☉ between buildings (18+ MDNI)
Okhema throws a celebration to commemorate the end of the Month of Cultivation, and as one of Aglaea's primary attendants, you find yourself working nonstop on the night of. Your longtime friend and crush Phainon offers you reprieve, but not before things so slightly sideways.
note: it's long. there's buildup and everything. God I love Phainon, and I hope y'all like this as much as I did writing it.
content: afab!reader x phainon; friends to lovers; they have unspecified friendly history tgt; pining; light angst; some humor; messy, messy makeouts; fröttage; semi-public sëx; dry hümping but it kinda turns wet idk??; nípple play; feelings during sëx; CONSENT IS SËXY!; phainon 🥹
wc: 5353
In the many millennia since Okhema's founding at the foot of Kephale, the city has slowly shifted. Their devotion to Kephale remains, but their culture transformed from small and quiet to raucous and bustling.
The same applies to their celebrations. Today is a complete spectacle—the arrival of the Month of Joy. Stalls sprawl the city, selling specialties, and the best street musicians parade from the Marmoreal Palace all the way down to the entrance. The citizens are out and about, drinking and making merry. Even from one of the balconies of the Palace, the sound of the kithara still reaches your ears, a subtle hum under the commotion.
You're leaning against the smooth, marble railing, and as you do, a gentle breeze tousles your hair. It cools your skin and dries the sweat on your body.
This event is fairly high in importance on Aglaea's busy schedule, and the increasing risk to maintain the safety of the citizens during the event takes ultimate precedence. With her swept away deep into preparations, oversight was also placed upon Tribbie and Trianne. Though you were one of Aglaea's primary attendants, typically moving alongside her, you were instead whisked into managing the Baths. Tonight, the pools are flooded with Okheman citizens and the sharp scent of ambrosia.
It's overwhelming. You've been rushing back and forth, here and there, from room to room, aided by the Garmentmaker that trails behind you relaying various problems that seem to pop up like persistent locusts. Somehow sensing your increased fatigue, the Garmentmaker brought you to the balcony to rest. It's been around five minutes since then, and the same time since the Garmentmaker drifted away to carry out other menial duties.
Thank Kephale above for the break you have now, because you doubt you can resume working otherwise.
As you peer down at the brilliant array of lights—oranges, yellows, blues, reds, and pinks—and inhale the scent of the signature fish soup brewing in the city, you purse your lips. It's been far too long since you've directly participated in the festivities yourself, and your heart twinges at the onset of nostalgia.
You're happy in your longtime role as one of Aglaea's attendants. Hell, not only were you able to help her, but the other respected Chrysos Heirs several times as well before, in the Flame Chase Journey. Mostly in meetings, accompanying them in various errands, and even the occasional celebration which allowed attendants of your high enough station. Your mother had said that that in itself is a blessing from the Titans in your last correspondence with her.
And yet now, in this moment, that satisfaction recedes, revealing discontent.
You wallow in your feelings and subconsciously pick at your uniform, rolling the cloth in between your fingers. A few moments later, the sound of swooshing fabric registers to you, and the Garmentmaker cruises around the corner to the balcony. It beckons you to come, resume working, so what else are you to do?
You tie some of your hair back, adjust your skirt, and stalk behind Aglaea's helper. Just as you leave the balcony, you pause, having a clear view of the Hero's Bath.
And there, in the corner of the central bath, is another source of your occasional discontent. He is a 3-inch figure in the distance, his face slightly fuzzy, but you know that undeniably, stripped of his bloodstained armor and underclothes, sits Phainon. Everything below his chest is submerged by the steam, and you catch a glimpse from afar of his sun tattoo.
Then comes his barking laughter, sonorous and joyful, likely at something Castorice said from next to him. It's fluttery and warm, so you can't help the fond smile that pulls on your lips. You desperately want to call out to him like you usually do.
Then, a faint snipping sound echoes from a few yards away, metal sliding against metal, and you remember that you have responsibilities up until the last hour before midnight. You can greet Phainon then, surely.
You take several swift paces and fall in line with the Garmentmaker, who you desperately hope refrains from relaying any of the past few minutes to its master.
---
In the final few minutes before your free hour, as if the Titans themselves bestowed upon you both wonderful luck and cursed misfortune, you encounter Phainon in the halls.
It takes all you have to not stop and stare, because what the hell?
You are no stranger at all to shirtless men, much less shirtless Phainon, having seen him grace the normal baths in that undressed state, but things are so, so very different and new, now that it's just you two in the vicinity.
His skin is flushed a pale, lovely red, and the light from the long lamps along the corridor caresses his features. Droplets of sweat and water sit on his pecs, on his abs, and some trickle down, disappearing into the towel slung on his hips. And his V-line, Kephale, what a V-line, you bemoan internally.
You want to keep looking, at the veins trailing on his forearms and his long, thick fingers, but you jolt with the realization that you have been staring for far too long than is appropriate—that is, never.
"Good evening, Lord Phainon. How were the—" Your words get caught in your throat, entrapped, by the weight of Phainon's gaze. His lips are quirked slightly up, and his eyebrow is raised, looking awfully amused.
"You're looking a little nervous there," he says. "Something happened?"
His eyes have a sparkle of something that you have no pleasure of finding out. Embarrassment churns in your gut. You're sure he already suspects something's up—maybe he noticed you were practically devouring him with your eyes.
"I'm fine, Lord Phainon," you say, aiming for nonchalance, "things are just a bit hectic tonight."
As if the previous moment disappeared into the wind, Phainon furrows his brow in confusion.
"I thought you were off tonight? I was wondering why I hadn't seen you or Lady Aglaea's other assistant," he asks. "I haven't even been able to get a hold of her, actually. Or even you. Have you checked your teleslate?"
Ah. You haven't checked your teleslate since after your morning bath, because the festivities immediately began; soon after your own departure, your company was the Garmentmaker's ever-lingering presence.
"Oh, uh, I haven't checked since the morning. I haven't gotten the opportunity at all, really." You begin sheepishly, averting your eyes. "Sorry about that. I can check it now, though."
"No need! I can just say it now." Phainon's eyes brighten, and he grins beautifully.
"Come with me for the last hour before midnight!"
You're taken aback, simply because you weren't expecting to have the whole hour with him. It seems like that reaction was very visible because the Deliverer near-imperceptibly wilts. You scramble to fix that, stammering, "no, no, Lord Phainon, I'd love to come!"
"Oh, phew, okay. I thought I—I initially thought you didn't want to," he chuckles in relief. He places one of his hands on his hip, and the towel rides down slightly, a movement you track.
"Um," you start eloquently, "I just thought you would spend the rest of the evening with the other heirs outside?"
"Oh! I guess I could? But I spent the past few hours shriveling up in the baths with them, and I wanted to do something else tonight, y'know? 'Sides, not like we're strangers." Phainon's voice lilts up enthusiastically.
"Well, I'd love to, Lord Phainon. If you'll excuse me to go change, I'll be at the front in around 20?"
"Sounds good! I also need to, well, change." He gestures down at his state of undress, and you take the chance to once again peer down. The water has long since dried, but even then, his muscles still appear atrociously good. You want to reach out and rake your fingers down his pecs, want to feel how pliable they'd be—
"—hey?" He calls your name, and damn it, you were zoning out again, weren't you? You can't even control the physical stutter your body has at being, this time, truly caught, so you shout out a quick 'bye Lord Phainon' and speed walk past him as dignified as possible. You don't see his expression at all, nor do you want to.
By the time you get to your quarters, you're a complete mess. Thankfully, no one important saw you practically race through the halls as you rounded the corner, most everyone outside of this area of the Palace for the time being.
You slam the door behind you, heart in your chest pounding against your rib-cage. And it's not the only thing that's pounding. You only notice the very apparent arousal between your legs now, sticky and uncomfortable. The most simple solution is to collapse face first onto the bed and rub yourself out to the image of Phainon fresh out of the bath ingrained in your mind. But you can't do that. Besides, the longer you take now, the less time you'll have with him outside.
Rushing, you wash your face and dab away the sweat—hardly any time for a bath. Once your face is dried, you dress in your best casual garb: a long, white, layered skirt and a rust-colored flowy top. Quickly, you apply light makeup and jewelry, and just before leaving your quarters, you spritz on your best perfume, skin the scent of sandalwood. The teleslate says around 20 minutes passed, which, not too bad, but you pick up your pace hoping to not find an incensed Phainon waiting at the Palace entrance.
On the way, you pass the same Garmentmaker, who glides by without complaint. You take that as a pass, sighing in relief at the free time.
But your mind is still occupied.
It's not the first market trip with him before, and yet probably because of the occasion, you are jittery. Often, those trips occurred because he happened to be there at the right moment to patrol the city when you had tasks to complete.
You just can't help wishing for a nice end to the night. The ones that occasionally intrude in your mind during slumber, where all you can see, smell, taste and touch is him. Naive thinking, but you can't help it; it's Kephale's city, but Mnestia tiptoes where they please.
Phainon soon comes into your line of sight, and any and all thoughts you have halt. He's chatting with one of the secretaries of the Marmoreal Palace, so he doesn't notice you yet.
Oh, but you're definitely noticing him.
Phainon wears a white low cut, collared shirt, with gold accent details and hem, giving a sneak-peak of his delicious expanse of chest. The top has flowy sleeves, similar to your own skirt, but he wears gold, hugging armbands right above his biceps. His trousers and boots are the same as usual, but his appearance looks princely, rather than the familiar armor clad warrior. Like he's intending on truly enjoying this night without burden. Then you find his scabbard and think, nevermind, warrior through and through.
"Lord Phainon," you call and wave your hand, "hope I haven't kept you long!"
Phainon perks up, and you might need your sight checked, because his ears redden. He quickly ducks his head down, speaks, and jogs over to you, eyes crinkled.
"Hey, no you haven't at all!" He laughs out. "Thanks for accompanying me tonight."
Phainon offers you his arm, looking at you expectantly. "Shall we get going?"
You hesitate initially, but eventually loop your arm through his and let him guide you out the door. Through the top, you can feel his bulging arm, straining against the fabric, and you're growing slightly bothered at being in such close proximity to him.
"I thought we could start with Lairos' Lair." Phainon points to a nearby stall at the beginning of Okhema's main street, and you crane your head to see it. "Because I'm sure you haven't eaten much this evening. The original restaurant is super good, and in fact, Mydei gives it a gold star..."
He wasn't kidding. The skewers melted apart in your mouth and coupled with your own exhaustion, it made a heaven-sent meal.
You both weave your way through the stalls and crowds of people. Interspersed throughout the food and clothing stalls were game stalls, and you each took turns forking out money, him losing sorely while you claimed victory.
"I just don't understand why my luck is so damn bad with these!" Phainon groans, dragging a hand down his face at the tenth loss in a row.
You chuckle and place the dromas plushie in your bag. "Lord Phainon, these are games made to scam innocent customers like you! Of course you'd lose. Er, no offense."
"None taken, haha." His eyes turn accusatory. "Hey, then how'd you win one?"
"I'm just a natural. What can I say?" You shrug, enjoying the situation too much. "Perhaps you need training in stall game strategy more than swordplay."
"And where exactly could I learn that?"
"I'm not exactly sure..." You trail off. "Could we even salvage ten losses?"
Instead of the giggles you were expecting that to incite, Phainon just hums thoughtfully.
"Is everything good, Lord Phainon?" You shift your feet after an outstretched moment of silence and clutch your bag harder.
"Hmm."
"Huh?"
"Ah—Yes, yeah, everything's good. Just—your earrings are quite beautiful." It's an obvious lie, but mercifully you play along with it. A wisp of worry forms in your gut.
"Thank you! I actually bought it here as a little celebratory gift from my first paycheck."
"Truly you have an eye for style. Suits you to work under Lady Goldweaver herself." Phainon reaches out and gently flicks your earring, the hoop tapping against your neck. His finger is close enough to where it could graze your neck. "How many pairs do you have?"
"Not too many, I'd say. This is my favorite pair."
"Well!" He steers you in the direction of another stall by placing his large hand on the middle of your back. The cloth is thinner there, and all you can currently focus on is the heat of his hand. "Care to add another?"
"I—what?"
"Another! This festival happens once a year, and for your hard work, and you know, just because, I'd like to get you something. A token of our...friendship!"
Friendship. The ground has never looked more appealing. One word, uttered randomly, shouldn't even be so fucking bad. And yet, secretly, you were thinking, maybe the earlier blunder would be some kind of hint to him. Or maybe, the fact that you pulled out your best earrings and wore the nicest perfume you owned. Or maybe the fact that he took you out at all, and you said yes. Like the hopeless woman you are. You don't even know who to direct your mounting frustration at.
A tiny fraction of your brain reasons with you on the dot. Phainon is a friendly person overall, all sunshine and smiles to anyone who looks his way, not to mention, Amphoreus' Deliverer.
But, another voice counters back, he has other friends, or in the least, decent acquaintances. Why me, then?
Because, the cynical one says, he saw you as he came back to the changing room. It was the right time, right place. Nothing more, nothing less.
The mental battle endures, drawing out as you and Phainon approach a jewelry stall. The orange hanging lights hooked to the drapery do wonders for the gemstones on each of the pieces. One piece in particular catches your eye. The earrings are a sun and moon pair, both cast in gold with a light blue gem hanging from each.
"Do you like any of them?" Phainon questions, and you turn to look up at him. This entire evening you sensed no malice from him, and even now he's genuinely dead-set on buying you jewelry.
You sigh and say, "I don't quite know. Maybe you could pick for me?"
Phainon immediately digs in his pocket for his coin purse. "Of course! It would be my honor."
As he browses the wares on the velvet cloth, you stare at him. None of the previous attraction arises because of the pooling anxiety inside of you. The lights, once clear, morph into hazy and distorted specks. The Okheman citizens, whose joy could never be wrong, become a loud nuisance. Your chest tightens, painfully so, and you want nothing more than to go back to the straightforward task of patrolling Marmoreal Palace with the Garmentmaker. At least that you could make sense of.
You're not sure when the tears begin, but the feeling of skin against your cheek draws you back into the present. A thumb runs under your bottom eyelid, gently wiping the water away into your skin.
Phainon holds such deep concern in his dazzling blues, mouth drawn into a tight line, that you nearly are convinced that he feels this bout of sadness and not you.
"Is everything alright?"
You can barely hear him, voice muffled to your ears. And then, you feel the brush of another hand on your other cheek.
"Please, I—I don't know if—what it is I did wrong, and I've—I don't like making you feel this way." He whispers softly, still caressing your face with his hands. "Tell me?"
The dam breaks, and the tears stream down your face. You laugh inwards bitterly about your makeup, how ruined it must be.
"Phainon—" You gurgle out. His eyes widen at lack of title. "—do you think we can talk?"
"Yes! Yes, absolutely, let me just—" He takes a small, clear pouch from the vendor and swiftly steers you towards a quieter area of the city. In a quiet alleyway, you both stand face to face, your head angled down, wiping away at your tears as delicately as possible, while Phainon hovers over you, unsure and confused.
"Lord Phainon—"
"Phainon, please. Just Phainon."
You sniffle and nod, pressing onwards. "Phainon, I...I like you. So very much. You entered my life without a single warning and took my mind by storm, with your virtue and kindness. And so, when you invited me today to accompany you in the celebration, you can't fathom how excited I was. I've always sort of orbited around you, never too close but never too far, and part of me believed for the first time that tonight would be the chance for me to get closer to you. "
You wince at your own words, the weight of the confession settling down upon your shoulders, accompanied by slight nausea.
"Wait, hold on—"
"No. Please. I just need to finish this."
Phainon acquiesces and stays silent, but shifts his hands to hover near yours, the distance between them mere millimeters. Because you just might break if he touches you now, and he knows that.
"But then a few minutes ago, you were talking about the earrings, and you said a token of friendship, and I just—I couldn't take it. It's not your fault at all, but I guess I was sort of stuck in some..." You wave your hand flippantly and roll your eyes, the latter now puffy and red.
"... delusion. It's just one word and I snapped. Either way, I didn't mean to break down like this, but at the same time I don't feel the greatest. I hope you, uh, wouldn't mind if I returned back to my quarters. I'm sorry for occupying your time, and I pray that I can still be a friend to you." You end there, voice riddled with sadness and resignation.
You can't bring yourself to look up at Phainon. But he does it for you. His large hands cradle your face and tilt it upwards, where he meets you resolutely.
"I can't let you do that."
"Huh?"
"I just—I—lovers don't have to exclusively be lovers, right? They can be friends, too?"
You squint your eyes, puzzled. "I... guess so?"
"Titans—I suck at this. I didn't mean token of friendship in that way, and I'm sorry, I was kind of using it as a gauge. It's my turn to explain, now."
As a gauge, you wonder, as Phainon's expression turns from nervous to remorseful and vulnerable.
"I have feelings for you. For the longest time. And I've always been a coward. I was worried that you would never like me back—"
"How—what?"
"Hush, it's my turn." He silences your mouth with his finger. "But, I don't know, I saw you today in the hallway, pretty blatantly checking me out—"
You snort, remembering that debacle.
"—and then you accepted my invitation for tonight. Then I saw you walk to me, radiant, like the sunsets on beaches of Styxia past."
You bite down on your lip, anxiety and worry melting away the longer Phainon speaks. Mnestia, he called you radiant like the sunset. How can you doubt how he feels about you now?
"I brought you to that earring stand for all of the reasons I said then, but the friendship thing? Only a fraction of the truth. I want not only your friendship, but your companionship."
Phainon takes a few stray strands of your hair and tenderly tucks them behind your ear, fingertips brushing against your temple.
"And I'm sorry, that method was one of the only things I could come up with. Haha, you'd think a graduate from the Grove would be somewhat decent at brainstorming, but clearly not. I—am definitely at fault here, and I should have been entirely straightforward with you. So here I am now, pleading you."
He inhales sharply and slowly exhales, gearing himself up.
"May I... have the pleasure of being your partner?"
Around you, the sky falls to the ground, and the ground rises to the sky. Gods, there's only one answer you can say, huh?
"Yes. Yes to all of the above. I forgive—I don't even care, Phainon, yes."
And because Phainon is a gentleman, ever with restraint, he leans closer, only to pause a few mere centimeters away. Your warm breaths and aromas intermingle in the air that grows ever so chilly. Only a glance away is his lips: full and pink. You follow his movement as he bites on his own lip in commiseration. It snaps away from under his teeth, wet and shiny.
"Can I kiss you?" His voice cracks, like the words are trying their hardest to stop his actions, should you not allow this.
But you absolutely will.
"Please."
Milliseconds cannot describe how fast he surges forward, slotting and locking his lips in between yours like he is the key to opening your buried desire. You can't hear anything but his breathing and the relentless hammering of your heart.
It's still. Permanent.
And then he moves, angling his head to deepen the kiss and placing his hand behind you, a barrier between your hair and the dirty wall.
The tender gesture, so careful and conscious, makes you keen into the kiss.
Your first kiss with him lasts a short moment, and after you both separate, and he asks in a low tone, "was that fine?"
"More than fine. Come back here."
Shakily, you wrap your arms around him and grasping at his head, pulling it as close as you possibly can to yours. Phainon moans into your mouth when you tug his hair lightly and pulls you flush against him, the cold metal of his belt meeting the burning skin of your stomach.
Lips shift and slide languidly against each other, the sound of wet slick the only thing in the alleyway. You bite at each other's lips, licking and sucking, occasionally clicking teeth, but neither of you truly mind.
Not when you are more aroused than you have ever been in your life, body sensitive and set alight.
Not when Phainon's bulge grows against your groin, presence so very prominent and lewd the longer you both devour each other whole.
"Phai—Phainon," you gasp, breaking away for air.
"Yeah?" He says, lips swollen red and similarly winded from the long kiss.
"Are you—have you had sex before?"
"A couple times before, you?" He drops his head to your shoulder and murmurs into the crook of your neck. The words rumble through you, eliciting a soft sigh from you.
"Once, or twice—ah." Phainon places small kisses along the exposed skin, trailing upwards to your ear, each one leaving a blooming burst of heat.
"Yeah, I could tell by that kiss just now."
"Mmh—yeah, I could say the same to you."
Phainon moves his kisses along your jaw, and you angle your face to give him more access. But you wish to service him the same, so your fingers move and linger above exposed chest.
"Lord Phainon—fuck—"
"Jus' Phainon, and please, my body is yours to touch." Your cunt throbs at the words. You, an attendant, getting to worship this warrior's body—unheard of.
"Are you sensitive here, Phainon?" You tease, raking your fingers down his pecs like you've been dreaming of for so long.
He shivers, kissing you haphazardly on the lips as your fingers trace the planes of his abs and back up again. Feeling brave, you take both pecs into your hands and squeeze.
"Fuck," he rasps, so prettily that you almost moan at the sound. "If you don't mind, keep doing that..."
Phainon's exhales turn ragged, and he stands with his forearms placed on the wall, caging you in between, having given up on his poor attempt of multitasking. As you continue squeezing his pecs, your fingers accidentally brush his hardening nipples, and he jerks his hips forward.
You whine, long and breathy, as you feel scorching friction against your clit. Looking down, you can see that his bulge has completely hardened, and his tree trunk of thigh is in between your legs, perfectly placed.
"Oh, look at you, Beautiful." He mutters, flushed in the face and trained on where his thigh meets your cunt. You fluster, hearing the nickname.
He leans in and ducks his face down to your side, breath fanning your ear "How far do you want to go, here?"
You exhale, feeling your own nipples pebble up at the sensation. "Public space, not too far."
"Little too late for that, I think."
"Mm, we've jus' been kissing, though."
He brings his arm down, placing his hand on your hip and squeezing it reassuringly. "Do you trust me?"
You smile at his question. "Well, will you deliver?"
Phainon chuckles at the joke.
"Of course." He punctuates that by licking a long stripe along the shell of your ear, drawing a small whimper from your mouth.
Excruciatingly slow, he slides his thigh out, and the muscle of his leg drags against your clothed cunt. The skirt does nothing for you, and every nerve in your pussy reacts to the delicious friction.
"Fuck—Phainon, that feels so—ohhh!" You hold onto his neck, practically sitting on his knee, and you crash your lips against his, letting every single plead disappear into his mouth for him to keep and claim.
He does it again. And again. And again.
Every single fucking time, his thigh grinds against your cunt, spreading it and rubbing your juices against your underwear and skirt. He picks up his pace, relishing in the way you heatedly beg, your eyes twisted in pleasure and your lips shiny and bruised every time you separate. Every noise goes straight to his dick, already leaking precum.
At some point, you glide your hands with renewed obsession over his soft, sinewy chest, and take both nipples in between your fingers. You flick and roll them, and he jolts forward again.
"Titans—" He growls your name, so loud you almost have the sense to worry that someone will hear you. Then, he mutters hotly, "fuck, liftin' you up", and he actually lifts you up against the wall. Getting the message, you wrap both legs around his waist, and he ruts his rock-hard sex against your sopping cunt.
Cloth against cloth, he thrusts up against you, and his clothed dick catches on your clit, rubbing it so perfectly, you see the very same stars Aquila tries their damnedest to hide. "Your—mmh—! Your nipples are so sensitive Phainon. 'N you keep on shoving your cock under my—ahh—! My—hah—clit," you babble, dazed and definitely not thinking straight.
"Yeah, does it—" he groans obscenely as you massage his left pec, "—feel good? That's all I wanna do, my limelight, make you feel good."
"It doesn't matter what you do, Phainon. You've always—" another cry rips away from your mouth, "—always been so attentive and—"
Phainon dips down, and you bring your hands up to rake through his beautiful gray locks. Your tongues twist around each other, saliva dripping out of your lips in a lustful mess. In a moment's reprieve from his tongue, you whisper against his lips, as he continues rutting.
"—and I will never, ever—ohh—make you regret this decision we made tonight."
"Make me—mmh—regret? Limelight, this entire time, I haven't been Deliverer. Just Phainon. 'N you—" He rolls his body against yours, and you jolt forward to brush lips.
"—you are not Aglaea's attendant. Not with me. Not now, not ever."
"Phainon, I—" In a split second, you meet his eyes again, for the final time, before your orgasm wrecks your body.
Adoration. Simple, unadulterated adoration. For you.
You cum all at once, orgasm sparking like fireworks inside your cunt as you tighten your legs around Phainon's broad waist. Moaning, you clutch at him, burying your face into his chest and chanting his name as your cunt throbs in waves. He continues to rub against your wet heat, pressing kisses into your hair and muttering frantic praise—seconds later, he jerks towards you, cumming in his pants.
You both sigh heavily, and you feel your legs tire and cramp. Phainon's arms probably ache too, but he still holds you in the same position and leans his forehead down to knock against yours.
You end the way you start: inhaling his scent, the heavy musk of sweat and long-gone cologne.
A short time later, he pulls away reluctantly, and you hear the peeling smack of wet linen. Threads of cum connect the moist patch of your skirt with his trousers, obscene and arousing.
He reaches out with his middle and ring finger, and strokes them down the patch.
A thought disrupts your post-orgasmic haze: he's going to lick it. You almost dismiss that, but he brings his middle finger up to his lips, swirls his tongue around it, and pulls it away with a pop.
"Oh," you breathe.
"What?"
"Oh, fuck."
Phainon smirks, keeling over and grabbing your dropped bag from the ground.
"Was that sexy?"
"Oh my god," you can't help but giggle at his words. "Yes—yes it was so sexy."
"I'm just a natural. What can I say?" He throws your words back at you, and the memories of the festival resurface.
As you both collect yourselves, fixing clothes and hair, you huff, "I was so stupid, wasn't I?"
"What do you mean?" He finishes adjusting his collar and moves to help wipe off excess cum on your skirt.
"It's just—I guess I could have been more assertive, huh?"
"Hey." He takes your hand and laces his fingers with yours, the action innocent and domestic. You both exit the alley, bedroom in the Marmoreal Palace the ending destination for the night.
"If you're saying that about yourself, then I feel the same about myself."
"Hm, then we're both stupid, huh?"
"Mhm!" He swings your hand like a child, and the action endears you.
Wait. Hold on.
"Phainon, do you think Lady Aglaea knows by now?"
"Oh, for sure. But don't worry your pretty head about that."
"Kephale..."
You both dissolve into laughter, and that is perhaps the most remarkable event of the night.
end note: frottage could not be hotter, I hope. Also please let me know if there were any glaring grammar errors <3