[It's around 10:30 the next day when Dorian's eyes finally drift open. There's a strange feeling of unreality as he lays on his back in bed, organizing his thoughts. What brings everything back all at once are the faintest cracks of sunlight peeking in through the thorough job he'd done on the windows in even the master bedroom. Precautions like these are familiar to him in an achingly painful sort of way, but waking up to it now isn't the same as it has been in the past.
This is something new. That, and a sudden jumping forward in intimacy and trust with someone he met not that long ago. To his absolute surprise as he reflects on it, it's pleasing. An easy sort of trust that he doesn't fully understand, but that feels natural. His thoughts flash back to the memories of Larus tonguing up the blood on his arm, and then the soft displeasure of the other man's expression as he'd shrugged off the existence of the attackers that had almost killed him. Of the gentle way the vampire tended to him and reached out to peel bloodstained clothes from his body.
It all reinforces to him that this is the right decision. There's something here between them: quieter than he's accustomed to, and compelling.
Another moment spent on his back, and then Dorian rolls himself up to a sitting position. He stretches, and prepares to go start his morning routine as he waits for the inevitability of the intense discussion that awaits him in the hours to follow.
Ten minutes later, and he's perching himself on the loveseat in the main sitting room, sipping at a frothy coffee and nibbling at a fruit tart as he idly browses the network on his phone. It's simpler than trying to think ahead to how, exactly, to start the conversation that needs to happen with Larus.]
no subject
This is something new. That, and a sudden jumping forward in intimacy and trust with someone he met not that long ago. To his absolute surprise as he reflects on it, it's pleasing. An easy sort of trust that he doesn't fully understand, but that feels natural. His thoughts flash back to the memories of Larus tonguing up the blood on his arm, and then the soft displeasure of the other man's expression as he'd shrugged off the existence of the attackers that had almost killed him. Of the gentle way the vampire tended to him and reached out to peel bloodstained clothes from his body.
It all reinforces to him that this is the right decision. There's something here between them: quieter than he's accustomed to, and compelling.
Another moment spent on his back, and then Dorian rolls himself up to a sitting position. He stretches, and prepares to go start his morning routine as he waits for the inevitability of the intense discussion that awaits him in the hours to follow.
Ten minutes later, and he's perching himself on the loveseat in the main sitting room, sipping at a frothy coffee and nibbling at a fruit tart as he idly browses the network on his phone. It's simpler than trying to think ahead to how, exactly, to start the conversation that needs to happen with Larus.]