Across the Threshold of Ivalice - LEMON VERSION

BY : MystKnight
Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy Misc
Dragon prints: 1851
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Tactics is owned by Square Enix. I write this without consent, and am making no money off of it.



Orbonne Monastery, Middle Ages



The sweet smell of cloverleaf washed into the cathedral on the lazy afternoon currents hounding the area. It coasted down the stone walls and through the open doorway like a rain-drenched butterfly searching desperately for shelter. Like that same butterfly, a single flick of foliage fluttered in through the doors into a stained-glass paradise. It looped and somersaulted through a meandering path before landing beside a blond-haired boy who, too, looked like he had been searching for a place to rest.

Ramza awoke to the light hitting his face and the cloverleaf tickling his nose. He thrashed about absently on the cool, marble floor, as if snuggling under a bundle of disheveled sheets. "Alma, not now," he muttered groggily, not quite in tune with the waking world. "We'll play the reed flutes some other time."

"Alma?...Alma!" Upon hearing his own voice call the name of his beloved sister, Ramza opened up his shining eyes to the cold caress of reality. In an almost comical fashion, he flopped and groaned like a fish before managing to find his footing on the floor of the abandoned monastery. Managing an upright landing, the young lad scrambled around the building, looking desperately for some sign of the missing girl.

The memories of the horrific battle upon the fallen Airship has started trickling in. Like a bad dream, the Blood Angel Altima advanced upon young Ramza, knocking aside his comrades like bothersome blood-bugs. He could only watch as the last line of defense, made up of a near-family-like group of friends, were dealt with swiftly and harshly by the wrongly exalted menace to Ivalice. Yet, standing in front of his sister Alma, there was not room for retreat or remorse, only for battle.

And yet, that sister of his was determined to fight alongside him, even as beleaguered she was then. Looking more like a deity than Altima ever could, the girl stood her ground and poured her soul into one last protective spell, sending herself into unconsciousness with the expended energy. The memories were already becoming vague-ish, but he couldn't recall what had happened to his closest sibling and friend. Had Alma given up her much-fought-for existence to save her own rescuer?

He couldn't have it.

Practically tearing apart the quaint little citadel, Ramza went all out in his continuing search for Alma. He had fought so hard for her, and to think she would throw it away for something as simple as his own life. Already his mind was contemplating a way to return to Murond Death City and the Graveyard of Airships, ready to fight off a thousand Altimas if it meant the safety of his sister.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried.

A quiet little sigh whispered to Ramza's right, knocking him momentarily out of his frantic search. Moving away from the confession booth he had been examining, he calmed his nerves and proceeded towards the head of the cathedral. Beyond the new organ tucked away in the corner of the church was a small altar table, engraved with the writings of the fiend he had slain. Nevertheless, it brought forth from the war-born boy a sigh of relief, upon finding the figure resting upon it was alive and well.

Sprawled across the altar like a sacrifice was his sister Alma, a pretty girl perhaps one year younger than himself. Flaxen hair in a ponytail hung from the back of her head, falling behind her like the sands of time. The pink skirt she wore drooped slightly towards the floor, the garment being too long to fit onto the stone bench. And her soft face was relaxed in utter peace, her lips pursed in a calm little line that could even perhaps break out into a sort of smile.

Ramza drunk in the serene beauty of his only family, letting his gaze travel from the tips of her boots to the top of her sweet little head. For a brief moment, he felt awkward for staring at Alma so, but he brushed it off soon enough. His sister was beautiful, something no man, husband or brother, could deny. It was something that had to end, however, for the afternoon was late, and it was time to leave.

The boy was saved from the burden of waking her when Alma's eyes fluttered up on their own, revealing crystalline irises the same color as his. They blinked unsteadily for a moment, still getting used to the difference between the airships and the monastery, when they set sight upon the comforting shape before her. "Brother Ramza?" she asked, wondering if the boy was perhaps a phantom of imagination.

"I'm here, Alma," he said, unable to keep the relieved smile from his sister.

The girl seemed to be processing this information for the moment. "Ramza..." she whispered, her large eyes flickering before bursting open in a complete rush of joy and recognition. "Oh, Ramza!" Alma cried out, leaping up and embracing the boy with a surprising burst of energy. "I thought I lost you for good!"

Ramza was taken aback by her sheer affection, but quickly found it within himself to hug Alma back, bringing her to him. Her chest pressed snugly against his, and he could feel the pitter-patter of her heart bumping in her body. He let himself get washed away in the waves of love, forgetting the pain of battle he had so recently been subject to. The blood of his enemy stained his hands, yet everything was perfect once again in the arms of his sister.

The boy found himself a bit disappointed when he found Alma disengaging from their closeness, though she still held him at arm's length. He opened up his eyes to find the girl staring at him though pleading, almost-fearful eyes. "Where are the others?" she asked, her voice rigid with the tension that had built up in the seconds they broke apart. Afraid of the answer she already knew was coming.

Ramza knew he could not deny her anything that he had had, least of all the truth, as much as he wanted to. "I've not seen them since the explosion at the airship," he said softly, looking into her eyes to convey the harsh facts to her. "They're gone, Alma."

Alma actually scooted away from the boy for a moment, as if not wanting to hear such news even from a loved one. But soon, his steadfast eyes brought forth the tender meaning within, and hers were glistening with the hurt she held for her brother's loss. "Oh, Ramza," she said softly, bringing her head into the boy's chest. "I'm so sorry."

Ramza let his hand bury itself into her sandy blond hair, bringing her close to his heart like the most important keepsake. Letting himself comfort her as well as being comforted. "Now you know the sadness of war," he said with sage-like finality, feeling much older than his tender years.

Alma nodded against him, not looking up to meet his eyes. "I know."

The two sat in each other's arms across the meaningless altar, taking care of each other with tenderness only born to tragedy. It was not clear whether the situation was that of a sister comforting a saddened brother, or a wife caring for a warrior husband. Ramza at last let a single tear escape his stoic gaze, letting it fall upon the marble floor with a shattering pop. A broken tear for allies lost to war, and for friends sorely missed.






The outside of Orbonne Monastery was a far cry from its interior, it must be said. While the inside of the chapel prompted strictness and reverence with its restrictive stained glass, the outside seemed to revel in the freedom and frivolity of the open sun. Every daisy planted seemed even more alive, every vine rising in triumph with the glorious day. It was a shame that the two youths there couldn't see past their difficulties and enjoy it properly.

For the Beoulve siblings were still there, even after a whole hour of preparation. And they were arguing.

"Are you crazy?!" Ramza exclaimed, driving his sister back from where she stood. "How could you even think of wanting to come along?"

"I told you before, brother," Alma repeated, managing not to cow down from the sheer force of the other's will. "I want to be by your side always, even if it means leaving my home forever."

"You can't be serious," he said more evenly, turning his back on the girl. "There are horrible dangers out there even the Lion War probably can't prepare you for."

Alma was thoroughly unshakable. "I know I'll be prepared for anything, as long as we're together," she said sincerely, though nothing but an exasperated sigh was received from Ramza.

The two had been engaged in a fierce row involving the nature of their so-called demise. With the explosion emanating from Murond Death City attracting the attention of those that had known them, both Ramza and Alma were assumed dead, giving the older Beoulve just the excuse he needed to slip out of Ivalice now and forever. But there was no reason why Alma had to come along for something as simple as moral support. She could have found some other way to remain in Ivalice, instead of making off with him like the heathen that he had made himself into.

And yet, somewhere deep within Ramza's heart, he knew that any verbal tactics he used would never be enough to convince his sister. Alma was of the indomitable Beoulve nature, the way of the warrior that unfortunately was not transferred well to Zalbag and Dycedarg. Though Zalbag had eventually found it within his heart to be a true Beoulve, that was never any question to where the girl's heart lay. It was as Father always said: nothing happens without a Beoulve.

And that included Alma.

He had to try again, though. "Alma, you always loved Ivalice," he rationalized, adding a new tact in his logic. "Do you really want to leave this beautiful land for a dead man like myself?"

At this, Alma looked away, seeming to consider this for the first time. "I...I do love Ivalice," she said quietly, looking towards the lovely monastery she had spent field trips and summers at. However, she soon lost that glimmer in her eyes, and had quickly replaced it with hard determination. "But I love you more."

Before Ramza could react any further, she took his hand within her own, cradling it like some small, lonely animal. "When I was held captive by Vormav, I made a promise to myself," she started, staring directly into his eyes with crystalline compassion. "I promised I would return to the man I loved, and stay by his side for as long as I could." Her eyes now glowing with love, and even passion, for the one that held such a close place in her heart. "It's you, brother, and I never want to leave your side. Not if you marry someone else, nor if you become the poorest soul in the land."

The faintly romantic touch in her speech was not lost on the boy, and he soon turned various different shades of red. True, it had been a long time since that time they had shared traveling from Lesalia Imperial Castle to this very monastery, but its effect were such that their relationship still had that slight change to it. After some harrowing heart-to-heart in the Zeklaus Desert, they had shared a brief, tender kiss, one that surpassed their status as sister and brother. Alma had obviously not forgotten it, and neither could he.

A cold chill enveloped Ramza's body, like the metallic twang of a holy sword. He wrapped his arms around himself, the ghosts of yesterday wandering through his head. The forbidden love Ramza and Alma were flirting with had been significant to Agrias as well, back when she was still with them. A most unfortunate incident it was, indeed.






"How could you, Ramza?" the woman launched at her leader, standing up to her full height. "How could you perpetrate such an act?!"

"Agrias, that's not fair," he responded with all the courage he could muster, though even now he could feel himself weakening. "You know my relationship with Alma has nothing to do with our fight."

"And you kept it a secret from me, too!" she continued, near oblivious to the boy's defense. "Tell me, were you ever going to tell us, or were you and your sister going to run off in the middle of the night like the Death Corps?"

The Holy Knight's accusations bit Ramza's soul to the core. "I...I don't know what to say," he said hollowly, feeling more guilt than he had since the death of Teta. This got nothing more than a snort from Agrias, and she promptly turned away from him in a frustrated huff.

The two were deep within the woods, quite a ways away from the encampment that even now was plotting how to best aid their leader. Alma had just been seized by Izlude, and everyone was in frantic-mode trying to figure out a way to save her. Agrias had been looking for clues among Alma's dropped belongings when she had stumbled upon the younger girl's diary. It was then she discovered the true nature of the relationship between her and her brother.

Agrias was known to be a deeply religious person, reverently following the ways of Ajora. Traveling with Ramza was something she thought her god would approve of, but all she had experienced thus far was the steady crumbling of her faith. Demonic angels, priests gone wrong, it was a disciple's worst nightmare come true for her. And now, discovering a relationship like this was happening under her nose, it must've felt like a final slap to the face.

Ramza heard a brief sniffle emanate from her back, and could now tell she was crying. "I guess it was just a matter of time before you turned your back on the faith," Agrias said bitterly, angrily wiping the signs of her weakness away. "But how can you expect me to turn away? Protecting Ovelia, serving Ajora, my two goals in life are both gone now. What is left for me now?"

The young man growled in frustration as his own mistakes, of letting his trusted ally and friend fall to her own doubts. Gathering up his nerves, he walked over to the braided woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. "None of what I have with Alma was about deliberate sin," he said softly, squeezing her through the roughly woven mail she wore. "But I deeply apologize for hurting you."

Agrias only sobbed roughly, trying weakly to brush his hand away. Determined not to let things end like this, Ramza drew the woman into an embrace, their breastplates clanking against each other. "Please stay by my side, and trust me again," he said, hoping that it wasn't too late to reach her. "I promise we'll find something else to believe in."

Agrias was like a breaking dam, rocks crumbling off her soul into the all-consuming waters of oblivion. Then, very gradually, she began to turn in his arms, embracing the boy as she finally let her own tears fall.






Ramza woke up from this brief recollection, though his eyes were still closed with remorse. Although the two had eventually made up, Agrias still carried a region of doubt for a long time, concerning her god and their love. She had eventually grown to accept their attraction and even fight for it, when confronted with the cruel monster that her deity truly was. Those words she said still haunted him, though, as she meant them with all her heart that day she had been hurt so badly.

He shook off his doubts the best he could. No matter what Agrias on anybody else said or felt, his relation with Alma was what it was. There was no way to deny the mutual attraction they felt now; to do so would only be a lie.

And perhaps it was that reason why Alma was destined to follow after him, like the love-struck girl she was.

One more time, just to make sure. "Alma, is this what you truly want?" he asked her, looking in her in the face seriously. "I'm...I'm not sure if I can give you what you need."

Alma looked slightly disappointed in the implications in his speech, but nodded nonetheless. "I'm ready, brother," she said, mustering up some enthusiasm to go with her affirmation. "No matter what happens between us, we'll be together."

Ramza looked into the watery wells of her eyes, searching for any sign of doubt. Then, finally, he turned away briskly. "Then let's get one of the Chocobos ready for your use," he said, walking over to where own trusty Chocobo, Boco, stood at the ready. "We're going to be traveling a lot before we leave."

Alma's brief excitement at winning the verbal battle had soon turned to confusion, as her brother mounted his steed. "Before we leave?" she inquired, wrinkling her nose in a girlish manner.

The Squire peered over to the Cleric, grabbing the reins of his bird tightly. "I'm going to give you one last tour of Ivalice," he said, his expression one again becoming stern. "You may not ever see it again." He yanked briskly on the reins, prompting the bird to raise his head and start walking over to the encampment. "Let's hurry up."

Alma smiled briefly at her brother's go-get-'em attitude, wondering how he never seemed to change, even after all this time. And then she was running after him, where Ramza was keeping her own Chocobo from their brief journey so long ago.

Soon, they were off on their Chocobos, towards the new path they had forged with their words and hearts. And the beautiful sight of the Monastery remained sadly unnoticed, never to be seen by them again.






A fresh, summer breeze blew past Alma, rustling the fabric of her skirt around her legs. Brushing her hair out of her face, the girl's eyes roved over the Mandalia plains, catching sight of Ramza plucking a few reeds from the ground ahead of her. She looked longingly towards her brother, much like a fairytale heroine would her prince. A soft sigh escaped her lips, as she wished for something that he may never let her have.

The siblings had been completing Ramza's promise to Alma, traveling across the country for nostalgic memories of old Ivalice. Upon returning to Igros, they had skulked around town visiting the various haunts of their youth. A trip to the Igros Aristocratic School brought particularly strange feelings to the young girl. Though she still wore clothing suitable for a young lass, she felt that she had had grown out of simple school matters, had grown out of them for a long time now.

Even if Alma could permit herself to return to her old life, she knew in her heart that she could never fit in with it anymore. The Lion War had already effected her too much to see anything in the land other than the needless pain and suffering that brought about King Delita's reign. The schoolgirls operated as if nothing had changed, but the war had made Alma into much more than a schoolgirl. Even if it taken her a long time to convince her brother of just that.

It was as Ramza's side where Alma belonged now.

She turned again to face her brother, and let a wry smile crawl onto her lips. Although Ramza would always claim to be the big, bad, older brother, the fact was that the young warrior needed someone to take care of him. As a cleric, sister, and friend, she would dress his wounds and heal her own soul at the same time. They were a perfect match: crusading siblings on the path to righteousness.

She sighed. If only she could be what Ramza truly needed...

The clomping of boots caught her attention, and Alma turned to find Ramza returning from whatever errand he had in the fields. He was carrying a pair of newly-broken reeds in his right hand...and something else in his left. As she began to peer at whatever mystery object he held in his grasp, he quickly hid it beyond view, causing the girl to giggle. Secrets, secrets.

Regaining his composure, Ramza walked over to Alma and presented her with one of the reeds. "It's been awhile since you've practiced the reed flute," he said softly, the wind rustling his hair like a wild mane. "Why don't you try it now?"

Alma relented to her brother's polite directive, taking the slender plant from his hand and trying not to blush at his handsome features. The reed was already cut in the perfect position for playing, so she brought the 'mouthpiece' to her lips and prepared. Remembering the technique their late father had taught them, she puckered up and blew into the hole. The makeshift flute rewarded her with a soft, squealing noise that carried across the Mandalia plains.

"You're off key," was the only response she got from her brother, however. Her skirt billowed out as she whirled to face Ramza, who was folding his arms and looking like what he was: a stern, military commander. "Try again."

Alma stiffened up with a small ire. "Excuse me, brother," she chanted indignantly, putting her hands on her hips. "But cleric school doesn't leave me much time for practicing. Not to mention being kidnapped."

"It doesn't matter how little time you have, Alma," he responded, shaking his head in disdain. "You practice the reed flute with what time you have." He grabbed a stick, and made like an instructor pointing on a chalk board. "Wake up at dawn, practice the flute. Eat breakfast, practice the flute."

It didn't take a Goug genius mechanic to realize that he was playing with her: a simple joke that Ramza used to infuriate her as a child. Rather than getting incensed, however, Alma simply decided to play along with him. "And how will you punish me if I refuse, dearest Ramza?" she replied, with a mock haughtiness to her tone.

"With consequences," he replied simply, slipping up behind her and reaching down for the hem of her skirt. Alma suddenly felt a cool draft strike her knickers, and she realized that Ramza had lifted her skirt and petticoats, preparing to swat her on the underside.

"Yeep!" the girl squeaked, a red hot flush flowing to her face. "Get away!" Snatching back the hem from Ramza's daring hands, she held her skirt against her buttocks to prevent him from uncovering her again. The young man just laughed, and grabbed her arms in an attempt to wretch them away from that which they shielded. Soon, the two were engaged in a mock-wrestling match, giggling like schoolchildren on a break from the teacher's rule.

Ramza was just starting to make headway, due to his superior strength, when Alma surprised him by suddenly letting go of his hands. Confused, the boy stumbled ungainly for a moment, giving her the perfect opportunity to lay a shove on his chest. The boy indeed went sprawling head over heals, but not before grabbing onto Alma's sleeve and dragging her along with him. A slip and two screams later, and they both found themselves on the grass below, one on top of the other.

Alma looked down from her perch on top of the boy, straight into his pool-like eyes. The muddled waters within twinkled with uncertainty, and the girl found herself blushing for the second time that day. This time, the blush was not so much in shame as it was in desire, a resurfacing passion like a desert bloom in the spring. With fulfillment a hair away, she gulped down her own nervousness and let herself travel to Ramza for a tender kiss.

The kiss began someone cautiously, yet quickly opened up into a truly intimate affair as they drunk slowly from each other's lips. Their arms wrapped around the other in an embrace as their bodies melted against each other like candle wax on a stick. Alma found that Ramza was actually caressing her, running his rugged hands over her soft skin through the orange turtleneck. All too soon, the two had to come up for air, and lips separated with a final smack.

Alma sighed in bliss, her chest heaving from the sheer emotional overload of the contact. "I love you, Ramza," she gasped passionately, her head entrenched in the boy's shoulder blade.

"And I you," Ramza said, placing his hand on her golden hair and running his hands through the peach-like strands.

They kissed again, with increased fervor. Pressed together on the plains of Ivalice, they were like two love bugs in the act, and more so every minute. Alma's body was almost buckling, taking the opportunity to get closer to her brother than propriety had ever allowed. Her lips continued to peck various different parts of his face: his cheek, his nose, and his own lips, exploring as much of Ramza as available.

All the while, Ramza's hands were doing their own subtle explorations. Formerly holding onto Alma's waist, they had slipped down to her hips and remained there for a moment, as if deciding what to do next from their perilous position. Shaking with passion and anticipation, his left hand slowly made the journey from hips to thighs, feeling their smoothness through the material of her red/pink skirt. Soon, it was grasping onto the skirt itself, and had begun to lift it and her petticoats to the hot, Mandalia air.

"E-eep...!" Alma squeaked, looking nervously towards her hiked skirt. Quick as lightning, she slapped a hand over his own, preventing him from exposing any more of her legs.

"I-I'm sorry!" Ramza hastily amended, removing his appendage from the girl's garment like it was a wreath of fire.

Alma's flush shrunk a bit upon her brother's discomfort. "No, it's alright," she apologized in kind, moving her hand back to Ramza's chest. "I've…just never had someone touch me like that before."

(Touch…) Ramza pondered to himself, getting acquainted with hearing such a term coming from Alma. (I never imagined it would be I that would touch my sister like that)

Putting a hand under her chin, he tilted the young Cleric's head up to look him in the eyes. "Alma, do you want me to continue?" he asked her seriously, his countenance both stern strangely passionate.

"I…think so," Alma answered, becoming momentarily entranced in his gaze.

"Please, you need to be sure." Ramza insisted, letting go of her chin to stroke her soft cheek.

She gulped nervously, and turned away to look at the ground. "Just keep going, Ramza," she answered in a mutter, almost seeming to speak to herself. "And I'll tell you if you go too far."

Ramza just nodded, not wanting to frazzle her in this manner too much longer. Despite all the tales of soldier's lust, this was all too new to him as well. There were stories Gafgarion told, but not enough to truly inform him on how to pleasure a woman. (Best to go slowly with this,) he decided, and brought his attention back to Alma and her beckoning body.

The girl was still shyly looking off towards Ramza's shoulder, her skirts still rucked up from Ramza's previous jaunt. Boldly going onward, his hand wandered towards her skirt again and began to pull it up, exposing her frilly petticoats and surprisingly shapely legs. Alma was blushing loudly; on this day she had not worn tights, which left her bare skin exposed to Ramza's roving gaze. Still, she she did nothing to halt his progress, and the Squire took that as reason enough to continue.

As her knees came into view, Ramza let go of the garment and placed his hand on the inside of her smooth calf. Letting his fingers pepper over her skin like whimsical pixies, he stroked her alabaster skin as gently as he could. Alma bent her knees slightly upon his feather-touch, responding to the attentions with something between shyness and eagerness. He grit his teeth and prepared to go onward, trusting his sister was still willing.

Moving from the calf for the moment, Ramza maneuvered his hand under Alma's skirts and began to follow her legs with his fingers. Upon reaching her thighs, he clasped one of them in his hand, its gentle curves conforming to his grip nicely. The pretty young girl was staring transfixed at where he was holding her leg, biting her lip and reddening up. The boy responded to this with his usual care and wrapped his other arm more securely around her waist, trying to comfort her even as he traveled to her most intimate parts.

"Trust me, Alma," Ramza said, rubbing her thigh in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Alma nodded, breathing a ragged sigh into his hair. When he felt her body relax somewhat, he continued to work his rusty charms upwards along her body. Though the girl's skin was alive with goosebumps, the heat coming from her nether-regions was undeniable. Her hands had never left the boy's chest, and even now continued to stroke his chest through the light shirt he wore.

As Ramza's hand came to the top of her upper thighs, he could now feel the woven-cotton of her knickers. Inching up from the edges of the undergarment, he encased them in full with his hand, gathering up as much of her privates as he could. From the soft feel of them, Alma's underpants were probably the usual white-cotton panties that many schoolgirls wore in this day and age. Even with the intense Lion War, she remained pure and unsullied, perhaps due to his own protection of her.

Ramza roved over to his sister's buttocks, taking one of her cushy cheeks and kneeding it slightly. The girl's butt was abound with the curves of a woman, yet still held some of that girlish softness from her younger years. Deciding to test their sponginess, he took some of their flesh in between finger and thumb, pinching Alma through her underpants. "Ooh!" Alma chirped, as her abused skin shifted back into place with a [POP!] "Brother, careful!"

Ramza just grinned, giving the lovely young lady a wink that put a grin on her face as well. Caressing the "wounded" area of her hindquarters as means of apology, he kissed Alma softly, drawing her close to him. She responded a bit hesitantly, testing the waters with her own shy lips before giving in. Once she felt more secure, she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck once more, breaking the kiss and settling her head behind Ramza's ear with a sigh.

Running his hand all over her panties, Ramza eventually left her buttocks for more enticing areas. Specifically, Alma's sweet spot of pleasure, the ultimate destination of his journey. He crossed over to the gentle bud, feeling the way her panties stretched tightly over it. They seemed desperate to protect the sacred area of the girl's body from any intruders.

Ramza stopped for a moment, his hand wavering slightly over the formerly forbidden folds of her form. Alma had frozen up in his arm as well, and seemed quite anxious in one way or another. Was he too an intruder in the holy realm of his sister? Should he really prepare to deflower the girl, like some two-bit strumpet?

(But…Alma's the most important person in my life,) he decided firmly, letting his love for his beautiful sister wash over him. (That's why I want to do this.)

Then, he started to slip his fingers inside the leg-band of her knickers, his hand ready to grasp her gentle flower and explore the mysterious caves within. Not a hair permeated the boy's travels; Alma's crotch was as smooth as a flawless diamond. Unlike the diamond, however, the finely shaved bulb of pleasure was vulnerable to the slightest touch. But it wasn't Ramza's finger that was going to carve its way into his sister's flower; he had other plans.

As Alma shuddered from the young man's touch, Ramza pulled back for a moment, letting her fall back towards the grass in a heap of skirts. With the girl panting under him, he fiddled with his belt, loosening it from his grey pants. Drawing it slowly out of the loops, he tossed the belt to the ground and started to pull down his pants. He pulled them down until his blue boxers were revealed, and yanked them down too, until the tip of his manhood broke free of his constraints and bore itself to the world.

Ramza's member was broad and meaty, circumcised due to family tradition and religion. It stood up like a veiny spire, pointing up straight at Alma as if trying to burst forth and fly to her. The girl's eyes seemed to get wider and wider, and then a deep blush began to form on her face. As shocking this new image was, it pleased her very much that her brother thought her lovely, and was eager to express his love fully to her.

Letting his manhood swell in the crisp wind that had formed since they had fallen together, Ramza opted to continue his lovemaking on his feet, and he hoisted Alma up along with him. After carefully positioning her, he quickly reached down and flipped her skirts up, prompting a short chirp from the girl. As she did nothing to stop him, though, Ramza continued by thrusting his hands under her skirt and petticoats, his arms preventing the garments from falling down modestly. He gripped both of her buttocks hard and pulled her close to him, his unwrapped staff pressing hard against the fabric of her underpants.

Alma gasped as she stumbled up against Ramza's body, her hands instinctively pressing against his rock-hard chest. Breathing in tune with the beat of his heart, she tentatively raised her blushing face to stare as his own, smooth features. The young warrior's eyes were as gentle and caring as always, but there was a definite film of lust sparkling within his pupils. She could almost see herself glistening in her pupils, a tiny dancer twirling about an ornate music box, the pin-prick of a child's fancy now the center of a young man's desires.

The two stood there for a moment practically crushed against each other's bodies, one step away from natural completion. Ramza was breathing hard, rustling the girl's bangs against her forehead like the ocean lapping against a sandy beach. Alma could feel his hands kneading her buttocks, smoothing out the small creases in her panties. Their faces were mere inches away from each other, and their eyes were locked into a gaze that only the most catastrophic of events could break.

A bead of hot sweat rolled down Ramza's soft features, dripping down until it splashed against Alma's hiked skirt. His eyes then turned serious again, as he fought to contain the frothing mixture of love and lust beating through his heart. "Are you ready, Alma?" he asked her, swallowing the last bit of his hesitation down.

It took only a second for the girl to give her answer. "Yes, Ramza," she breathed, the doubt washing away from her face at well.

And in that moment, the last of the Beoulves devoted themselves to the act, and began to cross the gulf from siblings to lovers.

Moving to the waistband of her panties, Ramza's fingers tugged roughly at the material, peeling it down her skin like one might peel an orange. In just a moment, Alma's underwear had been dragged down to the top of her thighs, exposing her vaginal lips to the boy's swollen manhood. That manhood licked eagerly at the entrance to her womanly reserves, as if trying to coax its way inside. He could already feel her subtle juices rolling down his member, a mere prelude of what was to transpire.

Slowly but steadily, Ramza began to maneuver his manhood into the girl's flower. Alma helped by squirming along with him, bring him closer and closer to his untimate destination. As she did so, the boy could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, soft and malleable despite being constrained in her turtleneck top. It was a double sensation that left him energized twofold, and he was more ready than ever to go the next few steps with his lovely sister.

Continuing onward, the young man finally got his member positioned at the entrance to her sweet spot. He pushed his groin up against hers and drove it inwwards, feeling the tightness of her trench trying to restrict access. Ramza and Alma both grunted as they strove to make their two parts fit together, moving up against each other for extra support. A jostle and bump later, they were connected, so close together that they could almost be mistaken for one being.

Within the tiny cavern of flesh and muscle, Ramza's member was pulsating faster and faster with unrelenting zeal. He could feel the stirring in his heart, the love for the young girl pressed so close to him, her multiple petticoats still draped against his lower body. He could see Alma, her eyes closed and her head bent, waiting for whatever the boy would give her. And he would give her his all, his passions saved just for her.

Slowly at first, but gradually gaining speed, Ramza began to rhythmically jolt the girl, gripping her buttocks to assist him. Breathing in and out, he did his best to conserve energy, knowing that most of it would be used for the final parts. He kept the movements gentle but firm, like the man himself, making sure both parties were gaining pleasure from it. By the small gasps coming from his sister's lips, he could tell that his actions were having the desired effect, and that Alma was responded to him as a woman.

It was then that Ramza ran into a certain stretchy obstruction, in between the boy's member and the girl's sweetness. As naive as Ramza could be concerning the fairer sex, he knew that this was her hymen, the precious shield that was the final protection of all virgins. It finally struck him that this would be the first time for both of them.

Letting that thought wash away for the moment, Ramza looked insistently to Alma for approval. Understanding immediately what he meant, she nodded briefly, leaving him to his own designs. Like a jouster, the young man thrust strongly into her pelvis, penetrating the barrier and causing the girl to let out a brief yelp of pain. "Alma, are you all right?" he said afterwards, concern overriding the lust in his loins.

"It's okay," Alma responded, panting out the expended energy. "Keep going."

Ramza waited a moment to confirm the truth in her eyes, and then he, too, ignored the streamer of blood flowing across his manhood. Doing his best to retain the passion he felt earlier, he continued the motions he had started earlier. With renewed energy, he pressed close, rubbing his hands from her buttocks to her thighs to the small of her back. Alma took all this with a moan, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

"Ramza..." she sighed, her face softening to absorb the full brunt of the sensation. "Oh, Ramza..."

Ramza said nothing, but continued to work his magic on the young lass, keeping his efforts strong and continuous. He started hopping slightly with the effort, bringing the girl along with every bounce. Alma hugged the boy tightly, trying her best to keep up with his effort. A task that was going well, for she was just as energized as he was.

The two now began to move together, in a rhythm dictated by their own hearts. Alma had finally caught up with him, and was giving her best for her brother, her skirts swinging back and forth behind her like a windy sail. The night hair felt hot against them, but they were hotter, their bodies were becoming slick with sweat. Their hands clung to each other bodies as if they would die the moment they let go. And all the while, the tremendous buildup within them began to get higher and higher, bubbling up like a foaming drink from the pub.

"Oh..." Alma breathed, taking in a sharp breath of hair. "Ohhhhhhh...!"

"Almaaa...!" Ramza moaned, leaning his head down with the effort.

Their breathing became almost ragged, a sight to see for anyone witness to the innocent-looking siblings. Ramza was pushing harder and harder, though still keeping it gentle for the young girl's benefit. Alma responded to this by buckling her body against his, her pelvis pressing up against his member as if trying to swallow it. They were both getting tired, but had well enough heart to continue forward.

The night seems to resonate with their lovemaking, and even the crickets had stopped chirping in reverence for the couple. Ramza looked down upon Alma with the strangest sentiments on his face. He could not believe the love he felt for this girl, his sister, so tender yet so strong. He just wanted to keep coming on, harder and harder.

"R-Ramza...!" Alma whispered, her eyes closing as she felt the juices flow from her vaginal lips.

"Almaaaaa!" he cried, straining to keep his load in.

Time seemed to stop for a moment as both parties stretched out the pressure for as long as they could.

And then a thick stream was liberated from Ramza's member, like an eruption of milky cream. It splattered against her and seeped on in, the resentments dripping down until they reached and stained her panties around her thighs. Ramza continued to pour into her, sending his seed deep within her confines, to sprout, or not. Then, with a few more drops, he grew flaccid, the task for the night finally complete.

Speared upon Ramza's member, Alma suddenly slouched down as if in a faint, almost slipping down the boy's chest. He quickly caught her in his arms, pulling her until she was upright again. He next enveloped her in a hug was still somewhat brotherly, almost cradling the girl's soft body. "I've got you," Ramza said, his voice as serene and peaceful as the swaying of the grass in the thick, grassy meadow.



Next Up- Part 2

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