[ He feels more oft like a tiger than a man, for all that he might lay claim to the word, a creature of strength and power trapped in walls, eyes watching him at each and every moment. He recognises his place, certainly, and realises why there are such limitations on his existence, but it does not make it easier to bear. It is a burden that he carries, one that he bares, because for the first time in eons his heart feels as though it has been able to breathe.
With little else to do as far as 'aiding' the Scions (which, he thinks, comes with its own share of anger and frustration on all fronts) he has found his time stolen with stories and sleep, allowing himself to drift away into the evening with little more than a blanket for comfort. A far cry from the generous supply of bedding and luxuries he had once been afforded with another time in another lifetime.
Ah, how things do change; a refreshing thing for once rather than something worth torment.
Pahja arrives and he plays the game of ignorance, as if the book he reads is of more import than her, until she speaks and he can do no more than offer the gentlest of scoffs. ]
And give up such a generous abode? I hardly think so. [ Careful, slow, one arm wraps around her, drawing her close. Familiar and comfortable. ] My chains would likely not extend so far.
Oh, to think you have such high opinion of your quarters!
( She snorts, letting herself be pulled in without resistance. Once she is tight against his side and chest she curls further in, the side of her face pressed against his chest and her own arm lying over it, her fingers playing with the fur hem of his shawl.
No one has offered him a change of clothes. Pahja thinks he wouldn't take it if they had.
Her smile fades slightly; with him there is no need to pretend that she is not tired, worn down, faced with a bone deep exhaustion that obligation keeps her from resolving. Emet understands; her fingers curl further into the fur. )
They only want to make sure you're not up to trouble. Although-- ( A bemused shake of her head, muffled and resigned laughter following. ) They would also insist that should you come to harm it'd be your own fault. And, if I do say so myself, we couldn't keep you anywhere you didn't want to be.
( Bold to call him out? Perhaps, but Pahja has never pulled punches in her life and she certainly isn't going to start with Emet. Not when she wonders if there are scars running over his chest from the blow she dealt him. )
And to think you might imagine me to have anything but.
[ He was of the Old World; he was an Emperor, a guest among kings, and now he sleeps like a prisoner under watch with voluntary guard. This strange notion the Scions seem to have of being able to keep him leashed as a pet is baffling to say the least when he exists as he does - a being far beyond their power, someone they cannot truly contain in their pitiful walls.
There's no denying that he is here all the same, however, bound by invisible shackles to a women he can't find the strength to step away from. Her soul is too familiar, too comforting, and her heart has so deeply entwined with his own that he has no sense of how to free himself from her warmth. That is something the Scions know and why they take such comfort in his position in their Rising Stones; he will not harm what is hers.
Not in this moment, at least.
Turning his head, he rests his chin on her head, cocooning her with his body. ]
I shall simply have to not come to harm, then. Though I doubt you would allow it to occur in the first place.
[ Pausing for a moment he reaches for her hand, drawing her up and urging her to move, willing to lift her if he must. ]
And should wounds happen to befall me you might soothe them with your lips.
probable endwalker spoilers from here on out, for the entire msq
( Wisdom demands that feeling safe within the arms of a man who would have stopped at nothing to kill her, her friends, and all of the world is impossible. Pahja knows this, and yet it doesn't change the warmth that spreads within her, the feeling of peace that washes over her as he surrounds her. Perhaps it's part of her soul, calling out for the comfort of another known to it.
Perhaps it's that Pahja has never known to do anything by halves, including who she might give her heart to; Emet has it within his hands as surely as she knows that she holds the chains that keep him close.
Laughing, she lets him take her hand, meeting his golden eyes with sly grin. )
My lips? Hm, I was unaware of any healing properties they might have -- I think a demonstration is in order.
( Teasing, but she will leave the ball in his court; Pahja knows that for all his bluster he is sentimental to the last, achingly so. Denying that they have any connection at all is commonplace, as his complaining, but he still answered her call for him -- twice over. And this time she is not eager to see him leave.
(Hythlodaeus, too, but he keeps himself otherwise occupied, as charmed as he is by all living creatures. At least Pahja is mostly certain he will not end up on the wrong end of something with a great many rows of teeth.) )
[ It is hardly easier for him, the one who sees in her a soul long lost to the echoes of time; he had been drawn to her first because of that, for the yearning of Azem, for want of a friend taken from him in a time of pain and agony. Knowing her, as Pahja and not as a reflection nor an echo, has opened his mind enough that he feels comfortable taking her as she is rather than what he yearns for her to be.
None of this is particularly simple, not when one takes into account the nature of their acquaintanceship and how they had become first enemies and later something altogether different. The line between love and hate is thin, Emet-Selch knows that, and it has been blurring all the more for him of late.
His fingers are large enough for her wrist, and it takes him by surprise for a moment. She is so small, so seemingly frail, but so terrifying in her strength. She might kill him, should she choose to, in this moment. He is nothing compared to her. Strong and coy, a dangerous mix indeed. ]
Is there someone I might call? I am most confident there is more than one who would be willing to be your test subject.
[ He could take what he wants from her, Emet-Selch knows he has the strength to do so in this realm, but he has no desire to. The legacy he carried as an Emperor was not taken by force; he can be tender with his affection, not brutal, not unkind. He is not that kind of man. His head tilts, watching her, eyes dark and searching. ]
I could ask another to give me succour, if you are so uncertain of your merit.
( Simple, no. But neither is life, with all its heartache and loss, but it is worth experiencing. And whatever connection they have, whatever relationship it may take form, would be worth the risk. On that front she knows that she and Emet are agreed, if perhaps coming at it from entirely different angles.
But who would he be if not frustrating and so intent on putting barriers between her and what she wants?
His statement earns him a roll of her eyes and a poke in the side, though she knows both of them have no wish for either of them to field another option -- for healing or for kissing. Calling him on it would be a mute point when she can instead tease him for it. )
Oh? Perhaps Thancred, then. For your succor and my kiss--
( Pahja makes a move -- half-hearted and with no strength nor real intent -- to extract herself from his arms. )
I shall go get him if you wish, or perhaps you would like to accompany me? His expression would be priceless.
[ That has his eyebrow raising, the two of them closer than they have been in some time, and his grip does not waver. He has no intention of letting her go, of allowing her to wander to find another of her allies to spend her time with. He is claiming it now, as is his due for years of suffering. Why aught he not scrape some joy from this world?
His eyes narrow as he leans closer. The notion of anyone, most especially Thancred, taking her from him... No, it sits unwell on his shoulders. ]
I think you are playing a dangerous game.
[ It is clear what she wants, pushing and nudging as she does, and he draws her all the closer, inches apart now. A simple turn of the head would bring them together. ]
( He's right, of course. She would never leave his arms for Thancred in truth, nor anyone on the Source or any shard that exists. Here, with him, is exactly where she wishes to be for as long as she has. And when her soul returns to the Aetherial Sea, she knows that he will return with her so their souls can find peace together until the next life.
There is comfort in that, Pahja thinks, of a bond that lasts throughout lives. )
I have a certain zest for danger, as anyone will tell you. ( Pahja jests, tail flicking in clear approval of the way he is not letting her go, keeping her here in his arms and so, so close. Jumping in without looking is her forte, and so she turns her head enough that their lips brush -- not kissing yet, but the promise is there. ) Now then, what ails you so, Hades, that I must remain here to tend to you alone?
( She moves slightly -- not to pull away, but to throw a leg over his hip, pulling herself more flush with him than before. But she does not press him for anything he is not willing to give. )
[ It's a game between the two of them, a little dance to tease and nudge at one another - not necessarily for fear of the truth but because of the simply enjoyment it brings. Emet-Selch is content with the notion of faux flirtation mixed with real. It is fun; the anticipation will make it all worth it.
He knows her soul as well as he knows his own and there is comfort in that; no matter what happens in the future he will see the colour and know it as partner to his own, that he had known as intimately as breathing.
The barest touch of their lips has his breathing hitching, eyes dark. ]
I had made note of it. [ His face twists at the reminder of his name - title is much easier to bear in this world - but he will not fault her for it. He can fault her for very little. ] It is a terribly irritating thing, having to save you so often.
[ Emet-Selch allows her movement, drawing her just as close, letting his arm settle around her properly and keep her tight against his body. ]
Perhaps I ought to have my reward for that if nothing else.
( He kisses her before she has a chance to respond with some remark; probably his plan all things told, and Pahja can't find it within her to break it in order to. She'll have the last word later, instead she occupies with kissing him back. Gentle, yes, but also with a longing she would be foolish to deny.
He has been taken from her so many times now -- each time harder to let go than the last, the more she learns about him. It is a great unfairness, she thinks, but her reward is him. Whole and hale and kissing her.
Pahja returns it with exuberance once she feels as if she is no longer taken aback by the sheer novelty of kissing him until she must break away. But she does not go far, happy to remain pressed against him.
Sliding her free hand into his jackets might be presumptuous, curling into the fabric over his heart to hold him fast, but Pahja has ached in heart and body too long to not learn what boundaries he is willing to set in the moment. Breathless she finally retorts, though it is far less of their push and pull and more wanting. )
Anything you might have of me, Emet, is yours until you no longer have to save me.
( Until they can both return to the star. Her own wide eyes darken further, narrowing in her eagerness to, if not devour him whole, then to enjoy the moment to the fullest. )
[ It is difficult not to lose himself in the kiss, in drawing her closer and letting himself feel completely overwhelmed by everything that she is offering him. The feeling of her soul is so achingly familiar that it feels almost too natural; it feels as though he has been waiting to do this from the moment they had met. He recalls the moment he saw her, registered her in his mind, and he knows he would never have been able to walk away from her.
Emet-Selch's head tilts, just a little, as he draws the kiss out for as long as he can. The feel of her in his arms is near enough perfection, and his grip only tightens as she reaches for him in return, her hold just as intense as his own. It is a reflection of their own want and desire, a reflection of how they feel for each other, desperation that has clung to them for months now.
There is a reason he has not left to explore the world as he had thought to do, following in Azem's footsteps. He is tied to her, chained to her, in heart and body. It is the only reason he tolerates the treatment the Scions give him.
Pausing for breath, he does not hesitate as he shifts his body, making space for her to settle in his lap properly, one hand trailing down her spine to touch at her hip, to curve around her backside as his expression turns teasing, dangerous. He will do more, wants to do more, but not without her command upon him.
One gentle kiss is left on her jaw, just by the curve of her neck. ]
I do not think there will come such a time. I find myself rather enthralled.
( They will wander together one day, when the mood takes her and the winds are right. Pahja hopes, wishes, expects Emet to follow; the chains she holds are made of love and not hate; if he should desire them broken then he need only say the word. For now, however, she is content to remain in place for a little while longer before setting out, wandering once more. There are so many mysteries -- as he so wisely pointed out -- that she will have plenty to contend with in time.
Ever living in the moment means that her focus is on the here and now, on Emet's grip on her and the way his lips feel against her skin, warm and resonating a familiarity deep within her soul. She gasps at the shock of it but welcomes it all the same -- she is Pahja, not Azem -- and only recently has she been able to define herself against the weight of that legacy. And in doing so, has never felt more herself nor more able to embrace the truth of her soul.
Emet's dark eyes capture her's and she wants nothing more than to fall into whatever his expression and gaze promise; settling fully into his lap and pushing back against his grip, wanting more. A nameless, all consuming want for everything he could give her, everything he would offer.
A breathless laugh his his reward at such praise, her eyes gleaming. )
Then by your leave, indulge. I would find not fault in it, nor the desire or want to dissuade you.
( If he should make her plead with him, well. Her pride makes her stride forward unbent and unbroken in her stubbornness, yet she knows when to fold the hand she was dealt in order to win.
Instead she presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, the crest of his cheekbones, the center of his forehead. The corner of his mouth in a gentle tease. )
[ The promise of the future is not something he had never thought of before, not in the terms of the future for himself. It had always simply been the Rejoining, returning the world to how it had been before Zodiark had been summoned to tear it asunder. The fact that he now has a choice of it...
He does not know what to do with himself, truly. The notion that he might be able to spend it with her, that he might walk with Pahja at his side. He had never imagined that he would have a warm and loving future, but given the way she speaks to him, the way she touches him, the way her lips press against his own - he imagines that, perhaps, he could do this a thousand times and never get bored.
Even when she looks at him, just now, he feels as though he has had more power in this moment then he ever had when he was in Elpis, when he was wrapped up in literal paradise.
Emet-Selch hums against her skin, his eyes closing for a brief moment, almost overwhelmed. ]
No, I imagine you would not. You have never been proficient in dissuading me from any course of action.
[ But he shifts, stealing another kiss, leaving a gentle nip on the bottom. His hand strokes against her, inviting but not taking, a slight flush on the height of his cheekbones. ]
( Emet is entrancing like this, Pahja thinks, smiling wide enough that her cheeks might hurt ere she continues. Perhaps not completely at ease with the world around him but comfortable enough to let down his guard with her -- the flush that spreads across his pale skin, his dark lashes against the same.
One of her hands comes up to cup the line of his jaw, fingers hooking behind it to hold him there while their kiss lasts; the small nip is enough encouragement for her to open her mouth to him, kissing him as deep as he will allow her to. Not demanding, never that -- especially now. But she can't help the warmth that flows through her, the desire that threatens to emerged from a banked fire in her heart.
For all the things life has taken away from her, she can keep this. She can have him. For as long as she lives, and for however long he will have her; perhaps afterwards, when their souls will return together. And again, and again--
There is peace there, in that truth. )
Not for lack of trying! ( She interjects, as if that is the point and not the way they fit together now, the way his hand curves around her ass and the way she rolls her hips forward -- shallow, questioning, asking. ) But in this-- are we of one mind, Emet?
( Pahja could not, would not presume until she hears it from him, however breathless he might make her. Pulling back only so she can watch his face, her eyes fixated on his ere he opens them, thumb caressing the blooming brush. )
[ While Emet-Selch is well aware of the fact that some might have called him handsome, once, and he had never had much issue acquiring a spouse for children, he had never put much thought into Pahja thinking the same. It had not been something he had dared to do when he had been naught but her foe, when he had been dedicated to the destruction of all she held dear, and now... He imagines himself more a monster than man now that she has seen who he is at heart.
The way she looks at him now, however, with fingers brushing gently over his skin, gazing at him before their lips meet in a kiss, makes him think otherwise. It is clear that she wants him, or at least some part of him, and that is an enchanting notion. He finds he wants to be wanted, at least by her - he has never been much concerned with the thoughts and feelings of her compatriots. He could not care less, and he is certain she is also aware of that.
Emet-Selch feels large in his arms, drawing her tight against his chest and breathing out gentle, voice a little deeper, coloured with want. ]
Yes, yes, you tried terribly hard and succeeded in the end. I was present, you know. [ Her hips move and his shift against hers, his eyes flying to her face briefly, wanting - wondering what it is that her heart desires.
He thinks he might be able to tell. ]
That depends. I would like to hear what thoughts compel you now.
( That he is not so unmoved by her, by this, is a bolstering thought. She knows he is interested, has suspected for a while -- and even on the First -- that it would be possible, but part of Pahja always envisioned him desperate not to show outwardly his want, his heart.
Full glad is she to know that it is not the case.
A monster to others he might be, a monster he might have become, but she could never claim to not understand why -- pushed to desperation, out of grief and longing. Set adrift for thousand upon thousands of years in the vain hope to reclaim the lives that were lost; she may not agree but she can never claim to never understand.
It hits an ache within her, this one of sorrow, when he holds her close. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the timber of his voice -- Pahja kisses him once more, deep and full of longing, before she responds. )
Nothing more than the wish to have all of you. ( A simple request, her eyes darting up to hold his gaze. And then, as the corner of her mouth turns up into a sly, scheming smile: ) To feel you in me, Emet. To have your hands on my hips and my breasts. To cry out with every thrust until the only word I can form is your name.
[ It is a heady thing, to have his judge, executioner and saviour sitting upon his lap as she does now, gazing at him with wide, open eyes. It makes him long for more of her, the sort of thing that he is entirely unable to deserve, not with what he has done in his lifetime - all the lifetimes he has lived. The fact that Pahja still reaches for him, still wants him, is something of its own kind of miracle.
There is joy in it, in knowing that he is wanted, that someone has the heart to care for him knowing al l that he has within him.
Slow, gentle lips trail along her jawline, against the curve of her skin, testing the boundaries of his affection. He cannot find the means to stop nor cease, hands stroking along her waist and hips, his fingers exploring as he listens to her speak - sounding almost as though he might be in awe of her, of all that she carries.
If he were the man who might have the strength to blush he might now, but time has stolen that from him. He can do aught else. ]
All of me. A dangerous request for someone of your... Stature. [ She has seen all of him, and his fingers move, edging by her hips and shifting to settle between her legs. His eyes do not leave her face. ] I am a great deal to take.
[ He barely has the strength to move, to lean forward and kiss her, but his hips shift, just a little, grinding up against the shape of her body. There is no denying his wants now. ]
( All of him, and she does not look away. Instead she shudders, shivers at the touch of his lips and his fingers with want and a deep, unending affection that she knows is part of the core of her, her soul.It was not fate that made her love him, nor some greater design, but all of her celebrates the fact that she does.
Pahja runs her hand through his hair, claws scraping the skin at the nape of his neck gently, so gently. She will be kind to him, she wants to be good for him. To let him shuck the weight of his burdens for a time, to share them to the best of her ability. )
Has nothing I have accomplished proved that I am a woman of my word, yet still you doubt me? ( It is all she manages to get out before the unmistakable hardness of his want steals her breath away, the press of his fingers between her legs a tease that blows her eyes wide and her mouth open as a soft, shaky moan falls from her lips. Luckily he is there to swallow it, and she presses further -- mouth and lips to kiss him deeper, press down against him with another roll of her hips. ) All of you, Hades. Every sin, every burden, every scar on your soul.
( Her fingers drag down the line of his jaw, down his neck -- fingers brushing over his collarbones. But she does not wrap them around his neck, does not look on him with malice or even pity. There is only love in her gaze, in her touch as she rolls her hips once more, gasping at the friction. )
[ Emet-Selch is well aware that he could completely destroy her, should he desire; he doubts that she would ever wish to see him in his true form once again and allow that to have power over her. He is settled completely in this shape, in the Emet-Selch he has come to be, and there's no hiding his desire for her in this form either. It is heavy between them, reminding him of just how humanlike he has become in his age.
Desire is not unfamiliar to him, of course, not in the eons that he has lived, but to feel someone so close that he has wanted, that he has yearned for... It makes him a little needier than he might otherwise have been, a little more desperate and yielding to her wants and needs.
Not that he is an inattentive lover, of course.
All of it, that is what she asks for, and his fingers steal under her clothing, no barriers, prepared to push away the seams keeping him from her and devour her entirely. The gentle movement of her hips has him shaking, and he swallows, leaning in to kiss her again. ]
Take your clothing off. Now.
[ Then, breathless - ]
I may not have a soul to show you as we speak, but I have a body.
His touch has her shaking already, and Pahja swallows heavily against his lips in order to hold herself together or they both will shake apart too soon. She wants to see him come undone this way, whole and hale, than through violence -- but by her hand, still. Curling her fingers into his clothes makes heeding his request difficult, and Pahja kisses him with a desperation she's finally allowing herself to feel: wanting him, losing him, and now -- having him at last. It makes it difficult to separate herself from him.
But she does, gasping as she ends the kiss so that she can strip as quickly as possible. One for flashiness, Pahja curses her taste in clothing as it takes time to shed it all -- and every moment spent not pressed against him is time wasted. )
Even that, Emet -- that will be enough. ( Breathless, she rolls her hips down against him, gasping at the weight and the hardness against her. Close to what she wants, what they want, but not quite. ) On the First I thought-- ( Pahja swallows her hesitation, continuing on-- ) I thought I might love you given time.
( Her tunic is off, cast to the side carelessly. Gooseflesh rises on her bare skin in the coolness of the air; grey-blue skin almost blending into the surrounding stone of Mor Dhona. Next are her gloves, her boots, and finally her shorts and smalls -- though this she does have to life herself up off of him to rid herself of them.
The fact that he remains fully dressed doesn't bother her; she's not a shy woman, and is quick to resettle against his hips and his chest the moment she can, enjoying the feeling of expensive cloth and fur against her bare skin.
Her fingers curl again into his clothes as she pulls him down for another kiss, demanding and accepting all at once. )
Let me see your body then, let me show you how much I love you.
[ There is a certain electricity between the two of them, born of mutual want and desire, a spark of affection that has transformed itself into a flame.
Emet-Selch is aware that he has been given something of a second chance, the world changed before him and a warrior reaching for him and offering him salvation. The fact that he is now able to watch that self-same warrior undress and share herself with him is a boon he had never anticipated, something he had not dared to dream. Midnight thoughts that wander in the dark is not the same as conscious daydream, his tight control resisting it, but all the same...
Watching her unravel herself, take off her layers and let them drop to the side, is a miracle beyond anything paradise might have offered him.
Careful hands rest on her hips as soon as he is able again, shifting up so that his cock can press against her, wanting more and more of her but still barred by fabric and his own tense self-control. The temptation to lift her by the arm and press her against the wall, to have her that way, crosses his mind once more and he has to force himself to breathe out and remain calm. Another time, perhaps.
Eyes lift as he listens to her speak and his throat goes dry. ] Given time? Has there been time enough, Pahja, or must I beg more of you in future?
[ Pahja settles down against him and he reaches to stretch his fingers over bared skin, her hip, up to her chest, letting his thumb rub on the edge of her. He gives into her kisses because he has no other choice - not when his other hand is already slipping back between her legs, feeling her with no barrier, nothing to keep him from what he wants - to give her the greatest pleasure and feel her fall apart for him and no other.
Emet-Selch has always been selfish.
Nipping her mouth, he hums, the sound tailing into a groan as he realises his own desire, twinned with hers, how much they want one another and how close they are to sharing it. ]
Do whatever you desire with me. I am naught but yours.
Enough by half. You will never be free of me now, not in this life and not in the next.
( No, their souls will stay together. A silly pledge to make, perhaps, but is one she would swear by. If there was one thing the past gods-know-how-long has taught her it is that her soul belongs with his and Hythlodaeus.
She would tell him that, if he were not so successful at diverting her thoughts from anything but this: the press of her flesh against his clothes, the feel of his cock against her, the groan that escapes him. Her lower lip catches between her teeth as she endeavors to keep it together long enough to direct him. But he is touching her at last, only serving to make her burn more for him instead of quenching the ache.
Curving into him, Pahja presses open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, letting her fangs drag over the soft, pale skin of his neck. They are not delicate people, the two of them, but she is careful not to break skin. There is a time and a place for roughness, and part of her desperately wants to test their limits, but now... now she just wants to bask in the glory of having him. )
I want to come by your touch. ( That much should be obvious, the way she shifts down against his fingers, wanting more. Like this, she thinks, against his clothes -- if they stain then he will simply have to magic it away. No great feat for him, she's certain. ) And then I would have you strip down and lie there and fuck me until we exhaust ourselves. I want to see your face, Emet.
( She wants to see him lose himself. That is not so big of a request, Pahja thinks, that they can't come to an agreement. )
I think that is a burden that I might not fear to carry.
[ Her soul found his time and time again, after all, so he has no reason to imagine he might escape her now. The notion of it is one that he cannot fathom, not when he has been brought to her side, not when she has found him and reached for him, loved him, wanted him. Emet-Selch wants nothing more than to keep her with him, to keep the taste of her in his mouth for the eons that lay before them.
There is no hesitation in the way his head tilts for her, allowing her access to his neck and whatever else she might desire. Of course there is no doubt that she wants his clothing gone, just as he has hers, but there is something deliciously decedent about her nakedness against his fabric. It is made all the more delicious for her gentle commentary, the way she speaks and leaves him flushed and wanting.
No hesitation follows his movements, his eyes dark and settled as his fingers finally press between her legs properly, less explorative and more firm. Yes, he is hard, yes, he is wanting, but her pleasure comes first; not only because he wishes it to be so but because she has demanded it, she wants it of him, and Emet-Selch recognises his own desire to serve her to the best of all that he has.
It is a tease at first, of course, because there is no need to rush when they have hours ahead of them, but his lips do curl into a smile. ]
Then come you shall, my love, before I make good use of this ground we have been given.
[ He will fuck her, there is no denying that, and he will make her come again as he does so, but for now his fingers do the work. His freer hand, the one not teasing, settles on her behind and holds her in position, pressing his fingers up properly, his eyes watching her face. He knows how to bring a woman pleasure, knows how to have her fall apart on his fingers, and he does so now - a slow, building pace, testing the waters and letting his thumb press.
Eventually she will get his fingers, eventually he will feel her shake around him, he will taste her, devour her, but for now he wants to learn what she likes, what she enjoys, how much pressure, how fast or slow. ]
( Pahja knows that no one will understand this, how enamored they are with each other, how she trusts him and wants to be undone by his touch. How she loves him, and he her. But it isn't her job to explain herself to any who question her; she will relish every touch, every word from Emet in her own way. And shower him with her own until there is no mistaking the depths of her emotion.
His flush is endearing -- she reaches up to trace the bloom of red across his cheekbones before twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. The other curls into the fabric of his clothes, relishing the feeling of it against her skin. Having him naked before her will come, just as sure as she will, but for now she enjoys the decadence of letting him have her bare before him. )
I have no doubt--
( The light touch has her squirming against him in an attempt for more, mouth falling open as she holds his gaze -- golden, tired, and full of want and desire. She can only hope that he can see how much she intends to enjoy this on her own face, cheeks darkening with her own flush, spreading down her neck and over her chest.
When his fingers finally press up and touch her she rewards him with a sharp gasp and a tightening of her fingers. It isn't enough, it won't be enough until he is fingers deep in her. She moves again, a half-hearted protest of the pace he is testing out, rubbing up against his cock as much as she can at the same time. )
Tease. ( She accuses him, mouth turning up into a small smirk as her legs twitch from the press of his thumb against her. ) More. Harder, Emet, I can take it--
( Even if he doesn't, even if he wants to make her squirm and beg for him, Pahja knows he won't leave her unsatisfied. )
[ Once upon a time an encounter like this would simply have been a means to an end - for children, for his empire, for his plans. With Pahja it is nothing more than his own want and his own feelings, nothing more than genuinely desiring her pleasure above all else. Emet might even have found himself content to give her a shattering orgasm and leave himself untouched; all he wants is to see her, hear her, as she falls apart for him.
There's no doubt that she knows what she wants, is clear with her desires, and he has no hesitation as he adjusts his own legs to near enough force her legs open for him. She's clinging to him and it's enough to leave him feeling heady and desperate, wanting to tear his clothing off and press her into the ground below them. Luckily, for all that he might jest on the matter, he has mustered some level of patience. ]
Perhaps I am simply enjoying myself.
[ Every sound and expression she makes is delicious and all he can do is drink them in. When his fingers finally move it's with a slow, careful press of his forefinger inside of her, thumb still moving in sure motions, learning her wants, feeling her move and grind against him. One finger is nothing compared to the rest of him, of course, but he will take his time to open her, to prepare her, to ensure that she is drowning in want, pleasure and desire before he takes what is his.
Lips curling, he leans in to kiss her as his finger moves, testing her patience once again - slow, steady, teasing. She can take anything he gives her, there's no denying that, but that doesn't mean he has no want to indulge himself in a lengthy encounter. ]
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With little else to do as far as 'aiding' the Scions (which, he thinks, comes with its own share of anger and frustration on all fronts) he has found his time stolen with stories and sleep, allowing himself to drift away into the evening with little more than a blanket for comfort. A far cry from the generous supply of bedding and luxuries he had once been afforded with another time in another lifetime.
Ah, how things do change; a refreshing thing for once rather than something worth torment.
Pahja arrives and he plays the game of ignorance, as if the book he reads is of more import than her, until she speaks and he can do no more than offer the gentlest of scoffs. ]
And give up such a generous abode? I hardly think so. [ Careful, slow, one arm wraps around her, drawing her close. Familiar and comfortable. ] My chains would likely not extend so far.
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( She snorts, letting herself be pulled in without resistance. Once she is tight against his side and chest she curls further in, the side of her face pressed against his chest and her own arm lying over it, her fingers playing with the fur hem of his shawl.
No one has offered him a change of clothes. Pahja thinks he wouldn't take it if they had.
Her smile fades slightly; with him there is no need to pretend that she is not tired, worn down, faced with a bone deep exhaustion that obligation keeps her from resolving. Emet understands; her fingers curl further into the fur. )
They only want to make sure you're not up to trouble. Although-- ( A bemused shake of her head, muffled and resigned laughter following. ) They would also insist that should you come to harm it'd be your own fault. And, if I do say so myself, we couldn't keep you anywhere you didn't want to be.
( Bold to call him out? Perhaps, but Pahja has never pulled punches in her life and she certainly isn't going to start with Emet. Not when she wonders if there are scars running over his chest from the blow she dealt him. )
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[ He was of the Old World; he was an Emperor, a guest among kings, and now he sleeps like a prisoner under watch with voluntary guard. This strange notion the Scions seem to have of being able to keep him leashed as a pet is baffling to say the least when he exists as he does - a being far beyond their power, someone they cannot truly contain in their pitiful walls.
There's no denying that he is here all the same, however, bound by invisible shackles to a women he can't find the strength to step away from. Her soul is too familiar, too comforting, and her heart has so deeply entwined with his own that he has no sense of how to free himself from her warmth. That is something the Scions know and why they take such comfort in his position in their Rising Stones; he will not harm what is hers.
Not in this moment, at least.
Turning his head, he rests his chin on her head, cocooning her with his body. ]
I shall simply have to not come to harm, then. Though I doubt you would allow it to occur in the first place.
[ Pausing for a moment he reaches for her hand, drawing her up and urging her to move, willing to lift her if he must. ]
And should wounds happen to befall me you might soothe them with your lips.
probable endwalker spoilers from here on out, for the entire msq
Perhaps it's that Pahja has never known to do anything by halves, including who she might give her heart to; Emet has it within his hands as surely as she knows that she holds the chains that keep him close.
Laughing, she lets him take her hand, meeting his golden eyes with sly grin. )
My lips? Hm, I was unaware of any healing properties they might have -- I think a demonstration is in order.
( Teasing, but she will leave the ball in his court; Pahja knows that for all his bluster he is sentimental to the last, achingly so. Denying that they have any connection at all is commonplace, as his complaining, but he still answered her call for him -- twice over. And this time she is not eager to see him leave.
(Hythlodaeus, too, but he keeps himself otherwise occupied, as charmed as he is by all living creatures. At least Pahja is mostly certain he will not end up on the wrong end of something with a great many rows of teeth.) )
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None of this is particularly simple, not when one takes into account the nature of their acquaintanceship and how they had become first enemies and later something altogether different. The line between love and hate is thin, Emet-Selch knows that, and it has been blurring all the more for him of late.
His fingers are large enough for her wrist, and it takes him by surprise for a moment. She is so small, so seemingly frail, but so terrifying in her strength. She might kill him, should she choose to, in this moment. He is nothing compared to her. Strong and coy, a dangerous mix indeed. ]
Is there someone I might call? I am most confident there is more than one who would be willing to be your test subject.
[ He could take what he wants from her, Emet-Selch knows he has the strength to do so in this realm, but he has no desire to. The legacy he carried as an Emperor was not taken by force; he can be tender with his affection, not brutal, not unkind. He is not that kind of man. His head tilts, watching her, eyes dark and searching. ]
I could ask another to give me succour, if you are so uncertain of your merit.
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But who would he be if not frustrating and so intent on putting barriers between her and what she wants?
His statement earns him a roll of her eyes and a poke in the side, though she knows both of them have no wish for either of them to field another option -- for healing or for kissing. Calling him on it would be a mute point when she can instead tease him for it. )
Oh? Perhaps Thancred, then. For your succor and my kiss--
( Pahja makes a move -- half-hearted and with no strength nor real intent -- to extract herself from his arms. )
I shall go get him if you wish, or perhaps you would like to accompany me? His expression would be priceless.
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His eyes narrow as he leans closer. The notion of anyone, most especially Thancred, taking her from him... No, it sits unwell on his shoulders. ]
I think you are playing a dangerous game.
[ It is clear what she wants, pushing and nudging as she does, and he draws her all the closer, inches apart now. A simple turn of the head would bring them together. ]
Just as I think you shall not be leaving my arms.
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There is comfort in that, Pahja thinks, of a bond that lasts throughout lives. )
I have a certain zest for danger, as anyone will tell you. ( Pahja jests, tail flicking in clear approval of the way he is not letting her go, keeping her here in his arms and so, so close. Jumping in without looking is her forte, and so she turns her head enough that their lips brush -- not kissing yet, but the promise is there. ) Now then, what ails you so, Hades, that I must remain here to tend to you alone?
( She moves slightly -- not to pull away, but to throw a leg over his hip, pulling herself more flush with him than before. But she does not press him for anything he is not willing to give. )
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He knows her soul as well as he knows his own and there is comfort in that; no matter what happens in the future he will see the colour and know it as partner to his own, that he had known as intimately as breathing.
The barest touch of their lips has his breathing hitching, eyes dark. ]
I had made note of it. [ His face twists at the reminder of his name - title is much easier to bear in this world - but he will not fault her for it. He can fault her for very little. ] It is a terribly irritating thing, having to save you so often.
[ Emet-Selch allows her movement, drawing her just as close, letting his arm settle around her properly and keep her tight against his body. ]
Perhaps I ought to have my reward for that if nothing else.
[ And, leaning in, he steals her mouth. ]
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He has been taken from her so many times now -- each time harder to let go than the last, the more she learns about him. It is a great unfairness, she thinks, but her reward is him. Whole and hale and kissing her.
Pahja returns it with exuberance once she feels as if she is no longer taken aback by the sheer novelty of kissing him until she must break away. But she does not go far, happy to remain pressed against him.
Sliding her free hand into his jackets might be presumptuous, curling into the fabric over his heart to hold him fast, but Pahja has ached in heart and body too long to not learn what boundaries he is willing to set in the moment. Breathless she finally retorts, though it is far less of their push and pull and more wanting. )
Anything you might have of me, Emet, is yours until you no longer have to save me.
( Until they can both return to the star. Her own wide eyes darken further, narrowing in her eagerness to, if not devour him whole, then to enjoy the moment to the fullest. )
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Emet-Selch's head tilts, just a little, as he draws the kiss out for as long as he can. The feel of her in his arms is near enough perfection, and his grip only tightens as she reaches for him in return, her hold just as intense as his own. It is a reflection of their own want and desire, a reflection of how they feel for each other, desperation that has clung to them for months now.
There is a reason he has not left to explore the world as he had thought to do, following in Azem's footsteps. He is tied to her, chained to her, in heart and body. It is the only reason he tolerates the treatment the Scions give him.
Pausing for breath, he does not hesitate as he shifts his body, making space for her to settle in his lap properly, one hand trailing down her spine to touch at her hip, to curve around her backside as his expression turns teasing, dangerous. He will do more, wants to do more, but not without her command upon him.
One gentle kiss is left on her jaw, just by the curve of her neck. ]
I do not think there will come such a time. I find myself rather enthralled.
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Ever living in the moment means that her focus is on the here and now, on Emet's grip on her and the way his lips feel against her skin, warm and resonating a familiarity deep within her soul. She gasps at the shock of it but welcomes it all the same -- she is Pahja, not Azem -- and only recently has she been able to define herself against the weight of that legacy. And in doing so, has never felt more herself nor more able to embrace the truth of her soul.
Emet's dark eyes capture her's and she wants nothing more than to fall into whatever his expression and gaze promise; settling fully into his lap and pushing back against his grip, wanting more. A nameless, all consuming want for everything he could give her, everything he would offer.
A breathless laugh his his reward at such praise, her eyes gleaming. )
Then by your leave, indulge. I would find not fault in it, nor the desire or want to dissuade you.
( If he should make her plead with him, well. Her pride makes her stride forward unbent and unbroken in her stubbornness, yet she knows when to fold the hand she was dealt in order to win.
Instead she presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, the crest of his cheekbones, the center of his forehead. The corner of his mouth in a gentle tease. )
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He does not know what to do with himself, truly. The notion that he might be able to spend it with her, that he might walk with Pahja at his side. He had never imagined that he would have a warm and loving future, but given the way she speaks to him, the way she touches him, the way her lips press against his own - he imagines that, perhaps, he could do this a thousand times and never get bored.
Even when she looks at him, just now, he feels as though he has had more power in this moment then he ever had when he was in Elpis, when he was wrapped up in literal paradise.
Emet-Selch hums against her skin, his eyes closing for a brief moment, almost overwhelmed. ]
No, I imagine you would not. You have never been proficient in dissuading me from any course of action.
[ But he shifts, stealing another kiss, leaving a gentle nip on the bottom. His hand strokes against her, inviting but not taking, a slight flush on the height of his cheekbones. ]
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One of her hands comes up to cup the line of his jaw, fingers hooking behind it to hold him there while their kiss lasts; the small nip is enough encouragement for her to open her mouth to him, kissing him as deep as he will allow her to. Not demanding, never that -- especially now. But she can't help the warmth that flows through her, the desire that threatens to emerged from a banked fire in her heart.
For all the things life has taken away from her, she can keep this. She can have him. For as long as she lives, and for however long he will have her; perhaps afterwards, when their souls will return together. And again, and again--
There is peace there, in that truth. )
Not for lack of trying! ( She interjects, as if that is the point and not the way they fit together now, the way his hand curves around her ass and the way she rolls her hips forward -- shallow, questioning, asking. ) But in this-- are we of one mind, Emet?
( Pahja could not, would not presume until she hears it from him, however breathless he might make her. Pulling back only so she can watch his face, her eyes fixated on his ere he opens them, thumb caressing the blooming brush. )
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The way she looks at him now, however, with fingers brushing gently over his skin, gazing at him before their lips meet in a kiss, makes him think otherwise. It is clear that she wants him, or at least some part of him, and that is an enchanting notion. He finds he wants to be wanted, at least by her - he has never been much concerned with the thoughts and feelings of her compatriots. He could not care less, and he is certain she is also aware of that.
Emet-Selch feels large in his arms, drawing her tight against his chest and breathing out gentle, voice a little deeper, coloured with want. ]
Yes, yes, you tried terribly hard and succeeded in the end. I was present, you know. [ Her hips move and his shift against hers, his eyes flying to her face briefly, wanting - wondering what it is that her heart desires.
He thinks he might be able to tell. ]
That depends. I would like to hear what thoughts compel you now.
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Full glad is she to know that it is not the case.
A monster to others he might be, a monster he might have become, but she could never claim to not understand why -- pushed to desperation, out of grief and longing. Set adrift for thousand upon thousands of years in the vain hope to reclaim the lives that were lost; she may not agree but she can never claim to never understand.
It hits an ache within her, this one of sorrow, when he holds her close. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the timber of his voice -- Pahja kisses him once more, deep and full of longing, before she responds. )
Nothing more than the wish to have all of you. ( A simple request, her eyes darting up to hold his gaze. And then, as the corner of her mouth turns up into a sly, scheming smile: ) To feel you in me, Emet. To have your hands on my hips and my breasts. To cry out with every thrust until the only word I can form is your name.
( Her eyes darken, pupils wide. )
Please, Emet-Selch.
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There is joy in it, in knowing that he is wanted, that someone has the heart to care for him knowing al l that he has within him.
Slow, gentle lips trail along her jawline, against the curve of her skin, testing the boundaries of his affection. He cannot find the means to stop nor cease, hands stroking along her waist and hips, his fingers exploring as he listens to her speak - sounding almost as though he might be in awe of her, of all that she carries.
If he were the man who might have the strength to blush he might now, but time has stolen that from him. He can do aught else. ]
All of me. A dangerous request for someone of your... Stature. [ She has seen all of him, and his fingers move, edging by her hips and shifting to settle between her legs. His eyes do not leave her face. ] I am a great deal to take.
[ He barely has the strength to move, to lean forward and kiss her, but his hips shift, just a little, grinding up against the shape of her body. There is no denying his wants now. ]
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Pahja runs her hand through his hair, claws scraping the skin at the nape of his neck gently, so gently. She will be kind to him, she wants to be good for him. To let him shuck the weight of his burdens for a time, to share them to the best of her ability. )
Has nothing I have accomplished proved that I am a woman of my word, yet still you doubt me? ( It is all she manages to get out before the unmistakable hardness of his want steals her breath away, the press of his fingers between her legs a tease that blows her eyes wide and her mouth open as a soft, shaky moan falls from her lips. Luckily he is there to swallow it, and she presses further -- mouth and lips to kiss him deeper, press down against him with another roll of her hips. ) All of you, Hades. Every sin, every burden, every scar on your soul.
( Her fingers drag down the line of his jaw, down his neck -- fingers brushing over his collarbones. But she does not wrap them around his neck, does not look on him with malice or even pity. There is only love in her gaze, in her touch as she rolls her hips once more, gasping at the friction. )
I want it all.
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Desire is not unfamiliar to him, of course, not in the eons that he has lived, but to feel someone so close that he has wanted, that he has yearned for... It makes him a little needier than he might otherwise have been, a little more desperate and yielding to her wants and needs.
Not that he is an inattentive lover, of course.
All of it, that is what she asks for, and his fingers steal under her clothing, no barriers, prepared to push away the seams keeping him from her and devour her entirely. The gentle movement of her hips has him shaking, and he swallows, leaning in to kiss her again. ]
Take your clothing off. Now.
[ Then, breathless - ]
I may not have a soul to show you as we speak, but I have a body.
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His touch has her shaking already, and Pahja swallows heavily against his lips in order to hold herself together or they both will shake apart too soon. She wants to see him come undone this way, whole and hale, than through violence -- but by her hand, still. Curling her fingers into his clothes makes heeding his request difficult, and Pahja kisses him with a desperation she's finally allowing herself to feel: wanting him, losing him, and now -- having him at last. It makes it difficult to separate herself from him.
But she does, gasping as she ends the kiss so that she can strip as quickly as possible. One for flashiness, Pahja curses her taste in clothing as it takes time to shed it all -- and every moment spent not pressed against him is time wasted. )
Even that, Emet -- that will be enough. ( Breathless, she rolls her hips down against him, gasping at the weight and the hardness against her. Close to what she wants, what they want, but not quite. ) On the First I thought-- ( Pahja swallows her hesitation, continuing on-- ) I thought I might love you given time.
( Her tunic is off, cast to the side carelessly. Gooseflesh rises on her bare skin in the coolness of the air; grey-blue skin almost blending into the surrounding stone of Mor Dhona. Next are her gloves, her boots, and finally her shorts and smalls -- though this she does have to life herself up off of him to rid herself of them.
The fact that he remains fully dressed doesn't bother her; she's not a shy woman, and is quick to resettle against his hips and his chest the moment she can, enjoying the feeling of expensive cloth and fur against her bare skin.
Her fingers curl again into his clothes as she pulls him down for another kiss, demanding and accepting all at once. )
Let me see your body then, let me show you how much I love you.
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Emet-Selch is aware that he has been given something of a second chance, the world changed before him and a warrior reaching for him and offering him salvation. The fact that he is now able to watch that self-same warrior undress and share herself with him is a boon he had never anticipated, something he had not dared to dream. Midnight thoughts that wander in the dark is not the same as conscious daydream, his tight control resisting it, but all the same...
Watching her unravel herself, take off her layers and let them drop to the side, is a miracle beyond anything paradise might have offered him.
Careful hands rest on her hips as soon as he is able again, shifting up so that his cock can press against her, wanting more and more of her but still barred by fabric and his own tense self-control. The temptation to lift her by the arm and press her against the wall, to have her that way, crosses his mind once more and he has to force himself to breathe out and remain calm. Another time, perhaps.
Eyes lift as he listens to her speak and his throat goes dry. ] Given time? Has there been time enough, Pahja, or must I beg more of you in future?
[ Pahja settles down against him and he reaches to stretch his fingers over bared skin, her hip, up to her chest, letting his thumb rub on the edge of her. He gives into her kisses because he has no other choice - not when his other hand is already slipping back between her legs, feeling her with no barrier, nothing to keep him from what he wants - to give her the greatest pleasure and feel her fall apart for him and no other.
Emet-Selch has always been selfish.
Nipping her mouth, he hums, the sound tailing into a groan as he realises his own desire, twinned with hers, how much they want one another and how close they are to sharing it. ]
Do whatever you desire with me. I am naught but yours.
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( No, their souls will stay together. A silly pledge to make, perhaps, but is one she would swear by. If there was one thing the past gods-know-how-long has taught her it is that her soul belongs with his and Hythlodaeus.
She would tell him that, if he were not so successful at diverting her thoughts from anything but this: the press of her flesh against his clothes, the feel of his cock against her, the groan that escapes him. Her lower lip catches between her teeth as she endeavors to keep it together long enough to direct him. But he is touching her at last, only serving to make her burn more for him instead of quenching the ache.
Curving into him, Pahja presses open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, letting her fangs drag over the soft, pale skin of his neck. They are not delicate people, the two of them, but she is careful not to break skin. There is a time and a place for roughness, and part of her desperately wants to test their limits, but now... now she just wants to bask in the glory of having him. )
I want to come by your touch. ( That much should be obvious, the way she shifts down against his fingers, wanting more. Like this, she thinks, against his clothes -- if they stain then he will simply have to magic it away. No great feat for him, she's certain. ) And then I would have you strip down and lie there and fuck me until we exhaust ourselves. I want to see your face, Emet.
( She wants to see him lose himself. That is not so big of a request, Pahja thinks, that they can't come to an agreement. )
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[ Her soul found his time and time again, after all, so he has no reason to imagine he might escape her now. The notion of it is one that he cannot fathom, not when he has been brought to her side, not when she has found him and reached for him, loved him, wanted him. Emet-Selch wants nothing more than to keep her with him, to keep the taste of her in his mouth for the eons that lay before them.
There is no hesitation in the way his head tilts for her, allowing her access to his neck and whatever else she might desire. Of course there is no doubt that she wants his clothing gone, just as he has hers, but there is something deliciously decedent about her nakedness against his fabric. It is made all the more delicious for her gentle commentary, the way she speaks and leaves him flushed and wanting.
No hesitation follows his movements, his eyes dark and settled as his fingers finally press between her legs properly, less explorative and more firm. Yes, he is hard, yes, he is wanting, but her pleasure comes first; not only because he wishes it to be so but because she has demanded it, she wants it of him, and Emet-Selch recognises his own desire to serve her to the best of all that he has.
It is a tease at first, of course, because there is no need to rush when they have hours ahead of them, but his lips do curl into a smile. ]
Then come you shall, my love, before I make good use of this ground we have been given.
[ He will fuck her, there is no denying that, and he will make her come again as he does so, but for now his fingers do the work. His freer hand, the one not teasing, settles on her behind and holds her in position, pressing his fingers up properly, his eyes watching her face. He knows how to bring a woman pleasure, knows how to have her fall apart on his fingers, and he does so now - a slow, building pace, testing the waters and letting his thumb press.
Eventually she will get his fingers, eventually he will feel her shake around him, he will taste her, devour her, but for now he wants to learn what she likes, what she enjoys, how much pressure, how fast or slow. ]
You will experience it all.
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His flush is endearing -- she reaches up to trace the bloom of red across his cheekbones before twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. The other curls into the fabric of his clothes, relishing the feeling of it against her skin. Having him naked before her will come, just as sure as she will, but for now she enjoys the decadence of letting him have her bare before him. )
I have no doubt--
( The light touch has her squirming against him in an attempt for more, mouth falling open as she holds his gaze -- golden, tired, and full of want and desire. She can only hope that he can see how much she intends to enjoy this on her own face, cheeks darkening with her own flush, spreading down her neck and over her chest.
When his fingers finally press up and touch her she rewards him with a sharp gasp and a tightening of her fingers. It isn't enough, it won't be enough until he is fingers deep in her. She moves again, a half-hearted protest of the pace he is testing out, rubbing up against his cock as much as she can at the same time. )
Tease. ( She accuses him, mouth turning up into a small smirk as her legs twitch from the press of his thumb against her. ) More. Harder, Emet, I can take it--
( Even if he doesn't, even if he wants to make her squirm and beg for him, Pahja knows he won't leave her unsatisfied. )
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There's no doubt that she knows what she wants, is clear with her desires, and he has no hesitation as he adjusts his own legs to near enough force her legs open for him. She's clinging to him and it's enough to leave him feeling heady and desperate, wanting to tear his clothing off and press her into the ground below them. Luckily, for all that he might jest on the matter, he has mustered some level of patience. ]
Perhaps I am simply enjoying myself.
[ Every sound and expression she makes is delicious and all he can do is drink them in. When his fingers finally move it's with a slow, careful press of his forefinger inside of her, thumb still moving in sure motions, learning her wants, feeling her move and grind against him. One finger is nothing compared to the rest of him, of course, but he will take his time to open her, to prepare her, to ensure that she is drowning in want, pleasure and desire before he takes what is his.
Lips curling, he leans in to kiss her as his finger moves, testing her patience once again - slow, steady, teasing. She can take anything he gives her, there's no denying that, but that doesn't mean he has no want to indulge himself in a lengthy encounter. ]
Is that enough, my love?
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