Adult-FanFiction.org : Final Fantasy

Mind Games	By : danihouse Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 966 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy or any of the characters represented in the story, and I make no profit from it.

Chapter List
- 1-Mind Games
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19.1
- 20-19.2
- 21-20
- 22-21
- 23-22
- 14
- 15
- 16
The atmosphere in the hotel room was noticeably and painfully subdued the next morning. The ringing of the room phone, which was on the table beside the bed but might as well have been inside Zell’s skull for how damn loud it was, was what woke him, and he grasped around until he found it.
“Don’t tell me you’re still in bed at this hour,” a familiar voice cooed over the line in response to Zell’s drowsy greeting.
“Irv?” he mumbled, sitting up slowly and reluctantly opening his eyes to peer at the clock on the nightstand until its numbers began to make sense to him. “Um. What...?”
“It’s after noon already, what’s wrong with you? You drunk?”
“No,” Zell said, rubbing his head with a still-stiff right hand. “I mean... urr.”
“Well, sober up. Let’s get some lunch. I’m leaving town tonight and we haven’t even got to hang out,” Irvine chattered, sounding entirely unconcerned that Zell’s brain was throbbing with each word he spoke. “Meet me at the Fourth Avenue Cafe. It’s just down the street from the Grand. Twenty minutes. See you.”
“No, umm, I don’t think that...” Zell started, but Irvine had already hung up the line. He groaned to himself, throwing the phone away. He’d known it would be a bad idea to drink, and a spectacular headache was now proving him unpleasantly right. Not that he’d needed to wait for the hangover - letting Seifer kiss him last night was pretty much the worst idea he’d ever had, though it had seemed like rather a good one at the time. Funny how that always happened when he drank. Though Seifer’s close proximity may have had a bit to do with it - his voice all low and seductive, his chest bare, and so warm... no, that was a bad, bad line of thought to be pursuing so early in the day, Zell decided. He wasn’t clear-headed enough yet to contemplate how close he’d come to doing something highly regrettable.
He staggered out of bed and spent as little effort as possible getting dressed, stopping on the way out the door only to gulp down a glass of water and search - unsuccessfully - for some more potion in his gear bag; now that he was up and moving around, he was feeling rather more sick than he’d thought. Seifer was still asleep in a very awkward position on the couch, one arm twisted behind his back and the other hanging off the edge (that’s not going to be good for his ribs, Zell thought to himself.) But at least he wasn’t awake, bitching and complaining about his headache, his sideache, Zell’s irritating voice, or whatever else he felt like jabbing at as he always did when he was in a foul mood. Zell was suddenly struck with the thought that he was way too familiar with Seifer’s moods.
It was a pleasant day, and he felt a bit better as he made his way down the street. Physically, at least - his brain felt like a scrambled egg, and as he reflected on what had happened the night before, it might as well be one, he thought. Letting Seifer goad him into a fight, letting Seifer kiss him - well, the point in fact was that he was simply letting Seifer get away with too much. The problem was that these things always happened when he was drunk, and therefore when things like kissing his mortal enemy just didn’t seem that big of a deal.
Mortal enemy? Zell thought for a moment, disturbed by how easily the words had come to mind. No, he wouldn’t call Seifer that... would he? He certainly didn’t like Seifer, but there were times when he wasn’t so bad... actually, as Zell thought about it, he could distinctly remember times when he had found Seifer’s company enjoyable. He’d been living with Seifer for over a week now; it wasn’t like they were constantly fighting... okay, they were constantly bickering, but Zell figured that was just how Seifer communicated; he couldn’t, in fact, think of a time when he had ever conversed with Seifer without there being bickering. But they’d only really gotten into it a few times, and each of those, he had to admit to himself, Seifer had been provoked. Or rather, Zell thought, I provoked him into provoking me.
He stopped where he was on the sidewalk to ponder that for a moment. It wasn’t like he liked fighting with Seifer... or perhaps it was? He felt a bit queasy suddenly, and he had a feeling it wasn’t anything to do with his hangover. Maybe I’m the one who’s the masochist, he thought morosely. He’d been trying to play it cool, shrugging off all Seifer’s snarky comments and insults, and he appeared to have failed miserably. It was just so hard - something about Seifer grated at him for no explicable reason.
That’s a lie and you know it, he told himself, and continued walking down the street, coming up on the Galbadia Grand Hotel. He knew exactly what irritated him about Seifer, and it had a lot to do with the fact that he wanted badly - almost desperately - to fuck him. And that, he reflected, at least was for no explicable reason - he’d known Seifer for years and never once had felt any sort of romantic or sexual inclination toward him until the night the bastard crawled into his bed. And if he kept doing it, Zell was afraid he might just give in... the idea was too horrifying to consider.
He banished the unpleasant thoughts from his mind as he approached the cafe, where Irvine was already waiting at a table, though evidently with little success as the first thing the redhead said to him was, “well, I see someone had a rough night. Can I assume Seifer is in as bad of shape as you appear to be? Because it would make my day if you said yes.”
“Hello to you too,” Zell mumbled as he took his seat. Within seconds, a young, pretty waitress was at his side to take his order, though her eyes were locked on Irvine and she didn’t even write it down when he asked for a black coffee. Irvine grinned and winked at her, and she fluttered back inside the cafe, while Zell repressed a groan of disgust. “Sometimes I really hate you, ya know.”
“I can’t help it if I have loads of natural charm,” Irvine replied, sipping a soda. Then he shrugged. “Besides, you know I’m a one-woman-man. I am completely and entirely devoted to my dearest Selphie,” he said, assuming a gallant expression. Zell snorted, leaning back in his chair.
“Which might mean more if she actually was aware of your devotion, don’t you think?”
“She’ll know it someday,” was the other man’s casual answer, and he paused in the conversation for a minute as the waitress came back and deposited a cup of coffee before Zell, simpering in Irvine’s direction again before leaving. He smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Things are good the way they are now, aren’t they?”
“I guess, if you can stand just being friends with someone you hopelessly want to shag,” Zell replied bitterly before he could stop himself. He looked up from his coffee, but luckily Irvine didn’t seem to have taken note of his remark; he was looking at Zell’s left hand, which he was using to clumsily stir sugar into his drink.
“Something wrong with your right hand?”
“Oh,” Zell sighed - of course Irvine would notice something stupid like that - and said, “I broke it last night...”
Irvine’s expression went positively gleeful, and Zell huffed, half-frustrated and half-amused by his friend’s eager interest in his drunken exploits. “In a bar fight,” he elaborated, and Irvine sat back, still grinning.
“I thought you were gonna say you broke it on Seifer’s face,” he said with a chuckle. “I love the idea of you wailin’ on him. Oh well.”
“What’s he done to you lately?”
“Oh, nothing in particular,” Irvine said nonchalantly, stirring his soda idly with his straw. “I just don’t like the guy. You’d think he’d be humbled by what’s happened, but he still acts like he’s the king of the friggin’ world. I think he deserves an occasional right hook.”
“Aren’t you being a little harsh?” Zell asked hesitantly, feeling somehow irritated by the direction the conversation was taking. “I mean, he’s had a pretty shitty lot, don’t you think?”
“Didn’t we all?” Irvine replied, with a sharp edge to his tone that Zell wasn’t accustomed to hearing. Amending in a forcedly more cheerful voice, he went on, “I guess you came out a bit better than the rest of us, with a family and all. But we all grew up in Garden, we all lived the same lifestyle, and he’s the only one who turned out a prick and went crazy-”
“He didn’t go crazy, Irv,” Zell cut in a bit more vehemently than he intended, but Irvine merely waved his remark aside.
“What do you call hieing off with a psycho sorceress?”
“A bad choice,” Zell responded decisively. “Remember he’d just failed the SeeD exam - for the second time. He probably thought she had more to offer him than Garden ever would. That don’t make him crazy, it was just a bad choice.”
Irvine sat forward again, about to reply, when he paused, and then said as if it had just occurred to him, “Why are you defending him?”
Zell had to think about his answer for a moment before it came to him. “Well, someone’s got to, since you’re trying so hard to bastardize him,” he said coldly, but then adopted a disaffected expression, a little perturbed himself by the fact that he was defending Seifer - and he hadn’t even realized it. “I mean, I don’t like the guy either, but I gotta admit he’s had it pretty rough since the end of the war. I figure it’s punishment enough to be pitied and hated everywhere he goes.” As he said this, it occurred to Zell that he really didn’t hate Seifer - though he couldn’t say what he really did feel toward him, as he definitely didn’t like the ex-knight.
“I think I’ve had enough of talking about Seifer,” Irvine said decisively, waving a hand as though to shoo the subject away. Zell drank his coffee, giving a cool shrug.
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“So, how’re things going with Dalla?” Irvine slipped in next, as casual as could be; Zell smiled, not about to be caught up again.
“I know you don’t think I’m that stupid, Irv,” he replied, “you know I can’t talk about it.”
“It’s not like I don’t know what you’re here about, anyway.”
“That’s not the point. You gotta stop badgerin’ me about stuff like this,” Zell said. Irvine laughed aloud, but before he made a reply, he waved the waitress over again, and waited until she had brought back anothr drink for him and topped off Zell’s cooling coffee before he ventured on.
“What do you think of Dallia Caraway?” he asked, dumping packets of sugar into the soda he clearly wasn’t intending to actually drink. Zell gave him a stare, to which Irvine responded with a wry grin and a sigh, adding, “I’m not asking about your mission,” he whispered the word as though it were top-secret, “which you’ve made it pretty clear you won’t talk about. I’m just curious. What’s your impression of her? Personally?”
“Oh? I dunno... I like her,” Zell answered, stopping to think about it for a moment. “She’s kind of eccentric, I suppose, but it seems harmless.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Irvine said, stirring his drink with his straw, a small mound of sugar floating atop the ice cubes. “She’s very charming, don’t you think? I mean, everyone seems to like her.”
“Everyone except Seifer,” Zell thought - only when the other man replied realizing that he’d said it out loud.
“Yeah, but who does Seifer ever like?”
He likes me, was Zell’s next thought, and luckily he did keep this one in his head, because he felt uneasy as soon as it crossed his mind. He didn’t know where it had come from, but he had a distinct memory of Seifer saying just that. But when, and why couldn’t he remember it? And why would Seifer ever say such a thing in the first place?
The beach party, it came to him suddenly; he’d been well past plastered that night, but he had it now - the image of Seifer, smirking, just before Zell’s fist wiped the grin off his smug face. Hell, how had he forgotten that? Seifer had no doubt said it just to rile him up, but now that he’d remembered, Zell found he was pretty pissed off after the fact.
“Though to tell the truth,” Irvine was saying, evidently not taking notice of the pause in the conversation, “I think he must be gettin’ some. But I can’t imagine who in their right mind would sleep with the guy. Do you know anything about it?”
“What makes you think that?” Zell said, spluttering sheerly in surprise at the sudden turn of conversation - and what are you blushing for, you dolt? he berated himself inwardly, hoping Irvine hadn’t noticed, though his heightened colour could be attributed to the fact that he had just heftily choked on his coffee. Not that he was going to tell the other man, but he was pretty damn sure Seifer was not getting any - in fact, he was willing to bet he was the foremost authority on just that subject lately. Which, he decided as he mulled that thought over, was weird - he was definitely getting way too familiar with all aspects of Seifer’s life.
“Just... I dunno...” Irvine shrugged, thinking about it. “He’s too cheery lately, don’t you think?”
Zell made a face, not even able to think “Seifer” and “cheery” in the same thought with any amount of seriousness. Irvine amended, “Okay, that’s the wrong word. What I mean is, he’s still an ass, but it’s like he’s got something going on. And if he’s not getting laid, then I want to know what he’s up to,” he finished, jabbing the table resolutely with his finger.
“Then, what if he’s just getting laid?”
“Then I’m just pissed off,” Irvine huffed, emptying a packet of marmalade into his soda absentmindedly. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m the only one of our group that’s not getting some!”
Zell almost snickered, but held himself back with some effort. “No, really?” he said, keeping his face straight; the other man appeared to be genuinely miffed about this situation. “I’m surprised, I guess.”
“I told you I gave all that up, man. My heart’s set on my lovely Selphie,” he replied with a wistful sigh.
“Oh. But, she’s not...?”
“She’s seein’ a guy out in Trabia,” Irvine muttered. Zell nodded sympathetically.
“That sucks, mate.”
Both were silent then, Zell sipping at his lukewarm coffee, Irvine mixing strawberry jam into his drink and staring morosely into it. Zell thought about the cowboy’s remark for a few moments. “Quistis?” he said inquisitively.
Irvine gave a weak half-shrug, looking rather depressed. “Oh, trust me, she’s got it when she needs it. But it’s more than my life’s worth to tell you where I got that information.”
“Huh,” was all Zell said, somewhat surprised. “Well, if it’s any consolation I can guarantee you there’s one of us that’s not gettin’ any,” he added pointedly.
“No?” Irvine said, looking up. “With Miri...?”
“Got a boyfriend.”
“Eww, tough luck, buddy.” He spent a few moments building a tower out of empty jam packets, and after some thought, seemed to brighten up. “Well, I feel better that I’m not the only one in a dry spell. Though I do want to know what he’s up to. He’s got no right to be so... gleeful.”
“Thought you didn’t want to talk about Seifer anymore,” Zell said, feeling faintly annoyed again - not least because it had occurred to him that this elevated mood of Seifer’s that everyone seemed to be commenting on lately was probably mostly due to the fact that Seifer had him so close at hand to bully and mock whenever he wanted. The other man was never in a better mood than when he’d just got done thoroughly pissing Zell off. He’d almost rather that Seifer went back to the moody, morose bastard he used to be, if only so that his change in behavior would stop being so remarked on.
“That’s right,” Irvine said in reply, as though he’d forgotten. “I wanted to ask you - what’s your take on this Estharian Garden idea?”
“Hum,” Zell said, taking a drink of his coffee as he thought about his answer - whether or not Irvine was fishing after something, a loaded question like that would require a diplomatic answer regardless. “I guess I’m two ways about it. Personally, I don’t think it’s practical or sensible, and I don’t imagine anyone is going to let her get away with it. But,” he went on, rather aware of Irvine’s acute interest in his opinion, “on the other hand, I think Dallia made some decent points - I think she could hold some fair water if she really put herself to it.”
“You don’t think she was putting herself to it yet?”
“No,” he said, “why would she? I figure she was just kinda testing the waters - seeing how much she’s gonna be up against, and if it’s likely she’ll be able to talk anyone over. Though I get the feeling that the more opposition she finds, the more determined she’ll be about the whole idea. That’s just my impression, though,” he finished with a shrug.
Irvine was smiling, arranging his jam packets in very straight lines. “That’s interesting,” he said, though Zell didn’t think it was much, “that’s just what I think.”
“Is it?”
“What do you suppose she’s really up to, wanting to build a Garden?” Irvine mused.
“How should I know?” Zell replied casually. “I’m just a grunt - you and Squall are the clever ones. I leave the heavy thinking to people like you.”
Irvine snorted; he knew as well as Zell did that the martial artist was much cleverer than most people gave him credit for, but the other man seemed to catch the point nevertheless. “Look, do we have to talk about work?” said Zell next, taking a drink of his cooling coffee. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Irvine said with a sigh, punching a series of holes in a spare napkin and threading the straw from his untouched drink through it. “I get carried away. It drives my PA fuckin’ nuts. But sometimes I just need someone to bounce thoughts off of, y’know?
Zell only nodded, watching the other man meticulously perch his makeshift flag atop a small fort built of jam and marmalade packets. He was thoughtfully silent as he turned in his chair and pilfered the centerpiece from the next table over to replenish his supply of marmalade. “So, what else is new since the last time we hung out?” he asked next, making small adjustments to his model. “It must be over a year, isn’t it?”
“I guess. Not much. You know, same old, same old...” Zell trailed off uselessly. It hadn’t even occurred to him how boring his life was until Irvine had asked him to sum it up.
“Met any nice girls?”
“Oh, plenty of them,” Zell said with a wry grin, “just none that wanted to meet me back...”
“How is it a dick like Seifer can manage to get some, but two awesome guys like you and me are hopeless losers in love?” Irvine whined.
“Hey, speak for yourself, mate,” Zell said defensively - though the statement was accurate enough, even if he didn’t like the phrasing much. He had been feeling rather hopeless lately, for lack of a better word, but he wasn’t particularly keen to discuss it with Irvine, of all people.
“We saved the world, for fuck’s sake,” Irvine said.
Cripes, he’s really hung up on this, Zell thought wearily. “Well, maybe that’s your problem,” he said in reply, only shrugging coolly when Irvine looked up from his diorama to shoot him a dirty glare.
“Pardon?”
“Well, what I mean is, Selphie ain’t exactly a normal girl, is she?” Zell explained, while Irvine waited with an almost offensive air of attention. “Saving the world might do well enough to impress all the rest, but Selphie also saved the world, if you remember. I think you’ll need to step up your game to impress her.”
“I suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Irvine mused. He studied his jam packet castle for a moment (Zell had decided that it was a castle, not a fort, on the fact that it had a tower,) very pensive, and then his disposition brightened, as though he’d had an idea. “Zell,” he said, standing suddenly from his seat, grinning in a way that Zell had come to associate with trouble, “do you mind? I’ve got a very important call to make before I leave town.”
“Nah, go on,” Zell said, waving him away. He watched with some amusement as Irvine fairly skipped away, got just down the street, and then came running back to drop some cash on the table before trotting off again. What a drip, Zell thought, shaking his head. He finished off his coffee slowly, thinking on things - Irvine’s predicament not least; self-proclaimed playboy or not, five years was rather a long time to be unrequitedly in love with someone. Irvine’s problem was that he had grown too used to getting things easy, that was all - his almost effortless seduction had worked so well for so long that he’d probably forgotten how to actually work to win someone over. Nor did Zell think that Selphie was as entirely oblivious of things around her as she pretended to be, but it seemed that as long as Irvine was unwilling to own up to his feelings, she was just as unwilling to indulge him. Well, they’d get it right eventually, Zell supposed.
Now, if only I could get it right, as well... he thought morosely to himself; he drained his coffee, setting the empty cup down next to the jam castle, and stood to leave.

He wandered around down the shopping district for a while; drooled over a gorgeous pair of new studded gloves in a shop far too expensive for his budget, hit the pharmacy to stock up on potion (the way he and Seifer were going, they were more likely to need it between themselves than actually in the line of duty,) and didn’t return to the hotel until well over an hour later, wondering vaguely to himself if Seifer was up yet. Judging by the state of him the night before, he’d be in a foul mood, but Zell was prepared for that - as prepared as he could be, anyway. The couch was empty when he entered the room, but Seifer wasn’t out, as he saw a moment later looking around; he’d taken the bed, which rather annoyed Zell, laying on the near side with a pillow clutched over his head.
Zell slammed the door behind him, making the other man jump; he shifted the pillow to peer out from under it with a cold, menacing eye. Zell moved about the room not quietly, kicking his shoes off and tossing his shopping down to the floor and ignoring Seifer’s stare, but a few moments later, when he spared a glance toward the bed again, he felt a little bad; Seifer seemed genuinely in pain, and there was something endearing about the sight of him laying there with a pillow over his head, like a child. “How ya feeling, Almasy?” he asked softly, moving toward the bed; in response, there was only a sound that may have been a curse, but was mostly a grunt. Holding back a chuckle, Zell added, “how’s your ribs?”
“My ribs are fine, my head is murder,” Seifer replied, finally emerging from under the pillow. He propped himself up on his elbows, rubbing his eyes, and then shot Zell a very unfriendly glare. “You were just as drunk as I was, how come you’re so bright and cheery this morning?”
“Nice, fresh air; does wonders,” Zell replied chipperly, echoing his Ma’s oft-repeated favorite phrase. “Also, the fact that I didn’t finish a whole bottle of champagne on me own probably makes a difference. This might help,” he went on, moving round to the other side of the bed and pulling the shade down over the window, through which sunlight was blazing. Seifer made a noise which might have been of appreciation.
Zell came back around the bed, and rummaged through his shopping bag for a moment. “Here, potion up,” he said, tossing a small vial toward the bed. Then he went into the kitchen to draw a glass of water, and brought it back to Seifer, who was now clear-headed enough to regard him with well-deserved suspicion.
“Dare I say thank you?” he said brusquely, taking the glass and sipping from it, though there was something in his expression that wasn’t quite as surly as he was trying to sound. Zell only gave him a sweet smile, which heightened his suspicion.
“I just don’t want to have to hear you bitch about your hangover all day,” he explained, “and get off my bed. I’ve warned you before.”
“Fine,” Seifer acquiesced, apparently willing to give up this small victory to Zell. He slid rather gracelessly off the side of the bed, managing not to spill his water, but he didn’t move any further than that. He definitely looked the worse for wear - Zell was reminded of the last time he had found Seifer sleeping in his bed after a bad night... well, the only other time. It was only just a few weeks ago, he realized; it seemed like longer, as he thought about how much fighting they’d done between then and now. Of course, they’d been pretty much forced into each other’s company a great deal more than they would have been under normal circumstances, which accounted for that. But maybe it was doing some good, as well - if nothing else, they were finally getting acclimated to each other; Zell found he could tolerate a lot more than he used to from the arrogant gunblader... though it was difficult to get angry with him when he looked so uncharacteristically dear, curled up by the side of the bed and clutching his head, hair all tousled, pouty.
“Better?” Zell inquired after a minute or two.
“Rather,” Seifer replied, most of the crankiness gone from his tone. He had finished off his water, and now was rolling the cold glass over his forehead, but his voice was even enough as he added lowly, “Fuck, what possessed me to drink that? This is bloody awful.”
“I’m pretty sure I said it would be a bad idea,” Zell cooed, unable to resist the jab. Seifer shot him a stormy glare, a sign that, if nothing else, at least his mood was improving a bit.
“Yes, well, lots of things are a bad idea, but we do them anyway, don’t we?” he murmured; Zell wasn’t particularly sure if that was aimed at him, but the kiss from last night came instantly to mind as one of the many things he’d done lately that was undeniably a bad idea. He was silent, pondering on this, as Seifer uncurled, stretched, and then sat back against the bed, looking a good deal more hospitable than he had minutes ago.
They both sat in silence for a couple minutes more, before Zell worked up the nerve to speak again. It had been on his mind since his conversation with Irvine earlier that morning, but he still began with some hesitance, “can I... uh, ask you a question?”
“What kind of question?”
“Kind of an impertinent one. Don’t get offended,” Zell added.
“I haven’t the energy,” Seifer replied, waving one hand in assent. Zell shifted his position, settling on one side at the head of the bed, where he could get a clear view of the other man’s expression - should he happen to go too far. He wasn’t sure yet just how touchy the subject would prove.
“Okay... That time at the TV station, in Timber,” he began, pausing when Seifer turned to look at him. “I told you it was impertinent,” he said defensively.
“Just get on with it,” Seifer growled - at least it seems he’ll hear me out, Zell thought, but in a moment he went on.
“Alright... Why did you go with her?” he asked flatly. He waited; Seifer turned the other way, his expression out of view, but Zell somehow had an idea that he wasn’t as offended as he was pretending to be. He wondered if anyone had ever asked Seifer before, and suddenly felt a peculiar sense of pity string through him. Maybe he should have kept it to himself... but it had been nagging at him all morning since talking with Irvine; he couldn’t quite explain to himself why he had defended Seifer there, and maybe knowing if he was justified in doing it or not would help. “Most people are under the impression that you were possessed... you know, mind control, or whatever...”
“That’s not what you think?” Seifer said challengingly.
“Well, were you?”
The other man was silent for a long minute before answering. “No,” he said, slowly, but firmly, “I wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was doing... even if I didn’t know what the hell I was getting into.”
“I see,” Zell said, though he wasn’t sure he did.
“What brought this on?”
“Just something I’ve been wondering for a while...” Zell trailed off. Really only two hours, but he wasn’t going to confide that to Seifer, whose mood had made a smooth transition from hungover and pissed off to just plain pissed off. “So why did you then?”
There was another long pause, as though Seifer was earnestly thinking about the question, but when he turned to face Zell, his expression was stamped with irritation. “Why are you asking?” he said sharply, his tone defensive. “What do you care?”
“Just curious,” Zell shot back quickly, giving a shrug that he hoped conveyed the nonchalance he was by no means feeling. He was curious, as a matter of fact, now that they’d gotten on the subject, but all the same it was a little strange having such a frank conversation with Seifer. But, did I really expect it to not be awkward? he thought, a bit glum. He cleared his throat, and to prevent another painful silence, he went on, “I mean... didn’t anyone ever ask? Like at the trial?”
“Please,” Seifer replied snidely, getting up suddenly from the floor. He staggered a bit upon standing, gathered himself, and then went toward the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Zell waited, listening to the tap run as Seifer refilled his glass, thinking about his next plan of attack. He wasn’t quite satisfied with the other man’s answers yet, but if he wasn’t careful, things were going to turn sour very quickly - fifteen years’ experience of fighting with Seifer knew him that. This might require some diplomacy; something at which Zell had never excelled, though he had gotten rather adept at handling Seifer. He chewed at the corner of his lip, and gave Seifer a few moments to cool down in the other room before speaking again.
“Don’t you think someone maybe should have asked?” he called toward the kitchen. A few seconds of acute silence prevailed before Seifer stomped back into the doorway; he leaned against the frame, water glass in one hand and his arms folded tensely over his chest, his expression now somewhat past annoyed.
“I’ll tell you what I think, Dincht,” he said tersely, casting a very cold, unfriendly stare in Zell’s direction. Despite his remarkably unkempt appearance - his hair was disheveled, his eyes framed with dark rings; the clothes he had been wearing since the day before were blood-spattered from the bar fight and had that distinctly rumpled look of having been slept in - his anger was apparent and he looked more menacing than Zell thought he’d ever seen him. He was getting to be something of an expert on pissing Seifer off, he reckoned, but they were straying into uncharted territory here - personal subjects were always touchy with the ex-knight, and entered into at one’s own risk, but as far as Zell knew, no one had really ever broached the topic of Seifer’s time spent as the sorceress’ right hand, brief though it had been.
From Garden, only Squall and Quistis had gone to Seifer’s trial, and it had never occurred to Zell to ask either of them about it before - of course, he hadn’t really been interested in it before, which was kind of a disturbing thought. Maybe he should have been a bit nicer.
“Yeah, someone should have asked me,” Seifer continued, his tone heavy with anger and laced with bitterness, “but I didn’t expect anyone to. Easier for Squall and his lackeys to convince themselves that I was possessed, then they don’t have to worry about me now, wondering if I’m a danger, if I’ll try to take revenge or stage some kind of a coup. None of you ever asked, because it was so convenient not to.”
“Hey,” Zell said, getting up from the bed, feeling rather offended by that last. “I asked!”
“Five years later,” Seifer bit back, stalking back into the kitchen and dumping his water down the sink, throwing the glass roughly into the basin. Zell strode across the small hotel room and reached the doorway just in time to be shoved aside as Seifer emerged from it, his expression stormy.
“Fine, so I didn’t think about it much. Not ‘cause I thought you were mind-controlled,” Zell said coldly, following Seifer across the room, where he was rummaging through his clothes in the open suitcase next to the couch. “Mostly I just didn’t care.”
“Oh, you’ve suddenly developed a deep interest in my personal life?”
“No, arsehole,” Zell replied, sneering. “I’m just pissed off. You’re not giving Quistis and Squall enough credit. Or any of us.”
Seifer didn’t answer to that, only shooting a dirty look over his shoulder at Zell, who went on forcefully, “she might be fucking rotten at showing it, but Quistis is trying her hardest to do right by you - she puts a damn lot of work into helping you, despite the fact that you’re such a prick-”
“That’s exactly the fucking problem!” Seifer barked, throwing his clothes down on the couch, and turning to face Zell, snarling. “I don’t need to be bloody babied. Everything that happened doesn’t go away just because you all tell yourselves it’s in the past and go about pretending I’m redeemable.” He paused, and then collected himself, sighing quietly under his breath as he took a step back from Zell. “I’d rather just be blamed for what I did,” he added gruffly as he turned away again, pulling his wrinkled tee-shirt off over his head, “than pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Well, if that’s all,” Zell said, scoffing. Seifer half-turned, giving him a sharp look; Zell rolled his eyes as he went on, “that’s the stupidest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard! What’s there to blame? It was a war. Everyone has to take a side, and some people are bound to take the wrong one. Whatever else you did aside, there’s no blame in that. You picked a side. It was just a choice,” he finished, feeling more annoyed now than angry; was that what Seifer had had his panties in a twist about all this time?
The other man was staring at him with a strange expression - if Zell didn’t know better, he might have said it was relief; but Seifer looked away too quickly for him to be sure. He tossed his old shirt carelessly into the corner, gathering up his clean clothes from the pile on the couch.
“A bloody stupid choice, still,” Zell added coolly, smirking a little.
“I’m through talking about this,” Seifer said curtly, moving around Zell toward the bathroom, not meeting his gaze. Zell stepped neatly to the side, blocking him off.
“Well, I’m not done with it yet-” he began, but before he could even think up the rest of that thought, Seifer turned quickly, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pushing him backwards; his back hit the wall and he lost his breath for a moment - there was more force behind the action than he’d expected - but he let Seifer hold him there, catching and holding the other’s gaze - their faces were so close that Zell could see the blue flecks in Seifer’s green eyes, and that his cheeks were dusted with colour (from anger, Zell hoped; otherwise he might have got himself in some trouble here.) He was breathing sharply, his knuckles white as he grasped Zell by his shirtfront; his expression, however, was vague - Zell thought he looked as though he wanted to say something, but even after a minute or two, he was silent.
“You haven’t answered my first question yet,” Zell broke the quiet to remark, unable to help grinning a little as he cocked a challenging eyebrow at Seifer. Like a thunderhead breaking, Seifer’s face changed - fury smoothed out and replaced by the much more familiar stoicism that Zell knew. His grip on Zell’s shirtfront slackened, but he remained not inches away, returning the challenge in full as he stared Zell down.
“Just like you said,” he finally answered, his voice even and cool as ever. “It was a war. I picked a side. It was the wrong one.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Zell cooed sarcastically.
“Hmm,” was all Seifer said in response, now looking thoughtful as he stared down at Zell, who was starting to grow uncomfortable. The fight aside, it was definitely weird to be so close to Seifer - he would have thrown the other man off, but Seifer still had a hand in his shirt, and he himself had no shirt to grab, only chest... very fine chest, true, but Zell wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to manhandle him considering what was lately tending to happen after they had an altercation.
He considered for a moment, never breaking Seifer’s stare. Seifer’s right side would still be weak from his injury the night before - Zell swerved to that side, but Seifer was ready for him; he stepped forward, pinning Zell back against the wall, one arm on either side of him, and the martial artist was too taken aback by such an adept maneuver to register that Seifer was moving in until it was too late. He briefly contemplated resisting, but what was really the point? The more he tried to fight Seifer, the more the gunblader was going to bully his way in; it was clear that, whatever his real motive for all this madness, Seifer wasn’t about to give up. Where was the harm, really, in succumbing? Bloody everywhere, that’s what! he thought to himself, but he pushed it out of mind; yes, it was really fucking wrong, and there were a million and one reasons why he shouldn’t be letting Seifer get away with this - oh, who was he kidding? He wanted this and badly; he could parade denial all he wanted to everyone else, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Seifer was kissing him and it was brilliant.
If he was expecting the kiss to be an attack, he was rather surprised - pleasantly - by a much gentler touch than he’d come to expect from the gunblader; of course, if it wasn’t an attack, then he didn’t know what it was, because why else would Seifer kiss him at all? Perhaps because it feels so very nice, he concluded dreamily; and it really did... Seifer’s arm had slipped down behind his back, the other flat against the wall as he leaned in toward Zell, his tongue coaxing its way past Zell’s lips. His breath hitched as Seifer’s hand wandered further down, coming to rest in the small of his back, and with a swift movement, the other man pulled him in, bringing their bodies together, his chest - very warm, mmm, bare chest - flush against Zell.
He reached up with one arm and hooked it around Seifer’s shoulders, mostly to keep himself from losing his balance, although the contact did press them even closer, which was not bad at all. He threaded a hand through Seifer’s hair, pushing up toward him. Where did Seifer get off being such an amazing kisser? Not that Zell was an expert on the subject or anything; he’d had Seifer’s fighting kisses, and his drunken ones, but this now was something altogether different. He was rapidly losing the will or desire to put a stop to what was going to happen if this kept on.
It was a good thing Seifer had a proper hold on him; his knees had begun to feel distinctly weak as he fought rather a losing battle for control against the gunblader, whose tongue was skillfully putting a quick end to any thought processes Zell’s brain tried to start up. Zell was just beginning to wonder if maybe he hadn’t been too paranoid, denying himself this as adamantly as he had, when Seifer’s knee slipped between his legs, parting them, and a flash of panic flooded him like ice water: what the hell was he doing? He yanked hard on Seifer’s hair, trying to pull away, but it was still a moment before he could dislodge the other man, who looked, underneath an expression that Zell could only call sated, a bit peeved at having his hair pulled. Zell only hoped that he looked angrier than he felt; as firm as he was in deciding that this had not, after all, been a good idea, he found he was a bit disappointed, not least at the termination of what was arguably one of the best kisses of his life. He glared up at Seifer, whose triumphant smirk confirmed Zell’s fear that he wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Stop doing that!” he said gruffly, pushing away from the other.
“Stop letting me,” Seifer came back just as quickly, but he moved away, allowing Zell to slide out from between him and the wall, but not with enough room to avoid brushing against him as he did. Zell only scowled, and snatched up the clothes from the couch, flinging them with a vengeance at Seifer, who continued to grin as he moved into the bathroom. Zell watched him go, afraid to even turn his back until the other man was safely shut in another room. Then he sank, weak-kneed, onto the couch, his heart thumping madly against his chest - from the adrenaline, the fight, he tried to tell himself; but it was as thin a lie as he’d ever tried to pass off.
“Where does he come up with such... bloody good arguments...?” he muttered pointlessly to himself, sighing dramatically.
- 14
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Mind Games