No Title

Category: Final Fantasy X > General
Dragon prints: 420
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Note: This takes place sometime after the battle at Macalania Temple. I'm not sure where it fits in between anything, with the long trek and the Al Bhed in the desert, but it's just a slash fic. I suggest you just relax. >D

The Hymn of the Fayth intoned slowly and deeply from above - a chorus of distinguished tenors.

Seymour bent his head back gracefully, emitting a slight, effeminate moan of pleasure. He bent his head to the side, the rest of his body outstretched on the bed. Another gasp and he finally brought his vocal chords back in sync with his brain. Partially.

"Don't stop..., Wakka..."

Wakka blushed as another pleasurable noise escaped from the maester's throat.

Why in Yevon's name am I doing this?

Another moan subsided, followed by a laugh.

Wakka didn't care to register the tone of it.

He just continued.

The Hymn continued to roll on steadily above them, as it always did. As it always should, Wakka thought. Yes...


That's why I'm doing this.

"Consider...yourself atoned for..."

Wakka was inexorably glad that Seymour hadn't said his name this time. Especially with that sentence. It was already enough that the validation for this humiliating act was punctuated by extatic gasps.

And yet, the maester always maintained his dignity.

It was infuriating.


He hated the way Seymour enunciated his name. A slow and throaty 'Uuuuwaaakka...'

It's just Wakka, dammit. Not anything fancy or grand. Just me. Just real, honest-to-Yevon ME. I'm not special. I'm not important. I'm not above anyone else. And I expect to be treated the same as everyone else. No one is exempt from Yevon's teachings, and if the others knew better, they'd be in here, too.

That's what he had said when he'd arrived at Seymour's camp. Wakka had offered anything of himself, and it just so happened that this was what the maester had in mind.

Another throaty, complacent laugh escaped Maester Seymour before it was done, and Wakka was glad he had the decency to keep his eyes averted while he did his best to clean up. Most of the mess was minimalized, of course. Wakka pinched his face and swallowed several times, trying to convince himself that it wasn't so bad. Just like swallowing mildly salty water.

"There's a pitcher on the table to your right..."

It wasn't so bad. Next to being branded a heretic, it wasn't so bad. It had to be done. And he'd done it. Now he was safe. It wouldn't be long before things were as simple and clean as they used to be.

A lower-range alto female joined the choir in the hymn, and Wakka eased up slightly.

The young blitzball player had never cared for sopranos.

It was then that he became aware of how nice everything in the room smelled. The weather wasn't on either side of being uncomfortable, so the flaps of the tent had been left open to let a cool breeze in. It felt like a night back in Besaid.

Seymour had miraculously reoutfitted himself without Wakka noticing anything, and was standing by the bedpost. "I suppose you'll be on your way, then?"

Wakka hadn't turned around, and was about to confirm his departure until his peripheral vision made him blink. He could have sworn Seymour had taken on the aura of a girl. Wakka didn't say anything. He could only stare.

Seymour smiled and closed his eyes. "Is there something on my face?"

"N-no, Maester Seymour, I just..."

"You just...what?"

Seymour was smiling as if he were the cat that just ate the canary. Wakka was unnerved, but he wasn't moved to move. He wanted to stay. He ACTUALLY wanted to stay. "I just...thought you looked like someone for a second."



All right, now this was bad.

This HAD to be bad.

Wakka took a step towards him.

"I don't think I need to tell you this, but I hope you haven't gotten attached to me," he grinned.

"N-no, not at all. I mean, not like that., wait, it's not that I wouldn't if I could, but..."

Seymour took a step towards Wakka and cut his painful blathering short with an appraising look. "You know, you've got a very pretty face for a jock..."

Wakka blinked. If it had been any other time, any other person, or any other place, he'd have socked the guy, no matter who he was. But...


"You, too..."

"I-I mean..."

"Ha ha HA ha ha ha ha!"

"Whasso funny?"

"After all of that, you're still wound so tight. One would have thought finding salvation would be more...relaxing."

Wakka stopped. I knew something seemed wrong...

Seymour put a brotherly arm around his shoulder and motioned for him to sit on the bed. "Maybe some reciprocation would make you feel better?"

"NOO. No. Please, Maester Seymour, none of that for me, please. I don't think I could appreciate it or feel comfortable with it. Not that I don't like you, but I came here to atone. And I don't want anybody going out of their way to make me feel no more important than anybody else. Especially not now."

Gladly, Seymour didn't seem the least bit perturbed. "A pity. You have something, Wakka. If you wanted, I could make your wildest dreams fan out before you with the snap of a finger."

Wakka shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, Maester Seymour, I'd rather work my own way to my dreams..."

"There must be SOMETHING I can do for you." His tone was patronizing, but appropriate for the situation.

He WAS pretty for a boy. If he didn't look hard enough, he could almost imagine him as not even a boy at all. Wakka swallowed again and looked thoughtfully down at the floor, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"Well, can I ask something a little less...seemingly undignified?"

"All right?"

Seymour sat down next to him on the bed, entirely too close to him. He put his fingertips on the base of Wakka's chin, and he put his other hand on Wakka's furiously beating heart. It slowed unnaturally. "Stay very...very still..."

Wakka couldn't get over the softness of his face as he kissed him. The Hymn began to swirl more loudly above them than before, and for some unnatural reason, the sound Seymour made when he came up for air was...beautiful. And he found himself kissing him back quite confidently. The music became even louder, and every little sound that was made seemed to echo. Wakka didn't need to open his eyes to know that the room had taken on some weird etherial form. His brain rationalized that it must have been some sort of glamour, but the point was, as it was from the beginning, good to be forgiven.

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