“If we cross this line, you’re not just my friend anymore. You’re my downfall.” with Balor, please! SFW or suggestive, thanks :)
a/n: if you prefer to read this on Ao3, you can find it here! please note that in that version i’ve replaced the more neutral Ari with my own farmer, Bellamy. cheers!
Balor is a man who notices patterns.
Actually, no, that’s far too simplistic a description for a practice that he believes he has down to a fine art. In truth, he likes to think of himself as primarily an observer, rather than a true participant, in the world around him - after all, in his particular line of work, it quite literally pays to be on the outside looking in.
Some might consider it a little obsessive, the way he mentally tracks everyone’s schedules, or the way he makes note of their interests and passions. He just calls it attention to detail. It’s all well and good to provide when he’s asked, but if he can anticipate a need before it’s even requested, it makes him invaluable.
His methods have served him well so far. And so has staying on the sidelines, never investing more than an inch of himself at a time. He’ll be the first to admit that it doesn’t always give people cause to trust him as much as he’d like them to (especially when the recipient of his efforts is equally as shrewd and observant as he is), but his reliability typically fills in the gaps. And whether they’d like to admit it or not, people love being known. The simple act of making sure their needs are met without them ever having to ask in the first place is often more than enough to distract from the fact that, while Balor has come to know Mistria’s townspeople quite well, they don’t really know him at all.
He’s fine with that, though. Being known more intimately than the casual way one is known by an acquaintance is much more of a risk for him than it has ever been a need. It also makes it much easier to slide unseen into the rhythm of Mistria itself; he can mould himself into whatever shape he needs to be and can wedge his way into whatever box fits best.
This is why it’s so irritating - so downright grating - that he cannot seem to find his feet with the farmer.
Ari blew into Mistria on a cloud of purpose and intention, and gods dammit, Balor cannot seem to figure out what that intention is. Whenever Ari is asked, they wave a hand, offer a smile, and tell a sweet but dismissive little story about their desire to be an adventurer. Or, depending on the listening party, they give a wink and mention how attractive the lure of free land was.
It’s obvious bullshittery, to Balor’s ear. He didn’t let on that he thought as much, of course, but it didn’t stop him from internally reeling at how easily Ari managed to convince everyone that their reasons for moving to a run-down town in the middle of nowhere are truly that simple.
Alas, Balor isn’t a particularly stubborn individual. He doesn’t have the ability to angrily lie to himself about the farmer, the way March in particular seems to. If he’s being honest with himself - and he tries to be, when he can - Ari is deeply charming. Charismatic. Shockingly genuine, for someone Balor knows is keeping their secrets tucked in close, like a dragon sitting on its hoard.
He likes them. He can admit it. He smiles when he sees them. He enjoys their company. He admires them, which is almost harder to admit to himself than any other Ari-related truths so far. What he doesn’t like, however, is how hard they are to know.
Balor doesn’t need much! He doesn’t need Ari to invite him over for tea every night and confess their deepest, darkest desires. He’s not looking for a detailed map of their vulnerabilities and weaknesses. And he understands the need to keep things close to the chest; truly, he does. Balor is a lot of things to a lot of people, but he’s not a hypocrite.
But hells, he’d settle for an even halfway reliable schedule from them. It doesn’t need to be as rigorously followed as, say, Lady Adeline’s is, but at this point he’d give his left arm for some damn consistency. Whenever he thinks Ari has settled into a trackable pattern, they’ll spend three whole days doing absolutely nothing but fishing. They only sometimes show up for market day. At one point Balor started to think he could rely on the weather; Ari fairly reliably used to use rainy days as an excuse to traverse the mines. Recently, however, that stopped completely. Now he doesn’t know where they are when it’s raining, other than where they are not.
So when Ari started showing up at the inn more frequently a few weeks back, Balor simply… made note of it. That’s it. That’s all. He didn’t pin it to the front of his brain like he normally would. Sure, they seemed to sidle in at a pretty consistent (for them) time (early evening, usually at the point when dinner had transitioned to drinks and conversations had grown louder and a touch more raucous), but there was no sense in assigning the situation any kind of permanency.
Rather than try to pin down Mistria’s newest resident, Balor has decided to lean back, momentarily release the reins, and just try to enjoy Ari’s company. It’s hardly a revolutionary act, but for the merchant it feels rather like trying to break in a new pair of boots.
That’s not to say it’s an unpleasant experience. Far from it. There’s a true grace to the way Ari interacts with everyone, after all; a casual shoulder touch here, a warm smile there. Sometimes they come bearing gifts. Balor can’t help but smile when he recalls the night he watched, with no small amount of disbelief, as Ari gently pulled the largest, most docile bumblebee Balor had ever seen out of their pocket. They’d crouched down and carefully handed it to a very enthusiastic Luc, and something in Balor’s chest had twisted sharply at the sight.
Enjoying Ari’s boundless charms from afar is as effortless and enjoyable as walking through an art gallery. But once again, the role of the consummate observer is a role he finds utterly impossible to settle into with Ari. Tonight will prove no exception to the rule, he’s sure. An already flushed and grinning Ari is settling into the chair beside Balor, their hands cupped around a steaming hot mug.
“You know, I think this drink is my new favorite. Of all time, maybe.”
Because of course Balor has become an integral part of their nightly rotation. And of course, completely in spite of himself, he’s grown to look forward to the moment they spot him from across the room. He looks forward to their warmth settling in beside him, looks forward to trading stories about their respective days. Ari has a sharp sense of humor, and notices things that most people don’t tend to pick up on.
They’re also an absolutely wicked flirt. A clever one, mind. Some of the things they’ve managed to come up with have had Balor blushing harder than he ever has in his life. It’s an experience which always manages to toe the line between embarrassment and, he’s loathe to admit, excitement.
Ari, for their part, maintains this particular talent in such an over-the-top manner that Balor has no qualms about joining in. He flirts right back with all the subtlety and wit of a drunken bard, just to see if he’s able to make Ari break first. The two of them have passed many a recent evening this way, lobbing lines at one another that manage to grow ever sillier and more over the top, until both of them are dissolving into laughter.
So Balor grins in response, leaning maybe a little too close to the farmer to give a sniff at the steam rising from whatever Ari is drinking. They chuckle in response, holding the mug aloft for his inspection.
“Ahh, a hot toddy. A classic choice. And an especially delicious one, when Hemlock is making them.”
Ari hums in agreement, before turning to face him more fully. They rest their elbow against the table, leaning back casually as they take a thoughtful sip of the hot beverage. Then they turn that smile of theirs his way once more, nodding their head in the direction of his wine glass.
“The house red, I presume? Careful, merchant,” Ari hums, eyes twinkling merrily. “You wouldn’t want to become predictable, would you?”
Something in his chest flutters nervously, like a moth trapped in a net; there’s a look in Ari’s eye tonight that Balor can’t seem to decipher. But he puts on a show for them regardless, gasping softly as if truly horrified by the suggestion.
“Predictable? Hardly. What a pedestrian description for a man who simply knows what he likes.”
The corners of Ari’s mouth curve shrewdly upwards, and they take another sip of their drink
“Saw apple honey curry on tonight’s menu.”
Balor huffs. He knows where this is going.
“And?”
Ari’s smile grows wide. Shark-like, even.
“Was it good?”
“Alright, fine,” he snorts, waving his hand as if to shoo her away. “You win. Point made. You know me and my all-too-predictable dining habits.”
Ari cackles, head tipping back. The full line of their neck is exposed to him then, lithe and smooth, skin glowing under the flickering light of the nearby fireplace.
The wine is strong and Balor is weak.
He can’t seem to help it, can’t seem to stop himself from openly admiring the sight before him. They’re undeniably attractive; he noticed that the very first moment they met. They’re particularly alluring tonight, however, even as they openly delight in their little victory against him. Maybe because of that, actually.
When his farmer turns their attention back to him once more, Balor’s gaze moves back to their eyes a beat too slowly for his liking.
Shit.
There’s nothing quite like getting caught leering at an attractive friend to throw off the entire night. Maybe as his next move, Balor will just crack open his rib cage and let Ari prod around in there instead. Much less uncomfortable, he reckons.
He doesn’t even bother to wonder if Ari noticed - Ari notices everything - and instead waggles his eyebrows at them in a way he hopes is lecherous enough to read as ridiculous. It’s a marginally successful move; they snort and shake their head, but they don’t lob a response back like they usually would. Instead, they set their mug down on the table without looking. Their eyes slowly, obviously, rake over Balor, but there’s not even a hint of mirth or teasing in their depths like he would have expected. No, their gaze has turned searing and intense in a way that’s no laughing matter whatsoever.
Predictably unpredictable, as always.
Balor’s cheeks immediately prickle with heat; he turns his attention back to his wine, lifting it to his nose like he’s enjoying the bouquet. He knows Ari’s eyes are still on him. He can feel it. Astounding, when he can’t even feel his own face at present.
Silence stretches between the two of them like rubber band slowly being pulled past its limit. The anticipation of the eventual snap is becoming damn near unbearable, but Balor continues to dutifully study his wine, certainly well past the point where it would be normal to do so.
“Balor.”
His head whips up. Ari has moved closer to him, their shoulder firmly pressing against his. And their legs. Their legs are pressed together, too. Ari radiates heat. Balor never noticed that before; but then, have they ever been this close? How did they manage to press their body to his like this without him noticing? Has anyone else noticed? Does he care if anyone has?
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ari’s face this close before.
How are their eyes this deep, this warm?
The look on Ari’s face is a new one for Balor, but gods above, it might be his favorite expression on them yet. Their dark, beautiful eyes are tracing over his features without a hint of shame, soft lips lightly parted as they observe him. Their tongue darts out to wet their bottom lip and heat blooms, sudden and hard, at the very core of him.
Balor is trying very, very hard not to squirm. He feels like an insect pinned down by their gaze.
He hates it.
He loves it.
Have they ever looked at anyone else like this? No, he decides immediately, stubbornly. They’ve never looked at anyone else like this. It’s all for him. He doesn’t care whether that’s the truth or not.
“Balor,” Ari says again. This time their voice is lower and softer, barely above a whisper. It’s rougher than usual too, and the sound of it wrapped around his name is threatening what little grasp he has left on his sanity. As is the warm hand that is now resting on his thigh. It’s not high up enough to be a problem, not yet, but its position is sending a very clear message.
Balor’s spent so much of his time since meeting Ari longing to know them, desperate to pull them apart at the seams and put them back together in an effort to understand them completely. It’s with a sudden rush that’s almost enough to knock him backwards that he realizes two things simultaneously.
Firstly, that his motivations for frantically trying to learn more about Ari mean something different to him than he had originally assumed. In fact, the word ‘yearning’ comes to mind, and isn’t that just a kick in the teeth?
The second realization has much to do with the first, because considering the situation they’re both in now, Balor might just have gotten his wish. The way Ari is looking at him, with such bold, open desire…
I know next to nothing about what they want, but I do know that they want me.
The thought very nearly makes him moan. Out loud! In a room full of other people! He can feel it even now, sitting in his throat, ready to be ripped out of him at a moment’s notice. The threat of that potentially life-altering embarrassment momentarily cools the fire that Ari has stoked, and Balor swallows hard.
He can regain control of this. He’s sure of it.
“Ari,” he finally replies, voice as low as Ari’s, as rough. “This, we…”
He clears his throat. He doesn’t look away from them, he’s too locked in, but it feels like trying to look directly at the sun. Ari doesn’t look away either; their hand briefly tightens on his thigh but it doesn’t move.
“Be certain, that this is something you actually want,” Balor continues slowly, carefully. It’s as gentle a warning as he can manage. It’s a careful attempt at a boundary. A shadow of a definition for something they have yet to speak into existence, much less define for themselves.
“If we cross this line…”
A plea, maybe.
“You’re not just my friend anymore.”
A hand outstretched. A chest cracked open. An open desire to be seen. Want, want, want.
“You’re my downfall.”
Balor thought he adored the expression on Ari’s face before. But he’s a fool, because nothing could compare to the way they’re looking at him now. Desire has made space for delight, for utter fondness. For awe. For something he can’t even name. They’re looking at him like he’s precious, like he’s something beautiful that exists just for them, and Balor takes in a breath that skirts far too close to a gasp for his liking.
“Darling man,” Ari purrs. They’re smiling at him again, and the sweetest blush Balor has ever seen is bright on their cheeks. They run their thumb ever so lightly against Balor’s lip, and this time his gasp is undeniable.
“Think of it as less of a downfall, and more of a freefall,” they continue, eyes dark, twinkling like obsidian in candlelight. “But at least it’s a fall we could take together.”
Ari’s mouth is now so close to his ear that every whispered word feels like a kiss. He leans against them, leans into their touch, nuzzles his cheek against their own. The gesture feels almost wanton. Naked, in its earnestness.
“I want to know what falling with you feels like, Balor. I really, really do. And I think you want that too.”
People love being known.
Balor lets out a breathless laugh. It’s a relieved sort of thing, more relieved than he’d care to admit to anyone.
He might admit it to Ari, though. If they asked.
“I think you might be right.”
Balor reaches down between them, takes Ari’s hand in his, and gods help him, he leaps.
The afternoon had passed slowly, the sluggish passage of time thickened like molasses by the humid summer heat.
They had drunk some of Ari’s homemade herbal tea despite the temperature, because if there was one rule that Ari never broke regardless of the weather, it was her Saturday’s afternoon tea. What they hadn't finished had been put aside in her icebox to cool down, assuring them a refreshing drink for later.
They had the settled on the sofa, Ari sitting cross-legged with a flower cushion on her lap, eager gaze focused on March. Curious and a little bashful about her own absence from his life the past few weeks, she had inquired about his days, the orders he had received and the time he had spent with his friends.
“Not much happened besides the usual grind,” the blacksmith had told her at first with embarrassed reluctance, as he reflected on the quiet monotony of his days at the forge. But Ari’s smile hadn't wavered, nor did the warmth of her gaze, so he had ultimately yielded. It felt a bit weird, recounting things as mundane as Olric's latest antics, Dell's umpteenth request for a sword or Adeline's seemingly endless nail orders when he knew perfectly well that her own days were so much more eventful.
But Ari seemed perfectly content and happy despite that, nestled in that sunny yellow sofa and gradually leaning against him, until her body was a comfortingly warm weight against his side. Her hand had soon found one of his own, pulling it onto the plush softness of her cushion as she played with his fingers, giggling softly as he recounted his last exchanges with Eiland.
He couldn't stop his gaze from drifting towards it, something warm and fluttering in his chest at the sight of their intertwined hands. Ari's skin had acquired a healthy suntan despite the time she had spent in the mine, although it was nowhere near as deep as March's own. Her hands were thinner than his own, he couldn’t help but notice, with long bony fingers and short rounded nails that still bore fragments of cracked nail polish. Yet, March could hardly describe them as “delicate”. Not when he knew the strength hidden behind her grip, could feel the slightly rough sensation of her calluses against his skin or see the pale, barely discernible lines of old scars that adorned them.
---
Work in progress for a fluffy and smutty fic with a soft March based on this post by @mieliz. I have the whole detailed outline ready. The OS will be a long one because the first part (that I'll write last this time lmao) is just basically tooth-rotting fluff while the second one is the smut part.
I don't know how much I'll manage to get down this week before leaving for a three weeks long trip to Japan, but I reassure you : it is progressing. To be honest, I will probably write the fluff part on my notebook during this goddamned 12h long flight to Tokyo lmao.
It will be a March x Farmer, using the "default Farmer" Ari, with the default appearance, i.e plum hair and brown-black irises.
Side note, I've had two people ask about my farmer, and to those two people I wanna say;
I love you. I didn't expect people to ask about her this early. You make me so happy.
I'm sitting on it cause a) it's gonna be a bit to post and b) I wanna have some drawings of her first but rest assured--
You are seen. You are heard. You are very much appreciated. And the yapocalypse is nigh, thank you for making it happen ❤
Also in the meantime;
Her name is Rosamund Sabelwood, and she has ✨LORE✨ (also a canon fake identity at the start of everything lol rolling into town lying through her TEETH!)
