Chrono Trigger - Comfortable
Title: Comfortable.
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 1/1.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They’re Square’s. No profit intended or made, just borrowed them for harmless fun.
Warnings: As much fluff as you can ever get with these two.
Rating: PG-13 to be safe.
Summary: Not everyone is destined for “happily ever after”. But some come close, in their own way.
Pairing(s): Magus/Flea.
Fandom: Chrono Trigger.
Notes: Because I once got asked if I ever wrote fluff. This is the closest I get.
Magus found himself eventually rejoining the Mystics. After five long years of searching for his sister, to make sure that she was safe, he was out of ideas and wanted a break. He supposed he could have gone to any of his old party members, but while they’d worked well together, he never felt at home around them. In fact, he’d never felt at home anywhere, not even in Zeal, but he came the closest when he was with the Mystics. He was free to be himself there, not pretending to be a better person so he’d get to his goal, or pretending to have powers he didn’t have. It was almost peaceful, in a strange sort of way.
So he’d walked back into his castle like he belonged there. In a way, he did, and it was never a good idea to seem insecure around Mystics. They hadn’t been happy to see him, of course, but with a little persuasion and a reminder that he was perfectly capable of kicking their collective butts if they tried anything. Grudgingly, they’d admitted that they didn’t really do so well with no leader around, and they took Magus back into the warmth.
Of course, some Mystics had been a bit more difficult. But then, if there was one word that defined Flea the Magician, it was difficult. Magus had been quite surprised to see Flea, actually. He’d thought the other mage had been killed in the big fight between his party and his former henchmen. Of course, Flea was a tenacious little thing and about as hard to get rid of as his namesake.
The pink-haired mage had thrown a fit. Nobody threw a fit like Flea, except possibly Magus’ mother. It had ended in an all-out mage fight, leaving them both exhausted and aching, yet somehow also feeling better. And then Flea had kissed him, calling him several rather unpleasant names, and before long, they’d been looking for any available horizontal surface.
It had been an unexpected but pleasurable incident, fast and urgent on the desk in the study room. Flea, Magus had learned, was flexible. Afterwards, Magus had realized that he had more scratches from the fervent sex than from the preceding fight, and that he was thankful for Flea’s dresses. There was much to be said for easy access.
After that, Flea seemed to have acknowledged him as the leader again. Magus was tempted to make a comment about Mystics and their power-games, but he’d enjoyed it too much to risk another huge fight. They still fought, of course; with Magus being his moody self and Flea being damn hot-tempered, but they always got it resolved somehow.
His new “understanding”, for the lack of a better word, with Flea let them work much better together than before. It was less of a competition and more of a mutual learning. Flea taught him how to make a wide array of Mystic healing potions and poisons, and in return, Magus taught Flea how to read Zealian runes, and about the old Enlightened rituals. They both researched temporal anomalies and spells to affect them. Magus still had a hope about making sure his sister was safe.
It somehow all became normal for him. Oh, there was variation. Flea had a deep love for messing about with alchemy and a talent at making things blow up. It took a special kind of mindset to come up with acidic perfume bombs. While officially on a truce with Guardia, the two of them made life hell for anyone stupid enough to trespass on Mystic territory.
One day, not unlike most days in the Mystic castle, Magus realised something. He was, if not happy, then content with how his life was. Currently, he was lying on a couch in the study he shared with Flea, his legs draped over the arm lean and his head in Flea’s lap. They were both reading fairly complicated spellbooks, but Flea was absentmindedly stroking Magus’ hair. Maybe it was that simple little movement that made Magus realise just how nice things really had sorted themselves out for him. It wasn’t a happily ever after. Not like Crono and Marle, who he’d seen a few times since they parted after Lavos’ defeat, and who were still sappily in love like never before. But then, Magus had never wanted a happily ever after. He’d wanted revenge against Lavos, which he’d gotten. He’d never really considered much further than that. Being comfortable was more than he’d ever expected.
Flea looked down at him, his eyebrow arched. “What are you thinking about?”
Magus reached up slowly, twining his fingers into Flea’s necklace, pulling him down a little. “Nothing, really.” He studied the pretty mage’s eyes for a while. They were an improbable shade of deep pink. There were a lot of improbable things with Flea. Maybe that was why Magus liked him so much. He didn’t know if he’d call it love, the only love he’d ever truly felt was a boy’s worshipful love of his older sister. But…
“…I feel comfortable with you, you know.”
It wasn’t a declaration of eternal love or anything even close. But Flea smiled brilliantly and shifted so he could lean down and kisses Magus intensely.
“I feel comfortable with you, too.”
It was more than either of them had ever expected to have.
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 1/1.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They’re Square’s. No profit intended or made, just borrowed them for harmless fun.
Warnings: As much fluff as you can ever get with these two.
Rating: PG-13 to be safe.
Summary: Not everyone is destined for “happily ever after”. But some come close, in their own way.
Pairing(s): Magus/Flea.
Fandom: Chrono Trigger.
Notes: Because I once got asked if I ever wrote fluff. This is the closest I get.
Magus found himself eventually rejoining the Mystics. After five long years of searching for his sister, to make sure that she was safe, he was out of ideas and wanted a break. He supposed he could have gone to any of his old party members, but while they’d worked well together, he never felt at home around them. In fact, he’d never felt at home anywhere, not even in Zeal, but he came the closest when he was with the Mystics. He was free to be himself there, not pretending to be a better person so he’d get to his goal, or pretending to have powers he didn’t have. It was almost peaceful, in a strange sort of way.
So he’d walked back into his castle like he belonged there. In a way, he did, and it was never a good idea to seem insecure around Mystics. They hadn’t been happy to see him, of course, but with a little persuasion and a reminder that he was perfectly capable of kicking their collective butts if they tried anything. Grudgingly, they’d admitted that they didn’t really do so well with no leader around, and they took Magus back into the warmth.
Of course, some Mystics had been a bit more difficult. But then, if there was one word that defined Flea the Magician, it was difficult. Magus had been quite surprised to see Flea, actually. He’d thought the other mage had been killed in the big fight between his party and his former henchmen. Of course, Flea was a tenacious little thing and about as hard to get rid of as his namesake.
The pink-haired mage had thrown a fit. Nobody threw a fit like Flea, except possibly Magus’ mother. It had ended in an all-out mage fight, leaving them both exhausted and aching, yet somehow also feeling better. And then Flea had kissed him, calling him several rather unpleasant names, and before long, they’d been looking for any available horizontal surface.
It had been an unexpected but pleasurable incident, fast and urgent on the desk in the study room. Flea, Magus had learned, was flexible. Afterwards, Magus had realized that he had more scratches from the fervent sex than from the preceding fight, and that he was thankful for Flea’s dresses. There was much to be said for easy access.
After that, Flea seemed to have acknowledged him as the leader again. Magus was tempted to make a comment about Mystics and their power-games, but he’d enjoyed it too much to risk another huge fight. They still fought, of course; with Magus being his moody self and Flea being damn hot-tempered, but they always got it resolved somehow.
His new “understanding”, for the lack of a better word, with Flea let them work much better together than before. It was less of a competition and more of a mutual learning. Flea taught him how to make a wide array of Mystic healing potions and poisons, and in return, Magus taught Flea how to read Zealian runes, and about the old Enlightened rituals. They both researched temporal anomalies and spells to affect them. Magus still had a hope about making sure his sister was safe.
It somehow all became normal for him. Oh, there was variation. Flea had a deep love for messing about with alchemy and a talent at making things blow up. It took a special kind of mindset to come up with acidic perfume bombs. While officially on a truce with Guardia, the two of them made life hell for anyone stupid enough to trespass on Mystic territory.
One day, not unlike most days in the Mystic castle, Magus realised something. He was, if not happy, then content with how his life was. Currently, he was lying on a couch in the study he shared with Flea, his legs draped over the arm lean and his head in Flea’s lap. They were both reading fairly complicated spellbooks, but Flea was absentmindedly stroking Magus’ hair. Maybe it was that simple little movement that made Magus realise just how nice things really had sorted themselves out for him. It wasn’t a happily ever after. Not like Crono and Marle, who he’d seen a few times since they parted after Lavos’ defeat, and who were still sappily in love like never before. But then, Magus had never wanted a happily ever after. He’d wanted revenge against Lavos, which he’d gotten. He’d never really considered much further than that. Being comfortable was more than he’d ever expected.
Flea looked down at him, his eyebrow arched. “What are you thinking about?”
Magus reached up slowly, twining his fingers into Flea’s necklace, pulling him down a little. “Nothing, really.” He studied the pretty mage’s eyes for a while. They were an improbable shade of deep pink. There were a lot of improbable things with Flea. Maybe that was why Magus liked him so much. He didn’t know if he’d call it love, the only love he’d ever truly felt was a boy’s worshipful love of his older sister. But…
“…I feel comfortable with you, you know.”
It wasn’t a declaration of eternal love or anything even close. But Flea smiled brilliantly and shifted so he could lean down and kisses Magus intensely.
“I feel comfortable with you, too.”
It was more than either of them had ever expected to have.