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Dorian can’t help the way he stares.
Orym is trembling. His skin has flushed enough that Dorian can see the pink has traveled almost to his belly. His hair is slightly matted with sweat, and Dorian can’t help but follow it with his mouth. He tastes salt, tracing the vine of Orym’s tattoo with his lips and tongue, moving from his shoulder over to Orym’s pectoral muscle, tense as the halfling strains to get his skin closer to Dorian’s mouth. Dorian’s too far gone for any finesse. It’s desperation that keeps his mouth on Orym’s skin; a need for a distraction that he’s a little afraid to acknowledge. He knows it’s probably a little worrying how much he needs this. How long he’s wanted it.
The candle next to the bed sputters a little, catching Dorian’s attention. Dorian pants a little as he tries to catch his breath. He’s sitting on the bed, his back to the headboard, with Orym in his lap. The candlelight flickers against his skin and Dorian is struck dumb. He immediately thinks of ways he can capture this moment in song, almost seeing the notes dance against Orym’s skin, but knows he is far too greedy to bring himself to share this with anyone. Orym kneels up, his back slick against the leg Dorian has pulled up to give something for him to balance against and Dorian slowly removes his fingers. He can’t help the way his mouth crashes down onto Orym’s, his tongue still connecting them when his fingers don’t.
Orym groans and tilts back his head. “Dorian. Please.”
Dorian nods a little frantically, trying to catch his breath. He feels like his skin is a size too small, so sensitive that every brush of his skin against Orym’s makes his stomach muscles jerk. He rubs his fingers together. The smell of the oil is sharp, something Ashton tossed them with a smirk. Dorian detects something spicy, in its scent but doesn’t know enough about plants to tell what it is that he’s smelling.
He’s spent what feels like hours stretching Orym for this. It took ages for Orym to be able to take three fingers comfortably, and Dorian isn’t entirely sure if that’s enough. His brain tells him that of course, it is. He knows how bodies work, but his anxiety wants him to make sure because hurting Orym for something like this-- something Dorian assured Orym over and over that they didn’t need -- would break something in him. But Orym is stubborn, and Dorian knows he would do anything that Orym wanted, so here they are.
“Let me see.” He barely recognizes his own voice. It’s as far from musical as it can be, but the low rasp causes Orym to shiver.
Orym pushes himself up, and back, balancing on Dorian’s knee. Dorian can feel the muscles in Orym’s back tense and release as he bends over, using one hand to brace himself from falling. He brings his legs up to his chest and Dorian’s mouth goes dry as he watches him contort his body, graceful and beautiful and strong. From this angle, Dorian can see that Orym’s hole has indeed been stretched. It is opened from his fingers, slick with oil, the rim red and a little puffy.
Dorian exhales, and Orym moans, shivering as the cooler hair hits his overheated skin. Gently, Dorian applies more oil. He wants to kiss him here, too, but doesn’t want Orym to come again, not before he gets his cock inside. Doiran tugs on the stretched rim with a finger and Orym curses above him, trembling.
“Okay. Okay.” Dorian gasps air into lungs that don’t seem to work properly and settles back against the headboard.
He slicks his cock with some more oil, and it’s been so long since he’s touched himself that he has to grit his teeth against the sensations that spiral out from the feeling of his fingers sliding over his foreskin. He’s dimly aware that Orym has shifted back to his earlier position, that his partner’s smaller, graceful hands have tangled with his to spread the slickness around. Dorian is so wet that he can’t tell what is precome and what is oil. He can’t help but look down, biting his lip at the visual of Orym’s smaller battle-scarred fingers tightening around the almost purple head of his cock.
Dorian’s eyes drift shut, only to pop open in surprise when he feels those same hands cupping his cheeks. Orym’s smile is a little shy, which frankly makes Dorian’s heart do stupid things in his chest. Orym kisses him twice, with a quick brush of trembling lips. It’s sweetly chaste and Dorian has to shut his eyes again, lest Orym see too much.
“Dorian.” It’s only his name, but it hits Dorian like a lightning spell gone wrong. Orym kisses him again, biting and stretching his bottom lip and Dorian somehow manages to pull his hands to his sides, fisting them so that he won’t touch.
“Okay,” he repeats, then concerned, “You’re . . . sure?”
Orym just laughs at him, then shifts on his lap. “Idiot. I was ready twenty minutes ago.”
They’ve discussed this of course. They’ve discussed how Orym will control this, how he absolutely will not allow Dorian to hurt him, how if he thinks even for one second that something isn’t right, he will let Dorian know immediately.
Orym reaches down with one hand and pulls Dorian’s clenched fist to one asscheek, patting his fingers until they stretch out and Dorian adjusts his hold to help hold him open. He brings up his other hand, biting his lip at the way that Orym’s hips feel almost delicate in his hands. Orym shifts and the hand on his cock tightens a little as he positions Dorian where he wants him.
The first slide is slow. Dorian feels Orym bearing down and knows his mouth has fallen open, as he sucks in a sharp breath. Dorian is not a virgin. He’s had penetrative sex enough that the sensation of being inside someone isn’t exactly a new one.
Being inside of Orym for the first time is impossibly good.
Orym is determined, and Dorian grits his teeth as the head of his cock breaches Orym’s hole, sliding and squeezing and so fucking tight that Dorian’s afraid he’ll come right then. Orym grunts as he gets past the flared head, and pauses for a moment to reach for the small vial of oil. Stretching his body like that makes both of them cry out, and Doian knows he’s leaving fingermarks on the pale skin of Orym’s ass, but it several heartbeats before he can force himself to let go.
Orym uses his own fingers to add more oil to the mix, rocking his hips in tiny little circles, moving slightly up and then back down as though using Dorian’s cock to make room inside of himself. Eventually, though, Orym takes another inch, then another, stopping twice to add a little more oil, so much that Dorian can almost taste the scent on the back of his tongue.
He’s concentrating so hard on not coming that he startles when Orym brushes his other hand against his chest. “Dorian. Look at us.”
It takes what feels like hours for Dorian to force his eyes to open, but once he sees it, his eyelids fly open. He hears the strangled sound that forces its way through his too-dry throat and jerks his gaze to Orym’s.
His cock looks huge as it slowly fucks into Orym. Dorian is about halfway inside and it already looks obscene. He jerks his gaze back to Orym’s, who smiles, straining a little to be able to kiss Dorian’s lips. He can’t quite reach from this position, so Dorian curves his spine, licking into Orym’s mouth with more desperation than skill. He feels Orym smirk against his mouth and raises up, and the feeling of that causes Dorian to rip his mouth away, crying out.
Orym fucks him, never separating them completely, taking more and more of him with every filthy twist of his hips. Dorian thinks frantically of the most unsexy things he can think of, head tipped back against the headboard, with his eyes screwed shut as he desperately tries to hang on.
Eventually, impossibly, he feels Orym’s ass brush against his balls and knows that he’s finally all the way inside. He can’t move. He can barely breathe in the thick scent of their bodies and sweat and that fucking oil without coming.
Orym’s entire body is trembling. Dorian feels him catch his hand, kissing his fingers. He feels Orym pull his hand, guiding it where he wants it. To Dorian’s surprise, it’s on Orym’s belly. He’s touched Orym here hundreds of times, both with hands that healed and hands that only wanted to chase Orym’s pleasure. He’s used to the muscles of his abdomen, sometimes a little pudgy with all the pies, but more often than not, tight enough from his iron control over the core of his body.
To Doian’s absolute shock, he can feel his cock under Orym’s skin.
His eyes fly open again and he gapes down at where they’re joined. He moves then, rolling his hips so he can slide out, only to push back in. He can only see the top of Orym’s head as he, too, watches Dorian’s cock move inside of him. Orym’s stunned gaze meets his own and Dorian swallows, hard. He can see Orym’s cock flushed red and watches as Orym jerks himself off. Dorian can’t look away from Orym’s belly as he fucks him, watches his cock move under the skin, and keeps his steady, rolling thrusts.
Orym tightens around him, leaning forward to bite at Dorian’s collarbone, and Doian freezes, watching Orym’s cock jump and spurt over Doiran’s stomach and lower chest. His ass tightens impossibly more and Dorian manages three shaky thrusts before he’s whispering apologies ohgodsohfucksorryOrym unable to hold back any longer. Dorian feels it curl up from the base of his spine, feels his cock jerking inside of Orym’s heat as he comes and comes.
It’s too much, too intense after so long of getting close and backing off from actually toppling over the line into orgasm. Orym slumps against him, exhausted, and Dorian comes back to himself eventually with a wince. He pulls out slowly and watches a flood of come follow his cock as it leaks out of Orym’s twitching hole. He hums under his breath, and Orym snorts as he feels the familiar healing magic push through him. The bruises fade and Orym smiles at him, exhausted but smug.
He feels Orym’s arms tighten around him in a sweaty, exhausted hug, and Dorian knows, he knows Orym is not fragile, but now, in the near dark, Dorian finds that he wants to hold him, and keep him safe from everything that isn’t the comfort of this bed, in some nameless tavern room in the middle of nowhere.
Dorian wants him to know how much he is loved but can’t find the words. He can only hug him back and hope the frantic thud of his heart can speak for him.