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carmillaSUMMARY: Auron and Braska enjoy a little time to themselves.
Jecht had gone on ahead: ostensibly to try and find them a hotel for the night; actually to see if there was something resembling nightlife in Bevelle. Braska knew that he was likely to be disappointed in his hopes, but he hadn’t wanted to say so. He and Auron hadn’t camped together, or indeed spent more than a few minutes alone, for a very long time, and he had missed it.
The beauty of Macalania woods was fabled, but even so he felt that the stories hardly did justice to the reality. Frost etched delicate patterns on the grass, the ground, the leaves of the trees; the thick canopy above them filtered the day’s brightness into a permanent starlight, twinkling above them and gleaming down through sparkling motes of dust to highlight some delicate flower or colourful butterfly. Braska was at peace with the world.
He was therefore somewhat put out when they were attacked by a large, fierce fiend of a kind he didn’t recognise.
Auron, by contrast, had never been in a situation which left him unprepared for a fight. Freeing his arm from his coat and his sword from its sheath, he stepped between Braska and danger with a grim smile. He paused briefly, taking time to assess the beast, and then charged it, roaring. It was over in a matter of minutes. As the fiend fell to the ground and dissipated in a mass of glowing lights, Braska hurried to his friend’s side, hastily muttering a spell to cure the deep scratches on his arm and some superficial burns.
“Why, why, why must you always do that?” he scolded, more from habit than anything else. “May I remind you that you’re travelling with a Summoner with a fair amount of magical power at his command? Not to mention several Aeons.”
Auron scowled.
“It’s my duty to protect you, not the other way around,” he muttered. “A Guardian should always be between his Summoner and anything that might harm him.”
“And you always are.” Braska smiled at him. “I’ve never for an instant doubted you courage or your devotion.” Auron’s face turned an interesting shade of red, and he looked down at his feet, which made Braska smile wider. For all his show of self-confidence, Auron had never been able to take a compliment. “But must you always do it with quite so much… gusto?”
“Well…” Auron faltered, and then grinned wryly. “Can a man not enjoy his work?”
As they talked, they’d been walking; now, reaching a suitable spot, they began to set up camp, long habit forestalling the need to discuss it first.
“But that’s exactly what I mean,” panted Braska, his arms full of firewood. “You do enjoy it. Every single fight. Every surprise attack. Every fiend that’s ten feet taller than you and mean to boot. I might almost think you enjoyed getting hurt!”
Auron looked serious; more serious than Braska had anticipated.
“Not that,” he said eventually. “Not that last. But I do enjoy… the battles. The adrenaline rush. The sound and the fury. I need it.”
“Why?” Braska’s mood had sobered.
Auron looked up again, meeting his eyes. “It stops me from thinking so hard.”
“Oh.”
Braska had been expecting this conversation, but had thought it was still many miles of road away.
“Auron…”
He was cut off.
“Don’t say it. I’ve heard your reasons. Maybe I even agree with them. But… I still have to watch you. Every day. Knowing what you’re going to do. What’s any sacrifice that I might make for you, compared to that?”
There was really no response to be made to that, so Braska simply bowed his head. He reached out a hand to trail along Auron’s arm, fingers brushing flesh that was still newly-healed and pink.
“I don’t deserve you, you know.”
Auron looked up, eyes flashing fiercely. Their faces were bare inches away from each other.
“Don’t ever talk to me about what you deserve, when-”
They were kissing before either one of them knew it was what they meant to do, and Braska found himself surprised by the tenderness of it, less surprised that it was hot and sweet and passionate. Auron’s bare arm wrapped around his back, pulling him close; his fingertips dug into Braska’s back, and his mouth demanded everything and found it. He was shaking; Braska thought it was from shock, or nerves, until he tasted tears. He drew back. Auron was crying, softly and silently, and he looked wretched; he wouldn’t meet his eyes when he spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
It was barely more than a whisper.
Braska waited until Auron could look him properly in the face, and then he smiled, gently.
“You know you never have to say that to me. But – I’m sorry, too. For what that’s worth.”
He kissed him again, just to prove the point.
After that, there didn’t seem to be anything more that needed to be said. They did this as they did everything together; quietly, and deliberately, reading each others’ thoughts and supplying each others’ wants without the necessity of conversation. Braska didn’t need to ask questions when Auron relieved him of his bulky headdress and carried it into their tent out of harm’s way, or when he returned with an armful of bedding and spread it on the ground. If they were both a little nervous when it came to undressing, that didn’t matter, because neither of them had ever lacked in courage. And one kiss followed another, and Braska was undoing Auron’s hair and admiring how it contrasted with his pale skin, and it how felt like satin when he stroked it. And Auron was pulling him down, and laying him out, and memorising every inch of him by sight and touch and taste. There was no urgency to it, not until the final few moments; it was rather a slow, inevitable slide, more powerful and inescapable than either of them could have guessed, like the movement of a glacier.
Some indeterminate time later, Braska lay on his back, watching the leaves above them sway and rustle gently, and the occasional bird or butterfly flit past overhead. Auron was spooned against him, one arm lying across his chest in a gesture that was somehow both protective and needy. He felt safe, and warm; he barely noticed the chill in the air that signalled night was beginning to fall.
“Auron?”
Auron stirred and muttered something unintelligible against his neck, pulling him closer. He smiled.
“Nevermind.”
They had a long way to go, still; there was still plenty of time for them to talk, to say all the things that they hadn’t said tonight. For now, the woods were beautiful, and Auron was sleeping by his side, and Braska was happy.
Jecht had gone on ahead: ostensibly to try and find them a hotel for the night; actually to see if there was something resembling nightlife in Bevelle. Braska knew that he was likely to be disappointed in his hopes, but he hadn’t wanted to say so. He and Auron hadn’t camped together, or indeed spent more than a few minutes alone, for a very long time, and he had missed it.
The beauty of Macalania woods was fabled, but even so he felt that the stories hardly did justice to the reality. Frost etched delicate patterns on the grass, the ground, the leaves of the trees; the thick canopy above them filtered the day’s brightness into a permanent starlight, twinkling above them and gleaming down through sparkling motes of dust to highlight some delicate flower or colourful butterfly. Braska was at peace with the world.
He was therefore somewhat put out when they were attacked by a large, fierce fiend of a kind he didn’t recognise.
Auron, by contrast, had never been in a situation which left him unprepared for a fight. Freeing his arm from his coat and his sword from its sheath, he stepped between Braska and danger with a grim smile. He paused briefly, taking time to assess the beast, and then charged it, roaring. It was over in a matter of minutes. As the fiend fell to the ground and dissipated in a mass of glowing lights, Braska hurried to his friend’s side, hastily muttering a spell to cure the deep scratches on his arm and some superficial burns.
“Why, why, why must you always do that?” he scolded, more from habit than anything else. “May I remind you that you’re travelling with a Summoner with a fair amount of magical power at his command? Not to mention several Aeons.”
Auron scowled.
“It’s my duty to protect you, not the other way around,” he muttered. “A Guardian should always be between his Summoner and anything that might harm him.”
“And you always are.” Braska smiled at him. “I’ve never for an instant doubted you courage or your devotion.” Auron’s face turned an interesting shade of red, and he looked down at his feet, which made Braska smile wider. For all his show of self-confidence, Auron had never been able to take a compliment. “But must you always do it with quite so much… gusto?”
“Well…” Auron faltered, and then grinned wryly. “Can a man not enjoy his work?”
As they talked, they’d been walking; now, reaching a suitable spot, they began to set up camp, long habit forestalling the need to discuss it first.
“But that’s exactly what I mean,” panted Braska, his arms full of firewood. “You do enjoy it. Every single fight. Every surprise attack. Every fiend that’s ten feet taller than you and mean to boot. I might almost think you enjoyed getting hurt!”
Auron looked serious; more serious than Braska had anticipated.
“Not that,” he said eventually. “Not that last. But I do enjoy… the battles. The adrenaline rush. The sound and the fury. I need it.”
“Why?” Braska’s mood had sobered.
Auron looked up again, meeting his eyes. “It stops me from thinking so hard.”
“Oh.”
Braska had been expecting this conversation, but had thought it was still many miles of road away.
“Auron…”
He was cut off.
“Don’t say it. I’ve heard your reasons. Maybe I even agree with them. But… I still have to watch you. Every day. Knowing what you’re going to do. What’s any sacrifice that I might make for you, compared to that?”
There was really no response to be made to that, so Braska simply bowed his head. He reached out a hand to trail along Auron’s arm, fingers brushing flesh that was still newly-healed and pink.
“I don’t deserve you, you know.”
Auron looked up, eyes flashing fiercely. Their faces were bare inches away from each other.
“Don’t ever talk to me about what you deserve, when-”
They were kissing before either one of them knew it was what they meant to do, and Braska found himself surprised by the tenderness of it, less surprised that it was hot and sweet and passionate. Auron’s bare arm wrapped around his back, pulling him close; his fingertips dug into Braska’s back, and his mouth demanded everything and found it. He was shaking; Braska thought it was from shock, or nerves, until he tasted tears. He drew back. Auron was crying, softly and silently, and he looked wretched; he wouldn’t meet his eyes when he spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
It was barely more than a whisper.
Braska waited until Auron could look him properly in the face, and then he smiled, gently.
“You know you never have to say that to me. But – I’m sorry, too. For what that’s worth.”
He kissed him again, just to prove the point.
After that, there didn’t seem to be anything more that needed to be said. They did this as they did everything together; quietly, and deliberately, reading each others’ thoughts and supplying each others’ wants without the necessity of conversation. Braska didn’t need to ask questions when Auron relieved him of his bulky headdress and carried it into their tent out of harm’s way, or when he returned with an armful of bedding and spread it on the ground. If they were both a little nervous when it came to undressing, that didn’t matter, because neither of them had ever lacked in courage. And one kiss followed another, and Braska was undoing Auron’s hair and admiring how it contrasted with his pale skin, and it how felt like satin when he stroked it. And Auron was pulling him down, and laying him out, and memorising every inch of him by sight and touch and taste. There was no urgency to it, not until the final few moments; it was rather a slow, inevitable slide, more powerful and inescapable than either of them could have guessed, like the movement of a glacier.
Some indeterminate time later, Braska lay on his back, watching the leaves above them sway and rustle gently, and the occasional bird or butterfly flit past overhead. Auron was spooned against him, one arm lying across his chest in a gesture that was somehow both protective and needy. He felt safe, and warm; he barely noticed the chill in the air that signalled night was beginning to fall.
“Auron?”
Auron stirred and muttered something unintelligible against his neck, pulling him closer. He smiled.
“Nevermind.”
They had a long way to go, still; there was still plenty of time for them to talk, to say all the things that they hadn’t said tonight. For now, the woods were beautiful, and Auron was sleeping by his side, and Braska was happy.