"Too Damn Honorable," FFXII, Basch/Balthier

[laylah]

Title: Too Damn Honorable
For: manic_intent
Medium: fiction
Request(s): Basch x Balthier [no scenario given]
Fandom(s): Final Fantasy XII
Pairing: Basch/Balthier
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, explicit m/m
Spoilers: through Bhujerba
Word Count: ~4200 words
Summary: They are both of them more honorable than they might seem, and yet there is room for them both to profit, as well.


Too Damn Honorable

"Who's there?" the prisoner asks. He sounds like he spends too much time screaming. The smell of misery and old sweat is obvious even ten feet away from him.

Balthier refuses to flinch, refuses to look up. "This the place?" he says, mostly for Vaan's benefit. He and Fran know each other well enough that they don't have to stop for explanations in the middle of an escape attempt, and the traitor -- Balthier's not going to let himself think too hard about that. He never did manage to develop the Archadian appetite for suffering, even when the receiving party deserves it.

"The Mist is flowing through this room," Fran says. She doesn't look up at the cage either. "It must be going somewhere."

Balthier nods, looking down into the dark below the hanging cage. If they can lower the thing in a controlled fashion -- "You! You're no Imperials," the prisoner says. Balthier keeps his head down. "Please, you must get me out --"

"It's against my policy to speak with the dead," Balthier interrupts. "Especially when they happen to be kingslayers." His hands are shaking. He's not sure he could stand to leave the man there, even if he doesn't take the opportunity and say that --

"I did not kill him," the prisoner says, immediately and vehemently, a performance better suited to a talented actor than a disgraced knight -- if it is a performance at all.

"Is that so? Glad to hear it," Balthier says, and he hasn't meant anything so sincerely since he first asked Fran to partner with him for more than a single quick job.

His tone must sound dismissive, though, because the prisoner turns to Vaan next. "Please, get me out," he tries. "For the sake of Dalmasca."

And then the boy, of course, has to make things difficult. He jumps up onto the cage, and it swings, the chain creaking. "Dalmasca?" he repeats, too loudly. "What do you care about Dalmasca? Everything that's happened is because of you! Everyone that's died, every single one! Even my brother -- you killed my brother!"

"Quiet!" Balthier says, already too late he's sure. "The guards will hear."

Fran looks up, toward the doorway. Yes. Too late. "I'm dropping it," she warns them, warns him, and kicks out at the main lever holding the cage in place. Chains rattle, steel crashes, and the cage starts to fall.

"Pirates without a sky," Balthier complains, jumping aboard. As escapes go, this isn't one of their more glamorous ones.

The cage hurtles down into the dark, wind rushing by, and Balthier almost misses it when Fran says, "Now" -- almost but not quite, and he leaps clear just before the cage crashes to the floor. Despite himself, he flinches at the half-swallowed sound of pain he hears from the crash.

When the dust clears, Vaan -- who clearly hasn't learned any lessons about rash actions or loud noises -- lunges, yelling, first raised, and Balthier catches him just in time to stop him from punching Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg in the face. The captain hasn't even tried to raise a hand to defend himself.

"Spare us your quiddities," Balthier snaps, and that makes him angrier, if anything -- he can hear his father's influence, in the way stress affects his speech.

"Yeah, but --" Vaan stares at him. "But he's a --"

"A traitor, I know. Stay here and fight, if you want." Only that's not what Balthier wants, not what any of them need right now, so he looks past Vaan to Basch, still sprawled over the broken stones. "If you can walk, let's go."

Vaan makes an outraged noise. "You're taking him with us?" He's still such a child -- it seems he believes not only in honor among thieves, and mercy in dungeons, but also in never cooperating with the wicked.

"We could use another sword arm," Balthier says. It's explanation enough. He doesn't want to be responsible for the boy's education. He's grateful that Fran at least isn't pointing out the clear flaw in that statement -- Basch can probably walk, or limp at the very least, but even if they had a sword for him, he's likely in no condition to use it. He's without armor, without shoes, and so thin that Balthier can count his ribs.

But he is certainly not without determination. "You have it," he says, climbing to his feet. When he turns, Balthier recognizes the bruising on his back all too clearly -- some of that is from the weight of the prisoner's collar, no doubt, but most of it is the characteristic blotchy marking of a knotted cat-o-nine.

It shouldn't matter, Balthier tells himself as they start down the passageway, away from the ruined cage. Basch is a traitor whose actions provided the pretext for Archadia to seize full control of Dalmasca. His punishment should not be such occasion for sympathy.

Of course, if Balthier had been better at thinking like that, he'd never have turned pirate in the first place.

The tunnels turn out to be an ordeal, as he had rather expected; no place that one truly wants to go ever seems to be easy to reach. The lights strung overhead flicker and hum, and mimics skitter along the paths, with less wholesome things lurking in the dark beyond. And still, the good captain doesn't fail them. Despite his condition, despite his total lack of adequate equipment, he doesn't flinch from combat, right up front beside Vaan and taking his share of the hits. More than his share, perhaps. It's enough to make a man feel insecure, if one is the sort of man to feel such a thing.

Which Balthier is not. He mutters a Cure spell under his breath, and smiles wryly when he realizes that Fran is doing the same thing, almost perfectly in tandem. Basch looks back at them for a moment when the spells reach him, his expression surprised and grateful. Balthier tries to ignore the way that makes him feel, guilty and protective and uncomfortable all at once.

"Protect, Vaan," he calls, sighting down the barrel of his gun, getting in one clear shot on the small mimic clattering toward them.

"He's fine," Vaan says petulantly, despite the fact that Basch is the first target most of their foes encounter, and does not always fare well.

Fran finishes this one -- the mimic and the argument both. "Don't be childish," she says, which is just as well, because Balthier thinks he might be getting a headache from trying to manage this group. "You know the spell. We do not. You will never be a proper pirate if you fail to use the advantages you have."

It's clear Vaan wants to dispute that point, most likely on the grounds that Basch's company is no advantage, but he's not quite so foolhardy as to argue with Fran's serious face. Grudging it might be, but he casts the protective magick on Basch all the same.

"Thank you," Basch says gravely.

"Yeah," Vaan says, and won't look at him.

It's enough to keep the captain on his feet, and that's enough to keep him fighting. Balthier finds himself reluctantly impressed -- and if he's still casting a few more Cures than he needs to, he figures he can trust Basch's gratitude, Fran's discretion, and Vaan's relative lack of perceptiveness to keep him from having to explain himself. He likewise doesn't draw attention to it when he notices Basch pocketing the occasional wind stone or scrap of iron from one of their kills; surely they can spare enough hunting loot to allow the poor bastard to buy himself a meal and some clothes in Rabanastre.

Eventually, after fighting their way through maybe half a dozen cramped corridors and killing a seemingly endless stream of energy-sucking mimics, they find at least a small measure of bounty. Balthier can't decide whether he's more impressed at Basch's practicality or perturbed by the man's morbidity, as the captain strips the body of a previous adventurer who fared not so well as they have. The armor is a poor fit, and the sword has seen better days, but Basch doesn't complain.

Instead, at Vaan's prompting, he tells his version of the events of King Raminas's death. It's a lurid story, with last-minute rescue attempts, betrayals, and terrible revelations. It sounds like something from a melodrama, an excuse for a star actor to indulge a double role.

"A twin brother? Fancy that," Balthier says. It's a terrible lie. Would be. He's no longer sure what to believe. "But still, the pieces fit. I'll give you that much. And he did look like you." Or like Basch would, most likely, given an extra two stone of muscle and a good vigorous scrubbing.

"I don't believe you," Vaan tells Basch tightly.

"Of course not," Basch says, before Balthier can. "It was my fault that Reks was there. I am sorry."

Still not enough for Vaan, who, Balthier begins to suspect, would spend the rest of the day arguing the finer points of guilt and blame if given the opportunity. "My brother, he trusted you. He trusted you and he lost everything. How can I believe you?"

The captain stands, facing Vaan without flinching. "Not me, then. Believe in your brother. He was a fine soldier. He fought to the last to protect his homeland." He pauses, and Balthier thinks he might have been wrong to doubt Basch's manipulation ability after all. "No. Surely he fought to protect his brother."

"You don't know anything!" Vaan protests. It seems to Balthier that the criticism might be better applied to its speaker.

"Believe what you want to," Balthier says. "Whatever it takes to make you happy." He turns away, heading further down the tunnel. "What's done is done." The others fall into step behind him, and the debate, for now, is put to rest.

They can't make it out of the tunnels without one more serious bout of trouble, of course. It's almost comforting to know that there are some things a pirate can always count on. Even if one of those things is the tendency of big, ugly, foul-tempered beasts to stand in between him and his goals.

Bad fortune for the queen mimic, though, that she's trying to stop them -- Basch is terrifying with a blade in his hands, and Vaan isn't doing so badly himself, and then Fran discovers that the bug is weak to blizzard magick, and it all goes rather quickly after that. Balthier has rarely been so glad to see sunlight as he is when they escape, three steps ahead of the collapsing passageway.

Though his gratitude is still nothing compared to Basch's; all the way back to Rabanastre, despite the heat and the constant annoyances of territorial fauna, there's a faint hopeful expression that never leaves the captain's face. It's irritating, Balthier thinks. Humanizing. Perhaps he's not entirely outgrown Vaan's mindset after all -- he'd be more comfortable with this whole affair if Basch would just act like the reprehensible traitor he is, instead of behaving so admirably.

As it is, when they reach Rabanastre, Balthier can't help offering a little friendly advice -- to Basch and Vaan both. Not that he expects Vaan to listen, and not that he expects Basch to need it, but he feels better about having said something.

"Last we'll see of those two, I imagine," he says, as he and Fran thread their way through Rabanastre's crowds toward the Sandsea.

"You think so?" Fran asks.

Balthier looks over at her. "Best chance the captain has, isn't it?" he asks. He smiles briefly as some opportunistic hume tries to touch Fran as they go by, and she dislocates a few fingers. "Head off as far from Dalmasca as he can, start over someplace where nobody knows him."

Fran shakes her head. "He will not do much for his country that way," she says.

"Don't tell me you believed him," Balthier protests. "I've heard better stories in ten-gil theaters."

"I think if he were lying," Fran says, pushing open the door to the tavern, "he would have told a better lie than that."

They've enough luck that one of the rooms upstairs of the Sandsea is vacant -- they might as well spend a day or two in Rabanastre and listen for rumors, get an idea whether the attack on the palace shook up anything besides Nalbina's prison population. They take advantage of the facilities to wash up, nap briefly on the overstuffed mattress, and then go in search of some of the local ale. It's no madhu, but Balthier thinks that might not be such a bad thing -- he's never had the constitution that Fran has.

What they find is not so much rumor as trouble; before they've had the chance to make it through even one pint comfortably, there's an extremely noisy bangaa trying to blame Balthier for some local girl going missing, and perhaps Balthier feels a bit uncomfortable about that since he did flirt the poor thing into calming down, but he's still not about to make her his responsibility -- and then both of the fugitives show up looking for him and the Strahl, and he begins to think that the gods, if there are any, are treating his story more like a farce than an adventure. Something must have happened between Vaan and Basch -- besides the obvious, that is; it would have taken more than just the bath and the haircut to improve the way Basch looked from where Vaan is standing.

But somehow, among the various pressures, the bangaa's bluster and Vaan's pout and Basch's clear-eyed, dignified humility, Balthier finds his resolve wavering. The man is just too damn honorable. When he looks over at Fran, she shrugs, and then drains her pint. Answer enough. He stands.

"Make yourselves ready," Balthier says. "We leave soon."

"You like him," Fran says, when their fugitive passengers are likely out of hume earshot. He'd kill to be able to read her as easily as she does him.

"He did clean up better than I would have expected," Balthier agrees. And he's choosing the hard road for himself, and Balthier might, just possibly, have a bit of a weakness for would-be heroes. "Mind you he'd probably wipe the floor with anyone who mentioned the fact to him -- what? What's that look for?"

Fran smiles sidelong at him. "Did you not see how he was watching the boy? How he still watches the boy?"

Balthier looks; at the foot of the stairs, Vaan and Basch have stopped, so Vaan can talk to someone, and Basch is just waiting for him, quiet and patient and looking very much as though he's trying not to pay attention to the fact that Vaan is an excellent example of all that is gloriously lacking in Dalmascan costume.

"It would be a shame," Fran says calmly, "to miss the opportunity while we still have a room here."

"We need to stock up before we leave," Balthier says regretfully, though now that Fran has put the idea in his head he can think of a few things he'd rather be doing.

"I will buy our supplies," Fran promises. "You were so understanding on that day in Phon, I owe you a little of the same courtesy."

Really, Balthier thinks, leaving her alone with that viera they met in Phon was no hardship -- the mental images alone were more than worth it. "Consider the debt paid," he says, and starts down the stairs.

He catches them just before they reach the door. "Don't tell me you changed your mind," Vaan says, giving Balthier a wary look that's probably supposed to be reproachful.

"Not at all," Balthier says. "I simply need to talk to the captain." He raises an eyebrow at Basch. "If you have the time, of course?"

"It's your ship," Basch points out, "so that makes it your schedule."

"Indeed," Balthier says. "If you'll excuse us, Vaan." He rests a hand against Basch's elbow, and -- when that doesn't immediately net him any broken bones -- steers the good captain back through the crowd.

"Yeah," Vaan calls as they retreat, "I -- I'll see you at the Aerodrome. Don't take too long!"

Balthier waves back over his shoulder. So far, so good, even if the trickiest part will almost certainly come after this, once they get up to the room.

The Sandsea is a good solid piece of work, and the rooms have heavy doors. Balthier finds that reassuring, most of the time, for both security and privacy's sake, but he supposes -- as he catches the way it makes Basch flinch -- that the heavy finality of the door closing could seem a bit less than comforting to a man too used to prisons. Basch stands at the ready, like the soldiers Balthier used to know before he changed careers. It's the look of a man who expects trouble to be never far away.

Balthier hopes that for now, at least, trouble is in fact considerably farther away than Basch expects. "I'd like to offer you an apology," he says, which is at least an inoffensive beginning. Basch blinks at him in surprise. "You didn't kill him, did you?"

"I said as much," Basch says wryly.

"Any man can say so," Balthier points out, "and I suspect that most men would, in a situation like yours. But not many of them would use their first day of freedom to charge straight back into trouble again." He meets Basch's eyes steadily; there's wariness there, but no guilt. "You're an exceptional man, captain."

Basch bows his head. "Thank you," he says.

They really don't have time for this, Balthier reminds himself. And neither of them is a blushing maiden to require an extended and delicate seduction. "I imagine there are more than a few luxuries you're looking forward to indulging in, now that you have the chance."

Basch runs a hand through his hair, washed and trimmed as it is. "There are a few that I already have," he says.

"And if I offered you another?" Balthier asks. He takes a step closer. He tries not to flinch; Fran's certainty notwithstanding, he'd hate to offend a man with Basch's skill in close combat.

"I might be surprised," Basch says. His gaze flickers down to Balthier's mouth for a moment, and then back up to his eyes. "It seems too selfless an action for a sky pirate."

"We're all more than we seem, aren't we, captain?" If he were going to refuse, he'd have done it by now, Balthier thinks. This must be obvious enough. "And make no mistake, I would have plenty to gain from the offer."

He's fairly certain that what he reads on Basch's face is skepticism, which he takes to mean that the captain hasn't really looked in a mirror lately -- and then the skepticism fades in favor of surprise when Balthier leans in to claim a kiss.

It only takes a moment for Basch to recover his equilibrium, and then he's kissing back with as much enthusiasm as Balthier might have hoped for and indeed considerably more than he actually expected. His mouth opens without hesitation, and his hands close warm and strong on Balthier's hips. Definitely no delicate seduction here. Basch's tongue presses past Balthier's lips, and he moans when Balthier nips at it -- a low, hoarse sound that goes straight to Balthier's cock and makes his trousers considerably tighter than they were a few minutes ago.

Balthier slides a hand down between them, and finds Basch already hard, pushing against his palm. "Gods," Basch breathes, his breath ragged, "oh gods, please."

Two years in prison, Balthier thinks, of course the poor man is needy. If they had more time, he'd stroke Basch off to ease the tension a little, and then take him to bed for a good slow fuck -- he has no doubt that right now Basch would have no trouble at all going twice. But they don't have that kind of luxury right now.

"Have a seat, captain," Balthier suggests, one hand tugging at the laces of Basch's shorts while the other pushes him back gently toward the bed. "I do hope I'm about to give you better things to worry about than keeping your balance."

Basch laughs breathlessly, letting Balthier move him. "So considerate of you," he says. He sinks down on the edge of the bed, spreading his thighs so Balthier can kneel between them and fold back the rough linen to bare his cock.

Well. Intellectually Balthier knows that Archadia's customs are not universally shared by her neighbors, but he finds that he's still expecting similarity, so that he's surprised to discover that Basch is uncircumcised. He wraps a hand around Basch's shaft and draws the foreskin back, licking his lips as he leans down to taste.

Basch groans at the first touch of Balthier's tongue, shuddering, his cock thick and hard, stretching Balthier's mouth wide. It's not easy to take, and he hasn't had much practice doing this since he and Fran got together, but he's not sure Basch is really going to mind his relative lack of technical skill. With his hand wrapped around the base to stroke where he can't reach with his mouth, he seems to be managing well enough. The good captain can't seem to keep silent, moaning on every ragged exhale, one broad hand settling on Balthier's shoulder and almost, but not quite, squeezing tight.

Balthier lets go so he can reach down and unbuckle his belts, working Basch's cock with just his mouth while he unbuttons his trousers. He's harder for this than he expected to be, for the hot flesh against his tongue and the faint taste of bitter salt, and he strokes himself hard, roughly, the way Basch would touch him if they had time to really indulge themselves -- and then Basch squeezes his arm, and husks, "Don't. I'll -- if you wait, I'll take care of you."

Balthier moans, and lets go of his cock, splaying his hands across Basch's thighs and kneading hungrily. He can feel Basch getting closer now, can hear the captain's breathing getting harsher and more uneven -- can feel the way Basch's cock stiffens in his mouth, and he tries to take a little more, pushing himself down -- and he chokes, but as he pulls back Basch moans, and then hot bitter fluid is filling his mouth and he swallows so he won't choke again.

"Gods," Basch is saying, hoarse and breathy, "gods." He reaches down and pulls Balthier up with both hands under his arms. "Thank you." He leans in for a kiss, sloppy and rough, his tongue chasing the taste of come in Balthier's mouth and his beard coarse against Balthier's lips. Balthier moans into the kiss, and then Basch's hand closes around his cock and he moans again, pushing into the touch.

Basch strokes his cock hard, steady and rhythmic, and Balthier rocks his hips, thrusting helplessly. "Yes," Balthier breathes against Basch's mouth, "oh, gods, yes," and later he can wish that he had been more eloquent in this moment, but it's difficult to remain charming and composed in the face of pleasure this immediate.

And then, as he feels himself tensing, as he draws closer to the point of no return, Basch's hand stills. "Stand up," Basch says, and Balthier needs a bit of steadying to be able to rise, but it's worth it, good gods, when Basch pulls him closer by the hips and leans in to swallow his cock.

Eloquence deserts him entirely, and all Balthier can manage is to moan, head thrown back and hands gripping Basch's wrists for balance as he gives up his control entirely and spills into Basch's mouth.

Basch swallows, making a noise that's half moan and half purr, and when Balthier looks down Basch's eyes lock with his, clear blue and hungry, the scar over his eye flushed vivid. He pulls back slowly, licking Balthier's cock one last time before he really releases it, and there's something predatory about his expression that --

"If we had more time," Balthier says. He smiles wryly. "About a week, perhaps, and a bathhouse and a few casks of madhu...."

"It's a pleasant thought," Basch agrees. "But we have rescue missions to attend to, and that's not the sort of thing that can wait." He sits back, reaching down to tuck himself back in and re-tie the laces of his shorts.

Balthier shakes his head, trying to make himself presentable again. "And you're just too damn honorable to abandon your responsibilities, aren't you?"

Basch smiles as he stands up. "I'm not the only one," he says.

"Don't tell anyone," Balthier says. "A pirate's reputation can be ruined that way." He gives Basch his most charming smile. "We'll call that your passage fee to Bhujerba."

Basch reaches for him, and slides an arm around his waist to pull him close. "Done," he says, and seals the bargain with a kiss.