laylah
in
springkink
Kingdom Hearts 2/Final Fantasy XII (Luxord/Balthier)
Title: One Last Gamble
Author: Laylah
Rating: NC-17 for m/m
Word count: ~1500
Summary: There are quite a number of things to dislike about the pirate, beginning with the uncertainty about whether indeed he is one.
There are quite a number of things to dislike about the pirate, beginning with the uncertainty about whether indeed he is one. Certainly he spends no time at the aerodrome, which means that his ship, if he has one, is neglected, in favor of his...other pursuits. In addition to that already grievous fault, there is his costume, which features too much leather and far too much jewelry; there is the way the girls in this town, Kingsport or Royal Port or whatever it is, fawn over him and find him charming; there is his uncanny luck at the gambling tables and the way he smiles when he wins; and there is the bloody goatee, which Balthier thought himself above envying, but apparently not. It looks dashing, and the scoundrel knows it.
Still, he's more than willing to buy drinks for a man who can keep up with him at a game of cards, and the local specialty might be no madhu but it's good enough, sweet and raw on the back of Balthier's tongue. It'll pass the time for tonight, and that's the important thing. And the bloody pirate -- Luxord, he called himself, and as an expert on the subject Balthier is certain the name is false -- seems rather interested in him, eyes the bright cold blue of nethicite tracking every flippant gesture of Balthier's hands. It's flattering, that sort of attention. Annoying, too, because Balthier knows full well the power of the gesture, showering someone with attention as the town's favorite rake -- but flattering nonetheless. No wonder it works so well for him in Balfonheim.
Even the cards themselves dance to Luxord's tune tonight, it seems; at the end of his third glass of -- rhum, was it? -- Balthier finds his purse fairly well emptied of the odd spherical coins they use here. "My lady luck has deserted me, it seems," he says, shaking his head.
Luxord arches one too-perfect eyebrow. "Is that who that was, coming in with you earlier?"
Ah. So this is an attempt to get to Fran, is it? "You'll leave her be, if you have any sense," Balthier says mildly.
"A threat?" Luxord asks. His smirk needs bloodying.
"Friendly advice," Balthier says. "The lady defends her own honor far more savagely than I ever would."
Luxord at least has more sense than some. "I'll take the advice with thanks, then," he says. The cards flutter in his hands, which are unnaturally deft despite his gloves. It's a damnably good trick. "Now. One more hand? It's traditional, after all."
Balthier can't help a little answering smirk. "The one where I wager something extremely dear to me, against all of your ill-gotten gains? I think I'll skip that one, if it's all the same to you."
"Ah, you'd break my heart," Luxord says. "You've nothing interesting to wager at all?"
"No maps," Balthier says, listing items off on his fingers. "No treasures. No secrets. No ships." He might, in fact, have several of those things, but he also has more sense than to wager any of them against something as easily replaced as coin.
"No virtue?" Luxord smiles.
"None at all," Balthier says. He holds Luxord's gaze without flinching. "Or were you propositioning me?"
The way Luxord laughs is just as dizzying as the liquor, which means Balthier is about as inebriated as he's likely to allow himself to become, in a strange port with his partner occupied elsewhere. "Your lady did desert you, did she not?"
"And you would replace her?" Balthier says. He can't imagine it; Luxord looks far too much like he's accustomed to turning every trick his way.
Luxord shrugs. "Not quite."
Of course not. Well, if he thinks Balthier's going to be swept off his feet like some tavern doxy, then the learning experience will be good for him. "What did you have in mind?"
"Come upstairs with me," Luxord suggests.
"Outside," Balthier counters. "The back alley."
"Hardly the sort of suggestion I would expect from a gentleman," Luxord says, but his cards disappear up his sleeve.
Balthier licks his lips deliberately. "I never claimed to be a gentleman," he says.
Luxord smiles. "Indeed," he says. He rises from the table, and Balthier goes with him.
In a room, even one rented for only the hour, they would have to negotiate the expectation that at least one of them would remove his trousers, and while Balthier is confident that he could still remove himself quickly from the situation given such a handicap, he'd prefer not to if at all possible. As he follows Luxord to the tavern's back door, he reaches into his second pouch for the beacon he carries when he and Fran go their separate ways in port. He thumbs the switch to activate it, and slips out into the warm, humid evening.
This town is poorly lit compared with the ones Balthier knows from Ivalice, smoky guttering torches the only light on the streets, and here, behind the tavern, barely even that. The moon is full overhead, and the cobblestones underfoot gleam faintly, slick with condensation. It'll be a neat trick for Fran, finding them back here -- but she's clever and talented, and he won't worry about that.
Instead he goes easily into Luxord's arms, and offers his mouth for a kiss. The prickle of Luxord's goatee reminds him for a moment of the captain, though the comparison immediately seems almost absurdly inappropriate -- Basch is one of the most honorable men he knows, in every way the opposite of this flashy, self-aggrandizing pirate. He puts the thought from his mind, instead pressing close, catching Luxord's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging.
Luxord hums, low and pleased, and settles his hands at Balthier's hips -- careful, he'll have to be careful with that; it wouldn't do to have Luxord take advantage of a moment's distraction and relieve him of his gil as well as his munny -- before breaking the kiss, leaning further to mouth at the rings in Balthier's ear.
It takes no performing skill to respond to that, and Balthier thinks he might hate Luxord just a bit for that, also, for the lush wet curl of tongue and the sharp tease of teeth -- and how Fran would laugh, to see him shuddering and whimpering at caresses to his earlobe. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes." He slides one hand down between them, seeking Luxord's cock beneath the smooth black of his long coat. "Some of this?"
"So eager," Luxord murmurs. "Yes. Do it." He reaches for the fastenings of his trousers with one hand, and curls the other around the nape of Balthier's neck to guide him down.
And his cock, Balthier discovers, is decked with as much jewelry as his ears, steel bars running in parallel down the shaft. "Quite the showman, aren't you?"
Luxord strokes himself slowly, languidly, like he knows full well what a sight he makes, black gloves contrasting with the fairness of his skin and the bright shine of the piercings. He's taking too long, with Fran already on the way. "You like them?"
"Impressive," Balthier says, since ultimately it costs him little. He leans forward, licks the row of piercings, feeling the ridged texture against his tongue. It's almost enough to make him sorry he didn't take the offer of the room -- save for the smug expression he can imagine Luxord wearing afterward. Sucking a cock so ornamented looks to be a bit tricky, but he can use that to his advantage; it gives him a good excuse to reach up and hold onto Luxord's belt with both hands as he stretches his mouth wide.
The noises Luxord makes are gratifying, too, low purring like he knows it's his task to be an appreciative audience. He thrusts slowly, so that the piercings slide against Balthier's bottom lip, so that the head of his cock barely brushes the back of Balthier's throat. He's relaxing into it, leaning back against the wall, and it feels like -- it feels almost like time is stretching out, like the syrupy haze of Slow settling over them. The hair stands up on the back of Balthier's neck; that could lead to trouble, if it takes too long for --
Fran's hoverbike roars down, over the edge of the next building and into the alley. Luxord flinches by instinct and Balthier dives backward, away from him, scrambling to his feet with the prize from this last gamble clutched tight in one fist. The bike's headlight washes the alley in far too much light, exposes all manner of filth that Balthier would rather not think about having knelt in as he runs for the back of the bike.
When he throws a leg over it and looks back, he sees Luxord in the act of vanishing, tendrils of black smoke closing around his form, as though he's less human than he seemed. "Drive," Balthier says hoarsely, and Fran tilts the throttle, gives the bike some lift.
"Trouble?" she asks, over her shoulder.
"I don't think so," Balthier says. He looks down, confirms that he does, indeed, still have hold of the pouch that hung from Luxord's belt, and that its weight is as substantial as it seemed. "But we may want to put some distance between ourselves and this place. Just as a precaution."
Fran's ears flick in amusement. "Of course."
Author: Laylah
Rating: NC-17 for m/m
Word count: ~1500
Summary: There are quite a number of things to dislike about the pirate, beginning with the uncertainty about whether indeed he is one.
There are quite a number of things to dislike about the pirate, beginning with the uncertainty about whether indeed he is one. Certainly he spends no time at the aerodrome, which means that his ship, if he has one, is neglected, in favor of his...other pursuits. In addition to that already grievous fault, there is his costume, which features too much leather and far too much jewelry; there is the way the girls in this town, Kingsport or Royal Port or whatever it is, fawn over him and find him charming; there is his uncanny luck at the gambling tables and the way he smiles when he wins; and there is the bloody goatee, which Balthier thought himself above envying, but apparently not. It looks dashing, and the scoundrel knows it.
Still, he's more than willing to buy drinks for a man who can keep up with him at a game of cards, and the local specialty might be no madhu but it's good enough, sweet and raw on the back of Balthier's tongue. It'll pass the time for tonight, and that's the important thing. And the bloody pirate -- Luxord, he called himself, and as an expert on the subject Balthier is certain the name is false -- seems rather interested in him, eyes the bright cold blue of nethicite tracking every flippant gesture of Balthier's hands. It's flattering, that sort of attention. Annoying, too, because Balthier knows full well the power of the gesture, showering someone with attention as the town's favorite rake -- but flattering nonetheless. No wonder it works so well for him in Balfonheim.
Even the cards themselves dance to Luxord's tune tonight, it seems; at the end of his third glass of -- rhum, was it? -- Balthier finds his purse fairly well emptied of the odd spherical coins they use here. "My lady luck has deserted me, it seems," he says, shaking his head.
Luxord arches one too-perfect eyebrow. "Is that who that was, coming in with you earlier?"
Ah. So this is an attempt to get to Fran, is it? "You'll leave her be, if you have any sense," Balthier says mildly.
"A threat?" Luxord asks. His smirk needs bloodying.
"Friendly advice," Balthier says. "The lady defends her own honor far more savagely than I ever would."
Luxord at least has more sense than some. "I'll take the advice with thanks, then," he says. The cards flutter in his hands, which are unnaturally deft despite his gloves. It's a damnably good trick. "Now. One more hand? It's traditional, after all."
Balthier can't help a little answering smirk. "The one where I wager something extremely dear to me, against all of your ill-gotten gains? I think I'll skip that one, if it's all the same to you."
"Ah, you'd break my heart," Luxord says. "You've nothing interesting to wager at all?"
"No maps," Balthier says, listing items off on his fingers. "No treasures. No secrets. No ships." He might, in fact, have several of those things, but he also has more sense than to wager any of them against something as easily replaced as coin.
"No virtue?" Luxord smiles.
"None at all," Balthier says. He holds Luxord's gaze without flinching. "Or were you propositioning me?"
The way Luxord laughs is just as dizzying as the liquor, which means Balthier is about as inebriated as he's likely to allow himself to become, in a strange port with his partner occupied elsewhere. "Your lady did desert you, did she not?"
"And you would replace her?" Balthier says. He can't imagine it; Luxord looks far too much like he's accustomed to turning every trick his way.
Luxord shrugs. "Not quite."
Of course not. Well, if he thinks Balthier's going to be swept off his feet like some tavern doxy, then the learning experience will be good for him. "What did you have in mind?"
"Come upstairs with me," Luxord suggests.
"Outside," Balthier counters. "The back alley."
"Hardly the sort of suggestion I would expect from a gentleman," Luxord says, but his cards disappear up his sleeve.
Balthier licks his lips deliberately. "I never claimed to be a gentleman," he says.
Luxord smiles. "Indeed," he says. He rises from the table, and Balthier goes with him.
In a room, even one rented for only the hour, they would have to negotiate the expectation that at least one of them would remove his trousers, and while Balthier is confident that he could still remove himself quickly from the situation given such a handicap, he'd prefer not to if at all possible. As he follows Luxord to the tavern's back door, he reaches into his second pouch for the beacon he carries when he and Fran go their separate ways in port. He thumbs the switch to activate it, and slips out into the warm, humid evening.
This town is poorly lit compared with the ones Balthier knows from Ivalice, smoky guttering torches the only light on the streets, and here, behind the tavern, barely even that. The moon is full overhead, and the cobblestones underfoot gleam faintly, slick with condensation. It'll be a neat trick for Fran, finding them back here -- but she's clever and talented, and he won't worry about that.
Instead he goes easily into Luxord's arms, and offers his mouth for a kiss. The prickle of Luxord's goatee reminds him for a moment of the captain, though the comparison immediately seems almost absurdly inappropriate -- Basch is one of the most honorable men he knows, in every way the opposite of this flashy, self-aggrandizing pirate. He puts the thought from his mind, instead pressing close, catching Luxord's bottom lip between his teeth, tugging.
Luxord hums, low and pleased, and settles his hands at Balthier's hips -- careful, he'll have to be careful with that; it wouldn't do to have Luxord take advantage of a moment's distraction and relieve him of his gil as well as his munny -- before breaking the kiss, leaning further to mouth at the rings in Balthier's ear.
It takes no performing skill to respond to that, and Balthier thinks he might hate Luxord just a bit for that, also, for the lush wet curl of tongue and the sharp tease of teeth -- and how Fran would laugh, to see him shuddering and whimpering at caresses to his earlobe. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes." He slides one hand down between them, seeking Luxord's cock beneath the smooth black of his long coat. "Some of this?"
"So eager," Luxord murmurs. "Yes. Do it." He reaches for the fastenings of his trousers with one hand, and curls the other around the nape of Balthier's neck to guide him down.
And his cock, Balthier discovers, is decked with as much jewelry as his ears, steel bars running in parallel down the shaft. "Quite the showman, aren't you?"
Luxord strokes himself slowly, languidly, like he knows full well what a sight he makes, black gloves contrasting with the fairness of his skin and the bright shine of the piercings. He's taking too long, with Fran already on the way. "You like them?"
"Impressive," Balthier says, since ultimately it costs him little. He leans forward, licks the row of piercings, feeling the ridged texture against his tongue. It's almost enough to make him sorry he didn't take the offer of the room -- save for the smug expression he can imagine Luxord wearing afterward. Sucking a cock so ornamented looks to be a bit tricky, but he can use that to his advantage; it gives him a good excuse to reach up and hold onto Luxord's belt with both hands as he stretches his mouth wide.
The noises Luxord makes are gratifying, too, low purring like he knows it's his task to be an appreciative audience. He thrusts slowly, so that the piercings slide against Balthier's bottom lip, so that the head of his cock barely brushes the back of Balthier's throat. He's relaxing into it, leaning back against the wall, and it feels like -- it feels almost like time is stretching out, like the syrupy haze of Slow settling over them. The hair stands up on the back of Balthier's neck; that could lead to trouble, if it takes too long for --
Fran's hoverbike roars down, over the edge of the next building and into the alley. Luxord flinches by instinct and Balthier dives backward, away from him, scrambling to his feet with the prize from this last gamble clutched tight in one fist. The bike's headlight washes the alley in far too much light, exposes all manner of filth that Balthier would rather not think about having knelt in as he runs for the back of the bike.
When he throws a leg over it and looks back, he sees Luxord in the act of vanishing, tendrils of black smoke closing around his form, as though he's less human than he seemed. "Drive," Balthier says hoarsely, and Fran tilts the throttle, gives the bike some lift.
"Trouble?" she asks, over her shoulder.
"I don't think so," Balthier says. He looks down, confirms that he does, indeed, still have hold of the pouch that hung from Luxord's belt, and that its weight is as substantial as it seemed. "But we may want to put some distance between ourselves and this place. Just as a precaution."
Fran's ears flick in amusement. "Of course."