Chapter Text
“You’re looking better,” Y’shtola remarks.
Mikha peers at her over his sunglasses. “You saw me just a few days ago.”
She nods and sips her drink. “And you were tense and upset,” she says. “You were worried about this bond you share.” She smiles briefly, then turns back to the spectacle on the beach. “You’ve come to terms with it, haven’t you?”
Mikha grins as he also looks back at the view before him. “Aye, I have.” He watches in silence for a moment, lost in thought. “If I was being sensible, I would have broken it off. But then I’d be miserable, he’d be miserable. Just misery all round.”
“You deserve to be happy,” Y’shtola says, her voice soft. “We have asked much of you, these past years. And not once have you let us down.”
Mikha sighs. “I keep telling myself that,” he mumbles. “Maybe one day I’ll believe it.”
Y’shtola hums thoughtfully. “I’m glad you decided to make things work with him. He seems like a good man.”
“Aye, he is,” Mikha agrees. “He makes me laugh, he’s really sweet, and it’s nice having someone who doesn’t only see me as the Warrior of Light.”
There’s a shout from the beach, and whatever reply Y’shtola might have come up with is forgotten as they both focus on the pair down by the water. Estinien and the Tyrant have been carefully stepping around one another, neither having landed a blow yet. They’re both dressed down in board shorts and little else, and Mikha settles back in his lounger, cocktail in hand, to enjoy the fight.
“My money is on Estinien,” Y’shtola says.
“I should probably put mine on Leo,” Mikha admits, though privately he’s not sure if his boyfriend is a match for the dragoon.
Estinien leaps, diving lance first towards the Tyrant, who deftly slides out of the way and follows up with a swipe of his scythe. Both the fighters are agile, both of them clearly enjoying the sparring match while being careful not to inflict any serious injuries.
“How’s the sex?” Y’shtola asks, and Mikha sprays a mouthful of his cocktail all over his legs.
“Y’shtola!”
She laughs. “We are friends, are we not? I’m dying to know.”
Mikha looks away, his cheeks flaming. “Aye, but—”
“And you know I am no prude.”
He sighs. “How much detail do you want?”
They both laugh, Mikha feeling a little hysterical at the thought of telling someone what he’s been up to, but also wanting very much to tell someone how amazing his sex life is. He watches as the Tyrant goes on the offensive, a broad grin on his face and his hair coming loose from its tie as he attacks with a flurry of blows. Estinien manages to dodge each one, but the last catches his ankle and topples him to the sand. Mikha gazes with appreciation at Leo’s muscles glistening with sweat, shining in the midday sun, and he almost misses Estinien adroitly backflipping out of reach with a laugh.
“He really has an impressive physique, doesn’t he?” Y’shtola murmurs, and Mikha glances over to see her smiling appreciatively as she sips her drink. He pushes aside a wave of jealous anger—this is Y’shtola, she has no designs on his boyfriend—and grabs a napkin from the table between them, wiping sticky cocktail off his bare legs.
“He’s very strong,” Mikha says. “He can pick me up and hold me against a wall without any effort.”
“Interesting. I can well believe it.” Down on the sand, their weapons tossed aside, the Tyrant has managed to get Estinien on the ground and is grappling him, attempting to use his extraordinary strength to hold him down. Estinien is giving as good as he gets, but is clearly struggling.
“He fucks me so well he doesn’t even need to touch me to make me come,” Mikha muses. He’s suddenly aware that he’s wearing nothing but his damn tiny swimsuit, and he’s really enjoying watching his boyfriend writhe mostly naked on the sand while he talks about their sex life. He shifts on the lounger, casually sitting up straight and bringing his knees up to lean his elbows on them. “And he can go all the way down on me.”
“Goodness me,” Y’shtola breathes. “What talent.” She glances at Mikha, clearly noticing his posture but deciding not to comment on it. “And is he… in proportion?”
Mikha gasps. “Y’shtola!”
She covers her smile with her hand. “You cannot blame me for wondering. He is so very big.”
Mikha sips his drink and feels his face redden even further. “He’s not in proportion,” he says. Y’shtola makes a disappointed noise, but he continues. “He’s bigger.”
Y’shtola sits in stunned silence for a moment, her gaze fixed on the two figures wrestling on the sand. She glances at Mikha, then back at the Tyrant. “But how do you—where does it—” She breaks off, lost for words.
Mikha knows exactly what she is asking, and a moment later they look at one another and shake with suppressed laughter.
“Yield!” the Tyrant roars, and they look back to the action. Estinien has failed to get out of the grapple, the Tyrant holding him down with his strong thighs and stronger arms, and for once, it looks like Estinien might be on the losing side.
“Never!” Estinien shouts, and with a loud grunt, somehow manages to push Leo back enough to free his legs. He wraps them around the Tyrant’s waist and flips them, and then he is the one on top, pinning Leo’s wrists to the sand.
“Oh, my,” Y’shtola murmurs, and Mikha is suddenly feeling very warm. He’s usually the one being held down like this, but watching Leo squirm beneath Estinien’s hold makes him wonder if they should try it this way round.
“He took me to a nightclub in Solution Nine,” Mikha says conversationally, feeling his face flush red with what he’s about to say. “Things got a bit heated. You would not believe what I did to him while we were there.”
Y’shtola gasps. “No!” she breathes.
Mikha raises his drink and grins at her. “Sucked his cock, right in front of everyone.” He takes the straw into his mouth and sucks, deliberately pursing his lips and suppressing the giggles that threaten to bubble out of him.
Y’shtola bursts out laughing, absolutely losing it, and the sound is so uncharacteristic that Estinien is clearly distracted. He looks over at them, frowning in concern, and that’s when Leo makes his move, once again flipping them and digging his knees into the sand as he holds Estinien completely motionless.
“Do you yield now!?”
“Fine, I yield!” Estinien growls, and Leo grunts in satisfaction as he releases him. He stands up, brushing sand off his torso, and stretches a hand down for Estinien to take.
“Good fight,” he says, wiping sweat off his forehead and smiling widely.
“Aye.” Despite losing, Estinien’s grin is almost as wide. “’Tis a long time since I have been bested.”
“I imagine it’d be different if we were both in armour,” the Tyrant muses, and Estinien makes a thoughtful sound.
“You can do that later,” Y’shtola calls from her lounger. “If you put on armour in this heat, you’ll both pass out.”
Mikha can’t take his eyes off Leo. His skin is flushed red from the exertion and the sun, and Mikha’s gaze tracks a line of sweat that trickles down his torso, all the way down his abdominal muscles and into the waistband of his shorts, sitting low on his hips. Mikha gapes at him as he reaches up to re-tie his hair, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. He knows that if he was a little bit closer, he’d be able to smell him, and just thinking about that is enough to make his heart pound and lust rapidly pool between his thighs. He hugs his legs closer, wondering how he’s going to deal with this, and Leo catches his eye.
He glances at Mikha’s legs, pulled up to hide the thickening bulge in his swimsuit, and grins in a way that is instantly recognisable. Mikha shakes his head in warning; his friends are here, and he would really prefer not to embarrass himself in front of them. Telling Y’shtola what his sex life is like is one thing, but he refuses to actually demonstrate it to her.
Estinien claps the Tyrant on the shoulder. “I could use a drink after that,” he says. “Come, let’s go to the bar.”
Mikha lets out a sigh of relief when they both head in the opposite direction, towards the village. He can sense Y’shtola’s amusement, and he screws his eyes shut as he tries to bring himself back under control.
“Did you need us to leave you two alone?” Y’shtola asks.
“No,” he forces out.
“Because you look like you’re about to burst.”
“Please stop,” he groans, and she laughs.
“Mayhap you need to dunk yourself in the ocean,” she suggests.
It’s a good idea, and after a few minutes Mikha has regained sufficient control over himself that he is able to stand and make his way to the water. He wades in, enjoying the cool water on his heated skin, and breathes a sigh of relief once he is far enough out that he can relax, no eyes upon him.
He floats just out of his depth for some time, his eyes closed, enjoying the sun overhead and the quiet lapping of the ocean as it ebbs and flows around him. It’s a rare moment of peace, and he wonders if he might fall asleep.
He senses the Tyrant’s approach before he hears him. Mikha thinks, sometimes, that he could awaken in a strange house in a strange city, in the dead of night, and be able to immediately point in Leo’s direction, wherever he was in the world. He smiles as he hears the faint splashing as he wades towards him, and then he catches his scent, rich and warm below the fresh scent of salt.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asks, not opening his eyes.
There’s a quiet chuckle. “Very much,” the Tyrant replies. “He is an excellent fighter; I would like to test his mettle in the arena one day.”
Mikha grins. “He’d love that. I’ll see if I can convince him to visit Solution Nine; although he doesn’t much like any kind of technology and is liable to put his lance through a billboard.”
“Hmph,” Leo grunts. “He’d get used to it. You did.”
“You don’t know him like I do,” Mikha replies, remembering Estinien’s disgruntled manner when they were dealing with the Allagan machine shackling Tiamat in Azys Lla. “But I’ll definitely suggest it to him. He’d love the Arcadion and I can see him becoming a crowd favourite. An archaic warrior, fighting in full armour with a lance.”
“What kind of persona do you think he’d adopt?”
Mikha chuckles. “I’m not sure he’d be interested in a persona. But he can be just as overdramatic as you when he puts his mind to it, so he’d fit in no problem.”
“I am not overdramatic!” the Tyrant objects. “That was an act!”
“If you say so,” Mikha says, amused, and Leo huffs.
They float in silence for a while, their fingertips brushing together. Mikha feels himself nodding off, cushioned by the ocean and surrounded by the addictive scent of his lover.
“You enjoyed watching me fight, didn’t you?” the Tyrant murmurs. His scent subtly changes, becoming deeper, and a warm thrill runs through Mikha’s body.
“If we had been somewhere private, I would have been begging for you to fuck me,” Mikha breathes.
“I couldn’t look at you while we sparred,” Leo says, his voice low and rough. “I could practically feel your eyes on me. You were so fucking distracting, sitting there on the beach in nothing but your slutty little swimsuit.”
Mikha inhales sharply, his heart pounding and heat throbbing in his loins. He shifts in the water, righting himself so he is treading water, and Leo does the same, his feet finding the sandy bottom. They both glance at the shore, seeing that they are far enough out that they might as well be alone, and Mikha makes a sound of desperate, pained need as he wraps his arms and legs around Leo’s body and captures his mouth in a kiss.
He tastes of salt and sun, his slick tongue winding around Mikha’s, and they both let out a soft moan as their bodies press together beneath the water. Mikha cups the back of Leo’s neck, tangling his fingers in the loose, damp strands below his ponytail, and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.
Below the water, Leo’s hand is firmly against Mikha’s arse, and he slips his fingers down past the waistband to squeeze the firm muscle. “Think your friends will notice if I jerk you off out here?” he asks, yanking Mikha firmly against him, letting him rut against his stomach.
Mikha groans. “Probably.” He leans his forehead against Leo’s, his arms still wrapped around his neck. He cannot help jerking his hips, rubbing his rapidly swelling cock against the Tyrant’s firm abdominal muscles. He wants this, badly, but he doesn’t particularly want to deal with the inevitable teasing. “Let’s save it for when we’re alone, hmm?”
Leo nods, giving his arse one last squeeze before releasing it. “I hope you’re ready to scream my name later,” he murmurs, and kisses him briefly.
They both return to floating on their backs, holding hands as their bodies move with the gentle swell of the ocean, and Mikha smiles, happier than he’s been in a very long time.
~
“Where will you go next?” Estinien asks over dinner. The bar is busy with summer revellers, but they managed to get a table in an out of the way corner away from most of the noise. Estinien’s plate is filled with squid: roasted, broiled, steamed, and fried. Leo had stared at it for a moment, bemused, and Estinien had silently handed him a piece of fried squid to try.
“Coerthas,” Mikha replies. “He’s never seen a dragon.”
Estinien’s eyes light up. “Oh? Do you want company?”
Mikha snorts. “Only if you promise to visit Aymeric.”
“I visit him plenty!” Estinien objects. He clears his throat. “Although, admittedly, we have not seen one another since before I left for Tural.”
Y’shtola swirls her wine in the glass and looks at him with a raised brow. “Please tell me you at least wrote to him in the intervening months.”
“Of course.” Estinien glares at her, then at Mikha. “Why this sudden concern for my relationship with Aymeric? You know how long we’ve been together. He’s used to not seeing me for months.”
“Just making sure,” Mikha says. “He always asks after you when I visit.”
Estinien looks down at his plate. “Mayhap it has been too long this time,” he says, his voice quiet. He glances up at Mikha, his gaze flicking between him and Leo. His sharp eyes notice Leo’s hand on Mikha’s leg under the table, the way their bodies lean together, and he sighs, a faint look of longing on his face. “You’re right. I shall go there directly in the morning.”
The Tyrant watches this exchange with polite bafflement. “We will be visiting Ishgard, won’t we?” he asks.
Mikha nods. “It’s very impressive,” he says. “I think you’ll like it.”
“And there will be no boats?” Leo picks up a piece of fried squid and chews on it thoughtfully. “Hmm. Good flavour. A little chewy for my liking, though.”
Estinien scoffs. “This from a man who has spent his life eating food grown in a vat.”
“Texture is important!”
“Only one boat,” Mikha interrupts, heading off that argument. “We’ll go back to Limsa Lominsa in a week or so and take the ferry to Vesper Bay. It’s only a few hours, no need to worry.”
“I’ll worry a little, if it’s all the same to you,” Leo mutters, and Mikha pats his hand.
“And after Coerthas?” Y’shtola asks. “Where to next for our intrepid explorers?”
“I wish we could visit the First together,” Mikha says, imagining showing Leo the Crystarium, the bright purple forests of Lakeland, the huge boughs of the Rak’tika Greatwood. He wants to take him down to the depths of the Tempest and visit the haunting remains of Amaurot, to tell him the stories of those who once lived.
“I do plan on finding a way,” Y’shtola says. “It has eluded me for so long, but with the key now in our possession, surely it will not be long before I, too, can return there.”
“You should go to Radz-at-Han,” Estinien says. “Vrtra would be happy to see you again.”
“That’s the far-off place, isn’t it?” the Tyrant says, and Mikha nods.
“You could always use the experimental aetheryte In Sharlayan,” Y’shtola says. “Mayhap they’ve improved its workings and one is no longer subjected to such violent aetherial sickness.”
“Perhaps we can discuss this another time,” Leo says, grimacing. “I’d rather not think about any form of travel while I’m trying to enjoy dinner.”
They all laugh, and Leo sighs. Under the table, his foot is pressed firmly against Mikha’s, and Mikha shuffles closer, enjoying the warmth of Leo’s leg right up against his own. The large hand on his leg slides further up his thigh, warm through his trousers, and he shivers when Leo leans down to whisper in his ear.
“I can’t wait to have you alone again.”
Mikha turns to him, tilting his head up for a brief kiss. The warmth of Leo’s scent rises, and Mikha inhales deeply. “You smell like sex,” he murmurs, and Leo closes his eyes and exhales slowly.
Y’shtola clears her throat, and Mikha reluctantly pulls away from the Tyrant. “Soon,” Leo says softly, his words full of promise, and Mikha smiles.
~
Mikha’s back hits the bed and his breath is driven out of him in a whoosh. The Tyrant looms over him, straddling his thighs, and Mikha beams at him, reaching up to cup his cheek. Leo’s face softens and he smiles back, leaning into the touch before his grin turns wicked and he grabs Mikha’s hands, pinning them to the bed above his head.
“All evening I’ve been thinking about this,” he growls, the low rumble of his voice sending a shiver through Mikha’s body.
“Oh?” Mikha’s face heats up and he bites his lower lip, showing his sharp canines. “What, exactly, have you been thinking about?” He squirms, trying to free his wrists and revelling in the thrill he gets from being so thoroughly pinned in place.
Holding him down with one hand, the Tyrant drags a finger down the centre of Mikha’s chest, parting the loose sides of his shirt. He squeezes a pectoral, digging his nails in just enough to make Mikha draw in a quick breath. “Tying you down and having my way with you,” he says. Mikha’s breath quickens, and Leo leans in to give him a brief kiss, pulling away all too soon.
“Tease,” Mikha breathes. He could free his wrists easily, but he pushes that knowledge deep inside and struggles weakly, feeling a pulse of desire in his loins when the Tyrant’s grip tightens. “Then what will you do to me?” He rakes his gaze over Leo’s body, admiring the ripple of his muscles, the flexing of his arm as he holds Mikha’s wrists in place.
Leo kisses him again, still too brief, just a quick glide of parted lips and tongue, and Mikha whines when he pulls away. “Stay there, kitten,” he orders, and goes to rummage in his bag. Mikha obeys, staring at the ceiling and keeping his wrists where the Tyrant had left them, his breath quickening with anticipation. His cock is half hard in his trousers and swelling further with each passing moment, and by the time Leo returns with a set of cuffs in his hand, Mikha is desperate to be touched again.
“Please,” he mumbles, looking up at him desperately. The Tyrant gazes at him, his stern face softened by a faint smile, and he puts the cuffs on the bed next to Mikha before settling between his parted thighs. Once again he presses Mikha’s wrists into the bed with one big hand, and Mikha arches up against him.
“Please what, kitten?” Leo murmurs, leaning down so Mikha can feel his breath against his mouth. His scent is strong, and Mikha gulps in air like he’s suffocating, letting his boyfriend’s desire suffuse him.
“Kiss me?” All day he’s been thinking about having the Tyrant alone, wanting the freedom to kiss him without restraint. Leo groans and their mouths crash together, both of them gasping as their tongues slide against one another, hot and greedy and frantic. They kiss for long minutes, and the taste of him combined with that rich scent has Mikha rutting up against Leo’s stomach.
“You taste so good,” Leo says against his mouth, and tilts his head to kiss him harder, deeper. The soft sounds of their kisses fill the small cabin, accompanied by the rush of the waves outside, bringing crisp salty air in through the open balcony. Mikha loses himself in the kiss, wishing his hands were free so he could touch him, and he lifts his hips to wrap his legs around Leo’s waist. They both sigh as their hips rub together, the heat between them building.
Mikha thinks he could stay here forever and be happy, holding his boyfriend, kissing him, smelling his desire, his love. He pulls away for a moment, peering up at Leo’s face, admiring his stern features, his beautiful eyes, the striking line of his nose. “I love you,” he says, the words falling out of his mouth without thought. “So, so much.”
Leo smiles at him, soft and warm. “I love you too,” he says, and the delicious scent between them intensifies. “So much it scares me sometimes.” He leans down again but instead of kissing him, he buries his face in Mikha’s neck and simply holds him.
“You know what else I love?” Mikha murmurs as Leo kisses his neck.
“Hmm?”
“I love it when you fuck me.” He rocks his hips, rubbing his hard cock against Leo’s stomach, and he feels Leo shake with amusement.
“My apologies, I became distracted.” He sits up, smiling down at Mikha, and cups his cheek. “Hells, you’re so beautiful.” He strokes his cheek with a thumb, then drags it down over Mikha’s lower lip, grinning when Mikha bites him gently. Then he shifts away, releasing Mikha’s wrists and sitting back on his heels between his ankles.
“On your hands and knees, please,” he requests, and Mikha rolls over immediately. He whimpers when deft fingers trace his waistband, rubbing the base of his tail and his tattoo before sliding around to caress his hips. He arches his back, his knees wide apart, and is rewarded with a muttered curse from Leo. Smiling, he uses the tip of his tail to stroke the side of Leo’s face, enjoying his quiet chuckle.
“I do hope you aren’t in a hurry,” Leo says, his voice languid, almost lazy as he strokes Mikha’s tail from base to tip. “I plan to take my time with you.”
Mikha tries to speak, but his breath stutters in his throat, and all he can do is bite his lip when Leo says, “Take your shirt off for me.” He sits back on his heels and tugs it off, flinging the garment across the room. Moments later the Tyrant is kneeling on the bed beside him, his own shirt cast aside and his trousers undone to show his cock already straining at the fabric of his underwear. Mikha wants to reach out and touch, wants to bury his face against his hard length and inhale his scent, and he half closes his eyes as a sudden surge of pure lust threatens to overwhelm him. He sways towards him, already leaning in with his mouth open, and Leo puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“Back down again for me, baby,” the Tyrant’s gentle voice coaxes, and Mikha leans on his elbows then stretches his arms out in front of him. He watches, aware of how loud his breathing is, as Leo affixes a set of cuffs around one wrist, then loops them through a slat in the headboard before attaching them to his other wrist.
“Fuck,” Mikha whispers as his cock twitches, trapped in his clothes. With his hands tied together and attached to the headboard, his range of movement is severely limited, and he yanks at the restraints to feel that rush of desire when he’s brought up short. He can sense the Tyrant moving about behind him, and he squeaks when he feels nimble fingers sliding around his hips, squeezing his arse.
“Look at you, so good for me,” Leo murmurs. He slips his hands around to Mikha’s belt, deftly unbuckling it and sliding the leather free. Mikha can hear himself panting, and he bites his lip as those fingers unzip his trousers and slide them down over his hips to pool on the bed around his knees.
“Leo…” he whines, arching his back deeply, his cheek pressed against the pillow. His boyfriend hums and lightly strokes his back, his long fingers tracing the shape of his muscles and scars before circling his tattoo. A warm kiss is placed against the small behemoth, and Mikha presses back against the Tyrant’s mouth. The kisses continue, accompanied by a hot tongue and the scrape of teeth as Leo tugs Mikha’s underwear down, over his tail and buttocks. A hand reaches around beneath him to lift the waistband over his straining cock, and Mikha exhales loudly when that hand wraps around him, giving him a quick stroke.
Unable to move, his bare arse up in the air and his trousers trapping his legs, Mikha feels exposed and vulnerable. But he also feels safe, loved, and knows that Leo will take care of him.
“I want to use my tongue on you, here,” Leo murmurs, and Mikha stiffens when two large hands squeeze his buttocks, parting them to expose his hole. “I’ve been thinking about it for so long.” His words are breathless, and Mikha can hear him panting.
“You mean… there?” Mikha’s shocked, but the thought of it, of having Leo’s hot tongue sliding over his hole… he whimpers and shifts his hips. “Yeah. Yeah. If you want.”
The first lick is soft, tentative, just the tip of Leo’s tongue tracing his rim. But it sends a jolt of pure lust through Mikha’s body, making him squirm as his legs tremble. He tries to speak, tries to at least make an encouraging noise, but all that comes out of him is a strangled squeak. Leo continues, bolder now, and presses the flat of his tongue right over Mikha’s hole. He works at him for several long, incredible minutes, and Mikha can do nothing but take it, his arms trapped, his arse in the air, completely at Leo’s mercy as his lover licks him over and over. His cock aches, straining against nothing, and he can feel warm drops of precome dripping from him and wetting the blanket beneath him. He wonders if he could come just from this, and is eager to find out.
“Is it good?” Leo asks, pulling away for a moment. His voice is rough, and Mikha moans.
“So fucking good, seven hells it’s so good.” He arches his back, trying to push his arse back up to Leo’s mouth, and he hears a warm chuckle. When that touch returns, the slick heat of a tongue is accompanied by a finger, and Mikha gasps when he’s penetrated, Leo’s long finger sliding in up to the second knuckle even as he continues to lick him. He presses mercilessly against Mikha’s prostate, eliciting a garbled moan, and Mikha aches for more. He’s been fingered before, usually while Leo has his mouth around his cock, but having both fingers and tongue there is driving him wild in a way he’s never felt before.
A choked sob escapes him when Leo slips a second finger in, his tongue winding deftly around them as he licks him, over and over, dipping the tip of his tongue inside while he works his prostate. Mikha doesn’t realise how overwhelmed he is until he notices that the pillow beneath his face is damp with tears, and he whimpers as more spill down his face.
Leo somehow realises, and stops immediately. “Kitten? Are you alright?”
“Don’t stop,” Mikha cries. “Fuck, please, keep going!” He inadvertently swipes Leo across the face with his tail, and there’s a laugh from behind him before a hand takes hold of his tail, shifting it to the side, and then that tongue is against him once more. He coils his tail around the back of Leo’s neck, letting it rest there while he falls to pieces beneath his ministrations.
And he will fall to pieces soon. He can feel his orgasm building steadily within him, different somehow to how he usually feels when he’s being fucked. Waves of pleasure grow and crest in him with each stroke against his prostate, with each firm swipe of tongue, and he tugs uselessly at his restraints as he gets closer to his peak. The cuffs rattle against the headboard, making Leo laugh softly against him, and the ache in his arms from his struggles only heightens his arousal.
“Ohh, fuck,” he moans. “I’m—I’m close, I’m going to—” The sentence is cut off as his orgasm hits him all of a sudden, and he cries out his pleasure as Leo licks and strokes him. He feels splashes of come against his stomach and thighs as his cock jerks and spills, and he rocks back and forth against Leo’s mouth and fingers as he is worked through it until he’s a gasping, sobbing mess with his face buried in the pillow.
“Fuck,” Leo bites out, and Mikha feels hot liquid hit the backs of his thighs. Leo moans, leaning over him and pressing his face against the base of his tail, and Mikha realises he’s just come too. He wants to say something, wants to make a clever comment, but all he can do is smile as he basks in the afterglow of a really good orgasm.
Later, once they’re cleaned up and lying in bed, Mikha smirks at Leo. “I thought you were planning to fuck me,” he says.
“I was.” Leo hooks an arm around Mikha’s waist and rolls them, planting him astride his torso. A firm hand between his shoulders pulls him down so he’s resting on his chest, his face buried in Leo’s neck. “But you were making such delicious sounds, kitten.” He kisses an ear, biting the sensitive skin at the base, and Mikha hums in pleasure. “I barely even had to touch myself, just one stroke and that was it.”
Mikha shakes as he laughs quietly. “It felt really good,” he says, the words muffled. “I wouldn’t object if you wanted to do it again.”
~
Mikha can’t keep a smile off his face the next day, and breakfast on their balcony turns into shared blowjobs before they dive into the cool waters of the Rhotano Sea. By the time they meet up with his friends they’re running late, and Y’shtola gives them a knowing smile, noticing Mikha’s flushed face and the foolish grin he wears.
“You’re late,” Estinien says bluntly. “I was about to leave.” He’s dressed in his full armour, and the Tyrant looks him up and down before nodding in approval.
“I brought my battle gear with me too,” he begins, but Mikha smacks him on the arm.
“When we get to Ishgard, you two can have a real bout in the training grounds there, alright?”
Estinien’s eyes gleam and he grins. “I shall await you there,” he says, before turning and leaving without another word.
“I, too, must return to Sharlayan,” Y’shtola says. “I have had several ideas about interdimensional travel which I would like to investigate.” She smiles. “Full glad am I to have spent this time with you both. Do come and see me in Sharlayan before you return to Solution Nine.” She surprises Mikha with a hug, and murmurs in his ear, “He’s so in love with you.”
Mikha smiles into her shoulder. “I know,” he replies, and she pulls away, rubbing his head and messing up his hair like his big sister used to do. A pang of grief and loss hits him, accompanied by comfort in the knowledge that he found a new family in the Scions.
“I like your friends,” the Tyrant muses as they watch her leave, heading towards the ferry to Limsa Lominsa. “They treat you like a little brother.” He glances down at Mikha, who is struck by his perceptiveness.
“They do,” he says in a quiet voice, lacing their hands together.
“What do you have planned for today?” Leo asks as they head down to the beach.
“We could visit Wineport for lunch,” Mikha says. “It’s a nice walk through the forest to get there.
“I might have plans for us for tonight,” Leo says.
“Oh?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he says, ruffling his hair like Y’shtola did. Mikha grumbles and straightens his hair out, then smiles up at him.
“Looking forward to it.”
“Race you to the water,” Leo says, and takes off before Mikha can gather his wits.
“You jerk!” he yells, running to catch up, and the beach echoes with their laughter.