Final Fantasy XII (Vayne/Larsa)
Title: Generosity
Author: Ariane
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: ~1000
Summary: "You do not disappoint me," Vayne says. "Men of our status can afford the luxury, can we not? I've no fear one day of langour will have you soft."
The purpose of a rest after dinner, Larsa thinks, is somewhat defeated if one walks it off before one can lie down. All the rooms of the house are on the opposite side, and upstairs from the main dining room, but Vayne's seem to be farther than most. He keeps walking. Tonight's feast was larger than most, and he could not turn down Vayne's generosity. He does not recieve these invitations often, and always has an enjoyable visit, besides.
"Thank you," he says when Vayne, instead of one of the guards, takes the initiative to hold the door open for him. It is heavy and made of mahogany, draped with the same luxurious fabric used inside. He likes Vayne's rooms even better than his own, he thinks in the occasions he comes here.
"Of course," Vayne says, closing the door behind them. "You ate more than I did."
"I didn't," Larsa starts, but looks down sheepishly, as his stomach seems to disagree. "Well. Perhaps."
"Only more reason to rest," Vayne says, gesturing to the chairs that occupy much of this room.
"Not too much rest," Larsa insists, even though (or perhaps because) the comfort is so tempting. "I've heard what the court says of idleness."
"You do not disappoint me," Vayne says. "Men of our status can afford the luxury, can we not? I've no fear one day of langour will have you soft."
Larsa looks down when he can't keep his face entirely serious. "A day? Brother, my tutors will worry."
"What do your tutors know, that I do not?"
Larsa opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He can't argue that; his brother is the most knowledgeable man he knows. Vayne laughs lightly. "You see? Already we have had a lesson in debate."
"But you have won."
"You concede?"
"I do."
"Smart child."
It is a nice compliment, and he can't be as disappointed at losing as he wants to be, when he finds he wants to give Vayne a kiss.
They both know he's too old to be finding comfort in his brother's arms, but what harm will it do, behind closed doors? So Vayne lets him touch, even leaning down a bit, though pulling away quickly. "You liked the wine tonight?"
Larsa can't help but blush a bit. He must have been watching him during dinner, as he does some nights -- surely he can't taste that. "It was very sweet." He smiles. He might've had a little more than usual with dinner.
Vayne doesn't seem to mind, holding him at arm's length but looking like he's done something childish. Usually Larsa would act chastised, though only acting. He doesn't need to worry about appearances, with his brother. "Would you like another glass?" Vayne offers.
"I'm quite fine, brother," Larsa says, but Vayne insists, and he might just be flattered that Vayne thinks he's old enough to have a drink after dinner like men do. By the time the servants are called, he decides he is convinced.
"Lord Larsa requests the wine served at the feast tonight. Have a bottle delivered immediately," Vayne orders. He pauses a moment, as if thinking. "And ask the chef to select a glass of brandy for myself. He knows my tastes."
The servant nods and leaves, and then there's a comfortable silence, the kind that lends itself to resting after a large meal, while the wine is being gathered. Larsa keeps looking up, expecting Vayne to start conversation, but he does not.
"You needn't have done that, brother. I've had plenty with my dinner."
"You are also big enough to have a glass with me." He looks amused. "What will you say the first time you are asked to the study for politics with the Judges Magister, over scotch?"
"Judge Drace wouldn't allow it for years," Larsa admits.
"You know as well as I do Judge Drace would be all too proud to show you off. Moreso if you could hold liquor as well as she and the others do," Vayne says. "I would be proud, as well. It will not be long." Larsa beams.
The wine arrives minutes later. The man serves Vayne first, like they always do, but Vayne doesn't let him wait, taking the sweet white before the servant can even correct himself. He tests the chill on his wrist, then pours, the cold making the glass frost, and it is wet when it's handed over.
Vayne picks up his own glass from the brass tray. If it's dry, his face after the first sip doesn't give any indication. He turns in his chair, to where the servant is standing behind him, instructing him to wait outside. "My lord," the man agrees, and shuts the doors behind him. Larsa sips happily.
The conversation meanders from his lessons to Zargabaath's signing of a pending trade agreement, to Vayne's planned travels and back to lessons. Vayne keeps his glass full. When lethargy sets in, full and warm and happy, Vayne asks him to come sit with him, in a chair that despite oversizing is only meant for one, and he doesn't mind.
He's proud that he's only a little unsteady when he first gets on his feet, but then stumbles when he gets close. Vayne reaches in time to catch the glass, his own set aside, and Larsa falls rather harmlessly into his brother. He has to arrange himself so he's half in Vayne's lap, but Vayne just puts one of his hands on Larsa's waist, so he can't mind that much.
"I'm fine," Larsa tells him, reaching for his glass. Vayne holds it just out of his reach. Larsa pouts.
Vayne sets the glass aside, then returns his hand to softly stroking his back. "I think I may have had too much, brother."
"Of course not." His face is close, and Larsa can feel him, soft hair and a little roughness on his face and hot breath, against his skin. "You seem well to me."
Larsa wants to believe him, but still rests more weight on Vayne's chest. He's solid, when nothing else seems to be. "If you say so."
"That's right," he's saying. Larsa closes his eyes. "That's right."
Author: Ariane
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word count: ~1000
Summary: "You do not disappoint me," Vayne says. "Men of our status can afford the luxury, can we not? I've no fear one day of langour will have you soft."
The purpose of a rest after dinner, Larsa thinks, is somewhat defeated if one walks it off before one can lie down. All the rooms of the house are on the opposite side, and upstairs from the main dining room, but Vayne's seem to be farther than most. He keeps walking. Tonight's feast was larger than most, and he could not turn down Vayne's generosity. He does not recieve these invitations often, and always has an enjoyable visit, besides.
"Thank you," he says when Vayne, instead of one of the guards, takes the initiative to hold the door open for him. It is heavy and made of mahogany, draped with the same luxurious fabric used inside. He likes Vayne's rooms even better than his own, he thinks in the occasions he comes here.
"Of course," Vayne says, closing the door behind them. "You ate more than I did."
"I didn't," Larsa starts, but looks down sheepishly, as his stomach seems to disagree. "Well. Perhaps."
"Only more reason to rest," Vayne says, gesturing to the chairs that occupy much of this room.
"Not too much rest," Larsa insists, even though (or perhaps because) the comfort is so tempting. "I've heard what the court says of idleness."
"You do not disappoint me," Vayne says. "Men of our status can afford the luxury, can we not? I've no fear one day of langour will have you soft."
Larsa looks down when he can't keep his face entirely serious. "A day? Brother, my tutors will worry."
"What do your tutors know, that I do not?"
Larsa opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He can't argue that; his brother is the most knowledgeable man he knows. Vayne laughs lightly. "You see? Already we have had a lesson in debate."
"But you have won."
"You concede?"
"I do."
"Smart child."
It is a nice compliment, and he can't be as disappointed at losing as he wants to be, when he finds he wants to give Vayne a kiss.
They both know he's too old to be finding comfort in his brother's arms, but what harm will it do, behind closed doors? So Vayne lets him touch, even leaning down a bit, though pulling away quickly. "You liked the wine tonight?"
Larsa can't help but blush a bit. He must have been watching him during dinner, as he does some nights -- surely he can't taste that. "It was very sweet." He smiles. He might've had a little more than usual with dinner.
Vayne doesn't seem to mind, holding him at arm's length but looking like he's done something childish. Usually Larsa would act chastised, though only acting. He doesn't need to worry about appearances, with his brother. "Would you like another glass?" Vayne offers.
"I'm quite fine, brother," Larsa says, but Vayne insists, and he might just be flattered that Vayne thinks he's old enough to have a drink after dinner like men do. By the time the servants are called, he decides he is convinced.
"Lord Larsa requests the wine served at the feast tonight. Have a bottle delivered immediately," Vayne orders. He pauses a moment, as if thinking. "And ask the chef to select a glass of brandy for myself. He knows my tastes."
The servant nods and leaves, and then there's a comfortable silence, the kind that lends itself to resting after a large meal, while the wine is being gathered. Larsa keeps looking up, expecting Vayne to start conversation, but he does not.
"You needn't have done that, brother. I've had plenty with my dinner."
"You are also big enough to have a glass with me." He looks amused. "What will you say the first time you are asked to the study for politics with the Judges Magister, over scotch?"
"Judge Drace wouldn't allow it for years," Larsa admits.
"You know as well as I do Judge Drace would be all too proud to show you off. Moreso if you could hold liquor as well as she and the others do," Vayne says. "I would be proud, as well. It will not be long." Larsa beams.
The wine arrives minutes later. The man serves Vayne first, like they always do, but Vayne doesn't let him wait, taking the sweet white before the servant can even correct himself. He tests the chill on his wrist, then pours, the cold making the glass frost, and it is wet when it's handed over.
Vayne picks up his own glass from the brass tray. If it's dry, his face after the first sip doesn't give any indication. He turns in his chair, to where the servant is standing behind him, instructing him to wait outside. "My lord," the man agrees, and shuts the doors behind him. Larsa sips happily.
The conversation meanders from his lessons to Zargabaath's signing of a pending trade agreement, to Vayne's planned travels and back to lessons. Vayne keeps his glass full. When lethargy sets in, full and warm and happy, Vayne asks him to come sit with him, in a chair that despite oversizing is only meant for one, and he doesn't mind.
He's proud that he's only a little unsteady when he first gets on his feet, but then stumbles when he gets close. Vayne reaches in time to catch the glass, his own set aside, and Larsa falls rather harmlessly into his brother. He has to arrange himself so he's half in Vayne's lap, but Vayne just puts one of his hands on Larsa's waist, so he can't mind that much.
"I'm fine," Larsa tells him, reaching for his glass. Vayne holds it just out of his reach. Larsa pouts.
Vayne sets the glass aside, then returns his hand to softly stroking his back. "I think I may have had too much, brother."
"Of course not." His face is close, and Larsa can feel him, soft hair and a little roughness on his face and hot breath, against his skin. "You seem well to me."
Larsa wants to believe him, but still rests more weight on Vayne's chest. He's solid, when nothing else seems to be. "If you say so."
"That's right," he's saying. Larsa closes his eyes. "That's right."