Hands on experience

BY : Naniris
Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 708
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: Hands on experience. Chapter 3: Hunger
Pairing: SeiferxZell, SeiferxSquall in a teasing way
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Dubious consent is very dubious. As in very.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, but I do own the story.




Sweating, straining, muscles taut and lungs gasping. Squall’s eyes stormy with liquid determination to dominate, to pierce through, to make Seifer feel the sting that can only surface at times like this. Despite everyone watching, even with everyone watching, because everyone is watching, Seifer feels aroused, full of life and wanting to take this farther, to meet the challenge head on and to reward such defiance the best way he knows how. Yet he’s distracted with glances at a recent conquest in the crowd. Hair’s a mess, dark circles around his eyes, pouting and distracted and so utterly fuckable. Squall’s entertaining and all, in a subtle standoffish way, however Zell is instant gratification in a tight little package. So receptive, responsive and explosive to the smallest of touches.

Dodging Squall’s downward stroke Seifer continues to taunt one man while mentally undressing the other. He hasn’t been this hungry since he first got his taste of other people and it just feels good to want this strongly, to build it up and tortuously let it slip out until releasing it all unto a quivering, exhausted body.

A quick side step, a lateral thrust and a parry later, Seifer realizes that as hot as his daydreaming was getting him, it wasn’t winning him the match. Squall must have noticed too since those slight crinkles between his eyes are evidence of his deep-seated disgust at Seifer’s lewdness, at his ability to have no shame and be smugly delighted about it. The gunblades cross and their faces flash close to each other. Squall’s face smoothes out, a clear sign to anyone who has known him well, which can be counted as a single person, that he was about to say something. His walls are always strongest when he speaks. “Pay attention.” Simple, precise, only strain present in his voice is purely physical and not due to the swell of emotions lurking beneath. But Seifer knows better. With so little to go on, he has learned to read between syllables, breaths and pauses. Squall is conflicted between jealousy, lust and disdain at having figured out exactly what Seifer was thinking. Apparently the only person oblivious to anything is Zell as his head nods forward as if in agreement, but as he’s chastised by the supervising instructor it’s obvious he’s half-asleep.

A slash here, a block there, this dance is older than their remaining memories. It would have been so monotonous if not for the games, the whispered conversations between blows, the mental battle to drive each other to the brink of carelessness and defeat. Seifer learned a trick early on that by not caring at all he wouldn’t be vulnerable to rashness, to anger and blind frenzy. So hooking his blade on Squall’s to immobilize it, grabbing his rival’s shirt to bring him in close and unbalancing them both to the ground wasn’t due to recklessness. It was calculated, to bring their crotches together, to nip at Squall’s throat and to whisper his intent to fuck him right then and there. If there is one thing that Squall has that Seifer doesn’t, it’s shame at having needs whether physical, emotional or sexual and doing so in front of a group of peers is mortifying enough to shatter his concentration.

“END THE SPAR!” The instructors voice booms to Squall’s rescue. Seifer stands easily enough, his slacks loose and his coat wide enough to casually hide any misdeed. Not so for Squall’s leather pants, but then again, that’s not really his problem. “Any injuries?” Seifer smirks and makes a show of presenting his body for inspection “Not a nick in sight.” Squall shrugs still on the ground, his legs strategically placed to conceal his softening cock.

The instructor eyes them both, and then turns to the class. “Who can tell me what Mr. Almasy did wrong?” Seifer frowns but lets it go. He’ll use the opportunity to take names of those who think he can do wrong. A slim arm rises, connected to a stick-thin girl with eyes two times too big for her face. Obviously one of those heavy magic users, probably one of the support troops with their hastes and cures and please-don’t-kill-mes. “Yes, Ms. Atria?”

She spoke with the properness and text-book accuracy that tells Seifer that she has more friends in a book than she does right now. “Sir, in trying to subdue a single opponent, Mr. Almasy left himself open to attack from every other quarter, as well as limiting his effectiveness in battle formation, support tactics, escape tactics and team-related techniques. His sloppy maneuver didn’t take into consideration a secondary weapon, perhaps concealed in his opponent’s sleeve.” She took a breath as though she planned to continue but the instructor took the opportunity to override her; long convoluted theory was left for the classroom.

“Thank you, Ms. Atria.” The instructor tolerant smile shifted into a disappointed scowl as he turned to Seifer. “The gist, Mr. Almasy, is that we’re training mercenaries. Not thugs, not berserkers, not street brawlers. Simply disciplined, highly-trained mercenaries.” He placed his hands on his hips, staying several feet away from the tall blonde that has a couple of inches over him so that his height wouldn’t diminish his admonishment. “You were not in a desperate situation; you were not heavily wounded, you were not low on ammo, you did not lose your weapon. So why in Hyne’s name would you pull a stunt like that? You and Mr. Leonheart were asked to demonstrate how a fight should be handled when both opponents are evenly matched, the point being that stalemating in wait for outside support is necessary and sometimes crucial for a mission’s success.”

The instructor raised his hands and quirked his mouth scathingly. “Now if you had won the fight due to strategic planning or failure on your opponent’s part I’d commend you for your skill.” Seifer could tell that the instructor whose name wasn’t important enough to be remembered was enjoying dressing him down and that was a no-no. “Nonetheless, what you did wasn’t skillful at all. A simple grunt could walk up and place a bullet in your head as you struggled on the ground, when before…” While the idiot babbled on
Seifer glanced at the crowd noticing that most were cowed. Good, they know how this will end. Squall was behind several more walls; detached from any feeling he had a minute ago, inspecting his gunblade casually. The tall blonde sulked slightly knowing that any advance he’d make now would be met with blazing indifference; the moment was lost and his trickery wasted.

Really getting into his superiority-complex driven speech, the older man was going into possibilities that didn’t happen, facing the class and turning his back on the exponentially irritated teen. Another no-no. “What if you had been overpowered and killed for your recklessness, hmm? Then the rest of your team would not only have to deal with their own tasks and opponents, but yours as well.” The skinny girl was scribbling away, probably writing down, word for word, the entire thing, even though this was live combat training and all that was required was your presence and trying not to die when it was your turn to be the show. Judging that it would take him less than two seconds to break her psyche, he decides that she’s beneath his notice and that acknowledging her in the first place is more attention that she deserves.

Seifer’s gaze finally rests on Zell. To his dislike and glee the tattooed fighter is grinning and nodding along with the instructor. Zell notices Seifer’s eyes boring into him, smiles back and mouths with fake dismay how sorry he feels that Seifer is an idiot, loser and all around asshole. Squall may be gone from this world for now but there was one lonely little Chickie that needed to be taught a lesson, that simply must learn that making fun of the Great Almasy is punishable with ecstasy beyond agony, that he practically hand-delivered an invitation for payback that would last all night and that this time there would be no rush, no interruption and no mercy. But first things first.

The instructor must have transferred here recently and only heard about Seifer Almasy’s reputation rather than see it first hand. Most likely thought he could knock him a down a couple of notches while increasing his own reputation as a hard-ass instructor that takes shit from no-one. Poor man had no idea what trap he laid for himself; but why warn him now? He’s about to set the last trip-wire. “During my training years, I had to make some hard decisions and I saw many a good cadet lose life and limb due to negligence on the battlefield. Through it all, I have never seen such a brainless move like the one you pulled just now. Why, I could have immobilized Mr. Leonhart and still retain my weapon and tactical advantage. By…” There, took him long enough to get to it, but the trap has been sprung.

“Show me.” It was the first that Seifer had spoken since the reproach started and while even and low, everyone heard him over the instructor’s barking. Including the rapidly deflating man that realized too late that you should only ridicule a beast when on the other side of the bars.

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Strutting out of Kramer’s office, with nothing more than a slap on the wrist, Seifer felt that today is going to be a good day. Of course, he didn’t worry about a serious reprimand or even dismissal for putting the yapping instructor on an infirmary bed for long-term care. It was combat training and the instructor boasted about his talents and this young student just needed first-hand experience in order to understand what the man meant. It’s not like he crippled him, just a little too much hurt that a tiny bit magic couldn’t just whisk it away. Besides, the Headmaster had a thing for gunblade specialists and bragging about them. He doubted that Kramer could get Squall to feed his childish enthusiasm to hold the weapon and hear time and again how it feels to slice and shoot at the same time.

That feeling of frenetic energy surging through his core, that his superiority was stated fact and not a simple boast, still fed his need to dominate other people whether in mind, body or soul. It was too bad that Fujin and Raijin had their own training mission to take care of. He would have taken them out to vent this energy and share in the exhilaration. They were different; they respected and trusted him as he them. A mutual understanding that went past words and into the instinctual bond that informs you of who are your true friends for life. And gods, he wanted to brag, just brag and have it be understood for what it is. A declaration of truth coated with fiery passion. It needled him when he tried updating people on his new feats and they’d glance around, smile politely and lie through their teeth about how great that is and hey, gottagodothatthingnowbye. At least Squall was honest in his disinterest, Quistis was sincere when she told him to grow up and Zell would grit his teeth since normally his bragging was about how he trumped the little Chickenwuss once again.

Speaking of tired little Chicks, Zell seemed much too exhausted during the morning, which meant he didn’t sleep at all; which would make him slow, reflexes blunt and tongue stilted. All of which is rare to witness and even rarer to take advantage of for long. It would be a new experience, to learn if his internal defenses went up or down, if his self-control would clutch harder at his decisions or let them decide themselves, if his libido puttered out or unleashed itself. All experiments start the same way and that is by locating the subject of the study.

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Zell in the library with a book on Shumi dialect seems obvious in hindsight, but after searching most of the Garden, cajoling his friends and checking the Chickie’s room five times, Seifer doesn’t give a shit if Zell is willing to play games or is two blinks away from falling into a sleep-deprived coma. Sparring twice, entertaining Kramer and playing a one-sided game of hide-and-seek is more tiring than it should be, but he’s determined to fuck someone and after going through all that Zell’s just going to have to give in. ‘No’ has been removed from the list of options.

He plunks down next to Zell and sees the tired blonde’s hand ghostwriting on a paper that begs to be ripped into pieces, burned and set free from its agonizing existence. “You’re about to summon a deposed god if you keep those patterns up.” A bit of humor just to sweeten the conversation. The smaller teen jumps as though he just woke up, which is entirely possible, and stares bewilderedly between Seifer and the paper.

“Oh, fuckfuckSHIT!” Zell gawks at the page, turns towards the light to see if he can decipher the shadows and lines. Finally, he crushes the entire thing and throws it behind him towards the disapproving look of the student volunteer who rushed to see who was shouting. Zell ignores the ‘humph’ behind him, preferring to hide his face between his arms and groan loudly. “I know I had a page done, I know it…I think. Just needed to finish up, cross-reference to make sure it’s right. Just read a little, write a little and then sleep a little.”

“Looks like you did all three.” Seifer smirks and decides to let this play out a little more before demanding his due.

“I don’t even remember what I did write…ARGH! What else could go wrong?” Before Seifer could jump into that perfect opening, the Chickie’s stomach beat him to the punch line. A grumbling loud enough to elicit an exasperated shhh from the other side of a bookcase. “Aww, dammit.” Zell’s eyes widened in horrible realization. “The cafeteria hasn’t closed yet, has it?”

A dilemma. A tired chickenwuss is one thing; a tired, hungry and academically frustrated Zell is another. Worth noting is that this combination leads to Zell treating Seifer like a normal human being rather than a curse upon his head, so it merits exploring. So he asks a question he knows the answer to. “Even if it hasn’t closed yet, there won’t be anything worth eating by now. Don’t you have a bit of food at your room?”

“I ate what little I had last night, to keep me fueled and awake. I haven’t had the chance to stock up.” Zell stands up slowly, wobbly at first, then slowly stretches to get the kinks out of his back and neck. Amidst a yawn he finishes. “Snack machines here I come.”

Seifer saw a narrow shifting path that led to his goal. He’d have to navigate carefully yet swiftly before it vanished into animosity again. “I’m hungry myself, pretty eventful day as I’m sure you know.”

“Eventful?” Zell raised an eyebrow. “Seifer Almasy being an egotistical ass and straight out bully is a day-by-day occurrence.” He smiled crookedly while picking up his things into a shoulder bag. “Eventful would be you being nice.”

Zell was always kind enough to provide lead-ins for Seifer’s plans. “Well, why don’t I do just that?” Seifer stood up non-threateningly, a good trick to know when you want to catch people off-guard, and holds out the pencil that slipped when this conversation started. “I have plenty of good food at my room, even got some fruit.” Bananas, sure, but Zell doesn’t need to know yet. “Fujin and Raijin aren’t around and I actually hate eating alone. We’ll do each other a favor that way.” If Chickie takes the pencil, then its working, if he doesn’t then Seifer needs to change tactics quick.

Instead Seifer finds himself pleasantly surprised when Zell places a gloved palm on both of their foreheads, a concerned and deadly serious look that’s comical considering what he says. “I think one of us is sick, maybe dying and hallucinating.” Seifer could kiss him right now, for being so adorably incredulous, but that would break the tenuous opportunity presenting itself.

Grabbing the hand at his forehead, Seifer places the pencil in it and closes the fist. “You’ll probably end up sick for treating your body this badly; nevertheless this is not a hallucination. Food, company and maybe even some help with your homework.” Zell suddenly pulling his hand away, straightening his posture and settling his face into a grimace where blaring sirens signaled that he said the wrong thing.

“Last time you offered help, it came with a nasty catch. That was yesterday and…gods what’s wrong with me?...Just last night you pulled all that shit. You’re a big part of the reason I’m so sluggish now.” Zell spoke through clenched teeth and hurried whispers aware now of how public they were. “Just…just leave me alone tonight; I got too much to do.”

Oh, this would not do at all.

Zell was quickly backing away and moving around the table before giving Seifer a chance to retort. The taller blonde decided to let him get to the hallway, trailing a few feet behind, before resuming his prowl. More deserted than the library, it took away Zell’s ability to distract himself with other people. He kept glancing behind himself, each time more obvious than the last, till ultimately he snapped. “Stop followin’ me and fuck off!”

Seifer smirked apologetically. How one can do that takes years of practice and innate ability. “We’re just headed the same way, is all.” Normally Zell would have called bullshit by now and get in his tormentor’s face, but he must be too frazzled to care since all he does is hunch his shoulders and increase his pace. This is smarter than his usual tactics, since Seifer can’t catch up and keep his innocent act so easily anymore. Slow and subtle won’t work quick enough, so now unto a more hands-on approach. He darts up close and places a hand Zell’s shoulder from behind, a sweet smile that barely reaches his eyes inches from the fighter’s face, breathing close enough to tickle his ear. “Okay, okay, it’s more than that.” Seifer takes note of Zell’s contained gasp and clutching hands that speak not of fear or scorn, just a tinge of anger and desire. “I just wanted to be nice. We both had fun those times, huh? I might have overstepped my bounds once or twice, but overall I’d say you enjoyed yourself.”

Zell took a deep breath to steady himself, grabbed the hand on his shoulder and squeezed painfully. “I already told you. Never again.” He looked directly at Seifer’s eyes, trying to muster as much bravado as his tired eyes could convey, his body already shifting into a better stance for a fight.

Seifer didn’t try to remove his aching hand from the death-grip it was in. He knew it was just his little Chickie’s way of standing up for himself, his way of saying ‘look at what I can do’. Besides Seifer didn’t recall Zell saying exactly ‘never again’. It was more like he hinted at it a lot. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not a one-dimensional sex-addict with a slightly aggressive side.” The sex-addict with a considerable aggressive side considered himself to be profound at the very least. “I am capable of socializing with people without wanting to fuck them.” Technically true, he could name two people right off the top of his head that that applies to. “I’m just offering a little help and, hey! I have your jacket in my room. Even if you don’t want any of my food, you could pick it up.” Zell’s grip tightened then relaxed slowly, Seifer couldn’t tell what kind of sign that was. The feeble little path leading to a more amicable night of passion was all but broken at his feet, and if this doesn’t work Seifer will just need to bulldoze his way to meet his ends.

“If you want to give me my jacket, then bring it to me tomorrow when I’m in class. I don’t need to fall into your trap to get my things back.” Zell dared Seifer to contradict him and the bully didn’t like it one bit. A tired Zell actually has the patience to think things through and not act impulsively. But still, there are more cards to play. He remembered Zell glancing around the library, Zell blanching at the thought of a crowd in the Secret Area, Zell horrified that he told Kadowaki, Zell only experimenting while in another town, Zell sure that he was going to gay bash him, Zell mortified at having been found out through a careless porno mag. Zell was in the closet.

“That won’t be a problem. Should I go while class is in session?” Zell nodding along as though he had already won; had finally outsmarted his harasser. If only he knew. “Maybe walk up to the podium and announce loudly that I have something of yours.” Zell stopped nodding, realization brimming on his face. “That you forgot your jacket last night at the Secret Area and that I was kind enough to bring it to you.” Zell’s wide eyes panicked in search of a response. “Why yes, that Secret Area, where only lovers go. Oh, he didn’t tell you that…” A quick shove cut his words short, but Seifer expected some sort of physical reaction. Zell couldn’t handle words when he was agitated. And that was how Seifer preferred him the second best.

“SHUT UP, just shut up.” Zell grabbed at his bangs and gathered his thoughts. “I could…I could say that you’re lying that it’s just your usual arrogant bully tactics. That you took it and that’s it.” Poor thing was already halfway in denial

“And when did I take that jacket then? Do you think anyone would believe that I could just take it without a fight? You haven’t had a mark on you except for my little love bites and looking at that high collar you’re still sporting, you won’t even let Kadowaki see it to give you a potion to make it go away.” Seifer crossed his arms and tilted his head, a cat playing with a cornered mouse. “Even if anyone buys it, the idea’s still out there. They’ll point out how you don’t chase the girls or sneak glances at their panties while sparring. And I personally don’t care about what anyone thinks of my sexuality.” And now for the final blow. “It’s not like there’s a Ma Almasy hoping for grandkids.”

A swift uppercut, a low kick, both dodged easier than normal. Zell’s too tired to fight well and he lost that glimmer of thought-before-action that he had to compensate for it. “You unbelievable asshole! I can’t fuckin’ believe you. Who the fuck do you think you are?! Do you believe in your own bullshit?!” The little Chickie had dropped his bag and raised his fists up to face, full attack stance, but all that didn’t hide the dread and shame in his eyes. Seifer could almost feel remorse.

“Hey, now. No need to get riled up. I thought that we were talking hypothetically. I don’t have to say all that. You could just head to my room now and get it yourself. No harm, no foul; you don’t even need to eat any of my good food. How’s that sound?” Seifer smiles graciously, arms open in a gesture of rescue and mercy, to save a scared little Chick from the big bad bully. Yes, he’s that blatantly conniving.

Zell just gapes at him, shakes his head clear and sneers at Seifer “Fine, ok FUCKIN’ FINE. But I’m warning you, that’s it. Not a fuckin’ thing can convince me to stay and if you try anything, I’m not holding back.” Jabbing a finger into Seifer’s chest to illustrate his point, Zell turns to grab his bag off the floor. He never sees his bully admiring his ass and congratulating himself but Seifer is sure he can feel it. There’s no more need for pretenses.

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The rest of the way to Seifer’s room was uneventful. His little Chickie only rethought the entire thing half a dozen times, actually walked away three times and threatened Seifer with excessive bodily harm two times. Considering that his latch ditch plan was to scoop up the smaller fighter, throw him unto his bed and hope to get him sexed up enough to stop struggling, this was a much better alternative.

He told Zell that his jacket was somewhere in the room, maybe in the closet, possibly under the bed, might even be in the laundry; poor ol’ scatterbrain Almasy didn’t remember exactly where, but he was sure that he had it. While Zell cursed at him, yelled about the merits of organization and asked when was the last time he vacuumed under anything, Seifer prepared a quick, aromatic and hunger-inducing meal full of protein and carbohydrates and all those things an active body craves.

When Zell had gone quiet, but his belly had not, Seifer grumbled about how he had made too much food, too used to cooking for three people. Not enough room in the tiny fridge for all this; will probably throw it out before it spoils. Such a waste. Then Zell mutely grabbed a plate, tossed it on the table and sat in front of it while Seifer served him some with delight dancing in his eyes. Zell ate it slowly at first, probably checking for any drugs, found it too good to care and gobbled down two servings. Seifer took his time eating, preferring to talk about his good marks in language classes, such as Shumi by the way, and hey they probably haven’t changed the assignments, he’d like to see if the instructors are lazy this year.

Look at that, they are. He translated this exact same thing last year. Zell’s translation is okay so far, kinda merits a barely passable grade at this point. Too bad. Seifer maintained that it’s just constructive criticism. Wouldn’t he like to see Seifer’s work just to get a leg up? Not copy it, gods no; Instructor Trepe would probably catch on while reading the first line. Just read it through so that Zell can get the context of the entire thing, makes it much easier to understand, much easier to know if the right word is ‘fight’ or ‘mate’ since in Shumi the same symbols are used for both. Isn’t that interesting? Oh, his old assignment is only two pages long because Shumi is a very redundant language. Seifer insisted that he’s not putting Zell on. Seifer pointed out that Zell wrote practically the same sentence for this part, just that Seifer’s makes sense and doesn’t read like random gibberish. Seifer placated Zell’s outburst of fuck you’s with understanding that yes, Zell had little time, was distracted by Seifer’s games, and yes, Seifer is an egotistical asshole, can they move on now?

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Seifer puts the dishes away to wash later and walks behind Zell. His little Chickie is about done writing what he thinks is the correct translation and will never admit that reading Seifer’s paper, at the very least, helped organize his thoughts. However, Seifer cares little for academic recognition and is ready for sexual gratification. Zell dotted the last punctuation and slid the papers into his bag, then leaned forward, resting his head on his hands. Seifer thought this to be the best time to strike, no more distractions, no hunger, just gratefulness for Seifer’s generosity.

He places sure hands on Zell’s shoulders, grins at the lack of a struggle. Zell didn’t even tense up. He traced his fingers lightly down the smaller blonde’s sides, lowering himself as well. As he hooked his fingers underneath Zell’s shirt and kissed along his neck, Seifer was suddenly startled by a nasally rumble and his exhausted little Chickie resting his head on the table. “You have to be kidding.”

Seifer lifted Zell from the seat, his arms wrapped around the sleeping blonde’s chest. He spoke softly, at first. “Hey, hey. It’s not bedtime yet. Well, it is, but not for sleeping.” Zell answered in the mumbled protests of the sleep-deprived too close to dreams. Seifer expected this response after the sex, maybe even during the last leg of it. “Come on, wake up.”

Zell struggled unconsciously against him, trying to get horizontal and comfortable. “This will go a lot easier if you come around about now.” Seifer carried him to the bed, Zell’s dead weight making it difficult to get around overturned furniture from the search. Seifer couldn’t help grunting out in exertion, his own muscles sore from the day’s activities. As he reached the bed, trying to lower Zell’s body dominoed into his unbalanced tumble forward, barely evading crushing the prone body. The dip caused by Seifer’s larger weight shifted Zell’s body unto him; the tattooed face nuzzling against his collarbone reawakened Seifer’s lust. He carefully kicked off his shoes and started sliding off his pants. As he maneuvered to remove his shirt Zell mewled softly and placed a lank arm over his chest, pressing the length of his body against Seifer’s own, a turgid cock straining between them. This new behavior was the most erotic that Zell has ever been and the most enticing that anyone has been while in bed with the aroused blonde. So much unassuming, vulnerable trust encased in dislike and wariness when awake. If Seifer hadn’t kissed Zell before, he probably would have experienced this sooner.

No longer in a rush to wake the sleeping blonde, Seifer slowly undressed him careful not to stimulate the minefield of erogenous zones that Zell called a body. This was an interesting middle ground. Finding partners willing to yield all control was easy, respecting them or at least finding them as interesting people wasn’t. Getting people like Quistis and Squall to have a night of fun and pleasure was a bit harder, but nothing would make them lower their innermost defenses. Not ecstasy, nor sleep, nor charming smiles. Zell though, saying he respected him was pushing it, but he did admire his talents and fire. And right now the smaller fighter was feeding an entirely different hunger than last night. He no longer wanted to just fight, dominate and fuck. He wanted to cherish the slight gasps, urge on slow stirrings and simply be romantic and protective, and sure, possessive and controlling because nothing he does is completely innocent.

He got on all fours, Zell squirming beneath in search of a warm body to snuggle against. So many options on how to start, just better leave kissing for last, since that seems the most likely to wake him. Deciding at last on what to do, Seifer lowered his body, covering Zell but not pressing him down and began by smelling the young fighter’s hair. Zell hadn’t done his morning routine of defying gravity and heightening his stature, so its scent was natural which a tinge of sweat. Seifer raked his fingers through, feeling the contours of the skull; Zell hmmed contentedly and pressed his head against the hands, urging them on further. Lightly stroking the earlobes, the space behind them, finding it surprisingly soft and covered in sparse downy hairs; Seifer angled slightly and licked it sensuously, grazing his teeth against the shell of Zell’s ear and exhaling tenderly over it to stimulate it further. The sleeping fighter stirred more forcefully, so Seifer stopped and waited, enjoying the press of Zell’s half-hard cock against his raging one. In a quiet voice meant mostly for himself, Seifer made a mental checklist. “Hair, playfully. Behind your ears, softly.”

He centered his face on Zell’s, moving deftly and silently, stroked the jaw line gently at first. Getting no reaction, he faintly scrapped his nails and got a better one but barely. The cheeks were a no go, the eyelids too much of a risk, the brow a complete deadzone. The lips…the lips would have to wait.

The neck compensated for the face. Evenly tracing the veins up here reacted the same way as tracing the veins down there. Feathery touches outlining the spine brought goosebumps over Zell’s skin. Tongue contacting briefly with the bottom of the chin and exhaling on it led to parted lips. Tonguing the dip where muscles met brought Zell to near full attention. Sucking on skin over the adam’s apple produced a moan and a wandering mindless hand. Amidst wicked gasps Seifer ground his erection between Zell’s thighs. “Neck, anything…everything.”

Struggling, Seifer brought himself to a stop and slowed his breathing. The erotic power trip he was one was intense, yet he’d hate for it to end too soon. He hadn’t even gotten to the torso yet. He trekked from the shoulders to the fingertips, finding Zell’s left arm more sensitive, finding that both inner creases of the elbow are more ticklish than the underarms, finding that nipping teeth at the inner wrist results in bucking hips, finding that Zell’s loves to have his fingers teased, sucked and stroked, finding that he really, really wished that he could fuck and do this little experiment at the same time.

Zell must be really exhausted, because Seifer couldn’t help but flex his hips a couple of times, each begging to let his cock visit that nice snug hot place it had only been once before. So with a mix of relief and sullenness he moved down; the collarbone, the indent between the pecs, the seductive and much too dangerous nipples, the outline of the fighter’s six pack, and the navel. Seifer avoided them, remembering the night before that a reluctant chickie could barely hold in his moans, so a sleeping one might startle awake from them. Ah, the sacrifices to be made.

Strangely enough, what he expects to be highly erogenous isn’t. First the face and now the pubic mound; the curly blonde hairs only cause discomfort when lightly pulled and teased. No moisture, no touch gets a positive reaction, no matter how light or hard. However, cross that red line unto the actual cock and it’s too much pleasure to handle. Seifer reluctantly veers towards the side and considers the dimples made by the hips. He has a theory and if it pans out, a very strong sexual weapon for future use.

He approaches the dip nimbly, glancing sideways at Zell’s semi-erection. He lightly grazes it, and then rubs his thumb up and down it. Why, is Chickie filling out a bit? Seifer licks it leisurely, blowing on it, and yes there is a definite improvement going on. He proceeds to suck and nip along the length of it, continuously glancing at the fruit of his labors and if he keeps this up he won’t be able to stop because yes, yes it must be true, Zell’s erogenous zones are where his skin is thinnest, where he’s most vulnerable, where large arteries and veins converge in a mortal wound waiting to happen. And fuck, fuck he hasn’t gotten to the back yet where bones create thin ridges of skin and the base of the spine is just a cluster of nerves waiting to be stimulated and threatened and seduced and exposed and caressed and tormented and...

That Seifer came right there should come as a surprise to no one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been half-an-hour since he orgasmed, but Seifer still feels tremors down his back and a tingling in his sac. After wiping himself off, he drank two glasses of water and sat nakedly at the table in full view of the bed. Zell is sleeping blissfully unaware of how much Seifer would like to ravage him for several hours on willpower alone. And that the only reason he’s not doing that now is because his current hunger wants him meek and willing, and probably a bit scared. Nevertheless, a conscious Chickie is an angry, impulsive and paranoid Chickie, and as much as Seifer hates to admit it, he couldn’t keep him down if Zell really wanted to leave. And that was part of the appeal.

He already had a stirring of plans with which to compel his Chickie’s consent, but none would work more than once if that. The whole ‘closet’ thing could only work for so long, probably obsolete by now anyway. Zell was never one for blackmail. No bribe for material things, no special favors to offer, no emotional placeholder like for Squall, no daring bad sides like with Quistis. He’d thought it be simpler. That Zell would be wanton and succumb to baser needs. That the force of Seifer’s personality would railroad him into any preferable position, yet instead it’s only strengthened Zell’s resolve to be antagonistic at least as much as one can tell in a couple of days.

Seifer doesn’t want antagonism right now. Probably after he’s had his fill, he’ll welcome competition and struggle again. Nonetheless, at this very moment he wants complete surrender and vulnerability, and there are a lot of places he could get it but his insides scream that it’s not the same. What glory is there in conquering the weak?

He’s already hard at the wispiest of thoughts. He can’t clearly see it unfold, there’s a stray memory of Zell sneering which mars the scene, a phantom ache of teeth clenching in vengeance, but he remembers Zell begging for the kisses and bites to stop, Zell struggling as Seifer fiercely kept fellating pleasure into pain. Seifer can have this, he wants it so badly that he must have it and there is no denying him. When there’s a desire this strong, the heavens themselves will realign and the gods will bow down and nothing, nothing will keep Seifer from it.


A/N:
I got all serious for a comedy porn fic, wtf.


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