Summary: Unspecified, post-3.2. In order to make certain the events in the Gerun Oracles do not come to pass, Elidibus proposes a solution. Explicit oral; Impregnation via aether sex.
Notes: For request: FemWoL; sex with the intent of Impregnation.
In case you've not spoken to Urianger in the Sands after his discussion with Elidibus 3.1, this premise for this story is based upon his dialogue there.
As it should always have been
The Divine Chronicles speak of unimaginable destruction.
Bound to inescapable destiny, its shackles demand annihilation. Even your hand inadvertently succumbs to fate's decree.
Such fate is within your ability to prevent - or so you're told; Elidibus' vague whispers promise a more desirable future, a time when you will no longer be in conflict, where such destruction need not occur. Trusting that he speaks the truth, you can but believe your goal is neither dream nor delusion - that your purpose is more than empty fantasy.
You roll the tiny crystal between your fingers, pale and delicate, devoid of energy, it is almost ephemeral, as if ready to shatter at any moment.
"Unanchored, external sources will influence its development." Elidibus explains, your throat soured with the first taste of bitter doubt. This is the reality of the path you've chosen - Spoken need no crystals, flesh bears their souls.
"Are you certain this will work? That our bodies are –" You hesitate, immediately and futilely hoping it evades Elidibus' notice. " - compatible?" Perhaps you should have asked when he first proposed his solution. Though you too house crystals - reservoirs of power connecting you to your master that differ little from an Ascian's - your existence in Her realm is not dependent on them.
"You distinguish between that which should be indistinguishable." If Elidibus is cautious, he hides it well; beyond the expected satisfaction and confidence is serenity and peace, as if the turbulence that whorls within you slides off him. "What is the soul if not the purest aether? What is the Gift, if not the ability to overcome Her barriers?" He lifts your hand to his mouth in a soothing, formal kiss before meeting your lips; his taste, his feel, clean and smooth, refreshing and subdued, are no different from any night previous. "Our child will embody the rightful order."
By Hydaelyn's admission you cannot deny this truth - Dark and Light are intended to be as one.
"As it was, so shall it be again." You repeat the words he so often speaks, a frail consolation in the face of uncertainty. His body, hard under soft robes, his kisses, light and fluttery over your neck, his hands massaging your scalp, tangling within your hair – recognizable pleasures that would not be out of place on any other evening – they are all a mask, no different from the one that conceals his features, to distract you from your worries.
He pushes you down beneath him, bidding you relax, to calm and concentrate. Regardless of the way his touch over your forearms sends warm, contradictory shivers to the tips of your toes, of the familiar, welcome way he sucks your lower lip, you tense defensively in nervousness.
The reaction displeases both of you; far from averse to his touch, your anxiety simultaneously repels your partner and pleads for him to continue, conflicting reactions impossible to contain, confounding even to the one experiencing them.
Elidibus does not falter; as if expecting your worry, he offers a final, prolonged kiss before he removes his mouth from yours, confident in his unspoken solution.
Kneeling before you, hand supporting the back of your knee, his lips move down your calf in quick fluttery kisses. Slowing at the base of your foot, he draws his tongue over your arch before approaching the end, sucking at your toes. His tongue plays at each, encircling the tips; one at a time as he sucks, hot and slick, sending shivers up your leg.
You recognize Elidibus' intentions immediately and welcome him to do as he pleases. His hand plays at your thigh, the edge of his ornamental claws stroking the sensitive flesh at the back of your knee, warming your abdomen and increasing your pulse. Your muscles constrict as moist, saliva-coated lips make their way back up your calf, skin being drawn between his lips, sucking and lightly nibbling, as if he seeks to absorb and devour.
His warm mask nuzzles against your leg as his mouth makes its way to more receptive areas; the edges of his hood, of neither cotton nor woolen nor silk, offer additional tease, their soft strokes like a stray finger dancing on the sensitive flesh between open thighs.
Elidibus devotes himself wholly to his purpose – even if that purpose is pleasing you, to release your tension and quell budding hesitation. His breath is heavy between your legs when he finally finds the raw, pounding, arousal-swollen flesh; slick and wet, tight and clenched, you lean into him, encircling your legs around his neck, wordlessly begging for him to continue – to do more than tease with empty promises.
Obliging, he spreads the flesh of your labia, his tongue flicking out, darting between layers of flesh, licking in directionless whorls and unknown symbols, over and under, as if seeking to coat all of you, to taste and remove all of your natural lubricant, replacing it with saliva. The hot tingle turns into a pound of torturous rapture as his tongue peeks below under sensitive flaps; his lips repeatedly suck at your clit, tongue playing just below, cause violent tremors to course throughout your body until you cannot stifle your quiet moan, free hand clenching as your innards constrict, your heartbeats heavy, heat spreading and deepening.
"I'm going to begin." Jarring and unwelcome, he forces you back to reality. You've not finished and you irrationally wish to deny him, to demand he continue and lead you to climax, but his purpose is achieved, your tenseness dissipated and replaced with the necessary state of heightened arousal.
Lowering your legs from his shoulders, you nod, panting in frustration, symbolizing your readiness as the intense pulse of lust slowly diminishes. The warmth in your belly remains painful and unsatisfied as its fire fades from inferno to glowing embers.
"I offer everything I am, so that my purpose is fulfilled." He murmurs a quiet prayer, one you are not entirely sure is intended to be heard. Whether his devotion belongs to you or his master is unclear - it matters little to you in your lust-heightened, hyper-aware state. The Emissary has his beliefs and you've yours, but the purpose is one and the same – to reject fate, to restore balance.
He grasps your hand, replacing the dull, empty crystal you've held so close with his dark crystal; equally small, his crystal pulses with energy so intense it numbs your fingers. You hold the precious object to your breast, determined to keep it safe during his journey. All further thoughts of continued pleasure are dispelled as Elidibus' aether-formed flesh is unmade, dark aether fading and smothering your entire body so that it is easily absorbed through your skin and orifices, taking with him the new, stabilizing crystal you will soon nurture within.
For a moment, his presence is completely indiscernible, as if he has truly disappeared, but it quickly reforms, concentrated within your warm abdomen, pooling up to your breast and resting within your core; tight and focused, it is not the tease of aether he uses for pleasure, nor an arousing pulse intended for amplification, but a flood behind a dam, filled with burning cramping and painfully intense invisible weight, as if being crushed from the inside out.
Unable to hold such a centralized quantity of pure aether, your body constricts. Elidibus demands your full attention to not reject entirely; his foreign life force appalls your basal instincts, despite its unexpected familiarity – aether is the same, no matter the source, his core no different than yours, no matter his master or how alien his existence.
Instinctively you defend yourself, shielding yourself from the invasive, raw pressure. Much like your body would protect itself from a virus, your aether surrounds him, mingling. Even intruding and painful, his existence is sedate and calming, his touch through your abdomen like dipping your foot into a pristine, undisturbed freshwater pool. Unshielded, Elidibus is equally vulnerable to your influence; like dye spreading through clear, dark waters, your aether taints him, until the calming, controlled sense envelops all of you as much as you envelop all of him, until the rest of the world bleeds away, your sensations absorbed by serene power.
Numbing and hallucinatory, merged aether flows like ripples from him, inward rather than out, precise and calculated. It tingles – or perhaps not – a clouding fog dominating your mind; everything that is not Elidibus is a haze and yet you barely know him to be within you at all. He neither starts nor ends; Elidibus is as much you as you are him, everything shared in intense concentration on a single, pointed location.
You know you've succeeded when you feel its distinct flow. Like the chill of ice water or the heat of a scalding soup down your throat, it courses through your body; foreign and so very delicate, the merged, yet independent aether is barely more than a wisp in the midst of a hurricane, one that cannot even finish a single cycle through your core before retreating passively, disappearing from your senses, unable to sustain itself.
Elidibus recognizes it as well, detangling himself and pulling away slowly, leaving a twisting, expanding crevice within you. His presence is missed before you even recognize it as gone.
"I don't think it worked." You're reluctant to feel for the fragile life after Elidibus' warnings, seemingly unable to sense its presence any more than you can recognize the function of a hidden organ or tissue.
"It must come into its own, as with any other child." He shows rare weakness as he lounges beside you; the energy expected of him was far more than that required of you, his entire existence risked by the endeavor. His words are quiet and breathy, no longer exhibiting his earlier confidence.
As if hesitant, worried that he might somehow influence the child, Elidibus does not hold you. He barely touches you at all, the tips of his fingers roaming over your shoulders and back, each stroke electric and filled with energy. His touch completes the abyssal void his exit left no more than a moment before as he unintentionally drags your aether beside his.
His fingers avoid the most sensitive places - your aching breasts, your burning abdomen, your slick, sticky thighs. Even with strokes of love and devotion, he is distant, seemingly almost revering your body in an intentional denial of his desires. You roll over to face him, rejecting his imposed distance. Taking his hand, you return his invaluable dark crystal - his very life - as you bury your face in his neck, allowing his smell and essence to wash over you - and yours to wash over him. Finally relenting, his arms encircle you, weight heavy, welcome, and decidedly tangible - no longer the distant, hallucinatory touch of aether.
You cannot know what to say – if there is anything to say at all. Elidibus is as stiff and tense as you were before beginning your intimate union, even as you offer what little comfort you have to give. You have only a single answer, an understanding of the most important revelation of all: this is how all should be – how it will always remain.