restless

Fran remembered the first time she stepped foot on the Strahl. She remembered admiring the structure and the intricately weaving metal, wires, screws of the engine. The designs that stuck out from every wall just seemed magical, even through her own heightened senses.

She never would have thought that in this moment of time she would want the walls that separated each room to be thicker, to not rattle and clank with every (possibly) ungraceful movement made in the next room, to not be made of such delicate, rickety metal.

And now, the walls were never more far from being magical and enchanting.

Her ears twitched ever so slightly when they picked up the vibrations of a particularly faint, distinct gasp. She often wondered if Balthier had as many manners as he so claimed to have.

But she finally lost her graceful stoicism as she blinked heavily, right after a rather peremptory, violent pound against the increasingly irritating metal wall (which, in all actuality, was barely more than a finger tap to Hume ears), and Fran scooted out of her bed and made her way quickly and stealthily to the roof of the airship.

This hadn't been the first time, and she knew it was far from the last. But that did not mean, however, the core of her wanted it to go on.

So she sat stoically, as she always did, looking up at the stars--minute details of the night. She had learned over time that they were only there to give the darkness a triviality. The earth didn't need them but the obsidian sky wanted them. The moon was a centerpiece of a gaudy necklace, vying for a position above the canescent wisps that framed her face. It would never win, what with the wisps tangling in a dance with the murky breeze and her face holding them forever in place.

But waxing poetic over the comparison of her and the night sky was something Balthier always did. She figured he had finally gone to her head after all.

And that was it. Thinking about him cued the gentle, fleeting footsteps that massaged the metal until they reached the exit. But to Fran, the metal needed anything but a massage. She would take out her sword on it tomorrow, her search for sleep ending up futile tonight.

What caught her off guard was another set of footsteps. More brazen and more uncaring than the first, and she couldn't fathom why he was walking toward the roof door. He was usually snoring from exhaustion by now.

The door opened with a slight squeak and closed with a quiet click. As he walked toward her, she turned her head to him, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Well, he did have a decent amount of clothes on, which was slightly shocking.

Balthier showed her a feigned look of hurt on his face.

"Come now, Fran. After all these years together, you don't think I'm capable of finding you?" he pouted.

She gave a silent scoff, but as he took a seat by her, her lips curled up in an involuntary sneer.

"There is the distinct waft of sexuality in the air."

The pout that had been on his face turned into a full blown grin. "Alluring, isn't it?"

"I would think better words would be iniquitous and repulsive." She turned her head again, looking out into the distance.

He kept his eyes on her face. "I think you've been away from the art of love making too long, my dear," he drawled. "Which reminds me. We have yet to set a date for that particular activity. I know I'm not the only one who's been thinking about it."

She blinked tiredly, watching a firefly whiz past.

"You do seem so temperamental these days, Fran. It puts quite an unflattering scowl on your face."

She felt a breeze pass by and closed her eyes, letting it wash her face.

"I can make those creases on your face run away, you know."

She breathed out of her nose, trying to ignore him.

"Something's telling me that jealousy is taking over your senses, my dear."

She slowly lifted her eyelids, the sky coming back into view again. Strange, how she had come to love it so much--how her chest vibrated with an inconsiderable amount harder. But the sky wasn't the reason this time, and she almost couldn't bear to look at it anymore as it whispered troublesome, vicious secrets into her mind. Funny, how it turned on her without a care, how it wasn't a comfortable shade of blue but a violent shade of black. It always seemed to swallow the mute stars these days, and she almost couldn't grasp this feeling she was never meant to feel.

So was this jealousy--this slight burn on the ridge of her diaphragm? Or was it hurt? She guessed it could've been both, but she wanted it to be neither. If she disregarded them long enough, they would go away.

"Are you...unhappy, Fran?"

She blinked a few times, unaware that she had left him suspended in silence. It had never bothered him before; he was used to her not always playing along with his jests. Maybe it was the unconscious look her face had made with her thoughts.

She looked at him, interpreting his hidden emotions as easily as she could find a leak in the engine. His collected demeanor never worked with her, and she wondered why he still used it when they were alone.

Perhaps, he didn't want her to notice the hushed tremor underneath his words--how his weakness showed through his hazel eyes. Yet, all he was doing was leaning back on his hands, a microscopic smile dancing on his lips, his hair perfectly disheveled. But her vermilion eyes caught the hardening of his jaw, however slight, and the whiteness of his fingertips.

She looked back at his face, piercing his eyes with her own.

"You forget," she said, "that there is a reason I stay."

The weakness of his eyes started to wither at her words, and something undefinable made her need to look away, down to the wasteland below.

He waited for her to continue, but she said no more.

He looked at her a little longer as she made her face relax. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his hair impatiently. "You never answered the question." She wasn't surprised at the rising volume of his voice.

She gave him a sideways glance. "I...am tired." He opened his mouth to interject, but she smoothly cut off his concerns.

"You and your sexual escapades with the princess get quite old and incessant. I can hear you all the way out here."

He smirked at this, his shoulders visibly relaxing from their tense posture. "She does tend to let the pleasures of the moment get to her head, but I can't help it. I'm guessing it's the reason she always comes back." He laughed at this, but he started to look at Fran closely. He was trying to get her mouth to twitch, but she wasn't giving in tonight. He tried a different approach.

"If you want me to, I can end it. Just say the word and Ashe will never have her blissful satisfaction again."

This caught her attention, and she raised a slender eyebrow at his perfectly real nonchalance. He was smiling softly, without the backdrop of teasing lingering underneath. She forgot how much she always seemed to underestimate him in reading her. Either she was becoming more easy to read to him, or he knew her better than she thought he would have.

"I would think that your pride could not handle cutting off such a tie," she answered.

He dropped down, letting his back lay on the Strahl. "Fran, Fran, Fran." He was using the voice that made the skin underneath her eyebrows bunch. "After the first time, you must understand--even though, I know you haven't experienced it in a long time--if ever--so keep an open mind. The sixth and seventh times tend to get a bit wearisome." He scratched his neck, moving a hand under his head for cushion. "Or was it...the eighth?"

"Oh yes, it is quite hard to comprehend," she said, almost sarcastically.

"Come now, Fran. You never hear me do you?" he smiled, not waiting for a reply.

She looked at him exasperatedly. "Quite the contrary."

His smile faltered, but then he regained it. "You know, Fran, I think you have hidden sexual desires and fantasize about me screaming infidelities. It's all in your head." He gave a wave of his hand.

Incensed, her eyelids drooped down, and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Ramming the thin walls does not arouse me. Nor does thinking about you whining in a bed."

His mouth began twitching insanely, him being completely ignorant of the fact that Fran would be so bothered by this subject. Too bad he hadn't known about it before.

But after staring at her for so long, he could see her exhaustion illuminated by the moonlight. How did he not notice this before, in the broad daylight of the skies? Was he making her this way--her luscious tan that he adored, now slowly paling? Her demeanor was saying a lot now, and he figured that maybe, it was finally tired of hiding away so much.

He moved closer to her, rising to a kneel, and slid his arms under her knees and shoulders. She tried to shift away, knowing full well what he was doing, but he hushed her movements.

"Now, now Fran. Let's get you into a nice, warm bed. You need your beauty sleep, and from the looks of it, you need a lot."

He gained a look from his comment, so he leaned in and kissed the crease her eyebrows made. She knew better than to try to twist out of his grasp.

"So this is the least I can do," he made his way through the door and into the deck. "Me being the culprit that has stolen all of it away."

He made his way down the hallway, turning into her room.

"But I would do this without question, if only you'd let me, my dear," he smirked at her, his eyes sparkling.

She gave a faint eye roll.

He came to the foot of her bed, gently and carefully placing her on the mattress. The sheets had already been pushed away from earlier, and he pulled them comfortably over her. But she finally became satiated, her hand lifting from the waves of blankets.

"Balthier, please."

He stopped trying to tuck her in, and he straightened, looking down at her thoughtfully. She turned her face toward him, watching his light-hearted facial features dimming down into a more solemn appearance. She knew why, but she turned away from his silent, questioning thoughts, sleep winning over useless interrogation.

He watched the back of her head, memorizing the shadows created by the bedside lamp on her velvety white tangles. He had always wanted to run his fingers through them, to be the only person in Ivalice to know the silky feel. He had always wanted to be the only person to know the feel of Fran. The blind desire of wanting almost drove him to the point of absolute madness, and he wondered why he tried to substitute it with the feel of the princess.

He turned away from her, slowly walking toward her bedroom door, finding himself not wanting to. All he wanted was the Viera hidden in the covers. All he had ever wanted was the Viera hidden in the covers.

He stopped, leaning on the door frame with his shoulder, his back facing her. Right now would be the worst time to cross into those invisible barriers that had been left undamaged. But maybe he had heedlessly scratched them over the years.

"You are, and always will be, my only princess." He smiled over his shoulder at the lump in the middle of the bed.

He regretfully smelled like the princess he told himself he never would. No matter how tempting, he wouldn't.

But he did. He wondered if what Fran felt--that burning of the diaphragm--was disappointment in his lack of self-control. He was sure as hell it wasn't jealousy.

He headed for the roof, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand one minute in his sex-induced quarters. Plus, he figured the spot Fran had been sitting still smelled of her. That would be his bed tonight.

As he opened the roof latch noiselessly, he wouldn't know that he had gained a twitch of her lips. And he wouldn't know that she had her first fitful night of sleep in a long while.

So it'd be safe to say that he was more than surprised when he woke up to see an intoxicating crimson. It would be an understatement to say that he loved the whisper of her lips.

a/n: First delve into FFXII~
Reviews are greatly appreciated.

EDIT: So I should've mentioned something how I kind of made Ashe seem like a slut in here. I guess I just wanted to add it because of her and Balthier's hinted, almost romance in the game. I honestly don't think she would do this with Balthier, being the kind of person she is, but you never know what Balthier could've said. ;)