Don’t Exceed Your Usefulness
By: Selim
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy Tatics, nor am I making a money off this fanfiction.
Summary: Ramza was always a friend with benefits, some less cultural than others.
Rating: M-18, lime closing in on lemon
Beta’d by: Kyliwolf and Quiet N Cryptic

The fire crackled in the night, completing yet another day of the never ending war. Unable to find sleep, Ramza remained at his post, poking the burning brush with a lengthy stick in order to keep the fire going. Temperatures had done nothing but drop since the sun had gone down. Across from him, on duty that evening was Delita, who was staring longingly at the flames, lost in his own thoughts. The silence bore more and more trouble until, unable to stand it anymore, Ramza decided to be the better man of the two.

“I apologize for my actions during that attack.” Though, in all honesty, he didn’t need to apologize to Delita for thinking he had time to make it towards an enemy rather than revive a knocked out companion. It was just…that look that Delita had given him when they had buried that brave knight, one full of disappointment. “I just thought…”

“It happens,” Delita responded back after some time, his voice stern and unemotional. “But I wonder, had it been my body in that position, would you have rushed to stop that weak chocobo from curing itself or would you have saved me?”

Surprised by the question, Ramza found he could not answer. Of course he would have saved Delita. Damn that chocobo, he would be at his friend’s side until the blood no longer poured from deep wounds. And he should have done the same for anyone else. No one deserved special treatment or lack of treatment just because of who they were, but…he couldn’t find the words to speak it and knew by the hurt look that flashed across his dear friend’s face that his silence had been misinterpreted.

“I suppose it’s fair. Given certain circumstances, I too, would leave you sooner to your death than let the enemies flee,” Delita’s cold voice responded.

“It’s not that, my friend,” Ramza whispered. “I … would feel more if you were to die than I felt today. Given certain circumstances, I would respect that you abandon me for death, but against a chocobo…that would be rather upsetting.” Standing up, he moved over near Delita so surrounding ears couldn’t hear any more of their conversation. “But I would always come back for you, or have someone go to you,” he whispered. “You’re my best friend, I wouldn’t want any hardship to befall you.”

Unintentionally (or perhaps intentionally), Delita’s hand fell to Ramza’s thigh and squeezed. A soothing act had the opposite effect on the blond, who blushed at the contact, but didn’t pull away. “Ramza, that is what I love about you – you’re always there for me.” Delita flashed a sincere smile and stood with a stretch. “You might want to go to sleep though; we still must travel across these plains. Wouldn’t want to fall victim to a wild chocobo, now would we?”

Ramza smiled and stood himself. “I needn’t fear with you around.” He smiled before starting towards his tent. Alone by the fire, Delita held his head high as he spoke, “You can come out now, Argath.”

“Hm.” The blond approached, his arms crossed over his chest. “You fancy Beoulve more than you let on.” Delita turned his head, unable to meet that piercing glare. “You’d be better off returning to a manger.” He started off.

Glaring back at the man, Delita fought the childish urge to stick his tongue out, and the more adult urge to stick his sword through the man. Ramza offered no more than connections. He was no more, no less.

Ramza was breath taking. He’d always been. Whereas his brothers had been born to look like tough men with strong upper bodies, Ramza had been cursed with a feminine build that kept the noble men on the prowl. Pretty, doe-like brown eyes and matching sun-kissed blond hair that contrasted pale skin made the boy look nothing like a soldier.

These characteristics had always fueled some jealousy and possessiveness in Delita since he had first laid eyes on the small boy. Introduced to the child at the age of seven, Delita wasn’t sure what to make of him. Having learned that his life was nothing but added help to nobles, he didn’t trust the boy at all. Yet, past all this, Ramza always treated him like an equal, demanding that Delita be permitted into only the finer academies and played with only the finest of toys. Almost groomed to be noble himself, Delita had found himself (at times) forgetting that he was still a commoner. But the soires that Ramza took him to always reminded the commoner of his place. Nobles, men and women alike, would sneer at the sight of a peasant sipping from their fine wines, touching their hors d’oeuvres, and talking as if he belonged there. But Ramza…Ramza made him feel as if he were one of them. That there were no boundaries between noble blood and common blood.

And then came the suitors for Ramza. Girls would giggle at the teen, saying he wasn’t the one they wanted to marry. Men, on the other hand, flooded to Ramza in waves. Already uncomfortable about being the center of attention, this would make the Beoulve feel even worse. That was why Delita had to stand up and become a knight for his dearest friend. No one could touch what was his. He needed Ramza.

Because without Ramza he was no more common than a cold.

“Haa…Haa…De, Delita!”

Such a forbidden act. They truly were heretics of the church, Delita conceded as he plundered the innocence of his best friend with one thought alone – his own pleasure. The initial entry had brought a scream to the blond who had, unintentionally, alerted his troops that something was amidst. The two didn’t have long before they would be caught in such a sinful position. Ramza, held down like an animal by the enemy, both in the throes of passion.

With a brutal hold, Delita pulled Ramza’s tightened legs further apart to allow better access as he pushed into the blond’s body. No, not the blond’s. Ramza no longer owned his own body. Ever since the Beoulve had held out his hand and introduced himself, Delita knew that he possessed this kind spirit. No one but he would be allowed to touch the flesh hidden below the belt.

This was how it had always been since the night of a grand party, when the men had all but thrown themselves to Ramza’s feet in an effort to court what they assumed was the “first daughter of Lord Beoulve”. Even when told that the young lord who chattered with the ladies, swooned at the stars, and dreamt of a fantasy life was a boy, few believed this to be true. And Delita was more than ready to claim his best friend as his own when Ramza had tilted his head back and asked shyly, “What was this...sex that Lord Nabius mentioned so crudely?”

“S, stop. Hurts…” Ramza whispered, the umpteenth time that evening. “I hate this!” The blond cried softly into the grass.

Smiling, Delita rolled his hips into that spot that would turn the blond into goo. “But, Ramza…we must consummate our friendship. It is the common rule.”

“But…we’re no longer on the same side.” Tense fingers dug deeper into the earth. “During a war, should such laws as consummated trust still exist?”

“You trust me, do you not, Ramza?”

“With all my heart, dear friend,” was the broken response.

“Then we must consummate our eternal bond.” Delita mentally patted himself on the back. Sweet sheltered Ramza. The poor boy only knew that sex was to procreate and was taught that such actions were only done by the most intimate of relations, such as a husband and wife. Naïve Ramza, so easily swayed to believe that this idea was only held by the noblest of men and, amongst commoners, was a symbol of great trust. Delita had twisted it so much that when the time was right, Ramza was easier to bed than a bar wench. “Lift your hips more.”

A grunt. “You do not care about me.”

“I care for you.”

“Lies, if you truly cared you would remain here in the morning!”

Shifting his hips, Delita slowed his thrusts until those tightened muscles began to pull at his hard cock. Ramza’s hips moved back, begging for the other to move faster. To sate that longing desire. “You know that that is impossible. But I’ll be there tomorrow, to hold you sacredly, dear friend.” Again, he pushed into the blockade of muscles, nesting his swollen penis deep inside Ramza’s warm body. “But remember, dearest friend…”

“Nnngh…?” Another moan, a shift of the hips, an approaching release.

“Only I, Ramza, can do this to you.” And with a few more thrusts, he came inside the blond just as the Beoulve came over their bellies. Sated, at least for the evening, Delita kissed both of his friend’s eyelids, wished him a goodnight, and disappeared in the night. “May your usefulness never run out, dearest friend.”