The Muses Will Play

I'm That Kanra Girl. You know the one. I write fan fiction.

[slowlychangingover]

(image source)

A repost of an older fic I wrote, which has been edited.

I’ve always thought of Trunks as the type of person that as a child wanted to be just like his father, however, as he got older became sensitive and more compassionate, more like his mother. Let’s be honest, Trunks has to have the patience of a saint to deal with mini Goku Goten. 

Some fluff, some angst. 

-

A Matter of Rank | TruTen

Trunks had always been willing to come to Goten’s rescue.

Since the time they were children until they were the flourishing adults they were now he had played his white knight, so to speak. Whenever Goten needed him for anything, whether it was extra assistance with his homework or spending the night before an important meeting at work to having a heart-to-heart conversation, Trunks was always there to pick him up, dust him off, and steady him. Of course that wasn’t to say that Goten was weak by any means. On the contrary, he was well aware of the strength his best friend possessed both physically and emotionally.

Keep reading

[slowlychangingover]

(image source)

Another repost of an old fic, edited with some minor changes. 

I absolutely love this picture, and it’s one of my head canons that Gohan would read to Trunks as a little boy to help him sleep. For some reason, I’ve always compared Trunks to Peter Pan, so I made it his favorite story. 

Fluff and cuteness ensue. 

-

Not Quite Grown Up (previously “How To Fly”) | Truhan

Though he wasn’t quite asleep, Gohan’s eyes were firmly shut as he relaxed against the wooden crates that were scattered in Bulma’s lab. The night was silent, save for the soft, strong voice of Trunks as he read aloud, and he listened with rapt attention.

“I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be? There is so much more. What? What else is there?”

Gohan smiled as Trunks inflicted his voice to annunciate between Peter and Wendy. Peter Pan had always been Trunks’ favorite story growing up, and he recalled having read it to him more times than he could count, so many times that he could recite the story by heart. He peeked an eye open and watched Trunks’ lips form the words on the page, his blue eyes scanning over them with a practiced ease. There was something akin to peace in his little prince’s voice, a smile that reminded Gohan of the small, optimistic boy he used to be, and he was glad that he was still in there under all the suffering he had endured.

Keep reading

[slowlychangingover]

YOU WRITE LIKE A GOD.

Well this was a super amazing ask to get first thing in the..afternoon. (omg I slept so late!!)THANK YOU SO MUCH!! If you're looking for more, check AO3 under ThatKanraGirl and give my personal blog (under the same name) A follow. :3And really, thank you so much. ! ❤

[slowlychangingover]

(image source)

Sort of a repost. This is derived from an old RP log when I was an active player in the Tiger and Bunny community. It’s been three years since then, and I’ve been wanting to go back and retouch on some of my older works. It’s been a long time since I’ve written these two (or Tiger and Bunny at all for that matter), so I hope I can still do them justice.

-

Where The Brush Grows | UsaTora

“It’s a good day to go to the beach!” Kotetsu exclaimed as he threw the blinds open in his living room with a cheery grin. The sun burst through, illuminating the dark apartment and shedding light on one Barnaby Brooks Jr., who had been curled up on the couch surfing aimlessly on the Internet all morning. Kotetsu beamed at him from over the railing of the stairs, though not before rolling his eyes at the stagnant blond. “Come on, Bunny! You could use some sun!”

The icy look he received in turn spoke volumes. He supposed that someone as hoity-toity as Barnaby thought that something as building sand castles and eating ice cream as they walked along the shore was nothing but a waste of time – time that he could be using to research (though on what, Kotetsu could only imagine).

“It’s only April. What makes you think this is anything close to nice enough to be beach weather?” Barnaby replied coolly, and turned his attention back to his laptop without a second glance. True, it was pretty early to really consider it “beach weather”, but Sternbild had been enduring an unusually warm spring, and the beaches had seen an early influx of visitors. Still, Barnaby seemed determined to keep himself firmly planted on the couch. Kotetsu pouted.

“We don’t even have to go in the water! Just a walk!” Standing upright he pranced down the stairs and promptly hopped on the couch, successfully bouncing the computer in Barnaby’s lap. As Barnaby glared at him, Kotetsu grinned and nuzzled into his thigh and holding his hips down to keep his prey from escaping. Admittedly, he wanted to see Barnaby against a beach landscape, imagining that he would look like something pretty in the rough of the sand. “Please!! Just for a little while. When we get back I’ll make a late lunch and you can do whatever you want,” he compromised. To add to his plight he crawled up on his knees and kissed his cheek, silently hoping the affection wouldn’t push the ever-feisty blond over the edge.

“Will you shut up if I say yes?”

Kotetsu nodded quickly with hopeful eyes as Barnaby kept a cold gaze on him. After what seemed like an eternity, he heaved a heavy sigh and closed the laptop, setting it aside.

“Alright, fine, we’ll go to the beach, but we’re going to the closest one, and we’ll come back after an hour.

“Yosh!” Kotetsu was on his feet and up the stairs faster than Barnaby could blink, much less change his mind. He hurriedly dug through his drawers and brandished a pair of shorts and a lightweight button up. Changing quickly, he nearly hurdled the steps three at a time (much to his and Barnaby’s surprise that he didn’t fall flat on his face), and yanked his partner from his well-worn spot on the couch. He blatantly ignored Barnaby’s grumbles of protests as he slid on a pair of flip-flops.

“Come on, come on! I only have an hour and with traffic it’s already gonna take as half that time to get there!”

Before Barnaby could blink Kotetsu had him seated in the passenger seat of his car, leaving him shocked that the old man could even move that fast let alone get him out the door before he could realize what had happened. He watched him scurry into the driver’s seat, bouncing like a hyperactive child.

“Why do you even want to go so badly?” Barnaby buckled his seat belt and crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed at being shoved into the car (but more so because he hated not being the one driving).

“It’s just so nice out! This is my favorite kind of weather, you know. Not too hot, not too cold, and there’s a nice breeze and everything!” It was almost like a high for Kotetsu. Something about the type of weather was so exhilarating and refreshing that he absolutely had to be a part of it. The grin on his face remained the entire drive, which was otherwise spent in silence, save for Barnaby’s backseat driving comments.

As Kotetsu climbed out of the car he noticed that the brush along the boardwalk was in bloom. Pinks, purples, and yellows blossomed amongst what was otherwise just a dull, beige patch of roughage. Without a second thought he ran full force for the edge of the dock that led down to the sand and hoisted himself effortlessly over the wooden guardrail with a cheerful battle cry.

He took a deep breath and let the atmosphere soak into him. The feel of the brush on his tanned skin and the scent of various beach blossoms filled his senses. It felt nice to be a part of the simple things again.

“Kotetsu!!”

At the sound of his name Kotetsu popped back up through the brush, leaping like a tiger after its prey as he landed mostly smoothly on the boardwalk. He grinned ear to ear at Barnaby and he leaned against the rail.

“What’s up, Bunny?” Of course he hadn’t noticed the frantic look in his partner’s eyes and he kissed him quickly, eager to go back down to the sand and possibly drag the stony man into the water, though he figured he might as well dash that hope before it ever got the chance to ignite.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you do something so reckless?” Kotetsu winced as Barnaby began to berate him, not letting him get a word in edge wise, though the longer Barnaby went on, the more he couldn’t help but continue beaming. Everything from not knowing what was in the brush to poison ivy was thrown at him until Barnaby finally ran out of things to yell at him about.

Bunny really was cute when he was worried, and he rather liked the idea that someone other than his own daughter – and even that was questionable at times – worried themselves over his own recklessness. He reached his hand out as Barnaby began stalking away, half climbing over the rail to sit on it. When he had gotten his attention again he presented him with a handful of the various flowers. “For going through the trouble?” he offered sheepishly.

Barnaby stared at the fist full of flowers being held out to him and quirked an eyebrow at him before rolling his eyes them. 

“You’re lucky it’s difficult to stay mad at you.”

“That’s usually what I count on,” Kotetsu chuckled softly and pulled Barnaby closer, inching down for a long, sweet kiss. From the tenseness of his lips, Kotetsu could tell that Barnaby was still quite upset with him, though the kiss did seem to take the edge off, at least, that’s what he hoped.

He swung his other leg over the side and grabbed Barnaby’s hand. The air was nice on the beach, not sticky as it normally would be, and the sound of the waves was something of a balm to his system. Pulling gently, he led the less than impressed blond further down the boardwalk, letting the cool breeze from the ocean surround him.

“How about that walk?”

Barnaby huffed, clearly no more fond of the idea than he had been when Kotetsu had suggested it, but fell in step with him anyway, and made no motion to pull his hand away. A softer, gentler smile pulled at the corner of Kotetsu’s lips, and he stold a glance at the blond against the ocean backdrop. Just as he had predicted, Barnaby was simply stunning, and he was glad that even if he didn’t outwardly say it that Barnaby was happy to be there with him. The faintest smile on his normally pained face as he looked at the handmade bouquet in his hands was worth every bit of fighting it took to get here. And maybe they weren’t really good at this dating thing, but they smiled as they shared a quiet walk and laved their fingers together tighter, Kotetsu thought that maybe they were getting better at it.

[slowlychangingover]

(image source)

A repost of an older fic I wrote, which has been edited.

I’ve always thought of Trunks as the type of person that as a child wanted to be just like his father, however, as he got older became sensitive and more compassionate, more like his mother. Let’s be honest, Trunks has to have the patience of a saint to deal with mini Goku Goten. 

Some fluff, some angst. 

-

A Matter of Rank | TruTen

Trunks had always been willing to come to Goten’s rescue.

Since the time they were children until they were the flourishing adults they were now he had played his white knight, so to speak. Whenever Goten needed him for anything, whether it was extra assistance with his homework or spending the night before an important meeting at work to having a heart-to-heart conversation, Trunks was always there to pick him up, dust him off, and steady him. Of course that wasn’t to say that Goten was weak by any means. On the contrary, he was well aware of the strength his best friend possessed both physically and emotionally.

He was also all too aware of the pain Goten bottled up inside and released when he thought no one was watching. Everytime the weight on his shoulders became too much for him to hear alone, Trunks was there, holding him, kissing his tears from his big, loving eyes. He told him it would be okay and that there were some things that some people just couldn’t understand

But he did.

Goku had left without any more than a wave and no indication that he would ever return to train with some kid that was somehow more important than his own family. Chichi was falling apart, and Gohan was so caught up in his wife and daughter that it left little time to see that his little brother would cry himself to sleep. With so much burden sitting heavily on him, it was a wonder that Goten could stand up as tall as he did, much less smile as though nothing was bothering him. So, when he couldn’t hold it anymore, Trunks was there to take that burden from him and carry it on his own back without hesitation. That’s what friends did. That’s what lovers did.

A strangled cry wrenched from Goten’s throat and Trunks felt his heart shattering. No one so pure and unconditionally loving as Goten should ever have to feel the sting of the world’s cruelty. Trunks gently ran his fingers through his mess of black hair and pressed soft lips to his cheek.

“It’s not fair,” Goten sobbed and Trunks pulled him into his lap, rocking him slowly.

“No, it isn’t.”

Once upon a time, Trunks had wanted to be a prince, the kind that had power like his father that he yearned to be like. Now, he would take his roll as a simple knight, and leave the princely duties to someone else, because if he wasn’t there, if he didn’t come to this boy’s aid whenever he called, no one else would, and someone who was as precious as Goten deserved to have some kind of power.

[slowlychangingover]

(image source)

Another repost of an old fic, edited with some minor changes. 

I absolutely love this picture, and it’s one of my head canons that Gohan would read to Trunks as a little boy to help him sleep. For some reason, I’ve always compared Trunks to Peter Pan, so I made it his favorite story. 

Fluff and cuteness ensue. 

-

Not Quite Grown Up (previously “How To Fly”) | Truhan

Though he wasn’t quite asleep, Gohan’s eyes were firmly shut as he relaxed against the wooden crates that were scattered in Bulma’s lab. The night was silent, save for the soft, strong voice of Trunks as he read aloud, and he listened with rapt attention.

“I taught you to fight and to fly. What more could there be? There is so much more. What? What else is there?”

Gohan smiled as Trunks inflicted his voice to annunciate between Peter and Wendy. Peter Pan had always been Trunks’ favorite story growing up, and he recalled having read it to him more times than he could count, so many times that he could recite the story by heart. He peeked an eye open and watched Trunks’ lips form the words on the page, his blue eyes scanning over them with a practiced ease. There was something akin to peace in his little prince’s voice, a smile that reminded Gohan of the small, optimistic boy he used to be, and he was glad that he was still in there under all the suffering he had endured.

When there was a pause in the words Gohan opened his other eye to find that Trunks was looking out at the stars. Absently, he mused the similarities between the other half-saiyan and the hero that was Peter Pan. The hand cradling his head reached up, and he tugged on the ankle of his pants, gently drawing his attention downwards.

“Lost in a thought?” he inquired. Trunks’ eyes trailed down to meet his gaze and he closed the book, a smile forming on his lips. 

“It’s funny,” he started, and he slid down the wall he had propped himself against, his fingers tangling around Gohan’s own, “You taught me to fly, and taught me to fight…” He trailed off, busying himself with examining their interlocked hands. Bringing them to his lips, Gohan kissed his knuckles, smiling happily and he found himself getting lost in starry blue of Trunks’ eyes.

“What else is there?” He asked. Trunks shook his head with a quiet laugh, the sound striking Gohan right in his stomach. He would never tire of the butterflies that flitted through his gut when Trunks laughed (or did anything really).

"That’s something you learn when you grow up,” he started, and he leaned closer, pulling him upright and brushing his lips over his, “but I think it starts with a best friend and a kiss.” Gohan smirked against his lips and hugged him close.

“I think that’s a good start.”

[slowlychangingover]

(image currently uncredited. if you know the source, please send me a message so that I may properly give the artist credit.)

A repost of an old fic that I fixed up. 

I’ve had a severe lack of Gohan/Trunks in my life as of late, so working on this little thing was a nice way to give me the small fix I needed. This story is set in the Future Timeline (kinda). 

-

Adrift | Truhan

All alone.

For the first time in his life, Trunks sat alone at the foot of Gohan’s grave. Years had passed - he had lost count of how many exactly - but he knew the visit was long overdue. It was also the first time he had been there without the company of his mother.

The headstone looked exactly as he remembered, and just the same as the others that surrounded it. Flowers had begun to bloom alongside the blades of grass, clashing with the dead color of grey and, ironically, giving it life. Knees bent to his chest, Trunks sat and reached forward, plucking a dandelion from its root. He spun the stem between his fingers, examining the white, fluffy ends and brushed them against the tip of his nose as he delicately inhaled the scent.

With a soft breath he closed his eyes and blew the seeds off, watching them scatter as the wind caught them in its grasp and they danced along the light of day like tiny, lost clouds. As Trunks looked on his mind was filled with questions that demanded answers, but there had been no one to give him what he sought.

Gohan had told him stories of angels as a child on nights he was too restless to sleep. He painted the image in his head of glowing, perfect humans that had fulfilled their duty in life and were granted gorgeous wings of soft, pristine feathers. Trunks recalled asking him once if he would be an angel one day, and he had been confused by his answer.

“I hope you’ll never become an angel in my lifetime.”

Back then he didn’t understand, but now he knew full well what he had meant. A deep frown tugged on his lips as he wondered if Gohan had become one of the angels he had always talked about.

“Are you happy?” His voice was rough as he spoke, unused for another lapse in time that he couldn’t quite remember. “Did you get your wings?”An image of Gohan, dressed in the blue and orange gi he wore in memory of his late father began forming in his head. He took time etching the details, eventually drawing the soft edges of glorious wings springing from between his broad shoulders.

“…yeah. Of course you did, even though you don’t need them.” Trunks traced his fingers along the engraving on the stone, his eyes sad as he rested his head atop his knees. “I thought you were perfect the way you were.”

The realization that he had been crying didn’t hit him until he lifted his head again, the light wind leaving his warm face feeling cool on his cheeks and his bangs sticking to the moisture. He heaved a long, shuddering sigh and ran a hand through his long, lavender mess of hair. How long had it been since he cried? It was just another time that had been lost on him, but he knew it had been a long time.

Time had ruined Trunks. He had seen too much of what should have happened, both for better and for worse. He had been in the past for so long that he couldn’t remember which was his reality, and now he had been forced to accept that there was no Gohan for him. No matter how far back he went or how far he jumped forward, decades of searching left him nothing but older and emptier than he could ever remember feeling.

So many questions left unanswered…no one to ever answer them.

He stood after a while and placed the tips of fingers to his lips, kissing them gently before touching them to the carved name on the headstone. Standing slowly, Trunks took several steps away from the small cemetery. He still had so many questions, and all of time to search for the one that burned in his mind more than anything else.

‘Would you have loved me when we were older?’

[slowlychangingover]

(image source)

Just a little something I whipped up spur of the moment. It’s been so long since I’ve posted anything, and an even longer time since I posted anything in the Harry Potter fandom. However, I’ve recently been dabbling back in Wolfstar on my personal blog and my HP blog. So here’s this fluffy, a little disjointed and not really edited piece of next-gen slash. 

AU-ish with a minor dash of Wolfstar because I couldn’t help myself. 

-

Mistletoe Magic | Jeddy

As Teddy descended the stairs of the Burrow he noticed that the only light emanated from the large tree in the living room. It was truly a spectacular sight – the tiny, multi-colored lights reflected off the silver tinsel garland that was delicately wrapped around it like a beacon, guiding lost children to a retreat of worry free magic. He really had to hand it to Molly; she always knew how to decorate for the holidays.

Teddy padded into the living room but stopped short upon seeing a tall, curly haired boy sitting beside the tree, tinkering with the wrappings of a small present and pulling at the bow, as though he were trying to perfect the way it looked. He stood quietly and watched and James Sirius Potter finally put the little package gently atop a pile of gifts in the far left and sank into the couch, staring intently at the tree with hopeful eyes, and Teddy mused that maybe James hadn’t grown as much as he thought he had.

Still, there was no denying that he had aged finely. He rather liked the curls that were always a mess no matter how he tried to manage them brushing his shoulders, and Teddy has certainly noticed that the once round face had thinned into fine, chiseled lines that only added to his ever-charming smile. In fact, Teddy would have gone as far as to say that James was rather sexy. Normally, he would push the thought to the back of his mind, but there had been something about the way the lights glittered in James’s eyes and how the shadows flickered on his handsome features that prevented Teddy from doing so that time. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat, making his presence known.

“You know, Santa won’t come if you don’t go to bed,” he teased. James shipped his head towards the door and Teddy would have sworn that he blushed, but maybe it was just the lighting.

“Shove off, Lupin,” he replied, but it was lighthearted as he offered him a soft smile and scooted over to make room for him on the couch. “There’s no such thing as Santa.”

“Maybe,” Teddy returned his smile and sat beside him, scooting close enough that their legs were flush, “but the little ones still believe. Besides, it’s part of the Christmas magic.” At that James laughed.

“Uncle Sirius is rubbing off on you. I swear he’s a child in an old man’s body.”

“Hey, Sirius isn’t that old. He’s younger than your grandparents anyway. If you ask my dad, he’s as spry as he’s ever been.”

“That’s gross Teddy.”

The boys laughed and Teddy took the opportunity to slide his arm around him. Much to his surprise (or maybe not), James made no move to push him away.

“So,” he inquired, “who is that little one for?”

“None of your business,” James shot quickly, but not before leaning (maybe subconsciously) into Teddy.

“I don’t like surprises. Just tell me.”

“No. You’ll find out in the morning. Jeez, you’re more like Uncle Sirius than Uncle Remus.” Teddy laughed and ruffled James’s hair, earning him an indignant huff as he tried to fix it.

“Oh trust me, my bad can be just as bad.”

“If you say so,” James replied flatly.

They sat in silence for a long while, watching the lights sparkle and enjoying the calm before the storm of children and Christmas frivolity that was soon to come. James shifted and laid his head on Teddy’s shoulder, and Teddy noted that his hair smelled of holly and peppermint, not that he had leaned closer to bury his nose in it or anything.

“…have you seen Victoire since you got here?”

Teddy froze. Of course he had. He couldn’t have missed the icy look she had given him upon his arrival, and certainly noticed how she pointedly avoided looking in his general direction at dinner.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly, “what of it?”

“Nothing,” James covered swiftly and Teddy didn’t miss the tug of a frown that formed on his face, “Just wondering.” Before Teddy could think twice about it he was curling a finger in James’s hair, watching the curls spring back over and over again.

“It’s over. It sucks that she hates me now…not that I can blame her guess.”

“…I thought you loved her.” James’s voice was quiet, as thought he wished he hadn’t thought the words, let alone spoke them.

“I did,” Teddy sighed, “but people change. We were younger then. We wanted different things.”

James’s frown deepened and he sat up, facing him. For a long moment he stared at Teddy, and Teddy stared back. How had things gone so wrong? When had he started falling for this mess of a boy that was still coming into himself? When had he begun thinking that kissing a boy that he looked at as only a brother for so many years was remotely a good idea? All were answers Teddy didn’t have, but it didn’t stop him from cupping James’s chin and drawing him closer. And oh, how that boy could blush. He was positively adorable as Teddy brushed his thumb over his cheek, stopping only inches from his lips when a tiny white snowflake landed on James’s nose. Startled, James jumped and stared at his nose with crossed eyes before he looked above them. Teddy followed his gaze, and they both had to chuckle.

“Mistletoe,” Teddy stated.

“Obviously,” countered James, and his cheeks darkened more under Teddy’s hand as the mistletoe grew and magic snow fell upon the tops of their heads just as the clock struck midnight.

“It’s bad juju to not follow customs.” James gaped at Teddy with wide eyes, and Teddy grinned from ear to ear mischievously.

“I don’t want you to kiss me because of some stupid tradition,” James spat and averted his eyes. The pull on his chin, however, forced him to look back at Teddy, whose face was even closer than it had been moments ago.

“Whoever said I wanted to kiss you because of that?” The tip of Teddy’s nose grazed James’s, and he could feel his breath desperately trying to remain calm. “…maybe I just want to kiss you.”

James barely managed a nod before he could react, before Teddy could stop himself, and their lips connected. The kiss was soft at first, hardly a kiss at all, but it didn’t take long for Teddy to pull James closer, circle his arms around his waist, and pull him in his lap. James’s heart pounded against his chest, and it only encouraged Teddy to deepen the kiss, sucking lightly at the pout of his lip and earning him a soft noise of approval.

With hesitation, and well after the snow had stopped falling from overhead did they part, breathless and red faced. Teddy licked his lips, ecstatic to discover that James tasted even better than he smelled, and James offered him a lopsided, nervous smile.

“Happy Christmas, Teddy.”

Teddy smiled back, brushing a stray curl from James’s face and kissed his cheek, still rubbing small, delicate circles over his back. He found he no longer cared what was waiting in the small package under the tree because he had already gotten the best gift anyone could have given him.

“Happy Christmas, Jamie.”

[slowlychangingover]

I originally wrote this for the Yaoicon Anthology contest that ended this passed February. Seeing as it wasn’t chosen despite my hard work, I’ve decided to at least give it some attention to those who may appreciate it more.

Title: Fight or Flight Series: Final Fantasy X-2 Pairing: Gippal/Baralai (Gippalai) Rated: M (Smut and minor gore) Word Count: 6,742

Special thanks to morethanair​ for taking the time to go over this with a fine toothed comb for me.

For as long as Baralai could remember, Gippal had always been something of a wanderer. He detested being in one place for too long. It made him feel vulnerable, and keeping himself on the move allowed him to remain elusive, with nothing but rumors and hearsay left in his wake. Baralai often found himself listening carefully for those rumors, trying to keep track of his wayward friend. Just a whisper that Gippal hadn’t gotten himself into some kind of trouble with fiends still on the winding roads of Spira was enough to keep his worries at bay for a day or two.

Baralai was resigned, if not necessarily surprised at Gippal’s desire to constantly appear and reappear in his life. He regularly felt that if anyone understood Gippal, it was himself. The Al Bhed hadn’t been a race most were fond of before the last calm began, and had really only now begun to mingle and mix with the people on the mainland instead of keeping to themselves as hermits on the distant isle of Bikanel. Having spent much of his life in fear of being born as what the temples had deemed as a heretic, Baralai found himself compassionate.

What was more was the life that Gippal had lead regardless of his disbelief in the teachings of Yevon. It had been through Gippal that Baralai had learned what he considered to be one of the most valuable lessons in his life. Yevonites and Al Bhed were the same. Both parties wanted nothing more than to rid the world of Sin and leave peacefully without trepidation. The only thing that differed was the methods in which they had sought to free themselves.

When Baralai had met him, Gippal was barely old enough to join the Crimson Squad, and he remained convinced that the young blond had lied about his age to join the training regiment in which to defeat Sin once and for all. Sixteen was so young to devote oneself to defend the people of Spira, yet Gippal did so with confidence. In the months they spent training, Baralai had seen the best and worst of the young Al Bhed. He had seen both the sometimes-false bravado when he headed into the heat of a battle with his machinegun in hand, but he had also seen the innocence of his age.

Beneath his quirky speech and hardened exterior, Gippal was still a child. Like the rest of them, he wanted nothing more than to run away from the problems of the world and not have to carry the burden in which Yevon and Sin brought down on his shoulders. He was desperate to escape the fate that he was born into, determined not to fall into the same vicious cycle that had plagued Spira for a thousand years. Baralai could recall all too well the rivets his boots made in the sand when he would force himself to stay and fight. He’d refuse to flee, and he’d grip his gun as though his life depended on it. There had been so much anguish swirling in his one, spiraled green eye.

So Baralai said nothing when Gippal would come to see him from time to time. He accepted Gippal’s quirks with a soft, welcoming smile and relief in his eyes that he didn’t bother to hide. And he couldn’t help but smile when Gippal was standing on the other side of his desk, a little older, and a little more defined than the last time Baralai had seen him. When he grinned, Baralai could still feel the butterflies that never seemed to go away when he was there flutter in his stomach. Although he cursed himself for feeling them there after so long, he genuinely missed them, and Gippal, when they were gone.

“You’re here,” he said as he set his pen down and folded his hands over the documents he had been immersed in since that morning. On the surface, the greeting was lame, but Gippal had been one of the very small handful of people that Baralai felt completely at ease with. There had never been a need to be overly formal in his presence. Gippal chuckled and scratched the back of his head, though it hadn’t gone unnoticed that the movement seemed forced.

“Long time, no see.” He lowered his arm again and Baralai silently observed how he seemed to coddle his shoulder. The leather of his chair creaked as he sat back and crossed his legs, his hands lying comfortably in his lap as he gazed upon him longer. Time had been kind to his desert friend. Gippal was as tan as he remembered, and perhaps even darker. It was a nice contrast to the blond mess of hair that somehow always looked perfect to him no matter how it lied.

Scrutinizing harder, Baralai did notice something amiss with the upstanding Al Bhed. Though he tried to mask it, it was clear to him that Gippal was in pain. Further inspection revealed the tear in the sleeve of his sweater, hidden only in part by his armor, and it was proof enough to him that something had indeed happened to him during his journey. Still, he bit his tongue and waited for him to offer up the information willingly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” With his hands on his hips now, Gippal flashed him his signature grin and stepped closer to his desk until his thighs were near flush with the dark wood of the desk. The proximity between them only solidified Baralai’s suspicions and he found himself trying not to outright stare at the wound that was glaring him in the face.

“I don’t have to have a reason to see you, do I?” At that, the Praetor sighed. He should have known that Gippal wouldn’t just offer up what he wanted after all. The man was as stubborn as ever. Baralai stood, sighing as he maintained his smile.

“Of course not, however, I think it would be wise to have your arm looked at in the infirmary before we continue.” And there it was. A pitiful look of guilt flashed in the Al Bhed’s eyes before he could cover it up with nonchalance. Gippal shook his head quickly.

“Oh this?” He nodded toward his injury. “Just a scratch from a friendly fiend in the Calm Lands. Give it a day or two and it’ll be good as new.” Another cover, Baralai knew. He would need another tactic if he were going to get his friend to reveal the truth. Thankfully, Baralai did know of such a way.

“Then not the infirmary.” He came around the desk and reached out his hand, gingerly brushing his fingertips against his as he stepped smoothly. “I shall tend to it myself.” His eyes lingered on him for a moment as he smirked, expecting him to follow, and he did. Their footfalls fell into a natural synchronization as they traversed silently through the halls of Bevelle’s temple. All the while, Baralai could feel the taller man’s eye on him. Even through the thick robe he donned, Baralai could feel goose bumps racing up his spine.

As they entered his private chambers, Baralai felt grateful for the break Gippal offered him when he fancied a visit. Work had been less than kind to him since Lady Yuna and the Gullwings defeat of Vegnagun, and between settling matters with Nooj and the Youth League as well as having to clean up the mess that still lingered from the fall of Yevon and the Eternal Calm. As Praetor, there were times when he might not have seen his quarters for days. Yes, he definitely welcomed the distraction.

The quiet time they shared was comfortable for the most part. Naturally, there were things that Baralai had wanted to ask him about his travels and he was curious how his friend had been doing since their last encounter, however he also enjoyed giving Gippal peace. It wasn’t every day that Gippal had the luxury of a hot shower and clean sheets to sleep on, Baralai knew. The opportunity to have nothing to worry about rarely presented itself to the Al Bhed when there was the Machine Faction and the restoration of Home on weighing on his mind. In a sense, Baralai supposed he enjoyed caring for Gippal, and it made those butterflies in his stomach flutter when he realized that he had been the one chosen to care for him when he was in need.

“You’ve been busy.” Gippal’s eye analyzed his quarters and a small frown tugged on the corners of his lips. Baralai paused, also taking in the state of his living space. He could see Gippal’s point. The room was pristine. Each piece of furniture looked as though it hadn’t been used in ages, and if it hadn’t been for the temple maidens that came every few days to clean, he was certain they would have a layer of dust upon them as thick as his hand. He watched as Gippal moved almost cautiously, like he was afraid to disturb the atmosphere before lowering himself to sit on the couch.

“Indeed, I have. The work of a Praetor never sleeps, and lately, nor do I.” As the words left his mouth he recognized that they hadn’t come off as the joke he had intended them to be. Gippal’s frown deepened. “You needn’t worry though. I assure you I have been taking care of myself.” As he strode past him to gather the medical supplies from the bathroom he could hear a soft sigh, possibly of relief.

“That’s good.” With his uninjured arm, Gippal loosened the strap that held his armor across his chest and carefully slid it off, setting it on the floor beside him. “I worry about you, you know.” Baralai came back around the corner and chuckled.

“And I, you, my friend. Hearing sparse rumors of your well-being are hardly enough to keep me satisfied anymore.” He set a small, white box on the table and joined him. Gently, he took his arm, examining the wound through the slashed sweater and sighed. “Honestly, Gippal, what happened to you?” Gippal remained silent for a moment, staring hard at the medical kit on the table for no reason that Baralai could fathom. Taking his silence as an unwillingness to tell him, he shook his head.

“Take off your shirt. I can’t treat it through your clothes.” Immediately, Gippal complied, peeling the tight sweater off of his arms carefully before pulling it over his head and discarding it carelessly atop his armor. Now that Baralai was able to get a full view of what he was dealing with, it made his stomach churn and he gasped. The gash was infected, swollen, and discolored an awful shade of brownish green. Dried blood clung to open wound and Baralai quickly glanced at the tear in his sweater. Sure enough, there had been a bloodstain there, presumably hidden beneath the shoulder armor.

“Damn it, Gippal,” he muttered and set to work quickly in cleaning it. “How long has it been like this?” Gippal paused and couldn’t help chuckling, even as he set about breathing in long, slow breaths.

“Not sure. Maybe a couple of days?” Baralai paused and narrowed his eyes at him as he purposely poured disinfectant into the wound and received a twisted sense of gratification as the blond winced and yelped loudly.

“Serves you right,” he said plainly, and Gippal pouted. “Why didn’t you seek medical attention sooner?”

“I came to you, didn’t I? The Calm Lands are just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Bevelle.” As Gippal looked him in the eyes he sighed, hardly able to tear his gaze away and focus on his task. Baralai frowned.

“Ah, the patented Praetor Puppy Face. My favorite.” Gippal teased, and Baralai immediately righted his features with a scoff.

“There are plenty of other people trained to treat this sort of wound,” he reminded him. Carefully, he pressed a swab to the incision and furrowed his brows. The Al Bhed had been lucky the infection wasn’t any worse than what it had already become.

“But I don’t trust them. I trust you.” At that Baralai flushed and he dipped his head down in attempt to hide it beneath the collar of his robe. Gippal’s grin grew lascivious even as he winced again.

“Besides, I like when you have your hands on me.” Baralai flushed harder, making it impossible to hide and glared at him.

“Not now, Gippal,” he warned, and tried to focus on anything but the smirk the blond was flashing him. A long paused hung between them as Gippal watched him work with an emotion in his eye that Baralai couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t until he had spread the ointment over his wound and begun to wrap it when Gippal finally spoke again.

“I was on my way to see you anyway. I was half way across the Calm Lands when I got ambushed by a couple of coeurls. The first one went down easily enough, but the second one landed one of its claws into me.”

Baralai listened as he finished wrapping his arm and tied a knot to keep it firmly in place. He sat back, admiring his work, and inadvertently, Gippal, though perhaps it had been the other way around. Now that Gippal was out of any immediate danger, he took a moment to really drink him in. No new scars, save for the one that coeurl would leave him – which was a relief – and still as toned and beautiful as he remembered. Gippal smiled, and Baralai couldn’t help but smile in kind.

“Dryhgc,” he said, and scooted closer. “Feels better already.” Baralai laughed softly. There had been something about how natural it felt to be with Gippal that made his toes curl, though it might also have been that he thought it was cute the way that Gippal felt at ease slipping into his native tongue with him. Not that Baralai minded. During their days as members of the Crimson Squad, Gippal had tutored him in Al Bhed. Years later, he had become fluent, and found some hilarity in a Yevonite speaking the once considered heathen language. Baralai enjoyed being close to Gippal like this – alone and unmasked – and made no motion to stop him from advancing. Shifting his legs allowed him to relax and he leaned against the arm of the couch.

“You should stay while it heals,” he suggested. “Going into battle with an injury like that could put you at a greater risk of making it worse.” The smile fell from Gippal’s face and he sat upright. Baralai blinked, confused, and straightened his back again.

“Actually,” Gippal started, “That’s what I came here to talk to you about.” In that moment, Baralai swore his heart had stopped. Whatever Gippal was about to say couldn’t be anything good, not with how he suddenly drew himself away, and certainly not with how he couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. He swallowed thickly, searching for anything to curl his fingers into to brace himself for the impending impact of the words that he was about to hear.

Both of them blushed when they registered that what Baralai had grabbed onto was Gippal’s hand, but neither of them pulled away. Instead, Gippal seemed to relax, and he laced their fingers together.

“Lusa fedr sa.”

Baralai blinked and tilted his head, confused. Go with him? Where? For a moment he pondered whether or not this was another one of Gippal’s ploys to lure him to the bedroom, but something in the back of his mind told him that it wasn’t quite that simple. Slowly he stood, but stopped when Gippal didn’t so much as budge.

“I don’t mean to bed, Baralai. I mean…” He trailed off as though he was searching for the right words to say and Baralai sat again, a bewildered expression on his features. Tanned fingers clenched his hand and Gippal pulled him close enough that Baralai could feel his breath hitting his cheek. Slowly, he licked his lips and took a deep breath before he spoke softly.

“When my arm is healed and I leave again, I want you to come with me.”

Baralai’s breath caught in his throat and he stared at him with wide eyes. Admittedly, he had always hoped to one-day join Gippal in his adventures in Spira, but there were many matters that demanded his attention as the Praetor of New Yevon and leader of Bevelle. Leaving would cause uproar in the temple and problems to stir amongst his people. As one of the main political figures, abandoning his duties would only raise a national dilemma.

After a prolonged hush, Baralai exhaled and closed his eyes. His face contorted with anguish as he leaned closer, his lips grazing the skin of his jaw as he whispered.

“Cunno, Gippal. As much as I want to, my place is here, with my responsibility to the people of Spira.”

“Bmayca, Baralai.” Gippal cut him off, his voice holding onto an emotion that he hadn’t heard from his friend since his body had been released from Shuyin’s soul. He was desperate, almost needy.

“You know I can’t,” he replied softly, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t stay here, Gippal. I meant it when I said that hearing rumors of your well-being only suffice for so long.”

“You know I can’t stay.”

There it was. Again, Gippal just wanted to run away. Remaining in one place for a lengthy period of time scared him still, just as it always had seemed to. They were at a stalemate, and it made Baralai angry.

“Why?” He sat up, eyes seeking answers that he hadn’t been able to find in all the years that he had been with the Al Bhed. “What is so wrong with settling down? What are you so afraid of, Gippal?” The color from Gippal’s face blanched and he leaned back. Baralai knew that look. He felt dejected, sad, and more terrified of facing the real world than he had ever seen him before even in the face of death.

“Tell me,” he pleaded. “I see you once every several months without a single word from you in between. You come here, stay for a week, have sex with me, and leave again.” The more Baralai spoke, the angrier he became and he couldn’t stop himself from the rage that had peaked after so long of keeping it to himself. Time after time, Gippal left and came as he pleased, never once concerning himself with the toll it had been taking on him. Baralai was left to worry sick over whether or not he would see the blond again. What was more, he was left to contemplate whether or not what they were, what they had been for a while, meant anything more to him than a roll in the sheets.

Gippal said nothing as he withdrew his hand and set it back in his lap. There was something at the tip of his tongue, Baralai knew, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to get it out of him before he could slip away yet again. Standing, he gazed down at him, eyes hard and desolate.

“If you leave again, don’t come back.” The words shocked himself but he refrained from taking them back even as he heard Gippal’s heart shatter – at least, he had assumed it was Gippal’s and not his own. “If you leave here again, I won’t be able to take it. Every time you walk out that door I pray that it isn’t the last time. Do you have any idea what you do to me when you go, Gippal?”

“Baralai…” Gippal’s voice was meager as he looked at him, but Baralai paid it no mind as he continued.

“You say you care and that you trust me to take care of you, but you leave anyway. How do you think that makes me feel when at the end when I have to come back here and be alone again?”

“Baralai,” he tried again, and again, Baralai persisted.

“I hate it! I hate not knowing what I am to you or how you really feel! You’re constantly running away from responsibility and away from me and I’m sick of it, Gippal!”

“Baralai!” Gippal stood, and this time had his full attention as he towered over him, his eye searching his face as he cupped it gently. His hands made him melt and Baralai cursed himself for not being able to stand his ground when his hands were on him. Frozen, he stared, eyes filled with emotion that just kept bubbling over and they brimmed with confused, angry, distraught tears. That had been the suffering he had endured without his friend, the one he loved by his side.

The soft pad of a thumb brushed his cheek, erasing any traces that he had cried because of him. Baralai panted softly as he fought to keep feelings in check and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Cracked lips skimmed over his own, and he felt Gippal speak rather than heard him.

“Tuh’d lno.”

With a long, shuddering breath, Baralai caved to him, crashing his lips against Gippal’s in a bruising kiss. The hands on his cheeks pulled him closer and Baralai fisted curled his fingers into the bare skin of his chest as he moaned against him, his anger ebbing away with every hot clash of lips and teeth. Regardless of how much time had passed, Gippal tasted the same as he always had, and the familiarity made his heart race in his chest. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand tall, and it was only then he realized that he was warm, too warm.

As their lips parted Baralai huffed, scrambling to remove the obtrusive garment. Deft fingers pulled on just the right places until he was able to shrug off his robe, discarding it and his shirt negligently at his feet before pressing himself to Gippal once more. The sensation of skin on skin ignited him and his hands roamed over his back, revisiting every curve and crevasse that he had grown to love.

He had memorized his Al Bhed lover, from the scar on his chest that Nooj had left him that fateful day at the Mi’ihen Highroad, to the trail of freckles that outlined his left hipbone, and Gippal shivered as he traced them with the tips of his fingers. Teeth dragged across Baralai’s neck and lips sucked at the exposed flesh as though he were the blonde’s favorite dessert. Having Gippal like this, so warm and desperate to touch and be touched excited him like nothing else ever could.

“Bedroom,” he gasped out just as Gippal nipped his darker skin and his knees nearly buckled, forcing him to dig his nails into his shoulder blades for purchase. His only response was a quiet hum in agreement before Gippal’s larger hand ceased his own, towing him further into his quarters with haste. No sooner had Baralai shut the door behind them was Gippal on him again, arms wrapping tightly around his waste and pressing himself against his hip, rocking eagerly as he delved down for another searing kiss. Baralai purred, fingers burying into surprisingly soft hair and pressed back, grinding against his thigh and causing his pants to become increasingly uncomfortable.

With eager hands and demanding lips on him, Baralai forgot all but natural instinct. When he inhaled sharply between Gippal’s needy kisses, it was only because his body told him he needed to. Similarly, when coarse, sand-bitten hands dragged over his torso and fingers expertly undid the button on his pants, he had disregarded any sense of decency and hardly remembered to blush as they were tugged swiftly to the floor in a pool around his ankles.

Before long, Baralai’s mind was little more than a blur of passion and friction as the palm of Gippal’s hand stroked his now bare cock and Gippal smirked against his lips as it twitched with excitement. Amidst the thrill of skin on skin friction and the sultry clash of tongues fighting for just a taste of what the other had to offer he scarcely recalled the clatter of Gippal’s belts and the rustle of his pants as they fell at their feet. It hadn’t been until the Al Bhed had pulled him from the door and pushed him gently onto the bed that Baralai had any idea that his boots had vanished.

He watched through glazed eyes as Gippal settled his knees on either side of him, taking the reprieve to admire exactly what he had spent tireless months waiting for. His eye glowed in the dark light of Baralai’s bedroom, and the silhouette the moon casted upon him made his body appear more chiseled. They fixed their eyes on one another, saying more through lustful gazes and ardent grazes than they could ever find the words for. For the brief moment, everything was still but the swimming of Baralai’s brain and the beating of his heart against his ribcage. Anticipation of what he knew was going to happen next swirled in the pit of his stomach.

As Gippal leaned closer and Baralai reached out to touch his face their cocks brushed. Any inkling of sanity that had remained vanished and they groaned in unison. Before Baralai could blink, Gippal was on him again; teeth gnashing at his neck and surely leaving a mark that would shine bright even on Baralai’s dark skin. He clenched his nails into Gippal’s back with a hitched breath, scoring him with long, pink scratches as he rolled his hips with an urgency that left him shaking. The slide of Gippal’s hand across the sheets caught his ears and he craned his neck just enough to see him grab the small bottle of lubricant from beneath the pillow. An amused smirk graced his lips, his eye catching his and he easily popped the cap open.

He tipped the bottle, dripping the liquid down his chest and watching with fascination as it trailed along lightly toned muscles until it reached his groin. Gippal chuckled low in his throat, the sound making the hairs on the back of Baralai’s neck and he moaned as a hand spread the oil over him. Calloused thumbs teased the peak of his nipple before tracing absent-minded patterns along his stomach, making his breath stutter as he tried not to giggle from the tickling sensation. Sitting back on his haunches again, Gippal squeezed a generous amount of lubricant, coating Baralai’s cock dragging the excess with his fingers, teasing them around tight muscle.

A long, drawn out noise spilled from between Baralai’s lips and he pushed himself into the touch, his cheeks burning. That he was so sensitive to every little thing Gippal did to him was almost embarrassing except when considering their bedroom time had been more and more infrequent. He supposed he could blame it on that, but Baralai liked to think that his avidity towards the younger male was all because that’s just what Gippal succumbed him to.

If he wasn’t blushing already, he definitely was once Gippal drove a long finger into him, causing his body to go rigid and his moans to be nothing less than lewd. The Al Bhed smirked and spread his legs wide, making a lecherous display of Baralai’s swollen cock and flushed complexion. Baralai rolled his hips and pushed himself further onto the digit, his body yearning for the sensation of being filled. Knees bent, they shook as Gippal crooked his finger, dragging it over tense muscles with each deliberate push and Baralai’s voice caught. The sound that rang out echoed against the walls of his room but all he could hear was the low, sultry chuckle from the Al Bhed above him.

“I guess it has been a long time. You’re pretty close already.” There was something smug in his tone as he loomed over him and retracted his finger and Baralai’s knuckles paled with the intense grip he had on the sheet beneath him, groaning in complaint at the loss of being filled. His cock twitched, desperate to be touched and hanging from a thin thread that he was eager to break. He wanted to come, and he wanted Gippal to be the one that made it so.

Baralai blinked, a fruitless effort to focus his vision as he lifted his head and smiled genuinely. It was amazing how one person was able to ease all of his daily tension away and make kind gestures such simple smiles come with ease as opposed to putting on a facade for the public to admire from afar. Gingerly, he reached out with a shaky hand and traced the line of Gippal’s jaw, laughing low in his throat when the blond pressed his lips to his palm. Gippal smiled in kind, gently nuzzling it has he inched closer, the tip of his cock pushing against him until he was inside. Simultaneously, they moaned, and Baralai’s head fell back onto the pillows with a quiet thud.

It had been a long time, months that he had lost count of, since they had had intimate contact like this. What he couldn’t quite comprehend was that his body should not have been so used to being filled. With Gippal out wandering or whatever it is that his Al Bhed love did whilst he was away for a time, he should be tense at the very least. Something about Gippal, however, made it so he wasn’t. Of course, that wasn’t to say that there wasn’t any tension at all; that would have taken all of the fun out of it, he mused internally.

Yet it was just something else Baralai had chalked up to it being because it was Gippal.

Strong arms circled around his thighs and Gippal slowly entered until his hips were flush to the curve of Baralai’s ass, releasing a long, slow breath. Long lashes fluttered against his skin as he tried to level his breathing. All the while, Gippal maintained a sort of smirk about him, as though he knew that he would be the only one to see Baralai in such a disheveled state.

Thoughts like that swiftly fled as soon as Gippal drew his hips back and quickly snapped into him again. Subtlety hadn’t ever been a strong suit for the Al Bhed, and he continued to prove that further with each increasingly quick thrust. Baralai purred, hands scrambling for purchase and settling to his own hair. His nails scraped the surface of his scalp and he turned his head as though he could hide the blush that had rose and burned his cheeks. Every drive into him sent his body reeling. The feel of bare skin sweating and sticking and the cracking sound it made when they connected and reconnected mixed with the rustle of the sheet was nothing short of vulgar. On any other occasion, the upstanding praetor would find such things detestable, however, being like this, so openly depraved and perverted with such a fine man, Baralai could find no reason why he should be at all disgusted, not when it felt better than anything he could have ever dreamed up.

Gippal stopped. Why had he stopped? Before Baralai could ponder a reason he was lifted from the bed and his legs came to rest bent at the knee on either side of Gippal’s. Calloused fingers dug into his hips and their chests became pressed together. Baralai could feel Gippal’s ragged breathing on his neck as it fell hot and heavy on his already heated skin. For a brief moment their gazes latched onto one another and Gippal smiled as he gently pushed him down. Instinctively, Baralai moved with him, raising himself up and then lowering again until he was riding him slowly.

Yes, this was much better than being on display so lecherously. This was intimate and meaningful. Baralai folded his arms over Gippal’s shoulders, pulling him closer and resting his forehead against his as he slid down and slithered back up his cock, eliciting the most beautiful sounds of pleasure from the blond. It was nice to see Gippal so unguarded with his features a spectacle of gratification. Gradually, he moved faster, finding the rhythm that suited the moment and he panted against Gippal’s cheek. Scorching lips kissed his neck and teeth dragged along his darker skin before sinking them in, marking him as his own. Indeed, Baralai belonged to him. Somehow, he had known that since the very first day they met so many years ago.

Nails marred his hips as Gippal tugged hard, plunging him further onto his cock, and the room permeated with wanton moans and the scent of sex. Baralai rode him hard, rolling his body with each descent and grinding his length between them. He leveled a look on his Al Bhed partner, his eyes dark as he tangled his fingers into his sweat-slicked hair and crashed his lips against his in a feverish kiss that Gippal was more than happy to return with equal ferocity. Tongues clashed, and again Baralai inwardly swooned. There was no way someone could taste so utterly delicious, yet Gippal did, and it drove Baralai wild.

His muscles tightened and he pulled himself away from Gippal’s lips just barely as he came with a loud, strangled cry that echoed off the walls of his quarters. Hot semen shot onto their stomachs and smeared as Gippal hugged him close. He rocked his hips up, using Baralai’s quivering body and tense muscles to his advantage until he had followed suit, spilling himself inside him and moaning lewdly in his ear.

Baralai went limp, his head falling to Gippal’s shoulder and arms loosely hanging onto him. As he tried to catch his breath his chest heaved, and he could feel the measured inhales from Gippal tickle the hairs on the back of his neck as he rested his head atop his. The high from their orgasms tapered off slowly, and the inevitable feeling of exhausted weighed heavily on them.

Still, Baralai found that he didn’t want to move. If he moved, it was one step closer to his time with Gippal coming to an end. There in his lap, with arms holding him with care and kisses that made his heart skip beats, everything was perfect. If he moved, the fear that he would wake up and be gone again would be more present than ever.

His eyelids drooped and Baralai snapped them open again, fighting sleep. He was content like this, too content, perhaps. Sleep was a hard battle to win over, especially when Gippal was rubbing his back and humming something that Baralai had sworn he had heard before, but couldn’t place it. It lulled him into a peaceful state of mind, and he had finally given in to that persistent necessity.

“E muja oui, Baralai,” Gippal murmured softly, but Baralai had drifted so far down the way of sleep that he wasn’t sure if he ever said it back.

‘I love you too. I always will.’

Dawn broke sooner than Baralai would have liked. The start of a new day meant there was only more unfinished work for him to tend to, and with Gippal being there, the last he wanted to do was tear himself from the tangle of limbs and sheets. His toes scraped the cotton as he stretched with a soft squeak and tossed his arm to pull Gippal closer.

Thump.

Baralai’s eyes flew open when his hand landed on the empty space beside him and not the warm, naked body that should have been there. His mind reeled even as he tired to reason that maybe he had just gone to the bathroom. Upon sitting up he found Gippal’s pants and boots had gone missing from the pile that they had left on the floor the previous evening. Nausea sunk into the pit of his stomach and Baralai felt his face pale. He didn’t leave, he couldn’t have. He wouldn’t.

“Gippal!” His voice cracked from strain and sleep, and there was an added thrill in his cry that wasn’t there normally. Panic struck in full force when he didn’t receive a response or hear any movement come from the other side of the door. Scrambling off the bed, he pulled the sheet with him, clutching it around his hips as he threw the door open and ran down the hallway, narrowly avoiding tripping over himself.

When he reached the end he stopped, staring into the kitchen at the back of Gippal’s head. There he stood, sipping coffee from his usual red and white mug that he favored for no real reason, fully dressed. Baralai’s heart sank and his stomach lurched. So he really had planned on leaving, and he had been planning on doing it before he ever woke up. He was going to leave him alone with no intentions of even saying goodbye and thank you.

He caught himself on the wall, suddenly feeling dizzy. This was how it was, and he felt like a fool for allowing himself think that Gippal would ever change for him, that he could actually mean something to someone enough to make them stay. If he had known this was how it was going to be, he would have stopped it after one night; he would have never let himself fall in love with Gippal.

“You’re up,” Gippal said with a certain cheer in his voice and it made Baralai swallow hard, forcing back the sick feeling that persisted. Somehow he managed to look up from the floor and meet his eye and the smile that was curled on his lips was like a keen knife twisting right into his chest.

“I’m glad,” he continued as he came around the corner and handed him a cup of coffee, which Baralai politely refused with the wave of his hand. He didn’t think he could handle ingesting anything ever again. “We need to talk.” Again Gippal offered him the coffee, and again Baralai waved it off regardless of the dry lump in his throat, his voice scratchy as he replied.

“I think it’s pretty clear what your decision is,” he spat and Gippal chuckled, setting the coffee down on the table beside him.

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions.” He put his hands on his hips and leaned close to his face. “It’s not going to be easy to haul everything from Djose to here by myself, you know. Now are you coming with me or not?” Gippal grinned and Baralai frowned as he narrowed his eyes.

“We’ve been over this, Gippal. I can’t just up and leave on some adventure with you. Why would you need to…” Baralai trailed off, blinking as Gippal’s words sunk in. He wanted to go to Djose with him? To get his belongings and bring them back here? No, it couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“What?”

Gippal stood upright, chuckling as he sipped his coffee and tried a third time to get Baralai to drink his. Finally, Baralai reached out for the mug and cradled it as he brought it to his lips, sipping the warm liquid with a quiet, satisfied hum.

“You’re right,” he said mutely, “I need to stop running and find myself a nice Praetor to settle down with.” A gentle look lit up Gippal’s face as he smiled. “You wouldn’t know anyone that’s handsome, dark-skinned, pretty, has amazing hair, and looking to spend their life with an Al Bhed would you?”

Baralai took another swig of his coffee before eyeing him. Those pesky butterflies had returned and fluttered through what he thought was his whole body and he barely resisted the urge to simply drop the mug to the floor and throw himself into his arms. It was a childish notion, he thought, but for Gippal, it would have been worth it.  He settled for placing his mug back on the table and crooking a finger into his belt, drawing him closer and beaming happily as he pressed their lips together.

“Only if you make me coffee like this every morning.”

[slowlychangingover]

Excuses, Excuses -- Yamato/Takeru

Summary: Part 1/? The eight digi-destined boys are all grown up and on a week vacation in America. With no girls and seven days to goof off, Yamato takes complete advantage of the situation. (Gift fic for Stef). Genre: Romance Warnings: Smut, incest, unprotected sex, yaoi, public sex.

To be fair, as the older of the two of them, Yamato should have known better. In his defense, he hadn’t stood a chance in hell against Takeru in absolutely nothing but swim trunks that were almost too big on his thin hips.

Really, how could anyone blame him for acting on his impulse to reach out and touch the slight dip in his back lightly? Takeru masked the shiver that ran down his spine well, not attracting any more attention to him than what was already there and Yamato barely resisted the smirk that curled on his lips.

An all guys vacation, Taichi had called their little getaway. It had taken some time for all eight of them to get the money together, but sure enough, they were all on a plane to America six months later. The vacation had been just the excuse Yamato had been looking for to spend some much needed quality time with his friends, and more importantly, Takeru.

  Day three of their one-week vacation landed them in a water park, something that Yamato had admittedly been looking forward to. In the water he was free, completely in his element. He liked the way water made him weightless, how it felt rushing over his skin and molded to his body as his arms cut through the surface like knives. He loved how the drops from Takeru’s blond hair fell and rolled down lightly toned muscles and Yamato found it impossible to look away.

  Hooking a finger into the hem of his trunks he pulled his brother closer until he was nearly flush against his chest. A soft squeak fell from Takeru’s lips and he opened his mouth to protest, his eyes scanning over the large wave pool to make sure no one was watching.

  “You’re going to get us in trouble.” He glared, but his words fell flat as they left his mouth and Yamato laughed.

  “Come on, give me some credit. I’ve never put you in any sort of danger before have I?” With a swiftness that couldn’t be rivaled Yamato’s hands were diving into the back of his shorts, squeezing his cheeks firmly. Takeru’s cheeks burned and his eyes went wide.

  “I’m serious, Yama. This is too public…” There was a look of panic on his face, but even through his searching eyes making sure that their friends weren’t nearby watching them Yamato could tell…

  “You’re hard, Takeru,” he whispered in his ear and the younger of them gasped as a hand shifted to the front of his shorts and palmed over his cock. “This is exciting you, isn’t it?” Feathering kissed over the back of his neck he stroked him, his thumb pressing on the head with every descent. The water surrounding them made it easy to move and hide from anyone that was suspicious.

  They were close brothers. Always had been, always would be. How close, though, was a different story entirely. No one needed to know…no one could know.

  Takeru’s head fell back onto his shoulder and he strewed his face in attempt to keep it straight, biting back a moan. It hadn’t stopped his hips from moving in time with his hand, however, and Yamato tightened his grip, jerking him faster until he could hear the struggle in his younger brother’s voice as he begged, succumbing to him.

  “…Please, more.”

  Scanning the crowded pool with his own eyes he nodded, hands pulling Takeru’s swim shorts over the curve of his ass and tugging his own down in the front. The cool water hitting the heat of his cock made Yamato moan, stifling it in his brother’s neck and he pulled him flush, steadying his hips and pressing into him. A yelp louder than what either of them would have liked sounded from between Takeru’s parted lips and Yamato hurriedly threw his hand over his mouth to quiet him, the water from his hand dripping down the younger blonde’s chin.

  Slowly Yamato rocked, attentive to their surroundings as he moved. A dark flush began heating his neck and cheeks, each nose he made muffled in the damp ends of his brother’s hair as he fucked him slowly. In hindsight, he could have been patient. Should have been, but with Takeru straining to keep a composed poker face and ride back on his cock at the same time was definitely worth his eagerness.

  It wasn’t long before Yamato felt him go rigid in his lap. Drying, cracking lips from panting sucked his fingers into his mouth, teeth biting down on the digits as he came with a hardly repressed groan. Takeru went limp in his hold and he struggled to hold him up, snapping his hips harder and almost forgetting they were in such a public area as he came inside him, nails biting into his hips and palm pressing against his jaw. The noise he made was broken and hard, his eyes screwing shut as he rode out his orgasm.

  For a moment they floated there, trying desperately not to grab the other and kiss them senseless just then. Silently Takeru moved after a long moment, pulling his shorts back up and turning to face his older brother with a look that was crossed between anger and adoration. Yamato laughed.

  “What?”

  Takeru’s face was as red as it could be and Yamato laughed harder, fumbling to tuck himself back into his own shorts.

  “That was too close, Yamato.” Though younger than him, Takeri was indeed taller, and used it to his advantage by backing him into the wall, glaring, and earning him a loud shriek of laughter from the elder boy. “Stop laughing!” he yelled, but his voice betrayed him as he giggled, shoving him lightly.

  “Alright, alright!” Yamato grabbed his wrists, pushing him back and grinning ear to ear.

  “Hey! There you are!” Both boys snapped their heads towards the shore to find Daisuke and Ken waving them down. “C’mon! We’re heading to the Lazy River!” They waved back, swimming with the current.

  “It’s a good excuse for after sex cuddling,” Yamato murmured to him, and Takeru chuckled softly.

  “I guess I can’t argue that.” 

[slowlychangingover]

Baby Don't Cry -- Gohan/Mirai

Summary: AU. Oneshot. Now that Gohan has claimed Prince Mirai for himself, full moons have become unbearable.  Genre: Romance Warnings: Smut, fluff, a dash of angst, minor gore, yaoi, swearing, mutual masturbation.  

Sleep plagued Gohan that night. He tossed and turned in the black of his quarters, the light of the full moon blocked by reinforced shutters having been shut for the duration of its stay about the palace. In the past it wouldn’t have bothered him one bit, though he would admit that sometimes it was eerie when it was so quiet. But that night was different.

  Leaning over he flicked on the light of the lamp at his bedside and flopped back to the bed, irritable.  Gohan rolled for a time he had lost count of, his eyes catching the mark on the inside of wrist. He stared for a long moment, thinking of the prince on the other side of the wall.  A slight smile formed on his lips, remembering the possessive growl Mirai let out before sinking his teeth into him, claiming him for himself. Gohan thought it was something of a shame that Mirai couldn’t ever see the mark he had left on the back of his neck, as there was something sort of gratifying about knowing he belonged to somebody.

  In letting his mind wander he had briefly forgotten the issue of lack of sleep. When he allowed it to think that Mirai was just on the other side of that door, more than likely naked from the need of having his mate beside him burning him up and writhing to get comfortable in his large bed, however, his smile fell. A soft groan of desperation to touch him molded his lips. His first full moon as the prince’s mate left him wanting, but he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to touch him.  That was the catch to falling for royalty – they had to put their people first and themselves last.

  Both Gohan’s and Mirai’s choices had been certain – they had known what it meant for them when the full moon came around. The only regret they held now was that it was the agony they had left each other in once a month.

It had been Mirai’s decision to not separate for the time, begging Gohan to stay with him, even if he couldn’t see him. He had only wanted him close, and Gohan had reluctantly agreed, finding it impossible to say no to the desperation in his prince’s features.

  Hours had gone by since then, the majority of the time spent in solitude without so much as a whisper for one another, and the way Gohan’s body burned he guessed the night was at its highest peak. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and it caused him to shiver, unable to help the small sound that fell from his lips. Clamping his eyes shut he tried to calm his body down, but the help it provided was barely marginal to the heat he was radiating. He heaved a shuddering breath as his mind fought to stay in control, and for a split second his mind became completely calm.

  A sound of a sob resonated in his head, echoing in the emptiness like a clear bell. In an instant Gohan’s eyes had snapped open and he was running the short distance to the door, barely able to stop himself short of turning the knob. It was there again and Gohan sighed as slowly as he could manage between panting, resting his forehead on the wooden surface in front of him, his hands following suit.

  ‘Needless pain.’ That’s what he had called it when he apologized to Mirai for trying to leave, and the prince him it was a price he had willingly paid to be with him. Gohan hadn’t known what to say, and the guilt sat in his stomach. Neither of them had liked Trunks’ accusation of prematurely mating, but there wasn’t any use in denying he was right. Not when Mirai was in as much agony as he was and there was nothing Gohan could do for him. Forcing his voice not to shake he called out.

  “Mirai…” There was a soft sniff that Gohan wouldn’t have heard if he had first heard the small hiccup that preceded it. The sheets rustled and footsteps treaded cautiously to the other side of the door. As Mirai drew closer he had felt the temperature rise and his chest tightened, able to actually feel the outline of the smaller body pulsating opposite his own. His hands gravitated to the source of the heat and came to a rest over what he knew were Mirai’s, wishing they could wipe the tears from his gorgeous face.

  “Please don’t cry,” he managed, hoping the words sounded tender. Silence hung for a brief moment before Gohan felt the quiet thud of Mirai’s forehead touch the door over his chest.

  “Gohan.” His voice was heavy, raspy to Gohan’s ears and he frowned. How easy would it have been just open the door and hold him? To press kisses to his neck and take that ache away?

  And hold him down into the mattress with his hips and stroke the base of his tail as he snapped into him.

  Forcing his hands to keep still he groaned loudly, digging blunt nails into the wood’s surface. Rigid lines appeared in their wake and neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to.

  A long moment passed before Gohan heard the sound of a muffled sigh. Mirai’s sobbing had ceased and he pressed himself closer to the door. Even with the desolate desires rolling through their bodies there had been something gratifying of just being near the other. Steadying his breathing a little Gohan spoke.

  “I’m so sor-“

  “Don’t.” Mirai’s voice still trembled as he cut him off and he swallowed thickly, panting hard between his words. “Don’t apologize. If you apologize, then it meant nothing.” The absolute made Gohan return the sigh and frown. He couldn’t argue with him. There had to be something he could do for him, and sleep could come to him if he knew he had done something to alleviate the burn on sheer arousal his prince was in.

  “Have you…tried to take care of it yourself?” His cheeks, stained with a needy flush, grew hotter as the words left his lips. Imagining Mirai had laid in his bed and had given himself some sort of sexual pleasure only made Gohan’s cock twitch with delight and he barely resisted reaching down to stroke it. His nails dug harder into the door, more jagged lines engraving the struggle.

  A pause, then, “…I haven’t.” Amusement sparked for only a second through the fog of lust swirling through him and a smirk curled on the guard’s lips.

  “Perhaps you should.” Gohan’s voice dropped, almost growling as he began losing control of himself and he felt Mirai’s own body temperature rise from the other side. Hesitation hung in the air, leading Gohan to believe that he had crossed a line that had been better off left alone until he heard a low hiss.

  Shaky fingers wrapped themselves around Mirai’s cock stroking in long, hard snaps of his wrist. The heat wave that radiated from his body sent Gohan reeling and his hips lurched on instinct, grinding hard into the door between them. Images of the half-saiyan prince lewdly calling his name into the night as he fucked him flooded his sense and the feral beast of need captured him. With a swift hand he pulled at the waistband of his sleep pants, groaning loudly at the newfound freedom.

  Normally, Gohan would be in control of himself. Any other night he would open the door and simply kiss the desperation away, or take him to bed and quietly run his fingers through his hair as they fell asleep. Now, completely consumed, he wanted to claw at the curve of Mirai’s hips and drag him back onto his cock. He wanted to fist a hand into the long, lavender strands and lavish the permanent mark on the back of his neck with his tongue.

  Sweat that had rolled down his naked torso had made massaging his nearly painful erection only marginally less rough. Knowing Mirai was just beyond the door mirroring him and hearing the ragged, harsh pants as delicate fingers glided over the tip…

  “I bet you look good right now,” he said hoarsely. “Sweating, gasping for air, cheeks burning as you imagine my hands on your body.” And Mirai certainly did. His lips parted in a hot moan and a loud scrape of nails scoring into the door resounded in Gohan’s ears.

  “Tell me more.” Mirai pleaded with him and the older saiyan swallowed dryly, lips trembling with a low chuckle as his palm dragged the first drops of precum down his length.

  “I don’t know if you could handle it,” he teased. “I might break you, Little Prince.”

  The noise that Mirai made could only have been described as feral and his nails bore down harder against the door. Uncharacteristically he swore, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Fuck. Please…” Such filthy words for a prince, but they only seemed to fuel him into further egging the other on. Gohan groaned loudly as the tip of his cock rubbed along the surface of the door, his hips having rolled hard involuntarily.

  “You’d have to beg for it,” he forced out between breaths and he would have sworn that he had heard a hint of a laugh roll out with the lewd moan that followed.

  “Please, Gohan. I want to come.” Pressing his forehead closer he nodded, his voice cracking.

  “Do it.”

  A breathless, raw moan rang loudly off the walls and for just half a second Gohan was thankful for the soundproof chambers. Mirai’s knees had given, the door shaking as they hit it to keep from collapsing entirely.

  Within the first of what was a deep exhale from the other side Gohan had caught the scent of his mate’s release. The aroma of something exotic swirled in tandem with the longing racing through his veins and came hard with a loud, guttural moan, his whole body writhing. Barely able to hold himself up he sank to his knees, accidentally running his palm through the mess that coated the door, though Gohan hardly gave thought to it.

  Several moments passed in silence as both of them caught their breath. His body was still warmer than normal, he noted, but this was a comfortable burn, something much more bearable, even with Mirai’s own temperature beginning to settle. Eventually they both sat on the floor, their backs to the other but heads resting gently near the others. Finally, Mirai laughed softly, and he couldn’t help smiling.

  “Something amusing to you, my prince?”

  “Perhaps.” His voice had been the most even it had been since they parted ways earlier that evening, and Gohan took that as a good sign. “Do you still have doubts?”

  “Perhaps,” he mimicked with a content sigh, “but I am reassured that we made the right choice.”

  …quiet. Then, “Really?” The smile on Gohan’s lips brightened just a little and he turned his head as if he could see him through the now horribly marred door. Oh, how easy it had been for him to forget that Mirai was still so young.

  “Really,” he muttered softly and stifled a yawn in the back of his hand. “We should try to sleep. Dawn should be breaking soon.” There was some hesitation in Mirai’s response.

  “Stay. I don’t want to go back to bed alone. ...Stay here with me.” Gohan laughed lightly, always finding something new about the prince that was cute and endearing. Shutting his eyes and leaning back he put a hand to the door.

  “Of course.”  A loving warmth pulsated against his palm and he kept it pressed there, wishing he could actually hold the hand adjacent to his. Sometime after Mirai had drifted off to sleep but before him, Gohan remembered wanting to whisper to him, but he wasn’t sure they ever left his tongue.

  “Sweet dreams, Mirai.” 

[slowlychangingover]

Let It Out -- Yamato/Takeru

The feeling of being alone is far too familiar to Takeru.

  His lips tremble as he reaches for the picture on the nightstand, and he doesn’t need light to know what is looking back at him in the dark of the bedroom he used to share. Blond hair and blue eyes not unlike his own smile back at him and unsteady fingers trace the line of his brother’s face. It’s all he can do not to crush the ornate frame in an angry grasp and smash the memories of the past years to pieces.

  Anything would be easier than dealing with this.

  Instead he clutches the photo to his chest and throws himself on the bed that still smells of sex and Yamato’s shampoo and curls in as small as he can to match how little he feels. The dress shirt and pants from the wedding wrinkle and tears spill onto the pillows that had cradled their heads the previous night. Sobs tear from his throat reek of alcohol, falling heavily into the still air and echoing off the walls that are still littered with remnants of them. Everything in the apartment goes untouched, and he keeps that way on purpose, holding on to the false hope that Yamato will come home one day.

  Everything hurts so much that he’s numb.

  “Let it all out.” That’s what his brother would tell him if he were with him. He hears the gentleness of his voice clearly in his ear and Takeru lets out an agonizing cry as though someone had literally tore his heart out of his chest. His chest heaves and his body is shaking harshly. A chill washes over him, making his breath catch in his throat and he chokes, coughing and whimpering pitifully.

  “Let it all out.” Yamato says again and Takeru can feel warm arms encase him. Soft lips press to his temple and the alcohol whispers words of love sweetly in his ear. Takeru knows then that this night will be the beginning of many long nights with the stench of scotch on the rocks as his brother’s lullabies.

[slowlychangingover]

By Moonlight's Call -- Sirius/Remus (Repost)

((Reposting because it's been a while, and I just spent a weekend at Harry Potter World, so my feels are all over the place.

Set in their sixth year at Hogwarts.))

On the surface Remus is a gentle person, knowledgable in a great many of things, and humble to a fault. He smells of old books and chocolate, the dark kind that he says is better for him anyway and sometimes of cherries, though Sirius still hasn’t quite figured out how yet. 

Underneath, he’s every bit of wild as the werewolf he is once a month in the glow of the full moonlight, and it shows on the eve before every cycle when Sirius is sound asleep in his part of the room they share with Peter and James. He awakes to the soft murmur of silencing charms, followed by the tip of the left side of his bed as Remus crawls over him, his nails like claws as they grip his shoulders and teeth sharp against his bare chest. Sirius barely contains the gasp that spills from his lips. 

"Moony…? What are you- ?" He’s cut off with lips over his own, and immediately Sirius reacts, his hands kneading into pale hips and dragging him closer. Normally it’s him that’s sneaking off Remus’s bed, tearing the shirt that covers the scars from transformations and ravishing his beautiful body with kisses and needy hands, but not tonight, as it seems Remus has his own ideas. 

"I’m sorry, Sirius, but I can’t stop," and Sirius stops for a moment, recognizing the hitch in his voice as panic and his eyes blink open. Eyes brown like the chocolate he’s always eating with flecks of amber shining through with fear, like if he so much as blinked he would lose control of himself. 

"Then don’t." Is the simple reply as Sirius lurches his hips up, rocking against the stiff cock under his boxers with a quiet moan. His hands brushed through light brown hair until he grasped his shoulders, shoving him backwards before covering the frail body with his own lithe frame, a beautiful blend of ivory and cream flesh sticking together in from the sheer heat between them. “Let me tame the beast in you." 

"Sirius…" It’s more of a breathy, pleading cry for help than a complaint when Sirius plucks the waistband of his boxers, allowing them to snap firm against the marks on his skin. He does it again, harder, making sure to leave a pleasing scarlet welt. Had this been any other circumstance things wouldn’t be like this, so desperate and needy. As it is Remus can barely control the beast the night before the full moon, ready and raging until he would take his potion in the morning, soothing the beast during the time. “Please, hurry!" With a quick nod he slides the boxers from his hips, cock fully erect and dripping with need and Sirius can’t help but smirk. 

"Lube?" he asks, looking back up at his eyes, shut tight with strain at taming the wolf within. Patting the bed for his wand he groans and murmurs something soft before he tosses it aside. Sirius blinks at his now coated cock, confused, and rather impressed. “That’s a new trick," he teases. The glare he receives in return is enough to keep him from making any jokes further though and he presses himself in, breath hitching from how tight Remus around him. He feels like he could suffocate from just how good it is to be clenched as so, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. 

"S-Sirius!" And there’s the panic again, jerking Sirius’s attention back to him. His nails drag down Remus’s sides, clawing at his hips and scrabbling for purchase to slide out and slam back in harder than he normally likes to. The sound the comes from his partner is something of a growl, the need to dominate trying so very hard to force through, Remus trying just as hard to push it aside and Sirius frowns a little, slamming in over again to try to relieve him of the pain. 

He hisses through his teeth when claws tear down his chest and Sirius grabs them, pinning them to the bed on either side of Remus’s head and fucks him harder, leaving the taller boy to cry out beneath him. He can see the feral creature starting to back down when Remus opens his eyes, staring Sirius in his own grey eyes, pleading for him not to stop and Sirius snaps his hips faster. It’s erotic the way Remus is torn between growling and mewling, the little repetitive sounds in making his own breath come faster. 

Remus comes faster than he has in a while with a tip of his head back against the mattress and an unabashed moan that would no doubt wake up their friends without the previously chanted charms, the natural color finally returning in full to his beautiful eyes. It makes Sirius smile, proud that he could do something for him when it’s usually the other way around. Three, four more erratic thrusts and Sirius follows over, spilling himself deep inside him, marking him in a whole other fashion, collapsing atop him moments later. 

Fingers comb through his hair, idly pressing relaxing circles into his scalp and Sirius’s eyes close with a content huff of breath. Remus is his, and he’s Remus’s, and it’s moments like this that he’s glad that werewolves mate for life because he can’t picture his life without him, and honestly, he doesn’t mind the whole werewolf thing. If anything, it only makes him love Remus more. A soft kiss falls atop his head followed by sweet whispers of thanks, quiet despite the charm. 

"My Moony." Sirius mumbles and nuzzles under his chin and Remus smiles. Has he mentioned he loves Remus’s smile? Because he does. “Feel better?" Remus hums some kind of response, spent and tired and his arms wrap around him, and Sirius can’t remember a time before him that he was this happy, drifting to sleep with a content, proud sigh. 

[slowlychangingover]

Come Back To The Land -- Truten

((I heard you were in need of some Truten fics. I provided. 

Fluff ensues.))

Somehow the stars seemed different to Trunks as he watched the sky turn to black. None of them appeared to have any direction or reason and it reminded him something of a child’s craft table covered in incomprehensible doodles and shamelessly spilled glitter across the surface. For as hard as he tried he hadn’t been able to spot a single constellation despite the clear visibility. He breathed softly, his eyes scanning for some sort of order amongst the mess but to no avail. There was something about it that made his stomach uneasy.

  Amidst the disarray, however, was an object he was very familiar with. The moon hung overhead as it always did, restoring some of the lost balance in the stars caught in its orbit. His head settled back against a broad shoulder, bouncing slightly as a chuckle bubbled from the man behind him.

  Goten’s arms were wrapped around him, holding him firmly against his chest. His chin rested on his shoulder and Trunks complained that he was digging into his bone but made no further effort to make him move. In actuality, he was thankful for Goten having a more broad build than he for instances such as this. The light breeze that the mid-summer night offered them wisped through the blade of grass like a tempting secret. They tickled his fingertips that lay beside him, entwined between his lovers’. He turned his head, an easy smile lighting up his face at the sound of his laughter. 

“What are you so amused about?” His voice was quiet, much like the soft rustling of the trees in the distance and Goten spoke just as softly.

  “You’re always trying to figure things out, even though you don’t need to. Some things just don’t need to make sense.”

  It caught Trunks off guard, but he remained silent as he continued, hanging on every deliberate word. It was rare for Goten to speak so deeply and his eyes followed his finger as he pointed straight up, craning his neck to see.

  “You’re looking for something safe and familiar. Your brain operates on science, so you automatically look for a reason, a logical answer. With the stars you don’t have to. Sometimes they line up the way they’re supposed to, but other times they’re wild and you can’t make a connection so it scares you.” Trunks watched as his obsidian eyes seemed to get lost against the black of the sky, almost able to see the gears in Goten’s head ticking and working together steadily. “Without a little chaos, there would be no need for balance.” When their gazes met Trunks swallowed thickly, his throat having gone dry from focusing. Sitting up a little he turned, his legs bending over one of Goten’s outstretched limbs.

  “So in not so many words,” he paused, nosing his cheek gently, “is that without you, there is no me?” Trunks smiled at his logic and squeezed his hand gently, and although Goten squeezed back, he shook his head.

  “To be honest, I don’t really know.” Goten’s laugh surprised him and Trunks blinked. “But I sounded pretty cool, huh?” With an audible sigh the smaller of the two rolled his eyes, his head slumping back to his shoulder.

  “Here I thought you were going to say something romantic.” He chuckled softly and brought a hand up his lips, kissing the back of it softly. Goten’s smile shined brighter than the unorganized stars above, making it impossible for him not to do the same in kind.

  “But,” Goten continued, “Without the moon, the stars would have nothing to aspire to be.” 

[slowlychangingover]

Paradise -- Mirai Gohan/Mirai Trunks

((Set in an alternate timeline where Gohan has been resurrected and returned to an android-less home.)) 

The way he looks at him is much different than the way looked at him ten years ago.

Long lavender hair falls over skin darker than his own as the hair tie is pulled out and tossed aside without care. Muscles ripple with the tender movement of looking at him over his shoulder with almost shy blue eyes and Gohan can feel the tug of a small grin pull at his lips. The action makes him look something of the angels he has told him about in stories, beautiful and glowing and so different from the small prepubescent kid from his memories.

Confidence stands where awkwardness had been before as a hand runs over the length of him and Gohan eyes him with fascination. Trunks is every bit of pure, gorgeous royalty and he knows it, uses it to lure him in and he falls for it every time, drawn in like that of a magnet. He reaches out to touch him, nuzzling the slightly mussed strands and presses himself along the bare of his backside. His body is warm from sleep, better than the warmth of the bed and Gohan feels his backbone shiver from just the light graze of his knuckles against his cheek.

“Good morning, Little Prince,” he murmurs softly, his lips kissing just behind his ear and he hears the soft gasp that he lets slip. Gohan’s lips move along his neck, feathering more kisses in their wake as his arm wraps around the still smaller frame. He remembers wanting to hold Trunks like this back then, as an equal and not as his pupil or his little brother. The terror that the Androids waged had seen to it that it never happened. Now, having a second chance to, Gohan finds that he finds reasons to be close to him.

“Good morning.”  Trunks’ voice is still rough and unused this early in the morning and goose bumps race up Gohan’s spine. The passed years had treated his development well as just the sound of it makes his cheeks tinge pink with a light blush. He hums and breathes him in, still able to smell his scent on him and he smiles himself.

Physical aside, Trunks has grown up to be the man Gohan knows he has always meant to be. Strength, preservation, and ferocity stack atop a sturdy foundation of passion and caring and wrap around him in the form of a body that is able and proud. It still comes as a shock to Gohan how much time has really passed.

Long moments pass before either of them says another word, content to watch the sky turn from night to dawn out their bedroom window. Every so often Gohan presses little kisses into his hair while his hand rubs over his torso and chest tenderly. He thinks how he can spend every morning like this and how there isn’t anything more perfect than being given this chance to have his little prince.

‘I love you.’

[slowlychangingover]

From The Damage -- Commission -- Basch/Balthier

Title: From The Damage Fandom: Final Fantasy XII Pairing: Basch/Balthier Rated: M Word Count: 6,216 

Running water was a pleasantry hard to come by in Nalbina, at least in the kind that was clean and not ridden with mud and maggots – which were a much easier find than the water, being a dungeon and all. It was nice on is skin, coated with the dirt and grime of being caged for three years with little exercise. Sure, he had fought in more than a fair share of matches and had won them all, save for the first. That had been a fight Basch would have cared not to remember at all, but was hard for forget as his hand glided over the marred, jagged flesh along his thigh, watching the soap wash away years of torment and hardship.

He hadn’t expected a warm welcome upon his arrival back to Rabanastre, yet Vossler was kind enough to provide him with a shower and fresh clothes. Perhaps he put too much guilt on himself, but he supposed being branded as a ‘King Slayer’ had much to do with that. His old comrade had no reason to trust him, having only Reks’s word to go on, and still he was generous.

His thoughts drifted as he soaked his head in the shower. That man was a sky pirate, deigned to fight alongside a fallen knight with little question. The thought shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was to him. Balthier, he had said his name was, and a fine name it was for such a handsome man. Basch groaned, leaning his head back against the shower wall and glanced at his growing erection. It had to be expected, he supposed.

A long time had passed without any contact, any desire for companionship. His eyes slid shut, his mind staying on the brown-haired man as a soapy hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself lightly. It had been so long, too long, and Basch was sensitive to the lightest of touches, his hips jerking quickly into the loose grasp and he groaned. It felt good to imagine someone’s mouth around him again, a wickedly dangerous and wonderful tongue gliding up and down his erection, lips sucking him and kissing his inner thighs.

Heat built up in his groin fast, grabbing a firm hold on him until he could see white flash behind his eyes, coming hard with a soft groan into his hand. Silently watching it all dribble down the drain, Basch frowned. How silly of him to think of someone whom he would more than likely never see again. Men like Balthier weren’t in one place for very long, nor were they interested in men that upheld the laws he so carelessly broke. Still, it irked him as to why he had so freely accepted what had really transpired that that fateful night he had become just another prisoner of the Empire. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he hit all of the matted tangles and knots and poked his out of the shower, eyes scanning the tiny cut out of a room before spotting the scissors on the sink nearby. Basch would be thankful to be rid of such long hair.

Taking the scissors in one hand and his hair in another he snipped, immediately feeling pounds lighter, and dumped the fistful into the waste bin next to the toilet. Yes, his hair was much easier to work with now, the nest of hair easily coming undone into wavy locks now with the help of conditioner. Finally, he was starting to feel less of a grimy prisoner and more of the knight he had once been.

Basch turned, shutting the water off before grabbing the towel that was provided. It was stained – blood, no doubt, with holes, but he wouldn’t complain. He certainly hadn’t expected the royal treatment – or kind treatment at all, for that matter, and he would take anything that was given to him with humble gratitude. It was scratchy and probably old, but it was still enough to dry him as he stepped from the shower and dressed himself. The clothes, he thought, might have been his from a time ago, though he could only fathom as to why Vossler had held onto them for so long.

“Then what of Ondore’s proclamation? Are you suggesting they fooled even the Marquis?”

“What if a judge killed the king, not the captain? That would explain everything wouldn’t it?”

The voices of men he could once call his own could be heard through the lightweight door as Basch bent to lace one shoe. They had every right to be wary. It was by a fool’s fate the events had happened as they did. He continued listening quietly on the other side.

“In that case the captain would be brother to a judge! How are we to trust such a man?”

Of course, that would be the trouble of it all. There was no easy way to vouch for his innocence. All of the proof that he indeed had a twin brother had been lost when Landis fell. Basch scoffed, reaching for the other shoe. He would sooner have the luck felling a hundred worgen single-handedly than proving that said judge was his brother.

Lacing the other shoe, Basch stood, taking a deep, heavy breath before walking through the door, chin held as high as he could muster through the weight of the situation. Heads turned immediately, eyes snapping to look him over and mouths suddenly clamping shut to discontinue their banter. Vossler’s voice caught him a little off guard, his head whipping to his left to meet the eyes of his once comrade.

“Now there is the Basch that I remember.”

Basch swallowed thickly, his voice failing him at first. How was he to even approach this? Of course, restoring order to Dalmasca and appointing the Lady Ashe as the rightful heir to the throne were imperative. Still, he was apprehensive. Even as he spoke his voice was too eager.

“Then will you fight again at my side?”

“His word alone convinces me of nothing!” The arguments continue.

“I’d take his word over that of a mouthpiece marquis!”

“Then you name Reks liar with him!”

“My brother was no liar!”

At that everyone turned, Basch included, his gaze falling upon the same dusty blond boy that had helped him escape from Nalbina. How strange that he would be here though. Still, the boy, or Vaan rather, showed up at just the right time.

“Just the opposite,” Basch started. “Reks was the witness they needed. They had to make it appear as I killed the king – Reks bears no blame.” He looked Vaan over, the slightest of smirks on his face then. “The fates have willed it.”

“So this is Reks’s brother.” Vossler approached the blond, taking the sword he carried forcefully. “Your words may convince a child such as this, but they weigh far too lightly on the scales for my taste.” He faced Basch again, his face cross, the way he would stare at a new recruit. “Our paths will remain separate.”

Basch admitted he was a bit crestfallen. He had hoped to fight alongside his good friend once again, to set out and accomplish what they could not three years ago. Yet another something he should have expected, though.

“Do you not think Amalia worth saving?” It was a last, feeble attempt to join him, though he doubted it would have any worth to the other man. Vossler sighed, his eyes downcast.

“I hold men’s lives in my hands. I must see foes in every shadow.” He walked past Basch, barely sparing him a glance as he continued. “The night we moved against Vayne, he knew. I will not chance such disadvantage again. I must treat you as I would Ondore – as I would treat any abettor of the Empire.” Vossler turned, looking over his shoulder to hold Basch’s gaze, and Basch glared back, a small fury raging inside him.

“Then what will you do? Hold me here in chains?” Vossler’s face softened after a moment, facing Basch fully and tossing him the sword he had taken from Vaan. There was a certain weakness in his eyes then that Basch couldn’t place, but he had hoped that it was a look that held the same feelings of old friendship and trust that he himself still held for the other man. “Some things never change, do they?”

“Listen to me, Basch.” The darker haired man warned, “Your cage my have no bars but it is a cage. The eyes of The Resistance watch unblinking.”

“Let them watch.” Basch smirked, turning on heel away from him. “I know something of cages.” With that he left, the eyes of the watching, as Vossler had said and Vaan in tow. When they were a distance away from the exit Basch slowed, allowing the blond to catch up.

“That’s right,” Vaan said, his eyes watching the floor as if remembering something, “Amalia’s in The Resistance.” Basch’s eyes snapped to him.

“Then you know her.”

“Sort of,” Vaan explained as they kept walking, “We met just before we got sent to Nalbina. I’ve known nicer people.”

“Our paths keep crossing, yours and mine. It’s more than coincidence.” How strange that this boy that he had met in Nalbina that was filled with so much hatred would have so much to offer him? It was by no mere chance, Basch thought. Things were beginning to fall as they should. Still, there was the matter of clearing his name and restoring peace to Dalmasca. There was also the matter of the sky pirate that would ebb into his thoughts here and there.

He stopped for a moment, contemplating. It would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, if he sought out the pirate. Surely, there would be a price, and there was no price Basch wouldn’t pay for his freedom. It was fool proof, he thought.

“It’s annoying,” Vaan shot at him, and Basch couldn’t help but chuckle. He was still a child, indeed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “allow me one last annoyance: a favor to ask. I want you to take me to Balthier. Even caged birds need wings.”

Vaan paused a moment. “This makes us even.”

“Even?”

“For Nalbina. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Basch smiled, leaving it at that and followed him out of Lowtown, a comfortable silencing lingering between them for a long while.

Being back on the streets of Rabanastre was bittersweet. The war had certainly changed things from the way he had remembered them. Rundown, the citizens lived in fear of the Empire that now reigned over their home. As they walked Basch couldn’t help noticing the amount of children running the streets. It wasn’t uncommon for children to play, but something seemed off, and Vaan seemed to notice the frown on his face.

“A lot of kids lost their parents in the war,” he explained, watching the same group of children that had caught Basch’s eye. “Mine – mine had already died before that. The plague took them both.” He didn’t know why Vaan was so suddenly open with him. Perhaps it was a sign of forgiveness; at least, that is what Basch had hoped.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Vaan had gone on to explain how he had lived with a friend of his and her family until the war came. Basch still couldn’t help the guilt he felt. It was his fault Reks had been involved to begin with. Thinking back on it, he would wager his brother would have expected him to pick up stragglers. He had played right into his hands, and it was something Basch didn’t ever think he could forgive himself for.

“I am sorry,” he apologized again, and Vaan managed a weighted chuckle.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing. Really, it’s all right. I know it wasn’t your fault. I see that now. You didn’t kill my brother.” Vaan paused, and Basch turned to look at him only to see the boy had his eyes fixed on the red and black banner that hung from the palace. His eyes burned with hatred and pain, and Basch wished just then he could do something to reverse that night if only to ease Vaan’s suffering a little.

“It was the Empire.” Vaan’s eyes were on him again, darker than before from the weight he carried on his shoulders. So young, this boy, yet he had a better understanding of life than most men he knew. “My brother trusted you, and he was right.” He started walking again, leaving Basch to follow. Maybe this boy wasn’t as childish as he seemed.

Their journey ended at the Sandsea. Dark and crowded as usual, and Basch couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot in the establishment, although he was sure it was with Vossler. He followed Vaan up the stairs and instantly he heard a familiar voice, one that made his hair stand on the back of his neck and send a thrill down his spine followed by another voice that he hadn’t recognized.

“As I said, a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?! What I’m understanding is that they took Penelo because of you!”

He remembered the name Penelo from his pervious conversation with Vaan. So, his friend had been kidnapped, it seemed. Rather unfortunate. In an instant Vaan was at the bangaa’s side.

“What? What about Penelo?”

“Oh, Vaan!” The creature cried, “They’ve taken Penelo! And there was a note – a note for this, Balthier! ‘Come to the Bhujerba mines, it said.”

“It’s Ba’Gamnan.” The viera, Fran, he thought her name was, said from the other side of the table. “He was in Nalbina.”

“If anything happens to that sweet child – why, I’ve her parents’ memory to consider!” The bangaa cut her off, continuing his tirade to Balthier who seemed entirely unenthused with the entire ordeal. Basch watched silently for a moment longer. Ironic that the fates would have them going to the same destination.

“You’re going to go to her aide and that’s that! It’s what you sky pirates do, isn’t it?”

“I don’t respond well to orders.” Balthier snapped, narrowing a glare at the bangaa. “You do know that the Imperial fleet is massing at Bhujerba?”

“Fine, the I’ll go! You at least have an airship, don’t you? Just get me there and I’ll find Penelo myself!” Basch saw the desperation in Vaan’s eyes as he stepped closer to Balthier. It was the same will and determination he had seen in Reks’s eyes the day he was slain.

He stepped forward, eyes locking with Balthier’s. “I’ll join you,” he said and Vaan looked at him, confused. “I have some business there as well.”

“An audience with the Marquis, by chance?” Basch was a little taken aback. The pirate was well informed, and he supposed he ought to be. A wanted man such as him needed to know where the most dangers lie. Balthier’s eyes ensnared him, holding him in a glance that he could be no means shake. Goosebumps rose on his skin but he wouldn’t break contact. It wasn’t until Vaan spoke again that Balthier dragged his eyes away from his own.

“Balthier, just take us and this is yours.”

“The Gods are toying with us.” Fran muttered as she rested her chin in her hand, looking over at her companion and Balthier groaned, shaking his head as he stood. He walked past them both and headed down the stairs, calling to them over his shoulder.

“Make yourselves ready. We leave soon.”

The Strahl was certainly no bird to sneeze at. A beautiful ship that flew smoother than some other ships Basch had been on over the years, and Balthier handled her like a precious treasure. Every move the man made was fluid and confident, as though he could have done it in his sleep, a thought that honestly wouldn’t have surprised Basch in the slightest. He wondered for a moment what it was like to be so free, without being tied to one place or person before his thoughts drifted again to something more sexual, of having Balthier tied, perhaps to his own chair in the cockpit. Yes, that had certainly been a gratifying thought, but one that died as takeoff was complete. His eyes watched as the other man strutted past him, his hips swaggering from side to side with an allure that was surely classified as unmanly but far be it from Basch to even care. He stood to follow him, finding himself mesmerized with the hips of a gypsy. It was impossible to break the spell.

“Something I can help you with, Captain?” The smooth voice broke Basch from his trance and his eyes snapped up to Balthier’s then to his surroundings, realizing with a creeping flush on his cheeks that he’d followed him back to what he could only assume was the man’s private quarters. Basch swallowed thickly, adverting his gaze.

“There is something I wish to ask you.”

“Well please, make it quick. I should like to rest properly before we rescue Vaan’s friend,” Balthier drawled with a stretch over his head and Basch nodded. He may as well just say it then.

“I told you I wasn’t a king slayer, and told you my story, but you were the only one who wasn’t skeptical. Why?”

Shock crossed Balthier’s features, his eyes suddenly shifting uncomfortably before looking back at Basch. His gaze was piercing, analyzing and studying his features until they softened sadly.

“I knew your brother,” was the quiet reply, and Basch could feel ice run through his veins as Balthier slipped behind his door, shutting it behind him without another word. What did he mean? How could he have possibly known Noah? Confusion wrought over him and he soon found himself pounding on the door.

“Balthier! What do you mean? Answer me! Balthier!” Basch’s voice grew desperate on the other side of the door as he continued slamming his fist on the door, growling when he realized he wasn’t going to get any more answers from him.  Defeated, he gave up, walking away with his head hung. This wouldn’t be the end of this conversation.

He kept finding ways to be close to Balthier, but he wasn’t sure this was one of the reasons he wanted to be near. Something ached in him, longing for answers that only seemed to lead to more questions. Maybe this quest wouldn’t be as easy as he had hoped it would be.

Things had progressed as though the exchange had never happened, although Basch had noticed that Balthier seemed to look at him differently. It wasn’t a terrible feeling, although Basch couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t seeing him at all, but his brother. It bothered him more than it should have, but saw it as more of a challenge than anything. Whatever the past was between Balthier and Noah was obviously just that.

Their escape from the Leviathan and then from Ondore’s guards led them back to the Strahl. The fates had toyed with him yet again, although he had been thankful for Vossler’s aide. This adventure was only beginning.

Basch had seen to it that the Lady Ashe was properly asleep before he crept out, leaving her majesty to rest and found himself alone in the cockpit of the ship, looking out over the night sky as the ship flew on autopilot. The stars reminded him of Landis, the open fields of his home where he and Noah played as children. Basch couldn’t remember the last time he had had such freedom, and he envied Balthier in a sense for it. With a heavy sigh he made to stand, stopping when he felt a hand on his own. He glanced up, meeting blue eyes that seemed to glitter in the moonlight as they shined down on him.

“Leaving so soon?” Balthier smiled a little and sat in the seat across from him. “I was hoping I would have a chance to talk to you.”

Basch felt himself sink back into the seat and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He offered the man a tiny nod, waiting for him to speak. Admittedly, the last few nights of events had taken his mind from the confrontation from before, but he was more than ready to hear an explanation. Balthier took a labored breath, mimicking his posture and hanging his head a little.

“Before he was the law-abiding judge we know today, your brother had taken me under his wing. He taught me how to fight, plan attacks and everything that a judge should know.”

“Then that would mean you were –“

“A judge, yes.” Balthier finished, “He was good to me though, perhaps a little too good.” Basch was about to ask him what he meant when he saw the slightest of blushes tinge his cheekbones, and immediately his heart sank.

“I see.” Basch turned his head away. So that was how it was? When Balthier looked at him he didn’t see him, but his brother. That was why Balthier had been so easy to convince of the truth, and so willing to forgive him. A long silence passed between then two of them but Basch’s head was screaming at him. Noah had already had what he wanted, had probably broken him somehow. He wanted know what had happened, feeling obliged to make it better. “I’m sorry.”

He moved to stand again but Balthier was quicker, climbing into his lap and settling his knees into the seat on either side of him. Shaky, nervous hands cupped his cheeks, feeling the scratch of his beard against his skin and he could feel him shiver above him. His own hands grasped the hips that had so enticed him as their eyes fell into one another’s.

“Do you see me?” his voice was soft, hesitant, and Balthier looked down at him, blinking at the question. “Do you see me, and not my brother?” Balthier heaved a long breath from his mouth and Basch could feel it on his skin, sending goose bumps down his arms and his blood racing through his veins.

“Yes,” he muttered, “And that’s what I want.”

The distance between them closed and Balthier’s lips moved with his own. He tasted of cinnamon and spice, a taste that he could easily see himself falling in love with over and over again as he licked his lips. His hands gripped him tighter, drawing him closer and pulling him flush against his chest. Balthier was smaller in frame despite being what couldn’t be more than an inch taller than him, and he could only imagine how he would feel sans armor. The thought made him groan against his lips as Balthier moved in for another, more intense kiss, and an eager tongue pressed for entrance.

Basch’s body moved on its own accord, fingers nimbly unhooking the golden armor that clad his chest and sending it to the floor with a noisy clatter. It didn’t stop them though, Balthier rolling hips along his and Basch was embarrassed to find himself so hard already. The pirate smirked though as he pull his head back in slight.

“It has been a rather long time for you, has it not? Perhaps we should slow it down just a little,” he teased, and Basch opened his mouth to protest, the sound of a faint click hitting his ears. His vision dropped, as did his jaw when he saw the handcuffs binding his hands to the chair. When had he moved them? More importantly, when had Balthier moved his? “And do close your mouth. You look like a gaping fish.” His eyes darted back up to Balthier’s seeing a devious grin spread over his features.

“This really isn’t necessary,” he finally managed, but the pirate only laughed, sliding from his lap and removing his shirt torturously slow. Basch felt his mouth go dry, making swallowing painful as he drank in the sight of him. Pale flesh nearly sparkled in the moonlight the night provided them. Balthier was sculpted, though not quite muscular, and his body seemed to move to its own rhythm as though everything else around him hadn’t stopped in time and he was the only thing that could dance in the night’s light.

Basch struggled against his restraints; the all too familiar feeling of being bound something between unsettling and arousing. He needed to touch, had to feel that flawless skin underneath his hands. The hard lines of his erection pressed against his pants and he groaned – no matter how he shifted it just wasn’t gratifying.

“Something you like, Basch?” The question was purred and it made the blond shudder. There had never been a time his name had sounded so alluring. He had to hear it again. Self-control was something lost to Basch then, desire pooling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Balthier’s hands roam his own body, sinuous noises bubbling in his throat. The light from the stars was just enough for Basch to make out the outline of the other man’s cock, hardened and he could only fathom that it was as beautiful as the rest of him. Licking his cracked lips he nodded, and Balthier chuckled. “Would you like to see more?”

With a shaky breath Basch nodded again, pulling at the handcuffs that kept him still. It was a sweet torture, one that had him as close to the edge of his seat as his chains allowed. He enjoyed this show, but he wanted more. Deft fingers played over the button of Balthier’s tight leather pants and Basch studied every move carefully, examining how expertly theatrical the whole thing was. Slow and steady, those hands disassembled his pants, and the ex-knight would have sworn he could actually hear each notch of his zipper being undone one at a time. It was maddening, and he was losing his patience.

“I must say,” Basch stated with a smirk, “you must like making a flashy entrance no matter the situation.” There was a grin on Balthier’s face and he slid a hand beneath the fabric, rubbing himself and moaning lewdly into the silent cockpit, save for the running of the ship.

Basch begged, “Let me touch you.” The look he received made him sit back a little and Balthier inched toward him, sauntering the short distance with a cruel smirk. 

“You aren’t exactly in a position to be making demands,” he warned and grabbed the back of Basch’s head, pulling his face level with his almost freed cock. “On this ship, I am the Captain.” With his other hand he tugged the tight pants over his erection, letting the tip of it brush Basch’s parted lips.

Up close, it was as perfect as he had imagined, the scent a mixture of holly and musk and the blond found himself nearly salivating, a contrast to what had been a completely dry mouth prior. He tried tilting his head back but to little avail, Balthier’s vice-like grip on his head unwavering. Not being in control was something not foreign to him after three years in a cage, though in this context it was entirely different. Basch trusted Balthier, more than he had trusted anyone in a long time. He knew no harm would come to him.

“Go on,” Balthier taunted, loosening his hold only a little. “You were so demanding before.”

Basch licked his lips and swallowed hard, his need for this coming out in short, hot huffs of breath that made Balthier’s cock twitch in anticipation. Darting his tongue out he licked a long, hot stripe along the underside of his length and the pirate groaned, lurching those wonderful hips forward. How he wished he wasn’t bound – those hips would have fit so nicely in his grasp.

He was hesitant for a moment before taking the tip between his lips, sucking lightly and drawing out a long, fluttering breath from the sky pirate who gripped his hair tighter. It was encouraging. It made him less shy – not that he was because knights weren’t shy. Something about it felt sinful but that was hardly a care on his mind when the weight of Balthier’s cock on his tongue was so damnably wonderful. He plunged his lips lower, taking more in, sucking in unsure drags that he hoped were still pleasurable to the other man. If the soft moans and tightening fingers in his hair were any indication, Basch thought Balthier was enjoying it.

Swollen lips popped over the head softly and back down again after rolling his tongue over the tip and he could tell that the pirate was fighting to hold himself back and not simply use his war-hardened face. He smirked as he sucked in long, hard strides, the tremors that coursed through his body reverberating on his tongue. He struggled against his bindings, nails clawing at the fabric of the chair.

In a sudden motion his head was tugged back, Basch’s eyes snapping up to meet the pirate’s gaze. They swirled with desire, as he was sure his own were and Basch groaned. His cock ached, needing release desperately. Before he could blink Balthier was on him, teeth tugging at his lips, tongue grazing his in search of that extra spark and Basch’s lashes fluttered on his skin as his eyes slid shut. His body reacted on instinct, his lips lurching forward, urgently seeking the friction he so lusted for.

A chuckle sounded in his ears and quick fingers grazed down his face and over his chest, plucking at the buckles on his vest. The flat palm of Balthier’s hands on him brought out something of a growl in Basch’s throat and the vest clinked to the floor of the cockpit, echoing in the silence of the night. He could feel the heat between their bodies now, a delicious wave that made his cheeks tinge pink.

“Cat caught your tongue, Basch?” Balthier teased, his lips sliding over each scar that littered his body, careful to treat each one with some sort of affection. The sentiment made Basch speechless, eyes watching him curiously as he sank lower down his body.

When Balthier had finally hooked his fingers into the hem of his pants he tugged, dragging them down over his hips and Basch would have sworn he had heard the other gasp. A soft groan broke away from his lips as Balthier eyed him, fingers kneading into the inside of his thighs after tossing the last of the clothing aside.

Silence lingered between them, hanging in the moment that almost seemed judgmental. A rose color flush dusted Balthier’s cheeks in the light of the moon and he kissed the erection before him softly. His eyes flitted up to Basch’s, a smile on his lips as he crawled over him again, pressing his lips over his with equal tenderness and speaking the answer to the question Basch was nearly afraid to ask.

“Put your mind at ease, Basch,” came the soft reassurance. “Your brother is the farthest from my mind now.”

Basch leaned up in slight, kissing the abused lips that had haunted his dreams since Nalbina. Nothing needed to be said in response – words were unnecessary. Again he fought against the handcuffs, the clink of the metal seeming like a distant noise.  His eyes begged, ‘Please…just let me hold you.’

The intense gaze between them softened. Balthier’s hands trailed along every curve of muscle in his arms until they rested on his hands. There was a faint click and Basch could feel the pressure from the handcuffs release. He wanted to question him, but his body reacted before his brain could catch up, his arms pulling him close. Battle roughed hands scored up his back with blunt nails and crashed his lips to his.

This was better. Much better.

Balthier purred something like a royal feline against his tongue and Basch would have sworn right then that it was the most delicious sound he had ever tasted. It sent chills rolling down his body, his hips meeting the fine curve of Balthier’s ass. He needed more still, his hands falling to back of his thighs and creeping up, easing a finger inside of him. Lewd curses filled the cockpit; soft panting hitting his cheek and Basch could feel him moving along the digit. At first, Basch hadn’t thought he had heard him right until he heard it again, a quiet plea for more caressing his ear.

Quickly sliding his finger from him he grasped his cock, his other hand easing him down. Balthier shook in his hold, delightful cries spilling from his lips as he sank lower, not stopping until they were flush.

The heat that raced through Basch’s very blood sent him dizzy, his eyes closing to ride out the rush. There could be no greater feeling than this, he had thought.

That was until Balthier moved.

A loud moan tore from between his lips, stifling it hurriedly into his neck and biting down, his teeth marring the creamy flesh and Balthier hissed. He melted into the chair with every languid motion and heated pant that came from above him. Tender huffs of breath graced the pirate’s ear as Basch rocked with him slowly, getting lost in his senses. His own scent mixing with Baltheir’s and sex was nothing short of intoxicating. He craved more, and the more he craved the faster his hips rocked, feverishly digging his nails into the small of his back and forcing him down.

The chair creaked under the strain of their bodies clamoring together and some semblance of logic switched on his Basch’s head. Tightly gripping Balthier he stood, turning sharply to press him against the window of the Strahl and bracing himself with one hand by his head, the other clawing his jut of his hip to keep him steady. He thrust hard into him, their bodies slick with sweat, the sound of glass smudging with every needy snap of his hips harder.

Balthier’s moans carried throughout the cockpit, a sweet melody that Basch didn’t think he would ever tire of hearing. His nails desperately sought for purchase, burrowing into dampened blond locks and tugging none to gently, a hungry moan escaping him as he pulled him in for a bruising kiss. Tremors shook his body, arching from the window as he came between him, the mess trickling down his stomach.

Muscles clenched tight around Basch’s cock and he continued using him, the night sky as a backdrop to Balthier’s glow at it remind him of a star, his very own light to guide his path. Two, three more furious snaps of his hips and Basch spilled himself inside him, the hand on his hip holding him down against his pelvis. Heavy pants ghosted over the sheen of sweat on Balthier’s neck and he shuddered, a soft noise emitting from the back of his throat as he hold loosened, his body relaxing.

A gentle nuzzle on his cheek made Basch hum in response, content to hold the captain there all night. Slightly chapped lips pressed a kiss to his cheek and he smiled softly at the sweet affection.

“That was impressive, Captain,” Balthier, never one to miss a beat, whispered in his ear.

Basch chuckled lightly, returning the same affectionate nudge. “You as well, Captain,” he teased.

The next sentence caught Basch off-guard, sending a dusty blush across his cheekbones.

“Come to bed with me?” It was a quiet sort of plea, a need that the knight understood very well. There wasn’t a need to be alone, not tonight.

When dawn broke the next morning Basch immediately felt lonely. Balthier’s side of the bed was cold, indicating he had been gone for some time and he frowned. He rolled into Balthier’s pillows, inhaling his scent with a small smile. Sun crept in through the window, forcing Basch awake earlier than he wanted to be.

Thoughts of the night before started settling in as his bare feet hit the cool floor, a shiver running up his spine. He spotted his clothes folded neatly on a small wooden chair and reached for them, mulling over his thoughts as he dressed. Did this change things between them? Was it going to be awkward? He needed to know where they stood. Pulling his boots on the got up from the bed, looking himself over once before making his way out of the bedroom door. Immediately he heard voice in the cockpit, Balthier delightful tenor catching his attention.

As he approached the front of the ship he could see that he was talking to Fran, who’s look was one of mild amusement. It wasn’t until he had entered the pit fully that he had seen why. There, next to the pilot’s seat of the window was a Balthier shaped outline and his handprint just beside it. His face turned bright red, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. Sensing another presence they both turned to face him, Balthier’s embarrassed expression matching his own and they stared at one another for a moment before the sky pirate shook his head, looking back to the viera.

“Do not say a word. Got it?” 

[slowlychangingover]

Another Night -- BlackTiger!?Kotetsu/Barnaby

((So, I wrote this about a year ago...and I had been waiting for the right time to post it, but I guess now is as good a time as any. Welcome some Usatora back to my blog. XD))

Kotetsu was fairly certain that - somewhere between the time this idea had sprung into his head and putting in the almost glowing red contacts – he had lost his mind. Standing in their shared bathroom and looking in the mirror, he took in his appearance: a black vest fit nicely over his frame, accenting a dark red shirt not unlike his usual green button down covered his broad shoulders and chiseled expanse of his chest, and a pair of his regular black slacks, tailored and pressed to perfection lay comfortably on his slim hips. Before this, he had taken for granted his near perfect eyesight, Kotetsu thought as he leaned closer to his reflection, and suddenly felt bad for his practically blind boyfriend. Contacts were definitely the biggest pain in the ass – and to think he was doing this for fun. He managed easily enough though, blinking them into place before grabbing his new black and red hat and adjusting it to his head.

  Taking a deep breath, Kotetsu clenched his fists at his sides. He was nervous – this was the first time he had ever considered doing anything like this. The click of the front door closing and the sound of Barnaby's voice echoing down the hall didn't leave him much time to reconsider, however. Slipping out of the bathroom hastily, Kotetsu rushed to the bedroom – the location of where he planned to lure the unsuspecting blond. He leaned against the frame of the door, hoping his appearance was casual in spite of his nerves getting the better of him.

  “What are you wearing?” Barnaby rounded the corner, confusion written in bold letters over his flawless features and Kotetsu's stomach flipped. He swallowed thickly and Barnaby took a few steps closer.

  “You look handsome,” the blond said smoothly and suddenly there was a hand reaching for his face. Kotetsu growled and grabbed his wrist – this was for Barnaby, he wasn't going to give him the chance to seduce him at all because sometimes a touch was all it took for Kotetsu to melt into the blond. That wasn't going to be the case tonight, hearing Barnaby yelp softly in surprise.

  “Kotetsu, is everything okay?”

  With something of a feral grin on his lips Kotetsu launched himself at Barnaby, hooking his fingertips into his shoulders and digging them into the still covered flesh harsher than necessary. A resounding thump echoed around them as he slammed the blond into the opposite wall, his partner groaning on impact. Lifting his head high enough to see Barnaby's eyes, Kotetsu could clearly tell that his victim was utterly perplexed, but clouds of arousal could possibly be seen within his green irises.

  “Kotet-” Kotetsu silenced him by placing a long finger to his lips and shook his head wordlessly, offering him a devilish smirk before removing the appendage, replacing it with a hungry mouth. Barnaby's gasp died against their attached lips when Kotetsu grazed his teeth against his lover's bottom lip harshly and he could feel the younger male instantly melt from the quickly rising heat between them. Hands grasped Kotetsu's neck and pulled him that much closer and the feral growl that rattled in Kotetsu's throat made Barnaby shiver involuntarily. He released the grip on the blond's shoulders and made short work of his belt and pants, sliding them over slim hips and leaving the material to pool around his knees. A chuckle bubbled from his lips when he palmed the hardening flesh between Barnaby's legs – noting with an amused smirk that his lover had neglected boxers this morning – and resulting in a delicious moan, which he swallowed greedily.

  “No boxers? Such a naughty Bunny,” and relinquishing the blond's lips Kotetsu descended, trailing wet stripes of saliva as he sampled every inch of exposed skin on his partner. Dropping to his knees and swallowing thickly he licked his lips as Barnaby's erection twitched in anticipation. He wouldn't let his resolve waver, however, he was going to do this for Barnaby – he would do anything for his Bunny.

  He took the tip of Barnaby's cock between his lips, sucking gently at first,  and only drawing more of the hard flesh into his mouth when his lover groaned loudly in approval. Fingers curled into his scalp and Kotetsu swatted them away, grabbing and holding them to the blond's hips and taking the entire length into his mouth. Barnaby thrust his hips forward, his erection hitting the back of Kotetsu's throat and Kotetsu clutched his hands, lacing their fingers together as his lover moaned loudly and unabashedly, breath coming in ragged pants that were in tandem with his ministrations. 

  “Oh, God, Kotetsu.” Barnaby barely managed to form anything past that while his cock was being so wonderfully attended to – but just as suddenly as it had begun, that heat was gone, and Kotetsu looked up at him with glowing red eyes. The older man shook his head wordlessly and stood to connect their lips again, the taste of precum upon his tongue as it brushed against Barnaby's. Kotetsu's hands loosened in his and made for his jacket, sliding the garment off his arms and quickly submitting his shirt to the same fate, both landing unceremoniously to the floor.

  Dropping to his knees again, Kotetsu made sure to leave a hot huff of breath on Barnaby's cock and he relished in the way it twitched in response. He tipped his head to the side, grabbing the material of his partner's pants between his teeth and pulled them from the confines of the leather boots. An erotic groan filled his ears and Kotetsu glanced up at the blond, hair slightly askew eyes clouded with desire, and kiss-swollen lips parted as he desperately tried to regain control of his breathing.

  “T-That's so hot.” Barnaby muttered under his breath and Kotetsu wasn't sure he was supposed to have heard it, but it only gave in the courage and the confidence that Barnaby was enjoying himself. He pulled the legs of  the pants over his boots, adding them to the discarded garment pile on the floor and proceeded to lick a long wet stripe up the length of  the red leather expanse. Barnaby bit his bottom lip – still tender from Kotetsu having roughly abused it earlier – and locked his eyes onto the unnatural red that stared back at him as Kotetsu shifted up again.

  “Suck,” the dark-haired man demanded as two fingers prodded Barnaby's lips and the blonde complied, taking the digits in eagerly, swirling his tongue around the appendages hungrily and treating them as though he were sucking his cock itself. Kotetsu bit out a moan, his eyes fixated on the sinuous attention he was receiving. No one should be this good with their mouth, Kotetsu thought as Barnaby swallowed around his fingers and lightly scraped his teeth along the coated skin. His other hand came up to loosen his tie and pluck the buttons of his vest and shirt open, exposing the tanned muscle of his chest and torso – the need to press his skin against Barnaby's was overwhelming, wasting no time in divesting himself of shoes, pants and boxers.

  Removing his fingers from the delicious warmth of his partner's mouth, Kotetsu deliberately ran a slick digit over Barnaby's lower lip before claiming it within his own mouth once more. He allowed Barnaby's hands to thread though his hair this time, moaning softly when the blond's nails shoveled deep into his scalp, Kotetsu finally able to top off the collection of clothing on the floor Their lips parted in favor of panting against each others' skin as they rocked their erections against the others. Wrapping his arm around the blond's middle Kotetsu pulled him flush to his own body, the heat between them so intense, so stifling that he needed more, more of the sinful friction, more of Barnaby's fiery, needy moans, more of Barnaby. He could never have enough of his insatiable lover, not in a million years – Barnaby really had turned him into an addict.

  “Ko-” Barnaby started, but the man growled, shaking his head for the third time. Purposefully, Kotetsu licked the already moistened fingers, almost cat-like, and descended once more. He teased the blond, smirking when Barnaby's knees weakened and shook next to his head and pressed both fingers in, causing his lover to nearly scream and writhe against the wall. Barnaby dug even deeper into Kotetsu's skull with every strike of pleasure, the muscles working desperately to draw him in deeper. 

  “Oh, fuck me, Tiger.” Barnaby's voice was carnal as he huffed it between moans and reached Kotetsu's ears, who rewarded his lover with the hot embrace of his mouth around his cock again, simultaneously sucking in time with the fingers that plowed into him.

  The quick jerk of Barnaby's hips was the only warning of how close his lover was to coming, and Kotetsu swallowed his cock just as the essence spurted against the back of his throat. For as hard as he tried not to Kotetsu choked on the sticky substance, coughing as he swallowed most of it and forcing the rest to dribble down his chin. Glancing up his lover  and seeing his green eyes looking back at him, his features completely sated and an appreciative smile on his lips made Kotetsu smirk in return. He slowed the fingers still in Barnaby before sliding them out entirely. Standing, he licked his lips, tasting some of the remnants of release there before offering the rest to the blond who lapped it up greedily, thoroughly cleaning patch of skin before running his tongue against Kotetsu's lips, begging to taste him. The dark-haired man buried his hands into his partner's blond curls and crushed their mouths together.

  Arms wrapped limply around Kotetsu's neck as Barnaby melted into the lips that pressed urgently into his own. Their tongues clashed, granting Barnaby the opportunity to taste the hot semen that lingered in his older lover's mouth, eliciting a moan as he shuddered with delight in Kotetsu's arms. Kotetsu pulled the blond closer still, making him painfully aware of his own neglected arousal, the need to be inside Barnaby twisted in the pit of his stomach and the kiss ended with a sweet peck to the younger male's cheek.

  “I'm gonna fuck you into the mattress, Bunny.” Kotetsu snarled into Barnaby's ear, grazing  the delicate shell with his teeth and accenting his point by grinding their hips together. A strangled groan escaped the blond's lips and Barnaby nodded. “Good boy.” Kotetsu had to admit that Bunny being so submissive and so very willing made all of this acting worth it. He slipped another gentle kiss to the juncture of Barnaby's jaw before nipping at the sensitive skin. In one fluid motion, Kotetsu hoisted his lover into his arms, wrapping his still boot clad legs around his waist and tucking his arms securely under Barnaby's rear.

  Carrying Barnaby through the threshold into their shared bedroom, Kotetsu all but dropped the blond on the bed before crawling over the length of his body and carnally devouring his neck, sinking his canines into Barnaby's fair skin before licking the tender patches, leaving his lover a writhing mess on the bed. Nails clawed up Kotetsu's back in answer, he ground his hips down, rocking his erection against Barnaby's thigh.

  “Tiger, please!” Wanton and needy, Barnaby begged from underneath him, cheeks flush and perfect curls mussed from passion, his green eyes met Kotetsu's unnatural crimson, the gaze saying everything that words couldn't now. Barnaby trusted him and loved him more than he had anyone else in his life – things that Kotetsu knew didn't come lightly, not with the traumas and deceit that had always been present in the blond's life. He blinked back the sudden surge of emotion and brushed the back of his hand over Barnaby's cheek, an equally simple response to the non-verbal communication.

  Kotetsu wasted no time giving in to his plea, his cock throbbing painfully in need of absolution. Positioning himself above his lover, he let his vulgar desire take over and slid himself in fully in one quick thrust. The sound that tore from Barnaby's throat almost made him regret the action and he halted, terrified that he seriously hurt the blond. Before he could inquire, however, the blond wriggled his hips, a signal to keep moving. Confidence regained, Kotetsu grasped Barnaby's hips, pressing his fingers into his alabaster skin and slammed himself in the tight confines and growled at the impossibly tight muscle that gripped his arousal with each snap forward and fuck that felt nice. He hissed out a ragged breath as nails raked up his back and leather boots rubbed uncomfortably against his hips, both surely leaving angry red marks that Kotetsu would complain about later, but these things were far from his mind when Barnaby began groaning and meeting each of his thrusts with his own.

  “Tiger, Tiger, Tiger!” It had become a melodious mantra, and it only got louder the harder he shoved his cock into Barnaby, his body over-sensitive from his previous orgasm, body twitching – almost painful with the excessive pleasure and dry sobs ripped from his throat as he thrashed his head from side to side, sinking his nails into the already damaged surface of Kotetsu's back.

  Lapping at Barnaby's neck hungrily, Kotetsu's hiss was muffled as intense head twisted in his gut, bringing him to drive his hips harder – deeper – hands scrabbling at Barnaby's hips to jerk him harder and faster against him with each one of his own forward thrusts. It was too much – all of it, too much – and with a last, gasping breath and deep snap of his hips within the tight confines of Barnaby's form, he spilled himself, every muscle in his body trembling, aching, nerves spitting fire and leaving him altogether spent.

  Kotetsu collapsed, his hands desperate to hold onto Barnaby's, searching for reassurance that this was okay – that he was okay – finally finding them and entwining their fingers,  smiling when Barnaby gave them a light squeeze. They laid there, basking in their afterglow and putting their feral desires to rest for another night, Kotetsu kissing various places of Barnaby's face softly and wiped a bead of sweat from the blond's brow – God he was the most beautiful mess.

  “I love you.”

  Barnaby shifted to look at his lover, a sated smile upon his lips. “I love you too.” was the murmur around a sloppily placed kiss. Fingers undone, hands roamed gently over Kotetsu's back – a drastic contrast to the feral clawing that had torn at the expanse of flesh only moments before – smoothing delicate circles and Kotetsu sighed, feeling himself relax under the blond's attention and he threaded through Barnaby's curls, matted in places from sweat but otherwise perfect. There were no other words that needed to be said then, no questions that needed to be asked, because he knew Barnaby already knew the answer.

  Because he would do anything for Barnaby.