laylah
in
springkink
Final Fantasy XII (Balthier/Fran)
Title: Nothing of Her Kind
Author: Laylah
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 500
Summary: He keeps their relationship as professional as possible, and tries not to stare over long at the curve of her waist or the length of her legs.
When it happens it catches him completely unawares. Fran is so unlike an Archadian girl, so unlike a hume girl, he's been left at a bit of a loss -- at first he flirted, a bit, just out of habit, but she never responded; after a few weeks Balthier trained himself out of it, because it was unnerving to feel he'd tried to be charming and failed. He told himself instead that some of the rumors he'd heard at Akademy were probably true -- not the salacious ones, pheraps, but the ones the boys pronounced with dismissive tones, the certainty that actually, viera don't have any sex at all. Under the sneer that followed, under the boy's contemptuous assertion that they dressed like whores because they were too dumb to know better, Balthier now suspects there lay an ego sorely bruised by rejection.
He thinks himself a better man than most of his classmates, and resolves to conduct himself as such. He keeps their relationship as professional as possible, and tries not to stare over long at the curve of her waist or the length of her legs. So it is she at last who comes to him, after a job they've finished but before they've returned to Nabudis to collect their bounty and quite likely drink more wine than is good for them.
Balthier is making fast their provisions in the back of the Strahl when he hears the click of her heels against the steel, and turns. "Are we forgetting something?"
Fran shakes her head. The tips of her ears barely brush the ceiling. "We are not. But I believe we have time to spare, if you will indulge me."
"If I will," he begins, and then she leans down -- leans down, and how many women has he known of such stature? -- and kisses him, and he does not finish the question; he will indeed indulge her, gladly.
The curve of her waist is as supple as he had imagined, and her lean thighs just as strong. Without her costume she is as though burnished, her skin the same warm color all over, and so soft, with the black lacquer of her armor set aside. There is something strange, something feral, in the way she moves against him, in the way she inhales his scent and tastes his skin.
When she stretches out beside him and licks at his cock, takes his balls in her mouth, he leans across her to cup her thighs in his hands, and part them. The salacious rumors are not true, either: she is not doubly gendered, her cunt opens front-to-back like any other woman's, and her lips are smooth and slick as a hume's below the crisp silvery curls. She tastes strange, but pleasing, nectar-sweet and heady, filling his senses as she sucks his cock, as she writhes against him -- and he thinks he knew nothing of her kind after all, but he will learn, and be glad of it.
Author: Laylah
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 500
Summary: He keeps their relationship as professional as possible, and tries not to stare over long at the curve of her waist or the length of her legs.
When it happens it catches him completely unawares. Fran is so unlike an Archadian girl, so unlike a hume girl, he's been left at a bit of a loss -- at first he flirted, a bit, just out of habit, but she never responded; after a few weeks Balthier trained himself out of it, because it was unnerving to feel he'd tried to be charming and failed. He told himself instead that some of the rumors he'd heard at Akademy were probably true -- not the salacious ones, pheraps, but the ones the boys pronounced with dismissive tones, the certainty that actually, viera don't have any sex at all. Under the sneer that followed, under the boy's contemptuous assertion that they dressed like whores because they were too dumb to know better, Balthier now suspects there lay an ego sorely bruised by rejection.
He thinks himself a better man than most of his classmates, and resolves to conduct himself as such. He keeps their relationship as professional as possible, and tries not to stare over long at the curve of her waist or the length of her legs. So it is she at last who comes to him, after a job they've finished but before they've returned to Nabudis to collect their bounty and quite likely drink more wine than is good for them.
Balthier is making fast their provisions in the back of the Strahl when he hears the click of her heels against the steel, and turns. "Are we forgetting something?"
Fran shakes her head. The tips of her ears barely brush the ceiling. "We are not. But I believe we have time to spare, if you will indulge me."
"If I will," he begins, and then she leans down -- leans down, and how many women has he known of such stature? -- and kisses him, and he does not finish the question; he will indeed indulge her, gladly.
The curve of her waist is as supple as he had imagined, and her lean thighs just as strong. Without her costume she is as though burnished, her skin the same warm color all over, and so soft, with the black lacquer of her armor set aside. There is something strange, something feral, in the way she moves against him, in the way she inhales his scent and tastes his skin.
When she stretches out beside him and licks at his cock, takes his balls in her mouth, he leans across her to cup her thighs in his hands, and part them. The salacious rumors are not true, either: she is not doubly gendered, her cunt opens front-to-back like any other woman's, and her lips are smooth and slick as a hume's below the crisp silvery curls. She tastes strange, but pleasing, nectar-sweet and heady, filling his senses as she sucks his cock, as she writhes against him -- and he thinks he knew nothing of her kind after all, but he will learn, and be glad of it.