Oh but to be the brush of lips against skin so perfectly warm as Squall's. Would that he felt he could just lay his cheek against his skin and marvel in the feel, in the scent, in the promise of it. Something told him, something in the sound of Squall's voice, that it would not be appreciated for all that it would please Seifer.
So he does the next best thing. He lets his hands continue the process of working pants down shapely legs while he turns his head. Twists so his lips can press against that skin, feathering light kisses against it. Exploring the stretch, feeling the strength of muscle under the warmth. Always hovering close to the prize he intended to reward himself with very shortly, but never close enough to be anything but frustrating.
It's not a challenge. It's a way of building anticipation. Like the first moment in a ready stance, testing the patience of the other, before both finally move.
The teasing is unbearable, something Squall withstands only because it wouldn't be Seifer if it wasn't a test in each other's patience. This is a battlefield that's familiar even if the weapons are new. Their desire acting as twin opposition, clashing only because they're refraining from doing exactly that with their bodies.
Squall's grip on the back of Seifer's neck tightens in a proprietary squeeze. He's never been the possessive type but the view of Seifer on his knees, the brush of his lips against his skin, it ignites something in Squall like an oil spill catching fire on the open sea. Fiery waves lap at the back of his neck, scorch the high planes of his cheekbones, and encourage Squall to break. How is it that he's always the first to break?
"Don't tease." He knows how to give commands. It's easier after years of having them be expected of him. He just never thought he'd issue such an audacious one. It's the only thing his mind can focus on. It's the only thing that makes the straining of his cock feel even slightly more bearable. His hand curves around Seifer's jaw, encouraging his face to tip up and the look that Squall fixes him with is hungry and blown. All his catty indifference traded for an intensity that rumbles in his voice. "I've waited this long." They both have.
With anyone else at all there would be bite back (metaphorically) at being told that he shouldn't tease. But it's Squall. Squall who he has waited for so long. Who he never thought to have.
So he looks up when forced to, he meets those intense, stormy eyes, and swallows hard. Because, fuck, that tone. He could have served Squall forever if the other man had spoken to him like that before. All he gives in response for now, the only outward confirmation that he was acknowledging the order, was the tiniest nod of his head.
One hand, finally not shaking, raised to rest on a hip. To balance himself against Squall before leaning forward to lick at the tip of the cock waiting for his attention.
For the first time, perhaps in the entirety that they've known each other, Squall sees the cracks in Seifer's bravado. There's something painfully earnest in the eyes that look up at him. Like Seifer trusts him with every inch of himself. He never thought Seifer would be the type to soften into sincerity but now he can't imagine why it hadn't crossed his mind before because of course Seifer with all of his ideals, all of his romantic dreams, is going to approach this with sincerity.
The vulnerability it must require feeds the need inside of Squall. He wants to trap Seifer against the nearest wall or between the mattress and not let him up until every scarred inch of him has been kissed and cared for. It isn't just desire that smarts like a whiplash across his heart. It's something more.
"Whatever you want," he pants in offering as he keeps his hips from arching forward into the mouth that still manages to be a tease. The flick of that tongue making all of his sense briefly leave him.
"Open up," the order would sound vulgar if it wasn't panted out with an acute tenderness. "Let me give it to you. It's yours. It's always been yours, Seifer."
And if Seifer needs the encouragement, Squall is more than happy to hook his hand gently around his jaw to better angle himself to the mouth he wants to sink into and the body he wants to call home.
It doesn't need to be an order. Maybe another day Seifer might test Squall's patience, see if he could convince the other to be as forceful as Seifer might well enjoy. As it was, he doesn't need encouragement. He just opens his mouth and moves forward. No teasing lick this time, just taking the head of Squall's cock into his mouth.
That said, he was always going to be some sort of tease, so Squall was going to have to deal with the fact that Seifer wasn't going to try and take much of him at first. Not when he could close his eyes, inhale to breathe in the smell of the other man, and run the tip of his tongue around the crown.
After all, he knows this can drive someone crazy. He had a lot more experience in that than he'd ever admit.
It's almost infuriating that Seifer is good, even at this. The surety in the movement, the utter confidence with which Seifer opens his mouth for him, makes Squall want to keep him there on his knees until the smugness drains out of him. His breath catches with the feel of him, the heat and cushion of Seifer's tongue, and the curl of it under the head of him that makes Squall tighten his grip in Seifer's hair.
"Hyne," the word gusts out of him like an illicit prayer that's as much to ground him as it is to praise the motion. Except he doesn't want to praise Seifer when he looks like this, a holdover from the stubborn way they used to clash as reckless teenagers with neither of them giving the other even an inch of approval. It's what had made the applause after the SeeD exam so disarming. They've always had the capacity to encourage each other...Seifer had just had nothing to lose by finally showing it.
And even though there's nothing to lose by enjoying all of Seifer's obvious skill, Squall still can't help but rein in the way his breath has gone ragged or the stillness of his body despite the way his hips want to drive himself the rest of the way down Seifer's throat.
"I hate that I'm not the first," he confesses in way that comes out strained, as if the admission surprises even him. His treacherous mind wants to supply him with all of the other men it could have been, but Squall refuses to get past the first several faces because they don't matter. Just like everything he's done with Rinoa. All that matters is: "I'll be the last."
It's meant to be a promise but the way he presses himself a few inches deeper into Seifer's mouth feels like a parry instead. A counterpoint to the opening strike of Seifer's tongue. Even in this, Squall finds a way to make this a dance between them.
Hey, there was nothing wrong with wanting to be good at the things you're going to be doing frequently. And yes, he did this frequently once upon a time. There had been clubs and strangers whose faces and names he had already forgotten, and more than a few illicit hookups at Garden itself. After all, the rules weren't as serious on fraternizing with the same gender.
But those words, damn they are music to his ears. It's words that meant Squall had wanted something with him. That they could have fumbled through this together. Seifer groans in desire at the very thought of it. And instead, there he is, dealing with Squall pressing further in, swearing no one else would ever have this from Seifer again.
Makes him feel alive in a way he never knew he could before. Enough that Seifer's free hand moved from Squall's hip. Moved instead to grind his heel against his own aching cock still in his pants.
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no subject
So he does the next best thing. He lets his hands continue the process of working pants down shapely legs while he turns his head. Twists so his lips can press against that skin, feathering light kisses against it. Exploring the stretch, feeling the strength of muscle under the warmth. Always hovering close to the prize he intended to reward himself with very shortly, but never close enough to be anything but frustrating.
It's not a challenge. It's a way of building anticipation. Like the first moment in a ready stance, testing the patience of the other, before both finally move.
no subject
Squall's grip on the back of Seifer's neck tightens in a proprietary squeeze. He's never been the possessive type but the view of Seifer on his knees, the brush of his lips against his skin, it ignites something in Squall like an oil spill catching fire on the open sea. Fiery waves lap at the back of his neck, scorch the high planes of his cheekbones, and encourage Squall to break. How is it that he's always the first to break?
"Don't tease." He knows how to give commands. It's easier after years of having them be expected of him. He just never thought he'd issue such an audacious one. It's the only thing his mind can focus on. It's the only thing that makes the straining of his cock feel even slightly more bearable. His hand curves around Seifer's jaw, encouraging his face to tip up and the look that Squall fixes him with is hungry and blown. All his catty indifference traded for an intensity that rumbles in his voice. "I've waited this long." They both have.
no subject
So he looks up when forced to, he meets those intense, stormy eyes, and swallows hard. Because, fuck, that tone. He could have served Squall forever if the other man had spoken to him like that before. All he gives in response for now, the only outward confirmation that he was acknowledging the order, was the tiniest nod of his head.
One hand, finally not shaking, raised to rest on a hip. To balance himself against Squall before leaning forward to lick at the tip of the cock waiting for his attention.
no subject
The vulnerability it must require feeds the need inside of Squall. He wants to trap Seifer against the nearest wall or between the mattress and not let him up until every scarred inch of him has been kissed and cared for. It isn't just desire that smarts like a whiplash across his heart. It's something more.
"Whatever you want," he pants in offering as he keeps his hips from arching forward into the mouth that still manages to be a tease. The flick of that tongue making all of his sense briefly leave him.
"Open up," the order would sound vulgar if it wasn't panted out with an acute tenderness. "Let me give it to you. It's yours. It's always been yours, Seifer."
And if Seifer needs the encouragement, Squall is more than happy to hook his hand gently around his jaw to better angle himself to the mouth he wants to sink into and the body he wants to call home.
no subject
That said, he was always going to be some sort of tease, so Squall was going to have to deal with the fact that Seifer wasn't going to try and take much of him at first. Not when he could close his eyes, inhale to breathe in the smell of the other man, and run the tip of his tongue around the crown.
After all, he knows this can drive someone crazy. He had a lot more experience in that than he'd ever admit.
no subject
"Hyne," the word gusts out of him like an illicit prayer that's as much to ground him as it is to praise the motion. Except he doesn't want to praise Seifer when he looks like this, a holdover from the stubborn way they used to clash as reckless teenagers with neither of them giving the other even an inch of approval. It's what had made the applause after the SeeD exam so disarming. They've always had the capacity to encourage each other...Seifer had just had nothing to lose by finally showing it.
And even though there's nothing to lose by enjoying all of Seifer's obvious skill, Squall still can't help but rein in the way his breath has gone ragged or the stillness of his body despite the way his hips want to drive himself the rest of the way down Seifer's throat.
"I hate that I'm not the first," he confesses in way that comes out strained, as if the admission surprises even him. His treacherous mind wants to supply him with all of the other men it could have been, but Squall refuses to get past the first several faces because they don't matter. Just like everything he's done with Rinoa. All that matters is: "I'll be the last."
It's meant to be a promise but the way he presses himself a few inches deeper into Seifer's mouth feels like a parry instead. A counterpoint to the opening strike of Seifer's tongue. Even in this, Squall finds a way to make this a dance between them.
no subject
But those words, damn they are music to his ears. It's words that meant Squall had wanted something with him. That they could have fumbled through this together. Seifer groans in desire at the very thought of it. And instead, there he is, dealing with Squall pressing further in, swearing no one else would ever have this from Seifer again.
Makes him feel alive in a way he never knew he could before. Enough that Seifer's free hand moved from Squall's hip. Moved instead to grind his heel against his own aching cock still in his pants.