WHO: Dorian Storm and Orym of the Air Ashari WHAT: Taking a much needed break with Dorian's gift from helping with the fundraiser, and they have Very Serious Talks in pajamas while braiding hair. WHEN: During the weekend, after mushrooms. WARNINGS: Discussions about spousal death STATUS: Complete!
Orym had been on the receiving end of spa days and massages more since he had found himself wrapped up with actual adventuring parties than he ever had in the previous thirty-some years of his life. It was a change that he hadn't exactly been expecting, but it was one that he wasn't about to complain about. Though his hands might have been calloused from an active childhood and years gaining expertise with a sword, he wasn't one to turn his nose up at a little pampering and relaxation via a bathhouse or spa--especially now that he knew just how nice it felt to be pampered and relaxed.
It was a fun experience, especially when he had someone he really enjoyed spending time with at his side, like Dorian. He had been relieved when Dorian had agreed to this little getaway, even if he had little cause to think that he'd not be interested. Though they spent plenty of time together, both on their own and in the presence of their friends, Orym knew from long past experience that there was a certain benefit in occasions like this. They went on dinner dates together and made time to join the other on walks or when running errands and had been sharing a bedroom for many months now, but this was, as Orym had put it, different. This was planned and meant to be romantic, something that he thought they had succeeded at between the massage and good food and the fancy room with a view.
Orym hadn't been lying to Dorian when he said that he'd thought about a getaway together for a while. He had just been waiting for an opportunity to rise up and was grateful that Gilmore had given them one; part of him wondered if the sorcerer just knew he was looking for an excuse and that the gift had been dual-purposed, but surely even Gilmore had to have his limits. Whatever the case, he was just glad that they were here now, with Orym laying back against ridiculously plush pillows and watching Dorian as he readied himself for bed. Orym himself was already dressed down in his most comfortable, a pair of soft pants and a loose fitting green shirt that was more or less his usual nighttime attire.
Maybe it was their surroundings or just what this time away together meant to him, but Orym found himself feeling bold as his eyes stayed trained on Dorian. Surprising even himself a bit, he sat up a bit straighter and asked, "Can I braid your hair back?" He had touched Dorian's hair before, of course, but it was usually brief tender moments when he placed flowers behind his ear or tucked loose strands back (and also more charged moments, when their mouths were locked together and fingers were buried in hair in an effort to keep them close). This was a bit more deliberate, so he couldn't help but add, despite the boldness, "It's okay if you'd rather I not."
Dorian was, noticeably, less stressed. The anxiousness hadn't peeled off him completely—could it ever? When he had always been trying to live up to something, someone, somewhere, it felt perpetually ingrained in his psyche—but whisked away to a resort with Orym where someone pressed deeply into his back muscles? He didn't immediately worry about what was next. Eventually, his shoulders would creep up to his ears and all the tension would be back, but for now, he was at ease.
And truly, most of that was because of Orym. Sure, another person working knots out of that space between his shoulder blades was soothing, but the easy presence that Orym provided by just existing in his generalized space was its own sort of balm. Alone with Orym where interruptions came at their discretion was a luxury. Dorian loved their friends, and he loved the energy that they brought to the loneliness they all had felt, but this was good too. This intimate and easy privacy for their relationship.
He made a reminder to thank Vax and Gilmore—even if this was a thank you for his help, but Dorian was nothing if ever courteous—as he scrubbed himself clean in the shower from the day. Orym might have thought to get in his sleeping clothes, but Dorian was extremely fond of the fluffy terry cloth robe he had slipped into at some point during the day and had refused to take off. He was in it now, combing through his slightly damp hair in the doorjamb watching Orym.
"No, no, no, " Dorian said, soft amusement lighting up his face as he stopped his own brushing. "I'd like that." All smiles, Dorian climbed up onto the bed. He crawled across it on all fours, to steal a kiss from Orym, who looked just as relaxed against the overstuffed bedding, before settling down in front of him, and tossing his hair over his shoulder for Orym.
"Any particular reason why or..." Dorian trailed off not knowing what the or could be, only that he burned with curiosity.
Somewhere between Dorian's crawling across the bed and the pulling away after that stolen kiss, a dopey little smile crossed Orym's face. It was a pretty common one when Dorian was involved, especially when it was just the two of them and he didn't feel he had to school it in to lower the potential for teasing; it rarely mattered, partially because Orym didn't mind the teasing but also because teasing would happen regardless, if their friends were of a mood. Now, though, he didn't bother hiding it as Dorian settled in and he pushed himself up to his knees, then his feet, which sunk into the comfortable mattress below them.
It was then, as he reached for the comb and ran his other hand through Dorian's hair, that Orym was hit with an incredible sense of deja vu and his smile sobered just a bit. No mental gymnastics were required for him to realize just where it was coming from, his hands stilling just a moment before he started to continue the process that Dorian had started in straightening out the damp strands.
"I used to do this for Will." Orym's voice took on that quietly tender tone that it usually did whenever he brought up his husband. Memories long gone by resurfaced at the admission of Orym first learning how to braid because of Will, his dexterous fingers not taking long to master it. It wasn't something that he could always do, their schedules as Tempest Blades not always allowing them to go to bed at the same time, but when the stars aligned and they could, it was a little show of care that Orym enjoyed expressing.
"Your hair is much longer than his was," Orym continued, his finger tapping lightly just below Dorian's shoulder to indicate where Will had usually kept his cropped, "but you both beat me out by a longshot, so."
Talking about Will had become easier and easier as time had passed and he allowed himself to. He was never meant to be a secret, but Orym knew that talking about your dead spouse could sometimes put a damper on situations and he instead kept it close to his chest and to reveal to those who asked or he wanted to share with--Dorian being one of the first that he did open up about him with, alongside Fearne. It was his way of letting Will live on, if only in memory. Still, he found his movements slowing as he tried to gauge Dorian's response, a sliver of worry winding through him that there was potential that he misstepped.
A soft sigh, pleased and quiet, released from Dorian at the first touch of Orym's hands in his hair. There wasn't much to it, but something lit up all his senses the same way kissing Orym did, or when they held hands. This was nice, a task he hadn't considered asking for, but now that it was happening, Dorian made a note to ask again.
Maybe, possibly. The mention of Will had only briefly caused him to tense up, and he knew Orym would feel it being so close (and even if he wasn't.) Not because Will was an unwelcome conversation, but that Dorian had risked bringing him up without knowing and was that what Orym wanted? Will had never been an off-topic discussion, but Dorian had been ever so gentle to mention the late husband of his current boyfriend. Despite being one of the first people that Orym opened up to about him, there were still so many things that Dorian didn't know about their relationship. But he didn't pry, he understood inherently and deeply that Orym was allowed that privacy and Dorian never faulted him for that.
But sometimes things like this felt surprising in their own right. He felt Orym note where Will's hair had been, listened to the words carefully, and took his time before responding. "I don't know how I would feel if you had long hair. Not that it would be bad, I think you would look—I mean, you look great with short hair too, this is not me trying to get you to—" Dorian sounded flustered. He could feel his face heating up in an embarrassing way.
In order not to make Orym feel like Will had made Dorian uncomfortable, he settled back into himself, reached for that relaxed feeling they had been indulging in all day, and said, "Tell me more about him. You said you did this often? Have you been holding out on me, Orym?"
Orym smiled to himself as Dorian stumbled over his words, not because he enjoyed the sharp turn into anxiety, but just because it was so very Dorian. He would have rescued him, of course, were it to go on too long, but Dorian recovered and that just made Orym's smile strengthen. Leaning forward, his front pressed against Dorian's back as he used every bit of his short stature to press a gentle kiss to Dorian's cheek, a reassurance of his own and a thank you all wrapped up in one.
"I did and I guess I have," Orym confirmed with a soft chuckle after he had rocked back on his heels, returning his attention to the task at hand. Any tangles that had been in Dorian's hair were now smooth, but he still ran the comb slowly through. "It was a good wind down, I think, for both of us. He said it was relaxing and I just like taking care of my loved ones." He nudged Dorian once at that, including him under loved ones.
Letting the comb fall to the mattress, Orym replaced it with his fingers, pulling through the soft strands a few times before he began to section it off to start the promised braid. "Getting Will to relax was kind of a big deal," he continued, doing his best to acquiesce Dorian's request while not tugging too hard on Dorian's hair. "He was just in constant motion and had been as long as I knew him. I was the same in a lot of ways back then, which just meant--trouble. Gods, we got into so much trouble when we were kids."
Brief flashes of memory crossed Orym's mind of a halfling boy and his half-elf best friend daring one another to climb the cliffs around Zephrah, stealing fruit from the trees of neighbors and running away giggling when they were caught, wrestling in the middle of the street out of nowhere. "Becoming a guard and doing all the training helped me mellow a little, but Will never changed. He'd always sit down and be still so I could do this, though."
"You, trouble? No, I would never believe it from you," Dorian said, feigning sincerity. He could picture it clearly—the Orym he knew now was disciplined, practiced, a natural way that showed it had taken time to get to this point of being put together. But Dorian had also seen those moments of Orym in combat, where he would be a little reckless, a little ridiculous, and always always in motion. A younger version seemed to play into those strengths of Dorian's mind and he smiled despite himself.
He didn't ignore the nudge at loved ones, but for someone who was supposed to be the words guy, Dorian tended to lose them somewhere in his throat. He blustered, but not in any way that Orym could see, given that he was at his back. He turned a little, pausing the braiding so he could catch a glimpse of Orym behind him, to see his face as he talked about Will. It was important.
"You miss him," Dorian said, plainly, and not unkindly. He could hear that gentle longing in Orym's voice, and Dorian would do anything to make it feel better. But this wasn't a desire to go home, or missing a place that had nestled in Orym's heart. This was a person who was never coming back, and all Orym had were these memories that he was sharing with Dorian. The least he could do was listen.
"I mean, of course you do, he sounds so much like you, I think that I would miss half of myself too." He turned back around, giving Orym access to the hair he was braiding. He hadn't wanted to interrupt but... "He was right, though. It is relaxing. Doing it myself isn't the same."
Orym was quiet for a few moments, thinking over Dorian's words and appreciating the truth that rang within them. He did miss Will and he knew that he would never stop missing him. He had come quite a distance from the version of himself that had been nothing but a shell in those days and weeks that followed Will and Derrig's funerals, but the longing to see him, even if just for one more moment, would never fully diminish. He would see him again one day--and had, in that very sense, before Fearne and a large sum of diamonds pulled him back--but that was only so much of a comfort.
His fingers began to move again, continuing the braid. It had been years since he had last done this, but his fingers remembered. "I like doing it," Orym reiterated softly, "so I'm happy to step up whenever you want."
Another moment passed before Orym took in a deep breath and spoke once more, his voice still quiet and thoughtful. "I do miss him," he confirmed, even though Dorian hadn't needed him to. "I never won't, I think, just like I know that I'll always love him." Orym paused there, the words slipping out without him really realizing it; the comfort that he had with Dorian meant that it was all too easy for him to say whatever was truly on his mind, without a second thought.
Taking the braid in one hand, Orym reached out to trail his fingers gently across Dorian's cheekbone to a stray strand of hair that had escaped the braid, which he tucked behind a pointed ear. "I knew that Will would have never wanted me to be alone, but I didn't really think I'd be lucky enough to see lightning strike twice. I traveled and soul-searched, but I was looking for purpose, not a person. Funny," he continued as he returned to finish out the braid, "that I found both at the same time, pretty much."
Dorian wasn't sure what the extra touches were for—comfort, security, a confirmation that Dorian was still there and not frowning with his back turned to Orym. He listened, he always did, with the same careful introspection that Orym gave when he spoke. Will was precious, Will's memory even more so. Dorian never felt like he was in competition with a dead man, though the thought had occurred early on. But Orym never made it feel that way and Dorian had felt ridiculous for even letting the fleeting idea pass through his mind at all.
He leaned into the brush against his cheek, and exhaled. "Purpose and a person," Dorian echoed. He knew what it meant, even still the words slipped out small and hesitant. "Me?" A beat, and then he clarified, "The person part, not the purpose part. I've never been that self-aware, or inclined or— you know." He waved him and his train of thought away. Through all of this, Dorian had felt Orym's knuckles skim their way down his back as he braided. And so figuring he was close enough to done, Dorian took the moment to turn around, perched on his knees to face Orym. He had nowhere to go.
"I love you, Orym," Dorian said, fast, fierce, confident in a way that hadn't been evident seconds ago. "I do, for—well, I don't know how long. But enough time that I know it's not a passing thing." His eyes were searching Orym's face now, trying to find any signs that this was backfiring, but he didn't think it would or that it could. Dorian barrelled on.
"And you don't have to say it back, not if you're not ready, not until you're ready. Even if you're never ready," Dorian said, and that should have stopped him, made him reevaluate what he was saying, but he was undeterred. "I know, I know that you will always love Will, that's not something I ever want to feel I'm trying to take away from you, or need from you to not have. I love you with him, in a different way, not better or more or anything that puts us against one another, just that I do. And I want you to know that I do."
Someday, Orym thought, this man would stop surprising him.
Perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise, though. On purpose or not, Orym had been telling Dorian that he loved him through actions for a good while now. With every flower tucked behind his ear, each slow morning or good night kiss, any sword swing made out of protection, gift given... near everything that he did for Dorian, he did because he loved him not only as his best friend, but as his partner. Orym knew how he felt and maybe it shouldn't have been too shocking that Dorian felt the same.
But it was the rest of what Dorian said that settled around Orym, replacing the surprise with a gentle hug of comfort and confidence that this, their relationship and the feelings they had allowed themselves to nurture, was right. Not everyone would look at Orym's past and be willing to not just accept it, but embrace it and how it had shaped Orym to a point where it would never truly be gone. It was easy to believe that Dorian would, though. Of course he would.
Orym stepped forward, closing the little distance that was still between the two of them. Still standing, he was at just the right height to lean his body in against Dorian's torso. He took Dorian's face in his small hands and slowly, so gently, ran his thumbs over sharp cheekbones as he murmured, "I love you too, Dorian," before kissing him.
Relief rushed over him like a waterfall. Dorian hadn't realized how long he had been standing on that precipice, waiting to say something that felt so right in his mouth, so unhurried and so uncomplicated. His timing might have been terrible, and he could overthink saying I love you to Orym after he said how much he still loved his husband and whether or not that made him selfish, but right now he was watching Orym come closer. Say I love you too. Kiss him like he meant the world. Dorian soaked it all in.
A dam had broken: Dorian went from unsure to confident, gathering Orym up in his arms, pulling him as close as was physically possible. He wanted to sink into this kiss, into Orym, into this bed without another care. He loved him, he loved him, and Orym loved him too.
Dorian supposed he would need to come up for air at some point. He sucked in a sharp breath, before leaving a smattering of kisses across Orym's mouth, his jaw, his neck, and then coming full circle back to his lips. The braid he had focused so kindly on doing for Dorian was already falling out. He'd have to do it again, Dorian thought distantly, but was that so terrible?
"I, you, us—" Dorian stumbled over his words, not awkwardly or with that base-level anxiety that was always bubbling, but a curious and questioning sort of way. He didn't know what to do or say. "I meant what I said. I know sometimes I ramble, and things get lost in all the words but I did. Mean it. Not just the loving you part, but the other stuff. And not just just, I'm not diminishing it. And now I'm rambling again."
"I happen to love the way that you ramble," Orym said, because it was true and if ever there was a time to be honest about the different ways and reasons he loved Dorian, it was now. But in the grand scheme of reasons he had fallen in love with Dorian, that was just one of many.
"And," he continued, letting his hands migrate from where they had been holding Dorian's handsome face to sink into his hair and further undo the braiding work he'd done, "I know that you meant it. You've never made me feel as though I had to leave him in my past to make room for you or that you expected me to forget him. I think that it's been because you've always been so supportive and understanding when it came to Will that let me start to fall for you in the first place."
Orym leaned in, letting his lips press gently to Dorian's cheek. "I'll never be able to replace him and I don't want to. I don't love you because you're like Will, but because you're you. Dorian Storm, bard and words guy." He smiled at that, an attempt at inserting a little levity in what he knew could be a charged, intense topic. It didn't feel as heavy as it might have been, though; these conversations rarely ever did with Dorian.
Even though the conversation had veered toward the presence of someone who wasn't here, Dorian didn't feel sad. He felt emboldened, charged with this new knowledge. He was glad that Orym had understood—as if he wouldn't, he always understood—what Dorian was saying. What Dorian had tried to convey this whole time. There was never a replacement for Will, Dorian only hoped that he could ease some of the pain of losing him. Make the years that Orym lived not as lonely. And in turn, Orym would make his life less lonely too.
"I am the bard and co-words guy, I still need to share that with Chetney," Dorian corrected, then his whole face scrunched up. "I can't believe I brought Chetney up when we're trying to have a serious conversation. Somewhat serious conversation. Not a bad serious conversation?" His voice tilted upward in a question. He didn't think it was, but confidence had come swiftly in the moment, and he tried to cling to it. There wasn't much that being around Orym couldn't solve.
He touched his cheek, caressing in the same way that Orym would touch his. His fingers trailed against the shorter crop of Orym's hair. "I loved you for a long time, I think. You've been my best friend for so long that I don't know if I know when it started, but I know it won't end," Dorian said softly, a thick strand of his ombre hair falling into his face. "So know that I love you, and that I am so sorry, that you might have to fix the braid you just did."
With his mind so very stuck on I know it won't end, it took Orym a moment to catch up to everything else Dorian was saying about his braid. Dorian may have already said that he'd realized that his feelings for Orym weren't fleeting, but hearing it again, hearing the surety there--he would never not want to hear it and likely never not be reduced to a pile of emotions when he did.
Obviously, given the conversation that they were having, Orym knew how promises could only go so far, no matter how much truth they were proclaimed with. While he and Will had gone into their lives together with both eyes open, a part of him had nonetheless been unable to truly fathom that their worst fears would come true. They did, though, and the dreams they had planned for their future never had the chance to come to fruition. It taught him many lessons, but one of them in particular was very poignant in the moment: appreciate the moment.
And so, Orym planned to do just that, for as long as he could.
"You're saying things that make me want to kiss you again," Orym said with a smile, referencing their conversation only weeks ago. Between them, he moved his hands and produced a sprig of pale blue flowers, holding the forget-me-nots out in offering to Dorian. "I'll braid your hair as often as you want," he promised, mouth turning up at the corner in a little teasing smirk. "I was planning on messing it up still tonight anyway, if you would let me."
"You can kiss me again, if you would like," Dorian said with encouragement. The whole point of this weekend had been to indulge in every selfish desire of affection that both of them managed to keep casual when at home, or during working hours. It almost felt elicit to be this open with it, but it had been that openness that had allowed Orym to ask to braid Dorian's hair. For Dorian to say I love you. They should have really snuck away more often. Dorian mentally promised to make plans again in the future.
He took the forget-me-nots. Normally, he would have followed it up with a question, one that had become standard practice now through Orym's secret language of flowers but Dorian didn't have to think hard about this. Given the events of the evening so far, it seemed so obvious what Orym was saying and what he had been saying all along. Dorian then flipped the narrative, though, and reached out to tuck them back behind Orym's ear, mirroring the words he couldn't druidcraft into being.
"I'll be careful then," Dorian said, another kiss, another inch crowding into Orym's space, until he could press him down without hesitation into the bed. "And give you the honors."
Complicated things happened in Orym's chest as Dorian placed the forget-me-not (meaning things like true love and respect in that flower language he knew so well) behind his own ear, understanding the intent behind the action as he knew it matched his own. The flowers had started as a way for him to express feelings that he wasn't quite ready to voice. And now he had actually voiced those feelings and, well. It felt really good.
Even better, though, was how Dorian's hair felt as Orym let his fingers run through the soft, silky strands. He looked up at Dorian above him, the hair having already escaped the braid making a curtain around their heads, and smiled. "A high honor, indeed," he murmured, pulling the rest of his hair free of the braid. He really would fix it later. For now, though, he just pulled Dorian the rest of the way down. There were more important things to be done.