ffxii: as rich as honesty
title: as rich as honesty
pairing: balthier/fran
rated: nc17
note: i always wanted to write these two but never really had an idea
Never before has Fran looked as beautiful as she does this night under the light of a full Cerobbi moon. It touches her as a lover would, glancing off the stands of her silken hair spread across their make-shift bed. The first swelter of summer is in the air liming her supple skin enough to reflect the wan glow and create a path of stars to guide only the keenest of men on a path to discover Fran’s treasures.
Balthier presses his lips against her throat. Their fullness spreads into a proud smile as her pulse quickens. The leading man, so callow and beleaguered, so wet-nosed and errant at the play’s beginning, has done more than seduced the fairest lady in this act. He has also stolen her heart. See, there! Balthier slides his open mouth across her skin, tongue curling out for a taste, as he chases the sound of a heart that beats for him-only for him. He follows her sweet scent down into the hallowed valley between her perfect breasts, the twin peaks dark and absolutely mouth-watering. Many the times he’s licked the bitter sweetness of Rozzarian chocolates and tested the dark stone of the tyger’s eye between his teeth, but nothing compares to the taste of Fran’s-
Balthier jerks up at the pinch to his ear. Fran looks down at him, her long ears pulling forward, her mouth in a moue. The leading man’s smile is sly instead of chagrinned (he hopes), warring with the fact that he’s won the fair lady’s full attention. And her ire.
“You do it again,” she growls softly. “Leaving me to wanting under the lover’s moon while you are there.” Her long finger pushes against his temple.
“Apologies, my dear,” says Balthier. He turns his head and presses a kiss against her palm, her wrist, then sucks vein there to taste the heat building inside her. He was not ashamed of his tendency to focus on both the words and the feel of pleasure of two bodies bound by destiny’s call, but Fran is not one to appreciate his wandering mind. At least not now.
He cups her cheek and stares into her wondrous eyes. Eyes that have seen peace he’d never understand, the rise of small nations, and the fall of humes from their petty perches. But she’d never seen the like of Balthier before, and never will again unless she looks to the heavens and sees the fiery arc of a star’s descent. “Let the leading man be one of action rather than a man of endless soliloquies. I hear you.”
“I would rather the leading man be here.” Fran rocks her hips back and forth, and oh, but the promise of her sends blood rocketing through his body. He could paint the two of them as the most beautiful picture, her legs rising up to his hips, his stomach curving down to fill the space between them as his hips drops back, the swell of his proud sex nudging what some would assume the cold fire of her loins but is always so godsdamn we- “Balthier,” she says, voice heavy with warning.
“I am here,” he says, climbing the glory of her body in search of her perfect lips. “Let the softness of your voice and the richness in your kiss guide me home ever anon and anew.” His lips meet hers parted and wet in a kiss that threatens to steal his very soul. At its height, Fran’s nails tracing the scares of his back, Balthier curving a thumb beneath sensitive base of her ears, he slides into her body, deep and hot and home.
“And here,” she moans. Her fingers trace around the base of his cock as he begins to move. “Let us fly, Balthier, make jealous the light of the moon and hide in the shadow of hours.”
“My lady,” he says with a brilliant grin. “I could not have said better myself.”
:: 660
pairing: balthier/fran
rated: nc17
note: i always wanted to write these two but never really had an idea
Never before has Fran looked as beautiful as she does this night under the light of a full Cerobbi moon. It touches her as a lover would, glancing off the stands of her silken hair spread across their make-shift bed. The first swelter of summer is in the air liming her supple skin enough to reflect the wan glow and create a path of stars to guide only the keenest of men on a path to discover Fran’s treasures.
Balthier presses his lips against her throat. Their fullness spreads into a proud smile as her pulse quickens. The leading man, so callow and beleaguered, so wet-nosed and errant at the play’s beginning, has done more than seduced the fairest lady in this act. He has also stolen her heart. See, there! Balthier slides his open mouth across her skin, tongue curling out for a taste, as he chases the sound of a heart that beats for him-only for him. He follows her sweet scent down into the hallowed valley between her perfect breasts, the twin peaks dark and absolutely mouth-watering. Many the times he’s licked the bitter sweetness of Rozzarian chocolates and tested the dark stone of the tyger’s eye between his teeth, but nothing compares to the taste of Fran’s-
Balthier jerks up at the pinch to his ear. Fran looks down at him, her long ears pulling forward, her mouth in a moue. The leading man’s smile is sly instead of chagrinned (he hopes), warring with the fact that he’s won the fair lady’s full attention. And her ire.
“You do it again,” she growls softly. “Leaving me to wanting under the lover’s moon while you are there.” Her long finger pushes against his temple.
“Apologies, my dear,” says Balthier. He turns his head and presses a kiss against her palm, her wrist, then sucks vein there to taste the heat building inside her. He was not ashamed of his tendency to focus on both the words and the feel of pleasure of two bodies bound by destiny’s call, but Fran is not one to appreciate his wandering mind. At least not now.
He cups her cheek and stares into her wondrous eyes. Eyes that have seen peace he’d never understand, the rise of small nations, and the fall of humes from their petty perches. But she’d never seen the like of Balthier before, and never will again unless she looks to the heavens and sees the fiery arc of a star’s descent. “Let the leading man be one of action rather than a man of endless soliloquies. I hear you.”
“I would rather the leading man be here.” Fran rocks her hips back and forth, and oh, but the promise of her sends blood rocketing through his body. He could paint the two of them as the most beautiful picture, her legs rising up to his hips, his stomach curving down to fill the space between them as his hips drops back, the swell of his proud sex nudging what some would assume the cold fire of her loins but is always so godsdamn we- “Balthier,” she says, voice heavy with warning.
“I am here,” he says, climbing the glory of her body in search of her perfect lips. “Let the softness of your voice and the richness in your kiss guide me home ever anon and anew.” His lips meet hers parted and wet in a kiss that threatens to steal his very soul. At its height, Fran’s nails tracing the scares of his back, Balthier curving a thumb beneath sensitive base of her ears, he slides into her body, deep and hot and home.
“And here,” she moans. Her fingers trace around the base of his cock as he begins to move. “Let us fly, Balthier, make jealous the light of the moon and hide in the shadow of hours.”
“My lady,” he says with a brilliant grin. “I could not have said better myself.”
:: 660