Summary: The Crystal Exarch begins to receive anonymous gifts, and he is determined to find out who is sending them.
Written by @blood--hunter
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It was true that G'raha had not dallied much with love. Most of his time as a young man had been spent in the pursuit of knowledge alongside the Students of Baldesion. Beyond that, he had not found the time. In over a century of existence, he had never thought to court anyone, so singular were his thoughts in saving the First.
So, it came as much surprise to him when one day he received a gift. He had received gifts before, yes, the people of the Crystarium had attempted in the past to provide him with presents of gold or jewels. He had refused them, obviously, such things could not bring him further towards his goal. This, however, was something wholly different.
It was left sitting in the Ocular after he had stepped out to oversee some business in the Cabinet of Curiosity. The present was stowed in a box, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a string.
It was obvious that much time and preparation had been put into the gift. Perhaps he should have been worried, receiving an unknown package. But not many were able to enter the Ocular and even fewer did so without his previous knowledge. So he opened it without much thought blinking in surprise at the box contained.
Inside, folded carefully and smelling of jasmine, was the softest poncho he had ever beheld. When he pulled it from it’s confines he is astonished to find that it is exactly his size. He searches for a note, or perhaps a tag, to inform him of the garment’s sender but is unable to find such a thing. Perhaps Lyna had left it for him? He feels the fabric against his cheek, ears flickering happily at the softness that greets him. Obviously, it was made by hand, so perhaps his protegee had not woven this for him.
For a moment, he considers wearing it, but the urge is quickly quelled. Whomever had gifted this to him had obviously put their heart into every stitch, yes, but it would not do for him to show favor among the Crystarium, regardless of how much he loved it.
So he stowed it away, the mystery of who had thought to give him such a thing waning in the face of his tasks. It is not until nearly a week later that the question presents itself again, as yet another package is left in the middle of the Ocular. This one is nameless and tag-less just as before but contains something much different. Instead of clothes, there are several sandwiches lined in neat rows waiting for him beneath the lid of the box. They were fresh, the meat still warm and steaming.
His stomach growls.
It had been decades since G'raha had felt the need to eat but it comes rushing in like so much water. He is quick to scarf the meal down, licking his fingers after each bite. There was no doubt that the food had been made with a care and precision many lacked. Why they had bestowed him with such a gift was beyond his comprehension.
He contemplates hunting down his benefactor, it would not do for them to keep leaving such gifts without his thanks but quells the thought. Perhaps it was just circumstance? And besides, if they sought to remain anonymous then he would keep to it as they did.
However, fate worked in strange ways.
G'raha had stepped from the Ocular for only a moment in the pursuit of making sure the Crystarium’s defense were up to task. When he returned from his duties he was shocked to find someone waiting for him. Well, not so much waiting for him as caught mid task. The Warrior of Light stood in the midst of his Ocular a paper wrapped box in their hands. Upon his entrance they stopped, staring wide eyed and slack jawed at him. They stammered an apology, hiding the package behind their back, cheeks burning.
“So,” He says, not lack of amusement in his voice, fingers lacing tight around the staff in his hand, “I assume ‘tis you who left me these gifts?” The look in their eyes can only be described as oddly guilty. Their ears twitch as they not, facing back and away from him. Scared.
Slowly, with hands shaking, they present their gift to him. He steps forwards, taking it gently from their grasp as if the package was made of glass. Their eyes do not meet his as he lifts the lid. Inside lay a pillow, the scent of jasmine lifting into the air as easily as it had with the poncho. It’s plush, silken, and a lovely pink color that he hadn’t seen before. It occurs to him that they must have dyed the fabric themselves. He looks to them again. Their hands are clutching at the hem of their shirt, plucking the few stray strands that poke from the fabric.
“It’s lovely,” He says, a small smile on his lips, “I only wonder at the occasion.”
They gulp, visibly, at the question managing to allow their eyes to catch his.
“Clothes to keep him warm, food to keep him fed, and a pillow to lay his head.”
They recite it as if it’s been driven into them. G'raha cannot help but blink. The words spilled so easily from their lips and yet it looked as if it pained them to utter but a single sentence.
“I … assume this means something?"
G'raha’s brows furrow as his Warrior of Light lets out a choked sound, burying their face in their hands. "I–It’s a courting poem! I’m trying to court you!” They practically squeal.
Ah.
When he was younger he’d heard of the practices other Miqo'te partook in. He’d known that Keepers tended to court their lovers with the female usually pursuing the male in a dance of many steps and traditions. He had not payed it much mind, instead turning his attention to ancient mysteries and forgotten folklore. He curses himself for it now.
How was he to respond to such heartfelt and painstakingly made presents?
“Then,” He says, words carefully weighed on his tongue, “Tell me, in your culture, how do I respond in kind?”
They peek from between their fingers, ears pricking at his words, “Well I suppose you could tell me you liked me back.”
He does not stop the bubble of laughter that seeps from his chest. Still holding the pillow aloft, he uses his free hand to slowly detach their hands from their face. “My Warrior of Light, there is not a world in all the fourteen shards that I would deny you my affections.”
The sound his Warrior of Light makes as they jump to embrace him is one he will cherish for the rest of his days.
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Can I request some Urianger and miqo'te wol lovings? That elezen deserves more love and im biased af for him/horny on anon for that man
Written by @runningwolf62
Urianger likes to brush his fingers over your ears. It’s a ghost of a touch but your ears flick every time all the same. Too sensitive. It’s not meant to be erotic, usually, simply that for a man that keeps his face hidden so much Urianger loves to observe reactions. Yours in particular.
Thancred is far from the only member that throws himself into his work, Urianger can disappear into his books and research if you let him. He smells of parchment and ink. He also melts into your hands when you press the tips of your fingers into his shoulders and neck, too long in one position with too much tension. When he’s like this it’s easy to coax the hood off in order to continue to rub his shoulders and neck, run your fingers through his hair, watch the tension ease out of him. The longer you’re gone the more tension you seem to come back to. Perhaps he studies too long to avoid noticing your absence.
The best part of kissing Urianger is when he can no longer speak complete sentences only fragments of poetry against your lips.
When you come back from battle with the primals the moment the two of you are alone his hands are on you, frantic but gentle as he checks to make sure you are unharmed, safe and whole and actually here with him. You always lean into the touches, purring and nuzzling against him to reassure him that you are safe. Neither of you wants to consider that one day you might not come back.
The nice thing about a tail is when you are talking, gesturing as you try to make a point, you can always brush your tail against the back of his legs. He no longer jumps, now there is only the faintest twitch of his lips to show he felt your touch. Sometimes, if he’s very daring, he’ll run his fingers over your fur. You’re lucky to not stumble over your words every time.
He worries, sometimes, that he is a distraction to you, a risk. You are the Warrior of Light and you cannot hesitate and yet you take such a risk as to love him. You cannot deny he has a point, the days after the attack on the Waking Sand were horrible and you would never want to repeat them but when he asks, in the low, rough yet kind voice, “are you certain of this course? You know the future is yet uncertain, fight though you do to see our dream of the future come to fruition.”
But you know what you want and you tell him the same thing every time.
Summary: Haurchefant is almost sure that you feel the same for him as he does for you, but he's not certain. To check some suspicions, he looks into the fact that, whenever you smile at him, he notices that your tail seems to fluff up--do you do this when you talk to others?
He has to find out, if only to know that his feelings are mutual.
When Haurchefant first has suspicions about the truest feelings that you hold for him, they’re nothing more than that: simple suspicions.
He had no clear nor tangible reason to think the relationship as anything more than cordial allies. Despite this very respectable thought process, the Elezen also had quite the extravagant imagination and, honestly, he could never find himself at odds with the idea of you being ever so fond of him–Haurchefant in fact welcomed the idea with open arms and a less-than-appropriate mind that wandered quite often while going through paperwork, if he’s being quite honest.
Regardless, he had a suspicion that the feelings may very well be mirrored, if not entirely mutual. He knew almost for a fact that behind those beautiful eyes and that smile which graced each and every stoic nod of assurance you gave him, there was but a smoldering desire which could very well rival Haurchefant’s very own.
His reason for thinking so?
Your tail.
Well, pray tell not the fact that you have a tail, since that would be absurd. It’s what you do with your tail when you look at him, smile that glorious grin upon Haurchefant like but a beam of warm sunshine briefly offering Camp Dragonhead a mercy from the oh-so-common cold, cloudy days.
It puffs up. Specifically speaking, it puffs up when you speak to him, often in the same breath as when you flick your eyes to the ground and smile that very smile you do so often without realization in his presence. It appears so soft to the touch on any normal day, but in those brief moments it looks but as soft as silk and as fluffy as a newborn karakul that it almost pains Haurchefant that he cannot simply reach out and stroke down the length of such a wondrous part of you.
Though the man didn’t completely understand the physiology of the Miqo’te tails, he certainly knew enough about people in general context to understand when something questionable is afoot–and he knew that there was something behind that little tell of yours.
As a man of observation, Haurchefant began to take note of things whenever you spared a moment to visit Camp Dragonhead. He paid close mind to when you interacted with others, if only to see if such a difference came to perception or if it was all but a silly man’s affections run amok in his own mind.
Though he certainly did well not to outright follow you from one conversation to another, Haurchefant did find it easy to excuse himself about the camp as was needed, especially since his close alliance with you was no secret–the two of you had helped one another plenty in the past, after all. A run-in here, a convenient meeting there, it didn’t take much for the Elezen to pull the strings how he needed to get but a cursory glance at your interactions with others.
You smiled often and spoke with liveliness to all who cared to listen to you, though that in itself was obvious to anyone who but heard rumor about you as a person let alone esteemed warrior of light. Haurchefant was not interested in such things when he knew they were not the evidence he sought near-desperately.
There were moments where your tail twitched or ears flicked, though what few times he noticed was largely when he had reason to believe you were getting agitated–he didn’t let those moments linger for very long of course. Let it always be known that Haurchefant would not tolerate any sort of discrimination to anyone who placed foot within Camp Dragonhead, be they Elezen, Miqo’te or otherwise; he made quick work of what few young and very ignorant initiates decided to test the tolerance held in Haurchefant’s warm heart.
For many times he watched you as you visited, sometimes with business in the snowy lands and other times to visit him personally (of which Haurchefant was always lost in his head like a lovesick schoolboy). Despite all the time he had to figure things out, he just couldn’t quite note a moment that your tail did quite the same thing as he was curious about–not a single time did it puff or fluff up in quite the same way, though there were a multitude of other things it did in otherwise staunch conversation.
In fact, Haurchefant came to realize there was a lot of meaning in but the simple movements of a tail or the softest flick of the ears when it came to the Miqo’te. So much did he realize was lost to him when talking to you, so many queues and nonverbal messages he had missed without realizing it.
The way you flick your tail when you’re shy, the way you pull back your ears when your nervous. Did you ever realize that, when you’re trying to answer a particularly hard conundrum, you wrap your tail around your own leg?
Haurchefant found it endearing. Just one more thing to add to the ever-growing list, something he could speak about until his very breath ran cold and his mind had long since moved on into senility.
But no matter the breadth of knowledge and appreciation gained, the several days of observation offered little insight towards answering the very question which begun the man’s internal questing. With several visits and seemingly no closer to the end, it became clear that the only way the Camp Dragonhead lord may gain such a perilous answer would be to do what he considered as last resort:
He could ask you directly.
It would be a risky choice, as Haurchefant didn’t want his personal quest to be revealed, lest he lose all the carefully collected data–as well as put himself in a horrible state of embarrassment should he be wrong in his assumption.
The very last thing he wanted was to tarnish the friendship he had forged with you.
He waited an extra couple days, allowed himself to build up a convincing reason to ask such an odd question if only so your suspicion wouldn’t be aroused. Though Haurchefant considered himself somewhat capable of smoothing over a lie, he doubted his ability to convince you that he had a distant Miqo’te relative, whether by blood or adoption. He had scarce contacts in the Black Shroud or La Noscea, but he could pull upon some familiar names tied to Ul’dah if explanation was needed…
Too complicated.
When the day finally came for him to ask, he didn’t honestly have much of a plan in motion. It certainly didn’t help that your next visit after his decision came quicker than he thought, leaving Haurchefant to scurry for words and actions mere moments before they happened in much akin to the same lovesick schoolboy he often considered himself to be around you.
He was lucky there was naught amiss, leaving you able to spend time with him privately and talking of simple things over a drink together.
“I hope you don’t find it a bother,” Haurchefant tried to keep his words casual, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “But I had a question for you I’ve been hoping to ask. It deals with matters you may be best suited to answer, dealing with something of a Miqo’te habit I’m unlearned about.”
You blink, curiosity filling your gaze and smile as it pulls at the corners of your lips.
“I’m of the understanding that Miqo’te are rare in these parts; far too cold to be comfortable and far too cloudy for worship of any sort.”
“Oh no,” the man said, the lie already starting to drip gently from his lips. “It’s not for my personal interest.”
“Oh?”
“You see I have a dear friend of mine who has become quite taken with someone-”
You feel one of your brows perk.
“-a Miqo’te. The details are certainly of no import in the matter, but he has found himself besieged with a question he cannot answer. Though I’ve implored him to but ask himself, he seems resigned to never know the answer.”
Haurchefant grew confident with every word, feeling the story twist together in a neat little plait in which couldn’t be easily unraveled. Certainly he would be able to ask the question without worry of suspicion, especially since you seemed so politely quiet in wait for it yourself.
“You see, he’s noticed that whenever they’re together, his love’s tail seems to-” Haurchefant feigns in the search for the right word, hoping the lapse of memory would only give credence to the story. “Ah, what did he say? Oh! Puff, that’s right–he says his love’s tail puffs right up, like a blowfish of somesort if only such a creature was covered in fur instead of spines.”
He mulls over the words for a few moments extra before letting his eyes fall to you, watching your expression with care as he takes a sip from the glass in his hand.
It doesn’t fall from pensive thought, though he does take a prideful note of how your ears twitch, flicking as if like a bird’s wings aiding it to take flight, though for you it is simply to launch yourself into a series of thoughts.
Was that weird? Perhaps that one was a bit weird, even for him.
“Well, there could be a lot of reasons, but is there any specific time that it happens besides being together?”
“Well, he says it’s usually when he catches a smile or a giggle from his partner.”
You pondered on it for a few moments, tapping a finger lightly at your chin.
“Sounds like a tell to me,” you laughed after a moment, shrugging your shoulders casually. “Nothing beguiling about that, no more than you are Haurchefant, perchance did you know that you tend to bite at your lower lip when your nervous?”
The man blinked, suddenly realizing that he indeed had some of his lower lip between his teeth. He swiftly shifted his weight in the chair and tried to make the act look aloof, just making himself more comfortable in the moment is all.
“D-do go on, dear friend. I hope that whatever may be unsaid between he and his love, my friend has nothing to worry for?”
“Of course not!”
The exclamation was made with no shortage of amusement. You couldn’t hold in the laugh for more than a moment before your hands fly up to your lips and hide what little dignity you can from escaping in the resulting uproarious noise of humor.
Haurchefant merely looked at you, looking something between worried and confused.
“Some Miqo’te do that when they’re happy,” you finally relent, wanting not to torture the poor man. “Your friend has absolutely nothing to worry about, though I’d insist he’d as his partner himself for their specific thoughts on the matter. Likely it’s just how his partner tells him that they love him dearly.”
Haurchefant all but feels his heart stop in the moment, mind trying desperately to put the words together in the way his mind needs, answer yet before him to the question he so very much wanted to solve. He doesn’t have much of a chance to continue the conversation however as you suddenly feel a ring in your ear–your linkpearl, alerting you of a recall back to the Waking Sands for something that seems at least mildly urgent.
You relay this information quickly enough to the Elezen and begin to make your leave, thanking him generously for his time and drink.
“It is I who should be thanking you,” Haurchefant says, gesturing towards you with a mild flourish, as if but words alone can’t accurately describe the meaning. “There are few who would come to these cold, deary mountains to visit even a close friend; your company is always welcomed here with a warm fire and attentive company.”
His words make you smile, a familiar send-off that you’ve grown so accustomed to that it almost feels like leaving Camp Dragon head is akin to leaving home. You begin to make your leave from the room but stop just a few steps short of the door, turning your head around to catch Haurchefant’s gaze with your own.
“Oh, one more thing,” you say, smile tugging at your lips and an unmistakable fluff to your tail. “You could have simply asked me outright about my little tell. I am very much fond of you in kind, dearest Haurchefant, and I’d love to know you more.”
And only then do you leave the room post-haste, catching one last sight of the man with a shock to his wide eyes, a flush upon his cheeks and his lower lip between his teeth in sudden realization that his ruse had been known from the very beginning.
*slides into askbox* i have arrived >:3 can i ask for haurchefant x wol (race being vague is a-ok, otherwise miqote pls >w>) where they do some friendly sparring and haurchefant is just horny on main the whole time? kinda soon-ish after helping him out so wol is still a bit ???? over it not being used to his Brand but won't even try to deny they're into it 🌸
Longer, saucier version here because I’m trash
Sparring with Haurchefant comes a bit as a surprise. It’s not as if he had ambushed you fresh off the teleport to Camp Dragonhead’s aetheryte, but declaring his intent to do chivalrous battle with you the moment you step into the camp’s grand hall is certainly close enough.
You’re a bit too distracted by how he looks and sounds to reject the offer outright–he laughs as he challenges you, claiming that you’ve been gone far too long, he needs to see if your skills are as good as they were before. It’s an excuse to get out of his chair and away from paperwork, you figure, and merely gaze upon his delighted expression as he all but vaults over his desk to drag you off.
So, to say the least, sparring with Haurchefant is not exactly what you intended on doing in your first ten minutes of arriving in the familiar Coerthas camp.
He moves faster than you assumed of him. There’s a grace to each strike, a power pressed forward without an ounce of restraint behind the sword and it comes at you with a swiftness that leaves your head nearly spinning. It’s a challenge to merely parry and dodge each strike let alone try to offer one in turn–the flurry of motions leave you and your sparring partner moving in what feels like an intricate dance, but to an outsider it appears to be but a game of cat and mouse–and the cat is the one losing.
It’s a warm day for the Coerthas Highlands, though it hardly means a thing when you feel as if your tail and ears are about to freeze right off of your body. It’s not as if you’re poorly dressed for the climate either–layers of clothing cover your body from head to toe–but it seems as if nothing can keep the chill from settling deep in your bones.
The cold proves rather distracting, at the very least; if not that, then the man trading blows with you certainly comes as a very close second, with how you see his body stretch and move with each cleave of his dulled blade towards you.
“You’ve gotten faster!” Haruchefant declares with mirth, sounding none too breathless despite the intricate dance of your bodies. “Not to say you weren’t quick before, dear friend–I daresay your combat skills are-”
You rush at him, taking the opening unveiled as he speaks with the slightest touch of guilt–he looks so happy in his words, pride unbound for you in way few others ever speak with.
But at least it’s quick, your body tackling into his chest and sending the both of you falling to the ground. There’s a dull thump as both of you hit the cold earth, you overtop Haurchefant’s body, and a sharper noise as his weapon clatters some yalms away.
For what feels like too many moments all you and the Elezen man do is stare at one another, blinking in your mutual surprise for separate reasons.
“Dear warrior of light,” he says, making a gesture with one hand and no move to neither get up or remove you from atop him. “If you had desire of me beneath you, all you need do is ask for the pleasure.”
You feel a rush of heat come to your cheeks as you realize the position is hardly innocent; your legs astride the other’s hips and your upper body hovering over him is certainly not a pose you wish to linger with. You deny any bubble of warmth elsewhere in your body and rather scramble up and onto your feet, then begin to brush off some dirt and snow from your knees in an attempt to act distracted.
“Do you have desire to continue sparring?” you ask, hoping to be swift about the change in subject, lest the two of you start talking about the moment just before. “Because as much as I’d love to, milord, I actually came to see you with a purpose.”
When you turn your eyes you see Haurchefant looking at you with crossed arms and a smile on his face, a glimmer of amusement and air of words unspoken words not easily missed.
“I did, after all, offer Dragonhead as a respite from your adventures and battles,” he muses softly. “Please take my apology, dear friend, I merely dragged you in my haste to be away from the paperwork piling upon my desk.”
Despite seeing him without his hauberk and plate armor, he’s still quite the imposing figure–the shape of his woolen jacket and pants seem to suit him rather well, in fact, though you try not to stare in any way you can’t argue is mere professional curiosity.
Haurchefant sighs, tugging you out of your thoughts, then takes approaches you with that same smile, soft and genuine, on his lips.
“Come then, let us enjoy the warm tidings of a hearth and a shared drink,” he gestured back towards the grand hall and began walking with expectation for you to follow. “I’m certain you’ve grown cold from our exhilarating exchange, so let’s see about warming you up, hm?”
It took a few moments for you to follow behind the Elezen, happy to take the offer of companionship, but silent on the fact that simply being close to him has already put a warmth in your chest. He is an odd man, but has already become a dear friend to you.
Can I get a Miqo’te WoL cuddling with Haurchefant? Maybe they purr, and his reaction when he hears it the first time?
“…and of course, after such a brazen display of concern for her countrymen, I saw it fit that she’d earn the posted reward and, oh–dear friend, am I boring you?”
The question tugs you out of your mind like the poke a lance. You gather yourself up quickly, body straightening out and tail absently curling around one of the chair legs beneath you.
“Oh not at all,” you say, hoping that the words sound more confident then they feel. “It must be the chill in the air, I’m a bit more weak to it than others around here, as you know.”
It’s only a partial lie, but one that needs no elaboration in your heritage as a Miqo’te for him to understand.
The last thing you want is for Haurchefant to realize you had been spacing out, especially as he often takes so much time away from his duties in order to entertain some time with you. Few things bring you close enough to Coerthas to make the excuse to visit the man after all, and they always seem so short-lived.
There’s just something about the man’s voice, the way he speaks with reverence and wonder in all things that always leave you feeling so at ease. You could listen to the man read from an ancient tome in a language you scant understand and it would still have such an effect upon you, chest warmed and mind numbed in blissful comfort.
It’s not for lack of interest, though you fear he’d misunderstand if you tried to tell him the truth.
If Haurchefant holds any reservations then he certainly doesn’t show them. He smiles broadly instead, pushing himself up from the chair with a rough scrape of wood upon wood.
“Oh my friend, you should tell me if its cold! I wouldn’t want it to leave you weak or ill,” Haurchefant speaks with a concern to his words, though the smile doesn’t fade even as he steps around the table to instead take the empty seat beside you. “I’ll have someone add wood upon the hearth, but let me offer but the humble comforts of mine own body first.”
He moves before you can offer much of an argument, an arm around your shoulders and his head leaning against yours in such an angle that his nose and lips gently brush against your hair.
“Oh, goodness,” the man says far too dramatically. “But as cold as an icicle! Such an emergency calls for but the most drastic of responses.”
As shameless as can be he wraps his other arm around your body and, when you can’t offer but a peep of complaint, he pulls you into his lap and against his chest. Half of you wants to call shock as the reason you don’t try to deny the touch, but the other half can’t help but melt into him.
“Dare I say your willingness is appreciated,” you say with a giggle, trying not to seem too excited about the prospect of being held in Haurchefant’s arms. “I suppose I shan’t freeze this day good sir.”
It takes a few moments to shift yourself to sit comfortably against his armored chest. Haurchefant’s head rests on the top of your head, height towering over you even when the two of you were but sitting down, and you feel him hum in soft delight.
If it be anyone else, anyone else besides he, you know you’d be angered and uncomfortable by the idea of them being so close and intimate. But it’s Haurchefant who holds you, Haurchefant who nuzzles his face into your hair and his nose against your ears in just right a way to make them flicker in ticklish reply.
Everything from his hum to his fingertips brushing against the small of your back, the warmth of his body to the charm of his words–it’s comforting in ways you’ve never felt before with anyone else. It allows you to relax, to genuinely lower your guard, to pretend you’re nothing more than a normal person and not some powerful keeper of light and hope that people depend on every single moment of the day.
You fall back into your warm haze without realizing it, tail curling around one of the man’s legs and ears drooping low, eyes half-lidded and sleep gnawing in the back of your head. Though you bother not to feel even vaguely surprised, Haurchefant moves one hand from your back up to your hair, where his fingers scratch gently over your scalp–oh, oh that feels nice.
Over the top, down to the nape and then just behind one of your ears; a simple touch but one that leaves your toes almost curling as much as your tail and a noise starting to rumble from deep in your chest and-
“Is that-” you hear beside you, genuinely surprised that it gives pause to the scratches. “Dearest warrior of light mine, are you…purring?”
You’re too lost in the warmth to let the feeling of embarrassment cause more than a flush of heat over your face, eyes still closed and body still tucked against him.
“…It’s a Miqo’te thing.”
And it feels good.
“I wondered as much,” Haurchefant chuckles, continuing the motion, if not pressing even harder with his gloved fingertips. “Shall I also assume it’s a good thing to hear?”
You don’t answer that one with words. The pleasure, simple as it is, leaves it hard to speak with any sort of confidence in your voice, so you nod with an unmistakable clarity–so much so that it amuses the Elezen enough that he chuckles again and presses his lips briefly to the top of your head.
“Then I’ll not stop for even a moment,” he says gently, tugging you ever closer so you’re flush against his chest. “I would want to feel you like this against me for as long as I can, as I doubt your friends would take kindly to me stealing you away when time another foul beast is wrecking up the Eorzean countryside.”
He sighs, leaning back in the chair and tugging you with him.
“Let us both enjoy this warm moment together.”
And so you do with a purr rumbling from your chest, his fingers in your hair and a genuine affection bubbling in your heart.
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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!
The Coffin and Coffer could be described as many things. Decerped came to mind first. But what mattered most to X'rhun was that it was usually quiet, and offered a relatively peaceful place to have a drink.
Just earlier he had given Samilen a soul stone. A supplementary-like item to facilitate someone's quick joining of the Red Mage's ranks, which were already thinned down to but two members--X’rhun himself was but one of those members, the other being someone only recently trained. Nevertheless, he trusted Samilen. He was already a strong, determined individual. That much X'rhun knew.
But he didn't know what was to come, and that was an adventure in and of itself.
The doors to the tavern open and X'rhun almost thinks that it's another person come to seek shelter from the blistering heat of Thanlan's sun. Instead it is the white-haired miqo'te that he has come to know. The smile on his lips is easy and easier still are the words that leave his mouth.
"Ah! Samilen! Come, join me for a drink." He says with his usual flourish.
At least it isn't hard to find the man.
Samilen feels a smile form on his face at the sight of X'rhun, if only for the familiarity that has already begun to bloom whenever he so much as hears the older miqo'te's voice ring out over the bustle of the Coffin and Coffer. It's not a common thing for adventurers to find familiarity in things when they are so busy in moving around, especially as a Scion, but the few people fall into such places in Samilen's heart are hard to be forgotten or dismissed.
It's been a few weeks since Samilen had last seen X'rhun, though he already had a multitude of questions to ask--red magic was so much different than what he'd already experienced and, more subtly, he hoped to impress the man with what he's already managed to grasp.
The young adventurer is quick to shuffle around the people in the tavern, making his way over to the table at which the red mage sits.
"I'm glad to see you," Samilen says, his voice just a touch louder than normal to catch over the boisterous energy of the tavern around them. "Do you have time for a couple questions between teacher and student?" His eyes catch as a barmaid makes her way closer to the table. "Though perhaps they are best after a few drinks--it has been a little while."
"Of course," X’rhun extends his arm, opening himself for questioning, as it was, "I would expect quite a few. Red Mages are few and far between and Alisaie mentioned you were quite the curious one."
He winks, because of course he has to, under that wide brimmed hat of his. The tavern is loud in the way that most are but X'rhun doesn't make an effort to raise his voice. Some things needed to stay between friends and Samilen was definitely his friend now. He wouldn't give his soul stone to just anyone. He had only known the younger Miqo'te for such a short amount of time but ... it was nice to have a comrade again, no matter how new. He just hoped he didn't turn out like his last ones.
A bitter but happy thought.
Samilen isn't sure how to feel with the gesture and the words--or especially the combination of the two--so he tries desperately to keep a straight face as a mild heat creeps across his cheeks. It's hard, but at least he's able to keep a hold over his words, the questions had been gnawing at the back of Samilen's mind ever since he touched the ruby-red soul crystal.
Ever since the memories of red mages old all but stuffed themselves inside of his mind.
He doesn't want to seem desperate or, worse, naïve. Samilen had been good at things for so long that it feels awkward to know so little about a skill--it's not an uncomfortable feeling as it simply is unfamiliar, though it's hilarious yet that he's not used to feeling out of place for the things that he often does. If anything, Samilen waits for the first set of drinks to find their way to the table; he nurses the ale gently, knowing little for how strong the local brew is and very keenly aware of his lack of fortitude in all things alcoholic.
"I...am curious about some things," he finally finds the voice to say. "About how red magic affects...someone. I have briefly touched on white magic and felt much the effects of black, but this...is wholly different. Is it common to feel....side effects?"
X'rhun allows himself to lean forwards. He regards Samilen with much the same curiosity one had at a particularly interesting work of art. "Side effects? Well, there are some, I'm sure." He leans back again, resting one hand on the stem of his beer. He tries to think, hard, back two decades to when he'd first picked up his craft. "You would have to describe them too me. I'm afraid I don't quite know of what you speak." Or, at least, his old brain had let him forget his early days. He had been gallivanting around Ala Mhigo during that time, and many things had gone unnoticed their doomed plan to free the city, for example.
Ah, that's what Samilen had been dreading. For all that he had given thought to wording his concerns, all of those words leave him when called to bare themselves for an answer.
The keeper stares down at his drink for a few seconds as if willing it to the be the most wonderful and glorious thing in the room--he could not hold the older man's gaze for fear that he'd catch something from the glint of Samlien's eyes, as the old rumor goes for one in any school of magic could very well peer into another's soul if given enough experience.
"Well, there have been...dreams. Visions." Samilen swallows down a rock that's formed in his throat. "When in the heat of battle I've caught glimpses of conflicts I've never been apart of. People I've never met. I could have sworn even that I once cast verfire and could have sworn I heard it in another's voice." He pauses for a breath, another, and then a third. "....your voice, to be specific."
X'rhun's ears flicker beneath his hat, perching at the front of his head like two dogs ready to strike. Ah. That had sounded more familiar that he would like. In his younger days, when he was just barely twenty, he had known much the same feeling. As he had gotten more and more used to his magic he had experienced intense visions of Red Mages past.
He had even had more intense ... personal visions.
Though he had never had the gall to ask his compatriots, it seemed much the same for those around him. Those who had received a Soul Stone at least, which was a rare occurrence--rarer still when a scant few still exist. How could he forget such a thing? No wonder Eorzea required a permit to their exchange, as rare of items as they were.
He had wholly forgotten the negative side-effects and now Samilen was paying the price.
"Ah," He says, pressing a thumb to his own chin, "That sounds about right. I believe it is your the work of your Soul Stone. It's not uncommon to experience such things from mages past. Don't worry, the more you slip into your magic the weaker they will become. They may be ... intense ... from time to time but it is normal. I promise.” X’rhun tries to offer a teasing smile. “You're like a teenager just coming into themselves right now."
Samilen could almost feel the stone burning in the pouch against his hip, secured and rarely forgotten, though he isn't sure whether it's the stone or his face that burns hotter under the other miqo'te's heavy, nay, suggestive words.
Though it gives Samilen a great sense of relief to know he's not gone insane, he's hardly to mention that the visions are not wholly unwelcome . Comfortable, at times, if a little overwhelming. It feels very much the same as when Hydaelyn herself had enveloped the man in her warm embrace, a protection beyond what the physical realm can truly describe.
"Well," the man finally says, hoping to stall the moment with a long drink of the bitter, cold ale. "That...would explain a lot of things, I suppose. It is like...reliving the memories in the crystal? Only playing what has already been placed within it?"
X'rhun nods, "Exactly so." He confirms. Though putting memories into the Soul Stone was not an exact science. It was, in fact, mostly just the strongest memories the previous owner had while wielding it. Some of those were more ... sexual than others. His most powerful Vercure could exist right beside that time he'd rutted off to the sound of the pleasure house next door. Memories were much the same way, tied in strings in ways one could not decipher readily. "Do not fret. It is nothing to be truly embarrassed about."
Still, X'rhun did not look forward to having to explain some of the things Samilen would come to experience...assuming he hadn’t already.
Samilen could only stare at X'rhun in a mixture of blankness and exasperation, debating within himself if it was worth bringing his truer issues up with the man or not. Would the outcome be worth the risk of forever marking himself oddly to the red mage master? To tell him of the things Samilen has seen, experienced and even felt ? It is through the ignorance of ever touching a soulstone, ever understanding the workings of such a piece of magic that fuels his fear to speak.
He doesn't know what X'rhun already suspects is happening to him.
"I'd wager to disagree on that," is all that Samilen can bring himself to say, heat growing ever stronger in his cheeks that he hopes it can be hidden and lied about by the thrum of alcohol instead, of which the younger miqo'te finishes with a long drink. It burns something horrible in his belly, but at least it loosens up his anxiety--just a little bit.
X’rhun fixes him with a look and lets himself move forwards, tapping the wood of the table in front of Samilen. He could take a guess as to what the other man had ... experienced.
"Tell me..." He hums, tilting his head some. He had worked decades to be an honorable man. Had kept his Oath when all others had fallen around him. At one point he had thought of taking up drinking to soothe the ache, but alcohol costs much for a poor man. The sword had been a better addiction but roads tend to take you to interesting places. "... Have you felt the soft hands of a woman on your cock while you were near sleep?"
Whatever shame X'rhun had used to feel left him years ago. There is only so much you can experience on the road before it doesn't bother you anymore. Explain to Samilen the echos of sexual encounters he would feel was just a drop in the bucket.
A new stone has found its way into Samilen's throat, thick and sharp and greedy for all of what lingers of the young man's fortitude and focus. He can't consider anything but the question that lingers low and hard in the air between he and X'rhun, can't think of anything but how he'd spent the last several nights in a feverish haze of dreams and visions leaving him so near completion that it could have been labeled torture.
Samilen grips his glass tight, tight enough that he's faintly worried that it may crack against his grip.
"....it....wasn't a woman," is all the young keeper can bring himself to whisper, gaze fallen to the wooden surface of the table as shame begins to well up in his chest, a readiness to bolt out of the tavern already in the back of his mind.
X'ruhn's brows lift in understanding. Was that embarrassing to the younger man? Eorzea had not suffered from such bigotry in over a century.
"Ah," He says, trying to keep his voice soothing but he can see the shame mounting in Samilen's eyes. A feeling a not un-similar to guilt builds in his chest. He reaches out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Samilen we ... Lets go outside."
He stands, lets his chair scrape loudly so that the attention is on him and not his companion, so that he doesn't have to worry about people staring at him.
Samilen is a man often told at how stoic he looks; as a Scion, as the Warrior of Light, as many things--he's been told how controlled he keeps his emotions or, on occasion, he's questioned if he feels them at all. What's a hero if not one who looks fearless, after all?
But this is not one of those times, this is not one of those things--so easily can Samilen stuff the trauma of battle into the back of his memories, but hardly muffle the intensity of embarrassment and worry and a million other things that twist his stomach like a spring. All he can do is nod at the other man's suggestion, trying desperately to keep a cold, blank expression on his face as the two of them make their way outside of the tavern. The sky is darkening, the wind feels cool--it's a peaceful evening in Thanalan and one that Samilen treasures more with every passing day.
He follows X'rhun and tries desperately not to wring his hands together.
X'rhun leads them out and onto what could be called a patio. He stands, leaning his forearms against the wooden railing as he watches the dust swirl over the landscape.
"This reminds me of Ala Mihgo." He admits, tilting his head slight. "I used to be quite the catch in those days. I had men and women both fawning over me. What a surprise it must have been for my father when I chose to become a revolutionary and not a Nuhn."
He smiles, one small and rueful, "I suppose I should be sad at the path I chose but I do not regret it. Not in the slightest." He turns to Samilen. "I do not what you to be embarrassed around me, Samilen. It is alright to feel what you feel and I give you permission to act on it how you choose, but do not hide it from me."
Samilen's mind flickers between several emotions, though he does his best to focus on the soft words that fall from X'rhun's mouth, to think back on a time when the red mage master was young and when life was far short of worries and stress. And, truth be told, it wasn't all that hard to see him as the center of attention to others--even with the years gone by the older seeker still is quite admirable in more ways than one, though it was not until the effects of the Soul Stone that Samilen allowed himself but a passing fancy about those bright eyes, snow-white hair and almost haughty grin of his.
The keeper swallows thickly. "I imagine that it's much easier for you to say that, being on your side of the situation, though it's not particularly.....easy for me to bring up."
He's not quite sure if this is the outcome he wanted--would it have been easier for X'rhun to explain the meaning and simply tell Samilen to never speak of it again? To pretend as if it never happened? Samilen is not sure.
"Wouldn't you rather me hide it though? You offered these skills and knowledge as a teacher and this--these--these feelings are hardly appropriate."
The seeker laughs lightly, moving to lean his hip against the wooden railing that scarcely separated bar from ground.
"They aren't appropriate, no. But they are natural and they do come with the business of soul stones. If feel the need to discuss them then I give you full permission to, but I will not force you into such a situation."
He looks at Samilen, casting the young keeper a glance with his blue hues, "It won't do to hide part of yourself. Balance is part of a Red Mage's task. You must find the balance within yourself." A soothing smile works over his lips, "I am your teacher. I simply wish to help you find your balance."
Samilen brings a fist to his lips, teeth almost gnawing against one of his knuckles for a moment as he deeply considers the worth of his soul and if he is going anywhere pleasant in the afterlife.
"And that only makes it more reprehensible," he argues after a moment, finally dropping his hand so that he can play his fingers against one of the buckles of his shirt, pulling at the leather and metal in their eagerness to be doing something . "There's hardly anything to talk about. I just--I want--..."
' I want them .' Though it's the truth, he can't bring himself to say something like that to the man before him. He's supposed to be ashamed of the feelings, and yet Samilen can't help but find himself almost desperate in the night's he's awoken by half-dreamt hands pressing against his skin and a powerful voice all but growling in his ears. It's certainly an issue that's creeping into Samilen's ability to learn red magic, but the keeper is desperately ashamed in that...well....he likes them.
"I don't know anymore." Is all he can finally say, hands moving up to hide his face in a moment of pure, overwhelming exasperation.
X'ruhn approaches Samilen in less than the time it takes to breathe. He crowds into the other man’s space space; he does not corner him, no, but he does get closer than he needs to be.
His memories call back to Alisaie. She had been a different case entirely and had refused the soul stone out of principal. He wonders now if she knew the side effects, with how very learned she was she probably did. He feels guilt for forcing these feeling onto Samilen.
"Do you need me to take it from you?" He asks, setting a hand on his shoulder. "If you can not handle it... if you feel panic at being shown these visions..." His brow furrows in worry. "Is there anything that I can do to help alleviate this pain?"
Samilen can practically feel X'rhun as the man nears him, his body churning into overdrive as the trickles of emotions start to fall over his thoughts--his breathing quickens, just a hair, but it's enough to make his heart start hammering against his ribcage and throw his thoughts into chaos.
The mere mention of taking away the Soul Stone brings Samilen's face back into view, expression suddenly distraught for a number of reasons--fear, longing, a feeling of pain for disappointing someone he trusts.
"No!" he says, almost hisses with a fervent shake of the head. "No no I--I want it, I want to keep it, I--"
X'rhun is so physically close. Samilen's body all but shakes, the Soul Stone burning his hip through the leather pouch and bringing forth flashes of memories from the evenings since taking the ruby-red gift in hand. The nights of hazy passion, of desperate mewls and the touch of Samilen's own hand finishing the memory of another, touch like fire against his cock.
All the keeper can do is stare up at X'rhun, face hot and ears pinned back, expression desperate for a mixture of reasons that twist hard in the pit of Samilen's stomach.
X'ruhn looks down, his brow quirks for but a fraction of a second before he move forwards again.
"Samilen." He lets his voice slip low, a rumble in the back of his throat. "If you need something. You need to ask."
It's not a command, he would never command him to do this. But he does let the hand on his shoulder squeeze a little harder before it slips lower down his arm, gripping softly at the meat of his bicep and pulls him flat to him. He knew that Samilen was muscled, a man who was once a bard could never not be, but he feels all of him against the planes of his chest, even with the layers upon layers of clothes he wears.
Samilen can't hide the gasp that falls from his lips when his body presses against X'rhun's own, the older's grip firm and unyielding as he tugs them together. It leaves so many things hazy and so many more things clear as crystal, though the focus seems to fall quickly on the fact that Samilen is but hard against his trousers and can't help but feel a shiver of pleasure in how good it feels when the red mage's hips slot against his own, if only for a moment.
"I need-" Samilen bites his lip and tries uselessly to get his brain to work, to organize the situation and all that's happening, to at least try to put together all of the emotions in their rightful place. Alas, he can't--all he can think about is the man's low growl and rough hands on his skin.
"I need you." The words are hot with yearning. "Please, please I need--I need you ."
X’rhun is quick to respond, slotting his own lips against Samilen. He has to bow at the waist to do it, so much shorter than him is the other man, but he manages it all the same.
He takes Samilen into his arms, one hand going the small of his back and catching there, pressing him closer and closer still. This would be a quick rut. Not many people passed by the Coffer & Coffin, regardless they were also hidden by the shadows. Stranger things have happened in Thanlan than two men seeking pleasure with each other at the far end of a bar. His hand moves to Samilens crotch, pulling at the lacing there.
"How do you want it?" He asks, voice husky in his chest.
"Just-" Samilen's voice catches in his throat as his mind all but rolls over the words, the question, made so ravishing by the deep tone of X'rhun's voice. "Touch me, fuck me, I don't care. Anything."
Truly, Samilen hardly has a preference at that point, so addled with lust and yearning that he's hard-pressed to pick when the mere notion of X'rhun being pressed against him while he crests over climax is plenty enough to leave the younger man feeling dizzy with emotions. His hands reach up to grip at the other's shoulders, fingers winding tight in the ruby-red fabric that the keeper has come to know X'rhun for. He wants to keep the man close, so close, wants the moment to be forever seared into memory if only to sate the curiosity and wanting that digs against his heart and thoughts.
X'rhun presses closer, his hand stripping away the laces that keep Samilen's pants joined to his hips. He pulls them down slightly, revealing his underclothes and along with it, his straining cock. Thankfully the older male kept oils on him. In his travels they had come in handy from more things than just polishing his blade, euphemism entirely intended.
He presses the Keeper's underclothes down, freeing him of their constraints enough to reveal his cock. X'rhun was already hard as well and this sight did not help matters much. He pumps Samilen, once, twice, but then his hand is working at his own pants, trying to get them off.
Though addled with heat and stomach all but twisting with lust, Samilen certainly has enough of his wits still about to reach his hands down between the two of them, eager to help loosen the front of X'rhun's pants. Every brush of the back of the seeker's hands against his cock feels like electricity down Samilen's spine, only spurring him on all the faster, the question of what the other man's cock may feel like rutting against his own nothing short of desperate.
"Let me help-" is all the younger man can say, words nothing more than a rush of sounds and syllables as his fingers find how to loosen the buckle at the front of the other's pants.
The keeper hisses, one of pleasure as Samilen's quick hands are able to press away his belt and laces as if they are nothing. His pants threaten to fall as he moves Samilen back. Farther away from the lamp light and into a corner of the patio where someone might be unable to tell what they were doing.
X’rhun is careful to tug down his undergarments, hissing once more as the cool night air touches his already sensitive cock. It was large, ribbed, with a bulbous head that had made him embarrassed when he was younger but was now a large boost to his ego.
With a blink, Samilen came to realize that X'rhun was nothing if not proportional , leaving him with a heavy flush across his dark cheeks and a sudden twist to his stomach, as if his body could finally just feel --and twelve be damned, it felt for what those golden eyes see. As their hips press closer, both of their cocks come close enough that Samilen just can't help but compare, if only for a breath so hot and quick that X'rhun's comment of him repeating the coming into manhood was more accurate than he assumed.
"I never realized seekers were..." Samilen whispers hotly, voice trailing off as his eyes can't help but look down, then finally back up to the other man's face, lower lip drawn between his sharp teeth. "....bigger."
The Twelve help him; X’rhun laughs, only stopping when he bites his own lip.
"I told you I was to be Nuhn, yes?" He says, taking one glove off and then the other. They fall to the ground without a care and he takes the oil from his pocket. "In Seeker tribes," He explains, pouring some onto his fingers, "When you become Nuhn you tend to become ... bigger. In more ways than in musculature."
X'rhun rumbles another laugh. "I suppose I've gotten so old and been on the road for so long my body responded ... accordingly." He moves his hand behind Samilen, finding the base of his tail and then tracing down, circling his finger at his entrance. "I hope you don't mind."
Samilen all but whines as he feels fingertips tracing past the base of his tail, and squirms when those same fingers start to press against the tight muscles beneath. It brings to mind the last time he'd done something similar--which is to say but a handful of escapades several years earlier and with men and women of equal experience that he had (which was little at that point in Samilen's life).
The keeper's legs widen in an almost instinctual response and his ass presses back eagerly against the rough pressure of X'rhun's fingers but toying against the rim of his entrance.
"I...hardly mind," he breathes out through parted lips, arms seeking to wrap around the other's neck to anchor himself closer. "I don't see how I could mind at all, actually, it's--it's a bit of a turn-on, actually."
X'rhun hums, giving him a small kiss on the lips before he dares to press his finger into him, thrusting it in and out a handful of times before he sets a steady rhythm. He presses a hand into the soft white that is Samilen's hair, letting it lace through the tresses there, undoing his so tightly kept braid. He would be wrecked and beautiful after this, and X'rhun would be lying if he said he wasn't excited to see it.
"Good," He says against his lips, rutting his cock forward against the other Miqo'te's with a low growl.
So much happens in but a scant few breaths of time, though Samilen takes it all with a blooming willingness in his chest, a rapturous twist of heat in his stomach as the desperate frayed edges of his fantasies become nothing short of real and material. He's caught between the seeker's finger slipping deep within him, rubbing against his inner walls in careful encouragement to loosen him up, and the hot pressure of a stiff cock rutting against his own.
Samilen would have been a liar to say he wasn't excited by the notion of all of it happening, by even the soft peck of X'rhun's lips intimately against his own for but a flicker of a moment.
But it's the growl that gets him the most, the low noise seeming to make something just click in the keeper's mind, a switch left dormant in his brain that's finally been toyed with enough to life--and of all the noises that slip from his lips, he can't help but mewl .
"Careful," The older man says, even as his cock stirs to leadened hardness, even as he presses another finger alongside the first one, scissoring them in an attempt to steadily get Samilen ready for his girth and length. The mewl is so soft, so sweet, a man who has defeated beasts X'rhun wouldn't dare to have nightmares about is mere putty in his hands.
He presses his lips to an ear, reveling in the softness of his fur, "You wouldn't want someone to hear? Would you?" He asks, his voice a purr as he ruts his hips again, almost drowning in how good it feels.
Samilen's ears flick gently against X'rhun's lips, the words doing more to stoke the flames in his belly than put them out. What if someone did see them? Would they do anything? Would they sit there and watch? Samilen can't seem to find the shame to twist the thought out of his mind, a throbbing in his cock from the mere possibility that they could be caught--no, that Samilen himself could be caught. The esteemed warrior of light with his pants around his ankles, getting railed hard just outside a tavern like some desperate whore.
"Fuck," the man all but squeaks, ducking his head beneath X'rhun's chin, trying to figure out whether he wanted to press his hips forward or back as he's stretched open on thick, experienced digits.
Purring comfortingly, X’rhun presses his fingers through Samilen's twisting white locks once more as he adds a third finger.
He's careful now, spreading them to stretch Samilen open more as he readies him for the real thing now. He hears the wood squeak beneath someone's feet as they leave the bar. They either don't notice or don't care what they're doing as they walk past without incident. Good. He certainly didn't want them interrupted.
His cock was fire between his legs and he knew that only Samilen could sate this burning within him.
May the gods strike him down where he stand, Samilen absolutely felt a throb in his cock at the squeak of the wood hardly several yalms away from them. It's almost that he could feel the gaze of the anonymous bar-goer, though it could have easily been a trick of his own addled mind in the heat of the moment--regardless it did things to him, twisted and gnawed at the pit of his stomach just as he felt a third finger slide past the tight ring of muscle.
" X'rhun ," Samilen half-mewls, the noise muffled somewhat in the fabric of the man's jacket. Three digits already feel so thick, the calloused tips rubbing expertly against walls of his ass that he could go insane with the rising pleasure--would his cock even fit? Despite the worry, Samilen couldn't stop the eagerness in his voice as he all but pleaded,
"More, please--need you now--"
All X’rhun can do is nod. He wasn't about torture the man. Gently he turns him around, having Samilen hang onto the wooden pole that lifted the roof over them. His hands are firm on hips as he presses the head of his thick cock to the other man's entrance.
He teases it there, shivering at the pleasure that spikes up his spine and down into the pit of his stomach. He wants nothing more than to plunge into him and take him against the railing of the patio, but he waits instead, slowly getting him used to the idea of even his cock entering him.
Samilen grips the pole, his forehead pressed to the wood and his nails digging in deep, clinging to something to give him anchor as his muscles twitch and ache for the thick heat pressing against him. He almost expects X'rhun to thrust without hesitation, if only for the heat of the moment and the rushed nature of the encounter itself. No, Samilen certainly doesn't expect for the older man to wait, to pause long enough that Samilen can get his thoughts in order--long enough that it's purposed and it means something deep in the keeper's chest.
Samilen's ears pin back as he can't find the words to plead--only actions, his ass pressing back against X'rhuns thick cock to encourage the man forward and to slip inside of his needing body.
The seeker huffs, mostly because his last, single thread of control snaps, and he presses into Samilen with a groan.
At first, he takes it as slowly as he can, pressing into the smaller body before him inch by inch. X'rhun's fingers grip at his hips, squeezing there as he tries not to just take the man before him. Samilen was a good soul, a good Red Mage, he shouldn't have to put up with someone like X'rhun pounding him like a simple whore.
Eventually he allows himself to slot inside the younger man, biting his lip to keep back a cuss that stirs at the back of his throat. Oh, it'd been too long and yet just long enough.
Samilen is certainly no virgin, though there are too many years between his last encounter with a man and the breathless moment of now. He scarcely recalls what it was like to be beneath another person, to feel their hands on his hips and their body against his.
He remembers fooling around in the shadows of the soldiers' quarters of the Twin Adders, of curious kisses and desperate hands, of movements yet experienced and the shape of a cock spreading him open while he could only keep his lips sealed of noises that threatened to fall out.
But this, oh, this is something different; a combination of many years untouched and partners lacking as much experience (or girth ) as the miqo'te behind Samilen right now. His body opens up to the intrusion, slicked with oil and finger-fucked to a looseness that leaves him gaping soundlessly against the wooden pole--Samilen felt sorry for anyone who may look upon the marks he's leaving with his claws and wonder what caused them.
" Fuck ," the keeper whispers, the sound breaking up in his throat and only barely loud enough to hear. "Fuckfuckfuckyou'resobig-"
His tail lashes angrily against X'rhuns stomach as every inch of is sheathed within his wanting body, unable to find purchase or rest even when the older man's cock is pressed to the root inside of that tight, hot grip.
He moves forwards, his lips to Samilen's ear.
"Do you like that?" He asks, one hand slipping to his shoulder, the other firm on his hip. This would not be a gentle and languid love making, no. It would be a rough, quick fuck against a wooden post outside some dive bar. If Samilen wanted to make noise, then he could, it wasn't like he was coming back here any time soon. He uses his hands to pull him firmly onto his cock, letting his head rest against the soft, mussed white hair that carded over the other Miqo'te's shoulder.
As soon as he is snug around him he bucks forwards again, leveraging himself against him as he growls low in his chest. He can feel the ridges of his cock catching against Samilen's rim, and it causes him to moan, shutting his eyes with the pleasure.
" Yessss~ " is the best answer that Samilen can give in the moment, his brain addled with a pleasure unfamiliar enough that most of his brain is occupied with simply letting it wash over him. He's a fool to admit it out loud, but he's also a fool who's being fucked up against the outside of a tavern and he's already crossed that bridge and burned it to ashes behind him. Consequences are little more than a shadow in the back of Samilen's mind.
He squeezes around X'rhun's cock, as if to remind himself of the thick girth settled so deep within his body, if only to keep him inside for but one thin breath longer than normal between each hard, rough thrust. All Samilen can do is press his ass back, feeling the other's nails digging so painfully good into his skin that the marks will take days to fade away.
A few small moans escape the seeker’s lips, sounding far too close to the mewl that spilled from Samilen’s lips just a few moments before. The pleasure is already radiating down to his core, hard to control and harder still to hold restraint.
The hand on Samilen's hip splays downwards, slowly wrapping his calloused fingers around his cock and beginning to pump in tempo with the slow, hard thrusts of his hips. He grunts with the effort, pressing his lover firmly against the pole before him. The tavern behind them is loud and rowdy now, as it is deep into the night and people with nowhere to go are intent on staying in the warm light of the bar for as long as possible.
This probably isn't the first time someone has had a triste just outside the glow of the lanterns, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
It doesn't take long until Samilen is pressed near-flat against the wooden pole, his hands scrabbling for purchase until his claws dig deeper into the wooden surface. The only thing not pressed forward is his hips, instead caught between the grip of X'rhun's hand and his cock sliding deeper within him with every hard thrust forward. There's little to muffle the keepers noises than his lips, bitten between his teeth and doing next to nothing to hide each gasp and low whimper that spills every time the head of X'rhun's cock nudges up against a particular spot inside of Samilen.
So deep , Samilen thinks, hardly coherent enough to speak. The seeker's cock is so deep inside him, as if Samilen was made purely to compliment the shape that leaves him shaking, and there's no high greater than being purely at the mercy of cock-desperate lust.
One of his hands finally move from the pole and down to overlap X'rhun's own, not so much to guide the older miqo'te than simply to feel the tautness of muscles and dexterity of calloused fingers as they slide up and down the shaft of his throbbing prick, urging him ever closer to climax.
X’rhun grunts with each thrust, pressing as deep as he can now. X'rhun's lips nip at Samilen's ear, biting gently at the soft white fur.
"C'mon," He says, losing his usual cadence, all his high speech and pretty words. "I now you're close. I can feel it. Tell me baby..."
He purrs, fisting his cock now. The man beneath him his tight and hot against his cock. There is laughter and life behind them in the tavern but the night air is so much hotter now, so much brighter than any bar could be. He plunges himself in Samilen, quick snaps of his hips threatening to send him over the edge.
Baby.
In all the span of a second, no, but a breath, Samilen feels his entire world snap like twigs underfoot. He feels his body shake against his will, his ears flick uselessly against the nip of X'rhun's teeth, feels his mind turns to a blankness as rapturous white-hot euphoria fills his being. If sweet words are like syrup, Samilen feels sticky and sweet with how the other man's whispers fall upon him, drawing him over the edge and into a haze of babbling words of pleasure he cares not to hide or muffle.
" Fuck yes, y-essss- " Samilen's mewl is a strained whimper, fought only by the sound of his claws dragging down the gnarled wooden pole he's pressed against. " YespleaseX'rhunfuckdaddyohblessthetwelve -"
He feels himself spill over the seeker's fingers, sticky and hot and making a mess at his feet, but he's hardly in the mind to care when everything in the world around him feels just perfect .
The seeker gasps, something just as much unlike him as taking a not-quite-student and fucking them just outside the light of a bustling tavern.
Samilen's words had been a mess, yes, but he was coherent enough to make out quite a few things that he liked. Those thoughts, however, would have to be kept for later as he mind goes stark white. Every memory seems to be erased by the pleasure he feels as he plunges into Samilen one last time, cumming inside his tight hole as he lets out a long groan.
He keeps the man tight against him as he rides out his orgasm, and even he can feel his thick seed threatening to fill the other Miqo'te to the brim. He hisses his pleasure, the hand on Samilen's shoulder squeezing hard enough to leave bruises as the blinding white euphoria threatens to overtake his entire being. Finally, it passes, and he is left panting behind him, wallowing in the afterglow.
The pleasure of orgasm works it's last waves down through their forms, leaving Samilen to shiver when a sudden breeze picks up and licks icily against his skin, sweat accumulated on his brow and the nape of his neck.
He feels exhausted and dirty, legs quaking and body suddenly falling into the gaping emptiness that had long been dug in the haze of sex and need. The afterglow itself is pleasant, numbing the edges of his thoughts enough that he can at least enjoy the few moments of silent intimacy, the warmth and pressure of X'rhun's cock still sitting inside of him.
Samilen lets out a soft groan as he shifts his hips, the movement bringing to mind how full and wet he feels inside and how very, very spent he is; streaks of white paint over X'rhun and his own knuckles and across the wooden floor below.
But most of all, the keeper is left silent, just breathing in the cold desert air, unsure of what, if anything, he can say to break the warm silence between the two of them. He at least squeezes X'rhun's hand in his, cock going soft as even the last tendrils of afterglow too have to fade away.
X'rhun lets himself stay put, if only for a moment.
The heat around his cock feels good compared to the cool night air that now blows across the desert. He shivers both from stimulation and from the breeze that cools his already sweaty skin. After another breath his pulls out and away from Samilen, inspecting his cum coated hand.
Ah, it seemed that his partner had not partaken in this in quite a while, if the potency of the liquid on his hand is anything to go by. He hums, pulling his pants up and tucking himself away, before he looks to Samilen.
"Let's get you cleaned up," He says, gently pulling him from the railing to help tuck him away and make him more presentable.
Samilen helps as best he can, though his brain feels about as sluggish as the thick maple syrup that rolls down the tree trunks of the Black Shroud. It's not perfect, but the two of them together manage to get his clothes back on in a way that doesn't make him look as fucked as he feels, though every little shift of Samilen's hips leave a rolling wetness down his inner thighs which-oh gods--he will have to take care of the moment he's in an inn room or somewhere far more private. It's uncomfortable, but it does keep a flush painted dark over his cheeks, barely able to glance up at the seeker as he keeps the younger tugged close.
Samilen's tail thrashes softly behind him, indication only of his twisting thoughts as reality starts to burn through the pleasure; shame is a quick, vile beast after all.
"You don't-," Samilen starts, unsure what to do with his own hands. "-you don't have to."
"I don't. But I am." He says with a shake of his head, tutting as he tries to set Samilen right. He presses a hand through Samilen's hair, letting it all loose to slide over his shoulders. Unfortunately he'd never been very good at braiding, so Samilen would have to make do.
He helps the other man steady himself, looking the other man over once before nodding to himself. He looked like he might be slightly drunk, which in a way he was. He looks down at his hand, still coated in cum.
Well, there was only one way to get rid of that.
His tongue darts out, licking at the fluid, strangely salty sweet, until it was all gone. Good as new. He then bends quickly, retrieving his gloves and slipping them on. He looks to Samilen, nodding his head towards the bar,
"Let me buy you a drink, it would seem you need it."
Samilen's eyes are drawn to the smoothness of X'rhun's motions, the casual tone of his voice for an encounter he himself would not know how to handle so well. For the fact that the two of them just fucked in practically public view like two desperate teenagers just on the cusp of their adulthood, the seeker acts as if they merely finished the conversation that X'rhun had brought them out to partake in.
Samilen reaches a hand up to his crudely-rebraided hair, feeling touched in the fact that the older man gave even an attempt, and surely it would have to do until he could find a mirror. Just as golden eyes looked back for him to thank the other, Samilen's gaze froze as he saw the last flick of X'rhun's tongue over his cum-splattered knuckles, leaving him at a loss for words for several long, heated moments.
"A drink would be nice," he finally found the words to say, hoping he sounded half as composed. "After uh, something like that. Yes. A drink."
X'rhun gives another nod, moving to place a hand on the small of Samilen's back as he guides him back into the din of the tavern. The patrons don't seem to notice, or possibly don't seem to care about their previous actions. He leads them both to the bar regardless and taps the counter twice, letting the barkeep know that he wants is usual, but twice.
"Do you feel any better?" He asks, leaning to casually against the bar as if he hadn't been balls deep in the man beside him moments prior. He almost felt bad for whomever got the soul stone next. They were most certainly receiving that little tidbit of experience and it would be hard for either of them to explain exactly why.
Samilen took a seat beside X'rhun, mouth open to say something to the barkeep before the other's tapping distracted him--ah, he forgot how often the seeker frequented the bar, enough to have such a short-form gesture. It was on a second thought that the younger man figured it best that he avoided trying to hold conversation elsewhere anyway, considering how little he trusted the sound of his own voice.
"Physically better," the keeper says at last, fingertips tapping lightly on the surface of the bar, his ears falling in momentary caution. "I'm not so certain about emotionally. I mean--why--" His brows knit together as he turns his golden eyes to meet icy blue, face facing X'rhun well enough to see the dark color painted across his cheeks. "Why did you do that? I mean, I'm not--well, complaining at all I'm just--confused. About it."
X'rhun shrugs.
"Is it not another part of your training? To know how your body reacts and how to take care of it?"
He watches as the two ales slid down the slick surface of the bar. Whether it was because of the finish of the wood, or all the spilled drinks, he couldn't tell.
He grabs one, holding it aloft for Samilen to take. "It's just another way of finding balance. And balance is what you need, warrior of light." He smiles to himself. "A balance between self care and working hard. A balance between pain and pleasure. Red magic is much the same."
Samilen feels his brows knit, tension leaking into his expression as he weighs the words--perhaps it's simply his inexperience that colors his perception on the act the two of them had committed, but he is confused how the other man can act so casual about the whole situation.
Still, perhaps it's for the best that he does as the younger of the two has little idea what to say about it, and forgetting the encounter doesn't seem to be much a viable option at this point when he is still shifting in his seat, vaguely aware of wetness leaking from between his thighs that he'll surely have to deal with soon after leaving the tavern.
Samilen takes the offered drink in-hand and brings it gingerly to his lips, sipping once at the bitter liquid before collecting his thoughts up with a breath. If X'rhun can act casually about it, why can't he? Is it no different a challenge than besting primals, after all? Is it no more intimate than the visions he received from Hydaelyn so many times before, just....a little more...intense? Surely he can think of it that way, though it doesn't at all help that the seeker's smile almost makes Samilen's heart flutter just a little bit in his chest.
"If I didn't know any better I'd call this an elaborate ruse bestowed as a cruel joke of fate to press me harder into the studies," Samilen finally says, feeling his body soften with the taste of alcohol on his tongue. "I don't think I've had anyone much consider it that way--they're quicker to worry for my skill in battle than if I'm satisfying physical needs."
"I assume you're speaking of your friends, The Scions?" X’rhun asks, leaning casually against the bar. "But your physical needs are just as important." He hums, looking into his cup to think. "It's as if ... it's as if you have too much white magic in your system. Every once in a while you need to be selfish, to be greedy, if only for a moment." He sends him a small smile, "That way you can be a functioning person." He takes a long drink, the ale is bitter in his mouth but it feels cool as it runs down his gullet.
"I only wish things worked as simply as how you explain red magic," Samilen muses, nursing at his drink for a moment, as if to let the bitter liquid numb away the reminder nipping at his mind. "The Warrior of Light can't afford t'be selfish, and I think that's how they all see me--Not Samilen Jawantal, not a keeper from Limsa Lominsa, just...the Warrior of Light. Infallible, indomitable, incapable of fault or fear."
The bloom of heat in his belly is nice, though it's not a feeling Samilen often allows himself--the warrior can hardly be caught drunk, lest someone's life be on the line and he the only one to save it.
X'rhun's eyes turn sad, he puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Take the rest of the night off. Tomorrow too. No warrior of light business for you. Be yourself, if only for a few days." He gives him a small smile. "There is time for selfishness, even if you are a champion of the just. Take those few moments to yourself and come back to me. We'll begin your training then." He leans against the bar once more. "Though I would suggest rest before anything else, our exercises seem to have tired you out."
Though his words bring warmth to Samilen's chest, but they also spark a thread of concern--no, sadness. The prospect of taking time for himself is indeed a nice thing, something he's not had time to do for many moons since taking on the mantle as the Warrior of Light. Though Samilen misses spending time in the Black Shroud and collecting various flora and making money on the occasional task from Fufucha, he...would be a liar to say that his adventures with the Scions did not spark a need that he had long since ignored.
Companionship.
He couldn't simply return and act as if life was the same as before--Samilen fears returning to Gridania as but a botanist or carpenter, if only because people see him as something more, because he can't take the same joy in solace when his body craves for the touch and attention of another person. It's been a curse that he's found bittersweet relief from when his constant missions leave him too busy to think about it.
"...I can...try to do that," he finally says, a cold stone in the pit of his stomach as he forces a smile to his face. "It will be interesting to take up the axe instead of the bow or sword, I hope my skills haven't faded."
X'rhun smiles, nodding, "Of course, my friend. Take as much time as you need and then return to me. We will begin learning new skills when you've found your balance again." He says, taking another long sip of ale. "But for now I dare say you may need to see an inn room. You look as if you are falling down tired and I would not keep you from the sleep you seem to so desperately need." He himself probably needed it too. Drinking the night away was something he'd only done in his younger years and those were long behind him. Not to mention, sex did tend to take a lot out of a man.
Samilen hums, sipping at the drink in his hands until it is empty and his mind is full of thoughts he would very much not like to ponder on.
"I suppose I'll take my leave then, wouldn't do for someone to find the Warrior of Light passed out at a tavern in the middle of Thanalan." He hesitates for a moment then, after deciding that he'll have to move at some point, makes his leave from the bar itself. He passes X'rhun with a soft smile on his lips, though it's born of bittersweet emotions. "Keep an eye out for me if you happen to pass through the Black Shroud in the next several suns."
It's the closest thing he can bring himself to say that begs for companionship, if only for politeness' sake than anything else.
