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The Mad Dinner Party	By : WonderMint Category: Final Fantasy XIV > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 3345 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XIV: ARR is owned by Square Enix and based on the creation of Hironobu Sakaguchi. May they ever walk in the light of the crystal. I own no right to the characters and settings herein and seek no profit therefrom.

Chapter List
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Quest Requirements: Female Adventurer, non-Lalafelin, Disciple of War or Magic level 50 or above.
Coerthas Central Highlands (x: 26, y: 17)
NPC: Haurchefant
*Players must first complete the main scenario quest “Before the Dawn.”
Quest Rewards: Lord Haurchefant and Ser Aymeric... and thou.
A/N: It is my dearest wish that the player is, at some point, able to date Lord Haurchefant, as regardless of gender he seems quite interested. It follows quite naturally that he's unashamedly bisexual, whatever the religious consequences. The date should be like him: batty and awkward, like with Barett in FFVII. Why on earth is Ser Aymeric roped into this? Because duh. Just duh. It's obviously just an excuse for me to torture him some more, and it's a cheap, easy way to crank up the awkward-meter. I have labeled it as dubcon out of an overabundance of caution, as I don't want to trigger anyone. It is not what I ultimately intend, but as the reader's perception is the final arbiter of emotional impact, I don't want to take any chances.
Regretfully, I find it difficult to be very vague with this sort of story, so I've had to restrict it to female adventurers who aren't lalafel and who want to burn Ishgard to the ground. You know, like everyone does. As to class, I think the only real assumption I make is that the player has, at some point, worn, crafted, or discarded in anger, a pair of sabotons. I assume you're capable of getting your mitts on a Spring Dress and a pair of Linen Bottoms if you really need to. My apologies if this doesn't fit your idea of your own character. #notmyshepard
Unfortunately, as the player character is (according to the game story itself) a well-known, well-liked, attractive individual of many talents who functions as a proxy for the player, this means that the moment the player character is female they meet the core definition of a Mary Sue. This isn't my fault. Just ask yourself why that doesn't also apply to James Bond or Harry Potter. As the player character moves through a story of Square's creation, I am not coding this as either an OC or a Mary Sue. I will call it rather a specific take on an existing character which is otherwise rather ambiguously presented.
So without further ado, assuming you've met the quest requirements and clicked accept on the dialogue box, here is your date (Cutscene 1 of...?). /quest acceptance music

Ever since the Stone Vigil affair, you had been keeping a list. It was a short list, too short to bother writing down, and certainly not worth the bother of explaining to any who might happen to find it. But it was very important to you. One day, you had promised vainly, you were going to burn down the Holy See. Or shoot out the stone pillars supporting it with a Bertha cannon and watch it collapse into the sea of clouds. Maybe rediscover the secret of manufacturing zombie powder and re-commit one of history's greatest war crimes. Or possibly you'd just find the biggest axe you could lay your hands on and start chopping heads. It was endlessly fun to think about, even if nothing but an idle dream. But there was a very short list of Ishgardians that you had decided not to kill.
It started like this: Lord Haurchefant of House Foretemps, stalwart ally. He'd never been concerned with the prejudices of his countrymen, and unlike most of them it would take more than the word of an inquisitor to turn his back on a friend. When shit hit the fan, Lord Haurchefant was first to offer refuge, his home becoming your home, the 'falling snows.' Also, you were fairly certain the man was crazy, but it was the sort of crazy that you liked, that let a man act on his conscience with no fear of consequence. There was too much fear in Ishgard, too much guile, and the lord knew of neither.
Second, Ser Aymeric, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. You'd been suspicious of him when you'd first met, but gradually you'd grown to trust him, even like him. He was magnetically attractive, regal, aloof, but most of all beautiful, and it was these qualities that had put you on your guard. After your experience with the false inquisitor, you had trusted no-one bearing the authority of the See, and the knight was far too compelling to trust. Worse yet, his tongue was as silver as his armor, able to negotiate Alphinaud to hells and back and always come out ahead. It had taken quite some time for you to see the respect he held for your both, concealed behind guarded expressions and neutral statements of fact. But always, when he negotiated, he seemed to find a way to advance your interests as well as those of his people, and so he had earned your trust.
Third, Lucia. Not much to say about her other than that she had Aymeric's trust, and thus yours. For now. Rounding out the list were the multitude of smallfolk worst abused by the inquisition, those who had lost loved ones or feared accusation or were simply too poor to defend themselves. You had no anger for the downtrodden. The knights, the nobility, the inquisitors... they would feel the fire.
That was all, really. Two friends, an honorable mention and a few vague ideals were all the good accredited to the noble state of Ishgard. You knew you wouldn't, realistically, take any action. You would likely be adding a large number of good folk to your list as Haurchefant would no-doubt introduce you to his most trusted friends and family, and really, you would be a guest... most importantly, you had spent your career stopping mass-murders, not causing them. But it was a fantasy you harbored, and no-one could deny a woman her fantasies.
But fantasies seemed to be in fashion of late. Lord Haurchefant had, with his usual enthusiasm and flair, asked you to join him in his quarters for dinner. When you had asked the occasion, he had only suggested a celebration of your mutual interests, and... well if that didn't sound like a proposition, you didn't know what would. So you had accepted, a woman going alone into a man's chambers, but both of you knowing you were strong enough to fight your way through his entire guard if you wanted to. You could handle him, and he was clearly interested in you, and you thought, just maybe, you were interested in return. Perhaps his madness was just what you wanted.
You dressed in one of your finer outfits, a long flowing white and blue dress that was quite unfit for the Coerthan colds, showing off your shoulders just enough of your bosom to still be called decent. Paired with your linen stockings and leaving the formal petticoat behind, it showed a scandalous amount of leg through a cut in the front, despite being largely floor-length and demure. You weren't worried that he would get too forward. He was too honorable, and you were never without your weapon. But you did want him to look. You always wanted him to look.
And look he did. When he opened the door he smiled as if his dreams had come true, kissing your hand like a perfect gentleman and ushering you inside. He was stately as ever, dressed now in slightly more formal dress, black embroidered cloth instead of chain mail, complementing his muscular frame and making him look even more the warrior. His familiar shock of blue hair fell about his ears in that endearing, Fury-may-care way that pleased you so. His cerulean eyes wandered, but discreetly, respectfully, taking your arm in his and leading you through the antechamber towards the scent of a well-prepared meal. You had a tendency to punch people who treated you like a lady, but for just this once, you would forgive him. For just this once, you almost looked the part.
“Forgive me, my dear, but we have another guest. I should have told you, only I did not expect him to accept the invitation.” When he looked back at you, apologetic and—mischievous? You only cocked your head with confusion, waiting for him to explain. Had you misread his advances?
In answer, he only took your wrist in one hand, and laid the other lightly at your waist to guide you through the doorway.
There you stopped. Eyes wide but seeing nothing beyond the initial shock, uncomprehending, brain having shut down completely in overload.
Ser Aymeric was the other guest. He sat at the table with a bored expression on his face, as if he had not noticed your arrival, though he had surely heard you coming. He sat against a narrow, high-backed chair, gloved hands behind him, and... completely shirtless. It took you at least a minute to process this information, and only after that did you notice that he was chained to the chair, with heavy manacles of the sort that were used to bind the most dangerous of heretics. And he had the audacity to be sitting there, half-nude, head tipped backwards against the sturdy wood, and looking bored.
Your weapon was at the ready. You'd had far too many surprises of late, far too many terrible surprises, and you whipped your gaze about the room, looking for intruders. Finding none, you aimed your malice at Haurchefant, demanding answers with your eyes. You trusted him—even now, you did—but that could certainly change if his explanation weren't damn good.
He raised his hands placatingly, but it was Aymeric who spoke, looking at you as if he had only now noticed your arrival, now that you had become a threat. “Please, put the steel away,” he said coolly, his deep voice hinting nothing of distress or worry. “Neither of us shall fight you. I fear we should not survive the attempt.” It was the flattery that made its way past your guard, uncharacteristic enough to surprise you, make you reconsider.
Slowly you did as he bade, looking at him now more closely, looking for injury or some other sign of struggle, trying to check the thoughts that made your lower regions tingle. His black hair was a little messier than usual, still curling elegantly around his angular face. He didn't attempt to avoid your gaze with his delicately narrowed ice-blue eyes, though upon closer inspection he may have been blushing slightly, perhaps the greatest show of emotion you'd seen from the knight in your short time together. There were no cuts or bruises on his lean, muscular chest, only a long gold rosary with black beads looped twice around his neck, which you supposed he always wore under his armor. It seemed almost too personal for your unbelieving eyes, so you averted them instead to see his long fingerless gloves and black trousers were still intact, but that his feet were bare on the cold stone floor. That must have been no easy feat either, you thought, having had enough experience with thigh-length sabotons to last a lifetime. Either there had been a mighty struggle to remove them—and to what end? Or Aymeric had been complicit in the act. Either possibility filled you with a guilty excitement, though you were trying your best not to ogle the man.
“Okay,” you said at length, breaking your characteristic silence, and averting your eyes from the beautiful sight before you. If he wasn't going to have any shame, you were going to have to do it for him, despite or because of the way it seemed to be making your blood race. “What's going on?”
You were hoping for an answer from Lord Haurchefant, but the lord was leaning against the wall, content to let Aymeric do the talking. His gaze was... well, you had wanted him to look, after all, but you had at some point begun to feel like prey in his presence.
“My dear friend Lord Haurchefant had informed me that he had invited you to supper. Now, being a foreign adventurer and not familiar with our ways, you may be unaware but... he is a bit mad. I do not trust him alone with you, may though you be capable of defending yourself. He suggested I accompany you, to defend your honor, and I reluctantly accepted.” Aymeric narrated the events calmly, as if it was all a perfectly rational lead-up to being undressed and chained to a chair by a nobleman. “Though frankly, I think it would be best if you simply left. I thought he was mad, but I appear to have been wrong. He is psychotic.” Ah. That was more to the point.
Glancing to the apparent madman, you couldn't help but begin to agree. He was watching you both with polite amusement, as if the accusations were mere descriptions of the day's weather.
Resisting the urge to reach for your weapon again, you instead gestured to the knight. “You want me to leave you here? Like that?”
“I can take care of myself, I assure you. I am more concerned for you. While I am sure he cannot hurt you physically, I am not certain of what else he is capable,” he said darkly. Now this was getting ridiculous. Chivalry was all well and good, but you were no innocent maiden to be coddled and kept from the evils of men. You had half a mind to stay out of contempt for the idea.
Instead, you couldn't resist jab at him, perhaps too tempted by the compromising position in which you found him. “If you can take care of yourself, why are you the one chained to the chair?”
Quietly, you thought you heard him swear under his breath. “Trickery.”
“Seduction,” countered Haurchefant immediately, finally stepping forward and placing his hand on the other man's shoulder, partially blocking your view. Aymeric tensed, flinching away from the hand that moved to caress his cheek, refusing now to meet your eyes. The lord moved violently and quickly then, lifting the bound man's chin with insistent force and crashing their lips together. Anger filled your vision. Your hand twitched, slowly moving towards your armaments, attempting keep the move from the lord's notice. There was simply no way you were going to leave Aymeric here, no matter how capable of defending himself he claimed to be.
But then, after a mere moment, before you even reached the comforting grip of your weapon, everything changed. Aymeric surrendered visibly to the kiss, a soft growl audible even from across the room. The sound was shocking, sinful and lusty, and you heard it more with your body than your ears. When Haurchefant pulled away from the knight and you could see him clearly again, he was blushing heavily, chest heaving slightly and drawing attention to his exposure. The room seemed to have warmed by several degrees in as many seconds, and when Aymeric looked back to you, you knew what you would do.
You could tell from his hot gaze that he wanted you to stay as much as you now did. Just perhaps, he was trying to protect you not from Haurchefant, but also himself. Calmly, as if you hadn't just witnessed the knight's defenses stripped bare before you, you walked forward and seated yourself at the small table beside him.
“Splendid, I knew you would agree to supper,” said Haurchefant as if everything were normal and dandy, clapping his hands delightedly and moving away to fetch whatever food was growing cold under the covered tray in the far corner.
You took the opportunity to lean closer to the knight, who was looking at you with guarded curiosity, apparently taken quite by surprise by your acquiescence. “Say the word and I will have you out of here. Understand?” You weren't quite expecting the vehemence with which you hissed the offer, turning it into more of a demand. Some part of you was afraid for him, afraid that he was too proud to ask for help.
He looked at a loss for a moment, as if you had challenged him to admit aloud that he wanted to be there, half-naked for you to see. Then he closed his eyes and nodded, looking resigned and almost defeated. “If it comes to that, I shall. Just... try not to hurt him. He means well.”
You had to admit, you weren't sure if you could hurt Haurchefant. The man was unpredictable, yes, but he'd never led you astray until now. You were fairly certain that you could avoid killing him if it came to that, and healing magic could work wonders. In the worst case, you could just break the sturdy chair to splinters and haul the knight away, with or without his cooperation. As the lord returned bearing plates and glasses, you slipped your hand under the table and set it on Aymeric's knee, squeezing lightly in reassurance. The knight's eyes widened, and you immediately realized the gesture was too forward, grabbing your hand back and wincing in apology. He was too damn vulnerable, and you reminded yourself to give him his space. Now he was watching you with nearly as much wariness as Haurchefant, as if you too had... no, best not think on it.
The table was set, the wine poured. Three plates were present, but only two sets of silverware, and you weren't sure how Aymeric was supposed to eat without the use of his hands. Lord Haurchefant seated himself directly across from you, with the knight held captive between you. You looked at your food dubiously, a cheesy popato gratin with chunks of stewed red meat that had smelled so appetizing some time before.
“It's not poisoned, if that's what you think,” said the lord, relishing his meal. You raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to grin back at you. Sharp eyes narrowed predatorily for just a moment, then he lashed out with a fork to take a bite of your popoto. Finally, he snatched your wine glass to take a sip from it. “See, quite safe.” He offered back the glass, waiting until you raised your hand to take it. The cheeky man took the opportunity to brush his fingers against yours, and you, for your part, pretended not to notice it or the chill that danced down your spine in response.
Aymeric did notice. He was practically baring fangs at the other man, and seeming to prefer silence and having nothing else to do with his mouth, he continued to do that for several minutes. You tried to ignore him, eating in awkward silence, but the way his shoulders strained with tension was just distracting. He was too beautiful, too exposed, and your eyes kept moving between Haurchefant's fond glances and Aymeric's broad chest, wandering up the graceful arch of his throat and lingering on the side of his face, heat pooling unbidden between your legs. Finally the knight seemed to notice you, relaxing a little and sighing. And damn it all if he didn't look a little coy, a little embarrassed, as he settled back into the chair and attempted to school his expression once again into boredom.
“Have you resolved to let me go hungry?” The question was pointed at Haurchefant, leveled at him like a spear.
The lord darted out a tongue to caress the tines of his fork, gazing at Aymeric coquettishly. “I'd feed you, but then you would bite me. I intend to save the biting for later.”
You didn't think it was possible for him to be that shameless, all evidence to the contrary. Aymeric made a strangled sort of noise of indignation which tapered into a low growl. You weren't sure if it was anger or... something else, but it affected you all the same. You cleared your throat, suddenly anxious to break the tension between them. When Haurchefant looked back to you with a cheshire grin, you just scowled and waved your fork at him, as if to say, 'have you heard of these things? You are holding one right now, and they are very useful.'
“Oh, no, you misunderstand. He's not allowed cutlery,” he returned, as if forbidden silverware were a common affliction, like high blood-pressure or an arrow to the knee. “You're welcome to feed him though, he won't bite you. He's a beast, you see,” he said, his voice going deep and dark with implication. He reached out to touch the angry man's inner thigh, much higher than you had touched him, much closer to places you would never dare go unbidden. “You need only know how to tame him, and he is yours.”
Your hand shifted around the fork, turning it business-end down and curling into an instinctive martial grip, unconsciously preparing to stab the offending hand. With a fork! What class did that make you, an Epicurian? But when you looked down over the edge of the small table you immediately noticed that the attention was not unwanted. Aymeric had widened his legs, granting further access, and even seemed to be tipping his hips forward into the touch. His eyes were narrowed almost to closing, and his breathing had gone shallow and quick. You tried to keep your eyes away from the area, but you were sure he was quite aroused from the tight lump forming in his form-fitting trousers. You had never seen anything so dangerously erotic. You clasped to your free hand to your mouth, stifling whatever exclamation you were sure was coming, but your muffled gasp was still enough to draw Haurchefant's attention. His sideways grin was sultry and wicked and hungry, and it suddenly didn't scare you anymore... at least not in the same way.
“Well,” he said, “are you going to feed him, or let him suffer?”
Suffering seemed to be on the menu either way, but you supposed that you could ease it a trice, even if your mind screamed at the irrationality of the decision. You needed confirmation, though. You waited until the knight met your gaze side-long, distracted and smoldering, shy but wanton, still leaning into the madman's hand. “Say the word,” you said softly, reminding him of his promise.
His eyes unfocused for a moment, apparently thinking, though on what you knew not. Finally he responded, “I won't bite you...” he began, then trailed off into a breathy whisper. “Unless you want me to.” He bowed his head in either embarrassment or submission, then moaned quietly, and you were so shocked and aroused you almost didn't notice Haurchefant had slid off his chair to kneel at the knight's side, sliding his hand further inward to caress Aymeric's groin directly. Oh hells, you thought. Oh bloody hells.
You watched him for a few moments, cheeks flaming at the wanton display, listening to his quiet gasps and watching his head dip and sway, nose just visible from beneath his dark hair. Finally, more because you didn't know what else to do to ease the tension than any other reason, you stretched out your arm to take a piece of meat from his plate. The motion caught his attention and he looked at you, eyes dilated and slightly unfocused, lips parted and needy. Things were already out of control the moment you had entered the room, but this was just... technically, you knew, you could stop the whole thing at any time, but you were afraid that you wouldn't now unless one of them did first. Hand shaking only a little, you lifted the morsel to his lips, and he accepted it, tongue enveloping your fingers and drawing them into his wet mouth, licking them clean before leaning back to chew, eyes closed.
“Very good,” the lord murmured at his side, stroking him a little more vigorously and prompting him to rumble appreciatively. “I think the beast has earned a reward.” He pulled his chair closer to the other man so that he could sit at his level, and took a mouthful of the knight's wine. Then he leaned forward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing him carefully. His other hand returned to the front of the man's trousers and he pressed firmly with his palm, and Aymeric opened his mouth to him with a whimper, a line of red trailing from his chin as he accepted the wine. When he had finished, Haurchefant lapped up the stray drink with his tongue, and you realized you were staring again only when his eyes met yours with that glimmer of mischief, his smirk so satisfied you wish you could knock it straight off of him.
“You're so beautiful when you want to kill something,” he said, voice lower in pitch than usual but still expansive with admiration.
Part of you demanded to challenge him, wondering why, if he liked you so much, he was torturing your mutual friend, but the other had already given up to the irrationality, causing you to sink back into your chair and bury your face behind your hand. You had given Aymeric plenty of opportunity to object, and while the situation was still bothering you somehow, you suspected ending it for his sake and slinging him over your shoulder like a princess in distress would embarrass him more. And gods, you were attracted to him. Both of them, though your annoyance with Lord Haurchefant was currently warring with your earlier plans with him.
But why would you be annoyed with him, when Aymeric had so clearly told you he didn't want you to end it? Could it be that this was merely a game, and that the knight had wanted it from the beginning? He had seemed to react most negatively when Haurchefant had made advances on you, after all.
Yes, that was it, you realized, the insight like the blinding blast of a Holy spell. You had mistaken his discomfort and the unusual way he had been restrained for a lack of consent. But he was only concerned for yours. He had said as much.
And Lord Haurchefant, blessed, stupid Haurchefant, just wanted the both of you to enjoy yourselves, perhaps never considering the strangeness of the whole affair, probably not even having planned a thing. Mad as a hatter, and twice as unpredictable.
When it was over, you resolved, you would find out who had initiated it. But for now, you needed only one final confirmation to ease your worry for good.
“You remember your promise,” you said to Aymeric meaningfully. Both men were watching you carefully now, though Haurchefant had never stopped nuzzling and nipping at the knight's throat, hand sweeping vague oblong shapes on the man's exposed thigh.
The holy knight seemed to consider the question and the reasoning behind it fully. He looked annoyed for a moment, then smiled, a wide narrow grin, thin and sharp like the blade of a knife. “Everything is fine unless I say otherwise. I swear it.” He met your eyes with calm certainty, and you knew, yes, you had been worried over nothing.
The blue-haired man purred in approval, tongue lapping out wickedly to caress the point of the knight's ear, sucking it into his mouth and nipping visibly with bared teeth. Aymeric answered with a full-throated moan, leaning his head back against the chair helplessly. That was all you needed. Quietly, you slid back your chair and gripped the table's edge, dragging it backwards a yalm and being careful not to ruin the food. It still made more noise than you intended, but fortunately the lord was single-minded in his ministrations. His hand had wandered inwards again, distracting and kneading, but he removed it readily enough when you approached to climb into the knight's lap. The silly opening in the front of your dress was for once useful, allowing you to straddle him easily, long skirt trailing over his legs.
He opened his eyes curiously, but kept them half-lidded in contentment. He gave no objection to your closeness, only leaning forward to kiss you eagerly, chains rattling behind him against his confinement. His lips tasted like wine, which was utterly cliché but quite literally true. It numbed your tongue and faded to an edge of dark sweetness, and you decided that it fit him quite well. You gripped the back of the chair securely and slid forward, wrapping your legs around his waist as far as the chair would allow and pressing yourself against his clothed cock, pleased at the warmth that greeted you through thin panties. He pushed forward against you, opening his mouth to you and tasting you in turn, cautious but eager and sighing in contentment.
The chair beside you shifted, and Haurchefant was beside you, kissing your neck as you explored the knight with tongue and hands. He wrapped an arm around your back that you hadn't realized you were missing and slowly dragged the other hand from your hip to your chest, just as cautious of your limits as you had been of Aymeric's. You felt guilty for having doubted him. He was mad, but not cruel. Not without permission, anyhow. When his hand reached your breast he cupped the underside gently, first only with his fingertips and then gathering it in his palm, squeezing gently and then more boldly as you pressed into his hand. You wiggled your hips in agreement, pressing lewdly against the man below you, twisting slightly to twitch your clitoris against the hard body between your legs. The sensation was always slightly overwhelming even if the pleasure wasn't, not yet, but you sighed against him and his own hips bucked in return, and you wondered just how long it would take to drive him mad without removing any additional clothing.
As if pondering the same idea, the lord murmured into your neck with a voice stained with restrained need. “This would likely be easier in the bedroom, if that's what you want.” His hands were still confined to gentle caresses, and you realized he needed encouragement from you, too. You leaned away from Aymeric and, still grinding against him in gentle, shuddering motions, you threaded your fingers into hair the color of the clear sky and pulled Haurchefant into a slow kiss. It was the knight who groaned appreciatively at the sight, thrusting harder against you and sealing your agreement.
You relaxed into the lord's arms, pleased that he held you securely anchored against the knight, and allowed him to take his time with the kiss. It wasn't in your nature to be coy, but the tenderness of his embrace and the caution with which he moved against you was beautiful, charged with emotion. He loved you, you were sure of it now, and the thought was both frightening and gratifying. When at length his tongue traced your lips, gently as if he wasn't sure he wanted more, you took your time opening to him as well. The sound he made when he met your tongue with his was halfway between a moan and a sigh, deep but breathy and oh so content. It made you tingle, not with pleasure but with an innocent joy. The shudder following that, that was pleasure, Aymeric's insistent cock brushing against you in that special way, sensation sharp like a snapping rubber-band.
You separated from the kiss only reluctantly, feeling you could get lost in it for days. You smiled shyly at him, but nodded with enthusiasm. It was what you had accepted the invitation for, after all. You looked to Aymeric for confirmation, and his rakish grin spoke volumes, promises glittering in his icy blue eyes.
The night was young.
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The Mad Dinner Party