Work Text:
"The one day I don't have my tomestone on me, really?" Saeran scoffs, but his smile is full of fondness.
"You say that, as if she wouldn't chase you to the ends of the star to destroy any and every evidence of this moment," Raha points out, "and you along with it for daring to produce it, I'd imagine."
Saeran's bottom lip juts out in a way that never fails to draw Raha's eye, acting as if weighing a serious matter. "You think Master Matoya could be bribed into hiding me in her cave? I'm a good housemate. Clean up after myself and all."
"Perhaps. But somehow, I can't envision being transformed into a poroggo would be very conductive to your plans." Raha answers smoothly, solemn tone surely undermined by how the corners of his lips curl up of their own accord. As they tend to do, around him. "Does she still employ those, even?"
"Ah, yes. Animated brooms, too. Chased us out with those."
"I would ask whether it was deserved," Raha's smile widens into a grin, "but knowing you lot, there is no need to." And sidesteps Saeran's attempt to step on his toes.
Y'shtola is still fast asleep where they've found her, draped over a pile of tomes with her head in her arms, neck bent in an angle that makes Raha's ache in sympathy, heedless of their bickering or the hustle and bustle of the Noumenon at the morning's peak. "I've never known Y'shtola to doze off in the middle of research before. Should we wake her? That can't be comfortable."
Saeran shakes his head. "No, if she's fallen asleep here of all places, it's because she sorely needs it. I'm sure she'd rather we wake her, but for once, we're not pressed for time. Let her have it, and me, something to bother her with later."
And yet, you never listen to that very same advice, do you, Raha indulges in pointing out in the privacy of his own mind. But today, Raha's ever present undercurrent of concern is mollified by the lingering contentment of having woken before him for once, Saeran's strong arms unrelentingly holding him close even in sleep. Rare occurrences, from a man whose every moment was spent in alert since before Raha met him - but becoming more common, slowly but surely, in the moons since they've returned from the edge of creation. Raha sees it for what it is, but it feels fragile, still. Too fragile to call attention to, to do anything but cherish and nurture-- and hope he's worthy of it.
He even drooled, a little. It was adorable.
"Hm? What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing at all." Raha lets said smile stretch into a grin, reaching out to slide a hand into Saeran's. "While we wait, would you help me procure the tome Krile requested?"
It takes some careful extrication to leave the circle of tomes without knocking over any, even though by now Raha reckons nothing short of a third Final Days could rouse Y'shtola from her nap. Krile's found mentions of certain records which were nowhere to be found among the archives recovered from the Isle of Val, and according to both her and a linkpearl call to a grumbly Ejika Tsunjika, not left behind in the Arsenal either. Their last hope is whether they might have been placed - or misplaced - into the Noumenon's archives, or otherwise lost entirely.
An enquiry to the pages directs them a ways down from the hallway Y'shtola's claimed for herself, into an aisle filled with what seem to be public managerial records. Here, the hubbub from the more active sections is muffled and distant. There is no dust covering the volumes, per se, not with the tireless work of the mammet pages to preserve everything in these halls, but Raha feels it should, from how little handling these books clearly see. No blame placed on the library-goers, either: even in his canvassing for Forum records, moons ago, he hadn't bothered with this section.
Saeran selects a volume at random, a medium-sized tome bound in reddish leather. He cracks it open in idle curiosity - and there's the dust Raha expected.
"Maintenance Records of the Waterwheels in the Medial Circuit, dated from twenty-three years ago," Raha reads aloud off the cover as Saeran coughs up a lung and a half, "and I suspect it has not been opened since then. I'm glad the Allagans preferred tomestones, or I quite doubt I would have made even a single year in the Tower with my nose still attached to my face."
"You should become a Forum member," Saeran wheezes out, switfly returning the offending tome to its place, "and convince them to do the same here."
Raha snorts more than chuckles, pacing down the aisle in search of the shelves suggested by the reference page. "I'm afraid the dust is just part and parcel of being an Archon, my love."
Over a year later, and still the growth from my friend to my love never fails to stir a swarm of butterflies in Raha's stomach - if the way Saeran's golden eyes soften just the slightest bit is any indication, so it does in him.
It makes Raha blush like a schoolboy, is what it does. "R-Right!" He stammers and turns on his heel before Saeran can recompose himself enough to notice.
They find Krile's tome almost exactly where the pages have directed - but only after walking past it three times, double checking the shelf numbers, and walking past it once more for good measure. It sits innocently on a shelf at least ten fulms off the ground - even Saeran, half a head taller than Raha, has to stand on the tips of his toes to try and look at it. It has no writing on the spine, but stands out quite starkly from the standardized tomes around it and fits the description given.
It's far too high for Raha to clear with a jump but Saeran still tries, even though, without putting any aetherial manipulation behind it, the most he manages is to touch the shelf below. He looks around and tsks. "With how methodical people here are about everything, you'd expect them to return the damn ladders. Tell me again why I can't just climb the shelves? It's not like there's anyone here to see."
"No need for that." Raha grins, already calling to the aether around him. The levitation spell might have saved their lives once, but as Krile will never let him forget, its origin lies here: a late night, an overdue assignment, and inconsiderate fellow scholars. "I know of a far more elegant solution- ah!"
Perhaps, were he not so caught in looking away, in concealing his boyish fluster from the man causing it, he would have noticed the mischievous glint in Saeran's eyes. But as it stands, before he can finish the spell, there are strong arms around his hips, sweeping him off his feet in a manner quite literal, this time.
"You're not the only one who likes to show off, you know." The glee is palpable in Saeran's voice, even partially muffled as it is, freckled cheek pushed against Raha's lower back. The rustle has pushed his shirt up - Saeran's breath brushes against the base of his spine, ruffling the patch of crimson fur that blends into his tail, and he does not shiver.
He does not.
(He does.)
"Raha?"
"I'm- I- yes- the tome." The shelf is still barely in Raha's reach, even with the newfound advantage, and he has to stretch up as much as he wants to stretch this second. Saeran's arms are tight around his thighs, but the force is the only indication he's even exerting any effort. It's not like his strength has ever been a secret, but these moments when Raha gets the chance to feel it for himself- on himself--
He reaches the tome and buries his burning face in it, dust notwithstanding. It's quite the miracle it doesn't set the book on fire, too; Krile would be most displeased.
Raha peers at Saeran over the edge of his makeshift shield as his feet meet solid ground again, and he's sure the crimson of his face must be meeting the crimson of his hair, as even the sliver is enough to morph Saeran's curiosity into surprise, then into dawning realization.
He blinks slowly, his lips slowly stretching into something that is more smirk than smile. "You liked that, didn't you." It's not a question.
So Raha doesn't answer.
Instead, he finds he isn't sure at which point he's carelessly discarded the tome that gave them so much trouble, as all he knows is his hands are on Saeran's lapels, pulling the viera onto him harshly enough it's only the shelves at Raha's back keeping them upright.
Saeran chuckles into his mouth, but it's not long before the mirth stretches into a satisfied sigh. Raha's hands travel upward to cradle his jaw but Saeran's already tilted his head, opening up easily and eagerly for Raha's tongue. Long fingers push his already rumpled shirt further up, only enough to brush against bare hipbones, earning from Raha a tiny sound muffled into the kiss.
They part for air only the barest of ilms, noses still touching and heavy breaths mingling. Saeran's cheeks are flushed, too, now, Raha's mind points out with no small amount of pride. Half-lidded eyes stare into his, the gold a steadily shrinking sliver around pupils blown out with want - two years in and matching rings weighing down their fingers, and still Raha doubts he'll ever get used to seeing the effect he has on the Warrior of Light. Him! Of all people!
He's past the stage of denying it, at least. Some primal, preening part of him instead wants to feed it, unsatisfied with anything less than the sound of his beloved keening his name. Raha leans in, aiming not for Saeran's mouth but the long, warm column of his neck. He starts under his jaw - still sharp, but less, now, after moons of hard-earned peace in which the greatest duress he's known was a smoking aethercharger or two - and takes the sigh that brushes his ear as incentive to go lower. The Archon marks on the sides of his neck are about a fortnight old, now. Raha's own had taken twice as long to heal fully, but on Saeran, the violet ink is already well settled and well healed; and so Raha slides his lips over it, sucking and biting as if challenging the ink on who can leave the deepest mark.
Saeran's sighs are true moans, now, bitten back but slipping his control, so close to Raha's ear it's all he hears. The hands on his waist slide to the small of his back and yank, pressing their bodies together as close as they'll go before dropping to cup his ass. Raha hooking a leg around Saeran's hip is only natural, really, seeking warmth to grind against - warmth that is earnestly given, Saeran seizing the opportunity to reach for Raha's other leg and lift him up as smoothly and effortlessly as he did before, and Raha moans at losing his ground yet again, locking his ankles behind Saeran's back as he's pressed into the shelves for support. Their eyes meet for a second, ruby to amber burning with desire, ears pinned back and fur standing on end.
This time, it's Saeran that leans into the kiss - and he kisses like he does everything else, full of intent and passion, and Raha can do nothing but moan when he uses his leverage to grind against him. Raha has been steadily getting hard for a while, now; the earnestness of his people is more often a curse than a blessing, but here and now, he lets himself be lost in the arms of his beloved who responds just as easily. Saeran is just as hard as him, straining visible against the front of his leather pants that stubborn cling to every single curve of his legs. He grinds their erections together with punishing pressure, his tongue all but fucking Raha's mouth making his intentions crystal clear, and Raha is glad to yield to him - he doesn't always, but here, caught between the books and Saeran's body, he lets himself go, lost in the heat and the sensation and almost forgetting they are still in public- almost.
"Wait- wait." Raha pants. It takes a few blinks to clear the haze in Saeran's eyes, but the lack of worry indicates to Raha he must still look just as debauched as he feels, and he surely feels debauched. Half of his hair has escaped the braid and his clothes are mussed and askew; but at least the tent in his pants is covered, which is more than he can say for Saeran, whose long coat - Old Sharlayan might be chilly year-round, but it is not yet cold enough for that, Raha silently surmises in the privacy of his own mind - has fallen open from Raha's grabbing, and whose snug trousers are doing him no favors. Doing Raha all favors, instead. "Follow me."
The aisles Raha leads them through are empty of aught but progressively older tomes, and Saeran, hand in his, doesn't squander the opportunity. "If I didn't know better, I would think you've done this before," he says with a grin.
"Well-" Raha didn't think he could blush any harder than he already is. Saeran gives him a look - one Raha is quite used to, finding himself at the other end of it whenever he feels like deflecting. "Fine, fine. I might have, in my younger years," he relents. Saeran all but twirls Raha towards the shelf, grin growing wider, and Raha finds himself laughing. "Not much privacy to be had in the Annex, those days. At least in the Isle of Val I had my own room, small though it might have been."
"I did always peg you for a heartbreaker, you know." Saeran's voice drops lower, his hand smoothly tangling into Raha's remnants of a braid to gain access to his neck.
"Whatever- ah- gave you that impression?"
That gives the viera pause; his eyes search Raha's for a moment, and whatever he finds there makes his mirthful smile grow into a sharper sort of amusement. An indulgent smirk when it meets Raha's skin, and Saeran redoubles his efforts; soft kisses become full of teeth, wandering hands tighten on his waist, and heat starts building again as if the pause never happened. "Don't get coy with me, G'raha Tia. You want me to believe you didn't have a gaggle of girls and boys dogging your every step, back then?"
Raha tries to laugh, but Saeran's lips brush against his jaw with every word, and what comes out is closer to a shaky exhale. "You've been- ah- entertaining Krile's stories far too much, I see." His hands scramble to untuck Saeran's shirt, one traveling up his spine to where Raha knows rests an inked sun, short nails leaving reddish trails to mark their path. The other wanders low, possessively reaching not for skin but for blonde fur, and Saeran's little tail is not the only part of him that shivers under Raha's touch.
"Mmm. She said you never even noticed, always buried into your studies," Saeran hums. "But some must have gotten lucky. Or else you wouldn't be so familiar with the unpopularity of this particular section, would you?"
"Jealous, love?" Raha's own tail thumps a steady rhythm against the wood.
"Me? Never." Another flash of a grin is the only warning Raha gets before Saeran folds himself down to his knees with that effortless, efficient grace so characteristic of him. "Just curious, is all."
Saeran makes quick work of Raha's pants, clearly more than well acquainted with divesting him of them, though this time they're pulled down only enough to give Saeran access to his prize. Raha is so painfully hard his erection springs free with the smallest of tugs to his underwear, and he can't help but stutter out a broken groan when Saeran leans in to run the flat of his tongue from root to tip, eagerly collecting the beading precome and moaning at the taste. His eyes flutter almost closed in satisfaction, but Raha's don't, refusing to miss even a moment of the scene.
"Tell me-" Saeran whispers against his cock, hot breath brushing sensitive skin and making Raha shiver. "-how good it was. Show me how loud they made you moan their name-"
"Someone might- ah- m-might- ah!- might hear us-" Raha tries to say, but Saeran's hand is around him now, pumping smoothed by the spit and the precome he didn't catch, and what comes out is garbled in between moans.
"I don't care." The viera's lips close around his tip again, earnestly sucking even as the very tip of a tongue pokes at the tiny slit and Raha hears more than feels his head hit the books behind him. He knows Saeran far too well not to realize what this is really about - had the searing heat pooling heavy in his gut not have him in a chokehold, perhaps he could find the words to tell Saeran that this is already the best memory he has of these aisles, just by virtue of being with him.
But perhaps it's for the better that he can't, for it grants him the opportunity to indulge in his lover's unbound, uninterrupted competitiveness - Saeran is quick to take him in full, eager and utterly bereft of a gag reflex. The surroundings are silent enough to Raha's swiveled ears that he can't help but groan lowly, throaty and deep through gritted teeth, growing high and pleading when Saeran slowly draws back, tongue flat against the underside of his length, only to lunge forward again. The tip hits the back of his throat with each movement and yet Saeran pushes further, welcoming his girth into wet heat, swallowing and moaning around it in what almost feels like a deliberate challenge - one Raha is more than happy to accept.
Saeran looks up at him, eyes teary and pleading under drawn brows; Raha is aware his size is nothing to scoff at, especially when it stretches Saeran's pink lips so prettily like that. Even through the haze, Raha knows what he's asking for - but he hesitates, still. He's not under any sort of illusion he could truly hurt the vaunted Warrior of Light himself even were he somehow inclined, let alone a little roughness his lover explicitly asks for - has been asking for, for moons. But as much as Raha hates to deny him anything, it's always the image of him in that damned ship flashing in Raha's memory, overriding everything else with the need to spare his lover any more pain, gentling his hand and softening his touch and earning him an exasperated, golden eye roll.
It's not like Raha has ever pretended to think rationally, when it comes to Saeran.
Perhaps sensing Raha's internal monologue - a discussion they've frankly run into the ground, at this point -, Saeran makes a show of pulling off of his cock, tongue tracing the thick vein on the underside and letting go of the head with a loud pop. There's a strand of saliva connecting it to his lower lip, almost as mesmerizing as Saeran looking up at him through dark lashes, to the point that Raha almost misses it when he says, "Please? You won't hurt me, love- just- please, Raha?" His voice has only barely started to grow raspy - and caught in the thrill of where they are, it's the memory of how much sweeter his name sounds when Saeran's voice is fucked truly hoarse that finally wins over Raha's much tested, much battered resolve.
The tentative touch to his hair is enough to pull a sound from Saeran that is more whine than moan, eyes fluttering shut as he chases the touch, encouraging Raha to close his fingers around the golden strands. He's so eager Raha barely has to pull to guide him back onto his cock, but it's a start - and he'd be lying if he denied how violently his erection throbs at seeing Saeran so docile, for once letting go of the snark he holds onto even when submitting. Alas, he happens to find himself in the presence of the one he cannot lie to.
So he doesn't try. The first thrust is shallow, still hesitant, but Saeran's satisfied hum vibrating around him drives him to grow bolder, reaching deeper with every thrust, and Raha quickly finds himself fully sheathed into Saeran's throat, his nose pressed into crimson curls. He barely registers his pants being pulled down to his knees, restricting his thrashing tail by the loop on the back of the waistband and giving Saeran room to brush a drool-slicked fingertip against his hole. Raha grits his teeth to hold the wanton sound trying to tear itself out of him, but his control grows more and more slippery as the touch becomes pressure, and then thrust - it's not slick enough to be smooth, but the slight burn only adds to the headiness of it all, even more so with the addition of a second finger.
Saeran is demanding, now, still pliant as to not spook Raha but offering enough resistance to goad Raha into pulling harder; Raha can picture the self-satisfied grin he'd be sporting, were his mouth not so preoccupied. His thrusts grow harsher, truly fucking, now, and Saeran takes all he has to give, jaw slack and eyes glossy contrasting with how intently and deliberately his fingers slam into Raha's prostate. Though one crimson ear remains swiveled in watch, it's the last remaining thread of Raha's waning restraint. Despite his reservations, he can't pretend he doesn't love giving this as much as Saeran loves receiving it, and any remains of rational thought are overtaken by arousal, by the need for harder, faster, more. "You are such a brat-", he finds himself rambling in between moans, watching the amusement grow behind the tears in Saeran's eyes, "you know the- ah, ah- the effect you have on me, don't you? So, so g-good- taking my cock so well-"
The heat coiling in the pit of his stomach tightens and his thrusts grow erratic. Sensing him close, Saeran's fingers redouble their efforts and Raha swears he sees white, praise devolving into higher and higher broken moans of Saeran's name-- and then he finally stills all the way into the viera's mouth, spilling deep down his throat with a long, pleading whine through gritted teeth. Raha's last harebrained faculties still manage to yank Saeran almost fully off his cock, just in time to watch the last drops of white shoot onto his waiting tongue, such an erotic scene Raha feels he could come again right then and there.
Saeran swallows dutifully - there's the smug grin Raha's been expecting - and only barely has time to pull Raha's pants up before he finds himself with a lapful of blissful, fucked-out miqo'te. His hand is still tangled into Saeran's hair and Raha uses it to pull him down, decided to kiss the satisfied smirk off his face. He can taste himself in Saeran's mouth, can feel the swell of his overworked lips against his, and it makes his cock throb - he's still very much hard, primed to perform for a whole tribe, but his legs feel like jelly and he's warm and satisfied and more than content to stay here, lazily kissing without a care in the world.
"Was that so hard, now?" Saeran hums; Raha has been wholly unsuccessful in kissing that smile off, but secretly, he doesn't mind. Saeran's voice is almost as hoarse as expected, leaving them no hope that Y'shtola might not realize what they've been up to.
Raha rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know. You can't ever just let an old man worry in peace, can you?"
"Well, I wouldn't call this an old man," he teases, tucking Raha's persistent erection back into his pants, "but what do I know." It's not a good joke - it's not even really a joke at all - but it gets a chuckle out of Raha; one that grows into full-blown laughter from both sides as the absurdity of the situation at last dawns on them. As it starts to subside, the metallic pitter-patter of a mammet making its rounds one or two aisles over sends them into a renewed fit, until they're both breathless and smiling and so tangled into each other Raha can hardly tell where one ends and the other begins.
Lazily, he sneaks a hand between their bodies, tugging at Saeran's waistband in silent question, barely an ilm from where his cock still strains against the leather. In response, Saeran gently takes his wrist, raising it to press a kiss to his palm. "Later? You know how loud I get."
"I'll hold you to that." Raha promises.
Standing up, Saeran gets himself presentable again; Raha's ought to stop teasing him about the long coat at this point, because those pants really hide nothing. A quick glance around locates the tome they came to fetch - it's taken quite the tumble at some point during their tryst, but luckily slid far enough away from the reach of any bodily fluids. Feeling has mostly returned to Raha's legs, now, but he still takes the hand Saeran offers him, if only so he can entwine their fingers together as they make their way back.
"I'm telling Krile, by the way. She needs to be kept up to date on your adventurous exploits."
"Ass."
"You love me."
"That, I do."