There's nothing in Squall's limited experience with desire that could have prepared him for this. For the visceral way hunger unspools in his gut as he drives Seifer to the kind of noises that make him want to devour the man. Everything about this is carnal instinct, a desperate clawing of all the things he never got to do before they were separated by war.

The feel of Seifer as he grinds into him amplifies the violent pulse of need that thrums under Squall's skin. They've escalated this to the point where he wants to rewrite the marks on Seifer with his teeth and nails. He feels savage in his desire. Like a lion on the hunt.

It's the same ferocity that Seifer draws out of him in a fight. A tenacity to match the fervor of the body bearing down on him with the arch of his own. When he twists his mouth away, a sharp airy gasp accompanies the brief departure from their kissing so Squall can try and steady himself against the ache of arousal. Not trying to slow them but instead trying to more purposefully direct his focus so he isn't grasping with blind need even as his cock throbs with heady urgency.

He latches his mouth to Seifer's jaw and bites at the skin there in an effort to smother all of the noises he might otherwise make as they rock against each other.