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Make a Song with Me

Chapter Text

Sanson Smyth was a man that was married to his work, someone who took pride in his place as a commanding officer in the Twin Adder. He had little time for play, and even less time for hobbies. If he wasn’t working at The Adders Nest he was spending his late hours at the Lancers guild training with the guildmaster or the guild's more seasoned members.

When he worked, he worked hard.

When he was off, he tended to work even harder.

Play was a waste of time to him when he could be making himself more useful to The Adder’s ranks, him being Captain at a young age was the result of this.

When the fabled Jehantel, the man known for his unique bard skills even among his squadron came to the Twin Adder seeking to train new recruits, he was… skeptical.

When Jehantel told that he had trained the Warrior of Light, Eikon Slayer and Hero of Eorzea, however; that added bit of information was more than enough reason to hear him out.

And hear him Sanson did… that voice that brought vigor to his body, that soothed the fatigue of the day. It was unlike anything he had experienced. Sanson had not been this spellbound by anything in a long time, and he was quickly growing obsessed with the power these songs had.

Though Sanson didn’t have a melodious bone in him, hearing there were others like Jehantel who could cause such rapture in the body while also aiding in battle was a tantalizing notion.

That alone was more than enough reason to aid him.

So he decided he wanted to merge one obsession with another, and see if there was a way he could incorporate a bard unit within The Adder. For him it seemed only natural that these techniques could very much do wonders in his line of work.

So he went to the God’s Quiver, attempted to plead his case.

His case went unheard. Archery you could teach a man, but there were some that were like him, who weren’t meant for singing songs, and it was nigh impossible to convince the archers that there was anything to gain from adding vocal lessons to their already deadly set of skills.

Still, Sanson hadn’t felt this passionate about anything other than his work in ages.

The thought of those songs washing upon him in battle was too good a goal to pass up.

Especially if giving up disappointed the man who had brought him this joy in the first place.

So he had studied hard, looked up ways he could turn the art of song into a skill set worth pursuing.

After scouring and searching, he finally found it. A song of war that would make bards an indispensable asset on the field of battle.

So, he gave the pitch to his superiors, and they let him have it. They had even picked a bard trained by Jehantel to accompany him like he asked. All he had to do was pass a menial test, one that as a Captain he was more than confident he could tear to the ground.

When Jehantel said the Warrior of Light would be aiding him on top of all of this, Sanson was thrilled. he knew that there was no way his efforts wouldn't bear fruit. With a spring in his step he had readied his things for Coerthas, excited to meet the bard that would be his companion as he made his way to the trial area.

He wondered what songs the bard would sing for him, as every bard was different, and their songs all had different effects.

He wondered if maybe they’d be able to weaken their enemies, or maybe the notes would ring in his ears and make his body sing like Jehantel’s had. He’d even heard that some songs were able to soothe away illness and plague.

The thought of hearing different songs that would tug his heart different ways had him practically vibrating with excitement. Sanson felt there was nothing that could spoil his mood.

So when his mood was ruined easily and swiftly it was… upsetting to say the least.

First he had let his thoughts distract him, a treant almost ending his life in the blink of an eye.

An embarrassment in front of the Warrior of Light to be sure.

And then he had been saved by Guydelot.

Oh Sanson’s blood boiled as he turned away, cursing the gods at his rotten luck. As the archer flirted and preened at the Warrior of light he took deep breaths in order to try and reign in his temper at what would inevitably be a sour greeting.

Sure enough the second Jehantel praised the man’s abilities as a bard and an archer, Sanson couldn’t help but open his mouth to counter those claims. Soon after, there was a fight to be had between them.

Sanson didn’t mean to lecture Guydelot so harshly, calling him by that patronizing nickname “the spent” and digging into him. Lecturing him about how he was a lazy ass in all the ways the man was most likely used to.

Sanson knew this wasn’t like him… but he felt robbed.

His vision of a strapping bard to talk to and receive melodious stories and songs in return was ruined, and he couldn’t help but be a bit miffed.

The God’s Quiver knew of Guydelot’s tendency to shirk duty and fight against authority. This alone was a sign they wanted him to fail.

The argument had gotten ugly, but when they broke it up Sanson decided he’d grit his teeth and bear it. He’d go to Coerthas with what he got and he’d come back successful.

Being a Twin Adder captain in his early 20’s, if he couldn’t do this much he didn’t deserve his rank.




Guydelot Thildonnet was a fine archer.

One of the best within the God’s Quiver’s young recruits and he knew it.

Hell, his superiors knew it.

But his time singing with the traveling minstrels and getting drunk and flirty after hours ‘left a bad image of Gridania’s finest.’ they told him.

He wasn’t the only one to do so, he knew they just picked at him because he didn’t fall in line like a good little soldier when the Twin Adder had need of his skills and they tried to lord their ranks over him.

It frustrated him that just because he didn't take a shine to authority he was shunned and kept in a lower position. It had disillusioned him and caused him to feel jaded at the idea of continuing on.

Just as he was about to give up on his dream, however; here came Jehantel out of the blue, singing his songs and showing his mettle. Such powerful tunes had pulled him in, and there was a beauty to it that had caused his heart to swell.

An archer Guydelot had become, and mayhaps he was tiring of that dream now that he’d hit his peak with it.

To combine his archery with song… it was a new dream he felt like spinning. Jehantel was all too ready to help him spin it.

So, Jehantel trained him, soon his playful voice he used to bring joy and to soothe, and sometimes to woo if the right barmate came along, became a weapon he could use in his battles.

He was through the moon. Jehantel was his savior.

He began to think that the old master of bow and song could do no wrong.

It was only after he had finally become a bard worth some salt, that he realized mayhaps even his master wasn’t immune to… mistakes.

Guydelot believed Sanson was one of those mistakes.

When he first heard of the trial, and his station at Ishgard he thought the whole thing was a bother, definitely not something worth his time.

When he found out Sanson was the one who he would be traveling with, he was beside himself with frustration.

Sanson was everything he hated about The God’s Quiver, The Twin Adder, all of it. A man who thought only of work and results, and looked down upon any chance to live a little. Sanson in his eyes was the lowest kind of man, one that would never know freedom and liberation from his cage even if someone opened it for him.

Even so, the budding bard had no doubt that Sanson was… passionate. One glance at the annoying Twin Adder Officer when Jehantel would sing and he could tell that he was moved by Jehantel’s songs, mayhaps more than Guydelot himself was. His quest Guydelot could care less about, but at least the man had passion.

Seeing the godsdamned Warrior of Light in action was enough to make him even more curious. They were a sight that was attractive in their own right, and their songs even more so.

Mayhaps he could suffer through Sanson if it meant going on an adventure with a hero to a new land. The songs he could probably weave for his craft was tempting in its own right.

He figured a fool's errand for a handful of ballads to add to his repertoire was a fair enough trade.

Chapter Text

The plans were made, Guydelot and Sanson would make the journey together to Ishgard while the Hero of Eorzea went and took care of some of their work, promising to meet them there.

As the duo made their way through the Coerthan snow toward their destination, Guydelot couldn’t help but be a bit miffed at how stiff Sanson was.

The man was nothing but tense muscles and a deep scowl, something that was going to ruin his face.

Sanson the Stiff, he decided he’d call him, as the Lancer had decided to keep with that annoying “Spent” nickname he had been called back home.

Even dressed down to adventurers clothes and flailing that godsdamned stick around in battle, Sanson looked like he was all business and no play. The curt way he dealt with everything from enemies to small talk was cramping any excitement a trip to a new land should have.

Guydelot couldn’t even find it in him to sing any songs during his battles, he was in no mood to.

Still, Guydelot couldn’t say Sanson was all bad to look at when he fought. Lancers lacked the bulk and size of the gladiators and marauders that usually graced the front lines, and shared a build closer along the lines to him as an archer. A slim build gave him the ability to weave an intricate deadly dance that was not a bad sight, rigid as it was.

A frustrating thought was that Guydelot knew that Sanson wasn’t always this tense. He’d seen with his own eyes how the lancer had softened and became a thing of grace when the Hero of Eorzea sang their song during their trial, or how he looked like a Maiden woo’d at Jehantel’s parting song as they left for the snowy terrain. Had he not seen that, he’d have assumed Sanson was always stuck rigid like a statue.

He supposed the captain just didn’t like him, that was all fine. Feeling was mutual.

Still… if a simple bard’s song was something that could unwind him so, Guydelot couldn’t help but be a bit curious.

So when night came and they made camp in the icy wasteland, Sanson with that blasted book in his hands and his hair in a top bun for sleep, Guydelot pulled out his harp, plucking gently at it as he let out a warm baritone hum.

Sanson’s quill stilled, the man looking up at him through his wind tousled bangs, his scowl deepening slightly as if Guydelot was teasing him.

Ugh what a killjoy.

Guydelot wanted to chuck his harp at him, but his curiosity outweighed the need to put the sour captain in his place, just once.

Instead of giving Sanson a concussion, he sang a song he had been working on shortly before he had been called on this ludicrous journey.

"There was a friendly, but Naive king… Who wed a very nasty queen. The king was loved but, the queen was feared…."

Sanson’s blinked as he stared, his sharp features softening, and his eyes widening in a gentle, almost innocent look as he listened.

Guydelot felt a small swell of pride at making the guarded man look so soft, his harp weaving notes together as he paused his singing to gauge that slightly entranced reaction.

Still, Guydelot continued.

"Till one day strolling in his court… An arrow pierced the kind kings heart…"

Guydelot leaned into the man’s personal space, watching as the lancer’s breath hitched a bit and fighting back a grin.

If Sanson looked like this more mayhaps he wouldn’t be such an eyesore.

'He lost his life, and… his lady love.'

He finished the tiny song with a small flourish of the harp, pausing for dramatic effect before pulling back with a chuckle. “Jehantel was right about your love for song at least, never have I seen someone placated to a stupor from a basic unfinished piece.” Guydelot mused. “It’s almost endearing how easy you are.”

Sanson blinked once, twice, and then his cheeks burned in embarrassment as he looked to the ground with an ugly look.

Back to that scowl. He was going to ruin his face by his mid twenties if he kept that up.

The Captain fidgeted and the scowl became a pout, and Guydelot couldn’t help but laugh. He almost felt bad but the lancer’s embarrassment was endearingly cute.

“Have your laugh you half rate bardsman. I will give credit where credit is due, but now I see why you haven’t been using your songs on our journey to Ishgard. Your song is nothing in the face of the Warrior of light and the God Quiver’s legendary songsman.” Sanson huffed out, his tone judgemental. “I’d be ashamed to sing too.”

Guydelot’s laughter soured at that.

He frowned, of course it wasn’t as good, it was a little ditty he had been working on not a full on ballad for battle. The captain was acting like he should be ashamed for not striving for perfection when the bard had meant to give Sanson a small taste of his mettle to see how he reacted.

A taste of the craft of taking minstrel songs from the heart and weaving them into ballads that breathed life into him and his allies or made things hard for his enemies. Something that Sanson seemed to love with all his heart.

Not from a slacker like him, he supposed.

Suddenly the idea that he had shared that power with someone so sour made him wonder why he had been curious in the first place.

“Whatever my good Captain Sanson the Stiff. It was all a bit of fun but if you’re going to be a stick in the mud by some light teasing then don’t expect me to do it again, even if your life depends on it.”

Sanson gaped at him, most likely taking offense to the nickname before letting out an annoyed grunt and stuffing himself into his sleeping bag, turning away from him, “I hope you die from the cold” he grit out

“Feelings mutual.” Guydelot quipped.

The two slept restless that night.


Sanson couldn’t be happier when they finally made it to ishgard.

They had gotten to the imposing city without much issue, and the Warrior of Light was nice enough to ask the noble House Fortemps for a place for them to stay. Edmond de Fortemps had given them a small abode in The Last Vigil that was definitely not the size of a mansion, but the two bedrooms, unceremoniously large bathroom and the open dining hall, living area and kitchen were more extravagant than anywhere he’d been privy to in his life.

Sanson was thankful for this, as even if the Warrior of Light was helping the Ishgardians and was stationed here, a hero is a hero. Their encounters would be fleeting and brief, so the lancer decided while their hero was gone saving the world he would pour all his efforts into gaining information.

He only wished Guydelot shared his enthusiasm for his task.

“I’ll be out late again, don’t wait up for me!” Guydelot had drawled, sauntering out of the small home they shared without so much as a glance to him.

Sanson let out an annoyed sigh, not even bothering to acknowledge the bard as he left.


Guydelot and he had to be around the same age, and yet the Elezen seemed nigh insatiable when it came to sex, and it was infuriating.

It was no wonder his peers had come to him being frustrated at the man, if it wasn’t something the bard cared about nothing ever got done with him around.

And the teasing… god he had never been so embarrassed with how the man had used that godsdamned voice to manipulate him like a blushing barmaid.

Still he tried to rationalize it. The two of them were different races after all, and though the differences seemed minor, curious tales he’d heard made him wonder if it was just his nature.

He’d heard rumors of Elezen men in passing, how their virility and passions made them wonderfully flattering lovers and even more amazing bedmates.

Some of his more… adventurous co-workers went so far as to say that women who'd been with an Elezen just were not satisfied with Hyuran men as their tendency to be shorter extended to their… intimate parts as well.

He had to wonder if the man was indeed “taller” all over and if that had any effect on the bards ridiculous libido.

He laughed to himself a bit at the ridiculous idea, besides if it truly had to do with his race then the Elezen men that he trained would be just as hard to manage.

No, Guydelot was just a man who wanted nothing to do with authority, and as a result wanted nothing to do with him.

It was fine, Guydelot was under his command, but it was only for a small time, soon he could forget about the bard just as much as Guydelot was trying to forget about him using his trysts to get away from work.

Sanson tucked that thought away before continuing to pour over his tomes, not realizing he was burning through the hours until his candle was more or less almost spent. The young captain probably wouldn’t have even noticed till the room had been bathed in darkness, had the door not been roughly shoved open.

The lancer jolted a bit, turning and blinking as Guydelot stumbled in with a giggling and very drunk Hyuran woman.

“Ah, Sanson the Stiff! I didn’t think you’d still be up at this hour.” Guydelot slurred, hugging the woman close to his waist.

“Mm… stiff?” She purred out, leaning close to Guydelot and hugging around the bard’s neck, “is he going to join us in the fun, love? It’ll cost double for the both of you.”

Guydelot laughed and took her past Sanson like he wasn’t even there, “No, just little ol’ me, though I doubt you’ll find anything ‘little’ about me.”

Sanson scowled a bit, not liking how he was being ignored. The Elezen man didn’t even tell him he was going to bring people over and the lack of regard for him and his feelings left a twinge of distaste in his heart.

He had no time to argue this, however; as with a giggle from the woman they stole away to Guydelot’s room.

Well… truth or not to the rumors he mused on earlier, once they got at it the woman definitely sounded satisfied.

Sansons ears burned, the muffled moans of “more” and the soothing and baritone he knew from the bard sent a shiver down his spine.

This was inappropriate. They had gone to their private room and Sanson was eavesdropping. It was nothing but rude.

So the lancer gathered his things, shivering as the noises began to grow in volume, and ran off to his room. When he closed the door he thanked the gods he couldn’t hear Guydelot’s idle romp from the safe space as he tried to rid his mind of the sounds.

Still he couldn’t, and he was hot and bothered, unable to stop the heat coiling between his legs

He supposed he wasn’t getting any more work done tonight.

He shucked off the layers of clothes, tugging his hair free of the tight ponytail and fell haphazardly onto the bed, curling onto his side as he ran a hand down his body, his knuckles brushing over his already half hard cock.

So he took himself in hand, closing his eyes and letting out soft pants as he massaged the head and pumped himself to full hardness.

He found a rhythm as his shaft became slick with precum, his thoughts flittering to one thing or another as he tried to get it to feel just right.

Usually it was hard for him to focus on getting himself off, it always had been, as his anxiety to work on something else always gnawed at his libido.

This time though his thoughts focused in on that scene in the living area. Of Guydelot slipping in and holding that woman, his crooning in her ear. Of the sounds that came from the room when he had taken her to bed.

Sanson’s hips twitched at that, thrusting up to meet his hand in a way that had him panting out little sounds though parted lips. He focused on the sounds, his heart fluttering as he chased sweet release, his hand moving faster as he climbed higher and higher to completion as he pictured what they might look like behind closed doors together.

What it might sound like if the bard’s sweet voice was filling his ears instead.

With a soft gasp, he came over his hand, slumping boneless on his side with a few soft pants.

When he came down from his high, he felt a bit of shame that he had just pleasured himself with an event not meant for him. It was for the bard and the maid to share, not for him to take advantage of.

Still, what was done was done. He would just have to make sure it did not happen again.

At least with that release, he found himself finally feeling the tendrils of sleep on the back of his mind. He let his eyes droop and he closed them, letting out a soft sigh as he finally dozed to sleep.

He’d bury the event and let it all be forgotten by morning.

Chapter Text

Guydelot was a desirable person, that he knew.

Given enough time he could woo most anyone into bed with him. Everyone had a mood, a song they wanted to hear, and he was very good at finding it.

It was a shame that Sanson was such a rigidly immovable fellow or maybe he could have more fun on this fool's errand.

He wouldn’t deny the man was a pretty thing. Lean and toned he no doubt was under the thick leathers and fluffy coat that kept him warm, and he could only imagine what his hair looked like down if he’d let it be from the tight ponytail or the top bun he went to sleep with in the mountains..

With how easily he was serenaded and moved, it would probably be no difficult feat to bed him if the bard actually made an attempt.

Looks would only get you so far, however; and the lancer’s personality was so sour that it outweighed any physical charm he might have had.

A shame, since they were stuck together in this abode, in a foreign land with no one but each other for familiar company.

Anytime they were together did Sanson want to see the sights? Want to take in the experiences and help weave tales in his heart? No. It was mission mission mission, and Sanson would not be swayed from writing down everything he experienced in that blasted tome of his. Anytime Guydelot tried it just ended in an argument, ones that would borderline on nasty fights that had them tearing into each other with volatile words.

They were lethal to each other, and the Warrior of Light couldn’t come fast enough so they could get on with this ridiculous mission.

So, while he waited and the weeks passed he found himself more inclined to go to the bars and pleasure streets that lined the brume, plucking up shy maidens, and sometimes the men, if they caught his fancy and the bard caught theirs. Usually he’d spend the night at their home, or if they were more adventurous they’d have a romp right in one of the warmer nooks of the winter-like street.

Those were his only options after Sanson had lectured him not to bring people back to their temporary home.

Killjoy. Always a godsdamned killjoy.

He’d most likely slog him if he didn’t have such a pretty face.

It was fine though, such adventures would weave him wonderful songs, that he knew, his heart singing of a freedom he had found in this new land. He still had many and more people to sing to and serenade… and he knew he’d be successful in all his endeavors.

Because yes, he found he could woo anyone.

Which is why when he heard of a woman who knew someone with a knack for song, he decided he’d try his luck with getting the information out of her in a more fun way.

Maybe if he helped Sanson on his ridiculous quest the lancer would be less of a grump.

He went to the tavern and immediately his eyes were drawn to her, a beautiful woman at the bar. A hyuran woman, thick straight brown hair held in a loose ponytail, her blue eyes bright and full as she stared down at what Guydelot assumed was tea.

Flicking to her eyes, he noted her soft features were marred with a grave worry, and what should be a relaxing time in this jovial place for her seemed like a more tense affair.

So, go to her he did, playing her a song and watching as her eyes widened innocently at his playing.

Widening in a way that infuriatingly reminded him of Sanson for the briefest of moments, but he squashed that thought and focused on the pretty thing in front of him.

The idea of ignoring her similarity to the lancer was quickly squashed.

Embarrassment rose to flush her cheeks as she turned and glared down at her teacup, pouting as he ended his song.

“You think it so easy to woo me with such a half-hearted voice? My one and only has serenaded me in a way that surpasses your song a thousand times over.” She huffed out.

Guydelot felt a stir of familiar embarrassment, and suddenly all he could see was Sanson sitting in front of him.

He grit his teeth, he didn’t come out here to be reminded of the infuriating man, and if this woman had such a rotten personality he’d leave the situation be.

“Excuse me for not being your tastes. I just saw what looked to be a troubled maiden and thought I’d lend my voice.” He got up, “If I'm not wanted I will go elsewhere.”

She gripped hard at her cup, a torn look on her face as she let out a shaky sigh.

Guydelot paused at the pained expression. Something was obviously troubling her and He always had a soft spot for troubled maids, no matter how abrasive they may be.

“But… if you require an ear, I can be that too. No strings attached.” Guydelot added quietly.

The woman looked at him in surprise, but her smile warmed and she agreed.

So he heard her tale, a woman who was with child and her husband who got called away who hadn’t come back yet. He was late returning from his patrol and she worried for him, and for her child who she wanted to share with him.

Guydelot felt moved by her plight, and before he knew it he was asking where he had been stationed before running off into the night.

He hadn’t expected to bump into Sanson.

“Wh-Guydelot where are you going?!” Sanson squawked after him, the bard not even apologizing for bumping into him as he made his way to the gates.

“I am settling something. I met a woman who said her man to be is of fairer voice than me and I would see this knight for myself.” Guydelot quipped, not bothering to slow down.

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. This lead was as good as any and though he was doing it for the girl, he also wouldn’t mind meeting the man whose song had stolen such a fair thing’s heart.

Sanson ran after him, “A knight- Don’t bother the knights with your foolish games! Do you want to get us thrown out of Ishgard?!”

“Maybe I do.” Guydelot bit out before he could stop himself, stopping and sighing when he felt the ugly look burning at his back from the lancer. “Look, stay here in case our Hero of Eorzea decides to make themselves known, I'll be back in a flash.”

He didn’t let Sanson get a word in edgewise as he paid the chocobo porter and flew toward the outpost that the knight had been stationed at.

After a search, he had finally found the knight and his men, shooting down a polar bear that would’ve had the soldier's head as he fended off the creatures.

But there were many of them, and even with his skill he worried he’d be overwhelmed.

Just as things became a bit much, an arrow whirred by his head, striking one of the bears in the eye and felling it.

A beautiful melody hit his ears and Guydelot smiled.

The Warrior of Light, coming in to save the day, More dashing and heroic than any tale could give credit to.

Guydelot did not waste time falling in step with his new company as they drove back the beasts.

After they were done, Guydelot had half a mind to flirt with the beautiful bard before him, only to be rudely interrupted by Sanson trudging up the snow, panting and demanding an explanation as to what happened.

When the warrior of light explained the situation, Sanson turned and looked at him with an annoyed, angry look. “Why would you do such a dangerous thing?! You could’ve died in the snow playing this stupid game-”

Guydelot hushed him, and turned to the knight, giving him a letter. The bard didn’t usually like to help those who had the hearts of people he initially tried to woo, but seeing the elation on his face as he read aloud the letter and shared his excitement to get home to his wife and child was fulfilling enough.

Sanson gazed at him, the hard angry look softening into a wide eyed innocence, “You rushed out of the city and risked your life… for the sake of delivering this message?”

Guydelot was taken aback by the soft sweetness in Sansons voice, but he made sure he didn’t show it. He explained he caught a lead of a man who was versed in song and followed up on it, told the tale of the inconsolable woman with child, watching with slight curiosity at how Sanson seemed to hang on his every word.

At the end of the tale the knight had thanked them all, showing extreme favor with Guydelot in particular, and said he’d do their best to help them.

Guydelot felt almost proud, he had helped a maiden fair keep her family and helped Sanson on his little fools errand all at once.

He glanced at Sanson, ready for his praise, and had to do a double take.

The Lancer was watching the knight leave, a warm smile on his face, his cheeks and lips flushed from the cold and his hair tousled in the wind.

Guydelot’s thoughts got pulled back to the woman at the bar, the soft delicate look Sanson had mirroring the one she had when she spoke of her love.

But this felt different, the Captain's gaze stirred something warm in his belly and the bard felt his heart flutter a bit.

It was… a good look on him.

Then Guydelot blinked and it was gone, Sanson full on turning to him with an annoyed scowl.

“Just because this ended well doesn’t mean you’re excused!” He grit out, going so far as to poke the bard’s chest as he lectured, “You can’t simply do as you please!”

And just like that any warm fuzzies or feelings of pride he had at his deeds turned sour, like they always did when Sanson was around.

“What I please? I was Adapting to the situation! An opportunity presented itself and I grabbed it with both hands!” Guydelot argued back.

This is why he hated the Gods Quiver, why he hated the Twin Adder even more.

Why it upset him that Sanson was a stuffy young Captain who couldn’t even tell that they had profited this day because he was too caught up in things being done in his dear Adder’s way instead of seizing the moment.

Guydelot left before the argument could turn too ugly. He didn't need to stay to listen to Sanson and how they’d proceed from here.

They had made an ally who frequented Falcons Nest, so chances were that they were going to get an inn room here for the time being.

He’d deal with whatever little tantrums Sanson would throw at him taking the initiative and buying an inn room with their funds later.


Sanson was hopelessly infuriated by the bard.

There were lots of things he had felt when he had chased Guydelot down. First anger and contempt, then surprise and almost wonder at the chivalry and nobleness of his actions… and then upset. Lots of upset.

Guydelot could’ve just told him what he was doing, instead he made it sound like he was going out to fight for his honor or something equally idiotic. The bard had Sanson worried sick that they were going to get kicked out of Ishgard, or worse that Guydelot was going to get himself killed or get lost in the snowy lands and perish.

As a Captain he had lost many men under his command... war did that. Even if his time commanding had been short he had made many trips to grieving families and friends of men that had fallen during missions.

But this was not war, this was a stupid man with a stupid amount of pride who had just run off on his own like a stupid child. He did not want to lose someone under his command over something so juvenile.

What upset Sanson most is that had Guydelot just told him the truth, he’d have gone with him… but it seemed he didn’t even deserve that.

So he had lashed out, and when the bard stormed off he walked back alone with the Warrior of Light, explaining to them his plight, and receiving some surprisingly sound advice.

“Why not just try and tell him that, then? That you’d prefer it if he would work with you.” The Hero of Eorzea offered.

Their hero was strong, that much Sanson had grown to know in their travels together, seems wisdom was also something this mighty adventurer had in droves.

So Sanson agreed, and when they got back to Falcon’s Nest he searched for their plucky and infuriating elezen companion.

He found Guydelot in the scarce outskirts of town, strumming his harp idly. When Sanson walked up to him, Guydelot turned his head away to focus down on his strings.

It seemed the bard hoped Sanson would leave him alone.

Well too bad, Sanson had words for him.

“L-Lest you forget… We are a fellowship.” Sanson said, talking over his harp “Members of a fellowship stick together… understand?”

He tried to sound like he was worried, but he was nervous.

It all came out so much more authoritative than he wanted to. It was in his nature, and he didn't have to pussyfoot with someone under his command.

But just once he wanted to portray the serious concern he had at him running off on his own.

Still the more Sanson talked the more he felt he just sounded like a captain lecturing, and the only other emotion that probably rang true was his shynes.

The quiver in his voice was something he knew Guydelot would pick up on, and he could only hope that he would understand his feelings from it.

Guydelot didn’t even bother looking at him,and Sanson could feel frustration bubbling in his gut. The lancer moved to speak again, but the harp picked up in volume and Sanson was interrupted as the bard took a deep breath as he sang.

“Fight not the flow of Life’s River”
“For you’ll never arrive at the shoals."

Sanson felt himself shudder, and he knew it wasn’t from the cold. He hated how the bard could move him so.

At the same time... he wanted more of it. More of those warm notes harmonizing with those strong fingers that moved beautifully against the strings.

Guydelot seemed to notice, and his smirk left Sanson both frustrated and feeling slightly fluttery at just how easily he lost himself in the ballad despite it.

How he could feel a want to be close to the man just from how wonderful he could make him feel.

Song really was a powerful thing, Sanson thought.

Still, on did Guydelot sing

“Give your body and Soul to the Waters…”

Guydelot leaned close, and Sanson felt his body humming with the chords. He let out a shaky breath, and he couldn’t help but lean in to close the space between them a bit.

“And Sanson the Stiff has no soul~”

Just like that the mood was ruined and Sanson pulled back with a deep frown.

Guydelot gave him a mocking smile, finishing his song with a small sweep of the cords before going back to plucking them aimlessly.

Sanson felt insulted.

He had been doing it for weeks, anytime Sanson wanted to protest him going out or wanted his help, Guydelot would sing him a little song and when he was high off the pretty notes and honeyed words would steal away before Sanson could recover.

Guydelot knew how much Song impacted him and he was using it to manipulate and tease, and it upset him.

More than that he was upset at himself at how easily he let it happen.

“S-Stop that!” Sanson yelled, trying to regain his composure, “I am trying to have serious conversation!”

Guydelot looked unimpressed, “And i’m trying to tell you that you understand nothing, Sanson the Stiff. A bard must compose when inspiration strikes, and you rudely interrupted me.” He said with a frown.

Oh so now it was Sanson that was the burden?

Excuse him for trying to be nice, for trying to get him to see that he wanted to work WITH him, not be dragged along by his whims.

Excuse him for worrying that the bard had gotten hurt or worse...

Guydelot ignored him then, and turned to spout flirty words to their Hero, speaking of songs and things that only the two of them could understand.

“See? Our Hero was even so moved by today’s events that they composed a little ditty. You could learn a thing or two from them Sanson.” He mocked.

Sure enough, the Warrior of Light pulled out their harp, playing a moving song that had the two of them smiling.

Guydelot looked validated and The Hero shared in his revelry.

The two of them harmonized, and the two made it look effortless. Guydelot looking as if he had forgotten that Sanson was even there.

He was blind to the lancer, too busy sharing passions he could only share with another person of song.

It caused an ugly feeling to bloom in Sanson’s heart at how little Guydelot must think of him, not just as a comrade but as a person.

All because he had not the knack to weave the beautiful melodies that Sanson had himself come to love so much...

Sanson, however; was no child. He was a Captain of the Twin Adder.

He had dealt with feelings of hurt before, but as a leader he knew to bury it.

So he did, going back to his roots and playing this exactly by the book, like he was trained to.

“Yes yes that was beautiful, but we are a fellowship. I expect you to do your part, starting with our inquiries.”

His tone left no room for argument, and Guydelot seemed to pick up on that.

The elezen man glanced to the side with a deep frown, “I’m inquiring aren’t I? I’ll do things my way and you can deal with your own kind. That stuffy highborn sort.” Guydelot grit out, turning away and not wanting to talk to him anymore.

Sanson felt a flare of anger at this, but buried it.

Just bury it.

He told the Warrior of Light of his plan to stay here for the time being, making sure he was loud enough that Guydelot could hear. They would be staying, and that there wasn’t any room for argument. With that their hero left, and Sanson went straight to the inn to get a room before Guydelot could protest.

When he found that Guydelot had already booked them one, he felt a twinge of annoyance at how easily the bard read him, but he buried it.

Yes… he’d just have to bury these feelings. All of them, until they could go their separate ways.

A Twin Adder Captain that couldn’t do this much wasn’t worth his rank, after all.

Chapter Text

Guydelot wondered if Sanson would ever find something he didn’t need to complain about.

When they got to the inn room, Sanson gave pause. “There’s only one room… you didn’t book two?”

Guydelot rolled his eyes. “They only had two rooms left. Lots of soldiers stay out here for their patrols so it was either this or we shared a king sized bed in a room we couldn’t even afford. It’s not my fault your beloved Adder didn’t give you more funds.”

Sanson pouted at that, before glancing away, “Fine. I was just making sure.” He murmured out, going in and making his way to a partition as he changed.

Guydelot sighed, it was getting late and as much as he wanted to leave the room and go out, the events of the day had tired him.

He figured a full day of fun could come forth from a full night of sleep.

So he slipped out of his thick jacket and chainmail, stripping down to his smallclothes as he chucked everything over a chair and hopped into bed.

“You’re staying?” Sanson asked as he stepped out from behind the partition.

Guydelot rolled his eyes, “Of course I'm staying, I'm exhausted.” he quipped, turning to look at Sanson,

The bard paused, blinking owlishly at the sight.

Sanson had let his hair down, the strands fluffy as they framed his face, some falling to spill past his shoulders. The Lancer had stripped himself down, putting on a nightshirt with a wide opening that hung slightly over his shoulder, showing off his upper arm and part of his chest. The shirt cut short at his upper thigh, letting Guydelot drink in those legs wrapped with toned muscle that was no doubt the result of dedicated training.

Guydelot’s eyes flicked upward, eyeing undergarments that hung on the partition with the rest of his clothes.

Surely he didn’t.

Sanson hadn’t noticed the stares, eyes hooded as he walked to his bed, flopping into it with a heavy sigh as his shirt hiked up and showed of the barest hint of his rear.

He did. The godsdamned minx liked to go commando when he slept.

Guydelot immediately regret that he hadn’t the strength to go out to one of the local bars tonight.

Still, he could hear Sanson’s breathing slow, the man dozing off without much fuss.

So the bard rolled over, and sleep eventually came to him as well.

A sleep that was short lived.

Small gasps filled Guydelot’s ears, his eyes sliding open as he turned to glance at the source of the noise.

Sanson was on his back, bathed in moonlight that illuminated his pale skin. The captain’s hands gripped at the sheets and his feet pressed hard into the bed. His shirt had hiked to his waist and the pretty way he arched off the bed left little to the imagination as his head tossed and he let out a soft, strained noise.

Guydelot felt arousal stirring a bit in his sleep addled mind as he looked at him, but squashed it when he realized these weren’t moans of pleasure.

No, the way Sansons chest heaved, the tears pricking at his eyes. This was a nightmare.

Suddenly it was it over, Sanson shooting up in bed as he panted, bringing a hand to his chest as his eyes searched wildly. The lancer quickly realizing he was not in whatever hellscape his mind had put him in.

The shock gave way to sorrow, a note that plucked at Guydelot’s heart as he watched the man hug his knees and curl into himself, trembling.

Moments passed, and his trembling grew worse, it looked as though Sanson was having difficulty composing himself.

When the man let out a shaky exhale, Guydelot couldn’t take it anymore.

“Bad dream?” Guydelot asked, voice husky from lack of use as he sat up.

Sanson jolted, looking like a deer facing down a hunter as he stared at the bard.

He looked so lost… and then he looked ashamed, glancing to the side as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It annoyed Guydelot. It was frustrating that the lancer’s standards of perfection extended to night terrors, something he couldn’t possibly control.

This wasn’t about his judgements, however. He figured he could ignore his feelings just this once.

“I could try a song, if you’d like… there was one I was working on for helping me and mine sleep, as sometimes before big missions some have difficulty sleeping.” Guydelot offered.

Sanson looked at him warily, before glancing to the side, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” he said, a soft defiance in his voice.

Guydelot sighed in annoyance, “We share a room together, and if you’re going to be flailing about with your night terrors I won’t be getting any sleep either. I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t benefit from it.” He said with a frown.

Sanson looked more ashamed, the man sinking in on himself, and Guydelot cursed himself as he dropped the rough exterior.

“Look…” Guydelot paused, voice soft as he chose his words carefully, “I don’t mind… if anything I haven’t had a chance to see if the song has the effect that I want it to.” He offered, “I don’t mind you being my guinea pig if you’re willing.”

Sanson relaxed a bit at the familiar teasing tone, slowly nodding as he fixed his clothes to cover himself and laying back down in bed as he watched Guydelot grab his harp.

Guydelot pondered a bit, before going and sitting on Sanson’s bed, strumming his harp gently to make sure he didn’t need to tune it before looking at the lancer.

Sanson was still trembling, looking at him warily. There was a flush on his cheeks, though from shyness or it just being the aftermath of whatever terrible dream that plagued him he figured he’d never know.

Still, this would not do. If Sanson kept breathing as he was his heart was bound to burst right out of his chest.

So, Guydelot began plucking a very melancholic tune, the noise soft yet powerful in the quiet space.

And when the young captain’s trembling finally began to stop, and Guydelot felt that he could listen properly, the bard began to sing.

“Sleep my love as the trees above, protect you from the dark.”
“A great river will watch you as you dream until dawn.”

His voice harmonized with the harp, keeping it soft as he crooned the song out, watching Sanson as his breathing evened out.

“Sleep my love, close your eyes… and when you awaken,“
“The new day will bring to you a bright new world…”

He paused, hesitating before wiping the sweat from the other’s brow, tucking a strand of hair behind Sanson’s ear. Sanson’s cheeks burned as he watched the bard’s hand, and Guydelot heard the captain take a sharp intake of breath, his pulse picking up again.

No, none of that.

Guydelot’s hand went back to his harp, bringing Sanson back into the melody as he gazed at him.

“Sleep my love as the birds above do rest their weary wings.”
“Let the rain play a gentle song to help your dreams sing…”

Sanson’s eyes hooded, and he began to look almost drunk, their eyes met and Guydelot found he couldn’t really pull his gaze away as he got lost in them.

“Sleep my love, close your eyes… and when you awaken”,
“The new day will bring to you a bright new world…”

Sanson was fully relaxed, his lids dipping closed but still fighting sleep as he listened.

So Guydelot leaned close, his song becoming breathy and soft, his deep tone soothing even him as he gently rest his forehead on the mans below him.

“Ever so gently… hear my voice…”
“Ever so softly… feel my touch…”

He moved closer to the hyur’s ear, letting his breath warm it as the bard closed his eyes.

“Always so tenderly I watch…”
“So go to sleep, my love…”

The music stilled, and Guydelot was met with the soft, even breathing of the man beneath him.

When the bard pulled away, his breath caught in his throat.

Sanson’s head was lolled to the side, his lips slightly parted as his chest rose and fell. His hair was fanned out on the pillow, stray strands curling to frame his face and neck beautifully as the only article of clothing on him dipped and showed his chest, the fabric hiked and showing off those full thighs.

Gods he wanted to touch him.

He hated it… but he couldn’t deny any longer that he was lusting after him. Guydelot wanted to tug him up and kiss him, take his terrors in a different way as he took him in body along with taking those horrible dreams.

He wanted to slip between those sinful thighs, push into his slender corded body and cause those noises of terror to change to noises of pleasure.

Noises that would sing him a song and fill him with his own, no doubt.

The hyuran man was such a pretty thing. Far too pretty to be a soldier in Gridania’s army. Far too young to be a Captain burdened with the weight he put on his shoulders.

Too pretty and too young… and yet he was what he was.

Guydelot knew he couldn’t ever act on this, the nights events would be gone by morning, and he had to accept it.

Sanson disliked him enough that no good would come from pursuing him.

So, he put his harp away as quietly as he could and went back to his side of the bed.

Unlike Sanson, sleep did not come back to him until late in the night.


When morning came, Sanson felt like he had the best sleep of his life.

For once he didn’t feel the need to get straight up, turning and hugging his pillow as he let out a soft sigh, snuggling into it with a hum.

“Oi sleeping beauty, weren’t you mumbling about following a lead or something when you woke up?” a familiar bard’s voice hummed out.

He pouted, sitting up in bed sleepily as he looked at Guydelot, “I was, but I had a wonderful sleep last night.” Sanson chuckled, he couldn’t help but be in a good mood.

“Good.” Guydelot quipped, “seems my song has the desired effect then.”

With those words the memories of last night hit him like a ton of bricks.

God it felt like a fever dream when he replayed it in his head.

He was no stranger to night terrors, he was very young when he joined the Twin Adder, and rising through the ranks as he did he had to make some hard calls, some that had cost him the lives of people he cared about.

Sometimes… he could still hear their screams at night.

When Guydelot had offered to try and help him sleep, he was still so barely in his mind he probably hadn’t even been able to converse properly.

Yet the song he sang was mesmerizing, and recalling how he had been serenaded to sleep had his heart fluttering and his stomach doing small flips.

Bards were truly amazing… if someone like Guydelot could make him feel this enamored and wonderful then there truly was power in those songs.

That had to be it, after all.

“Y-Yeah it worked great!” he responded as he got up, “You’ve really got a gift, Guydelot.”

Guydelot regarded him for a moment, before sighing and changing, not bothering to use the partition as he changed into a new pair of smallclothes and grabbed his clothes that were drying out on the rung and slipped them on.

Sanson felt his cheeks burn as he glanced to the side, letting the man change in privacy before doing a double take as he began to leave. “W-wait where are you going? Aren’t you going to help me follow the lead?”

“No, I’m going to do things my way. If you need me, I will most likely be in the tavern.” he waved off, his movements less… flourishy than usual.

“A-alright.” Sanson said, watching the man leave. There was far less bite to him, and the lancer felt a bit guilty.

He HAD probably woken him up, and honestly with how the song put him in a sleep induced stupor the song could’ve been minutes or hours.

Perhaps Guydelot was tired, so he’d let the man have his way until he found more leads.

So scour he did, and leads he found.

It took a few days, days he didn’t see much of Guydelot. The man had stopped coming back to the innroom they shared unless it was to grab a change of clothes or clean his flute or tune his harp.

Usually the bard would attempt to tease or croon to him to get a rise out of him, but lately he’d been almost curt in how he regarded him. Like the bard was trying to get away as fast as possible on top of his usual want to ignore him.

Still he had no time to try and rectify this new predicament, he had leads to follow, and eventually one of them finally bore fruit.

A soldier named Celaine who sang a song on the battlefield that was said to send those who heard it to the afterlife.. He went to personally meet with her… but the woman refused to sing the song.

So, he waited for the Warrior of Light to come their way, as the hero had a way of making things go in their favor when they otherwise usually didn’t.

So when their hero arrived, he went and grabbed Guydelot.

“Guydelot, you’re coming with us.” he had announced at the man who still after a few days looked distracted and not all there.

He said it in a haughty way, in a way that usually got a rise out of the elezen man.

Still, the bard had no bite to him, merely shrugging as he followed along, the three of them making their way to the woman.

When she saw him, she made a face and walked off, and Sanson let out a sigh. “She won’t talk to me.” he said with a pout.

Guydelot rolled his eyes, “Well if your way won’t work, then let me try my way.” he said as he walked past him.

Sanson felt a bit hopeful. He figured maybe a challenge would bring some bite back to the man who had been quite listless lately.

Still, she would not budge, and it wasn’t long before Guydelot too had given up.

Seeing how easily he gave in, however, had Sanson fuming at him.

“You would give up just like that? We have a duty to accomplish!” he tried, trying to stroke some sort’ve competitive fire in him.

Guydelot just shrugged again, and Sanson felt frustrated.

Had something happened that night? Was it something he did that he couldn’t remember in his song induced stupor?

The thought that mayhaps he had erred made Sanson worried. For as much as he hated that haughty spirit, Guydelot lacking it made him more insufferable than he usually was.

Well, if he was going to be complacent, Sanson wouldn’t. He decided to take part in an operation of Celaine’s, in the hopes that he would hear this song sung.

So they made their way over to where her operation would take place, and Sanson couldn’t help but feel a deep seated contempt at himself as he heard Guydelot’s flirting and banter with the Warrior of Light behind him.

With The Hero of Eorzea, Guydelot had found his fire again… it only seemed to go out when Sanson was near.

Sanson figured that Guydelot tired of their fighting, Sanson had as well… but perhaps with that fire of opposition gone, his interest in him at all had gone with it and he simply wanted nothing to do with him.

That thought… gave him an unease more than the merciless teasing and the fights ever did.

Bury it.

Sanson let out a soft sigh as he looked forward, his head held high.

This was good, if he was going to be less defiant then that meant things would go swifter. Their mission could continue and he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

So they helped in the operation… and lives were lost.

So many lives.

Not once was a song sung, and Sanson couldn’t understand why she didn’t.

If she had a song that could swiftly end this battle, why did she not use it? These were her soldiers!

He didn’t understand… until the end.

Until she stood in front of her fallen soldiers and held her hands to her heart.

“Rest now, O valiant Souls”
“Lay Down your weary heads.”
“Go unto the bosom of the Fury”
“In whose exalted name you bled.”

It clicked, and Sanson felt… empathy swell so deep within him at the sorrow in her song.

“The song to send the souls unto the heavens… this is what it was.” Guydelot breathed out quietly.

Sanson turned to look at him, and saw him utterly entranced by the song.

As entranced as he himself was… Guydelot’s life were these songs.

He supposed it made sense that his fire burned brightest among those who could sing them.

Someone he knew he couldn’t be.

Still, now was not the time for such musings.

Sanson apologized for trying to force her to sing the requiem when it wasn’t its time, and she understood.

Perhaps she saw in his eyes that he too had lost good and honest men and women… there was an empathy between them that made it feel like maybe, even for a brief moment they were able to share their pain. All was forgiven, and even if it wasn’t the song that they were looking for, he felt mayhaps they all had left better for it.

Celaine looked between the two of them, and gave one last bit of advice before she let them leave.

“I shall learn to savor the time I have with my comrades… as should you.” She said, motioning to Guydelot and Sanson.

The two were taken aback, but she had continued.

“The two of you bicker like an old couple, but life is too short to waste squabbling with your own. So cast aside your differences, and have joy in each other’s company while you still can.” She said with a smile.

At the word “couple” Sanson felt his cheeks burning, and he looked shyly up to Guydelot.

The bard merely rolled his eyes and shrugged, and Sanson felt almost disappointed by that.

Guydelot really couldn’t care less about him, and Sanson couldn’t fathom why that stung so much.

Bury it.

He did, with everything else.

They had another lead, and with it a new destination.

To Tailfeather they would go, another step toward what would hopefully be a swift end to their journey.

Chapter Text

They made their way to Tailfeather, and Sanson was tired.

Not physically mind you, though the trek was quite long, but mentally it was all so taxing.

Guydelot had kept the Hero of Eorzeas attention the whole trip. It was as if he was trying to forget that Sanson was there.

He wrote in his journal the events of the day to try and distract himself, but he felt like it was obvious Guydelot would be happy if he weren’t here at all.

Bury it… just bury it.

He kept telling himself that… but the more he told himself the more he wondered how much he could keep doing so until his feelings burst overflowing from the grave he was trying to put them in.

He felt these distressing emotions come to a head whenever they got to the camp.

“Tell me, Hero. What do you think of Celaine’s inner struggles?” Guydelot had asked.

And the Warrior of Light had woven words that themselves sounded like could become a song, his heart fluttering at the poetry that spilled out of the hero’s mouth.

Guydelot smiled, “That’s some deep stuff, Hero. Truly insightful. A pity that’s all lost on Sanson. The bastard’s got eyes for not but his bloody tome.” He mused.



Sanson kept his straight face, informing the Warrior of Light that they would need to sit and wait for their lead to come back to them, which may take some time. The Warrior of Light decided they would use that time to get to other matters, and left.

Sanson turned heel, not even addressing Guydelot as he went to the inn to get them a room.

He groaned when again there was one room available, a single queen sized bed no less.

He told the man at the counter of Guydelot and gave him a description so he could get a key to the room. Otherwise he’d deal with explaining their sleeping situation later, knowing Guydelot probably had already hit the bars.

A few hours of him not returning and Sanson knew he wasn’t going to be back that night.

He had probably found someone. Some pretty Elezen thing or a Hyuran woman…

Guydelot would no doubt sing songs to them… share that beautiful voice with them…

Sanson stripped himself down, grabbing the oversized shirt from his bag as he slipped it on.

He’d whisper nothings to her… hold her close like she was precious…

Sanson crawled into the bed, laying down as he felt his heart grow heavy.

He’d laugh with her… and have that light in his eyes…

A laugh he’d never have with Sanson… a light that wouldn’t ever shine Sanson’s way.

Bury it.

He’d sing and be wonderful and free in a way that he couldn’t be around Sanson.

Bury it.

And when he came back he’d lose it… lose all of those passions because Sanson was nothing to him… not even someone worth arguing against…

Bury. It…

. . .

He couldn’t…

Sanson curled into himself.

He wanted Guydelot to see him. He wanted Guydelot to acknowledge him. Even if it was just in the way they argued and bickered, which was the only time he could get Guydelot to really truly look at him.

Knowing he was off losing himself in someone else just so that way he didn’t have to come back was agony…

More than that… the thought of him buried in someone else causing that familiar arousal to sit in his gut… and he felt betrayed by his body as it immediately gravitated to that.

Why… he said he wouldn’t do it again, but now with the bard gone and Sanson alone and unable to bury this horrid pining, he could only think of what he was doing with someone else… If he closed his eyes he could still hear the deep moans and soft noises in the Fortemps spare home, and his body traitorously reacted to it.

It was perverse… pathetic that he was so starved for any sort’ve attention from the man that he was chasing vague sounds and memories from a night that he shouldn’t even have been part of…

Still… he couldn’t bury it anymore.

He lifted the shirt feeling it pool at his waist as he touched along his thighs, closing his eyes and focusing hard on those vague memories as he felt his shaft curl hard against his belly as he shuddered.

If Guydelot didn’t see him as anything it was fine…

It was fine so long as he could pretend.

He had stroked himself with that thought, eyes screwed shut as he panted, bringing himself higher and higher with nothing but fleeting images of the bard dancing behind his eyelids to drive him.

And he had been close… oh so close…

When he heard the loud clatter of something hit the floor.

He jolted, sitting up as he stared in shock toward the door.

There was Guydelot, with the telltale sway and flush of someone very drunk in the doorway.

The man regarded him for a moment, before glancing to the side with a pout, “Well uh, bad time.” He mumbled out, “s’fine. I’ll go.”

The disinterest in his voice… it stung harder than anything else.

“Wait.” The word was out before Sanson could stop it.

But stop Guydelot did, and he looked back at him with unfocused eyes.

“C-Couldn’t… find a bedmate?” Sanson asked.

Guydelot scratched the back of his head, “S’a hunting town, most people go to sleep right early… so no, couldn’t… No one’s up for it tonight.” Guydelot sounded disappointed...

He didn't have anyone to share his company with.


It was sad, pathetic even but… if it meant the man would finally look at him…

He could pretend…

“Then come to bed… because I am.” Sanson had said, his heart hammering in his chest as the words left him.

Guydelot blinked, his eyes going wide as if the offer was an impossibility.

Still… he made his way forward, closing the door and stripping himself down to his smallclothes.

This was fine… even if he was just this once.

He’d be the center of this unobtainable bard’s attention.


Guydelot wanted to fuck Sanson… and had been frustrated beyond measure that was all he could think about.

He had always scoffed at anyone who criticized him for his sexual vigor, but this time he really was not having how hard it was to let go of this want

Not when they slept in the same room.

Not when he was dragged around on escapades with him.

Guydelot had tried to get those urges out, he had his pick of many hyuran and elezen men and women that he had eagerly gone to bed with during his stay at Falcon’s Nest.

What bothered him is he seemed to have a type now.

Hyuran men and women, or elezen women who stood a bit shorter than he… long brown hair… pale skin...

Even he knew he was just substituting for what his body seemed to really want.

It was frustrating, maddening even. Everytime Sanson opened his mouth it upset or angered him, and it was obvious the captain didn’t like him at all from the ugly looks he gave when he was in his company. Lately even when he tried to be complacent and not argue it seemed like it was only getting worse.

Yet he still wanted to bed him, and it was an urge stronger than all the hate and distaste he harbored.

He’d heard of hate sex and didn’t think it was an actual thing, fantasizing about bedding your enemies, but he was wholly convinced it was a thing now.

Still, if how Sanson usually reacted to his serenading was any indicator the man not only would reject him, but never let him live it down.

So he’d deal with this by ignoring him as best he could and finding substitutes till the end of this damn mission. Then he could get as far away from The Captain as humanly possible.

When they came to Tailfeather, and Sanson had stormed off in whatever offense Guydelot had done him this time, he went straight to the bar.

He was… less than pleased.

Unlike The Falcon’s nest, which was filled with individuals fair of skin from the overcast sky and lithe frames from freer disciplines, the people here were thick with muscle from hunting, and tan from the sun. They were a beautiful people… but weren’t good replacements.

As it stood he didn’t want to bed any of them and it was beyond frustrating.

So, Guydelot drank, in hopes that maybe he’d feel some sort’ve attraction to the people in the bar.

When hours passed and he was still just as disinterested as when he walked in, he huffed and decided to go to the inn.

Being this drunk at least meant he’d most likely pass out the second he got comfortable.

That was the plan… until he opened the door and was met with a sight that tore the breath from him.

There was Sanson, the young Captain in nothing but that gods damned shirt that hung low on his neck and was hiked up past his ribs. His chest and neck were flushed the most delicious pink, lips raw and red from how hard he was biting them as he held back sweet noises. A hand was wrapped around his cock, the organ swollen and leaking heavily as the other hand gripped harsly into the sheets beneath him. His hair was shiny with sweat, and his lashes were glittering with unshed tears.

That gods damn gorgeous sight was burning itself into his retinas and he couldn’t stop looking.

The bottle of mead he had with him slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly on the ground and causing Sanson to jolt out of his sexual high.

When their eyes met he tried to leave… but…

“C-Couldn’t… find a bedmate?” Sanson asked.

“S’a hunting town, most people go to sleep right early… so no, couldn’t… No one’s up for it tonight.” Guydelot lied.

“Then come to bed… because I am.” Sanson had said, his voice twinged with sex and need.

Guydelot’s heart fluttered in a strange way, and maybe it was how drunk he was, but he didn’t miss a beat as he stripped himself down, closing the door and climbing into bed as he hovered over the other man. He wrapped his hands around Sanson’s back, pulling him up into his lap and pressing their hips together as the man’s legs slid around his waist easily.

This had to be a dream, he was passed out in the bar or something similar…

Holding Sanson’s face in his… taking in the way The small hyur’s breath hitched and his body trembled he knew it wasn’t…

It was real… this was real…

Guydelot pressed his forehead to the other man’s, savoring the warmth between them for a moment.

Then he kissed the trembling little thing in his arms.

Sanson made a soft noise as Guydelot melded their lips together, the bard taking note of the clumsy way he kissed back and the surprised moan the other had let out when he licked into his mouth.

Was this…

“Mh… you’ve…” Guydelot tried to talk between softer kitten kisses he planted against Sanson’s lips before he pulled away a bit, “you’ve never done this before…”

Sanson panted, the man flushed and looking high from the entire experience. When he regained himself a bit, the lancer closed his eyes in slight frustration, “Does… does that matter?” He breathed out, “Is…” The captain’s voice took a different tone, “Am I no good for you…?”

Guydelot’s ears perked up at the twinge in his voice, something he’d never heard from The Captain.

A voice that was shaky, fragile… dejected

Guydelot didn’t want that, not now. Not when he finally had him.

So he surged back into the kiss, shuddering a bit at how raw it was. He ran his tongue against Sanson’s swollen lower lip, his tongue catching gently on where it had split open and milking a soft moan from the other man.

Sanson clung weakly to the bard's shoulders, seeming content to let Guydelot explore his mouth at his own pace.

Guydelot was a bit grateful for this, as he was very drunk, and had a lot to muddle through in his drunken brain.

When Sanson had asked him to bed, he thought the man mayhaps was after a tryst, that mabe Guydelot was a means to an end, and Guydelot would’ve been okay with that.

It was obvious, however; that Sanson had no experience. From the way he was kissing and how he reacted he hadn’t even been kissed before and that was... troubling.

That meant Guydelot had stolen his first kiss… this knowledge left him with a curious feeling.

Guydelot remembered his firsts. His first kiss and his first time especially. No matter how many drunken trysts he went through he’d never really forget them.

He didn’t know what came over the lancer, but he had no doubt the captain would regret this in the morning.

He’d regret it more if they kept going.

Still, Sanson rolled his hips needily and Guydelot rut against his automatically in response.

The bard was drunk, smashed really, and Sanson was all he’d wanted for weeks now.

If he was going to stop this, he had to put a lid on it now.

“Mh-wait-” Guydelot tried to get out, pulling away slightly and growling a bit into the kiss when Sanson chased his lips, the hyuran man managing to get a few more soft kisses in before Guydelot got a good hold on his wrists.

“N- What?” Sanson breathed out, the man looking frustrated beyond measure.

“H-how far did you even want to go?” Guydelot managed to grit out, clenching his teeth when Sanson rocked against him before grabbing his hips instead to still them.

Sanson panted, letting out a soft whine, “I-I thought it was pretty obvious when I said I was okay with you bedding me.” He breathed out as he used his now free hands to pull Guydelot into another kiss.

Seven Hells he didn’t have enough hands for this horny shite.

Guydelot let him, his thoughts muddled as he kept struggling against the current that was Sanson Smyth. He just wanted to give in and let himself drink deep of whatever this was.

Before he knew it, the bard’s heart skipped a beat when he felt hands on his cock.

Guydelot glanced down between kisses, a sharp intake of breath leaving him when he saw Sanson running those calloused but delicate fingers along his cock, his shaft twitching appreciatively in his hands.

Gods it was so good… it had heat coiling in his belly…

He was going to ruin him...

. . .

Wait wait.

“S-Sanson stop!” he ordered, gripping hard at the Captain’s wrists and panting as he rest his forehead on the hyur’s shoulder, “if you’re that damn desperate for me to get you off then let me do it and put you to bed yeah? Don’t touch anymore.”

He was too drunk to deal with how forward he was being, especially when it was taking every bit of his willpower to keep from pinning him down.

Sanson stilled at his words, finally.

“Are you really this opposed to doing this with me? Even drunk and wanting as you are?” Sanson said quietly against his ear.

“M’not opposed to getting you off if that’s what you’re asking, I just don’t wanna fuck you, so stop touching me.” Guydelot mumbled out.

Yeah, they could fuck later when the bard had his head on straight and could focus and not keep forgetting that burying himself into this beautiful man in a spontaneous fit of passion was a bad idea.

“You don’t want to because it’s me…?” Sanson asked.

“Took you that long to figure it out?” Guydelot drawled out, “Yeah, no shite.”

If Guydelot were sober maybe he’d understand how bad that sounded.

How instead of it sounding like he wanted Sanson to think about it, because he gave a pretty big shit about the man keeping his first special, how it sounded like something far more cold and disinterested.

Guydelot however was not sober… he was drunk, far too drunk to notice the way Sanson’s breath hitched and he gripped at the sheets… how he trembled so at his words.

“...get on with it then.” Sanson said quietly.

Guydelot let out a soft breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in, happy he was finally getting things his way.

And then he got to work.

He placed gentle kisses on Sanson’s neck, kissing up the man’s collarbone gently as he shifted them back a bit. The bard tucked himself back to his smallclothes and ignored the disappointment that gnawed at the back of his brain as he settled a knee between Sanson’s thighs and rubbed it against his hardness.

Sanson let out a keen and it spurred the bard on further.

Guydelot tugged Sanson’s shirt off, drinking in the sight of the man completely nude as he pressed him back on the bed, kissing down the expanse of his skin and raking his eyes on as much of the man as possible. He let his kisses fall lower and lower, pausing at the perfectly shaven swell of his arousal.

He’d have to ask what caused him to have a preference for not having any hair at all down south, not that it wasn’t appreciated as he took the man’s hardness in his mouth, humming around his shaft before hollowing his cheeks as he gave his shaft a gentle suck.

“A-Ah~!” Sanson moaned, squirming on the bed as his legs parted, allowing Guydelot to slide close as he arched off the bed.

Guydelot felt that familiar swell of pride he felt when he was able to turn him into a flushed mess.

Still with how he was thrusting up into the bard’s mouth Guydelot was happy he wasn't a well endowed Hyuran bedmate. He was much easier to take in mouth than other conquests.

Not that he’d tease the young captain about his size when it was to his liking.... Especially not now where he had him singing the most beautiful notes.

But then, The bard picked up a small hitch in Sansons breath, his voice became shaky.

Guydelot glanced upward, and his heart clenched a bit at the sight.

Sanson was crying, an arm fell over his eyes but he could see the stutter in the Captain’s chest and hear the choked sobs.

Guydelot’s heart clenched, and he pulled off his cock, crawling up Sanson’s body and gently removing his hand from his face.

Those bright blue eyes glimmered with sadness, and Guydelot’s heart clenched in a vise.

“Don’t you-” Sanson’s breath hitched, the man closing his eyes as he blinked away tears, “Don’t you dare stop, Guydelot.”

The young Captain’s voice lacked the authoritative bite it usually had, instead those quivering words sounded so empty…

So fragile…

Guydelot didn’t say anything, nodding as he took Sanson’s shaft in hand, pumping it as he leaned down and kissed gently over his face.

He meant it as a way to comfort, but Sanson only sobbed more, wrapping his arms around the bard’s neck and holding him close, clinging to him as he chased sweet release.

Then Sanson said those words.

Three little words.

Words that weren’t so little coming from him.

“I hate you…” he whispered out, trembling and clinging to Guydelot like he was the only thing keeping him grounded. “I hate you so much…You’ve ruined me... and I hate it...”


The vise that had Guydelot’s heart gripped a bit too tight.

No, his heart wasn’t just being squeezed, it was being torn. The bard knew heartbreak… it had been such a long time since it marred him so.

Actually he couldn’t think of a time it was this bad…

A sobering clarity washed over him and Guydelot remembered why taking his first kiss was a bad idea. Why doing this was a bad idea.

Sanson was going to hate himself every time he remembered this first experience… and it was anguish to think about.

Guydelot wished he could take the memories from him…

. . .

He thought to himself… maybe he could. If a Bard’s power came from a want to help others then… maybe he could.

Guydelot returned the hug with his free hand, holding Sanson tight and nuzzling against the side of his head, kissing the shell of the lancers ear as he pleasured him.

And then he sang.

“Sleep my love… close your eyes, and when you awaken…”

“The new day will bring to you a bright new world…”

Sanson’s ears perked at the song, and he struggled weakly, letting out soft moans as he arched up, caught between wanting to move away but wanting to thrust more into Guydelot’s hand.

As Guydelot sang, Sanson’s struggles became weaker and weaker

“Always so tenderly I watch… So go to sleep, my love.”

Sanson came with a deep moan, his hips stuttering and the bard milking his shaft, feeling the thick fluid spill on his hands and hit his torso.

And then Sanson slowed and stilled, his shaky breathes even as he lay dead asleep in the bard’s hold.

This wasn't right, what he had hoped he had just done was awful.

Maybe Sanson would wake up from this and think it nothing more than a fever dream, The Bard could only hope that was the case.

He cleaned and dressed the other man up and tucked him in, sighing as he went back out to the bars.

It didn't matter if he didn't want to bed someone tonight. He'd do so to perpetuate the lie he wanted Sanson to believe.

So that the lancer didn't have to suffer with any thoughts that he had let someone he hated touch and tarnish him.

If it saved Sanson that heartache, one he knew too well, it was a lie worth telling.

Chapter Text

When Sanson woke that morning he felt empty.

His body felt like lead, and his heart felt heavy. He had been staring at the cold empty side of the bed for what felt like hours with nothing to accompany him but a numb feeling in his chest.

Last night had been a dream. He wanted so bad to accept that as his reality. He had been desperate and stupid and pining for the bard's attention for so long that he had finally snapped…

He tried to tell himself that, but despite how muddled his brain was there was no mistaking the bottle of mead that lay rolled onto the floor.

The handkerchief that had been used to clean him in one of the waste bins.

Sanson was a lot of things. Young, probably not as experienced as other captains in his field, and was definitely sometimes a little too trusting… but he wasn't that naive.

As someone who saw war and treachery in his daily life he couldn't afford to be.

Guydelot had been back, had been near him, cleaned him up, and then had gone back out to the bars and was most likely waking in the arms of some stranger.

Sanson had been here, willing with legs open and ready to be taken up by him…

And he had been rejected, the elezen having pitied him enough to finish him off before going and finding someone else to warm his bed despite his earlier inability to do so.

Guydelot even tried to get him to forget, the song that muddled his memories ringing heavy in his head.

Had Guydelot not been so clumsy, Sanson probably would have bought into this being a dream. He guessed it was a good enough attempt considering the elezen had been smashed, but he would never overlook a cover up that was this… sloppy.

He didn't know how to feel about it all. On the one hand he was angry, Guydelot had messed with his memories, or at least attempted to. No matter his intentions that was a breach of trust, and was manipulative to a point that he had half a mind to find the man and flog him.

On the other hand part of him was glad that his memories were a bit of a blur, and that they hadn't gone too far. By the way things went Guydelot wouldn't have felt anything had they gone all the way. He would have used Sanson and the young Captain would have let him.

Though he had been okay with it last night, this morning he could only feel ashamed of how little he cared about his self worth. Part of him wanted to thank Guydelot for giving him time to think and realize that his impulsiveness would have been a mistake. He would have regretted it had he given himself up only to be used and tossed aside and ignored after.

Whether he was upset at Guydelots’ actions or thankful for them, it was glaringly clear the bard didn't want anything to do with last night.

This was fine. Sanson had no reason to let the bard know that his plans at keeping him from remembering last night had failed.

He supposed he didn't have anyone but himself to blame for this. He knew the elezens feelings for him from the beginning. He was relieved that he had finally gotten some sort of wake up call, the slap to the face that this had been finally got through to him.

This solidified that nothing would ever be between them but poison.

So Sanson closed his eyes and let out a long drawn-out exhale before getting out of bed and dressing himself.

He had a hero to meet soon, and a mission he was on.

As he stood and waited for the warrior of light outside, one of the hunters huts opened up its doors revealing Guydelot and a smaller Elezen man. The stranger leaned up and whispered something into the bard's ear, and Guydelot gave an impish smirk as he kissed the others temple.

A wave of hurt hit Sanson, a hurt so fierce that he felt slightly nauseous, but it numbed very quickly compared to the last few times he felt this way.

This was how things were. This is how they had always been. This was reality.

Sanson had dealt with far worse realities than a broken heart.

A broken heart didn't mean knocking on someone's door and telling them someone they loved would never come home again. A broken heart didn't mean watching one of his soldiers be eviscerated when just a few hours before they were having lunch together.

He had been faced with so many horrible realities, he couldn't let this one bother him.

Not when there was work to be done.

He had gone on this mission with a goal, but now too much had happened for this to fail. He'd gone through too much heartbreak for something not to come out of this.

So Sanson opened up his journal, writing his report with an extra modicum of professionalism as he kept his words curt and focused on the pros. When Guydelot walked next to him in order to wait for the Hero of Eorzea, no words were said between them.

This was fine, He’d focus on results because the reality of the situation was that anything they shared between them would be nothing but a poison.

Sanson had his fill of poison already.


Guydelot didn't really know how to feel.

He had found some pretty little thing and managed to forget his troubles, enjoying the morning after more than he usually did. He was always grateful when one of his bedmates was fine with a no-strings-attached tryst and felt the same way when they woke up the next day.

After the mead and ale was gone from his system, having been pissed and fucked and slept away, he was left with a sobering clarity as he woke up.

There was warmth in his arms, someone to cuddle, no doubt there would be so many more he could find that would be willing to be held like this.

Despite that, all he wanted was to be back in that inn room, holding onto the lean, corded waist of a hyuran man with long, soft hair… pretty doe eyes… kissable lips…

That was something that would have to be a fleeting fancy, maybe one day a song that would allow him to look back fondly on that brief moment.

A moment that was in the past, and this was the present. Now he had to get up and go back to work.

When he saw Sanson standing not too far away from the hut as he stepped out, writing away in that Godsdamned book of his, he felt almost a little upset that the lancer barely spared him a glance before going back to his report.

That's what the bard had wanted though, wasn't it? For him to not remember so things could go back to the way they were?

Had he really thought so little of the bard when he propositioned him to bed?

It could have just been stress. Or maybe a way to try and placate the bard to be more receptive to his orders.

Guydelot guessed it didn’t matter. The elezen went and stood by Sanson, pulling out his harp and plucking it as he fine tuned it. Sanson didn’t give a word of greeting, didn’t so much as look at him.

Guydelot had never felt so relieved and so disappointed at the same time.

So they waited for the Hero of Eorzea in silence, Guydelot not wanting to break the calmness that was rare between them.

No sooner had the hero arrived however, word came that the very person they were waiting for had been attacked by the gnath. It fell upon the three of them to go to the rescue, and they were back in sync.

At least this would pose a distraction.

When they fought together Guydelot could forget the uncertainty of their partnership and just feel. Emotions were raw and beautiful things, and when you cast away the logic behind your thoughts everything just flowed.

Like this the bard could forget his thoughts about Sanson, throw out the confusing monologues in his head and know that in these moments he just wanted him to win, to survive.

His songs rung true, and Sanson got a boon for it.

As he sang, however; he noticed something wrong.

Sanson, no matter what mood he’d been in, had always looked so raw when he heard the songs of bards. Heart aflutter like he was truly in tune with the power given to him.

Even if he didn’t have a musical bone in his body, Guydelot had always felt an appreciation and small endearment from how much Sanson seemed to understand and empathize with a song.

But something had changed in the captain's expression. The little fire that he had in him when he was under a bard's spell had twisted into something numb.

Like the songs Guydelot sang and the boons he was gaining was something that he was putting up with instead of feeling like he usually did.

The thought left a heavy feeling in the pit of Guydelot's stomach.

By the end of their fight he found himself a little bit shaken from it, like something had been lost between them.

Immediately after saving the person meant to shed light on their song they hit another snag on this fool's errand. Usually Guydelot would find the snags amusing, but too much was bothering him about it all.

The numb way the captain looked, the contempt he exuded when hearing his songs…

It had never bothered him before, but now after everything that happened this felt like it was the last thing that was keeping him on this ridiculous mission. The one thing they had between them, music, songs and sound alike had been tarnished.

With everything now gone between them… he felt no need to be here.

Rather, he felt like he needed to get away from Sanson as quickly as possible.

"If you ask me, it sounds like naught but a faerie tale. We've hit a dead end, we should return to Gridania and seek out other avenues." Guydelot said quickly.

Home. He wanted to go home, orders be damned.

Hed sooner turn in his bow than spend one more day torturing himself in Sansons presence.

He was so tired of it. His heart was still raw and from knowing just how much he was hated, and the one thing that he thought he could share between them just wasn't there anymore.

And yet at his words, Sansons eyes flared with a different light.

Rage. So much rage.

"If you ask me I think it's far too early to draw conclusions. I will continue searching until I find a definite answer, if you wish to abandon our mission I will not stop you." The Lancer had spat out, turning to him. " but know that you would be judged a deserter. You would lose your place in the God's quiver, and that's exactly what your superiors would have intended."

The contempt in Sansons eyes made an anger of his own lick up his body.

Guydelot wanted to bite back, but he held his tongue as he kept his arms crossed, his stare even.

He needed to hear it. He needed to hear whatever thoughts were going to spill out of Sansons mouth.

He needed Sanson to push him away himself so he didn’t feel like he was abandoning this.

"Look, Guydelot. You of all people must know the true reason why they chose you for this mission. They wanted you out of the way, wanted you to be someone else's problem. Your skills had nothing to do with it."

It hurt. Guydelot knew he was meant to be a hindrance. Deadweight put on Sanson meant to slow him down and make him fail.

Aye he knew it, but by his tone Sanson seemed to agree with his superiors.

"And it's no different with me! I was a thorn in their side, demanding cooperation when they were loath to give it! They were pleased to get rid of me all the same. That's why we must succeed and find the ballad of Oblivion!"

So that was it then. He finally said it.

Sanson only put up with him because he had something to prove. Because a captain who couldn't rise over a burden like him and properly do the mission he set out on was worthless. It was never about bringing song to the battlefield, just that he couldn't stand the idea of not being acknowledged for his proposals. It's no wonder he was a captain so young with how he pined after results and recognition.

He was an Adder through and through… how had he forgotten that?

A calming clarity filled Guydelot, and he let out a small sigh.

"If you want to find that song so badly you can bloody well do it yourself." The bard responded

If he was just an obstacle then he would remove himself from the equation. Sanson could go find his stupid song and learn that his folly was his own and no one else's.

"You're no bard, I doubt you even understand what gives the song its power. Yet here you are gallivanting about searching for one. To you this song is just a way to curry favor with the brass hats. Well, that's an insult to honest to gods bard's like me and our hero here."

A song had to come from the heart, the song soothes ailments because the singer wishes to ease their friends pain, strengthens because there is faith in the one they are singing to.

Without heart, a song was just words, just notes plucked from an instrument. There had to be feeling there just as Guydelot had felt on their adventures.

Even when he had soothed Sanson to sleep, there had been a want to steal away his nightmares, to keep that restlessness away.

A want for him to be happy.

Yet all he seemed to do was bring Sanson problems... bring him pain.

"I hate you… you've ruined me… and I hate it."

If he was here to bring this man to ruin, if his presence was doing that much, then he just wouldn't be here.

As Guydelot turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of hurt in Sanson's eyes, like he had just realized something and that something was a mistake.

It gave his heart a painful twinge, but he ignored it as he turned heel and strode off.

If they were meant to fail together from the start, Better for only one of them to take the fall.

Guydelot didn't mind volunteering.

Chapter Text

Sanson didn't know why he was waiting.

He told the Warrior of Light he would wait to see if Guydelot would come around. He hoped that maybe if not for him, that the bard would have come back for the hero that had become such a good friend to them.

He waited, and the days passed.

It became apparent the bard wasn’t coming back, but he still wanted to wait and see, hoping that maybe he’d have a chance to rectify things at least a little bit.

Sanson had said a lot of things in the moment, frustrated and unwilling to give up as he was. The bard probably knew all of the things Sanson said, and yet he raked him through the coals to try and force him to stay on this mission using his pride as leverage.

Yet no matter how easily those poison tipped words left his mouth, once he realized his mistake Sanson couldn’t find the words to stop him leaving.

He could only watch as he walked away.

He loved those songs so much… when had this just become a mission to him and not a passion born of the good he knew bards could do?

He had been so aggressive, full of vitriol and this was the result. Whether he was right or not didn't change the fact that he had wronged Guydelot and now he was gone.

Well… maybe not gone.

He heard that the elezen man had been sighted a few times, and it became apparent that he was probably still in tailfeather somewhere.

After a bit of deliberating he decided that he would go to the bar that Guydelot had gone to. Maybe he'd catch the bard drinking and trying to pick up someone, and though he didn’t want to ruin any fun the bard might have, he wanted to at least try to make amends.

It was the right thing to do not just as a captain who wronged one of his men… but as a person.

So he stayed and had a drink.

When the drink helped take the edge off of his nerves and trepidation, one drink quickly turned to three more.

Drunk as he was he had a few people swing over and ask if he wanted company, he refused every one of them as he nursed another drink.

After a time, when the sun was long gone, it became very clear he would not be seeing Guydelot this night.

He moved to get up, only to feel the drunkness catching up with him as he swayed onto his feet.

He tilted, and would have hit the floor had someone not kept him from falling.

"Hey there poppet. Do be careful, don't want you cracking that pretty skull of yours."

Sanson blinked, looking up with unfocused eyes at his savior.

It was an elezen man, tan with deep eyes and jet black hair and a warm smile.

He recognized him as one of the hunters, The Hero of Eorzea seemed to know him well.

"You're one of the Warrior of Lights’ friends eh?”

“Yes… Sanson Smyth, a pleasure.” He replied, slowly coming back to himself as the elezen helped him to sit back down on the bar stool.

“What's a pretty little thing like you doing here all by yourself? I figured you'd have the company of your friends." He laughed, “Two bards make for wonderful company I’d think.”

Sanson smiled sadly, feeling a small twinge in his chest "We had a bit of a falling out… That’s all…”

The man’s smile turned soft at that, looking genuinely sorry for the young captain, “Care to talk about it?”

Sanson really didn’t.

The lancer shifted uncomfortably, and the hunter seemed to notice. “Or, we could chat till yer spirits are lifted a bit, either one works fine. Might want to sober up before you go back to the inn too, t’wouldn’t do to have you get picked up by some unsavory folk because you don’t have your wits about ye. We try to be an honest lot here but we get the occasional scum skulkin’ about in the night hours.”

Sanson smiled warmly at that, “Maybe in your company I could find myself drinking a bit more?” He quipped as he ordered another drink, “You’re a good man… maybe the type of man I should be looking at instead of blasted bards…”

The man blinked owlishly and brought his hands up in defense, “I-If you’re lookin’ for THAT sort’ve company m’afraid i’m not it, not that yer not quite the prize, jus I got a wife at home.”

Sanson chuckled at that, “Best be careful with calling others pretty then. One could get the wrong impression.”

The elezen man laughed, “She ain’t the jealous type. She knows full well m’loyal to her. Nothin wrong with tellin people they’re pretty’n they are. She does it plenty with the strappin’ lads and lassses around and i’d have to agree with her.”

Sanson traced the rim of his glass as he relaxed . “Mm… then if that’s all your doing even more reason to have you as company… it’ll be nice to just have someone to talk to that has no ill intentions.”

“Hear hear!” The man said as he draped an arm around Sanson’s shoulder and ordered a drink for himself, “Well, tell me more about yerself Sanson Smyth!”

Sanson smiled, downing his drink and ordering another as he got comfortable with his new friend.

Another turned to another… and another.

Soon the both of them were laughing and leaning on each other.

“Ah… I needed that laugh… really I did.” Sanson said as he smiled up at the other man.

“See Sanson? S’more to life than’ sittin’ and lettin’ yer troubles eat at you eh?” The hunter chuckled out as he cradled the very drunk captain against his chest. “I dunno what happened between you and yer bard friends, but the past is past and gettin’ past the ache is good for movin’ forward.”

Sanson giggled, “Mm… only the one. Guydelot he…" his smile fell slightly, "maybe if things were different I wouldn't regret wanting him close so much."

The hunter let out a long sigh, “Ah, lovin’ a bard. That’s rough.”

Sanson’s cheeks burned, and he shook his head, “Not love. I doubt I could call… well whatever this is love.” He let out a long sigh, glancing up at him, “I just… wanted him to see me. Letting him have me seemed like the easiest way.”

The hunter raised a brow at that, “Yer tellin me a straight laced bloke like you was willin to let im have his way with ya if it meant he’d be lookin? I don’t want to say I know you that well Sanson, but I doubt that.”

Sanson pouted, “What? I can’t be as free spirited just because i’m not a… I’unno free spirit?” He frowned as he swayed in his chair, “Kisses are kisses, he gives’m out all the time. Just because I gave a kiss or anything more doesn’t mean I love him, or even like him.”

“Kisses are kisses eh?” The man chuckled as he tilted Sanson’s chin up, pressing their foreheads together, “By them words, you wouldn't care ‘bout kissin’ anyone. I wouldn’t care bout kisses from anyone else, only m’wife could stir me to more primal urges… are you sayin’ you’d be the same if you kissed him as opposed to someone else?”

Sanson’s felt shy at the sudden intimate closeness, the inebriation dulling it but not fully taking the edge off his mind as he noted the lack of personal space. Still, he was stubborn. “I’ve no doubt it would.”

Thee hunter’s eyes hooded, “Care to test that?” he challenged.

Sanson really shouldn’t. A sober Sanson would’ve said it wouldn’t be appropriate, that the man in front of him was married and even if his wife was fine and good with her husband being so flirtatious he wasn’t the type to just make out with strangers.

This wasn’t a sober Sanson, This was a drunk Sanson that had made so many mistakes already.

He needed to be right about this, because he couldn’t actually like Guydelot. Couldn’t actually want him any more than he thought he did.

So he barely missed a few beats before he was leaning in and kissing the man.

As he surged into the kiss, he realized there was something very different from kissing someone drunk rather than kissing someone sober.

Sober he had been so nervous, not knowing what to do with his hands or how to move his mouth to best fit against his partners. Like this he could just feel… he worked out what felt good to him and went with it.

From the way he was being kissed back, he knew he was doing something right and just went with it.

His head was swimming, it felt good… the more he got into it the more he wanted to just keep it going…

But then he started to see paler skin in behind his eyes, brown hair with teal tips and playful eyes… His heart fluttered as he kissed with more fervor, gripping the other person tighter as he sought out the mouth against his.

After what felt like an eternity, his eyes opened and he was grounded, he stared long and hard at the hunter and felt his heart sink.

It wasn’t him… and suddenly he felt that familiar emptiness… the one that plagued him for so long. He couldn’t deny what that emptiness was now.

To love a bard...huh.

The hunters smile turned slightly sad, “ah… figured it out did you ya poor pretty thing…” He crooned out softly, holding Sanson’s face in his hands as he wiped his thumbs under Sanson’s eyes, wiping tears that spilled down his cheeks.

Sanson hiccuped, closing his eyes and sobbing as he was gently shushed and comforted.

And maybe it was the booze catching up with him, or the stress or a little bit of both, but the room suddenly began to spin and he felt like he was roughly jerked to the side, and the nausea hit him all at once and he blacked out behind his eyes.

Through all the bitter revelations he thought to himself… this is why he didn’t drink.



Guydelot thought himself a lot of things.

He thought he was a very carefree person. It was a vice even he found himself annoyed at most times. It was no surprise to him that he had abandoned this fool's errand Sanson had dragged him on once he felt no attachment to it.

What did surprise him, was how he couldn’t quite bring himself to go home.

Sanson had always been the type to stick to the plan, and now that the plan was good and thoroughly fucked he worried the man wouldn’t be okay.

The thought ate at him for days, and so instead of going home he spent a few days in a settlement on the outskirts of the small hunting village. He eventually decided he was going to check on Sanson to make sure he wasn’t having some sort’ve meltdown.

Guydelot also thought he wasn’t the jealous type. He always thought jealousy was such an ugly and unnecessary emotion. Why be petty over what you didn’t have or couldn’t have?

If he was wanted and he wanted then they had, if not then that was that. There was no reason to cry over someone when the only way they’d be with you is if it was forced, just the thought put him off.

He told himself that, and yet when he finally tracked down Sanson at the tavern he had gone to their first night there, he couldn’t help but feel immediately apprehensive.

Sanson was with one of the hunters, laughing and VERY drunk if the amount of glasses next to him were his. The hunter had a hand around him, keeping him intimately close as the two talked and enjoyed each other's company.

What in seven hells was this annoying twinge, it was unlike him and he wanted to go out and kill something.

He probably would have if he could move… instead he couldn’t stop himself from watching as the air between the two changed.

He watched as the hunter gently tilted Sanson’s chin up, saying something softly to him.

Sanson’s eyes hooded, cheeks flushed as he searched the eyes of the hunter above him.

And then they were kissing, all curious and soft. It was a scene Guydelot had seen so many times, been a part of so many times.

This was the first time he ever felt ill seeing it.

The kisses deepened, and Guydelot closed his eyes, slowly counting back to keep himself from doing something he would regret.

When he opened them, Sanson was crying, looking absolutely anguished and looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

So much for stopping himself.

He strode over, grabbing the hunter roughly and yanking him out of his chair.

“Mind telling me what in the seven hells you’re doing making my comrade here cry?” Guydelot said, tone even but an edge of anger in it.

The hunter blinked for a minute as he was tugged up, before giving a cheeky grin, “Yer the bard.” he said, barking out a laugh, “Fancy that!”

He couldn’t help but feel slightly put off at that tone, “You didn’t answer my question.”

The hunter shrugged, “I didn’t make him do anything. He just… realized something.”

Guydelot raised an annoyed brow, “That something being?”

The hunter opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by an an annoyed “Oi!” from the bartender, and the two turned just in time to see Sanson leaned over the side of the bar emptying the contents of his stomach.

The bartender frowned, “If he’s with you lot get him home! He’s done.”

The hunter and half the bar cackled at the poor captain as he began to slump out of his chair.

Guydelot moved forward and steadied him, watching as Sanson groaned and lolled his head to the side, eyes barely open and unfocused.

Nophica’s blooming rosy tits just how much had he drank?

Guydelot sighed, all jealousy and rage gone at the pitiful sight, “I’ll take him. He’s most likely in the same room so I know where it is and have a key.” He said as he hoisted Sanson to lean heavy on him.

The hunter shrugged, “If you insist… just… take care of im ey?”

Guydelot nodded, all animosity forgotten but still not wanting to linger as he heaved the captain out the door.

Or at least tried to, Sanson was boneless and hardly moving his legs, and if he wasn’t looking around deliriously and at least trying to flop one foot in front of the other the bard would think him dead.

“By the bloody twelve- c’mere.” Guydelot groaned out, positioning Sanson at his back and with a bit of effort pulling him up piggyback, “If you blow and get your sick all over me I am going to shove one of my sharpest arrows right up yer arse.”

Sanson let out a pitiful sound, and Guydelot rolled his eyes as he stormed into the inn, going past the innkeep and fishing out his key that he never turned in as he let them in.

Guydelot grunted as he managed to maneuver Sanson onto the bed, removing the outer layers of his outfit and leaving him in a shirt and pants as he pulled off his boots.

Sanson just whined, and Guydelot could tell he was not used to holding his liquor. The room was no doubt still spinning if he was awake, and if not he’d be passed out well into the morning.

Guydelot huffed, situating him better so if he felt sick again he could empty the contents of his stomach into the bin instead of all over the floor.

He stood up, deciding the young captain would be fine like this as he turned to leave.

He was stopped when he felt something snag on his sleeve, and he felt his heart melt a bit when he turned to look back.

Sanson clung to him loosely, lids opening a sliver before slipping closed, his grip tightening a bit.

Guydelot stared down at the hand gently gripping his sleeve, waiting to see if it would go slack, and slumping in defeat when it didn’t.

“Look at you… clinging to me when you would most likely pull away like I was fire if you were awake…” Guydelot murmured out quietly, leaning close, “Don’t you know… I’m no good for you.” he whispered out against Sanson’s ear.

Sanson let out a soft noise in response, his hands coming up and wrapping around Guydelot’s neck as he held him.

Guydelot’s eyes hooded as he let out a long, tired sigh, “Perhaps it’s you that’s no good for me…” he said in defeat as he reached back, lifting his leg and managing to take off a boot, kicking the other off once he got it loose before crawling into the bed and getting comfortable.

Sanson sighed, snuggling close and resting his head on Guydelot’s chest as his hand slid down to grip gently at the others shirt.

Guydelot let him, bringing a hand up and touching his ponytail. After a moment, he hooked a finger on the band, tugging his hair loose before running his fingers through the now free strands.

He stayed like that for a time, just petting Sanson and letting him sleep. Whether it was minutes or hours the bard couldn’t bring himself to care as he watched the way the captains chest rose and fell. He brought his other hand down, pulling Sanson better against him.

Sanson held him closer, murmuring something against his clavicle and letting out what sounded like a content sigh.

The hold did something to Guydelot, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a quiet peace wash over him as he enjoyed just holding the man. The elezen paused, before leaning in and placing a soft kiss to his hair.

A pang tore at his heart…

The kiss was gentle, too gentle and too tender and not enough.

Sanson was warm, and he wanted more than a kiss and his heart ached for it and this was more than he’d ever meant to feel and he knew he had to stop.

This all had to stop.

“I have to go, Sanson…” Guydelot said gently against Sanson’s hair, slowly unclasping the fingers that clung to his shirt “It’s time for you to let go…”

He had to let go.

Eventually he did, and Guydelot got up and put on his boots, pursing his lips as he closed his eyes before going to the door.

He’d watch the captain from afar, make sure that nothing untoward happened to him on his journey, He owed him at least that.

Once he found what he was looking for, once it was over, he reasoned it would be his turn to let this go.

With that in mind, he left the hotel, this time leaving nothing but the ghost of a kiss behind.