Sudden Slavery
Peering through the narrow slant of the carelessly neglected cabin door, one shoulder braced against the wall, Balthier silently considers the surreal irony of his situation.
Fran's free hand braces against broad sunbeaten shoulders, her thighs wide, her hips square as she rocks absentmindedly against the captain's upturned firm white ass, stroking the shadowed cleft of it with long careful fingertips as he jacks himself hard, gasping - And between streams of growling obscene Landisi, Balthier makes out a prayer most carnal and alarming.
"Oh, Gods... Master Balthier, ah, harder... Balthier... oh Fuck."Fran purrs wordlessly; Balthier raises his eyebrows.
"You might have told me I was in demand for certain services unlisted on my resume, Captain," Balthier hears himself say aloud. Fran freezes - Basch opens his eyes - time hesitates. Balthier opens the door, leans in the frame in what he hopes is nonchalance.
(To be honest, he's not entirely sure what he's doing.)
Basch is artfully pinned to the mattress, strewn with clean pale sheets tangled round his ankles and wrists like delicate restraints. His eyes, round with guilt, are the colour of Balfonheim - blue sky striated with gray storms, blue water flecked with black shadows. His golden hair falls in locks across his reddened face, his lean back laced with a thousand scars familiar. Still breathing strangely, thighs trapped beneath thighs, vulnerable, the man is a work of art.
"...Ffam'rjn-a-fo'e, my love," Fran begins, eying her partner guiltily, "The circumstances-"
Balthier smiles faintly at her, trying in vain to ignore the sudden hot blush creeping from below his collar. "He came to you with complaints of desires left unchecked, I imagine? Unusual, at best, but I do admire your altruism and initiative."
His dry jest fails to amuse either of them. A long moment passes. Fran has not thought to move a muscle; Basch, still trapped, stares guiltily at the pirate, and there is a note of terrified hope in his gaze. Balthier shifts to ease the tightening in his groin, flattered, mouth watering.
In all candor, he rather wants to hear Basch moan his name again.
"As you might have guessed, in my bed terms are ever negotiable," Balthier ventures at last, in a low voice uncharacteristic of him; even he is startled. The captain (in all his polite unfairness) blushes before clearing his throat to make reply – But Balthier holds up a staying hand.
"Your current situation is truly negotiation enough. No need to explain yourself; I have ears enough for my name, and your, er, kind enthusiasm. But, if I may..."
Unable to find vocabulary complimentary enough for a body so lean and battered, so broad and unapologetic, so familiarly hungry, he shakes his head in mid-thought (hang it, then) and tugs at the nape of his shirt collar, dragging it over his head. Resigned, he holds out his hands – laughably soft for a mechanic, fingernails bitten to the quick, harmless and eager.
"Fran's delightful claws aside, they're impractical at best - See anything you like?"
His wry humour is failing him rapidly, however; He blushes at his own forwardness. Even Fran flicks one ear in mild surprise. Displaying scars for scars, one vulnerability for another, he can't seem to find his footing.
"...Aye," Basch rasps with a small hungry smile, grateful and polite to a fault - but his eyes say not enough. Fran startles, remembering her part int he whole affair, and she finally rocks back to free Basch's thighs from between her hips. Fluid and heavy with muscle Basch turns onto his back, breathing restrained and heavy, thick uncut prick bobbing to life against the golden furred slope of his belly.
Balthier's own prick throbs in reaction - he almost winces - he suddenly and violently wants.
"Highly irregular as all of it is," He says thickly, tilting his head back nervously, "Fran, I..."
"Nay. Fran stays... By your leave," Basch interjects.
Gods! By his leave indeed - A mockery of the situation by half. Balthier's voice is gone, his breath is shallow, his wits are in pieces. The man unhinges him: Strength and restraint, quiet warmth, deadly power, and perfect manners - beautifully elusive, infuriating – oh, hang everything, how long has it been since he looked at a man and felt anything but disdain, let alone hunger?
But, Fran -
To his surprise she steps off of the bed, lips parted, smiling faintly. His mind scrambles for the best way to express his undying love, his gratitude, his devotion, his sudden need for her to bloody well clear out - but she turns toward him then, and he sees his panic is unjustified; thereis nothing short of quiet permission writ plain across her face.
"I have no place here - Be good to him, Basch. Enjoy his charms awhile. They are many, and sweet."
And she turns from the room so quickly, key left in the lock, that Basch has no time to level objection, nor Balthier time to deflect her (quite profound) compliment.
Eyes dark, lips half-parted, Basch chuckles nervously to lift the sudden hot silence that has fallen over the room. Balthier pants a silent laugh in return, teeth bared anxiously, sweating, eyes devouring the man with equal measure of desire and panic.
"I dared not believe you would indulge me, Pirate," Basch says slowly, measuring his words. "It has been too many years since I made honest advances on a man. Forgive my duplicity. And please, tell me..."
He blushes, his hand rakes anxiously through his hair. Balthier holds his breath.
"...Where do I begin?"
Something dark and hungry and reckless snaps; Balthier crosses to the bed in three strides, fingers fumbling with the lacing of his fly. Basch moves to the edge of the bed and silently takes Balthier by the hips to push him kneeling to the floor, eyes drugged with lust, hands shaking. Panting, half-laughing, mind scrambling stupidly in attempt to find a wry remark to diffuse his sudden hunger, Balthier shakes his head.
"Have your way, sir, if it's been so long and you've been deprived as much as I; Unmake me, if it's your bidding." His voice thins to a scratch of lust as he professes, "And I'll lie no more, and die an honest man, if I can have your arse and your tongue and your hands, and your cock - oh Gods."
Basch places a broad calloused hand against Balthier's neck and jawline, and his voice is low and nervous, disbelieving as he remarks -
"Save your poetry. Only speak plain, and truly - Tell me this is not an act. Tell me you want this, Pirate."
Balthier cannot speak - instead he raises his hands in soft fists, indicating shackles, slavery - and a small laugh of surrender bubbles weakly from his throat. Basch smiles with hunger, understanding, grateful.
As his hand slides into the pirate's hair, Balthier's mouth slides over the warm smooth animal softness of Basch's cock, and a groan of surrender melts from both of their throats.