Final Fantasy XII (Ashe/Basch/Vossler)
Jul. 11th, 2007 09:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sister-coyote.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Blood Loyal
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sister_coyote
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, mild spoilers
Word count: 950
Summary: Ashe dances at the edges of her knights' faith in her.
Prompt: Final Fantasy XII, Ashe/Basch/Vossler: Against a wall - what do you believe in?
Ashe forces Basch back until his shoulders are flush to the wall and her mouth on his is not so much a benediction as an opening volley: and he returns her sally, returns it and then some, with his teeth, with his tongue, with the hard tension of his hands. He is surprised that he can be so fierce with her, even like this.
"Do you believe in me?" she says in the dark: her voice low but fierce. "Or do you humor me?"
His eyes meet Vossler's over her shoulder. Vossler has already met this test, and passed it; he can tell as much just by the meeting of their eyes. "Never," he says. "I would not -- "
"Hush," she says, and kisses him; and Vossler closes the gap between them. This much Basch knows; this much is familiar from their time in the desert.
Basch turns her a little, and feels the tension in her shoulder as she reflexively resists it; but she ceases resisting when she sees Vossler going to his knees. Basch turns her the rest of the way, then, holding her against him. His hand splays over the exposed skin of her belly, fingertips riding in the dip and curve of her hipbone. Vossler looks up at her, and past her to him. She is the warmest thing Basch has felt in a long time, warmth that glides under his skin and down to relieve the chill in his bones.
He watches as Vossler pushes up the edge of her skirt, up past her thighs, and then tugs down her underwear. Basch feels her shudder as Vossler leans in, hesitates, and then presses his mouth to her. She lets go of Basch's wrist; one of her hands sinks into Vossler's hair, the other curls under his collar at the back, holding him there by both hands and making a low noise that is not, not, never a whimper. It is enough to drive all the breath from Basch and leave him gasping.
Her head falls back onto Basch's shoulder. Down the line of her body he can see Vossler, eyes closed, half-obscured by the rucked-up folds of her skirt, mouth moving. Basch kisses her bare shoulder, her throat, nips at her collarbone -- careful, unwilling to make a visible mark against her fair skin.
When she turns her head and presses her open mouth to his throat, she has no such compunction.
His skin aches where her mouth has latched: the scrape of her teeth, her insistent suckling. The ache radiates out and down straight to his groin -- and he cannot grow harder than he has already become, watching Vossler lick and stroke her, but he throbs and aches for her, and for them both. Dalmasca, Dalmasca.
Ashe's mouth leaves his throat as she exhales on a high, thin, desperate noise. With his hand on her stomach he can feel her body flutter with the beginning of her climax. He watches her knuckles turn white in Vossler's hair, hears her breath and the sweet musk of her, growing stronger and more lush on the air with each moment, until she stills and shudders and makes a broken sound.
He kisses her neck, the line of her jaw, the sweep of her collarbone. Vossler kisses her mouth, and says something directly in her ear, and as close as they are still Basch cannot make it out.
However large Ashe may be in will and courage, she is still a good space shorter than him physically. When she turns and presses against him, her belly is flush to his hips, and she must reach up for his shoulders; he cannot imagine how this will work until she leans back a little to murmur something to Vossler, who makes a pleased assenting noise and hooks his hands under her thighs to lift her. She twines her arms around Basch's neck, now nearly eye-to-eye, and when she presses close he slides not against her stomach but between her thighs. He thinks he can feel her pulsebeat in the warmth, or perhaps it is merely the thud of his own blood. Her eyelashes brush his cheekbone when she kisses him.
"Ashe," he breathes. Her body draws him in deeper, deeper into her own particular cadences. Held up, she cannot move her hips freely, so she hooks her ankles together behind his back and pulls him into her with the flex of her thighs and calves. She is so lean that she separates himself and Vossler by almost no space at all, which fact Vossler emphasizes by leaning forward to kiss Basch hard over her shoulder, still holding her up. Basch can taste Ashe, and the knowledge of that makes him stutter in his rhythm.
He holds off -- by the barest of margins, by the thinnest of strands -- until she tenses around him, hot and deep and beautiful, beautiful, her head back and crying out. He buries his face in her throat, in her hair, feels Vossler nudge his neck and bite his ear and it is only a few more strokes before he finishes, too, deep inside her.
After a moment, slightly muffled and very amused, Vossler says, "I cannot hold you both up."
Basch staggers back until the wall supports his weight again -- he cannot support it all himself -- and watches Ashe slide to her feet. He can see the moisture shining on her thighs, her eyes bright as the sun. She is lovely, and the more lovely as she continues to descend, to her knees, turning to open Vossler's trousers.
"I do believe in you," he says, into the still air.
Author:
sister_coyoteRating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, mild spoilers
Word count: 950
Summary: Ashe dances at the edges of her knights' faith in her.
Prompt: Final Fantasy XII, Ashe/Basch/Vossler: Against a wall - what do you believe in?
Ashe forces Basch back until his shoulders are flush to the wall and her mouth on his is not so much a benediction as an opening volley: and he returns her sally, returns it and then some, with his teeth, with his tongue, with the hard tension of his hands. He is surprised that he can be so fierce with her, even like this.
"Do you believe in me?" she says in the dark: her voice low but fierce. "Or do you humor me?"
His eyes meet Vossler's over her shoulder. Vossler has already met this test, and passed it; he can tell as much just by the meeting of their eyes. "Never," he says. "I would not -- "
"Hush," she says, and kisses him; and Vossler closes the gap between them. This much Basch knows; this much is familiar from their time in the desert.
Basch turns her a little, and feels the tension in her shoulder as she reflexively resists it; but she ceases resisting when she sees Vossler going to his knees. Basch turns her the rest of the way, then, holding her against him. His hand splays over the exposed skin of her belly, fingertips riding in the dip and curve of her hipbone. Vossler looks up at her, and past her to him. She is the warmest thing Basch has felt in a long time, warmth that glides under his skin and down to relieve the chill in his bones.
He watches as Vossler pushes up the edge of her skirt, up past her thighs, and then tugs down her underwear. Basch feels her shudder as Vossler leans in, hesitates, and then presses his mouth to her. She lets go of Basch's wrist; one of her hands sinks into Vossler's hair, the other curls under his collar at the back, holding him there by both hands and making a low noise that is not, not, never a whimper. It is enough to drive all the breath from Basch and leave him gasping.
Her head falls back onto Basch's shoulder. Down the line of her body he can see Vossler, eyes closed, half-obscured by the rucked-up folds of her skirt, mouth moving. Basch kisses her bare shoulder, her throat, nips at her collarbone -- careful, unwilling to make a visible mark against her fair skin.
When she turns her head and presses her open mouth to his throat, she has no such compunction.
His skin aches where her mouth has latched: the scrape of her teeth, her insistent suckling. The ache radiates out and down straight to his groin -- and he cannot grow harder than he has already become, watching Vossler lick and stroke her, but he throbs and aches for her, and for them both. Dalmasca, Dalmasca.
Ashe's mouth leaves his throat as she exhales on a high, thin, desperate noise. With his hand on her stomach he can feel her body flutter with the beginning of her climax. He watches her knuckles turn white in Vossler's hair, hears her breath and the sweet musk of her, growing stronger and more lush on the air with each moment, until she stills and shudders and makes a broken sound.
He kisses her neck, the line of her jaw, the sweep of her collarbone. Vossler kisses her mouth, and says something directly in her ear, and as close as they are still Basch cannot make it out.
However large Ashe may be in will and courage, she is still a good space shorter than him physically. When she turns and presses against him, her belly is flush to his hips, and she must reach up for his shoulders; he cannot imagine how this will work until she leans back a little to murmur something to Vossler, who makes a pleased assenting noise and hooks his hands under her thighs to lift her. She twines her arms around Basch's neck, now nearly eye-to-eye, and when she presses close he slides not against her stomach but between her thighs. He thinks he can feel her pulsebeat in the warmth, or perhaps it is merely the thud of his own blood. Her eyelashes brush his cheekbone when she kisses him.
"Ashe," he breathes. Her body draws him in deeper, deeper into her own particular cadences. Held up, she cannot move her hips freely, so she hooks her ankles together behind his back and pulls him into her with the flex of her thighs and calves. She is so lean that she separates himself and Vossler by almost no space at all, which fact Vossler emphasizes by leaning forward to kiss Basch hard over her shoulder, still holding her up. Basch can taste Ashe, and the knowledge of that makes him stutter in his rhythm.
He holds off -- by the barest of margins, by the thinnest of strands -- until she tenses around him, hot and deep and beautiful, beautiful, her head back and crying out. He buries his face in her throat, in her hair, feels Vossler nudge his neck and bite his ear and it is only a few more strokes before he finishes, too, deep inside her.
After a moment, slightly muffled and very amused, Vossler says, "I cannot hold you both up."
Basch staggers back until the wall supports his weight again -- he cannot support it all himself -- and watches Ashe slide to her feet. He can see the moisture shining on her thighs, her eyes bright as the sun. She is lovely, and the more lovely as she continues to descend, to her knees, turning to open Vossler's trousers.
"I do believe in you," he says, into the still air.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}