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Their newly formed and recently commissioned ragtag group finally decide on a strategy for staking out the warehouse Eshteross had raised concerns about. Imogen and Laudna have both gone invisible and are making attempts at unlocking the front door so they can slip inside and wait in the dark for anything possibly sneaking in from underground. Fearne drifts away from them with a gentle tug on a strand of Dorian’s hair and a threading of her fingers through Orym’s short hair before she follows Ashton and Fresh Cut Grass as they attempt to stroll casually towards the warehouse and slip around the back.
Ashton looks relatively normal as he slouches down the road and slips around the corner to hide behind the building, but FCG and Fearne look like they’re trying too hard and Orym winces and ducks into a shadowed alleyway farther down the road, tugging Dorian with him. Bertrand doesn’t notice and keeps talking at them about his various exploits – something about a werewolf – and walking around gesticulating.
Orym figures it’s fine. He’ll just look like a doddering old man who’s taken leave of his senses. Better to have the eyes on the front door spread out anyways.
“Did you see something?” Dorian peers around the corner.
Orym lets go of his sleeve but leans around him, taking another look down the road. The backdoor team has managed to make it out of sight, fairly undetected and he turns back around to look up at Dorian with a wry smile. “No, the back door team was just looking suspicious in their attempts to be non-suspicious. I figured less people should be on the street, just to be safe.”
Dorian looks out at where Bertand has finally realized his audience left and is looking around in confusion. “And Sir Bertrand?”
Orym shrugs a shoulder and hops up on a crate facing Dorian and with an eyeline of the door. “What’s one more old man on the street talking to himself?”
Dorian settles down onto a crate opposite him, resting one leg up on the crate Orym is sitting on. “What are we doing, Orym?”
Orym drags his eyes over to Dorian. “What do you mean?”
He knows what he means.
Dorian raises his eyebrow and leans his head on his hand, elbow resting on his raised knee. “Listen, I said I’d follow you. Wherever you go, I’m right there.”
Orym waits in the silence that follows, reading the indecision on Dorian’s face. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
Dorian sighs and lets his leg fall back down, leaning forward on his elbows. “But we’re already plastered all over wanted posters across one continent thanks to one shady organization. Are we really going to – day one off the boat – immediately get back into that position again?”
Orym avoids Dorian’s eyes, looking back over to the warehouse door. “I don’t think it’s nearly as bad as that.”
Dorian flops back against the wall. “Oh c’mon Orym, you can’t tell me Eshteross wasn’t giving you the worst feeling.”
Orym squints and stills, watching the door’s handle wiggle slightly before sliding slowly to unlatch the door.
Dorian continues across from him, sitting back up excitedly. “I mean, he’s gotta be a crime boss or something. It’s all right there, I’ve read a lot of books, Orym, I know what I’m talking about.”
The door opens slightly and there's a small puff of dust on the ground before it slides shut again.
Orym turns back to him. “The girls are inside.”
“Orym, you’re not even listening.” Dorian flops back again.
“Crime boss. Books. Eshteross. Wanted posters.” Orym smirks slightly as Dorian narrows his eyes.
“Fine. But we have – you have something you’re trying to do here.” Dorian’s voice softens as he sits back up again and scoots to the edge of the crate, their knees now knocking together. “That’s going to be kinda hard to do if we’re on the run again, in jail, or dead.”
Orym scans the street once more before turning his full attention to Dorian. “I understand the concern, Dorian. I do and I appreciate it. I have a good feeling about these people though and that’s never led me astray.”
“Ooohhh Orymmmmm!” A cacophony of whispers erupts in his head and he startles, grabbing Dorian’s knee. “Imogen and I have managed to make it inside! It got a bit hairy with the lockpicks but thankfully my finger joints are a bit loose, I was able to wobble the lock a bit more. It’s rather dark in here, with it all shut down, quite fun.”
Dorian looks at him in confusion. Orym taps his head and mouths, “Laudna.”
He clears his throat and glances over at the door. “Glad you got in, Dorian and I have eyes on the front door. Mr. Bell is also somewhere out front.”
More whispers assault his mind. “Wonderful! We’ll let you know if we see anything!”
A hand covers his and Orym startles again, mentally cursing at being caught off-guard again in such a short amount of time.
“Orym?”
Orym shakes his head. “They’re fine.”
“Are you?”
Orym cocks his head at the question.
“Are we?” Dorian continues, slipping his hand away and brushing at non-existent dirt on his pants. Orym realizes he’s still holding Dorian’s knee and lets go quickly. “We had to talk you into anything remotely illegal just a few months back and now we’re fresh off the airship and doing some light B&E?”
“Technically we’re trying to prevent that from happening.” Orym points out, and Dorian rolls his eyes.
“Really, Orym?”
Orym smiles. “When did you become the voice of reason?”
“Oh I don’t know, somewhere between losing consciousness and being revived by a robot and rolling across the floor to make sure you didn’t get killed by Grampa Crime Boss.”
“I don’t think he’s a grandfather, Dorian.” Orym leans his chin in his hand.
“So you admit he might be a crime boss!”
Orym shrugs. “I think Dariax proved that even people that may or may not make their money dishonestly can still do good. Lord Eshteross seems to genuinely want to do good for the people of this city and we can help him.” His eyes drift back over to scan the street. “I hope.”
He shakes off the somberness and grins again. “Besides, you saw him – woof – those shoulders? And those legs? I mean, I got an up close look and Lord Eshteross doesn’t shirk any day of training, that is for sure.” He shrugs and lets out a slow breath, a low whistle escaping. “Admirable.”
Dorian blinks. “Really? That’s what does it for you?”
Orym feels a faint blush tingling the tips of his ears and he tugs at one of them. “I mean, yeah? Not the only thing, but yeah?”
Orym dares a look up at Dorian and sees a series of unasked questions run over his face as awkward silence descends over the alley.
Orym clears his throat, unable to take it. “Anyways, I think this Lord Eshteross and these people, eclectic and eccentric as they are, are worth the risk.”
Dorian sighs, defeated and runs a hand through his hair. “And what are we getting out of risking it, Orym?”
Orym looks down at where his shield is resting beside him. “Connections. Introductions.” When no immediate rebuttal or response comes he looks back over to where Dorian looks stricken. “What?”
Dorian closes his eyes. “I didn’t even think – I – I shouldn’t have questioned you.”
Orym comes to his feet. “No, no! You –”
There’s a sudden crashing out in the street and both of them turn to look. Sir Bertrand is arguing with increasing volume with a couple of guards. Orym can see the back door team trying to peek around the building and see what the commotion is about and attempts to signal them to stay back.
Instead of doing anything sensible like that – or maybe they misunderstood the signal – Fearne pops out from hiding and lets out a bloodcurdling scream as Ashton sprints away from her directly at Bertrand and tackles him, snatches one of his belt bags and kicks a guard for good measure before running in the opposite direction, directly for Orym and Dorian, waving frantically for them to hide. Dorian hauls Orym back into the alleyway, tucking them both into a bricked in doorway, arm pinning Orym in, offering a balance for Orym to stand teetering with barely a toehold on one of the bricks and still keep an eye on what is happening on the street.
Orym whispers in Dorian’s ear, desperately trying to ignore how Dorian has him pressed into the wall. “Fearne has some of the guards distracted for now, Bertrand seems to have disappeared. I’m not sure where Ashton went – oh now there’s more guards coming.”
Dorian ducks his head to try and peek over his own shoulder to see, huffing in frustration when all he sees is his hair and a brick wall. Orym shivers as Dorian’s breath dances over his exposed shoulder. “Where are the guards?” Dorian murmurs, eyes locked onto Orym’s.
Orym glances back over Dorian’s shoulder. “Currently talking – no – pointing our direction.” He ducks his head into Dorian’s shoulder. “Shit!”
Dorian’s arm tightens around him. “What?”
“They’re coming this way, I think they’re looking for Ashton.”
Dorian squints down the other end of the alley. “It’s a dead end, I can’t even fly us out of here.”
Orym peeks over Dorian’s shoulder again and hears more than sees the soldiers shouting and beginning to stomp down the alley towards them.
“Check down there, they can’t have gotten far!”
Orym thinks for a moment, counting the amount of footfalls approaching before tossing out a full attack plan, scans the building over Dorian’s shoulder and shakes his head, sees Dorian’s panicked, wide eyes and Orym stills. He places a gentle hand on Dorian’s cheek and the fear recedes from Dorian’s eyes a bit and a corner of his lips turns up in a wry smile.
Suddenly a plan comes to Orym. It’s terrible, it’s going to cost him everything but it will keep them alive and from getting caught – he hopes. His hand slides to Dorian’s chin, pulling him close and whispering, “I’m sorry,” before sealing their lips together.
Pressed together as they are, he can feel the surprised tensing of muscles from Dorian at the contact before the man in front of him relaxes and sways forward, pinning him to the wall, one hand splayed across Orym’s back and the other pressed against the wall above them and it’s almost enough to distract him from why he’s doing this in the first place, trying valiantly to keep his eyes from falling shut at the velvet touch of Dorian’s lips trembling against his as he sees swinging lanterns getting closer. Orym loses the battle at the sound of Dorian sighing into the embrace – his ears so primed to listen for the approaching danger, instead hearing clearly the slide of Dorian’s fingers across the brick above them as he steadies his hand against the solidity of the wall, the creak of leathered armor crushing between them as the strength of Dorian’s arms pulls them even closer, the feather light brush of Dorian’s hair falling against the skin of his face as he tilts his head to meet Orym’s lips, parted and warm.
Orym instinctually meets him, eyes fluttering shut, breath trembling as he licks into Dorian’s mouth and is rewarded by a moan and suddenly Orym wants nothing more than to chase that sound, humming as Dorian’s tongue meets his. He sucks on Dorian’s bottom lip, nipping gently and is rewarded with another heavenly moan and the press of Dorian’s hips into his, the friction causing his head to fall back against the bricks behind him and as his breath comes in sharp pants and small whimpers, there’s no relent from the slow rock of Dorian’s hips into him and clever tongue and mouth continuing along his neck and collarbone.
A lantern flashes closer and reality sets back in like an icy mountain stream.
He allows himself to get pulled back into one last kiss before the footfalls he’s once again paying attention to approach with their accompanying shouts, praying to whoever is listening for forgiveness as he rocks up into Dorian once last time as he sucks a mark into Dorian’s neck so Dorian moans beautifully as Orym wrenches away from Dorian’s neck and snarls, “Hey, do you mind?”
The guards are bright red and not making eye contact as they shine a light over them and down the alleyway. “Uh sorry, carry on. Be uh, careful, dangerous criminals about.”
Orym just glares as he presses small kisses to the mark he made on Dorian’s neck until they leave.
When the alley is clear once more Orym slowly releases Dorian and Dorian lets Orym slide back down to the ground before retreating to the other side of the alley. The space between them no more than it had been when they first posted up here not even ten minutes ago, now feeling miles apart.
“I’m sorry –”
“I shouldn’t have –”
“Orymmm! What’s going on out there? No one is responding on back door team.”
Orym huffs frustratedly and turns away. “Bertrand picked a fight with some guards and it all went to shit from there. I don’t know what happened after that. Dorian and I hid.”
He turns back and Dorian has already slipped away, peering around the corner to check on the street. He buries his head in his hands for a moment before joining him.
It sounds like someone is trying to get in the front door. Oh! I'm just realizing we never locked it back up, silly us!
"Orym, Ashton is somehow back at the warehouse?" Dorian murmurs quietly over his shoulder.
"It's Ashton, let them in, they’re running from the guards. Lock up after he gets in." Orym hisses quietly.
"Alright, Imogen has found some interesting paperwork in here, we may nearly be done if we're reading this correctly. Try and keep it down out there?"
Dorian avoids Orym’s eyes. "I'm going to check on Fearne and FCG, see if Bertrand is anywhere to be found."
Orym catches his hand and pleads silently with his eyes as he responds. "We'll do our best. Dorian is moving to back door team, I'm staying out front."
The magic fades and Orym clasps Dorian’s hand in both of his. His eyes stray to the mark darkening on Dorian’s neck and he flushes. "I'm sorry, I should have asked you first, that was wildly out of line, especially with everything –"
Dorian swoops down to press a kiss to Orym’s forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth before pulling back and brushing his lips over their joined hands. "Take the time you need. Let's do what we came to Marquet to do. And then I want a repeat of that, with less clothes, less guards, and less interruptions. Deal?"
Orym’s startled laugh almost gives away their position. "Deal."