Disclaimer: I do not own Dissidia Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy III, V, VI, or IX. SquareEnix does.
Desperate
Summary : Zidane was a self proclaimed ladies man, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
He had his eyes set on Terra as soon as they had all convened the first time. That was shot down rather quickly. He saw the way that kid, the Onion Knight, looked at her and glared at him, and the way she shied away from the simple touches Zidane tried to press against her shoulders.
He knew when no meant no and not to press his luck any further. He wasn't that sleazy.
And so that was around the time he began to notice the boy beside him. The boy who constantly followed him, taunted him, urged him into contest after contest.
Who could get to the edge of the rift quicker? Who could get to the top of that pillar fastest? Who could get their crystal first?
And then the soft lingering gazes after Zidane accepted. The "accidental" brushing of their fingers as they walked side by side. Or when the mimic is caught staring, blushes, and goes to hassle Squall instead.
Nevertheless, Zidane had no intention of reciprocation. Bartz was a man after all, and that was not territory the thief wanted to become familiar with.
It wasn't until after the incident with the crystals happened, that Bartz became desperate, more forward.
"I'm so sorry!"
He was so earnest, his fingers clutched Zidane with all of his life, his eyes close to welling over with both pain and fear, fear of disapproval, fear of rejection. So much emotion and so much need that Zidane just really didn't want to get into.
And yet it was nice. Nice to be touched again and nice to be wanted. He couldn't have Terra, but that didn't erase his needs. He couldn't steal her heart but managed to steal his.
Zidane's tail twitched and reacted on its own, drifting, searching, sliding up the leg and thigh of the other boy. Bartz shifted closer, Zidane's arms followed suite, wrapping around his waist. And there it was, the distance closed between them and in desperation they kissed.
Bartz slumped into Zidane's smaller form, attempting to mold into him. Zidane fitted, caressing his inner thigh with his tail, and stroking his hands up his back. It was different from the girls he'd been with. They were soft, voluptuous, and all curves. Bartz was hard, lean, and all muscles. Familiar curves were now replaced with straight lines.
They fell together, in the middle of nowhere, fitting together like strangers aching to find their way home. Zidane closed his eyes to the strangeness of having a boys legs wrapped around him and just let it be, moving and letting the other guide him.
Bartz out of sorrow, out of feeling, out of need.
Zidane out of want.
-end-
AN: thanks for reading please review