Katal

By StarWolf

2/12/2006

Title: Katal
Author: StarWolf (elendraug at yahoo dot com)
Fandom: Final Fantasy IX
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fightin'.
Pairing: Steiner x Zidane
Warnings: Unintentional (i.e. Steiner Is Kinda Dense) slash, omg foul language.
Disclaimer: They're Square-Enix's, not mine.
Distribution: No archiving plzkthx.
Summary: Wide-eyed and spazzytailed.
Author's Notes: I officially cannot find ANY other Steiner x Zidane slash on the rest of the internets. I weep.

Plz to be of helping this problem and joining the ffix(underscore)slash community at Livejournal! ;D You get chibis for submitting anything. :3

"Can't sleep because of your guilty conscience, eh?"

Zidane groggily opens his eyes and sends Steiner an upside-down stare. "I was sleeping, dumbass, until you woke me up."

Steiner shakes a gloved finger at him, his voice condescending. "I'll have none of your foul language interrupting the Princess' dreams! I order you to be quiet."

"You order me, huh?" Zidane rolls over and rests his head on his arms. "Sure. Whatever."

"Are you going to be quiet or not? Not another word!"

"Is this a trick question?"

Thoroughly irked, Steiner kicks at the ground near the thief, nearly growling at him. "You are very stubborn!"

Zidane sighs before burying his nose against the crook of his arm. "But not," he mumbles, "as stubborn as you."

The fire's died out by the time he feels something tugging at his tail.

"Wh--"

All contact stops immediately; Zidane mentally shrugs, then drifts off.

When it happens again, he reaches for his blade and brandishes it against whoever's possessed enough to bother him. Steiner shifts back, raising an arm to protect his face.

"Why do you insist on wearing your theatre clothes to bed? It's undignified and irresponsible! Have you no respect for your performance attire?" He gives another harsh yank on the actor's tail.

Zidane yelps and instantly curls it safely around his waist. Keeping the knife level with the knight, he glares new daggers at him.

"It's not part of a costume! What the hell is wrong with you? Haven't you ever been out of Alexandria?"

"Not often." He scowls. "My travel experiences are none of your business! I owe no information to a scoundrel like you!"

"Then leave me the fuck alone," Zidane spits. "I didn't do a goddamned thing to you."

Exasperated, Steiner throws his hands in the air. "You only tried to kidnap the princess--"

"The princess this, the princess that!" he hisses, tone derisive. "You're gonna wake her up if you don't shut up."

"I absolutely refuse to--"

"You're just pissy because you've been standing this whole time. Sit the hell down."

Grumbling, Steiner reluctantly takes Zidane's advice. His armour clanks irritably against itself as it hits the cold, damp ground. Zidane raises an eyebrow, uncurls his tail, and valiantly attempts to sleep once more.

Even minutes later, he can still feel Steiner watching him. He murmurs an agitated response.

"Don't trust me? Is that it?"

"What?"

"...stop looking at me like tha--"

"Your tail...is it real?"

Taken aback at the sudden lack of brazen comments, Zidane slowly nods. "Yeah. Very much so. It hurts a lot when people pull it." He lets the last words linger for a while.

Hesitant, Steiner reaches out to touch the end: muscle and bone. Zidane flinches and narrows his eyes.

"Don't."

Huffing indignantly, the knight removes his glove and grabs for it again: short, bristly fur. Steiner contemplates this, fingering and gauging and learning, as Zidane fidgets uncomfortably, debating whether to leap away and risk injury or punch Steiner in the face and also risk injury.

"It must connect to your back in some way."

He slides his hand up, brushing the fur in the wrong direction all the way to Zidane's ass. Tense, wiry muscle twitches in his palm when he rubs his thumb against the base. Moving his other, still-gloved hand, he strokes along the other way, smoothing down the fur. Prehensile, yes, but soft like the short-haired cat Queen Brahne used to have--

His nose is bleeding.

Steiner blinks, utterly confused, until he spots Zidane with a clenched fist. The thief's chest heaves with irregular breathing: his eyes are wide in the poorly-lit night, and he makes an effort to speak but gives up halfway.

Zidane spends the rest of the night with his back pressed to Vivi's.