FFXII: Convenience
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Pairing: Basch/Vossler
Warnings: Angst, smut
Rating: NC17
Summary: Temporary, transient pleasures. For first_seventhe, to make her feel a little better.
"Waiting still doesn't sit easily on you, does it, Vossler?"
"Basch," Vossler says, looking up at him. He doesn't seem much surprised. "No more than it does you, I think. I've cultivated patience, these past two years. It was necessary."
"It's a convincing act indeed," Basch says, a hint of a smile playing on his face. His hand is on the hilt of his sword. "Perhaps you'd like to while away the time with a little swordplay while her highness and the young ones sleep?"
"You remember me better than I thought you would," Vossler says, his light armour clattering a little as he moves to rise. Basch leans down and gives him a hand up, his grip firm, his smile easy. This freedom after such captivity sits well on him, Vossler thinks. There is only something in his eyes -- a shadow, a vague and distant sadness -- that still tells of his tortures.
"Why would I forget?"
Vossler shrugs, changing the movement a little to try and loosen his shoulders -- tight with tension and from the short rest. This is one of the reasons he never liked resting like this before some kind of incursion, whether it be to fight or to loot an ancient tomb. "I thought we were going to fight, not reminisce."
"Your pardon," Basch says. They eye each other for a moment, sizing each other up; Vossler noticing all the little changes that have occured, the results of both neglect and experience, one following on the heels of another. Here Basch's guard is weak, here his stance strong. They both move to attack at the same time, swords clashing together. "Last time we sparred like this..."
"Too long ago," Vossler says, but he doesn't want to think about the last time they sparred like this. It's water under the bridge, for one -- and for another thing, what happened after was something they swore never to repeat. It wasn't unheard of, but --
"I take it you still have regrets."
"Perhaps," he concedes. He steps back and then lunges again, passing Basch's guard to nick his skin lightly. "In a fight, you would be dead. Focus on the present, Basch."
"My apologies," Basch says, inclining his head slightly. For a moment, they both pause to catch their breath again. The sun is hot overhead, the air humid -- it is a restless kind of heat, oppressive. Vossler is glad they thought to put up shelters when they stopped: even if Ashe, the young girl and the lad are all used to Dalmasca's sun, it is never quite as hot as this, and too much sun is never good for one in any case.
"I do have regrets," he says, without thinking, as he steps up to the offensive once more. Perhaps the sun is getting to him, too -- he didn't mean to say that. He focuses on Basch's weapon, on his fluid movements, instead of searching out what Basch is thinking at that declaration.
"For me, I regret allowing such a thing to come between us."
"It did not. Two years came between us."
"So you would not be averse to -- "
"Don't mistake me," Vossler says, parrying a strike and stepping back, putting some distance between them to catch sight of Basch's face, intense and yet somehow giving away nothing. "It was simply..."
"Convenience? Was I simply a convenient warm body?" Basch asks, out of breath now, and all the more breath-taking for it as he lunges forward. Vossler barely turns his sword aside, neatly side-stepping. If Basch wanted to kill him, he thinks, he'd have ample opportunity.
"Now you belittle yourself," he says: this, too, he says without thinking, and regrets it a moment later. There's a clang of a sword hitting the ground, and then Basch is pulling him closer, kissing him hard, and Vossler thinks oh no, no, at the exact same moment as he's -- to his own embarassment -- murmuring "yes" to Basch, yes to the kiss, yes to a final moment before battle, like once before. Yes to a final time of comradeship and things being normal before the past two years catch up to them again and sweep them apart.
It was hurried the first time, and all the more so now -- Basch pulls him over under the shade of one of the little shelters, armour and swords and limbs all in the way, and kisses him again. He's not quite sure Basch has ever been so -- well, so out of control, so eager, but then he supposes that's what prison does to one, and he isn't entirely calm either, the two years of stress and worry coming undone.
"We should be watching over Lady Ashe," he says, against Basch's mouth, while Basch is helping him out of his armour, his hands strong and sure.
"If there is trouble, the sky pirates will wake," Basch says, and somehow he sounds surprisingly calm. "They sleep lightly."
"Criminals always do," he mutters, and then attends to things that at the moment seem more important: the warmth of Basch's skin, warm from sun and sparring, the new scars that weren't there the last time they did this, the edge of desperation in Basch's kiss. Basch's clothes are almost harder to get off than his own armour, and they don't bother with stripping fully -- Basch is the first to touch him properly, fingers curling round his cock, squeezing gently, stroking softly-slowly until he arches up. He wraps his hand around Basch's cock too, presses close to him, kissing him like he could breathe him in.
There's tension and heat coiled tight in his belly, not just because of this, because of everything. It's easier to think about this than to think about anything else, easier to think about making Basch groan than to think about pillaging tombs or fighting for Dalmasca, and so Vossler loses himself in the temporary, transient pleasure of it. It doesn't take much for Basch to be panting, his hips bucking up into Vossler's hand as he strokes firmly, and he finds that he really isn't far behind, biting at Basch's shoulder to keep himself quiet as he shakes, a shiver running down his back.
It doesn't take much to stop him from thinking altogether, knowing only that Basch is breathing heavily against his neck and he's sticky and sweatier than ever and somewhere over to their left, the Viera is stirring but not quite waking yet.
For a moment, he doesn't move. Then he sits up and pulls away, listening to Basch's breaths slowing, listening to his own heartbeat thundering.
"I am sorry, Basch," Vossler says, looking down at the man beside him. Basch doesn't ask why. After a moment, he moves to put his armour back on. The silence stretches between them, snapping taut as he gets to his feet again as if to stand guard.
"Vossler," Basch says, quietly. "That will never happen again."
"No," Vossler agrees. "No, it won't."
Pairing: Basch/Vossler
Warnings: Angst, smut
Rating: NC17
Summary: Temporary, transient pleasures. For first_seventhe, to make her feel a little better.
"Waiting still doesn't sit easily on you, does it, Vossler?"
"Basch," Vossler says, looking up at him. He doesn't seem much surprised. "No more than it does you, I think. I've cultivated patience, these past two years. It was necessary."
"It's a convincing act indeed," Basch says, a hint of a smile playing on his face. His hand is on the hilt of his sword. "Perhaps you'd like to while away the time with a little swordplay while her highness and the young ones sleep?"
"You remember me better than I thought you would," Vossler says, his light armour clattering a little as he moves to rise. Basch leans down and gives him a hand up, his grip firm, his smile easy. This freedom after such captivity sits well on him, Vossler thinks. There is only something in his eyes -- a shadow, a vague and distant sadness -- that still tells of his tortures.
"Why would I forget?"
Vossler shrugs, changing the movement a little to try and loosen his shoulders -- tight with tension and from the short rest. This is one of the reasons he never liked resting like this before some kind of incursion, whether it be to fight or to loot an ancient tomb. "I thought we were going to fight, not reminisce."
"Your pardon," Basch says. They eye each other for a moment, sizing each other up; Vossler noticing all the little changes that have occured, the results of both neglect and experience, one following on the heels of another. Here Basch's guard is weak, here his stance strong. They both move to attack at the same time, swords clashing together. "Last time we sparred like this..."
"Too long ago," Vossler says, but he doesn't want to think about the last time they sparred like this. It's water under the bridge, for one -- and for another thing, what happened after was something they swore never to repeat. It wasn't unheard of, but --
"I take it you still have regrets."
"Perhaps," he concedes. He steps back and then lunges again, passing Basch's guard to nick his skin lightly. "In a fight, you would be dead. Focus on the present, Basch."
"My apologies," Basch says, inclining his head slightly. For a moment, they both pause to catch their breath again. The sun is hot overhead, the air humid -- it is a restless kind of heat, oppressive. Vossler is glad they thought to put up shelters when they stopped: even if Ashe, the young girl and the lad are all used to Dalmasca's sun, it is never quite as hot as this, and too much sun is never good for one in any case.
"I do have regrets," he says, without thinking, as he steps up to the offensive once more. Perhaps the sun is getting to him, too -- he didn't mean to say that. He focuses on Basch's weapon, on his fluid movements, instead of searching out what Basch is thinking at that declaration.
"For me, I regret allowing such a thing to come between us."
"It did not. Two years came between us."
"So you would not be averse to -- "
"Don't mistake me," Vossler says, parrying a strike and stepping back, putting some distance between them to catch sight of Basch's face, intense and yet somehow giving away nothing. "It was simply..."
"Convenience? Was I simply a convenient warm body?" Basch asks, out of breath now, and all the more breath-taking for it as he lunges forward. Vossler barely turns his sword aside, neatly side-stepping. If Basch wanted to kill him, he thinks, he'd have ample opportunity.
"Now you belittle yourself," he says: this, too, he says without thinking, and regrets it a moment later. There's a clang of a sword hitting the ground, and then Basch is pulling him closer, kissing him hard, and Vossler thinks oh no, no, at the exact same moment as he's -- to his own embarassment -- murmuring "yes" to Basch, yes to the kiss, yes to a final moment before battle, like once before. Yes to a final time of comradeship and things being normal before the past two years catch up to them again and sweep them apart.
It was hurried the first time, and all the more so now -- Basch pulls him over under the shade of one of the little shelters, armour and swords and limbs all in the way, and kisses him again. He's not quite sure Basch has ever been so -- well, so out of control, so eager, but then he supposes that's what prison does to one, and he isn't entirely calm either, the two years of stress and worry coming undone.
"We should be watching over Lady Ashe," he says, against Basch's mouth, while Basch is helping him out of his armour, his hands strong and sure.
"If there is trouble, the sky pirates will wake," Basch says, and somehow he sounds surprisingly calm. "They sleep lightly."
"Criminals always do," he mutters, and then attends to things that at the moment seem more important: the warmth of Basch's skin, warm from sun and sparring, the new scars that weren't there the last time they did this, the edge of desperation in Basch's kiss. Basch's clothes are almost harder to get off than his own armour, and they don't bother with stripping fully -- Basch is the first to touch him properly, fingers curling round his cock, squeezing gently, stroking softly-slowly until he arches up. He wraps his hand around Basch's cock too, presses close to him, kissing him like he could breathe him in.
There's tension and heat coiled tight in his belly, not just because of this, because of everything. It's easier to think about this than to think about anything else, easier to think about making Basch groan than to think about pillaging tombs or fighting for Dalmasca, and so Vossler loses himself in the temporary, transient pleasure of it. It doesn't take much for Basch to be panting, his hips bucking up into Vossler's hand as he strokes firmly, and he finds that he really isn't far behind, biting at Basch's shoulder to keep himself quiet as he shakes, a shiver running down his back.
It doesn't take much to stop him from thinking altogether, knowing only that Basch is breathing heavily against his neck and he's sticky and sweatier than ever and somewhere over to their left, the Viera is stirring but not quite waking yet.
For a moment, he doesn't move. Then he sits up and pulls away, listening to Basch's breaths slowing, listening to his own heartbeat thundering.
"I am sorry, Basch," Vossler says, looking down at the man beside him. Basch doesn't ask why. After a moment, he moves to put his armour back on. The silence stretches between them, snapping taut as he gets to his feet again as if to stand guard.
"Vossler," Basch says, quietly. "That will never happen again."
"No," Vossler agrees. "No, it won't."