Re: Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Balthier,twilight-"Let the evening in the back door, fill the room" - 2
Inside, the door finally closed behind them, their eyes meet again, seemingly for the first time since that moment in the throne room. Suddenly, everything feels strange, the world spinning around them sickeningly fast. Balthier feels awkward, and, unused to the sensation, doesn’t quite know what to do. He’s imagined, in this situation, that there would be more lunging and less hesitation, but things are never as one imagines and now the seconds are trickling by, and still all he can do is stare.
Eventually, he manages to speak, saying something about food after their journey - though he’s never been less hungry in his life. Basch nods, and they sit at the tiny table and eat traveler’s rations, making stilted conversation and watching the sun go down. Balthier watches as Basch stares out the window, face lit by the last rays of the sun, and he is overwhelmed by the golden nobility of the man’s features, how, even scarred - no, especially scarred - he looks more like a god, a summon spirit, than a mere mortal. The effect is impressive, but it brings to mind every doubt Balthier has had ever since this mad idea came into being. Basch is above him, above the pleasures a pirate might have to offer. Balthier almost apologizes for the whole thing, suggests they go back - the words are on the tip of his tongue - when the sun disappears below the horizon and everything changes.
The world goes dim, and in the twilight, Balthier no longer sees Basch in shimmering gold. Basch turns to meet his eyes, and everything around them is tinted by the deep blue of his gaze. Without the glare of the sunlight, Balthier can see behind the nobility in those eyes, can see the loneliness and the longing, and the cost of a life of selfless service. And then all the doubt and hesitation is gone, and he almost laughs at himself for being so afraid.
In the next moment, he’s settled back into his own familiar skin, flirting shamelessly across the table. They’re the same tricks he’d use to coax any pretty boy he saw lounging around a tavern, but somehow they’re not, and he can see that Basch knows it. It is what Basch has been waiting for, the game they played together all those long days of traveling together - a game they were never able to play to its conclusion.
One particularly salacious remark, one especially seductive smirk, and their long wait is finally over. And here, at last, is the lunging Balthier had expected. Basch, eyes intense and chest heaving, stands and overturns the table, tossing it out of the way as if it were nothing. He strides toward Balthier, who, ever the coquette, relaxes back into his chair and stares up at the other man under lidded eyes.
Basch twists a hand into the fabric of Balthier’s shirt and wrests him to his feet, pulling the smaller man close against his body. Balthier can feel the power in the man holding him, the heat of his breath, the fire in his eyes, and he tilts his head back invitingly, waiting.
The kiss, when it comes, is passionate and arousing and perfect, everything Balthier has dreamed it would be, and he has never felt quite so at home as he does when Basch pulls him close into a tight embrace.
Later, as twilight begins to darken into evening and Basch thrusts into him deeply, Balthier feels his heart race and thinks that perhaps, if it affords him nights like this one, peace isn’t so bad after all.