[Farewell, Buckley. Despite the bear being the reason they’re here in the first place, he has all but forgotten it by now. Dorian rests his free hand at Prior’s waist, then leans forward to replace his fingertips with his lips.]
Anything, my dear. Though I do hope it involves asking you to spend the evening.
[There's a snap of memory, a single bed on the ship and Dorian looking six kinds of shellshocked after the briefest of kisses. And there's here, and now, and Prior silently deciding not to give him the chance to look so surprised again. Let it be a tedious inevitability, wanting this. Him.
Even if he is an ass who asks questions while barely allowing the breath to answer them. Prior's hands find themselves folded into fabric at Dorian's neck, using the grip to hold him the barest second.]
Hm, no. Nothing so polite.
[And the last space between them's lost to the tug of his hands, making a demand out of the kiss as much as Dorian's making it an offer.]
[It's fine that he doesn't spare him the chance - Dorian spent all his shock on the fact Prior took it upon himself to arrive at his doorstep at all. That Prior would want him beyond humoring him at all. As much as Prior had reassured him — quite pleasantly at that — on the station, he hadn't lost the feeling of just trapping him in a misunderstanding.
Dorian reaches around Prior to grasp the door, shutting it behind him whilst remaining firmly attached to Prior. Both hands come to rest at his waist again, escorting him as he moves backwards down the hall, towards the living room. To the left, furniture to make themselves more comfortable. To the right, stairs leading up to a more comfortable but more private room. He stops at the divide, seeming to not want to make up their destination for them.]
[More concerned with kissing him again, even if moving constrains it to brief contact, to the far reaches of his mouth, Prior doesn't worry about anything so practical as looking where they're going until they stop. Still in the hallway which - he can work with, given a solid wall and a little creativity - but which isn't much further than they were.
Clasping his arms loosely around Dorian's neck, he leans back to see where the two roads diverge. To the left, the living room. Prior looks back again with eyebrows raised.]
Oh, I see you want to have me murdered by your housemate. Why not the kitchen table, since we're here?
Am I allowed to take that as a serious suggestion? There's nothing I'd rather eat on it.
[He laughs, but apparently the thought of his housemate inflicting any sort of wrath is enough to strike the fear of God into him. He glances over his shoulder towards the right, then lowers his arms from Prior's sides. He's not going to make him suffer walking up them.]
Making my life difficult, I see. Alright, let's... [He doesn't really complete his warning. He stoops to quite literally sweep Prior off his feet, mindful to not put excessive pressure on his bad leg. Once upright and secure, he moves to ascend the staircase.]
I make your life difficult? Try moving in with someone who might not be moved to use the kitchen counter as a vivisection bench and - oh -
[An oh that comes out with the same rush as being lifted against Dorian's chest. Prior's helpful, arranging himself to be an easy carry, leaning in to settle an arm over Dorian's shoulder, pressing in close to pool their combined centre of gravity somewhere stable.
And for a few other reasons. He smiles something wicked from his new vantage point.]
Well, I always saw you as more show pony than carthorse. A shame you're not wearing anything workable as reins. [ For a change. He plucks at Dorian's clothes disparagingly, half an excuse to let his hand slip under, against skin.] Do you actually put on more clothes for sleep? What kind of backward logic is this?
I didn't take you for a rider, if we're being quite honest. And I... [Dorian hums with a self satisfied smirk, but it slips once he feels fingers snaking under his shirt. He isn't particularly shocked, but he does give him something of an exasperated look — he nearly missed a step from being distracted.] I am a gift to be unwrapped.
[He clears his throat and looks ahead, ascending the last step to the threshold of his bedroom. Old habits seem to die hard &dmash; rather than a lamp, he's lit a candle on the bedside table, a book and half-full glass of wine lying in wait for his return. Silk sheets and a heavy comforter, because of course he has the best.
As much as he wants to unceremoniously dump him there, he's gentle in the way he lowers him.] It's also hard not to chill without someone in your bed.
I see. Easy to chill in bed under down and silk, but toasty in the middle of the street. [Prior doesn't let himself be set down too carefully, he refuses to be fragile, here. So there's every effort to unbalance Dorian and bring him down into a tangle on the bed - hands fast in his shirt, a leg bent up against his hip. Reckless, maybe, but he couldn't do this if he didn't have that quality about him. It's taken long enough to even begin to let go of some of his insecurities, his shame or - not let go of them, just pin them down and ignore the fuckers. Still, it took some degree of incautious impulse for him to have come over here tonight, and the beat of it's still quick in his veins.
There are things they could fuck up, with this. Too many things. Between them, between others. But there are always things that could be fucked up. Side effects to every remedy. The only way to avoid it would be to stop moving at all.
So Prior doesn't stop and he doesn't plan to let go until Dorian's brought down with him, laughing as he tries to complicate the procedure with the additional business of getting some of the mage's clothes off.] Come here. Get warm with me.
[Reckless abandon isn't usually Dorian's style — but then, laughing isn't really his style either. Having a man in his bed was always a serious affair, overthought until it was only half as enjoyable as it could have been. If it were long ago, he'd protest, make a show of himself. Be terribly insincere.
He finds that falling into bed, as abrupt as it is, is ten times more preferable. He laughs before he can think not to, fighting through the difficulty of shedding a robe from his shoulders while lying atop of Prior. The shirt is harder, the process thoroughly unsexy as he has to pull an arm out one at a time, but somehow he's still grinning by the time it's cast aside.]
It seems I'm not the one overdressed for the occasion, for once.
[No, no, there's nothing in the least unsexy about watching Dorian trying to keep a balance with one arm and drag the other out of a clingy sleeve. Amusing, yes, but lets not pretend Prior, busy with pushing the offending item upward over a stomach you could strain laundry on, can't appreciate the extensive flexing involved.]
Well would you look at that? A gift unwrapping itself. This is going to make birthdays so much more fun. As for riding-
[It's not a showy flip, but he pushes his hands slow up Dorian's chest, enough pressure to nudge him back and allow Prior to reverse their positions, settling over him.]
If you ever watched a race you'd know the jockey's usually the slighter one. [And just let him stay where he is a moment, eyes drifting half closed and smile just as far-away.] You liar, you feel like a furnace to me.
[Not that Prior could complain he's feeling a chill, either. Still. When nudged about his state of dress he sits back, skimming over his shirt altogether and reaching for his belt, holding up pants slung low over narrow hips.]
Or perhaps my looks alone gets one unbearably hot and bothered.
[Dorian says, probably the more bothered of the two with Prior in his lap. He can't complain, though — he looks rather captivated by the view, chest rising and falling in quicker intervals than moments before.]
Allow me, actually— [Sounding perhaps a touch more eager than he intends, he leans forward enough to take it upon himself to undo the buckle. Partly so he doesn't just lie there with his hands unbusy, and partly because there's a certain embarrassment in looking vulnerable.]
I had fantasies too, you know... significantly less hair plucking. Definitely more pulling.
Hm, no. [Prior cants his head, considering Dorian's first statement before simply rejecting it, with a smile sweet as can be. He leans down to dot a kiss to Dorian's lips and doesn't straighten back up, the sharp curl of his mouth shameless.] Not your looks alone.
[His own hands robbed of their occupation, his fingers run over Dorian's wrists as they work his belt loose, circling tighter when the work's done and pushing one of his hands lower.]
Oh, it was always you. I had assumed you were unattainable by that point, and the mind ran away with such things...
[He cuts himself off with a kiss of his own, much greedier by it being longer and deeper than the last. With or without Prior's help, he would have ventured further, fingers dipping under his waistband to wrap around his cock. The stroke his hand afterward, however, is abysmally slow. It was his turn to smile something wicked.]
[Then they're a match for wickedess, though Prior's comes with some foreknowledge that it's going to take Dorian a little longer than he expects to catch up on.]
You may want to brace that wrist.
[And jaw, if it comes to that. When it comes to that. Prior's good in bed but not especially generous in it, though Dorian's fantasies aren't far off the mark - there's a hand wrapped tight in his hair through most of Prior's breathy don't stops. All Dorian's eagerness to please is a fine complement for Prior's knowledge of what pleases him, though there's turnabout too: a slow learning of what makes Dorian give in to his own pleasures and a merciless abuse of them to watch him come undone.
Afterwards, Prior's in no rush to peel his body away. He's been pressed close since Dorian cajoled him into stripping off his shirt (it's my lucky shirt - it's a shirt I'm getting lucky in, same thing) but he's not just hiding now. He's exhausted, don't make him move.
his voice is a lazy drawl, warm and sticky as the rest of him, interrupted by kisses along Dorian's shoulder.]
I have to admit, you're quite the judge of character. You certainly had me down. Unattainable...
Unattainable... [For all that Dorian has an extensive vocabulary, all he can do in the moment is repeat it with a breathy laugh. If Prior is exhausted, Dorian doesn't know what he is. Judge of character, yes. Judge of stamina, no.
He's also rather blissed out, give him a moment. He traces his fingers in no particular pattern along Prior's back, smile ever present on his face.] I'd say you surpassed expectations, but I must admit I never thought we'd end up here.
No, you thought we'd end up on the kitchen table. [Prior ends his exploratory trail with a catch of teeth against Dorian's skin, a sweet sting, then tips his head back just enough to look up at him - a view marked out by the terrain of his jawline.] I still don't know what made you think I was in some kind of ivory tower. Granted, I'm not picking strangers up in the park anymore, I can't quite do casual anymore, but I hadn't put myself out of commission yet.
You are beautiful enough to be locked away in a tower. [Dorian says, though he shoots him a sardonic look for what surely will leave a mark. He rolls the shoulder, then rests his hand at the small of his back.] With the twist of being a terribly wicked thing when anyone comes to save you. No, it was simply... the casual part, I suppose.
[A beat. His smile falters.] Not that this... is, or isn't, it's whatever you'd like to call it. I just—no one that I've bedded... wants anything but a small affair.
[It had better leave a mark, or Prior's going to be left with no choice but to try again, somewhere more visible.
He arches against the supporting strut of Dorian's palm at his back, pulling the sheets up between them only half consciously, a little too aware of himself even now. But that's not his focus, which can't even be waylaid by the prospect of telling Dorian he's hardly a small affair. A tragedy, since he left it so open.]
[The combination of the the three - the slightest withdrawal, the damper of the mood by his own blunder, the question - is enough for his falter to twist into a full blown frown. He swallows, his fingers curling in to his palm.]
I'd rather not make any assumptions of what you want.
[And that's not acceptable, that frown. Prior scowls at it, walking a step-kick line with his fingertips that begins at Dorian's closed fist and - taking in the sights of elbow and bicep, with a significant detour up the pulse point at his throat - presses a thumbprint to the corner of his lips. No, it won't do.]
You don't have to assume anything I want to tell me what you do. It's a risk, I suppose, but you've walked into battles with your hands on fire, you can't be averse to those.
That comes more naturally than this, you know. One of them makes you look like a dashing hero, the other makes you look like a bumbling fool. Of course, you could look it anyway, if you set the wrong thing ablaze, but...
[He trails off before he can prattle on, mustering up a smile in some attempt to lighten the mood.]
I know that any time we've spent together wasn't just to get you into bed. Not that it isn't a wonderful side benefit that you are, and I wouldn't have you again if you ever called, but... I like you, Prior. I understand if you're sated, and things will go back to have they've been, but I'd prefer if they didn't.
[For tonight. He couldn't go again after a night like that if he was fifteen and still capable of olympic grade masturbation, good grief. It's not what Dorian means, of course, and of course Prior knows that - it just makes him a little crazy how easily Dorian thinks he could be dismissed. Understandable, given the history they briefly toured through, but absurd all the same, to anyone that can have known him half a minute. All that showy armor, all that showy bravado, all to hide the vulnerable parts underneath.
Prior sighs, and affects a tone both grave and final.] But things can't go back to how they were.
[A beat, before the stone cracks, his mouth twitching.]
It would take steel I don't have to walk behind you in future and act like I'm not thinking I could knock myself out bouncing a quarter off your ass. I mean, my god.
[And the veneer's shattered now, Prior clutching both hands to his chest, playacting some kind of mix of awe and horror. And then Dorian's getting both arms full of him, if he's amenable. Finally willing to answer with something honest.]
It's certainly more than a casual interest, for me. More than sex. Though that's a sideline I'd be sad to have to give up.
[Dorian can appreciate a variety of different tones - it makes the matter less serious, puts him less on the spot, softens what might be an inevitable blow. But that blow, that disappointment, as familiar as it is painful, doesn't come.
He manages more of a grin than a grim smile, the tension threatening to build in his shoulders leaves him. Enough to comfortable taking Prior into his arms.]
That isn't how you walk behind me already? I don't know if my pride can recover. Perhaps this was all a mistake.
[He might have reacted badly, if some part of him weren't already waiting to hear it. Thank the Maker he's not an idiot. Instead, he occupies himself with running his fingers through Prior's hair.]
This is the part where you tell me you've been having a roommate romance, and I scold you for not telling me.
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Anything, my dear. Though I do hope it involves asking you to spend the evening.
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Even if he is an ass who asks questions while barely allowing the breath to answer them. Prior's hands find themselves folded into fabric at Dorian's neck, using the grip to hold him the barest second.]
Hm, no. Nothing so polite.
[And the last space between them's lost to the tug of his hands, making a demand out of the kiss as much as Dorian's making it an offer.]
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Dorian reaches around Prior to grasp the door, shutting it behind him whilst remaining firmly attached to Prior. Both hands come to rest at his waist again, escorting him as he moves backwards down the hall, towards the living room. To the left, furniture to make themselves more comfortable. To the right, stairs leading up to a more comfortable but more private room. He stops at the divide, seeming to not want to make up their destination for them.]
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Clasping his arms loosely around Dorian's neck, he leans back to see where the two roads diverge. To the left, the living room. Prior looks back again with eyebrows raised.]
Oh, I see you want to have me murdered by your housemate. Why not the kitchen table, since we're here?
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[He laughs, but apparently the thought of his housemate inflicting any sort of wrath is enough to strike the fear of God into him. He glances over his shoulder towards the right, then lowers his arms from Prior's sides. He's not going to make him suffer walking up them.]
Making my life difficult, I see. Alright, let's... [He doesn't really complete his warning. He stoops to quite literally sweep Prior off his feet, mindful to not put excessive pressure on his bad leg. Once upright and secure, he moves to ascend the staircase.]
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[An oh that comes out with the same rush as being lifted against Dorian's chest. Prior's helpful, arranging himself to be an easy carry, leaning in to settle an arm over Dorian's shoulder, pressing in close to pool their combined centre of gravity somewhere stable.
And for a few other reasons. He smiles something wicked from his new vantage point.]
Well, I always saw you as more show pony than carthorse. A shame you're not wearing anything workable as reins. [ For a change. He plucks at Dorian's clothes disparagingly, half an excuse to let his hand slip under, against skin.] Do you actually put on more clothes for sleep? What kind of backward logic is this?
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[He clears his throat and looks ahead, ascending the last step to the threshold of his bedroom. Old habits seem to die hard &dmash; rather than a lamp, he's lit a candle on the bedside table, a book and half-full glass of wine lying in wait for his return. Silk sheets and a heavy comforter, because of course he has the best.
As much as he wants to unceremoniously dump him there, he's gentle in the way he lowers him.] It's also hard not to chill without someone in your bed.
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There are things they could fuck up, with this. Too many things. Between them, between others. But there are always things that could be fucked up. Side effects to every remedy. The only way to avoid it would be to stop moving at all.
So Prior doesn't stop and he doesn't plan to let go until Dorian's brought down with him, laughing as he tries to complicate the procedure with the additional business of getting some of the mage's clothes off.] Come here. Get warm with me.
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He finds that falling into bed, as abrupt as it is, is ten times more preferable. He laughs before he can think not to, fighting through the difficulty of shedding a robe from his shoulders while lying atop of Prior. The shirt is harder, the process thoroughly unsexy as he has to pull an arm out one at a time, but somehow he's still grinning by the time it's cast aside.]
It seems I'm not the one overdressed for the occasion, for once.
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Well would you look at that? A gift unwrapping itself. This is going to make birthdays so much more fun. As for riding-
[It's not a showy flip, but he pushes his hands slow up Dorian's chest, enough pressure to nudge him back and allow Prior to reverse their positions, settling over him.]
If you ever watched a race you'd know the jockey's usually the slighter one. [And just let him stay where he is a moment, eyes drifting half closed and smile just as far-away.] You liar, you feel like a furnace to me.
[Not that Prior could complain he's feeling a chill, either. Still. When nudged about his state of dress he sits back, skimming over his shirt altogether and reaching for his belt, holding up pants slung low over narrow hips.]
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[Dorian says, probably the more bothered of the two with Prior in his lap. He can't complain, though — he looks rather captivated by the view, chest rising and falling in quicker intervals than moments before.]
Allow me, actually— [Sounding perhaps a touch more eager than he intends, he leans forward enough to take it upon himself to undo the buckle. Partly so he doesn't just lie there with his hands unbusy, and partly because there's a certain embarrassment in looking vulnerable.]
I had fantasies too, you know... significantly less hair plucking. Definitely more pulling.
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[His own hands robbed of their occupation, his fingers run over Dorian's wrists as they work his belt loose, circling tighter when the work's done and pushing one of his hands lower.]
But really? And which of us was the cruel one?
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[He cuts himself off with a kiss of his own, much greedier by it being longer and deeper than the last. With or without Prior's help, he would have ventured further, fingers dipping under his waistband to wrap around his cock. The stroke his hand afterward, however, is abysmally slow. It was his turn to smile something wicked.]
I can be the cruel one, if you like.
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[Then they're a match for wickedess, though Prior's comes with some foreknowledge that it's going to take Dorian a little longer than he expects to catch up on.]
You may want to brace that wrist.
[And jaw, if it comes to that. When it comes to that. Prior's good in bed but not especially generous in it, though Dorian's fantasies aren't far off the mark - there's a hand wrapped tight in his hair through most of Prior's breathy don't stops. All Dorian's eagerness to please is a fine complement for Prior's knowledge of what pleases him, though there's turnabout too: a slow learning of what makes Dorian give in to his own pleasures and a merciless abuse of them to watch him come undone.
Afterwards, Prior's in no rush to peel his body away. He's been pressed close since Dorian cajoled him into stripping off his shirt (it's my lucky shirt - it's a shirt I'm getting lucky in, same thing) but he's not just hiding now. He's exhausted, don't make him move.
his voice is a lazy drawl, warm and sticky as the rest of him, interrupted by kisses along Dorian's shoulder.]
I have to admit, you're quite the judge of character. You certainly had me down. Unattainable...
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He's also rather blissed out, give him a moment. He traces his fingers in no particular pattern along Prior's back, smile ever present on his face.] I'd say you surpassed expectations, but I must admit I never thought we'd end up here.
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[A beat. His smile falters.] Not that this... is, or isn't, it's whatever you'd like to call it. I just—no one that I've bedded... wants anything but a small affair.
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He arches against the supporting strut of Dorian's palm at his back, pulling the sheets up between them only half consciously, a little too aware of himself even now. But that's not his focus, which can't even be waylaid by the prospect of telling Dorian he's hardly a small affair. A tragedy, since he left it so open.]
Why is it whatever I'd like to call it?
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I'd rather not make any assumptions of what you want.
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You don't have to assume anything I want to tell me what you do. It's a risk, I suppose, but you've walked into battles with your hands on fire, you can't be averse to those.
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[He trails off before he can prattle on, mustering up a smile in some attempt to lighten the mood.]
I know that any time we've spent together wasn't just to get you into bed. Not that it isn't a wonderful side benefit that you are, and I wouldn't have you again if you ever called, but... I like you, Prior. I understand if you're sated, and things will go back to have they've been, but I'd prefer if they didn't.
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[For tonight. He couldn't go again after a night like that if he was fifteen and still capable of olympic grade masturbation, good grief. It's not what Dorian means, of course, and of course Prior knows that - it just makes him a little crazy how easily Dorian thinks he could be dismissed. Understandable, given the history they briefly toured through, but absurd all the same, to anyone that can have known him half a minute. All that showy armor, all that showy bravado, all to hide the vulnerable parts underneath.
Prior sighs, and affects a tone both grave and final.] But things can't go back to how they were.
[A beat, before the stone cracks, his mouth twitching.]
It would take steel I don't have to walk behind you in future and act like I'm not thinking I could knock myself out bouncing a quarter off your ass. I mean, my god.
[And the veneer's shattered now, Prior clutching both hands to his chest, playacting some kind of mix of awe and horror. And then Dorian's getting both arms full of him, if he's amenable. Finally willing to answer with something honest.]
It's certainly more than a casual interest, for me. More than sex. Though that's a sideline I'd be sad to have to give up.
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He manages more of a grin than a grim smile, the tension threatening to build in his shoulders leaves him. Enough to comfortable taking Prior into his arms.]
That isn't how you walk behind me already? I don't know if my pride can recover. Perhaps this was all a mistake.
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[See also: settling against Dorian as comfortably as a favorite spot on the couch.]
There is something else. [Mm, or more than that. He keeps the correction light-] Or, someone?
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This is the part where you tell me you've been having a roommate romance, and I scold you for not telling me.
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