Got Fire Emblem? . . . yeah, that's what I thought.
It was the headache that should have tipped me off. Really, I'm not normally that stupid, I swear.
No! Really! I mean, I don't get sick much. I'm a really healthy person, despite the fact that in
certain points of my life I wasn't exactly well fed, so I almost NEVER get sick or headache-y.
The second hint that something was wrong was the aching. Ow. Pain. Yes. My entire body felt
like the day after I'd gotten my first lesson from Master Karel, which meant that I've taken a hell
lot of physical abuse. Karel isn't the most gentle of people, and by that measure neither was
whatever I'd gone through recently.
But hey! It's not my fault I didn't catch these things, really! I'm just not a morning person! And
NO, I'm not pouting, I'm just indignant!
Anyway, like I said, I'm not a morning person. Blearily forcing my eyes open, I reached up with
a sleep induced clumsiness to rub the side of my face with a disoriented fist. Heaving myself up
onto my elbow, I slowly ran my hand through my unbound hair.
See, that was the third clue. I didn't pick up on that either. Unbound hair? I know I never leave
it out of its braid, only to wash it. I mean, I'm small and thin as it is, and with my hair down I
look like a girl. I like to keep what's left of my illusion of manliness.
I rolled over, and nudged something lumpy and warm. The morning was hot and sticky enough
without that. I groggily focused on the offending object . . . er, person . . .
Meet my final, and the most blaringly obvious, clue that things were not right.
. . . er . . . M-Matthew?
. . . which makes me wonder . . . why . . . we were . . .
. . . both . . .
. . . naked?
. . . there goes the last of my masculinity . . ..
. . . I Did WHAT?!
Chapter 1
written by RianneHime, betaed by R Amythest, molested at random moments by Scarabsi
Shounen-ai warning, for fic in general. w00t!
. . .
Ack . . . I staggered out the tent within three minutes, quite possibly the most petrifying three
minutes of my life because I was terrified that Matthew would wake up. I did no want to have to
go through the fabled 'morning after' conversation which, knowing Matthew, would probably
end up with me pinned under his dagger.
The pounding of my aching head and my sudden searing hatred towards the sun was making it
difficult to think, but my entire body was also screaming in pain, as I said. Not only that, but
what was left of my mind was yelling at me for being such an idiot.
Stupid! STUPID stupid stupid! Drunk is NOT enough of an excuse to go and sleep with
someone. And . . . and MATTHEW! W-Why?! WHY did it have to be MATTHEW of all
people? How could I, even in a drunk stupor, not even be able to get the right gender? Or at
least someone less aggravating?!
I . . . I didn't THINK I was like that . . .. That was Legault's area, not mine! I didn't run around
hitting on everything with legs!
I sat down hard, leaning against a tree. I actually blended in, since a lot of people seemed to be
doing the same thing. Apparently I wasn't the only one who'd gotten completely drunk. I
stretched my memory . . . last night . . .
There'd been a party . . . I frowned. We'd won the battle, and someone had gone and bought
up half the inn's alcohol casks and dragged them to camp. In the name of celebration, of course,
pretty much everyone had at least one. Quite a few over indulged.
Like me.
And, from the looks of it, Matthew . . .
His mouth was on mine, tongue trying to taste me in a desperate frenzy, as I tried to do
the same to him. His lips moved against mine, impossibly hot in the already humid night,
dizzying in its intensity.
He pulled back breathless, and I licked my lips slowly, savoring the alcohol Matthew's kiss
had left behind. I grinned stupidly at him, not caring how I looked with my braid in a
mess. "You're drunk," I accused, not really caring, speaking in a low, dusky tone I didn't
know I had. The slur was barely noticeable.
Matthew grinned back, not as stupidly, and shifted his hips slightly over mine. I hissed my
breath inward at the sensation, leaning forward to press my lips to his neck.
I felt his vocal cords vibrate as he answered drunkenly, "So're you, Guy . . ."
. . . My mind snapped out of the fog of memory with an almost audible crack. WHAT in the
name of God was THAT?!
I shook my head . . . th-that . . . that was last night . . . my memory was clearing as the alcohol
worked its way out of my system . . .
Wait! It . . . It was Matthew's fault! It was all Matthew's fault! That bastard! Just take my
virginity, why don't you, see if I give half a damn! Because guess what, I do!! I give a WHOLE
damn about it! Thieving fiend! "Damn you Matthew, I want my innocence back!"
I stopped, hearing my voice clearly in the sluggish morning. Oops . . . didn't mean to say that out
loud . . .
"Hm?"
I paled. Crap on a stick . . . who was listening? I turned my head slowly, not because of my fear
so much that quick movement of my head made it hurt a lot. Damn hangover. "Who . . oh!"
Master Karel blinked at me, wearing what I think was an amused expression. It might have been
bloodthirsty, you never know with him, but for my sanity's sake we'll assume it was amused. I
smiled instinctively at him, not caring that it was probably more lopsided then usual.
"You were very drunk last night," he told me bluntly, in a characteristic soft monotone. I winced
at the lacing disapproval that shone through. Disapproval in training usually meant a swift whack
in the ribs with the flat of his sword, but luckily his blade was sheathed. "Alcohol makes one
weak."
I flushed. Yeah, with this headache and my sore self, I was definitely not much a challenge at the
moment. I hunched down slightly in shame, looking down to the right. I almost muttered
something, but Karel's got good hearing, so I decided it'd be better to keep quiet.
He snorted, his bangs tilting slightly at the brief movement. " . . . Tell your lover to detain you
next time you feel the compelling urge to intoxicate yourself."
Er . . . lover? "WHAT?!" I shrieked, wincing at my shrill voice. "I . . ." Did the whole camp
know?! Was I dishonored for the rest of my possibly short life?!
"H-How'd you know about th-that?" I blurted out desperately. "I can't tell him anything! He
won't l-listen to me!" Rather belatedly, I added, "And . . . and he's not my l-lover!"
"I looked for you last night. You didn't appear to our session, when I found you were otherwise
occupied." I flushed at his cool analytical approach to it. Master Karel looked annoyed. Or
bloodthirsty. One of the two.
I was panicking. "M-Master . . . you . . . you can't tell anyone!" I watched him raise an
eyebrow, and I quickly rephrased. "I mean . . . please, don't tell! I . . . please?
I looked up at him, frantic and flushed, probably looking really pitiful. Damn it . . .
And Master Karel smiled. Master Karel only smiles when bloodthirsty, so this wasn't a good
sign.
Leaning close, he put his nose next to mine. My eyes widened and my heart sped up, anxiety
forming from the nearness of my dangerous mentor. His voice was softer then it usually was, in a
silky sort of whispery tone, and that made him sound even scarier. The words he spoke alone
were enough to give me a heart attack. "My silence, in return for a spar between you and I."
I stiffened. Spar? With Master Karel? I was nowhere near ready for that sort of thing. His
lessons were difficult enough, with the excruciating katas and vigorous exercises . . . I couldn't
possibly be anything of a challenge, and he had to know it . . ..
. . . But then, neither were the enemies we'd been fighting recently. I was, besides Karel, one of
the more skilled members of the group, in part because the sword was the only weapon I
focused on. I was the closest thing to a challenge he had . . . I felt my eyes go even wide at this
realization, and Karel inspected my face's shift in expression with a grim sort demeanor. He
knew I understood.
He wasn't giving me much of a choice. Under normal circumstances, I'd refuse. My pride was
injured enough by Matthew on a daily basis, but with Karel, I'd . . . I'd just be slaughtered.
Hopefully not in the literal sense, but at the very least figuratively . . . but, I did NOT want the
entire camp to know I'd slept with my rival.
" . . . fine . . ." I didn't even tell my mouth to say those words, it breathed them out on it's own. I
did add the shaky nod that followed, trying to pull my eyes away from the eerie light of Karel's
gaze.
"In . . . in three days, we spar."
The Cheshire grin on Karel's face only stayed there for a moment, but it was enough to snap me
out of my daze and go bolting towards the nearest haven.
Oh, crap. I was going to die because of Matthew. I mean, that night had to be all Matthew's
fault. I'd never start anything like that, even WITH a substantial amount of alcohol in me. It was
a ridiculous idea. So it was Matthew's fault I had to cover it up, and Matthew's fault I was going
to die. In three days. Why had I said three days?! Such a short time to live!
I covered my face with my hand, gripping my hilt with the other for comfort. "I'm gonna die, I'm
gonna die, I KNOW I'm gonna die . . ."
"Why, may I ask, are you, 'gonna die'?"
I jerked my face up. M-Matthew?!
He smirked for half a moment at my clueless expression. Wha . . .? I looked around at my
surroundings, having been to consumed in self pity to do so before . . . Hey! I thought I was
heading towards a haven! Back near Matthew's tent was definitely NOT a haven! It wasn't even
waterproof, for Elimine's sake, why had my subconscious dragged my sorry self here, of all
places?
I gasped out, trembling at the new places he was putting his hands. The dark surrounded
me as I clutched around for something to stabilize me, grabbing his wrist, stopping it as
he tried to trace lower.
He distracted me with an even deeper kiss then before, and I returned it fervently,
responding in kind with little nips and bites, probing tongue and velvet questing lips. Not
letting him break it off easily, he tilted his head and sucked gently on my temple. I
moaned restlessly at the heat that coursed through me.
'Relax,' he murmured in my ear, words blurring together in a throaty slur, 'I won't let it
hurt you . . .'
. . . Oh . . .. That's why . . .. Damn subconscious.
"M-Matthew! I . . . er . . . wha?!"
Someone tell me. WHY was I blushing like a girl with a crush?!
Matthew looked up at me, face blank as all hell, the face he wore when injured or under deep
stress. I wasn't sure what to expect out of his mouth, but what came out? Wasn't it. "I think . . ."
Matthew said seriously, no hint of the slur I remembered, "I'm going to be ill . . ."
I still stand by the idea that the sudden pain in my chest was some minor organ exploding. After
all, what reason would my heart have to constrict at that moment?
Beyond my initial shell-shocked reaction, a part of me was furious. I couldn't have possibly been
THAT bad! Seriously! I mean, sure, I wasn't experienced at it or anything, but I've always been
good at improvisation! That insulting bastard!
I clenched my fists, trying to contain myself. " . . . Why?" Oh, wow, I sounded almost normal.
He shook his head, looking less enthusiastic about being able to tease me then usual. "Trying to
recover from last night, still." He looked up, seemingly nonchalant. "Can't remember a thing,
actually . . . not even who the hell I slept with . . . "
My mind didn't register the fleeting look of frustration on his face. I was too busy processing
what he first said . . . can't . . . remember?
I blinked. Matthew was, of course, drunk last night. Even more so then I. It was really actually
truly possible he couldn't remember a damn thing.
I felt my mind begin to throw a party. YES! Yes, yes yes yes! This was perfect! No one else
could find out! Hah! I was safe! I didn't have to worry about this ever again!
. . . I was still blushing . . .
GUY! My mind cursed at me, using several euphemisms I don't remember learning, involving
Hyperion and a cross between a spoon and a fork. Think! Act straight, act normal! Act as
though you're a normal guy who likes girls! Why?! Because . . . because you ARE!
I don't smile much, I know, but I forced myself to curl up the corners of my mouth. "W-Well," I
started, before I had a (MINOR!) panic attack and blurted out the entire sentence without
keeping my stutter in check. "You remember . . .h-how was it, at l-least?"
I was only asking so I'd look normal (even though I'd never normally ask that) I swear! I wasn't
curious at ALL! In any case, I apparently suck at being lecherous. Lucky for me the thief was
too tired -- and hung-over -- to notice my slightly out of character moment.
Matthew winced, and held his hand to his head. Maybe I'd spoken too loud. I'll have to talk
quieter for most the camp's sake, since we were all pretty much in the same state. "It was . . ."
"his voice was still betraying his confusion, but his personality was returning slowly as a
perverted twitch cocked his eyebrow. "It was . . . great, actually. I remember that much, oddly
enough."
He leaned back, looking up at the clouds as the sun gratefully passed behind them. Matthew's
lips quirked. "Wonder if I find'em, they'd be willing to have another go at it?"
I choked. Matthew chuckled, probably attributing my reaction to my (now non-existent, thanks
to him) inexperience and virginity, continued. "While one-night stands are all nice and good, I'd
like to know who gave me all those scratches --"
Scratches?! I hadn't, had I?!
" -- because they sting -- "
I groaned, surrounded by a dimly lit dark, the thin cloth of the mat sticking to my sweat
streaked body. My head was thrown back, exposing a number of vulnerable places on my
body -- and I didn't care.
The seemingly glazed and hazy air did nothing to cool my skin as he smirked, and his
hands began a slow lingering path down my chest, leaving in their wake a trail of shivers
and flame. I bit back a cry when he squeezed my hips gently, pushing them down firmly as
I tried to arch up. Gasping as he kissed my stomach, I could only watch -- and feel -- his
actions.
I shuddered, unable to contain myself, an alien in this writhing body that I was so used to
being in such control of. Drowning in heat and warmth and touch, I curled inward on
myself, moaning, clawing at his back, barely hearing myself in my hoarse whisper. 'More.
. . . p-please, more, I can't --'
S-STOP it, d-dammit!
Damn memories! Bad, bad, bad timing! Worse, I was starting to . . . REACT to them . . . I
shoved it to the back of my mind as fast as I could, my eyes considerably wider in my effort to
keep them from drooping into a lidded, hazed sort of sight.
"-- and I can't go to Serra about this sort of thing," Matthew finished, oblivious to my repeated
state of shock. Thank you, thank you, thank you St. Elimine, that he's completely zoned for the
moment. Maybe I can slip away and figure out what --
" -- Guy? Are you listening?"
-- to do. I mean, it's confusing. How come I'm remembering all these things, and Matthew can't
even remember who in the hell I was? Can't we have switched positions or something? I'd be
perfectly happy to be totally oblivious to the entire situation. I wouldn't mind that at all.
"GUY!"
I jerked up at a voice blasting in my ear, hand going to hover over my sword hilt. "What? Huh?"
I looked at him and his disgruntled party insulted look. I didn't like seeing that look on Matthew,
for some reason . . . what had he been saying? Something about not going to Serra's . . . but . . .
if he did that . . . "You'll scar." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Matthew grinned, his first of the day. I almost gave a genuine smile in return; at least (n-not that I
gave a damn!) Matthew was feeling better. "Aww," he poked me in the shoulder, "You do care
--" don't blush don't blush dammit Guy don't blush "-- but I like to keep my . . . trophies, just
fine, thanks."
Er . . . trophies? I struggled not to choke. The man could at least have the decency to be vague
about it! I don't want Matthew to have evidence of . . . of THAT for the rest of his fiendish,
thieving life! And I didn't want to be reminded of it every time I looked at him, either, since some
of the gouges trailed over his shoulder into plain sight.
And as much as I hated it, I'd have to look at him a lot, what with the tactician's unhealthy
obsession with pairing the two of us up in battle. Damn him! Er, maybe her . . . whatever . . ..
"I'm going to find her. Or him, whichever it is."
I turned to him, my mind still on my current train of thought. "Who, the tactician?" I asked, pretty
stupidly.
He looked at me, his grin still on, but his eyes incredulous. "No, the person I was telling you
about. The one who ran off without a trace this morning."
Oh. He meant he was going to look for me . . ..
Wait . . . WHAT?! I jerked my head around to look at him. He couldn't possibly! No! He was
supposed to laugh and then forget it, not . . . not actually give a damn . . ..
He laughed at my expression (don't laugh at me, you virginity stealing bastard) and after a quick
yank on my braid, launched himself off the ground and began to stroll off.
I gaped, staring after him as he walked with a determined gait, even with his headache. Ah, no.
This was not good. This. Was. Not. Good. Er, Matthew'd forget about that night soon. He
didn't take those things as seriously as we Sacaens do. Right?
. . . I mean, seriously . . . it was just one night . . .. Just a meaningless drunken night . . .
. . . Right?
I . . . have a confession to make . . .
I am . . . --deep breath-- . . . a pervert.
--bows head in shame--
I tried to think of a deep, meaningful plot, really I did. I wanted to do angst, drama, an epic tale
of star-crossed lovers, in which the telling surpasses the moral and love conquers all, amor
omnia vincit, etc. etc. . .
. . . and my brain, being rather squishy, spawned this. Ain't it grand?