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Yay a fic!
Jan. 21st, 2011 09:57 pm5 Things That Never Happened to Balthier
Pairing: Basch/Balthier
Rating: G-R
Betas: Arora_Kayd and Deliah-Raven. All remaining mistakes mine. Thanks, guys!
Disclaimer: Blah blah don't own, do want.
Warnings: Slight, vague spoilers to the endgame.
5 Things that Never Happened to Balthier
I.
Basch is shockingly gentle for a man who has not loved for two years. Or perhaps Balthier should have expected this; he has seen how gentle the man is with the children, even through Vaan’s tantrums, and the reverence with which Basch handles his sword now it is returned to his hands. There is the same care when Basch eases his arm away from where it hides his face. Basch kneels over him on the bed, the first proper one they’ve had in weeks, and it would be kinder, Balthier decides, to put a stop to this swiftly. So when Basch cups the back of his head, his fingers- slowly beginning to rebuild their callouses- carding through the short hair at the nape of Balthier’s neck, Balthier produces one of his charming smiles and guides the captain’s mouth away from his own and instead to the crook of his neck.
“It is not your love I desire, Captain,” he purrs, and is disappointed, though not terribly surprised, when Basch startles away. The older man’s hands shake as he re-dons his clothing, and Balthier tells himself it is only thwarted lust that turns his stomach as the door slams in Basch’s wake.
II.
After Noah dies, Basch takes Balthier bent over the heavy wooden desk in the office now his. The sound of armour left half-on sounds too strongly in Balthier's ears for him to be sure of the sounds Basch makes behind him, but he thinks he sees him rubbing his eyes afterwards. He refrains from comment. He doesn't begrudge the rougher treatment; he only wishes he held his own brothers so dear.
III.
The poor child is half in love with him, he knows. He’s inadvertently seduced her by a charming smile and what she fancies is the tragic story of a young judge turned pirate, and a silk handkerchief placed in too-small hands roughed by work and weapons she’s really too young to wield. Pity would be the wrong word for what he feels when she stares after him, but nevertheless he is careful. When he lets her see him back Basch against the bulkhead of the Strahl, his mouth is less fierce than usual and his hands rest on the Captain’s shoulders instead of pinning his wrists. He seeks not to frighten her away, but merely to make his point. Her feet patter away down the corridor, moving quickly, and he sighs with relief before becoming distracted by Basch’s touch.
He is quite pleased when her eyes, still shockingly blue and innocent, turn toward Fran.
IV.
The poison burns in his eyes even before he realizes the basilisk is moving. For a moment he is almost tempted to laugh; it’s a mundane hunt, too easy for them to have bothered with but for the lure of the bounty. The pain is so intense that he stumbles back, almost falling against Fran’s soothingly familiar curves. He tells himself that it is only that pain that darkens his sight.
The next day, his sight is no clearer. Cures and remedies have had no effect. He can navigate the Strahl by touch and by memory, and he sits comfortably in his captain’s chair, knowing that Fran can navigate well enough from her own seat. It is strange to hear the hum of the Strahl’s drives, to feel her moving, and to not see through the wide windows. He cannot truly believe that he will never see the sky again, not yet. The thought is too great to think through, and numb, like a great wound that has not begun to hurt. But he knows that the others believe it; Ashe’s hands catch him when he stumbles in rising, her disgust at his chosen life softened by pity. He pulls away, forces his usual charming smile, and heads to his cabin.
Basch, with the scent of leather and metal and musk that is already familiar to him, is awaiting him there. Balthier brushes past him, not as easy or graceful as he usually is, and in his own complete darkness cannot pull the door closed behind him fast enough to prevent Basch following him. Turning away, he feels his way over to the bed, reaching instinctively to brush his fingertips along the barrel of his gun as he sits down. Basch’s warm, sword-calloused fingers close over his own, stilling them. He draws them to his lips, kissing them softly, and Balthier suddenly feels moisture in the roughness of his beard that his lurching stomach tells him is tears. Jerking back, he lays down, rolling onto his side. He doesn’t move, however, when Basch lays down beside him and wraps one arm around his waist. Sighing deeply when he feels Basch’s lips on the back of his neck, he curls up comfortably. He will not sleep, he knows, but he can no longer bear to be on the bridge.
***
Hours later, he wakens suddenly to the sound of silence. They are no longer moving, and Basch’s breathing is steady and even along his skin. He stirs restlessly. Basch’s breathing hitches in response, then he feels another kiss laid on his skin. Balthier struggles out of an embrace that suddenly feels stifling, but turns to face him. Basch’s hand settles lightly, tentatively on his shoulder, and Balthier sighs in acquiescence.
“This may still be mended,” Basch says.
“I had not taken you for a dishonest man, Captain.” Balthier kisses him passionately to keep
him silent, to distract them both, and struggles to quiet his thoughts. This time, the tears he can taste are his own.
V.
Balthier rages inwardly when Vossler joins their party. He is grateful, of course, for his sword and his strength but he has marked the familiarity that Basch and Vossler share, bound by memories of service together and that, decidedly, interferes with his plans. He has surprised even himself with his patience, even knowing that some spoils are worth any amount of effort, and that Basch is hardly ready to accept his advances so soon after the horrors of Nalbina. But he has been cultivating it nonetheless, with smiles and careful touches, and Basch seemed hesitantly responsive. Balthier knew he could never reveal that, when he smears the potion over Basch’s shoulders, over the old white scars and the newer red ones, he imagines biting there instead, leaving his own mark on the ex-knight’s skin. Basch’s first revisiting of the pleasures of love should have been his.
When Vossler leads Basch to one of the small rooms in the thieves’ den in Low-town with a hand resting on the small of his back, even Fran avoids Balthier for fear of his mood. Her eyes are wary and perhaps a little dismayed, but he cannot spare the feeling to care.
And when he steps back on the Leviathan to allow Basch to deliver the final blow, he smiles.
Pairing: Basch/Balthier
Rating: G-R
Betas: Arora_Kayd and Deliah-Raven. All remaining mistakes mine. Thanks, guys!
Disclaimer: Blah blah don't own, do want.
Warnings: Slight, vague spoilers to the endgame.
5 Things that Never Happened to Balthier
I.
Basch is shockingly gentle for a man who has not loved for two years. Or perhaps Balthier should have expected this; he has seen how gentle the man is with the children, even through Vaan’s tantrums, and the reverence with which Basch handles his sword now it is returned to his hands. There is the same care when Basch eases his arm away from where it hides his face. Basch kneels over him on the bed, the first proper one they’ve had in weeks, and it would be kinder, Balthier decides, to put a stop to this swiftly. So when Basch cups the back of his head, his fingers- slowly beginning to rebuild their callouses- carding through the short hair at the nape of Balthier’s neck, Balthier produces one of his charming smiles and guides the captain’s mouth away from his own and instead to the crook of his neck.
“It is not your love I desire, Captain,” he purrs, and is disappointed, though not terribly surprised, when Basch startles away. The older man’s hands shake as he re-dons his clothing, and Balthier tells himself it is only thwarted lust that turns his stomach as the door slams in Basch’s wake.
II.
After Noah dies, Basch takes Balthier bent over the heavy wooden desk in the office now his. The sound of armour left half-on sounds too strongly in Balthier's ears for him to be sure of the sounds Basch makes behind him, but he thinks he sees him rubbing his eyes afterwards. He refrains from comment. He doesn't begrudge the rougher treatment; he only wishes he held his own brothers so dear.
III.
The poor child is half in love with him, he knows. He’s inadvertently seduced her by a charming smile and what she fancies is the tragic story of a young judge turned pirate, and a silk handkerchief placed in too-small hands roughed by work and weapons she’s really too young to wield. Pity would be the wrong word for what he feels when she stares after him, but nevertheless he is careful. When he lets her see him back Basch against the bulkhead of the Strahl, his mouth is less fierce than usual and his hands rest on the Captain’s shoulders instead of pinning his wrists. He seeks not to frighten her away, but merely to make his point. Her feet patter away down the corridor, moving quickly, and he sighs with relief before becoming distracted by Basch’s touch.
He is quite pleased when her eyes, still shockingly blue and innocent, turn toward Fran.
IV.
The poison burns in his eyes even before he realizes the basilisk is moving. For a moment he is almost tempted to laugh; it’s a mundane hunt, too easy for them to have bothered with but for the lure of the bounty. The pain is so intense that he stumbles back, almost falling against Fran’s soothingly familiar curves. He tells himself that it is only that pain that darkens his sight.
The next day, his sight is no clearer. Cures and remedies have had no effect. He can navigate the Strahl by touch and by memory, and he sits comfortably in his captain’s chair, knowing that Fran can navigate well enough from her own seat. It is strange to hear the hum of the Strahl’s drives, to feel her moving, and to not see through the wide windows. He cannot truly believe that he will never see the sky again, not yet. The thought is too great to think through, and numb, like a great wound that has not begun to hurt. But he knows that the others believe it; Ashe’s hands catch him when he stumbles in rising, her disgust at his chosen life softened by pity. He pulls away, forces his usual charming smile, and heads to his cabin.
Basch, with the scent of leather and metal and musk that is already familiar to him, is awaiting him there. Balthier brushes past him, not as easy or graceful as he usually is, and in his own complete darkness cannot pull the door closed behind him fast enough to prevent Basch following him. Turning away, he feels his way over to the bed, reaching instinctively to brush his fingertips along the barrel of his gun as he sits down. Basch’s warm, sword-calloused fingers close over his own, stilling them. He draws them to his lips, kissing them softly, and Balthier suddenly feels moisture in the roughness of his beard that his lurching stomach tells him is tears. Jerking back, he lays down, rolling onto his side. He doesn’t move, however, when Basch lays down beside him and wraps one arm around his waist. Sighing deeply when he feels Basch’s lips on the back of his neck, he curls up comfortably. He will not sleep, he knows, but he can no longer bear to be on the bridge.
***
Hours later, he wakens suddenly to the sound of silence. They are no longer moving, and Basch’s breathing is steady and even along his skin. He stirs restlessly. Basch’s breathing hitches in response, then he feels another kiss laid on his skin. Balthier struggles out of an embrace that suddenly feels stifling, but turns to face him. Basch’s hand settles lightly, tentatively on his shoulder, and Balthier sighs in acquiescence.
“This may still be mended,” Basch says.
“I had not taken you for a dishonest man, Captain.” Balthier kisses him passionately to keep
him silent, to distract them both, and struggles to quiet his thoughts. This time, the tears he can taste are his own.
V.
Balthier rages inwardly when Vossler joins their party. He is grateful, of course, for his sword and his strength but he has marked the familiarity that Basch and Vossler share, bound by memories of service together and that, decidedly, interferes with his plans. He has surprised even himself with his patience, even knowing that some spoils are worth any amount of effort, and that Basch is hardly ready to accept his advances so soon after the horrors of Nalbina. But he has been cultivating it nonetheless, with smiles and careful touches, and Basch seemed hesitantly responsive. Balthier knew he could never reveal that, when he smears the potion over Basch’s shoulders, over the old white scars and the newer red ones, he imagines biting there instead, leaving his own mark on the ex-knight’s skin. Basch’s first revisiting of the pleasures of love should have been his.
When Vossler leads Basch to one of the small rooms in the thieves’ den in Low-town with a hand resting on the small of his back, even Fran avoids Balthier for fear of his mood. Her eyes are wary and perhaps a little dismayed, but he cannot spare the feeling to care.
And when he steps back on the Leviathan to allow Basch to deliver the final blow, he smiles.
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