sheffiesharpe (sheffiesharpe) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-22 08:44:00 |
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Current mood: | sick |
"Improvise" {FFXII, Vaan/Penelo]
Title: Improvise
Author: sheffiesharpe
Fandom: FFXII
Pairing: Vaan/Penelo
Rating: NSFW
Length: 750 words
Spoilers: Maybe post-game, if you squint
A/N: Prompt was: machine kink: “Not sure if I trust you with that thing.”
Penelo was glad Balthier and Fran had come back for the Strahl--as good as the ship had been to them, as good a ship as she was, even Vaan admitted she was a little…tetchy…under anyone’s hands but those of the elder sky pirates. And Balthier would give her his best aristocratic affront and Fran that inscrutable stare if she ever called them the elder sky pirates again, even in her thoughts. Vaan must be rubbing off on her. At the moment, Vaan was stripped to the waist and leaning into the engine bay of the new ship—she had no name yet—a smudge so artfully placed on one cheek that if it were Balthier, she’d suspect he’d done it with a mirror. But it was Vaan and sometimes he fell into luck, even with engine grease. As she watched, he stretched long and lean and rippling—all things considered, the past year had been good to him—and he showed a fetching smear on the curve of his bicep, too. Penelo licked her lips, hopped down from the wing. Vaan rubbing off on her didn’t sound like a half-bad idea.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, found a cleanish spot on his shoulder to put her chin as he spliced two wires, coupled them with a third, and watched them spit sparks before they settled into a steady gold glow. Vaan leaned back into her more than truly necessary to reach for the chromadium clips. Another brief spark, and the engine thrummed to life. The vibration, smooth and even, coursed through Vaan, through the backs of her own hands where they rested on the edge of the bay. Vaan pressed one of the throttle depressors, where the circuit traveled up to the cockpit and the thruster control, and the engine’s growl ratcheted up. Vaan grinned—Penelo could feel it in the way his very bones smiled at the sound—and pushed harder. When the roar quieted—the only thing left was glossair and new skystones before she’d be the fastest in the sky (until Balthier and Fran did them one better, of course, and then Vaan would be tinkering again)—Penelo touched her lips to his neck.
“I’m not sure I trust you with that thing,” she said. He tasted salty and sunswept. She inched closer, mouthed higher.
Vaan’s head dropped, the invitation to turn her attention to the back of his neck, and when she lifted one hand to scratch through the short hair there, he reached back with the other to pull her closer. He gunned the engine again and spoke. She felt his voice, the deepening hum of it resonating between them.
“My ideas always work out in the end.”
She didn’t bother to point out that “in the end” usually included outrunning guards, cave-ins, and the crackling of magic; he was too warm and vibrant and vibrating to bring up the same-olds just now. She bit down a little and tucked her fingertips into the front of his shorts, hooked one leg around one of his, and rubbed against his hip.
With the quickness that was born of Vaan’s best ideas going south, he turned and lifted her to sit on the edge of the engine bay where the rotors still purred, pulsed life through the metal. Vaan stood between her legs, crossed her heels behind his back, and leaned in close. One hand reached deeper into the engine bay; the other steadied him against the airship while he found the right angle.
Penelo dipped backwards, wound arms and legs tighter around him. “If you drop me into the engine, you’re a dead man.” She bit his earlobe to make sure he was paying attention, because the vibrations climbed and his hips hitched, and she arched into him.
“You’d better hold on, then," he said, and the warming scent of heating oil and the sharp tang of conducting scarletite—red on the back of the tongue—wrapped around them both.
She couldn’t give him much credit for forethought, but he was good at improvising. His right hand splayed across her lower back, holding and supporting and pressing them together just so, and she tightened her ankles just enough as one more surge in the engine resonated—improvising, yes, she’d give him that.