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[suitsahero]

By the time the word reaches Foundation, surely it has been blown out of proportion. The original teller of the tale must be mistaken, the resemblance merely slight, something. The dead do not rise from their graves unprompted and wander dressed in white linen through the snows. They must not be true.

But there's word sent all the same that a young man precisely matching Haurchefant's description had been seen stumbling, half-frozen, down the hill from his memorial towards Dragonhead. Were it not for a timely patrol, he might have died (again?) before reaching it but, as it was, he was recuperating in the infirmary there. Reports say he was disoriented, didn't answer to his name or any other, and had not yet regained consciousness. It couldn't be him. It couldn't.

But Tataru is good at catching the rumors flying and she knows to let you know right away. Artoriel finds out shortly after, whether from overhearing you or more official communication, but stops the word from reaching the Count, and begs you to go ascertain the truth before he does. It's impossible and he'd rather keep the hope from just being dashed.

Surely it isn't true. And yet...

Comments

[likeyouknow]

That look does not escape her -- she turns red at it, and squeezes his hand in both an apology and a promise. She'll see to it that they have the chance, and that they'll both get what they want soon enough. It's strange to see him so formal, especially after the events of five minutes ago, but if he must needs feel as if it's required, then so be it.

"I am certain they will. To say nothing of Tataru and Alphinaud." A pause, and Pahja decides to hell with it, the chirurgeon already knows what they've been up to, and leans in to cup the side of his face as she kisses him -- chaste, but lingering.

"Rest, Haurchefant. Gods willing, I will be back in short order."

[suitsahero]

It's clear that the kiss catches him off-guard, the way his eyes go just a little wide as she leans in, but there is plenty of time to stop her and he does not, melting into the kiss a moment later with a soft, sweet sigh of contentment. There's a light dusting of pink on the tops of his cheeks when she pulls back and the look he gives her is as soft as the sigh a moment before.

"The Fury speed your return," the tone is over-warm, but not completely outside the realm of propriety. The chirurgeon has raised an eyebrow, but she seems at least somewhat pleased that Haurchefant isn't immediately leaping out of bed to go running off gods knew where. It's a pleasant enough change.

[likeyouknow]

Why would she not want to kiss him as much as possible? Perish the thought -- she'd wanted to kiss him before he died, and given the chance to do so simply means she must make up for lost time.

Except there is no rest for the Warrior of Light, and Pahja finds herself called away e're long after she'd returned with the news. Peace, it would seem, is not so easily won. In the time it takes her to have a few hours with no pending demands, Haurchefant had already returned to his family, taking up residence in the Fortemps estate for the time being. Whether it was out of his own desire, the desire of his father, or at the orders of his chirurgeons that he rest, Pahja doesn't know. What she does know is that it's easier to visit him there -- as welcome as she is.

The count is, as ever, a gracious host -- for a moment she feels a twinge of guilt, does he know what she and Haurchefant had gotten up to in Camp Dragonhead? And if he does, does he approve? Pahja's certain her own parents would only care about if they were happy, but Ishgard has proven to be far different when it came to things like that, and Haurchefant himself was ample proof of that. But they manage to keep things as low-key as possible while most of the family is there, although she is certain to sit next to him while they all catch up -- greetings from members of the other houses stationed in places she's been, an update on the building of the New Nest, and other idle conversation until one by one they drift away and it's simply her and Haurchefant.

Which is just fine.

There's a fire in the hearth, and for once Pahja hasn't seen fit to bury herself in furs; there's still a warmth that seeps into every part of her when she's here, leaning into the corner of the couch. For a while she didn't dare touch Haurchefant (not because she didn't want to, but because she feared that if she started, she wouldn't stop) but now she gently prods his leg with her foot, as if to jostle him from his thoughts.

"Remember when you first brought me here? You told me that I didn't need to say what I thought about this estate, that it was awesome." He'd been so excited, and even freezing to her bones, it had been infectious. "I have come to my own conclusion, if you would like to hear it."

[suitsahero]

He's spent so long wishing she would, that to suddenly have her leaning in and kissing him (and in front of someone else, no less) is still something unbelievable. Logically, he does know that right now he is the more unbelievable thing, but then, he hasn't been mourning himself for some lost months, either.

At any rate, there are plenty of things for him to do as well. He seems to be in generally good health once he recovers from being out in the snow for so long, but he tires easily, cannot do nearly the amount he is used to in a day. The chirurgeons say that his aether is damaged, moreso than they have ever seen in a living man, but that it is slowly repairing itself. The only thing he is forbidden from is aetheryte travel, but he almost gleefully rides his chocobo back to the Fortemps manor to stay there for a bit as he recovers-- and as they figure out what to do with his post at Camp Dragonhead at this point. There seems little doubt he will be allowed to remain Commander there, if he wishes, but there's paperwork and so he finds himself with some rare moments of leisure to spend in his childhood home.

The day and the conversation have been excellent, but while he's a while out from wanting to sleep, he does find himself lulled by the fire, typical enthusiasm curbed a bit by creature comforts, though he still keeps interjecting things, expressions of alternate delight and dismay that make it clear he's paying perfect attention, even though he looks more and more like he's becoming one with his side of the couch. He does, perhaps, drift for just a moment, right before there's a prodding foot on his leg, but the heavy-lidded look he gives Pahja doesn't look irritated in the slightest, just soft, comfortable.

"I think the word I used was splendid," he teases, though whether he's teasing her or making a lighthearted jab at himself is unclear. "But I would love to know." His lips quirk slightly, "Though I'm sorry to say, if you have a different opinion, I don't think you can escape it. I'm fairly certain father has just presumed you're a Fortemps now."

[likeyouknow]

Having the space, the time, to simply breathe is a rare thing for her these days. She'd wanted to adventure when she left home, yes, but part of her wishes that things would just stop happening for a moment or two. Just every so often, so that she could find moments like this more. Where she could be in a warm, hazy state of contentment with Haurchefant for something longer than the few hours they will doubtless have.

Stretching, Pahja curls further into the warm cushions of the seat, expression content and overly fond as she holds his gaze. Their attempted tryst still looms large in her imagination and idle thoughts, but the memory of his touch, the fondness and desire amidst the desperation serves only to warm her cheeks further rather than have her shy away in embarrassment.

As does the idea that perhaps his father considers her one of his family. "Pahja de Fortemps?" She hazards, ears flicking as she tests it out. It's not bad, as far as jokingly given names go, and she grins at him. "Don't you think that there are too many de titles to go around de Isghard?" She'll never understand their fondness for 'de'.

"But I was going to say that it is rather lovely, but best enjoyed in your company." Pahja knows it's a bit forward, but again: he'd had his tongue in her mouth in the near past, so she thinks she's allowed to be such. That, and he may just finally be rubbing off on her.

[suitsahero]

There is a book full of things that he doesn't say. That it is one thing when he jokes about his father making her a member of the family but he cannot joke lightly about how really wants her in this house, which has nothing to do with her taking the name Fortemps at all. It dries up even the light-hearted reminder that there's no such affectation in his own name, the seriousness lying underneath, and he's glad when she moves on and he can be no less earnest perhaps, but entirely less serious.

"A house is the walls, a home is what's within it," perhaps he's a bit more serious than normal for all of that, but he doesn't particularly linger there. "If I had known I was the difference, perhaps I would have made more of an effort to be here while you found yourself here more often," he grins at her, "All I can do now is endeavor to be here when you arrive back from distant lands, I think. But I have been ordered to rest more often for the foreseeable future. I am certain I could make time away from my post." And then, because that's sweet and all, but he's also still Haurchefant, the grin deepens a touch,

"Perhaps it might be better enjoyed if my company were not so far away." As though she's malms away and not just across a sofa cushion.

[likeyouknow]

Fortemps is not Greystone, and she would gladly pick the second at a moment's notice -- it matters not to her that Haurchefant is a bastard of a noble house, doomed never to have the full recognition that his brothers do, even with his father's love. She doesn't need to take any name to call this place home, so long as Haurchefant is there. She is grateful for all that his family has done for her, make no mistake, and there is the warmth and tenderness and care for all of them in turn. But none rival that fire she holds, however poorly of a secret it might be, for him.

As such, there's a thrill of the thought of Haurchefant being here, waiting for her, whenever she can step away from the demands Eorzia keeps throwing at her. Someone to come back to, warm and safe and ready with that smile. And his deeper, more obvious flirtations.

"I would like that," she admits with a smile that might not be as lascivious as his, but no less full of heart and affection for it. "No matter how far away I go, if you're here--" She'll always come back.

But he is right about how his company might be best enjoyed in the moment, and Pahja pushes herself up with a mischievous look of her own. Which means she resettles close, but not as close as he'd like, as she wants. "Is this better, then?"

[suitsahero]

"Still too far," he teases, though he actually leans back a bit, until it's blatantly obvious that he's really offering her not so much into his arms as into his lap. The motion is made even more blatant by the way he reaches for her and he's always so very careful to not actually use his strength for anything undesired, but if she seems to be going with the motion, he's definitely helping to lift her, pull her in closer.

Whether she settles against his side or takes the assistance to climb into his lap, the warm smile he gives her is the same,

"There. Now it feels more like home," he is both joking and not, ever open about his feelings for her, unashamed, but also with that same lilt to his voice that makes him difficult to take entirely seriously.

[likeyouknow]

She's about to make another joke, move only an ilm or two closer -- teasing him in return for all those times she's wondered how sincere he might be with his flirting, but gives up entirely when he offers to help her onto his lap.

And, well. She certainly won't deny herself the opportunity once it's presented. Pahja giggles softly, a bit girlishly, as he easily lifts her weight and pulls her in -- she's not unaffected by it, cheeks already going pink. It isn't her fault! Really! It's just a side effect of Haurchefant being, well. Haurchefant in her direction.

One day she's going to make him be honest with her. No, that's not right -- Haurchefant is ever honest, ever open -- some would say too open. And Pahja can't stand being too serious herself, not if she wants to stay sane, but serious in his affections. She wants to know that he is, that when he says such grandiose things she knows that, as humorous as they might be, he means them as seriously as he does any oath.

She settles easily on his lap, easily resting against his chest -- although she still has to look up at him. "You may be right, Haurchefant-- this is better. But I think I know one way to improve it."

[suitsahero]

"Oh? And what's that?" his hands rest on her, warm and there and one of them is heavy against her thigh, true, to help hold her in his lap, he might say if she teased him about it, but there is always something so careful about him. He's aggressively forward, constant, to the point it's clearly a character trait, but there's nothing pawing or over-eager about him, as though even this is enough, each step they have taken an entire blessing on it's own without the thought of more, even when he teases at it.

[likeyouknow]

The fact that he wants, so clearly and obviously and yet seems satisfied with whatever she is willing to give him is endearing enough to make her chest ache with it all. Sometimes it makes things... difficult, before he died, when she wondered if he could possibly, really, genuinely return her affection and desire.

Now, though, she knows that he does. Which means she can beam up at him, the picture of wide-eyed innocence even as his hands burn hot against her.

"We---ell," Pahja starts, dragging out the word. "Perhaps a kiss wouldn't go awry. If my knight is willing, of course."

He'd said he was her's that day, and she hasn't forgotten it.

[suitsahero]

"As many as you could possibly wish for, my lady," there's a loftiness to it that says he's joking, but his mouth is warm on hers a moment later in a way that's not joking at all, like he's been wanting to kiss her for some time and has been restraining himself and can't quite fully control his enthusiasm to be able to do so now.

The hand on her back slides up into the back of her hair and pulls her forward more into the kiss and she can feel him work to keep things slow, the slow shudder that runs through him at her mouth against his.

"I might have missed you, just a small measure," he confesses, playfully sheepish, in the space between one kiss and another.

[likeyouknow]

Anything she might say in rejoinder is muffled against his lips, a soft mmph all she's able to get out before she decides that it's far better not to bother at the moment. One of her arms goes over his shoulder, palm flat on his back in an attempt to encourage him. The other settles against his cheek, thumb running over the skin there in obvious wonder that it's warm beneath her fingers.

She still can't quite believe the stroke of good luck they've had, that he's had, but she knows better than to question it.

Whatever tension in her from the past weeks of work slowly drains from her as she returns the kiss with the same enthusiasm, and when they're not kissing she's on the verge of giggling further, her flush deepening with pleasure at the idea that he's missed her. "You can't say that," she starts, only to continue to kiss him again a moment later. "Because I wish you'd never stop." And that is dangerous, but she doesn't rightly care. Instead, however, her hand slides up from his cheek into his hair, fingertips brushing the length of his ear.

"And I, you."

[suitsahero]

He hums in quiet pleasure when she winds her arm around his neck and leans minutely forward at her subtle urging, deepening the current kiss, though it's the way she cups his cheek that turns him dizzy, clinging a little more. He is not the sort to sit around pining for something he cannot have, but that does not make him immune from the shock of having it, or the delight.

There is a delight, too, in feeling her unwind in his arms, to feel like home to someone else, something strange and new about it settling warm in his chest.

"It might make primal slaying somewhat difficult," he concedes, "and conversation besides," the last syllable lilts sharply upward as she draws her fingertips along his ear, a sweet sort of tension running through him at the touch, hips shifting just a bit underneath her a moment later.

[likeyouknow]

She could have all the time in the world to spend with Haurchefant and it may never be enough to fully satisfy her. He is warm and solid underneath her, a welcome weight that reassures her, strengthens her in all things. The heat from his touch not only pools into fires of want and need low in her chest but also spreads through her limbs -- comforting more than spurring on desire.

Laughing -- although it's more of a vibration in her chest than a sound -- Pahja delights in the way he responds to her. The tilt in his voice, the shift of his hips. He is not unmoved by her, yet it's so earnest, so... very him that she doesn't find herself wishing to shed the mantle of his regard like she wishes she could when it comes to most everyone else.

She'd much rather nurture it.

"My reputation as a silent, soft spoken, mysterious sort will help with the latter," Pahja says, by way of hoping to convince him. "But we may have to pause for primals." Her voice is rough around the edges now, saturated with want. But having tasted having the upper hand, Pahja is quick to seize the opportunity -- her fingers run down the length of his ear again, this time with more purpose than simply curiosity, coupling it with a roll of her hips down.

[suitsahero]

"Unfortunate, but necessary. I'd say we'd have to do so for dragon attacks as well, but it seems you were intent on turning me into a gentleman of leisure in my absence," he quips, a little breathless. It's followed with a soft, half-gasped moan a moment later as she draws her fingers down his ear with greater purpose and then a lower, pleased noise when the jerk of his hips upwards meets the deliberate roll of hers.

She can feel the way it throws him completely, pithy commentary reduced instantly to soft sighs and the grip of his hand on her leg, pulling her down just a little bit in his lap. It's more helpful than it is clutching but there's still something intensely wanting about it, needy and unafraid of showing it.

He abandons conversation entirely, kissing a slow path down her neck instead, careful to pick the side that will not dislodge her from his ear.

[likeyouknow]

Pahja didn't walk into Ishgard looking to end the Dragonsong war, it had just slowly become her goal the longer she sought to help where she could. The peace they had was fragile, yes, but it was something more than they'd ever had. If that meant that Haurchefant would have more time to spend kissing her, well. An unexpected but not unwelcome turn of events.

As is her newfound ability to rob him of words. No small feat in her mind, and Pahja grins -- a flash of canines -- before her mouth forms a small 'o' of want at his moans, the way he encourages the movement of her hips. His lips feel hot on her skin, as if they're burning marks into it, but even the heat of his mouth can't distract her completely.

There's nothing to muffle her gasps, the way they twist into groans when she shifts down again -- seeking friction and another chance to hear him moan so. Her fingers are no less busy, stroking up and down the length of his ear -- their height difference doesn't bother her much except for now, when what she wants to do is just out of reach --

Pahja settles for the next best thing, and the next time she rolls her hips down against his, tweaks the point of his ear slightly.

[suitsahero]

She can feel his control fray slightly at the edges, the way the encouraging motion of his hands finally gives way to a bit of pawing at her thighs, dragging her down just that little bit harder as he huffs a gasp into the skin of her neck. He holds her there, the next time, turns everything to delicious friction, and works a bruise into her neck, can't seem to help himself.

"Pahja..." he breathes out, and it's something like a warning, except it also sounds like he wants nothing else in the entire world but her, when he moans her name like that. There's a sharp gasp to the tweak of her fingers against his ear and then a soft chuckle, "They're sensitive..." It begs the question why he wears those ear cuffs, if he finds his ears so responsive to touch.

Or perhaps it doesn't. He's still Haurchefant, after all.

[likeyouknow]

Pahja wants to dig her fingers into his control, pull and tug until he unravels under her hands. The urge is strange, overpowering, but absolutely brought about by how much she adores the way he says her name -- that she is the one thing in this world that he absolutely needs, suddenly and urgently. Her laugh at his explanation -- that they're sensitive, the own rumbling of his amusement -- falls away as the friction, the bite, overwhelms her.

The moan that escapes her might be shameful, but she doesn't care. He's warm and solid beneath her in a way she never thought she'd have; he can drag her down to wherever he wants and she'll go willingly, rolling her hips against his in a promise. It won't be like last time, there's no way she'll let anyone interrupt them now.

"Are they?" She teases, and slides up him slightly (misses the weight of his erection against her already) so that she can finally, finally run her tongue down the top of one, nipping at the tip before pressing her fingers against the cuff of one experimentally. "Could you-- I mean, just by this?"

If she could make him come just by touching her ears, Pahja would be delighted.