“I owe you one.”
“There are no debts between us.”
Orym smiles at Dorian’s well-meaning sincerity but doesn’t say anything in return, just squeezes his shoulder – reachable now that Dorian’s sitting – and walks away. He has no doubt the man means it, but Orym’s not yet found a relationship that doesn’t involve some form of debt, spoken or otherwise. Perhaps it’s a bit mercenary, thinking of the fondness he bears for Dorian and Fearne as a debt, but he would step in between them and danger just as they would do for him.
Well, as long as neither of them is the danger. That possibility grows less likely every day, but it’s still an anxiety-provoking thought that’s not going away any time soon, so he pushes it to the back of his mind.
Orym tries his best not to limp as he heads for the stairs, even though there’s no one he’s trying to impress or fool. It’s just second nature to keep any weaknesses of the body concealed, even when there’s no strategic advantage to be gained. When he reaches the stairs, though, he has to give up the façade, as lifting his right leg brings his attention to a bruised hamstring in a sudden and painful way, and he winces.
“Need some help?” comes a familiar voice behind him, and Orym turns to see Ashton.
“Thought you went home,” Orym says, hoping the strain in his voice doesn’t make him sound too irritable.
“Did what I needed to. Came back. I repeat: need some help?”
“No, thank you,” Orym says, turning back toward the stairs. “Just moving a little slower at the moment.”
“Suit yourself,” Ashton says, starting up the staircase. “These things aren’t made for halfling-sized legs is all, and given the hits you took today, that’s gotta suck.”
“It’s not ideal,” Orym says, gritting his teeth through the pain. “I’m just not sure what help you’d be able to offer, other than carrying me.”
“Don’t knock getting carried,” Ashton says, and Orym can’t help but notice that they’ve slowed their stride to match Orym’s. “A goliath toted me around on her back once. I could smash things twenty feet in the air. I don’t get the opportunity very often, and it was a blast.”
“It’s a little different when people think they can do it without asking.”
Ashton snorts. “Bet that’s a mistake they only make once with you.”
Fortunately, Orym’s room is on the second floor so he doesn’t have another flight to tackle. He digs around in his pocket for the key. “If you wanted to stay here, I’m sure Mr. Bell would get you your own room. He seems… excessively generous tonight.”
“Not sure where I’m gonna end up tonight, if I’m honest.”
“Keep following me and you’re just going to end up in my room,” Orym says, stopping in front of the correct door. “It’s right here.”
“I wouldn’t object.”
As the key turns in the lock, Ashton’s words sink in through the haze of achiness in Orym’s brain and he finally begins to process the situation. Ashton has just returned from across town to follow Orym up to his bedroom. Orym’s not the smoothest in social situations, nor does he find himself in this particular circumstance very often, but he can gather what’s probably going on. “At least let me sit down for this conversation,” he sighs, pushing the door open and stumbling across the threshold.
But there’s a firm hand around his shoulder to catch him before he can fall, and before Orym can object, the hand is gone. “Not trying to barge in where I’m not wanted,” Ashton says, all casual nonchalance. “But I thought you might like a little help… unwinding.”
Orym laughs, tossing the key on the table by the door and carefully prying off his boots. It fucking hurts. “Thanks, Ashton, I think the problem right now is that I’m a little too unwound.”
“Are you, though?” Ashton asks, closing the door behind him but coming no further into the room. “I’m not saying you’re uptight, but…”
He doesn’t continue. “But what?”
“But you don’t look like you let loose very often.”
Orym hops up on the tall bed, groaning as he’s able to take his weight off his feet. He doesn’t mean to tip backward on the bed, but by the time he knows what’s happening, he’s flat on his back on a straw-stuffed mattress that feels like goose down after the day he’s had, staring at the ceiling. “You’re right,” Orym says, a little embarrassed at the way he’s behaving in front of a recent acquaintance, but nevertheless disinclined to move. “I don’t. But Dorian’s downstairs – you may have better luck with him.”
There’s a gravelly chuckle from over by the door. “You think Dorian’s my type?”
Orym turns his head to look at Ashton. “Imogen? Bertrand? Fearne?”
“No, hell no, and way out of my league.”
That actually pulls a laugh out of Orym. “Not sure what league she’s playing in, to be honest. Might not even be the same game as the rest of us.” He’s a little shocked at his own effusiveness about someone he’s known so much longer than Ashton, but Ashton takes it in stride.
“I don’t have to have her figured out to know she’d destroy me,” he says, chuckling. “You… I’m not quite sure about yet.”
“You flatter me,” Orym says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He’d barely had anything to drink, but he feels half-drunk. Gods, why does it feel sort of good to be flattered? Has it really been that long?
“I’d like to keep doing it,” Ashton says, taking one step further toward Orym. “Preferably with my mouth, though.”
“You’re already flattering me with your mouth.”
“With my… ugh, fuck, you know what I mean,” Ashton groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m no good being subtle. I want to suck your cock.”
The proposition isn’t totally unexpected, though Ashton’s bluntness is. It’s also unexpectedly affecting, and Orym feels his cheeks heat at the thought. Apparently, it has been that long. “And what would you get out of it?”
“I’m hoping you’ll return the favor in some capacity,” Ashton says with a shrug. “Or even just watch me jerk off. I’d love to come on your chest, if you’re into it.”
Orym doesn’t mean to laugh, but the utter lack of innuendo – after weeks of traveling with people who communicated in nothing but innuendo and yet carried out none of it – is legitimately funny.
“Got you to laugh twice in one night,” Ashton says, “that’s gotta be a record. I take it you’re not into it.”
It’s said good-naturedly, but it’s a statement, not a question, and Ashton turns on a heel.
“Wait.”
This isn’t really Orym’s thing. This is a distraction, an unnecessary indulgence of his own wants when he – when all three of them – have a job to do. They’ll run with Bell’s crew until they figure out their next step, and then they’ll move on.
So why not indulge now? It can’t be worse than eating his entire body weight in pie.
“Yeah,” he says at length, pushing up on his elbows. “Yeah, that would be nice. I don’t often… it would be nice. I just can’t promise you I’ll be much use to you after. I’m sore as hell.”
“I fuckin’ guarantee you’ll feel better after,” Ashton says, grin widening until it nearly reaches one of the golden cracks descending from his temple.
Orym almost says Couldn’t feel worse, but that just feels like tempting fate, so he shifts around on the bed, making room for Ashton and shoving his trousers down to his thighs. Embarrassingly, Orym’s already half-hard at the mere prospect of a blow job and at the hungry way Ashton’s looking at him – at least Ashton won’t have to be at it very long.
“Your shirt,” Ashton says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll do it, too.” Then Ashton pulls off their tunic, and their body is fascinating. They’ve got a muscular humanoid build, but their skin isn’t like anything organic Orym’s ever seen. The color seems to change from deep jade to peridot to glistening emerald in the lantern light as Ashton kneels on the bed. One moment it looks like it ought to be cool and smooth to the touch, and then when Ashton leans forward it looks sun-warmed and rough as sandstone.
Unsure if Ashton would welcome his touch, Orym fists his cock a few times and lays back. If he’s not exhausted afterward, he decides to ask Ashton if he can touch. Maybe he’ll be amenable to letting Orym jerk him off – Orym’s suddenly indecently curious about Ashton’s cock.
“You’re gorgeous,” Orym says, almost absentmindedly.
Ashton just grins. “I truly appreciate the lack of rock puns. And you’re definitely not bad yourself.” His eyes scan Orym up and down, and Orym shivers, his nipples going tight in the cool air. “Yeah, me too,” Ashton breathes, getting down on the bed with his elbows bracketing Orym’s thighs. “Fuck, I love halfling dick.”
That takes Orym by surprise – it’s not something he hears often. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. ‘Cause I can do this.” And Ashton tugs Orym’s hand away and swallows him down to the root.
It’s so much all at once that Orym can’t even yell; he just makes a choked sound and shudders strongly enough that Ashton’s hands come up to hold him down. And they hold Orym down hard, with more force than Ashton needs to use, pressing Orym into the bed, trapping him under Ashton’s mouth. He’s so well pinned that Ashton may as well be solid rock, but their mouth is hot and velvet-soft as Ashton starts bobbing their head.
Between Ashton’s hands and mouth, Orym is hurtling toward the edge faster than he thought possible – faster than he wants. If he’s going to do this – and clearly he is – he wants to enjoy it for more than a minute. So he manages to get out “W-wait,” though his attempt to tug at Ashton’s hair is thwarted by the fact that Ashton doesn’t have hair.
Still, the amethyst crystals atop his head have some kind of sensitivity; in fact, Ashton seems to shiver a little as Orym drags his fingers over them. “Mmm, yeah, that’s good,” Ashton purrs, lifting away from Orym’s cock to nuzzle against his belly.
Orym tugs at one of Ashton’s hands where it’s resting on his hip. He has to suppress a moan when he can’t budge it at all, at least not until Ashton clearly makes the conscious decision to move it. But then he lets Orym guide it to his mouth, where Orym brings Ashton’s index finger to rest on his tongue before making eye contact with Ashton, and then closing his mouth around the digit and sucking.
That seems to momentarily cause Ashton’s mind to go blank, their jaw hanging gently open. Orym means it as an enticement, yes, but it’s also a practicality, and he gets Ashton’s finger good and wet before releasing it from his mouth and guiding it between his legs.
It gets Ashton’s brain working again, and Orym swears he sees light flutter under the opalescent glass in the side of his head. “You want…?” Ashton asks.
“Yeah,” Orym sighs, glad he doesn’t have to explain himself any further. “Work me up to it, but yeah, I can take it.”
At that, Ashton grins, eyes glittering. “You’re giving me ideas, Orym.”
Turns out the smile is infectious, and Orym feels the corners of his own mouth turning up ever so slightly. “Get me off and then we’ll talk.”
“Yes, sir,” Ashton says before getting back to work.
The sudden, blunt thickness of Ashton’s finger against his entrance helps keep Orym back from the edge. Orym’s taken bigger, but it’s been a long time and he’s out of practice. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it sometimes, doesn’t jerk off quickly in the dark wishing he had more time and more privacy. Not to mention someone like Ashton with big, strong fingers and the time to spend probing at his hole, not gently but carefully. In truth, there’s only so slowly Ashton can go, given that it’s just one finger, but they tease Orym expertly, then slide their own finger in their mouth alongside Orym’s cock to gather more saliva.
When Ashton’s fingertip finally breaches him, Orym swears quietly, his hips trying to jump off the bed. There’s a bright edge of pain to the stretch, just like he knew there would be. Ashton, to his credit, reads Orym right, doesn’t try to back off or stretch further, just sucks him harder to compensate while Orym adjusts.
The pain fades quickly, and then it’s just fullness, the thick stretch of Ashton’s finger up to the first knuckle. There’s only so much either of them can do with spit as lube, but Ashton’s doing a damn good job of playing with Orym’s rim, twisting and probing with his finger until Orym can’t seem to get a full breath of air in his lungs. The edge is in sight again, but this time Orym doesn’t fight it, doesn’t scrap for more borrowed time, just settles into his body and waits for it to take him. Gods, this feels good, his body useful for something other than killing or fighting or being a meat shield. He feels it start to build in his gut, in his balls, in the curl of his toes, and he taps Ashton on the head in warning.
Ashton pulls off just long enough to gasp, “Go for it,” and then sinks back down.
Orym hardly needs more encouragement than that. Ashton makes it easy to let go, with their eager mouth and strong hands, and Orym tips his head back and lets himself moan as he comes. Ashton swallows him down readily, pushing in a little deeper with that finger and twisting their tongue around Orym’s cock to give him a good, shivery finish.
It leaves Orym weak, just as he’d anticipated, body crashing back to the mattress like he’s been dropped there, but even the pain in his hamstring feels miles away. Ashton pulls back, removing his finger slowly, but Orym’s still hit with a sudden, fluttery emptiness when it goes. Even so, his brain is sluggish with pleasure, taking a few seconds longer than it should to remember what’s going on as Ashton unlaces his own trousers and takes out his cock.
Orym clenches down on nothing at the sight – jade green and smooth, as long and thick as he’d hoped – and even though he barely has control over his limbs at the moment, he still wants. He watches as Ashton spits in his own hand and gives his cock a few strokes, watches as Ashton’s cock hardens and lengthens a little more, watches until he’s sure.
“Hey,” Orym says, voice soft even for him, and reaches up to still Ashton’s hand. “There’s some oil in my pack.”
Ashton smiles that mischievous grin again. “Good thinking.”
While Ashton goes over to fetch it, Orym begins the onerous process of turning over on his stomach. His body’s beginning to obey him again, and though it still hurts, the pain recedes into the background. Fuck, he could have died today. He could’ve been necrotized by one of those bizarre creepers or even stabbed by one of his own party in the dark. He’s been doing a lot more almost-dying these days, and he could stand to get a good fuck in before… Well, before tomorrow. Before whatever else is going to almost-kill him (or worse) next.
He pushes up on hands and knees, hoping to present an unambiguous sight to Ashton when they turn around. It seems to work, if the flabbergasted noise behind him is any indication. “You sure you’re up for it?”
Orym turns his head to face Ashton before he rolls his eyes for show. “Not with spit. That’s why you’re getting the oil.”
Ashton, to his eternal credit, laughs. “Can’t fuckin’ believe I thought you weren’t into it. Look, I’m not gonna ask anything patronizing about your size, but can you tell me to stop if you need me too?”
Orym bites back a groan. “Yeah, you’ll know.”
After that, there are no more questions; Ashton just sets to work fingering Orym’s ass with surprising precision, given the amount of alcohol Orym knows they consumed earlier this evening. They listen when Orym says “wait” or “deeper” or “more,” help Orym settle down on his elbows when holding himself up becomes too much.
It’s harder work than Orym thought himself capable of tonight, pushing back on Ashton’s fingers and breathing through the stretch, but it’s good, honest work. Despite the chill in the room, there’s sweat popping out on Orym’s forehead, gathering in the backs of his knees as he opens for Ashton’s fingers. At some point he can’t identify, his cock starts to harden again, slapping up against his belly when he shoves his hips back. Warm oil drips messily down his thighs, and Orym groans long and hard into the pillow at the idea of Ashton’s spend dripping out of him the same way. Bottoming makes Orym wanton, makes him needy and debauched – he’d actually forgotten that about himself.
“Okay,” Orym gasps the third time Ashton’s fingertips find his prostate and rub until Orym’s cock blurts precum onto the sheets like he hasn’t already come once tonight. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Again, Ashton doesn’t second-guess him, just asks, “Any injuries I need to be careful of?”
“Watch the right thigh,” Orym says.
“Don’t worry,” Ashton says, bending down to lay a surprising kiss on the back of Orym’s shoulder. “Don’t plan on letting you use your legs much.”
Despite that promise, Ashton goes slowly to start, even though his cock isn’t quite as thick around as three of his fingers were. Nevertheless, it feels like more somehow, especially as Ashton’s big hands clamp back around Orym’s hips and hold him steady. He just keeps pushing in, long after Orym thought he’d already taken it all. Ashton’s cock feels inescapable like this, and even though Ashton’s been big on consent, there’s an inevitability to the slow, inward slide, like Orym couldn’t stop it even if he’d wanted to.
And of course the last thing he wants Ashton to do is stop.
It would be cliché to say that time loses all meaning once Ashton’s got Orym impaled on their cock, but between the drink and the exhaustion and the mind-wiping horniness, Orym forgets how to think. For a while, Ashton lets him sway back into each thrust, but when Ashton starts to lose themself in it, they take so much of Orym’s weight into their hands that Orym’s knees are barely in contact with the bed. It gives Ashton a better angle, too, more force behind each thrust, so Orym hardly questions it. All he can do is try to brace himself with his hands, and then his elbows as Ashton brings his hips up even higher, Ashton pumping into him at a pace Orym can’t influence. He hadn’t planned on being anybody’s fucktoy tonight, not even when he invited Ashton into his bed, but now that he’s here, he can’t imagine wanting anything else.
It’s almost a surprise when he feels his orgasm start to creep up on him. Ashton isn’t even touching his cock, and Orym can’t spare a hand while still holding himself up, but Ashton’s cock is so thick inside him that it’s massaging his prostate almost constantly. He’s so full that he can hardly even draw breath to cry out when he starts to come, his cock jerking and pulsing. Unexpectedly, his climax is harder this second time, the careless stimulation continuing until Orym’s body curls in on itself, muscles winding tight until they all loosen again at once. Orym rides it out until it crosses over into real pain, yelping and kicking a leg back to try to collide with Ashton’s torso. “Stop, st—”
Ashton freezes immediately, dick stilling inside Orym. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Orym gasps. “Just too much.”
“You come?”
“Yeah.”
Without another word, Ashton pulls out, puts one broad hand under Orym’s chest, and flips him flat onto his back.
Orym lands right in his own wet spot, which isn’t the best thing he’s felt today, but it’s also far from the worst. It’s worth it for the sight of Ashton kneeling over him, hand already jerking at his cock as his eyes rake up and down Orym’s body. Orym hasn’t even caught his breath by the time Ashton groans, his abs shuddering and his eyes fluttering closed as he stripes Orym’s chest. He wrings himself hard, tipping forward but catching himself with his other hand on the creaky headboard.
When Ashton finishes, they dip down further to rub the head of their cock through the fluid on Orym’s chest, and Orym watches a shiver of aftershock travel down their spine as they do it.
After Orym’s given Ashton their moment, he says, “You were really serious about that.”
Ashton grins lazily down at him. “Been wanting to do it since I met you.”
“You met me two days ago.”
With a loud, bright laugh, Ashton shrugs and flops over on his back beside Orym. “It’s been a long two days.”
There’s not much Orym can say to that, so he doesn’t, focusing instead on the ceiling as he listens to the loud rush of blood in his own ears, thinking about debts and the lack of them. Thinking about new acquaintances, potential friends. Thinking about tomorrow, about how much of the soreness he’s going to be able to put down to the fight. He listens as Ashton’s breathing calms, deepens, slows. Slows even more. “Ashton?”
“Mmm, shit,” Ashton groans, and when Orym looks over, he’s not surprised to see Ashton dozing, eyes closed. “Jus’ gimme ten minutes.”
Orym looks at Ashton’s face, smoothed out with oncoming sleep, the gold veins seeming to glimmer in the lantern light. Earlier, Orym had been struck with the desire to touch Ashton to see what his skin really felt like, but then got so preoccupied with Ashton’s dick in him that it didn’t happen. Surely after all that, it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition to rest his hand on Ashton’s forearm, on the inside of his wrist, just to assuage his curiosity.
Smooth. Warm. Like well-finished leather, but with an almost gem-like polish. Pleasing to the touch beneath Orym’s stroking thumb.
Last night aside, it’s been ages since Orym had a whole room to himself for the evening, or even a whole bed. He and Dorian and Fearne have had to share to save on coin, sometimes in cramped quarters, and as the smallest, Orym often has to take whatever sleeping space he can find. A whole bed to himself is almost an unimaginable luxury.
But Ashton is breathing deeply, a hair’s breadth away from true snoring, and despite their size, they’re taking up no more than half the bed, and their body is warming the sheets pleasantly against the chill in the air.
“Well, we’re all meeting back up in the morning,” Orym says, unsure of how much Ashton will actually hear. “You don’t need to walk back tonight.”
Orym will just let the ten minutes go by unremarked. He’ll probably be asleep by then, too, and that’ll be that.