InsaneJournal

Wildcard: Of Fortune, Fate and Freedom [FFVI / FFXII - Setzer/Vaan]
Title: Wildcard: Of Fortune, Fate and Freedom
Author: tipsybluetips
Fandom: Final Fantasy VI / Final Fantasy XII
Pairing/characters: Setzer/Vaan, FFXII party mentioned.
Rating: M
Warnings: Casual sex / sex in public places.
Prompt: Sex within a time limit
A/N: Zodiac Three-Folds is a half-formed idea of a game - don't pay it much heed.


The private cabin feels like a dungeon after only so long, and Vaan finds himself emerging to the communal areas of the commercial airship in a sullen pace. It's not like he doesn't value proper preparation - they've been in one tight spot too many during their journey for him to ignore the worth of a sturdy set of armor - but Balthier is being unreasonable. Neither Feywood nor Giruvegan can be that much of a living nightmare that they have to be dragged across every single market across Ivalice, bargaining better equipment like old aunts. Their last stop was Rabanastre, and by the rush pressed on the odd party by the pirate, Vaan assumed his leaving a visit to Migelo or the Lowtown kids to another occasion meant they'd progress on their way already. What a bitter surprise that now they're heading all the way back to Balfonheim to blow more gil in magicks.

Vaan avoids the gift shops like the plague, and the deck seems terribly uninviting - right now, it'll only remind him of how little freedom he disposes of, despite all appearances. Eventually his steps take him to the bar area, where half a dozen patrons take seat - three by the counter, and a group of hissing bangaa by the corner table. He grabs a snack at the bar and climbs the stairs to seek some solitude in the mezzanine.

There is, however, one traveler upstairs; he sits at the middle table with his back to the windows and his profile to the newcomer. The man seems absorbed by an intricate arrange of cards spread upon his table, his long silver hair disguising the thin scars mapping his face as he leans over to study the game closer. Vaan sits quietly at the back table, munching at his food while his eyes insist on straying toward the card-playing individual. The man doesn't seem too old - though the thief is wary of age notions since the little slip with Fran - but the manner of his setting the array seems fitting to an elderly gentleman, purposeful and refined in every gesture.

The stranger looks at him by the corner of one eye, a sliver of a smirk pulling pale lips taut - Vaan knows he's been caught. A lump of chocobo ham goes in its entirety down his throat as he scratches the nape of his neck. "Sorry; I didn't mean to stare."

"Don't fret over it," the reply is casual, but given in a voice that couldn't be originally so touched by hoarseness - it must have grown damaged with the seasons, like his face or the sharp glint in grey eyes. "You've never played Zodiac Three-Folds, I guess?"

" 'Never even heard of it," Vaan shrugs, stretches beyond the scope of his chair to examine the cards. It's some kind of interlaced circular pattern of twelve points, with three main areas and one small pile of cards in the middle of each. "Is it any fun?"

The man smiles, a crescent moon of straight teeth. There's not an ounce of warmth radiating from the stranger - Vaan doesn't know if it's been robbed of him or if he has stripped of it by his own will, though perhaps both apply. However, somehow he still seems to draw the thief's attention, and some measure of careful respect. "It's not intended to be played for the fun of it, though at times I do enjoy gambling with destiny even better than with men alone."

More of the sandwich disappears in Vaan's mouth, giving him time to ponder on the information given. There's something in the man that reminds him of Balthier - Vaan doesn't think this much to understand people's intentions under normal circumstances; neither he feels so compelled to answer fittingly. "So, you mean this isn't a game, it's a fortune-telling method?"

"Isn't every fortune a game in itself?" The stranger draws one card from the left pile, puts it face-up on the extreme right of the first circle, picks an upturned card from that position and transfers it to it's corresponding spot on the center ring. "We play at living; our initial hand defines the strategies we must put to practice to evolve. The beginning rounds structure the current moves. Decisions taken without thought will eventually disallow your continuity in the match."

Vaan scratches his nose, already bereft of food as he is to buy him time. His newest acquittance echoes faintly another man he struggles to keep up with daily, full of regret and repentance and headstrong, silent strenght. Unlike Basch, though, this man seems to wear his losses with no code of honor to bind them - an intimate, subtle pride is what graces his half-transparent scars with their meaning. "And what are you playing at now to trust your fortune to cards, mister...?"

The chuckles are short - two of them, the first louder than its successor. The edge in his stare seems all the more pronounced as he turns fully to his younger interlocutor, appraising the boy from head to toe and back, before cracking a scythe-smile once more. Vaan knows exactly what the shiver running down his spine and the twist tightening deep in his gut mean, and he wonders what's wrong with himself. "You may call me Setzer; I'm but a pirate chasing after his rightful airship. However, don't believe I ever trusted a thing to the cards - I merely gambled. And you are...?"

A palm dressed in thick leather is then extended, long and elegant fingers naked to the touch as Vaan accepts the handshake - the pale skin is warm in spite of appearances, the greeting firm and inviting. What's it he got with classy pirates and men with a past carved in their faces Vaan can't figure out, but he certainly doesn't mind being paid some attention by one of them for once. "Name's Vaan," he feels bold as he moves from his table to the next, sitting beside Setzer.

He's rewarded when the man pulls his chair close enough that their shoulders brush; their legs touch permanently. Setzer draws a card from the center pile - Jack of Hearts - and grins wryly once more, flipping it to the top position in the array and moving the card that had been there to a blank spot in the last circle. "Vaan, you say; a son of Dalmasca's sand, no doubt. What stakes bring your destiny to cross mine, I wonder? Does Balfonheim Port hold any of your fortune, or do you intend it to?"

"It's more like I keep being drawn there; not that I really want to fight back," Vaan smiles, fiddles with the tip of the nearest card. Setzer is charming company for a Lowtown boy who's been across half Ivalice in a few months, through dirt and snow and jungle slime, having always the same five mates to turn towards for distraction - there's something of unobtainable in the man, but at the same time he's much too welcoming to stand back or avoid hold. The pirate in training in Vaan longs for that in ways he hasn't felt since the initial hype over Balthier sturdied itself into trust, true admiration, other bonds better left unlabeled."I guess I'm well on my way to become a sky pirate - I've just got some... stuff... to fix before I get down to it, muscle my way into the ranks of Balfonheim and all that."

"The noblest of intentions, I see," Setzer still smiles a reaper's blade, fingers grasping lightly on the boy's shoulder. "Wouldn't you have stumbled upon an airship by the name of Blackjack in your quest to fix the world, I'd hazard?"

Vaan scratches his neck again, but turns more fully to the stranger-with-a-name. He embraces the tension weaving itself between them like one gathers Mist to summon. "Not that I remember, nope; but if I ever find it, I'll bring it right back to you. Will you be in Balfonheim?"

"If my fortune so allows," Vaan sees it when the gambler starts drawing closer but pretends not to; when Setzer's breath caresses his lips, it's still a warm, all too pleasant shock."I'll bet to stakes that I'll meet you again, sky pirate Vaan."

"You'd better be playing to win, then" and it's Vaan who closes the distance between their mouths, but it's Setzer who pries his lips open and plunges in for a wet, messy, wild kiss. The lightly-callused fingers grasping his shoulder tighten, pull him over, and Vaan takes seat on Setzer's lap gladly. He tastes of fine brandy and Bhujerban smokes, tongue smart and avid rolling against Vaan's own in quite the particular dance. Vaan crushes thick black velvet as he paws on the man's long coat; scratches soft white silk as he moves beyond, seeking - and finding - a landscape of lithe muscles beneath the many layers of refinery.

His hair is spider-web thin as Vaan holds onto it, pulls it back to sink teeth on what skin shows above his neckline. Setzer grunts quietly, half-laughter and half something else entirely, busying his touch upon the thief's much displayed and accessible torso. Vaan shivers, unbuttons and unbuckles every hindrance that surges on the path of his roaming hands - he's hungry like he'd forgotten how to be in many ways, ever since the fateful journey caught him by the ankles and dragged him away from his sphere, too many restless ghosts taking port in his soul, anchored and and bound excessively tight.

No Lowtown kid is a stranger to sex - random, purposeful, paid, out of pity, desperation or fun. Vaan has always done his best to be neither cheap nor easy, but now he feels even less guilt than he ever thought of possessing - this is a lucky strike, a fancy of chance, and what sort of pirate would he be not to take treasure when it's asking to be stolen? He rubs himself against Setzer's half-bared chest, and enjoys every second of it.

Those long fingers find purchase through the faded leathers of his pants, and Vaan is obligated to muffle his moan into a perfect imprint of his teeth onto Setzer's shoulder. He shoves his own arm between their bodies, grasping the other's manhood with just as much enthusiasm as shown to him. He grins impishly as Setzer stirs quite perceptively under the pressure of his palm. "Folded, cut and handed - let's get down to business already?"

Setzer kisses him, snapping the clasps of his clothes open with enviable dexterity. "I only play high stakes; but I guess you're aware of that by now," Vaan whimpers minutely as his lenght is pulled out of the cage of fabric, tilts his hips involuntarily as Setzer strokes him with leather-clad palms and callused fingers. He trembles shamelessly, but reciprocates the treatment, knowing it worthy as Setzer's breath catches way too abruptly in his chest to his first caresses.

Vaan can barely hold himself up - one leg slips to support him from the tiled floors, the other stays folded up in the chair, letting him rock into Setzer's tight caresses. He leans to kiss the other man, carefree and exploring, exploiting - or help him the gods he'll scream, audience just one story below or not and -

"Attention all passengers - East Ivalice Company informs this flight shall arrive at Balfonheim Port within five minutes."

"Fuck," Vaan curses, rages and rushes frantically as his whole arm moves up and down in triple speed. Sudden as the landing warning, every bead of sweat rolling down his skin seems to take too long in its way down, anxiety turning fun kisses into drowning ones.

"No time for precisely that, I'm afraid," Setzer replies in that hoarse-whisper voice right into his ear, jerking him with hard, twisting wrist flourishes. He spits in his palm once but the gloves keep being merciless around Vaan's cock - and he likes it, counting the seconds by the building tension in his loins.

It's strange - new, in every strong pull along the shaft and squeeze around the head - enticing as his coordination starts failing him to give back as good as he got - because usually, alone or in a need-camaraderie fling-thing in Lowtown, he'd always scab for it to last longer, hold himself up until the maximum and now -

Now - Vaan can hear the flight attendants closing the bar; the glossair wings whining a low moan, which he echos faintly as they engine down and he builds up in heat and wildcard pleasure.

Now - Vaan has a purpose, every stroke up a countdown to disaster and glory, every squeeze a liberation.

Now - Vaan seeks it, finds it, takes it all to his own - comes all over Setzer's gloves, stains a bit of his shirt. Somehow the black velvet comes out intact. Good.

Gravity throws him over the last barrier as his knees falter him, and he falls prone with his head to Setzer's knees. His body wants him to relish in the pure, base, simple and egoistic pleasure; but Setzer's cock is not two inches away from his nose, flushed and ready to go, and Vaan just grins weakly as a lick-cleaned hand guides him by the hair to take a mouthful.

He's not very good at sucking cock - not enough practice, not really his favorite sport - but the airship rumbles ominously as it enters the dock, the bangaa downstairs are being ushered out, and Setzer seems to like sloppy and a little too wet just fine. Past the man's closed eyes time seems heavenly standstill, so caught that he looks in every trick that Vaan can come up with in such a short notice.

"East Ivalice Company wishes all a pleasant stay in Balfonheim Port; please exit by the doors indicated by the arrows..."

He sucks, sucks, licks and sucks to his most earnest, musky tang of precome sharper as the moments roll like cumulative sentences down their necks - he sucks, one hand on Setzer's balls, playing. The other just feels his legs tremble, his stomach muscles - scar crossed and pale and fiery-hot - jump and tighten. Setzer's growl gets lost in the murmur of passengers leaving the leisure craft - the hold in sandy hair makes to pull him away - Vaan presses back, swallowing every spurt of come that hits his waiting tongue.


The taste is terrible but the ride has been fun.

Vaan tucks himself in, climbing his long-abandoned chair while Setzer forces himself back to practical matters. Steps sound up the stairs and the older pirate simply closes his coat over his disarrayed figure, before caressing Vaan's flushed lips to collect a spilled droplet of white.

"Gentlemen, I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave," the flight attendant informs them with somewhat forced affability, and Setzer breaks her a pearly scythe of a smile. Vaan is too busy breathing.

"We're gravely sorry to delay you - time just gets... blown away, when you're in good company," Setzer answers calmly, collecting his cards with familiar ease - they disappear up his sleeves as he stands up, offering his arm for Vaan. The boy chuckles - light, carefree, relieved and relaxed - and accepts the frivolity.

They leave the airship each in his own pace - Vaan rejoins his companions to head towards the marketplace, sees but a whirl of silver hair disappear in the pirating crowds. If his party perceives any difference in his demeanor, they keep it very much to themselves, all too busy reflecting on the destiny of Dalmasca and the will of the gods. Vaan doesn't know what kind fortunes made his path cross with these people - dear friend and pirate and princess and captain and viera, or child-emperor, or wisemen, or random fucks in public airships - he sincerely doesn't care.

His cages are but his to undo - his freedom is only his to gamble with. If he's bound to an obligation now, it's only because the stakes are worth it.

He grins as he finds a King of Spades tucked in his back pocket, all the same.