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The first sensations that came to Orym as he woke up were the unnatural quiet and darkness of the room around him, sending a spark of panic down his spine before his brain caught up and reminded him that the Hells had crashed in a pocket dimension belonging to a wizard they barely knew-- Gods, what even was his life anymore? The next things he processed were the solid, cold weight pressed along his back and hair in his mouth. That got him to open his eyes, and the sight of blue arms wrapped around his chest left him about as breathless as maybe you're just the first beautiful, kind face that I have ever seen had left him the night before. He let out a small puff of air to get Dorian’s hair out of his mouth without jostling him and gave himself a minute to take in Dorian’s long line of blue skin against the tan and swirling ink of his own before carefully twisting himself free to start his stretches.
Before he could get too far, Dorian took a sharp breath in--him not breathing in his sleep was still a trip--and tightened his arms, bringing Orym back down against him. “Mmm, no,” Dorian sighed, not opening his eyes. “Not yet.”
“I’m not going far, Dor, just over to the open floor,” Orym said with a laugh. “You know I’ve got a routine.”
Dorian squeezed his eyes shut harder with a groan and wiggled down the bed far enough to bury his face in Orym’s chest. “Routine can wait a few minutes, can’t it?”
“I mean, a consistent schedule is kind of integral to a routine. Which you would know, considering you have your ow-”
“Hush,” Dorian cut him off with a pinch to the side. “Five more minutes.”
“Alright, alright!” Orym laughed, glad Dorian couldn’t see him roll his eyes and pinch him again for it. “It’s a miracle I was ever able to get you and Fearne up and moving before noon on my own.”
The only response he got was another sleepy grunt and the few lights in the room flickering on as if on cue.
“I know, who am I to argue with royalty,” he said, half to Dorian and half to himself. Using what range of motion their new position allowed him, he grabbed for the loose tie keeping Dorian's hair up and started slowly working his fingers through what of it he could reach once it was free. “How did little old me end up with a prince and a king, huh? How lucky am I?” he trailed off into a whisper and stealed himself before pressing a tentative kiss to the top of Dorian’s head. “That okay?”
“More than,” Dorian nodded.
“Move with me?”
Another nod and Orym flipped onto his back, rolling Dorian with him so that he was sprawled across his chest and between his legs. As Dorian finally blinked his eyes open to look up at him, Orym found himself a little lost in the almost eerie blue of his eyes and in the fact that someone so much bigger and stronger than himself was so pliant for him. And, well, he couldn’t deny the bit of smugness warming his chest at the thought that he was one of the only people Dorian would ever even consider being pliant for.
“We wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without the Savior Blade of the Tempest,” Dorian murmured, folding his hands on Orym’s chest and propping his chin on them. “You needed something better suited than ‘our little tactician’ for that handsome new scar of yours.”
“‘Handsome’, hm? I’ll have to thank Chetney later.”
Dorian furrowed his brow. “Thank Chetney?”
Orym shook his head. “A story for another time. Right now, though,” he said as he tucked some of the loose framing pieces of Dorian’s hair behind his ears, “I have some other catching up to do with him.”
“Oh?” Dorian hummed, as boneless as he always got when people fussed with his hair and obviously still a little too close to sleep to have a complete grasp on the conversation.
“It doesn’t feel right that the old man’s kissed you but I haven’t. I’d like to fix that.”
“Oh!” Dorian startled and instantly flushed violet from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “That! That was- I don’t know what got into me the other night, I don’t usually- I wasn’t-”
“Dorian,” Orym interjected, carefully taking his face in his hands. “May I kiss you?”
“Yeah- yes, of course!” Dorian nodded quickly. Then, quietly, added, “please,” and went easily as Orym pulled him closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead before kissing him properly.
“Thank you,” Orym whispered, pulling back to kiss Dorian’s cheek, then his temple. “For waiting for me. For coming back for me.”
“Always,” Dorian replied and bumped their foreheads together. Just as he went to give Orym a kiss of his own, there was a thudding knock on the door.
“Breakfast and game planning in five!” came Beauregard’s gruff voice through the door. “Move it or lose it!”
Once it was clear that was all she had to say, Dorian collapsed back down against Orym with a heavy sigh. “Time is never a weird soup when you want it to be,” he groaned into Orym’s chest.
“No,” Orym said emphatically, “that would be too easy. I don’t want to go either, but-” he shrugged and rubbed Dorian’s arm.
“But we must,” Dorian finished for him. He gave himself another second before rolling off of Orym about as smoothly as he had gotten into bed the night before.
They got up and dressed--or, in Dorian’s case, straightened up--quickly, stopping for secret little looks and smiles as they went, the giddiness from the confession catching up to them despite the stress of the day. Before they went for the door, Orym stopped and waved Dorian over.
“Come here,” he murmured, feeling warm all over at Dorian kneeling down in front of him without question and looking up at him. “You’ve got something in your hair,” Orym said with a wink and tucked a sprig of cherry blossoms behind Dorian’s ear-- admittedly a bit of a bold move, but who would fault him for it?
Dorian’s hand came up to where Orym’s was, carefully brushing his fingers against the petals. “Oh, thank you, Orym,” he said, a little breathless. “Can I-? Ahh,” he took Orym’s face in his hands and placed a kiss on his brow. The fresh breath of air that was Dorian’s magic followed, Orym’s shoulders feeling a little lighter. “I don’t know that that will help, really, but…” he trailed off, shrugging sheepishly.
“It helps more than you know,” Orym assured. He squeezed Dorian’s hand before motioning for him to stand back up. “Ready?” he asked once Dorian had his feet back under him.
“Not at all,” Dorian replied, taking Orym’s hand tightly in his and leading him out into the hall anyway.
They followed the smell of food toward the common area where there was a smattering of conversations happening amongst those who had beaten them to it. As they rounded the corner, Fearne caught their gaze immediately, her eyes tracking from their hands clasped between them to the blossoms in Dorian’s ear. The smile she gave them was a private little thing, a promise to talk later as a trio. The moment was, of course, short-lived, over as soon as they approached the large table in the center of the room.
“Oh, Dorian!” Jester gasped when she caught sight of them. “Fearne told me you’re a prince! How could you leave that out of introductions, ohmygosh!”
Dorian’s eyes widened almost comically as he was he was easily yanked away from Orym’s side and down into the seat next to the tiefling. “Jester, good morning. I- well, I-,” he looked over her shoulder at Orym for help.
Orym just gave him a helpless smile and a shrug before slipping into the open seat next to Widogast. As Dorian started telling Jester about how a prince wasn’t nearly as interesting as being a space pirate, Caleb leaned toward Orym and nodded in Dorian’s direction. “I am glad to see you’ve let yourself a little happiness. It’s all that we have,” he murmured and held his glass of orange juice up.
Orym clinked his own glass against it. “Thank you, sir, for starting the fire under my ass. And for giving us the space.
“Ah, natürlich,” Caleb hummed. He watched the rest of the Nein Hells trickle into the room before speaking up again. “That is what I built it for.”