(no subject)

[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]

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.