fadewalk | RP: Daylen Amell

A clean shirt, probably too large. A pair of pants and a belt to hold them up. Clean socks - Maker, he knew how much he'd missed those while slogging through the Deep Roads with Cousland. Boot polish, and wood polish for the man's staff , and soap. Alistair inhaled the green, foresty scent and smiled to himself. His best memory of Orzimmar was sinking into the huge, sunken tub in the bathhouse attached to the Tapster's Tavern, finally able to relax after the long trek back from Caridin's Cross. He hoped that Daylen would appreciate the find.

A handful of basic lyrium potions, and another of elfroot potions went into a small pouch, and was set atop the pile. Alistair surveyed the supplies with a careful eye, and then nodded. Should try not to overwhelm the man, he thought and then winced. Too late. "I do that just by existing, apparently."

The supplies went into a basket, and Alistair set off to find Daylen, a look of determination on his face.

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"You don't know me," Daylen murmured, watching Alistair's face, able to read the loneliness, the yearning, and the guilt there. All of those things twisted Daylen up, because this man did not deserve to feel that. "I'm so sorry if I'm weird. Making you uncomfortable. I would never, ever intend that. I'm just... so tired. It's hard to keep it in, when you're here and you don't just look like him."

His hand moved to cup Alistair's jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone with a small, sad smile. "You feel like him." He looked down, trying to hide the tears that suddenly welled into his eyes. "Sorry. Again. Rude. Maker, I'm being so rude to you."

"No!" Alistair caught Daylen's hand, kept it pressed against his face, leaned his cheek into the comforting touch. "No, you're not. Being rude, that is. Or making me uncomfortable. If anything, I am. Rude, and likely making you uncomfortable." Reluctantly, Alistair released Daylen's hand, moved his head back to that Daylen didn't have to continue touching him if he did want to.

"You are right. I don't know you. I've only known you for a few hours, at most." Alistair growled softly, frustrated by his inability to put words together in a way that made sense. He hadn't been this tongue tied in many years. "I can't imagine how upsetting it might be to...to have me here, in your space, reminding you. And maybe I'm a bad person for wanting it but..." He paused, and took a breath.

"I want to know you. And to know who I might have been by your side."

Edited Date: 2015-08-22 05:28 am (UTC)

The feel of Alistair's stubbly cheek in his palm was familiar and welcome and terrifying. Daylen let his face go when Alistair moved away though, fingers trailing off, mouth tightening as if it pained him.

He listened carefully as Alistair spoke, really listened, hearing what was said, but also the way he struggled with the words, with what he wanted.

"It's upsetting. But... you know how sometimes upset isn't always the same as bad?" He shrugged, looking at Alistair sidelong, and wrinkling his nose. "Being around you, it is basically the opposite of bad. Wanting to have my skull bashed in by ogres? Bad."

Daylen's hand shook as he reached to brush his knuckles across Alistair's bristly chin. "Wanting to kiss you? Upsetting. Not bad." His eyes widened. "Not that you should, not that I'm asking, because as we just agreed, you don't know me. But... Yeah."

Alistair looked at Daylen, looked him in the eyes and examined what he saw there. And he made what he was sure would be a stupid decision. He caught Daylen's hand in his own and gently, very gently, pressed a soft kiss to the fingers that had brushed his face. His voice was quiet, and deeply serious when he spoke. "Tell me to stop, and I will. I'll stop and leave you in peace if you ask. Maker knows I'll likely be an idiot and mess this up somehow. But if you tell me to stop, I will."

The noise that Daylen made was low and hungry and tortured as Alistair's lips brushed his hand. He had to stop this, he had to because it couldn't be real, not really-real.

"I don't-- I don't think you understand how I--" Daylen's face twisted in a desperate, humorless smile, knees quaking with the overpowering need he felt to stay here, stay with Alistair, knowing he should tell him to stop. "I don't want you to stop," he whispered, voice almost desolate with that wanting.

Alistair's eyes slipped closed, an expression of sadness for the desperate, aching, wanting tone of Daylen's voice. "Maker, strike me down for being such a selfish, wanting person." He said, and then pulled Daylen into the circle of his arms, leaning in to press a kiss to Daylen's temple. He whispered quietly, "Then don't. Daylen, can you imagine him wanting you to be unhappy as you are? I can only imagine being incredibly upset with myself."

It was so easy to melt into him. Daylen wasn't a small man, but he had a slighter build than Alistair, several inches shorter and wiry, and he fit within his arms like... well it felt like he was meant for them.

His hands gripped slid very slowly around Alistair's sides, like he wasn't sure he was allowed, but once his hands were pressed against his back they gripped tight-tight. He rubbed into the kiss at his temple like a cat, chasing the sensation of wholeness that Alistair's skin teased him with.

"You wouldn't be betrayed? Jealous?" He turned his face into Alistair's neck, clinging tighter. "If it were you, which is convenient, because it sort of is... you'd understand?"

Alistair tried not to cling to the man in his arms - but as touch-starved as he was, he was sure he was failing. This felt right, felt wonderful - the warm weight of this man against him, the pleasant him of magic behind his eyes. They fit together like pieces of a dwarves puzzle box, slotting into place with ease.

Alistair shook his head gently, nuzzling his cheek against the head of hair now buried on his neck. "What would I have to be jealous of? What would I have to feel betrayed by? The happiness of the person I loved would be worth more than any of those petty feelings."

Daylen could almost taste Alistair's need to be held, his isolation as king a terribly sort of lonely-making. He smelled good. Less like dirt and armor polish than the year of the Blight, the soap more expensive, but underneath all that he smelled right.

"You're making this too easy." As he spoke, Daylen's lips brushed against Alistair's skin and he had to bite his lip to keep from kissing him.

Alistair chuckled, "I'm sorry, was I supposed to be making this difficult?" He shivered at the touch of Daylen's lips on the skin of his neck. He could feel goosebumps raised across his back and arms. "Did you not hear me say I was a selfish man?"

Very carefully, Alistair ran his hands across Daylen's back, a movement meant to be comforting and reassuring.

"Yes, your very cunning, very selfish plan included hauling me out of a broom cupboard, wrestling a bath up the stairs for me, and then keeping me company while I bathed so I wouldn't drown myself in a fit of despair, all so you could claim your prize of a... hug?" Daylen's back arched into Alistair's hands, humming softly because of his skin, newly cleaned, newly healed, feeling pleasure at the soft touch.

He pulled his face back a touch to shake his head. "So very, very selfish."

Edited Date: 2015-08-22 07:19 am (UTC)

"You have seen through my cunning plan! I did all those things, not out of kindness, but out of an intense, selfish desire to have a handsome Warden mage in my arms." Alistair did feel a bit selfish, a bit guilty - it was so...satisfying to hold Daylen like this. Some part of himself that he had long ignored, the part that craved kind human touch, was unfurling in the back of his head. Mixed with the agreeable purr of Daylen's magic presence, it made Alistair want to hold Daylen close, run his hands over every inch of Daylen's exposed skin.

It made him feel hungry, in a way he'd almost forgotten, under the shell of loneliness and stoicism he'd been working under all this time. He forced himself to be gentle, though, and careful. Tenderly run fingers tips across Daylen's shoulders, letting the palm of one hand rest in the small of Daylen's back.

((OOC: I am SO sorry for falling asleep with no warning last night!))

"How greedy. Not just a mage or a Warden, but both and handsome as well? You've really let your power go to your head."

Daylen heart was racing in his chest, the slow acceptance of the gift Alistair was offering in the comforting touch, blooming into a muzzy, confusing want to be nearer.

And with his bare back already under Alistair's hands, his cheek rubbing into the crook of his neck, he needed to be very clear with himself about what nearer actually meant. He raised his lips to the outer corner of Alistair's jaw, just below his ear, and kissed him, the lightest brush of his skin.

"Thank you," he breathed, and started to disentangle himself, trembling as he did so.

(OOC: No worries at all. It was very late!)

"What can I say - there has to be some sort of perk for being King," Alistair felt Daylen press the barest of kisses against his jaw, and a small, sharp intake of breath causes him to tense. That hunger rolled in the pit of his stomach, and he had to tamp down on a soft whine of disappointment as Daylen pulled away.

Alistair stood, somewhat awkwardly, looking at Daylen with a fuzzy expression - equal parts pleased, cautious, and wanting. He finally cleared his throat, and tuned back to the table. He dug in the basket and pulled the clean, soft linen shirt he found from inside. He offered it to Daylen, a soft smile on his face. "I suppose you'd prefer to be fully dressed right now. It is a bit cool outside, what with the mountains and all."

The tension in Alistair at the kiss made Daylen's stomach drop. Was it too much? It was too much.

His eyes studied Alistair intently as the silence stretched for a moment, trying to find his footing, figure out what this quirk of his lips and that furrow of his brow meant together. He hated the guardedness in it, but knew it was the only sane thing about any of this. If Alistair was cautious, he shouldn't press.

Which didn't mean he wouldn't prod a little. Just that he should know better.

"Right. Cold. You know, I hadn't noticed?" He took the shirt, letting his arm drop with it held tightly in a fist, making no move to put it on immediately. "I'm going to say some really stupid things right now, alright?" He smiled wryly, head cocked to one side as he used his empty hand to scratch at the new scar on his side.

Daylen looked...sad, cautious, concerned? as he pulled away. Alistair growled softly like, a momentary expression of self-frustration as making the man unhappy. When Daylen didn't immediately jump to covering himself, Alisyair allowed himself a moment to admit the lean, corded muscle and the breadth of his shoulders. Even the scars were a beautiful addition -silvery lines tracing thean's torso and arms.

"Alright. Maker knows, I am the last person to prevent you from saying something another might interpret as stupid. Though I doubt sincerely that they truly will be."

Daylen shook his head, wry smile faltering just a touch. He could feel Alistair's eyes on his shoulders and chest, feel the heat on the back of his neck. It was unfairly distracting.

"I'm... tired, like, three days without sleep except for the nap I had on the floor down the hall earlier tired." He raked a hand through his damp hair, letting it fall forward into his eyes as he looked down, and then glanced at the bed, and the way his shoulders sank the weariness was visible. "This is all weird, and I don't want to make it weirder, but would you... want to lie down with me? To sleep. I think that if you were here I would, actually, and if you left I would just lie there thinking you were a hallucination and..."

He frowned, shaking his head at himself, whispering, "Maker's asscheeks, Daylen, offer to pay him if you're asking him to be your nanny." He straightened his shoulders, looking back up at Alistair, expression pained and defeated. "I made it weird. See, I told you it would be stupid."

Alistair smiled at the request. He looked from Daylen to the bed and back again, a flutter of excitement in his escheat that he restrained with effort. What a innocent request, when Alistair was more than willing to give (and take, his desire slowly burning reminded him) so much more.

"It is not stupid. An extended battle in the Deep Toads can reduce the best of us to tired, shambling zombies. And...."Alistair allowed his own exhaustion to show on his face and in his posture. "I haven't slept terribly well since long before this change in scenery."

He reached out a hand towards Daylen, a tired but cheeky grin on his face. "So yes, I will go to bed with you. For sleep, of course."

Daylen hadn't been expecting the response to his (stupid) request to be anything other than awkward, and Alistair's easy agreement caught him off guard. He stared at the hand for a moment. "What? Really?"

The mild flirtation in the smile, the suggestion that climbing into the bed could be more than sleeping, and Daylen's own fumbling made him blush again. He reached his hand out slowly, threaded his fingers with Alistair's and gave him a tug toward the bed. Once he reached it he looked at the shirt he was still holding, frowning a little dully at it, before tossing it onto the chair.

He released the hand in his and removed the belt, trusting in how tight he'd laced the breeches to keep him decent, though he wouldn't trust them if he were running or jumping, and cast that aside as well. With an exhausted groan he tugged back the blankets and climbed up into the guest bed.

It wasn't huge, but it was extremely comfortable and there was no way they would be able to sleep side by side without touching, which was, in Daylen's estimation a lovely excuse for continuing to touch Alistair. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, ignoring the prickle of guilt at wanting to be close to this man who was not his Voice.

But if he wasn't, essentially, in some way his why did it feel so good to be near him?

"I guess I should have asked if you wanted inside or outside." Daylen ruffled his hair, sparking just enough magic to speed the drying, and also make the bed invitingly warm.

"Yes, really." Alistair held on to Daylen's hand, and let him pull him towards the bed. As Daylen tossed the shirt on to the nearby chair, and began to deal with his belt, Alastair went to work on his own belt and boots. The laces on his boots were tight and and tied into hard knots - it took him more than a few moments and they create a sweater to get them to come undone.

Alistair looked up as he finished, to find the Daylen had already called into the bed. The site was incredibly inviting - soft sheets, it warm bed, and a very attractive man curled in the sheets. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and reach a hand out towards Daylen, letting gentle fingers run from the nape of his neck down his shoulders then back up. "I don't mind watching your back." Alistair's voice was warm, and indulgent.

He eventually, reluctantly, removed his hand. after a moment though he slid into the bed next to Daylen, one hand gently resting on Dalen's arm – an open invitation, if Dalen wished, for the man to scoot back in the Alistair's arms.

(OOC: I am so very sorry for my horrendous spelling and grammatical mistakes. I am trying to respond on my phone and my phone is failing me. )

Every time Alistair reached for Daylen it helped. Helped his shoulders to stop riding so high as if he were mid-flinch. Helped him believe that he was giving the other man something, and not taking. His eyes dipped shut as Alistair's fingers ran over his neck and shoulders, a little frown of disappointment creasing his brow when the hand dropped away, but it smoothed when Alistair slid in closer to him.

He took the invitation, lying down on his side and scooting closer, careful not to press too much, not to invade the other half of the bed too thoroughly, no matter how much he suddenly wanted that. It made his breath hitch in his chest, the feeling of Alistair's bulk settling behind him, the smallest things ringing with razor sharp nostalgia.

"So, please tell me your snoring has gotten better with age," he teased softly, mostly to break the silence, to distract himself from the want to press back until the entire line of him would be resting against the other man's body.

(OOC: Oh I know that pain. My mobile browser hates the fadewalk theme and it makes it really hard to edit. You're doing great considering! And let me know if you need to take off, I understand. :) )

(OOC: No - it's fine! The phone is just being incredibly stubborn. *snort* Deep Toads, gods.)

"I'm afraid I haven't had anyone who could tell me. Servants aren't trained to report whether or not their lord sounds like a sawmill while he sleep, after all." Alistair responded with good-natured humor. As Daylen settled in close to Alistair - but not quite close enough to satisfy Alistair's desire to feel the man against him - Alistair was somewhat tense. He'd kept his own shirt on out of some strange sense of propriety, and he now regretted having done so.

Finally, with a quiet growl from frustration, Alistair wrapped an arm around Daylen's waist and pulled him back against his chest. Alistair buried his face in Daylen's disheveled, clean hair and breathed in the scent of piney soap. The tension left Alistair's body immediately - it really was like being pleasantly drunk touching this man. Warm and solid and pleasant, intoxicating magic mixing with the satisfying touch of human skin.

Daylen's tension mirrored Alistair's, furthered by the implication that Alistair had never had anyone he was close to. He felt ill right up until Alistair's arm circled his waist and dragged him into his chest.

The noise he made was again completely ridiculous: not exactly a squawk, because there was no protest in it, but Daylen wasn't going to admit to having made that sound, a little bit a grunt, a little bit a whine, later. Nor the way his whole body responded to the warmth of the breath in his hair or the strong, calloused hand on his stomach. He rested his own hand over Alistair's, fingers stroking into the valleys between his knuckles with a light touch.

As he felt parts of him stir that hadn't shown interest in anything other than teasing nightmares and the lies of dreams in nearly nine years, he was deeply glad Alistair was behind him.

"Good?" he asked quietly, hoping the answer was yes and that maybe they could just stay in this bed until the world finished ending or whatever was going on. Daylen found himself caring far less about the mystery of this Fade realm than the warm trail of tingling ease that Alistair's hand brushing his skin brought him.

(OOC: Deep Toads made me giggle, ngl. :D )

Alistair chuckled at the undignified noise that escaped Daylen, but he remained curled around Daylen, his clothes chest pressed against Daylen's back, his legs tucked up against Daylen's legs. He let out a tiny purr as Daylen's fine hrs traced his, that hand very gently petting the skin of Daylen's stomach.

"Good. Hmm, yes. You?" His voice sounded more relaxed - deeper, rougher, almost intoxicated. Alistair nuzzled the back of Daylen's head. "It's like music in my head," he murmurs quietly. "Like alcoholic music."

The hand on Daylen's stomach was distracting, but the intent wasn't enough to keep the tide of exhaustion from tugging at his mind. He was comfortable, for the first time since he'd lost his Voice, and he was relaxing all in ways he'd forgotten it was possible.

The quiet murmur about the music sent little warning bells off in his mind, but he couldn't get a handle on it, half-drunk himself with the warmth and the weight of Alistair's arm. He was half asleep before he even answered the question. "S'good. You're..." he trailed off, arching his spine a little to let every point of contact along his back shift and resettle against the body behind him, reminding himself that it was real as he fluttered between sleep and waking. "...perfect. Night, love," he breathed.