theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[Her head tips just in slight as he presses lips to her temple. It's almost instinct that encourages her to shift the way her hand rests when he settles touch against it and she airs a soft sigh. He wants to offer her the same? She isn't saying it, but it's likely clear cut that Aerith hasn't felt much the same. Not with him. Not with Tifa. It's nothing personal. She doubts there's anyone ever in the world who would make her feel as if it's safe to speak up about herself or whatever she may be going through.

Or maybe it's just the idea that everyone else has their own things to work through and Aerith simply doesn't want to add onto what's preexisting. It's difficult to say and she's not even sure it's one reason and one only.]

I'm not much for talking a lot about that kind of stuff. It's real easy to talk to other people about themselves. And sometimes there are people who love being the centre of attention.

[She feels like at this point, with Balthier especially, she's said as much about herself that she ever needs to say. Anything else beyond that is unnecessary and leaves her with a familiar weight of reality.]

[He lets out a soft hmm of agreement, wordless understanding. Of the two of them, he is far more likely to trend towards wanting to be the center of attention, even if what he often puts on display is only partly real at best.]

I'll never ask or expect you to say anything you wouldn't offer freely— if that means that you choose to say nothing, I don't mind in the least. I only hope that if you ever feel you need to share such things, that you know you can trust me.

[The same thing she had offered him, now and weeks beforehand, in so many words. The only difference is their respective willingness, and that troubles him not at all— he's more interested in spending time with who she is now then prying at her for all the bits and pieces that got her here.

He drops one of his hands to rest lightly against her hip, dipping his head slightly to tease his lips against the cuff of her ear.]

You may not be the sort who likes to be the center of attention, but you certainly have mine.

I...

[She wonders how to address any of that. Given how much she's told him, she's not sure how much more she can tell him. He knows... the majority of everything, doesn't he? But she supposes if anything else should come up that's really what he's getting at. For instance, should something happen with Sephiroth...

Except she's aware enough she won't say anything if that becomes the case. She should and she simply won't.

Before she has the chance to say much else, the very brush of his lips against the edge of her ear causes her breath to catch softly. That's intentional, isn't it? A means of distraction. Perhaps that's a necessity given the amount of tension that has been holding onto her so intently.]

I think I can handle your attention. As long as I don't have to be in a position where suddenly everyone's looking at me. As a sky pirate, I bet you get it. It's a lot easier to manoeuvre things when people think I'm not worth paying attention to. I think I've had enough attention from unwanted parties to last me a lifetime.

[A shortened lifetime, at that, if she doesn't find a way around it.]

[It is, of course, absolutely intentional. They've spoken at length about heavier topics this evening, and while what's been said here pales dramatically in comparison to all that had been laid bare in her kitchen, he thinks it best, perhaps, that they not let their thoughts wander towards anything too somber— his own, in particular, and Aerith has certainly more than earned a reprieve.]

There's something to be said for anonymity.

[It's been a long while since he'd experienced it in Ivalice, and the fact that his name meant so little here had allowed him to get another taste of it. Though there are some mixed feelings as a result, he's sure that in Aerith's case, it's nothing short of a blessing.]

With that in mind, I'm grateful you've made an exception for me. [At least for the time being.] You won't be losing my attention anytime soon.

[It's persisted despite her best efforts, otherwise. He brings his other hand to her shoulder and gently encourages her to turn to face him as his lips fall away from her ear and he straightens.]

I don't think you've given me much of an option otherwise.

[That's not accusatory. It's almost amused in a way. Aerith doesn't need a lot of coercion for her to turn. She does so with a fair amount of care, adjusting his hold where she has no other alternative. Lifting her gaze back onto him, she loosely folds her hands together and they linger right about her collar.]

I think the thing about eyes is that they're much like any other kind of free will. I can't really control that when it comes to another person. So I can't stop you from looking at me. And I couldn't stop you from showering me with attention if I wanted to.

[After a moment's pause, she continues.]

I'm not implying I want to. Just an observation.

I think I ought to take some degree of pride in that.

[He chuckles along with his response; they've each met their match in stubbornness, it's become clear. While his persistence or tendency to fixate on things doesn't always serve him well, in this regard, it most certainly has.

He shifts his hold on her as needed, though he's quick to drape an arm around her waist again as she comes to face him, an amused quirk tugging at the corner of his own smile.]

Well, suppose that's for the best. I don't intend to stop doing so at any point.

[Good, then, that she sees things his way. He crooks a finger beneath her chin to tip it upwards so that he can lean down to meet and kiss her properly, without any desperate demands or kitchen sinks involved, without feeling as though he has to prove something. It is, nonetheless, intent and heartfelt, eager to make up for lost time, and the hand at her waist comes to rest against the small of her back, fingers spread.]

Maybe... moderation.

[Her words are somewhat more hushed when he continues. If he's like this ordinarily with one he cares deeply about, then anyone having his attention like so would be a great deal special. He's said it before, however, that he thinks she's significant. Special. Important. He's not implied it was on her own merits as an individual, and he hasn't needed to. He provided her with attention before ever knowing about her. Who she was. What she was. To him, she's simply been Aerith Gainsborough, flower girl with many secrets.

...What is she to him now?

For just a flicker of a moment, Aerith's eyebrows knit together as she begins to contemplate just what that might be. She doesn't get far. He tips up her chin easily and bends just enough to touch his lips to her own. Before him, she didn't realise there could be so many types of kisses or that kisses were, as people are, so complex. Whether he intends to or not, Balthier is always showing her something new.

Visibly she softens, willing to release some of that tension she's held and practically clung to, knowing that without it, it might as well be the same thing as caught adrift in a sea. A breath of hesitance ensues before she presses the touch of fingertips against his chest.

Right. He's shirtless. It's very noticeable.]

[He smirks against the curve of her lips as her fingertips lightly brush against bare skin, warm despite the fact that she'd carted his shirt off to the laundry some time ago now. That furrow of her brow as he'd leaned in hadn't quite escaped him— no doubt she has a lot on her mind, as she always does, but he's quite keen to encourage her to loosen her hold on it— for a little while, at least.]

Moderation.

[He echoes her with a note of warmth and humor in his voice as the kiss breaks, without pulling away.]

Pirates are famously known for it, of course.

[Sarcasm, of course, though affectionate. Even his brand of pirate is prone to excess.]

I'll do my best, then, for your sake, to be restrained.

[There's the subtle, sultry turn of his voice in his mimicry of her. Not really mimicry, she supposes, but that ever intentional jab in her direction. But that's how all of this began. She wouldn't want him if he was any other way. At least, that's the easy way to look at it. Truthfully, she quite possibly would have wanted him regardless. There is no denying that Balthier's sharp wit is a good deal why he drew her to him.

For a breath, perhaps three, her touch grips and spreads, before she forces it to slacken, pressing the smooth, warm flat of her palm along his skin.]

If you need to know the definition... [She begins softly, caught somewhere between sensation and lightheaded.] ...I can get you a dictionary.

[Very smooth.]

That won't be necessary, though I appreciate the offer.

[He chuckles softly, shaking his head lightly as he remains pressed close. He releases her chin so that he can take her waist with both hands this time, hoisting her upwards— they haven't far to go this time, but there's a certain rush of adrenaline that comes with those moments of taking charge. He keeps her pulled close against his bare chest, one hand sliding over her hip and to just beneath her thigh so that he can pull her leg snug against his waist.]

I've no intention of letting you leave this room any time soon.

[A promise, rather than a threat, and he turns to carry her towards her own bed with purpose.

Whatever tomorrow brings, they've already agreed, in so many words, that they both want the same thing tonight.]

[As he draws her up, Aerith carefully drapes slender arms over his shoulders, trying to ignore the way the flush staining her cheeks must darken in mere moments. His words are filled with heavy implication. It's not wholly a surprise. In her kitchen, just the way he kissed her had been filled with an undeniable need. Impatience, perhaps. She's kept him at arm's length for... some time. Longer than she's realised.]

I think that's failing the 'moderation' part.

[A nagging voice in the back of her head still wonders if it's okay to let something like this happen, even as she's carefully tightening the hold of her leg against him, though he likely doesn't need the assistance. He's always moved her as if it was something effortless on his part.]

What if Tifa or Nanaki need something? I didn't tell them that you'd be here.

Can't I worry about moderation tomorrow?

[He laughs again, leaning in to brush his lips along the line of her jaw for emphasis, the slow, downwards drag that teases at a proper kiss full of promise. While he doesn't need the help, the tightening of her leg as it remains draped over his hip is certainly encouraging, and he gives a soft grunt of approval as they reach the bed.

He's careful in lowering her to it, remaining close all the while; no sooner is she on her back than he invites himself to join her, kneeling between her legs as he props himself up with one hand, shifting to kiss her fully, deep and insistent with parted lips, restraint quickly becoming a thing of the past.]

They're both grown adults, are they not? And, if I recall, they both have keys.

[They'll be fine— though if Aerith is worried about being caught or even overheard, that's another matter entirely, one he would be inclined to offer understanding despite his wants.]

[Just the mere contact of his lips along her jaw line encourages the flex of her fingers, stretching and spreading along his lower back. As ever, it's hard not to simply agree, more so when he uses that tone with her. It's likely all very intentional on his part. That he makes her resolve so weak remains true and pointed. As he reverently escorts her to her bed, her hold on him adjusts, one hand tracing up along her thigh to take hold of the bottom seam of her skirt, holding it where it lingers.

It's modesty only in slight. And she doubts very much that he much cares.

His lips touch to hers and it's a passionate one, leaving her trying to regain some form of composure when he relents, though he remains dangerously close to her.]

...They do, yes.

[Maybe she's just looking for an excuse not to fall so incredibly hard for Balthier, though she's certain that's already happened despite the way she's tried to avoid it.]

You're looking at me that way again.

[The way where she feels like she could faint under the weight of his darkened gaze. She remembers it very well.]

...I'm sorry for keeping you away from me for so long.

[Even as she reaches to grab at the hem of her skirt, his own fingers move fleetly down the length of her thigh, his touch brushing against hers. Modesty has no place here, though he can respect her desire to hold onto it a few moments longer— this, he knows, is still new for her, still brings with it a certain degree of uncertainty, though he hopes for the both of them, it will become something as natural as it is thrilling, the very idea of sharing oneself with another.]

You like it when I look at you this way.

[He smirks— she'd told him as much, but he follows his previous kiss with another, this one a bit softer, relenting slightly. While he is certain of what they both want, he knows the situation remains complex, muddied by emotions despite their strength.

For but a moment, his expression grows a bit more somber, though he makes no move to pull away from her, keeping his weight on his hand as he lets his forehead come to rest against hers.]

You needn't apologize for that now. You had your reasons. I understand them better now— and you— and if you wish for nothing more to happen tonight, then I will listen.

[But he's positive that's not the case. Not when they'd both been searching for reasons to come to this very room.]

But I promise you this— in this moment, I want nothing more than to be with you.

[He's right. Although such dark and heavy, intense looks leave her fearing ability to hold onto her heart, she is livened by it. She can't remember feeling so alive before he stumbled into her life ever gracefully. The more alive she feels, the more she fears losing that feeling. But that's why things are as they are. Because there isn't a guarantee of the following day.

Neither of them have any way of knowing what may await them in the future.

Visibly she softens and she carefully takes the hand he's taunted her own with. His forehead rests to hers gently and she clings onto his words in the only way she knows how to. They hold desire and understanding, two things that don't seem as if they should be compatible together and yet they sound so natural coming from him. If she'd had any issues with such implications, she would have sent him home. Or perhaps she would have sentenced him back to the couch.

That he's here now as he is, that she's already reaching up for him with her other hand, to lightly curl touch along the plane of his back, it's all indicative otherwise. She wants him to stay.]

You already said you were staying. [She begins somewhat quietly, drawing in a deep breath as she presses the tip of her nose into his cheek.] I should make it worth your while.

[He exhales slowly, eyes sliding closed as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips once more. Her fingers move against his bared back, now hot to the touch, the way she leans into him alone all the answer he needs— but it still makes something in him soar to hear her say it, to hear her tell him in her own words that she wants him, as well.

He laughs again, soft and low, and the hand at her thigh slips past her own and beneath her hem, moving smoothly towards her hips, the heat of his fingertips and the comparatively cool press of his rings seemingly at odds with one another.]

Oh, I intend to make it worth both our whiles.

[Lest she think for even a moment that he's about to prove himself a selfish sort of pleasure-seeker— pirate or no.

He's quick, then, to slip his fingers beneath the waist of her underthings, leaving her dress itself untouched as he pulls her into an increasingly needful kiss, gently pulling fabric down over the curve of her hips as he parts his lips against hers. Last time, they had taken their sweet time in moving forward— this time around, he has a different approach in mind.]

[He speaks and his words flutter into an ear, lingering in her head for several long moments, but she's mostly distracted by the travel of his hand and the contrast of heat and cold atop her bare skin. She doesn't need a lot of guesses to figure out where he's going either. The haste makes her think of those more impassioned moments in books and it dawns on her that she's not had a plan of action for a situation like this one.

He touches his lips to hers and it's too late for her to pull the soft moan to the back of her throat. He tugs soft pastel fabric over pale skin and to better assist, she carefully uses one foot as leverage to help lift her hips for him without dislodging him. Perhaps she has a little haste in her as well, all things considered. This is what happens when she keeps them apart the way she has. Yet it also occurs to her that she is simply content to have his hands on her. In any fashion. Feed her once and she's simply forever starving afterwards.

After a playful nip into his lower lip, brief and fleeting, she murmurs up against his mouth, vibration and heat resting atop his skin.]

...Are you afraid I'm going somewhere...?

[He smiles into her very words, his hands smoothly sliding that fabric over her hips and thighs as she shifts to aid him in his efforts, letting it come to rest just above her knees— he'll have to take care of it in full, momentarily, but he's not quite ready to pull away from her yet, and claims another kiss following her question, feeling himself quickly growing heady, the room seeming far warmer now than it had been when he'd been awaiting her arrival.]

Not especially. Too hasty, am I?

[Though there's a light, teasing note to his question, it is still genuine— her comfort matters, after all, though he doesn't think she'll feel particularly rushed once he starts in earnest. He pulls back until he's mostly upright, resting on his knees and offering her a knowing smirk as he slides her underthings downwards and lightly takes hold of one ankle after the other to free her, tossing them aside while leaving her the relative modesty of her sundress for the time being.]

A bit eager, I'll admit.

[Who wouldn't be?]

[He is not the only one turned by the situation or by their shared closed proximity. As someone who tends to keep others at a certain kind of distance (though usually emotionally, as she considers it remotely), letting him near has been little more than an earth-shattering experience. They have so many other things in common that she wagers it's something of the same for him. Hard to be without something that they've both come to cherish. It's not necessarily about the physicality. It's just simply that intimacy. They could do nothing at all and she would enjoy simply being near him, talking about deeper things that seem as if they mean so little in the moment, but genuinely hold a great deal of weight.]

...No. Of course not.

[It falls out of her in a quiet breath with even quieter words once he frees her from another kiss that makes her feel as if she grows less and less in control of whatever resolve she's attempted to build up against him.

Her gaze watches him draw aside her things with a startling grace. And reverence. Somehow, he's always incredibly relevant of her. Very aware of her own sensitivities, though she wouldn't dare to acknowledge that they're there at all. Eventually it returns to his face, the little curl in his mouth that is both boyish and charming and she manages to utter out a soft laugh.]

Eager? [She asks, taking just a moment to scrape her teeth over her bottom lip as she tries not to smile too hard.] For something you already know? I'm not sure I'm that special.

'Already know?'

[One corner of his mouth curls yet higher as he echoes her, and he shakes his head as he smoothly nudges her knees apart so that he can insinuate himself between them, still kneeling as he lets them come to rest against either of his hips, dropping his hands to rest against her own waist, fingers curling into the pale fabric of her dress.]

I promise you, it's not that simple.

[Something he thinks may begin to set in, should they have more opportunities like these in the future— it is no less thrilling even once the first time has passed, especially when there's attachment involved, or so he's coming to learn very quickly in his own right.]

You're special to me. Isn't that enough?

[I wouldn't know.

It's much easier to admit that to herself than it would be to admit it to him. In spite of this road she and Balthier are in the midst of travelling, it's so much more than just the physicality of their relationship or how many unknowns that comes packaged with. It's the entire portrait. The idea that she could be important in that way to someone else. It's not a case of 'just' friends or 'just' family. There's no fair comparison for any of that. It's simply different.

She hangs onto his words with an attentiveness that she's not even prepared for, distracted for some moments by the way he shifts and adjusts her. He moves with promise. Something that's more than idle threat, if she even wants to put it that way. Makes it difficult to focus on what he's saying, but she puts all of her effort into doing precisely that, even with the way she's reaching up with aching fingertips to press her touch against his chest.]

I wasn't saying that it wasn't. [She replies quietly.] I guess... I just don't always understand. I can't see things the way you do. Not always. I can't see the me you see either.

[There's certainly room for philosophy there— does anyone ever quite see themselves the way others do, for better or for worse? Decidedly not, he thinks; even those brimming with confidence have the potential to be their own harshest critics. Aerith thinks herself to be quite ordinary, and to him, it seems perfectly plain that she is not.

He doesn't know that he can ever explain it to her satisfaction, but there's every chance that he can show her.

He gently catches her by her wrist to further guide her touch against his chest, eyes closing halfway as he leans into it; his thumb brushes against the back of her hand and his smile softens to become something fond and indulgent, even as his gaze has grown intense with wanting.]

There is not explanation enough— but given time, you may understand better.

[And even if only a little, they do have time. One hand moves down the length of her thigh, over the hem of her dress to gently nudge it into falling towadrs her waist, and he bends his head to press a single, chaste kiss against the inside of her knee, lingering.]

For now, you don't need to see things as I do. You need only relax.

[His weight presses into her hands and just that careful curl of his touch about her wrist sends a subtle little shudder up along the small of her back. From there, it spreads up along her and stretches out over her shoulders, leaving her, in part, pleasantly numb. For those moments, at any rate. Aerith's fingertips curl in ever slight against his chest, scar and muscle alike.

How is it possible for her to be anymore enamoured with him than she already is? He's the very portrait of attraction, housing an expression that harbours so many different, overwhelming sentiments. She doubts she could properly separate them if she genuinely tried, much less to identify them.

Still listening through the undeniable fuzzy that sentimentality and want can sometimes wrap his words in, she nods slowly. He draws touch along her thigh and though muscle instinctively flexes beneath his reverence, purely anticipation as it ever is with him, her gaze softens. The flush draped over her skin deepens.]

Every time you say that...

['Relax.' It's almost like some kind of code word that he uses before he does something that he likely shouldn't be doing. Or something they likely shouldn't be doing. Although in retrospect, considering the way things are at present, there's probably no such thing as should or its counterpart. There is do or don't.

His lips touch to the inner of her knee and for just a moment, her pulse jumps. Perhaps a moment and then some.]

...Balthier...

[It's only a kiss, but it feels so much more weighted. Her hands tighten along him before she presses more properly, perhaps more hungry for him than she's really willing to admit. A desert parched that can only be sated by him, though she'd never say it like that. Whatever it is, whatever that pull, that attraction, that desire to repeat moments where she cannot determine heartbeat from heartbeat, Aerith feels it quite clearly. It's a thing she's never asked for. A thing she's never expected. Yet he dangles it right before her.

...How can she possibly resist him?]

[He laughs, a low sound that rolls across her skin as he presses another chaste kiss just beneath the first, giving a slight shake of his head against her thigh.]

Every time I say that, something very good is about to happen.

[That, he knows, is not precisely what she would have said, had she finished that thought— but he's more than happy to take the liberty of finishing it for her. Aerith is the sort who puts her entire heart and being into taking care of others, and she is resistant to allowing such behavior to be turned back on her. At least in this way, he knows he's in an excellent position to take care of her, instead— though he has the feeling that as she gains confidence, she very well may give him a run for his gil.

He exhales slowly, beginning to steadily trail kisses along the length of her inner thigh, moving downwards inch by inch as he eases himself down off of his knees, gently beginning her leg over his shoulder as each kiss against heated flesh lingers just a bit longer than the last.]

I do so love to hear you say my name that way.

[She can do that as much as she likes. His words come murmured against her skin, paired with the smiling curve of his lips, his voice taking on that sharp, heated edge that comes with heady lust.]

I have been aching to do this for what feels like ages.

[That's not how I'd put that.

It's a thought that lingers in the back of her mind, though she doesn't seem to have the ability to say as much. Not when she watches the way he touches his lips to her skin with a surprising amount of reverence. One after another, a steady trail, each leaving a subtle throb of her pulse. He lingers, taking his time, and each time he does, the nerves that settle into the small of her back grow by the moment.

A delightful anxiety? It's something like that.]

...It's embarrassing when you draw attention to it.

[Whether she means the way his name sometimes leaves her or the way he's so carefully nestled between her legs is up for debate, though it's likely she's referencing both.

She can only watch him for some moments as he carefully draws her leg carefully over his shoulder, coercing her to shift ever in slight. A hand glides over bedding and she gently clutches before she draws her gaze aside. Her other hand tangles in waves and light curls of chestnut brown. He doesn't make it easy for her to respond and she suspects that's part of the intention.]

You don't have to do things like that with me. I'm... just happy that you're here.

[Her words are hushed and quiet, restrained only by the worry of her bottom lip beneath the soft clutch of her teeth.]

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