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Bellyachin'	By : WonderMint Category: Final Fantasy XIV > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2106 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy FFXIV: ARR is owned by Square Enix and based on the creation of Hironobu Sakaguchi. May they ever walk in the light of the crystal. I own no right to the characters and settings herein and seek no profit therefrom.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: And so we fly Heavensward! I was hoping to get farther into this by now so I don't spoil my headcanon, but I guess it can't be helped. There are already some inaccuracies beginning to show now that I've made some initial exploration into Ishgard, but I'm going to try not to worry about it too much. My intention was to have this story conclude at the beginning of the 3.0 story arc and pick up seamlessly, but it might end up just slightly changed. Perhaps I can revise it later.
Please note that I have added some tags.

The winds had seemed to hold their breath as the two Elezen picked their way up the cliffs of the Witchdrop. Cresting the rise that signaled their emergence from hell, it dropped all pretense and ripped the warmth from Alphinaud's body like a demon claiming his soul. The blanket flapped around his small frame uselessly, allowing the winds to blow straight through him and keeping out only a modicum of the ice and snow.
Thankfully, visibility had much improved, and though cold, the short walk back to camp was not difficult. They made their way slowly, the chocobo keeping pace by his side, his fingers originally wound into the feathers above its shoulder but soon consumed by the small warmth provided by Aymeric's larger hand. He glanced up at the knight occasionally through hooded goggles, buoyed by his perseverance and smiles so thin and small they could ever only be meant for him.
They were in sight of the gate in minutes, though it felt like bells. Through the flurry Alphinaud could make out dark shapes moving along the wall behind the occasional spark of aether. If the gate were manned, there would be no difficulty gaining entrance.
The chocobo stopped abruptly, squealing in displeasure at being reigned in so near to home. When he looked up, it was just in time to see Aymeric leaning down from his perch atop the large bird, wincing only slightly in pain as he grasped Alphinaud's chin.
“They'll see--” was all Alphinaud managed before the knight stole a kiss. It was short but insistent, thumb stroking his cheek softly as he drew away again, the moment gone forever.
“Don't care,” the knight replied, yelling against the storm, and he spurred the chocobo onward again, towards warmth and security and damnable propriety and sense.
It did not take long after for voices on the wall to raise with alarm, then cheers. Their indiscretion had remained unnoticed, it seemed. The portcullis slid open before they had fully reached it, several soldiers being the first to rush through and greet them. One took the reins of the chocobo, a look of pure awe as he regarded the three of them, emerging sound and whole from death as if they had been resurrected by the goddess and wreathed in halos.
“See that it is treated well. This bird is a hero,” he said, deflecting any questions but meaning the sentiment sincerely. The soldier gave a lopsided grin in response, patting its head in agreement as he made to lead it away. Alphinaud's hand slipped from the chocobo's neck as it drew away from him, carelessly brushing against Aymeric's leg, and he steeled his will against the other man's parting glance. An observer would have made out no emotion in either of their gazes, but they knew each other well enough now to see otherwise, a certain tightness around Alphinaud's eyes that seemed too old for his few years, a softness of gaze and a slightly upturned lip from Aymeric. In a moment even that glance was gone, a jubilant crowd gathering around the knight to help him from the bird's back and bear him to the healers.
“Al... Alphinaud?” A small voice at his feet tore him from the silent goodbye, the shift in attention raw like an open wound. Tataru stood there looking for all the world like a lost child finally returned home, tears shining in the corner of her expressive lavender eyes. She clutched a familiar bundle wrapped in paper as if it were a precious toy. “I thought for certain this time... you were...”
He smiled at her then, always glad of her support, truly the last at his side when all else had been lost. “It's fine now. I'm fine. Just a little cold, and very tired.” Now that they had entered the courtyard, the storm had simply faded away, the only remnants the chill emptiness inside him.
Tataru frowned, and quickly unbundled the package and threw its contents over his head. He barely had time to see her eyes narrow with anger and her little foot stomp petulantly before his vision was blocked by fur. “You wouldn't be so cold if you had worn your coat! Honestly, are you trying to get yourself killed on purpose? We all thought you were dead! If you ever make me worry like that again, I shall... I shall...” her short burst of anger wore itself down by the time he had pushed off his hood and shrugged on the coat, dropping the blanket carelessly on the stone floor of the courtyard.
“I shall never forgive either of us,” she finished, tears finally flowing freely, small fists attempting to rub them away before they could escape down her cheeks, and failing. Not for the first time Alphinaud was tempted to grab her up in his arms, but checked the urge, respect for the grown woman asserting itself over his misdirected instincts.
Instead, he knelt, allowing her to come to him, and he hugged her gratefully when she threw her arms around his neck. “I am truly sorry for making you worry. I acted the fool,” he murmured sincerely. But he could not bring himself to regret doing it, nor could he promise not to do so again.
After a moment she reigned in her tears and allowed him to stand, beckoning him quickly to his room, proceeding to business and practicality as was her custom. She was all chatter now, nervous and fidgety, reporting to him the goings-on about the camp in the previous bells, theories as to the nature of the storm, the chaos in the kitchens, grief at the loss and joy at the recovery of the beloved Lord Commander. Once she'd seen him to his room with a change of clothes at the ready, she disappeared to fetch some soup, and personally made certain that he ate a full bowl of it once she returned even though he'd been halfway to sleep and full of complaints.
The diminutive woman stoked the fire while he ate, passing him curious glances but saying nothing, as if afraid to distract his mouth from its important task. The soup was hearty and simple, red meat and barley and a hint of tomato in the brown onion broth. When he'd finished he was glad she had made him eat it, the chill having been chased from his core and lingering only in his extremities. He knew that soon enough he would find the heat overbearing, and he was glad of it.
She took the bowl from him, setting it aside and tucking the blanket over him like a worried hen smothering her chicks. A knock sounded at the door and Lord Haurchefant let himself quietly in, bowing his head apologetically over the intrusion. He made his way to the youth's bedside and pulled up a chair to examine him fretfully over folded hands, and Alphinaud had to fight Tataru's ministrations to sit up and acknowledge him respectfully.
“You were supposed to be laying low,” the lord said after a moment's consideration, “hiding from the powers that seek your head on a pike. And now it seems you have made quite the impression amongst the men, bringing their Commander back from death like an angel from the heavens. There are stories, already.” Sky blue eyes glinted intensely, not with annoyance but respect and gratitude. “Of course, I have bid the men drink to the health of the passing adventurer who saved him. But as many already know the look of you from around the camp, we cannot expect to quell all the rumors.”
“I must once again thank you, Lord Haurchefant. Your quick thinking and loyalty to your friends is unparalleled. I am once again in your debt.” Alphinaud bowed his head slightly, feeling truly guilty at the uproar he had caused, and not a little embarrassed.
“Don't be silly,” the lord answered breezily, “it is we who are eternally in your debt, myself especially. You cannot imagine the blow such a loss would have struck against our entire nation. You have foiled the plans of this Geomancer and saved a good man from death, there is no cause for mourning. In fact, I imagine the Holy See will hear of it. I can hear it now, shock ringing through the Vault like the cathedral's bell. The defenders of the Steps of Faith have once again defied the odds, this time risking life and limb on a selfless errand of mercy, to snatch a single good man from the heretic's noose!” The stormy-haired man gestured expansively, voice rising a fraction, though mercifully still at a volume appropriate for the small room. Alphinaud coughed quietly, hoping to refocus his attention.
It worked, allowing him to breathe a small sigh of relief as the glint of madness disappeared from the other man's eyes. “Are you quite well, Alphinaud? We should fetch you a healer.”
“No, thank you, I am quite well. Tataru has soothed my chill. I only want for rest.” Dearly did he wish for his two friends to leave, so he could sleep without worry and then be alone with his turbulent thoughts. He felt like he had hidden a bomb in a jar and merely hoped the explosion would wait until everyone had looked away.
“Ah,” he said, indicating understanding where there clearly was none. “How was it, exactly, that you managed it? The men that saw you said you hadn't even a proper coat. You could forgive their flights of fancy and speculation as to how you returned alive, let alone completely unharmed.”
Alphinaud collapsed backwards into his pillow then, burying his face in his hands while he tried to rephrase the truth into a convincing lie. With effort, he managed through the distractions of his wicked memories. “Basic survival techniques,” he intoned tiredly. “Seek shelter, light a fire, keep dry. I've spent enough time around adventurers to know this much. I was fortunate to find him already sheltered in a cave, and the chocobo had some basic supplies.” On instinct he omitted the detail about the Witchdrop, remembering the disturbing implications Aymeric had drawn from his fall. He could not be sure other Ishgardians would not also conjure its symbolism into reality, proof of heresy in the mere accident.
“Blind luck,” offered Lord Haurchefant, his expression none-too-pleased. “Is this how your misadventures always go? If you put those under your command in such danger with as much forethought,” he trailed off into a growl, eyes narrowed dangerously. He left the threat unphrased, nebulous, as though his loyalty was too strong to truly ponder it.
“No,” answered Alphinaud, more certain than he felt. A tiny suspicion that he had been harboring for some time clicked in his mind, and he took a chance on it. “No, what I did was stupid and impulsive and borne of desperation. I would not throw away the life of another on such folly. Had I thought for but a moment, I would not have done so myself.” His body was rigid with tension, the full truth so close to the surface that he wildly imagined it was visible, scrawled across his skin.
It was a risky gambit, but it appeared to have worked. Slowly the lord's bearing relaxed, anger turning to curiosity. He examined him for several long moments, then closed his eyes sympathetically. “Of course. We all know what it is to want to risk everything for a friend,” he said softly, speculatively. “Forgive me for questioning you so harshly. The servants will attend to anything you desire, as ever.” Haurchefant stood to regard him, kindness and appreciation once again beaming down at him. “Rest well, friend. You have earned it, and I shall ever be in your debt. Just be more careful, there are many who would be sad to lose you, myself included.”
They watched him leave, neither hiding their relief when the door closed soundly. Tataru was the first to break the silence, cradling her head in one hand and holding her elbow with the other and staring at the door. “I feel I have missed something... important.”
Alphinaud looked at her a little strangely, knowing he could trust her but unable to break the man's confidence. “Some secrets are not mine to tell.”
The lalafel was puzzled at first, apparently thinking over Haurchefant's words. “Oh!” she suddenly clapped her hands over her mouth to contain the outburst. “You don't suppose he fancies...”
“Not a word of that to anyone, ever,” he admonished guiltily, sinking back into the pillow. Tataru descended into a fit of giggles, reading the warning as confirmation. He supposed it wasn't really his fault if the lord was so obvious in his affection for their adventurer friend, but he knew now the consequences of such things, and did not take the subject lightly. “I mean it. And Tataru?”
“Yes, Alphinaud?” With difficulty she composed herself, drawing an 'x' over her heart to indicate the secret was safe.
“Please, let me sleep.”
“Of course,” she mumbled with affection, the smile still audible in her voice as she straightened his blankets one more time, then let herself out. He never heard the door thud closed, already claimed by lethe's embrace.

Dreams plagued Alphinaud, disturbing and enticing him in turn until he washed up on the shore of wakefulness, sweaty and hard, heart pounding at unknown figments. He full expected to have slept for over a day, but the chronoscope on the nightstand proclaimed the time to be shortly before dawn. Still at least twelve hours of slumber, but he did not feel as rested as he hoped. If anything, the extra time had given his mind license to wander and torture him.
It wasn't that strange, actually. A lot had happened the previous day, the cycle of life and death spinning before his eyes like a drunken compass needle. He supposed he had lost his virginity in a way, though he was no longer certain there was a clear line between the two states, one single act that signaled the transition to manhood. He only knew that his desire had been awakened, in the most exquisite and unexpected way, and he could no longer go through life as if sex were an inconvenience. Of course, sex wasn't what he wanted.
It was Aymeric.
With effort, he untangled himself from the serpentine sheets, the friction of their movement its own enticement, adding to his memories and elaborating upon them. He kicked aside a sheet wet with sweat, making himself comfortable in the remaining layers and enjoying the relative coolness of the room, dim embers slumbering still in the hearth.
His blood was calling him, senseless to aught but desire. He did not resist long. Eyes closed peacefully as if he could slip back into Aymeric's arms, he allowed his hand to wander. It caressed his throat, traced down his chest over his loose shirt. When it reached his stomach it tickled against bare skin, the shirt being too short to reach his waist and having ridden up as he moved. He paused there, enjoying the simple warmth of his palm pressed flat against his skin, then wandered up under his shirt, searching, finding, breathing. He imagined the knight caressing him with such gentle touches, pressing against him from behind with a firm arm snaked around his waist to remind him that he could not escape. Not unless he wanted to, and that was quite impossible.
His hand, now Aymeric's, wandered back down his torso to his sleeping pants, fingers dipping just below the line of the drawstring and tracing his pelvic bone as they had done the day before. The motion was more teasing now, less cautious, and it was only a moment before he leaned his head back into the pillow and whispered a plaintive “yes,” into the morning air. He imagined he heard a warm growl of excitement in his ear, vibrating down his shoulders and heating his skin.
The reaction was not immediate. The fingers twitched lightly, then danced beneath his smallclothes, stroking his side and soothing his palm all the way to the junction of his leg, dragging against the sensitive hair but missing his needy cock entirely. Slowly then he moved back up, fingers teasing, before swiping sideways and caressing his lower stomach, tops of his fingers just grazing his erection. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, resisting the temptation to press for more, resisting, then giving in.
With both hands he worried the pants and shorts down his hips, the friction too rough for him, merely promising other things. He kicked them away quickly, the knight chuckling in his mind, a dark sensual sound that he wondered if only he knew. His hands embraced his thighs, sliding freely over them in memory of the touches he had received before they left the cave for good. They were rougher now, squeezing and holding him, reaching back and pinching his cheeks. He longed to feel the other man below him, cock pressing against his rear, a few layers of fabric separating them or none at all.
Aymeric's arm returned to his waist, replacing his territorial claim. The other swept fingers over his thigh in an arc towards his erection. Stilling, just for a moment before making contact, then drawing the flat of his palm lightly against the length of it. He reversed the motion, pressing harder, not gripping but stroking, and Alphinaud dug the nails of his other hand into his hip in longing. If either hand had truly belonged to the knight, the motion might have drawn blood.
Searching hand lifted to his mouth, brushing against his lips and drawing a sigh from them. He had intended to move on quickly, but on impulse he pressed against the heel of his thumb, caressing it with a tender kiss. His tongue darted out to wrap around middle and index fingers, drawing them into his mouth and reminding him of other things, sensations and touches rather than images. His skin tasted dusty and bitter, but it satisfied a strange hunger in him, to touch, taste, feel.
He quickly amended his plan. The unoccupied hand that had draped across his waist was brought to his mouth, and his tongue found it too, flat and laden with saliva. He licked across his palm several times, then lowered it to grasp his softening erection, encasing it with slick heat. The temperature between his sheets spiked suddenly, and his lips quickly found his wet fingers again, sucking them deep into his mouth and humming contentedly.
Slowly he twisted the hand wrapped around his shaft, spreading the thin barrier of spit to coat his fingers, then he began to stroke himself with agonizing gentleness. He remembered the look in Aymeric's eyes when he had abandoned his resistance. There was no hesitation, no mad lust, just a calm certainty. The knight had wanted before anything else to touch him, and in his mind he gave the man what he wanted, leaning back against him and pressing their bodies together, thrusting forward into his hand with a smooth motion of his hips, then grinding backwards against the man's cock and reveling in the snarls and growls he was certain he would hear.
He could not stand it for long. His hand moved faster, focused now on stroking up and down, a firm grip replacing the subtle twisting motions, fingers knowing from long practice just where to strike. Knees bent to make space in his blanket sanctuary, allowing him leverage to thrust against his hand, short, shallow strokes. He bit down on his hand gently, pleased both with the mild pain and the firm pressure diffusing through his teeth to his gums, contrasting with the syrupy sweet sensations flooding his body. There was pain in the pleasure, stimulation so intense he almost didn't want it. In his mind, he heard a gentle whisper of encouragement against his neck, and all at once he remembered how Aymeric had looked sprawled beneath him on the cave floor. Open to him, giving everything without fear or reservation.
He came violently, biting down harder and grunting into his hand, even now seeing Aymeric's fingers there to silence his cries.
He lay there a moment, feeling overheated and sticky, the usual shame and embarrassment he felt over the act oddly subdued. He withdrew the fingers from his mouth, now pruned with moisture, tepid in flavor and temperature both. This was new. He wondered with bemused irritation if the knight had given him an oral fixation. There was always some way Aymeric threw him off balance, even when he thought he was the one in control.
Enough laying about. He swung his feet onto the floor and went to fetch a wash towel, wetting it in the basin and washing his face first, then cleaning the fluids from his hands and body and straightening out his nightclothes. He regarded the towel for a moment before deciding to leave it in the wash. To throw it into the fire and hide the evidence was mere paranoia, as if someone could divine from a dirty cloth the sinful nature of his thoughts.
Of course, he thought unbidden, were he to get Aymeric into his bed, the soiled sheets could be a problem.
No, that was insane. He shut that field of inquiry down immediately, trying to regain some sense of order over his thoughts. He needed to think about the situation rationally. There were many things he had been ignoring of late and by damn he would sort them all out, and proceed only when he had determined the best course of action. From his bedside he grabbed a light blanket and the glass of water Tataru had left him, and he bundled himself into his chair by the fire to think.
Aymeric had asked him by whose will he was damned. He tasted the question slowly on his tongue, thrilling and bitter, and set about unraveling its meanings.
One. He had answered the question only in the most obvious way. He refused to be damned by the goddess Aymeric so slavishly served. He'd believed Halone was just, but there could be no justice in damning a man for wanting the 'wrong' person. Either the theologians were wrong, or she was. He had not answered the question fully, though, because the two horns of the dilemma had been disregarded completely in favor of bald defiance. It was clearly not what the knight had needed to know.
Two, the surface-level of the question. Was he attracted to men, now or before? He'd have to say he hadn't considered it, but it hadn't really been on his mind. He had heard stories, perhaps dismissed them as the wild product of a society driven to anarchy and hedonism, but never thought to his own preference. He knew only that he hadn't time for women, and that none had caught his eye. Now, a man had his eye. That was easy to report, but in the end, provided no meaningful information.
Three, the most-likely intended level of the question. Did Alphinaud do what he did because he was attracted to the man, or seduced? That one felt obvious at first, but became less-so the longer he thought about it. Ser Aymeric had always been magnetically attractive, but he would never have considered bedding a man under ordinary circumstances. The knight had been forward with him of late, like a trusted friend, enough to fluster him, enough to drive him to madness of the sort that got much better men and women killed. If he had been seduced, it had begun weeks ago, and he had been powerless to stop it.
But he had also abetted it. The older man had admitted that he had been attracted to men for years, so it stood to reason that the odd behavior he had shown of late was in actuality due to interest in him, be it romantic or merely physical. Suddenly bits and pieces began making sense, a wider picture coming into view. When he had forced the knight to strip and submit to physical examination, it must have affected him deeply, perhaps far more than the petty annoyances that seemed to get under Alphinaud's skin every time they were together. The lingering glances and soft breaths made sense now, and by the time he slipped naked beneath the blankets into his reluctant embrace, it may have already been too late. Aymeric may have been equally seduced, rendering the question of responsibility for their tryst completely meaningless. It was merely fate, and magnetism, and a surrender to passions neither wished to resist.
Fourth, and most achingly, he finally knew what it was that he sought. He didn't yet know if it was love, but he did know that he wanted more from the other man. Touches, kisses, things whispered in the dark. Perhaps a relationship, just perhaps. And it was this that he could never have, lest he truly cast Aymeric broken into the abyss.
He knew that he cared enough for him to risk his own death. But the question now was, did he care enough for him to give him up, if it was the only way to keep him safe?
Heart heavy, Alphinaud rose with the dawn. It was time for a bath. He had many sins to wash away.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Bellyachin'