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Baited	By : uruwashiiuso Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Seifer/Squall Views: 862 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII or any of its characters, and do not profit from writing this in any way.

Chapter List
- 1-Baited
- 1
Things were quiet – one
could even go so far as to say they were peaceful, if one so chose to
be eloquent. It was mid-morning, and Squall had extracted himself
from the cramped confines of his office, intent on a fresh cup of
coffee that was sure to kick his waning tolerance for the mediocre
back into place. He'd stared at the pile of paperwork at the edge of
his desk for the better part of three hours already, the lines of
mission statements and reports blurring the longer he looked at them;
a dull ache had begun behind his eyes before he'd had the presence of
mind to take a break, peeling himself from his desk chair with a
creak of leather and a soft, weary sigh.

Coffee. Sweet nectar
of life.

He
stood in front of the machine in the Cafeteria, nearly impatient
enough to tap his foot against the floor as he waited for his cup to
fill, going over once more which students were participating in the
SeeD field exam the next morning. Only three,
he thought to himself with a slight scowl. It was disheartening how
little they seemed to care recently. He only hoped at least one
of them would make it.

“Say there,
Princess.”

He turned, brows
quirked upward in the faintest show of acknowledgment. Seifer
strolled toward him with a rather defined swagger, the slight sneer
curving his mouth holding no indication whatsoever of why he was
speaking to him, what intent lay in wait behind green eyes that
always seemed to flash brighter whenever their paths crossed.

The brunet turned back
to his coffee. “Almasy.”

The other's sneer
widened fractionally as he closed in, all but looming over Squall's
smaller frame as he snatched the now full cup of coffee from its
place in front of the machine, took a tentative sip and grimaced.
“How do you drink this shit black?”

Squall calmly, silently
reached for another cup and placed it in front of the machine, waited
with rapidly dissipating patience as it filled. “Did you want
something?” he questioned, deadpan, not even bothering to
incline his gaze upward as he spoke, “or are you merely trying
your hand at new ways to be moderately irritating?”

The blond's eyes
flickered briefly before his expression melted back into a mask of
careful indifference, vibrant green glittering beneath the fringe of
dark golden lashes. “We haven't sparred in a while,” he
replied smoothly, voice just loud enough to carry the lilt of his
words to the group of students lingering not too far away. Their eyes
rested first on their Commander, then darted warily to the deepening
curve of Seifer's grin and back again.

The brunet made a soft
sound in the back of his throat, a clear indication that he'd heard,
but offered nothing by way of response. Seifer growled. “You
should take her out every once in a while,” he rumbled,
indicating the sheathed length of Lion Heart at his hip. “Use
her.”

The younger's lips
twitched faintly. “If that was an offhand request to spar,”
he began, voice still flat with disinterest, “I'll take you up
on it.” His fingers reached for his newly filled cup, curling
around the styrofoam a bit too quickly, as though he expected it to
be snatched away again. With that, he turned, offering nothing else
save for a fleeting glance over his shoulder as he walked away.

“After dinner.”
And he was gone.

Seifer's expression
flickered once more, something close to genuine amusement lighting
his eyes. He then caught sight of the still-lingering group of
students staring at him, turned on his heel and snarled, quite
possibly taking a bit more pleasure than he should in watching the
way they scattered. He chuckled to himself. Sometimes, it really was
too easy.

~_~

A crowd always
gathered when word got around that the two of them were going to spar
– bodies huddled close together just far enough away to count
as not being entirely intrusive, but close enough that Squall
could feel their eyes on him as he waited for the other to show,
almost like a physical touch down the very middle of his spine. He
never understood why, and the thought had crossed his mind
several times in the past that he could simply tell them – very
politely, of course – that if they had the time to stand around
doing absolutely nothing, they had the time for extra mission
assignments. The drive behind such an idea was merely to distract
their focus from what was about to take place; he'd never been
comfortable with crowds, and quite frankly, he had no desire to
remedy that particular social aversion.

He waited, resting
lightly against a large rock off to the side of the area of the
Training Center he'd chosen, the comforting weight of his gunblade
nestled against his thigh. His thoughts strayed, skipping from the
reports he'd left in a manila folder in the top drawer of his desk,
the likelihood of either Rinoa or Quistis coming in behind him in an
attempt to tidy up his office and undoing an entire week's worth of
filing; to the phone call he was expecting from Trabia the next
afternoon, another dull ache beginning at the base of his neck at the
thought of having to listen to anything else they had to say. He'd
had enough.

As if on cue, the blond
appeared through the thickening crowd, drawing him out of the
recesses of his thoughts just enough to offer a subtle scowl, a faint
furrowing of dark brows. “Took you long enough,” he
mumbled, pushing himself up and away from the rock beneath him.

“Had to take care
of a few things,” Seifer replied dismissively, eyes glowing
with an almost feral light as they settled on the brunet in front of
him. A single eyebrow arched. “You in that much of a hurry to
lose face in front your underlings?” He cast a glance over his
shoulder, turned back with a sharp grin.

Squall shook his head.
“Don't be so sure of yourself, Almasy. It'll be your downfall.”

The silence that fell
between them was easy, with an air of restlessness the brunet could
never quite keep from surfacing every time they began this dance. His
shoulders rolled fluidly as he took a defensive stance, trusting the
blond to make the first move. It was trust well-placed.

The first downward
swing of the other's gunblade was met with an upward counter of his
own, the metallic clang of their blades coming together
echoing much too loudly in the relative silence. His heart picked up,
blood heating as it rushed through his veins from just that, and he
stepped back to avoid another sharp downward stroke, knocking the
blunt edge of his blade against Seifer's. His eyes narrowed to slits
of stormy blue-gray, careful calculation in the way he took in the
swing of his arm, the almost cruel curve of his mouth.

Another ring of steel
against steel, and he flicked the tip of his blade up the
slightest bit, just enough to cut through the sleeve of the blond's
coat. It was meant as a warning, a slight upward tilt of his mouth as
he stepped back again, enjoying the almost abashed look on the
other's face far more than he should. He heard the growl that rumbled
deep within his chest even over the scrape of their boots as they
shifted to circle one another, a faint cloud of dust rising from each
subtle movement. He watched the blond's fingers flex anxiously as he
tightened his grip on Hyperion's hilt, surged forward with a sudden
burst of speed and a flash of almost silvery-blue.

Squall all but danced
out of the way of the blow intended to knock Lion Heart out of his
grasp, balancing his weight on the ball of his foot and pivoting,
coming back with another subtle, quick flick of his blade. A small
gash opened just above the other's right knee, cutting through fabric
to barely nick the surface of his skin – another
warning, sharper than the first, and he almost laughed at the
resulting startled noise that slipped through parted lips.

“You're
slipping,” he called, the tone of his voice unmistakably
taunting. Vaguely, he wondered when the thrill of goading his
opponent had gained such appeal, brows furrowing with the effort of
deflecting another swing that sent a jolt through his arms when their
blades met. Seifer snarled.

“Don't
worry about me,” came his grating reply, the words leaving his
mouth in a sharp hiss of breath through clenched teeth. His eyes
narrowed, reflecting the brunet's smug little sneer like fragments of
light falling on a broken wine bottle, and he smiled.

“Worry
about where you're stepping.”

“Wh-”

He felt his balance
wavering before his brain had time to process what was happening, the
heel of his boot catching on the raised edge of a crack in the floor,
and he stumbled just enough to give the blond the opening he'd been
looking for. Shit.

A sharp blow to the
back of the hand that held Lion Heart with the blunt edge of
Hyperion's blade sent the weapon clattering to the floor in a cloud
of dust, and Squall growled low in the back of his throat at the pain
that skittered over sensitive nerves. A second too late, he tried to
correct his footing, and found himself pinned between the unyielding
solidity of the stone he'd rested on earlier and the weight of
Seifer's body above him. A sharp edge of steel pressed lightly to his
throat.

“Do
you yield?”

His heart hammered in
his chest, pumping blood that was too hot through his veins, and he
labored to catch his breath, lungs protesting on every inhale. He
stared up into green eyes glowing with a fierce sort of dominance,
fingers curling into the front of his coat, the act shielded from
prying eyes by the close proximity of their bodies. He said nothing.

The blade at his
throat pressed a bit harder, still not enough to break the surface of
his skin, but enough to carry the hint of a threat he was more than
capable of carrying out. “Do you yield?” The blond
shifted minutely, hips pressed flush against the other's, and a soft,
incoherent sound slipped from the back of his tongue.

“I
yield.”

Seifer all but purred
with satisfaction as he backed away, that arrogant curve of his mouth
returning as though it had never left, and the brunet took a deep,
shuddering breath. Bending to retrieve his gunblade from its place a
few feet away, he managed a dry chuckle, the sound almost lost
beneath the chatter that had begun in the back of their audience.
Funny, he'd almost forgotten they were there.

“What
were you saying about misplaced self-assurance?” The tone of
his voice practically dripped with smugness, and Squall only watched
through slitted eyes as he pushed through the crowd, gaze trained on
the edge of his coat swishing about his ankles as he strode away.

Bastard.

~_~

Seifer
took his time in returning to his room, taking slow, easy strides
through empty corridors, a tiny little smile still curving his mouth.
The length of his gunblade perched carefully on one shoulder, he
punched in the passcode and let the door slide open, stepped inside
and turned on the light.

He was abruptly shoved
back against the door before it even had time to fully close behind
him, slender hands pressed to the middle of his chest, fingers
curling into the fabric of his shirt. He caught sight of chestnut
hair and chuckled.

“Something
I can do for you, sweetheart?”

Squall
growled, leaned up and
nipped sharply at the side of his throat, just hard enough to sting.
“Don't ever do
that again,” he ground out against his skin, voice all sharp
edges and quiet authority as his fingers slipped up into his hair,
nails scraping over the back of his neck.

The blond managed
another laugh, a bit rougher than the first as he let Hyperion drop
to his side, braced it lightly against the wall. His arms snaked
around the other's lithe frame, dragged him flush against his chest.
“I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“You
baited
me.” Teeth marked his neck again, the sweet flick of a warm
tongue over the bite enough to make his breath hitch. He retaliated
in kind, leaning down to press a biting kiss to the corner of the
brunet's jaw. “Worked, didn't it?” he murmured against
the shell of his ear, tracing it with the very tip of his tongue.

“You're
such an asshole.”

He
laughed breathlessly, hands slipping down over the curve of a
leather-clad ass and squeezing. “And you,” he growled,
voice low and rumbling, more vibration than actual sound, “make
me ache for wanting
you.”

A different kind of
silence fell over them, then, laced with a hint of urgency, a touch
of desperation as Seifer shifted to strip off the other's top,
briefly taking note of the fact his jacket was missing before
becoming distracted by the plush curve of a soft mouth. He nibbled,
tasting the sweetness of his skin, drawing back only long enough to
rid himself of his own coat and shirt before closing the distance
between them again and kissing him with the kind of hunger that
always lingered just beneath the surface.

He stepped away from
the door, gently maneuvering the brunet back towards the bed and
pushing him down, covering that slender body with the weight of his
own and rocking shallowly against him, relishing the soft, broken
little whimper that emerged. He purred his approval, breaking away
from the warmth of his mouth and scraping his teeth over the gentle
rise of a collarbone, lower, until he could trace the line of a
hipbone with the tip of his tongue. The way he moved, the way he
arched beneath every soft touch, every press of lips and hands –
it set his blood on fire, draped his mind in a hazy fog through which
he could only ever see the burning blue-gray of his gaze, hear the
subtle hitch in his voice as his lips framed the shape of his name.

Teasingly, he nipped at
the patch of skin just beneath his navel, fingers tugging at each
belt in turn and laying them open with the ease of practice, emerald
gaze drifting upward briefly to take in the slight stain of a blush
across porcelain. He grinned, feral and sharply possessive, and
palmed the length of his cock through the leather.

Squall's hips bucked
against the pressure of his hand, and he muttered a startled oath
under his breath, fingers reaching to curl reflexively around his
wrist. “Don't tease,” he breathed, soft and needy. “Hyne,
please ..”

It
was that side of him – trembling and wanton, quietly demanding
– that never failed to set his heart to racing, hands shaking
faintly as he moved to peel the leather from his body. His breath
caught, fingers ghosting over flawless skin, a pale cream that all
but boasted perfection. Beautiful. You're so beautiful.

He reached blindly for
the bedside table, dipping into the drawer and finding the little
bottle of lube as he pressed a line of soft kisses over the inside of
his thigh, coaxing his knees up and apart. Not even bothering to look
up, to pay attention to his own actions, he popped the top of the
bottle open and poured a bit of the fluid over his fingers, sucking
faintly at the skin between his teeth as he pressed a single slick
digit against his entrance.

Only
then did he raise his head, gaze sharp and heated as he watched the
first flicker of pleasure pass over him, dark eyes lightly shut,
teeth worrying a corner of his lip. He pressed inward slowly, gauging
his reaction, curling his finger just so
when he was fully inside –

“Ff-
ah, Seifer!”

The
blond shuddered, withdrew almost completely and slid inward again,
massaging the tight bundle of his prostate with barely leashed
patience as he added a second finger. He pressed his lips in a
semblance of a kiss to the bend of a knee, eyes never moving from the
way his body arched beneath the weight of his pleasure, the way his
spine drew him into a sleek arc. His body was art,
raw sensuality encompassing every movement as he writhed,
and it was all he could do to maintain his composure, fractured as it
was. “Fuck,
Squall ..”

“Please,”
came the brunet's broken plea, fingers grasping a tanned shoulder and
digging in almost ruthlessly with blunt nails. He bucked against his
hand, sending his fingers deeper
and giving a sharp, ragged moan. “Sweet Hyne, Seifer,
please ..”

Something
in the back of his mind shattered, and he broke away just as long as
it took for him to strip away what remained of his clothing, pouring
a bit more of the lubricant over his length and giving a single, deft
stroke. Settling between the cleft of his thighs, he slowly slid
inward, mouth pressed to the side of his throat, one hand curled
around his hip. His free hand tangled in his hair, so soft against
the roughness of his fingertips, and he groaned.

What you do to me
..

Squall
arched, giving a slow, deliberate undulation of his entire body, one
leg curling around his hip to draw him closer,
arms looping around his neck, fingernails scraping almost too sharply
over tanned skin. The blond growled a warning, feeling himself coming
undone, the tiny thread of what remained of his patience snapping as
he rolled his hips hard,
sheathing himself completely in tight, blessed heat.

The
brunet bit back a muffled scream, teeth sinking into yielding flesh,
almost enough to break the surface as he clung harder, meeting every
inward thrust with a fluid roll of his own hips. It was too much, too
hot, too fast – but
he was damned if he could reel himself in now, convince himself to
take his time. I need you.

“..
Squall
..”

His voice broke on a
moan as they came together, all at once, a mass of panting breaths
and shuddering heartbeats, and for a moment he registered nothing
save for the heat of the body beneath him, the sound of his voice as
he whispered his name. He leaned up, brushed his lips against the
other's sweetly, tasted the words that lingered on the back of his
tongue in the intensity of his kiss.

It
was worth it – the outward indifference that everyone else saw,
holding back from the things they couldn't let
them see – to have him like this, soft and warm and so
completely unwound. It
was worth it to be able to kiss him like this, hold him like this, to
be able to be with him
like this –

“If
you ever do that again, I'm cutting you off for a
month.”

Seifer
laughed, nuzzled just beneath his ear. Still worth it.
“You're so cute when you try to be authoritative.” He
nearly yelped when he felt sharp teeth nip his shoulder.

“I'm
serious.”

“I
know you are, Princess.” He paused, lifted his head just enough
to press his lips to the corner of his mouth – softly, an
approximation of a kiss that almost didn't count. “So am I.”

The
brunet tried to grumble, which surfaced as nothing more than a soft
little growl that got caught in the back of his throat, thwarted
entirely by the flick of the blond's tongue over the swell of his
bottom lip. “.. You're still an asshole,” he mumbled
against his mouth, the tone of his voice far more affectionate than
his words should have allowed for. Seifer only chuckled again and
wrapped his arms around him fully, and the body beneath him softened,
sharp edges dulling beneath the warmth of an embrace that had managed
to chip away that harsh exterior – at least where he was
concerned.

So worth it.
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