Oh yes, he could be a distraction. Squall was one of the most effective ones that Seifer had ever known. He groans at the words whispered so close to him. Yeah, he's getting back into the moment here.
"Exactly for that. Thought I should just pin you to a shower wall after some late night sparring or something."
Maybe Fujin read more romance novels than she ever let anyone but Seifer know.
There's an edge of mortification in knowing he'd been the subject of such talks, but it's drowned out by the fact that they'd been had to begin with. That some part of Seifer hadn't been able to keep his attraction to himself or had worn it so openly that Fuijn had clocked it. If he'd been able to elicit these noises from Seifer during their sparring, then perhaps Squall would have been braver in his attempts to seek them out. Now, his fingers sift through too-long blonde hair to get a good grip on the ends, pulling them as his breath catches with the thought of Seifer wet and eager.
"She was right," he rasps while trying to steady the violent pulse of desire that thrums through him. "You were an idiot." They both were, but it's easier to tease and Squall isn't interested in talking as much as he just wants to make up for lost time, kissing Seifer with a force that might have been bruising.
"Gonna make it up to me?" he pants between biting kisses and the tease of his tongue over Seifer's lips, coercing him the best way he knows how: with a challenge.
Yeah, well, so was Squall. They were both idiots in the most insane ways. But it was also reasonable ways too.
"Minx," he growls when the man teases him at the end, challenges him. So much desire. So much heat. Yeah, he's back to that desire. Fully and eagerly excited for it.
"Need you in less clothes," he growls, even as he pulls back. "Asshole wearing pants like these."
If they'd done this as cadets, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Squall would have been brave enough to petition on Seifer's behalf after the SeeD exam. Maybe they both would have gone to Timber. Maybe they could have stopped Edea at the onset of Ultimecia's possession of her...Maybe the threat of her wouldn't still nag like a splinter under his nail.
Whatever they might have done, it wouldn't have been this. He'd have been too guarded, too cagey, too scared. He's none of these things as he goes for Seifer's throat, biting along his jawline and down his neck in retalliation for the way Seifer pulls back. Distance has been Squall's enemy all these years in his search for the other man and he'll be damned if he lets it get in the way again.
"Then put your hands to work," Squall grunts without sympathy, already utilizing his own to do just that. Releasing Seifer's hair is a sacrifice but one his hips strain to appreciate as he drops his hands between their bodies to begin undoing the button of his pants, paving the way for Seifer like he's doing him a favor purely because Squall knows it'll incense him.
If they did this as cadets they might not have become SeeDs due to distraction. Or at least they wouldn't have the scars. There would have been better things to do in the morning than train.
"Oh, I think I'd rather watch. Watch the great Leonhart show off for a change."
Neither of them have ever been good at standing down when challenged and so Squall isn't surprised when Seifer finds a new way to warp their familair tension into something underscored by heat and desire. For a moment, he just keeps their gazes locked, his own narrowing to see if Seifer is actually going to put him in the spotlight.
When he doesn't rise to assist with the undoing of his pants, Squall uses a hand to push him away so he can properly get his feet planted. "Doing the work because you're suddenly incapable is not showing off," he scowls but it does nothing to cut the efficiency of his movements, how he makes quick work of his belt and the buttons and zipper that follow.
There's no acquesicing here. He doesn't make an effort to get himself entirely out of his pants. All he cares about, all his straining cock cares about, is opening them enough to push the waistband of his underwear down so that he can get a hand around himself. The feel of it, the weight of Seifer's gaze as he grips the base, makes his breath come in sharp and it takes every ounce of defiance in him to keep his eyes level on Seifer's face as he makes that first upward stroke, the entirety of his erection angled toward the man who inspired it, even as Squall's cheeks go hot from exposing himself like this.
Surely this is an acquiescence, in its own way. A surrender of some of the heat of the moment to look down at Seifer while he does this. Could he possibly know how beautiful he is in that moment? How powerful he looks like that? There are probably women the world over who would pay for the chance to see Squall like this.
And in the moment, Seifer knows he's made a mistake. He's put himself in a position to let Squall see just how much of a hold he has over Seifer. Something Squall doesn't even know yet.
His hands come up, amazingly not shaking or even in a fast enough motion to make anyone jumpy, and grasp Squall's hips. Instead of pulling Squall forward they push the man back a step. Push him back enough for Seifer to move himself. To get up and then go down to his knees in front of Squall. To put himself in a place to look up at the wonder of the other man before his hands start to pull those too tight pants down. His motions are slow, deliberate, their own from of quiet praise as they work to unwrap the one gift he has always wanted.
If there's a power to this then it isn't felt until Seifer is sinking deliberately to his knees for him. The position inspires a heady thrill that pulses through him and leaves Squall hard enough that the slickness against his palm makes the glide of his fist easier as he tempers himself with another stroke. He's seen Seifer on his knees for sorceresses and for respite. Never for him.
The shock of what it does to him makes Squall's breath come in a little more raggedly. It had been impossible to pin down what being with Seifer could look like, but nothing in his imagination could have competed with the earnest desire written on the other's expression. An expression that's so close to Squall's dick his skin feels too thin, too taut, to contain how much he needs him.
"Seifer." He steadies himself with a hand on one broad shoulder but all it does is remind him of how warm and inviting it feels to touch. Squall skates his fingers to the back of his neck and even if he tells himself it's to make it easier to step out of his pants, all it really does is draw Seifer closer. Close enough that he can feel his breath against his thigh.
"I thought you wanted to watch." It's a miracle Squall can get the words out, gruff and low, as he resumes his slow stroking, base to tip then down again. This is better. Having Seifer's hands peeling off his clothing, having the heat of him so close, Squall would prefer this to the singularity of Seifer's gaze any day.
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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"Exactly for that. Thought I should just pin you to a shower wall after some late night sparring or something."
Maybe Fujin read more romance novels than she ever let anyone but Seifer know.
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"She was right," he rasps while trying to steady the violent pulse of desire that thrums through him. "You were an idiot." They both were, but it's easier to tease and Squall isn't interested in talking as much as he just wants to make up for lost time, kissing Seifer with a force that might have been bruising.
"Gonna make it up to me?" he pants between biting kisses and the tease of his tongue over Seifer's lips, coercing him the best way he knows how: with a challenge.
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"Minx," he growls when the man teases him at the end, challenges him. So much desire. So much heat. Yeah, he's back to that desire. Fully and eagerly excited for it.
"Need you in less clothes," he growls, even as he pulls back. "Asshole wearing pants like these."
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Whatever they might have done, it wouldn't have been this. He'd have been too guarded, too cagey, too scared. He's none of these things as he goes for Seifer's throat, biting along his jawline and down his neck in retalliation for the way Seifer pulls back. Distance has been Squall's enemy all these years in his search for the other man and he'll be damned if he lets it get in the way again.
"Then put your hands to work," Squall grunts without sympathy, already utilizing his own to do just that. Releasing Seifer's hair is a sacrifice but one his hips strain to appreciate as he drops his hands between their bodies to begin undoing the button of his pants, paving the way for Seifer like he's doing him a favor purely because Squall knows it'll incense him.
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"Oh, I think I'd rather watch. Watch the great Leonhart show off for a change."
He's been hoping for it for years after all.
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When he doesn't rise to assist with the undoing of his pants, Squall uses a hand to push him away so he can properly get his feet planted. "Doing the work because you're suddenly incapable is not showing off," he scowls but it does nothing to cut the efficiency of his movements, how he makes quick work of his belt and the buttons and zipper that follow.
There's no acquesicing here. He doesn't make an effort to get himself entirely out of his pants. All he cares about, all his straining cock cares about, is opening them enough to push the waistband of his underwear down so that he can get a hand around himself. The feel of it, the weight of Seifer's gaze as he grips the base, makes his breath come in sharp and it takes every ounce of defiance in him to keep his eyes level on Seifer's face as he makes that first upward stroke, the entirety of his erection angled toward the man who inspired it, even as Squall's cheeks go hot from exposing himself like this.
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And in the moment, Seifer knows he's made a mistake. He's put himself in a position to let Squall see just how much of a hold he has over Seifer. Something Squall doesn't even know yet.
His hands come up, amazingly not shaking or even in a fast enough motion to make anyone jumpy, and grasp Squall's hips. Instead of pulling Squall forward they push the man back a step. Push him back enough for Seifer to move himself. To get up and then go down to his knees in front of Squall. To put himself in a place to look up at the wonder of the other man before his hands start to pull those too tight pants down. His motions are slow, deliberate, their own from of quiet praise as they work to unwrap the one gift he has always wanted.
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The shock of what it does to him makes Squall's breath come in a little more raggedly. It had been impossible to pin down what being with Seifer could look like, but nothing in his imagination could have competed with the earnest desire written on the other's expression. An expression that's so close to Squall's dick his skin feels too thin, too taut, to contain how much he needs him.
"Seifer." He steadies himself with a hand on one broad shoulder but all it does is remind him of how warm and inviting it feels to touch. Squall skates his fingers to the back of his neck and even if he tells himself it's to make it easier to step out of his pants, all it really does is draw Seifer closer. Close enough that he can feel his breath against his thigh.
"I thought you wanted to watch." It's a miracle Squall can get the words out, gruff and low, as he resumes his slow stroking, base to tip then down again. This is better. Having Seifer's hands peeling off his clothing, having the heat of him so close, Squall would prefer this to the singularity of Seifer's gaze any day.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.