Chapter Text
Sight.
He first notices them during the fight. Ashton fights passionately, with their whole self. They light up. They smile wide. They laugh. They exude sheer fucking delight, and Orym can't look away. He feels as if his eyes were made for staring at them, and he's loath to stop them. He knows they could become a distraction. They could make things dangerous. But he doesn't care. He craves their energy. Their passion. Their themness. When the fight ends, it takes all of his self control to stop staring.
When Bertrand gathers them all together to form a group, he knows immediately he will say yes. He feels guilty for that. He is already part of a group, and they have been sent here on a mission. They also look to him as their leader, and he knew if he told them he wanted to try it out, Dorian and Fearne would yield. So he did. Because he needs to be close to Ashton. He feels drawn to them.
Touch.
It is a completely innocent gesture, and Orym has no business making such a big deal out of it. He finished his drink and stood up, saying goodnight to the group. And sparks shot across his shoulder, into his chest, and, embarrassingly, lower. He looks over, slightly stunned, to find Ashton's hand clamped to his shoulder.
“Night.” A quick squeeze, and Ashton removes their hand, and turns back to the table. Snapping himself out of it, Orym quickly darts up the stairs. Anything to remove himself from the situation. He finds Fearne in the hallway outside her room, and he takes her hand, pulling her to Dorian's room.
“We should talk about this,” he tells her. But she would have come with him without any explanation, and he's still getting used to that. Dorian must have been waiting, because he opens the door at the first knock.
“Come in, come in.” They both enter and Orym hops up onto the bed.
“What do you think? Should we stick with them?” Orym asks. He knows they'll just go along with whatever he decides, but he needs for it to at least feel like a discussion.
“Well, uh, what do you think?” Dorian asks, completely incapable of making a decision.
“I, well, I don't want to speak for you all, but I'm interested. Honestly, I'm not even sure where to start looking. This feels like a dead end, but at least it's a start, right?”
“If you think it's a good idea, I'm in!” Fearne inputs.
“Yeah, I agree with Fearne. Whatever you say, I'll follow.” Orym bites back a groan. That is not what he wanted to hear. But he's weak, and he wants more time with Ashton.
“Alright. We'll tell Bertrand in the morning.” Orym hops off the bed, and heads to the door.
“You okay, Orym?” Fearne asks. She's looking at him like she's dissecting him. It's not an appealing sensation.
“Fine. Goodnight Fearne. Dorian.” He leaves before she can say anything else. Fearne's too perceptive for her own good.
Kiss.
The fight with Duggar took a lot out of him. He's sore, exhausted, and, if he's honest, horny. He'd spent a large portion of the fight in a magical black void, with only Ashton's sounds to be stored in his brain for later. And ever since they had finished with Lord Estheross, his brain has been going over every single one of those sounds. Trying to fill in the gaps of his knowledge by unhelpfully suggesting the faces and body language that went with them.
And there was something more to Ashton's fighting. Something extra. Something magical. And not magical in the 'I'm completely fixated on this gem person and cannot get them out of my mind' kind of a magical. Actual magic magical. Orym could only do a little magic, so it intrigued him. Or, in Ashton's case, turned him on.
Every day that went by exposed to him all the new ways Ashton turned him on. Frankly, it was embarrassing. His body is beat to shit, and he can barely make it up the stairs. But if Ashton were to proposition him, he'd cave in a heart beat. He can feel himself twitch in response to that thought and scowls.
“What's with the face?” Orym starts momentarily. Apparently just thinking about them causes them to apparate.
“Uh, just sore.” He allows himself to give in to his injuries a little more to sell the lie. Limping, he makes his way over to his room and unlocks the door. Ashton follows.
“Right. Got a minute?” Orym debates the question, and what he wants to do with it, for all of two seconds before giving in. Opening his door, he sweeps his arm in a gesture, inviting Ashton in. Not waiting for them, he heads to the night stand and lights the candle there. He hears the door click shut behind him.
“What's on your mind, Ashton?” Orym asks. He sees a flicker of something cross Ashton's face before their fake smile makes an appearance.
“You always jump in front of everyone in a fight?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.” Ashton frowns at this. They're leaning against the door. Orym wishes they'd come closer. He hops up on the bed.
“You do, too. Or so it seems.” That brings back their smile.
“Yeah.”
“You enjoy fighting?” Orym should be saying goodnight, but he's selfish and he wants them to stay.
“Fuck yeah. It's almost my favorite thing to do.”
“Almost?” He knows he's going to regret asking. Ashton grins lasciviously.
“Sure. Almost.” Orym sighs. He doesn't have to willpower to resist tonight.
“What's your favorite thing to do?” Ashton pushes away from the door, saunters over to him, and plops down next to him on the bed. They look up at the ceiling, a dreamy look on their face.
“Fucking.” Orym swallows hard.
“How did I know you were going to say that?” he whispers, mostly to himself. Ashton barks out a laugh.
“Cause it was terribly unoriginal.” They bump into him softly, in camaraderie. Orym stiffens. “Oh, shit sorry! Forgot how hurt you are.”
“Oh, no, I'm fine.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. His eyes bore holes into the floor.
“Really? What's the problem then, if it's not an injury? You want me to leave?” Ashton starts to scoot away and Orym's hand shoots out, stopping them with a slight pressure on their thigh.
“No!” Orym's eyes widen, and he moves his hand back into his lap. “Sorry. I'm fine. You can stay.”
He can feel Ashton's eyes on him, studying.
“Orym? Tell me what's wrong?” Orym runs a hand across his face and through his hair.
“I'm sorry. I'm usually better at hiding it. I'm just tired.”
“Hiding what?” Orym risks a peek up to see Ashton looking genuinely confused. He debates for a moment, but he's too exhausted to care anymore.
“Your effect on me.” He forces himself to lock his gaze on Ashton's. Ashton's eyes widen slightly. Then he grins.
“My effect on you?” Orym nods. “Fuuuuck.”
They stare at each other for a moment longer. Orym can hear Ashton's hands gripping and releasing the sheets restlessly. He notices the desire, a twin to his own, burning in their eyes.
“Fuck it.” He pushes forward, catching their lips with his own.
Time.
Ashton pulls him through the door, slamming it behind them. They're on their knees immediately, shoving him back against the door, lips on his.
“You went unconscious,” they lick into his mouth.
“So did you,” he returns. Ashton simply groans, grinding their hips into his. He gasps, already on edge from the fight.
“Shut up,” they growl, biting his lip. He groans.
“You first.” He shoves them back, causing them to fall onto their ass. Walking around them, he strips off his shirt as he climbs up into the bed. He hears a thud of fabric and turns to find Ashton following, jacket a pile on the floor. Ashton pushes him back, and crawls in on top of him.
“This okay?” they ask, pressing soft kisses across his jaw. He arches up into them.
“Gods, yes.” Rough hands unlace his pants and yank them off. Before he can decide his next action, Ashton grasps his hands within one of their own and brings them over his head.
“Keep them here. And hold on.” They wink. They go back to his jaw, pressing feather light kisses, working their way out to his ear. When they get there, they whisper, “Green is good. Yellow is not good. And red is stop. Got it?”
“Mmmph,” Orym attempts, moaning through his agreement. Ashton stops and pulls back enough to look him in the eyes.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.” Ashton smiles, diving back in. They nip his ear, kissing it softly to make up the hurt. Then, they plant hot, sloppy kisses down his neck. Down across his collar bone. They stop momentarily to take a nipple into their mouth, playing with it mercilessly. Orym moans, digging his hands into the pillow under his head. He was already half hard when they entered the room, but he's more than ready now. The couple of times Ashton's brushed against him indicate they're ready, too. But they continue to take their time.
Once finished with his nipples, they kiss and bite their way down his stomach, paying special attention to his hip bones. He's leaking before they ever touch him, desire coursing strongly through his veins. Then finally, FINALLY, that mouth is on him. Orym already knows he's not going to last long. Fighting, nearly dying, and Ashton all turn him on. Tonight, all three happened. He's wound tight, and try as he might, he knows it won't be long. And Ashton is just too damned skilled with their mouth. They're able to take him all the way down to the root, sucking desperately, licking like their life depends on it. They bob up and down at a punishing pace, bring him up, up, up. He taps their shoulder as he feels his orgasm looming.
“I'm gonna cum.” Ashton moans as he nods, then takes him even deeper, swallowing around him. Orym's orgasm crashes through his system. He knows he's moaning, and he knows he's being too loud. But he can't seem to find enough energy to care right now. He shoves Ashton, causing them to flop over onto their back.
“My turn,” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss them. He can taste himself on their tongue. He doesn't waste too much time on kisses. He needs to feel Ashton, needs to make them lose their grip on reality. Needs to see them cum. He plants fast sloppy kisses down their chest, making for the very impressive tenting of their pants. Working together, they quickly remove the offending article, leaving Ashton's gorgeous cock on full display.
Orym allows himself to admire it for a moment before licking a strip up it and sucking the head into his mouth. He feels more than hears Ashton's groan. Knowing Ashton's on edge, and wanting to please them, he sets up a steady rhythm. His plan was to suck them off quickly, giving them the release they desired. But then they felt themselves start to twitch again and a new plan formulated entirely. He waits until Ashton's shifting below him haltingly, orgasm surely just around the corner, before he pulls off with an obscene pop. Ashton moans loudly.
“I want you to cum inside me,” Orym tells them. Their eyes widen.
“So fucking green. You got oil?” Orym nods, jumping off the bed and heading to his pack to get the oil. He tosses it to Ashton, before jumping back up to straddle them. He leans down, kissing Ashton's jaw.
“Care to open me up?” Ashton captures his mouth and moans into. He hears the oil uncork, and soon feels a slick finger run along him.
“Tell me if I need to stop. Or slow down.”
“Green,” Orym whispers, biting their lip. Orym talks them through opening him up, having to encourage them to go faster on numerous occasions. They take their time, but finally he's ready. He still whimpers slightly when the fingers are withdrawn. He completely hard again.
Ashton lines up and enters him slowly. It's a stretch, but nothing Orym can't handle. When Orym's finally fully seated, he exhales a soft sigh of pleasure.
“Gods, Ash, you feel good.” Ashton slowly begins to move, thrusting up into him. They start slow, and really, they have good intentions. But Ashton's on edge, riding their orgasm for too long to take their time. And Orym is beyond being able to deny them anything. They soon increase their rhythm, pounding up into Orym over and over. Something about Ashton make's them hit his prostate perfectly over, and over. Every single thrust has him squealing. It doesn't take long for Ashton's movements to become irregular and jerky. They jerk haltingly, then empty inside Orym. The heat and fullness, the last stroke over his prostate, sends Orym over a second, more intense orgasm.
“Fuuuuck, did you cum twice?”
“Halfling luck,” he whispers, collapsing into a pile beside them. He'll clean them up in a minute. Once he catches his breath.