These are the things that Dorian once understood:

A gentle touch that grew wilder with each moment, bodies pressed together chasing after the pulse echoing inside. Lips that gave and took, a rush of blood to the surface as they're pulled between teeth and tasted. Kisses that burned down the length of a spine and made legs tremble, hands that gripped for purchase as the world fell away. Lust that left limbs satiated and leaving before the heart could suffer from things that are only meant for passing by. Breath hot and voices rough with desire and the words I want you meaning nothing beyond that moment, that place in time.

And above all he understood that you never need fear the water if you don't swim.

But then things changed, slowly at first, and then with a speed rivaling the fastest flood, until he gave up on clutching to the shifting sand altogether and let himself be swept away.

His boots were full of stones and every breath felt like drowning as they traveled through the humid land. The heavy heat made his clothes feel three sizes too small and whatever efforts done to make himself presentable that morning trailed down his skin along with sweat and trappings of dust.

He was not the only one to suffer at the hands of cruel nature. Vaxus pressed onward at his side constantly wiping at his forehead with a ragged cloth. Tiny, frizzy curls escaped the tight confines of his bun and refused to stay down no matter how many times he tried to tame them. The effort was futile, but endearing, and some of Dorian's loathing for this whole outdoor escapade evaporated away at the sight.

"What is it?" Vaxus asked when he noticed Dorian's attention lingering.

Dorian reached over to twist one of the dark tuffs. "Just admiring the view."

The red blooms of exertion on the warrior's face changed into darker embarrassment as Vaxus ran a self-conscious hand atop his head again before he could stop himself. There was only affectionate jest in Dorian's voice, however, and it coaxed a laugh from the other's mouth.

Vaxus put a finger beneath Dorian's eye and came away with kohl smeared across a rough pad. "It is pretty scenic this season."

Dorian grumbled as he blindly tried to wipe away the smudges on his face. "This is intolerable."

"You know I could leave you behind for these particular assignments if you wanted. I'm sure you could get tons of research done from the comfort of your chair instead. Just say the word."

"And have the Inquisitor run amok without expert guidance? Perish the thought. I won't be responsible for such things despite my own comforts, but I have no problems voicing my opinions."

"You don't say. Here." Vaxus reached into his pack and produced another handkerchief blessedly clean of any grime. "It'll help."

Their hands brushed as the cloth passed into its new owner's grip and a different type of warmth spread across Dorian's skin. One he didn't mind that much at all. "How generous of you. I don't suppose you have a sparkling oasis in there as well?"

"No, but if I find one I'll let you know. I wouldn't mind the company," Vaxus replied with a grin that was too wonderful for such a place as that, too wonderful for such a person as a runaway altus, but there it was nonetheless.

"I imagine I would accept such an offer, if you felt inclined."

"Good to know." A moment stretched between them as quiet birdsong echoed in the distance and the loud thunder of heartbeats boomed within chests. It was too much and not enough, this thing blooming between them, something solid and not the flights of necessity that came before. Something as marvelously mysterious and potentially dangerous as the deep waters of an infinite ocean.

Dorian cleared his throat and made his feet move once more. "Yes well, shall we continue trudging onward then?"

But he held tight to the cloth throughout the rest of the day, believing, possibly foolishly so, that it was more than a simple gift. It was the beginning of something more and all he had to do was take a breath and dive in.

These are the things that Dorian now understands:

A calloused touch that reverently smooths across his skin and a hand that clutches his just to hold it. A body peppered by scars like points on a map that he patiently plots with lips and pointed tongue. A mouth that tastes like honey and he savors every taste like it is the only way to nourish his battered soul and oh, how it soars on remade wings born from the breath of love. Pleasure that rolls and coils and burns, that grasps at his hips and heart until he is a shuddering mess inside and out in a way that feels real and impossible all the same. The words I want you meaning for the rest of our days and until the end of time and knowing there are some things that can last.

And above all, he understands that you will never feel the water if you don't swim.