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scionshtola · 5 days ago

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Indulgent Research

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 3.5k | rated: Explicit | read on ao3 summary: Corisande finds themself with unexpected symptoms after defeating Honey B. Lovely, and turns to the person best suited to help. notes: written for @femslash-february Bingo prompts sex pollen, begging, and orgasm denial. featuring a dash of "Behave." and size difference, in spirit. not canon for Corishtola, just a fun exploration of what sex pollen could mean for them while broken up. [divider credit]

It was warm in Y’shtola’s cabin. The Tuliyollal evening air pressed heavily down on Corisande, even stripped to their shirtsleeves as they were, their coat and vest strewn across the sofa in a vain attempt at cooling down. Y’shtola’s hands hovered over their chest, encased in the soft blue glow of her healing magic.

She had not said a word since she began her assessment, seeking a solution to the ailment that had brought Corisande unwillingly to her door. Whatever the solution, the cause was quite clear: Corisande thought they had shaken the effects of Honey B. Lovely’s attempt to enthrall them, but hours later, sitting on Y’shtola’s sofa with an encompassing, aching, need threading through their body, it could not be more evident just how wrong they had been.

They shifted, uncomfortable and awkward beneath Y’shtola’s considering gaze. Corisande’s seat on the sofa swapped their usual points of view, setting their gaze level with Y’shtola’s chest. She had traded her favored black dress, with the furred neckline and silhouette perfectly fitted to her curves, for a dress in the local style. The light blue fabric hung loose on her body, the ruched neckline dipping across her breasts, leaving her shoulders and chest bare. Her skin glowed warm and golden in the soft light slanting into the cabin, and the curves of her breasts above the dress bore the slightest sheen of sweat from the humidity.

Before, Corisande could have reached out and touched her. Now, she could only lean forward slightly, until the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers graze her collarbone-

Y’shtola tutted at them.

“Sit still,” she said firmly, and Corisande straightened. It required no thought for them to comply with the command, an old habit returning with ease and an embarrassingly pleasurable pulse between their legs. They pressed their knees together, to chase the feeling or to drive it away, anything that might make it less difficult to be so close to her. They would blush, were their cheeks not already warm from the effects of the pollen. Did Y’shtola know the effect she had on them still? Did the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly in amusement at Corisande’s quick obedience? They could find out. All they would have to do is lean in, and press their lips to hers, perhaps part them with their own—

Y’shtola hummed thoughtfully, drawing Corisande out of their runaway imagination. “I cannot say I have much in the way of experience with such a substance. It may take some time before I can discern a magical solution to your symptoms.”

The clinical way that Y’shtola spoke of Corisande’s “symptoms” would have been amusing, had they not been trying so hard to retain control of themself. They folded their hands in their lap, to keep themself from taking hers and raising it to their lips. Y’shtola was only meant to be helping them, not to be subject to the pollen herself—certainly not in such a literal way, not when they were not together anymore, when they had not touched each other in any way in months, not when Corisande did not even know how Y’shtola felt about her now.

Y’shtola shifted closer, her hands still just above Corisande’s chest, and the ache still building within them throbbed deeply at her proximity. It was impossible to look elsewhere—there was only Y’shtola, ilms away, the familiar smoky floral scent of her perfume on every breath Corisande took. They tilted toward her again. If only she would touch them—

Corisande grasped tightly at Y’shtola’s waist, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress and pulling her closer. She shifted forward, rising from her seat until Y’shtola’s hands pressed against her chest, warm through her shirt. But there was no relief in the touch, only heat blooming across her skin beneath Y’shtola’s palms. She dipped her head, kissing the freckles that scattered across Y’shtola’s chest, across the dark scar below her clavicle, down over the swell of her breast that rose with each sharp intake of breath. She pulled at the neckline of Y’shtola’s dress and forged her path over the newly revealed skin, each taste driving her forward until she took her nipple between her lips.

“Corisande,” Y’shtola started, the rest of her sentence trailing off in a soft moan when Corisande’s tongue met the soft bud, swirling until it stiffened into a peak.

Corisande moved back up, kissing Y’shtola’s neck. They knew she was sensitive there, knew she would slip her hand into their hair and grip tight when they licked along the side of her neck, knew the precise way she would gasp when their lips pressed just beneath her jaw. When at last they tried to kiss her, Y’shtola pulled back, her grip in Corisande’s hair just strong enough to hold them apart.

“Corisande,” she started again. Pressed against her, they felt her ragged breathing against their own chest, the smallest reflection in her of their own growing need. “I am not certain this will achieve what you desire.”

Wouldn’t it? Ever since she had entered Y’shtola’s room, her focus had grown narrower and narrower, the ache of need filling that space within her until the only thing she wanted was Y’shtola’s hands and mouth on her, Y’shtola’s body beneath her touch.

“What if it does?” they asked, their eyes flicking down to her lips. They were desperate to kiss her, to close that last final gap between them. “We will not know unless we try.”

Y’shtola’s lips parted slightly, her breathing quickening, but she did not answer, nor did she loosen her hold.

“Please.” Their desperation nearly turned their plea into a whine. Guilt twinged in their chest—how could they ask such a thing of her after the way they had ended things between them? After hurting her with the promise of not hurting her any further in the future? What was she doing now but causing more pain for them tomorrow? But it was hard to focus on those thoughts over the need that still coursed through them, burning brighter with every moment they were close to her. They pulled her closer by her waist. “Please, Shtola. Let me kiss you, let me touch you, I need—”

They felt the moment Y’shtola gave in. Her shoulders relaxed, her fingertips scraping lightly against Corisande’s scalp as she loosened her grip. “I suppose we ought to test the hypothesis,” she said, the teasing tone so familiar to Corisande it might have hurt, under different circumstances.

Instead, they closed the distance, crushing their lips to hers. Y’shtola leaned into them, her hand sliding up Corisande’s chest to cup the back of their neck. They skimmed Y’shtola’s lower lip with their tongue, reveling in the surprising sweetness that lingered there, before slipping between her parted lips.

Y’shtola pushed her back onto the sofa, and this time she followed after her, climbing into Corisande’s lap. Corisande’s hands glided over Y’shtola’s body, cupping her breast, caressing the soft curve of her waist, smoothing over the outside of her thigh. Y’shtola’s hands were busy, too, clutching at Corisande’s shoulders, twisting into the fabric of their top.

Corisande pressed her hand between Y’shtola’s legs, slipping past her underwear. They kissed her greedily while they touched her—brushing against her clit, parting her folds and dipping into her slick warmth—seeking more and more, until Y’shtola could only pant against their mouth, hips rolling minutely as she sought the friction of their palm. She pressed her forehead to Corisande’s, and her eyelids fluttered shut as she came with a shaky gasp. Corisande wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her as she shook, and pressed light, lingering kisses to her lips. Her other hand still teased her, coaxing her steadily to another climax, her own desire stoked into brightness by Y’shtola’s soft keens of pleasure.

Y’shtola tipped forward, burying her face in Corisande’s shoulder, her soft lips and unsteady breaths ghosting across their exposed skin. Corisande held her until she stilled, and a comfortable warmth stirred in their chest, unfurling slowly as if pulled from a dormant sleep. They closed their eyes, a faint smile curling the corners of their lips, when Y’shtola pressed a gentle kiss to the side of their neck. She trailed them softly over their skin, along their jaw, until she met their lips once more.

“I appreciate your consideration,” Y’shtola said against Corisande’s lips. “However, I doubt my pleasure is the answer to your problem.”

Corisande was not so certain—even now, she found herself longing to continue touching Y’shtola, to bring her to the edge again and again. The continued strength of the desire was surely an effect of the pollen, and one they would have to give in to if they wanted the effects to end.

Though she had to admit—as Y’shtola removed herself from her lap and parted Corisande’s shirt, as she kissed quickly down her body and knelt before her, as she tugged off Corisande’s boots and pressed lingering kisses to the inside of her thigh—that her own needy sensitivity had only grown. She sank back into the sofa, lifting her hips when Y’shtola pushed her skirt up and pulled her small clothes down.

It was almost too much when she finally felt Y’shtola’s tongue against her. Every part of her felt overly sensitive, and the rattan sofa itched beneath her palms as she clutched tightly at it while Y’shtola kissed her. Corisande was keenly aware of the way Y’shtola touched her, could not think of anything but the way her lips and tongue moved hungrily over her, of her grip on Corisande’s thigh and her fingers holding Corisande open while she kissed and licked and swirled her tongue. Her body thrummed anew with every touch, a liquid heat pooling in her core. Even the gentlest of touches made Corisande gasp and moan, her soft cries plaintive to her own ears—and Y’shtola was not prone to gentleness.

It was not long before Corisande was coming apart, their pollen-induced sensitivity and Y’shtola’s particular expertise in their pleasure carrying them quickly to their peak. Y’shtola kissed them even as their thighs quaked with it, guiding them into another with decisive intent that left Corisande dazed as they came again.

Corisande tipped her head against the back of the sofa, eyes closed, a contentment settling softly over her. But the feeling did not linger—Y’shtola rose slowly, lips retracing their earlier path, and each kiss sparked a new flame beneath Corisande’s skin. Y’shtola brushed the curls out of Corisande’s eyes and cradled their face between her hands, kissing her softly before she spoke. “How do you feel? Has the situation…improved?”

Corisande closed her eyes. Any contentment Corisande felt had quickly dissipated under Y’shtola’s kisses, leaving her only with a desperate, painful need to be touched. Y’shtola swept her thumb across Corisande’s lips as she waited, and they parted beneath her touch. Corisande leaned into it, trying to form an answer, but it was too much to ask under this renewed haze of her desire.

She wrapped her arms around Y’shtola and kissed her deeply, relishing her own taste on Y’shtola’s lips and the press of her breasts against her chest, but it was still not enough. Needy, plaintive sighs escaped her as they kissed, whispered desperately against Y’shtola’s lips. “Please, Shtola. More—I need more—”

Y’shtola pulled back, stopping Corisande from chasing after her with a firm hand on her shoulder. She pressed her lips together in a thoughtful expression, her gaze flicking over Corisande’s face and a faint wrinkle appearing on her forehead that Corisande fought the urge to kiss.

“I have an idea for us to consider.” Y’shtola spoke the words slowly, as if she was still pondering the idea herself, but after leaning in to kiss them again, her expression resolved into mild amusement. Pleased with herself and ready to go forward, as Corisande had often seen her after developing a plan of action. She stepped back, offering Corisande her hand. “Sit on the bed. I will be there in a moment.”

Corisande followed Y’shtola’s instruction, discarding her skirt on the way. She watched as Y’shtola pulled open her armoire, rooting around inside for a moment before closing it and turning back to Corisande. She approached the bed, and Corisande’s eyes widened when she saw the stuffed leather toy she held in one hand, and the straps of the harness she held in the other.

There was a hard pulse between her legs, a tightening behind her belly, at the sight of it. Y’shtola nudged Corisande’s legs with her knee, and they opened easily for her, allowing her to step between them. She traced the tip of the toy along the folds of Corisande’s cunt, but it was enough to make their hips twitch forward, seeking more and more and more.

Y’shtola smirked, teasing them as she said, “I take it you have no objections to the plan.”

Corisande kissed her in response, their lips heated and hungry against hers. Their hands found the ties and clasps of Y’shtola’s dress, tugging at them until they could slip her dress down over her body. They trailed kisses in its wake, over her chest, her soft belly, on the mole just above her small clothes before they helped rid her of those, too. They were tempted to keep going, to nose across the white patch of hair between her legs and taste her on their lips, but Y’shtola pushed a hand between them, handing over the harness.

Corisande helped her into it, her hands running over Y’shtola’s thighs as she tightened the straps and properly positioned the toy. Driven by impulse, she leaned forward and trailed her tongue along the side of it, from the tip to the base, one side and then the other before looking up again. She met Y’shtola’s gaze and heat scorched through her like fire at the unbridled desire written across her features.

Y’shtola laced her fingers lightly into their short curls, neither guiding nor holding them still but resting, waiting to see what they would do. Their heart beat a rapid fire rhythm as they leaned in again, keeping their eyes up and slipping the leather between their lips. They cupped Y’shtola’s rear, massaging as they took the length deeper into their mouth, as they bobbed slowly back and forth. Y’shtola’s lips parted, her breath growing shallower the longer she watched. When the base brushed firmly between her legs, her fingers tightened reflexively in Corisande’s hair, and a muffled moan escaped them.

That seemed to push Y’shtola back into action. She tugged Corisande gently but firmly away, guiding her back to the bed. Corisande kissed her as she went, hands clutching at her shoulders, still desperate to be close to her, to be touched by her. She lay on her back, her legs parted for Y’shtola to settle between, and a thought occurred to her amidst the heady want that clouded her mind.

“You certainly had high hopes for this trip.” The words came out teasing, as they had meant them, but a strange feeling curled in their stomach as they spoke. Suddenly, they wished they hadn’t spoken at all.

Y’shtola tutted at them again, and swatted the inside of their thigh just enough to sting. Excitement shivered down Corisande’s spine. “Quite a fortunate turn for you, is it not?”

Corisande did not have time to answer before Y’shtola slipped inside them, distracting them from any further thoughts. Their whole body was alight with sensation, heated every where that they touched—the backs of their thighs pressed to the tops of hers, her hands holding their hips as she moved inside them. Corisande watched her for as long as they could, taking in the way she bit her lip as she looked down at them, the heavy sway of her breasts as she rolled her hips, until they were lost in the sensation, their eyes falling closed.

A fortunate turn, indeed.

Y’shtola took her time, slowing her movements whenever she sensed that Corisande was close, forcing them to plead for more, faster, to hook their legs around her thighs and pull her closer as they begged please, Shtola, don’t stop, until she resumed her pace. She leaned over Corisande, pushing their unbuttoned shirt from their shoulders and kissing their chest, their breasts, Corisande’s skin aflame beneath her lips. Corisande clutched at her sides, her back, anything to keep her close as they moved together. When Y’shtola’s lips circled over their nipple, their back arched, their body taut, and a gasped obscenity slipped past their lips as they came.

Corisande fell back amongst Y’shtola’s pillows, blissed contentment tiding over her. She barely heard the rustle of the straps as Y’shtola removed the harness, could not do much more than tip her head in Y’shtola’s direction and wait for her to come close again. For the first time since she had first kissed Y’shtola that evening, Corisande was satisfied.

But the warmth of that satisfaction soon ebbed away, replaced by a cold clarity. The full force of what she had done—of who she had done it with—crashed over her.

How could she have asked this of Y’shtola after ending the relationship between them? And not just asked, but begged and pleaded and convinced her it was necessary? She had been so unkind to her before, so unwilling to do the one thing Y’shtola asked of her. Now here she was again, still asking Y’shtola for comfort without giving her the small comfort she asked for in return, and Y’shtola was kind enough to give it.

A selfish hurt bubbled inside her as well. She could spend today in Y’shtola’s arms, but when the pollen finally wore off, everything would return to the way it had been before. Still not together, not touching, not waking up beside each other each morning. Tears pricked in her eyes at the thought.

“Corisande?” Concern lined Y’shtola’s voice. Though she could not see the tears in their eyes, there had never been any hiding their hurt from Y’shtola—despite their efforts otherwise. She leaned over them again, her fingers light on their waist as she looked down at them. “Is everything alright?”

No, they wanted to say. Y’shtola’s hands on them were so familiar, so comforting as to make them ache. Everything is not alright. I miss you, and I love you, and I am so sorry.

“Yes,” they said, dismayed to hear the waver of their voice. They fought back the tears, and forced themself to smile. “Just a bit overwhelmed, but I will be fine in a moment.”

Y’shtola looked at her a moment longer, until Corisande leaned forward and pressed their lips gently to hers. She kissed them back, using her hands to shift them both until they were laying side by side. When she pulled back, she did not push Corisande, only stroked their cheek with her thumb in silence.

The last of the hope that Corisande had been holding on to sunk in her like a stone, replaced by a deep, welling sadness. She could not shake the desperate desire for Y’shtola to push for answers as she once had, before Corisande had ended things between them. At least then she could believe Y’shtola had not given up. That she, too, might harbor love for her, and a hope they would be together again some day. It was irrational and unfair of her, yet another way she was being unkind to Y’shtola. No matter how hard she tried, she only ever seemed to hurt her.

Guilt crept in, and she leaned forward, kissing Y’shtola before her emotions could fully ruin the moment. “You made me curse,” she murmured against her lips, with feigned accusation.

Y’shtola smirked, and Corisande felt it against her lips. “I heard. Pray tell, are the results of our experiment conclusive?”

Corisande paused to consider their answer. Beneath their heartbreak and hopelessness, they felt the stir of desire, that urgent need building again, a low thrum reverberating beneath their skin.

“There is definite improvement,” they teased, small smile forming on their lips. “But another trial may be necessary for more permanent results. If you are willing, of course.”

Y’shtola laughed. “I believe I can muster the enthusiasm for further testing. The subject material is quite of interest to me.”

The words warmed Corisande. They sat up and pulled the shirt from their shoulders, finally discarding it completely. They watched with satisfaction as Y’shtola’s gaze dropped to the shape of their breasts, her vision enough that she could see the outline of Corisande’s body. They lay back down beside her, gratified when Y’shtola’s hand settled on their waist.

Perhaps it was not Corisande’s best idea. It would hurt tomorrow, and the next day, and every day that she was not with Y’shtola. But tonight she was lying in bed with her, flirting and touching and kissing, and she would take as much of it as Y’shtola would allow her before the evening ended.

#kels writes #femslash feb bingo #corishtola #xiv fic #i didnt tag it for spoilers bc. well there's just one mention of a boss name and the rest is smut and feelings #but anywayyyyyyyyy its here!!!!!#i did in fact make myself cry writing the end of this lmao.#to the surprise of no one i thought so much about what shtola might be feeling and why she agrees even though none #of that is in the fic alkfsfsd #but yeah. im happy to have written it finally!!!

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