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…
Thanks to Kimi for being my beta-reader.
A/N: I'm back once more! Sorry about the horribly long delay; my family thought it'd be ever so wonderful to go on a fascinating (COUGH) trip to Oklahoma! Woo hoo. Ugh. Yeah, so anyway, I was there for a week (during my spring break, nonetheless… oh, what a waste…) without a phone, a television, and worst of all, without a computer! So hopefully, many of you will understand an author's sad attempt at an apology and move on without throwing tomatoes or anything.
Anyhoo, I have decided that the chapters from now on are to be extra long. There will be one per day of the week that Gippal and Baralai have, so this most likely won't be one of those endless-chaptered fics, but I'm also hoping that the extensive chapters will make up for it.
Also, I'm also going to try to do monthly updates. I know, I know, a whole freaking month, but considering my packed schedule and annoying habit to drift between posts, four-week limits are actually asking for a bit much, and might even be pushed…
One more note: just as a forewarning, Gippal is in no way a morning person. Eheh…
But don't let me keep you from the actual chapter. The third installment follows…
(Oh, and thanks loads for those who corrected my Al Bhed in their reviews, and for those who didn't, feel free to nit-pick at my work. Constructive criticism is something I need right now. Meh, I really suck at that code. I'll try to fix it in my spare time.)
The Art of Deception
Natsue Arishima
Phase Two: Designing a Suitable Blueprint
"Gippal! Would you get that please?"
The sounds of Baralai's gentle yet now obnoxiously tumultuous voice, despite being a floor and a shower away, along with the relentless ringing of a chiming doorbell, cut through the darkness and bliss of sleep as effectively as it would have been if one had been jumping up and down on his ribs. Raising a muffled groan, Gippal covered his face with a pillow, burrowing back into his pig's nest of blankets and rubbing a scarred eye irritably, having been successfully torn away from his fantasies of giggling and frolicking women.
That, of course, didn't mean that he couldn't fantasize about them again.
Yet, when sleep was a mere inch away, and when he could faintly hear the sounds of feminine voices…
"Gippal!"
Uuuuuugh…
"Shlepen… G'way…" The Al Bhed waved his hands limply, but being as he was downstairs and Baralai up, the effort was a fruitless attempt.
"Now!" The praetor's final, warning word was accompanied by a long series of doorbell ringing. Gippal cursed angrily under his breath, raising his head groggily and blinking across the room, face contorted with sleep. 6:30. And considering he had gone to sleep last night at around one, when he and the praetor had realized they wouldn't be able to furnish a room upstairs for him without any furniture, he desperately needed the sleep.
A long drone of the annoying chime blared through his skull, rattling its contents.
"Coming!" the Al Bhed snarled, rolling off the couch (yes, the couch, seeing as it was either that, the bathtub, or Baralai's bed) into a crumpled ball on the floor. Still tangled within the numerous sheets, the man pulled himself up to his feet, gave an ungainly wobble, and crashed back down onto the cold, cold floor, cracking his cheek on the way.
For crying out loud…
Cursing louder than before, Gippal managed to somehow worm his way out of his constricting prison, dragging himself onto his feet and fetching his eye patch, which was, annoyingly enough, sitting innocently on the accursed table. The man snapped it on, wincing as it cracked onto his eye, before charging down the hall with all the ferocity of a rampaging, lunatic chimera.
His mind still stupidly drowsy from denied sleep, the Al Bhed began muttering indistinguishable obscenities under his breath as he thundered down the hall. The man fumbled at the doorknob and wrenched it open, hair askew, skin deathly pale, eyes livid and bloodshot, and to top it all off, an unearthly, booger-colored bruise forming smack-dab in his face.
So all in all, it was quite understandable when Pacce gave an ear-splitting screech, howled "IT'S SIN!" and fainted dead away.
What better way for introductions?
A wonderful way to start off the week, really.
Clothed in nothing but a ratty old pair of jeans (being the only thing in reach during his lunge out of the bathroom and through the door), Baralai's previous irritative aura at being torn away from a soothing shower by suspiciously-sounding screams pertaining to death quickly faded at the sight that greeted him after he had rushed down the stairs. Surprised and amused, the praetor bit down his smile, instead directing his energy at dumping water spells repetitively over the unconscious boy, whose prone body lay sprawled across the doorstep, eyes glazed and deep within the process of forming a series of spit bubbles from the corner of his mouth.
Besides him, Gippal was livid, sputtering indignantly, either from rage or his lack of sleep thereof. (Baralai picked the latter. It was a common fact that sleep-deprived Al Bheds processed information at the rates of worms, and Gippal, sadly, was no exception.) "I — he… wha… damn it all…" His eyes, still hazy and unfocused, were inches away from flying out of their sockets. "He… fainted… from my gorgeous face? How dare he!"
Baralai twitched.
The Al Bhed was restrained from his murderous, slightly floundering, attack by a very nervous-looking Maroda, who immediately dumped the contents of his arms onto the floor with a thundering crash and seized hold of the Al Bhed's shoulders. Baralai thanked him profusely.
Ten minutes later found all four in the slightly quieter kitchen. Pacce, revived and sopping wet, was hovering in the far corner, dark eyes darting suspiciously at the ruffed Al Bhed. Said Al Bhed was sitting at the counter, a mug of coffee in his hands and nose in the air, swearing that he would apologize only after Pacce admitted he was hot. Baralai was smiling quietly at the oven (more at Gippal's stupidity than anything else, as well as the fact that Pacce had fainted once more immediately after being revived at a glimpse of the Al Bhed's face), warming some leftovers, while Maroda fussed over his broken possessions, having been dumped rudely onto the floor during the attempts to pacify Gippal.
"So," Gippal drawled, mind slightly clearer than it had been moments before, though still clouded with the last dregs of sleep. He took a long sip of his coffee and choked. Baralai stifled his laughter, no longer having a collar to hide behind, and the blond sent a haughty look his way. "What brings both you fine young ladies… gentlemen here this morning?" The blond shifted slightly, uttering a faint cough.
The praetor rolled his eyes.
Maroda blinked, looking up between his scrapes of glass and ignorant of the fact that he had just been dubbed a woman. "What? Baralai didn't tell you?" Behind him, Pacce sniggered from his corner for reasons unknown, eyes darting around in paranoia.
"… No…"
"We're helping him refurnish his house. Can't have it like this for your lovely reunion, can we?"
Refurnish, house, reunion… Gippal scrunched up his face in a painful attempt to comprehend the three so horribly difficult words. Baralai sighed. A worm of its own, Gippal was.
The words finally seemed to sink in, for the Al Bhed's face lightened immediately. "So I take it that was your previous silverware set?" the man mused dryly at the shattered plates on the floor. He was given a nod and a sad sigh.
"Oh… Erm… sorry 'bout that…"
Maroda shrugged. "Damage's already done." He wistfully matched two pieces together. "Though it was worth a crap-load of gil."
"…"
"Oh, wait, sorry, not meaning to put any guilt on you or anything." The dark-haired man waved his hands apologetically. "You can pay up by helping us get the furniture in. They should be coming soon; I called them a few minutes before I got here."
"Sure thing," the Al Bhed said automatically before the faintest pricks of suspicion lighted his face. "Wait…" He turned accusingly at Baralai, who had been silently tracking the conversation. "You've recruited me as a housemaid?"
The praetor, not being easily intimidated, was unimpressed under the scorching glare. Pulled away from his slowly warming food, he raised an eyebrow. "No… not really. But hey, if you're pro for running around in frilly dresses and aprons as a housemaid, be my guest." Baralai smiled as Gippal's face contorted in an obviously painful attempt to refrain from strangling his companion. Gradually, the blond's massive twitches came to a stop, the bruise on his cheek now a nasty shade of green.
Baralai knew for a fact that, if given a choice, Gippal would rather eat a lich then doing anything that even closely resembled cleaning. As Gippal had said years before: "I do machina and only machina", followed by massive arm flexes and giggling and swooning girls. Baralai hadn't truthfully thought of giving the Al Bhed any part of the work, but considering the man had brought up the topic himself, why not? It was actually quite a brilliant idea. Smiling his most innocent smile, the praetor batted his eyelashes at the nearly revolted other. "You'll help, right?"
"But…" Gippal sputtered, cowering on his stool. "No… I am not gonna help you decorate your fucking mansion. Do you know how long that would take? I have things to do, women to see —" Baralai's protruding elbow on top of his head promptly shut him up.
Pacce snickered again, and nearly fainted once more at the blue-eyed glower.
"Think of it as… a favor…" Baralai whispered softly, reaching out a hand and tucking back several of Gippal's more unruly strands. The blond narrowed his eyes at contact, catching the knowing gleam in Baralai's dark eyes. Fine, a favor for a favor. He supposed it was fair…
He suddenly wondered what the original favor had been in the first place before the events of the previous two days literally kicked him in the brain: Rikku, devil woman, date, Baralai, boyfriend…
Oh yeah…
Add yesterday's… odd, er… lip brushing, and Gippal was partially ready to dive under the covers once more and dream everything away, where there were no worries whatsoever (except, perhaps, on how many condoms his dream double possessed). Strange, really, how the weekend had passed like a breeze, leaving important spaces blank and embarrassing spaces large and crystal clear.
He sighed, realizing again just how stupid he had been to ask Baralai such a favor.
Sure, he had suggested the "no awkward emotions" rule, but he doubted that they could hold it up much longer. Being around Baralai would just become… he could find no other word for it besides awkward. Technically, it wasn't that bad. The two of them still enjoyed each other's company like before, or at least were close to getting to that key point in friendship that they had previously shared, and at times things seemed almost absolutely normal. But whenever other people were around, or when the topic was brought up, things got uncomfortable. And considering how he had never exactly had to experience such emotions before, he couldn't say he was easeful with it. Another infuriating fact was that Baralai was perfectly natural with the whole ordeal.
He frowned. If Baralai could act casual, so could he. Right? He was Gippal Almighty, after all. If anyone was good at acting gay, it'd be him.
He couldn't regret the whole thing forever anyway.
Oh yes, he'd show them. He'd be the queerest of them all. He'd be so crooked he'd be straight. He'd be so gay he'd send homos to shame. He would definitely over-power Baralai's obvious fakeness. Oh yes, that'd be what he'd do.
…
Bastard.
Even during the summer, after strutting around proclaiming Baralai as his wife, he had never felt this awkward. Then again, Baralai hadn't kissed him either, so he supposed it had been on slightly different terms, and besides, that had been on his home ground. People here were so uptight, it was a wonder they were able to walk around with those sticks shoved up their asses.
And besides, back then, things had been like a game. He could call it off whenever he felt like it, and it hadn't been a requirement to hold up the act. Now, it was a priority if he wanted to get rid of Devon for good. And get rid of her for good he definitely wanted.
Now, to act gay…
Right. First rule: to change the inside, change the outside. Staring at nothing in particular (and unknowingly gazing at Baralai's ass as the praetor returned to the oven), Gippal scoffed slightly, realizing that, among the numerous firsts he seemed to be experiencing, this was also the first time he had ever actually considered acting even the slightest bit queer. He supposed he should have thought about it earlier had he been smart, but, well, it was too late now. He sighed.
Where was he?
Oh yeah. To change the inside, change the outside.
He'd go shopping.
That was what queers did, right?
See, he was getting somewhere!
God was this uncomfortable…
Chugging the last drops of liquid in his mug, the Al Bhed shot up and declared his sudden and strange urge to leave the house. That done, he barged onwards before any protests (most of which from a white-haired praetor) could be made, giving a wave and searing out the door. It wasn't like he was in the mood for moving furniture anyway.
Gippal forgot two very important things. One, that he and Baralai were both extremely popular among Spira's top people, and for them to rouse suspicion or change in anyway would surely result in a worldwide catastrophe, and two, that women from Bevelle were extremely straightforward and rather menacing at times, especially when it came to unfavorable rumors of their favorite men.
If he hadn't previously known the latter, he would soon find out.
Sifting from store to store, Gippal found that most Bevellian shops contained potions, staffs, swords, tables, dressers, mechanical gadgets, chocobo mutants, indistinguishable blobs, screaming children, blood-hungry hounds, and all other insanely bizarre and disordered things. What they didn't have, however, were clothes of any kind. No shirts, no pants, no coats, no hats, no shoes, no nothing. Besides the occasional tortoise-scaled thong, there was absolutely nothing that he needed.
Okay, so he lied. There were plenty of clothes. The only problem was that they absolutely fucking sucked. Plain or garish, large or impossibly tight.
That would explain Baralai's wardrobe then. (1)
Pokka dots, checkered, old, holey, baggy, loose… Some stuck to him like second skin. Wherever he went, they glared out at him, colors horribly sewn together, patterns weak and years out of date. He swore that were he to stare and search any longer, they would have burned out his eyeballs and left him as a charred heap of ash on the ground.
Okay, so he lied again. They weren't that bad. They were just stiff, boring, clashing, dysfunctional, and positively murderous. But not that bad, really. They just…weren't him. They were too… neat, straight, different. Too Bevelle-like.
In other words, he was broke, and everything was too damn expensive.
After another thirty minutes, the Al Bhed was found pondering to himself, contemplating whether or not to return back to Baralai's place. He was two steps closer to the mansion before he remembered the shit-load of furniture and chores most likely waiting him there; that thought in mind, he promptly spun around on his heel and continued his way down the street, hands casually in his pockets and followed by a large pack of drooling and swirly-eyed girls.
His second instinct was to go and seduce man's gentler sex, and he winked at several passing targets as well as the mass stalkers behind him as he continued his ever so casual way. The majority of his victims remained swooning and blushing, though he was surprised to see some passing girls frown and turn away. Rumors, perhaps? His train of thought reminded him that his usual idea of fun was no longer a pleasure that he could do because of his… tight restrictions.
Damn.
He was disappointed, yes, but reminded himself that that slot would be open again once this whole ordeal was over. There was no way, however, that he was returning to the mansion unless he had to, meaning that unless the earth jumped up and began swallowing Spira, or if acid hail began to rain, or if he was plowed down by a rampaging mob, he wouldn't return. As long as there was no confrontation with angry homophobics, he would be peachy fine. Sighing, the Al Bhed resumed his sad shopping spree, scanning the ground for loose gil.
The girls behind him watched his every move, mouths open to such a degree that Gippal never thought it was humanly possible. Strange, though. Perhaps the rumors and small talk had yet to go all the way around. Why else would he still be the center of attention with the ladies? He seemed to be attracting a wider variety of girls as well. His thoughts were confirmed when an old lady passed him and winked, gnarly hands a clawed vice on her walking stick.
Shudder…
"Yer a brave one, admitten' stuff liek dat," she growled, patting him on his back. The force of her hand almost drove him face-first into the ground. Sputtering, he straightened himself up again, only to have the wrinkled hand pat — no, punch — him twice as hard. Gasps were elicited as he crashed into a clothes rack.
Gippal suddenly realized that, among the numerous faces of girls and old women, eyes of men dwelled as well.
Aw shit.
Smiling weakly, he jerked his shoulder away and continued his search for decent clothes, albeit rabidly. Even in the dressing rooms he felt like he was being watched. Women and men alike swarmed around him like annoying flies; it was becoming rather overwhelming. Never in Djose did he draw such a crowd. Then again, Djose's population was considerably smaller than that of Bevelle. Normally he wouldn't have minded. It was attention after all. In the spotlight. But after dozens of offers from willing citizens to help him strip were made, Gippal felt that maybe, just maybe, it was crossing the line.
A tiny part of his brain told him that perhaps moving furniture wouldn't be too bad after all. The voice magnified to a deafening roar after he was cornered by two surly looking men batting eyelashes at him.
"Um… hi," he managed to squeak before crawling away from his suffocating prison.
Minutes later found him yelping at repetitive pinches in rather private areas. Turning, he murmured seductively, "Slow down, ladies," only to find himself face to face with a drooling man in a blindingly bright neon trench coat. Honestly, he hadn't even known that the clothing was made in such a gaudy shade.
Whispers heightened as he passed by, most of which, surprisingly, were pro for his situation. A girl with a chocobo gazed at him dreamily, muttering something along the lines of "I don't care if he's gay. He's still a slice of sexy man flesh…" before promptly getting kicked in the guts by her feathered steed. Gippal decided to avoid any other suspicious-looking chocobo freaks.
An old woman that had been hanging up dripping articles of clothing glared at him before elbowing her friend. "I knew he was gay all along. Men have to be very sure of their sexuality to wear such a shade of pink."
Gippal twitched.
He passed up two other date offers from leering men, and by the end of the hour (had it only been an hour? Good god!) was inches away from tearing out his hair and thundering down the street like a raving lunatic. Jumping up onto a pile of reeking crates, chest heaving, face livid, and eyes inches from popping out of their sockets, he bellowed, "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"
His words failed their duty; they drew, if possible, even more people.
Shooting himself in the head didn't sound so bad right now.
Yanking his boot out of the grip of a melting man with four teeth, he shrieked, "I'M NOT INTERESTED! SO DON'T ASK!" A few other men attached themselves to his leg and begged for him to go out with them. Good lord. Disgusted and slightly appalled, he shook them off. More pleads and whines followed and he nearly fell off the crates. "I DIG BARALAI ONLY AND THAT'S THAT!"
Silence.
Huh.
Well wasn't that odd.
He blinked, going into a temporary daze and unknowingly striking a pose. That had been… really weird. He ran the words over in his head again. Wow. Just… strange. No other way to describe it.
He was brought back to earth by coos and giggles. The men pulled away, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. Served them right, Gippal thought smugly as he watched them go with an air of superiority, arms crossed over his chest. His complacent thoughts dissipated when he realized that half of the female population remained present, eyeing him with wonder and "You Are My New Idol" stamped across their foreheads. Words like, "He's so sweet!", "Lucky Yevon bastards," and "Hear that, Baralai and Baralai only… Such a romantic," rippled through the crowd.
Gippal drooped his head in defeat.
Really, he should have gone back and moved that damn furniture, though it was too late now, the Al Bhed thought woefully as he jumped off the wobbling crates, swatting away eager hands. He proceeded to march towards the nearest bathroom and lock himself in, leaning against the door and sliding onto the floor. He'd stay and wait them out. Or rot. Either way, he really didn't want to return to that house unless necessary. Besides, the worst was already over. Right?
Okay, so moving shit wasn't so bad, but… if he did it today, he'd have to do it tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, until he grew old and broke his back and turned into a hag and wandered the streets in rags and begged for money… Overreacting much? Of course not. And besides, it just wasn't something he'd normally do. Machina was fun, but furniture was just too straightforward. Too boring. Not to mention heavy. He didn't dig things like that.
Realizing that it was suddenly very quiet, he slowly and silently unlocked the hatch and peeped out his head to find a smelly, dirty, and completely and wonderfully empty bathroom. Breathing a sigh of relief, he cautiously inched out, diving for the nearest stand after he'd left the safety of his previous haven, curling himself into the smallest ball that he could possibly roll into without breaking anything. Who knew the people of Bevelle were this easily roused?
When minutes passed and no one came up to him, he relaxed and stood up. A gunshot couldn't have been more effective; around him, several women turned and he immediately tensed, quivering and ready to dive back into the bathroom. They smiled to each other, some giggling, and rushed forward to him again, springing up questions and requests.
"How far have you gotten?"
"What's it like?"
"Who's on top?"
"How does he kiss?"
"How do you kiss?"
"Wanna kiss me?"
… Bevelle… was so twisted.
The Al Bhed sighed. Guess he'd have to go through with it. But hey, at least he was no longer being tailed by men, the groping (not that he minded that much) had lessened, and the clothes ripping had stopped completely. He could live with this. It looked like he didn't need to respond to the call of furniture after all. Smirking slightly (the women behind him swooned), he continued his casual way, temporarily forgetting what he had come for in the first place before an ugly feathered scarf spurred his memory. He sighed, returning back to the numerous shelves and racks that awaited him.
No, the Almighty Gippal was not hiding from his work. Neither was he avoiding it.
He'd much rather think of it as… a strategical evasion of obligatory work. Sly as a fox. Yes, cool and detached. Coy, cunning, smart, and —
Sweet mother of fuck, was that DEVON?
The girls around him blinked as the area where the Al Bhed had stood was replaced with a cloud dust.
Swallowing and straightening himself, Gippal continued to indulge himself in… women's animal-skinned bras. Right. Best to duck out of that department. He resurfaced again in the flashy pants section. Not the best, but it would have to do. Peeking around the corner, he fumbled with a pair of pants and literally tied a knot around his arms with them in his nervousness and shock. Gippal cursed loudly. Could this day get any better? Muttering to himself, he ripped them off, wincing at the previously intact and now destroyed seam he'd helped ruin in the crotch area.
His guilt evaporated when he realized that the girl in which he'd thought to be the devil woman was an entirely different person. Clasping his hands together, he took a few seconds thanking the "God Dude" before striding out with confidence. That had been completely stupid. Rikku had already told him that Devon was currently on a vacation on some god-forsaken island that no one knew about. Hence the reason he had come to Baralai in the first place, instead of dialing up the girl, calling it off right then, and hoping she'd have no questions and never contact him again.
Psshh. In dreams, maybe.
Gippal, you dumbass.
Besides, even if he had known her phone number, he doubted that he would have called her anyway.
Why? That girl literally scared the crap out of him.
It took several moments after his growing fanclub had found him once more before he decided that perhaps Baralai's place was the safest and smartest place to be after all. And besides, he really needed to think things over. And perhaps talk with the praetor. Plot out where they were going with this. And how far the two of them were actually willing to go.
He made a mental reminder to thank Baralai again once he got a chance. Not everyone would volunteer to act as his or her best friend's gay boyfriend.
Sigh.
Grudgingly, he turned towards the rightful direction. Ah well. He couldn't put off work forever. That'd be in a perfect world, with no devil incarnates and rabid fans. In no way was Spira perfect.
Far from it.
He returned unscathed (physically; his clothes had suffered a small beating) to find a gigantic truck outside Baralai's large and impressive house. Said praetor was currently dragging a miniature sofa inside the opened double doors, silver hair gleaming almost unnaturally in the sun, with the help of a weary-looking Maroda. Gippal felt a small pang of guilt at this, and swallowing, proceeded onto the verdant lawn.
"Hey… hold up," the praetor strained, setting down his end of the leather seat and wiping his forehead. A few steps inside the house, Maroda also placed his half on the floor, leaning on it as he caught his breath. Behind them, there was a crash and an unruly wail; the dark-haired man sighed and rolled his eyes. Turning, he hollered a warning "Pacce!" before smiling sheepishly at his companion. Baralai laughed, nodding. "Go ahead. Make sure he's not flattened or anything."
Maroda hesitated slightly before nodding back. "I'll be right back." He disappeared into the house.
Sighing slightly, Baralai frowned and looked the sofa over. He pondered silently for a few seconds before blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes, shifting and slamming all his weight onto the couch. It was almost comical. Despite his effort and faint curses, the damnable thing remained motionless.
He pulled back and attempted a new, faintly desperate with a dash of annoyance, tactic. He kicked it. Hard. And obtained nothing except a throbbing big toe.
Behind him, Gippal laughed.
Baralai literally jumped, and the first mental image that spun into Gippal's mind was that of a chocobo caught in machina lights. Honestly, the praetor was almost cute like that, something he'd never thought he'd feel the need to express. Spinning around in surprise, the white-haired man tripped on his banged up foot and stumbled forward. He would have also most likely fallen on his face had it not been for the Al Bhed, who lunged forward and caught him securely in his arms.
"Mmph…" Baralai mumbled, blushing faintly. Gippal smelled… it was indescribable, though addicting nonetheless. Realizing what he was doing, the praetor pulled away rather meekly. He was not supposed to let his emotions get in the way. This was about Gippal. He'd already decided on that.
He wasn't going to make things more awkward then they were already bound to be. Gippal came to him as a friend. A friend only. The boyfriend thing would be an act. Nothing more. Unless he absolutely had too, Baralai wasn't going to back out of his favor because of his own daft emotions.
"You're back." A blunt statement.
Gippal raised an eyebrow, striking his usual stance. "You sound disappointed," he teased.
A shrug. "Maybe I am."
The Al Bhed pinched the other's nose playfully, spurring a yelp and a frown. Muttering and rubbing his molested facial feature, the praetor glared sharply at the other, who laughed. "Hey, save that crap for later." Walking partially inside the open doors, Gippal gazed down at the silent couch, twitching ever so slightly. "So," he managed to growl, glaring at the leather. "Which room to?"
Baralai eyed him suspiciously as the Al Bhed braced himself and reached to pick up his end. "What's with the sudden urge to be a good, helpful citizen?"
"Hey, I'm in a rather generous mood right now. And here I was, thinking you'd be grateful." Gippal flashed his companion his "come-hither" grin, hands hooked securely around the sofa's stubby, wooden legs.
Baralai rolled his eyes. "You had men following you in the marketplace, didn't you?"
"Damn straight! And I am never going back there again."
Sighing and unable to conceal his grin, the praetor shook his head and reached for the sofa again. With a nod, the two of them huffed and puffed the cursedly heavy item into the brightly-lit hallway. At Baralai's word, they proceeded to stumble along to the entertainment room, where the praetor's arms gave way and prompted the sofa to crash onto the floor, leaving Gippal standing helplessly before the weight was too much to bear and he ever so elegantly flopped onto the ground.
"Thanks loads," the Al Bhed mumbled against the carpet.
"You're most welcome."
Propping himself weakly onto his elbows, Gippal ran a hand through his hand and gazed listlessly around the room. "Okay, aren't you supposed to have little professional mover creeps heaving your furniture around for you?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?" the praetor questioned, blinking innocently.
Gippal banged his head against the floor.
"So…" he snarled, face slightly red from its harsh contact with the floor, "Why. Are. We. Moving. This. Shit." Overly enunciated just in case the praetor didn't get it.
"We're moving the small stuff. I'm not going to dish out gil when I know I could have done some of the work."
At such a degree of intimacy, the carpet was almost dazzling.
"You call this small?" the Al Bhed shrieked in disbelief, waving wild arms at the sofa as he jumped up to his feet. "It's as big as a freakin' cow! Do you know how big cows are? You could jump on them without them noticing! They could flatten people by sitting on them! Pulverize human flesh! A cow, dammit!"
Baralai shrugged, flicking imaginary pieces of lint off his shirt and obviously unimpressed. "Better than that new washing machine Maroda helped me with earlier."
Honestly, people of Bevelle were weird.
"Anything… else?" Gippal hissed icily, pulling himself to his feet. What a cold-hearted man, that Baralai. He leaned on the sofa just in case he would be sent back into the floor again. Yep, he hated furniture. Despised it.
The praetor frowned and began counting on his fingers. "No…" he said slowly. "No, that's basically it. You missed most of the heavy work on your four-hour excursion. How was it, by the way?"
"I took four hours! For real? No… it couldn't have been…" Gippal trailed off mumbling in Al Bhed, frowning and arguing with himself. When his companion continued to stare at him blankly, he sighed. "Want me to be subtle or blunt?"
"Either or. Your choice."
"A'rite." He cleared his throat. "I. Hate. Bevelle."
Baralai laughed. "I thought as much."
In a fluid movement, he walked towards the sofa and sat down, eliciting a small sigh of relief and satisfaction as he sunk into the cushions, folded his legs, and observed the contents of the room with a critical eye. It was coming along nicely. After the entire morning of moving and re-organizing, he and Maroda had practically gotten everything done and down. A few more minor touches and their part of the job would be over. Never again was he planning to lift another couch, let alone a lamp. He'd leave that to the movers.
The cushion next to him sunk down slightly and he jerked himself out of his thoughts, turning to see Gippal also settle himself down on the heavy piece of furniture, stretching out his legs and folding his arms behind his head. He gazed at the Al Bhed for a moment, watching his every movement, before smiling and closing his eyes, leaning his head back, enjoying this one moment of complete comfort and silence.
The Al Bhed cleared his throat, crossing his legs and resting them on Baralai's, whose eyes fluttered open as he raised an eyebrow towards the invading limbs. Gippal smiled, stretching.
"Don't mind, to you?"
Baralai sighed. "As long as they don't smell."
"Good. No problems then."
The praetor snorted. Besides him, the blond glanced almost cautiously around the room before whispering, "We need to talk."
He sensed the sudden urgency in the usually carefree voice. Swallowing, he straightened up and nodded, prompting Gippal to continue.
"Okay." The blond shifted slightly awkwardly. "For this whole… act… thing, we haven't exactly set the ground rules yet."
"Yeah, I was waiting for that," the praetor mused, cocking his head to the side. "But first, one question that you have yet to explain to me. Why do this?" At Gippal's confused expression, Baralai sighed. "Why are you bothering with me when you can just tell Devon to call it off?"
Once glance at the blond's horrified face told Baralai he was either missing something or being stupid. And seeing as he rarely did the latter, he assumed that there was, indeed, something missing.
"You really think I haven't thought about that?" Gippal exclaimed, jerking upwards. The praetor shied backwards from the spray of spit. "Oops, sorry 'bout that…" He wiped his mouth hastily. "But hey, believe me, if it was that fucking easy, I already would have done something like that. But dude, she's nothing like a normal, regular, healthy human being. She's like… a leech. A filthy, blood-sucking leech."
Gippal shuddered, rubbing his arms furiously. Baralai raised an eyebrow. "What a nice comparison," he muttered.
The blond sent his dazzling though slightly sheepish grin towards him. "Spur of the moment thing. Anyway, you really think she'll back off that easily?" He paused for a moment before laughing softly. "I know her type. She doesn't care about the typical loser guy. But when she finds a winner, a famous, all that guy" —(Gippal wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk) — "she will do everything in her power to keep him in her grasp."
The praetor chuckled faintly, throwing a gentle swipe towards his companion, who dodged it. "And what makes you think you're such a catch?"
"What, jealous?"
Baralai shook his head, switching back to the original problem. "Right. So for some strange reason you aren't able to just tell her off face to face —"
"And I don't exactly know where she is right now." A sheepish smile.
The praetor twitched. "Saying that would have made this a lot easier, you know?"
"I was getting there."
The white-haired man shook his head. Honestly… He rubbed his temples brief before turning to face Gippal once more. Al Bheds… "But you know for a fact that she's coming back this weekend."
"Sadly, yes. Saturday, thing's on Sunday."
"And who informed you of this?"
"Rikku, that bitch…"
"And you trust her?"
"Duh! I went out with her long enough to know her general personality, and trust me, that girl can't lie."
Baralai laughed softly before he reflected on the blond's previous words. He bit his lip. Devon would be coming back this weekend. That'd give them less than a week. Best get things running then. "So what about these guidelines?"
Tearing his gaze from the ceiling to the praetor's indifferent expression, Gippal lifted his head from its previous resting place against his arms. He nodded slightly, thinking. "A'right. You know that this has to be as persuasive as we can get it to be."
"Right."
"Meaning complete ease with each other in the house and in public. When asked, no sputtering or blushing and denying the fact that we're… well, going out."
"Mm hmm," Baralai replied nonchalantly, before realizing that he was supposed to be paying attention to Gippal instead of his nails. A small smile suddenly found a way to his face as his mind registered the blond's previous words. Turning to the other mischievously, he murmured. "Perfectly fine with me, but do you think you can keep it up?"
"And we're gonna hafta — wait, what?" Gippal sputtered indignantly, jerking upright. "Keep it up? I should think so!"
"I dunno… You were really tense yesterday. I'd better be careful if I were you. Don't want to ruin your own plan by bad acting."
"I — what — what in the world are you implying? That I can't act? I'll have you know, acting is something I depend on when dumping or picking a girl! If you —"
"Alright, alright. I believe you," Baralai replied seriously, but a hitch in his voice betrayed his intentions.
Gippal frowned. "No you don't."
"Of course I don't. What, you think I'm impaired or something? If it keeps on going like your reaction from yesterday, even the dumbest person — even LeBlanc, and Yevon knows nothing gets through her unusually thick skull — will know that you're faking it."
The Al Bhed placed a hand on his chest, shocked. "I think you're the one who's gonna hafta kick it up a notch! Me? I should think not!" He shoved his nose in the air now ringing with the praetor's light, soothing laughter. "And besides, I don't think you're striking the proper tone with me right now; I'm very sensitive."
Baralai raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure. And by the way, you're fabulous at taking criticism." He smiled, knowing that Gippal's temper would most likely get the better of him again.
"I —" Gippal paused before slowly closing his mouth, staring hard at his hands as he slowly calmed himself, much to the praetor's surprise. Baralai narrowed his eyes. The blond was taking this whole dating ordeal a lot more seriously than he had expected. It was the third time in his entire life that he'd seen Gippal refrain or at least attempt to block his usual string of yells and curses, silent and somber instead.
He didn't like this Gippal.
Swallowing harshly, the Al Bhed sighed. "Right. You're right. Sorry. I dunno, this is all so sudden…"
"Ah ha! So you admit you can't act!" the praetor teased, pressing a small attempt to liven the atmosphere again. It seemed to work.
The blond twitched before grabbing a pillow and bashing Baralai over the head with it, who gasped in surprise before yanking harshly at the obtruding object, jerking it successfully out of Gippal's hands. Laughing triumphantly, he smirked before thwacking his companion back, who sputtered. "Oh, you're asking for it!" he roared before springing forward and tackling the white-haired man.
Baralai yelped, attempting to worm out of the Al Bhed's grip. He failed miserably, sides aching from laughter.
"Still think you're such a natural?" Gippal sneered above him, furiously tickling his sides.
Holding back a peal of laughter, the praetor nodded.
"Well then, why don't you prove —"
His sentence was cut off by a high-pitched wail when a blur of black sped into the room.
"— that your dick's bigger than mine!" Gippal finished lamely, face a neon shade of crimson as he screamed out the first thought in mind that (to him) seemed to be a phrase a typical crooked man might say. Hastily, he rolled off the couch and away from his previous odd position. The praetor smacked himself in the forehead out of shame and pity for the blond's limited brainpower, still slightly breathless as he pushed himself up again.
Thankfully, the black blur, which proved itself to be Pacce, wasn't paying them the least bit of attention. Chest heaving and face contorted in horror, he darted under the sofa (how he managed to squeeze his chubby form under there still remains a mystery) and lay there quivering and at the same time hissing, "He's gonna kill me… he's gonna kill me…" at the same time letting out strings of laughter.
When the boy refused to say anything intelligible, the praetor gave up and gazed apologetically (and not without a dash of his previous playfulness and spur of shame) at Gippal, mouthing, "We'll talk later." That done, he paced out of the room, beckoning his still fuming companion to follow, who did, albeit suspiciously. "What…?" he drawled slowly as his friend led him back into the hallway.
"I forgot about that table," was his curt reply.
Four 'o clock found all four boys, including a very bruised and miserable Pacce and a colorfully painted Maroda, in the kitchen, with Baralai at the counter once more, heating up any leftovers and instant meals he had left in the fridge for a rather late lunch. Or early dinner. Dunch. Linner. Something like that. Right.
Ahem.
Sprawled out on the floor, Gippal remained limp and surprisingly quiet. It turned out that Baralai had also forgotten the loveseat, armchair, dining room chairs, a gazillion books, and another couch. Honestly, he hadn't even thought the man had been serious. After the final murderous shove on the fat and lousy couch, Gippal had collapsed and refused to never move or speak again, only giving off a small grunt when Maroda had been forced to drag him away from the living room and onto the kitchen floor by an amused Baralai.
It was actually a very hard vow to keep up, considering there was a stupid piece of mysterious crap digging sharply and relentlessly into his back.
Then again, it gave him an excuse to think.
Eyes locking onto a random section of the bare ceiling, Gippal frowned to himself. He had tried to talk to Baralai earlier, but after being accused of being a horrible actor and walked in on, he had been unable to discuss what he had been planning to say all day. It didn't quite help the fact that what little words he had managed to squeeze in were a hundred-percent true: to avoid having Devon ever contact him again (hopefully), the act had to be flawless and completely casual. Absolutely perfect. They had to appear to be perfectly normal homos in any way possible. And though he had known this all along, the effect was quite different once being said out loud. The act that the praetor had agreed to help him with was now far more serious than he had expected it to be.
All under (he realized with a jolt) seven days.
Seven, puny days. Which meant that they had to get started now. ASAP.
Oh joy.
He also had to admit, the public reaction he had received this morning had been surprising even for him; he hadn't expected news to have traveled that fast. He also hadn't expected to receive positive reactions among the negative; in fact, there had been seemingly more fans than usual. That was something he definitely didn't want to find out a reason for.
He also never knew that the gay community was so freaking large.
That'd explain the numerous male love letters he'd found in Baralai's room yesterday.
The Al Bhed slowly turned his head to look at the praetor, who remained oblivious for several seconds as Gippal looked him over, something he either did when picking up a new girl, examining a hated rival, or when inspecting a weird, usually fat stranger. The blond was astonished at the white-haired man's overall figure. Perhaps it had been because of his previous traumatizing experience, or because of his long and hard thinking period, or perhaps his coffee had been drugged this morning, but this had been the first time for him to ever notice the praetor's almost feminine body, though with less apparent curves and a (sadly) flatter chest. He supposed he'd have to get used to that. The man was thinner too, something that Gippal didn't mind too much. Honestly, the girls were getting more and more overweight these days.
He blinked, realizing with a start that his object of scrutiny was staring back at him, eyebrows in their trademark raise.
Eyebrows that had also been raised in disbelief, and Gippal turned back his head. Though it hadn't been serious, how dare he think that he, the Almighty Gippal, was incapable of acting gay for a week? He had even suggested the whole ordeal himself; what Gippal suggested, Gippal could do. No sweat.
He hadn't been that bad, had he?
No. Of course not.
The praetor evidently had no idea who he was messing with.
"Oh look, the dead has come back to life," the praetor muttered dryly, quickly erasing all previous suspicions from Gippal's mind as the blond gave off a small snort and slowly dragged himself back onto his feet. Gazing around at the two arguing brothers ("arguing" was a bit of an understatement; the two of them were currently in headlock, with Maroda's fist in Pacce's face and Pacce's knee in Maroda's gut), he bit his lip, hoping for once that their fighting would preoccupy them enough to not bother with their surroundings. For once, silence was something he highly desired.
He wasn't exactly in the right mood to talk to anyone right now, especially the cocky white-haired man currently wearing a pink, flowered apron (though he knew it was a necessity in his current case), and the stupid dumbass ape who had chosen the absolute worst time to barge into an entertainment room.
Though he really didn't want to, he needed to talk to Baralai. Unless they were going to get these entire boyfriend-boyfriend things right and settled, he was never going to get rid of Devon.
As his gaze swiveled around back to Baralai, the praetor raised another eyebrow, evidently reading the faint uneasiness in the other's hesitant yet firm stare.
We need to talk. Now!
Bronze eyes widened before the praetor pursed his lips faintly and mouthed back, "I know. Later."
About to place another protest, all complaint left Gippal's head when the pot containing noodles that Baralai had been cooking began to overflow. Not noticing until it was too late, the praetor spun around and let out a surprised yelp. It turned into one of pain when several droplets of the boiling water splashed relentlessly with his arm. Hissing slightly, he reached forward and turned off the oven and rubbed his scalding skin as the spitting liquid slowly receded.
Gippal found himself at the other's side in a flash, not knowing when he had completely straightened up and not really caring either. A sole purpose in mind to help his friend, he took Baralai's arm gently and led him over to the sink, where he quickly turned on the faucet, grabbed a rag, and slowly began to wipe the burn. From the edge of his vision, he caught a pair of startled, brown eyes, watching him silently, mouth slightly agape, as he slowly rubbed the slender, tanned, and amazingly smooth arm.
Feeling like he'd accomplished the first important thing all day, Gippal turned off the sink, twisted out the rag, and returned Baralai's arm to its rightful owner, all proud and glowing. So he wasn't a useless twit after all. He suddenly realized that Maroda and Pacce were both looking at him, the younger of the two sniggering and the older with a faint smirk on his face.
"Oh… Er…" the Al Bhed stammered. His momentary useful happiness quickly faded. What had started to be a mere attempt to help a friend had turned into a slightly awkward situation. Just fucking great.
Why did everything he do seem like a gay reaction in the eyes of his peers?
Damn them all…
Shock wearing off, Baralai smiled besides him and saved him the trouble of making an even bigger fool of himself by personally doing it for him. "Thanks," he murmured softly, kissing the slightly stunned Al Bhed (he really had to get used to this; it was the second time in two days…) on the cheek before turning back to the stove. "Noodles, anyone?"
Gippal had to refrain himself from wiping the kiss off his face.
That sneaky Bevellian bastard…
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" the Al Bhed snarled under his breath. He received a small smile in response. "It comes naturally," Baralai whispered faintly in his ear as he made his way to the cupboards. Hand resting on smooth wood, the praetor paused momentarily, a thoughtful expression on his face before a grin tugged upwards at his lips. "Unlike some people…" he finished faintly, words barely audible.
Gippal stiffened. Joke's on you, praetor.
A new competitive glint in his eye, Baralai shifted his hips suggestively as he reached up for several plates. Gippal cocked his head, reading the praetor's body language perfectly, and when offered some food, refused it with a small grin slowly pulling at his lips. It seemed as if the praetor wanted to spice things up by turning this act into a battle of guts. Another glance at confident, bronze eyes clearing reading, Backing out, and Gippal's mind was set. Payback time. He'd prove to that bastard that he could act anyplace, anyhow. Competition it was. And he would most definitely win.
Gippal did not lose. Not now, not ever.
… Okay, so he didn't really know how queers naturally thought, but he'd seen enough of them on his trips (honestly, they'd traveled in packs, almost like tourist attractions) around Spira to understand their basic concept. Flamboyant, loud, picky, and constantly telling bad yet sadly humorous jokes. Yep. They also kissed men. And besides, there was always compromising. And compromise he would.
Let the games begin.
Behind him, Baralai sauntered back to the noodle-filled pot, plates in hand and hips swaying just this side of suggestive, the smallest of smirks on his face. His eyes turned to face Gippal, as if saying, "I dare you."
Really pushing it there.
Feisty little praetor. Well, he could play too.
Paper plates in hand, Baralai turned and headed back to the oven, followed by a silently plotting Gippal. Mentally arguing with himself in Al Bhed, the blond was dragged back down to earth when his companion paused his slow walk in front of him, a little too close to comfort. And though his first instinct was to back up a step, Gippal remained rooted to the spot, determined not to move an inch.
He stared cockily into those dark, unreadable eyes. Baralai seemed to be taking great amusement out of this, and though Gippal hated to admit it, the praetor did have some natural moves. Not like it worried the blond anyway. There was no way he'd lose to a praetor. It would just make things more… interesting.
His companion took another step closer, their bodies now an inch away from each other, testing the blond and seeing just how much it took to make him falter. Gippal scoffed. Nice try, but he wasn't backing out. Okay, so feeling Baralai's breath on his neck was a little surprising (not that he couldn't handle it or anything) and the little tingly sensations spurred by it didn't help either, but…
… It was freaking too much when the praetor leaned forward and nipped at the juncture between neck and shoulder.
Alarmed, the Al Bhed took a step backwards, glaring at his triumphant companion, who grinned faintly and murmured, "Baralai one, Gippal zero."
Grr…
The praetor returned to his pot of noodles and Gippal prowled after him, eyebrows a straight line of determination in the middle of his forehead. Right when Baralai began spooning out the pasta, the Al Bhed pounced, grabbing the other's hips and grinding against them. Baralai let out another surprised yelp, dropping the noodles back into the pot, and the blond was allowed a few seconds to bask in his momentary glory before the other turned and ran his hand down his chest, pausing at the hemline of his pants before slipping under them.
OOOOOKAY!
Gippal jumped back, ramming into the counter, and Baralai raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing onhis features as he turned back to the oven. "Baralai two, Gippal one. Nice try, though."
The blond refrained from ripping out his hair.
He was a devil, that Baralai.
As the four of them settled down around the table to eat (Gippal had fought tooth and nail to get the seat next to the praetor), the blond smirked and scooted closer. There was no stopping him now. The act of footsie was a no-brainer. Smoothly, he raised his knee under the table and began toying around with Baralai's, who jumped and dropped his fork. .
Ha.
Once again, his glory was short-lived when Baralai settled, rolled his eyes, and began playing footsie with Gippal as well — except with one small difference. He used his hands.
Dammit.
The hour flew by, with Gippal playing with Baralai's shirt, Baralai unbuttoning Gippal's shirt, Gippal teasing Baralai's pants, Baralai literally pantsing Gippal in return, and so on. There was no way to beat this guy! Gippal stole some food off of Baralai's fork; the praetor repaid him by sitting in his lap and force-feeding him. Face covered in noodles and sauce, Gippal excused himself before his stealthy companion could pull another point by cleaning his face with his tongue or something, trudged sadly to the nearest bathroom, passed two extremely self-conscious and awkward brothers, shoved his head under the facet, and cowered in defeat.
This was absolutely insane! Unheard of! Gippal the Almighty never lost!
Scrubbing away the sauce, the Al Bhed glowered. He'd had enough. No more was Baralai gonna make a fool of him; he would be tolerant no longer. Oh, he'd show them. Oh yes. He'd make the praetor wish he'd never chosen to mess with him in the first place.
Gippal continued his cheesy train of thought, rubbing his face so furiously that it was pink, and only after he realized that it was aching like hell did he stop his murderous trend. Peeking up through his now frazzled array of hair, the Al Bhed nearly fainted at his balloon-like expression.
Okay, he'd show them after he got his facial features, hair gel, and cool demeanor back. Yes. That'd be the plan.
Leaning against the bathroom wall, he waited… and waited… and waited… and looked in the mirror to note that the majority of his face was still raw and red. Cursing, he stalked over to the toilet, pulled down the lid, and sat on it, and god was he tired… Five minutes later found him nearly nodding off to sleep.
After sliding off the toilet into a crumpled, snoring lump on the floor, the blond jerked up, blinked at his surroundings, before jumping back to his feet and gazing at himself in the mirror. Well, wasn't that better?
Running his hand through his hair to knot out a few minor tangles by his previous intimacy with the bathroom floor (the ground had better be clean, or he'd have a bone to pick with the praetor), he adjusted his sideburn clips before flattening out his shirt, straightening his back, and waltzed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen with a new air of superiority and arrogance about him. He was fresh, rejuvenated, and ready.
"Huh. You're back," Baralai muttered bemused as Gippal re-entered the kitchen. Maroda and Pacce had begun a new string of arguments in the corner. "We thought you'd either fallen into the toilet or killed yourself out of shame."
Gippal sneered at the praetor as the blond placed himself back into his usual spot against the counter. The white-haired man smiled faintly at him. "You've had enough to eat yet?" he asked carefully, a gleam in his eye, as he grabbed the used paper plates and made to throw them away.
"No, not yet. Hope you don't mind starting another batch?" the blond replied just as fluidly.
The praetor shrugged. "No prob. But I'll be very disappointed if you don't finish it." He headed for the trashcan behind the smirking Al Bhed.
Jackpot.
As the other brushed past him, gaze lingering on his face, Gippal cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. Baralai noticed seconds too late that his companion was still just as determined, if not more so; when he finally did catch the unaccustomed gleam in Gippal's eye, he was already pinned between said Al Bhed's hips and the counter behind him.
Oh Yevon. Not good.
The praetor swallowed, knowing how oblivious Gippal still was to his feelings and to how their positions were currently affecting him. He hadn't minded their previous little games; he'd always been in control then. But now it was Gippal who had chosen to get close. Too close. Scooting his waist backwards (he didn't exactly want someone to get in the way in case a surprise appearance was made), his attempts to get his entire body out from under the horribly nice and warm figure were cut short when Gippal tilted his chin up with a finger and proceeded to kiss the daylights out of him.
Somewhere in the back of his brain, a warning sign went off.
Shock was pulsing through him. No, not pulsing. More like punching his skull, rapping his chest and skewering his guts. The kiss was long and slow and… oh dear god. He nearly fainted at the sudden probing of a curious tongue, pressing past his slightly parted lips and teasing every inch of his mouth. His eyes slowly slid shut, the plates were dumped onto the floor, his hands had found purchase in the folds of Gippal's shirt, and everything was perfect for one blissful moment.
He hadn't known it was even humanly possible for one to kiss like that. Then again, it wasn't that surprising once he thought about it. This was Gippal he was talking about. The ladies man that had always been too far from his league. He supposed endless outings with whores did come with a reward after all.
There was almost no awkwardness at all. It almost made him believe that Gippal kissed guys everyday. And if he did, the men he did it with were going to get hurt.
And why in the world was he thinking about things like this when he was currently playing tonsil hockey with the person he'd been obsessed with for years?
Way to ruin a moment.
He pushed back sharply and Gippal's small grunt of surprise muffled against his lips. The blond hesitated slightly before pulling him even closer, if still possible, and kissing just as roughly back, not being one to lose against anything. Baralai nearly collapsed as a result, winding his fingers tightly in the other's shirt. Suddenly, nothing mattered to him anymore. Yevon, he could have died right there and been completely happy.
It was like a piece of heaven.
He was brought back to life when the Al Bhed slowly pulled away, sucking gently on the other's bottom lip. Baralai swallowed, having momentarily forgotten the sweet substance of air, languidly opening his eyes to see a slightly flushed yet smirking blond.
His currently mood was completely shattered when Gippal finally spoke and murmured, "That seemed like a ten-pointer to me. Gippal twenty, Baralai ten. Though I have to admit, your act was pretty impressive too."
Jerking back, the praetor was suddenly horribly embarrassed, reminding him over and over again that the kiss was not supposed to happen, that he wasn't supposed to feel, and that it was all fake. Fake. Gippal had kissed him out of a stupid contest. Gippal had come to him for a stupid favor. And yet, knowing all of this, he had been made the complete fool by practically melting onto the Al Bhed. Who felt almost absolutely nothing for him love-wise. Disgusting. Glaring at the blond's now annoyingly (yet still maddeningly sexy — why, dammit?) smirk, he had to bite his lip in order to refrain from punching it off.
He'd get it off another way.
Darting out his hand towards a certain faintly, protruding lump, he clasped his fist around it, twisted, and yanked hard. His handiwork was followed by a harsh protruding knee. Feeling satisfied, his victory was fueled even more when the Al Bhed shrieked, jerked backwards, and collapsed onto the floor in a loud and heavy thump, where he proceeded to clutch himself and roll around in agony, crying, "You've killed me!" and "Oh god! I'm dying! Dying!"
Crouching down next to the writhing blond, Baralai smiled innocently and patted the injured body part. The meant-to-be-helpful action merely caused Gippal to scoot further away, grasping his crotch as if his life depended on it. The praetor laughed softly.
"Gippal twenty, Baralai one hundred. I win."
Sputtering noises of shock were issued behind them from two dumbstruck brothers.
Rage bubbling up within him, Gippal glared at his smiling companion through his mass of blond hair, flashes of pain flaring up wildly inside him. God, was this embarrassing. He attempted to stand up, straining his abused member ever more, and gave up, leaning against the counter and twitching violently.
Despite the blindingly scorching pain, however, he was slightly thankful of what Baralai had done. Sure, it hurt like hell, but it took his mind off other awkward matters.
Because after he had pulled away, he had found himself wanting more.
And that hadn't been planned on his "hostile take over".
It was around ten at night when Baralai realized he had forgotten something.
Lugging the wooden desk up over the final few steps, Gippal collapsed and sprawled onto the carpet floor, rasping for air and sounding like a chipmunk on helium. Next to him, Baralai sat down and rubbed his temples, wiping the perspiration off his brow as he gazed down at the stairs they had come up. Crossing his eyes at an irritable strand, he blew it out of his face.
"D-damn…" the blond gasped. "How many steps are there?"
"Twenty-six," Baralai replied curtly.
"… Rhetorical question, 'Lai."
"Right."
"Aw hell. I'm not gonna be able to move for a week," Gippal muttered, attempting to push himself upright and failing miserably. "Damn those two for leaving."
The praetor raised an eyebrow. "Those two?"
"Maroda and Pacce. Leaving instead of lugging up this friggin' desk themselves."
Baralai laughed. "That would be cruel. They're only volunteers."
"And yet forcing me to work isn't cruel?"
"Of course not. It's a profit." Baralai smiled sweetly at him.
"Why do you need a desk in your bedroom anyway?" the blond questioned, abruptly changing the subject as he struggled into a sitting position once more. Baralai took pity on him and helped him up. "Wha— oh, thanks… where was I? Oh yeah. Your study is only like… half a mile away."
"You make a very nice argument, but I'm gonna have to stick with my original plan," the praetor replied smiling. After listening to several minutes of Gippal's sputtering and conversations to himself in Al Bhed, Baralai sighed. A small smile flitted across his face as his mind settled on a new topic to discuss. "How's that injury coming along? I didn't leave you incompetent or anything, did I?"
"Ha ha." The two syllables were laid thick with sarcasm. "You'd better be happy I'm okay, otherwise you'd be dead by now. And it wasn't funny."
"I found it terribly amusing."
"That's 'cause you're a sadistic bastard."
"Why, thank you, I'm flattered."
Gippal growled. Not a nice memory, especially after he thought of all the torture his poor, innocent manhood had suffered. A dull ache was still pulsing through his groin. Ugh. Though thinking back also onto the strange urge to grab the praetor again and kiss him senseless again, he supposed the pain would have to do. Pulling himself to his feet (which took a surprising amount of effort), he leaned on the desk as his knees slowly stopped their trembling. "We moving this desk or what?" he grumbled, attempting to strike a flashy and indifferent pose only to lose his grip on the desk and trip over himself. Baralai coughed, watching the other's odd stumbling motions and curses before he righted himself.
"Only waiting for you to catch your breath, o' mighty Alpha."
"Shut up."
They managed to somehow drag the piece of furniture into Baralai's master bedroom without anyone dying, collapsing, falling into a coma, or Gippal finally cracking and shredding the desk into dust with his nails. Not really caring anymore if he scratched up the praetor's nicely polished walls and floor, the blond shoved the damnable thing as far away from him as possible, grinning maniacally when it was finally out of the way. His joy was overruled when he realized he had pushed the item into the opposite corner Baralai had planned for it to go.
God dammit.
After the two of them finally got everything nice and organized, the blond tottered over to the nearest piece of comfortable-looking furniture (which happened to be Baralai's obscenely large bed) and indulged himself within it, making a nice, crumpled nest of covers for himself and then burying his body in as deeply as it would go. He was never getting up again. Mmm… warmth… sleep…
And that scent…. So familiar…
He buried his nose in deeper, sniffing. Like vanilla. Like Baralai. Damn was it surprisingly addicting…
His stupor was interrupted by said praetor whacking him sharply upside the head with a pillow. Gippal grunted, having found a new favorite haven in Baralai's house.
"Hey, my bed," the white-haired man murmured softly, gently shaking the Al Bhed's shoulder when the other refused to move. The blond twitched and began to ever-so-convincingly emit loud and ground-shaking snores. The praetor rolled his eyes, catching the small, playful grin that the blond hid a moment too late.
"The point of Maroda and me dragging a mattress up into the next room this morning is for you to sleep in it."
A mumble and a wave of the hand. "Gimme a minute…"
Baralai rubbed his temples. Since when was he babysitting again? "Why not just skip the minute to get to your own bed and spend the rest of the night sleeping instead?" he pressed, sitting down on the end of the mattress. Though he didn't want to admit it, his body was taking the toll of his previous tedious activities as well.
Gippal slowly raised his head. "Wait… it's nighttime already?"
The praetor smacked the blond's face with a pillow again.
Spitting feathers from his mouth, the Al Bhed sluggishly pushed himself up onto his elbows and gazed around for a time source. Eyes locking onto a digital clock perched neatly on a nearby table, he twitched, rubbed his eyes, and stared again. 10:55.
Wow. That had been fast.
Gazing at the clock as he recounted the hours, he started when a pair of hands pushed him roughly sideways. Caught off guard, the Al Bhed let out a surprised curse and toppled over onto his back, rolled over a bit more, and fell completely off the bed with a loud thump.
"Oops…" came a light voice from somewhere above him. Gippal snarled.
The praetor was about to help him up when a strange ring chose that exact moment to echo through the house. Silence quickly followed the odd sound.
"Please tell me that's not how your doorbell sounds," the Al Bhed muttered dryly. "It's like a demented chocobo. On choco-crack."
Baralai smiled rather painfully. Jerking back up again, he hesitated before getting off the bed and walking out the door. At the threshold, he paused and turned around. "When I'm back you, you'd better be in your proper room, or you just might find yourself permanently sexually disabled this time," he chided warningly.
Gippal rolled his eyes, though slightly warily. "Yes mother."
The praetor grinned faintly, waving his finger, before he turned and disappeared out of sight.
Feeling rather abandoned on his spot on the floor, Gippal humphed.
Pulling himself to his feet, he bent down to retrieve the item he had knocked over. Running his hand over the smooth wood, he flipped it over and found himself staring at a picture of Baralai, Nooj, Paine, and himself, laughing and lounging in what looked like the sands of Bikanel. For a moment, he wondered who had taken the snapshot. The four of them (three, really, considering Nooj was upright and trying hard to ignore his surroundings) were seemingly too indulged in a sand fight to notice those around them. He supposed some random passerby had taken the picture and had been tracked down by the praetor or something… or the praetor had paid a random passerby to take the picture. It was one of those two. Shaking his head, he focused back onto the photo. The blond's eyes softened for a moment. Those had been the days.
The four of them had been so happy then, not a care in the world. Well, okay, so Nooj hadn't changed much, Gippal noted as he stared at the stoic figure in the picture, but he had given up his determination for death. So he supposed that was something. Baralai was a lot more open, and Gippal himself… well, he thought he'd matured a bit, but for some odd reason, no one ever believed him…
Actually, now that he thought more about it, the four of them hadn't really changed at all. They were separated, yes, with new responsibilities and priorities, but there was nothing time couldn't fix. If a name was really necessary, then he'd have to say that the one who had differed the most would be Paine, but she was slowly becoming her old self again, possibly more wry and indifferent than before.
He smiled faintly, putting the frame back onto its proper position. Another piece of neatly folded paper fluttered out from one of its corners, most likely dislodged from its unruly fall from the table by his elbow. Curious, the Al Bhed bent to retrieve it.
Fanning out the paper, he realized by its texture that it was another photo. Turning it over, he blinked. It was another picture of Baralai, though there was another man, strangely familiar, in the shot as well. He was clothed in a rich robe of blues and greens, with deep-set eyes, a smooth face, and a messy yet elegant mahogany ponytail. The two of them were standing comfortably next to each other, the brown-haired man's arm draped casually around the praetor's shoulder. The date on the bottom proved that the photo was taken around a month ago.
Huh.
Without warning, a sudden foreign sensation bubbled up in his chest. The Al Bhed almost jumped in surprise. Confused and slightly perturbed, he swallowed and breathed in until the sensation cooled. It didn't disappear completely though, rising up every once in a while as he stared back at the photo.
Odd. The abrupt emotion was something he rarely experienced before, though he had enough times to know what it was. But it didn't make any sense.
No. No sense at all. For Gippal was in no way whatsoever jealous.
He couldn't be.
Frowning, the blond turned back to the picture once more, and to the Mystery Man. Gippal rapped his head. The guy was so horribly familiar, like he'd seen him somewhere on the news or something, but had never exactly met him in person. Groaning, he strained his memory, and was shaken out of his reservoir by a pair of low whispers down below, followed by a deep, unfamiliar laugh and the click of a door. Seconds later, footsteps began to make their way up the stairs.
Remembering the praetor's joked warning (Gippal wasn't taking chances though), the Al Bhed threw the covers back as neatly and quickly as he could back on the bed, folded up the photo, and put it back into the frame before shoving his hands in his pockets, feeling surprisingly guilty. Like he had trespassed or something. The picture had been hidden; considering Baralai was rarely secretive unless it was absolutely necessary, he didn't think the praetor really wanted others to know or see it.
But it wasn't like it was his fault though; it had fallen out of its own accord. So there.
He walked out of the door just as Baralai appeared from the stairs, musing to himself as he counted off his fingers, eyes slightly distant. Gippal smiled faintly.
"So… who was that?" the blond questioned. "Some midnight admirer?"
The white-haired man blinked, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs. Turning, his eyes rested onto Gippal, who waved just in case the praetor didn't see him, who scoffed. "No, I don't think so. The infatuation has worn off."
Gippal stroked his chin, smirking. "Or has it? Bevelle women are rather touchy, you know."
Baralai chuckled softly. "No, I'm sure he's not like that."
"Ah."
It took several moments for Gippal to realize that the other had said "he".
"Wait — What?" he sputtered, but by that time Baralai had already disappeared into his room, smiled, waved, and closed the door, leaving Gippal surprised and confused in the hallway, alone to run over his thoughts.
Well then…
Shaking his head, the blond decided that he had had enough for one day.
After he was finally on top of a large and shockingly comfortable mattress and under a pile of blankets did the Al Bhed finally relax, hissing at several knots in his back. Rubbing at them slightly impatiently, he sighed and shut his eyes. Nothing a nice long sleep couldn't fix.
It was only until minutes before he finally did fall asleep that Gippal realized he had yet to fully talk to Baralai.
And there were only six days left, five if the final Dreaded Day of the Date with Devon wasn't counted.
He'd have to do it tomorrow. No excuses.
(1) Nothing against Baralai, I swear. Just looking at it from Gippal's point of view.