theleadingman | avalon: inbox

I never professed to be outwardly imposing, but well-chosen words can do a great deal to put someone in their place.

[Well. Depending on the someone. Really, she's probably right about this one.

He's midway through pouring a glass when she comes to join him at the counter, and he gives her a wry, tired little smile.]

You mentioned wanting something a bit stronger— there's wine, as well, if you prefer, but I thought that recent events being what they are, this might be a scotch situation. You can try mine first, if you like— see if it's to your taste. This one should be rather sweet.

[He feels her touch soften as it crests the ridge of one of the scars on his abdomen; he's lost track of how many there are, but he doesn't feel that tight squeeze in his chest he had the first time he'd taken his shirt off in front of her. That particular bit of vanity still stung, just a bit, but being open about it with someone else has helped him to come to some sort of peace with it— in no small part because voicing his concerns aloud made him realize just how ridiculous he sounded.

He exhales softly, that coeurl smile of his returning.]

Perhaps it is.

[It seems reasonable enough. He wouldn't know, so rarely sharing a bed with anyone more than once, but it is entirely different like this, with undeniable attachment involved. At her request, he lifts his arms once more to help her along, his gaze alight with mischief.]

Yes, miss— as you wish.

Edited 2022-03-29 08:29 (UTC)

I guess that's true. Still kind of hard for me to imagine you saying something that would send someone in the opposite direction, though.

[Really. She isn't sure she can even picture it. He's so elegant with everything he says and how he carries himself. Elegance and intimidation don't feel like they really go well together. Maybe some people find high class intimidating.

When he explains, she eyes the glass he's in the midst of pouring and she offers over her hand.]

Well, you only live one, right? I don't see why I can't at least try it out. I'm sure it's just fine in smaller bits.

Are you teasing me?

[Aerith pauses just a moment to give him a little Look, though it passes rather quickly and paves the way towards a smile. Of course he's teasing her. When is he not? It's become almost a love language between them. How could she knows he genuinely wants her presence otherwise?

She finishes drawing his shirt above his head and with a similar carelessness that she discarded his vest, she does the same with the shirt. Afterwards, eyes and fingertips alike draw across his chest. Her head tips and she takes just those moments to appreciate him. It's not the first time she's looked at him like so. She's certain she'll never tire of it, honestly.

She wouldn't be surprised if he felt the same. It never gets old. It's always new. Always exciting.]

You can just call me by name, you know. If you have to call me anything at all.

Perhaps just a bit.

[At least he admits to it, though he does so with nothing but fondness, and finds it difficult to keep his hands to himself even as he does so. Once she has his shirt over his head, he reaches out to let his hands come to rest against her shoulders, thumbs brushing gently against bare skin, following the natural curve towards her arms.

She is always impossibly lovely, regardless of her current state, whether they are teasing or arguing or exchanging soft words. She leaves him near breathless— and to think, they might have let this opportunity slip away.

His gaze softens at her reminder. He had only been teasing, but he'll not give up the opportunity to say her name, especially when he thinks it may be particularly effective.]

Aerith, then.

[His voice is soft, a few notes lower than usual, and he fixes his gaze on her once more.]

Better, I hope?

You've never given me reason to be stern.

[He offers her a wink in response, but he'll leave it at that— he knows he is hardly intimidating at first glance, and much of his strength lies in being able to outwit most opponents. Regardless, he'll have no need to do as such today, he is certain.

He gives her a nod, that tired smile pulling a bit wider as he slides the first glass across the counter, gesturing before bringing his hand to rest on his hip.]

Give it a go, then. It's a particularly smooth variety, strong without being pungent. Well-aged, or so the gentleman told me.

[It's not the first time she'll have tried a drink at his recommendation. She'd liked the gin and tonic well enough, but one never knows how a person's tastes might vary.]

[Why does he have to say it like that? Balthier knows how to use his voice is just the right way to provoke reaction, whether he can see it or not. She's almost certain he's had years to practise that, too. He makes it seem absolutely effortless. His hands press fingertips atop her skin and she can feel the impressions that they leave behind.

She draws in a breath and the features in her face soften. He's still teasing her with his question, she's certain, but she's willing to let it go. With how much she's teased him in public and in most other situations, she's probably had this coming for a while. In the end, she simply provides him with a gentle, subtle nod.

Her hands draw a nonsensical trail with her fingertips right up along his chest with little rhyme or reason and it's not until she curls her touch right along the turn of his neck that she speaks again.]

Better than 'maiden,' for sure.

[She utters up a small laugh.]

I don't know that I'd agree with that.

[Refusing to see him. Trying to turn him away. Trying to steer his attentions onto Fran. Agreeing to let Sephiroth pay her visit at the flower shop. There's been a few reasons he's had to be stern with her. She decides it's smarter not to actually bring any of that up.

When he invites her to take a drink, Aerith looks between the glass and him for some moments before she reaches for the glass and dips her chin to get a sniff. It doesn't smell anything like the gin and tonic that he'd ordered for her before. She's certain she's smelled it before, though. It smells familiar.

Taking a drink, she leaves her eyes on him. She doesn't know how to describe it. A little strong. Would be if she was drinking it too quickly. It's still strong even with her approaching it with care. It catches her off guard for just a breath or two and as she coughs to right herself, Aerith pats on her chest.]

That's... something all right. I don't know what 'well-aged' is supposed to mean, but I guess that's a good thing?

[Even in such circumstances, even at his most frustrated, he doesn't know that he has ever been able to allow himself to be fully angry or hardened where she's involved— but it is not the sort of thing he cares to examine too deeply now. He is determined to leave that unpleasantness behind them, especially given that they have a new host of troubles to face.

He's glad they have the opportunity to face them together, if nothing else.

He watches her with interest, a mild curiosity as she tests the contents of the glass, and bites back a laugh when she coughs in response. Perhaps he should have expected that.]

Generally yes, when it comes to alcohol— not quite to your liking, I take it. Wine for you, then?

[He's quite well-prepared.]

[That gentle and aimless touch teases him as it wanders upwards, sending a shiver racing down the length of his spine, and he leans in as she lets out that musical laugh of hers, his hand reaching for her hip as she curls her fingers against his neck, letting his lips ghost against the corner of her mouth. Oh, but it is difficult to be patient, even though he'd like to allow her to take her undressing him at her own pace.]

I will absolutely keep that in mind, teasing or otherwise. I rather like the reaction your name gets from you, anyway.

[And he doubts he'll ever tire of saying it.]

What next, Aerith?

No, no, no. You poured it for me. I'm definitely going to drink it. Just—

[She shakes her head at him, seemingly content to hold her glass to her protectively. Just in case he gets the idea to take it from her. She doesn't seem particularly open to that turn of events. Honestly? She'll need it later, she's sure.]

This will do. What made you think to bring something stronger? Personal taste?

[He does it again. Aerith. In that way that leaves her momentarily nipping into her lower lip. He provokes a smile from her. It deepens easily, and she turns her head to brush her lips against his. She could just kiss him. Just drown herself in the smell of him. The warmth of his skin. The feeling of his touch upon her. That intoxicating sensation of being pressed along him where the pulsing of their hearts combine and she can't decipher between the two.

She indulges for just a moment. A touch of her lips to his after a soft breath falls out of her. She uses it as diversion, drawing fingertips back down against him before she tucks her touch right beneath the tight fit of his trousers. She remembers them well. The lack of give. How they fit, ever tailored to his body. The way they felt beneath her hands that afternoon he distracted her so thoroughly.]

Impatient... are you?

[She leaves the words right up against his mouth, heated and soft.]

[He nods— he would have gladly handled the rest of it himself and poured her something else, but he's hardly going to argue if she insists. Were the circumstances a bit better, he would rather enjoy having the opportunity to show her something new, as he so often did.]

Largely, yes— but I can't deny that recent events have been weighing quite heavily.

[Loss, more than the state of the island, and he wonders what that says about him? There is very clear and present danger, but he hardly bats an eye at that. Isn't that the everyday for someone like him?

Loss of any kind, on the other hand, has never sat well with him. Tifa had been an admirable friend, one he'd allowed to get closer than he'd let most people get in years, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about what effect her departure would have on Aerith, as well as Nanaki's.]

It seemed fitting, if I'm to be taking over household bartending duties.

[Perhaps like something Tifa would have offered if she'd been there to read the mood.]

[His breath hitches sharply as her touch tucks beneath his trousers, the trailing of her fingertips up until that point only serving to build anticipation. His eyelids lower and he steadies himself, eager though he is, and he lets out a near-breathless chuckle in response to her question.]

Oh, extremely.

[There's no point in not being honest, especially when his own body betrays him so readily, straining against the tight fit of his trousers as he is, arousal already stoked and fed by what indulgences he's taken so far.]

You seem as though you may be inclined to tease.

Recent events.

[She eyes him for several long moments and she wonders what else he could mean. His continuance implies Tifa at the very least. It's selfish to think of only herself, however. She refuses to think that's all of it.

Her gaze dips onto her drink for some moments and after a longer indulgence, with a little less of a grimace, she somehow finds her voice, despite the way it would easily sink beneath the weight of the thoughts so eager to touch her.]

There's really been a lot going on. I'm all ears, you know. Anything you might need. I probably won't be able to undo it, or even really actively help, but I'm a pretty good listener.

[Playfully, she offers a tug, listening very intently to the catch of his breath. Is that what it's like then? That little rush of desire that flickers up along her, like a flame gently being prodded and stoked? Maybe he feels something very similar every time she does something similar.

Aerith takes her time, using her fingertips to chart over the front of his trousers. Blindly she acquaints herself. Not to free him. Not yet, though it's quickly nearing the top of her to-do list. But first—]

I do like teasing you. You tease me too, though. Isn't that fair?

[She pulls the tip of her nose over his as a hand gently settles over the front, gently cupping him at the apex of his thighs.]

Maybe I just wanted you to ask nicely.

I know you are.

[He offers her a fond smile in immediate response, his voice soft at the edges, and without looking down, he reaches out across the counter to lay a hand atop hers. Of course she would offer him an ear, and he’ll no doubt take her up on it— but for all that he might have to say, he knows her to be the sort to shove her own burdens aside and focus on the problems of others, instead.

It is a habit he knows he cannot break her of, but it seems a bit silly when they share the same troubles, as they do now.]

I had thought to offer you the same. I imagine the house feels… rather empty, at the moment.

[His smile fades, just slightly.]

[That tug pulls a soft little moan from him, barely-restrained— she’s only touching him through his trousers and it is still enough to nearly drive him mad with want. For a moment, his lower lip catches between his teeth as he stifles himself, lust flaring in his already heated gaze as she cups her hand against him, careful but deliberate.

She’s not done that before, he notes— until now, he’s taken the lead, driven most of their intimate endeavors, but he rather likes this bold new stroke she’s shown.]

Oh, no doubt I deserve that.

[He’s asked her to do the same, after all. He draws in another sharp breath, his gaze fixed on her now, unflinching.]

Please, Aerith.

[He's onto her. He always is. Knows she'll bury herself in the issues of others in an effort to not focus quite so hard on her own, though it's to be understood that she'll bury herself in her own thoughts in her solitude. His question is pointed and fair. After a breath's consideration, she sinks down a little bit.

Ah. He's noticed.]

I didn't even have to say anything, it seems.

[She smiles a little. It's sombre. She's trying, at the very least. She always is, though, isn't she. Is there ever a moment in which she isn't?]

How did you know?

You... definitely deserve that.

[She says it quietly, taking in the endearing sight of him clutching gently at his lower lip. She normally does that, doesn't she? It's quite an occasion for him to do the same. He looks... almost boyishly cute when he does such things. She wonders if she can make him do such things more.

She'll just have to try later on, won't she.

His plea, pointed as it is, is like music to her ears. For some moments, she leaves her eyes on his, the careful, firm rub of her touch against his trousers, and eventually her touch scales back up to begin plucking at the front that keeps him bound.]

I love it when you look like that, Balthier.

[His fingers curl against her hand, thumb smoothly moving across the back of it in a gentle show of both affection and reassurance, his gaze soft as it remains fixed on her.

How could he not know?]

You are always at your very best when you have people to care for, my dear.

[He knows that having Tifa and Nanaki staying with her for any length of time had been about more than just company, though that was certainly a large part of it, as well.]

I miss them, too.

[He knows it's different. They were her links to home, and while her relationship with home and her own existence might be complicated, her relationship with her friends was not.]

I will gladly take what I'm owed.

[He's teased her endlessly; of course he deserves for her to do the same in turn, and it would be a lie to say that any part of it was unpleasant. She could tease him until he was but a breath away from being a broken man, and he could not complain, only let himself be at her mercy and gladly so.

For now, she is kind; her touch becomes more firm, her gaze locked with his own, and he lets out a breathless sound that catches at the back of his throat as he feels himself respond to her, the way the firm stroke of her fingers makes him ache for more, for the soft touch of flesh, and he swallows as a shudder runs through him and that sound melts into a wanton groan, his pupils blown wide as he keeps his gaze trained on her.]

Is it satisfying, knowing it's all your doing?

[It's a little strange to hear him define her so accurately. So pointedly. But there's nothing false about that statement. She is at her best when she's taking care of others. Maybe it's a little more than that. She can't simplify the feelings of being around Tifa and Nanaki to just taking care of them.

She sinks down just a touch more, releasing her hold on her glass to set it down in favour of taking his hand instead. That is more comforting to her than a drink, she decides.]

Right. It's not just me who knew them. It's not like I forget it. It's just different.

[Now she's lost Tifa for the second time. It was hard enough the first. Back then, she'd simply tried her best to shrug it off. But having them both, letting them live with her, and now every time she hears Clover cry... a part of her feels like crying too.]

I'm glad they got to go back home. I'm sure that's where they wanted to be.

[There's that sound again. A deeper timbre that is very exclusively Balthier's. It's so strange how a sound can feel as if it resonates across her insides. As though sound itself can be as physical as a touch. She's long since decided that this is purely because it comes from him. She isn't sure she'd have the same reaction, the same fondness were it to come from someone else. Balthier makes it, as he does everything that he touches, special.

The little shudder that courses along him is delightful. The whole proverbial portrait of the man. Proud and arrogant, ambitious, confident, unabashed. There's truth in his words that she's hesitant to agree with, to admit to. There is empowerment that she, a girl she's thought very much doesn't necessarily suit him or what he might be looking for in another, can make him react in any such way at all. She still isn't really sure what it is about her either.

She's always felt rather inconsequential and of little note where her history isn't concerned. But he's always treated her as though she's special. His gaze locks on hers and though she's tempted to look aside, somehow she finds the courage to overpower that.]

...Yeah. It is, actually.

[She answers him softly. Honestly. Fingertips unfasten and loosen leather beneath her touch that she carefully begins to tug over hips that are so very different from her own. She's not forgotten that either. Balthier is all stability and security. She, on the other hand, is all soft things and malleable.]

Think you can stand to help me a little, or are you that distracted?

[He'd known the truth even before she'd brought herself to admit it, of course— because he knows precisely how satisfied he feels every time he is able to draw a moan or whimper from her, every time she shivers beneath his touch. It never fails the stoke the fire that already burns bright within him, drives his desire for her forward, and that she can admit as much while keeping her gaze on his does much the same.

He feels leather begin to go slack, the promise of freedom near; he knows he's become achingly hard beneath the tight of his trousers, enough so that it's effort to remain composed in the face of her question when he feels the urge to rush to comply.

Instead, he gives a breathless chuckle, cupping the side of her face and trailing his thumb along her cheekbone before he moves his hand to her shoulder and eases back from the mattress to stand, his arousal becoming more apparent beneath partially-open trousers as he moves.]

Anything for you.

[Especially if it means she's going to follow up with more of her touch. He watches her expectantly, the rise and fall of his chest steady with his breath despite the fact that he feels his heart threatening to beat against his ribcage until it breaks free.]

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