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kinkfestTitle: Asking Too Much
Author/Artist: leviathanmirror
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Sex. Do we need to warn for that here?
Prompt: Final Fantasy XII- Basch/Ashe- outdoor sex- rough and wild, surrounded by the desert
Word count: 2063
Tired and becoming frustrated with her search, she approaches the gate that opens to the Estersand and pushes her way through. She'll have to be more subtle on the way back in if she doesn't want to be caught and captured yet again, but for now she has had quite enough of this day and her failure to find Basch.
There was a time, she thinks half in sorrow and half in anger, that there would be no need for a search; a time when she knew his habits so well, she would know exactly where he had gone.
There is little relief from her frustration when she does find him. He is standing out in the Estersand, in the full light, looking over the land as if he has never seen anything so beautiful. There is a well of rage in her and she is discomfited to realize that this rage she feels is only for what was done to him. She is comfortable with her anger for her country and her people and her losses, with the rage she can't pin on just one atrocity.
Equally disconcerting is the familiar thrill of attraction. She had always thought him beautiful and with her heart unclouded by the belief of betrayal, she could see it in him again and that made her angry, too. She didn't need the humiliation of an unrequited desire for him on top of all her other frustrations.
She bites back the desire to snap something nasty at him from where she stands and make him come to her. She is tired, the day has been long, and her anger has only grown by the hour but that is no excuse and she would have a hard time justifying the behavior to herself once it was done.
Instead she goes to him, kicking up sand with every step as she moves to stand at his side. He acknowledges her with a nod and a softly spoken, "Majesty."
"I've been looking for you," she says after a long silence.
"I apologize, Majesty," he is genuinely sorry, she can hear it in his voice and she wants to throttle him for it. Or kiss him. That thought just makes her angrier.
"Must you apologize for everything, Basch?" she tries to soften the anger in her tone, to not blame her frustration and his own suffering on him, but it does little good.
"If I've caused you undue trouble, my lady, yes," his voice had a rough quality to it, when she was younger she'd found it both soothing and arousing. Older and no longer looking for a source of comfort, she could only feel heat.
She wishes he would get angry for once in his life so she wouldn't feel so bad at the anger simmering in her belly. So she could yell at him and not feel like a spoiled brat. So she could take her rage and desire out on him in a safe way and not in the ways it was becoming apparent to her that she wanted to take them out on him.
Instead she responds tersely, "it wasn't troublesome. We can do nothing at present, at least looking for you gave me reason to be outside."
He smiles just a little and says, "the fresh air is good, is it not?"
It is an unintended incitement of her anger, her fingers curl into her palms, her knuckles whiten with the tightening of her grip.
"Majesty?" His concern is the last she indignity she can take today. He knows of her anger, curling her hands into fists should not warrant attention. She is not fragile, a little display of displeasure is not going to end in tears.
In one too quick motion she half turns, raises her hand and is halfway to slapping him before she realizes what she's doing.
He lets her hit him again.
"Basch…" She is ashamed at how wounded her voice sounds. Was she not just enraged? And what right did she have to sound hurt in this situation?
He smiles at her, the barest hints of amusement in his blue-grey eyes, "Do you feel better now?"
There is a tightness in the skin of her face, a pulling as her brow furrows and her mouth turns down at the corners. It's a feeling she's always associated with crying. She ignores it and how she must look to him and touches her over warm hand to the cheek she slapped.
"No."
He reaches out, slides the calloused pads of his fingers over her own cheek. She is not used to affection from him, not in the form of touch, but she finds it horribly easy to enjoy.
"You could have stopped me."
The fingers brushing her cheek are taken away and replaced with his palm, he cups her cheek with absolute gentleness.
"I was hoping," he says softly, "that it might ease your heart some."
She thinks that maybe his touch has made her brazen or has undone the fear of rejection and humiliation because she turns her head just enough to lay a kiss on his palm, she whispers, lips still brushing against the calloused skin, "My heart…?"
She can feel him tense up and is sure that he's going to pull away from her. He doesn't.
He tilts her head upwards and kisses her softly on the lips, close mouthed and entirely too kind for her liking. She grips roughly at his hair and crushes her lips to his until it hurts.
She bites his lower lip, nipping testingly at the soft skin there and he parts his lips for her. She is pleased that he opens to her rather than pull away, the beginnings of lust warming her in her belly and between her legs.
She doesn't loosen her grip on his hair or let up on the pressure of the kiss; she keeps pressing hard to him until he responds with more than simple allowance. The warmth between her legs becomes an ache, her underwear becoming damp with more than just sweat.
His hands remain gentle, rubbing soothingly up and down her back. His kiss, too, remains gentle, letting her push her tongue to his without returning the gesture.
She makes a frustrated noise, breaks the kiss and tries to push away from him. He holds her fast.
"If you're to treat me like glass, let me go." She'd rather handle her arousal herself then be treated as fragile.
The look he gives her is just as testing as her kiss, after a moment of this his hands slip down to her hips, he grips her hard and pulls her flush against him. The scrape of leather beneath cotton on her skin makes her shiver.
"You are certain that this is your wish, my lady?" He tightens his grip more, until the pressure of his fingers on her hips is painful.
Her answer is leaning upwards, weight shifted to her toes, and cradle his burgeoning erection between her thighs. He makes a soft desperate sound, it makes her smile.
She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulls him towards her sharply for another bruising kiss. He is more forceful then she'd imagined he would be when he returns the kiss and she moans her approval against his mouth.
They are both already flushed and sweat dampened from the heat, grains of sand clinging to their exposed skin. When he slides his hands down her thighs the rough material of his gloves and sand scrape and scratch at the tender skin there, leaving it slightly raw. She delights in the feel of it, shows it by pressing her thighs together until he gasps.
She bites down on the junction of neck and shoulder, biting and sucking until she's sure the skin will be purple with bruising. One of her hands curls in his hair pulling his head back sharply to give her better access. Her other hand, she slips between their chests. Nimble, calloused fingers circling her own nipples through the cotton of her shirt until they harden. Her mouth continues working up and down his neck, leaving reddening bite marks on flushed skin.
"I could…" She squeezes her thighs together again, cutting him off.
"You shan't," she replies with a final bit on his neck, just below his ear.
Her fingers slip beneath her shirt to squeeze roughly at her breast, teasing the nipple and brushing against the sides in feather touches after the first forceful contact. As her thumb settles over one taut tip, rubbing without gentleness, she throws her head back moaning.
Basch shucks his gloves, dropping them to the ground, raising a small cloud of sand around their feet. He wipes the grit off on the backside of her panties before sliding his hand beneath the waistband. His fingers linger in her curls until she takes her hand from her chest and covers his, forcing them against her clit.
He laughs softly at this but he doesn't take his hand away so she doesn't particularly care. It takes a second for him to remember her unspoken rule about gentleness, when he does, the light touches that had her mewling became rough and quick and unforgiving. His other hand, again wiped free of sand, slides into her underwear curving over her bottom to push two fingers into her. His fingers are bigger than hers and the thrusting of them in her body, so unused to any touch but her own, makes her muscles burn.
She holds herself up using his shoulders. Fingers bruising and nails cutting into the flesh of them as she half sobs, breathless in the hot, dry air. She winces when he adds a third finger and he stops until she snaps viciously for him to keep going.
He curls his fingers upwards, once, twice. Her one fingers dig into his back brutally, she feels his skin give where her nails press in. A third time and she's crying out, muscles spasming, contracting around his fingers.
She unbuckles his belt with shaking hands while she's catching her breath.
She doesn't unbutton his shorts, he doesn't expect her to. In a private, enclosed setting she would have liked to touch him but they are both aware of their surroundings and the need to minimize exposure to the elements. Instead she bends over and presses her hands to the rock wall nearest her.
"I will not tolerate your gentleness," she warns him as he thrusts into her.
"As my lady wishes," he responds, refusing her time to adjust.
He is true to his word, thrusting with enough force to make her body jerk towards the wall, over and over until it hurts and feels good and hurts again. She is pleasantly surprised to feel the full body ache of her pleasure again as he quickens his pace, driving her even closer to the wall as her tired, aching arms struggle to support her.
He makes almost no noise beyond his short, sharp breathing not even when she feels his release inside of her. She refuses to let her control be less than his even as the heat and exhaustion of her own release sweep through her again; she is certain she could make him cry out for her under different circumstances.
Neither speaks immediately afterward, they right their clothing quickly. Ashe casts cure on herself, mostly for her bruised hands. She finds herself more reluctant to cast it on him, though she does. She feels like something is lost as the pale, healing light seeps into his skin.
"Did… did I ask too much of you, Basch?" She almost wants to ask what they're supposed to do now but thinks it would make her seem even needier than she has already made herself appear.
"Never, my lady."
"Thank you," she says finally, though she isn't sure if it's for not holding her behavior against her or for not treating her like the weak, needy teenager she is so afraid of being.
His voice still has that unfailing warmth to it when he asks, "And your heart?"
"Eased," is what she says with a smile. What she means is that one ache has dissolved only for others to take its place.
He kisses her one last time, not gentle but not rough, and she knows he understands.
Author/Artist: leviathanmirror
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Sex. Do we need to warn for that here?
Prompt: Final Fantasy XII- Basch/Ashe- outdoor sex- rough and wild, surrounded by the desert
Word count: 2063
Tired and becoming frustrated with her search, she approaches the gate that opens to the Estersand and pushes her way through. She'll have to be more subtle on the way back in if she doesn't want to be caught and captured yet again, but for now she has had quite enough of this day and her failure to find Basch.
There was a time, she thinks half in sorrow and half in anger, that there would be no need for a search; a time when she knew his habits so well, she would know exactly where he had gone.
There is little relief from her frustration when she does find him. He is standing out in the Estersand, in the full light, looking over the land as if he has never seen anything so beautiful. There is a well of rage in her and she is discomfited to realize that this rage she feels is only for what was done to him. She is comfortable with her anger for her country and her people and her losses, with the rage she can't pin on just one atrocity.
Equally disconcerting is the familiar thrill of attraction. She had always thought him beautiful and with her heart unclouded by the belief of betrayal, she could see it in him again and that made her angry, too. She didn't need the humiliation of an unrequited desire for him on top of all her other frustrations.
She bites back the desire to snap something nasty at him from where she stands and make him come to her. She is tired, the day has been long, and her anger has only grown by the hour but that is no excuse and she would have a hard time justifying the behavior to herself once it was done.
Instead she goes to him, kicking up sand with every step as she moves to stand at his side. He acknowledges her with a nod and a softly spoken, "Majesty."
"I've been looking for you," she says after a long silence.
"I apologize, Majesty," he is genuinely sorry, she can hear it in his voice and she wants to throttle him for it. Or kiss him. That thought just makes her angrier.
"Must you apologize for everything, Basch?" she tries to soften the anger in her tone, to not blame her frustration and his own suffering on him, but it does little good.
"If I've caused you undue trouble, my lady, yes," his voice had a rough quality to it, when she was younger she'd found it both soothing and arousing. Older and no longer looking for a source of comfort, she could only feel heat.
She wishes he would get angry for once in his life so she wouldn't feel so bad at the anger simmering in her belly. So she could yell at him and not feel like a spoiled brat. So she could take her rage and desire out on him in a safe way and not in the ways it was becoming apparent to her that she wanted to take them out on him.
Instead she responds tersely, "it wasn't troublesome. We can do nothing at present, at least looking for you gave me reason to be outside."
He smiles just a little and says, "the fresh air is good, is it not?"
It is an unintended incitement of her anger, her fingers curl into her palms, her knuckles whiten with the tightening of her grip.
"Majesty?" His concern is the last she indignity she can take today. He knows of her anger, curling her hands into fists should not warrant attention. She is not fragile, a little display of displeasure is not going to end in tears.
In one too quick motion she half turns, raises her hand and is halfway to slapping him before she realizes what she's doing.
He lets her hit him again.
"Basch…" She is ashamed at how wounded her voice sounds. Was she not just enraged? And what right did she have to sound hurt in this situation?
He smiles at her, the barest hints of amusement in his blue-grey eyes, "Do you feel better now?"
There is a tightness in the skin of her face, a pulling as her brow furrows and her mouth turns down at the corners. It's a feeling she's always associated with crying. She ignores it and how she must look to him and touches her over warm hand to the cheek she slapped.
"No."
He reaches out, slides the calloused pads of his fingers over her own cheek. She is not used to affection from him, not in the form of touch, but she finds it horribly easy to enjoy.
"You could have stopped me."
The fingers brushing her cheek are taken away and replaced with his palm, he cups her cheek with absolute gentleness.
"I was hoping," he says softly, "that it might ease your heart some."
She thinks that maybe his touch has made her brazen or has undone the fear of rejection and humiliation because she turns her head just enough to lay a kiss on his palm, she whispers, lips still brushing against the calloused skin, "My heart…?"
She can feel him tense up and is sure that he's going to pull away from her. He doesn't.
He tilts her head upwards and kisses her softly on the lips, close mouthed and entirely too kind for her liking. She grips roughly at his hair and crushes her lips to his until it hurts.
She bites his lower lip, nipping testingly at the soft skin there and he parts his lips for her. She is pleased that he opens to her rather than pull away, the beginnings of lust warming her in her belly and between her legs.
She doesn't loosen her grip on his hair or let up on the pressure of the kiss; she keeps pressing hard to him until he responds with more than simple allowance. The warmth between her legs becomes an ache, her underwear becoming damp with more than just sweat.
His hands remain gentle, rubbing soothingly up and down her back. His kiss, too, remains gentle, letting her push her tongue to his without returning the gesture.
She makes a frustrated noise, breaks the kiss and tries to push away from him. He holds her fast.
"If you're to treat me like glass, let me go." She'd rather handle her arousal herself then be treated as fragile.
The look he gives her is just as testing as her kiss, after a moment of this his hands slip down to her hips, he grips her hard and pulls her flush against him. The scrape of leather beneath cotton on her skin makes her shiver.
"You are certain that this is your wish, my lady?" He tightens his grip more, until the pressure of his fingers on her hips is painful.
Her answer is leaning upwards, weight shifted to her toes, and cradle his burgeoning erection between her thighs. He makes a soft desperate sound, it makes her smile.
She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulls him towards her sharply for another bruising kiss. He is more forceful then she'd imagined he would be when he returns the kiss and she moans her approval against his mouth.
They are both already flushed and sweat dampened from the heat, grains of sand clinging to their exposed skin. When he slides his hands down her thighs the rough material of his gloves and sand scrape and scratch at the tender skin there, leaving it slightly raw. She delights in the feel of it, shows it by pressing her thighs together until he gasps.
She bites down on the junction of neck and shoulder, biting and sucking until she's sure the skin will be purple with bruising. One of her hands curls in his hair pulling his head back sharply to give her better access. Her other hand, she slips between their chests. Nimble, calloused fingers circling her own nipples through the cotton of her shirt until they harden. Her mouth continues working up and down his neck, leaving reddening bite marks on flushed skin.
"I could…" She squeezes her thighs together again, cutting him off.
"You shan't," she replies with a final bit on his neck, just below his ear.
Her fingers slip beneath her shirt to squeeze roughly at her breast, teasing the nipple and brushing against the sides in feather touches after the first forceful contact. As her thumb settles over one taut tip, rubbing without gentleness, she throws her head back moaning.
Basch shucks his gloves, dropping them to the ground, raising a small cloud of sand around their feet. He wipes the grit off on the backside of her panties before sliding his hand beneath the waistband. His fingers linger in her curls until she takes her hand from her chest and covers his, forcing them against her clit.
He laughs softly at this but he doesn't take his hand away so she doesn't particularly care. It takes a second for him to remember her unspoken rule about gentleness, when he does, the light touches that had her mewling became rough and quick and unforgiving. His other hand, again wiped free of sand, slides into her underwear curving over her bottom to push two fingers into her. His fingers are bigger than hers and the thrusting of them in her body, so unused to any touch but her own, makes her muscles burn.
She holds herself up using his shoulders. Fingers bruising and nails cutting into the flesh of them as she half sobs, breathless in the hot, dry air. She winces when he adds a third finger and he stops until she snaps viciously for him to keep going.
He curls his fingers upwards, once, twice. Her one fingers dig into his back brutally, she feels his skin give where her nails press in. A third time and she's crying out, muscles spasming, contracting around his fingers.
She unbuckles his belt with shaking hands while she's catching her breath.
She doesn't unbutton his shorts, he doesn't expect her to. In a private, enclosed setting she would have liked to touch him but they are both aware of their surroundings and the need to minimize exposure to the elements. Instead she bends over and presses her hands to the rock wall nearest her.
"I will not tolerate your gentleness," she warns him as he thrusts into her.
"As my lady wishes," he responds, refusing her time to adjust.
He is true to his word, thrusting with enough force to make her body jerk towards the wall, over and over until it hurts and feels good and hurts again. She is pleasantly surprised to feel the full body ache of her pleasure again as he quickens his pace, driving her even closer to the wall as her tired, aching arms struggle to support her.
He makes almost no noise beyond his short, sharp breathing not even when she feels his release inside of her. She refuses to let her control be less than his even as the heat and exhaustion of her own release sweep through her again; she is certain she could make him cry out for her under different circumstances.
Neither speaks immediately afterward, they right their clothing quickly. Ashe casts cure on herself, mostly for her bruised hands. She finds herself more reluctant to cast it on him, though she does. She feels like something is lost as the pale, healing light seeps into his skin.
"Did… did I ask too much of you, Basch?" She almost wants to ask what they're supposed to do now but thinks it would make her seem even needier than she has already made herself appear.
"Never, my lady."
"Thank you," she says finally, though she isn't sure if it's for not holding her behavior against her or for not treating her like the weak, needy teenager she is so afraid of being.
His voice still has that unfailing warmth to it when he asks, "And your heart?"
"Eased," is what she says with a smile. What she means is that one ache has dissolved only for others to take its place.
He kisses her one last time, not gentle but not rough, and she knows he understands.
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Date: 2009-06-07 11:05 pm (UTC)(That was really hot.) I agree with
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