Part Ten

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We arrive at Kilika in the early afternoon, and take a walk along

the even more crowded piers. Jecht eyes us both, and then seems to

think better of whatever he wanted to say. I can guess. Braska seems

to as well. "Tired of our company already, Sir Jecht?"

He has the grace to look abashed. "No, it's not that. I just...like

these little ports. Reminds me a lot of home."

"Not Zanarkand?"

"Yeah. Not the city, I mean, we live on a...we lived on a houseboat.

I grew up near the docks, so it's just the atmosphere, and the

people here."

"Well, go then. Have a good time." Braska tells him, and Jecht

grins.

"Right on. Well, catch you later."

"Jecht!"

He looks back at me.

"Whatever you do, don't miss the boat tomorrow." I tell him. He nods

and waves, then quickly disappears through the throng of people that

surround us.

I watch until he is out of sight. "Are you sure that was a good

idea?"

Braska shrugs and responds philosophically. "Time will tell."

As I expected, that evening Jecht does not return to the boat.

After dinner and our baths I disrobe with my back turned, being

careful not to look in Braska's direction, climbing into bed in just

my trousers. It does not seem to matter whether I am tired or

fully-rested, whether I think of him or not, cast my eyes upon him

or desperately avert them. All result in the same restless yearning

in my flesh. I stretch my arms above my head and my fingertips

tingle, as does the flesh beneath my belly. In my desperation I wish

to cry, but there is no relief. I turn my head on the pillow, trying

to be quiet. Then I hear Braska turn, facing me in the darkness.

"Auron?"

"Yes, My lord?"

He sighs "I cannot sleep either." I turn to face him. He lies on his

side, one hand beneath his cheek and begins to talk, dreamily,

sleepily. "Being on a boat, is a constant reminder, of her, of the

fact that she is gone.

"Sometimes, I have this dream, that she is with me. I will be

walking along, and she is walking by my side, holding my hand. In

the dream, she is always there, has always been and will always be

there, and I feel such a sense of peace and contentment...

"I think that she sends the dream to comfort me from the farplane.

But when I am not dreaming of her, I feel so lonely."

"My lord."

"You've never felt that, I know."

It is my turn to sigh. The longing in his voice calls to me, and

despite my fear I rise from my bed. I sit beside him, unable to help

myself despite my reluctance. His hand clasps my forearm.

"Auron. Are you afraid?" His voice is low, warming me from the

inside.

"Yes."

"I am too...Lie down with me."

I do as he bids me and he shifts to make room, his arm curling under

my neck as I rest my head on the pillow beside his. I lie stiffly as

he brings his other hand up to stroke my cheek. Then he raises

himself up on his elbow and brings his face closer to mine.

My breath comes hard and fast, and my racing heart turns over in my

chest. My eyes are closed before his lips touch mine and he seems to

hesitate, I can feel his breath lightly wash over my parted lips and

between them.

The feeling is the same, the same, but unbelievably intense as his

gentle caress becomes more passionate and forceful. His lips nip at

mine, sucking against the tender flesh until I cry out. He becomes

more gentle, soothing my lips, his hand stroking my hair and cheek

until I turn my head, and then he rests his own against the pillow.

"Auron..." he presses his face against mine and his lips leave a

warm damp trail on my cheek. "I want to...love you so much...Yevon,

I love you."

"My lord..."

"Braska..."

"My lord...Braska..." My words emerge breathlessly and as low as

his. He resumes his kisses, now soft and persuasive, lulling me into

a near slumbrous state as his hand moves up and down my shoulder and

arms, then over my torso, and lower, slow firm strokes that soothe

where he touches and ignite where he doesn't. I feel myself

floating, growing warmer as liquid heat runs through my veins, pools

on my belly as it gathers beneath his hand. The cloth of my trousers

is no barrier. His hand slides within, beneath the fabric, touching

hot skin and making me gasp into his mouth. He shifts to press his

lips against my ear, touching, stroking, until the pleasure I feel

gathers, contracting until it must burst, I burst, my body surging

and shaking as that intolerable aching need is assuaged at last.

I find myself curled against his shoulder, almost sobbing with

relief, taking great lungfuls of air. His lips move over my face, my

brow and my eyelids and his hand slips away, moving to curl around

my side. I feel the dampness of his palm there, slick against my

flank as his fingers tighten, drawing me towards him.

"It's all right...shhhh...I cried the first time too..."

"My lord. Yo-"

"It's Braska." He reminds me, mildly. "Braska..." He holds me and

talks as my body begins to calm. "I told you how we met, but you

have no idea how incredible it was. She would talk and I would

listen and understand nothing of her words, but it didn't matter.

Everything she felt, wanted, was in her eyes, and the touch of her

hands. I never thought I would feel like that again."

I feel drowsy, tired, wrung out, drained and light-headed. "My l-,

Braska...this is the same? It isn't un-natural?"

"Oh, Auron! Do you know what the first word I really understood of

Al Bhed was? Muja...she would say it over...and over...muja, E muja

oui.

"Muja ec muja, Auron."

I do not really understand the meaning of his words, but his body is

tense, he speaks with fervour and I do understand that. He has

released me, yet lies beside me still burning from that intolerable

flame, that licked at me from the inside until his hands gave me

succour. My hand is on his chest, resting against his ribs. I begin

to touch him as he did me, amazed at the sensory pleasure I derive

from the slide of fabric over skin, skin over fabric, the way he

shifts, infinitesimily closer to me, and the breathy exhalations he

makes.

"Muja sa..." He murmurs.

His eyes are closed, his lower lip softer and fuller in this light.

Normally austere, his face has taken on an aspect of intense longing

that is unaccountably beautiful. It is my turn to lean over him, and

I press my lips against his, the first time I have really kissed

him, initiating the contact that before I've only received with

trepidation. My hand now on his hip tugs at his shirt, drawing it up

until I am touching his bare skin.

At first I am reluctant to touch him, his masculinity too like my

own, and discomfiting. My hand moves at a torturously slow pace,

aware of the contrast of soft and smooth skin inside his hip, the

roughness at mid thigh, the damp warmth of his inner leg, knowing

how cruel it must seem but unable to hasten my attempt to accept

this, this feeling.

Braska demonstrates no such hesitation, contrasting yet again with

my own stiff and unsure touches, by shifting and sighing with each

tentative slide of my fingers over his flesh. His mouth opens

beneath my own, drawing me deeper into awareness of him, his need

for me.

With that awareness comes a renewal of my own, as though sparked

from sympathy for his plight, and I raise my head. His eyes are soft

dove-grey as he opens them. I look down at his body, where my hand

is now clenched on his hip. Contrasts again strike my awareness,

light and shadow, soft and hard, cool and unbearably hot. I bite my

lip as I give in to his desire, closing my eyes to the sight of my

hand moving, moving without pause. I feel his hand touch my cheek

and open them again as he gazes up at me with half-lidded eyes,

gasps with pleasure, and finally cries out as he shifts beneath me,

spattering his night gown with his own release of pleasure.

After a few minutes he rises, returning with a damp washcloth. His

hands move slowly, unfastening my clothing then he wipes my skin

with warm soothing strokes. When he returns and pulls the covers

over us he stretches his body against mine and I can feel the

dampness of his shirt and the warmth of his belly pressed firmly

against my side.

Despite my lack of sleep for the last few nights and my catch up

during the day I am drowsy, and I slide easily into dreams.

XxxxxxXxxxxxX

Ruins. They moulder all over Spira, reminders of what once was.

Empty shells, mostly, although often fiends lurk within. They are

dangerous to approach, especially at night. The ancient scholar who

accosts Tidus shows no fear however, he was standing examining the

walls as we approached and walked back to the road. Tidus was

watching him with considerable interest and a look of confusion,

which may be why the old man chose to address him.

"Do you know what those ruins are from?"

"Some old city, I guess."

"Correct. A city most ancient." The old man stands gazing at the

crumbling walls, the fading symbols of a lost world. "It's a

terrible testament to Sin's destructive power. I tremble to see

them. Compared to Sin, humans are mere mudpuppies..."

"But I believe humans are the only ones capable of stopping Sin."

Yuna interjected.

"A good reply. I am relieved to hear you say that, m'lady summoner.

Where are my manners? I am Maechen, a scholar, at your service."

Yuna bowed and introduced herself. "I am Yuna."

"M'lady. I am on a journey, studying the history of our world,

Spira, seeking its stories and secrets...My travels have taken me to

many places, and I am troubled by what I have seen. Fragile smiles

on people's faces crumbling at the mere mention of Sin. They are

counting on you, m'lady. Give them a reason to rejoice once more."

"I will."

The old man arouses my suspicions. He is too helpful, too

obsequious. And he stood too close to the broken wall, as though he

was part of that ancient ruin, emerging to accost travellers with

tales of a world which exists no longer. I am perhaps too

suspicious, and if he is a ghost he seems to be a benign one. We

pass on without incident.

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End of Part Ten