(open + closed in tags)

[flashystyle]

Who: Dorian Pavus (flashystyle) & you!
When: The week post-attack
Where: The Institute & Olympian Streets
Warning(s): Very tired would-be scientist doing his best



I. The Institute

[The Institute's most prestigious scholars working tirelessly to produce a cure sounds very inspiring on paper. One might imagine careful, clean environments with all neatly organized ingredients across their work stations. They may even go on to say that their researchers must have the most capable, cleanest, well-manicured hands for the job.

This is not the case for Dorian, nor his work station. The laboratory may have started clean, but it's long since deteriorated into the space of a man who has been taking advantage of the 8am to 4am hours since all this bombing business began. Unlabeled bottles are littered across the counters with no indicators as to what they are any longer, books are left open on dog eared pages far too close to the former, and stray notes have been made ineligible by stains of Orbiters know what. There's ever a hole eaten through the counter that might indicate if one had drank whatever potion came before what's currently simmering, the wouldn't have just been silenced by a sore throat.

Whether it be depositing findings, coming for updates, or passing through as an employee or visitor, you've come through the open door to this mess of a station. The one responsible for it has a hand through his hair with the other nursing a bottle that he hasn't quite noticed it isn't his water yet. He doesn't look up from the brew when you enter, but he does raise his voice the second you step through the door.]

There must be hundreds of different species out in the wilds. Hundreds! And yet all of them are either poisonous, just aesthetically pleasing, or only serve to make people talk to one another! I don't mind the talk, truly, but what is the point if no one has the solution to this sickness? Words of encouragement that only make the pang of failure hit harder? I'm close to just combining all the sleeping agents and putting the patients down for a long rest, because that might be less excruciating than trying all of these. What do you think?

II. Streets

[For research purposes, Dorian has tasked himself with picking up an overabundance of Liln from a flowershop outside the Market District. With the bomb being an airborne flu, they seemed to have fled to the point of becoming pests in places free of the sick. One might notice they're carefully contained in a glass jar as Dorian makes his way through crowds of citizens gathered to gossip... up until he runs into someone.

That someone might be you, or it might be another unfortunate soul who simply wasn't looking where they were going. Regardless, the jar of the creatures slips through his fingers, shattering into pieces once it hits the pavement. The Liln scatter in fear of being trapped again, consequently latching onto any hosts in the the vicinity of the broken glass. Needless to say, due to the suddenness spread of a brightly colored creature, Olympians around also scatter lest it be another stage of sickness. Those that stick around will find that the Liln harmlessly slipped onto their skin, forming a tattoo potentially revealing of their mood in their panic. They will also find that they're now in the company of a very tired man.]

Those were to be our test subjects for a cure, you know. [He says, lines of a bright red snake curling around his neck.] Best hope those don't make an M.

III. Wildcard

[Dorian will be around the Institute, Sanctuary, and the Red Light District at night looking to hear the information of others who are out capturing/gathering intelligence. If you've an idea for their interaction outside of the prompts, feel free to tag with it! Or hit me up at meganerd for a closed prompt idea.]

Comments

[flashystyle]

A seductive whisper, leaving them wanting while your business is better suited elsewhere.

[Dorian returns the grin with his own.]

Should I start giving coin for these little distractions?

[vorrutyer]

Most certainly not. You're not business. You are strictly my pleasure.

[flashystyle]

You'll make me feel special, Byerly. Dangerous thing.

[vorrutyer]

You are special.

[ He squeezes his hand very gently. They're about at his home, now; By tugs him through the door. Blessedly, none of the fair maidens he lives with are in the kitchen at the moment, so he doesn't need to waste his time with introductions or half-hearted apologies. He just pulls Dorian through and upstairs. ]

[flashystyle]

[It's fortunate for the fair maidens, because Dorian had no interest in apologizing for all the things that might have driven them mad. Stray garments discarded before they're through the door, no attempt at lowering his voice during his complaints of how ridiculously cramped the refugee housing is, nor in what followed.

It's a striking contrast from their last encounter. It isn't just the location change, he knows, but there's little need to boost By's ego by crediting him with the openness beyond "you are special". There was bound to be enough praising bodily, anyhow.]

[vorrutyer]

[ And Byerly - well. His behavior in bed is a contrast, to be certain, to his behavior out of it. Out of bed, he's lofty, ironic, quite reserved in his garrulous chatty way. In bed, though - he lives to please. He is intensely, devotedly attentive to his partner's needs. He listens, and attends, and works hard and earnestly to please. It's not sweet; he's still just a little too arch and sardonic in his manner to truly be sweet. But god, he tries much harder than one would ever expect.

A part of it might be what he knows about Dorian, now. Dorian's lack of experience. It's a cruel thing, to have lived in fear and secrecy. He wants to bring him the joy he's been so long denied.

When he's done, he kisses Dorian deeply, unselfconsciously, with adoration. ]

[flashystyle]

[Already labored breathing hitches, but Dorian doesn't take dreadfully long to react. He raises one hand to rest at Byerly's neck while free fingers through his hair, prolonging ending it until a breath of air's required. It's silly, feeling so ecstatic over something so small.

Still, he can't help it. He runs his thumb over his skin, eyes filled with a fondness so usually masked.] I do adore you so.

[vorrutyer]

[ By traces Dorian's high cheekbones, brushes thumbs over eyelashes. It's a rare moment of raw honesty when he admits: ]

I don't think I've ever known a spirit as kindred as yours.

[flashystyle]

[He'll blame the fact he's been so out of breath on the fact he doesn't know how to respond to that. He takes the moment to admire By's features in silence, steadying his breathing before he leans to kiss him again rather than replyingg. It's not as a rushed a reaction as the last, taking the opportunity to return every ounce of adoration he claimed to have. It's too rare an opportunity to pass up, before he feels he has to move on.]

I'm sure that's not true. I'll be out of your hair before you know it, just... allow me to look at you a moment.

[vorrutyer]

[ By reaches out and gently captures both of Dorian's wrists in his grip. It's a bit manipulative, perhaps. He's begging this because pillow talk is a source of some of the best information. But - he also wants this closeness. ]

Don't go. Not yet.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian raises his brows, but it's fortunate that it's an attractive enough thing that he won't question it.]

Then... I won't go. Don't rob me of touching you, though- I do so like that.

[vorrutyer]

[ He places both of Dorian's hands on his cheeks. With a teasing little smile: ]

I do have wonderful skin. It's true.

[flashystyle]

You do. That's really what I'm so jealous of.

[Dorian laughs, pulling a cheek lightly for good measure.]

Beautiful eyes as well. You should smile more, you know.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, dear heavens. Don't tell me you've mistaken me for someone serious. Most people complain that I smile too much.

[ By reaches up and taps the tip of Dorian's nose, gently. ]

Do you want me grinning all the time?

[flashystyle]

I wouldn't complain if you did.

[He scoffs, reaching for the offending hand to lace his finger between By's.]

Anyone that has must be blind, or an ingrate.

[vorrutyer]

[ His smile twists just a little bit. Not much, but... ]

Come now. I'm sure you can see how my wit would be considered...wearing by some.

[flashystyle]

[He concedes with a sigh.]

Perhaps, if it were at their expense. I can't truly say, since you've only worn me out through all... this.

[vorrutyer]

[ He laughs, charmed against his will by that. ]

You know, for a fellow who hasn't had so much experience, you're very good.

[flashystyle]

Should I be offended the assumption is that I wouldn't be?

[He smiles though, tracing the line of By's jaw absent-mindedly.]

For a fellow who does this sort of thing for a living, you're very attentive.

[vorrutyer]

Is the implication that I shouldn't be?

[ He leans in to press his face against Dorian's hand. ]

No one wants a bored lover.

[flashystyle]

That's true, but not many care enough to be anything else.

[He stills, just enjoying the weight of him there.]

Having me here, I... appreciate it, By. I may not be able to leave any little gifts now, but I'll find some way to make it known to you. That's a promise.

[vorrutyer]

Keep talking to me.

[ He presses himself a bit closer to Dorian. ]

That's all I want from you. For you to just talk with me. Your voice is the best gift I could ask for.

[ And your information, intel, and secrets. ]

[flashystyle]

[He shouldn't be surprised, and yet. He moves his hand to rest at the back of his neck, settling his fingers through his hair to run in lulling circles.]

What could you possibly want to know at this hour, hm? I'll tell you anything you want.

[vorrutyer]

[ A dangerous offer to make to a spy. By props his chin up on Dorian's shoulder, and decides to test the waters a bit. Something personal, just to see if he really is willing to tell him anything. ]

Tell me about yourself. Tell me something true.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian bites in the inside of his cheek, watching By's face like he as determining whether or not he should really be trusting him. Apparently, he decides he's alright.]

The only thing I have left from home is my family's birthright. I always carry it with me. [He turns his head, nodding towards an amulet he'd delicately placed on the nightstand.] I had to sell it after I left- I can't afford to lose it again.