laylah
in
springkink
Final Fantasy XII (Zecht/Gabranth)
Title: One More Time, Before
Author: Laylah
Rating: NC-17 for m/m
Word count: ~1000
Summary: Gabranth holds tight to the railing as Zecht undoes the drawstring of his pants. "This is another lesson in politics, isn't it?"
The tread of footsteps is audible even inside, with the doors shut. Gabranth rises from bed, from the luxury of the sheets and the company, and pushes open the balcony door so he can step outside and see for himself. The morning sun has not yet had time to warm the stones under his feet, but it shines off the pikes and helms of the men marching in the street below. Banners snap in the wind, and the noise is thunderous.
Still, he hears it when the door opens a second time behind him, and he does not flinch when Zecht's arms slide round his waist. "The empire's glory has roused you, has it?" Zecht asks, and Gabranth can hear the laughter in his voice.
"I'd hardly be the only one," Gabranth says, leaning back into the solid strength of Zecht's frame. "It looks like a victory parade."
"It will be," Zecht says, "when they return."
Gabranth looks back at Zecht, over his shoulder. "You sound so certain."
Zecht hums. "There are few powers in Ivalice that can stand against us," he says. "Soon enough, there will be none."
"The rumors are true, then?" Gabranth asks. "There is a new weapon?"
"Something," Zecht agrees. "I report to Draklor this afternoon for briefing, and I will follow the troops to Nabudis tonight." His hands wander, sliding down to cup the front of Gabranth's sleeping pants. "You should give me one more time, before I go."
Gabranth pushes into the touch, hardening for the strength and confidence Zecht displays in this along with everything else. "Should I?" he asks.
He tries to take a step back, away from the railing and toward the door, but Zecht holds him where he is. "I like you here."
"Anyone could see," Gabranth protests, even as his traitorous hips cooperate.
"Only if they looked," Zecht says. He presses close against Gabranth's back. He's already hard. "Does anyone look up, when there's a parade on the street?"
Gabranth holds tight to the railing as Zecht undoes the drawstring of his pants. "This is another lesson in politics, isn't it?"
"You're in Archadia," Zecht says. "When you stop seeking lessons in politics in every incident you encounter, you'll grow careless. And careless men don't last long."
"What lesson should I take from this, then?" Gabranth asks. He can feel knuckles brush against his ass as Zecht undoes his own pants to bare his cock.
Zecht laughs. "You tell me," he says. He shifts his weight, pushes, slides his cock between Gabranth's thighs. "We'll see if you've learned anything, these last few years."
Gabranth holds onto the railing, watching the parade as Zecht's first thrust rocks him forward. "Less a new lesson than a reminder," he says. "A skilled politician, for I take you to be such, never overlooks an opportunity to profit by other people's distraction. Ah." Zecht's hand closes around his cock, callused and warm. "Yet he also does not hesitate to provide incentives for his allies to, hhn, cooperate with him." He can feel the slick of precome between his thighs as Zecht thrusts. He reaches down, wraps his hand around Zecht's. "Gods. Harder."
"You've no taste for finesse, do you?" Zecht asks, and it sounds almost like criticism, save for the way his strokes roughen, the way his teeth scrape the back of Gabranth's neck. "It'll do you no good, but I like that in a man."
"Bad habits in general, or this one in particular?" Gabranth won't let himself look back, but he can't help leaning into the heat of Zecht's body. Below them on the street, cavalry banners snap and flutter in the breeze. The air is crisp and cool. Their balcony feels isolated, a little pocket of someplace else in the middle of Archadia's seat of power.
"Both," Zecht says. His voice is growing breathy, harsh. "This one," his hand squeezing Gabranth's cock, "in particular."
Gabranth laughs, shortly. It's hard to know for sure like this, but -- yes, that's the familiar tension in Zecht's arms, around him, the hitch of hot breath on the back of his neck -- the way Zecht's hand falters on his cock, and Gabranth has to tighten his own hand to keep the pressure that he likes -- the way Zecht bites, when he's trying to stay quiet -- and then the slick of hot fluid between Gabranth's thighs, the sharp pain as Zecht's teeth sink into the muscle of his shoulder --
"Don't stop," he breathes, "damn you, don't stop --" and Zecht recovers enough to stroke him hard, so that Gabranth can thrust into his hand, straining for it, nearly forgetting the massed crowd below, ready -- ready -- coming in triumph on a harsh exhale with Zecht holding him tight.
Zecht laughs, when Gabranth slumps back against him. "So easily conquered, are you?"
"You gave up the fight before I did," Gabranth retorts, twisting to claim a kiss.
"This time," Zecht allows easily, and relaxes into the kiss, loosening his hold so Gabranth can turn properly to embrace him. For a moment, now in the aftermath, there is no struggle in it, no contest of wills, only the sated pleasure of the touch.
But parade or no, they are standing outside in Archadia's capital, half undressed and displaying more affection than is seemly for men of their position. Gabranth pulls back. "We should go inside," he says. "Sooner or later, someone will think to look up, and I find I am too chilled and too sticky to want to be observed."
The loud delight in Zecht's laughter, if nothing else, will earn them an audience. "Fair enough, then," he says. "Come inside with me, then, and let us dress. I find I've worked up an appetite, and who knows when we might next break our fast together?"
"You'll simply have to deploy your new weapon," Gabranth answers, following Zecht to the door, "and hurry to your victory."
Zecht smiles, and opens the door for him. "Indeed," he says. "I shall."
Author: Laylah
Rating: NC-17 for m/m
Word count: ~1000
Summary: Gabranth holds tight to the railing as Zecht undoes the drawstring of his pants. "This is another lesson in politics, isn't it?"
The tread of footsteps is audible even inside, with the doors shut. Gabranth rises from bed, from the luxury of the sheets and the company, and pushes open the balcony door so he can step outside and see for himself. The morning sun has not yet had time to warm the stones under his feet, but it shines off the pikes and helms of the men marching in the street below. Banners snap in the wind, and the noise is thunderous.
Still, he hears it when the door opens a second time behind him, and he does not flinch when Zecht's arms slide round his waist. "The empire's glory has roused you, has it?" Zecht asks, and Gabranth can hear the laughter in his voice.
"I'd hardly be the only one," Gabranth says, leaning back into the solid strength of Zecht's frame. "It looks like a victory parade."
"It will be," Zecht says, "when they return."
Gabranth looks back at Zecht, over his shoulder. "You sound so certain."
Zecht hums. "There are few powers in Ivalice that can stand against us," he says. "Soon enough, there will be none."
"The rumors are true, then?" Gabranth asks. "There is a new weapon?"
"Something," Zecht agrees. "I report to Draklor this afternoon for briefing, and I will follow the troops to Nabudis tonight." His hands wander, sliding down to cup the front of Gabranth's sleeping pants. "You should give me one more time, before I go."
Gabranth pushes into the touch, hardening for the strength and confidence Zecht displays in this along with everything else. "Should I?" he asks.
He tries to take a step back, away from the railing and toward the door, but Zecht holds him where he is. "I like you here."
"Anyone could see," Gabranth protests, even as his traitorous hips cooperate.
"Only if they looked," Zecht says. He presses close against Gabranth's back. He's already hard. "Does anyone look up, when there's a parade on the street?"
Gabranth holds tight to the railing as Zecht undoes the drawstring of his pants. "This is another lesson in politics, isn't it?"
"You're in Archadia," Zecht says. "When you stop seeking lessons in politics in every incident you encounter, you'll grow careless. And careless men don't last long."
"What lesson should I take from this, then?" Gabranth asks. He can feel knuckles brush against his ass as Zecht undoes his own pants to bare his cock.
Zecht laughs. "You tell me," he says. He shifts his weight, pushes, slides his cock between Gabranth's thighs. "We'll see if you've learned anything, these last few years."
Gabranth holds onto the railing, watching the parade as Zecht's first thrust rocks him forward. "Less a new lesson than a reminder," he says. "A skilled politician, for I take you to be such, never overlooks an opportunity to profit by other people's distraction. Ah." Zecht's hand closes around his cock, callused and warm. "Yet he also does not hesitate to provide incentives for his allies to, hhn, cooperate with him." He can feel the slick of precome between his thighs as Zecht thrusts. He reaches down, wraps his hand around Zecht's. "Gods. Harder."
"You've no taste for finesse, do you?" Zecht asks, and it sounds almost like criticism, save for the way his strokes roughen, the way his teeth scrape the back of Gabranth's neck. "It'll do you no good, but I like that in a man."
"Bad habits in general, or this one in particular?" Gabranth won't let himself look back, but he can't help leaning into the heat of Zecht's body. Below them on the street, cavalry banners snap and flutter in the breeze. The air is crisp and cool. Their balcony feels isolated, a little pocket of someplace else in the middle of Archadia's seat of power.
"Both," Zecht says. His voice is growing breathy, harsh. "This one," his hand squeezing Gabranth's cock, "in particular."
Gabranth laughs, shortly. It's hard to know for sure like this, but -- yes, that's the familiar tension in Zecht's arms, around him, the hitch of hot breath on the back of his neck -- the way Zecht's hand falters on his cock, and Gabranth has to tighten his own hand to keep the pressure that he likes -- the way Zecht bites, when he's trying to stay quiet -- and then the slick of hot fluid between Gabranth's thighs, the sharp pain as Zecht's teeth sink into the muscle of his shoulder --
"Don't stop," he breathes, "damn you, don't stop --" and Zecht recovers enough to stroke him hard, so that Gabranth can thrust into his hand, straining for it, nearly forgetting the massed crowd below, ready -- ready -- coming in triumph on a harsh exhale with Zecht holding him tight.
Zecht laughs, when Gabranth slumps back against him. "So easily conquered, are you?"
"You gave up the fight before I did," Gabranth retorts, twisting to claim a kiss.
"This time," Zecht allows easily, and relaxes into the kiss, loosening his hold so Gabranth can turn properly to embrace him. For a moment, now in the aftermath, there is no struggle in it, no contest of wills, only the sated pleasure of the touch.
But parade or no, they are standing outside in Archadia's capital, half undressed and displaying more affection than is seemly for men of their position. Gabranth pulls back. "We should go inside," he says. "Sooner or later, someone will think to look up, and I find I am too chilled and too sticky to want to be observed."
The loud delight in Zecht's laughter, if nothing else, will earn them an audience. "Fair enough, then," he says. "Come inside with me, then, and let us dress. I find I've worked up an appetite, and who knows when we might next break our fast together?"
"You'll simply have to deploy your new weapon," Gabranth answers, following Zecht to the door, "and hurry to your victory."
Zecht smiles, and opens the door for him. "Indeed," he says. "I shall."