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Sweet Religion	By : KitsuneArasi Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy XII Views: 1004 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII and the daring darlings therein do not actually belong to me. I just torture them in my free time. I make no profit from any of these goings on.

Chapter List
- 1-Sweet Religion
- 1
Sweet Religion
By: KitsuneArasi
- Truth, lies. Husbands, wives.
Whisper, shout. In, out,
in, out. -

�You were out for a long time, yesterday.�
�Hm.�
�Praying again?�
The man paused in adjusting his tie, glancing sideways, but not turning his head.
Nude. Then again, wasn't that always the case? Nude, sprawled out on the bed in a filthy display of temptation. Bedroom-tousled blonde hair formed a halo on the cushion beneath the boy's head, framing warm, tanned skin, full lips, and accusing blue eyes.
Ah. The eyes had caught him.
�And if I was?�
A sneer broke those features, transforming something so close to a piece of heaven into something dark and taunting.
He snorted, mocking the man as he fretted with the top button of his shirt.
�You're pathetic.�
�Excuse me?�
The blonde chuckled darkly. �You spend so much time at church, begging to be forgiven.� A malicious smile touched his lips as he arched up, arranging himself in a pose both seductive and predatory, �And then you come right...back...to me to sin some more.�
�Wh-what would you know about religion?�
Another snort, �I know the point of confession is to be sorry. And I know the point of being sorry is not to do it again.�
�You've got some nerve.� He turned to face the boy, eyes narrowing.
�And you've got a hard-on. Again. Mmmm, you are filthy.� He stuck out his tongue, showing off the stud.
There was a low, soft groan that couldn't be held back, �I-I have to go to work. I don't have time for this.�
�It's okay,� The smile on those lips was like sin, twisted and distilled, �I forgive you.�
It was his own fault, for leaving Vaan alone in his apartment.
It was his own fault, for trusting him not to do anything, given the opportunity.
He'd compared the boy to the devil himself on more than one occasion.
It had even gotten the man hot.
Really, how sad was that?
Vaan smirked, striking a match.
Too sad. Oh, just too, too sad.
�Vaan, where the hell have you been? Were you sleeping with that guy again?!�
The sound of Penelo's voice scolding him from his doorway is something he's managed to miss in the past week or so.
He can't pin down how long he's been gone, exactly, but he'd like to think he didn't waste a full month with that sad excuse for a man.
He lays on top of the comforter, staring up at the ceiling through spread fingers, his palm hovering close over his lips. The fingers of his other hand trace patterns in the cloth.
Penelo knows she's not getting an answer out of him, but she continues anyway because he's part of her family and she'd rather not watch him turn himself into a time bomb.
�I told you, Vaan. Seeing this guy is just building yourself up for a letdown. Are you going back over there again this weekend?� She bites her lip, and Vaan feels almost guilty.
�Nope.� He says simply.
He can almost feel her relax, and he knows that sunny smile is back. She's thinking, 'He's safe.' He knows it.
She doesn't see that wicked-awful smile on his lips, brushing over the skin of his palm.
Hey, at least he's being honest, right?

When Penelo sees the report on the news, she's too busy clutching at Vaan to connect the dots.
'He's safe,' she tells herself.
It doesn't occur to her that other people might not be.
She doesn't realize that things are that bad, because Vaan is a part of her family, and she'd rather not think that he could ever become that unhappy.
At least it's not her fault.
He's just a little angry inside.
He just needs a little help.
She thinks she can do it.
Ha. Ha. Ha.

�What is wrong, Penelo?� The soft, lilting voice hummed in the warm expanse of Fran's chest, where Penelo's head rested.
A carefully maintained nail traced over the delicate flesh of the smaller girl's back, as if coaxing answers from her by hand.
�Vaan.� Penelo sighed. She always sighed when Fran had her like this. She could feel all of her worries rushing out on currents of breath, hitching and swooping and flowing away.
But she couldn't seem to shake this one: �He's not happy. I know he's not happy.�
Fran 'hmmmm'ed, and Penelo held back a giggle at the sensation, shifting to rest her chin above her lover's breast, locking their eyes.
Fran always did understand things better than most.
�His relationship did not end well?�
�Yeah. He finally dumped the guy.�
�Yet you worry for him still?�
�Well, last week, there was a fire at the guy's apartment complex. I think it really shook him, but he hasn't said anything about it. Every time I bring him up, Vaan brushes it off somehow.�
�You think that he is burdened by this.�
�Mhmm. I know I'd be. He could've been there, Fran, maybe sleeping, and then he'd be...dead now.� She ended on a whisper.
Fran's nose scrunched up, as it did when she was thinking deeply on something. This was too big of a coincidence to be luck.
But, for now...
Fran closed her eyes for a moment, humming softly before looking into Penelo's again.
�Relax,� She mumbled, softly, �All will be well.�
It was best to gather evidence before making an accusation.
Vaan knows, by now, what he is.
He knows that he is not a good person.
He knows that he has not been for several years, now.
He knows that he is a criminal, and he knows, on some level, that he is destroying himself.
But who's to stop him?
It's been years since he's had a daddy.
Is it so bad?
Is it so bad for him to want one?
Balthier, too, is entirely aware of him.
The way the little blonde stares intently as the bartender pours gem-colored liquor into his glass, waiting with bated breath for the muzzy-headed bliss of inebriation.
As if the man is a magician.
He thinks it's endearing, watching this boy, teetering so precariously on the verge of something more frightening than he's prepared for.
Balthier runs a hand through soft, autumn-brown hair, imagining the feel of the soft blonde strands of his target.
He grins, a lusty turn of his lips, before settling in to wait for his moment.
Balthier knows his mark.
He has been playing this game longer than Vaan, after all.
After Vaan's third full glass, Balthier felt that the moment was opportune.
He'd sauntered to the bar, answering the barman's suspicious glare with a self-satisfied grin.
How cute.
The man was being protective of the little blonde.
�Tomaj...? You listening?� Vaan blinked up at him, eyes bleary and face flushed. He hadn't yet learned to hold his liquor well, and Tomaj was now fairly sure he knew more about certain recent events than Penelo did.
The barman bit his lip, watching the other man approach. Another brainless 'daddy' was not what Vaan needed right now, �I'm listening, Vaan. You want some water?�
He watched the blonde's nose scrunch up in something akin to childish disgust, �You tryin' to sober me up?�
�Yes, Vaan. Because you're trashed. I think we need to get you home.�
�Oh, my,� Balthier smirked, settling gracefully onto the stool beside Vaan as Tomaj growled at him, �Is your young friend having trouble?�
�No, my young friend is fine. --Vaan!�
Balthier chuckled, catching the boy as he fell from his seat and hauling him up against him.
But�Balthier frowned, just slightly. Just how little did this boy eat?
He shook his head, the charming smirk returning with a vengeance, �Poor thing. Am I so charming?�
Vaan hummed, �Sh-shut up and take me home...�
�Take you home? Are you quite certain?�
Vaan's eyes focused on his, pretty blue sparkling in the overhead lights, and Balthier had the distinct sensation of being caught, �Are you?�
In those eyes, there was the promise of a downfall, a fire, a ferocious vengeance. There was no doubt that this boy was just as dangerous as Fran suspected.
...Perfect.
Fran told him: Careful, Balthier, be careful. This boy...he's done this thing, I know it.
Balthier had smiled, just slightly.
Imagining the smell of the match, the heat, the wetness of those lips.
Imagining the taste of sin.
But he did not quite picture what he found.
Balthier's apartment, within seconds of Vaan's entrance, becomes nothing but a frame.
There is nothing here more important nor interesting than the blonde, stretched erotically over his sheets.
Bless, he whispers, Aren't you a pretty little thing?
And Vaan shivers.
His shirt is removed slowly, the fabric followed in its ascent by moist lips and warm breath.
He sobs, and a pair of curious gray eyes lift upwards, �Yes?�
Calloused, trembling fingers grasp at the cloth of Balthier's shirt, �You...� The grip loosens, pads roving over cloth, skin, and hair. Blue eyes dart about, and he bites his lip. ...Confused. The boy seems confused.
A warm tongue traces the shell of his ear as a warm, soft palm slides down, down, down...
�Stop. Take it. Just take it.�
Not confused. He looks terrified.
�'Just take' what?� Balthier can safely say that he has never experienced anything quite like this.
A firm hand grasps his throat, periodically tightening and loosening its grip, �I'll kill you. I swear. Stop it. Stop.�
One of Balthier's hands joins Vaan's as he props himself up above the boy.
�What if...I don't want to?�
Wide, blue eyes accuse him, but Balthier is beyond guilt, here.
�What if I wanted to worship you?�
�Liar.�
�What if I want nothing more than to die here, with your blessing on my lips?�
�Liar!�
�I don't lie.�
�Everyone lies.�
There are tears gathering on ash blonde lashes, and Balthier kisses each one, his thumb brushing against the choking fingers, �Then send me to hell. Burn me down, but let me worship you first.�
It's too much.
This man is made up of so many complex little pieces and motivations, baubles and trinkets and little gems and piercings.
Vaan does not know where to put himself, and he is distressed.
�Relax, boy. I have you.�
He falls neatly into Balthier's cracks, and the older man takes him in.
He sets them both on fire.
Fran had warned him.
She had tried so hard to warn him. She repeats this shallow comfort to herself, over and over in her mind as the hollow-thick throb in her chest swells, mimicking the healthy heart that should have been there.
Penelo is there, beside her, as the news report picks up again.
The blonde shivers just slightly. She tries to hide it for the good of her girlfriend, but it's impossible to do away with the little tremors.
She understands, now, exactly what Vaan has become, and what may well have become of Vaan.
He has not come home.
Penelo has run out to check three times, eyes wet and red each time she returned, shaking her head. She looked so small, rapping weakly on the door, wrapped in one of Fran's jackets and little else.
She only wants to see her friend.
Breathing, preferably, and minimally singed.
But there is no sign.
Fran reaches up, threading her delicately manicured fingers through soft blonde hair. Her breath rattles in her chest as she pulls Penelo closer.
She can't even bring herself to be angry with anyone.
It was clear that Vaan had been damaged, and she had called upon her dearest friend�not the most hale and healthy himself�to interrupt the pattern.
As if Balthier should act as some sort of human backfire to Vaan's raging inferno.
Well, they've burnt one another out well enough, that much is certain.
At least, she thinks so before another knock sounds at the door.

Fran remembered the feel of wetness on her cheeks before a sudden burning sensation in her knuckles.
That had been the first time she'd ever punched anyone.
Yet Balthier sat there, slumped gracelessly on the ground with another stupid, lascivious grin on his lips.
�Why, Fran, is that any way to greet a poor wanderer, chased from his home by unfortunate circumstances?�
She opened her mouth to scold him raw, but stopped short, turning to look at his companion.
�I hope you've finished this habit, because you're certainly not going to do it to my home. ...Go. Penelo worries for you.�
And then she was alone with the land-bound rogue again.
�Well?�
�What can I say, dear, dear Fran, but that you've given me my one true match.�
A pale brow arched, �I sincerely hope that the insurance money was worth it.�
�Undoubtedly.�
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. This story, as you may have guessed, is inspired by Imogen Heap's 'Sweet Religion'. To make everything clear, what Vaan was going through psychologically was not a good thing. That much is obvious. I don't claim to be writing up a solution to a situation that ordinarily requires psychiatric help. If anyone close to you displays a sign of their need for help, please, help them get it.
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Sweet Religion