Return to Sender

BY : uruwashiiuso
Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Squall
Dragon prints: 723
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII or any of its characters, and do not profit from writing this in any way.

".. Selphie, do you still have that video camera?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Could I borrow it?"

A quirked brow, followed closely by a tiny, knowing little smirk. "Of course, Squall. Just as long as I can have a copy when you're done."

He rolled his eyes, shook his head. "Mind out of the gutter, please. It's for video surveillance on the next mission I'm giving out."

".. Suuure it is, Squall. But whatever the reason, you're more than welcome to it." She bounced away, returned with the little contraption and winked before promptly disappearing again.

The brunet sighed, and resisted the urge to wipe that look off her face with the blunt edge of Lion Heart's blade -- but only just barely.


What the hell were you even thinking?

He sat at the edge of his bed, contemplating the camera that was now perched on the corner of his desk warily, as though expecting the thing to suddenly launch itself at him and start gnawing on his fingers. It had been a ridiculous idea from the very beginning, and he honestly didn't know why he'd let that strain of thought worm its way into his mind in the first place. Seifer had already been gone for a week, and would be back in another -- but the severity of the mission Xu had sent him on hadn't allowed any sort of communication whatsoever.

Well, no phone calls, at least. That was the only thing the blond had offered by way of explanation before he'd had to leave.

He hadn't said anything about mail. And no one would have to know what was in the little padded envelope when it arrived, would they? Aside from the fact that he knew Seifer wouldn't let anyone ask questions ..

A tiny little thrill went through him as he thought again of what he was planning to do.

The fact remained that he was close to climbing the walls in his absence, every moment not spent buried in paperwork or taking care of other mundane goings-on within Garden was spent wanting him, needing him in a way that made him ache. A feral little grin spread over the plush curve of his mouth; he wanted to make damn sure that Seifer knew what he did to him, what he was missing when he was away.

A newfound thread of devious intent swept over him, and it was suddenly much too easy to lean forward and turn the camera on, to press the button that began recording his every move, every little shift in fabric as he fell back into his original position. He licked his lips, and allowed another tiny grin.

"Seifer," he began softly, glancing at the camera as though it really was the blond, cheeks flushing at the thought that anyone would actually see this. He ran a hand back through his hair, a clear indication of his nervousness to anyone that thought they knew him at all -- and he sighed softly.

"You've been gone for a week, now," he continued, voice all soft edges masked beneath the pink tinge to his skin. "I know you'll be back soon, but .." His flush deepened.

"I miss you."

He paused for a moment, then shifted just enough to shrug his jacket off of his shoulders, setting it neatly aside and running his fingers through his hair again. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately .. and quite frankly, it's becoming increasingly difficult to work." He dipped his head low, chin nearly tucked against his collarbone, and looked up at the camera through the dark fringe of his hair. Licking his lips, a slow, seductive sweep of his tongue, he offered a devious little smirk that only just qualified as movement.

"I blame you entirely, and I demand to be compensated for my loss of concentration."

He fell silent, fingers figeting momentarily around the edge of his vest before removing it in one languid movement, pulling it over his head in a way that made his ribs stand out in stripes beneath the cover of pale skin. He set that to the side as well, then brought his hands back to his chest, fingertips smoothing over flawless ivory until they brushed over the first of the belts at his waist. A thumbnail flicked over the buckle, and he slowly slid the first one open, free hand shifting over a leather-clad thigh as his smirk deepened. "When you return .." The second belt came undone, metal bits clinking against each other as slender fingers worked agonizingly slowly, blue-gray eyes still trained on the glow of the light from the camera that indicated every single movement was being captured. The third belt fell open, and he gave a slow roll of his hips, leaning back a little more on his bed, gaze positively burning. His breath hitched, and a small, nearly inaudible moan slipped between parted lips.

"When you return .. I'll be waiting for you."

The edge in his voice had faltered, and he couldn't possibly hope to retain any hint of a threat he'd wanted to convey -- all that was left beneath the surface was an aching need for him, the weight of it drawing every muscle tight and nearly trembling as he palmed the hard length of his cock through the front of his leathers. Another soft, muffled moan, and he bit his lip to suppress any further incriminating sounds from slipping out. "Come home soon," he breathed, and flipped the button open, dragged his zipper down so slowly that the low, metallic hiss filled the room, oddly hollow in the complete silence. Warm fingers wrapped around his length, giving a slow, easy stroke, the hand at his thigh digging fingernails into leather hard enough to sting. His teeth found his lip again, and he moaned openly, deliberately.

"I need you."

As much as he needed the release, as much as his body begged for it, he sat up, tugged his pants back into place. He groaned softly at the pressure against his groin, ignored it in favor of shifting to the floor and kneeling directly in front of the camera. "Come home," he whispered again, eyes nothing more than a flash of silvery blue as he reached for the button that would stop the recording. "I love you."

He pushed the button, and the little machine fell silent.

The next day, a very small, discreet package addressed to one Seifer Almasy sat in the outgoing mail box on the edge of Squall's desk. No one raised an eyebrow, no one asked questions -- not even when the Commander of Garden walked around the entire day with a tiny, smug little grin plastered across his face.

Of that, Squall had never been more grateful.


A day and a half later, a very small, discreet package addressed to one Seifer Almasy arrived at its destination. The blond stared at it for a moment, genuinely perplexed, before ripping the tape from the envelope and letting the little cassette tape fall into his lap.

He stared at it a bit longer, brows furrowed above glittering green eyes, and though it was a while before he could actually find someone in that backwater town that had an apparatus for playing such a thing -- he finally sat down in front of the tiny television in his borrowed room. Pressed play.

He forgot how to breathe.

When he remembered how to breathe, he merely sat there, jaw hanging open. His muscles had forgotten how to work.

When his muscles remembered how to work, he was on his feet and out the door without a single backwards glance. Mission, responsibility, everything be damned -- there was somewhere he needed to be. He only barely remembered to shove the little cassette tape into a pocket on the inside of his coat.

Why would he bother learning how to follow rules now, anyway?

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