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sulwenTitle: Twilight
Author: Sulwen
Pairing: Basch/Balthier
Rating: A very, very light R
Warnings: Set post-game, so there are possible spoilers.
Wordcount: 1200
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the order of the words
A/N: This was written for the IJ porn battle, here: http://asylums.insanejournal.com/porn_battle/
Prompt: Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Balthier, twilight-"Let the evening in the back door, fill the room, ceiling to the floor."
Dalmasca is not the place it once was, and there are days when Balthier regrets it. A clever man can profit from peace just as easily as from war, but there is a calm to the land that unsettles him. Sometimes, at the Strahl’s helm, his eyes drift closed and he remembers more… interesting times. Times when excitement and adventure were not to be found only in the corners of the world, but all across the map. Times when people were brought together by nothing more than circumstances and fate - people that, by all rights, never should have met.
Paths that, in an orderly world, never would have crossed.
One day, on one less-than-compelling quest or another, he abruptly changes the airship’s course, heading toward a city they’ve not seen in many months. Fran glances at him silently, unquestioning as ever when it comes to his sudden whims. He gets the distinct feeling that she knows more than she’s letting on, but it doesn’t faze him. There is a face in his mind, and he won’t quite rest easy until he sees it again.
They are known at the palace, even after all this time. Heroes are not soon forgotten, especially charming and handsome ones, and Balthier turns to smile at the whispering admirers lining the corridor as he walks. But he does not pause, not even for more familiar faces. They are welcome to walk and talk, but nothing will keep him from his destination for one moment longer. Fran recognizes his mood and keeps Vaan and Penelo well-occupied with stories of their escapades and questions about how life in Rabanastre has changed. They do not seem quite as restless in these peaceful days as Balthier, and their contentment pricks at him a bit.
But in the next moment, they are in the throne room, and nothing else matters but seeing that face again. He stops and bows to greet the queen, wonders if perhaps she thinks this visit is for her. Then his head is raised again, and he’s looking over Ashe’s shoulder, eyes locked with the man standing just behind her.
Somehow, no words pass between them, but everything begins to happen at once. An excuse is given, something about a diplomatic mission, though Balthier can hardly imagine a less likely pair of diplomats than the two of them. Fran takes Basch’s usual place as the queen’s personal guard, and Ashe, with perhaps the smallest hint of sadness in her smile, says her goodbyes, wishes them a safe and speedy journey, hopes with her eyes more than her words that they will be back soon. Balthier feels for her - he hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to be alone - but the Strahl is waiting, and time is not a friend today.
The airship takes them to a tiny hut in the middle of nowhere, a forest Balthier isn’t sure even has a name. Usually this place is a last refuge in desperate times, somewhere to lie low until trouble has passed by. He has never been so happy to be here.
Inside, the door finally closed behind them, their eyes meet again, seemingly for the first time since that moment in the throne room. Suddenly, everything feels strange, the world spinning around them sickeningly fast. Balthier feels awkward, and, unused to the sensation, doesn’t quite know what to do. He’s imagined, in this situation, that there would be more lunging and less hesitation, but things are never as one imagines and now the seconds are trickling by, and still all he can do is stare.
Eventually, he manages to speak, saying something about food after their journey - though he’s never been less hungry in his life. Basch nods, and they sit at the tiny table and eat traveler’s rations, making stilted conversation and watching the sun go down. Balthier watches as Basch stares out the window, face lit by the last rays of the sun, and he is overwhelmed by the golden nobility of the man’s features, how, even scarred - no, especially scarred - he looks more like a god, a summon spirit, than a mere mortal. The effect is impressive, but it brings to mind every doubt Balthier has had ever since this mad idea came into being. Basch is above him, above the pleasures a pirate might have to offer. Balthier almost apologizes for the whole thing, suggests they go back - the words are on the tip of his tongue - when the sun disappears below the horizon and everything changes.
The world goes dim, and in the twilight, Balthier no longer sees Basch in shimmering gold. Basch turns to meet his eyes, and everything around them is tinted by the deep blue of his gaze. Without the glare of the sunlight, Balthier can see behind the nobility in those eyes, can see the loneliness and the longing, and the cost of a life of selfless service. And then all the doubt and hesitation is gone, and he almost laughs at himself for being so afraid.
In the next moment, he’s settled back into his own familiar skin, flirting shamelessly across the table. They’re the same tricks he’d use to coax any pretty boy he saw lounging around a tavern, but somehow they’re not, and he can see that Basch knows it. It is what Basch has been waiting for, the game they played together all those long days of traveling together - a game they were never able to play to its conclusion.
One particularly salacious remark, one especially seductive smirk, and their long wait is finally over. And here, at last, is the lunging Balthier had expected. Basch, eyes intense and chest heaving, stands and overturns the table, tossing it out of the way as if it were nothing. He strides toward Balthier, who, ever the coquette, relaxes back into his chair and stares up at the other man under lidded eyes.
Basch twists a hand into the fabric of Balthier’s shirt and wrests him to his feet, pulling the smaller man close against his body. Balthier can feel the power in the man holding him, the heat of his breath, the fire in his eyes, and he tilts his head back invitingly, waiting.
The kiss, when it comes, is passionate and arousing and perfect, everything Balthier has dreamed it would be, and he has never felt quite so at home as he does when Basch pulls him close into a tight embrace.
Later, as twilight begins to darken into evening and Basch thrusts into him deeply, Balthier feels his heart race and thinks that perhaps, if it affords him nights like this one, peace isn’t so bad after all.
Author: Sulwen
Pairing: Basch/Balthier
Rating: A very, very light R
Warnings: Set post-game, so there are possible spoilers.
Wordcount: 1200
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the order of the words
A/N: This was written for the IJ porn battle, here: http://asylums.insanejournal.com/porn_battle/
Prompt: Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Balthier, twilight-"Let the evening in the back door, fill the room, ceiling to the floor."
Dalmasca is not the place it once was, and there are days when Balthier regrets it. A clever man can profit from peace just as easily as from war, but there is a calm to the land that unsettles him. Sometimes, at the Strahl’s helm, his eyes drift closed and he remembers more… interesting times. Times when excitement and adventure were not to be found only in the corners of the world, but all across the map. Times when people were brought together by nothing more than circumstances and fate - people that, by all rights, never should have met.
Paths that, in an orderly world, never would have crossed.
One day, on one less-than-compelling quest or another, he abruptly changes the airship’s course, heading toward a city they’ve not seen in many months. Fran glances at him silently, unquestioning as ever when it comes to his sudden whims. He gets the distinct feeling that she knows more than she’s letting on, but it doesn’t faze him. There is a face in his mind, and he won’t quite rest easy until he sees it again.
They are known at the palace, even after all this time. Heroes are not soon forgotten, especially charming and handsome ones, and Balthier turns to smile at the whispering admirers lining the corridor as he walks. But he does not pause, not even for more familiar faces. They are welcome to walk and talk, but nothing will keep him from his destination for one moment longer. Fran recognizes his mood and keeps Vaan and Penelo well-occupied with stories of their escapades and questions about how life in Rabanastre has changed. They do not seem quite as restless in these peaceful days as Balthier, and their contentment pricks at him a bit.
But in the next moment, they are in the throne room, and nothing else matters but seeing that face again. He stops and bows to greet the queen, wonders if perhaps she thinks this visit is for her. Then his head is raised again, and he’s looking over Ashe’s shoulder, eyes locked with the man standing just behind her.
Somehow, no words pass between them, but everything begins to happen at once. An excuse is given, something about a diplomatic mission, though Balthier can hardly imagine a less likely pair of diplomats than the two of them. Fran takes Basch’s usual place as the queen’s personal guard, and Ashe, with perhaps the smallest hint of sadness in her smile, says her goodbyes, wishes them a safe and speedy journey, hopes with her eyes more than her words that they will be back soon. Balthier feels for her - he hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to be alone - but the Strahl is waiting, and time is not a friend today.
The airship takes them to a tiny hut in the middle of nowhere, a forest Balthier isn’t sure even has a name. Usually this place is a last refuge in desperate times, somewhere to lie low until trouble has passed by. He has never been so happy to be here.
Inside, the door finally closed behind them, their eyes meet again, seemingly for the first time since that moment in the throne room. Suddenly, everything feels strange, the world spinning around them sickeningly fast. Balthier feels awkward, and, unused to the sensation, doesn’t quite know what to do. He’s imagined, in this situation, that there would be more lunging and less hesitation, but things are never as one imagines and now the seconds are trickling by, and still all he can do is stare.
Eventually, he manages to speak, saying something about food after their journey - though he’s never been less hungry in his life. Basch nods, and they sit at the tiny table and eat traveler’s rations, making stilted conversation and watching the sun go down. Balthier watches as Basch stares out the window, face lit by the last rays of the sun, and he is overwhelmed by the golden nobility of the man’s features, how, even scarred - no, especially scarred - he looks more like a god, a summon spirit, than a mere mortal. The effect is impressive, but it brings to mind every doubt Balthier has had ever since this mad idea came into being. Basch is above him, above the pleasures a pirate might have to offer. Balthier almost apologizes for the whole thing, suggests they go back - the words are on the tip of his tongue - when the sun disappears below the horizon and everything changes.
The world goes dim, and in the twilight, Balthier no longer sees Basch in shimmering gold. Basch turns to meet his eyes, and everything around them is tinted by the deep blue of his gaze. Without the glare of the sunlight, Balthier can see behind the nobility in those eyes, can see the loneliness and the longing, and the cost of a life of selfless service. And then all the doubt and hesitation is gone, and he almost laughs at himself for being so afraid.
In the next moment, he’s settled back into his own familiar skin, flirting shamelessly across the table. They’re the same tricks he’d use to coax any pretty boy he saw lounging around a tavern, but somehow they’re not, and he can see that Basch knows it. It is what Basch has been waiting for, the game they played together all those long days of traveling together - a game they were never able to play to its conclusion.
One particularly salacious remark, one especially seductive smirk, and their long wait is finally over. And here, at last, is the lunging Balthier had expected. Basch, eyes intense and chest heaving, stands and overturns the table, tossing it out of the way as if it were nothing. He strides toward Balthier, who, ever the coquette, relaxes back into his chair and stares up at the other man under lidded eyes.
Basch twists a hand into the fabric of Balthier’s shirt and wrests him to his feet, pulling the smaller man close against his body. Balthier can feel the power in the man holding him, the heat of his breath, the fire in his eyes, and he tilts his head back invitingly, waiting.
The kiss, when it comes, is passionate and arousing and perfect, everything Balthier has dreamed it would be, and he has never felt quite so at home as he does when Basch pulls him close into a tight embrace.
Later, as twilight begins to darken into evening and Basch thrusts into him deeply, Balthier feels his heart race and thinks that perhaps, if it affords him nights like this one, peace isn’t so bad after all.
