Final Fantasy VIII Baited

-bangs head on desk- So, while waiting for FF8 to download from the PSN this afternoon, I decided to go through this again and change some things I wasn't entirely pleased with. This time around .. I hope I haven't failed too spectacularly. XD

Oh, yeah, did I not mention that? The fourth disc is fucked up, so I can't play past the end of disc three. So I finally got around to buying it (along with VII) from the PSN so I can play it on my PS3. How awesome is that? I'm doing it right now, actually. I started a completely new file, since I don't have the means to transfer my data from the memory card. I'm in Dollet. I have a Seifer. I keep staring at him. -grin- Anyway.

Standard disclaimers. I own not a thing, and as always, 'tis for my love.

* * *

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_.


End file.
