WHO Dorian Storm and Orym WHERE Their bedroom in the Bells Hells House WHEN October 9, immediately after people returned from the Void WHAT The boys reunite and agree that their previously smart and sensible decision was also a stupid one. STATUS Complete ART CREDIThere WARNINGS General mention of MM violence, but also đ
It wasn't so much that Orym woke up, as he just blinked. One moment he was hugging Laudna on a space shuttle wherever the hell it had been they were the last couple of hours (because it had been hours--right? Hours? He wasn't even sure at this point) and then the next he was back in his bed. Curled on his side, exactly where he normally was, though missing the warmth of the second body that usually shared the space with him.
Dorian. Dorian, who had been on Orym's mind the entire time he had been stuck in that loop with the others. Dorian, who he had been desperate to get back to after a week and some change of them existing in the odd limbo that they had created for themselves. Dorian, who he knew he needed to have another conversation with. He was fairly certain that Dorian had been spared the ordeal, thank all the gods for that, but he needed to be sure that he was all right. Yes, he wanted to return and see the same for the rest of his friends, just as he wanted to see Laudna and Vex and all of the new allies he made return home with him for the same, but Dorian.
Orym pulled back the blankets and immediately hopped from the bed, taking in the amount of light coming from the windows to do some mental math. He wasn't sure where Dorian was and thought him likely somewhere in the house, but for once the patient halfling was overcome with impatience. Turning, Orym snatched up his half of the sending stone that he always kept on the bedside table for safekeeping, a measure taken given his history with magic items, and activated it.
"Dorian?" Orym's voice was its usual quiet, but with a thrum of relief and anticipation weaved through. "Are you home? I'm--I'm back. Where are you?" He had plenty of words left, but he let the magic go and trusted the message to find its intended destination.
There was no answer on the sending stone. Not at first. Dorian had been pacing in front of the tiny television they had managed to swipe for viewing pleasure while Orym and Laudna played out a sickening loop of partying, space stations, cultists, and death. Dorian couldn't watch. No, Dorian had to watch. He had spent a recklessly terrible weekend, hoping for someone, anyone to find the right way to get them out of there. A brutal cycle that Dorian couldn't help but feel guilty that it wasn't him.
He had not slept in their bed together. He had made a pathetic nest downstairs with Imogen and the others. He was getting desperate for anything to change, and struggled to stay awake in case he missed something new in this loopâif the Void didn't exist again; if the players of this horrible party were gone in a more final end despite figuring out the complicated puzzle; if no one would really be able to say what they needed to. When they jumped aboard the shuttle in the last loop, Dorian was glued to the television as they disappeared into the Void. And then he heard it: Orym's voice coming through the small magical item that Dorian had gripped to like a lifeline for days.
"Orym, you'reâ" His words stuttered out in shock, in uncertainty, lodging painfully in his throat. No, no, no, that wouldn't do. They had been separated long enough.
If Dorian could have teleported, he would have. But he was woefully underskilled in the magical area, and had to resort to taking the stairs, two at a time, which was the fastest he could go. He didn't bother knocking; there was nothing polite or gentle in the way he threw open the door to their room. And there, the object of all his affection, was standing in one piece. Whole, lovely, very much alive.
"You're okay," Dorian said on a breathless exhale, his voice pitching, nearly breaking on the words. His body moved before he could overthink it, his heart in control rather than his mind. Dorian was across the room in one, two, three steps, dropping to his knees, scooping up Orym's face in his hands, and kissing him.
It had been a very long time since Orym had been kissed. He tried not to think about it too often, that last very normal morning before he and Will had left for their assignments at the Tempest's side. They'd eaten oatmeal for breakfast, helped one another into their armor, and shared a quick, chaste kiss that spoke of loving normalcy and an expectation of more in their future.
Though not as long, Orym had also been thinking about kissing Dorian for quite some time.
Orym had been ready with assurances, Dorian's rushing up the steps obvious to his all too perceptive ears. He had been ready for hugs and relief and for his shoulders to relax for the first time since he had been spirited away to a party he had not wanted to attend. And yet, while Dorian's lips on his had not been something Orym had been ready for, it still somehow felt like the only logical next step that could have happened. There was no hesitation in Orym as he kissed Dorian in return, eyes closing as his hands reached blindly for his friend. His arms came to rest around Dorian's shoulders, keeping him close as his fingers slipped between strands of soft hair.
Maybe it was because of those intrusive thoughts he'd had about what it might be like or maybe it was because everything that had happened in the last week, especially during the loops, had been just enough for Orym's worries to take a step back or maybe it was just because it was finally time. Whatever the case, there was no denying that it was right.
Somewhere, in the back of Dorian's mind, was a little tiny, nagging voice trying to bring him back to reality. But this was better, like floating, like flying, a place he wanted to stay. All the worry that had been bundled in a tangled mess in his chest loosened almost immediately when their lips touched, and a bright warm light inside of him grew exponentially when Orym kissed him back. There was nothing to tell Dorian no, there was no one to tell him not to. The one person that mattered in this moment was currently reciprocating all his feelings, and not in an awkward mess they had waded through a week ago.
Dorian was all motion, not a person driven by logic but a feeling without an obstruction, fully formed taking over his body. He kissed Orym again and again, out of breath but not out of emotionâpouring days, weeks, months of his desire into that one singular moment where time was standing still. Orym may have been playing out a few hours in a constant loop for the last few days, but Dorian wanted this loop to play out in infinity, instead.
Because always, eventually, when reality tried to wedge itself in, Dorian was too weak to fight it. His thumbs stroked over Orym's cheeks, his palms sliding down his jaw, to his neck, the irrevocable sensation of Orym at his fingertips was too much, overwhelming. Getting everything he had wanted was surprising, and Dorian pulled out of the kiss in alarm. The truth of what he had just done hung over him.
"I'm sorry, that was, I should have, we didn't, oh." Oh, oh, oh, he had run out of words. He sank back on his heels, stunned into uncomfortable silence for a beat. He took his hands off Orym, he took a deep breath, and repeated, "I'm sorry."
It had been a while now that Orym had known Dorian. In that time, he'd gotten rather good at anticipating his change in moods and recognizing the anxiety that seemed to so often be simmering under the surface of his charisma and charm. Now he was seeing both and he needed just a few seconds to adjust to the very sudden change; one moment his hands were full and his lips were busy and the next he was staring at Dorian as he backed away.
Which was okay, of course. Dorian had every right to take back the last handful of moments if he wanted to and Orym would accept that. But once those necessary seconds passed and he mentally kicked his brain back into thinking about anything other than kissing, hands, and a healthy amount of want, he realized that Dorian was apologizing and it wasn't hard for Orym to understand why. They had just talked about this, had made a decision on what they were going to do moving forward--and this so very much went against that.
Though part of him wanted to surge forward and take Dorian in his arms again, the apology stopped Orym from doing anything more than gently taking hold of a blue hand in his own before it slipped too far out of his reach. He hoped that it was more grounding than distracting as he tried to pitch his voice as soothing as he could make it. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay--we're okay. You can be sorry, but you don't have to be."
Orym tipped his head forward just a bit, but kept his eyes on Dorian. There was an undercurrent of bashfulness there, even as he tried to stay serious as he admitted, "I liked it."
Dorian wasn't sorry for kissing Orym, he was only sorry that he hadn't asked first, hadn't come in for a slow kiss so Orym could back away if he wanted. But it was clearâI liked itâthat Orym had no intention of backing away. Dorian knew that they still needed to talk about this, to sort out what this meant given their last conversation about their friendship. But Dorian had also spent a handful of days, distressed, that he might never get the opportunity to do this, kiss Orym, and tell him they made the wrong choice.
He would risk it all for another moment with Orym of the Air Ashari.
Somehow they were still holding hands, and Dorian instinctually brought Orym's to his lips, kissing his rough knuckles with a tenderness he could only save for the people he cared about. And oh, he cared so much about Orym. His safety had been a constant on his mind. He wondered if his sleeplessness showed, he wondered if Orym would be able to see the low-buzz of the weekend's events running on replay, he wondered how long he could keep from kissing him again.
Closing his eyes, just for a brief second, he sunk into the feeling of Orym's hand in his, pressing his own cheek against it. Touch, this little contact, was a desperate need. "I'm only sorry," Dorian said quietly, his attention back on Orym, searching his face. He had missed him so muchâhow had Dorian ever left him? How had Dorian ever let him leave? "That I did not do it sooner, then."
Sitting up now, so that even on his knees he was his full height, and only a little taller than Orym, he asked, "May I again?"
It was hard to look away, Orym found, from his fingers against Dorian's cheek. Though he heard and processed what Dorian was saying, his words settling in and around him in an enticing mixture of newness and familiarity, Orym watched as his hand moved from cupping his cheek to tracing fingers over a sharp cheekbone and jawline. It wasn't as though he had never touched Dorian before, of course; they'd traded countless touches, from casual to intentional to healing to everything in between. He'd brushed Dorian's cheekbone before while delivering a flower to tuck behind an ear. This wasn't new.
Except, at the same time, it very much was and now, seemingly having been given permission to touch, it was hard to want to pull away.
There was a bit of emotional whiplash at play, Orym having only just been stuck in the loop a handful of moments ago and now standing in front of Dorian, who looked rather well kissed--thanks to him, of all people. If there was one lesson that Orym had learned in his years, it was that everything could change with a blink of an eye. The last week or so had given him plenty of reminders of that lesson. Maybe it was time to stop being so worried, at least about this.
Orym's eyes met Dorian's, watching as he straightened, before darting once down to blue lips, then back up again. He smiled, stepping in to meet Dorian halfway. "I'd really like it if you did."
Dorian didn't wait. He had permission, and in a moment of fierce decisiveness, he was sweeping Orym up into him again, kissing him like he had wanted to. Not just while he was in the loop, not just for these past months in Vallo, but even before. In Jrusar, when he hadn't known what the feeling was, only that Orym had always been something more to him.
He kissed his mouth, his chin, his jaw, his brow, his temple, only to then gather Orym up in his arms, in an unfaltering embrace. His lips were in his hair, whispering nearly nonsenseâa mixture of relief, and praise, and every word that had been held onto because Orym had to come back, this couldn't be itâuntil it cleared into something more coherent. "You're okay, I'm so glad you're okay, I didn't know if you were okay."
Pressing his forehead to Orym's, Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, almost like if he couldn't see it, he could hide from what he was about to say. The intensity of Orym's comforting expression, his concern, felt undeserved when he had just spent the last few days trying to escape. Dorian had been left with only worry and his thoughts, but that was enough.
"I made a mistake, I don't want to be friends, Orym," Dorian said, his voice quiet but no less earnest, "I can't just be only friends with you. I know this is so much right now, all at once, but all I could think about was if I didn't get to say it to youâ" He couldn't finish, but he knew Orym could fill in the rest.
Orym could fill in the rest. The fear of leaving things left unsaid had followed him for much of his life, having lived through it once. With Dorian in particular, it had culminated in the gripping of a sending stone back home and then fighting alongside the others to figure out how to break free of the loop that they had been trapped within.
Rather than wait or lay any expectation down upon Dorian to put the rest into words, he closed the already small distance between them. This kiss was a bit different than the others. It was gentle and slow, reassuring and grounding, a reminder that they were both here and present. It was also in benefit to them both, Orym needing that comfort just as much as he wanted to give it. Not to mention that it was simply exhilarating to take the kiss, all because he could.
"I don't want to be friends, either," Orym murmured, breaking the kiss so he could take in Dorian's handsome face all over again. He took in every part of him, the fact that he could look without apology or bashfulness somehow just as exhilarating as the kissing had been. "It felt like the right decision, when we made it. I thought we were being smart about it, even if I didn't fully like it."
Orym leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Dorian's once more and letting his eyes flutter closed. "I still have the same worries that we talked about, but I think it's worth taking that risk if it means I get to have you."
"We were being so stupid," Dorian said, around a half-laugh, unsure if it was appropriate given the circumstances. But he was also effervescent, uncontainedâhaving Orym here, kissing him, agreeing with the mistake of only being friends. What had they been thinking? Had they even been thinking at all? Obviously not if they could have been doing this the whole time.
He let the words sink in for a while with the sensation that Orym's lips left on his. Dorian could have stayed here forever. But eventually he would have to let goâhis knees were burning against the hardwood, and his exhaustion of the last few days was crawling up his spine, and settling into his shoulders. He could only imagine a similar sort of weary fatigue was hitting Orym too, if not more so. Dorian had watched, but Orym had lived it.
Dorian pressed a kiss to Orym's forehead. "I know, me too. Me too. And we can talk about this later, I want to talk about this later, but right now I don't know if there needs to be more thanâ" And he kissed him again, soft and intentional, because he could. Months of it being always at the ready, and months of pushing it back down.
"You need rest andâwhat am I even doing." Dorian said this, pulling away to run his hands over Orym in a more concerned manner. Not that Orym would hide injuries, but Dorian needed to look for himself and not just be distracted by kissing. "Our timing is terrible, but feels, well, feels fitting for us."
It wasn't until Dorian suggested that Orym needed rest that the halfling realized just how much he really did need it. Somewhere between the adrenaline required in getting out of the void, the simple relief in being home, and Dorian that his little body had forgotten that it could absolutely use a time out. Even so, Orym stood still for Dorian, letting him feel around for the injuries that luckily didn't exist. Thank everything that he hadn't gotten as fucked up as others. He knew that if their roles were reversed, he would be fussing over Dorian in return, so he was happy to let Dorian ease his mind.
"Not the best timing," Orym agreed. With a practiced gesture, he reached out toward Dorian once more. It looked like he was simply smoothing his hair back behind his ear, until his hand drew back and left a sprig of purple lilac behind. He smiled, shrugging one of his shoulders. "We got here in the end, though. That's good."
It sounded so simple, Orym thought, when he put it that way. And, in a lot of ways, it truly was. He had baggage, there was no denying it; he had loved and lost before and the thought of going through that again with Dorian was a thought he couldn't even fathom. Dorian had a past, too. They were both complicated men. But even during their bumpier moments, it had never felt complicated with Dorian until they had made it complicated by making a decision neither of them had liked. Being friends with Dorian had never been difficult and the thought of being more than that, the thought of taking this step together, felt like the most natural of progressions. It felt good.
Orym caught Dorian's face in one of his hands, thumb sweeping just below his eye and along his cheekbone. "You look as tired as I feel, no offense. You need rest, too."
When Orym's hand left, Dorian's fingers followed, ghosting over his ear to feel the flower left there. He was afraid to truly touch it, as if it would break some small peace they had claimed. As if it all rested solely on well-being and placement of this little bit of druidcraft. Only then did the pieces fit together, the moments when Orym had done this beforeâthose tiny little flowers tucked behind his ear. Dorian had missed the obvious signs, and he tried not to look embarrassed that it had taken him so long. That he thought it wasn't reciprocated.
He leaned into the touch again, a little needy. He was allowed to want openly and Dorian refused to take it for granted. "I suppose so, but I wasn't the one carrying sticks of dynamite or sneaking into that woman's apartment, and you had the gun and I thought that was it whenâ" No, no. He didn't want to get into it. The whole thing would be a fever dream later, and the last few days would be a distant memory. This was burning into his mind much more intensely, and he'd rather think about the future than the past.
"Come, come," Dorian said, a flurry of movement. He was standing now, much taller than Orym, but he didn't linger. He was pulling back the blankets to the bed, dragging down sheets, unmaking the perfectly made bed. "If I'm sleeping then, you should. I should, we should, in..." And now the awkward anxiousness was back, and he laughed, a little pitchy. "I did not think this far when I said you needed rest and after I kissed you."
Saying it out loud made Dorian move again, and he was back in front of Orym, leaning his full height down to press his lips against Orym's once again. For the tenth time, for the hundredth time.
There was something about the undercurrent of awkwardness coming from Dorian that was undeniably charming in Orym's eyes. Normally he would be quick to determine what it was that was causing his feeling such a way, then do whatever he could to alleviate it, if it was within his grasp to do so. Now, knowing that it was just due to the uncertainty that came with a big change, knowing that he himself felt the butterflies that came with discovering what this new and exciting normal fully entailed, it just made Orym smile.
And he continued to smile, as he watched Dorian dip down to kiss him. Smiling into the kiss made it different than the others, but no less sweet.
It also gave him a bit of an idea. They would eventually rest--one or both of them would insist on it soon enough--but in the meantime, Orym was not unused to having a taller partner (because that, a little voice in his head spoke up, was what Dorian was; even if they hadn't put definitions on what was happening here, Orym felt confident in that realization) and he could help but lean into the playfulness that Dorian had always brought out of him.
Breaking away from Dorian, Orym darted around him deftly, hopping up onto their bed and standing on the mattress. His little feet sunk into it, but it left him at least a bit closer in height to Dorian. "One more," Orym requested, reaching to pull Dorian in by his shirt, "and then we're sleeping for days."
Dorian blinked, and Orym was gone, parkouring up onto the bed. He was always so quick on his feet, fighter reflexes on display, even though Dorian knew he was exhausted. So who was he to deny him when he reached to pull him back in closer for another kiss? Much like the first one, and the others that came after it, Dorian's arms were around Orym to hold him in place on the bed, sliding hand in a tender trail down his spine as they kissed.
Somehow Dorian tried to get closer but the base of the bed was digging into his shins, and Orym would topple right off if Dorian tried to pull him closer. For being relatively new to this new blossoming romance, despite the months denying itâwhat an idiotâDorian thought they did rather well in learning the motions. And that was clearly their friendship, the awareness of one another, the feeling of being known, coming into play.
"One more," Dorian echoed against Orym's lips, smiling more than kissing. "And then we'll sleep for days, and no one willâoh!" Dorian startled into awareness. In all the relief of seeing Orym, and admitted feelings, and distractions, Dorian forgot that he had left his nest with Imogen in the sitting room without comment. In a rush, really.
"We should tell them you are here, and in one piece. It has been a chaotic few days." He was blushing now, embarrassed that his mind was less-than-focused on anything else than Orym's well being. He would blame it on being tired. Dorian pulled him close, tucked his face against Orym's neck, and said, "I will come right back."
With a small chuckle, Orym nuzzled into Dorian as he enjoyed the warm feeling of the genasi's face pressed against the sensitive skin of his neck. It felt a little like this was a dream, as ridiculous as that might have sounded. It was hard to not imagine that he would go to sleep, only to wake up and find that the loops never happened and that this never happened. That might have been the exhaustion talking or just the delicious mix of shock and contentment that the past several moments inspired, but Orym really, really hoped it wasn't a dream.
Still, just in case, Orym wasn't about to let Dorian out of his sight, not after everything he'd just gone through.
"I'll come with you," Orym decided, directing Dorian back gently by the shoulders. "It would do a lot for my own self to see all of them before trying to get some actual sleep anyway." There was also Daud; he had to make sure someone checked in on him. He hopped down from the bed, holding out a hand to Dorian. "And call me protective, but I'd rather stay close to you for now, if that's okay."
He was smiling again. And after days of worry lines creasing his forehead, and consistently frowning as a digital version of Orym on a screen, this was better received. He took Orym's hand in his, and squeezed. Dorian was reassuring Orym that he would be fine, but also himself too. This was good, they were good, no matter what was waiting for them.
"That is more than okay," Dorian answered, and led Orym out the door, hands linked, and possibly never letting go.