formmusebox | for Dorian (makingmyway)

for Dorian (makingmyway)

(( continuation of this au ))

[It has been a hell of a night. This isn't exactly unusual, really. Orym realizes he's lucky enough to have a roof over his head given the debt that he owes, and if he doesn't work, that debt won't pay off itself. But he's still ready to call it a night and deal with the repercussions of that come tomorrow.

His last client had been... unkind. He has a reputation for being able to handle himself, despite his size, so it's not a surprise that he winds up with clients who have a taste for rough. And he can handle himself, but that doesn't mean he isn't sore and exhausted and worn down by it.

There's a large bruise in the shape of a hand at his throat, that he has tried to hide with a collar of ivy and flowers, bitemarks and other assorted bruises that are only mostly hidden by the scant clothing that he's currently wearing. He had to come out long enough to be on stage or he might have stayed in his room after the man left. But dancing is fine; he likes the dancing. He can fall into the music, into the feeling of letting his body move to the rhythm, let the rest of his thoughts fall away. It reminds him of combat in a way, and there's some familiarity in that.

But dancing done, he hops down from the stage and looks around, very ready to stealth off, when a flash of blue stops him in his tracks. Is that..? Did he actually come back?]

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[Cyrus shrugs. Sure they can talk! He's not entirely certain why Brontë seems to cranky about this. This is for his benefit! So the pining and heartache can stop.]

Sure, we'll talk later, Bron.

[Most people say thank you for presents. Ah well.

Orym is still staring as he starts to put together what's happened here, bit by bit. Clearly this was not Dorian's idea, and he's not sure where to begin. But then those hands are at his face and the tension in him eases. He sets a hand over one of Dorian's, leaning into the touch.]

I'm good, yeah. I'm not hurt. They told me someone had bought my debt...

[A glance past Dorian at Cyrus, who waves. Yes, that was him. He is the mastermind. ...and it's about here he mutters something about giving them privacy and moves to leave, shutting the door behind him.]

And they brought me here. They didn't even let me get my things, so I couldn't let you know...

[ Dorian’s eyes widen a bit. Cyrus bought Orym’s debt? But then that would mean…

He finally looks back in Cyrus’ direction just in time to see the doors close behind his brother. Grumbling a little under his breath, he turns back to Orym. ]

Orym, I’m so sorry. Honestly, I didn’t know about any of this. But I’ll make sure we get your things back, I promise.

[ Though he knows Orym doesn’t own a lot, the few possessions he does have are important to him. And he won’t let them be lost with whatever Cyrus has done. ]

[Orym glances back to Dorian after that door shuts as well. He shakes his head at the apology.]

I know you didn't. You would've said something.

[He's certain Dorian would have asked his permission first -- though really, Dorian seems to be the only person who truly cares about that.]

They said they'd send them. [He doesn't have much, but his sword and shield are important. And the sending stone and the sheet music that Dorian had given him.

He hesitates before asking the next question.]

Are you upset that I'm here?

[Because it keeps echoing in his mind that Dorian didn't ask for this. Dorian didn't ask for him.]

[ He isn’t entirely sure he trusts them to handle Orym’s things, given how Orym’s been treated all this time. ]

I’ll make sure it’s all taken care of.

[ He’ll see to it personally.

Dorian certainly would have asked before doing anything, but he had avoided this course of action specifically. Particularly for the implications of it. ]

I…no, not that you’re here. What bothers me is how it was handled. Purchasing your debt like that…it just means that you’re indebted to us now.

[ Like his family owns Orym now, and the thought churns his stomach. ]

It makes you being here no better than being back there.

[Orym doesn't know what to say to that, not at first. Dorian is right, of course. He's still beholden to the holder of his debt, but now it's Dorian's family -- the Wyvernwinds. Well he'd always known that Dorian came from some noble house.

He looks down then, frowning faintly. His life hasn't been his own for a while, he realizes. Now he's effectively been purchased for Dorian. And there it is, the one thing that being here has that the brothel doesn't, and it's the man kneeling in front of him. If he can't belong to himself, well, being Dorian's would be his only other choice.

Dorian clearly isn't pleased about it though.]

They might take me back, if you contacted them about it.

[He's certain it'd add to his debt, but he can deal with that.]

[ Dorian watches Orym, trying to take in his reaction even as his mind is racing. So when Orym looks away, he mistakes it as the halfling’s disappointment, maybe even something worse for the situation he’s now ended up in.

And as much as it hurts, Dorian can understand that. This is certainly the last thing he wanted. He never wanted to own Orym, like he was some sort of property. He wanted Orym to be free, to have a choice of where he wanted to go, who he wanted to be with.

And selfishly, he never wanted Orym to see him like this; to know who he had to pretend to be as Brontë Wyvernwind, the Secondsun of a powerful noble family who didn’t always measure up to the expectations his parents placed on him. He’d always felt more like himself as Dorian, especially when he was with Orym.

But now that Orym was here, he would see him being Brontë all the time, and the halfling was meant to be…what, his servant? His attendant? Something…else? What had Cyrus planned when he’d bought Orym’s debt to “give” the halfling to him anyway?

Whatever his brother’s intention, it all settles uncomfortably in his stomach. But so does the thought of sending Orym back to the brothel. As bad as this situation is, he can at least make sure Orym is treated well here. And it gives him more time to figure out a way to free him, without worrying that something might happen to him when he isn’t there.

Here, he can at least protect Orym.

So he shakes his head and hesitantly, as if afraid that it wouldn’t be welcomed, he reaches to take Orym’s hands in his own. ]

No…I’ll figure something out. You’ll be safe here, and I’ll take care of everything.

[ I’ll take care of you. ]

[Orym doesn't really know the intention either, what exactly Cyrus may have had in mind. What's expected of him here. It's all sort of a whirlwind that he's still trying to wrap his mind around. And even with all of it, so much of him is just glad that Dorian is here, that if nothing else he has some hope for being in the other man's presence more now.

That's a selfish thought, he realizes, but he has it regardless.

The words make his heart clench in his chest. There's Dorian taking care of him again. It's still as startling as it had been that first night when Dorian had used his magic to heal him, had spent the night talking and holding him -- as startling and as quickly spreading a fluttery warmth through him.

He looks at those hands reaching for his and does not reach back. Instead he steps past those hands and wraps his arms around Dorian's neck in an embrace, hooking his chin over his shoulder.]

If you don't want me in your bed anymore, [He'll just ignore how that thought stings, hopes Dorian doesn't notice the faint flinch in him as he speaks the words.] I could find a way to be useful. I'm good with a blade. I'm good with my hands.

[ Dorian’s breath hitches softly, surprised when those arms come around him instead. Immediately he wraps his arms around Orym’s waist in return, holding him close as he releases a shaky sigh. ]

I don’t want you to be “useful”, Orym. I just want you to be you.

[ It’s all he’s ever really wanted, and he would take Orym any way he could have him. But he wants it to be Orym’s choice, not because he had to be here.

Gently tightening his hold around Orym, his fingers tangle in his shirt. ]

I’ll fix this…I promise.

[Those arms come around him and the halfling goes nigh on boneless in Dorian's arms, holding tightly to him. Orym doesn't want to be owned either, and he doesn't want Dorian to feel obligated to take care of him because of all this.

He wants to ease the tension he can feel in the other man, soothe away that stress.

Turning his head, his lips are close enough to brush against the shell of Dorian's ear as he speaks, voice barely above a whisper.]

Then let me be me...

[He touches a kiss just beside his ear, another down the edge of his jaw, slow and deliberate.]

[ Dorian shivers as those lips brush against his ear, feeling those words more than hearing them. Then those lips trail kisses along his face, and he can’t help a soft sound that escapes his lips. ]

Orym…

[ He can’t help thinking this feels a bit wrong. Orym doesn’t have a choice being here anymore, he shouldn’t take advantage of him like this. But he’s much too weak to resist those gentle touches, or the feeling of that familiar warm body against his own. ]

[There. That's better. Maybe for a little while longer, Orym can pretend that Dorian wants him. It's a selfish impulse, but he's too weak not to give into it. So instead he leans back at the sound of his name with a smile.]

Dorian.

[Whatever his real name might be, he's Dorian for Orym, the gentle, kind, awkward, clever man that he's come to know.]

When they brought me here... the thing that hurt the most was not knowing if I'd ever see you again. I couldn't even use the stone to talk to you. But you're here.

[And that is a gift that Orym will not turn away. This time his lips brush against Dorian's -- a lingering, tender kiss.]

[ His heart skips, hearing Orym say his name - the name he chose, that feels more like his real name than the one he was born with. Hearing Orym call him that has his heart melting, and he can’t help returning the kiss. ]

I was worried too. I tried calling you earlier, and when there was no answer, I was scared something happened to you.

[ He slips him another quick kiss, reaching up to cup Orym’s cheek. ]

I’m glad you’re all right.

[The halfling seems relieved that Dorian kisses him back. This is what he knows. And he knows there's something twisted up about it, that it only muddies the water between them further -- that the things he truly wants are still so unlikely and out of his reach, that really loving and having Dorian is still at best a fantasy.]

I'm all right now.

[He answers in the wake of that next kiss, leaning into that touch once again.]

I've missed you.

[ This is definitely much more inappropriate now, but Dorian is too weak to resist as he gently stokes Orym’s cheek. ]

I’ve missed you too.

[ Even with all the trouble this has caused, he is glad that Orym is here, safe for the moment at least. ]

[Intensely inappropriate. But at the same time, Orym is at least a little relieved that for once Dorian isn't paying for their time together. Of course, there's the nagging voice at the back of his head that reminds him that's because his time is already purchased.

But he wants to give this to him. He's always wanted to give this to him. So he smiles and turns to nuzzle into that hand at his cheek.

One arm unwraps from where it's been looped around his neck to settle his hand against Dorian's chest. He steps closer now to kiss him again. This is so much easier than thinking.]

[ As conflicted as he feels about all of this - knowing that Orym is now technically in his service, is technically working for his family - he’s much too weak to resist as Orym kisses him.

With a soft sound, he pulls the halfling closer, one arm still wrapped around his waist as his hand slides to the back of his head, combing through his short hair. The worry he’d felt earlier and the frustration at this situation is eased for the moment, as he quickly gets swept up in the familiar feeling of Orym’s presence and warmth. ]

[There's relief that rushes through him as he's pulled in closer. This is what he knows, and being close to Dorian is where he wants to be. He can try to forget all the complications and conflicted thoughts, can instead just lean into the warmth of those arms, into kissing him.

He rises up on his toes to chase that kiss deeper. If nothing else, he'll be close to Dorian now, for as long as this lasts.]

[ He shivers, already overwhelmed by how Orym invades all his senses. He tilts his head to slot their lips together, even as he gently runs his tongue over Orym’s lips, wanting to taste him even more.

With the stress of all this looming over them, he just wants a moment for things to feel like they were. Where he can just pretend it’s only the two of them, tucked away from the rest of the world. ]

[If nothing else, Orym can at least be pleased that this means he won't have to have anyone else's hands or lips on him other than Dorian's. It's a relief, really. More and more it had been difficult to not be wishing that every client he took to his bed was Dorian instead.

He really has been setting himself up for heartbreak all this time. He imagines he's still on that path.

Doesn't matter though. Right now all that matters is parting his lips at the brush of that tongue to welcome the kiss deeper. He shifts closer to mold his body up and against Dorian, closing the space between them. Just let him pretend a little longer.]

[ It is a bit of a reassurance, at least, that Orym being here means that no one else will touch him. That no one will harm the halfling.

That he has him now, even if it’s far from the way he wanted.

Still, he can’t resist licking into Orym’s mouth proper, the all-too familiar taste of him causing his heart to flutter as he swirls his tongue around Orym’s. He holds the smaller figure flush against him, like Orym was just made to fit in his arms.

An often reoccurring thought he’s had before, which has only made it harder and harder to let him go. ]

[Orym loses a quiet moan to the kiss at the slick feeling of Dorian's tongue sliding against his own, hot and wet and utterly intoxicating. Kissing Dorian is so unlike kissing anyone else, thrilling and consuming and far too easy to lose himself in.

He does fit in those arms perfectly, like it's exactly where he's meant to be.

The halfling won't be any help in finding the wherewithal to put any distance between them.]

[ It’s so easy to lose himself in Orym, to forget everything else around him. So much so that when there’s suddenly a knock on the door, he startles back enough to break the kiss.

A servant on the other side calls for him - for Brontë - and Dorian winces, but places a finger to his own lips for Orym to stay quiet. After a few more moments, the footsteps retreat, the servant convinced that he’s not still there, and he breathes a sigh of relief. ]

Sorry. I, um…

[ Another disadvantage to them being here is that he - Brontë - is still expected to perform his duties. So their time together can’t always be just this. ]

[Orym looks startled by the sudden knock at the door, but he goes still and silent, holding his breath. He hears the call for Brontë, and he's clever enough to figure out what that means. He isn't surprised that Dorian gave a fake name, though somehow it doesn't feel fake. It feels like the person he'd been allowed to know, someone separate from the trappings of the life of nobility that took Dorian away from him for such long stretches.

He shakes his head.]

It's fine. Do you need to go?

[Orym hasn't moved away from him, not yet.] Dorian..? [Quieter, brow furrowing.] Should I call you Brontë?

[ He really considers just staying here with Orym for a while longer, damn the consequences. But if his parents think he’s getting too distracted, they could both get in trouble.

And he could deal with that himself…but he doesn’t want to think of what they might do to Orym. ]

…yeah, I have some…work that I should probably get back to.

[ He can’t help wincing, hearing his birth name coming from Orym’s lips. As much as he hates the idea of Orym calling him by that name, he eventually nods. ]

Probably. My parents…don’t really know about my “Dorian” identity yet.

[ And he’d really prefer to keep it that way. ]

But when we’re alone like this…I’m still just Dorian.

[A little nod. He won't stop Dorian from attending to what he needs to, even if Orym has no idea what to do with himself right now. He'll figure it out. At least the worst of his anxiety about never seeing Dorian again -- about Dorian wondering why Orym stopped answering him, why he'd disappeared without a word -- has been eased. He'll take that.

He sees that wince though, eyebrows lifting faintly.]

All right. I can manage that.

[He's close enough that he reaches up to tuck some of the bard's hair back behind a pointed ear, slipping a small mostly subtle sprig of blue flowers there was he does.]

Good. I like just Dorian.

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