Final Fantasy VI, Locke/Celes, Burning Bridges
Title: Burning Bridges
Author/Artist: queenoftheskies
Fandom: Final Fantasy VI
Pairing: Locke/Celes
Rating: R
Warnings: explicit sex
Word Count: 1,783
Prompt: Final Fantasy 6 - Locke/Celes - Post-apocalypse, but not necessarily post-game; just after Celes & co. find Locke and he rejoins the party. I'd love to see something with both characters coming to terms with their pasts, especially with regards to Locke's love for Rachel. Leaning toward the smut end of the spectrum would be nice but not necessary. Fic preferred, but art is always made of win.
Burning Bridges
“It wasn’t your fault.” Celes slipped up behind Locke as he sat alone on the rocky outcrop at the edge of the cliff.
He’d been there for hours, looking out over the choppy sea. Dinner had passed without his appearance, but now that streaks of orange tinged the sky, she’d realized he wasn’t going to come back to them on his own.
Locke startled, lost so deep in thought, he hadn’t heard her approach. Celes knew what that meant; he was worse off than she’d thought. She wasn’t much for affection-maybe they’d bred it out of her when they engineered the magic in-but she slid her hands onto his shoulders, squeezing gently, just so he’d remember she cared.
“What do you know?” he countered in a whisper, pulling free of her grasp as he stood. For long moments, he continued to stare out toward the horizon. “There’s going to be a storm.”
“Big one,” she agreed. You couldn’t tell now, not with the way the sunset had bathed the ocean in flame. And, once upon a time, she’d have said the spectacular sunset was omen for a beautiful day to come, but, not now. Not any more. She could smell the storm on the wind that wound its way up the cliff face. It carried the scent of rain, a charge of power that could be natural or magic, and death.
Celes shuddered. She was no stranger to death, but it hadn’t begun to matter until she’d realized the Empire was killing innocent citizens and not crazy rebels as she’d been programmed to believe.
The movement won interest from Locke, who shifted to study her from the corner of his eye. “You cold?”
“It’s nothing.” She turned away, uncomfortable beneath his gaze. Wrapping her arms around herself, she willed away the uneasiness that stirred inside her.
He studied her a moment longer, then with the words, “I should have saved her,” he was gone.
She watched him retreat until he’d disappeared into the trees. It was her fault he was upset; she should have expected it.
With a sigh, she followed. She wasn’t good with people; she didn’t know how to make him understand.
#
The storm hit when the moon would have been high in the sky, with wind that made the trees outside her tent thrash and set the hobbled chocobos in the common area to squawking. She wasn’t afraid of the pounding rain or the thunder so close it made the ground tremble. The lightning gave her pause, but only in as much as she worried that it would strike nearby.
Every bit as violent as she’d expected, if the weather didn’t ease by morning, they’d be trapped on the side of the mountain another day yet. With a sigh, Celes rolled over, eyes wide, no closer to sleep than she had been when she’d excused herself from the others. She’d thought she wanted to be alone, but alone was the last place she needed to be with memories troubling her.
They’d killed him; she had mixed feelings about his death. He hadn’t always been evil; he’d once been like her, and that frightened her more than she was willing to admit to anyone. She’d had a hard time even admitting it to herself.
She sat up at a clatter outside her tent, reaching for her scabbard. Her hand settled on the hilt of her sword, pulled it slowly, silently free. On her knees, she crept forward, sword ready to strike as the flap flew open on her tent. Only years of practice kept her from skewering Locke as he poked his head inside.
He looked down the blade, eyes wide, and offered, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“Bastard,” she muttered, shoving the sword back into its sheath. “I could have killed you.” Adrenaline surged through her, made her feel sick. The queasy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach before rising to tighten her chest. She could have killed him. “Just like I killed so many others.”
“Celes...” He reached for her, but she turned away, retiring to the far side of her tent.
It was roomy, she could have comfortably stood. Instead, sword clutched between both hands, she huddled in a crouch. “What do you want?”
“I wanted...” He looked up, swiping rain-slicked hair back from his forehead. “Could I come in for a minute? It’s awful wet out here.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she said, “Yes.” Maybe she wanted to hear what he had to say. Maybe she wanted to be with him. Maybe she just didn’t want to be alone.
He shuffled in, grabbed the tent flap and tied it down again. “Getting bad out there.” He jerked a thumb behind him.
“We’ll be lucky to get out of here tomorrow.”
“What’s your rush?” Locked settled himself onto the extra blanket folded at the foot of her bedroll. “Now that Kefka’s dead...”
Instinctively, her grip tightened on the sword. She was a former Imperial general. She didn’t feel pain or sorrow or weakness. A lump rose into her throat and no amount of swallowing would relieve it.
“He was my friend once,” she admitted in a trembling voice.
“Friend, eh?”
“What do you know of friendship?” she countered, her voice sharp. Her body trembled. Pressing her eyes closed, she admitted, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m a monster, if I’m any better than he was.”
“You’re no monster.” The words sounded sincere.
But, he’s a thief, she reminded herself. A thief and a liar. And she owed her life to him. “Why did you save me back there?”
“What?”
“I said...” The lump eased as she turned to face him. “Thank you. I’d have been dead if you hadn’t...”
“It was nothing.” His eyes dropped to his hands, twisting in his lap.
“I’m sorry.” Celes exhaled slowly; the pain eased a little in her chest.
“For what?”
“That it was me you saved and not Rachel.”
Lock’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. Silence--deep and painful silence--settled over the interior of the tent.
Gods damn it. She always said the wrong thing, at least when they were alone. Something about him made her nervous, something she couldn’t quite understand.
“I’m not,” he said at last, his voice quiet.
She wasn’t sure she should answer. Maybe if she refused to talk to him, he’d just leave her alone to her misery. She wished she hadn’t agreed to return with them. There were so many other places she could go.
“Not what?” she asked when he seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Not sorry I saved you.”
His voice was soft and husky and set off another bout of queasiness deep in the pit of her stomach. This uneasiness was different, though, stirring a rush of adrenaline that tickled, that took her breath away.
“Celes...look at me.”
She’d never been a coward, but she was tempted to shake her head, tempted to make him leave now before they both said things they’d regret.
“Please.”
The urgency, the blind need in his voice made her face him, sword still held tightly in her hands. “But, you love her.”
“Loved her.” He licked his lips. “I’m not sure whether I feel more guilty about that or about her death. I should have saved her, I should have...”
“You saved me.” She caught his eyes, couldn’t fight the smile that curved her lips.
Water dripped from his hair to splatter on the blanket. For the first time she noticed the flush to his cheeks, the tremor in his body, the way the wet clothes clung to his lanky frame.
“You must be freezing.”
“You could...” With a hopeful smile, he tugged the bandana from his hair. “Take care of that, you know.” The bandana slipped from his fingers to crumple on the ground.
“Why, Mr. Cole, are you propositioning me?” Her heart pounded as she set her sword aside, so far aside she’d have to scramble for it if the need arose.
“Why, Miss Chere,” he said with a grin, “I do believe you’re accepting.”
For a moment, they merely regarded one another as if sizing up an opponent on the battlefield. Before the silence could grow awkward again, Locke leaned forward to set his bandana atop her sword and the tension eased.
They met head-on in a flurry of hands and kisses, each removing as much of their own clothes as they removed of the other’s, anxious and flustered and desperate. By the time Locke had pinned her down on the tangle of blankets on which she slept, she was keenly aware of the chill that had settled over his body.
It didn’t take much effort to flip him so she was on top and she grinned down at him, leaning forward when he reached for her breasts. His touch was bold, but surprisingly gentle as he squeezed her flesh, thumbed the nipples.
But, he was still so cold.
She lay down atop him, her finely muscled body draped across his tight chest and stomach. She couldn’t ignore the press of his cock against her leg, didn’t want to ignore it. Intertwined, they tasted and touched until she felt his skin begin to warm and then blaze with passion. In spite of the rain and the chill outside, sweat beaded between her breasts, threatened to spill down her stomach until Locke caught it with his tongue and licked his way back up to her lips.
He rolled her with a grin, straddling her. This time, she didn’t complain, but lay back against the pillows and spread her legs in invitation. He filled her and more, each thrust taking him deeper inside her.
He came hard and fast, head thrown back, a cry on his lips.
His desperation eased, he knelt between her legs and parted her. In the end, though she resisted and sought to make the pleasure last, she erupted in orgasm as quickly as he had, torn between tears and laughter.
They collapsed together. She wasn’t surprised to see the tears in her own eyes mirrored in his. The past was hard to let go of, the future sometimes harder to face.
She didn’t have long to think of either before she realized he was ready again, as ready as she. But, the desperation was gone, replaced by long, leisurely strokes and kisses that threatened to never end.
At one breath, she whispered, “It wasn’t your fault.”
At the next, he whispered, “And you’re no monster.”
Their lips met, their bodies intertwined. It was as close as either one was going to get to admitting their true feelings.
Author/Artist: queenoftheskies
Fandom: Final Fantasy VI
Pairing: Locke/Celes
Rating: R
Warnings: explicit sex
Word Count: 1,783
Prompt: Final Fantasy 6 - Locke/Celes - Post-apocalypse, but not necessarily post-game; just after Celes & co. find Locke and he rejoins the party. I'd love to see something with both characters coming to terms with their pasts, especially with regards to Locke's love for Rachel. Leaning toward the smut end of the spectrum would be nice but not necessary. Fic preferred, but art is always made of win.
Burning Bridges
“It wasn’t your fault.” Celes slipped up behind Locke as he sat alone on the rocky outcrop at the edge of the cliff.
He’d been there for hours, looking out over the choppy sea. Dinner had passed without his appearance, but now that streaks of orange tinged the sky, she’d realized he wasn’t going to come back to them on his own.
Locke startled, lost so deep in thought, he hadn’t heard her approach. Celes knew what that meant; he was worse off than she’d thought. She wasn’t much for affection-maybe they’d bred it out of her when they engineered the magic in-but she slid her hands onto his shoulders, squeezing gently, just so he’d remember she cared.
“What do you know?” he countered in a whisper, pulling free of her grasp as he stood. For long moments, he continued to stare out toward the horizon. “There’s going to be a storm.”
“Big one,” she agreed. You couldn’t tell now, not with the way the sunset had bathed the ocean in flame. And, once upon a time, she’d have said the spectacular sunset was omen for a beautiful day to come, but, not now. Not any more. She could smell the storm on the wind that wound its way up the cliff face. It carried the scent of rain, a charge of power that could be natural or magic, and death.
Celes shuddered. She was no stranger to death, but it hadn’t begun to matter until she’d realized the Empire was killing innocent citizens and not crazy rebels as she’d been programmed to believe.
The movement won interest from Locke, who shifted to study her from the corner of his eye. “You cold?”
“It’s nothing.” She turned away, uncomfortable beneath his gaze. Wrapping her arms around herself, she willed away the uneasiness that stirred inside her.
He studied her a moment longer, then with the words, “I should have saved her,” he was gone.
She watched him retreat until he’d disappeared into the trees. It was her fault he was upset; she should have expected it.
With a sigh, she followed. She wasn’t good with people; she didn’t know how to make him understand.
#
The storm hit when the moon would have been high in the sky, with wind that made the trees outside her tent thrash and set the hobbled chocobos in the common area to squawking. She wasn’t afraid of the pounding rain or the thunder so close it made the ground tremble. The lightning gave her pause, but only in as much as she worried that it would strike nearby.
Every bit as violent as she’d expected, if the weather didn’t ease by morning, they’d be trapped on the side of the mountain another day yet. With a sigh, Celes rolled over, eyes wide, no closer to sleep than she had been when she’d excused herself from the others. She’d thought she wanted to be alone, but alone was the last place she needed to be with memories troubling her.
They’d killed him; she had mixed feelings about his death. He hadn’t always been evil; he’d once been like her, and that frightened her more than she was willing to admit to anyone. She’d had a hard time even admitting it to herself.
She sat up at a clatter outside her tent, reaching for her scabbard. Her hand settled on the hilt of her sword, pulled it slowly, silently free. On her knees, she crept forward, sword ready to strike as the flap flew open on her tent. Only years of practice kept her from skewering Locke as he poked his head inside.
He looked down the blade, eyes wide, and offered, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“Bastard,” she muttered, shoving the sword back into its sheath. “I could have killed you.” Adrenaline surged through her, made her feel sick. The queasy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach before rising to tighten her chest. She could have killed him. “Just like I killed so many others.”
“Celes...” He reached for her, but she turned away, retiring to the far side of her tent.
It was roomy, she could have comfortably stood. Instead, sword clutched between both hands, she huddled in a crouch. “What do you want?”
“I wanted...” He looked up, swiping rain-slicked hair back from his forehead. “Could I come in for a minute? It’s awful wet out here.”
She wasn’t sure why, but she said, “Yes.” Maybe she wanted to hear what he had to say. Maybe she wanted to be with him. Maybe she just didn’t want to be alone.
He shuffled in, grabbed the tent flap and tied it down again. “Getting bad out there.” He jerked a thumb behind him.
“We’ll be lucky to get out of here tomorrow.”
“What’s your rush?” Locked settled himself onto the extra blanket folded at the foot of her bedroll. “Now that Kefka’s dead...”
Instinctively, her grip tightened on the sword. She was a former Imperial general. She didn’t feel pain or sorrow or weakness. A lump rose into her throat and no amount of swallowing would relieve it.
“He was my friend once,” she admitted in a trembling voice.
“Friend, eh?”
“What do you know of friendship?” she countered, her voice sharp. Her body trembled. Pressing her eyes closed, she admitted, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m a monster, if I’m any better than he was.”
“You’re no monster.” The words sounded sincere.
But, he’s a thief, she reminded herself. A thief and a liar. And she owed her life to him. “Why did you save me back there?”
“What?”
“I said...” The lump eased as she turned to face him. “Thank you. I’d have been dead if you hadn’t...”
“It was nothing.” His eyes dropped to his hands, twisting in his lap.
“I’m sorry.” Celes exhaled slowly; the pain eased a little in her chest.
“For what?”
“That it was me you saved and not Rachel.”
Lock’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. Silence--deep and painful silence--settled over the interior of the tent.
Gods damn it. She always said the wrong thing, at least when they were alone. Something about him made her nervous, something she couldn’t quite understand.
“I’m not,” he said at last, his voice quiet.
She wasn’t sure she should answer. Maybe if she refused to talk to him, he’d just leave her alone to her misery. She wished she hadn’t agreed to return with them. There were so many other places she could go.
“Not what?” she asked when he seemed to be waiting for a response.
“Not sorry I saved you.”
His voice was soft and husky and set off another bout of queasiness deep in the pit of her stomach. This uneasiness was different, though, stirring a rush of adrenaline that tickled, that took her breath away.
“Celes...look at me.”
She’d never been a coward, but she was tempted to shake her head, tempted to make him leave now before they both said things they’d regret.
“Please.”
The urgency, the blind need in his voice made her face him, sword still held tightly in her hands. “But, you love her.”
“Loved her.” He licked his lips. “I’m not sure whether I feel more guilty about that or about her death. I should have saved her, I should have...”
“You saved me.” She caught his eyes, couldn’t fight the smile that curved her lips.
Water dripped from his hair to splatter on the blanket. For the first time she noticed the flush to his cheeks, the tremor in his body, the way the wet clothes clung to his lanky frame.
“You must be freezing.”
“You could...” With a hopeful smile, he tugged the bandana from his hair. “Take care of that, you know.” The bandana slipped from his fingers to crumple on the ground.
“Why, Mr. Cole, are you propositioning me?” Her heart pounded as she set her sword aside, so far aside she’d have to scramble for it if the need arose.
“Why, Miss Chere,” he said with a grin, “I do believe you’re accepting.”
For a moment, they merely regarded one another as if sizing up an opponent on the battlefield. Before the silence could grow awkward again, Locke leaned forward to set his bandana atop her sword and the tension eased.
They met head-on in a flurry of hands and kisses, each removing as much of their own clothes as they removed of the other’s, anxious and flustered and desperate. By the time Locke had pinned her down on the tangle of blankets on which she slept, she was keenly aware of the chill that had settled over his body.
It didn’t take much effort to flip him so she was on top and she grinned down at him, leaning forward when he reached for her breasts. His touch was bold, but surprisingly gentle as he squeezed her flesh, thumbed the nipples.
But, he was still so cold.
She lay down atop him, her finely muscled body draped across his tight chest and stomach. She couldn’t ignore the press of his cock against her leg, didn’t want to ignore it. Intertwined, they tasted and touched until she felt his skin begin to warm and then blaze with passion. In spite of the rain and the chill outside, sweat beaded between her breasts, threatened to spill down her stomach until Locke caught it with his tongue and licked his way back up to her lips.
He rolled her with a grin, straddling her. This time, she didn’t complain, but lay back against the pillows and spread her legs in invitation. He filled her and more, each thrust taking him deeper inside her.
He came hard and fast, head thrown back, a cry on his lips.
His desperation eased, he knelt between her legs and parted her. In the end, though she resisted and sought to make the pleasure last, she erupted in orgasm as quickly as he had, torn between tears and laughter.
They collapsed together. She wasn’t surprised to see the tears in her own eyes mirrored in his. The past was hard to let go of, the future sometimes harder to face.
She didn’t have long to think of either before she realized he was ready again, as ready as she. But, the desperation was gone, replaced by long, leisurely strokes and kisses that threatened to never end.
At one breath, she whispered, “It wasn’t your fault.”
At the next, he whispered, “And you’re no monster.”
Their lips met, their bodies intertwined. It was as close as either one was going to get to admitting their true feelings.