I should probably start following this stupid intro format. Also, please read all of my prologuing comments.

Title: Prolixus


Rating:M for sex.

Disclaimer:If I owned FFXII, do you think I would be writing fanfiction, or making the game like this?


Warning:M/M, yaoi, lemon, AU, prostitution, underage, blahblahblah.

I hadn't seen this done yet, and also, I like writing about this sort of thing (sadly I feel like I am bad at porn, but this isn't completely PWP.) I don't know why, I just do. This fic waxes more than slightlyAU and is set before the game, and there's a little bit of OOCness on Vaan's part, although if you take into consideration the setting I lay it makes sense.

Um, something about how I write—I tend to skip explanations and things just happen the way they do. I'm not going to sit there and explain the reasoning behind every little action. It's fiction—something for your imagination to play with, so take it how you want, and reach your own conclusions. To make up for that I sort of overuse adjectives. Regardless of that, some parts in the beginning, especially the first little section, are choppy because my laptop battery likes to fall out, and I've rewritten this three times.

Oh, and I eat flames.

Though the desert city of Rabanastre is rich and the market is quite extensive, poverty runs rampant through the lesser known places; namely Lowtown, and even some worse slums (that of course, do pop up more frequently, the richer any city may get). Sadly, to the inhabitants, it means that the poor and the unskilled have little to... well, one way of making money.

The desert is dry and hot, but sometimes the nights are hotter and more unbearable. To those forced into the one way of making money, sometimes nights are absolutely blistering.

Vaan carries a fan with him when he goes to work, something that is sort of embarrassing, but it comes into use quite often. Under such layers of cosmetics and fabric, who wouldn't sweat a little? He does his best not to move locations, and the area he was well-known to frequent was just outside the Sandsea Tavern. Luckily, he doesn't have to be under the clothes for very long—he just has to be patient, for maybe a good hour or so before the first drunk, curious, or honest one will come along knowing full well what they're doing. Then Vaan can take everything off.

Sometimes the waiting is much less than pleasant and gets on his nerves. He already has to sit patiently at Penelo's knees while she weaves extensions into his hair in the places where they've fallen; she paints his eyes with kohl; she rubs rouge into his cheeks and lips. It also takes him a while to dress, though he's long since mastered winding corsets and layering skirts and lacing boots without Penelo's help. He has to stop again for her to fix jeweled pins into his hair before he can leave. By the time he gets to the Sandsea he's already nearly at the end of his patience; which is perhaps why he's known for a haughty expression, and the slightest air of arrogance.

Perhaps arrogance is in the way he carries himself as well; for, in order to compete with the females of such a profession, one must be forward and one must be cocky. So Vaan leans against the wall with a hip jutting out, he flirts gaudily with anyone who offers him even a greeting, he tilts his head back and shows off his Adam's apple although what he wears denotes him another gender. And even when he's pushed against an alley wall and fucked within an inch of his life, he snatches the coins right out of his patron's hand and laughs in their face.

It's much too often that Vaan will only get one patron a night, and while it doesn't bring as much money to him as he'd like, it's more than the others get. After all, Vaan is a rare find; it's few who are male and yet will dress as he does, act as he does, or do what he does—with a body like his, and at such an age. Vaan is, in this profession, a very peculiar and unique case indeed. It's not many who are brave enough, or honest enough with themselves to deal with him.

That, however, is a case that may change very quickly.

Vaan's already gone through about a half-pack of good Eruytian cigarettes and it's a painfully slow night—hitting about two in the morning and he's starting to get the urge to yawn. A good few others who frequent the Sandsea have already left. Vaan can hear Tomaj barking orders from inside, trying to get the place cleaned up and the last few drunks thrown out. Though Tomaj is young, when it's time for business, his quick, city-sharp way of speaking turns into an angry, authoritative snap; within the first twenty minutes, at least eight greatly intoxicated men have come stumbling out, muttering inanities and barely staying on their feet.

Vaan sort of appreciates that they don't spare him a glance. None of them are... in their prime, so to speak.

He feels damn near ready to go home. The boots make his feet ache and the corset (combined with smoke) isn't very kind to his lungs; his breathing is getting shorter by the minute. Home isn't far. Vaan pushes the sweaty strands of hair off of the back of his neck and turns to leave, feeling every ache in every muscle and bone quite acutely.

Duty and habit, however, require that he pauses in his steps when he hears the doors swing open behind him.

Ka-click, ka-click, ka-click, and Vaan instantly recognizes the measured gait of a noble's stride in low heels. A shiver runs up his spine and his back straightens. Good service to a noble would feed him for a week, and perhaps buy him a newer, more comfortable pair of boots; maybe even some Bangaa bone for a new corset.

As Vaan sets his hands on his hips to turn and deliver some teasing insult, the steps stop. "You're the one they call Vaan, I presume?"

The voice that spoke was Archadian, honey-smooth and baritone, the fragrance one of sweet wine and fine cologne; not at all the drunken rambling and foul stench of whiskey he so often encountered. As he turns smartly on one heel, maintaining his egoistic demeanor, he is again surprised to find that the man's not bad-looking either! Short light brown hair, and such fine leathers he wears—what an arch to his brow! His clothing is that of a noble, and his perceivable character that of a rogue.

"Who inquires?" Vaan asks lightly, remembering that he must banter to catch customers; and his speech must, of course, always mock their own rank.

"You may call me Balthier," the man says, with the slightest pause for thought. "I've heard a great deal about your talents, young... lady, should I say?"

"Say what you want, just remember what's under my skirts, my lord Balthier."

"I'm no lord, Vaan, I rule naught." The devious sparkle in the man's eyes was an obvious invitation for teasing. Invitation accepted! Vaan lewdly eyes the potential patron, looks him up and down.

"Hm, I'd allow you to rule me."

"I can rule only a ship; pirating is my profession," Balthier confesses, as if everyone did not know pirates were the frequent crowd of the Sandsea.

"Oh, then you may..." he pauses, searches for the right word, "plunder me."

"Indeed I may; so far, I do find you such a treasure," the pirate says after a moment of silence, the husky tone unavoidable. Balthier doesn't hesitate to take hold of Vaan's chin and turn his face to the left to better examine him in the torchlight. Vaan can't help but notice that the man wears a lot of rings, as his long fingers traced down to poke softly at Vaan's Adam's apple. "You're as tan as a Viera," Balthier notes with amusement. "How often have you wandered into the desert to catch your meals when no one will fuck you?"

Such humiliation of social class is a classic part of Rabanastrian courting as they call such flirting (for noble courting doesn't exist anymore in favor of absolute, arranged marriages), and humiliation has always had quite a lovely effect on Vaan. He lowers his eyes and pretends shame; his face is heating for another reason. "So many times," he answers. "I'd have to be to bed tens of times a night to afford even your fine earrings, I'm sure."

"That you would, if one would even take you to a bed when such marvelous alleys are available in such a sprawling royal city. Besides, what exactly is it that makes you of more worth than any of these others I see?"

Vaan casts his gaze about the area, viewing the few left, ready to leave and green with envy. Balthier is a good catch. "Your eyes are set on me and none else, are they not?"

The man actually laughs aloud. "Indeed! Very well, young Vaan; I'll bed you—and pay you double my earrings, if you prove yourself worthy of such a price."

The pirate takes Vaan to the nearest hostel, and the owners are surprised to see Vaan with a man who looks as if he may be worth something (they'd not seen one since a group of Rozarrians decided to migrate to Rabanastre). Balthier pays for the night and shoves the boy in front of him, pushing him on ahead as if he were the eager one.

When they get to the room, Vaan is slightly perturbed by the fact that Balthier doesn't flip him over on the bed and push his skirts up to his back. Instead the man turns him and pulls him close; runs one ringed hand down the corset laces on the back of the red velvet dress the young whore wears, and the other hand up the brocaded front. "I must know your dressmaker," Balthier murmurs. "Such fine things these shall be, even when they are lying on the floor."

Vaan doesn't know what to say to that as Balthier begins unlacing the dress, and settles for hiding his face in the man's chest, biting his lip. It's much too often that he closes his eyes and uses only touch for stimulus; but this pirate looks good and sounds good, and gods does it turn Vaan on more than he'd care to admit. He lets the velvet fall around his legs and it catches on his boots, and though he's still wearing a good amount of undergarments, he abruptly feels very cold. "Ah, Balthier, could you let me—" he tries to stutter it out and yet is immediately silenced. It has been a long time since someone cared enough to kiss him, and he'd nearly forgotten how it felt. Balthier kisses the way he acts—mischievous, smooth, and arrogant, yet aggressively, a little harshly. More than once he bit Vaan's tongue, quite on purpose, and the boy's mouth would drop open to whine or pant or to beg a repeat of the action.

It is at such a reaction that Balthier chooses to pull away, and grab the boy's forearms to back him up toward the bed. Vaan feels the backs of his knees hit the edge, and somewhat fears the bouncing impact upon the blankets, but Balthier proves that his grip on Vaan's arms serves a purpose, and lowers him gently. In a gesture that betrayed kindness, the pirate did Vaan the favor of unlacing his corset and boots and pulling them off, and Vaan can only think of the fact that... well, if he's fully naked and was so cold earlier, why is he so hot now?

"You are indeed a young man," Balthier says with a mock tone of surprise, his eyes set on Vaan's body, which is a little more muscled than one may initially think upon seeing him; however, muscles are most definitely not what the man is specifically surveying.

"What?" Vaan asks, a little unfocused.

"I believe my friends might have sought to trick me into bedding you without initial knowledge of your true sex," the pirate explains, and then smiles charmingly. "Alas, I have no preference; I believe in this particular instance, I am the one who has tricked them."

Balthier places his hands on Vaan's thighs and leans down, drags his tongue up the length of the boy's cock. Vaan restrains the cry that wants to leave his throat; he puts a hand to his mouth and bites at his knuckles to stop. Looking down, the image of the pirate's head bobbing between his legs is maybe too sensual, or maybe too unusual for Vaan's eyes, so he concentrates instead on the swing of the earrings, back and forth. The longer he looks at them, the more attuned his ears become to the soft tinkling sound they make. He drops his hand from his teeth, decides to curiously touch Balthier's hair, wondering if the man will push him away or not. He doesn't.

"Hnn," Vaan hears himself whimpering, mouth free. Balthier's hair feels wonderfully soft, and Vaan wonders when he ever has time to take care of it. "Mm, Balthier," he cries lowly, wondering still just where the pirate might have picked up such skill as he seems to have.

Vaan doesn't get an answer, but feel Balthier's lips shape a smile around his head before he's swallowed.

His toes curl. "Oh, stop, stop stop stop—" and he regrets when Balthier heeds him.

"What is it?" the pirate asks, one of those fine brows quirking. "Is it too much already?"

"No," Vaan protests, "It's..." but he can't find the words. Maybe it's because he's not used to the sensation, not used to someone else's head between his legs; maybe it's because he's not used toreceiving pleasure to make his money. "I didn't expect you to..."

Balthier puts a finger to Vaan's lips. "If there is something I pride myself on, it is my skill as a lover. I... respect your profession very much. I am a thief; and people like you put your body on the market, ready to be stolen at any minute, yet no one chooses to. I enjoy having to pay for something now and then, and when I do, I make it well worth its expense."

Vaan looks at him with wide, startled eyes, then sucks Balthier's finger into his mouth. No one's ever spoken to him like that, and for no reason it makes him feel wild, because he realizes he has power to take what he wants. He coats the pirate's fingers with his saliva and turns onto all fours, bares himself to Balthier shamelessly. Balthier presses in with his tongue first instead of fingers, and Vaan drops his head to the bed's damask with a low moan. Part of him wishes he wasn't as loose as he is, because he wants, in this moment, to be Balthier's and Balthier's alone. He more than expects his patron to expect it, and his face goes red when ring-less fingers stab inside of him, two instead of one, and quickly find that special little nerve bundle. The pirate does something no one's done to Vaan but himself, works the place forcefully, withdrawing and shoving in again, those quick, lunging little motions that make Vaan feel like he's dying.

It's only the man's fingers and Vaan wails, cock spasming and spilling seed on the fine hostel bed.

He drops onto his side, and Balthier carefully pulls the damask out from under him, walking away with it. Vaan drifts, feels hazy, listens to the rustle of fabric, knowing they're not done. He's not really sore nor very exhausted, so he sits up on his elbows, and reaches out—manages to get a finger through one of Balthier's belt loops as he passes, and turns the pirate toward him.

Vaan unbuckles the other as fast as he can, jerks Balthier's pants down and nearly weeps to find a cock that's not the regular four inches that some pirates carry proudly, but double it. He takes Balthier down his throat, buries his nose in pubic hair gratefully. He feels a ringed hand through his fake hair, and wishes he wasn't wearing it, wishes he never had to wear it, because he wants the pirate as close to his real flesh as he can be. It's close enough, though, when the hand becomes a fist, the pain on his scalp is a good kind of pain, Balthier holds him still and fucks his face with the same fast yet deep thrusts he had with his fingers in Vaan's ass. Vaan lets himself cry a little bit, it feels so good and he's choking, and when the pirate withdraws, leaking precum over the boy's still-open mouth, all Vaan knows are the dazed feelings of salt and raw and it's sort of what he, in all his teenaged brilliance, imagines love might feel like.

He watches Balthier fiddle with the clasps on his vest. It's easy to tell the garments are eastern Archadian, watching how the clasps worked and what certain types of embroidery were used; it's even more apparent because the pirate's an obvious Archadian once his skin is revealed, it's his triangular build, the way he carries himself, and the manner in which he speaks, despite how the slightest hint of a Rozarrian accent has worked itself in. Vaan glues his eyes to each new bit of flesh, particularly fond of the strong shoulders and arms he sees; pleased further still by the fine cut of the pirate's hips and the muscles in the backs of his thighs. He's so eager to be fucked by this man, so ready—it's surprising when Balthier leans down to kiss him again, pushing him flat to the sheets. Vaan feels the kiss much more acutely than he feels the push of Balthier's erection against his, much more than he feels calloused hands pinning his shoulders down.

He has to wonder how the pirate picks up on the way he likes to be kissed so quickly; there's a tongue twisting with his and pushing at his throat and all he can taste anymore is Balthier, he feels like he could nearly breathe him. If he didn't need air so bad, he would have never pulled away because of the burning in his lungs. He gasps it in quickly, only to have it taken away again, without warning Balthier's spread his legs and entered him, and he's in deep. Vaan makes a noise somewhere between moaning, crying, and keening. His nails dig into the sheets, his fists tense while the rest of him feels weak. His chest hurts, he can't breathe enough, and he feels strangely open. He's so used to his face being in the sheets (or in the bricks, or on the ground) that it's foreign to look at Balthier, see what he's doing; which, right now, is pulling Vaan's limp legs up to his shoulders, lifting his hips, calculating angles.

Somewhere in Vaan's mind, it registers that Balthier is trembling, because there's a quiet sound of tinkling metal and the slightest unsteadiness in his ring-bedecked hands. However, his eyes are so trained on the pirate's that he can't grab a hold of the thought. Balthier looks surprisingly lucid in comparison to how unfocused Vaan feels.

He doesn't hear himself say, "Oh, gods, move," but he definitely feels it happen. One of the pirate's rough hands has Vaan's thigh, and the other is pressed down into the bed; there's a shift and the hollow feeling of emptiness and space, another shift and Vaan's full again, so full that he actually cries at such a wonderful sensation. He can still hear the earrings making their merry little sound as he closes his eyes, concentrates on what it's like when the sound becomes rhythmic along with motion.

"Are you crying?" Balthier asks, tone genuinely curious and mostly level but for the swing in volume that accompanies exertion.

"I never... yes, you..." Vaan rambles for a second, hot tears stinging on his cheeks, before deciding on "It's so good, I just never knew— ohh fuck—"

A careful repositioning of the boy's hips and a slow thrust, Vaan's mouth falls open in a strangled moan. He reaches for Balthier's forearms, grips, feels the tense muscle even there. The pirate fucks him slowly, drawing every thrust out as long as Vaan will allow, while the boy whimpers, his breathing ragged. Balthier is having a little trouble breathing, too; he knows very few people will take one such as Vaan face-to-face, and maybe he's the first to see how captivating he can be. Yes, very pretty, with his blond hair spread out under him, sweat clinging to his bronzed skin, blue eyes staring wide into where his nails are digging at Balthier's arms and his mouth half-open, low cries and moans slipping out as his patron presses hard at his prostate. For all the time Balthier is taking, each movement is intense, almost painful because it's also sincere. Vaan really wants to cry, wants to weep because no one has ever fucked him like this, slowly and sweetly and quite deliberately so.

He comes again, and much too quickly, spilling seed on his stomach and pulling a pillow onto his face to muffle the strange wail that issues from his mouth. Balthier groans as the boy's passage clenches him tightly in the shudder of orgasm, holds himself back from that edge. He withdraws from Vaan's limp body and carefully turns him on his side, lifts a tanned leg and enters him again.

Vaan clutches the pillow to his chest, whimpering.

"Should I stop?" Balthier wonders aloud.

"No!" the blond boy gasps, and maybe he doesn't realize it, but his body tightens around the pirate as if to keep him inside forever. Which wouldn't be such a bad idea, really, he thinks. The movement of Balthier inside him, slightly faster now, doesn't jolt him but rocks him back and forth and nearly lulls him. His exhausted body takes to it well, there's little pain, but rather a constantly renewed flooding sensation of pleasure and haze, the warmth and comfort of having reached completion. Vaan muses on that for a while, his eyes losing focus on the far wall as the dull rawness sets in his muscles. However, when he blinks and looks at Balthier again, the focus returns and they meet each other's eyes.

"Let me..." A pause, and it's the only flicker of any uncertainty Vaan's heard from the pirate yet, although the continuation is decidedly more aggressive and sure. "Let me come inside you."

Vaan doesn't even think, and nods vigorously. There are a few more uneven thrusts and then the familiar rush of hot whiteness, the grip on his thighs to hold him entirely still and close, and the warm ache of being filled. Vaan's eyes are wide, unseeing, as he drinks in how it feels; Balthier's fingers pushing into his flesh with intent of bruising, the sound of those earrings, the sudden soreness creeping up on him, all adding up into the most wonderful, intense satisfaction.

When Vaan regains the ability to see things other than abstracts and imaginary stars, he finds Balthier staring at him with an unreadable expression, even as he pulls out. Vaan feels himself leaking; cum from his ass and tears from his eyes. Balthier moves, stand unsteadily and finds a spare blanket, the returns to bed, pulls Vaan close to him and kisses his hair.

A "thank you" manages to slip unbidden from Vaan's mouth before sleep claims him.

A few hours later, as the sun is just beginning to rise, both of them awake.

Vaan cracks one eye open to find Balthier's green eyes on him again, looking entirely content but with clear mischief. In the haze of lust that accompanies the mornings after good sex, the boy finds himself stroking Balthier to hardness, pushing the pirate back and seating himself, movements a little lazy but not devoid of effort. There's time to kill. The sun breaks the horizon and lights the room; Vaan realizes just how lucky he was to have ever received a patron like this pirate, who had approached him only on a now-debased dare.

They come together this time, and Vaan takes it upon himself to really, finally cry. Balthier holds him and hums a Rozarrian tune until they drift back into somnolence.

When Vaan wakes up again, it's a little before noon and Balthier isn't there, and the panic that floods him is a lot more than disconcerting. He needs to get the hell out, he needs to go home and forget about this, needs to forget that for once a patron treated him well and he felt more than gratitude.

He takes a long bath, scrubbing his skin into raw redness, soaking to ease the soreness overtaking his whole body. When he towels off he finds it difficult to stand, and spends a good twenty minutes stretching before he decides he'd better get dressed and leave. Ten minutes to comb his hair and pin it up, fifteen to wind his corset and get his panniers on, ten again to slip on his dress and lace it up; yet as he leaned down to put his boots on, he had to pause as something poked him, quite hard, in the chest... something small that felt like a pin.

He looked down to find the source, and saw what he'd missed in his rush to get dressed and leave. A small piece of folded parchment pinned to the front of his dress with an earring; one that made a small bell-like noise as he moved.


I pray you find this note whole, and do not throw it away. I find that I enjoyed last night greatly; you are a master of your trade. I have left, under your pillow, a small sack that contains 200 gil; this is merely half of the price I intend to pay you for your services. Should you wish to collect the rest, you will find me at the Bazaar with a Viera. We will undoubtedly be near the weapons merchants. Gladly will I pay you the remainder of your price, however, I do have another offer for you.

You are more than well aware of the fact that I am a sky pirate. Upon such long journeys as I am wont to make, I find myself lonely. Though I do have my Viera friend, she remains only 'friend'. I have it from not an outside source, but rather my own intuition that you desire to leave Rabanastre and your current life. Though the offer is crude in its insinuation, I will tell you now that should you wish it, I would gladly make you a sky pirate's concubine. I know how you admire the profession; it is evident in your lurking about the Sandsea. I would, of course, keep you in my care and my employ, paid and maintained highly, until you were dissatisfied. I pray you come to find me and tell me which of these you choose. If not, either offer stands until claimed.


P.S.— It is not everyday one of your profession is asked into concubinage. I advise you consider it carefully; though limited in its choices, it is a step up and quite more honorable. And should this worry cross your mind, know that I have no intent of trading you. Ever.

Vaan folds the note up again, tucks it into the front of his dress, and fixes the earring into his right ear. It's nearly an hour gone in an unthinking blur as he finishes lacing his boots up, collects the money and leaves the hostel.

The only thought he can conjure with absolute clarity is how pleasant the little tinkling noise right next to his ear really is.

He hands the note to Penelo with his eyes downcast, unsure how she'll react.

She reads it quickly, immediately laughs, immediately cries. Vaan knows what she thinks he will do.

"I'm not sure yet," he mutters but she just throws her arms around him and kisses his face. Her tears are salty, but her smile is as sweet as ever, and it makes the decision for him. Besides, if he leaves, he's no longer a liability. She can make money all on her own now; Tomaj had been dropping hints that he'd hire her as a barmaid. Vaan gives her the sack of 200 gil anyway, and she kisses him again before rushing off to pack his things.

Silently Vaan begins to change out of his dress and into his normal street clothes, taking his hair down to tie it again at the nape of his neck. He's happy; more than happy, he's ecstatic, but the thought of leaving everything behind and starting again with Balthier is overwhelming. He stares at himself in the mirror for a good while, until Penelo calls for him, pushing the two bags of all he owns into his hands, picking up the clothes he'd just discarded and stuffing them in with the other things. She cries openly, but when Vaan attempts to comfort her she just ushers him out the door.

He hears the click of the lock behind him, but it's not particularly surprising.

Penelo must have been sick of being jealous of his patrons all the time.

The Bazaar is just as crowded as ever; but as always a small path clears itself for Vaan, who's surprisingly well-known amongst some merchant circles. However, as he makes his way towards the weapons area, the familiar faces get a little angrier and a little more defensive. He wonders how many of them have fucked him, how many remember, how many regret remembering. There's no path for him now, and he has to shove his way through the calls of slut and whoresbane.

Balthier is a smaller man than most western Archadians and Dalmascans, so Vaan is surprised that when he breaks the crowd, he stumbles into empty space. The space is, in fact, Balthier's radius, a sign of respect in a crowd of hundreds. Vaan's rescued from falling in front of the crowd by a ringed hand and a taloned hand, and none too happy for the embarrassment risked by it. He jerks his arm from Balthier's grasp (the Viera lets go happily), puts on his haughtiest expression, and directs it at the pirate.

"Well, Balthier," he says coolly, proud he could pick up the tone so easily, "I'm delighted to see you can catch as well as you pitch."

The familiar brow-quirk prefaces the reply. "I believe I have it first-hand that you're much better at it than me."

"Take it to heart, Vaan," the Viera tells him. "It's one of the few admissions his ego might allow."

"I'm here for my price, pirate," Vaan reminds him, and Balthier starts to reach for the purse at his belt. "No, not the gil, you idiot. The contract."

He's certain Balthier has never made such a face in his lifetime, alas, the pirate begins searching for the document in question. The concubinage contract is something Vaan has heard about but never actually seen; there are a great deal of terms and conditions involved, such as his own unfailing devotion, Balthier's fealty not to abuse his power, and the standard care that will have to be provided. Procedure is that the presiding officiant (in this case the Viera qualifies, as the race is regarded highly in southern Archadia) reads the document aloud to both concubine and owner, and at least two others must be present to witness. All names go down on parchment and the document must be kept by a member of a royal house.

Vaan signs under that slanderous name Vaan Whoresbane (which Balthier assures him is quite hilarious for a concubinage contract, yet in reality it's the truest name boy's ever had), the Viera signs only the name Fran, and Balthier signs something illegibly that is longer than only Balthier, and doesn't start with a B. The names of the strangers don't matter; Vaan has signed away his life and his body, and is quite happy about it.

However, when Balthier just tucks the document back into one of the holsters he wears and makes no pretense of sealing it up, Vaan feels a vague suspicion that he's more than just a sky pirate.

"Don't make such faces at me," Balthier laughs when he sees that Vaan is staring at him; he knows immediately what's in the boy's head. "The fact that I'm qualified to carry it should tell you how well you'd be cared for. With class comes money, after all."

Vaan's expression remains slightly dubious until the pirate draws him close and kisses him, all tongue and teeth and shamelessness in the middle of the Bazaar. Vaan's almost entirely caught up in it- his breathing gets a little short— halts entirely when he feels one of Balthier's hands near his ear, fixing in the other little earring. Balthier relinquishes him, and grins; Vaan doesn't know what to think, until he realizes that that was the man's mark on him, what he must wear at all times to let other know he was owned. He brushes his bangs out of his face and reties his hair to put it on display.

"Well then, with all that settled," Balthier says, clapping his hands together, "shall we go?"


"To Rozarria, my dear Vaan. We have to find you another dressmaker; floors do wear out fabric quickly, and I find crushed velvet rather ugly."

I'm glad to be done with this, I've been writing it for a long time now! I hope you enjoyed my first fic in the FFXII fandom.

Reviews are always greatly appreciated!