Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square-Enix or any of its members. I do not own any of the Final Fantasy franchise, much less XII, and no money is being made from this story.
A/N: Here is yet another Balthier/OC fic! Yes, I'm sure they've been overdone, but I tried to make mine different. I have tried to make it as accurate as possible, hence many hours of scouring the Internet for info, but if you spot a mistake, please don't hesitate to (politely) let me know. Certainly I'm a novice to Final Fantasy in general, not just XII. Updates will be erratic because I'm writing as I play. Just a friendly warning: this fic is rated M for horizontal love scenes. It is not for persons with delicate sensibilities. If any of you have read Jaqueline Carey's Kushiel novels, you will note many similarities between her books and my story, at least in the beginning. Also, for any readers who have come here hoping to read another Book Magic fic, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you. This has nothing to do with Falling Into You, my other story on this site. The sequel to that is coming along, but slowly. Please be patient. So without further ado, please, enjoy!
Good Enough
A FFXII Fanfiction
I stood in the scented dimness, waiting for the patron. It was a ritual long-practised, one that I had followed many times before. I had lit the scented candles – the scent of Galbana lilies suffused the room - turned down the sheets, and sprinkled petals on the floor. The barest requirements attended to, nothing more. I wore a thin silk robe that was very translucent. I was ready.
A knock came at the door; not the careless pleasantry of a patron, but the coded taps of a servant. There had to have been a request.
I opened the door to find my apprentice Psellia with a tray in her hands. It held a decanter set in clear crystal. The wine inside was a rich blood-red, and the glass that accompanied it was rimmed with gold. This was our finest set – my patron had paid dear for his luxury. I began to look forward to a profit tonight.
Psellia's voice, whispering in my ear, confirmed my thoughts.
"He's very rich, and handsome, too. He's wearing a brocade vest and just throws gil away like it's nothing. Yet have a care." I took the tray, looking questioningly at Psellia. "Why?" I asked.
The girl shrugged. "He's got a dangerous air about him, for all he's well-spoken."
I inclined my head in thanks. Too few of my patrons knew how to string two words together – a well-spoken one would do nicely. And a dangerous air could be good, too… if channelled to the right effect.
I closed the door. Psellia was one of my finest students. But she was young, too young, to be doing such a thing as this.
Come to it, I, at nineteen, was also too young for such work. But after the War, my parents had lost everything. They sold me into indenture, to a special "friend" of my father's, and here I had been, ever since.
I placed the tray on the bedside table and knelt on the cushion by the door, robe arranged neatly around me, eyes downcast, waiting for my patron.
I heard the sound of slow, measured footsteps coming down the hall. Some patrons were slow and unsure as they entered the women's quarters. This one was not, confident in his decision and what he wanted. I liked that. Psellia's words came back to me. 'Handsome, wearing a brocade vest…' I smiled beneath the curtain of my hair. Perhaps I would enjoy tonight after all. Unless, of course, his confident tastes led him to more… violent pleasures. I had known many of those patrons, too. But I had no control over those I served.
He knocked, once or twice, then let himself in nonchalantly. I smiled as I glimpsed his silhouette through my lowered lashes. I knew his type. He was the kind of man who thought himself irresistible to all woman-kind, who thought a few choice words would have them fawning at his feet. I told myself that I would not. I would be different. It was a pathetic, not to mention dangerous, rebellion. But it was the only thing I could do.
My patron halted in front of me, and I had a stunning view of his costly boots and of his muscular legs shown off to full advantage in his form-fitting pants. I began to question my own decision.
"Good evening, my lord," I said, infinitely proud that my voice did not shake. "How may I please you?"
My patron sank gracefully into a crouch. "Let's have a look at you and we'll see," he said. His voice was light, cultured, and elegant. A cool, slender hand adorned with rings lifted my head gently up, and I was looking full into the face of my patron. First were the eyes, wide-set and deep, mysterious pools gazing into mine. A nose, straight and crisp, almost challenging in the midst of his face, his perfectly shaped brows, made for arching, sloping gracefully into it. And his lips, full and sensual, a mouth made for wine and love, the two things he had come for tonight… I found myself wondering how his kiss would feel on me – anywhere, not just my lips. I stared into this perfect face, my resolution heavy in my mind. It would have been easier if he hadn't been so damned beautiful. Lace cuffs brushed my cheek as he guided me to stand, his eyes kept intently on mine. My breath caught in my chest, and I was suddenly and desperately afraid of failure, of being unable to please him, something I had never felt around a patron before.
"You have very green eyes," my patron said, a seemingly neutral observation that induced a clench of fear somewhere around my midsection nevertheless.
Stupid, came an unwanted nag somewhere in the back of my desire, you're doing just what you said you wouldn't.
But it was just so gods-curst hard! Whoever this man was, his self-assurance was clearly justified. He turned away from me, then, and the tension in my thighs eased, though the icy fear grew greater.
"Does that displease you, my lord?" I asked, both anticipating and dreading his response.
He did not deign to answer at first, instead drawing further away, pouring a glass and downing it in one motion. It almost hurt to look at him overlong. He let out a satisfied sigh and I almost sighed with him. I caught myself just in time.
"It was just an observation," he said, pouring himself another glass, slower this time. "And even if I did mind, what in Ivalice could I do about it?"
An answer came to me, and in a deceptively calm voice I made it, anything to keep the conversation going, to keep his voice in my ears: "You could request another servant, my lord." I trembled inside at the seemingly blasé denial of everything I had felt up to this point. The challenge hung in the air between us. My patron studied me, and under his cool, knowledgeable look my thighs began to heat once more. Forgetting I was standing, I lowered my gaze beneath my lashes till I was staring again at his boots. Such fine boots! Yet clearly stained and travel-worn. Whoever this man was, he hadn't got all his gil by sitting in an office.
"No… I think not," he said slowly, walking near me again until his scent surrounded me and I could smell the sharp refreshment of the wine in his glass. His fingers cupped my chin and raised it upwards again, no less gently than the last time. He was an abnormally patient patron.
"Chin up, girl," he murmured. "I am lighter quite a bit of gil for tonight and I intend to enjoy it, not to have someone cringe every time she looks at me." He took another sip from his glass, stepping back only a little.
His scent was fainter now, tantalizing me. If you want it, come get it. But I would not give in to temptation, would not follow him around like a dog on a leash. I would be strong.
"What, then, is your pleasure, my lord?" I asked him. He shook a long, slender finger before my face as he took another sip.
"Well, for one thing, less of this 'my lord' business. I don't like it."
"But… my – " His fingers rested gently on my lips, effectively silencing me.
"Uh-uh-uh," he chided, eyes sparking mischievously. "You have…" he paused for a moment, thinking. "Thirty seconds to come up with a better ending to that sentence." He waited.
By ten seconds, I had thought of what I was going to say, and for the next twenty I indulged myself by just staring at him.
All too soon, his fingers were removed from my lips and he stepped back, waiting for me to speak.
"But… my patron, it's required by the House. Familiarity is weakness, here."
"Is that so?" My patron stroked his chin, eyes pensive. "Well, I don't believe I particularly like 'patron', either. Have you aught else to offer, girl?"
For all he appeared to be merely three years older than I, he insisted on treating me like a child. With other patrons, I wouldn't have minded, but in his mouth it suddenly became a mocking term, indicative of the thought that I was not old enough for him.
I summoned up all the courage I could muster.
"It's Siyana," I said.
"A pretty name to go with pretty eyes." He toasted me with the remainder of wine in his glass. "Here's to you, Siyana."
My breath caught at the sound of my name in his mouth, even more so at the revelation that he found any part of me pretty. This, coupled with the courage I had gathered that had not wholly left me, made me daring.
"Well, sir, now that you know my name, may I not have the pleasure of yours?"
"My, we are a bold one, aren't we?" he said, pouring himself another glass. "And 'sir' is even worse – it makes me feel old." He sighed – even his sigh was beautiful. I could imagine clouds of mithril coming from his mouth as he sighed. "Very well. I suppose there's nothing for it." Taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he let it flutter in his hand as he swept me a gallant bow.
"Balthier, at your service," he said, looking up and fixing me with a mischievous grin. "But I'd really much rather that you were at mine."
It struck me as odd, then, as soon as he said it, how patient he had been about his purpose. This was his third glass of wine and he had only just started trying to win me. Most patrons wouldn't have bothered and would have tumbled me twice already.
Balthier offered the glass to me. I shook my head violently, taking a step backwards in disbelief.
"No… no, my – Balthier. It would not be right." My breath caught on his name, too.
He whistled appreciatively. I felt puzzlement come to my face.
"Well, as one of only a dozen people I've ever known as to actually pronounce my name properly upon first meeting, you certainly deserve it," he said. "People seem to insist on putting the emphasis on the first syllable. It's incredibly vulgar. Go on, take it. What's the matter?" he asked, because I had refused the glass again.
"You paid for that wine," I said. "To take a glass from my patron's own hand… No. It would be too familiar."
"Familiarity again, is it?" Balthier reflected, arching an eyebrow. "Considering what this house is selling it's a little selective on what it dishes out. I paid for you, too," he said, in a voice that was not quite jesting, not quite serious. I shook my head again.
"It's not the same. The wine is for your pleasure, same as I."
"Well, I say it's the same," Balthier argued, pushing the glass into my hand. "It's the height of rudeness to drink in front of a lady and I don't like it when my bedfellows are completely sober. Besides," he said, and the little twinkle in his eyes returned, "I'd like to see to it that you don't go entirely without pleasure yourself, tonight," he grinned, "Siyana."
I took a sip of the wine. It was tart and sweet and very refreshing. I chanced a look at Balthier, who nodded approvingly for me to finish the rest. I did so with relish. I was slightly unused to alcohol, it being a luxury I was unable to afford, and the candles grew a bit brighter as the glass emptied.
"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Almost without my noticing, his arm was around me. He took the glass from my suddenly nerveless hand and set it gently on the table.
"Now," he murmured, so low that I was not so much hearing his words as feeling them, "did you leave any for me?"
And his lips were on mine, slow and sensuous, just as I had imagined. His tongue gained admittance, probing my mouth. Of their own volition, my hands lifted to cup his face.
That kiss! If it were the first and final kiss of my life I would be no poorer for it. Other patrons had kissed me, of course, at various times during their pleasure – some absentmindedly and clumsily, as though they needed a place to put their face. Some were even passing good. But never before had I been kissed with such consummate skill, with such clear purpose. That kiss was a prelude to lovemaking, and a promise of things to come. And there in his arms, I yearned.
His lips left me panting, half-suffocated and yet longing for more. I pursued his retreating face, mindless of my resolve, but he stopped me with a hand.
"Your turn," he said. "Make it worth my while." And I was filled with desire to be deserving of that kiss.
Undressing is one of the first arts one learns in the House – it is the most awkward and therefore most practised of our talents. I made quick work of the buckles of Balthier's vest and started on the buttons of his shirt, kissing each little patch of skin I revealed as I moved upward – little promises, nothing more.
I had just undone the clasp of his belt when he slipped my robe from my shoulders in one smooth motion, fingers traversing the channel between my breasts as I slowly, inch by inch, unveiled his manhood… and was not disappointed.
I commenced the arousement, fingertips starting with the trail of hair below his navel and following where it led. I watched the red patterns of desire start in the wake of my fingers as he gripped my unbound hair in both hands.
As I returned from my long detour around his thighs and reached his phallus, he twitched, and pressed against me. When I kissed him there, I could feel his hardness. Moving my lips away, I caused a tiny, beautiful droplet of seed to form at his crown. I had him in the palm of my hand, or rather, in my mouth. I savoured the taste of his sweat, fresh and sweet, spiced with carnal desire. My hips began to thrust against him.
He groaned as I finished and began to work my way upwards again, planting kisses of every part of him.
"Gods, you're good," he whispered, and my flame of triumph only made me want him more. I finished with a kiss of my own on his lips.
I did not have as perfect a mouth as his, but I was practised in the art of kissing. Our tongues twined as I felt the pressure of his hands at the small of my back, then only the tips of his fingers, lightly, brushing my buttocks and making me shiver before tracing a path upward, ever so softly, leaving a tingle of desire in his wake, lifting the mass of my hair and letting it fall around my neck and shoulders in a shimmering cascade. I came up for breath and smiled at him. Those deep eyes were dark with desire. For a fleeting instant, Balthier almost seemed at a loss for words. But the moment passed.
"My," he remarked, taking my hands in his, "I seem to be falling behind, don't I?"
"If you say so," I replied, trying to hide my impatience. Balthier was indeed unlike any other man I had known. We stood naked before each other, fair bursting with desire, and even my initial resistance had been overwhelmed, yet still he waited. I followed the patterns of the candlelight over his skin. If it were permitted, I would have had him then. But only Balthier's desires mattered.
He stepped away, then, and in a horrific flash of understanding I knew what he was about.
He wanted to make me beg for it.
I saw laid bare the subtle game he had played ever since entering the room. He had reined me in without my noticing it. I had given him too much, too soon, and he knew he had me. I hated him for it, and hated my desire which mounted with every second of my hate. For all that his phallus nearly touched his belly, he kept me at bay. Of a sudden, his cruelty was revealed.
"You…" I stopped myself abruptly. I had almost insulted a patron! He turned back to me with a look of bland interest. "Yes?"
"Is this just a game to you?" I asked angrily. "Or should I just put on my robe and serve you more wine?"
"Whatever do you mean?" he asked curiously, turning towards me. It infuriated me further to see his leaping shaft without being able to exploit it, any trace of spontaneity vanishing. "When have I ever given you an indication that it was otherwise?" His tone was still one of light curiosity.
"When you paid for me, mayhap?" I replied, in as scathing a tone as I could muster. "When you told me that you did not want me to go without pleasure also this night? You're 'falling behind', so you just give up?"
He raised his hands, whether in impatience or surrender, I couldn't tell.
"Your pleasure? Forgive me, Siyana, but I was under the impression that my pleasure was what mattered here," he said wryly, ignoring my other two points.
I was trapped, I now decided, trapped in a room with this beautiful demon of desire.
"You are forgiven," I said coldly, crossing my arms so he wouldn't see my firming nipples. There was no way for him to know I would forgive him anything, no matter how insincere he sounded.
Balthier looked at me for long moments, then, as though seeing me for the first time. And then he did an extraordinary thing.
He knelt. Before me.
Taking my hand, he kissed it gently, sweetly. His breath on my skin was like fire.
"Thank-you, Siyana," he said, looking up to meet my eyes. "You won't regret it."
I stared back in wonder. Here again was the same Balthier that had offered me the wine. It was almost as though he had forgotten who I was for a while.
But my mind was forcibly diverted from its course when Balthier, still kneeling, began to kiss me, in exactly the way I had kissed him. He was promising again, and I was helpless to resist.
I shivered as his tongue drew closer and closer to my nether lips, and then his kisses were inside me, exploring and flicking, and I trembled like a leaf in his arms. He touched the pearl in the folds of my flesh and I arched against him, coursing with desire and the fear that I would take him if he didn't do something soon. He grinned and began to draw back, standing.
I would no longer play this bizarre and pointless game of cat-and-mouse, yet neither would I ask him for aught. He knew, and his eyes flashed in triumph, but I grabbed him.
"Oh no, you don't," I whispered, pulling him towards me, "It's my turn now."
He might have thought I had given it all early on, but I had one more card to play. I reached down and did what no respectable woman should even think of doing. I was worried – had I pushed it too far? But I was rewarded.
He collapsed on the bed and groaned.
"The Fates enjoy having me as their plaything," he murmured. I did not know what he meant by it, nor did I ask. Perhaps if I had, things would not have turned out as they did. Balthier himself gave no indication of having spoken, but took my hand, drawing me down to him. Slowly, so slowly. His presence I felt as I had never felt it before: it was tangible and soft. He drew me down to his chest and I lay against it, wondering that our heartbeats were so alike.
With infinite care, he shifted, tumbling me in a motion that was more like a caress than an upset. And somehow as he did so, he sheathed himself to the hilt in me.
I caught my breath, it was so sudden. One moment, I was lying atop him, the next he was above me, and inside me, too. It was not an unpleasant feeling.
Not even then did he start, but looked at me in that moment that lasted an eternity. I would almost have thought he were asking permission, but that was nonsense. Not Balthier. He leaned down to whisper in my ear.
"The anticipation makes it all the sweeter, doesn't it, my dear?" he asked, before spending himself in me.
And he was right. I could have killed him for it, but he was right. Gods, it was sweet! I rode him like a wave, cresting higher and higher until I came, shuddering, to climax. I wrapped my legs around him, clinging to his back, and gasped out two words.
"Don't stop."
And he didn't, not for a very long time.
A/N: So there you have it! The first chapter. Please review and tell me what you thought of it. Should I continue? Exams are coming up for me, but I should be able to get the next chapter up before they start.
P.S. - Yes, I know Balthier doesn't wear boots, but... sometimes I have a real issue with those half-shoe let things he wears. Maybe he just equipped boots because of the Barium Passage. Who knows?