[A/N: I wanted to write a few more AU fics, for fun. XD So I asked best friend to name the most common types of AU fics. Have decided:
1 High School/University AU
2 Where one person is a Girl (unable to write this, sorry)
3 Where one person doesn't die (Epilogues AU)
4 Where something is different in the past (Wicked Game AU)
5 Where characters are placed in urban setting (Photoshoot AU)
6 Mary Sue/Gary Stu (unable to write this)
7 Crossover AU (no interest)
8 Where some character is different physically (i.e. being blind)
9 Where character statuses are shuffled (Instinct AU)
10 Denial fic, i.e. where a different key decision is made during canon
And as you can see realized to my horror that I'd just about covered all of it TT oh well! I tend to write my first few fics as canon (Visions-Diplomacy series), then veer to lots of AU, then back to canon (Primary Feathers, Knave's Heart, Fool's Gold) then back to AU. But no harm doing it again, since I'm bored. NOTE: this series of fics are not written in any form of seriousness.
Arc: Dark Mirrors
Premise: Conventional AU
1 High School AU (good lord, kill me now)
Basch x Balthier, Gabranth x Balthier
The Morality of Daydreaming
"There is an immediate problem, Ffamran," Basch said heavily, trying to keep his voice stern, "With you turning up blank test papers when I know you need not even study to ace them. So, why?"
It was quite unfortunate that ten years of teaching high school history, five of it in a private school filled with spoiled, smart rich kids had not prepared him for this boy. Ffamran was as unpredictable as he was brilliant, and hell, the very first day the son of a Nobel Physics Laureate had enrolled his forms had been passed around the offices as a curiosity: the photocopy of the Mensa certificate with the unbelievable scores on Stanford-Binet and Cattell, and several tests Basch had never heard of before.
"Because they are quite unnecessary?" Ffamran suggested, sitting cross-legged on his desk. It was after hours' detention, and the school was quiet on a Thursday. Basch rubbed his temple as he slumped back in his chair, sifting through the papers. "We all know I am only in high school because my father feels I should make some friends my age, Mister Ronsenburg."
And there: the little purr as the consonants of his name were emphasized, that made Basch turn his eyes quickly back to the papers. Come to think of it, Ffamran had only started his antics about test papers after the day Basch had just so happened to walk past the gym and catch sight of the brat dressed in those bloody small school regulation shorts. And he had been so sure his expression was guarded…
Why did too-smart boys have to be so damned pretty, anyway? There really should be a scale of karma in the world, Basch decided, where when one was this smart one had to be concurrently ugly. Thinking over the Basch Theory of Karmic Balance preserved his patience as he began to mark the first paper in the stack, Ffamran's blank one pushed to the side, not wanting to consider the highly unethical issue of lusting after seventeen-year-old students.
"And did you?"
"Did I what?" Ffamran cocked his head, leaning forward. The private school's uniform looked too damned good on him, as well: the high collar with the rib of white, navy blue with white cuffs and bronzed buttons, jacket and long trousers.
"Make any friends your age," Basch kept his tone teacherish, to remind himself of taboos and responsibilities.
"Hm. Jules. Ashe, Penelo, Vaan. Vayne." Ffamran named a surprising assortment of students, and all from his standard, but none from his class. It wasn't surprising. Ffamran tended to pointedly daydream in class, his desk clear of even stationery, slouched in his chair and staring out of the window.
The teachers had long given up trying to catch him out: it was fast apparent that the boy was listening, but also that 'listening and absorbing' was only taking up a small fraction of his mind. Certainly whenever there were questions that the class couldn't answer Ffamran would, in a bored drawl that was none too endearing, likely, to those with the unfortunate luck to be part of his class.
He remembered one story from the Literature teacher for Ffamran's class: that once the poor man had decided to take the boy's lack of attention to task before the class. Ffamran had stared at him until he ran out of words, then proceeded to repeat, word-for-word, the last five minutes of the class before the scolding, then looked up at the ceiling and made fifteen minutes' worth of thesis-level observations on Twelfth Night in a bored drawl, some of which the teacher had never heard before, complete with stanza numbers and quotes, and then proceeded with ten minutes' worth of brutal dissection on the teacher's prior analyses. The teacher took leave.
Jules was what the teachers tended to call 'Difficult': the sort who would likely end up smoking if he wasn't already, with a definite disregard for authority which had only his lanky frame to thank that he wasn't also a bully.
Ashe was prim and proper, a diplomat's child and the student council Vice-President. Vayne was a billionaire's son, charismatic and popular, the student council President: he and Ashe tended to clash on many matters, sometimes publicly, and two of the most popular veins of school gossip were whether Vayne and Ashe were romantically involved in secret, and when Ashe would finally snap and murder him.
Penelo and Vaan were inseparable friends, but otherwise unremarkable in terms of grades or achievements.
"I tend to have better luck with teachers."
The purr was there again, oh-Gods, and Basch knew Ffamran was succeeding a little too well in being seductive. He grit his teeth as he scanned the page before him, gripping the red pen tightly, and taking a breath to steady his voice. It was true. Attitude aside, Ffamran was the open favorite of many staff. "Fran, Ondore… Zecht, Zargabaath…"
"And your brother, Mister Ronsenburg," Ffamran grinned, and there was something wicked in how the boy rolled the word 'brother' that which made Basch frown. Noah was the gym teacher, but he had hardly ever mentioned Ffamran outside of the predictable, usual topic of the boy's IQ. "Identical twins are hot. Do you both know you are likely the most popular teachers in school, at least around the girls?"
"The boys usually chasing Fran, I assume," Basch said pointedly, with narrowed eyes. He knew this, of course, and Noah as well, but their preferences made it easy to deal with any number of clumsy attempted flirtations and the lion's share of valentine's day chocolates amongst the teachers. There had been a few incidents with boys, as well, but they had been easy to rebuff. Ffamran was quite something else, and unfortunately, the brat likely knew it.
"She is a great friend, and she is also definitely not interested," Ffamran replied, slipping off the chair and approaching. Basch found his eyes drawn to the boy's unconscious sway of slender hips, swallowed, cursed himself for swallowing, and fought the urge to back away, as Ffamran put elbows over his desk and leant forward, the pert arse now in the air and that too-pretty face far too close. "I could do the test now, if you want me to."
"But?" Basch asked, warily.
Ffamran stared at him for a long time, with that smug little grin that made Basch's stomach flutter, uneasily, and his fingers curl tight in his palms to keep back images of himself pushing the brat over said desk and fucking out that irritating self-satisfaction. Deep breath. He was sure he was blushing. Distracted, he blinked when Ffamran only chuckled, velvety and low. "But nothing. Give that here."
When Basch didn't move, Ffamran grabbed the blank paper from his elbow, filched a pen from the cup at the desk, leant one cheek on a palm and began to fill in the paper, his expression bored, as though doing nothing any more difficult than a details form. When he was done, he pushed the paper back, and Basch didn't need to look at it to know it was likely better even than the supplementary answer. Genius-level analysis abilities with a bloody photographic memory.
"I could still fail you," Basch muttered.
"By all means," Ffamran grinned, his chin now cradled in both palms. "Make me repeat the subject. You aren't teaching history for year twelves, are you?"
The unwelcome impression he had from Ffamran's behavior was coalescing fast. "Ffamran. Are you purposefully doing this so you can…" He couldn't voice the spend time with me, but Ffamran's grin melted quickly into a lazy, flirtatious smirk, and he had his answer. "You are my student."
"Willing to be your student in all manner of learning," Ffamran purred, and Basch shifted uncomfortably as that sparked an answering twitch between his thighs from his bloody traitorous body. He was saved when the door was opened without knocking, which told him his savior in question was his brother. His relief faltered a little when Noah's usual irritable expression that accompanied a haven't you bloody finished marking yet slipped into a frown, with something angry in the eyes that Basch had never quite seen before, directed at himself. Taken aback, he didn't greet his brother, but Ffamran pushed away from the desk with a playful salute. "And the other Mister Ronsenburg. Good afternoon."
"Should you still be here?" Noah was annoyed at something, and it showed in his voice. Confused, Basch stared at him, questioning, and received an unfriendly glance for his trouble.
"I needed to know why Ffamran refused to do the paper," Basch said, and frowned again, as his brother took in a deep breath and the irritation seemed redirected to Ffamran, the very picture of innocence now, in wide-eyes and even his poise, fingers tangled behind his back.
"Ffamran."
"I just got the lecture from your twin. I know." Ffamran went back to his desk and shouldered his sleek black sling bag. "See you tomorrow, Mister Ronsenburg."
"Bye," Basch muttered, relieved. And then gaped, as Ffamran, when brushing past Noah to the door, caught his brother's chin and pulled him down for a kiss that had too much tongue, the answering growl from Noah with a little too much hunger. It ended in Noah's lower lip caught for a knowing moment too long between white teeth, then Ffamran broke away and shot him an inviting little this could be you smirk with the tip of a pink tongue swiping over that sensuous mouth, as his brother was busy taking strangled breaths. Then he waved another mocking salute and slipped out of the classroom.
It was only when Basch could no longer hear receding footsteps that he finally was able to speak, hissing, "Noah!"
Noah sighed, wearily, and leaned against the closed door, arms folded. "I admit it is bloody stupid of me."
Basch looked down at the papers. "We'll talk at home."
--
"When did he start… flirting with you?" Noah asked, when they were home in their modest shared apartment, differences forgotten in the drive back. It was Basch's turn to cook, and Noah sat at the kitchen table, seemingly calmer.
"When I happened to walk past the gym to see if you were done for the day," Basch said, as mildly as he could. "He saw me staring."
"It's the damned tiny red shorts," Noah agreed, his gaze drifting to the 'fridge with its multicolored tacks and layered armor of yellowing papers. "They're a trial. But usually, well, you know, I have never, with students…"
"I know," Basch said, gently. Close as they were twins, neither had really managed to keep secret of their relationships for long, nor did they care to. Come to think of it, he had rather suspected Noah of having someone new of late, but didn't want to pressure his brother into confessing. "Ffamran is something else."
"That he is." Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. "And in my defense it wasn't because of gym. I was in the locker rooms sorting out stuff after hours, when the air rifle team came in after using the showers, and I didn't think my expression changed any when he walked past with only a towel, but he smirked then, and…" Noah sighed.
"After that, fuck if I know how he always seemed to know where I was, but he'd corner me in storerooms and things, and…" his brother shook his head, slowly. "And then I got involved."
"Ah." Basch knew what 'involved' meant, between them. "At least you didn't, then."
"Give my intelligence a little more credit," Noah said dryly. "Making out with a student is one thing, fucking him is another. Which brings me to the point. Either he's using you, to try and force the issue, or he's using both of us."
"He's seventeen," Basch said, as he checked the boiling spaghetti and the simmering meat sauce. "Manipulation of that sort should really be beyond his years, shouldn't it?"
Noah shrugged. "When did prodigies change out of just being kids who were great at math and the piano?"
--
Basch knew something was wrong once he saw the beer bottles on the table before the couch, and wrinkled his nose at the strong scent of alcohol. His growing suspicion solidified quickly as he noticed the haphazard trail of discarded clothes leading from the couch to his brother's bedroom. Some of the articles were familiar in all the wrong ways…
He went quickly to the sideboard to pour himself a steadying drink of brandy, and flinched at the muffled but still identifiable sound of his brother's voice, behind the door, husky and slurred. "Fuck, you're tight."
And that was unmistakably Ffamran's mischievous laugh, if low and strained, then nothing, just as Basch tried very hard to pretend he hadn't just heard evidence of fiduciary and ethical breaches. When he finished the brandy, the first in the series of hitching, pretty little moans became audible, each breath with a coda of obscenity or a plea, Noah's answering growls threaded with growing desperation. The rhythm of the bed's thumps against the wall and the wet sounds was beginning to escalate when Basch pointedly shut himself in the shower with the closest clothes he could grab from his wardrobe and turned on the cold tap to drown out the insistent images of Ffamran spread in any number of erotic positions.
He came out of the shower only when his teeth began to chatter, drying his hair and shivering. The sounds had ended a while ago with a final, loud groan from his brother and a cry of rapture from his student. Basch was considering what to read that would definitely put him abed when the door to his brother's room opened and Ffamran slipped out, caramel hair mussed and still so desirable in his just-fucked dishevelment, dressed in one of Noah's shirts and nothing else.
The boy looked at him soberly, for a moment, with eyes far older than seventeen, then at the bottles, and inclined his head. "Sorry about the mess."
"Your… your father?" Basch caught himself just before he said 'parents', remembering a detail on Ffamran's form. The boy's mother was deceased.
"Dad's caught up in the labs today. He's working on a breakthrough that would probably take him a little closer to a Chemistry Nobel, or Biology, depending on whatever he can keep his mind on for more than a couple of weeks," Ffamran's voice was flat, devoid of his usual mischief. "Hey, I'm going to borrow your shower."
"Ffamran." Basch said, before he could stop himself, then when the boy raised an eyebrow, found he couldn't continue. There was too much wrong with this piece of the jigsaw, and he couldn't find a way to start. "You're seventeen. You shouldn't…"
He had said quite the wrong thing. Ffamran's eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened, then the wicked smirk was back, and the boy stalked towards him, predatory, his teeth bared. "And you 'adults' know everything that's good and normal for 'us kids', hm? Just because you're what, ten, twelve years older? I'll handle father talk from my dad, but you…"
Basch found he had been crowded into the wall, the framed portrait of he and his brother's graduation beside his head. Ffamran smelled of sex and a little of beer, though the alcohol had evidently been for his brother's 'benefit', his eyes dark with promise, as he hooked fingers into Basch's collar even as his free hand knowingly patted the older man's groin, warm over too-thin cotton pajamas. A groan escaped him, as his prick stirred, cold showers be damned, and he quickly grabbed Ffamran's wrists. "Ffamran!"
Ffamran's expression was grim, icy, even. "I could have you anytime I want, Mister Ronsenburg. So I'm not going to take any of the 'you're seventeen' bullshit from you."
Stunned from the venom in that pronouncement, Basch stared at Ffamran jerked his hands out of his grip and stalked away towards the shower.
--
Basch was terrible at subterfuge, and for all he tried to pretend he hadn't seen anything the night before, given how Ffamran was gone come the morning, Noah rolled his eyes as he scraped a portion fried eggs, bacon and sausages onto his brother's plate, and then his own. "All right. Give it to me."
"Give you what?"
"The lecture about stupidity and duties to students. Let's hear it." His brother put the pan back on the stove to cool, and added water, then folded himself into the chair. "Nothing I didn't feel like kicking myself about when I woke up, I bet. With a hangover on top of it. And I won't give excuses, I should have known better."
Basch hesitated, wondering whether to tell his brother what happened after, and settled for a, "Did you sleep immediately afterwards?"
"Well, yes," Noah looked embarrassed, to his credit. "I was rather drunk. Didn't see him go. Why?"
"Ah… I ran into him when he was coming out for the shower," Basch said, studying his brother's expression carefully. When there was only curiosity (and, his poor brother, suspicious jealousy that Noah couldn't quite hide), he decided not to tell. "It was a shock."
"Ah." Noah picked at the eggs, lowering his head. "Sorry. It… well, it just happened. Never again. Promise. I intend on talking to him about it today. I know this can't… shouldn't continue."
Basch sighed, recalling the flat statement. "He's really something. I doubt his head's screwed on all that right."
"What makes you say that?" Defensive, now.
"Genius aside, what sort of person would seduce someone and then openly flirt with the twin brother?"
"Any number of reasons," Noah muttered, though Basch knew his brother had immediately grasped the point. "Juvenile attempts at creating jealousy. Attention-seeking. Flaunting. Hell, maybe he just likes the twins thing. You know it won't have been the first time for us."
"And has he given you any indication that it could have been any of those reasons?" Basch inquired. "Any indication that it could be because of a streak of immaturity?"
"… no." Noah said, finally, and viciously sliced toast. "Then what do you think? Why would someone with genius-level IQ try to seduce his schoolteachers?"
"He doesn't like adults, or authority figures," Basch said, taking a sip of coffee. "It's something to do with that, I'm sure."
"And what makes you think so?"
Under direct questioning, Basch sighed, and told Noah what had happened, carefully omitting Ffamran's last actions and words. From the suspicion on his twin's face he could tell Noah knew he hadn't told him everything, but wasn't going to press the issue.
--
"Ffamran, can you stay back after class, please?" Basch didn't look up as he said this, when giving out another assignment a week after. The class didn't react: Ffamran was called out often after classes, either because of his personality or academic consultation.
The boy didn't blink, only rolling his shoulders in a bored shrug, slouching in his chair as the rest of the class filed out after the bell. "What is it?"
"I don't know what my brother may have done to annoy you," Basch said quietly, "But could you leave him well alone?"
"What makes you think I'll listen to you?" Ffamran wondered out aloud, though there was something cold in the set jaw that undermined the mischief. Noah had apparently tried to break things off with Ffamran, as politely and gently as possible, but the boy had flat-out simply laughed. As much as it seemed comical that a slender boy could harass Noah, his brother's self control in the matter seemed fairly questionable, when cornered.
Basch shrugged. "I don't expect you to. But I'll like you to know I meant nothing patronizing, when referring to your age. You're certainly considerably more mature than some adults I do know."
"Starting with flattery is good, but suspicious," Ffamran drawled. "But your appeal to my ego seems to have worked. I'm listening."
"Whatever you're trying to prove, or whatever gap you're trying to fill, it's not worth it," Basch said, with as much conviction as he could muster. "Treating yourself like this. If you aren't happy in high school you should just transfer. It's evident that the material is far too simple for you."
"How would you shoot a gun, Basch?" Ffamran asked the non sequitur very mildly.
"Er. I'll aim, then pull the trigger," Basch replied, blinking. "Ffamran, I was saying…"
"This is how I shoot a rifle," Ffamran interrupted. "There is a small angle of trajectory. I calculate distance, speed, angle, incline and recoil, then fire, all without thinking about it."
"So you're a hell of a lot smarter than the average person," Basch was slow to anger, but Ffamran was beginning to irritate him. "That does not give you the right to toy with others."
"No, it doesn't," Ffamran said, in the same flat tone he had heard one week before, that night. "But perhaps you will better understand the analogy when I tell you now, that it is only in the most uncomplicated act between any two people do I feel like any other person. Normal."
He wasn't quite sure how to reply to that, and settled for a somewhat lame, "Regardless…"
"I am willing to exchange favors, though," Ffamran was all sly grins again. "You for your brother."
Basch swallowed. "I can't. And," he added quickly, when Ffamran seemed set to liberally drown that in sarcasm, "I do not appreciate your motives. There are other, better and less destructive ways, to feel, well, like everyone else. Normal."
"Show me, then," Ffamran spread his arms, "And I'll count that ample favor."
"All right," Basch said, relieved. He felt he had gotten off that easily: then he stiffened, as Ffamran rolled to his feet with a dancer's grace, and padded over to the desk. Wrapped fingers around his gray tie, and pulled him close before he could jerk away.
"I warn you though, Mister Ronsenburg," Ffamran whispered, and God, those eyes were really too-pretty, when they smoldered so with promise, "I never play fair."
-fin-