Marquesian Mornings
Fandom: Critical Role, Campaign 3
Characters: Fearne Calloway, Orym, Dorian Storm
Word Count: 3626
Fearne’s eyes blinked wearily, a hand raising to block her eyes from the soft sunlight invading the room through the sheer curtains that lay across the glass balcony door. With a disgruntled grumble, she tried pulling the blankets up around her bare shoulders. The Marquesian sun was much hotter than Tal’Dorei, sure, but the nights became quite cold as the sun disappeared over the horizon and twin moons took its place. The room hadn’t yet took in the heat of the lazy sun drifting across the sky, and Fearne was not one for the cold.
Now her eyes were clear, they drifted along the soft white sheets until they fell on the two men sleeping beside her who- Oh. Oh. Weren’t they so pretty asleep like this? The tan skin of her halfling partner, warmed further by the bright sun of the new country they found themselves in, looked so soft smothered in the blankets. His face was scrunched up, not angry but offput, the look he had when he was protecting a member of their small group. Probably a bad dream…
Curled around the smaller figure was the larger air genasi, lithe and graceful as always, even in his sleep. His hair, flowing from deepest black to brilliant white, pooled under him in a swirl. His expression was happy, as it always was when the man was cuddled up between his two partners. Fearne could have watched Dorian sleep all day, Orym too.
If they didn’t hog the fucking blankets, that is.
“Alright you two, move it!”, the faun announced, shaking her two partners none too gently with her signature mischievous grin playing on her lips. “They said this was the biggest bed in the inn, so act like it!”
“Mmm…”, came the returning whine of disapproval from Dorian, opening one eye to look at his dear Fearne before letting out a huff of laughter followed by a yawn. “You’re just jealous I got to spoon Orym last night and not you…”
“And I told you both”, the halfling said, stretching till his back cracked and an annoyed pout plastered his face. “That I would sleep in the middle so you could both spoon me… Then you both would stop arguing over it every morning and waking me up…”
“And then hear Dorian complain of being cold on one side? Not likely”, Fearne laughed, flopping back down into the sea of soft blankets and pillows as Dorian shuffled to the side. “So did we all sleep well?”
As Dorian and Fearne began to exchange dreams, he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in to lay on his chest. His fingers, long and gentle and befitting of a musician, played at her hair and swirled the green locks into tiny curls. He traced along the horns protruding from her scalp, humming affirmations and acknowledgements as she told him about the wild sights of the Feywild she had dreamed of, delighting in the soft sigh that interrupted her words as he traced the skin around where said horns stopped. She always was sensitive there, but he stopped for now given her playful warning glare.
On his other side, Orym was curled tight against his chest, still half asleep. He had even started to softly snore again before being awoken by Fearne’s gasp at Dorian’s amazing dream exploits. Immediately his eyes snapped open, eyes flicking around the room, trying to take in the non-existent danger before letting out a held breath. He wasn’t sharing his dreams, which Dorian took as a sign not to pry. But he could see the gentle smile that he loved begin to grow on the Air Ashari’s face as Dorian recounted his dreams of their friends back in Emon (which Fearne was convinced was a sign to write a letter to them).
“Well…”, Orym started, reaching out an arm to brush the soft skin of Fearne’s waist, travelling down till it brushed through the soft fur of her thigh. His face flushed. God he’d never get used to seeing these two naked.
“Well~?”, Fearne asked, horizontal pupils narrowing as she noticed the red on his cheeks. Which just made Orym blush all the more, pouting at her once more.
“Well, we don’t have specific plans with the others today. So let’s just take a morning in, yeah?”
“A most brilliant idea, Orym dear!”, Dorian said with a happy sigh, snuggling further into the dip between the two beautiful people he’d come to travel with. Grinning at the halfling, he pulled him closer till he was fully laying on top of Dorian, head nestled into his neck with an incredulous chuckle and wrapping his legs around the man’s hips and taking the faun’s hand, who pressed her lips gently to his knuckles with a wink.
“How”, Orym said with a laugh as he kissed her hand in return. “Did such a straight laced guy like me end up with two major flirts?”
“Becauuuuuse, it’s so fun to see that straight laced face laugh and blush from silly ol’ us!”, Fearne replied with a laugh of her own, getting to her knees in front of the two men. She leaned down to kiss her way up Orym’s chest, who gasped at the sudden feel of her soft, full lips on his skin.
Taking the hint, and with a playful grin of his own, Dorian began to trail gentle kisses along his neck, to his jaw, and along his ears till he managed to nip the very tip of Orym’s ear to earn the genasi a quite adorable gasp. He could practically feel the heat coming off of the halfling’s cheeks, which was perfectly matched by a blush of his own feeling Orym squirm slightly on top of him and the fur of Fearne’s legs tickling gently as she shuffled between his legs.
“You two are such teases, you both know that right?’, Orym half complained, closing his eyes with a shaky breath as Fearne’s slightly rough tongue ran across his hip. One of his hands reached back to twirl in Dorian’s hair, while the other took a handful of Fearne’s. As they did, he reached out his senses to the air around him, the land, the roots. And with a slight tug at the nature…
“Oh! Dorian, look!!”, Fearne said, suddenly shooting straight up to admire the bright red desert rose now in her hair thanks to Orym’s druidcraft. “Oh, Orym, you shouldn’t have!”
“Ah, it’s not much”, he said, smiling softly at the happy look on Dorian’s face as he admired the fiery orange flower in his own hair. “I’m not much the magic type, I leave that to you guys.”
“Oh, you are so sweet, Orym!!”, Fearne practically squealed, flopping on top of the two men to nuzzle into Orym’s neck affectionately. “You don’t need magic, you’re useful in different- Huh?”
Dorian stopped admiring his own flower at the sudden stop in Fearne’s words. She didn’t stop talking for just anything. Peering over Orym’s shoulder, he could see the smaller man’s eyes wide as saucers in… Surprise? What was more, he had the hand that was once in Fearne’s hair clamped over his mouth. What had happened?
Looking down further, Fearne’s beautiful features that would fool most into thinking she was a poor innocent faun had taken a turn. Instead Dorian saw that devilish grin she got when she noticed something she wanted to steal. Or someone she wanted to mess with.
“Oh, Orym…”, she murmured, voice sultry and soft as the light caressing her shoulders and chest. “You haven’t been hiding something from us have you…?”
“Fearne, no- Calloway, I’m warning you, don’t- Dohon’t!!”
The next few seconds passed in slow motion in front of Dorian’s eyes. With a swift movement, before Orym could even get his hands up to protect himself, Fearne had her face buried into the crook of his neck. Planting soft kisses along the expanse and nuzzling in, Dorian felt himself flush just watching what his dear satyr was doing. But the more interesting thing of this scenario was the halfling laying on top of him.
With a light snort, Orym began to squirm around on top of his blue compatriot. Why did Fearne’s lips have to be so tickly. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but he didn’t have to. In his sleepy morning state, Orym didn’t have a chance of holding in the giggles that spilled forth. Each kiss felt like the most ticklish thing the poor man had felt in… Well, a long time at least. Fearne’s soft locks spilling around his naked collarbones didn’t help. The green curls traced across his bronze skin, teasing his sharp collarbones and toned chest, earning a choked gasp at the feathery sensation in between his already frantic giggles.
“Y-You ca- Nahahaaaa Fearne!! Youhuhuhu cahahaaaaan’t!! Fearne stop, stohohop!!”
“Oh, I definitely can, dear~. After you kept this from both of your partners so long? I am spending a long, long time tickling you till you’re- Ah! Hey, no fair!!”
Now it was Dorian’s laughter that joined the fray at this little altercation. On top of him, Orym had Fearne by the horns and was holding her face a hair’s breadth from his apparently ticklish neck. Though the flushed face accompanied by a big, goofy grin on his usually soft expressioned face betrayed how much fun he was having. Which brought a playful grin of his own to Dorian’s lips.
“Heh… Hehe… You are a menace, Calloway…”, the halfling said, residual giggles coming through in pants of breath.
“And you-”, she said, pausing for effect as her hungry eyes travelled over his rising and falling chest. “Are wonderfully ticklish~.”
Both members of the Hell’s glared playfully at each other, unable to keep the competitive grins from either of their faces. Orym wouldn’t count himself as competitive, but there was just something about Fearne Calloway that instilled mischief in the very air itself. Orym was about to retort with something that certainly would not have been a stuttering denial of such a claim, but his mouth quickly snapped shut with wide eyes.
“Hm?”, the satyr hummed, head tilted curiously. “Something the matter?”
“N-No, juhust… Just-”
“Just reminding him that I am in fact still crushed under him~!”, trilled the musical voice of their bardic partner.
Fearne’s eyes drifted once again from the screwed up eyes of her smaller boyfriend, down his toned body, until they rested on- Ah. So that was the issue~.
Around Orym’s slim waist were the long fingers belonging to Dorian Storm, bard extraordinaire. And those trained musician fingers were most certainly playing quite the tune. Dorian slowly spidered his digits up and down the exposed sides of Orym, slightly long nails usually used for plucking the strings of his lute scratching at the abs of the poor fighter.
To his credit, Orym was holding back his laughter. With his strength from his daily training, he could’ve easily tore Dorian’s hands away. And he tried to! Before forgetting the reason his hands had been up in the first place.
“Dorian, Dohohorian stop thahahAAAA-”
Suddenly his loud boisterous laugh returned to fill the room for but a second, as Fearne’s mouth and (even worse) teeth connected with the sensitive skin of his collarbone. The dull teeth scraping across the skin, mixed with the squeezing of his sides, caused the poor halfling to deflate like a balloon as laughter seeped from his lungs. A very uncharacteristic squeal filled the air as the fawn blew a gentle raspberry on the open neck, before Orym pulled her away by the horns again.
“You can’t block me forever~!”, she teased, sticking out that rough tongue.
“And you also can’t block both of us~”, Dorian continued, his dexterous fingers moving to nestle under Orym’s arms. They dug in such a torturous way, one light finger one after the other dragging in the open pits.
“Nahaha no!! No f-fuhuhuck, you guhuhuys!!”, Orym said, clearly as his giggle filled lungs would allow. The trained fighter’s arms began to fall, his observant eyes widening in giddy fear as Fearne’s hands joined to skitter roughly against his hips. That sapped his fight, as the poor halfling curled in on himself to protect as many spots as he could.
It was around this time that the not often tickled man began to lose his composure, and breath. His breathing became more airy as he lost chances to catch his breath, but both partners grinned at each other in understanding. Those four hands retreated, their owners’ laughter filling the air as Orym’s faded. He gently breathed in deep breaths, small chuckles seeping out still. His eyes, brown as oak, flicked with a half-hearted glare to both genasi and fawn.
“You… Y-You two… Are such bahastards…”, he breathed, rolling off of Dorian to get some cool air.
“But we are your bastards, are we not?”, Dorian said, grinning and swooping in to kiss the remaining giggles from Orym’s lips.
“Mmm… Lucky you are”, he said, following Dorian’s lips as the performer pulled away. “Nobody else would get the drop on me like that.”
“Its soooo cute though!!”, Fearne said, voice in awe with sparkling eyes. “You’re almost as bad as Dorian!!”
A disbelieving scoff. Accompanied by a blue blush.
“I am- Oh, you are not pulling me into this argument again”, Dorian said, hand to his chest and mouth open in a semi offended look. “I am not that- That, um- Oh, you know what I mean!!”
There was a pause in the room. Wind carried through the open window, the only sound as Dorian looked between his partners. Both faces had looks that showed their unbelieving nature very clearly.
Before all hell broke loose.
Immediately Orym clambered up Dorian, grasping his wrists in small but insanely strong hands. Dorian’s pleas fell on deaf ears as his shaking arms were pulled over his head. Down below, Fearne had her tongue out in pure concentration as she pulled Dorian down by the hips to really stretch him out. The taut blue skin fell into a darker hue as a blush went down the length of the poor air genasi’s body, hips bucking and swaying to deter his attacker before she sat squarely on them, effectively pinning them. The soft light spilling across his body made Dorian seem all the prettier for the predators about to strike.
“Now…”, Fearne began, clicking her tongue as a gentle hand laid flat on the man’s stomach. “You were saying something, Dorian? You aren’t…?”
“I’m- I’m not- Fearne, don’t do anything!! Orym?! Orym talk to her please-“
“Aw, come on Fearnie… You know he can’t say it.”, Orym said, his usual soft smile widening into a small grin that made Dorian shudder. Orym never grinned. Not unless it was this. Not unless Fearne was involved.
“Say what? Oh, you mean tickle?”
Nails curled against his abdomen. Dorian sucked in a sharp breath, watching them trace his slim waist carefully. Even the word alone set his nerves alight, a tight pout on the bard’s face that scrunched his nose. Orym laughed. That was his oh-gods-it-tickles-but-can’t-giggle face.
“No, not tickles.”, Orym began, pinning both thin wrists with one small hand as his rough, calloused fingers began to rub along Dorian’s bicep and down toward his armpit. “He can’t say that he’s ticklish.”
“I cahahan so!! Or, no, wahahait!! No, I’m nohohot!!”, Dorian said, voice hiccupping in gentle giggles. Though the swordsman was strong, the tingling spreading through his stomach and arms meant he hadn’t a hope of covering either spot. “Nohohot tihihi- Not sensihihitihihive!!”
“Oh you are plenty sensitive, pretty boy~”, Fearne teased, eyes glancing lower past Dorian’s hips that made the poor bard shift in embarrassment. Then he shifted more violently as two sets of claws, one of painted nails and the other of blackened fingertips, latched onto his soft lower tummy. “But you’re also adorably ticklish!”
Dorian could hardly form a retort as his form shook from the ticklish sensations wracking his body. He’d grown accustomed to the way both his partners tickled, and yet each time it was if his body forgot just how badly it tickled. Fearne was a flurry of tickly rage, resorting to hard pinches and scritches and squeezes. Those digits delved deep into his muscles, like a massage that drove him to distraction. Such a difference to her usual soft kisses and touches, light as a thief and gone just as quick. Though her touches remained quick in that they never remained anywhere long; pinching hips, squeezing sides, scribbling at his tummy, fluttering at the line where hips met thighs (he’d never live down the squeals that spot caused). It was like watching a tornado wreak havoc across a landscape, a force of nature befitting the druid.
Orym tickled like he behaved. Calm, meaningful, precise. His calloused fingers, hardened and strengthened through years of sword and shield practice, moved at the pace they wanted and no quicker. Even as Dorian strained toward the encroaching hand, just to get it over with, to just tickle him, the fingers were steady and true. Closer, closer, closer… Till two of those fingers began to flutter inside the arms hollow in such a way that made Dorian practically scream. The fighter’s observant eyes were unfairly good at picking out the clusters of nerves that really made Dorian fight to protect. One just under his armpit on his left side, or the place just between underarm and shoulder on his right. Each touch made the bard curse his captors, but Orym just smiled the swears away.
On and on both people went, chattering away atop the demented Dorian about him while he could hardly pay attention to the words. Orym would chuckle at his screams for mercy at Fearne’s teeth just on the lip of his navel, her thumbs circling into his hips. Fearne would beg for a go at his ribs as Orym’s entire set of fingers would try wriggle between each rib.
The tickling reached a crescendo as both of them cooed and complemented him, his laughter went higher pitched as four sets of hands descended to skitter over his chest. A genuine scream escaped him as Fearne evilly traced around his nipples before he devolved into silent laughter. That section was accompanied by neck kisses from Orym, which caused Dorian to squeal quite cutely given his oversensitive state. It seemed their ticklish machinations were intended to stir other feelings too, which was an idea cemented by Fearne’s wriggling around on top of his hips.
There was about fifteen more minutes of this torment, before both sets of hands left his flushed body. Fearne fell on his chest, laughing happily to herself and snuggling into Dorian as his ragged breath began to catch up. Orym rubbed the chaffed wrists of his boyfriend, littering them with firm kisses to ease the skin. Slowly the oversensitive bard regained his composure, bringing a hand to his face. Tears stained his cheeks.
“Doing alright, big guy?”, Orym asked, trying but failing to hide his smile as he pet Dorian’s head.
“Yeah, we didn’t go too far did we?”, Fearne added, moving up to trail her soft lips along his collarbones.
“You both- Ah! You, um, y-you bohoth did…”, Dorian started, words cut off by gentle sighs and moans mixed with residual giggles. “Fuck that was a lohohot..”
“Buuuuuuuuut…?”
“……… But no, you didn’t go too far”, he said, a shy smile curving on his lips as he moved his head aside to let Fearne’s lips continue. He gasped as her hand drifted lower, passing along spots that would elicit sounds much different than giggles. He caught her eye, her usual teasing glance watching his reactions.
“Well that’s good to know”, Orym said, moving over to trail those rough hands along Fearne’s sides. Her breath shuddered, half a laugh and half a sigh, as she pulled his hand closer to her. The halfling blushed despite himself, unable to stop his eyes wandering over the two.
The harsher light of day had begun to seep into the room, falling over the three Hells. Now Fearne’s eyes caught something different in her partners without the soft light of that morning enveloping them. The hard lines of their muscles beneath their skin. The tougher parts of them, weathered by months or years of adventuring. Orym’s chiselled core and defined arms, Dorian’s lean frame and defined yet pretty face. In turn both adventurers eyes drifted over their lover, taking in her soft curves, her devious yet loveable grin, her messy morning hair. The parts of them that attracted them to each other in the first place, and the things they’d come to love.
As playful as Fearne was, she really did love them. Maybe she was just good at stealing hearts too. Yet despite her joking, she couldn’t have wished to meet anyone better, and knew leaving the Feywild was her best decision if it meant meeting these two.
Dorian, a man beset with privilege he tried to shun, felt more privileged than he ever had in this moment. To be not just within the sight of, but to be between the arms of both these wonderful, beautiful souls was the greatest honour he had ever been gifted.
And then Orym. Orym, who had found love and lost it. Orym, the stalwart guard to his people. Orym, still ever the protector in their ragtag group. But also Orym, the man who had found love again and would not let it go for anything in the world.
Three unlikely lovers. And yet, in the soft sheets of this room, no one could claim that they were not all perfectly made for each other.
None of them left the room till well past noon.
