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As more time passes, the more the Melusines see the need to defy Lady Furina's firm instructions, and call Monsieur Neuvillette to assist her through her heat.
The Melusines have perceived weeks before today that something like this was about to come. There was Lady Furina's increasing appetite and growing irritability, as well as the slight increase of her body temperature— noticeable to the Melusines when they came close to her. Everyone knew these as the telltale signs of an omega about to go to heat.
But despite the Melusines noticing these, the possibility was easy to dismiss: Lady Furina had not gone into heat in decades.
It is something that comes with age. Young unbonded omegas tend to go into heat frequently, their bodies making themselves more inviting to possible mates. Once they are bonded to someone, the frequency of their heat cycles becomes more manageable; their bodies start to focus less on inviting possible mates, and more on preparing for a child with their chosen one. Then, as they grow past their prime, it slows down, until they eventually stop having cycles.
With how long it had been since Lady Furina's last heat, everyone thought she could not have one anymore. After all, omega as she is, she is also immortal. Although Lady Furina's body should still be strong enough to handle pregnancy, they supposed her instincts had realized that there was no pressing need for a being like Lady Furina to reproduce, so there was no need for her to regularly experience the frenzy of a heat. Albeit baseless (as there is little research about immortal omegas), they thought it was a sensible conclusion.
But apart from that, the Melusines had other reasons to believe that Lady Furina's symptoms were not because of an upcoming heat. For the past few months, the threat of the prophecy has been looming over every Fontainian's heads— but especially over the Lady's and the Iudex's, who, in their respective ways, have been trying to come up with solutions for it. It has been stressful for the both of them— on Lady Furina, more noticeably so. Although she still partakes in the various activities she enjoys, a constant hint of agitation has been visible on her person. The usual sweetness of her scent has been tinged with the sourness of distress.
As Lady Furina's mate, Monsieur Neuvillette has been the most conscious of this. He could not only scent the distress from her, but also feel it himself, from the bond that connects their instincts. He could perhaps even feel more than just the distress. Perhaps he could also feel the presence of the Lady's secrets— secrets that he does not have the wisdom to fathom.
Centuries have passed since they bonded. Their relationship was no longer as thrilling as it had been when it began, and despite the bond that entwined their beings, they have learned to navigate separate lives. Still they were mates— the closest confidantes the both of them could ever have— and there was little space for secrets between them. One could suppose that their passion for each other has already faded over time— but surely, not the trust? What could be keeping Lady Furina from telling her mate her troubles, especially when they not only concerned her, but also the nation they ruled together?
Monsieur Neuvillette has asked this countless times during their conversations.
This, then, has led to countless arguments.
Everyone speaks of the unparalleled intensity of a bonded pair's love, but rarely does anyone speak of the similar intensity of their disputes. A bond harmonizes the souls and synchronizes the hearts; if a pair could be in such a state of agreement, then how much force does it take to resist this? An amount enough to suppress the soul, rip the heart? Whenever their conversations escalate, and the Lady ends up raising her voice— how much of her screams is out of the demand for the Monsieur to listen, and how much of it is out of the pain that flares in their bond? Their fights are already painful things to listen to; it is unimaginable how much worse it could be for the pair directly involved.
The most recent one happened yesterday, when the tragedy in Poisson prompted Monsieur Neuvillette to discuss the prophecy with Lady Furina again. He was firmer, this time— the loss of so many lives at once driving him more desperate for answers. He no longer asked; he no longer pleaded. Instead, he was resolute: "We did not arrive in time to avert this disaster, and I will not have it happen again.
"I will say this once more: you must tell me everything you know."
"Must I, now?" Lady Furina replied, her pitch much higher than usual. In retrospect, the fact that her attention zeroed to the Monsieur's choice of words— over everything else, considering the context of the conversation— should have been taken as the most telling indication that things were about to tip over. "We have talked about this many times before, and you already know my answer. So for today, your way to go is to tell me I must give in, is that it? A change in strategy, to see if it would work this time?"
"Lady Furina, considering the state of affairs, we cannot allow this impasse between us to continue—"
"What's next, then? You're going to use your big alpha voice on me?"
"I do not intend to resort to such— tactics— that would grossly undermine your control of yourself."
"And yet you bring up the damned bond in every of these conversations." Lady Furina laughed humorlessly. "By heavens, how many times have you staked your claim on the secrets I hold just because I have your mark on my skin?"
"It is not that I stake a claim; it is that I do not understand your need to hold back from me, when I can sense from the bond—"
"I am your archon, Neuvillette, with faculties beyond the animal you seem to think of me as!" Lady Furina snapped. "In this world beyond mere instincts, you are not my alpha; you are my subordinate, and you follow my lead! You already know that I am working on solving this crisis; what more involvement do you think you're entitled to?"
"I swore in your name to serve the people of Fontaine to the best of my abilities," Monsieur Neuvillette answered. "In matters such as solving the prophecy, I simply think it best for more minds to be involved. This is not a burden you have to carry alone, Lady Furina; I could be of help."
A beat. "You don't trust me."
"I do," came the immediate answer.
Lady Furina huffed. "Oh, please. I can tell with absolute certainty whenever you're lying. Do you need me to tell you how?"
The conversation continued, in a quieter manner that the Melusines could no longer hear from outside the door. Yet they knew that this quietness was not out of calm, but dejection. After a while, Lady Furina exited Monsieur Neuvillette's office. She requested a messenger to inform the Opera Epiclese that she was not feeling well enough to attend the day's show, then requested a servant to serve her favorite cakes to her chambers.
Later that night, from her room, Lady Furina was heard whimpering in pain. Those who noticed immediately called the Melusines to conduct their diagnosis. "You are in heat, madame," one announced. "Shall we send for Monsieur Neuvillette?"
The Lady's answer was clear despite her breathlessness, "No, no." Her eyes were dazed and half-lidded, but they briefly lit with determination as she gave her order, "I absolutely prohibit him to be near even the door of my chambers. Do you hear me? This is not a matter that needs the attention of the Iudex."
Although this was an unusual request from an omega in heat, the Melusines were hardly surprised by this, and could do nothing but agree to her wishes. Satisfied, she then requested for more pillows and blankets, which she piled on her bed to her liking. She surrounded herself with these, wrapping some of the blankets tightly around her curled body as if to replicate an embrace. She formed a nest without any touch of alpha— one that was more typical to freshly-presented omegas than those of Lady Furina's caliber.
As much as the Melusines believed in the strength of Lady Furina's character, it was highly doubtful that such a nest would be enough to help her through the entirety of her heat. For young omegas, that— and some stimulation to oneself— is enough, but bonded omegas needed more than just simulations of pleasure. After all, they already have their mates, who are expected to attend to their needs. So, when these needs are not met, the bonded omega's body could not possibly find its rest; their instincts would insistently urge, urge, until paid attention to.
That was clear enough, just by taking into account the almost oppressive density of Lady Furina's scent in the room. And even though the Lady tried her best to hide it, she must feel hot and heavy all over; she must experience a severe pain in her groin, made even more uncomfortable by the continuous dripping of the fluids down her thighs. At one point, some paraphernalia were brought in and offered to the Lady, so she could help herself find some relief— but even these, she rejected; she was resolute in defying her instincts. Because of this, the Melusines decided to just take turns in wiping the Lady's body with cold water, in hopes of at least helping her with one of her symptoms.
While it was not easy, everyone eventually fell into a routine that helped Lady Furina survive the night without her mate. However, new problems arose today— the second day of the Lady's heat, when the frenzy was expected to hit her in full force.
She must have awoken in worse pains this morning, because she can no longer hide the discomfort from her figure. Upon entry of the Melusine tasked to wipe Lady Furina's body, the Lady is found curled into herself even more— her brows furrowed and her jaw slackened by a quiet scream. The scent that flooded the room has grown sharper with desperation— that even some Melusines, despite their higher tolerance to these scents compared to humans— can no longer bear the suffocation.
"Should we really let this continue as it does?" one asks. "I understand the Lady's refusal to engage in... intimacy, considering the current circumstances of their relationship, but— even Monsieur Neuvillette's mere presence would already be of huge help. If nothing for her instinctive desires, it would at least alleviate her pains."
Another sighs. "It is Lady Furina's orders."
"But— forgive me for saying this, but— the Lady no longer seems to be of sound mind, and I'm afraid it's only going to get worse from this point on..."
As they continue their watch on her, the Melusines sense it— the way Monsieur Neuvillette's name almost slips out in the Lady's pained gasps every now and then. She holds back, however— clenches her jaw and endures, despite her instinctive yearning for her alpha. This perseverance is almost commendable, if it is not worrisome. Yes, her mind might be able to handle this for a while longer— but how about her body? How much longer can her body allow her to ignore its needs?
How much longer until it... gives out?
For the first time in the history of Palais Mermonia, doubtful whispers about the immortality of their goddess reverberated within its walls. Because if Lady Furina is not above the pains brought by a suppressed heat, who can be certain that she is above its long-term consequences? Put into that perspective, it is difficult to dismiss her current condition as something that does not require further attention. The archon's wellbeing is the nation's wellbeing.
Lady Furina claims that an omega in heat is not something that requires the Iudex's concern, but surely, the nation's wellbeing is? Surely that is reason enough to bring this matter to Monsieur Neuvillette's attention?
But alas, a few moments later, the Melusines discover there is no need for them to contemplate further on that.
Everything happens quickly. One moment, Monsieur Neuvillette is at the other end of the hallway; the next, he is right outside the Lady's door, expression wild and pupils blown wide as he looks at the Melusines guarding the Lady's chambers. The Monsieur is generally mindful in controlling his scent— something he deems necessary to maintain his appearance of impartiality— but now, the density of his rainwater scent makes the Melusines feel as though a big storm is coming. An aura unmistakably alpha emanates from his person. It is only the Melusines' different body constitution that keeps them from cowering in submission, keeps their heads level enough to answer his question—
"Where is Furina?"
"The Lady prohibits anyone else from entering her chambers, Monsieur."
It seems a confirmation of her whereabouts is all the Monsieur needs. Sidestepping the Melusine obstructing his way, he all but shatters the door as he rushes into the Lady's chamber.
Upon entry, he pauses. Staggers in his steps.
Tenses, as he slowly inhales the thick scent that fills the Lady's room, creamy with her need but also tangy with her discomfort— a combination admittedly unpleasant for the Melusines, but for the Monsieur, it must be...
On his side, his hand trembles.
Yet still, while attempting to be as calm as he could be, he walks toward the Lady, sits on her bed, and carefully tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
The Lady stirs, but it appears she no longer has the presence of mind to acknowledge— let alone protest against— the Monsieur's presence. Upon feeling the fleeting touch of the Monsieur on her skin, she simply snuggles more into the pillow in her arms, her eyes remaining shut. The frown on her face remained. It had, however, softened a little.
The Melusine tasked to wipe Lady Furina's body stands by the bedside, holding a basin of water with a sponge. Monsieur Neuvillette, quickly understanding what they are intended for, takes them from her. He lightly pats the damp sponge on the Lady's forehead.
"When did it start?"
"Last night, Monsieur," the Melusine answers. "Although the Lady has been showing symptoms for quite some time now. We simply hadn't thought it might be..."
The Melusine trails off, but the Monsieur nods in understanding. He continues wiping the Lady's forehead, down to the exposed parts of her neck, her arm. His movements were gentle, but he gripped the sponge as if directing there all the tension in his person, all the agitation he keeps himself from outwardly showing. He swallows thickly.
"And she refused to request my aid?"
It takes a few moments before the Melusine answers, "We apologize. We were simply following the Lady's orders."
The Monsieur sighs. "It's nothing for you to apologize for. Thank you for attending to Furina in my stead." he says. "You must be tired; please get some rest. I can take it from here."
As much as she believes Monsieur Neuvillette to be trustworthy, the Melusine hesitates to follow his request, in fear that leaving Lady Furina with him might only cause the Lady distress, once she regains enough presence of mind to understand what is currently happening.
The Monsieur seems to sense this. "I will not do anything to deliberately... upset her, if that's what you're worried about," he says. "In any case, you may station some of your peers right outside the door, should Furina need further assistance. But the rest of you, I assume you've had a long night. Please, take care of yourselves as well."
The Melusine considers it. Then, after a while, she obliges, tells the Monsieur the routines they have so far established to ensure the Lady's comfort during her predicament. She reiterates how unusual it is, for a bonded omega to opt for such a treatment during their heat, and how it cannot possibly be easy for Lady Furina to endure all of these; but she also emphasizes, "Your mere presence as the Lady's mate should, at least, provide her considerable relief."
"I'll keep these in mind," Monsieur Neuvillette says. "Thank you."
The Melusine takes that as the cue to leave. But before she can finally exit the door, she manages to see Lady Furina awakening again. The Lady opens her eyes, blinking slowly at first— then eventually, she notices the new presence of her alpha sitting on her bed.
The Melusine braces for a reprimand for failing to adhere to the Lady's command, but it never comes. Instead, the Lady only looks at the Monsieur, then the basin in his hand.
"It's you..." the Lady murmurs. She straightens her face and her figure on the bed, attempting to conceal her discomfort. Then, she chuckles softly. "Does it please you? To see me with no choice but cling to your grasp?"
She speaks in a dry, bitter tone. But the scent that fills the room has shifted— its sourness mellowed, its depth more pronounced. It mingles with the Monsieur's scent in a perfectly complementary manner— the way scents of all bonded pairs are known to do; the way Lady Furina and Monsieur Neuvillette's scents used to always do, long, long ago.
Certain old memories have been revisiting Neuvillette in his sleep lately.
Their presence does not last long. Whenever Neuvillette wakes up, everything gets forgotten— and only the ache in his heart, the fire in his blood, prove that these were here, present, if even for a fleeting moment.
He has wondered if these were from the beast he used to be, once upon a time, letting its presence deep within him known. He has wondered if these mean anything substantial. Does the beast nudge him because it longs to be unleashed? Does it long to reconnect to the Authority once his, that now exists within the Hydro Archon's person? Tragedies have befallen Fontaine, have rendered Neuvillette desperate despite his attempt to collect himself. Is the resurfacing of his old memories, then, a manifestation of the worries he suppresses?
That was the easy conclusion to make. After all, a part of him knows that he could solve Fontaine's crisis if his full elemental Authority were to be returned to him. It was not a course of action he would ever consider— but perhaps there was his instinct, or some irrationality within him that he cannot control, that insists regardless.
However, Neuvillette doubts this easy conclusion is the correct one to make. Because if these memories were brought simply by his desperation to save Fontaine's people— then why is there a part of his soul that flares every time he wakes up from these dreams?
And why is it always the part of his soul... that he has long ceded to someone else?
Certain old memories have been revisiting Neuvillette in his sleep lately, and he always remembers none of them upon waking up. Right now, as he sits on Furina's bed and tends to her burning fever, he feels as if this is another of those— a memory that would slip from his grasp, if he does not hold on tightly enough.
As if in a dream, Neuvillette has been functioning on autopilot. It is only muscle memory— the centuries of training in human etiquette, now ingrained in his flesh— that allows him to act suitably. In truth, he barely grasps what is happening around him, barely even remembers the conversations he just held with the Melusines.
None of it registers to him; none of it matters.
None, except the sharp, intoxicating scent of his mate in need— luring him, pulling him, tempting him with pleasures he has long forgotten to even fantasize of. It makes his blood rush, his flesh itch— and in this long stagnant life he leads, haven't such sensations become treasures in their rarity? And is it not within his right, to cherish treasure, above all else?
But this thrill of being next to his mate is not all that takes his senses away; to say so would be simplistic. More important than these temporary sensations is the warmth that swells their mating bond, filling the gaps in his soul and completing him. This is the state that his being should be; this is his home— and now that he is here he cannot fathom how he ever let himself be taken anywhere else.
Does it please him, Furina asked, seconds, moments— how long has it been?— ago. What a laughable question. This is their home; does it not please her too?
But his mouth moves in a different manner, to respond something more... appropriate. Muscle memory. "I will stay here until you feel better."
Furina scoffs again. "And considering the situation at hand, how exactly do you think this 'feeling better' can happen, hm?"
Along with her words was a flash of hotness in their bond— the unpleasant kind. The wounding kind, except with how often he has been feeling it in their bond he has become immune; it has become familiar.
After a moment, she shifts on the bed again. Lets out a sigh. The hotness in the bond mellows; then, it fills with something... heavy. Neuvillette does not have a name for this— this emotion he does not remember feeling from her before— but he can sense it as something... Furina should not have to carry alone.
"This is preposterous," she says. "With all the challenges transcended by humankind how is it that something as inconvenient and useless as this still—"
Neuvillette tells himself that he is used to this particular way she talks about their bond. Yet still. Still...
He pats the wet sponge on her neck. Tries not to let her words echo in his head.
Inconvenient, useless.
He pats, pats some more.
"Ah, stop that already!" Furina pushes his hand away. "You don't need to look after me like this; I'm not a sick child."
"You're not," Neuvillette agrees. Adds, "I want to."
"You don't."
Neuvillette tenses, grits his teeth, before forcing himself to calm down. He doesn't, she claims, because what? Because his care for her is instinctual; therefore it is unreal?
This again?
Ah, maybe Neuvillette was wrong; no matter how often it happens, he can never be used to the way Furina belittles his concern for her. He almost prepares himself for a confrontation— for they always spiral into one whenever instincts are brought into their conversations.
To his surprise however, Furina only gently takes the sponge to her hand, then drops it into the basin. "This is not what you want."
Neuvillette does not quite understand at first— until Furina's scent in the room intensifies, sweetens, sings for all his blood to rush down. Yet at the same time, the bond again grows heavier with her emotion. He still cannot name it, but its potency is so... affecting, that Neuvillette finds his heart filling with its weight as well...
At that moment, they dawn on him— what she means, and more importantly, what she feels. Regret.
"Furina." He almost chokes. Whether from the desire that makes his mouth water, or the tightening of his throat, he can no longer tell. "That— that is not what you want."
"But you're in pain!" she snaps. Neuvillette does not think so— not anymore— but Furina must know, that it was not just her who was sleepless last night, that although she tried her best to keep her predicament from him, with their bond there was no way for her to truly hide. "You always suffer as much pain as I do. I always hurt you. I'm always angry, and— and secretive, but no matter how much I know you hate it, I can't ever push you away, because you're linked to my soul whether you want it or not!"
She stops. Takes a few deep breaths. Tears well in her eyes, and Neuvillette gets stunned by this— this show of vulnerability that he had not seen from her for long. His heart stings. Yet somewhere deep within, the alpha in him could not resist to preen, could not resist to be pleased in seeing her usual strength of character dissipate. So trusting and broken, only for him to see— ah, Neuvillette needs to divert himself. He places the basin on Furina's bedside table.
"I can't save you from me," she whispers.
Neuvillette feels... wild. "I don't need saving."
"This bond hurts you."
Yes, she has just said that. Why does she keep noting this? Such is the nature of bonds; that is already a given. "Furina." He cups her tear-stained cheek and looks straight to her eyes, hoping that this makes his sincerity clear enough. "I want you."
"So take me." Furina's voice takes on an edge of desperation, her resolve renewed. Her scent takes on a deeper note again— and Neuvillette knows that this is purely physiological, but he cannot help thinking that she is doing this on purpose, knowingly and effectively driving him insane.
Suddenly... suddenly, everything about this feels ridiculous. Why does he continue adhering to human logic, to human restraint? It is only him and her in this room. There are no images to maintain, no humans to worry about.
His patience is thinning. His head feels so, so light.
"Take me like how your instincts have been telling you to. Hurt me like I've been hurting you. For once, don't allow me to hold you back, and show me exactly what you truly want—!"
Instincts, hurt.
This again.
This is ridiculous. All of this. How does she ask him to show her what he wants, all while she resists and pushes him away? Surely she must know how those contradict. Surely she must— Neuvillette's head stops working, and he kisses her, releases into her pretty mouth all the tension he could no longer articulate. He resists the urge to bite her, resists to let his anger show.
Instincts, hurt.
She always regards their bond like it is dirty. Like it was a mistake, and not borne out of the devotion they had for each other centuries ago. They have felt it, the extraordinary connection between them, even before they decided to tie their souls together. It was a gift, a solace, a force only they could wield against the heavens who cursed them with the everlasting loneliness of immortality.
Yet she dares to treat it with such flippancy. Inconvenient, useless, hurt, hurt—
hurt—
Her voice keeps on echoing in his head, and— ah, Neuvillette keeps the motion of his mouth fluid, gentle despite its firmness. He would not hurt her. Not when that is exactly what she wants him to do.
Her mouth starts slackening, so he lets it go, and moves downward to her neck, to where her scent is concentrated. Presses his nose there, allows its warmth to fill him, sustain him like it has always been meant to. Here, it does not hurt. His mark is here, somewhere, so he darts his tongue out, tastes her skin and tries to locate the scar.
She writhes beneath him. And as she pants, as she cards her fingers to his hair, she says, "It's fading." The mark used to be prominent— a scar that Neuvillette could feel protruding from her skin. But because of the decades that it was untouched, it has started to flatten. "They say bond marks are everlasting, for once we choose a mate it is meant to last a lifetime." She pauses, cranes her neck to give him easier access. "Maybe for immortals it's different."
She still writhes against him— and this makes Neuvillette's anger flare even more, this blatant display of her sensitivity, her pleasure from being scented by her alpha. How can she say such things when she is this desperate for his touch? She is not merely making an observation; she is hoping for it to be true. Like she has not been audacious enough, she dares to express a desire to break free, to detach from him for good.
"Maybe for us, it can fade to inexistence, if we're separated for long enough."
"Stop it." He snarls, pinning her shameless, wanton hips in place.
"Maybe we should let it. That's the only way left for you to be saved—"
"I said stop it." He raises his head, and with another hand holds Furina's jaw to make her face him. She goes limp immediately, and that is how he realized the tone his voice has unconsciously taken: What's next, then? You're going to use your big alpha voice on me? Back then, he promised to not resort to such tactics. Yet now, knowingly, he continues, "You will stop saying such nonsense, Furina."
"It's not—" She swallows. Conflict flashes in her eyes. "It's not 'nonsense'."
The feisty little thing still finds a loophole to resist her alpha's command. No matter; she still will not be able to do much. "It is." Neuvillette lets her jaw go, scents her neck again. "Should I tell you why?"
Furina does not respond; she only cranes her neck for him. See?
"Because I won't let you 'let it'." As he speaks, his lips touch a textured part of her skin— ah, there it is, his mark. He plants a kiss there, sucks a bruise.
"Ah—! Neuvi—"
"No matter how you justify it, I won't let you." Furina keeps— fuck, Furina keeps moving, keeps responding to his touch, keeps making him lose his mind. But he cannot fully feel her, with the thin fabric covering her body. "Especially when you justify it as some sick, twisted way of saving me."
"It's not—" Neuvillette rips her clothes out of her, and she gasps. "Ah— it's not s-sick, please—"
"You're expressing a desire to carve yourself out of my soul." He slots his knee between her bare thighs, lowers his mouth to her breasts. "Which part of that is not sick, not outright cruel?"
"It's only for the best— Neuvillette, Neuvillette—" He has brought his mouth around her nipple, and she tugs at his hair for it, her back arching. "That h-hurts, please, slow down—!"
Neuvillette's mouth is not applying much force— he holds back from doing so— but Furina has been more sensitive, that even just a little stimulation to her breasts must feel like too much. Yet despite her complaint, she still gets so wet from where his knee touches her. She still keeps rubbing herself to his pants, keeps drenching it with her slick.
And after just a while more of latching his mouth on her— her hips stutter, and their bond fills with relief.
Neuvillette feels like burning. "That easy?" He bites the side of her breast, just a little, just because he can— and delights in the soft moan it brings out of her, the pain she causes his scalp as she pulls his hair.
But when he meets her eyes, he sees conflict— a tinge of pain that he knows is not from the physical sensations she feels, but from somewhere deep within. In the bond, he senses guilt. His heart aches. Despite just taunting her, he finds himself unable to handle the idea of his mate possibly feeling guilt, or shame, from enjoying a pleasure she rightfully deserves. So he kisses her again, and runs his hands on her body as if to soothe.
If he fondles a little too forcefully, it is only due to the irresistible warmth of her body, soft and in so much need.
Neuvillette's cock hurts.
"You, you can put it in," Furina whispers against his mouth. Her orgasm has made her softer, a little less resolute... Her thighs spread further apart. "That's what you want, isn't it? I'll take it, I'll take it for you, please...”
Oh, Neuvillette does want it. Wants it so badly, that now that Furina permits him to do so he rises immediately and pulls down his pants, lifts her thighs and parts the lips, watches how she gapes around nothing and spurts more and more globs of her slick—
—her slick, so heady and potent—
He cannot resist it. He brings her thighs up his face and slurps. Laves his tongue over the slick that has dried up on the lips, the crook of her ass, her inner thighs. Savors the rich, tangy flavor that bursts in his mouth. There is so— so much— of her slick here, and it almost drives Neuvillette mad, knowing that all of this is so she can take him— so he can enjoy her to the fullest extent.
He barely holds back the animalistic greed in him that tells him to bite off, chew, and drink the blood that would spill from the wound, drain her until she goes limp and pliant to his will. Her flesh would be tender, her fluids the most appetizing he could ever have in his mouth. The mark he would leave the most indelible proof of his ownership— one that cannot be denied even by her strongest resistance to the pulls of their bond. How would she writhe, how would she whimper? How would she grip the sheets, or his head, or anything she could reach, anything that could counter the sensations that would surely overwhelm her? The sheets beneath her are already almost torn from her clawing. Her whines are already music to his ears. Yet still, he wants more, more, more.
Furina's hips buck against his mouth, and their bond fills with warmth again— she has not come again yet, no, but she is so close, so affected by the depth of Neuvillette's desire that she could surely feel too. She wants it. The beast that she tries so hard to suppress wants it, aches for it— for her to be consumed until there is nothing left of her.
Ah, he is not supposed to hurt her, he reminds himself. Not when she sees his desires as inherently punitive, inherently cruel. But the line between pain and pleasure has been blurring in his head, so he cannot help it— cannot help grazing his teeth against her clit, just lightly, and delighting in the scream it brings out of her. Almost as if she can imagine, just from that, how it could feel if he actually bit. He is not supposed to hurt her, so he wraps his lips around it, soothes it with a kiss; sucks, flicks his tongue over it, as if to distract from the pain that is not there in the first place.
It is with that that she clenches her thighs around his face and comes a second time, spurting more slick against him. It drips down his chin, his neck— and he hums, pleased by what a darling she is being for him. He is so hard. He needs to get in her tight, wet heat; fuck her senseless and knot her full— has she not already permitted him to do that, earlier? But his mouth cannot let her go. How he wishes there could be a way for him to savor her taste and her tightness at the same time. How he wishes—
Furina whines, tries to pull her hips away from his hold, and— fine, Neuvillette lets go. He lets her relax, steady her breath. He intends to give her a few moments of rest, get her comfortable again before returning to doing what he wants— but it turns out there is no need for that. Mere seconds later, Furina herself is reaching out, inviting him for a kiss, an embrace that he so gladly gives to her. She even claws at his shirt, to which he responds immediately by taking it off, allowing her to freely explore. Her touch feels adoring, perhaps even reverent— and Neuvillette so desperately wishes it to be proof that she has moved past her nonsense, hopes for it to be proof of her honest desires.
A moment later, her hand is moving down, touching, feeling, until—
Neuvillette tenses in surprise. His mouth drops, and when he meets Furina's eyes he sees how she struggles to keep her heavy lids open, all so she can watch him as she strokes. His cheeks heat up. She is so sweet; he can probably come from this alone— but he does not want that. He only wants to release inside her, so he pulls her hand away, presses a kiss on its back before pinning it next to her head.
Furina gasps. "Inside now," she says, breathless; "Inside, please, please please—"
How else is Neuvillette supposed to respond to such pleading? Without further ado, he lifts her thigh up, angles himself, and shoves— sighing in relief now that he finally, finally feels her around him. It has been so long; he has almost forgotten how good this feels like— how velvety, how hot. She makes tiny little squeezes as he pushes in, and it is titillating— as early as now he already feels his knot itching to plug her, and it is taking so much of his strength to not give in this early.
Thrusting into her feels like being welcomed home— almost as homely as scenting her and letting her pheromones fill his senses. But even more thrilling than that is the idea, that after a long long time he finally gets to claim her again deep within. He finally gets to carve a space for himself, not just in her soul, but also in her flesh— a mark as deep as their humanlike bodies can allow. He finally gets to breed her, the way proper mates should— ah, she just throbbed at that. She likes that, does she not? Likes the idea, as much as he does, of her being filled to the brim with his seed, over and over, until she gets round and full with child. He can imagine it, how lovely she will look pregnant. She will be chubby and glowing; she will be so—
"Neuvillette...!" Furina cries out, shutting her eyes. "Hng, t-too much, too much..." Neuvillette's pace is slow and steady; he is sure it is not what overwhelms her— especially when he feels her guilt again, intermingling with her pleasure.
"What's too much?" Neuvillette murmurs as he observes her face, the changes in the bond. Her guilt intensifies, yet she still yearns for it— for the image he has procured of a family, for the sense of home he made her feel through their connection.
Furina angles her face away, trying to hide— yet this only exposes the long, inviting line of her neck, with marks and blemishes too light and too few. Ah, that will not do. She needs to be marked more, so Neuvillette leans down, presses his nose there, suckles on the scar and forms another bruise.
Immediately, Furina is writhing beneath him, on the verge of another orgasm— audaciously taking her pleasure even as she refuses to answer his question. Earlier, she acted as if letting him fuck her was a favor to him and to him alone, a way for her to give him what he wants. Now what Neuvillette wants is her answer, yet there is nothing.
He considers stopping his thrusts— to punish her, make her beg for the pleasure only he can ever give her. But he can admit that even he no longer has the self-control for that. That would be as much punishment to him as it would be to her.
For the past decades, they have inflicted upon each other enough pain, enough deprivation.
Now, he only wants his home.
"That too, is what you want." There is no more need to say more, for their respective songs already harmonize in the bond of their souls. Still, Neuvillette wants her beyond these instincts, wants to hear the music straight out of her lips. "Why do you deprive yourself so?"
"It’s not— I don't—"
"Why do you lie?" Neuvillette thrusts deeper. She whines— ah, the ache in his abdomen is truly building into something significant, now, and he could barely control how he pants against her neck. Once again he plants a kiss on his mark— and for the first time in a long, long while, he feels the urge—
to—
He swallows thickly.
That would hurt her.
Bond marks hurt. There is a reason why it is only made once in a lifetime; why it is made in between throes of passion, when pains can be alleviated. But for Furina, renewing the bond would be more than the physical pain it would entail. Maybe for us, it can fade to inexistence.
If he bites, she would shriek— and it would not be just because of the burn, but also out of protest, of horror.
It would sound lovely.
And all of a sudden, Furina comes.
"You..." He's breathless, at a loss for words, lost in the sensations and the sweet, sweet scent that comes from her neck. Just like that, how could she— why would she—? He struggles to form his words. Then, he realizes: "You'd like it... if I bite."
He grazes his teeth against her scar, and feels her tremble— out of fear, out of anticipation that she tries so hard to conceal. Ah, she wants to be claimed, to be reminded of who she belongs to. Then…
"My lady." She has not answered his question. He asks again: "Why do you deprive yourself so?"
Furina's eyes are shut now, and she is limp in his hold, completely open for his taking. Slightly she tilts her head— and Neuvillette takes the access, rolls the skin of her neck between his teeth.
She anticipates the burn of a bite already— and she tenses, digs her nails to his back: "Please, I—!"
But the pain does not come, not yet. So she breathes deeply, relaxes again— all while regret floods in their bond once more. It is heavy, and it flows, threatening to burst as tears in both of their eyes.
"I, I already allow myself, so much..."
Neuvillette continues suckling on the scar, the taste of her blood already blooming on his mouth, and bringing him closer, closer...
He still remembers it, the very moment they decided to tie their souls together. By the sea, kissed by the cold breeze and warmed by each other's bodies, far away from any eyes that could see. Furina and he had read all sorts of literature about the bond, and they had anticipated the pain its creation would cause the both of them.
But they were not afraid. They would share the pain, and they were not alone— would never again be, after the bond is formed— so they were not afraid.
How did they get here, today?
"I'm always afraid..." Furina whispers, voice broken, as her face crumples and her hands clutches him tighter. "There was nothing, before you— but now you're here, and I'm so, so afraid..."
Tears roll down her eyes, as well as his.
These are not quite the answers Neuvillette sought. But all he needs is that, and he has never been more certain. "I'm here," he agrees. "And I share your fears with you."
Furina shakes her head— gasping, sobbing, now.
"You don't have to carry your burdens on your own."
"I do," Furina insists. "You don't— you don't understand—"
"I won't let you." Neuvillette gently digs his teeth into her neck— not quite biting yet, but the threat of it becomes more real by the second. He expects protest from her— against his words or his actions— but it never comes. Instead, to his surprise, she only cranes her neck further, and slowly quiets her sobs.
In their synchronized hearts, the storm calms down.
Everything becomes clear— like the skies that day, centuries ago, when they made the promise that altered the course of their lives forever.
Neuvillette bites.
And as blinding heat courses through his senses, his mate's scream a dull sound amidst his own agony— he sharply remembers.
At night, this is what he dreams of:
A time, long ago, when he was a wild animal, all instinct and no soul—
Furina in front of him, gracious and captivating and full of stories—
A dragon possesses. An alpha claims.
But humans, he learned back then, are different.
In the stories she expressed, Furina, too, had her dreams:
“Humans make vows in the name of the heavens: for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health… With god and the state as their witnesses, they profess to cherish and love their spouse as long as they both live.”
With the length of time he had spent with her, Neuvillette had already learned to decipher her tone.
“You are a god, Focalors,” he had said. “Why do you yearn for such ceremonies?”
Furina had only smiled at that— sweet, genuine, the sort that has not been directed to him in decades. And for the first time in Neuvillette’s life, he experienced longing— to entwine with her soul, and know.
“My mate,” he whispers, her blood on his lips, a vow. “My wife.”
He does not dream of power, Authority, or destruction. Every night, before he sleeps, all he mutters are prayers to his God, that She may protect the peace of his slumber— and She grants them, every time, accompanies him in his sleep to return his love, passion, and devotion.
At night, there is no distance, no arguments, no decades of cold between them.
“Alpha,” she whispers back, reverent— and that is what pushes him past the glittering edge, makes his head float as he spills ropes and ropes of his spend in her willing body. The pain of the freshly-renewed bond transforms into something sweeter. As the base of his cock swells and plugs her, she trembles— the pleasure coursing through her sharp in the open wound they share. It jolts him, like he has come again, so he licks her spilled blood and kisses her mouth.
Neuvillette is used to his dreams ending in heartache.
He wants to believe that this would be different.
Yet as they both get down from their high, something melancholic flares in their bond, and Furina grips him, fearful once more.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters.
Neuvillette’s embrace tightens. The renewed bond does not reveal her secrets, but maybe for now, it does not have to. “I’m here,” he says.
“I know,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
Neuvillette feels like a newborn— tender, scaleless, and bare. Furina is sound asleep in his hold, her back flush to his chest. Her renewed scar is distracting in its allure, and he tries not to stare at it, lest he awakens his instinct and interrupts her rest.
But mutual passion flows freely in the path that entwines their souls, and Furina wakes nonetheless, her scent sweetening at the suppressed attentions of her alpha.
Slightly she turns her head and reaches for his mouth. Her heat has mellowed, but has not fully subsided, and the kiss reignites the fire, so she clutches what she could reach of him— his arm, his hand—
She pauses. Rubs her thumb on his third finger.
Something heavy weighs on their bond upon her realization of what is there— but this time, it is not guilt, or regret, but something affectionate. A heart so full it aches.
He kisses her again. Her ring is not on her finger. Her more public role in Fontaine precludes her from displaying where her loyalties lie. But for Neuvillette, it is his loyalty that defines his vocation— and as he stands in court, everyday, he wears the reminder under his glove, feeling it in his every movement.
In the same way, she wears his mark on her skin, beneath all her clothes.
No further words have to be spoken. Everything is out in the open, like this, and the river from their hearts courses through each other and nourishes, warms. Furina sits atop Neuvillette and deepens their kiss, returning the both of them to a state of frenzy they cannot resist. Their scents mingle, dense in the air, like a blanket that encloses them from the world.
Tomorrow, when all of these subside, things will return to the state they used to be.
But today, it is only him, his mate, and the vows they have made, the vows they have renewed.
Like this, they find themselves home.