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By now it was no secret that the relationship between Dorian and Dariax grew more intimate with each passing day. While no huge leap had been taken, the looks and the touches became more deliberate.
Seats would be taken with barely a breath between the two, and more often than not they would strive to take watches together only to end up tangled in each other’s grasp by the end of the night… Or really, Dariax held no qualms about wrapping himself around Dorian’s middle like a particularly fond octopus.
But the most common position, the one shared in the warmth of the whole group surrounding a fire, was Dariax seated on some sort of low rock or log while Dorian practically laid back in his lap just as they were now.
Conversation flowed easily among the five of them while a jovial Mister basked in the community of it all, but eventually Dariax fell silent. He allowed the conversation to flow without his input while his attention turned down to the brilliant ombre of blacks and blues within the bard’s hair.
He knew well of what genetics caused such details in Dorian’s appearance, but his hair was something else entirely.
Dariax reached down to where Dorian’s head was propped against his lower stomach and gently ran his fingers through the startlingly soft locks. The other’s cadence of speech didn’t seem to change, but he felt his head lean a bit harder into Dariax’s touch. The dwarf smiled and left one hand to continue scratching along his bard’s scalp while the other followed the soft change of color down to the very ends.
And that is where Dariax found himself most intrigued.
The very tips of Dorian’s hair were the lightest in both color and touch. And yet when he finished the drag of his fingers through the hairs he still felt them though his hand phased through them easily. As if the very tips were simply air.
Which...they very much were.
Like a breeze caught and crafted into fine strands of silk, the tips brushed gently across Dariax’s touch. Not physical but felt. Almost cool like the first winds of spring. It was incredibly pretty and so very Dorian.
Dariax caressed Dorian’s temple with his thumb, prompting the other to tilt his head away from his conversation with Opal and backwards to Dariax. “Did you want to say something?”
Dariax shook his head. “Just admiring.”
Dorian huffed, masking his amusement for exasperation. “If you’re going to be back there playing with my hair, you may as well brush it.”
The dwarf immediately perked up. “Can I?”
“Oh. Uh. Sure? Brush is in my bag.”
Dariax smiled and leaned down to press a parting kiss to Dorian’s forehead before pushing the other to sit up. He acquired the brush and turned back around to see everyone looking at him with various minor degrees of shock. Save for Ferne who simply looked all too knowing and Dorian who looked more like a grape as seconds passed.
He walked slowly back over to his spot and sat down. “Well c’mon!”
Dorian blinked and hefted out a heavy sigh as he too returned to his previous position.
The conversation picked back up, but still all Dariax could focus on was the soft sounds of the brush and the brilliant blue wisps.