. “Until last night.”
The queasiness rolls over into full-blown nausea, and Dorian’s hands clench into fists on his lap. “Oh gods, I'm so sorry, Orym, we never should’ve—”
One of Orym’s hands reaches out and covers Dorian’s fist, and Dorian stares down at it dumbly. “Don’t apologize,” Orym says quickly. “You were put in an impossible situation. I don’t think there was a right choice to make, but there was a compassionate one. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but I was suffering, and I would’ve kept on suffering needlessly out of stubbornness if not for you and Ashton.”
“Still,” Dorian says, shaking his head, unable to look Orym in the eyes. “It wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have been in that position.”
“No, I shouldn’t. But you’re not the ones who put me there.” He pauses, squeezing Dorian’s hand. “Hey, look at me.” It takes Dorian a good few seconds, but he manages to look. There’s so much openness in Orym’s gaze that Dorian has to fight not to look away again. “I don’t regret that it happened. I just regret how it happened.”
With everything going through Dorian’s head, he needs a few moments to process it. “You… really?”
“Yeah,” Orym says, nodding. “I’m not…” He sighs. “Vulnerability doesn’t come easy to me. It never has. But yesterday I had it forced on me, and you… well, you made sure I was safe. That I had what I needed. You and Ashton both, but you…” He pauses, and Dorian’s heartbeat is deafening in his ears. “I trust you. After everything we’ve been through. Even Ashton could see it – that’s why he went and got you.”
“I trust you, too,” Dorian says, because it’s the only thing he can really think to say. Unfortunately, a moment later, he also blurts out the only thing he can think to say. “Has it really been, what, five years?”
“Six and some change,” Orym says, breaking eye contact to look down at his hands. “Honestly, I haven’t even wanted to. I’ve found myself attracted to people, a few people, but it’s only ever made me feel guilty. I thought that part of my life was over.” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “And obviously I wish I’d made the choice while I was in my right mind, but it was taken out of my hands, and now that it’s happened, I’m strangely okay with it. There’s still some guilt, of course, but I can’t help but think…” He pauses again, and though he doesn’t glance up at Dorian, the corner of his lip starts to curl up. “Riegel would have thought this was fucking hilarious.”
The non sequitur surprises Dorian. “Yeah?”
“Writhing with horniness and getting railed by two blisteringly hot genasis at once?” Orym lets out a soft puff of laughter. “Oh yeah. He’d want to know the whole story. In detail.”
Dorian forces himself to ignore the blisteringly hot part. “What was he like?”
Orym sighs and tugs his feet up on the bed until he’s sitting with his legs crossed, and then he sort of slumps to the side until he’s leaning against Dorian. “Kind. Impulsive. Charming. Generous. Reckless. He made me crazy, and I loved him so much that sometimes I thought I’d die of it.”
Surprisingly, it’s not hard to imagine Orym with a partner that’s such a polar opposite. Someone who would help Orym loosen up. Someone whom Orym would help reign in. “He sounds amazing. No wonder you miss him.”
“Yeah,” Orym says, pressing his face against Dorian’s arm. “And he wouldn’t have wanted me to spend my life paralyzed with grief. I’ve always known that. Sometimes I think I had such a hard time rejoining the world because I knew it would’ve annoyed him that I shut myself off. And I wanted to imagine we were still connected like that, that some part of him was still around to be annoyed at me.”
Though Dorian hasn’t known grief, not in the way that Orym clearly does, he nods. “That… makes a sort of sense.”
“Does it? I don’t know. But weirdly enough, I think he’d be happy for me now. I have friends. Friends who are willing to… uh…”
“Help you out of a jam?” Dorian supplies.
“Sure, let’s call it that. I think I’d forgotten how nice it is, to be close to somebody. Not just sex – though that was… I mean…” Orym glances away, his cheeks flushing.
“After six years and change, I hope you enjoyed it,” Dorian says in an exaggerated, joking tone, though he’s not sure if he’s joking. “At least some of it.”
“No, uh, aside from the desperation and then the exhaustion, it was… very enjoyable.” Orym’s face is fully red now, his eyes closed as he swallows audibly, and it’s so cute Dorian can hardly stand it. “What I’m trying to say is, I think I need to put more effort into… being open with people. To let myself be close to the people I care about.”
His eyes turn up to Dorian, and Dorian’s worried his heart might beat right out of his chest. “I care about you, too, Orym. Kind of a lot.”
“Was it true? What you said about working up the courage to make the first move?”
Perhaps Dorian hadn’t gotten right up to that precipice, but he’d certainly considered it. “I…” Dorian starts, hoping Orym isn’t reading his internal parsing of unimportant details as hesitance. “Yeah. I don’t think I’d really admitted it to myself until that moment, but yes.”
In a flash, Orym is standing on the bed, for once a few inches taller than Dorian where he’s seated on the mattress, and before Dorian can process it, Orym has taken Dorian’s face in his hands and is kissing him. It’s a slow, gentle kiss, but it’s intimate, Orym’s thumb brushing over Dorian’s cheekbone, and it lingers.
Orym pulls away slowly, keeping his eyes closed and pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t know what I want, or where this is going, or how long it’s going to take me to get there. And these aren’t the best circumstances to try to figure it out, but… maybe we could figure it out together?”
“I’d like that,” Dorian says softly, resting a hand on Orym’s waist and gently squeezing. There’s something else he wants to know, but he doesn’t quite know how to ask. “And, um. Ashton. Does he… do they figure into it?”
Orym gives a humorless laugh that brushes against Dorian’s cheek. “That would probably depend on what they have to say about it. As for me… I don’t know. I just… know I felt something for them last night, too. If that’s a deal breaker for you…”
Dorian draws in a deep breath and thinks about Ashton’s gentle strength, the way they kept Orym anchored in the moment. The way they swept up and held Dorian’s hair. The way they looked after Orym this morning. “No, it’s not a deal breaker, though… I’m not sure I know what I want, either. But I’d like to find out.”
With a more genuine chuckle, Orym pulls back to look Dorian in the eye. “The blind leading the blind, then?”
“For us?” Dorian asks, unable to hold back a smile. “Sounds about right.”