sarasa_cat (sarasa_cat) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2008-07-08 09:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: sarasa_cat, f: final fantasy xii, july 07, p: basch/vossler |
An Act of Trust [FFXII, Vossler/Basch, NC-17, NWS]
Title: An Act of Trust
Author: sarasa_cat
Characters: Vossler/Basch
Rating: HARD NC-17
Warning: Violent, brutal, barely consented sex that results in rape, graphic. NWS. THIS IS NOT LIKE ANYTHING I NORMALLY WRITE. Character motivations are vicious and story is graphically violent.
Word count: 2990
Summary: First time, different customs, different beliefs, injurously violent outcomes. Basch at age 22 and recently promoted in the Dalmascan Order needs to prove a point to Vossler after a failed discussion on the meaning of sex.
Prompt: July 7: Final Fantasy XII - Vossler/Basch - first time - your customs are not my own
An Act of Trust
"Fon Ronsenburg," Vossler barked at the newly promoted officer while lying naked upon his side. "It will be a long night if you choose to remain flat on your back under your blankets over there on the far side of this tent."
Basch could no longer pretend he had fallen asleep.
"You won’t convince me that your woeful ignorance of norms and customs within Dalmasca’s Order have escaped your notice for the past three years."
"Sir." Basch cleared his throat as he pushed himself up onto his elbow. "May I request that you repeat your words in a manner that is plainly direct?"
"Fon Ronsenburg!" Vossler shouted. "Do you get off on annoying me?"
Basch thought of remaining silent but instead responded with an earnest "Nay."
There was no doubt that Vossler was irritated but after a moment the man sighed and shook his head. "Your customs truly are foreign, aren’t they?"
"They may be," Basch said as he rose to sit cross-legged with a blanket partially covering his lower body while leaving his chest bare.
In Landis, Basch had not traveled as much as Noah when they were both young. Noah had become fluent in multiple languages but by the time Basch was seventeen, he only knew simple phrases in a few foreign tongues. The dialect spoken in the Old Galtean kingdoms were unintelligible to him as he rode southeast to Nabradia before his eighteenth summer and then struck out to ride further south to Dalmasca. Now he was close to his twenty-second birthday and Landis seemed long ago, but oftentimes Dalmasca seemed as fantastic and strange as the day he had arrived. The main difference was that he could now ask pointed questions.
Basch watched in the orange lantern light as Vossler scowled and sighed. The desert wind outside their tent slapped the canvas and rattled the posts.
"So, Basch, your youth was spent on the road watch in Landis. What was the longest you and the men were gone?"
"Rarely more than two weeks. Often not more than a few nights." Basch paused as he recited Vossler’s words in his head. "And, we weren’t just men."
"Hm?" Vossler did not seem to understand him.
"Not only men. Women rode on the watch too."
Vossler grinned. "So, men from Landis did ride with all their property and their comforts."
Basch held his face in an expressionless mask before exhaling and speaking a joke that made light of a common insult leveled at people from Landis by those in southern cities. "We rode with all of our households strapped to the back of our birds, even our flocks of cockatrice as the maids who care for them piled as high as a six-story tower. You ever wonder why chocobo bred from Landis stock cost ten times that of any other?"
"The women with your watch — camp followers or healers?" Vossler chuckled. "Not that a road watch would need more than one healer."
"Not prostitutes. And I never knew one personally ‘til I came here. Sometimes a healer would ride but we had swordswomen who were good archers. One of our commanders was a woman. Very tall. She was also very good to look at." Basch grinned at the thought of her. "But I didn’t have much of a chance with her back then."
"Not much of a chance?" Vossler snorted. "You told me you were a Lord’s son."
"Wouldn’t have matter. Here, maybe, if you had swordswomen, but not back home. I was just another young man who grew faster than my father’s armorer could supply. She was a landholder of her own, much older, and had already made her decisions about men."
Basch hoped that Vossler would continue with his questions about Landis but Vossler’s interest seemed to wane. That didn’t surprise Basch. It never did. Landis was a strange, remote place that no longer graced the map. It didn’t matter any longer and, even when it had, Basch had guessed that places like Landis mattered little to people like Vossler.
"So, Basch Fon Ronsenburg of Dalmasca’s Royal Order, you now report to me as a junior officer. Tell me, how can I be assured of our mutual trust when we must protect the other’s back? How do I know you are a true friend when all seems lost?"
"Sir, two days may have passed since I swore my oath over the blade of sword in front of our king, but I have not forgotten the words as fast as a trueborn son of Dalmascan’s nobility."
"What you spoke were mere words." Vossler’s tone made clear he thought that words mattered as little as flecks of dust, as flecks of sand.
"Not where I come from," Basch stated.
"This isn’t Landis."
Basch fell silent. It wasn’t worth angering his superior over the obvious and, furthermore, Vossler was his friend.
Vossler leaned forward and frowned. "I recommended you for promotion because you are the best of the men, better than those sons who have inheritance or not, but also because we get along. My brother may be a captain but he had to speak for your promotion at the King’s council. Someone had to pay the yearly fee to cover your arms, your mount, and your lodging, and you don’t have a house to return to." Vossler appeared to be stifling his frustration. "I know you understand this."
"The king spoke for me. I fully understand the meaning of his actions. He’s created a pension for me. Now it is my duty to serve him and serve his family."
Judging from the silence that hung in the air, Basch could tell Vossler expected him to say something more but he didn’t know what. Basch had sworn his oath and, with bowed head, he had graciously accepted a gift from their king. He was Vossler’s trusted friend and Basch was glad to ride with him and assist him in training their men while keeping Dalmasca safe. After all, once an oath is spoken over a blade, what more needs to be said?
Vossler broke their silence. "Surely, at least once in Landis, Nabradia, or Dalmasca, you strengthened your bond of friendship with another man."
"Strengthened…" The word rolled on Basch’s tongue. He was certain he knew what Vossler meant. He had in the past, but it wasn’t clear to him how such an act proved trust in battle nor how it displayed his truth as a loyal friend.
He watched as Vossler’s hand fished inside a bag and pulled out a jar.
"Come lie beside me." Vossler waved the jar at him. "Oil your thighs."
Basch blew out his breath as he let his blanket drop. He moved atop Vossler’s camp bedding and held out his cupped hand. A small puddle of faintly floral oil drizzled into his palm. It smelled pleasant and some ingredient within the oil mildly stimulated his skin, warming it with a slight tingle.
While Vossler corked the mouth of the jar, Basch slowly rubbed the oil along the length of the inside of one thigh and then the other. Not at all did he mind the thought of relieving a need while on a long campaign, especially when few other outlets for comfort would be in sight, but Vossler’s underlying premise did not make sense to him. If it were just sex that Vossler wanted for the sake of its pleasure, why not say so, enjoy it, and be done with it?
"I still don’t see the point behind your reasoning," Basch said as he stroked the remaining oil onto his hardening cock. "Sex itself does not create trust, loyalty, or friendship. It may feel good and keep men from abandoning their post out of want, but none of this carries the weight of an oath to provide honorable service to a nation."
"Is that how you see it?" Vossler took hold of Basch’s erection and gave it a slow, gliding stroke.
He gasped. The heat of another’s touch made Basch yearn and want, but that only proved his point. He chose not to say this, yet his eyes must have spoken his thoughts.
"Are you telling me," Vossler said as he stroked him again before removing his hand, "that I should not trust a barbarian who is willing to lie with me? Are you telling me that pleasure to him is false? Basch, a man with your intelligence and athleticism could not have come to this world so uncultured that shared pleasure leaves him cold and forms no bond."
"What bond do I have with a girl entertaining men in a back room at the Sandsea? I may like her and she may ask for me if I do not visit once a week, but I think she misses other men who also treat her kindly."
"Basch, she’s a gil girl. That’s a business transaction that keeps her fed."
"What about the wife of Lord Sutanas? She wants nothing more than entertainment from virile men who are closer to her age. I think it matters not which knight arouses her pleasure as long as he’s under twenty-five, knows how to lick between her legs, and can recover with the snap of her fingers. Of course, she does say that she saves special rewards just for me. She thinks I’m exotic." Basch knowingly glanced down at his erection.
"Basch, you speak of women, not of the bonds of trust that bind true friends — friends who must be as close if not closer than brothers. Loyal friends who carry steel, who must trust one another in harsh desert. Was I mistaken to choose you for this promotion?"
"I had a brother who carried a sword and fought by my side. We were raised together and suckled on the bosom of the same wet nurse. Shared the same cradle and often the same bed. There where nights we would rub each other or bet five gil to see who could shoot further or faster. In the end, that didn’t stop us from betraying one another." Basch sighed. He had never mentioned this fact before.
Basch watched as Vossler pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He knew he was stubbornly belaboring an unnecessary point. He was treading unwelcomed waters and while he still remained oiled and hard, it was best to just submit to Vossler’s will, to Dalmascan custom, and to pretend that it honestly mattered more than a legal oath while Vossler rubbed himself to orgasm between Basch’s slippery, clenched thighs. Anyhow, such an act would give him honest cause to grunt and moan in the arms of another. It would feel good and, at least in the moment, that’s what mattered.
Just before Basch began to lie himself onto his side, he noticed Vossler’s disappointment. Subtle lies had a bad habit of compounding. The desert wind shook their tent again but all else was silent.
"Beside words of an oath," Vossler said, "how would I know you trust me more than any other man when we hold our swords and dress for battle? Basch, how would you know that I trust you in return?" Vossler’s words were carefully measured.
Basch let his arm rest on his oil-slicked thigh as he absentmindedly fingered the end of his foreskin. Other than an oath over steel witnessed and recorded in accordance to law, what was there? Not words over a glass of wine. Not a ritual of blood-brotherhood, which meant nothing here. No, something else. Something that pulsed with the heat of battle; something that bit with the threat of a sword against a person’s back when he least expected it.
Basch knew.
"Penetrate me. Force me to submit to you."
"You are a fellow officer, not a servant nor my wife."
"You have no wife," Basch retorted. "No oil. No warning. And no pleasure for me."
Vossler eyed Basch silently, weighing his words as he drummed his finger against the naked flesh of his thigh. "Must you always seek outlandish ways to prove yourself braver than the trueborn sons of Dalmascan nobility?"
"Vossler, tell me you have never penetrated another man?"
"You avoided my point."
"Take me hard as if we are in the heat of battle and do not hold back," Basch said. "And then trust me to spend the entire night in your blankets. We must both place trust in the other."
Perhaps Basch through Vossler would protest the idea or continue their negotiation. He had not expected the man to lunge at him fast and hard, using the full weight of his body while his hands twisted Basch’s left shoulder forward, forcing him to bend into an awkward position under Vossler’s broader frame and greater weight.
"Fuck!" With his face pressed hard into blankets, Basch’s shout was muffled while Vossler drove his weight down and ground his knee into the back of Basch’s leg. Blinding agony shot through Basch’s shoulder and up his neck as Vossler twisted his arm back, holding it in a lock that felt as if he ripped free bone and flesh.
Vossler’s force bore down on him and then he heard — felt — the man’s hot breath in his ear. "It seems your face in my blankets makes me hard as a rock."
It was unchecked instinct that drove Basch to find leverage and throw Vossler from his back, but as he regained his balance and the use of his arm, Vossler’s fist hooked him hard and fast in the face, meeting his cheekbone with a solid, nauseating crack. The world went dim and Basch felt himself go down.
He wasn’t out. Just rattled with blinding pain. Just trying to catch his breath and cough up spittle lodged in the back of his throat, just fighting past disorientation and confusion, but then Vossler was on him again, chest pressing down on his back and one arm seeking purchase on the blankets, no, one arm hooking his, bringing his shoulders down, painfully down, and just before Basch could gain a better position for his own knees, Vossler’s cock jabbed hard, leaving bruising punch with an unfair hit to sensitive skin. He jabbed again, higher, striking with a tormenting stab against muscles far too clenched to admit entry. There was nothing Basch could do nor think to make the muscles of his body relax and submit.
"Gods, no!" He gagged with the next stabbing push. Couldn’t cough. Couldn’t speak. Another thrust shot through his backside like fire, like the bile burning in the back of his throat. Basch thought he fell flat, thought Vossler’s firm grip lifted his hip as his blunt cock wedged deeper with another thrust. Basch resigned himself even as his muscles remained clenched and shuddered while he was forcefully taken from behind, taken with madness that grunted and laughed like hyena, ripping back just to lunge forward again, moving faster with each attack. Basch felt his body transform into a managed desert animal whose carcass would be found in the morrow lying in the desert sands.
Sweat and perhaps blood from his cheek beaded and dripped down his face, down his neck, while searing pain raced from the base of his spine to the base of his skull. This entire act of brutality had probably continued for much less time than it had felt. He heard Vossler making growling, snorting sounds and his ass felt full with a violence that swelled and swelled and swelled. Pulsed painfully and—
"Oh!" Vossler’s shout exploded behind Basch’s ear and he came with breathy shouts as he shoved forward, emptied, and ripped himself out.
Vossler’s breath was hard and loud and the sounds Basch heard himself make were unfamiliar and unlike himself: whimpering high cries with hardly any air to sustain their sound. His body was as limp as a child’s doll that had taken a fall from a bed onto the floor.
"You crazy fucking bastard." Vossler gasped between hard breaths. "Crazy fucking sick barbaric bastard."
"Just lie with me," Basch croaked.
"I think I have your blood on my cock."
"Just lie down," Basch coughed, spat, "under a blanket," another cough, "with me."
He thought he heard Vossler stand and the shuffling sound of cloth. His blanket. His blanket being brought to him.
"Can you move your legs?" Vossler asked. "Straighten yourself out?"
Basch’s body knew nothing but ragged pain and cramped muscles unable to respond. He moved, might have moved, not sure where or how he was aligned, but he moved something. All in one horrible, rattling exhale he sad, "Lie down, Vossler, just lie down."
For the first time Basch could ever recall, Vossler silently obeyed as he spread Basch’s blanket over both of them. He gingerly lifted Basch’s head, looked at his face, and tucked a feather pillow beneath it.
"You look like someone who…" Vossler looked away, swallowed, hid his face. "We have a hard ride for seven hours over desert tomorrow."
For a long while there was only silence. Silence and the sound of breath, the grip of pain, the smell or sweat.
Vossler turned back to Basch and looked him in the eye. "Will you be up for it?"
"I’ll tell you tomorrow. If I cannot ride my own bird, I trust you will find a way to safely get me to our next camp."
Basch waited for Vossler to say something, say that Basch always had to find a way to prove his point but this time Vossler did not.
The only words he spoke were, "I will," before he laid himself beside Basch’s body and let Basch press himself against Vossler’s chest and seek shelter beneath the safe shield of Vossler’s arm.
Basch heard nothing but the sound of his companion’s breathing beside his ear. He was not sure if either of them slept during the hours that followed while the sky remained dark.