Adult-FanFiction.org : Final Fantasy

Kilts	By : mayofish Category: Final Fantasy XIV > Het - Male/Female Views: 2033 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XIV or its characters. I will make no money off of my midget porn.

Chapter List
- 1-Kilts
- 1
“Are you wearing a skirt?”
“'Tis a kilt, Yda.”
Yda cocks her head to the side and watches him for a while. They had been exploring what was left of the Sharlayan Colony. It is there first time back since it was abandoned and both of them had quickly started picking up the pieces of what they knew and remembered — both enthusiastic to get a change of clothes.
“It's a skirt,” Yda tells him finally.
Papalymo, who had been standing on his tiptoes looking at a bookshelf, allows himself to fall flat on his feet. The sound of his heels echo around them and he sighs. He is wearing a typical Sharlayan trench-coat, his normal yellow gauntlets, his...kilt, and what Yda regarded as some very nice boots. She couldn't see how tall they were due to the length of his kilt but she can guess. Yet, maybe guessing isn't good enough for her. She takes a step back, examining him.
“And just what about you, Yda? What are you wearing?” Papalymo points a finger disapprovingly at her as he turns to face her.
Yda glances down at herself in exaggeration. She is much more colorful than him, but still in a traditional Sharlayan outfit, albeit a bit modified. She still has a mask and turban, but instead in the colors black and red. She is wearing a long and fancy Sharlayan coat in the same bright reds with black accents. It shows off a bit more skin than either of them are used to, with a bare stomach and, to no one's surprise, a pair of shorts. Her legs are covered in a pair of tall boots still.
“You don't like it?” She gives him a sly grin. Papalymo frowns, clearing his throat.
“N-no. You look...nice,” he looks away from her, afraid he would start to stare and goes back to the bookshelf in front of him.
“You don't think it's too much?” She presses, eyes taking him before focusing on where the fabric of his kilt moves against the leather of his boots.
He doesn't look back at her but his ears start to tint red, “Y-you are...not quiet as covered as I'm used to.”
“And you're in a dress,” she takes a step forward, standing very close to him and her hands brush the hem of his kilt.
Papalymo freezes when he feels her behind him, “Yda...” he whispers disapprovingly.
She gives a slight chuckle, leaning over his shoulder to look at the shelf, her fingers playing with his kilt, “How tall are those boots under there?”
He shivers, “Not as tall as yours, most likely,” there is a hitch in his voice as she presses herself closer to him, her hand pushing the fabric up and meeting the leather of his boots right behind his knees.
“I don't know, Papalymo... I think they might be the same height,” He doesn't reply, or maybe he can't reply but a shudder wracks his body. Yda laughs breathlessly against his ear, her lips just barely touching it. “You mind if I check? You know...to be sure.”
“P-pardon me?” He stammers, turning to face her.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” she says suddenly, sinking downwards. She kneels in front of him and before he can protest her hands travel up his kilt. She moves her hands, listening to his breathing increase and staring into his eyes until her fingertips finally meet skin instead of leather. His boots end mid-thigh — the same height, if not higher, than her own boots. “Oh, those are pretty tall.”
Papalymo's knees shake and he grabs onto her for support, “Twelve have mercy, Yda... What are you doing?”
She doesn't reply, but pushes up his skirt so she can duck her head under it. He gasps, stumbling back in shock, his back hitting the bookshelf behind him. She steadies him, pulling one of his legs over her shoulder and pressing her lips to his inner thigh, just above his boot. He grabs her head through his skirt and he curses. Yda can hear her name somewhere jumbled with the various names of the Twelve. She moves her lips slowly, dragging her tongue across his skin with her other hand on the opposite knee to keep his legs spread. Papalymo brings one hand up to his mouth to stifle his groans and his hips rock forward.
“Y-Yda...” he gasps, grabbing a fistful of fabric. She just hums against his skin, slowly moving upwards until her lips brush against the fabric of his small clothes. She pulled them down slightly, her hand touching his hardened member lightly. The head is already shimmering with precum and she leans down to lick it off. He trembles. She lets one hand message his hips while she moves her other into her own pants.
Yda sucks at him roughly; her hands holding him down. She moves almost painfully slow at first, just enjoying his muffled grunts and groans. She touches herself at the same slow rhythm, her fingers not even entering herself, just stroking her clit and teasing her entrance. She is more focused on his sounds. Finally, she picks up her pace, taking his full length into his mouth and bobbing up and down faster. He presses down on her head, hunched over her as he started to shake. She couldn't move quite as much now but she knew it wouldn't take much in the first place. She hums against him, feeling him twitch as she let her own fingers finally enter herself.
She can't make out what he is saying because of his hand muffling it and she can't very well look up at him when she's literally under his skirt...kilt, whatever. She continues to suck, running her tongue across the head of his cock. Papalymo groans loudly and soon both of his hands are clutching onto her. He cums inside her mouth and she lets him buck his hips upwards. She swallows greedily and leaves her mouth there before he falls limp against her, panting. She untangles them from each other, slipping out from under his kilt and setting him back to the floor. He holds onto her arm to keep himself steady.
“I am putting on pants as soon as we get out here,” he grumbles.
Yda pouts but she can't hold back her laughter, “You look so good in a skirt though!”
“And your inability to control yourself is precisely the problem.”
- 1
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