[August 10 out of 20] FFXII - Girl
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sweetandshortTitle: Girl
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Characters: Penelo & Basch
Rating: T/PG-13
Warning: (mention of age gap in sexually significant way)
Prompt: Age
Word Count: 282
Summary: No one questions her whenever she asks him to sing.
A/N: Also written for a lonely prompt over atfic_promptly.
No one questions her whenever she asks him to sing. Ever since that first night around the fire, when his gruff baritone bled out to the night and mingled with the flames, and Penelo had covered her hands over her cheeks to cool them, no one questions her. Not even Basch.
He adores her, and everyone knows it, including Penelo. Perhaps that is why she asks so freely--and often--and feels no guilt; it is a rare pleasure, an indulgence when even the necessities have worn thin from travel, and battle, and just being plain dog-tired. Balthier plays his strings, and she dances, and Basch sings, but only when she asks because he does not do anything for himself, ever.
His voice is like a cup of hot cocoa, with just a splash of chartreuse to give it a bite, to warm her when the winds are howling through the Rift; sometimes it is the first delicious bite of a cactus fruit--crunchy and juicy all at once as it dribbles down her chin and tickles a laugh from her throat. It is like the rustle of rough fabric against smooth skin; sometimes when he sings she can close her eyes and see bodies moving together in a blur, a twist of flesh and desire.
She feels no guilt when she asks him to sing. She is just a girl, barely on the cusp of womanhood, with hopes and dreams and feelings and ambitions, and he is a man long burned by all of these things and none. She is just a girl.
But she swears, if he were to sing just for her, she would show him a woman yet.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Characters: Penelo & Basch
Rating: T/PG-13
Warning: (mention of age gap in sexually significant way)
Prompt: Age
Word Count: 282
Summary: No one questions her whenever she asks him to sing.
A/N: Also written for a lonely prompt over at
fic_promptly.No one questions her whenever she asks him to sing. Ever since that first night around the fire, when his gruff baritone bled out to the night and mingled with the flames, and Penelo had covered her hands over her cheeks to cool them, no one questions her. Not even Basch.
He adores her, and everyone knows it, including Penelo. Perhaps that is why she asks so freely--and often--and feels no guilt; it is a rare pleasure, an indulgence when even the necessities have worn thin from travel, and battle, and just being plain dog-tired. Balthier plays his strings, and she dances, and Basch sings, but only when she asks because he does not do anything for himself, ever.
His voice is like a cup of hot cocoa, with just a splash of chartreuse to give it a bite, to warm her when the winds are howling through the Rift; sometimes it is the first delicious bite of a cactus fruit--crunchy and juicy all at once as it dribbles down her chin and tickles a laugh from her throat. It is like the rustle of rough fabric against smooth skin; sometimes when he sings she can close her eyes and see bodies moving together in a blur, a twist of flesh and desire.
She feels no guilt when she asks him to sing. She is just a girl, barely on the cusp of womanhood, with hopes and dreams and feelings and ambitions, and he is a man long burned by all of these things and none. She is just a girl.
But she swears, if he were to sing just for her, she would show him a woman yet.
