WHO Dorian Storm and Orym WHERE The forest, on the way to Spooky House WHEN Afternoon of December 14 WHAT Orym and Dorian attempt a snowball fight. It ends in flowers. STATUS Complete FULL ARThere WARNINGS None, just soft and smooches and snowballs
Orym was not unfamiliar with snowy, wintery weather, of course. Zephrah got its fair share of snow when Winter's Crest rolled around, just by virtue of being tucked away in the Summit Peaks, so his childhood had been dotted with watching snowflakes fall, bundling up, and mugs of hot drinks warming cold hands. He hadn't quite known what to expect when it came to Vallo, the heavy snow acquired during that odd stretch of time--that seemed influenced by Aeorian magic that he, even with some nature-based magical knowledge, couldn't even begin to understand--clearly being an outlier. But, with holidays seeped in goodwill approaching and a more seasonable amount of snow arriving, a certain sort of lightness had settled within Orym.
That lightness felt especially good, as Orym had only really begun to get used to it once more. Once upon a time, before everything had changed, that more carefree side of him had been more prevalent. He had always had his serious moments that he knew his friends were all too expectant of him now, especially when on guard duty, but laughter and smiles were easily pulled out of him. Now, though, he was feeling more like his old self. Changed, of course, because there was no way that he could have stayed the same given everything he had gone through--and still was going through, back in Exandria. But it was knowing that he'd had that time to grow and being self aware enough to understand the scope of his journey that left him feeling so good about that lightness.
A lightness that, he had found, so often dipped into playfulness when around the right people, like the handsome genasi he was wandering back to the house with after an afternoon of errands.
It was that playfulness that had him pausing his strides, letting Dorian walk forward without Orym for a few paces. It was also that playfulness that had him dipping down, his mittened hand scooping up some of the recently fallen snow in one hand before packing it into a snowball and, well--letting it fly, aided by an extra gust of air thanks to the Air Ashari cantrip special.
The snowball hit true, Orym being kind in his playfulness as it struck against Dorian's back and not the back of his head. In anticipation for Dorian turning, he immediately brought on his most innocent of expressions, which was half obscured by the scarf that had been gifted by Dorian, which he continued to refuse to let be replaced by something a more reasonable length for a halfling. That just meant that his mischievous grin was also hidden by the scarf.
Despite the cold and the snow, Dorian's mood was good, keeping his insides warm with the pleasantness of company. Sure, his nose was red (purple) and his cheeks were flushed (also purple) against his blue skin, and a stranger on the sidewalk had very gently asked if he was suffering from hypothermia in the snow and Dorian had —very kindly—explained that no, he always looked like this, which devolved into a tangent conversation about genasi, but! The rest of the walk home had been charming, moreso with Orym by his side.
Dorian was deep in conversation, well, explanation of the difference between the sounds of lute and a guitar, and how someone had asked him to play a cover of the song Wonderwall on a ukulele ("...which I have never seen before in life, but I looked one up and it's so small, not that small is a bad thing, but the sound, the sound must be something strange...") He hadn't noticed that Orym had slowed his steps, because he was now using his hands to talk as well and no longer holding Orym's. So when the snowball hit his back, Dorian yelped in surprise. Loudly. Embarrassingly so.
Shoulders to his ears, he spun around, all in a sunset-ombre cloak blur, to see Orym hiding his devious smile. Dorian tried to hide his own smile, but he did not have the same oversized scarf problem, and so his feigned annoyance was easily seen through.
"You, you. Are very. So much trouble," Dorian said, shaking a scolding finger at Orym. He was scooping up his own snowball, though his was from the well-walked path, and much slushier than the snow Orym had access to. He threw it, but it skimmed off Orym shoulder and landed with a wet smack.
Orym spun as the slush flew, just barely missing him. He watched it hit the ground, turning back to Dorian with the same grin. "Slush?" His tone was incredulous and paired with a raised eyebrow. "Now that's just playing dirty."
Nevermind that Orym had not only hit Dorian in the back and used magic to aid in his throw. The rules of snowball fights were tenuous, as it were.
Which, apparently, was what Orym had decided this was: a snowball fight. He would surely go back to asking Dorian more about the differences between lutes, guitars, and ukuleles, as well as inquiring about what, exactly, a Wonderwall was, as that was all very important to him as it revolved around the interests of his boyfriend, but for now he was just grateful that his silly behavior had seemed infectious and welcome.
Giving Dorian the quickest of winks, Orym jumped into action, using every bit of the nimbleness that was both inherent to him as a wiry little halfling and learned through his particular brand of fighting to hop around, scoop up another fistful of snow, and send it flying. Projectiles weren't exactly his forte, so he wasn't too surprised to see it go sailing past his target. "I meant to do that," he called, laughter in his voice making it pretty obvious that he had definitely not meant to do that.
Dorian held his hands up in surrender. "I can't be held accountable for the snow I am given. It's slush or nothing and—" Dorian was interrupted by the failed hit from the second snowball. He had barely blinked and Orym had managed to get one up on him. He shouldn't have been surprised; Dorian was used to his quick thinking, and even quicker footwork. It always seemed like Orym was moving at double time while the rest of them caught up. But that did Dorian no good when he was pitted in an unplanned snowball fight.
"You are going to have to do better than that, Orym of the Air Ashari," Dorian said, equally amused. And with a flick of his hand, he cast a levitate spell on himself and started to float, elegantly above the ground. It didn't necessarily make him harder to hit—perhaps it was a bad idea to fly without cover—but Dorian was never the cleverest person in battle. And maybe he was asking for a little bit of snow.
Clearly he wasn't cut out to throw anything at Orym that intended to land, so instead he flew (well, hovered quickly) over to Orym, in order to catch him off guard and tackle him, albeit gently, to the ground and into the snow. But he was going too fast even for an air genasi who was made for flying, and missed catching Orym on his way down and simply crash landed into the mound a few feet past him.
A bright loud burst of laughter exploded out of him, and Dorian didn't bother to get up. He deserved laying in the slush for his terrible miscalculation. "I spoke too soon! You don't have to do better, I just have to do worse."
The moment he saw Dorian take to the air, Orym was ready to dodge out of the way. He had the reflexes, after all; honed through battle and training, absolutely ready to be utilized in this impromptu snowball fight. In the end, they weren't even necessary as he watched Dorian crash to the ground, managing to combine an amused grin with a wince as it happened. He would have felt worse about the grin were it not for the laughter that Dorian let out, which immediately warmed Orym right through.
"You really are just helping me out," Orym teased, pausing for one more handful of snow before he walked over to Dorian. He held it out a bit menacingly, looking between Dorian lying prone on the ground and the snowball as though deep in thought, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. In the end, he dropped the snow to the ground and gave Dorian a grin. "That's why we're better off on the same team, I suppose. We complement each other."
He meant it, of course, both in regards to something as silly as a snowball fight and the bigger hurdles their lives brought to them. And, as a show of that teamwork based solidarity, Orym turned once on his heel before falling back into the snow directly next to Dorian, letting out a soft oof as he landed.
As Orym approached with the snow, Dorian's face shifted—one arched brow and his hands slowly coming up to protect some part of him. He couldn't decide what would be worse—snow in his shirt or snow in his pants? "You wouldn't dare—" Dorian said, holding back another ridiculously infectious smile, one that tended to be impossible to ignore around Orym.
He had not been expecting him to join him in the snow, but he laughed again all the same, light and melodic, as Orym collapsed beside him. "You're right, we are much better on the same side. Except now we are both in precarious positions if someone who is not on our team decides to attack," Dorian said, as he tried (and failed) to make himself more comfortable in the packed snow. He knew if there was anyone actually dangerous within range, Orym would undoubtedly hear them. Dorian had learned his perceptiveness spanned far beyond any normal person—human, halfling, genasi, or otherwise—to not worry.
Regardless, he rolled over onto his side, and with a sweep of his cloak and a little bit of powdery snow, he covered Orym and half of himself. A shield for the both of them. "This is much better. I can keep an eye out, while you can, I'm not sure, sneak attack. Have some snow ready, just in case," Dorian said, before swiftly stealing a kiss from Orym.
Even as he did it and just as quickly pulled away, his cheeks were more flushed. The novelty of kissing Orym was not lost on Dorian, and he never thought it would fade or fail to give him that fluttery feeling in his chest.
Pushing himself up slightly on one elbow, Orym chased after Dorian's lips as he leaned back, stealing one more kiss. He may have even let it linger--it was only fair, after all, given how he'd been the one to throw the first snowball--before he pulled back, pleased smile taking over his mouth now that it was no longer occupied with Dorian's.
"You might have just summoned Chetney, talking about sneak attacks." Orym glanced off beyond the protection of Dorian's cloak, as though the gnome truly could be summoned so easily. He was, if Orym was going to be honest, one of the few people he thought could actually bypass his naturally perceptive self. Not that he would actually admit that to Chetney, of course. "Something tells me that he would be quite the opponent in a snowball fight."
Content that they weren't about to be attacked, Orym settled back into the snow and looked up at Dorian. It wasn't the most comfortable of places to lay and he would surely get cold before long, but the view was rather great and he couldn't help but soak in the sweetness of the moment. Still, he shifted over just a bit closer to Dorian. It was important to share body heat, surely.
"Thank you for indulging me," Orym said, smile turning a bit sheepish. "I couldn't help myself." Whether he was talking about the snowball or the kiss, well. He wasn't even sure.
For the briefest moments, Dorian's smile faltered at the mention of Chetney. Would he summon him? Dorian quickly swept his gaze around the pathway for their gnomish friend. He didn't think he would spot him, but the fear momentarily subsided when there wasn't the obvious tell of the skittering from Chetney across the snow.
Dorian made a soft questioning noise when Orym moved closer. He never thought that he was giving allowances to Orym, that he was doing something he didn't want to do for Orym's sake. In fact, Dorian was certain if he wasn't so wrapped up in his initial conversation, he might have scooped up his own snow. Unless, that wasn't what Orym meant.
So he kissed him again for good measure, but stayed closer, noses touching. "You don't need to thank me for letting you lay in the snow. It's much more comfortable for me to be above you," Dorian teased, adjusting his position so that he could run a hand up and down Orym's arm in a half-attempt to warm him. He doubted it did much good against the cold pressing into his back. "I can't imagine that's pleasant so if that's what I'm indulging, I might need to take up a complaint about your need to put yourself in between others and miserable situations."
It was part scolding, part truth. He worried sometimes that Orym would keep throwing himself in front of far more dangerous scenarios—though hypothermia was real—in order to protect others. In order to protect Dorian. But he didn't want to bring the conversation down, so in the flashest movement he could muster, he flipped their positions. No longer hiding in the cloak, and now with Orym on top of him.
"At least let me do it a little bit."
A little sound that was somehow a combination of a laugh and gasp of surprise escaped Orym as they swapped their positions, his little halfling body moving easily where Dorian bid it. He settled in almost instinctively, careful not to leave an elbow or knee anywhere uncomfortable as Dorian laid between himself and the cold, snowy ground.
"If you insist." Not that Orym would let Dorian lay on the cold ground too long. He might let Dorian take up the job he normally volunteered for in making sure the rest of his people were comfortable, even if it meant that he was far from, but he could let up on that for a few moments and just enjoy, well, perching on top of his boyfriend.
Orym brought his hands up in front of him, where Dorian could clearly see them as his fingers twisted in the familiar motions that Nel had taught him years and years ago. From his hand grew a sprig of tiny white flowers, as white as the landscape around them. "Heliotrope," Orym explained, before leaning forward to get to work. He carefully plucked one flower after the other, setting them into Dorian's hair to look like little bits of snow stuck in the strands. They would no doubt fall and scatter as soon as the other man got up off the ground, but it made for a very pretty visual in the moment--not that Dorian needed the flowers to be pretty, Orym would be quick to say.
"You know," he said, voice a bit quiet as he worked, "I know that I wasn't really meant to be a druid, but I'm glad that I was able to work out just the one spell." Orym didn't know when flowers had first become his love language, but he did know that he remembered it was not too long ago.
With Orym on top of him, it was easier to fuss with his scarf, adjust it, so Dorian could see his face properly and tuck the excess of knitwear around his head. There was a little thrill of seeing that, despite the mistake of getting an oversized scarf for a halfling, Orym took to it all the same. Because it came from Dorian.
He waited patiently on the ground, as Orym druidcrafted the tiny white flowers in his hair. He attempted to catch a glance at them without moving too much, knowing any big adjustments would lose the small petals in the snow. But Dorian was full of restless energy, of anxious energy—it was difficult to tell sometimes which one it was—so instead of moving he used it to keep his hands on Orym, running through his hair down his arms, his own hands getting in the way of Orym's placement. Always in motion.
"I save them, if you didn't know," Dorian said, then reconsidered. "No, you know. You know everything. There is nothing that gets past you." It was said with no heat, only amusement because how long had they circled one another, unperceptive of their feelings? "But I'm going to tell you anyway that I saved them. A little book of your pressed druidcraft. They are always too beautiful to let them go, and you manage to surprise me every time with your thoughtfulness. So I'm glad that you managed too."
And then, because he couldn't help himself, he asked, "What does this one mean? I started looking them up out of curiosity, because flowers have their own language, and sometimes I do think you are awfully clever when it comes to using them to speak, and so I have to ask now or I will just look them up later."
Orym had been ready to jump in and claim that there was plenty that he didn't know, things that he absolutely missed--but then Dorian kept talking and the words and any thoughts about his perception were stolen before he could ever have the chance to voice them. He did have a suspicion that the flowers he had been giving Dorian weren't being tossed away; it just didn't seem like something he would do. But still, suspecting that they were being saved and knowing that they were being tucked away in a book were two very different things and it meant a great deal to Orym.
As Dorian continued, though, Orym felt his face and the tips of his ears heat up. Thanks to Dorian's adjusting of his scarf, he couldn't even hide his face in the excess of knitwear--nor could he really blame the cold for making his face red.
Because Dorian was right, of course, and Orym wasn't too surprised that he had caught on. Dorian was a very clever man, after all. Orym knew a lot about flowers and their assigned meanings and he used those meanings as a bit of a quiet, silent language. They were messages given without any expectation of a response, a touch of sentimentality. These flowers, however, were definitely sentimental, beyond that of just matching the snow.
"Well." Orym held out one of the small blossoms between their faces, looking at the flower before looking past to meet Dorian's gaze. "You're right, yeah. I had an idea you were holding onto them, which is--it's very sweet. And, um. Yeah, I do pick them because they usually mean something." His gaze bounced between Dorian and the flower once more, before he softly explained, "These mean devotion. Devotion and love."
Dorian's grin grew to be devious and conspiratory; he liked being right. He was on the verge of gentle teasing to say I knew it, but then Orym was holding out the flower and perhaps Dorian should have asked him sooner about the flower's meaning. Perhaps, despite all his personal research, he should have realized the things Orym was telling him between the lines. He was not nearly perceptive enough.
His expression grew curious, and he reached up for the flower in Orym's hand to take it himself. Devotion and love were big feelings for such a tiny flower to hold, and it felt almost ironically like Orym—he was small, but his love and devotion for others outweighed and outgrew whatever misconceptions others had of him. Dorian assumed that he was always working against the judgment of others. If only they knew Orym, like Dorian knew him.
"Oh Orym," Dorian said, and then took the flower to tuck behind Orym's ear. He did not have the same affinity for druidcraft, but he could at least return the favor. "I care about you very much, and as my best friend, my love for you is overflowing constantly. I could not imagine a better person to be with, friend or more than a friend, than you."
Then Dorian winced, realizing that the numbness of the snow was now melting away and he could feel every single rock he was currently laying on. "I do think I might need to sit up though."
Orym embraced the flurry of feelings and emotions that whirled about within his mind and heart at Dorian's words--bemusement at the interpretation of what Orym had said, relief that he'd thought that way and not clear rejection, affection because it was Dorian and that was always simmering under the surface in one way or another, and plenty more that he couldn't even really put a word to in the moment. It was an opportunity to push, to put more obvious words out into the universe, but Orym found himself hesitating. As confident as he was in battle and when throwing himself between his friends and any opposition they might face, this was something that he found himself balancing on a delicate line between mind and heart.
Besides, he thought, it was very them for Orym to be intentional with a gesture and for Dorian to figure out that there was intention behind the gesture, but to then misinterpret the depth of what that intent was and for Orym to be unsure of if he should clarify, at least for now.
At Dorian's wince, though, Orym was quick to draw back. As much as he enjoyed the close proximity, he wasn't about to let Dorian take the brunt of it any longer than he had to. He stood at his full height, though still hovered over Dorian's lap as he sat up, leaving himself in the perfect position to take his face in soft, mittened hands before leaning in for a kiss. They kissed a lot, it being one of his new favorite activities for them to do together since they defined their relationship, but this was one where Orym took his time with it, trying to express every one of those many feelings that he didn't have the words for or courage to say aloud.
There were some things he could say, though. "I care about you very much, too," Orym echoed, voice low as one of his hands moved to swipe a strand of hair behind Dorian's ear. "And I count myself real lucky that I get to have this with you, friendship and more. I just want to make sure you know that."
This wasn't so bad. Now that he was sitting up and Orym was bringing their mouths together, where every point of contact was warm and lovely, Dorian figured if he had to spend the rest of the day in this spot in the snow, this would be the best place. He could feel something in those kisses, too much to put into words, and after a beat, then two, his eyes fluttered, sinking into something more. Something missed, something that their conversation had been circling around. Dorian returned the favor, hands sliding around Orym's hips, up his back, and holding him there.
Love and devotion seemed easier to say when he wasn't speaking. Flower language would need to be something Dorian studied, starting tomorrow.
A bright, effervescent feeling bubbled up inside Dorian, and he started to laugh, breaking their kiss. "I know that. I don't know many things, and I'm still learning, but I know that. I'm lucky too," Dorian said, looking up at Orym. It wasn't often where their positions were changed like this, and Dorian took it all in. His expression was open, inviting, searching Orym's face. Dorian had not gotten the opportunity to have this in Exandria, and he wouldn't let it go to waste here. Even covered in flowers and sitting in snow.
He picked up some of the heliotrope that had fallen out of his hair when he sat up, and started to place them in Orym's along with the other one he had started with. "I think we should call this snowball fight a draw?" Dorian said, sweeping a kiss across Orym's cheek. "And we can warm up by the fire at the house? I'm sure that was already in the plans, but I would like to state my excitement again at the prospect."
"I think that's a pretty good ceasefire agreement," Orym replied in his most diplomatic sounding of teasing tones, born only from being in rooms where such tones were actually used and trying to blend into the background. He returned the kiss at his cheek with a simple press of his hand to Dorian's, then backed up and out of his lap to hold both hands out in offering. He would only be effective in helping Dorian out a little bit, his height being what it was, but it wouldn't stop him from helping nevertheless.
Orym was starting to feel the cold and Dorian was painting a rather pretty picture for how they could spend the rest of the afternoon. It struck him again, the sentimentality hitting right in his heart, that this was his, this was something he got to have, that they were here, able to have snowball fights and time spent cuddling in front of the fire, because they both had chosen it.
Rather than voicing that or lingering on the thoughts, though they certainly weren't dismissed, Orym added, "I'll make us hot cocoa, too."
Dorian took Orym's hands for the assist that it was, and spent more time than necessary using him as leverage to get up out of the snow. Behind him was a very distinct outline of his body, and a few of the petals he missed from the flowers, but he had enough on his person to pluck away to save in his book. And later, after paging through the dozens that he had pressed between the pages, he'd realize all the things Orym had been saying to him for ages.
Not letting go of Orym's hands, he rubbed some warmth back into them. "You don't need to but I will not say no to warm drinks. I might have lost feeling in my—" Butt, he was going to say butt, but Dorian flushed red (purple) again, and shook his head. "No, no, nevermind. Not necessary. Home it is then."