“I understand you do not mean to suggest I get out of bed.”
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Ambiguous WoL/G'raha. Post 5.3 on a lazy morning, the Warrior of Light [REDACTED]s G'raha's [REDACTED].
Also on AO3.
Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge
Not all sex has to feel like the end of the world. Sometimes it feels like tuning a harp or drawing a flower in the sand. It can feel simple like setting a table, natural as skipping a rock, standing barefoot by the creek—easy little things you might or might not do every day. The beauty is there’s no pressure, and it really doesn’t matter whether you do it or not. Life goes on. Love gets made today or tomorrow in any way at all.
You are old enough to know now that an orgasm shouldn’t change the course of history. You’ve had your share of that. Now in G’raha, you have found a present worth settling down in.
G’raha teaches you so much about patience, patience and hands. Until the last moment his are always light on your body, and that lightness weighs heavy. You’ve come to believe in less is more. He bruises on special occasions, bites once in a blue moon. It feels better to want when you know you won’t want all for nothing. His presence is a promise fulfilled, a wish realized, a dream dragged into reality. He’s here on the Source, outside the Tower, flesh and blood and bone, before your very eyes, against your very lips. G’raha Tia! Raha! Sometimes, you could shout it to all of Mor Dhona.
Or you could whisper it. And you do. At his neck with a hand down his smalls. Middle of a lazy morning, end of a wet dream. He’s hard. He’s smiling. He’s calling out to you, kissing like he doesn’t see how well you want to eat him alive, how keen you are on sucking until you taste the sweetness of his soul at the head of his cock.
“Well, good morning,” he says, stretching his legs. Already an arm finds its way around your shoulders. Another thing like so many that fall into place when he’s around. “Sleep well?”
You grunt and tug him from the base, rubbing an indignant expression upon his bare chest. He smells sunny and delicious, like browned butter just pulled from the stovetop.
“Too early to talk, hm?” he says.
You snicker. “Not too early to get you up, though.”
“I understand you do not mean to suggest I get out of bed.”
“If you do, I’ll come with you.” You work your way up into a straddle bit by bit, lumbering left and right like the pull of sleep is struggling to tug you back into the covers. Ultimately, you prevail and set your hands on G’raha’s belly. On his chest, right at his sternum is a pink half-scar. You both agree it almost resembles a bullet wound, though this body has never known such an injury. Either way, that’s the spot you kiss before slinking down his legs and taking the covers with you. When you settle at his knees, he’s fully exposed to the elements—or he would be, if he’d pull down his smalls. The shape of his stiff cock beneath the fabric warms you from the inside out. You want it so badly that you laugh.
He laughs, too. “Hm? What.” His dick tenses, bobs. Surely his doing. “Is something funny?” Another twitch, perfectly timed. It’d be hilarious if you weren’t so horny.
“I’m going to put it in my mouth.”
“In your mouth! My…” He lifts his head to look, as though he isn’t sure what exactly you’ve roused between his legs. “That doesn’t sound so bad, actually. I’ll allow it.”
“Good.” In days past, you might’ve sassed him. But you’re just happy, so fucking happy. You’ll take it however he gives it to you. He’ll give it a thousand ways before you get bored.
Moments later, your lips close around his clothed cock with a low moan. In the haze of your early lust, you want him leaking through the fabric before you set him free. You greet his tip with your tongue, and he curls his fingers in your hair—doesn’t even touch your head proper—just hovers his hand close, fraying a single strand between his thumb and index.
“Pretty,” he says. “Your eyelashes.”
You flutter them closed. His smalls are soon slick with your spit. You can feel him tensing his thighs every time you lap down the whole length. You know he wants more, but he also likes wanting. What’s the rush?
“Have you been up long?” He lets go of your hair, goes for your neck instead. Feather-touch, nearly a tickle. He keeps his nails short.
You slowly shake your head, your mouth locked upon his cock. Those lips of yours have made many lovers lose their patience.
G’raha’s breaths are loud and long, getting shorter by the moment. “I suppose there’s not much to do today...something with the…” He clears his throat. “Rowena was asking…”
“Mm.” You turn your head sideways and run your lips along his length that way, adjusting the pressure with your jaw. He shudders beneath your ministrations, and it isn’t long before he hitches a thumb in the band of his smalls. A subtle hint, but a certain one.
Who are you to deny him? You suck a little more then let off to tug down the fabric to his knees. He pulls one leg up and out entirely, giving him opportunity to spread a bit more.
The thing that springs free is wet and warm, full and swollen. “Pretty,” you say, staring directly at the bulb of precum on his slit. “Your eyelashes, I mean.”
“Ah-hah…” He blushes and swallows. “Thank you, Warrior.”
“Of course.” You return a smile, this time looking him in the eye. A quick shimmy and you’re once again taking him to the root. The bare taste of his skin makes you want to go faster, taste harder. All of your senses are intoxicated by his raw body, the musk, the moans, the shape of his dick, the way it fits against the roof of your mouth, the way he rubs behind your ear. You could suck his cock all day and have a good time, even if he kept all of his cum to himself.
But he won’t. You know him well enough to recognize the sound of pressure building. That he’s gone quiet is a sure enough sign. He starts holding his breath, shifting his thigh, gripping the mattress. With one free hand, you form a ring at the base of his cock and rub what you can’t always fit in your mouth. Faster, faster, faster, your ears train on the slickness. Your mouth leaks moans of its own.
You really love this man.
You love his dick, too. He’s near coming after you start thumbing at his balls, carefully rubbing down the middle and pressuring his taint with the rest of your fingers. He hikes one leg up and twists you half-sideways, so he can slot himself in and out of your mouth at his own pace. That’s where his touch grows harder, right at the precipice, right at rapture, when he hopes to give you every onze of seed he can offer. You picture each burst at the back of your throat, a mess of sticky white coating your tongue.
He calls your name then gives you something bitter to drink.
Your heart flutters. You swallow.
And swallow again.
He rolls back to his back and wipes his forehead. You move with him, mouth holding his tender cock until he stops adjusting. Before you lean away, you kiss his tip, which twitches. He flinches and laughs. You laugh, too.
“What a treat,” he says.
“I should say the same.”
“Hm…” A happy, thoughtful sound. He grazes your thigh with his fingers, grazes then squeezes. You can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. He can feel your affection at the bridge of his nose, where you’ve set your gaze. “An auspicious start to the day.”
“It always is.” You put your hand over his. “Do you feel like nodding off again, now?”
He fakes a yawn. “I wouldn’t mind resting for a moment more, now that I’ve exerted myself.”
You remove yourself from his legs and crawl back into the covers. Things fall into place, arms, legs, expressions. The pace of his heartbeat. His capacity for patience. Maybe even yours. You trace him from bellybutton to collarbone. “I’ll allow it.”
