The first finger slides in without much trouble; the oil feels warm, and Orym wonders momentarily if it’s the type that’s been enchanted. His thoughts vanish, however, as a second finger presses in alongside the first, stretching his rim uncomfortably, and he lets out a small sound that instantly makes Dorian stop.
“No, keep going -- ” Orym opens his eyes to look up at the bard, that beautiful face drawn tight with concern, and does his best to smile. “I can take it, promise.”
Dorian hesitates, but eventually starts moving his hand again with a quiet, “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”
Orym nods and closes his eyes again, focusing on his breathing. In-out, in-out, in-out… like Dorian’s fingers now, moving inside him, back and forth as the oil begins to warm up Orym’s insides, filling him with a pleasant, almost-burning sensation as he relaxes bit by bit. Eventually Dorian adds a third finger, slow and careful, and as Orym feels his body stretch even further he allows a broken little moan to pass his lips.
He doesn’t think about it much before his hand reaches down to curl around himself, stroking in time with Dorian’s movements; in his mind he can see Riegel again, clear as day, smiling above him as he mimics the genasi’s movements. It sends a confusing flurry of emotions racing through Orym’s body, and when he opens his eyes again he has to blink before he can focus on Dorian properly.
“You feeling good?” the genasi asks, quiet, kind, every bit the best friend he’s always been to Orym.
Swallowing around his emotions, Orym nods and spreads his legs wider, cock heavy in his hand. “Yeah. Want you inside now.”
The look that comes over Dorian’s face when he hears that is unlike anything Orym’s ever seen: it’s equal parts caring and ferocious, and it makes him breathe out shakily in anticipation.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Dorian repeats as he takes himself in hand and lines up with Orym’s entrance. He sounds more distracted now, like he’s having trouble focusing on anything that isn’t getting inside, and Orym can’t really blame him: he’s ready to take it, to be filled, to be fucked. A second passes, and the Dorian’s hips shift forward, the tip presses inside, and --
“Oh fuck -- ” It’s impossible to stop the curse that leaves Orym’s lips, impossible to keep his eyes from snapping open, his head from pressing back against the pillows. “Oh gods, oh fuck, Dorian -- ”
Likewise, Dorian seems to have been completely overcome by the sensation of Orym pressing tight all around him; he groans, long and loud, as he sheathes himself fully inside the smaller man, dropping down onto his palms over Orym, long hair draping over their skin like a silk curtain. He leans forward to kiss Orym and it’s sweet, so sweet, but hungry, too, and as his hips begin to flex he murmurs, “Gods, you feel amazing -- ”
Orym can only whimper in response, arms going up to reach around Dorian’s shoulders, keeping him as close as possible while he lets himself be rutted against. There’s no true rhythm to it; they’re both too keyed up already, too overcome by emotion to truly focus on the intricacies of fucking. All the same, though, Orym feels good, feels full, for the first time in years.
Their bodies rock together like that, tempo increasing as Orym’s hole eagerly accepts the intrusion, and the halfling presses his face up against Dorian’s chest, eyes closing yet again as he’s overtaken by the magnitude of it all.
I love you, Riegel would whisper to him when they were pressed close like this, his skin shining with sweat, voice breathless and rough from exertion. I love you, my darling, my Orym --
“-- Orym!”
Orym blinks, and simultaneously realizes two things: one, Dorian has stopped moving, and is staring down at him almost fearfully, and two, he can feel tears welling in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks.
“I -- sorry.” He reaches up to wipe at his face, suddenly embarrassed; he looks away as the tears keep coming, not wanting Dorian to see him.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Gods bless poor Dorian, whose voice has taken on that mother-hen quality it tends to whenever they get into trouble on the road. His palm comes up to sweep through Orym’s hair gently, and it’s so affectionate it hurts.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Orym manages, swallowing heavily in an attempt to push down the emotions surging up inside his chest. “Sorry, Dorian. I’m - I thought this would be okay, I -- ”
Riegel’s in his head now: his voice, his face, all of it, clear as the last day they saw each other, warm as the last night they spent in each others’ arms. I love you, Orym. I won’t ever leave your side.
The tears flow anew, and Orym’s face crumples as everything suddenly comes crashing down on him.
Distantly, he can feel Dorian easing out of him, can sense the genasi moving up to his side to take him into his arms. Humiliation burns bright on Orym’s cheeks and neck but he can’t stop himself now that he’s started, can’t keep the guilt and shame and loss at bay any longer.
“Shh,” Dorian soothes, rocking them gently, as though Orym’s a small child. Normally the halfling would hate that sort of treatment, but he’s too caught up in what he’s feeling to care. “I’ve got you, Orym. You’re safe.”
They stay like that for a long while, until the tears stop falling, until Orym’s shoulders no longer heave, until he’s hiccuping weakly in the aftermath of it all. Dorian runs a palm over his back in slow, careful circles, his chin resting atop Orym’s head. When Orym finally speaks, the words are muffled between them.
“I’m sorry,” he says, hiccuping again. “I just started thinking about him and then I couldn’t -- ”
Dorian nods in understanding; he and Orym have only ever spoken about Riegel briefly, but it’s enough for the bard to know what’s being said without needing clarification.
“I know you miss him,” Dorian replies quietly. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I pushed you into doing something you weren’t ready for.”
A frustrated sound rises up between them, and Orym forces himself to look up at last, to catch Dorian’s eye. He’s frowning, and even though his eyes are watery and his face is swollen from crying, he still looks as fierce as ever.
“I wanted this,” he says, doing his best to impress upon Dorian that he means it. “I thought I could handle it. It’s not your fault.”
Dorian smiles gently, and Orym can see now that the genasi’s got unshed tears of his own shining in those beautiful blue eyes. “I want to make you happy, Orym. But I don’t want you to force yourself into a situation where you’re not comfortable.”
Riegel’s laugh echoes inside Orym’s head and he relaxes somewhat, sighing quietly. He knows his husband would want him to be happy, too. He knows it isn’t wrong, wanting this. But…
“It’ll take time, I think.” He shifts in Dorian’s arms to press a chaste kiss to one blue cheek before pulling back. “But I still want this. I still want you, Dorian.”
A couple of tears slide over Dorian’s cheekbones as he laughs weakly, a grin breaking out over his face. “Do you realize what I’d do for you, Orym? I’d bring down the moon if you wanted a piece of it.”
It’s romantic, and heartfelt, and it makes Orym feel as though a tiny flower is blossoming inside his heart - not in the same place as the flower that grew for Riegel, but near it, hiding beneath its petals.
“I don’t need the moon,” he says. I’ve already got one. “But if you don’t mind being patient with me -- ”
“I’ll stay by your side forever, if you’ll let me,” Dorian replies earnestly, his own expression growing more serious.
Orym smiles at that. He leans in to press their foreheads together, the scent of cherry blossoms lingering in the air between them.
“Kiss me,” he whispers, and when their lips meet this time there is no ghost between them.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: we don't have to figure out what hasn't happened yet (RATED E) (2/2)
Date: 2021-11-13 05:48 pm (UTC)“No, keep going -- ” Orym opens his eyes to look up at the bard, that beautiful face drawn tight with concern, and does his best to smile. “I can take it, promise.”
Dorian hesitates, but eventually starts moving his hand again with a quiet, “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”
Orym nods and closes his eyes again, focusing on his breathing. In-out, in-out, in-out… like Dorian’s fingers now, moving inside him, back and forth as the oil begins to warm up Orym’s insides, filling him with a pleasant, almost-burning sensation as he relaxes bit by bit. Eventually Dorian adds a third finger, slow and careful, and as Orym feels his body stretch even further he allows a broken little moan to pass his lips.
He doesn’t think about it much before his hand reaches down to curl around himself, stroking in time with Dorian’s movements; in his mind he can see Riegel again, clear as day, smiling above him as he mimics the genasi’s movements. It sends a confusing flurry of emotions racing through Orym’s body, and when he opens his eyes again he has to blink before he can focus on Dorian properly.
“You feeling good?” the genasi asks, quiet, kind, every bit the best friend he’s always been to Orym.
Swallowing around his emotions, Orym nods and spreads his legs wider, cock heavy in his hand. “Yeah. Want you inside now.”
The look that comes over Dorian’s face when he hears that is unlike anything Orym’s ever seen: it’s equal parts caring and ferocious, and it makes him breathe out shakily in anticipation.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Dorian repeats as he takes himself in hand and lines up with Orym’s entrance. He sounds more distracted now, like he’s having trouble focusing on anything that isn’t getting inside, and Orym can’t really blame him: he’s ready to take it, to be filled, to be fucked. A second passes, and the Dorian’s hips shift forward, the tip presses inside, and --
“Oh fuck -- ” It’s impossible to stop the curse that leaves Orym’s lips, impossible to keep his eyes from snapping open, his head from pressing back against the pillows. “Oh gods, oh fuck, Dorian -- ”
Likewise, Dorian seems to have been completely overcome by the sensation of Orym pressing tight all around him; he groans, long and loud, as he sheathes himself fully inside the smaller man, dropping down onto his palms over Orym, long hair draping over their skin like a silk curtain. He leans forward to kiss Orym and it’s sweet, so sweet, but hungry, too, and as his hips begin to flex he murmurs, “Gods, you feel amazing -- ”
Orym can only whimper in response, arms going up to reach around Dorian’s shoulders, keeping him as close as possible while he lets himself be rutted against. There’s no true rhythm to it; they’re both too keyed up already, too overcome by emotion to truly focus on the intricacies of fucking. All the same, though, Orym feels good, feels full, for the first time in years.
Their bodies rock together like that, tempo increasing as Orym’s hole eagerly accepts the intrusion, and the halfling presses his face up against Dorian’s chest, eyes closing yet again as he’s overtaken by the magnitude of it all.
I love you, Riegel would whisper to him when they were pressed close like this, his skin shining with sweat, voice breathless and rough from exertion. I love you, my darling, my Orym --
“-- Orym!”
Orym blinks, and simultaneously realizes two things: one, Dorian has stopped moving, and is staring down at him almost fearfully, and two, he can feel tears welling in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks.
“I -- sorry.” He reaches up to wipe at his face, suddenly embarrassed; he looks away as the tears keep coming, not wanting Dorian to see him.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Gods bless poor Dorian, whose voice has taken on that mother-hen quality it tends to whenever they get into trouble on the road. His palm comes up to sweep through Orym’s hair gently, and it’s so affectionate it hurts.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Orym manages, swallowing heavily in an attempt to push down the emotions surging up inside his chest. “Sorry, Dorian. I’m - I thought this would be okay, I -- ”
Riegel’s in his head now: his voice, his face, all of it, clear as the last day they saw each other, warm as the last night they spent in each others’ arms. I love you, Orym. I won’t ever leave your side.
The tears flow anew, and Orym’s face crumples as everything suddenly comes crashing down on him.
Distantly, he can feel Dorian easing out of him, can sense the genasi moving up to his side to take him into his arms. Humiliation burns bright on Orym’s cheeks and neck but he can’t stop himself now that he’s started, can’t keep the guilt and shame and loss at bay any longer.
“Shh,” Dorian soothes, rocking them gently, as though Orym’s a small child. Normally the halfling would hate that sort of treatment, but he’s too caught up in what he’s feeling to care. “I’ve got you, Orym. You’re safe.”
They stay like that for a long while, until the tears stop falling, until Orym’s shoulders no longer heave, until he’s hiccuping weakly in the aftermath of it all. Dorian runs a palm over his back in slow, careful circles, his chin resting atop Orym’s head. When Orym finally speaks, the words are muffled between them.
“I’m sorry,” he says, hiccuping again. “I just started thinking about him and then I couldn’t -- ”
Dorian nods in understanding; he and Orym have only ever spoken about Riegel briefly, but it’s enough for the bard to know what’s being said without needing clarification.
“I know you miss him,” Dorian replies quietly. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I pushed you into doing something you weren’t ready for.”
A frustrated sound rises up between them, and Orym forces himself to look up at last, to catch Dorian’s eye. He’s frowning, and even though his eyes are watery and his face is swollen from crying, he still looks as fierce as ever.
“I wanted this,” he says, doing his best to impress upon Dorian that he means it. “I thought I could handle it. It’s not your fault.”
Dorian smiles gently, and Orym can see now that the genasi’s got unshed tears of his own shining in those beautiful blue eyes. “I want to make you happy, Orym. But I don’t want you to force yourself into a situation where you’re not comfortable.”
Riegel’s laugh echoes inside Orym’s head and he relaxes somewhat, sighing quietly. He knows his husband would want him to be happy, too. He knows it isn’t wrong, wanting this. But…
“It’ll take time, I think.” He shifts in Dorian’s arms to press a chaste kiss to one blue cheek before pulling back. “But I still want this. I still want you, Dorian.”
A couple of tears slide over Dorian’s cheekbones as he laughs weakly, a grin breaking out over his face. “Do you realize what I’d do for you, Orym? I’d bring down the moon if you wanted a piece of it.”
It’s romantic, and heartfelt, and it makes Orym feel as though a tiny flower is blossoming inside his heart - not in the same place as the flower that grew for Riegel, but near it, hiding beneath its petals.
“I don’t need the moon,” he says. I’ve already got one. “But if you don’t mind being patient with me -- ”
“I’ll stay by your side forever, if you’ll let me,” Dorian replies earnestly, his own expression growing more serious.
Orym smiles at that. He leans in to press their foreheads together, the scent of cherry blossoms lingering in the air between them.
“Kiss me,” he whispers, and when their lips meet this time there is no ghost between them.