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“Your rooms are right this way, sers.” The House Borel maid escorting them stepped aside and made space for B'alith and G'raha to pass. “We do hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you, um…?”
“Jeanette, m’lord.”
“Jeanette.” B’alith gave her what he hoped was a warm smile, trying to fight the way his ears wanted to flatten at the unnecessary formality. It seemed unlikely that she would recognize the gesture for what it was, but it would still be rude to let his displeasure show so clearly. “And neither I nor my companion are any sort of lord. Just our names will suffice.”
“As you say, master Tia.” Jeanette dipped a smooth curtsy to them, all proper Ishgardian manners that would have made whomever had trained her exceedingly proud.
The tip of B’alith’s tail flicked irritably despite his best efforts, and he swallowed the frustrated noise that threatened to rise in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw G’raha’s mouth twitch into a poorly-hidden smile.
“That, ah, that’s not quite right either, I'm afraid," B'alith said. "‘Tia’ isn’t really a proper surname, you see, and—”
“What he means to say,” G’raha cut in smoothly, before B’alith could work himself fully into a lecture on the finer points of how Seeker of the Sun names differed from the Ishgardian convention, “is that you’ve been most kind in helping us find our way.” He slid an arm around B’alith’s waist and nestled his head against the curve of his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, B’alith?”
B’alith knew a diplomatic rebuke when he heard one. Color rose across his cheeks, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “You’re right. Forgive me, it’s been a very long day of travel and I tend to ramble when I’m tired.”
“No trouble at all, my— um, ser.” The tips of Jeanette's ears went pink as she fumbled over the correct form of address. “Will you require anything else to help you settle in before I return to help you dress for the gala?”
“I don’t think so, no.” G’raha smiled at her, a good deal more genuinely than B’alith’s attempt had been. He was so much better at getting his ears and face to do what he wanted when he wanted them to, which B’alith was begrudgingly forced to admit was likely a positive byproduct of his time as the Crystal Exarch. “Thank you again, my dear, you’ve been a credit to your house.”
Jeanette beamed with pride and dipped another curtsy. “If I may, sers, we were all most pleased when the Lord Speaker informed us that you accepted his offer of lodgings during your time here. Our most sincere congratulations to you both.”
B’alith blinked at her, confused. “Um… thank you? Congratulations for what, exactly?”
“Why, on your recent nuptials, of course!” Jeanette looked back and forth between the pair of Miqo’te and beamed again. “You make a lovely couple.”
“Oh, we’re not married.”
The young Elezen’s mask of impeccable politeness wavered for just an instant, her slender brows drawing down into the faintest hint of a frown. “You aren’t? But the Lord Speaker said—”
For once, B’alith was able to put the pieces together quicker than G'raha did. “You heard Ser Aymeric true, at least in part. I am recently bonded, but my…” He paused, trying to grope for the word that would make the most sense to an Ishgardian’s sense of how relationships worked. “Well, I suppose ‘husband' is close enough, though I think that carries some implications here that don't really apply. Anyroad, the man to whom I am handfasted is not the man with whom I am currently traveling. The cold doesn’t agree with him, I’m afraid, and it's difficult for him to be away from the Twelveswood for extended periods.”
Jeanette’s face had gone entirely red by the time B’alith rambled to a halt. She cast a panicked look at G’raha, then back to B'alith, clearly trying to work out what the proper etiquette was for the situation, and it dawned on him that perhaps he hadn’t quite worked out all the pieces of why she was so distressed by this revelation.
“W-which is not to say the two of us are not also lovers!” he hastily added. “You needn't trouble yourself with trying to make up a second room on such short notice, or anything.”
Jeanette made an odd little squeaking sound and clutched at the ruffled edge of her apron. G’raha’s head fell against B'alith's shoulder with a muffled thump; he felt the shorter Miqo’te shaking with suppressed laughter as he tried to compose himself again.
“I think that’s quite enough small talk for the night,” G’raha finally managed to interject, his voice strained with suppressed mirth. He took B’alith’s arm and began steering him down the hall to their allotted guest rooms, leaving a thoroughly scandalized maidservant in their wake. “Long day, airship ride from Limsa Lominsa very tiring, and all that. Good night!”
“What was that all about?” B’alith protested once they were mostly out of earshot. “I was just trying to sort out the confusion about our relationship.”
“I’m not entirely sure how well you succeeded.” G’raha paused in the doorway of their shared bedroom and gave him an exasperated look. “B’alith, that poor sweet girl likely thinks you’re an adulterer now.”
“A what?”
“That you’re being unfaithful in your marriage?”
B’alith stared at him, utterly baffled as to why this was relevant. “But that’s not at all how Miqo’te attitudes about relationships tend to be. It's both common and expected for us to take multiple lovers, as both you and I have already done.”
G’raha favored him with the sort of exceedingly patient smile that B'alith remembered seeing on the faces of his peers in the Thaumaturges’ Guild, when he’d been newly on his own for the first time as a young man and had just stumbled upon another way in which his upbringing was not quite as standard as he’d previously believed. “I know that. Ser Aymeric knows that. Unfortunately, the common folk of Ishgard do not, and no one loves a juicy bit of gossip quite like a serving girl.”
B’alith’s ears flattened in chagrin, and he felt the color drain from his face. He dropped his forehead onto G’raha’s shoulder with a quiet whine. “Tataru is going to kill me.”
“That is a distinct possibility, yes.” G’raha took his hands and led him the rest of the way into the room. “For now, let’s see about unpacking our things and washing up before we need to submit ourselves to hairpins and corsets and jeweled baubles. If the servants are going to talk anyway, let’s give them something to talk about.”
“Oh yes, this is much nicer than the accommodations I had the first time I came to Ishgard,” B’alith muttered to himself as wakefulness slowly returned the next morning.
He lazily stretched and burrowed further under the thick down comforter, luxuriating in the silky feeling of high thread count sheets against bare skin. When he slept alone he usually preferred at least a nightshirt and smallclothes—but on this particular occasion he had company, and he had dressed down accordingly.
A rustle from the other side of the bed brought his attention to the fact that said company was also awake. G’raha's head surfaced from beneath the tangle of blankets he’d claimed for himself, red hair in disarray and matching eyes still hazy from sleep. He squinted blearily at B’alith for a long moment before letting his head fall back into the pillows again.
“I thought you and the others were given rooms in Fortemps Manor when Count Edmond agreed to take you in as his ward,” G'raha said, his voice muffled by the profusion of decorative cushions.
B’alith could not help but answer with a laugh at how, even half awake and no doubt at least a little hungover, the historian’s first thoughts predictably drifted towards history.
“We did in time,” he said, “but when we first arrived in the city we took lodgings in Cloud Nine, the inn attached to the Forgotten Knight.” He grimaced at the memory of soot-smudged windows and empty bottles strewn across a hearth that struggled valiantly against the eternal winter outside. “I can only assume the name was chosen by someone who thought they were being clever.”
“Well, then I am even more grateful to Ser Aymeric for graciously offering us the use of his guest rooms while we’re here.”
G’raha draped an arm around B’alith’s waist and dragged him across the vast expanse of bed to snuggle up closer to him. B’alith let himself be pulled with a quiet laugh of surrender, shifting onto his back again so G’raha could settle into the crook of his arm the way he liked. He nuzzled against B’alith’s neck with a contented purr, trailing kisses along the hinge of his jaw that coaxed a quiet moan from him in return.
“Do we have to get up just yet?” G’raha murmured against his skin.
“We—”
B’alith paused to reconsider. The gala they’d come to Ishgard to attend had gone until very late the previous night, an evening which they themselves had prolonged by choosing to play out the end of the game of erotic make-believe that G'raha had teased him with before the party had properly begun. It seemed reasonable enough to expect that anyone who might want their attention would also still be in bed, sleeping off the rich food and strong drink—including their gracious host, if the fates were kinder to the Lord Speaker than B’alith had any reason to believe they would be.
“Now that I think about it some more,” he said, “I don’t think we do, actually.”
“I thought you wanted to go see the natural history museum?”
“I do, but it can wait.” B’alith wrapped his arms more tightly around G’raha’s waist and brushed a kiss against his temple. “I confess I am in no particular hurry to venture out into the snow again. I may be less bothered by the temperatures now than I was upon my first visit to the Holy See, but even black mages are not immune to the misery that is wet socks and sodden hems.”
G’raha laughed and squirmed in his lover’s embrace until they were at eye level again. His expression was a blur even at such close quarters, but the way his tail switched against B'alith's leg was more than enough to sharpen the edges he would have needed his glasses to properly enjoy. “I find myself unwilling to leave this particular cloud just yet, as well.”
B’alith let himself sink back into the pillows again as G’raha leaned in to claim his mouth for a long, slow kiss. Their hands and mouths knew each other well, responding to practiced touches as they coaxed each other more fully into wakefulness, and he welcomed the rekindling of the passion they’d stoked so thoroughly the night before. The ease they had with each other now had been hard-earned, and he intended to savor every moment of it.
He slid a hand up G’raha’s back, reveling in the feel of powerful muscles working under his touch before twining his fingers into sleep-rumpled red hair. G’raha answered with a low groan and kissed him harder, short blunt fangs dragging over B’alith’s lower lip, pressing him back against the mattress and draping a leg over his so he was more thoroughly pinned down. B’alith arched up to meet him with a stifled moan, his tail thumping against the blankets as the heat of arousal began to build between his thighs again.
G’raha’s mouth curved into a smile at the feeling of his partner's body stirring against his. “There’s at least one part of you that’s ready to get up again,” he said as he pressed a knee between B’alith’s legs, drawing out another needy sound from him in return as he rocked his hips to rut against the pressure of G'raha's thigh.
“You— gods, fuck— you’ve always had that effect on me,” B’alith gasped. He tried to grab for a handful of G’raha’s ass and found himself swiftly redirected, strong hands pinning his wrists to the mattress while G’raha set to work trailing kisses down his neck to his chest.
He glanced back up at B'alith again, vivid crimson eyes hazy with desire now rather than sleep. “This bed frame looks awfully sturdy. Should I tie you to it so we can find out?”
B’alith’s ears went back. “Not that I’m opposed to the idea, but surely you didn’t bring any—”
“I believe in being prepared.”
B’alith’s instinct to hide his face in his hands was stymied by the fact that his arms were still immobilized. He made an embarrassed noise and tried not to squirm.
“That seems like an awfully presumptuous use of our host’s furniture, G’raha.”
“From some of the rumors I hear of the Lord Speaker’s proclivities? I wouldn’t be so sure.”
"Just what in the world were you talking to the other guests about last night?"
"I did say that no one loves a bit of gossip quite like a servant." G'raha's expression took on an air of something mischievous. "Someone really ought to tell that sweet girl Jeanette that a bit more discretion would be wise when it comes to gossip about her employer, though."
B’alith’s face went redder. He’d never been especially shy about the fact that sex was an activity that many people—including him—did and enjoyed, but the exact details of said enjoyment were things he’d always considered to very firmly be no one else’s business.
G’raha laughed softly and let go of his flustered lover’s hands. “But, if you prefer, I can just flip you over and we can see just how good a job all of those fine Ishgardian pillows do at muffling sound instead.”
“I think I’d rather do something else with my mouth, actually.”
B’alith wrapped his arms around G’raha’s neck to drag him down into another heated kiss. G’raha shifted his weight against his taller lover’s body to meet him with the same hungry enthusiasm, slinging his leg more firmly across B'alith's waist to lay fully atop him. He writhed under the weight of strong thighs and the heat of G’raha’s cock rubbing against his, another needy whimper rising in his throat in anticipation of being used by a lover the way he always enjoyed.
“You want this?” G’raha rocked their hips together again, provoking another frustrated tail lash from the Miqo’te pinned under him.
“Gods, yes.”
“Move down a bit so these pillows aren't quite so in the way, then.”
B’alith did as instructed and wriggled his way further down the bed so he could lay flat against the mattress. He let his arms slide down G'raha's back to wrap around his thighs as he rearranged himself to sit straddling B'alith's chest; G'raha's hands came down to brace against the headboard with a muffled thump, a low groan falling from his lips in response to sharp nails raking over the swell of his ass and kiss-swollen lips ghosting over the length of his erection.
“Fuck, B’alith, your mouth—” he gasped, unable to stop himself from bucking against his lover’s practiced touches.
B’alith answered by dragging his tongue over the head of G’raha’s cock, earning him another, sharper jerk of the other man’s hips in an effort to get him to take more. He tightened his grip around G’raha’s thighs and let his head fall back as much as he was able; his eyes slid closed again and he gave himself over to the sensation of letting a lover fuck his mouth, the thick length of G’raha’s erection sliding over his tongue, the taste of him and the increasingly more urgent noises that escaped from his throat while B’alith worked him steadily closer to his edge. He had always been possessed of an impatient streak when it came to sex, but he was just as happy to let himself savor the moment for once—even he needed a little time to warm up before having a cock shoved down his throat first thing in the morning.
G’raha’s tail whipped against B’alith’s chest at the feeling of being taken fully to the hilt, the motions of his thrusts becoming sharper and more erratic as he tried to hold himself back just a fraction longer.
“I— oh, wicked white— I’m going to come in your mouth if you keep going like that,” he gasped, his voice gone rough with desire in the way that had always made B’alith’s own arousal that much sharper.
B’alith answered with as much of an encouraging noise as he could manage, full as his mouth currently was, a low purr in the back of his throat that made G’raha’s hips buck wildly in response to the vibrations. He thrust against B’alith’s mouth a handful more times, hard enough to just skirt the edge of choking him and drawing more needy moans from him in return, before pleasure overwhelmed him. G’raha came with a stifled cry, tail lashing against B’alith’s chest and spilling down his throat as release took him. B’alith worked him mercilessly through the peak of it, wringing as much from him as he could until sensation finally became too much.
G'raha pulled away to sit back on his heels again, flushed and breathless, looking down at the disheveled Miqo’te beneath him through heavy-lidded eyes. A triumphant grin spread across B’alith’s face in return once he’d had a moment to catch his breath too.
“It seems that perhaps it should be you testing out the sound-muffling qualities of all these pillows," he said. "I thought I was supposed to be the loud one.”
G’raha laughed and ran a hand through his hair before flopping back down onto the mattress beside his smug lover. "It seems polite to leave the house staff with something new to gossip about, don't you think?"
B'alith snorted. "Ah yes, that scandalous rake the Warrior of Light having his wicked way with…" He paused, brows furrowing. "Come to think of it, what would they call you in this scenario? 'Mistress' is the wrong gender, but 'master' has rather different connotations."
"Hm. Consort?"
"I think that implies you're bearing my children, and last I checked we possessed neither the desire nor the correct combination of anatomies between us."
"Paramour?"
B'alith cocked his head in thought. "That does sound about right, yes, though I remain perplexed as to why that sort of thing seems to matter so much here." He grinned again. "I suppose we'll just have to consult the household staff. They are the experts on matters of scandal, as you so astutely pointed out."
"I like to think I know a thing or two about scandal now, myself," G'raha said. He slid a hand beneath the bedding that B’alith was still partially tangled in, calloused fingertips skimming over the trail of auburn hair running down his belly to dip between his legs. “Would you settle for several layers of very thick blankets and your thighs around my neck, instead?”
“‘Settle’ is not the word I would choose to use.”
“I can think of several other words, many of them not appropriate for polite company, that I’d rather hear instead,” G’raha said, and disappeared back under the covers.