Wayfinding | Aaravos x Reader |

CHAPTER 44

Although it literally killed you to do so, you put aside your soreness and tried to distort your pained grunts into something that sounded like a string of moans. You sang out his name a few times too to get into character. But even after your dramatic climax, the foreplay did not come to a stop. In fact, you only later realized that your vocalization had encouraged the male to continue his disastrous venture at intimacy.

As terrible as it may sound, to cope with the affair, you reverted back to your youth when you lived in the back of the fetid stagecoach. Aside from using bushes ever once in a while, Inyah and Gliden would sometimes travel days at a time without camping. That's when you mastered the ability to dissociate. So, you did the same here - staring blankly at the roof of the canopy bed, feeling the brick walls and furniture give way to emptiness. Soon enough, you foundered into oblivion.

You thought of things - millions of things - to get your consciousness away from that room.

From the noble.

Some of these things were as mundane as what you'd have for supper that eve or what errands you'd have to run once the session with Viren was over. Other things were a little more pressing like everything from Claudia and Soren, to the High council and Uzner. Shameless as it is, you even tried to visualize Harrow - lingering on the little details such as his silky taupe skin, his olive eyes, and your nails digging into his broad shoulders. But nothing was authentic enough to endow you with an outer body experience. Hence, you regressed back to less sensual reverie and still managed to orchestrate a symphony of thoughts that ultimately distracted you from your fiance.

In due course, you went numb.

Peacefully and perfectly numb from everything.

You had no remorse, no responsibilities, no feelings. Nothing that could bind you to the earth. You were afloat, drifting amongst milky clouds and starry nights. Like a mere vessel. A hollow vessel waiting patiently for something invigorating to fill the void.

Somewhere along the shores of your daydream, your mind had zeroed in on a face. His midnight blue face. It was unexpected, really. After skimming through countless diversions, seeing the archmage - thinking of him - felt as revitalizing as the breath one would take after almost drowning. Initially, considering it was indecent, you tried not to focus on the elf for too long. But the image of him - his body, his voice, his aureate hues - became more and more tangible to your senses. It was as if somehow those features, that you subconsciously burned into your memory, soaked up your carnal need and felt obligated to help. So they made themselves available to you. Made themselves real. Along with the man they belonged to.

It was almost impossible to remove your mentor from your thoughts thereafter.

Without even being there, he tormented you, causing desire to trickle between your legs. Sheepishly, you disrobed the star-touched elf in your mind, realizing how graphic your fantasy was becoming. It got to the point where you swore you felt a brisk and misty draft run the length of your thigh - as if winter itself kissed your delicate skin.

"Aaravos . . ." you mouthed, as though you were beckoning him into your orbit.

This breeze - or whatever it was - answered you. It trailed up your limb, as if someone puckered their lips and blowed teasingly on the flesh that led up to your womanhood. But then it stopped. Just before it got to your core. With a bated breath, and utterly disappointed, you mustered a whine. Yet, before the sound made it out, the elf - or what you imagined was the elf - delved into you. The tongue that lapped at the mouth of your arousal was playful and parched. It drank you faster than you could come.

Perhaps it was because of the unexpectedness of it all, or because of the image that ran through your head, but as you laid bare in a sea of disheveled sheets, your pants and cries became ungodly. For sanity's sake, you tried to regain your composure by trapping your bottom lip between the rows of your teeth. But your efforts were futile. At some point, when your folds began to pulse uncontrollably, you clawed at the bed-covers to purchase a moment of relief. But your mentor raked at the valley of your waist like a man desperately gathering  loose papers that scattered in the winds.

"Ahh - I - p . . . please-" you begged, this time pushing away his mouth as the tightness in your core became intoxicating and unbearable. But to make matter worse, or perhaps better, the male hoisted your legs farther up his lean shoulders, lifting your tailbone right off the bed-frame and into his hands. Your fingers, now ready to accept the inevitable, coiled into his ivory locks - encouraging his mouth to bite and suckle and mark your womanhood. His face could not have been any closer, but that was all that you craved. He understood that somehow. So to aid your case, he held your wrists, and tugged you towards him.

Eventually, an unfathomable surge of tremors consumed you, leaving you lost in ecstasy. Unconsciously, as you finished, your thighs squeezed the man's head and what should have been moans of satisfaction instead came out as whimpers. Once you descended from your climax, and settled your racing heart, you recognized the poor ethics of it all. How could you dream of a man, you had just met, pleasing you instead of your soon-to-be spouse? Not only were you betraying Viren, but you also defiled Aaravos by picturing him in such a perverted manner.

But what you did was so human, it was hard to believe that someone would condemn you for it. Indeed, it may be taboo, but you were not the first person in history to envision another in place of a lover. Hence, there was no reason to be guilt ridden. Besides, if no one knew what your head concocted, it wouldn't hurt anyone - could it?

Of course, when you rose to your elbows to address your partner and saw the man in the mirror buried between your legs instead of your betrothed, you questioned if everything that happened was fictitious. You were still tender and trembling from the illicit affairs though. So, there was no falsehood there. But, you couldn't formulate a single explanation as to why the star-touched elf was the one who drew his face from your sex.

Very casually, as though impervious to your overt distress, Aaravos sat straight and ran an idle finger across the corner of his lip, catching your substance on his thumb. His gaze, when it fixed on you, was so smug and taunting. It was as if he knew no one could pleasure you - let alone excite you - the way he could. You wondered how your mind could have conjured something like that - something so corporeal. But true desire has no limits, does it?

As if he had heard your thoughts, the man from the mirror locked eyes with you and bore a silver, mocking grin. "Better?"

You knew the elf was merely a mirage. Yet, his toned and starry chest, his half-lidded eyes, and the graceful sway of his figure - they all sparked a hunger in you that was simply primitive. So, without dithering, you cupped the back of his neck and lassoed his lips to crash on top of yours. Good god - you had to teach yourself to breath with him pressed between your legs like that. But as fine, prickly hairs grated your face, the illusion scattered like a reflection in disturbed waters.

"I'm assuming-" Viren huffed between pants- "you enjoyed yourself?"

The vermilion of your cheeks and the coy smirk that etched your features was not for the High Mage. Yet, you reeled him back into a kiss, hoping you'd feel the star-touched elf again.