pixelnyx asterisk

For the prompt "manly lotions and exfoliation."


part 15 of Threshold

Vossler gags before Balthier relents.

The pirate unlaces his fingers from Vossler's hair; Vossler is abrupt as he pulls away, rocking back on his heels. His eyes are watering that he can't see, coughing; he can hear Balthier's breath speeding, hears the slap of flesh without recognizing it -–

'Ah, and this is how the fates teach us to aim –'

— and Vossler then has more than mere tears in his eyes to consider.

The taste burns his lips; the stripes across his cheek and eye sear like a flaming scar. Vossler's rage blinds him more than the spend. His hands on the pirate's neck, they fall, knee to knee. Vossler is intent on throttling the creature, the column of Balthier's neck gritty with sweat and sand; he could possibly break the pirate's skull against a nearby rock if he could find one yet the sand provides nothing more than an abrasive cushion beneath them. More of it gets in Vossler's eyes, across his face as they roll, wrestling, until the pirate ends up on his back with one knee up against Vossler's chest, one hand on Vossler's wrist, a tight grip that spares him from vengeful suffocation. Vossler only hopes the sand is likewise filling the pirate's pants where they hobble him, somewhere between his knees and his ankles; either that, or is otherwise plastering a sweat-slick and bothersome crevasse.

The touch makes Vossler flinch; Balthier's free hand rubs at his come, hard fingertips spreading it across Vossler's cheek along with the grit and the insult, a sensation almost as abrasive as the sound of the pirate's restricted laugh.

'Come now, Captain,' Balthier says, drier than the desert even with his voice crimped from Vossler's chokehold. 'I would have thought a man of your advanced years delighted at my consideration for the state of your skin.'

July 2008

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