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It's evening when Estinien crosses paths with Cimorene in Radz-at-Han's crowded bazaar, a humid and overcast day darkening further as the sun dips below the horizon. It's dark by the time the pair of them - trailed by the waif that played part in selling them their next adventure - make arrangements to charter a ship to their destination.
Setting sail on the morrow already is the unspoken plan; young Mehrahd's insistence that they recruit an additional companion makes it a fact.
That settled, Estinien considers both his new charge and his partner with whom he has so recently reunited. Neither does he particularly want out of his sight. Stepping closer to Cimorene and lowering his voice he asks, "Are you staying in the city?"
She shakes her head. "I arrived via Yedlihmad and rented a room there. Radz-at-Han is more… central, I know, but I enjoy sleeping by the sea when I can."
He pockets that little bit of information with all the others he has learned about her in their acquaintance; she speaks of herself rarely and always in such offhand statements, it's almost easy to miss. Then he raises his eyes back toward the small port village she spoke of. It isn't so far from Radz-at-Han that he couldn't come back after escorting Mehrahd there. Not to mention it is actually nearer to the Radiant Host training grounds where he spends his mornings…
But that's getting ahead of himself, he realizes.
Shaking himself, he addresses Cimorene again."… Have you eaten?"
She laughs, sweet and pretty in a way that makes his stomach churn with something akin to nerves. "Not in some bells, no. Nor would I say no to some fine Hannish cuisine, if you were interested in procuring some while on your errand."
Right. That's a plan then. He pushes aside the fluttering sensation it is inexplicably giving him and nods, suspecting she doesn't need more confirmation than that.
"Come, Mehrahd. Do me a favor and don't stray from the path."
"Did you want one?" Cimorene asks, before delicately plopping another cake into her mouth. There is already syrup clinging to her full lips from the last, and this one causes some to dribble from the corner of her mouth down her chin as she hums contentedly at the taste.
Estinien has already forgotten the question.
The dinner he'd procured is light - pastries stuffed with spiced vegetables and crab cakes, as well as perfectly affordable lassi and a handful of small round cakes drenched in sugary juice - and the conversation just as much so. A few tales of recent journeys, not that either has much in that department with her still recovering from her ordeal against the Endsinger and Zenos both and with him serving as the Radiant Host's combat instructor.
What isn't spoken of is what sits in the back of his mind since she returned to Thavnair. What it means that she's returned to Thavnair. Treasure maps and underwater vaults notwithstanding, she currently appears pleased to simply spend time with him and pleasant though that is, more than anything it is new.
Estinien has never known a lover; even he and Aymeric had never used that word, as it carried more formality than either felt they could afford in the midst of the Dragonsong War and their own particular roles in it. He'd never minded that. Truth be told, he'd never thought it suited him.
But Cimorene… being separated by individual missions or adventures has been a staple of their time together, but he cannot put away a desire for something. Some affirmation of sorts that she is his, regardless of physical proximity. And he cannot tell for certain if this - her, sitting beside him, content to share each other's presence in a period free of world-ending threats - is that.
He's almost grateful for the way she has taken his attention away from such thoughts, though he cannot imagine she'd known the simple act of eating would distract him thus.
Indeed, if she's noted his lack of response - or the intensity in his gaze - it doesn't show on her face. Instead she seems to finally notice the syrup dripping down her chin. She swipes at it, then slowly slides her finger into her mouth, sucking the sweetness off of it. Her eyes close and she makes the same little hum as before - almost a moan. Estinien swallows hard.
Then she looks at him again. Her smile is still gentle enough but there is a glint in her eyes that tells him all at once that he'd been wrong. Not only is she aware of what she’s doing to him, but she is in fact quite intentional in doing it.
Well. That answers one question.
A little of his uncertainty ebbs and, confidence swelling in its place, Estinien picks up the last cake. He considers it for a moment before he instead leans forward to hold it against her mouth. Her eyes widen slightly, but the surprise lasts only a moment before she dutifully parts her dark lips and lets him slip the morsel inside. He keeps his fingers lightly resting on her while she chews and swallows, watching her eyelids flutter, her cheeks flushing - finally looking as affected as he has felt all evening.
She raises her eyes back to him, glowing like liquid sunlight and smoldering like the hottest part of a fire. "Aren't you hungry?" She breathes.
He traces his thumb over her lower lip, catching the syrup that still glistens there. "More than you know."
It's clearly the last confirmation she needs; in a blur of motion suddenly she's out of her chair and in his, perched in his lap, cradling his face as she kisses him fiercely. Estinien tugs her closer, hands first grasping at the soft, ruffled dress before they settle on her ass, keeping her steady and keeping her close.
Her mouth is honey sweet, and he echoes her earlier moan when he slides his tongue past her lips to taste her more thoroughly. She shudders, her body arching against his, seeking to be as near to him as possible. They part only the minuscule distance it takes to breathe, a string of saliva still connecting them and as his lips brush hers through hot, panted breaths, he slides a hand up to the back of her dark leather corset, pulling at the ties until they are loose enough that he can remove the garment.
He tosses it across the room in abandon before drawing her mouth back to his, telling her he'd fully meant what he said; he is starving. His free hand continues to roam, caressing her over the thin cotton that still adorns her - marveling again at how easy she is to touch, how perfectly she fits in his hands. Marveling at his own restraint up until this moment; suddenly the fact that he'd spent an instant since her return to Thavnair without her in his lap feels nothing short of miraculous.
Cimorene gasps as he cups one breast, thumbing the hardened nipple over the fabric. From the way she squirms, her hips beginning to rock forward, his isn't the only restraint unraveling. He moves them both so she is straddling his thigh, grinding up against her in turn.
"Estinien," she whines in confirmation.
He merely claims her lips again, eagerly swallowing the delicious little noises he is drawing from her. Needing to hear more, needing further evidence that she's been aching for this - for him - every day they've been apart, Estinien slips a hand under her skirts, trailing up her thigh over where soft skin meets smooth scales. Higher, higher, until his fingers find her smalls. He traces the fabric's outline for a moment, savoring the way she squirms, before pushing it aside.
She squeaks, which he distantly appreciates, though much of his attention has been grabbed by how wet she is already - so much more than he'd even hoped. He drops his head to her shoulder, cursing under his breath while he moves his fingers over her folds, slick with a sweetness that is hers alone.
She gasps out a breathy "Fuck," when he slides one finger into her and, Fury, he loves the way expletives sound in her pretty voice. Face tucked into the crook of her neck, he breathes her in, letting his teeth graze over her scales in the process. From her scent to the taste of sweat on her skin to every sound and move she makes… all he is being given is doing the opposite of sating him. He has never needed her more.
One hand rests on the small of her back, steadying her, while the other thrusts into her in time with her rolling hips, a second finger further filling her. She grasps at the back of his head, her grip almost painful if he cared about that in the least, and her mewls grow both louder and less coherent.
"Fuck, fuck- ah-!" Cimorene grinds down on his hand, her walls tightening around him. Arousal reducing him to pure instinct, he bites her shoulder, hard enough that copper blooms in his mouth, and she cries out as it pushes her to her peak. She falls against him so hard it nearly unbalances them both and he tightens his arm around her as she shudders through the aftershocks.
At last he raises his head in time with drawing his hand out from her skirts. Meeting her eyes, so close their glow is almost blinding, he brings his drenched fingers to his mouth and slowly sucks her juices off of them. Cimorene's gaze drops to his lips, her shallow, panting breaths growing even more ragged. He cradles the back of her head and pulls her closer again, letting her taste herself on him, savoring the way it makes her whimper and only releasing her when he needs to breathe.
Allowing himself to fill his lungs, Estinien uses the brief moment of - albeit small - distance, to take hold of the bunched up hem of her dress and drag it up over her head. She shivers immediately but is pressing against him again, her mouth on his, before he can even ask if she is all right. That neatly answered, he returns all focus to newly bared skin, to gliding his fingertips over the jagged scaled pattern from her lower back down over her hips and thighs and the back up. The way she arches into the touch, so hungry even after being brought to orgasm… she's as insatiable as he is, as suited for each other in this as they have been in all other things.
A wave of affection, powerful as the arousal overwhelming him, hits and he pulls away just enough so that he can bury his face into her neck again. "Cimorene," he growls against her. "I need you."
"I'm yours," she returns without hesitation, as though it is not the affirmation he has burned for all night. As though it is simple, unquestioned fact. Perhaps he has been guilty of Alphinaud's dreaded habit of overthinking.
Unable to find the words for such a revelation, he simply drags his lips over her scales, down to the patch of skin he had bitten. He gently kisses the mark he's left upon her, feeling her breath catch, while his hands return their slow, exploratory caress.
Much as he wants to keep them like this - him clothed with her undressed in his lap, a fantasy he's considered far more often than he'd ever admit aloud - the strain of his contained erection is growing too uncomfortable to ignore. Hooking his hands under her thighs, he lifts her up as he stands so fast he knocks the chair out from under him.
She giggles into his neck, her warm breath not doing anything to quell his desire. "Hush," he tells her. "Excuse some impatience getting you to bed."
"You're excused," she says with breathless but exaggerated politeness and, by the Fury, he loves this woman.
The room is small and it's barely two steps to take her to the equally small bed. He lowers her, allowing her to pull him back into another slow kiss, while his hands seek out the ties that keep her smalls over her tail. Undoing them, he pulls away and slips the final garment off of her. She squirms, further positioning herself under him, beginning to tug at his clothes in turn. He's more than ready for her, throbbing against his already skintight breeches, but his traveling attire is enough layers that she cannot remove them alone.
He stands and Cimorene truly pouts. It's such an unfamiliar petulance that he nearly laughs. "It will be but a moment," he informs her.
"Now you preach patience," she quips. "Such hypocrisy."
Estinien snorts, kicking his boots off while unhooking his belt - grateful for an innate sense of balance even as lighthearted as he is. He drags his shirt over his head, tossing it in a random direction to be a problem for his future self to collect, before wriggling out of his trousers and smalls and hissing softly at the cool air on his aching cock.
Looking up, he finds Cimorene has lifted herself up on her elbows, watching his quick and uncoordinated undressing with all the rapt attention he had given her performance with the cakes. Twice now he has shared her bed, and been the reason she's come once tonight already, but he doesn't think he will ever be used to the way she looks at him - her luminous eyes sweeping over his body, sucking her lower lip between her teeth.
Raising her gaze back to his, she settles back and beckons for him. "Please," she murmurs.
That's enough - that is more than enough - for him, but he is so hungry for her, and he allows himself a bit of greed.
"… Say it again," he says as he rejoins her.
He does not need to elaborate. She reaches up to hold his face, thumb caressing his cheekbone. "I'm yours."
He follows her gentle pull, closing the distance between them. "Again," he breathes against her mouth.
"I'm yours," she repeats. Another kiss. "I'm yours, Estinien." She rolls her hips, seeking friction and he instinctively slides his thigh between her legs so she can grind against him. She gasps. "Take me."
In this, she need not repeat herself.
Estinien settles himself over her, sliding a hand between her spread legs to trace her dripping cunt, in part to hear her moan and in part to coat his fingers, drawing back to stroke himself in turn, letting her slick join his precum in lubricating him. He bites back a groan of his own; the preparation is necessary given their difference in size, but fuck is he sensitive now.
He guides himself to her entrance, letting her feel the tip press against her before tucking hands under her legs to both lift and part them further - rocking forward to push inside her fully.
Over the sudden rush, the mind-breaking pleasure of her tight, wet channel gripping him, he can hear her suck in sharp breath. It takes effort to focus on her but he needs her with him in this, refuses to have this be anything but a shared ecstasy.
Cimorene's pale skin is flushed dark, her eyes squeezed shut. He's about to speak when she shifts a little bit under him and the movement of her around him briefly steals his thoughts. Her fingertips brush his arm and she finally cracks her eyes open to meet his.
"Don't stop," she whimpers. "Please, I- uhf- I need it. I need you."
She's never lied to him before and he trusts her to not lie about this. Readjusting himself, he pulls out to thrust into her again. This time her gasp is laced with a soft moan that is sweeter than a song. All he wants to hear for the rest of his life. Gripping her thighs, he rocks back into her a little faster, a little harder, finding a rhythm that better suits her, and soon enough her moans increase in frequency and volume both. Breathy cries mingled with attempts at further affirming what he no longer needs words for. His name lost to a guttural whine as he hits her just right.
She's close again and though he knows he's not far behind, he wants naught more than to feel her come apart around him once more before allowing himself the same. He extricates a hand out from under her thigh to instead thumb over her clit, rubbing tight hot circles and greedily watching her shaking as she's inundated with pleasure. She cranes her neck to look between them - at his hand stroking her sensitive flesh and, past that, his cock disappearing into her - before it's too much and her head falls back, all but wailing with the little death he's given her.
He fucks her through her orgasm, through when her voice breaks and turns to gasps, until she weakly reaches for his wrist to pull his hand away. He obeys, instinctively lacing his fingers through hers instead, though he continues to snap his hips forward. He's teetering on the edge, so close it's almost painful.
"Cimorene," he pants. "Look at me."
Still overwhelmed, it takes a moment for her to do so - but she does. The dim, golden light of the room's single small lamp hits luminescence of her eyes to make them glow brighter than the sun. They meet his, intense and gorgeous and-
He comes. Burying himself in her, he drops his head, squeezing his eyes shut, shaking with the force of it.
When he comes back to himself, unsure how much time has passed, he realizes he is still gripping her hand and releases it. Focusing on Cimorene again, she's still catching her breath but her lips curve to the smallest smile. He can feel himself matching it, a mix of exhaustion and pure bliss washing over him.
Estinien pulls out of her slowly, dropping onto the bed beside her. Gathering her into his arms, he rolls onto his back, taking her with him, so they can lay together listening to their shared heartbeats.
A low rumble of thunder breaks through the stillness, and he finally realizes somewhere in the night it had begun to rain. Accustomed as he is now to Thavnair's regular deluges, it's barely worth registering but he knows his- he knows Cimorene has a lingering fear of thunder. He can't imagine she enjoys this country's near-daily tempests.
So he’d thought anyway, but she shows little reaction. Perhaps she hasn't noticed, as they're both still coming down from the height of their pleasure. Then another crack of thunder shakes the room itself - and she only shifts to lay her head more comfortably on his chest.
"You don't mind storms anymore," he observes.
That does startle her into looking up at him. "What?"
"In Dravania, I remember you were… wary of them."
Cimorene still stares at him but she doesn't look embarrassed that he's brought it up, not like she had been when Alphinaud had called attention to it back then. If she's surprised he remembers she really shouldn't be; that journey had changed his entire life and there isn't a second of it that he doesn't recall in perfect detail.
That must occur to her because she finally smiles and shakes her head before laying it back down on his shoulder.
"I still wouldn't say I enjoy them," she says softly. "But there's a difference between being out in the wilderness with very little in the way of shelter and being warm and dry with a sturdy roof over my head, you know?"
That makes sense and he makes an agreeing hum. They silently listen to the driving rain and occasional rolling thunder. The muffled drumming sound is lulling in its own way, and Estinien's eyes drift closed, one hand absently playing with her hair.
"That said," she adds, picking up like the pause in conversation had only lasted a breath. Her voice is quiet, drifting off just like he is. "I know I would not want to travel all the way back to Radz-at-Han in this."
He feels his heart stutter with a several, strong, conflicting emotions. "Are you kicking me out?" He says, keeping his tone light, just a little dry.
Cimorene pulls back again to better meet his eyes. Here, he can see a hint of a blush. "Oh, no- I just- I wasn't sure if you…"
She trails off and, much as he'd like to, he isn't certain of how to answer. This is indeed only the third night they've spent together, with several moons of apocalypse in between this and the last. Those nights at the Annex he had left through her window, under the assumption they would both still want their space ahead of what horrors the Final Days and Ultima Thule would bring. She'd never said anything to imply she disagreed with this - they've both always been practical this way - but that didn't necessarily mean that she had never wanted more, any more than it means he hadn't wanted more, though he'd never been able to admit it.
And now… now nothing awaits them in the morning but a treasure hunt beneath the Bounty. There's nothing pressing to leave to prepare for, and a very compelling reason to stay in the raging tempest outside and the warm body tucked against his.
No sense over-complicating things.
"… I train with the Radiant Host at first light," he says at last. "If you’re all right with potentially being woken up when I leave."
Her eyes widen - just a fraction - then she drops her head back to his chest. He can still hear the smile in her voice as she murmurs, "I think I’ll be fine."
Well, that's that, then. "Right," Estinien says, tightening his hold on his lover, pulling her closer still. "Goodnight."
Another roll of thunder interrupts them, but Cimorene does nothing but laugh softly. "Goodnight."