neck kisses that turn into love bites .
There’s no explicit sexual content here, but there is spice for anyone who wants to avoid that.
Aymeric de Borel leans over the large, dark wood desk in his study-- a piece that has borne witness to many lonely nights spent reading reports -- and tries to stop staring at Ajisai Kawanami.
She stands on the opposite side of his desk, scribbling furiously in her jagged scrawl, muttering to herself. Ajisai fixates on a piece of paper with Eorzean letters, but the words are Dragonspeak— which annoys her.
“It’s not a written language,” she says, taking a much-needed tea-and-cookie break. Aymeric catches bits and pieces of her rant, something about inflections. Still, he’s distracted by the candlelight dancing over the white of her scales. Would that she could be here more, work feels less demanding when she is.
She smirks, a knowing look in her eyes, “Are you always so interested in linguistics?”
“I suppose that depends on the instructor,” Aymeric replies. The words feel bolder than he does.
Ajisai laughs, “Is that so? I’ll have to keep that in mind.” A curl of blue hair slips its ribbon to rest against her cheek. He wants to brush it back for her. He wonders if she’d let him.
“Your hair, it—”
Tentatively, Aymeric reaches towards her, giving her space to pull away.
She does not.
Ajisai stills as his fingers feather against her cheek, warm and gentle as he sweeps the hair from her face. When his fingertips brush against the base of her horn, she shivers. Aymeric forces himself not to do it again.
He traces her cheek with the back of his hand; his thumb rests near her chin. It would be so easy to simply tilt it up, lean in, and—
Aymeric clears his throat as he draws his hand back. For a moment, he cannot bring himself to look her in the eyes. Instead, he searches her expression for a sign of how she might feel.
She lets out a shaky sigh and he’s not sure if it’s relief or disappointment. She fidgets with a pen on the desktop, searching the map like it might have the answers to her questions. Words fail him as he scrambles to apologize, to explain his lapse in judgment.
“Ajisai I--”
“It’s ok,” she says softly, smiling, “I… I don’t mind. I was just surprised.”
Aymeric hadn’t expected that. He’s not sure what he’d expected. For her to be angry, perhaps. For her to remind him of their professional boundaries.
Ajisai steps to his side of the desk, her hand trailing along its surface. With each step she takes, he feels his love for her bloom in his heart, its petals pressing against walls that can no longer contain it.
Silence stretches between them, nothing but the tick tick of a grandfather clock. Its bells mark the hour. Neither of them catch the time.
Ajisai smooths her hand over the streak of blue fabric pinned across his chest, then again, as if she could find courage in its folds. When her fingers find the collar of his coat, tugging, insistent but never pulling him to her, his resolve splinters.
The line they’d carefully drawn between them blurs. The familiar need to confess everything catches in his throat, the bindings of duty, responsibility, professionalism straining to keep the words suppressed. When he cups her cheek, she leans into his touch, her eyes filled with the very same longing in his. Aymeric doesn’t try to resist, he no longer wants to.
His lips are on hers, hungry and hot. With each kiss, he expresses the things he never said. She tastes like tea, like honey. She matches his eagerness, pulling him closer with an insistence he’s glad to indulge. His hands find their place at her waist, her arms wrap around his neck.
Neither remembers when she ends up on the desk.
Ajisai shivers when she feels his breath just below her horn, a delighted hum escapes her when she feels the gentle pressure of his lips against her neck. He fills the space between her chin and her collarbone with reminders of his adoration. With every press of his lips, he hopes to memorize her.
Ajisai’s voice is a breathless murmur, “Aymeric…”
Then impulse — to bite, to mark her. He trails kisses along until he finds the spot where her neck slopes to shoulder, the perfect spot to bite.
“Wh—“ her question is lost in sound that is somewhere between a whine and a sigh.
She undoes the first few buttons of her blouse, to let the sleeve slip from her shoulder, an invitation to continue his exploration across her skin.
He bites, leaving another mark.
Then another.
and another
and
“Aym—“ she starts. His name melts into satisfied sounds that test his restraint. She has one hand twisting in his shirt..
Then she leans forward, determined to leave a mark of her own. Her fingertips graze against the base of his neck, sending pleasure through him. When she tangles her fingers in his hair, she pulls him close. She alternates between kisses and nibbles, tracing her affection across him just as he had. Her lips brush against a pulse point; he’s certain she can feel his heart beat in his chest. Each time she pries a satisfied hum from him, he feels her smile against his skin.
She’s fiddling with his shirt now, fingers seeking to find him beneath it. Aymeric does the same, daring to find the buttons of her blouse, to find more space for kisses, for little, loving bites.
“My lord?”
The door muffles the steward's voice through the, but it startles them both— the two of them freezing in a passionate tableau.
“Forgive my interruption, but a messenger has arrived for you and Mistress Kawanami, it seems quite urgent.” says his steward from the other side of the door.
Aymeric pulls a hand away and runs it through his hair, the Lord Commander’s demeanor falling easily over the man he’d been moments before,“Thank you Théotime. We shall be there shortly.”
As the steward’s footsteps fade down the hall, Aymeric looks back to Ajisai, and by the Fury, he does not want to leave this moment. She’s sitting on his desk, close to him, the first few buttons of her shirt undone, and the evidence of his ministrations peppered across her shoulder. It does not feel right to stop here, not when her hand is still balled in his shirt nor when the look in her eyes tells him she’s thinking the same thing.
Then she laughs and Aymeric can’t help but laugh along. He steps back reluctantly to let her up.
Ajisai fastens her buttons, the echo of a giggle in her voice, “perhaps we revisit this later?”
“Later, then,” he echoes, as he moves to right his own dishevelment. As they prepare to face whatever urgent matters awaited them, he pressed a kiss to her forehead— a promise for later. Then, Aymeric de Borel opens the door to his study, gesturing for Ajisai, who thanks him with a little curtsy and a teasing wink, and tries not to think about later.
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