Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X-2, or any Final Fantasy game whatsoever. Sadly, SquareEnix has the credit and the money while I have nothing but dirty socks.
Warning: Yaoi, possible yuri, sexual themes and horrible humor. You have been warned…
A/N: Well, that was a while. Surprisingly, it was a lot sooner than I expected though, being the slacker that I am. Meh. Anyhoo, thanks loads for those who dropped a review! I got all conceited for a while and began strutting around. Heh. Yeah, definitely a habit I should change in the near future.
Back to the story. About the notes at the bottom, sorry, but I just couldn't force myself to write in random author's notes and Al Bhed definitions in the middle of the chapter. On a happier thought, there won't be much Al Bhed anymore, and the notes will just be over random parts that I'll have to excuse my stupidness for or just because I feel like writing something else. And if you didn't understand a single word in that paragraph, you most likely aren't the only one. Sigh.
So yeah. Personally, I haven't yet decided whether or not this will be Gippal x Baralai or Baralai x Gippal. I know that initially, this was supposed to be a Gippalai, but it just seems so much easier the other way around… Ah well. I'll switch off. Who says being gay limits masculinity?
Okay, now is when I shut up and ignore the cricket chirps. The second installment of The Art of Deception follows…
The Art of DeceptionNatsue Arishima
Phase One: Obtaining a Ready Accomplice
"I told Rikku I was gay."
The silence was so thick and heavy that he could have cut through it with a knife. There was a definite flush on his face, whether from the fact that he had been holding his breath for the past minute or from embarrassment, he didn't know. All he was capable of doing was to watch him, latch onto his eyes, suddenly afraid that the other would turn away.
He swallowed, licking dry lips as Baralai continued to stare, surprise slipping onto every inch of his face. Dark eyes were unreadable, mouth partially open in shock. Shock, disgust, confusion…
Rejection. That was his first thought.
The older man fidgeted slightly, winding his hands together in his lap. Biting his lip, he frowned. "Please tell me you shut up after that?" he asked faintly, voice surprisingly loud in the spacious room. When Gippal blinked, his mouth quirked upwards in its usual smile.
It was fake.
The Al Bhed strained a grin back, quickly hiding disappointment as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah, well… You know how it goes. Start a lie and get carried away, the usual." The blond laughed faintly, mentally wincing as Baralai continued to gaze intently at him, smile unwavering yet devoid of true emotions.
This is so wrong.
Sighing, Gippal looked down, eyes fixed on shadows contained within the floor. "I told Rikku that I was going to ask you out. Naturally, her response was along the lines of me getting rid of Devon myself, since she set me up and was for some strange reason not entitled to un… set me up… Yeah, considering that she said something along the lines of, 'Funny. And I had just asked Paine out a few weeks ago', I don't think she really believed me."
He could feel the blank stare boring into his head until Baralai turned away seconds later. The familiar lock of hair slipped out again, silver tresses obscuring the majority of the praetor's face, who was finding sudden interest in the intricately woven carpet. The Al Bhed felt horribly stupid, despair quickly following the absence of Baralai's gaze. What had he been thinking? That the founder of New Yevon would just willingly agree to his underlying question? Maybe before, when they had been as close as friends could get, but they had been separated for what, months? He should have been expecting this.
And besides, Gippal highly doubted that even then, Baralai would have agreed willingly to pose as his boyfriend, be it real or a mere prank.
Baralai would never agree to something so extreme.
He could just take it back now, pretend that he had been kidding and confess it as a joke. A simple joke. He could imagine Baralai gazing at him before laughing it off, like they usually did. That was, of course, if he hadn't already tossed their friendship aside with his stupid favor.
Dammit! Why couldn't he have thought about the consequences of his actions before… well, acting upon them? If he had somehow changed everything, everything being his close friendship with Baralai… He wouldn't be able to stand it. Gippal, you dumb bastard…
Slowly, he peered upwards, through a mass of golden hair. The other was uncomfortable, he could tell.
"Hey," he started softly. "It was a joke, 'Lai. You know I would never —"
The praetor turned back to him again, easily reading past his false words. Gippal cursed inwardly at himself. Lying to Baralai was a lost cause. It was futile.
The silence was unbearable.
-
A pair of dark eyes gazed absentmindedly out of the open window, soft rays of gold bathing the walls. They were deep in thought, almost glazed, slender brows furrowed against tanned skin. A strand of silver was brushed back by a palm, tucked wordlessly behind an ear, only to follow up by escaping its prison and being sent back again.
Baralai continued the slow cycle for several minutes, eyes never leaving their focus. Past the glass, Bevelle was partially awake and moving, miniscule people already dotting its streets despite the early hour. In the east, the sun was just up, stretching its reach across the houses and stores.
So silent, peaceful.
Sighing, Baralai tore himself from his wondrous bliss, turning himself back to the problematic matter at hand that he had left unattended to last night. He glared down at his desk, almost hoping it would burst into flames yet also grateful that it remained solid. He was so… confused? Lost? To accept would most likely change everything, yet to decline would almost seem cruel… Tapping his fingers on the polished wood, he frowned, busying his other hand with his pen.
Accept or decline…
Shutting his eyes, he swallowed before forcibly shifting the parchment he had been occupied with for the past ten minutes onto the rejected pile on the floor, debating silently with himself. He couldn't bring himself to say no, but in this case, there was no other choice. Not only would it destroy his reputation as the praetor, it could also lower Bevelle's respect in the future.
There was a final click of the pen before he placed it gently back onto the desk.
He would have to decline.
Baralai just couldn't bring himself to give the Kinderguardians access to monkeys for pets. (1)
He knew Pacce had good intentions, and he had to admit, not only had the Kinderguardians been surprisingly helpful in the past year, Pacce and his brothers had also become part of Baralai's everyday life. His new family. Yet there was only so much friendship could give before the line was crossed. The praetor knew the small party would most likely ambush him on his way out for punishment, but mixing excitable boys with gil-stealing monkeys was just irrational. Besides, half of the signatures given on the ballot weren't even from Bevelle residences.
He rubbed his temples, grateful that there were only three sheets left.
But really, back onto the big problem. With Gippal and his obscene favor.
The very thought spurred all ideas out of his mind. Just like last night, Baralai found that he didn't know what to do. Gippal was his closest friend, and had came to him first because he had hoped that Baralai would help him. Said praetor wanted to help, really, but… it would just seem so awkward. It didn't help that Baralai felt he didn't really understand the Al Bhed anymore. The two of them had been apart for so long, with duties of work and all…
He hated to say it, but they were drifting away from each other, just like how Nooj and Paine had unconsciously yet successfully distanced themselves. He had tried to prevent it by staying with Gippal over the summer, but by leaving again, things had shifted back to their original places.
Baralai was sure that the two of them could settle back into their close roles of friends again, but that took time. He had partially hoped that that had been the man's exact intentions, with coming a week earlier and all, but his hopes had been flattened when he realized that a favor was the only reason of the Al Bhed's unexpected arrival. He shouldn't have been surprised, considering the changes that the months had spurred, but he had been. No, surprised was an understatement. He had felt shocked, confused, rueful, and most of all, used.
Yes, used. He had expected more of a sort of welcome, and had received a damnable favor over a date instead. He was sure that Gippal hadn't meant any harm, but was that all Baralai was to him? A willing accomplice? One of those sickly obsessed fans who would eagerly die to help him? Yevon, he wasn't a dog.
He should have talked to Gippal about it, but with a bleak three hours of sleep and a heavy cloud of thoughts, the only thing that had mattered to him two hours ago was to avoid his guest as much as possible. The fact that the man had been sleeping like a log with no indications of waking up at any time in the near future whatsoever contributed greatly to his goal. Even so, he supposed that running out of his house at six in the morning had been too drastic of an action.
He denied that fact that he had actually been fleeing from his bed with half his clothes on. Okay, so maybe he had overreacted a little…
Baralai bit his lip, perching his arms on his desk. Folding them slowly, he leaned forward, cushioning his head within the folds of fabric. The man gazed blankly at the parchment below him, so close that the writing was no longer legible, black blotches dancing across the white surface. Was he being too self-centered?
He could just agree. It was only for a week, after all. It might not even be that bad. All he had to do was to stay around Gippal and act like a girl (A.K.A. a flamboyant queer). Once Devon got the hint, which could possibly take a while considering her limited brainpower and refusal to accept the fact that her boyfriend was gay, they could just drop the whole ordeal and be friends again.
Right?
Easier said than done.
Baralai groaned, shutting his eyes. He didn't know what to do.
He yelped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Jerking upwards and spinning around, his elbow slipped off the wooden surface and he successfully cracked his head against the curve of his lamp. Said lamp was sent tumbling towards the floor. Stars flickering wildly before him, he lifted his hand, shrugging it out of its sleeve and pointing his index forward, ignoring the strange fluttering sensation that always followed the abuse of his funny bone. The lamp froze inches away from the carpet before it was levitated back onto the table.
A familiar voice ushered a rapid apology to his right as he rubbed his head slowly, pulling away his hand to see small specks of crimson on his fingers. Looking up, he met a pair of dark, worried eyes.
Isaaru.
Automatically, relief spread quickly throughout his body at the sight of his close friend, and all worries of Gippal fled his mind. Baralai smiled, wiping away the blood as he stood up, clothes smoothing from previous wrinkles almost instantly. "It's okay. Just caught me off guard is all."
The previous summoner let off a faint smile, though his face still remained concerned, smooth mahogany hair slipping across his steady gaze. "I didn't mean to startle you, but you didn't object when I knocked. I thought you knew I was here." Brows furrowing, the man placed a hand under Baralai's chin and forced his gaze upwards. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Baralai nearly jumped at the contact, shifting at the intensity of Isaaru's gaze, who quickly pulled away and dropped his arm. Smiling faintly and brushing the action aside, Baralai cautiously shook his head. The two had become close friends over the course of the year, and the praetor felt no guilt in informing the summoner of Gippal's favor. Even so, he was worried, not out of fear that the previous Zanarkand guardian would spread rumors from his words, but of his response.
Why? The two of them had shared a small scuffle of a sort several months ago.
As he had suspected, the summoner stiffened at Gippal's name, knowing perfectly well what the oblivious Al Bhed meant to the other, though the man quickly hid his frown when Baralai turned to face him again. Swallowing, he hesitated before smiling. "Are you going to help him, then?"
The praetor sank back into his chair, avoiding eye contact with his friend. "That's the problem," he said quietly, gazing listlessly at the ground. "I don't know."
Silence stretched as the summoner blinked before laughing, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. His deep laughter continued for a while, somehow easing away the tense atmosphere. Staring past brown locks to the other's face, he cocked his head to a side. "Hey. Believe me, I know what you're going through. It's natural to feel used, but think about what he's experiencing. I'd freak if an ex were stalking me. Help him for now. It's only for a little while. Who knows, maybe things will change later on."
Baralai froze, hand stilling its previous tapping.
Isaaru turned and casually flicked imaginary lint off of his robes, suppressing a small cough. "He's trusting you with this. As a friend."
As silence greeted his words, the summoner sighed and gazed around the room listlessly for several moments. His eyes caught sight of a rolled up sheet of parchment tied neatly with a single, red ribbon, drifted towards Baralai, raised an eyebrow, and picked up the scroll, tucking it gently within his robes before turning to head towards the door.
Reaching out for the handle, he paused. "You'll have to forgive me though, if I accidentally bash his head in." Turning slightly, he winked at Baralai, tapping an ear. "If you need any help, I'm always here to listen. Oh, and Pacce wants to know your reply to his… unique request. If you ask me, it's the dumbest proposition I've ever heard of."
The previous summoner was halfway out the door before he heard Baralai laugh softly behind him. "Thanks, Isaaru," the man whispered quietly, barely audible yet just enough for the summoner to hear. Isaaru slowed his steps for a second before continuing his pace.
The room was strangely silent after he left.
Turning his armchair so that it faced the window again, Baralai sighed, easing his eyes shut. Staring at the reddish hue behind his eyelids, the praetor smiled faintly. Isaaru was right. It wasn't about his feelings of shock and being used this time. It was for Gippal, just for a week… It wouldn't be that bad.
He wouldn't let his emotions get the better of him, especially not when Gippal needed his help.
Besides, it was bound to hurt. It was an automatic reaction when a person falls in love with their best friend.
-
Gippal prided himself in never once failing his high reputation as a ladies man. Because of this, he had in no way ever experienced the anguish of being cheated on, locked out, punched, bitch slapped, kicked between the legs, and all the other horrors that came with disappointing the ladies.
Therefore, when he woke up to find himself in the unlikeliest of places, he had never felt more insulted in his life.
Yes. Of all possible things, he had sunk to the very lowest.
Oh, the horror, the shame. Because when Gippal woke up, he realized the room he was in was completely alien to him, which meant only one thing could have happened last night, or so his gradually waking brain automatically confirmed. That part of the picture he didn't mind, oh no. It was the fact of where he was that completely blew him over.
For Gippal wasn't in a bed, or even on the floor of the bedroom. No. Gippal woke up on… The Couch.
-
Cursing from his spot on the cold, unmerciful floor, Gippal struggled back onto his feet, rubbing the bruise forming on his hip that had been urged into life by his previous tumble from the couch. He muttered under his breath, smoothing out the endless crinkles in his clothes and running a hand through wild hair as he glared down at his previous residence.
Realizing that the couch wouldn't reply to his taunts, no matter how many curses and threats he should care to yell, he turned to divert his ire on another innocent object. Anger quickly cooled when he noticed his surroundings.
The room was spacious, the walls cluttered with an endless supply of boxes and empty shelves. He was standing near a shutter-deprived patio door, the afternoon sun lighting the space a bold yellow. There was a coffee table in the middle of the room, surrounded by the damnable couch, a matching love seat, and armchair, still covered in plastic. A strange aroma hit him; it was sweet, though not to the unbearable extent, like the smell of scented candles.
This was Baralai's place.
Baralai. Gippal swallowed, hit with a wave of guilt and regret. Where was he?
Stretching and wrinkling his nose at the pathetic state of his clothes (it was the same outfit he had worn yesterday), Gippal strode across the room, passing through the bare hallway and towards the pair of double doors at its end. Running his hand over smooth oak (realizing with some guilt that the lock was no longer capable of doing its task), he pulled them open, blinking as he found himself outside and facing a street of other houses and rows of pines. Behind them was the temple, almost like a fairytale come to life. He whistled, the sight being much more impressive than it had been last night.
The praetor sure knew how to spend his money.
Several girls passed across the street; one look at him sent them into shock, promptly followed by a fit of giggles. Smirking slightly, he gave them a small nod of the head, and they shrieked before running off.
Nice location, too.
Stepping back inside, Gippal looked around. The door to his right lead towards a small study, littered with possibly more boxes than the living room had possessed, yet was surprisingly organized and neat. The Al Bhed raised an eyebrow. Trust Baralai to finish furnishing a study before anything else.
A flight of stairs led to the second floor. Hesitating slightly, Gippal bit his lip before heading up the carpeted stairs. Pausing at the top, he called softly, "Baralai?" When no one answered him, he proceeded to explore the new vicinity, jaw dropping at each of the impossibly large rooms.
Damn…
Unconsciously comparing the impressive state of Baralai's new house to his pathetic room in Djose, Gippal crept back down the stairs again, feeling small and horribly insignificant. Trust Baralai to also squish his remaining ego.
Back in the living room, he found his way to the dining room, the kitchen, and what he assumed was the entertainment room, complete with games and one of those new… what was it? Television sets? Either way, the thing was awesome, ten times better than those CommSphere things. There had also been a strange box titled, "PS2", but Gippal hadn't spent much time poking at it, having been too caught up with flipping through television channels. What fun could a box be anyway? (2)
Hollering Baralai's name a few more times, Gippal retired to the kitchen, afraid he would get lost if he kept on wandering around. He was disappointed, having hoped that he could have apologized to the other first thing. The praetor couldn't possibly be at Bevelle. It was a frickin' Sunday!
That man really needed to go out more.
Noticing his bag in the corner of the room, he headed towards it and sifted through its contents for a decent outfit. Seconds passed as he continued to search, silently debating over a shower. Approving himself, he grabbed a towel, took a deep breath, and plunged back into the labyrinth, peeling his eyes for a bathroom.
He found his prize upstairs in what he assumed was the master's bedroom; in other words, Baralai's room.
Peeking cautiously around the door and half expecting the praetor himself to come barging out with his javelin, hair askew and eyes red, the Al Bhed almost sighed in relief in finding the room empty. He later realized just how stupid his envisionment of Baralai had been, but being Gippal, merely shoved the thought aside and continued with his shower ritual.
Cursing at the fact that there was only one bathtub included bathroom in such a horribly large house (he had actually stumbled across several tubs in his close-to-frenzied search, but none had proved worthy of bearing him), he strode across the large room and examined the bathroom. Nice sinks, decent toilet… and holy shit, the man had a frickin' Jacuzzi! (3)
Sweet…
Feeling slightly guilty that: one, he was currently sneaking into Baralai's room; two, he was currently sneaking into Baralai's room when he already should have been apologizing to said person; and three, he was drooling all over Baralai's nicely polished floor, Gippal peered around for a minute more before stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door.
He amused himself with the different soaps and bottles near the tub, most of them new and unopened. Also trust Baralai to buy more than he actually needed and never was going to use. No, Gippal couldn't really picture the praetor piling on loads of cherry and daisy scented shampoo.
After the different scents were sorted through (the Al Bhed decided he'd try them all), Gippal turned to the bathroom itself, opening the many small doors under the sink and rummaging through the miniature closet. In general, the room was empty, save for several crumpled parchments and old blueprints.
That was, until the Al Bhed accidentally knocked over a small, plastic box, spewing paper all across the floor. Groaning and muttering, he irritably picked them up again, dumping them back in the box in way he hoped they had been originally. Halfway through, he suddenly realized that the papers were all previous love letters written to the praetor, sent by girls and (strangely, though he wasn't surprised) boys alike. And judging by the smell, they were well on the way of becoming fertilizer.
Grinning from ear to ear, the Al Bhed indulged himself within their smelly depths, and by the end of the last letter, got up, walked out the bathroom door, and plowed through the rest of Baralai's room.
The gods later punished his nosiness by burning him relentlessly in the tub.
A shower and an hour later, along with several burns and newly invented curses, Gippal found himself back downstairs in pants and a sleeveless black shirt, obviously having not learned his lesson and rummaging through the expanse of the kitchen cabinets, boredom overruling his previous activity of mentally apologizing to Baralai a hundred times over. Yes, he was worried about the praetor, and yes, he was worried what the praetor would do once he found the state his room was in (the sixtieth declaration of love had surpassed the previous hilarity level and sent the Al Bhed running out of the room clutching his mouth), but Gippal would have physically snapped if he had stressed over the matter for another second. Having already finished half a carton of ice cream, he was pondering on whether or not to make pasta or bake a cake (hey, who said he couldn't be fond of cooking?) when a certain household appliance caught his eye.
Blender.
Smirking and glancing around, just to make sure there was no one watching him (a paranoid reaction he had received from fighting in the Crimson Squad — either that or from playing way to much "spit in granny's hedges" when he was a kid), the Al Bhed rubbed his hands together.
Excellent.
Gippal learned the hard way that there was only so much a blender could take.
-
"Hey!"
Baralai started, rudely shaken from his thoughts. Spinning around, he blinked at the corridor that led the gates of the temple to the city doors. Besides the guards, who were having an animated conversation near the opposite ends of their posts (Baralai made a mental reminder to hire new ones), there was no one in sight. Frowning slightly, he continued his way out of the temple's general vicinity, still musing over the events of yesterday and Isaaru's previous visit.
Wondering how he was going to bring up last night's topic to the Al Bhed, he jumped again when the same voice hollered down at him. It was surprisingly familiar… Sighing, he turned again, absentmindedly searching the empty hall while trying to place the voice on a head. A sigh reverberated across the quiet area.
"Look up, smart one."
Blinking, Baralai cast his gaze onto the overhanging balcony, raising an eyebrow at the young boy standing with his hands on his hips, most likely believing the pose rather impressive. Before he could comment, the boy had detached himself from his previous post, a blur of green and yellow, before colliding with the ground (there was an odd, squelching noise), gave off a small grunt, and fell over onto his side. The praetor raised another eyebrow, finding himself staring at a stunned Pacce sprawled across the cement floor.
"The… s-shock…" the boy squeaked past clenched teeth, eyes convulsing and face an unhealthy shade of green as he hugged his legs, tears springing into his swirling eyes. "Ow…"
"You know," Baralai murmured, cocking his head to one side as he leaned down towards the twitching boy. "Generally, you don't jump down from a ten-foot high wall unless you absolutely have to. Or if you were taller." The praetor smiled. "And if you were trying to impress me, it didn't work."
Black eyes glared up at him. "Shut up or I'll send the Kinderguardians after you!" Pacce snarled as he pushed himself back onto his feet only to fall onto his bottom, his harsh voice raised into a whine. Once again, Baralai found himself blessing his heavenly high collar as he hid his smile behind it, brushing stubborn strands out of his eyes. "Yes, dear elder," he replied lightly, tipping his head forward. Pacce flushed, unruly hair sticking up in all directions, having grown longer and wilder over the summer. Stuttering slightly, he let off a little "humph" before shoving his nose up into the air and crossing his arms over his chest.
"I heard about you and that funky Al Bhed guy," he declared loudly in his altered superior voice, the effect unknowingly making him more snotty than powerful. Perhaps that was the reason why Pacce had never been popular with the girls.
"Oh?" Baralai questioned, raising an eyebrow, slightly surprised. How did people already know that the leader of the Machine Faction was in Bevelle? Even Gippal would be smart enough to stay inside; he popularity with the species' gentler sex had mob potential. His breath hitched and he hid it with a faint cough. "And what about me and the funky Al Bhed guy?"
"Stuff," the boy said mischievously, obviously believing to have hit a nerve and therefore was now more superior to the praetor. Ah, bliss minority. Baralai decided to let him bask for a while before shattering his glory — he'd save the monkey thing for later.
"And what kind of stuff?" he prompted.
At this, Pacce broke into a fit of giggles. Really, the boy would have been sort of cute had he not been so wound up with himself. Hiccuping and straightening as much as he could, considering his bruised legs and sore, er… backside, he smirked up at the praetor. "Like… you two are going out!" He snorted, spit flying out every which way in an attempt to stop the flow of laughter.
Feeling wetter then he had been all week, Baralai managed a smile and quickly took back his previous compliment of the boy's cute level, mentally choking. "Really?" he asked, almost bitterly, "and who informed you of this?" Strange, really, publicity. News and rumors traveled at the speed of light in Bevelle, despite their strangeness and unlikeness, yet people seemed to believe and accept them without argument. If politics could be this easy, he'd eat his head.
For some odd reason, he suddenly pictured Gippal's expression if the man were to have been present during this strange conversation. After the image of the Al Bhed strangling the daylights out of the Kinderguardian flashed across his mind, Baralai silently agreed to himself that it was probably for the best that Gippal was currently away. Yes. Definitely for the better, he mused, as the sight of the man jumping on the boy's dead body promptly followed the first image.
"No one told me. I'm not that stupid!" the boy replied with an air of arrogance, and Baralai focused back onto the conversation, quirking a small smile. "Isaaru came back all sad and mopey, news was out that Gippal was here, I put one and one together, and… Boom!" He clapped his hands together, a bit too hard for his bones to handle, for he yelped and shoved his fists in his mouth. "Bingo!" he managed to snap past large knuckles.
Baralai raised an eyebrow. So it hadn't been flying gossip. He breathed a sigh of relief, though the sudden thought struck him that if he were to refuse Gippal's offer, rumors would do the trick anyway. He almost laughed. It was just like in Djose, except that time his reputation hadn't been on the line. People were more forgiving and open-minded there anyway.
Shaking his head slightly (he had been drifting off a lot recently), he smiled, turning back to Pacce and his smug grin. "This would be so much more convincing if I were looking up at you instead of down."
The boy flushed again, face swelling like a crimson balloon.
"I know I'm short, alright?" he wailed, jumping up to his feet and waving his fist. "At least I'm not running around kissing a boy!"
The praetor froze.
Oblivious to the reaction his randomly guessed assumption had caused (including the entire of the whole going out ordeal), Pacce spun around on his heel and broke into a demented skip, hopping, running, and cursing at the same time. Baralai watched his retreating back, surprise and bewilderment still radiating through him.
Kissing…?
Okay, so he hadn't thought about that.
He took a breath, stomach lurching into his throat. Slowly, he calmed himself, rubbing his eyes until white blotches sprung up before them. Kissing Gippal. He couldn't deny that the idea was appealing, yet not once had the thought entered his mind, especially not under these circumstances. It wouldn't be… right. Not with Gippal just pretending in order to get rid of a date. Yevon, the Al Bhed might have dropped the whole boyfriend ordeal already, considering Baralai's strange reaction to it.
It wasn't like the praetor had never attempted to gain the other's attention by himself. "Attempted" was too small a word for it. He had strived for it, ever since he had realized how gentle and affectionate the Al Bhed could be. During the last half of their Crimson Squad days, Baralai had either been casually sticking around Gippal whenever he could, or staying with Paine and talking about said man, being too embarrassed to go to Nooj. Paine understood, she always did, and was also always there to comfort him. Even afterwards, he was nearly constantly thinking about the Al Bhed, though it had cooled down a bit as months passed.
Last year, though, when he met up with Gippal and Nooj again, Baralai found himself obsessed once more, though Paine wasn't there to consult with this time. Of course, he had never actually told Gippal, considering the most understandable reply: rejection.
Gippal wasn't gay.
He had finally given up after the summer spent at Djose, where Gippal continued to remain horribly oblivious to his actions. Hence his start of accepting date offers in Bevelle. The one man he had ever dated (in secrecy of course) he had actually considered to be "the one". He had been perfect, amazing in almost every way… but it hadn't been what Baralai had wanted. What he wanted was out of his reach.
He had felt slightly guilty by breaking up with the other almost immediately; the man had been obviously heartbroken, but the praetor had realized that it was most likely for the best. Leading people on would have just been cruel. Besides, he had been already feeling the side effects of his stress on the secrecy level.
But now, if he was going to help Gippal… It was going to have to be public. He couldn't just hide it away like before. People had to believe it in order for Devon to believe it.
Baralai could have cared less if he was gay.
Bisexual, actually.
No, it was the public part he feared most.
Sighing, Baralai picked up his steady pace again, heading out the temple's main gates. Before him, the shops and huts spanned out, men and women shopping and talking before them. He received several waves and calls, the usual routine. Several children ran up to him, expectant of their daily treat, and he fished them out of his pockets, laughing as they skipped off with chocolate-covered faces.
He caught several snips of conversation, all seeming to revolve around aeons, the morning coffee, the spider in the pantry, and the arrival of Machine Faction's head. So Pacce had been partially right. A flock of blond girls walked past him, several blushing and waving shyly towards him while others were whispering rapidly to each other. He caught Gippal's name in their words too.
Shaking his head and suppressing a smile at the numerous fans the Al Bhed seemed to have throughout the entire of Spira, though just the tiniest bit irked, a voice hollered off somewhere to his right, loud, blaring, and highly familiar. Shifting his head slightly, Baralai quirked an eyebrow before smiling at the familiar face.
Fighting against a current of irritated shoppers, the man waved a tanned hand towards the praetor, shoving forward fiercely with his broad shoulders. He was blowing strands of dark hair as he went out of his eyes, crossing them when the pressure was too much to handle on his ribs, and for a moment was lost in the sea of heads. Chuckling slightly, Baralai sighed and began to push towards the cursing man, now looking highly abused and slowly drowning within the mass of people.
Typical of Maroda, really.
Ten minutes later found the two of them in the cool and blissfully empty atmosphere of a nearby food shop, the darker-haired man wheezing and twitching on the floor. Slightly amused, the praetor ushered to the young girl behind the counter, who jerked up and quickly shut her magazine (Baralai caught an image of a nude model seconds before she slammed it shut), shoving it behind her back with a dull blush riding her cheeks.
"Y-yes?" she questioned timidly, brushing an unruly strand of brown hair out of violet eyes. They widened when she slowly realized that she was standing across from the praetor.
"Could I have some water? My friend's slow to recover from suffocation."
Obviously not having taken in a single word, the girl continued to gape as if she had never seen a man before in her life, bottom jar hanging inches from the floor. Her violet eyes were slightly glazed over, dead to the world. Baralai watched quietly, bemused when a small string of drool began at the corner of her mouth and slipped down her chin.
Really. People these days.
Maroda gave off a deranged, dying cough behind them.
Jumping up, the girl hastily snapped back to life, wiping away the trickle of spit a bit too earnestly from her mouth; she punched herself in the face in the process. Now sporting an ugly bruise, she ran a hand through her hand, dropped the magazine behind her back, dived to the floor for it, cracked her knee, lunged up and hit her head, dropped the magazine once more, and proceeded to continue the rather painful cycle. Baralai watched her go for several minutes before deciding the abuse was enough for one day.
"Umm… water? Please?" He coughed faintly, biting back a small smile.
On her hands and knees, the girl froze before scampering though the doors behind her. The praetor blinked, mouth partially open, before concluding that it was a bit too late to inform the other of the sink behind the counter. Sighing slightly, he picked absentmindedly at his nails and ignored the splashing noises in the background. He never knew he could traumatize a person this much. Honestly, Yuna couldn't even cause such a stirrup, and being Spira's most popular celebrity, that was saying something.
Minutes later, the girl returned, rather wet and with a sheepish smile on her face. "Here," she muttered to the floor. "On the house." She roughly shoved a battered potion bottle into Baralai's hands, who accepted it, rather surprised.
He decided that she had either been incapable of carrying a glass of water without spilling its contents or was just posing in the role of a good citizen. Considering Spira's current personalities of its people, he stuck with the former.
Smiling faintly, he nodded to her in thanks before pacing back towards Maroda, who grabbed the bottle and chugged half of it in one mouthful.
"Um…"
Baralai blinked, turning back towards the rather bashful girl, who was still studying her feet. "Is it true…? That Gippal's here?" She peeked up shyly at him, and crossed her eyes in annoyance at a strand of hair that refused to leave its spot in the middle of her forehead.
The white-haired man blinked, about to reply, when the girl hurriedly continued, getting bolder by the second. "He's with you, right? Is it true that he's gonna go out again with Devon?" She narrowed her eyes. "I never liked that slut. Strutting around like she owned the place."
"Er…"
Her voice was higher now, louder and dauntless. "Hey! You think I could meet him? I've always wanted to… he's so handsome, don'cha think?"
"I don't —" Baralai frowned when she cut him off again, the faintest edge of anger beginning to prick at him. This was getting a little out of hand… Controlling his faint fury, he attempted to cut her string of thought several times, though failed as she continued to plow onwards.
"Gods, that slut doesn't deserve even a fraction of him. If you ask me, she's better off with a piece of slime. Maybe you could introduce us! That'd be so cool!"
Okay, definitely bordering the line. The praetor frowned, lips set in a straight line. His previous liking for the girl, despite her clumsiness and magazine taste, had faded.
"I don't think he's gonna take Devon back. I mean, look at what she did to him! Ooh! I wanna ask him out, just to spite her and her stupid cronies. Hey, maybe you could —"
That was it.
"Gippal's not going out with any girl right now, not with her and not with you." Faint satisfaction grew at her sudden silence, the smile wrenched completely off her face. "I'm sorry, but he's not really interested right now."
The girl bit her lip, wringing her hands together. "But —" He didn't get it. Could the girl not take a hint to bug off?
"He's taken at the moment. Maybe in a month or so." Even that didn't shut her up.
"No, he can't be taken."
"Sorry, but he is."
"But who —?"
Turning, the praetor eyed her evenly, irritated to no end, before stating flatly, "Me."
That seemed to do it.
Behind him, Maroda burst into another spasm of coughs.
-
Underneath a pile of noodle boxes, empty containers, milk cartons, pasta sauce, cake mix, apple peels, and a still snorting blender, a blond head popped up. Actually, to the normal eye it would have seemed like a white head, dotted with an array of red and orange streaks, but lets not get into that…
Anyway, a blond head popped up, cerulean stare darting towards the large doors at the end of the hallway. Gippal swallowed, pricking his ears. He had just heard… yep, there it was again. Footsteps. Heading towards the door. Towards Baralai's house. Towards the kitchen that was now a hellhole, not to mention the most likely disordered room upstairs.
"Shit."
Shooting up like a bullet, his escape out the patio door might have been probable if he hadn't tripped over the remains of the poor blender, which gave off a final, sputtering wail before dying completely. Cursing as he rammed head on into the wall, Gippal staggered back, rapidly blinking stars out of his eyes as he hid his dead comrade beneath a mountain of cardboard boxes.
Footsteps.
His sudden collision had proved to have one good factor. Besides the throbbing bump on his skull, he had unhinged most of the flour in his hair, and it floated down before him in little puffs of white snow — wait. Something about that wasn't right. Oooh… migraine. He had definitely lost one too many brain cells.
Closer.
Now panicking, the Al Bhed bit his lip, gazing at the deranged mess in front of him before frantically grabbing items and shoving them into the trashcan, arms flailing like windmills. As he tossed a battered spoon over his shoulder, Gippal turned once more to the doors. Through the paneled glass, he could distinctly make out the shapes of two heads.
He uttered a strangled sort of squeak, diving and shoving his afternoon's remains in the kitchen corner, where it wouldn't be visible from the entrance and the hallway. That done, he ran one final hand through his hand, desperately racking out the knots, sauce, and remaining flour, before bounding into the hall, just as the doors gave off a faint click and swung open.
As he had suspected, the white head of Baralai bobbed into view, smooth strands almost gleaming under the evening sun. Behind the praetor, however, was a man Gippal hadn't previously met, but recognized by previous trips to Bevelle, who shut the door smoothly with a nudge of the elbow. Yes, same black hair, brown skin.
What was it again? Maroda?
The two were talking quietly though rather animatedly, Baralai with a large parcel of groceries in his hands and Maroda with two smaller ones. Swallowing and licking his lips, Gippal suddenly felt highly stupid as the praetor turned to face him, dark eyes unreadable. His mind told him he should apologize now and just get it over with. Baralai was probably waiting for some sort of explanation anyway…
But before he could say or do anything, the praetor had already walked up to him, albeit hastily, hesitated slightly, whispered a soft "hey"…
… and kissed him lightly on the lips.
Gippal would have stumbled back in shock if there hadn't already been a wall behind him.
Pulling away from the kiss (it had been more of a brush, really), Baralai gave him the fleetest of warnings, a faint caution glare in his eyes, along with a small smile at the sight of Gippal's shock and sputtering indignation. Acting like he had just performed the naturalist thing in the world, he continued down the hall and into the kitchen, calling sweetly over his shoulder, "Bring it in here, Maroda."
The shock now practically rapping him upside the head, Gippal turned, still slightly livid, and blushed to the roots of his hair at the amused though slightly surprised expression Maroda was wearing, who didn't hide his grin fast enough. Instead, the man merely laughed, slipping out of his boots before following his white-haired friend. "So, I take it you're Gippal. Baralai wasn't lying after all. That man really does attract a lot of celebrities, with his innocent looks and all. I'm almost jealous."
Not knowing what to say, the Al Bhed merely blinked, raising an eyebrow rather suspiciously, and was surprised when Maroda stopped in front of him, declared firmly: "I'm Maroda, Isaaru's brother", and proceeded to shake the daylights out of Gippal's hand. That done, he frowned, staring at Gippal firmly, before he smiled warmly once more and continued his way, shifting his parcels back onto his right hand.
Behind him, Gippal blinked.
Mood swings, that one.
So then… He assumed Baralai had agreed.
Unsure whether he should be thankful or worried (now that he thought about it, the entire favor had been a little bizarre) he followed Maroda into the kitchen, not noticing the inert figure of Baralai until it was too late. Foot squelching on several limp noodles, the Al Bhed paused, looking down in faint surprise. Then his memory flooded back again, and he swallowed.
A heated glare scorched into the back of his head.
"Just what… happened here?" Baralai asked softly. Dangerously.
It was enough to send Nooj crawling.
-
Shrugging hair out of his eyes, Baralai twisted out the rag, watching silently as water dripped from its previous confinements into the sink. He held it for several seconds, feeling the slight strain pull against his wrists, before releasing the cloth and shaking it out. The counter in which he had been previously cleaning was faring decently, stains having been persistently picked away.
He turned towards the sink and its array of dirty dishes, innocently gleaming under the kitchen lights. The room was almost completely silent, save for his steady progress and the scrubbing on the floor besides him.
"Hey… 'Lai?"
Gippal's loud yet hesitant drawl shattering the previous silence, Baralai turned slightly, gazing questioningly at the shirtless blond who continued to scrub furiously at the sauce-flecked floor, face hidden behind a mass of golden locks. Though he wasn't sure, the praetor was positive the Al Bhed was currently wearing his poker face, eye hard and mouth set. Sighing softly, Baralai turned back to the sink, rinsing a glass plate and setting it up to dry.
"Yeah?"
He could sense more than hear Gippal hesitate, hand stilling against the floor. Running a hand through his hair, the Al Bhed swallowed, leaning back onto his knees, a faint sheen of sweat on his torso. It amused Baralai slightly how the Al Bhed automatically took off his shirt whenever he did work. When he had asked Gippal why in their first days in the Crimson Squad, the blond had merely replied, "For the ladies. What they ask, I willingly do." He guessed it was just one of those things that stuck.
"About earlier… Why did you — No, why did you agree?"
Baralai raised an eyebrow, grabbing another dish and ignoring the faint blush on his cheeks, having caught the faint hesitation. He knew the original question: Why did you kiss me? Licking his lips, he swallowed. "Long story short, a girl was getting a little bit on my nerves and didn't know when to stop talking, so I told her off."
"Told her off?"
"It was a spur of the moment thing. She wanted to ask you out. I told her that with me being your boyfriend, that could prove to be a problem."
Behind him, Gippal gave off a faint laugh. "I never thought you'd say something like that to a random stranger. Feisty, aren't we?"
There was a splat as Gippal found himself face to face with a wet sponge.
Rubbing his eyes, the Al Bhed growled angrily, chucking the abused item back towards its master as hard as he could. Baralai yelped and shielded his face with a plate, though was a second to late; the sponge cut past his barrier and connected head on with his nose.
The room ringing with Gippal's laughter, the praetor pouted, hiding a small smile. Turning back to the sink, he carefully placed the sponge back to its rightful place.
"So, what reactions did you get?" Gippal's voice, though still laced with amusement, had suddenly gone dry, and Baralai had a hunch why. Despite the Al Bhed's carefree attitude, the praetor knew that he was worried about his reputation as well. Who wouldn't be?
Lucky for him, new would reach Djose slower, but either way, the people there probably wouldn't care or degrade their head by much anyway. Gippal was already the biggest womanizer around; so what if he began to chase men also?
Or so Baralai believed. And Baralai being Baralai, he was never wrong.
"There wasn't anyone else around besides Maroda, though I'd bet all my money that word will be out tomorrow about… us," the praetor muttered quietly, reaching for a dirty cup.
"Ah." A hesitant pause. "Maroda, huh? He's an interesting guy. Pretty calm about it though. I was more expecting him to yell 'Faggot' or something."
Even though Baralai knew the last statement was made more for humor, he bristled a little in defense. Sure, he didn't know the dark-haired man as well as his brother, but he did know him well enough to plot out his personality and values. "Maroda's not like that. Besides, he's dealt with things like this before."
If Gippal had any questions or curiosity with the last phrase, he didn't show it. The Al Bhed merely grunted before continuing with his work, and Baralai did the same. Silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, the praetor shifting awkwardly and not knowing what to do. Finally, Gippal broke the silence once more.
"Hey, 'Lai? I… I'm really sorry about doing this to you. If it bothers you in any way… we'll drop it, 'kay? I just don't really want any awkwardness. Like now."
Baralai laughed weakly. "I don't think it can get any worse than this."
Silence, then:
"You realize we'd… have to do more. You know, get used to each other. Act natural."
Baralai nodded slowly, eyes on the clean bowl in his hands.
"And you're still gonna help?"
Another nod, slower than before. There was a ring of uncomfort in the air, mixed emotions merging, the same between them but for different reasons.
"'Lai? I'm really sorry."
The scrubbing had stopped once more.
Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, the praetor smiled, gazing at his blank expression in the window. "Yeah, I know."
There was a rustle of cloth and the sound of footsteps. Turning back down to rinse out the sink, Baralai started when he felt two arms wrap around him, though a bit awkwardly. The praetor let out a surprised yelp, feeling Gippal's breath brush lightly against his neck.
He swallowed. Not good…
Fighting down a small blush, Baralai forced himself to relax. It was sort of nice, actually… Probably would have been better if the rag the Al Bhed had been using wasn't currently digging into his hip, but… Finally, with a small squeeze, the arms slowly let go.
"Thanks, Baralai."
Brief silence.
"Yeah… No prob."
More silence followed.
"So…" Gippal stated idly behind him, gazing at the ceiling with sudden interest. He ran a hand through his hair before grinning. "I take it if your this mad about your kitchen, you wouldn't exactly wanna see your room, huh?"
Baralai froze.
Slowly, he turned, glaring daggers. "Gippal…"
-
(1)
Sorry! I couldn't resist. For all of you blinking and confused,
please forgive an author's stupid need to add horribly made jokes…
eheh… Yeah, we'll just wait a second for those who fell off their
chairs to get righted again before continuing…
(2) Oh,
if only he knew… Please ignore me as I go pet my PS2. Yes, aren't
you a good boy? Oh, yes you are!
(3) Yes,
I know that Jacuzzis aren't likely items of enjoyment in Spira, but
hey! My rules here. MINE I SAY! Heh.