dick in a box [ffxii, ashe/balthier]

[ellnyx]

Fandom: FFXII
Author: ellnyx
Title: Dick in a Box
Pairing: Ashe/Balthier
Prompt: Double penetration
Rating: NC-17
Warning: DP, very minor genderplay, sorta crackish... :)
Word Count: 1800

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Dalmascan law stated that only the Dynast King's heirs could sit upon the Dynast King's throne. Advisors fresh out of exile regarded Ashelia's return with mixed dismay and delight. Ashelia was tired, and had a task to which to dedicate herself: the lords of the land aired their concerns only once the Archadians, countless grains of irritant sand, were swept from the city, if more by Larsa's decree than any of Ashelia's efforts.

And on that airing, Ashelia's outrage robbed her of righteous rebuttal. Nowhere in the clause did it state that those heirs must be male, but nevertheless all Dalmasca's lordlings did insist: the Dynast King's throne was made for a king.

Ashelia would have burned the throne, had another crafted more suited to her soft behind, had the wretched chair not been made of stone. After hours of debate, Ashelia set aside hated rhetoric and argued her point with the point of her sword.

'Do you doubt, councillor, that I have the balls for the job?'

At the end of her well-honed argument, the councillor whose querulous complaint had sparked her ire trembled most becomingly. He raised his hand to attempt deflection, only to find Ashelia kept her blade's edge as sharp as its point. 'But – pr-princes—'

'King!' Ashelia thundered. 'King Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca, first of that name, will claim his father's throne, by my bloodright, or by your blood spilled. The choice is yours, council of lords.'

The mood of the cloying council chamber shifted to one of intense relief. 'King Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca: hail!'

.

The celebration lasted for two weeks. Of course Balthier would not have heard: he was dead. On his resurgence, Ashelia had need to seek him out, coy pirate, and cornered him only courtesy of the events surrounding the aegyl.

'A note,' Ashelia scathed, 'a note, Balthier. Not even a well written one! A godsdamned, single sentence fucking note!'

'And a ring,' Balthier protested, 'and mind the soldierly tongue, princess, no one's attractive while cursing or clawing—' all fending off hands that neither he nor Ashelia were sure would turn to caresses or claws.

'My ring,' Ashelia said, abruptly folding her arms, 'hardly a ring you went halfway around the world to obtain.'

'Now would probably not be the time to bring up the fact that yes, actually, I went further than half-way around the world—'

'No it would not be a good time—'

'In fact,' Balthier insisted, with a sense of timing that was either insouciant or rather impeccable, 'further than halfway around the world, why, I might've fought away half the hoards of the underworld to return that ring to you, princess, and this is the thanks I get? A poor welcome for your poor pirate, love.'

According to feminine convention, Ashelia softened.

They were on the Galbana, in the depths of no territory known to man or dynast; Ashelia felt no need to assert her kingship here. In any case the terms of her masculinity were bound to Dalmascan soil, and all the sky currently stretched between her and her kinghood. As swiftly as she could sever the straps of Balthier's tunic, Ashelia positioned the pirate between her thighs and Dalmasca's like spread, the latter some six kilometres below.

.

That sky-lit afternoon she wrung from Balthier's hips a promise that he would visit the seat of her power. On his arrival in Rabanastre, to which there had been somewhat of a fuss at the palace gates, Ashelia realised she should have possibly mentioned the terms of her reign.

Ashelia could not permit his ego to come between her and the King's crown, and five minutes into the palace, he was brawling with her men.

'Balthier, desist!'

Half the lords of the land had followed the page's summons, shouted as gleefully as they were across her courtroom. In full robes and half a heartbeat shy of running down the hall, Ashelia reached the scene in time to prevent prideful murder. Balthier straightened, standing over the body of a groaning pageboy, several guardsmans' spears aiming roughly in his vicinity.

'So now the welcoming squad arrives?' The pirate bowed with a flourish. 'Your much-vaunted Dalmascan hospitality suffers.'

As though on cue, the pageboy groaned. 'Explain yourself,' Ashelia asked. She suspected she failed to keep the tone of command from her voice.

'This streetrat wearing your colours,' Balthier indicated with a heel, 'called me a queen. Outrageous.'

Ashelia folded her arms. 'With your reputation, I fail to see why this response required force.'

'With your reputation, I'm surprised you consider anything but force an appropriate response.'

'Majesty,' her page wheezed, 'I declined—the Lord Bunansa entry. I said—I would take a note. I told him – no queens in Dalmasca. If I offend—'

'You do offend,' Balthier exclaimed, 'brazen little bastard.'

'My lords,' Ashelia addressed her suddenly straight-faced court, 'please excuse me, I have a certain re-acquaintance to make.'

The Dalmascan court, people, populace, culture, was not renowned for their restraint, perhaps one reason why propriety governed so many realms. Nevertheless, Ashelia was impressed that her lords kept their laughter pent until a good ten paces away.

Balthier regarded their retreat with narrowed eyes, and announced: 'Your pageboy's mouth wrecked my manicure.'

.

'You must realise a King cannot consort with another man in – well, in those ways.'

'You'll castrate me by royal decree? And you, endowed by royal decree? I could poke holes in your logic, Majesty, but it seems I won't be poking anything. So tell me, do you miraculously sprout a tumescent display of throbbing kinghood whilst on Dalmascan soil?'

'Don't be ridiculous, Balthier. I keep it in a drawer.'

'Oh,' Balthier said, weakly. 'So much more civilised than in a box.'

.

Ashelia realised far too belatedly: it had been a mistake to think Balthier would take this easier if he were drunk. He paced around the room with an admirable control, alternately regarding and disregarding the cock that projected perfectly perpendicular from her harness.

'I don't know if I'm happy that it's longer—'

'It's not,' Ashelia assured him, with an eyeroll she ensured he could see. In response he snorted and set one knee onto the bed.

'Well come on then, all the world knows I've never slept with a king before.'

'One of the few forms of warmblooded creature you haven't slept with, is that right?'

'A reputation is an artform,' Balthier said, too loftily for Ashelia's liking. 'It's like a well-made bra, just like yours. It merely enhances what nature gave a man.'

Ashelia closed her hands around his hips and shoved. Perhaps she had slicked her cock too much; it slid. Balthier laughed at her and walked himself further forward across the mattress. She suspected him of deliberately foiling her thrust, but he explained:

'Cock length aside, you're too short. Kneel on one knee only, get your other leg up for leverage.'

Ashelia managed a disapproving primness, though she complied, though she could count her breath speeding as she regarded her target. 'Did you ever think perhaps you were too tall?'

'Oh fuck you,' Balthier swore into a pillow (she watched his fingers fist against the blankets, suddenly captivated), 'oh fuck you, not all in one thrust, gods!'

His cheeks (both ends) were red by the time he recovered enough to look back at her; Ashelia could not stop her fingers mapping the tight line that held her. Balthier's gaze was blurred, his flanks still trembling. Ashelia watched with a blissful bemusement as his left hand lifted from the sheets and curled between his legs.

'You can move now.' The flex of Balthier's shoulder as seen from behind was slow and hypnotic: strange to think that of all their encounters, Ashelia had never seen him from this angle. 'Ashe? Slowly.'

'I'm the king here,' she reminded him, and therefore she did not move slowly.

.

If Balthier had not been so drunk, he would not have used that comment as an opportunity to malign her obvious lack. His misfortune that it was still a sore point that Ashelia's own skills had not been that which put her on her throne, instead only this…thing…with which she delved the depths of Balthier's capacity. His commentary was growing increasingly strained, his fist correspondingly fast. Ashelia lost her breath in matching his hand's pace, disgruntled that he could find a way to take such pleasure from this. Balthier was Balthier: he would find some way to come out ahead. He scarcely even appreciated the effort to which she went!

A mistimed thrust had her cock slide free, an act that seemed so much more brutal than it was for how Balthier moaned.

'You can't be tired yet, come on, I go for much longer than that and you never appreciate it—'

'Turn over.'

And Balthier turned, though Ashelia thought it was more for that her voice came from an unexpected region. He propped himself up on his elbows, regarding her with only one eye opened as she rummaged through her capacious third drawer down.

'You've already got a cock,' Balthier said. 'What do you need that one for?'

'We were talking of appreciation,' Ashelia said, levelly, 'when I would rather you didn't talk at all.'

Balthier inched away, still on his back, slow alarm brewing. 'Whatever stories your soldierly guards have been telling you, princess, there's some things that are best left urban myths.'

Ashelia churned her cheeks, spat on her fingers. The cock between her legs was still slick; the one in her hand was thinner, the tip turned slightly out. It was on that narrow point she wiped her fingers dry.

.

'Look it won't—it won't go, will you just – oh gods –'

'You continually doubt yourself, Balthier, yet when tested you prove to have unexpected depths. Breadths.'

'I don't know what's worse, your humour or -- oh gods take it out, out, Ashelia!'

It was awkward leaning at this angle, her hands still between them and sticky, Balthier's knee (Balthier's knee!) still hooked over her shoulder and shaking. Ashelia pressed against the resilience of a firm thigh, until the tips of her breasts could brush the sweat-slick, the come-slick that striped across Balthier's breastbone.

Her heartbeat raced as though his lightning response had carried hers. She took a measured breath before she could speak on his level; she wanted to pant.

'Just to be sure,' Ashelia managed an edge of mocking, 'love, did I make you come?'

Balthier licked his lips. 'Take it out. Them. My god. Oh my god.'

'King,' Ashelia reminded him. She did comply, though, easing from abused flesh with a speed that had Balthier's eyes water, forced a gasp half curse and all relief. 'I'll save the declaration of divinity for the second decade of my reign.  You will visit, won't you?'
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