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Author's Note

I took some time off of this and managed to write a complete series in another fandom (it was real person slash, so yeah, quite different) Anyway, tons of people added this story to their favorites, so I figured I'd better update!

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Her skin is slick with sweat, both her own and mine. A delicate hand wrapped around my shaft bringing me ever closer to the edge. In this moment I would believe she's an angel, only one that made a habit of being quite naughty. I press myself, and subsequently her hand, against the inside of her thigh, begging to be let in, to progress to the next level. Her grip loosens and I feel her other hand against my ribcage. Earlier I endured a lecture concerning how I needed to consume more, that my weight loss had been rather drastic. Never had I took Fran to be a mother hen. I still don't, I must look like absolute death for her to speak a word.

We are waiting for Vaan to retrieve our ship, our Strahl. At least we are making good use of our extra time, rather than letting it slip away into oblivion. I can think of no better way to allow the time to pass than inside of Fran, than feeling her pulse around me. Absolutely intoxicating, I'm drunk on her presence. She's slick and receptive, a welcome change, as of late. Oh, I appreciate cold and fierce, acutely even. Maybe, she has taken note of my recent emasculation. I am castrated when grounded. I may admit it so simply now as I know for certain this is a transitory phase, my ship is returning to me. Perhaps, this is all a ploy to raise my confidence level. Slipping into madness is difficult to complete when someone is always pulling you back by your hair, or your dick for that matter.

Flipping her over, I now find myself on top. She's absolutely pliant. I love her like this. I love her like everything.

There are rumors that have been circulating, in my own mind though, no where else, that I can be happy like this. I can be utterly content with my transitory state of existence. Games I play convince me that even if I am struck from the pages of history I can still rest in peace. If I am struck from the crevices of her mind, I am still complete.

I need no more satisfaction in this moment than to bring her to orgasm. Do I truly need something else to endure longer than that?

They are pretty little lies I tell myself in order to commit to this moment. I only need them now because it will soon be time to regain my position as leading man. My weakness is a sign that brighter days are to come, for myself and for Ivalice.

Her eyes closed, mouth open, this is extraordinary, but nothing akin to flying.

Wanting to read her mind doesn't make it happen, instead I must read her sighs and gestures. She is pliant now but will not be for long; she does this for my benefit, perhaps the most concrete proof of her love.

There are rumors in my head that what she has told me is not true. These rumors suggest that she has lied for my own protection. She has told me Viera cannot conceive with Hume men because she does not want the child of a childish sky pirate. It is not my role to change her life so drastically. She wants me for the freedom and adventure I may offer her. I am but a segment of her life, she, in contrast, must be everything. It is unfair to her that I am so selfish. It is unfair to me that she will not let me go, this curse she holds over me.

She has made herself like a Hume woman for me in this encounter, it is all she is willing to sacrifice. I have made sacrifices as well.

Placated, satisfied, I have done my function, and she, hers. Absolutely wonderful, like so many times before it. Her hair smells of flowers, but it may be my imagination.

"This is not the great love story of your life, is it?" I am so childish.

"The element of action has thus far overshadowed romance."

She plays my games, her role, with such natural ease. A natural, whereas I worry all may see through my act. They do not though, and it gives me confidence.

"How may I go about making it a romance?"

"Be a different person. I would be as well."

And that's the heart of the problem. Not only is the plot all wrong, but we as actors as well. She and I were not meant for this scene I have been trying to play out. I wanted her to be something else as I could no longer bear to be myself. It was so incredibly difficult to be Balthier, Sky Pirate after my wings were clipped that I attempted to become Balthier, Great Lover. We are lovers, but this was never meant to be a love story. I've been a fool and she has allowed me to be a fool.

Perhaps, therein, lies our story.

She is folded into my arms in a way she rarely allows me. I cannot help but think she enjoys being my lover as well. That she enjoys it for what it is rather than what it may be. Perhaps our story is more unlikely than one would expect, not because of how passionate it is, but how dispassionate. That ultimately, our love endures because it is secondary and disposable when all other things are considered. I am trying to understand this world from her position.

And essentially, I can't.

This is my great love story, this is my everything, because I may only have my next breath. I cannot afford to wait for anything else, we have waited long enough.

My suicidal impulses have passed. They may arise again, and I am entitled to them. But for now I must take each step without caution. Let the world kill me off, if I am such a scar upon it. The trick of the whole thing is to cut so deep it never heals. I can do that to her. Mark her irrevocably. It would require my dying but that can easily be done. But, it cannot be cowardly, she has no tolerance for cowards.

I have no tolerance for cowards. That is why I should not be ashamed of killing my father.

They will be here soon and our lives will turn again to something we are able to recognize. There will be no more of this wandering through my own mind. All of this thinking has driven me insane. No, I will continue to think, it is the scientist in me, the one indelible mark my father has left on me, my scar. No matter what role I play, I will always be marked as something other than the character I occupy. I have tried to run away from the rational. Why must the rational be the antithesis to who I want to be? Why cannot I be both? Because I carry my father's will and wish to cast him off. That is why. It is one of the many reasons I am childish. No more, no more. He would be so proud of me now, his little boy coming back into the fold. His little boy finally being unabashedly proud to be his son. I cannot deny my parentage even as I reject you, father. I reject what you became, but it was your dreaming that made you a monster. Your scientific mind, I will embrace, but my dreams will forever be my own.

And that is why I am not you.

"Ffamran?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"You are always you, even as you remember and forget."

"I forget nothing."

"You must remember nothing, as well, be that the case."