Touch
A One-Shot by Ellipsis the Great
Summary: The first thing Seifer noticed about Hayner was his constant need to touch things—anything and everything within reach. Seiner drabble. Sequel to 'Stygian' and 'Blind Trust.'
DISCLAIMER: Kingdom Hearts and everything affiliated with it belongs to SquareEnix and Disney. All I own is the plot…
Rated: T for suggestive themes.
Hayner liked to touch.
It might seem strange, or a little perverse, but in truth it wasn't either (well, mostly).
It was the first quirk Seifer had ever noticed—before he'd noticed the smaller boy's infamously quick temper, or his unhealthy love of camouflage-print, or that he was anal about how much or how little his hair spiked. How much because…well, dear god. Just look at them. And how little because, really, no one could beat, say, Roxas' ungodly bizarre spikes.
In any case, the first thing Seifer noticed about Hayner was his constant need to touch things—anything and everything within reach.
He noticed that Hayner almost always (when he could manage it) walked next to a building or wall so that he could scrape his fingers against the wall. When he couldn't manage it, because his friends had trapped him in between themselves, he was always looping arms with them, or throwing his arms around their shoulders, fingers gently rubbing against their shoulders, or holding hands, his thumb tracing small circles on the backs of their hands. (The last, of course, had caused much speculation as to whether or not he was dating Olette, and then about whether or not he was dating Roxas, and then, when someone got particularly bold, about whether or not he and his friends had some sort of weird threesome or foursome thing going on.)
And when no one was around, and he was walking through a place with no buildings—a park, the Sandlot—he would twist the fabric of his shirt between his fingers, or tap out a tune with his hand against his thigh, or run his hands up and down the strap of his backpack.
Later, much later, Seifer would learn the origin of the touching thing—several times when Hayner was younger, his older brother would cast blinding spells on him and leave him to stumble his way around, sometimes for a few hours until someone found him or his brother finally took pity on (or, well, remembered) him. This had instilled in him a fear of the dark which had, luckily for Hayner, dissipated (or lessened, at least) over the years. And, of course, it had given him the need for touching that had never gone away—as if he had to reassure himself that he would know, by feel, where he was and how to get home or to some other place with sympathetic spell-casters. And would know by touch who was who, and therefore know who would help him out and who might just fuck him up even worse (which Seifer knew he would probably have done).
But Seifer wouldn't know that for many, many years after first noticing the odd quirk. He wouldn't know until after he had finally come out to his parents, his friends, the school. Until after he had realized that he wasn't so much gay as Hayner-sexual. Until after he shoved Hayner up against the little cork-board in the Sandlot and kissed him, and noticed that while one of Hayner's hands traced up the length of his arm and caressed the back of his neck, the other stayed planted against the board, feeling the texture of it until, with an undignified and in-unison squawk, they fell back over it. Until after they went from just rivals and then rivals-with-benefits, past mutually exclusive bed-partners, and all the way to cohabiting boyfriends.
Not that Seifer minded. At all.
Especially not when he was just waking up in the morning, after a wild night of loving his boyfriend, to feel said boyfriend running his fingers across his skin—tracing (memorizing?) every contour, every scar, every little dip and dimple. And definitely not when Hayner's legs were straddling his middle, and he was watching the spiky-haired blond with wide eyes as he ran his hands over his own naked skin with the knowing touch of someone who had done this all-too-many times.
Although…well, sometimes he minded it a little (just a little) when they were just crashing into the bedroom (or the closet, or the kitchen, or the living room), still clothed, and Hayner just had to tease—just had to ghost his hands over the fabric of Seifer's beanie, his coat, his vest, his pants, his—well, you get it, I'm sure—until Seifer was going mad with want, even though the touch was light and hadn't even gotten near his bare skin, yet.
But sometimes he didn't even mind that.
And later, when they were sated (or resting up for round two or three or five), he would admit (only to Hayner and himself) that he reveled in the way Hayner would plaster himself to his side, his head resting in the crook of Seifer's shoulder, one arm curled between them while the other skated along Seifer's neck and dipped into his clavicle (and, later, his bellybutton), before circling around his nipples and across his abs.
That was what it was all about, he supposed. Noticing your partner's (and before that, rival's) quirks and working them to your advantage. Just like Hayner had noticed Seifer's obsessive-compulsive clean streak and would mess things up just to piss Seifer off, so later he could soothe him into submission or goad him into rough, angry sex.
Whatever it was, it was all Hayner and all Seifer. And while Seifer had beaten his boyfriend's older brother to nearly a pulp for traumatizing the poor guy after he found out about the touching thing's origin, he was mostly thankful for the outcome.
Because…well, it was Hayner. And when Seifer was being particularly sappy he would admit (to anyone who would listen) that he was thankful for everything about Hayner.
Especially ("There, Hayner, again!") the touching thing.
The End.