Adult-FanFiction.org : Final Fantasy

Mind Games	By : danihouse Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 940 -:- 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
- 17
- 18
- 19
It was just after midnight that Seifer finally got back to the room. He staggered toward the couch in the dark and flopped ungracefully down, feeling exhausted; he was somewhat less than sober, but that wasn’t the reason. It was just like old times: he was once again the most hated person at any given event, and Dallia’s cocktail party tonight had been no exception. She’d more or less ordered him not to answer any questions or say anything at all about Garden - which he wouldn’t have done anyway, not being terribly inclined in general to talk to people at all - but it still made for an unpleasant night trying to make safe, boring smalltalk with a bunch of Dallia’s increasingly drunk girlfriends. To make it worse, Zell had bailed early on him, leaving him alone with the socialites for nearly an hour before he could make his escape.

It almost made him long for home. Compared to this last week in Galbadia, being bored to death at Garden where only, perhaps, 99% of the inhabitants really hated him was a fantasy. If he had to hear one more too-loudly-whispered remark on his and Dallia’s relationship, or see that knowing smirk on some horse-faced heiress’ lips, or dodge questions from one more greasy, grinning journalist -

He sighed, and sat up to pull off his boots. It was just one more day. Tomorrow night - or, rather, tonight - would be their last night in Deling City and the next day they’d be catching the early train out of this shithole. The sooner the better, Seifer thought personally.

Dallia had decided she wanted to throw a costume ball for her going-away bash; Seifer had decided that the only possible reason for her to want to do such a thing must be to make him suffer as much as humanly possible. True, he and Zell didn’t have to dress up, but just having to endure the length of it was going to be about as much as Seifer could bear. But still - just one more night. Then it would be back to Garden, where, if he wasn’t immediately fired, he’d spend the rest of his life doing the lowliest work Squall could dig up from under a rock for him. At least there was something to look forward to.

He kicked his boots to the side of the couch and started at the buttons on his jacket. All in all, the entire month spent in Galbadia had been a complete failure and an utter waste of time. Well... he glanced back toward the other room. This past week, Zell had been colder than the breath of Shiva, but up until then, Seifer thought he’d been making progress. That stupid drinking game hadn’t been in the plan, and it had screwed things up. He wanted to be straight with Zell - no pun intended - he really did, but the martial artist was so antagonistic, and it just wasn’t in Seifer’s nature to be sincere. But the two of them were in agreement about one thing: the games were getting old.

He really only had himself to blame. He’d spent years getting under Zell’s skin, so why shouldn’t the other man distrust him now? Zell thought Seifer was trying to prove some kind of a point - trying to get him to admit that he wanted Seifer, just for the twisted fun of it. He couldn’t have been more wrong, but it was beside the point anyway, because even if Seifer told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe it. Hell, Seifer didn’t want to believe it himself.

He shrugged off his coat and hung it over the back of the couch. Then he looked again toward the bed, where Zell was passed out on top of the covers, snoring softly. The silly twit hadn’t even undressed; his boots were laying on the bed next to him as he slept still in full SeeD dress. Seifer shook his head in wonder. The fact that he found Zell’s ditziness endearing more than annoying baffled him. Fuujin was going to laugh her eyepatch off when she heard about this. “Zell,” Seifer said in a low tone, unbuttoning his shirt and walking to the bathroom with it in hand. “Get up. Don’t sleep in your uniform.”

He put his shirt on a hanger and brushed his teeth, and then went back out only to find that Zell hadn’t budged, and apparently hadn’t even heard him. He sighed again. “Zell,” he repeated louder, walking to the edge of the bed. “Wake up. Don’t fall asleep in your uniform... Zell,” he raised his voice, reaching over to shake the other man by the shoulder. Zell lifted a hand to swat at him.

“What?”

“Take off your uniform,” Seifer said again, grumbling. Zell rolled over and then sat up, muttering something unintelligible and looking groggy. He kicked his boots off the end of the bed and then began to fumble with his buttons.

Seifer went back to the bathroom to change into pajamas, and then returned, switching off the bathroom light as he exited. “Are you drunk?” he asked, not trying to hide his amusement. Zell scoffed at the question.

“I’m not,” he said snippily, but Seifer could hear him scrabbling with the fastener on his shoulder plate. “You could turn back on the light, though.”

“I’m going to bed,” Seifer replied, and he heard Zell scoff again. A moment later, the martial artist was cursing Seifer under his breath, clearly having believed that he’d gone back to the couch - Seifer grinned in the dark; maybe Zell was a little too trusting where it counted. There was a clinking sound as Zell finally divested himself of his armor, and then a thud as he dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. Seifer leaned in close behind him, smiling to himself. “Need any help?” he murmured in Zell’s ear.

“No!”

“You sure?” he added, but it wasn’t really intended to be a question; dodging the hand that Zell was trying to swat him away with, he pushed the other man down and slid on top of him to kiss him. Zell didn’t offer any resistance - not, at this point, that Seifer expected any; but still, he hadn’t made a move on Zell since that night a week ago, and there was every possibility that the martial artist might just put him out of commission for good, as he’d made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t about to tolerate any more of Seifer’s messing around.

Seifer fancied his intentions were pretty honorable - there was no hidden agenda, whatever Zell might think; it was simply that he was going nuts with lust for the idiot. No, it was even more than that - he wanted Zell in every way. More and more, he was finding Zell’s continued refusal to even be friends with him inexplicably frustrating. The more Seifer tried to edge his way into Zell’s life, the tighter Zell held shut the door to his heart.  I suppose it’s going to take longer than a month to undo fifteen or more years of hostility, Seifer thought.

“Hey,” Zell said, breaking off the kiss after a minute or two to push Seifer away, but his expression - what Seifer could see of it in the dark - didn’t at all match his accusatory tone. “Stop it,” he said lowly.

Seifer sighed, but backed off. “Fine,” he grumbled, rolling off Zell to the other side of the bed, and laying there for a moment, feeling rather put out. Even if it was a half-hearted and mostly obligatory protest, there was no point in pushing Zell if the other man was going to continue to resist. Seifer didn’t want to coerce him, after all. Zell, on his side of the bed, sat up, and was silent for a minute.

“You stopped,” he said, sounding puzzled. Seifer figured he was a little drunk, despite his earlier protest to the idea.

“You said to stop.”

“I’m glad you’re finally learning,” Zell huffed. Seifer watched in the dark as he unbuttoned his jacket and stood to hang it over the back of a chair, and then came back to the bed. He seemed surprised to find Seifer still there, and said suspiciously, “aren’t you going to bed?”

“I’m in bed,” Seifer replied cheekily.

“Your bed.”

“I’d hardly call that thing a bed,” he said, nodding toward the battered couch in the other room, which hadn’t been in good shape to begin with, and had taken enough abuse from the grouchy gunblader over the past four weeks to render it in need of some serious repair.

“Well, you’re not sleeping here,” Zell said, crossing his arms adamantly.

“What does it matter? There’s plenty of room.” Seifer sat up and twisted halfway around, sorting through the pile of pillows behind him until he found a suitably plush one, and tossing the rest onto the floor. Zell, meanwhile, sat hesitantly on the edge of the mattress, his expression in the dim light looking wary. “I’m not going to try anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Seifer added after a moment to reassure the other man. “I’m not that stupid. I’d prefer to return to Garden with all my limbs intact.”

Zell was sitting on the bed now, but he still looked skeptical. “Almasy...” he began.

“Seifer.”

“What?” Zell said in confusion.

“It’s my name,” Seifer said tightly, feeling irritated. “You can use it, you know.”

Zell looked perplexed, staring at Seifer for a long moment or two in the dark. “That’s a little familiar, isn’t it?”

Seifer almost laughed, just at the other man’s baffled tone. It had clearly never even occurred to Zell that perhaps being familiar was what Seifer was aiming for. “We’ve known each other for fifteen years,” he said. “We grew up together. We went to school together. We’ve been living together for a month. Not to mention,” he added, although he was rather pleased to be able to mention it, “we’ve made out a dozen times over the past couple of weeks. I think, Zell, that we’re pretty familiar already.”

“Whatever,” Zell huffed when this little speech was finished, gathering up the pillows Seifer had discarded and piling them at the head of the bed, forming a strange sort of pillow cocoon around him. “Fine. Just do whatever you want,” he said crossly.

“Whatever I want?” Seifer mused. “Don’t give me such freedom.”

“Shut up,” Zell snipped. “If you’re going to yap all night you can go back to your couch. I want to sleep.”

He settled down into his nest of pillows without another word, and Seifer silently acquiesced. He wasn’t, however, at all tired; he lay for some time simply thinking, and staring up at the dark ceiling, criss-crossed with thin beams of streetlight that seeped in around the shade on the window. On the other side of the bed, he could hear Zell fidgeting restlessly; the other man wasn’t sleeping, either. What irony - he finally managed to climb his way into Zell’s bed, and there may as well have been a brick wall standing between them for Zell’s attitude. Had this been a month ago, even a week ago, Seifer would have scaled that wall with ease and took what he wanted with force; Zell would have resisted, but he wanted Seifer just as badly as Seifer wanted him and that was a fact. Well, maybe not quite as much... Seifer found he was more desperate than he’d like to admit.

Beside him, he could hear Zell muttering grumpily. “Too bloody familiar, that’s what,” he said; this comment was clearly aimed at Seifer, who grinned in the dark.

“What’s that?”

“I said, you’re too bloody familiar already,” Zell declared, sitting up in bed. He was wide awake and, from the tone of his voice, spoiling for a fight. “I’m glad this stupid mission is nearly over. I’ve had quite enough of your brand of familiarity.”

Still smiling to himself, Seifer sat back, leaning on his elbows. Whether or not Zell could see his expression in the low light, he recognized that the other man was trying to provoke him, and he refused to be ruffled. “That’s too bad,” was all he said, trying to sound casual. “I was thinking that we could get more... familiar.”

“Not interested.”

“You don’t even know-”

“I know exactly what you were gonna say,” Zell interrupted crossly. “You always say the same thing. Let me tell you, the joke’s wearing thin. Now if you’re not going to shut up, you can bloody well find somewhere else to sleep.”

Seifer didn’t bother to point out that Zell was the one who had started talking. He was clearly picking a fight - probably with the aim of having an excuse to kick Seifer out of the bed, although it didn’t seem to have occurred to him that he didn’t need an excuse - and Seifer, for once, didn’t feel like obliging. There was nothing to be gained from fighting any more; what he rather wanted to do was shock Zell. He hesitated for a moment - there was, after all, no taking back the words once he said them - but only a brief moment, before replying, “what makes you think I’m joking?”

There was a short, strained pause before Zell said back, “well... aren’t you joking?”

“What I am, Zell,” Seifer shot back - not giving himself time to think about it; just talking, “is getting desperate. This ridiculous stalemate we’re in is driving me mad. I want you so badly that I can’t think straight about it anymore.”

He was glad the room was dark; he could feel his face burning up, and he never blushed. Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. What had possessed him to admit that? He didn’t even dare look over to see what expression Zell was sporting in response to what was undeniably the most awkward and embarrassing moment they’d had between them so far... although there was something else: something almost imperceptible, that Seifer couldn’t help but notice was almost like relief - relief at one of them having fucking finally given in; and Seifer tried not to dwell on the fact that it had in the end been him, because honestly he was beyond caring, as long as it helped to move their stunted relationship forward a little. He was ready for some progress; if that involved him mortifying himself a bit, then that was the price he’d pay for finally getting somewhere with Zell.

That is, if he was in fact getting anywhere - because a very long couple of moments had passed now without a response from the other man, and Seifer was beginning to feel very much like an idiot. He wasn’t generally prone to bouts of self-consciousness, and he didn’t like the feeling. There was no way that Zell hadn’t heard him; therefore, the other man could only be withholding a response for two reasons: either he was trying to be cruel by intentionally making Seifer endure the agony of waiting - in which case, he was doing an excellent job - or he was so stunned by the confession that he couldn’t come up with a reply; but that would imply that Zell had genuinely not realized how utterly into him Seifer really was, and Seifer was almost certain that the martial artist wasn’t that thick... almost.

“Well,” Zell said eventually, but that was all he said. Seifer couldn’t read his tone, but his voice was slightly muffled - a moment later, Seifer realized that this was because he had clamped his hand over his mouth and was clearly trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. He was shaking with laughter, but that didn’t stop him from dodging the pillow that Seifer flung at him a moment later.

“What are you laughing at?!”

“You really had me going for a minute there,” Zell managed to get out between gasps for breath. Seifer was momentarily dumbstruck. Zell really didn’t believe him - didn’t, apparently, even seem able to consider the notion that he was being absolutely serious. Seifer knew he had brought that on himself, of course, with years of dicking around; but it still rankled. Enough was enough, he decided; it was high time Zell started taking him seriously.

He slid over to the other side of the bed, pushing past Zell’s pillow barricade and pinning the other man down in a swift movement. “Are you being thick on purpose?”

“I’m not thick.”

“Then it is deliberate,” he said lowly, feeling irritated more than he’d like to admit by Zell’s nonchalant attitude. Here he was pouring his heart out (in a manner of speaking; he was quite aware that it was not an art he had yet mastered, but he was dong his best, wasn’t he?) and Zell was brushing him off. “I’ve tried every fucking trick in the book and you just keep playing dumb. I don’t know what else I can do.”

Even in the darkness, he could see Zell’s smirk, his teeth bared in an expression of triumph. “What are you, twelve?” he asked, scoffing. “Tricks are for kids with schoolyard crushes. Try being a man.”

There it was - the challenge. Seifer grinned to himself. He never had been one to back away from a dare, after all. “Just take what I want, I suppose?”

“Something like that.”

“What I want is you,” he murmured, leaning down until the space between them had all but vanished. Zell only continued to smile, his expression unchanging.

“Well, why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” Seifer growled.

“I can’t help it. It comes naturally,” Zell replied.

“You can shut up now.”

“Why don’t you shut up now?”

“Why don’t we both shut up?” Seifer offered as a suggestion, growing impatient. Zell was clearly determined to be cheeky, and his grin showed that he was enjoying every moment of frustration Seifer was enduring because of it. So Seifer shut him up the best way he knew how - closing the distance between them with a kiss that was as smooth as it was forceful. Zell offered no resistance; all of his objections, along with his bad mood, seemed to have vanished completely as soon as Seifer had admitted to his desire. Seifer reflected with some irritation on the fact that Zell’s pride - or at least his willpower - had outlasted his own.  What possessed me to start falling in love with this idiot? he thought to himself crossly.

He didn’t waste much time pondering it, however; his thoughts were soon occupied with other things... like how good it felt to finally have Zell underneath him, and how little surprised he was by the eagerness with which the other man was pressing up against him. Of course, he knew Zell had wanted him too; that had been obvious for some time. They had just been, aptly enough, playing chicken with each other - who’d have thought that Seifer would turn out to be the real chicken here? Well, at least Zell wasn’t gloating - Seifer wasn’t sure he could take that - but then, that could have been because his tongue was currently better occupied.

Zell might have been small in stature, but he was built solid; and the feeling of his body pressed against Seifer’s, every last inch of him hard and muscled, was exhilarating. Seifer almost felt embarrassed for being more turned on than he’d ever been in his life; he couldn’t remember ever having wanted someone as much as he wanted Zell right now. Granted, his relationship history was not exactly an anthology - before the war, there had only been Rinoa, and afterward, well, the class of people who tended to have any interest in an ex-knight war criminal were a little too low on the spectrum even for someone as pathetic as Seifer. Suffice to say sexual encounters had been few and far between. Even so, they’d all been girls; Zell was very much not that, as was more and more evident with each passing moment, each new sensation - the firmness of his body against Seifer’s, his hand on the back of Seifer’s neck, the hardness pressing against Seifer’s thigh as Zell slipped one leg between his.  Well, color me gay, then, he thought privately, finding that he didn’t care one whit about it - besides, it wasn’t as if he was the only one; not if the way that Zell was arching up toward him and grinding his hips was any indication.

“Hey,” Seifer said a minute or two later, pulling back to catch his breath - and to clear his head, which was feeling hot. Zell, beneath him - oh, how good those words sounded in his head - looked up at him curiously, still clutching his shirt with one fist, the other curled around his shoulder, holding him close.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Seifer replied, shaking his head. He’d been about to ask if Zell really wanted to do this, but he was glad he’d stopped himself - Zell would probably take it as an insult anyway, and besides, there was some chance that he might actually say no... in which case, Seifer might actually, literally die. (Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration; but it was only a slight one.) So, instead of asking, he reclaimed Zell’s lips in a kiss that had the other man moaning until he himself broke away a few moments later.

“What do you mean, nothing?” Zell said, but neither his tone nor his expression were accusatory; rather, with his wet lips and the heavy-lidded gaze he was staring up at Seifer with, he seemed suddenly the most erotic thing Seifer had ever seen.

“I said nothing,” he shot back, hoping he didn’t sound as affected as he was by the sight of Zell; what right did the martial artist have to look so good like that? Even the dreams that he would never admit to having about Zell didn’t compare to this. Every sensation was more acute: from the quiet, breathy sounds Zell made, to the heat of his body, pressed against the length of him - he was effortlessly, and obliviously, driving Seifer mad with lust. Zell didn’t even have the slightest idea how crazy he was making Seifer over him. At this juncture, that was probably for the better, as Seifer neither wanted to nor could think of a plausible way to explain it, but it was still pretty pathetic for his part. He was falling utterly to pieces over the chicken-wuss, and he’d been deluding himself so well over the past few weeks that he didn’t even realize it himself until now.

“Now you’re being weird,” Zell remarked, sitting up and leaning on his elbows. Seifer, too, sat up, moving back, and feeling rather like an idiot - why did he have to start thinking now? Surely his ironic introspection could have waited until tomorrow morning? He shook his head again, trying to shake off the train of thought and focus on what was important right now, which was to not fuck up what might be the only opportunity he’d ever have to get Zell to succumb to him.

“There’s no pleasing you, is there?” he asked in response, grinning at Zell, who appeared puzzled by his change of mood. “When I act like normal, you tell me to shut up. When I try to be nice, you say it’s weird.”

“At what point were you trying to be nice?” Zell said suspiciously.

Seifer, still smirking, slid forward, nudging himself between the other man’s legs. He leaned in close, and Zell settled back into the pillows, a slow grin growing on his face. “Somewhere around here?” Seifer replied, slipping his hand down Zell’s torso and toward the bulge between his legs. Zell gasped at the touch, but it was somewhat muffled, as Seifer had taken the opportunity to steal another kiss, eagerly swallowing Zell’s stifled moans as he rubbed at the smaller blond’s erection through the barrier of his pants.

“Arrogant fuck,” Zell growled, pushing Seifer away just long enough to yank his shirt up over his head, throwing it somewhere off to the side. Then he grabbed at Seifer’s tee-shirt and gave it the same quick treatment.

“There’s a saying about leopards and spots, you know,” Seifer remarked, ruffling his hair as the shirt slid off over his head.

“Blah, blah,” Zell said, slinging an arm around Seifer’s shoulders. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“Since when do I - mmh,” Seifer began, but was interrupted by Zell pulling him in for a kiss. “Since when do I take orders from you?” he asked, when after a couple of heated moments he was finally able to untangle his tongue from Zell’s.

“Well, I do believe I am the senior officer in this room.”

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one,” Seifer purred, while Zell grinned up at him. Zell had only been joking - probably - but still, he wasn’t going to be that cheeky and get away with it. Seifer was in charge here and Zell was going to know it. The look of surprise on his face as Seifer abruptly left him to move down his body, crawling backwards over the bed until he was level with Zell’s hips, was a good start.

His expression went quickly from surprise to puzzlement, and he looked as though he wanted to ask Seifer what the hell he thought he was doing, but he didn’t even get the chance. In less than a moment, Seifer had the front of his pants undone and was folding the fly back to reveal the erection that was pushing at the front of Zell’s boxer briefs. Before Zell could get a word out, Seifer leaned down, pressing his mouth to the fabric and feeling the warm, hard flesh beneath, and whatever Zell had been about to say disintegrated into a long, helpless moan, which ended with something that might have been a curse but sounded suspiciously like Seifer’s name. The thought of it sent a sharp spike of lust straight to his core - god, it seemed like forever that he’d been waiting to hear Zell moan his name like that. He wanted to hear it again.

Well, there was one sure way to make Zell writhe, and Seifer was on the right track already. Zell was squirming in his hands, and he nearly jumped clear out of the bed when Seifer pulled down the front of his shorts to release his cock, taking the hot, hard shaft in his hand. Above him, Zell had his eyes screwed shut, one hand clamped over his mouth, through which he was groaning, the other hand grasping at the sheets with desperate fingers. This was just the way Seifer wanted him - wild, needy, unrestrained. He was going to make Zell lose his mind.

He didn't give himself time to think twice. He'd never exactly done this before, but he knew what felt good, and besides, Zell was already going nuts, and he was barely touching him. When he leaned forward and took the head of Zell's cock into his mouth, the other man made the most desperate noise he'd ever heard; Seifer decided to be kind for once and dispense with teasing. He slid his mouth down the warm flesh, absolutely reveling in the way Zell went to pieces. He would never in his life have thought that the idea of sucking another man's dick would turn him on - but then, he'd never been physically attracted to a man before, and certainly never been attracted to anyone as much as he was to Zell, in every way. There was something hugely appealing in knowing that he had Zell completely at his mercy right now, and that Zell probably knew it, too - that was, if he could process a valid thought; he was clearly having trouble processing words, as the only ones coming out of his mouth were half-formed at best and mostly sounded like moans of Seifer's name. One of his hands had found a place in Seifer's hair, and he was pulling none-too-gently at it, his fingers flexing and relaxing by alternate turns. Whether or not he would admit it, the other man definitely had a thing for hair-pulling. If he hadn't been so focused on what he was doing, Seifer might have got up and slapped him, but the fact that Zell was rendered incoherent by his ministrations was both flattering and unbelievably sexy. He knew Zell had been hot for him, but having some visual proof was gratifying.

"Seifer," Zell gasped, suddenly regaining control of his vocal abilities as Seifer dragged his tongue up the length of his shaft, stopping to pay special attention to the soft spot on the underside of the head, which had Zell shuddering. "Seifer," he repeated, a slight whine to his tone that indicated desperation. "Seifer, stop. Stop. Stop."

Seifer ignored him, preferring for the time being to continue what he was doing - which was evidently torturing Zell. Even more than usual, Seifer was enjoying it - teasing Zell into a speechless rage with juvenile antics was fun, but teasing him into incoherency in this fashion was even more so. The taste of Zell's skin and the sound of his voice as he whimpered, forcing back a groan, were even better than Seifer could have dreamed - and had dreamed. There were things that even his imagination, which had been vivid over the past few weeks, couldn't have told him, like the way Zell's voice went up an octave when Seifer sucked gently on his balls, and then back down into a low purr as he moved his ministrations up toward the head of his cock - Seifer would have guessed the other man to be more vocal, swearing and cursing and making those kinds of vague threats he usually did whenever Seifer got the better of him; but his quiet, breathy, self-restrained sounds were sexy too, in a surprising but not unpleasant way.

"Seifer," Zell said again, pushing on his shoulder to try and get his attention. When that failed, his next recourse was to whack Seifer upside the head, which, though lacking romance, at least had the effect of dislodging the gunblader from his dick.

"What?"

Zell grabbed him by the hair with both hands and pulled him back up the bed until they were face-to-face again. There was just enough light in the room for Seifer to see that his face was flushed all over, and his hands, gripping the back of Seifer's neck, were shaking. "If you keep that up, I'm gonna come," he said, in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. It was his tone that decided Seifer on the matter for good - a tone so unlike what Seifer was used to, a tone that conveyed nothing so much as an utter and absolute surrender - and he leaned in to steal a long, slow, soft kiss, not breaking away until Zell was groaning so deeply he could feel the vibrations in his chest.

I'm definitely in love with this idiot, Seifer thought to himself, and he felt like sighing.

"That was kind of the point, dear," he said in response to Zell's remark, hoping his smirk was visible in the dark. He'd wager yes as he watched Zell's eyebrows come together in preparation for a scowl, but he didn't get that far before Seifer slipped a thigh between his still-spread legs, sneaking his arm around Zell's back to pull him closer, pressing the whole length of their bodies together. Whatever Zell had been about to say emerged as a quiet, breathy sound that was half a moan and half a sigh of relief. His reaction perfectly reflected Seifer's own sentiments; the sensation of full-body contact was exhilarating and was almost enough to undo him, with as long as it felt like he'd been waiting for this to finally happen. Days, weeks - he couldn't even remember when he started wanting this so desperately; only that now that he had Zell right where he wanted him, a lot of other things suddenly seemed really unimportant. The way Zell was gripping his arm with white-knuckled fingers and the overwhelming sense of pressure from the point where their hips touched, rubbing and grinding, were suddenly the most important things in Seifer's universe, and all of his ridiculous worries - indeed, all of his thoughts in general - faded into the background like so many dull stars.

"Seifer," Zell said his name again, his voice so low it was barely more than a breath. His grip on Seifer's bicep tightened to the point of being painful - Seifer might have thought the other man was trying to break his arm, if this were a fight, but it wasn't in any way like a fight. In fact, Seifer reckoned they'd never been more in sync with each other than they were right now, with both of their thoughts clearly focused on the same thing; that was obvious enough as Zell pushed up ever more against him, thrusting to match the slow rhythm that Seifer had built, his bared erection rubbing against Seifer's still-clothed one.

Seifer lifted himself up just a bit, loathe to allow any space at all to open up between them, but he only needed a small opening to slip his hand down between their bodies. His pajama pants were becoming a hindrance, and he yanked the front of them down to free his cock, groaning at the amazing sensation of skin against skin as Zell ground up against him. He didn't even have time to register how good it felt, however, before suddenly Zell's hand was there, his small but strong fingers wrapping around both of their erections. Seifer let out a sharp breath, his hips jerking forward into Zell's touch.

"Christ, but your hands are cold," he said, and Zell chuckled, a low rumble in the back of his throat.

"All the blood musta gone to me head," he said, slinging his free arm around Seifer's shoulders and pulling himself up, closing the space between them again. Seifer might have laughed at that, except his breath vanished in the next moment as Zell began to pump his hand with quick, smooth movements. Seifer briefly marveled over the fact that it was the same hand that had given him countless black eyes over the years, the fist that had cracked his ribs and bruised his jaw, that had flipped him the bird more times than he even knew - that hand, all calloused palms and an almost-too-strong grip, that was making him feel light-headed with pleasure now, stroking him with rough fingertips and an uneven rhythm that was the product of desperation - because it was clear that Zell was close, ready to fall over the edge into bliss, and Seifer was there, too. He pressed his face into the crook of Zell's shoulder, taking in his scent, the slightly minty smell of his shampoo, and the salty tang of his skin.

"Ohh, god... Seifer," Zell said, the last a whisper as his voice broke, and Seifer felt the other man's body tense beneath him as he came, throwing his head back. He didn't speak, only breathing deeply; but even the sound of his breathing was erotic to Seifer, who took the opportunity of having Zell's neck bared to leave a deep bite imprint at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Then, with Zell's hand still curled tightly around his dick, he came, thrusting into the other man's grip until he was spent.

He came to his senses slowly, head spinning as he tried to form a thought. The only sound he could hear was that of Zell's breathing, which was slow and heavy beneath him. He didn't know when he'd ever come so hard - certainly not on his own, fantasizing about Zell in the shower and feeling like a loser for not being able to make a proper move on him. Well, he'd finally done something right for once - and how! Zell stirred underneath him, making a low purring sound in his throat.

"Okay, let me be the first one to say holy shit," he murmured, sounding breathless. His tone was so deep and utterly sexual that it made Seifer want to devour him; he settled for pushing himself up so that he was level with the other man, and capturing his lips in a long, languid kiss that lasted until they both had run out of breath.

"Did you have to punch me in the head?" Seifer asked, propping himself up on his elbows as he slid off Zell and to the side, his leg still hooked around the martial artist's. If Zell noted this uncharacteristic display of clinginess, he didn't mention it; but Seifer was reluctant to put too much space between them. Now that he was feeling a little more clear-headed, he wasn't entirely assured that Zell wouldn't just fuck off out of his life once he got that confession out of him - but even more than that, he simply liked being close to the other man; being able to feel the heat of his body, the beat of his pulse, which was still quick, but calming.

To his credit, Zell did look a little chagrined at the reminder. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, reaching up to touch Seifer's temple where he'd whacked him. "I guess it was like... a reflex or something."

"No wonder you never get laid, if that's how you react toward anyone who approaches your dick," Seifer remarked.

Zell shot him a half-hearted glare, and gave him another slap upside the head, albeit a much more light and playful one. "It was reflexive toward you acting like an asshole... asshole," he muttered petulantly, sounding defensive. Seifer supposed he had to cut him some slack for custom; it was probably second nature to Zell to hit Seifer without even thinking twice about it.

"You keep calling me that. Is that your idea of a pet name or something?" he said in response, teasing again. Zell huffed, but even his irritation only sounded half-hearted.

"I call an ass when I see an ass," he replied coolly. "Don't think I'm forgetting all the shit you've pulled the past couple weeks. That still makes you an ass in my book."

He paused, and Seifer reflected on that. He'd almost forgotten that Zell more or less hated him, despite the physical attraction. And that was understandable, seeing as he'd spent much of the last fifteen years or so making a concerted effort to keep Zell in a perpetual state of rage, and by comparison, had only been trying to undo some of that for a few short weeks. A moment later, however, Zell cleared his throat, and added in a tone slightly sheepish, "if it's any consolation, you're definitely the hottest ass I've ever slept with."

This statement was so grudgingly given that Seifer had to laugh, but secretly, he was a little pleased at the sentiment, which seemed designed to apologize just a bit for the harshness of the previous one. Zell was making an effort, and that was at least a step in the direction Seifer wanted to be taking. "I guess it's something," he admitted with a sigh, which had Zell rolling his eyes at his dramatics. He wasn't biting at any of Seifer's taunts, but teasing was still fun - in fact, Seifer felt oddly light-hearted at the moment, which was an unfamiliar emotion, and only emphasized how unlike himself he was acting. Just because he was, for some inexplicable reason, crazy about Zell, didn't mean he had to act like such a sap. Imagine getting happy over something as small as Zell apologizing - half-apologizing, really. But there it was - how was he supposed to act, anyhow? Being himself like usual seemed like a doomed effort, as Zell clearly was never going to realize that his teasing and baiting were meant to convey affection (of course, Seifer had never really realized that himself, either.) Some effort had to be made, right?

This whole love business really blows, he thought to himself crossly.

Zell was watching him now, looking thoughtful, and Seifer tried to arrange his features into something resembling composure. "So, what are we going to do about that violent streak of yours?" he asked, breaking the quiet that had settled between them over a few minutes. Zell cocked his head to one side, giving him a long, speculative look, one eyebrow going up at the question.

"You could try not acting like a dick," he offered, flashing a crooked grin.

"I considered that, but it doesn't seem like much fun," Seifer retorted, matching Zell's smile with a smirk of his own. Then, in one smooth movement, he swung one leg over Zell's hips and straddled him, at the same time grabbing both of Zell's wrists and holding them above his head. "I could tie you up," Seifer suggested, grinning down at the other man, who, unfazed, mirrored his expression.

"I'd like to see you try it."

"I'm tempted. But maybe later," was all Seifer said in response, and he leaned down to press a kiss to Zell's lips, which started out gently and very quickly grew heated. He was still pinning Zell down but the martial artist wasn't fighting against him; he was pressing up against Seifer, seeking more of that contact which Seifer wasn't at all hesitant to bestow. "Besides," he added a minute later, when they broke apart and he had caught his breath, "I'd rather have you free just at the moment. I'm interested in finding out what else you can do with your hands."

Zell's grin grew wide, the whiteness of his teeth glinting up at Seifer in the low light. "For starters..." he said, trailing off teasingly. Seifer waited a moment for the rest of that sentence, but Zell's next move was to throw Seifer off of him, which he did quickly and smoothly, breaking Seifer's grip on his wrists with a motion so casual it was almost embarrassing, and then flipping him over onto the bed so that their positions were reversed. Seifer's head collided with the wall behind him, and he lost focus for a second or two, blinking away stars. "Oh, shit," Zell said, his expression - once Seifer's vision swam back into place - half-pained and half-mortified. "Sorry. Oops."

"Oops, huh?" Seifer repeated dumbly, as Zell reached around to cradle the back of his head gently. He was taking quite a bit of abuse in this pursuit of Zell - not that he regretted any of it. "Man. Oww. If I'd known what a dangerous endeavor this was going to turn out to be, I'd have given up on you weeks ago."

Something like puzzlement passed over Zell's expression, but after a moment, it softened again, and he leaned close to Seifer, smiling a little. "But god, am I glad you didn't," he said quietly. His tone, low and throaty, went straight to Seifer's cock, as did the kiss that Zell stole a moment later; that and the feeling of his body pressed close to Seifer's were enough to render the pain in his head utterly insignificant. "I'll make it up to you," Zell said.

"It's going to take some doing," Seifer shot back, rubbing his aching head with an exaggerated wince. Rather than another roll of the eyes, however, Zell's response was a sly grin, his tongue peeking out from between his teeth to run across his lower lip in a way that made Seifer's heart skip a beat.

"It's a good thing we've got all night, then," he replied, and then leaned in again, and Seifer stopped thinking for a long while.

Seifer woke up slowly as the sun began to creep into the room late in the morning. He squinted up at the bright white of the ceiling for long time before he could recall when he felt so unusually happy this early in the day. His head was pounding like a drum, and worsened as he sat up, trying not to look at the too-bright beams of sunlight soaking through the window. His left arm ached, and he looked down at the handprint-shaped bruise encircling his bicep. Remembering how it got there brought a grin to his lips, despite the pain in his head. It was the second time he'd woken up in Zell's bed feeling like he'd had his ass kicked thoroughly the night before, but it was a damn sight more pleasant than the first time.

He stretched, and sat for a while blinking against the sunlight, until his headache subsided a little. He had a feeling it was as much because he'd awoken too early as because of the punch Zell had given him last night, but of that he couldn't even be certain, as the clock that normally stood on the bedside table was conspicuously missing this morning - laying somewhere on the floor, he shouldn't wonder. In fact, most of the bedclothes and the multitude of pillows that Zell had so amusingly failed to barricade himself in with the night before were scattered about the floor, some at a good distance; it looked like a tornado had passed through. Or, perhaps, like they'd had one of their signature brawls, which was actually a pretty accurate way to describe the whole encounter. It wasn't as though he'd expected the experience of sleeping with Zell to be all sweet and affectionate - nor did he at all want such a thing - but things had only gotten wilder as the night progressed, only finally coming to a close as dawn approached and they were both too exhausted to even stay awake any longer. Seifer didn't know how long he'd slept, but it couldn't have been more than a few hours; he still felt exhausted - fucking Zell was like trying to tame some kind of wild animal: the longer he fought, the more out-of-control he got. Seifer savored the memory with pleasure. For someone who sure acted like a prude sometimes, Zell was the epitome of pure, raw sexuality when he hopped into bed. Who'd have thought?

He looked down at the sleeping man and watched him for a moment. It was rare that he got a chance to do so; most mornings, Zell was up long before him, being one of those weird early risers - but, of course, this wasn't "most mornings". It was a good thing they didn't have anywhere to go until that evening, because Zell looked dead asleep. He was on his stomach, his arms flung out to each side, breathing softly. His face was covered by his hair, which was a disheveled mess, but his neck, covered in red welts and bite marks, was exposed. He was probably going to pitch a fit when he saw those marks, but at least those he could potion away - he'd have to; even with the high collar of his uniform, some of those marks were bound to show. Seifer did a quick inventory of his own injuries, and concluded he'd probably come off the better; there was just that incriminating handprint, which would be difficult to explain if anyone saw, but who was going to see that?

He got up after a while and headed for the bathroom, reckoning a hot shower would help his disposition some. A glance in the mirror showed that he hadn't been as lucky to escape physical harm as he'd thought; there was a red welt on his left temple courtesy of Zell's fist that his hair, which was getting a little too long for his liking and fell down over his forehead, did nothing to cover. He hoped that every encounter with Zell wasn't going to be so much of a trial - not that it would have deterred him at all; it just would be nice if he could wake up without bruises every once in a while. Nevertheless, he downed a potion for the swelling, and that combined with a very long, very hot shower helped him to feel a good deal better, albeit still rather tired. It was only half past eleven when he returned to the bedroom and managed to locate the table clock, so he decided to follow the lead of his partner, who hadn't moved an inch from the position he'd been in when Seifer left the room, and he went right back to bed.

He awoke again in the afternoon to the smell of coffee filling the room. The sun had moved past the window and the room was in shadow; a look toward the clock confirmed that it was nearing four, and when he ventured to get out of bed, he felt much more well-rested than before. Zell was absent from the bed, which accounted for the tantalizing scent coming his way from the direction of the tiny kitchenette, toward which he gravitated as soon as he had located some trousers.

Zell was sitting at the small table, slumped down in one chair with his head hanging down over the back, his feet up on the other chair. He was wearing a tee-shirt and a baggy pair of sweats, with a still-steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him that didn't look like it had been touched. Seifer wasn't sure if he was awake or not; but he stirred when Seifer entered the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot.

"Oh. I just made that," Zell said groggily, indicating the coffee with a vague wave of his hand.

"You're a saint," Seifer said, but it didn't sound as sarcastic as he meant to, and Zell didn't reply. Neither of them spoke as Seifer poured himself a cup of coffee. It was piping hot and smelled good and strong; Zell usually preferred tea, but when he did make coffee, at least he did it right. Seifer stared at his drink while he tried to think of something to say. He had figured he would have to be the first one to bring last night up, but he hadn't honestly thought it would be so... awkward. Whether or not Zell's reaction would be for or against a continuation of last night's events was hard to say; it was very likely he'd want nothing to do with Seifer again after this mission was over if Seifer played his cards wrong. What if one night - admittedly, one very long and involved night - had been enough for Zell to get over his lust for Seifer? It seemed quite possible, given that he couldn't stand Seifer personally. The gunblader had made an effort to tone down the sarcasm and the jibes last night, but he didn't know if that was enough to start changing Zell's opinion of him.

He took a drink of his coffee and cursed as the hot beverage scalded the roof of his mouth. He was overthinking things. Lately he was doing that a lot, and it was entirely Zell's fault he felt like such an idiot. Somehow the little creep, with his raging violent streak and his adamant refusal to yield even an inch, had wormed his way into Seifer's heart - going, indeed, where no man had gone before. Seifer had never been in such a situation in his life. It hadn't occurred to him until this morning that there was every chance that Zell would be perfectly content to take this one night, this one amazing night, and run with it. That he wasn't at all interested in continuing a relationship of any sort with Seifer. Or even that he might, despite whatever his personal feelings were, pretend that were the case just to finally have one over on Seifer. He wasn't the cruel type at all, but years of hatred could be enough to provoke anyone.

Zell got up from his chair suddenly, startling Seifer out of his depressing reverie. He mentally slapped himself. He was acting like a moron. Speculating was pointless and not like him; he'd better just open the topic with Zell and get it over with. Who knew, maybe Zell would surprise him by being completely for the idea of a further relationship. Yeah, and maybe pink chocobos will fly out of Squall's ass and serenade us next, Seifer thought bitterly to himself. He was about to speak, but Zell beat him to it.

"We probably better get ready," he said, shuffling toward the sink to rinse out his coffee mug. He looked kind of dozy, like he wasn't really with it yet; evidently the coffee hadn't helped. "We're picking Dallia up at six. It's after four already."

"Yeah, sure," Seifer said vaguely. And by the way, do you fancy the idea of being fuckbuddies? Only 'cos I might have to kill myself if I can't have you again. But no pressure.  Seifer drank his cooling coffee and watched Zell washing his mug with listless movements. He was feeling rather melodramatic today.

After a minute or two of wiping at it with a damp rag, Zell seemed satisfied that the mug was clean, and left it in the sink before moving into the other room. It was strange to see him at such low energy, and Seifer was curious as to the cause of this state - painfully so, because he was sure it had something to do with him. Zell gave a wide yawn as he made his way through the wreckage surrounding the bed, and gathered some clothes from his trunk and a towel. He rubbed his neck as though it were sore, which drew Seifer's attention to the fact that it was interestingly lacking the decorations he'd left there the night before, which was somewhat disappointing even though he knew Zell would never go out with bite marks on his neck.

"So," Seifer began, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen as Zell moved slowly about the room, gathering the pieces of his outfit which had been scattered the night before. "I don't suppose there's anything you want to, um... talk about?"

Zell looked up at him with a slight frown, as if he wasn't sure what Seifer was talking about. "Not in particular," he said, and the casualness of his tone was enough to set Seifer's teeth to grinding. One of the things Seifer really enjoyed about Zell was that he was a terrible actor; he couldn't lie to save his life, and everything he felt showed on his face as plain as day. This backfired on him now, because there was no way Zell could be faking that indifference. "Do you?" he asked.

"No, not really," Seifer replied; he could hear the sharpness in his own voice, but he couldn't stop it from coming out anyway. "I'm glad you understand. Last night was just for the hell of it. I was afraid you might want to have one of those girly, emotional type conversations and make a big deal out of this," he said, studying his coffee as though it were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. He could feel that he was smiling, but in fact he hadn't been so angry in a long while. For fuck's sake, why couldn't he just be honest?

"Guess you thought wrong," was all Zell said in response, holding his pile of clothes and his towel and heading for the bathroom. His face was impassive, and he didn't even sound irritated - but he should have been angry, right? Seifer had just insulted him in an even worse way than usual. But he went into the other room without saying another word, leaving Seifer to stand in the kitchen doorway ready to throw something. So much for making an effort. He was reverting back to full ass mode without even trying, and what was worse was that Zell didn't even seem surprised. He'd probably never once entertained the thought that Seifer would change. Seifer was about ready to march into the bathroom and show him how very wrong he was, when he was saved the effort by Zell sticking his head back out around the doorway.

"You know?" he said, sounding amused, but nothing about his expression was smiling. "I ought to congratulate you. Every time I start to think to myself that there's maybe something good in you, you go right ahead and prove me wrong. Bravo, Seifer. Very well done."

"Oh, fuck you," Seifer snapped back; he was deprived of the chance to spit any more venom, however, by Zell slamming the door shut on him. A moment later came the sound of the shower, and Seifer was tempted, sorely tempted, to barge in there and show Zell who was the boss - that is, if he didn't first fall to his knees and beg Zell to forgive him for being such a dick, because he really couldn't seem to help it. Neither course, he realized, would prove worthwhile; not if Zell was determined to dislike him. So instead, he went into the kitchen, and threw his mug into the sink so hard that it shattered, tiny flecks of porcelain going down the drain with the dregs of his coffee. He took Zell's mug, too, and threw it, just for good measure.

It made him feel a little better. But not much.
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Mind Games