Final Fantasy XII, Vossler/Balthier, we could do this without fighting 1/2 A Little Less Conversation, 1/2
"Fran enjoys being fucked. Basch enjoys being fucked. We went with the curious idea of everyone doing what they liked, and I don't like being fucked."
Balthier is sitting on the open window-sill, one leg bent to support the arm holding his beer-bottle, the other swinging, ankle and toe tapping against the siding just out of time with the cadence of his speech.
"But--"
"Is your stunned scepticism a comment on how well you've imbibed Archadian stereotypes about the place of younger men in these sorts of liaisons, or because Basch happens to be particularly well-endowed and you can't imagine anyone electing to abstain?"
All of Balthier's questions are rhetorical: Vossler repeats this like a mantra. Basch will kill him if this goes the way it did last time: Vossler caught with his pants around his ankles, Balthier with a bloody nose pressed into bricks, semen streaking down his thighs.
"I can see where someone like you might have gained the mistaken impression that fucking is all about blunt force trauma, but you might be surprised what a little skill can accomplish." Balthier grins like an ass. "No, that would be being modest. What a lot of skill--"
"Ok, fine. Prove it."
Vossler's bottle clinks on the floor beside him. He shucks his jacket as he stands, and then his shirt. His hand's on his belt, but Balthier's hand captures it flat over the buckle. Balthier's thumb strokes along the dark trail of hair leading up from underneath Vossler's waistband. Vossler can see the taut line of Balthier's cock angled to the right of his fly. One bottle shouldn't be enough for thoughts like this.
Vossler looks up before Balthier does, catches the pink of the man's tongue against his lip. He'd forgotten that Balthier was taller. Vossler doesn't know what he wants: Balthier on his knees or someone behind him. Had Basch never had the pirate? Had Balthier ever seen Basch's cock? Vossler's was smaller than Basch's, but he was bigger than the pirate.
"You're going to need a lot of skill to make up for the size of that."
"Oh, am I?"
Balthier lingers over Vossler's belt, like he'll make a show of stripping Vossler's trousers. Wasted effort, Vossler's already hard. He doesn't need that pointed out. Vossler pulls away, shoves down his pants and drawers and kicks them off with his sandals.
"Eager, aren't we? Go turn down the bed."
Balthier's clothes look complicated. Vossler doesn't offer to help; Balthier doesn't ask him to. The bed's simple enough for Balfonheim, the curtains only thin, white netting. Vossler strips the quilt and top sheet to the foot of the bed, and rifles unsuccessfully through the one bedside table.
"Do you have any slick?"
"Offering to do it yourself?"
"Fuck you."
"Not on the cards, I'm afraid." Balthier throws his unbuckled belts, panniers and all, at Vossler on the bed. "Green vial, right side."