a comic? fanfic? collage? about odette and emet-selch getting drunk after returning from the rak'tika greatwood. longggggg post.
she'd spent long nights with haurchefant, before and after the bloody banquet, discussing any topics they could think of. he would pull stories out of her of her adventures and, rarely, her childhood, and he would divulge of his own, including his enjoyment of the arts. one particular story recounted stuck with her; odette, the swan princess, and her tragic demise hand-in-hand with her prince, choosing to die human together rather than being forced to live on as something else.
the eventual irony was not lost on her. it was one of the things she thought of when he cradled her face for the last time after asking her to smile, his thumb leaving a smear of his blood behind on her cheek that she painted back on every morning.
he remembers azem showing him the feathered thing; a surprisingly graceful creature to come from her hands. offset by her decision to instill all of them with an innate desire to bite his, of course.
Odette's eyes glance down his chest, pale as the rest of him, slightly furred and age-softened. She drags her bottom lip between her teeth, resisting the urge to sink her fangs into him instead.
Abruptly, her line of sight is covered, Emet-selch's palm resting over her eyes.
"I thought the purpose of forcing me half-nude was to leave you less distracted," he says, annoyed. She lets out a diffused laugh, making up for her lost sense by feeling up his sides instead, squeezing where he slightly overflows his trousers.
"Have I infringed on your modesty?" she asks, a touch mocking. "Is the big bad Ascian embarrassed?"
"The only," he starts, and she can tell she's flustered him by how his voice trembles slightly, "person painting us as 'bad'—a very childish view of morality, it must be said—is you."
Her eyes roll behind his cover.
"I felt that," he says.
"You would've seen it, too. And to think, you could be getting kissed instead."
She hears the opening and shutting of his jaw a few times, caught between instincts. Finally he relinquishes her vision, his hand instead slipping behind her head to thread his fingers through her hair and pull her closer. Odette obliges, her lips meeting his again, palms roaming up his torso until she's at his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck and shortening the distance between their bodies even further.
He has a tremendous amount of self control, she thinks, to be turning down her advances even as he strokes down the open back of her shirt and gropes her arse through her pajama bottoms. Very admirable. Extremely frustrating.
Odette pulls back, a soft huff of annoyance on her breath as she twists round in his arms to look at the table, stretching to reach their discarded wine and take a swig. Meanwhile, she feels Emet undoing her hair ties, gently parting her braids and brushing out her bouncy curls with his fingers.
"Rude," she murmurs, turning back to him with the bottle in hand.
"Drinking from the bottle? Yes, I agree. Quite uncivilized," he says. The fresh bloom of warmth in her chest from the wine makes her smile at his remark rather than wish to deck him as much as usual.
"Don't knock it 'til you try it," she counters, reaching behind him to grab his hair and gently pull his head back. He obeys, the flush in his cheeks burning hotter still.
"You want me to stoop—" he cuts off as she cradles the bottle to his face at an angle, tilting her head in question, and he decides to shut up and open his mouth. She tips a slow stream of wine down his tongue, watching resigned acceptance settle in the furrow of his brow.
"Whoops," Odette hums as she spills some, rivulets of sheer red running down his jaw, but before he can complain she ever-so-helpfully leans down to lick up the mess. Suddenly Emet-selch seems to forget about the wine entirely, turning his head to catch her tongue, fingers digging into her body. She throws her arms around him again, and the bottle hits the floor, and moments later as does their chair, brought off course by how ferociously they come at each other. Neither of them notice or comment. He rolls her onto her back, arms braced on either side of her head; she rakes her fingers down his shoulderblades, intending to leave marks that only she will know are there. She relinquishes control for but a moment before she hooks her legs around his thighs and yanks at him, flipping their positions again. He grumbles as she settles on his lap, and she bites his lip in response, grinning coyly into it.
They wrestle for dominance while locking lips until they wind up in her bed, and his roaming hands still make no effort to undress her. Much as she wants to lose herself, she doesn't press him on the boundary. She would regret it when she's not drunk, even more than she is going to regret this, so it might be for the best.
The long day, the comfort of the sheets and the weight of his embrace is starting to press down on her, making her eyelids heavy, the pace of her lips growing languid.
"Am I boring you?" Emet-selch asks between kisses, with no real venom or offense. He almost sounds endeared.
"Always," Odette says, fighting back a yawn. She manages a few more chaste pecks before her head droops, pressing her face half into the pillows with a sigh. "I don't want the night to end," she admits in a mumble.
He strokes his fingers through her hair. "You still have nights left to bring."
They share a moment of heavy silence. Both of them are aware of the mutually destructive nature of their tryst, she thinks. Nothing here is getting out. That, the wine, and the warmth dulls her inhibitions, and she shuffles forward to nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, letting herself enjoy the comfort of holding a body close. He makes a mild noise of surprise, the same as when she’d first kissed him, but soon enough hugs her back. Shutting her eyes, she listens to his heartbeat; a beat she knows didn’t belong to him until he entered this reflection, yet it nevertheless lulls her to sleep.
She doesn't know how long he stays to watch. When she awakens, the indent next to her is cold, and any thoughts she may have about it are interrupted by the Crystarium's alarms blaring.
“You don’t lose hope, love. If you do, you lose everything.”
Ella listened to their words with bated breath, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as though she were afraid that if she let go, she might simply fall apart. When the response finally came, she felt her throat tighten. For a moment, she could not speak. The emotions she had fought so hard to keep buried threatened to spill over all at once.
"I feel like I have lost everything," she admitted softly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep it steady. She lowered her gaze, blinking rapidly as tears gathered in her eyes. "My family... the chance of having a new family..." Her words faltered as she drew in a shaky breath. "And most importantly, my hope for a better life."
A bitter laugh escaped her before she could stop it, though there was little humor in the sound. "I spent so long believing that if I just endured a little longer, if I remained kind and patient, things would eventually get better." She swallowed hard, twisting her fingers together. "That one day I would have a place where I belonged. Somewhere I was wanted."
Her eyes glistened as she looked up once more. "But now..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Now it feels as though every dream I held onto has slipped through my fingers. Every door that seemed open has closed." She pressed a hand against her chest as if trying to soothe the ache there. "I know I should keep going. I know I should find a reason to believe again. But right now..." Her voice cracked. "Right now, I don't know how."
