Title:"Devotional"
Author: Fairy Armadillo
Email: [email protected]
Disclaimer: Not mine. Really. Don't hurt me.
Pairing: Braska/Auron
Rating: R
Warnings: Male/male interaction. If that doesn't suit, please move on.

Due to fanfiction.net's policy on NC-17 material, this story has been censored.

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. ^_~

Mutilated as this is, the author's note is almost longer than the story. The full version can be found at http://armadillo.yaoiville.org/

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."

CENSORED

The remainder of this story can be found at: http://armadillo.yaoiville.org/

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