Circle in a Spiral [Final Fantasy XII, Basch x Balthier, NC17]

[manic-intent.livejournal.com]

Title: Circle in a Spiral
Author: manic_intent 
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 3447
Summary: Basch realizes he should have understood from the very beginning.
Prompt: June 9 - Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Balthier: Being held down - Discussing the past
Author’s Notes: This prompt gave me some trouble: I blame GTAIV.  No motivation until June 9 itself, when I sat myself down to write.

[A/N: Let me inflict another ‘songfic’ on you guys, this time by Sting.]

 

June 9
- Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Balthier: Being held down - Discussing the past

 

Circle in a spiral

 

I

.like a snowball down a mountain

 

The first time Balthier kissed him it was in jest, a mocking peck against the cheek on their way to Bhujerba to save a child, followed quick by a sharp jibe about cleaning up pretty, and he had (as politely as possible) batted away the fingers curling into his cornstalk hair.  Vaan had snickered, the boy’s dark mood lifting (if briefly), but Fran had only watched, silent, her feral eyes flicking once between them, and then lingering on Basch.  Her ears had twitched, back and forth, before she turned back to the controls, and he’d not known then that it had been her own way of laughing.

 

0.1

.like a clock whose hands are sweeping

 

Balthier blinked owlishly when spotted, but his neat little smirk made it obvious that he wasn’t surprised.  The handsome, tall man seated opposite the pirate at the intimate table on the small sidewalk café, however, straightened, saluting awkwardly, and Basch murmured something dismissive even as he stared.

 

“I had not heard of you since the letter,” Basch removed his helmet, tried his best to keep to his brother’s cool, formal Archadian.  It was difficult, especially when Balthier reached forward and placed his aristocratic fingers carefully and pointedly over his companion’s gloved ones.  Auburn hair, clean-cut features, broad shoulders and a uniform that told Basch that this man was an Imperial Colonel; green, pale green eyes.

 

“We have mutual friends,” Balthier explained out loud.  “Judge-Magister, this is Leonar.  Leonar, I suppose you know of Judge-Magister Gabranth.”

 

“Balthier has not run afoul of the law, I can personally assure you,” Leonar said warily, “My Lord Gabranth.”

 

It took him a moment to realize that the Colonel was defending Balthier; his feet were flat on the flagstones, ready to delay, like as not, were Balthier to need escape from arrest, and now he felt quite the bastard.  It was not an emotion Basch was familiar with. 

 

“He is an old friend.”

 

“Truly?” The Colonel’s skepticism was sharp, and Balthier smirked again, that catlike little smirk.  He ignored the question.

 

“How is Fran?”

 

“Meeting friends in the city.  I am quite abandoned, I am sure.” With that, Balthier turned wide eyes playfully to his companion (his lover, gods-damned, but he had no right-), who only chuckled helplessly, embarrassed, yet evidently gratified by the cavalier attention.  Basch remembered, wryly, how that had once felt. 

 

“I have matters to discuss, if you are free.  Afterwards.”

 

“Oh, that depends entirely on how free Leonar happens to be.  Afterwards.” The sly suggestion in the pirate’s tone made Basch grit his teeth and Leonar blush; Balthier turned the Colonel’s palm over, traced the leather seam lightly with the tips of his fingers, but all the while he watched Basch.  “Mayhap ‘ere I leave I may speak with you, but Fran is equally capable of discussing business, my Lord Gabranth.”

 

Basch did not miss the ironic stress on the name, but he swallowed his temper, smiled thinly as his brother would.  The pirate lowered his eyes, as though in embarrassment (unlikely) or disappointment (how curious), then sipped at his coffee with grasping fingers.

 

“Then, mayhap later.  Balthier.”

 

II

.words that jangle in your head

 

The second time came after their successful rescue of his Queen, split together into rooms out of a balance between economic necessity and lingering prudishness on Ashelia’s part – the children together, Ashelia and Fran, himself and Balthier.  The sky pirate lounged on the window seat, fanning himself ineffectively with a street performer’s gaudy brochure, making complaint after muttered complaint about the climate until Basch had suggested, very mildly, that he at the very least remove more of his foppish clothes.

 

He had not (really) meant to insult, but Balthier had growled, glaring over at him where he had been sharpening his blade at the desk.  Basch had apologized.  Several times.  Until, at the end, his own considerable patience had snapped, and he had stalked over, cut off the caustic diatribe with a hard press of lips against lips.

 

He had meant to punch.

 

Basch had rather thought Balthier would retaliate, but the pirate blinked instead, as though cast adrift, and Basch had kissed him again – or tried to: fingers inserted themselves neatly and quickly between them.  And then, before he could apologize (yet again), Balthier had chuckled.

 

0.2

.was it something that I said

 

Arresting Balthier seemed so much easier the second time around rather than cajoling stubborn capricious pirates, and, at the least, the younger man only seemed amused as Basch had all but pushed him into the black cab marked with the crest of his Bureau.  Behind him, Balthier’s current lover, a pretty-faced tall man with short-cropped black hair (some budding politician, Basch vaguely recalled) alternated between promising appeal and decrying an abuse of Judicial privilege (if within a safe distance).

 

In the cab, Balthier’s neat little grin turned into a neat little smirk just with a lopsided twitch of a lip, and he leant back against one of the doors, stretched across the seat, and crossed his leather-clad legs in Basch’s lap. 

 

“You are quite a jealous man, Basch.  I would not have thought it.”

 

“If you must play, do confine your attentions to men whose careers, when touched with scandal, would not have noticeable effect on Archades.” He had meant to deny it; and now he blushed, instead, glad for his helm.  Godsdamn.

 

“And your association with me, that could be quite so scandalous, would not have a noticeable effect?” Balthier drawled, cushioning his head in his arms, his eyes so knowing that Basch glanced away, out the window, at the dizzy drop to Lower Archades. 

 

“We have no such association.  I know that much.”

 

“Yet you accost me whenever you see me with another in Archades.  Most regrettable.  Come now, Basch, we are both of us adults, and what little that happened is already past.”

 

Basch carefully pushed warm thighs off his legs, and removed his helm.  “Aye.” He knew that.  There was no reason to act so, to jeopardize his (if borrowed) career.

 

“Life is short, old man.  There is no point in being chained by any matter or creature to the ground, when the sky is so close within reach.” Balthier’s tone was not unkind, and now Basch understood why he, or any other man in the sky pirate’s life, had ever had any more than a brief window of chance.

 

III

.was the sound of distant drumming

 

“I suddenly understand,” Basch murmured, as he caught brief control of his voice, “Why you chose not… to tell the rest of the party that you owned… property, in Balfonheim…”

 

“I trust you can keep this secret, Ser,” Balthier grinned, handsome and wild and seductive, seated deep in his lap on the divan in the living room, his right hand braced on the darkwood frame, the other fondling his tightening balls; long thighs curled and pressed to either side of his ribs.  He took Balthier’s weight with one palm splayed against the small of the pirate’s back, while the other teased the flushed arousal trapped between them, drawing out the moment.  One gasp, another, and teeth were worrying at his ear, a tongue slipped slick and wet within, flicking, then lapping up the lobe to his hairline.

 

“Fran-”

 

“Is elsewhere occupied.” Balthier snapped his hips down, sharply, and Basch bucked with a moan that seemed loud to his ears; the pirate caught his chin with his right hand and kissed him hard, growling, teeth scraping against his lip; he could hear himself snarling in return, and it surprised him (if distantly).  Without his liege and the children so close at hand, they had no need to watch themselves, and it was clear that the effect was much to the pirate’s satisfaction. 

 

Still, with Fran occupied, it did mean that his Queen had only a pair of street rats with short attention spans as her guard, and even in this moment, that made him uncomfortable.

 

“Balthier-”

 

“We have ourselves a day,” Balthier cut in, evidently having guessed at his thoughts, as he added, dryly, “Or, at the least, a couple of hours before… your overprotective instincts overwhelm you.”

 

He wanted to apologize, but the pirate leant closer, then, pressed lips against his wet ear and whispered a suggestion that was both remarkably salacious and not quite anatomically possible; in response, he found himself reversing their positions, pushing Balthier down against the divan and dragging up the sky pirate’s hips; Balthier laughed, even as he lifted his ankles to Basch’s shoulders. 

 

0.3

.pictures hanging in a hallway

 

Balfonheim had undergone a couple of months of internecine strife after Reddas’ demise, but Rikken had emerged as its new leader, and order had resettled as a loose blanket over the free port’s shoulders.  No one looked twice at him, dressed as he was in his old gear (inasmuch as Larsa had, if very politely, offered once to replace it for him) and walking a familiar path up towards the docks, to a blue slate terrace house just out of the fishmarket’s pungent reach.

 

He didn’t expect anyone to answer his knock, and inhaled sharply as he heard quick footsteps, a cautious click of the spy shutter, then Fran opened the door, her perfect features dispassionate.

 

“Basch,” she said, as a way of greeting, then seemed to recall, “Basch fon Ronsenburg.”

 

“Aye, Fran.” Before her unblinking, inhumanly focused stare his careful script frayed.  “Is Balthier in residence?”

 

Fran cocked her head to the side, flicking one ear back, then Basch heard a moan, faint through the ceiling, and a deep, unfamiliar chuckle.  “Yes,” Fran noted, unnecessarily, and Basch observed rather distantly, through the cold, ugly coil twisting in his chest, that a Viera’s beauty was doll-like, expressionless; all of their emotions were subtle, in the lowered tone of her reply, in her ears, pulling back for a heartbeat, in their words.  “Come.  I wish to purchase something at the dock.”

 

He followed her numbly as she latched the door and walked with long, graceful strides towards the fishmarket, nodding politely to greetings and occasionally pausing to speak quietly to other Viera.  Basch stayed silent, watching the sky, with its scything seagulls.  He should not have come.  On leave, he should have left first to Dalmasca.

 

Following, Basch only noticed that they had walked far past the crowded pier and around, to the beach circling the harbor, when they had left the stench and the noise long behind them.  He considered questioning the Viera, but Fran’s walk was still so purposeful that the query died in his throat.  They seemed to be approaching nothing, running out of beach; Fran stepped delicately over and around pools of water as they headed out onto a white sandy spur. 

 

At its edge, Fran stopped, and Basch finally asked.  “Fran?”

 

“There.” Fran gestured, and it took him a long moment, squinting, to see what she indicated – a dark shape far away in the crystal blue, like a squatting, dead reef or the ruined hulk of-

 

“An airship?”

 

“Aye.” Fran inclined her head, though she offered no further explanation.  Viera seemed to occasionally assume that Humes could always make the same mysterious leap of logic as they could; asking always seemed crass.

 

“I do not understand.”

 

“Balthier left Archades with Reddas.  It was not an easy escape.  Nor,” Fran added, thoughtfully, “Nor quite an easy existence.  Afterwards.” Another pause, as the Viera seemed to visibly recalculate her thought process into Hume terms.  “That is not… reason, merely background.”

 

“Did he not leave Archades on the Strahl?” He had last seen that gaudy ship in the Aerodrome.

 

“That airship is Archadian,” Fran said, with a Viera’s careful patience.  “Pursuit.  It lasted, two years.  They – we – we ran, a long time.  I do not think he has stopped as we did.  He sees, he sees shadows within shadows.”

 

Basch reflected that he was and had been in the party the least capable of interpreting Fran’s occasionally riddle-laced speech, but he tried.  “I can personally assure him that Archades is no longer interested in his hide.”

 

A flick of the ears in gentle reproof told him that he had misunderstood Fran’s meaning, perhaps altogether.

 

IV

.when you knew that it was over

 

“To be fair, I should have had this conversation with you at least a month ago,” Balthier began.  Bhujerba again, an underground, surprisingly clean bar just off the main street that served only honey ale, darkened and private in alcoves.  “I hope you understand that I am not interested in taking this-” and here he placed his hand lightly, under the table, on Basch’s thigh, “Any further than casual.”

 

“It disappoints me,” Basch said dryly, “How, on occasion, you seem to believe that I am somewhat of an idiot.”

 

He could see that far into the future, and to be honest, he was e’er surprised on the morn of each new day to note that the sky pirates had yet tarried.  He had no real expectation of surviving his liege’s quest, and such mutual gratification would not be quite missed.  After all, as a General past, his time was so consumed that he had found no real lasting companion, nor wanted such.

 

Balthier grinned impishly, evidently relieved.  “’Tis not so much idiocy as thinking you old-fashioned, Ser.”

 

“I am not sure that that is any better.”

 

“But while I am still speaking in so stilted a manner, let me next state,” Balthier drawled, his tone mocking now, “That, I hope, after we conclude matters, we may still remain friends.”

 

“Should I be forewarned as to the manner of your ‘concluding matters’, that you should disclaimer it so?” Basch asked, his tone a gentle jibe that turned Balthier’s grin into his neat little smirk, which made Basch smile in return.

 

“Oh, I could quite, quite break your heart, Ser, take your moneys, your blade, your soul as well!” Balthier quoted outrageously from a play that Basch had vaguely remembered being dragged to watch, half a decade ago, by Ashelia, and he thought it pity that he could not quite remember enough of it to make witty retort.  He improvised, however, the best he could.

 

“I have no moneys, my blade is borrowed, and my soul has neither gilt nor glitter.  It would naught be of interest to you.”

 

“Close.  Very close.” Balthier tapped his fingers in a quick staccato against stained oak, and took a sip of his ale, his eyes now half-lidded.

 

0.4

.that the autumn leaves were turning

 

“You,” Balthier said sharply, as he reined his chocobo up awkwardly beside him, “Took a remarkable amount of effort to locate.”

 

“I retired,” Basch replied, knowing that it was poor explanation, and settled instead for eyeing how stiffly Balthier rode.  “Nearly two decades since we first met, and yet you ride like a sack of turnips.”

 

“Old age and silver hair seems to have turned your tongue acid,” Balthier replied, though not without his neat little smirk.  “You wasted half a year of my life, mine and Fran’s.”

 

“Oh?” Basch trotted his placid charger back, towards the rambling farmhouse he shared with a family of cats, the two sheepdogs that sniffed Balthier’s sandaled foot politely then started for home, and a nest of semi-wild children from the village who arrived noisily in the afternoons to take lessons in reading and writing.  It was warmer far than Archades; mayhap even Dalmasca, and he had never had the ambition to be unhappy with only this.

 

“We searched Landis for you.  Bloody waste of time, that turned out.” Balthier’s tone was reproachful.  “Turned out you were living in this gods-forsaken border village on the arse end of the Empire, known only for its rose wines.”

 

“It is not a bad life.” He kept his tone mild.  “I tired of Archades.”

 

“At least you finally have a life.” Balthier corrected.  The sky pirate looked a little more weathered, and there was a faint, white scar at his jaw; he wore a white long-sleeved shirt with a patterned lace cuff, but no cravat nor vest; instead, an odd necklace made of dull red stones each the size of a small plum.  His breeches too were still leather, but sporting a different pattern than that Basch remembered, though already cracked and worn.  A gold-tooled leather baldric held a large holster against his back, within which was an assiduously cleaned silver rifle.

 

“You look like you are doing well.” He did not remember the last time he had seen Balthier: the pirate had disappeared to explore Ivalice.  Five years, perhaps.  “Fran?”

 

“Unchanging.  She is with the Strahl.  The villagers believe she is some sort of woodland deity; the last I saw, they were attempting to tithe her with strange orange flowers.”

 

“Amberhearts.” Basch grinned.  He could only imagine their reaction to someone so otherworldly, in this community so far removed from the seat of the Empire.  “They are rather valuable, if you extract the oils from them to perfume.”

 

“Quite the farmer now, are you not.” Balthier’s eyes were questioning where his tone was not.  “You could at least have told Vaan, Penelo, Ashelia, where you were, not just bloody Larsa.  That little Emperor brat is so very closemouthed about his secrets; we had to break into the godsdamned Solidor palace to find information on your whereabouts in his godsdamned diary.”

 

“I left word saying they were not to worry.”

 

“As you can imagine, that merely worsened the situation.”

 

“Were they to know,” Basch said, as they rounded a crest of trees to the neat rows of vineyard before his house, “Were they to know, they would have told you.”

 

A soft intake of breath beside him told him Balthier had thought this reason likely, but the pirate spoke no further until they had stabled their mounts and he had, awkwardly, invited him in for coffee. 

 

“You did not have to search,” Basch noted, already wishing Balthier was elsewhere, that he had never come.  The pirate was handsome, still too gods-damned handsome, and Basch had long given up.  The fat mackerel tomcat, Orlandeau, scrambled to sit on his lap, purring loudly and eyeing the other members of its tribe in malevolent warning.

 

“I had every right to be as worried as the others.”

 

“Aye.” He did not apologize, and the pirate arched an eyebrow.  “It was selfish.”

 

“And you seem happy.  Again, bloody finally, I should say.” Balthier said, watching a gray kitten attempt, mewling, to climb up his breeches. 

 

“Happier yet had you not found me.”

 

“Twenty years is a long time to linger on a matter so quickly concluded,” Balthier observed, and his lip twitched up, lopsided, and an ache rose within Basch’s chest that he had thought long abated.  “So very old-fashioned.”

 

He ignored that, and some scrap of courtesy prompted him to say, “You, you and Fran, you can stay here if you wish.  The Whitebeard can be rather noisy.”

 

“I think we will not tarry, now that I am satisfied you are still in the realm of the living.” Balthier sipped at his coffee.  “You look like a swimmer swept back to sea after finally reaching the shore.  I am sorry.  I hoped you could understand.”

 

And Balthier had been worried – Basch could see that much: worried about him, but with a friend’s worry, likely no less than that of Lady Ashelia or the children, but no more.  Even without ambition, he knew that in this he could never be content, and he resented it, yet could only say, wryly, “I do understand.  Thank you for your concern.  Please apologize to Lady Ashelia, Penelo and Vaan when you see them.”

 

“I will try not to color you with too black a brush,” Balthier finished his coffee and set down the cup and rose to his feet.  “We may stay a day, no longer, in the village, if you wish to speak with Fran.”

 

Basch did not answer, and the pirate sighed, turning for the door.  “Then I am sorry to have troubled you, Basch.”

 

“Do visit again.” It was clear that the invitation was politeness only, and at the frame, Balthier smiled wryly over his shoulder, fey, too wild for this; too wild for anything or anyone who cared to set his feet on the ground.

 

“Mayhap so.” It was a promise without a promise; and that, Basch realized, that much he should have perceived from the very beginning.

 

-fin-