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The encampment that had cropped up in Vasselheim was massive, sprawling out from the feet of the slain titan in a disorganized spread that, despite the obvious landmark, you could get lost in if you tried.
And by all the gods, was Dorian trying.
He picked up snatches of conversation in half a dozen different languages, heard blades being sharpened, ritual spells being chanted. There was music in the distance, and on some nights, Dorian may have sought out and joined the players, but tonight, he wanted a quieter moment among all the noise.
He wouldn’t let himself admit what he was looking for, but he was looking for something. And he wasn’t the only one.
The end of the world was fast approaching, and everyone but Dorian was falling in quick, desperate love. Soldiers leaned heavily into one another around campfires until there was no space between them, and then ducked into tents or into spaces between tents to help one another free of the armor they could die in tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. The city of the gods was swept with unholy lust—although, Dorian remembered, lust seemed perfectly amenable to some of the divine.
Part of Dorian was locked in a fantasy of Orym on a similar wandering path, having followed Dorian away from the Wildmother’s sanctuary and the rest of Bells Hells. All he’d have to do is ask—no, all he’d have to do is look at Dorian with an ounce of passion in his eyes, and Dorian would drop to his knees, give Orym everything, his whole heart.
But Orym hadn’t asked for Dorian’s heart and wasn’t going to. Dorian, then, would be just one more lover he could lose.
“Dorian?”
For a moment, he didn’t recognize the soft voice, nor the face of the speaker who had just stepped out of a tent Dorian had been walking by. When Dorian noticed the shimmering amber dome just barely visible over the campsite, he realized who it must have been.
Essek was in the guise of the simple sorcerer the Hells had met him as, wearing dusty brown traveling robes and holding a bottle of brackish liquor. “Seth!” Dorian said, after a moment of searching for his false identity’s name. “I didn’t realize you had come back.”
‘Seth’s face took on an Essek-like smile, his lips curled like a satisfied cat’s. Dorian could practically see him purple-skinned and sharper-featured, the true face behind the tepid mask. “The Mighty Nein received a call-in.” He stepped a little closer to Dorian. “What brings you so far from Bells Hells?”
“Just. Wandering.” Dorian tried not to fidget with his cuffs, and failed. “Looking for something. I don’t know.”
“Do you have a moment, or is your search paramount?”
“It’s barely a search,” Dorian admitted.
“Come, then,” Essek said, beckoning for him, and then retreating to untie the tent flap.
All he had to do was ask.
As he stepped inside the dome, the noise of the sprawling tent city dimmed, and Dorian could only hear the very nearest sounds. The tent was small, with a low ceiling, and Dorian set his boots on a mat beside two other pairs, and ducked to follow Essek inside.
As the tent flap fell closed, Dorian realized Essek wasn’t its only occupant. There was a man lounging back against a large cushion, bare-chested and barefoot, an unbuttoned shirt just barely hanging onto his shoulders. He was human, older than Dorian by at least a decade, his auburn hair streaked with striking gray, his blue eyes glittering in the hanging amber light that floated inside the tent.
“My partner, Caleb Widogast,” Essek said. “Caleb, this is Dorian Storm, of Bells Hells.”
Being introduced by his chosen name immediately made one of the many tangled knots in Dorian’s chest loosen. He extended a hand, which Caleb clasped in his. “It’s a pleasure,” Dorian said, “Essek speaks very highly of you.”
“And of you, as well. Are you joining us for a drink, Dorian?” Caleb said. His voice was very soft, with a Zemnian accent, which helped Dorian place the language Essek sometimes swore or exclaimed in.
“If I’m not interrupting,” Dorian said.
“Not at all.” In order to make enough space for Dorian, Essek shifted back, letting Dorian come to settle between them. “The booze is, admittedly, terrible, I apologize.” He passed Dorian a bottle, and because there seemed to be no cups, Dorian drank straight from it.
It was the sharp, chemical kind of alcohol you had to swallow twice to wash out of your throat. Dorian’s wince must have been noticeable.
Caleb laughed softly, taking the bottle from him, lifting it and saluting, “prost,” before taking a drink of his own. “Scheiße. That really is terrible. Essek, where did you get this?” He took another drink, this time like he was trying to get it past his tongue without tasting it.
“From some soldier out of Tal’dorei,” Essek said. He took the bottle from Caleb, drank, and did a better job than either of them at hiding his displeasure. “I believe he wanted in my trousers, but he settled for coin in exchange for the drink.”
“That is not worth what is in your trousers,” Caleb said.
“Of course not. I am out of his league, is that how you say it?” Essek paused a moment, resting the bottle on top of Dorian’s thigh. “Well, I am. Seth is a bit more plain.”
“You’re still handsome,” Dorian said, finding the next drink went down a little smoother. “But you are right, it is a bit difficult for Seth Domade to hold a candle to Essek—what’s your last name?”
“Ah, I am going to need that back for this discussion,” Essek said, to which Dorian freely gave him the liquor. “The Kryn are known by our dens, not surnames. So it was Essek of Den Thelyss, but, given that I am a traitor and all that, it probably isn’t any more.”
“One time somebody called him Essek Widogast and he smiled about it for weeks. So he will stop moping about his surname when I marry him.”
Essek pointed at Caleb with the bottle. “I have told you, not until after Jester’s wedding.”
“I have told you—“ Caleb snatched the bottle from his hand, “—Jester does not care about you stealing her thunder.”
“It’s bad luck to wed during a den-mate’s engagement.”
“Jester said she hopes I propose to you at her reception. She said she would officiate on the spot.”
Essek pressed his lips together and considered for a moment, another look that was so uniquely him, it was strange to see on another face. “I suppose that would circumvent the bad fortune.”
“Noted.” Caleb grinned at him over the lip of the bottle.
They went on sharing drinks and stories, Caleb and Essek trading tales of their companions for Dorian’s stories about the Hells. Essek seemed to find the details of Fearne’s many near-misses with the law particularly endearing, and Dorian noticed several of his own favorite retellings were about his friend Jester doing very Fearne-esque things.
(One of said stories, which came from Caleb, was about Jester and his friend Veth defacing a temple, which Dorian decided to never tell Braius about.)
Caleb, warm with drink and flushed very red, eventually stripped out of his shirt completely, which caught Essek’s eye for a long moment.
“You’re staring,” Caleb informed him.
“Am I not allowed?” Essek said.
Dorian, who definitely wasn’t allowed, looked at Essek instead of Caleb. There was hunger on his face, and interest, but in a calm, settled way, not the ferocious need that had been tearing up Dorian’s insides lately.
“No, Schatz, you are very expressly allowed to have your fill of me.”
Essek laughed softly. “I will never.” There was undisguised lust in his voice.
Dorian had expected they would not notice his soft sigh, his one little expression of wistful longing, but both of them looked directly at him.
“Sorry!” Dorian said. “I’ll admit, I’m a little jealous, is all. I can get out of your way if you two want to, um. Have some alone time.”
“No, stay as long as you wish.” Caleb’s attention turned to Essek, but his hand rested on Dorian’s knee, and gave him a gentle squeeze. “This is the one you called a heartbreaker, yes?”
“You see, right?” Essek said, as if Dorian wasn’t right there realizing they’d talked about him while he wasn’t present. “He is beautiful. They’re all idiots.”
“Who?” Dorian could feel his pulse pounding in his throat.
“Your teammates,” Caleb said. “For not—what was it you said, Essek?”
“I said someone needs to make you see stars,” Essek told him. Dorian thought perhaps Essek was quite intoxicated.
Dorian was also quite intoxicated, perhaps, because he said, “oh, if only.”
Essek took the bottle from Caleb, and popped the cork back into it. He was watching Dorian carefully, and under Seth’s brown eyes, Dorian imagined he could see violet. “You said, when we met tonight, that you were looking for something. What was it?”
“I… suppose I was looking for someone to make me see stars.”
Essek gestured to Caleb, his hand gracefully to face him with his palm up. ‘You see?’
“Did my lover plan this?” Caleb wondered. "Were you invited to our tent with a purpose?"
“I did not seek him out on purpose. I may have had one inviting you in, though,” Essek told Dorian.
Caleb clicked his tongue in gentle admonishment. “Sneaky.”
“I was a spy for several decades,” Essek said in his own defense.
Oh, Dorian realized, this was a trap. And he thanked the gods the snare had caught him.
"No, no, wait. Are you actually telling me the two of you are interested in—?"
"Not the two of us," Essek said.
"A little bit the two of us," Caleb corrected him. He took one of Dorian's hands, slipping it free of his opposite, and only then did Dorian notice he'd begun cracking his knuckles, a nervous habit popping up as his mind swam trying to comprehend what these two wanted with him. "Will you allow me to explain?"
Not trusting his own voice, Dorian nodded.
Caleb did not let go of his hand. "I have always found my interests in people to be expansive, and never saw much good in limiting myself to a single lover, which Essek has known since before the two of us were a couple. Essek's own attractions are… hard-won, or maybe slow to emerge. Is that fair to say, dear?"
"Indeed."
"Slow to emerge, then. But, he does understand my taste," Caleb said. "I believe he invited you to spend time with us because he thinks you are clever, and pleasant, and sweet. I believe he is also aware you are one of the most stunning beauties Exandria has ever been host to." He spoke not with seduction, but with conviction.
"Oh, gods," Dorian whispered.
"I am not a man prone to exaggeration," Caleb told him. "I am also very certain you are out of my league."
“Of course I’m not—I don’t even—“ Dorian shifted his grip to clasp Caleb’s hand. “Listen. The two of you are brilliant men. Gorgeous ones, too. If you’re proposing what I think you are—I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.” Well. Aside from one person, perhaps. But Orym hadn't even been able to look at him across the campfire earlier that night.
“And what is it you want, my love?” Caleb asked Essek.
Essek leaned in closer to Caleb, his cheek against Dorian’s shoulder. “He is pretty,” Essek said. His voice was deep, sensual decadence. “I like watching you fuck pretty boys.”
Dorian was put in mind of the elegant incarnation of the Arch Heart set in the center of a room of debaucheries. The god had chosen a mechanical form, but he would have fit just as easily in Essek’s body, with Essek’s voice. So beautiful it was divine, so divine it was nearly sinful.
“Off with the disguise, Essek,” Caleb said. “It’s terribly hard to read your false face.”
Dorian would argue that they didn’t need the particularities of his facial expression when his voice sounded like pure sex, but he wasn’t going to argue against a chance to see Essek’s bare face.
The disguise melted away, and Essek’s true face tipped upward to look at him. If Dorian was in danger before, he was damned now. Essek was extraordinarily lovely, his white curls like spun sugar loose around his shoulders, his lashes matching ice-pale, his mouth darker and wetter than the disguise had let on.
There was a bruise on his neck. Another on his collarbone. Neither had been there in Aeor. Both were shaped like a mouth that was smiling gently at Dorian. The dusty, plain clothing he had been wearing was also part of the illusion, and beneath it was a soft black shirt of such fine silk, it was slightly translucent.
“I know his tastes,” Essek said, like he was relaying simple facts. “I want to see him have his fill.”
“He’s correct,” Caleb said. “But if we overstep on your comfort, please, tell us so and we will back down.”
Dorian couldn’t let them think for a second that his astonishment might be upset, that his anxiousness might be distress. If he spoke, it would turn into a stammering, incomprehensible stumble, so he did the only thing he could conceive of.
He leaned down and kissed Caleb.
There was a huff of surprised laughter against his mouth, and then a hand on the back of his neck, and Caleb kissed him back with such fervor that Dorian realized he had never actually been kissed. Not like this. Kissing had always been a soft, delicate exchange, a courtly gesture, a gentle touch. Even spin the bottle with Chetney was silly and stupid, the two of them competing to see who could out-kiss the other.
Dorian had never been kissed by somebody who wanted him.
He was being devoured. It was probably only a minute before they parted, but in that minute, Dorian had been disheveled, deflowered, and divested of any hesitation he might have still possessed.
He also still had another man leaning heavily against his side, a gentle hand passing back and forth on his thigh.
"Shall I take that as a yes?" Caleb said.
"Please do," Dorian replied.
"How much do you want?" Caleb asked.
"Everything," Dorian said. "Wait. Wait, no, that's." He took a breath. "Maybe not everything. I don't know."
He needed to stop holding out hope that his first time was going to be a magical, beautiful exchange of passion with no awkwardness, no hesitation, with a man he loved completely. That was a fantasy: these men were real. And looking at him with desire that was, frankly, incredibly flattering and incredibly arousing.
"May I ask what your experience with this sort of liaison is?" Caleb had sat up and was eye level with him now, his hand gently tracing the low, open neckline of Dorian's shirt.
"It isn't. I mean, I don't have any."
"Because you have never wanted any?" Essek asked.
"No. Oh, no. There has been plenty of wanting." An agonizing amount, really. He was so horny he'd be enforcing half a dozen stereotypes about bards if anybody knew. "Just never any acting on it."
"We live in an unjust world," Caleb said.
“What? No, I’m just—I’m a very awkward man who has a lot else on my mi—ii— iind!” Dorian lost track of the end of his sentence as Essek’s hand slid further and further up his thigh, and then it just turned into, “oh-gods-yes.”
Because the both of them very clearly wanted to undress him, and Dorian very much wanted to be undressed.
“How did you not freeze in this in Aeor?” Caleb muttered, running the fine silver mesh of Dorian’s shirt through his fingers as he slipped Dorian's arms free of it.
“I didn’t know we were going to Aeor when I got the shirt, and then I was committed to an aesthetic.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“I put on a cloak—“ Dorian squeaked when Essek unclasped his belt. “—anyway you should see Ashton, they have less of a shirt than me—yes, all of it, naked would be. Oh, that would be fantastic. Anyway, half the crew decided to wear a slutty outfit in Aeor, so I’m not— Caleb!”
This outburst was in reaction to a very hot mouth kissing down the middle of his chest and along one of the scars that winged under Dorian’s pectorals.
"Do you want my hands on you first, or my mouth?" Caleb asked.
"Uh, well, you've already had both on me," Dorian teased.
Caleb, it turned out, could tease right back, because he cupped Dorian's groin and said, "I meant here."
His hands. His mouth. Here. Dorian was sort of light-headed. And he wasn't drunk enough to be dizzy, so it must have been Caleb's fault. Dorian made a sound sort of like mngh!
"He is very good with his mouth," Essek said.
Dorian said, "uh-huh, yeah, I mean, I see," staggered and breathy because Caleb was proving this by putting Dorian's fingers in his mouth and applying his tongue.
"But I also think his hands are going to look lovely on you." Essek rested his hands on Dorian's shoulder, lacing his fingers together and then leaning his cheek on top of them. "Your mouth turns a very pretty indigo when you are kissed," he said, his breath fanning hot over Dorian's jaw. "Is your cunt the same shade?"
Dorian covered his face with his free hand and froze almost completely, pressing his legs tight together, stopping his breathing for a long moment.
Essek's knuckles traced gently down his forearm. "Are you okay? Is this too much?"
Caleb had taken Dorian's fingers out of his mouth and was kissing the inside of his wrist. "We can stop whenever you like, dear."
Dorian shook his head, tapping himself firmly on the chest until he encouraged his breathing to come back, not letting his internal breath cycle make him nonverbal. "No, I'm good," he said on a long exhale. "Totally fine, totally normal, just nearly fucking came, but you know! That's! Um."
“A very reasonable reaction to the occasions Essek decides to remind the world he has a dirty mouth,” Caleb said.
"In any case, ah, I'm quite alright with whatever you'd like." Dorian cleared his throat. "And, sorry. It's hard to remember to breathe, when, ah."
"Of course." Caleb laid another kiss on his palm. "If you need our attention when you're unable to speak, just tap one of us."
Dorian nodded, surprised with how easy it was to come to that solution.
“May we undress you completely?” Caleb asked.
“Yes. Please. I would very much like you to undress me.”
“We will, slowly, just relax. Essek is going to help you out of your clothes, and I would like you to kneel facing him. Is the mat comfortable enough for that?”
Another nod. It was more like a full-floor mattress than a mat.
“Good. So, you will kneel, and face him, and I will be behind you, to touch you. Would you like me to fuck you on my fingers?”
“Oh, gods, please do that.”
“You are a good boy,” Caleb told him, kissing the side of his head. “You’re going to be so lovely for us.”
It was a simple little compliment, but Dorian’s chest felt full just hearing it.
“Do you like that?” Caleb asked. “Being praised?”
“I mean, who doesn’t?” Dorian asked, shifting to facilitate his pants and underwear being removed.
"At times it is a little too much for me," Caleb admitted. "But giving praise, never. And you are the sort of man who inspires ballads—but you are the musician, not I. Shall we see if we can make you sing?"
"Oh, yes."
There was one more note of instruction given as they situated him in place, his knees bumping against Essek's, Caleb in full contact with him along his back. It was: "We accept requests to stop or slow down. And I accept requests for kisses, but Essek is more reserved in that regard."
Dorian pressed his luck just a little further. "May I have a kiss now?"
"Any time you ask," Caleb said, tilting his head and giving Dorian a slow, indulgent kiss. When they parted, he said, "may I touch you?"
"Yes."
Caleb's hands were warm. Hot, even. Dry, smooth palms and long fingers skated down Dorian's belly, wasting no time in going straight between his legs, his middle finger catching on Dorian's clit and rubbing in a slow, devastating circle. Dorian didn't know quite what to do with his own hands, and so he pressed them to his chest, his hips tilting as he tried to get more of Caleb's hands on him. It was probably not helpful to Caleb, who would have had an easier time of it if Dorian remained still, but his body wasn't exactly held in check at the present time.
It was immediately clear that Caleb knew what he was doing. He wasn't familiar with Dorian's body but he was confident with his own ability, and that was almost as much of a turn-on as the physical stimulation.
And Caleb was not alone in driving Dorian wild.
When Dorian's hands crept up to cover his face again, he felt a gentle grip on his wrists, as Essek tugged them free. "May I see you?" he asked, his voice soft, his question so gentle and so earnest. ‘May I see you?’ Dorian had begun presuming that this was more for Caleb than for Essek, but clearly, there was something here for Essek, too.
Dorian let Essek take his hands, bringing them to his own chest. Essek was the only one still fully clothed, and his shirt was a soft, silky fabric, thin enough to feel his body heat through. Unsurprisingly, both the wizards had more of a scholar's built than an athlete's, but Essek was especially slim, and a little soft, more give to his frame than Caleb's wiry muscle allowed for. Dorian was reminded that although Caleb was nearing middle age, Essek was young for an elf, possibly equivalent to Dorian's age.
“You may touch me however it is you like, over my clothes,” Essek said.
“You are being very permissive with him, Essek, dear.” Caleb’s fingers dipped lower, and for a moment, Dorian thought they might press into him, but they came up to touch his clit again, wetter now with Dorian’s own slick.
“I have been known to be permissive when I like someone well enough,” Essek said. “And besides, he is being very polite.”
It was true—Dorian was just resting his hands on Essek’s shoulders.
Essek reached out, stroking back up and down Dorian’s arms, squeezing his biceps, lingering on some old scar from some old fight. “Truly, your companions don’t know what they’re missing.”
“I—it’s just. Complicated. Me and him.”
Caleb hummed a soft questioning noise.
“Orym,” Dorian said, and if the name came out with particular feeling, it was because Caleb had rubbed hard against his clit and Dorian’s bones turned into pudding.
“Ah. Well, Essek is very much correct.” Caleb’s free hand reached up to brush Dorian’s hair away. This encouraged Dorian’s hair to continue floating as if on a breeze, but over his right shoulder while Caleb leaned over his left. “Do you like to be kissed on your neck?”
“I don’t really know,” Dorian said.
“Let us experiment, then.”
Dorian felt the soft brush of Caleb’s whiskers just before the damp press of his lips, once, twice. He leaned his head to give Caleb the slightest bit more room.
“Essek, as you can see, likes to be bitten.” Caleb murmured against newly-kissed skin. “But not everyone prefers the mix of pain and pleasure.”
“I can’t—if I come home with marks, they’ll never let me live it down.”
“As you wish.” Caleb only kissed him again.
“Are you quite certain you don’t want something for Orym to be jealous of?” Essek’s fingertips traced over Dorian’s neck, in the same position that he bore a lurid violet bruise.
“Hush, dearest, don’t pressure the boy.”
Dorian, however, couldn't stop picturing Orym's eyes catching on the open collar of Dorian's shirt, skirting across a mark that could only have been left by teeth and wondering where he'd gone and who had given it to him. It twisted like a knife in Dorian's gut—would Orym be hurt, knowing Dorian left the group and sought his pleasure elsewhere? Would he be jealous? Would he finally admit that he wanted Dorian, he wanted to leave bruises? Or would he pretend he didn't notice?
He would probably pretend he didn't notice.
It was either 'let that image drive him mad' or 'let Caleb's hands drive him mad', so Dorian said, "will you put them in me? Please?" because Caleb's hands were at least a positive way of losing his mind.
"Whatever you need," Caleb said, and then there was the gentle stretch of one finger pressing at his entrance. "Gods, Essek, he is so fucking wet."
Essek hummed, deep, a counterpoint to Dorian’s desperate squeak. As Caleb’s finger pushed deeper into him, that sharp little noise dropped into a full-throated moan, which made Dorian slap his own palm over his mouth, ducking his head.
“Don’t stifle yourself,” Essek said. “No one beyond the dome can hear.”
Dorian nodded, gripping Essek’s shoulder again and trying to angle his hips to allow Caleb deeper, even though the reach-around was making that a bit of a challenge.
Essek’s hand ran down Dorian’s arm, gentle and slow. “I wish you could see him from this angle. He is lovely.”
“He is lovely from here, too.”
Essek swayed forward, perhaps still a little drunk. His fingertips skated over Dorian’s chest and up his neck, under his jaw, curling his first finger there, lifting Dorian’s face with it.
Dorian did not realize he’d bitten down on his lower lip until Essek’s thumb gently eased it free. “There,” Essek said. “You were beginning to have me worried you might draw blood.”
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Dorian said.
“So you are.” Without any warning or provocation, Essek kissed Dorian’s lower lip where he had been worrying it.
Dorian’s soft noise of surprise was matched by Caleb’s. Essek was gentler to approach the kiss, but became insistent once Dorian began kissing him back, his fingers that had been resting so gently on Dorian’s chin switching to grip him and keep him in place, holding him steady to kiss Dorian as he liked. All the while, Dorian could feel Caleb’s breath on his ear, and was overcome by the sensation of Caleb’s fingers in his cunt, the heel of his hand grinding against him in a manner that was very…
Effective.
Also, somewhat maddening.
Essek broke the kiss to ask, “do you want to come like this?” which was possibly more arousing than kissing him. In the space it took for Dorian to string together an answer, Essek also presented him with, “or would you like his mouth on you?”
Dorian said, “yes,” which made them both laugh. There was a softness in it, not teasing him, but enjoying the state of incomprehensible arousal they’d worked him into.
“To which, dear?” Caleb said.
“Your mouth,” Dorian managed, and Caleb’s free hand dug hungrily into his hip.
“Let’s rearrange you, then.”
‘Rearranging’ meant Caleb’s fingers pulling out of him, a fact which Dorian lamented. It also, however, meant they tumbled him gently onto the padded floor of the tent and Essek rested Dorian’s head in his lap, gently finger-combing his hair while Caleb shouldered between his legs and made him squeal with the first touch of his tongue, so much quicker than he’d expected.
“Good?” Essek said.
“Yes!”
“Keep going,” Essek instructed his lover.
“Ah, a moment.” Caleb kissed the inside of Dorian’s thigh in an almost-apologetic gesture. “Do not fret when I tell you this, Dorian. Someone walked into the dome.”
Dorian immediately tensed, but was surprised at how quickly he was comforted. Caleb sat up, his hands smoothing along Dorian’s thighs, and Essek took one of Dorian’s clenched hands as he said, “check who. I can recast my disguise and tell them off, or yell at them if it’s one of our idiot friends.”
Right. It could just be one of their compatriots. And Caleb and Essek seemed to be against allowing Dorian to be caught with his pants down. He started to breathe again, having not realized he’d stopped.
Caleb lifted his hand to cast. Dorian wished he understood more about the somatics of wizardry, because he had no clue what spell it was.
“Ah. That’s interesting.” His mouth twisted, and he glanced at Dorian. “It’s one of yours. Your halfling friend.”
Orym?
“What is he doing here?” Dorian hissed in a panicked whisper.
“He is concerned about you. I did not press further into his deeper thoughts.” Caleb’s hands smoothed up and down Dorian’s thighs. “Are you alright?”
“He can’t find me like—like—“ gods, Dorian looked like a whore. Legs spread, between two men, flushed and wet and entirely naked. That would be. That would be. He took his hand from Essek’s to cover his mouth.
Damn his appetites—that would be terrible and a disaster and not at all hot! Except that the image of it, of Orym catching Dorian being pleasured, knowing it could have been him…
Dorian was so aroused he thought he might die.
“Shall we stop?” Essek said.
“He is slightly worried,” Caleb said, “but unwilling, I think, to barge in unless he knows there is trouble. It is up to Dorian.”
Dorian still had his fingers pressed over his mouth. “You would be willing to—?”
“I’d invite him in if you’d asked,” Caleb said. “Schatz?”
“Would you like us to attempt to make you loud enough that he hears?” Essek suggested.
“Oh gods.”
“We are going to need a clearer answer to that, I’m afraid,” Caleb said.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just so much.” Dorian kept his voice low. It wasn’t possible to hear outside the dome, he thought, but it was possible to hear if someone was in the dome.
“Take as long as you need,” Essek said.
Ordinarily, Dorian would have been loath to do anything that might ruin his chances with Orym, but that was the thing about averting an apocalypse, wasn’t it? Any chance could be a last chance.
“I want your mouth on me,” Dorian said. “I want him to hear. I want him to see me like this, and I want him to know that this whole night, I’ve been thinking about him.”
Essek looked at him like he was something magical, the highest compliment Dorian thought he could earn from a wizard.
Caleb, too, was stunned, so much so that Essek had to say, “go on, dear. Back to what you’re best at.”
Trying to tow his mind out of the whirlpool that was ‘someone is eating me out while Orym listens,’ Dorian said, “I thought he’d be best at, ah, magic?”
“Oh, I have never met a more talented practitioner of the arcane,” Essek said. “Which just goes to show, I suppose, how good he is at sucking cock. Yes?”
Caleb made a noise that was definitely affirmative, which felt sinful when his mouth was pressed up against Dorian’s cunt, kissing him gently before getting back to what he’d been doing with his tongue.
Which was, of course, driving Dorian wild.
“You really ought not hide your reactions, now,” Essek said, stopping Dorian from muffling himself by turning his face into Essek’s thigh. “Come, don’t you want our voyeur to hear?”
Dorian let a full-throated noise escape, partly because Caleb had begun flicking his tongue against his clit, and partly because Essek’s readjusting meant he’d spread his legs a little wider, and even though Essek was fully dressed, Dorian was close enough to smell him.
Living in and out of tents with a group of people meant you got familiar with body odor, the best (and usually worst) of it. Dorian had indeed expected Essek to smell different, but he hadn’t expected him to smell good. But he did. Rich and sort of spiced, good enough that Doarian understood why Caleb had apparently perfected the craft of oral sex with this man. Dorian sort of wanted to eat him out. Not that he had any idea how, mind.
Caleb certainly did. He had to wrap his arms around Dorian’s thighs just to keep Dorian from wiggling, which Dorian couldn’t have possibly helped. He pushed his fingers back into Dorian, sucking him and thrusting into him simultaneously, and gods, that really did make him sing.
Every noise Dorian made left him equal parts embarrassed and aroused, knowing that he was loud enough to carry through the canvas, that Orym was listening to him. Probably.
“Is he, uh, is he still there?” Dorian asked.
Caleb had to lift his head to answer, which meant it was more than a simple yes. Oh gods. His beard was wet. That was from Dorian. “The spell only lasts a minute. I can recast.”
Essek waved a hand in permission, probably a go-ahead to waste the magical energy the spell would require. Caleb made the same motion, murmured the same word, and closed his eyes briefly, his thumb playing across his lips.
Then, he smiled broadly. “Oh, he is still there. Hiding, but listening. Ashamed, but aroused.”
“Oh. I feel a little bad about that,” Dorian said.
Caleb curled his fingers inside of Dorian to press hard against the sweet spot he hadn’t been able to reach earlier. When Dorian yelped, he laughed and did it again, getting Dorian to release a lower, longer moan. “He is so fucking desperate for you.”
Dorian pictured him in the shadow of the tent, letting its height and his relative stature obscure him from view. Would he be daring enough to touch himself in that relatively public space? Would he have a palm pressed over his own mouth to stifle himself?
Caleb slipped another finger into him—up to three, now. His thumb pet against Dorian’s clit as he continued, “I could message him right now. I will not do so until you give me permission, but I could tell him that every vulgar noise out of your mouth could just as easily be his name.”
Dorian imagined a Message in Caleb’s voice would be much more seductive than Laudna’s terrifying chorus.
Essek said, “you’re going to scare him away, Caleb Widogast.”
“A gentler invitation, then?” Caleb said. “Shall I open the door?”
There was still a curtain behind the tent-flap, to keep any road dust from trailing in. Untying the flap wouldn’t have Dorian bare to any passerby, only to curious guests who opened the door.
“Do it,” Dorian said, feeling a bit like he was stepping off the edge of a cliff.
Luckily, Dorian could usually walk straight into the air.
Caleb curled his fingers oddly inside of Dorian, his thumb slipping off his clit before flicking back to what he’d been doing.
When a shimmering amber Mage Hand materialized, Dorian realized he’d been performing the somatic gestures to cast it with the hand that was currently three fingers deep in Dorian’s cunt.
“Oh.” That was Essek, not Dorian. Dorian felt him shift, tilted his head just in time to see the slow drag of Essek’s hand up his inner thigh, settling firmly over his crotch.
The Mage Hand floated away, but Caleb wasn’t looking where it had gone. He had his eyes firmly fixed on Essek, because he’d known that would turn him on.
He didn’t say anything to draw attention to that fact, and probably did not have to. For someone who knew him as well as Essek did, the eye contact was probably enough to indicate that he’d noticed. Caleb just lowered back down and put his mouth on Dorian again.
Dorian’s heart rate quickened dramatically as soon as he heard the unmistakable sound of someone stepping into the ‘foyer’ of the tent. Light-footed, yes, but present.
“Oh gods.” That was Dorian. Caleb sucked harder. Essek gently traced the line of Dorian’s neck down to his collarbone. Both of them were silent, letting Dorian provide the sound.
Which, of course, made Dorian stop breathing entirely. Stage fright was a nasty companion, who really could have picked a better time to drop by for a visit.
However, Dorian’s self-imposed silence let him hear a little gasp that wasn’t him, Essek, or Caleb.
Orym.
He remembered how to breathe all of a sudden.
That was the thing about stage fright. The antidote to it was confidence, but the next best thing was bullshit. And Dorian was often in need of the next best thing, because confidence was hard to come by.
“That invitation was to come all the way in, Orym,” Dorian called, his voice tremoring, “not, ah! Not to hang in the doorway.”
“Dorian.” Orym’s hand reached up to brush the curtain aside, and Dorian saw just the barest glimpse of his flushed-pink face. Admittedly, he began to panic a little and pressed his own face against Essek’s thigh. “What are—uh, hi Essek, hi Widogast—what are we doing?”
“You,” Essek said, “are watching him be treated right. So that you know how to treat him after the fact.”
“If you like,” Caleb added.
“If you like,” Essek said, like he wasn’t happy to stipulate.
“Do you actually?” Orym was staring very deliberately at Dorian’s face. “Do you, um? Want that?”
Was he even really asking that? “Of course.”
“Okay.”
Okay?
Dorian had expected to need to do a little more persuading, but it turned out, Orym was all in with baffling immediacy. “And you’re okay with…?” He gestured between the wizards.
“This really isn’t how I expected this to go down,” Orym said.
“Is anything ever?” Caleb asked, because Dorian, still reeling from the fact that there was some manner in which Orym had expected this to happen, had fallen silent. “Come here.”
Orym stepped closer, angled like he was going to approach Dorian, but Caleb grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged, and Orym was off-guard enough to let Caleb forcibly turn him around. And then Caleb kissed him, and it looked filthy. Was that what it looked like when Dorian kissed Caleb? He heard Essek’s exhale shudder. Caleb’s fingers still slowly stroked him, in and out.
Orym got into it, too. He put one arm around Caleb’s shoulders, clasping Dorian’s knee with the other hand. He squeezed tight, and then Caleb’s arm went around his waist, and he downright swooned into Caleb’s grasp, still kissing him for all he was worth. They were lovely, both flushed pink, Caleb even pinker for his ginger complexion.
Once Caleb left him with one lingering parting kiss, he said, “I thought you ought to taste your man,” which made Dorian squeak and Orym groan, going back in for another lick.
Then, he looked at Dorian, coy, over his shoulder, his eyes lowered. “You gonna let me taste more of that?” His palm slid hot down Dorian’s thigh. Dorian should’ve known he’d be like this. Once Orym was in, he was in.
Caleb, however, clicked his tongue gently. “Sit back. I haven’t had the opportunity to make him come yet; you’ll get your chance after.”
“Can he—?” Dorian began, and then realized it was sort of ridiculous he was asking for permission. Instead of asking Caleb, he told Orym, “you can kiss me, while he, um.”
“I wanna,” Orym said, his thumb tracing the shape of Dorian’s kneecap. “I wanna kiss you so bad, Dorian, but I don’t think I’ll be able to watch and learn with you distracting me like that.”
“Oh,” Dorian said, “then, well, by all means, I suppose.”
Caleb’s fingers were still in him. Dorian saw Orym’s gaze slide down to meet them.
Dorian had not calculated for the absolutely mind-boggling concept of all Orym’s intense focus directed specifically at his cunt. He was squirming on Caleb’s fingers, his back curved into an arch that required a hand on his hip to straighten out.
“I wouldn’t begrudge you a kiss before we continue,” Caleb said. Essek gave Dorian’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze.
Orym nodded sharply like he was taking an order from a commander, and then he dropped to his knee, and then, oh.
Dorian had been kissed by two men already that night, more thoroughly than he had been kissed by anyone. Still, this was even more, because this was Orym. Dorian had been falling in love with him since before he had ever even expected it, and the gentle way he placed a first kiss on Dorian’s mouth was another hard shove in that direction.
Orym was more deliberate than Caleb or Essek had been, like he’d been thinking about this as long as Dorian had and had planned just what he wanted to do.
His mouth was smaller than Dorian’s, and his teeth were sharp in Dorian’s lower lip. His tongue was a little point tracing that stinging bite, and he made the most gorgeous sound when Dorian came after him for another kiss.
On the third (fourth? Had the first one been one or two?) kiss, Orym pulled away with a breathless laugh, saying, “don’t think we should push Widogast’s patience. Yeah?”
“Correct,” Caleb said. “But it’s not my account we’re hurrying on. Dorian has been exceedingly patient, himself, and deserves his reward.”
Dorian had, in fact, been enjoying the lull as time to recover from the cavalcade of sensation he’d been overcome by.
“Are you ready?” Essek asked him, perhaps understanding this overwhelm.
“Mmhm.”
Essek looked over Dorian at Caleb. “Make him come.”
Dorian had to close his eyes, because he couldn’t watch Orym watch him orgasm.
Even if Dorian wasn’t looking, Orym let him know what he saw. “God, look at you. You’re always so beautiful, Dorian.”
Caleb hummed his agreement, which made Dorian sob with overwhelming pleasure.
“He sounds beautiful, too,” Essek said.
“Yeah.” Orym’s voice was raw. “He’s gorgeous, I’ve—Dorian, fuck, do you even know how bad I’ve wanted you?”
“No,” Essek answered for him.
“No,” Dorian agreed.
“I’ll show you. Promise.” Orym’s hand slid up his thigh and that, too, was a promise.
Without missing a beat, Caleb reached for Orym’s hand, guiding it under his chin, his fingers pulling out just in time for Orym’s to slide in—
“Ohgodplease!” Dorian didn’t know what he was begging for. He felt Orym kiss the inside of his knee.
“I believe there’s somebody more relevant than the gods to beg right now,” Essek said. He lifted Dorian’s hand and kissed the hammering pulse in his wrist.
“Caleb, please don’t stop—“
The soft hum, meant to reassure, was enough to have him squeezing and pulsing around Orym’s fingers, an exultant cry dragged from his lips.
Essek wasn’t kidding about seeing stars.
His ears rang after.
The sensation of having six hands tending to him and soothing him afterward was also something Dorian hadn't expected to experience when it came to sex. Essek's fingers combed through his hair, helping sort it out where he'd mussed it, Caleb petted his shaking thighs, and Orym took one of his hands, tracing his fingers over the creases of Dorian’s palm.
Dorian opened his eyes just in time to see Orym licking his fingers clean. Essek cast Prestidigitation before Caleb could do the same, which vanished all the glimmering slickness from his beard and left him pouting.
“My lover is unfortunately very fastidious,” Caleb said.
“You?” Essek said to Orym, obviously referring to his wet fingers.
“Nah. I’m going back to it as soon as he’s ready to,” Orym said, grinning down at Dorian in a way that was so handsome and confident, Dorian simply had to sit up, grab Orym and kiss him.
Dorian lifted Orym full-body into his arms, and Orym gasped like he hadn’t been expecting Dorian to just haul off with him like that, which, to be fair, was not how Dorian usually behaved. But Orym was, admittedly, very small and very light, and Dorian had always possessed the strength to toss him around, he was just ordinarily more polite about it.
Kissing Orym was like a full-orchestra crescendo, so loud in Dorian's ears that he nearly missed Essek's soft laughter. When they parted the first time, Orym drew Dorian back in. When they parted the second time, Orym looked over Dorian’s shoulder at Essek. He and Caleb bracketed Orym and Dorian, close enough that it should have been impossible to forget they were watching, and yet everything became background noise with Orym's lips on his.
“Don’t stop on our account,” Essek said.
“Actually, I would like to know where the four of us are going with this,” Caleb cut in, before they could get back to not stopping on the wizards’ account.
“Oh, uh. Up to you?” Orym said. “You three got started before I, um. Happened upon you.”
“Yes, how did you track me down?” Dorian asked.
Orym’s hands bunched up on Dorian’s shoulders, his gaze sliding away from Dorian’s as anxiety crept onto his face. “Actually I followed you from the start. I’m sorry, I just worry, and I saw you get up.”
“That was, to some extent, reasonable,” Caleb said, running a hand down Orym’s back. “Companions vanishing in the night typically leads to very bad things.” He spoke softly, a shadow lingering on his face, his hand lingering on Orym.
“Yeah. I saw Essek—Seth—come out and talk to you, so I figured you were good for a while, looped around the camp once, talked to some Ashari who’d wandered away from the Wildmother’s temple, then figured I’d offer to walk you back.” He cleared his throat. “Obviously, you were. Busy.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Dorian said, enough laughter in his voice that Orym would know he hadn’t offended.
“Guess so. So, uh. Watching was good,” Orym said. “Watching was really good, so if you want, I can keep doing that.”
“You can’t possibly say that, when I can see on your face how badly you’d like to fuck him,” Caleb said.
“I mean, yeah.” Orym leaned back, which put him against Caleb’s chest. “Happy to stay between you two, if you’re up for it.”
Caleb’s hand crept around Orym’s middle, splaying across his belly. Essek made a low sound, probably very aware of how big Caleb’s hand looked against Orym’s trim waist. “Do you think you can handle that?”
Orym laughed, bright and cheerful and weightless in a way Dorian hadn’t heard him in a long time. Possibly ever, come to think of it. “Yeah. The jokes about me liking tall guys aren’t really jokes. And that has no bearing on the size of anything else—“ he took a quick look at Dorian, “—but, yeah. I can handle whatever you got, Widogast.”
Orym’s confidence was perhaps the sexiest thing about him, but Dorian would reserve a definitive on that until after Orym took his pants off. Caleb seemed to agree.
“Then I suppose it’s time I give it to you.”
They didn’t rearrange much. Dorian laid back again, this time with a pillow under his head, Essek curling around him like a cat, gently petting his hair. Orym took a step back to strip completely (definitive answer: Orym’s confidence was tied with his everything else for the sexiest thing about him) and then straddled Dorian to kiss him again, like he couldn't get enough. Dorian lost track of Caleb, but he felt warm hands bump his on Orym's waist, fingers curling around his wrists and tugging them down to reposition his hands on Orym's thighs and ass.
Caleb said Essek's name softly, and Essek shifted, and there was the slight hiss and pressure change of magical conjuration. Dorian felt Essek's hair tickle his arm as he leaned across to Caleb.
Orym lifted his head, looking over his shoulder, and Dorian opened his eyes to see Caleb's hand resting there, asking for his attention. Orym's hand stroked gently over Dorians' cheek as he spoke, like he never split his attention fully from Dorian.
The soft question-and-answer exchange between Caleb and Orym was challenging for Dorian to comprehend fully, because Orym kept answering Caleb before he could finish the query.
"Do you want—?"
"Yeah."
"Here?"
"Mm-hm."
"Can I—"
"Oh yeah. Harder, too."
The last one, he could at least interpret from body language. Caleb had put a hand in Orym's hair and tugged. Dorian was accustomed to hair-pulling being something him and his brother did when their squabbling got deeply petty, and so it was a bit of a surprise to see the way it made Orym's mouth drop open, his eyes falling closed as he let Caleb bare his throat, and, well.
What was Dorian gonna do, not kiss him there?
For a while, things became about making Orym feel good, which Dorian could appreciate, given that Orym was the last to have joined their little rendezvous. Dorian also appreciated that he wasn't the only one responsible for Orym's pleasure, being mostly unaware how to do anything Caleb was up to.
For example, Dorian would be, personally, somewhat terrified to put his fingers up someone's ass without elaborate guidelines, and Caleb did it like it was second nature, which, perhaps it was? Whatever he was doing seemed to be working. Dorian could taste the soft noises in Orym's throat, could feel the firm press of Orym's cock against his belly.
Dorian really liked having Orym naked, on top of him. He was compact, dense for his size, and he couldn't feel all-encompassing over Dorian's body the way somebody the size of, say, Caleb or Ashton or Braius would, but he was present and ever-moving and warm. He smelled like nights tucked together in bed and he looked every bit as devastatingly gorgeous as he did when Dorian guiltily peeked at him while they were bathing, except now, Dorian knew, in explicit terms, that Orym wanted him.
Dorian learned several things while Caleb fucked Orym open on top of him.
He learned that he could clasp his hands in a perfect circle around Orym's biceps, and that they flexed when Orym braced himself to push back into Caleb's touch. He learned that Orym had more hair on the rest of his body than any of them, even Caleb, and that all of it was dark and thick and soft under his hands. He learned that Orym flushed all the way down his chest when he was turned on, and that he made soft, gasping sounds when Dorian kissed his neck. He learned that Orym's cock got sticky and wet if he ground it hard enough against Dorian's belly.
Essek was the first of them to speak, in a quiet, observational statement of fact. "Caleb Widogast, you will make him come if you keep that up."
"Yeah," Orym agreed, panting like he'd just fought a dragon single-handed.
The whole time they'd been playing with Orym like this, Dorian was turning the phrase, 'I want you to come in me,' over in his mind. Could he just say that? He felt it. Desperately, wholeheartedly. His cunt was clenching down on nothing like he needed something to fill him again.
He was thinking so hard on that, he'd missed Caleb's response entirely, so he could have said anything in the world. But Dorian, being Dorian, was thinking 'I want you to come in me,' and was divested enough of his inhibitions to say, "I want you to come in me," even if it was a complete non sequitur to whatever Caleb had said.
"Fuck. That's okay?" Orym asked.
"Oh, um. Yes. Yes, that's very good, actually," said Dorian, once again finding himself in the odd situation of being presented with exactly what he'd asked for, and having no idea what to do with it.
Orym said, "yeah. Anything you want, baby," and kissed him again.
Dorian quickly realized why Orym had kissed him so ferociously—and it was because once Orym got in between his legs, it became very challenging for either of them to contort themselves into a position in which Dorian could kiss him. Dorian wasn't quite sure what to do with all Orym's attention on him. He was intense. Dorian recognized the fire in his eyes and it made him need to hide his face.
Essek clicked his tongue with a gentle admonishment, his hand smoothing down Dorian's arm, which he'd barred his eyes with, not unlike a maiden fainting in a stage-play.
"You don’t gotta move him. You're good, Dorian," Orym said, and Essek's hand lifted. "Just feel it."
Gods, did he feel it.
Orym pushing into him was not very different from Caleb's fingers, except that there was a soft noise of exertion from him, and two small hands on Dorian's hips. It was Orym, that was what made the difference, and Dorian was so aroused over it he thought he might immolate from within.
He could feel Orym lean against the inside of his knee again, one hand curling around his thigh. "You feel so good, Dorian."
Dorian's hand found Orym's, not to hold, because he wasn't sure he could even manage to fumble their fingers together right now, just gently resting on top of his. Essek's cool hands traced swirling patterns on Dorian's chest.
Caleb was talking very quietly to Orym. "I am going to need to push you forward. Can he—?"
"Oh yeah. Dorian, okay if we bring your leg further up?"
"Hm?" Dorian was only very loosely aware of the concept of having a physical body right now.
"He's got this," Orym said, on his behalf.
Caleb did, then, push Orym forward, which folded Dorian's leg back toward his chest, his opposite knee pointed at the roof of the tent. The angle wasn't extreme, but it was more open that he had been while Caleb's mouth was on him, his thighs spread in a way that felt, unlike any of what he'd done before, deeply slutty.
Orym sharply exhaled "fuck!" and held onto Dorian a little tighter.
Dorian looked up to catch the look on Orym's face at what must have been Caleb pushing inside of him.
"Alright?" Caleb said.
"Yeah, you're just. Wow, you're big."
"I've seen bigger," Caleb said, nonchalance undercut just a little by strain in his voice.
"On a firbolg, maybe," Essek said.
"Hush, you. Are you still comfortable, Orym?"
"Ha." Orym's forehead pressed against Dorian's knee. "Oh yeah. Yeah, fuck, that's good."
"Can I move?"
"Gimme everything you've got."
Watching Orym take it was incredible. With no measure of comparison, Dorian wasn't sure if the way Caleb was moving was particularly hard or fast, but he had a big size advantage even if he was a very lean fellow, so it looked like he was practically rocking Orym into Dorian. Orym stayed buried deep inside Dorian the whole time, but Dorian could feel Caleb's movement through him.
"This won't take long," Caleb said. His hand slipped around Orym's chest and pressed Orym back against him, and Orym wrapped his free hand around Caleb's wrist, guiding his hand higher until Caleb was grasping his chin, tipping Orym's head back, his palm and his wrist laying across Orym's neck and collarbone.
Essek made a low hum, a clear noise of appreciation. "I would hope not. You've been keeping yourself on edge as much as anyone."
Caleb said nothing in response, his eyes closed, his expression focused.
"Come, love. I know you've been waiting."
"Essek."
"Dearest."
"Essek!"
Dorian didn't notice anything had changed, but Essek must have. "There you are," he said, sounding exceedingly fond and somewhat proud. He truly did take a great amount of pleasure in watching his lover fuck someone.
Caleb pulled back, so that Dorian could relax the angle of his leg a little, still letting Orym lean back against his chest. "Good?" he asked, running his hand through Orym's hair, which was sticking up in several different directions.
"Real good, yeah," Orym said. "Fuck, Widogast."
"I believe you still have more of that to do," Caleb said, with the lazy, satisfied tone of a man who'd just eaten a large meal and was ready to settle onto the couch to nap afterward.
"Oh, I'm on it. You're still okay, Dorian?" Orym said, running his fingers up and down Dorian's thigh.
Dorian, missing his words again, nodded.
"You sure? You're kinda not breathing."
Dorian closed his eyes, relaxing his lungs to exhale. "Sorry. It just sort of happens."
"I know you don't have to breathe, I just." Orym bent forward and kissed his sternum. "Just wanna make sure you're good before I start."
"Before you start?"
"Yeah."
In the same way Dorian had realized he'd never been passionately kissed, he was now realizing he'd not yet been passionately fucked.
Bedroom Orym was oddly similar to Battlefield Orym—he was quick, sharp, and he didn't let you go once he had you in his grasp. Dorian swore that if he could've conjured vines for the express purpose of pulling Dorian onto his cock just as fast and as hard as he thrust into him, he would have.
It felt divine, of course. Dorian started off with his hand pressed over his mouth, but then let it drop, shouting full-voiced, so loud they'd hear him at the Platinum Sanctuary if it weren't for the dome muffling the sounds inside. Dorian's voice probably echoed off Essek's magical bubble, and only got louder when Essek himself joined in, delicately licking the tips of his fingers and leaning over to press them against Dorian's clit, which only made Dorian's cunt clench harder on Orym's cock, which only made Dorian feel fuller, and—
Dorian was only a mortal man, and any sort of being would be hard-pressed not to come just then. Orym said his name in a breathless gasp as Dorian shuddered, his legs squeezing tight around Orym's hips, and Essek's hand practically trapped between them. Caleb, who had stretched out alongside Dorian, was kissing his shoulder and stroking his chest, all three of them surrounding him, making him feel so adored it almost hurt.
The world could end tomorrow if it wanted to, and Dorian wouldn’t be happy, but at least he’d have no regrets.
Dorian drifted for a little, after that orgasm. It wasn't as overwhelming as the first had been, but he felt stunned in its wake, and it took a long time to get his breath and his voice back. He distantly felt Essek cast again to clean them up, and then there was the soft press of Essek's lips against the corner of his mouth.
Orym lay on Dorian's chest again, the wide-eyed, fucked-dumb look on his face making Dorian giggle and kiss him again and again. Even when they weren't kissing, Dorian heard the now-familiar sound of somebody making out very nearby, which Dorian presumed must be Caleb and Essek.
"You, um. Are you…?" he asked Orym, presuming, but not certain that Orym had already come.
"I'm good," Orym said. "You good? The wizards seem good."
The wizards were, in fact, kissing one another deeply, paying very little attention to their audience.
“They’re kind of incredible,” Dorian said quietly. He watched Caleb gently cup Essek’s head as he tipped him backward to lay on top of him, his opposite hand catching Essek’s hip and helping him grind against Caleb’s thigh.
“That’s a word for it,” Orym said. “Gods. I’d never blame you for looking for… something, but I especially can’t blame you if it’s them.”
Orym turned and kissed him again. Dorian wondered if the soft, breathy noises he heard behind him were increasing in pitch and intensity like that because Essek was coming. And then Orym distracted him beyond wondering.
Something between the wizards must have culminated, because they came closer again. Dorian sat up to accommodate them entering the space. Caleb leaned against Dorian’s back and pressed slow kisses on his shoulder, Essek petting his hair.
“This is a little more exciting than I predicted tonight would be,” said Caleb, in an understatement that made all of them laugh.
“I always knew Dorian would be exciting,” Essek said, clasping his cheek. “I just didn’t know he’d come with a bonus man.” Caleb snickered, probably because Essek’s phrasing had the same cadence he’d used when he was imitating their friend Jester.
“Thank you,” Orym said, kissing Essek and Caleb both on the cheek. “I’m glad I wasn’t… intruding.”
“Never, Orym,” Dorian said. “Never.”
They spent more time with the wizards, but eventually, all of them but Essek grew tired, and so Orym offered to walk Dorian back to the room the rest of the Hells were staying in.
Dorian liked walking back more than he’d liked wandering out, and it had a lot to do with Orym’s hand in his.
“I’m… sorry for going to someone else when you’re right here,” Dorian said. “I just didn’t think—“
“Hey, no.” Orym tugged Dorian’s hand closer and kissed the back of it. “I love you. Who you sleep with doesn’t change that. And, uh. That was hot.”
In the middle of a Vasselheim preparing for war, Dorian dropped to a knee to kiss Orym one last time before the two of them tried to fall asleep with all this swirling in their heads.
They nearly got run over by a group of drunken soldiers.
It was worth it.