BY : SprocketCamelot
Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Squall
Dragon prints: 697
Disclaimer: I don't own Squall, Seifer or FFVIII. Seriously. I'm playing a borrowed copy. No money made from this story.

Seifer was having a good dream.
Since he and Squall had broken up, just under two weeks ago – not that you could call it a break-up, not when he hadn't been able to give him a reason, just left silently – every part of him ached. Not just his chest, where the beat of his heart seemed to labour under the weight of wondering if he'd done the right thing, wondering if the brunet was sleeping right without him there to drag him to bed... His limbs felt heavy, as though someone had replaced his bones with lead weights, every movement taking more effort than he wanted to spare.

He was awoken, so to speak, by warm pressure between his legs, hands climbing their way up his chest. Eyes slitting open, he caught sight of chestnut hair and blue-grey eyes that burned. He relaxed a little, mouth curving into a smile as soft lips brushed over his pulse. Good dream.
Sharp teeth nipped the edge of his jaw, where the faintest shadow of stubble was beginning to show – shaving felt like too much effort, lately – and it stung, not unpleasantly, but enough to make him snap upright. Pain didn't exist in dreams.
“Squa-” His protest was cut off, a strip of fabric shoved past surprised lips and pulled tight across his teeth, tied into a knot at the back of his head before he could do much to stop it. The brunet pressed their mouths together, an awkward facsimile of a kiss, tongue flicking across his lower lip.
“I can't trust your mouth,” he explained, voice no more than a whisper. “I can never tell if your mouth is lying.”
Seifer grunted out a sound, something that was meant to be “that's great, sweetheart. Now get this thing off.” It took a moment for his sleep-fogged, rattled brain to realise that his hands were untied, then he was reaching up to untie the offending fabric.
Squall intercepted his hand on the way up, bringing it to his mouth. “Your hands are usually pretty honest,” he murmured, the scrape of his teeth over the pad of his index finger followed by a soft kiss. “But sometimes, they conspire with your mouth. Should I tie them up, as well?”
The blond blinked, unwilling to admit that this side of him, wilful and demanding, set his blood on fire. When he took the tip of his middle finger into his mouth, sucking gently, he swallowed down a groan and let his free hand fall, a sign of surrender. Squall smiled, sharp and triumphant, taking his hands and looping a belt around his wrists. Deftly, he secured them to the headboard, surveying his handiwork with an almost predatory little smirk.
“There,” he purred, leaning down to flick his tongue over the shell of his ear, faint and fleeting. “Now you can't trick me.”
Seifer tugged reflexively at his bindings, wondering how he'd let himself be tied up so easily. Blame it on the tiredness, he concluded, knowing full-well it had nothing to do with that.
The sharp sting of teeth at his earlobe brought his attention back to where it belonged, and he fought back another soft noise. Squall nibbled a path down his throat, fingers delicately seeking out a nipple and tweaking it hard enough to make him jolt, electric sensation tingling down his spine. This is a bad idea.. A little late, his brain decided to offer up an opinion, pointing out brutally that every reason why he'd walked out in the first place was still there, still just as real. As the brunet closed his mouth over the dusky bud, teeth gnawing tenderly, the rest of Seifer's body told his brain, very politely, to fuck off.
Squall slipped a hand between them, reaching down to palm his cock through the fabric of his sleep-pants, making him writhe and groan, the sound distorted by the makeshift gag.
“This never lies.” He breathed the words over his nipple, the puffs of air enough to chill his skin. His fingers loosely curled around his length, already half-hard, and he let out a noise that was pure, kittenish satisfaction. “You still want me.”
Hyne, I do. Every inch of him longed for the brunet's touch. In a way that was more than just sexual, his entire body reacted to him, aching for him.
Dexterous fingers wormed their way beneath the waistband of his pants. “You never wore these before,” Squall observed softly, scraping his fingernails through crisp hair that was really more copper than blond.
Before, I had you to warm me when I was cold. The thought was pushed out of his mind before it had time to settle, Squall's hand curling around his length and giving it a slow, firm stroke. “You still want me,” he whispered again, as if he needed to reassure himself. Seifer tilted his head and nudged his nose beneath the brunet's ear, a silent affection that drew a tender little smile from him.
“I shouldn't let you have what you want.” His voice held a hint of mischief. “You certainly don't deserve it, but..” He gave him another stroke, drawing a muffled sound from him. “..I want you.” Now, his tone was like melted chocolate, warm and heady-sweet. “I dream about you, the way you feel inside me, the sound of your voice when you take me..”
Seifer almost groaned again, the words scalding a path through his blood, straight to his groin.
“..And I wake up, aching for your touch.”
Figures, he thought with a touch of wry amusement. He can talk dirty when it suits him. Squall stroked him faster, his motions carrying a hint of urgency that made his hips buck, the tension along his spine winding tighter.
“And I lay there, and-” His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and the blond caught sight of the awkward light in his eyes, abashed but determined. “I touch myself. Just like this. And wish it was you.”
Too fast. Seifer was panting into his gag, fingers clutching at empty air. It was too much, too fast, the pressure reaching fever pitch-
Squall stopped, removing his hand completely. The awkwardness in his eyes was gone, replaced by an almost smug light. “I still remember the way you move when you're close,” he whispered. Struggling to get his breathing under control, the blond shot him a reproachful look.
“Don't worry,” he murmured, kissing his lower lip. “I won't leave you unsatisfied.”
He stood for a moment, unbuckling his remaining belts, kicking off shoes, socks and pants with complete disregard for where they landed. He undressed with a kind of grace that was wholly instinctive, moving in a way that set Seifer's pulse to hammering all over again. He pulled open the blond's top drawer, retrieving the small bottle of lube he kept stashed in there, and examined it for a moment before he set it aside.
“Still the same amount.” He didn't say anything more than that, but the implication was clear. You haven't slept with a guy since me. Not that Seifer would tell him, but he hadn't slept with anyone in the time they'd been apart.
Returning his attention to him, the brunet peeled the pants from his hips, leaving them around his ankles and straddling his lap, settling himself across his upper thighs. Sliding the pillow out from under his head, he folded it double and tucked it back, propping his head up. He nipped his lip briefly, flashing a little smirk at the somewhat perplexed look in his eyes.
“I want to make sure you can see properly,” he said softly. Picking up the bottle of lube, he flipped open the top and poured some into his hand. Head down, his hair fell in front of his face, and Seifer almost missed the burn of crimson across his cheeks. He wasn't sure whether to be touched that he would put himself through such embarrassment just to torture him, or annoyed.
Leaning back, head pillowed by the blond's pants, Squall pushed a lube-slicked finger inside of himself.
Oh, fuck. The air rushed out of Seifer's lungs, the catch of his own breath echoed by the brunet, and although he couldn't see his expression, he could tell that it hurt just a little, his finger moving too fast for a body unused to the intrusion.
No-one else has touched you since me. The thought, fiercely possessive, burned through him.
Squall pushed in another finger, snagged breath maturing into a soft, pained whimper.
Stop, slow down. He wanted to say it, the words so vivid in his mind that they emerged as an incoherent noise, but the brunet didn't hesitate in the slightest, fingers twisting and curling inside himself with a kind of frantic haste. “Need you,” he whined, voice breathless with pain and the first dizzy flutter of pleasure. “It hurts, but I need you now, need-oh!”
His hips bucked against his hand and he moaned raggedly, and Seifer knew, by instinct, that he had found his prostate. He shifted, feeling the throb of his neglected arousal, and Squall leaned up until their eyes met, both pairs clouded and needy. He removed his hand and straightened up completely, closing the distance between them. His fingers, still slick with lubricant, curled around Seifer's length and the blond jerked. Too soon. He looked into blue-grey eyes and shook his head.
“I know,” Squall breathed, mouth barely an inch from his. “I know, but I need you.”
He leaned up, brushing his lips against the brunet's. It'll hurt.
“I don't care. I need you, now!” One arm looped bracingly around Seifer's neck, he lowered himself onto his length, inch by painful inch. His breath whistled between clenched teeth, his expression utterly determined.
The blond groaned despite himself, the tightness almost unbearably good. Only sheer force of will kept his hips from bucking, his hands curling into fists as he waited for Squall to adjust.
“Seifer..” Tears rolled down porcelain cheeks, and he strained against his bindings, brushing them away with his mouth. Squall. Why are you doing this?
“I love you.”
He knew it wasn't intended as an answer to his thoughts, but the words shocked him, making his heart twist painfully. Their eyes met again, held, a wealth of words passing between them in that instant. Then Squall reached up and untied his gag, dropping it to the floor. Seifer surged forwards, kissing him with every ounce of the need and longing that had coursed through him, feeling the ache loosen a little as he kissed back. He whispered his name, lost between the press of lips, the curl of tongues, tasting his own name in return.
“Arms,” he muttered, wanting to hold him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his fingers.
“No.” Squall's voice was a growl, a note of steel that brought him up sharp after the softness of barely a moment ago. Roughly, he shoved him down, blue-grey eyes gleaming with something like malice. “You don't deserve your arms back.” He rocked against him, slow, shallow, just enough to make him groan.
“You lied.” Another slow roll of his hips, the score of his nails down the blond's chest. “You left me.” His inner muscles tightened around Seifer's length, drawing a startled oath from him. “You didn't even give me a reason.”
“For you..” The blond forced the words out, past another moan. “I couldn't-” He broke off sharply as Squall slapped him, a stinging backhand that left his ears ringing.
“And worst of all..”
He couldn't suppress an apprehensive gulp as the brunet leaned in to finish in a whisper.
You made me love you.”
Before he could reply, Squall kissed him again, thrusting his tongue between startled lips, the pressure of his mouth nothing short of dominant. Seifer gave a helpless noise, submitting completely. Fingers raking over his chest, the brunet broke away from his lips to flick his tongue over his already-reddening cheek, mouthing at the rough stubble of his jaw. He writhed against him, one hand curling around his hip in a silent demand for more, that Seifer was more than willing to obey. Rocking upwards, he buried himself in tight, blessed heat, uttering a ragged, panting curse as he felt the sharpness of teeth at his pulse.
“Squall,” he breathed, unable to think anything coherent beyond the sound of the brunet's name. “Fucking Hyne, Squall!”
“Seifer!” And now that iron composure seemed to be fracturing, the scrape of his nails becoming the desperate kneading of fingers, his voice less than a whimper, just a broken sound of longing. They came together, a writhing tangle of limbs and ragged moans, the beat of broken hearts finding their way back to one rhythm, lips and tongues seeking each other out, tasting the way dying men tasted water.
Finally, when his heart stopped slamming against his ribs and his breath came a little easier, Seifer unwound. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, pressing the words against Squall's hair, eyes squeezing shut as he felt all over again the pain of losing him.
“You're an asshole,” the brunet murmured back, an unsteady thread of laughter showing how close he was to crying. “I hate you.”
His breath caught, the pain in his chest as sharp and cold as a shard of ice. “I'm sorry.” There was nothing else he could find to say. Nothing to make it right. “I shouldn't have..” I should never have touched you in the first place.
“I hate you.” The brunet wasn't above repeating himself as well. “Don't ever leave me again.”
He was almost ashamed of the way his heart sped up, the selfish little wave of relief that swept through him. When Squall tilted his chin up, not even Hyne himself could have stopped him from leaning down to capture his mouth, kissing him sweetly. I don't deserve you. The thought was crystalline in his mind. But I'm damned if I can give you up.

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