The way his cock responds to her words fills her with guilt, the feeling twisting in her stomach, warring with the physical pleasure his hands worked to pull from her body, making the heat of her body flare and keeping her slick with desire even though she didn't want either of those things for either of them like this.
"You take good care of me too servant," she whispers in response, a quiet moan slipping past her lips as she tips her hips up, moving herself a little faster against his hand, trying to aid him and get them both out of this mess. The hand pressing against his cock moves to wrap around it, her eyes fluttering half-closed as the drive of his fingers makes her tilt her head back and gasp. It feels wrong to enjoy any of this, even if she knows she isn't, in any way but at the basest, physical level.
His instructions pull her thoughts towards a better time shared between them, when she ordered him to play with himself and wait for her. Aerith remembered the way Balthier touched himself - her growing desire making it hard to pay attention to anything else at the time - and she loosens her hold on his shaft to mimic the way she had seen him fondle the sensitive sack hanging below his cock. "Rub my clit a little faster," the hand in his hair tenses of its own accord, and she stops talking long enough to kiss him. "It will make me come."
Trading methods like this should be fun, telling him how to touch her always had been fun, but this is uncomfortable, tactical, born out of need rather than a desire to please the other.
Her hands alternate their touch, thumb circling the underside of his head before her hand moves lower to tease and brush against his balls, her shoulders tensing as she pants out a whimper.
That...helps. If he's at least providing her some level of service, it's...something. Enjoying him this captive would be concerning, but he doesn't want this experience to be miserable for her either. And the truth is, there's some part of him that reacts to her hips moving and those sounds of desire. There's some pride in getting her to gasp. He tries to cling to those pieces as they do this, and the way she listens to his requests. It's still them; this is still a person who cares so deeply for his comfort.
The command comes, and he has no choice but to rub her clit faster, tensing as he instinctively bucks against the magic controlling him. But he nods when she kisses him and adds the reasoning. It's the goal, after all.
Her hand is kind too, and while he can't quite call it pleasurable, but it's ... caring. Personal. And he needs that more right now. A few low hums escape him, and when she whimpers he finally feels something remotely like real arousal.
"I want to make you feel good again, some other time, not like this," he whispers. He knows his voice is strained, and it hurts to say it, but it soothes something too, promising himself that this isn't forever. "But whatever helps today, it's alright. Take it."
He bows his head to her again, kissing slowly against her neck as he keeps at her clit. She's getting close, and gods he just wants this to be over.
The burst of speed his thumb puts on as it rubs her clit is intense enough that her back arches of its own accord, the hand on his cock stilling as the sudden rush of feeling bowls her over, pushing her toward an edge she wasn't sure she was really going to be able to get to. Uttering another soft cry she can feel the way her body begins to tense, tightening around his fingers slowly as he thrusts them into her.
"Tell me how to help you," she whispers insistently, turning the question around on him. The hand wrapped around his length moves up, massaging the head of him a little more insistently, trying to urge him along as he did to her. "Do you like it when I make noise?" Everything is so tense and strange she can't be sure, and she doesn't especially feel like she should be acting like she's enjoying herself when she isn't exactly, but she'll let her resistance slide a little more if it helps him get there.
"Not like this," she agrees in a ragged whisper. Squeezing her eyes closed as she curves her palm over the head of his cock, stroking and teasing at it, Aerith turns her head to press her face against his shoulder, moaning softly, unable to stop herself.
"Don't stop, you're going to make me come," her voice tightens with every word, the hand on his cock growing more urgent as she guides him closer, pressing his shaft against her thigh. "Come for me servant,
"Yes," he says lowly. "Sounds, when you cling to me." It is helping, the way she's losing clarity, the way she's tightening around his hand and hugging into his shoulder. He doesn't want to say the last one, but the compulsion pulls it out. "When you compliment me." His face goes hot at that one, angry to bring it into this, but it's done, and he's trying to just focus on pushing forward. They're of the same mind that this is miserable, and that has to be enough.
Her voice starts to come tighter and he sighs out relief, even as her words force him to keep thumbing her clit and pumping her opening. He's even almost relaxed into her touch on his cock, the arousal settling in better, when her other order comes. Whatever small pleasure he got from her thigh against his shaft is lost in the stomach-churning sensation of a compulsion-forced finish, heat not built from release coiling and flashing through him before his cock begins shuddering, a hollow mimic of an orgasm emptying itself against her. He tries not to fight it, but every inch of him feels raw, his teeth gritting miserably as all he can do is shudder and keep touching her. He feels like a puppet, nothing more than an empty shell stuck doing others' bidding. It doesn't matter that he trusts this person; how long until someone less kind is at the helm?
He's in such a haze he doesn't quite process her tipping into orgasm, too, but all at once the pressure on his neck is thinner and his hands abruptly stop. His jagged breath comes sharply, and he grasps with the hand that wasn't in her to yank the collar off and throw it to the ground, other hand trying to leave her as painlessly as possible.
As soon as he's disentangled, he wraps around her, hugging her so hard it knocks her off balance. His face presses against hers, burying against her shoulder as heaving breaths wrack through him.
it's done it's done it's done
"Aerith," he whispers, cradling her head and squeezing her to him. The rawness in his voice is clear even to him, but he's got control of his touch back, and all he wants is to disappear.
She doesn't want to compliment him like this, it feels as wrong as the climax the steady rhythm of his hand continues to build inside her - clinging to him, however. As soon as he said it, the hand still resting on the back of his head soothingly smoothing through his hair moves, grasping at his shoulder before wrapping her arm around him, pulling him close with a strangled gasp.
The coil of tension tightening in her core snaps abruptly, there was no joy in the way her orgasm built to savor and want to prolong and relish. When she comes, it's nothing more than a release, an end, something she shudders through while she whimpers against his neck and squeezes her eyes closed, his cock twitching in her hand as he empties himself against her skin.
Shoving aside that familiar post-orgasmic ache that lingers between her thighs, Aerith's head starts to clear in time for Balthier to gather her up in his arms, hugging her to him as she throws her arms around him and does the same, pulling him in close, almost protectively, letting him hold onto her as long and as tightly as needed to.
"It's over," she whispers against his temple, closing her eyes tightly as the sound of her name in that tone of voice cracks at her resolve like no other aspect of this ordeal quite could. "Balthier, it's okay, I'm here." Her train of thought is derailed unceremoniously as she feels something hit her back, his clothing falling to the ground after colliding with her, leaving her turning to glare at the now retreating guard who must have thrown them over after the collar released its hold.
Reluctantly letting go, Aerith turns, blocking Balthier's body with hers while she stoops briefly to gather up his clothes. "Come on," she says, trying not to look as irate as she felt as she hands them over. "Get dressed, I'm taking you back to my house," her voice is soft but she doesn't sound like she'll be talked out of that offer. "I don't want you to back to the prison tonight."
Ignoring the splotch of wetness on her dress from his release, Aerith turned, holding her skirt out like a big curtain, trying to give him privacy while he got dressed.
Maybe he should be wary of how much having her here is comforting him, but right now all he can do is cling to that bit of light. Her clinging back against him feels a hundred times better than anything else that's transpired today, and the emotion in her voice hurts, but it makes him feel like he matters, like this wasn't okay, and he can't think too hard about that or he knows the pressure in the bridge of his nose will give way to liquid on his face.
Something hits against her and he tugs at her protectively, meaning to move her, but she steps away. It takes him a moment to realize she has his clothes. Her orders no longer have any compulsion to them, but he finds himself following them just the same. There's something...easy...in not having to think, in trusting that she has his best interest at heart. And if he thinks--
He roughly pulls on his pants and shirt, stepping into his shoes and carrying the rest. He'll want to wash them thoroughly, but he wants to have every inch of skin he can covered until they're alone. The offer to have him somewhere outside the prison tonight is deeply appreciated, but his voice feels gone, so when he's done, he touches the back of her hand gently, nodding at her, before hesitantly slipping his hand against hers, loose enough she can pull away. He feels -- dazed. Like there's cotton in his ears and everything is a little too bright.
Wherever she wants to lead, he'll follow. He's too raw to even question giving her that power over him.
The touch to her hand pulls her out of her private seething, glaring at anyone and everyone who looks in their direction while Balthier gets dressed. She knows she can't block all of him, but she'll deter anyone she can from staring too long in her own way.
Tonight might be a little worse than solitary. While that had been longer, and absolutely unfair and disgusting, at least she only had to worry about herself. Aerith had needed to hold herself together under terrible circumstances before, and while no part of her liked it, and everything she wasn't letting surface now would come out in some way or another later, she knew how to do it. But, Balthier had also been put through this particularly nasty wringer and it's harder to keep the way her heart breaks for him stuffed down.
When she looks back at him, that anger is gone from her expression, replaced by a gentle, somewhat sad smile. Instead of taking his hand Aerith steps closer to Balthier, wrapping her arm around his back instead, staying close enough to be leaned against if he needed help keeping himself from falling apart.
"I don't live far away, we'll be there really soon." She wants to ask if he's alright, wants to apologize for putting him through that, even if she knows tonight she'd been the lesser of two evils, but Aerith doesn't know if he can hear it right now, nor is she sure she can bring herself say it right now. It all feels too fresh.
Instead, she walks, leading him away from that field and towards the big prisoner houses, beating the familiar path back to the new place she's going to try to make a home out of for as long as she's stuck here. The house is rundown, and maybe even a little creepy from the outside, but there are signs of improvement already, someone's been clearing out the overgrowth and there's light coming in from one of the front windows. Spotting it, Aerith puts on a little bit of speed, eager to have her front door between them and the rest of the prison.
Some distant part of Balthier's mind is starting to tell him he shouldn't be reacting this strongly; he's been in his share of terrible situations. This was quick and relatively painless. It's over. This shouldn't be lingering. But there's a tremor in his hands and the sense of panic he'd pushed away while they were trying to finish is seeping back in.
It's not like him to be unaware of where he is or leave himself open to possible danger, nor is it like him to lean on someone else. When Aerith slips her arm around him, though, his mind goes somewhere else, and it's not until she shifts to open the door that he realizes he's lost ... ten minutes? Fifteen?
That hasn't happened since he was--
He forces himself to focus on Aerith, the way her touch feels, the details of where they are. Her house. Right. She had mentioned. They pass inside, and he glances at her, wincing at the tightness on her face. This hurt her too, and he retreated to leave her to deal with it.
"Thank you," he croaks, straightening from her support but letting his hand stay loosely around her back. He doesn't know if it's to reassure her or himself. It's hard to hold onto his thoughts, like he's somewhere else looking in. He presses the fingers of his other hand to either side of his nose, eyes closed tight. "I'm sorry. I'll be back to myself shortly. I -- can I bathe?"
Get the memory of that place off of him, calm his head down. Maybe if he says he'll feel better he will. He doesn't want to be like this, not here, not around her.
His silence weighed on her, but once they were inside and he felt empowered to speak up again, what he had to say made her feel a little bit worse somehow.
Both hands rest on his shoulder as she shakes her head gently. "You don't have to rush yourself, or apologize. You can stay here until you feel better." She hates this, hates the way she feels and the way she's sure he must feel too.
"We'll both take baths. You can go first." As much as she wants to stay close to him and take care of him, assuming they'd bathe together feels wrong after everything they'd been through. The come now drying on her thigh isn't the most pleasant feeling thing, but she's happy to wait while he takes the time he needs as eager as she is to wash the last remnants of this night away.
"Come on, the bathroom and my room are the only finished parts of this place," she steps away, taking his hand again to lead him to the end of a short hallway, pushing open the door to the bathroom.
Aerith crosses the room to turn the faucet on and let the tub fill, looking back at Balthier with a weary smile. "It's all yours."
Fran sometimes tells him something similar, but it's easier for him to hear it from her; she isn't Hume. She doesn't have the expectations some part of him thinks all Humes do. But he sees his words have somehow made this worse, and that wasn't his intent.
He feels like a child, the way she takes his face and speaks gently, the way she leads him, the way she draws the bath for him. He hates it. Not the support -- the support is...genuinely unbelievable. If he could crawl into the warm safe feeling she gives him and stay, he would. But that feels so selfish. As does enjoying her taking care of him. That isn't fair to her at all. There's nothing left in him, but he doesn't want to be this, dependent and useless.
Even as that guilt churns through him, she hands the bathroom over to him and without thinking he breathes out, "Stay." Gods, a few times having sex where he was encouraged to take and now he can't turn it off. "If you want to." What he wants to do is cover his face in his hands and disappear into the wall, but given that's not an option, he does the next best thing and starts to strip, obscuring his face for a moment so he can remotely get ahold of himself. He should say something else, clarify that he wants to not have the last way he touched her be that, that he doesn't want to be alone, but his exhausted brain can't figure out how to do that without sounding either demanding or pathetic.
There's a moment of discomfort at being naked in front of her again. Fuck this place; he's not letting it take this. He crosses back to her, taking her face gently in his hands and pressing a kiss to her hair, then tipping her chin so he can very gently kiss her lips.
Some of the tension leaves his body, his shoulder settling a hair. He's still himself. She's still here. He can still do right by her.
She knows it's selfish to feel as relieved as she does when Balthier asks her to stay, but having silently been preparing herself for a long stint of sitting in silence while he cleans up, it's a weight off hearing that he wants her to remain here with him.
"Of course I want to," she offers softly before averting her gaze while he undresses again. It's clear he wants to withdraw for this, and she turns her back to let him, pulling her jacket and her dress off as well, before leaving them in a heap on the floor.
"Let me wash your hair for you," Aerith says as she approaches the tub again, shutting the water off before gathering the meager collection of toiletries she's managed to accumulate since her arrival. Preparing to perch on the edge of the tub and wait for him, Balthier surprises her when he turns back, cradling her face before pressing a kiss first to the tip of her head, and then to her lips.
Her hands reach for him, resting on his sides, her thumb affectionately brushing over his skin. "I'm so happy you're here with me."
The readiness of Aerith's answer soothes some of his fear that he's taking too much of her time and energy. For a moment it rubber bands to feeling guilty that he didn't pick up on her wanting to stay. Some part of him realizes he's in a place where whatever he does, it feels like the wrong thing.
So when she offers to wash his hair he shakes his head. "You don't need to do anything more for me. Take care of yourself first." He doesn't give her time to answer him, crossing to kiss her, feeling more at ease with both of them stripped, with her hands gently stroking his sides. As his break from hers, he keeps his face close, noses touching.
I'm so happy you're here with me. It nearly breaks him, and he resigns himself that she's going to see him cry if he stays. "Me too," he whispers, and it's the truth, which is what he's promised himself to give her from the start. "I don't want to be any more of a burden," and yes, he feels his voice crack, that same pressure building in his face, "I just want to be near you. Hold you." And if she doesn't want that, he wants her to have the opportunity to say as much or excuse herself. He wouldn't be offended, not after how he had to touch her, and not with how much of a mess he is.
A burden? His use of the word confuses her to the point where she has to lean her head back just a little to look at him properly, astonished. "You could never be a burden," she says, quietly, seriously.
When she leans into him again it's not to kiss him, though the closeness between them in those moments is a balm on a sore wound right now, instead her arms tighten around his shoulders and she rises onto her toes, compensating for their difference in height so that she can hug him properly, holding him as close to her as she can. "Stay with me, we can be as close as you need." Aerith doesn't want to say it and end up being the burden herself while he's in this state, but the last thing she needs after that ordeal is to be left by herself, without someone to hold onto.
She's been left alone before and though she can get through it if he needed his space, she wants to be as near to him as he'll let her get tonight, deciding that whatever warmth and happiness they might be able to scrounge up once the rawness of the moment was dulled would be worth it. He matters to her, what they have between them matters to her - as previously unthinkable as it may have been - she wants to protect him and shake off what she can of the chill of what they had to do.
Balthier doesn't believe that he isn't a burden, and even less that he couldn't ever be one, but he believes that in this moment she believes it. All at once he's overwhelmed with utter disbelief at her support and horrific guilt at having so thoroughly tricked her into thinking he was, he was, what? Something easy? Something good?
The thoughts don't make sense, but they're so fast and so heavy. He hasn't felt like this in years, and all that keeps rising to the surface is the terrible sense that he's failed someone who matters to him, that he was always destined to.
A single gasping sob escapes him before he buries his face in her shoulder, clinging back to her firm hold. Well. He's not coming back from this. But she doesn't pull away, just plies him with more gentle words and every indication that she wants to stay close. Unless it's just to placate him--
Gods. Can't he just turn his head off for once? Take this at face value?
"Bathe with me," he whispers, because he doesn't trust his voice any louder. "Let me touch you with tenderness, wash this off of us both." And if she still wasn't done with him after, he'd gladly hold her until the fatigue took them.
Moving back just enough to see her face, he cups it with one hand, stroking her jaw and searching her eyes, trying to sense any discomfort, any sign he ought to stop. His head is still screaming and he's having trouble tracking what he wants to say or what he thinks to risk is, but he tries to find that compass needle of honesty. "You are so precious to me," he whispers. That feels too big and too small and not the right time to say it, but it's what he has, what he needs her to know.
He breaks their hold, but only to step into the tub, hot water a constant companion on a decade or more of hard nights. He's so grateful for it, for her, and when he's settled in the water he beckons for her to join, adjusting his body to make room for her.
Resting her hand against the top of his head, she brushes her fingers through his hair, letting him hide his face for as long as he needed to. "I'm sorry we had to do that, I'm sorry I told you to do those things." As much as it had to happen, the guilt still gnawed at her quietly, and seeing him so distraught pulled it to the surface, making an apology fall from her lips. Squeezing her eyes closed she exhales a broken breath and turns her head to rest her cheek against his hair.
"Let's clean up," she answers before brushing her lips against his temple. "Then we can go to bed. I don't have a lot of blankets yet, but, I want to hold you close. Maybe it will help us both sleep." Even if it didn't, having him near her would help her, whether she slept or sat up until dawn keeping watch over him while he rests. It would be better than the unmoored feeling she knows she would be left with if Balthier wasn't there.
When he pulls back to look at her opens her eyes again, her expression softening at the sight of him, giving him a sincere but tired smile as he searches her face. "Balthier," her hand comes up, touching the inside of his wrist while he cradles her cheek. "You, and all the things we have together are so precious to me."
She steals one more gentle kiss before he's pulling back to climb into the tub while she lingers on the edge, waiting for him to get comfortable before sliding into the hot water to join him.
Turning so that her back is facing the opposite end of the tub that he's settled at, Aerith scoots forward, slight enough in build that it's not difficult to lean towards him and turn to the side, finally going still once her arms are around him and her head is resting on his shoulder. "Thank you."
There's strain in her voice, and the way she words the apology...he squeezes her tightly. "I'm not upset with you for anything, Aerith," he says into her shoulder, leaning his head back into the weight of her cheek. "You had absolute power over me and you--" A wave of nausea almost bowls him over, the weight of what anyone else could have done to him too much to think about. "You kept me safe."
She kisses his temple, tells him to stay the night, and he finally starts to realize she may need this too. "I'd like that," he agrees. What he doesn't say, can't quite get into words yet, is that he's going to be here as long as she needs, too. When he sees her face soften at the sight of him, feels her touch on his wrist, he finally gives her a weak smile, one that turns into a watery kiss as she echoes his words. He'd be hard pressed to explain what it is they have between them; all he knows is she makes him feel safe and grounded and he would do anything for her.
It feels strange to be without her touch for the moments it takes to get in the tub, and when she makes to get in ahead of him, he expects her to slide back into his hold. Instead she faces him, curling around him and snuggling in close. He wordlessly folds around her, one arm cradling her shoulders to him and the other reaching across her legs to securely hold her hip. He buries his nose against her hair, letting this consume his thoughts. When she thanks him, he squeezes her, not sure what else to say, because he's not sure what he's done to be thanked for.
"If there's anything else I can do for you, you tell me," he says.
Surprised again, when he's the one offering to do more for her, Aerith shakes her head, unwrapping one arm so her damp fingers can brush his cheek. "I'm the one who should be saying that."
After a long moment of being curled up against him, face hidden against his shoulder, she lifts her head enough to look at his face, kissing him lightly.
"Let me wash your hair, I want to take care of you." She means it beyond just tonight, and while she hopes he knows that, for now Aerith will be happy just seeing them both past this.
Turning herself enough so that she's settled in his lap facing him, Aerith reaches toward a bottle of shampoo, getting some on her palm before rubbing her hands together. "We're both going to feel a lot better tomorrow," she continues, gently as she reaches up to run her soapy fingers through his hair.
"And if we don't then you can just stay here until we do," she smiles gently as her fingers massage his scalp.
"You've already exceeded my wildest expectations," Balthier promises her, leaning his head against hers and savoring the gentle touch at his cheek. This is all right, the kind of touch he should have with her. When she moves her head to look at him again, he gives her a weak smile, finger-combing her hair away from her face. He's still too raw for anything as joyous as laughter, but when she gives him that very sweet offer in the form of an order, he exhales a little heavier, his eyes a little brighter. He's not sure he deserves it the way she seems to think he does, but it sounds wonderful, and it's clear doing so will make her happy, and that's the part of their dynamic he feels comfortable easing back into.
"Of course," he says, and no, he doesn't quite catch that she means something more than right now, but he bends his head all the same. It's probably not something he could accept from anyone else. Her fingers reach his scalp and his eyelids flutter shut, hands tightening where they still loosely hold her. Heavy, calming breathing gives way to small sounds of peaceful pleasure as she works the shampoo in, more of the tension of their evening falling off of him.
"You take excellent care of me," he whispers, echoing a thing he's said to her in much happier sexual exchanges, and very much meaning it for everything today too. "As always, I will stay until you are finished with me." Because he wants her to know that nothing has changed between them, as far as he's concerned, and if she still wants him, he's not going to deny her that.
Taking her time with soaping up his hair, Aerith dunks her hands under the water, rinsing them off before she gives him a nod. "Go rinse!" Shifting out of his way, she moves further down the tub, sitting sideways with her legs hanging over the edge, giving him room to slide under the water's surface while she looks for her soap.
"We're friends, aren't we?" At least, that had been her understanding of the situation beyond the things they got up to while they were alone. This place has done a number on her definition of friendship, and though the term doesn't exactly fit whatever it is that's happening between herself and Balthier, the sense of wanting to care for and protect felt as ironclad as it does for her friends back home. Whatever else he might be for her, he is above all things - a friend she'd do anything for.
"You take care of me too," she adds quietly once she gets close to him again, lathering up her hands with the bar of soap in her hands. Leaning in to kiss his cheek before she passes it over to him, Aerith hums quietly. "You're going to be here a while I guess," as tired as she is she manages to muster the energy to sound almost convincing when she attempts a playfully matter-of-fact tone of voice.
Reaching for him, Aerith lets her soapy hands run down the sides of his neck and across his shoulders before moving over his back, her palms curving affectionately against his shoulder blades. "Maybe if you stay here long enough you'll get chores. I have a lot of work to do in this place you know." The thought of Balthier in the floppy-brimmed straw hat she wore in her garden back home makes the small smile on her face deepen, her eyes lifting back to his. It's idle chatter sure, but it reminds her (and she hopes him too) that there are things beyond tonight, small but happy things worth looking forward to.
He's almost sorry for her to pull her hands away, but his weak smile persists as she orders him to rinse and wriggles her body around so he has room to comply. Folding his legs up against her, he slips under the water, savoring the peaceful quiet of it pressing against him while he flushes the shampoo from his hair.
When he sits back up he's dripping wet, and somehow that feels more intimate yet. Her question greets him and he searches her face for a moment. Friends doesn't seem like quite the right word, but they are more than two people who have sex together, and he feels protective of her the way he does, well, other friends. More important than that, it seems that she needs the reassurance, some kind of explicit agreement. Squeezing her arm, he nods. "We are." And then he tugs her back toward him, because as his mind calms down, he expects she needs to feel wanted and forgiven just as badly as he does. That and he wants her close.
"I'm glad to hear it," he responds back gently, and this time he hears it better. He takes the bar of soap as she hands it to him, then closes his eyes, humming contentedly into the kiss at his cheek and the way she runs her hands over him. And when she starts threatening him with chores, he finally manages a real smile.
"I'd be happy to help you with your house, Aerith." Maybe not quite playing the game correctly, but enjoying it all the same, holding onto the fact that she just keeps insisting how much she still wants him here. And when she pauses, he curls around her, running the bar of soap gently across her shoulders and collar bone before setting it aside, moving his hands in big gentle motions across her skin and massaging into her back. When they're both slippery and smelling sweetly of cleanliness and peace, he hugs her to him, kissing her hair and enjoying the way their skin slides together, the way there is no barrier between them. "And even if we finish, even after I leave, I'll come back any time you ask." It's a promise that scares him a little, but like with most things with her, the joy it brings him is so much larger.
There's so little in this place that is good, and before that, he'd met so many people over so many years. She was something precious, and he didn't really care if that made him foolish or irrational or vulnerable. He knew how to cherish rare and valuable things.
The sight of a more genuine smile from him fills her with a sense of relief. Tonight has left them both roughed up and rattled, but his smiling proves to her, in some small way, that things aren't broken entirely. Aerith has tried to keep the ragged way she's been left feeling in the aftermath of what they were made to do tamped down in favor of worrying over him, but the gentle way he reassures her, gathering her up in his arms once they're both soaped up, lifts a weight off her shoulders.
"You don't have to wait for me to ask," she answers as she lifts her head, nuzzling his cheek gently. "You're always welcome here."
She knows it's complicated to make that offer, especially in a place like this, where involvement is a complicated thing, but she means it completely.
With a sigh Aerith lets herself stretch out against Balthier, enjoying the way he's big enough to make her feel completely surrounded by him, and very safe.
The way she fits in his arms is oddly comforting. It's lovely to wrap around her, and gratifying the way she relaxes in his hold.
"Noted," he promises as she nuzzles against him, voice strained once more. That invitation means so much to him, and he hopes she knows that. "And thank you."
She adjusts against him and he shifts to accommodate. He has absolutely no desire to move from this position, though the water will grow cold and their skin wrinkled. Her suggestion of bed is probably wise, and with any luck, the worst of these hard feelings will slide down the drain with the water.
"Can't go to bed covered in soap," he murmurs, not quite ready to move yet. He gently laps the warm water over her, smoothing it down each time before sighing, pulling her close one more time and pressing kisses into her hair. "Alright. Bed."
Releasing her reluctantly, he lets her shift before dunking under the water one last time, then stands from the bath, larger reach allowing him to pull towels for the both of them, cold air already sending goosebumps over him. That's fine. He wants it cold enough to hold her all night.
Stepping out of the bath, he towels off enough he's not sopping, then turns back to her, smile real this time. "You look more like yourself," he says, low and affectionate, brushing her face with his hand. Her skin is flushed from the bath, and while she looks tired, she doesn't look as drained and sharp as she had when they started. He wraps an arm around her back, pulling her in to kiss her again, bending down so she doesn't have to strain to meet him.
"You make a good point," she murmurs, sitting up with a sigh to aid him in the task of rinsing the soap off of her skin. "Especially not for as long as I plan to keep you in bed." There's no illicit intent fueling the warmth of her words, there's nothing more risque than the highly appealing thought of holding him close in a nest of blankets until they're both well-rested and feeling less raw. If he needs more nearness than that, she's glad to share that with him, but at the present moment, Aerith just wants him hugged tight to her.
The embrace she's after comes sooner than the bedroom, when, after they've both dried off Balthier reaches for her again, pulling her to him for another kiss. If she were in a better frame of mind it would be sort of remarkable, the way they've already moved into a place where this kind of touch has become frequent, rather than reserved for the breathless moments that first morning when someone's resolve cracked enough to drive one to claim the other's mouth. His lips are soft, his kiss has become familiar, and some part of her almost flutters in appreciation for that.
"I think I feel more like myself," she says after he pulls away and her eyes have opened to take in his face, one arm looped loosely around his middle while her other hand rests on his shoulder, hugging him to her gently. "You look better too," there's still a rough edge to him that's impossible for her to miss, but his expression has lost some of the haunted tension that made her so worried.
"Come on, my room is right across the hall." After she gives him another kiss she steps towards the door, her arms staying around him as she leads the way out one door and into another.
Like the bathroom, her bedroom is still very sparsely appointed. A modest pile of blankets heaped onto a few mattresses pushed together and shoved into the corner serves as a cozy little bed, and that's where Aerith leads him, letting him go long enough to climb in and pull the blankets around her, stretching out an arm so he has room to climb in too.
"I feel like I've been waiting to be here with you for a long time." She's not sure what she means by that, in truth. She certainly had been eager to lay here with him since they returned here, but, perhaps, it's been longer than that.
Balthier doesn't think there's anything illicit to her promise to keep him in bed a long while, and in some ways that makes it more comforting and more fragile. Some part of him knows what he's worth to her when they play their game, knows what the rules are. But he'd be lying if he said the prospect of just being wanted as company wasn't utterly desirable. Nor does he have the energy to follow through on these pings of frayed, worried thoughts, and maybe that's a blessing of its own.
The way she manages to shake him out of his head and keep him focused on the good between them is starting to feel familiar. There are no words for how thankful he is for that, especially tonight, and when she kisses him back and lingers against him, he gives her a warm smile. "Good," he says, that she's feeling better, that he's less of a worry.
He lets her lead him across the hall, charmed and a little floored himself at how easy this closeness is. The room may be sparse, but the sheer novelty of real privacy makes it the most wonderful luxury he could imagine, especially following a hot bath.
When she slips out of his hold and into the blankets, holding an arm open to him, he gladly obliges, nestling in beside her. The combined heat of their bodies, bolstered by the bathwater, creates a cocoon of warmth against the cold softness of the blankets. He wraps his arm around her back and middle, resting his chin on her head. There's something ... different that he's feeling tonight, thought his thoughts are still slow and muddy so he doesn't trust his observations. But when she makes that comment, he squeezes her, exhaling a little heavier than he means. "Me too," he admits, and that pressure in his face is back. "I like being here."
For a moment, a wave of fear and nausea bubbles in him again, the passing thought of having lost her in all this more upsetting to him than he'd have expected. He tries to steady his breathing, burying his nose in her hair. The sense of panic at having to obey orders, the terror of anyone but her having had that control-- He kisses her temple, rocking her gently. If their roles had been reversed, he would hate himself right now.
Once he joins her, Aerith quickly pulls the blankets around them as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, letting him lay them both back before she shifts and presses herself against him. Humming in approval she moves around a little more, draping her upper half across his chest like a blanket, both arms wrapping around his middle as she brings her legs around him as well, seemingly trying to hug him with her whole body at the same time.
He felt so good to have this close, and tonight it went beyond the usual reasons why that was true, touching on something a little deeper. Friendship, but not quite. When Balthier tenses it pulls Aerith from her thoughts, and she lifts her head slightly, blinking as she feels him kiss her temple. Untangling one of her arms from around him, Aerith brings her hand up from beneath the blankets, leaning back enough to look at his face as her fingers touch the side of his cheek.
"Hey," she says gently, pausing long enough to kiss him. "We're here. It's safe and quiet." Aerith's hand traces his jaw before smoothing through his damp hair. "I'm going to take care of you for as long as you need."
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"You take good care of me too servant," she whispers in response, a quiet moan slipping past her lips as she tips her hips up, moving herself a little faster against his hand, trying to aid him and get them both out of this mess. The hand pressing against his cock moves to wrap around it, her eyes fluttering half-closed as the drive of his fingers makes her tilt her head back and gasp. It feels wrong to enjoy any of this, even if she knows she isn't, in any way but at the basest, physical level.
His instructions pull her thoughts towards a better time shared between them, when she ordered him to play with himself and wait for her. Aerith remembered the way Balthier touched himself - her growing desire making it hard to pay attention to anything else at the time - and she loosens her hold on his shaft to mimic the way she had seen him fondle the sensitive sack hanging below his cock. "Rub my clit a little faster," the hand in his hair tenses of its own accord, and she stops talking long enough to kiss him. "It will make me come."
Trading methods like this should be fun, telling him how to touch her always had been fun, but this is uncomfortable, tactical, born out of need rather than a desire to please the other.
Her hands alternate their touch, thumb circling the underside of his head before her hand moves lower to tease and brush against his balls, her shoulders tensing as she pants out a whimper.
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The command comes, and he has no choice but to rub her clit faster, tensing as he instinctively bucks against the magic controlling him. But he nods when she kisses him and adds the reasoning. It's the goal, after all.
Her hand is kind too, and while he can't quite call it pleasurable, but it's ... caring. Personal. And he needs that more right now. A few low hums escape him, and when she whimpers he finally feels something remotely like real arousal.
"I want to make you feel good again, some other time, not like this," he whispers. He knows his voice is strained, and it hurts to say it, but it soothes something too, promising himself that this isn't forever. "But whatever helps today, it's alright. Take it."
He bows his head to her again, kissing slowly against her neck as he keeps at her clit. She's getting close, and gods he just wants this to be over.
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"Tell me how to help you," she whispers insistently, turning the question around on him. The hand wrapped around his length moves up, massaging the head of him a little more insistently, trying to urge him along as he did to her. "Do you like it when I make noise?" Everything is so tense and strange she can't be sure, and she doesn't especially feel like she should be acting like she's enjoying herself when she isn't exactly, but she'll let her resistance slide a little more if it helps him get there.
"Not like this," she agrees in a ragged whisper. Squeezing her eyes closed as she curves her palm over the head of his cock, stroking and teasing at it, Aerith turns her head to press her face against his shoulder, moaning softly, unable to stop herself.
"Don't stop, you're going to make me come," her voice tightens with every word, the hand on his cock growing more urgent as she guides him closer, pressing his shaft against her thigh. "Come for me servant,
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Her voice starts to come tighter and he sighs out relief, even as her words force him to keep thumbing her clit and pumping her opening. He's even almost relaxed into her touch on his cock, the arousal settling in better, when her other order comes. Whatever small pleasure he got from her thigh against his shaft is lost in the stomach-churning sensation of a compulsion-forced finish, heat not built from release coiling and flashing through him before his cock begins shuddering, a hollow mimic of an orgasm emptying itself against her. He tries not to fight it, but every inch of him feels raw, his teeth gritting miserably as all he can do is shudder and keep touching her. He feels like a puppet, nothing more than an empty shell stuck doing others' bidding. It doesn't matter that he trusts this person; how long until someone less kind is at the helm?
He's in such a haze he doesn't quite process her tipping into orgasm, too, but all at once the pressure on his neck is thinner and his hands abruptly stop. His jagged breath comes sharply, and he grasps with the hand that wasn't in her to yank the collar off and throw it to the ground, other hand trying to leave her as painlessly as possible.
As soon as he's disentangled, he wraps around her, hugging her so hard it knocks her off balance. His face presses against hers, burying against her shoulder as heaving breaths wrack through him.
it's done it's done it's done
"Aerith," he whispers, cradling her head and squeezing her to him. The rawness in his voice is clear even to him, but he's got control of his touch back, and all he wants is to disappear.
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The coil of tension tightening in her core snaps abruptly, there was no joy in the way her orgasm built to savor and want to prolong and relish. When she comes, it's nothing more than a release, an end, something she shudders through while she whimpers against his neck and squeezes her eyes closed, his cock twitching in her hand as he empties himself against her skin.
Shoving aside that familiar post-orgasmic ache that lingers between her thighs, Aerith's head starts to clear in time for Balthier to gather her up in his arms, hugging her to him as she throws her arms around him and does the same, pulling him in close, almost protectively, letting him hold onto her as long and as tightly as needed to.
"It's over," she whispers against his temple, closing her eyes tightly as the sound of her name in that tone of voice cracks at her resolve like no other aspect of this ordeal quite could. "Balthier, it's okay, I'm here." Her train of thought is derailed unceremoniously as she feels something hit her back, his clothing falling to the ground after colliding with her, leaving her turning to glare at the now retreating guard who must have thrown them over after the collar released its hold.
Reluctantly letting go, Aerith turns, blocking Balthier's body with hers while she stoops briefly to gather up his clothes. "Come on," she says, trying not to look as irate as she felt as she hands them over. "Get dressed, I'm taking you back to my house," her voice is soft but she doesn't sound like she'll be talked out of that offer. "I don't want you to back to the prison tonight."
Ignoring the splotch of wetness on her dress from his release, Aerith turned, holding her skirt out like a big curtain, trying to give him privacy while he got dressed.
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Something hits against her and he tugs at her protectively, meaning to move her, but she steps away. It takes him a moment to realize she has his clothes. Her orders no longer have any compulsion to them, but he finds himself following them just the same. There's something...easy...in not having to think, in trusting that she has his best interest at heart. And if he thinks--
He roughly pulls on his pants and shirt, stepping into his shoes and carrying the rest. He'll want to wash them thoroughly, but he wants to have every inch of skin he can covered until they're alone. The offer to have him somewhere outside the prison tonight is deeply appreciated, but his voice feels gone, so when he's done, he touches the back of her hand gently, nodding at her, before hesitantly slipping his hand against hers, loose enough she can pull away. He feels -- dazed. Like there's cotton in his ears and everything is a little too bright.
Wherever she wants to lead, he'll follow. He's too raw to even question giving her that power over him.
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Tonight might be a little worse than solitary. While that had been longer, and absolutely unfair and disgusting, at least she only had to worry about herself. Aerith had needed to hold herself together under terrible circumstances before, and while no part of her liked it, and everything she wasn't letting surface now would come out in some way or another later, she knew how to do it. But, Balthier had also been put through this particularly nasty wringer and it's harder to keep the way her heart breaks for him stuffed down.
When she looks back at him, that anger is gone from her expression, replaced by a gentle, somewhat sad smile. Instead of taking his hand Aerith steps closer to Balthier, wrapping her arm around his back instead, staying close enough to be leaned against if he needed help keeping himself from falling apart.
"I don't live far away, we'll be there really soon." She wants to ask if he's alright, wants to apologize for putting him through that, even if she knows tonight she'd been the lesser of two evils, but Aerith doesn't know if he can hear it right now, nor is she sure she can bring herself say it right now. It all feels too fresh.
Instead, she walks, leading him away from that field and towards the big prisoner houses, beating the familiar path back to the new place she's going to try to make a home out of for as long as she's stuck here. The house is rundown, and maybe even a little creepy from the outside, but there are signs of improvement already, someone's been clearing out the overgrowth and there's light coming in from one of the front windows. Spotting it, Aerith puts on a little bit of speed, eager to have her front door between them and the rest of the prison.
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It's not like him to be unaware of where he is or leave himself open to possible danger, nor is it like him to lean on someone else. When Aerith slips her arm around him, though, his mind goes somewhere else, and it's not until she shifts to open the door that he realizes he's lost ... ten minutes? Fifteen?
That hasn't happened since he was--
He forces himself to focus on Aerith, the way her touch feels, the details of where they are. Her house. Right. She had mentioned. They pass inside, and he glances at her, wincing at the tightness on her face. This hurt her too, and he retreated to leave her to deal with it.
"Thank you," he croaks, straightening from her support but letting his hand stay loosely around her back. He doesn't know if it's to reassure her or himself. It's hard to hold onto his thoughts, like he's somewhere else looking in. He presses the fingers of his other hand to either side of his nose, eyes closed tight. "I'm sorry. I'll be back to myself shortly. I -- can I bathe?"
Get the memory of that place off of him, calm his head down. Maybe if he says he'll feel better he will. He doesn't want to be like this, not here, not around her.
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Both hands rest on his shoulder as she shakes her head gently. "You don't have to rush yourself, or apologize. You can stay here until you feel better." She hates this, hates the way she feels and the way she's sure he must feel too.
"We'll both take baths. You can go first." As much as she wants to stay close to him and take care of him, assuming they'd bathe together feels wrong after everything they'd been through. The come now drying on her thigh isn't the most pleasant feeling thing, but she's happy to wait while he takes the time he needs as eager as she is to wash the last remnants of this night away.
"Come on, the bathroom and my room are the only finished parts of this place," she steps away, taking his hand again to lead him to the end of a short hallway, pushing open the door to the bathroom.
Aerith crosses the room to turn the faucet on and let the tub fill, looking back at Balthier with a weary smile. "It's all yours."
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He feels like a child, the way she takes his face and speaks gently, the way she leads him, the way she draws the bath for him. He hates it. Not the support -- the support is...genuinely unbelievable. If he could crawl into the warm safe feeling she gives him and stay, he would. But that feels so selfish. As does enjoying her taking care of him. That isn't fair to her at all. There's nothing left in him, but he doesn't want to be this, dependent and useless.
Even as that guilt churns through him, she hands the bathroom over to him and without thinking he breathes out, "Stay." Gods, a few times having sex where he was encouraged to take and now he can't turn it off. "If you want to." What he wants to do is cover his face in his hands and disappear into the wall, but given that's not an option, he does the next best thing and starts to strip, obscuring his face for a moment so he can remotely get ahold of himself. He should say something else, clarify that he wants to not have the last way he touched her be that, that he doesn't want to be alone, but his exhausted brain can't figure out how to do that without sounding either demanding or pathetic.
There's a moment of discomfort at being naked in front of her again. Fuck this place; he's not letting it take this. He crosses back to her, taking her face gently in his hands and pressing a kiss to her hair, then tipping her chin so he can very gently kiss her lips.
Some of the tension leaves his body, his shoulder settling a hair. He's still himself. She's still here. He can still do right by her.
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"Of course I want to," she offers softly before averting her gaze while he undresses again. It's clear he wants to withdraw for this, and she turns her back to let him, pulling her jacket and her dress off as well, before leaving them in a heap on the floor.
"Let me wash your hair for you," Aerith says as she approaches the tub again, shutting the water off before gathering the meager collection of toiletries she's managed to accumulate since her arrival. Preparing to perch on the edge of the tub and wait for him, Balthier surprises her when he turns back, cradling her face before pressing a kiss first to the tip of her head, and then to her lips.
Her hands reach for him, resting on his sides, her thumb affectionately brushing over his skin. "I'm so happy you're here with me."
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So when she offers to wash his hair he shakes his head. "You don't need to do anything more for me. Take care of yourself first." He doesn't give her time to answer him, crossing to kiss her, feeling more at ease with both of them stripped, with her hands gently stroking his sides. As his break from hers, he keeps his face close, noses touching.
I'm so happy you're here with me. It nearly breaks him, and he resigns himself that she's going to see him cry if he stays. "Me too," he whispers, and it's the truth, which is what he's promised himself to give her from the start. "I don't want to be any more of a burden," and yes, he feels his voice crack, that same pressure building in his face, "I just want to be near you. Hold you." And if she doesn't want that, he wants her to have the opportunity to say as much or excuse herself. He wouldn't be offended, not after how he had to touch her, and not with how much of a mess he is.
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When she leans into him again it's not to kiss him, though the closeness between them in those moments is a balm on a sore wound right now, instead her arms tighten around his shoulders and she rises onto her toes, compensating for their difference in height so that she can hug him properly, holding him as close to her as she can. "Stay with me, we can be as close as you need." Aerith doesn't want to say it and end up being the burden herself while he's in this state, but the last thing she needs after that ordeal is to be left by herself, without someone to hold onto.
She's been left alone before and though she can get through it if he needed his space, she wants to be as near to him as he'll let her get tonight, deciding that whatever warmth and happiness they might be able to scrounge up once the rawness of the moment was dulled would be worth it. He matters to her, what they have between them matters to her - as previously unthinkable as it may have been - she wants to protect him and shake off what she can of the chill of what they had to do.
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The thoughts don't make sense, but they're so fast and so heavy. He hasn't felt like this in years, and all that keeps rising to the surface is the terrible sense that he's failed someone who matters to him, that he was always destined to.
A single gasping sob escapes him before he buries his face in her shoulder, clinging back to her firm hold. Well. He's not coming back from this. But she doesn't pull away, just plies him with more gentle words and every indication that she wants to stay close. Unless it's just to placate him--
Gods. Can't he just turn his head off for once? Take this at face value?
"Bathe with me," he whispers, because he doesn't trust his voice any louder. "Let me touch you with tenderness, wash this off of us both." And if she still wasn't done with him after, he'd gladly hold her until the fatigue took them.
Moving back just enough to see her face, he cups it with one hand, stroking her jaw and searching her eyes, trying to sense any discomfort, any sign he ought to stop. His head is still screaming and he's having trouble tracking what he wants to say or what he thinks to risk is, but he tries to find that compass needle of honesty. "You are so precious to me," he whispers. That feels too big and too small and not the right time to say it, but it's what he has, what he needs her to know.
He breaks their hold, but only to step into the tub, hot water a constant companion on a decade or more of hard nights. He's so grateful for it, for her, and when he's settled in the water he beckons for her to join, adjusting his body to make room for her.
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"Let's clean up," she answers before brushing her lips against his temple. "Then we can go to bed. I don't have a lot of blankets yet, but, I want to hold you close. Maybe it will help us both sleep." Even if it didn't, having him near her would help her, whether she slept or sat up until dawn keeping watch over him while he rests. It would be better than the unmoored feeling she knows she would be left with if Balthier wasn't there.
When he pulls back to look at her opens her eyes again, her expression softening at the sight of him, giving him a sincere but tired smile as he searches her face. "Balthier," her hand comes up, touching the inside of his wrist while he cradles her cheek. "You, and all the things we have together are so precious to me."
She steals one more gentle kiss before he's pulling back to climb into the tub while she lingers on the edge, waiting for him to get comfortable before sliding into the hot water to join him.
Turning so that her back is facing the opposite end of the tub that he's settled at, Aerith scoots forward, slight enough in build that it's not difficult to lean towards him and turn to the side, finally going still once her arms are around him and her head is resting on his shoulder. "Thank you."
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She kisses his temple, tells him to stay the night, and he finally starts to realize she may need this too. "I'd like that," he agrees. What he doesn't say, can't quite get into words yet, is that he's going to be here as long as she needs, too. When he sees her face soften at the sight of him, feels her touch on his wrist, he finally gives her a weak smile, one that turns into a watery kiss as she echoes his words. He'd be hard pressed to explain what it is they have between them; all he knows is she makes him feel safe and grounded and he would do anything for her.
It feels strange to be without her touch for the moments it takes to get in the tub, and when she makes to get in ahead of him, he expects her to slide back into his hold. Instead she faces him, curling around him and snuggling in close. He wordlessly folds around her, one arm cradling her shoulders to him and the other reaching across her legs to securely hold her hip. He buries his nose against her hair, letting this consume his thoughts. When she thanks him, he squeezes her, not sure what else to say, because he's not sure what he's done to be thanked for.
"If there's anything else I can do for you, you tell me," he says.
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After a long moment of being curled up against him, face hidden against his shoulder, she lifts her head enough to look at his face, kissing him lightly.
"Let me wash your hair, I want to take care of you." She means it beyond just tonight, and while she hopes he knows that, for now Aerith will be happy just seeing them both past this.
Turning herself enough so that she's settled in his lap facing him, Aerith reaches toward a bottle of shampoo, getting some on her palm before rubbing her hands together. "We're both going to feel a lot better tomorrow," she continues, gently as she reaches up to run her soapy fingers through his hair.
"And if we don't then you can just stay here until we do," she smiles gently as her fingers massage his scalp.
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"Of course," he says, and no, he doesn't quite catch that she means something more than right now, but he bends his head all the same. It's probably not something he could accept from anyone else. Her fingers reach his scalp and his eyelids flutter shut, hands tightening where they still loosely hold her. Heavy, calming breathing gives way to small sounds of peaceful pleasure as she works the shampoo in, more of the tension of their evening falling off of him.
"You take excellent care of me," he whispers, echoing a thing he's said to her in much happier sexual exchanges, and very much meaning it for everything today too. "As always, I will stay until you are finished with me." Because he wants her to know that nothing has changed between them, as far as he's concerned, and if she still wants him, he's not going to deny her that.
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"We're friends, aren't we?" At least, that had been her understanding of the situation beyond the things they got up to while they were alone. This place has done a number on her definition of friendship, and though the term doesn't exactly fit whatever it is that's happening between herself and Balthier, the sense of wanting to care for and protect felt as ironclad as it does for her friends back home. Whatever else he might be for her, he is above all things - a friend she'd do anything for.
"You take care of me too," she adds quietly once she gets close to him again, lathering up her hands with the bar of soap in her hands. Leaning in to kiss his cheek before she passes it over to him, Aerith hums quietly. "You're going to be here a while I guess," as tired as she is she manages to muster the energy to sound almost convincing when she attempts a playfully matter-of-fact tone of voice.
Reaching for him, Aerith lets her soapy hands run down the sides of his neck and across his shoulders before moving over his back, her palms curving affectionately against his shoulder blades. "Maybe if you stay here long enough you'll get chores. I have a lot of work to do in this place you know." The thought of Balthier in the floppy-brimmed straw hat she wore in her garden back home makes the small smile on her face deepen, her eyes lifting back to his. It's idle chatter sure, but it reminds her (and she hopes him too) that there are things beyond tonight, small but happy things worth looking forward to.
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When he sits back up he's dripping wet, and somehow that feels more intimate yet. Her question greets him and he searches her face for a moment. Friends doesn't seem like quite the right word, but they are more than two people who have sex together, and he feels protective of her the way he does, well, other friends. More important than that, it seems that she needs the reassurance, some kind of explicit agreement. Squeezing her arm, he nods. "We are." And then he tugs her back toward him, because as his mind calms down, he expects she needs to feel wanted and forgiven just as badly as he does. That and he wants her close.
"I'm glad to hear it," he responds back gently, and this time he hears it better. He takes the bar of soap as she hands it to him, then closes his eyes, humming contentedly into the kiss at his cheek and the way she runs her hands over him. And when she starts threatening him with chores, he finally manages a real smile.
"I'd be happy to help you with your house, Aerith." Maybe not quite playing the game correctly, but enjoying it all the same, holding onto the fact that she just keeps insisting how much she still wants him here. And when she pauses, he curls around her, running the bar of soap gently across her shoulders and collar bone before setting it aside, moving his hands in big gentle motions across her skin and massaging into her back. When they're both slippery and smelling sweetly of cleanliness and peace, he hugs her to him, kissing her hair and enjoying the way their skin slides together, the way there is no barrier between them. "And even if we finish, even after I leave, I'll come back any time you ask." It's a promise that scares him a little, but like with most things with her, the joy it brings him is so much larger.
There's so little in this place that is good, and before that, he'd met so many people over so many years. She was something precious, and he didn't really care if that made him foolish or irrational or vulnerable. He knew how to cherish rare and valuable things.
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"You don't have to wait for me to ask," she answers as she lifts her head, nuzzling his cheek gently. "You're always welcome here."
She knows it's complicated to make that offer, especially in a place like this, where involvement is a complicated thing, but she means it completely.
With a sigh Aerith lets herself stretch out against Balthier, enjoying the way he's big enough to make her feel completely surrounded by him, and very safe.
"When you're ready, let's go to bed."
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"Noted," he promises as she nuzzles against him, voice strained once more. That invitation means so much to him, and he hopes she knows that. "And thank you."
She adjusts against him and he shifts to accommodate. He has absolutely no desire to move from this position, though the water will grow cold and their skin wrinkled. Her suggestion of bed is probably wise, and with any luck, the worst of these hard feelings will slide down the drain with the water.
"Can't go to bed covered in soap," he murmurs, not quite ready to move yet. He gently laps the warm water over her, smoothing it down each time before sighing, pulling her close one more time and pressing kisses into her hair. "Alright. Bed."
Releasing her reluctantly, he lets her shift before dunking under the water one last time, then stands from the bath, larger reach allowing him to pull towels for the both of them, cold air already sending goosebumps over him. That's fine. He wants it cold enough to hold her all night.
Stepping out of the bath, he towels off enough he's not sopping, then turns back to her, smile real this time. "You look more like yourself," he says, low and affectionate, brushing her face with his hand. Her skin is flushed from the bath, and while she looks tired, she doesn't look as drained and sharp as she had when they started. He wraps an arm around her back, pulling her in to kiss her again, bending down so she doesn't have to strain to meet him.
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The embrace she's after comes sooner than the bedroom, when, after they've both dried off Balthier reaches for her again, pulling her to him for another kiss. If she were in a better frame of mind it would be sort of remarkable, the way they've already moved into a place where this kind of touch has become frequent, rather than reserved for the breathless moments that first morning when someone's resolve cracked enough to drive one to claim the other's mouth. His lips are soft, his kiss has become familiar, and some part of her almost flutters in appreciation for that.
"I think I feel more like myself," she says after he pulls away and her eyes have opened to take in his face, one arm looped loosely around his middle while her other hand rests on his shoulder, hugging him to her gently. "You look better too," there's still a rough edge to him that's impossible for her to miss, but his expression has lost some of the haunted tension that made her so worried.
"Come on, my room is right across the hall." After she gives him another kiss she steps towards the door, her arms staying around him as she leads the way out one door and into another.
Like the bathroom, her bedroom is still very sparsely appointed. A modest pile of blankets heaped onto a few mattresses pushed together and shoved into the corner serves as a cozy little bed, and that's where Aerith leads him, letting him go long enough to climb in and pull the blankets around her, stretching out an arm so he has room to climb in too.
"I feel like I've been waiting to be here with you for a long time." She's not sure what she means by that, in truth. She certainly had been eager to lay here with him since they returned here, but, perhaps, it's been longer than that.
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The way she manages to shake him out of his head and keep him focused on the good between them is starting to feel familiar. There are no words for how thankful he is for that, especially tonight, and when she kisses him back and lingers against him, he gives her a warm smile. "Good," he says, that she's feeling better, that he's less of a worry.
He lets her lead him across the hall, charmed and a little floored himself at how easy this closeness is. The room may be sparse, but the sheer novelty of real privacy makes it the most wonderful luxury he could imagine, especially following a hot bath.
When she slips out of his hold and into the blankets, holding an arm open to him, he gladly obliges, nestling in beside her. The combined heat of their bodies, bolstered by the bathwater, creates a cocoon of warmth against the cold softness of the blankets. He wraps his arm around her back and middle, resting his chin on her head. There's something ... different that he's feeling tonight, thought his thoughts are still slow and muddy so he doesn't trust his observations. But when she makes that comment, he squeezes her, exhaling a little heavier than he means. "Me too," he admits, and that pressure in his face is back. "I like being here."
For a moment, a wave of fear and nausea bubbles in him again, the passing thought of having lost her in all this more upsetting to him than he'd have expected. He tries to steady his breathing, burying his nose in her hair. The sense of panic at having to obey orders, the terror of anyone but her having had that control-- He kisses her temple, rocking her gently. If their roles had been reversed, he would hate himself right now.
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He felt so good to have this close, and tonight it went beyond the usual reasons why that was true, touching on something a little deeper. Friendship, but not quite. When Balthier tenses it pulls Aerith from her thoughts, and she lifts her head slightly, blinking as she feels him kiss her temple. Untangling one of her arms from around him, Aerith brings her hand up from beneath the blankets, leaning back enough to look at his face as her fingers touch the side of his cheek.
"Hey," she says gently, pausing long enough to kiss him. "We're here. It's safe and quiet." Aerith's hand traces his jaw before smoothing through his damp hair. "I'm going to take care of you for as long as you need."
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