It's impossible for them to exist without being diametrically opposed in some way. Seifer has always been there to push against Squall's passivity and likewise, for all the ways Squall made sure he was the one to walk away from their encounters, Squall was also there to pull Seifer back in; a steadfast lighthouse in the storm of their rivalry which no one else seemed to understand but the two of them. They are fire and ice, yes, but not in the way people would suspect. Neither is trying to put the other out. Theirs is a smoldering meant to temper the worst parts of them until they can coexist.
So when Seifer inevitably escalates them away from the slow, cautious mapping of Squall's mouth and fingers, he's there to meet the blaze with a fierce gust of his own. His grunt of encouragement is bitten into Seifer's bottom lip as a counterpoint to the weight that pins him. Strike and parry. It is second nature, a return to form, and Squall relishes the sensation of coming back to life. Nothing has ever made him feel more alive than Seifer. If he thought he'd known desire before, it was a matchstick against the roaring blaze that Seifer ignites in him now.
It's a thrill paralleled only by their duels. A challenge that Squall rises to, as he has always risen to, because Seifer is the one to set it. The spark that it inspires has him pressing up against the shape keeping him in place, not to escape it but to counter Seifer in this moment the way he has all moments before this. He doesn't do Seifer the discourtesy of treating him like glass despite the scars beneath his palms. Even with the war behind them, it's clear Seifer is still competent, still deadly. It's an edge that has always existed between them and Squall rises to meet it without fail.
He angles Seifer's face down into his own, pulls him in like a boat to shore, and promises neither safe harbor nor a dashing upon the rocks as his teeth scrape their insistence into Seifer's lips, but there is the promise of something in the way they kiss. In how Squall guides the driving persistence of Seifer's tongue deeper into his mouth to suck ardently on in return. Until there's no clear way to tell which of them is in charge of the way they try to devour each other.
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2025-02-03 04:46 am (UTC)So when Seifer inevitably escalates them away from the slow, cautious mapping of Squall's mouth and fingers, he's there to meet the blaze with a fierce gust of his own. His grunt of encouragement is bitten into Seifer's bottom lip as a counterpoint to the weight that pins him. Strike and parry. It is second nature, a return to form, and Squall relishes the sensation of coming back to life. Nothing has ever made him feel more alive than Seifer. If he thought he'd known desire before, it was a matchstick against the roaring blaze that Seifer ignites in him now.
It's a thrill paralleled only by their duels. A challenge that Squall rises to, as he has always risen to, because Seifer is the one to set it. The spark that it inspires has him pressing up against the shape keeping him in place, not to escape it but to counter Seifer in this moment the way he has all moments before this. He doesn't do Seifer the discourtesy of treating him like glass despite the scars beneath his palms. Even with the war behind them, it's clear Seifer is still competent, still deadly. It's an edge that has always existed between them and Squall rises to meet it without fail.
He angles Seifer's face down into his own, pulls him in like a boat to shore, and promises neither safe harbor nor a dashing upon the rocks as his teeth scrape their insistence into Seifer's lips, but there is the promise of something in the way they kiss. In how Squall guides the driving persistence of Seifer's tongue deeper into his mouth to suck ardently on in return. Until there's no clear way to tell which of them is in charge of the way they try to devour each other.