(no subject)
Title: Ride it Out
Pairing: Hope Estheim/Snow Villiers
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1.9k
Warnings/Kinks: underage, age difference (Hope is 14, Snow 23)
Notes: Written for my homebrewbingo card, with the prompt, "coming quickly".
Hope can’t remember the last time he was this angry. He doesn’t get angry, not really-- he’s just a kid. Just a kid from Palumpolum who’s nice enough but not too nice. He keeps his head in his studies and doesn’t let teasing or airheads get him upset. He doesn’t get mad.
Except for right now. Right now, he’s seeing red.
The weight of Lightning’s knife is comforting in his hand, and a sick thrill bursts through him at the thought that this is finally going to happen. Snow’s head hangs, not putting up so much as a whisper to defend himself as Hope tosses insult after insult at him. Hope feels a brief pang of hesitation at Snow’s apparent acceptance of his fate-- his punishment-- but that is quickly overtaken by crimson-stained memories of his mother’s laugh and the laugh lines bracketing her smile, and how she’d painted Hope’s bedroom just the shade he’d wanted even though he knew that she hated the color and how it clashed with everything else about the house.
There is no room for remorse here.
He grits his teeth, clenches his fist tight around the handle of the blade, and steps forward. Then there is pain, everywhere, and a sharp ringing in his ears, and the feeling of flying, then falling, falling, falling, and then a warm, solid weight around him, and harsh breaths against his ears. He falls through the too-warm air, then he falls into a blank sleep.
*
He comes to briefly, draped over a warm body, a slight breeze tickling his cheek. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that it’s Snow, carrying him. He tries not to think about that.
He tightens his arms weakly over Snow’s shoulders, and hitches his legs a little in an aborted attempt to wrap them around Snow’s waist; he tries not to think about that either. He falls back under slowly, listening to Snow’s labored breathing and the pounding in his head.
*
Snow’s apology shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does. The man’s blatant honesty and unexpected vulnerability have Hope digging his fingers into the coat under his palms, fighting back tears. He wants to cry, wants it more badly than anything. He knows that Snow wouldn’t mock him for it-- Hope’s sudden and jarring reevaluation of the man has him realizing the positive qualities that were blurred by the haze of vengeance Hope had cast over his own eyes. The problem is that Snow would think Hope was crying over the loss of his mother, or the loss of his free will as evidenced by the black brand over his pale skin.
And those are things that Hope mourns, but those aren’t why his nose is heating up or why his vision is turning foggy with unshed tears. He’s crying because he’s angry. It’s not as much as before, and it’s not directed at Snow. He’s angry with himself for doing this to Snow; for saddling the man with a burden that’s breaking an already guilt-ridden man. He can see that now.
He drops from Snow’s back, pushing lightly to get Snow to release him, but even that barely-there shove is enough to send him sprawling, clutching at his injuries weakly.
“Look at that. Don’t even need any help.” Snow grins weakly, and Hope barely has any time to think You’re an idiot, joking right now before a sharp scream sounds behind him, and both he and Snow are thrown by a massive-- massive-- it’s just this massive thing with metal and spinning parts and-- and--
And Hope watches almost in slow-motion as Snow’s head slams sharply into the base of a pillar, and he drops limply to the ground. Hope shouts and races to him, not thinking anything except No, no, no, you can’t die now, not when I’ve just forgiven you, not right now-- He whirls to face the creature, eyes wide and shaking as he pulls out his boomerang and wields it awkwardly. He can do this. He can protect Snow, the way Snow has, despite Hope’s best attempts, been protecting him. He can do this.
*
He can’t, of course, and the sudden appearance of Lightning and a striking, raven-haired woman is more than welcome.
*
He doesn’t speak to Snow again until later, slipping into the guest room, brushing by Lightning as she leaves. She places a hand on his shoulder, the heat from her palm seeping through his jacket and shirt. He licks his lips nervously before raising his eyes to meet her steady, always intimidating gaze.
She raises one eyebrow questioningly, and he blurts out, “My dad, he, ah, he wants you all in the living room. Soon. Not now.”
Light narrows her eyes, flicking her gaze quickly up and down his body, and then quite abruptly releases him, a small smile quirking her lips. There’s a strange look about her face when she lightly presses on the small of his back, urging him forward and into the room.
“Don’t be long,” is all she says before pulling the door closed behind him, leaving him alone in the room with Snow, who-- oh.
Heat crawls up Hope’s spine as he takes in Snow’s form. He’s asleep, for now, his (frankly, ridiculously muscled) chest gently expanding and depressing with his slow breaths. Hope crosses the room silently, stopping beside the bed. His arms feel awkward and heavy at his sides, and before he knows what he’s doing, his hands have darted out, flitting lightly over Snow’s biceps. Snow takes in a sharp breath, swiveling his hips slightly in his sleep, and a ball of heat unfurls low in Hope’s stomach, sending a rush of heat to his face. He presses his fingers a little harder, letting out an involuntary gasp at the feel of firm, warm muscle on his skin. He does that for a moment, just lets the pads of his fingers dance across the man’s heated skin, marveling at the solid muscle covering Snow’s body, trying to ignore that flare of heat that sparks between his legs as Snow shivers because of Hope’s explorations.
When Hope’s thumb brushes across the hollow at the base of Snow’s throat, Snow outright groans, his eyes fluttering open even as his hips are in the middle of rocking against empty air. Hope jerks back, his face burning bright with shame as he realizes what he was-- what was he doing? His cock is half-hard in his pants, and his hands seem to burn with the memory of Snow’s skin under his own. Snow frowns, focusing blearily on him.
“Hope?” He reaches out, wrapping one of his (fucking huge) hands around Hope’s wrist, and Hope squeaks out a reply. Snow’s eyes widen and flicker down, and Hope follows them, only now noticing the very prominent bulge in Snow’s pants. A faint pink tinge comes over Snow’s cheeks when they glance back at each other.
“Shit, Hope, I-- sorry, I just.” He clears his throat, so uncharacteristically at a loss for words that Hope has trouble reconciling this stuttering, wounded soldier with the man that so brashly burst into his world with a wink and a smile. He starts to say something else, but Hope cuts him off.
“I forgive you.”
Snow tilts his head, just slightly, his surprise written as clear as day across his features. “What?”
Hope traces the lines of his left palm, wondering how Snow would react if he put his hands back on his arm, his neck, his chest. “I don’t blame you, but you blame yourself, and that’s just... It’s stupid, Snow. So, even though I don’t blame you, I forgive you.”
Snow huffs out a laugh. “Haven’t done anything to warrant forgiveness, Hope.”
Hope snaps his head up. “You saved me,” he reminds him.
Snow’s gaze, travels restlessly across Hope’s features, looking him up and down. He reaches out, cupping the back of Hope’s head, running his thumb across Hope’s temple. Hope trembles under the weight in the man’s gaze. “Maybe I thought you were worth saving.”
Hope’s breathing is shaky now. He wants. Suddenly and with everything he is, he wants Snow Villiers. It’s a bad idea. It is a stunningly, phenomenally bad idea.
Doesn’t stop him from leaning forward and pressing their lips together, slow and close-mouthed.
Doesn’t stop Snow from moaning, either. Snow turns so that he’s fully upright, his legs closed and planted on the ground beside the bed, never pulling his full lips from Hope’s. He digs his fingers into Hope’s hips, dragging him forward until Hope is straddling him. Hope gasps at the feel of Snow, hot and hard against the top of his thigh, and Snow wastes no time delving his tongue into Hope’s mouth, licking at Hope’s tongue until he responds tentatively, cautiously responding when Snow moans into his lips. Snow rocks up, and he presses right against where Hope’s cock is straining at his pants. Hope whimpers into Snow’s mouth, and Snow breaks away from Hope’s lips, ignoring his protests in favor of tugging his scarf away and biting at Hope’s neck. Hope cries out, clutching helplessly at Snow’s chest, rocking down frantically in search of that delicious friction.
“Snow,” he gasps, and Snow just pants out, “Yes, fuck, Hope, so gorgeous, come on, wanna fuck you, wanna mark you up,” and slips one of his hands down the back of Hope’s pants, gripping his ass tightly and pressing him closer, closer, rocking up desperately against him. His fingers dip into his crease, and Hope dissolves into a writhing mess as Snow’s finger circles his hole teasingly.
“Snow, fuck, please, please, want you so bad, please please--”
And Snow sinks his finger in, just the tip of his thick finger breaching Hope, pressing inside him, and it’s too much. His orgasms rocks through him almost violently, and he collapses against Snow, riding it out against Snow’s hips with little breathy ah ah ahs pressed to Snow’s neck.
When he comes down from his high, Hope gathers his wits enough to be embarrassed at having come so quickly, with barely a touch inside him, and he buries his face in the crook of Snow’s neck. “Sorry,” he says, pressing kisses to Snow’s neck. He worms a hand between them, hoping to redeem himself by getting a hand on Snow’s cock, only to find it soft, and the material of Snow’s pants damp.
“You-- but--” He glances up, confusion etched into his features, and Snow laughs, low and deep and more than a little dirty.
“Haven’t had that happen in a long, long time.” He murmurs, rubbing his lips across Hope’s. “Pretty little thing like you riding my thigh, pink lips open and cheeks all red,” He grins, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Hope’s jaw. “Looked so fucking gorgeous when you came, Hope,” he murmurs into his skin. “Can’t blame me for coming in my pants like a damn teenager, can you?”
Hope flushes, letting out a light, shaky breath. He opens his mouth to say something else when a sharp knock sounds at the door, Lightning’s voice floating through. “Come on, boys. Hope, your dad wants us.” She’s silent for a moment, then adds, “Now” before they hear her footsteps retreating.
Hope pushes away, the reality of the situation crashing down around him.
He just--
With a man--
An engaged man--
He races out of the room and into his, ignoring Snow’s shout and searching desperately for a change of clothes. His cheeks are aflame with shame and guilt and, for once, Hope doesn’t think that this has anything to do with being a l’Cie. This is all on him, and if Serah finds out... if Lightning finds out, the blame is on him and him alone.
His anger returns, directed once more at himself and so much more bitter hatred behind it. This time, he makes no attempts to hold his tears back.
Pairing: Hope Estheim/Snow Villiers
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1.9k
Warnings/Kinks: underage, age difference (Hope is 14, Snow 23)
Notes: Written for my homebrewbingo card, with the prompt, "coming quickly".
Hope can’t remember the last time he was this angry. He doesn’t get angry, not really-- he’s just a kid. Just a kid from Palumpolum who’s nice enough but not too nice. He keeps his head in his studies and doesn’t let teasing or airheads get him upset. He doesn’t get mad.
Except for right now. Right now, he’s seeing red.
The weight of Lightning’s knife is comforting in his hand, and a sick thrill bursts through him at the thought that this is finally going to happen. Snow’s head hangs, not putting up so much as a whisper to defend himself as Hope tosses insult after insult at him. Hope feels a brief pang of hesitation at Snow’s apparent acceptance of his fate-- his punishment-- but that is quickly overtaken by crimson-stained memories of his mother’s laugh and the laugh lines bracketing her smile, and how she’d painted Hope’s bedroom just the shade he’d wanted even though he knew that she hated the color and how it clashed with everything else about the house.
There is no room for remorse here.
He grits his teeth, clenches his fist tight around the handle of the blade, and steps forward. Then there is pain, everywhere, and a sharp ringing in his ears, and the feeling of flying, then falling, falling, falling, and then a warm, solid weight around him, and harsh breaths against his ears. He falls through the too-warm air, then he falls into a blank sleep.
*
He comes to briefly, draped over a warm body, a slight breeze tickling his cheek. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that it’s Snow, carrying him. He tries not to think about that.
He tightens his arms weakly over Snow’s shoulders, and hitches his legs a little in an aborted attempt to wrap them around Snow’s waist; he tries not to think about that either. He falls back under slowly, listening to Snow’s labored breathing and the pounding in his head.
*
Snow’s apology shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does. The man’s blatant honesty and unexpected vulnerability have Hope digging his fingers into the coat under his palms, fighting back tears. He wants to cry, wants it more badly than anything. He knows that Snow wouldn’t mock him for it-- Hope’s sudden and jarring reevaluation of the man has him realizing the positive qualities that were blurred by the haze of vengeance Hope had cast over his own eyes. The problem is that Snow would think Hope was crying over the loss of his mother, or the loss of his free will as evidenced by the black brand over his pale skin.
And those are things that Hope mourns, but those aren’t why his nose is heating up or why his vision is turning foggy with unshed tears. He’s crying because he’s angry. It’s not as much as before, and it’s not directed at Snow. He’s angry with himself for doing this to Snow; for saddling the man with a burden that’s breaking an already guilt-ridden man. He can see that now.
He drops from Snow’s back, pushing lightly to get Snow to release him, but even that barely-there shove is enough to send him sprawling, clutching at his injuries weakly.
“Look at that. Don’t even need any help.” Snow grins weakly, and Hope barely has any time to think You’re an idiot, joking right now before a sharp scream sounds behind him, and both he and Snow are thrown by a massive-- massive-- it’s just this massive thing with metal and spinning parts and-- and--
And Hope watches almost in slow-motion as Snow’s head slams sharply into the base of a pillar, and he drops limply to the ground. Hope shouts and races to him, not thinking anything except No, no, no, you can’t die now, not when I’ve just forgiven you, not right now-- He whirls to face the creature, eyes wide and shaking as he pulls out his boomerang and wields it awkwardly. He can do this. He can protect Snow, the way Snow has, despite Hope’s best attempts, been protecting him. He can do this.
*
He can’t, of course, and the sudden appearance of Lightning and a striking, raven-haired woman is more than welcome.
*
He doesn’t speak to Snow again until later, slipping into the guest room, brushing by Lightning as she leaves. She places a hand on his shoulder, the heat from her palm seeping through his jacket and shirt. He licks his lips nervously before raising his eyes to meet her steady, always intimidating gaze.
She raises one eyebrow questioningly, and he blurts out, “My dad, he, ah, he wants you all in the living room. Soon. Not now.”
Light narrows her eyes, flicking her gaze quickly up and down his body, and then quite abruptly releases him, a small smile quirking her lips. There’s a strange look about her face when she lightly presses on the small of his back, urging him forward and into the room.
“Don’t be long,” is all she says before pulling the door closed behind him, leaving him alone in the room with Snow, who-- oh.
Heat crawls up Hope’s spine as he takes in Snow’s form. He’s asleep, for now, his (frankly, ridiculously muscled) chest gently expanding and depressing with his slow breaths. Hope crosses the room silently, stopping beside the bed. His arms feel awkward and heavy at his sides, and before he knows what he’s doing, his hands have darted out, flitting lightly over Snow’s biceps. Snow takes in a sharp breath, swiveling his hips slightly in his sleep, and a ball of heat unfurls low in Hope’s stomach, sending a rush of heat to his face. He presses his fingers a little harder, letting out an involuntary gasp at the feel of firm, warm muscle on his skin. He does that for a moment, just lets the pads of his fingers dance across the man’s heated skin, marveling at the solid muscle covering Snow’s body, trying to ignore that flare of heat that sparks between his legs as Snow shivers because of Hope’s explorations.
When Hope’s thumb brushes across the hollow at the base of Snow’s throat, Snow outright groans, his eyes fluttering open even as his hips are in the middle of rocking against empty air. Hope jerks back, his face burning bright with shame as he realizes what he was-- what was he doing? His cock is half-hard in his pants, and his hands seem to burn with the memory of Snow’s skin under his own. Snow frowns, focusing blearily on him.
“Hope?” He reaches out, wrapping one of his (fucking huge) hands around Hope’s wrist, and Hope squeaks out a reply. Snow’s eyes widen and flicker down, and Hope follows them, only now noticing the very prominent bulge in Snow’s pants. A faint pink tinge comes over Snow’s cheeks when they glance back at each other.
“Shit, Hope, I-- sorry, I just.” He clears his throat, so uncharacteristically at a loss for words that Hope has trouble reconciling this stuttering, wounded soldier with the man that so brashly burst into his world with a wink and a smile. He starts to say something else, but Hope cuts him off.
“I forgive you.”
Snow tilts his head, just slightly, his surprise written as clear as day across his features. “What?”
Hope traces the lines of his left palm, wondering how Snow would react if he put his hands back on his arm, his neck, his chest. “I don’t blame you, but you blame yourself, and that’s just... It’s stupid, Snow. So, even though I don’t blame you, I forgive you.”
Snow huffs out a laugh. “Haven’t done anything to warrant forgiveness, Hope.”
Hope snaps his head up. “You saved me,” he reminds him.
Snow’s gaze, travels restlessly across Hope’s features, looking him up and down. He reaches out, cupping the back of Hope’s head, running his thumb across Hope’s temple. Hope trembles under the weight in the man’s gaze. “Maybe I thought you were worth saving.”
Hope’s breathing is shaky now. He wants. Suddenly and with everything he is, he wants Snow Villiers. It’s a bad idea. It is a stunningly, phenomenally bad idea.
Doesn’t stop him from leaning forward and pressing their lips together, slow and close-mouthed.
Doesn’t stop Snow from moaning, either. Snow turns so that he’s fully upright, his legs closed and planted on the ground beside the bed, never pulling his full lips from Hope’s. He digs his fingers into Hope’s hips, dragging him forward until Hope is straddling him. Hope gasps at the feel of Snow, hot and hard against the top of his thigh, and Snow wastes no time delving his tongue into Hope’s mouth, licking at Hope’s tongue until he responds tentatively, cautiously responding when Snow moans into his lips. Snow rocks up, and he presses right against where Hope’s cock is straining at his pants. Hope whimpers into Snow’s mouth, and Snow breaks away from Hope’s lips, ignoring his protests in favor of tugging his scarf away and biting at Hope’s neck. Hope cries out, clutching helplessly at Snow’s chest, rocking down frantically in search of that delicious friction.
“Snow,” he gasps, and Snow just pants out, “Yes, fuck, Hope, so gorgeous, come on, wanna fuck you, wanna mark you up,” and slips one of his hands down the back of Hope’s pants, gripping his ass tightly and pressing him closer, closer, rocking up desperately against him. His fingers dip into his crease, and Hope dissolves into a writhing mess as Snow’s finger circles his hole teasingly.
“Snow, fuck, please, please, want you so bad, please please--”
And Snow sinks his finger in, just the tip of his thick finger breaching Hope, pressing inside him, and it’s too much. His orgasms rocks through him almost violently, and he collapses against Snow, riding it out against Snow’s hips with little breathy ah ah ahs pressed to Snow’s neck.
When he comes down from his high, Hope gathers his wits enough to be embarrassed at having come so quickly, with barely a touch inside him, and he buries his face in the crook of Snow’s neck. “Sorry,” he says, pressing kisses to Snow’s neck. He worms a hand between them, hoping to redeem himself by getting a hand on Snow’s cock, only to find it soft, and the material of Snow’s pants damp.
“You-- but--” He glances up, confusion etched into his features, and Snow laughs, low and deep and more than a little dirty.
“Haven’t had that happen in a long, long time.” He murmurs, rubbing his lips across Hope’s. “Pretty little thing like you riding my thigh, pink lips open and cheeks all red,” He grins, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Hope’s jaw. “Looked so fucking gorgeous when you came, Hope,” he murmurs into his skin. “Can’t blame me for coming in my pants like a damn teenager, can you?”
Hope flushes, letting out a light, shaky breath. He opens his mouth to say something else when a sharp knock sounds at the door, Lightning’s voice floating through. “Come on, boys. Hope, your dad wants us.” She’s silent for a moment, then adds, “Now” before they hear her footsteps retreating.
Hope pushes away, the reality of the situation crashing down around him.
He just--
With a man--
An engaged man--
He races out of the room and into his, ignoring Snow’s shout and searching desperately for a change of clothes. His cheeks are aflame with shame and guilt and, for once, Hope doesn’t think that this has anything to do with being a l’Cie. This is all on him, and if Serah finds out... if Lightning finds out, the blame is on him and him alone.
His anger returns, directed once more at himself and so much more bitter hatred behind it. This time, he makes no attempts to hold his tears back.