coyote (sister_coyote) wrote in ironman7, @ 2007-09-06 19:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | final fantasy xii, sister_coyote, week 3: prompt 5 |
Final Fantasy XII (Basch/Vossler) [week 3, prompt 5]
Title: To What Prize the Victor
Author: Sister Coyote
Rating: Worksafe
Word Count: 500
Summary: "The pace," Vossler said, "is far too slow."
The sky was a beautiful clear blue above them, the wind fresh with the scent of trees coming into bud to the north of them and grasses coming into blossom to the south of them, and yet Basch could tell Vossler was growing bored with the patrol. For his part, he could scarcely remember a more beautiful day since he was a child, running with his brother through the pine forests of his home, and for once the remembrance brought merely a touch of sorrow to him, not the usual deadly weight of grief.
"The pace," Vossler said, "is far too slow." He rode with one hand light on Aurere's rein, the other on his thigh, light with the comfort of one who had been all but born in the saddle. Though House Azelas had a fine city-residence, where his cousin Emera pursued the family's interests at the court, still most of them (and Vossler among them) lived at the grand estate not fifty miles east, and surely Vossler had spent his youth riding fine-bred chocobos.
Basch had been a city boy; his comfort on the great birds was new. "It is a patrol," he said, smiling. "We are meant to keep our eyes sharp, not focus on the speed of our mounts' feet."
"Still," Vossler said, "I could sleep in saddle at this rate. I need something to keep me awake."
"Very well," Basch said, with an elaborate show of patience he did not really feel. "I would race you to the stone there, then; perhaps that will get your blood moving."
The look Vossler cast over his shoulder was frankly lascivious, and Basch's heart sped hard in his throat, wondering. But then Vossler said, "Very well. Bring Umaia up next to me so it will be a fair race."
"To what prize the victor?" Basch asked as he lined his bird up so her beak-tip was even with that of Vossler's Aurere.
"Victor's choice," Vossler said. "Mark. And go!"
He spurred forward before Basch was ready. Basch laughed, digging his heels into Umaia, gratified when his mount leapt forward with alacrity, long strides easily navigating the ridge. "Unfair!" he called.
Vossler turned his head to look back over his shoulder, and oh, oh, bright eyes and a brighter smile, beautiful enough that it was all Basch could do to keep his seat. The pounding of his heart had little to do with the energy of the race and everything to with Vossler, bent low in a racer's stance, laughing, laughing.
Vossler beat him easily, and yet when Basch reined Umaia up beside Aurere, he felt as though it was he who had won. "And to what prize the victor?" he asked again.
"For tonight," Vossler said, "that you will do as I bid?" He looked so young, so hopeful, and Basch leaned forward to bridge the gap between them -- his knee bumping against the flank of Vossler's chocobo -- and kissed him, and said,
"That can be arranged."