Based on _Final_Fantasy_Tactics_. Characters are owned by Square, makers of the game.
Warning: This fictional story contains obscene language and explicit male/male sex.
You can enjoy this story even if you haven't played the game Final Fantasy Tactics, but you'll understand the characters better if you do!
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Being a Beoulve means sticking up for those who are weak or out-numbered, Ramza thought as he heard threatening voices and saw a distant figure with a golden ponytail standing on the town wall. "Quick, let's lend a hand!" the noble squire told his battle squad. The powerful, blond-haired young warrior charged, knowing that his four devoted comrades were only a half-step behind him.
These enemies were very capable of fighting from long range: wizards, archers, summoners....Ramza took the battle to them, rushing forward to fight hand-to-hand, where he and his group would have the advantage. Early in the battle, he heard a loud crack. Ramza saw that the lone figure was using some strange missile weapon. Good! It was tougher to rescue someone who would simply cower instead of fighting back.
Several minutes later, the enemies had been routed. Ramza's lean muscles ached a little with the exertion and sweat dripped down his face and neck as he sheathed his sword. He approached the person he'd saved.
The figure clothed in blue breeches and a yellow woolen tunic was a good-looking boy, probably a year or two younger than Ramza. "Thank you for helping me," the long-haired youth said in a pleasant tenor voice. "Those thugs were from Bart Company; they can be a determined bunch."
For an instant, Ramza looked into the young man's deep brown eyes, evaluating. There was bravery and vitality in those big eyes. "No problem," he said, smiling warmly. "I'm Ramza Beoulve."
"I'm Mustadio Bunansa," the stranger said. "I hope you don't think I'm ungrateful, but I'd better be off. I've got to get to Goug City."
"We have business there too," said Ramza. (Just a little white lie!) His light-blond hair blew into his eyes and he brushed it back irritably. "There's safety in numbers, right? If this 'Bart Company' really wants you, we ought to go together."
Mustadio stepped forward. Something told him to trust this squire, even though he was obviously an officer of the Hokuten. Or was it that Mustadio wanted to trust him? He was strong, his eyes shone with intelligence and his voice was kind and certain. His actions had been honorable, too.
"I can't afford to trust anyone completely, not even someone who just saved my life," Mustadio said after a moment. "But I agree that there is safety in numbers. If you're okay with me not telling you everything, I will accept your offer."
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Just past sunset, Ramza sat alone, soaking in the men's side of the hot spring. He knew his squad members were on the other side; occasionally he could hear their voices. Ramza's decision to accept only female soldiers had been purely professional; women could become Dancers if they trained long and intensely enough. Besides that, they could use various powerful accessories and weapons that men just didn't have the ability to handle.
The cost of the potential for greatness of the female soldiers was that Ramza often didn't have anyone to talk to as a close friend. But he didn't usually feel lonely. What mattered was the mission, not whether he had a confidante or a best buddy.
Ramza got out of the bubbling, slightly pungent water after a good soak. He heard light footfalls and turned his head to see Mustadio. The blonde youth was wearing just a white towel around his waist and Ramza quickly turned his eyes back to the trees and the cloudy sky so that Mustadio wouldn't think he was staring. Still, he could see in his mind's eye the thin-but-strong arms, the slim legs, the tapered waist, the full pink lips of the young man's mouth.
For his part, Mustadio couldn't look away as Ramza bent to pick up his towel and wrapped it around himself. The blond-haired noble had broad shoulders, well-muscled arms and legs, and a sculpted pair of buttocks. His wet, warm skin shimmered with health in the light of the rising moon. Mustadio stopped staring after a moment. It was a good thing he had accepted Ramza's help, he told himself! Here was a fit and capable fighter: someone reliable and admirable. At that back of his mind, Mustadio also added "attractive" to the list, but Mustadio shoved that thought away. He couldn't think things like that--he couldn't afford to trust anyone.
But Ramza was a born aristocrat, used to making decisions quickly and used to people doing what he wanted them to do. By the time he reached the inn room he was sharing with Mustadio, he'd already decided on his next action. He dried himself thoroughly and put a couple more logs in the heating stove in the center of the room. For a moment, he enjoyed standing naked in the cool air of the chamber. Then he put on his thick, red bathrobe, tied the belt, and sat in a cushioned chair, facing the door. He got out the book of guerilla strategies he'd been reading and began to study.
Half an hour later, Mustadio entered the room, wearing a robe and carrying a basket containing his clothing.
"What do you know about strategies, Mustadio?" Ramza asked, fixing his hazel eyes on his young roommate.
Something about the question and the intense stare made Mustadio blush. His spine prickled. "Not a lot," he said quietly. "I'm an engineer. I'm used to mostly tinkering and digging and tinkering some more."
