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shadowbringers

beneath the stars

It's been a week since our newest expansion officially launched! And, I know, I know... some of you already have a lot of feelings that you need to air out. But canon updating in your games is a struggle! And so is finding PSL partners! Luckily, that's what we're here for.

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[ Emet-Selch was chaotic enough that he could not duly answer that question, it was one of those instances where he knew he was fond of mortals, of observing them and their ingenuity, their fragile human existance and how they seemed to rise above it-- yes, perhaps the weak did strive to be weaker, but then there were the vibrant roses struggling to breathe against the rot of the earth, struggling and fighting to grow and flower.

Just as the Garlean empire had struggled to survive (and oh did he have a fond spot in his heart still for the empire, for the true testament of to a survivor's will that pushed it ever onward), so did Eorzea and Noverant. And then at the center of that, was Sigr. It almost impressed his jaded bitter heart, though it was not quite to that point yet and he wasn't too keen on ruining his reputation by admitting to any hint of softness toward humanity. ]

I do like my secrets, though perhaps I shall a secret of mine own with you in exchange for the secret of your lustrous locks?

[ a secret for a secret, though Emet-Selch was not going to specify what manner of secret it would be-- by all rights and purposes, it would not be precisely enjoyable if one knew exactly what one was getting into with the telling of a secrets-- guess Sigr would be the one to accept that bargain if he so choose.

And then the Ascian allowed his fingers firm quite a bit more, and then at the touch, he let out a chuckle, a soft testament to the sheer unexpectedness of it, he could even feel the barest hint of claws, it was almost a reminder that Sigr was the one in control here-- and Emet-Selch was perfectly content with that.. for now. ]

[In the end, Sigr knew where it will all lead. It could lead no where else, this path they were walking, for Emet-Selch said it himself - he was tempered by a Primal, and no matter how incredible the Primal, or the stories that came with them, it meant the tempered would act in the Primal's favor and it would lead to them needing to be put down. It was all a game of when. Which only made him wonder, all over again, what it meant about him. Him and Hydaelyn and just what it meant to be tempered. Could anyone...? With a brief shake of his head, dismissing the thoughts, Sigr focused on the now. The very strange now that felt removed from time, as if in this small forgotten place in the world the rest of the world vanished until they stepped out to see it once again and solidify it into reality. He debated those words. A secret? Surely a man who lived so long had secrets layered on secrets. Any one of them would be fascinating or foolish. So, why not? Besides, he was enjoying being pet. He even allowed his thumb to move in slow circles. A Hrothgar always need watch his claws, but this was not a moment of fighting, anyway. Not that he didn't realize it could turn into such, should something happen.] I suppose such an arrangement could be acceptable. [His head tilted, just enough to show the brightness in the slightly mis-matched eyes. One blue, one green, on either side of that minty fur-marking.] A secret for a secret. [His fingers on Emet-Selch's knee tighten, like a silent acceptance of the proposal.] Fish oil. I have it distilled from the fish I catch. [And oh does he love to fish-] The alchemists get half of the batch and I get the other. Small glass of it in the morning every other day.

[ Of course it would be fish oil, he should of drawn that connection-- however he did not smell anything particularly fishy about the hair, it felt exactly like a big cat's fur should-- scented with flowers and there was a hint of mint in there somewhere. His senses had always been sharpened and even right now he drew back to that-- relying on his senses in order to formulate opinions. His fingers stroked and petted just behind that ear and then his fingers trailed down the back of that neck, managing to get a rather nice knead in there too.

It was actually wonderfully calming to pet Sigr-- but it also gave him a brief bit of homesickness too. Funny that an Ascian should feel as such, but it brought him to mind the Empire which had been his last home for an extended period of time. Here amid ruins that portended the struggle between light and dark, he had not expected such a singular emotion to wash through him-- it was curious but he would not focus on it too much-- ]

Do you brew flower oils into it as well?

[ he would inquire a little bit deeper into Sigr's secret, taking a genuine interest in the Hrothgar in a meeting that was just as surprising as the feeling of homesickness that assaulted the Ascian ]

[Such a conversation to be having, Sigr mused, with an ancient being of the darkness. What next? Discussions on aetherical gathering during spell casting? Favored past times? The opinionated past time of who had the best backside among the Scions?

The thoughts made him chuckle aloud, though perhaps it sounded more in reaction to the question about flower oils.]

I have a friend among the alchemists' guild who does the work for concoction, but you're close. [He leans himself back into the stroke along his head, letting his eyes drift shut to inky pools set against white fur. If Emet-Selch wanted to kill him, he would have tried already. No point in being tense, other than keeping an ear out.]

Mint is the main component, to fight back the odor, but mostly it's in the distilling process that he managed to take it out. I have little issue in smelling mint-fresh.

[ Oh please, do not make Emet-Selch enter into the discussion of backsides among the Scions as he would not be able to make statement that wasn't fully based on his opinion of them-- as he was not someone who thought of things objectively. Every statement that would come forth would be based on little things that would 'annoy' him in the long run and preventing him from weighing in with any true merit.

The discussion of oils though, flower.. mint or otherwise was certainly promising, promising still was the way that the Hrothgar leaned into his touch, gloved though it was and he was fighting back the temptation to merely remove his glove and touch the fur with bare hands-- but he almost never removed his gloves-- they almost came with the package, good reason that it was that he never did. He would surely become distracted touching all of the things if he did. It kept him focused being that he was a total tactile sort, the glove was a barrier meant to keep a subtle distance

The Ascian leaned in and then allowed a bit of fragrance to overtake him-- yes that was surely mint. It wasn't an unpleasant smell and it did serve it's purpose because there was not even the lingering 'trace' of a fishy smell whatsoever ]

I applaud your friend for such a ingenuous concoction, I bet you are quite popular--

Edited 2019-08-30 11:15 (UTC)

[Now now, he just had to learn to divorce the opinion of someone from their backside. After all, he could comment that he's curious if Emet-Selch's is any good, except he has all that bunching and heavy materials of his robes blocking the view. Can't make a proper opinion, there. It isn't like the Ascian hangs around them when they need to make camp as they move through the worlds - they've all had to learn to deal with one another when it comes to those moments, but he's pretty sure they've all snuck looks at one another.

If he had known anything about those gloves, or the hands beneath, he might have... well. Would it have stopped him or encouraged him? Even Sigr couldn't be sure. As it is, he leans more into the touch, letting the low rumble of sound start to come from him. It's not quite a proper purr, like the far smaller cousin of a Hrothgar could manage or even a Miqo'te's. It's deeper, more in his chest than his throat.

He didn't mind being a distraction, right now.

A curled ear flicked back as Emet-Selch leaned in, hearing the change in the distance between them. No, instead, Emet-Selch got his chance to take in Sigr's own scent. Minty, of course, but there was also just a touch of smoke about him (small surprise when he was a mage of the dark arts) combined with a raw warmth that came from being a large furred cat. There was also something sweet, different than the mint... which came from his love of sweet things that provided the necessary energy for a mage.]

It's my little secret. [Completed by a silly wink.] Only my friend and I know. Maybe I could retire selling it, someday, but for now... I like having the plushest fur of all the Hrothgar.

Oh, I have not pet many Hrothgar, to be sure however I can attest that your fur is the plushest-- very decadent, a verifiable feast for the fingers--

[ That was high praise coming from Emet-Selch though there was also no frame of reference there, however he chuckled all the same and then stroked against the fur and then allowed his fingertips to fall down a little bit further, so that he was catching the fur just underneath the ear, around the high cheekbones of Sigr, a movement that was all but indolent and slow, though also a proper respect for all cat-kind, which was of course something that carried over from his professed love for cats of the more domestic variety.

However Sigr was not domesticated-- that was nigh for certain. He could feel the energy inside of Sigr, how the other man honed it and melded it to him, there was the smell sweet smoke burning, mint and a lot of other tendrils that were a treat to the senses. He then lightly allowed his fingers to slide a little lower, to just against the jawline, gloved fingers lightly stroking there.

The Ascian trusted though that if he was overstepping, that Sigr would tell him that enough was enough. Despite being an all powerful Ascian, he did have a care for limits and bounderies which was why he disappeared so often after such sarcastic remarks, making himself absent so as to they could process his words, he gave them enough of his presence, but not too much.

After all, Emet-Selch was a little bit too much for anyone-- he had been told that many a times through different lifetimes and along different paths. But let it not be said that the Hrothgar did not intrigue him all the same-- ]

Is it, now?

[An ear flicks back towards Emet-Selch, and so does a pair of slit eyes. He only waited as long as it took for their gaze to meet before his eyes flicked towards a gloved hand, wondering just how the other would know that his fur was so very plush through the material. Still, he didn't actually say something about it, just the briefest of notions, instead following the motions of the hand still on his head and tilting into it.

Much burned inside of Sigr. Already, as a mage of forbidden arts, aether churned within and without, answering to his call in a moment's notice, crafted into raw blasting fire and condensed into searing ice or crackling electricity, and now, something new. Something infinitely heavier, clinging to his soul like a film, clawing at the edges of it in growing number, waiting for a moment of weakness to change him like it had all the rest. It was hungry, always hungry, but thus far the Warrior of Light, or of Darkness, depending, had lived up to his name and defied it.

His tail swept over the ground in slow, measured strokes, like a heartbeat of itself, before he let out a low rumble that was nearly a growl. How far would they play this? In this place that was almost sacred, how far would he let himself go? Since when had he ever even so much as hesitated when such an opportunity presented itself? And yet... and yet...

Something urged within him. Maybe something he, and not even Emet-Selch, yet realized.

Suddenly he turned, all at once, much like any good cat might, a paw coming up to the other's shoulder and pressing, a knee coming around and landing on the other's opposite side, his eyes meeting and a smirk coming to play over his lips. Bringing himself up, he 'stood' on his knees, giving himself some height so he might look down.]

Rawr. [A purely playful sound.

He might hate himself later, he would definitely hide this, but in the moment, he wasn't so sure he even believed how far this would go.]

[ 'ere was Emet-Selch always one to defy convention at every turn. Never had he truly acted as was 'expected' of him and this proverbial game of 'chicken' that he liked to play was such that he'd only back down after the other did-- else why would've he risen to the heights in the Empire if he wasn't afraid to take things one step further? No one else had been able to act with impunity and it was how he single-handedly turned a nation around that had been at the mercy of so many outside elements.

Oh no, Emet-Selch would not back down, even as Sigr maneuvered himself in such a way as to exert dominance, even with that playful way that the Hrothgar seemed to move. He recognized it for what it was and likewise he responded to it with a rather playful smile of his own, the side of his lips once again quirking but how one may determine the nature of his smile-- one only had to look into his eyes. Never was he good at hiding 'anything' with those eyes; annoyance, pleasure, mirth, anger. They were the proverbial windows to his soul and right now there was something dancing in there, a mischievous joy--

And perhaps while it might of been in bad taste to have proposed a wrestling match here in the sacred walls of the Ravel-- still it seemed fitting as well-- being that the ancient Ronkan empire had been rather fond of their sports and games as well-- just as ancient Voeburtenberg had been those natural storytellers and fable-weavers. ]

Is this a challenge?

[ Emet-Selch then placed his hand 'right' against Sigr's abdomen, lightly pressing-- at any moment an attempt to press backwards in order to give himself some leverage. Though no Ascian tricks would be used, he would use nothing but his own strength if needed, and he wasn't without a fair amount of strength and while under his robes might reveal a body that simply was not as 'muscular' as either Varis or Zenos, there was still evidence of corded muscle just underneath the surface. ]

I do so adore challenges, Sigr...

I suppose it depends on how you see it. [Taking the press against his abdomen as a request to back up, Sigr's ears flicked, back and forth, deciding, before he eased his weight back. It gave the Ascian beneath him space, but did not remove the pressure of Sigr's body from Emet-Selch's thighs. Instead, it left Sigr to peer down at him from a greater height, kneeling now with a straight back and an amused smirk that nearly matched Emet-Selch's own.

It wasn't the same kind of 'wrestling' the Ronkan had been so in favor of in the past, but it was a sort of 'sport' as ancient as time itself. Or at least, since the beginning of the end of time...

A thick fingertip landed on Emet-Selch, right at his chest, pressing lightly there as Sigr showed his fangs. The others would be aghast, angry, disappointed for what he was even thinking about right now, but there was the thought in his head ~~and in his pants~~ and it was holding tight to his mind. Maybe there was something on the idea of owning this small piece of an enemy, knowing that it was there, after everything they had done to them, to his friends and loved ones. Maybe it was a sick twisted fantasy.

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he cared right now as he looked down to the other.]

[ Well-- this was certainly a surprise and suddenly the air became tense and loaded. Emet-Selch was not dumb, nor did he miss the very subtle clues. He reasoned that there were certain cues that were as ancient as time itself and certain 'mating' instincts reigned supreme, they reached beyond class, beyond race, beyond species. They were vital to the re-population of the human race-- but also there were certain comfort to it as well, a way of reaffirming life. He'd known many who had used their bodies to 'feel' something, be it desire, be it hope-- a reminder.

Let it not be said that Emet-Selch wasn't intrigued by Sigr-- he'd never been with a Hrothgar before and in his long path, there was always a urge to the new and the inventive that made the path less tedious. He knew that this would be where he would have to draw the line. He wondered vaugely if Sigr even wanted that-- and right now in this position, the dominating presence was Sigr.

His move--

Slowly, Emet-Selch lifted his hand however he did not move to touch Sigr just yet, instead-- he brought the gloved finger to his teeth and then he slowly and using his teeth, tugged the glove off his hand. The unspoken gesture being 'the gloves were off now'-- challenge was most assuredly accepted. Oh he wanted to see how far this was going to go-- he wouldn't call chicken whatsoever and he had a feeling that Sigr wouldn't either.

Once the glove was off-- he pressed a now naked palm to the furred chest, his hand would feel so decadently warm-- much warmer then what a normal mortal's hands would feel like, degrees warmer due to the creation magick that all but surged from the nerves therein-- and then he started a slow rub back and forth.

And that challenging, quirking smirk-- yes that was still there as well ]

[Sigr had never been one to back down from any challenge, from any obstacle in his path, no matter how daunting or impossible it had seemed at the time. So far, it had served him well in life, though he definitely bore the scars, both physical and across his soul, of his past choices. There was little he would have changed about where they were now, about all of things that had brought them to the First, other than the fleeting, foolish wish to have saved those that had laid their bones to allow others to continue the otherwise unwalkable path.

There was something decidedly erotic in watching the Ascian remove the white gloves and Sigr’s eyes gave him away, the pupils flexing to mere slits before opening wider, taking in every small detail that he could. His tail had gone still except for the very slow motions at the very tip, drifting the long black strands across Emet-Selch’s legs. When the hand came to touch his chest, he felt a pause somewhere in him, thinking of what Emet-Selch. had done with just a simple snap before. A power they had never realized an Ascian had, but it made all too much sense in its way. (Nor did they know or truly understand the real power that Emet-Selch had within him, no, not yet. It would come with time.)

It was so warm, warmer than any hand that had touched him before, and Sigr’s brows came together as he puzzled over why that might be, but only briefly. Instead, his hand came up, wrapping thick fingers around the other’s wrist - light, enough to pull free - and brought that hand up to his mouth.

Slowly, pushing the boundary of the ‘game’ they were letting themselves play, he flicked that pink tongue over the other’s index finger, the most delicate little lap, but enough that Emet-Selch would learn Hrothgar tongues were textured. Not the rough spines of a cat... but somewhere in the distant past, perhaps, it had been.

Your move.]

[ Indeed the game was getting even more charged if that could even be a thing between them. Once his hand was captured and brought to Sigr's mouth, and then that subtly textured tongue flicked with enough challenge to fuel a thousand games, and then Emet-Selch let out the very first sign of weakness. It was of course a sign that denoted that even he, Ascian-- had weaknesses as well; turn-ons. Those fingers were highly sensitive to a regular mouth, to a feline tongue, suddenly his eyes darkened perceptibly, shifting from gold to a slightly darker amber.

He could of 'cried' cheating, but really this was within fair bounderies of the game that they were playing-- all after all was fair in lust and war and certainly this wasn't meant to be something that the other was supposed to know about, this was a uncovering of enemy territory-- insofar as much as could be conceivably allowed.

Well that had torn a rather startling reaction out of him, physically his body responded in all the necessary ways to that lick of the tongue though it would not be 'so' apparent just underneath the flamboyant layers of robing that covered his body, but there was a exceedingly defined reaction--

Well we simply couldn't have that, now could we?

This was after all a show of power and he was not going to let Sigr have all of the fun-- and so a quirking smile crossed over his lips even as he leaned in and then very lightly nuzzled that abdomen that he seemed to be in such view of, his tongue moving in order to drag against the skin, trailing against a muscles that were raised up against stomach-- it was as such that he could reach it and of course he figured that if there was a backing down that occurred, this may be it as he knew that a feline's most 'vulnerable' spot was their stomachs and when presented with it, all manner of things 'could' occur.

Emet-Selch then glanced up at Sigr-- those golden eyes had a playful cast to them and was in fact doing 'all' the speaking. ]

Edited 2019-09-15 14:51 (UTC)

[It was, in so many ways, oddly humanizing of a man who had been able to pull life from the Flow, from a people who had been able to pull the strings of Fate and change the tides of worlds. Even immortality could not take away something as simple as the sensitivity of fingers, the small pleasure of warmth and wet and heat. Bringing themselves into bodies like this, or built into Amaurotians originally, one way or another, it was there within Emet-Selch as much as it was in Sigr or any other mortal soul on any of the worlds.

To discover this left Sigr's tail twitching, with tight pupils and hunger showing in them. He wanted to discover more.

All was fair in love and war, was it not, Emet-Selch?

Sigr had the powerful muscles of a man who spent much of the energies of his body on the movements of aether as much as the swing of a sword, and Emet-Selch would be able to feel that as he nosed, then dared to lick, over them. It brought a faintly shaking breath from Sigr, head tilting down so that he could meet the golden gaze 'speaking' to him from below.

A flash of fangs in a grin, answering. Yes. His own heaviness sat firm beneath the robes he wore, not nearly as layered as Emet-Selch's own, but it hardly mattered. If this was where they were going, it was more than eager and so was Sigr.]

There are better places that tongue can be put to use.

[ Indeed, what a way to be given direction-- though he did not expect anything less of the Warrior of Light to be honest, inadvertent though he was-- the aether did seem to shift around Sigr and in ways that Emet-Selch could not very well suss out yet, there was something exceedingly familiar about that aether and he could not very well put his finger upon it-- if he had been a little less distracted, perhaps he would of still puzzled over it.

Regardless of Amaurotine, Ascian or not-- Emet-Selch did take the opportunity afforded to him, the sheer desire in Sigr's eyes and of course that pressed him ever further to see how much he could get away with, how far he could go before this game was called.

Somehow, he did not think that there could potentially be a stopping point for the both of them right here in this moment, they were almost set on their path like a track and the only way was forward-- though most certainly he would stop at the veriest word from Sigr and then he'd chalk it up to a invariable win for Sigr.

And despite popular belief, Emet-Selch wasn't here with the Scions because he was assured of 'winning'-- if he had been hellbent on that particular route, there would've been no need to dip his oars into the waters of this entire mess. There was much more at stake here to Emet-Selch, things that he was invested in, and those things like cards he kept close to his chest. But here in this moment, he thought that there could be a small victory of sorts and so even as he lay reclined there, with Sigr somewhat straddling him, his fingers lightly started to trail down that chest until it came to robed skirt, and then his fingers very 'lightly' started to skirt from waistband and then following fabric ever downward, sensing out with touch where exactly the treasure was located underneath those robes

But he didn't break eye contact with Sigr, in what seemed like a new game that had drawn up between them, the game of constant eye contact ]

Edited 2019-09-21 14:24 (UTC)

[Both Sigr and Emet-Selch, for all of their expansive differences, sometimes spectrums apart, also had remarkable differences. Their foraging ahead on the path, regardless of what cropped up to stop them, was decidedly one of those similarities. Their disregard for convention and their stubbornness. Their strength, of many kinds, and their determination. Even now, as enemies, there was the frustrating moments where, even if they were sometimes loathe to admit it, they could see the other's perspective. Yet neither, for the sake of their people, could be swayed.

When Emet-Selch's warm fingertips probed further south, clear in their quest, Sigr only gave a small smirk and leaned slightly backwards, which put his hips a little more forward. He wasn't a man who hid himself, nor did his body seem intending to, as Emet-Selch would quickly enough find the added warmth, heavy between his thighs. The other had not been with a Hrothgar before, and he would find the shape something a little different than he was used to.

Sigr saw no reason to interrupt what the other was in the middle of, leaving himself open to that touch and watching with a hunger in his eyes. It had been a long time, and while if any actual logical part of his mind wanted to kick in and scream at him for being a total fool right now, it was overrun by his desire. ...A desire both for the physical... and his innate deep well of curiosity.

They all knew what curiosity did to the cat, after all.]

[ Emet-Selch would not fault Sigr with curiousity-- and perhaps this in it's own way was a bit of re-affirming on his part. After all wandering across ruins that he had not been in for near 100 years, every time he visited the ravel, he was faced with such sadness, such longing. The murals painted a story that he took no great 'pride' in, it was a reminder of the destruction of his world, of his way of life and it awakened a new feeling of grief-- grief that he had been still feeling when he had come across Sigr.

There was nothing more affirming than this right? Taking satisfaction in another's touch, in staring down that well of curiousity and opening your mouth to drink deep. Emet-Selch saw the hunger in those eyes, in the tension that reverberated on that body, he found himself running his tongue over his lower lip even as he firmed his touch, his fingers lightly skirting over the form that lay underneath, feeling the perceived differences which served to intrigue him. It was enough that his other hand started to tug at the robe, trying to find any fastenings that would reveal the Hrothgar to his view.

Then Emet-Selch's warm golden eyes slid upward in order to meet Sigr, there was something rather playful there, yet a desire that glimmered in his eyes that flickered like flames-- but there was absolutely no trepidation in those eyes, not even an inclination that it was a bad idea. In Emet-Selch's eyes, there was little that he considered 'bad ideas'-- and if the other ascians even knew what sort of self indulgence he was going to wallow in, they probably would've been shaking their heads.

Well what the Ascians and the Scions didn't know, right ]

Well, I am curious to see how you are built, I must confess..

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shadowbringers

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sorry this is kind of late. life got crazy this week. @_@

no apologies-- I am drowning in tags so it's all good!

<3~

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Challenge probably accepted

We all know cats like warmth

Emet's playing wtth dangerous fire I think

Basically, another day for him? :3

Emet-Selch just likes to live dangerously lol

Well we know THAT XD

good thing that Emet-Selch's kink list accommodates stuff like this