Quiet Minutes Pass

Auron/Braska. R. 500 words. Based on the Stages of Love: Five Senses challenge. For Pond.
He considered it punishment.

He considered it punishment.

The summoner was late. Auron lifted his cup only to find it empty, the dregs at the bottom long since cooled. He waved away the boy hovering at his shoulder.

“Go, bring me the summoner, not more tea,” he said, and the boy bobbed a hasty bow before darting away.

Minutes later, the heavy curtain was pushed aside. Auron glanced up, expecting the child, and found instead a man not much older than himself with a smile both beautiful and sad all at once.

“Lord Braska,” Auron said, his resentment gone as quickly as the boy.


Jecht’s bawdy laughter rolled like thunder through the hallway. Auron’s heart leapt, a thrill quickening at the base of his spine. He straightened his shoulders in an effort to look the guard instead of the eavesdropper should someone wander by.

“Ah, a fine wife,” Braska said. “It’s best when pleasure is shared.”

“Damn right,” Jecht agreed, his tone softened with love and perhaps a bit of awe. “Thought sometimes she liked playing with my dick more than I did.”

Though the melancholy hidden in Braska’s reply hurt Auron’s heart, the lewd words shortened his breath and made his cock ache.


Braska’s legs failed him on the final step.

“My lord,” Auron said, moving quickly to support him, and finding him slighter than his heavy robes would suggest. “Sit.”

Colour returned slowly to Braska’s pale skin. The fires of Ifrit burned endlessly, suffocatingly hot. Boldly, more boldly than he thought he would ever dare, Auron brushed the cold sweat from Braska’s brow.

“We should return,” he said. “Who knows what trouble Jecht has caused.”

Braska laughed, the sound reassuringly strong. “Then I am in no hurry to face it,” he said, tucking himself more securely in the crook of Auron’s arm.


Djose smelled sharply of salt and ozone and ripe Guado oranges.

The cavern blocked the rays of the early morning sun and left the room in perpetual twilight. Behind him, breaths warm and steady and soft in his hair, Braska slept on.

The acolyte had apologised profusely for the tight quarters; the temple sheltered merchant and summoner parties alike. It had taken Auron hours to follow Braska into dreams.

Eyes closing, Auron willed the bustle outside to quiet. They could afford a few hours. He didn’t need to cast off the security of Braska’s arm around his waist just yet.


Incense coiled slowly to the clouds hanging full and still above the plains.

At the furthest edges of the firelight that kept beasts at bay, Jecht kept watch, the reddish glow highlighting the scars marring his broad back.

“You should rest, my lord,” Auron said as Braska settled beside him.

“Perhaps,” Braska replied. Quiet minutes pass, and then, “There are many, many things I should do.”

His lips were warm, his kiss soft. He pressed Auron to the thick grass, Auron’s coat spread beneath them and his robes tangling in Auron’s fists.

Auron regretted never saying they should go back.


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