by NightsDawne
Chapter 7: Contest
Sephiroth tossed and turned in his bed, trying to get to sleep. He'd never had a problem with it before. The discipline of a soldier carried through every aspect of his life, right down to his sleeping cycle. He growled softly in irritation with himself and sat up to unwind the sheets from his legs, then flopped back against the pillow, dropping the backs of his hands against his forehead. It was him. He just couldn't get him out of his thoughts.
Hopeless of forcing himself to rest, Sephiroth gave in, letting his mind explore the path it wanted. His breath slipped from his lips, tickling them softly, making him wonder what it would be like if Seifer had kissed him goodnight as he had teased. Seifer's mouth, like every part of him, seemed to have been molded from the ideal of masculine beauty. Strong, usually held in that confident smirk that was as annoying as it was enticing, full lower lip parted from the cupid's bow of his upper lip, revealing the straight edge of white teeth. It was a constant dare, that smile, a challenge to try to take on the wearer, an implication that anyone who took it up would find themselves lost before they tried. Sephiroth was even subject to its effect, a tremble of intimidation like nothing he had ever known leaving him in uncertainty, as if his superior strength and experience would mean nothing in the end. That in and of itself was enough to tempt him, although not to fight.
He tried to picture what Seifer's eyes must have looked like before they were altered by the mako energy. Somehow he knew they would be no less intense for lacking the glow of a Soldier's gaze. It wasn't mako that fueled the fire in the blond. He would have been a troublemaker in the ranks of Shinra's troops, too independent, too rebellious, but it would be a mistake to have him on the opposing side. He was a natural leader and just as naturally a renegade, his only loyalty to himself and whatever code he held himself to. Only the rules he made for himself would be acceptable to him.
Sephiroth wondered who had had the daring and the skill to leave the scar that ran between Seifer's eyes. It had to be Squall, the one that Seifer had compared him to at the dining table. As he thought about it, he had difficulty deciding if the comparison had been mockery or compliment. Like everything else Seifer said, it seemed designed to leave one off guard, unsure where they stood, as if even friendship was a competition and the blond was determined to have the edge. It was a game Sephiroth realized he was being drawn into in spite of himself, wanting to win the younger man's approval, his trust, wanting to be allowed past that wall of self-assurance and arrogance. Seifer had already made the rules. To win, Sephiroth would have to lose, have to give in and let Seifer be the leader, but if he gave in too easily, he would be tossed aside as too weak to pass muster. It was irritating to be toyed with in such a way, but exciting, almost dangerous. It had been a long time since Sephiroth had tasted danger.
His mind drifted unbidden into the memories of removing Seifer's ripped and burned clothing, of washing the dried blood from that muscular body. Seifer obviously took care of himself, his body the toned and flawless tool of a fighter. He wasn't massive, or bulky, but powerful, the epitome of masculine grace. Sephiroth had the same build as Vincent, light, quick, not lacking in height or strength, but slender, bordering on delicate. Seifer, on the other hand, looked every inch a warrior, hard, unyielding, like granite. There was no deception about his skills in battle. The fire of his soul even seemed to radiate from him physically, his skin so warm to the touch Sephiroth had feared him feverish. Sephiroth closed his eyes, feeling again that golden heat under his fingertips, the thought bringing on erotic pleasure that spread across his body, his lips parting in surrender to his longing.
Sephiroth pulled his thoughts into check quickly, shocked at where they were heading. Admiration of his friend's aesthetics was one thing, but why was he succumbing to this kind of desire? Not even women had gotten past his strict focus, and certainly not another man. It wasn't like there hadn't been opportunities when he had been a general for Shinra. There had been no lack of handsome and even willing men, but Sephiroth's discipline had kept him from interest in sensual pleasures. It had to be Seifer's teasing. It was part of the game. Seifer was trying to make him question their relationship, presenting himself as so desirable that not even other men could resist him. Sephiroth sat up, temptation fading into vexation. He was not going to let Seifer simply lead him down whatever path he chose as if he had no will of his own.
I waited too long to be honest with my feelings, Sephiroth. I lost the woman that I loved because I was afraid to tell her what was in my heart. Don't make the same mistake. Don't waste your chance for happiness. Sephiroth frowned as his father's words came back to him. Even Vincent thought that Sephiroth's feelings for Seifer were beyond friendship? He would have to keep his guard up more carefully. But what exactly were his feelings? Obviously Seifer's tactics had worked, so he had to admit there was the possibility of some kind of attraction that the blond had capitalized on. Still, physical attraction was a long way from love. He had only known Seifer for two days, after all.
He chewed his lip, trying to figure out Vincent's reasons for sharing such advice. Vincent hardly ever spoke of Sephiroth's mother, Lucretia. He had confessed early on that it was possible that he had been the one who had gotten her pregnant, and assured Sephiroth that he would never have consented to do so for the sake of science, that the times they had spent together had been love, at least on his part. Sephiroth preferred to think that he had been conceived of something more than experimental interest, and he couldn't deny his physical resemblance to Vincent. If the choices were to think that his father was the former Turk or the mad scientist Hojo, Vincent had no competition. Vincent's love for Lucretia was still palpable, even through his cold and unfeeling exterior. Love had only led to tragedy and grief for his father, and yet he was equating it to happiness, urging Sephiroth to seek it out. And it was clear he thought Sephiroth was leaning toward Seifer. But could he love a man? Even if he did, what good would it do? Seifer couldn't be expected to return such feelings.
Sephiroth sighed in exasperation. It was clear that having friends cut into one's sleep if nothing else. He tossed the covers aside and stood, pulling on his pants, then reached for Masamune. If his thoughts would not let him get some rest, he would at least subdue them with the familiar routine of a kata, turn them to the well-known paths of combat. He made his way out of his room and down the stairs, experience helping him to avoid the loudest steps so he wouldn't wake the others. He slipped into the kitchen, the stone floor giving him a silent place to work. He let the darkness hide him, drew his mind into focus, and stepped into the graceful dance of death.
Seifer awoke, still breathing hard from his dream, the visions still clear in his mind's eye, his hand still at his groin where even in sleep his body had longed to satisfy in reality what was going on in fantasy. It had been nothing short of animalistic lust, his body crushed against Sephiroth's, their kisses suffocating attempts at appeasing their mutual hunger. He moaned quietly at the ache that radiated from his hips, his stomach muscles taut from subconscious rocking that had mimicked his taking of the silver-haired beauty.
He closed his hand around his erection, bringing himself to the release that would ease the pain, not caring at what kind of a mess he would leave. So he would volunteer to do the laundry, it wouldn't arouse suspicion and he needed to get it out of his system before he fell to the temptation to exercise his fantasies fully. He groaned quietly, every muscle tightening, fire burning every nerve in his body. His mind easily filled in Sephiroth's body against his, long delicate fingers that hid the strength inside them replacing his own as he quickened his stroking, his back arching as he came, leaving his skin tingling with bliss.
He sagged weakly against the mattress, his limbs fatigued. The soaked sheet cooling in the night air only mirrored the emotional coldness as the illusion of a lover next to him melted away to intangibility, loneliness cutting through the pleasure painfully. His body insistently called for sleep, but emotions interfered, shattering the wall of boldness that kept him from despising himself. He wanted nothing more than for the dream to have been real, to have the comfort of another body next to his, to feel Sephiroth's arms around him, soft kisses of shared passion easing him to slumber, but instead he was alone, driven to the pathetic recourse of masturbation to give him even a moment's illusion of intimacy.
He gathered his strength and sat up, wiping his chest, then throwing the sheet off of the bed in disgust. He got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, snaps of floorboards accompanying his steps. He endured the freezing chill of the cold water from his sink to clean himself off, fully wakened by the shock to his skin. Why couldn't he just tell Sephiroth that he wanted him? He had picked up the cues, had seen the attraction in Sephiroth's eyes, but rather than responding to it with a confession of his own feelings he had used it to his advantage, taunted him, angered him.
He had done the same thing to Squall, tortured him until there was nothing but enmity and rivalry between them, no chance of anything soft or tender. Why? Because he didn't want anyone else to find out his secret, his attraction to other men. He sacrificed his feelings and Squall's to keep his front intact. He'd spent enough of his time regretting his lost opportunity with the boy with the enchanting stormy gaze and now he was throwing away yet another chance to feel loved. If only Sephiroth would make the first move he could justify being with him, but he couldn't bear the fear of making himself vulnerable, of offering love only to have it rejected.
Not yet ready to go back to bed and deal with introspection, he put on his pants and slipped out of the room, doing his best to keep from treading heavily on the noisy floors. Perhaps he could replace companionship with a glass of milk and cold leftovers. It might taste lousy, but Sephiroth had made it. Just thinking about Sephiroth's sad attempts at cooking a decent meal helped restore a touch of his confidence, his lips twitching into a smile as his feet felt the cold flagstone of the kitchen floor. He reached for the light switch and flipped it on, already narrowing his eyes against the glare.
Sephiroth spun around, Masamune's blade dragging across the stone and sending up sparks. "Shit!" His eyes narrowed from their shocked expression. "What are you doing wandering around in the middle of the night?"
Seifer raised a brow. "Looking for something to eat. Which, I might add, is a little less suspicious than swinging a sword around in the dark."
Sephiroth looked down at his blade, his cheeks flushing. "I.. well, I needed to practice and I wasn't tired."
"Don't let me stop you." Seifer strode over to the refrigerator and opened it, getting out the milk and his unfinished stir-fry.
Sephiroth pursed his lips, laying Masamune on a counter. "I'm done. I thought you hated my cooking."
"I'm hoping it's evolved in the cold." Seifer leaned against the counter, taking a drink straight from the carton, then broke into a laugh at Sephiroth's look of disgust. "There's only enough in here for one glass anyway. It's not like I'm going to put it back."
"It's the principle of the thing. What if I wanted some, too?"
Seifer held the carton out. "I don't backwash, if that's what you're worried about. Hell, you bled in my mouth and you're worried about drinking from the same carton as me?"
"That was to save your life." Sephiroth stepped over to take the offered carton, though, lifting it to his lips, trying to resist thinking about Seifer's lips having touched it moments before. He reached around Seifer to set it on the counter behind him, frowning as Seifer shifted his weight so that his bare ribs brushed the inside of Sephiroth's wrist. He couldn't tell if it was accidental or yet another attempt to get him to question himself. He withdrew his hand quickly, refusing to let the blond get a rise out of him. "Is the stir-fry any better now?"
"No, just colder." Seifer ate another mouthful, his eyes on Sephiroth, teasing. He smirked and offered some to Sephiroth, holding the chopsticks poised above the plate.
"It can't be that bad." Sephiroth accepted the sample, chewing thoughfully, then frowned as he swallowed. "Okay, maybe it can."
Seifer snickered, setting the plate down to grab the milk again. "Maybe you have some cookies or something stashed around here. I can't believe you survive on that stuff."
Sephiroth nodded, stepping to the side to rifle through a cupboard. "They might be a little old. I don't have much of a sweet tooth and my father doesn't eat much."
"I didn't think he ate at all. Haven't seen him at the table once." Seifer tipped the carton back.
"His metabolism is different. He eats maybe once every three days or so, but he drinks all the time."
"Like hits the sauce?"
Sephiroth chuckled. "No. He barely even touches wine. I mean like ordinary drinks. He's got this thing for Sprite you wouldn't believe."
"Ah, so that's his stash in the fridge. I'll keep clear." Seifer reached for the half-empty package of Oreos Sephiroth held out. "Oreos and milk. Makes me feel like a kid." He set the milk down to twist open a cookie, licking the cream off, watching the other man.
Sephiroth forgot what he was going to say in reply and merely stared with a half-open mouth at the seductive way that Seifer handled the cookie. It wasn't helping that Seifer was shirtless and he was as well. What are you thinking? He's just eating a cookie. It doesn't mean anything. Sephiroth shook his head, turning away. "You can finish them off if you want. I'm going to bed."
"Jealous of a cookie?" Seifer's taunting voice as always filled Sephiroth with a paradox of irritation and enticement. Why did he keep teasing him? It was becoming exhausting trying to keep up in the game, like combat with an opponent who refused to strike outright, who chose to wear down with feints, searching for weaknesses, yet Sephiroth couldn't think of giving up. If he did, Seifer would lose all respect for him, perhaps not even want to be his friend anymore.
"I wouldn't want to interfere in your relationship. I'm sure it will be one of your longer ones." He strode from the room, picking up Masamune without looking back.
"Ouch. You're getting better, Sephy," whispered Seifer. "Show no mercy."
