The urge to be contrarian lives within Squall but it's tempered by the very real fact that the cabin is in a state of disrepair. Their luck, if they'd ever had any at all, is such that it would spell disaster to collapse in a heap and so Squall acquiesces. But not without a low rumble that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. It's hard not to be amused by the possibility, after all. To have come all this way, to have learned all that they'd been pining after and longing for was actually reciprocated, only to be met with catastrophic injury felt tragically on point for them.
"Then don't trip," Squall murmurs, unhelpful even as he urges Seifer forward with a squeeze of his thighs. His head has since ducked to kiss and bite along the length of Seifer's throat, giving him a better view of any obstacles they might meet. He nipped a little harder at the nickname but the subsequent graze of teeth have all been exploratory, mapping the angle of Seifer's jaw and the column of his neck.
The desire is no less palpable but it has slowed to something painfully close to affection. A reverent skating of his lips across the lifeline that thuds Seifer's pulse against his mouth. Squall could write a bloody ballad scored in their fervent need for each other, but this sonnet is something a little more tender. A brief glimpse into the narrow spaces of his frozen heart. The scars that spiderweb their way up and over Seifer's shoulder are given the same treatment, kissed and mapped but this time with the hot trail of his tongue. Squall will find every place She didn't mar him and make it his own.
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ninetydegrees
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on 2025-02-16 05:52 pm (UTC)"Then don't trip," Squall murmurs, unhelpful even as he urges Seifer forward with a squeeze of his thighs. His head has since ducked to kiss and bite along the length of Seifer's throat, giving him a better view of any obstacles they might meet. He nipped a little harder at the nickname but the subsequent graze of teeth have all been exploratory, mapping the angle of Seifer's jaw and the column of his neck.
The desire is no less palpable but it has slowed to something painfully close to affection. A reverent skating of his lips across the lifeline that thuds Seifer's pulse against his mouth. Squall could write a bloody ballad scored in their fervent need for each other, but this sonnet is something a little more tender. A brief glimpse into the narrow spaces of his frozen heart. The scars that spiderweb their way up and over Seifer's shoulder are given the same treatment, kissed and mapped but this time with the hot trail of his tongue. Squall will find every place She didn't mar him and make it his own.