Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Designed To Fade ❯ Chapter 9 ( Chapter 9 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Part Ten

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We arrive at Kilika in the early afternoon, and take a walk along
the even more crowded piers. Jecht eyes us both, and then seems to
think better of whatever he wanted to say. I can guess. Braska seems
to as well. "Tired of our company already, Sir Jecht?"

He has the grace to look abashed. "No, it's not that. I just...like
these little ports. Reminds me a lot of home."

"Not Zanarkand?"

"Yeah. Not the city, I mean, we live on a...we lived on a houseboat.
I grew up near the docks, so it's just the atmosphere, and the
people here."

"Well, go then. Have a good time." Braska tells him, and Jecht
grins.

"Right on. Well, catch you later."

"Jecht!"

He looks back at me.

"Whatever you do, don't miss the boat tomorrow." I tell him. He nods
and waves, then quickly disappears through the throng of people that
surround us.

I watch until he is out of sight. "Are you sure that was a good
idea?"

Braska shrugs and responds philosophically. "Time will tell."

As I expected, that evening Jecht does not return to the boat.

After dinner and our baths I disrobe with my back turned, being
careful not to look in Braska's direction, climbing into bed in just
my trousers. It does not seem to matter whether I am tired or
fully-rested, whether I think of him or not, cast my eyes upon him
or desperately avert them. All result in the same restless yearning
in my flesh. I stretch my arms above my head and my fingertips
tingle, as does the flesh beneath my belly. In my desperation I wish
to cry, but there is no relief. I turn my head on the pillow, trying
to be quiet. Then I hear Braska turn, facing me in the darkness.

"Auron?"

"Yes, My lord?"

He sighs "I cannot sleep either." I turn to face him. He lies on his
side, one hand beneath his cheek and begins to talk, dreamily,
sleepily. "Being on a boat, is a constant reminder, of her, of the
fact that she is gone.

"Sometimes, I have this dream, that she is with me. I will be
walking along, and she is walking by my side, holding my hand. In
the dream, she is always there, has always been and will always be
there, and I feel such a sense of peace and contentment...

"I think that she sends the dream to comfort me from the farplane.
But when I am not dreaming of her, I feel so lonely."

"My lord."

"You've never felt that, I know."

It is my turn to sigh. The longing in his voice calls to me, and
despite my fear I rise from my bed. I sit beside him, unable to help
myself despite my reluctance. His hand clasps my forearm.

"Auron. Are you afraid?" His voice is low, warming me from the
inside.

"Yes."

"I am too...Lie down with me."

I do as he bids me and he shifts to make room, his arm curling under
my neck as I rest my head on the pillow beside his. I lie stiffly as
he brings his other hand up to stroke my cheek. Then he raises
himself up on his elbow and brings his face closer to mine.

My breath comes hard and fast, and my racing heart turns over in my
chest. My eyes are closed before his lips touch mine and he seems to
hesitate, I can feel his breath lightly wash over my parted lips and
between them.

The feeling is the same, the same, but unbelievably intense as his
gentle caress becomes more passionate and forceful. His lips nip at
mine, sucking against the tender flesh until I cry out. He becomes
more gentle, soothing my lips, his hand stroking my hair and cheek
until I turn my head, and then he rests his own against the pillow.

"Auron..." he presses his face against mine and his lips leave a
warm damp trail on my cheek. "I want to...love you so much...Yevon,
I love you."

"My lord..."

"Braska..."

"My lord...Braska..." My words emerge breathlessly and as low as
his. He resumes his kisses, now soft and persuasive, lulling me into
a near slumbrous state as his hand moves up and down my shoulder and
arms, then over my torso, and lower, slow firm strokes that soothe
where he touches and ignite where he doesn't. I feel myself
floating, growing warmer as liquid heat runs through my veins, pools
on my belly as it gathers beneath his hand. The cloth of my trousers
is no barrier. His hand slides within, beneath the fabric, touching
hot skin and making me gasp into his mouth. He shifts to press his
lips against my ear, touching, stroking, until the pleasure I feel
gathers, contracting until it must burst, I burst, my body surging
and shaking as that intolerable aching need is assuaged at last.

I find myself curled against his shoulder, almost sobbing with
relief, taking great lungfuls of air. His lips move over my face, my
brow and my eyelids and his hand slips away, moving to curl around
my side. I feel the dampness of his palm there, slick against my
flank as his fingers tighten, drawing me towards him.

"It's all right...shhhh...I cried the first time too..."

"My lord. Yo-"

"It's Braska." He reminds me, mildly. "Braska..." He holds me and
talks as my body begins to calm. "I told you how we met, but you
have no idea how incredible it was. She would talk and I would
listen and understand nothing of her words, but it didn't matter.
Everything she felt, wanted, was in her eyes, and the touch of her
hands. I never thought I would feel like that again."

I feel drowsy, tired, wrung out, drained and light-headed. "My l-,
Braska...this is the same? It isn't un-natural?"

"Oh, Auron! Do you know what the first word I really understood of
Al Bhed was? Muja...she would say it over...and over...muja, E muja
oui.

"Muja ec muja, Auron."

I do not really understand the meaning of his words, but his body is
tense, he speaks with fervour and I do understand that. He has
released me, yet lies beside me still burning from that intolerable
flame, that licked at me from the inside until his hands gave me
succour. My hand is on his chest, resting against his ribs. I begin
to touch him as he did me, amazed at the sensory pleasure I derive
from the slide of fabric over skin, skin over fabric, the way he
shifts, infinitesimily closer to me, and the breathy exhalations he
makes.

"Muja sa..." He murmurs.

His eyes are closed, his lower lip softer and fuller in this light.
Normally austere, his face has taken on an aspect of intense longing
that is unaccountably beautiful. It is my turn to lean over him, and
I press my lips against his, the first time I have really kissed
him, initiating the contact that before I've only received with
trepidation. My hand now on his hip tugs at his shirt, drawing it up
until I am touching his bare skin.

At first I am reluctant to touch him, his masculinity too like my
own, and discomfiting. My hand moves at a torturously slow pace,
aware of the contrast of soft and smooth skin inside his hip, the
roughness at mid thigh, the damp warmth of his inner leg, knowing
how cruel it must seem but unable to hasten my attempt to accept
this, this feeling.

Braska demonstrates no such hesitation, contrasting yet again with
my own stiff and unsure touches, by shifting and sighing with each
tentative slide of my fingers over his flesh. His mouth opens
beneath my own, drawing me deeper into awareness of him, his need
for me.

With that awareness comes a renewal of my own, as though sparked
from sympathy for his plight, and I raise my head. His eyes are soft
dove-grey as he opens them. I look down at his body, where my hand
is now clenched on his hip. Contrasts again strike my awareness,
light and shadow, soft and hard, cool and unbearably hot. I bite my
lip as I give in to his desire, closing my eyes to the sight of my
hand moving, moving without pause. I feel his hand touch my cheek
and open them again as he gazes up at me with half-lidded eyes,
gasps with pleasure, and finally cries out as he shifts beneath me,
spattering his night gown with his own release of pleasure.

After a few minutes he rises, returning with a damp washcloth. His
hands move slowly, unfastening my clothing then he wipes my skin
with warm soothing strokes. When he returns and pulls the covers
over us he stretches his body against mine and I can feel the
dampness of his shirt and the warmth of his belly pressed firmly
against my side.

Despite my lack of sleep for the last few nights and my catch up
during the day I am drowsy, and I slide easily into dreams.


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Ruins. They moulder all over Spira, reminders of what once was.
Empty shells, mostly, although often fiends lurk within. They are
dangerous to approach, especially at night. The ancient scholar who
accosts Tidus shows no fear however, he was standing examining the
walls as we approached and walked back to the road. Tidus was
watching him with considerable interest and a look of confusion,
which may be why the old man chose to address him.

"Do you know what those ruins are from?"

"Some old city, I guess."

"Correct. A city most ancient." The old man stands gazing at the
crumbling walls, the fading symbols of a lost world. "It's a
terrible testament to Sin's destructive power. I tremble to see
them. Compared to Sin, humans are mere mudpuppies..."

"But I believe humans are the only ones capable of stopping Sin."
Yuna interjected.

"A good reply. I am relieved to hear you say that, m'lady summoner.
Where are my manners? I am Maechen, a scholar, at your service."

Yuna bowed and introduced herself. "I am Yuna."

"M'lady. I am on a journey, studying the history of our world,
Spira, seeking its stories and secrets...My travels have taken me to
many places, and I am troubled by what I have seen. Fragile smiles
on people's faces crumbling at the mere mention of Sin. They are
counting on you, m'lady. Give them a reason to rejoice once more."

"I will."

The old man arouses my suspicions. He is too helpful, too
obsequious. And he stood too close to the broken wall, as though he
was part of that ancient ruin, emerging to accost travellers with
tales of a world which exists no longer. I am perhaps too
suspicious, and if he is a ghost he seems to be a benign one. We
pass on without further incident.


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End of Part Ten