laylah
in
springkink
Suikoden III (Yuber/Albert)
Title: Care of Himself
Author: Laylah
Rating: R
Warnings: Yuber! So uh. violence on the way to noncon.
Word Count: 796
Summary: Relying on others might be unavoidable in political maneuvers but was less so in personal ones, and he'd always found that the potential entanglements that accompanied romantic encounters were far more trouble than any physical rewards that could balance them.
Albert was accustomed to taking care of himself. It seemed, most of the time, the only sensible choice to make. Relying on others might be unavoidable in political maneuvers but was less so in personal ones, and he'd always found that the potential entanglements that accompanied romantic encounters were far more trouble than any physical rewards that could balance them. He made it a habit, therefore, to keep his relationships professional and care for his body's needs himself.
The traders who made Caleria's streets so noisy in the daytime quieted at night, but the mercenaries stationed there tended to increase the volume of their carousing in the taverns, as though to compensate. Upstairs, in his room at the inn, Albert tried not to think too hard on them -- or on anything, as far as that was possible. It was rare enough of late to have privacy; too often on te road their entire party took one room -- or tent, as the case might be -- rather than be split up, which left little opportunity. Even were he willing to risk Sarah taking offense, Albert doubted he would be satisfied to perform under Luc's blank-eyed, inhuman stare.
In Caleria, however, by habit they had two rooms, which meant that Sarah shared with Luc and Albert generally stayed alone, since Yuber seemed to have little interest in such boring mortal pursuits as sleep. So the room was empty, and the air pleasant with the mountain breeze from the window, and he was not likely to find a better opportunity any time soon.
Albert disrobed carefully, his coat hung by the door, his clothes folded and set aside. The stars provided light enough that he felt no need for a lantern, and the sheets, though rough, were at least clean. He pushed back the bedspread and lay down, took himself in hand, closed his eyes. His strokes were steady, even, unhurried; there was a mental discipline to it not entirely unlike meditation, forcing himself to not think of the last obnoxious letter from his brother, or of the plans for their advance into Grassland, or of the way blades flickered in Yuber's hands as he danced through battle.
That last was perhaps the most unnerving, and consequently -- like the tendency to press on a bruise to see if it was tender -- the most difficult to dismiss. This was an impersonal act, Albert reminded himself. He was not longing for anything, simply effecting a release of physical tension. Banishing one image, however, simply served to call his attention to more: the faint curve of Yuber's lip when he managed to say something outrageous enough to give Luc pause. The easy sway of Yuber's braid as he walked up a mountain trail. The blood heat of Yuber's red eye when he looked at Albert straight on instead of only in sideways glances.
This was going badly. He would calm himself, or he would stop, Albert determined; fantasizing about something like Yuber was not an option. He slowed his breathing, thought only of the sensations themselves -- the prickle of the breeze over his bare skin, the friction of his hand's brisk strokes, the rising tension in the pit of his stomach. The hum of background noise was fading, his concentration narrowing to the coming point of light and heat --
And the world went red when it should have gone white, pain rather than pleasure blossoming behind his eyelids as his windpipe was crushed. His eyes flew open and he struggled to see through the black-red haze, clawing at the gloved hands around his wrists.
Yuber's face was curiously dispassionate, red and gray eyes both alert and focused but displaying no real expression. He let Albert pry his fingers loose without so much as a smirk.
"What are you doing?" Albert demanded, through the sharp, bruised pain in his throat.
"I could ask you the same thing," Yuber murmured, his hands tightening again and a faint smile crossing his face when that made Albert struggle. "Here you've been, summoning me loud and clear, and when I show up, what are you doing?"
Albert fought his way free of Yuber's grip, uncomfortably aware that he was being permitted to go free. "I was not summoning you," he snapped.
That made Yuber smile more broadly. "Weren't you?" He crawled onto the bed, perched above Albert with his eyes shining in the gloom. "You must need my help for this."
"No," Albert insisted. "You're dismissed. It was an accident."
Yuber's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle as he tried to sit up, pulled him back down with his legs splayed in an ungainly, vulnerable position. "You misunderstand," Yuber said, and leaned forward to pin him. "That wasn't up for debate."
Author: Laylah
Rating: R
Warnings: Yuber! So uh. violence on the way to noncon.
Word Count: 796
Summary: Relying on others might be unavoidable in political maneuvers but was less so in personal ones, and he'd always found that the potential entanglements that accompanied romantic encounters were far more trouble than any physical rewards that could balance them.
Albert was accustomed to taking care of himself. It seemed, most of the time, the only sensible choice to make. Relying on others might be unavoidable in political maneuvers but was less so in personal ones, and he'd always found that the potential entanglements that accompanied romantic encounters were far more trouble than any physical rewards that could balance them. He made it a habit, therefore, to keep his relationships professional and care for his body's needs himself.
The traders who made Caleria's streets so noisy in the daytime quieted at night, but the mercenaries stationed there tended to increase the volume of their carousing in the taverns, as though to compensate. Upstairs, in his room at the inn, Albert tried not to think too hard on them -- or on anything, as far as that was possible. It was rare enough of late to have privacy; too often on te road their entire party took one room -- or tent, as the case might be -- rather than be split up, which left little opportunity. Even were he willing to risk Sarah taking offense, Albert doubted he would be satisfied to perform under Luc's blank-eyed, inhuman stare.
In Caleria, however, by habit they had two rooms, which meant that Sarah shared with Luc and Albert generally stayed alone, since Yuber seemed to have little interest in such boring mortal pursuits as sleep. So the room was empty, and the air pleasant with the mountain breeze from the window, and he was not likely to find a better opportunity any time soon.
Albert disrobed carefully, his coat hung by the door, his clothes folded and set aside. The stars provided light enough that he felt no need for a lantern, and the sheets, though rough, were at least clean. He pushed back the bedspread and lay down, took himself in hand, closed his eyes. His strokes were steady, even, unhurried; there was a mental discipline to it not entirely unlike meditation, forcing himself to not think of the last obnoxious letter from his brother, or of the plans for their advance into Grassland, or of the way blades flickered in Yuber's hands as he danced through battle.
That last was perhaps the most unnerving, and consequently -- like the tendency to press on a bruise to see if it was tender -- the most difficult to dismiss. This was an impersonal act, Albert reminded himself. He was not longing for anything, simply effecting a release of physical tension. Banishing one image, however, simply served to call his attention to more: the faint curve of Yuber's lip when he managed to say something outrageous enough to give Luc pause. The easy sway of Yuber's braid as he walked up a mountain trail. The blood heat of Yuber's red eye when he looked at Albert straight on instead of only in sideways glances.
This was going badly. He would calm himself, or he would stop, Albert determined; fantasizing about something like Yuber was not an option. He slowed his breathing, thought only of the sensations themselves -- the prickle of the breeze over his bare skin, the friction of his hand's brisk strokes, the rising tension in the pit of his stomach. The hum of background noise was fading, his concentration narrowing to the coming point of light and heat --
And the world went red when it should have gone white, pain rather than pleasure blossoming behind his eyelids as his windpipe was crushed. His eyes flew open and he struggled to see through the black-red haze, clawing at the gloved hands around his wrists.
Yuber's face was curiously dispassionate, red and gray eyes both alert and focused but displaying no real expression. He let Albert pry his fingers loose without so much as a smirk.
"What are you doing?" Albert demanded, through the sharp, bruised pain in his throat.
"I could ask you the same thing," Yuber murmured, his hands tightening again and a faint smile crossing his face when that made Albert struggle. "Here you've been, summoning me loud and clear, and when I show up, what are you doing?"
Albert fought his way free of Yuber's grip, uncomfortably aware that he was being permitted to go free. "I was not summoning you," he snapped.
That made Yuber smile more broadly. "Weren't you?" He crawled onto the bed, perched above Albert with his eyes shining in the gloom. "You must need my help for this."
"No," Albert insisted. "You're dismissed. It was an accident."
Yuber's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle as he tried to sit up, pulled him back down with his legs splayed in an ungainly, vulnerable position. "You misunderstand," Yuber said, and leaned forward to pin him. "That wasn't up for debate."