voyage
#endwalker #felstel #wolship #nsfw #ffxiv #wolshipewfic
The brisk, salty sea breeze on deck banishes the last lingering tendrils of nausea. While the tonic she’d taken eased the symptoms of seasickness somewhat, Stelmaria spent much of the voyage doing all in her power to keep meals down.
In the far distance, illuminated by the soft glow of a sun rising through morning haze, lies their destination: an island covered in vibrant greenery and dotted by stately white edifices all facing a bustling harbor, in which the statue of a man kneels, pouring an endless stream of water from the pitcher balanced on one sculpted shoulder.
Sharlayan. The city of scholars.
Felcy’ra stares in the city’s direction, though his eyes are unfocused and unseeing. Perceiving something other than the ship’s rocking deck. Something that creases his brows and exposes one menacing fang.
“Fel?” she whispers, for once not worried that her last meal will make an appearance along with her words.
He blinks, the dark clouds upon his brow lightening as she crosses the creaking timbers on unsteady sea legs.
“How ya doin’, sprout? How’s ya brekky sittin’?”
“Well enough, seeing as I haven’t had any to begin with,” she quips.
Stel seizes his arm at the railing, desperate to remain on the ship in spite of a particularly large lurch of the deck and her belly.
A grin spreads across his own features at her pinched expression. Fel’s body adjusts to the ship’s movements as though he were born on the water. Additionally he’d evaded any and all symptoms of seasickness—much to Stel’s chagrin.
Not that she could stay upset with him.
Not when he’d been so gentle and conscientious of her needs since they’d left port: getting her fresh water or lighter fare, distracting her with bawdy jokes and wild tales, keeping the others from disturbing her rest with a deftness that surprised her.
“Glad ya feelin’ better, but ya a tad late developin’ ya sea legs to be honest. We’re almost to harbor and steady land.”
“Menphina is most merciful to the least of her children,” Stel replies, a wry twist to her lips.
“I’d pay a heap of good gil to see ya be what anyone migh’ consider least, sprout, an’ tha’s no lie.”
She opens her mouth to retort, but a sudden burst of spray soaks the fluttering hem of her red skirt, “Seven hells!”
Fel, dry of course, smirks at Alisaie, who has just now emerged from below deck to make an exaggerated stretch in the morning sunshine. The young woman smirks in kind—the pair of them are a menace indeed—and takes the rare opportunity to tease Stel, “Ah no. Nothing sadder than a wet cat.”
“Rude,” says Y’shtola, herding the rest of the Scions onto the deck ahead of her.
The arrival of their friends turns the topic to business, but the buzz of conversation around her is most comforting. So too is the warmth of Fel’s hand wrapped around hers and the faint stirring of her violet hair as he chuffs softly into her ear.
“What were you looking at earlier?” she murmurs, pitching her voice low so that only he could hear.
He shakes his head, shaggy ponytail swaying with the motion, and fixes his peridot eye on the others.
Very well. She would ask again later in private.
”You know there’s no need to tease G’raha like that,” she sighs.
A sharp bark of laughter rings loud in the cozy room. The air from his lungs chills the moistness where his hot mouth had been on her skin, raising goosebumps and drawing forth a shiver. “All the times to talk abou’ G’raha an’ this is when ya bring it up? Ya gone crazy?”
Fel grins, wicked, and presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, just above the knee.
“You great beast; so what if I have? Who’s fault would that be?”
Again, a kiss, although higher this time—perhaps halfway to her hip. She reaches to grip a velvet ear in anticipation but he bats her hands away.
“Mine, o’ course, ‘cause I been teasing ya. Wasn’ teasing him though—just ya.”
Another kiss, but this one is not anywhere on her thigh.
Nor is it a kiss so much as it is a slow, deliberate drag of clever tongue across wildly sensitive parts, before closing his mouth over the prize to apply suction.
“Twelve preserve,” she breathes, seeing stars.
Tease indeed.
The pair of them were supposed to be resting, but several long days and nights spent at sea with zero privacy and…
Well…
There was very little sleeping going on.
“You were teasing him though.” Trying to put a sentence together while he amuses her is like digging a hole in the mud—as soon as two words link properly another pair slips apart.
“Nah. Wouldn’ dream of it,” he replies smoothly, with all the innocence of a kit with a hand in the cookie jar. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’ think of anything to tease him about—”
Stel laughs at the chuckle rumbling from his chest, “You putting your needy hands round my waist at every opportunity during Krile’s tour was not teasing?”
He props up on elbows and meets her gaze, the unruly flop of bang covering the golden eye he disliked—but she loved, “Nah. Didn’ want ya to fall off the pier or into any of the fountains. Ya was a little discombobulated maybe? What with all the blushing an’ gigglin’ ya were doin’.”
Her pulse rises in her pale cheeks, higher than it already was, “That was because you would kiss me every time Krile turned her back to us?!”
“Ya had some crumbs left from lunch on ya face. I was jus’ takin’ care of it for ya, like a gentleman.”
Incredulous, her mouth falls open, “Crumbs?!”
“Aye, crumbs.”
“Just because you are a horrible, evil man who can’t eat without a bib does not mean that I—” she begins, eyes twinkling.
Quick as a wink, Fel slithers up the length of her languid body to kiss her into silence. His skin is scented with the green wildness of deep forests and smeared in her own musky slick. She moans at the throb low in her belly, the blaze within growing brighter at every touch of his scarred hands.
He turns his head to taste the skin of her shoulder and whispers, “Crumbs.”
With rather more force than strictly necessary she manages to pin the laughing male keeper to the mattress, straddling him and ignoring the hot hardness pressed against her belly and mound.
“And the pinching? Was it absolutely critical for you to repeatedly squeeze my bottom out in public?”
“Aye, the future of Eorzea depends on it.” His grin is so wide she is quite sure she can see every one of his pure white teeth.
Not the answer she expected.
Fel continues, “‘Cause I don’ wanna save a world where G’raha ain’t spittin’ jealous of how I got ya all to myself.”
“So it was teasing?” she clarifies in mock seriousness.
He says nothing, only rubs his thumbs across the soft flesh of her ribs, tracing the curve of bone beneath. The smile fades and his eyes glitter, becoming sharp enough to cleave her open with just a glance.
“How cruel. I shall have to punish you.”
His eyes bore into her, “Aye.”
She wraps a hand around him and cocks her hips, rubbing her soft, sensitive nether lips against his throbbing length. Looking for all the world like a mad coeurl in heat.
”What did you see earlier? You never said.”
Her voice is muffled with both sleep and the pillow where she’s buried her head, but he reasons well enough what she’s asked.
“The lady of light,” he replies, drawing idle shapes over the beautiful curves of her naked back. “She said to seek light in darkness—that I was gonna be tested.”
She shifts to take in his face, gazing at him tenderly with eyes muzzy from sleep, “We’ll make it. We’re together.”
He nods, leaning down to press his mouth to the raised scar at her shoulder, “Aye.”
This thing between them was new and somewhat strange: at times delicate and fragile as spun glass; at other times as strong as forged adamantite. It was different from all the other times they’d tried to be together—some fundamental shift in attitudes and desires occurred somewhere along the line. Where exactly he couldn’t say, and he suspected that neither could she, but the fact of the matter was she gave him life, her daily presence brought a steady glow of joy to his soul. It felt right.
“Aye,” she echoes, raising herself on her elbows to kiss him softly, like the ephemeral brush of a morpho’s wings. “Now sleep before Krile charges in and beats us to death for not following her direction to rest.”
Sprawling next to her, he relaxes without even trying, able to drift off to the steady rhythm of her breathing close by. The lavender and myrrh scent of her skin perfumes his dreams.