FicWad

2004.

Waltzing on the Moon
by Mina Lightstar

This takes place sometime after the Coin Toss in Figaro, but before the start of the game. I'm working with the basis that Edgar is still a young king (18 at most; he was 17 at the time of his Coin Toss with Sabin) and Locke (16 at most) has not met Rachel, yet.



"You're not taking this very seriously." Edgar's tone was tight, accusing.

Locke bit back a laugh. He hadn't moved from his spot by the wall, arms folded securely across his chest, as though he dared Edgar to try and move them. "How could I? Next you'll be saying I should wear a gown and ask Gestahl to dance!"

Edgar pretended to consider it, gazing into the flames of the candles on his desk. "Maybe you should. But then, you might not be able to pull that off well enough, and your cover will be blown. I wonder which would you be less inclined to claim: that you're a rebel infiltrating the evening ball for information, or that you are attracted to Gestahl and wanted a chance to he held in his arms?"

Locke rolled his eyes briefly upward and answered truthfully, rather than continuing the joke. "No question about it; I'd kiss Gestahl then and there."

"You would. Sometimes I'm not sure there's anything you won't do, whether out of necessity or not." Edgar chuckled and stamped a document with his insignia.

"I have a strong sense of duty, rather than a strong libido." Locke frowned. "Hmm. Is that the wording I wanted?"

"My sense of duty is just as strong," Edgar said, "and it is not my libido that is unyielding -- my charms are. You know I enjoy nothing more than wooing the fairer sex, and that it is the chase I enjoy, not necessarily the conquest."

Locke waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before." Given his status as Edgar's best friend, it was only natural that Locke be privy to all of the young king's secret desires, exploits, and experiences. Someone of Edgar's standing certainly couldn't just go on about the blonde kitchen girl to anyone, after all.

But seeing as how Edgar was the only friend Locke really had, that left no one who could listen to him go on about that blond king who would never notice him in such light.

"And anyway," Edgar went on, moving on to the next pile of documents, "didn't you want to attend the ball? I thought you were just itching for a close-up of the Imperials."

"Well, I am," Locke admitted reluctantly, "but that doesn't mean I should have to dance!"

"What kind of guest comes to a ball but doesn't even dance once? It's practically required around here."

"I'm not going to enjoy it. I'm going so I can see for myself what I might be fighting one day." Locke had made his decision regarding the Empire after what had happened to Edgar's father. He would never, ever swear allegiance to such an organization. Though not a member of any official army, he was prepared to do whatever he could to fight the Empire one day.

That was the main reason for his wanting to attend the ball. Gestahl himself would not actually be there, but several higher officers were coming to celebrate the continued allegiance between Figaro and the Empire. Edgar was hosting it so he could... keep his enemies even closer, as the saying went.

The other reason for Locke's presence was to keep Edgar company, in general and specifically for this event. Since Sabin's departure, the new King of Figaro had been awfully lonely. Locke hoped he was helping with that, at least.

"I just don't see," Locke went on, "how my dancing could possibly play a factor in--"

"Look," Edgar interjected, glancing up from his papers, "why don't you just go ahead and admit that you can't dance?"

Locke's cheeks warmed, and he had a feeling he was blushing. "That has nothing to do with it."

"Come off it." Edgar stamped his insignia once more and then shoved the stack of documents aside. "I know you can't dance. Just because it's never come up doesn't mean I can't tell."

Absently tugging on the knot of his bandana, Locke made a face. "All right, so maybe you're correct. I can't dance. But that's only because I've never had any occasion to learn."

"Oh, I know." Edgar smiled at him. In the candlelight, it looked... Locke shook the thought away. "I can't say that you've ever struck me as the type to attend dances of any kind."

Locke shrugged a shoulder and pushed away from the wall. Feeling Edgar's gaze following him around the room, he went to the window to have a better view of the desert at night. "It's funny that I haven't, though, isn't it? I mean, I've been all over the place, just about. You'd think I'd have tried it out at some point."

"Now you have your chance," his friend put in gleefully. "And with some pretty girls, most likely."

Locke snickered. He'd long ago realized his attraction to Edgar, but that didn't mean he'd ruled out women completely. A year ago he'd held one, a girl of age with him, and he'd felt the new curves of her body and kissed her soft lips. But for some reason, he felt the same way when he thought about holding Edgar, kissing Edgar... and the fact that he was often with Edgar, and knew him, didn't help matters any.

"The girls will be fawning over you," he shot back with a grin. "They won't want me, that's for sure. Especially not when I'd make a fool of them on the dance floor."

There was a minute or so of silence, and the candlelight suddenly went out. Locke wasn't surprised, since Edgar often blew out his candles so the moonlight would illuminate his room.

"Look," Edgar breathed.

Locke turned, and glanced down at the floor when Edgar pointed. It was almost like they were walking on moonlight, poetic though it might sound. "Pretty," Locke said.

"I could teach you, you know."

Locke blinked.

"To dance, I mean. I could teach you. Or at least show you a dance, so you can participate."

When he looked up, Edgar's face was neutral, and oh, the King looked incredible in the moonlight. "You... don't mind?" The words were out before he could stop them, and he cursed himself. He didn't like to dance, but then again, a dancing lesson would mean Edgar would have to touch him and....

Edgar laughed; it was light and genuinely amused. "Of course! Can't have you embarrassing me, now can I? The ball is two nights from now. That's more than enough time to teach you a simple waltz."

"I..." Locke frowned, fighting an inner battle. Agreeing to a lesson was as good as promising he would dance at the ball. On the other hand, a chance to hold Edgar, alone in the moonlight -- Boy, I'm starting to sound pathetic. "Well..."

"So what do you say?" his friend pressed, taking a step closer. This room is big enough; we could do it right here by ourselves."

"I would have insisted on that," he replied, and then amended, "because I want this lesson to stay between us."

"Oh, worry not," Edgar snickered, already moving even closer. "I won't breathe a word of this to anyone else. Except maybe Sabin," he added as an afterthought.

"Especially not him," Locke stressed. He swallowed when Edgar was standing in front of him, several inches taller. "So, how...?"

"I'll lead first, so you can get a feel for it. It's not as easy without music, but we can manage. Here."

Edgar reached for him, and Locke forced himself not to tense up when the taller boy drew him close. He also had to prevent himself from leaning too heavily on Edgar. Either extreme would appear suspicious.

"Okay. Now, the Waltz is just three steps. The lead foot changes with each measure. Like this." They started to move. "Left-two-three, right-two-three, left-two-three..."

Edgar was right; it was simple. After a few "measures" had gone by, he found himself even enjoying it. Admittedly, the delight was largely due to Edgar being his partner.

Eventually, Edgar's counting quieted, and they were dancing as though there was music in the background. Thinking he had it mastered, Locke moved his head so he could look down at the moonlit floor they were moving across.

That was when he tripped.

But of course, he didn't just trip. No, it could never be that simple. He stepped on Edgar's foot, lost his balance, and driven by reflex, grabbed the front of Edgar's shirt to keep his footing. Edgar was caught by surprise and nearly ended up following him down. The end result was for both of them to wind up on their knees.

After his initial stage of embarrassment was over, Locke dared to glance up at Edgar. "Sorry," he offered meekly.

"It's no big deal," Edgar assured him, looking concerned. "Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride," Locke returned wryly, closing his eyes.

Edgar laughed, and Locke smelled mint tea on his breath. They were... very close. "That's easily repaired," his friend soothed. Locke felt him lean closer as he whispered "You'll feel fine once you find some exotic piece of treasure."

Locke didn't know why he did it. Edgar was just so close and so handsome and so wonderful--!

And so he kissed the young king without a second thought, surging slightly upwards to press their mouths together. Accustomed to kissing open-mouthed, Locke moved his tongue into the contact, swiping it across Edgar's lips. Edgar's closed lips -- lips that only opened for women.

Oh, damn me.

Sudden as a slap, Locke pushed away from the other boy, pulling back and steeling himself for the sharp "get out!" or black eye Edgar was surely going to give him.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, staring at the floor. "I -- I didn't -- I wasn't thinking. I'm -- really sorry."

"Locke."

Something in Edgar's voice made him look up, albeit hesitantly. Edgar looked none too surprised, but no trace of disgust could be found in his features. And what handsome features they were, illuminated by the moon like that.

Locke swallowed. "...Yes?"

Edgar cocked his head, considering him. "I didn't know you... had that leaning."

"It's not a leaning," he heard himself mutter. "I'm perfectly balanced." Belatedly, he realized he'd just dug himself deeper.

"I see," Edgar mused. "I assume 'balanced' means you, ah, bed both men and women?"

Locke was about to admit that he had yet to actually bed anyone, even though he had a feeling that Edgar already knew that, seeing as how he had never told the King about his sexual escapades. Kissing and touching was as far as he'd ever gone. But he didn't say that. Instead, "People I like, Edgar. That's my only requirement." He dropped his gaze. Oh, how deeper can I possibly get?

"I see," Edgar said again. "And how long have you 'liked' me?"

With a wince, Locke admitted, "Nearly a year."

After Edgar's third "I see," Locke was thoroughly convinced that he would be unwelcome in Figaro Castle for a good long while.

He started to stand. "I -- I should probably--"

Edgar was up even faster than he, and closed the gap between them, taking hold of Locke's upper-arms. "Kiss me again, I think, is what you should probably do."

If Locke had been holding anything, he would have dropped it. As it was, he was impressed that he'd managed to remain upright. "...What?"

"Or is it my turn? Is that it?" Edgar leaned down so that their noses were nearly touching.

"What -- are you talking about?"

"I didn't know you liked men, too," the King murmured. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not the kind of thing you just come out and say," Locke snapped. And then Edgar's previous line relayed back to him. "Too?" he echoed.

Edgar laughed, and this time it was hearty and warm. "I'm 'perfectly balanced,' as you put it. And if I'd known you were..." his tongue made a quick swipe across Locke's bottom lip, "I'd have kissed you first."

Locke inhaled sharply. "I don't--"

"Believe me?" the King mused. "Would you believe this?" And without waiting for a response, Edgar kissed him -- deeper and harder than Locke ever would have thought possible.

He all but fell into Edgar's embrace, their tongues trying to say what needed to be said. The taller boy lowered them both to the floor, releasing him only long enough to take off his cape and spread it beneath them. Then he was back, his tongue setting a pace that Locke struggled to keep up with.

"Edgar," Locke gasped, breaking free for fresh air. "You--" Of its own accord, his head tilted to the side, giving Edgar room to kiss his neck.

"Aside from being my best friend," Edgar murdered between kisses, "aside from your looks, aside from your personality, there's something about you. Wish I knew exactly what it was. But I think I would have wanted you even without the other three." The last was punctuated with his friend (lover?) sinking his teeth into Locke's neck.

"Edgar!" The cry became a moan after the initial sting of the bite faded, and Edgar started apologizing with little kisses around it.

"Too fast?" the King asked. "Am I going too fast? D'you want to slow down?" For all his talk of slow, Edgar's lips were occupied between each word, playing with Locke's face, mouth, and ears. The blonde's hands were busy loosening the knot that kept the blue bandana wound around his head.

"No," Locke panted as his hair fell loose, spurring his own body into action and tugging Edgar's silken shirt from his pants. "No, you're not too fast. I just -- I haven't. You know." His hands slipped up to finger Edgar's nipples.

Edgar moaned, and pulled away long enough to get rid of his shirt completely. Locke followed suit, finishing just in time to witness Edgar's pounce. Then he was on his back on the floor, lying upon Edgar's cape.

"Just say the word," Edgar said, kissing him again. "If you want to go slower, if you want me to stop, just say the word."

Locke never, ever wanted Edgar to stop. He didn't know how many partners the other boy had taken to bed, but Edgar was good. His kisses burned as they traveled all over his skin, and the King's tongue was hot and moist over Locke's nipples, circling them, licking them. Locke's fingers gripped Edgar's head when the blonde sucked the little nubs of flesh, giving each one equal time.

Only when their pants were kicked aside did Edgar pause. Locke raised himself on his elbows. "What's wrong?"

"Oil," Edgar moaned. "I didn't expect -- that is, I didn't foresee sex in my immediate future. I don't have any oil."

"Oh." Locke eyed Edgar's erection, hard as his own, and dismissed the thought of oil. He wasn't as experienced as Edgar, but he knew how things worked -- and how many ways they could work. "So? That's not the only way to..." Instead of trying to articulate it, Locke sat up, threw his arms around Edgar's neck, and pulled them both back down.

He wasn't sure which of them began the movements. Locke only remembered a frantic need to move, to rub his arousal against Edgar's, never having enough. Their hips moved almost on their own, and their mouths met and their hands wandered when possible and--!

He remembered coming, coming for the first time from someone else's efforts. He flew high, so high, and a faraway thought: It's like having sex in moonlight. He came down too soon for his liking.

When it was over, Edgar pushed himself onto his elbows and gazed down at Locke. "When I get oil..." was all he said, but the promise was clear.

"Are those always your first words after sex?" Locke cracked lightly. "You're heavy. Get off me."

"When I get oil, you'll never have enough of me being on you." But Edgar moved, struggling to get on all fours.

"Then why don't you get that oil while I relax?" he suggested, post-orgasmic bliss making him a touch bolder.

"Good idea," Edgar murmured. "Give me a few minutes."

Locke laughed, sitting up. "And the dancing? Are you still going to make me dance?"

Edgar considered it. "Well... if I don't force you to dance, will you stay here for another week or so? There is so much I want to catch up with."

He laughed again. "Deal."



+end+