A/N: I am so, so proud of this fic. This one's edited, but the smuttier version can be found through my aff.n profile, which is, in turn, linked on my profile here! Yeehaw.
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The World's Craziest Idea
Even a great hulking machine like the Celsius wasn't immune to a little turbulence now and then, apparently. Well, it wasn't all that bad. It was a might bit exciting, really, O'aka thought, chiding himself for his lack of previous experience. An enterprising bloke such as himself, on only the second airship ride of his life? T'was a shame, a damn shame, at that.
But he imagined that even if he weren't right here, right now, he'd still be on an airship. Those Al Bhed'd have him carted off to who knows where in the blink of an eye, if it hadn't been for his oh-so-generous benefactors. Good people, they were, even if they turned out to be shorter on money than he'd anticipated when he got on a week ago. But that still left him with a problem. Several problems, actually. He couldn't very well go back to his shop until the debt got paid off, but the debt wasn't being paid off. So the result was a right poor, in the red, bored O'aka XXIII. That wouldn't do at all.
That Hypello… wouldn't stop staring at him. He was siphoning precious gil away from the ship, after all, but surely—from one merchant to another— he could understand! Couldn't he?
"Oh, lighten up, lad! Won't do ye no good gettin' worried," he offered, stepping up to the bar and seating himself in a gesture of amicability. "Here, I'll spare a few gil for a drink, yes?"
That seemed to appease him, and he shuffled over to the array of gold and silver liquids and turned, blinking strangely frog-like eyes back at O'aka. "Yoo have a preferensh?"
O'aka grinned. "Surprise me."
"If yoo shay sho…"
"What," he scoffed at his blue comrade, "ye got somethin' ye think I can't handle? I tell ye, no one holds his alcohol like O'aka XXIII!"
Barkeep held out a wide hand for him to accept the proffered beverage. It was a foreboding, ghastly orange color, and a scent not unlike a Malboro's breath floated up and set off a delightful warning chime in his head. Sparing one more haughty glance to Barkeep, he threw it back.
Strangely, O'aka found himself on the floor just a second later, and he wasn't entirely sure how he got there. Trying to cough the burn out of the back of his throat, he climbed back up to the bar. It seemed Barkeep was trying to right himself as well.
O'aka stared him down. "What in all o' bleeding Spira was that?"
"More turbulensh," he replied, shaking his head. "We must be over the Thunder Plainsh?"
"That's not what I meant and ye know it! What's in that brew of yours?"
"Shecret reshipie?"
"Oh, it is, is it?" Sounded like fun. "Gimme another."
The boisterous exclamations of a progressively less bored O'aka carried even through the pillow clamped tight around Clasko's head. If he could just relax, maybe pretend he was on the ground…! Then he wouldn't have to worry about the lurching of the airship. Or the lurching of his gut. Thinking about it only made him sicker.
"Do you think—?"
His voice came out as some kind of undignified, muffled squeak, so he willed himself to sit up and try again. "Do you think you could quiet down a little? I feel kinda… not good."
Unfortunately the entreaty fell on deaf ears, as O'aka XXIII was currently buried in empty glasses and a layer of maudlin fog. He'd apparently taken to inventing several cocktails of his own in the time since the ship began to rock, and was searching for the one that would leave him feeling as though he were still upright when he was next tossed. But alas, that'd been interrupted by the sudden, crippling sorrow that overtook his senses and left him with his head on the bar, bemoaning his terrible fortune.
"Oh, Barkeep… ye know how it is, don't ye? Ye and I— we're the same breed, we are!" His tone got a little more manic with every passing second. "Ye just wait! You'll have your life cut out for ye, rakin' in gil by the barrelful, and then Lake-fuckin'-Macalania'll cave in and ruin ye! Ruin ye!"
His hat was somewhere in the general vicinity of his pack, which he'd shucked off once he realized that its considerable weight was enough to drop him backwards off the stool if he were to upset his oh-so-delicate equilibrium with a drunken flail.
"Watch out for that lake, mate," he whispered conspiratorially to the hapless Hypello before him. "If ye ask me, I think it's got designs on our kind. The lake and the merchant: natural enemies!"
From up above, Clasko prodded at a pressure point in his wrist— he heard it helped stave off seasickness, and airsickness wasn't that different, right?— but the sinewy sensation of the tendons under his skin made him feel squeamish, so he had to stop and watch the spectacle unfold downstairs instead. Poor guy. He seemed so restless. But unlike Clasko, he seemed to know exactly where he wanted to be. And Barkeep knew where he wanted O'aka to be too, apparently, because his huge yellow eyes flitted up to his face in a silent appeal when he noticed they had an onlooker.
"I shink yoo've had enough?"
O'aka mulled this over for a few seconds.
"Ah, you're right, o' course." He stood, wobbled once, and stretched languorously. "No use cryin' about it all. If I wanna get back on me feet, I gotta do somethin' about it! Gonna start from the bottom and work me way up, just like the twenty-two O'akas before me!"
Barkeep squinted in what Clasko thought might have been a tentative smile, from his vantage point on the stairs.
"Sho reshpectitable! Now, yoo should get shome air?"
That was his cue, he was sure. He closed in on the pair, clasping the suddenly jubilant man's shoulder. "Uh, I could use some fresh air, too. Why don't we go up to the," he faltered just shy of his brain's potential waylay of his words, "…deck."
---
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
He really wished he'd thought things through a little more before intervening. O'aka was enjoying himself, at least. They'd only been a few minutes up here, but already it looked like he was sobering up. Clasko, surprisingly, didn't feel sick anymore. He was scared out of his mind.
"Hey!" he attempted to shout over the whoosh of air through the sheltered alcove of the door, "A-are you sure this is safe?"
"Safe? Safe? Ye gotta be kiddin' me! No one ever got anywhere by playin' it safe," came the jubilant reply. Clasko rather thought he liked the depressed O'aka XXIII better. "What do ye think you're doing over there? Come on, man! Get your arse out here! No time like the present and all that!"
Clasko would have liked to smother the quaver in his voice, but it just wasn't happening. "Umm, no thanks, I'll be just fine ri— hey!"
No sooner than the words left his lips did O'aka tug him insistently up onto the deck, his boots making a chaotic 'clunk-clunk' sound against the metal hull in harmony with O'aka's substantially steadier footsteps. The wind wasn't half as bad as it was in that tiny doorway, having more of a place to go, but Clasko's sudden sense of exposure sent him into a brief panic. He flailed helplessly until O'aka grabbed him by the arm and rooted him to the spot.
"See? 'S not so bad." It certainly wasn't. This was the most fun O'aka'd had since getting stowed away on this rig. Clasko showed up a couple days back, sullen and edgy and always, always thinking. He wouldn't want to be him. Too exhausting. "Do ye always worry like that?"
His companion sagged. "Yeah, pretty much."
A beat.
"It's just that I can't stand living like this! Everywhere I go, I keep hoping I'll be satisfied, but it never happens! I need to find my calling. Oh, but how can I find my calling without even knowing what it is?"
"Ye feel it in your blood, mate!" O'aka's enthusiasm caught him off-guard. "I knew it from the day I was born that I'd be a merchant. I— hey… I recognize ye! Ye were the bloke mopin' outside me shop with a chocobo two years ago!"
"That was your shop?"
"Ye know it! Well, not at the time, but it wasn't long then."
"There was this guy," Clasko reflected, having been coaxed into sitting so gradually he hadn't even noticed, "back then. He told me I should become a chocobo breeder, but for some reason I never did. Why didn't I?"
"That's what ye want to do? Look after chocobos?" O'aka tried not to raise an eyebrow and failed, but Clasko didn't notice at all. In fact, he practically swooned instead.
"Yeah… I do. I really, really do! Chocobos are so great…!"
By now O'aka had to stifle a snicker. "Whatever floats your boat, mate. Good luck to ye."
"You too," came the reply, though he started to look a little sheepish as soon as he remembered the predicament that led to O'aka's presence aboard the Celsius anyway.
"Wanna drink on it?"
Clasko sputtered a helpless laugh, then shook his head. "I don't think that's such a good idea. The ship might rock again, and…"
Clearly that was the wrong thing for him to be thinking right now, because he abruptly stiffened, expression waffling between sick and panicked, and took a shifty look at his surroundings before settling on panicked. "Maybe we should go back inside."
Fayth, this man's paranoia was contagious! O'aka knew there probably wasn't a thing to worry about, but he suddenly didn't fancy being blown off into the open air. And they were approaching Gagazet now. It was cold down there.
"Fine, fine."
---
"—and I got me a brother, too. Wantz. Thinks he's ready to become O'aka XXIV, he does. Full o' hot air, I say."
Clasko chuckled from atop the next bed. It was a little late now, and Barkeep lay sleeping in the back, making strange Hypello noises every once in a while.
"He can't… you know, help you?"
"Oh, I'd bloody well love that, believe me! I need all the help I can get. Don't know where he went off to, though. But he's gettin' a hell of a lashing when he gets back, mark my words."
"Listen," the other man began, scratching the back of his head self-consciously. "I don't have a lot of money, but I brought all I had from the Youth League—"
"Save your breath," O'aka interjected. "I don't take charity. Bad for business, ye know."
They were currently parked outside Zanarkand, the girls investigating outside and the male half of the crew all keeping a close vigil on the bridge. Quiet. At least they weren't moving anymore. Just thinking of all that movement… ugh.
"If you wanted to buy somethin', on the other ha— somethin' wrong, mate?"
"I'm… not looking forward to when we start moving again."
That much was obvious, O'aka thought. Bet he could break a bottle on those muscles, he was wound so tight. He reached over and gave his shoulder an exploratory poke. Clasko seemed startled.
"What are you doing?"
Damn, just as he thought. He shifted to sit next to him and did it again. "You're tense, man! Would it kill ye to relax once in a while?"
"I try," Clasko sighed, looking positively miserable while he did it, "but it just doesn't work. Sometimes I wonder if there's not something wrong with me."
"Nonsense! Ye just need to loosen up a bit, is all."
And at that moment, the world's craziest idea sprang into O'aka's head.
"Say, I've got a capital idea. What say I help ye out a little bit?" He gave the back of Clasko's neck a firm, unmistakable pinch, to which he responded with a wince and a hum. "Won't charge much, ye know. I'm no expert, but I reckon I can do the job."
The Chocobo Knight-turned-Youth Leaguer-turned-despondent idler thought about it for a moment. It did feel nice.
"Um, okay." But somehow he couldn't shake this sense of foreboding…
"Right, then. Off with the shirt. Come on, we don't have all night!"
"Well, it is a little embarrassing."
…Which dissolved when O'aka's hands fell onto his shoulders, squeezing in a way that shouldn't have been painful for anyone who didn't live under a perpetual level of anxiety the way he did. It wasn't bad, though, admittedly. Sometimes pain could be pleasant. Very infrequently, yes, but it could be all the same. Oh, and it was right now. These warm, rough hands swept across his back with the more or less unfamiliar hiss of skin against skin, and when the slight chill at his fingertips crept up his neck into his hair, he just couldn't suppress a little shiver.
O'aka dug his thumb into the muscle under Clasko's shoulder blade, eliciting a grunt of mixed sensation. Clasko thought he heard a smile in the man's voice, faint and sly enough to make him wonder if he wasn't missing something important here.
"Feels good, eh?"
He could feel O'aka's breath puff against his ear when he spoke.
"Yeah… thanks."
Then O'aka reached around and began to fumble with his belt, and Clasko decided that okay, there was probably a dimension to this that hadn't really occurred to him previously.
So now, why in Spira wasn't he moving?
"U-uh—"
"I won't hear of it! Ye spend too much of your life bein' bothered about everything. Just sit back and let old O'aka lend ye a hand," he chuckled at his own double-entendre, "or two."
And Clasko just said "to hell with it" and watched the merchant extraordinaire stray into his trousers.
---
By the time Clasko woke from his slumber, it was daylight, and they were flying again. Somehow… it didn't feel as bad as it had before. He sat up, bleary-eyed, hair sticking in all directions, and found O'aka off some ways to his right, grumbling and rummaging around underneath the next bed. When he finally took notice of the man, he frowned theatrically.
"Me wares," he queried, "ye seen 'em?"
"Um, I-I think they're downstairs…"
"Oh? So they are. Thanks, love."
Clasko flushed at the hypocorism and then proceeded to grope around for his clothes. The familiar weight of gil hiding in the pocket of his trousers settled against his leg, and before he could stop himself, he thrust his hand in and jangled through the coins while reaching out for O'aka's back. "Hey, wait!"
O'aka stopped, looked him once over, and folded his arms.
"I ain't gonna charge for what ye think you're payin' for, I hope ye know." Abruptly he grinned, turned, and descended the stairs, calling back at him, "…But feel free to pay for that potion!"
Clasko couldn't make eye contact with Barkeep for the rest of the day.
fin