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A cold rush of air enters the Warrior of Light’s bedroom in the pendants, she had all but forgotten the open window, so lost she was in her head. The air is cold enough to send a shiver running through her and forcing her to stand from the table to go over and close the window. The fresh air had been nice a few hours ago, but the cold has become too much, especially given her current state of dress.
There is an elegant gown laid out across her bed, just waiting for her to actually put it on. She has been trying to ignore it all evening, moping at the dining table in her small clothes and a thin robe to preserve her dignity should someone come knocking. Being warrior of light is hard enough without having to make public appearances, she has never been good at them. Not at home on the Source and surely the problem would persist here in the First.
Hitting a problem over the head until it dies has usually served her best, words were always left to someone else. Alphinaud, Aymeric, Tataru. Whoever happened to be around. So it’s difficult to be excited for the evening's festivities, an annual celebration unique to the First where the Exarch has requested that she make an appearance. It was a very polite request and one she could clearly decline if need be, but he has done so much for herself and the rest of the Scions that she can’t rightly say no.
The dress continues mocking her from across the room. It’s lovely, Y’shtola helped her pick it out, but she is much more comfortable in the armour of the Azure Dragoon than she ever will be in any sort of finery. Her muscular arms and legs will surely look nothing short of ridiculous shrouded in the elaborate fabric, not that she cares all that much about what others think of her appearance, only worried that she might disappoint them somehow with her stilted words and graceless movement.
She huffs, leaning forward on the windowsill and looking outward over the rest of the Crystarium.
“Troubled are we, Hero?”
Wonderful. Just what she needs.
“Go away, Emet-Selch” She replies, not even turning from the window. So familiar with impromptu visits of his by now that it doesn’t manage to surprise her.
“Oh! So unnecessarily harsh, where is your courtesy?”
She spins to face him, taken aback when she sees that he has already elected to sit casually on her bed, she blinks and re-affixes her frown, “I’ve none, I’m surprised that you haven't realized already, what with your endless observations.”
“Well, I’ve come to offer my help. Purely out of my own generosity, of course.”
She snorts, leaning backward against the windowsill, “I’ve never known you to be generous , ascian.”
“Oh?” He questions, “Did I not pluck your good friend, Y’shtola from the depths of the life stream? Would you not consider that a kindness?”
“Generosity for generosity’s sake is entirely different from generosity with motive, and we both know which of the two you favour.”
Emet-Selch stands from the bed, leisurely crossing the room to her table to peruse the fruit bowl, “You wound me. Sat here alone in your room just moping and moping for hours, and you expect me not to take pity on you?” He twists a grape from the stem and pops it in his mouth, “It was awfully depressing, my dear.”
Those last two words zip up her spine and then back down to settle between her thighs. She swallows, “Don’t call me that. We aren’t friends.”
“Well, what do you think my offer to help is, other than an opportunity to change that?” He picks up an apple, frowning at a large bruise on the side of it before returning it to the bowl, “That Exarch of yours couldn't spare the effort to get his Warrior of Light unmarred fruit? And I thought he cared. ” He lets out an over exaggerated sigh and snaps his fingers, quickly summoning a ruby red apple from the aether, “Regardless, I have been a less than enthusiastic witness of your reluctance to attend the little celebration tonight, and thought I might offer to relieve you of your duty.” the apple crunches between his teeth, “For an evening, at least.”
“And how would you do that? Put the dress on yourself and attend in my place?” She barks a laugh, “I’m grateful for the offer, but i think people might catch on.”
Emet-Selch scoffs, “Though I’m sure you would appreciate the sight, I did have a much more effective idea in mind. Should it interest you, of course.”
She is…intrigued, at the very least. Emet-Selch surely cannot be trusted, but any opportunity to learn more about him and his motives would be beneficial. There is also the matter of her own curiosity, as ill advised as it is, under her animosity for him lies something much less appropriate, something that she would prefer not to even address.
“Okay.” She begins, “I’ll humour you, for just a moment.”
“How very charitable of you.” He replies with a sneer, crossing his arms and leaning one hip against the table, “I’m sure you remember Lahabrea’s little stint with your Scion friend.”
“Don’t act cute, you know his name.”
“Oh?” His lips curl up in a satisfied smirk, “I’m cute now, am I?”
She feels her ears burning and hurriedly corrects him, “No, you think that you’re cute. You like pretending you don’t know who my friends are, it makes you feel superior.”
He chuckles a little, peering at her with half lidded eyes, “Fine, Thancred then if that pleases you. As I was saying before someone so rudely interrupted, it is very possible for an Ascian to take control of a body while preserving the soul inside-”
“Wait.” She cuts him off, pushing herself up from the windowsill and taking a frantic step towards him, “You can’t possibly be suggesting- why…why would I ever agree to something like that?”
“I promise I would be the perfect gentleman.” He replies with a smirk, turning from her and walking towards the other side of the room, “I don’t suppose you can think of a better alternative. It wouldn't do to upset all those friends of yours by not attending.” He shrugs, and while he is facing the other direction she can hear the smirk on his face, “And it’s so very clear that you don’t feel like drumming up pleasantries for strangers you barely know.
“And you would do it for me?” She asks, “That is what you are suggesting?”
He moves over to her bed, reaching out and touching the gown where it still lays, “But of course! My time as Emperor Solus has given me more than enough experience with mortal celebrations that I could surely capture the hearts of all present.” He hums, “And it would be such a shame for this lovely dress to go unworn.”
Worse decisions than this one must have been made, she reasons, staring at his broad shoulders dressed in that Garlean finary, the way he towers over everything in her room. It’s a bad decision, surely, but there have been worse, there must have been. Her heart thumps slowly and even, where she expects it to be fast.
“Fine.”
Emet-Selch feigns surprise, “Oh?” He says, turning to face her with a mischievous glint in his golden eyes, “What’s that?”
“You know what I mean.” She says through her teeth, hating the way her cheeks begin to burn, “Would it kill you to curb the glibness for just a moment?”
He laughs, “It very well might.”
She tenses up as he walks towards her, stopping near enough that she can feel his warmth. His breath keeps an even tempo while hers speeds up with nerves that she is trying her best to ignore. She hates that he makes her feel like this.
“Would you be so kind as to face the window for me, my dear?” He very nearly croons, “I’ll need to leave this current vessel for this to work, it will be but a moment.”
She does as asked, crossing her arms as she stares at the pale light of the moon through the glass, “you’d better not be planning to leave, I would not find it very funny.”
He laughs, closer to her ear than she was expecting, “I wouldn’t dream of it, Hero.”
The familiar sound of a portal opening echoes through the room, her palms start sweating. By the Twelve, this was a terrible idea, her stomach is churning but she makes no move to turn around. It’s with a looming horror that she realises only half of her nerves come from fear, the other half come from excitement .
After a moment, the portal closes again, followed by the sound of feet walking slowly towards her. There is a morbid curiosity building inside her chest, wondering what he looks like when the guise of Emperor Solus is dropped, but she was asked not to look, and is at the very least smart enough to know that angering a man that she is about to let possess her, is probably not a very good idea.
Firm hands grip her shoulders and she stiffens in shock. Emet-Selch hums behind her, near enough to her ear that she can feel it. The thumb on his left hand gently traces the skin of her collarbone, revealed by the loose hanging fabric of her robe. She realises with a start that his usual gloves are gone.
“Do relax, Warrior.” He breathes, “You have to let me in, I won’t force it.”
She laughs nervously, “Relaxation does not come naturally to me-“ Has he…always smelt like cypress and cedarwood? Gods, she can feel his breath on the side of her throat, “Especially not now.”
“Close your eyes.” His voice is warm and comforting, not at all how she is used to it sounding, he’s so close now that she swears she can feel his lips against the shell of her ear, “Trust me. Just this once”
Then, she feels him. The sensation is less like an intrusion and more like inviting a stranger into her home. She is the one opening the door, but it’s awkward and uncomfortable despite her willingness. A gentle push encourages her to move to the side, relinquishing power over her own body and letting him in. Emet-Selch feels a little bit like sunlight. For a moment she is sure that she can feel him laugh, a fluctuating warmth and a tingle that feels just like his smile.
Hero. he whispers inside of her soul, it echoes throughout her very essence, I am going to move you. It will feel strange, don’t be alarmed.
Her voice is weaker than his when she replies, okay…
It does feel strange. Not painful, but something about it feels wrong . It makes her head spin, her stomach twists with something almost akin to motion sickness. All the while she is trapped in darkness, holding her breath as her body is piloted by a man that she knows could send her soul into the void at any moment if he desired it. That truth thundered through her, the fact that it is only by Emet-Selch’s good graces that she is even still alive.
“Are you still with me, my dear?”
His voice is different now, suddenly real spoken word instead of an echo inside of her.
I think so…
He laughs, “Good to hear. I am going to open your eyes now, if you are ready.”
Ready
A flash of light. The dim lanterns in her pendants suite are enough to make her sting , not her eyes, but her very aether aches as the world comes back into form. A heart beats somewhere, loud and…and…hers? Her own heart is beating, but it sounds distant and loud.
“Welcome back, Warrior.” Emet-Selch says, but his voice is coming from her face. Finally fully adjusted to the view, she can see her own reflection in a mirror, still dressed in the same thin robe as before but now wearing a grin that is so entirely not her own.
That’s weird. Don’t do that
He laughs again before clearing his throat, “Is this better?” he says in her voice. The cadence isn't quite right, but the voice itself is a dead ringer.
Still weird.
Her reflection crosses her arms, “Well, I’ll need to speak somehow .”
Hm. I suppose this is the lesser of two evils.
Emet-Selch tucks some of her hair behind her ear and she shudders. Or it feels like a shudder, she isn’t sure what it is now that she is incorporeal. I can feel it when you touch me .
“Of course you can, it is still your body after all.” He gently runs his hand down the length of her arm, and she can feel the tingle of gooseflesh raising up behind the trail of his fingertips, “I may be in control, but you can still feel everything I can, gentle caresses, your teeth sinking into the skin of a ripe grape. You will lose naught of your intricacies.”
Now that she is aware of it, she realises that she truly can feel everything, from the light breeze dancing around her bare legs to the cold tiles under her feet. It makes the sensation feel a little more normal, despite not being able to move, she can still feel things the way she is used to. There is of course the added buzz of energy trapped in beside her, the ever present hum of Emet-Selch soul tangled with hers. It isn't…unpleasant.
“Well, I suppose the two of us need to get ready for our little party, don't we?” She watches her own hand lift into the air and snap . Suddenly the blue dress resting on the bed materialises on her form, and something about Emet-Selch’s confident stance makes the dress look aeons better than it ever would have when worn by her.
You can’t do that in public, you know
Her own voice lets out a chuckle that is so very unlike her, “What? You think it might concern the Scions to see the Warrior of Light make use of Ascian magic?” Emet-Selch, crosses her arms and cocks a hip out to the side, “Perish the thought.”
You’re enjoying yourself too much, stop it.
Emet-Selch controls her body with more fluidity than she has ever managed as he crosses from the Pendants and over to the Rotunda. There is a familiar ache in her toes from the pointed tip shoes the Ascian has dressed her in, though he walks as if he feels none of the pain at all.
“I can feel your unease.” He says aloud, using his own voice now that she cannot be unnerved by it coming from her own reflection, “A reminder that I can abscond to a private space and leave your vessel if you ever see fit. This is supposed to be a fun excursion for you, Hero. Don’t let your fretting ruin it.”
She huffs, and she can feel Emet-Selch’s soul laugh in response.
I am only worried someone will notice
He scoffs, now walking through the markets where only a sparse number of stalls are still open, most already closed so their vendors may enjoy the evening, “Even if someone should notice something odd, it’s far more likely they would blame it on too much drink. Willing possession by your own enemy is not likely to be their first conclusion.”
This was a terrible idea
He chuckles, “Very terrible. Yet, you are excited.”
She is, and she supposes that he can feel that too. His emotions are a little more obvious to her as well, though it is clear he is better at guarding them. Giddiness is fizzing and popping within the soul beside hers, loud enough that it’s impossible to ignore.
You’re excited too.
“It’s been some time since I’ve had to play a part other than Emperor Solus, I intend to enjoy myself.”
She almost bites back with another quip, only to be surprised when Emet-Selch returns to speaking in her voice instead of his own.
“Sorry I’m late. I’m not used to getting dressed up” he says. This time, he gets her cadance down perfectly . It’s utterly uncanny.
He must notice her shock, because his soul slowly unfurls a little with what feels like pride.
“Oh! No matter at all, I’m glad you came.” It’s the Crystal Exarch speaking, he’s wearing a fine red coat, but his face is still covered in the shadow of his cowl, “You do look very nice, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Emet-Selch’s soul laughs mockingly, but the nervous giggle that leaves her mouth is very genuine, “I don’t mind at all, thank you.”
The Exarch clears his throat, and though she can’t see much of his face, she can tell he is glad that the compliment was well received, “Glad to hear it. Um, the others are already here. If you would like to speak with them, I have to busy myself with small talk for the time being.”
“Of course.” Emet-Selch pulls her lips into a smile a little wider than usual, “Though, if you find the time I would love you to save at least some of that small talk for me.”
Wait. What are you doing?
“Ah well, I’ll be sure to make myself available then.” The Exarch is practically beaming, “I’ll take my leave for now, come find me if you need anything.”
Emet-Selch gives him an exaggerated wave.
"Ascian! What was that?"
“Oh?” He replies out loud, careful to make sure no one is listening, “Didn’t you know the Exarch is soft on you? I thought it was quite obvious.”
Her soul must be simmering with embarrassment, because Emet-Selch barks a laugh, “so you didn’t notice.”
Of course not! Now if you could keep your incessant flirting to a minimum that would be well appreciated.
He begins walking her body further into the Rotunda, “No guarantees.” he replies, stopping in front of a bench where a rosy cheeked Viera is serving some sort of warm mead, “Two, please.” he says in her voice, giving a gentle smile that makes the Viera noticeably more nervous.
What do you need two drinks for?
The Viera is a little shaky when he passes the drinks over, but Emet-Selch takes them with enough confidence for the two of them. Three of them, technically. He also has the audacity to wink, something that she would never dare do herself, “One for you and one for me, my dear.” He says, stepping away from the vendor downing half a glass in one gulp.
She can still feel the warmth of the drink in her chest, and taste the burst of cranberries on her tongue. It’s pleasant, but strange. Emet-Selch has time to finish the first drink and leave the glass on a wayward table before Alphinaud crosses the room to speak with her. He’s dressed quite nicely too, a little overdressed almost but she wouldn’t have the heart to tell him.
“You’d better not be trying to help anyone tonight.” Alphinaud says almost accusingly. There is a smile on his face that says he is joking, but there is still a hint of sincerity in it.
For a moment, she almost goes to answer only to remember that she isn’t in control of her own voice. Shocked, when Emet-Selch answers for her once again, “Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.”
“Well that doesn’t sound much like you.” Another voice says from behind. The ascian whirls her body around to find Y’shtola standing there, a hand on her hip and one eyebrow cocked curiously, “Are you feeling alright?”
Twelve…she’s going to notice.
Emet-Selch’s voice echoes in a laugh beside hers, No. She isn’t.
She feels a twisting and changing within her as his soul seems to morph to match hers, like matching pitch with a tuning fork his vibration shifts and finally settles into a rhythm so very similar to her own.
“I’ve had a bit to drink already.” Her own voice says aloud, though the words aren’t hers, “I’m not sure I could do much helping even if I wanted to.”
Y’shtola’s eyes narrow, but then she seems to dismiss whatever she may have noticed as strange, “I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself, then.”
It feels devious, letting Emet-Selch use her as a puppet while the rest of the Scions are none the wiser. It’s criminal, it’s dangerous. It makes an ill advised warmth bloom in her belly, at the thought of someone realising and catching her out, or of the ascian taking full control and doing something he shouldn't.
The next few hours turn into a strange haze, settling backwards into the corners of her own mind as she watches Emet-Selch handle all the conversation with more grace and tact than she could have expected. There were strangers, acquaintances and even a brief conversation with Urianger that he managed to manoeuvre through politely and in her usual cadence. Urianger had used the term, “unrestrained” to describe her attitude that evening and it is true that she usually handles such idle conversation with an obvious stiffness. Emet-Selch had laughed and blamed her ease on the earlier drinks, though she can tell that not an ounce of his inhibition has been affected.
“Do you dance?” Emet-Selch asks aloud, leaning against a railing at the top of the rotunda. The aetheryte is performing its own slow dance in front of them, twirling and twirling.
Not usually , She can feel the prickle of cold air brushing past her bare arms where they are crossed over the metal railing. The beat of her heart is slow and even in her chest, and Emet-Selch’s soul remains ever warm beside her, Why? Do you?
“Oh I dance very well, I assure you.” she can see her own hands gesticulating in front of her as he speaks, it’s strange, “Mortals from across the nation lined up for even a moment with Emperor Solus.”
She feels herself laughing, though it makes no sound, And was the same of Emet-Selch? I don’t remember asking such questions of the Garlean Emperor.
“Ah.” A moment of tender silence. His soul softening into a buttery warmth before he breathes, “Not quite so many were interested in Emet-Selch. A dear friend once called me cantankerous. ”
That isn't how you strike me.
“I’ve had many years to change. For better or worse.” Emet-Selch hums, looking for a brief moment up at the stars. There is a soft smile behind his words when he says, “Dance with me, hero.”
Her soul stutters and stammers, flickering brightly and turning dark all at once, We can’t dance together like this. She replies in near desperation.
He chuckles, “Your words cut like daggers, Warrior. How unusually vicious of you.”
She feels herself bristling, I just mean that it wouldn't be possible, what with us sharing a body.
“Then I’ll find us a proxy. Some lucky fragmented soul.” He stands up from the railing, stretching her arms up into the air until her shoulders pop, “You ought to take better care of yourself, I can feel all your aches and pains.” He takes a moment to roll her right shoulder, “This side feels like a break that didn’t heal properly”
I set the shoulder myself, Emet-Selch starts heading down the stairs and she watches as he searches the bustling crowd for a dancing partner. I'm not much of a healer, but I had places to be and dragons to kill.
“And you are still planning to defeat me at some point? Even with this mangled shoulder?”
A jolt to her heart. Nausea roiling in her stomach. She can feel her soul begin to bubble and boil before she forces it back down to a simmer, At some point. Yes, I suppose I am.
Emet-Selch vibrates with a brief energy that quickly dissipates. Something that almost feels like shock, maybe horror. His feelings continue to wash over her like warm ocean waves. There is a melancholy to his soul now, but it only takes him a moment to snuff it back out.
“How about that Viera woman?” He asks quietly enough that no one around would hear. How quickly he changes the subject doesn’t escape her notice, “The one always skulking around the Exarch.”
Lyna? She is hardly one for skulking , She can see Lyna now; leaning backwards against a wall with a glass of something orange and glittery in her hand. She does seem like she could use the company, Just be sure to behave yourself
He scoffs, but quickly changes his voice to match hers once again, “Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.”
It does not take much convincing before Emet-Selch has Lyna swaying in his arms. The bright lighting inside the rotunda turns its crystalline walls into mirrors where she catches the sight of herself moving gracefully through practised dance steps. Lyna towers over her, but Emet-Selch is the one with all the confidence. She can hardly turn her gaze from the vision of her own body swaying and gliding across the floor with grace that she entirely lacks.
Somewhere amidst the twirling and laughing she managed to lose herself to a fantasy that could never be. That the entanglement of souls in her chest could be free to dance together, that Emet-Selch might bring her into a delicate spin and tug her up against his chest.
Her own eyes meet her gaze in the glittering crystal, and her face breaks into a smile that is entirely Emet-Selch’s.
Lyna laughs, loose of all her usual structure, ruddy cheeks and open laughter as she stumbles through the steps, bringing her soul crashing back into the present.
“And to think! Alisaie said that you were a bad dancer!” Lyna giggles.
Emet-Selch laughs and speaks once again in her voice, “Lies and slander, I assure you.”
It seems I am fortunate that we cannot dance in the traditional manner , his soul says with a mocking air
She huffs, Alisaie is prone to exaggeration, I only stepped on Aymeric’s toes a few times
The ascian’s soul chuckles once again, waves of growing and shrinking warmth that feels like the fizz of a good champagne. She wants to melt into him, to sink deeper into the syrupy feeling of his aether.
He smirks when Lyna stumbles again, tumbling into his arms with a cute snort of a laugh.
Would you like to return home, Warrior? He asks softly, leading her body into an exaggerated bow as he dismisses Lyna from the dance, Unless there is more you wanted to do.
Oh , she replies, half forgotten that the night would eventually end, No. I think I’d like to go.
It takes little time at all for them to retire to the pendants, a few quick goodbyes to friends, excuses of needing rest before another early morning that went down as if coated in honey. Emet-Selch has a way around words that she simply can’t comprehend.
“Well?” He asks in his own voice (she is shocked to find she has missed it), bending over to unlace her shoes before toeing them off at the door, “Did you enjoy yourself?”
It was nice to enjoy the sights without having to make smalltalk. She watches as he moves in front of the mirror again, likely a courtesy so she can see his expressions, I hate to say it, but… thank you, ascian.
He tsks mischievously, crossing her arms, “Listen to that, the Warrior of Light thanking the likes of myself.” A smirk tugs at the side of her mouth, “Whatever will the others say?”
She huffs, I’ve had a nice night. Don’t ruin it.
Something within his soul sings a sound more powerful than mischievous. Closer to devious, corrupting. Not genuinely villainous enough to cause her alarm, but it does give her pause. She can hear her own heart racing somewhere nearby as Emet-Selch steps a little closer to the mirror.
He feigns a hurt expression, pouting her lips like some petulant child, “And to think, you almost didn’t trust me.”
With good reason
“You don’t think you could muster up some sort of apology?” He says in a huff, crossing his arms.
If she had control of her eyes, she would be rolling them, Fine. Yes. I am sorry.
A beat, an agonising beat. And then-
“There we are.” His smirk comes back, like it was never gone, “That’s a good girl.”
She chokes. Her soul burns hot with a sudden churning fire that she is unable to mask. Shocking and roiling, so entirely unexpected that she almost thinks he has done something to her.
“Oh?” Emet-Selch drawls.
What? She exclaims, trying to figure out how she can possibly quiet her own emotions, panic beginning to grow, What are you smirking about?
He doesn’t reply, the smile reflected in the mirror slowly growing wider. She has never smiled like that, it looks wrong on her face. Emet-Selch just continues grinning as one of her hands drifts down and over the jut of her hip, “You like when I call you sweet things, Warrior?” he whispers, second hand sliding up the side of her ribcage.
I--I have no idea what you’re talking about, she stammers. Trying to ignore the shivery pleasure running across her skin, following the path of her hand up the side of her torso, Just because you can feel my aether doesn't mean you should presume to know my feelings.
“Please, warrior. This is hardly the first instance of such behaviour.” The hand on her hip slowly starts gathering the fabric of the dress, lifting it up enough to reveal the expanse of her leg, “I’ve noticed the little jolts through you all evening, your excitement at being my most willing host.”
Her very aether is fluttering with nerves. She had no idea that he had noticed . Sure, he could feel her own feelings as strongly as his own, but she had been foolish to hope that he was either ignoring them or believing them to be something else. She feels her own presence within her body grow weak when she nervously asks, Then why didn’t you-
“Say anything?” He finishes for her, hand slowly brushing just under the swell of her breast, “I did promise to be the perfect gentleman, did i not?”
Her soul sputters, Was this your plan all along?
“No.” He says quite seriously, his expression turning nearly hurt at her accusation, “I can feel how much you are enjoying this, but I just want to be transparent. Say no and I will stop.”
As promised, her hands freeze where they are resting as Emet-Selch patiently waits for her response. She can feel his soul thrumming beside her and while it is well hidden, she can swear there is a touch of nervousness lurking within him. Barely a whisper, a shuddering breath.
Her own soul burns with a searing white light, and she says, keep going .
Emet-Selchs aether very near sighs . The hand on her ribs slides further upward and finally passes over her breast, gently squeezing through the fabric of her gown. A jitter of barely restrained desperation rattles through her second hand, a twitch in her bones as Emet-Selch dares to slide under the gown and drag one knuckle up the length of her smallclothes. Her aether sputters and arcs like lighting when he presses down firm against her clit.
That feels good
“Oh I know. I feel everything that you do”
He rolls her left shoulder backwards and the fabric of her gown slides down her arm and pools at her elbow. She looks utterly debauched in the reflection, one hand shoved under her skirts and now bare from her clavicle down to her sternum on one side.
She would whimper, if she could, when Emet-Selch gently grazes his fingers across her bare nipple. He laughs breathlessly, rolling it between finger and thumb as a saccharine smirk hanging from her lips in the mirror, “Your legs are trembling.” he teases.
W-Well aren’t you the one controlling them?
“No, my dear. Instinctive reactions like that are all you.” As if to prove a point, he works her smallclothes down her thighs and lets them drop to the floor before sliding a finger down to her sex.
She can hear her own voice distorting in her head as her soul reacts to the feeling of the finger sliding down the full length of her sex and back up again. It is her finger, but it moves in ways she would not move it. She wouldn’t tease herself like this, she is usually in a rush and just trying to get it over with. Emet-Selch presses his knuckle firmly against her entrance, and her knees very near buckle.
“See?” Emet-Selch replies, quite pleased with himself, “I’ve no control over that. Nor can I control just how wet you are getting.” He finally slips a finger inside, up to the second knuckle and she can feel her aether turning to butter , Emet-Selch sighs pleasantly, “It’s been so long since I inhabited a body with these parts. It is fun to play.”
Her body then slides down to the floor, dress pooling at her hips as Emet-Selch angles her just the way he wants. Her shaking legs spread wide at the mirror, one hand on the ground to keep balance, and the other gently dipping two fingers in and out of her throbbing sex. He continues staring back at her from inside the mirror, cheeks flushed with arousal but the ever present smirk remains.
He reaches up and touches her swollen clit. A searing desire comes roiling through her aether, and for just a moment, Emet-Selch’s smirk…twitches.
“You’re sensitive. Just how long has it been, hero?”
She has to think it over. The last time must have been…Hien? Somewhere in the Azim Steppe, she can’t even remember how long ago that was. Months? A year?
Too long , she settles on.
Emet-Selch suddenly tilts her head, eyebrows settling into an arch that seems almost sympathetic. He sits up straight, and she shudders at the loss of penetration, but all the more interested in what will happen next.
Emet-Selch? She asks when he doesn’t move.
He slowly brings a hand up to her face, and while technically it’s her own hand, it feels like he is the one truly cupping her cheek, “Do you want something more traditional, my dear?”
His aether is thrumming beside her, like the steady beat of a heart. Waiting for her to answer.
What do you mean?
He turns nervous, a quiet tittering from within his soul that his expression does not betray, “Two bodies. The way sex is usually done.” She can feel him swallow, “Do you want that?”
Now she is nervous. A buzzing electricity that she cannot ignore, I’m…not sure…Is that what you want?
“Yes.” He replies simply, though even the single word betrays his composure.
Then…I want that too
Suddenly, she is catapulted forward into her own body again. The weight of control is heavy and sluggish as her breath is whipped out of her lungs and back in again just as fast.
His absence echoes within her soul, so used to his occupancy that she feels empty.
Emet-Selch? She thinks, trying to find him where he no longer lingers. She clears her throat and tries out loud instead, “Emet-Selch?”
The whoosh of a portal, and he re-enters in all his glory.
Regalia deemed unnecessary, Emet-Selch now stands before her in dark breeches and a burgundy red shirt that dips just below his prominent collarbone. He seems far more human, free from layers of heavy finary. She expects him to lunge at her, in the ferocious throes of passion, but he just…stands there.
His chest heaves, a desperate, near panicked intake of breath and he whispers, “How would you have me?”
The sleeve of her dress slides down further when she readjusts herself. Emet-Selch’s golden eyes dance over the newly exposed skin, throat bobbing as he swallows.
“On the bed.” She replies, just as weakly
He seemed somewhat relieved that she even responded, moving towards her in three long strides, “As you wish, my dear.” He hooks an arm under her knees and around her shoulder, carrying her to the featherbed in the corner of the room.
The bed is soft under her back when he lays her down, and his hand shakes when he pushes her hair out of her face.
She can feel the aether around them shaking, quivering. As if she is standing on a precipice and about to tumble into the abyss. Emet-Selch’s eyes dart around her face, unsure. Her hand winds around his shoulders and digs into the thick hair at the nape of his neck. A ringing echos in her ears, loud enough to shatter glass, her heart feels like a desperate bird fluttering around in her ribs-
And Emet-Selch kisses her.
All of their nervous energy dissipates. Her fingers tangle hard in his hair and he cups her cheek in his hand, his lips are warm and firm and she is drowning in the scent of cypress and cedarwood. The only thing she can feel, the only thing she can sense, everything and anything is Emet-Selch and it still isn't enough.
A grunt escapes his throat when she hikes a leg up around his hips, desperate for him to be closer to her, for him to devour her. His hand slides down from her face and she chokes on a moan when he cups her bare breast, his hand is larger than hers, warmer than hers.
He pulls his lips away, breath shaky when he leans down and whispers in her ear, “I’d like you bare before me, hero.” He presses a hot kiss to the side of your throat, “Let me have my way with you.” He circles her nipple with his thumb, “Pleasure you in ways no mortal ever could.”
A shuddering breath escapes her lungs and she whimpers, “Please.”
He sits back on his haunches and motions for her to lift her hips enough that he can pull the dress from under her. She is hit with a rush of cold when the fabric is yanked up over her head, a trail of goose flesh rising in its wake. Emet-Selch wastes no time in warming her again, pressing a hot kiss to the hollow of her throat and travelling down between her breasts.
A shaky breath escapes her when he moves down to her belly, sucking gently on the soft skin just beside her navel. Her body arches upward, trying to get closer to the warmth of his mouth and her hand returns to his hair, tangling half in brown and half in white. He moans when she yanks on it. One of his hands slides slowly up her inner thigh, and she can feel him laugh against her at the way she shudders when he slips a finger between her folds.
“You fall apart so easily .” He sighs, pushing the finger inside of her, “I had thought you would make me work for it.”
She laughs, “I’m far too impatient for that.”
Emet-Selch moans as he kisses his way down to her sex, “So I am” he breathes, and desends.
His finger continues its mistrations inside of her while his lips wrap around her clit. A rising moan leaps out from her throat when he sucks, hips canting up into his face as her hand digs even tighter into his hair. He alternates between licking, sucking and tapping with the tip of his tongue, finger gently stroking at her g-spot in a way that brings full body shivers.
The fingers of his free hand dig into the soft flesh of her waist, gentle enough not to hurt, but with enough force that it will leave imprints when he pulls his hand away. He gives her clit a firm lick and her thighs tighten instinctively around his head, “Em-Emet-Selch, I-”
He pulls away, golden eyes peering up over the curve of her belly. His gaze broils and burns into her own, he barely blinks, staring up at her when he whispers, “what is your desire, warrior?”
A vice tightens around her heart, a million voices reminding her of where she is and who she is with. She pushes them back, “You, please.”
His lips tease a smile, quivering and awe inspiring. Genuine and burning as he rises to his knees, settling between the open invitation of her legs. She knows that he could simply will his clothes away if he wanted to, so the fact that he decides to do it by hand means something . His hair is ruffled when he pulls the shirt up and over his head, there is a sweet tug of his eyebrows that reads so deeply and cloyingly affectionate and she just…forgets. She forgets everything, none of it matters, not here, not now.
A stuttering breath rises up and out of her chest when she feels him nudge at her entrance, one of his large hands comes to rest on her thigh and he meets her eyes again, waiting for her nod before she feels the first inch of him slip inside. Her eyes flutter closed, choking on a shocked gasp and she can feel his grip on her thigh turn shaky. She snaps her eyes open again when she feels him lean forward, resting on his forearms on either side of her head. There are his eyes again, that brilliant burning gold.
“You must forgive me.” He breathes with a smile that borders on self-concious. His aether is separate from hers now, but she grew so familiar to the feel of it that she can recognise the shuddering rhythm of his nervousness, “It’s been a long time for me too.”
She at first finds that hard to believe, until he sinks himself the rest of the way inside of her, and his brows draw together tight in a show of self restraint. She keens at the feeling of him, one leg lifting to hook around his hips and an arm coming up to rest over his shoulders. He feels so normal, so small, so human .
His aether still trembles, and she is sure that hers sings a similar tune. She kisses his temple, and he begins to move. Setting a slow and languid pace, the both of them choking on a moan with each clap of their hips, clutching tightly to each other in near desperation. Emet-Selch slides a hand under her head, holding her such that their foreheads meet, that she can feel his breath on her face, hear the frantic sound of his aether ringing in her ears.
It’s as if she has never been so full, her own hips grinding of their own accord. A tightness grows in the pit of her belly with every meeting of their bodies, with each agonising thrust inside of her. Emet-Selch moans unabashedly as he presses himself into her over and over, a sound that almost resembles a sob when he bottoms out inside. His free hand slips down between the two of them, and she can't hold in her cry when his fingers meet her swollen clit, drawing deep moans from her with gentle, tantalising circles.
“Em-!” He silences her with a firm kiss, his hips and fingers moving faster, looser. She can feel the hand on the back of her head digging tightly into the hair at the base of her skull, desperate to have her closer to him. It’s then, trapped in the raising pitch of his aether and the smell of his skin, that the tightness in her belly grows to a painful crescendo and finally shatters.
A broken moan echoes out from inside her chest, captured by Emet-Selch’s lips like he wants to taste it, and he quickly follows. Drawing back from her so he can bury his face in her shoulder, hips stuttering rhythmless until they finally still as he lets out a breathless whimper into her skin. She feels his heart begin to slow against hers, cautiously raising a hand and rubbing gentle circles on the back of his head, almost as if afraid he could turn feral at any moment.
“Well.” He begins, pulling himself up again and she is near horrified to find that familiar, unfeeling smirk on his face, “I trust you are satisfied?”
Had she imagined it? She wonders, feeling her heart beating a panicked tattoo in his chest. The moments of fragility, his tenderness and fear. He is himself again, or the facsimile of himself that he prefers to show. Her hand rises once again, curiosity coiling around her soul as she aims to rest it upon his cheek.
The ascian pushes her aside.
A portal opens in the middle of the room, and before Emet-Selch gets a chance to move towards it, she grabs him by the wrist, an inadvisable affection rising in her chest, a panic echoing in her aether and calling out to his, “Don't go.”
He smiles again, a wry smirk that is entirely ungenuine as he attempts to rise from the bed, “Careful, one might think you care for me, hero.”
She ignores his taunt, gripping his wrist tighter, voice shaking when she begs, “ Please , don't go.”
The look in his eyes changes, his guard drops and he chokes, “What? ”
Now that he is still, she takes his face in her hands. Staring into those roiling gold eyes and whispering, “Stay. Just this once.”