ellnyx (ellnyx) wrote in areyougame, @ 2008-11-20 18:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | *crossover, *final fantasy vii, *final fantasy xii, author: logistika_nyx |
pot calling kettle [final fantasy vii/final fantasy xii, cid/balthier, m]
Title: Pot Calling Kettle
Author: logistika_nyx
Rating/Warning: M, blow job
Word count: 820
Prompt: Crossover: Final Fantasy VII/Final Fantasy XII, Cid/Balthier: brats - "Damn punks think they know everything about a ship after one flight."
A/N: another for the free-for-all.
.
Too many rings: Balthier takes them off. Not his earrings, though, dangling as he bends into the engine bay, one foot on the ground, the other up on the footrest.
Cid disapproves of young men wearing jewelry, beyond a dog-tag, that is. Cid disapproves of young men with perfect nails, even if Balthier's do have a dark line of grease caught under them. Cid disapproves of young men wearing skin-tight black leather pants and bending over his baby's bright heart like that; Cid disapproves of gay floral vests where a tasteful little pinstripe print would do; Cid disapproves of multi-tonal blonde hair that's more artifice than actuality. Cid disapproves of a perfectly clean shave, and Cid disapproves of the undeniable vanity of such nastily thin, smirky little excuses for sideburns. Muttonchops, yeah: now that's how a man grows sideburns.
'Give me a six--'
Cid hands the spanner over before Balthier finishes speaking. He knows his baby, he could do this in two minutes flat. Balthier's a show-off. Cid disapproves of showoffs, even if they do have some ability. Balthier -- and Cid can begrudge the man this, Cid's no tight-fist when it comes to giving credit -- does have some ability. Cid just doesn't approve of the way he uses it.
'If you flew her with a bit more grace,' Cid says, and sneers, 'you wouldn't have to correct the lateral shift every time we touch down.'
'If she had a bit more grace,' Balthier replies, voice a hollow echo in the ship's bowels, 'instead of flying like a standard-issue Shinra blimp--'
Cid kicks that propped knee out; Balthier falls, swears, hits something with a clang, swears again, drops the spanner, swears viciously enough even Cid's kind of impressed, and withdraws his length from the engine bay.
'You brat.' Balthier plants oiled hands on his hips and glares. Cid decides he also disapproves of a man being taller than him. 'You pampered Shinra brat. Learn to hold your bloody temper!'
'Pot calling kettle,' Cid says, and folds his arm. 'You were the privileged one.'
'Shinra put you in space before you turned thirty! Did they expect your ego to fuel the ship, or was it rather the only way they could think of to get rid of you?'
'You dropped my spanner, slick.' Cid says it easily enough. Balthier's a bastard: he's getting much better at this anger-management thing, sort of, if holding it off for later is how to manage it. 'Either get it out or go for another one. The shop's just down the road, under the rocket.'
'I'm not your go-for.' How the man manages to sound lofty with a stripe of grease across his cheek, Cid doesn't know. He doesn't like it, anyway. 'Anyway, the whole damned town's under the rocket.' The grin comes, uncurling and reluctant, devious. 'Is your cock really that small that you had to keep that as your all-purpose substitution device?'
Balthier wandered out of the woods about six months ago, entirely too well-dressed for the trip; 'Cid Highwind', the man said, or the kid, Cid couldn't decide whether to judge Balthier by his arrogance or his age, 'you're going to teach me to fly.' Cid had nothing better to do at the time, fuck you very much Mr President, so he said, with such good grace Shera was surprised enough to drop her tea: 'Why the fuck not?'
Shera liked Balthier; he liked her tea, he cleaned the bathroom once, and he was polite. At least to her face. Cid had all sorts of things he could say about men who said lewd things behind a lady's back. Her face was good enough.
The scuffle's pretty lame; Cid hasn't been in a good fight since leaving Junon. Balthier gets in some good blows after Cid's first surprise swing catches him with his pointy nose in the clouds, lashed back with surprising speed at Cid's head and gut and very nearly groin, the bastard, before Cid's elbow knocks out all the hot air. The toolbox falls off the engine bay ledge, the crash loud enough to cover Cid's cursing Balthier's bloodline right back to the Ancients; Balthier likewise crashes to his knees, gasping, blood making another stripe next to that greasy trail.
'You tell me,' Cid says, grim and grinning, 'if it's not big enough for you, feel free to go kiss up to Shinra's fucking insult out there.'
He keeps one hand on Balthier's shoulder and strips off his belt with the other. Balthier looks up, and does not at all look surprised. Cid can't decide if he disapproves of that knowing smirk.
'There is something to be said for articulating these things,' Balthier mutters as he reaches, 'rather than resorting to brute force.'
'I articulate myself fucking brilliantly,' Cid says, and thrusts; Balthier can't even mumble in reply.
Balthier does have some ability, oh yes he does, the bastard. After a moment he rocks back on his heels, watering gaze directed up at Cid as he sucks sloppily on a long, grease-marred finger, and reaches back before he bends again to demonstrate just how much ability he has.
So much ability, in fact, Cid decides he completely disapproves, not necessarily of the ability in and of itself, but rather, the fucking specific way Balthier uses it.
Cid curls his hands through Balthier's hair when he comes. Balthier doesn't gag.
Showy little bastard.
.