dollšlattice (seisuko@subdimension.com)

[a gift for my twenty-six years of serapy. questionable seifer x squall. something resembling sex.]

< . b . e . g . i . n . >

[ c o n c l u s i o n ]

Quistis said something to me, today.

"He doesn't deserve you, Squall."

It's been on my mind for a while.

Of course he didn't deserve me. No one can possibly be worth that little. I know now why he stayed. It hadn't been something I'd bothered to think of before, but it's so obvious, so close to my own reasons, that I'd almost rather forget it.

It's just not worth it. Really.

I haven't tried to heal the mark he left on me. He hasn't tried to heal his. I think he wants it to remind him of failure, and how bitter it tasted. I'm not keeping mine for sentimental reasons, either. It's not a statement, or a concession to him, and not his victory, just as I never was.

I want it to remember that once I had thought he was mine.

So I don't repeat my mistakes.

[ h y p o t h e s i s ]

This is a Squall who is both more and less perceptive of himself than the one we see on the surface in canon. His actions are dictated by an unconscious shame of being so emotionally damaged, and an acknowledgement of the "need" for human companionship, which, all the same, isn't quite real to him. Because of this, he requires expedience, over all, in any compacts he might form. In part, this is, of course, simply because he is not cruel. After all, he would not want a relationship with someone he might unintentionally hurt.

[ m a t e r i a l s ]

One prima donna.

One rival.

One, otherwise empty, Training Center.

One sparring match. One flimsy excuse for a bloodbath.

Adrenaline high;

Antagonism;

And a liberal dose of sexually violent tension.

[ p r o c e d u r e ]

I don't know what galvanized me into kissing him. I hadn't exactly planned it, and it was hardly the way I'd have wanted it to happen. But before he could turn away, I had lunged forward, dragged him towards me, and brought my mouth down on his.

There was a moment of absolute stillness.... And then he retaliated. Several gasping, bruising instants later, I found myself pinned against the wall, his lips and teeth at work on my throat. I pulled him back up to me when he started working a hand into my pants, past my central belt. Both my hands cupped his face, counting on him to continue to support me, as our tongues slid and clashed together; hot, wet, and soul-numbing. It wasn't quite what I had expected. I tasted salty-sweet blood; his, mine? Or did it even matter? There it was.

His fingers closed around me and somewhere distant I'd thought that it was a good thing he'd been holding me up, because my legs suddenly weren't listening to what I told them to do. And then I just stopped asking.

After that, I was lost. I felt his fingers on my sex, steady pressure that turned into ghosting whispers over hardened flesh as he thrust against my leg. I acutely remember making a terribly humiliating, keening moan, gasping louder and louder until my cries choked in my throat as I came all over his hands.

Together or apart; in the end, it made no difference.

It was almost enough to make me feel completely awful, except I looked up from where I'd slid, boneless, to the ground, and there he knelt before me, licking clear trails of cooling semen from his fingers.

[ o b s e r v a t i o n s ]

He didn't meet my eyes. I could swear he was embarrassed; that, and something else I couldn't identify. That was okay. Watching him took my mind off my own problems.

It was working. Not very well, but it was. That had to be good enough.

I could breathe, again.

"Showers?" he said, finally, finally turning to look at me. We dropped our gazes at the same time.

"Sure."

I pulled up my zipper and readjusted my belts, putting an excessive amount of concentration to the task. After cleaning myself off a little, I ended up tying my jacket around my waist. It's my favorite, but I'd rather ruin the leather than traverse the hallways with liquid evidence of what we'd just done on display all over the front of my pants.

I was sure that I looked ridiculous. I just hoped that I didn't look fucked. As...

....

Well.

I ran a hand through my hair.

It was a long walk. I spent all of it staring at the back of Seifer's head, ignoring the people around me except to avoid running into them. No one seemed to be overly suspicious of this.

Nothing kills curiosity quite like frost.

We made a quick stop at our rooms to pick up some clothes. They'd been adjacent, once. I swapped my jacket and tee for a long button-up shirt, not bothering with a bathrobe or to change pants; it wasn't that far to the shower room from the dorms, so the shirt should suffice.

The showers were empty when we got there. We stripped in silence, not speaking, or looking at each other.

We washed off in silence.

It was too much time to think. What had I gotten myself into? What did I know about Seifer, anyway? He'd always been there. He'd always been the one to fight with, to compete against. My natural choice for a sparring partner. A vicious, arrogant bastard that couldn't care less about anyone else, and certainly not me. What the hell had I just done?

The expedient thing, I reminded myself. You are an idiot. What were you expecting?

I know that now, too.

"See you around," I said, having decided that it was way past time to leave.

"Wait."

I paused, and, turning, gave him a questioning look. He didn't seem sure why he had stopped me. I waited.

He shook his head. "Come here for a second."

But Seifer had never been very patient. He stepped towards me before I could go over to him. Reaching out, he tilted my chin upwards so he could kiss me.

[ a n a l y s i s ]

It lasted for a little while. Looking back, I'm surprised. But three weeks and seventeen nights is just a tiny glitch in history, and the future goes on forever. Nothing now matters. Certainly not us.

Certainly, there is no us.

< . e . n . d . >