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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[ 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.

[ He shivers a little as Orym tucks his hair back, drawing a soft breath as he feels the familiar tingle of gentle magic. Reaching up to touch the sprig of flowers, he gives the halfing a tender smile before he leans forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead. ]

Well…”just Dorian” is quite fond of you too.

[ A small slip of the deeper feelings he holds in his heart, but he can’t help saying at least a little bit of it now, as relieved as he is that Orym is here, and safe.

They can figure everything else out later. ]

I’ll send someone to show you around, so you can get familiar with the place. And then I’ll…see you later?

[ And at least there’s that now, that he can at least see Orym at the end of the day when he’s finished working. ]

[Funny how his heart goes and flutters at those words, dancing about in his chest all the more at the kiss to his forehead. He mentally curses at himself for that familiar surge of hope for things that he knows -- he knows -- can't be real.

He still can't help smiling up at him like Dorian's just given him a gift he doesn't know how to thank him for. A nod and he forces himself to take a step back.]

That'd be nice, thanks.

[If he's going to be staying here for a while. He does perk up as he adds,] Yeah, see you later.

[ His own heart skips at the smile Orym gives him. He knows things are complicated now, and Orym is only here because of a debt - a debt his family now owns to keep the halfling in their services - but can’t help the affection he feels for this other man.

He will find a way to make this right.

Gently taking Orym’s hand, he brushes a soft kiss over his knuckles before he finally rises to his feet. ]

Later, then.

[ And it is nice, knowing at least that seeing Orym is a certain thing this time.

Even so, it is a bit of a struggle to finally step back to head out of the room, to get back to working when all he wants is to stay with Orym. He does find another servant to ask them to show Orym around as he heads off, as well as head to his personal office to send a message to the brothel to ensure Orym’s belongings are delivered.

Then eventually he does get back to work, completing the tasks his parents have given him. He does find out that Cyrus has passed off Orym as a “personal servant” as a way to explain his presence to his parents (because the truth would certainly get all three of them in big trouble). He unfortunately doesn’t get a chance to talk with Cyrus about what the hell he was thinking, purchasing Orym’s debt, and explaining to his brother why this new situation isn’t ideal.

He will have to do that eventually, but for now his work keeps him extremely busy. In fact he doesn’t finish up working until late in the evening. He skips dinner, too busy to even eat, and by the time he finally returns to his room he’s just exhausted. ]

[Orym spends the first few minutes after Dorian leaves waiting for his brain to reset itself after that thoroughly devastating kiss to the back of his hand. How the hell is he supposed to not melt into an absolute puddle of a man after that?

He's pulled himself together by the time the other servant arrives enough that he can focus on the tour and just think about Dorian. Mostly. The Silken Squall is beautiful, airy and lovely and with a level of luxury that Orym has never experienced.

It's all a little intimidating, really. This is the life that Dorian -- Brontë, he reminds himself -- lives every day. It makes even the fantasy of being something more to Dorian than a distraction even more ridiculous. His showing up here must be such an inconvenience to him.

Eventually he's shown to what he's told will be his quarters, since he'll be the younger Wyvernwind son's personal servant. His guide puts a spin on those words as they deliberately look him over as if they know exactly what he is. In any case, he's shown to a small but comfortable room adjacent to Dorian's -- never before used, apparently, given that Master Brontë has never felt the need for an attendant before now. There's a door that connects his room to Dorian's chambers so he can be summoned easily, and Orym finds that proximity comforting at least.

There are far too many thoughts in Orym's head, but he is drawn out of his thoughts later in the evening when he hears movement in the next room. He hops up on his feet and moves for the connecting door, hesitating a moment before knocking.]

[ The knock at the door - not the main doors, but one off towards the side - startles Dorian a bit, not used to having anyone there. He looks up from where he’s lying face down on his bed, before he remembers who is supposed to be there. ]

Ah…come in, Orym.

[The halfling opens the door slowly and peeks his head in. Dorian is alone, and Orym exhales in relief and steps inside, pulling the door shut behind him.]

Long day? I can wait until tomorrow...

[He can see how Dorian has more or less flopped himself down on the bed.]

[ Dorian shakes his head, propping himself up on one elbow and beckoning Orym closer. ]

Nothing I’m not used to, don’t worry about me. [ He pats a spot on the bed beside him for Orym to join him. ] How about you? Were you able to get a good look around?

[Nothing he's not used to? Well, Orym will make a mental note to assure that while he's here at least he makes certain that Dorian does things like eat and sleep.

He does move towards the bed though, hopping up and settling himself in beside Dorian, stretching out on his side beside him, facing him. He's dressed for sleep already -- though the only they'd had in a halfling's size is a soft shirt that falls long enough that it would serve as a shift. He's been assured he'll have something more appropriate provided in his size soon.

He nods at the question.]

Yeah. It's... quite the place, huh? I mean, it's beautiful. Just... [Big. Fancy. Many things.]

[ He can’t help a fond smile as Orym settles beside him, and he turns to lie on his side to better face him, fingers idly brushing across the halfling’s cheek.

Dorian can’t help a snort as Orym’s words trail off. ] Extravagant?

[ And don’t get him wrong, he enjoys this part of his life. But he knows what it is. ]

Yeah, that's the word.

[He's oddly relieved at the touch and he doesn't hesitate to turn into it, chasing the feeling of affection he so desperately wants to be in it.]

I have never been anywhere near this fancy in my life.

[The Ashari live a significantly sparser life, closer to nature than anything else. That was beautiful too, in its own way. So was this place.]

[ He breathes a soft sigh, just Orym’s presence enough to immediately brighten his mood. ]

I’m not surprised, honestly. My family live in a class that most people might not believe is even possible.

[His family and him. Orym is realizing how incredibly unlikely it is that they even met to begin with given who Dorian is. Who Orym is. But somehow they did, and even if all this just adds to the list in Orym's head about why Dorian could never return his feelings -- feelings that he knows he shouldn't have, but does anyway.

At least he can be with him like this though, for as long as it lasts.]

You sort of had the air of nobility, you know. But... [He reaches a hand of his own out to settle against the other man's chest right above his heart.] ...gentler and kinder than a lot of people I've met who come from that kind of station. [Dorian never treated him like lesser, or like he was nothing more than a purchased commodity that he was entitled to. Instead it had all been tenderness and genuine sweetness and here's Orym, head over heels and so, so out of his league.]

[ Dorian can’t help blushing a little, placing his hand over Orym’s to press it to his heart as it flutters in his chest. ]

I’ve always…tried to treat people as best as I could. Everyone has their own story, and you never know what someone is going through. So I always try to give a little something that might help their story along.

But you… [ He takes Orym’s hand again, brushing a gentle kiss to the back of it. ] You have always been someone special.

[Orym's expression melts as he sees that blush, at the warmth of Dorian's hand settling over his own. There it is exactly, the things he had seen in Dorian ever since that first night, and every time they had met thereafter. Again and again.]

I could tell, right away. You sort of shine with it.

[He stills as his hand is lifted, as those lips kiss there once more. It's his turn to blush, vividly, breath catching.]

Don't... [A soft, breathy tone in his voice, hardly a complaint so much as a yearning for it to actually be something true.] You'll get my hopes up.

[ Dorian can’t help a bashful smile, even as he glances away. ]

Ah…thank you. I’m…glad that it’s noticeable.

[ It makes something in his chest swell, that someone like Orym thinks so at least.

But his smile softens, and he leans closer to brush another kiss to Orym’s forehead. ]

I’m only speaking the truth. I’ve never met anyone as amazing as you.

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