[Fic: FFX] Winter is Coming {Braska-centric; PG}
Title: Winter is Coming
Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Characters: Braska, Shiva, Ifrit, Auron, Jecht
Comm: mission_insane
Table: #4 - Unthemed 2
Prompt: #8 - Winter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 371
Summary: The true terror lies not within winter, but what comes after.
Braska stands at the edge of nothingness.
The winds are howling in his ears, buffeting his eyes, frosting his naked skin; Shiva curls a slim arm around his neck, breathing her icy breath upon the curve of his shoulder, hums twisted satisfaction as a shiver runs through him.
Braska sighs.
Queen of ice and snow and long-lost passion - he bows down to her cruel touch, her beauty. Majesty.
And then she is gone and Braska's body is seared by hellfire.
Frost melts away from his eyelashes, the tip of his chin, his chest and he is burning - he sees himself burning within Ifrit's wild, bestial eyes.
He does not scream, does not frown, does not utter a single syllable as Ifrit takes him to the depths of damnation. He can feel his skin peeling, his flesh melting away from his bones and bones being crushed to dust and-
Braska screams.
And he can see the red-stained fangs of the demon - whose blood is that? Braska's? Jecht's? Auron's? Its own? Fire engulfs him, slithers around his arms and legs and chest like snakes.
Braska's eyes snap open.
Ifrit's laugh echoes in his ears. Mocking, defiant, a djinn born of blood and fire.
"Auron." His mouth is dry, his tongue heavy. "Water, please."
Auron hands him a half-full canteen and Braska tips his head back, drinks, sighs as the cool touch of Macalanian spring eases the fire still burning and crackling in his heart, just a spark away from consuming him.
"My lord-"
Braska raises a hand, silences him. "It is not I who needs rest, Auron, but you." He returns Auron's grimace - frustrated, desperate - with a gentle smile. "Sit, lie down if you so wish. My talk with the fayth is far from over."
It is cold tonight.
Braska raises his face to the sky, closes his eyes as the winds kiss away the beads of sweat on his temples, soothe the restless djinn's wild fires, rekindle the queen's passion, her wrath.
And, deep within him, Jecht stirs.
Winter is coming, Shiva whispers. Another winter, and still we dream.
Braska breathes.
Jecht breathes with him, waking to the call, the summoning that will end all suffering, and Jecht knows.
Sin is coming.
Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Characters: Braska, Shiva, Ifrit, Auron, Jecht
Comm: mission_insane
Table: #4 - Unthemed 2
Prompt: #8 - Winter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 371
Summary: The true terror lies not within winter, but what comes after.
Braska stands at the edge of nothingness.
The winds are howling in his ears, buffeting his eyes, frosting his naked skin; Shiva curls a slim arm around his neck, breathing her icy breath upon the curve of his shoulder, hums twisted satisfaction as a shiver runs through him.
Braska sighs.
Queen of ice and snow and long-lost passion - he bows down to her cruel touch, her beauty. Majesty.
And then she is gone and Braska's body is seared by hellfire.
Frost melts away from his eyelashes, the tip of his chin, his chest and he is burning - he sees himself burning within Ifrit's wild, bestial eyes.
He does not scream, does not frown, does not utter a single syllable as Ifrit takes him to the depths of damnation. He can feel his skin peeling, his flesh melting away from his bones and bones being crushed to dust and-
Braska screams.
And he can see the red-stained fangs of the demon - whose blood is that? Braska's? Jecht's? Auron's? Its own? Fire engulfs him, slithers around his arms and legs and chest like snakes.
Braska's eyes snap open.
Ifrit's laugh echoes in his ears. Mocking, defiant, a djinn born of blood and fire.
"Auron." His mouth is dry, his tongue heavy. "Water, please."
Auron hands him a half-full canteen and Braska tips his head back, drinks, sighs as the cool touch of Macalanian spring eases the fire still burning and crackling in his heart, just a spark away from consuming him.
"My lord-"
Braska raises a hand, silences him. "It is not I who needs rest, Auron, but you." He returns Auron's grimace - frustrated, desperate - with a gentle smile. "Sit, lie down if you so wish. My talk with the fayth is far from over."
It is cold tonight.
Braska raises his face to the sky, closes his eyes as the winds kiss away the beads of sweat on his temples, soothe the restless djinn's wild fires, rekindle the queen's passion, her wrath.
And, deep within him, Jecht stirs.
Winter is coming, Shiva whispers. Another winter, and still we dream.
Braska breathes.
Jecht breathes with him, waking to the call, the summoning that will end all suffering, and Jecht knows.
Sin is coming.