#grateful to viking for the prompt that's been been occuping my thoughts for the past week

[roguelioness]

vis-à-vis (this spark of want)

Fandom: FFXIV Pairing: Aymeric de Borel/Alyzen Kaide/Estinien Varlineau Rating: M Words: 1396

(read on ao3)

They’re curved, and smooth, and gleam from a generous application of salve. They much resemble the bow she favors, beautiful and elegant, a feature to be admired - and worshipped, as they rightfully deserve. The upper one with its gentle twinned peaks, the lower like the slow meander of a river. Soft and ripe, a lushness to be savored, to be indulged in, and it has been far, far too long that he’s gone without tracing the shape of them–

“Lord Commander?” Alphinaud’s voice breaks through his reverie. “Is aught amiss?”

Aymeric clears his throat, shifting his gaze from Alyzen’s now-smirking mouth to the white-haired lad. “Forgive me,” he says smoothly, “‘Twas little more than a momentary disappointment that your efforts have come to naught.”

“Tis true we hoped for a better outcome,” Alphinaud responds, “but I take solace in the knowledge that we have done all in our power to resolve this war without bloodshed–”

“Get to the point, lad. We do not have time for your ceaseless prattling.” Estinien calls out from the corner he’s tucked himself into. While the others are dressed casually - and appropriately for the weather - Estinien is in full armor, his helmet covering the majority of his face, leaving only his jaw visible.

Estinien has pretty lips.

Aymeric lifts a hand, wanting to drag it down his face, but stops himself in time.

“Ah, yes,” Alphinaud blushes, “to reiterate what Estinien has already mentioned, we have located Nidhogg’s lair, but the wyrm has…” Aymeric tries to focus, he truly does, but it’s all but impossible to do so when Alyzen is standing right there with a finger tapping against that luscious mouth, drawing attention to the fullness of it. She meets his gaze, the corner of those lips quirking upward ever-so-slightly, and slowly, deliberately outlines the shape of her bottom lip before catching it between her teeth.

That minx. She knows. She knows his attention is wandering, and knows she is the cause of it. Aymeric is fond of Alphinaud, but at this moment, the lad’s voice and penchant for long-winded speech makes him grit his teeth.

“Garlond Ironworks believe they have a viable solution to the matter of the tempestuous barrier…”

He watches as Estinien unfurls himself and moves to Alyzen’s side, dipping his head close to her ear as though he’s whispering a secret, but Aymeric can see the way the dragoon’s lips press against the soft skin there, is keenly aware of the shiver Aly tries to suppress. Her golden gaze flicks over to him, lips parted in an exhale he can almost feel against his own mouth. Folding his hands together, fingers squeezing against knuckles for a light bite of pain, he tries to refocus on what Alphinaud is saying.

“They believe they should have a prototype of the manacutter ready by…” Fury forefend, would the lad never conclude his chatter? How did he have so much breath?

Estinien is smirking. Estinien is smirking, and that is never a good sign. Aymeric shifts behind his desk, eyes now wary, shooting the dragoon a gaze that screams whatever you have in mind, do not do it.

Estinien’s smirk only grows wider.

He raises a gauntlet-covered hand, gently turning Aly’s face towards his before his armored thumb presses against the corner of her lips, as though he’s wiping away a stray crumb from breakfast. Aymeric shuts his eyes, inordinately grateful that Lucia isn’t here to see this display, and that Alphinaud is too engrossed in whatever he’s saying to pay attention to the spectacle behind him.

Then Aly parts her lips, allowing Estinien to slide his finger into the warmth of her mouth and Aymeric watches the deliberately exaggerated concavity of her cheeks as she undoubtedly sucks at the intruding digit, and he has had enough.

And still Alphinaud is talking!

Estinien drags his thumb from Aly’s mouth, traces the shape of it with that spit-slick digit, before tugging lightly at her lip, causing her to break out into a quiet sigh. He can’t see it from here, but he knows the hue of that delicate pink flesh, remembers how it feels to have his tongue pressed against hers. The back of his neck burns with a need to relearn the taste of her.

“...I believe Master Garlond said it runs on a mechanism that converts aether from its surroundings into elemental wind, which is then harnessed by the sails…”

Estinien starts to dip his head towards hers, and surely he would not dare to– not when Alphinaud is right there– but the lad is still happily chattering away about wind-aspected aether, and– 

Estinien kisses Aly, plush mouth pressed against plush mouth, and Aymeric nearly groans at the sight of it.

Alyzen whimpers, a quiet muffled sound, like she’d tried to contain it but it’d slipped out nonetheless.

Alphinaud pauses. “Did anyone hear that?” he asks, looking from side to side with a frown. Before he can turn and discover the irrepressible shamelessness of his paramours, Aymeric clears his throat, drawing the lad’s attention back to him. “I do not wish to be ungracious, Master Alphinaud, certainly not after all your efforts on Ishgard’s behalf, but as Lord Commander I have many duties I must attend to. By your leave, I would call a conclusion to today’s meeting.”

Alphinaud has the grace to look chagrined. “Of course. My apologies, Lord Commander, I will keep you from your responsibilities no longer.” He turns towards Alyzen, who has, thankfully, parted from Estinien, slightly-reddened lips the only sign of her wayward behavior. “Shall we return to Fortemps Manor?” Aly’s gaze flickers to his, waiting for him to come up with an excuse to detain her, but he instead steeples his fingers atop his desk and smiles placidly.

“We should, yes,” he can hear the reluctance in her tone where Alphinaud cannot. Aymeric half-expects Estinien to speak up and have her remain behind, but to his surprise the dragoon merely returns to his corner, arms folded across his chest.

When she’s just about to step outside, one foot already across the threshold, he springs. Shuffling random papers, he says, very, very casually, “Oh, Mistress Kaide, a moment if you would. Several of our archers expressed interest in learning several of your techniques; mayhap we could discuss the possibility of a training session?” He dares not look at Estinien as he waits for her response; in the end, after she and Alphinaud exchange a look, it’s the lad who smiles guilelessly and says, “I will let Lord Edmont know your arrival will be delayed,” before walking away.

Aymeric waits until Alyzen’s closed the door. While her back is still turned to him, he calls out, very softly, “Lock the door, please.” His request makes his intentions clear, and he waits for her decision.

Her head tilts to the side, her fingers wrapped around the handle, the other hand on the key. Estinien is still silent, his stance relaxed, one shoulder wedged against the wall. 

A quick, deft movement of her hand, a soft click as the tumblers in the lock fall into place.

Aymeric is on his feet and halfway across the floor to her by the time she turns to face him. When he reaches her, he crowds her against the towering wooden door, a hand on each side of her body to cage her in. “Minx,” he whispers, enjoying the mischievous gleam in those citrine eyes, “did you conspire with Estinien to torment me afore this assignation?”

“‘You cannot blame me for your wandering attention, Aymeric,” her lips curve into a feline grin.

“Oh, I most certainly can,” he retorts, reaching to – at last! – touch that lush mouth, drawing a sharp inhale as she captures the tip of his finger between her teeth. “Minx,” he says again, more fondly this time.

“Well, I am here at your disposal, Lord Commander,” she breathes, shifting to kiss his palm. “What would you have of me?”

The smile he gives her has her narrowing her eyes at him. “I would have my vengeance,” he murmurs. “I would have the two of you beg.”

She grins at him, wide, teeth bared in a challenge. “I cannot wait," she climbs onto her toes until there's but a hair's breadth of distance between their mouths, their breaths mingling with every exhale, "to see what you have in mind.”