theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[He draws himself all the closer to her and blissfully unaware of the thoughts fluttering through his pretty head, Aerith assumes it is merely his means of comforting her. What he follows up with is comfort in its own way. That no matter what happens, she remains herself. She still approaches situations in the same way, with the same mentality.

She always worries about others. What they want. What they deserve. So rarely does she ever think of herself. Maybe that's just the way it is, however. She can't imagine being any other way, and she suspects anyone who knows her would feel quite the same.]

Maybe. It doesn't really matter if I've left my mark or not.

[Which is true. It doesn't matter. Not really. Whether they remember or not, that's not a concern. Not in the broad spectrum of things. What really does matter is that those they meet, those they cross paths with, that they individuals find happiness. In some way. Doesn't have to be this world. Doesn't even have to be the next one. Just needs to be sometime.]

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring any of this to you. I'm sure you've got your mind other places, too.

[She's always been teasing him. From the very get go, she's done that. A good way of keeping him on his toes. A defence mechanism, in a way. She can't deny that. Laughter has been a good way of not diving too deeply into her own feelings. And she suspects it has been somewhat similar for him.

His touch travels over her and her expression softens. Darkens, perhaps, in a way that it can and she can still remain very much herself. She doesn't always have the awareness to know her effect on him or others. She doesn't necessarily have the experience to know what Balthier thinks of when it comes to her. Surely he has thoughts of her, of all colours.

As she lifts a hand, it presses along his chest, that impossibly small space between them that only seems to disappear with the time that follows. He does steady her and she's thankful for it, easily feeling faint beneath the weight of the moment. The growing heat between them. The easy desire and affection they share, though she's attempted more than once to ward him off in the softest way possible.

As his lips meet her jaw and follow the gentle trail there, she barely hears him when he speaks up. It takes breaths for her to replay his words in her head.]

Something... new? [She asks him, momentarily obsessed with the way he titles her. 'Love.' He did that before, as well. The first time she fell into his bedding with him.] I'm listening. [It leaves her in a murmur, but she seems sincere.]

[He lets out a soft, breathless laugh just above her ear, humorless, and gently shakes his head before he takes a moment to bury his nose and lips into soft, chestnut hair. He does not pull away, does not allow any more space to come between them, but remains precisely where he is, his embrace secure, the touch of his hands to her own just as much for his own comfort as it might be for hers.]

I believe I came here by choice, did I not?

[They both have a lot on their minds right now, given all that's gone on.]

I miss them, too— and given there's nothing simple about the situation as it stands, feelings regarding it are going to be complex no matter which angle one approaches from.

[And it's fine to feel all of it, something he has to remind himself of, inclined as he is to tuck such things away, unseen.]

I came here to be with you. This is simply a part of that.

[He looks up at her, giving a knowing smile against her jaw, and though he is oh so reluctant to change anything at the moment— gods, he would give anything to have her keep touching him like that— he is forced to shift and ease himself from it as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving a parting kiss against the soft, sweet-smelling curve of her neck before easing back towards the headboard. He'll have to take care of the plants she has shelved there, and he does pause long enough to put a pillow behind his back before he settles in and uses the hand at her hip to guide her to follow.]

Come here.

[Though both still partially dressed, if she'll allow him, he'll guide her to come sit atop him and rest her seat against his thighs, his pants still open beneath her. One hand remains at her waist for guidance, stability, while the other playfully slips beneath her skirt where their positioning has forced it to bunch up, and his dexterous fingers quite deliberately move over the curve of her hip and rear, the warm flush of skin making his heart beat that much faster.

He leans in to press a languid kiss against her neck before steadily working his way down, each kiss slow and deliberate, affectionate and desirous, pausing around her collarbone to offer:]

I like the view from this angle.

Edited 2022-06-06 15:15 (UTC)

[She hears it. The subtle rumble of his voice in his laughter. A little hollow, if she was going to describe it. With all of the reasons for why it ought to be. For those moments, she simply savours the feeling. What it's like to be held in such a way. What it means for them together. How much it means to have him there when she needs him.

Not that she couldn't handle things on her own. She could. There's no doubting that Aerith is an extraordinarily strong woman. It's simply nice to have his companionship. Something to support her if she should need it. When she should need it. She can't do everything alone, after all.]

You just came here to be with me? [It encourages her to loose a small laugh as well. A bit shaky and uncertain. Touched by the sentiment. Not really surprised, considering all she and Balthier have been through together by this point.] You could've been doing something important. I hope I didn't interrupt anything. I know I'll be okay in time. What're we going to do about Clover? I guess... I can keep her. Probably make the house not feel so empty.

[Right now, Clover's little mewls are the only things keeping Aerith from going absolutely bonkers, she's sure.]

[It is just as he begins shifting away that Aerith's fingertips start to curl in against his chest. A breath falls out of her and for several moments, she simply lingers on the feeling, the impression he leaves by way of what should otherwise seem only a simple kiss. As she's coming to learn, however, whatever this part of their relationship is, as is with the rest of it, none is particularly simple. None of it is mere. None of it is trivial. It's all quite important, even if she hasn't figured out just how much or the weight of that importance.

His hold curls over her hip and it takes very little coercion for her to pursue him. She seats herself carefully, understanding that the weight of the situation is something to consider, just as much as the aching arousal she's been familiarising herself with. She must not cause him discomfort and she's well aware she'll stumble and fumble and be horrendously embarrassing, but maybe he'll forget all about that in time. One can't expect her to know everything, or even a sliver of things.

A shudder scales up along her and she spiders long fingertips up across the broad of his chest, the scars that line him. He leaves her shaken, a pleasant amalgamation of steamy thoughts that exhaustively come about when he's in the proverbial picture.]

I don't—

[She begins, though her words die rather quickly the moment he's touching heated mouth back along the turn of her neck. Aerith is distracted for the breaths that it takes him to create invisible trail with his lips, the distant threat of teeth beneath them. She can remember the first time he pulled kisses over her shoulder and how much she desperately wanted more in those moments. Thoughts of anyone coming in quickly, easily leave her. There's no need to be caught up in them. The only thing she wants to think about is Balthier.

How easy that is. Short, well-kept nails press into his skin as she pulls herself together to find words again, which are soft and kept between them, as if they're scandalous little things.]

...I'm not much to look at, I don't think. But you always seem to disagree...

[She wonders what he sees when he's looking at her. When he's touching her and learning about her through the use of eyes and more. Muscle flexes beneath his touch, the pool of desire and affection growing at the small of her back. It's never easy for her to say, but she wants him. She wants him now as much as she wanted him the first time he rested against the finery of his bedding. And she knows she'll want him just as much in the days that follow.]

There is nothing more important to me than this.

[It's the sort of candor he would never offer anyone else, not so freely; the number of people he trusts enough to be so open with is quite small, and in this place, Aerith now has something of a monopoly on his trust— well-earned, at that. He squeezes her hand gently, leaving it tucked against her stomach, nodding his approval before he carefully props his chin atop her head.]

I think she would be happiest with you. Tifa would be glad to know she was in such excellent hands, as well.

[He sees no reason to uproot the poor thing.]

Besides, she's very good company. I'm fond of her, myself.

[She may not be able to say so directly, but he'd learned to read her quickly, the tells of her breath and body alike, the brief halting of her voice as she continues to find herself in situations that are as unfamiliar as they are thrilling, things she has only seen echoes of in the written word. His hand moves to the small of her back, thumb drawing steady circles against her skin as he'd slipped in beneath her skirt, and his wanting gaze remains fixed on her as he gives a faint shake of his head.

She is right— with that, he will always disagree.]

You simply lack my perspective. You are stunning— impossibly lovely.

[How much he wants her only ever serves to make her moreso, her humility and gentle teasing when she tries to cover how flustered she is making her that much more desirable to him.

His lips trail along her collarbone, back towards her sternum and between her breasts where her dress hangs open, each press still slow and gentle, serving to fan the flames between them.]

I want to watch you lose yourself.

[Is that true...? She has no reason not to believe him. Aerith doubts he often says things like that, if he ever does. He's not a man who says things he doesn't genuinely mean. And he isn't a man who really speaks much about his feelings.

She squeezes his hand back in return. It's acknowledgement of his presence. Appreciation, unspoken though it may be, of his devotion to her. Of the way he cares so deeply about her feelings and how she's handling this situation. She's sure she could be facing it better. She's also sure that she could be facing it considerably worse.

Her thoughts turn over onto Clover and she nods slowly.]

That's your way of saying we're keeping her, I take it.

[She wants to argue. She most likely always will be faced with that temptation. Any intention to do so in the present, however, dies rather easily. Slain by the same fingertips that he presses along her skin. Incapacitated by the flush that stains her cheeks. Aerith draws in a deep breath, holding it just enough to keep herself focused on the situation. As best as she can.

He pulls soft lips along her skin, taunting the fallen fabric hanging off of her loosely. Her posture shifts, her weight pressed into one palm as she attempts to inconspicuously move atop him. It's difficult to hide how he makes her feel. The growth of arousal that he sends up along her, tendrils of pleasure wrapping and spreading over the small of her back.]

Now, you're just trying to embarrass me.

[She tries to sound like she's scolding him. Tries. She's not certain she's particularly convincing.]

Unless you're terribly opposed, of course, but I can't imagine that.

[It's not his home, and not his decision to make, after all, but he thinks that not only would it be what Tifa wanted, but that it might bring Aerith some semblance of peace. It's not the same as having her beloved friend back— but he thinks both Aerith and Clover would be happiest if the kitten stayed, in the long run.]

I can't think of anywhere she'd rather be. She's made herself quite comfortable, by now. It would be a shame to upset all that.

[He's not convinced in the least.]

Hardly.

[Though he's not above teasing her in other moments where a bit of playful embarrassment is the goal, he never wants her to feel embarrassed about this. His lips curve into a knowing smile against her skin, his hand at her back serving to steady her as she shifts atop him.]

Only telling you how I see things. There is nothing to be embarrassed about here.

[Intimate moments like these are many things, but he will never stand for them being something to be ashamed of or shy away from.

He falls back against the pillow and smiles up at her, lightly hooking a finger beneath the strap of her dress and guiding it down over her shoulder properly.]

You're welcome to scold me more, if it helps.

No. Of course not.

[When she thinks of Clover, she considers how confused the kitten must be. Not knowing where Tifa is. It's disorienting enough when it comes to being without another person, but... for a cat, it must be doubly so. What is she supposed to think when her mother mysteriously vanishes?

Aerith wears a frown for a moment or two before she nods, as if she's confirming it for herself, though it's very likely that she's already made the decision before even having this conversation. In the end, she doesn't need Balthier's input. She would have done things with or without it, after all.]

Yeah. She should stay. She's probably really confused. Maybe a little scared. I want to help with that, if I can. Besides, I know she likes you too, so right now, my two favourite people are here.

[That's right. Clover is now a person.]

[She cannot imagine any amount of time in which they may do things just like this and she will grow comfortable. She imagines there will always be a part of her that hesitates. Just enough to be aware of the situation and the weight of their actions. These are not simple decisions made for either of them. They have gotten here by the very real desires. Not necessarily expectations of the other, but of themselves. A need to pursue the concept of happiness. A happiness that one finds in their counterpart.

Her teeth nip into her lower lip as he draws himself back down. He's smiling all over again. That handsome quirk of his mouth. Sometimes it is sly and cunning. In the moments with her, it seems so sincere and pure. Untainted by his history. Unaffected by all he's been through. Drawing in a breath, her fingers clench against him, and she utters a soft laugh as she shifts against him, a deliberate press of her body against his, heated arousal against him.

She wants him to know his effect on her.]

If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like it when I scold you. Is there something you need to tell me...?

[Clover certainly is a person— she'll receive no argument from him on that point. He nods his agreement; he doubts she truly needed his input, but her remark regarding being one of her favorite people sets something alight in his heart, as her affections so often do.

'You fill my heart with fire,' she'd once told him, and he feels much the same.]

I can think of no one better to offer her comfort.

[Aerith's kindness and compassion are precisely what Clover needs at this time. He smiles softly, turning his head to press another kiss against her temple.]

As for me, I'll stay as long as you'll allow. I dislike the idea of you in that house alone— I would much rather be there with you.

[His flat is seeing less and less use, as it stands.]

Well, I certainly don't dislike it. Perhaps that will be worth some self-examination in the future, though at the moment, I fear I do not have the attention to spare.

[It is entirely fixed on her, and he lets out a low, warm chuckle as an additional response to her playful barb. She is doing some teasing of her own, he notes, and it further stokes the heated embers in his belly. They are still partially dressed, each of them, but certainly undressed enough, the heat of her arousal pressing against him and reminding him of just how badly he wants her, as if he'd even had the opportunity to forget.

He pulls her down into another kiss, long and lingering, seeking to taste her in the process, bringing his hands to rest on her hips in the moments that follow, his breath shallow beneath her.]

I need you.

[His hands gently guide her hips forward; she doesn't have far to go, but he shifts beneath her to press his own arousal against her entrance, promising and waiting for any show of permission, of readiness, before he sheathes himself in full— unless she chooses to move ahead on her own.]

[Her head tips as she considers where she ought to move Clover. Can't keep her in Tifa's old room. It's so empty without Tifa there and admittedly, every time she walks in, her heart feels heavy and her chest grows tight. And for some of those moments that she's in there, Aerith wonders if she might cry. It would be better to move the kitten into her own room.

Maybe Clover will sleep with her. That... that would be nice.

Balthier's words hit her ears and as he presses that kiss to her temple, she feels her eyebrows knit together.]

What about Fran? You can't just leave her on her own. She hasn't been here long, Balthier.

[Point well made. This is not exactly the opportune moment to be discussing assessment and getting to the bottom of precisely why Balthier might enjoy having Aerith scold him. The right time? She can't say, but probably not one where they're intertwining with one another.

He draws her down effortlessly, though it's not as if she's making it terribly difficult for him. If anything, she's probably making it too easy, if only because she's testing herself. Testing what she's willing to expose to him. Teasing him with words, with the line of her frame, with the heat that lingers between her thighs. It's all a bunch of stepping stones in their relationship.

Heart is all well and good, but there is just... something miraculous about each moment that he puts his hands on her. His words stir deep within her that burning affection she seems to keep hidden beneath an otherwise innocent exterior. He needs her. He loves her. It's a similar feeling. Trying to understand that and parse it, figure out why and how. She only feels compelled to be near him.

His touch atop her hips is all the encouragement she needs. Fingers press into him, grip, and she uses that in tandem with his own movement to press herself atop him. He sinks against her, the coil of desire, heated adoration and lust in one inspiring the tightening of her hold on his skin. Her lips rest atop his chin as she gathers her breath or whatever may remain of her composure, breath hot and shuddering.]

...I love you, Balthier.

[Has she said that before? She can't recall. She's thought it, certainly. Contemplated saying it. Wondering if it's an okay thing for her to say, or if it's too deep to go into. If it binds them together too tightly. But maybe this is the right moment.]

[The question would likely seem a natural one to just about anyone who didn't understand the relationship he and his partner shared intimately— which was just about anyone and everyone outside of the two of them. He laughs briefly, a soft and almost derisive sound that he murmurs against her temple, though his amusement is genuine.]

She has not, no, and I fear she already tires of being in such close quarters with me. Sharing a flat, it turns out, is quite different from sharing a ship and living out of inns. Even knowing one another as long as we have, I think a few new quirks have come to light. Fran likes the quiet— I believe she quite enjoys the nights she gets to herself.

[It's not as though he hasn't had a fair few overnight visits that have kept him out of her hair, after all.]

Besides, spending time with you hardly means abandoning my partner.

[...There's probably more space apart on a ship than there is a flat. It doesn't sound so crazy when he's explaining that Fran might very well appreciate having her own space. His voice rumbles up against her temple and she draws in a long breath, holding it for just a few moments more before she releases it.

...She wonders... if they've talked about her. Maybe. Probably. But what has Balthier said? She can only guess. Fran is someone with whom he can truly be himself. It is very likely that he's decently honest with her. In his way, he suspects.]

What makes you think you wouldn't have issues living here with me? I'm sure you'd want your own space. The house isn't that big.

[Generous, yes. Big for one person and a kitten, yes. But he has his schematics for his airship. He will need space... She wants to give him that space.]

I want you here if that's what you want, but I'm not going to force it either. I don't want you doing it because you feel sorry for me.

[All of it at once is enough to leave him breathless for a moment. The soft press of her lips, the tight, exquisite heat of her, the shudder of her breath, that admission of hers— he almost feels as though something in his chest might burst. He'd said those same words not half an hour before, some few feet beyond her bedroom door, and he had meant them, but only now does their weight truly begin to make itself known, the gravity of having such a sentiment returned unknown to him until now.

It makes him want to hold onto her all the more tightly, to insist on fighting should she try to pull away from him again in the interest of shielding him, but he doesn't believe he'll have to. They understand one another better now— and he knows well a treasure worth holding onto when he finds it. He intends to make certain that she does, as well.

He tips his chin to claim her mouth when he finds his breath again, kiss hot and hungry as he shifts his hips upwards, burying himself in her fully, fingers pressing into the back of the soft curve of her hip as he does everything, everything he can to commit this moment to memory.]

I love you, too.

[He'd said it before, but it's different now, breathless and murmured against her lips, lacking the frustration and hard edges of their earlier conversation and filled with an entirely different sort of passion, though it is no less heated.]

[It begins as a flutter. Nothing in their relationship has exactly been simple. It's been layered and complicated for them both. Their feelings regarding where they stand with others. Their feels about who they are as individuals. The recognition of one's counterpart in another person. If she were to play it all back, it would seem very hasty. Perhaps reckless. But the truth is that perhaps given their circumstances, haste means very little in the grand spectrum of things. Their situation is quite the unique one.

His lips take to hers easily. Hungrily, even. As he buries himself against her, the flush in her features deepens. The thrum of her pulse intensifies. The only thing she can think about is him. The only thing she wants to think about is him. Easily, she's captivated. A thrall to his affections. A soft hitch of her breath ensues and his words linger between her ears, sounding so lovely and threatening a shudder at the small of her back.

It's as if it's obstacles they've stumbled over, this ability to love others. The capacity for love.

She leaves a hand against his chest to support herself and her other hand traces down over his shoulder, along his forearm, and across his wrist.]

...Please touch me.

[Her words are murmured and silken, easily falling into the heated silence between them. She realises that she doesn't care where. How. She simply wants them to be connected in a way she refuses to be connected to any other.]

Who’s to say I won’t be the troublesome one?

[For as much as he loves to lean into his leading man persona, he’s not unaware of the fact that he can be difficult at times, even surprisingly thorny on occasions if rubbed the wrong way. Perhaps he’s putting her on a bit of a pedestal, but it’s difficult to imagine ever finding himself tiring of her company— in some part because of the constant reminders this place has offered that their time is precious. Everyone’s is.]

I seem to remember touching on a few nerves when I was your patient.

[Many of those were Tifa’s, but their friendship hadn’t suffered for it. It does, in this moment, occur to him that they are suddenly discussing a very serious step forward— but he’s been plain enough with his feelings, with her and with himself. It’s not so alarming, is it?]

[He offers a soft moan of assent against her lips, the trail left by her touch hot against his skin. As before, she’ll not need to ask him twice; it’s taken effort to contain himself as he has until now, and he has no intention of taking his hands off of her now. He chases another heated kiss, unable to curb the need for more of her, and his ringed fingers trace along the curve of her neck before trailing downwards, ghosting their way down the slope of her breast, his thumb lightly dragging across her nipple as his other hand slides back to her hip, offering her support even as his thumb traces that curve, as well.]

I’ll touch you all you want.

[As far as he’s concerned, they’ve barely started; there’s no longer a single thought in his head regarding what might happen if her housemates return in the near future. All that matters is being here with her.

He begins to kiss his way back towards her jaw, nuzzling against the soft line of it before he kisses his way down the length of her neck, slow and steady, each press of his lips deliberate as his hand moves from her hip to draw its way down her thigh, fingers splayed.]

I want to see you come undone.

You sound so proud of that.

[Aerith wears a lopsided smile as she focuses on him thoughtfully. She remembers very well what it was like to have him there the time before. Different circumstances. Maybe this time will be better.

Dipping her chin, she takes a moment to consider the entire image as a whole. They’re talking about it with a fair amount of casual address, but… It’s a lot more than that. Making such a decision requires care. Moving in together…? It’s serious. Are either of them ready for such a thing? As if they were ready for any of the steps that led them to this moment.]

…You sure about this? You don’t strike me as the type to just settle down. And I know you’re just doing this because you’re probably afraid of it just being Clover and me. I don’t want you to worry.

[She may be a little sad, but… It’s nothing she won’t eventually move past.]

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