InsaneJournal

Kink ficbits, part 1
So, you guys remember forever ago, when I took prompts for kink drabbles+? Maybe? Well, these are the first batch. Three of six. The others are in progress, but I really wanted to post something with content. So.

Just this side of worksafe.

Final Fantasy XII, Basch/Vaan. UST. For nanthimus. 200 words.
...I hardly ever write Vaan, it seems like.
hero

It—it wasn't that Vaan liked Basch. Okay, Basch might not have killed his brother, but that didn't mean they were best friends now or anything. Only—

"Vaan!" Basch gestured him over with his sword. "If you want, I show you a few moves." Vaan lifted his own blade and walked over without thinking.

—only he'd always kind of idolized the Order, before the war. When he was really young he'd played knights and monsters – everyone did. Even when he was older, though, he'd loved to hear stories about them – wars and noble heroes. He'd forgotten about it with the plague, and the real war.

But he knew Basch's name. And Basch—well, he was a captain, and it showed, even after what he'd—what the Archadians had done to him. He was honorable and professional, even after how Vaan had treated him.

"Rotate your torso more when you strike. Don't give the enemy an open target," Basch advised. Vaan ran through the same slow motion again, slightly differently, and found his face starting to heat as Basch's eyes tracked the shift of his body carefully. He tried furiously to will himself calm. He didn't care what Basch thought.

Only, Vaan had been a lot more mature at around fifteen, but apparently he still hadn't quite outgrown the feeling. Thinking back, he'd been weirdly jealous when Reks had enlisted. And sometimes at night he'd shake in fear that his brother wouldn't come back, but other times, he'd forget about that and wonder what it would be like to be instructed and lead by the knights, and his hand would always shift down into his pants, and—

"Much better, Vaan," Basch said, with the hint of a smile.

Vaan was sure his flush was obvious.


Persona 3, Akihiko/Mitsuru. mental connection. For mahokiwi. 400 words.
No spoilers beyond what you learn in the first few hours of the game.
break the link

Mitsuru had apologized for it, once.

"It takes energy for Penthesileia to make a connection," she'd explained to him. "If I had to contact someone else, I'd have to break it and restart anyway, but…"

There was no one else for her to contact, now.

"…as it is now, it's more efficient to maintain it, in case of emergencies." Her eyes slid away from his face. "However, if it bothers you, I can –"

"No," Akihiko said immediately. "I mean—it's fine."

It was fine. When he was busy or asleep he didn't even notice it, and when he was idle it was almost nothing – like a light touch on the back of his neck. He wasn't sure how much Mitsuru could sense, but however much it was, it didn't bother him.

One night, though, Akihiko woke up suddenly. He blinked for a moment before he figured out what had woken him – the connection-feeling was pressing at him firmly, insistently.

He sat up instantly. "Mitsuru?" he tried.

No response. He was upstairs in a few seconds, not even bothering to dress. But Mitsuru's door was closed, and all he heard was soft breathing.

"Mitsuru?" he tried again, quietly.

A touch of something again, like her trying to contact him. And then, suddenly, more. A sense of running from something, twisting into fighting. Mitsuru's fighting, sharp and precise. What was going on? He reached for the doorknob—and then the feeling twisted again, with a jolt. Fighting striking touching lust -

Mitsuru was dreaming, he realized, as his waking mind placed the strange shifts. His body flushed with warmth to match the sensations he was getting.

And then abruptly went cold again with panic. Mitsuru would kill him if she knew he was... eavesdropping like this.

His body was almost too tense to sneak quietly back to his own room, but at least focusing on that took some of the edge off what Mitsuru was transmitting. When he was back, though, he found himself perched on the edge of the bed, heard thumping a rapid beat from the panic-triggered adrenaline – and he could still pick up Mitsuru's projections. Polydeuces didn't have power over the mind. Short of going back upstairs, waking Mitsuru, and asking her to break the link –

Akihiko lay back down and tried to ignore the feelings.

It was a long time before he fell back asleep.


Bleach/Final Fantasy XII, Zaraki/Balthier. fighting as foreplay. For white_aster. 600 words.
This had no hope of being a drabble. Most of eleventh squad made it in here, somehow. Also, probably more fighting than foreplay. >_>
brawling

They were fighting when Balthier arrived, of course; he'd heard enough about the eleventh squad to expect that much. They weren't—at least anymore—fighting Hollows, though. And he should have probably anticipated that too, in retrospect. The four of them were more than enough to dispatch a handful of low-level Menos.

Balthier watched the sparring match for a moment, pondering how to approach. They didn't seem to know he was there – too focused on the three-way fight, swords clashing so quickly that the sound was almost constant. The bald one – had to be the third seat, Madarame Ikkaku—let out a laugh that made up for in volume what it lacked in… well, sanity.

He realized slowly that 'sparring' was entirely the wrong word—they were brawling, full-out, and all their bleeding wounds looked like they were made from blades.

"Hello!" A bright voice said suddenly by his ear. Balthier jumped.

He congratulated himself on then turning slowly to the smiling child and saying calmly, "Lieutenant. I have a message for you and your captain," but lately he was beginning to suspect that Secret Mobile Corps uniforms were designed to hide the undignified faces one made after they were snuck up on. They certainly didn't help with stealth.

"Do you!" Lieutenant Yachiru said brightly. "That's no good. Ken-chan's still busy."

"I—" Wait, what?

Then Zaraki Kenpachi appeared in front of him.

The captain was... larger than he looked from a distance. This close, his spirit pressure was nearly suffocating. He looked like he was made of coils of large-gauge wire covered thinly by a layer of skin.

Balthier swallowed a few times until his throat was moist enough to speak. "Captain Zaraki. I—I am instructed to inform you that your squad is to report back to Seireitei immediately."

"Hmm? Not bad." Zaraki said gruffly. "But my muscles aren't even warm yet. Ikkaku stole the last kill, and we need to work that out."

Does working that out require someone to die? Balthier thought wildly. "The—the Commander requests your presence," he tried instead. Higher authority, almost always effec—

The only warning he had was Zaraki's grin. His jagged-edged sword was suddenly swung right at Balthier's head. He barely managed to slide out of its way, and then he froze, heart beating rapidly.

"Hmm? What've you got there, Captain?" drawled Ikkaku from a few paces away, wiping a wet trail of blood from his face with the back of his hand.

"Messenger boy," the captain said with another grin full of too many teeth. "Better than the normal variety, though." And Balthier didn't see it at all when Zaraki's hand lashed out and pulled his hood and mask away. "You new, kid?"

Balthier managed to bring his chin down a few inches in an approximation of a nod even as his brain refused to give up anything but I bet my hair's probably a mess.

"Ooh, and he's pretty, too." That was Yumichika, and Balthier resigned himself this assignment wasn't going to go smoothly.

"Eh? You think so, Yumichika?" Ikkaku asked, squinting at Balthier. He tapped his – spear? – on his shoulder a few times as he walked closer.

"He's not bad." Yumichika's smile was less intimidating, but somehow a lot more worrying. "Especially if he's strong. What do you think, captain?"

"I think you two are crazy," Zaraki growled. "You done, then?"

"Never!" Ikkaku barked.

"We can break for something interesting, though," offered Yumichika.

The look on Zaraki's face as he turned back to look at Balthier made his guts turn and twist.