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Thancred had come to this dive as a way to leave his inn room for the night, with a drink or two being an added bonus. He hadn’t wanted to meet a stranger for the evening, and hadn’t imagined finding any worthwhile company in a place such as this anyway. All he’d wanted was a change of scenery, a table in the corner, and a glass or two of something not too good to while away a couple hours.
But the woman by the bar is changing his mind.
She’s been nursing one drink for the entire night, reading a slim volume that she’d drawn from her handbag when she’d sat down nearly a bell ago now. Thancred’s not the only one in the place stealing glances, he can tell, not with the way she leans against the counter in a way that causes her back to arch just so, tan skin exposed and her shoulderblades lovely. Her ash-grey hair conceals her elegant elezen nape , and her dress is wine red and just this side of tight, with long sleeves down strong arms and her back left bare. The short skirt goes halfway down her thighs but rides up whenever she re-crosses her legs. And her legs – gods, her legs. They’re wrapped in sheer black stockings, and through the slit on the side of her dress Thancred can see the top of one of them, a tantalizing glimpse of skin that has been driving him mad ever since she’d perched herself on that barstool. A barstool that Thancred is so incredibly envious of.
There’s something about her that draws the eye – she’s lovely in face and body, complemented by the kohl around her eyes and red paint on her lips – but beyond that, there’s something about her demeanor that seems so different and special, like you’ll never see anyone like her again. Thancred has watched several people approach her and be gently rebuffed - or not so gently, in the case of one rather persistent boor. He’d almost gotten up to intercede on her behalf – no matter the lust simmering in his core, he has common decency – but she’d cast some clever little spell that had the offender stumbling outside to vomit up the contents of his ale-sodden stomach. And then she’d smoothed down her skirt, took a sip of her drink, and went back to her book.
She looks like she's waiting for someone. Why else would she be so dolled up? Why else would she still be stirring the one drink?
Thancred hopes that maybe, just maybe, he might be that someone.
He finishes his glass. It’s his turn to try. He's older than he used to be, but he's been told that it barely shows and that maturity suits him and that a certain type would prefer him at 35 over him at 25 – and anyway, he still knows how to charm a lonely, lovely lady in a tavern. And if he gets turned down, then at least he won’t have to live with the regret of letting such a beautiful creature pass him by.
(Although something tells him he won’t get turned down.)
He approaches the bar, and signals to the bartender for another. “And for the lady here, if she feels so inclined,” he adds.
The bartender, who has had a front row seat to the parade of suitors who approached the woman, tips their head to the side in question to her. Thancred watches out of the corner of his eye with bated breath as she turns, considers him for a long, drawn-out moment, and – thank the Twelve – slowly nods. The bartender’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and they evaluate Thancred before shrugging and going to fix up the drinks.
“My thanks,” she says in a warm, deep voice, turning back to her book.
“I should be saying that to you,” he replies, pitching his voice low and quiet, so only she can hear. “Forgive my forwardness, but you're the only bit of beauty in this whole town.”
“A 'bit'?” she critiques, eyes on the pages. “How flattering.”
“An understatement,” he amends. She isn't going to make this easy on him, but he has the feeling she wouldn't have accepted the drink if she didn't want him to try. And by the gods is he willing to try. “I wouldn't want to come on too strong. Gives the wrong impression.”
“And what would that impression be?”
“That you're the most enchanting lady I've ever laid eyes upon.”
“Ah, and that would be the wrong impression thou spake of?” What a way of talking. Endearing, really. Again – like nothing he's ever seen before.
“Not wrong, just overwhelming. I used to be a bard, you know – my tongue often runs away from me.”
“A bard. So thou art an old hand at sweet-talking women in taverns,” she says pointedly.
“Correct,” he admits. “But I would say that all of that was practice – rehearsal, you might say – for the moment I attempted to charm you.”
“I cannot imagine all those other women would appreciate hearing thee say such a thing.”
“Ah, but they are long gone from my life,” he says, placing a hand on her arm. “And your presence has thoroughly scrubbed them from my mind." He doesn't want to talk about other women right now - time to change tack. “What a beautiful necklace,” Thancred murmurs, hooking a finger on the silver chain that carries an icy blue gem. “Wherever did you get it?”
“Twas a gift,” she replies, and Thancred knows he doesn't imagine the smallest shiver when the back of his hand brushes against the skin of her collarbone.
“A gift! I can’t be surprised. One such as you must be beset with favors.”
A sweet smile. “This one is above all others: it was given by my lover.”
“Your lover?” Thancred echoes, and leans away. “Would they be enraged at my attentions?”
“We have an… understanding,” she says, a smile curling her mouth. “He knows that I am here tonight. He is likewise looking for company.”
“A fool of a man,” Thancred murmurs, leaning back in, stroking a thumb across her wrist. “If I was your lover, I couldn’t imagine straying from you for a moment.”
“Thine eyes hath certainly not strayed from me for the entirety of the time I have sat within this establishment,” she teases.
He gives his best sheepish smile. “Can you blame me? It took time to work up the courage.”
“With such boldness, such an admission is a surprise indeed. And what of thy part – dost thou have anyone to return to?”
“Ah, no,” he replies, holding her gaze and sneaking a hand to rest at the small of her back, crowding her slightly. “I haven’t met anyone I would want to stay with. They’d have to be a beautiful, charming, intelligent, compassionate –”
“Aye, aye,” she cuts him off, breaking their eye contact as her cheeks flush becomingly. He can’t help but smile at the sight. “I did not come here to hear this.”
There’s the in he's been waiting for. “Oh? Then what did you come here for?”
“I came here to leave,” she murmurs.
“I can help you with that.” His thumb strokes against her back.
“Oh?” She leans her shoulder against his.
“If you would let me.” He tries to catch her eye.
“I… could be persuaded.” Her eyes are focused on her hands, which are fiddling with the pages of her long-forgotten book.
“Come, now, don’t be so shy,” he cajoles, maneuvering to close the book. She lets him. “Tell me, what else must I do?”
“Not much more,” she near-whispers. Her blush has traveled to the tips of her ears. He wants to bite them, make her let loose sweet moans and whimpers. He wants to do so much to her.
“What if I were to tell you that I have an inn room not too far from here,” he suggests, letting a warm husk into his voice, letting his arm encircle her waist fully. She's so warm. “What if I were to tell you that the sheets were the softest you can get in this town, and there’s a banked fire keeping it warm, and I would worship you for hours.”
At that moment, the bartender finally returns. “Apologies for the delay,” they rush out, slamming their drinks down on the counter. “I had to break up that fight, and then there was that fire back in the kitchen, and–”
All three of them pause and look at each other. Thancred and his companion look flushed and frisky. The bartender looks harried and exhausted. Thancred abruptly feels very embarrassed.
“No worries,” Thancred says. His companion shoves her face into his shoulder, seemingly even more embarrassed than he is at their antics. He digs into his pocket for some coin. “Here's our tab. Including these ones, of course. And your tip, obviously. Hope the rest of your shift isn't too bad.”
“... Right,” they say dryly, glancing down at the drinks they'd just prepared. “Okay. I'd say have a good night, but you clearly have that well in hand.”
His companion is seemingly trying to fully absorb herself into his side. “Er. Yes. Good night.”
The two of them scamper out of the tavern, and the cold of the night hits them like a crashing wave. She hisses in displeasure and glues herself even closer to his side, and his arm around her turns into something less lecherous and more protective. He goes to take off his coat for her, but she shakes her head and refuses to let go. They look each other in the eye, and they both dissolve into giggles for a moment. Then Thancred knocks his head gently against hers and asks, “Shall we continue?”
She hums, nuzzling his hair, and says, “We shall.”
They hurry back to the inn room and the moment the door closes behind them he's pulling his coat off. He turns, and she is sat delicately on the edge of the bed, removing her heels, and his breath is stolen away from him by the picture of her limned in moonlight. He crosses the room and falls to his knees in front of her, helpless to do anything but.
“Let me help you with that,” he says, sliding a hand up her calf, feeling the muscle under the stocking.
“If thou so insist,” she acquiesces. He looks up at her as he slowly slides the stiletto off, rubbing at the arch of her foot to chase away any aches. He does the same to the other, and then starts kissing up the fine bones of her ankle, then up her shapely leg, up, up, up…
Their shuddering breaths are loud in the room by the time Thancred's mouth reaches the hem of her skirt. Her legs press together as she squirms, her hardness visible under the cloth. Her hands clutch and fuss with the neck of her dress and the chain of that necklace. She's biting her lip, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. Gods, she's a sight already, and they've only just gotten started. He’s just as hard as she is.
He dallies there, letting the anticipation build. “You know,” he murmurs, “I never got your name, my dear lady.”
“An adventuresome and independent young woman such as I,” she replies, raising her chin to give an air of haughtiness (while not looking away from him), “Has no need to exchange names with a rake such as thee. Especially one who so dawdles.”
He stifles a snort. “As my lady commands, then,” he says, sliding his hands up the outside of her thighs. He finds the slit of her dress and hooks a finger into the top of her stocking. He lets it snap against her skin, and she jumps a little. Then she lightly smacks him on the head – more of a tap, really, but it gets her indignation across. “Apologies, I couldn’t help myself,” he says, kissing her thigh once more. Then he adds a hint of teeth, because he isn’t sorry, not really.
This makes her grab his hair and pull, which has him moaning into her soft, soft skin. “One should have better manners around someone they are attempting to bed,” she scolds.
“You said it yourself – I’m a rake,” he says, winking up at her. “I can’t help it. I’m overcome by your beauty.”
“Empty flattery,” she scoffs (with a smile on her face).
“If it’s empty,” he purrs, sneaking his hands under her dress, “Then do you have any suggestions as to how I might fill it?”
“Thou art abominable,” she mutters, rolling her eyes, but reaches down to shimmy her skirt up her hips, and most of the blood in Thancred’s brain goes directly down to his cock, because she’s wearing these gorgeous lacy black smalls, and her cock stretches them beautifully, and he immediately falls to licking her through the fabric, groaning against her, hearing her gasp and moan in response. The lace is rough against his tongue, and the sensation riles him up even more, until he needs more of her than the lace allows, and he tugs the smalls down so her cock is free. He grips her with his hand and starts pulling at her, and she folds at the waist with a cry of pleasure. Her hand goes up to her mouth, and he follows it with his own, tugging her arm away.
“Let me hear your sweet voice,” he cajoles. “If I’ve only tonight with you, I’d like to hear all I can of your song…”
“ And saccharine,” she adds, but allows her mouth to be uncovered. In reward, he licks at the head of her, and her breath hitches in a whine. Encouraged, he keeps at it, until she’s tugging at his hair to take her into his mouth fully. So he does.
Thancred moans as he sinks down on her – because it’s another step closer, because he enjoys the stretch in his mouth, because she feels soft and tastes clean, because her hips stutter up in his grasp, because he knows from giving and receiving head that the vibration of a moan feels exquisite. She moans in pleasure too, and without a cock in her mouth, hers is louder and more desperate, more exultant.
Her hands clench in his hair, and that feels incredible too, and he shifts his legs in his own arousal. His trousers are still on. He takes a hand from her hip and unzips them, then tugs himself from his smalls and gives a few strokes. He moves his hand in time with the bobbing of his head, slowly taking more of her in his mouth until she hits his throat.
The wet sounds of his worship of her fill the room, sloppy and unashamed: all of his lovers have appreciated his fervor for oral, and while he does greatly enjoy the act, that’s secondary to how much he enjoys what it does to the lover in question. Some are loud, some quiet; some tense and curl around him, like they’re trying to keep him as close as possible; some melt into a lazy puddle and nearly purr with satisfaction at his hard work; some tug and pull and thrust and insist, and he gets to show off how long he can hold his breath; and some, like his lady tonight, are initially tentative and sweetly shy, but get driven by enjoyment into bold neediness, begging with body and word for all he will give, hands in his hair never too rough or commanding beyond the display of yes yes yes and please please oh I beg thee…!
One hand holds her cock at the base to keep it steady as he sucks her, and the other moves down, fondling her balls for a moment and then stroking her perineum through her smalls (which makes her moan and nearly rip out more than a few hairs from his head) and then pulling the lace aside to –
His cock throbs. He pulls off of her to look her in the eyes. “Oh, you minx,” he breathes in delight. “You harlot. You sat at that bar all night, turning away admirer after admirer, and all the while you had this in you.” He taps a finger against the base of the plug nestled in her, and she jolts, her cock twitching in his hand.
He watches with delight as adorable shyness suddenly overcomes her. “Ah – well – I had thought that it, perhaps, might – expedite certain… goals of mine for the night…” She’s blushing to the tips of her ears.
He decides to lean into it all, wanting to see that blush darken and that body writhe in embarrassed delight. “What kind of woman resolves to go out to a seedy tavern in some city far away from all she’s ever known, and before she steps out the door, before she dolls herself up, before she puts on all her paints and pours herself into her tight little dress and slips on her stockings, she puts something like this inside her?” He pushes the base of it, pushing the unseen bulk of it deeper inside of her, and she moans, hand coming up to cover her mouth with a fist, biting at her knuckle. “What kind of woman waits for her lover to leave for the evening before stretching herself out in their room with just her fingers, getting herself ready for someone she hasn’t even met yet?”
“The kind,” she says, finally managing to look him in the eye, and regaining her poise with whatever she finds there, “That hopes to meet men such as you.”
And that’s such a charming response that he has to reward her (and himself) by taking her back into his mouth. And he stays there for a while, sucking her cock and playing with the plug in her arse, tapping it and twisting it and thrusting it shallowly within her. He removes it for a moment, coating his fingers with the bottle of oil from his coat pocket and ensuring she's stretched and wet enough for him. He's thoroughly enjoying his work and enjoying the sounds she makes and the grip she has on his hair. He strokes at his own cock too, enough to take the edge off, but nothing that will distract him from the woman in front of him.
Finally, though, he feels purposeful tugs at his hair, and he pulls off with a questioning look up at her. She’s breathing heavy, and Thancred remembers that oh yes, he would quite like to be inside her tonight, and all of a sudden he needs that to be as soon as possible, and it would be to their mutual enjoyment if she didn’t come before they got to that point.
He settles back on his heels. “Is everything to my lady’s enjoyment?”
She pants, “Aye, indeed. Almost too much so. Thou art… quite talented with thy mouth. The reputation prescribed to thee hath proven true.”
He laughs. “Oh? You've heard tales of my prowess?”
She smiles. “Something as such.”
“Well, with many women, I make them come over and over with just my tongue before I take them–” he licks a broad stripe up her shaft, and she tenses and gasps – “But with you, my dear, I simply must have you now.”
She nods frantically. “I – I crave thee, likewise.”
“Excellent.” He prowls upward, rising from his kneel to slink over her body, pressing her down against the bed as he brings their faces close. She melts against the sheets easily, her hands coming up to frame his face. He nuzzles against a hand, and drags his lips in sensual kisses on her wrist. He makes eye contact as he does so, and her breath hitches at the intimacy, and she looks enraptured. Color flush in her cheeks, golden eyes soft and focused, lashes long and fluttering – she herself is enrapturing. Thancred realizes he hasn't properly kissed her yet, and that won't do. So he lays on top of her and pours himself into kissing her, his hands cradling her neck and sliding up into her soft hair.
He loses himself in kissing for long, languid moments: the feeling of her soft lips moving against his in a rhythm they easily settle into, the back-and-forth of their tongues, the occasional nip of teeth, the swallowed moans. One of her hands meanders down his back, feeling the scars and the broadness of him, to settle where he arches against her.
They pull apart for a moment, just looking at each other as they breathe heavily. Her thumb touches the corner of his mouth. “The scarlet stain upon my lips hath transferred to thine,” she murmurs, and her eyes are dark, pleased – predatory. A shiver goes down his spine.
“Does it suit me?” he asks.
“Aye,” she purrs. “One could imagine it upon thee at a later time.”
He swallows. “One could indeed.”
She chuckles, and she reaches down to unclip her garters so that she can fully remove her smalls. He stands up from the bed to remove his own trousers and smalls, going purely by touch since he can’t rip his eyes away from her soft, elegant hands tugging the scrap of lace down her long legs. As soon as he gets his clothes off he’s back upon her, eager to be the one to slide the stockings down her thighs, her calves. He can’t help drawing out the process with how he takes the opportunity to stroke and grope at her curves and muscle, and she allows him this indulgence, holding her legs out. And then he finally takes the plug out of her for good, and if he was one ilm more patient that he currently is he would have drawn it out even more - but as it is he is getting close to desperate, and the sight of her hole clenching where the toy used to be has him groaning in pure need.
Then she moves to take the dress off, and before he can stop himself, he says, “You’re not leaving it on? But it looks so good.”
She pauses, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “I quite like this dress and would like to wear it again. I would not see it befouled with sweat and spend.”
He takes a moment to mourn the mental images that have been occupying a corner of his brain all night – taking her with that skirt flipped up over her ass, or bunched around her hips, seeing her shoulderblades framed by the fabric as he pounds into her, the way she looks in that dress combined with the way she looks in the throes of passion – and then he dutifully helps her with its removal.
They’re finally both naked, he’s back on the bed, he's slicked his length with the oil, he’s hitching her legs around his hips, she’s biting her lip and looking down at where their cocks are sliding against each other in a way that’s so good but not enough, not now when he’s so close to… and then he realizes there was a certain detail that hadn't been thought of. “I would normally wear protection with an anonymous rendezvous – is that something you would like?”
She deliberates for a moment, not looking away from where they’re almost joined, and then says, “Thou may forgo such a thing.”
He gasps. “So risky! You don't even know who I am.”
She chuckles, and proclaims (rather melodramatically), “Ah, but so overwhelmed with passion am I as a result of thy enrapturing charm that I wouldst fain throw caution to the wind, all for a chance to feel thee bare within me!"
Thancred laughs, and is so overcome with fondness that he peppers the inside of her knee with kisses. “If my lady demands, how can I be anything but helpless to resist?”
“And,” she adds, “Even from our scant time together, I find myself trusting thee with my most intimate and tender places.”
“Oh? A man such as I, who goes around picking up women in bars? Who is, what’s the phrase… a wolf among sheep?” He takes himself in hand, and teases his tip at her entrance.
“A wolf can be leashed and brought to heel,” she replies, nudging his arse with her literal heel.
“You think you’re funny,” he grumbles.
“Aye, indeed I–” and he cuts her off by pushing into her, and she lets out a low groan at the feeling of him stretching her, sinking into her, filling her. He takes it slow, stroking her cock to balance out the stretch. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths that heave her chest as she relaxes, letting him in so wonderfully, so beautifully, tight and soft and warm. There’s the faintest crease in her brow, and he would lean forward to kiss it away if that wouldn’t make him shove into her far too fast, so instead he strokes her thighs.
Finally, she opens her eyes and smiles at him, and her legs squeeze around him once. His breath shudders out of him as he pulls back and then thrusts in again, and then again, picking up the pace as it becomes easier, as she grows accustomed to him.
Soon, the headboard is hitting the wall over and over again, and they’re causing an altogether racket with that and their moaning and the sound of their bodies together, but neither of them care, neither of them do anything but continue pressing in close, and then apart, and then close again. He’s so deep inside her, and she’s so beautiful in front of him, her cheeks flushed and her mouth open as she sighs and groans and cries out yes, yes, yes, oh, her hands twisting in the sheets by her head, her legs tight around his waist. His forehead is resting against her chest, and he’s babbling, he knows he is: beautiful, so perfect for me, so good, other bits of sweet talk that he’s said countless times before but truly means at this moment. She is so beautiful. She is so perfect. And she’s so good. So, so good. He’s so lucky to be chosen by her. This night, and –
She whines, “Close, beloved, I am – close –” and he reaches down to stroke her, and then she’s crying out and shaking and spilling across her middle and on his hand, and she’s tightening around him so incredibly. Her back arches, her head is thrown back with her hair a halo around her and the vulnerable lines of her neck exposed, and her thighs clutch around his torso, and gorgeous moans are pulled out of her, wild and loud. All of this, the feel and sight of her as she reaches the peak of her pleasure, cause him to follow right after, thrusting once, twice, getting as deep as possible before spilling inside her, his warmth flooding her, and he feels base satisfaction at the deed.
They hold there for a long moment, panting, their bodies awash in the aftermath. Her eyes are barely open, languorously raking up and down his body through her lashes. He strokes a hand over her stomach, smearing her spend over where his own is within her.
Finally, his blood settles, and he pulls out. He not-quite-flops down next to her, lays an arm over her chest, and nudges his head under her jaw. Her hand comes up and strokes his hair.
“This is the part where I wait for you to fall asleep and then sneak out,” he murmurs, lips moving over her skin.
“Like a thief in the night,” she hums.
“Personally, I don’t think my commitment to the fiction need go that far. I'm quite happy where I am. What say you?”
“Thou dost know I am utterly terrible at sending thee away, my heart,” Urianger says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“A fact I am grateful for each and every day, as well as now,” he sighs, relaxing fully against his partner. He rubs a thumb over her waist. “Well? Was it all that you hoped for?”
“All that and more,” she replies. “Thy care, attention, and skill delight and gratify me as ever.”
“I wouldn't usually get that sappy with an actual nameless stranger,” he comments. “Scares them off. Hard to have no-strings-attached fun when the other person is speaking either obviously hyperbolically or is much too over-invested.”
“I appreciated it,” she hums, taking a handkerchief from the bedside table and wiping them both of their spend.
“I couldn’t help myself with the necklace,” he continues, taking hold of the pendant and rubbing his thumb over the gem. Under his touch, the gem emits a faint glow, and as always, he can’t help but smile foolishly. “Usually I wouldn’t bring up other partners unless I was angling to invite them too – you can honeypot your way into things through multiple angles.”
“Thou art well-studied in espionage, as is known.” She drags the rumpled sheet over their forms.
“Fun fact, though: Sharlayan's training was quite light on the seduction techniques. Even the more practical of them were raised in a culture of asceticism. I learned all this in Ul’dah. And now I know it works on at least one Sharlayan scholar.”
“Mm.” One of her hands emerges from under the blanket to reach over and snuff out the lantern, then retreats to wrap around him again.
“This was a fun way to spend the evening, though. It was a nice trip down memory lane. I got to pull out the old patter without mission stakes or youthful idiocy nipping at my heels, you know?” She tucks his head back under her chin, and he snuggles in close, kissing at her neck because that’s the part of her he can reach and he wants to kiss her. “And all in service of my lover. I don’t know if I’ve told you recently, but you truly are a fount of good ideas.”
“Thancred, my heart?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I love thee without end. I wouldst like to go to sleep forthwith.”
“Ah. To think I’m the one keeping us up with talking, for once.”
Urianger huffs drowsily. “I would fain argue that score but for the fact that I am spent. As I did say: sleep.”
He laughs softly. “Yes, darling.” He closes his eyes, and luxuriates in the warmth of her.
Another singular, beloved night. He wouldn’t change it for anything.