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thevikingwoman · 5 months

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I could not let this be, so here is part two of Meryta and Emmanellain. This part is explicit.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 2359 | Read on Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Meryta Khatin x Emmanellain de Fortemps | start of HW | fluff/romance Rating: Explicit. New relationship, first time together, sweetness, smut, oral, handjob

Reprieve - part 2

Meryta and Emmanellain rush down the hall, giggling and holding hands. Meryta isn’t sure this is wise, but she’s very tired of worrying. Emmanellain is sweet and handsome, hapless overconfidence notwithstanding. Thanks Nhamaa – or perhaps Halone – the hallways are empty.

Emmanellain fumbles with the handle of a door, and she sneaks a kiss to his cheeks as he swings the door to his rooms open, gesturing for her to enter. She looks around curiously, hand in his. There are shelves with books, and some thrown open on a side table. A sitting area with a velvet divan, vases with flowers, ink and paper on a desk, crumbled leafs beside it.

“Here we are, pretty girl. My chambers are quite splendid, of course.” He pulls her further into the room, and he amends, “I am certain Father provided you with lodging befitting a hero, of course –”

Meryta stands on her toes and kisses his jaw. Emmanellain bends to capture her lips with his and she loses interest in the décor as he wraps his arms around her and lifts her up, bracing her against the wall. The door falls shut.

Impatient, she pushes his coat off his shoulders, its heavy fur hitting the floor with a thud. It’s probably the latest fashion, but Emmanellain doesn’t seem to care right now, and neither does she, the layers of rich cloth far too much between them. He kisses her jaw, her throat, his soft lips eager against her skin. She shivers with every touch of his lips, want pooling in her belly. She kisses him back, her hands roaming across the velveteen clinging to his shoulders, round to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt.

“I want – ”

He nods and she works the buttons, popping the buttons open impatiently. His skin is soft and smooth and she kisses it as it’s revealed, his shirt hanging open. She’s not had a lot of opportunity for intimacy since she came to Eorzea, and then only hurried moments. She’s not had much before that either, but the partners in her youth were much more like her, scaled and hardened. Now, she roams her hand over his chest and his softer belly, excited by the feel of him.

“Meryta, pretty girl –” Emmanellain kisses her, enthusiastically and messy and his arms give out as she slides to the floor. She has to look up at him, and he looks flushed, his eyes wide and soft. It’s his turn to push her jacket to the floor, the leather landing in a heap behind her. His hands move down her back and settles on her ass, gripping firmly through her heavy trousers. She wants him closer, wrapping her tail around him to pull him in, as she reaches for his face, his lips. She wants them on her again, their softness and the warm taste of the wine he’d had at his party.

He stumbles as she pulls him down to her, one arm going wild, knocking into a pedestal. Meryta barely catches the vase that comes tumbling down, flower decorations spread over the floor.

“Let me –”

“No Meryta I beseech you, I’d rather –”

He kisses her again, and he pulls on her shirt. She allows him to pull it over her head, and lands on top of the flowers, and then Emmanellain lifts her and carries her in three steps to his bed, avoiding a pile of magazines left on the floor.

“You look splendid on my bed,” he says, and grins, quite proud of himself. “You would look better with less clothes, I believe.”

She laughs and props herself up on her elbows. “You think?”

“Ah I most assuredly know, but to be certain there is but one way to find out.”

His eyes are bright and she complies with his audacity, shimmying her pants down her legs and unclasping her breastband.

“Meryta,” Emmanellain breathes, and he crawls into his bed, his shirt hanging loose off shoulders and his hair freely around his face. She pulls him close and kisses him. She likes the way he looks at her, all happy affection, free of the world’s burdens. Like she has the right to be happy, here in his bed.

He sits up next to her, and runs his hands down from her face to her neck, gently touching her scales. She shivers with the touch, and he startles and withdraws.

“Please, it’s nice,” she says. Her scales are sensitive and she wants his hand back, so she takes it puts there.

“I’ve never, uh – “ He blushes and touches lightly, down her throat and her shoulder, tracing the patches of jadeblack scales, “— with an Au Ra. Is it – is this fine?”

“More than fine, Emmanellain. You can touch as much as you want.”

She grins and Emmanellain blushes deeper, a lovely flush across his cheeks. He is still tentative, carefully exploring her body with his hands, but it feels nice and calming. She encourages him, arching and sighing into his touch. She traces two fingers over the shell of his pointed ears, curious herself.

“It’s softer than I expected, I must confess,” he mumbles, and kisses her shoulder, the scales above her breast. He kisses her nipples next, and it’s no longer calming, lighting rushing through her veins with his sudden boldness. She arches towards him, an ache between her legs. She wants his hands there, or her own, and her tail pulls free from under her to wrap around Emmanellain’s arm. He startles and she almost wants to apologize, but he lets out a low groan and continues exploring her body, every touch pulling moans from her.

His shirt drags across her belly as he moves, and he has far too many clothes on still, her thighs bucking against the silk of his trousers.

“You too,” she mumbles, and pushes his shirt off his shoulders, her hands wandering over his tall frame. She wants it off, she wants him as naked as her.

He obliges, sits up and shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it haphazardly behind him. He takes off his trousers with a flourish, treating them much the same as the shirt. He stands, pale and naked and blushing, and she pulls him down beside her, tail flickering to his waist. She reaches and kisses his sweet lips again, and his chest next and it is Emmanellain’s turn to sigh – which turns to a wince as her hands roam lower.

She frowns and pulls back, a black-blue bruise visible on his flank.

“Pray, are you injured? Does it hurt?”

“Oh, it is but a minor bruise. It was worse though,” he stretches and shows her, his hands extending to his back, his lips pouting. “The vanu were quite rough.”

“I am sorry I was not faster, Emmanellain. I should not have let you go off on your own.”

She traces his skin lightly, right above the bruise on his ribs. His skin is so soft and pale.

“You came, you’re a true hero.” He chuckles, as if he’s telling a joke. “It is much to my chagrin than I was much less of a hero than I thought, and more the embarrassment Father believes me.”

His arms fall beside him, and he looks away. She wants to bring back his boundless joy, for her to soak in and forget her own troubles.

“I should have foreseen the danger. The beastmen, the Primal... those are not simple problems.” She can hardly forget it, leaping through the sky. She does not want to think of it, but if the time comes, she will deal with it. She folds her hand in his and reaches to kiss him. “I doubt your father expected you to deal with a Primal, Emannellain.”

“I would not be so certain,” he mumbles, kissing her back. She wraps her arms and her tail around him, drawing him closer.

“No matter, you came for me like the hero you are.” Emmanellain perks up, his mood seemingly shifting like the wind, and he grins widely. “You should be treated as such.”

“I did what I had to – but had your brother and Cid not shown up… “

He pays her words no heed and pushes her back on his bed, now hooking his fingers in her smalls and tugging. She obliges and lifts her hips, allowing him to slide them down her legs. His hands wander across her legs, and she forgets what she was going to say.

He settles between her legs. “Mayhap I’ll be a hero to you too, you most assuredly deserve it.”

He looks at her, far more intent than she expects, as he’s randomly touching her legs, her belly – watching her face as she reacts to his touch, lighter and firmer across skin and scales. Emmanellain’s gaze slide lower. Heat pools in her belly and her face flushes under his attention. His hands are on her hips and he lowers his head, his breath warm against her skin, his mouth but an inch from her sex. He kisses the inside of her leg, sending shudders through her spine. Oh.

“May I?”

She nods, and he kisses her thigh again, and brushes his hand over her scales, the delicious pressure making her sigh. She spreads her legs, letting him see how she wants him. She wonders if he would mind her hands in his hair. It’s dark and smooth and tempting; she wants to mess it up. She wants to pull him closer, to where she wants him and his mouth.

She doesn’t have to wait though, his kisses moving to the apex of her legs, and his tongue darts to taste her. Despite her want, she still lets out a gasp of surprise, her hips lifting off the bed. Emmanellain doesn’t relent, holding her hips and licking up her slit, then down. He presses his tongue against her most sensitive part, and sucks and licks again, a blur of changing sensations, then easing back.

“Good? My hero, pretty girl, beautiful – ” he gasps, looking up at her under long, dark lashes.

“Yes, please, I want – ”

He’s back and she can’t help herself, her hands burying in his hair, the soft brown strands too inviting, her need for him, to guide him, too much. Emmanellain doesn’t seem to mind at all, redoubling his efforts, pressure and suction and heat.

She just feels – her world narrows to the feeling between her legs, his hands on her hips, and she moans and pleads, his name on her lips as she bucks against him, his hands no match for her strength. One of his hands finds it’s way between her legs, and his fingers in her cunt, his mouth still on her. It’s good, her whole body writhing, her tail curling away from her to slide against Emmannelain’s back. He moans at that, and crooks his fingers and she falls apart, waves of pleasure washing over her.

Emannellain pulls back and grins again, self assured and happy, licking his lips. She feels languid and boneless, and smiles back. He moves up her body, kissing her belly, her chest, her mouth. She kisses him greedily, licking the taste of herself from his lips.

“Very heroic, aren’t I?”

“Verily.”

She wraps her arm around him, pulling him close. His hardness is against her thigh, and she presses against it, to hear him groan. He ruts against her, eager and erratic. Impatiently, Emmanellain moves his hand between them and grips himself, seeking more friction.

“You enjoyed that,” she grins, mayhaps pleased herself, and she reaches for him too, putting her hand above his, moving it deliberately down and up. Emmanellain closes his eyes briefly and sits on his knees next to her, giving her room to move and grip him firmly.

“Quite so,” he says, as he lets his own hand drop and reach for her, his thumb running over her scales. She tries to find a rhythm, absorbed in the motion and intensity of his face, the velvet hardness beneath her hands – she uses her other hand too, her hands small against his full length. Faster, slower, a twist at the end, and he’s soon shaking, his eyes caught in hers, his jaw clenched and his hands scrambling over her body.

“Oh, I – Meryta!” He comes like that, white ropes over her belly, down her hand. She lets up the pressure, moves her hands gently and lets him fall forward into her, the mess smeared between them. Emmanellain grins sheepishly, his face flushed as they messily kiss again.

“So handsome,” she whispers and he blushes deeper. She decides she likes the look on him. He kisses her jaw, and then scoots off the bed.

“Oh – I should… sorry!” He grabs his shirt at random.

“Don’t be sorry –”

“Here, let me, ah, let me,” he says as he gently wipes her belly and then her hands, careful and uncaring for ruining the fabric. Meryta finds she doesn’t care much either.

After cleaning himself too, he carefully sits on the bed. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, and closes it again. A flick of uncertainty sparks in her gut.

“Are you…?” She hopes he has no regrets, as she certainly has none. “Should I leave?”

“No! I mean – unless you want to? My bed is certainly big enough, and you still look wonderful in it.”

“No! I’d love to stay, I just wasn’t sure, my own rooms are... somewhere.” She’s not been to this part of the manor before, endless corridors and halls but it’s probably not far to go back and perhaps that would be expected. She’d like to stay, though, next to his soft body and softer hair, not alone in her own borrowed bed and constant reminder of why she needs the charity of the Fortemps family. Not that she’d voice it quite so. “I am perhaps too tired to move.”

“Wore you out?” He smirks, and crawls next to her, his arm across her body. “I’d like you here.”

Relief flooding her, she tucks herself closer to him, mindful of her horns.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #hw spoilers #final fantasy xiv fanfic #ffxiv fanfic #emmanellain de fortemps x wol #meryta khatin #some sweet smut #I had fun #they're having fun #writing about meryta #viking writes #published 11/25/2023

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