Balthier had napped in and out the last day, basking in Aerith's company and eating when he could. The magic is taking, but it takes a good deal of energy to support and he's wiser than to fight it.
The result is that he's entirely ruined his sleep schedule, and after waking and watching Aerith rest against him for awhile, peaceful contentment across his face, the aches began to bother him, so he carefully extracted himself to go bathe and shave and reset himself a little in the privacy of the night.
He's halfway through brushing his teeth when Aerith's cry startles him. He spits the excess, dropping the brush in the running sink and wiping his mouth on the back of his arm as he bolts for the room, still only clad in his towel. He's beside her in a second, pulling her tight to him.
"Aerith, it's alright, I've got you," he says like one would to a startled animal, rocking her even as his eyes go to the door, magic simultaneously checking the locks. All in tact. "You're safe. It's alright."
She sucks in a whimpered breath and shivers, folding against him, her face buried against his chest. Balthier is grounding at this moment, pulling her back to herself as her mind reels and works to shake off those pangs of despair clinging to her heart in the wake of having Piaget materialize in her dreams.
"It felt so real," Aerith murmurs when she lifts her head to look at him, smiling weakly. "I'm sorry, I know it was just a dream." She leans back far enough to push her hair back from her face, trying to clear her head as she rests against his shoulder.
"I don't like thinking that Piaget's face and that horrible cell are going to keep sneaking up on me like this."
His chest aches at seeing her so distressed, anger rising once again at Piaget. None of this needed to happen. He kisses the top of her head, one of his hands smoothing back her hair, keeping his own demeanor as calm as possible to help tell her body it was safe.
"It's still fresh," he says. "Your mind is working through it; that's good. It will dull with time." But when she apologizes, he shakes his head, voice stern. "I don't want you to apologize for that. Ever." But he's glad she leans against him, glad she's talking about it. As she resettles, he sweeps an arm under her, pulling her legs across his lap as he adjusts himself, just wanting her to feel cradled and safe.
"It's not fair," he agrees. "But every time your mind realizes you're safe, he'll get farther away."
"Thank you," she says quietly, gratified in ways she didn't even think to expect that he's so accepting, and so patient. Everything Aerith's learned about people and relationships while living in the palace was so counterintuitive to the tenderness Balthier's shown her, and it fills her with happiness every time she realizes it.
Curling up against him, she moves so that she can press herself against his chest, bringing her legs up so that her knees can rest on the edge of the bed, aiding her in getting them wrapped around his hip.
"I'm so lucky." Her hand traces his shoulder, following the contour of his collarbone as she tilts her head up to peer at him. "You really are the most wonderful person I've ever met Balthier."
For a moment, he wants to turn away from her gaze, something between shame and embarrassment vying to be voiced. He isn't that; she'll find out with time, like everyone else.
But some other part of him wants to be, wants to honor that she thinks that, and so he forces a smile and confidence he doesn't feel. "I'm honored you think so." It's easier to pretend it could be true with her wrapped around him trusting him so deeply. And maybe -- maybe with time it really will be true. Maybe this can be different; it already has been.
He smoothes her hair back from her face. It's still surreal, seeing her in his dressing gown, her hair mussed and he face tired. "You're pretty wonderful yourself, princess." It slips out as more of an endearment, but as he kisses her head, he thinks maybe she out to hear it anyway, that her time stuck in that world didn't rob her of her best qualities.
Relaxing against him, Aerith's eyes flutter closed as she feels him kiss the top of her head, his use of the term pulling a soft laugh out of her.
"You don't have to call me that," she begins, a hand coming to cradle his cheek as she looks up and meets his eye. "We're in private, your highness is fine." Amusement flashes brightly across her face, and she laughs again while tilting her chin up to press her lips against his.
"Really, we're familiar enough that you could get away with my lady if you wanted to."
He hums contentedly as she relaxes in his hold. His won worry starts to settle as her usual humor surfaces, pulling a matching laugh from him before she's kissing him. He squeezes her, a smile curling across his lips.
"Oh? And what if I skip the titles entirely? Call you my darling? My Aerith?" It's not that he hasn't said those things while pretending to be her husband, but it feels so bold asking to actually mean it.
That teasing dare is enough to make him acutely aware that he's only in a towel, and she a slippery dressing gown.
"You make me immensely happy, dear one," he murmurs, nose trailing against hers before he kisses her, deeper and slower, hands shifting her to a better angle. "Does that please you, your highness?" He gently tugs her bottom lip between his teeth, heartbeat starting to pick up pace, especially given the twang of desire he feels forming deep in his gut.
Both her hands cup the sides of his face when Balthier leans in to kiss her again, keenly aware of the shift in the way their lips meet, something further driven home when his teeth catch her lower lip, making her gasp. Her skin flushes beneath the dressing gown, but she does her best to sound indecisive, rather than breathless when she hums thoughtfully.
"You're on the right track," she whispers, the memory of her birthday flashing through her mind, causing the slowly simmering ache between her thighs to flare. In truth, she didn't think she could be so happy, that this sort of genuine emotion wasn't meant for people born into a life of duty, however privileged it was.
He could cry -- again -- at how wonderful it feels to have her catch his face and gasp into his touch. Every time they start this and she's just as enthused, he feels a little more rooted.
And she's teasing again, testing how far he'll push. He doesn't mind leading. Especially given he knows that she's so much less experienced. He just wants to be close to her, make her feel safe and wanted and good, and however that develops is fine with him. That was -- so wonderful on her birthday, and he hates Piaget all over again for interrupting the space they'd built.
He kisses her again, one of his hands coming to rest on the warmth of her neck, thumb trailing up over her cheek. "I was going to come ask you on a date, you know," he whispers between kisses. "Let you know how I felt. This order works just as well." He runs his tongue over her bottom lip, a tight thrill running from his chest to his groin, where very little is restraining his heat from starting to gather.
"Do you want to put your legs around me again, your highness?" he asks, breathless, sitting back just enough to see her beautiful face, smiling the moment he does because he just feels warm. Full. Fortunate. Which means he can't help kissing her again before she manages to answer.
Her thoughts turn back to the night of her birthday, and the giddy, breathless mess she had been when he left. She was so excited, so eager for more of him. It made the things Piaget and his imprisonment led her to believe feel all the more painful, reinforcing the belief that her life would never be hers to live, not really, and the things she wanted would always be out of reach.
Being close to Balthier again, hearing that he wanted her, in all the ways she knew she wanted to be with him, it felt almost too good to be real. They've been out together many times, but when he mentions a date her heart jumps, thrilled by the thought.
"You should still ask," she grins, the brush of his tongue making her shiver as heat washes over her body. That warmth intensifies at Balthier's next question, as does the kiss that follows it, a soft sound of pleasure escaping her. Shifting in his arms Aerith turns in his lap until her knees settle on the mattress on either side of his hips.
Pausing on the verge of pressing herself to him, she holds off long enough to touch his cheek. "Call me Aerith, please?"
She wasn't the only one who felt like she'd dared to want more for herself and had it taken away yet again. It was the first time he'd opened his heart in a long time, first time he'd wanted to take a risk like that, and then she was gone. But she was here again, she was safe, and he wasn't making the mistake of moving too slowly again.
"I will," he promises into another kiss, holding her tighter to him as the kisses get deeper, just wanting to have her close. "And I'll keep asking you." He already has ideas, things he wants to show her, and the promise of ending up with her back here in his arms makes the prospect all the more wonderful.
The hum of pleasure she gives is divine, as is the way she shifts to straddle him again, this time leaving him to stretch his legs out against the mattress. When she pauses to touch his face like that, asking for her name, he sees the girl in the garden again, lonely and unsure, carrying a lifetime of the coldness of court around her.
He takes her face in both his hands, tracing her cheekbones as he looks into her gaze, smiling gently as he does. "Aerith," he breathes. "My sweet, adventurous, pushy, wonderful Aerith." This time when he presses her lips to hers, there's hunger in it, breath coming sharp in his nose, and the memory of her so desirous on her birthday makes a low sound of pleasure escape against her lips.
He calls her by her name, and her heart feels like it could burst from how happy the sound makes her. This could be hers, he could be hers. Not because of power or as a wartime power move, but because they want each other. Because there's a variety of happiness that blooms between them that isn't anywhere else in the world.
Aerith isn't sure she's ever had that before, and when he kisses her and calls her his, she doesn't know if she would be able to be without it. The hand on his cheek holds him in that kiss for a long moment before skimming up, her fingers combing through his hair as the quiet, pleased noises she pulls from him drive her on.
"My Balthier," she whispers against his lips after drawing back just far enough to catch her breath, his name warm in her mouth, the memory of the way he left her breathless and crying out in bliss on her birthday searing through her thoughts. Her thighs tense against his hips as her mouth captures his again, the hand not tangled in his hair reaching down to pull the tie of her dressing gown open. He had left her wanting so much more that night and filled with the certainty that she wanted to feel him everywhere. That notion returns with fire behind it, drumming up her courage even as she feels the fabric of his robe slide off one shoulder, exposing her flushed skin to the open air.
He hasn’t anticipated the hand in his hair, or the sweetness of it, how he feels wanted and treasured and so wildly vulnerable. He melts under that touch, warm little sounds escaping him, his lips leaving off briefly as he’s lost in the sensation.
It’s like some spell has broken between them, or maybe finally gotten its bearing. They’ve been skirting around this so long and now it’s hard to believe it’s real, and at the same time he can’t believe he was such a fool to doubt it was there. She says his name, claims him, and his whole chest aches with brightness. The next time she kisses him, his tongue seeks out her mouth, like he wants to touch her every way he can.
And then he feels her shifting, a gap between kisses revealing the dressing gown slipping down. His heart skips. There’s no reason not be close that way. No reason to feel shame for how badly he wants to. She’s here, and she’s made so clear she wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with her.
“Here, shift this way,” he whispers, repositioning his own body into recline and reaching down to adjust his hardening cock before sliding her hips back, arching with a moan as she settles over the towel directly above his heat. He guides her back to kiss him, body shifting against her. “I like you above me,” he grins.
She moves with him, lost to the blissful business of kissing him, her tongue gently brushing against his even as she does her best to try and figure out what she's supposed to do. It's easier to let instinct steer, she's realizing, already feeling thoroughly rewarded by his reaction to the way the dressing gown slips off her shoulders and down her body.
Balthier reclines, his words making the flush clinging to her skin burn with fresh heat. She wants this, she wants him, and that eagerness finds her following every clue he gives her in the hopes of ending up closer to him. Aerith shrugs the oversized robe off her shoulders, letting it pool around them on the bed before she draws close again, her body curving over his as the peaks of her breast brush against his chest.
The pads of her fingers brush his cheeks as she lingers there, body hovering over his, close, but not quite close enough to satisfy the need seeping through her body, radiating out from where it flares between her thighs. That heat is spurred on by the hard press of his stiffening cock against her, though the barrier the towel between them provides is proving to be a maddeningly dense barrier.
"Is this okay?" Aerith murmurs the question against his mouth, the beat of her heart picking up a step, worried, suddenly, that just like her birthday her lack of knowledge when it comes to this brand of closeness will drive him away again.
When she lets the robe go the rest of the way, a new layer of heat washes through him. A deep sounds catches in his throat, and he moves his hands out from the fabric, resettling on the soft warmth of her ribcage. His breath catches. Of course he knew they were going this way, but the trust of disrobing, of letting him touch her when this is clearly new -- one hand caresses her face as they kiss, slowly trailing down her neck, tracing her collarbone and down between her breasts before settling firmly on her hips as she shifts against his heat. As she does, he arches, lips parting to gasp, and she isn't the only one suddenly aware of how thick the fabric between them is.
She curls over him, kissing him, tongue hesitantly meeting his as her body arches into him, a little hesitant, sweetly inexperienced. He's glad to feel her testing, careful to be gentle with her. He's entirely lost in her when she pulls back to murmur he question.
"This is wonderful," he assures her with a contented sigh, weaving his fingers into her hair. But, he supposes it may be easier for both of them if he asks. "How far do you want me to go tonight?" He suspects he knows the answer, but he wants to be clear it's her choice.
And he wants to hear her say it, wants to bask in the confirmation that she wants him the same ways he wants her.
Without realizing it, Aerith holds her breath, her focus trained on what it feels like to have his hands movingly lightly down the line of her body, her lips parting a little wider, allowing that kiss to deepen as she loses herself to the sensation, moaning softly into his mouth.
His touch sets her into motion, and she follows his lead, letting the tips of her fingers brush over his chest, relishing the warmth of his skin and the soft hair beneath her hands. She takes another page from his book when she draws away from that kiss, finally able to breathe again, but not before she nips at his bottom lip playfully as he did to her when that damn knock at the door pulled them apart.
"Wonderful," Aerith echoes in agreement before the question he follows that thought up with gives her pause. She feels her face growing warm again, momentarily struggling for a way to answer his question that goes beyond a resounding, enthusiastic yes.
She turns her head slightly when she leans in again, letting her cheek brush against his while she murmurs her answer in his ear.
"I want to feel you everywhere, I don't want you to hold back anymore."
The nip stirs his growing want, and her breathy voice in his ear sends shivers through him. The assessment is fair; he has been holding back, and maybe he isn't going to fully let go today, but she's right that there's less need for it. Certainly no need to keep apart. If they hadn't drank last time, he likely would have crossed this threshold then.
Encouraged by how strongly she reacted to his hand trailing down her, he moves one hand back to her breast, massaging it firmly as he kisses her harder still. The other slides from her hip to her ass, fingers wide and digging into the flesh there, wanting to know how she'll react, wanting to hold her close to him. It occurs to him he's likely the only person who has touched her like this and a low sound of pleasure sounds from his throat.
It's tormenting, though, to have her naked under his hands but blocked from him by the towel. The need to remove it is quickly gaining priority over the need to keep touching her.
The warmth of his hand as it covers her breast is enough to make her melt against him, her fingers trailing up his arm before her palm touches the top of his hand, encouraging that touch as she moans against his mouth.
Everything about him feels wonderful. She can't remember anything feeling better than this does, even if the towel between their bodies has begun to seem like a wall. Still, the press of his growing hardness against her sets her senses alight, even like this, eroding at her restraint and galvanizing her courage.
Her thighs tighten against his hips, pressing insistently while her hands rove down his body, across his chest and lower along his sides and over the contours of his hips, a shiver moving through her as she feels the way the line of his body urges her down, compelling her to rock her hips, shifting against the restrained outline of his cock with another whimper.
His breath shudders back as she trails his fingers across him again, and he can't help beaming at her as she encourages his touch. It's so lovely to see her like this, especially after everything.
Her directive to not hold back helps as she whimpers and begins to rock against him, his own sounds of pleasure meeting hers as his thighs start to tense in response, body crying for more of her.
He pulls her down against him and rolls them both, towel coming undone as he does so that he's bent over her, cock hard in the cool air. He presses his forehead to hers, kissing her nose before pulling back just enough to look at her, running his hand down her neck, her breast, her stomach, and this time to the thick patch of curls marking her entrance. He keeps his fingers together, applying flat pressure to her and watching her face twist with pleasure, eyes bouncing between that and raking over her body.
"You're wonderful," he breathes, and how gorgeous she is is undoubtedly a part of it, but it's more, too, a disbelief at how lucky he is that a person this strong and vibrant has eyes for him.
Keeping his hand gently working her outer folds, he bends his head down, kissing her collarbone down to her breast, running his tongue over her nipple. This is her first time, he knows, and he wants her to feel absolutely drunk on pleasure, chase away the lingering nightmares.
There's so much to feel, so much of him to touch, Aerith feels like she's being pulled in a hundred different directions and she wants to yield herself over to them all. That eagerness reveals itself in the way her hands move over him, fanning out over the top of his hips before trailing upward again, her palms flat in an effort to touch as much of him as she can.
He grabs her and pulls her near, making her breathe his name in surprise, barely giving her a second to guess what's coming when he shifts, reversing their positions. The ache between her thighs flares when she realizes she's ended up caught between him and the bed beneath them. She's imagined this before - most vividly after he left her room the night of her birthday - but it pales in comparison to experiencing it for real.
As greedily as before her hands move, cupping over the angles of his shoulder blades before skimming down, her eyes bright when he settles his gaze on her face. His touch runs down her body, leaving her squirming by the time his fingers delve between her thighs to tease her with maddeningly broad feeling pressure. Her lips press together as she squirms beneath his touch seeking out more of this even as a pleasured hum escapes her lips. Her face is flushed but she doesn't look away, wanting to watch him as much as he seems to want to watch her. She follows his lead, one of her hands skirting around his side before delving lower, finding the line of his hips again and following it until the tips of her fingers trail along the length of his cock.
Her hands against his skin are heavenly. He's mostly tried not to imagine it, but her birthday, the day they kissed in his room, even that day in the garden those months ago -- it's wondrous to have it for real, her adventurous boldness tempered by how sweet and reverent she is. He wants to be worthy of that reverence, today, always, to have her look at him like that, and he can't help the way he beams at her.
She meets that gaze firmly, steadfastly, as she has everything they've done together. The way she has her arms around him, her folds contracting under his hand as her hips squirm to feel more of him -- he doesn't think he could be happier. But she slides her hand around his hip, fingers grazing along his cock, he cries out, burying his face in her neck. He gasps her name, peppering her skin with kisses.
"Give me a moment," he says before kissing her hard and deep, moaning at the stimulation on his cock, at how badly he wants to be inside her, how good it feels to not be pushing that desire down.
He breaks off, breathing heavy, smiling at her before he shifts his weight, reaching for the side table drawer and fishing around for a condom. It's been awhile since he had need, and for a moment he's worried he's out of luck, the idea of not being able to lie with her shaking him more than he would have anticipated. But his fingers close around one, and he's sitting back, straddled across her thighs, grinning down at her as he catches her eyes on him, dazed and flushed and unbelievably perfect.
"You still alright?" he asks as he slips the translucent material over his length, cock jumping with the promise of being in her momentarily.
A response like that is all the clue she needs to lean into the instinct to touch him, kissing him hungrily as she lets her hand wrap around his length fully, stroking his length, curious, and eager to please him further.
He draws back, a whimper of objection escaping her as she looks on, first in breathless confusion, and then with keen interest, her eyes following his hand as he unrolls the condom over his cock, the sight making the color on her cheeks rise even as she feels another pang of want sweep through her, the absence of his hand against her leaving her aching.
"Alright isn't the word," she whispers, a dazzled giggle slipping out to punctuate the statement. Unable to wait for him, she sits up enough to reach for him, her hands running up his thighs before she grasps at his hips in a vain effort to bring him back against her. "I'm so happy it's hard to believe it."
His kiss breaks off more than once to grasp jaggedly at how good her hands feels on his cock. She may not have any finesse, but her instinct is good, and the clear eagerness to please him makes him kiss her again and again.
Her noise of objection when he shifts makes him giddy, warm with how much she wants him near, and he chuckles at the color rising in her cheeks, eyes taking in the process at his cock. What lingering guilt and doubt he has about being older and more experienced is blessedly quiet.
"I am too," he promises, laughing at the way she scrambles against him. He feels much the same. "Lay back," he says gently, hand running down her stomach, and this time parting her beautiful lips; she isn't the only one staring, and he knows whatever they do tonight, it won't be enough. He wants to map every inch of her. Taking hold of her hips, he adjusts her position, tilting her hips up toward him and gently lining up the head of his cock to her very wet folds. He goes slow, but the moment the two meet, he hisses, eyelids fluttering. "Gods you make me happy," he breathes, slowly rolling his hips to sink a little further in, flushing as she gasps and clenches around him, like she's begging him to keep going. No longer needing to guide the angle, he leans down again, kissing her slow and tender. He rocks his hips again, lips parting of their own accord as he moans at the strength of the pleasure ricocheting through him. "Aerith," he whimpers, hand tightening against her as he gives her a look of helpless adoration.
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no subject
The result is that he's entirely ruined his sleep schedule, and after waking and watching Aerith rest against him for awhile, peaceful contentment across his face, the aches began to bother him, so he carefully extracted himself to go bathe and shave and reset himself a little in the privacy of the night.
He's halfway through brushing his teeth when Aerith's cry startles him. He spits the excess, dropping the brush in the running sink and wiping his mouth on the back of his arm as he bolts for the room, still only clad in his towel. He's beside her in a second, pulling her tight to him.
"Aerith, it's alright, I've got you," he says like one would to a startled animal, rocking her even as his eyes go to the door, magic simultaneously checking the locks. All in tact. "You're safe. It's alright."
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"It felt so real," Aerith murmurs when she lifts her head to look at him, smiling weakly. "I'm sorry, I know it was just a dream." She leans back far enough to push her hair back from her face, trying to clear her head as she rests against his shoulder.
"I don't like thinking that Piaget's face and that horrible cell are going to keep sneaking up on me like this."
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"It's still fresh," he says. "Your mind is working through it; that's good. It will dull with time." But when she apologizes, he shakes his head, voice stern. "I don't want you to apologize for that. Ever." But he's glad she leans against him, glad she's talking about it. As she resettles, he sweeps an arm under her, pulling her legs across his lap as he adjusts himself, just wanting her to feel cradled and safe.
"It's not fair," he agrees. "But every time your mind realizes you're safe, he'll get farther away."
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Curling up against him, she moves so that she can press herself against his chest, bringing her legs up so that her knees can rest on the edge of the bed, aiding her in getting them wrapped around his hip.
"I'm so lucky." Her hand traces his shoulder, following the contour of his collarbone as she tilts her head up to peer at him. "You really are the most wonderful person I've ever met Balthier."
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But some other part of him wants to be, wants to honor that she thinks that, and so he forces a smile and confidence he doesn't feel. "I'm honored you think so." It's easier to pretend it could be true with her wrapped around him trusting him so deeply. And maybe -- maybe with time it really will be true. Maybe this can be different; it already has been.
He smoothes her hair back from her face. It's still surreal, seeing her in his dressing gown, her hair mussed and he face tired. "You're pretty wonderful yourself, princess." It slips out as more of an endearment, but as he kisses her head, he thinks maybe she out to hear it anyway, that her time stuck in that world didn't rob her of her best qualities.
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"You don't have to call me that," she begins, a hand coming to cradle his cheek as she looks up and meets his eye. "We're in private, your highness is fine." Amusement flashes brightly across her face, and she laughs again while tilting her chin up to press her lips against his.
"Really, we're familiar enough that you could get away with my lady if you wanted to."
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"Oh? And what if I skip the titles entirely? Call you my darling? My Aerith?" It's not that he hasn't said those things while pretending to be her husband, but it feels so bold asking to actually mean it.
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"Try it and find out."
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"You make me immensely happy, dear one," he murmurs, nose trailing against hers before he kisses her, deeper and slower, hands shifting her to a better angle. "Does that please you, your highness?" He gently tugs her bottom lip between his teeth, heartbeat starting to pick up pace, especially given the twang of desire he feels forming deep in his gut.
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"You're on the right track," she whispers, the memory of her birthday flashing through her mind, causing the slowly simmering ache between her thighs to flare. In truth, she didn't think she could be so happy, that this sort of genuine emotion wasn't meant for people born into a life of duty, however privileged it was.
no subject
And she's teasing again, testing how far he'll push. He doesn't mind leading. Especially given he knows that she's so much less experienced. He just wants to be close to her, make her feel safe and wanted and good, and however that develops is fine with him. That was -- so wonderful on her birthday, and he hates Piaget all over again for interrupting the space they'd built.
He kisses her again, one of his hands coming to rest on the warmth of her neck, thumb trailing up over her cheek. "I was going to come ask you on a date, you know," he whispers between kisses. "Let you know how I felt. This order works just as well." He runs his tongue over her bottom lip, a tight thrill running from his chest to his groin, where very little is restraining his heat from starting to gather.
"Do you want to put your legs around me again, your highness?" he asks, breathless, sitting back just enough to see her beautiful face, smiling the moment he does because he just feels warm. Full. Fortunate. Which means he can't help kissing her again before she manages to answer.
no subject
Being close to Balthier again, hearing that he wanted her, in all the ways she knew she wanted to be with him, it felt almost too good to be real. They've been out together many times, but when he mentions a date her heart jumps, thrilled by the thought.
"You should still ask," she grins, the brush of his tongue making her shiver as heat washes over her body. That warmth intensifies at Balthier's next question, as does the kiss that follows it, a soft sound of pleasure escaping her. Shifting in his arms Aerith turns in his lap until her knees settle on the mattress on either side of his hips.
Pausing on the verge of pressing herself to him, she holds off long enough to touch his cheek. "Call me Aerith, please?"
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"I will," he promises into another kiss, holding her tighter to him as the kisses get deeper, just wanting to have her close. "And I'll keep asking you." He already has ideas, things he wants to show her, and the promise of ending up with her back here in his arms makes the prospect all the more wonderful.
The hum of pleasure she gives is divine, as is the way she shifts to straddle him again, this time leaving him to stretch his legs out against the mattress. When she pauses to touch his face like that, asking for her name, he sees the girl in the garden again, lonely and unsure, carrying a lifetime of the coldness of court around her.
He takes her face in both his hands, tracing her cheekbones as he looks into her gaze, smiling gently as he does. "Aerith," he breathes. "My sweet, adventurous, pushy, wonderful Aerith." This time when he presses her lips to hers, there's hunger in it, breath coming sharp in his nose, and the memory of her so desirous on her birthday makes a low sound of pleasure escape against her lips.
no subject
Aerith isn't sure she's ever had that before, and when he kisses her and calls her his, she doesn't know if she would be able to be without it. The hand on his cheek holds him in that kiss for a long moment before skimming up, her fingers combing through his hair as the quiet, pleased noises she pulls from him drive her on.
"My Balthier," she whispers against his lips after drawing back just far enough to catch her breath, his name warm in her mouth, the memory of the way he left her breathless and crying out in bliss on her birthday searing through her thoughts. Her thighs tense against his hips as her mouth captures his again, the hand not tangled in his hair reaching down to pull the tie of her dressing gown open. He had left her wanting so much more that night and filled with the certainty that she wanted to feel him everywhere. That notion returns with fire behind it, drumming up her courage even as she feels the fabric of his robe slide off one shoulder, exposing her flushed skin to the open air.
no subject
It’s like some spell has broken between them, or maybe finally gotten its bearing. They’ve been skirting around this so long and now it’s hard to believe it’s real, and at the same time he can’t believe he was such a fool to doubt it was there. She says his name, claims him, and his whole chest aches with brightness. The next time she kisses him, his tongue seeks out her mouth, like he wants to touch her every way he can.
And then he feels her shifting, a gap between kisses revealing the dressing gown slipping down. His heart skips. There’s no reason not be close that way. No reason to feel shame for how badly he wants to. She’s here, and she’s made so clear she wants to be with him as much as he wants to be with her.
“Here, shift this way,” he whispers, repositioning his own body into recline and reaching down to adjust his hardening cock before sliding her hips back, arching with a moan as she settles over the towel directly above his heat. He guides her back to kiss him, body shifting against her. “I like you above me,” he grins.
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Balthier reclines, his words making the flush clinging to her skin burn with fresh heat. She wants this, she wants him, and that eagerness finds her following every clue he gives her in the hopes of ending up closer to him. Aerith shrugs the oversized robe off her shoulders, letting it pool around them on the bed before she draws close again, her body curving over his as the peaks of her breast brush against his chest.
The pads of her fingers brush his cheeks as she lingers there, body hovering over his, close, but not quite close enough to satisfy the need seeping through her body, radiating out from where it flares between her thighs. That heat is spurred on by the hard press of his stiffening cock against her, though the barrier the towel between them provides is proving to be a maddeningly dense barrier.
"Is this okay?" Aerith murmurs the question against his mouth, the beat of her heart picking up a step, worried, suddenly, that just like her birthday her lack of knowledge when it comes to this brand of closeness will drive him away again.
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She curls over him, kissing him, tongue hesitantly meeting his as her body arches into him, a little hesitant, sweetly inexperienced. He's glad to feel her testing, careful to be gentle with her. He's entirely lost in her when she pulls back to murmur he question.
"This is wonderful," he assures her with a contented sigh, weaving his fingers into her hair. But, he supposes it may be easier for both of them if he asks. "How far do you want me to go tonight?" He suspects he knows the answer, but he wants to be clear it's her choice.
And he wants to hear her say it, wants to bask in the confirmation that she wants him the same ways he wants her.
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His touch sets her into motion, and she follows his lead, letting the tips of her fingers brush over his chest, relishing the warmth of his skin and the soft hair beneath her hands. She takes another page from his book when she draws away from that kiss, finally able to breathe again, but not before she nips at his bottom lip playfully as he did to her when that damn knock at the door pulled them apart.
"Wonderful," Aerith echoes in agreement before the question he follows that thought up with gives her pause. She feels her face growing warm again, momentarily struggling for a way to answer his question that goes beyond a resounding, enthusiastic yes.
She turns her head slightly when she leans in again, letting her cheek brush against his while she murmurs her answer in his ear.
"I want to feel you everywhere, I don't want you to hold back anymore."
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Encouraged by how strongly she reacted to his hand trailing down her, he moves one hand back to her breast, massaging it firmly as he kisses her harder still. The other slides from her hip to her ass, fingers wide and digging into the flesh there, wanting to know how she'll react, wanting to hold her close to him. It occurs to him he's likely the only person who has touched her like this and a low sound of pleasure sounds from his throat.
It's tormenting, though, to have her naked under his hands but blocked from him by the towel. The need to remove it is quickly gaining priority over the need to keep touching her.
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Everything about him feels wonderful. She can't remember anything feeling better than this does, even if the towel between their bodies has begun to seem like a wall. Still, the press of his growing hardness against her sets her senses alight, even like this, eroding at her restraint and galvanizing her courage.
Her thighs tighten against his hips, pressing insistently while her hands rove down his body, across his chest and lower along his sides and over the contours of his hips, a shiver moving through her as she feels the way the line of his body urges her down, compelling her to rock her hips, shifting against the restrained outline of his cock with another whimper.
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Her directive to not hold back helps as she whimpers and begins to rock against him, his own sounds of pleasure meeting hers as his thighs start to tense in response, body crying for more of her.
He pulls her down against him and rolls them both, towel coming undone as he does so that he's bent over her, cock hard in the cool air. He presses his forehead to hers, kissing her nose before pulling back just enough to look at her, running his hand down her neck, her breast, her stomach, and this time to the thick patch of curls marking her entrance. He keeps his fingers together, applying flat pressure to her and watching her face twist with pleasure, eyes bouncing between that and raking over her body.
"You're wonderful," he breathes, and how gorgeous she is is undoubtedly a part of it, but it's more, too, a disbelief at how lucky he is that a person this strong and vibrant has eyes for him.
Keeping his hand gently working her outer folds, he bends his head down, kissing her collarbone down to her breast, running his tongue over her nipple. This is her first time, he knows, and he wants her to feel absolutely drunk on pleasure, chase away the lingering nightmares.
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He grabs her and pulls her near, making her breathe his name in surprise, barely giving her a second to guess what's coming when he shifts, reversing their positions. The ache between her thighs flares when she realizes she's ended up caught between him and the bed beneath them. She's imagined this before - most vividly after he left her room the night of her birthday - but it pales in comparison to experiencing it for real.
As greedily as before her hands move, cupping over the angles of his shoulder blades before skimming down, her eyes bright when he settles his gaze on her face. His touch runs down her body, leaving her squirming by the time his fingers delve between her thighs to tease her with maddeningly broad feeling pressure. Her lips press together as she squirms beneath his touch seeking out more of this even as a pleasured hum escapes her lips. Her face is flushed but she doesn't look away, wanting to watch him as much as he seems to want to watch her. She follows his lead, one of her hands skirting around his side before delving lower, finding the line of his hips again and following it until the tips of her fingers trail along the length of his cock.
"You're perfect."
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She meets that gaze firmly, steadfastly, as she has everything they've done together. The way she has her arms around him, her folds contracting under his hand as her hips squirm to feel more of him -- he doesn't think he could be happier. But she slides her hand around his hip, fingers grazing along his cock, he cries out, burying his face in her neck. He gasps her name, peppering her skin with kisses.
"Give me a moment," he says before kissing her hard and deep, moaning at the stimulation on his cock, at how badly he wants to be inside her, how good it feels to not be pushing that desire down.
He breaks off, breathing heavy, smiling at her before he shifts his weight, reaching for the side table drawer and fishing around for a condom. It's been awhile since he had need, and for a moment he's worried he's out of luck, the idea of not being able to lie with her shaking him more than he would have anticipated. But his fingers close around one, and he's sitting back, straddled across her thighs, grinning down at her as he catches her eyes on him, dazed and flushed and unbelievably perfect.
"You still alright?" he asks as he slips the translucent material over his length, cock jumping with the promise of being in her momentarily.
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He draws back, a whimper of objection escaping her as she looks on, first in breathless confusion, and then with keen interest, her eyes following his hand as he unrolls the condom over his cock, the sight making the color on her cheeks rise even as she feels another pang of want sweep through her, the absence of his hand against her leaving her aching.
"Alright isn't the word," she whispers, a dazzled giggle slipping out to punctuate the statement. Unable to wait for him, she sits up enough to reach for him, her hands running up his thighs before she grasps at his hips in a vain effort to bring him back against her. "I'm so happy it's hard to believe it."
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Her noise of objection when he shifts makes him giddy, warm with how much she wants him near, and he chuckles at the color rising in her cheeks, eyes taking in the process at his cock. What lingering guilt and doubt he has about being older and more experienced is blessedly quiet.
"I am too," he promises, laughing at the way she scrambles against him. He feels much the same. "Lay back," he says gently, hand running down her stomach, and this time parting her beautiful lips; she isn't the only one staring, and he knows whatever they do tonight, it won't be enough. He wants to map every inch of her. Taking hold of her hips, he adjusts her position, tilting her hips up toward him and gently lining up the head of his cock to her very wet folds. He goes slow, but the moment the two meet, he hisses, eyelids fluttering. "Gods you make me happy," he breathes, slowly rolling his hips to sink a little further in, flushing as she gasps and clenches around him, like she's begging him to keep going. No longer needing to guide the angle, he leans down again, kissing her slow and tender. He rocks his hips again, lips parting of their own accord as he moans at the strength of the pleasure ricocheting through him. "Aerith," he whimpers, hand tightening against her as he gives her a look of helpless adoration.
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