can I get some dorym cuddles?
Hell yes you can get some Dorym cuddles! How do you feel about pre-C3/post-Zephrah sleepy Orym and pining Dorian who is convinced that his feelings are unrequited?
I had to look through my list of favorite tropes and picked a few out, so prepare for "bridal carry," and "putting a blanket on a sleeping person," with just a dose of angst to heighten the sweet.
x
It had been a hard day. They'd left Zephrah a few days ago en route to Stilben to pick up an airship to Marquet and while Dorian was used to long days of travel in general, today they'd been waylaid by some woefully unprepared bandits. The good news was that the bandits had been prepared for a merchant party and not three experienced adventurer's. The bad news was that there had been five bandits to the three of them (plus Mister).
Orym, as always, had been out front trying to keep attention on himself and off of Dorian and Fearne while both casters kept slinging spells and tried to stay out of trouble. They had downed two of the bandits when one of the melee fighters got a good blow in on Orym and knocked him out cold. Dorian had frozen and nearly taken an arrow to the shoulder for his distraction as he tried to get a healing word off to bring Orym back. Fearne, blessedly, had just muttered okay well that's rude and then morphed into a dire wolf, chasing off the remaining three bandits. This left Dorian free to rush to Orym's side and dump whatever healing he had left into the halfling.
Fearne had returned about half an hour later and hadn't offered any explanation about where she'd been or what happened to the other bandits, and Dorian wasn't sure he wanted to know particularly. But with a quick Cure Wounds off of her, they'd all been in good enough shape to make it to the nearest town before sunset and had located a tavern they could afford and that would allow Dorian to play for tips while Fearne socialized (and picked some pockets) while Orym rested.
The halfling was still exhausted from being wounded (healing magic was an odd thing in Dorian's experience, it healed the body but did nothing to combat the rush of hormones and subsequent crash that came with your insides becoming your outsides however briefly), but he'd still curled up in a booth with a tankard of ale to 'keep an eye' on Fearne. His self-imposed watch didn't last long, though. As Dorian played throughout the night he had noticed Orym's attention split more and more between Fearne and himself, and Orym's eyes dropping heavier and heavier. It probably wasn't even ten yet when he finally looked over to see Orym lying down in the booth with his head buried in his arms.
It was sweet to see, Orym so rarely let anyone see him vulnerable that he must have been exhausted. Even though Dorian was still making decent tips, he also couldn't bear the thought of leaving Orym to nap in a taproom after everything that had happened that day, and they didn't technically need anymore money tonight. They had supplies enough for Stillben and money for the airship provided, so he let the playing peter off slowly, signalling he was finishing up for the evening until he was able to pack his flute up and return to the booth to rouse Orym.
"Orym?" Dorian whispered just louder than the ambient noise of the bar, placing his hand on Orym's shoulder gently. He didn't want to startle his friend, and Orym'd had a hard enough day.
Orym's only response was a tired sounding grumble before burying his head further into his arms. It was so painfully endearing that Dorian quickly gave up all thought of waking him. He already knew he had a particular weakness for Orym, he really shouldn't even bother trying to fight it.
There was only one solution Dorian could think of that would allow him to move Orym while also letting Orym sleep off whatever exhaustion he still felt from the rest of the day. It took some maneuvering of the table, but he was able to scoop Orym up in his arms bridal style easily enough. Even as strong as he was, Orym was quite literally half Dorian's size and if he weighed much more than 50 pounds Dorian would be surprised. He quickly caught Fearne's eye where she sat at the bar fussing over a tiefling woman's horn adornments and nodded down to the man in his arms and then towards the stairs and she nodded in acknowledgement before returning to her conversation.
Dorian was relieved that Orym had taken his armor off before joining them in the taproom. For one thing, it was filthy and soaked in Orym's blood and not at all appropriate for mixed company. But also, it made the process of getting Orym into bed so much easier if all he had to do is get the halfling on the bed and remove his boots. It took Dorian a few seconds to decide how to arrange Orym on the bed so that he wouldn't have to move him again to tuck him in. Eventually he just ended up using the last of his spells to cast Mage Hand to move the coverlet for him.
"You know, you're lucky you're so small," he muttered to the sleeping halfling as he got him settled. "I never could have done this for Dariax. He'd have just had to sleep it off downstairs."
Orym, predictably, did not respond.
After getting Orym positioned in the center of the bed and getting his boots off, Dorian pulled the blanket back over his sleeping friend.
It was so easy sometimes to forget how small Orym was, especially when he was forcing himself between Dorian and whatever enemy had threatened him.
"My little hero," Dorian said to himself because nobody else could hear him right now and he was free to indulge openly in his affection for Orym just for a little while – just a few more moments, there were no complications right now when Orym didn't know Dorian was even talking to him.
Dorian smoothed some of Orym's hair back even though it didn't really need it, enjoying the feel of soft hair under his fingers. He could tell himself he was cleaning out some of the road dust, it would be okay.
At length, Dorian stood up and dusted himself off. He had played the doting lover for long enough, and it wasn't something he should allow himself to get accustomed to. Orym had a duty and a purpose, and Dorian knew he couldn't be the one to get in the way of that. He turned towards the door, fully intending to go back downstairs and keep Fearne out of trouble or get a drink himself, but a sound from the bed stopped him in his tracks.
"C'm back t'bed." It was Orym, and he did not sound even slightly awake. Dorian turned to see the halfling where he'd rolled over towards the spot where Dorian had been and had his arm stretched over the warm spot where Dorian had been sitting.
The image of it broke Dorian's heart just a little. He – he didn't know everything. But he knew enough. He'd been to Zephrah, he'd seen Orym's home which was sized too large for a lone halfling, he'd sat in furniture that was far more comfortable for him than it was for either Fearne or Orym, he'd seen the pitying looks people gave Orym when they went out and heard the way they asked questions like how are you holding up? Dorian knew. Orym had lost someone, and there had been a few nights when he thought his friend had been on the verge of telling him and Fearne the whole story, but right now it was an open secret between the three of them with none acknowledging that the others knew.
And that was okay! They were friends – they were just friends – and Dorian's little crush meant nothing in the grander scheme of what Orym had to do. It was fine, really. But.
But what was Dorian to do when his friend in his sleeping state mistook the genasi for a different man and invited him into bed?
Of course, Dorian wasn't going to read too much into that part – they'd slept together in the very literal sense before. Either in a pile with the other Crown Keepers or snuggled around Fearne for warmth or even just waking up next to each other after a night that had turned colder than either had anticipated. Needs must, and even Dorian couldn't read too much into cuddling for survival. This was different, though. This was him and Orym in a bed by themselves. This was him making the conscious choice to climb into bed with a sleeping friend who probably just mistook Dorian for a dead man.
"Orym," Dorian whispered. "It's just me. It's Dorian."
"C'm t'bed," Orym repeated and Dorian's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't deny him this. He probably should, but if Orym had forgotten his own pain for the night…
Dorian was weak, that's all there was to it. He couldn't say no to Orym, he never had been able to. He quickly stripped off his coat and shirt, folding them loosely and tossing them onto his pack. They'd wrinkle, but he'd deal with that tomorrow. He didn't want to lose his nerve or overthink, but he also didn't want to push his boundaries with his friend. He pressed himself all the way to the edge of the bed, hoping to himself that would be enough to keep Orym happy without causing any other issues.
Orym, unfortunately, had other ideas. The halfling sought out heat like it was his job, immediately snuggling into Dorian's side and burying his face in Dorian's shoulder. Dorian was going to die, that's all there was to it. He would evaporate under a snuggly halfling and nobody would ever see him again. Not only was this emotionally awkward, it was also physically just not a comfortable position to have Orym wrapped around his right arm and honestly it couldn't be super comfortable for the halfling either (although you'd never have known from the way he was continuing to attempt to burrow into Dorian's space).
Tentatively so as not to wake his friend (just friends Dorian reminded himself), Dorian pried his arm free from Orym and wrapped it around his slight frame. Orym immediately settled once Dorian had his arm around him, his head resting on Dorian's chest now and hopefully not in any danger of being woken up by the frantic beating of Dorian's poor heart.
When he'd thought he would indulge himself in some friendly hair touching, he absolutely hadn't been prepared for it to escalate to this point. He certainly wasn't prepared to be a nighttime avatar of a dead lover. If he was extremely lucky he'd be devoured by the bed tonight and not have to face any of this in the morning.
"D'rian," Orym's sleepy voice interrupted his frantic thoughts, his name muffled by Orym's face being pressed half into Dorian's chest. "Y'r thinking too loud…go t' sleep."
Oh.
Oh.
