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Orym tucks himself into a corner as reunions happen all around him. He’d extricated himself from Fearne’s embrace, shooing her off so she could reunite with Ashton and Laudna. As Imogen and Laudna are curled together in a booth, chattering excitedly over each other about the different things they’d seen, Ashton staring in disbelief at the tales Fearne, FCG, and Chetney are regalling them with, Imogen interrupting now and again to confirm.
Orym watches all of this, happy his friends are safe and together again.
Orym watches all of this and squeezes the sending stone in his hand, feeling the press of it into callused fingers.
Orym watches all of this and it blurs as unwelcome tears well in his eyes.
He blinks them away and slips upstairs to one of their rooms. He’s not even sure who he’ll be sharing with tonight. He begins to slowly take off his gear and armor.
Will the comfort of Ashton’s bulk leave as he returns to sharing with FCG?
He gently places Seedling next to the bed.
The odd feeling of Laudna’s cool, spindly limbs splaying across the bed returning to her own room with Imogen?
He tugs the breastplate over his head with a muffled grunt as sore muscles pull.
Did Fearne become accustomed to offering warmth and comfort to Imogen in their frozen northern adventures?
He undoes the bracers on his arms with minimal struggle. He’d gotten used to doing this part alone over the years.
Does he get his friend back?
He tugs his shirt off and neatly folds it next to his armor.
Or will Chet and Fearne curl up together in their own room?
He hops up onto the bed and kicks off the boots, curling up in the middle of the too-large bed. There’s the sound of cheers and excitement from downstairs and he’s glad for it, even as a single tear escapes and runs over his nose onto the pillow. Someone deserves to be happy tonight, even if he can’t muster it. He finds himself losing the battle and clutching the blanket closer as more tears fall, and he gasps for breath as emotion wracks his small frame, feeling the darkened room gape even larger around him, looming shadows echo his loneliness, the sound of laughter from downstairs mocking instead of comforting.
Orym roughly throws the blankets off, sitting on the edge of the bed breathing in sharp pants as he tries desperately to gain some control again, refusing to look at the table with every reminder of himself and his past so carefully laid out on display. The tears slow and he sits numbly, making no movement to dry them, each breath a near agony from the tightness in his chest, shaking and uncertain as though his lungs somehow forgot how.
There’s a quiet knock on the door and before he has time to say anything, the turn of a key and the door slowly swings open. A lantern swings in first, and it’s the shock of a blue hand holding the lantern followed by an arm ensconced in winged bracers that freezes Orym in place. Dark hair fading to white precedes a familiar handsome face that pokes into the room, scanning the interior uncertainly before landing on Orym and lighting up with a smile. The smile wobbles as Dorian takes in Orym’s condition – bruised from the day's battles, new scars, puffy eyes and wet face frozen in shock and turmoil as he stares up at Dorian.
Dorian immediately steps inside and closes the door behind him.
“Orym?” Dorian sets the lantern on the table, a sweep of his eyes taking in the familiar sight of Orym’s nightly routine before returning to the man in front of him.
“Dorian?” The name comes out as a broken question as Orym’s voice shatters again and his face crumples. He barely has time to reach for Dorian and the man is kneeling in front of him, big hands gathering up Orym’s between his hands and pressing gentle kisses to his knuckles. He slides his hands up Orym’s arms and pulls him into a hug, rocking back and forth as Orym shudders against him.
“Orym, I’m here. I’m okay,” Dorian murmurs into Orym’s hair. “You’re alright.”
The sound of Dorian’s voice shakes Orym out of his paralysis and his arms flail around Dorian, pulling him closer.
“You’re here?” His voice is an embarrassing croak and the whine that rips from his throat as Dorian leans back causes his face to flush.
Dorian cups Orym’s face in both his hands. “I’m here. We –” He shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile and roll of his eyes. “Not important right now, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” His thumb wipes away the trail of wet tears left on Orym’s cheek and leans forward brushing a kiss to Orym’s forehead.
Orym’s intake of breath is loud in the quiet of the room and Dorian slowly pulls back, still holding Orym’s face, searching and flushing upon realizing Orym’s shirtless state for the first time.
Orym places steady hands on Dorian’s wrists. “I missed you terribly.”
Dorian’s eyes drift shut and he leans forward, their foreheads pressed together. “I know. I lived for when you would Send. I dreaded the silence in between, not knowing whether you were alright or not.”
Orym breathes a small laugh. “I was mostly alright. Stressed beyond belief but that’s just a usual day with that lot.”
Dorian shakes his head against Orym’s causing them both to rock a little as he chuckles. He sobers. “When the Sendings stopped, I swear my heart quit. I learned the damn spell just so I could try in case the stone had been destroyed. I Sent to a few different people in case – in case you were – ”
Orym surges up, pressing his lips to Dorian’s to banish the dark thought, hands slipping from Dorian’s wrists to sink into Dorian’s hair. He allows himself just a moment, two of the earnest, electric touch he’s dreamed of since those feelings and desires reawakened in his heart before pulling back and whispering, “I wasn’t. I promised you: I’d see you later.”
Dorian’s eyes flutter open at the sensation of Orym’s breath reiterating his promise from so many months ago against his lips. Distantly he’s aware of Orym’s legs winding around his waist and pulling him closer to the edge of the bed. Somehow his hands have traveled. One still cradling Orym’s face – more like holding him close, but the other now aware of the shift of muscle under the bare skin of Orym’s back. “Orym,” he inhales his name like a prayer and can almost feel the weight of Orym’s eyes, heavy on his lips as Orym sways forward. Does feel the clench of Orym’s self-control in every muscle as he stops, a breath between them and pulls back, eyes dark and wanting. Dorian can feel the racing heartbeat under Orym’s flushed skin. Every part of him is aching to close the gap, take, fulfill the dream that has both plagued and sustained him for so long. He forces himself to breathe. He’s fairly certain he’s taken leave of the majority of his higher functions. If Orym keeps watching him like that, doing that with his fingers in his hair, he’s quite certain he will.
He sucks in another breath. “Orym.” His voice shakes. “Are you – you wanted to – you needed time?” He stumbles through the tumultuous thoughts that were a constant reminder in Dorian’s head every time he spoke to Orym. He needed time, he wanted to wait, answers needed to be found. To go from pining right next to Orym, to pining from afar, to finding himself with arms full of halfling has his head spinning.
Surely this wasn’t allowed.
Orym’s fingers tighten their grip in Dorian’s hair, tilting his head back and Orym mouths at Dorian’s neck. He pulls back again, searching Dorian’s eyes once more. “Time is precious, what I need is you.”
Dorian sways forward, catching Orym’s mouth in a heated kiss, the lines of their bodies flush against each other as he surges forward, hand slipping from Orym’s waist to his leg, pulling him impossibly closer as Orym sighs and oh isn’t that the most beautiful sound but before he can try to pull that from him again, Orym is running his hands down Dorian’s back and licking into his mouth and the low moan from deep in Orym’s throat as he tastes him makes Dorian’s head swim. He ducks his head, nibbling along Orym’s jaw and tasting the salt of his earlier tears. He pulls back, pride filling his chest at how wrecked Orym looks, panting heavily through his nose before Dorian grins mischievously and smoothly stands to his feet, Orym still held tightly in his arms, a slight noise of surprise escaping him as he scrabbles for a handhold on Dorian’s arms.
Dorian settles onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard and draping Orym across his lap, biting off a groan as Orym grinds down against him with a smirk of his own. Dorian brushes a gentle kiss across Orym’s cheeks, his lips, his nose, his forehead, gathering him close in his arms and just holding him.
“We have time.” Dorian whispers against Orym’s temple.
Orym settles against his chest, listening to his calming heartbeat, feeling Dorian’s soothing hand trailing nonsense designs along his back, shivering at the sensation. “Will you stay?”
Dorian nods above him. “As long as I can.”
Orym smiles. “Can I brush your hair?”
Dorian looks down at him. “Yes?”
Orym shrugs. “I’ve missed it.”
Dorian captures his chin and pulls him in for another kiss before depositing him in the bed beside him and standing up. Orym helps unbuckle his armor and he folds and places it next to Orym’s on the side table. He digs around in his bag and pulls out his pajamas and comb and climbs back in bed with Orym, handing the comb to him. Orym carefully takes all of the pins out of Dorian’s hair and begins sectioning it and working the comb through until it is shiny and detangled. He’s nearly done when the door flings open and Fearne swooshes in, Ashton on her heels.
“ – not enough time for them to… oh. Never mind. Goodnight, I’m in with FCG and Chet. Unless Chet starts snoring and then you better make room for me in here.” Ashton turns and walks out, closing the door behind them.
Orym had frozen in confusion blinking as the two of them blew into the room but shakes it off as Fearne waves them off and chatters away about their friends as she drops her dress and corset where she stands and digs around for her own nightgown, slipping it over her head and flopping onto the bed with her boys, stream of words never stopping.
“ –should have been with us Dorian, the king and queen paid for the entire shopping trip! Designer! Whatever we wanted! Accessories too! I thought Deanna was going to have a nosebleed.”
Dorian tilts his head in question and hums an apology as Orym grumbles affectionately behind him. “Who’s Deanna?”
Fearne rolls over, kicking her hooves in the air behind her. “Chetney’s ex-girlfriend. We met her and FCG’s new partner when we got blasted away from the thing and separated from the group. She’s a magnificent knitter and a wonderful kisser.”
Dorian chokes and coughs. “I have so many questions.”
Fearne smiles. “So do I. Did Orym give you that hickey?”
Dorian slaps a hand over his neck and Orym’s eyes go wide. “Um, well –”
Fearne giggles and tucks in under the covers. “So you were kissing up here. Imogen owes me five gold.”
Orym and Dorian look at each other and burst out laughing. Orym sets Dorian’s comb aside and begins braiding Dorian’s hair loosely. “Is that why Ashton was trying to keep you out of here?”
Fearne snorts. “He was convinced you were fucking.”
Dorian flushes purple.
Fearne continues. “But I know my boys. And the door would have been locked. So they owe me five gold and Imogen owes me five gold. I’ve made a lot of money on you tonight.”
Orym finishes Dorian’s braid and Dorian settles into his usual spot next to Fearne. She slips her hand around his as Orym settles between them using Fearne’s legs as a pillow. He can feel her fingers stroke through his hair, settling him like she did nightly before they were separated and a tension somewhere deep in his heart settles. Someone’s magic dims the lantern light and there’s a peaceful silence for a moment.
“You’re happy though, right?” Fearnes voice is quiet and almost uncertain.
Orym feel’s Dorian’s hand on his leg, warm and grounding. “Yes.”
“Happier than ever.” Dorian’s voice drifts in the dark.
“Good. I want you both happy.” Fearne sighs and somehow it feels like a command. Dorian squeezes her hand and Orym nuzzles into her knee.
For the first time in months, everything feels right.