Author: Grasshopper (A.K.A. The Undertaker's Muse)
Warnings: BL and shota. No sexual content and I tried to keep as close to canon as possible, but still. X3 (Seriously, they're like what- twenty-one and eight? Only canon could make this up.)
Fandom: Glass Fleet
Prompt: February 14 : Bedroom politics
Spoilers: Set at the tail end of episode 04, Like Scars... but very vaguely touches upon later things.
Summary: Vetti Sforza did not back down for any reason save one.
Author's Notes: More Vetti-musings than expected, but I'm still pleased at my first contribution to this fandom. Shorter than I'd like, but give me time. ;)
Disclaimer: All things Glass Fleet belong to Satelight and Gonzo. Grassy only lays claim to the plot.
Vetti Sforza was not a man accustomed to losing. Nor was he a man accustomed to backing down. Not for any man. Not for any woman.
But he would, he had, for one boy. For Ralph. The tears that came from true worry and fear, not manipulations, stilled Vetti's need to defeat that man. Cleo of the Wind who Michel was defeated by.
Just this once he would allow such interference; never again, though. Only because Ralph, despite often appearing too paranoid in regard to Vetti's well-being, was not necessarily wrong in his judgement. That Ralph openly overruled Vetti's decision-making in such a manner forced Vetti from his near-obsessive focus upon defeating the man who stole his victory over Michel.
"Please value your own life!"
Unrestrained sobs and slim arms that latched on to Vetti, grasping fingers and trembling desperation. From Ralph who had more confidence in Vetti than anyone. It was almost daunting and, in hindsight, made more sense than Vetti had allowed himself in those fevered thoughts that had him nearly lashing out physically at Ralph.
Just what was it that provoked me earlier?
Gloved hand resting atop Ralph's head, Vetti pondered his actions. He wound silky-soft strands of hair between his fingers idly, both habit and reassurance. Ralph's tears had soaked through the material of his pants, burning Vetti in a way the earlier bite of cold snow upon bare skin had not.
Something had to be done about the situation. All of the issue, in its varying configurations; Cleo and Michel, the prophecy and Gorna's daughter, his health...
For the moment, however, those musings were deliberately set to the back of his mind. Between the wine and his Ralph, Vetti was certain to regain his equilibrium soon. That would be the time to make plans. Ralph would be calm as well, a suitable sounding board for Vetti's varying plots.
A small portion of time, of peace for them both.
And then, war.