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Visions	By : anyasy Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy XII Views: 967 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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October 29
RTFM

[A/N I did intend to originally continue the Yume arc, but �
too much FFXII XD And then I read an incredibly funny Isshin (Bleach) fic by
memlu� BTW, sadly enough, this was yet another �phrase� that I had to look up.
T_T; I suck.� Also partially fault of
friend, who apparently classifies Balthier-Basch-Fran as �Team Adult�. Lol.]

Birds, bees and a mostly oral heritage

Balthier was arranging some last minute supplies purchases
from the Garif merchant in preparation for their trek through the Golmore
jungle when Vaan asked The Question.�

Actually, he had been expecting some comment or other from
the group, for a while now � particularly from Fran, with a Viera�s bald lack
of tact regarding observations on Humes � but outside of that incident in
Bhujerba, the journey had, so far, been blessedly free of unwanted remark.� Until now, it seemed, and from a child, no
less.

�Why is it you and Basch make so much noise at night?�

Larsa � who had also been watching the haggling (with the
detached interest of someone who had been born into ludicrous amounts of gil
and therefore never had to haggle in his life) � looked up.� �I too, was wondering the same.� Be you both dueling?�

�That�s silly, Larsa,� Penolo chipped in, from where she had
been looking at a beautifully painted earthenware pot, �How can they duel in a
tent?�

�Soldiers fight each other all the time,� Larsa was happy to
explain, �Arm-wrestling, and such masculine sport.� I was once told that it helps to relieve the stress and strain before
a battle, as well as build camaraderie.�

�Arm-wrestling? You probably don�t win much, then,� Vaan
glanced at Balthier�s shirt-clad, relatively more slender arms in question,
then at the bared, muscular ones of Basch, who was at the very edge of hearing
and very obviously pretending he hadn�t heard anything at all, studying the
empty blue sky with a sudden deep and abiding curiosity.

Idly, Balthier wondered, for a very, very brief moment, if
killing children was an appropriate response in this case (even if one of said
children was a Prince of Archadia) � his trigger finger was itching.� The Garif trader had gone very still,
painted shoulders clad in roughly stitched animal hides shaking slightly, as
though in barely restrained laughter.

Balthier looked around for the last two adults of the party
� Ashe was nowhere in sight � probably discussing some final detail with the
Great chief � and Fran� well, he didn�t particularly want any help from Fran,
on this sort of matter.� So it was lucky
that Fran was at the river, watching the wrestling between two Garif
warriors.� Though probably not out of
hearing � he could see one long, furry ear twitch.� Ah.� He was on his own,
then.�

�I�ve seen arm-wrestling before,� Penolo said, tilting her
head, �And the noise is different.�

Balthier pinched the bridge of his nose.� �Penolo� you and Vaan are street children�
how in Raithwall�s name could the both of you never have��

�King Raminas set up a well-funded and staffed orphanage,
just before the war began, for children who would be bereaved by war�s horror,�
Basch said, very neutrally, from the side.�
�It provides basic education and finds all the children respectable
employment of a sort, once they are of age.�

�Thank you, Basch,� Balthier said sharply, with a tone that
implied that he was going to make the other man regret this, somehow, and
soon.��

�Just thought I should help,� Basch�s eyes were fixed on the
few scudding clouds.� The Garif trader�s
shoulders began to shake a little more noticeably, and both of Fran�s ears were
twitching now.

�Obviously, the education in this orphanage is lacking.�
Balthier muttered.

�What education would this be?� Larsa asked, looking
confused.� �I for one likely cannot be
said to lack that, for I have been inundated by private tutors e�er since I
could hold a quill.�

�And we went for most of the classes,� Penolo said, with
wide-eyed innocence.� �Or at least, I
did.� Vaan��

�Hey, those classes never did us any good,� Vaan
protested.� �Learning street smarts �
that was far better, wasn�t it? In any case, I don�t see what education has to
do with arm-wrestling.�

�Who�s arm-wrestling?� Ashe asked, coming down the slope
with the Garif warchief.� At the corner
of his eyes, Balthier could see Basch become very, very still.� The Garif trader began to make muffled
chuffing noises, his elaborate horned helmet head bowed and trembling.

�We asked Balthier why he and Basch were making so much
noise at night,� Vaan was happy to explain.�

�And when pressed he merely made some abstract observation
that our education was lacking in some way or other,� Larsa extrapolated, �So
we felt it necessary to press him further on that aspect, after having deduced
that the cause of the noise in question was arm-wrestling.�

Ashe stared at Balthier for a moment, then at Basch.� �Oh, is that what it was? I thought it was
stomach trouble of some sort.�

There was a definite guffaw, from the trader.� Balthier blinked.� �But� you married Prince Rasler��

Ashe�s eyes narrowed � it was a touchy subject, Balthier
remembered.� �Yes?� she asked,
dangerously.

�Nothing,� he said quickly.

�What�s this?� Fran asked, with a perfectly straight
expression, having with cat-like silence walked up behind Balthier.� Again, Vaan and Larsa were happy to include
another person in the �arm-wrestling� discussion.� �Oh.� Is not
arm-wrestling.�

�It�s not?� Penolo frowned.�
�Then what is it?�

�Fran�� Balthier warned.

�It is something done between two who are mates,� Fran said,
heedless of her partner�s glare.�
�There.� Let us be going.�

�Fran!�

�We know they�re friends,� Vaan said, looking more confused
than ever.� �But we�re all friends,
aren�t we? So why is it only the both of them who�� The rest of his words were
swallowed as the Garif trader and warchief burst into gasping laughter.

�Is not fr�� Fran began to say, just as Ashe cut her off,
her cheeks bright red.�

�Yes, we should be off! Now!� She quickly marched towards
the river.� Larsa hurried to follow her,
his curiosity stifled by greater concerns about the need to persuade Ashe to
accompany him to Bur-Omisace.� Vaan and
Penolo, however, lingered, to watch Balthier and Fran expectantly.

Eventually, it was the warchief who said, �When all of you
next visit, I will request permission from the Great chief for the children to
see the Lodge of the Age.� On its walls
are painted the education you lack.�

Balthier�s mind was quickly filled with disturbing images �
his smile felt fixed. �Uh� thanks.�

�It is good that children are educated,� Fran nodded.� �Though I thought the Garif had an oral
heritage.�

�Mostly, mostly,� the warchief said, as mildly as he could,
his shoulders shaking.� �Indeed, I could
request permission right now, if you feel that more appropriate.�

�We�re in a hurry,� Balthier said, in a tone that brooked no
disagreement.�

�Truly? For it would open their eyes.� Very instructional.�

�Perhaps next time,� Basch said, a little conciliatorily �
Balthier, however, refused to look at him.�

Vaan and Penolo, sensing that there was nothing else to be had,
took their leave of the warchief, waved, and started off after Ashe � Fran
glanced at Balthier, then at Basch, before following suit, at a more dignified
pace.� Muttering to himself, Balthier
pocketed the purchases, before beginning to walk down the slope � he ignored
Basch, when the other man fell into step beside him.

�Arm-wrestling, hmm?� Basch murmured, his lip quirking.

�It�s quite possible I won�t be able to face any further
acts of� �arm-wrestling�� whenever we are in close vicinity to them in
the future,� Balthier snapped, his patience finally fraying.�

Basch smirked.�
�You�re the one who begs.� And
who makes most of the noise, I should add � I did say you were being too loud.�

Balthier�s glare was mutinous, suggesting that in the
future, it was entirely possible that he would never go near Basch ever again,
if he could help it.�

-fin-

--
Last Night [somewhat OOC, so more of an extra]:

�Here?� Balthier hissed, when Basch abruptly rolled over on
top of him.� They were in a borrowed
tent in the Garif village, the animal skin blankets and sleeping rolls
uncomfortable but passable � he�d had worse, after all, in all his years of
travel.� Basch and Balthier shared a
tent, the children another, and Ashe and Fran the last.� �We�re close to the others!�

�Shy?� Basch inquired, pushing a thigh between Balthier�s
legs, fingers working at the vest.

�More like flagrantly inappropriate,� Balthier said,
catching the wayward hands.� �We�re in
hearing distance of children and your liege lord.�

�Endeavor to be quiet, then,� Basch said, with a little
smirk, and kissed Balthier roughly, taking advantage of the gasp of surprise to
push his tongue deep into the other man�s mouth, even as he used superior
strength to pull leather-clad legs open and up over his elbows, purring as he
ground the hardening swell in his shorts between the other man�s thighs.� Balthier stopped struggling almost instantly
� he bucked back, with a muffled groan.�

When they broke for air, he arched an eyebrow.� �And it�s only been a few days since
Rabanastre.�

�Your point?� Basch asked, as he claimed another heated kiss
� their tongues dueling, this time, in his mouth, Balthier�s fingers working at
the buckles on his jacket just as his own undid those on the sky pirate�s
vest.� Hips rolled against his � and his
shorts were suddenly all too confining.�

�Oil� did you bring oil?� Balthier gasped, when Basch
relinquished swelling lips to kiss a path down to his neck, discarding vest and
cravat to the side and working on the shirt � his own clothes he shrugged off,
at the sky pirate�s unvoiced insistence.

�No,� he admitted, �An� oversight.�

Balthier stilled � his eyes narrowed.� �You�re not using spit.�

�Potions��

�Vaan�s going to notice how they seem to go oddly missing,
sometime,� Balthier pointed out.� �And
it�ll hurt, still.�

Basch leaned down, to mouth a pierced ear, purring, �But
you�ll be so tight, for me.� Would you
not want to feel so?� It will be good, I
swear it.� And I will be careful.�

Balthier shivered, but he shook his head.� �No.�
I do want to walk tomorrow.� And
potions� can only do so much.�

Basch took out a small earthenware pot from his shorts � the
sky pirate�s eyes widened, then narrowed.�
�Why, you��

�I just thought I should ask,� Basch grinned, placing the
pot on the ground as he worked on suddenly unhelpful legs.� �Stay still.�

�No!� Balthier snarled, annoyed at the deception, kicking at
Basch.� A few confused moments later, he
was on his chest, pinned down, an arm across his back, and an irritated Basch
nipping none too gently at his ear.

�That wasn�t very nice.�

�Neither was it of you, to make it seem as though��

�You�ll have to be punished,� Basch whispered.� Balthier shivered, his prick twitching at
the words.� Basch�s punishments always
brought exquisite pleasure � too much of it; it crumbled his will.

�But� noise��

�Bite your hand,� Basch suggested, as he ground a rock-hard
ridge against Balthier�s rump, suggestively, forcing a concurrent friction
between Balthier�s need and the piled animal skins.� He gasped, then whimpered as his breeches were roughly pulled
down just enough to free his shaft and reveal his rump � his arm was
released.� �Angle your hips.�

He obeyed, looking back over his shoulder as Basch pulled
down his own shorts to reveal a flushed, impressive erection, which he
brusquely slathered with salve, then two fingers, which he pushed carefully
into him, slick and cold � Balthier whimpered, then remembered himself, and bit
down on his hand, shuddering, as he was stretched no more than necessary � when
they were withdrawn, he curled his own fingers tightly onto animal skins.�

Still a little too tight for penetration, he felt the burn
as thick flesh pushed into him, quivering, as Basch grunted and moaned
something unintelligible.� A few painful
inches in, the other man stilled, waiting, until the burn subsided somewhat and
Balthier made an impatient noise � then he began to push, again � and
stuck.� Balthier choked, trying to move
his hips � then realized dimly they were held in a tight grasp � he yelped,
when Basch thrust a little harder, pushing deep into him in an instance, so
deep that he felt it in his belly.�
�Basch�!�

�Be� quiet�� Basch ground out, obviously under considerable
strain, himself.� Balthier smirked, to
himself, and clenched muscle � there was a hiss, and hot wetness, deep within
him,� �Aah!�

Another clench brought a growl, and Basch began to pull back
� Balthier winced.� �I�m not yet��

�Then don�t tease, next time,� Basch hissed, though he
stilled, one hand loosing its bruising grip to reach down and fondle Balthier�s
shaft, slick with salve, stroking gently � making him whine, as a thumb rubbed
over the head.� �Very noisy.�

�Move.�

�Hn.� Balthier sheathed himself to the hilt again, instead
of obliging, and began to rock gently, the head of his shaft brushing against that
spot with each roll.� Balthier gasped,
arching, then dug sandals into pelts.�

�Harder.�

�Someday I�ll like to know� exactly who taught you to like
it rough� and thank him� then kill him,� Basch muttered, as Balthier let out a
strangled laugh.�

�Well?�

A smirk, and a nibble over his straining shoulders.� �Hn.�

Balthier sighed, gritting his teeth.� �Please.�

�Hm.� I think not,�
Basch purred, continuing the maddeningly gentle pace, and holding Balthier
still when the sky pirate cursed and struggled.�

�Please!�

�Oh?�

�Harder� please� any way you like, just harder-Gods-Basch�!�

�Hn.� Basch stroked the hand fondling Balthier up to pebbled
nipples, pulling at them none too gently, the rocks now pushing the shaft up
between the pirate�s body and the pelts.�
Just as he was about to beg again, shamelessly, Basch drew back, and
there was a sharp thrust that made him arch, and whine � then the other man went
back to the maddening rocking.

�Basch!�

�What do you want, Balthier?�

�I� I told you� harder, I want it harder�
more��

�Someday,� Basch murmured, �We�ll have to do this someplace
where you can scream for me without it� becoming inconvenient��

�Y-yes, anything!�

Basch growled, and grabbed Balthier�s shirt, wadding up a
sleeve and pushing it against his mouth.�
�Bite.� When he complied, the pace picked up � sharp, brutal thrusts,
moans still loud around the makeshift gag, his prick being ground against the
pelts with each punishing sheathe.�
Balthier brought hips back to meet each thrust, writhing in ecstasy as
Basch pounded into him � then just as he was nearing the dizzying brink, his
teeth clenched tight in fabric � Basch pulled away, with a wet sound.�

Balthier rolled around, in confusion and frustration, his
shaft wet against his abdomen.� �What��

Basch had sat down, his dripping prick proud between his
legs, as he beckoned Balthier over.� �I
want it deeper.� A smirk.� Balthier
whimpered, shakily pushing strength into his legs, as he moved over,
submissively allowing Basch to position him, his back against the other man�s
chest, the thick head rubbing against his reddening entrance.� �Lower yourself down.�

He obeyed, with a haste that made Basch laugh � taking him
balls-deep, whimpering as the head touched that spot � then he choked,
when the other man purred, �On your haunches, not your knees.�

Spooned up against Basch, his fingers tight over arms, he
whimpered, as compliance pushed the thick shaft within him so deep that spots
danced across his eyes.� �Ohh��

�Like that?� Basch murmured, against his ear, a hand between
his legs again, stroking, rubbing over his balls.� �Now, at your pace, Balthier.�

A clumsy rhythm melted into a sharp, satisfying one, between
heat and the hand on his prick, and he was barely aware of the �Noise,
Balthier� as he gasped, brokenly, his head lolling across a broad shoulder,
whimpering Basch�s name as he speared himself on the shaft frantically, feeling
the need build � then there was a grunt, as he was pushed off, sprawling on the
pelts.�

Turning to snarl a complaint � he shrieked, instead, as a
leg was jerked up to a shoulder, spreading him wide, and Basch thrust roughly
into him, ramming against his prostate, setting a brutal pace, yelps and gasps
marking each thrust, up until he arched, with a harsh cry, as he spilled
between them � Basch followed suit quickly enough, with a low moan.� When the other man pulled out sitting back,
Balthier ran an arm over his eyes.� �Oh,
fuck.�

�Noisy,� Basch agreed, with a little smirk.�
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Visions

Birds, bees and a mostly oral heritage