You blame the Exarch.
Every year, like clockwork, you cloister yourself away from the Scions (and Eorzea as a whole). Every year since you reached your maturity, seclusion is the choice you've made. This year, however, thanks to the Exarch summoning you across the rift, you find yourself without that preferred recourse.
It starts with scent. Innocuous perfumes mixed with heady fragrances. The aroma of baking bread, flowers carried on the breeze--the musk of people around you.
The normally comforting vista of the Means now inspires restlessness. The oppressive stench of the alchemicals at the Spagyrics drive you to take refuge elsewhere. Even the books at the Cabinet overwhelm you with their mustiness.
Yet you cannot retreat as the early warning signs of your heat seep into your daily routine. The Warrior of Darkness is in high demand, and it is not until the meeting in the Ocular as you discuss traveling to Amh Araeng that you realize your symptoms are in full swing.
Sweating uncomfortably in the cool chamber, you shift in place and pray for a swift end to the meeting. Curls of arousal flutter up from your navel, and the distracting warmth has you pressing your thighs together in an ineffective attempt at relief. Perhaps you can beg a late start and claim a sun to see yourself through the worst of this.
The Exarch had choked up as you entered the enclosed Ocular, coughing hard enough to make what's visible of his face red. He had quickly waved off the Scions’ offered assistance, however if he is coming down with a sudden illness it would make things convenient for you to claim the same circumstance and delay--
The meeting finally draws to a close and you give a light cough, tail twitching at the deception to come.
"Are you ill, hero?" The Ascian perturbing your group's usual operation chimes up before the Scions can react.
The Exarch wrings his hands in comical concern, "My friend, if you are ill we can of course delay--"
You wave a hand in reassurance, hiding your discomfort behind the familiar stoic facade. "It's nothing serious, although if I might take a day or so to rest before joining you all in Amh Araeng..?"
They quickly agree, your friends far away from home, and file out the Ocular doors ahead of you. All save for the Exarch and the Ascian.
Emet-Selch makes to pass you and pauses instead, just past your periphery, and you hear him sharply inhale.
"Dear hero," he drawls, pivoting on his heel to face you,"are you aware that your aether is, quite literally, glowing?"
Your stoic mask crumbles at the accusation. You've hidden your symptoms so well! How is it the Ascian of all people can tell? Y'shtola is your only companion who should be able to see you, and she will at least be circumspect if not outright sympathetic. Seeker heats differ from Keepers', though the discomfort of denying one is similarly stressful. In matriarchal Keeper societies, a females' heat is designed to draw the attention of compatible mates; their scent and aether headily alluring to those that matched. It seems, however improbable and inconvenient, that Emet-Selch is a potential partner.
"That is none of your concern." You growl, pushing past him and ignoring the Exarch's muffled gasp behind you. The Ascian trails you to your room at the top of the Pendants, heels clicking and robes swishing loudly in your oversensitive ears. They flick in irritation at his persistence, your patience finally cracking as you reach your room's doors.
"Why in the Twelve are you following me?"
"I thought you'd never ask hero! To offer succor, of course." The man's expressive lips curl up in a wicked grin as he bows dramatically low, arm sweeping in grand gesture. The breeze shifts and the warm scent of leather and sandalwood caress your sensitive nose. The pert tip twitches as you realize that delicious smell is the Ascian's scent, pulling a wave of molten want to the fore. You cross your arms shakily, barring access to the door behind you while pushing down the irrational thoughts that jump to the front of your mind; if he smells that good how will he taste--
"And why in Shiva's frosty tits would I accept that kind of help from you."
Emet-Selch rises from his bow, golden eyes fixing you in place with their intensity and you shiver under his focus. His voice, when it comes, is husky and low and draws forth a frankly startling pang of need at how good he sounds now what hidden delights might he shout from beneath you--
"Why, because I offer eons of experience with such entertaining activities, and can promise satiation beyond any you've ever had." You stare, dumbstruck at his declaration and tongue numb in the face of such arrogance. "Ah, but if you doubt my offer, allow me to make a small gesture of cooperation before you dismiss me outright."
He strides forward and catches your chin in a gloved hand, face descending to meet yours, hovering barely an ilm from touching your parted lips.
"Will you accept this?" His breath fans across your face, scent potent and warm and filling your senses with hazy thoughts of undressing the infuriating man, of riding him down and having your way, splayed atop his lanky form, of biting his pale neck to stake your claim and--
You come back to yourself, panting hotly beneath his gaze. Carnal appetite forced back, forced down with your famous strength of will, you consider his offer with delirious desperation gnawing at your mind. You've avoided taking partners in heat before, the implications for bedding the warrior of light too costly for most. In addition, the plain embarrassment of succumbing to base instinct keeps you to your self-imposed cloistering. This Ascian has neither consequences nor judgement to care for, so perhaps it is worth having him attend you?
Emet-Selch mistakes your considering silence with a different kind of pause, and draws back while maintaining his glove's hold to keep your chin in place.
"This cannot be your first encounter Hero." A taunting smile crosses his face and you bristle at the implication, smacking his hand away.
"Of course it's not!" You growl, tail lashing side to side in agitation. Anger is cleansing, and you cling to the emotion like the drowning fool you feel you are.
"Then why deny yourself so, all this time, if you've partners to seek?" His gaze is heavy on yours, darkly curious, as his hands gesture to the whole of you.
"Because it's embarrassing! The hero of light, wanton and wanting like a common coeurl?"
"Oh, but there's no need to deny such base needs, hero. And no need to stand on ceremony with an avowed enemy in any case." He closes the gap, brushing knuckles against your reddened cheeks in a surprisingly tender gesture. "I only offer relief, my dear. At the very minimum, consider it my contribution to you all reaching the next Lightwarden without delay or distraction." His teasing tone belies the genuine concern you can hear in his voice, and recognizing that emotion sends fuzzy butterflies through you.
The purer emotion of being cared for staves off the tide of need prickling just beneath your skin for a much needed moment, and you come to your decision.
"What the hells, this might as well happen. Get in here, Ascian." You fist a hand in his coat's thick material and drag him within your chambers. He scarce has a moment to gasp before you pin him to the door inside, mouth raising to consume his. His mouth tastes of waxy lipstick, faintly cherry, yet more filling than any meal you've taken in the past sun.
With a pleased purr, his hands come up to rest at the small of your back, slender fingers delving to play with the swell of your tail. You choke at the pleasurable zing it sends up your spine. It's been an age since anyone was close enough to attend your catlike traits. Their neglect shows in how quickly that basic touch has you squirming, kiss stuttering at the rush of sensation. He chuckles against your lips as your hips cant up to grind against his, pulling a whine from your parched throat as he offers a knee between yours as friction. You rut against his muscled thigh, thick robes bunching in pleasurable bands along its length.
All too quickly you feel yourself clenching, intimate bud overwhelmed and buzzing from the textured clothing between you. Emet-Selch grasps your hair, yanking your head to the side to bite at your exposed neck, and the sharp pain sends you over your first crest. With a keening wail your thighs come together, feet off the ground as you cling to his supporting leg. Hands scrabble at the front of his jacket, seeking purchase to hold yourself steady though the spiking pleasure. Murmuring encouragement, his tongue laves at the stinging bite. His hands caress your backside as your rutting slows, heat soothed momentarily.
Gloved hands cup your buttocks and you give a startled yelp as Emet-Selch effortlessly lifts and carries you to the bed, legs clinging to his sides in surprise. He deposits you on the edge of the bed and sinks down, hands prising your legs off him and spreading them wide.
"Let us move on to a proper appetizer, shall we my dear?"
Your pleasantly-muzzy haze dissipates as you feel his teeth on your skin, wending his way up to your waist where he tugs your lacings undone with teeth alone. His hands occupy themselves with your boots, cradling your heel as he slides them off one at a time. Fingers press into your neck and rub soothing circles, dragging to the crux of your jaw in relaxing massage and your eyes flutter shut at the deep relief it brings to your perpetually tense joint. His hands remain at your ankles, however, squeezing your uncovered skin, and you open suddenly uneasy eyes to see him watching from between your knees. His golden eyes sparkle in laughter as firm fingers continue to massage your jaw despite his gloves still clearly below, tracing esoteric patterns up your calves.
As you open your mouth to inquire, purple aether coalesces before you and presses a newly formed finger against your lips. You persist, startled eyes wide, and mumble a questioning noise.
"Of course I will use every means to please you, unfamiliar to you they may be. I am, after all, so much more than a mortal man, my dear."
His utter confidence sparks something primal within, a sense that you have chosen well, a strong mate to keep you and hold you and--
You mewl as his mouth finds your covered cleft, pants already wet from your rutting, and your infuriating Ascian drags his tongue across the dampness. His hands rise to catch at your trousers, loose and ready to disrobe with laces undone. The need to feel him, to glory in his skin on yours has you squirming as his hands remove your bottoms. He chuckles at your unintended resistance, snapping the trousers off despite your wriggling.
The cool air is a balm on your bare skin, but the look he gives you stokes the fires within. He licks his lips hungrily, and delves forward to seize your smallclothes in his teeth. Grasping the band with a deliberate click, he pulls them off you with a leisure that has you impatiently moving forward to force him close. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, echoing loud, too loud, and you need to move in time with that beat. Emet-Selch seems determined to taste you, however, and resists your pull, instead planting his chin on one thigh to look up at you.
"Allow me to sup, dear hero." A gloved finger finds its way along your folds, picking up a line of slick and glistening in the room's dim lights. He regards the digit with what might be wonder in his eyes. "I would taste what your body so generously offers."
Hands press into your back, massaging battle-weary muscles, and you groan at the touch. It has been so long since you've been touched, nay, caressed like this. You nod assent, willing to indulge the source of this overwhelming comfort. Your eyes drift shut, leaning into the spectral hands working your back. He will sate you, and with that certainty you placate the rising haze of your heat.
The first inquisitive touch of his tongue sets you to trembling, a cursory investigation along the same path his glove had traced. The difference in textures, past one stiff and this one pliable, lights your blood to the beat of your heart. His tongue meanders about your folds, collecting the arousal you've been dripping, before licking up to your tender clit. Swallowing loudly, he gets to work pleasuring your sensitive bud, lapping and sucking in turns until you're grinding into his face. The spectral hands on your back and jaw move to more sensitive areas, massage abandoned in favor of chasing your high. One settles at the base of your tail, fingers digging into the dense fur. Another pair cradle your ears, pinching along the outer edge and dragging their way to the tips. You howl, the trio of sensations a wave of primal bliss that sucks you under. Emet-Selch continues to swirl his tongue about your cunt, tipping a cheeky lick into you to feel your release, and you gasp, chest heaving at not stopping, he's still touching and moving and oh--
Your continued release surprises him, eyes flicking up to watch your body arch, your arms barely able to keep you up with their ragged trembling. Frowning he mutters, "but I've barely begun to sup." Eyebrows creasing in selfish determination, he draws back to your heat and sets his tongue within. Stretching deep despite your tightening walls, he sends his nimble tongue against you and drinks deep.
Blinking rapidly in the wake of your orgasm, you feel a new wave of warmth lapping at your navel even as the hot crash of the previous lingers. Your muscles tense and relax, unable to settle on one state under this continued assault on your senses.
Is this what a fulfilled heat is like? You're not sure your self-control will hold up, fraying at the edges as pleasure pulses rhythmically through you.
Emet-Selch nestles against your cunt, and you jolt in surprise as you feel a tug on your aether. You feel his smile against your folds, tongue curling as a corresponding thread of your aether is drawn out.
"I have to say, your aether tastes as good as it promised, glowing like that. As though inviting me in to try it." His head rises briefly to deliver his verdict, chin wet with your slick. "That's exactly what one of your Keeper heats does though, does it not hero? Invites in prospective partners with the means available?"
A chill runs down your spine at his clinical analysis, and you shake aside his spectral hands in sudden discomfort.
"Oh please don't be alarmed, that's such a boring response. I only bring this up to compliment such a lovely flavor, and to inquire whether you were aware the Exarch has been equally entranced?"
"Has been watching, no doubt jealously, through that mirror of his since I followed you back here. Do you hear that Exarch?" Emet-Selch's head tilts to an empty space near the ceiling. "She tastes just as good as her scent promises."
You freeze as a sense of watching trickles through your heat subsumed senses. Yet your body responds with alarming interest, moisture gathering at your cleft with the assertion that another male, another mate to make yours is nearby--
Emet-Selch chuckles at your body's unmistakable reaction, delivering one more remark before turning back to attend you.
"Invite him or not, I care not. Just know that I am the one that shall please you most."
Between gasps brought on by the Ascian's ministrations, you beckon to that empty space and pant out an invite to the mysterious man. You do not know if he will come, but the sense of watching dissipates nonetheless.
Spectral hands tease you through another release, come soaking the bed beneath you at this point. Even with Emet-Selch's best efforts, he cannot catch and consume all the slick your body provides. Your awareness is tearing, sinking, delighting in the simple pleasures persuading you to let loose, let go, just feel--
It is as you are succumbing to the siren spell of your heat and the Ascian satisfying that thrumming flame between your legs that the door creaks open. A hesitant blue crystal hand curls around the door and slowly pushes it open, as though afeared of what it will witness inside. Whatever reservations the Exarch has melt away with a swiftness as he casts his hooded gaze on the pair of you, who have still not quite managed to both get on the bed. The Exarch physically jerks as Emet-Selch coaxes another orgasm from you, your hips bucking against the Ascian's disheveled face.
Noting your split attention as you bask in this newest high, Emet-Selch turns to give the Exarch a devilish grin.
"Decided to join us, oh mysterious lord of the Crystal Tower?" The Ascian waggles a hand in his peculiar greeting, slick glistening along the glove's fingertips. The lewd sight seems to excite the Exarch, his breath hitching and fingers twitching while his arms remain rigid at his sides.
"Exarch--" You purr, welcoming the new arrival. "Lock the door?"
You see his throat working, then his spoken hand reaches behind him to fumble the lock closed.
"By your leave, my friend." The Exarch walks towards you haltingly, and both you and Emet-Selch pause to watch the man's approach. The lean muscle visible beneath his robes and his crystal limb excite you, wondering what he will feel like, what the crystal will feel like on your skin--
"If we are to share, then I must insist our guest here goes first." Emet-Selch rises from between your legs, drawing alongside you and scooting further on the bed until he sits behind you. Warm leather presses against your back, lanky legs on either side of you. You beckon the Exarch closer until he stands before you, barely contained lust in his voice.
"Is this--am I what you want, warrior?"
"Yes--" you breath, and he is upon you. Hungry lips push you back into Emet-Selch's chest, devouring your mouth as though he intends to memorize it ilm by ilm. The Exarch's hands come up to seize your arms, tugging roughly to pull your tunic over your head, then palming your newly-revealed breasts. Emet-Selch growls at that, hugging his arms around your abdomen from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.
"The wonders I will show you," the Ascian whispers, breath puffing gently against your ear as the Exarch breaks your kiss and dips his mouth to your chest. "The pleasure I will wring from your mortal frame," he continues, a spectral hand grasping your tail and raking stiff fingers down its length. You writhe under these dual attentions, anchored in place by the men surrounding you.
The Exarch uses teeth and draws your nipple taut, firm bite holding the pert bud in place while his spoken hand massages the other, tweaking its counterpart between two fingers. The twin pains morph to pleasure, a welcome sensation to stoke the fire in your blood. His free crystalline hand walks its way down your torso, a strangely warm yet smooth texture, to ply his fingers at your cleft. You hear his sharp inhalation at how wet you are, pliant and sopping and impatient to be filled. Hips buck against his hand and you yowl a command.
Emet-Selch's arms keep you from chasing as the Exarch draws back, his hands hurriedly pulling at his robes to expose his smallclothes and the bulge furrowing the front of them. You whine at the loss of contact, hands reaching to pull him back pull him in and take him--
A gloved finger invades your mouth and you close down on it, hard, garnering a hiss from the man behind you.
"Fangs, why is it always fangs with you--"
The rustle of clothes hitting the floor draws your attention back to the flushed Exarch, disrobed just enough to pounce upon your offered intimacy. His cowl remains miraculously in place as he lunges forward, one spoken hand to your hip the other crystalline and warm below your thigh to lift as his length bumps against you.
"Well that's one question answered," notes the Ascian, peering over your shoulder at the Exarch's cock. Crystal winds from the tip upwards in a blue affectation at a happy trail. The smooth stone glitters where soft skin should be at his length's base, and you cannot wait to experience how it feels.
"Must you narrate everything, Ascian?" The Exarch growls, hidden eyes casting towards Emet-Selch's perch. The Ascian merely grins, arms tight around your midriff as a spectral hand plays with your tail.
"Intriguing glamour Exarch, I am ever so curious as to what lies beneath." His hand raises threateningly between them, gloved fingers curled to snap, before you bat it away. Twisting in his grasp, you meet Emet-Selch's lips with yours in a chastising kiss, biting his lower lip and holding it deliberately. His eyes widen at the sting, locked with yours nearly black from arousal. Blinking assent, as though you are a cat in truth, he returns his hand to lace with his other around you. You release him, huffing an approval, and turn back to the barely leashed Exarch. The Exarch's eyes seek yours, though the gloom beneath his hood proves impenetrable to your vision.
"Do you--warrior, my friend, may I have this?"
You growl in response, words proving difficult to find in the depths of your passion. "Only if you get on with it."
With no further hesitation the Exarch lines himself up at your dripping entrance and thrusts in, hilting himself in one fluid motion. You both gasp at the sensation, smooth stone and flesh joined in electric tandem. Wasting no time, with how ready you already are, the Exarch sets a punishing pace. For all that he had seemed overwrought on entering your room, there is no trace of insecurity now.
His rhythmic thrusts push you against Emet-Selch who once again offers you a gloved finger. A different one this time, no bite mark in the leather. Yet. You suck on the proffered digit, pulling it deep across your tongue as the Exarch fills you in rounds. Thusly pinned you feel another wave of heat pooling within. The Exarch shifts your thigh higher, changing the angle he strikes at, and suddenly he's hitting that patch of your inner walls with the firm line of crystal. You wish you could hold that moment tight, but some few strokes later you come undone. Shrieking your release around the Ascian's finger, your back bows against Emet-Selch as the Exarch continues to fuck you.
Emet-Selch's abandoned finger moves to caress your neck, lining a wet trail to your mouth. Clasping tight, he uses that hold to keep you in place as his mouth finds one of your pointed ears. Nipping at the sensitive fold, you shiver and twitch against him in protest, drawn from the shocks of orgasm with his distraction. The Exarch groans at your tensing muscles, shifting his grip to lift both your thighs with brutal efficiency.
"With how willing you are to please her, one might think you had dreams of such an encounter Exarch." Emet-Selch's voice is a warm murmur against your ear, darkly probing. The slap of skin on skin is the Ascian's only answer, the Exarch's emerging frown cut short by your hands rising to frame his face and pulling him down for a kiss. You pant into his mouth in time with his thrusts, lips jostled by the abrupt movements. Bent almost in half to fuck you and kiss you simultaneously from this angle, the Exarch mutters a warning in the gaps between your lips.
"My L--my warrior, I-I--you feel so good so soft--" he moans out, hips stuttering. Your grip shifts to seize his nape, crushing his mouth to yours as you surge up against Emet-Selch's grasp to press your hips to the Exarch's in a final joining, mutual peaks found. He buries himself deep, length pulsing within as you grind against his crystal base, howling as the tremors of another release seize you. Mouths parted to sing your release, the Exarch shifts his mouth over your neck opposite Emet-Selch's bite mark and bites down to leave his own. The sudden pain pulls another wave of pleasure through you, clenching tight around the Exarch's cock.
The Exarch whimpers around the bite, hips stuttering against yours in helpless abandon. You remain joined thus for a few heartbeats more, ragged breathing smoothing out as the Exarch's teeth leave you with a glistening trail back to his proof. Proof of having had you, proof you bear with a primal satisfaction of having had him. He rests his head on your shoulder, a momentary indulgence as his hips depart yours and reverent hands gently lower your legs back to the floor.
"Now with the opening act out of the way--" Emet-Selch pulls your panting form away from the Exarch and fully onto the bed. You squirm as he shifts above you, sensation buzzing almost painfully across your skin. A gloved hand caresses your cheek as he eyes your condition, shameless smile pleased at what he sees. You hear the Exarch clear his throat, hands outstretched to follow you to keep you slowly falling back to his sides. Your appetite whets itself at the sight of his expressive lips, curving down at the thought of dismissal. Rather than leave him to languish, you extend a hand in invitation, summoning him to the head of the bed.
Emet-Selch taps your cheek with a displeased finger, reclaiming your attention for a deep kiss as you turn back to face the Ascian. His tongue is demanding, sliding against yours in starved supplication. You moan at the heat it draws forth, buzzing body yet capable of coming more. The barest thought that this insatiable appetite will ruin you evaporates under Emet-Selch's continued attentions. Focus on the here and now is firmly established under his insistent touch.
Spectral hands take your wrists and pin them to the bedspread, identifiable only by the gloved texture they lack. Emet-Selch breaks your kiss, leaving you panting as he laves a path down your neck, your collarbone, paying special attention to his bite mark. More spectral hands coalesce, mounding flesh for his teeth to nip. You arch against the Ascian, his clothes an unwelcome barrier between you. Growling dissatisfaction, you hook an ankle behind his back to pin him in place.
"Strip." You hiss, craning your neck forward to lock eyes with the impish Ascian.
"Very well my dear, though you will have to release me first." Obligingly you remove your leg, settling your head in the Exarch's lap to watch as Emet-Selch pushes himself back off the bed. The Exarch gasps softly at your casual assumption of his lap, mussed robes a comfortable pillow. His hands hover nervously for a moment, before settling in your hair to scrape splendid points across your scalp.
Purring fills the room, and Emet-Selch casts a curious gaze back at your relaxed form where you lay sprawled amongst the Exarch's robes, tail swishing leisurely against the sheets. The Exarch continues his massage, soft smile dimpling his cheeks. The Ascian gives an impressive pout, grumbling something to himself before raising his fingers in a snap.
The room is suddenly plunged into darkness, your purr cutting off at the abrupt change. Slowly, a quiet strain of music filters to your ears, perked up and straining to sense in the absence of sight. The soft melody trills and dips playfully, as though wrapping you in a caress, before deeper bass is introduced. Over the building beat you catch a familiar ruffling of skirts, and with a blinding snap the light returns. Emet-Selch stands poised in the center of your room, arms to the heavens, as the room's sole illumination spotlights him.
Hips swaying his voluminous skirts to the beat, the lanky Ascian runs white gloves down his form. The contrasting colors of white on black keep your eyes keenly on the nimble digits as they seductively climb down Emet-Selch's attire. Slender fingers dig into the luscious fur of his collar and pry the jacket's opening apart, shoulders shrugging the weight of it to the floor with a clatter. Unseen hands tug you upright, sitting, placed just so to watch his show. Emet-Selch dances with the music, an incorporeal muse, suggestion forgone in favor of lust made manifest.
Hands catch at his ornate buckle, belt undone, and you imagine it is your hand dropping the metal to the floor. His overcoat swings loose, unsecured, obscuring his profile. Dipping a shoulder, he uses the opposite appendage to tug the black outerwear down, ilm by barest ilm until it hangs by friction alone. He spins, tempo picking up, and the overcoat slides free, vanishing into the pitch black room. White shift, red underdress, provocative gloves, and well-worn boots remain. The warmth of the Exarch is forgotten behind you as new heat blossoms from watching Emet-Selch's performance.
A hand rises to catch the edge of his mouth, gloved fingertip held gently between his teeth. Drawing his hand away from that barest bite, he slowly reveals a smooth, uncalloused palm, then the base of his fingers, full lengths still trapped in leather above. A soft touch on your hands, released and resting in your lap, distracts you from the show. You cannot see but need no sight to remember this gloveless texture. Spectral hands smooth your hands open, palms up. They press into your palms, the pads of your fingers, pinching between digit and base to match Emet-Selch's teeth to his own hands as he discards his gloves. As though it is your hands his teeth are paying worship to. Your breath picks up tempo with the music.
Running bare hands to cup and curve around his profile, hardly a mystery with the remaining layers, stokes the need to possess, to mark, to claim this man. His broad shouldered build, tapering waist, mussed hair, and knowing gaze bring your hands to your own form, teasing touches along sensitive paths to ready yourself. The Ascian flares his white shift open, stepping out of it, and you cup your hand around a breast in response. Clever hands reach around to his proud back, pulling the ties of his red skirt loose, and you give your nipple a good tweak. The light glints on his lean muscle, skintight trousers and boots all that remain to obscure him from hungry eyes. Your hungry eyes.
A probing touch, distinctly not from Emet-Selch, pokes your sides in question and you feel the edge of the Exarch's sleeve against your skin. You look back into the inky darkness as the Ascian bends to address his boots, keen eyes barely able to distinguish friend from shadow. The Exarch points your head back at Emet-Selch, crystal hand smooth on your chin as he sidles up against your back. You watch Emet-Selch's feet move in time with the beat, steps light despite his perpetually poor posture. It's a strangely enticing sight, with sarcasm silenced he is a purely beautiful vista to behold.
Your hand creeps down to your cleft, spreading your folds sufficiently for a finger to slip in, as Emet-Selch rolls his barely clad hips to you. His hands laced behind his head, you admire the precision he puts on display. Muscles tense in a round, from his torso down the lightly haired chest to his abdomen in a controlled flex. Dark hair hints at more, gathered in a line above his trousers, and you find your mouth salivating at the meal to come. His sinful smile promises everything you're hoping for and more.
Hands descend, hugging himself as a lover might, until they reach his last restricting article of clothing. His thumbs frame the unmistakable shape of his arousal, taxing the material restraining it.
"See something you like?" His lilting tone catches you off guard, fingers stilling against your cunt. Returning a smile, you growl, "a fine show, though I cannot help but wonder if the main act will deliver."
The Ascian's stare sears you, predatory glare sharp at your challenge. Lips curling in his trademark smirk, his fingers prise the trouser band low, forcing the cloth down until it rides hard against his stiff length. Spectral hands materialize around his cock, purple digits translucent such that you can see the way he flexes when they run up his length to the trouser's lacings stretched tight above. With deliberate touch they pull the ties open, easing the pants down, naked pride finally on full display.
You drag hungry eyes over him as he sways slightly to music half-forgotten in your rising lust. He struts up to you, spotlight diffusing to dimly light the whole of the room. Hands catch at yours, pulling them to the planes of his chest as he looms above the bed.
"Now let us test that heroic endurance of yours, my dear." His voice rasps.
The scent of dry desert spice invades your nose as a tanned arm crosses your vision, winding around you tight. The Exarch props his head on your shoulder, frowning, possessive intent clear as he locks eyes with Emet-Selch.
The Ascian draws back with an exasperated huff. "Really now Exarch? Are you not familiar with the concept of sharing?"
You silence the Exarch with a hand, cutting off his clear intent to argue.
"Both of you are mine." You squeeze the hand over the Exarch's mouth, wringing a wince from the robed man. He gathers himself as though to argue and you narrow your eyes at his willfulness.
"Let it never be said I did not try compromise." Emet-Selch intrudes on your moment, snapping his fingers for some new act of magic. The Exarch stiffens, and you cast your gaze back to him, puzzled. Nothing appears changed, his hood and glamour still in place. Then, a gentle probing to match the Exarch's hard length pressed against your back. The foreign sensation works its way around the robes enclosing you, and you see a spectral tendril poke out from the Exarch's clothing. Squinting, you eye the tendril, noting its similarities to ochu feeder vines with a bulbous prehensile tip.
"Allow me to offer both of you succor." Emet-Selch's voice pitches low, echoing ominously through the room. Shadows split and spread, rising from the surfaces around you with a brief burst of purple aether to gain tactile form. A branch of them swell behind you, forcing the Exarch back to the middle of the bed. There, they strike swift as vipers to lash his limbs tight, spread wantonly for your perusal.
"Now you have had your turn, Exarch, though I am not an unreasonable partner." Gold tipped fingers reach past you to fondle the Exarch's crystal arm, claws scraping a chime from the glittering material. "I shall assist you in finding relief, while seeing to our dear warrior here. She has been so very patient, waiting for the main course, after all."
"That would require hands to be what is holding you," Emet-Selch cuts him off, wiggling his own in mockery. Intrigued, you crawl to the tendrils restraining the Exarch and run a curious hand down one's length. Emet-Selch shudders behind you, eyes fluttering shut at the touch. Noting his response, you shift over the Exarch's leg and grind down atop one of the bindings. Both men groan, low and lustful. You grin, primal satisfaction apparent at your mates' reply, lovely partners to please and keep--
Joyful with the opportunity to please both, though you ache to be filled, you forgo that need for the moment to roll your hips across the Exarch's bound limb. He jerks ever so delightfully, robes pushed aside by the tendrils to display his weeping cock, still smeared with evidence of your earlier coupling. Emet-Selch's breathing hitches, soft dip of the bed heralding his arrival beside you.
"My dear--" he entwines a hand with yours, strange pallor stark against his new golden nails. Raising your hand for a kiss, brushing warm lips across your knuckles, he captures your attention despite the leg you're currently straddling.
"I want you down on the bed next to him, that he may watch." The Exarch makes a strangled noise, and Emet-Selch's smile above your hand shows teeth. "And if he is good, mayhaps you will indulge him in another round? That is, if he lasts through my ministrations." The Ascian's confidence that the Exarch will be anything but putty after his eldritch attentions strikes a low chord in you, and you match his indecent grin. You look to the Exarch, trussed and squirming under your combined gaze.
"Those terms are agreeable to me. Do you accept, Exarch?" You blink cat-slow at him, desperate to have him, desperate to have him want to be had. He gulps, throat working and mouth opening to silence. Clearing his throat, he tries again.
"Do your worst, Ascian. I accept the terms."
Emet-Selch's smirk widens, looking like the cat who has caught the canary. "I do think you will enjoy regretting that statement, Exarch." Turning from the bound figure, Emet-Selch gently nudges you into position beside him, pressing you down on the scarce bed space with a soft smile. Starting with your face, he rains kisses down your form. As he leaves your neck, a firm tendril takes its place, flexing against the sensitive area to make you shiver. Two more encompass your breasts, rubbing insistently to peak them, as he continues downwards.
You hear a gasp to your side and turn your head to look, before your view is eclipsed by another tendril. The Exarch, panting, as dark coils move across him to mirror their placement on you. The obscuring tendril pats your cheek in a facsimile of a hand, and tilts your face to seek the Ascian's.
"Eyes on me, my dear."
Emet-Selch continues his path to your navel and pauses, basking in your keen attention. What new pleasures will he introduce to you? Your thighs press together briefly, quivering in anticipation.
Nudging your legs apart, he dips his head to lick a stripe up your folds, as though needing reminding of your taste.
"You are still quite wet, yet--" His hand snaps out to catch your tail, thumping the bed in your excitement. Bare fingers twine with your furred appendage, stroking their way up and down. "--There is always room for improvement."
His tongue works you over, plying his mouth against your clit with lessons well learned from his earlier visit. Tendrils massage you intimately above, no restraints on your limbs to stop you curling your hands into Emet-Selch's disheveled hair. When you come, back bowing, you are absolutely dripping, soaking the bed beneath his chin. His eyes fairly gleam as he props himself up, crawling forward to cover you with his lean body as you twitch from the aftershocks. Lining up at your entrance, he whispers a question one last time.
"Do you accept me?"
Your eyes flutter open, blissful haze sharpening into something more. Something intent, that recognizes the vulnerability in the Ascian's eyes and roars a possessive note. You meet his gaze with raw want and reply, "I will take everything."
He groans your name, hips sliding to meet yours as he hilts inside you in one smooth thrust. Pausing a moment to gather himself, he sets an almost languid pace, savoring the smooth slide of skin on skin.
The Exarch moans beside you, visible now past the tendril. Shadowy coils encase his cock, writhing lengths shuddering rhythmically. The broad tip of it messages his crystalline base and below, teasing at lower pleasures. You can faintly see the line of crystal on his cock, glittering under the engulfing shadow. He whimpers behind tightly clenched teeth as the tendril probes below, bound legs trembling helplessly at the stimulation. You reach out a hand to grasp at his, cool crystal bumping against your heated skin as Emet-Selch's thrusts jostle your form. The Exarch seizes your hand like a life line, head turning to watch you and flushing a deep crimson at the sight you present.
The distraction milking his cock falls flat in the face of watching Emet-Selch moving inside and over you. The Exarch jerks, fingers spasming around yours, as his head bows back into the bed with the strength of his release. You cannot help but respond to his cry of passion, your heat pushing your body to come and come and come again, more sensitive and willing to tip over into orgasm each time your lovers sing with you.
Emet-Selch groans above you, riding out your clenching muscles with his languid pace unimpeded. In an attempt to increase his pace, you rock your hips upwards, whining. The Ascian only chuckles at your desperation.
"Now now hero, all good things come to those who wait." He taps your nose in admonishment, summoning new tendrils to lovingly embrace your limbs and pull them snug to the bed. You struggle a bit, bindings tightening to match your strength, and fall back with a sigh as Emet-Selch continues to move atop you. The new tendrils do not merely bind you, however, as you discover them creeping further up your limbs.
You jolt as one snakes its way between you, rubbing at your clit as Emet-Selch's cock continues to rock into you. Dipping his head to your shoulder, he alternates sweet murmurs with nips and tongue pressing over his bite mark. The tendrils progress further, tips curving to reach your sensitive areas, and caress them until you are buzzing from every sensitive spot you knew you had and some you didn’t. Your tail, unrestrained, wraps around the Ascian's thigh in instinctual affection as an intimidatingly large roil of heat wends through you. Pleasure builds, rising from every roll of the Ascian's hips, every pulse from his shadowy tendrils, every whisper he croons in your ear until--
Bliss whites out your vision as your body shudders in exultation. Your shriek is cut short by Emet-Selch's mouth, crashing down to consume yours. His hips stutter, drawing you through your cresting release as he finds his own, though his tendrils never falter. Drinking down your cry of pleasure, he remains a solid weight over you until your muscles cease their spasming. Trembling, still bound in his dark aether, you watch as Emet-Selch rolls off to rest beside you. His smile is sleepily sated, eyes half-closed and smug with a task well executed and enjoyed. For all that his chest has slowed its heaving, his tendrils still wrap and pulse around you and, you check belatedly, around the Exarch.
"Lovely as your aether is, my vessel requires rest. Not to worry however, hero, I promised you succor and will see you sated."
A thrill strikes through you as he delivers on his word, propping himself up on an elbow to watch as his dark coils resume their intimate attentions. The Exarch shares in your pleasurable torment, tendrils seeing you both to repeated completion until your bodies give out.
Harsh breathing fills the room, two completely spent and another darkly satisfied. Before the watched pass into oblivion, the watcher arranges them into a comfortable heap. Water and gentle cloths clear off the worst of the mess, the messy pair unable to do more than mumble their assent before passing into sated sleep.
All too soon, the morning comes, damp fog over your senses muffling the world as if through a dense blanket. You are unsure if this deprivation comes from your completed heat or is simply a result of the truly exhausting evening you shared. Grumbling at the morning sun disturbing your sleep, you make to get out of bed and find yourself stuck. A tanned arm, scent still faintly reminiscent of the desert, holds tight to your middle. Another arm, long and pale, reaches past you to snap and the window shades close.The weak light cuts off, and, mission accomplished, the arm flops back on top of the covers.
You sigh, wistfully weighing staying in bed against the day’s duties that require your hand. As always, the scales tip towards duty, and you pry yourself loose of the grumbling pile in your bed. Wincing at the chilly floor, you make your way to your scattered clothes, throwing the worst into the laundry and pulling the rest on for some semblance of decency. You discreetly check your Adventurer’s Tattoo and find it functional, no kits in your future, though after this fulfilling an evening you will need it renewed. Noting to stop by the guild once this whole adventure is finished, you dress for Amh Araeng.
The pile behind you groans at the light intruding once more as you throw the shades open, wincing at the bright dawn. You blink, eyes adjusting, and find your morning fog retreating. The aches from such an involved evening do not dissipate as swiftly, but you find your enthusiasm for the day growing nonetheless.
“Amh Araeng awaits!” You call, smiling and ears perked to the pair hiding in your bedsheets.
Amidst much grumbling from the Ascian, and a mortified flush from the groggy Exarch, your odd group makes their way out of the Pendants to return to the Ocular. For all that Emet-Selch grumbled loudest at having his sleep interrupted, he looks remarkably well rested. His smooth gait glides along the steps through the Aetheryte Plaza, in stark contrast to the Exarch’s and your limping strides. Over the growing bustle of the waking Crystarium, the Ascian poses a query.
"Well, hero, I trust our time together met your expectations?" You give him an incredulous look as the Exarch coughs and averts his gaze. Emet-Selch practically floats alongside you, radiating smug satisfaction, as though he had been the one in need of sating.
"If you're asking if that's the best heat I've ever been party to, yes. That said, it's also the only heat I’ve indulged in, so really you’ve just set the bar.” You smirk as his smile morphs into an impressive pout. Reaching out, you cup both the Ascian’s and the Exarch’s cheeks with warm affection. “And I would not have had it any other way.”
Emet-Selch closes his eyes and rolls his face into your hand, offering a chaste kiss to your palm before pulling away and striding towards the Crystal Tower, humming a jaunty tune. The Exarch seems transfixed, hidden eyes eyeing you as he stands frozen in your grasp. You eventually move to withdraw, to carry on, but are stopped by his crystal hand coming up to capture your wrist. Shifting your hand to place a kiss on your inner wrist, the Exarch smiles, bright as the breaking dawn, and moves to limp after the assured Ascian. Hands buzzing pleasantly from your lovers’ kisses, you dash to follow them, aches forgotten.
The guard at Dossal Gate eyes your odd group, concerned, before opening the gate for your passage. Uneven footsteps, loud on the crystalline floor, herald your arrival to the occupied Ocular. Alisae and Alphinaud greet you as soon as you enter, eager to start your next quest, and pause at seeing your gait.
“Oh dear, you and the Exarch look terrible! Do you need another day to rest?”
You cast an amused glance to the Exarch, who blushes, while Emet-Selch merely chuckles.
“That-that will not be necessary, friends. I am sure the warrior wishes to be off, and I would not dare deny her.” The twins look from the Exarch’s disheveled robes to your odd wincing walk, and shake their heads to dismiss the thoughts of you being too ill.
“To Amh Araeng then.”
“To the Lightwarden!” You smile at the Scions, at Emet-Selch, at the Exarch, and set out--free of your heat’s demands and utterly satisfied.