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"The midday Highwinds airship from Ul'dah is now arriving." The Highwinds attendant lowered her voice slightly, gestured to the open archway behind her. "The balcony offers an excellent view if you'd care to observe the landing."
And with that she was gone - down the stairs, to attend to her duties at the airship dock beneath the Carline Canopy.
Braya had nothing better to do. It was a lazy day off for the Conjurer - she had spent the morning teleporting around the Shroud, checking likely locations and asking the locals if they'd seen a unicorn, to no avail. One day, the rare beast would turn up. She knew it. She felt it. Until then, poking about on her days off was good exercise. The Shroud was beautiful, and the people she talked to had occasional need of a healer. Information was a small price to pay for house calls; the Conjurer remained confident that one day, the elegant beast would enter the information net she had cast throughout the forest.
The brunette Midlander slurped down her soup in a very unladylike, very expedient fashion. She placed a few coins on the table, stood, nodded to the Miqo'te waitress that had served her the bowl, and made her way to the balcony with a few other customers.
The Highwinds Bronco was slowly descending into view as she took her place on the balcony. There was the usual waving and yelling; the joy of couples about to reunite, the squeal of children awaiting one parent with another. There were a number of passengers on the airship - most of them waving, most of them excited or eager to land.
And there - at the railing. A familiar face, one arm tucked into his armored jacket. Darwin Miller. The scruffy, dark-haired Free Paladin.
A welcome surprise!
His attention seemed to be elsewhere. He didn't look down, he didn't wave, and as the airship lowered itself beneath the canopy, as it began to ease into the dock, he didn't look up. He didn't look at the crowd, he didn't see her. He didn't make eye contact.
Some part of her felt bad about that, in ways she had trouble controlling. She hadn't talked to him in suns; she had no idea what he was up to or where he had been, and yet... some part of her expected him to react to the sight of her on the balcony. Some part of her wanted to be waiting for him, wanted him to be eager to see her again.
Some part of her hoped he'd be as happy to see her as she was to see him.
She moved inside, stood near the top of the stairwell. She gazed down past the ticketing booth as a couple of eager families flowed past her, down the stairs. There was a loud wooden creak, the muffled bang of a gangway, and moments later passengers began to trickle into the departure lounge.
He was the last to disembark. He moved slowly, winced frequently. From where she stood he was clearly hurt, clearly in pain, and clearly doing a very bad job of hiding it. She flinched sympathetically as he waved off a concerned ticketing clerk.
She all but fell down the stairs in her rush to meet him.
"Darwin!" The strain in her voice surprised her.
"Braya!" His eyes lit up; he drew himself upwards, out of his customary slouch. He winced, hissed as he instinctively moved his right arm out from beneath his coat. He attempted a wave; he succeeded in showing her that his wrist was sprained, or broken. "Just the woman I was hoping to see!"
She was in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She was looking up at him earnestly, imploringly. She was wondering how he had hurt himself; she was wondering what his patchy stubble would feel like on her cheeks, on her neck, on her chest.
"You fool," she whispered crossly, "What have you done to yourself this time?"
"It's... nothing... that can't be fixed." The scruffy midlander hissed through a pained yet charming smile. Braya guided him out of the way, to a bench near the stairs. He looked it over, shook his head.
"The Guild, then," The Conjurer murmured insistently. "Do you think you can make it to the Aetheryte?"
Darwin nodded. "I'm in too much pain... for a long range... teleport. That's why I took the airship. Well... that, and it was up. Jenlys and his goons were down. We... ah... continued our disagreement, I guess you could say." He unceremoniously threw his damaged arm around Braya's shoulders. The broad brim of her floppy pointed hat bent, curled between his arm and the back of her neck as he leaned on her a little too heavily for her comfort. "I think I can manage a short hop through the local network. It's got to be easier than walking."
She'd carry him if she could. She'd try if she had to. She grabbed the middle of his forearm, held onto him tightly, as if he would drift away.
"Can't go back there for awhile, huh?" She guided him to the stairs, took them one at a time. They drew more than a few concerned looks; Braya smiled, nodded, subtly shook her head and mouthed I've got him to a fellow Conjurer heading down the stairs. "It's a long trip. Your wounds may be too old to heal."
"Can't go back there ever, I think. The city guard and the Immortal Flames don't mind me, but the Sultansworn... oof."
Braya didn't know if the exhalation referred to his nemesis or the fact they had reached the top of the stairs. Both, probably.
Darwin grunted, waved to Miounne with his good hand. The pale proprietress beamed, waved back at him. Worry rippled across her face as she glimpsed his limp wrist, his dangling hand. Her expression eased as she made eye contact with Braya; the Conjurer nodded to her, grimaced sheepishly as she guided the Free Paladin towards the entryway.
"You smell good," he murmured quietly, just loudly enough for her to hear.
She blushed brightly, resisted the urge to kiss him.
In a few minutes they'd have some privacy. Then. Then she could take her fill of him.
If he'd have her. She couldn't tell if he merely needed her help, or if he was open to something more.
Partway into the tunnel to the Conjurer's Guild, the Free Paladin's stiff gait rapidly became a limp.
"Ugh," Darwin groaned. "I am really starting to feel it."
"What did they do to you?" Braya fretted sympathetically.
"Oh, you know. Kicks. Punches. Harsh language." The scruffy Midlander grimaced. "After I dodged a blade I decided to find the quickest way out of the city." He winced, exhaled sharply. "It's... really starting to hurt."
"That's probably the adrenaline wearing off," the Conjurer sighed. "That makes my job a little easier, actually."
He smelled like sweat. She wanted him to bend her over right there, in the corridor. She didn't care who stumbled onto them. Under other circumstances the idea of putting on a show for E-Sumi-Yan may have horrified her, but right now... if he didn't need her help she'd be plucking at his buttons, tugging at his belt.
"How's that? Ow!" He tripped on a root, quickly recovered his balance.
She wobbled, did her best to hold him steady. "You're more likely to be honest, dearheart."
She moaned quietly as she realized that he needed her help, and she needed him.
They reached the door to the Guild. She guided him through, nodded urgently to the Conjurer behind the desk. She escorted him through the low swinging doorway as it opened, guided him into the back, to the exam rooms.
She guided him into an empty exam room, locked the door behind her. She helped him out of his jacket. Together they took slow care with the right sleeve, doing what they could to avoid his wrist. She doffed her hat, hung it over his coat on the hook behind the door. She smirked as she realized the symbolism, decided to leave things as they were.
He was in her hands, after all.
She approached closely, intimately, and began to slowly unbutton his shirt. He hooked his calves around her thighs, pressed gently, moaned softly as he tried to get comfortable without aggravating his injuries. She carefully spread open the linen, combed her fingertips over his hairy chest. She took stock of old scars, of the angry red blotches of fresh bruises.
She drew his shirt away, folded it, placed it on the exam room table next to the sink. She slipped into aethersight, watched his aether flow for a moment. She identified points of damage - his ribs, his right shoulder and wrist, his right knee - and took stock of their severity. He was surrounded by a subtle field of unfamiliar energy, a dim, slowly flickering light that swirled and knotted around his injuries.
She had watched him practice, had watched him train. With her eyes, and with her inner sight. "This isn't Iron Will," she gestured, waved an index finger around, indicating his torso, his shoulders. "It's not like your usual aether at all."
"It's... a variation on Superbollide," Darwin grunted, smiled thinly, painfully. "A Gunbreaker taught it to me. I didn't have anything else to do on the flight, so... I held myself in a kind of suspension. I did what I could to keep my injuries from aging." The injured man sighed; the field dissipated. Familiar patterns of aether began to emerge around his damaged tissues - the clock, ticking.
"...so I could heal you." Braya placed her hands on either side of his hips, looked up at him with a heated smile. "You kept yourself in pain so I could heal you."
Darwin nodded, leaned back, winced as he unintentionally put his weight on his injured wrist. "One of these days I'll figure out Clemency." He grinned weakly, nodded slowly. "Until then... you're the best at what you do, Braya. I wouldn't trust myself to anyone else." He leaned forward, kissed her forehead, her nose. His lips brushed hers gently, cautiously. He leaned back again, pressed his lips into a thin line, raised his eyebrows lasciviously.
"Not even E-Sumi-Yan?" Braya grinned suggestively.
"He's not my type," Darwin smiled, winked.
She backed away, blushed, felt her heat kindle into a low, steady flame as she gazed up at him. "You didn't come here for healing, did you?" She resisted the urge to swat at him playfully. Instead she tugged at his belt, raised her eyebrows suggestively. "Take these off," she husked, "Let me get a look at that knee."
"Mmm." He purred, like a well fed coeurl. He fumbled with his belt, managed to get it unfastened with her help. She pulled off his boots, tugged at his slops, folded them carefully and placed them on the exam table, under his shirt.
She smiled a tight, heated smile as she beheld his length, straining at his drawers. "Hold that thought," she smiled coquettishly. She reached out, cupped his stones, squeezed gently. She stepped in, between his thighs, and briefly brushed her lips over his. "Let me heal you first."
"If you insist," he nipped at her lower lip, leaned back, grinned a boyish, boisterous grin.
She helped him get optimally situated on the exam room table. His legs hung over the edge - she decided to deal with his knee first. She palpated the region with her fingers, winced sympathetically as he hissed, as he groaned. She examined him with her hands, with her aethersight. Torn ligaments and strained muscles - painful, but relatively easy to fix. The cool light of Conjury flared beneath her fingertips as she flowed into him, as she directed the magick over and around his wound. Carefully, deliberately, she wound back the flow of time, returning his knee to wholeness. Carefully, deliberately, she drew his healed knee into the now, sighing from exertion as she released him, as she massaged the joint with her hands.
He wrapped his left leg around her, teased her bottom and the backs of her thighs with his heel. As she finished she grabbed both knees, spread his thighs open, backed away. She guided his knees together, tugged at his drawers, freed his length to stand strong and proud. She felt her mouth water as she stared at it for a moment - slick, glistening. Ready for her.
She added his folded drawers to the pile of his clothing. With some difficulty she pulled off her robe, folded it, placed it over his clothes. She was less careful with her pantalettes and brassiere - they fell to the floor with a quiet rustling floomp floomp as she turned to face him, her left arm covering her modest bust.
She approached him, teased the underside of his length with a fingertip. She lingered over his tip, languorously licked a dollop of slick off of her finger as she held his gaze, as she felt herself slicken, as she felt herself become ready for him.
She carefully took his right hand in her left, took his length in her right. She squeezed his length, stroked him slowly, gently, as she flowed into his wrist.
A sprain, almost a break - some cracked bones, torn muscles and tendons. It took her a few minutes to fix. He moaned as she healed him; he moaned as she stroked him. Slowly. Steadily.
"All better,' she murmured huskily. She squeezed his wrist, guided his hand to her breast. He cupped, squeezed, took her nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched, just enough to make her eyes widen. He reached out, embraced her with both arms, drew her close. They kissed, their tongues exploring lips, teeth, each other as his length throbbed and slickened between them.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"Lie down," she whispered.
She pressed on his shoulders, guided him downwards, backwards. The table was narrow, almost too narrow, but it was wide enough if she was careful.
He uttered a surprised "oof!" as she hopped up, as she straddled him. She ilmed forward, moaned as his length teased her slickened folds. She placed her hands on either side of his navel and walked her palms forward, upward, outward. She flowed, directed Conjury around and through his cracked ribs as she slowly lowered herself, as she slowly took him to his hilt.
He was big for her. Big, but comforting. Filling. She rolled her hips, ground herself into him as she worked on his ribs, as she healed muscle and bone. She leaned over him, applied Conjury to his shoulder. She leaned further forward, downward, and kissed his cheeks, his nose, his lips. She nipped at his ears as she slid her hands down his shoulders, over his biceps, his forearms. She took his hands, guided him to her hips.
She sighed longingly, lustily, moaned loudly as she rode him.
"How do you feel?" She nipped at his earlobe, tugged firmly enough to elicit a gasp.
"Better!" He laughed as he cupped her bottom, as he squeezed her firmly with strong, calloused hands.
She gasped as he rolled his hips, as he thrust upward inside of her.
Suddenly, a knock at the door.
They stiffened, their eyes widening.
"Wrap it up. This isn't a brothel!" Madelle - loud, stern. Commanding.
"It is for the moment!" Braya clamped a hand over her mouth, stifled a giggle.
Darwin began to laugh; she covered his mouth, shook her head as she ground herself against him.
"Do you think we should?" Muffled, between her fingers.
She nodded. "Much as I want to take my time with you..." It wasn't the first time she had been caught using the exam rooms for an intimate examination. "Are you close?"
He nodded.
She clenched her muscles, bore down on him, wiggled her hips as she moaned, as she stifled a scream. He raised his bottom off of the exam table, raised her up a few ilms as he thrust into her. She bounced, and bobbed, and bucked as he thrust again, and again. He stiffened, drew in a deep breath; she moaned loudly as he completed inside of her, his hot spend filling her, covering his length, frothing and foaming as it slid and dripped out of her, around the root of his cock, onto the exam table.
"Let me taste you," he gasped. "Before we clean up."
She nodded, murmured an "mmm" as she leaned forward, as she raised herself, as he slid out of her. His spend dripped and drizzled onto his mound as she sat up, as she felt his spent tip brush her bottom. "There isn't enough room for me to turn around." She patted the head of the exam table, behind Darwin's ear. "What do you want to do?"
"Sit on the edge of the table. I'll kneel in front of you." He sighed sleepily as he slid into his refractory period. He wiggled his hips, patted her thighs impatiently with his hands.
She closed her eyes, thrilled at the feel of his callouses, wished she'd taken him home instead of to the Guild. She raised her right leg, nodded to him; he rolled out from under her and knelt on the floor. His spend and slick dripped onto the cool stone tiles as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the table.
He walked forward on his knees, guided her legs over his shoulders. She crossed her ankles, dug into his back with her heels, guided him forward, forward. She combed her hands through his hair, gasped quietly as she discovered a scar she hadn't seen before, on the back of the top of his head. How did he get tha-AAAAH! and he was tonguing her pearl, spreading their froth of fluids as he teased her pearl, teased her folds, teased her entrance with his flexible, dexterous tongue.
She squeezed his head between her thighs, dug her heels into his back. She pressed, contracted, until he was slapping her bottom repeatedly with his hands, urging her to ease up. She relaxed, moaned as he found the right spot with his tongue, moaned louder as he pressed into it, rolled around it. She gasped as he massaged her thighs with his hands, as he thrust his tongue between her folds. She moaned as she felt completion building within her; she cried out and held his head in place, held his tongue against her pearl, as she completed.
She relaxed, her legs shuddering gently, uncontrollably, as he sat back, as he smiled up at her.
"Thanks," he grinned his boyish, infectious grin as he wiped his spend from his lips with the back of his hand. "Got any plans for tonight?"
She sighed, smiled, combed her fingers through his hair as she gazed down at him.
"I do now," she grinned. "I do now."