InsaneJournal

FF8/FF12: Laguna and Balthier - How the Story Goes

Title: How the Story Goes
Author: chibirisuchan
Fandom: FF8 and FF12
Pairing/characters: Balthier and Laguna
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Balthier's got an acid edge to the wit here...
Prompt/challenge you're answering: Laguna and Balthier: love is blindness / I don't want to see / won't you wrap the night around me
Notes: I wrote this back in May, before the flood ate my basement and my free time. Meant to do at least 3 more last week and this week, but... (sweatdrop) thank goodness for extension time...

"There is," the young man said idly, trailing a fingertip around the lip of his wineglass until it sang for him, "of course, a distinct irony in our holding this conversation."

"There is?" Laguna asked, blinking at the slow drag of that one wine-dampened finger, and licking his lips despite himself. He was already far too drunk to be drinking with an attractive young man half his age, but then he was also far too drunk to mind. Being drunk was really quite convenient that way.

"Mmm." And that was a sound just as dangerous as that fingertip; he wanted to know how it felt, the soft tremble of sound in his throat, the taste of that caramel-husky voice under his lips-- bad idea, he told himself firmly. Bad, bad idea. Your son's age, remember? Where this all started...

"I'm sure you're too young to have lost a son your own age, though," Laguna pointed out to them both, and then blinked again. "Er. Of course, anyone's too young to have lost a son their own age. I suppose technically I am too, come to think of it? That's nice to know -- I'm not really in the habit of thinking of myself as too young for anything anymore..."

"Oh, I've never lost a son," Balthier assured him, flashing him a smile that was all precisely even, carefully poised lips pulled back to bare smooth white teeth, but somehow sharp despite it. "I'm quite careful to keep track of my family, you see."

"Really?" he asked, a bit muzzily. "Good. That's good. Family are important. I shouldn't have lost him..."

"But you were too busy changing the world, I know," Balthier said, and slowed the trail of that finger around the singing glass; the note wavered, shuddered. "That's how the story goes. That's how the story always goes."

"Always?" Laguna asked, wistful, and the corner of Balthier's smile twisted crookedly.

"Always," he murmured. "With that hair, are you certain you're no kin to the Solidor?"

"I've never heard the name," Laguna said. "Is that a problem?"

"Not really," Balthier said, with a careless shrug that did fascinating things to the fall of that cream-white linen spilling down his arms. "It would have taken this from the realm of irony to the realm of poetic justice; but then I suppose justice of any sort is too dangerous for one like myself to contemplate."

Laguna propped his chin in his hand to make sure that he didn't tip over sideways as he squinted, trying to make the shape he wasn't seeing come into focus. Somehow, it didn't help.

"What's wrong with justice?" he asked. "And, er, what's 'this'?"

Balthier's laughter was addictive; he couldn't help swaying forward toward the sound, toward the lean arch of his throat and the golden skin glimpsed through the lacings just barely off his shoulders.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you?" the young man said, indulgent and almost mild.

While Laguna tried to decide what to do about the fact that his mouth was hanging open but the noises he was making weren't exactly words, Balthier bent forward a bit, conspiratorial.

"Convenient, that," he said, with that charming smile, the one that Laguna couldn't quite read. "Considering that I'd quite enjoy a chance to fuck you too."

The noises stopped working entirely. Laguna thumped on his chest, trying to convince the parts inside that they weren't supposed to freeze up just because his brain had shut down amid the sudden rush of blood to his cheeks and to, er, other parts.

"It's on behalf of the story, you see," Balthier said, in that wry conspirator's voice. "Just once, I want to spit on how it always goes, between a father who's too busy changing the world and a son his father lost track of amid all the grand unearthly visions."

"Oh," Laguna murmured. "Um. ...I'm sorry."

"Why should you be?" Balthier asked, languid. "You understand what the story demands; you had your role to play. You've played your part, and I've played mine, and so here we are -- in the idle hands of the muse of irony." He finished his wine, and set down his glass, and said, "Well?"

"I'm a little too drunk to follow," Laguna admitted, sheepish. "This is because I'm a very bad father, isn't it. So do you want to punish me, or do you just want my attention?"

Balthier's head went back sharply; after a frozen moment, he laughed again. "Why on earth would it matter?"

"Well," Laguna said, trailing a finger through a drop of condensation on the table, and wondering wistfully if he could make a glass's not-quite-invisible distortion in the shape of the world sing for them too. "If we're changing how the story always goes... then... er... why couldn't I try to give you what you want?"

"We're both too drunk to make this any more complicated," Balthier told him, wry. "Yes, or no?"

Laguna drew himself up straight, or at least as straight as he could manage, and said, "I would have to be quite a bit stupider than I am to turn down an offer like you. Er. Like yours. To turn down an offer like yours. --I think. What approximately did you want, again?"

"You," Balthier said, with a smile full of teeth that made shivery things happen in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh. Well. That's simple enough," Laguna agreed, a bit dazed. "I'm pretty drunk, but I think I can still do me."

"Good for you, Mr. President!" Balthier proclaimed, brimming over with self-satisfied indulgence, and refilled both their glasses. "Here we go. A toast to doing you -- and to me doing you, in the bargain."

Laguna was fairly certain he was being laughed at, but he was equally sure that, under the circumstances, he really didn't mind.