isleofavalon | [Closed] A Future Thieved

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[Closed] A Future Thieved

🧙 WHO: Balthier, Aerith
⚔️️ WHAT: Consequences to Claire's Anonymous Adventures
🕒 WHEN: Approximately 16/09
🗺️ WHERE: Camelot business district, and anywhere else it needs to be.
⚠️ WARNINGS: It gets a little steamy later on.

[Truthfully, she's been troubled since the fated day that she found her name on the network alongside Balthier's. Is it supposed to be some kind of joke? She isn't laughing. It's not her brand of humour either. Aerith can laugh about a plethora of other things, but not when it comes down to something so serious.

It's my fault for saying something.

It's something she's said to herself more than a few times since then. Maybe they've danced around each other a little bit. Teased. But has it meant anything? In the days that follow as she's working in the flower shop, noticeably on edge, she's had to ask herself about it repeatedly. How much of it is serious? How much of it is just pushing to see how far the other one will go? Has it meant anything at all? What are her thoughts on it?

Aerith frowns prominently, casting a look up at the sky for some moments before she dips into Enchantment. One look around and she realises this is definitely not the place for her. There's absolutely no reason she would ever visit a host club and she just barely knows what it is. Doesn't stop her from being approached almost right off to bat if there's someone in particular she's got plans of meeting with, which results in her very quickly explaining she only needs a moment.

Implying she intends to make a decision as she's faced with a roster of those who work at said club and short descriptions on each one.

(...This definitely isn't her kind of place. Well, maybe—if circumstances were different.)

She looses a sigh, a quirk in the corner of her mouth.]

Can't imagine he'd come here, so there's that, at least. I can just get a drink maybe and something to eat? It's not like I can just keep playing this game, though. Should... probably say something at some point, right?

[...But what does she say? An apology? How does she even know it's her fault? Maybe he doesn't know it was ever her to begin with.

No. That's stupid. All of this is stupid. Including the part where Aerith is hiding inside of a host club. Especially that part.]

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[Is that disappointment or resignation? She should feel guilty and a part of her does. It's a little selfish on her part when she's trying to lighten the situation so that she can continue moving through it. That's no slight against him. If anything, it's only implication that Balthier is incredibly good at what he does. Enough that he can make her change her mind and she isn't sure that she's ready or willing to put herself in a position to let him do that. As she understands it would be her choice to let him sway her.

Yet all is not lost. He is provoked only in what appears to be a positive way.]

Well, no... Not exactly.

[...Aerith assumes he's teasing, though the more serious part of her wonders what he'd even be negotiating for. ...Her? Is she something to negotiate over?

Wherever her thoughts intend to go quickly move away from it when he shifts his hand ever so carefully from the welcoming warmth situated betwixt her thighs. He crosses touch and hold over slender wrist and as he guides her against him, she feels her breath hitch right in her throat.

Oh.

Not that she's not known of it before. Aerith, perhaps in her own way, plays oblivious even to that. It's telling. Transparent. Her humour fades with that touch alone, accompanied by the very gaze he sets upon her. Heated in a way that she isn't sure she's seen before, even in this exchange. It's been close, but not quite like that. He seeks another kiss and she surrenders that willingly, leaving her hand to where he's left it, along hardened arousal just barely contained beneath the tight of his trousers.

They don't need words for understanding and she's willing, indicative of the way she rubs touch against him, more firm than she ordinarily would when she has such a gentle touch. At least for the time being. At least she gets the opportunity to dote on him. To give him something back. To show him that even in moments like these, she'd rather give to him. That she would always rather think of him.]

[There is, just for a moment, the thought that such direction might suddenly make this too real or somehow threatening, enough for Aerith to declare that she's had enough, but that concern is quickly banished as she touches him in turn, firm and deliberate compared to the gentle, curious touch she's used up until now.

His head drops back as he finds himself letting out a long sigh, a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, a sound that's equal parts appreciation and relief. Skin against skin might have even been too much at this point, given how long he'd been making the effort to ignore his own need, but his fingers curl into her hair as one hand remains gently against her wrist, his own breath catching audibly.

It's better than it has any right to be while still half-clothed. As intent as he'd been on taking care of her, there's no denying he'd wanted this. Well, this and far more— but he would be more than content with this alone, if it was all she cared to do.

He regains himself just enough to bring their foreheads together once more, eyes closed and gently teasing the tip of her nose with his own and feeling his hips rock forward slowly of their own accord, arching into her touch in a bid for more.]

[It's very empowering to hear that from someone like him. Balthier, a man so composed, so put together, so often dignified. Every time his breath hitches, every time he loses that composure even when it's fleeting, every time he's transparent in her effect on him, Aerith feels... almost proud. And she understands why. She is used to impacting the lives of others around her in other ways. Usually the more innocently altruistic ones. If anyone else has ever thought of her in the way Balthier has, aside from Zack, she wouldn't be aware of it. And she's almost certain Zack had a fairly innocent perception of her as well, though perhaps it might not have ended up that way had things turned out more favourable for them both.

Either way, it's a feeling she could get accustomed to. Inwardly, she preens. She wouldn't hate to have him at her kind mercy more.

With his touch gracing her wrist, it keeps Aerith from getting too bold. Her thoughts toy with the idea of the front fastener of his trousers. It'd likely be easier, feel nicer, if he didn't have something simply constraining him. But there is also the possibility that if she goes that extra step, there may be no coming back from it. In truth, to have gotten where they are, there is no coming back from any of that either. Neither of them can pretend these things did not happen. Aerith has no idea how she'll handle this going forward, or what Balthier will want from her.

...Would it not be wisest to pleasant exhaust him and take a quiet and subtle leave? What... exactly is the proper protocol here?

Biting into her lower lip to ease down the smile that threatens to crease at the corners of her mouth, Aerith simply relishes in the closeness they share. That press of their foreheads against one another and the tip of his nose that dusts right across hers. His hips press into her firm hold, betraying his want. She feels caught up in him all over again. At least in some way. Not because he's the one spoiling her, but rather because she has this opportunity to really know him.

Aerith suspects she finds a truth in these moments that he would otherwise keep hidden.]

If you want more... you'll have to let me do more. [She reminds him. Rather, it's simply reassurance that she's willing to release him of his restraints. She won't go fleeing in the opposite direction. If it's what he wants, then she is willing.]

... right.

[His own voice is near unrecognizable to him in that moment, hoarse and tight as he finds himself caught between chasing after her touch for that more he craves and letting her dictate what comes next herself. Those two things seem to align; her comment is not one to be glossed over, and with it comes reassurance and willingness, and the very thought of that makes every muscle in his abdomen pull tight with anticipation.

He exhales, easing onto his back and releasing his hold on her wrist. The entire thing feels rather graceless; his usual composure has frayed and he actually fumbles as he reaches to undo the lacings at the front of his trousers that he is currently prepared to dismiss as absurd. He'll berate himself for his clothing choices more later on, if he remembers, but for now there's a very human faltering as he pulls them loose and the leather of his trousers goes a bit more slack. That offers some relief in itself, but there's still not a great deal of give, so if she wants to do anything more, he'll have to—

He pauses to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, keeping his breath even as he props himself up with one hand against the mattress.]

They're still rather in the way, do you mind if I—

[He is baffled by the fact that he cannot bring himself to say 'take them off entirely' or any variation thereof, and gods, is he blushing? He can feel the renewed heat spread across his own face and he knows it doesn't all have to do with lust.

He clears his throat softly, swallowing down the surge of irritation he feels at his own faltering.]

That is, it might be easier to... get rid of them.

[Somewhere, he's certain, his partner is laughing at him and she knows not why.]

Edited (I was so excited to embarrass him I made a lot of typos) 2021-10-03 20:11 (UTC)

[He simply trips and trips and trips. And for a man who has so much grace and elegance, it's a very different side to him. Aerith is almost mesmerised by it, honestly. It's nice to see him be a bit more 'human' instead of this amazingly untouchable man that he always seems to present himself as. She knows better than to say any of that, though. After all, she can kind of relate. She wouldn't want anyone addressing her differences in these moments either. As a result, when he figures out how to properly convey himself, she offers him a sympathetic look.

She does get it. She won't outright say that she does, because she suspects he might want her to keep that to herself, but it's there all the same. After a thought about what might be best for him, she lifts her hands, coincidentally ones that have been very happy to be pressed against him, and she places them right over her eyes in something that is not quite childlike, but still hosting a similar kind of innocence.]

It's okay. I won't look if that'll make it easier.

[At least she's had the habit of wearing lighter, easier things. She's suddenly a great deal more relieved she wasn't in anything so constraining. The worst that she endured was the grand amount of anticipation as Balthier trailed fingers between her buttons. And honestly, that's an anticipation she likes.]

[Her offer seems so in earnest that it manages to take him by surprise— there's a startled silence for a moment before he lets out a breathless sort of laugh, shaking his head before he shifts to plant both feet on the floor so that he can stand while further loosening his laces, causing the mattress to shift along with him as he removes his weight.]

Well, not quite why I was asking— you don't need to cover your eyes, it's certainly not a question of modesty.

[Though even as he says so, he does turn himself away, giving her a good view of his back in the process— as scarred as the front of him, but that doesn't keep his muscles from moving smoothly beneath the skin, shifting visibly as he grabs hold of his trousers and proceeds to shimmy them over his hips with only some small amount of difficulty now that he's upright. Never let it be said there's anything practical about his fashion choices.]

I only wanted to take care to— well, I wasn't sure how much you wanted to see. [A pause, as he drops his belt to the floor beside him.] Quite silly in hindsight, all things considered.

[She'd certainly let him see plenty of her, and more.

He does away with his shoes before letting out a long exhale of breath, lean muscle on display as his back becomes a smooth line while he bends to ease his trousers down enough that he can step out of them and set them aside. With his limbs bared, it seems they haven't fared as poorly as his upper body, thought perhaps the difference in surface area makes it hard to tell.

He feels significant relief, insomuch as he's no longer restrained, but the persistence of want brings its own brand of discomfort along with it. He pauses, just for a moment, to let his fingers brush against the waist of his undergarments, but quickly decides against ridding himself of them just yet, choosing to join her on the bed once more and easing himself in close. Unlike the rest of his clothing, they'll be easy enough to slip off when the moment comes, if it does, and there's a part of him that would very much prefer that she be the one to do it.

For all his fumbling and frustration, it's so easy to let himself be drawn to her warmth.

He lets an arm curl around her waist, eager to touch her again even after only moments apart, and while his arousal had been apparent enough before, the way cloth pulls tight against it leaves very little to the imagination as he leans in to gently bump his nose against the soft line of her jaw, nuzzling inward.]

Much better. Now, where were we?

[Aerith... for all of her good, kind, and relatively innocent nature, can't resist peeking between her fingers. She spies his back and when she realises he's turned, she uses that opportunity to shift onto an arm to push herself up. With her other hand, she takes some care of letting her hair down from the way it's so carefully held up. On the nearest place she can find, she sets ribbon, hairpiece, and one small sphere of materia all in a nice and neat pile.

She spends a decent amount of time admiring his back. The lines of it. The muscle. The scars that riddle across him and tell a plethora of stories. It's almost unfortunate that he's as good-looking from the back as he is from the front. It's as her head is tipping and she's staring a little intensely that she finally realises he's addressed her. Clearing her throat somewhat carefully, she leans over just long enough to gently tap her fingertips along his back.]

I'm not afraid, if that's what you're thinking.

[Although she can completely understand why he might think she would be. Her touch lingers only for some moments before she reclaims her spot on the bed, making a moment to shift out of her sundress and put that aside, too. Might as well make it a little more even. There's nothing wrong with... letting him be close, after all. Right?

She doesn't have a lot of time to think about it because before she knows it, he's right back at her side. Lifting her hand, she traces a touch right down against his chin somewhat blindly with a soft sigh. Fingertips dance down the length of his neck and she softens, though she can't resist teasing him just a touch. She never can.]

Hummm... I think I forgot. Maybe you should remind me?

[He'd already thought her incomparably lovely before, and in truth, her hair being down changes very little— but at the same time, puts her in an entirely different light, the way it frames her face and sweeps past her shoulders, the way she seems so much at ease. The loss of her sundress has put them on more even footing, and though his gaze does roam enough to look her over with frank appreciation, her face is where it lingers, far more taken with her as a whole than he ever could be with any single feature.

Even as she teases him, he takes the opportunity to pull her against him, the warmth of her against the long, lean line of his own body more apparent now than ever with so little between them, and he lets his own hand travel down the length of her jaw and along the curve of her neck, roaming downwards over her breast with his thumb gently teasing at her nipple in passing.]

I've been called many things, but never forgettable.

[He teases her right back, a note of laughter behind his words, and he leans in for another heated kiss as his hand comes to rest against her hip, fingers curled inward as his thumb brushes along the slope of it, his arousal ending up pressed against her thigh in the process.]

I believe we were doing a great deal of touching.

[There's still humor in his voice, but perhaps just the slightest edge of impatience, good-natured though it may be.]

[It'd be very easy for her to attempt to hide under her hair, or perhaps to find some other way to ward Balthier from looking at her too much. Instead of any of that, she simply doesn't allow her gaze to linger on his. Instead, she draws it aside for just enough moments that she can proverbially bind herself together. If she seems composed, then she ought to be thankful for that, because she isn't sure her insides reflect her outsides.

When her courage grows again, it's as she's drawing a touch across her cheek, perhaps in an effort to do away with some of the flush that's kissed her so soundly. Balthier draws her against him easily. She fits seamlessly, soft and pliable along the length of his frame. Again, the contrast is palpable. She curves and moulds along the various curves and ridges of his body. He is the one who seems sturdy and unmovable. Inflexible, if he chooses to be.

It takes little more than his wandering touch for her to soften and for the imploring gaze she offers him to fade into something more distant and stirred. That's a great power to have over someone, she realises. To both settle and disturb her insides with something as trivial as touch. She's underestimated the value in just such a thing, evidently. Thumb carefully presses over peak of nipple and her breath catches, a sensitivity that she can't deny.]

I wasn't...

[Her protest dies on her lips when he offers his own and she decides that kissing him is better than anything she might immediately say. Hands lift to press back against him, one following the path his arm makes where he leaves his touch atop her her hip. The other drawing inquisitive touch atop his collarbone, over his shoulder, and in slow, gradual discovery of him. He's not new by this point and yet her fingertips continue to treat him as though he is. Aerith decides this is simply because she enjoys touching him. She'll pretend she isn't familiar with him as long as she can use it to her advantage.

Even as she's regaining her ability to give voice again, it's considerably softer. In tone. In volume.]

...Pretty sure I was teasing you.

[It drops out of her in a murmur, leaving her still very caught up in him. In the inviting warmth he gives off, the security of his hold, the temptation of his hands atop her. He does everything right, though if it were wrong, Aerith isn't sure she'd want it to be right to begin with.]

[Every bit of it serves to pull him back into the moments before he'd stepped away— the gentle, curious brush of her fingertips, the soft murmuring of her voice, the way he feels near breathless every time another kiss breaks, the silken feel of her skin beneath his own calloused but eager touch. His need continues to serve as an insistent reminder, as well, but he so enjoys the exploration of her hands and the close press of their bodies that he can't bring himself to hurry her along, not just yet.]

You usually are, I've noticed.

[Another brief peal of laughter leaves him, lower and rough at the edges, and the hand at her hip moves to glide across the small of her back with fingers spread before dipping lower, following the natural curve of her body.]

This seems about right, though.

[Not exactly where they left off, but considerably more intimate with far fewer clothes between them. He rather likes that part, if the quickened pace of his heart beneath her touch is any indication— among other things.]

Not always.

[Maybe just eighty percent of the time, which is really still quite a lot honestly. It seems very possible that Aerith's deflection with humour is her way of handling the different weighted situations in her life. She's never said so, but there's an implication in how she approaches situations, especially the lesser favourable ones that makes it seem a distinct possibility.

Either way, he's laughing. She likes his laugh very much, a conclusion that hasn't taken her long to get to. He seems... happy? At ease? Not turned away by her demeanour, as awkward as it likely has been during the whole course of this. And he seems almost content just to touch her. As if she's something special. Aerith realises that she doesn't understand why exactly that is, and understands she just can't see herself the way Balthier might.]

I didn't realise you just wanted to hold me.

[But she's smiling. There's something very sweet about this. About him. The race of his heart reflects her own, though she suspects hers is mostly nerves and uncertainty that she attempts to keep tightly bound beneath something that is little more than flimsy composure. Balthier's wants can change at any time, especially as their circumstances change.

So can hers, for that matter. For the moment, for these breaths they both share, Aerith is stunningly satisfied with simply being close to him. Even the tension is a little sweeter than she's expected. Dipping her head, she nestles her face against the small of his neck and there she lingers before she draws a languid trail of kisses to the top of his shoulder. Yes. She could definitely do all of this for hours quite happily.]

Frequently enough.

[They'll have to compromise on that point, though he supposes it hardly counts as one. Such teasing has, after all, been a key feature of their acquaintance thus far, and he wouldn't see that change anytime soon— and while of course he recognizes her careful deflection for what it is, it's not enough to make him miss the way she's smiling now, content in the moment. They're so close that he can feel the rapid beat of her own heart, not so unlike his; nerves and excitement and a desire for more coming together to drive it so.

Her observation does manage a smirk from him in response; he's shed some of the nerves he'd felt before taking that brief break to disrobe, the brief exchange during in addition to the relief he'd felt at no longer having to worry about which barriers he ought to maintain having allowed anxiety to ease itself into anticipation instead. His smile pulls wider as he drops his chin to press a kiss against her hair while her own lips find their way towards his shoulder— she'll hear his breath catch, followed by a pleasant groan of appreciation as he lets his touch begin to wander once more, fingers trailing down the length of her thigh.]

I want to do a great many things, but holding you is certainly one of— oh, do keep that up...

[He could very, very quickly get used to her exploring him with her lips. There's still tension simmering between them, affection and arousal all in one, but it's settled into something as comfortable as it is curious, eagerness and anticipation and even a touch of novelty all coming together. This is hardly the first time he's felt affection for another person, not the first time he's wanted such things, but it certainly is the first time he's allowed himself to simply enjoy the act of being close. The first time he's allowed himself a taste of what he's too often been afraid to let himself have.]

['Frequently enough.' Yes, she'll give that one to him because it's very hard to contest it. Especially when she's sure that in no time at all, they'll simply be right back to bantering with one another. It would seem that they both find comfort in it, after all. She can't speak for him, but for her, it's familiar territory and that is far less intimidating than wandering into something where she doesn't know what to expect. After all, it's not as if she's having precognitive dreams involving Balthier. He is a blank map that she's only begun to chart and she has no idea where she's going or even really, what she's doing.

There's that sound again, that pleasant little rumble that emerges from him. It really should be considered a crime that he sound like that. It touches a part very deep inside of her that hasn't been touched before and as a result, she just doesn't know what to do with that information. It's as if it's his own way of creating a permanent little memory for her to hold in a place that no one else can get to. In inspires desire, she supposes. And something that feels suspiciously like devotion, though the weight of that word in this context is a frightening one. One that makes her hesitate and threatens to send her courage into withering.

Still she lingers along him, lazily and languidly tracing a nonsensical trail of fingertips lightly along the plane of his back. It's a comfortable pace, no haste, no particular prying, surprisingly informal considering their state of affairs at present. They lie together as if they're lovers, perfectly at ease with one another, not as if they're two individuals who've fallen into this mess without a plan, though the truth of the matter really comes down to the latter. Neither of them were prepared for this and there is no amount of Aerith's 'fake it until you make it' that will make that sound like a convincing lie.]

I'm beginning to think that you might be a bit of a cuddler, Balthier.

[It's an off-handed remark that she considers in hindsight he may not appreciate, though it doesn't stop her from saying it any more or less. The press of her lips, soft and warm draw over his collarbone, leisurely and still unendingly curious. What draws his breath, what brings him breath, what provokes sound, what leaves him tense, these are all things that she observes and searches for in her very own unsuspecting sort of way. For all that she's caught up and very turbulent on the inside, she is still, ultimately, incredibly giving and selfless to the point that it's a fault. It comes as no surprise that even intimately she would be interested in what she can provide to her partner as opposed to receiving.]

I wouldn't have anticipated that from you.

[The remark itself isn't unappreciated, but he does meet it with a little snort of a laugh, his fingers trailing back up the length of her thigh and over the curve of her hip, lightly skimming across her stomach as he toys with the idea of seeing if he might be able to get her to echo some of those sounds from earlier.]

I can't say I've ever been accused of that, but at this rate, I think I could become one.

[He has no complaints about lying here together, gently entwined and steadily prodding their way forward in learning one another. They've done everything out of order, he knows; his intention earlier that day had been to make dinner plans, but he simply can't bring himself to be sorry that they've found themselves here instead.

They'll make up for the skipped bits later on, he'll see to that.

He eases himself onto his back and gently guides her along with him, a firm hand at both her shoulder and hip so that her warm weight comes to rest comfortably atop him; he stretches out beneath her just enough to flex his toes near the foot of the bed and offer her a cheeky smile as he lets his fingers trace down the length of her spine, letting out another soft groan of approval as she continues to trail kisses along his collar, this one even more appreciative than the last.]

What did you anticipate?

[The question itself is just a touch breathless, betraying the effect she has on him— though he's long past making any effort to hide it.]

[She draws in a sharp little breath as he dusts touch along her stomach. For just a moment, she nips into her lower lip, momentarily distracted from more properly addressing the idea of Balthier evolving into a more 'cuddly' individual. Instead, as he shifts and pulls her along with him with care, she has to shift to accommodate the both of them.

He airs another groan and it provokes a subtle little shudder in the small of her back. You really have to stop doing that, Balthier. She doesn't bother to say it, because she suspects if he knew how it affected her, he'd just find more reasons to do it. ...Maybe.

Wanting to avoid putting her weight atop him too severely, she shifts a decent amount of it onto an arm. With some care, she draws a thigh between his and balances herself between her knee and her arm. His question grabs her attention and she lifts herself enough to more properly eye him. With her other hand, she draws tresses of chestnut brown behind her ear.]

I... don't think I anticipated anything. I didn't know what to anticipate.

[It's wiser not to make any expectations. He might not realise it, but his question is a surprisingly serious one.]

[He bends a knee at the warm press of her thigh between his own, letting his leg come to rest against the soft curve of her hip, and he watches her with what is undeniably admiration as she shifts and tucks her hair behind her ear, his gaze carefully trained on her own.

He'd asked the question rather flippantly, but it isn't until now that he realizes it actually holds a great deal of weight. He gives a soft, thoughtful hum of a noise as he reaches up to help her brush her hair back from her brow, taking the side of her face in one hand afterwards and letting his thumb lightly tease against the curve of her lower lip.]

I think, from here on out, we're both going to find ourselves surprised rather more often than we might have thought.

[New territory for both of them, lest we forget.]

I think I quite like that, actually.

[There's a distinct pause when he lifts his hand. Without even realising it, the palm pressed into his bedding clenches for just a breath before it relents. Her gaze lingers on his for some moments before she decides it may be a bit too prying. It drops and draws aside. Yet she remains soft and malleable in his grasp, whatever prior tension and nerves mostly having disappeared. If not disappeared, then simply quieted through the sheer grace that not every moment, not every exchange between them must needs be intense to the point of stunning.

When his thumb just ever brushes along her lower lip, she sets her attention back onto him and it's with a certain kind of care that she puckers against that touch. Just a simple, soft planting of her lips against the pad of his thumb.]

I'm not sure there's much more I could show you that you wouldn't already be expecting.

[Aerith smiles apologetically.]

I'm not a great mystery. [Yes, she is. She's simply underselling herself. She knows there's more to her than what she's said.] Not the way you are. I've always been the one more open. Even now, I think you're enigmatic.

[There she goes again— he's come to expect this by now, but he shakes his head as best he can while stretched out beneath her, shifting his hold so that he can lightly press his index finger against her lips as if to shush her, eyes narrowing in playful disapproval.]

You may not think so, but I've a great deal to learn, still.

[She's open about some things, yes— but they have just enough in common for him to know that there are secrets to be unearthed. Still, it's more than that.

His expression shifts to an almost rueful smile as he lets his fingers trail along her jaw and down her neck once more, idly meandering over her breast as though he cannot bring himself to keep his hands still. It's better if he lets his hands to continue to explore her, as much as she'll let him, rather than to dwell and second-guess himself.]

I've never been with someone like you before— in any capacity. [She'll recall the rare occurrence of his struggling to express himself back at the club, he imagines.] But if you would have me be less of an enigma, all you need do is ask.

[He'll answer.]

[She gets the point. Instead of arguing with him, bantering with him, she quiets. There's no protesting, no finding some way to otherwise evade him. She isn't sure she likes that she doesn't get a say, but she also understands why he stops her. Balthier knows that Aerith will always find a way to otherwise turn down his kindnesses. It's better to nip that in the bud and he's figured that out relatively quickly.

His hand slowly drops and as he passes touch over the curve of her breast, her head dips ever in slight to hide the subtle flush that begins to stain her once again. What does he mean when he refers to someone like her? Even without all of the strange background, she's simply a nice girl. Perhaps too nice. Nice, and strong, and in many ways, lonely. A girl who's experienced more than she rightfully should have. A girl who will never be considered 'normal,' because she's as far from normal as one can get.

But he wouldn't know the extent of that. Based on what he does know, it doesn't seem terribly significant. What is she missing...?

Drawing in a deep breath, she dips down a little closer to him and shakes her head, ignoring the way her heart threatens to race the more aware she becomes of his touch and their close proximity.]

There's value and safety in being mysterious, Balthier. I only want you to share with me the things you feel comfortable sharing.

Indeed there is— exactly why I've opted to live my life the way I have for so long. Keeping secrets. Never letting anyone close enough to get to know much of anything real.

[It's a startlingly serious conversation considering their current predicament, but then again, what does he have for comparison? These certainly aren't the sorts of things he would discuss with any of the partners-in-passing he's had over the years, but he does find himself wanting to talk about them with her.

He does want to share more of himself. He'd started to do so, before everything had come to a head back home, started to open up as he realized that being so intent on keeping the past locked away, secret, only kept him chained to it. His expression grows distant, just for a moment, thoughtful even as the hand at her hip moves to smooth against the soft dip in her lower back, fingers trailing upwards to come and rest between her shoulderblades, thumb moving in light circles against skin.]

I'd like to share a great deal, in fact.

[He leans up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, as though it will help him to make his point.]

I just don't know where to start. The troublesome part of keeping things in for so long— but I find I don't want to do that with you.

[Aerith listens to him with no judgement, no evaluation. Simply interest and fascination. Balthier, up until very recently, has been very much akin to a closed book. It's easy for her to look back on the day and understand she hasn't expected this. To be pressed up against him, to feel the impression of his hands lingering atop her skin, to still feel lips swollen and raw from the amount of kisses they've exchanged, to this very precise moment where they discuss the more profound subjects. She's gone from nerves and uncertainty to a strange familiarity.

Empathy does that, really.

As she watches him, the tension in her frame begins to fade. She slithers right now, still mindful of her weight, but willing to rest more properly against him, eliminating every space that could possibly linger between their bodies. There he goes, looking as if he is worlds away. What does he visit when he goes there? Home, perhaps. She suspects he thinks about his home world than he should rightfully say.

With a delicate touch, she touches his hairline, traces it with the pad of her fingertips. She is affectionate and patient, ginger, and meticulous. She is easily receptive. A kiss to the corner of her mouth and Aerith dips her head to repay him in kind.]

Take your time. [She reassures him between the press of her lips to his, each kiss a lingering and gentle one.] That's how you start. Just take your time. There's no reason for you to hurry. I'll still be here tomorrow.

[The truth is that she doesn't know how true that is. She might not be there tomorrow. But she suspects that she will be. She'd like to be. Isn't that what's important?]

[He exhales softly as she settles against him, a contented sigh as she pulls herself yet closer, and despite the distant look that had settled over him so briefly, he gently drops a hand against her hip once more as if to secure her there. He can see and feel that the tension has begun to ease, that the moment is swiftly becoming more comfortable for the both of them as a sense of familiarity takes hold— incredible, he thinks, that it can do with all they have yet to learn about one another, all the questions left unasked, and yet why should that matter?

He very much doubts that there's anything she could tell him that would make him want her any less. For all they don't know, he thinks he still sees her quite clearly, and gladly accepts whatever she is willing to share. She's quite right that by comparison, he's far more mysterious— and the fact that she managed to see him in spite of that makes him willing to lay bare things long buried.

His eyelids lower as her fingertips move along the length of his hairline, content to enjoy the moment for its simplicity as well as its inherent affection, and when she presses her lips to his, he leans into the kiss to chase it for as long as she lingers.]

I do intend to make the most of the time we have.

[By which he means he doesn't intend to keep her waiting long, and he chases after her lips for another kiss of his own, long and lingering and heartfelt.]

Would you... will you stay tonight?

[He realizes it's a lot to ask. He realizes she may very well say no, as a result, and he'll deal with that as it comes. He still has no intention of pushing for anything she doesn't care to give, and gods, he knows it's ridiculous even as he asks the question aloud— they've not even been on a proper date, at this point, and yet he's spent the night with people he cared for far less.

He'd much rather make new memories with her, especially given the secret she'd shared with him earlier that day. Every day must be made to count.]

[For as observant as she is, and surely there could be few capable of contending with Aerith's keen skills and intuition, even she has to admit that she isn't anywhere near close to figuring Balthier out. Admittedly, there's appeal in that. Not digging into him makes her feel like she's not getting too close to anything she shouldn't be getting near. There's some safety in that, in spite of the way that she's clearly curious about where he's from, what things are like back home for him, and how he's come to be the man he is today. They're all relatively important things within reason, though they don't seem to colour much of what she thinks of him based on what little he's provided her so far.

Perhaps they reflect one another in just such an instance.

His question should be an easier one to answer. It's a simple affirmation or denial. Theoretically. Aerith doesn't make it trivial at all. What is she really agreeing to if she accepts his invitation? What does it say about her? What does it mean for them, if anything at all? It's evident that he wants her to. If he didn't, he wouldn't have asked. Are there any lines that get crossed if she agrees? Anything present that she can't readily see...?

She doesn't answer him right away, instead hanging back after indulging in another press of her lips to his. Aerith studies him, which is not anything particularly new, given that she's certainly done that more than a little with him in the past. What she's looking for, she's not even certain. Perhaps something in his expression that might give him away. Or is she looking for a reason to politely turn him down?

It occurs to her that... she's spent a lot of time thinking about him. Where is she in all of this? How does she really feel? What does she really want? These are a collective of questions that Aerith doesn't spend a lot of time considering, knowing that they're difficult things to answer. And a part of her almost doesn't want to entertain the idea of attempting to find answers. It threatens her with that bittersweet ache all over again and having felt it for so long, not quite numb to it, she's not eager to experience it any more than she has to.]

It might be me mishearing that, but I swear you sound almost nervous asking me that.

[Her hand shifts from his hairline to gently dust the pad of her thumb across the height of his cheek.]

...Do I make you nervous?

[He'd confessed to as much earlier, but in a very different context— this was something else, something more, and he can only respond with a self-deprecating little laugh at first. If he's going to make an effort to be more open, then he ought to be honest, yes?

Besides. If he denied it, she would still know the truth, perceptive as she is.]

Very much so.

[Perhaps it's less that she, herself, is intimidating, and more what she represents— what she makes him feel, even after so short a time, but he's nervous all the same.]

I don't usually— [He halts as he considers his words, his hand idly moving upwards from her hip so that he can lightly trail his fingers over her shoulder and partway down her arm, anything to keep touching and remain focused on that rather than the more base urges that still simmer hotly beneath all the affection.] —I've never been this close with someone I've been so fond of.

[He hopes that serves to clarify. His expression shifts suddenly, touched by worry; she hadn't answered him, and he doesn't know that he'd actually expected her to, but he cannot deny that the weight of such a question was far greater than it might have been were either of them anyone else.]

Aerith, what I asked— you don't have to. You can say no.

[Even as he says it aloud, the corner of his mouth gives a disapproving twitch. That came out all wrong. Of course she knows she can answer however she likes, but...]

I only mean... I don't wish for you to feel pressured.

[But he doesn't want to say goodbye anytime soon, either.]

[She has a difficult time understanding what about her would be intimidating. Probably much in the same way that she doesn't really understand what makes her charming. She's given up trying to understand. She knows that she won't and that is perfectly fine. She'll just be charmingly befuddled whenever he deems it fit to compliment her.

Although maybe intimidation isn't exactly complimentary for someone like Aerith.

For just a moment, her hand not tracing idle touch along him clutches. It's his bedding again. Soft and welcoming. Far less treasonous than gripping onto his skin, which she thinks would make her all too transparent. That is the consequence of his travelling fingertips right along her. An acknowledgement that she has not forgotten their state of affairs or of the contact that remains between them. The difference is that she's not drowning herself in it. She's simply keeping it all in mind.

He continues to break in the midst of his words and in that, she finds truth. He'd be far more suspect if he didn't hesitate.]

I didn't mean to make you nervous. [She smiles then, dipping her head to brush the tip of her nose against his. It's not an effort to kiss him. It's purely innocent. Purely chaste. Very Aerith.] And I know. I won't do anything that I don't want to do. I don't feel like I have to. You aren't forcing anything.

[And she can't resist twisting the proverbial knife just a bit in him. Purely out of affection.]

If you ask me super nicely, I'll be inclined to agree. You have to say 'please,' though.

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