TITLE: His Prince (All the Time in the World)
SUMMARY: Chaol is used to picking up the pieces when it comes to Dorian. Chaol isn't quite expecting for this morning (of all mornings, honestly, this one) to go quite this way. OR the one where Dorian maybe really screws up and it sort of leads to him and Chaol figuring things out. They're really in love, aren't they?
Note: this is the first one-shot I've written for this fandom, so please let me know what you think! I hope you like it! This has also been cross-posted to ao3, and maybe to tumblr (we'll see about that for the moment, I'm still not sure). Lots of angst and emotional whump ahead, but there's a happy ending I swear.
-/-
It always hurts (to see him like that, to see whatever blonde five-foot-one girl it is that morning stumble out of the room with her clothes not completely on right, to be the one to clean up his best friend because someone has to and he would do anything for him), but Chaol does it anyway.
Chaol bangs on Dorian's bedroom door, first thing in the morning. The sun isn't even all the way up yet, but Dorian's supposed to be training this morning, and he'll never hear the end of it from his father if he's late. Chaol knows how much he hates that, so he figures that saving Dorian some heartache will be worth having to see whatever crawls out of his best friend's bed and runs out of the room with a face as red as Dorian's favorite cloak.
Besides, it's not like he sleeps in much anymore. Lithaen's been gone for almost a year, and while his chest still aches when he thinks of her sometimes, he knows it was for the best. He also knows that there's no good way to get through it but to keep going, so here he is. Up before the sun, to help his best friend pick himself up.
He only wishes that this didn't happen three or four times a week. For someone who does it so much, one would think that Dorian would learn.
You don't have to do this, a voice reminds Chaol in the back of his head. You can send a guard to do it, or get Brullo. He'd do it.
That's the truth. Brullo knows how hard this is on Chaol, and he would do it. He would keep his mouth shut about whatever he saw Dorian do or heard him say, and Chaol could get on with his life. But Chaol knows what he was like after Lithaen left (angry, mean, hurt, and heartbroken at the root of it, and Dorian had been the one to drag him out of bed for months, even though Chaol hadn't been drinking like Dorian was), so he doesn't mind returning the favor. Things changed between the two of them after his engagement to Lithaen was announced, and while Chaol isn't really sure how or what to do about it, he's glad that he can at least do something for Dorian. He won't let anyone else this close when he's like this, and if that's all that Chaol has to offer him these days, then Dorian can have that.
"Dorian," he calls, "it's time to get up."
The guards standing around the door have taken a few steps down the hall, into the sitting room, because this has been the routine a few times a week for a few months, and they're more than used to it. Chaol doesn't bother to keep his voice down when he calls, "I'm coming in!"
He counts to ten in his head, braces himself to watch Lady Ressinia crawl out of Dorian's bed (they were flirting at court last night, so it's a pretty decent guess as far as these things go), and then reaches for the door handle.
When he steps inside the room, he averts his eyes - he really doesn't want to upset whatever girl Dorian's got in his bed, because it's not really her fault that Dorian's both the crown prince and a terrible flirt, and it's also not her fault that Chaol might be in love with his best friend, and he assumes that not looking is the most respectful thing he can do in the situation - and says, "It's Chaol." He doesn't bother tacking on a "Your Highness", like he would usually do if he didn't think they were alone. He's exhausted, and he hates himself, and part of him wants to reach out and smack Dorian silly when he sees a pair of boots by the door. They don't look like anything a lady would wear, but maybe Lady Ressinia got ahold of them to go riding with Dorian, or even to go to the training field this morning. "You need to get up and get ready for training."
His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of the room - there's just enough light creeping through the windows that he can see. There's a few candles around the room, strategically placed and probably lit in the middle of the night by the earliest rising of the staff, specifically for this purpose. They're mostly elderly, and all have better things to do than gossip, so he doesn't panic about what they may or may not have seen. He should thank them one of these days - they may not have been thinking of him specifically, having to do this so often, but anyone who thinks of Dorian earns Chaol's thanks as well.
There's a shuffle then, and Chaol is surprised to find himself face to face with one of Lady Ressinia's guards (blond hair, striking green eyes, muscles that suggest that he trains about as much as he should). He shudders at the realization that they may have done whatever they were doing with one of her guards in the room, and he goes to give the guard a once-over (there's always a chance that a guard doesn't know enough to keep his body language in check, and Chaol's used that to navigate these sorts of situations more than once).
Chaol needs to know how angry this guy is before he lets him storm off with Lady Ressinia in tow - her family is visiting from a small country that Chaol can't remember the name of, but they should be gone soon. They'll need to be gone even sooner if their guards are angry, because then it'll get back to her parents, and that'll just be a mess. He's about to offer to have one of their healers put together a morning after tonic for Lady Ressinia when he realizes that the guard in front of him is naked.
His jaw drops.
"Oh, so you're Chaol, are you?" The words come out as a sneer, and then he's whirling around to face the bed he just crawled out of. "My name is Leander, you - you - you - " The guard stops short, and in the silence following his shouting, the room fills with tension.
Chaol feels like he's drowning in the tension - he could probably get after it with the sword at his waist, but he doesn't think that that would be very helpful to the situation. In fact, it would probably just result in both of them being late to the training field.
Something in his chest aches the way it did when he caught Lithaen in bed with Roland, but it's so much worse that it nearly sends him to his knees. He doesn't know what to make of it. While it probably isn't wise (or good for him, for that matter), he does the only thing he knows how to: shoves it down to deal with later.
Maybe he'll even pull a page out of Dorian's book and get so drunk off his ass that his feelings make sense to him for the first time since Lithaen.
Part of Chaol knows that he should step in. He should probably tell Leander to go away. But he's right there, so nothing bad will happen, and he's too frozen in place to move between Leander and the bed. His fingertips tingle as what Leander said bounces around in the back of his head - he's missing something, he knows, but he doesn't know how to put the pieces of the puzzle together and figure it out.
Leander (searching for words and not reaching any kind of real decision on what to say, spewing random fragments of sentences and practically growling) is still wagging his finger in the direction of the bed, presumably at Dorian, even though Chaol can't see around the guard's figure (Chaol is perfectly aware that he's there; sometimes it's like he can feel Dorian, like he can sense the man's presence - which is just as ridiculous as it sounds, by the way). He's trying his best to not look at the man's figure as well, because he still hasn't found the decency to put on some clothes.
"What are you going on about?" Dorian finally yawns. He sits up from the pillows, leaning back against the wall, pulling a blanket with him, to cover himself up. There's confusion in his eyes (they're only half-open, but Chaol is fluent in Dorian-speak). He clearly doesn't know what he's done to upset Leander. Everything about Dorian's posture tells Chaol that he knows he's done something, though, because he's too casually relaxed for someone to be this angry with him - Dorian's façade of calm probably only serves to anger Leander more, though, because he lets out a strangled shout.
Chaol forces down the part of his brain that wants to hold that over Leander's head - you might've bedded him, that voice taunts, but I'm still his best friend. I know him better than you, I can read him better than you.
And when you leave in a few minutes, I'll still be here.
He hates that part of himself - Dorian has never been his, and he has no right to be so jealous, even if there's nothing he wouldn't do for Dorian. That's never meant that Dorian would return that sentiment, and he has no right to ask that of him. Friendship is enough for Chaol, even if that stupid voice in the back of his head wants to take a pathetic jab at Leander (and everyone else that Chaol has had to kick out of Dorian's room) with it.
But he has no right to do that. Dorian deserves to be happy, and if this is what makes him happy... Chaol will see to it that he can do as he pleases. Like the good, faithful, dutiful friend that he is.
I can't keep thinking like this, he tells himself. Training starts in an hour and a half, and we still have to get Dorian some breakfast and get down there. He distracts himself with sizing up Dorian - it might give him a clue as to why Leander is so angry.
Now that Chaol can see him, he determines that Dorian and Leander must've had quite the time (he forces down the wave of nausea that comes with considering exactly what kind of time they must've had together, because it hurts too much to think about, let alone consider or process his own resulting emotions), because Dorian looks absolutely exhausted. He's pale, and his eyes are narrowed, and Chaol wonders if he's going to be too hungover to train.
Chaol also wonders if Dorian does know what he did to piss off Leander. There's a decent chance that he might - Dorian's not too bad at hiding things, at acting, at covering things up. Chaol's never been able to figure out why Dorian started acting like this, sleeping around and drinking half the night, even though it was relatively recent and wasn't at all something that he missed as it started. And yet, the explanation still escapes him.
So Dorian might know what he did - Chaol doesn't like it at all, this feeling that he has of Dorian hiding himself from him, of him avoiding Chaol. He has no right to feel so slighted (they're best friends, and he has no right to be so interested in how Dorian wants to spend his time, he knows that), but he can't help but feel as if Dorian is cutting him out of his life.
(Which literally makes no sense, he counters. He hates the feeling that gives him, the way that thought makes his fingers tremble. He balls his hands into fists. We've done literally everything together since we could walk.)
Chaol finally snaps out of it a few seconds later, which is good, because it appears that Leander has finally found something to say.
"You called me Chaol, you royal buffoon!" he shouts. "We've done this how many times since we arrived here, and you're still calling me Chaol?" He flings his arms out wide, like his anger is too big for his body when his arms are so tight to his sides. "I let it go the first, say, fifteen times, but this is the end of it! I don't owe you a damn thing, especially if you can't remember my name! I'm done sharing a bed with you!"
Chaol isn't sure what he's more surprised by (and he's still far too surprised to reprimand the visiting guard for insulting the crown prince) - the fact that this has clearly been a regular thing for them (he doesn't know how he doesn't know, because he definitely would've remembered kicking a man out of Dorian's room, and then he certainly would've remembered the raging headache that the ensuing hangover would've involved) or that he's been calling Leander -
He's been calling his... Chaol searches for the right word, unsure of what to call their relationship. Since this is a thing between them, if they've been at it for a while... his significant other, Chaol decides. He still can't make sense of it, and he repeats the knowledge in his head. He's been calling his significant other my name?
No, it still makes absolutely no sense.
He opens his mouth to suggest that they table their discussion/ argument/ fight until after Dorian's met his father's wishes and his own obligations for the day, but what comes out is: "Don't speak to him like that."
He can't believe he's defending him, after what he's just learned, after what he's been putting himself through trying to figure out what went so wrong between them (without his noticing) that Dorian suddenly started avoiding him and acting so foolishly, even when Chaol's been sticking around to help clean up the fallout (read: get rid of his one-night stands and appease them enough to keep their mouths shut about their tryst with the crown prince). But he loves Dorian, in all kinds of ways (even if he doesn't feel like working that one out in his head just yet, maybe mostly because it's always looked like Dorian is more interested in bedding every visiting princess or female dignitary he can), and he's still his prince - no one speaks to him like that while Chaol is around.
No one, not even his... Leander.
Dorian looks more uncomfortable than Chaol has ever seen him in his life. None of his usual charm is there, none of the wit or the blinding grin that has made more than one girl stumble into a wall (it has the same effect on Chaol sometimes, if he isn't careful, but it's not the one of Dorian's smiles he loves the most anyway). Chaol doesn't bother seeing it for anything more than what it is: it's not an act. This isn't a "to my credit, I have the decency to look apologetic and feel bad for hurting your feelings" act to get Leander to leave quietly and then sneak back into his chambers tonight.
Dorian's posture has gone from relaxed to exhausted, and he's leaning against the wall like it's really holding him up. The last of what little energy he seemed to have just a few seconds before seems to have drained out of him entirely.
"I'm sorry," Dorian says slowly, and Chaol knows he means it.
But Chaol isn't sure who he's talking to, because while it should be directed at Leander, Dorian eyes are locked on Chaol.
Leander seems to note this too, because then he's whirling around again to face Chaol. His finger is still up in the air, and suddenly it's in Chaol's face. Leander is lucky that Chaol has a better handle on his temper; it would be unnervingly easy to remove said hand from his face, but Chaol is trying to be the bigger person.
He's really sick of being the bigger person, but he's determined to keep trying. If only for Dorian's sake.
Leander opens his mouth to start giving Chaol a piece of his mind, but he stops short just before he starts speaking. He takes a few seconds, regroups his thoughts, and points out the obvious: "You look really surprised."
Chaol doesn't know what to say to that. The captain of the palace's royal guard is trying really hard to ignore the fact that Dorian called a man he's been bedding (more than once, likely since the delegation led by the Ressinias actually arrived in Rifthold) his name - he doesn't want to know what that's supposed to mean, he doesn't want to think about how this is going to affect their friendship - it probably won't be good, he knows that much, and it sends a wave of nausea through his body that has him reaching out for something to steady himself with), and he most definitely doesn't want to know what Leander is thinking of the two of them.
To his credit, Leander doesn't sneer again, as Chaol expects him to. He shakes his head, looks over his shoulder at Dorian and says more than asks, "He doesn't know, does he?"
Dorian shakes his head. When he says, "No, no, he - no, he doesn't," his voice is strangled. One of his hands is fisted in the comforter that is still twisted and wrinkled from their activities the night before.
"What don't I know, exactly?" Chaol doesn't mean to say it out loud, and it takes Dorian's paling another shade (not just that: he heaves in a breath, and Chaol sees how exhausted he is, how broken he looks, and his heart breaks for his friend) for Chaol to realize that he's the one who actually asked.
Leander shakes his head. "I like you, Dorian, but everyone in this castle knows how miserable the two of you have made each other. Even Lady Ressinia can't figure out why I've been keeping you company" - Chaol has to bite back a reaction to the way that his imagination runs wild at the mention of the way that Leander's been keeping Dorian company, because Dorian doesn't owe him anything, and he shouldn't be acting like this anyway; Leander said that on purpose, though, even Chaol is smart enough to know that he's being petty and trying to get under his skin - "because she knows that I don't mean anything to you beyond the fact that I'm a warm body."
"You like me even though I forgot your name?" Dorian's voice is hollow in a way that makes Chaol sick to his stomach. Dorian quirks up a corner of his mouth as he talks, but Chaol suspects it to be more of an olive branch than anything else - Leander is trying to play nice, so Dorian is smart enough to take the offered truce and run with it.
There's a brief moment of silence. Leander looks around the room as he puts his thoughts together. Chaol wonders what it would be like to have the freedom to be so open with your feelings, to leave your guard down so much.
He could never do that. It must be nice.
Leander cocks his head to the side and holds up his hands in what must be meant as a placating gesture. "I don't think you forgot my name. I think I may have overreacted."
Because he's naked, Chaol can see his neck and shoulders flush red. Chaol averts his eyes, and his gaze finds its way back to Dorian. As soon as he looks at him, though, Dorian's eyes are darting away from where they'd previously been staring at Chaol. Chaol keeps looking at Dorian, trying to catch his eye. He's only encouraged by Dorian's attempt at avoiding his gaze. He wants to know what the hell is going on.
Look at me, Dorian, look at me.
"I think, for whatever it's worth, that you're too decent a man to forget someone's name like that," Leander finally continues. He spends a minute or two shifting his weight from his right foot to his left (usually, Chaol would see this and peg someone as nervous, but he thinks that Leander is actually using the movement to pace himself, to allow himself time to consider his words) and then keeps going. "I think you want to be with someone else. Lady Ressinia was right, no matter how much I like you."
And then Leander is leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Dorian's cheek, spending every bit of sixty seconds leaning over him, whispering something that obviously isn't meant for Chaol to hear. When he stands up straight again, he doesn't pause before turning to face Chaol (it's a pivot and not a whirl, and there's not a finger in his face this time, and he wonders what exactly Leander's decided or figured out).
"I'm not entirely sure it's you," he starts, ignoring the way that Dorian tries to cut him off, "but I know for a fact that everyone who lives in this palace - or, at least, all the people I've talked to about it - know that there's something between the two of you." He gives Chaol a minute to process that, and then continues, crossing the room to retrieve his clothes. "But if it is you, I highly suggest that you pull your head out of your ass. The crown prince has made it quite clear that he can have anyone he wants."
That particular knowledge sends another wave of nausea through Chaol, and he almost believes that he knows why this time.
Leander gets dressed, not at all in a rush, leaving Chaol to stare (gaping and wide-eyed) at Dorian, and Dorian to determinedly study the wall just over Chaol's shoulder like it's suddenly become very interesting to him, even though he's lived here his whole life.
Once Leander is fully clothed, carrying his boots (the ones that had been by the door were his, apparently) he glances over himself in Dorian's mirror. He gives Dorian one more sad smile (which Dorian only meets with more of that wide-eyed confusion and refusal to meet Chaol's eyes) and then makes for the door. He stops all of two inches from Chaol (it takes a good deal of self-control not to shove him away right then, but Chaol manages to keep his hands to himself) and whispers, "Lord Westfall, if you love him, don't you dare let him go."
Leander gives Chaol an up and down glance. "He deserves someone who will love him well, and I believe that he truly wants it to be you."
"You can't - you can't be serious," Chaol sputters, because it's the truth - there's no way that Dorian wants it to be him. Dorian deserves so much better than him. There's no way that he would ever want him that way. He isn't even attracted to other-
Well, that may not be entirely true, he realizes, because he's been with Leander all this time.
That definitely sends a stab through him (Leander is clearly trying to be helpful, and it's definitely out of line for Chaol to be so jealous, but he can't help it), but it opens up a possibility that hadn't even existed before.
Leander nods, somehow knowing exactly what he's realized. "Alcohol gets people talking, and I've heard all about the captain that he cares about so much that he's started being with other people, just to try and cover up his feelings." He steps back, clear out of Chaol's personal space, and continues to the door.
"Be good to each other," he calls over his shoulder, running a careful hand through his hair.
When Leander leaves, pulling the door closed behind him, Chaol is still standing gaping and wide-eyed in the middle of Dorian's bedroom. Behind him, Dorian is still heaving for breath.
Chaol exhales evenly. He needs to get Dorian to training (if it were anything else, if the King hadn't insisted, Chaol would find a way to excuse them both - there's no way that he's planning on letting him out of his sight now, knowing what Leander said and what he thinks it meant - with his luck, Dorian will find a way to up and disappear before they can talk about it), needs to get him through it, and he can have Brullo run training exercises with the new recruits later (Brullo won't like pulling double duty, but he'll tell him that Dorian has requested that he goes riding with him or something - he won't buy it for a second, but he'll see that something's wrong and agree, and then Chaol can buy him as many drinks as he'd like while he explains everything later - and the other guards will be satisfied) while he drags Dorian back to his room, summons a healer (as bad as Dorian looked earlier, something is bound to go wrong, and there's no way that Chaol is going to let him pretend to be alright when he'll very likely find a way to injure himself), and sits them both down for the most awkward conversation of their lives.
"Dorian." He keeps his voice low as he turns to face his friend. "We can't be late, so you need to get dressed so that we can get going."
Though he doesn't meet his eyes, Dorian shakes his head. "We didn't - we didn't..." He trails off, eyes searching the room around them like the walls have the words he needs, before choking out, "I didn't sleep with him." He shakes his head again. This time, it's too harsh - more of a jerking motion than can be good for his neck - and a stab of worry goes through Chaol's middle, even as Dorian continues speaking. "Well, I did, but we didn't have... We slept in the same bed, is all. We didn't..."
It's none of Chaol's business, and he really doesn't have a right to care - Dorian doesn't owe him anything, and he's just about to tell him that when Dorian keeps talking.
"I mean, I have. We were sort of together." He scratches the back of his neck with the hand that isn't holding onto the comforter like it's a lifeline, still not looking up to meet Chaol's eyes. "But when we did, I always made sure he left before you got here to make sure I was up." He takes a shallow breath, and then his words are coming out so fast they're tripping over each other. "I didn't want you to know, I was trying to keep you from finding out. I knew that it was stupid of me - that you would find out eventually, because you've got a way of doing that somehow, but I was so lonely, and - "
He breaks off with a half-sob, and that's all Chaol can take.
Chaol steps forward, bracing one of his knees and his opposite hand on the bed in front of him, fine with touching the bed now that the weirdness of them having bedded one another there just a few hours before is gone.
"Dorian," he whispers, resting his free hand on Dorian's cheek. He moves with a confidence that he'd never even managed with Lithaen. "Look at me."
Dorian shakes his head. He moves to bat Chaol's hand away from his face, and Chaol is suddenly very afraid that he misunderstood what Leander said. The words play back in his head as he reconsiders.
He wants it to be you. Pull your head out of your ass. Everyone knows that there's something between the two of you.
He wants it to be you.
Chaol keeps his hand on Dorian's cheek, even as Dorian's fingers wrap around his wrist. "Chaol, I'm not - you don't understand - "
"What don't I understand?" He's careful to keep his voice low and gentle, like he's talking to a frightened child, and he slowly brushes his thumb across Dorian's cheekbone.
Dorian leans into his hand, biting his lip. "Leander wants me to tell you, and I want to, but I'm so afraid of losing you, Chaol, and I can deal with this, but I don't think I could" - Dorian is shaking his head then, finally looking up to meet Chaol's eyes, and his own eyes are so blue that Chaol feels like he's drowning, and they're so full of tears that Chaol wants to sob himself - "I couldn't, Chaol, and you - "
"I understand, Dorian, I do."
Those are fears that Chaol is perfectly acquainted with: he realized that he had feelings for Dorian sometime after he and Lithaen became engaged, and he's never so much blamed her for sleeping with Roland, because he's always been in love with Dorian. But he said nothing because he didn't want to risk their friendship, wanted to have whatever he could have with Dorian, even if that was being his best friend. Even if it would never be anything more, it was better than losing him altogether.
He loved her then, yes, but he's always loved Dorian - it's tragic that human hearts can be so big, can hold so much, maybe, but that knowledge has never made his heart not race when Dorian is near him.
Dorian laughs, and it's a terrible, broken glass sound that sets Chaol on edge. "How could you understand? Did -" His eyes are wide, wild with terror all of the sudden, and the fingers around Chaol's wrist are tight. "Did Leander tell you?"
Chaol shakes his head. "Dorian," he repeats, smiling as softly as he can with as much as he's feeling. He presses his thumb to Dorian's lips. "Shh, listen to me for a second, would you?"
And then Dorian is quiet, eyes still shining with tears but bright with hope.
"Leander said that you deserve someone who will love you well," he starts, forcing himself to keep his eyes locked with Dorian's. It's hard for him to be so open like this, to put himself out there like this, but he thinks that he knows what Leander was getting at.
This is him pulling his head out of his ass.
"You deserve that, Dorian, and the entire world, and so much more than that. You've always had whatever's been mine to give, you know that, but if you'll let me, I'll..."
He doesn't know how to finish that sentence. He doesn't know what he has to offer, if anything - he isn't even in line to be the Lord of Anielle, and Dorian will be the King of Adarlan one day. What could he offer his friend?
Dorian is staring up at him, eyes so full of wonder and hope that Chaol isn't sure what to do at all.
"You're the future of this kingdom, Dorian, but you've always been my future, too. I didn't leave Anielle without an idea of what I was giving up; I knew exactly what I was doing, and I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to come back. I wanted to be here, with you. I've always wanted to - " He shakes his head, feeling his cheeks redden. He forces the words out before he can change his mind. "I want to stand at your side while you change the world."
Dorian blinks really hard once - twice - three times, and then relaxes his grip on Chaol's wrist without moving his hand. A few of the tears in his eyes have managed to escape in rivers down his face, and Chaol barely feels it as they touch his fingers, which are still resting on Dorian's cheek.
Dorian nods, a smile splitting his face in half. He throws his head back and actually laughs. It's such a far cry from the sobbing from just a minute or two before that Chaol doesn't quite know what to do with the change. (Fear rips through Chaol at that - why is he laughing? It goes away a second later, though, because Dorian has other ideas.) With one hand, he yanks Chaol towards him by the front of his shirt with a strength that Chaol, when he'd entered the room just a bit ago, hadn't known that Dorian possessed.
And then Dorian's mouth is finding Chaol's, and it's not pretty, but they're suddenly a tangle of gentle hands and soft lips that can't quite believe that this is actually happening.
Dorian pulls back first, lips swollen and face flushed and hands still holding on to the front of Chaol's shirt. "You can have the rest of that after training," he promises. His eyes are twinkling with laughter.
Chaol watches, still feeling the warmth of his best friend's mouth on his, the warmth of his hands holding onto him, as Dorian pushes himself off the bed and slips out from underneath the sheet, clad in only a pair of loose-fitting pants. He heads into the washroom, not bothering to close the door behind him. Chaol knows why - the two of them are far beyond closing doors, as this point.
It's a thought sillier than he's ever considered himself, but somehow, he knows that what they share can't be stifled by a door.
Chaol doesn't want to wait until after training for the rest of that kiss, but then again, maybe he can - he's waited this long, after all. A few more hours shouldn't be too hard. He presses his fingers to his lips, which are still tingling. He can't believe this is happening.
(There's a lot between them, a lot to work out, but perhaps that's okay. They're together, now, aren't they? And they'll be alright.)
A few minutes later, Dorian is strutting back out of the washroom. Chaol jumps to his feet at the sight, and the smile on Dorian's face nearly knocks him on his ass. His knees certainly go weak. He suddenly has a lot more sympathy for the girls that he once thought so little of, the ones that were always all over Dorian. He really is something, isn't he, Chaol's prince?
He certainly is, Chaol thinks to himself. Dorian steps right into his personal space, something that has happened countless times, but in far more innocent ways (though Chaol's heart has always beat wildly no matter what Dorian's motivation was for getting to close to him) than what Dorian has planned - he reaches for the front of Chaol's shirt (but because they're really too close for him to pull Chaol towards him, he just holds on tightly) and brushes his mouth over Chaol's jaw.
It takes every bit of Chaol's resolve to take a step back. He's laughing as he does it, grabbing at Dorian's waist, doing his best to keep from planting his own mouth somewhere on Dorian's face. "We have all the time in the world, Dorian, but your father is going to be pissed if you're late again."
"Oh, well - "
Dorian rolls his eyes as he speaks, making a move to pull Chaol to his chest again, but is cut off by a shout from outside the door: "Your Highness, it's time for you to leave for training!"
Chaol shakes his head as Dorian mutters a curse. Even as he rolls his eyes at his friend, there's a fond look on Chaol's face. Probably nothing but love in his eyes, he would imagine. There's a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Punctuality is a virtue, you know."
"So is letting people live in the moment, Chaol." Dorian gestures a little more vigorously than usual as he speaks. His fingers are still tangled with Chaol's, so Chaol's hands move with his through his motions. Chaol has to take a small step forward to keep from falling on top of Dorian.
Chaol lifts Dorian's chin with two fingers, his hand still wrapped around Dorian's, their arms pressed together between their chests. Once Dorian looks him in the eyes, sarcasm replaced with a seriousness that rarely anyone else sees, as well as something Chaol thinks might actually be love, he murmurs, kind of repeating himself, "We have all the time in the world, my prince, to spend living in as many moments as we'd like."
Dorian nods slowly. He looks too at a loss for words to respond, so Chaol brushes their noses together and then draws his head back before Dorian can catch his lips in another kiss. "But the sooner we get back from training," Chaol teases, unable to help himself, "the sooner I get the rest of that kiss, yes?"
Dorian scoffs. Mutters a curse under his breath in a language Chaol doesn't speak - probably so that Chaol doesn't know what he's saying - and then promptly separates himself from Chaol and marches towards the door. He throws it open so hard it looks as if it will slam into the wall, catching it just before it does.
"Alright, everyone, we're due at the training grounds very shortly, I believe, so we'd best get moving!"
Chaol tosses his head back in a laugh that he feels in his entire body, and then shakes his head as he goes after his prince.
He's so incredibly in love - it feels like he's walking on air. He wouldn't have it any other way.