Moving through the darkness, stripes of light occasionally streaking
through to make things go from dusky to golden, he walked, naked, but not
cold, and felt free. No one around. No one to tell him what to do, where
to be, what to be. He saw the glassy surface of the river and smelled the
cold, sweet water and wanted some instantly.
When he knelt down he caught his reflection and blinked. Inhuman eyes, slit pupiled, stared back at him out of a bestial face with oversized canine teeth set in his twisted mouth – the face of a monster. And it smiled.
Squall woke up falling out of bed, scrambling to get away from that face. He shivered in the darkened room and hid his clawed hands in his armpits, hugging himself. He couldn't bring himself to touch his face or go and look in a mirror just yet. Hyne, why does this have to happen to me? None of the others turned into freaks. Why me? What did I do to deserve growing claws like a chocobo?
He shivered and got back in bed. He'd set his room cooler and cooler over the past few days – now it was damned cold but if he put on more than his summer clothes, he started to feel smothered, overheated. He didn't seem to suffer from it, really, just become uncomfortable. He huddled under the covers and got toasty again, mmmmm. He was just drifting off when he heard something move. And it wasn't him.
He opened his eyes, just a little sliver, and saw … a Tiger.
What?
Yep. A tiger. A big, tawny, golden tiger, slinking towards the bed. He leaned out and grabbed for his gunblade but the creature cleared the distance in one huge leap and pinned him back on the bed, the weight of the monstrous cat holding him down under the covers. He gave one big thrash and then quit – no need to excite it if he couldn't' get away with the first lunge.
Its hot breath blew on his neck and then his jaw and ear. It tickled and it made a tight shudder pass through squall's body. The animal scent of it curled up in Squall's nose and made itself at home. Rich, hot, rank with maleness and bestial odors that summoned up images of killing and dominance, casual strength enough to lift up a full-grown chocobo and carry it on one shoulder. He forced himself to look it in the eyes – striking eyes, bright as seawater, familiar eyes. He blinked several times at the streak of fur-less skin between its eyes, on the bridge of its muzzle, a diagonal slash… It leaned forward and licked him on the shoulder, a sensuous, almost painful feeling from the rough tongue…
And dark fur was left behind where its tongue passed. Squall yelped and started struggling, but to no avail. The tiger kept licking, and fur appeared where its rough wet warmth passed over him. It felt like a massage with a rough washcloth that had been dipped in hot water, very hot, the creature's tongue soothed away his struggles until he just lay there shuddering as it slowly licked every part of him… a rough scrape over his nipple and he threw back his head in a mixture of pain and unwilling pleasure. He couldn't look – he didn't' want to see what was happening to him, he didn't' want to see the dark fur spreading over himself as it licked him, turning him in its paws like a kitten, but he knew it was happening. He looked up at it, begging it to stop with his eyes … his voice did not seem to work any longer. It laughed with a familiar laugh – it smiled, a familiar sneer. A lick over his hands, and his claws fit the paws better than they had his fingers. A lick over his back and down his spine and a wild, struggling sensation as he grew a long, fluffy tail. He wasn't even a panther or anything; he looked like some kind of housecat! He made a strangled mew and the tiger looked down at him in a mixture of possessiveness and dominance. "Squall." It purred in Seifer's voice. "I'm coming for you."
His eyes snapped open and he choked. No tiger. No fur. He searched himself franticly. No tail.
He fell back on the bed, panting with relief. And… disappointment. He scowled at himself and pushed the feeling away. He didn't' want fur. He didn't want a tail. And he most certainly did not want… a tiger.
Why … why dream of Seifer as a tiger? Why think of him at all NOW? Rinoa was sick, deathly ill, he was mutating into some kind of a monster, he and Zell and Irvine all had some kind of compulsive sexual insanity going on… didn't he have enough problems already?
Because that's all Seifer was – a problem looking for someone to handle him. And never finding anyone who would or could except a Sorceress. He sighed. He felt somehow that he was at least partially to blame for that. He … tried to be closer to Seifer but his own inability to relate to others had prevented their rivalry from going much more than a casual 'wanna fight?' 'Sure, lets', in spite of his admiration for and envy of the taller, stronger boy. Seifer never had to use two hands on his gunblade. Seifer didn't look like a male prostitute in his fighting gear. Seifer was never mistaken for a girl.
Squall sighed and got up. He wasn't going to get any more sleep this night. Might as well get some paperwork done. Check on Rinoa. Anything else but sleep.
He pretended not to notice how hard the dream had left him.
When he knelt down he caught his reflection and blinked. Inhuman eyes, slit pupiled, stared back at him out of a bestial face with oversized canine teeth set in his twisted mouth – the face of a monster. And it smiled.
Squall woke up falling out of bed, scrambling to get away from that face. He shivered in the darkened room and hid his clawed hands in his armpits, hugging himself. He couldn't bring himself to touch his face or go and look in a mirror just yet. Hyne, why does this have to happen to me? None of the others turned into freaks. Why me? What did I do to deserve growing claws like a chocobo?
He shivered and got back in bed. He'd set his room cooler and cooler over the past few days – now it was damned cold but if he put on more than his summer clothes, he started to feel smothered, overheated. He didn't seem to suffer from it, really, just become uncomfortable. He huddled under the covers and got toasty again, mmmmm. He was just drifting off when he heard something move. And it wasn't him.
He opened his eyes, just a little sliver, and saw … a Tiger.
What?
Yep. A tiger. A big, tawny, golden tiger, slinking towards the bed. He leaned out and grabbed for his gunblade but the creature cleared the distance in one huge leap and pinned him back on the bed, the weight of the monstrous cat holding him down under the covers. He gave one big thrash and then quit – no need to excite it if he couldn't' get away with the first lunge.
Its hot breath blew on his neck and then his jaw and ear. It tickled and it made a tight shudder pass through squall's body. The animal scent of it curled up in Squall's nose and made itself at home. Rich, hot, rank with maleness and bestial odors that summoned up images of killing and dominance, casual strength enough to lift up a full-grown chocobo and carry it on one shoulder. He forced himself to look it in the eyes – striking eyes, bright as seawater, familiar eyes. He blinked several times at the streak of fur-less skin between its eyes, on the bridge of its muzzle, a diagonal slash… It leaned forward and licked him on the shoulder, a sensuous, almost painful feeling from the rough tongue…
And dark fur was left behind where its tongue passed. Squall yelped and started struggling, but to no avail. The tiger kept licking, and fur appeared where its rough wet warmth passed over him. It felt like a massage with a rough washcloth that had been dipped in hot water, very hot, the creature's tongue soothed away his struggles until he just lay there shuddering as it slowly licked every part of him… a rough scrape over his nipple and he threw back his head in a mixture of pain and unwilling pleasure. He couldn't look – he didn't' want to see what was happening to him, he didn't' want to see the dark fur spreading over himself as it licked him, turning him in its paws like a kitten, but he knew it was happening. He looked up at it, begging it to stop with his eyes … his voice did not seem to work any longer. It laughed with a familiar laugh – it smiled, a familiar sneer. A lick over his hands, and his claws fit the paws better than they had his fingers. A lick over his back and down his spine and a wild, struggling sensation as he grew a long, fluffy tail. He wasn't even a panther or anything; he looked like some kind of housecat! He made a strangled mew and the tiger looked down at him in a mixture of possessiveness and dominance. "Squall." It purred in Seifer's voice. "I'm coming for you."
His eyes snapped open and he choked. No tiger. No fur. He searched himself franticly. No tail.
He fell back on the bed, panting with relief. And… disappointment. He scowled at himself and pushed the feeling away. He didn't' want fur. He didn't want a tail. And he most certainly did not want… a tiger.
Why … why dream of Seifer as a tiger? Why think of him at all NOW? Rinoa was sick, deathly ill, he was mutating into some kind of a monster, he and Zell and Irvine all had some kind of compulsive sexual insanity going on… didn't he have enough problems already?
Because that's all Seifer was – a problem looking for someone to handle him. And never finding anyone who would or could except a Sorceress. He sighed. He felt somehow that he was at least partially to blame for that. He … tried to be closer to Seifer but his own inability to relate to others had prevented their rivalry from going much more than a casual 'wanna fight?' 'Sure, lets', in spite of his admiration for and envy of the taller, stronger boy. Seifer never had to use two hands on his gunblade. Seifer didn't look like a male prostitute in his fighting gear. Seifer was never mistaken for a girl.
Squall sighed and got up. He wasn't going to get any more sleep this night. Might as well get some paperwork done. Check on Rinoa. Anything else but sleep.
He pretended not to notice how hard the dream had left him.