Chapter 15: Dance

Summary:

T'senri was never much of a dancer

[ARR to post EW - General - character study]

Notes:

Hey, a tad of a warning for a tad strange mix of fluff and angst, I guess... since, yeah, it's Senri we're talking about this time xD [Perhaps, you can see this as a bit of a companion piece to "Game"]

Hope you'll enjoy :3

T'senri was never much of a dancer.

In more sense than one, at that.

When he grew up back in the camp of Condor's tribe, such a thing – females wasting their time teaching Tia's to dance – would be seen as a senseless waste. And by the time he left it, nearing his seventeen birthday – and the moment their expectations meant him to challenge his sire, he developed a severe aversion to touch.

Especially to be touched by females.

During the moons he spent as a gladiator in Ul'dah, once he started to win, he was constantly invited to the parties among the higher society of the desert city, and by his sponsor's demand, he was forced to attend those and play his part to perfection. If his very first one was enough for him to come to loathe the Monetarists with his whole heart – and he left it beyond enraged.

Though, some could consider that it was also a form of dance, steps of which he learned in a flash: politely enough not to be banished, avoiding the touch and schemes of the bored daughters of the city's ruling houses.

Not that it in any way stopped the incoming gifts and offers – and threats – but he, honestly, didn't give a fuck about any of those, and eventually, those Twelve-forsaken females seemed content enough making up stories between each other about how they managed to lure him into their beds. He didn't care about that either, if anything, perhaps a tad relieved even, since it let him easier cover the fact of his unnatural preference toward male… beauty.

Like back in the camp between the other Tia's, his peers in the Coliseum would laugh and jeer – thankfully missing the way his gaze occasionally tended to… stray. And he was far, far too ashamed about that to ever act upon that… curiosity – putting all of his instinctive frustration into his training.

Then he met Thancred and soon after joined the Scions of the Seventh Dawn – the first of the 'grand' twists of his life.

During his first year in their organization, when he was simply one of them, he came to love that life – as it gave him an outlet for his inborn protective streak. Under their banner and treated as an equal despite the fact that he was far less educated than any of them, he traveled Eorzea, picking up random requests and tasks, slowly but surely working toward his goal set the night he left behind the camp he grew up in to make something of himself and became a man his beautiful, delicate mother would be proud of despite how he failed at what he was born and bred to be.

That he swiftly developed a crush on his best friend – if Thancred, thankfully, seemed unaware of that – didn't hurt either. Even if he tended to cringe and sulk for days whenever the white-haired Hyur shared the stories of his 'conquests,' T'senri knew that was to be expected because he was the only one that was… wrong and twisted.

Then a simple enough investigation into the missing transport of crystals near Camp Drybone ended with a confrontation against Ifrit… and everything changed.

He probably, the most.

T'senri didn't know why Mothercrystal decided to fuck him over with her so-called Blessing, but when his status went from Scion to the Warrior of Light, he adapted.

He always adapted – no matter how much he came to hate the chasm that shift set between him and his friends. He was no longer one of them – and the sight of reverence in the eyes of some that before treated him as such… made his insides clench with misery.

But, like when he was growing up, his mask came in handy – and soon all thought he was content to play demanded of him role.

As his fame among city-states grew with every slain Primal – and throughout their organization's tumultuous downfall and rise from the ashes – and after the confrontation with invading forces of the Garlean Empire, Alphinaud Levellieur, one that by circumstances he was doomed to spend the most time with, laid it upon his head thickly how much the simple folk needed the symbol of the Warrior to look up to – to feel safe, and again: he adjusted.

T'senri Tia – the Warrior of Light – became an impeccable image (persona) he learned to play to perfection. The Warrior was brave and fierce, with a bright, cheery smile always ready to offer a helping hand, and was far, far above all notions of romance or sexuality. The people still loved to speculate, of course, most often giving him a years-long relationship with one of his comrades – more often than not: Y'shtola – perhaps because they were both Seekers of the Sun.

He didn't mind – and, thankfully, Shtola didn't seem bothered by it, either, somehow always seemingly aware that he wasn't interested in her that way. Over the years, from her first apparent apprehension about letting Tia join their ranks, she grew to be to him more of an older sister than any of his three real ones ever were.

She was also the one that, throughout that time, grew determined to teach him to dance: for real this time. He was expected to attend all matters of parties as a facet of his role, she insisted, and it was beneficial to his title – and again, he adapted, if under the condition that she would become his designed dance partner at any and all such occasions. It definitely didn't help any with their gossiped 'affair,' but Shtola neither seemed bothered by it nor in any way interested in making them real: always treating him like an annoying little brother, and he came to love her for that.

Then his years-long – by then – senseless pinning after his best friend came to a head, and when after moons when Thancred came to avoid him – seemingly utterly guilty of the fact that he become possessed by the Ascian – led by a mix of frustration and hope, T'senri gathered his courage and confessed… and though even he had to admit that his best friend was kind about his rejection, it didn't much change the fact that he grew even more fiercely embarrassed about his unnatural preferences. That day, he left the Rising Stones with his tail between his legs and, despite his mask firming place… utterly brokenhearted and convinced that none, ever, could accept his feelings – or him – and grew determined to bury all hint of such… to near right off the door stumble upon suspiciously familiar man hiding his face behind a mask – real one – and get an invitation to take a look at the expedition that set up camp at the edge of the crystalized side of Mor Dhona.

He, honestly, didn't give a flying fuck about some long-dead Empire that apparently investigating was the goal of those scholars, but between the excuse to stay away from their compound – and Thancred – and the raging suspicion about that stranger… he went, swiftly getting himself entangled into the mystery of the Crystal Tower.

And the very same day, in the evening, his heart became pretty much blown away by a certain intriguing redheaded historian with mismatched red-cyan eyes.

Under the persona he learned to play for others, T'senri was a creature of instinct… and somehow, from the very first day, G'raha engaged them in a way he never thought possible.

The way the redhead so… selflessly offered his heat to a complete stranger at the moment when he felt so painfully lonely and unwanted and the way his questions suggested he was more interested in 'Senri' than the Warrior… was the very first hook. If, obviously, at first, he did try to pretend that he was just… thankful for that and not at all interested. That way, anyway.

Not that it helped him any, as the very next morning, one smile and the shine of enthusiasm in the mismatched eyes – too achingly adorable – tore off that pretense almost too quickly. Then the redhead's deliciously spicy scent hooked into his brain… something beyond fierce, and by the end of a lecture about the Allagan Empire he was less-than-interested in, T'senri found himself utterly mesmerized anyway: G'raha's low voice and its strangely soothing quality working on him like a siren song. Despite how over the years, any attempts to lecture him normally was a sure way to put him to sleep, that day and in that tent, he felt… engaged like never before. The very obvious kindness and humor with which G'raha would answer any of his questions didn't hurt either.

Or the fact that throughout that, he was quite intoxicated on the historian's spicy scent – that, strangely enough for him, made him want to purr and downright rub against the male like a female in heat…

And that, he did find beyond terrifying!

But then, one of his oldest friends, present in that camp, Cid, cut that… torture short by calling a meeting of the whole camp, and T'senri very swiftly became aware of the way other scholars and even a number of Cid's men, treated the historian like some sort of… oddity. He did the day before heard someone call the male 'eccentric,' not to mention the way they met, with the older Seeker sending him on a chase about Twelveswood… but it was that meeting and the way they looked toward the redhead that perhaps worked like yet another hook for his brain.

He was impossibly protective by nature – and the fact that G'raha was nothing but kind and… cute – had him, for the very first time, crack his stale by then mask and downright bare his teeth in a snarl at whoever looked funny toward his new… friend.

But T'senri, still somewhat trying to find comfort in denial, and despite the fact that he quite literally used every possible excuse to stay near the redhead – only after a week truly admitted (to himself at least) that he was hopelessly in love with G'raha… if his feelings toward the historian were completely different than earlier toward Thancred.

Despite his… curiosity and pinning, the way he felt for the older Scion was quite innocently based on his admiration toward the man… which he figured out very swiftly – and painfully! – when the bells spent in the redhead's company truly taught him how did sexual desire feel like.

But while his mind… well, drew a blank anytime he tried to imagine how that… would even work, he grew even more impossibly embarrassed about his… wants and even more convinced that they were unnatural – and beyond terrified that if he found out, G'raha would hate him for having thoughts like that about him. So no matter how intriguing he found the plush curves of the historian's pretty mouth or the way his eyes would occasionally… stray, he strived to show none of his… only growing interest.

Then, once more, it came to a head, and with growing awareness that the redhead somehow… figured out his crush… he did what any brave Warrior of Light would do: he bolted and swore not to approach the male again! Mostly because while Thancred's rejection hurt… he knew, instinctively, that G'raha's would be so, so much worse – and he couldn't imagine anything else.

By then, after time spent with him, he knew that above all else, G'raha was kind, caring, and considerate – and so smart it kind of blew him away! – but seeing the way he was treated despite all that by others… and hearing that question… he was at the very most scared that the redhead, noticing his… want, thought he had to indulge him as some kind of… price – when it was so, so far from anything he ever wanted him to believe!

He genuinely – outside of, yeah, pretty much lusting after him – liked him, too. During that time, he came to think that their personalities and sense of humor were well matched, with the way the historian would funnily snort at his snarking constantly, not to mention spending time with him… kept his mind no less engaged than his… feelings and that was so new, he was quite blown away by it, too.

But despite the fact that when he bolted, he was quite certain he would pack his things, return to the Rising Stones and forget about the whole thing… he found that he just couldn't. He did pack, but… any time he thought of truly leaving – and never seeing G'raha again… his every instinct rebelled.

Those few days of being utterly confused and torn between nearly starving for another whiff of the male's addictive scent and just being too… terrified out of his mind to dare approach him again were forever engraved in his mind as one of the hardest things he ever came to face… because fuck the Primals when the very thought of seeing the pity in the depths of red-cyan eyes made him tremble like a fearful kit like nothing else ever did.

Then, on the fifth night of his avoidance, when he pretty much was busy sitting in his nest and numbly staring at his packed belongings – trying to get his stupid heart to make that last, final step and… leave – he heard that maddeningly soothing voice whisper his name and despite how much he knew that he should ignore it… he couldn't help himself – in thought swearing that after one last look… perhaps he would be able to steel his resolve.

And in a way, he wasn't wrong, either. Because one look into the expressive red-cyan eyes brimming with a mix of fear and determination was all it took… and, for once, somewhat encouraged by the redhead's scent squarely in his territory, and despite how terrified he was… he took a leap – kissing him and fully expecting historian to balk and reject him.

When G'raha didn't… but utterly blew his mind instead, pulling him into a kiss that completely ruined him with its addictive flavor, his life instantly took yet another, perhaps the biggest twist of all.

And, in a way, once more, it reminded him of a dance – with the steps, he became determined to learn.

Because most of all, he grew drunk on the notion that perhaps if he does… Raha could return his feelings.

So, despite his somewhat annoying uncertainty and… lack of knowledge of what to do, he set to learn as he always did: by instinct.

A natural-born predator, it took T'senri but a fraction of a moment to observe the tiniest hints in Raha's behavior. For once, he thanked Hydealyn's Blessing for how it affected his already oversensitive Miqo'te nose because few realized how much scent alone could reveal about a person. And already beyond addicted to its particular flavor in the case of his historian, he very quickly learned to pick up on its delicate changes to best please him.

Not to mention the way it would grow thicker and muskier, any time he was allowed the delight of supplying his redhead with his touch and the accompanying sounds… well, there was something impossibly musical about Raha's voice, especially when the redhead was lost in the throes of bliss. And the absolutely wonderful way he looked like then… didn't hurt either.

So, he learned the steps as once with Shtola, if this time, he found this dance far, far more engaging. And fascinating, to boot!

The first – perhaps the hardest – step was discarding all of his shame about his preferences, noticing how his pick's spicy scent would spike whenever he doted on him under others' eyes. That he did find a tad confusing at first, especially since Raha would flush darkly (so cute!) and promptly swat his hands away – but all the while, his scent would indicate his pleasure. Going with his instincts, he would hugely ignore his own embarrassment and – apparently – the redhead's pretended one, insistently fawning over his historian no matter how much it made the others blush and act scandalized. But despite his years-long play, the thought of earning the redhead's heart was far, far more tantalizing than any thought toward his reputation.

And that, very quickly, worked wonders: as, despite his greatest fear and expectation, Raha once more blew his mind, shockingly easily accepting the worst side of his temper. The sharp edge where his protective streak tumbled off the cliff of his rage right into a ruthless ice of the need to punish the bitch that thought she could touch what was his – a grave (literally) overstep into the domain of his soul that made him the Weapon.

What a few knew – and lived to tell the tale about – the massacre of the Waking Sands was something that was another twist in his life – and even fiercer – in his personality. Growing up to his mother's lessons about how everything in existence carried a balance, an equilibrium, he grew to crave it the more his surroundings seemed to lack in it. That day – and the loss of people he considered to be his – robbed his soul of something he would be hard-pressed to explain but felt instinctively that was essential.

Perhaps, the moment he was forced to bury his friends alongside them, he buried a good portion of his sanity.

There was some twisted equilibrium in that, too, though, the beast inside him rationalized, as if he couldn't protect what he cared about, the next logical step was to deliver a punishment that would make others fear to ever take from him again.

That was what gave life to the Weapon of Light and the ice-cold, ruthless facet of his soul that scared even him.

On the battlefield, his ferocity had no equal, and he wouldn't hesitate to call upon every dirty trick in the book to make his enemies fear crossing him. His natural, if somewhat baffling to some, dislike of magic, in general, worked to make him grow a mastery in dealing with his opponents in a way that made any witnesses beyond aware that the stories of his 'heroics' were just that: stories. If few would dare to speak up about that and question his image when his so-called fans were determined to see their Champion as the 'hero.'

Outside of that, there were his side activities – though, of those, none was aware. Not even any of his friends knew that he found a special thrill in hunting those who thought that their position, money, or influence gave them the right to take of others that, in his eyes, could be only freely given. His appearance, which set him so fiercely apart from others, made him a target of such predators far too many times if his stay in Ul'dah worked to teach him a lesson of how truly lucky he was: by his strength and lack of care, spared the very worst scenario. And to balance that luck, he took it upon himself to protect those in a worse situation – and punish those who thought to use that for their sick entertainment.

And so the Weapon became the predator preying on the predators – using his looks for a lure and delivering the punishment to fit the crime when the law and customs failed to do so.

What the even lesser number of people know about him, however, was that his inner beast very, very rarely staked a claim on something, but once it did… well, there was literally nothing he wouldn't do to keep it safe and keep it his – by any means and no matter the price.

One such was his nest: a mix of memory of the time when he didn't feel different and wrong, enforced by the only thing he took from the camp he grew up in: the blankets his beautiful mother had made for him when none of the other boys could claim such gift. Another was his right not to be touched by others – made especially important by his aversion to scents and the way the Blessing made his nose pretty much very oversensitive. Strong enough scent gave him nausea or could send him into a bout of violent sneezing (which was beyond embarrassing!), so he avoided nearing others by all means, in case of most finding even their natural scent appalling.

Perhaps that was what also worked to make him madly possessive of Raha, too: the way his nose found the redhead's spice-like scent downright irresistible… not to mention that after years of going without, his historian's delicate and tender touch was a sure way to make him melt into a heap of blissed-out purrs.

And to have some bitch threaten his wondrous find out of some misplaced jealousy…? Despite his fear at Raha's reaction to that specific side of his personality, it was not something he could let go unpunished – and what he did to that girl served as a lesson (and only warning) to anyone else about that camp to ever again raise a hand against his cute redhead. Because even if he would lose him after that, considering how used Raha was to being mistreated by those assholes, he couldn't stand the thought of his pain when the historian did nothing more than show kindness to a more than half-mad beast, even if then he wasn't aware of the stalking him predator.

And his sweet, kind Raha once more went far and beyond any of his expectations: not balking but embracing him with shocking ease. And showing him that even that hurting, cold part of his heart melted and healed in the heat of his care, his redhead claimed him in a way he never thought possible.

Raha was just… good, and he came to believe with all of his heart that for him – and for any other soul as beautiful as his – no matter what he had to do and become, in the end, it was worth it if it spared them suffering filling their broken world.

And his craving for his redheaded historian grew even more intense and insatiable – in him only finding solace for the pain of his wounded soul.

And that was before he discovered the pleasure of claiming him sexually. Being claimed by him.

That first night at the edge of the Silvertear Lake was another twist in his life if only years later he found out in how many ways he then wasn't yet aware of. And following it days became a lesson in finding a balance between his insatiable craving for his cute redhead and not doing anything that would make his Raha regret agreeing to be his. And to say he struggled… was an understatement!

For a reason, his fame never gave him the title of being very controlled, and those days more than anything else in his life, proven the true test of his ability to curb his… enthusiasm.

Logically, he knew that his stamina – another effect of the Blessing on his body – was beyond anything that one could call normal. He was used to that and finding ways to exhaust his boundless energy in more and less harmful ways. Forced to, he could fight for days… and apparently, that also translated into a truly constant need to fuck once he discovered the bliss of it. But he could hardly expect his cute redhead to be able to handle that, yes? And the thought that he could hurt him – even accidentally – became one of his greatest fears.

He was aware of his unnatural strength and speed. As useful as it was on the battlefield, he refused even to entertain the notion of using those with a male that was nothing but sweet and affectionate with him – no matter how costly was holding on to his leash…

That half-conscious fear that the remainder of his inhumane traits would spook his historian and make him regret becoming his… or worse, leave him, worked to be a powerful enough detriment to keep his leash tightly bound over his needs.

Then, one morning he woke up to his redheaded wonder missing from his nest. Perhaps the mix of annoyance at that and the raging need for him made him somewhat… snap, a little, tracking his prey down into the ancient labyrinth and, despite being so unfit for it place… claiming his Raha's deliciously tight ass against one of the dusty walls. And the way that made his historian sing… almost broke his mind – and even when his oversensitive ears picked up the far-away sound of incoming steps, he found that for a brief moment, he was really, really tempted not to give a fuck about it… until he remembered his lover's bashful tendencies and despite his raging need, pulled back: the fear of his rejection far, far more pressing than the physical need for release.

And was blown away – yet again – when his redhead, instead of balking when Cid entered that corridor, pulled him into a slow, deep kiss that so fiercely went against his usual manners…

And for a time, it became sort of… imperative to find out just how far his redhead would let him push before he would balk.

During their meals shared with the rest of the camp, at first with uncertainty, then growing confidence as expected swats weren't coming, he would let his hands 'wander,' less-than-innocently if pointedly making his claim on that wondrous body known. And the thrill coming from the spikes in Raha's scent was hard to ignore by itself! Despite his cute, fiery blushes, and bashful looks, his historian's scent grew thick with that addictive tang he learned to recognize for arousal, and that soon worked to make him madly determined to find out all the other ways to get his lover hot…

…until, one evening, he somewhat vaguely remembered a tad overstepping – as getting intoxicated on his spicy scent, his hand 'slipped' a tad too far… if the downright enraged hiss and the fiery blaze of temper in his otherwise calm and collected love had him instantly beyond intrigued! And that somewhat surprising discovery: that his redhead hid a temper to outmatch the fiery shade of his hair… made him eager to burn.

And, honestly, there were very few things he found more arousing and hotter than when his caring lover grew rough and almost brutal in claiming him… The feeling of being wanted it came with, was hard to resist.

In Raha, he found a match to his every need, and their near mirror-like issues pulled him into an obsession with his redhead up to a terrifying degree… for someone else, perhaps. T'senri, in each of those hazy summer days, found something his soul had missed that he wasn't aware of: its perfect match.

But then summer ended, and with it, that dream broke, with the secret of the long lost bloodline making the Crystal Tower rob him of the fleeting fantasy of keeping his redheaded wonder. And at some level, despite his soul-crushing pain in days to come, he wasn't even that surprised.

Somehow, by falling in love with him, Hydealyn found a way to ruin that for him too: because her Champion was destined for a life of strife and blood – and there was no place in that for the solace of his Allagan prince.

It was another part of his twisted dance with his fate, none other understood. It took from him endlessly, as if trying to see how much he could give before breaking.

But even leaving him for the hope of those bound to come later, his redhead perhaps unintentionally gave him a purpose, too. The idea of creating a better world for his prince to wake up to… became an obsession to match his devotion to the memory of the only man he ever truly wanted – because if by fate he couldn't keep him, making sure that when the wonder of his soul once more grace their broken world, he wanted Raha to look back and be proud of him. To never regret granting his mad soul the tantalizing taste of happiness – and somehow, that hope was enough to keep the madness at bay.

At least until the toll of Dragonsong War proved to be too much… if, again, he wasn't aware of that then.

As time went by and his life became a string of endless conflict and loneliness… his devotion to the memory of his prince never waned, if at his lowest, occasionally he caught himself wishing he had never met him in the first place.

And though none of his peers were aware of that, his hatred toward the Ascians and their games was nearly outmatched by a mounting resentment toward his title and the deity that, by picking him to be her Champion, robbed his soul in a bit and pieces of everything he held dear. To that dance, that in its ebbs and flows, in the mad rhythm of its twists and turns, left him empty and so painfully broken…

…when the call came across the Rift, there was barely anything inside him that cared. He had no heart left to give – as it was buried under the weight of grief and heartbreak a few could claim to face, and his only left hope slumbered among the crystalline walls of the palace of a long-dead empire.

He doubted that he would ever admit that to anyone, but in that brief, fleeting moment between the raise of katana in the hand of Elidibus possessing the body of the Garlean prince he loathed and the call that brought his soul into the Rift, on his knees among the burned battlefield and with none of his friends to witness, T'senri willingly offered his neck under the blade… for once just wishing the pain to end.

And perhaps seeing their dance at the end, fate finally decided to give instead of taking if, at that moment, he was hardly pleased by intervention.

But the lure was too potent to resist: the mysterious mage took from him, after all, and before the end of his misery, became another imbalance to right. With nothing more in mind than to punish the interloper and drag his friends' souls back into their bodies, he set across the Rift… and one too painfully familiar whiff of scent that strongly reminded him of hazy memories of the only true happiness he knew in his Twelve-forsaken life marked another twist and turn, making him feel as much excitement as trepidation.

It went from there, with countless more twists, schemes of the Ancients, who he eventually came to love, and thank for returning to him the only thing he ever wanted – and, more importantly: letting him keep his redheaded wonder this time.

And with Raha by his side came probably to biggest turn of all, as over time and their shared adventures, he found himself somewhat surprisingly surrounded by only a growing number of people who he was free to care for and – eventually – be himself around.

In years to come, the mask of his title grew too painful, cracked, and in his lover's tender care, the beast found the strength to emerge from under it and, for once, face the world without the need to hide all aspects of its terrifying beauty.

He was no longer the Warrior or the Weapon, but just Raha's Snark, nothing more, nothing less… and the freedom it tasted of was intoxicating.

And though they were bound to spin and twirl in the mad rhythm of their shared destiny, in any and all adventures to come and challenges to overcome, with his heart firmly in the tender grasp of his redheaded wonder, for once Senri was looking forward to the dance.