Themes

[Notes and Disclaimers]

Blossom

They fell onto the bed, unmindful of the spoils of hunting surrounding them. The perfume of cactus flowers caught beneath their bodies twined with the scent of sweat and rising passion, filling the small room, making it seem even closer.

Petals caught under Basch's fingers as he splayed his hands under Balthier's back and lifted the sky pirate to his devouring mouth.

Groaning and laughing in the same breath, Balthier kicked Basch's legs from beneath him, sending them both to the mattress again. Around them rose anew the scent of crushed blossoms.

Sweat

The drop of perspiration beaded on Basch's brow, slipping slowly down the pale golden skin. It was diverted at the scar slashing across Basch's face, tracing the gouge in his flesh before welling over it and running past the outer corner of Basch's eye.

It was there that Balthier caught it, his tongue nimble despite the burning distraction of Basch's slow thrusts into his body. The chair on which Balthier straddled Basch's lap did not so much as creak a protest, though Basch was not near as silent; a growl that would have done a wolf proud rumbled from his throat and Balthier chased the sound, imagining the vibration still beneath his tongue even as he tasted again the evidence of the cost of Basch's control.

Gaze

The hairs on the back of Balthier's neck prickled, bringing sweet, aching reminder of the mark hidden there beneath the stiff height of his collar. He knew that, were he to turn, he would find Basch in one of the rear seats in the cockpit, silent and contemplative. It had been happening more often of late, whenever they were in flight; Basch bore silent witness to Fran's maintenance and navigation, to Vaan's flying lessons. Most often, though, was as now: the two of them, alone, as the rest of their merry band slept deeper within the ship.

The rustle of Basch's moving drew Balthier's head up before the press of Basch's fingers against the hidden bite mark forced it down again - Balthier would later deny heatedly that the sound he made bore any resemblance to a whimper. Basch's chuckle was rusty, and then his fingers were sliding away and his footsteps were carrying him from the cockpit.

Left alone, Balthier could only curse the ache throbbing at the back of his neck - and its mate between his legs.

Tongue

Basch had believed himself a fairly worldly man. Though hardly promiscuous, neither was he celibate, and men and women both could boast of his prowess 'twixt the sheets.

Perhaps, he thought distantly as his breath caught in his throat and his hips struggled to lift beneath Balthier's weight, that was why he could not bring a halt to their carnal meetings, despite their being ill-advised, despite the distraction they posed. Balthier was all that Basch's prior lovers had wished they were and more - and, as Balthier's tongue twisted beneath his arms and his fingers somewhere lower, Basch decided that, in some things, he didn't mind discovering that he yet had much to learn.

Sweet

They sat silently in the cockpit: the kidnapped princess, the dastardly sky pirate, and the ever-knight in collusion with both. Ashe was silent, deep in thought, and it was some time before she heard and acceded to Basch's urging to retire and rest. Basch watched her go, brow creased with concern, but held his place and the princess's privacy.

"I am sorry that you were denied your feast," he said at length, as his gaze settled on Balthier's clever hands, resting lightly at the controls.

Balthier's chuckle was low, intimate. "I have been denied nothing; the feast came with me." There was silence for a moment, and then, "I hope that you don't mind elisace ; I'm afraid that was all I had the opportunity to smuggle out."

"I do not mind it," Basch replied quietly. For the moment, he would not wonder how Balthier knew to acquire Basch's favorite sweet; it spoke too much of familiarity, too much of what could come of the arrangement they'd fallen into. For the moment, he would think only of the headiness of elisace licked from Balthier's mouth, and call himself content.

Give

It was Balthier's laughter that decided him. They were neither truly lovers nor friends, yet it was only right that they be equals in whatever relationship it was that they had built for themselves. It was with that in mind that Basch squared his jaw and bent to unlace his greaves. Soon, all of his armor and clothing lay about his feet and he stood, proud, naked.

Balthier was silent now, his expression unreadable, and his gaze held Basch's as though they had entered a contest of wills. At length, he sharply expelled a breath, lifting his hands before him. "Never let it be said that I am not a fair man. It is obviously of bother to you; let us forget that I suggested it."

Despite himself, Basch found his lips quirking with a grin. "Do not attempt to dissuade me now ," he chided. "Perhaps it is you who has lost his nerve, pirate; do not be ashamed to admit it."

"I do believe that you are challenging me, Captain Ronsenburg," Balthier drawled, the amusement of his tone at odds with the haste of his disrobing.

It was not until the next morning's sun was painting swathes of light over Balthier's sleeping form that Basch cataloged his body's unfamiliar but pleasantly memorable aches and decided that, in pursuit of equality, it certainly never hurt to give a bit.

Hand

"If you do not relax, this will not work."

Basch frowned without any real heat at Balthier's scolding. "I have not done aught such as this before," he grouched, wincing as Balthier's fingers pressed hard against him. "I told you as much, if you will recall. 'twas your own insistence that saw us this far."

"Curl your fingers." Balthier's touch was less gentle, and Basch exhaled heavily, only to gasp when the tension beneath Balthier's clever fingers fled with a suddenness that left an odd tingling in its wake. Balthier laughed at the oath that escaped Basch's lips, then curled his fingers around Basch's, squeezing them lightly against his freshly-massaged palm. "Do you see why I insisted?"

Basch's first attempt at speech was garbled, the second lost somewhere between throat and lips. Conceding defeat to the endorphins released with the sudden cessation of painful cramping in a hand gone too long without holding a sword, Basch drew Balthier's clever fingers to his mouth and expressed his appreciation in its purest form.

Compromise

"No. Absolutely not."

Balthier did not look in the least deterred by the vehemence of Basch's declination, which served only to further swell the anger tightening Basch's chest. "Come now, I'm not exactly asking you to chain me. It's just a bit of play. Perfectly safe."

A veritable horde of wasps was buzzing in Basch's ears; Balthier's voice sounded tinny and flat. "I will not repeat myself, Balthier."

For the first time since they'd begun the argument, Balthier's brows creased, his fingers shifting about the cravats dangling from them. "You have been bound, since, as I have been."

"'twas unavoidable, then." Basch's voice sounded tight to his own ears. "I do not know that I could choose to bind myself or another." Basch grimaced, then reached for one of the crumpled cravats. "Perhaps... perhaps were I to bind your wrist - only your wrist - I could accustom myself. I do not intend to fear such things forever."

Balthier's hands closed over Basch's, then drew the cravat away again, discarding it to the floor. "There will be time for it; let us concern ourselves with other things."

It was later, when Balthier lay stretched across the bed - taking up rather more space than his slim frame should - that Basch slipped from beneath the sheet to retrieve one of the discarded cravats. Settling back into the little space afforded to him by Balthier's sprawl, Basch tied the cravat in a loose knot around his wrist - easy enough, even with one hand. The last thing he saw before he drifted to exhausted sleep was the bright white of the cravat binding him.

Chocolate

The hot chocolate was much too sweet and Basch grimaced as he drank it. It was always cool on an airship's deck and the hot chocolate had seemed the best heated option on the saloon's menu. It warmed well enough, he supposed as he wrapped his fingers more tightly around the cup, and that alone made it worth it - even if it was rather less than palatable.

"Traveling the commercial lines never fails to make me grateful for the Strahl."

"I, as well." Offering Balthier the cup, he wrapped his hands around Balthier's narrow waist and turned the sky pirate to face him fully. "It has quite spoiled me, I am afraid."

"Has it now?" Balthier's smile tasted of chocolate, its sweetness tempered by the taste of Balthier's mouth. The cup dropped, forgotten, and Balthier's hands rose to rest upon Basch's arms as they kissed until the last traces of chocolate were gone. Balthier's lips were flushed when they broke apart, and smiling still. "You are, of course, welcome to fly on her, any time you wish."

Deep

The heat of Basch's palm against Balthier's hip seemed to sink into his flesh like a brand. Another burned at his throat, seared into his skin by the swipe of Basch's tongue, the sharp nip of his teeth. Heat lingered everywhere Basch's flesh had touched his, ghosts of caresses and kisses, bites and scratches, and over it all the teasing near-tickle that had set it into motion.

The burn as Basch thrust into his body became a conflagration. Balthier never knew what he was saying but Basch was chuckling until Balthier was laughing too, lost in the absurdity of coherence while his legs were caught over Basch's arms and Basch was plowing between them. It was not overlong, though, before laughter gave way to the sounds of want, of need, of desperation. The splatter of Balthier's seed between their bodies was a flare arching between them, and then the surge of Basch's release encompassed him in flames, until there was naught left but ashes.

Shiver

"For warmth, you say?"

Balthier's toes were icy against Basch's calves, his hands only marginally warmer as they stroked over Basch's ribs.  "Wickedly cold," Balthier drawled.  "How is it that you are immune?"

 "I was not always of such an arid clime."  Basch couldn't help the faint grin, tugging Balthier's hands from where they rested on his back and instead tucking them between their chests.  "'tis cold, true, but not much worse than I experienced in my childhood."

Balthier's laugh was silent, but vibrated between them.  "I see.  'tis just as well; you'd not be an effective bed warmer were you shivering yourself."

 "Is this your plan?" Basch asked.  "You seduce me simply because it is convenient for warmth?"  His hand skimmed over Balthier's side, then abruptly pressed against his hip, rolling Balthier beneath him.  "You do not seem the type to stoop to this."

The corner of Balthier's mouth quirked as his arms circled Basch's neck and his hands tangled in the length of Basch's hair.  "It's not much of a stoop, now is it?"

The kiss was familiar - and warm indeed.  Balthier's hands, as they moved to stroke Basch's shoulders, back, and lower still, quickly lost their chill, yet continued their explorations, near-burning now over Basch's skin.  His toes were still cool when his legs wrapped around Basch's hips, but neither paid them much mind, not when Basch was licking the light film of sweat from Balthier's throat, pressing his heat into Balthier's own.  The chill of the winds and snow beyond the walls of the small room offered by the Gran Kiltias was as another world, rendered inconsequential as they generated their own heat, bound inextricably between them.

The fruit of their exertions had long-since dried when Balthier brushed back the hair fallen over Basch's cheek, rousing the half-dozing knight.  "Definitely not a stoop," he said lightly, though the jocularity seemed contrived; it was almost, though not quite, enough to mask the fondness in his tone.  "Definitely not a stoop at all."

"Balthier," Basch said, the name blurred by his near-sleep, "next time, you do not need a reason; you need only ask."

Balthier blinked, staring at Basch who was already asleep again against his shoulder, then laughed, stifling it only when Basch growled an inarticulate complaint.  "I'll bear that in mind, Captain Ronsenburg," he murmured, then drew the blankets higher over them both and fell into his own slumber.

Melt

The wall at Balthier's back was rough, the uneven texture digging into his bare skin. At his front, Basch pressed against him, his chest slicked with sweat, one wiry-muscled thigh riding between Balthier's. Over his head, his arms stretched, wrists pinned by one of Basch's hands as the other gripped Balthier's leg, drawing it up to his waist.

Balthier's knees gave way as Basch's tongue writhed before his ear; for all his control, for all his composure, his resources, his position, he was a man in the flush of youth, and composure could only carry him so far. His second leg joined the first around Basch's hips until Basch became his sole support and the scrape of the wall against his back no longer mattered.

Basch's hands slid beneath Balthier's buttocks, hefting him as he rolled his hips against Balthier's, drawing a strangled groan from the pirate. One roll became two, became three, became a steady rutting that soon had them panting and sweating, straining together. The swells of their erections mated, slid together, slicked with sweat and the drops preceding the heady rush of orgasm, and each breath brought with it the heavy scent of sex.

Release, when it came, was an epiphany, a blessing; for a moment, there was nothing they did not know, nothing they could not do. It lingered even as Balthier dropped his feet to the floor and stood on shaking legs, his hands tight at Basch's shoulders for support. He hesitated but a moment, then brought his mouth to Basch's, mildly surprised despite the seed drying on their bellies to find Basch's open to meet his. The kiss tasted of sex still, of muffled groans and the touch of flesh to flesh, and Basch groaned as they broke apart, breathing again heavily in the silence of the room.

"This cannot continue," Basch said, though his intention was marred by the rawness of his voice. "It cannot."

"I couldn't possibly agree more," Balthier rasped, before crushing his mouth to Basch's again.

Smooth

The tavern had little to distinguish it; it was cramped and dim, the tables scarred, the mugs chipped. It was not until Basch tasted the ale that the enormous number of patrons made sense; it was the best he'd tasted since his father had fallen with Landis. Across the tiny table, Balthier hummed his own appreciation, his eyes gone heavy-lidded as he savored the drink.

"You look quite the cat," Basch said lightly. "I would expect you to purr, were I to rub your belly."

Balthier's raised eyebrow spoke volumes, even as he swallowed more of the ale. "I do hope that you don't expect to seduce me with a line such as that. Honestly, Basch: it's terrible."

Basch chuckled, shaking his head. "Were I intending to seduce you, Balthier, I would ask if you frequented this establishment - or offer you another vintage to sample."

Balthier swallowed - hard - to keep from spitting his ale across the table. "Why, Captain! Are you being vulgar? I almost didn't recognize it."

Basch's laugh was deeper, now, a purl of sound that made Balthier grin. "I know not of what you speak, pirate. Perhaps we had best leave so that you may instruct me on the finer points of seduction. I can assure you, you will find me an apt pupil."

Tingle

His orgasm was still tingling in his fingertips when Basch peeled open his eyes to see the smug grin curving Balthier's lips. Basch licked his own, noting when Balthier's gaze dropped to follow the motion. He'd meant to offer thanks, express wonderment, but instead what fell from his mouth was: "Where in Ivalice did you learn that?"

Balthier, thankfully, laughed. "Why, from my scores upon scores of former lovers, of course. Do you not see the trail of broken hearts in my wake?"

"Is that what those are?" Basch's hands on Balthier's arms coaxed him from between his legs until Balthier was over him, chest to chest. "Should I fear for mine?"
Something like mild panic flashed through Balthier's eyes, gone so quickly that Basch wasn't certain he hadn't imagined it. "I cannot break what I am not given, now can I? Keep it firmly in your chest and I believe we shall have nothing to fear."

Basch smoothed his hands over Balthier's back. "Of course. I am quite content to be gifted with your friendship; I require naught else."

"My friendship you have for certain." Balthier's smile was relieved and fond and just a bit playful. "In fact, I believe that I am quite prepared for another display of it."

Basch laughed and rolled Balthier beneath him. As Balthier's breathing slowly gave way to gasps and moans, he determined that he could not, indeed, ask for anything more.

Button

"There is a button under that stand. Someone is slacking in their housekeeping."

Basch inhaled deeply through his nose, then rested his forehead against Balthier's thigh and sighed. "I realize that I am out of practice, but would it harm you to feign interest?"

Balthier levered himself up on his elbows, gazing at Basch down the length of his body. "You think me to be that talented at lies?" he asked, then grimaced at the clumsiness of the question. "It is not disinterest," he amended, "but rather too great an interest. Were I not to distract myself with inanities, I should have embarrassed myself already and left you to your own devices."

Basch stamped down on the flutter in his belly at the left-handed compliment. "Do not concern yourself with my devices. I prefer your attention, rather than my own potential comfort." His fingers flickered over the skin of Balthier's inner thighs. "I have long-since lost concern over embarrassment."

The rest of Balthier's argument was swallowed by Basch as his mouth closed again around Balthier's flesh. Left with pure sensation where words had previously been, Balthier sank his fingers into Basch's hair and gave him his full attention.

Kiss

Balthier's lips were slightly chapped beneath Basch's but it did not matter; it was the first time since the fall of Bahamut that he'd seen the pirate. The kiss had been his first impulse upon returning to his quarters to find Balthier perched on the edge of his bed, smiling as though nothing had changed. Basch had crossed the room before his dropped helmet had hit the floor, catching Balthier in the midst of rising, and met Balthier's open mouth with the worry and frustration of more than a year.

"Am I to understand that you missed me, Judge Magister?" Balthier teased when Basch finally released him. "It seems I was concerned needlessly over my reception."

"Quite needlessly." Basch kissed him again, kissed away the sparkling laughter, the smile - still nervous, if one knew what to look for - and the banter. He was vaguely aware of Balthier's fingers groping for the buckles of his armor and grudgingly removed his hands from Balthier's waist to lend his aid. Between them, Basch's cape and the metal plates of his armor were soon on the floor, and Balthier's hands rested on Basch's chest, hot even through the black hide of his under-armor.

"Now I recall why I left the judges' ranks," Balthier grouched. "You are there somewhere beneath all of this, aren't you?"

Basch laughed and reached for the buckles binding the garment around his chest, pulling it down his arms and discarding it with his gloves on the growing pile of his garb. 'twas no small part of him that delighted in the slight-widening of Balthier's eyes. "I trust this has allayed your fears."

"Indeed it has." Balthier hesitated a moment, then lifted a hand to trace the golden hair hugging the curves of Basch's jaw. "I am not a man much given to worry or fretfulness, yet I must confess that I did in fact harbor some slight concern over my welcome. Archades has changed you much."

"Not so much." Basch's thumb skimmed Balthier's lower lip, and they were kissing again, relief and greeting and growing hunger, rising need tangled together until it seemed larger than Ivalice itself.

Naked

"I believe I am in love with your waist."

Balthier, naked from the waist up as he treated a series of scratches on his chest, frowned at Basch's non-sequitur, glancing at the blonde who had settled cross-legged in the middle of the room's bed. "My waist?"

"Rather, the flow of it: the way your back narrows from your shoulders, the way it angles to your hips." Though his gaze was steady, an incongruous flush was rising in his cheeks as he coughed lightly. "Pay it no mind. 'tis naught that required speaking."

"My waist," Balthier repeated, then shook his head. "I suppose, still, that it's better than admiring the cut of my pants."

Basch's laugh was welcome. "I did not say that I do not admire the rest of you," he admonished, then rose and crossed to Balthier, plucking the phial of potion he'd been smoothing over his chest from his fingers. "I admire you greatly."

Balthier's gaze held Basch's as he retrieved the potion, only to let it fall to the floor, heedless as the remaining fluid spilled over the wood. "Do you now." His fingers curved at the side of Basch's neck, his thumb rubbing at the thin skin covering the pulse-point there. "You have my utmost admiration, as well."

The kiss, when it came, was almost a relief, overwhelming the words lingering between them.

Arch

The tent was small, close; Balthier slept mere inches away, Vaan only inches beyond him. It was insane, Basch told himself even as he shifted his grip and pumped his erection harder. Though Vaan's light snores and past experience indicated that he would sleep deeply until he was physically roused, Balthier was more of a concern; he slept lightly and woke with alarming clarity. The press of Basch's hand over his own mouth and the muffling of his blanket seemed to do little to mask the harshness of his breathing, yet he could not bear to stop.

It was perhaps more of a surprise than it should have been when a hand, rough with the calluses distinct to a gunslinger, slid over his. He groaned helplessly, stifling it at the last moment even as Balthier's whisper - "Quiet." - gusted over his ear. Balthier's fingers wove between Basch's as he shifted closer, until not even the layer of Balthier's pants and two layers of blankets were enough to conceal the hard length of his answering arousal.

Basch's hips rolled with abortive thrusts as Balthier's hand coaxed him faster, harder. It seemed surreal, a bizarre dream playing out while they lay surrounded by their companions; the princess and Penelo had set their tent but a handful of feet away, and Fran sat watch nearby, no doubt aware of his actions from the first moment he'd slid his short-pants down his hips. Yet the knowledge of their proximity did naught to dispel his lust.

Balthier was murmuring things against his ear, filthy things that would have shocked Basch to hear from Balthier's mouth had he been in his proper mind. His fingers slid from Basch's, drawing the blanket back as they stroked over his hip, his buttocks. They stilled at the base of Basch's spine, and then, abruptly, there was the pressure of Balthier's thumb as it breached his anus, pushing deeply into his body.

Basch's mouth opened with a silent cry as his body arched. His flesh pulsed within his grip as his release painted the grass on which the tent had been set. Only when the throb in his groin had subsided to a dull, entirely-too-pleasant ache and Balthier's thumb had slipped from his body did he dare to move. He rolled to face Balthier, his bitten hand moving to cup Balthier's cheek, to hold him still as he learned in for a light kiss, then another, then another.

It was only when Basch's hand pressed against Balthier's cock - still caged by the tooled hide of his pants - that Balthier drew away, pressing a finger to Basch's lips. "Later," he whispered. "I do not know that I could contain myself so well."

Tremble

Balthier's cheek was smooth in the well of Basch's palm, the fine, short hairs of his sideburns silky against Basch's fingertips. Stripped to his small clothes, he seemed somehow more fragile, true to his youth. Basch savored it, lingering to feel the uneven rush of Balthier's breath against his lips, until appreciation could no longer compete with desire.

Balthier kissed as he did all else: with subtle, perhaps even subconscious control, open and warm yet still leaving the impression of distance. Basch had spent the vast majority of his life as a soldier and, though rank had required corresponding tact, he had little use for such maneuvering when it could be avoided.

A small show of force was usually all that it took to overwhelm the manipulations; Basch crowded Balthier, muscling him against the wall. He wasn't surprised when Balthier only laughed against his mouth and wrapped his hands around Basch's upper arms, and the press of Balthier's fingers was a challenge Basch felt no desire to ignore.

Bite

"You are insane," Basch had said in what turned out to be his only argument against what began with Balthier pinning him against the bulkhead of the Strahl and ended with Balthier bent over the pilot's seat, damp with sweat and well-satiated. The back of his neck ached.

"We really must have a talk about this habit of yours."

"I apologize." Basch's fingers ghosted over the bitemark marring the nape of Balthier's neck. "I do not know what it is that overcomes me."

The remorse in Basch's tone brought Balthier's head up as he twisted to see the blonde kneeling behind him. "I do not mind," Balthier blurted in an uncharacteristic rush. Basch's suspiciously-blank expression brought him up short, his eyebrows drawing together in a vague frown. "You know that, don't you."

It wasn't a question, and so Basch didn't bother answering. Instead, he lightly kissed Balthier's mouth and rose, stretching protesting muscles. "The others should return shortly. With luck, they will have remembered to keep the phoenix down away from Vaan this time."

Balthier stared at the hand Basch offered him, then grasped it, allowing himself to be drawn to his feet. "Your princess may have forgiven him, but she's an intelligent girl - she'll not let him near the alarm clocks, either."

Basch shook his head, drawing Balthier close for one last gentle kiss before releasing him and setting off in search of his propriety.

Warmth

"Your father - was he always thus?"

Balthier hummed, eyes closed as he leaned into the rub of Basch's fingers against his scalp. When he remained silent, Basch chuckled and discarded the topic, only to be surprised a moment later when Balthier spoke.

"Insane, you mean? Very nearly, though I'm told he once had been a good man. I never met him." Balthier sighed, dropping his head forward to urge Basch's fingers down his neck. "What of you, Captain Ronsenburg?"

Basch didn't bother to argue the dodge. "My father was a brewer, my mother kept house. They-- I lost my family when Landis fell."

"The fault of my father." Balthier's head tipped back now until he could meet Basch's gaze. "Just as well we are both here; a bird must be able to fly free."

Basch grimaced. "Even a free bird needs a nest."

"Ah, my dear Captain - that is a point on which we agree." Balthier rose from the floor on which he'd been seated, instead settling beside Basch on the bed. "A free bird may make its nest wherever - with whomever - it wishes. Does not the idea find merit with you?"

"A bird may have many nests," Basch conceded even as he allowed Balthier to press him down onto the mattress, to steal first one kiss, then another.

Rip

"Move, damn you!" Balthier snarled, hips rolling in an attempt stymied by the clasp of Basch's hands. "I'm almost--" His complaint terminated with a mewl as Basch angled his hips and stroked deeply into Balthier's body, only to still again. Balthier's protestation, this time, was inarticulate, a throaty whine that made Basch's chest tighten. "Please, just--"

Basch withdrew so quickly that it was almost painful, twin gasps torn from their throats. "Don't, Balthier, please don't." Not even certain what he was asking for, he pulled Balthier to face him, his kiss very-nearly desperate as he guided his cock back into Balthier's body. They moved with a twinned purpose now, bodies straining together until Balthier groaned - a raw tear of sound - and came, ejaculate smearing with sweat across their bellies as Basch continued to thrust.

It wasn't until he felt Balthier's fingers smoothing the lines between his brows, the frown thinning his lips, that Basch realized he'd closed his eyes. Opening them, he found Balthier watching him intently even as his fingers continued to map his features, following the sharp line of his nose, the point of his chin, the scar bisecting his eyebrow and slashing through his ear--

He came with a choked sound of surprise, shaking helplessly beneath the force of it. Balthier watched him throughout, and Basch could no more turn away from him than he could reach the sun. Even when they'd both falling still once more, Balthier watched.

"I do not deserve your regard, Balthier."

Balthier's smile was soft - and all the more unfamiliar for it. "No more than I deserve yours."

Ice

"Please take no offence, my dear companion, but: you stink."

Basch surprised them both - perhaps himself most of all - by laughing. "It seems that Dalmascan air is not sweet enough, then, to transform my filth to flora. The Nebra is not much distant; perhaps I should bathe afore my stench carries with it the news of my continued existence."

"He jests!" Balthier's grin was strangely infectious. "The speed with which we return to Rabanastre is at your discretion, though you are far from the only one in need of a good dousing.

Blind

It wasn't until Balthier's voice reached them through the comm, tinny with the static of Bahamut 's death throes, that Basch realized what he had lost. It wasn't until Ashe plead for Balthier's safe return that he realized he'd lost nothing after all - it was not possible to lose what one did not possess.

It was not Ashe's fault, had never been her fault, yet being with her was as an open wound, reminding him of what was not there, what never had been. Joining Larsa in Archades was a relief and a torment at once, yet the torment was older, dulled; he'd made his peace with the loss of his brother long before he'd met Gabranth.

It was easy to fall into the roll of Judge Magister, easy to keep himself distant from all but Zargabaath and Larsa. It was easier to mask himself with propriety and rank, easier to become merely Dalmasca's envoy, Larsa's Judge. He had become a bird caged by his own will, without a nest to retreat to. His nest had tumbled down, and he intended only to fly until he fell.

Couldn't

The surf foamed around Basch's ankles, dark spots marking the leather of his greaves where the water had reached higher. He stood with his eyes closed and his face tilted skyward, a scarred sunflower.

Balthier, playing guard to Ashe, couldn't help but glance at him time and again; Basch's sudden melancholy was nearly tangible, a ghost of bittersweet at the back of Balthier's tongue. Though Vaan and Penelo frolicked in the shallows not far distant, Basch seemed as alone as when he'd stepped from his shattered cage, thin and filthy and marked by the dungeon's atrocities.

Balthier's hands itched to touch him, offer comfort and understanding. It was no more than one friend would do for another, yet Balthier feared that his desires were nothing so altruistic. Closing his own eyes for a moment, he turned his full attention back to Ashe and told himself firmly that Basch would be better without his meddling.

Some day he might even believe that.

Restraint

"You," Balthier said decisively, "are an ass."

Basch's chuckle, though weak, was welcome. "My apologies. In the future, I will be certain to arrange it so that you have the pleasure of discovering firsthand that the teeth of the Skullash are, indeed, serrated." He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "'tis naught some spellwork and a good night's rest cannot sort out."

"That is not the point." Balthier glared - impotently, as Basch inconsiderately did not open his eyes to appreciate it. "It's not your place to protect me."

Basch hummed a disagreement, though it was some moments before he opened his eyes to regard Balthier, already falling towards sleep from the drain of the magic needed to repair his arm. "There we do not agree." His hand lifted to clumsily cup Balthier's cheek, his thumb dragging heavily over Balthier's lower lip. "Allow me my lapses."

"You are an ass," Balthier said again, but Basch was already asleep. Balthier caught his hand as it fell away, settling it carefully over Basch's chest. "And you deserve far more than I can give."

Repose

Balthier appeared his age when he slept, stripped of the smirks and the eyes that knew too much, and Basch wondered anew what Balthier saw in him, fourteen years his senior, the fallen knight of fallen kingdoms. He mumbled something about happy bunnies when Basch stroked the arches of his brows.

"Whatever you wish of me, Balthier - it is yours."

The words were easy to say with Balthier asleep; they were words Balthier would not wish to hear, and the looks of panic that flickered across his face each time they edged beyond friends seeking comfort made something twist in Basch's belly. Better for Balthier to never know that Basch wished only to never leave his side.

Wake

When Basch first woke, Balthier was still pressed against his side, one arm flung across Basch's chest, his head nestled against Basch's shoulder. Basch opened his eyes to see the soft brush of Balthier's hair, but sleep was already drawing him back.

When Basch next woke, Balthier had rolled away from him to sleep with his back pressed to Basch's side. Basch shifted to spoon against Balthier, wrapped one arm around the pirate's slender waist, and promptly went back to sleep.

When Basch fully woke, Balthier was seated on the bed beside him, clad only in a smile. Basch pondered that smile even as he levered himself up and moved closer to taste it, licking the curve of Balthier's lips until it fell away into hunger.

Strain

"You clean up well."

Basch tilted his head into the light caress of Balthier's fingers over his close-clipped hair. "I am told that I bear a striking resemblance to the late Judge Gabranth; I fear that Judges spend perhaps too much time hiding within their helmets." His smile was wry, and just a bit sad. "It is good to see you again, Balthier."

"You are not going to express amazement at my not having managed to get myself killed?" Balthier's shock was contrived, masking what Basch was fairly certain was relief. "You are not where I expected to find you."

"I am where I was most needed." Basch slid his fingers along Balthier's jaw, resting at the curve of his chin. "I am where I can do the most good."

Balthier curled his fingers around Basch's wrist. "And where is it you wish to be?"

Basch chuckled, shaking his head. "It matters not; at the moment, I am where I wish to be, with whom I wish to be." His hand slid lower, fingers pressing against the center of Balthier's chest. "Whence go you, thence go I."

"Basch," Balthier chided with an exasperation as contrived as his earlier shock, "we really must work on your lines."

Use

"Balthier," Basch rasped as Balthier's slicked fingers wrapped around the shaft of his cock, "I do not believe this to be a recommended usage of potion."

Balthier laughed, his fingers echoing the sound as they ran arpeggios over Basch's flesh. "Only because those long-dead mages were too stiff-necked. A little bit of relief can be perfectly healing, too."

Basch nearly bit the tip of his tongue off as his argument devolved into a helpless groan. "Do that again," he said instead and, though he laughed, Balthier quickly complied.

Balance

"What is it, to love a man?"

Basch blinked once, then again, then a third time. "My lord," he began, then ground to a halt, disarmed by Larsa's ingenuousness. "Might I ask what has you asking such a question?"

Larsa idly pushed at a pen lying on the wide expanse of his desk, turning it in a slow circle. "It is my belief that a proper emperor must know something of everything, and that his knowledge must be gained from those with a true understanding of the subject." He glanced up at Basch, smiling despite - because of? - Basch's flummoxed expression.

There was no choice left to Basch but to dissemble. "Surely there are others better suited, my lord. My-- knowledge-- is not so vast."

Larsa's smile didn't falter, though he tilted his head and wrinkled his nose in a manner that made him appear every one of his thirteen years. "Very well. Perhaps I shall ask Balthier instead."

Oh, by Belias's fiery balls-- Resisting the urge to wince, Balthier settled across from Larsa and began.

Aware

Basch's ribs stood out like sickles beneath his skin, accentuated by the dark bruises over his clavicle that lingered as traces of his shattered yoke. Matching bruises circled his wrists, set with flayed skin where the metal had rubbed them raw. He was filthy and foul, worn to naught but a shadow of the infamous Captain Ronsenburg, and - despite himself - Balthier was intrigued.

Dirt and blood and gods-only-knew-what-else swirled away with the river's current as Basch scrubbed himself with handfuls of sand. Upstream, Vaan moodily tossed rocks into the deeper waters, while Fran stood some distance off, her ears twitching at the sounds of the Estersand. Balthier glanced at them both, then back at Basch, before eventually shrugging and shedding his clothes.

Basch didn't look at him when Balthier waded in behind him, though he started when Balthier's hands touched his shoulders.

"You can't reach here yourself, and it's just begging infection," Balthier explained with forced levity. Basch's shoulders remained tensed beneath his palms, then relaxed abruptly as he nodded. "Now, perhaps you should stop that while you have some skin left. What do you say?"

Basch sighed, but obligingly released the sand he'd been scrubbing over his arms, head tilted to watch as it settled again to the bed of the Nebra. "I shall never be clean again," he said hoarsely, then turned slightly to Balthier. "I shall also never be able to properly thank you for your aid; it was invaluable."

"What good is a leading man who does not right wrongs?" Balthier quirked a grin at the other man. "For now, you may repay me by allowing me to rid you of your stench."

Basch's chuckle sounded as though it were unfamiliar even to himself. "Rarely has reparation been so gladly made."

Wait

Basch teetered on the edge of expectation, his breath catching sharply in his throat, and Balthier was only to his fingers. One by one, each digit was drawn into Balthier's mouth, and Basch felt each strong suck at the base of his spine, echoing over and over again in his groin until he thought he would go mad.

"Balthier, I cannot--"

Never had Basch thought it possible to come simply from having his fingers sucked, though it had admittedly been preceded by the most intense love-making to his neck he'd ever experienced. To have been forbidden to touch Balthier in return had been a pleasant torture - one he was looking forward to repaying, once his brain had returned from his toes.

Rhythm

Balthier always seemed vaguely at a loss when Basch pushed him down and straddled his hips. Inevitably, the befuddlement would melt into amusement, only to tense into sudden arousal when Basch pumped his slicked grip over Balthier's shaft. When Basch guided Balthier's slippery flesh into his own, Balthier appeared full of wonder, a young man only beginning to realize with what he had been gifted.

"Basch," Balthier said now, his voice tight with the reins of control. "Basch," he said again as he closed his eyes and his hips lifted to rock within the cradle of Basch's thighs. You needn't feel obligated, you know."

Basch chuckled and settled his greater weight firmly over Balthier. "'tis no obligation." His hands rode over Balthier's chest, thumbs rolling over the brown of his nipples. "Can you not believe that I might enjoy the same as you from time to time?" His thighs tensed, lifting him from Balthier's body and drawing a garbled complaint from the pirate.

"I shall never question it again," Balthier said hoarsely some moments later, though as Basch began to move over Balthier's body in earnest, both knew this would not be the last time the conversation would be had.

Shift

Basch would never be able to pin down just when his liaisons with Balthier became more than mutual comfort; it seemed as though one moment they had been two men who happened to share a bed, and the next--

He could no more identify how they had evolved than he could when. They were friends, of a certainty, but they were lovers only in the physical sense, bound together by bodies alone. He was not certain that he wanted more, or how much it would take for him to be content, and he feared that he would never know; what he had would only make him crave more.

Transparent

"Your Captain Azelas is, in fact, your Captain Azelas, isn't he?"

Basch glanced at Balthier, considering his bland expression for a moment before nodding. "Once, long ago. It had been many years even before Dalmasca fell."

If Balthier was surprised to hear Basch answer so openly, he didn't show it. "I thought as much. It was not an amicable parting, was it?"

Dissembling seemed pointless now, after tacitly agreeing to the topic. "We were ever at odds; it was a matter of degrees." Basch smiled faintly, the expression as quick as a blink. "You are a far more tractable companion."

Reflection

The water threw Basch's images back at him, distorted by widening rings as the rain pierced its surface. He looked older, tired, as though the dungeon had leached all color from him, leaving a walking ghost. Disgusted, he kicked the water, leaving it behind him as he strode to join the princess.

Much later, when they had together beside a blaze within the Garif camp, he'd confessed his thoughts to Balthier - he knew not why. Balthier had touched his hand, fingers a healthy tan against the pale gold of Basch's skin, then his chin, tickling along the line of his beard. "You are no ghost," Balthier had said and, later, had touched him again, tracing another line of hair until Basch couldn't help but be aware of the blood pounding through his veins.

Crave

He had never been in love, had never really thought about it; Basch's life had been full enough even without romantic entanglements. He'd had lovers, friends, but nothing more, and he had never felt an absence, never felt as though an empty space pierced his life.

It had not changed when he'd met Balthier.

Though they had shared their words, their bodies, there had been no lightning strike as the novels would have one believe. They had needed no pretence beyond their mutual respect and a shared desire for something familiar within the extraordinary. The intimacy had only strengthened their friendship, until a quirk of an eyebrow spoke as much as Balthier's quicksilver tongue or Basch's dry earnestness.

It was not until Balthier was no longer with them that Basch realized how much a part of himself Balthier had become; it was as a hole left by a lost tooth, and Basch was helpless but to worry it.

Was it love? Fraternity? Convenience? Though Basch did not know, he hoped greatly for Balthier's return - if only so that he could figure it out.

Fleeting

"You belong here no more than I, do you?"

Balthier didn't bother opening his eyes, too content to absorb the sun from the pillow of Basch's lap. "I am a pirate. Where do I belong, if not the pirates' city?"

"I do not yet know." He studied Balthier's face, unable to help the faint smile at the memory of Balthier's antics to adopt the position; they were a display of true mastery of masking the unspoken with the overt. "I do not believe that we have found it."

"We?" Balthier slit one eye open to peer up at Basch. "Planning on settling down with me, raising some nannas?" He laughed when Basch only lifted an eyebrow. "I've found where I belong; she's the most beautiful ship in the world."

Basch's finger idly traced the curve of one of Balthier's sideburns. "Even the Strahl cannot fly forever, Balthier."

"She might. I'll just need to try."

Constant

"Ffamran."

Balthier stirred sluggishly, blurring a string of syllables into an unintelligible question. When Basch repeated his name, he flapped a hand blindly in Basch's direction, nearly knocking himself in the nose for his troubles. When Basch laughed, he blinked his eyes open and turned an aggrieved look on him, the impact of which was rather diminished by his inability to keep his eyelids from drooping.

"I cannot think of you as Ffamran," Basch said, smoothing a finger over Balthier's eyebrows, "any more than I can imagine you a Judge." His fingers drifted down the line of Balthier's nose to tap the tip. "It is as though you are acting in a farce; though 'tis Ffamran mincing across the stage, we can see Balthier just behind, preparing to compromise the Elder's daughters and make off with their shoes."

"What?" Balthier asked, then, "I rolled up Ffamran and left him in a closet in Archades. There he belongs, and there he shall stay."

Fate

"Every man is his father's son," Basch said quietly behind Balthier. The cockpit of the Strahl was empty but for them and, though Balthier had professed an intention of pre-flight checks, his hands lay still in his lap.

"There are not many with a father such as mine." He tipped his head back, letting it rest against the seatback. "I must confess: I wonder sometimes what I might have become, were my father another." When Basch settled himself in Fran's seat, Balthier rolled his head to meet Basch's gaze. "You needn't carry out your lines; I will say for myself that I would not be Balthier and I would be blissful in my ignorance."

Basch chuckled, turning his gaze to the scenery past the Strahl 's glass. "You force me to improvise. Very well: every man is his father's son, but every man is not his father. My father was a brewer, yet I am here. He gave me what I needed to survive my choices, but my choices were my own." He turned to face Balthier again, his mouth curved with a wry smile. "Perhaps I say this for my own sake."

Again

The air of what had once been the gleaming palace of Nabudis was stifling, filled with the faint but constant drip-drip-drip of water as it collected in murky pools. It was a place of the dead, one Basch still was not certain they should be evading. He had long ago stopped asking the princess as to her well-being; the tight lines around her mouth bespoke that her efforts were no less great than his own.

Camp was made against a crumbled wall, set against the tilting floor, miserable and desolate. What slumber to be had was fleeting, fraught with ghosts and shadows; Basch eagerly surrendered his to stand guard, ever watchful against the beasts that prowled the once-elegant halls.

"It is as though Nebradia has fallen again," Basch said. Across his knees, his sword lay, at the ready should the distant scraping of claws venture nearer. He was unsurprised to feel Balthier's hand at the small of his back as the pirate settled against him, watchful at his side.

"You profess concern for the princess. What of yourself?"

Basch glanced at Balthier, finding something in his dark eyes to make him look away again, to peer into the dark of the hallway beyond. "I have seen three kingdoms fall: Landis, Nebradia, Dalmasca. I cannot afford to dwell on them, else there will be naught left of me."

Few

"Is it true? Is the great Basch fon Ronsenburg truly Hume?"

Basch half-glared at Balthier's raised eyebrows, though he fought his own smile. "Keep it to yourself; I have my reputation to uphold."

"I'll bear that in mind," Balthier said, even as his fingers again trilled over Basch's sides. The answering hastily-stifled chuckle and accompanying shiver only made him repeat the tickling, until Basch rolled Balthier beneath him and growled against his neck.

Although tickling was abruptly the last thing on their minds, Balthier couldn't help teasing, "Perhaps I too am ticklish, but I shan't tell you where."

Basch chuckled even as his teeth scraped over Balthier's clavicle, drawing a shiver of his own. "I look forward to finding where that might be," he said, even as the thought was abandoned.

Vertigo

"This is not wise," Basch said, shifting against the rough stone of the dry fountain at his back. "There are merchants, travelers--"

Balthier admired the rising bruise at the side of Basch's neck. "It's dark now, or nearly so. If we're quiet, no one will know we're here." He fit his mouth to the bruise again, flattening his tongue over it.

"Vaan said he wished to explore the fountains."

Balthier sighed through his nose, leaning back to eye Basch's faint grin. "Vaan is quite old enough to tend to himself," he said, then skimmed a finger over Basch's lips. "Are you done arguing now?"

Basch chuckled, winding his arms around Balthier's waist and pulling the pirate tightly against him. "I merely wish to ensure that all possibilities are considered," he said before kissing away Balthier's exasperation.

Inverse

"By the gods," Basch said in wonderment, then words spiraled away as Balthier's slick fingers pierced his anus. It was some moments before sense returned, before he remembered that there was a purpose to Balthier's cock skimming over his cheek. He turned his head, catching the tip of that cock between his lips and drawing it fully into his mouth, skating his tongue along its length.

Balthier made a sound of encouragement, muffled though it was by Basch's balls, and curled his finger - whether design or reflex, the result was the same as Basch exhaled heavily through his nose and shook like a leaf in a windstorm. Balthier's laugh was muffled also, as was his groan when Basch employed a judicious use of teeth.

"Never doing this again," Balthier said breathlessly a moment later, even as a second finger burrowed beside the first. He made a high, thin noise when Basch hummed his agreement, before words again spiraled away and all that was left was flesh.

Blur

Basch's hands seemed to be everywhere at once - stroking over his throat, tracing the seam of his lips, pinching his nipples, tickling his inner thighs - yet they avoided that which Balthier most wished they would caress. The one time he'd tried to voice a protest, Basch had swallowed it, his mouth crushing over Balthier's until his head spun.

Basch's mouth seemed to be everywhere his hands were not: nipping at his throat as his finger skimmed over the thin skin of his wrists, suckling hard at a nipple as his hands spanned Balthier's waist, sliding over the lines of his hips as his fingers tickled behind his knees. By the time Basch's mouth met his once more, Balthier's mind was a whirl of everything and nothing. As Basch shifted over him and the hard lengths of their cocks aligned, then began to slide within Basch's large grip, nothing overtook all else until naught existed of Balthier but ecstasy and the skin needed to contain it.

Breath

Balthier slept deeply, half-curled on his side, limbs splayed with one arm thrown across Basch's chest; Basch liked to think of it as an unconscious possessiveness, though his logical mind was certain it was merely a byproduct of Balthier's inevitable sprawl. Balthier's breathing was steady, even, and Balthier matched his to it as he dwelt in the world between waking and dreams.

It was more intimate, somehow, than aught they'd done before - ironic, really, given that it was not far gone that they had been as physically close as two people could be. It was part of Balthier's truth, stripped of his cleverness, the wry twist of his mouth that inevitably signaled a deception of some kind, the distracting expressiveness of his hands as they painted his words upon the air. The man Balthier had once been - the boy, really, before the corruption of his father - came through then, and Basch ached to know him, to find him within the man who now slept beside him, his breathing steady, even, against Balthier's shoulder.

Scar

On any other man, the scar would have been disfiguring: easily eight inches in length, slashing through brow and ear, gaping and jagged where the flesh had been too damaged to heal cleanly. On Basch, it was a badge of the honor he'd forsworn, as much a part of him as his sharp features, the surprising fullness of his mouth. Balthier could picture Basch without it, but it was somehow as imagining him without a limb, an incomplete recollection of the man Basch was.

In truth, the scar bore an undue fascination for Balthier, one he could no more explain than Basch could his professed admiration of Balthier's waist. In those rare moments where Basch slept past Balthier's awakening, Balthier reveled in tracing it, feeling the rough texture against his fingers, his tongue. Basch inevitably woke then, but never voiced the questions in his eyes; he would only close them again and permit Balthier his study, secure in the delusion of secrecy.

Without

Balthier never admitted that he lacked anything, after. Throughout his recuperation, throughout Fran's, he only speculated on the next treasure, how Vaan was treating the Strahl , or, once, how the princess Ashe was progressing into Queen Ashelia. Fran allowed him his smoke and mirrors, did not question the name he groaned when he found completion in his own hands. Humes as a whole were a sometimes-foolhardy, often-illogical race, but Balthier had ever proven himself to be something more; he was to be permitted his occasional foolishness, no matter how great its scale.

Frenzy

Balthier would have bruises the next day where Basch's fingers had gripped his upper arms, but he couldn't bring himself to care, even more so when Basch muscled him against the wall and thrust a knee between Balthier's. Somewhere behind them lay Balthier's shirt, tangled with his vest, one sleeve pulled inside-out. Not far beyond lay Basch's shortpants, crumpled with his vest and armor; Basch was left in only the leather that flowed from his sandals to lace up his calves.

Balthier's pants, even pulled open - he would worry over the popped buttons later - were much too tight and he growled as his attempts to shed them were stymied by the press of Basch's thigh, rubbing maddeningly against his groin and doing naught to make him any more comfortable. Later, he'd never be quite certain just how he'd made it out of those pants; it seemed that one moment he'd been gnashing his teeth at the confinement and the next-- the next his legs had been wrapped around Basch's waist and Basch was sinking into his body with one glorious thrust that shook his very bones.

There was nothing of finesse in their fucking, only a primal hunger that spread like sugar at the back of Balthier's tongue. Basch's hips snapped with sharp, shallow thrusts that were so perfect Balthier ached with the mere thought of their cessation, until it was all he could do to groan encouragements against Basch's ear with language he'd once have thought impossible for him to voice. The sudden closure of Basch's teeth at his earlobe abruptly snapped the thread that had been spinning tightly within him; he came with the force of a sandstorm, able to see nothing but the sparks of color burning behind his eyelids.

Deja vu

"Please do not encourage him," Balthier said when they were alone, Balfonheim falling away behind them. "I've no need of an apprentice."

Basch took a moment to rewind until he found the conversation to which Balthier referred: days ago, on the gleaming pathways of Giruvegan. He had, perhaps, enjoyed too much the needling of Balthier at Vaan's expense. "Are you not a master of your trade? Or is it that you were a particularly obnoxious apprentice and fear divine retribution?" At Balthier's silence he laughed, clapping a hand to Balthier's shoulder. "He is an eager pupil; you could do worse."

"I've no interest in better or worse; I've no need of an apprentice."

Laughing again, Basch kissed the vaguely-petulant frown from Balthier's lips. "Very well, Master Sky Pirate."

- tsuzuku -

Notes and Disclaimers

Final Fantasy XII is © Square Enix Co., Ltd..

These themes are based on prompts filched from the LiveJournal community centi_porn. As most are nowhere near 100 words (and I honestly don't have the patience to officially join anything), these are otherwise unrelated to the community. These are not in chronological order, perhaps not even connected. They're written basically as flashfic, unedited but for transcription errors. Great artistic license was taken where canon information was lacking.