One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

Fandom: FFXIV Words: 465 Read on Ao3 For XIV Hearts Ablaze, day 5

Tansui x Meryta Khatin | no specific timeframe | fluff Rating: M. Very much fluff, introspection. Mention of sexual situation

Hands

Meryta’s hands, he finds, are a contradiction.

When she’s curled up next to him in bed, when she laughs and smiles and waves to him. When she runs her hands through his hair -- in all those instances, it seems her hands should be soft and delicate. She’s not particularly small for an aura woman, but that still means she’s small compared to him. He should be rough or rugged next to her; his hands marked by wear and work in contrast to hers.

(And sometimes he does feels uncouth and rugged, he knows she rubs shoulders with nobles and kings and leaders – but then she’s smile and cook dinner and make something practical with those hands of hers, and she’s just a girl. Or a wild and wonderful thing from the steppe, rougher and stranger than him.)

She’s small and he can pick her up – and he will, tossing her on the bed, holding her close, enveloping her like she’s fragile. Like he needs to protect her. The way she looks, pretty and curvy. The way she smiles, and flirts, sweet and teasing. Swishing her tail. She’s feminine and sexy, and downright cute. Soft and pretty.

So, her hands, they should be soft and delicate. Perhaps it’s somewhat old-fashioned of him, but sometimes that is who he sees, when she’s laughing and flirting, her eyes full of joy when she looks at him. A sweet girl with delicate hands.

But of course, it’s not so. She’s a warrior, using her bow, sword, katana, and which ever other weapon might fall into her hands. And when she doesn’t fight, she uses her hand to work, shaping metal and wood. Some days he thinks she only rests when she’s with him – and even then she can’t help a quick workout or something to fiddle with.

In truth, her hands are rough and calloused, worn by her life and deeds. So much like his own, smaller, but not delicate.

He enjoys holding them as if they are, kissing the tips of her fingers, the palms of her hands. Having them on him, both gently and ferocious.

Meryta is a strength and furor, with power to topple the world in those hands. But what she does is save it. Like she cradles the whole damn universe in those hands.

He kisses them again.

He’s seen those hands kill, he knows enemy after impossible enemy fall before her.

He’s seen her hands create, mending a simple shirt or forging a beautiful blade.

He’s felt her hands tenderly, brushing a lock of his hair out his face.

He’s felt them -- all over, wandering across his body, sliding down his chest until they grip his cock, firm and tender and rough and delicate.

A contradiction that is not a contradiction at all.

andromache and scamandrius

alt ver under cut

So in case anyone needs it:

Woman’s Gown

c. 1780

Gros de Tours, silk thread embroidery

Italian Workshop

Brooch

19th century

shell and gold

unknown maker, Italian

Woman’s Gown

c. 1780

Gros de Tours, silk thread embroidery

Italian Workshop

I might translate this article later today. This one was the most complete one, even in Italian news it's not talked about that much.