"I was central,
I had control,
I lost my head,
I need this,
It's crazy what you could have had,
Crazy what you could have had,
I need it, I, I... need this"
REM, Country Feedback
I can feel him pressing down with all of his weight. All of his beautiful, welcome weight and every little kiss and nibble that comes with it. The sand flutters into my hair as I toss my head back, enjoying the sensation of the ocean spray over my bare skin. My eyes notice that the sky is dark with thunderclouds before I hear that low chuckle, the one he does when he's amused and trying not to show it. That deep, guttural sound that I adore. The one that makes my whole body tingle. I hear myself utter a pleading noise, as if I am dying. I feel as though I am.
"You never did have any patience, Leonhart." He says; voice husky and sensual. I make eye contact, my eyes blazing with fury at the way he teases me by prolonging this. I despise myself for wanting him so damn much, for letting him know far more than his ego can cope with. He can feel quite easily how hard I am and one look into my eyes will tell him that I'm on the verge of begging for it. I hate begging.
"And you never played fair." I growl as a response, tugging the fingers of my left hand through his ruffled hair with a fair force and all but dragging his lips to my skin. Unimpressed with my lead, he stalls; hovers somewhere about my navel. I growl through my teeth again, scrunching at handfuls of sand with my right, outstretched hand. His eyes flicker up at me with a sardonic, wicked gleam. The sadistic little asshole.
I'd kill him, but then where would I be? Left high and...well, not so dry.
For a moment or so, I disappear into those scorching emerald eyes, mesmerized by their fire and their desire. His face has been taken over by his need and he tries to hide it, equalling both my maximum effort and my limited success. We are both losing this battle and we will go down together. Gladly.
"What would have been the point?" He husks, lips brushing against the flat of my stomach as he spoke. "You wouldn't have gotten angry."
I run firm hands down the back of his neck and purr softly, letting them slide onto his shoulders as I relax into his touch. "Kink." I mutter accusingly.
"Oh, you burn me." He retorts sarcastically. "Put your...back into it, why don't you?" There is yet more of that characteristic smirking and I feel like rolling him over, yanking his legs apart and fucking him until he passes out. Apart from the fact that he's a hell of a lot stronger than me and I'd quite like to see 20. I also happen to like submission; especially to him. Narrowing my eyes at him, I slowly oblige, raising up my hips so that his mouth can slide over my skin down to where I wanted it most. He chuckles again, grabbing the small of my back with strong hands to support me.
"You're absolutely gagging for it." He says in admiration, breathing hot air down onto my groin with obviously dangerous consequences.
I glare at him. Really, really glare. As much as I could whilst trying not to think about how aroused I am, anyway. "I am aware of that, thanks. If you'd like to do something about it, today, I'd really be very grateful."
"I think I'd better." He muses, licking his lips like a predator. "Else you might explode. And I don't think Garden would like that too much."
"Don't make out," I gasp, as he dips his tongue into my groin and traces the sharp lines of my hipbones, moving down to where I most need contact. "that you're doing this for dear Quistis."
"Ah..." He breathes. "I was wondering who'd replace Cid after Garden finally realised he's about as useful as a Caterchapillar. Quisty, huh? Makes sense."
"Talk later." I instruct him coldly. "I don't want to be thinking about Quistis whilst you're sucking me off, thanks." I hear him laugh, or rather, feel it; the heavy weight of hot air all over sensitive skin. I shiver with delicious anticipation.
"And who says that's going to happen?" He asks sweetly, still making an effort to avoid touching where I most want him to place his lips. There's only a limit to my patience, you know, before I get seriously violent. Sure, I'd have to finish myself off if I killed him, but sometimes it's worth getting sores on your palms. Times when you can shut up Seifer Almasy, for instance. Still, I do have other ways of getting what I want from people.
With a smile as sugary as his voice, I take the rugged planes of his face in both my hands. Tilting his chin upwards so that I can catch his eye, I give him a lustful, seductive look. A slow, slightly sadistic smile crosses his face and I raise one thumb close to his parted, moist red lips. He's no better at hiding his desire than I am, and he hastily goes to take my offering, mouth opening and an expression of content appearing in his hot green eyes. With lightning reactions, I jerk his head back between my legs and before he can even protest, fill his mouth.
"Me." I answer playfully.
I know his struggles will only take up a few, brief seconds. I have rushed him by adopting foul play and he will not relish the notion of rewarding me for my tricks with a blowjob. But Seifer is still a young male and he will realise shortly that he likes the feel of me; full between his lips, and that I taste good. He will relent and allow me my prize, beginning to lick and suck. Still, for a tiny instant or two, I am afraid he will simply bite down. This is the danger of playing with Seifer; he has no qualms about painful payback. In the hope that I can woo him round to my way of thinking before he sinks his teeth into the most sensitive organ my body possesses, I let out a gratifying sigh, hinting at a louder moan. He shudders a little, as if relenting. I let my hands drop away from his skull slowly, cautiously, and throw my arms back over my head in a gesture of abandonment. Seifer can't resist somebody splayed out for him, open and ready. All inhibitions lost. Totally aroused and completely lost in desire. TThunder rumbles quietly in the far distance and although he knows how aroused I am, in the tangible electric taste to the air I can't resist a playful shiver. I am the perfect picture of groaning, sighing submission.
I knew he'd fall for it.
I punctuate my gestures with little moans and gasps, telling him all the time how much he is satisfying me; stroking his ego. It's all genuine, given that he's kept me on the edge so long. It feels absolutely heavenly and it is easy for me to express the intense pleasure that comes to me so naturally. He seems at last content with the turn the situation has taken, giving in to his own desires as much as mine. Holding his hands under my back to support me as I lean backwards, he gives it everything he's got and I find myself going dizzy. He has one hell of a mouth, has Seifer. Probably had plenty of practice with his tongue, but Hyne, does he know what he's doing with it. I swear he could find a needle in a haystack with it.
I soon realise that my position isn't ideal. All the blood going to my head as I tilt back is making my vision all the more blurred and I am starting to lose the concept of gravity. All I can feel is Seifer dragging orgasm out of my with a strong, powerful tongue lashing and every time I feel just about ready to give into him, he changes direction so that I cannot. I have to reacquaint myself with new levels of passion building, fresh rhythms and sensations, before I can lose myself again. He is enjoying awakening me over and over from my arousal, so that he prolong me just a little longer. So typical; he must be in pain by now and he's still teasing me. The man has some serious sadism issues.
"Take your time." I murmur sarcastically, my breath being torn out in rags. He drags his lips away from my arousal to respond and a near-scream escapes me at the neglect. The cold air is sharp on my skin and I know I am about to beg. There is only so much my body can take of this and I'm already nearly in agony from his teasing. I am wound tight like a spring, almost as if a cramp is beginning, and all I wish for is to be released. Enough torment, already!
"You'll thank me for this, afterward." He smirks, almost reading my mind. Yet when he looks at my desperate expression, something in his face changes and he knows he has pushed me far enough. Seifer can only be heartless up to a point, and even he isn't cruel enough to leave a man hanging when his need is this great. He returns to his former position without a word, seemingly intent on making the statement come true. I lie back with a ragged groan and harshly scrape at his hair. It ended up that this pause was the major cause of my tipping the edge soon after. It felt as if the minute I felt Seifer's soft, searching lips surround me and his supple tongue restart its caresses, I had fallen. My vision went completely black, something exploded to the point of pain in my head and I made a noise fit as that of a banshee. A true shriek. Seifer seemed delighted as he settled between my legs, head resting on my bare stomach; now contracting and moist.
"Ghr-nuh..." I finally say. Not exactly what I'd call eloquent, but he is pleased with it all the same.
"I'll say." He agrees, making himself comfortable with a sigh. It is as if he has just come, in an eruption of both light and sound, rather than me. Funny. I never had Seifer pinned for a particularly considerate fuck, especially given his delight in torturing me. Such genuine contentment when it is me that has been satisfied is somewhat strange to see and I timidly begin to twirl the strands of his light hair through my fingers. It becomes more difficult as drowsiness begins to set in and I start to fall to an inevitable sleep, hand coming to rest in the midst of his blonde hair. The sand feels warm against my bare back and though naked, I feel completely comfortable as I drift off. The last thing I remember is the sound of his whispering my name before allowing himself a pleased chuckle at the sight of me so completely worn out. Then, as the cliché so often goes, there was blackness.
I woke again some forty minutes later, or thereabouts. The post-orgasmic slumber never lasts long for me, and besides, the shock of the water forces me back into the real world. Evidently the tide had decided to put in her appearance whilst I had been out of it and the pair of us are soaked from the waists down. I look down to see Seifer curled up against me, head still using my stomach as a pillow and from his motionless state, it appears that he has succumbed to sleep as well. His eyes are closed, set in a frown and a discontented look is on his sleeping face. All it takes is a gentle push of his shoulder and he is awake with a disgruntled groan. Green eyes open with a furious expression as he immediately senses the freezing water that has engulfed him and he looks at me in an accusing sort of fashion. I laugh, can't help myself. There's something about an aggravated Seifer that has always amused me; perhaps the childish expression his face takes on as he grumbles, or the endearing way he glares that he believes is threatening. It's no more than mildly scary, even for the youngest of SeeD cadets. And so, I can't resist a little laugh at the expense of Seifer Almasy.
Except that this doesn't seem to be Seifer Almasy, anymore.
Dragging himself to his feet, he kicks at the sand with an expression of true hatred in his eyes. I look up at him from my position, curled up in the sand and even I can sense the fear in my gaze. He has changed; anger has taken him, bitterness and rage. It is the look that he would give an enemy. Not me. I am suddenly horribly aware of my own nudity, reaching out a hand so that he can help me up. Instantly, he slaps it away. I feel my eyes widen and then I blink in shock. He looks at me with such unbridled hurt and fury that I slowly drop the extension of my arm, feeling tightness in my chest. I haven't cried in so long, but it is tempting now. Why does he look at me with such disgust...? My old ally, my childhood friend...?
"Seifer?" I ask cautiously, wondering why in Hyne's name I should have to hear his identity confirmed when this man is so clearly him. The trench still sits on his shoulders, that grey coat that was always too big for him and yet made the maverick look strangely authoritative. He still wears the same black cargo pants; the same steel-toed boots are on his size 9 feet. The mark from Lionheart glares red from his forehead. Green eyes glitter. This can be nobody but Seifer Almasy. But the tension in every limb of his body, the undisguised, raw look of repulsion on his face; that is not the 19 year old man that I know so well. That is not the Seifer with whom I grew up. Of course, one could argue that neither is the man who was not so long ago giving me head on a public beach, but I digress. His passion is a face I am far more familiar with than his hatred.
The water rushes in about my feet, covering my back almost to my shoulders. There is thunder in the distance. I sit still, letting the icy waters to cover my bare flesh, allowing myself one indulgent wince. I feel Shiva stir a little in my mind. She is not junctioned, but her response to the liquid chill suggests that she would like to be. Looking at Seifer's face, I give it some serious consideration. He looks at me, wet and pathetic, with pure agony on his face. There is a moment's pause and he turns away from me. The sky is nearly black, casting him in a horrifically eerie light and darkness is all around him. I look into dark blue bodies of cloud, once innocent and now treacherous. They are heavy with water and are more like monsters up there now. Thunder rumbles on like a creature in deep pain, one who is hungry and tired and wretched. Certainly not a friendly beast. The air is taut with tension and I am aware of curling into myself even if I seem to have little control over the action. My gaze rests entirely on his back, the rise and fall of strong shoulders as he breathes. For a second, I feel it might be safe to stand, to creep close and to touch him. His gunblade is not with him and he is otherwise defenceless. He could not harm me. Yet, I am motionless. He has frightened me, something Seifer has rarely been capable of. I have always known him too well for his own good, and suddenly, I am calling into question 18 years of our knowing one another.
For a second, silence reigns as if he has ceased breathing. The clouds almost seem to stall mid-flight, the wind fails to howl and time appears to stop altogether. There is nothing but complete and utter stillness. A calm, before the storm breaks.
Almost as if his intuition has guided him, the scream that is emitted from his throat coincides with the thunderous outbreak of lightning from the sky. The scene is lit brilliantly with light, so much that I have to shade my eyes, but I feel myself scrambling back because I am frightened more of him. Arms outstretched, head raised to the rolling clouds above him, the howl seems to pierce the air, ringing with agony and tingling with rage. He has screamed because he knows not what else to do. He has screamed because he is trapped. He has screamed because it is all his heart desires to do. He is frightened. He is hollow. He is lonely. He can scream where he cannot form words to describe his own sorrow.
Oh, I understand it now. In a flash, I have caught up to him. I know everything. Every last segment of what he has gone through is bestowed upon me in that one shock of sound. I am with him. I feel, I know. I am swiftly on my feet, I am racing towards him. My body is freezing in the stormy air, but I don't care. All that matters is that I cannot hear him scream again. I don't want to hear such agony; I cannot bear to hear such vocal pain. I must not, I cannot. I throw my body around his back; I bury my face into his left shoulder. My arms reach out to grasp his, still extended at his sides. I am calling to him. I find myself crying out to him; words to tell him that I know, that I understand and that I want to help him. With superior strength he flings me off and turns to me with a look in his eyes that is not unlike the storm that rages above us.
I stumble, looking at him once more from the sandy ground. Tears stream down his face as he struggles to breathe. He flexes his arms outwards, trying to express what he already knows he cannot. He cries out into the storm; a ragged sound of intense pain and despair and I feel the slick gliding of my own tears down my cheeks. And right then, I know that I love him. It is coming to me as clearly as is the complete understanding of his suffering. It is as if I am travelling deep into myself, gathering every feeling that has ever inhabited me without my conscious knowledge. I know it all. It all makes sense now. I love him. He loves me. It is that simple. How could I not have known?
"Seifer!" I climb up quickly, and call to him over the crushing sound of thunder, the blinding force of the sea raging towards us. He is still, eyes tightly closed, body wracking with agony he cannot get out of him. His hands are curled into strong fists. His breath is forced. Tears make lines across his pain-wrecked features. Noiselessly, he puts his head back to catch the lashing rain. Water pours over his hair, soaking him instantly. His dark trench coat drips water all around him.
"Seifer!"
He looks back at me, eyes red and swollen. "What? The fuck, Squall, what? What is this?" He screams the words, a desperate tone that I have never heard before. It is as if he knows we do not have much time. He is distressed by urgency. My answer must be quickly offered.
"What is what? Us? This beach?"
"What have we become?" He howls into the wind.
"We have become nothing that we were not already." I try to reply calmly, hoping that some tranquillity may rub off on him. In actual fact, he seems more upset by it than he might might have been by distress.
"No!" He screams. "It has never been this way! What do you want from me?"
"Seifer, where are you?" I give over to my own fear, terrified of the unfamiliar being before me. "Where in this stranger are you?"
"I am Seifer! Seifer is this stranger, just waiting for a facet to be placed upon him by his new lover!" He spits the words, shaking as he sobs. I cannot describe how I feel; witnessing such immense pain on his face, in his limbs, in every particle of him. I want so desperately to put it right and I wish I knew what to say to this wild hurricane.
"What are you talking about?" I yell. "Who you are has never been about me!"
"Who am I, Squall? Am I your lover, after all? Am I your friend, your foe? Do you need me to be your Knight, or are you contented to have me as your lapdog?" He covers burning emerald eyes with one arm, trying to control the extent of his own rage and pain. "What is it that you need in me, Leonhart!"
"Seifer, I don't understand you!" He has been each of these to many, that I know. I know that he has been many times a lover, a friend and a foe. And of course, I am all too familiar with the rest. But his confusion between the lot baffles me. I do not know where we are going with this and some part of me does not wish to. The sky is alight with the storm, a navy blue tinged with electric white. Rain pours down on my naked body, thunder trembles around us. There is noise everywhere and I long to escape. I am petrified. He is in agony. I pray for each to cease immediately. I need, I want...
"I have been everything and yet nothing, Squall! What should I be to you? Are you to be my Sorceress, to kiss me and to kill me? I don't know what you want me for! Who am I! You must tell me who I am!" He stretches his arms out again, lightning once more striking to emphasis those tortured howls. I sob silently, hands slicking my wet hair out of my eyes. I need, I want...
"Who you are to me? You are everything!" I howl back, throat becoming sore with the force of my own words. "You are as much me as I am you! You are my other half, my darkness, my light, my day and my night! You are Seifer, Seifer who I believed I knew until this bloody moment! You are my whole fucking life, Seifer!"
He closes his eyes briefly. Water runs down his face, a mixture of rain and tears. Pain contorts his beautiful features. I am silent, hurting, bleeding. Oh, but he closes his eyes so tightly. Emerald is shut off from me; as if light has gone out. His eyes comforted me always. A gentle green; a friendly, familiar colour that I adored. Ever since I was first comforted by his presence, I have found the colour relaxing. I have an emerald stone in my room in Balamb because of his bloody eyes, does he know that? And does he care? What has happened to me? To be so undone, so unravelled. But we both are. We both stand, screaming pain and suffering at one another. It is the verbal equivalent to our gunblade battles, except that we are both off-guard. Neither of us can win. We will both lose. He gave me pleasure and now he gives me pain. It is balanced, it is equal. It is us. Nothing can exist without its opposite. We are opposites. We keep each other alive. Though we scream and howl, though the tears flow, we will survive. This night will end. And still, I find myself needing, wanting, that emerald stone. I need, I want...
He opens his eyes. I am blessed by the beauty of the green gaze he gives me. Emerald swims in a bath of tears. I am weary. We both are. I take a step forward, but get no further. The sky vibrates with thunder and a flash of electricity. He waits. He speaks in a tired, lonely old tone. And then, I wake up to a cold morning, all alone in my small bed in Balamb Garden; with a wet face and a dark heart.
"I can do nothing with that." He says.
---