#only the best for my babygirl... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coldshrugs · 8 months

Text

take another step off the edge (redux)

pairing: io laithe /estinien varlineau word count: 2.7k note: first kiss incoming. this is a rewrite of the first thing i wrote about them and i think it's stronger all around :>

The meyhane is boisterous, as she knew it would be. Thavnairians are fond of seeking out their favorite watering holes when their working day has ended, eager for daylight and its heavy heat to give way to a night filled with pleasantly warm breezes, cool drinks, and intimate company. Mehryde’s is a popular destination for those reasons.

And Io is surprised to find she’s become a regular.

Throngs of thirsty revelers vie for unused tables or opt to stand in whatever free space their group can claim–all the better to dance, of course. Music played at a most unenjoyable volume swallows most conversation. Still, judging by the raucous peels of laughter and cursing that break through the sound, that might be a blessing from the gods themselves. Io picks her way through the packed wine house towards the usual spot, quite sure her apologetic smile comes across as a grimace. She is more than aware this is not her scene, yet she has accepted the invitation for the fourth consecutive week and eagerly anticipates the next.

Even places she would normally find uncomfortable are made pleasant by a close friend, or so she tells herself.

Estinien sits at a small, round table tucked away against the back wall. He hasn’t noticed her yet, but Io’s heart is in her throat as she approaches. The angles of his face are caught between the darkness pouring through the mezzanine and the colorful lights dancing further in the bar. One hand is propped under his chin, and the other loosely holds the rim of his half-finished drink. He looks as aloof as ever. Why he chose this place is a mystery to her.

When she breaks through the last few people, his expression brightens immediately.

“There you are,” he says, a hand raised to flag down a server before setting his attention firmly on her. “All’s well?”

She has no choice but to return his smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m afraid I’m still finding my bearings in the city.”

“Takes some getting used to, I suppose.” He pulls out the chair next to him, closer than the last time, and faces her fully when she takes it. “Have you any news from the sorceress?”

Right to the point, then.

“Not yet. But Shtola will find something, of that we can be sure. Unless Nidhana and her alchemists come through first.”

He nods his agreement and sips his drink, but speaks no more on the matter.

Io fidgets with the edge of the tablecloth, unsure of what to say or if she should’ve said more. She doesn’t want to talk about the godsdamned void gate but now there’s no room for pleasantries. His silence feels weighty tonight, so unlike the blanket of comfort she’s grown used to; something is on his mind. Io thinks to ask what it could be when Mihleel saunters over, notepad at ready.

“What can I bring Mehryde’s favorite guests?”

They order their usual and before long the table is littered with glasses of beer and watered raki, joined by well-sampled small plates holding skewers of grilled shrimp and vegetables, cubed melon drizzled with honey, fried squid served with a spicy pepper sauce, and fluffy flatbreads waiting to be dipped in lemony yogurt. The food alone might be worth the crowd and the noise, but there is another reason she returns week after week.

Estinien relaxes as they eat, drink, and catch up. Talk of their work in the area is quickly forgotten in favor of less professional topics: the people they know, the places they’ve traveled, and the things they still want to see or do. They lean in to be heard over the drunken buzz around them, sliding their cushioned stools ever closer. The pauses between questions are gentle now, patient and easy. Theirs is a comfortable tension, like a sore muscle finally being stretched.

“Have you returned to Ishgard since we disbanded?”

He tells her of a brief visit with Alberic and a longer visit with Aymeric, who writes ‘far more often than he has any right to,’ apparently. The edge of his annoyance softens under years of fondness, and it is clear he misses his friend.

Io watches as he talks. The incongruity of delicately painted glass held in a strong hand, the way he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, and the flex of tendon and muscle in his forearms. His face is flushed, from drink or the weather she cannot say, but it bleeds from his cheeks and ears down to his chest. Her own cheeks warm at the sight. The light breeze billows his loose shirt and it is everything to keep her eyes from roaming.

But he is watching her too, eyes darting between her lips and the hand nervously tangling in her hair or touching her neck, but always returning to meet her gaze. He tops up her raki before she can ask, pours just the amount of water she’s come to prefer, and why has he bothered to learn that?

“Apologies. I’m boring you, surely,” he says. His leg shakes under the table. “Now, you tell me some triviality or other. What’s on your mind?”

“Nonsense. I enjoy hearing about them, and I like when you talk like this.” Her hand falls to his forearm, his warm skin growing warmer beneath her touch, and both of them look down to the point of contact.

Shit.

“Shit.”

Oh. She said it out loud.

Io jerks her hand away, turning her focus to her cup. She clears her throat before draining the milky-looking beverage. It is difficult to tell which burns more, the sweet anise-flavored spirit or the embarrassment scorching across her face. “I–” She laughs, unbidden, her own nervousness threatening to consume her. Close friend, she repeats in her mind. You are my friend, no matter how much I wish we were more. “I don’t know what came over me. There has been a substantial amount of raki tonight and, trust me, you’re better off being spared my thoughts in this state.”

He breathes something like a laugh into the space between them and glances from her to the empty cups–too few to claim drunkenness and they both know it.

Io closes her eyes and wonders if this will finally be the thing that kills her–nevermind saving the world from whatever terrible fate might threaten it next. While she ponders which would’ve been kinder, drowning in Leviathan’s slippery embrace or giving in to the light and becoming a lightwarden of unfathomable beauty and horror, Estinien lifts her wrist and places her hand on his arm once more.

She feels him shaking, his leg beneath the table, and his hand moving over hers, unsteady fingers tracing over her own until they fall away and leave only this simple touch. The surge of people and all their noise fade out of existence. It’s just them. Just him.

Io opens her eyes to catch Estinien’s little smile, half-hidden behind his glass as he finishes his drink too.

His chin rests heavily in his hand, exaggerating his smirk. But his eyes are what do her in. They lock on hers, soft and perceptive, willing her to act. “There is nothing I wouldn’t know about you, Io.”

Io begs her heart to slow its furious pace.

“Shall I bring another round?” Mihleel’s high-pitched lilt breaks through the haze and Io’s head snaps in her direction.

She tries to smile, but her head is far from clear, “I… I think we’ve had our fill for the night, but thank you for everything. You can leave it on our tab.”

Estinien does not deign to look in Mihleel’s direction. “Our thanks,” he mutters, his voice so low Io wonders if Mihleel heard him at all.

Their server’s eyes gleam with interest, dancing between Io and Estinien. Her tail darts behind her, rapid as a cat waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. “Mhm. In that case, I’ll leave you both to it. Enjoy your evening.” She wanders to the next table, gone as quickly as she appeared.

“Estinien–”

“I’ll walk you to the aetheryte.” He glances at her hand still on his arm, then stands, pulling away in the process.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” She joins him in standing. His brows knit as he nods twice, expression twitching between confusion and hurt. He wrestles with himself just as she does, and she’s offended him without meaning to. “Vrtra knew I was coming and asked to speak with me tomorrow, though I have no idea what he might want. Regardless, he’s invited me to stay at the palace so I won’t be returning to Mor Dhona tonight. Perhaps you could help me find the guest wing?”

His relief is palpable, and the smile he gives her is as easy as the one before. “‘Tis a bit of a trek, but shall we walk there? The city can be rather scenic at night.”

“I’d like that.” She means it, ready to take any excuse to spend more time with him.

They leave the Meyhane and bypass the small, shimmering aetherytes that would quicken their journey through Radz-at-Han, from the far end of Artha to Dharma.

Io thought the bar was overwhelming, but it is just one small part of the whole. Radz-at-Han is somehow even more vibrant at night. Color streams from every surface and the late-evening crowd bustles from one lively venue to the next. Estinien navigates the labyrinthine streets with his usual calm decisiveness, though his pace is unhurried. With him at her side, the sights and sounds feel lush. Inviting, even.

He is relaxed here. At home. There is a softness about him that would look out of place if she did not know him so well.

They meander through the city, making quiet conversation and sharing jokes along the way, stopping when something catches their attention; a street musician, a vendor offering spun sugar, the proprietor of a noticeably vacant tavern promising free drinks to the first twenty people in the door. Their arms brush each time they sway out of someone’s way, and she wonders what he’d think if she took his hand.

Another time, perhaps.

The evening stretches out, little by little until they have nowhere else to go besides their quarters.

The palace seems to glow in the night, light pouring from the upper windows and glinting off the lustrous surfaces. She had little time to note its beauty during the Final Days, and hasn’t had an extended visit since. Estinien pauses to let her take it in.

“I did say you would enjoy the views.” He crosses his arms, making no effort to hide his self-satisfied grin.

Io laughs lightly, “I’m glad you suggested the walk. Not that I needed convincing.”

He gestures toward their left with a nod. “Come, the guest quarters are this way.”

They reach their destination, a high-ceilinged corridor meticulously painted with vibrant shades of green and pink, and accented with delicate gold leaf. This sight, like every inch of Meghaduta, is astounding, even in the dim light. The guest hall is uncharacteristically free of the attentive staff so prevalent in other parts of the palace.

We are alone, Io realizes. It is more than simple fact—it is an unignorable sensation, felt like the sudden awareness of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Like her chest rising and falling in stuttered intervals.

Her door lies a few paces ahead, and Estinien’s must be just beyond it. The easy peace between them simmers. There’s no crowd to make way for, and still, they walk close enough for their hands to brush.

“I think this is me.” Io hesitates in front of her door, gripping the handle, and looks up at him. Estinien crosses his arms again, caught in a sliver of moonlight. His silver hair gleams with it. She wonders what it’d feel like between her fingers. Gods, has he always looked like this? “I’ll say goodnight.”

She leans against the door, lingering.

Hoping.

“You need not say it so gently, you know?” Estinien takes a step closer. He’s half-smiling, and there’s something spirited in the words. Something as hopeful as she is.

A wave of giddiness rushes through her chest. Her friend, her ally for years, and now something new rips at the seam between comfort and possibility. But it’s not new at all. It has followed them for countless months, grown into something they can no longer overlook. Estinien stares down at her, unflinching, familiar, and full of fondness.

Io tugs the thread.

“How would you prefer I say it?”

Her eyes flash to his lips, still smiling, and she’s not sure who moves first.

Estinien raises a careful, calloused hand to her cheek before sliding it behind her neck. Io clutches his shirt, marveling at how the warmth of his skin bleeds through the fabric. They pull, and now they are forehead to forehead. His breath is on her face, his nose brushes hers. This is real, and he is warm, and he trembles when she slides her fingers through his hair (softer than she imagined it would be).

They pull, and his hand is on her back. Her chest is against his, and his heart plays the same long-suffering beat as hers. His fingers drift across her neck, pulling her hair away so he can feel her skin. He is fluid and certain, he moves like he needs her. His words echo in her mind: ‘There is nothing I wouldn’t know about you, Io.’ And she would know all of him as well. His mind, his heart, the taste of his lips, the feel of his body against hers.

They pull and–

This it, the ephemeral moment before that will define everything that follows. A tender spark ignites between them, the answer to a question they’ve asked privately for several months: could you feel the same?

–they collide.

Yes, is the wordless reply, lost to the heat of this Thavnairian night. Yes, they say with searching hands, wondering how close is too close as they reshape their friendship into something new. Io feels starved for him, even as she gasps against his lips, pressed between the door and his body.

There is a careful sensuality in the way he touches her, a neediness to his kiss that makes her head spin. She smiles against his mouth, and he smiles back before deepening the kiss. His hands travel across her back, down to her waist, pulling her against him and reveling in her every reaction. She doesn’t want this to end but they are quickly approaching a threshold she isn’t sure she’s ready to cross. Not yet, not tonight–but his lips move to her throat and seven hells, she has been waiting for him for so long–

Io’s elbow knocks the door’s handle and it swings open behind them.

The kiss breaks. They catch themselves mid-stumble, fighting to keep their laughter quiet. As mortifying as alerting the staff would be, the feel of his hands on her waist might be worth a bit of embarrassment.

No one comes, and they stand in the cool moonlight for a moment, entangled and amused by this series of events. A smile plays on Estinien’s lips, one more brilliant than she’s ever seen, and he makes no effort to restrain it. How long has he wanted this?

He touches her face again, thumb sweeping across her cheek. “More fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

He kisses her quickly, and she chases his lips. He rests his forehead against hers, a frustrated little rumble building in his throat. One more is not enough, but they stop there.

Io beams, covering his hand with hers. “Then I should expect the same in greeting next time I see you.”

He hums a quiet laugh as he parts from her, turning to leave. “Goodnight then,” he says, throwing one last adoring look towards her before closing the door behind him.

Io is left standing in the center of her dark room, in the wake of Estinien’s warmth. The ghost of his kiss still tingles on her lips, his touch still warms her body. She resists the urge to follow him next door and pick up where they’ve left off.

Unable to stop smiling, she readies for bed. Nothing, no one, has ever been more worth the wait.

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #they make me insane!!!!!!!!!!!#the way i love my cringefail babygirl so much!!! she's trying her best okay!?#and estinien just nudging her towards 'io beloved we are dating already. this is a date. you can touch me' dslkjfsd #they are. so ridiculous but i guess i only have myself to blame #okay bye you really do not have to read this if you already invested mental energy in the other one or even. at all really #i just needed to do this For Me. you know how it is

24 notes · View notes