Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sanson, Guydelot, would you be a dear and grab me the hedge shears from the shed please?” Yvaine chirped from behind the byregotia bushes in the front yard, elbow deep in mulch and dirt as she tended to the flowers. Perspirations dotted her brows despite the wide-brimmed hat perched atop her head. The late summer sun still had a lot of kick in it this year, humidity included.

“Sure mum, be back in a minute,” Sanson replied, hooking the hose sprayer on the fence. Guydelot too paused from his task of weeding around the verandah to follow Sanson to the backyard, glad to be out from the sun. Sanson couldn’t say he disagreed with the sentiment; only the Matron herself could stop Yvaine from pruning and clipping her garden until it was in tip top shape, but Sanson could do with a lot less sweating if he could help it.

The small wooden shed out back looked sorrier than Sanson remembered. The lock on it was hanging on for dear life from a dilapidated door handle, and the shelving inside was caked with accumulated dirt over the years, to say nothing of the rotted wood panelling that it called walls. At least the tools inside were well kept.

Sanson found the shears easy enough, but he paused just before he closed the door, thinking of all the memories this little shed had held through the years. He remembered then how he could barely see past the second shelf at one point, being a rather short child, or how dad had a mischievous habit of moving one of mum’s tools around so he could pretend to help her find it, all so he could spend more time with his wife. Alas, the weather had not been kind to it, and Sanson feared that one strong wind would be all it took to finally topple the entire thing down.

A hand on his elbow jolted him from his daydream.

“The waterwheel in your head is grinding like mad. Care to share?” Guydelot asked gently, eyes soft. The contrast between his outward nonchalance and his keen observation still took Sanson by surprise, and he cherished every single instance of it.

“Mmm, just thinking of getting mum a new shed for Starlight. As beloved as this one is, it’s turning into a bit of a hazard,” Sanson confessed.

“Ah, I was about to comment about the rotting woods, but you’re obviously three steps ahead of me. Tell you what, I’ll chip in if that’s what you’re getting.”

“You don’t have to, it’s not a small purchase, Guydelot.”

“All the more reason for me to help out then.” The ease in which Guydelot reaffirmed his plan stoked a different kind of heat in Sanson’s chest. It hadn’t even been a year since they’d known each other, but Guydelot’s presence by his side already felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He found that he liked that, a lot; almost too much, even.

“It’s settled then, I‘ll start shortlisting some options when we get back to the flat.”

A deep resigned sigh rumbled out of Guydelot, followed by an amused smile. Sanson felt bashful all of a sudden; despite all of the familiarity, he still found himself flustered whenever he sensed that Guydelot was about to tease him, just like now.

“Sanson, it’s September.”

On cue, his cheeks burned bright red. “Well, there’s no guarantee we’d find one easily… and besides there might be delivery time and—”

The softness of Guydelot’s lips derailed his train of thoughts and before he knew it he was kissing back eagerly, his embarrassment now a distant memory. They parted, but the warmth in Sanson’s chest refused to leave. He held on to it tight, craving for more.

Later.

“Let’s get back to Yvaine before she lobs our head off, aye?” Guydelot offered his hand and Sanson took it. Their fingers interlocked, as if they had always belonged together.

“Yes, let’s.”

Chapter Text

Sanson swirled the whisky in his glass with a deep sigh before taking a sizable sip. The bar stool made for a poor seat for his exhausted body but he couldn’t muster up the strength to move to a nearby sofa. He’d been awake since five that morning and it was a miracle that he even made it to the hotel tonight. His mad dash to the airport had somehow been successful with literal minutes to spare and if he’d missed it, who knew when the next available flight would have been.

Oh well that was all in the past now, sore legs notwithstanding. Besides he couldn’t really get too angry at Cid Garlond for going overtime; the man was a delight to watch in action and even more so to interview. Sanson had been wanting to do a research piece on the rising adoption of green Magitek technology, and who better to give him intimate insight than the man spearheading one of the largest projects—

The rough sound of glass dragging on wood jolted Sanson from his musing. Another drink materialised in front of him, and he could only stare at it in confusion.

“May I join you?” a smooth voice followed and Sanson turned towards the interloper. A Highlander man leaned against the counter, a charming smile on his handsome face as he nudged the drink towards Sanson. “You look like you could use some company.”

The man’s voice was smooth, aye, but not the kind that could make shivers trail down his spine. Still he returned the smile with one of his own for politeness sake. Ignoring the proffered glass of liquor, he deliberately lifted his whisky up with his left hand, all the better to show off his wedding ring.

The motion didn’t deter the flirt; in fact he now took a proper seat next to Sanson, though at least he had the wisdom to reclaim the failed gift for himself. That was an improvement. Sanson tried to ignore him, he was too tired by half and wasn’t in the mood to entertain.

“Perhaps you and I could get to know each other—”

“I’m married,” he interrupted, manners starting to slip as fatigue seeped in. The alcohol, of course, only emboldened his ire.

“A small detail that’s rather irrelevant,” the man countered. “The name’s Rodrich, and you are—”

“Amateur,” a condescending voice cut in abruptly, interrupting Rodrich a second time. An Elezen man approached them and Sanson sighed in annoyance; this better not turn hostile on his account.

“I beg your pardon?” Rodrich bristled at the intruder.

“Amateur,” the man repeated with a smirk. “You ain’t gonna get anyone with that kind of pathetic pillow talk, and certainly not a married man.”

Rodrich seethed and stood up, though the Elezen’s height negated any kind of intimidation factor that he tried to project. “Well, I’d like to see you do better then.”

Sanson groaned, so much for this not turning hostile. How dare Rodrich involved him in this chest-thumping competition when he’d firmly displayed his disinterest. But still… He downed the rest of his whisky and turned halfway in his stool to face the squaring combatants. Maybe this was just what he needed for a second wind tonight.

The Elezen’s smirk deepened and he turned towards Sanson, amused blue eyes peeking from under a curtain of messy bangs.

“Say love, how about we make a dash upstairs so I can fuck you into the bed until the sun comes up?”

Sanson flushed beet red and Rodrich floundered like a fish, jaw-dropping in shock.

“I’m married, remember.” He lifted his hand and flashed his platinum band, unmistakable in the dim light of the hotel bar.

“What a coincidence,” the Elezen remarked as he lifted his left hand to flash a platinum band of his own. “I seem to have a matching ring to yours.”

A genuine smile—a rather amused one at that—graced Sanson’s lips for the first time since he arrived. “Would you look at that? I suppose then yes, you can fuck me into the bed until the sun comes up.” He hopped off the stool to take Guydelot’s hand and pulled him down by their intertwined fingers for a fiery kiss, part-fueled by the whisky and part-fueled by the little bamboozle they just pulled.

“Have a good night Rodrich,” he crooned as Guydelot finally stopped nibbling his bottom lip long enough for him to speak. Without waiting for a reply he tugged his husband away towards the first available lift, and as soon as the door closed he pinned Guydelot against the wall and peppered his jaw with kisses.

“Flirt,” he teased as a rumbling laugh came out of Guydelot.

“You were about ten seconds away from decking the poor man if I hadn’t cut in.” Guydelot pulled him into a hug, rubbing his cheek on top of Sanson’s head. “So, how about it? Still up for me fucking you until sunrise?”

Now it was Sanson’s turn to laugh. “You’ve got zero energy after a concert, my love. How about one round then sleep, and you can do it all again in the morning?”

Guydelot gasped, “Sanson Smyth, are you calling me old?”

“Our daughter is nearly in middle school, Guydelot. We are old,” he replied.

The elevator stopped then and Sanson dragged Guydelot behind him once more towards their room, opening the door with fumbling hands as Guydelot tried his hardest to distract him with lovebites on his nape. They tumbled into the bed with a soft laugh and Sanson pounced. He straddled Guydelot’s hips and marvelled at how they still fit together perfectly nearly twenty years on.

With slow deliberate movement he lifted the hem of his shirt, noting how Guydelot’s breath hitched with every ilm of uncovered skin. He threw the shirt aside and bent down to lavish needy licks onto Guydelot’s ears.

“You have one shot, do your best.”

Suddenly Guydelot flipped their position around and pinned him down with his taller stature. Sanson swallowed thickly as Guydelot hovered over him, wide shoulders crowding his vision with the most wonderful view.

Guydelot grinned like a wolf who just caught his prey.

“With pleasure.”

Chapter Text

Sanson thought that losing a tall Elezen in Gridania was impossible; and yet here he was, craning his neck this way and that to search for Guydelot amidst the Heavensturn carnival in Mih Khetto. The place was jam-packed to the brim with people of all ages, despite the late hour, and though both of them were taller than average, finding anyone here was like finding a needle in a haystack. He’d lost Tahla and the girls to the women’s toilet queue, must he really lose Guydelot too?

Sanson squeaked as something suddenly bumped the top of his head. He reached up and his hand met something…soft.

“What—” he asked, confused.

The offending thing was plucked from his head and deposited in his arms—it was a chocobo chick plushie, all soft and squishy and clad in a green Eastern dragon outfit. Sanson's eyes suddenly crinkled and his chest felt like it would burst into a million confetti.

It’s so cuuuute!

Guydelot came into view then, smug grin on his face.

“Won this at the festival stall over there. Am I a good boyfriend or am I a good boyfriend?”

Sanson let out a laugh. “Thank you, love you.” He stretched onto his tiptoes to softly kiss Guydelot, a kiss that was swiftly turned into a deeper one, with tongue.

Rascal.

“How did you win this one?” He turned the toy in his hands, marvelling at the stitching. Not everyday you see toys above passable quality from festival stalls.

Yes he might have been a little bit of a snob when it came to collectibles.

Guydelot folded his fingers into an air gun and exaggeratedly blew the muzzle. “What can I say, my aim is impeccable.”

Ah, from the shooting gallery then, they always had the best prizes… A light bulb suddenly clicked in his head. Sanson looked up at his proud as punch boyfriend; if he played his card right, he might just be able to convince Guydelot to win him one other thing—the one thing that he'd been dreaming of ever since he remembered visiting a carnival. Alas, his parents were horrendous with carnival games, and his own aim had always fallen short. Guydelot, on the other hand…

With a deep breath he hugged the chocobo dragon on the centre of his chest, head tucked right under his chin for maximum effect. All set up, he turned towards Guydelot, looked up at his still smirking face and batted his eyelashes.

“Can you win me another thing from there? I really want this one plushie, pretty please?”

Guydelot stopped, and a tinge of pink bloomed on his cheeks. Sanson pressed on.

“I've been wanting it forever, think you can win it for me?” He pouted his lips and noted how Guydelot's face scrunched with a bashful blush.

He went in for the kill.

“If you win, I’ll do your chores for a week.”

Guydelot stuttered and floundered before he slapped his eyes close, taking the deepest, loudest breath and exhaling it resignedly. Jackpot.

Still, he narrowed his eyes one last time as if confirming that Sanson wasn't pulling his leg. “As long as I don't have to carry the plushie home.”

Sanson chewed the inside of his cheek. Oh well, guess he couldn't win everything.

“Deal.”

“Shake on it.”

Sanson giggled and shook Guydelot’s hand firmly, eyes still sparkling with victory. He linked their arms together and led Guydelot towards the shooting gallery. At last he will finally obtain the Moogle—

“What’s this plushie you want anyway? You’ve got nearly a hundred at home already, probably in better quality too,” Guydelot asked as they lined up for their turn.

Sanson grinned, then pointed at the tallest, largest, most oversized five-foot Moogle plushie that sat on a golden throne amongst all the other smaller prizes. Guydelot followed Sanson’s finger onto the monstrosity before his jaw dropped onto the floor.

“That one.”

Chapter Text

Sanson stared at the chore chart with pursed lips. The board was mostly covered with blue stamps, with red ones peppered sparsely in between with plenty of blank spaces left. To be perfectly fair he didn’t need to see the chart to know that he’d done the bulk of the work; the state of the kitchen was testament enough that Guydelot needed to be given the proverbial kick in the arse to do his chores.

Speak of the voidsent, Guydelot emerged from his bedroom right then. Sanson turned to scowl at him, but his plan was foiled when he realised Guydelot was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. Unaware of his presence, his roommate started stretching this way and that, long lean body on full display for Sanson to ogl—

“Like what you see?” Guydelot piped up cheekily.

Oh the bastard!

“You do know other people live in this flat, right?” Sanson retorted, scowl in full force.

“No. Way,” came the sarcastic answer.

A vein popped on Sanson’s temple. Guydelot just laughed then brushed past him, deliberately coming real close that Sanson couldn’t ignore his presence.

“Where are you going?” he asked. Only belatedly he realised the stupidity of his question.

“Uh, to take a leak, duh. What do you think?”

Sanson flushed beet red. “Do that, then come back here, I need to talk to you.” Smooth recovery. Maybe.

Guydelot chuckled then continued on his merry way. A few minutes later he returned, still with that smug grin in his face, and his bare chest that was perfectly eye-level for Sanson.

“Thank you for your patience, my lord. How may I be of aid?”

The rascal even bowed at him. Sanson rolled his eyes, annoyance winning over his flustered cheeks.

“You could aid me, by doing these chores that you’ve been assigned to,” Sanson replied tersely. He swept his hand over the whiteboard, pausing at the stamp-less column below Guydelot’s name. “For instance, I hope you plan to clean the toilet soon because that’s your task this week.”

Guydelot glanced at the board, eyes flicking and pausing at his assigned chores, humming and seemingly contemplating the tasks. Just as Sanson thought he was taking this seriously, Guydelot shrugged in complete nonchalance.

“Maybe if you make the chart more interesting I might do it.”

“Excuse me?” Sanson screeched out. “Need I remind you that you agreed to doing half the chores on a rotating basis? You even signed the agreement.”

Guydelot shrugged again. “You need to add some excitement to it.”

“It’s not my job to make chores interesting. And if you are not going to do your share, you’re welcome to find another flat,” Sanson said, irritation plain in his voice.

“What, and leave you here without anyone to cover half the rent that you can’t afford? Alright,” Guydelot taunted.

Sanson popped another vein, but he didn’t back down.

“If you can find a place as nice as this and as cheap, you go on ahead. If it wasn’t for Cyr, you wouldn’t even be here.”

This time it was Guydelot’s turn to grit his teeth. “Fine, but you still need to make the chart more interesting. I don’t do boring things.”

One more vein popped on Sanson’s temple, but at least he got somewhere. “So you are gonna do the rest of these chores today, yeah?”

The smirk returned. “Oh no, you’re gonna have to pay extra for rush job. Say, dinner?”

“I beg your pardon?” he screeched again as Guydelot broke into roaring laughter.

“C’mon Sanson, I’m not picky.”

“You—how dare—argh, fine. I’ll get dinner tonight if you do the chores.”

“Atta boy! And don’t forget to make it more interesting for next week!” Guydelot chirped. Just to add insult to the injury he winked at Sanson as he sauntered back to his room.

When the door at the far end slammed close Sanson found himself standing alone, feeling like he’d just been played like a fiddle. How did Guydelot manage to flip the script on him so many times? Damn that charming git with his charming smirk and his charming ars—

The blush returned tenfold onto his cheeks and Sanson fled to his own room. Matron, this has got to stop! Fine, it would cost him dinner tonight but it was Sunday and he wanted the chores done before the week started again. Besides, he remembered the lecture he had last year about interpersonal communication. Perhaps Guydelot was one of those people whose style of thinking was more about fun and creativity; fitting, of course, being a musician and all. An idea formed in Sanson’s mind. He’d need to detour past the stationery shop tomorrow, but maybe it could just be the thing to entice Guydelot to complete the chore chart a little bit more.

He grinned from excitement and rubbed his hands together. If this worked, he might just have saved himself a lot of headaches for the future.

Sanson stared at the whiteboard again after a fortnight and his grin returned. Bright orange sunflowers and teal musical notes now peppered the columns in equal amount, the combination of colours adding a cheerfulness to an otherwise dreary chart. He’d hoped that his plan would work, but he didn’t anticipate that it would work this well. The neatness of the stamp placement could be improved, but Sanson would consider that a small enough thing to suffer for the improved cleanliness of the flat. Who knew that under all that nonchalant facade, Guydelot could be productive, if given the right push.

An impulse washed through him and he picked up the marker; it was only fair that, as the main tenant, he acknowledged such a marked improvement. So he popped the cap off and then, under all of the musical notes he wrote: Thank you for your hard work! Let’s do our best again next week 🌻

Chapter Text

"Guydelot, what are you doing?" Sanson's confused voice wafted from the other side of the sofa.

Guydelot ignored him. His fingers curled around the soft ponytail that had started swaying when Sanson spoke, stilling its motion. Gently he carded his fingers through and moved it about until the silky tresses laid flat across the top of the leather cushion.

As he played with the hair, the sunflower charms that adorned the hair tie shifted too; and they glinted, catching the warm morning light streaming through their windows, turning the yellow of the petals almost golden.

The hair tie had been an impulsive gift, a last-minute thing that he thought would suit Sanson well. Guydelot did not anticipate how alluring it would look as it bobbed along with Sanson's ponytail, or how gorgeous it was when it fairly shined under certain lights. He certainly did not anticipate how powerless he was to resist.

Nor did he want to.

Slowly he extended one finger and planted it right in the middle of the biggest flower, shaking it side to side and causing Sanson's head to shake too in the process.

"Guydelot, stop that…" Sanson protested, yet there was a certain bashful tinge to the request. No doubt there was a brilliant red blush on his cheeks right now, and Guydelot didn't even need to see it to confirm its presence.

He ignored Sanson again and continued playing with the little sunflowers like a kitten who just found a new favourite trinket; and perhaps, in a way, he did. Gods, what a great boyfriend he was, picking the perfect gift before they even got together. He smirked at the thought. It was almost like his heart had subconsciously decided to woo Sanson before his head even caught up with the plan. An image of a blonde woman winking at him flashed into his mind; clearly Yvaine too was already in on the plan before he even realised.

Cheekily he gave the small charms a flick, chuckling as they made a clinking sound. Sanson squirmed but stayed put; the blush had spread down to his neck, turning his nape a most fetching shade of pink. Charmed by a different kind of allure, Guydelot danced his fingers around the rim of the flowers one last time before dipping down below the ponytail. He went past the tightly pulled root of the hair to reach his destination: the span of skin reddened by heat, all his to touch and pet and rake his nails on—

Sanson let out a low shuddering moan and Guydelot sprung into action. He retracted his hand and stood up from his seat, launching himself over the back of the sofa to land with a thump next to Sanson, causing him to bounce slightly from the force of the landing. With comfortable familiarity he plucked the novel that Sanson had long forgotten from his hand, flung it onto the coffee table as Sanson screeched, then leaned forward to swallow that protesting noise, morphing it into one of surprised contentment instead.

Damn he was good at this.

Gently he tugged Sanson towards him more firmly as he leaned backwards and down onto the seat. It was fast becoming his favourite pastime—laying down lazily on a Sunday with Sanson atop him, just cuddling and kissing without a care in the world. A tongue slipped into his mouth and Guydelot let out a breathless laugh; it seemed that Sanson agreed with the sentiment too.

He reached up again to play with Sanson's ponytail and, as his thumb grazed the metal charms, he grinned. Sensing the shift in mood Sanson pulled back a little, giving Guydelot a full view of his just-kissed lips.

"What are you grinning about?" he asked, his own thumb tracing the curved bow of Guydelot's lips.

"Just thinking how lucky I am to have my very own Sunflower."

The blush on Sanson's cheeks deepened brilliantly, though his lips curved into a grin matching Guydelot's own. "And do you know how to take care of a Sunflower?"

Guydelot didn't answer straight away. Instead he raked his nails down Sanson's nape again until another, louder, shuddering moan came out. His grin widened.

"I think I'm getting the hang of it."

Chapter Text

“Ylinna!”

“Rehlii!”

Spotting each other across the plaza, the two girls ran ahead, heedless of their parents' warning to be careful on the snowy pavement. They met, at last, in front of the enormous tree at the Starlight market and promptly did an impromptu jig, hands clasped; inseparable. Behind them the adults followed, expression full of fond exasperation at their children's antics.

Fjora waved warmly at Sanson and Guydelot as they arrived by the girls' side. Next to her Haurchefant gave a friendly, but tired, smile.

“It's been a while Sanson, Guydelot, we should do this more often!” she grinned, happy to see her dear friends. Starlight had always been a busy time of year, especially with a school-aged child, and a double playdate like this was a rare occurrence indeed.

“Indeed it has! Shall we grab that much-needed hot chocolate?” Sanson smiled back, heart just as light upon seeing them.

“Aye, aye. I can do with a sit down after carrying her on my shoulders all the way here,” Guydelot chimed in, causing everyone else to laugh.

She was about to continue the banter when she felt a silent tug on her hand from Haurchefant; he desperately needed a sit down of his own after a gruelling week-long shift at the construction yard with hardly any break. Fjora squeezed his hand back.

“Come Ylinna, Rehlii. Let's get some hot chocolate from the stall that Aunt Ysayle told us about.”

A chorus of yays and woohoo came from the girls before they ran full tilt in the direction of the Carline Canopy stall, unable to curb their enthusiasm for the 'triple cream hot chocolate with snowflake sprinkles' that they'd been going on and on about for nearly two weeks.

“You know, she's gonna want me to make her this special hot chocolate from now on, right?” Haurchefant let out a resigned sigh.

“Can't be any worse than the special home made dinosaur pasta that Rehlii made me do for three weekends straight,” Guydelot groaned.

“You were the one who boasted that you could do better than the restaurant. Sometimes you are your own worst enemy, Guydelot,” Sanson interjected as his husband sheepishly grinned. Fjora giggled; some things, it seemed, will never change.

With another squeeze of Haurchefant's hand she took the lead and started walking towards the girls, yelling at them to slow down so they could catch up.

Snow fell softly as they made their way across the plaza, filling every crevice on the ground in white. She tightened her scarf, then smiled in secret. There was nothing better than spending Starlight together with those dearest to her heart, surrounded by love.