Kissing Battle 2008
Posted by KJ on the 18th of May, 2008 at 6:46 pm under Uncategorized. This post has one comment.My offerings for the Valentine’s Day 2008 Kissing Battle, hosted by ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
first_seventhe. Some serious FFX stories, some X-2 crack, and a touch of FFXII.
- FFX
- FFX-2
- Leblanc/Nooj (in a matter of speaking)
- Gippal/Nooj, (even less literally)
- FFXII
The campfire crackled under the starry, wide skies of the Calm Lands. It was almost like the desert, Rikku thought, except not as cold, and without any sand stinging her skin. She decided she preferred this, breathing the warmer air and feeling dewy grass between her toes, even if the thought also made her feel vaguely disloyal.
“It’s late.” Next to her, Wakka stretched, his hands reaching to the sky and his feet pointing at the fire. “Everyone else is in bed; why you still up?”
“You’re still awake,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but I got first watch tonight. What’s your excuse?”
She shrugged. “Too keyed up to sleep, I guess. Lots going on lately.”
“Yeah.” He sighed, so softly that Rikku almost didn’t hear him. The silence rose, only the sound of the breeze through the grasses and the occasional chirping cricket coming between them. So it was a surprise when Wakka shifted again, and his hand fell on top of Rikku’s. She turned, the warmth of his touch spreading all through her, and he was looking at her, eyes bright with hope and regret.
“Rikku. I, uh. There’s some things I’ve been wantin’ to say. So, just listen for a minute, okay?” She could only nod as he continued. “I’ve been an idiot. I was wrong about lots of things — Yevon, Maester Seymour, the Al Bhed. And I’m sorry for lots of reasons. But mostly I’m sorry for taking it all out on you. I hurt you, and it was wrong. Can you forgive me?”
She turned her hand over and pressed her palm into his, lacing their fingers together, glancing down at their hands to see how his dwarfed hers, and then she looked up at him. “‘Course I do,” she said. “It’s not your fault Yevon brainwashed you from birth.” Her lips quirked into a small smile, which he answered. “And, y’know, it’s not like I didn’t have some really wrong ideas about you Yevonites. My pops… anyway. I’m happy he was wrong.”
He bent down and kissed her, warm and welcoming as an island sunrise, and she tightened her fingers on his.
Lulu found him on the deck of the airship, leaning on his sword, point down against the metal decking as he stared out over the ocean, his coat fluttering in the breeze. She had gotten into the habit of seeking out his counsel each evening; she found it helpful to have his take on the events of the day and to discuss possibilities for whatever was to come next. She thought he enjoyed their meetings as much as she, since most nights she found him waiting for her after dinner. But tonight she’d spent nearly an hour searching the ship for him before she thought to look outside.
“Sir Auron?”
He turned. “Yes?”
She took a few steps forward. “You missed our usual meeting. Is everything all right?”
Auron inclined his head in a small nod, beckoning her forward. She walked across the deck and stopped by his side. “Just thinking. You are prepared for tomorrow?”
“Mm.” She folded her arms over her chest. “It’s time. We’re well-armed, Yuna is as prepared as she will ever be, and word about the Hymn will surely have spread by now. Nothing can be gained by waiting any longer.” She tipped her head sideways in an attempt to see his expression. “And you? Are you ready?”
He did not move, but she saw his chest rise with a deep breath, which he let out slowly. “I have been ready for ten years,” he replied, his words almost too soft to be heard over the wind. “And yet…” He tipped his head back, his single eye scanning the stars.
Lulu waited, holding her breath in anticipation of what he might say next. But he said nothing; instead, he turned to face her as he slipped his arm out of his coat and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, and then he was kissing her, his palm sliding around to the back of her head, fingers sliding into her hair. Without any thought, Lulu sank into him and let herself realize just how much she had wanted this. She wound her hands around his neck, pressed her body against his broad chest, and opened her mouth to him with a sigh.
And then the moment ended, Lulu dropping her arms and Auron stepping back. He held her eyes in his gaze for what seemed like a long time, longer even than the kiss had been, and then he bowed his head.
“Stay strong,” he murmured. “For Yuna’s sake, and for mine.” He sheathed his sword, then walked away, leaving Lulu alone with the wind and the night.
“You think the Boss has lost it?” The goon standing behind the door leaned forward and hissed into the ear of his counterpart, so as not to be overheard.
The guard in the doorway glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. “Whatever makes her happy, right? Don’t question it. Not where she can hear anyway. Or she might get mad.”
“Yeah.” The first goon shuddered. “And we all know what happens when the boss gets mad.”
But Leblanc either hadn’t heard or didn’t care; her complete attention was focused on the object of all her desires. She sank down to the edge of the bed with a sigh of contentment. “Isn’t he magnificent?”
The third goon in the room, a young woman who had joined the Syndicate only a few days ago, threw a helpless glance toward the men in the door, looking for some clue as to the proper reaction. The door guard nodded frantically; the girl relaxed, and decided to answer with the truth. “Oh yes, Boss. I’ve never seen anything quite like him.”
Leblanc sighed again, then rose to her feet and, taking three steps forward, flung herself at the bronze sculpture and planted a kiss on its cheek. “It’s just like my Noojie-Woojie. And you’ll see. The real thing will be here soon enough. He’ll never be able to resist.”
Gippal straightened up from the leg and blinked against the desert sun. “One of the gears is stripped. I’ll just replace it and you’ll be good as new.”
“So to speak,” Nooj muttered.
“Yeah, okay, fine.” Gippal flashed Nooj a grin. “Better than new.” Pointedly ignoring Nooj’s derisive snort, he plopped down on the dune next to the bag of parts he had snagged from the supply tent this morning when Nooj had first complained about the creaking. After a few minutes of sorting through the pile of gears, cables, and ball bearings, Gippal let out a cry of triumph. “Aha! There you are.” He pulled out the gear with a flourish, then kissed it. “I wasn’t sure I had one of those in here.” He stood up and turned around; Nooj was staring at him, eyebrows raised. “What?”
Nooj lifted his eyes skyward and shook his head. “Never mind.” He lay back on the dune and did his best to put the image out of his mind as Gippal fell to his repair work.
Bahamut’s roar of triumph shook the heavens, and Isaaru dismissed the aeon with a flick of his hands. They had met the summoner on the way to Djose, and she had challenged him to a contest of aeons; he had won, but barely, and now he allowed his knees to buckle with exhaustion as he collapsed by the side of the road.
“Isaaru!” He heard footsteps approaching, then felt gentle hands on his shoulders. He looked up, but not into the face he had expected to see; instead of Maroda, the summoner Belgemine gazed down at him with concern and compassion. Despite her loss, she didn’t even seem winded, and she smiled.
“Congratulations, Lord Isaaru. You have done well, and I believe you show a great deal of promise.”
He bowed his head in respect to his elder. “I am honored to hear you say so, my Lady Summoner.”
A slim finger raised his chin, and she met his eyes again. “Make no mistake, you still have much to learn. But train well, and perhaps you will be the one to defeat Sin. Although know that you have competition; you should not dawdle on the road too long.” She leaned forward and lightly kissed his brow. “Now, let your brothers tend to you. Journey well.” She stood, bowed to Maroda and Pacce, and then melted back into the forest without a sound.
Once she was gone, Maroda knelt at Isaaru’s side and rummaged through his pack. “How did she know we were brothers?” he asked as he handed Isaaru a crystal bottle of ether.
Isaaru took the bottle without shifting his gaze from the place where Belgemine had last stood. “Best not to question that one too deeply, I think.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back, his strength returning as he drank, and then he rose to his feet. “Come. We should hurry if we’re to make Djose before lunch.”
They had slipped onto the salvage ship just before dawn, bribing the captain to look the other way; now, some hours later, they were far enough away from shore that Braska felt secure enough to come up on the deck. His wife stood alone at the rail, staring off in the direction of Bikanel, its sandy coast a golden sliver in the distance.
Wife. Thinking the word still gave him a shiver of joy, along with stab of sadness at all she’d given up for him. He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault my brother is a stubborn old bigot who won’t listen to a word I say.”
“Still.” He sighed into her strawberry-blond hair, its familiar desert-clean scent already tinged with salt from the sea-spray. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, that we had to leave without his blessing, that I’ve taken you from your home to live among strangers.”
She turned around and looked up at him with a smile. “No regrets, okay? I knew what I was doing when I said yes. Besides, it doesn’t matter. Wherever we end up, I’ll be home. Home is where you are.” Laying a palm lightly on his cheek, she pulled him into a kiss, her mouth warm and sweet on his as he ran one hand down her back and tangled the other into her hair, and he knew that they were going home together.
“Wake up, you giant oaf, before I kick you out of that bed with my boots on.”
Barthello cracked an eye open, then sat up in a hurry; sometimes when Dona took that tone with him, she was only teasing, but from the look in her eyes and the crease in her brow, this morning she meant every word. She was standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, and she glared down at him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Some guardian you’ll be, if you can’t even get up on time,” she growled. “Kilika’s temple summoner is expecting us, and if we’re late, he might–”
Before she could finish the sentence, he was on his feet to stop her words with a kiss. He felt her tense, then relax as his lips touched her nose, her cheeks, the hollow of her neck, his hands stroking her back all the while.
Then he stepped away, letting her go with a decisive nod. “You’ll be fine.”
She looked back askance and allowed herself a half-smile — it was as much thanks as he was going to get, but it was all he needed. “Get dressed. As soon as you’re ready, we’re leaving.”
The Strahl’s engines hummed in Balthier’s ears; he made his traditional last walk-through of his ship before battle as Fran took her through the start-up sequence. He had thought all the others were safely settled in the cockpit, so he was surprised to find Ashe sitting alone on the bunk in the back when he stuck his head in the room.
“Princess?”
She looked up, a light furrow between her eyes. “Do you think this will work?”
“Flying a small pirate vessel into the middle of the largest sky battle in the history of Ivalice in order to infiltrate the Archadian flagship?” He shrugged as he stepped into the room. “I’ve made crazier plans in my time.”
He thought he saw her smile, just for a moment. “Always the confident one.”
Balthier raised an eyebrow. “There are two types of sky pirates, your majesty: confident and dead. I leave you to guess which sort I prefer to be.” She nodded. “Well then. Shall we?” He stepped aside, indicating the door with a sweep of his arms. Ashe stood up, then started to squeeze past him. As she did so, he found himself stopping her, laying his hands on her shoulder and moving in for a quick kiss.
He had been expecting a jerk back, sharp words, perhaps a slap or even worse. Instead, to his surprise, she responded, her soft lips moving against his and her hands finding his elbows. Then it was over, and she pulled away so quickly that he wondered if he had imagined it all.
“What was that for?” she asked.
He spread his hands and stepped back, giving her room to pass through the doorway. “Tradition. The leading man always kisses the princess for luck before the desperate battle, does he not?”
She held his eyes for a moment, then shook her head and walked away, leaving him to finish his rounds.
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