Archive of Our Own ^beta

It really is a long, long journey. At least in Dorian’s perception, after all, the steady and almost ephemeral speed of the Silken Squall sort of affects your view of air travel for life. However, he felt just as awed by the flying boat as Orym and Fearne. Yet the bright excitement of the skyship and its strange method of sky travel has worn off into a mixture of bittersweet nostalgia and unease. He wars between the compulsion to hide down below docks, to keep himself out of sight of the winds, and the need to see the sky around them. Isolation and hyper-vigilance, ever in conflict.

Today, Dorian has found himself above deck near the bow of the ship, plucking nervously at his lute. Mind hardly there, fully encompassed by scanning the horizon. He has sat here for hours upon hours. 

In the earlier part of the day, Fearne hovered around, trying to make conversation. Almost immediately, it's apparent that Dorian’s mind is far from the chatting mood. 

“Sorry, just have a lot on my mind,” he looks up at her, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

She pats him on the head, “That’s alright! Enjoy your brooding,” Fearne twirls a coil of her hair around her finger, “I’m going to try hang off the side.”

Dorian is indeed not listening as he replies, “Sounds good.”

His gaze turns back to the rolling clouds and dappled beams of sunlight. Flicking his fingers around, he conjures little images and swirls of fog and auroras with minor illusion. Through the hours, the wind picks up slightly, blowing through Dorian’s long hair. Sunset glowing a mellow orange, contrasting against his cool cyan skin.

What Dorian doesn’t notice is Orym watching him. Throughout the day, Orym has checked in with his friend, getting small responses of ‘right as rain,’ ‘just enjoying the view,’ and ‘don’t worry about me.’ Yet Dorian never takes his eyes off the sky and hardly recognizes Orym’s presence each time. Equal parts concerned about Dorian’s seeming dissociation and captivated by the almost painting-like vision genasi in the sunset.

Orym has been trying to leave well enough alone. After all, he himself always checks over every room they sleep in, locks every lock thrice over, and wakes many times a night just to ensure nothing is amiss. He knows a thing or two about dealing with your ghosts. However, Dorian has been rooted to the bow, missing lunch and just about to miss dinner.

“Hey, big guy, you want to get something to eat? You’ve been out here all day,” Orym attempts, fiddling with his bracers as he waits for a response.

Dorian glances over momentarily, “You go on ahead, I’ll be down soon.”

Orym sighs. Unsuccessful yet again. Resolving that if Dorian doesn’t move in the next thirty minutes, he’ll tug him by the sleeve all the way down to mess. He turns away, off to find somewhere to offer a second set of hands.

Suddenly, the wind that has been growing stronger and stronger forms into a great gust. There’s hardly any time between when the captain shouts, “hang on tight!” and when a massive bump of turbulence hits the ship. Everything not tied down lifts a centimeter and a half off the deck. Most people take it in stride, as all around the ship, sailors are running around to get things in order. Orym hears Fearne give an exhilarated hoot.

Dorian is not so lucky. Orym sees that the bard was similarly lifted from his perch, and in the rush to hold himself back down, his lute has become airborne. The halfling takes off running. After he sees Dorian is at least moored to the deck in an uncoordinated heap, he leaps after the lute.

Even though Dorian’s lute is about the size of Orym’s whole torso, the halfling just barely grabs it. He curls his body around the item as he comes crashing back down onto the deck, shielding the blow from the delicate wooden instrument. He’s had plenty of practice falling. Immediately, he rolls from his back to sit up. He has to resist the urge to preen, as he feels quite similarly to what he imagines a cat who caught a fat bird for his caretaker feels.

Dorian himself is feeling a little bit less proud, or rather, incredibly embarrassed. As he pushes his bruised body into a seated position, immediately needing to lock his eyes on Orym, he notices an odd sensation.

For a while, he hasn’t been paying too close of attention to his body. Sometimes, when he gets up in his head, it can be hard to remember things like that. Especially when he works on new music, he can end up forgetting to eat or go to sleep at a normal time. While he is hungry and tired, there is a far more urgent need Dorian has neglected.

In the shock and jolt of the ship, and as Dorian fell from his perch on the bow to the floor, a small stream of piss escaped him. This whole time, he had disregarded his insistently full bladder. The bump unknowingly threw his bladder over the edge.

Flushed with humiliation, he’s able to stop the stream before it begins in earnest. From where he sits disheveled on the deck, he twists his legs together. Both to keep from further wetting himself, but also to his the small wet spot between his legs.

“Are you alright?” Orym stands above him, concerned, holding his beloved lute.

“Gods, Orym, are you? You practically threw yourself over to grab that,” Dorian’s voice is frantic, high-pitched.

Orym smiles softly, “I’m alright. I’ve done far more dangerous maneuvers in far more dangerous air.”

Dorian is about to reply with a protest regarding the worth of a life versus a lute when the ship jolts once more. His overfull bladder protests. Dorian is unable to hold back a small whimper as another warm stream escapes into his underthings.

Immediately, Orym is kneeling at his side, “Are you injured? Do you need help?”

Humiliated, Dorian mumbles out, “I’m fine. I just… I think I wet myself.” He quickly buries his face in his hands, humiliated.

Orym’s brain halts. He looks Dorian over. The air genasis hair is slightly disheveled, but his face is purple with blush. Looking down, he sees Dorian’s legs twisted tightly together, but he can see an ever so slight patch of wetness between. Entirely inappropriate thoughts begin to rise up in the halfling’s mind that he resolutely shuts down. Dorian needs him right now.

“I’ll help you get below deck, okay?” he responds in a gentle, quiet tone, hand outstretched. Dorian nods sheepishly as he takes Orym’s hand.

The journey is torture. With each step, Dorian can’t help but feel his bladder jostle. It feels almost as if he’s so full his stomach is sloshing. He grasps Orym’s hand tightly as he holds his lute awkwardly over himself, hiding best he can. The halfling guides him gently and waits patiently when Dorian has a near emergency at the top of the stairs. Thankfully, only a small bead escapes him, but the sad, desperate glance he gives Orym is enough to set the other man into overdrive. 

The halfling rushes them down the stairs and quickly pulls them through the hall. As soon as he catches sight of his, Fearne, and Dorian’s room, he throws the door open. Dorian rushes in. Slamming the door behind the two of them and locking it, Orym turns to Dorian. What he witnesses is a sight to behold.

Dorian, as soon as he entered, did his best to pull his pants down to reach the chamber pot. However, he is too far gone. He just barely got his pants down to his knees when the flood begins falling from him against his will. At first, he shoves his hands between his legs, pressing them to his cunt as if it would hold it in. It's no use. There’s nothing he can do to stop the flow now that it’s begun.

Embarrassed as he is, the relief is near orgasmic. Whimpering, piss leaks from between his fingers as he presses his hands even harder against his pussy. The stream is slow but steady as Dorian tries and fails to staunch it. It drips into his underthings, taut between his shaking knees.

“Fuck, oh gods, Orym, I’m so sorry,” he babbles as tears gather at the corner of his eyes.

All the while, the halfling has been frozen where he stands, like an ages-old oak, rooted solidly in the soil. He knows that this was not intended, but to see his friend so exposed. It happened far too fast for Orym to avert his eyes respectfully. He has seen everything. The thin copse of black hair paints his small, sweet mound. Visible only for a moment before Dorian’s thin musician's fingers pressed into the soft flesh. How he wants to explore, to see what is hidden behind the genasi’s hands. To grab those quivering plush thighs and hold him close.

Yet Dorian’s distressed apologies shock Orym out of his momentary stupor. His plaintive, almost whining voice twists around his heart like a vice. Immediately, Orym is moving, grabbing up a discarded bathing towel and rushing over.

Orym rests one hand steadily on Dorian’s hip, a strong hand pressing into soft blue skin. With his other hand, he slips the towel between Dorian’s trembling thighs. Gently, he presses the towel upward. Thick, fuzzy fabric slides into place, held just below the genasi’s now wet hands.

Trying to keep his voice and grip on Dorian’s hip as steady as possible, Orym softly comforts, “It’s okay, Dorian. Just let it go. Just let go.”

Dorian flicks his tearful eyes to his companion. As soon as Orym asserts his calming presence, with the steady presence of the halfling’s hand on his hip, he listens. He releases his futile dam between his legs and instead takes Orym’s kindly proffered towel. The genasi presses the towel against his leaking pussy and just let's go.

The relief is near orgasmic. With a quiet gasping moan, Dorian’s legs crumple to the ground. Orym reacts quickly, other hand quickly grasping the soft roundness of Dorian’s right asscheek and keeping his hand on Dorian’s left hip. He uses his grip to guide the genasi down as gently as he can. He tries not to notice how Dorian’s plump rear feels in his hand nor how his trembling hips shake in his grasp.

For Dorian’s part, his body is awash in sensation. The man he’s been infatuated with is holding his so tightly near his most sensitive area, all while the taller man loses himself. He feels the slightly coarse fabric of the towel flush to his cunt, creating slight friction against his wet clit. Sparks of pleasure warm him as he rocks the towel across his whole pussy. It grows heavy and damp as piss courses out of his relaxed pussy. Dorian’s trembling cunt is thoroughly soaked. Not just as he wets himself but as the blissful warmth of the now much heavier towel radiates against his sweet little pussy.

As he releases his guiding hold, Orym watches as Dorian settles on his knees, straddling the towel. Reaching around, he pulls the mostly unscathed pair of pants and, unfortunately totally soaked underthing up and off the very bottom of Dorian’s calves. As soon as his legs are freed, Dorian’s calves splay out, though his thighs stay pressed together around the towel. The genasi’s soft bottom comes to rest against the hardwood.

The halfling can hardly believe his eyes as he watches the genasi cant his hips again and again. It seems almost as if Dorian is humping his pussy into the fabric, new position allowing him far more movement. On a particularly rough movement, the halfling can see as his bright blue clit peeks out from the fabric. The movement continues even farther, and he sees, just behind Dorian’s deliciously hard clit, his winking urethra. A loud stream crests out, and not only does Dorian fully moan, Orym himself stifles a strangled gasp.

Hearing the sound, Dorian looks into Orym’s eyes as they are face to face on his knees, “Gods, Orym, I’m so sorry. I have to- I just have to.”

Two hands come to grasp either side of his face as Orym whispers, just centimeters from his lips, “Take what you need. Anything you need.”

Dorian drops his hand from the towel and throws his hands around Orym’s neck. At first, it seems they’re bound to kiss, but instead, Dorian settles his face at the crook of the halfling’s neck. Whimpering and mouthing at Orym’s neck, Dorian practically ignites.

Canting his hips with speed, he crushes his throbbing clit against the warm wet fabric. As his stream finally slows to a pitter of drops into the towel, Dorian moans vibrate against Orym’s sensitive neck.

Slowly, he bundles up and pulls Dorian’s fine poet’s shift over his head, tenderly moving the man’s head away from and back to his neck. It’s actually incredibly cute, as the brief moment away from his skin results in Dorian nuzzling deeply into him.

Orym moves one hand down from Dorian’s head and silky hair, down his neck and shoulders, to his waist and lithe stomach. The light tracing movement wracks Dorian with shivers. He leans eagerly into the touch as he wiggles his hips, trying to press his clit down deep into the fabric.

Now, in regards to Orym’s other hand, well, he makes quick work of unlacing his own pants and shoves his hand within. His calloused fingers slide into place around his own cunt, taking hold of his throbbing cock. He is not at all surprised to feel how sticky and wet the fabric within is, as for the past couple of minutes, he has been privy to a sight so erotic not even his wet dreams could conjure the idea.

With frantic hips and frantic fingers, the two men chase their pleasure. As Orym grunts and moans somewhat quietly and deep within his chest, Dorian whimpers and keens, high-pitched. He would be loud if not for how his face has become buried in Orym’s neck and shoulder.

While he runs his fingers back and forth across his cock, Orym raises his other hand to card tenderly through Dorian’s hair, “Gods, you’re beautiful.”

Only a few whispered words, and Dorian is complete. He cums almost violently, with a loud cry, he tries to stifle with a nip at Orym’s sensitive skin. His hips cant up, fat, throbbing clit a deep purple flush as it beats rhythmically with the contractions of his orgasming cunt. As said contractions course through him, Orym is shocked to see wetness flow from the genasi once more. However, now the liquid is clear and rushes out of him with a loud hiss. Orym realizes that Dorian is squirting. Tight spasming cunthole, sending streams of clear liquid to splash beyond the towel onto the wood floor. Dorian moans with the aftershocks as he squirts, mouthing and licking lightly where he nipped Orym. 

His own orgasm swiftly approaching, Orym tenderly but with a firm hand leans Dorian back. The genasi is dazed. Pupils blown and mouth open in panting whimpers, he moves easily at Orym’s lightest touch.

The halfling swiftly discards his own pants. Thick hair covers his whole cunt, especially his fat outer lips, which are now exposed. Though even as puffy as his outer lips are, his thick cock juts out as if framed by them.

Rapidly, he moves his fingers back and forth across the thick bundle of nerves. Gazing down adoringly at Dorian. The man kneels back, dazed, with a euphoric smile on his face. His cunt is dripping wet and glistening, while the rest of his gorgeous blue skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat.

When Orym’s hips begin to jerk without rhythm, Dorian almost pleads, “All of it. Orym, I want it all.”

One can hardly resist when Dorian asks so sweetly. As Orym crests into orgasm, cock throbbing visibly with each shock, he releases his own stream. Aimed toward Dorian, the bright liquid splashes against the other’s already-soaked cunt. Small amounts dribble into the surrounding hair, but Dorian raises his pussy to meet the stream. He answers Orym’s deep moans with a blissed hum. His long musician’s fingers slip down to draw his small plush lips apart so the arc lands directly on slick, deep purple skin.

As Orym did not neglect his body near as long as Dorian did, his stream slows to a dribble and soon ceases entirely. He stands there panting. Gazing transfixed on Dorian’s spread glistening pussy and his blissed-out smile.

“Are you… alright?” Orym asks, voice a bit strained from their activities.

Dorian giggles, truly giggles, “I think so. Are you?”

Orym huffs out a laugh, “Fuck, Dorian that was… You were gorgeous.”

A bright flush takes over cyan skin, bashful again, even nude as he is. His hands raise quickly to cover his face, equal parts giddy, embarrassed, and wholly alive with endorphins.

With his dry hand, Orym approaches Dorian again and gently draws his fingers through the other’s hair. With a heartrendingly tender smile, he tucks a lock of hair behind a pointy ear.

“Maybe…” Dorian murmurs, heart pounding yet shy. “Maybe we could do something like that again? I mean, um, sex in general again. Maybe something like this again, with a bit more, um, planning and a lot less embarrassment.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Orym responds, “I’d like that. We could put a sheet or two next time.”

“Are you sure it didn’t,” Dorian swallows. “Gross you out?”

Cupping Dorian’s jaw, he gently draws his thumb across his velvety cheek, “Do I seem disgusted? Dorian, that was one of the most erotic things I’ve seen in years. If I didn’t want to be a part of that, I wouldn’t have.”

Dorian leans his face into Orym’s calloused hand, “Orym, will you kiss me?”

With no hesitation, he does.