Some boi secks.
There ya go.
Written for the pyre_flies community. Now go give it some lovin'.
Title: Beautiful Tragedy
Setting: In game, in Zanarkand before the party crosses the city of the dead.
Theme(s) + Number: 1 (first), 75 (Sunshine and daisies), 74 (moment in time), 89 (lazy days), 78 (fire)
Warnings: m/m secks O:
Summary: Auron takes the time to reflect on the pilgrimage, remembering better days.
Kneeling on the ground, Auron wasn't paying much attention to the rest of the party. He was busy concentrating on the fire, going over the past few days carefully, calculating what reactions he could expect as well as what actions he should take. His unsent body was weary, but his mind was ablaze with thoughts, random and dangerous like the fire which he watched so intently.
His eyes were pulled away momentarily to Tidus, who rose to his feet, walked to Yuna and touched her gently on the shoulder. Yuna. A married woman. Married to Seymour, no less.
Bitterly, he turned his face back towards the fire, thankful that the cowl and the sunglasses hid his face so well. He'd never forget Seymour... or his betrayal. Something in Auron had snapped when he came back, discovering that Seymour had succeeded his father as Maester.
When they first met, he had thought it was a good idea, despite Yevon throwing him out of the temple.
When they had first met, however, Auron always believed Seymour would forsake his duties. He started to feel the regret again. The sorrow for all of his failure... not only to Jecht, Braska and Spira... but to himself... and to Seymour.
Something inside him told him to look down at his left, so he did. There, growing innocently, was a white flower. An odd site amidst a land of death, promising, perhaps, a new growth. Flowers. Auron never had much use for them. In fact, he didn't particularly like them... He reached down and picked the flower, bringing it up to his face, studying it...
Flowers often caused Auron much discomfort to an already annoyed man; juggling sneezing, nagging at Jecht and battling fiends never made anyone in a good mood. Not that Auron, at 25, was ever in a good mood. Especially since now, Braska and Jecht were resting in an Al Bhed inn. He stayed outside, sitting on the ridge west of the inn, watching the sun set for a time before he decided to suck up his pride and go inside.
When he turned around, however, he was in a bit of shock. Not because of who he saw, but because of his reaction to this person. A guado was bartering with an Al Bhed... but this guado appeared to be a priest... Whatever he was and whatever he was doing didn't matter. Auron was enthralled by this creature.
His robes were a pale violet, trimmed with a rich green, vine-like pattern. The sleeves were long and belled, like most guado fashion. His hair was a striking ocean blue, a violent contrast to the skies of red and orange above. After bartering, the youth seemed quite proud to walk away with a staff. The staff was as tall, if not taller than he, a red, tribal design formed at the top.
That's when they locked eyes. Pale indigo, glowing eerily from the sunlight, pierced right through Auron. What was so fascinating about this creature? Why was he so drawn to him, like a moth to the flame? His facial features were firm and sculpted, a wide jaw led up to high set cheekbones and wide, almond shaped eyes. His lips were full and appeared soft, but they were moving... The boy was speaking to him.
"Are you well?" He asked innocently, his voice rich and smooth.
"Forgive me," Auron replied, having to peel his eyes away from the beautiful boy.
"Please, there is nothing to forgive," his lips curled into a genuine, flirty smile, "I am Seymour-Guado. It is an honor to meet you."
"Auron..." He replied quietly. There was something different about Seymour... some sort of power that demanded Auron's full attention. Why was he so attracted? He'd never felt attraction before...
His one eye scanned through the party quickly; no one seemed to notice his uneasy thoughts, thankfully. He twirled the flower between his fingertips, watching the petals spin uncontrollably under the power of his hand.
He wasn't even sure how it had happened. But there they were, lips locked together passionately and legs entwined under the sunset on the moonflow. Jecht was hungover, Braska was tired and Seymour had accompanied the three of them towards Guadosalam, insisting that he be their guide to Macalania temple, in which he resided as head priest. These were the days Auron was most fond of. Having Seymour around had put the guardian in a much better mood, and it was fairly easy to see why.
After pulling away from each other, Seymour leaned his head down against Auron's chest. They had elected to stay outside, on the very edge of the moonflow to watch the pyreflies come out at night. It felt nice to be so lazy, but Auron knew he had his duties. And he knew what was coming.
"Seymour," He started, staring up at the skies, "What will happen when we reach Macalania?"
"Lord Braska will pray to the fayth, obtain the aeon, and you will move south, towards Mi'ihen." Seymour replied, playing with the beads on Auron's robes.
"That's not what I meant..." Auron started, unable to comfortably finish the rest.
"What will happen to us, then? Perhaps it is best we do not think about it for now. I wish to enjoy this moment." the half-guado replied, keeping his head where it lay.
Auron, despite his foreboding, agreed and said nothing. That night, they lay there for hours, watching the pyreflies dance across the water, singing their eerie, melancholy song. For those moments they had together during those days... it was perfect.
Perfection is deceiving. Auron put the flower out of his eyesight, but still held onto it, looking towards the fire for some kind of solace. The flames danced together wildly, uncontrolled by any force. The light from the fire seemed to grow brighter as the sun was now just a memory across the horizon. Above them, stars mixed with pyreflies decorated the sky.
The rest of the party was sleeping; Tidus was holding Yuna, Wakka holding Lulu, Rikku was huddled in a ball, cold but Kimahri was still awake. He said nothing, however, not even glancing in Auron's direction. The two had a sound understanding without ever speaking. Kimahri knew that Auron was pensive; best to leave it alone.
The legend turned back to the fire and swallowed, bringing the flower up in his line of vision again. The shadow of the flower was all that he could see against the fire.
In the afterglow of their night together, Auron stayed awake the entire night, running his hands down Seymour's slim build. Seymour had fallen asleep some time ago, but awoke a few moments later.
A soft laugh came from Seymour's throat as he turned to face his lover.
"What?" Auron asked, slightly worried that Seymour was laughing at him.
"You're still awake." Seymour remarked, pulling closer to kiss Auron tenderly, "Promise me something."
"Anything," Auron replied eagerly.
"Promise that you'll come back for me. After this is all over." Seymour's eyes were wide open and intense. Auron noticed that he was gripping him rather firmly. What was plaguing his mind...?
They made love a second time. But the future was coming and Auron could do nothing to stop it. This story would soon come to an end.
Braska prayed at Macalania temple. After obtaining the aeon, Auron sought Seymour out, but could not find him. They were approached by Lord Jyscal, Seymour's father, whom Auron had heard plenty about...
He apologized. Said that his son had other duties to attend to.
Auron knew that the Lord of the guado lied. But he was powerless to stop it. And the pilgrimage went on. Auron painfully moved on.
The sun had fully set and Auron knew that time was at a waste. He stood, throwing the flower into the fire to watch it burn. He was hanging onto nothing... Seymour was changed and no matter what happened on those carefree days, Auron felt betrayed. Seymour became a part of the very thing Auron fought against.
It didn't matter now, however. Auron knew that he would see Seymour one more time. One last time before their story would come to a tragic, speechless end.