Somehow they had gotten ahead of him. He was certain he had far outpaced them on his mount, and yet here they were. The twang of a bowstring and a flash of pain as an arrow grazed his ear made a cold lump of fear settle in his stomach. They had stripped the dead of their arms and were using them against him now. With gritted teeth and a swipe of his sword to clear a path, he managed to urge his tired mount forward. With how it was faltering, it had to be close to foundering, but if it could just hold out a little more-! The sailor's encampment couldn't be that far off. If he could make it just a little further, to the boat, he could make it back to Zaphias-

The mount screamed under him and collapsed, tossing him. While his armor was perfect for deflecting things such as arrows and swords, it was made abundantly clear that falling from heights made him merely a man in a tin can being dashed around. His sliding along the ground was stopped abruptly, but he could not call it gratefully as it came at the expense of a large boulder, his back crashing quite painfully into the rock. Slowly, he levered himself up, watching his mount fighting against the armed mob as it was trained to do. It wheeled awkwardly to try to keep up with the circle forming around it, the arrow sprouted ugly from its flank hindering its movement. It hopped around in an ungainly circle, lashing out at the clumsy attempts. He looked around for his sword, thankful that their attention had shifted to his mount long enough for him to find the weapon that had clattered out his hand when he had hit the ground. It hadn't gone far - he found himself hoping that the overwhelming odds he found himself in would be reversed at this - and thus armed, he entered the fray of combat.

His hopes seemed to be, at first, gravely misplaced. Whatever they had embedded in their flesh seemed to work exactly like a blastia, honing and enhancing their physical attributes. While he certainly was and never had slacked in that department, even when he had a blastia of his own, it showed the wide gulf between what a normal human being could hope to attain on his own versus what a blastia could give. But the blastia were gone- and what they had acted upon their mental state in a way blastia did, no, could not, even when they existed. He had managed to cut down a few of the attackers; even without the blastia he had come to rely on, he was still a professional soldier that had seen far more combat than even his own men. Helping save the world would do that. He found himself wincing at each blow through flesh, having to tell himself they were attacking him first. Though they were villagers of a town he was sworn to protect, they had attacked and killed his own men and were trying to kill him, he was only protecting himself-

And then his thoughts scattered as pain blossomed across his skull, red bleeding through his vision from back to front. The offending weapon thumped down in front of him: a stupid, simple rock, stained crimson with his blood. He stared at it dumbly for precious seconds before a careless sword strike to his armored shoulder snapped him out of it. He was better than that, and that sort of behavior was going to get him killed! The ring of mad villagers tightened around him, men and women alike staring at him with blank empty gazes. He still couldn't make out exactly what it was that was in their skin, crawling from a starting point in their torsos across their limbs and up their throats and faces. One man he faced had an eye covered completely, and he swallowed back sudden bile as he realized as the stone was slightly translucent, the eye barely visible under the glowing black substance.

Then, inexplicably, the circle dispersed. He had little time to wonder how, or why, when a familiar, dreadful whistling sound filled the air. The only thing he could thank was none of them could aim, and the arrows scattered around him and his mount harmlessly. Blastia-like the stone was, it didn't impart any amount of skill. If he took this opening, he could make it to safety and escape-

Something had grown out of his shoulder, his sword arm. No, it had punched through his armor, as impossible as that was for it to do through the plates. Arrows weren't supposed to puncture plate armor like that, he thought as he looked down at the shaft protruding from him as he stumbled back. He looked up as he saw the man, the one with one eye covered, now holding a bow in his hands. Even now, he was pulling the string back again, aiming another arrowing a little higher, easily at his head.

And then he lowered the bow as the circle closed in on him again, the gaze of the villagers eerily blank as they reached out for him.

Three months earlier

Flynn hated the administrative side of his job.

It was time for the annual visit to Aurnion, and the paperwork was simply ridiculous. He was taking a small unit with him, though he would prefer to do the journey alone. It would show more trust, but monster attacks had become more brutal lately, and without blastia, it was more intelligent to rely in strength in numbers. And so that meant filling out paperwork about who was coming based on who was active versus on leave, seeing fit to their weapons and armor, setting up a boat and departure times… he wondered why he ever thought he wanted to gain the title of Commandant as he slowly read another form, absently reaching out to dip his quill in the ink pot.

Which was dry. Flynn barely held back the urge to throw his quill at the wall (only because he wasn't sure he'd find it again and he'd be told that was the last one he was getting) and stood, wincing as the stiffness in his joints let him know how long he had spent on that paperwork. It was probably a good thing, then, making him get up and move around. Any amount of time away from the soul-sucking evil that was administration was good. He honestly had no idea how Lady Estellise or her cousin did it day in and out.

The walk was needed, more than the ink pot he fetched. Flynn found himself smiling, his limbs moving far more loosely as he greeted the passing nobles and guards on his way back. The shadow of paperwork had temporarily lifted, making the door to his room even more dreadful. He sighed, imagining how the pile had bred and grown, and wondered if there was any way to pass it off to someone else. Then guilt nagged at him - why would he do such a thing? It was bad enough that he had to endure it. He didn't have to inflict it upon anyone else. Flynn shook his head, and entered his room, the door shutting firmly behind him.

"About time. I was wondering if you were going to stand out there all day." Yuri didn't even get up from his sprawl on Flynn's bed, and the Commandant wondered when he stopped being surprised about his best friend suddenly appearing in his bed. He wasn't even aware Yuri was in Zaphias - wasn't Brave Vesperia on a job? He saw the thoroughly exhausted and satisfied smile, and yes. They had been. It was strange how Flynn could still read Yuri like this. "So, they got you pushing papers now?"

Belatedly, Flynn noticed that he was gripping the pot of ink almost to breaking, and carefully put it down. "I didn't think you were in Zaphias," he said cautiously, not sure why Yuri was here. Well, if he was honest, he knew why. And he was more than willing for the distraction, as he really didn't want to return to the paperwork.

"Job finished early." Yuri sat up, his lips curving easily into a suggestive smile. "So I have some free time, and you are wearing far too many clothes."

Well. He wasn't going to argue with that. With a clatter, Flynn's armor and clothes starting hitting the floor in a rare haphazard heap, and Yuri's smile turned into a grin. He could see the teasing in the curve of the lips, and he didn't feel like explaining that he needed this. It had been a while; Brave Vesperia had been busier than ever, and Flynn focused hard on trying to pull the kingdom together from his side after the loss of the blastia. The little snatches they could have together were too rare, and not enough. He lowered a heated glance down between Yuri's legs, noticing a straining tent in his pants. It seemed it had been not enough for the swordsman as well. "Why are you still wearing clothes, Yuri?" Flynn asked as his gaze turned back up to his face, his voice tight and husky with the need to rip those clothes off that muscular body.

The laugh that escaped Yuri's throat was only slightly free, and mostly echoed the hungry need in Flynn's voice. "Just enjoying the view," he said with a shrug before starting to strip. If Yuri put his mind to it, he could strip quite sensually (and that had been a birthday to remember), but usually he removed clothes with the same efficiency that Flynn did. For some reason, that caused lust to punch him harder in the gut than any professional could, and Flynn kicked his underwear off to one side without thinking about where it would land so he could pin his partner with a deep kiss.

One would have thought that shirtless, hands on his pants, Yuri would have been taken by surprise by this. But Flynn knew better, knew he had probably manipulated him to get this reaction, and instead just opened his mouth and started wrestling for dominance of the kiss. Flynn slid one hand into Yuri's hair, nails scraping against his scalp as his fingers tangled in the strands and gripped, taking back the kiss. It was always how this went: there was always something setting Flynn off, Yuri trying to be in control, but never trying too hard. It was the game they indulged in. Today, Yuri seemed to been in a more silly mood as his hands reached around and squeezed Flynn's ass, once, twice. The hand tangled in his dark hair tightened, almost in retaliation as Flynn slid a leg up between Yuri's clothed ones. His lips broke the kiss, sliding across Yuri's jaw and opening to allow teeth to scrape across his throat. Flynn could feel the apple in his throat bob as Yuri swallowed, the slightly rough treatment of his neck always a favorite of his. The wandering hands made their way up from the curve of Flynn's backside, losing their playfulness as Flynn scattered his mind with lips, tongue, and teeth to his neck and shoulders, leaving a line of suckled and bitten marks. Finally, he relinquished his grip on Yuri's hair to move downward, both hands needed to keep him upright as he licked a line down the swordsman's chest.

There were some days he relished truly destroying Yuri's mind like this, until he was nearly begging for release. They never went that far; Flynn never felt comfortable with it, and he doubted he could even get Yuri to beg. But how close they got, to Yuri threatening him if he didn't finish, to the absolute wrecked noises from his throat… some days, he couldn't get enough of that. And some days, he would need to get Yuri as naked as possible, as fast as possible, and fuck him now. Today was the second situation, and Yuri's pants went flying to locations unknown within the confines of Flynn's room as Flynn reached over him to root around in his end table drawer. Gel Bases were acceptable if one was occasionally having sex, but after becoming very sexually active, Flynn had learned to keep a bottle of good oil by his bedside. It had not only made the actual act so much better, but the day after (if he had decided he wanted to ride Yuri that time) so much easier.

Hm, riding Yuri… no, he needed to sit after this. Despite everything, he did need to finish the paperwork. Instead, after coating his fingers, he eased one into the swordsman, unable to keep from smirking as Yuri hissed at the cold temperature. His legs readily opened to him as the oil warmed, his hands twisting in Flynn's sheets as he worked fingers quickly in, trying to stretch him as fast as possible. A laugh bubbled deep in Yuri's chest as he looked down at Flynn, his thoughts coming back together behind the haze of lust. "Can't wait, huh?"

"There are better things you can do with your mouth," Flynn warned him, his fingers stabbing upward viciously, pressing into that spot he knew would make Yuri's teeth click shut on a whine rising in his throat and eyes roll back as his chin lifted. He had quieted him that way before, but he hadn't quite realized that Yuri did like and was very good at giving blow jobs. Coming down Yuri's throat would interrupt his plan to fuck the swordsman silly. So instead, Flynn pulled his hand free and lifted Yuri's legs, guiding himself in and stopping as the sudden heat and pressure made him gasp. He could do this every day and still not be used to this feeling, the tight wonderfulness around him. Before Yuri could rib him about it, Flynn shifted his hips, rolling slightly until he heard the dark haired swordsman's breath inhale sharply.

There. That was the right angle. It was when Flynn looked up, meeting Yuri's dark, lust filled eyes, when he himself became undone, his movements losing all semblance of coordination as he tumbled over the edge. He could feel Yuri's legs tightening around him as the pleasure of his climax rushed through his veins, trembling as he followed closely behind.

Silence filled the room, almost tangible in the wake of so much noise. Flynn slowly released Yuri's legs, resting his head against his friend's shoulder as he relaxed. It felt… nice, the time between fucking Yuri senseless and having to reassume the role of Commandant. There was a soft pressure on his back - Yuri tracing meaningless designs. "How's Judith?" Flynn asked, the motions starting to make him drowsy.

Yuri's fingers paused. "Judy's fine," he said, his voice suddenly cautious. "You always ask that when I'm here."

"Why wouldn't I?" Flynn lifted his head, looking at him with confusion. "You are still sleeping with her as well, right?"

Abruptly, Yuri sat up, dislodging Flynn from his comfortable resting position. "Yeah, about that. What was that you said about how people wouldn't take you seriously if they found out you were sleeping with a guy so we should get girlfriends? You haven't exactly lived up to your end and you're practically throwing me at Judy."

Flynn made a frustrated face. This wasn't the easiest thing to explain, especially to someone who didn't care who he slept with. He just didn't trust anyone in his bed. "There aren't that many women I would trust," he tried. "It would just make it worse if it came out that I was sleeping with Judith as well, and I'm pretty certain Lady Estellise has zero interest in men." His position as Commandant was precarious to begin with, given his age and lack of nobility. If they found out about Yuri… Judith wasn't exactly a cover for Yuri, since the lust, at least, was real for both of them. But Flynn certainly did need that cover, that protection for his position.

"And you're embarrassed to be seen with a guild member." Yuri's voice was hard.

"What?" Flynn jumped slightly, looking over as the swordsman got up, snagging a towel and wiping off the sweat and come off his body. "Yuri, you know that isn't it."

"It isn't?" Yuri started getting dressed, plucking his pants off the doorknob where they had landed, and paused only long enough to pluck Flynn's underwear off his sword and throw it in his face. "Looks pretty much like you're trying to hide the fact the squeaky clean Commandant is with a guild member. Suddenly too good to be seen with me now that the danger's passed and you've gotten the position you've always wanted?"

Flynn stood, starting to get dressed himself. "That is not it!"

Yuri raised his hand, his shirt half on. "Save it. When you actually want to be seen with me, let me know." Instead of bothering to fasten his belt properly and at least half close the shirt, he left it flapping open as he grabbed his sword and swung out the window, leaving Flynn with his hands gripping his pants half up his thighs.

With a growl, Flynn yanked his pants the rest of the way on, letting Yuri leave. It wasn't going to make anything better if he went after him. Yuri just didn't understand the situation he was in. He wasn't embarrassed to be seen with him, not in the least. If things were different… he wouldn't be introducing Yuri at court because that would be a disaster, but he would be kissing him goodbye in public. He would be acknowledging it. But it wasn't different. He couldn't let it jeopardize his position, his dreams. Their dreams. Flynn started pulling on his armor, sighing.

And on top of that, he still had the paperwork to finish. He knew, if it could talk, it would be taunting him right about him. He picked up the quill, and envisioned snapping it in half, snapping it half again, and tossing it across the room, last quill he was getting be damned. The urge was so strong the feather shook, then was set back down before he ran his hand through his hair. No, he still had to Aurnion. Which meant sitting down, picking the quill up, and finishing the damned paperwork.

… had it actually grown since he last saw it?