Writings of an Owlmoose

These are the stories I wrote for the two Valentine’s Day fic battles in 2009. The close reader will notice something of a theme… All stories rated PG-ish unless otherwise indicated

• Lulu/Rikku. Prompt: “Should they be charred already, you think she’d like that?”
• Braska/Jecht. Prompt: “strange sympathies”
• Auron/Jecht. (Note: NC-17)
• Auron/Braska.

-x-x-x-

“Should they be charred already?” Rikku squatted next to the campfire and poked at the rapidly-blackening potatoes with a stick. “I didn’t put them in all that long ago.” She looked up and over her shoulder at Lulu. “Uh. Maybe it could be okay? Tidus burned the soup the other day, and she seemed to like that fine.”

Lulu arched an eyebrow. “And from that you assume that Yuna likes overcooked food?” She shook her head. “If Tidus presented Yuna with a bouquet of dead roses, she’d make a point of smelling them and saying thank you with a genuine smile.”

Rikku jabbed one of the potatoes, spearing it on the end of her stick and lifting it out of the ashes. She contemplated it, then sighed. “I guess you’re right. Oh well. So much for my career as a gourmet chef.” Standing, she turned around and was surprised to see a gleam in Lulu’s eye. “What?”

Lulu plucked the still-smoking potato off the end of the stick and blew on it before taking a bite. “Not bad,” she said. Rikku could only watch, open-mouthed, as she ate the whole thing, including the skin. When she had finished, she met Rikku’s stare with a quiet smile.

“Thank you for making dinner.” She inclined her head toward the fire. “You’d better rescue the rest of those. I’m sure Yuna will like them.”

-x-x-x-

The brittle morning sun shone down on the campsite at the base of Mount Gagazet. Braska perched next to the fire, hands buried in the folds of his sleeves. Behind him, he heard the sound of the tent flap being tossed open, followed by footsteps crunching in the snow, and he turned to his companion. “Good morning.”

Jecht grunted. “Where’s Auron? How ’bout the coffee?”

“Auron left some time ago, to hunt us some breakfast,” Braska replied, then nodded at the pot that rested on the grill over the fire. “I put the coffee on, but it’s been slow to boil.”

“Figures. It’s so damn cold here.” Jecht rubbed his hands over his bare arms; Braska noted the gooseflesh that covered his skin.

“I think it has more to do with the altitude. But no wonder if you’re cold. I have a spare cloak that you can borrow, if you like.”

“Nah.” Jecht waved the suggestion aside. “I can’t move under all those layers. I’d rather be cold.” But even as he spoke, he sidled closer to the fire, and Braska could feel him shivering.

“Fair enough. Still, I can’t have my guardians freezing to death.” Braska unhooked his robe and shrugged out of it, then placed it over Jecht’s shoulders, smoothing the sleeves over his arms. “Just while we wait for the coffee.”

“Thanks.” Jecht raised an eyebrow. “But won’t you be cold now?”

Braska smiled, though the icy air cut through his tunic. “I’ll be fine.”

Jecht shook his head. “No way. Here, we can share.” He opened his right arm, and Braska ducked beneath the folds of the robe and into Jecht’s side. Jecht rested his arm on Braska’s shoulder as Braska rubbed his hands together, then held them out into the fire. For a few minutes they stood together, Braska surprised to feel so much heat coming off Jecht’s bare skin, and then Jecht spoke again.

“I know I’ve asked a million times, but I still don’t really know the answer.” Jecht glanced down at Braska. “Why didja bring me? I know what you said before, about me being from Zanarkand and all, but no one else ever needed a native guide. So why did you do it? For real.”

Braska met Jecht’s eyes, brimming with curiosity, and looked back into the fire. “For many reasons. Some, I can’t tell you, and others I don’t always really understand myself. But I can tell you that I felt a connection with you. Sympathy, if you will. You were alone in the world, cast out from your place by forces beyond your control. Like myself, and like Auron. I felt you belonged with us.”

“Huh.” Jecht snorted. “A strange kind of sympathy, I’d say.”

“Auron might say so, too,” Braska murmured, and he felt Jecht’s chuckle vibrating through his arm. “I hope that’s explanation enough for you.”

“It’ll do.” Something in Jecht’s voice made Braska look up, and then Jecht kissed him, his mouth warm, his cheeks rough but his chest smooth. Braska lifted a hand there and held on, his fingers curling around Jecht’s shoulder.

With no warning, it was done, Jecht lifting his head and Braska letting his hand drop. “What was that for?” Braska asked.

Jecht dropped his eyes, turned his head. “To thank you, I guess. I ain’t alone no more, because of you.”

Braska nodded, slowly. “Nor am I.” He looked into the fire again, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to rest his head on Jecht’s shoulder. Then, taking a quick breath, he pulled free. With another glance at Jecht, he smiled. “The coffee should be ready.”

“Yeah.” Jecht cleared his throat, then handed Braska his robe. “I’ll get the mugs and stuff.” And he disappeared into the tent, leaving Braska to get dressed and wait for Auron to reappear over the ridge.

-x-x-x-

All his life, Auron had wondered about this, about what it would be like, but never in his wildest imaginings had he pictured himself in this position, and he was still wondering just how he’d ended up here, lying on the ground under the starry canopy of the night sky, the grass of the Calm Lands scratchy against his naked back as Jecht’s mouth closed around him. It was strange, so strange to surrender any part of himself to anyone, and yet he wanted to let go, to lose himself in the stars above and in the warmth that surrounded him. Jecht was always warm; his body seemed to radiate heat, even on the coldest of nights, and now Auron knew just how warm Jecht could be. He gripped the earth with his hands and tipped his head back, his breath catching in his throat as Jecht’s teeth caught his skin; his fingernails dug into the dirt and he arched his hips, pressing himself closer, closer, until he could hold back no more and he gasped — no more, much as he wanted to cry out loud enough to rock the whole of Spira, even now he retained enough of himself to know that he wouldn’t want Braska to hear — and shuddered, Jecht’s hands coming around his back to hold him in place as he came.

And just as suddenly it was over, Jecht sliding his torso over Auron’s, his hands running up Auron’s arms and pushing them down, straight out from Auron’s sides, and his mouth found Auron’s in a hot kiss, tongue probing. Auron groaned, tasting salt and musk, and opened his hands to Jecht’s to lace their fingers together. He pulled away and tipped his head back, looking into Jecht’s eyes.

“Why?”

Jecht grinned and blew a tendril of hair off his forehead. “Just wondering what it might take to loosen you up. Not so stiff now, yeah?” He glanced downward, and his smile widened.

Auron found a slow, answering smile spreading across his face. “We’ll see,” he replied, and rolled Jecht over onto his back, lowering his mouth for another kiss and the beginnings of his response to the challenge Jecht had just presented.

-x-x-x-

The three men had made camp inside a convenient ruin at the edge of the Thunder Plains, only a few hours from the turn of the trail that would take them into Macalania. After dinner, Jecht had immediately gone to sleep, his snores audible even over the racket of the storm; Braska laid down soon after, but after laying awake, staring at the ceiling of the shelter, he raised himself up on one elbow to check on his other guardian. Auron had drawn first watch, and so he had settled down in front of their small campfire, his back and shoulders tense. After a minute, Auron reached around behind his neck and undid the thong that held back his hair, then retrieved a small comb from his pack. He hit a tangle right away, yanking hard against it with a quiet curse, and Braska winced.

“Auron.” Braska slipped out of his bedroll to sit in the dirt behind Auron, then held out his hand. “May I?”

Auron raised an eyebrow. “If it pleases you, my lord, but why would you take on such a menial task?”

Braska shook his head with a smile. “In comparison of what I’m asking of you, this is less than nothing. Please, allow me.”

With a small nod, Auron placed the comb in Braska’s outstretched hand, then turned back to face the fire as Braska began to pull the comb through the coarse strands of Auron’s long hair. He worked at each snarl, most small, a few large, gripping each bunch of hair near its roots to keep from yanking too hard at Auron’s scalp. “Does it often get this tangled?”

“No, my lord,” Auron replied. “It’s the storm — all this wind and rain. And I didn’t have time to comb it yesterday;”

“Ah.” Braska turned his attention back to his task, carefully worrying at each tangle and knot until they were all free and he could pull the comb all the way through without hitting a single snag. He could see Auron’s shoulders relaxing and hear his slow, easy breathing, even with the storm raging overhead, and he smiled to see it. With a few quick motions, he pulled the now-gleaming hair back into a queue and tied it off with a clean thong from his own pack. “There,” he said, patting Auron on the shoulder. “Is that better?”

“Indeed.” Auron swiveled around to look at Braska. “Thank you, my lord. You’re very good at that.”

Braska nodded. “I often combed Yuna’s hair before putting her to bed. Some nights, it was the only way to get her to sleep.” He wondered who would comb her hair now, the thought accompanied by the usual stab of grief, but it soon receded as a flash of lightning cleared all the memories from his vision. In the crash that followed, he looked up and met Auron’s dark eyes.

“My lord–”

“Hush.” Braska placed a finger to Auron’s lips before he could protest or express any kind of sympathy. He had heard it all before, from too many people, and he thought to hear it from Auron at this moment might break him. Leaning forward, he removed his hand and sealed Auron’s silence with a kiss. For a mere second, he could feel Auron pause, stiffening in surprise; then his mouth softened, relaxing as his shoulders had before.

Braska kissed him once more, running his hand over Auron’s hair, and pulled away. “It’s all right, my friend. I’ve made my peace with it. I’m doing this for her, you know.”

Auron cast his face downward. “I know, my lord. I was about to speak out of turn. I apologize.” Silence fell again, broken only by the rolling thunder and the pattering of rain on the roof. Then Auron spoke. “It’s late, my lord. You should rest.”

“I will. Promise me that you will sleep as well?”

Auron nodded. “I’ll wake Jecht for second watch in a few hours.”

“All right. Good night.” Braska returned his bedroll. As he lay down, he took one last look at Auron, at the firelight glinting off the tendrils of hair that fell into his face, and then closed his eyes to drift into a restless sleep.