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By the time he actually sees light, further up the road, Balthier is starting to wonder if he's taken a wrong turn and is definitely second-guessing his decision to come up here on his bike, a sleek little Kawasaki that flies down the highway but doesn't seem to care for this poorly-paved back road at all. The idea of breaking down out here, and having to try to fix his bike while the sun goes down in the middle of nowhere, like something out of a b-grade redneck horror movie, holds very little appeal. Still, Fran invited him to this party -- the first time she's seemed receptive in the months he's been flirting with her -- and there is light up ahead, through the evergreens, so perhaps he's in the right place after all.
The house at the edge of the lake is very nearly quaint, the sort of thing a realtor would call rustic and charming, with a light on in one window and a deck stretching around toward the back of the house. The driveway ends in a wash of gravel, and there's Fran's bike, the black-and-chrome Harley, parked next to an even bigger and more muscular one whose body gleams deep purple in the fading light. On the other side of the purple Harley is a battered blue Chevy pickup -- shades of the redneck horror movie again -- with a union sticker in the back window, and a jeep, not a Cherokee but the old-fashioned kind with the soft top. Balthier parks his bike next to Fran's, and kills the engine.
When he takes off his helmet, he can hear music from behind the house, and voices. He leaves the helmet with the bike, runs his hand through his hair, and unzips his jacket as he starts down the slope.
It's not the kind of party he's expecting.
There are four -- no, five -- guys back there, around the fire pit, and two of them -- a kid who looks a few years younger than Balthier, and a clean-cut guy probably in his thirties -- are making out, while the other three watch. And touch each other. Clearly this is not the party he thought it would be, and he should just leave now, and --
He must make some sound stepping back, though, because one of the men on the near side of the fire looks back, and sees him there. Damnably useless as the impulse is, Balthier still freezes like a frightened rabbit.
The man -- blond, bearded, bare arms entirely too muscular -- disengages from his...companions, and walks over. Never, Balthier thinks, has friendliness looked so threatening. "Hi," the man says. "You lost, or looking for someone?"
"Quite possibly both," Balthier says. "I'm, ah. I was looking for Fran," he says, and just barely manages to not make that sound like a question.
"You missed her by about ten minutes," the man says.
"Ah." Balthier smiles awkwardly, and does his best not to glance at what the other men are doing over by the fire. "I saw her bike out front...?"
"Oh, she's inside," the man says. "She's just...busy. Drace has work tomorrow, so if she and Fran were going to hook up this weekend, it had to be tonight."
Balthier opens his mouth. Closes it. Blinks a few times. "If she," he tries. Fran is in the house, having sex. With another woman. "Well."
"It's a nice mental image, isn't it?" the man asks.
"It is," Balthier agrees fervently, and can't help a bit of nervous laughter. "I mean, ah. She didn't mention anything about that when -- when she told me there was a party."
The man shakes his head, smiling. Someone closer to the fire moans. "She didn't tell you anything except how to get here, did she?"
"No," Balthier says. His face feels hot.
"Thought not," the man says. Has Fran done this to other people before? "Well, you can stick around if you want, and wait for the girls to come back."
"I hope the, ah, party games are optional, rather than mandatory," Balthier says. She wants to see if he scares easily, he thinks. First he raced her bike; now he meets her...friends. He wishes for a moment that his riding leathers weren't so tight. Normally he rather likes showing off, but in company like this --
"Definitely," the man says. "Nobody here is going to make you do anything." He offers a hand to shake. "I'm Basch. The house belongs to me and my brother."
"Nice to meet you," Balthier says. Basch's handshake is firm, confident. Friendly. "Balthier. It's a, a nice place you have here."
"Thanks," Basch says. "Can I get you a beer?"
Balthier nods. "I'd like that," he says. "Thank you." A little alcohol might at least take the edge off his nerves, and -- and the beer is in bottles, even, which means he can fidget horribly with the label.
By the time he's finished his first one -- Sky Pirate Porter, which is a local brew that apparently one of the men here swears by -- Balthier has decided that Basch is some sort of saint, perhaps the patron of gracious hosting or similar. He makes a note to be eternally grateful: while it's clear from the other guests' behavior that Basch could easily be having sex with one or more of them, instead he's making casual conversation with Balthier that doesn't even seem to be flirtatious. He asks how Balthier met Fran, and Balthier explains about his summer job in the parts shop and how glorious Fran's bike is; it turns out she met Reddas -- the one who brought the beer, and Balthier blushes only a little at what he's doing when Basch points him out -- due to their mutual interest in motorbikes, as well.
During the second beer he takes off his jacket; it's warmer, possibly because of the fire, than he'd expected. The conversation turns to the topic of the house, which Basch and his brother apparently paid someone to design for them and then built themselves, with the aid of a number of friends and acquaintances from Basch's construction job. The plain, matter-of-fact way that Basch explains this seems remarkably, refreshingly practical to Balthier, and somehow that leads to the observation that the partygoers seem to be about as unlike the members of the college's queer student union as possible, given the one starting similarity. Basch, still the saint, seems content to take that as a compliment, and Balthier supposes somewhat belatedly that he should perhaps be more circumspect in his choice of topics.
When Basch would go to fetch him a third beer -- Balthier squints at the destroyed label of his empty bottle, but can't find an intact alcohol-content number; he'd swear he's too drunk for so few bottles -- it occurs to Balthier that he's had rather a lot to drink already just in terms of fluid intake, and his bladder is protesting.
"Have you, ah," he says; no, that's ridiculous, of course they have one. "Where is your bathroom?"
Basch's hand on his shoulder turns him toward the house. "Go in the door on this side, and that'll put you in the kitchen. There'll be a short hall on your left, with a door on the left of that."
"Thank you," Balthier says, and nods gravely. This beer is cheating, he's sure of it. He sways up to the house, and his fingers feel a bit numb on the doorknob, but they at least obey him.
It's a nice house, he thinks, plain but well put together, and he wonders if he'd notice that if Basch hadn't told him who built it. He finds the bathroom with no trouble, and the sheer physical relief makes him sag bodily as he empties his bladder. He shakes off, tucks his cock back in his pants -- god, if he'd expected his company for the evening to be half a dozen muscular gay men, he'd have chosen a pair that weren't so tight -- and as he's washing his hands he hears a thump from the other side of the wall. He shuts off the water.
There's another thump -- like a headboard hitting the wall, Balthier thinks -- and then a woman's voice, laughing. Words follow, too low to make out, just the purring alto timbre. And after the words, a moan, that starts low and then rises in pitch to a breathless, needy --
Balthier really wishes he hadn't worn such tight pants.
Even the thought that he'll likely be giving entirely the wrong impression -- and that there could be rather uncomfortable consequences for doing so -- doesn't entirely alleviate his problem as he makes his way back outside. That was Fran, moaning like that, he's almost certain. And if it wasn't, then it was Fran causing...Drace...to moan like that, which is -- well, which is certainly not doing him any favors in the looking-disinterested department.
"Feeling better?" Basch asks. He hands Balthier another beer.
He intends to say yes, possibly yes, thank you, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, "Fran and, ah, Drace."
Basch smiles. "Still having a good time, are they?"
"It did sound that way," Balthier says. He's made a terrible tactical error: he's had enough to drink now that he shouldn't drive, and a responsible person like Basch would probably refuse to let him go if he should try to leave anyway. He's stuck here, and intoxicated enough -- he takes a long pull on his new beer -- to get curious. "So you have, ah, women with women inside, and, ah, men with men out here, and -- is it always -- like that?"
"Not always," Basch says. He drinks. Balthier realizes he's watching Basch's throat work as he swallows. Must stop that. "Most people here can bat for either team. Vaan's the only one I'm not sure about."
"And Vaan is...?" He shouldn't be looking. It's not a good idea. And yet he is, and the party has gotten considerably more adventurous since he got here.
"Vaan's the kid," Basch says.
"I see," Balthier says. There's quite a lot to see, really. "He appears to have lost his pants. At some point. While I wasn't looking."
Basch laughs, and it's a nice sound. Friendly. A little rough. "He does that. Turn your back on him for a minute and he's naked."
Balthier catches himself just in time to keep from saying I used to have that problem as a child, and is so busy congratulating himself for that save that he neglects to censor his inebriated brain's next attempt at conversation, which is, "He certainly seems to be having a good time." On his hands and knees, rocking back toward the dark-haired man behind him.
"I should hope so," Basch says, and there's a little warmth in his voice at last, a sort of...focus on his face as he watches. "Vossler's damn good at that."
You sound well-informed, Balthier barely doesn't say. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "I'm keeping you from, ah, enjoying yourself."
Basch looks back at him, and smooths the hunger from his face with visible, deliberate effort. "Don't worry about it. I'm not hard up by any means, and it'd be rude to just leave you stranded."
"Still, I," Balthier says, and realizes he's about to argue the point. "Thank you," he amends. "It's -- I would be a bit at a loss."
"See?" Basch says. "And I'd feel bad about that. I can always hook up with somebody once you're safely handed off to Fran." His smile is teasing, not at all mean, but Balthier still blushes -- not aided at all by the way that Vaan has started to make needy crooning noises as he gets -- as he gets, Balthier decides, and stops that sentence in its tracks.
He tries to imagine Basch in the position Vaan's in right now, and then realizes what he's doing and tries to stop. "I'm afraid," he says, gesturing with the bottle in his hand -- is it half-empty already? How did that happen? -- "that your pirate beer has entirely robbed me of my font of witty conversation."
"You sound like you're doing fine," Basch says. He might be watching when Balthier drinks. He's almost definitely watching when Balthier licks his lips afterward.
"Good to know," Balthier says. "So you wouldn't hold it against me, I hope, if I find myself asking stupid questions about -- about how it's different to kiss a man instead of a woman, or something."
This time Basch's smile is slow, and warm, like he knows just how many other ill-considered questions are bubbling behind that one. "Whether it's weird to kiss somebody with stubble, you mean?" he says.
"Something like that," Balthier says. His mouth feels dry. Basch is going to offer to show him. He can tell.
"It is, a little, the first time." Basch shakes his head. "But it's not the only thing you notice. Not even the biggest difference, for me."
Balthier chews his lower lip. He can't tell if he's disappointed that the offer didn't come. "No? What was the biggest difference, then?"
"Body type," Basch says. His eyes flick down, like he's sizing Balthier up, just for a second. "Not a lot of curves on a guy. Broader shoulders. Feels different, up close."
"I imagine it must," Balthier says. He is imagining it. Trying to. "Seems like it would be -- overwhelming." He's staring at the line of Basch's bicep.
"It can be," Basch says, very quietly. "But that's not always bad."
"I'm about to do something very stupid," Balthier says.
Basch nods, and puts his beer down. "This is a pretty safe place for that."
"Good," Balthier says. "That's. That's good to know." He sets his beer next to Basch's and reaches out very slowly to trace the muscle he's been admiring. Basch shifts his weight, easing closer. This is an incredibly bad idea.
Balthier does it anyway.
He leans in and tilts his head and Basch meets him halfway, kissing open-mouthed, and the roughness of Basch's beard is strange but it doesn't make him want to stop, and -- and the kiss isn't pushy, just inviting, slow and deep, and that's Basch's hand against his waist, above the line of his pants, warm through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and it feels good there and he can't believe he's doing this and when he pulls back eventually it's because it feels like he's forgetting to breathe.
"Okay?" Basch says. He doesn't take his hand away, but he doesn't push any closer, either.
Balthier nods. "Yes." His hand is still on Basch's arm. He leaves it there. "You're right. It's -- overwhelming is -- not always bad." He puts his other hand on Basch's side. "I'm...not sure how much I'm up for."
"That's fine," Basch says. "It's not like you're committed to anything."
You'll listen if I say stop? Balthier almost says, and then feels like such a girl, and then abruptly realizes that being a girl must be nerve-wracking if it means worrying about things like this all the time. He hopes he hasn't been too horrid.
Basch takes half a step back. "You sure you're okay?"
"Fine," Balthier protests, and clutches at his shirt to keep him from going anywhere. "I'm just -- going to have a lot to say to Fran, that's all." He smiles hopefully. "I'd like to kiss you again, though."
"I'd like that," Basch says, and steps closer again. This time when they kiss Balthier wraps his arms around Basch, carefully, and Basch pulls him close and he has to agree about the body-type issue. It's so very different, the breadth of Basch's shoulders, the way he's all firm muscle, no softness at all. His hands feel much bigger, splayed across Balthier's back. Balthier pulls free of the kiss, just barely, and leans in to rub his cheek against Basch's, and if there ever were obvious evidence that he's blind drunk, this is it -- but it feels fascinating, the prickle of stubble and the coarse hair of Basch's neatly-trimmed beard.
And then Basch catches Balthier's earlobe between his teeth, so the ring clicks faintly, and sucks. "Oh," Balthier says, and suddenly he's holding on much tighter, his breath catching in his throat.
"Good?" Basch murmurs, and he must know the answer to that but Balthier can't really blame him for wanting to hear it out loud.
"Yes," Balthier says, and he feels hot everywhere Basch is touching him, hot and shivery both at once. "Please. More."
Basch hums, a low sound almost like a growl, and that makes Balthier's pants feel tight even before Basch's mouth closes on his earlobe again. He shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he is. He's never -- well, right, he's in theater, so people make assumptions, and he's had to politely decline some offers in addition to evading threats, so he has thought about it before. But the point is he had always declined. He'd been proud of himself for not conforming to the stereotype. And what he's doing right now is not like declining at all.
Instead what he's doing right now is fumbling with the hem of Basch's shirt, pulling it up so he can slide his hands underneath, and even this is -- how is it possible for skin to feel so different? It shouldn't be. But he can trace the patterns of muscle and bone right under Basch's skin, and he's getting hard -- getting harder -- doing it, and he thinks, he's pretty sure, that he can feel Basch's cock hard against him, too. He doesn't understand why that doesn't make him want to stop.
Except that Basch is warm and solid against him, and stroking his back with broad, strong hands, and still sucking on his earlobe and it feels good. Balthier's hips make an experimental thrusting motion entirely without orders, to which Basch responds by reaching down to palm Balthier's ass and squeeze firmly. "Oh god," Balthier says, holding on tighter.
"Still okay?" Basch asks.
"I want to," Balthier says, "I want -- I --" and despite his utter failure of eloquence, he seems to be communicating, because Basch lets go of his ass and instead shifts to be able to cup his cock through the thick leather of his pants -- not even looking, like he'd already noticed earlier which side Balthier dresses -- and squeeze there instead.
"You look damn good in leather," Basch says. "Any chance I can get these open?"
A safe place for this sort of thing, Basch called it. Balthier nods. "Please," he says, and then he's absurdly impressed at how quickly Basch gets his pants open one-handed, and then he has another man's hand on his cock for the first time. Which. Well. Which he's enjoying far more than he would have expected to. It's not only the friction -- which is certainly pleasant enough, no doubt about that -- but the circumstances, the fact that Basch looks the type to accuse Balthier of this sort of thing and possibly become violent over it, and is instead enthusiastically recruiting for the practice. The fact that they're in, for all intents and purposes, public, even if the potential audience is likely to be distracted with their own pursuits, by comparison with which this is relatively tame.
The fact that the next thing Basch says is, "Nothing underneath, hmm? I bet your cock tastes like leather."
God. "That sounds like, ah, a hypothesis in need of testing," Balthier says. He almost can't believe his own daring, except that sounded so much like an offer --
And Basch laughs, giving his cock one last squeeze and letting go. "Sit down," he says, steering Balthier toward a lawn chair a little closer to the fire. "Make yourself comfortable."
"You're too kind," Balthier says. He'd accuse Basch of bragging by implication -- assuming he won't be able to keep his feet under him for this -- save that it's probably true. He's unsteady enough already, and Basch is only just kneeling in front of him, hands laid across his thighs.
"You say that like I'm doing this for your benefit," Basch says, and grins when Balthier blinks at him in surprise -- isn't this sort of thing usually done for the benefit of the recipient? -- before he licks his lips and leans down.
This is nowhere near the first blowjob Balthier's ever had, but it's immediately obvious that it's one of the better ones. For sheer enthusiasm he's fairly certain none of his previous flings can compare -- Basch moans around his shaft, mouth wet and hot, taking him in a rough, sloppy rhythm like he can't get enough. Maybe it's all that slickness, or possibly it's a skill born of practice, but he takes it deep like it's easy, deep enough that Balthier can feel Basch's throat constrict around the head of his cock when he swallows.
"God," Balthier says. "Ah, god. You," and that seems to be about as much of a compliment as he can muster with the amount of distraction he's currently enduring. His hands come to rest on Basch's shoulders, as if he still needs to be steadied further -- so he feels the slide of muscle there when Basch reaches down to unbutton his jeans, as if he's going to -- "Wait," Balthier says, when he realizes what Basch is doing. "If you -- I want to -- if you wait --"
Basch moans, which sounds quite a bit like agreement, and lets go of his cock, puts his hands back on Balthier's thighs. Balthier shudders, trying to hold still when his hips badly want to rock toward the wet heat of Basch's mouth. He's just agreed to -- offered to -- well, he supposes he didn't really get all the words out, but they both know that after this he'll be returning the favor one way or another. He'll be making Basch come. Touching Basch's cock. He wants to. Thinking about it is making him ache, making him thrust despite his best efforts at politeness, making his balls draw tight and --
And he makes a completely undignified sound as he loses control, just warning enough that Basch can pull up if he wants to -- and Basch doesn't pull up, just holds on tight to Balthier's thighs, tongue working against his shaft, and swallows as Balthier comes.
"God," Balthier says, "oh god," and he should apologize for the wreck his vocabulary's become but first he should let go of the death grip he has on Basch's shirt right now -- or possibly just pull, so Basch leans up to meet him for a kiss. The girls Balthier's done this with were often surprised that he would kiss them after they'd sucked him off; he wonders now if he should have treated that as significant, the fact that he didn't mind the taste.
"Good?" Basch asks, grinning, pulling Balthier down out of the chair.
"You know it was," Balthier says, and then, because that doesn't sound adequately grateful, "Very."
"I'm glad," Basch says, and kisses him again. They've wound up sprawled on a beach blanket in front of the fire, and now Basch pulls Balthier close, rocking against him, cock hard. Balthier's stomach turns over with renewed nervousness. He can't -- he doesn't know -- he's never --
He's not going to be a bastard about this, is he? He reaches down. The buttons on Basch's jeans are undone, the fly of his boxer shorts open, and oh, there. The skin of his cock feels so smooth it's almost disorienting, when he's so rough everywhere else, and he moans when Balthier touches him. It's -- it's strange, in the way that the only cock Balthier has experience with is his own, so he's used to being able to feel what he's doing, and the angle seems backward, but he can do this.
"Good?" he asks, against Basch's throat, quietly enough that he's almost afraid Basch won't hear him. His voice doesn't seem to want to cooperate.
Basch nods. "Yes, god," he says. His hand closes over Balthier's. "Harder."
"Right," Balthier says hoarsely. He tightens his grip, and Basch rocks into his hand, flexing against him. God. He's jerking another man off. Touching someone else's cock. He thinks he could make Basch come like this.
And it's not enough.
He shifts, gets up on his knees, watching Basch nervously. His throat feels tight. He's too conscious of the voices of the other men at the party. "I hope you'll, ah, be patient with me," he says. "I haven't had, ah, any practice at this."
Basch's breath hitches visibly. "You'll do just fine," he says.
Balthier laughs. He's never been able to resist pressing an advantage. "You like that idea? Got some straight boy who's never tried it before sucking your cock?"
"God," Basch says, shuddering, and the way he wants it gives Balthier the courage to crawl the rest of the way down the blanket and lean down, and -- he can't believe he's doing this. He's -- he's opening his mouth, cautiously, and licking at the head of Basch's cock, lapping up the single drop of fluid at the tip. It tastes much sharper than the kiss, undiluted and raw. Basch moans when he does it. He opens his mouth further -- god, but Basch's cock seems big like this -- and gets his lips around the head, slides down slowly. It takes so little movement before his mouth is full, before he doesn't think he could get any more down his throat without choking. How did Basch manage to take all of his? They're not that different in size. He tries to push down further, to take more, and his throat seizes up and he has to pull back.
"Sorry," he says, looking away, taking deep breaths and trying to convince his stomach to settle.
"It's all right," Basch tells him immediately. His hand comes to rest on Balthier's shoulder, warm and steady. "You don't have to."
Balthier's pride bristles a little. "I'm not giving up just yet," he says. He manages to look up, smiles wryly. "I think my enthusiasm got a bit ahead of my skill, that's all."
Basch laughs, and from the look on his face, he's grateful. "I certainly won't complain if you want to use me for more practice," he says.
"Selfless of you," Balthier says. He can do this. It's going to be fine.
When he leans back down to try again, Basch says, "Wrap your hand around the base. Don't give yourself room to choke." Balthier glances up at him, and he's smiling. "You wouldn't try to rebuild a transmission before you'd even got the hang of doing an oil change, right?"
There's a quip to be made in response about lube jobs, Balthier is certain of it, but he thinks perhaps there's a limit to his recklessness after all, and he already has his hands -- and more importantly, his mouth -- full. He curls his hand around the shaft of Basch's cock, wets his lips, and takes it in again.
It's still too big, but he's prepared for that this time. There's something sort of exciting about that, really, the way it stretches his mouth wide, presses his tongue down -- the way the smoothness of that skin feels against the soft flesh of his mouth. When he inhales, there's the scent of smoke from the fire mixed with the heaviness of sweat and musk, and faintly, beneath that, sawdust. Basch moans for him as he figures out how to move -- hand and mouth together, in a single stroke, and it feels as though Basch's cock stiffens further as he does it. The back of his neck aches, the angle of his head completely unnatural -- he wonders if that was why Basch had him sit rather than lie down. He'll ask, he thinks, afterward, so he'll know in case there's a next time.
He thinks he wants there to be a next time. Basch's hand is heavy on his shoulder, and Basch's thighs flex rhythmically, like -- like he's trying not to thrust, Balthier realizes, recognizing that motion all at once. God. Basch wants to be fucking his mouth and is holding back. Balthier moans.
"Yes," Basch says raggedly, his hand clenching tighter, "just like that -- god, please," which is plenty of encouragement to offset the way Balthier's jaw is starting to ache, too. Basch sounds like -- like he's going to come, and Balthier's not sure, all at once, if he's ready for that.
Bitterness slicks the back of his tongue, and Basch's cock stiffens, and then he's tugging his shirt up and pulling at Balthier's shoulder -- "God," he says, "fuck -- you -- if you want to pull up, do it now --"
And it must be all right to do it or Basch wouldn't have suggested it, so Balthier does, his hand still working and Basch's cock slick with his spit and then he's watching Basch come from very, very close up.
"You know," Balthier says, "I don't think it ever seems that compelling in pornography."
Basch laughs. "Thank you," he says. He pulls his shirt the rest of the way off, uses it to wipe the come off his stomach, and tosses it toward the house. "I think it tends to be more interesting when you have a personal investment."
"There is that," Balthier agrees. He feels giddy -- sober, more or less, but giddy with having done this. Basch sits up, bracing his weight on his hands, and Balthier scoots over to sit next to him. "Thank you," he says. "This has been a -- quite the experience, really."
"Any time," Basch says, and leans in a little closer, so their shoulders touch. Balthier shifts his weight just enough to push back.
The sun has gone down completely by now, so only the light of the fire illuminates the action. Relatively speaking, it's calmed down quite a bit; one of the men is stoking the fire and another just watching while the younger one -- Vaan -- has his cock sucked by -- Reddas, Balthier thinks the black man's name was. They look quite striking together, in their contrast -- Vaan is lean, golden in the firelight, his head tilted back and his hands on Reddas's shoulders for balance. Reddas is broad, sturdy, his hands a deep bronze and splayed across Vaan's ass. Something he does makes Vaan whimper, and Reddas manages somehow to laugh with Vaan's cock in his mouth. The fire appears to have been tended satisfactorily, and now the other two men are occupied with each other -- they're kissing, slowly, and the one whose name Balthier still hasn't caught is clenching his fist in Vossler's hair and pulling.
"The fun never stops, does it?" Balthier asks. He looks over, and finds that Basch is watching him.
"Why should it?" Basch says. "It's not often we've all got time off together. Might as well make the most of it." His eyes flick down for a second, looking at Balthier's mouth.
At this point it's hard to argue with that sort of logic. "Might as well," Balthier says, and leans in for the kiss Basch is offering.
It's still good, even with the alcohol leaving his bloodstream, and that should worry him as much as anything about this whole adventure, but he can't bring himself to feel the worry. Basch's hand curls against his hip, and Basch's tongue teases its way into his mouth, pushing, just -- just enough to mimic what they were doing earlier, the -- god, he sucked Basch's cock not half an hour ago and thinking about it is making him hard again. Balthier nips at Basch's lower lip, sucks it into his mouth, shivers at the way Basch groans when he uses his teeth. It's not recklessness if he's more-or-less sober by now, is it? It's just...curiosity. And that's all right. He can trust Basch with this.
"I want to," he says, against Basch's mouth, "I mean, can we," and even with the decision made it's still hard to get the words out. He pulls Basch down onto the blanket with him again, kisses him for courage until the solid heat of Basch's body and the wet promise of the kiss make him bold enough to try again: "If I were -- if you'd been sure when I got here that I was queer enough for -- to be -- to want to -- I want you to treat me like that." Of course, the recklessness of being drunk might help him say what he means, which capacity appears to have utterly deserted him now.
Basch nuzzles his way under Balthier's chin, kisses, bites almost hard enough to hurt. His beard feels rough against Balthier's throat, almost too much for the soft skin there. "You'd still have to tell me what you want," he says, his breath hot on Balthier's skin, his voice low.
"God," Balthier says. He holds onto Basch's shoulders, hooks his leg around Basch's and grinds up against him. "Please."
Basch moans, pushes back against him, giving him friction. "It's okay, the answer's yes, but please, I need you to say it."
Oh, Balthier thinks, feeling sort of absurdly lucky again. Basch is trying to make sure he's really asking for what he's suggesting, really wants -- "I want you to fuck me," Balthier makes himself say before he can lose his nerve again, and his stomach is in knots but his cock is so hard.
"Yes," Basch says, this wonderful throaty growl that does plenty to tip the balance in favor of Balthier's cock. "I'd love to." He reaches down and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Balthier's pants to pull them down. Balthier squirms to help, and the air is cool on one side of him from the evening but warm on the other from the fire, and then he and Basch realize at approximately the same time that there's no way Balthier's pants are going to come off over his boots, and they both laugh, which chases the rest of the nervousness off to hide somewhere.
"Here," Balthier says, "there are zippers --" and he sits up, tugs on the first one, and Basch sets to work on the other, as if waiting for Balthier to do it would take too long. Being completely naked seems like it ought to be intimidating, but wearing only his t-shirt seems like it would definitely feel silly, so as Basch finishes with his boots and his pants, Balthier pulls his shirt off over his head. Might as well do this right.
And then it turns out to be less intimidating than flattering, in the way that Basch looks at him -- doubly flattering in this company, really; Balthier likes to think he's no ninety-eight-pound weakling, but he knows he doesn't have anywhere near the muscle mass of most of Basch's...friends. But still Basch looks at him like he's worth wanting, worth admiring, and when Balthier arches his back and spread his legs a little Basch almost, almost lunges for him.
"You done this before?" Basch asks, reaching into one of his pockets.
Balthier almost asks where he would have, since he's never done anything with a man before, and then the other possibilities occur to him and he wonders if Fran -- but that's something he can think about later. "No," he says instead. "But I know how it goes, more or less," that thanks to one ex-girlfriend who'd hinted more than once that she might let him fuck her ass, maybe, possibly, and he took her seriously enough to try to find out what precautions he'd need to take to do so.
Basch opens one of the packets he's taken from his pocket; Balthier is pleasantly unsurprised to see that it's a condom. "Know how it goes meaning you've seen it in porn," Basch says as he rolls the condom on, "or you've read about it, or you've actually stuck something up your ass before?"
"The -- the first two," Balthier says. "So I, I do know it's not as easy as porn makes it look."
"Good," Basch says. "Quick and easy way to get yourself hurt, trying to get your sex ed from porn." He nudges Balthier's thighs apart and kneels between them. "Now if anything hurts or feels too weird, or you want to take a break or slow down, say so. All right?"
Balthier nods. His heart's pounding. All that nervousness has come back, skittering along his nerves, coiling in his belly. He raises his knees, watches Basch tear open the other packet and squeeze lube onto his fingers.
And Basch looks him in the eyes, and hesitates. "You sure you want to do this?" he says. "You're not just being macho and trying not to back down?"
"Do it," Balthier says. "I want to." He can't believe he's doing this, but he's fairly certain he'll be kicking himself for months if he stops now. He tries to take deep breaths, tries to just relax as Basch reaches down between his legs and -- and just touches him, stroking the crack of his ass, fingers cool and slippery. He's going to push, any second, going to get his fingers up Balthier's ass and --
Only what he actually does is lean down and lick a broad swipe up the underside of Balthier's cock before sucking the head into his mouth.
"Cheating," Balthier manages, reaching down, his fingers skating over the bare skin of Basch's shoulder. "Don't stop." He -- he can't stay nervous like this, the touch of Basch's fingers maddeningly gentle and the slick heat of Basch's mouth to distract him. It's -- everything is just wet, and easy, and Basch's tongue teases the ridge along the underside of his cock, and Balthier relaxes into it, rocking just a little -- and then his breath catches as Basch pushes finally, just enough, and he's -- god, it feels strange. Basch isn't even pushing deep, barely inside him, but it's already so -- there's nothing quite like it, the realization that he has something up his ass, that he's going to have much more, if -- if it'll fit, god.
Basch slows down, holding still right there, his hand not even moving and his mouth just working around Balthier's cock. Which is fine -- better than fine -- incredibly good -- but Balthier thinks he might want the distraction to keep going, actually, and he's going to get too worked up too fast if all he's getting is another fabulous blowjob.
"Keep going," he says hoarsely. "Please, I can -- more." He's going to have to take more, won't he? Basch is going to want to get his cock much deeper than that. God.
On the next stroke, right as he swallows around the head of Balthier's cock, Basch pushes, and suddenly he's much deeper and Balthier's making a helpless whimpering noise that he's sure the others will hear. No matter how much he wants this, and he's fairly certain he does, it still feels incredibly unnatural -- things don't belong there, and his body knows it. And that -- that's exciting, he realizes. The thrill of it feeling wrong, of knowing he shouldn't be full there but he is. He moans again to let Basch know he likes it, his hand settling against Basch's shoulder and the side of his neck. The pulse there is steady, fast, hard. Overhead the stars are bright, barely obscured by smoke drifting up from the fire. Someone else is moaning, too. Basch pushes harder, differently -- something -- inside him, and the change aches, makes Balthier's balls tighten, his back arch.
"Yes," he says, "yes, yes," and that -- that makes him really queer, doesn't it? If he's pleading for more when Basch is playing with his ass. Basch hums around his cock and does that -- whatever it was -- again, and it's just as good the second time. Balthier shivers.
And then Basch pulls out nearly all the way and pushes back in again, and -- it's so much more this time, filling him, stretching him.
"Oh god," Balthier says. "That was -- just one, before?" He can't imagine how he's going to take Basch's cock, how he could -- but he's been seeing it happen all night, watching the others do this to each other.
"Yeah," Basch says, his breath against the head of Balthier's cock, looking up and -- he looks so intense, so angular, in the firelight. "You still doing okay?" He's doing that thing with his fingers again, keeping them deep in Balthier's ass and just rocking there, and it's still good even without the blowjob to go with it.
"Still good," Balthier says. "Whatever that is that -- you know what you're doing."
Basch smiles, and it's a hungry look. "You take it real well," he says. "Try moving, if you think you can handle it."
That ought to sound like a challenge, like a dare, but Basch is too decent and it just sounds enticing instead, so Balthier tries -- rocks his hips just a little so Basch's fingers move inside him and -- he's fucking himself on Basch's hand, isn't he? The idea makes his cock twitch, makes his ass clench around Basch's fingers, and that makes Basch growl. It's one of the hottest sounds Balthier's ever heard, definitely the hottest one he's ever been responsible for. He tries doing it on purpose, tightening those muscles again, and Basch makes another of those hungry noises, pushing into him harder. They're going to -- he wants to --
"You're going to fuck me," Balthier says, because saying the words out loud is still thrilling. "You're going to shove your cock up my ass. Fuck me like a queer."
"You want me to," Basch says, and it's almost not a question, almost a demand. God, it's hot to imagine it as a demand.
"Yes," Balthier breathes, "yes, please, make me -- please --"
And then Basch is pulling back, his fingers sliding free. "Roll over," he says. "Get your knees up under you."
Balthier moans. "You want me on my hands and knees?" he says, as he rolls onto his side, as he pushes himself up on his elbows. "Want to take me like this?" He looks back over his shoulder, meets Basch's eyes. He's terrified, but it's the same kind of terror that he felt the first time he took his motorbike out on the highway at night to see what she could do.
"Keep breathing," Basch says, and thank god he's not still asking if this is okay. He rests one hand at the small of Balthier's back, and when he presses the head of his cock against Balthier's asshole he pauses for just a moment, for just long enough to let Balthier take a deep, nervous breath -- and then as he exhales Basch pushes and oh god, oh god -- it feels so big, spreading him wide and so deep, god, filling him, he's being fucked --
"Damn," someone says, behind him, somewhere near the fire, "get a look at that."
It could be something else. Somebody else doing something outrageous. Balthier doesn't believe that for a second. He's letting another man fuck him and there are people watching. He clenches his teeth, but the whimper gets past them anyway.
"Easy," Basch says, quiet and steady, like he's talking to a frightened animal. He's maybe not that far off. "You doing okay?"
"Fine," Balthier says, which is exaggerating, but only a little. He's mostly fine. He will be fine. He's not hurt, just --
"I'm going to just give you a minute to relax," Basch says, leaning forward and bracing one hand on the ground beside Balthier's elbow, so he's draped over Balthier's back. "Let me know when you want me to move."
"You don't have to keep coddling me, you know," Balthier says, and it would probably come out sounding more petulant if it weren't for the fact that Basch reaches down as he's talking and takes hold of his cock.
"If you wanted somebody to hurt you, your first time," Basch says mildly, like he's being patient but it's an effort, "you asked totally the wrong guy." He starts to stroke Balthier's cock, slowly, like he's got all the time in the world -- and, well, Balthier supposes he probably doesn't have much motivation to get this over with quickly, does he?
And that's damnably good, that steady stroke and the heavy fullness of his cock in Balthier's ass. "Sorry," Balthier says. "Not trying to, ah, sound ungrateful. Just." He closes his eyes, rocks back a little, feels how Basch's cock shifts at even that slight motion. He's so full, so stretched out, so sensitive. "More -- please. I promise you're not hurting me, and I -- I want to feel you move."
Basch hums a little, sits up again -- but doesn't let go of Balthier's cock, bless him -- and rocks his hips. That's, oh. Yes. Balthier tries to brace himself better, so he doesn't just get rocked forward by the way Basch thrusts, so he can actually feel the movement inside him. They're slow strokes, and Basch can't be pulling out much, because Balthier just feels so full, constantly, god, full of Basch's cock -- and the slow tempo of the fuck means that Basch's hand is slowing, too, which Balthier's not sure he likes. He reaches down himself and laces his fingers with Basch's, pushing to make him move faster, grip harder -- god -- it's all so much, too much, more than he can stand, the heavy pressure of Basch's cock moving inside him and the roughness of Basch's hand and the sounds, god, the way Basch moans, fucking him, and the way Balthier finds himself moaning back -- he aches, all his nerves raw and too sensitized and his balls heavy, tight, ready to -- like he's going to -- "Want to come," he says, and saying it gets him closer, "god, Basch, want to --"
"Yeah," Basch says, low and hoarse, "going to feel real good, isn't it? Getting close now?"
Balthier nods. "It's -- think so, I --" because it's hard to tell, hard to be sure when he's so distracted by the cock up his ass, but --
"Feels like it," Basch says. "You're getting so damn tight."
"Like that," Balthier says, his voice shaking as the rhythms come into synch just right, like gears shifting so all at once it's easy, "please, just like that," and his breath catches in his throat, his nerves humming taut and then -- he can't hold back can't stand it, and Basch's cock inside him makes it feel so strange, the pressure and friction that almost threw him off before prolonging it now so he feels like he can't stop, like he's going to just keep coming, full and shaking and jolted with pleasure until it hurts, until he has to pull Basch's hand off his cock.
And even then they're not done, because Basch is still moving, one hand closing on Balthier's shoulder for leverage, fucking him in quick, shallow thrusts that jar his nerves. "God," Balthier says, "I can't --"
"Please," Basch says, and he sounds desperate, "I'm almost --"
Balthier nods, curling his fingers in the blanket under him -- he can stand this a bit longer, can't he? -- and holding on tight. "Go on," he manages, squeezing his eyes shut, "do it," and oh god, he hopes that noise Basch makes in return is agreement --
And it must be, because Basch's rhythm falls to pieces in another minute and then he moans one last time before he slows, stops entirely, breathing hard. He lets go of Balthier's shoulder, his hand sliding down Balthier's back slowly. "God," he says, and it's some comfort that he sounds nearly as ruined at Balthier feels. "Thank you."
All the easy, flirty answers -- my pleasure or any time or the like -- feel a bit beyond what he's able to offer at the moment, so Balthier just nods. "Hell of an, ah evening," he says, wincing just a little as Basch pulls out. His limbs are trembling. There's no way he wants to go anywhere.
"You good?" Basch asks. He guides Balthier down, hands on his hip and his bicep, to lie stretched out on the side of the blanket that he hasn't just come all over. Balthier catches sight of Vaan, leaning against Reddas's side, watching him, and when their eyes meet Vaan smiles a genuinely pleasant smile, like he's happy for Balthier more than anything else.
"I think so," Balthier says. Basch is warm against his back, lips brushing the nape of his neck. He leans into that touch. "A bit -- a bit sore."
"Sorry about that," Basch says. He's stroking Balthier's side, slowly. It feels good. "Should be gone by tomorrow."
Balthier nods, rolling over awkwardly so they can lie face to face. Basch slides an arm around him, and Balthier notes that imposing biceps make for good pillows. "And I'm -- I'm going to be worthless when Fran comes back." He lays a hand flat against the bottom of Basch's rib cage.
Basch smiles, so that the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Party goes on all weekend," he says. "You got plenty of time to recover."
"All weekend," Balthier says. He can barely imagine it -- another two full days of this? His limbs are already leaden with exhaustion, and his eyes want to close. "With time for naps, I hope."
"Of course," Basch says. He leans in and kisses Balthier's mouth, softly, just a gentle press of lips and no more. "Go on. Get some sleep."
"I'm not," Balthier tries to say, "I mean, I don't mean to," but the words are slow in coming, won't arrange themselves in order, and when Basch kisses him again he decides that most likely he's made his point anyway. Just for a moment, then. He'll close his eyes for a little bit, that's all.
It's a safe place for this.