Chapter Text
Selfishness is not an unfamiliar feeling to G’raha, but this must be a cut above the rest.
Here he is, on a boat to Sharlayan, sailing on a journey to end the Final Days. Making good on his promise that he would cross the seas with Zala, whom he loves and who loves him in return—
And all he can think about is sex.
It’s only the second night aboard and G’raha’s already feeling it, like an itch just barely out of reach from scratching. His cock twitches with uncontrollable interest as Zala crawls under the covers beside him in their shared bunk—it’s almost scary how quickly his body has fallen into the familiar rhythm—but luckily the tome he’s reading acts as a decent shield until the lights are dimmed for everyone.
And that is the heart of the problem: everyone is in those dorm-style quarters with them.
They are two to a bed in the cramped room below-deck (save for Estinien—G’raha’s quite certain the man has chosen to sleep in the crow’s nest rather than squeeze in with his new comrades), which leaves little room for anything else but sleeping.
It isn’t that sharing quarters is a new experience for him; G’raha’s quite proud to have become acquainted with spending a night in a tent here or there on their adventures thus far. And it also isn’t like he can’t restrain himself from seeking out physical intimacy—he waited one hundred years, and he can wait a few weeks now.
But as he lays there in the dark, the swell of Zala’s breasts rising and falling with every slow breath, lips parted and pink under the moonlight streaming in from a nearby porthole, her hand resting perilously near his hip…
The patience he built up begins chip away.
Quickly.
By the third day, it’s near torture.
Every little brush and touch shared between them is no longer an exciting promise, but a dreadful curse at the reminder that he will have to wait weeks to press her into the mattress again. Weeks to taste her, feel her come undone under his mouth, hear her gasp as he tugs on those soft violet curls.
Zala begins feeling it too, for he can sense her tension in the way she stiffly kisses him goodnight when they retire later that night, turning away and yanking the covers over herself until she’s wrapped in a thick barrier. Cruel as it is, he’s glad for it—for he’s certain it would only take one lingering touch for him to attempt something completely inappropriate within earshot of all their closest friends.
But it does little to quell the thickening in his sleep shorts, desire pooling in his gut as image upon image of Zala in different positions flash on the backs of his eyelids. Pressed against the wall, bent over their dresser, or his personal favorite—bouncing on top of him as his fingertips bruise her hips…
G’raha tucks his hands underneath himself, burning to run them under the blankets just to feel her again. Sleep is out of the question, and he fights the urge to get up and lock himself in the toilets just to relieve some of the aching pressure in his smalls, feel the cool night air upon his overheated flesh…
But even the washrooms aren’t completely private; the walls are dangerously thin, and it would only require one lone insomniac to overhear the suspiciously shameful noises.
The time has come for drastic measures to be taken.
After a restless night, he excuses himself early from breakfast the next day to set off on his mission.
The goal is simple: find a quiet, secluded place away from the bustle of activity around the main hall and sleeping area, drag Zala there as fast as possible, rip off the thin camisole her pert nipples had been poking through that morning (gods she knew just how to tease him), then ravish her with every onze of his pent-up frustration.
Hopefully in that order.
There are a few hidden closets and unused washrooms for him to stumble upon, and while he would take nearly anything at this point, a closed door at the end of a long, winding hallway finally catches his eye. It’s locked, but after a few knocks and rattles of the handle, he decides it’s worth a shot.
After whispering a short incantation, the lock clicks open. Unwarded, a promising start.
Even more promising is what lays behind the door—a cramped room, mayhap only a few arm lengths wide, filled with old sailing supplies and an ample amount of dust judging from the gray tint on every surface.
But in the center, sat on an equally dusty rug: a glorious wooden canopy bed complete with an empty mattress and a few uncovered pillows.
This will do.
This will do splendidly.
G’raha instantly sets off back to one of the linen closets he had found, grabbing a few clean pillow covers, sheets, and quilts. An old spell pops back into his mind whilst making the bed—he fetches his staff for this one, and after a few chants all the dust in the room vanishes in a flash.
He smiles to himself; there are perks to being a chronic tome hoarder for a near century, and now Zala won’t have to deal with sniffling or sneezing from the hazy air. Though, her sneezes are extremely cute…
Focus, G’raha.
All there’s left to do is tidy a bit, but anticipation is already coiling in his belly as he straightens up the last few stacks of rope in the corner. Nearly jumping with eagerness, he bounds back to the upper decks where he had last seen Zala.
She’s reading near the front of the ship; wind-tossed curls flying over her shoulder as she struggles to keep the tome in her hands from blowing to the next page. Lavender eyes glance upward, meeting his, and he can’t help neither the lurch of his heart into his throat nor the breath suddenly leaving his lungs as a fang curls over her lip in a crooked grin.
He wonders if this dizzy feeling will ever fade. He hopes it won’t.
“Raha!” she calls to him, his name and the beating rays warming his chest as he skips to her, sinking down to her side on the sun-soaked planks.
“Where in the hells have you been? I was beginning to get worried, and I was waiting to show you this—”
Zala stops abruptly as he gently takes the tome from her hands, sticking her marker in it and setting it aside. “What are you…” she starts again, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
“Guilty as charged,” G’raha replies with a small smirk. “But I promise it’s a good something this time. A surprise, I daresay.”
Her brow forms a crease, and a faint blush smudges the freckles on her cheeks. “Raha, you know how I feel about gifts.”
He does know; that she’s embarrassed of them, even though she adores giving presents to others and spoils the twins constantly. Somewhere deep inside he holds the worry that she feels she doesn’t deserve such things, but it’s something they are both working on.
Pressing a kiss to her temple, he draws Zala in close, intertwining their fingers and knocking their foreheads together. Twelve, does she smell amazing—and suddenly the urgency of his mission comes crashing back.
“I understand, but I think you’re going to enjoy this one. ‘Tis a… different type of surprise—that is, if you trust me?”
Zala’s smile returns, and she squeezes his hand lovingly.
“Always.”
They swiftly fall into a new sort of routine.
Waking up entangled with one another, a thick quilt always covering teasing touches to lower backs and exposed stomachs. Coffee and breakfast on the upper decks, sometimes followed by a quick read or note-writing session, but they usually don’t last much longer than that before they head back down below the planks.
Zala’s face had been priceless when she had first seen the room, and G’raha would have felt smug if he hadn’t been hilted in her mere moments later. They hadn’t made it to the bed that time.
Much as they could stay there all day, snuggling in their cozy little nest and lavishing one another to the gentle rock of the ocean, ‘twould draw too much suspicion to the other passengers on board. The Scions may have gotten used to the two of them disappearing occasionally, but it wouldn’t do to get banned from Sharlayan before they even arrive due to their indecencies.
And so, they always cut their trysts much too short; sometimes only hiking skirts up and slipping hands down the front of trousers just to feel one another. He pretends it’s enough, but he can’t help the hunger still lurking in his belly as they clean themselves up.
With all the chaos of their lives, this calm before the storm atmosphere of the ship drives his need to cling onto every stolen moment with Zala, to not let it slip through his grasp—making it harder and harder to not push her back down and bring her to the edge over and over again.
Until one evening.
It’s a busier day than usual; they have passed the half-way point of their voyage, meaning their strategical meetings are in full force. G’raha barely even sees Zala, as she’s still trying to study up on her Sharlayan history, but it only makes him more antsy knowing he has yet to taste her, to be inside of her that day.
The sun is burning orange on the horizon when he finally has the chance to brush up against her during supper.
“Below deck. A half-bell. Need you.”
The truth of his statement, mumbled into the soft shell of her ear, has his cock already half-hard and pulsing under the flap of his tunic. But he moves past her quickly, only confirming his proposition with the brief flare he catches in her eyes as she turns to continue her conversation with Y’shtola.
It takes everything in his power to maintain some semblance of a casual walking speed after he finishes his meal, meandering nonchalantly towards the sleeping quarters before taking a sharp turn to where he really wants to be.
He’s fully tented now, aching in the confines of his trousers, but he resists the urge to go into the room and get himself started. That first, relieving touch aways feels so much better when it’s Zala.
His mind begins to wander as he waits in the hallway, imagining everything he’s yearned for but pushed down throughout the day—fitting his hands around the curve of her waist, popping her breasts out of that lovely lilac dress she’s wearing, taking the tip of one between his lips just to hear her cry his name…
He smells her coming before anything else.
Coffee and vanilla, with a hint of her lavender soap. Snapping his head to the corridor again, he makes a desperate dash to meet her halfway, hands instantly finding the small of her back to pull her flush against him.
“Twelve,” he groans as her lower half makes blissful contact with his heated cock, and he gently shoves her to the wall to steal a searing kiss from her waiting lips.
They somehow feel softer than usual, plump and working against his own as he grinds on her, and—wicked white, her leg is already hitching around his hip, changing the angle and sending sparks throughout every ilm of his body.
He flicks his tongue once, twice into her pliant mouth, and gods, has she always tasted this sweet? He doesn’t know what he wants to touch first, hands running from her silken hair to her spine to the fullness of her thighs before he decides he needs all of her.
G’raha hoists her other leg up, and Zala squeals in surprise as she’s lifted, braced between him and the wall. Her arms snake around his neck and her legs tighten their hold on his waist just so until he’s panting at her neck, wondering if he’s deft enough to undo his trousers from this position to slide into the heat he can already feel sitting just above his cock.
“I missed you so badly today,” he whispers between nips to her neck, still pondering the possibilities of taking her right here out in the hallway, in the line of sight for any wandering passenger. Mayhap getting thrown out of Sharlayan would be worth it.
At least then everyone would know that she was his.
“Missed you too—ahh,” she gasps as he licks at the furry base of her ear—one of her favorite places to be teased. “Thought about you all day. What I wanted when I finally saw you.”
“Hmm?” His mouth curves into a grin, buried in her hair, and he squeezes the tops of her legs. “And what would that be, my love?”
Zala pulls him back to her lips by his braid, kissing him urgently yet languidly at the same time. But when they finally break for air, he nearly chokes when she speaks.
“I want you to fuck me from behind. On the bed. Slow at first, and then fast and hard. I want…”
She gulps, and the floor of his stomach drops. “I want you to use me.”
The pure filthiness of her words has him burning from the tips of his ears to his toes. It’s no secret that Zala can easily overpower him in a game of strength, and while he frequently enjoys taking advantage of their difference, there’s something in reversing that dynamic that drives him absolutely mad with need.
To take her, fuck her, fill her until she’s begging for more, begging to be used by him… Overcome, he adjusts his grip so she’s better balanced, then picks her up off the wall. He cannot wait a moment longer.
“Raha!” She giggles breathlessly, clinging to him as he strides down the hallway. And then, darker—
“Is that a yes?”
He only pauses long enough to look her dead in the eyes. “Did I not say that I was at your service?”
Cheesy line aside—G’raha means it with all of his heart. For he would do anything for her.
She doesn’t have time to respond, for he’s kissing her again, deep and open-mouthed and messy until they reach the door. He’s almost frantic now, barely able to stutter out the unlocking spell, twisting the handle until—
It doesn’t budge?
Frowning, he tries again; he must have been distracted by Zala’s tongue dragging stripes along his throat and used the wrong wording. But still, it doesn’t turn.
If he wasn’t in such a haze of desire he would have questioned the oddity, but instead he only swears and mutters an alternative, stronger spell. Mayhap he accidentally cast a ward instead of simply locking it yesterday; they had been in another rush to get back to the group…
To his great relief, it moves this time, and he uses his foot to nudge the door open then kick it close behind them. He captures her lips again, moving through the darkness to toss Zala on the bed.
But the danger instincts that hadn’t kicked in before are blaring now; the scent of the room is different, it’s warmer than usual, his peripheral vision is moving, and…
Was that a gasp?
Eyes flying open in terror, he’s unable to speak in the wake of realizing that there’s someone else here. The horror intensifies at the fact that Zala is still unaware, whining at his sudden withdrawal and trying to catch his mouth again.
He panics, trying to drop her to reach for his staff to protect her from whatever assailant has been sent to catch them at their most vulnerable, but shite—it’s not here, he must have left it upstairs in his hurry.
“Zala!” he’s able to spit out, spinning instead to shield her from the impending attack, but she’s now catching on and the wild scramble throws him off-balance enough to send him careening backward into the edge of the mattress.
Zala lands on top of him with a big “Oof!” and G’raha tries to roll again, bracing them and praying with every fiber of his being that he can somehow hold the attacker off long enough to find an opening to counter. A split-second passes without any impact—the window he needs—and he whips over with blazing fists to—
“Woah, woah, woah! What in the seven bloody hells is going on here?”
The familiar voice registers before his eyes are able to adjust. Snapping his fingers to ignite a candle on the side table, G’raha’s jaw drops at the sight before him.
‘Tis neither the rogue assassin nor Ascian he had anticipated, but a very disgruntled-looking Thancred sitting with his body protectively covering a markedly half-dressed Urianger.
It still takes him a moment to process, looking between the two, then to Zala, then sitting back on his haunches on the bed in attempt to calm the adrenaline still pounding through his veins.
“‘What is going on here?’ We should be the ones asking that!”
Zala has taken the offensive in their continued shock, but relaxes her own fighting stance. “What are you two doing here—this is our room!”
“‘Our room?’” Thancred’s face scrunches. “If anything this room is ours, we claimed it nearly a week ago!”
Before G’raha can register the implication that they’ve been unknowingly having sex on the same bed as two of their closest friends, Thancred is already sitting up straighter and crossing his arms defensively while Urianger hastily tugs his robe back over his shoulders.
“And haven’t either of you ever heard of this little thing called knocking? How did you even get inside—I was informed the door had been locked!”
He points an accusing finger to his partner, who’s currently pinching the spot between his golden eyes. “Aye, though ‘twould appear mine mind hath overlooked the possibility that a mage of G’raha’s caliber would maketh an attempt to dispel the crafted ward.”
G’raha can’t tell if his face feels heated from the off-handed compliment or the fact that him and Zala just walked in on the other established couple in the Scions. Well, more like tumbled in…
“Nevertheless, full glad am I to understand that the voices I informed thee of were not figments of mine own imagination,” Urianger continues with a sigh and a shake of his head, and for once Thancred seems to be speechless at the retort.
Then, the utter absurdity of the situation hits them all at once. Thancred’s reddened lips are the first to twitch, then Zala cracks a grin, and it isn’t long until all four are snorting and giggling hysterically, the tension washing away with the waves that lap at the side of the ship.
Zala wipes tears from her eyes, leaning her head against G’raha’s shoulder and as the shakes fade from her chest. Her tail follows suit, wrapping around his waist, and he can’t deny that it’s nice to feel her close again.
“Seriously though, how did you find this place? Raha set this up for us, and we had no idea others were… were defiling it!”
The sarcastic, snippy banter she always held with Thancred was returned. Back on the First, G’raha had even been somewhat jealous of their closeness, and learning of their history had not helped the sting he felt whenever he saw them laughing together.
It had taken time and lots of long talks for him to realize that she truly only saw the ex-rogue as her dearest friend. With whom she had slept with countless times.
Besides, it wasn’t like G’raha himself hadn’t… indulged in his own loneliness over the years. A particular night of high frustration whilst researching ways to send Thancred back to the Source had led to forbidden kisses, fumbling hands grasping at robes and desperate rutting until they both spilled in their own clothes, never to speak about it again.
And Urianger… even more complicated and twisted were their secret meetings, the lingering touches he chased with the only man he was able to show his face to. But then he had left for Il Mheg, and the next time G’raha saw him—chatting in the Crystarium with Thancred—there had been a familiar lovesick glaze in his eyes.
He supposes all four of them have come a long way.
The conversation is continuing unabated through his reminiscing, the pieces starting to come together to unravel the mystery.
“I went on a little scouting mission after determining this boat’s utter lack of privacy. Came across this place but didn’t want to pick the lock, so I fetched Urianger to help investigate further.”
“Indeed. ‘Twas I who confirmed naught of importance layeth inside, so I may only offer mine deepest apologies to both of thee for disturbing thy space.”
Zala waves her hand. “Ahh, ‘tis no big deal, really. It’s not actually our space, obviously; and we should have guessed we weren’t the only ones with our… problem.”
G’raha’s blushing again as Thancred smirks, looks knowingly between them, then downward to…
Shite again. He shifts quickly, having been completely distracted from the noticeable bulge still visibly present in his trousers. Zala’s touch skimming the sides of his arms is not helping, either; she feels so soft and inviting, and his blood is rushing south faster by the second.
“Looks like you still have a problem,” Thancred comments casually, kicking G’raha into finally speaking up for the first time since their awkward entrance.
“Er, ahem—speaking of, we best be going. Apologies for the intrusion, just…”
Just let us know when you’ve finished with the bed? No, that’s… doing things he can’t explain to the tightening in his pants. He quickly stands instead, but it’s almost painful at this point; the heat so intensely coiled in his lower half that he’s afraid he might spill from the friction of walking alone.
“…Just—we’ll see you later,” is all he’s able to croak out, desperate to find some manner of relief without completely embarrassing himself.
Zala smiles wistfully at him, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye and standing before looping her arm around G’raha’s. He prepares himself to take those long, aching steps towards the door, already resigning to dejectedly take himself in hand in the cramped washroom stall and pray nobody overhears—
“A moment, if you would.”
They both halt in their tracks.
Thancred is leaning over Urianger’s lap, and G’raha flushes at the way he tenderly tucks a grey lock behind his ear before whispering lowly into it. Urianger’s eyes dart to the side at first, then begin to grow wider and wider as the murmuring continues until he freezes altogether.
He doesn’t move again until Thancred pulls back, cupping his hand to whisper something in return as Zala shoots them a questioning look.
This repeats once more, ending with Thancred leaving a feather-light kiss on the ink of his partner’s cheek as he wraps an arm around his waist.
“Ahem.” Thancred finally clears his throat, a sly gaze creeping across his features as he eyes them up and down, and G’raha has the feeling of being trapped in the crosshairs of his gunblade.
“Urianger and I have decided that we are feeling rather… generous on this fine evening.”
Zala’s eyebrow quirks upward. “Generous… how?”
The smirk deepens. “‘Twould be a shame to waste the ample space on this bed—and by the looks of it, G’raha isn't going to make it one ilm out that door without devouring you.”
He instantly recoils—once at the realization that he’s been caught leaning into Zala, hips canted towards her—then a second time as he realizes.
Urianger and Thancred already laying near the foot of the wide-open bed.
‘Twould be a shame to waste the ample space.
G’raha takes a breath, deep and controlled, temptation already rising hotly from his belly to this throat. The proposition is burning in his ears; a new, fluttering anticipation as he looks slowly to Zala, who is also processing.
“You—we—” he stutters, and his tail tenses into the shape of a question mark. “You’re saying we can both stay and… at the same time?”
“Only if you’re amenable,” Thancred clarifies with a devilish gaze, already becoming distracted with a half-lidded look towards Urianger and a tug on his pulled-up collar.
“Aye,” the astrologian agrees, voice rough and eyes fluttering as Thancred’s hand traces up and down his side.
The simple yet intimate gestures between the pair are making it hard to think straight, and G’raha has to remember to breath against the intense urge to grab Zala and do the same to her. Their eyes finally meet, but for once Zala’s face is tough to read, staring openly at him as if to say it’s up to you.
He realizes she’s probably masking her true desires as to not influence him; they both know she’s much more… experienced in such areas, and a sudden question enters his mind.
“Have you… done this before?” he inquires softly.
Zala hesitates, and he’s unable to keep his fingers from tucking a stray lock of hair back into the nest of curls sitting on her shoulder, smiling gently to let her know that it’s alright, that he’d never judge her for anything she might have tried in her past.
In fact…
Imagining her being pushed back right now, undressing her in the presence of others who could look—and maybe even touch—but couldn’t have her the way he has her, laying in his arms at the end of every night…
He’s doing quite the opposite of judging.
“I have,” she starts tentatively, “but it was long ago, with…”
A glance to Thancred, who’s now tilting Urianger backward, finishes her statement. “With another couple we met; not with Urianger,” she quickly amends, ears twitching and tail whipping.
G’raha pulls her flush to him, then slides a finger under her chin to tilt her face upwards, relishing in the closeness of her warmth as he leans in to nuzzle her hair again. He can smell her arousal, and he’s beginning to feel drunk off the headiness of the dampness between her thighs.
“Did you enjoy it?” he whispers into her violet ear, the two in his peripheral vision now utterly disinterested in anything else but one another, the sound of tongues sloppily sliding together making his scalp tingle.
He barely bites back a whine as Zala’s fingers slide under an untucked edge of his tunic, shivering as her nails drag over his ribs and back. “Perhaps… but not nearly as much as a single night with you,” she admits into his neck, and his heart swells with affection.
“However…” she continues, dragging out the word with a meaningful scratch down his spine, “Mayhap… if you had been there…”
The suggestive words tumble his stomach and arch his back, drawing them impossibly closer together. And in that moment—Zala’s breasts pushed against his chest, her eyes blown and dark with pure lust, the resistance of her body as he makes slow, grinding circles into the crease of her hip—
He’s walking a dangerously thin plank, on the verge of losing it and making the plunge into something he’d barely dared to fantasize about from the moment he found out the stories he had read about Thancred and Zala were true.
“Mmphh,” G’raha moans, strangled and heavy, as Zala’s fingertips slip beneath the waistband of his trousers to tease the base of his tail. “And if we were to join them, you’d be alright if they—if we—”
It feels too obscene to even think, let alone speak—but Zala understands instantly, attention shifting to Thancred straddling Urianger’s thighs, then to the empty space next to them, then back up to G’raha.
“…Exciting as it sounds,” she murmurs, resuming her soothing ministrations up and down his back, “I only want what you’re comfortable with. You know how much I love keeping you to myself, anyways.”
“As do I,” he concedes with an exhale, but with every passing breath it’s becoming more and more difficult to ignore the pulsing in his smalls, the sound of Thancred’s coat hitting the floor spurring something inside of him to bubble upwards.
What would that touch he had stolen so many years ago feel like now? It had taken everything in his power back then to not ruin his entire ploy and rip off his robes just to feel someone’s skin on his again, but now… With the opportunity just within reach…
An even darker wave of desire floods him as he grips Zala’s waist tighter, delving into jealous daydreams conjured from old, filthy novels salvaged from a ruined Source. She had been depicted in various lewd positions with many fellow comrades, but most popular were the ones of a white-haired rogue fucking her senseless all across Eorzea.
Would she look just as he had imagined whilst taking himself in hand, rutting into his slicked fist and pretending it was himself bending her over in Ul’dah, in Ishgard, in Ala Mhigo?
And would Urianger still whisper to him in that melodic, warming tone as he had when G’raha stroked him over, then underneath his robes? As he crawled onto his lap, almost choking up at how nice it was to have someone look him in the eye while he spilled over both their hands?
“Though…”
“Though?” Zala prompts, and he swallows against the dryness in his throat, dizzy with want.
“…Though—I might be willing to—to share, just for today.”
He can feel Zala smile deviously against the skin of his neck, but it’s not the small nip of her fang grazing his tattoo that ultimately dissolves the last fiber of restraint in his body.
It’s not the soft whines coming from the bed, the increasing heaviness of their kissing, nor candlelight dancing across bare, muscled shoulders, either.
No, it’s the words uttered from Zala’s mouth that shoot levin straight to his groin and completely unravel him.
“I suppose I could learn to share.”