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The Raging Sea	By : truemiang Category: +S through Z > Vagrant Story Views: 1247 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Vagrant Story, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Raging Sea
- 1
The dream comes suddenly, as
once before

No warning save a breeze beneath his hands

Where once cracked walls and russet dirt-packed floor

Awaited him, now lush green grass-life stands

Beneath a clear blue sky, forevermore...

Ashley awakes, alone once more. The chill of the gritty earth beneath him seeps
into his back. Swiftly he rises, cursing Sydney, the Dark, fate, and for good
measure Sydney again, and then makes his way through the labyrinthine corridors
of Le� Monde. He has no time to lose.
----

The Raging Sea

The first time, it is a subtle shift. A brilliant lightning-flash blinds him,
and when the spots fade, Ashley stands in a too-familiar meadow, watching a
family picnic underneath a tree. His family.

No: he should be standing; he was standing before. Now he sits, among
them, a sweet blonde woman to his left and a brown-haired tyke staring up
adoringly at him from his spot to Ashley's right. "Papa, a sip of
water!" the boy cries.

Achingly, Ashley plays his part. "Have some of Papa's wine, Marco!"
he rejoins, though he knows not whether the memory is long-suppressed or one of
recent making.

"Wait right there..." the woman says, her brows knitting in
confusion. When she finishes with "...Riskbreaker," soft and inquisitive,
her voice is no longer hers at all, but lower, and her hair has come undone,
shoulder-length tresses splaying about a face that is more angular than Ashley
had ever seen before. Fingers that are not fingers at all extend toward him, a
cold substitute for a once-affectionate invitation.

He knows this face, those claws. When he opens his mouth to object, the vision
ripples and fades from view.
----

He is picking his way through the Town Center South, dispatching the last few
knights unfortunate enough to cross his path and sword, when it comes again.
The play unfolds like before, and Ashley cannot suppress the irritation that
surges through him when Sydney calls for him again. The man is incongruously
supple in his wife's dress and necklace, tranquil gaze belying none of the hard
edges he knows to lurk just beneath the gentle surface.

"I'll fetch some water," Sydney resumes, voice dropping to a whisper.
Ashley knows what is to transpire next, and his stomach lurches as he turns his
head to face his dead son, so that Sydney's lips meet his cheek instead. It is
a dry, papery feeling, this kiss; not at all like Tia's, which had been warm,
slow and wet � and now, Ashley reprimands himself, is most certainly not
the time to be thinking of that. Before the damned prophet can find something
to steal and use against him from his lapse, Ashley rises and faces Sydney once
more.

"What mean you by this, Sydney?" he demands.

Sydney lowers his gaze, expression contrite. "Don't you dare give Marco
any wine," he counsels.

Ashley's expression turns even more sour. "Don't you speak of
him," he warns. "Believe or disbelieve my memories as you will, but
do not trifle with them as though they matter not."

Sydney purses his lips, nonplussed, and then turns and waves a delicate wrist
toward Marco. The boy dissolves into snowflies in a matter of seconds, wistful
expression trained on Ashley, never faltering. "Indeed, they matter
not," Sydney argues, "save as a distraction you can ill afford. Focus
on the present, Ashley Riot, or you shall fail again � and I dare say the
stakes are higher this time."

Ashley's punch is as well-aimed and swiftly delivered as any blow he might have
served with a sharper weapon, but Sydney's Dark-tinged reflexes are swifter
still. Dodging the fist that comes flying from his left, in the span of a
breath he moves inside Ashley's reach, metal fingertips crossing at the back of
Ashley's neck. "Yes," he purrs, smirk growing as Ashley's eyes widen
before narrowing, the only admission he will cede to his sudden discomfort.
"You are angry, Riskbreaker," Sydney remarks conversationally.
"It seems your soul has not entirely fled you...yet."

Ashley looks away, refusing to dignify the taunt with his own response.

"You needn't maintain the fa�ade," Sydney continues, immune to the
other man's apparent indifference. "The chase is only thrilling so long as
it is true, and you, dear Ashley, have most certainly been caught." He
leans in conspiratorially, steady gaze gauging Ashley's continued lack of response.
"Suit yourself," he finally sighs, "but I'm certain you'll find
this a more mutually satisfying endeavor if you'd consider being a little less
tense?" Before Ashley digests the offer hidden in the questioning lilt of
Sydney's voice, Sydney closes his eyes and anoints Ashley with a chaste kiss.

Instinctively, Ashley recoils, only to find the razored eldritch-metal of
Sydney's claws still pressed in warning against his neck. Sydney opens his eyes
languorously, his supple mouth curving into a wicked smile as realization
spreads across Ashley's features. "No, Agent Riot," he chides,
licking and nipping along his quarry's firm jawline. "You will find no
escape here. You may, however" � and here he drops to Ashley's neck,
scraping his teeth along the sun-warmed flesh � "find quarter, for a
time..."

Ashley swallows against the feeling, and he can feel Sydney's lips broaden even
wider at the response. Steeling himself against further concessions to the
prophet, he closes his eyes, only to reopen them a moment later when no
intrusion is forthcoming. A wisp of white cloth flutters against him as Sydney
cocks his head to the side, considering � no, listening � before
straightening in comprehension. Sydney bends toward him, hands dropping from
their perch at his neck so that the flat of each palm rests on a well-muscled
buttock. In the same moment that they pull gently, spreading, Sydney drops his
mouth to the juncture of shoulder and collarbone and suckles.

It is wet, and it is warm, and the feeling of it shoots straight to Ashley's
groin. Caught unawares despite his intention, he tips his head back and parts
his lips in a guttural moan. The force of it is barely more than a simple
exhalation, but that is all the advantage Sydney requires, stealing back up to
claim Ashley's mouth in a searing kiss.

When they part, breathless, Sydney regards his prey from beneath lowered lids
and smiles again, more softly this time. "She seems to know you
well," he murmurs.

Ashley's head swims, and at once the strangeness of his situation hits him with
the force of a dragon's blow. "Tia?" he spits, gut clenching.

"No," comes the reedy reply as the vision fades. "The
Dark."
----

Sydney does not speak when he pulls Ashley's consciousness from the lowest
level of the city's abandoned mines. Rather, he stares impassively at the
Riskbreaker while the wind swirls about his white skirts, a state of affairs
Ashley inexplicably finds more disconcerting than the unwelcome advances to
which he was treated on their last visit. Ashley raises an eyebrow at the claws
resting demurely at Sydney's sides, and offers, "Passivity does not suit
you, Sydney."

Sydney merely continues to stare at him; unsettled, Ashley presses further:
"It seems a little too like submission..." Sydney remains mute, but
Ashley thinks he sees defiance flare in the mage's eyes, and this heartens him.
"Or do you yield at last?" he ventures.

That earns a reaction, if not commentary. Sydney stalks toward Ashley with
purposeful strides, affixing him with his slate-gray gaze, until they are mere
centimeters apart. Ashley tenses, settling his stance for combat � or a more
insidious attack, he acknowledges to himself � but Sydney remains content to
investigate him up close, reading the displacement of the air surrounding Ashley's
body as his blood courses through him, heart pounding in battle-readiness.

They wait thus, the battle of stillness rather than motion, for a longer time
than either can attend to count. Eventually, Sydney relents, standing down. The
air is cool between them, no longer warmed by ricocheting between their chests,
and Ashley twitches minutely against the restlessness of a fight gone nowhere.
His sentiments are premature, however; no sooner has Sydney taken a step
backward than the claws are out once more �

� and turned on himself, Ashley realizes belatedly, lowering his fists by force
against the protestations of his soldier's instincts. The blunt edges of his
fingernails dig half-moon impressions in his palms as he watches the shreds of
Tia's dress fall away from the man. Sydney wears nakedness like any other
finery, and the part of Ashley that is not fixated on the beautiful form before
him has the decency to cringe at how quickly the blood that had so recently
been preparing him to fight settles lower, preparing him for another sort of
encounter entirely. Sydney splays his metal fingers outward, settles the blunt
planes against his sides, and draws them inward and up; Ashley cannot look away
even as his mind rails against him.

When the vision pales, the afterimage of Sydney ghosting those metal limbs over
his hardening cock lingers, and Ashley has just enough time to wonder at the
disappointment resonating in his blood as it thrums within him.
----

Ashley is ready this time, soon after, and his groin throbs pleasantly as he
realizes they have already dispensed with the preliminaries. He grips the soft
fabric gathered at the back of Sydney's neck with his un-slicked hand, pulling
hard enough to strangle the young mage had he not extended his arms downward to
support his weight. "I may have made concessions from some soft
sentiment," he growls, "but I bend for no one, Sydney."

Sydney gives a high laugh at that and tilts his neck back, staring up
coquettishly at Ashley. "Ah, but you would for me, if I would have
you thus," he teases, and instantly he is behind Ashley, thumb-edge
denting into the taut skin of Ashley's throat and linen-clad erection pressed
firm against Ashley's backside. He drops the flat of his left hand down to rub
flush against Ashley's cock, humming softly against his ear. "Do not
forget who is the master here," he advises Ashley in a warm voice. "I
would let you take me because it is what you know, because our time is limited
and you are meant for greater purpose than simple pleasures of the flesh. But
make no mistake, you would be mine if I deemed it so." He punctuates the
last remark with a bite to Ashley's earlobe, sharp enough that a drop of blood
remains as he withdraws.

Ashley eyes the razor-fingers below him dubiously, though Sydney has been
mindful to keep them away from tender flesh as he palms Ashley in a slow,
steady rhythm. Finally, Ashley grumbles, "Have me though you might, you
would never master me." Still, he turns over affably enough, spreading
Sydney's legs above him and sliding the prophet down until Ashley's erection
rests against the cleft of Sydney's ass.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Sydney breathes as he shifts his weight
onto his knees. With practiced ease he lowers himself onto Ashley, the folds of
the white linen skirt pooling all around him. Once fully seated, he begins to
rock forward with excruciating slowness, delighting in the way Ashley's eyes
flutter closed briefly at the sensation before the man can force them open
again. "You know," he groans as Ashley thrusts up to meet him,
"I had intended you to take me from behind, to let you pretend as long as
you could that she were with you again..."

Ashley snorts, and slides a finger along Sydney's firm cock, trailing the fluid
there around the head and back down the shaft. "Yes," he agrees
derisively, "you are certainly the very embodiment of femininity."

Sydney's laugh trails off into a light gasp as Ashley replaced the lone finger
with a saliva-slick palm. "I � aah � rather had a � nnnh � change of heart
when I learned how receptive you were to this form."

Ashley hides the blush that threatened to rise in response by rocking harder
into Sydney, breath coming shorter with the effort. "Why the skirts,
then?" he pants. "If, as you say, I have no need for pretense..."

"Ahh, Ashley," Sydney moans, and his claws are reducing the grasses
to clippings beside Ashley's head. "Not everything is about you."

Ashley smirks at that, satisfied, and presses against Sydney's tattoo with the
flat of one hand as the other quickens its movements around Sydney's cock. His
own thrusts are coming more quickly, now, shallow and irregular as he focuses
on bringing himself to completion. Mere moments later, he empties himself into
the prophet with a grunt, careful neither to stop the ministrations of his hand
nor squeeze too tightly as he rides out the wave of climax.

He watches Sydney as his senses return to him. The mage is lost in his own
reveries, eyes closed and mental focus turned inward � the heat of the Dark
prickling against his back and Ashley inside him, Ashley's hand on him. He
rears back against Ashley's final thrusts, dropping lower, closer to the man as
Sydney himself thrusts counterpoint to the movements of Ashley's hand. As his
orgasm spills messily over Ashley's hand and chest, Sydney cries out,
"Find me, Ashley!" He crumples against the fighter's body, spent;
with what remains of a tremulous voice that is dangerously close to breaking,
he murmurs, "Please. Before it is too late."

Ashley stares dumbly at the lithe body splayed over his. The weight is wrong,
he realizes; even a man of Sydney's stature ought create a burden of greater
heft...

The stakes are higher this time.

You are meant for greater purpose than simple pleasures of the flesh.

Find me, Ashley, please. Before it is too late.

The voice of a boy not even Marco's age drifts to him on a cool breeze.
"He intends to die," the mournful lilt calls, as though from a great
distance.

"No," Ashley protests, but too late at that; already the edges are
fading, the meadow dissolving and drifting away not long after Sydney himself
does.

Ashley awakes, alone once more.

The chill of the gritty earth beneath him seeps into his back...

fin.

Notes:� So, I
finally wrote gay porn.� Go me?� It was�not as bad as it could have been,
considering I decided to omit the whole "preparation" section since I
just couldn't write it with these two without totally killing the mood.� Have you seen Sydney's hands? I rest
my case.
Since their prompts were so astoundingly similar, this one
was written for both "little teapot" (toxictattoo on LJ) and
"Eldritch" (chibimazoku on LJ) as part of the LJ Yaoi Challenge
community's Obscure Fandom Challenge. Ordinarily I'd only ever see this pairing
working out after the events of the game, but the requests specifically
asked for mindfuck, and I can't see that happening post-game when they need
that week to build up trust between them or the whole plan falls apart. I had
to write to convince myself, first, and I concluded that the only way it
was going to happen for them was if 1) Sydney made it happen, and 2) it didn't
occur in "real-time" (because Ashley would be too preoccupied with
killing enemies and finding Merlose to compromise his security like that). You
see before you the result. The title, by the way, is from the Cure's "Just
Like Heaven": "I opened up my eyes / And found myself alone, alone
/ Alone above a raging sea / That stole the only girl I loved / And drowned her
deep inside of me" � Ashley, Tia, and a setup ripe for exploitation by
Sydney and me both.
- 1
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The Raging Sea