Magic of Moonlight

BY : Zierra
Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Squall/Zell
Dragon prints: 438
Disclaimer: I do not own final fantasy, or anything remotely affiliated with the franchise. Not even the action figures. No money was made from this, just spent.

I feel really ashamed about how long this has taken me. If I was this slow at work I would've been fired a long time ago. But unfortunately (?!) writing is not my job, so I can be as slow as I want. And I take advantage of that. But this was really late in coming.

HOWEVER, I'm posting this. As usual it's un-beated, so feel free to laugh at my stupid spelling mistakes, because I've been told that my mistakes are funny. I guess it could be a lot worse.

WARNING: CONTAINS SEMI-EXPLICIT MATERIAL (if it makes you feel better I blushed when I wrote it, laughed when I proof-read it and will continue to blush when I've posted) AND SHALL NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

Dedicated to: Dragon's Born blood, because I like it when I get responses from people!

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MAGIC OF MOONLIGHT

It was an unusually cold night, even for the season, and the central heating systems were going haywire, gusting you with freezing air when you were desperately trying to defrost, or wheezing out hot, humid air when the sheets were already sticking to your body.

Squall, who by nature and habit both enjoyed and slept better when the air had a bit of a bite to it, found himself dripping with sweat with the sheets and pillow clammy and gross, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He rolled over onto the unused side of the bed in a vain attempt to escape the heat. He hadn’t even known, until after he gave Zell the key, that he had a side. It had taken several false starts, where he’d been forced to wake Zell and ask him to switch, only to repeat the process some minutes later. Zell, who slept like the dead, couldn’t have cared less and only muttered sleepily that he was happy as long as he was allowed in the bed at all.

It had made Squall a bit jealous, that Zell was so easily adaptable, when it felt like he’d been the only one forced to make changes to accommodate someone else, while Zell and his habits all remained the same.

It required a few months of brooding on the matter, before he realized that Zell’s life already contained a place for him and that he because of that didn’t need to rearrange closet-space or toiletries or change shampoos because the smell made Squall’s nose itch, like Rinoa’s had.

Even Squall’s morning rituals had changed, despite how adamant he’d been about not letting anything come between him and his cereal.

Nowadays he took a shower in the morning, when he used to prefer them at night, when he imagined that it washed away all the stress and issues of the day. But now Zell just fucked those right out of him, leaving him feeling oddly lighter and cleaner than a shower ever could. Not that he’d ever skip out on the shower after that… he realized that people didn’t have noses just for show.

But the most drastic change of all (one he had the nagging suspicion had always been there, just waiting dormant for him to realize) had been the mornings when Zell didn’t spend the night and the persistent urge to find him as soon as he woke up. It was a restlessness that wouldn’t leave him until he’d located Zell and seen him smile that thousand-watt grin that could supply Balamb with electricity for years, directed solely at him.

He’d tried and discuss it with his sis a month before, when he’d stumbled on the words and stuttered out the point he had tried to make and she had obligingly hummed encouragingly at the appropriate places.

He had noticed a slight reluctance to let him talk about Zell with her, that she seemed almost annoyed at the inconvenience, but when he’d tried to ask her about it, she’d just smiled and told him to go on, only to later mutter something about ‘blood being thicker than water but tasting too much of iron’.

When he’d inquired about the odd behaviour, Zell had just laughed, slapping him on the shoulder and said that Ellone was just jealous of their relationship.

“She’s single, baby! She doesn’t want to hear about her brother, the one everyone thought she’d out-marry by a century, talk about a relationship he’s serious about.”

Squall had nodded, thinking it made sense and Zell had given him this look. A look that Squall had begun to interpret as ‘you totally surprised me by not disagreeing’. And apparently, he’d been doing that a lot lately.

Squall sighed and stared up at the ceiling, the busted fan that hung there and teased him with its incapability to provide him with moving air. He made it sound like everything with Zell, the changes and the whatnot, was a bad thing. Surprisingly, it wasn’t.

The only thing that could maybe be vaguely labelled as bad was that it was getting harder and harder to think “me” instead of “we”.

Instead of looking at things from only his own point of view, like he’d done expertly since forever, he was now taking Zell into the equation without even being asked. It wasn’t just about trivial matters like what kind of food or soda he kept in his fridge, but work-related as well.

Like the mission to Timber the previous week. Monsters on the loose in a public park; an easy mission. Send a team of SeeD’s and cadets with an experienced leader. Problem?

Theoretically, no.

Practically?

Zell had been visiting his Ma that weekend, wanting some extra time with her since she’d fallen ill. When they’d parted that Thursday night, Squall had promised to come by after work to say hello and stay for dinner, by Ma’s special request.

That Friday morning, it had turned out that while Quistis and Selphie were out on extreme survival training in Centra with a large group of cadets and Irvine was back in Galbadia on return-loan to teach for a few months, the only person left sending was himself. Because he really didn’t want to send Seifer.

In the end, he’d taken the mission, the team had behaved exemplary and Balamb Garden received a lot of valuable good-will from Timber and everything was back to normal.

In theory.

Because Zell hadn’t spoken to him in the following three days of his return, beyond a icy cold “Good morning, Commander”, when they’d met for briefing Monday morning, and being everything but his usual clingy self and Squall had realized that he missed him terribly.

So in pure survival instinct, he’d taken a personal day and gone into Balamb and purchased largest and most over-the-top flower arrangement the store had and hand-delivered it to Ma Dincht’s door.

He was pretty sure she stopped breathing for a second, seeing him there on her doorstep with a bouquet the size of a Grat in his arms, while trying not to look too much like an idiot.

He gave her immense credit for recovering as quickly as she did, and while she probably did feel him for a fever, she didn’t make too big of a fuss over it, just saying she was happy to see him and thank him profusely for the flowers.

In many ways, Ma Dincht was a woman of his tastes. She said what she needed to be understood and then left it at that, no unnecessary embellishments. Unless she was after information, then she would slowly break him down with idle chitchat, until his mind couldn’t take any more inanity and just blurted out what she wanted to know.

The same night, Zell had greeted him in the bedroom with a surprise that still made Squall blush and squirm and the tiny marks from the handcuffs still visible on Zell’s wrist would set his heart racing.

Even this night, lying there in bed, Squall felt an excited tingle run down his spine, when every nerve-ending responded to the memory and made him hard.

The pillow on the left side, the closest to the wall and also Zell’s side, smelled strongly of the apple and elderberry shampoo the blond used and added another sense to the fantasy.

Without really thinking about it, just letting his instincts take over like Zell had one taught him, he pushed the sheets down from his body and let cool fingers trace the revealed skin in its wake.

His mind was vividly recalling the memory, once again placing him there in the room, seeing Zell’s strong arms cuffed securely to the bedpost while the blindfold robbed him of sight as the gag stifled his moans.

It had been the single most erotic moment of Squall’s life and would undoubtedly continue to be so until he died.

The mere fact that Zell couldn’t see him, the most important sense the human body possessed, had made Squall so high on a power-rush he almost felt crazy. Added to that was Zell’s inability to touch him, all spread out to allow Squall to do anything he’d ever wanted and then he couldn’t even fucking talk!

In retrospect, Squall figured it was the trust he got off on. Zell, who’s primary weapon was his own body, had given up every ounce of control, fully trusting Squall not to abuse it. It was as if Squall had placed Lionhart’s blade against the thin skin of his own neck, letting Zell have total control of the blades movement. It wouldn’t even be half of an erotic experience as seeing Zell tied up, but the trust would be the same.

Squall groaned as his hand made contact with his cock, fingers curling around it and inadvertently interrupted his own fantasy, shattering it like fragile glass until a slow twist of his wrist pulled it back together, now with added sensory.

Squall stroked slow, much slower than he really preferred, hand in a teasing yet firm hold that Zell used that never failed to drive him absolutely mad.

Squall prided himself for being resilient and mentally strong, but there was no torture-method that could’ve broken him sooner than Zell giving him a hand job and despite all his convictions, Squall did not have the discipline to maintain the pace for long. He was only male after all, but he gritted his teeth against the desire to speed up and bit hard on his lower lip to try and balance out the pleasure, to let the sweet agony continue for just a while longer.

With his eyes now closed, Squall let himself emerge completely into the memory of that unforgettable night, vividly remembering the salty taste of skin and how soft it felt over tense muscles; the smell of clean hair still moist from a recent shower. He could graphically bring to mind the sound of muffled pleas and the sight of tanned sweatslick body moving restlessly against burgundy sheets.

Squall felt on fire, trapped in the limbo between then and now, the fantasy of Zell as real as his own hand, still wringing pleasure from his weeping erection.

Pressing his head back into the pillow, Squall spread the precome over the head, shaking helplessly at the tickling sensation that travelled all the way down to his toes and the onslaught of desire.

If Squall hadn’t dared to admit it before, there would have been no escaping the fact that he had fallen in love with Zell, with everything that had happened that night. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it or if he’d just thought it - Zell had made no mention of it - but in the fantasy Squall repeated “I love you” like a mantra, a soundtrack to the sex as much as to his love.

A need almost strong enough to conquer the one that currently devoured him, had him halting his hands movement, cock pulsing in angry protest. It was a need to announce. To declare.

He reached for his phone while he pointedly avoided looking at the time, speed dialling Zell before the urge faded.

With his conscious mind occupied, his subconscious resumed matter at hand and made him moan brokenly into the phone, just as Zell picked up.

“Hello?”

Zell’s voice was rough, but strong, and Squall envisioned him - still blindfolded and bound - just released from the gag to be allowed a short conversation.

“Zell.”

He couldn’t recognize his own voice, but he hoped Zell could. By now his entire body was throbbing, humming almost like it did while junctioned.

“What is it, babe?”

A barely audible breathy moan escaped him at the warm, fuzzy feeling that spread in his chest, in complete contradiction to the overpowering lust that raged everywhere else.

“I….” Hyne, it was still difficult, despite the knowledge that he beyond a shadow of a doubt would mean very declaration of love he could possible make, but there was still some obstruction that kept him from just saying it out loud. A part of him wondered if maybe he should have practised first.

“You what? You miss me?”


Hyne yes!

his body screamed at him, willing to give up some vital organ to just have Zell in bed with him right now. The blond used the tone of voice that implied he knew what was going on in Squall’s head, and maybe he did. It was frighteningly disarming to hear it, it turned him meek and submissive and even though he was alone, his own hand stroking himself determinately now, Zell was still very much in charge.


“Well, do you?”

“Yes”, the word ended with a drawn out hiss, thumb again slipping over the slit.

“Yeah, I bet you do. You’re wishing I were there now, don’t you? Letting you do whatever you want to me.”

Squall would have mustered a lot more energy hating the fact that he was that transparent to his boyfriend if he hadn’t been so desperately busy doing something else. He supposed he wasn’t that difficult to read, once you got past the outer shell. Hyne knows the Squall he was right now, fisting his cock roughly with his lover on the phone, wasn’t the same Squall that had conference-called his father that morning, but Zell had got under his skin a long time ago and had had plenty of practice to perfect reading Squall like other people read billboards.

“What are you thinking about, Squall?”

Zell’s voice had dropped lower, sounding rougher and breathier, making his name sound like a dirty pet-name instead of what his mother had spent months on deciding.

“You thinking of me naked, hand chained to the wall? You want to whip me, don’t you? Cut me.”

The first time he’d heard Zell talk like that, he’d freaked out, thinking that Zell had got it all wrong. It wasn’t until later the next day, when the words had refused to leave his mind and his hand kept writing them in the margin of a Mission Field Rapport, that he realized that they actually turned him on. It took him even awhile longer to understand that Zell got off on it too.

“Wanna mark me?”
“Fuck yeah!”

Hyne help him, but Squall really wanted to mark him. Put something so uniquely ‘Squall’ on his skin that no one who saw would doubt who the fighter belonged to. Zell knew that, never hesitated to remind him of it either, making suggestions of possible tattoos, piercings, even scars.

But what the blond probably didn’t know was Squall’s aching desire to be marked in return. His skin was virginal in terms of personal marks, the only thing coming even close to being compared and still falling infinitely short, was Seifer’s scar. A scar he didn’t want from a person he didn’t like.

He would sometimes wake with bitemarks on his shoulders, scratches on his back or bruises on his wrists. Brutal marks made from burning hot passion and he always mourned them when they faded.

He wanted something permanent to remind him of the incredible nights with Zell he couldn’t be near the blond. Something that would never fail to bring forth a memory of love, the feeling of belonging, whenever he would need it the most.

Squall knew he was getting close to coming, his erection painful now, obscenely wet with it’s continuous release of precome, hand now working furiously, twisting and pulling to the beat of his heart.

“Zell”, he managed, listening to his boyfriend groan something inaudible.

“Yeah?” It sounded like Zell was in the same predicament that Squall was, participating in some fantasy of his own, probably had when Squall called as well, just letting the conversation be another stimulant.

Squall’s toes curled, body pulsing, once, twice and he knew he was coming.

“I love you.”

It was like a volcano erupting, in both his body and his mind. The pleasure like a tropical storm, consuming him completely. There was not an inch of his body that didn’t feel satisfied, wrung out and sated, better than magic had ever made it feel.

When he was pulled back to the present, he heard Zell’s laboured breathing still in his ear, sharing the relaxation of afterglow.

“Fuck, I wish I was there.”

“Why aren‘t you’re here?.”

It had occurred to him a few times before, like now, when he snuggled into the mattress, that his bed was really big. After months of sleeping next to someone, Zell’s absence was like a presence in the room, something noisy that disrupted his sleep. It was as hard to fall asleep in the unwelcome silence, as it had been falling asleep that first night Zell spent the night.

A half amused chuckle made him frown.

“What?”

“Trust me, baby. I would be there if I could. But I’m in Esthar, remember? I went this morning.”


Yeah, that’s right

….


“I forgot.”

Squall felt sheepish, one part of his mind wondering how the hell he could forget something like that, and the other why he ever let Zell leave in the first place.

“It’s alright, I’ll take a rain check.”

Squall smiled, sleep tugging at him as the air-conditioning finally kicked in and a whiff of cool air skated pleasantly across his naked body.

“Promise.”

“I promise. And Squall?”

“Mmm”, he was barely holding on to the last strand of wakefulness, willing his ears to listen, just knowing he needed to hear what came next.

“I love you, too.”

THE END


§§§§§


I know, massive sap! But I wanted this little interlude to show you that not all is complicated in Squall/Zell-land. They actually do have happy days! PLEASE REVIEW!

With that said, the last (WHAT?!) installment of this master-piece (yeah, right!) will be MEGA-angsty and is... very not yet finished.

And WELCOME BACK, if anyone's still interested in this!

Hugs, Z


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