BY : SprocketCamelot
Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Squall
Dragon prints: 694
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even a copy of FFVIII. No wait, I have a gunblade. I own that. And I'm not making any money from this.

The tone, a perfect mix of command and indifference, brought Seifer's head up, his mouth curving into an arrogant little grin. Squall's face was all but expressionless, his mouth set in a hard line, eyes glittering like cut glass. To anyone else, it would be a surefire warning not to mess with him. To Seifer, it was a challenge.
“Something I can help you with, Princess?”
“SeeD operatives are required to wear uniform unless on assignment,” the brunet answered in the faintly irked tone he reserved solely for him.
“That so?” He smirked down at him, one eyebrow raised. “And if I tell you where you can shove your uniform?”
“What?” He spluttered incredulously. Squall just shot him that knife-edge grin of his, smug and fleeting.
“Trepe's classroom, lunchtime.” When he scoffed, the brunet raised an eyebrow. “If you're not there, I'm sure I can devise a more severe punishment for you.” Then he turned on his heel and left before Seifer could say a word.

He couldn't believe this. Unable to resist the dare implicit in the Commander's order, he had done the unthinkable and turned up for his discipline, even going so far as to arrive on time. That was fifteen minutes ago. Not a long wait, but it rankled that he was waiting on someone else's convenience.
“Fuck this,” he muttered angrily, rising from his seat and heading for the door. At that precise moment, Squall walked in, barely glancing up from the papers he held.
“Ah, good, you're here.” The slight lilt to his voice didn't quite cover the electronic beep as the door locked behind him.
“Not for long,” Seifer shot back, “I'm out of here.”
“No you're not.” There was a snap to his words, not angry but authoritative. After a long pause, grey-blue eyes watching him coolly, the blond caved and turned to head back to his seat.
“No,” Squall called him up short, moving to a desk in the front row and tapping it. “Sit here. So you can see fully.”
“See what?”
“I think this punishment will work better if you're not forewarned,” he replied obliquely. As Seifer moved closer, he saw the gleam in his eyes, something hot and bright. With a soft “heh”, he took the indicated seat.
Squall turned and walked around Quistis' desk, putting his papers neatly at the side and pulling open a drawer. He set a pen on the desk, followed by a sheaf of paper and lastly, the box of tissues she kept for the rare occasions when Seifer managed to provoke her to tears. More common in the early days, it was practically impossible now. Still, the safety precaution gave him fresh hope.
Walking back to Seifer, the brunet placed the pen and paper in front of him. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline, or at least an explanation.
“And what am I supposed to do with this shit?”
There was a moment of dead silence. Then the ex-Knight snorted. “Not a fucking chance.”
“If you refuse, I'll find you a punishment that will make this look like child's play.”
He looked up, searching Squall's eyes. The brunet's expression held not a hint of mercy. And he was one of the few people with the ability and the sheer brass balls to carry through with that threat.
Swallowing his pride, Seifer picked the pen up, holding tightly enough to fracture the plastic.
“What should I write?”
Apparently considering this seriously, Squall finally answered “'I will be a good boy.'” Pointedly ignoring the blond's gape, he continued, “you will write until I tell you to stop, and you will, under no circumstance, leave your seat until we're through. Understood?”
He nodded, teeth gritted, and put his pen to the paper.

Silence fell for maybe five minutes, during which Seifer measured the longest possible time it could take to write a single sentence, and Squall fidgeted. That silence was broken without warning by the sound of a belt coming undone. Seifer's eyes snapped to the front of the room and he realised that the brunet hadn't been fidgeting, he'd been unbuckling one of his belts.
“Did I say that you could stop?”
His eyes dropped back to his work.
The sound of leather shifting continued. Knowing what that sound was made it ten times harder to concentrate, and his writing progressed even slower than before, shuddering to a complete halt when he heard the softest hitch of breath. His head shot up fast enough to give him whiplash.
Squall was leaning against the edge of Quistis' desk, facing him, and..stroking himself, palming his cock through his leathers. His eyes, now half-hooded and lazy with pleasure, fixed Seifer with a look that said well?
Tearing his gaze away, he turned back to his paper.
When the distinct sound of a zip being drawn down echoed through the quiet, he caught himself before he could look up, tilting his head slightly and glancing through his lashes instead. The sight made all the blood in his body go straight to his groin.
The brunet was peeling his pants off his almost feminine hips, revealing flawless ivory skin and the proud length of his erection. He stroked it lazily, then leaned back against the surface of the desk, propped up on one elbow, body displayed beautifully, his free hand pushing his vest up, over the flat, hard lines of his stomach, until Seifer was taunted by the sight of deliciously perked nipples. The blond licked his lips and shifted his knees further apart to ease the pressure of his suddenly-too-tight pants.
Squall licked his fingers, a quick flick of his tongue over the pads of his fingertips that was enough to make Seifer's cock twitch. Then he reached down his chest, all gentle, languid touches, and flicked those fingers over a dusky nub. His breath snagged, then a soft moan slipped out. At first glance, his eyes were closed, but the faintest glitter of stormy blue told Seifer that he was watching him intently. He looked away long enough to offer a token attempt at his lines, but his eyes darted to the brunet more often than the paper. When long, talented fingers meandered over a flat stomach, he shifted his angle for a better view.
Squall's fingers dipped lower, bypassing his erection and sliding instead over the inside of a milky thigh, nails scoring invisible shapes that would undoubtedly turn his skin a faint, tender pink. The blond almost groaned at the thought.
Each pass of his nails moved a little higher up his thigh, until Seifer was one raw nerve of anticipation, wondering how he could bear to get so close and not touch, wanting to tell him to just do it, for the love of Hyne.
Suddenly, Squall's eyes were open fully and fixed on him. He realised he'd been staring openly and braced himself for another reprimand. His mouth fell open in a soft intake of breath as the brunet finally wrapped his fingers around his length and began jerking himself off in lazy strokes.
The blond, still holding his pen but making no attempt to write, slowly slid his free hand off the desk, pressing it against his cock and almost groaning at the stab of pleasure. He grasped the zipper of his pants.
“Both hands on the desk, Almasy.”
He jumped, meeting Squall's eyes and seeing a thread of amusement buried under the lust. Growling, he flattened his hands against the desk. The brunet all but purred in approval and stroked himself faster, thumbnail flicking into his slit at every stroke. His hips jerked minutely and his breath came in shallow pants, a delicate flush staining his cheeks. Seifer's fingers clutched at the desk, his arousal hurting, begging for relief and he just sat there, drinking in the sight of the brunet now writhing shamelessly, rocking hard into his hand. He was close, the blond could tell by the tremor of his thighs, the way his pants crystallised into sharp little noises.
“Squall..” There was a faintly pleading note to the whisper. He wanted to touch him so badly, not even to fuck him, just to kiss him and taste his own name in his mouth.
As if that were a cue, Squall's rhythm stuttered to a halt as he came, muscles drawing tight, cock spurting ribbons of fluid over his abdomen. His mouth framed the shape of Seifer's name before he fell back against the desk, spent and trembling.
After a moment, he snagged a handful of tissues from the box, wiping the worst of the mess from his chest and stomach. He pitched the tissues into the waste basket without looking and sat up, pulling his vest and jacket back into position. Pulling his leathers back up, he tucked himself back in and zipped them, re-fastening his belts with practised ease. Within a few moments, the only evidence of what had happened was the lazy, feline way he walked as he approached Seifer and slid into his lap.
“Good?” he murmured against his mouth.
The blond bit back a groan as that delicious ass pressed just right against where he needed it, fingers curling around Squall's thighs automatically.
“It must have been good,” the brunet laughed softly, “you didn't even manage three lines.”
Growling, Seifer took his hand and pressed it against his groin, letting him feel every inch of the effect he'd had on him. Squall laughed, squeezing him gently and then slipping his hand free.
“I think you've been adequately punished for your insubordination,” he murmured lazily against his mouth.
“Is that so?”
“Mhmm.. Help me put this stuff away and I'll be happy to alleviate your suffering.”
Seifer had never been so happy to follow orders.

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