Final Fantasy XII, Balthier/Vossler, manly lotions and exfoliation
Vossler gags before Balthier relents.
The pirate unlaces his fingers from Vossler’s hair; Vossler is abrupt as he pulls away, rocking back on his heels. His eyes are watering that he can’t see, coughing; he can hear Balthier’s breath speeding, hears the slap of flesh on flesh without recognizing it –
“Ah, and this is how the fates teach us to aim –“
-- and Vossler then has more than mere tears in his eyes to consider.
The taste of come burns at his lips; the stripes across his cheek and eye sear like a flaming scar. Vossler’s rage blinds him more than the spend. The pirate’s neck meets his hands, and they fall, knee to knee; Vossler is intent on throttling the creature, or possibly breaking his head against a nearby rock if he could find one; yet the sand proves nothing more than an abrasive cushion beneath them. More of it gets in Vossler’s eyes, across his face as they roll, wrestling, until the pirate ends up on his back and Vossler over. Vossler only hopes the sand is likewise filling the pirate’s pants where they hobble him around his knees. Either that, or is getting into an otherwise sweat-slick and bothersome crevasse.
Balthier’s fingers rub at his come, spreading it across Vossler’s cheek, an insult almost as searing as the sound of the pirate’s restricted laugh.
“Come now, Captain,” Balthier says, drier than the desert even with his voice crimped from Vossler’s chokehold. “I would have thought a man of your advanced years would be delighted at my consideration for the state of your skin.”