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Title:"Devotional"
Summary: A summoner and a guardian watch each other. Pre-game. Author's Notes: In game, Braska refers to himself as a 'fallen summoner'. I've taken this to mean that he'd gone on an earlier, and failed, pilgrimage, before he meets Yuna's mother. So in this story, Braska's unattached, and Jecht isn't around. Braska is about 27, and Auron's somewhere between 17 and 19. Which explains certain behavior. ^_~ "Devotional"
Auron watches. Braska continues the steps of the Sending, awareness of his guardian only enhancing his focus. His robes grow heavy with sweat, leaden garments that drag at his limbs, but still he dances. His movements are unwavering, smooth and graceful in their perfection: his tribute to the dead. Auron stands and watches, legs far apart, shoulders back, sword-point grounded in the earth before his feet: the stalwart guardian. His eyes are reverent, respectful, mournful for the necessity of the Sending. Only Braska can see the heat in them, well-buried, only he knows that Auron spreads his legs to accommodate his body's importunate reaction. Braska knows that part of that worshipful gaze is for the glory and majesty of Yu Yevon, but only part. Part of it -- the greater part, perhaps -- is simply for him. It gives Braska strength. Eventually the final step of the final Sending is performed, and Braska can relax his will, the only thing holding him from collapse. The ground rushes to meet him, but his body does not make contact. Strong arms interpose themselves instead, supporting him. The soft clatter of a katana falling to earth reaches Braska's ears a full second after Auron does. Braska tries to straighten, but his limbs are too weak, the muscles in full revolt, and Auron bears him to the earth, allowing him brief respite. Held so, he and his guardian might be the only two souls in existence, were it not for the gasps of concern from the surrounding mourners. "My Lord Braska, you must rest." Auron's hands are respectful, his touch in no way inappropriate, but Braska can feel the heat in them, and knows they would linger if they could. "Thank you, my friend. That is exactly what I intend to do. Help me up?" Contact with the ground and his guardian has restored him somewhat. Braska's legs will now support him, though he still needs the arm he's flung across Auron's shoulders. From the corner of his eye, Braska can see the village elder approach, worry in his posture. "My Lord Summoner --" "I am fine," Braska assures the old man. "Please, do not worry yourself. I am only sorry that my stamina is insufficient to show proper respect to your hospitality." "It is of no matter," the elder says. "You have performed the Sendings well, and our loved ones are now safely in the Farplane. Praise be to Yevon." "Praise be to Yevon," Braska echoes. The ground is beginning to feel far away again. Auron shifts under his arm. "Lord Braska needs to rest," he interrupts. "Is there somewhere we might go?" "Yes, of course, of course," the elder says quickly. "My home is yours. It is at the end of the street. I will make sure that none disturb the Lord Summoner's rest until he has fully recovered." "I thank you." Braska blinks in mild confusion. His words, in Auron's voice. The world is strangely gray. The knot of villagers recedes, only the strong body pressed along his side anchoring Braska to reality. Auron's voice, pitched for his ears only, pierces the haze. "My lord, do you wish me to carry you?" Braska surprises himself by having the energy to laugh. "And be slung across your shoulders like a sack of potatoes? Thank you, but no, my friend." The note of genuine worry in Auron's voice, coupled with his own sense of pride, rouses Braska's will, and he forces himself to straighten. He does not relinquish his grip on Auron's shoulders, nor does the arm around his waist release its hold, for which Braska is grateful. The main street is short, and hardly merits the name, but it is an eternity before they cross the threshold of the elder's house. "The bedroom should be this way," Auron says, but Braska's nose has scented water. "No, a bath first," Braska says, pulling against his guardian's guiding arm. "Braska..." Admonishing. "Please, Auron," Braska wheedles. "I'm filthy. I must reek with sweat." He can feel it then, Auron's awareness of his scent rippling outwards like waves in a pool. "It... is not offensive, my lord." "Nevertheless, I wish to be clean." "Yes, Lord Braska." They have reached the bathing room, and the promise of soap and water gives Braska the strength to pull away from Auron's supporting grasp. He moves into the room, setting aside his headdress, numb fingers fumbling at the catch at his throat, which holds his robes together. Braska growls, irritated that his determination to bathe should be thwarted by a simple clasp. He turns to his guardian. "Auron, unfasten this blasted thing, will you?" A faint, in-drawn breath reminds Braska that this might not have been an appropriate thing to ask, but Auron is already stepping forward. "As you wish, my lord." The fingers that undo the clasp are trembling slightly, and Auron's eyes stay resolutely fixed on his task. The clasp comes open, and Braska shrugs his way free of his robes, letting them fall to the floor as one. His undergarment is black and close-fitting, much as any dancer's would be, and Braska watches Auron's gaze sweep his body helplessly. The heat in Auron's regard is very poorly hidden now, a passionate intensity burning behind the thinnest of walls. Braska finds that gaze both energizing and flattering, but he cannot bear to tease Auron any longer. "Thank you, Auron. You may go." But it feels wrong somehow, to dismiss his guardian so. Braska makes a quick decision. "Unless you would like to bathe with me?" Auron swallows once, very hard. "I... I should not." Braska catches his eye, serious now. "Auron. Do as you will, not as you should." But the walls of duty and restraint are already closing in, damping down the fire in the young guardian's eyes. "No," Auron says. "I am fine for now. But I... I will stand guard, in case you fall asleep. I wouldn't want anything to... happen." Braska chuckles. "An ignominious end to my Journey, to be sure, if I were to drown in the bath." The disappointment isn't too sharp, and is blunted further still as Auron takes up a position along the side wall, glancing at him as if for permission. It seems that his guardian does not simply wish to watch over him, he wishes to watch him as well. Very well. Braska smiles his acceptance of his guardian's desire, glad that Auron is willing to grant himself at least this much indulgence. Braska strips off his undergarment, and then for the benefit of his audience he stretches, hands linked over his head, until his spine pops. A strangled gasp is his reward, and Braska's smile broadens as he crouches beside the heated tub to wash. His eagerness to soak in the hot water makes his actions quick, but Braska is methodical. He does not shirk his cleanliness, nor Auron's opportunity to watch him touch his own body. By the time he douses himself with water from the rinsing bucket, Auron is breathing noticeably faster. A glance shows a man struggling to hold onto the last threads of his composure. His eyes are pure, molten bronze. Braska rises, displaying himself to Auron's avid gaze for an instant, then settles into the heated tub. The sensation of the hot water closing over his tired body is unbearably exquisite, and Braska makes no effort at all to stifle the blissful groan that rises from his chest. He stretches out his legs to their fullest extent, sinks up to his chin in the delightful water, and relaxes. Auron's prediction was correct, however. After what seems mere seconds, Braska can feel his eyes closing involuntarily. He falls asleep in the water. ~~~~~ "...ssska..." Braska rouses feeling surprisingly restored, though he knows he can have slept for only a short time. As he opens his eyes, he recalls the sound that dragged him to wakefulness. A raw, sensual moan. Auron. Braska turns his head. Auron has not moved from the side wall, but his posture is dramatically changed. He leans against the wall, his gloved right hand clutching at the surface as if the anchor it provides is the only thing holding him upright. Head thrown back, jaw slack, Auron's handsome face is consumed with a passion that borders on desperation. His chest heaves, ragged breaths sounding loud in the quiet room. Auron's eyes are closed, his trousers are open, and his left hand is moving frantically at his groin. It doesn't take Braska long to realize that the end is near. Braska sits up, needing to be a part of this, somehow. He doesn't want Auron to be alone when he comes. "Auron..." Auron's eyes shoot open and lock with Braska's, wide with shock. "Lord Braska!" Auron chokes and wrenches his hand away, turning absolutely red with shame. His organ bobs in the air, bereft and pulsing. "No, it's all right," Braska says quickly. He climbs out of the tub and goes to Auron, ignoring the pile of towels nearby. Naked and dripping, he slips his hands under Auron's coat, smoothing along his ribs. "It's all right," he repeats when Auron jumps and shivers. "You're magnificent like this. Don't be ashamed." "B-Braska," Auron stutters, his erection gaining strength as Braska soothes and pets him. He takes Auron's left hand in his own, and places it back on his organ. Auron squeezes his eyes shut, embarrassment flooding his cheeks with heat and color. "Let me see you," Braska breathes, leaning close to Auron's face. Their lips are inches apart. Auron makes a low cry in the back of his throat, and it is a broken sound, full of want. His hand begins to move, haltingly. Braska hums his approval. "There, yes. That's right. Show me." He stands as close to Auron as possible, touching him nowhere and everywhere at once. Auron seems to melt in his heat, his body sagging, his shoulders drooping, but his hand moves steadily now, faster. Braska rewards him with light touches, caressing Auron's body with his hands, trailing fingers over his exposed neck, his face, down the length of chest and abdomen. Auron shivers and moans, blindly seeking out each contact, straining after his touch. His hand is back to the same urgent pace Braska had first seen upon waking. "You're close now, aren't you?" he purrs in Auron's ear. Auron gulps for air and licks his lips. Braska smiles. "Yes, very close. I think you're going to come soon." Braska looks down the length of Auron's body. 'Beautiful' is not an adequate word for the sight. "I want to see that. I want to watch you come." Auron whimpers. He is shivering constantly now. Braska faces Auron squarely, hands on the other man's chest. "Open your eyes, Auron. Open them and let me look at you." Auron obeys his gentle command, and Braska can see the reality of what is happening strike Auron like a blow. It widens his eyes, and Braska knows he is right on the brink of release. He reaches down and knocks Auron's hand away, taking over the motion for himself. He strokes once, twice. Auron comes up on his toes, Braska's name bursting from his lips in the same instant that orgasm overwhelms him. "Braska!" Hot wetness sprays Braska's stomach as the most astounding expression suffuses Auron's face, utter bliss so intense it resembles suffering, transforming the man into something wild and almost inhumanly beautiful. Braska keeps stroking the shaft in his hand, drawing the moment out as long as possible. He wants Auron to feel this, to feel everything that he can. Auron's knees quiver and give way as the force of his climax melts the strength from his legs. Braska is there to catch him, easing them both to the floor. He holds Auron close, his hand still moving, while the last of Auron's passion spends itself across the tiles and their thighs. Eventually Auron recovers himself enough to speak. "Oh, Yevon," he croaks, his voice thick with fading arousal and something like disgust. "Braska, my lord... I'm so sorry --" "Hush," Braska says, smoothing a stray lock of Auron's hair back from his face. "Don't regret this, Auron." "But... I..." Auron looks away unhappily, the struggle obvious. "I should have more self-control," he whispers. "To succumb to... that... right in front of you...." "Would I be here, like this, if I minded?" And Braska gently squeezes the hand still in Auron's lap. Auron starts as he realizes his state and pulls himself out of Braska's arms, reaching for a cloth to mop up his seed. "It... it is shameful. I am your guardian. And yet when you perform the sendings, I feel..." "I know, Auron." Braska reaches for a cloth of his own, wiping his hand. Auron bows his head low, seemingly absorbed in the task of putting his clothing to rights. "It is a sacred ritual, and I profane it with my thoughts. I watch you, and I feel only lust." His voice is very small. "And love," Braska adds. "You do love me, Auron." Braska's tone is definite, but a tiny seed of doubt still exists in his heart. It is crushed into nothingness by the look Auron turns his way, liquid and fathomless. "Lord Braska..." Auron swallows hard, and his hand lifts an inch, as if seeking to touch. Braska cannot help but take Auron's hand in his own. "I don't think Yevon would grudge us something so wonderful." "But the teachings...." "Are not as inflexible as all that." Braska fixes Auron with a direct look. "Auron. Love is never a sin. The minute the teachings say otherwise, I will leave the Church." Auron holds his eyes for a long moment, weighing what Braska has said. Finally, he lowers his head in a faint nod. Braska is pleased. "Share my bed this night," he urges softly. "Are you certain that's what you want?" Auron's eyes fall to Braska's lap, where nothing much is in evidence. Braska laughs. "I assure you, Auron, were I not half-way to the Farplane from sheer exhaustion, you wouldn't need to ask!" Auron flushes, and Braska leans forward to place his hand on Auron's cheek, soothing away the blush. "This is new to me, I admit. But I know what I want." Braska smoothes his hand down Auron's neck, across the broad shoulders and down his chest, making sure his fingers catch the nipple, almost obscured by Auron's heavy leather shirt. Even sated and uncertain, his guardian cannot help but gasp at the contact. Lips held mere inches from Auron's stunned face, Braska adds, "I want you, Auron." But the impact of his words is ruined by the uncontrollable, jaw-cracking yawn that overtakes him. When he can, Braska snickers in embarrassment and drops his head to Auron's bare shoulder. "Unfortunately, what my body wants is sleep." Auron's skin is smooth and warm, and smells delicious. Braska wants to burrow there and stay forever. He can feel his eyes closing. So tired. Auron encloses him in his arms, tightly, and then his grip shifts. Before Braska is aware of what is going on, he is rising into the air. "Where are you taking me?" "To bed." Braska has never before heard Auron's voice rumbling up from the center of his chest. It's nice. Cooler air from the hallway strikes Braska's bare skin, but he lacks the energy even to shiver. Soon enough he is being placed on a soft, yielding surface, and covered by thick blankets. With herculean effort Braska manages to get his eyes open, but they will not focus. "Stay with me." Auron swims in his vision, and then his lips brush Braska's. "Forever, my lord." Braska wants to watch Auron undress, but his heavy eyelids will obey no longer. His last fragile thread of consciousness snaps as a warm weight settles behind him, and sleep rises up to claim him utterly. ~END~
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