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Rules

1. DON'T PLAGIARIZE. Use your own work!! Various bad things will happen to you if you do. (crossbow'd, eaten by Vaida and/or Umbriel, sodomized by Heath...)

2. PG-13, please. As long as it's relatively worksafe. If you're not sure, you can show it to me and I'll let you know if it's okay or not. Aside from that, anything goes.

3. Fics from any games are perfectly fine, as long as it's a Fire Emblem one! OCs and original plots are okay too, as long as it's Fire Emblem-based.

4. Have fun, and please be polite! If you wanna give criticism, be constructive; no flaming!

Cold showers. Cold snow. Cold blizzards didn't help him at all. Even in this land of perpetual snow and ice, nothing that numbed his body could take away that warm fuzzy feeling he felt whenever his eyes happened to catch those of that whimsical little Wyvern Lord that even now averted his eyes. He never tired of those quick, soft, 'Eep!' cries he made when Heath turned away, as if that word and his eyes moving away would deny what had transpired between them for a quick second.

Had Legault any sense, he would have pieced together that Heath wasn't pleased to have the thief staring at him during quite a few hours of the day. Whether it was from the rafters in the stables were the pegasi were kept, or from the bottom of the floorboards of his favorite bar, or even the side of his shower--

No, of course not. Heath was just shy, he was sure of it.

They'd both come because of what they excelled at- mercenary work. Ilia, famous for its brigades of legendary mercenaries and all the more popular after Fiora's marriage to the Lycian Marquess Eliwood, had been an ideal place for those in Hector's Horde to go if they wanted to continue their mercenary way of life, making a livelihood for themselves out of the orders of others. A swing of a lance here, a knife to the spine there... all in a day's work, equaling to what both hoped would be a pleasant retirement fund and potential funds to pass on after they did.

Of course, Heath wanted to retire without the Peeping Tom of a thief.

Legault never got the hint, remaining perfectly and intentionally oblivious.

But after a few months of working there, it was little wonder that the all-woman team of Pegasus Knights would gravitate towards him- a wyvern rider, and a male at that, sharing their ranks. The Paladins of Ilia had no place for a flying mount, and so he'd had to train with the Fourth Wing brigade of the Pegasus Knights- much to their delight. Though they treated him as if he'd had a third head at first- what with his sex and his reptilian mount, Hyperion- but that quickly changed.

Legault didn't blame them. But the giggles drove him mad.

He'd assumed he'd learned all there was to know about the Wyvern Lord during their time together- the way he shook his hair out after combat, how many brushes of his cloth he moved down a bloody lance, the way he cried 'eep!' as he rushed away from romantic conflicts with a significant other...

...but never had he considered that these Amazonian bimbos would fawn to him so quickly...!

...and that he would not resist some of their advances.

Despite this, Legault had at first resigned himself to fate, believing that Heath would get over this temporary phase of skirt chasing, and realize that these feather-riding women were no good for him. But after spotting a few of them, virtually hanging off his arm like garlands, he realized that he'd had enough. The man was shy- too shy to push the more aggressive ones away- and had just learned to accept them, as a result.

The nerve. Oh, if all it took was a shapely behind and a short skirt to win the man's heart over, then who was he to deny the man his every desire? Who was he to sit back and let those women take Heath from his arms like the robbers they were?

He'd show them what it meant to have 'feminine wiles'.

Taking note of the Halloween party, Legault quickly pulled on his outfit, and stepped outside, ready to make the trek to the party, freezing or not.

The cold breeze that made his skirt fly up was indecent, at best.

---

"So then I..."

"No way!"

"Yeah. And then she..."

"Nuh-uh! You can't be serious!"

"Totally am, I'm afraid. 'Nother Ilian rum, dear?"

"N-no thank you..." Heath's voice was very quiet, tentative. The women around him- six in total- were all in various states of dress. He hadn't even gotten three of their names, to be honest- they'd invited themselves and made themselves comfortable draping over him, like a cat over its favorite cushion. It made him nervous, and he wanted nothing more than to tear out of the room... if it didn't hurt his pay, anyway. Bad morale meant pay cuts.

A rather strange montage- a fairy, devil, mamkute, schoolgirl, pirate, and nurse- of costumed women that would have made bandits scream and jump them instantly was instead the cause of utmost anxiety to Heath. It was all he could do to avoid crawling out of his ninja costume and leaping out the window.

If there was something he didn't miss from the old days with the Lycian Alliance, it was Serra's god awful 'girl talk' sessions.

And here he was, with six women, all as bad as that cleric.

Elimine, save me! I'll do anything!

As he heard the clicking of heels just outside the door, he expected enemy reinforcements, and groaned.

However, his eyes flew open in surprise as the door was kicked in, and a stiletto heel clicked assertively in the doorway. The fishnet stockings on the shapely leg were scandalous, at best, and the girls had already begun their hollering and screaming at the intruder.

"Oh, god, get out of here, you skank!"

"Show us your invite! You're paying for that door!"

"...It's getting cold in here..."

The skirt the figure was wearing was so short it was almost scandalous- black. A maid's skirt, with a black cat's tail teasingly falling from the back of the figure's rear. Wiggling their waist back and forth, the figure finally spoke.

"Off of my man, ladies."

Heath almost died.

Stepping fully into the doorway, Legault smiled with his characteristic grin, his black cat ear headband sitting proudly on his head and painted whiskers accenting his victorious smirk. The girls gawked at his atrociously scandalous low-cut maid's outfit, and his white gloves had something hanging from their fingers that astounded and repulsed them.

Pink, fuzzy handcuffs.

"L-legault?!"

Another grin.

"Trick or Treat, Heath."