fuckyeahfinalfantasy | FYFF: MISSION ONE, ACCEPT Y/N?

FYFF: MISSION ONE, ACCEPT Y/N?

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They live very different lives, and yet so similar. They live in the shadows of others, always supporting, and receiving nothing in return.

And one day, Tifa lost her temper.

Before, during, and after. And forever.

Agrias decides to demonstrate her affection with flowers and chocolates. Mustadio thinks she has something backwards, but he's okay with that.

They were born together, they lived together, and they would die together. These were truths they understood from birth.

No matter whether Laguna did it right or wrong, no matter how many times he failed the people he loved, one man followed him everywhere he went.

AU, Kuja lives.

AU, Hope becomes Cid's yeoman.

(Yeah, so I just gave myself away, so so far as I know, I'm the only person who ships it. It's not like it's a big secret.)

Something light and fluffy anytime during Crisis Core.

post-game. sex. anything goes. A bit of angst wouldn't be amiss either, mainly in regards to what Snow said to Hope in Palumpolum.

Leading up to and after her getting her bellybutton pierced. If you're going to include the during nothing graphic please.

A fivesome in no particular order. Can be just sex with or out a relationship, though both is preferred.

Kinky sex. Anything goes expect for extreme water sports (ie: drinking) or scat.

BDSM please. No scat or extreme water sports (ie:drinking) please.

That is really lovely! Such a sweet moment between them.

Go wild. I just want a sixsome(?) and sex.

No scat and/or extreme water sports (ie:drinking).

Every day since coming home from Operation Mi'ihen, Luzzu stands guard at the shrine on the summit of Besaid Mountain. He follows the same ritual each day: he wakes early, takes a little breakfast, then trudges his way up the mountain to takes his place there, heedless of heat, wind, or rain. Then, when night falls, he makes his way back to his hard cot in the old Crusader lodge and disappears into sleep, only to begin again the next day.

It is a subject of many whispers in the village, this vigil that Luzzu keeps, even after the destruction of Sin, when danger is never again likely to come from the sea. Lulu notices him go, almost every morning, then sees him coming back at night; almost every time she considers stopping him to ask why, but she never has. Then one day, six months into the Eternal Calm, Lulu is awakened by a roll of thunder, followed by the pounding of rain on canvas: the first storm of winter. She opens her eyes and, noting Yuna still rolled up in the blankets by the corner, quietly gets out of bed and throws on her winter cloak before slipping out the door and into the rain.

The storm is a fierce one: the rain falling in sheets, lightning piercing the sky. Alone in the village square, she makes her way toward the lodge. As she walks, she wonders. Surely these weather conditions will deter Luzzu from his daily errand? But no; as she reaches the door, she looks over her shoulder and sees him already walking through the gate, his dark red hair standing out against the gray day.

"What madness is this?" For a moment she watches; then she turns on her heel to follow him up the hill.

Rain does not usually bother Lulu -- she enjoys being buffeted by the elements, drawing from their raw power -- but today she draws the hood of the cloak over her head, letting the dark purple folds of fabric fall around her face. Then she walks into the wind, breathing deep of the bracing cold air, concentrating on not slipping on the already-muddy trail that leads up the face of the mountain. She is only a few minutes behind Luzzu, but once she reaches the shrine, she sees that he is already soaked to the skin and shivering. She doubles her pace, and when she reaches him, she lays a hand on his wet arm.

"Come inside," she calls up to him, raising her voice so she can be heard over the wind and rain. "Whatever you're looking for, it's not worth this."

He breaks his pose of watchfulness long enough to cast her a quick glance, and then he shakes his head.

With a sigh, Lulu speaks a few words under her breath and gestures with the Moogle doll she carries beneath her cloak, and around them, the rain stops. Luzzu looks up, his eyes wide with suprise for a second. "What..."

"A spell Yuna taught me, and then we modified it together." Lulu points up to the sphere of calm that she has cast around them. "A variation on Shell that protects against all the elements, magical and natural, over a small area. Look, the rain is still falling outside the sphere of influence." She tucks the doll under her arm, then rubs her hands together to cast a small warming fire at their feet. "And this one is all mine, of course. If you insist on being out in this wretched storm, at least I can keep you warm and dry for a little while."

Luzzu's answering smile is marked with sadness. "I don't deserve your aid, or your comfort. But thank you."

Lulu tips her head to the side, considering him. "Ah. You do this as a penance."

"Of a sort." He looks away. "I led too many friends to their deaths. Chappu, Gatta, others you've never even known. That was bad enough. But to learn that it was all for a lie? A fraud?" He shakes his head. "It's too much to bear."

"Yevon deceived us all," Lulu replies, her tone soft. "You can't blame yourself for not discovering the truth."

"Can't I?" Luzzu lowers his eyes, his free hand clenching into a fist. "There were clues. Operation Mi'ihen, of course, but that was hardly the first. Odd decisions made by the Maesters, strange rumors out of Bevelle and other places. And though no one person put all the clues together, some people did walk away before the truth was known. I could have walked away, too. And maybe if I had, some more people would be alive."

"Maybe." Lulu steps around to stand in front of him and meets his eyes. "But you can't know. You'll never know. And punishing yourself for mistakes you couldn't have known you were making isn't going to change that." She waits for a moment, letting him consider her word. "Maybe it's time to let them all go." Turning away, she lets her gaze drift out to where the sea meets the sky. "I have. I try."

Luzzu is silent, and she stands next to him, the two of them watching the storm-tossed ocean together. When he finally stirs, it is to look at her again, his smile less stiff now. "I'll think about it," he says.

"That's all I ask." Lulu pats his arm, then steps away. "The fire will burn itself out soon, but the Shell spell should last a few hours more, and it's designed to keep elements in as well as out, so it should keep you warm for awhile. See you tonight." She steps out of the sphere of calm and back into the storm, then heads back down the mountain, letting the hood fall back from her face so she can feel the touch of the rain on her cheeks.

--

It is the next day; the storm has passed, and Lulu is once again up early, greeting the sunrise with a cup of tea on the temple steps. As she sips from the cup, the lodge door flips open, and Luzzu appears, pack in his hand. She stands and hurries to him. "Luzzu?"

He turns to her, his expression peaceful. "Lulu. I thought on your words, and your kindness, all yesterday and last night. This morning, I came to a decision." He gestures to the knapsack in his hands, then slings it over his back. "You're right that I need to let the past go, but without my past, who am I? Where do I belong?" Looking up at the sky, he lets out a deep breath. "I'm not going to find that out here, surrounded by a lifetime of memories and regrets. The answer is out there, somewhere." He turns his gaze back down to her. "It's time for me to go find it."

"I'm glad," Lulu says with a smile. "Good luck."

"Thank you." He stoops down to leave a light kiss on her cheek, and then he leaves, walking through the village with a lighter step than he's shown in years. Lulu watches him go, and resolves to do a better job of taking her own advice.

Fun times on the boat: what happened after Gippal stopped recording? Gen or Paine/Nooj and/or Baralai/Gippal.

Never steal from a thief....

Post-game. Paine is with Nooj, and Leblanc doesn't know what to make of this development. Hijinks ensue?

Oh oh oh, that was fantastic. :D

"I heard from Ramza that today was when you were born."

He nearly jumps out of his skin, not merely because she surprises him, but also because it's Agrias of all people speaking. Trying to fight that flush that rises through his cheeks and ears, he turns to face her.

Her hands are clasped behind her back and she regards him as calmly as ever. Mustadio exhales. "Yes... I mean, it is. My birthday, I mean," he says.

Agrias nods, no hint of a smile on her fair face and he thinks that maybe he'd run off and become a knight or a hero or something if it meant she would but smile more often. Like he saw her, once, in a bar, her lips bright with rouge.

"Take this," she says and unclasps her hands and holds out a pressed red flower.

Mustadio takes a step back, not bothering to try and hide his blush, nor able to keep his eyes from widening. "Agrias," he says and then presses his mouth firmly shut before he can spill his thoughts or feelings. "T...thank you."

Without changing expressions, she waits. Silence and then--he winces and takes the flower, darkening as their hands brush. "You are welcome," she tells him.

He drops his gaze from her to look at the flower--a wild flower, probably picked somewhere outside of the Magick City--and then he looks back at her.

"It is not fair repayment for your gift, I fear," she says and then glances aside.

"No, no!" he says, "I love it! Truly, you could have given me nothing better!"

Her stance relaxes into something only mildly uncomfortable looking and he thinks maybe that's some sort of victory, but with Agrias, you never can tell.

Mustadio smiles and says, "It is quite beautiful."

With her lips curved upwards into an almost smile, she inclines her head to the side in agreement. The fading sunlight catches the gold of her hair and makes it glimmer and Mustadio catches his breath. Her loveliness has always been beyond compare--beautiful in the morning, day, and night, beautiful when running, sitting, sleeping, or bloodied from a fight. And her beauty is effortless, because it is always second to strength, honor, and duty. Mustadio sighs.

"Are you well?" she asks him, watching him intently.

"Y-yes," he says, "I am... quite well."

He glances back at the flower in his hand and grins. Agrias, Lady Knight and Protector, has given him a flower. A sign of affection--one he probably should have been brave enough to give her first, but that is of no matter--from the woman he moons after.

And maybe he's going about this backwards, but she gave him a flower.

Mustadio pulls a book from his bag, his favorite book on mechanicks, and puts the flower gently between its pages. "I will treasure it always, as I treasure our friendship."

For a few moments she blinks at him and then the almost smile is back. "It is but flower," she tells him, "But I am glad. I... treasure our friendship as well."

She turns her face from him, uncomfortable, and, by habit, her hand grazes the hilt of her sword. Mustadio tries to keep from laughing--oh, only Agrias--and winds up spluttering instead. Both of her eyebrows raise and she looks at him.

"Are you quite well?" she asks.

Mustadio nods, going red-faced again. "I am. Thank you, Agrias."

"I am on first watch," she tells him, glancing at the almost fully-set sun, "You should rest. Today has been long, and tomorrow shall be longer still, I fear."

"May I join you?"

Agrias blinks at him and frowns. "Two sets of eyes are better than one," he tells her.

"Are two sleepless people better than one?" she asks him dryly and then, when he looks down, Agrias considers. "If you wish. I will not stop you."

It's not much, but it's a start. It's the best birthday gift he's received since starting this errand and he grins at her, and maybe, just maybe, when she turns to look back at camp, he sees her blush.

But that might be a fool's hope. With her, all hope is foolish, she is a Holy Knight, without time for such things as romance and love. Yet, Mustadio knows himself for a fool. And he does not give up.

This is a beginning, and even if they merely become better friends, it will be time well spent.

Together, they head back towards camp.

As they walk, he begins to think maybe his hope is not so foolish. After all, Agrias gave him a flower.

Mustadio grins like a fool, and moves to walk beside Agrias who nods at him. For now, this is more than enough. This is perfect and he would have it no other way.

(Sorry if this is a little off, I've only played the original FFT, not the newer version... so... I hope you enjoyed it.)

Mind fuckery, control, fear.

I am a terrible person who can't follow prompts. :( This is really more Seifer/Squall(/Rinoa) than pure Seifer/Squall, but I swear if you are unhappy, anon, I will gladly write you some context free porn instead of 6000 words of, well, whatever this is. I am a bad person who breaks hearts of anons everywhere.

He sees Squall for the first time in three years at a shitty bar, at Deling City in the Lower East. In the flesh, anyway — Seifer had never been able to avoid his face plastered across magazines and newspapers for the first year of relief that SeeD turned out to be useful for something. It had only followed from there, Squall's apathetic face appearing all around him every time someone at Garden took a shit, because the world thought the establishment was so fucking perfect.

Seifer knew better.

He was pleased, the sour, slimy feel of it a cold comfort when the tabloids sank their teeth into Squall's fairytale. Rinoa was no stranger to the life, had always seemed nonchalant about the press following her around sniffing around like she could throw them scraps. She hid herself from it better, the only time Seifer could remember where her face was cold, closed off, almost evil was when she was looking down the lens of camera.

Seifer doesn't know why Rinoa walks, but he watches it play out in bigger and bigger photos, more and more invasive, leaking from the tabloids to the legitimate papers like a virus, as if it matters who Squall is fucking. Or, in this case, not fucking any longer. The spiral doesn't stop after she's gone. Squall, stepping down as Commander. Squall, retiring outright. Squall, looking more and more like the pathetic kid who had had a chance to step out of his sinking ship. She waits, but Seifer could have informed Squall that she doesn't wait forever.

Seifer is harsh, but he's a hypocrite, too. They're matched in more ways than one: he couldn't keep her, either.

So when he sees Squall draped across the edge of the bar, back in the corner where there's barely any light and people go to get blown under the edge of the bar where no one else can see, he's intrigued.

It's no use lying to himself. Squall has always been under his skin, like the worse splinter he couldn't pry out, not with his blade, or his bravado; it's an annoying feeling, and he hates it. in return, Seifer has always wanted to bend Squall, see if he'll crack, brittle like old bones.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says, and sits down at the opposite corner. Squall's drink is almost empty, the mug dripping onto the scratched, overly shiny wood. Squall's jacket is dirty, the fur lining a dingy yellow and the leather starting to crack. He doesn't look up.

"I can't say I expected a warm welcome, but a sneer? A dirty look? Don't leave me hanging, Leonhart."

Squall's eyes flicker up. "What do you want?"

"Wondering why such an eligible bachelor as yourself is drinking alone on a weekend in a bar that's barely holding onto its liquor license. You're a hero, doesn't that mean you get VIP treatment at the bars where they don't water down the tap?"

"I'm not interested in this, Seifer."

"Oh, I see." Seifer takes a drink from his bottle, running his tongue around the rim. "Still heartbroken?"

"None of your business," Squall says. "Go away."

"But, Squall," Seifer says, a sigh in his voice. "You're so dreamy when you actually use full sentences. I feel, like, so special."

Seifer grew up watching Squall, goading him. He knows the way his jaw will tighten when he's annoyed, the thing he does with his lip when he's horny, which had been so fucking fun to learn, like ten birthdays all at once. Most people wouldn't frown for amusement, but Squall isn't most people. Squall is Squall, and he's scrambled eggs all day long. So when Squall frowns at him, Seifer smiles.

"Or stay," Squall says finally. "Whatever."

------------

Seifer is surprised when Squll doesn't blow him off. He's surprised when Squall shows up the next night, and the next, and the night after that. It's not that Seifer enjoys his company, exactly, but he likes the way Squall watches him, silently, like he's trying to make a decision. It's the opposite of Garden, how Squall's eyes were always on the floor or the door, looking for a way to escape. He's sharper, now, alert and aware.

The television in their corner of the bar is snowy and covered in a layer of dust that makes it look even worse. There's no volume, and Seifer watches the Triad tournament go by, uninterested. "They finally get the ability to have television back, and they air card games," he says. "What a waste."

"Movie studios are still reopening." Squall twirls a peanut shell on the bar. It's the first thing he's said all night.

"He speaks!" Seifer leans forward. "Anything else you want to share before you clam up again?"

"There's no reason to talk all the time," Squall says, and he's angry, from zero to light-speed. "We don't have to talk every fucking second."

Seifer raises a brow. "Are you talking to me, or someone else?" When the flush seeps across Squall's sallow skin, Seifer pounces. "She did like to hear her own voice," he says, and carries on before Squall lashes out again. "She was interesting, and that's the problem, isn't it? You don't even realize you're getting tired of it until it's too late, and then you'll do anything for some damn silence."

Squall goes back to his peanut shell. "That sounds about right."

"Then you feel like you've kicked a little of puppies." Oh Seifer, knows. "But surprisingly, I don't think that's why she booted you."

Squall snorts. "Who said she did?"

"Please," Seifer says. "I knew her first." He lets it drip from his mouth, drawing out the consonants until Squall looks up at him. "I made all the mistakes and you fell in the craters I left behind."

"Cocky. Nothing's changed." He pauses. "You're still not exactly right." Squall looks like the picture of disinterest, but now, Seifer has him. If Squall is still in love with her, well then.

Common fucking ground.

------------

Seifer doesn't have to resort to out and out blackmail to get Squall to leave the bar with him. Seifer doesn't know anything about Squall beyond the greasy walls, where he goes when he's not there, if he's in the city alone, if he's sleeping in gutters. It's a curiosity, and it's been a long time since Seifer had any sort of challenging puzzle. So when Seifer says, "let's get out of here," and Squall stands up without a fight, he's shocked. Pleased, even. In their long acquaintance, they've never hung out. They aren't friends.

"I hate this place," Squall says as they walk down the sidewalk. It's cool, fall sliding cunning fingers under the edge of summer.

"Then why do you come here?" Seifer steps over a dead rat.

"I can't get enough silence anywhere else," Squall says. "It's the only place big enough with enough people."

"Back to wanting to be invisible, are you?"

"I never wanted--" Squall stops himself, and his tone is familiar. Squall giving a shit, when he doesn't want to give a shit. Seifer could write a thesis on Squall's voice. The thought scrapes across his mind, and he realizes, with a jolt, that he could, sure, he could, but it would be incomplete. Heat pools in his belly.

"You never wanted what?"

"I don't want to be invisible," Squall says. "I just want to be left alone. I want to be able to choose. There's a difference."

Seifer shrugged. "Bad form saving the world, then."

They walk in silence, and Seifer leads. Squall follows as if he doesn't give a shit where they're going, and maybe he doesn't. He's not drunk, Squall doesn't do drunk, he does tipsy, just fuzzy enough to be able to bury annoying thoughts under the rug of his subconscious. Seifer stops a block away from his apartment, which isn't much on the lousy pay from washing dishes in posh restaurants he can't afford to eat in, but it's his and he earned it.

"I'm taking you home," Seifer says, mild, like he's disinterested.

Squall looks up at him. "Okay," he says. Then, "But no."

Seifer laughs. "Make up your mind."

Squall actually rolls his eyes. "I did. I'm just saying, not tonight."

Seifer has to admit, he's a little impressed with Squall's foresight, but then, Seifer wouldn't want to fuck anyone who didn't have at least the brains he did.

------------

Knowing more changes everything. Seifer has three forms on Garden letterhead, three failures of an exam he was never meant to pass, that tell him so. The more knowledge you acquire, the more you screw yourself over. Knowing more and still being expected to form a line, to follow orders, to mind and behave and not fuck around do not mix.

Knowing that Squall sleeps, curled up in a ball, taking up almost no space changes things. Seifer isn't afraid of intimacy, he's just never had a need for it. The way Squall bends in on himself makes Seifer wonder how many times Squall has had it, and lost it. Before, Seifer would've fucked him and not cared, but knowing how the fuck he sleeps, like the whole world could tumble down on him, like he's expecting it to, changes everything.

It also pisses Seifer off. He might have pressed, the second night as they leave the bar, pushed Squall against the wall and convinced him, except for when he woke up that morning and found Squall in a tight semi-circle, back to Seifer. Seifer swears and gets up and goes to work and thinks about it, all damn day.

Squall is only the second person he's brought home, and the first one he's brought home that he didn't have sex with. If possible, it makes their nightly meetings at the bar even more awkward, makes Seifer quieter, and Squall more sullen. He could explain it away if it were sexual tension, but Squall has never been one to let that stuff hang out, and Seifer's not about to start looking pathetic and begging for it.

It doesn't break, the weird, roiling tension between them, until Rinoa pops back up.

Because it's Rinoa, and she's the sorceress, the world vacillates between so scared they're pissing in their pants or overjoyed that she's doing something kind, like helping at an animal farm with puppies instead of wiping them all out with some well-aimed Flare. When Seifer had heard, it didn't surprise him #8212; Rinoa wasn't the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that horse was dragging two hundred carts of issues and misery with it. Timber wasn't a lark, after all.

Her face is plastered all over every paper, every tabloid, every screen across Deling, she and the president of Esthar at the groundbreaking for the beginning of the transoceanic train line that will open Esthar up to the entire world. Seifer wonders where Galbadia's president is, a whiny, wimpy dude that is constantly eclipsed by anyone who happens to open their mouth in front of him. He wonders why Rinoa is always stealing what should be his spotlight.

But then, Timber has been Rinoa's pet project for years. Maybe it stands to reason.

She looks happy, and he and Squall watch the recording of her over and over. Her eyes crinkle, and her mouth is red, and she doesn't look like she could kill you with a wave of her hand at all.

Seifer almost misses that Squall is talking. He tears his eyes away from the screen.

"...a couple months before she left."

"What?"

Squall looks back at him, sharply. He doesn't like repeating himself, Seifer knows this. "She had learned to levitate things."

Seifer laughs. "How did she break that news to you?"

Squall taps his fingers on the bar. "She accidentally flung me into a wall during a fight."

Everything is quiet around them except the rush in Seifer's head. He tries to imagine that, but can't #8212; Rinoa was never violent. He can't even get the picture of it in his head.

"She felt terrible, she..." Squall is wrecked. "I was angry, and she was angry and guilty and angry about feeling guilty and we weren't alone in our heads, ever, and it started then."

Knowledge changes everything. Seifer pushes, even know he knows he shouldn't. "What started?"

Squall glances at him, surprised. "That's when she started taking apart our bond."

Seifer is nothing if not an expert on sorceress-knight bonds. He's read all the research that's publically available, and some of the research that's not. He's read bits and pieces of Odine's, the abstracts of his papers that are only available within high security government databases in Esthar, research papers only meant for other scientists, not Garden cadets. He had his own fucked up bond, screwed by time and space, non-consensual and acidic and poison. He only really cares about two of those. It had been real while in use, for various values of real, but not real enough to matter once Ultimecia had gone away. It drove him fucking crazy, and there are huge chunks of his past he doesn't remember, huge chunks of the war he led he thinks he'll never get back, but he came out the other side.

He knows what a bond does to the knight that accepted it. The physical stuff, sure, but the mental benefits. Mild telepathy, the ability to access magic from the sorceress instead of needing draw points, being able to feel where the sorceress was and how she was #8212; and vice versa. He knows. He wonders if Rinoa knew what the hell she was fucking with. He wonders if Edea had had the foresight to take her aside and spread that pretty fucking important piece of information.

He watches Squall as the excitement of the train news fades away over the next week, and with it Rinoa's face. He goes from looking a lot manic to just a little, and one night he tugs Squall off his stool and out of the bar. Squall's shitty apartment is in the opposite direction, so he pulls Squall along with him. "What are the side-effects?" he asks.

Squall's shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. "I don't touch magic anymore at all," he says. "I get sick."

"Did she know?"

Squall makes a noise. "Not until it was too late," he says. "She thought she was helping, she thought it would be better, and I wanted--" His breath skips. "I loved her, but I wanted to be alone inside my head, I wanted --"

"It's not a shitty thing to want some privacy," Seifer says. "Did she think about doing a little research before jacking things up? Did you?"

"No," Squall says. "She was so...you know. She thought she knew." His shoulder bumps Seifer's. "Zell did it when I started getting sick and told the others what the symptoms were."

"Yet they didn't run her out," Seifer says. "Of course they didn't."

"It's not—I don't blame her." Squall jerks to a stop on the sidewalk. "It was just a mistake."

"Let me guess. She says she can fix it."

"She did, yeah." Squall shakes his head. "Edea said no. She said she needed to train and practice before she messed with my head anymore." He laughs, but it's broken, destroyed. "I couldn't even touch her, before I left. I couldn't even touch her anymore."

This, Seifer understands. The Rinoa he remembers was touchable, tactile and warm and soft. She liked it, too, she was a loving person. It's this, more than anything, that breaks his anger into pieces. For all she is, she wouldn't deliberately create a world where someone she cared about couldn't touch her. Seifer knows that.

She had done the same to him, hadn't she. Or maybe he had forced her hand. Seifer doesn't know who to blame anymore.

They stare at each other. Around them, the faint noises from a city that never sleeps anymore fills the silence between them.

"Come home with me," Seifer says.

Squall bites his lip. "I already am."

It's so fucking stupid, and Seifer knows it, as they walk in silence to Seifer's apartment, not touching at all. There's too much between them, and her, like a goddamn ghost, and Seifer just doesn't care.

Once Seifer has the door closed and locked behind them, he presses Squall into the wall, licks into his mouth. He tastes like terrible beer and salt and he's burning up, hot under Seifer's hands like the beginning of a fire spell. Squall's lips are dry for a moment before everything gets slick and wet, and Seifer presses a leg between Squall's thighs and runs a tongue along his bottom lip, slow. Squall shudders against him and kisses back, almost biting, and it would almost be familiar if before it hadn't been with fists and blades and violence.

It's a flurry of shoes and coats as they move across the room. The bed whines under them when Seifer shoves Squall down, angry, abused wires grinding. Seifer ignores it to unhook Squall's belt, yank it out from under him and toss it. Squall arches up under him. It's almost too dark to see, crappy streetlight through the suicide-proof window, but it's enough for the light to catch the glint when Squall licks his lips, saliva shiny for a brief moment, and Seifer goes hard so fast it almost hurts.

"How long has it been?" he asks, pulling the buttons on Squall's ridiculous pants, tugging them over slim hips.

"Do we have to talk?" Squall groans, when Seifer cups him through well-worn underwear, the cotton thin and soft and already wet. It's answer enough. Seifer runs a thumb over the wet spot, listens to Squall's voice catch.

"I think so," Seifer says. "This is a big day for me. Don't you know how much I've been pining?"

He leans forward, kisses Squall again while he fumbles around on his side table. He comes back successful, and Squall catches his wrist, pulling away. "You are not fucking me, Seifer." He ruins it by grinding up against the rough material of Seifer's pants. "Take those off, but no, no."

"You're not making much sense, Squall." Seifer works his belt and everything else off, Squall's hands fumbling on waistbands and the skin of his hips. "Yes, no, yes, no, which is it?"

"You're not—" Squall's voice stutters when Seifer drags his underwear down. "Oh, god," he says, when Seifer licks his hand and wraps it around his cock. He practically goes liquid, and then he's thrusting into Seifer's hand with so much abandon that Seifer almost lets go.

"Who are you?" Seifer murmurs, and strokes up, listening to Squall whine and feeling him shake. "I would have fucked you into the ground years ago if I knew you would be like this."

"Seifer." Squall's voice is sharp. He tugs at the elastic of Seifer's underwear. "Come on."

"Oooh, Commander voice," Seifer says, and Squall laughs, breathlessly. "I'm not sure you can boss me around, but we can try that later." He pops open the bottle, and although Squall goes tense, he doesn't move away. "Relax," Seifer says. The liquid is cool against his fingers and when he touches Squall, his eyes go wide and he bucks up so hard he almost throws Seifer off the bed.

Squall whines as Seifer shifts forward, laughing.

"She never did this, I bet," Seifer said. "Not to you." Squall's eyes are blown wide, and Seifer can see him picturing it, mouth wet and open and eyes wide and startled into relaxation. It makes it easy to bend and kiss him, stroking their tongues together as he slides a fingers in. The angle is fucked up, but Squall is panting into his ear, tense and trembling, and when Seifer curls his fingers Squall follows him, his cock hard and hot on Seifer's stomach.

"Did she really never?" Seifer asks, voice low, breath ghosting over Squall's collarbone. "Not even once? Because she did it to me and made me fucking fall apart." He adds a finger and Squall arches his neck, makes a low, keening sound and grinds into him. Seifer thinks if he keeps doing it, neither of them are going to last much longer. "She could take me apart with just her hands, just like this." He's outright fucking Squall with his fingers now, and he's sweaty and shaking and pushing back.

"Seifer." Squall's hands are pulling at the sheets and his voice is wrecked.

"Hmm?" Seifer asks. "What, you want something?"

"Fucking touch me already," Squall says, viciously. "I can't—" He groans when Seifer takes his fingers away, presses his arm up to his eyes.

"I guess you don't need to ask nicely." Seifer sucks at his jaw, rubbing his bottom lip over the stubble, and shifts so he can wrap his wet hand around them both, sliding their already slick cocks together in his fist. Squall chokes and rocks up, frantic and desperate. It's everything Seifer has always wanted to see, Squall lose his shit under him. When Squall comes all over both of them, one of his hands gripping Seifer's bicep like an anchor, Seifer lets himself go, too, shaking with it. He pretends that the name he hears Squall whine into the air is his.

------------

When Seifer steps out the back door of the restaurant for his break, Squall is there.

"Stalking me, now," Seifer says, taking a seat on the top step.

"You left a note," Squall says. "It's not stalking if you tell me where you're going to be." The skin around his mouth is pink, rubbed raw. Seifer knew if he were to tug the fluffy white shit out of the way, he would see red marks all over Squall's skin. Seifer had marked him, but they would fade. The only mark Squall will keep from Seifer is already on his face, and even that is beneficial. Character, Seifer thinks bitterly. Seifer always gets erased.

His hands always feel weird after coming out of the gloves he wears to guard against scalding water. He rubs them together. "You could probably use the sleep."

Squall smiles — actually fucking smiles — and comes to sit near him, diagonal from him on the bottom step. He doesn't say anything, he just sits there until Seifer has to go back in, but he's there when Seifer finally checks out for the day, leaning against the brick, casual-like.

Intimacy is addicting, and Squall, well. Seifer knew enough about Rinoa to fill in the blanks, here. He had spent hours opening Squall up, taking him apart, fucking him open, and he wasn't a goddamn moron, he had done it all using a girl neither of them had anymore. She built the roads; Seifer is just using them.

He keeps doing it, too, like a moron. Spending all his free time with Squall. Fucking Squall against walls, licking him open, wet and filthy until he humped Seifer's bed, letting him curl up with his faced mashed into Seifer's neck. Waking up with Squall, eating dinner, acting like a couple. The problem remains — Squall is filling the hole Rinoa left and Seifer gets to be the damn dirt — he sure feels the part every time Squall whimpers her name, when Seifer is buried balls-deep inside him. He thought unraveling Squall would be enough, but it's not.

It's not.

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