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No matter the harsh and unfamiliar cold of their new “home” in Ishgard, Alphinaud is still able to find comfort where he can. The Forgotten Knight is not ideal, as he’d much rather be back again at the Rising Stones listening to the chatter of his friends around in, in that time when he’d thought he had much more control than he truly did; nor is the good inn as sanitary as he would prefer, but it is warm.
Tataru’s ever cheerful voice across the room from him is familiar, and the heavy mug of hot chocolate, a new favorite, thawing his frozen fingers makes him feel, at least for now, that he is safe.
A loud thump on the bartop to his right as well as the sound of a stool being dragged crudely directly next to him has Alphinaud almost choking on his drink. The sharp smell of ale hits his nostrils as an older Elezen addresses him.
“Nursemaid forget to strap a leash on ye?”
Alphinaud balks, and he barely keeps himself from stuttering. “I beg your pardon?”
Alphinaud turns his nose up, resolute to just ignore the rude drunkard, but the other continues. “Good thing she left ye here where proper good men like Master Gibrillont keeps everyone in line—and not down where the real fun happens.” Alphinaud’s brow twitches, and the drunkard’s lips stretch into a smirk. “Oh? Caught yer attention, did I?”
Interest piqued and not willing to let go of possible new information, Alphinaud composes himself and leans in slightly (only slightly), deciding to forgive the man his transgressions. “You mean the lower floor of the inn, yes? Master Gibrillont informs me that it is simply a source of lower-priced meals,” Alphinaud says, casually taking another sip of his hot chocolate before setting it aside.
“Nay, little lord—”
“I am merely a traveler, I assure you.”
“—what I mean is down in the Brume , where, hidden in the shadows, are doors that lead to places most interesting.”
At this moment, the drunkard straightens, looking not at all like the heavy smell of ale on his breath would suggest.
“He bothering you, lad?” Gibrillont is carrying a plate of hot savory-smelling food. He gestures towards the drunkard, who is looking innocently as the plate is set down in front of him. He winks discreetly at Alphinaud.
“No,” Alphinaud answers. “We were just— having a pleasant conversation, thank you.”
Gibrillont doesn’t look much convinced, but he nods before snapping his head towards a table getting a bit too rowdy, deciding them a matter more pressing at the moment. As soon as he is out of earshot, Alphinaud leans closer to the drunkard, practically shoving his face in the way of the man’s food.
“Tell me what place you speak of.”
“Ohoh! So the little lord is interested in a bit of trouble?” The drunkard chuckles around a bite of food. He takes his time chewing, making Alphinaud antsy no doubt on purpose. Finally he says, “Alright, then. Can't say I blame ye, I was much worse at yer age.”
Alphinaud listens eagerly as he’s given directions.
“Don’t bite off more than ye can chew, little lord,” the drunkard warns with a smirk. “All kinds of people to find down in the Brume. Even outsiders can’t resist the trouble it promises.”
Perfect, Alphinaud thinks as he stands up, exactly what I need.
Perhaps it is a foolish decision to go wandering around the Brume alone, late in the dark evening and while Ishgard as a whole is still unfamiliar to him. But the Warrior of Light has their own responsibilities to see to, and Tataru would have most likely dissuaded him from listening to a random drunk in the first place. This is foolish, yes, perhaps— but Alphinaud cannot simply let go of any possible new leads into finding his missing friends.
“And I can handle myself,” he huffs as he takes careful steps down to the lowest parts of Ishgard, trying not to slip on the icy paths.
Wandering around for a few moments as he recalls the drunkard’s directions, the place Alphinaud eventually finds is easy to miss, lost in the twisting alleyways and heavy fog of the Brume. Not a soul lingers outside, although the muted sounds of activity can be heard from just inside a single, innocuous wooden door. With no one guarding said door, Alphinaud simply breathes deeply, prepares for the worst, then turns the handle.
The moment Alphinaud steps through, he immediately knows this is not merely another hostelry meant for the Brume’s folk as he’d assumed, no. His eyes land on a youthful and lean elezen guiding another by the belt to a place hidden behind silk drapery. Even from his position a couple yalms away, he can still hear the faint echo of a pleasured masculine groan a second later.
This is a brothel, Alphinaud quickly realizes as he sweeps his gaze over the patrons lounging lazily along feather pillows and thick blankets strewn about the many couches and alcoves, several half-dressed bodies draped all over one another in suggestive positions.
Heat travels up Alphinaud’s chest.
Now, Alphinaud himself has never before stepped foot in such an… establishment. However, he’s not so green as to not have at least been aware of them. His travels have had him in the company, or at least within earshot, of many different people. He’s heard from men and women alike, usually with low and slow tones, the certain kinds of places meant for certain kinds of activities.
Alphinaud mentally slaps himself.
Intelligent and persuasive— that is what Lord Edmont had called him, voicing his confidence in him.
Alphinaud can handle himself! He can definitely….
He gulps as he starts making his way through the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him lost in the cacophony of sultry noises permeating the air and adding warmth to the atmosphere. He sticks to the walls, discreet but keeping an eye out for anyone that looks interesting. It is always the shadiest of characters that have secrets to offer.
From what Alphinaud can gather, there looks to be a good mix of people here not locally based. Quite a few Hyur, Miqo’te, and even Lalafellin folk mingle with Elezen, just like the drunkard had said there would be. Alphinaud rolls his eyes with a blush. Evidently, merchants and other such people doing business or trade in Ishgard do more than just seek a quick meal at a tavern before going about their travels.
Suddenly, and for the second time this night, Alphinaud is approached by a man who has obviously been partaking in drink, though this one stands steadier and more confident, with a gleam in his eyes that has Alphinaud preparing for trouble.
“Pretty thing, aren’t you? Though, I’d know if a new kitten was added to the roster…. Young noble looking to see what the better half have to offer, then? I could show you.” The highlander’s words are said teasingly, though no less suggestively. Thankfully, he keeps a respectable distance despite it.
“I’m just a traveler,” Alphinaud says, the words by now a reflex.
“A traveler, aye?” The Hyur hums, looking Alphinaud up and down. Alphinaud takes this moment to inspect the man in turn, noting his distinct clothes obviously not like those of the local folk. “As am I,” the Hyur says, confirming Alphinaud’s suspicion. “Just finishing up business here before returning to Ul’dah.”
Alphinaud cannot help the way his eyes widen as Ul’dah is mentioned. Spending who knows how long locked away in the intercessory at Camp Dragonhead awaiting permission to enter Ishgard, he could do nothing else but reflect on his own mistakes, wondering about the safety of his friends and the state of the outside world while having no way to find out.
Alphinaud sees his chance.
“Ul’dah, you say?” Alphinaud says. “How very interesting. I have always wanted to see the great city, myself. And with all that has happened….”
“Oh?” The Hyur is obviously delighted to have piqued Alphinaud’s interest, smiling as he dares to finally close the distance between them a bit more, now towering over Alphinaud’s shorter form. “Care for a bit of gossip?”
Alphinaud nods, not needing to play up his eagerness which encourages the man even more.
“Have a drink with me, then,” the Hyur says, to which Alphinaud stiffens. The man has been flirtatious and confident since first approaching Alphinaud, and now he stands but a breath away, looking down at Alphinaud and dangling what he wants most on the end of a stick, daring him to bite.
“Alright,” Alphinaud says, shocking himself. And no sooner has the word left Alphinaud’s lips before the Hyur is whisking Alphinaud away to a booth further into the brothel, passing by soft, gyrating bodies and whispered promises of pleasure. Alphinaud’s eyes stay open, not being able to help himself no matter the warmth reddening his cheeks.
One. Two. Three little sips. The Hyur doesn’t notice how little wine Alphinaud is actually drinking, nor how he subtly cringes at the unfamiliar taste. He’s too busy waxing poetic about Alphinaud’s unblemished pale skin, his boyish face, his petite body. They sit thigh-to-thigh, with the Hyur now fully invading Alphinaud’s personal space.
“I feel as if I’ve gotten away with theft, kitten. A beauty like you would cost sacks of gil just for a moment of your time.” The Hyur’s face is much closer now than Alphinaud had previously noticed. Alphinaud puts a hand to his chest, preventing him from leaning any closer.
Alphinaud smiles nervously. “Please, tell me about Ul’dah. I’m just so curious about your travels.”
The Hyur frowns, but eases off a bit to which Alphinaud sighs. “A right tease, aren’t you? Very well. I’m sure you’ve heard all the hubbub about the Sultana, yes?” Alphinaud nods. The man takes on a conspiratorial tone. “Well, I heard it was all the damned Warrior of Light’s fault,” he refers to Alphinaud’s friend mockingly, “they were a sham of a hero! Killed the Sultana, they did!”
The Hyur’s eyes widen in shock as Alphinaud suddenly bangs his fist on the table, glass of wine spilling from the force. “You’re wrong!”
The Hyur holds his hands up. “Hey, hey, calm down, kitten. What d’you mean? Thought you were thirsty for gossip—isn’t a renowned hero being nothing more than a villain in waiting just a fuckin’ riot?”
“Stop saying that!” Alphinaud knows he should reign in his emotions, that playing along would be the best course of action. But hearing such words said about his friend… he just cannot allow it. “I don’t want to hear any more,” Alphinaud says, sliding out of the booth.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” The Hyur shakes his head, furious. “After I was so patient loosening you up? Fine, you're more effort than you’re worth, slut.” The Hyur waves his hand dismissively before downing the rest of his wine.
The insults don’t have the power to hurt Alphinaud, not like the ones aimed at his friend. The words barely register, anyway, as he’s already far away from the man, though not far enough, and back into the muted debauchery of the brothel as he makes his way for the exit.
He never should have come here, never should have listened to the mumblings of a drunk. He needs to leave. Alphinaud turns in place—then immediately regrets the action as the room now spins.
Damn it.
Foiled by his low tolerance for alcohol, even just those few small sips were enough to impede his senses. Frustrated and embarrassed, Alphinaud tries to find the wall again, hoping to avoid the attention of the other patrons and to have something to lean on.
The damned pervert had dragged him further into the brothel than he had noticed—another mistake. Alphinaud curses himself. Hands roam over his shoulders suggestively as people pass by him, but he pays them no mind, focusing only on getting his head straight. Once the room comes back into focus, Alphinaud breathes.
The Twelve must be in want of entertainment tonight, they must be, for a voice that rumbles and warms Alphinaud down to the bones breaks him out of his stupor.
“What are you doing, boy?”
Alphinaud blinks as his vision clears, several shapes swaying like leaves shaken by the breeze before coming together into one. An Elezen.
This one is tall, with a masculine face, though his silver hair is long and pretty. His voice is deep and commanding, and in the back of his mind, Alphinaud cannot help but think it sounds familiar. He’s incredibly handsome, too, Alphinaud notices, to which he admonishes himself with a shake of his head. The room spins again, and Alphinaud curses himself for being stupid.
Another man, another problem, Alphinaud grumbles in his head. Outloud he says, “I beg your pardon?”
The man sighs. “Drunk, are you? What the bloody hells were you thinking going to a place like this?”
“I don’t believe you or any other person who doesn’t know me has any right to dictate where I can and cannot go.” Alphinaud is usually very good at reigning in his emotions and keeping up an air of rigid formality. Obviously, the night has been testing him.
The man scoffs. “Right. Listen, pretty little boys like you shouldn’t be going to places like this. Come on.” The man wraps an arm around Alphinaud’s waist, leading Alphinaud away though he gets no more than a couple of steps before Alphinaud speaks up.
“Well, you’re pretty too!” Alphinaud definitely did not mean to say that nor does he understand why those words were at the tip of his tongue in the first place. He sutters to recover. “A-And I can handle myself, thank you very much!”
The man is taken aback slightly by the outburst, though he seems more amused than anything else, judging by the faint smirk on his lips. Alphinaud fully realizes the close proximity of their bodies then, and the hard muscles of the man’s abdomen as it’s pressed up against his shoulder. Alphinaud feels heat rise from his chest to his cheeks, no doubt making him look even more ridiculous than his drunken stumbling did. Still, he finds he does not move away.
Then the man sneers, mockingly, “Oh, you can handle yourself, can you?” and the words spark something nasty in Alphinaud.
Now, he admits the night has not exactly gone according to plan. He has gotten nowhere but down into a perverted establishment, only to be taken for a cheap whore by a man who knows nothing about the true character of his friends. Another failed plan in the books.
But with the alcohol in his system and the bitter frustrations still spreading like poision under his skin, Alphinaud decides he has had enough of being treated like a child by these stupid men making assumptions about him. Enough with all this! “Yes,” he bites out. “And I don’t need your godsdamned help!”
Throughout this exchange the man’s arm has remained tightly wrapped around his waist, Alphinaud realizes, because although the older Elezen leans back somewhat to pass his eyes slowly over Alphinaud’s body, Alphinaud’s back remains pleasantly warm as he stays still firmly in the other’s half-embrace.
The man’s gaze travels up to meet Alphinaud’s eyes, and he flashes a teasing grin. “You gonna handle that yourself, then,” he says, gesturing with a nod of his head to Alphinaud’s lower body.
Angry and confused, Alphinaud looks down and… and….
“What do you— by the twelve…!” Alphinaud struggles to react elegantly.
The man laughs softly, and it gets on Alphinaud’s nerves in more ways than one, because, irritatingly, it is not altogether unpleasant to his ears. “Little boy’s first time seeing women half-undressed?” He gestures to the goings-on around them, the debauchery as men and women alike caress and whisper sweet nothings to each other.
Although, almost all of this is completely drowned out and left as nothing more than muted sounds to Alphinaud who is still reconciling with the fact that he has been caught in public with an erection. Panicked, he says the first thing that comes to mind. “N-No! I’m not even interested in women!”
That was the wrong thing to say. Alphinaud slaps both hands over his mouth, dread settling into every nerve in his body. He prays and pleads with all his might for his body to please cooperate so that he may stop talking, for the love of the gods, stop talking!
The man’s brows rise up to his hairline as he understands the implication behind Alphinaud’s words. “The men, then!” he laughs, “Or… or maybe?” The man trails off suggestively as he squeezes the bit of flesh he can reach with his arm around Alphinaud.
A small squeal escapes Alphinaud’s lips and through the gaps in his fingers. Alphinaud drops his hands back down to his sides as he starts to feel pathetic, gripping the cloth on his trousers, trembling. The man shakes his head with a scoff. He says, “Don’t worry, boy, I’m not an animal here to drag you away to be ravished. I’m done teasing. Now, come. Let us be gone from here—”
“Why not?”
This makes the man pause, incredulous.
Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking…. Alphinaud gulps, but stands his ground. It’s definitely the wine talking, no matter how little he’d actually partaken in; and his emotions, always so hard to reign in once he’s prodded enough to loosen his grasp of it even just a little.
Though… he definitely can’t say his motivation to challenge this man is purely just to soothe his ego. Alphinaud’s eyes roam over the sight offered right to him thanks to their difference in height. Through the man’s simple white tunic, drawstrings loose and showing ample chest, Alphinaud can see his defined muscles like that of a soldier. Or a knight, more like, Alphinaud scoffs with warm cheeks.
The man from before, the Hyur, (Alphinaud’s blood boils just thinking back to him) had been unremarkable, so unable to capture Alphinaud’s interest though he’d made his own quite clear, before he had to go and run his damn mouth.
But the man before Alphinaud now, this Elezen with his silver hair and his solid body… the environment definitely doesn’t help, everything around him reeking of sex.
And that voice of his….
“You know not what you’re saying.”
Alphinaud replies. “There is a reason you are here, aren’t you? At a place like this?
“You assume I was ever even interested.” This statement makes Alphinaud cringe. Before he starts stuttering in embarrassment, the man continues, “You truly are an interesting one, aren’t you? You can’t handle me, boy.”
Alphinaud knows he shouldn’t fall for the bait, but when has he ever held himself back? “You are underestimating me, and overestimating yourself,” he says.
At this, the man does not reply. It doesn’t matter, because the man starts walking again, grip around Alphinaud’s waist tight, except this time he doesn’t move towards the exit. Soft silk caresses Alphinaud’s skin as he’s led through the very same drapery he’d seen an earlier couple disappear behind.
Oh.
The man releases his hold on him and Alphinaud takes the opportunity to survey their new surroundings. The room, thankfully, is empty, and quite plain save for a bed and many pillows littered along the ground. Alphinaud cannot even begin to fathom what these sheets must have been through.
Behind him, he hears a soft grunt. Turning in place perhaps a little too hastily as he almost loses his balance (under these circumstances, he can be forgiven for being jumpy, can he not?) he spots the man leaning back on the wall, arms crossed and biceps flexed and bulging.
His first time being able to fully get a good look at him, Alphinaud’s eyes instinctively rake over the other’s tall form.
The man’s trousers are tight-fitting, showing off his long legs which are lean but corded with muscle. Alphinaud admires the strength they display for a moment, before he notices the impressive girth straining from his trousers.
Feeling triumphant and a fair bit smug, Alphinaud grins cheekily. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a situation in need of handling —AH!”
The next thing Alphinaud knows, he is being pushed against the wall, back to the other, and with the man’s hands on his sides. His hands are large enough that they encompass almost all the way around Alphinaud’s waist, which both terrifies Alphinaud—and makes heat pool at the bottom of his belly.
A whine escapes Alphinaud’s mouth before he can stop himself.
“Lost your nerve?” The man murmurs.
Gulping, though not even close to backing out now, Alphinaud balances himself with both arms on the wall above his head so that he may push out his backside. He shakes his head and thanks the Twelve that the man cannot see his face which is surely bright red. “No, I haven’t.” Alphinaud is lying, of course, but he does so with a steady enough voice that it’s enough to trick his own wine-fuddled mind. Not a moment later and the man’s hands leave his waist. “O-oh!”
One hand gropes Alphinaud’s cheeks while the other smacks him on the hip. Alphinaud’s knees are so very close to buckling. The treatment feels so… degrading, like he’s just a piece of meat. Alphinaud can feel himself get even harder, light-headed from the blood rushing to his cock. He turns his head into the crook of his shoulder so that he may muffle his whimpers as the man continues to lay his hands all over his body.
His trousers are pulled down to mid-thigh in two rough, brusque tugs, leaving him fully exposed and incredibly vulnerable. Alphinaud’s eyes, which had been closed shut to keep himself calm, now shoot wide open. The truth of the situation, which had slowly been settling in, hits Alphinaud ruthlessly, and with it comes unfathomable panic.
His cock hangs hard and leaking. He has never….
“Calm, boy, you’re shaking like a leaf,” the man whispers into Alphinaud’s sensitive ear. “I’m not fucking your arse, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Despite the heavy weight of worry leaving his chest somewhat at the declaration, Alphinaud still furrows his brows in confusion. “Then how…?” He yelps as a warm, slightly moist hand starts rubbing the insides of his thighs. “W-What the hells do you think you are doing?!”
Everything is moving so fast. Alphinaud is well aware that he asked for this but his confidence is wavering. His head is spinning. He is terrified. He cannot get enough of this.
“My cock would destroy your arse, boy,” the man scoffs, then lifts his hand to spit more saliva onto his hand before resuming. “Don’t worry, I’m not like the dull-witted selfish bastards that typically come here just to mount a whore then pass out face-first into the furs. I’ll make sure you get your pleasure.”
Alphinaud cannot help it—he moans airily as his whole body shivers. It’s so… dirty. Having saliva crudely rubbed onto the skin on his thighs should disgust him, he knows, and yet he has never felt such heat in his life. Being prepped like some fucktoy, Alphinaud scoffs embarrassed at the idea which, somehow, is also his undeniable reality.
The very same chest he had earlier been ogling, imprints itself onto Alphinaud’s back. He bends at the hip from the weight, his backside sticking out and his feet spreading naturally. However, the man quickly kicks his feet back inwards until they are touching heel to heel, his thighs now squeezed together.
Alphinaud feels the man’s hot breath tickling the tips of his ears before he hears that pleasant rumble of a voice once more.
“Just like that,” the man groans in approval, now sounding a bit breathless himself as Alphinaud hears the sound of a belt being undone. A bit more shuffling, then the man’s bare pelvis presses up against Alphinaud’s backside, his hard cock throbbing and hot between them. The man reaches down to guide his cock between Alphinaud’s spit-slicked thighs, the thick member gliding smoothly against Alphinaud’s soft skin. “I’ll fuck you just like this.”
The man pulls back, slowly, before pushing his hips forward again, his cock sliding through until the swollen head peeks out on the other side of Alphinaud’s thighs. It bumps onto the underside of Alphinaud’s balls, and the boy jerks at the feeling. He moans just from that small bit of contact.
The man continues his thrusting, working up a pace that is both agonizing and sensual in its slowness. His breaths have started to become deeper, erratic, pushing more hot air out of his mouth with every groan which heats up the nape of Alphinaud's neck. His large hands, which have slithered their way beneath Alphinaud’s shirt, fondle the boy’s chest and his soft stomach. It tickles a bit, and the combination of all these sensations overwhelm Alphinaud in a way that makes his vision start to blur and he can no longer even register or try to stop the lewd and pleasured sounds that escape his mouth.
Then one of the man’s hands slide down his torso to loosely grip his cock, which had been neglected all this time.
“Oh!” Alphinaud gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head from the way the man’s calloused hand provides delicious friction.
The man doesn’t stroke, only tightens his grip somewhat, and it is enough to have Alphinaud in near tears. His other hand still on Alphinaud’s chest moves to one of his nipples and pinches.
Alphinaud cries, throwing his head back as the man both rolls the hard and sensitive nub between rough fingertips and starts pumping his other hand up and down Alphinaud’s member, just as slow and excruciating as the thrusts of his cock between Alphinaud’s thighs.
Alphinaud bucks his hips, greedy for more, then suddenly there is nothing as the man lets go of him. He whines then yelps as a sharp slap to the side of his right thigh stings pleasantly.
“Impatient boy,” the man chides lightly. “Though I suppose you can’t help it at your age.”
“M’sorry,” Alphinaud slurs somewhat pathetically, though he’s much too desperate to have the man’s hands on him again to feel insecure. “I just… I need….”
“I know,” the man says, kinder this time. “I know.”
Once again, the sound of the man spitting into his hand, and when next he grips Alphinaud’s cock, it glides smoothly along the shaft. Alphinaud cannot help it. He lets out a pleasured cry as he climaxes into the man’s hand and a bit onto the wall beneath him, knees shaking and voice cracking as the stimulation becomes almost too much.
“Almost there— hah… almost,” the man groans, smacking his hips into Alphinaud’s ass with every rough thrust until his balls tighten, his body stiffens, and he releases thick ropes of semen all over Alphinaud’s thighs. “Gods!”
Alphinaud’s eyelids start to droop, his body going lax as he suddenly feels just how tired he truly is. He barely registers the strong arms that catch him around the middle before sleep takes over.
- - - - - -
They need Iceheart’s help.
As it stands, Ishgard’s defenses are weak. And even at its full strength, the combined might of the Horde would be devastating for the knights to face. Count Endmont had urged them to seek sanctuary elsewhere, but Alphinaud never had a doubt that both Tataru and the Warrior of Light would feel the same as he did: that they are not the kind of people to turn their backs on those in need.
But they cannot do this alone, and they all know this as well. Thankfully, Ser Aymeric had trusted them enough to agree to keep the See’s military force at bay, but they are still on a time limit.
And then there is Estinien. He is… interesting. What Alphinaud cares about most is making sure there is no more bloodshed than there needs to be (or, preferably, at all), and so far, despite the fight at the Akh Afah Amphitheatre still leaving a bitter taste in their mouth, the Azure Dragoon has kept his word of staying his lance while there is no dire need as he accompanies them on their journey to find Iceheart.
Still, Alphinaud has been keeping a very close eye on him. Very close, indeed. Alphinaud coughs, hugging the firewood close to his chest. But a few yalms away, Estinien carries a load of firewood of his own, a considerably much larger amount than Alphinaud’s. The young elezen averts his gaze, shaking his head as he was not at all staring, no.
How can he even carry all that weight when his unnecessarily bulky armor must be heavy enough as it is? Alphinaud scoffs, trying not to pout like a child.
He makes his way over, deciding that, with the soreness in his muscles screaming at him, surely he has done enough wading through the snow for some sticks. But on his next step, his knees buckle in a way that Alphinaud knows it is only a matter of time before his face meets the ground. Of course this would happen to him. He closes his eyes, bracing for impact and wishing only that the firewood in his arms don’t scatter too far for he’d worked much too hard for them already.
Except that a pair of thickly muscled arms circle around his waist, a distinct gravelly baritone hitting his ears. In a distant part of Alphinaud’s brain, he feels like he’s been in this exact same situation before, and that something about it compels him to suddenly squeeze his thighs together.
“‘Twould seem that collecting firewood is a new experience for you, Master Alphinaud.”
Alphinaud’s face reddens to an embarrassing degree. Shakily, he regains his footing then tries to regain some semblance of composure, though he is not so sure he succeeds in doing the latter. He wiggles himself out of Estinien’s hold then turns his nose up.
“There is absolutely no need to coddle me,” he says, trying not to wince as even he hears how petulant he sounds. Still, because he cannot help himself, he continues, “I assure you, I—”
“You can handle yourself, is that right?” Estinien finishes for him.
Alphinaud blinks. “I— why, yes, I….” How did he….
Then, suddenly, not unlike the descriptions he’s heard from the Warrior of Light of their jarring and abrupt visions brought upon by the echo, his mind transports him harshly back to a cold night in Ishgard, of wandering into a brothel, meeting a man so curious, mockingly repeating those same words at him, and with a voice that he could have sworn…. The pieces start to fall into place.
Alphinaud shakes his head. Silly— ridiculous , even, for him to even for a moment actually think that….
Through the small opening of Estinien’s helm where his mouth is visible, Alphinaud can see the tiniest of smirks on his lips. Just as he feels he might actually faint, Estinien speaks, though not to him.
“Have you the hides we need?” Estinien asks, aimed over Alphinaud’s shoulder.
From behind Alphinaud, the Warrior of Light walks up and joins them, carrying the last of the supplies they needed for the smoke signal meant to lure Iceheart to them.
And just like that, it is as if the last few agonizing moments of realization hadn’t just happened as Estinien disregards him in order to make the fire, the Warrior of Light completely unaware. The change in atmosphere is dizzying, and Alphinaud shakes his head vigorously, the snow collected atop his head now flying through the air just to fall to the ground and be lost in the sea of white.
The mission. Right. Yes.
Though he had kept optimistic, it is still quite strange to think that Iceheart— Ysayle — truly has joined them.
The campfire is warm and the crimson embers floating bright against the dark sky are pretty to look at as Alphinaud’s mind wanders.
“You can handle yourself, is that right?”
It’s not like Alphinaud doesn’t know how some people see him. He brings it upon himself, yes. He’s already had his moment of thorough humbling with the Braves, though he’d really rather not think about that right now. Estinien, he could have just said it to make fun of him. But that smirk after he’d said it…. It was probably the closest thing to a smile that Alphinaud had seen from the other man, who, so far, has only shown emotion through angry curled lips as he snarls at his enemies (and sometimes even his comrades).
Alphinaud buries his face into his crossed arms, drawing his knees tighter into his chest. No. No, silly boy. Don’t be so… presumptuous. To believe that Estinien is that same man who had… Alphinaud shakes his head. It would be so very stupid to presume that Estinien even has that interest in him.
“You assume I was ever even interested,” the man had said. And then he’d….
“Ugh!” Alphinaud starts worrying at the fabric on his sleeve with his nails, trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart from the sudden erotic imagery his memory bombards him with.
“Stomachache?” A gruff voice asks, and Alphinaud suppresses a groan. Though it is not exactly like Alphinaud can just avoid someone he’s traveling with at all times of the day, he definitely has not been interacting with the Azure Dragoon more than he absolutely needed to. This is the first time they’ve talked to each other alone in almost a week's worth of travelling. “My apologies, Master Alphinaud. Unfortunately, ‘tis hard to procure the type of food someone of your upbringing would be satisfied with when you’re out in the snowy highlands.”
Alphinaud forces himself to lift his head, though he does not meet Estinien’s eyes. “N-No, Ser Estinien. I am fine. Thank you.” Alphinaud grimaces at the awkward manner in which he is forcing his words out.
Estinien is silent for a moment, simply observing Alphinaud with unnerving scrutiny that has Alphinaud sweating, before he snorts, a sound that is so unexpected to hear come out of someone like the Azure Dragoon. Alphinaud is not sure he has ever heard Estinien laugh at all.
“Acting so stiff, boy,” Estinien drawls, the word ‘boy’ coming out almost like a purr.
Alphinaud’s pulse quickens. No, he thinks, pleads with all of his heart to The Twelve for even just one of them to have mercy on him.
Estinien continues, “Such a far cry from when you were mewling against my body, like the pretty things that sell the highest down in the darkest parts of the Brume. Hm?”
Oh gods.
“Oh gods,” Alphinaud gasps, outloud, horrified.
From the edge of the forest, out come the Warrior of Light and Ysayle with more firewood and hunted meats. The Warrior of Light comes to sit beside him and chugs heavily from the waterskin Alphinaud offers with trembling hands.
- - - - - -
Estinien hadn’t known what to think when he’d spied the familiar young Elezen wandering alone around the seediest parts of the Brume, only that said young Elezen must be incredibly stupid. Boyish yet pretty face like that, and the obvious air of someone who is not from nor familiar with Ishgard? The boy was just looking for trouble.
Then he’d stepped foot through the entrance of the brothel, and Estinien had had no choice but to jump down from his perch on a pillar and run after the little idiot.
Annoying as it was, the boy’s half-drunken pouting at being approached and scolded was equally as amusing, he must admit. The boy really was so small—and quite brazen, perhaps too much so. It had made it that much more satisfying for Estinien to have then had the boy begging and mewling as he’d pleasured them both. Little thing hadn’t even the strength to stay conscious after they had both found release.
Using his mouth to clean up the mess he’d left on the boy’s thighs (Estinien remembers how soft his pale skin had felt on his tongue, how the meat on the boy’s thighs had given so easily as he couldn’t help but sink his teeth in just a little) he’d dressed the boy and carried him to the lower entrance of the inn. Gibrillont didn’t offer anything more than an inquisitive raise of a brow and a nod of the head as he’d accepted the sleeping boy into his arms.
Interesting. Not exactly how Estinien had imagined his night would go, nor how he’d expected the boy, Alphinaud, would act based on their previous meeting (short as it was) and from Aymeric’s stories of him and that Warrior of Light he’s always with.
But the night is not yet over. Nidhogg calls to him and he has no more time to spare thinking about the boy.
Estinien stands on a snowy cliff and chuckles.
Perhaps their paths will cross again.