[fic] - gippal/baralai shuffle (VI-X)
Part 2 of the G/B shuffle meme.
Not worksafe.
PART 1
VI
Name
the Goo Goo Dolls
Now we’re grown-up orphans
That never knew their names
We don’t belong to no one, that’s a shame
But you could hide beside me, maybe, for a while
And I won’t tell no one your name…
In Gippal’s bed, Baralai is nobody but who he wants to be. He doesn’t carry the deceit or the guilt or the pain of his past - all that is shed like snakeskin when he steps over the threshold. Gippal’s room is a haven. It’s a sanctuary, the one place where he has to think of nothing but good things. It’s a mess, with spare parts and scrap metal everywhere, clothes thrown on chairs and hanging off of door handles, paperwork scattered and technology magazines crowding the desk - but comforting in its chaos. Baralai’s office and personal quarters in Bevelle are almost too tidy, cleaned every day by the maids. His paperwork is always in neat categorically sorted stacks, and his books are alphabetized. Bevelle is too quiet - the priests speak in low murmurs; their shoes are soft-soled and the carpets are thick. The city is so silent most nights that he thinks it could be abandoned and he wouldn’t know the difference.
Here, he listens to the thundering of the temple, the hum of machines, the rustle of sheets when he moves, the whisper of breathing, the beat of Gippal’s heart thrumming against his ear.
Here, he must tell no lies and hide nothing - here, there is no Baralai and no Gippal - there is only pleasure and comfort and love. Here, all they have to be is together.
VII
Break Away
the Rascal Flatts
Let’s disappear, gotta jet out of here
Feel the wind across my face
We’ll have some fun, gonna dance on the run
It’s a perfect day to break away…
“Get up.”
Baralai groans, frowning into his pillow. Gippal is tugging at the blankets clutched in his hand, shaking his shoulder, poking his arm. “Up-up-up,” Gippal insists, slurring them into a single word and leaning down to sing it in his ear.
When Baralai finally rolls over and opens his eyes, it’s still dark out. That Gippal was up before him is unusual enough - that it isn’t even dawn is nearing the downright wrong. “What time is it?” he asks groggily, and Gippal beams.
“Almost four,” he says gleefully. Now satisfied that Baralai is at least responding, he stands and goes over to the table, where Baralai sees for the first time that there is a suitcase full of clothes. “Get up. I’m kidnapping you.”
“What?” Baralai is more awake now.
“We’re going on vacation. I figured your little following of priests would try and stop us if we left in broad daylight, so I’m kidnapping you before they wake up. Get up and start packing.”
“You’re insane.” Baralai sits up, running a hand though his hair and blinking the sleep from his eyes. “We can’t just leave. I’m scheduled to make a public appearance at the sphere break tournament in Luca on Tuesday, and this afternoon I’m supposed to cut the ribbon of the new library opening here and make a speech about the value of knowledge.”
Gippal snorts derisively. “As fun as those things sound, I personally think a week on Besaid beach soaking up the sun, exploring the ruins, and learning how to play blitzball, sounds a hell of a lot better.”
Baralai shakes his head. “Insane,” he repeats, but with less conviction.
“So?” Gippal turns to him, grinning as if he’s already won. And Baralai supposes he has.
“Well,” he says, ducking his head ruefully, “I guess it has been a while since I took some time off.”
VIII
Lonelily
Damien Rice
And you let me down; could have knocked off the evening
But you lonelily let him push under your bone
And you let me down; it’s one thing you cheated
But you took him all the way through your bed
And now you’re coming home, and I’m trying to forget
And you’re coming home, and I’m trying to forgive
You’re coming home…
It wasn’t hard to figure out. Gippal was good at reading people, and Baralai had always found it difficult to hide from him. The rest of the world would believe him if he said the sky was green, but Gippal saw into his soul and always had. Baralai wouldn’t look him right in the eye, and he smelled different - an unfamiliar perfume, artificial, sharp and acrid. His voice was softer, more hesitant, as though he was cringing in anticipation of being found out.
And Gippal knew.
Part of him wanted to twist the knife. Who was it, a man or a woman? Was it worth it? Did you feel good afterward? But there was such horrible, bone-deep guilt in Baralai’s haunted eyes, unhidden self-loathing, and Gippal couldn’t bring himself to do any more than keep his kiss chaste. It hurt, like a punch to the stomach, but all he could hope now was that it wouldn’t happen again. Baralai regretted it, that much he could see, and knowing Baralai’s conscience (not often there but relentless, ruthless when it did show up), maybe that would be enough. He wasn’t sure who he was without Baralai, and though he knew he could survive, he didn’t really want to find out.
IX
The Call
Regina Spektor
It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder, till it was a battle cry
I’ll come back, when you call me
No need to say goodbye…
“He will be okay,” the healer had said. Her Spiran was clumsy but she seemed quite certain. “Rest. He needs sleep. He will wake up.”
“When?” Baralai had asked, but all he’d received was a helpless shrug. Potions could only do so much - now it was up to Gippal to heal, and Baralai wasn’t sure he could stick around until that happened. There were bound to be people chasing them, and they had to split up - it had been their plan even before they had been betrayed. There was no point in being conspicuous by staying together. Paine had already gone before he’d even woke up, and he knew he had to do the same.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping Gippal’s hand a little too tightly, not knowing whether or not Gippal could actually hear him. “I have to leave.” Gippal’s face was so peaceful, his body so relaxed, that it was almost a shock to find his unresponsive lips warm.
The white mage said nothing of the kiss though her eyes widened a little, and Baralai looked up, daring her to comment. “He will live,” was all she said.
“Take care of him, then,” Baralai answered, and pressed five hundred gil into her hands - it was all he had on him, but he could walk the Highroad. “Whatever he needs.”
He would find Gippal again, if it took him the rest of his life, he would. But right now the important thing was staying alive long enough to do that - and to take revenge, if he could. But this wouldn’t be the end; Baralai was sure of it.
X
Your Body is a Wonderland
John Mayer
We got the afternoon; you got this room for two
One thing I’ve left to do - discover me, discovering you…
There’s something ‘bout the way your hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase
Your body is a wonderland…
Gippal loves to explore the secrets of Baralai’s body, every scar and freckle and bruise, every inch of it perfect in its imperfection. Everything about Baralai seems so warm - dark skin that glows in the sunlight, whisky-brown eyes, and when Gippal presses his mouth to the pulse in Baralai’s neck, he can feel the life humming beneath hard muscles and soft skin. He used to whisper into that dark skin, all the awe he feels, the beauty he sees, but he’s given up on trying to convince Baralai of any of it. Now he shows it with his lips, tongue, teeth, hands, touches Baralai with reverence and respect, like he’s found an angel - overdoes his worship to prove that it’s deserved.
“You’re being - silly,” Baralai gasps, but he’s almost levitating, arching up into Gippal’s mouth against the hands pinning his hips to the bed. “Gippal, why do you-” And then, as Gippal pulls away and scrapes his teeth over Baralai’s hipbone, a desperate cry of his name. “Gippal-”
Gippal almost laughs as his tongue traces the line where hip meets thigh. It’s only about the hundredth time today he’s brought Baralai so close, right there, writhing underneath him, and backed away just in time. “Who’s being silly?”
All that comes out of Baralai’s mouth is several curses. Gippal does laugh, then, sliding his hand over Baralai’s stomach and feeling muscles ripple under his palm. “Doesn’t it feel good,” he murmurs, sliding up along Baralai’s body until their lips brush with his every word, “to be worshipped once in a while?” Baralai gasps for air, eyelids fluttering, his breath smelling of green tea and chocolate, and Gippal grins against his mouth. “Admit it,” he teases, his hands slipping around to press into Baralai’s back and pull their bodies closer.
Baralai opens his eyes, and desire crackles under Gippal’s skin at the heat in their depths. “Yes,” he says clearly, and then, a little less calmly, “finish it, finish it-”
Gippal kisses him, then, and thinks he could never get too close or discover too much - he could go on forever like this and it would never be too much.
In the end, it’s usually Baralai who takes control, because he doesn’t know how not to. But when it comes to kissing and touching and finding, Gippal can melt him like chocolate in the sun. Sometimes, it does feel good to be worshipped - whether he believes any of it or not.
Not worksafe.
PART 1
VI
Name
the Goo Goo Dolls
Now we’re grown-up orphans
That never knew their names
We don’t belong to no one, that’s a shame
But you could hide beside me, maybe, for a while
And I won’t tell no one your name…
In Gippal’s bed, Baralai is nobody but who he wants to be. He doesn’t carry the deceit or the guilt or the pain of his past - all that is shed like snakeskin when he steps over the threshold. Gippal’s room is a haven. It’s a sanctuary, the one place where he has to think of nothing but good things. It’s a mess, with spare parts and scrap metal everywhere, clothes thrown on chairs and hanging off of door handles, paperwork scattered and technology magazines crowding the desk - but comforting in its chaos. Baralai’s office and personal quarters in Bevelle are almost too tidy, cleaned every day by the maids. His paperwork is always in neat categorically sorted stacks, and his books are alphabetized. Bevelle is too quiet - the priests speak in low murmurs; their shoes are soft-soled and the carpets are thick. The city is so silent most nights that he thinks it could be abandoned and he wouldn’t know the difference.
Here, he listens to the thundering of the temple, the hum of machines, the rustle of sheets when he moves, the whisper of breathing, the beat of Gippal’s heart thrumming against his ear.
Here, he must tell no lies and hide nothing - here, there is no Baralai and no Gippal - there is only pleasure and comfort and love. Here, all they have to be is together.
VII
Break Away
the Rascal Flatts
Let’s disappear, gotta jet out of here
Feel the wind across my face
We’ll have some fun, gonna dance on the run
It’s a perfect day to break away…
“Get up.”
Baralai groans, frowning into his pillow. Gippal is tugging at the blankets clutched in his hand, shaking his shoulder, poking his arm. “Up-up-up,” Gippal insists, slurring them into a single word and leaning down to sing it in his ear.
When Baralai finally rolls over and opens his eyes, it’s still dark out. That Gippal was up before him is unusual enough - that it isn’t even dawn is nearing the downright wrong. “What time is it?” he asks groggily, and Gippal beams.
“Almost four,” he says gleefully. Now satisfied that Baralai is at least responding, he stands and goes over to the table, where Baralai sees for the first time that there is a suitcase full of clothes. “Get up. I’m kidnapping you.”
“What?” Baralai is more awake now.
“We’re going on vacation. I figured your little following of priests would try and stop us if we left in broad daylight, so I’m kidnapping you before they wake up. Get up and start packing.”
“You’re insane.” Baralai sits up, running a hand though his hair and blinking the sleep from his eyes. “We can’t just leave. I’m scheduled to make a public appearance at the sphere break tournament in Luca on Tuesday, and this afternoon I’m supposed to cut the ribbon of the new library opening here and make a speech about the value of knowledge.”
Gippal snorts derisively. “As fun as those things sound, I personally think a week on Besaid beach soaking up the sun, exploring the ruins, and learning how to play blitzball, sounds a hell of a lot better.”
Baralai shakes his head. “Insane,” he repeats, but with less conviction.
“So?” Gippal turns to him, grinning as if he’s already won. And Baralai supposes he has.
“Well,” he says, ducking his head ruefully, “I guess it has been a while since I took some time off.”
VIII
Lonelily
Damien Rice
And you let me down; could have knocked off the evening
But you lonelily let him push under your bone
And you let me down; it’s one thing you cheated
But you took him all the way through your bed
And now you’re coming home, and I’m trying to forget
And you’re coming home, and I’m trying to forgive
You’re coming home…
It wasn’t hard to figure out. Gippal was good at reading people, and Baralai had always found it difficult to hide from him. The rest of the world would believe him if he said the sky was green, but Gippal saw into his soul and always had. Baralai wouldn’t look him right in the eye, and he smelled different - an unfamiliar perfume, artificial, sharp and acrid. His voice was softer, more hesitant, as though he was cringing in anticipation of being found out.
And Gippal knew.
Part of him wanted to twist the knife. Who was it, a man or a woman? Was it worth it? Did you feel good afterward? But there was such horrible, bone-deep guilt in Baralai’s haunted eyes, unhidden self-loathing, and Gippal couldn’t bring himself to do any more than keep his kiss chaste. It hurt, like a punch to the stomach, but all he could hope now was that it wouldn’t happen again. Baralai regretted it, that much he could see, and knowing Baralai’s conscience (not often there but relentless, ruthless when it did show up), maybe that would be enough. He wasn’t sure who he was without Baralai, and though he knew he could survive, he didn’t really want to find out.
IX
The Call
Regina Spektor
It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder, till it was a battle cry
I’ll come back, when you call me
No need to say goodbye…
“He will be okay,” the healer had said. Her Spiran was clumsy but she seemed quite certain. “Rest. He needs sleep. He will wake up.”
“When?” Baralai had asked, but all he’d received was a helpless shrug. Potions could only do so much - now it was up to Gippal to heal, and Baralai wasn’t sure he could stick around until that happened. There were bound to be people chasing them, and they had to split up - it had been their plan even before they had been betrayed. There was no point in being conspicuous by staying together. Paine had already gone before he’d even woke up, and he knew he had to do the same.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping Gippal’s hand a little too tightly, not knowing whether or not Gippal could actually hear him. “I have to leave.” Gippal’s face was so peaceful, his body so relaxed, that it was almost a shock to find his unresponsive lips warm.
The white mage said nothing of the kiss though her eyes widened a little, and Baralai looked up, daring her to comment. “He will live,” was all she said.
“Take care of him, then,” Baralai answered, and pressed five hundred gil into her hands - it was all he had on him, but he could walk the Highroad. “Whatever he needs.”
He would find Gippal again, if it took him the rest of his life, he would. But right now the important thing was staying alive long enough to do that - and to take revenge, if he could. But this wouldn’t be the end; Baralai was sure of it.
X
Your Body is a Wonderland
John Mayer
We got the afternoon; you got this room for two
One thing I’ve left to do - discover me, discovering you…
There’s something ‘bout the way your hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase
Your body is a wonderland…
Gippal loves to explore the secrets of Baralai’s body, every scar and freckle and bruise, every inch of it perfect in its imperfection. Everything about Baralai seems so warm - dark skin that glows in the sunlight, whisky-brown eyes, and when Gippal presses his mouth to the pulse in Baralai’s neck, he can feel the life humming beneath hard muscles and soft skin. He used to whisper into that dark skin, all the awe he feels, the beauty he sees, but he’s given up on trying to convince Baralai of any of it. Now he shows it with his lips, tongue, teeth, hands, touches Baralai with reverence and respect, like he’s found an angel - overdoes his worship to prove that it’s deserved.
“You’re being - silly,” Baralai gasps, but he’s almost levitating, arching up into Gippal’s mouth against the hands pinning his hips to the bed. “Gippal, why do you-” And then, as Gippal pulls away and scrapes his teeth over Baralai’s hipbone, a desperate cry of his name. “Gippal-”
Gippal almost laughs as his tongue traces the line where hip meets thigh. It’s only about the hundredth time today he’s brought Baralai so close, right there, writhing underneath him, and backed away just in time. “Who’s being silly?”
All that comes out of Baralai’s mouth is several curses. Gippal does laugh, then, sliding his hand over Baralai’s stomach and feeling muscles ripple under his palm. “Doesn’t it feel good,” he murmurs, sliding up along Baralai’s body until their lips brush with his every word, “to be worshipped once in a while?” Baralai gasps for air, eyelids fluttering, his breath smelling of green tea and chocolate, and Gippal grins against his mouth. “Admit it,” he teases, his hands slipping around to press into Baralai’s back and pull their bodies closer.
Baralai opens his eyes, and desire crackles under Gippal’s skin at the heat in their depths. “Yes,” he says clearly, and then, a little less calmly, “finish it, finish it-”
Gippal kisses him, then, and thinks he could never get too close or discover too much - he could go on forever like this and it would never be too much.
In the end, it’s usually Baralai who takes control, because he doesn’t know how not to. But when it comes to kissing and touching and finding, Gippal can melt him like chocolate in the sun. Sometimes, it does feel good to be worshipped - whether he believes any of it or not.