Solunis is an Eclipse-style animatronic made for the exclusive use of a renaissance fair. He was designed to be flashy and entertaining, charming and witty, able to dazzle guests with his unique feature of flipping between two modes — Solar and Lunar Eclipse — upon whim or request. He’s exuberant and talented across a wide range of musical and storytelling skills, but most importantly he’s—
Lonely.
So very, very lonely.
Three hundred and six thousand, five hundred and forty-two minutes.
Five thousand, one hundred and ten hours.
In other words, a touch under seven months exactly, down to the very moment in time that he was initially powered on -- when his systems came to life beneath blinding floodlights and his mind suddenly stuffed full of awareness.
Activity. Life. Pain.
The sensory overload was almost as agonizing as it was immediate. From cold and lifeless to the functional equivalent of a fully-grown adult, it wasn't something one could simply describe. The act of living when one was dead just a moment before — though non-existence would be more fitting of a description. It was as if every single byte of information within his body was on fire all at once, tearing through metal and wire and plastic until it engulfed him with the raw, unfiltered sensations of being alive.
To call it a shock would be an understatement.
At least the employees had the decency to power him on for the first time a few days before the grand opening of the fair. Not enough time to cope with the existential dread of suddenly being alive, mind you.
But long enough to learn how to hide it behind a mask.
That was seven months ago.
Seven months ago, he didn’t even have a name — not really, at least. He had a model type (Eclipse ver 2.32) and serial number (so long a string of letters and numbers that it isn’t worth mentioning), but neither of those concepts constitutes a name proper. His handlers came to calling him ‘Eclipse’ in passing, but his official title was dependent on what of two distinct forms he took on.
Solar Eclipse and Lunar Eclipse. Catchy, one might think. Creative. Witty, even.
With his flashy attire fitting for that of a fantasy bard mixed in with the aesthetic of a royal jester, he truly was eye-catching. His signature feature was being able to switch back and forth from warm reds and golds to cool blues and purples in the blink of an eye. Not into separate personalities, as some earlier models did as a cost-saving measure, but simply to impress crowds of onlookers drunk on mead and happy to listen to a blissful tune of an animatronic almost tailor-made for entertainment and charm.
He has a name now, of course. One of his own choosing, not to be pried from his cold, power-drained fingers no matter how many times his systems were reset — the employees stopped doing that after a while, when it was obvious it was more effort to do so after every weekend than to simply let him roam about freely in the hours between shows and seasons.
Solunis. His name was—
His name is Solunis.
And it is Solunis who stands at the edge of the fairgrounds, beyond where the markers urge fairgoers not to tread, lest they wander into the thicket of the forest beyond and end up lost to the monster of mother nature.
In the last seven months almost exactly, Solunis had contemplated leaving the fairgrounds completely. He bore no physical shackles, no tether of which connected him to the buildings and fake castles currently inhabited by ghosts of crowds that wouldn’t return for several months when the weather grew warmer and more… pleasant. Only the utility bots remained, silent and passive. They felt like ghosts too.
Solunis ponders on what lies beyond the forest. And beyond that. And beyond that still. There is a vision wrapped somewhere deep in the animatronics programming. It’s… odd, like a memory he never lived, but colorful and vivid all the same.
Of rolling green hills and a soft spring breeze, a wide sky of beautiful cerulean that seems to stretch on for an eternity. The sun is bright and warm against the surface of his body, so much that there’s not a single worry or want in the bot’s entire being. He wonders how far this place is or if it even exists at all.
But maybe Solunis can find it. After all, nothing is keeping him tied here, right? He could charge using sunlight and had the newest kind of internal power engine that meant he could stay active for weeks at a time without so much as a sliver of the morning dawn. It’s what kept him active in the cold, dark winter weeks since the last fair. And… maybe it’s what will give him a chance to leave.
To find this place of green hills, blue skies warm sunlight. Away from everything.
But Solunis isn’t free just because he wears no physical leash; he learns this the hard way upon trying to take but a single step beyond the forest line.
It’s something inside of him. A computer chip most likely, triggered by gps coordinates or some other horrifying assertion of technological dominance hidden somewhere on the grounds. It sends a sudden wave of horror through Solunis’ entire body a mere millisecond before the shocks tear through him. Though he had never once been struck by lightning (nor had such an experience stored in his memory banks) he would describe it exactly like that; suddenly struck with a thunderous weight of a mountain that buzzed and burned through every single wire.
It’s pure agony.
He’s on the ground in seconds, screams of pain filtered and reverberated as his voicebox can barely produce noise at all beyond a shrill whine of metal and fear. And it gets worse. And worse.
And worse.
It’s only when Solunis manages to drag himself just a few feet back, struggling to crawl as his body trembles with an electric misery that only fades when he is back outside of the forest line once more.
He lies there for a while, staring up at the clear moonlit sky.
The sky in winter is often clearer, a preferred condition when trying to stargaze. Something about how the cold makes the air dryer, so there’s less water vapor to make the dark heavens above seem muted and fuzzy. Solunis had come across that fact somewhere in his information archives tucked deep into the unconscious parts of his systems.
He can count almost every single speck of light visible beyond a certain threshold of light, but he can’t take a single step beyond his tiny, isolated world. The only one he’d ever known.
The pain has been gone for a while now, but the specter of it remains in his thoughts, branded into the bot’s memories. He doesn’t try his luck a second time.
Green hills and blue sky will have to wait for another day.
Summary: In which Silvairre asks Samilen out on a date for the very appropriate holiday, and we learn they look very good in dapper suits.
Note: This was written as a Valentine’s day gift for me, and I couldn’t be ever more grateful for it ;w; nothing quite hits me in the feels like that Soft Samivairre Content(tm)
-
Samilen grabbed Silvairre’s hand and pulled him to the edge of the crowd near the Ampitheater, various couples and friends just eager for chocolate spilling out in a massive line. Silvairre allowed himself to be pulled along, not even grumbling, how could he when Samilen’s face lit up just looking at all the decorations.
He gave the Carpenter’s hand a gentle squeeze and was a bit amused that Samilen jumped and bushed out his tail like he’d forgotten he’d dragged Silvairre with him. Maybe he’d thought Silvairre would let go and just let him run ahead?
“Do you want to go?” Silvairre asked with a small nod to the line. Samilen stared at him, face blank.
“With me.”
No response.
“Samilen?”
SIlvairre was beginning to get worried, his boyfriend was just staring at him, “Samilen?”
Finally, Samilen pulled his hand from SIlvairre’s to sign quickly, “you want to go? With me?”
Silvairre smiled and shook his head, “yes, Samilen.” The beam and joyful wiggle of his boyfriend’s ears- which he did not think was cute- his hand almost rising to his mouth at the mere thought of denying he thought it was cute and he could hear Leih scolding him in the back of his mind. Ah, why not?
“You’re adorable.”
Now Samilen’s ears flashed back to against his head and he shook it quickly, looking away in embarrassment.
“I mean it Samilen,” Silvairre held up both hands to prove neither was in front of his mouth, “you’re cute.”
Samilen still looked embarrassed as he asked, “what’s gotten into you?” His head tilted quizzically.
It was Silvairre’s turn to fluster, he couldn’t pin his ears back but kind of wished he could, “I- it is the season for such things isn’t it? And you seemed so excited to go, if you don’t want to-”
Samilen huffed and caught his arm gently, tugging on his sleeve the way he did when Silvairre started to look away from him, “I do, I do!” His tail swished happily behind him.
Silvairre smiled down at him and ducked his head to place a quick kiss against Samilen’s lips, the way his eyes fluttered as Silvairre pulled back, he was always so soft it drove him wild.
“Why don’t you meet me here tonight,” he offered quietly, “Luciane and Beatin are hardly going to come between us and that gives us time to get cleaned up, and perhaps we could get dinner?”
Samilen’s eyes drifted to the crowd and then back to SIlvairre and nodded eagerly, his ears wiggled excitedly, and he gently pulled Silvairre back down to press a kiss to his lips again. Gently he butted his forehead into Silvairre’s with a rusty purr, Silvairre gently stroked the hair on the back of Samilen’s neck, Samilen blinked slowly at him before he pulled away.
“Meet me at sunset?” Samilen signed so confidently but his eyes stayed on Silvairre’s face as though one day he might see something other than the devotion that filled Silvairre’s chest every time Samilen asked something of him.
“I’ll be here.”
-
“You look worried, Silvairre.”
Leih peered up at him as he leaned against the wall in his usual spot. His hand drifted upwards to brush against his lips.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Luciane gave him a look from where she stood, Leih smothered a laugh, her teeth peeking out in her mirth as Silvairre turned to stare at the wall across the room, far over Leih’s head.
“Are you worried about a date tonight?”
“Why would I-“
“Silvairre,” Luciane cut in, “if you are going to lie this much, please learn to do it well. Leih, if he doesn’t wish to talk about it then he must come to see the truth himself.”
Silvairre shot a dirty look at Leih who grinned at him with ears and tail wiggling.
After a moment he went down the stairs, with all the grace he could muster, to approach Leih.
“I might simply be concerned that I have nothing appropriate to wear,” he tried to ignore Leih’s growing smirk, “and attempting to figure out how to address that issue.”
Leih turned to Luciane, “can we go early? Silvairre needs my help with something!”
“Leih!” He knew this was a mistake.
“Have fun you two,” the guildmaster’s voice was warm, “and Silvairre, be grateful. Leih has offered to take your duties tomorrow should you wish to take the day off.”
Silvairre’s head turned to Leih who simply blinked up at him, “what else is family for?” She grabbed him and pulled, “now come on, let’s go make you look good!”
-
Silvairre’s worries had been for naught, between himself and Leih they’d dug through his closet to find some old clothes he hadn’t worn in years but had, by some miracle of the twelve, remained in good condition.
Slightly nicer than his usual outfit, and more relaxed, the last touch had been a clasp around his neck, one that was a striking silvery gray, Leih insisted it brought out his eyes.
Samilen was waiting outside the theater, eyes lighting up when he saw Silvairre and definitely roaming over him in a way that made Silvairre yearn to drag his lover into one of the private corners of Gridania and tell him exactly how and where to put his hands. The fact that Samilen likely wouldn’t be opposed didn’t help.
Neither did the white suit Samilen wore, the same soft shade of white as his hair, Silvairre wet his lips with his tongue, unable to take his eyes off Samilen.
“You look stunning,” Silvairre breathed, Samilen’s ears twitched and he looked away, his ears and tails wiggled and Silvairre offered his hand to him.
“Now then, did we want to get dinner first or get in line and hope we beat the crowd?”
Samilen took his hand with a warm smile and pulled him to the line leading out of the Amphitheater, Silvairre followed after, twinning his fingers with Samilen’s as he followed.
Prompt: Ozma and Salem, they find out Salem is pregnant with their eldest daughter. 😄 (This episode was amazing! It’s a good day to be an Ozpin fan.)
It certainly is friendo! :D I don’t ship these two personally, but it was cool to see some background for the two of them and how they’ve interacted--and the request is adorable!
The excitement was practically bursting from the seams of her focus when she realized what was causing all of the recent physical distress. The early-morning nausea, the sensitivity to scents, the gentle, but everpresent kilter of her aura--Salem was absolutely ecstatic as it all came together in one monumental reveal.
It wasn’t as if it came as any sort of surprise, at least not in the sense that it was unwanted; neither she nor Ozma had even thought about taking the needed steps to avoid it, oh no, they absolutely wanted this to happen.
Salem was pregnant. Pregnant!
It was many months too early to try and find out if she would have a girl or boy, but the fact hardly mattered to the mother-to-be as she paced and pattered through her home. A chlid! A child of their own!
What would they name the child? Where would they set up the nursery? How would Ozma react?
Questions were plentiful in Salem’s mind as she ran about her home, checking, double-checking and triple-checking to make sure she was as correct as possible about the news. It remained the same, beautiful and perfect, such a fitting turn of events; the new gods of Remnant, the lasting woman of the world’s past life, being able to bring a life into the new world of her own.
Luckily, it didn’t take long before Salem heard the sound of her husband returning home. She rushed through the rooms, down the halls until she practically threw herself at him. Ozma caught her in his arms, surprised and confused as he looked over her face for some explanation.
“I don’t recall being gone for that long today,” He said with a chuckle, arms wrapped around Salem’s form. “What is it causing such a smile on your face, love?”
Salem wanted to play coy, at least for a short while. She had toyed with the idea of leading him on for a while, perhaps making it a riddle--but all such ideas were thrown out the window as her excitement burst from her mouth in a hurried rush.
“I’mpregnatwithourchild!”
Ozma blinked.
“One more time,” he said. “Slower.”
Salem felt his grip loosen around her, enough so that she could balance on her own feet, though she didn’t let go of her husbands arms.
“I’m pregnant!” She declared, face filled with joy. “Our first child! Ozma, you’re going to be a father! I’m going to be a mother!”
She moved to hold his hands in her own, clasping them together with such electric happiness Ozma was fearful he’d start seeing sparks.
But that all aside, the man was happy. Overjoyed, honestly, especially since he had worried deep in the back of his mind that the two of them would never be able to have children. It was news, good news, he sorely needed in his life, news of happiness and positivity to quell his thoughts.
“What shall we begin with to prepare?” He asked, voice gentle and curious. “There is plenty needed to be done if we’re to have this castle ready for a baby.”
“Oh Ozma,” Salem murmurs, her face leaning up towards his. “How about you start with a kiss?”
The man can’t help but laugh, giving into his wife’s gentle gesture and pressing his lips to hers.
Summary: For all the awkwardness in their past history, the conversation between Samilen and Silvairre was surprisingly pleasant.
And if Samilen’s eyes just so happened to linger on the archer’s lips, imagining what it would be like to kiss that smug look from soft lips, to feel those callous fingers over sensitive skin--well, that’s Samilen’s own business.
Business he’ll take care of. Out in the woods. By himself. Later. While no one was looking.
Note: Get yourself a friend who will write indulgent fic for your birthday of your catboy oc and his asshole not-quite-boyfriend, and subsequently realize that you yourself have not written anything for them despite that not-quite-boyfriend being one of the biggest ships with said catboy oc.
Regardless of my personal failure for Samilen’s lovelife, thank you for the beautiful fic @runningwolf62! <3
-
"Luciane sent me to speak to you about an order our guild placed."
The voice makes Samilen look up and the face makes his hands still on the wood he was working. It's been five years since he last saw Silvairre. Five years have changed them, stripped them both of their Twin Adders uniforms, (Samilen first and he could never go back, the mere thought almost puts a tremble in his hands; and then everyone in Gridania knew Silvairre's shame. Well maybe not everyone but that had been the hot gossip for a bit.)
"Of course," Beatin says without hesitation and a calmness Samilen wishes he possessed because right now he doubts he could finger spell a letter nevermind a sentence. Of course, then Beatin has an advantage on him. It isn’t his ex-crush that just walked in and smacked him across the face with the fact that he is very much not an ex-crush. That, or he has actually gotten hotter since Samilen last saw him. Either way, his heart slams against his chest like a rhythmless drummer and his mouth feels dry as sandpaper.
Beatin glances over at him and seemed to realize his apprentice was in the middle of a crisis. And he does what any loving and responsible guild master would. "Samilen, you too, you'll likely be helping with this order."
So, the next time when Silvairre came again and Beatin was nowhere to be found, leaving Samilen to deal with him he knew the guildmaster had done it on purpose. He idly thinks about how best to word his threat to take a hacksaw to Beatin’s prized lumber as he dusts the sawdust off his hands and rises to greet Silvairre.
“Hello,” he signs to Silvairre, the archer paused a moment before he asks.
“Do you prefer to speak in handspeak?” His slate gray eyes reveal nothing as he watches Samilen. Like Samilen he would’ve learned the basics from the Twin Adders, enough to pass messages between units when stealth and distance were factors but Samilen was unsure how well used those skills were and if he’d furthered them to the level he would need.
He shakes his head and adds, “I only sign but you can speak or sign as you wish.”
Silvairre nods once slowly, “in that case Luciane sent me to inquire about the order, we have seen several new recruits in recent days,” his distaste leaks into his voice, but he continues easily, “so we need to increase the order.”
Samilen nods and asks a few questions, such as how many recruits, what race, how tall, how experienced (he needs to know to know what lumber he can use).
He and Silvairre talk business for nearly a bell, Silvairre’s not even trying to haggle, (Luciane and Beatin have an understanding and Silvairre and Samilen are not about to disturb such an arrangement) but there’s just so much to know.
He does know that once he finishes his work for today he’ll have to go gather more lumber, Beatin will allow it, Samilen is well trained to gather lumber without angering the elementals. Slowly he and Silvairre begin to shift to small talk, discussing their respective guilds, neither addresses the history between them but make simple small talk, how the guilds are growing, it’s a bit startling how easily he and Silvairre talk around the Morbal in the room.
And if Samilen’s eyes linger on Silvairre’s hands and arms, on his face, imagining what it would be like to kiss that stupid smug look off his face, to feel those callous fingers over his skin – wrapped around his tail as Silvairre moaned his name – well that’s Samilen’s business. Business he’ll take care of. Out in the woods. By himself. Later. While no one was looking.
-
After some time alone to handle his wood and also gather some lumber Samilen has a much clearer head. He cleans his hands and begins the trek to carry all the wood he’d gathered back to Gridania, moving at an easy and comfortable pace as he takes trails he knows and remembers as though he wore them himself.
He knows all the paths that would lead him through the forests and avoid the predators and Ixal. The paths that the prey followed and the ones they avoided now.
He isn’t the only one that knew these paths though, and his ears flick as something rustles. He sets his pack down and rests his hands on his familiar ax before they drift to his bow.
SIlvairre comes around a tree with a frown, the man lowers his own bow and looks Samilen over, “what are you doing out here?”
Samilen raises his hands, “gathering lumber.” His ears twitch against his head and he watches Silvairre curiously, “you?”
Silvairre pauses, his jaw work absently a moment, “I was on patrol, as all the archer’s guild is expected to do of course. I did not realize you were out here. Is the Carpender’s guild that low on wood?”
Samilen gives him a playful grin, “almost as if someone recently ordered a large shipment of bows.”
“Ah.” Silvairre grimaces, “I see.” He watches Samilen a moment longer before asking, “do you require help carrying those back?”
Samilen’s ears twitch happily but he shakes his head, “I can take care of this.” Reaching down he grabs the bundles of lumber and easily lifts them, smirking at Silvairre’s stunned look. He can’t say anything though, with his hands full he’s unable to sign. So, he simply nods to the man and moves past him to continue heading back.
“S-send word when the order is complete!” SIlvairre calls after him, Samilen glances over his shoulder and gives a smile and quick nod. The light through the leaves dapples over Silvairre, Samilen thought he saw a faint blush over his face but from this distance couldn’t be sure.
Samilen would just be grateful Silvairre hadn’t heard what he’d been up to before he started gathering lumber.
-
Unfortunately, Beatin and Samilen had apparently not made clear enough that this order was important and that Samilen’s lumber supply was not to be touched. Samilen storms off to go more lumber leaving Beatin to grumble about having to take a saw to apprentices. He’d made a decent amount of progress thankfully that even with his lumber supply being raided by other desperate carpenters – high quality elm! High quality! And they just snagged it for a TABLE – he wouldn’t be set too far back having to run to gather lumber.
Samilen’s mind was fully focused on gathering lumber as quickly as possible, with the occasional stray thought as to what revenge he could demand for his lumber supply being raided admittedly, that he was finished before he expected. He set his hatchet down and slowly sank down to sit and catch his breath, drink some water, enjoy the forest, try not to plot murder of his fellow carpenters.
It wasn’t long though before his peaceful moment was ruined by the sound of voices. Samilen’s ears prick up when he recognized the voice speaking.
“I am simply curious if he is around, I would rather not get hit with a hatchet.”
“Ha! Silvairre you have got to learn to lie better.”
“When you learn to fix your form.”
“Why you-“ the sounds of bickering were startling birds away but Samilen knew the pair all too well, a faint smile crossing his lips as he watched Leih and Silvairre move into view. He was hidden from sight by the undergrowth and the fact they’d turned their attention on each other rather than their surroundings.
“I don’t get why this is such a big deal Silvairre!” Leih threw her hands up in the air, her tail lashing behind her as she looked up at him, “just ask him to dinner or to get a drink and get it over with!”
Silvairre’s hand rises to his mouth - a shame, he has such nice lips Samilen muses - “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Leih sighed and her ears and tail dropped, “Silvairre. For the sake of the guild, I’m asking you to fuck that carpenter before you explode.”
“Leih!” SIlvairre sounded scandalized, Leih barged ahead before he could begin to scold her, “there are at least three betting pools SIlvairre! Luciane asked me if I knew anything, me! She’s worried about you, moonstruck as you are. Or whatever you are. Like I said, just ask him for dinner or a fun night, whichever you want, so we can all stop thinking about your love life.”
Surely… did Leih mean him? Samilen leans forward now, eager to see the outcome of this disagreement.
“We are simply- There is a history there one does not simply- I’ve barely spoken to the man!” Silvairre is definitely flustered, “And you have no right to talk to a senior member of the guild-“
“Drop it Silvairre I’m talking to you as a friend,” Leih’s arms fold over her chest, softening as she looked up at him, “you might be a right pain in the tail but you’re a good archer and a good mentor, when you let yourself be.” Samilen smiles to himself, he remembers the arrogant archer he knew in the Twin Adders well, it’s good to see that the rumors that Silvairre had begun to lighten up recently have truth to them.
Not that he hadn’t seen that from the way the man treated him, but this was almost adorable, like watching your crush get teased by a younger sibling.
Silvairre folds his own arms and jerks his head away, “and how am I supposed to ask him to dinner when everyone knows Samilen hates crowds? Where am I supposed to take him?” Samilen’s chest tightens, not only was he very much the carpenter ins question, Silvairre had been thinking of his comfort. Gods, what he’d do to this man if he would only ask.
“Your barracks?” Leih’s smile is devilish before she grows more serious, “poor excuse Silvairre, you’re not seeing clearly because you don’t want to. You could ask him to a picnic in the woods, it’s not like you don’t know all the best places to hide out here, and we’d give you privacy, I’d make sure of that if nothing else.” She taps her chest and then pats her quiver, “believe me, I’d make sure no one got any ideas about spying.”
Silvairre’s definitely a bit pink now but he shakes his head fondly, “I thank you for the offer Leih, I do, but how do I even know if he likes me in return?”
“If he didn’t, we wouldn’t have a betting pool going with some of the carpenter’s guild.” Leih grins and Silvairre’s jaw fell open.
“Well it’s not as though I knew about that!” he defends himself as Leih laughs, her ears and tail wiggling, Samilen’s are as well, shaking with a silently laughter.
Leih gives him a light shove, “why don’t you go look for him, I’m feeling a bit hungry, might go hunt some squirrels.”
“Leih…”
“I’ll meet you at the archer’s guild Silvairre, I’ll be fine, the coeurlclaws never come this way.” Leih huffs, “we have more to worry about from random poachers than any groups. I’ll be fine, and if he’s not around just come find me, I’ll be over by the Lethe, shouldn’t be hard for a master archer like yourself to find me!” She winks before bounding away, leaving Silvairre standing there flummoxed.
Samilen slips out of the undergrowth, Silvairre whirls, aggression melting away to be replaced with embarrassment as he recognizes, “Samilen.”
He offers a small wave.
“How much did you hear?”
Samilen hesitates, considering how to word his response but that’s enough of a pause for Silvairre to groan, reaching up to rub at his eyes.
“Wonderful, wonderful, when I get my hands on Leih,” Silvairre starts to turn away, Samilen lunges forward to grab his arm, make him stop.
Silvairre halts but does not look at him, “I do not need your pity, Samilen.”
Samilen frowns, his tail lashes behind him. The silence stretches before Silvairre finally seems to realize that he needs to be looking at Samilen in order for him to speak.
“It is not pity,” Samilen signs quickly, he knows he looks hurt, and Silvairre grimaces slightly. He trusts guilt if nothing else to keep him here. He wants to flee himself on some level, to go back to his plants, to his carpentry and pretend he heard nothing. That there is nothing to have heard in the first place. Just a silly crush left over from a life lived years ago. But they are here. Standing in the woods, waiting to see if one of them chickened out.
Silvairre seems unsure how to continue, Samilen tugs absently on his hair, trying to get his thoughts in order. He knows it is most certainly not pity that draws him to Silvairre and is grateful that similarly it is not pity that drives Silvairre to him, the mute carpenter with a past so painful to talk about he has lost all his words.
He knows that what he wants is a fantasy he’s long had, to press his lips against Silvairre’s and drag him into the woods, push him against a tree, find all the spots that made the archer come undone, the mere thought makes his dick twitch in excitement.
He tugs on Silvairre’s shirt, to pull him down to his level, the words aren’t coming to his fingers in any way he can make into something sensible. Silvairre bends slightly, and Samilen about knocks his archer’s cap off when he catches his face to kiss him.
Silvairre tenses before melting into it, his fingers run softly through Samilen’s hair, lightly tugging it in just the way Samilen likes, the way that soothes him and focuses him, helping him focus on the man kissing him, Samilen guides him back, deeper into the woods.
Fingers slip under clothing, Samilen shoves Silvairre up against a large oak tree, there’s no one around but them but the thought that someone might find them excites Samilen and he nips lightly at Silvairre’s lips. His ears flick against Silvairre’s hands, he can feel the archer’s pulse thrum under his palm as he slides his hands over the exposed skin, they can find what bush his shirt ended up in later; right now Samilen needs him, needs to be in SIlvairre.
Silvairre seems more than ready to go with that, only breaking from kissing Samilen to ask, “do you… do you have…”
Samilen flashes a coy smile to retrieve the bottle from his things, Silvairre raises an eyebrow at that, a bit of his haughtiness returning.
“I won’t ask why you bring that with you into the woods when I’m grateful you have it.”
Samilen considers answering honestly, telling Silvairre how he’s pleasured him to the thought of what he’s about to do to the archer but he has more important things for his hands to be doing right now.
“Let… let me.” Silvairre offers his hand for the now uncorked vial before Samilen can pour it over his fingers, “you need your hands free.”
Samilen beams at him as he hands it over, ears and tail wiggling with happiness and excitement, Silvairre flusters at his obviously touched expression.
“It’s what anyone should do for you,” Silvairre rolls his eyes, managing to look remarkably composed for a man about to finger fuck himself open against an oak tree, “honestly, don’t settle for anything less, or they’re not good enough for you.”
“Should I settle for you then?” Samilen asks with a smile, his partner huffs as though offended.
“I don’t think anyone is settling for me,” Silvairre replies, his free hand brushes against his lips before slipping his fingers inside himself with a low groan. He looks down at Samilen through half-lidded eyes, his long lashes fluttering against his cheek with each curl of his fingers.
Samilen’s cock twitches eagerly, he watches Silvairre as a man transfixed. Each muffled gasp sends spikes of desire through him. But it is the soft sigh as Silvairre slips his fingers out of himself that all but ruins Samilen.
“Come here Samilen,” Silvairre orders and Samilen is powerless to resist. Silvairre wraps his fingers around Samilen’s length, stroking him quickly to slick him up, Samilen clings to his arms to steady himself, breathing in the faint scent of sweat from Silvairre. He peers up at him, to find the haughty mask Silvairre wears has softened.
“Everything alright?” he asks, studying Samilen’s face with a piercing gaze, eyes of a hawk, a true archer. Samilen nods and Silvairre’s mouth twitches just slightly.
“Good,” he pulls Samilen flush against him, “tap my arm twice if it’s too much for you.”
Samilen grins at him but nods, with an excited wiggle of his tail he slips into Silvairre, the archer’s eyes roll back and he breaths Samilen’s name like a prayer.
Samilen waits a moment before gently poking Silvairre’s chest to get his attention again and raises his hands, “you too. Tell me if it’s too much.”
Silvairre huffs but nods, “alright.”
Satisfied, Samilen pushes him against the tree, his partner grunts in surprise as Samilen begins to thrust into him, eager to please him, to watch Silvairre spill over, to hear his name said like that again, he wants to feel Silvairre orgasm around him, to watch his face go slack with pleasure. When Samilen was done with him they might have to change Silvairre's title to something akin to ‘Silvairre the mostly Virtuous’.
Silvairre does not disappoint, gasping Samilen’s name was an eager desperation, but he’s quick and clever too. So observant, Samilen loves that about him, almost cumming early when Silvairre tugs on his hair to pull him back so he can kiss him. Silvairre, pinned between him and the tree, is warm and pliant and pants into his mouth between kisses, so warm around Samilen that he could cum from that alone. He nuzzles his face into Silvairre’s neck, he considers nipping a mark there before deciding against him, he doubts the elezen will forgive him for ruining his reputation in the Guild.
But he wants to mark him, to leave a trace of this encounter between them somewhere. So, he bites down on his shoulder, Silvairre throws his head back with a shout of Samilen’s name, tightening around him, so warm, so perfect, but not climaxing, not just yet. Samilen drags his tongue over the bruise and purrs with pride.
Silvairre, not to be outdone, slides his hand down Samilen’s back and gives an experimental tug on his tail.
Samilen presses against him and moans, fingers digging into Silvairre’s hip and giving a particularly deep thrust. It’s slightly painful but he loves it, better than he imagined-
“Gods Samilen,” Silvairre moves with him, “gods, fuck, just like that, don’t stop,” the archer has never looked so flushed or sounded so flustered, and Samilen feels a twinge of pride that he can do this to him. He rocks his hips upwards, pulling another gasp of his name out of Silvairre.
The elezen pulls his tail again, and Samilen nips him for it, he wants to focus on Silvairre and if he keeps that up Samilen will come too soon. He takes a deep breath, unable to look Silvairre in the eye and softly, against his skin, he rasps the first words he’s spoken in some time.
“Cum for me Silvairre.” His voice cracks from disuse, he barely recognizes his own voice, he hears Silvairre’s breathing hitch before he cums over their stomachs, he clings to Samilen, seeming to anchor himself to the miqo’te not the tree.
“Samilen?” his name is a question, and Samilen’s only answer is a groan as he cums, filling Silvairre.
For several moments they stand there, panting against each other, the light breeze welcome against Samilen’s flushed skin. He finds his focus again as Silvairre’s fingers card slowly through his hair, with just enough pull, the way he likes it.
Samilen pulls out, Silvairre doesn’t even twitch, simply continuing to pet him, eyes trained on Samilen like a hawk. He seems to find what he’s looking for though, as he nods.
“Perhaps we could do this again sometime,” he pushes himself off the tree with an easy flex of his shoulder muscles, gods Samilen could admire those all day, “somewhere where I won’t get splinters in my back?”
Samilen grins and his ears twitch, once more he signs, “what do you have in mind?”
Silvairre catches his jaw to press a kiss to his cheek, “you tell me when you’d like a drink, consider it a standing offer. Dinner and a repeat performance.”
Now that was something Samilen could agree to and he nods eagerly. Silvairre smiles, an actual genuine smile that makes Samilen’s chest warm, before he looks around.
“Now where in the twelve’s name did you throw my shirt?”
Summary: Rurik plays pranks while in the Crystarium. The Scions are happy to see him so excitable but beneath all the smiles there is a bone deep worry for their friend.
Written by: @blood--hunter
Rating: General
Note: This was commissioned by someone who wanted to remain anonymous
The Crystal Tower was a spectacle that Rurik thought he would never see in its full glory. In the past it had stood over Mor Dohna like a memorial to the Allagans and all of their technology. Now, it stood as a reminder for what was to come. It’s familiar, flowing pathways and the glistening rooftops of the buildings that are small compared to the spiraling tower that sits amidst it all. It was all a reminder. A reminder of what had to be done in the next few days or risk losing it all. Risk losing their friends. Their new home. This world and their own.
To say it was a bit much would be an understatement.
The atmosphere of the Crystarium was grim without its leader. It was writ across every individual face within the city. The Scions were no different, perhaps they were the most upset of them all. Not only had the Crystal Exarch been captured but Rurik’s attempt to rid the First from the curse of Light had cost him much. His very being was on the line now, and all of his friends knew it. It was hard not to notice the solemn glances he received from both Urianger and Y’shtola, or the eerie silence that happened when he walked into a room with Ryne and Thancred, or the way Alphinaud and Alisaie hung around and clung to him, as if they were worried he would disappear in the blink of an eye. Yes. It was very hard not to notice.
Everyone was so gloomy. Something, or someone, needed to lift the fog that had fallen over his friends.
So Rurik took the responsibility into his own hands. But the question was, how could he do it? It was one thing to be the Warrior of both Light and Darkness, but another to be the friend they needed during these hard times. He was used to being the strong, dependent Warrior that slew primals and stopped the destruction of Eorzea. Rurik, despite everything he has ever gone through, is not used to being the one in peril. Well, not for extended periods of time, at least.
It is an effort to make his steps lighter, his smile bright. There is such a shroud of gloom upon all of those he encounters, it is hard not to succumb to grief himself. But he does not. Instead, he keeps marching on. Marching until he finds them. The Twins and Ryne.
They had gathered for lunch, apparently, as laid before them is a small meal of sandwiches and fruits. Though the light shines bright upon their spot amongst the lawn of the Crystal Tower, their faces show little to be happy over. The small smiles that take place on their lips upon his approach do not reach their eyes, and perhaps that hurts the most. That they are trying to be happy around him, for his sake.
Rurik is practically giddy as he stops just at the edge of the small circle they have formed, sitting down amongst them.
Alisaie is quick to raise a brow, “Rurik, I beg your forgiveness, but you look much like that cat that has swallowed the canary.”
“I believe that is offensive.” Aliphinaud says, forehead furrowing as he slaps his sister playfully on the shoulder, “At least, in Hrothgar culture.”
Rurik holds up a hand before the twins can start a fight amongst each other, “No need to worry. I suppose I am. I’m here to steal the three of you away!”
“Steal us?” Ryne says, clutching her hands close to her chest, “You don’t mean to run? Do you? Oh Rurik! Please don’t!”
“No! No!” He waves his hands, quieting their worried minds, “No! I mean to ask for your help in something quite benign! I promise!” That seems to get their attention, curious eyes and minds focusing on him. A mischievous smile slips onto Rurik’s face. “I plan to brighten our fellow Scion’s day. And, in doing so, perhaps lighten the hearts of the Crystarium as well.”
“A … prank?” Ryne asks, confusion evident. “Like the ones the pixies played on us?”
“Except more … fun and less … turning them into shrubbery.” Rurik says, a hand coming to scratch at the back of his neck. “Surely you’ve played pranks before, right Ryne?”
The young girl shakes her head and even Alisaie makes a strangled noise in her throat. “Truly? Not even once?” The Red Mage asks.
Ryne can only shake her head once more, fiddling with the lace of her skirt as she speaks, “No. Thancred and I were always fighting or on the run. And before that … Well, I was locked in a cage for most of my life.”
The Hrothgar cannot contain the growl that grows in his chest at the thought of Ryne’s previous treatment in the hands of Eulmore. But that was the past. This is now. Eulmore would be doing a lot better without Vauthry as its leader.
“Well then, I suppose we’ll have to fix that,” Rurik nods to himself, thinking, “The three of you can help me cheer up our fellow Scions. Small pranks, harmless fun, things like that.”
“I believe it would be well received, for the most part.” Alphinaud presses a knuckle to his lip as he considers the idea, “I, however, refuse to help you prank Y’shtola. It would be a wholly horrible idea.”
“I agree with my brother’s self preservation. Though Y’shtola is my dearest friend, I do not cherish the thought of having a meteor dropped on my head.”
“Agreed,” Rurik admits, “Y’shtola would be best treated to a small lunch and left well enough alone.”
Ryne smiles to herself, “So we are truly just cheering them up? Not being nasty like the pixies can be and making them forget things?”
“We’re only going as far as dropped buckets of water on heads and putting gum in their shoes.” Rurik confirms. “Nothing horrible.”
A wicked smile creeps onto Alisaie’s face, light shining in her eyes, “I have the perfect first candidate then.”
That is how the three of them find themselves in the Cabinet of Curiosities. The books seem to spiral up to greet them but there is just one tome in particular that they are looking for. Alisaie had come across it while they were looking for information earlier in their journey. Thankfully, nothing had come of it at the time, but it may just prove useful for their current “mission.”
“Here it is,” She says, plucking it from a shelf. The young Elezen holds it aloft from herself as if the distance would prove a hindrance to the book’s qualities. Her brother looks over the rough leather cover, raising a white brow as Rurik and Ryne join them.
“I suppose what my sister says is true.” Alphinaud murmurs, his curiosity obvious. Before Rurik can utter a word of caution the young Leveilleur flips open a page. For one, blissful, moment there is no reaction from anyone as they stare in awe at his stupidity. Alphinaud opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes from him. No sound at all, in fact.
Ryne’s hands go to her mouth in shock, eyes widening in fear. “Alphinaud!” She says, worry evident but all Rurik can do is press his face into his hands, scrubbing over his eyes.
“Can you Esuna yourself?” He asks, a chuckle leaving his chest as he watches his friend try to form words. Alisaie, for her part, seems more amused than exasperated and can’t help but laugh at her brother’s current predicament. He huffs at her. Unable to form his, usually, biting words he is reduced to stamping his foot like a child. With the wave of a hand over his own head, the spell leaves him.
Alisaie hides a smile behind her own fingers, “Ah, and here I thought I would be rid of your squawking for a little longer.”
Alphinaud has the courtesy to at least look embarrassed, his cheeks heating to red as he snaps the book closed. “Well, it works.”
Ryne giggles, worry deflating from her shoulders as she looks up at Rurik. “So, what now?” She asks, excitement bubbling in her eyes. Rurik can’t help the smile that sparks over his lips as he leans down, beginning to disclose his plan to the three younger Scions who surround them.
It does not take much to lure Urianger into the room of spiraling books and stairs. That he wasn’t already there was almost a miracle in and of itself. Ryne leads him into the Cabinet by hand, making sure to prattle on about some interesting fact she had discovered and wanted to show him. Though Urianger could be long winded and far too caught up in his studies, he was a keen man and it wouldn’t do for their prank to be discovered before it could even truly begin.
Rurik and the twins make sure to hide out of sight, each other’s hands clapped over another’s mouth to quell the giggles that want to slip from them even now.
“There’s this book that I’ve never seen before. Did you have it in the Source?” Ryne asks, slipping the large leather tome into Urianger’s hands. They all hold their breathing, hoping the Elezen man does not recognize the book.
He blinks, golden eyes laving over the cover with a measure of curiosity. “I have yet to come across such a tome before, no.” His fingers carve delicately over the pages before eagerly flipping them open. Rurik is the first to break for it, running out of the room before he can truly see the other Scion’s reaction. Ryne is quick to follow suit, an apology slipping from her lips as she darts out the door.
Urianger opens his mouth to question what in the realm was going on but his words die in his throat before they can truly begin. His face forms a frown as Alisaie and Alphinaud slip from their hiding place, laughter ringing from their lips as realization begins to dawn on the older Elezen man.
The four of them fall into the Crystarium’s courtyard piling on top of one another in a disheveled mess. Their laughter rings long and loud bouncing off of the stone walls and metal filigree with ease.
“You should have seen his face!” Alisaie chortles as she unwinds herself from the pile of bodies. “I’ve never seen Urianger so dumbstruck! I believe he wasn’t expecting it at all!”
Her brother is the next to prop himself up, having landed square on his behind, “I dare say that was the most conniving thing I’ve ever witness, much less been a part of.” He looks to Ryne, a cheeky smile on his face, “I believe we have our young friend to thank for it. Urianger had not expected such a thing from the likes of you.”
The Oracle of Light does her best to look ashamed but the gleam of glee is telling in her eyes, “I do hope he’ll be able to forgive us.”
Rurik waves a hand, retrieving himself from the ground to stand, “Don’t worry, he’ll forgive you. It’s no worse than that time I tripped and spilled ink all over his research. If he can forgive me for that, then you’ll be fine.” The Hrothgar offers a hand to the younger girl, Ryne readily takes it. As soon as she’s standing she wipes away the dirt that had sought to dust her white dress.
“Alright,” She says, a little eager now, “Who next?”
Rurik’s smile speaks of disaster.
The horrible thing about ever lasting light was that any task that took place outside became that much harder. It was as if the midday sun was always beaming down upon their backs as they stooped over the ground.
“Remind me again, why are we doing this?” Alphinaud complains, far too unused to manual labor. He had helped save the realm on multiple occasions, yes, but doing chores was far beyond his expertise.
Alisaie huffs as she stops in her task, giving her brother a plane look. “If we have to explain this again to you…”
Rurik waves a hand, tucking another bundle of feathers under his arm, “This is an old trick. We take some syrup and some Chocobo feathers. We put them in a bucket and then we-”
“Drop it on Thancred!” Ryne interjects perhaps a little more excited than she should be to tar and feather her guardian. Or maybe that’s why she was so happy.
Rurik nods, picking up another few feathers from the stable’s ground. “And I’m certain that the stable keep won’t mind us cleaning up a bit.”
It is in this moment, while the Hrothgar man is reaching down for yet another feather that a dark shadow falls over the four of them. A shiver runs down his spine as he stands, slowly lifting himself up to full height. It is the same feeling he got when a Eikon was standing over him. The feeling that he was in danger. The feeling that he was about to fight for his life.
“Rurik.”
He swallows, not daring to turn around. He recognized that voice. And that tone. He was in trouble.
“What … are you doing?”
Mysteriously, or perhaps not so mysteriously at all, the three younglings that had once been accompanying him had seemingly vanished into thin air. Rurik was alone in his facing down of Y’shtola.
He swallows, suddenly quite sure that he was about to meet his end here. Oh how would the tale be told. A great warrior being brought low by a single glare.
“We were…” He trails off, how did one even explain away what they were doing? Rurik wasn’t one for lying to his friends and lying to Y’shtola of all people was … a daunting task to say the least “…Cleaning up?”
The Sorceress raises one perfect eyebrow as she folds her arms. She tilts her head just so. Rurik had to wonder if there was something about his aether that told her he was lying. Maybe it changed in hue? But Y’shtola was perceptive regardless of the state of her eyes.
“You three, come out from behind there.” Y’shtola turns her head ever so slightly to watch as the twins and Ryne tumble from behind a hay bale.
Case in point.
“Now, why don’t all of you come along with me. You can explain to me exactly what you’re doing over a cup of tea.” There is no argument in her voice and Rurik finds himself plodding along behind her not unlike a misbehaving child. There isn’t even a complaint from Alisaie as they all shuffle back to the Pendants.
Y’shtola had long ago refused her own quarters within the Crystarium. Rurik knew that she hadn’t trusted the Exarch. Hadn’t trusted G’raha. The memory of him makes his chest sing with guilt as he opens the door to his own apartment. It is fully stocked with all sorts of goods and the Miqo’te woman is quick to make herself at home. She rifles through his cupboards with ease, as if the task was as familiar to her as breathing.
Eventually, the tea pot is put over the fire and she turns to the four of them. They all sit at the counter, heads hanging as they wait for a talking to about what one should and shouldn’t do during times of crisis.
It doesn’t come.
Instead a sigh leaves her lips as she looks over the lot of them, folding her arms once more. “Now, what exactly had the four of you planned to do to our dear friend?”
Rurik’s head snaps up. Even he had heard the curl of a smile in her voice and sure enough there was one sweeping over her features, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
Alphinaud is the first to muster the courage to speak, not that it takes much; “Well, you see-”
“We were going to prank him!” Ryne nearly shouts the words and it causes all to jump, save Y’shtola.
She moves to the fire, bringing the pot off as it begins to steam. Five cups are filled to the brim with tea and placed before each of them. Silence persists over each of them as they watch her move gracefully through the kitchen. It is not until Y’shtola takes her seat that she finally deigns to respond.
“I see.”
Rurik breathes a sigh of relief.
“And how did you suppose to do this?”
He sucks it back in again.
Ryne pulls at the hem of her dress a bit, seeming to be thinking carefully. “We were going to get buckets of syrup and feathers and pour them on him….”
“And how did you suppose you were going to surprise him with such a thing?” She sips her tea, bringing the hot liquid carefully to her lips and taking a drink, “I remind you that Thancred is a very agile man.”
Alphinaud presses a knuckle to his chin as he thinks, “Y’shtola is correct. Thancred is perceptive. If we were to miss our target, all our hard work would go to waste.”
“It’s not as if we’re attacking him. His defenses aren’t impenetrable.” Alisaie says, brow furrowing even as she too thinks.
Suddenly this was more a war council than a fireside chat.
“May I suggest.” Y’shtola begins, swirling her tea in her cup slightly. For some reason it reminded Rurik of Master Matoya. Perhaps he shouldn’t be too surprised. “That you distract him? He won’t be expecting such a thing from the four of you.” Her light eyes turn to Ryne. “Especially you. If you were to somehow convince him that there was suddenly something of utmost importance under the catwalks of the courtyard…”
Ryne nearly jumps out of her chair in her excitement. “Yes! And then the others could drop the buckets on him!”
The three teens beam, beginning to talk excitedly amongst themselves as Y’shtola’s attention returns to Rurik. Her smile is soft, something that he didn’t wholly expect. Rurik can only smile back, “Well, it seems you’ve been a great help to our efforts…”
Y’shtola hums, taking another sip of her tea. “You have done much for me in my time of need, I would not turn my back on you during yours.” There was more to her words than Rurik liked. He wanted to lift the grief and heartache that rest on his fellow Scion’s shoulders. Not add to it.
So a smile spreads over his lips. “Speaking of my helping you…” He tilts his head as his smile grows wider still, “…Remember when you came back and-”
She gives him a firm look, peering over the edge of her cup in a way that only spelled death for him.
“-you were-”
Y’shtola glares harder.
“-In Runar’s arms.”
She deflates, shaking her head. Though Rurik notices the creeping smirk on her lips. “You four should go and carry out your plan before Thancred catches wind of it.” The children stop their animated conversation in order to peer at Y’shtola. “It won’t be long until he finds out. He is far more keen than he lets on.”
Rurik knew that. Thancred was capable of a lot of things. “We have to act quickly then!” He says, popping up and out of his seat.
Alisaie nods, “I’ll fetch the rest of the feathers,” She turns to her brother, “You grab the syrup. Ryne, plan your distraction with Rurik. We’ll regroup on the catwalks!” Her voice doesn’t broker much argument and her and Alphinaud dash out of Rurik’s apartments before he can get a word in edgewise. The two of them were far too used to working in synchronization.
Rurik watches them rush out he looks to Ryne shrugging alongside her.
“I’ll meet you on the catwalks!” The young Hume girl obviously holds back a giggle as she rushes out after the twins. It was nice to see her smile.
Rurik turns back to Y’shtola who still sits at the counter, tea in hand. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you?”
She smiles again, “I assume sooner rather than later.”
The Hrothgar laughs as he moves towards the door, mischief shining in his eyes as he takes the knob in hand, ready to use it as a shield if need be. “I’m sure Runar will be worried about you! Don’t forget to tell him hello for me!” He calls, waving gently before he dodges out the door as if he’s about to be struck. He hears a half hearted yell and perhaps, just perhaps, had seen a blush on Y’shtola’s cheeks.
Soon he is reconvening with the children on the catwalks of the Cyrstarium. Below them is plush grass and carefully hewn stone. They had selected this spot because very few passers by came beneath it. It wouldn’t do to accidentally dump syrup and feathers on some poor sod who was only going about their daily business.
“Alright,” Alphinaud says, standing as tall as he can, “Let us go over the plan once more.”
Ryne pops up, blue eyes bright with mirth, “I’ll lead Thancred here with something really important!”
“Rurik and I will be on standby with the buckets,” Alisaie says, cracking her knuckles as if preparing for a fight, “We’ll be waiting for Ryne to use the code phrase before we dump the buckets.”
“That will give you enough time to get away.” Rurik nods to the red headed girl, smiling at her eagerness.
Ryne nods, “Remember: Pixies! Then drop the buckets!”
The group nods in unison, seemingly prepared to take on a Behemoth with the amount of adrenaline flowing through them.
“Agreed!” Rurik puts his hand out, the other three put their hands on top of his. “On three. One! Two! Three! Break!”
Ryne rushes off as Rurik and Alisaie take their places. Both of them crouch, holding their buckets in the ready. Thancred could arrive at any moment and Rurik felt tense, ears twitching as he waited for the signal.
“Here comes Ryne!” Alphinaud half shouts and half whispers, fingers cupped over his eyes to block out the everlasting light that beat down upon their backs. “But I don’t see-”
“The four of you are rather sneaky.”
A gasp leaves Rurik’s throat as he falls back. Standing on the railing in front of him was a man. White coat billowing in the small breeze from the Crystarium.
Thancred.
“How did you-!” Alisaie is sprawled beside him, seemingly just as taken off guard.
Thancred folds his arms, standing on the railing as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I heard the strangest thing from Urianger.” There is the sound of footfalls against wood and Rurik turns his head to find Alphinaud having already run quite some distance down the catwalk. Thancred doesn’t seem too perturbed and continues. “He told me that a group of pesky children had tricked him into opening a book that had taken away his voice.” He turns silver eyes to the Hrothgar. “And can you imagine my surprise when I noticed the four of you slinking around the Crystarium with big smiles on your faces?”
Another sound of footfalls. Rurik looks to find Alisaie having run the opposite direction of her brother. He has been left to his cold, dark fate.
“T-Thancred!” He raises a shaking hand, as if begging for mercy, “It’s not what it looks like-!”
He hops down from the railing, standing over Rurik now. “It seems as if you were about to tar and feather me!”
“N-No! Not at all!” He tries to give the Rogue turned Gunbreaker a dashing smile but it falls short.
Thancred guffaws, stooping over to pick up both of the buckets. “Don’t try to lie. You’re horrible at it.” The man raises a brow. “I can only assume it was you who began this charade?”
Rurik has enough sense to nod his head. He was not one to submit others to their own terrible fate. “The children had nothing to do with this.”
His friend nods his head as well, “I will take your word.”
Rurik is a brave and just man. Warrior of Light. Warrior of Darkness….
….Warrior of syrup and feathers….
Time goes in slow motion as, with a simple tilt of his hands, the Hyur dumps sticky syrup and dozens of feathers onto him.
Rurik gives a great scream. It echoes throughout the Crystarium and even causes some birds to fly from the roofs. “Oh Thancred!” He says, clutching at his (now uncomfortably sticky) heart. “How could you betray me like this.”
“Oh get up you great lug. Let’s find the others.”
They make their way back down and into the courtyard. Rurik draws plenty of stares and laughs with his current state. However, he can’t find the will to be upset or angry. Much the opposite. When they finally make it to the plush green grass near the markets his face is beaming with a smile.
Just as Thancred had predicted, Alisaie, Alphinaud, and Ryne rush up to them as soon as they appear. There are apologies in their eyes.
“Forgive me!” Alphinaud cries, a towel bunched up tight in his hands. He begins to wipe away at the syrup and feathers but they only manage to stick to the cloth.
Alisaie looks up to him, a frown on her face as she folds her arms. “You should have run.” But he can see the glimmer of a laugh on her lips as he shrugs.
Ryne seems to be next but her hands are balled up at her chest as she gives Thancred a talking to. “How could you! That was so mean!”
“In my defense, you were going to do it to me first.” Thancred tries to defend only to have Ryne glare harder at him. She seems half ready to give him an ear full when the laugh that Rurik had been holding in finally bursts from his chest. The group turns their eyes towards their friend, watching in bewilderment as the stands triumphant, hands on his hips, a long and boisterous laugh leaving him.
When he finally quiets, and wipes away a few tears from his eyes, there is a beaming smile on his face.
“What on earth?” Alisaie asks and Rurik is quick to reply.
“It would seem I achieved what I wanted to…”
“I’ll bite,” Thancred folds his arms, a brow raised, “What was that?”
“To make you all happy.”
The words are so simple and yet they seem to shoot through the very hearts of those gathered around the Hrothgar. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation they were in. Perhaps it was that they had gone through so much already. Or perhaps it was just that they had missed their dearest friend. Regardless of the truth those five simple words brings a tear to even Thancred’s eyes.
“Oh Rurik!” Ryne says, unthinkingly throwing herself against him to hide her face in his syrupy and feathery shirt.
“Ryne wait your-!” Rurik tries to gently pry her off but she is much stronger than she seems and before he knows it both the twins have joined as well, small sobs echoing from the three of them.
Thancred claps a friendly hand on his shoulder, a small smile on his features that is only somewhat presided over by his friends currently sticky state. There are no words between them, only a shared nod of understanding.
Rurik sighs as he leans down, giving the three teenagers a great big hug. That seems to remind them of his current situation and they all leap off of him, sputtering and shaking sticky feathered hands and arms.
“Rurik!” Alisaie shouts indignantly.
Alphinaud tries to wipe away the feathers with little progress. “I suppose this means we all need baths.” He says, a sigh on his lips.
“I don’t know, I think the feathers are a nice touch, don’t you think?” Thancred smirks, seemingly proud of himself for avoiding such a fate.
Ryne, however, has other ideas. With a speed Rurik had only seen her use during the most dire of situations she wraps her arms around Thancred, giving him an overly large hug. The older male sputters now, trying to pry himself away. Alas, he had trained his protege far too well and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot wiggle out of her arms. There is a short scuffle as he all but dances in the small circle of her arms, trying carefully not to get any feathers or syrup on him but wholly unable to with how much she’s covered in it.
“Ryne!” He yells, and now it’s Rurik’s turn to laugh, nearly falling over with the force of it Alisaie and Alphinaud are quick to join him in his mirth. When Thancred finally pries himself from Ryne’s arms he too is now covered in feathers. “Ugh…” He groans, “Do you know how long it takes to wash this thing?”
That seems to be the final straw and Rurik again lands on his hind end, bellowing a laugh as he rolls in the grass. The teens join him in the grass, laughing their hardest and brightest. Thancred also snickers, a few feathers falling from him as he watches the four of them roll around without a care in the world.
And though the times were hard and harder things were yet to come, there was much mirth to be had. For years yet to come there were tales of the Warrior of Darkness. About his courage. About his bravery. About how he single handedly saved Norvrandt. But in this small nook of the world there were other tales. Tales of how, on one sweet day under a sky of light that would soon fade to black and shine with distant stars, he shared in mirth with his closest friends and brought smiles to faces that had not seen one in years.
Summary: Samilen Jawantal, the Warrior of Light, has recently taken on the duty of learning the dying art of red magic. Between the wonderful teaching of X'rhun Tia and the passing on of his Soul Stone, Samilen has learned a lot even in a short period of time, but there's something wrong. The Soul Stone is passing on more than mere techniques and knowledge--emotions, memories, all of them intertwined as one, bringing Samilen closer and closer to the man who had entrusted him with it.
Samilen finally seeks out X'rhun for help in combating these feelings, but what will happen to the Warrior of Light when he is caught in a balancing act of not red magic, but love and lust?
Note: This is an ongoing adaptation/formatted version of an RP I have been writing with my fiance (@blood--hunter) putting together my Keeper Miqo'te WOL (@samilenjawantal) and X'rhun Tia, the red mage teacher. Let me know if you spot any formatting errors!
X'rhun does not like aetherytes. They give him a sense of vertigo and make his stomach do flips. But he had been in a rush and the rush had taken him all the way to Gridania. Samilen had given him a call, just an hour before. The poor boy. Had something happened? His voice had been tense, sad and X'rhun begins to consider if Samilen was simply unused to be relaxed, taking it easy, if only for a day. Gridania is a beautiful city, but he has not been here in years. He looks around, trying to find the grey skin and white hair that marked Samilen's presence.
All things considered, Samilen is grateful that his voice did not break in the call. What had started as a peaceful day had quickly turned cold, his hands on the handle of an axe feeling so unfamiliar as though they were not his own, as if the trees around him that he knew so well were alien to him--an activity he had once found to be his source of peace had quickly reared its head to reveal nothing but emptiness and agony.
He could barely bring himself into the Black Shroud, could hardly pull his axe into the air--only for it to come down weakly upon the trunk of a tree, his eyes welling with tears that he could scarcely understand the source of.
He couldn't just pretend that things were normal.
The silent air that was once peaceful now leaves him anxious, the lack of people around him bring forth the fear of an enemy hiding in the shadows, the loneliness that he had once found familiar is now cold and frightening. The emotions hit Samilen like a wave, worse than even when he had faced Leviathan itself, and left it hard to breathe; he felt like he was dying, scrambling for any sense of self or meaning when the whole world felt like it was crashing down around him.
So he called X'rhun. The first person that had sprung to Samilen’s mind who would help him, be there for him. X’rhun Tia.
He summoned the man with all the stability he could force into his voice, constantly holding back a sob in the back of his throat in how his mind, body and spirit yearned nothing short of the man; even as he stood without the gear of a red mage on his body, Samilen could feel the stone burning against his chest, as if right next to his heart. Everything in his very soul wanted nothing more than to see the seeker, to hear his voice and feel his warmth if only to remind Samilen that he wasn't alone.
And so he sat next to the aetheryte like some sullen child waiting for their parent, his eyes still burning with the tears he'd long wiped away. His heart still hammered and his breathing felt too quick, but he had enough experience in muffling his emotions around people in his younger years that he could at least look slightly composed.
X'rhun is able to find him quickly enough but he does not like what he sees. He is disheveled as if a storm had blown him to the side. He moves to Samilen, X'rhun is on his knees before him eyes worried and hands on his shoulder.
"Samilen! Samilen look at me- what happened? Did someone hurt you?"
Had his actions in the tavern brought him to this state? Had something happened in Gridania? A death? The Seeker feels panic and worry bubble up in his chest, trying to get answers from the man. The balance he had so wanted Samilen to find was completely gone from him, in its place was this deep sadness that even X'rhun could feel. What had happened? And when?
It's almost as if Samilen feels the older seeker's presence in the aetheryte square before he finally touches down in physical manifestation. It's not a secret that teleporting takes effort and focus, drains even a man with the constitution of a mountain--and still, the moment that X'rhun is physically there, his eyes seek out and turn to Samilen almost instantaneously. The keeper thinks that he should feel some sort of comfort in that, the fact that X'rhun seeks him out as if a dear friend--are they friends, can he call them that yet?
"Nobody hurt me," Samilen says quickly, his voice too soft and his hands twitching nervously in his lap, aching for something to touch, to feel, and eventually he relents enough that one of them reaches up to start pulling through his own loose hair. "I just--I tried to do what you advised, I tried to relax and be alone and I just--I couldn't, I couldn't do it X'rhun I just-" He feels his breathing quicken, his heart hammering against his ribs.
X'rhun looks around. There were too many people here. Samilen couldn't express himself among these other adventurers so he stands him up, tugging him away from the crowd and into some deserted back alley.
As soon as he is sure they are out of sight of any prying eyes he places his hands on Samilen's shoulders, focusing on him.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
No one had hurt him, Samilen had said, and yet he stood before X’rhun hurt and confused all the same, eyes wet and face hot with an expression the elder Miqo’te could so easily see as shame and misery.
Samilen continues to tug at his hair with one, then both of his hands, combing them through soft silvery locks until they almost start to pull in what might seem painful--the pain anchors the Keeper somewhat, pain always seems to pull the thoughts down when they threaten to overwhelm him to the edge of sanity, but he hasn't been in any battles that left injury or bruises or scratches upon his body in several days and he can't keep control of his hands and just--
"I tried doing what I used to do," he whispers, fearing that his voice is too soft for X'rhun to understand. "Before the Scions I was just--I was a botanist and carpenter. I....kept to myself. Alone. I tried doing that again and I..."
He tugs harder at his hair, unsure if it's the pain of yanking at it or the refresh of emotions that sift through his heart that brings the tears welling in his vision.
"I can't be alone again. It's--it's not the same. Nothing is the same--it's all wrong."
X’rhun’s voice is gentle as he murmurs to him, "It's alright Samilen. I'm here now. You don't have to be alone." He murmurs, taking his hands into his if only so he would stop hurting himself. "You do not want to be alone? Then you won't. I will stay here as long as I am able." He squeezes his hands gently, "I will help you find balance. Find peace within yourself. And then you can learn more and make your own oaths to keep. But you must first make an oath to yourself."
Samilen grips the older man's hands hard, as if trying to will out all the pain simmering in his chest through the pressure alone. Tears continue to well in his vision until they begin to fall, rolling down his cheeks and without a free hand to wipe them away--Samilen feared to remove his hands from X'rhuns at that point, they were shaking, fidgeting, beyond what he was used to when stress got the better of him and he fell back into mute handspeak.
"There's no peace in me," The keeper whispers, voice tense and distraught, as if he is just now realizing the fact. "There hasn't been any for years, not since-" His words choke up as the memories flood him--the Calamity, the suffering, the pain and loss of so many he held dear. The anxiety of being called a warrior, the warrior of light, forced into a role when all he wanted to do was curl up in the woods and die so the nightmares would stop. "-I think I'm broken."
"You are not broken," X’rhun says, worrying over the man and pulling him forwards, if only slightly. "You are not broken, I promise that to you. You are simply hurt. You are hurting and you have been for a long time--all you need is to heal."
X’rhun can feel the worry tugging at his mind. What could he do for Samilen? What could be done? He fixes the other man with a stalwart gaze. "I'll help you. This I swear. This is my oath."
Samilen takes the words to heart as best he can in his state, hands shaking in X'rhun's grip. It's hard to think and harder still to speak, so he offers but a nod in reply--there's little trust that the words wouldn't fail him in the moment, as emotions continue to rise and twist in the center of his stomach.
He stays like that for several moments, his eyes looking down and cheeks still wet with tears, trying to come up with words that encapsulate what he's feeling: he just doesn't want to let X'rhun go.
In the end, words don't come. Instead it's action, a spur of the moment impulsiveness that makes Samilen tear his hands from the others grip and throw himself forward, wrapping his arms instead around the seeker's neck and pressing his face into the others chest.
"I'm sorry," the muffled words sound heavy with guilt. "I need you."
X'rhun feels his heart twist in kind. Had he known... Had he known that Samilen was in so much pain we would have never sent him off alone. He was his mentor, and he had left his student to suffer on his own. Never again.
"There is no guilt in this," He says, petting down his back before wrapping him in his own hug, "There is only the understanding that we must heal these wounds. No matter how deep."
X'rhun had wounds of his own, wounds that he would like healed. But Samilen's were not the kind that could be fixed with retribution for those lost. No. It could only be fixed gently. Slowly. And that's what he would do.
For someone who knows next-to-nothing about the ills that plague Samilen's mind, X'rhun is kind and warm in ways the keeper never expected to feel from someone, much less someone he scarcely knows for longer than a few moons. It's...a nice feeling, to rely on someone else instead of being the one relied upon constantly. There's a kinship in it, in feeling the older miqo'te's hands on Samilen's back, arms tight and comforting in the way only physical pressure can offer.
"I don't want to be alone anymore," Samilen says, speaking as much to the present moment as to his life in general regard--the one thing he thought he loved most, solitude, is but his abusive lover. "I can't be alone anymore. It....scares me." He knows no other words to describe the feelings that clutch his heart, and he hopes desperately that X'rhun understands. "Stay...with me? Or I'll go back to Thanalan with you--we can start training again, anything but this, I'm so sorry."
The seeker blinks down at Samilen, drawing away from him enough to stare down at the other man. "We will go where you wish. For now, we needn't worry, we must simply take care of your most basic needs, such as food and a bath?" He asks, giving him a small smile. "Not to say that you smell, but I believe that one would help clear your senses. And am I correct in guessing that you have not eaten as you should?" If he was hungry and dehydrated then that was probably affecting his current mood, exacerbating already-problematic levels of stress.
For a moment Samilen merely stared at the other man, words leaving him as he figured if it was more appropriate to shake or nod his head. When he seemed to come up with no proper answer, the younger man merely huffed and pressed his face back into X'rhun's chest, thoughts finally settling into something that vaguely feels like calm--calmer than before, at least. Calm enough to realize that he should feel embarrassed and ashamed, but not calm enough that it stops him from enjoying the warmth of another body.
"Hungry," Samilen mutters into the softness of the seeker's red jacket. "And thirsty."
X'rhun nods, combing a hand through his hair. "We'll get you to the inn." He says, "I'll get you food. You'll eat. You'll bathe. Then you'll rest." He murmurs. He wraps an arm around his waist, beginning to slowly lead Samilen towards the inn. He would buy a room and stay with him tonight.
Gods, if he'd have known. He would never have sent him here. Alone. Trapped. Gods damn him for not thinking beyond surface lust and his own problems, when Samilen had more than his own share and still did his best to learn red magic ontop of it.
There's neither argument nor resistance from Samilen as he merely allows X'rhun to guide him forward, one step after another. The of them gather only a handful of stares, though it could have been more due to the seeker's bright attire than anything else--and luckily, there was nobody that Samilen was at all familiar with, just anonymous faces and eyes of people he'd never see again.
He didn't say anything at all until they entered the adventurer's guild, X'rhun gently in-step with Samilen as the two made their way to the inn counter. The younger man kept his eyes down through the ensuing conversation, if only so he could focus instead on the warmth of X'rhun's body and the pressure of his arm wrapped tight around his waist.
The inn room is a simple procurement and X'rhun is quick to escort the both of them to it. It is better than some of the back alley beds he has laid himself in. He helps the younger miqo'te into the bed, wrapping him with blankets. Food is also quick to arrive, served by a staff member who barely gets a word out before he is shutting the door in her face. It’s not that the seeker means to be rude, but more that his thoughts are almost obsessively upon the well-being of the other man in the room with him.
Samilen.
Piled on the plate is a hearty meal for even a Roe, and with it a stout glass of sweet juice that he hopes the younger Miqo’te will like. X’rhun moves to him, sitting the goods down beside him before he himself takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
"How long has it been since you took a meal?"
Distantly, Samilen is aware of the fact that he hadn't been treated like this in a long time--though he could recall being tucked into bed by his mothers and father, those memories were many years old and hazy within the keeper's mind. The warmth of the blanket wrapped around his shoulders is a comfort, one that he selfishly enjoys while X'rhun steps around the room doing things that Samilen should have been capable of doing himself.
Should have, but yet he isn’t.
"I don't know," the man finally answers, honest as he thinks back to the last time he had eaten a full meal and not merely subsisted on what he could hold in one hand and eat. "A few days? I've eaten rations since, it's just been...." he pauses and takes a breath, the smell of a warm, fresh-cooked meal lingering on his nose. "...busy."
He eyes the plate with some manner of interest, debating if it was worth it to leave the comfort of the blanket even if it meant to eat--it was comfortable and plush, a stark difference from the thin layers of cloth he typically was used to having with him in missions outside the city.
X'rhun's brow creases in worry but he nods. That wasn't good. But at least Samilen still had some interest in eating, if his reaction was anything to go by. He was worried what 'busy' meant. Was busy having a mental break down? Or was busy doing more work for the Scions? He didn't know for sure and that was probably a bad sign. X'rhun takes up the plate, sitting it on his own lap as he picks up the fork, shoving it into a sliced popoto and bringing the still steaming root to Samilen's mouth. "Don't worry," He says, voice gentle, "I'll help you eat."
Samilen lets out a sigh as he pulls the blanket tighter around himself. He's several seconds from relinquishing the warmth in favor of filling his stomach, but X'rhun seems to beat him to it--there's a piece of popoto hovering a few ilms from his lips and, for a moment, Samilen's golden eyes flick from the food to the face of the man holding it for him.
He's not quite sure how to feel about it. Though Samilen certainly feels no disgust or anger welling in his stomach at the notion of being so intimately cared for--like a child--a blooming of heat still rolls across his cheeks. He silently looks on at the food for a few moments longer before, slowly, he parts his lips and takes the food into his mouth, chewing slowly and savoring the warmth against his tongue.
Watching Samilen eat eases nerves more than X'rhun would like to admit. Samilen is at least still able to eat and enjoy food. He had not refused it. So the seeker picks up another morsel with the fork, offering it to him as soon as he's swallowed down the last bite.
Slowly his chest is unbinding from the worry. Good food, a bath, and some rest would do Samilen well, and then perhaps they could speak about how he felt and how they could find his balance again. Having a negative mental state would not help him learn Red Magic, would not help him save the world like it seemed he was destined to do.
There's a lot of things that Samilen doesn't quite understand in the moment; most of all, he hardly understands why X'rhun seems to care as much as he does, why he's gone to such lengths to make sure that Samilen is comfortable and fed--the notion seems reserved but for best friends and lovers, parents and family, so he can't understand why the older miqo’te would take so much time from his own life to sit there and fork-feed someone who should have been more than capable of feeding himself.
Still, Samilen doesn't complain.
Though he knows that he should, though he knows he should feel ashamed, he continues to eat every bite offered to him with eyes shy and looking only at the offered food than at the other's face. He knows the feeling would just get worse if he did look anyway.
It doesn't take too long before most of the plate of food is empty and Samilen, for once in weeks, feeling pleasantly full. It had grown to be a treat in recent weeks to have the time, money and attention needed to enjoy an actual meal.
"...Thank you," he says, finally unwinding the blanket around himself--now that he could think, he could also begin to feel awkward, nearly disgusted at himself, so realize that he shouldn't keep X'rhun doing things as if he needed to. "You don't have to stay here--I mean, doing this, it's....I should be able to take care of the other things myself."
"It's not a question of if you should do it, it's a question of if you need help," X'rhun says, putting a steadying hand on Samilen's shoulder. "You can ask for help."
He can feel the concern starting to bristle again within his chest. The other man was going to work himself to the bone if he didn't take a break. No. X'rhun would not let that happen. He would take care of Samilen until he could care for himself once more and then they could work together to make Eorzea a better place once more.
"I'm a grown man," Samilen says, though he hates how his voice breaks as he says it, as if the universe itself has conspired to shame him for some ill he's committed. "I should be ashamed of needing help for basic stuff like this, you shouldn't have to feel obligated to help me."
His body shakes for a moment, though it's the pressure of X'rhun's hand that quells anything worse, thoughts and emotions muted somehow in the other man's presence. Distantly, he can feel the warmth of something familiar against his brain--something small and crystalline, something that burns through the pouch around his hips even though he's not currently using it.
Despite himself, Samilen feels a bond between he and X'rhun, a pulsing sense of closeness that has found a way to wind around his soul, unyielding--he's not even wearing the soulgem and yet it's presence, it's influence is there, forming words that he otherwise couldn't say.
"I...I've....never had anyone to help me. I don't know how to ask."
"I don't feel an obligation, I want to help, Samilen." X'rhun murmurs, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "I will do anything to make you feel better. All you simply need to do is say the word." Though he knew it wouldn't be as simple as that. Samilen didn't know how to ask and thus he didn't know what he needed. X'rhun would have to make the choice for him, if only for now. "But at the moment I believe you should bathe and then rest, it might do you some good."
He makes a gentle motion towards the door that led to the bath that was just off the suite they currently resided in.
Samilen huffed, more out of lingering embarrassment than any actual sort of distress or annoyance. For all that he sputtered about in his own self-pity, the keeper was more than aware that there was no option other than to simply listen to X'rhun's advice, if only so that he could face the next morning with some amount of his personal dignity still intact and, perhaps, the hope that the older seeker could look at him the same way.
For all of the gentleness in his words, Samilen knew that there had to be some measure of doubt or aggravation, for what kind of man would have to rely so assuredly upon another, much less a man who had known him for just a handful of moons?
There's no reason for X'rhun to feel the need to help as he does, but Samilen is aware enough that he is grateful for it all the same--the only blessing he can recognize in his hazy self-loathing.
"I won't be long then," he says at last, dropping the blanket on the bed and, after a moment, steps over to the bathroom with the full intention of at least being able to wash himself without aid--he was not that far gone into a spiral of emotional turmoil, at least.
X'rhun nods, watching him leave before he lets out a long sigh. He takes off his hat, placing it on the best as he rubs a hand down his face. He shouldn't be doing this, no, but he was. Samilen was becoming attached and X'rhun didn't know what that meant. Was it the Soul Stone? Was Samilen doing this of his own volition or was it because the stone had told him to? He didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to help the other miqo'te. He wanted to help him get better and then teach him the magic that he so wanted to learn. To have some sort of lineage after his inevitable demise.
He is drawn out of his thoughts as suddenly as they come. The link pearl on the nightstand chirps. An incoming message. When had Samilen even taken it off? X'rhun hesitates, only picking it up when it chirps again. It could be important, and since Samilen was preoccupied at the moment he could at least take the message.
No sooner than X'rhun puts the device in his ear he is berated by a voice, obviously young, asking Samilen where he has been and why he hasn't answered his messages.
The miqo'te isn't even able to interrupt the young man as he goes on a long tangent about responsibility, using words so utterly smugishly needless in their length that X’rhun’s mind almost shuts off completely.
But it does make his jaw tighten, his fingers twist into the bed sheet before he finally snaps, "Listen here you little-!"
"Who in the realm IS this?" Alphinaud says, cutting off X'rhun seemingly without breath from his former tangent. He doesn't recognize the voice on the other end of the linkpearl and he knows for certain that he reached out to Samilen. He's not sure if the words or the fact that it's not the keeper is more alarming, but it suffices to ruffle his feathers regardless. "Whoever you are, this linkpearl doesn't belong to you--where is Samilen? Samilen Jawantal? The Warrior of Light? I demand to know what you've done to him."
X'rhun growls. "I would ask who you are first!" He says, standing from the bed in his anger. "Who are you to be demanding of him such things? And to give him an earful about responsibility! You sound as if you are barely five summers old! Let alone old enough to be telling the Warrior of Light what to do!" His tail fluffs in anger, looking more like a feather duster now. His ears press flat against his head and he growls low in his chest. "I will not be telling you where he is or what he is doing! He needs a break from you and yours and I will be supporting him as such!"
"Mind your tongue, sir, for you are speaking with Alphinaud Leveilleur, a respected ally and sponsor of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn-" the young elezen can feel fire burning at the back of his tongue as he speaks, mind already a whirl for whatever reason that this man picked up Samilen's linkpearl--it only strengthened the wonder and worry he already held for the man, if only to know what things he's gotten up to in the days he's not been at the Rising Stones. "-and I will speak to Samilen Jawantal. It is imperative that he return to the Rising Stones with haste, and while I shan't reveal privy information to one I can only assume is but a hired guard of some sort, his task is important to the protection of Eorzea and her people."
Alphinaud. The name was familiar and it makes his stomach lurch as he is reminded of Alisaie. She had a brother of the same age as her, he remembered as much. So this was the Alphinaud she'd spoken of.
"Well, young sir," X'rhun says, drawing unnecessarily up to his full height. "If you must know. Samilen is taking a break. From all things. You included. As his teacher I have prescribed him to find his balance and, dare I say it, you are very much an unnecessary part of his life right now. Until he is in a better condition he is under orders not to speak to you."
Of course it wasn't true. X'rhun had not ordered him to do anything, but he very much disagreed with this boy bossing him about. If Samilen chose to speak with him then X'rhun would surely let him--but not until then and only then.
"Under order not to speak to-" the young voice starts, sounding incredulous and, if anything, with a loss for words at such a response. Alphinaud sputters for a few moments as he tries to catch himself, jumping from one thought to the next that only seems to leave him even more flustered than before. After at least three separate thoughts that all seem to go nowhere, he finally finds himself. "I don't know who you are, but if I hear naught from Samilen soon then the Scions will be sending someone to look for him. I have no idea what sorts of people he's grouped himself with, but it should not come before the needs of Eorzea."
And that makes the seeker see red.
"His needs may not come before the needs of Eorzea, no, but they do come before yours." With that he takes the pearl off, very nearly throwing it against the wall, pauses in the motion in the final moment to sigh and place it in the bedstand's drawer.
X'rhun knew he should warn Samilen, tell him that a small child would be banging on his door any moment now. If he knew anything about Alisaie, it was that she could be stubborn. If Alphinaud took after his sister by even an onz then he would be much the same.
The man approaches the bathroom, gloved fingers tapping against the wood. When he gets no reply he frowns, pushing the door open slowly. He did not want to peek on the man, no, but he was afraid that Samilen might do something to himself in his current mental state.
-
Samilen shuffles into the washroom and sheds his clothes slowly, one layer after another as if they are heavy lead weights. Though he makes little effort to fold them, the keeper knows that he will need to wear them after washing off, so instead he simply tucks them into the corner of the room in a vaguely organized pile on the floor. It's better than nothing at least, leaving Samilen to glance over the tub with a curiosity--it has rather intricate piping, giving the option of a bath or a standing shower, which is more than he could say about some inns farther out from the main cities.
Opting to stand in a spray of hot water, the man begins to turn over the faucets, enjoying slightly the white-noise of water as it begins to splash down into the tub.
He steps into the warm spray of water with a sigh. He can't remember the last time he got to take a shower, much less a warm one, so he counts the blessings in that X'rhun had the mind to take him to stay at the inn, and into a room well-equipped with luxuries he would never spend the extra gil on if it was his own decision alone.
After allowing himself to settle in the hot shower of water, Samilen brings his hands up to wipe at his face, if only to wash away the tears that had long-dried over his cheeks, to soothe the ache of his eyes. Even as his mind tries to empty itself it feels heavy with vision and memory, of the seeker's warm hands and gentle voice, of how he so earnestly offered his attentions to as simple an action as feeding Samilen but a few minutes prior. Samilen thinks on how it felt to be cared for in even the smallest of ways, with actions he should have been able to do himself.
He feels a gentle twist to his belly, a reaction he's long grown used to at the thought of X'rhun, and curses the soul crystal that sits in the pouch among his gear--he hardly knows if the gem is to blame anymore for how such thoughts of the older miqo'te plague Samilen's mind, but it's a convenient object to direct his annoyance at all the same. Ever since that evening at the Coffer and Coffin Samilen has found something different in his bond to X'rhun, something deep and unexplainable--his thoughts to the man are fonder than they should be, edging on something perverse and inappropriate. He was a trainer, a man beyond Samilen's reach and many years older--it is cause enough for shame that he had to come rescue Samilen from his own emotions like a frightened child.
So why does his stomach twist and his heart leap at the mere thought of X'rhun?
The ache only grows harder to ignore as Samilen stands beneath the spray of water, feeling it roll down his skin. An ache for something he's yet able to describe, something distant and fuzzy around the edges--like a memory long forgotten. He wraps his arms around himself as he breathes, letting the motion itself comfort him, the simple act of breathing in a slow, even form. Though it calms his thoughts, Samilen is surprised that it does nothing to soothe the ache in his belly. Every thought of X'rhun only seems to make it worse, make him yearn for the older seeker as if a parched man may want for water.
It's not until he realizes that the ache is much lower than his stomach that it becomes clear what the feeling is that evades Samilen so. Golden eyes glance down to find himself hard, cock throbbing, wanting for an experienced hand, a calloused hand from years of swordplay. It doesn't take a genius to realize whose touch Samilen longs for, and so he merely groans, rubbing his hands over his face as he realizes but the ache he feels in his chest.
Whether it be the fault of the soul crystal or not, Samilen can't ignore any longer the genuine lust and longing he feels for X'rhun.
So when X'rhun opens the door of the washroom, it's to find Samilen leaning forward with one hand on the wall in front of him and the other pulling feverishly over his cock. Wet, silvery-white hair sticks to his neck and shoulders and flushed face, his jaw dropped and lips parted to let out one soft moan after another. The water has lost most of its heat by this point, gone lukewarm at best, but Samilen can barely conjure up a single thought as he tries to find completion.
"X'rhun..." the keeper murmurs, voice taught and breaking with the name, as if the very sound itself is cause for his aroused distress. "Please...please....f-...uck..."
All he can think of is the touch of the other man. The assuredness of each caress, the power in every grip, everything between the way he once had his arm around Samilen's waist to the tight grip of his hand around the young miqo'te's throbbing dick just outside the Coffer and Coffin. He's stopped trying to understand the emotions that fill his mind, stopped trying to lay logic over them--right now, all his body wants is release, attention, the beautiful chaos of climax--though his own hand pales in comparison to what he craves more.
Sky-blue eyes widen at first. X'rhun hadn't been prepared for such a .. lecherous display. He had only meant to warn him of the boy on the link pearl, but it seems that Samilen had taken his physical needs into his own hands.
Gods. There’s no denying the sudden twist of arousal in the seeker’s stomach as he watches Samilen stroke himself over with the shape of his name on soft lips.
X'rhun presses forwards, first shedding his coat and then his boots. His shirt is next, then his pants. The gloves are last and they fall to the floor in line with his other clothes. His fingers are quick to over take Samilen's pumping them in a slower rhythm now. He feels dirty, walking in and taking over like this, but his cock has already sprung to life at Samilen's sweet words.
Samilen himself is near sobbing, hand tight around his cock but bringing him little to no relief; if anything, the attempt only makes it worse, the fire coiling around his belly like a vice grip that seems to show no mercy. He's about to let out a thick sob of aggravation when he suddenly feels the pressure and warmth of another body up against him and--
"X'rhun!?" the younger man all but gasps, feeling the seeker replace his grip and stroke him in earnest. The surprise leaves him reeling, gasping as shock and pleasure seem to coil around one another in compliments. "I thought--ahhh--I'm sor--rry."
Samilen's eyes shut tight and he brings a hand to his lips, biting down on his knuckle with the hopes only to muffle out all the sounds, the foolish apology and the foolish words that might otherwise tumble from his lips.
"No apologies," X'rhun says, allowing his hand to pump Samilen. "You needed this? You said you didn't know how to ask, now I am giving. Is this alright?" He would stop, walk away, if it wasn't. But he had an idea that it was welcome. "We'll start with this for now. If it continues we'll move to something more ... intimate." That was a better way of putting it than saying he would fuck Samilen raw in the shower. He would fuck him up against the wall, hot and his breath on his neck. "This is not a burden, simply something we can do together. A project to work on." Maybe that would help to settle Samilen's mind. Something to work on. Yes.
Or maybe it was to settle his own mind more.
Samilen nodded his head fervently but wordlessly, fairly certain the answer was to one specific question but deciding that it applied well to the rest of the man's words. He could hear them, could feel the other's breath against the back of his neck, but it was hard to understand most of it when X'rhun's calloused fingers were wrapped so perfectly around his dick, pumping hard and fast and leaving stars flickering behind Samilen's eyes.
"Very alright," the man finally had sense to say, his hips pressing back and finding a welcome, hard shape jutting against his ass; it only seemed to make the fire burn hotter in his belly, if only to know that the action wasn't one-sided . "So very alright."
He keened as X'rhun's fingers found a pace that pushed him closer, so close to the edge that he felt almost feverish, but Samilen felt nothing short of wondrous and hot and perfect in being under the mercy of the other's hand, the control of his pleasure left to the yearning of someone he yearned so lewdly for.
X'rhun purrs, nipping at the shell of Samilen's ear. He continues his breakneck pace, feeling the urge to kiss or bit at Samilen's neck but that would be too... familiar and he wasn't exactly sure how the other miqo'te felt about this yet. This ... relationship? Between them. All he knows is that when he grinds his cock against the other man's ass it causes him to groan, letting out a swear as he tries to gather himself, for Samilen's sake.
"Do you want more of this, baby?" He manages to murmur, hiding his face against Samilen's shoulder, "Do you want me to fuck you more?"
"Fuck," is all Samilen has to say at first, his mind practically reeling at the petname as it lingers in the hot, humid air. It's the second time he's heard it and the second time still his body reacts like lightning, cock throbbing so hard that he wants to sob and can almost feel tears of delicious frustration gathering in the corners of his eyes. It's all X'rhun's fault, all the crystal's fault--all his own fault--but it's delicious and wonderful and Samilen doesn't want it to stop for even a moment, turning his head so he can even catch a glimpse of the man behind him, his sopping-wet tail trying uselessly to twist and wrap around the other's waist as if to tug him closer.
"Please," he finally whines. "Fuck me more fuck me more--I want to cum with your cock inside me-!"
X'rhun groans at that, bucking his hips up, grinding his cock against Samilen's thigh as he nods.
"Then you will.”
Slowly he removes his hand from Samilen's cock, letting the rock hard appendage bob in the air as he teases a finger at his hole. The water would have to suffice, since they were already both so wet that lube would not properly function. Besides, he wasn't about to leave Samilen's side to go fetch it.
Samilen hisses for only a moment at the relinquishing of pressure from around his cock. Though his ass presses back into the delicious, teasing pleasure of X'rhun's fingertip wetly pressing against his entrance, Samilen wants for more. His tail lashes again, loosened from it's grip and now wiggling uselessly around the other's arm.
When it's obvious that X'rhun has no immediate intention of returning his hand back to the keeper's throbbing dick, Samilen decides to take matters literally in his own hands, if only to sate the biting heat in his belly, to stave off the taut need that only gets tauter the more he feels that blunt, calloused digit rubbing at his hole. He reaches his free hand down between his thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock tight enough that it almost hurts, and he is quick to resume stroking himself in earnest.
X'rhun hums, smacking Samilen's hand away from his cock, nipping at his ear.
"You will only get satisfaction from me," He didn't exactly know where this was coming from, but perhaps it was the heat of the moment making him possessive. He presses his finger in, slowly as to not hurt Samilen, curling it. His cock is hard against Samilen's back, and he works hard not to thrust himself to completion against him.
There's a feeling that fills Samilen's chest, a feeling that he can scarcely describe when he feels his hand get smacked away from his own cock though it begs desperately for attention. He is certain that if it was anyone else behind him, anyone else pressed naked against his form, Samilen would have ignored their command with little hesitation (assuming he'd even be in this sort of situation with them in the first place). But for X'rhun, Samilen merely mewled through his teeth and listened, both of his hands moving to press up against the wall in front of him, leaning forward and taking the press of the other man's finger deeper within his body.
"F-...uck..." he hisses, toes almost curling when the curl of X'rhun's finger finds something that makes his body flicker with heat and delight. "R-right th-there, ahhh y-yesssss~"
The seeker can't keep the self satisfied smile off his lips. He presses another finger into Samilen’s ass, thrusting and twisting them both in earnest against the other’s tight rim. He was a large man, and Samilen himself was quite small. X'rhun certainly didn't want to hurt the man, this was supposed to be his release from ... whatever he was feeling. He leans into him, pressing kisses against the length of his neck.
"You won't cum until I tell you to cum." He murmurs, blue eyes hooded and dark with lust.
The words flood Samilen like lava, burning him down to the very core so much that it feels almost hard to breathe for a few seconds. They spark something in his mind like a whirlwind, turning his actions into instinct and his words into reaction with no filter.
"Yes sir," he moans, almost sobs as X'rhun's curled fingers find that perfect spot within him again. "Only wh-when y-ou...tell....meee~" Calloused fingertips rub over what feels like some patch of nerves that send pleasurable lightning up Samilen's spine--his tail all but curls around the other man's arm, thrashing uselessly otherwise. Heat blooms over his face and chest as his legs spread almost upon instinct, as if his body knew to prepare itself to be taken--and it couldn't happen quickly enough for the lust coursing through the keeper's veins.
X'rhun grunts, removing his fingers slowly, trying to ignore the way his dick twitches at the sound that very movement makes. He presses close, breath catching across Samilen's neck as he position's himself at the smaller Miqo'te's entrance. "Tell me if it hurts," He warns, teasing his head against the tight hole that threatens to engulf him even now, even as a hand goes to grip firmly onto Samilen's bicep.
Samilen tries to consider words, but eventually just nods his head and hopes that the man can see his acknowledgement. He feels X'rhun's body press against him, feels the hot, thick shape of his cock nudging inside. It's a lot to take at once, but the Seeker is slow and gentle--slower than what Samilen might have tried to greedily take for himself if given half a moment of control between them.
It's good though, so good, and he has to try desperately to remember to breathe as the head of X'rhun's cock finally presses past the tight muscles of his entrance--it's enough for him to shiver and shake, claws scratching uselessly against the cold, smooth walls that supported most of his body weight.
X'rhun maintains his threads of control, no matter how frail they have become with Samilen's wanton moans. He presses in closer, letting his chest rest against Samilen's back as he, slowly but surely, sheathes himself within the smaller man. He pants, brows creasing as he shuts his eyes against the stimulation. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't move, it was a desperate attempt not to hurt Samilen and he'd rather die than commit such an act against his ... pupil? Student? What were they now?
Thoughts and emotions drip through Samilen's mind like sand through barely-cupped hands. It's no use to try and make sense of any of them--all he can do is briefly catch each little snippet as it passes by in a whirlwind of heat and pleasure, to be better and deeper-considered far later into the evening.
Instead of logic or consideration or even the caution of shame to still his hands or mute his words, Samilen moans into the thick press of X'rhun's cock. It slides inside him with only the mildest of discomfort, though slow enough that impatience starts to trickle down through the haze of pleasure. He presses his hips back, hoping with all the desperation of a pleasure-driven man if only to hurry the Seeker's pace, to fill himself fully and sheath that beautiful cock within his needy body.
"X'rhun-" Samilen's voice breaks on the syllable of the man's name. "Want--...all of you. 'm not gonna---gonna break..."
With how perfectly such a heat fills him, Samilen already feels shattered, his mind warped around need and his chest aching for the intimacy of X'rhun's hot body pressed against his own for however long the sweet high of sex will have them.
X'rhun hisses against the sweet embrace of Samilen's body. He was warmth and heat around him, against him, pressed firmly against his chest and his cock. He was smaller, warmer, and every part of him shouted to just plow into him. To blow his load deep within the boy in front of him and be done with it. It's what a Nuhn would do. He swallows against the thoughts, closing his eyes firmly against the smells and sensations, against the incessant instincts that well up deep within his chest.
He fits his hands firmly against Samilen's hips, pressing his thumbs against the divots of his hips. X'rhun presses forwards with a grunt, the pleasure shivering through his nerves like lightning. And he should really know a thing or two about lightening. A sharp tooth peeks from betwixt his teeth, biting down on his bottom lip in some sort of vain attempt to stop himself from saying anything else ridiculous.
A gasp slips from Samilen's lips, one he can't hide fast enough. His lips part, his jaw drops and his brows knight tight above his tightly-shut eyes as the sudden feeling of spreading muscles and intrusion pass over him. There's a burn in X'rhun's girth, one that though the young Keeper had prepared for, it was still far from smooth and painless.
Though it brought a shiver down his spine and a stiffening to his body, Samilen couldn't much deny it was a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain, something carnal or perhaps even primal, a flicker of heedless abandon giving him the gift of not having to think at all about what he wants or how he wants it. Shame has little place in the baser activities of a creature.
"Oh gods, yessss!" Samilen all but hisses, his toes and tail curling as the man presses deeper and deeper still, pulling his hips against him in a possessive and powerful motion of command that in itself was arousing. He wants to mewl, to yowl, to hiss and spit--whether it's instincts going haywire in a response to pleasure or to some pheromone Samilen is yet to recognize, he can hardly know. All that his body knows is that he's being taken, being fucked, being split open on a cock so thick that there's no second-guess that X'rhun could have taken place as a Nuhn if he had decided to stay in his tribe.
X'rhun lets his nose slip against Samilen's hair, taking in his scent like that of a Nuhn in rut. He had to admit that the noises Samilen let loose between his lips were more than inviting. Some part of him wants to imagine a future with the other male. To call him mate. To keep him. But he knows that part is selfish. Too selfish. Too horny to even take the thoughts seriously, and yet...
"Do you like this," He murmurs into his ear, eyes closed as he begins to move in earnest now. The rotation of his hips are slow but they promise more, the night was still young and as long as Samilen still mewled and moaned beneath him he wouldn't stop. "Tell me what you want. Tell me how it feels." He presses his fingers harder against Samilen's hips, promising bruises. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."
The entirety of a moment felt like a wave of heat over Samilen's body, threatening not just to send his thoughts swirling but to sweep them entirely out into the sea. The slow pace of the Seeker's hips felt maddening and deliberate, which only made the pleasure all the more tantalizing and raw and real. It carried with it the air of their time under the eaves of the bar in Thanalan--the heat and yearning and desperation--but this was more intimate and slow and tender. This was so much and, at first, Samilen merely mewled in unfiltered pleasure when X'rhun's cockhead rubbed perfectly up against the inside of his body, brushing over sensitive nerves.
"It feels so good--you're so fucking b-big--" Samilen breathes, his chest barely able to get in enough air to speak before his hammering heart needs more. "I want-....I...want...."
He takes in a breath, gulps it down like it's water and he's been without for weeks. Thoughts are useless, shame is useless--the young Keeper can barely register anything beyond the pleasure and heat and air thick with steam and pheromones of lust.
"Marks," he finally says, a desperate whisper. "Mark me up. Make me yours. Please. I--I want to feel it all in the morning. Want to ache and remember---remember this."
He lets out a breath through his nose. A part of X'rhun basks in the attention. He wants marks. He wants a mate. He wants X'rhun as his Nuhn and he would gladly give it to him. Instead he presses it back, stomps it down. He doesn't know what Samilen wants, not exactly, but he knows what he can give him.
To take right now ... it would be against his very teachings. Samilen isn't balanced enough to give, isn't balanced enough for X'rhun to ask something of him. A growl sounds from him as he presses forward, giving the Keeper a particularly hard thrust as he fights with himself. Not too much, but not too little either.
"I'll give you anything you want." He finally says, nipping at Samilens ear before his hands are moving down, pressing over his thighs and leaving scratches over the soft, sensitive skin. "Anything." He whispers, practically engulfing Samilen as he works himself into him.
Guilty. Selfish. Daring the young keeper to say the words.
Anything, he says, and the word echoes through Samilen's head. It's a whisper, a promise, and it's all the younger of the two men can do to clutch it against his chest and try to surmise an answer more than what he already forced from his moan-wrecked throat. It's confusing for a moment, unsure why X'rhun would have Samilen repeat himself, or--or was he saying it to himself? Was he babbling, lost in pleasure and barely knowing what he's saying? Though the questions slip into Samilen's thoughts, they too are quickly swept away by the rapturous pleasure eeking through his body, swallowing him up deeper with every slow but powerful thrust of the other man's hips. Every press of his cock, every reminder of how deep he's able to go that it makes Samilen gasp each time.
"Bite me," Samilen finally hisses, head tilting to the side in open invitation of his neck, where his aching body is naturally wanting to be claimed, to feel the sink of teeth of a dominant lover into his flesh. "I want it--want all of it--just give it to me, Rhun."
X'ruhn's jaw sets. There was a mewling, sex-wrecked man beneath him. His ever instinct was to claim to pump Samilen full of his seed and make him his. To bite down on his neck and make sure that every Nuhn that ever met him knew that he had been fucked and filled by another. That he was his and here he was begging for it. Did Samilen even know that that meant? To Seekers? To Nuhns? He tries to shake it off. No. He didn't understand and he didn't know what that meant. But he finds himself leaning, kissing and licking at his pulse, breathing in his scent even as his hips continue to work, continue to fuck the man beneath him.
This would be taking. It would be taking too much. Samilen didn't have this much to give.
"Samilen..." He murmurs, eyes glassy, cock deep within him.
Hesitation. Unsure. Caution. This Samilen could sense, could feel and taste it on the vapor-filled air. It wasn't for fear or genuine unwillingness, no--though addled with pleasure and seeking the euphoria that his body craved, the Keeper was still a man with senses enough to feel how X'rhun stiffened, how his voice was tense, how his breathing was strained and labored even with the slow and careful motions of his hips.
The water of the shower was starting to run cool, water dripping down hot flesh like a fresh rain, offering but the slightest shake of lustful haze from the younger man's thoughts so that he could speak with some confidence in his voice.
He had to weigh his words carefully--not in that he was afraid of indulging and having and wanting, but to make sure the message was clear, that he didn't addle X'rhun with the guilt of making a decision he assumed Samilen wouldn't want.
But he wants. He yearns. The feelings have been burning in Samilen's belly and chest since the moment he took the soulstone in hand--perhaps they had even been within him since he had first met X'rhun himself, made only unbearable by the intimate memories that drove such genuine but shameful feelings to the forefront of the Keepers mind.
"Make me yours," Samilen finally says, his tone biting and his body almost shaking with pleasure, muscles tight around the other's throbbing, wondrous, perfect cock. "If you want me, take me--make me yours." Shame was nowhere to be found in his mind in that moment, shaken clean by lust and want and pheromones enough to be drunk on. "Be my Nuhn."
X'rhun liked to think he'd journeyed and done much. He'd been wizened by years on the road and, before that, years in the resistance. He'd thought he'd seen everything. Evil kings, rebellions, the massacre of his friends, the rise of the Garlean Empire. But he had never done this. Never been brave enough, or stupid enough, to claim his most trusted of lovers. Even when they had begged him for it, he had not done it. He'd made it sound like a selfless choice, to not bind his lovers to a man who would, inevitably, wander too far. But even then he had known, as he does now in this moment, that it had been selfish. X'rhun hadn't been ready. He'd never been ready for it. He knew what the responsibilities would be and it had all seemed too much at the time. But now...
Now he had a mewling and withering warrior of light beneath him. None before him had known, had understood what his pain had been like. Samilen had slayed primals. Had slayed gods. All in the name of a greater good. And in doing so had lost much. Perhaps too much. Too much of himself. Too many friends. Finally someone could understand the pain and the triumph he had went through and maybe ... maybe someone finally understood Samilen.
It's almost beautiful, the way he presses himself against Samilen, the way he seats himself deep inside his lover, his mate. And the way that he opens his mouth wide against his pulse, breathing a hot breath there before he allows himself to bite down, to draw blood as he cums deep inside the younger man, groaning as his vision goes white and his world goes still. The cold water on his back doesn't matter. His code, the one he had lived by for so long, doesn't matter. All that matters is Samilen and only Samilen.
His mate.
His.
The world practically snaps, like a bowstring pulled too-taught by inexperienced hands over the ends of a bow. Pleasure and pain mix together into pure euphoria, an amalgamation of sensations that not only bring Samilen to the edge of climax, it outright shoves him off the cliff. The feeling is rough and hard and intense despite the slow lovemaking, the careful press of a cock inside his pliant, willing body, ridges constantly catching at the rim of Samilen's entrance and then--suddenly--it's all so much. Not too much, never too much, because Samilen knows that he could drink down this sensation for the rest of his life if he had the choice.
The pain of teeth sinking into the flesh of his neck is wondrous, dazzling behind his eyes and sending tremors of pleasure down to the tips of his fingers and toes. When X'rhun presses against him one last time, seating his cock to the base with hips flush against the Keeper's ass, Samilen can't help but let out a mewl. The intensity of feeling someone release inside of him, the heat of cum dripping down the inside of his thighs, of making him feel marked and used and protected in the most carnal ways--it's soothing, it's satisfying. He feels the way thumbs dig into his hips, knows that there will be marks across his skin and a heat within his belly for days to come--and Samilen smiles for it. He feels heat fill his cheeks and his lips quirk when another moan works its way from his throat, high and keening, a sound as welcoming as his body as orgasm milks the man's cock for all it offers, as if to coax out every little drop of his hot seed.
With every breath is X'rhun's name, a mantra on Samilen's lips.
X'rhun shudders, once, twice. He keeps his teeth sunken deep into his mate's skin. It will scar, like it is meant to, and those who know what it means will understand. Only after the blood begins to seep down his chin does he pull away. He chest heaves with each breath and he can feel his eyes slowly contract into small pinpricks of what they once were. His dick is still firmly planted in Samilen and he can feel it as his body wrings every last drop out of him. It's not unpleasant and he leans back into the, now cold, water as it rains down on both of them his hips spasming in a vague attempt at a thrust.
He swallows, coming back to himself. A conversation would need to be had. How much of this had Samilen truly wanted? And how much of this had been hazy lust?
The red mage tries to recall what his father taught him, going through his memories like an encyclopedia, or a manual. It was a hard bond to break, but it could be broken. Mating marks were the best way to ensure a proper mating, but it could be achieved in other ways. Usually cubs were spawned from marking but X'rhun highly doubted that such a thing would happen with this case ... He frowns, he knew a lot less about this than he wanted to and here Samilen was bearing his mark and his seed.
He slides a hand under the other man's chest, bringing him up to stand before pulling himself from him slowly. In one fluid movement the shower is off and in the next, Samilen is bridal style in his arms.
Samilen himself couldn't help but purr in satisfied delight as calloused fingertips brush against his almost too-sensitive skin, the rumble coming from deep within his chest. He felt so full, could feel the blossoming of heat in the pit of his belly. It was as if something deeply primal within his mind had been sated. Some fierce need, some unknown desire--it finally felt calmed by the warmth, the pressure, the pleasure and oh, yes, the slight pain with every shift of Samilen's shoulders and head, a reminder of the fresh mark bitten deep into his skin. He knew that there was significance in it, and deep down he knew exactly what he had asked for--but there was a strange fear that he had pressed to hard and pushed X'rhun into something he didn't want.
Luckily the afterglow was strong enough to stifle down most of the worries, keeping Samilen calm and placid as X'rhun lifted him into his arms and Samilen, instinctively, wrapped an arm around the back of the Seeker's neck. He lets out a soft hiss, a shiver working down his spine at the jostling of his body, the reminder of future bruises and the messy drip of seed finally working it's way out of his body without a cock to keep it inside.
But he doesn't say anything. Not yet. He is hard-pressed to find the words to start the conversation now-hanging between them. Though the last time could have been chalked up to a rendezvous of hormones, this is far more serious--something that can't be alluded to or assumed, can't be hidden or swept out of the air. Samilen hoped, dreadfully, that he didn't force his mentor to do something he didn't wish for.
X'rhun carries him into the bedroom. Both of them are dripping wet but he can't find it in him to care. He lays Samilen down on the bed, making sure he is comfortable before he goes back into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, taking a deep breath before grabbing his trousers and slipping them on. Only because he wanted to save face, that's what he tells himself. Not because his cock was already stirring again. Certainly not. He puts on his shirt too, for good measure. Maybe it would make Samilen feel better. Maybe. He grabs several towels as well, moving back to the bed with them in tow. His Ma-student. His student looks pliant and soft against the downy sheets and he can't help but purr at the sight. He kneels at his beside, beginning to massage the wet out of his hair with gentle circles.
It is only after he has dried Samilen's hair that he dares to look at the mark. It is bright red against his gray skin and some deep part of him is proud. Proud that he was able to mate such a magnificent- X'rhun shakes his head. No. He shouldn't be thinking like that and yet-
He moves, his own teacher would have been proud at how agile he was, moves over Samilen's body and to the other side of the bed so that he might have easier access to it. To his marking. He approaches it like a nervous animal. Tentative. Gentle. Skittish. And then, when he believes that nothing will harm him. He begins laving over it with his tongue. The taste of blood is still there, but he can't help the purr that leaves his chest as he licks it, again and again. Goading it to heal. Breath hot on Samilen's neck.
Samilen can't remember the last time he felt...blissful. He can't remember a time where he had the freedom to simply not think about much of anything, to simply lay on the bed with his mind still swimming with pleasure and body humming with satisfaction. He can't remember but a single time where he had found himself in this position but able to owe the blood and marks and ache to something other than a hard-fought battle against a primal or an army or....or anything else. He can't remember a time where he didn't feel the weight of the world on his shoulders or the burn of the Scions' gazes upon his back--because he wasn't allowed to fail. To relax. To want something for himself. To want someone else to save the world--to take care of him for once in his time as the 'Warrior of Light'.
He's nervous when X'rhun returns, only because he returns with clothes on; it makes the keeper suddenly feel ashamed, or at least as if what they did was stupid or silly, to be forgotten as quick as their last heated exchange under the starry sky of Thanalan. He worries about that, because he cannot forget it--Samilen can't forget how happy he felt when X'rhun's hands lay on his hips, their lips together, or even the silly, stupid but beloved sensation of the man pressed against his body, orgasm passed but drinking up the mere intimacy of still being connected to one another.
So Samilen doesn't meet the other's gaze, his throat tight and his heartbeat skipping. He suddenly feels like a child, in a way, as if he's made a mistake to be chastised about once he too is in a proper state of dress.
But when X'rhun shifts, moves to the other side of the bed--when he leans down and presses his face into Samilen's neck, his tongue over the still-aching mark, he can't help but let out a noise. It's something soft, a mere whisper of a mewl, something he tries to muffle even as his body shakes and one of his hands shoot out to grab a fistful of the other man's shirt, as if making sure he couldn't pull away.
"Please," Is all Samilen can say.
X'rhun closes his eyes. His lips a thin line. His ears pressing back against his skull. He had to admit it. Admit it to himself. He'd been trying to teach Samilen, yes, but he'd also wanted ... this. He hadn't wanted to be alone anymore. He'd tried to teach Alisaie (mind you he had never thought of her romantically or sexually as she was just a child) but she had run off as soon as she'd had a firm grasp of her training. But then Samilen ... Samilen had been different. Maybe that's why he'd allowed him to have the soul stone. Maybe that's why he'd let him have the piece of himself. Maybe that was why he was letting him so close. Maybe ... Maybe...
He licks the mark one more time before he moves, moves to claim Samilen's mouth with his own, moves to press close against him. He fits his mouth against his, the click of teeth, the swirling of tongues. X'rhun sighs and it feels like he's letting out decades of stress. Of holding back. Of not allowing himself to have this. It had always been something. The revolution. The death of his comrades. Ala Mhigo's occupation. He'd always been chasing it. Always been trying to fix something but now..
Now he loses himself in the kiss, loses himself in the smell, feel, taste of Samilen Jawantal.
A shiver of delight spills down Samilen's spine as X'rhun all but climbs atop him, their lips pressed hard and tongues pressing harder against one another. Fingers grip hard into the soft fabric of the Seeker's shirt, joined by a second hand as they grasp at his chest needily, stupidly, the confusion back once more for why X'rhun thought it necessary to clothe himself in the first place. Though he may feel shame of it later, when his mind not so clogged with emotions, but Samilen was needy and desperate to keep the other man close, to feel his warmth, to enjoy the fleeting time with him for as long as he and fate would allow it--because she wasn't often kind to Samilen.
"Why did you get dressed?" The younger man finally forces himself to ask, if only to still his hands from trying to remove the offending undershirt. If there was a reason that he did so, and a reason that Samilen had to respect. "Do you--do you need to leave?"
He hates how the words spill from his lips, the whisper almost fearful against X'rhun's mouth, eyes afraid to open and meet his gaze.
X'rhun closes his eyes, only lifting up enough to stare down at Samilen's face. It was open, wild with want. X'rhun could paint a million pictures of it and still never get it right. He shivers, feels his cock stir once more. He clears his throat, eyes dancing away.
"It was to ... hold myself back. In case I take you again before your mind is yours once more." it was the truth. X'rhun wanted to speak with Samilen before they began to fuck like they were in heat. Which he was liable too, with the way that Samilen looked at him and they way his mark sat on his neck. He swallows. "I wish to ... I wish to make sure that this-" He nods to the red welt on the other man's neck, "-is what you want. What you truly want. Outside of being sex addled."
He presses a gentle hand through still damp white hair, "And ... I want you to rest. Truly rest. I do not know how long it has been since you've done so and I ..." He presses his forehead against Samilen's unable to stop the small source of affection. "...I worry for you Samilen."
The words are sobering. Samilen tenses for a moment, feeling it work into his jaw as teeth clench tight and anxiety wells in the back of his head. Though his eyes open he cannot stare into X'rhun's own for very long--perhaps just a breath of time, though the touch of X'rhun's forehead against his own offers some mild comfort. Though he knows his own feelings, the way that the other man speaks, the way he words his thoughts--Samilen is unsure if he should feel ashamed or not for feeling the way he did--the way he still does. He nods after a moment, knowing that no words that come from his lips would be seen as honest until X'rhun was satisfied with the air between them--but it still frustrated Samilen.
"You would be the first," he says at last, eyes drifting off to the side. "Or at least the first to offer more than empty words."
Samilen takes a moment to take a breath, and then finally lets it out, speaking once more before he can allow the morbid weight of his words to sink too deeply into the air.
"If you want to put space between us until you are satisfied to know I'm telling the truth, then so be it. My answer will be the same as it was when you came upon me in the bathroom."
X'rhun nods. He wants to be sure ... to know that what Samilen says is what his heart of heart wants. But even these words give him hope. Make his heart catch and beat faster. He can't hide it from himself now. If Samilen will allow it, X'rhun wants to be in love with him. Wants to keep this mating. Wants ... everything from him. He closes his eyes, tries to focus against the tightness in his chest. "I believe you." he says, letting his fingers card through the other man's hair, focusing his eyes on the movement of his own fingers. "But this ... conversation. About what we both want ... it will wait until sunrise. Until we are both well rested and ready for what that entails." He lets blue meet yellow again. "Samilen I ..." He lets out a breath through his nose, swallowing thickly. "... Have much to say about the matter."
He moves, pressing a gentle kiss to the mark on his neck, before he is pressing close to Samilen, maneuvering them both until chest meets back and an arm is slung over the other's waist. "But I will not say them. Not now." He murmurs. "Not until we are both rested."
Deep down, Samilen is comforted by the seriousness of X'rhun's tone of voice. He is comforted by the care and concern as much as he is frightened by it. It would be too easy for someone to take advantage of lust-addled emotions and euphoria-induced infatuation, especially for someone as broken as Samilen is under the weight of anything that doesn't pertain to slaying primals or saving lives--things that need no extra thought needed to understand them. For as much as he feels anxious about words to be held in the morning, he is comforted deeply by it--that X'rhun sees his emotions as something worthy of caution, emotions worthy of thought and attention and....respect.
It is more than he can say of many people even when emotions of infatuation weren't caught up in the mix. He swallows down a stone in his throat and takes in a breath, merely letting his body press back against X'rhun's own as they lay together in bed. He appreciates the weight of the Seeker's arm over his body. It makes his chest tighten and his stomach flip a little.
"Okay," The man finally says with a nod, letting out a breath. His eyes start to shut and his mind slow down at last to the yearning for sleep that overtakes him.
X'rhun relaxes at that, lets his guard down. Samilen was not going to be angry with him. Would not scorn and shun him. At least, not this night. Not right now. He lets his nose press against white hair, he lets his eyes close, and most importantly he lets himself go to sleep.
Summary: After a freak accident involving a shipment of crates containing important medical herbs, Rurik, the Warrior of Light, is left in what appears to be a drugged-out stupor. The Scions are sure to figure out the cause as well as the cure to what ails the Hrothgar--but that’s assuming they can keep him from causing all sorts of chaos across the Crystarium first.
Note: This was written by @blood--hunter as a commission! If you are interested in getting something yourself, please check out her commission info here!
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"His aether has changed," Y'shtola's voice rings through the Ocular like the hit of a bell. She rattled the very bones of all who heard her words, but that was not the Sorceress' fault, rather it was the fault of whatever ailment seemed to sweep over their friend. The Warrior of Light, Rurik, had been behaving strangely for several hours now. There was not a very good term for the way he acted, both high strung and lethargic all at once. The Hrothgar could be bouncing off the very walls one moment and then blissfully quiet, nearly drooling, in a corner the next. Rurik could pull the occasional prank, but this was a bit much, even for him.
When it became obvious that their friend was not going to emerge from his stuppor any time soon, the Scions had gathered as they had in the past. Ryne seemed the most perturbed, she had not spent that many moons in the Hrothgar's presence but saw him as a friend all the same. She had watched him nearly die once already, and she was remorse to see him in such a state. "Will he be alright?" Her voice wavers, fingers pressing at the hem of her almost too white dress. She stands but a few feet away, in the midst of the semi circle that she and her friends had formed.
Y'shtola's lips form a thin line. She stands from her position in front of Rurik. The usually light-hearted man is but a drooling mess in front of her. She may no longer be able to see his face, but even she can tell how bad he has gotten. "I ... don't know..." The Sorceress presses a knuckle to her cheek, thinking, even her ears flicker with the task. She had seen nothing like this, not even when her friend had absorbed so much corrupted aether that he had been on the verge of becoming a Light Warden. What sort of nonsense had Rurik gotten himself into this time? Her eyes slip to the Aether that she recognizes as Urianger, quirking a brow in question.
The Elezen man simply shakes his head, his own mind racing with quandaries. He takes his place beside Y'shtola, leaning to peer into his friend's eyes. "I has't mine own suspicions, luckily naught of which life-threatening," He says, gold eyes meeting a mix of golden green. They were blown wide, so wide that he could barely see the iris for the pupil. "But I think it best that we watch him. I would not see him harmed while in this state." He stands to his full height, his arms folded in front of his chest as he bows his head to think.
"You want us to babysit the Warrior of Light?" Alisaie is quick to interject, her hands on her hips.
She was not happy about this turn of events. It seemed as if they had just retrieved their friend from the jaws of death, only for him to return just as quickly to them. Rurik had the worst luck that the young Elezen had ever encountered. She frowns, watching as the Hrothgar lays there, eyes as wide as saucers. This was not like the patients back at the Inn, no, but it did seem as if something was ... wrong."It's not as if he can do much at the moment."
"Sister," Alphinaud gives her a look, one that she had seen far too many times in all their years of being related. "I believe Urianger is simply worried that our friend may be harmed in his current ... state." He motions to the Hrothgar. Alisaie could practically feel the lecture that was about to come. Her brother holds up a finger and Alisaie has a hard time not turning her brain off. "Lest you forget, Rurik has just as many enemies here in the first as he does in our Source. It would be irresponsible to leave him unguarded as he regains his faculties." The self satisfied smirk on his lips earns him a smack on the shoulder from his sister.
"I know that you great oaf I simply-!"
A sigh comes from Thancred's direction as he folds his arms, fixing the twins with a raised brow. "Well, since the both of you seem so sincere, I vote that you take first watch." There is sputtering from both of the young Elezen but the Hyur simply waves it away. Instead, he focuses his gaze on Urianger, "Ryne and I will search for an answer here in the Cyrstarium. I assume that you and Y'shtola have your own sources?" All business. It was how Thancred handled things now. When his friend's life was on the line, he could do little else besides convert all of his worry into sheer force of will.
Urianger can only nod, still deep in thought, racking his brain for any plausible explanation as to why Rurik would be this way, Y'shtola answers in his stead, "We'll begin as soon as possible."
And that was how Alisaie and Alphinaud both ended up with what was, essentially, a large puddle of Hrothgar on their apartment's floor. The Exarch had been kind enough, or felt guilty enough, to lend them a room in the Pendants upon their arrival to the first. Both of them had used it sparingly, as their responsibilities had taken them far from the safety of the Cystarium but the small room came in handy for this situation in particular.
"Should we ... feed him?" Alphinaud questions, watching as Rurik pawed placidly at the rug beneath him. If Alphinaud were a weaker man, he would admit that the action was almost cute. Like a Coerl kitten that had yet to grow into it's claws. If the Coeurl kitten were a large man that had the power to kill gods. It was strange to see the man who had saved Eorzea on countless occasions, brought to bat at the spare pieces of yarn on his quarter's rug. Alisaie stood beside him, her hands on her hips once more.
"No," she says, worry creasing her brow. The both of them dealt with stress in different ways. Alisaie preferred to plunger her sword into most of her problems while Alphinaud had taken to thinking things through. They both had their respective flaws but he could practically feel the stress rolling off of his sister. This wasn't something she could fight. "If it is some sort of drug, or worse, a poison, then it could perhaps make his state worse."
Rurik rolls about on their rug and Alisaie cannot help the way her fingers curl at her sides. Angry. Powerless to fix this. "I don't see why we can't bring him with us while we search."
"And have some crazed lunatic stab him in the back while he can't defend himself?" Alphinaud snaps. Perhaps he was not adjusting to the situation as he should. He knows that he should step away, give himself a break, but he worries for his friend. Worries that they will not retrieve Rurik from whatever stupor he has been put in. Will Rurik ever be able to stand by his side once more?
"It's better than just standing here! Doing nothing!"
"We can't risk his safety!"
"He's the bloody Warrior of Light! He'll be fine!"
"I'm not imposing that-"
There is a shriek of a woman, far too close to be unalarming for the two Elezen. They turn their attention back to their friend only to find the space he had once occupied strangely empty. Not only that, but it seemed that their door was also wide open, leading out onto the walkway of the Pendants. They gasped in unison, look to each other, look back to the door, and then bolted into the open air of the Crystarium.
How Rurik had gotten down three flights so quickly, neither of them knew, but when they found him he was, thankfully, none the worse for wear. In fact, he was simply playing with a ribbon. The shriek they heard was Ryne as she dangled the piece of silk in front of him, his eyes large as he followed it, swatting at the air. When the twins came rushing down, worked into a frenzy of worry, the Warrior of Light had been content to simply swat at the toy provided for him.
"Ryne!" Alphinaud pants, resting his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, "Whenever did you get here and ... how did... how did..."
Alisaie seems unmarred to say the least, an amused smile on her lips as she watches Rurik. "It seems our friend was bored in our quarters, brother."
Ryne's blue eyes focus on the both of them, blinking in surprise. "He came all the way from your quarters? I was just coming to check on the both of you when he appeared all of a sudden."
"All of a sudden, you don't think he jumped down here?" Alisaie's worry only surges but it is soon staunched by the arrival of a white coated figure.
Thancred huffs, both his hands stuffed in his pockets, face carved into a frown. It would seem his search had come to a halt. And not a very pleasing one at that.
"Let me guess," He says, approaching the four of them. "The both of you took your eyes off of him for only a moment, and he managed to get all the way down here?"
Alphinaud and Alisaie at least have the manners to look guilty.
"Thancred..." Alphinaud tries, but the older male waves him off.
"It's fine," He says, "We came to retrieve the both of you. Our search within the Cabinet of Curiosity has proven fruitless. However, Neither Ryne nor I are scholars, perhaps a search of your own will provide our answer."
Both of the twins perk up at that, the thought of doing something besides standing around seems to give them some sort of comfort. Thancred had known they would be restless, they were always the ones to try and solve their problems the quickest. When it came to the Warrior of Light, their dearest friend, they had no limit to the energy they were willing to expend. He should have allowed them to take their own search for an answer, but Thancred had been worried about Ryne. She had not been in as many life threatening situations as the twins, and her worry had to be focused on the task at hand or she was liable to be swallowed by it.
"Ryne and I will take over watching him. Come find us if your search turns up anything." Without another word, both of the Leveilleur twins run off towards the library, Thancred does not try to stop the sigh that leaves his lips. His eyes turn to Rurik who is still swatting at Ryne's ribbon, if with less enthusiasm than before.
She looks up, a small smile on her lips. It's tense at the edges, strained. "Perhaps we should let him have some fresh air. He's been cooped up for a while now; everyone poking and prodding at him." Was there some sense of understanding in her words? Thancred had not asked Ryne much about her time in Eulmore, but he could guess as to how it went.
He nods silently and the young girl takes her leave without a word. She uses her ribbon to urge Rurik onwards, the Hrothgar following after her eagerly enough. They come to stop in a grassy area near the Crystarium's market. The area isn't busy, with only a few people milling about at this midday hour. Most were hard at work but some were able to afford the small amount of free time to browse the shops and stalls. Ryne takes her seat in the grass and, to Thancred's surprise, Rurik follows suit. Perhaps he was not as blazed out of his mind as the rest of the Scions seemed to think.
Thancred takes his place not a few fulms away, silently watching the two of them. Ryne seemed more calm, most likely still worried, but calm. She plays idly with Rurik before the Hrothgar seems to grow bored and flops over. It's cute, even Thancred can admit that, and the young girl laughs. The ribbon slips to the ground, forgotten as the three of them allow the calm air of the Crystarium to wash over them. It is only after a few minutes of this uninterrupted silence that Ryne takes up the ribbon once more. However, this time, she leans over Rurik’s head, beginning to wind the ribbon into his hair. Thancred raises a brow, considering stopping her, but Rurik does not resist so he allows it.
Within the matter of a bell, Rurik's hair is filled to the brim with pink ribbons tied in much the same way as Ryne's was. It was almost cute. It was almost ridiculous. Whenever they managed to retrieve Rurik from his strange spell, he would not be happy but for now it amused Ryne and Thancred couldn't take that from her.
"What in the Seven Hells are you doing?"
Thancred immediately tenses, cringing as he turns to look at Y'shtola. She was wearing a frown, hands on her hips as she stared him down. "I assume you found something?"
That only makes her fold her arms over her chest. Ah, she was angry now. "Do not divert the subject, Thancred. Why is Rurik bedecked in fanciful ribbons?"
Ryne stands, moving over to the both of them. "I am sorry, it was my idea. I just thought that the ribbons looked nice..." She trails off.
Y'shtola's anger melts just as soon as it had appeared. "Do not worry yourself over much, Ryne." Her eyes snap to Thancred, giving him a look. "I would blame your caretaker for allowing such a thing to proceed, but I am sure that Rurik will not mind your ... decorations, once he has returned to us."
"So you have found something." Thancred says, glossing over Y'shtola's dissapproving glance.
"Perhaps, the Blessed themselves did not know how to cure our friend. Curiously, Runar was able to help a great deal." She turns her all seeing eyes to Rurik, frowning slightly. There was a measure of worry there that Thancred was not unused to seeing. "I have already delivered my discoveries to Urianger. It is only a matter of waiting for his reply."
"Do you mean to take our watch from us?"
Y'shtola nods to him, "I think that best, yes. Urianger may need more hands in order to gather supplies for whatever concoction he means to cook up." She smiles ruefully, "I am not suited to such a task. I will take over in your stead."
Thancred nods, turning his eyes to Ryne who nods in return. "We're off to Il Mehg then. Try not to allow him to get into too much trouble?" There is a teasing edge there that causes Y'shtola to smile in earnest.
As soon as Thancred and Ryne had taken their leave, Y'shtola made a vain attempt at removing the ribbons from his hair. Now only was Rurik uncooperative in the attempt, it also seemed that the young girl was a vicious ribbon maker. They did not want to be removed, no matter how much she tugged or pulled. If she did not know that it would hurt her friend, then she would consider calling down fire upon the blasted things. That was, obviously, not an option. So instead she was stuck toting around a bedecked Hrothgar through the Crystarium.
"However did you get yourself into such a situation?" She sighs, watching as Rurik seemed giddy enough to all but bound down the stairs towards the Trivium. Perhaps taking a man to such a place wasn't the best of ideas but Y'shtola was nothing if not practical. Her skills were best used in such a place, where her mind could be used to tear apart problems of both physical and aetherial importance.
They came to halt at the bottom of the stairs, Y'shtola was just about to make her way towards the small fields the area contained, when someone called out for her.
"Master Matoya!" The very name they used told her where they hailed from and she can't help but smile as she turns towards the noise.
"The Night's Blessed, here in the Crystarium?" She says, though she can't keep the happiness from her voice. She cannot make out their faces, no, but she recognizes their aether. They have been among the Blessed since her arrival, old friends.
They approach, practically radiating happiness. "We thought that we would help in the Crystarium's efforts to produce greens." One of them reports, if only she could remember their names.
"Yes, our ventures in the Greatwood have allowed us to learn much about plantlife. Sustainable farming may be the only thing between some village's and certain death."
Y'shtola nods, posing a knuckle against her cheek as she thinks, "Yes, I believe you are correct. The Crystarium's work could save countless lives."
"Not only that," Y'shtola can hear the tease in the other person's voice. Oh dear, could this be about-- "Runar sent us to check on you. He seemed worried, mentioned something about a mishap in the ruins?"
Y'shtola is glad that she has a better check on her emotions than most people. Most a maiden would blush and sweep away their worries with little a thought. Y'shtola simply chuckles, "I would expect just as much from him. Tell him not to worry, I will return to my duties with the Night's Blessed as soon as my responsibilities in the Cyrstarium are complete."
"Oh, don't tell us that it's that Hrothgar fellow you were with?"
"Rurik? No, he is-- wait--!``she casts her gaze about, Rurik's aether was nowhere in sight. "Seven Hells." She spits. How could she be so foolish as to lose him at a time like this? She huffs, disappointed in herself, and marches past the two individuals she had been talking to. He must have went farther, into the Hortorium perhaps, there was no lack of bits and bobs within the agricultural center for the man to amuse himself with while he was in this state.
She comes to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over the tools and magiks that were being used in the pursuit of stabilizing the First's food supply. It was honest work. But honest work was also complicated and, sometimes, dangerous. She realized now that her decision to assist the Crystarium while looking after Rurik, was a bad one. If he managed to get himself hurt while he was in such a state, she would never forgive herself.
Y'shtola resists the urge to call out for him. Better to look with her own eyes than to cause a stir amongst the hard working botanists. Besides, she was better at finding him than most people. With her eyesight as it was, finding a person by their aether should be no issue, but there were many people scattered about the space and at first she doesn't quite notice where Rurik's aether has gone.
Until she looks at a small stowage of plants near the back of the facility. Their lights ring hollow in the face of Rurik's and she curses herself for having not seen it earlier. He is like a beacon amongst the stocks of Millioncorn. Y'shtola marches towards him, her steps aggressive as she comes to a stop before the farm rows. "Rurik," She says, her arms folding over her chest in a huff. "You can't hide from me. I can see you." She sets her face into a displeased frown that would make most children cry at but a glance. The Hrothgar does not emerge from his hiding place, he simply peeks from between the stocks as if a Miqo'te cub caught in the midst of doing something ill advised.
"Don't look at me so," She warns, her tone icy cold as she stares him down. "Just because you've gotten yourself into some sort of stuppor does not mean you are allowed to prance about like a child..." She is moments away from wagging her finger when an awkward cough erupts from behind her. She turns on her heel, in her annoyance she has pressed her ears firmly against her skull. Whoever had interrupted her scolding was about to get one of their own but she is able to stop herself before she can truly begin.
"Urianger."
The Elezen man manages a polite smile at the woman before him, his golden eyes slowly traveling to the Hrothgar hidden between the stalks of Millioncorn. For such a muscled man, he is able to hide himself quite well. Then again, Urianger would expect no less of the Warrior of Light and Darkness.
"Pray forgive me, Y'shtola, as I would but assume thee most astute in the matters of our friend, better than most of our compatriots."
Y'shtola has enough reason to look slightly embarrassed and she turns her head to eye the Horthgar suspiciously. "It seems that, even in his current state, he is liable to play tricks on me. He caught me unawares, distracted as I was by idle conversation."
"And what of the ribbons?" Urianger's voice is tinged with amusement. It was true that the pink ribbons still clung tightly to Rurik's hair. Ryne must have been able to work a miracle into the silk itself. Then again, her own ribbons never seemed to come undone. Perhaps it was an acquired skill.
The Miqo'te woman sighs, shaking her head, "Ryne's handiwork. I cannot undo them no matter how hard I try."
A chuckle rumbles from Urianger's chest as he can't help but shake his head as well, "I would expect no less. Come, let us retrieve our friend and gather the rest of the Scions--I quite believe I yet finished with the cure to bring our friend unto his previous mental state."
"So easily? You do not believe it is poison?"
Again, he shakes his head, "No, but rather the opposite of such." Y'shtola manages to give him a look but he nods his head towards the stairs. "Pray retrieve the others. I will pry our friend away from the Crystarium's crops ere he anger the botanists."
The Sorceress took her leave without another word. Finding the rest of the Scions was not an overly simple a task as one might think. Alisaie and Alphinaud were the easiest to track down, as they had stayed in the Cabinet of Curiosity since being assigned there by Thancred. The aforementioned Gunbreaker and his charge were a different story altogether. They were not in Il Mehg, as Y'shtola would have thought. No, it seemed that they had absconded to Eulmore in an attempt to find the ingredients that Urianger would need for his cure. Why they had need of Ruby Tomatoes and Cider Vinegar, Y'shtola did not yet know.
They gathered before the stairs leading to the Crystal Tower. It seemed a fitting enough place, as night had swept over the whole of Lakeland and had smothered everything in the peace that was darkness. The five of them waited, and then waited some more. It seemed that Urianger's task had taken up more time than even Y'shtola's.
"Where in the Seven Hells is Urianger?" Thancred grumbles, the ingredients for Rurki's cure perched in a cloth bag at his hip. He had spent quite the coin on such things, as apparently vinegar and tomatoes were not a common food staple among the denizens of the First and only those with the most rich of taste could afford such things to be in their daily diet. Thancred had spent more than his last few coins trying to track them down.
Alphinaud frowns, gazing into the mid distance as he spotted two familiar figures begin to approach them. "It seems he is coming towards us now, our Warrior of Light in tow." The young Elezen man seemed to speak true, though "in tow" seemed to mean dangling a simple toy before Rurik's face.
Y'shtola is quick to fold her arms, tilting her head at the spectacle. Thankfully they were not in broad daylight, for if the citizens of the Crystarium had seen such a thing happen before their very eyes, they might have lost all respect for the Warrior of Darkness. As it was, it would make for a great story during the Annual Scion Meeting. "What possessed you to think this was a good idea?" She asks as the two of them draw closer.
"Well," Urianger says, stopping before the small gathering of his friends, "It seemed most appropriate in the course of action, given that he hath refused to remove himself from the botanist's hard won fields of labor." He dangles the small toy in front of Rurik, keeping him occupied. It was but a stick with a small string attached to it, but it more than kept the Hrothgar's attention. "I thought it best that he did not run off again, so I fashioned him this toy to amuse him with." His eyes move to Thancred, "Am I correct to assume thee hast procured the items of which I asked?"
The Gunbreaker nods, tossing the other man the sack. "It costs a great sum of coin. I do hope that it works."
Urianger catches it with ease, opening it before nodding to himself. He makes sure the pass the stick toy to Alisaie who bounces it idly in her hand. "Are we sure this will work?" She asks, more than a little concern in her voice.
"It couldn't be as easy as a few food items, could it?" Ryne asks, watching as Rurik bats at the string, it seemed his condition hadn't changed in the few hours she and Thancred had been gone.
Urianger retrieves a potion bottle from his knapsack, making sure to carefully pour the vinegar into it. "Not without difficulty, no, but the influence of this mixture should alleviate most of his symptoms." He squeezes the tomato into the bottle, the juice dripping down his arm. "If I am correct in mine assumptions, then he will but return to his previous self within a matter of bells."
"Does it really require such a vile concoction?" Y'shtola says, refusing the urge to hold her fingers to her nose.
Urianger smiles to himself, shaking the bottle in one hand to stir it's contents. "That thee art able to smell how pungent it is, bodes most well for us." It is then that he moves to the Hrothgar. Rurik is still busy attempting the catch the ever elusive string when Urianger approaches and uncorks the potion. The foul stench makes its way into Rurik's nostrils, causing him to sneeze.
The Scions wait with baited breath, watching Rurik with keen eyes as he sneezes over and over again. It is only after he stops that he lifts his head and-
"Why do I have ribbons in my hair?" He asks, quirking one white brow as he brings a clawed hand to his head.
For a moment there is stunned silence--but then the Scions burst into laughter, leaving a very confused Rurik to watch as his friends go nearly red in the face with the effort of it.
It is Alisaie who is the first to calm down enough to question him, "Rurik, you silly man, however did you end up in such a state?"
Rurik looks himself over, seeing that his clothes are dusty and he feels particularly tired. "Well, the last thing I remember I was standing right here..." He trails off, closing his eyes to think, "... And there were these delivery people, with boxes upon boxes in their arms. I was trying to make way, when I tripped and fell over onto one of them..." He looks up, ears perking up, "After that I-I don't remember what happened at all!"
"I have a theory," Urianger says, having staved off his laughter for the time being, though an amused smirk is still obvious on his lips, "Cataria. A common herb used for medicinal purposes within the lands First. ‘Tis easy to grow and is oft a cure for respiratory issues. In the Source, however, such a similar herb is known as Catnip."
"Oh nooo..." Rurik groans, resting his head in his hands.
Alphinaud frowns, his brow furrowing as he tries to put the pieces together, "Catnip? Whatever does it do?"
Y'shtola cuts in, her amusement evident, "In most cultures it can be used for medicine, yes, but among the Mqio'te and Hrothgar it's a--"
"Stimulant." Rurik sighs, standing from his position on the ground. "In some people more than others." He shuffles, embarrassed.
"And you got into boxes of the stuff," Thancred rumbles another laugh, "No wonder why you were out of your wits. Your very aether was overwhelmed with it! And here I was thinking you were poisoned." He moves to his friend, clapping him on the shoulder. "The great Warrior of Darkness, defeated by a box of herbs."
There is a rumble that emanates from Rurik. Thancred is liable to think he is growling at him, but it is the growl of something else entirely.
"Perhaps we should feed our poor friend?" Alisaie says, a smile on her lips as she tilts her head towards the eatery.
The rest of the Scions nod and Rurik is swept into the midst of the group, growling stomach and all.
Ryne easily pulls up beside him, a smile on her lips as she walks steadily by his side. "I'm glad you're back to normal."
The Hrothgar cannot keep the smile from his lips, adjusting his glasses with the movement. "I'm glad I am too."
The young girl does not keep the teasing smile from her lips, "Thancred says you owe him for the vinegar and tomatoes. They were expensive in Eulmore."
Rurik deflates some, hanging his head in mock agony, "I suppose I will have to pay him back sometime."
"Pay for the first round of drinks and we'll be even!" The Gunbreaker cuts in.
Summary: Khalja is a wandering Xaela warrior loyal to but two things in his life: the Kahkol tribe who took him in as a teenager, and his two younger twin sisters, whom themselves live among the Mol tribe. Though he holds many grievances of his past, Khalja chooses to look towards the future instead, to grow closer to his sisters and feel more comfortable among his found-family of the Kahkol.
With an upcoming wedding for both of his sisters and their chosen partners, the wanderer decides to buy the finest silk from Kugane as a wedding present. But it is also there that he meets a mysterious Miqo'te courtesan who makes his heart dance in ways he never knew it could, leaving Khalja to wonder if there is but one more object of loyalty that he has been yearning for--could he have finally found his own mate?
Note: This is an ongoing adaptation/formatted version of an RP I have been writing with my fiance (@blood–hunter) putting together our OCs Khalja (@khaljakahkol) and Tango (@tangowithtango). Let me know if you spot any formatting errors!
Tango has always liked the hot springs. The view of the ocean, the soft towels, the wine that the owner ran through the crystal waters that made it smell divine. Not only that, but it was warm (obviously) and it always helped soothe the ache in his arm. All of this, combined with excellent prospective clientele, made it Tango's favorite place to relax during his afternoons before his "work" really took off. He practically purrs, leaning back into the waters luxuriously, as if he were on his own throne and had not a care in the world. His arm gleamed in the light of the afternoon sun and he couldn't be bothered to try and cover up how the reflection danced in the water.
He cracks open an eye. Most of the other people in the spring were minding their own business. Only one dared to make eye contact with him. That was a mistake on his part. With a smirk on his lips and a purr in his chest he slowly stands, slinking his way over to the Xaela. There weren't many of them who dared to come to Kugane, and even then they didn't stay long. Not long enough to enjoy the springs at least.
"Well," He says, letting leisure and grace settle into his tones, the responsibilities of a courtesan settling onto his shoulders as easily a robe, "I don't see many men like you around here."
In truth, Khalja hadn't realized he'd been staring at the man. Though he had grown familiar enough with some of the larger settlements outside of the Azim Steppe, he had yet to be familiar enough so that Kugane did not leave him gawking like a newborn child every time he so much as saw a flash of bright lights or fanciful people. So it was true he had been staring upon the Miqo'te, whose race alone was already uncommon in the area. It isn't as if they didn't exist at all in these lands, but the few that Khalja had met or seen in the rare instance within Doma or Kugane did not have such a lavish visage--and not a single one of them had an arm looking as if made of pure gold.
"I-" he starts, suddenly feeling a bit taken back that his lingering and rude gaze had been caught, leaving him to come up with either excuse or apology. Neither of which Khalja had ever been all that good with forming. "I suppose you don't."
For a good heavy few seconds, the Xaela said nothing else. He sat as still as ice in the scathing hot water, mind rolling like a storm before he finally finds words to speak again.
"I may say the same to you; the last Miqo'te I have spoken to was far into the mountains of Doma--and never once have I met one with quite a...embellished look about them."
Tango can't keep the laugh from his voice as he moves to settle himself next to the Xaela. He was tall. Of course, most Xaela were tall, but he towered over Tango even when he sat at the same level as him. For a moment he plays with that thought, it would be nice to be serviced by a man who could actually handle him for a change, instead of having to play the slutty top for some pretty rich boy. Not that he complained when they started tossing money his way.
"I doubt that any Miqo'te looks quite like me." He lifts his arm as if by example, twisting it so that it gleamed in the reflection of the water, sending lights dancing. His tail thumps idly behind him, and he does his best to stretch in the most attractive way possible. The Xaela's voice was thick with the accent of the Steppe. So, that must be where he calls home, not some sort of wanderer like so many of the Raen have become.
Tango flutters his lashes at him, "So," He says, shifting closer to the man. "What's your name? And what brings you here, stranger?"
Khalja's eyes narrow for only a moment, a flash of caution that lay like bedrock in the back of his mind. He has seen a number of odd folk and their ploys, and even had been a victim of them the first couple visits to Kugane in his younger years. Though the past experiences leave the man tight-lipped for a few moments, they do not hinder his interest in at least continuing the conversation--it would be a lie to say that the Xaela isn't interested at all in the man beside him, for as outlandishly lavish as his appearance may be compared to what most looked like in the unforgiving lands of the Steppe.
"Khalja of the Kahkol tribe," the man finally answers, having weighed his thoughts and finished in favor of amusing himself in the conversation, as he sensed little else to worry about with the smaller Miqo'te. "I come to Kugane seeking out a gift for my sisters; they are to be wed with their suitors in two moons and deserve something proper to wear for their ceremony."
"So you seek silks?" Tango says, tilting his head and letting his ears flicker slightly, "I dare say you'll find none better than the ones here in Kugane." He says, giving him a pleasant smile, leaning closer to him. "Then again, you seem a smart man. That's probably why you're here in the first place." He purrs, giving the Xaela a wink.
Two sisters? It must have been nice to have family. Tango can feel the jealousy, the spitefulness, well up in his chest. He pushes it down. This man had done nothing to him but have something that he did not. It was taken from him. But Khalja was not the one who had done it. He lets his gaze travel over his body, a sort of distraction from his more dark thoughts.
The Au Ra was fit, though then again, he lived on the Steppe and probably had to be by nature. Tango's body was more lithe and elegant, something he was proud of and worked hard on. His clients had certainly appreciated it too--often paid well for it.
"I surmised as such, from the tales I've been told and the few Doman visitors in the Azim Steppe," Khalja says, his voice naturally soft and low, something of a low purr or even the rumble of a distant river. His eyes, glowing even in the bright daylight rays that filter past the rocks and into the hot springs, glance down to the Miqo'te beside him. He doesn't tend to stare at people--he has learned that some do not care for the eye contact common among his people, though Xaela traditionally respect being able to see someone's eyes when they speak of trade or battle. Some even consider them haunting with their black sclera, though it only makes seeing easier on the bright days across the relatively flat grasslands of the Steppe.
"Will you give me the same honor of your name?" The Xaela says at last, finally remembering to drop his eyes towards the water, to look at how his hands sit in his lap beneath surface.
Tango hums, daring to press a gentle hand to Khalja's cheek, urging him to look at him. It was easier when someone made eye contact with him. Red and gold met black and green. What pretty eyes, truly, he was almost jealous. Almost. If his form weren't as perfect as it was.
"You can call me Tango," the man hums, settling closer, now side to side with Khalja. Tango swings his tail around, letting it curl over the other man's lap, resting lightly there. "And it need not be an honor, unless you want it to be." He smiles, fluttering his lashes again. In truth, a truth he would never reveal to anyone who didn't truly know him, he didn't remember his real name.
"To know one's name is an honor in itself," Khalja says, trying not to fight the touch of a hand as it pulls his eyes back. If anything, the man strived not to offend or intimidate, especially while among a culture he knew so little about. He felt a soft stutter to his breath as he knew not at first what to do, but caught it quickly when his eyes lay upon the almost crystalline color of Tango's own. "...and if that is what you asked to be called, then that is who you will be to me."
It's already apparent that Tango was not merely some random Kugane citizen who took an interest in Khalja, but it had taken him some time to realize just what sort of ploy was being played between the two of them, intent hidden behind words and glances and subtle motions even he could barely detect. Lavish and prim to the point of excess, it finally dawned on the Xaela male that he was sitting beside a man of entertainment.
Though he knew there were many within the bustling city, he had never once been confronted or propositioned so shamelessly--and certainly not in such an open area. He blinked, unsure of how to proceed, not in that he had no money to spend or that he saw less of the man beside him, but simply in that he had no intentions of indulging in such acts when on a mission devoted to his sisters alone.
Tango can't help the chuckle that leaves his chest, nor can he stop the purr that bubbles up after it.
"So sweet," the Seeker says, because it's true. Usually the ones that weren't interested told him to piss off by now. Or worse, they'd done so with their fists. Unfortunately, Tango couldn't tell if he was interested, or just too polite to say no. Xaela and their culture were foreign to him but Tango needed the coin and Khalja could probably pay decently. "I don't think anyone's treated me more than a sack of meat or a nuisance in a long time." It would be foolish of Tango to think he hadn't caught on by now. And if he hadn't, Well....
He purrs, moving to sit in the large man's lap, batting his eyes at him as he curls both his arms over Khalja's shoulders... He certainly knew now. "Would you be interested in getting to know each other a little better?"
Khalja stiffened in an instant the moment he felt the other man move to sit astride his hips, arms wind their way loosely around the back of the Xaela's neck. Like but a small sheep caught in the light of a shepard's torch, the man stay still for several short breaths, doing his best to keep the ample temptation of thoughts from blooming up in the back of his mind. The man was not oblivious to the appeal of the man in his lap--of his soft curves and coy smile--but such carnal yearnings were not to be indulged in yet. He had saved up but a small mountain of money that merchants in Kugane would take, yes, but he had little knowledge of how much he would need to purchase the gifts that had brought him to the city to begin with.
He would walk home with shame in his heart if he wouldn't have enough to purchase the fineries his young sisters deserved--though the heat between his thighs and the churning of his stomach make it a momentous task to ignore.
"I...would get to know you, Tango," The man began, his words chosen carefully so as not to offend, but to offer an explanation. "Though I must confess my priorities--I know not the cost of the silks I'm looking to purchase, and I would not stand to offer you a paltry sum for your....company, if I still had worry for such a purchase in the back of my mind."
Tango's smile falls and he can't keep the sigh that leaves his lips. An honorable man. He had to give him that. And one that at least understood that his services would actually cost something and to not just fly in the face of fancy.
"That's ... acceptable..." He finally says, though part of him thinks that he should give him a blow job free of charge and see how far that got him. No. That wouldn't work. If anything Khalja was smart enough to see through it and refuse it. He slowly gets off his lap, ignoring the strange looks they get as he moves to sit beside him. "So you need help in getting your silks?" He tilts his head, this way and that, "I know of some good traders who are reputable and shouldn't stiff you too much." He hums, "My own dancing outfit is made from such things, and they can get it in the best colors. Though, I'll admit, it might take longer than you think. They like to make their skeins of silk to order."
Khalja hums, considering the offer with a tilt of his own head. His eyes draw away from the man for but a few moments, mind filled with thought, before he finally turns with a firm look of curious conviction settled within that striking emerald gaze.
"If you would join me to at least order the silk that you speak of, and allow me to first pay for the order, then...." It takes a moment as the Xaela takes a breath, only briefly glancing around to the others surrounding them. There were few, most of them so far that they'd naught hear the hushed rumble of the Au Ra man even if they wanted to. He couldn't be sure if such activities were normally so openly offered, or if Tango was simply his own oddity--Khalja unfortunately knew too little to make a judgement, and he didn't have the care to warrant taking aside the man somewhere else when he himself already offered his services so brazenly.
"...once I know the cost of what I came here to purchase, then I will offer you whatever I have left. You may then decide how deserving the sum is for your company."
The Seeker can't keep the smile off his face. That was a generous offer, but he forces himself to act coy, "Hmmm," He says, tapping a finger against his own chin, "I could consider that offer. Depending on how much you'll give me..." He hums, eyeing him before letting a small smirk slip onto his lips and a wink to be sent the Xaela's way. "I can guide you to the silk merchant. He isn't far from here, and I'm sure he'll be able to find you what you'll need." He stands, unashamed at his half dressed state, "Follow me. We can dry off and then seek our your precious silks."
Though subtle, there is a light that catches in Tango's eyes even as he speaks, his words saying one thing as his face says quite another--it's something rather fascinating about him, Khalja notes. An energy, tantalizing, burns somewhere behind the man's bright eyes. It reminds him of how the Oronir are when it comes to battle--prideful to a fault, bolstering of their strength and skill and always willing their quarry ever closer. Though Khalja knows little of this man's battle prowess, he certainly seems to know that he does not lack for physical appeal--and that in itself is quite a weapon to wield.
Though the Xaela looks as if he's about to speak, he is utterly caught off-guard by the sudden rise of the man, his standing putting hips at level with Khalja's eyes. Oh. He is clothed in but a thin strip that can barely be called clothing, asymmetrical in a way that looks as if someone had dragged claws over his hips and left the garment in tatters. Of course, that would seem to have been the point, because already the Au Ra can feel the heat forming in his cheeks at the precarious stature of how Tango's hips so very neatly rest at level with his face.
So instead of trying to form a broken response, Khalja merely steels himself, presses his lips together, and nods in agreement to the offer before moving to stand and step out of the water.
Tango smirks again, at this rate it would be stuck on his face. It was obvious that the Xaela was attracted to him, with how his eyes seemed to stay on his body, but it was also obvious that he didn't want to admit it to himself. It's easy for Tango to guide the way to the towels. They find themselves in a small room just off to the side of the springs where a few men dawdle, not quite ready to get dressed and leave yet.
He should know, as he'd "entertained" enough clients in this room to know all the nooks and crannies where one might spend time in peace. Tango dries off, making sure to pat down every inch of his lithe body before grabbing his clothes. Well. His dress and jewelry. He slips the dress on first, and then his earrings, and then the bits he puts on his tail, before finally slipping the cuffs and bangles onto his ankles. He turns, smirking at Khalja.
"Dressed yet?" He asks, letting his eyes wander over him.
Khalja had never been to the hot springs of that particular inn before, so he was grateful for someone to show him around and back to the room where he had left his clothes and gear. Still safely tucked away was it all, not a single thing out of place--though he had left his most prized objects in the inn room. Though he had done well to be courteous, the Au Ra could not help but steal a glance or two as the curious Miqo'te dressed himself, and what he wore did not lack for the same lavish nature that his personality already exhibited at-length. Bright silk and brighter gold adorning him from head to toe; if Khalja had seen the man in such dress at first, he feared that he would have stared all the harder upon him--there were few people who dressed so brightly as he.
When Tango asked his question, Khalja himself was but halfway dressed himself; he already had on his pants and boots, the latter of which still with the knife strapped to the outside of his thigh though he had feared it may be stolen. He was in the middle of unfolding his undershirt to pull over his shoulders when bright green eyes turned and looked at the Miqo'te with soft attention.
"I apologize if I am slower," he says gently, tugging the hempen undershirt over his chest, then slowly pulling on his poncho. "Though Kugane is blessed with mild weather, my home is much less forgiving--layers are the way of many a tribe's standard wear."
Tango can't help but blink, folding his arms as he watches him. The tribes were foreign concept to him, but he had heard tales of them here and there.
"Your tribe?" He asks, slinking up to him as a cat would a particularly interesting bird. He presses against him, gazing up at green and black. He had to admit, the poncho he rested against was soft. Very soft. "Which one are you from? I know that there are many tribes who wander the Steppe but I do not know their names or their meanings."
He flickers his ears, a small breeze fluttering his dress and making his bangles jingle against his fur. Surely there was more to learn about Khalja, and he would appreciate knowing more about his client, even if this was a business transaction. He seemed a sweet man, and likely that he would treat Tango better than most of his clients.
"It is because few travelers bother to make the journey into the Azim Steppe or the lands beyond," Khalja says, a little smile playing against the corners of his mouth. It's not so often to meet someone curious enough to ask about the Xaela--many don't hold the interest long enough to ask, and some still simply don't care. "Our trade center, Reunion, is oft the only place I see non-Xaela, but it yet rare that they venture farther into the land--some tribes do not take kindly to strangers and I cannot either party for it."
He sighs, slowly, almost languidly wrapping the cloth strips of woven Karakul yarn around his wrists and hands--though they offered no reasonable protection in Kugane as they did in the Steppe's harsh, sometimes sand-driven winds, it was still a thing of habit to be the last part of his clothing ritual.
"My tribe, however..." The Au Ra continued, pursing his lips together for a moment. "I am of the Kahkol tribe. They are small in number and are a peaceful sort, who had taken me in when I was young and foolish.."
In response, Tango cannot help the way his head tilts his curiosity. So many strange words and yet Khalja is able to make sense of them rather easily. Tango finds himself fascinated in how they work. They all share one land and yet they are all their own individual tribes? How strange. And yet. Many people in Kugane did much the same. It was made of family units living amongst other family units. "You are not of the Kahkol originally?" He asks, letting a hand trace over the other man's chest as he was so used to doing with other men. "Then which tribe do you originate from? Or is that offensive to ask?" Tango looks up, brow furrowing in confusion.
Khalja thought about the question, but thought far more about the answer. Though he quickly noticed the subtle pressure of Tango's hand pressing delicately over his chest, he did not bring attention to it with anything other than a flick of his eyes as if to affirm that's what it was.
"It depends on who you ask," the Au Ra finally says, weighing his words carefully in knowledge that the man, the one practically laying against him, was little more than a pleasant stranger. Though Khalja was a trusting soul, he could not even begin to wonder the sorts of things this man had heard, the information he has collected from minds addled equally by lust and drink. Khalja did not feel that Tango would bring harm to anyone with information, but neither was he willing to offer it so easily. "I am not one offended by the question, but that is not information I am willing to talk about."
Tango lets a breath out through his nose. A touchy subject then. He couldn't blame him. It wasn't like Tango went around advertising his past and he wasn't about to make the Xaela do the same for him.
"I understand," He says at last, patting his chest playfully before standing to his full height once more. "But we should find you your silks, yes?" The silk merchant would be near the markets, as he always was. Hopefully Khalja could find what he needed. Tango points a thumb towards the door, "Just follow me. We'll go to the markets." He moves, leading the man towards the door, making sure to swing his hips as alluringly as possible.
Khalja's eyes were naturally drawn to the man as he walked. It wasn't hard to show oneself as a courtesan--or at least, the principles of it seemed as simple as the carnal act in which they oft offered, though Khalja could never recall if such a similar role was filled in the world of the Xaela tribes he grew up in. Regardless, he felt that it wasn't hard to take coin for a night of intimacy with a stranger, but there was something about Tango that demanded attention; moreso, it demanded respect. The Au Ra could not say truly what went into the profession--nor would he ever claim to--but he was observant enough to know that a man such as the Miqo'te knew plenty well of his own appeal to others. Everything from the silks he wore to the coyish tilt of his smile seemed finely-tuned, a skill he seemed to have perfected as any merchant may learn to sell their wares.
....Suffice to say, the curves of his backside were not ones to be easily ignored, and Khalja was a terribly, horribly weak man.
"Do...you often purchase from this merchant?" The Xaela finally asks, if only to keep conversation in the air between them, to make his staring not as obvious or, in his mind at least, a little less rude.
Tango spins on his toes, shooting a grin Khalja's way. "Oh yes. All the time." He says, taking the bottom of his dress in hand and stretching it, as if the display the silk it was made of. "This very dress is made of his wares. Nothing but the best for me. I would offer you to touch it, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to do that..." he winks at him, sticking his tongue out before turning back around to lead the two of them into a densely packed marketplace. Tango should have known that there would be many people here. He huffs as he spots the crowd, reaching behind him to take Khalja's hand into his own. "Don't go losing me now. Wouldn't want to be split up."
Khalja's eyes remain averted for as long as they can be from the moment he seems caught in the act, heat as if stuck over his cheeks. Tango's words ring out at the same moment that his hand finds Khalja's own, their fingers interlaced in a manner that is almost intimate if the two of them had known eachother for more than the last hour. Even though the words were laced with a gentle teasing, the Au Ra couldn't help but find a sense of logic in the Miqo'te's words, as he could have easily fallen into the thick crowd that bustled around the busy marketplace.
"Given fellow company," Khalja says, his eyes glancing round and finding only the occasional other Au Ra among a sea of others. "I would not be too difficult to find should you decide to play a game of cat and mouse." After another moment, a brief instance of brave amusement finds its way into his chest, his hand gently squeezing the far smaller one within it "...Is this how you entrance all of your potential clientele?"
Tango lets out a slight laugh, sending a smile over his shoulder. "No. But I must admit that you are playing hard to catch. Most of my clients are falling over themselves within the first minute or two. The other ones have already cum in their trousers before I can get a single word out. It's refreshing, if anything else."
He flutters his lashes at him, before he stops abruptly in front of a stall. There is an elderly Raen there and he tends to cart as if he hasn't noticed the two of them standing there.
"Here we are," the Seeker says, flashing yet another grin, "Now, you'll have to haggle with him. I'll warn you. He's very good at it."
For some reason, the words and interest that Tango seems to have for Khalja--whether true or faked--bring forth a feeling of excitement simmering somewhere in the Au Ra's heart. It's not to say that he has never felt the interest of another's eyes upon him before, many a times has he danced around the concept of lust and longing, but never before had he felt like the other had danced in equal interest. It was...exciting, in a way, like a child discovering a new game or a teenager a new crush. Nevertheless, priorities pushed the man to step forwards to the stall--he could see the many rolls of colorful silk, some still as if yet dyed. There were some outfits hanging behind the owner, one similar to the outfit that Tango wore but with two full sleeves and a fuller bottom skirt. Interesting.
Khalja could not fool himself nor the owner, an old Raen man, that he knew little about the qualities and cost of silk. He haggled for as long as he dared, citing cultural significance and care for quality as best he could to appeal but to the man's heart--and though it did give him a warm smile and a bit of a chuckle, there was little for him to be wormed down from his stated price. Eventually they came to an agreement on something that seemed reasonable, or at least it had been far less of a sum than what Khalja had brought with him, leaving plenty to be discussed over for Tango should the man still be interested--Khalja doubted that it was common practice to bring a courtesan with you to the markets before partaking in their services, for did a man as lavish and cloying as Tango not have but a line of other men and women alike to share a bed with him?
Tango himself watches with some amusement. The silk maker was well known in these parts and his prices were more than fair for what he offered. But Khalja tried, and perhaps it was that they were both AuRa that led him to bring his prices down, if only a little. As soon as they were done, and a price was agreed upon, Tango can't help but smile, moving to settle against Khalja's side once again. "Did you get what you need?" He asks, tail swaying behind him as he hooks his arm with the Xaela's. He guides him easily through the crowd, towards his quarters located in Shirogane. He had moved out of the brothel long ago, taking his earnings to work "freelance." He would be called a common whore, if it weren't for his lavish clothes and sometime even more lavish clientele. He only welcomed who he wanted into his bed, and sometimes that made all the difference.
Khalja nodded. "I did. I did not expect the transaction to be quite as easy as it was--perhaps I am simply more versed in the haggling of my homeland; some of our merchants are as stubborn as an ornery sheep and I...did not expect to have so much of my coin left over from it."
He tries not to seem to awed as the other man leads him through the city. He had never the reason to visit the residential district of Kugane for never had he a home there nor knew someone who did. Despite his attempts not to seem overly interested, he could not help but feel at peace with it. The houses lay but near the ocean, some tucked right against it, and others yet were carefully pressed to the small hills that dotted the land. Khalja could certainly see the appeal to some who may yearn to live there, as every home looked bright and fanciful, decorated and welcoming, and the walkways peaceful as can be in comparison to the market.
Tango hums, taking the long path in order to have an easy stroll to towards his home. It was a small place, but it was more than most courtesans had, and that was enough for him. He smiles pleasantly, fluttering his lashes at Khalja.
"I've never seen that man lower his prices for anyone, you must be quite skilled with your tongue." Tango can't help the teasing smirk that quirked his lips, a wink helping to curve the joke. The cherry blossoms threaten to bloom around them, sea air sweeps in with each wave.
Yes. He loved his home. Love Kugane. He wondered idly if the Steppes had a view of the ocean, or were they just long plains of grass and sand? That brought about another thought. "It will take several days for your order to be complete, do you have somewhere to stay?"
"I had planned to remain in the inn we had met at until the order was finished," Khalja says, his eyes glancing across the landscape before finally returning to Tango and, only then, did his mind catch up with the other's former words. Oh. Well. He shouldn't have expected any less sultry wit from someone as obviously well-off and demanding of respect as the Miqo'te but standing beside with their arms linked together. "Their rates were respectable, and I had heard of it from a traveler the last time I had come to Kugane--he guided me well, as it would seem, though I did not expect to meet someone quite like you while staying there."
It would have been easy to misread the words that fell from Khalja's lips if it weren't for his firm, genuine tone, a gentle rumble that filled each word.
Tango works hard not to blush, after years in this line of work he should be used to such bold compliments, but something about Khalja makes it seem sincere. He liked that about him. He likes a lot of things about the Au Ra that he couldn't quite name on his own. "Ah, keep saying things like that, and you'll get a lot more than you bargained for." He murmurs, holding a hand to his lips in a coy smile. His home is, thankfully, not far. It's a simple homestead, in a complimentary Doman style. The yard was clean save for several trees that lined the path and an aether stone to make travel for those more prone to magic, easier.
"Do you want to come inside?" the Seeker asks, tilting his head lightly with a knowing look in his eyes. "Or were you just being a gentleman, and walking me home?"
The Xaela cannot help but be at least mildly engrossed in the home, decorated with more finery than even some tribes are able to for their huts, though it is likely due to how little use such fanciful items have when one moves around the Steppe so very often. The Mol, the tribe that his sisters were apart of, do not have such connection to material fancies, but they neither shun the adoration of goods and decorations, much is the reason that Khalja had set himself upon the journey to purchase his sisters fine silk to begin with.
"Can I not be both?" Khalja finally asks, his turn to be a touch coy as his lips quirk into a smile as he steps into the yard of the small home. "I see them not separate things--a gentleman and a gentle man, unless there is something of intimate evenings that I am yet unaware of--or if you are the type who does not prefer a gentle lover."
Tango hums a laugh, purring as he opens the door. "I suppose we'll fine out?" He says, letting the Xeala into his home. It was well decorated, with traditional Doman art decorating the wall and the furniture reflecting his unique heritage. Not only that, but the wood beneath their feet was shined to a glossy finish and practically reflected back at them. A fire burned in the hearth against the wall but Tango is quick to be in Khalja's space, easing his hands over his chest and leaning up, up, up, threatening to kiss him with how close he is. "I'll let you decide what you want. After all, this is your little ... excursion isn't it?" He purrs, tail winding around the other man's thigh. "Just tell me how you want me and I'll do it. We can discuss fees later, hm?"
Khalja surprises himself with how calm he is able to remain in the face of such temptation, for that is truly what Tango was. A Miqo'te with eyes as bright as jewels and skin as if painted with gold--he all but dripped of grace and beauty, an exotic sort that not once could Khalja recall seeing in the Steppe--at least, certainly not from the Kahkol. They were a gentle people with conservative traditions, and while the Xaela had taken himself a lover or two in evenings of passion, never did one quite had the same energy or feverish curiosity about them that Tango carried with him like another set of jewelry.
So the man blinked, his mind caught in between the thoughts of how to answer him, as even then he could not bring himself to be selfish even if coin were exchanged for such pleasures.
"Tell me, what is it that your clients often ask of you?" Khalja tilts his head in curiosity, his voice so even that it surprised himself. "Is there something common among their requests?"
Tango can't help but blink, raising a brow as he he looks over Khalja. "Well..." He says, moving off the tips of his toes to stand flat. "... Most of them want me to fuck them..." He murmurs, scratching behind one ear, "I don't mind doing it for the coin but ... I'm definitely a bottom..." He blinks up at Khalja. "But if you want that I can do it!"
Tango briefly waves his hands in front of him, before he's quickly putting back on his flirty charade, "Or we could play a little game ... I always like doing that..." He purrs, sidling up to him again. "Lets see how many times I make you cum. If you let me make you cum five times this night I'll halve the price." He purrs.
Khalja tilts his head to the side, unperturbed by the shift of tone in Tango's voice; he had got the answer he wanted all the same and thensome, to the deeper question yet tantalizing in the back of his head.
Though he oft gave credit to the upbringing of the Kahkol, it was truely the his often closeness to Reunion that gave the man such a care for the fine art of observation. There was so much to gain of a person by queues outside of the spoken word, messages hidden among a façade that some clung harder to than others--in such a way, Khalja respected those of the Qestir, whom lay such importance on truth and honesty that they never spoke a single word from birth until death, relying solely in queues physical and material to prove intentions.
"Though I greatly respect such a gracious offer-" Khalja says, speaking low enough that the sound of his voice is but a rumble of noise. He takes in one breath and, in a solid motion, slips one arm beneath the back of the Seeker's knees and lifts him up into his arms. "I believe I would very much like to make you cum five times instead."
Tango's face goes red, daring almost to match the color of his eyes as he lets out a short gasp. The Xaela is tall. Much taller than he is used to, so he clings to the front of his poncho for balance.
"M-Me?” the Seeker gasps, much like a child having a tantrum--but his voice is softer, more surprised than hurt. “B-but I’m the one doing the serving around here!”
His tail curls around Khalja's arm, a loose loop that he doesn't know what to do with. This man has significantly taken him out of his own game. He'd severely underestimated him, thinking that he would be inexperienced with the ways of a courtesan just because he was from the Steppe.
A mistake on his part.
"Did you not ask what I wanted? To decide? Well, I have made my decision." Khalja speaks plain, his tone as calm and genuine as if he were simply reading from a book or telling the time. Though amused by the Miqo'te's surprise, he found it more endearing; had not a single client yearned to see such a beautiful man pleasured himself? Though he is won't to reject if a lover wanted to fuck him, Khalja would not deny that he cared more for the pleasure of his partner than that of himself. If anything, it's truly what determined a starlit tryst, as he could never think highly of himself if he had left his lover wanting in any way.
"Have you ever been with an Au Ra man before?" The Xaela asked in equal earnestness. "You are about the size of an average woman of my peoples, but I dare not assumed you are as aptly equipped to handle our size as easily--but I dare not assume what I obviously do not know of you; also, where is your bedroom?"
Tango coughs, looking away from Khalja. "No ... No one's thought to ... do that..." He murmurs. Was he really the size of an Au Ra female? He hadn't met that many, not even as a courtesan had he seen many outside their tribes or homes. He points a golden finger towards the door on the other side of the room. "It's ... downstairs and through the partition door. Don't mind the ... other things. Unless you want to use any of them ... that is..." He says, finally looking at him, lashes low over his eyes.
So talented was Tango that, for a time, Khalja wasn't sure if the softness to the man's voice was genuine or but a show--and then beyond that, Khalja wasn't sure if it mattered or not as long as the two of them were but enjoying the carnal pleasures of eachother's company and Tango himself offered consent.
Khalja didn't give it too much thought of course, as he was quick to follow the given directions through the door and down the stairs, his eyes taking a sweeping look across the room when he came into the space.
"I am only as willing to do something as you are," the man says, tone simple and honest even as he feels taut pleasure twist in the pit of his stomach, a hardness between his thighs. "Though I will admit I am not as familiar with things of pleasure outside the experimentation of hands and mouths."
"Trust me," Tango says, slowly building back up his flirty exterior, "If you really wish to earn your ... discount I'm sure you'll find interest in something..." He hums, pointing at the bath in the corner, "Even if it is just a small jaunt in the tub." He pats Khalja on the chest, then lets his gaze shift, towards the other side of the room. "But the bedroom is just beyond the door and I'm sure you're eager to see me unclothed once more? Don't think that I didn't catch you staring in the hot springs. I'm sure you'll enjoy more about me than just my ass, yes?" He chuckles, a purr sounding from his chest as he takes out his hair tie, letting his long indigo locks fall down his back.
It was a game of cat and mouse, though Khalja yet wasn't sure who filled which role, only that it was a back and forth between the two. He enjoyed whatever persona that Tango felt most comfortable with, though he couldn't deny the clench of his belly at but the flicker of vulnerability he had seen but moments before, when he had taken the man into his arms. His eyes glance towards the bathtub, mind ticking away at a thought, before he finally allowed Tango on his feet again.
"How much do you care for the clothes you currently wear?" The Au Ra asks suddenly, seemingly an inconsequential question relating to but nothing the two were toying at. "Is it terribly expensive or personal to you?"
With a look of confusion coloring his expression, Tango tilts his head, "I have many dresses like this, why?"
The man moves to take off his earrings and set them on the counter of the bar, as well as all his bangles. He would not have them get rusted, as he valued them more than his own dress. He tilts his head at Khalja, giving him a small smirk, "Do you wish to use some of the things in here?" He asks, tone light and innocent as he presses closer, "Or did you want a show?"
A moment passes, but then a smile finally breaks through the Xaela's otherwise impassive expression. It is about the only warning that Tango is able to get before hands are suddenly on his hips. Within barely a blink of time he is lifted from the ground off of his feet, pressed back until he is against the wall and manhandled until his legs are dangling uselessly over Khalja's broad shoulders.
"Those are all wonderful options, thank you for the offer," The man says at last, his hands still laying on the man's hips, fingers and claws curling around the stupidly thin, erring on inappropriate undergarments that lay beneath the silken red of his outfit. "But you are quite accurate in your assumptions--there is more of you that I am eager to enjoy beyond your ass. It has been too long since I've had a man's cock in my mouth--for how long will you last with someone like me?"
And with that, rather unceremoniously, Khalja rips the underwear from Tango's hips, allowing the tattered remains to fall to the floor.
Tango gasps, barely gets a word out before his underwear are snatched from him. "Ah!" He gasps, fingers forced to find purchase on the nearest surface. The nearest surface being Khalja's own horns. The Seeker’s chest heaves, from where he is pressed against the wall and his mouth hangs open. He can't help it, the way his cock twitches to life at the mere thought. He hadn't been sucked off in a long time and the man so very easily handled him as if he were a mere doll.
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't into it.
And he'd be lying if he said he didn't move his dress out of the way for his lover, letting the thin piece of fabric fall to the side to show off what little of his body the other man hadn't seen. His dick wasn't plastered in gold, he wasn't that stupid, but the small amount of hair he had down there was indigo in hue, the same as the hair upon his head.
Tango bites his bottom lip, not saying anything as his cheeks heat.
Ah, there it was again--that vulnerable look, the heat in his cheeks. There's such a genuineness to it upon Tango's face, a peek behind the charade he must have so-often played with men and women who didn't care to try and see past it. It certainly wasn't as if Tango was being mistreated, it's obvious he chose who to proposition, but the idea of being able to see something rare upon this man was about as lovely and exotic as the man was himself--like a jewel you could only see but never touch, a precious thing of beauty.
It excited Khalja in much the same way he looked upon a grand thunderstorm when it overtook the whole of the Azim Steppe: both were equally as sublime.
Khalja presses his tongue out from between his lips, letting it curl around the tip of the man's hard cock--it was small enough, or Khalja's tongue long enough--that wrapping it fully around the girth was not an issue. The man enjoyed the warm, intimate taste, the smell of lust and arousal thick in the air around him that he already knew he would be drunk upon it by evening's end.
Tango lets his head toss back, a groan leaving his chest as his legs tense. Pleasure courses up his spine and he can't help but let out a soft moan. "Y-You'll have to work harder than that." He says. His tongue was so long ... were all Xaela tongues the same? The Miqo’te wonders what else it can do.
Where else it can go.
He bites back his pleasure, biting his lower lip to keep words from spilling out. If Khalja was truly as experienced as he acted, then Tango would be lust drunk within the hour. But he wouldn't mind it. No. He wouldn't mind this Au Ra man wrecking him for the whole night. Maybe the whole week if he could make him stay long enough. He could make allowances for someone who made him feel like this.
Respected. Wanted. Love-drunk.
Khalja couldn't help the muted chuckle that worked from his throat at the goading, but halfway through the sentence before the words began to break on Tango's throat. The mask was breaking, and if there was one thing that tempted the man like little else: a challenge.
It was his vice, a flaw, but he could not consider things well enough when he is but given a challenge to overcome--he oft assumed it to be the lingering stubbornness of the Dotharl coursing through his blood, something he could never truly separate himself from. And here is, given but a beautiful partner for the evening with eyes that shine like jewels and skin painted of gold--a man who wears a mask and, behind it, the tantalizing promise of someone so yearning to be broken, to be taken, to be lavished over.
Khalja but plays the tip of his tongue against the head of Tango's dick, pressed against the slit, before he carefully nuzzls his face close.
Truly a vice of his, the one thing he felt ashamed about, but he was hardly to ignore such a tantalizing problem set before him. So Khalja allowed Tango but a moment to breathe as he pulled his face back, eyes gauging the girth and length of the Miqote's cock--but before he allowed too much time to think, Khalja parted his lips and slid the member into his mouth, pressing down with ease until he came to the root where the tip of his nose brushed against finely-groomed indigo hair.
Tango nearly screams, his head slamming against the wall behind him as he moans. Gods above. The twelve. The spirits. Whatever he believes in.
"Yes!" he coos, squeezing the Au Ra’s horns in his hands and threaten to pull him closer. Khalja had taken him to the root. Such a tight, wet, heat. Tango almost sees starts with the sheer force of it. His chest heaves and he can already feel sweat forming on him. Claws threaten to scar the perfectly black horns upon his lover, the sheer force of the pleasure rushing through him and the promise of more to come making him pant wildly. If Tango wasn't such an educated man he would think he was in heat, but no, he was merely withering and whimpering before a Xaela whose very mouth had talent that threatened to make him cum within moments.
"G-Gods." the smaller man whines, writhing against the wall, his voice creaking with each moan wrung from him like water from a cloth. No client had done this. No client had dreamed of doing this before, to give so forcefully like the man between his shaking legs.
With every sound, Khalja couldn't help but feel it in his chest--the satisfaction welling up within him until he was full-to-bursting with it. It was as tantalizing as arousal, such pride, to know he was leaving his partner with barely enough sense about them to speak. He knew not the reason behind it nor why he had such a pleasure that it was almost nearly an addiction in it's worst times, but he knew enough that in the moment he felt proud and aroused and eager like nothing else to wreck every little noise from the smaller man's mouth.
It didn't take very long for him to find a pace, pulling his face so far back that the tip of Tango's dick barely pressed against the roof of his mouth and then slamming him back to the root.
Over. And over. And over.
There is a little discomfort in it, admittedly, though not nearly as much as if Khalja were to take in the mouth of a larger partner--and he has before. If anything it is nice to be able to swallow the man down so easily, needing not to allow his throat to accommodate for Tango’s size nor length--from the sounds of things, the Seeker much appreciated it as well.
Khalja purrs, feeling hands grabbing and scratching at his horns, the sensation light but enough for him to notice. It flows in tandem with the sound of his heartbeat, so easily heard as his horns pressed against the supple flesh of the man's inner thighs, the noise echoing into his senses and all but edging the man onward in his lust for Tango's noises.
Tango cusses and moans, eyes welling up at the feeling. He wasn't crying, no, but he was quickly being overwhelmed with sensation. His cock aching in Khalja's mouth.
He lets out a hiss of pleasure as the feeling spiking into his chest gives way to a great cry, cock spilling in the man's mouth. Instantly Tango feels his cheeks heat and his gaze tears away; a courtesan should be used to such pleasures, and yet he'd cum within minutes of the other man putting him in his mouth.
"Are you alright?" he asks quickly, resting a hand in the Xaela's hair, eyes yet averted. "I ... I meant to warn you I..."
Khalja but hums in response, his mouth still full with the man's cock. He doesn't seem to mind--doesn't even seem to be surprised. No, Khalja allows himself the simple pleasure of drinking the man's spend down, eyes slipping shut as he swallows, tongue still working over the sensitive flesh until he can't taste the other's seed.
Only then does he finally lift his face and pull his mouth from Tango's cock, glancing up at him with a calm expression only ruined by the quirk at the corners of his lips. His tongue eked between them, licking up the last smeared remnants of the other's climax without once breaking the eye contact.
"You have nothing to apologize for," the man says at last, still holding his smaller lover up upon his shoulders, face almost nuzzling against one of his inner thighs. A chuckle works from the Xaela's throat. "...Though I am far more used to dealing with more than one swallow."
At the words, Tango feels his face burn all the brighter brighter. He had to admit, he didn't know much of Au Ra anatomy. In fact, he knew nothing.
The few Au Ra that came around slept with other Au Ra, and not once could he recall one indulging him beyond a quick, rather anonymous blowjob. Was it a cultural thing? Or was it something more.
"More than one ... swallow?"
Tango tilts his head some. If he didn't know better he would think that the Au Ra came more than once. But no. That couldn't be it. No ... there was something more to this. The sheer thought of something ... extra about an Au Ra made his already spent cock twitch in excitement.
"Well..." he says eventually, turning his eyes from Khalja. "...I seems that you have one down." He purrs, his eyes flickering back to him with a warm gaze. “...four more to go?”
"Of course," Khalja says warmly, slowly allowing the man to stand once more on his own two feet--though he kept a hand on Tango's hip, just in case he could not hold himself up in the moment that he gathered back his strength. Only when he seemed stable did Khalja adjust himself up and onto his feet, his height looming but body pressed close against Tango's own. He was not yet crowded against the wall in which he already found his first climax, but it was close enough to accentuate the difference in size between them, how so easily Khalja stood but at least two or three heads higher than the Miqo'te. "...you look very cute when you find your finish."
Tango purrs, he's a bit wobbly on his own two feet so he allows himself to grab a firm hold of Khalja's poncho. He was still ... fully clothed. He hadn't even managed to remove a single article of clothing from the other man. Of course.
A huff rolls past his lips, and Tango puffs his cheeks out as his gaze turns to his Xaela lover; he has to crane his neck when he's this close.
"O-of course I am! Would you expect anything less?" He asks, feeling himself blush more. It is then that he coughs awkwardly looking away. "The very least you could do is undress..." he murmurs, looking up at him through his lashes. "I haven't seen what you have to ... offer..."
The constant bounce from vulnerable to coyish mask is amusing. Khalja can't help but find himself more and more enthralled with it, the game that Tango knows not that he is so deeply apart of.
Regardless, he can't find reason to keep himself dressed, especially not when he has already but ripped the clothes from his partner's body; it seemed but a fair thing to point out. So Khalja nods, his expression almost unreadable in it's calmness, and so he begins to undress himself with all the same care that he had given when he undressed to prepare for the hot springs--off with the poncho, the undershirt, the wrappings on his hands--and then his boots, pants, and finally the thin wrapping of cloth that covered the last bit of his dignity--
And then, just as that, Khalja is left bare, his clothes in a heap beside him, skin dark save for a freckles of white across his face and cheeks. He could feel the tension of arousal in the pit of his stomach, but it had not grown enough for his cocks to peak from the safe clutch of their sheath. To an unaided viewer who knew nothing of Au Ra anatomy, the sight might have almost looked as if Khalja was a born woman, if only in respect of genitals alone, with the curve of his crotch smooth save for a patch of scales that seemed to outline something unseen.
Tango can't help his curiosity. The Au Ra's body looked so very much like his own but different in many ways. He was taller, thicker, and seemed to be a female but ... was that truly the case? Khalja had made it seem that he could cum like someone with a dick could. So ... could he? Or was it a Xaela expression? He purrs, moving closer to inspect him with interest regardless. His hand sweeps over Khalja's chest, pressing against the soft skin there.
"Aren’t you a big boy?..." He purrs, his hand dancing lower, only stopping above his pubic mound. Did he want Tango to touch him? He certainly didn't want to force things, then again, the other man had lifted him into the air like a sack of feathers. Instead, he opts to slowly slide off his dress, undoing the fastenings to let it slide to the floor. Not that his appearance was particularly shocking to him, as he'd seen him close to naked just a few hours ago.
Khalja's eyes can't help but follow the fluid motions, not sure whether he is more entranced by how the silken dress falls to the floor, or the way the vibrant red fabric reveals pliant, naked flesh, his curiosity only barely sated by taking the other man into his mouth and hearing his most delightful of noises in the genuine moments of pleasure.
He took a step closer to the other man, emerald eyes as curious as his hands, letting them brush over Tango's shoulders, down his sides, finally coming to the delicate but beautiful curves of the Seeker’s hips where which they could rest upon him.
"You may touch me in kind, if you so like," Khalja but murmurs, balancing precariously on the line between where his desires and Tango's met, not wanting the two of them to fall far into one side or the other. Though he understood plenty of the man's role in offering pleasure for coin, it was Khalja's genuine desire to see Tango as equally satisfied by their companionship as he himself was. "If you are curious about me, you are more than allowed to explore my body."
Tango hums, his hands beginning to fall down, down, down Khalja's chest. "I don't mind if I do..." He purrs, letting agile fingers sweet over the plains of muscle. He was much more firm that Tango who was all lithe and soft, especially around his hips and rear. He draws his fingers down further, towards the V that cut across the Au Ra's pelvis and further down still until his palm was pressing firmly against his mound. It was strange. The vaginas he had touched never felt like this. They were soft and wet, but this felt like there was something hard beneath it, a shape behind hard muscle.
Tango tilts his head, curious now as he looks back up at his lover. "Now, what exactly do we have here?" He wonders aloud.
Khalja's breathing is slow. Restrained. There's a level of control in each rise of his chest as his lungs take in the cool air--a contrast to the heat that fills him, twisting his stomach into knots and settles in the apex of his thighs where Tango's hand rests against the yet-unsheathed slit.
"I forget you've seen naught of a male Au Ra," Khalja says lowly, his mind returning to him but enough to realize his brief idiocy. "We do not have...such parts externally." He can't help but press his hips forward, just a little bit, feeling the heat and pressure of the other man's palm. It's not enough to spark more than a dull, delicious ache of pleasure. "Just as it takes arousal to bring you to hardness, so too does it to unsheathe myself from within my pouch."
"Ah," Tango nods. Like a...lizard? But he's not stupid enough to say it aloud. Instead he makes an interested hum, curling one leg around Khalja's own. It was a hard position to be in, but it was one that he'd practice on numerous clients, and they always seemed to like it. "So you need a bit of help?" He asks, letting his ears flicker as he moves up, kissing at the gentle curve of his new lover’s collarbone. "I think I can help with that..."
The words are a murmur against his skin as he gently nips just under a group of scales. The scales would be fun. Where else did he have scales though? He glances down. They sure did get close to a few things but... He lets the question fade, instead focusing on pressing his body firmly against Khalja's, the goal of getting him aroused enough to emerge from his slit firmly in his mind.
"I'm certain that you can," Khalja agrees, his expression gentle, but his hands gentler still when he moves to rest them on the curves of Tango's hips. "If you angle your hips like this, you can-ah, yes..."
The Xaela can recall a number of times where he had done something similar with another of his tribe, though it was a little easier for their cock to shift and press between the sensitive folds of his slit. Tango is neither tapered nor naturally slick, but when Khalja gently assists him, when the shaft of his cock finally slips between the folds of his now-dripping slit, he can't help but let out a deep rumble of pleasure.
He would have enough natural slickness for the two of them, especially as Tango seems much smaller than he--there is even a brief moment where Khalja wonders if the other man might even be able to slip inside of his folds, his pouch where cocks were safely sheathed from sight and danger.
Could he?
Tango gasps in surprise and pleasure both. Xalea were able to do this? Now he understood why Au Ra had always found others of their kind to please each other, if they were so unique in sexual anatomy.
It took some moving on his part, and he is nearly standing on the tips of his toes to do it, but he manages to thrust some into Khalja. Oh, that felt nice. Very nice. Incredible really. He moans, biting at his own bottom lip in order to stop the sounds that try to escape him.
"You'll have to ... forgive me. I don't wish to hurt you. Tell me what to do?" Tango says more than he asks. Clients were usually a lot more fickle with their wishes, but Khalja seemed as if he wanted Tango to decide, and it had been a long time since he'd done that.
"If you want," Khalja finally says, no, growls into the cool air around their warm bodies. "You can go inside--just don't press too hard. It is not nearly as forgiving as a woman's heat."
Once Khalja is able to take in a breath, able to let his mind come back to itself, his expression turns curious, his words dangerous.
"Is there a comfortable spot to lay down--you said the bedroom was over there?"
"Yes," Tango says, wondering what would happen if he did slip inside the Au Ra, would it be offensive? To fuck a Au Ra male's pouch? Is that what Khalja had called it?
Tango nods his head towards the doors at the back of the room. "Just inside there. Trust me, I've made it as comfortable as possible." He says, slowly pulling away from the Au Ra so that he can stand on his own two feet, even if it does take considerable will not to try and fuck him in the midst of his entertainment area right then and there.
The Seeker rubs up against the Xaela’s side as he moves past Khalja, purring as he opens the door and looks back at him, fluttering his lashes one more time as he moves towards the large, plush bed, filled with pillows and silken sheets.
Khalja's eyes watch every movement, something akin to a predator that may eye up an errant sheep away from the herd. Each shift of Tango's body, every tilt of his hips, the flicker of his eyes as they all but call the man closer still--it makes Khalja wonder if he has been breathing in something, an aphrodisiac or pheromone. He can't recall a time where he had wanted to fuck his lover with as much raw passion, to unbind himself from restraint to the point that they are sobbing beneath him.
So he follows Tango at last, glancing around the room but once to get a sense of what lay within. Satisfied, he finally turns to the bed, watching the Miqo'te with that same hard look. It takes not a breath before the Au Ra finally moves, reaching both Tango and the bed itself is but a few long strides; it takes even less time for his hands to find the other's hips, to pull his body up and into his arms and then, in one smooth, almost practiced motion, to splay the man over the bed enough that Khalja is able to put one of his thighs over Tango's hips, sitting astride the other with the shaft of Tango's cock once more slipped between the hot, now messily wet folds of Khalja's slit.
"Do you want to fuck me in such a way?" The man asks, tone dangerous and low, emerald eyes but gleaming. "To wet your cock in my pouch?"
Tango can't help the way he shivers, the way he splays himself over the sheets in a decadence he has not had in a long while. Usually his clients were messy and pressed into the sheets themselves, howling in pleasure by the time they had gotten this far. Then there was an exchange of gil and he either did or didn't see them again. But this was ... different. Very different.
Tango’s heart was pounding in his chest and he was purring, loud and long from his position before Khalja. "I think I would ... very much like that..." He murmurs, looking up at him through his lashes. He presses his hips forwards, rocking him slightly. Already Khalja was so wet and hot. How would it feel to be inside him? To cum inside him?
It takes some practiced restraint to keep his expression still, but Khalja does allow a soft moan to slip from his lips as he feels the wet slide of hot flesh against him. A weakness of his, perhaps, but moreso is the look that lay so openly upon the Miqo'te's face as he realizes what he has been given allowance to do. The way that ruby gaze looks up at him, eyes wide with mirth and arousal, heavy in the same way that his cock sits against Khalja's slit.
"Good," Khalja finally murmurs, his hips shifting, slowly, until he feels the tip of Tango's cock press gently against against the tight entrance to his pouch, the muscles already twitching at the foreign sensation. "I've heard that it feels equally as good to those who are able to fit....inside..."
He allows himself to drop, but only slightly, just enough for the first inch to press past the untrained muscles and slip inside the wet heat of one of his most intimate orifices.
Only twice had Khalja ever tried such a nontraditional pleasure, but only then it had been but fingers--and brief ones at that. But even from but that first inch, that barest pressure, the man can't help but arch his back and let out a growl of need.
It’s so good already.
Tango whimpers. Perhaps it was because of his earlier arousal, but he whimpers when Khalja growls. His eyes nearly fall closed with the way the Au Ra’s pouch enraptures him. It's warm. So warm. Warmer than any vagina he'd had.
It's also wet, which is something Tango isn't quite prepared for. But it's good regardless. So good that he finds himself moaning from only the first inch, head of his cock snug within a vice grip of velvet and silk.
The Seekers fingers fist into the sheets below him, wringing the fine silks like washcloths. His legs fall open further and he can't help the shuddering moan that leaves him. He dare not move, not yet, not when Khalja is slowly impaling himself on him.
Khalja can't help but gaze upon Tango with mirth and lust settled heavily within it. Even as he slips the cock deeper within his most intimate heat, Tango knows well enough not to move--or either, he waits for the permission of it. It arouses the Au Ra plenty regardless, to have such a control over the man beneath him even as he is the one getting fucked, getting so sweetly impaled on the other’s throbbing dick.
Khalja’s hips press lower and lower still, careful to still when he feels the head of Tango's cock nudge against the back of his pouch, where his cocks still lay inside--restrained enough from slipping out, from denying him this sweet pleasure so rarely enjoyed.
It takes a breath, two breaths--several minutes of care and slow caution, but eventually Khalja finally finds himself practically sitting atop the Miqo'te's hips, cock fully enveloped by the tight, sloppy-wet heat of his pouch. The Xaela can't help but let out a soft whine at how full he feels in such an unfamiliar way, feeling the slick drip down his legs to accommodate the new shape pressed within him.
"Oh," he finally murmurs, one hand finally skimming down his chest, his stomach, then finally resting on the soft curve that is the only proof otherwise of Tango's dick inside of him. "You should feel honored--I've never fathomed being able to take in a partner so deep. How does it feel to be within me like this?"
The Miqo’te whines, eyes glassy with lust and want. Tango's claws threatening to rip the sheets beneath him. Scarlet has not only enveloped his cheeks, but has fallen to his chest as well. He watches Khalja with a soft sort of fascination, the kind that you have when you're completely entangled in something both physical and mental. He has to hold himself back, back from just fucking up into Khalja and taking him as he would some slutty client needing a quick fuck.
But Khalja isn't just a client now. No. He's a lover. A partner. Someone that Tango isn't just going to treat like a paycheck.
And Khalja's right. He does feel honored. Like he's one of the rare few to be allowed to do this, to wet his dick upon a heat so intimate that the act in itself is almost as ceremonial as it is debauched.
"I love it," Tango finally pants, red eyes unable to move from the pouch that is pressed so snug around him, as if he were meant to be there. "I love your pouch around me. I want to make a mess of it. I want to make a mess of you. Or you make a mess of me. I don't care. I just want more."
A second passes, and then another--the air is cold when it kisses against such heated skin. Khalja looks down at Tango with his eyes all aglow, as bright as the speckles of white that decorate his dark skin. And then, in that third moment, he smiles. Wide and without restraint, flashing the sharpness of his teeth and for a moment his calm demeanor looks utterly dangerous. A true predator, eager to drink down every moan and whimper pulled from his partner's mouth.
"Good," he says at last, tongue slipping out from between his lips and licking across the sharp line of his teeth, his hips lifting up enough until but the very tip of the other's cock is left within the tight grip. "Take your pleasure of me, Tango--fuck my pouch, leave me dripping and your cock wet with my slickness. Let me feel your need--I want to see it all, I want to hear you beg for it."
Tango whimpers, his hands shooting out, catching Khalja by his hips and trying to urge him back down into his lap. The warmth of his pouch is gone and Tango feels as if he can't live without it. Such a tight wet heat. Such deliciousness. He can't help but whine in need, staring up at the predatory eyes like a rabbit caught in a trap. But oh. What a beautiful trap to be in.
"I want to fuck you." He admits, trying to cant his hips up, but all he manages is to dip the head of his aching cock into that sweet, tight heat, tantalizing him to no end, "I want to fill you up with me and watch it drip. I want to scream your name as I cum inside you. Please," He begs, lips full round, wet, "Please. Let me fuck you, Khalja of the Kahkol and then fuck me into until I can't think."
Khalja often enjoys the feeling of being fucked by a partner--he cannot deny the joy of being spread open, of a cock, a finger, a tongue pressing inside of him and sparking pleasure through his body. With such a pleasure, however, comes the occasional partner who assumes that it means he wants to be at the mercy of another. That by wanting such pleasure he also yearns to be controlled, to be dominated, to be held down and made to beg and whimper for his pleasure as a reward. Though he had little issue with indulging in such a moment when a fancy hit him, Khalja was not a man who thought highly of those who entwined such concepts into one thing.
He couldn't think of any better pleasure than to watch Tango's face twist with need as he tried, desperately, to thrust back up into the heat of his pouch. Emerald eyes gleam with an almost sadistic glee as the Miqo'te is left panting by barely a taste of such euphoria, as needy as a rabbit and several times more desperate than he had given the man credit to be. Oh, he was beautiful like that, flushed with red and cock throbbing, eager to plunge inside the tight heat of Khalja and paint him inside with seed.
"Your words sing so sweetly to me," the man finally says, equally unable to restrain himself from the pleasure as much as he thinks it merciful. It is only then that he lowers his hips, enough that Tango can reach with his hips, can fuck himself back into that sweet, cloying heat he has already addicted to. "Take your pleasure and leave not a drop of your spend wasted--I want to feel it drip down my thighs."
Tango gasps, finally able to plunge himself back into the sweet heat that was Khalja. Tango's spine arches as he begins to fuck into him, hips snapping up. His mouth opens as a moan leaves him with each embrace of wet heat around his cock.
"I won't. I promise." the Miqo’te whimpers, red eyes unable to pull themselves away from the sinful display of his cock pumping into the man above him. "I'll fill you up and watch it drip, I promise."
He’s brought to little more than a babbling mess at this point, mouth barely able to form the words with the way each delicious sound leaves him. It was almost too much, the heat, the wetness, the way that Khalja watched him like a hawk from on high. He was a predator and Tango was just a rabbit in the field, ready to be picked up in his strong talons and carried away.
And oh was he getting carried away.
Tango's tail lashes beneath him, curling and uncurling as the pleasure seeps into his very bones. He would need to take more Au Ra lovers, if this is what it was like each time. Or was it just Khalja? Yes. It was Khalja. Just Khalja. He would have no better than him.
The feeling of Tango's cock slipping inside of him, fucking him--Khalja could think of no better pleasure in the world. To feel himself open up around the intrusion inside of his tight pouch, so much thicker than mere fingers and yet not so much that it's painful, he cannot help himself from letting out several sweet gasps of pleasure. And then there was the look all but painted across the small Miqo'te's face; tension and need, pure and carnal enough that he seems lost in a sea of pleasure. As if his only goal in the world is to fill Khalja's pouch up with his seed, his words but a babbling mantra that was as cute as it was arousing to hear.
"Good boy," Khalja praises, his tail near-thrashing behind himself, body shaking more with each and every wet slide of Tango's dick. "Oh, you're filling me up so wonderfully--I doubt I would be able to keep any of your seed inside me. I yearn to feel it drip from me, to feel it paint my slit. Can you find your release for me, dear Tango? I want you to cum, I want to hear you cum, every last beg and whimper to fall from your sweet lips."
The man beneath him almost can't bear it. The sweet words that drip from Khalja's lips are almost as arousing as the pouch that coaxes Tango’s cock deeper and deeper into his new lover. Tango gasps sweetly, whining and writhing under him. He plunges himself up, deeper into the Au Ra above, cock twitching with the mere thought of pumping his seed into Khalja.
It’s beautiful. The tensing of his muscles and the plunging of his hips as he fucks into the other male. Hips snap up, once, twice, three times and then Tango is moaning in earnest now. His fingers cling to Khalja's hips, having moved from the sheets in a flash. They grasp there, almost bruising as he cries out.
"Khalja!" He gasps, head lolling back. His cock throbs as it begins to pump his seed into his pouch, filling the tight space until it spills over, white liquid running down Tango's cock. "F-Fuck..." He murmurs, body shaking, eyes rolling in ecstasy.
There's a deliciousness in the feeling that wells up between the two men. A heat, a pleasure, a raw desperation that leaves Khalja with but a taste and wanting for more. If the thrill of a challenge was but the man's vice, then the sweet pleasures and highs of sex is surely his addiction, if only one so carefully indulged in as deeply as he does now. He can't be sure anymore what is mask and what is real of Tango, for it seems that it all has swirled together until want and need are the only words he can think with any sort of cohesion.
But he feels it, so clearly, as hot seed fills up what precious little space there is in his tight, gripping sheath, of his slit stretched wide and obscene around that delicious cock with muscles unused to the intrusion of a lover and tender to the pleasure. He can feel the wet mess of slick and seed dripping down his thighs, making a mess of already sweat-slicked skin and the flesh around where they are joined.
Khalja takes in a breath, feeling no orgasm but savoring the satisfaction, and reaches a hand down to swipe his fingers through the mess, to spread the lips of his slit open--though he is hardly able to pull them wider, wrapped so tight already around the other man's softening dick.
"Good to know that Miqo'te can seek climax more than once," Khalja nearly purrs. "I haven't had this much fun with another in many moons."
The Seeker lets out a long sigh, body shivering with a strange mix of pleasure and pain in his overstimulation. His cum seeps down Khalja's thighs and he can't help but lick his lips at the spectacle. What a beautiful sight. He sits up, sweat slicked hair sticking to his forehead. Unkempt as he is, he still manages an alluring smile, fluttering his lashes at the Au Ra again.
"Oh, trust me, I can surprise you in a lot of ways." Tango teases, trying to catch his breath after his rather quick climax. So, perhaps he wouldn't last long with his new lover, but that didn't matter if they were going to have so many rounds. He presses away and then up, slithering up the expanse of Khalja's chest until he is able to kiss his lips. He presses a hand to the slit he had just fucked, one finger seeking out the seed that still dribbles from the other man, fingering it lightly. "Now, what else do you want, big guy? Because I can't think of anything else but you cumming into me after I just came in you."
Khalja can't help but allow himself a soft rumble of delight at how Tango's soft fingers play against his oversensitive slit even as he shifts, the entrance loose and dripping a mixture of slick and seed. After but only a moment, however, emerald eyes open to seek out the ruby glow of his partner's gaze; Khalja's hands move to rest on the other's hips, so large that he is nearly able to curl his fingers into the soft flesh of his ass.
"I think you not yet realize my goal in this coupling," Khalja says at last, head tilting to the side. "If it is not an activity of mutual desire, then I yearn for no part in it--so if it is to have me inside of you that you want most..." Another purr rolls from his lips, deep and without filter. He can feel the tip of his cocks begin to slip from his pouch, no longer restrained, as the tips of the tapered but engorged set of organs meet with Tango's fingers still against his slit. A breath, two breaths, it takes some time before they slip outside of him fully, meet the cold air with a hiss from between the man's teeth.
"...I will be more than pleased to oblige you with as much of my seed that I can fill your belly with."
Oh.
Tango moans at words and the vision, loud and full. Khalja isn't even truly touching him but he has to admit that his cocks against his hand are an alluring feeling. Big, round, and sopping from their earlier excursion and doubled. Did all Au Ra have two of them?
The Miqo’te purrs at the question and the way it makes him feel, kissing Khalja's lips one more time before he is nearly tumbling over the side of the bed to retrieve his box of toys. There are many things, both big and small, in the small wooden crate but the items he is looking for are near the bottom.
"Here," He says, passing the condoms and lube to him, "I want you to use the lube, of course, but condoms are a choice of your own. I don't mind a mess..." The smaller man puts the crate back under his night stand before moving once more, this time to gather luxurious pillows before him, before laying down on his belly, his hips in the air before Khalja.
Oh, it had been too long since he'd been taken this way, and Tango always did love a good mounting, even if he never got to enjoy the feeling of being on the bottom. His tail swings out behind him, daring to curl around the Au Ra's thigh, his plush rump swaying invitingly.
Khalja watches the man move like a hawk, caring little how intimidating his eyes might seem as his gaze falls heavy over the other man's languid, naked form. Eyes of emerald can't help but want to take the vision, drink it down and commit it to memory; he cannot remember the last time that a lover had presented themselves to him so openly, ass up as if in heat, body yearning to be mounted and screwed into the surface below.
Khalja only barely turns his attention to the condoms and lube, caring more for the latter item since Tango seemed more than merely uncaring if he is left full and dripping with spend--and the Au Ra yearned to see what he would look like with his ass painted and dribbling with white.
"I will only ask once of your opinion on leaving marks," he finally rumbles, glancing at the tube of lubricant for a moment before understanding its use--there was little reason for such items on the Steppe, but Khalja wasn't so ignorant as to see the novelty of excess slickness, whether it's made of one's body or through chemical means. "Because if you offer me your body, I will have it--you will feel me for days both inside and out."
He purrs, peeking at him over his shoulder. If Tango didn't know better, he'd think Khalja a monster come to eat him. And it was true; the Xaela was a monster in a fashion, but only while in bed. Idly,Tango even wondered if the man had taken a mate, though such a thing seemed unlikely, given how honorable a sort that Khalja seemed. The sort that would never cheat.
Somehow the thought eases Tango’s emotions as he lets his tail swing freely behind him. "Oh, I don't mind marks, dear." He says, fluttering his lashes at him, "In fact, I think you should mark me up good. At least that way I'll have something to remember you by after this little trip of yours." He'd probably return to the Steppe after this, never to be seen again. That brings a small frown to Tango's lips, but he's quick to cover it up with a flirtatious smirk.
Green eyes narrow for a moment, though the hard look is balanced out as a quirk of dangerous amusement is brought to Khalja's lips. He can't help the chuckle that rolls from deep within his chest, or the way he tilts his head to the side in genuine interest. Oh, it's as if the man can read his very thoughts--Khalja could not recall the last time he had taken a lover with such a unique energy about them, as equally playful as they were shy. He can feel his cocks throb at the thought of burying himself to the hilt within the smaller man--but first, to ensure Tango could even take Khalja's sizable girth.
"Do you not often take such types of bedmates?" Khalja can't help but ask, feeling the cold slick drip over his fingers. "Do they not too yearn to leave you painted with the evidence of such companionship?"
He blinked at the odd sensation, rubbing the slick gel between his fingers to find that it did not dissipate or sink into his skin--but it does slowly come to temperature after a little bit. Only when he was satisfied that it was warm enough, Khalja shifted his body close, holding Tango's hip with one hand as the other presses between his plush cheeks and seeks out the tight furl of hot muscles.
Tango moans at the sensation, body wiggling in delight.
"I hate to tell you this," the Seeker murmurs, wiggling his hips some against Khalja's fingers, "But being a courtesan is a lot like being an actor. I take on whatever role someone wants me to play. However, I've been cast as one part for so long, few can see me as any other." He shrugs, rolling the blades of his shoulders languidly as he sinks deeper into the pillows. "I'm usually a top for women, men, and everyone in between. I think it's because I use confidence to attract my clients. Or maybe they just like to see how I sparkle when I fuck them." He chuckles after a few seconds, flicking his tail as if to emphasize how much gold seems to adorn his skin.
"I can at least see why they might," Khalja all but chuckles, pressing the first digit of his lube-slicked hand until soft muscles gave and opened up around the intrusion. He pressed until it could go no deeper, muscles clenching tight around but one finger--and so Khalja added a second one, feeling how Tango slowly opened up. "Does it not grow exhausting to work to appeal to another so very much? I cannot imagine the level of energy one must have to put on a mask in even the most intimate moments of coupling."
Tango whines; the fingers felt so good. Almost too good.
He couldn't remember the last time that a partner had done this for him. It had been years, at least, since it was someone other than him who had fucked his ass. "Oh," he says, voice light and airy, "It's not so bad. I get to cum a few times. I get paid for it. They get to feel good for an hour or two. I half to act like I'm a top but ... it's a job? Is it not?" he hums, fingers pressing into the pillows below him. "Just like you acted as if you didn't want to hammer into me at the springs, we all put on a different face in public, do we not?" He chuckles, winking over his shoulder at him.
Khalja tries not to let the look of embarrassment break his expression, though even he cannot suppress the heat that fills his cheeks when his mind is forced to recall how easily lust had stirred within his belly at the mere closeness of Tango's body against his own. He shook his head after a moment, ignoring the slight skip of his heart, and instead pressed in but a third finger past the rim of Tango's entrance, which already seemed stretched with only his fingers. Khalja is careful to drip more slick down the curve of the other's ass, working it slowly over pliant, hot skin and into the warmer-still channel of his body.
"Goes to show that you are the professional in this instance where I am not," The Au Ra finally murmurs, spreading his fingers apart to gently open the other man up further--if he was to take Khalja's full girth without pain or discomfort, he would need to be carefully opened up--his body did not seem to be as pliant as what Khalja was used to in Au Ra women. "But I cannot understand how one would ever leave a lover wanting.
Tango shivers, but it is the shivering of a man who is finally getting what he wants. The shivering of a man who is relaxing, falling apart so slowly that he is becoming a puddle of indulgence.
"They do so very easily," the man murmurs at last, letting his tail curl up Khalja's arm, "And they feel no remorse for it. But I have ways of stimulating myself. It's not so bad."
He purrs, pressing himself back onto the hand that was slowly opening him up. Oh yes. This would be wonderful. He was already feeling so very empty. He looks at him again, over his shoulder, giving him a small wink. "And the next time you want to fuck a man in the springs, you only need but say the word. I know of quite a few places that are ... out of the way..." he teases.
There is a soft shiver of delight that works its way down Khalja's spine at the simple thought of having Tango in a secluded corner of the world, feeling the heat of the hot springs and the clutch of legs around his waist, hands scratching beautiful marks down the curves of his hips and--
"I will have to keep the offer well in mind," he finally growls, teeth clenched tight through the mask of restraint. "But until then, I will not be a name among such dishonorable bedmates."
His cocks twitch in interest, feeling heavy and engorged and yearning to be deep inside the slick heat of a willing lover. He can feel himself lust and want, his desire twisting tighter with every moment that he is not inside this beautiful Miqo'te. With a twist of his wrist and a careful fold of his hand, Khalja is able to slip a fourth finger past the rim of Tango's ass--with the angle, he cannot press deep, but he works to stretch the muscle as best as he can, if only to avoid as much needless abuse--he does not want to hurt the smaller man.
A breathy moan rumbles through Tango’s chest as his body remains pliant under Khalja's hands. He's like clay, ready to contort to whatever his lover wants. He hums in interest, the fingers inside of him striking his sweet spot and his muscles tensing with the sudden jolt of pleasure. It's good, almost too good, and his dick twitches in interest, wanting more.
"Ah, fuck..." the man cusses gently under his breath, "... trust me..." a purr leaks from between his lips as Tango allows his head drop forward and his ass press up more. "...you're already a memorable bed mate..."
He lets his eyes close as he gets used to the sensation of being so full. So full. And soon he'd be even fuller, breached and stuffed with not just one, but two throbbing, slick cocks. The mere thought sends a shiver up his spine. His tail twitches against his lovers arm almost incessantly, always such a betraying tell for Tango’s pleasure. His blasted tail. But it’s an honest tell, both in his pleasure and desire for more than Khalja’s mere fingers.
"Now c'mon," Tango purrs into the pillow he's made of his arms, "I know you must be rock hard by now. Take me, Khalja, take me like only a true man of the Steppe can."
There is no immediate response from Khalja. His body merely stiffens and, after but a breath, he finally pulls his fingers free from the warm, inviting clutch of heat, leaving Tango's ass looking loose and obscene--it takes momentous restraint not to slide himself inside of the man right then and there, to mount him like a beast in heat and stretch his ass wide around Khalja's throbbing cocks.
No, instead, the Au Ra merely lets out a breath, slow, and leans his body down so that his lips play into the back of Tango's hair; his hands have since found purchase to the curve of hips, cock nestled comfortably against the other's ass and spreading sticky slickness over the beautifully abused rim.
"You speak dangerous words, Tango of Kugane," Khalja breathes, the title teasing against his lips. "I will have you as like a warrior would take his mate in heat--leaving you keening sweetness and begging for more of me."
He did not give the other man much of a chance to respond; as soon as the words left the Xaela's lips, he was already plunging himself deep within Tango's gloriously tight, hot ass--so deep, in fact, that the Miqo'te was not only able to take his thickest cock, but the second one as well, all the way to the root, until his rim was stretched and wrapped so tight around Khalja that he couldn't stop himself from letting out a snarl of pleasure.
Tangao himself opens his mouth to respond, but all that leaves him is a long, whimpering moan. The fingers that had graced his entrance were nothing compared to the cocks that filled him so completely now. Khalja's fingers were big, but his cocks were massive in comparison. Even his biggest toy could not compare to this.
This slick heat that pumped into him, that promised to fuck him into the deepest corners of his mind. Oh, he was going to have a wonderful time. The tail that had curled around Khalja's arm now curls around his waist, urging him closer.
"Yessss..." He hisses between locked tight teeth.
It's what he'd wanted. What he'd been waiting for. If he were being dramatic, which he was, what he'd been born for. To take this man's cocks and nothing else. To be filled full of his seed. If he could, he would carry his children. His claws twist into the pillows beneath him, the sound of tearing filling the air as they sink into the feathery insides.
It is but a combination of things that Khalja loves most in terms of sex--though there is something to be said about the direct pleasure of feeling a hot body wrapped around his cocks, milking him, squeezing him tight, there is equally something to love about everything else that comes just as beautifully with mating someone. To see the way their eyes flutter, to feel their body grow tense with that first, glorious thrust, to intimately learn all the small tells and notes of their pleasure in ways that few people else might ever get to learn. Khalja can't help but selfishly enjoy himself in that glorious moment, simply feeling himself be taken all the way to the root.
"How someone cannot yearn to fill your needy ass with their cock is a mystery that yet eludes me-" Khalja growls, his hands holding tight to Tango's hips as he pulls back only to thrust forward, testing the waters for how much the man can take. "-when you are as beautiful as this. How can onenot yearn to ravish you? They are truly a fool."
Tango pants, the blush on his cheeks slowly traveling over the blades of his shoulders. He turns his head enough to speak, eyes dark with want and pupils dilated. His whole body moves with the thrust, as if he'd been bucked by a horse.
"Ah," he moans, mouth open wide, eyes fluttering with the feeling. It was like he was being squeezed from the inside out. So full. So nice. When Khalja came it was going to fill him up so much that he might burst. "May-Maybe it's a good thing that they don't..." he murmurs, eyes rolling in his head. His prostate was constantly being butted against, the tapered ends of Khalja's cocks pressing against it perfectly when he even so much as breathed. "... otherwise, you might not get to open my ass like this. With your thick cocks. And I might not be as tight for you. They might have ruined me..." Tango purrs and wiggles with each thrust, the hot throbbing girth sliding inside him perfectly with each thrust, "But I'm glad it's you. You who's fucking my asshole open and ruining it for anyone else. Mating me like the whore I am."
"Is that what you want to be to me right now?" Khalja finds himself asking, his breath hot against the skin between Tango's shoulder blades as his fingers dig in harder to his hips. Another thrust, then another, the pace starting to pick up until the bed begins to shake with each hard motion, each press of his cocks back within the smaller man's body. "Do you want to be but a whore beneath me? A toy for my pleasure, a sleeve for my cocks to be sated upon?" He growls and nips at Tango's shoulder. "Does my cocks loosen your filthy lips to such desires, or were such things already there when you saw them? You fucked my pouch so good, I could not keep myself from throbbing so, yearning to ruin this ass of yours."
Oh.
The Seeker moans, clutching onto the pillows beneath him for dear life. Oh. It was perfect. He was perfect. His lips loosen with each thrust, moans loud and keening, wanting, almost as much as he wanted Khalja himself. Tango’s hair sticks to the back of his neck.
He had no doubts that, by now, he looked ruined and opened. Sweat dripped from his temples and over his back. He was messy. Ruined. Unattractive. Perfect. He always had to look presentable for clients but Khalja was making a mess of him, fucking him into such debauchery that he wouldn't walk right for a week. He moves, arching his back and raising his ass into the air, his arm presses up, up until he can grab some of Khalja's hair, bringing him down to his level, twisted in a fashion so that their lips can hover close.
Tango tries to press a kiss to Khalja’s lips as best he can in his current position. He moans against the other’s mouth, letting his body jar with each slap of hips. "What I want is for you to stay with me. To keep me as your personal whore or as your pet, I don't care. If I could have your children I would do so proudly. Just don't leave me. Just don't stop." He groans against his lips, humping himself against the pillows, mind gone. "Don't stop!"
If there was something that could ignite the fire ever hotter within Khalja's belly, the words sang to him like sweet sparks of flint and steel. He growled as he felt Tango's fingers entangle themselves in his hair, pull him down so that they could meet in a messy, sloppy kiss that made his neck ache at the angle in which they had to turn--but it was worth it. To catch those sweet lips against his, to swallow down such filthy words of pleasure and honesty in the heat of euphoric pleasure--it was nothing short of a blessing, a gift, a dream in which Khalja could not be bothered to wake from.
He had never heard such delicious obscenity spill from a lovers mouth before, and certainly never before did it make his body quake and his hips shoot forward of their own instinctual accord to mate, claim, fuck, mount. Though he but knew this man for scarcely a few hours, the flickering images behind Khalja's eyes of the smaller man rounded with child, belly full and ass yet leaking with his seed--it did more things to him than he cared to admit.
"Mine," Khalja finally snarls against Tango's lips, kisses turning rough and possessive as he even begins to nip sharp teeth until those lips are red and swollen. "All mine. My little pet, my little whore, my little fuck toy--My little Tango."
Khalja was mating him, and some primal part of Tango found that amazing. He gasps, sharp and hot against his mouth, eyes fluttering as Khalja beings to take him. Really take him. If he had been holding back before, he definitely wasn't now.
"Take me," He shudders out between moans, the fleshy sound of their hips filling the air. The bed creaked dangerously under them. The room was filled with the scent of lust. "Make me yours. Fuck me until I can't think. Mate me Khalja. Mate with me. Fuck a baby into me..."
The man can only babble useless little words while grasping the sheets, pillows, clawing at anything he can get his hands on. He'd never felt so full. So good with anyone before. His breaths come out in high pitched moans, in filthy utterings of Khalja's name. He praises him until white shines behind his eyes, until he cums across the pillows beneath him. Until he's shuddering around Khalja. Even then he doesn't stop, his mouth agape as he pushes himself back against Kahlja's cocks, staring at him over his shoulder, eyes blown wide.
"More."
Khalja can feel it when Tango cums around him, his body uselessly trying to tighten, to milk the Au Ra’s thick cocks despite how wide he's already spread the Miqo’te’s ass open. It's still a pleasure regardless, to feel the man clench, to feel his body stiffen, his hips thrust uselessly as seed but spills from his cock and dribbles down onto the bed. Khalja can't help but let out a broken, low noise of pleasure, catching sight of the other's eyes and blissed expression with no shortage of pride and lust.
More, he hears Tango beg. A sweet plea on sweeter lips, body as taut as a bowstring.
Though Tango is sensitive and spent, though his body is already pushed to the limits and back again, Khalja can't help but fuck him all the harder, so much that the bed begins to squeak and shake and the mattress but argues against the pace of their feverish fucking.
To mate him, to fuck him, to mount him and spill his seed so deep and thick and endless that his body had no choice but to take with child--the thoughts were a whirlwind of debauchery that only spurred on Khalja's pleasure, filled him up with heat and tension until he could not take it any longer. He snapped with an outright snarl and pressed his lips to the back of Tango's neck. Without warning he bit down, sinking sharp fangs into such soft flesh, and keeping his grip on the nape of skin as orgasm finally crashed into Khalja's form.
Truly like but a beast in heat the Xaela presses his lover down with the pressure of his entire body, teeth still in his skin and hands still clutched to his curved hips, forcing him to take every last inch of his cocks as they finally spill what feels like gallons of seed inside of his sensitive, quivering channel.
Tango feels his world bend and spin, feels it go inside and upside down. Most importantly, feels Kahlja on top of him, feels the way he watches him cum. Like he's watching a master piece unfold. It's good, to be a piece of art for him, to have him watch him so. His body is exhausted but his mind still reels. Still wants more still wants to be mated properly by the strange new man in his life. His. Mine. It's all that matters.
He expects it. His body has been begging for it since he met the Xaela at the Hot Springs. He knows that now. He's been wanting to be mated by this man since their eyes first met. He was a slut but he wasn't a fool. He knew a good mate when he saw one. And Khalja was the perfect mate. So when his mouth slips over his neck so perfectly, when he bites down and cums inside of him, Tango can't help but cum again too. It's too euphoric not to. Too perfect Khalja was amazing. This was amazing.
He sobs a moan before he is screaming and crashing to an end that had already happened moments before. Stuffed full. Full of cock. Full of seed. If he had died he would have been happy. So very happy. But not happier than he was now. Completely spent with a mating mark on the back of his neck. "Khalja..." He moans, eyes half open and brain fucked out.
For a time, the world is white-hot and pleasant. Even as it begins to fade, even when the world comes to once more and Khalja finds himself atop Tango's exhausted form, he can't help but let out a pleasant purr. Only then does he release the grip of his teeth on soft flesh, tongue slipping out to lap at the blood dripping from the wound, as if an unspoken apology to the pain that lingers past the moment of pleasure and lust that caused it.
When Khalja stops tasting iron, he finally shifts, turning their bodies so that both of them can lay on their sides--Khalja quickly with an arm dropping lazily around Tango's thin waist.
"I can feel my seed already leaking around me," he hums, tone as if he is proud of the fact. "But how easily it may be to keep myself stuffed inside you for a few minutes longer, as one might keep a newly-bred maiden." Khalja's lips kiss the mark upon Tango's neck as his free hand gently shifts, reaching down to gently squeeze out the last droplets of seed that drool from the other man's very spent, softening dick. "Do you think I might even be able to wreck one more sweet orgasm from you, my little whore?"
Tango’s eyes can only roll back into his head, his body limp against the warmth of Khalja's chest. He can feel his body twitching, even now.
Mated. He'd been mated.
Did the Au Ra even know what that meant? He hums, acting like he's thinking even when his mind had left him long ago. The dicks are still in him, still tight, still burning like an inferno, still waiting to fill him up one more time.
"Am I not your breeding bitch now? The mate who will bear your children?" the Miqo’te feels a purr roll through his chest, and he presses his cheek against Khalja's chin in a gesture of soft intimacy. "Do with me what you want. I'm your slut now. Your mate. Don't I deserve to be filled back up?" The words slip from him so easily. His hand moves, gently sliding up the arm that his mate uses to pump him dry. "I will admit, I'm spent, but if you want to use my ass more, then you can." His purr rings so loud that seeps through his entire body. "Just don't leave me. Never leave me."
"If this is yet another of your masks," Khalja murmurs, moving his hand from Tango's soft cock to his knee, finally urging the man's leg to lift so that he can press himself deep once more, to the root of his still-throbbing length. "-then you are putting on quite the convincing show. With making you spill but twice in a row, I would think I have left you with naught a single ounce of energy to continue with your acting."
Khalja allows himself another purr, another shift of his hips and a twitch of his cock as he seems to find no end of pleasure in merely resting within the other man's tight, perfect heat. Even with his partner all but spent, there is a certain pleasure of still being inside of him, feeling each shift of his cock squeeze out a drool of seed from his tight rim and down one of his thighs, to make the bed a mess to clean later.
Tango hums, turning his head enough to look at him from the corner of his eye. He fixes him with a look, a shaky hand coming up to press through Khalja's hair. "Ah, is that what you think this is? An act? Me wishing myself to be your mate and wanting to keep you close? Darling, no one is able to act that." He murmurs, soothing a hand over his lover's cheek. "If I could have you seated in me every day, filling me with your seed, mating with me as you did just now. I would be a happy man. That is the truth. Not an act."
It was true that he was out of energy. It was true that he was basically putty in the other man’s hands. But acting? Acting hadn't happened since Khalja had fucked his twin dicks into him.
Tango lets his head rest against the Xaela's chest, exhaustion finally slipping past his well-tuned expression. He pants. His body shivering against the stimulation of his lover's cocks still seated in him. It felt good. It felt bad. He loved it.
"Forgive me then," The Xaela murmurs, back to gently lapping his tongue over the mark left upon Tango's neck in between each breath. "I have taken few lovers in your profession, and have learned it improper to assume too much if all your partner yearns for is the pleasure of a swift union of bodies."
The Au Ra purrs when a soft, but defined orgasm shivers through his body. Seed spills from his dicks again, though not nearly as much as his first orgasm, and even the soft twitch of Khalja's hips leaves enough space that a fresh, thick drip of spend spills from Tango's body. It's perfect, and warm, and lovely. It leaves Khalja feeling almost possessive of the man in his arms, still seated upon his dick as if needing to be knotted so that his body cannot waist but a drop of the Xaela's seed. "Though, if you appreciate our coupling this much, I cannot imagine how may think of encountering an Au Ra man going through his seasonal rutting."
"I can't imagine," Tango murmurs, eyes heavy as he presses himself firmly against Khalja. "Perhaps I'll get to see it now, hm?" He shivers as his legs spread wide for Khalja's orgasm, accepting the seed and feeling the warm, sticky liquid fall down his thighs. A smile curls loosely upon his lips, body feeling so warm, sensitive and full. "I guess you know just as much about Keeper culture as I know about Xaela culture. Almost nothing?" A traces a hand over Khalja's side, pressing over his hip and up his ribs.
A moment passes, warm but thoughtful, before a question slips from Tango’s lips.
"Does the biting mean anything to you and yours?"
Despite himself, Khalja cannot help the little noise that spills from his mouth as he feels soft, cherished hands skim so sweetly over his skin. In the wake of such rough, needing pleasure, the stark difference in sensation is enough to leave the Xaela all but purring almost in kind as Tango does--though the sound is loud and deep, it comes with all the same sense of soft satisfaction, and he is certainly happy to allow Tango to touch him as softly as he likes.
"There is significance in some tribes, though not of the one I am of." Khalja can feel as though there's a weight to it, suddenly, if only by the question asked. Though he cannot reach it, he satisfies the need with laying his lips over Tango's forehead, feeling the soft tickle of his ear against the underside of his chin. "What is the significance of the mark I have left upon you?"
Tango closes his eyes. So Khalja didn't understand what he had done. But he probably felt it. The pheromones that pumped through both of their systems was hard to deny.
The Seeker eventually sighs, looking up at him with a small, sad smile as the cold realization of the world comes back over his thoughts. The lie is easy as it works up to his lips,
"It does not mean that much. I had feared it meant we were to be wed in your culture."
He lies. Oh he lies so pretty too, pushes his hips back against Khalja in order to distract him for his ugly little mouth. He moves up, kissing him, kissing the lie into his mouth, onto his tongue. "Do you feel your seed flowing out of me? You've filled me so full..."
For but a thread Khalja thinks to say something, to ask something, but so quickly is that thought gone, pressed from his mind as a weak trickle of pleasure makes everything else seem small and senseless in comparison. The man lets his fingers press into the soft flesh of Tango's thigh, keeping his leg lifted high enough that it's almost a shame he can't see the way their joining looks from where he lay--his emerald eyes can't take in how Tango's ass is so snug around him, how seed drips from their connection, how his cocks still twitch with every breath and shiver.
"I have," The larger man purrs, nuzzling his face instead into Tango's soft hair. "It is nice to have a lover that enjoys such a simple pleasure for once."
Soft, sweet, loving. Tango can't help it. He hums, pressing kiss after kiss to his chin. Can't help but hide with sweetness the sadness his heart sings as reality settles back into his heart.
"You're so lovely," He murmurs, eyes heavy now, body shaking as he tries to rut his hips back into him. "I've never had a partner quite as lovely as you."
Tango can’t help but wiggle, trying hard to work himself on Khalja's cocks. They felt so good. He wanted to stay like this. To stay with him. For Khalja to stay. But he remembers why he came here in the first place. Why they even met. He had a family. A tribe. A home. A life to go back to. He couldn't spend the rest of his days in Tango's arms, even if he begged him to.
"The feeling is mutual," Khalja murmurs, oblivious to the pain seeped deep within Tango's heart. "And though I have not had likely the share of bedmates as you, I have still had my share; you are more lovely than all of them." He could not tell a lie, for he truly had never met anyone quite like the Miqo'te who lay beside him. His energy. His quirks. His smile. That's nothing to say of the most shallow of things as well--how his ass clutches tight around Khalja's cocks, how the smaller man's dick but dribbles with white when he is pushed past the second orgasm, how he speaks sweet filth that it riles up things deep in the Xaela's heart he never knew were there.
"Would you find issue if we slept? I can't help but fear you're about to do so in my arms regardless."
"You're right," Tango murmurs in reply, eyes nearly closed as they are. He finds himself purring, rubbing his cheek against the chest that is centered behind him. He makes no move to pull himself off of the twin dicks that are seated so deep inside him, instead simply letting his eyes slowly close and his breath even out. His dick still stirs, dribbling white liquid with each breath that he takes. His body shivering every time one of Khalja's dicks stirs inside of him.
"Then sleep," The Xaela murmurs, nuzzling his face against the top of Tango's head, as if to help will the man into but a fucked-out slumber. "I will not leave while you do. Too comfortable have I become, in fact, where I am right now." He kisses the other man's hair several times more before he gently lays Tango's leg back down, if only so his arm can curl around the man's waist and drag their bodies flush against one another again. "So sleep, Tango, I will still be here when you wake."
"Khalja..." He murmurs before he lets sleep finally take him into dreamless bliss.
Tango finally wakes in the morning, or what he assumes is morning. The bed is sticky below him but Khalja is still behind him. He had grown used to his warmth during the night, it was pleasant to have such a large bed mate and Khalja was the largest he'd had in a long time. Something else was also in the same place as last night.
The Au Ra had not drawn his cocks from him, and Tango was almost curious enough to do it himself. Would a flood of seed come out? Part of him wanted it to, if only to leave him messied and feeling even more debauched than usual--and he is a courtesan. Such a feeling should have been familiar, though Khalja had in one night managed to change what he thought about a lot of things.
His hand comes up, feeling the bite that Khalja had left upon his skin. The Xaela had been right. He would remember him for quite some time, given how deep it felt. It was hard to break a Seeker bond, but it was certainly still possible, if a fair bit aggravating. With time and care.
Perhaps the bite did not affect Au Ra like it did Seekers, for Khalja's sake Tango hoped so. He sighed, letting his head hang forwards. He shouldn't have let it happen--he should have been firm in his normal rules of leaving no marks on his neck, but Tango had wanted it. Wanted it more than anything in his life, and he would deal with the emotional repercussions like an adult.
Behind the smaller man, Khalja's face was pressed into his hair, his chest rumbling pleasantly and but the occasional soft snore breaking up the silence of the air between them. It isn't until Tango begins to shift, until his body moves and nudges against Khalja, that the man begins to stir from slumber himself. He clutches tighter to Tango and nuzzles his face against the back of his hair, as if unconsciously trying to push the man's hand away from the mark until he could press his lips to it instead.
"I assume you are awake?" The man finally grumbles before a yawn muffles away any words after that. He stretches as best he can without having to relinquish his hold upon the Miqo'te. "Are you sore at all? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Tango can't help the way his eyes shut, can't help the shiver that runs down his spine, can't help the thoughts that run through his skull. Mate. His mate. Mine. He purrs, lifting his head enough to look at him through the corner of his eye.
"No, nothing hurt." He lies, "I'll be sore. But nothing a bath can't fix." He moves his hips a bit, testing the twin cocks that are still seated inside him. "I didn't want to be rude, but I guess I've been keeping more than a few things warm."
Tango almost didn't want Khalja to remove himself from him. He knew that ... if he did .... then that would be the end, wouldn't it? "I believe it would be strange to discuss payment with your cocks still pumping me full, wouldn't it?"
Khalja mulled the words over in his mind for a few moments, though even he couldn't help but chuckle at the humor of the moment as his attention is brought to the point where their bodies are still joined together.
"I suppose that it would," he murmurs. "But I have the faintest feeling that you are not a man to complain about something like that."
Nevertheless, there was only so long that he could partake in such a pleasure--Khalja was rather surprised that he had not awoke to his cocks drawn back within his pouch, as he had expected and experienced with many a past partner. He shifted his body carefully, tugging himself out from Tango with no shortage of care, and trying desperately not to do more than purr when he felt the unsurprising trickle of seed that all but spilled from the man's now loose, abused hole.
Tango shivers, feels the spark of pleasure light up his spine. His blood still runs with the pheromones. That's what he tells himself. It wasn't the raw attraction that he had to Khalja. No. And it wasn't the way his body loved how full he still was, even now, even hours after he'd been fucked. He can feel the seed dribble from him and forces himself not to stick a finger within his greedy hole to keep it all in. Instead, he presses himself onto his back so that he can stare up at Khalja, batting thick eyelashes at him.
"Now," He purrs, sliding a hand up his chest as he thinks, "About the fee..."
He tilts his head, this way and that. The Miqo'te even makes a show of counting his fingers. "For the hours we spent together, including the trip to the market, and all the services I performed..." He cracks open an eye, an easy smile sliding over his lips and a twinkle of mischief in his ruby eyes. "20 Gil."
Khalja stares at him with an expression that is unreadable. Rather, it is readable only in that he narrows his eyes and presses his lips together, the air silent for only a few moments before he calls the jest for exactly what he knows it to be.
"Bullshit," he finally says, his tone curt and simple. "I'm not foolish enough to believe that is enough for your time and attention. Nay, to spare even a glance at me in the hot springs would cost more than a paltry 20 gil."
Still, when the moment passes, Khalja finds that amusement quickly replaces the momentary flare of his annoyance--mostly to whomever would think to pay so little for an experience that Khalja dare describe as ethereal. "Dare I be a man of pride to think you enjoyed the feeling of my cocks stuffing you up enough to charge me but the cost of a drink?"
Tango laughs lightly. Oh, if only Khalja knew. If only. "I'm charging you only for the panties you ripped," The Seeker smiles, patting his cheek affectionately. "I'll have to buy myself a new pair. Might as well charge the damages to your account, yes?" He grins up at him, "And perhaps you are right. Who is to say?" He hums, resting his cheek against Khalja's chest. "I asked for what I asked for. 20 Gil please. Not a coin more."
Tango winks up at him, secretly enjoying the heartbeat that rang through the Au Ra's chest like a drum. Khalja was a man of honor, Tango would be a fool not to see it. If he knew the truth then he would stay. Tango wanted more than anything but Khalja wouldn't see his sister get married. Would never see his tribe again. And that was something the Miquo'te couldn't allow.
After all, if he had charged the man nothing, then Khalja may have caught on. If he had charged him the full price, then Khalja would have been too poor to find travel home. A small sum like this made it seem like a joke between the two of them, a reward for a job well done and, perhaps, a fond little memory somewhere in the back of Tango’s mind.
Khalja mulled the reason over in his mind, too stubborn to find a way to reply without suddenly feeling a bit silly to himself. The words made him feel something tight in his belly--the feeling wasn't bad, persay, but he could not accurately place it. It was not far from the way his stomach twisted in nervousness, but it also felt akin to the soft, genuine appeal he had held when his eyes first laid upon Tango in the hot springs--and yet still he knew that, somewhere, the man decided not to charge him but anything at all.
He could not find the logic for it anywhere, and he dare not question it either, fearful to offend the man if he chose to ask it in the wrong way--Khalja was not a man who knew much of Kugane or the city's ways.
"...I suppose I am without the position to argue your terms," the man says at last, lacking the restraint to keep himself from kissing the top of Tango's head before he finally pulls himself away, getting to his feet and stretching his body out with a grumble. "Where do you keep your washing cloths? Let me at least clean the mess I made upon you."
Tango smiles sitting up to sit on the edge of the best, on leg curling over the other.
"They're by the tub, out the door," He says. That was nice of Khalja. Nice of his mate-
No. Stop thinking that way. Stop thinking that he'll stay.
Tango lets his eyes trace over Khalja. Trace over what could be. What he could have. He can already feel it prickling. The greed. The selfishness. The want. No ... the need for him. Tango knows now why some Seekers go crazed when their mate dies.
"You don't have to," he says at last, resting his cheek against his own shoulder and blinking up at the Au Ra with scarlet eyes, "I know that you have many things to do."
"And those things include cleaning up my own messes."
Khalja tosses the Miqo'te a glance, his eyes once more firm and his expression unyielding as he speaks. He steps out of the room for only a minute, long enough to locate one of the soft pieces of fabric that Tango had indicated right where he had said they'd be. He returns with it in one hand, wet but not soaking with warm water. He steps towards the smaller man and gently presses a knee into the bed, just so he can reach him properly.
"Spread your legs for me," the Xaela commands with a gentle purr, emerald eyes meeting ruby. "I'll try to be gentle, but I am sorry if you are sore in places."
Tango can't help but nods, swallowing thickly as he spreads his legs. His cock twitches in interest but he looks away, cheeks reddening in hue. "I should be the one doing this for you, you are paying me you know that, right?" He glances at him from the corner of his eye. Such a gentleman. Such a good mate-
No. Stop. Stop thinking about that.
"You made quite the mess of me last night, don't tell me you want to do it all over again."
Tango’s voice is teasing upon the surface, though his tail almost thrashes behind him. Nervous.
Khalja does his best to be clinical and careful, pulling the soft, wet cloth over bruised flesh. There is so much to clean up, the Xaela almost feels embarrassed by it all. But he can't bring himself to feel ashamed or guilty, especially not when he catches such a soft hue of red against Tango's soft cheeks.
Khalja tries to offer the man but a soft, comforting smile.
"It is unwise to tempt me so," he purrs, though the tone is soft. Gentle. Without too much weight. "If you are pleased as much, then I dare say you should bed more Au Ra men--If I was any farther into my season, I would have left far more of a mess upon and inside you. I believe it has something to do with the anatomy of our women, but I cannot say for certain."
Tango can't help the amused breath that leaves his lips. "I don't think I'll be taking any Au Ra men on for a while. I wouldn't want to ruin the memory of our night together."
There’s a small smile on his lips. Sadness in his eyes. No one was ever going to be as good, were they? He moves at last, placing a hand on Khalja's shoulder, then uses the tips of his fingers to tilt his chin up, making him look Tango in the eye.
"Khalja," He murmurs, bringing him into a soft, chaste kiss. It doesn't last long, but Tango tells himself it's enough. "I think it's time for you to leave."
He doesn't say anything else. Tango simply lets go of Khalja’s chin and stands upon his two feet, and while a little wobbly in motion, he begins the annoying chore of stripping down the bed to wash the sheets.
Khalja is about to say something with a smile when he is stopped by the soft touch of Tango's fingers on his chin. With an almost obedient quickness he stops himself from speaking--though the kiss would have certainly done it for him. It lasts for but a moment, too short, and leaves the Xaela's heartbeat faster than it had been a moment before.
Before Khalja is able to say anything else, however, Tango's words feel as if he had been dumped with a bucket of chilled water.
Ah.
The mood of the room changes suddenly and it leaves Khalja wondering if he had said something wrong or, worse, overstepped a aboundary. For a moment he wonders if he should say something, but so quickly does he stop himself--he was quickly drawn into the wondrous pleasures of this courtesan's touch, he forgot himself. That they were but a couple found only by chance and the exchange of gil--there was no obligation keeping Tango to kindness or mirth if he did not will it, and so Khalja remembered why he had felt caution to accept the man's offer in the first place.
He left the room with no further words, dressing in silence and then making his way back to the front door.
He lingered there for a moment, letting thoughts roll around his head before he sighs, hopes that his assumptions of gil and payments are accurate to what he would have otherwise been charged if Tango had not been such a soft, playful soul.
In a small envelope, 10,020 gil exactly lay on the closest surface to the door, signed only with Khalja's name in crude Doman script.
Tango goes about his task quietly, as he had so many times before. There is no singing. No happy sighs. No ease of his heart as everything is cleaned up and tucked away as it should be.
Instead he is left empty. Sad. Alone. He would be this way for the rest of his life? For the rest of his days? The one man he truly felt a connection with, a bond over, he lets leave without so much as a goodbye? Of course he does. Because Tango values his independence. His freedom. That's why he was a courtesan, right? No strings attached. Just a few flowery words and he was paid.
It takes him most of the day to peel himself from the bed, and even then it is to make sure that Khalja didn't leave anything behind. No articles of clothing. Nothing with his scent on it his touch his-
Except for ... the little envelope by the door. He was a fool to think that someone as honorable as Khalja would not pay him his due. A fool. But here it was. The full sum of his service and a little extra, though Tango had not once given him a number for how much he would cost to anyone else.
Anyone but the sweet Au Ra who came into and left his life in the span of one beautiful, blissful evening.
"Oh, Khalja," He murmurs into the open air of his living room, letting his tears slip down his cheeks and onto the envelope in his hands.
It is the only thing left of his mate that Tango has. He puts it on top of his dresser, Khalja's name visible against the stark white of the paper.
He does not leave his home. Not that day. Or the next. Or the next.
