Archive of Our Own

"Well, I gotta piss."

Dorian tries not to watch Ashton stand and leave the sitting room. He grips his wine glass and fails to focus on his brother's question. He does not want to be in this chair right now. He does not want to be leaving for Tal'dorai before dawn. He wants to follow Ashton down the hallway towards the washroom, pin them to the wall, and kiss them until the other Genasi is clinging to his cloak and gasping for air.

~Well, go after them!~

Dorian groans, internally. Imogen can hear him. ~I really shouldn't.~

She catches his gaze across the small table. ~Fine. Give up your last chance to say goodbye.~

~It's not goodbye!~

Imogen visibly flinches at the harshness of his thought. But she just gives him a pointed look before turning to assure Laudna she's quite alright.

~Fine!~ Dorian thinks in the sorceress's direction. He pushes himself to standing and makes a hasty, and probably transparent as all hells excuse.

Ashton isn't in the washroom. They're leaning with their forehead to a doorframe, jaw clenched with fingers pressed into their eyes. They don't even look up. "Don't, Dorian."

Dorian steps closer anyway. "I'm not going to apologize." He leans against the other side of the doorframe, shoulder to wood, facing the barbarian's head injury.

"You've nothing to fucking apologize for."

"Feels like it."

Ashton shoves themself off the door frame and turns with a spark of rage in their eye. "Why the fuck are you here?"

"Doesn't feel right to leave like this." He doesn't say what he really means. That it doesn't feel right to leave Ashton like this.

"Well if your half wit brother weren't so unbelievably fucking stupid you wouldn't have to leave at all."

A small part of Dorian - the part of him that is Brontë - wants to stand up for his unbelievably stupid half wit of a brother. But Ashton is right. And it's not fair. It's not fair that he should have to give up the implicit trust and safe warmth he's built with Orym and Fearne, the gentle companionship with Imogen and Laudna, the sharp camaraderie with Chetney. He shouldn't have to give up the freshly blossoming possibilities with Ashton.

A larger part of Dorian - the part of him that left home so long ago - resents his brother for putting him in this situation. Resents him for being so foolhardy as to land himself a bounty in a day. Resents him for being so unbelievably stupid as to show his face at a ball hosted by the very same people who placed that bounty on his head in the first place. But Cyrus is his elder brother, and at the end of the day, it's Dorian's job to make sure his brother is safe.

Another much larger and more insistent part of Dorian - the part that insisted the other Genasi stay in his bed that first night they slept together - wants nothing more than to kiss Ashton breathless.

"You gonna tell me why you followed me out here or are you just gonna keep fucking staring at me?"

Dorian swallows. He wasn't aware he was staring. "Sorry."

"Sorry's not an answer."

Before Dorian can stop himself, the words tumble from his lips. "Will you kiss me?"

Not can I kiss you. Will you kiss me. The verbiage alone expresses a vulnerability, a want, that Dorian desperately needs to ignore.

Indecision flickers across the barbarian's face, and then they nod, hesitant.

It's still another long breath before the space between them closes, and it feels like an eternity. But then rough, spilt, bruise swollen lips make contact with Dorian's and he feel it all the way to his toes.

It's not like any other kiss they've shared. There's no desperation, no teeth catching on lips. Just the slow slide of lips and tongue. Exploratory. Dorian whines into it and wraps his arms around Ashton's thick, muscular neck, pulling them in closer. A rough hand slides against his cheek, cupping his jaw to subtly hold it in place, and Dorian can feel the cool gold in the seams of warm green flesh. The other hand falls heavy against his lower back and pulls him closer, pinning hips to hips before a slow roll of arousal.

Then the kiss breaks. Ashton rests his forehead against the other Genasi's, breathing soft but quickened. Dorian can feel the rough texture of the blistering burn and considers pulling back to check on the wound when Ashton speaks.

"I don't think my gate can take another round, but I'm willing to give you anything else."

Ashton is beside themself with the offer. It's something they know they shouldn't do. Shouldn't even voice. But they want this too much. They want Dorian too much. And they shouldn't. They can't. Because they don't get to have him, not really. Don't get too keep him. But they can have this. This one, stolen moment.

"Anything?"

Ashton nods.

A gentle hand raises to stroke a barely there brush of fingertips over Ashton's swollen and spit slick lips. "Make love to me, Ashton Greymoore."

And Ashton surges forward to close the space between their lips. They leverage their weight on the bad knee a moment, twisting to pin the other Genasi to the door in a mirror of the kiss that left them breathless earlier that evening. This time, Ashton is the one consumed, as Dorian licks into their mouth with the slow burn of longing. The barbarian finds themself helpless but to cling to Dorian's frame, mouth open and matching motions just enough to keep the kiss from ending. Fuck, they never want it to end.

But it does, Dorian tilting his head back and sweetly pushing their face away with a hand that's only briefly firm on Ashton's jaw before shifting to the gentle trail of fingertips around their ear. Ashton takes in a breath they didn't realize they were holding and shudders at the realization that they don't need air as much as they need those lips on theirs again.

Before Ashton can stop themself, they reach past Dorian's hip for the handle of the door they're leaning against and find it, mercifully, unlocked. They push it open, hand moving back to Dorian's waist to guide him backwards into one of the guest chambers Lord Eshteross had so kindly provided, already warmly lit in invitation. Then their lips collide with Dorian's again, moaning into the taste of wine and salty sweat and blood from the battle and not even caring as they pull Dorian in closer, tighter. They kick the door closed behind them and stumble in the vague direction of the bed, hands still tight at Dorian's waist and jaw, tongue still disappearing behind perfect white teeth. The carefully wrought boundary Dorian's been chipping away in every little moment between the white hot pleasure of orgasms finally gives out and Ashton takes. They swallow down the bard's desperate moans and dig scabbed and bruised hands into soft flesh and take and take and take every hint of pleasure Dorian displays as their own.

Dorian whimpers in protest as his legs hitting the edge of the bed cause him to fall, forcing him away from the kiss that seems to shock into his soul. There's only a brief moment of disconnect, though, as Ashton pushes him onto his back and climbs up to straddle his hips and then those lips are on him again. He sighs in relief and pleasure at the tongue dipping past his lips and tangling with his own. Then swollen lips catch his jaw and nip and worry at the skin there, pressing a mark into the skin that the high collar of his coat won't be able to hide, and Dorian craves it. He tilts his head back to give Ashton more room to work and a plea slips from his lips before he can stop it. Ashton's response is to suck another mark into the spot behind his ear, moan against the skin and rock their hips down against his in a quest for friction.

Ashton's fingers are clumsy with the buttons of Dorian's fine coat, desperately trying to shove the offending garment from around Dorian's neck, to make way for their mouth to leave more kisses and more marks on pale blue skin. The struggle does not go unnoticed, and Dorian's slender fingers are quick to push fine silver through heavy wool, but leave the fabric in place if for no other reason than to feel Ashton's battle worn hands shoving the coat aside as lips make contact with his pulse point and teeth drag across the skin. And Dorian shudders at the touch. His back arches and his hips buck up against Ashton's and-

"I need you."

And, finally, Ashton understands it. "I'm here." Their lips move back to Dorian's mouth, hand sliding into silky hair and cupping the base of his skull to draw him into an impossibly soft kiss. "I'm right here, Dorian."

Dorian is pleased. Deeply, intimately pleased in a way that sends sparks dancing across his skin. "Ashton."

It's barely a gasp, not quite a whisper, and if the barbarian's mouth hadn't been on his, they doubt they would have recognized their own name in the sound at all. But they do catch it, swallowing that down into a kiss as well. Then they feel cool fingers against their own neck, tracing gold lines with perfectly manicured nails. Ashton can't help but think about how it feels so right, that Dorian was meant to be theirs. And for right now they're not going to think about how this could be the last time they ever see the other Genasi. They're just going to take this moment for the gift from Sehanine that it must be, and spend every second of it memorizing the way Dorian feels against them.

Ashton's weight feels pleasant across Dorian's thighs, firm and sturdy, holding him in place. Not that he would rather be anywhere but right here. His fingers play over thin streams of gold, determined to map the echoes of damage into art. That's what Ashton is. Art. Their body is a sculpture, carefully carved jade and emerald highlighted with gold and crowned in amethyst and opal. Dorian's spent enough of his lifetime surrounded by the finer things in life to recognize something precious when it's laid at his feet.

Or in this case, pinned him to a bed. But the effect is the same because it's evident by the careful trail of lips and fingers that Ashton came to worship at the altar that is Dorian. They're a reverent acolyte, honeyed tongue pressed to flesh, as if each touch could impart devotion into Dorian's very bones. And Dorian swears he can feel it. Ashton is kneeling and bowing over him, eyes and mouth and hands a transcription of desire. And every kiss is a promise they both know could never be kept.

And Dorian indulges, anyway, because this is different. It has to be. Ashton has opened all of themself to him and all Dorian has to do is accept. No amount of courtly training in how to accept offerings could have ever prepared him for this. For the way Ashton's mouth lays him bare, drinking in every sound and reveling every touch. His mind can't fathom the treasure that is Ashton, all broad hands and strong shoulders and low rumbles of pleasure that beckon hopeful gasps from Dorian's lips.

Then Ashton pulls out of the kiss, rocking back to rest their weight across Dorian's hips. Their fingers continue light strokes over a half exposed chest, and they're just staring down at him, a lazy smile catching the corners of spit slick lips and an unabashed wonderment in their good eye.

"Hmm?" Dorian isn't sure if the sound is closer to piqued curiosity or protest at the loss of that mouth on his skin.

"Just admiring." It's not something Ashton has allowed themself to do. Not openly, like this. They may have imbibed a bit at the bath house, as Dorian soaked in steaming water and laid himself out for a massage. But they only got a brief look before snuffing the candles the first time they slept together. And the next morning, they'd done their best to conceal the want in their eyes, to avert their gaze from endless blue skin to focus on Dorian's lips in an attempt to remember every word he spoke. And when they fucked earlier, there simply wasn't much time. Though Ashton had allowed themself the luxury of watching Dorian's muscles twitch as he teased his own nipples with Ashton's mouth around his cock. But this is different.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a sunset?" A hand strokes up over sky blue skin flushed indigo.

It takes Dorian a long moment to draw his consciousness up out of the reverie of Ashton being a work of art to respond. "Not that, specifically."

"Not like an early, clear sunset with a million colors. More like a late summer storm sunset, when the grays of clouds tinge blue and purple until they fade into the night sky." Ashton works his thumbs into a deliberate massage against Dorian's shoulders, careful to avoid the rich purple marks they'd already left against the skin. "You don't look like that all the time. Usually you look like a crisp autumn sky. But like this? Laid before me, flushed, your skin just a bit damp from sweat and desperation? Yeah, you look like a sunset."

It almost doesn't sound like Ashton, with the lack of profanity and softer tone. But it's Ashton's voice, still the low grind of rocks in the back of their throat. But it's softer, somehow. It feels like a forbidden piece of the barbarian that no one has ever been allowed to see. But Dorian sees it. Dorian gets to have this piece of them. And he's never going to let it go.

Dorian lets the words sink in, fingers still playing over the gold filled cracks down Ashton's neck. "Are you gonna let me tell you how beautiful you are?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Right now? More than anything."

Ashton's eyes fall closed and they tilt their head back towards the ceiling. Their chest rises and falls, knob of their throat bobbing with a hard swallow. "I did say anything you wanted."

Dorian issues a hum of delight, and his smile is nearly blinding. If for no other reason than the way that smile makes their stomach do a flip, Ashton is glad they agreed to this. They swear they could suffer through anything for the way Dorian is looking at them right now.

"Then I need these off." Dorian pulls at the lapels of fine wool, pale blue a striking contrast against the deep black color of the coat as fingers slide to onyx buttons. Then, remembering Ashton's hesitancy several nights ago, Dorian pauses to make eye contact with the other Genasi. "May I?"

For a long moment, Ashton's hands just pause where they're splayed across Dorian's ribs, tucked under the bunched up linen of his undershirt. Their eye locks on Dorian's, carefully reading the open, relaxed expression on blue features.

"I don't have to. If you're more comfortable undressing yourself, that's okay. The result is the same."

But Ashton catches the barely there hint of disappointment in Dorian's voice. "No, it's okay. Go ahead." The nod is hesitant, but encouraging as Ashton's thumbs resume the slow sweep just under Dorian's pectoral muscles.

Dorian's eyes don't leave Ashton's as he slowly pushes the first button through its slot. His movements are slow and meticulous, thumbs curled under a delicate hem and cautiously separating the two halves of the coat. Once the fifth and final button is pushed free, Dorian pauses. "I'm going to push this off your shoulders, if that's alright?"

Ashton leans down and captures soft lips with their own. It's a single, slow, soft kiss; light, without further exploration. "Go on."

It's the whisper of the words against his lips that goes to Dorian's head. His hands move purposefully up Ashton's body, lute calluses catching on the weave of their dark purple linen undershirt. "You feel solid against me," Dorian muses as his hands slide up over broad shoulders to push wool down thick, muscular arms. "I like it. Feels safe."

And Ashton has to take a moment to ponder at what point the bard stopped feeling safe. Was it when he left his family home, or long before? If only Dorian didn't have to leave, Ashton could ask, could promise that they'd keep him safe. Instead, they just tilt their head the smallest bit to catch lips in another kiss. Just the one is all they allow themself to take, lest they lose themself in the slide of lips and tongue and waste the opportunity to hear what more Dorian may have to say.

It's Ashton who looks away, now, rocking back so Dorian can rake hungry eyes over their body. They feel almost entranced by this moment, by nimble fingers plucking the laces of their undershirt in a mirror of how Dorian plays his lute. The parallel is not lost on the barbarian, and he lets out a low hum as if to sing the way Dorian's instruments sing from his touch.

And Dorian giggles. It's low and warm and musical. Every sound he makes is musical. "Are you singing for me, beautiful?"

The blush that crawls up Ashton's neck is the most glorious thing Dorian has ever seen, like the sun glinting off raw emerald, staining green skin almost golden bronze. It's against their every instinct, but Ashton doesn't look away. They bite their lower lip and roll hips down against the other Genasi and allow a warm moan to rumble from their chest. Ashton's never made a performance of sex before, but for some reason it feels almost natural. And the way Dorian seems to light up at the effort makes their chest swell with the emotion they've been trying so hard to ignore.

Dorian's fingers curl around loose linen and pull the shirt from Ashton's waistband, but he doesn't push it up or off. Instead he drags fingers from Ashton's hips to their knees, then up along his own half exposed chest with an artful sigh. "Mine, first."

Ashton lurches forward, catching Dorian's hands before he can remove his own shirt and drawing them up over his head. That's when they realize Dorian's hair is still pinned up in a no longer tight bun, from which stray hairs have loosened in battle. Without thinking, Ashton grasps the sharp silver stick and with a flick if their wrist, Dorian's hair unfurls. The strange, nonexistent wind that seems to always ruffle the Air Genasi's hair drags the tumble out across the bed, black and white waves standing contrast against the dark green brocade bedcover.

"There you are," Ashton murmurs. Their fingers pan through the hair, drawing relaxed little sighs from the bard at having his hair released from the tight updo. Then Ashton's fingers drag to temples, play over sharp cheek bones, then trail from neck to shoulder to ribs. They fist in battle stained white linen and slowly drag the shirt up Dorian's chest. Thumbs catch over tight, almost purple nipples, earning the barbarian a sharp gasp, and then a low, pleased whine. Dorian's lower lip quivers, eyebrows tightening and eyes widening into an expression of want. Ashton leans down to trail kisses behind the path of their hands, soft and barely there in a way that makes Dorian's chest flutter. The swipe of their tongue over a hardened nipple earns a sharp, high note that fades into a low, rich moan.

"Ashton." This time it's slightly more than a gasp, drawn into the same octave as his moan. And he says it again and again as if he could sear the shape of the word into the back of his teeth, until, finally...

"Dorian."

Then silvery blue eyes flutter open to fix on green skin flushed bronze. Ashton's lips are slightly parted, eyebrows lifted. Their good eye is almost black from a blown out pupil as the barbarian's vision flickers over all of Dorian laid out before them. Their hands push an irreparably wrinkled linen shirt up over Dorian's head, off of long, lithe muscled arms, and cast it aside. Dorian lifts his hands to Ashton's shoulders and his fingers dance across the muscle. "Gorgeous." The word slips from his tongue before he can stop it, but then he remembers he doesn't have to. "Gods, Ashton, you're stunning."

The barbarian's face darkens that shimmering bronze color again. "I'm not even shirtless yet."

"Doesn't matter." Fingers trail down a vein of gold that runs from Ashton's collar bone down their half exposed chest. "You're still beautiful."

And before Ashton can respond to that Dorian's shoving the dyed linen up over their head to expose more skin to admire.

"Back home, I had this little jade dragon, maybe a foot long." As Dorian speaks, his fingers trail over the sensitive skin between cracks of gold. "Expertly carved, smooth, cool to the touch. But in the afternoons, between lessons and dinner, when I would find myself back in my own tent, I'd run my fingers down its back, and it would be warm from the sun." Dorian's hand purposely flattens against Ashton's chest, over their heart. "That's what you feel like. Expertly carved, sun warmed jade."

Ashton stays as quiet and still as they can manage. They want to retort, to bite back that no matter how fine the craftmanship, a broken thing is worthless. And then, as if plucking the thought from their mind, Dorian catches their chin and angles their face down for eye contact.

"Brokenness does not negate beauty, Ashton."

It's said firmly. Then Dorian's thumb strokes over their cheekbone. Still holding Ashton in place, silvery blue eyes boring into one green and one opalescent, he continues.

"My mother had this vase. Probably still has it, honestly. It was particularly special for some reason she never would tell me, but it was beautiful. Easily one of the most glorious pieces of art I'd ever seen. It was massive, to start, a solid two feet tall and one foot across. She never kept anything in it, said it would detract from its beauty."

This is when Dorian's hands start to wander again. Delicate fingers trace the seams of gold down Ashton's neck, across their shoulder, down their chest. It's an idle path, Dorian following the lines by touch, his eyes not leaving Ashton's.

"The vase had been shattered, and a craftsman sealed the pieces back together with gold, making it more valuable and more beautiful than the pale blue clay had been alone."

Ashton swallows hard. "How long you been thinking about that," they finally manage to ask. They can't seem to conceal the discomfort on their face, but they feel somehow safe despite it. If anyone had to see this vulnerability, Ashton's glad it's Dorian.

"Since the first time I saw you." A cocky smile lights the bard's features. "I told you, already, I've always liked what I see. You're gorgeous." His fingers trace the rest of the way down Ashton's chest into the divot of their hip. "I could write songs of your beauty, ballads echoing your strength."

Dorian can't seem to read the little twitch of Ashton's face. "Does that bother you?"

"I've just..." Ashton pauses to consider their words. "I've never considered myself much worth singing about."

Then Dorian lunges up, almost unseating the other Genasi as he wraps arms around broad shoulders and pulls Ashton's face down for a deep kiss. Ashton's mouth falls open in a surprised gasp, and Dorian takes the opportunity to tease his tongue inside. He groans in want, hands splayed over bruised cheeks and jaw as he holds the barbarian in place. "You are," Dorian breathes before recommencing the kiss. He kisses and kisses Ashton, all tongues and lips and teeth and want, his mind drifting away with breath he doesn't need. Then a hand fisting in his hair and pulling draws him back to reality.

Ashton's eyes are glassy, dazed as they gasp desperately for air. But they only take three heaving breaths before lunging back in, pressing Dorian down against the bed and feasting on soft lips and a talented tongue. They groan desperately into Dorian's mouth, savoring the responding whine as Ashton trails hands down lithe muscles again, reminded of what they're doing in this bed in the first place. A deliberate roll of hips prompts Dorian to tighten his hold on Ashton, thumb sinking into the already existing bruise in the hollow of the barbarian's hip. And Ashton whines at the dull throb of pain, hips rocking down harder, reveling in the press of a bulge in Dorian's pants against their ass.

They pull away again, for air, and just gaze down at Dorian's flushed body. "You asked me to fuck you and you're wasting time with pretty words."

"I asked you to make love to me," Dorian corrects, fingers trailing up a broad chest. "The pretty words are a part of that, and I can't think of a better use of our time." He leans up, hands catching Ashton's jaw to pull them down for a slow kiss. Then, breaking away, he adds, "but if you're ready to move this forward, I certainly won't object."

Ashton's fingers trail soothingly up and down Dorian's sides. "I promised you whatever you want, sweetheart. So what do you want?"

Their tongue flicks out over a split lip, and Dorian is reminded of those lips wrapped around his cock. His eyes scan from Ashton's face, down their muscled and bruised chest, to where their wool suit pants are tented from their own erection. He momentarily considers what Ashton might feel like in his mouth, heavy on his tongue and stretching his lips.

"And I can still ask for anything?" His eyes flick back up to Ashton's face.

"I mean, within reason." They shrug, head tilted to one side as they study the hunger in Dorian's eyes. "What are you thinking?"

Dorian's hands slide to the buttons of Ashton's pants. "May I?" And once the barbarian nods, he begins slowly working the buttons open. "I know this won't do much for you. Not physically. Maybe you'll enjoy the view. But it's something I enjoy. It's a sensation I enjoy."

Ashton is quiet for a long moment, watching long, nimble fingers work their pants open. They raise an eyebrow, still carefully watching the small shifts between arousal and hesitancy on the bard's pretty face. They lean forward a bit, a shaky exhale pulled from their chest as the motion drags the seam of the pants against their swollen opening. But they manage to draw Dorian's attention back up, look into pretty blue eyes. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart."

A purple tongue flicks out between kiss swollen lips. "I uh..." Dorian swallows, eyes glancing down to where he's finished unfastening Ashton's pants, freeing a long, hard, gold wrought cock. Then he glances back up. "I want to suck your cock."

There's a hesitancy to Ashton's next words. "You...you know it won't, uh. I can't produce pre or ejaculate. There won't be...taste." Their hands move to grip Dorian's wrists before he can reach for the appendage in question.

"It'll still taste like you - your skin and sweat. And it'll still stretch my lips and jaw. It can - you can still sink down the back of my throat."

Ashton's eyes glaze over as Dorian's words paint an image behind them. They lick their lips, breath short and shallow. "Yeah." It's somewhere between a gasp and a whine. "H-how-"

"C'mere." Dorian slides his hands between Ashton's pants and the warm, smooth skin of their hips. Ashton's hands are still gripped around his wrists, but they don't attempt to stop the motion.

"Yeah, okay." Thinking is suddenly very hard for the barbarian. They allow themself to be pulled forward, up Dorian's chest. Then the hands on their hips tighten, and Ashton groans, cock twitching. They can't tear their eyes away from Dorian's parted lips and darting tongue. They don't want to. Hands tighten on thin wrists, and Dorian looks up into their one good eye, questioning.

"Just...hold on. Wanna remember this." And Ashton's mind is already working double time to etch this image - Dorian with his hair splayed out across the bed, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with desire framed between their own muscular green thighs - deep enough into memory that it won't slip away into the haze of their injury. After another long moment, staring, breathing, Ashton releases their grip on the bard's wrists and nods.

Dorian can feel his heart thrum in anticipation. Ashton's cock is beautiful, green and gold and straining and right there. His jaw already aches with the thought of how the wide base will stretch it open. He swallows, then whines as his throat clenches around nothing.

And then Ashton grips the base of their cock, and the other hand sinks into his hair just behind his ear. Dorian's mouth drops open in invitation as a pointed tip teases across his plush lower lip. He teases the tip of his tongue over the slit for a taste. Ashton's right. There's no bead of slick awaiting his tastebuds, but the taste that does bloom across his tongue is uniquely Ashton. It's iron and salt and a dull earthy musk. It makes his mouth water and he tries to lift his head to take more of Ashton's cock into his mouth, but the motion is halted by the hand fisting in his hair.

"No. You do this on my terms." Ashton's voice is rough, like grinding rocks, and they drag their cock across Dorian's slick lips again. "I may not feel any of it," the barbarian starts, cock pulling a mere centimeter away. "But I'm gonna enjoy teasing you, wrecking you."

Dorian whimpers, and then gives a short, quick, enthusiastic nod. It's everything he wants. He wants to put on a show for the other Genasi. Wants to leave them with something they'll never forget. He lets out a shuddering breath, watching Ashton's eyes fall closed as it reverberates through their thighs. He swears he can feel a distinct dampness forming where Ashton's sitting against their chest. He pushes Ashton's well tailored pants down just a bit more, hands sliding back to grip a round, firm ass and squeeze. Then he flicks his tongue out, beckoning Ashton bring their cock closer.

And then one green eye fixes on Dorian's lips and Ashton pushes their hips in closer, teases their cock against spread lips again. Dorian looks up through thick, fluttering lashes as his tongue swirls around the pointed head, mouth still slightly open so Ashton can see the motion. He offers a breathy little moan, hands tightening on the other Genasi's ass. Then he feels Ashton's hand tighten in his hair, and the head of that beautiful cock pushes in just a bit.

The head is hot, blood filled flesh with just a bit of give as it presses to Dorian's palate, but the section of gold just under it is cool and hard in a different way. The slick of Dorian's spit slides against the metal and drips down onto his lower lip. He allows himself a moment to acclimate to the difference in textures, pressing his tongue against the spongy head and then swiping it down past his lower lip and across unforgiving metal. Then he swirls his tongue back to the head as Ashton rocks back the tiniest bit.

Dorian knows Ashton can't feel anything he does. That doesn't stop him from swirling his tongue around the tip, pressing it up against the underside of the shaft. This is for his enjoyment, too, and fuck, does Dorian love the shape of Genasi cock, the pointed tip and tapered shaft and slight arc when it's fully hard. He loves the way the arrowhead tip feels pressed to his palate, the way his tongue fits just under the seam of the head. He loves the blunt rounded point of the tip, and the way the tip of his tongue can sink into the dimple of the slit and draw up the taste of his partner's essence. He does this to Ashton, curling his tongue against hot flesh and then letting the tip sink into the slit, just barely.

Ashton yelps and jerks back, releasing Dorian's head to catch themself from tumbling off the edge of the bed.

"Fuck, Ashton, are you okay?" Dorian sits up in alarm, one hand tightening on Ashton's ass as the other grips a gold cracked forearm, steadying the barbarian. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm, I just..." Ashton pants. They pull themself back up, hand moving to Dorian's chest and pressing him back down against the bed. "I'm okay. I'm not hurt, just... surprised."

"Surprised? By what?" Dorian is beyond confused. Then he remembers the conversation with Ashton several mornings ago. He'd asked what they could feel, and gotten the answer of nothing, except...

"I felt that. Whatever you did with your tongue. I felt it." There's a shocked grin on Ashton's face. "Guess you got just far enough in to touch the nerve endings that run through the inside."

Dorian smiles, conspiratorially. "Yeah? Have you never felt that before?"

"Well, no. Why would I?" Ashton settles back against Dorian's chest. "No nerves on the outside, can't ejaculate. Honestly this is the first time I've had a mouth on my cock since..."

"Oh." The bard's mind is flitting away from him. He releases Ashton's forearm in favor of rubbing soothing circles against Ashton's hip. "Well, did it feel good or bad?"

Ashton's head tilts to the side as they think. "You know, I'm not sure."

The corners of Dorian's mouth perk up a bit more. "Wanna find out?" He sticks his tongue out between pursed lips in a presentary fashion.

A split lip curls into Ashton's mouth, reopening the scab and sending a small bead of purple black dripping just off the cleft before it's caught by their tongue. They nod, hesitant, and scoot forward a bit more. "But I wanna be in your mouth."

Dorian immediately opens up, tongue relaxed against his lower lip in invitation. Then the head of Ashton's cock rolls against his tongue, and Dorian closes his lips around the seam. He repeats the full motion, tongue swirling against the underneath of the head, up, over, across, then in.

Ashton let's out a whine, then gasps for air. "Fuck!" They fall forward, hands hitting the mattress above Dorian's head as they whimper and draw in another sharp breath. "Fuck yes, do it again."

Dorian gives a groaning laugh. He was not prepared for how hot Ashton sounds right now, all desperate whines and gasps for air. He tightens his hands on Ashton's hips, holding them in place as he presses the tip of his tongue against the divot and wiggles it ever so slightly. Ashton tastes more like musk and less like iron here. Salty and heady and just a little bit tart. Dorian moans, savoring the taste.

And the vibration of that moan travels through Ashton's cock. The barbarian arches, cock sinking deeper past Dorian's lips and they lose the sensation of a tongue prodding against the tip and whine. Then they draw back just enough, and gasp somewhere between bliss and relief as Dorian continues the onslaught of his tongue against the tip of their cock. 

Another low moan escapes Dorian as he takes in the sight of Ashton half collapsed, half perched over his head. Each deliberate prod of his tongue against the slit of Ashton's cock causes beautifully defined abdominal muscles to twitch inches from his face. Their thighs are trembling, and Dorian gets the sense if he wasn't holding Ashton up by the hips, they would have fallen against him entirely, cock shoving down his throat. And oh fuck does he want that.

But then Dorian's mind is carried away like a bird on wind by another long, low moan from the barbarian. He wonders if he could transpose that sound to music, find the key and octave so that, even if he never hears it again he can at least look at the notes on a staff and form the sound in his mind. He finds himself echoing the sound in the back of his throat, searching for the melody even as his tongue continues working against the head of a hard cock.

Ashton is overwhelmed by sensation. It has been so long since they last felt anything like this, pleasure in this part of them. The feeling of Dorian's tongue takes over their mind, vibrations from each sound the bard makes traveling down their shaft and straight to their swollen testes. It's so good, Ashton doesn't know how much longer they're gonna last. They want to say something, tell Dorian, but the only sound they manage is a strangled moan of the other Genasi's name.

Then another low moan from Dorian pulses down their length and straight to Ashton's core. All of Ashton's muscles seize up, channel clenching around nothing, testes tight and swollen. The sound that pours from their chest is almost deafening, if not for the way they've fully collapsed, arms giving out and face buried in satin. All they feel is heat pooling between their legs and Dorian's nose pressed against their stomach.

Then thumbs press into Ashton's hips, hard, grounding. A strangled moan echoes through the haze of orgasm and they realize their cock is still lodged in Dorian's mouth. They take a few centering breaths, then push back up to sit against Dorian's chest, cock pulling from Dorian's lips. A lazy grin settles across Ashton's face as they grab one of Dorian's hands and guide it inside the curve of their hip and down.

Dorian whimpers in protest at the feeling of Ashton's cock sliding from his throat. His eyes are blown wide from the taste and smell and sight of Ashton over him. He allows his hand to be moved, as if in a daze. Then his eyes widen just a bit more in realization as dainty fingers glide through a pool of slick. "You came?" His voice is a bit hoarse, Ashton notices.

Ashton nods, hazily. "Fuck, that felt...wow." They take in a sharp breath and then moan at the feeling of talented fingers stroking their slick entrance the way Dorian strokes lute strings, one two three, one two three. Rhythmic.

"Is this okay?" He asks, finger dipping slightly into a slick cavern, pausing at swollen testes.

"Y-yeah," Ashton manages. "Just don't go too deep. Hurts there, still."

Dorian nods in understanding, fingers sliding teasingly into a swollen slit. "Come on. I'm not done with your cock."

Ashton's head tilts to the side, trying to parse out thoughts between lancing pleasure. "You, uh - fuck! - don't have to breathe."

Indigo lips curl into a grin. "I do not."

"Good."

Ashton moves fast before Dorian can think. His face is held steady by large, strong hands and then Ashton's cock pushes past his lips. And keeps pushing, a single slow movement that the barbarian watches with hunger in the one good eye. Dorian's throat relaxes first, as the tip pushes back against it. Then he allows his jaw to fall slack, lips stretching delightfully around the widening girth. The corners of his mouth sting and his jaw aches and his throat feels pleasantly tight and full. Then all he can smell is Ashton, nose pressed to the scar between soft flesh and gold. They smell like a crystal cavern, damp and musky and earthy. But they also smell like cold iron, and Dorian realizes that must be the scabbed over blood-like substance left behind by two fights.

"Gods, that's a fucking sight. Look at you."

And Dorian wishes he could. Wishes there were a mirror over this bed where he could see what Ashton sees. See his mouth and throat stretched around Ashton's hard cock. See Ashton's hands holding his face, so gently, thumb swiping over his cheek to feel their own cock in his mouth. But he settles for swallowing hard around Ashton, watching the way Ashton's good eye fixes on the knob of his throat as it bobs up and back down. He wants to moan but he isn't ready to waste his breath. Not yet. Instead, he squeezes Ashton's hip with one hand, teases the other through slick, and tries to communicate with his eyes what he wants.

One of Ashton's hands leaves Dorian's face and locks on the hand pressing a thumb into the hollow of their hip. "Here." They tangle their fingers with his, lift the hand to bruised lips and drop a kiss to the back of it. "Hold on to my wrist, baby."

Dorian somehow manages to follow the instruction, letting his hand slide down around Ashton's wrist. It's wide with muscle, just like the rest of them, and Dorian's hand can't wrap all the way around.

"Good." Ashton's hand moves back to caressing Dorian's cheek. "Now if you need me to stop, you let go, yeah? Squeeze once so I know you understand."

Dorian squeezes, relaxes.

"Good. I'm gonna fuck your face, now. Is that okay?" Ashton waits.

Dorian stares up with his best begging eyes, wondering why Ashton isn't moving, yet. Then he realizes they're waiting for confirmation. He squeezes his hand on Ashton's wrist, again.

He doesn't know what to focus on. When Ashton draws back, cock slipping from his throat and resting against his tongue, Dorian loses his breath in a desperate whine. Then Ashton's abdominal muscles ripple in a gorgeous display of green and gold, like sunset reflected off the sea, and Dorian's lips stretch around the widening girth at the base. Another sound is punched from the bard's throat in the form of a moan at the sensation of his throat being invaded once again. Then his brain circles around to the words that tumble from Ashton's mouth as they draw back again.

"Fuck, you were just made to take it, weren't you?"

Dorian gasps in air as Ashton's cock rolls against the flat of his tongue, preparing for whatever sound the barbarian's next thrust forces out around the hard cock. He squeezes Ashton's arm as if to say yes yes yes!

Then Ashton snaps their hips back in, whimpers as the motion drags Dorian's fingers across their slit, and continues the stream of consciousness that babbles up from bitten lips. Dorian almost doesn't catch it through the sound of his own muffled moan.

"Yeah, you really fucking were." Another drag out, slow, green eye fixed on Dorian's lips as they tighten around the head.

Dorian feels fresh slick gathering between the fingertips trapped between Ashton's pants and entrance. He tries to straighten them, to push them in deeper, but the angle is hard to sustain.

"You look so fucking pretty-" and Ashton's cock shoves back in, "with your mouth wrapped around my cock like this." Out.

A desperate whine escapes the bard as he tries to leverage his wrist around to push Ashton's pants down a bit more. The motion sends his fingers sliding through slick with no target as they fold against stiff wool.

"You love sucking cock, don't you?"

Dorian swallows hard around the head of Ashton's cock.

"Love feeling me use your throat?"

Another wine chases Ashton's cock out of Dorian's throat. He can't get good leverage here.

"Gods, you're perfect." In.

"So fucking perfect and all mine."

Dorian releases Ashton's wrist and grabs the back of wool pants with an irritated groan.

"Dorian?"

That perfect cock falls from the bard's lips and he whines for it. "No, give it back!"

Ashton's voice loses it's low, seductive purr. "Baby, you let go. Are you alright?"

"Oh." Dorian swallows as his mind tracks around to what's happened. The back of his throat is sore and his voice crackles from it.  "Oh, yeah. I'm good. Your pants are in the way."

And Ashton laughs. "My pants...." They wheeze a bit. Then sober. "You want me to take them off?"

"Can I keep, you know..."

Arousal shoots straight down Ashton's spine. His voice drops back into that low purr. "Want me to keep fucking that pretty mouth of yours while you finger me to orgasm?" They're already shifting to remove the offending garment.

"Yes!" It's somewhere between an exhale and a whine, and Dorian follows it with a low moan as Ashton's weight settles back against his chest, thighs spread. He slides his hands up muscular thighs, taking in the sight of them painted glossy with the obscene amount of slick Ashton has produced. He lets his eyes roam lower, taking in the sight of Ashton's entrance for the first time. The skin is a bit swollen and flushed that same bronze color as their cheeks, and parted at the slit. Just inside, Dorian can see a deeper emerald shade of green that matches Ashton's lips. The plate of gold over the pubic bone splits into two seams, one thicker that arcs along the tendon at the inside of Ashton's thigh, the other thinner that disappears inside.

"You're fucking pretty here too, fuck." Dorian raises a hand to stroke over the slick, swollen mounds of flesh on either side of a parted slit. "Dark and wet and ready for me. I'm gonna make you cum, beautiful. I want you to feel at least half as good as it feels to have you in my throat. And I fucking love the way you feel in my throat."

"I'm curious." Ashton's voice has no business being that hot. "What's that tongue of yours doing to me?" Then two fingers press to Dorian's lips, bidding they open.

Dorian's breath hitches and he lowers his jaw, opening up for Ashton's fingers. They taste like salt and iron, and while they don't stretch Dorian's lips, they still press against his tongue and palate and towards the back of his throat. It takes him a minute to focus. There was a request in there somewhere. Right. His tongue. Dorian swallows, Ashton's fingertips catching in this throat, then rolls his tongue along the callused pads. At Ashton's low moan, he rests his head back so he can swirl his tongue over fingertips, sucking as the tip of his tongue teases in flickering motions under the first knuckle like he would under the head. Then Ashton's fingers push in as deep as they can go, and Dorian swallows greedily around them, tongue lashing back and forth against Ashton's palm. And then the fingers recede with a wet sound.

"Fuck." Ashton's eyes are wide and their tongue flicks out over their lips. Then they lean down over Dorian, hands tangling into hair to draw him up into a wet, messy kiss. "Fuck, I wish I could feel that."

A smile lifts Dorian's lips. "Yeah? Me too." He swipes his fingers through slick. "I have an idea."

"Oh?" Ashton gets the sense the other Genasi has a lot of ideas, and they wish they could cater to every single one of them.

"Yeah," Dorian answers, pressing a kiss to Ashton's knee just beside his face. "You fuck my throat, I finger you, and then when you're almost there, you pull out and sit on my face so I can taste your finish."

Ashton's mouth drops open at the thought. "Fuck. Yes. Yes, let's do that." Their hand moves back to Dorian's face, the other resting on his throat. "I won't choke. Just wanna feel my cock in you."

The words go straight to Dorian's core, and he wonders if he could cum from this, from watching Ashton use his mouth, from the filthy words the barbarian spills with each thrust. "Yeah, okay." It's barely spoken, Dorian's throat already too used to work right.

"Hand on my wrist, baby. Let go if you need me to stop."

"Yeah." Then Dorian's mouth drops open in invitation, squeezing Ashton's arm.

Ashton groans. They press forward, cock slipping over Dorian's swollen lower lip. "That's right, baby. Take my cock."

Dorian whines as his mouth and throat stretch around the length, again. The pull at his lips stings a little more this time. His throat is already sore, the gold of Ashton's cock unforgiving as he swallows around it. It all hurts so good, all he can do is moan, mind empty of every thought except more.

"You take my cock so fucking good, Dorian." Ashton's thumb strokes over Dorian's cheek and to the corner of his mouth, feeling the way the soft skin stretches around their cock, the give in tension as they slowly slide out. They focus intently on Dorian's lips as they tighten around the head, feel the tensing of his jaw as he swirls his tongue. "So fucking hot like this."

Every little moan Dorian makes as Ashton uses his mouth goes straight to the barbarian's core. Ashton's sure they're producing an embarrassing amount of slick. They want to stay like this, cock stretching open Dorian's mouth, hands carefully monitoring their own movement through indigo flushed skin, one hand tight around their wrist, squeezing encouragement, a strong arm curled over their thigh as the other hand...

"Fuck, Dorian!" Ashton had been so caught up in Dorian's face as he took their cock, they'd forgotten this part of the deal. Talented fingers press in and curl against their testes and Ashton moans, rocking hips down into the sensation.

Then Dorian moans at the change of pace. Ashton rocking down onto his fingers has that perfect cock thrusting deep in his throat, barely pulling back enough for the bard to fill his lungs to moan again.

Ashton feels the movement of Dorian's throat as he swallows around their cock. They just moan and rock harder against tantalizing fingers. The act of fucking themself on Dorian's fingers results in their cock fucking Dorian's throat, and the imagery is perfect. Dorian's mouth is dripping, and Ashton catches it with their thumb and slicks it across a stretched lower lip.

Then they press their thumb against the corner of Dorian's mouth with a slightly more deliberate drag out, and hook the digit into the tight heat of that mouth, stretching Dorian's lips even more on the next push in. Dorian makes the most delightful, choked whine and squeezes Ashton's wrist, looking up at them with wide, pleading eyes. It makes Ashton weak. Makes their internal muscles tremble and their breath come in desperate gasps as they move. The pleasure on Dorian's face is plainly evident, and Ashton is hungry for it. They grind their hips down a little harder, moaning as Dorian's fingers curl against swollen testes. Dorian let's out another whine at Ashton's cock pushing deeper.

Then Ashton pulls away. Dorian doesn't even get his protest out before strong hands sink into his hair, cupping his skull and tilting his head back as Ashton presses against his mouth. The heady, earthy smell of Ashton fills his senses, and then Dorian's open mouth sinks against soft, wet skin. His response is instinctive, tongue plunging into Ashton's heat to flicker across swollen testes as the barbarian rolls their hips against his mouth. Dorian relishes the desperate whimpers and moans Ashton offers, drinking in the salty taste of them as nails dig into his scalp and push his head in closer.

Then strong thighs clench around Dorian's head, a sharp cry tearing from Ashton's chest as slick pours from their depths to coat Dorian's cheeks and chin. Dorian keeps licking into them, tongue soothing against pulsing inner walls and gently dragging the other Genasi back down to earth.

"Fuck." It's a sharp exhale, Ashton's hands slowly uncurling from Dorian's hair. They take a few more deep breaths, willing their muscles to release, riding out the aftershocks as Dorian's tongue keeps working into them. They whine at the overstimulation and jerk the bard's head back, pushing themself back onto a muscled chest.

Dorian gazes up at them with a satisfied, perhaps even smug little smirk. His tongue curls out around abused lips, lapping up Ashton's release as far as his tongue can reach. "You're absolutely stunning when you cum."

"Yeah?" Ashton doesn't bother to move, just rests a hand back against Dorian's hip, squeezes. Their chest rises and falls in steady breaths, light from the chandelier flickering off the lines of gold through their chest. They're a fucking vision, muscles rippling with each breath, skin glistening with sweat and thighs glossy with slick. Their cock strains against the hard plane of their abdominal muscles.

"Yeah, gods, the things I wish I could do to you..." Dorian shakes his head, hands sliding down slick thighs, thumbs brushing hard muscle.

Ashton leans down to capture Dorian's lips, moaning at the taste of themself on his tongue. "Pick one."

"Huh?"

Ashton kisses him again. "One of those many things you wanna do to me? Pick one, and do it."

And once again, Dorian's body is moving faster than his mind, hand gripping behind Ashton's knee and the other at their hip and turning to pin them to the bed. And Ashton laughs. It's surprised and excited at the same time, rumbling from the depths of their chest and vibrating against Dorian's. The bard chases the sound with his lips, up a muscled chest, into the valley and over the knob of their throat, up a bruised chin and then against rough lips. He loses himself in the kiss for a moment, savoring the way Ashton licks hungrily into his mouth, chasing their own taste on his tongue.

When Dorian finally breaks away, Ashton is breathless, good eye glazed over, chest heaving. "Hey beautiful? I'm gonna take my pants off now. You wanna get me ready for you or do you wanna watch me do it myself?"

Ashton swallows hard, gazing over Dorian's hicky-marked skin. "L-let me. Wanna touch you." They push up onto their elbows, watching as Dorian stands, unbuttons his pants with a playful flick of a wrist, then pushes the stiffly tailored wool down to reveal sharp hips still marked with bruises mirroring Ashton's mouth and hands. Then Dorian climbs back up onto Ashton, straddling their chest and pressing a hand down against the uninjured shoulder to push them back against the bed.

"Come on, beautiful. How about an encore of that thing you did against the door earlier?" Dorian's mouth is curled into a smirk, head turned to one side in a come on.

The barbarian responds by jutting their chin out. "Which thing, sweetheart. You'll have to be more specific." Their hands move forward, gripping the lithe muscle of hickey marked thighs. "As I recall, I did a fucking number on you."

Dorian whines. His hands tease down his own bare chest, one sliding over Ashton's against his thigh and the other gripping the base of his achingly hard cock. "That thing you did with your tongue with your mouth on my cock." Dorian pulls Ashton's hand closer to his entrance. "Want your fingers in me. Fuck, I need it."

The pads of Ashton's fingers brush through a light trickle of slick between long legs. "Right, then. Come here. Shove that pretty cock of yours down my throat, hm?" Ashton knows their voice is rough and crackled, just on the right side of too far gone. "You want me to make you cum or just get you ready?"

The moan Dorian answers with is accompanied by thighs clenching against Ashton's ribcage. "I need it so bad my gate could probably open if you looked at me right. Fuck. Quit wasting time!"

Ashton offers a dark chuckle. Then they push back up onto their elbows, free hand moving to the round swell of Dorian's ass and pulling him closer. Their mouth opens wide, pushing Dorian in and leaning up to take that perfect cock down their throat. It's a single, deliberate motion, quick and dirty the way Dorian groans from it, grinds down into their throat. Ashton relishes the stretch, the weight on their tongue as they roll it against the smooth shaft. They relax their jaw and press their tongue out further, teasing the tip down to catch a drip of slick from Dorian's heat. Then they draw their head back and push a finger in.

Dorian feels his hips stutter, a broken moan shattered by a desperate gasp for air somewhere between the heat of Ashton's mouth drawing back, and pressure of their finger pressing in. It's torture. He needs more, now. Right now, "Fuck!"

His hand moves to the back of Ashton's skull and holds them firm as he shoves back into that heat. Ashton's finger slides out, teasing at the slit. Dorian starts to whine at the loss, then the searing flick of that long tongue shoots past the base of his cock and in. Then out, mouth away, hot suction, finger in and curling against testes. "Yes. There. Please, more."

Ashton laps precum from the tip, tongue prodding at the source, sending electricity straight through to Dorian's testes that clench against a curling finger. Then the finger drags away and heat envelops Dorian's cock again. Ashton's hand moves from ass to the opposite hip, arm tightening in the soft curve of Dorian's waist. Closer. Tighter. A second finger pushes in. Lips part. Tongue swirls.

"Fuck!" Ashton's mouth is hot around Dorian. Hot and wet and so good. He wants to cum. He's not ready to cum, yet. But he wants it. Ashton's stringing him along on a tightrope, precariously balanced between mouth and fingers, two different orgasms vying for his attention as they hurtle towards finish.

And Ashton doesn't stop. Their fingers spread Dorian open so sweetly. Their mouth teases just enough to keep him from cumming. Then a third finger stretches his entrance. His walls pulse, but accommodate the spread. Then Ashton's tongue curls against the head just right, and Dorian's vision goes white.

The barbarian feels it coming. They feel the twitch in Dorian's cock in their mouth, the drawing up of testes against their fingers. They don't need the bard's broken cry of warning, but they soak in it for just a moment, push fingers against testes to draw out the heartbeats between almost and there. And then they're swallowing down a mouthful of salty-bitter-hot as Dorian levitates off their chest.

Dorian comes crashing down. Literally. His muscles all unclench and the euphoria crashing through his body cuts the momentary concentration on the spell he didn't mean to cast and he drops the six or so inches off of Ashton's chest from which he'd lifted. His cock pulls from the barbarian's mouth and the fingers that were stretching him have found new purchase against his thigh, desperately gripping to steer his descent back down against them.

The air is punched from Ashton's lungs at the impact, and the sudden loss of breath makes their cock twitch. Their hands tighten on Dorian's thigh and hip, steadying the other Genasi as the world comes rushing back to him. They gasp in air and just hold on for a few long moments, until Dorian finally makes an intelligible noise.

"Fuck, Ashton."

"Yeah."

They both sound wrecked.

"Want your cock."

Ashton's response is a breathy moan that they hope harbors a note of ascent as they push Dorian down their chest and curl up with an impressive show of abdominal muscles. Their arms wrap tight around Dorian's upper body, pulling him in close and capturing lips in an all too soft kiss. They moan into it, tongue working gently against Dorian's, lips pressed to lips. Slow. Gentle.

Then Dorian pulls away. "Come on, fuck me."

The barbarian tilts their head to one side. "If I recall," they begin, trailing fingers over Dorian's collarbone, "you asked me to make love to you."

And Dorian whines. He wants and needs and if Ashton could just hurry up and- oh! "Oh."

Eyebrows shoot up Ashton's face. "Oh?" They repeat, still trailing fingers over the artwork of hickies on Dorian's chest. Then they lean in to follow the path of their fingers with gentle kisses.

Dorian catches Ashton's jaw and drags them back up into a kiss. "I forgot about that," he murmurs against a split lip. Then he kisses Ashton again, savoring the taste of iron on their lips. He groans into the kiss, tongue pressing to Ashton's palate, to the corners of their mouth. He can feel the side of their cheek where Ashton had bit it during the fight with Ratanish. He can feel how swollen Ashton's lips are from stretching around his cock. He can feel every little sound Ashton makes, rumbling against his chest, and he swallows them down before mirroring the sound himself. All at once, the urgency is gone and Dorian just wants this. He wants Ashton's arms around him, one hand stroking his back while the other tangles in his hair. He wants Ashton's mouth on his, slow and steady. He wants enough low desperate groans and higher whines he can transcribe it into sheet music. And then he remembers that he wants to feel full.

Ashton startles a bit as Dorian pulls out of the kiss. They'd gotten a bit lost in it, in the sounds Dorian made, the hand pressing into their lower back and the other gently scratching at the back of their neck, in the slow roll of Dorian's hips that Ashton's pretty sure the bard was entirely unaware of. They blink, leaning back just enough to look into those impossibly blue eyes as they're unveiled from behind thick, dark lashes. "Tell me what you want."

Those lashes flutter alluringly. Dorian pulls at his lower lip, teeth perfect and white against the dark indigo of bruising and flush. "Take me like this," he says, fingers brushing down from the back of Ashton's neck to their shoulder. "I want you like this."

"Fuck, this is the perfect position," Ashton responds. They trail their gaze over Dorian. His legs are wrapped around Ashton's waist, thighs spread open and entrance glistening with slick. Ashton feels their cock pulse in need, bumping against their abdominal muscles with how hard it is. "You want me inside you?"

"Please." It's a quiet, breathy moan. As if Dorian's trying not to disturb the reverence of the moment. His head tilts back, offering his neck to Ashton, for kissing or biting or marking. Whatever Ashton wants. A shiver runs down his spine as the other Genasi trails the tip of their nose along the vein in his neck. Then lips work back down the vein in light, soft kisses, and then back up with the nipping of teeth.

Dorian no longer smells like the heavy cologne. Sex, battle, wine, and more sex has worn it all away. Now, the skin against his pulse smells like the air before a thunderstorm. It's a smell Ashton is uniquely familiar with. Usually, it means a day or two of ache in their injured joints from the shift in air pressure that a storm brings. They can't help but laugh a bit at the irony, that Dorian is the Storm that will leave their joints aching. They want it so bad it almost hurts already. So Ashton presses their face against the soft spot behind Dorian's ear and works a mark into it, drinking in deep breaths of that scent and every moan Dorian offers for it. Then Ashton's hands slide down to grip sharp angled hips, lifting Dorian up and pulling him in against their chest.

"Ready?"

Dorian responds with a rapid nod, arms moving over Ashton's shoulders to keep him up while the barbarian situates their cock. He feels the head slide across his slit and shudders. "Ashton, please!"

Ashton teases their cock across that opening a few times, letting Dorian's slick drip down to aid in the coming push in. They press a line of kisses down Dorian's throat and then suck another dark mark against the point where throat and collar meet. The whine Dorian returns perks a smile on Ashton's lips. They kiss back up to a pointed ear, tighten their hands on Dorian's hips, and breathe a single word. "Down."

Dorian swears his legs just give out. The slow press of Ashton's hands on his hips guide him slowly down onto a hard cock. His head falls forward against Ashton's shoulder as he moans at the slow stretch. His testes tremble as the widest part of the shaft presses against them. His gate pulses in need. "Ashton!"

"I'm here." One hand leaves Dorian's hip to trail up his spine and then tangle into his hair. Ashton tips his head back and then their mouth is back on his, tongue working slowly, leisurely against his. Then they pull away. "Good?"

"So good. Move. Please, Ashton."

The hand on Dorian's hip tightens and Ashton uses it to guide him up and back down. "You're in control, here, sweetheart. Take your pleasure. I wanna see it." The words are all but whispered against the soft skin of Dorian's throat.

Dorian whimpers, back arching as the slow movement drags Ashton's cock across his testes. "So good," he repeats, legs trembling with each slow rock against the other Genasi. His hands tighten against firm muscles, gripping desperately to Ashton for support. "So full."

Ashton continues to trail kisses across any part of Dorian they can reach. Neck, throat, shoulders, collar, chest, all already sprinkled with lurid navy and plum colored marks that mirror their lips and teeth. They tighten their hand in silky soft hair, pulling just a bit for no other reason than to hear the low whimpers it draws from Dorian's perfect lips. Then they draw back, propping themself up on an elbow, and just watch. Their fingers trace rippling abdominal muscles, measure the rise and fall of Dorian's chest, the vibration of each different sound.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" It sounds sappier than Ashton intends. "You drive me absolutely fuckin wild." Their fingers press into pale blue skin as if to impart the words into flesh. "If I had it my way, I'd keep you right here, forever."

"Please!" It's a broken wail, Dorian losing the rhythm of his movements and falling hard on Ashton's cock. He wishes he could. If Ashton only asked, Dorian would stay. He would be here, be theirs.

But Ashton isn't going to ask. You don't take a man away from his family. Ashton knows this. They suspect so do Orym and Fearne. That's why they're all playing like it's okay. That, and because Dorian wouldn't be able to do this if he saw even one of them break. That's why Ashton is determined not to break. They have plenty experience hiding pain, physical or otherwise. They know how to put on a brave face. It's practically a mask so permanent it couldn't be removed.

Except that Dorian has managed to tear it right off, as easily as Ratanish had snapped the nightmare king mask just hours ago. And Ashton suddenly finds themself raw and vulnerable beneath a blue eyed gaze. It's unexpected, and a little terrifying. It's been so long since someone looked at them and actually saw them. Saw Ashton. Not the persona. Not the leather and the hammer. Not the damage. Not the gold and slag glass and half-exposed brain. Just Ashton. An imperfect person. 

Ashton doesn't think anyone has ever looked at them the way Dorian does. Like artwork. Like something to be treasured and adored. Dorian has never once underestimated them. Never questioned their strength or abilities in battle. Never seemed shocked when they said something intelligent. It was unusual, and perhaps a bit uncomfortable for the barbarian, who was so used to conforming to stereotypes and expectations.

Perhaps it was because Dorian didn't ascribe to stereotypes, himself. As much as the Air Genasi certainly looks like a pretty boy bard, he's far stronger. It's almost as if Dorian depended on the stereotype to protect him. If opponents only saw the air headed bard, they wouldn't anticipate his strength. Ashton can relate. They can't count the number of rivals who underestimated their strength, skill, and speed. Who failed to see past the busted shoulder and slight limp, and got their asses kicked as a result.

"Ashton!"

Dorian's faint cry draws them up from the rapid spiral of thoughts. "Yeah, baby?"

"You got quiet." Dorian had stopped moving, and is now seated on Ashton's cock with hands tightly gripping their shoulders. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah, sorry." Ashton shakes their head, trying to clear it. "Sometimes my head gets away from me." They raise a hand to point to the exposed bit of opalescent brain behind slag glass.

Dorian offers a gentle smile. "We don't have to do this, Ashton. If you're not into it? I won't mind."

Ashton takes a slow deep breath. "No, it's not that. I'm enjoying this. Um..." They trail off, hands sliding over smooth skin. "Could we um...a different position? Something more involved, maybe?"

The bard sighs in contentment at the touch, rolls his hips down a bit. His hands trail from shoulders to cup Ashton's jaw. "I wanna see your face." He leans in, steals a fleeting kiss. "Need to see that it's you."

Lips collide in another kiss, this one deeper, more enthusiastic. Ashton tightens their arms around Dorian's waist, pulling him in closer as they lean to pull their leg up under them and use the leverage to lift Dorian's weight. Dorian whines as the motion drives Ashton's cock deeper into him. Then he feels velvet against his back, breaking the kiss to reorient himself to the new position. Ashton has him pinned to the head board, weight supported by the spread of his legs over the firm muscle of their thighs. He draws his legs up tight around Ashton's waist, bucking into them and relishing in the way brute strength holds him aloft.

"This alright?" Ashton keeps their face tucked into Dorian's neck. They pull a bit of skin between teeth, hands moving to grip hips and align their forearms under Dorian's thighs.

"Oh, yeah," Dorian gasps. "So fucking alright." He reaches for Ashton's chin, pulling the other Genasi up into a kiss. Then he moans, mouth dropping open for Ashton to devour as the barbarian begins moving. Even the way Ashton thrusts into him, up and in and hard, is a display of strength. Like they're showing off what they can do. Like they want him to feel every movement, every heartbeat. And he does. Then he breaks the kiss, hand at the back of Ashton's neck tightening to get their attention. "Talk to me."

Ashton groans, the request making their testes twitch. "Fuck, Dorian, you're so fucking perfect like this." They push a twisting thrust up into Dorian's tight passage. "Like you were made to take cock. You like that, baby?"

"Yes, yes!" Nails rake across Ashton's back.

"Yeah, you take my cock so well. But I wanna be deeper in you, sweetheart. Can you open up for me? Let me in past your gate?"

All Ashton had to do was ask. Dorian shakes in their arms and lets out a loud moan, body tensing as the boundary deep within gives way. They can feel his slick gush out against their hips and thighs.

"Don't stop, Ashton, please!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ashton insists, thrusting up into Dorian with sharp, deliberate movements. "Fuck, I wish I  could cum in you."

Dorian whines, heels digging into Ashton's lower back with bruising strength. Ashton arches from it, groaning in pleasure and pushing deeper in past Dorian's gate, sending shocks of pleasure through his body. Then Ashton's mouth closes over his in another hot, messy kiss, tongue dipping into his mouth to draw out more desperate moans of pleasure. They don't stop the careful rhythm of thrusts into Dorian's gate, and it sends more shocks through his system, pleasure coiling in his core, again.

"Ash!" Dorian only breaks the kiss enough for one syllable, pulling the barbarian back into it before they can respond.

It takes Ashton a moment to draw out of the kiss. "Hmm? Yeah?"

Dorian gasps in a breath of air. "Need your hand on my cock."

Ashton groans at the words, thighs trembling a bit as their core teases at orgasm. "Fuck, yeah." They reach a hand down past where Dorian is joined to them, and drags through the font of slick that's accumulated from multiple orgasms from both of them. Then they wrap a now slick hand around Dorian's straining cock.

A desperate moan escapes Dorian's lips as he arches into the touch, pushing himself further onto Ashton's cock. A ridge of gold catches on his testes, and a heavy drip of precum spurts from the tip of his cock. Ashton catches it with a thumb, adding it to the slick that glides their hand along the sensitive shaft.

"I bet I could make you cum both ways," Ashton husks into Dorian's ear. "Bet if I keep fucking into you while your gate's open, and keep working your cock, you'll cum inside and out for me. What do you think, sweetheart?"

Dorian gasps but can't find the means to make a sound as just the thought of it causes his internal muscles to pulse around the cock deep in his core. His cock twitches, and he somehow finds the wherewithal to nod.

Ashton's movements pause. "I need to hear you say it, Dorian. Tell me what you want."

A ragged moan tears from Dorian's chest. "Fuck, please!" He digs nails into Ashton's shoulders, rocking desperately against the hard cock inside him. "Make me cum, beautiful. I want it, please!"

All at once, Ashton starts moving again. They thrust, hard and deep into Dorian's tight depths and drag their hand up his cock. The absolutely wrecked moan the other Genasi returns for the motion sets Ashton into their own desperate chase of release. The thought they could get off just taking Dorian apart is overwhelming and enticing.

Dorian shakes. His muscles clench and unclench of their own accord as Ashton thrusts in and out in haphazard motions. His gate aches in such a pleasant way, unable to close as it's breached over and over with earth shattering pleasure. The hand working his cock is more deliberate, thumb teasing across the head with each pass. Dorian just lets go, head falling against Ashton's shoulder as he grinds back into each movement.

"No no no," Ashton teases. Their free hand catches Dorian's hair just behind his ear and pulls his head back. "No, you said you wanted to see me. I wanna see those pretty eyes on me." They lean in just to nip at a pouting lower lip, then lean back again to watch each flicker of pleasure across Dorian's face.

"Ashton!" It's all Dorian can think. Each moan comes as a broken plea of that name. Over and over. "Ashton, Ashton, Ashton."

"That's right, sweetheart," the barbarian growls. Their hand tightens in Dorian's hair. They speed up their hand on Dorian's cock. "You're mine, Dorian. All mine."

"Ashton!"

"I'm here." Another stroke. Another hard thrust. Another bruising kiss. "I'm yours."

Dorian feels his mind slip. White hot pleasure takes over every inch of him, his body quaking with the orgasm that starts deep in his belly and shoots out through the tip of his cock, splattering across chests and thighs. Then Ashton's cock spears in deeper, and pleasure explodes from there, too. Slick pours out around the slick gold at the base of Ashton's cock. But all Dorian can feel is heavy static across his skin. All he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears. He doesn't know where he is, just floating through a sea of sensation as he comes back to his body one piece at a time.

Ashton marvels at the sight of Dorian's orgasm as it splatters between them. Orgasms, they correct themself, when they feel slick gushing out of Dorian's slit and down over theirs. But it's the long, loud moan of absolute bliss that pushes the barbarian over the edge. Watching Dorian take his pleasure and ascend into euphoria causes Ashton's testes to draw up, channel tightening and thighs shaking as their own orgasm takes them. Then they lean in, letting their body collapse against Dorian, holding him down on their cock and pinned to the headboard as both Genasi gasp for air.

"Fuck." Dorian squirms against Ashton's chest, legs still shaking through aftershocks. "Ashton?"

The barbarian responds by catching Dorian's mouth in a kiss. It starts heavy, deep with tongues tangling and low groans pulled from them both. Then it shifts into something softer, sweeter, until Dorian pulls back with a light nip at Ashton's lip.

"Wow."

"Yeah," Ashton agrees. They move their arms to wrap around Dorian. "Gonna pull you down on me."

"Yeah, okay." Dorian tightens his arms around Ashton in turn, leaning into firm muscles and preparing for the movement. Then Ashton falls backwards against the soft bedding, Dorian coming down on top of them. He untangles his legs from around Ashton's waist and then just relaxes against the barbarian's muscles. "Wow," he repeats.

"I know," Ashton echoes.

Then Dorian remembers that Ashton didn't get to feel most of that. "Do you need anything? My fingers? My mouth?"

"I finished right after you." Ashton takes one of Dorian's hands and moves it to their slit. "See? Well, some of that's you, but still."

"Fuck." Dorian just drags his fingers through the mess between their legs and then pushes those fingers to Ashton's lips. "How? You came untouched?"

Ashton laps up the mess of fluids on Dorian's fingers, then grabs his face and kisses the taste into Dorian's mouth. It's quick and hot and dirty, and they both moan into it. Then Ashton draws back to respond. "You had two orgasms at once. I think just the image of you cumming for me so beautifully was enough."

Dorian's channel clenches at Ashton's words, and then he winces at the dull soreness of Ashton's hard cock still inside.

"Shit, sorry. Forgot." Ashton immediately reaches for the other Genasi's hips, lifting him slowly up off their cock. "Better?"

The bard whines, but nods. Then he falls back against Ashton's chest. "Glad I put on a good show for you."

"You were fucking perfect for me, sweetheart." Ashton wraps their arms back around Dorian's body, hands easing up and down the smooth plane of his back. They press a light kiss to Dorian's temple.

Dorian offers a content sigh, arching up just enough to capture Ashton's lips in a slow, soft kiss that mirrors the warm glow the two are floating in. "How long, d'you think, before the others come looking for us?"

Ashton's arms tighten around Dorian, as if they could just hold on tight enough, the other Genasi would never have to leave. "Excluding your brother, they all know about us. So unless it's urgent..."

"Fuck. My brother. Right." Dorian drops his head against Ashton's shoulder. "I don't wanna go," he whines, burying his face against Ashton's throat and tightening his arms around broad shoulders.

"I don't want you to go, either, sweetheart." Ashton presses another gentle kiss to Dorian's head. "But your family needs Cyrus, and Cyrus needs you."

"Fearne and Orym are my family. The Squall is my birthright, and I want nothing to do with it."

Ashton pauses the gentle strokes up and down Dorian's back to give his waist an encouraging squeeze. "So, get your brother back to safety, back to the Squall if you have to, and come back to us." Ashton doesn't say what they really mean, come back to me. They don't want to put that out in the world. Don't want to give the universe any ammunition to use against them.

"I'll try." Dorian knows it's a weak response, but it's all he can muster, short of lying. What he doesn't say is that he knows if he returns to the Squall, his parents will see to it he never leaves again. He doesn't say that as many times as he's almost died with this group, there's another waiting for him in Tal'Dorai with a similar history. He doesn't tell Ashton he might not survive. He doesn't have to. They know.

"We should get cleaned up before the cum dries," Ashton murmurs, squeezing at Dorian's shoulder.

With a reluctant sigh, Dorian nods and pushes himself up, out of the barbarian's warm embrace. Relief bleeds through him when Ashton pushes themself up as well. He winces as Ashton moves through the handful of maneuvers to settle their injured joints back into place. Then he crosses to the wash basin by the door.

The water is warm, probably charmed to remain as such. The cloths Lord Eshteross provided are a deep burgundy that's likely to hide the blood and ooze caked on all of the party after that last battle. Dorian shakes that thought from his mind, dipping the cloth into water and then wringing it out.

"C'mere. Let me." Ashton's words are soft as they cross most of the way to Dorian. They hold their hand out for the cloth, but leave enough gap to allow Dorian to deny them.

A soft, if sad, smile lights Dorian's face. He hands the cloth over and turns his back to Ashton, reaching to wet another. A content sigh escapes him as Ashton begins washing him, cloth staring at the nape of his neck and working down. Soft lips follow, leaving barely there kisses against cool skin. Dorian's never thought of washing as a ritual before, but the way Ashton moves feels like worship. He closes his eyes and allows himself to be repositioned at will, content to follow the slow strokes of the cloth Ashton drags over his body, the light fluttering kisses that follow. Ashton is gentle, but deliberate. They clean every part of him, wiping away ooze and sweat and the accumulation of fluids. Their other hand holds him firmly in place as they clear the slick from between his thighs and cum splatter off his chest. Then the cloth hits the bottom of an empty metal basin Dorian assumes is for laundering, and Ashton's gentle hands trace the curve of his hips.

"Can I tuck you in?" Ashton's hands hesitate.

Then Dorian nods and they carefully take his soft member in hand, other hand spreading him open. It feels almost practiced, the way Ashton's hands curls down and in, pressing soft skin back into the safety of his channel. Dorian has the fleeting thought of how difficult it is to tuck another Genasi's cock away. He's tried it before, to varying success. But the way Ashton does it is so gentle, no pinching or folding it backwards that usually occurs from this angle. Just a single smooth motion, like they've done this before. Maybe they have. It feels intimate in a way different from the sex they just had.  He doesn't want to think about what that means.

Instead, Dorian starts working his cloth over Ashton's body. The barbarian hisses at the sting of water over their split skin. Even though Ashton already managed to wash up at the ball, there's still a surprising amount of the thick black iron substance seeping from the cracks in their skin. Dorian is gentle with the cloth over the minefield of injuries Ashton accumulated tonight. They still look fucking gorgeous, bruised and scratched up. Even more so, now, with the addition of Dorian's hickies and hand prints and claw marks. He tells them as such, and can't hold back a gleeful laugh at the raised eyebrow Ashton returns.

Dorian kneels at Ashton's feet, dragging the cloth up the inside of a defined calf. He's not surprised when Ashton's hands slide into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He moans a little at the touch, but doesn't allow himself to be distracted from the task at hand. Where he comes from, washing another is a priviledge. It's an immense show of trust and vulnerability. His heart does a startling little flip as Ashton widens their stance, opening space between thick thighs for Dorian's ministrations. He leans in to taste, first, tongue lapping leisurely over the slit just to savor the taste of his and Ashton's slick together. Then he draws the cloth up the inside of one thigh, diligently cleaning away the mess. Ashton's still half hard, and Dorian gets the sense that they likely require a bit of time without stimulation to go completely soft. They wipe it down and press a kiss to the shaft. Then to Ashton's hip, then between abdominal muscles, and up and up, standing so he can capture Ashton's lips with his own.

Ashton takes the cloth from Dorian's hand and tosses it with another metallic thunk into the laundry basin. Then both of their strong hands are on Dorian's waist, turning him around as they kiss. One hand presses firmly into the small of Dorian's back as the other gathers his hair up in a fist. Ashton leans in, tilting Dorian back like the end of a dance sequence, and keeps kissing him, slow, methodical, as the hand against his back holds him firm to Ashton's body. The other hand works through his hair, and the faint sound of trickling water reveals that Ashton is washing his hair out in the water basin.

Normally, Dorian would protest. His hair is a point of pride and he's cautious to let others touch it, wash it, braid it. Dorian lets Ashton do all of these things. The water is warm and Ashton's hand is gentle against his scalp, massaging the skin before running fingers through the length of his hair. They're even careful not to twist or wring it as a fist wraps around the length and squeezes excess water off into the basin. Dorian is lifted back up, then directed to his knees. A dry towel wraps around his hair next, Ashton gently squeezing to allow the towel to soak up more of the water collected between the strands. Then they kneel and comb their fingers through the length, untangling the strands. Then they separate it into three separate sections and press it into a deliberate plait down Dorian's spine.

"That's about the only thing I know how to do with hair. But it's better than tangled up with cum caught in the ends." Ashton presses a kiss to Dorian's cheek, then leans back on their feet as hands trail down broad shoulders.

Dorian reaches a hand up to run down the length of the braid. His fingers catch on a section of hair at the nape of his neck that must have dropped from the barbarian's fingers. "You missed a bit."

"Oh. Sorry. I can...I can redo it."

"Don't." Dorian shakes his head and stills Ashton's hand. "Do you have something sharp?"

Ashton narrows their eyebrows but glances around for their coat where they know a dagger is tucked into the lining. "Yeah, hold on." A few long moments of rustling, and then Ashton passes the short blade to the bard. "Why?"

Dorian smiles, mischief in his eyes, as he unsheaths the dagger and lays it bare on his thigh for easy reach. Then he carefully gathers up the dropped section of hair into one hand and uses the dagger to cut it off with the other. "Hand me my pants."

Ashton does, watching as Dorian pulls at the scabbard of his sword until a blue silk ribbon dislodges from the decorative medal pinned to the strap that holds the sword to his belt. He shoves the pants back out of the way and lays the ribbon across his palm with the section of hair.

"Give me your hand."

The barbarian is far beyond confused. "What are you doing?" they ask as Dorian loops the hair and ribbon over their smallest finger and begins an intricate four strand braid.

"There's a tradition, where I'm from. One I've never seen the purpose for until now. Honestly, I've always thought it was kinda stupid."

The tiny braid is beautiful. Dorian had folded the lock of hair over just where black faded to white, creating an effect of alternating black and white diamonds outlined in pale sky blue.

"Why are you bothering if you think it's stupid?"

"I thought it was stupid," Dorian corrects as he ties the ribbon into a tight knot at the end of the braid. "An empty sentiment. But it's not. I get it now." He pulls the braid off Ashton's finger, pressing the knot at one end into the loop at the other, testing the security of it.

"You still haven't told me what you're doing."

Dorian turns blue eyes back on Ashton. "Back home, when a warrior would leave, for battle or missionary work or whatever, they would be gifted a lock of hair from their beloved, braided and tied around their wrist as a reminder of what they're fighting for, and what's waiting for them back home." He reaches for his jacket, pulling a small moon charm from the chain of his pocket watch.

"But I'm not leaving. You are." Ashton allows the other Genasi to take their hand in both of his.

"True, but the sentiment still stands." Dorian wraps the braid around Ashton's wrist and pushes the knot through the loop, then he fastens the moon charm to the knot to hold the fastening closed. "Now, you never take it off."

"Never?" All Ashton can think about is how many shade creepers they've come into combat with as of late, and how difficult it is to clean slime out of their leather, much less silk. "What if it gets gross?"

Dorian taps the moon charm. "It won't. That's what this is for. Anything that gets on it should wash right out." He presses a kiss to Ashton's wrist, just under the braid. "Promise me you won't take it off until you see me again."

Words die in Ashton's throat. They nod, swallow. "Yeah. I'll keep it on. Keep you with me." There's a long moment of silence, Ashton blinking back tears they swore they wouldn't shed. "I promise." Their voice breaks on the word.

Dorian lunges in and captures Ashton's lips in a slow, passionate kiss. "Good."

Ashton indulges in the kiss for a long moment, then an idea flickers through their mind. "Wait," they gasp, drawing back.

"Hmm?" Dorian leans back as well, watching as Ashton lunges for his coat and starts rifling through the pockets.

"I know I don't exactly have hair," they start, drawing several things out of pockets and fumbling with them. "But this came loose in that fist fight earlier. I think..." Then they hold up a length of leather that's been carefully tied like a basket around the chunk of amethyst that had broken off from their hair. "Not sure if this is a two way thing, but will you wear this?"

Dorian exhales, a tear slipping from the corner of one eye as he nods. He tilts his head forward, and Ashton loops the strand of leather around Dorian's head, pulling the braid from it. "I'll never take it off," he swears. The deep purple crystal falls against Dorian's chest, resting in the divot of his sternum just below his pectoral muscles.

"Gorgeous." Ashton runs their fingers over the crystal, then pulls Dorian in for another kiss, holding his naked body close to their own and savoring the moment as long as they can possibly make it last.