Work Text:
I.
“What do you mean, you don’t know how to do a waltz?”
“Not everyone has private fucking dance tutors, blueberry.”
“The waltz isn’t fancy! It’s a very basic—“
“All I can hear is the sound of money clanking around in a bag”, Ashton says in a terribly annoying sing-song tone, rolling their eyes and putting their boots up on the table. Dorian does his best to suppress the urge to strangle Ashton for his snotty, arrogant, unnecessarily antagonistic—
Dorian takes a deep breath.
“Even Fearne knows how to do a simple waltz and she isn’t even from this plane of existence”, Dorian says, trying to let his voice sound as unaffected as he wishes to feel. Ashton raises one eyebrow to look up at him.
“That’s what she says. I’m personally looking forward to her version of a waltz”, he says.
Dorian stretches his fingers once and then balls them into a fist before releasing them again.
“If this job is going to be a success you’ll have to learn the waltz. At least that. Or you’ll blow our cover in no time!”
Ashton regards Dorian from his shoes to the top of his head as if they were seriously considering whether to let Dorian of all people teach them anything. Dorian tries not to feel hurt about that, but it’s hard.
“I’m sure it’s going to be fine if someone just stands around and—“
“Are you scared of a little waltzing?”, Dorian asks and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He’s not sure why he’s insisting. He could just tell Ashton to go to hell and let Orym or Imogen deal with him. But something inside him refuses to back down, so Dorian returns the relentless stare that Ashton gives him.
When Ashton gets up from his chair, Dorian knows that he’s won. For some reason this fact pleases him immensely, as well as the fact that he’s a little taller than Ashton.
Ashton steps close to Dorian, right into his personal space.
“I’m more of a freestyle type of guy”, Ashton says quietly, his face so close to Dorian’s that Dorian is able to see all of his freckles, the milkiness of his bad eye and the opalescent glow of Ashton’s brain shimmering through the hole in his skull.
“I’m sure you’ll manage”, Dorian manages to say even though his heart is suddenly pressing up against his vocal cords.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, your Highness.”
“If you step on my toes more than three times you have to stop calling me that.”
“Challenge accepted.”
*
Dorian is regretting all his life choices that led up to this very moment.
He’s standing in the entry hall of Lord Eshteross’ estate. They’ve been reassured that all lethal weapons hidden in here have been disarmed and their host is currently in the kitchen, baking at least five different sorts of pies, assisted by both Fearne and Orym.
Imogen, Laudna and Fresh Cut Grass are watching them.
Dorian has no reason to be nervous about this—he danced a waltz so many times that he could probably do it in his sleep. But for some reason the smirking face of Ashton gets his nerves vibrating and he clears his throat before nodding towards Laudna.
Laudna is very enthusiastic about learning to play the lute from Dorian. So far she’s been able to learn exactly one song—the one she is playing now. She’s not good at it at all but she makes up for it with the joy she displays while playing. Dorian actually really enjoys teaching her to play.
“Do you prefer to lead or to follow?”, Dorian asks politely. The wide grin spreading over Ashton’s face makes Dorian’s heart jump in his chest.
His nerves must be worse than he realized.
“I’m a versatile guy”, Ashton says and the way they look at Dorian while saying it makes something in Dorian’s stomach writhe.
“Fine”, Dorian snaps before catching himself and taking a deep breath. “I will lead. Just—just watch my steps and follow, okay?”
“Sure thing, weather boy.”
Dorian hates the nicknames. Blueberry, weather boy, your Highness, my Lord, fancy pants. They are abundant and Ashton seems to take great pleasure in coming up with new ones—as if they could tell that it makes Dorian’s blood boil.
The last person to annoy Dorian this much was his brother when they were still children—and this thing, whatever it might be, with Ashton, doesn’t feel the same at all.
Dorian takes the first step forward and walks straight into Ashton’s chest.
“You’re supposed to move”, he reminds Ashton.
Ashton looks down at their feet and takes a very late step back before raising his head and looking back up at Dorian.
“What’s that smell?”, they ask and lean forward, closer to Dorian, to sniff him.
Dorian automatically leans backwards. His throat feels very dry.
“What do you mean?”, he asks, suddenly unsure when he last took a shower.
“Smells fucking expensive”, Ashton says.
“It’s—I’m. Excuse me. That’s my—that’s my cologne!”
Ashton stands up straight again and looks at Dorian for a second before barking out a laugh.
“My gods, you fancy people are more entertaining than the circus.”
Dorian decides not to dignify that with an answer.
“Laudna, can you start again? Ashton is doing an even worse job than I thought they would”, Dorian says to Laudna.
Ashton snorts.
“Give me your hand”, Dorian says and doesn’t manage to completely remove the grumbling undertone from his voice. Ashton flashes him a grin that gives Dorian something that feels like a worm infestation.
Ashton’s palms are rough and warm, much unlike Dorian’s own soft, slender fingers. He knows that Ashton is thinking the same when they regard their joined hands for a moment before turning their gaze back to Dorian.
Dorian waits for a comment about how he never worked a day in his life and how he’s a spoiled brat, but Ashton doesn’t say anything more and looks down at their feet as Dorian steps forward again to lead Ashton through his very first waltz.
To his surprise, Ashton isn’t half bad at memorizing the steps and their movements are... well. Not elegant, per se. But certainly not clumsy.
“Sure hope the fucking music will be louder on that damned party”, Ashton mumbles as he steps on Dorian’s toes for the second time.
“Why?”
Ashton looks up from their feet to throw Dorian a look with raised eyebrows.
“Have a bad ear on the broken side of my head. Same with the eye. It’s all pretty fucked up. I don’t really hear or see anything on that side.”
“Oh”, Dorian says, feeling silly that he hadn’t thought about this before, considering how Ashton’s left ear seems scarred and ripped and his left eye is milky and grey. “Laudna, can you play a little louder?”
Ashton looks at him weirdly and Dorian wonders if he’s said something offensive, but Ashton doesn’t say anything more about the topic—and Dorian feels like Ashton would be the type of person to call Dorian out on offensive behavior. Surely.
Ashton doesn’t step on Dorian’s toes a third time as the minutes go by and Dorian is shocked to realize that he actually enjoys dancing with Ashton. He even forgets to be grumpy about the fact that Ashton won the dare and now doesn’t have to stop calling Dorian “Your Highness”.
“So this is what all the rich people make such a fucking fuss about? It’s not like it’s hard”, Ashton says and rolls their eyes. Dorian snorts and spontaneously decides to turn Ashton into a swirl before grabbing and dipping them backwards.
Ashton makes a surprised sound that is almost a yelp and blinks up at Dorian.
“There are dances with more difficult steps, you know”, Dorian says with a grin. Ashton sticks out his tongue, revealing a piercing right in the middle of it.
“Whatever”, Ashton mumbles and looks to the side. “We done here?”
Dorian almost lets go of Ashton then and there, dropping them on the floor.
“Yeah. You have officially mastered the waltz”, Dorian says nervously, rubbing his hands on his thighs because his palms are strangely tingly.
“Thank fuck”, Ashton says and raises an arm as he walks away without a further word.
Dorian wonders if he did anything wrong.
He also wonders why his hands feel weirdly empty.
II.
Dorian is not particularly good at reading people. In fact, he’s probably pretty bad at it. As far as he’s concerned that comes from his very sheltered upbringing where he was never really allowed to interact with a lot of different people.
Sometimes he wishes he had Imogen’s gift of mind reading.
There is something strangely soothing about the fact that Ashton usually just blurts out what he thinks. They never really seem to hold back, throwing out opinions and thoughts without much consideration—which can, of course, be quite hurtful at times, especially if you’re as... sensitive as Dorian is. But after a while, Dorian has gotten to appreciate this.
He doesn’t need to be good at reading people to know what Ashton’s thinking.
At least, that is, most of the time.
Ashton, just like everyone, has secrets.
And bad habits. Maybe even bad habits they’re not aware of themself.
Because Dorian sucks at reading people, it took him quite a long time to figure one of those bad habits out, but by now their strange group has gotten into so many combat situations that Dorian has noticed a distinct pattern.
After every fight they get into, Ashton will use their body to shield other members of the group—which probably makes sense. Ashton is sturdy and strong and can take way more hits than Laudna or Imogen.
But once the fighting is over, no matter who offers it—be it FCG, Fearne or Dorian—Ashton refuses healing.
“Nah, ‘s alright. Take care of Imogen first.”
“’m not that fucked up, save your spells for someone else.”
“Don’t worry, it’s just a flesh wound.”
It makes Dorian wonder about the hole in Ashton’s head, about the gold filigree on their upper arm, the nails they wear as piercings, their milky eye and their torn up ear.
“So, FCG. Can I ask you a question? About Ashton, that is?”, Dorian asks one night when everyone else is asleep.
They’ve had a rough tumble with some trolls earlier and yet again, when Dorian approached Ashton to offer him healing, Ashton grinned his usual lopsided smile and waved a dismissive hand.
“I don’t even feel anything”, they chuckled with a gaping wound all over their torso.
“Sure, ask away”, Fresh Cut Grass says. They’re currently in the process of doing some self-maintenance on their left arm. “I just have to tell you that I don’t feel comfortable to give up any of Ashton’s personal information that they haven’t offered up themselves to you yet.”
Dorian raises his hands defensively.
“No, no! That’s not—uh. Don’t worry about that. You don’t have to. I was just—well. I was just wondering. Whenever we get into a fight and Ashton gets hurt... They really don’t like getting healed, right?”
He looks over at Ashton’s sleeping form, spread out and snoring on his bedroll.
“What the fuck is up with that”, Dorian adds with a nervous chuckle.
“Ah, well. You see, I think Ashton is just someone who’s trying fiercely to be as independent as possible, if that makes sense. They don’t like accepting help. Since I’ve known him he’s gotten a little more comfortable about that with me and I’m really glad about that. And—well. I don’t know. Sometimes I just wonder if maybe they don’t feel as deserving of the help offered. But that’s just idle speculation, really. He’s never talked to me about this.”
Dorian finds his gaze wandering back over to Ashton and he’s tempted to ask FCG for the story behind it—but as Fresh Cut Grass said, they’re not comfortable to share any of Ashton’s secrets. Which makes them a good friend, of course.
Dorian remembers Ashton saying that the story behind the hole in his head was a long one and needed a few drinks, but so far Ashton has managed to avoid all further conversations about it. For someone who keeps asking about other people’s secrets, he’s strangely good at circumventing any sharing about himself.
Dorian can’t judge, of course.
He only told the others about his brother and his parents because he was forced to, not because he wanted to. To his great relief, they still accepted him, even asked him which name he preferred.
With a sudden rush of heat in his cheeks, Dorian remembers Ashton saying that they prefer Dorian’s chosen name to his birth name. The memory makes Dorian smile despite himself.
“Do you think I should try to heal them while they’re asleep?”, Dorian muses.
Fresh Cut Grass makes a metallic sound that might be a smile—Dorian isn’t entirely sure.
“I’ve asked myself that many times. But I suppose in the end I don’t want to force my magic on him, even if it’s intended to be helpful.”
Dorian nods quietly.
“Maybe it would help to be a bit more—you know. Forceful about this? The healing, I mean.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I’m very bad at being forceful.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. That’s alright, though. I could try. I mean—I’m not. Well. I wouldn’t call myself persuasive or anything, but…”
He laughs nervously and cards his fingers through his hair. There is a big chance that Dorian is just as terrible at being forceful as FCG is. But, Dorian supposes and looks at the blood on Ashton’s shirt again, it can’t hurt to try.
*
“I’m all good again already”, Ashton says with a wide grin and stretches their arms out wide. Dorian can’t help but stare at the blood on his shirt.
“It can’t hurt”, Dorian says and internally congratulates himself on the worst attempt at being ‘more forceful’.
Ashton does that dismissive hand motion again and Dorian furrows his brow.
“You should save your spell—“
“Okay, listen, you rock-headed buffoon! You won’t get a medal for refusing every offer of help you ever get! You’re part of this group, we’re all friends here and I can decide for myself what I want to use my spells for! Now just—stop. Stop whining! And stay still!”
Ashton opens his mouth to answer and blinks as Dorian marches up to him, his cheeks hot and his insides writhing like a nest of newly born snakes.
“Unbelievable. Idiot”, he mumbles as he gently presses his hands on Ashton’s chest. The blood is dry and crusty by now and Ashton doesn’t flinch as Dorian touches him.
He can hear Imogen’s amused but approving voice in his head.
“You tell ‘em, Dorian.”
His spell glows in a soft blue and Dorian can feel his palms and fingertips get warm as the magic seeps into Ashton’s body. There is an almost inaudible sigh coming from Ashton and the muscles under the bloody fabric relax noticeably.
“There you go. Wasn’t that hard, was it?”, he grumbles and pulls his hands away. Crumbs of dried blood stick to his palms and Dorian simply starts swiping them off on Ashton’s vest.
“Guess not”, Ashton says and snorts as they watch Dorian wipe off the dried blood.
“Well. Then—then I guess next time you can just—“, Dorian says and gesticulates wildly to indicate that Ashton should simply accept what is offered to him. Ashton looks at him with a weird look on their face that Dorian can’t read.
“Don’t get your panties twisted, Your Highness. If you fucking insist on using your spells on me, that’s your loss”, they say, turn around and saunter away. Dorian is tempted to kick Ashton in the butt.
Dorian tries not to feel hurt about the fact that Ashton couldn’t even be bothered to thank him, but just as he’s about to turn around and sulk somewhere in private, something hits him right in the face.
Something soft, moist and crumbly.
Dorian coughs and flails before realizing that the thing that hit him square on the nose was a purple flower—including roots and the attached soil. He looks up and sees Ashton with a wide, lopsided grin on their face.
“Thanks, blue boy.”
Dorian gently cradles the flower in his palms, wondering why the hell Ashton is not able to thank him like a normal person. And also why the hell his stomach feels as if a whole colony of ants just moved in.
III.
Dorian wouldn’t admit it to anyone but he decides to keep the purple flower—pressed in a small notebook he carries with him to write down ideas for new songs. This might, after all, be the only time Ashton ever shows any kind of fondness or kindness towards Dorian.
It’s definitely worth preserving.
Ashton is still hesitant about accepting healing magic from the others, but since Dorian’s little outburst they allow it. Dorian tries not to be too proud of himself about this—after all Ashton seems like a person who wouldn’t let anyone tell him what to do.
Whenever Ashton allows someone to heal them, he looks pointedly at Dorian, sometimes with his tongue sticking out, sometimes with raised eyebrows, as if wanting to say “Are you pleased now, fuckhead?”.
Dorian, on the other hand, has started to loudly comment every time any healing magic happens.
“Oh, will you look at that! Good job, accepting this healing spell, Imogen. Doesn’t it just feel great to accept your friends’ help?”
Whenever he does it Orym snorts and Imogen chuckles while Ashton stares daggers at Dorian. That doesn’t dissuade him from doing it though. Especially when he heals Ashton.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”, he asks after they’re done fighting some bandits who were dumb enough to try and rob them. Ashton looks at Dorian with a blank face for a second before narrowing their eyes.
“Yeah, it really feels great”, Ashton says with their voice lowered before grabbing Dorian by the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer. “Really, if you’re not careful I’ll develop a kink for healing magic. Every time you do it it gives me a fucking boner.”
Dorian sputters and flails, trying to step back from Ashton who lets go of Dorian’s collar, a devilish grin on his face. Dorian’s cheeks are burning and his hands start sweating, his heart is pushing up against his throat and he feels as if he might simply pass out from embarrassment. Ashton laughs loudly at the sight of Dorian’s expression and walks away.
“Maybe you had that one coming”, Orym says to him with a pointed look on his face as he walks by.
Dorian wishes the earth would open up and swallow him.
*
Aside from all their differences it turns out that they actually make a pretty good pair during combat. Especially after Dorian realizes that Ashton needs someone to watch his left side. He didn’t pay it much mind in the beginning, but Ashton obviously cannot see anything that happens directly to his left because of their blind eye.
So after a while, Dorian develops a routine. It’s almost like a dance.
While Ashton pulls enemies towards him, an immovable object made of stone and muscle, Dorian guards Ashton’s left side to keep observant enemies who might notice Ashton’s weak spot away from him.
It only makes sense to shield the vulnerable side of a companion in combat, especially if they take as many of the heavy hits as Ashton does.
Dorian doesn’t really mean anything by it when he shouts “Got your left!” as they run to fight a group of undead.
The look Ashton throws his way—surprisingly heated, almost a little surprised—definitely doesn’t make Dorian’s blood boil.
Not even a little bit.
*
Since Dorian started guarding Ashton’s left side during combat Ashton started to shield Dorian with his body more and more—taking hits meant for Dorian, standing halfway in front of him and taunting enemies to go after him instead of Dorian.
Dorian searches himself for hurt feelings—being protected like this might imply that Ashton thinks of him as less competent, less able to look out for himself. But Ashton does it for all of them if the need arises and he never voices a single, negative thing about any of their abilities.
And it makes Dorian feel a certain way. He’s not sure how. But those feelings definitely belong in the not-to-be-examined-closely category where he keeps all the strange emotions running rampant through his traitorous body whenever Ashton does… well. Whatever it is that Ashton does.
The feeling he gets in his stomach whenever Ashton moves him to get Dorian out of harm’s way or when he steps in front of Dorian, reminds Dorian strangely of flying—although he wouldn’t know how those two things could be related.
Dorian knows that he can handle himself well enough in a fight—at least most of the time he knows it. But Ashton, maybe because he’s an Earth Genasi, conjures the picture of a mountain a storm rages against uselessly.
When Ashton doesn’t want to be moved, there is no way to move him.
Until, of course, even Ashton’s impressive tolerance for pain and his seemingly endless constitution get depleted.
Dorian is guarding Ashton’s left side again as they do their best to fight against the Ankheg, but even for Ashton’s hammer the thick insect shell proves difficult.
“I still think it’s just a baby trying to go home!”, Fearne shouts from somewhere behind them and Dorian involuntarily experiences flashes of memories of that boat with the little Ankheg on it—and a whole bunch of dead bodies.
“I think it’s trying to fucking eat me for breakfast!”, Ashton shouts back as they try to stand their ground against the giant claws reaching for them.
Dorian doesn’t consider himself heroic. He doesn’t think of himself as brave and he wouldn’t say that he has a tendency for reckless behavior. But in a split second he thinks about all the times Ashton has shielded one of them with his body without hesitating and Dorian feels his muscles move before his brain catches up.
The Ankheg is reaching for Ashton’s left side—the side that Ashton is the most vulnerable on. For a ridiculous heartbeat Dorian wants to call the Ankheg unfair for taking advantage of Ashton’s weakness—even though this giant insect probably doesn’t even understand what it’s doing.
Dorian plants himself between Ashton and the claw and the next thing he knows is that he’s being lifted off his feet, a searing pain shooting through his ribs and his sides and those dripping pincers coming way too close to his head for his tastes.
He can hear Ashton shouting his name—and what a weird sound it is to hear his name instead of one of those dumb nicknames—before he gets dropped to the ground as a giant direwolf bites down on the Ankheg’s limb.
“What the fuck”, Ashton shouts as they whirl their hammer over Dorian’s head to hit the enormous insect straight in the jaw. Dorian only coughs up blood as a response.
His vision is blurry and he thinks about how he showed Ashton that he isn’t entirely useless just because he comes from money—and also that it will take him forever to get those blood staines out of his cloak. The pain in his torso makes it seem as if something is eating away at his flesh.
Dorian feels sick.
“FCG, get over here! Do something!”, Ashton shouts and it’s the last thing Dorian hears before passing out.
When he comes back to he’s being carried by very strong arms while pressed against a solid chest.
“I can walk”, he slurs.
“Shut up”, Ashton growls.
“You angry?”
Ashton looks down at him, their expression complicated and open and strangely vulnerable.
“Shut up, you’re still bleeding.”
“Huh. Told you I got your left.”
Ashton takes a deep, shuddering breath and Dorian wonders if he’s about to drop him, but instead Dorian is being pressed closer to Ashton’s chest.
Dorian can’t help himself. He chuckles.
“’s almost as if you’re worried”, he mumbles before immediately passing out again.
IV.
Dorian could swear that Ashton is angry at him. He’s not sure why and he’s not keen on asking him—because he hates hearing about things he’s done wrong.
He could swear that the others keep shooting them glances, but Dorian doesn’t know what that is about either.
In an ideal universe they would get some refuge from the constant fighting, a short period of peace between all they have to do—but of course the universe has other plans for them. And between all of his confusing feelings towards Ashton, the constant glances and Dorian’s own lack of understanding why Ashton is keeping their distance from him, Dorian is almost happy about the distraction of another battle.
Thanks to Fresh Cut Grass’ care the acid burns on his upper body have healed almost entirely by now and Dorian feels not at all self-conscious about them—no . He wouldn’t. He’s not that vain that a few scars would make him feel weird when he takes off his clothes. Or when someone sees him doing it and their eyes linger on the acid burn scars that paint his blue skin like a cruel artist’s mishap.
Dorian almost expected Ashton to say something about Dorian finally letting go of his pristine cleanliness and his “perfectly intact rich boy’s body”—something that Ashton only says in Dorian’s head, to be fair.
The more he thinks about it the more embarrassing it gets to imagine what Ashton would say about Dorian’s body if they ever commented on it. Which they don’t—and that is perfectly fine. It’s not like Dorian wants Ashton to comment on Dorian’s body—not if it’s something mean, anyway.
And why should he even obsess about it in the first place? It’s not like Ashton’s opinion on Dorian’s body—or Dorian’s anything, really—matters.
“Dorian, buddy. You okay?”
Dorian realizes that he’s been staring down at his own torso for the last two minutes while contemplating the confusing obsession his brain seems to have with Ashton’s opinion on Dorian’s body.
“Huh? Yeah—sure. I’m perfectly alright”, Dorian says and puts on a well practiced smile as he looks down at Orym. They’re standing side by side, washing out their clothes in a shallow riverbed.
“You seem a little... distracted”, Orym continues, his eyes searching Dorian’s face for something that Dorian doesn’t understand.
“I was just lost in thought. Nothing to worry about, I assure you”, Dorian answers, the smile on his face feeling like a perfectly fitted piece of clothing he’s put on so many times that it almost feels like a second skin.
“Hm”, Orym says and reaches down to wash some mud from his boots. “You make up with Ashton yet?”
Dorian coughs slightly.
“I—uh. I wasn’t aware there was something that requires making up?”
Dorian does his best to concentrate on cleaning his cloak without looking at Orym. He can feel Orym’s eyes resting on him.
“Well. In case you hadn’t noticed, they were worried about you. To put it mildly. Obviously all of us were, after that last fight. But I don’t think Ashton dealt very well with you taking a hit for him, you know?”
Dorian can’t help himself—he raises his head to look at Orym who is still studying him closely.
“To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t really care. They do it all the time, so why shouldn’t other people do it for him?”
There is the faintest shadow of a smile on Orym’s face as he puts his boots down on a small boulder peaking out of the water.
“I agree a hundred percent, my friend. But that doesn’t mean that... you know. Ashton isn’t going through something right now. I think he’s not used to people caring about them.”
Dorian wants to grab Orym by the shoulders and yell “They should be used to it by now” and “How dare he sulk about this when I am the one who got acid burn scars for his rocky ass” but he doesn’t get to scream anything because before Dorian is able to open his mouth he is tackled into the water by what feels like a solid wall of bricks.
For a second Dorian forgets that he doesn’t need to breathe when he goes under and the air gets knocked out of his lungs. Then he realizes that it was Ashton who tackled him, but before Dorian can react in any way Ashton is ripped away from him by something very big.
Dorian flails and tries to find purchase for his feet. When his face finally breaks the surface he only needs a few rapid heartbeats to assess the situation.
They’re surrounded by water spirits, giant, snake like beings that must have hid under the water surface, waiting to drown them.
And Ashton, that absolute idiot, seems to have forgotten that Dorian is the one who doesn’t need to breathe—Dorian can see his green, almost naked body inside one of the giant water spirits, his limbs thrashing wildly because they can’t breathe.
Dorian is going to strangle him. He’s going to save Ashton—again—and then Dorian will be the one to kill him. What an absolute idiot to get Dorian out of danger when Dorian wouldn’t be off half as bad as Ashton is right now.
Dorian is done.
Done being saved and done seeing Ashton hurt themself to protect him and done with Ashton’s terrible self esteem that refuses to let them see their own worth.
If Dorian has to punch it into him, he will.
“Dorian, what are you doing?”, Imogen calls after him as he rushes forward, not even taking the time to get out his scimitar. Dorian doesn’t hesitate one second as he dives into the icy cold waters of the spirit, his hands out-stretched to reach Ashton. Dorian manages to wrap his arms around Ashton and Ashton immediately stops moving.
Even though this is not the right moment to think about it Dorian can’t help but notice that neither of them are fully dressed as he pulls Ashton as close to him as possible. His heart lurches in his chest when Ashton wraps their arms around Dorian as tight as possible, leaving Dorian barely any room to move his hands to cast the spell he wants to cast.
Dorian raises his hand to cover Ashton’s hearing ear, then he shouts into the water.
His voice barely makes any sound but it’s enough. Dorian explodes with a booming thunderwave, pressing, shoving all the water away from them and catapulting both of them into the river, closer to the shore, while still holding onto one another.
“I’m going... to... kill you”, Dorian pants. Ashton lies under him, sprawled out and panting as well, half his head submerged under water and his eyes huge as he stares up at Dorian. “Stop trying to sacrifice yourself for me or I will end you, personally!”
Ashton opens their mouth to speak but Dorian is not in the mood to hear any of it. He scrambles off of Ashton’s almost naked body—covered in scars and bruises and gold-filled fractures as well as some tattoos that Dorian doesn’t have the time to look at.
“Get out of the water and let me handle this.”
To his own surprise there is no protest, no joke. Only something that sounds weirdly like “Fuck me”.
But Dorian doesn’t have time to examine this any further. He has water spirits and then a stubborn Earth Genasi to kill.
*
“This is fucking ridiculous.”
“Shut up.”
“I can wa—“
“If you don’t shut up right now I’ll gag you with my little Bertrand doll.”
Despite Ashton’s constant insistence Dorian knows that they can’t walk because their leg is broken and none of them have any spells left to heal it. And since none of the others are strong enough to lift even one of Ashton’s arms, Dorian is the one carrying him.
Ashton seems endlessly frustrated and maybe even a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dark green, his expression shifting from annoyance to something that might be shame to something else that Dorian can’t read.
At least his threat seemed to have worked because Ashton doesn’t complain anymore. Sure, he’s heavy, but Dorian is determined to carry him all the way without stopping for a break even once.
Ashton’s weird self-sacrificial quest is over, as far as Dorian is concerned.
He’s trying to concentrate on the pain in his legs and arms instead of the feeling of surprisingly warm skin against his own, strong arms wrapped around his neck and eyes looking up at him from time to time, whenever Ashton thinks that Dorian isn’t looking.
“Thanks, I guess”, Ashton finally mumbles under their breath and Dorian glances down at them. His heart does a weird little dance in his chest.
“Don’t over-exert yourself. And next time think before throwing yourself on top of me. I can take care of myself”, Dorian grumbles.
“Clearly”, Ashton says. His tone of voice is strained—probably because of the pain.
“And—uh. Thanks for the ear. I guess. It was still really fucking loud, but. I appreciate the gesture.”
Dorian swallows heavily and does his best to ignore the tingling feeling in his hands and the rising heat in his cheeks.
“Sure. Don’t mention it.”
They spend the rest of the walk to their new campsite in silence with Dorian ignoring the looks of the others as he holds Ashton close to his chest in something that some cultures might call bridal style—which this is obviously not.
As Dorian sets Ashton down carefully so Fresh Cut Grass can take a look at the broken bone, Dorian rubs his hands on his thighs again, just like he felt the need for after their dance lesson, feeling lighter and somehow heavier at the same time for having put Ashton down.
V.
“So, how’s it going?”
Dorian looks up from where he’s tuning his lute. Ashton sits across from him, his feet put up on the table—something that Dorian’s well-mannered upbringing despises and the little rebel in his heart finds way too cool for something this unhygienic—and his eyes resting on Dorian.
The others insisted on putting the two of them in the same room—Dorian suspects Orym must have had something to do with it—for their nightly stake-out in a hotel that has reported weird noises coming from different rooms on the upper floor, even though the rooms hadn’t been rented out.
“How is what going?”, Dorian asks.
He’s needlessly nervous about being alone with Ashton. It’s not like he’s afraid of being alone with Ashton. It’s just slightly uncomfortable. Maybe that’s not the right word either, but Dorian has a hard time putting his finger on the exact feeling that he’s experiencing under Ashton’s appraising gaze.
“The whole finding yourself thing. Doing your own stuff. Making something of yourself, you know. Whatever it is you left your cozy tents for”, Ashton explains, his voice slightly teasing but there is a twinkle in his right eye and a slight smile on his lips.
Dorian laughs nervously.
“Well—I don’t really know? It’s difficult. Searching for something that you don’t—you know. That you don’t know what it looks like. I know it must seem silly.”
To Dorian’s surprise Ashton shakes their head.
“Nah. Not silly. I like poking fun at you but if I were born in your shoes I also would’ve wanted to get out a little. Live. Fuck around and find out.”
Dorian swallows.
“That’s... well. Surprisingly nice of you to say.”
Ashton barks a laugh.
“I can be perfectly nice if I so choose”, they say with a wide grin that makes Dorian’s stomach do multiple saltos. He wishes one of the others were here.
“So most of the time you just choose to be a massive pain in the ass?”, Dorian asks and he can’t help but smile back at Ashton who snorts and flips him off amicably.
“Oh shut up. You love me”, Ashton says with a terrible wink and Dorian almost falls off his chair as his heart jumps into his throat and his brain needs a few seconds to catch up with the rest of his body.
He laughs and it sounds as if he’s suffering a terrible lung disease.
“So, do you think the others have heard anything yet?”, he asks, his voice a little too high and his grin most likely a little crazed.
Ashton shrugs.
“No idea. To be fair I’m not the best person for the job, since... you know. Only one ear. I feel like that’s why they gave us the fucking corner room. Should be fine. They can just shout if they need something’s head bashed in.”
Dorian tries to calm his heart rate down as best as he can while not even being sure what he’s so anxious about. Ashton was obviously joking. Maybe Dorian is more tired than he originally thought when they ventured into their respective rooms.
“So—uh. If nothing turns up until three I guess... you can take the bed and—you know. I could sleep on the floor”, he suggests, looking over to the small bed standing against the wall behind Ashton.
Ashton snorts.
“You sure I shouldn’t be the one sleeping on the floor? I’ve done more of that than you. Not sure your royal ass could handle it, honestly.”
“My royal butt is perfectly fine, thank you very much”, Dorian replies tersely and Ashton laughs. His eye is twinkling again as he looks at Dorian.
“It sure is.”
Dorian doesn’t know what’s happening. This almost sounds like flirting. But Ashton wouldn’t be flirting with him, because Ashton hates rich people and royals and fancy stuff. Dorian must be going insane, there’s no other explanation.
He tries to concentrate on his lute, playing a song that always calmed him down when he was younger and his parents insisted on him attending social gatherings. Dorian manages to get lost in the song for a while until he looks up and notices that Ashton has his head dipped back, his eyes closed and one hand on the broken side of his head.
“You okay?”, Dorian asks and immediately stops playing. Ashton opens his good eye.
“Hm. Just headaches”, Ashton mumbles.
“Sorry, I’ll stop playing”, Dorian says and puts his lute away, feeling guilty.
“The music was nice, ‘s not because of that. Guess it’s unavoidable when your head gets bashed in.”
“Will you ever tell us how that happened?”, Dorian asks and watches as Ashton massages their temples, a flicker of pain and discomfort flashing over their face for a few seconds at a time.
Ashton manages a grin despite their obviously bad headache.
“Hm. Buy me a few drinks some time and I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll take you up on that”, Dorian says without thinking. Only when Ashton shoots him another grin, one of the reckless kind, Dorian’s cheeks heat up again.
“Don’t tease me, blue boy”, Ashton chuckles and closes his eyes again. Dorian coughs.
“I could—uh. If you’d like I could try something. With your headache, I mean”, he offers, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach that feels as if a few snakes moved into his intestines.
“Don’t waste your magic on it, doesn’t work. Letters tried many times”, Ashton says and rubs their forehead.
“Uh—no. No magic. Just, you know”, Dorian wiggles his fingers, embarrassed, “it’s called acupressure. It’s basically a sort of massage, I suppose. But I would completely understand if that would make you uncomfortable, I was just thinking—“
“You kidding? I’ll try anything to get rid of this shit. Do I have to lie down?”, Ashton asks and sits up straight, his face curious and almost hopeful as he gazes at Dorian’s face before looking down at his fingers. His cheeks turn a darker shade of green.
“I could—well. Maybe if we move to the bed? I could sit behind you, if that’s—if you’re alright with that.”
“Don’t worry your pretty head too much, princeling. I’m not afraid of a little physical contact”, Ashton snorts.
Dorian wants to say “Well, maybe I am” but he doesn’t, since it was him who offered it in the first place.
He gets up from his chair and sits down on the narrow bed, his back against the headboard and taps on his thighs to indicate to Ashton to sit down between Dorian’s legs. Ashton throws himself on the bed enthusiastically before scooting backwards until his back hits Dorian’s chest.
Dorian is afraid that Ashton might feel his heartbeat hammer against his ribs.
“Can you... just. Get a little lower.”
Ashton chuckles and sinks down a little, until they’re sprawled out between Dorian’s long legs, their head leaning on Dorian’s chest.
“This okay?”, Dorian asks quietly and Ashton just hums. He has his arms crossed in front of his chest and Dorian wiggles his fingers a little, stretches them, as if that might stop the tingling sensation he only ever feels when Ashton is close to him.
Dorian refuses to examine why that is.
“Take deep breaths, close your eyes and try to relax”, he says and Ashton hums again as Dorian gently presses his fingertips to Ashton’s temples. There is an almost inaudible sigh as Dorian touches them that makes Dorian’s heart flutter in his chest.
He tries his best to concentrate and remember all the right points as he moves his fingers over different pressure points surrounding Ashton’s head, neck and shoulders. It doesn’t take long for any tension to bleed out of Ashton’s body as he sinks deeper into the mattress and into Dorian, his arms unfolding like a flower at first sunlight.
Dorian listens to them breathe as he keeps moving his fingers slowly, gentle pressure here, some circles rubbed there. He gets so caught up in the movements and the sound of Ashton’s steady breathing that it takes him a while to realize that Ashton is asleep in his lap, his muscular back snuggle between Dorian’s legs, his shoulders resting on Dorain’s belly.
Their head lolls to the side as Dorian stops his movements and Dorian swallows heavily as he tilts his head to the side to look at Ashton’s sleeping face.
They look surprisingly peaceful and Dorian catches himself wanting to trace the golden lines on Ashton’s upper arm and shoulders. But that would be highly disrespectful. Dorian is glad that no one is here to see his cheeks burn.
He knows that he should probably stay awake to listen for the ominous sounds they’re here to investigate, but Ashton is surprisingly warm and Dorian finds himself drifting off, his arms resting on either side of Ashton’s upper body and his heart weirdly pleased with the fact that he was actually able to help Ashton with their pain.
When Dorian wakes up Ashton has draped himself all over Dorian, their face pressed against Dorian’s shoulder as they snore slightly. Dorian lies on his back, staring up at the dirty ceiling the tavern’s room as a little puddle of drool forms on his left shoulder.
Ashton is heavy and warm and one of his hands found its way into Dorian’s hair and the other one lies on Dorian’s chest, right above his heart—which, because it’s a traitorous parasite, immediately starts hammering against Dorian’s ribs again.
This probably shouldn’t feel as nice as it does.
Dorian’s whole body is tingling now as his hands twitch with the desire to touch. But this is probably creepy. Ashton didn’t sign up for this when they agreed to receive some acupressure from Dorian. Dorian should have woken him up, should have slept on the floor, shouldn’t have slept at all—
“Fuck me, that pressure shit got me good”, Ashton mumbles against Dorian’s chest, interrupting Dorian’s increasingly panicked thought process.
Ashton raises his head and looks at Dorian, his face way too close to Dorian’s, his eyes sleepy and half-closed.
“I—uh. I’m—this”, Dorian starts stammering, not even sure what he wants to say. Ashton rubs his eyes and yawns, making no effort to remove himself from Dorian.
“’m afraid I drooled on you. My bad”, Ashton says and rubs at Dorian’s shoulder next. His body feels as if it’s on fire.
“I need to pee”, Dorian blurts out and shoves at Ashton to get them off of him. A flash of emotion that almost looks like disappointment flickers over Ashton’s face before he rolls himself off Dorian.
Dorian has no idea how late or early it is or where the damned bathroom even is as he flees the room with his heart ready to explode at any moment.
+ 1
Dorian has a problem.
He wishes he weren’t aware of it, but by now it’s impossible to ignore.
For the past three weeks he’s done his best to avoid Ashton because whenever Ashton comes close to Dorian his body goes completely insane—sweaty palms, a falling sensation in his stomach, a yearning sitting deep inside his chest like a small bird nesting there, persistent to survive any effort Dorian might undertake to get it out.
He’s never felt like this before.
Dorian wants to be close to Ashton and it scares the hell out of him.
“Dorian.”
He flinches as Imogen’s voice pops up in his head and he turns around to look up at her. She sits down next to him, regarding him with a small smile that Dorian has a hard time to give back.
“You alright?”, Imogen asks telepathically and carefully puts a hand on his shoulders.
Dorian wants to lie—or better yet, to omit. But the words don’t come to him and in the end he resigns himself to the fact that he can’t pretend to be fine forever.
“I want to apologize, I don’t want to intrude. But your thoughts have been really loud lately and... well. It’s been getting harder to tune them out.”
Dorian puts his face in his hands and groans.
“I’m sorry, that’s—well. I’m trying not to think, really, it’s just... It’s not working.”
“No, darling, I’m afraid it’s really not.”
“This is so embarrassing”, he mumbles into his hands.
“It’s not! It’s really not, I didn’t come over here to make fun of you, I just wanted to check in with you. You’ve been... distant. And I—I know the reason, of course, but. I thought maybe you would like to speak to someone about it? I’ve found it really helps to just... get it off your chest, you know?”
Dorian isn’t good at talking about himself or his feelings. He doesn’t even really know what in the nine hells his feelings mean.
“I just—I don’t really know? I never... this is new. I don’t know what’s going on. It just makes me feel so—“
“Vulnerable?”, Imogen offers softly and Dorian lets out a sigh before nodding.
“Sometimes a little vulnerability is good, you know? It can feel good. With the right person”, Imogen says with a soft smile.
“Like you and Laudna?”, Dorian asks, rubbing at his temple.
“Yeah. Like that.”
“I just—I don’t know what to do about this, you know? I can’t make it stop, I can’t—really, I can’t do anything.”
Imogen leans forward to look at him.
“Have you considered to, you know... just... lean into it? Let it happen?”
Dorian blinks before barking out a nervous laugh.
“Definitely not!”
“Why?”
“Because—because it’s—it’s Ashton. He would probably laugh his ass off if he knew! They don’t—you hear them nagging me! All the damn time! They think I’m a rich, spoiled brat—“
“They gave you a flower”, Imogen points out.
“He threw it in my face and that was only to rile me up”, Dorian grumbles.
“They keep saving your life, too.”
“They do that for everyone!”
“I think you’d be surprised how much Ashton... appreciates you. Just talk to him. Or, you know. Do any of the other things you’ve been thinking about lately”, Imogen advises with a twinkle in her eyes and Dorian groans again before hiding his face in his hands once more.
“I’m so sorry”, he mumbles against his palms and Imogen laughs quietly.
“It’s okay, Dorian. You’re not the first person to ever fall in love with someone unexpected.”
Dorian raises his head to look at Imogen.
“Oh no”, he whispers.
“What?”, Imogen says, confused and a little alarmed.
“That’s what this is, isn’t it?”
Imogen blinks before covering up a laugh with her hand.
“What did you think we were talking about?”
“I don’t—oh, just leave me despair in peace! I wish I would actually need to breathe so I could just drown myself in this puddle!”
Imogen stands up chuckling before she gently pats his shoulder.
“Talk to them”, she repeats and walks away.
Dorian keeps staring at the puddle, his head a cacophony of panic and excitement.
*
Dorian knew that he couldn’t keep avoiding Ashton forever, but it still takes him by surprise when Ashton walks up to him, their hands in their pockets and a bashful look on their face.
“Hey, you busy right now?”, Ashton asks, his shoulders pulled up as if he’s trying to hide. Dorian finds their whole demeanor very unusual but he doesn’t get the opportunity to think about it more because his body immediately goes into overdrive again.
“Uh—yes? No. I suppose not”, Dorian says with a nervous chuckle as he scratches the back of his head and tries to look everywhere but Ashton’s face.
“Cool, so. I just wanted to apologize”, Ashton says and Dorian is so taken aback that he forgets to avoid Ashton’s gaze.
“Apologize? What for?”
Ashton shrugs and looks at something to Dorian’s left.
“Guess it made you uncomfortable when i fell asleep on top of you. I didn’t want to creep you out or anything. Sorry.”
Dorian blinks.
“I—uh...”
“Anyway. No need to run away from me anytime I get close, I promise I won’t throw myself at you”, Ashton says with a lopsided grin, their hands still stuffed in their pockets.
Dorian’s thoughts feel like porridge. He has trouble forming coherent thoughts and before he can fully comprehend what just happened, Ashton has already turned around to walk away from him.
“Have you considered to, you know... just... lean into it? Let it happen?”
“What if I want you to?”, Dorian blurts out before he can stop himself.
Ashton stops in his tracks and stands still for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face Dorian with a confused expression.
“What?”, they ask, their voice a little hoarse.
Dorian wishes he could borrow Imogen’s telepathy for just a few seconds—just to make sure that he isn’t about to make the biggest mistake in his life.
“You didn’t—make me uncomfortable. I’m—it’s fine”, Dorian says and wishes he was as eloquent as his parents intended him to be.
Ashton cocks his head and takes a step towards Dorian.
“You said ‘What if I want you to’”, Ashton repeats and Dorian can feel the heat rising into his cheeks, his palms getting sweaty and his heart beating against his ribs. He should make a joke. Say that he misspoke. Tell Ashton that they misunderstood. Laugh it off as if it were silly.
But his body is tingling and pulling him forwards, the yearning little thing nesting inside his chest is urging him on—and didn’t he leave home to go on adventures, to try new things, to be brave and heroic and his own person?
Dorian takes a deep breath.
“I did”, he says and swallows heavily, his voice trembling as he continues, “and what are you going to do about it?”
Ashton takes another two steps and stops directly in front of Dorian, their faces bare centimeters apart. Dorian is a little bit taller than Ashton and as close as they’re standing now he can count all the prismatic freckles on Ashton’s nose and cheeks.
“Hm. Sure would like to kiss you about it, blueberry”, Ashton mumbles, tilting his head to the side the slightest bit. Dorian’s throat feels dry, his heart is hammering against his ribs so hard that Dorian fears it might leave a permanent mark.
“Can’t you shut up with those terrible nicknames already?”, he croaks and licks his lips as Ashton’s hands come up slowly to grab Dorian’s face surprisingly gentle. The grin that spreads over Ashton’s face lights Dorian’s skin on fire.
“Make me.”
For some reason this feels even more dangerous than throwing himself in front of Ashton to shield his body from a giant Ankheg or to dive into a water spirit. Ashton’s warm fingers cradling Dorian’s cheeks make him feel like he’s flying.
When Dorian finally leans forward to kiss Ashton, Ashton lets out a sigh that makes Dorian’s insides light up like fireworks. He wraps his arms around Ashton and presses closer, tilting his head to the side to allow Ashton easier access—and the careful touch of lips only lasts a few seconds before Ashton’s whole body starts moving, pressing up against Dorian, closer and closer, his hands now holding onto Dorian’s face as if he’s afraid Dorian might reconsider.
Dorian barely manages to swallow a whimper when Ashton’s tongue touches his lips for the first time. For a split second he feels self-conscious about never having kissed anyone before, never having done any of this before, but his brain is wiped clean by the feeling of Ashton burying their fingers in Dorian’s long hair and their thumb gently stroking Dorian’s cheekbone.
When Dorian pulls back his body feels as if it’s made of molten wax.
“Thought you hated rich people”, he says, his voice hoarse like sandpaper. Ashton chuckles.
“Hm. Not this one.”
“No?”
“Nah. Not even a little bit.”
“Hm. Don’t hate you either.”
“Well, thank fuck. Can we kiss some more now?”
Dorian chuckles about his own stupidity while pressing his forehead against Ashton’s. Maybe later they’ll have time to talk more about what this thing is and how it even happened, but right now Dorian feels the great need to follow Imogen’s advice and simply lean into whatever is happening. He gently presses a kiss to the corner of Ashton’s mouth.
“Yes, please.”