To the ends [I'll dance with you]

 

Summary |

Another chance, a cast of the die. Decorated with banners of scarlet red beneath a hope filled sky. Mors tua, vita mea. [Endwalker (6.0) spoilers - final quest]

Characters |  Zenos/Ys [WoL]
Contents | Kinks and sexual alignments
Length | 3790w

 

[=] HEAVY Endwalker [6.0] spoilers [=]

Slight alternative of canon events indulging into verily intimate desires.

WoL is trans masculine NB; no surgery or fantasia, hairy w/ a heavy chest!
WoL is also of Auri and Elezen ancestry - termed 'Auri'zen' here.

Metal heels dance upon effervescent panes, catching light in the brilliance of their ballad. Where each step clicks upon and answers another in return as the hope filled sky bares upon them, around them as the panes of eternity the only barrier from the endless sea. Where metal gloves scratch against the stoic panes, scrapping as again they stem to stand; wavering, struggling to keep upright as blood mats their hair.

A concussion forgotten, ignored as scythe lands upon them, digging deep into their frayed coat, scoring another mark to their withering form. Not yet - just not yet - their breathing chokes, spitting blood to the wayside as temperance takes hold, force fusing wounds to mend as a numbed hand strikes back. A light cast into the brilliance, a follow with the spooling whorl of angry winds.

"Do you not wish - to take my head?" Is spat with a stumbling gait as again, again the fury unleashes. It tends fabric and skin, tearing ribbons of red from the white mage a bare arm - furthering its crystalline.

At roll with the assault, the white mage let's the reaper lead them into a spin - sight to bloodied sight as the crystalized limb surecasts into the other's gut. Answered all too well in turn with a strike to the skull, sending the mage tumbling over eternity's panes. Though they continue to cast banners of red, despondent to the reaper's taunts, their poise says enough as again they stand. Blood matting their hair into a sickly red, their horns fractured, torn and bleeding white, their eyes are still as ever sharp.

The mage's staff, long fractured, discarded, leaves them naught else more than their crystal encrusted limb. Aether and dynamics eating their muscle and skin - and they continue their waltz.

It nevertheless takes its toll on the Auri'zen - each cast of dia and glare shooting them to recoil, stagger, and meet the reaper in turn through their bout.

Bodies weary, they share the struggle to stand.

"No, not yet!" The disgraced garlean spits blood as his gloves are soiled with the mage's blood, his own creeping beneath his jacket. Pinpoint strikes that cut narrow through the fabric, leaving the wound to cling painful to the tight fabric as again he lunges, "not until the last of me is spent!" And barely leaves enough space for the mage to breathe, to catch the blade of the scythe aside their hand.

“Burn,” the scythe winds back - a panic bitten assize ripes across his face, “burn!”

Crystalline into skin, the mage falls to their knees as the reaper stumbles, blood sent to splatter from either as they recoil. The Auri’zen’s eyes are dark, glaring as they spit blood and toss up one last benison. Though they manage to stand once more, little can dissuade their broken bones, the way they hold themselves from fractured ribs, the slight limp as they stagger and wait. Fairing just as well as the reaper who they stand before, everlasting in the face of death.

Teeth gnash and fingers slip - blood sent from beneath garlean boots. "This is my moment," he can barely stand, stumbling as the mage struggles just as well, "OUR moment!" Grip testing, flexing around the scythe's leather wrapper neck, he steps, and leaps.

The mage can only brace.

The scythe pierces against the barrier that breaches in between, buffering the weary dancers with an ethereal ruby glow - until it bursts, casting them aside as the mage’s arm ripples with the pressure waves.

Weapon cast aside by the burst of searing energies, he tries again.

Glove strikes ribs, and crystal strikes gut, glove into stomach, and crystal into cheek - sending them to stagger.

Blood oozes down their faces; bloodied and worn, staggering and struggling to breathe through the rattling wounds that draw blood to their mouth - only to be spat upon the sullied ground of eternity. Struggling to stand, struggling to breathe - Ys surges forward

It’ll just take one final blow - one last hit.

Blood covers their crystalline limb as they recoil, seizing as pain ruptures through their nerves - unable to process before Zenos kicks them in the gut.

Sent flying, barely standing, the mage falters to one knee - and so does Zenos.

From the harness at their side Ys unclasps their dagger - sight kept on the garlean’s eyes filled with passionate fury.

Will unbroken, they manage to force their legs beneath them - wavering, staggering.

And they collide.

Sent into a tumble they both falter to the floor as Ys reaches for their dagger, unhindered as Zenos shoves them off. His hands fast, fierce, they make for the dagger, voidsent granted grip digging at the mage’s throat.

But Ys holds him back - digging their barely functional arm into the wounded stomach of the garlean, shoving him back to the floor as the gloves tear against their robe, rending ribbons of red stained cream as they claw and strike. Fist into face they either strike - and the blood coated dagger is sent flying, clattering to the ground in a spin as they fight.

A dash made; an ankle gripped.

Claws digging into skin - a blade digs into arm once more.

A crystalline limb twists as a reach is made for the Auri’zen’s throat - or tried.

Caught fast as the dagger pushes at his own, drawing blood as Ys' eyes are dark, intentions clear even as they still struggle to breathe clear.

A pause - heavy as the combatant's hands are on the other - waiting to make a move.

Biting back the pain of their dagger wielding encrusted limb, the Auri'zen remains straddled over the larger garlean, half-knelt as their eyes lie darkened to the depths of oblivion.

Towards where a returned gaze sits vacant, drawn quiet as Zenos stares at the hope filled sky.

Ys breathing staggers, pained as they slowly draw to speak. "I win," the heavy set Auri'zen gasps between the surges of pain as ribs dig against their lungs.

Only then, do the weak gloved hands fall from where they latched - against their side, marked with prints of blood.

And the cloak is finally spent.

"That I should lose again… how disappointing," the dagger digs into the garlean's throat. Ignored as his own breathing is labored, fatigued, painful as Ys' weight does little to ease the discomfort. The racks of their bout finally begins to sink as the adrenaline high wears thin; the agony almost summarily ignored as Zenos only looks to the endless stars.

Ys tries their best to steady their own breathing, racked with agony as the nerves of their encrusted limbs give to shake, barely able to hold the dagger to Zenos' throat. Until it just lays on the garlean's gut, held tight by the numbing limb.

"Never had I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions. Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities." With a slow exhale and the grit of teeth, Zenos' head turns from the ever quiet stars to look upon Ys where they sit back upon his gut. "But in these fleeting moments, there is… a spark. Blinding, brilliant… Gone… too soon… What of you, my mirror?"

Though it does draw them to pause, to stem the flow from their limb down, Ys waits. And so does the garlean beneath them. Who laughs, a smile embittered by the blood coating his jaw.

"Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure… Was this life a gift… or a burden?" Weary, one hand does rise, fighting to rise as it grips the tattered fabric of the mage's robes, crawling up to hold at the limp limb. "Did you find… fulfillment?"

Though the garlean continues to breathe light, the mage's limb glows with energy. Pooling between them as ever slowly they continue to mend. "I can't say," their voice is light, wrecked with numerous blows to the throat.

"Then, why?"

A silence savored.

"Save you?"

"Have I overestimated your potential to kill me," breathes in slow; resigned as the garlean is already spelt - drained of anything save the most vital energies sustained only by those that stream in between. "Maybe..."

“Claim it as you wish,” Ys’ body racks with agony as they breathe, only able to channel so much as their vitality teeters close to the brink. Wisps of self-substaining dynamis churned through their arm as they keep balance over the other. “As why…” the problem of black rose, how he factored into giving them time on the first, biding them time… they press their hand square against Zenos’ chest, blending between their bodies to keep their vital functions.

“Where’s that fire, hydalean’s champion? That fury, that fervor,” he continues to look forlorned to the distant stars. Apathetic as he feels Ys shift upon him. The bite of annoyance does creep as only a lead of strength remains, “do not pity me.”

Belied with a heavy sigh, careful as they have to balance between keeping them alive and tucking their dagger away, it's just long enough that Zenos can feel himself slip into blissful darkness before he’s pulled back awake. “To seek only everlasting heights is flaw, Zenos. Not a talent,” and can feel Zenos’ life surging back into place, conscious as his hands grip their thighs. “To only seek grander and grander battles, I cannot dream it. I do what I have to for those I love, here and now, and those who couldn’t make it.”

“I know,” the garlean almost snarls, his voice weakened - yet his gloves still roam their hips, their thighs.

“Not all battles require bloodshot, nor made at the length of a blade,” careful, their encrusted hand holds to the garlean’s collarbone, pressure put as they look down to him. Eyes half lid with exhaustion and contemplation as the trickling healing energy continues deep into their bodies. Passive, nonetheless, as their eyes meet; morning dew blue to deep midnight hues, staring one into the other.

Zenos answers with silence, features drawn neutral as his eyes are piercing, his hands gripping the robes. With a sigh, Ys relaxes, “we’ve made your choice of battle… would you have interest to meet mine?”

Sight barely narrowed, features drawn almost askew as the hand on his collarbone withdraws to settle at his torso. Silent save for letting the mage’s robe slip, laxing to the shape of their weary chest. “You would stoop to such lows?”

"I would rather revel in life's bounty than bathe in it's blood," their hips meet, blood the least of the problems as their clothing is still mostly intact. Ripped and soiled by blood and dynamis, but intact.

"I have no interest in such wasted potential," the garlean scoffs, his hands still roam. "With anyone else - my mirror, not you." And, with the amount of strength he’s able to muster, takes a grip of the Auri'zen's dislocated shoulder before popping it into place.

Though it does blind them in the surge, Ys smiles as their sight returns to the vicious garlean. Want for anything else - they return the gesture, and pops one of the garlean's ribs back into place with dynamis energy. "I take it you've dreamt of such an occasion?"

"Rarely," Zenos shuffles beneath them, gripping their fractured horns to turn their head back. "If never," and releases as the dagger is again at his throat.

"No one dies until we're through, Zenos. It's my only ask of this."

"Effective," the garlean smile, hands retreating to the mage's sides once again, gripping at the tattered robes as Ys rubs themselves against the larger combatant. Leather against fabric, it's eventually taken care of as Ys rips through their pants by a hole in their inner thigh. They do the work as the garlean watches, intrigued as the slightly smaller Auri'zen makes quick work of the barriers between them, freeing them to the breath of eternity.

“I have one, final request,” Ys breathes as they remain knelt above, having bared the garlean’s heavy girth beneath their waiting body.

"And what would that be?" Boarding between amusement and boredom, Zenos watches the healer on top of him.

"Don't be gentle, fight me, as we did before," and begins to guide Zenos to their folds - directing him to meet within their forest of hair. Not yet plunging themself down, wedging them to only merely meet.

Zenos barely reacts as the healer’s metal glove grip seizes at his throat, holding gentle as they move to stabilize themselves upon him. As moment by tender moment they push around him - plunging themself down and around with a wavering sigh. And, only once surrounded, held tightly in a space he cannot see, Zenos sinks.

Though his hands did so much damage upon the healer's body, they hesitate - nursing as they hold the Auri'zen's hips against his own.

The silence is endless, everlasting as they breathe.

Ys holds the dagger to Zenos' throat, wavering as the garlean's girth tests their ability to stretch. "Hold nothing back, and let's set a fire for all eternity." And brims a smile.

And Zenos returns the gesture in kind.

Pulling the dagger wielding hand aside, he has enough strength to sit, to yield the mage close as he bites their slender neck.

A full bite, a vicious bite. It draws blood to trickle as Ys fights to return their hand to the garlean's center, leaning down as their legs tremble, gripping the blood soaked blonde hair to return upon a vicious kiss. Bloody, coated with aggressive passion their mouths linger as Ys fights to keep on top, gasping as the size fights for entry between their thighs.

Inwards and out, its cadence is measured by their motions as Ys pushes the garlean's head to the floor, riding him as their horns pull their skull. Hair pulled, they yield for another assault upon their throat, hungry and starving as the former prince continues to draw blood. Vicious, it descends down to where the mage's robes have faltered, caressing a heaving hairy breast as once more Ys pins him down.

"Your body is a wonder, my friend," Zenos beams as again they pull Ys' horns, throwing their head back to expose their bitten throat once more. "These wounds, these scars," and spits blood as again Ys champions over him, grinding sensitive as their breathing labors towards peak.

One hand laid on the garlean's stomach, the other holding steady against a weak thigh, Ys breathes. Far enough out of reach for their horns to be gripped, but not enough from hands to fondle their bared chest. Gloved hands roam over their hairy chest, caressing their breasts and holding them pressed as they continue to ride. Though it continues to burn Ys frets not as their breathing elevates, meeting them in time as they lean into the fondling hands, fighting to keep themself from expediting to their end.

Surging light between them, Ys begins to falter.

Hands gripping tight, they're pulled down to Zenos' level, and barreled into.

Again and again Zenos swarms their body, leaving them slippery in the manic thrusts. Though they struggle and whine, gasping as they accommodate the garlean's girth, Ys leans into the thrusts, yanking the garlean's hair as teeth set upon their throat once more.

So hungrily - and wild.

And just as their mouths meet, as blood and saliva crosses their lips, Ys forces Zenos back to the ground, a hand on his throat as the other holds the garlean's life in their hand. Eyes caught wild, beckoning them for more and more, Ys can feel the hunger in Zenos' soul, the blazing fire that continues to strike their hips as the dance of dominance meets them at last - sank into instinct as Ys grinds.

"If you had another chance, would it be any different?"

“Never,” the garlean grins, snapping himself beneath the mage’s tattered robes. “My friend, we’re not lesser things.” Rising closer to the peak, hungry to taste the Auri’zen’s skin as he grips their chest, fingers digging into the hairy breasts as he burrows into them.

Loins messed with their met fluids; both sank into the barrage as raw instincts overwhelm - endeared with the fervor bore well wrought.

Ys wavers, giving into the lust as they allow Zenos to their throat once more as they lean back - another bite draws the trickle of blood down their throat, over their collarbone, illing their undershirt with their blood once more. Dagger disregarded, tossed aside in the fury of combating passions, Ys only has their hand at the ready - yanking the garlean's hair as he fights to journey. It only beckons him on - an encouragement that stings through his limbs, his stomach, his heart, as each loss of connection makes it skip.

With whatever strength they can muster, Ys throws the garlean's head to the panes of eternity, drawn narrow as a corner of their mouth snarls. "You're disappointed you've lost," their breath caught, sank hands push their robe aside, exposing the messy junction between their bodies, "but there's so much more to do than fight. Is that your only reason? Until you die by my hands?"

Though it remains the sole reason he still lives, Zenos tries to brush aside the crystalline crusted limb, smiling as it grips his throat. "You satisfied me, my friend," and can only languish as his strength wanes - only surging back with a flex of the mage's arm.

"We're not done here, Zenos," the mage shivers, still centered around the garlean's girth. "Neither you nor I," and holds pause, sinking any reserves they still hold to Zeno's own.

It's just enough to draw him to breathe - to gasp as his feeling returns, as his hands grip the robe fabric and hold it against the heavy Auri'zen's waist. In quiet contemplation, beyond Ys nurturing grip, he watches where they meet, listening to the breaths and gasps above - furthered as he snaps. Hands tight on hips, gripping and pressing down he bucks, and again as the noises play as music to his lurid stupor.

For more; more he drives himself into the mage - a care not for the grip against his throat, the yanking of his bloodied hair, the feeling of soft skin against his face. Deeper. Harder - HARDER his weary muscles drive - drenched in given energy they're quickly spent by the both as there lies no distinction between sweat and blood, from the fight or the passion, blended into a canvas of pairing bodies as the crystals on the mage's arms grow, fragmenting and cast spinning as Ys fights to keep them alive.

Grips of panic, of passion, it rings all the same as the arm around their hips keeps them pinned, as another pulls their hair to show their battered throat. A fury blending into one, settled only as their breathing catches into one - mouths met. Blood and saliva - Zenos licking himself cleaned as the mage writhes upon him - head pulled sideways by the mage's own glove grip. Filling - pumping - twitching as his own breath hitches, catching as he falters back, leaning on one arm to look where they met - for what may just be the last time.

Their hands still at the garlean’s chest, weary and shaking. Ys barely loses their composure as warmth fills their body, wallowing around the sensation they’re caught against - held by a singular stern grip as their own end meets - muscles twitching as they lean.

With eyes laxed shut, mouth left open to breathe in the plains of eternity - a kiss meets them.

It's soft, gentle as the strong hands pull them close, close against the garlean.

And again; just as gentle, almost loving.

The Auri’zen’s sight falters open and Zenos withdrawns, looks away.

Yet the fact he’s still inside them draws Ys to smile, bribing the garlean back with their own kiss.

And their clawed gauntlet draws him back to look at them, where the sting of tears have begun to welt.

The silence is heavy as they look upon another among the panes of eternity, lost for words as the gaze of light bathes in the others shadow. Where actions take the conversation, as hands grip and plead, holding bloodied fabric as the encrusted limb holds back - hugging as bloodied blond leans against the other. Their breathing light - calmed as the energy of the crystalline limb begins to bleed - draining, waning.

There’s only so much time.

“Thank you,” almost whispers as he finally withdraws, “for being my friend.”

Finally removing themself, the mage breathes, “I feel like it’s deeper than that,” watching him as they look to their waning limb. “That you have more to say…” and tries to shrug their robe back into place.

“No,” Zenos looks away, towards the endless skies.

“May I…?” Ys pats the belt of his pants.

“Do as you wish… leave me to die.”

Mouth twisting into a sneer, Ys gives him the decency of redress, unwilling to remove their arm as it begins to peter out. “Zenos, liste-”

“Leave me.”

Though Ys does pause, they watch the clawed arm grip their encrusted limb, breaking off splinter fragments. “I won’t.”

“You must,” he’s still turned away, unable to look the mage in the eyes.

“I won’t,” the healer sighs, “they’ll be fine without me.”

“Take your arm, and leave me,” a near fury snarls, “go.”

A moment held, looking down upon him with only so much more time… Ys removes their limb, and leans over to kneel beside him.

“Thank you…” Zenos sighs from where he lies, crossing his arm onto his chest, almost gripping.

Looking at him, bracing themself to stand, Ys sighs.

“I… am happy I met you, soulmate.”

Barely able to hold themselves in a standing position their sharp head turn almost makes them tumble - but it’s too late. He’s gone.

Looking to the distant stars above, beyond the panes of eternity, Ys begins to walk.

Step by struggling step, the mage almost stumbles as their arm steadily grows dim, dripping in the few steps they manage to take. Well drained, the crystalline form of their arm begins to finally disperse into the breath of infinity, leaving their aetherical scarred limb to hand limp, weak as the final of their reserves are spent.

They only make it a few dozen steps before they fall, hands gripping weak as their own breathing begins to wane, struggling as blood pools, sight fading… unable to hear metal clamor and the sequential beeps.