Work Text:
Bearing witness to the end times, final days of the star unfolding in a rain of fire and blood and horror, had a clarifying effect on one’s thoughts. Even expecting it, even having prepared for it for years uncounted, decades, bending one’s entire being to the righteous work of saving what little of the future could be saved, it was remarkable how one’s priorities shifted beneath one’s feet. Of course he had known of him, but to have noticed, well he could not quite recall precisely when that happened. Only that it had. Somehow.
It seemed to come on so gradually it may well have been as inevitable as the sunrise, although he could not understand why it should happen now of all times. Then again, perhaps the relinquishing of his obsession with the Forum’s solemn, self appointed task, made irrelevant now with the triumphant return of the Warrior of Light from the furthest edges of the universe, had simply left room for him to expand beyond the narrow confines of his duty at last.
And beyond duty was…
Fourchenault Leveilleur caught his breath and held it as the doors across the plaza opened releasing a small stream of green clad gleaners chatting and laughing amongst themselves. He forced himself to stillness as he looked for the man he came here to see, eyes darting among the green and brown for a night dark head and ears and startling gold eyes. Erenville, master gleaner, would have been part of the all hands meeting within, so this was the best time and place to encounter him.
A miserable, sick worry grappled him, which he tried to compartmentalize as he usually did. It wasn’t working. He doubted Erenville suffered from such nerves, with his quiet, steady reserve. Erenville didn’t waste energy resisting when life put a wall in his path. No. Like water, he simply parted and went on, with barely a ripple to betray what thoughts moved in the depths. Except, when he looked at a person it was with a weight of observation that was palpable, as though he could see every bit of them, his whole attention on them and them alone.
Ameliance, in her usual fashion, had been quick to notice his distraction these past weeks and correctly diagnose the cause. It wasn’t as though she had never seen the signs before, their marriage bed having been privy to more than one fling with someone who had caught Fourchenault’s interest. Never hers, peculiarly. While she delighted in welcoming new lovers to their bed, not once had they been her find. A strange sort of loyalty? Or simply that her heart and hunger were all for him, an idea which never failed to fill him with profound awe. Hers was an opportunistic enjoyment rather than induced, he had long ago determined.
Regardless, she always knew when some new specimen had turned his head, and drew the confession out of him with consummate skill. That night she had him on his stomach, hips in the air as she used one of her favorite toys on him — a well-endowed phallus on a harness that let her fuck him as though it were her own cock — wailing and begging to come. She did not oblige until he revealed Erenville’s name. To his consternation her lips curled into a rather smug smile at the admission. The smile remained all through the last rolls of her hips as she finally allowed him relief and long after when they were wrapped together in an after sex haze of contentment.
“Are you going to share your amusement?” he asked peevishly.
“Don’t get so vexed. You’ll ruin all my good work relaxing you,” she laughed lightly. “I am merely congratulating myself. I had a short list of possibilities, but he was at the top. I’m very gratified to have guessed nearly right.” He spluttered before curiosity overcame his flustered annoyance and he peered at her.
“Who else was on the list?”
“It hardly matters now,” she waved a hand as though dispelling the mystery like a cloud of gnats. He quirked a brow, holding his tongue and she chuckled.
“Yes alright, I did wonder if it could be that rather beautiful young Lord Speaker fellow from Ishgard, or less likely, the Warrior themselves.” A scoff of disbelief, followed by a momentarily speculative moue of his lips and wry shake of his head.
“What made you put him on your list at all?” he wondered aloud.
“You mean beyond watching you watch him like a man dying of thirst? I do have a working brain, my love. He’s reliable, efficient, intelligent, confident yet modest, well spoken, observant, discrete, but not shy about voicing his opinion,” she ticked each item off on her fingers, “and mind-meltingly attractive. Plus you’ve always liked the ones that work with their hands.” The last said with an impish, cheeky grin making him harrumph and glower to cover his blush, arm flung over his face without admitting to anything. Ameliance continued as if he had not spoken.
“Also, in his own way he did as much for the star as you, though without fanfare or fuss or even recognition. An unsung hero,” Ameliance mused. Fourchenault froze, then turned his head to look at her, frowning thoughtfully. She rolled to lay against him, arms folded over his chest to prop up her chin.
“Plus he set himself against you, love. You enjoy being challenged, you know. Or perhaps it is more that he did what you could not at the time, allowed for the possibility of a different path to salvation, a less traumatic one. For the star, at least,” she amended hastily. “I would be more surprised if you hadn’t fallen.” It was a gentle tease, a tiny smile playing about her lips, her fingers reached to sift through his unbound hair. Only she saw him this way, free of the trappings and bindings of his position, unwound from his public persona in the privacy of their boudoir. What little tension had seeped into his frame, marring the post-coital lassitude from moments before, trickled out again as he considered her words.
“I think,” she said, “it is perhaps past time for you to invite him to dinner.” A mild panic pooled like lead in his belly.
“Perhaps…soon…” He managed weakly.
“Fourchenault Leveilleur,” her voice crisped, sparking its usual response in his primitive backbrain. He shivered and bit back a decided not whimper to a more decorous throat clear, “Dithering is not the sort of behavior I expect of someone in your position.” As his current position was collared and leashed to her hand in their bed, he assumed she was referring to his public responsibilities. Even privately admitting she was right, he quailed at the thought of taking that next step.
“Ami,” he sighed, taking her hand in his and brushing a soft kiss over her palm. “This one feels different. New.”
“Then mayhap it is different,” she smiled at him with deeply understanding eyes. “Which only convinces me more that you must invite him round.” Fourchenault’s brows beetled as he searched her face for any sign of distress, but found none. Ameliance’s eyes narrowed as he failed to respond.
“I will make that an order if I need to, love,” she purred, the collar tugging at his throat as she wound the leash about her hand. He could feel the familiar heat trickling down his spine at the look in her eyes. “For now, I think that perpetually active mind of yours might need to turn off for a bit.”
Two long fingers delicately pressed to his chest, easing him back without so much as a breath of protest, anticipation speeding his breathing and melting his muscles. Smiling, she straddled him, the apex of her thighs poised above his face. Thumbing down his lips, dragging them open and hooking over his teeth, she opened his jaw to her satisfaction.
“I have some other task for your tongue than talking, sweet.”
“Yes, dear,” he breathed, stretching up eagerly as she sank down. His brain went on sabbatical the rest of the night.
Now here he was, in the plaza, and Fourchenault had dithered himself straight onto a nearby bench to sit wrestling with his intentions, staring blankly out at the landscape of Labyrinthos. So absorbed was he that he did not even notice a shadow fall over him as the very man he was seeking made an attention getting noise in his throat. Fourchenault stood quickly, assaying a bow in the viera’s direction while marshaling his thoughts.
“Master Erenville,” he said, “How fortuitous you are here. I was just looking for you.” Dark brows rose over gold eyes suddenly burnished with dry amusement.
“Polarch Leveilleur,” he murmured quietly, using the formal title for the elected Forum representatives, “Fortuitous indeed. Imagine the coincidence. Finding me outside the gleaner’s quarterly operational meeting.” Fourchenault coughed to cover his laugh, pink rising in his cheeks.
“Yes, quite. Ah, yes. Well. Ameliance…and I…both of us…wished to invite you to supper…before you left for your duties again. Not too soon, I trust?”
“I depart in a little under a fortnight, for Ishgard,” he said, ears perked, brows arched. “I would be honored to join you.” He said nothing more, although there was speculation in his eyes. Fourchenault nodded, licking his lips. Did he imagine Erenville’s gaze following the movement? Fourchenault wondered if he needed to give a reason why they were inviting him, but didn’t manage to expel any kind of elaboration.
“When?” Erenville prodded gently when the ensuing silence had gone on long enough to be noteworthy.
“Oh, yes…” Fourchenault managed a smile. They discussed a mutually acceptable date before Fourchenault suddenly recalled a pressing appointment and made his excuses. Erenville watched him go, his expression inscrutable, which Fourchenault only knew as he looked back twice as he hurried away. No more time for hesitation now, he supposed. The invitation was made, and Ameliance would make sure the reason would be revealed in due course. Nothing for it, but to hope for the best.
**********************
It went well. It went superbly. The food was delicious, the company stimulating — in more ways than one, making Fourchenault glad for the loose cut of his robes. In her typical graceful way, Ameliance steered the conversation around until Fourchenault’s admission seemed to tumble out and Erenville, drat his eyes, looked supremely unsurprised. Fourchenault flattered himself he also looked pleased, and his own admission in the same vein confirmed it. Ameliance shooed them off after dinner with orders to “get to know each other better and don’t come down until morning” so Fourchenault, blushing, led Erenville to bed.
“You don’t seem to be,” Fourchenault groped for the proper words, finally settling simply with “shocked at any of this.”
“Not in the slightest. There have always been rumors you know.” Erenville peered up at him through lush lashes.
“Ah, have there?” Fourchenault’s brows drew down in the start of a glower, heat creeping up his neck and cheeks.
“Oh, not the explicit sorts!” Erenville rushed to assure him. “Just things said here and there that I picked up on, was able to piece together into a familiar picture. I doubt very much anyone else has…paid as close attention or looked at it quite so intently.” He shifted on his feet and glanced away, eyes down. Was he blushing now? It was hard to tell on his dark skin, but Fourchenault rather thought so.
“This,” the viera swept his hand around as though encompassing the whole surreal evening, Ameliance and the dinner and the bed before them, “is better.” Fourchenault’s brows rose.
“Better than what?” he found himself blurting. Damned, he had not intended to say it out loud.
“Less ambiguity for one,” Erenville said appreciatively, “and my plan…” He trailed off. Fourchenault kept prudently silent, brow quirking instead in question. Erenville gave a husky laugh.
“Well, I was at the point of just…pushing you up against a tree and taking you standing,” he admitted, although his voice had gone all velvet low and soft, not in the least sheepish. Merely…hungry. Heat smoldered up Fourchenault’s spine and he gulped a breath. He was abruptly arrested by the mental image of Erenville’s dark, calloused hands pushing up the skirts of his robes and…his imagination failed only slightly at the realization that the logistics might not allow them both to be standing, but he felt certain they could manage.
“That could,” he managed to eke out past a lust closed throat, “could still be an option.”
“Mmm,” Erenville settled, non-committal, although the eyes shielded by his lashes were deep, molten pools, “but not tonight.” He murmured it as his hand reached up to grip Fourchenault’s neck firmly and draw him down. He obligingly stooped beneath the gentle urging.
“Not tonight,” he agreed as their lips met.
******************
That night was the first of many, when time could be found between their mutually exclusive duties. Time passed, the affair continued. Neither seemed inclined to become bored with the situation. Whenever Erenville returned from his wanderings, he would join the Leveilleurs for dinner and entertainment. Often Ameliance would join them, but the viera also found ways to corner Fourchenault in isolated places and ravish him unexpectedly. Fourchenault never knew when he might strike, and the anticipation rode him like a second skin when the viera was in town. (Erenville did manage to carve out a chance to have him against that tree — on his knees, skirts rucked up about his hips, a warm, work rough hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his wanton moans as the viera rutted into him — and it was quite as incredible as he’d thought it would be.)
Erenville was meant to return to Sharlayan sometime that sennight from his most recent trip — Ishgard again. Fourchenault normally learned of his return home by an impromptu debauching in the midst of his workday, which would have been an immense improvement over the actual day he had endured. He had realized, only a week past, that the one year anniversary of that first night with Erenville had passed without so much as a whisper. Fourchenault would be the first to admit he often forgot such occasions, lost in his work as he would get. He was once more baffled and honored that Ameliance tolerated — and forgave — him and his frequent inattention.
Still, once remembered, Fourchenault thought he should perhaps do something to commemorate the event. He touched his pocket, the paper wrapped object within crinkling, and questioned the sentimentality of the gift once more. Would Erenville comprehend its significance? Would he care?
Fourchenault’s musings were cut short by the incongruous sight of red rose petals in the middle of his front hall like bright drops of blood against the white marble. He stopped, confused. Had some bouquet begun to shed and a servant failed to clean it up. He’d never seen flowers that color grace the halls of the manor. Ameliance favored pastel arrangements.
Then he noticed more, a trail of scattered red he couldn’t help but follow in curiosity, up the stairs and down the hall. He heard the moans just as he opened the door to their chambers, a tangible thrill shivering up his spine at the tableau within.
His wife lay on the chaise in something frothy and pale and revealing, face the picture of ecstasy. Her legs hooked over night dark shoulders, the owner’s head hidden between her creamy thighs. One slim hand was tangled in his dark hair, fingers wrapped around the base of his long, twitching ears as she rocked up against his face.
Her eyes opened at the sound of the door and a lazy smile curled up one side of her lips. Her free hand reached out to him in welcome, just as the man between her legs did something wicked and made her bow up with a delighted shriek, legs clamping about his face as she trembled. By the time she could speak once more in the aftermath, Fourchenault was more than ready to join them, closing the door with a soft click.
“Welcome home,” Ameliance purred. “You are later than I expected, so we decided to entertain ourselves.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Erenville crooned at his shoulder. His golden eyes were lambent, lips still glistening from his earlier efforts. A calloused palm cupped the back of Fourchenault’s neck and he let himself be drawn down for a kiss that tasted of his wife and Erenville both, making him groan in appreciation.
“I didn’t know you were back,” he murmured as they pulled apart. Erenville smirked.
“I decided to surprise you,” he said lightly. Fourchenault looked around, roses and candles, Ameliance in a fetching confection of chiffon and silk, a small spread of appetizers, chocolates, and wine on the table. He looked back at Erenville, puzzled.
“What is all this?”
“A quaint little tradition he brought back from Ishgard,” Ameliance said.
“It’s called Valentione,” Erenville confirmed, drawing Fourchenault down to the loveseat beside him. “A day just for sharing love with others.” Fourchenault was feeling rather overheated, especially as Erenville was utterly nude and aroused and it was putting all sorts of notions in his head. He realized too late he had missed most of what the viera had been telling him about this Ishgardian cultural phenomenon.
“…traditionally celebrated with chocolates, flowers, and gifts for loved ones…” he was saying. The front of Fourchenault’s robes were parting beneath the nimble, dark fingers unfastening them, which did not help him concentrate on the lecture in the least.
“I have a gift for you,” he blurted, catching the dark hands in his before he forgot anything else except wanting to be ravished by this man. Erenville looked taken aback, then an almost shy happiness suffused his face.
"Really? Whatever for?" he asked with a small laugh.
"It’s been a year,” Fourchenault could feel himself blush as he fumbled the small paper wrapped package from his pocket.
“Oh, darling how thoughtful!” Ameliance sat on his other side, wrapping one arm about his waist and pecking his cheek. “An anniversary gift,” she clarified to Erenville, who was smiling in soft bemusement at the package in his hand.
“I brought Valentione gifts for you both,” he admitted.
“Why don’t you start with yours,” Ameliance suggested kindly. She took over the slow divesting of Fourchenault’s overrobe, her satin gloves were cool on his overheated skin. Fourchenault tried not to let the touch distract from watching Erenville delicately undo the ribbon and paper, then open the hinged velvet box.
“What is it?” His wife asked curiously when Erenville had been silently staring for a long moment. The viera drew out a finely tooled silver aether compass. It gleamed in the soft light as it spun gently on its chain.
“How lovely. To always bring you home from your travels I imagine,” Ameliance said fondly. She bestowed an approving gaze on her husband, who blushed even brighter. “How thoughtful. You are learning, love.” Erenville seemed at a loss for words.
"Theres's — aah," Fourchenault sucked air through his teeth as satin covered hands stroked down his skin, pushing the heavy fabric of his robe to pool around him. "—in-inside," he gasped out, rather inarticulately.
Thankfully by this time both of his lovers were conversant in his stuttered responses when lust tied his tongue. Erenville opened the front with a soft click then blinked rapidly as he looked down at a painted miniature of the Levellieurs smiling up at him.
“Thank you,” he said with husky softness, looking up at Fourchenault with a rare brilliant smile. He nestled the gift back in its case and set it aside carefully.
Fourchenault hardly noticed, since Ameliance chose that moment to slide into his pants and cup him in one gloved hand. He melted beneath her touch, and Erenville took the opportunity to plaster his body half across Fourchenault’s, grip his jaw tight, and give him a deep, filthy kiss. Fourchenault could feel himself sinking rapidly into that place where all that mattered was obeying his partners. Ameliance gave a pleased chuckle.
“You should give him his gift now before he’s gone,” she said cheekily, loosing her grip and sitting primly beside him once more. Fourchenault only whined a little as Erenville pulled away as well and padded to his pack across the room. When he came back he handed each of them a package wrapped in shiny red paper.
“They’re for both of you, really,” Erenville said, his golden eyes glimmering with mischief. “Open it,” he whispered against the sensitive cartilage of Fourchenault’s ear. He shivered and obediently undid the wrapping, pulling off the cover to reveal a coiled mass of red silk rope, incredibly soft under his fingertips. His breath caught.
“The Ishgardians may seem cold on the outside, but they have a wicked streak I’ve discovered,” Erenville said. He pulled a loop of rope out to hold against Fourchenault’s throat. “You’re going to look delicious in this.
“Oh, Erenville,” Ameliance’s voice went low and sultry smokey, dragging the attention of both men to her like a magnet. “It’s magnificent.” Almost reverently she lifted out a massive, in both girth and length, silver dildo. It was attached to a finely tooled leather belt. Fourchenault heard himself choke, not entirely certain it was possible to take something that large. Ameliance’s smile turned to shine on him like the sun and he knew he was damn well going to try, a shudder coursing through him.
“It’s called the Silver Filler. Named after a beloved hero of the Dragonsong War who was well known for his libidinous exploits apparently,” Erenville said with a flash of a grin. Ameliance stroked up the gleaming metal, her hand barely able to wrap around the narrowest part.
“Oh,” she sighed, looking at Fourchenault again with growing lust, “he will look wonderful when we’re done with him. Thank you, Erenville, dear. I’m so pleased you are ours.” Fourchenault found himself nodding dumbly, eyes still glued to the prodigious strap, when Erenville wrapped the first length of silk around his wrist and nothing else mattered.