Improbability

By Tenshi no Korin

Treize Khushrenada was in a foul mood. This being one of the highest causes of death among the members of Oz, only the most stupid or desperate failed to give him the very widest of berths.

Zechs was neither of these, but nonetheless he trooped into the generalís office as only somebody with such impressive boots and permanent good hair can do, and deposited a parcel on Treizeís war table. "Here." He said, without preamble

"Precisely what part of Ďdo not disturbí do you have difficulty dealing with?" Treize poured his seventh glass of wine, and frowned faintly at the object resting on his charts of small countries and systems that he planned to obliterate. "What is that?"

"A present." Zechs tossed his blond hair over an epauletted shoulder and tapped the small black box. "Some scouts found it in a bit of ancient wreckage, Iíve had it aligned to your personal tastes. I thought it might be a pleasant distraction until your pet comes back home."

"Chang Wufei is not my pet," Treize stressed, so hard he snapped the fragile stem of his wine flute.

Zechs had learned to wear a mask even when he wasnít, and his perfect features showed no sign of what he was thinking, which was suuuuure heís not. "Ahem. In any case, I thought you might find it sufficiently interesting." He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket but Treize was already winding his own white silk cravat around his cut hand, staining the fabric red and pink with blood and wine. "Shall I call a medic?"

"No." Treize shuddered. "You know my opinions on needles."

"Yes sir," Zechs responded, summing up his commander. He looked a bit more disheveled than usual, coat flung over the back of his chair, full white shirt open at the neck. Not that he was anything but stunning of course, but Zechs knew the small gundam pilot was really wreaking havoc on him. "Iíll leave you to it, then." He bowed politely and exited, knowing his present would do just the trick.

Treize sat at his desk and stared viciously at the black box occupying a small mining sector of system M23F16, wondering if it would summon a submissive and bound Wufei to have bent over his knee. His curiosity got the better of him at last, and he walked over to give the unassuming object a cursatory inspection.

It consisted of only a small knob labeled off, on, and automatic. There were no other plugs or switches, and it was strangely lightweight. "According to my tastes, hnn?" Treize picked it up, turning it over in his hands, mindful of the fading pain in his right palm. Surely it wasnít a bomb, he didnít think Zechs was on his list of People Likely to Assassinate Me. Heíd have his secretary check for him, but meantime he was in enough of a mood to take a gamble. He switched the box to "on."

"Preferences?" it asked, politely, in a sexless voice, and Treize narrowly avoided dropping it in surprise. Treize shrugged. "Something to match my mood." He didnít like confessing, even to a small device, that he had no idea how to operate it.

"Compliance," the box replied, and whirred thoughtfully.

It was at that moment that one Seifer Almasy, recent victim of a time compression backwash, appeared in the midst of Treize Khushrenadaís warroom with a soft pwop of displaced air.

Treize looked at the now-silent box and the alarmed and slightly furious young man staring around him in confusion, and decided he really should give Zechs a raise.

"Where am I?" the point of Seiferís gunblade flew up to hover at Treizeís exposed throat, glacial blue eyes narrowed to deadly accuracy. "Who are you?"

"You appear to have taken a bad step," Treize purred, folding his arms and regarding the weapon pointed at him with as much concern as he would give a bouquet of daises. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Answer me." Seiferís hand tightened on the hilt of Hyperion, black gloves creaking. He carried with him a sort of pride, the tattered trenchcoat was worn with the grace of a battered coat of arms, and he held his head up proudly despite confusion flickering in his irises. Treize decided to do something he didnít often do. He did as he was asked.

"My name is Treize Khushrenada and you, young man, are taking up floorspace in my warroom. Wine alright?" He summed up the revolutionary whose gunpoint had become slightly less certain, and reconsidered. "Or vodka?"

Seifer uneasily lowered his weapon, and drug a hand across his mouth. "Vodka. How did I get here?"

"I really havenít the foggiest," Treize answered truthfully, pouring a glass full of his third to best vodka, circa 1892. "But Iím sure we can get you back home without too much trouble."

"Home." Seiferís eyes became bitter, and he swallowed a mouthful of the clear alcohol without flinching. "No hurry."

"You look as if youíve been in some sort of trouble. I hope you werenít involved in anything... immediate?" Treize leaned against his liquor cabinet and smiled inwardly as he noted his guestís subtle gaze as he crossed his legs. He didnít wear the sort of clothing he did so that he could be overlooked. His pants were skintight for a reason.

"Not anymore." Seifer looked away and glanced down at his own clothing, quite worse for wear, and remembered triumphantly riding a parade float at his sorceressís side. He didnít even feel like the same person. "You arenít exactly catching me at my best." He self-consciously ran a hand through his soft burr of gold hair.

"Perhaps youíd like to get cleaned up a bit, hmmm?" Treize smiled, pushing himself up off the cabinet. "I could have your coat repaired, if you like? Something to eat, maybe?"

Seifer nodded, and as if in afterthought added, "My name is Seifer. Seifer Almasy."

"Seifer," Treize repeated, savoring the Teutonic syllables, keying a few buttons on his desk. "It suits you very well."

The door chimed and a timid servant poked her head in, trying not to stare at the new arrival. "S-sir?"

"Ah. Elle. Could you see about getting Herr Almasyís jacket repaired? Heís to be our guest and heís just gotten back from some difficulties. And send dinner up in two hours, enough for two, weíll be eating in here."

Elle, sensing that the general was in a much better mood, nodded happily. "Yes sir!" She held out her small hands to Seifer, who switched his gunblade from one hand to the other to avoid putting it down as he shrugged out of his trenchcoat. That alone edged Treizeís admiration up a notch, and the glorious bare arms he exposed in the process were a delectable bonus. Battle-weary but still with style, the vest just short enough to show some skin as he moved, Seifer was making Treize wonder if there were any job openings in Oz. Heíd make one, if he had to shoot someone himself.

"Just who are you?" Seifer asked, still not surrendering his weapon.

"Call me a military adviser of sorts." Treize smiled. "And you, young man?"

Seiferís eyes narrowed as if Treize had struck him. "Nothing, at the moment."

"Nothing?" Treize arched an eyebrow. He summed up Seifer, top to toe, lingering on the high-buckled waist of his pants and the metal collar he wore, and smiled. "No, I donít believe that." He crossed the parquet floor until his boots were muffled on the oriental carpet under his wartable, and undid his cravat from his injured hand. "What sort of weapon is this you carry, my warlike Seifer who is nothing at the moment?"

Seifer hefted Hyperion proudly, ran gloved hands down the dark metal surface as if touching the cheek of a lover. "A gunblade. Rather archaic, where I come from." He looked Seifer in the eye. "But I am fond of archaic things."

"Romantic that you are," Treize chuckled, and Seifer smiled back with perfect understanding.

"Exactly."

"And are you any good with this archaic gunblade of yours?"

"None better," Seifer returned, proudly.

Treize ran a finger down the one scar Seifer wore, and treasured the warmth of it against his fingertip. "Oh I would say there is one better, but no more."

"There is one perhaps equal." Seifer allowed, after a moment. "But he has one to match."

Treizeís lips were almost brushing Seiferís, their height matched. "Really. Shall we see?"

And with a move too fast to follow, Treize retrieved the dress saber from its scabbard and belt on the wartable, and brought it up as Seifer brought his gunblade down to intercept. For a moment they were locked, closer than they had been minutes before.

Seifer smiled, blood already burning with the thrill of one-on-one combat. It had been so long. "Foreplay, Khushrenada?"

"Absolutely," Treize confessed, kissing his opponent deeply before they spun apart with a shriek of freed steel.

"Winner take all?" Seifer queried, halfway through a series of feints that he used to test out his enemies. Treize saw through them all.

"Winner take all." Treize shifted his blade to his left hand, and tucked his right in the small of his back. "En garde."

And Seifer was, hard pressed to defend against Treizeís elegant style. He considered using magic but did not out of respect for his opponent, and deciding that really it was a win-win situation. Besides, the words of his spells did not flame in his mind, and he knew somehow that his magic was useless. Here it was only steel and two bodies, dancing around the ornate warroom, blood singing.

It was the closest thing Seifer knew to love, and it gave him grace beyond his usual excellence. Treize knew he was going to lose, and couldnít be more delighted. He must have this man for his own, but this was but the first of two tests. He must excel at the other as well.

Hyperion caught the hilt of his saber with its honed point, and Treizeís weapon clattered to the floor, Seiferís gunblade once again at his throat. "Touchť," he admitted, slightly breathlessly, knowing heíd been distracted by watching this man fight. The light outside Treizeís plate-glass window had turned bloody with sunset, turning his warriorís hair to bright copper and bathing his slick bare arms with claret light.

Seifer pressed closer, the gunblade between them mere formality. "Do you yield?"

Treize nodded. "I yield."

Hyperion clattered to Khushrenadaís desk, and maps and top secret papers flew like released doves as Seifer shoved clear space on the heavy mahogany war table, pushing his spoils onto it. The kissed like it was a second battle and it was, hips vying for supremacy, mouths hot and hungry on each other as only strangers of perfect understanding can kiss.

Seiferís gloved hand was tight in Treizeís soft hair, his lips diving into the open neck of the generalís shirt to taste the salt of their combat, groaning as Treizeís hands undid his vest and swept it to the floor, fingertips playing over his chest as if to make him sound music. Seifer released Treizeís hair to dip between his legs, the tight uniform breeches leaving little to the imagination.

"Youíre not left handed, are you?" Seifer whispered, and Treize laughed softly beneath him. "No, Iím not. And youíre clever to have discovered it. Was it how I fought?"

"No." Seifer smiled, giving his captive a squeeze, stroking the leashed in heat. "Itís how youíre arranged."

"NnnnnÖsuch an apt warrior." Treize gripped Seiferís belt, leaning up to kiss him, letting Seiferís belt fall to the bright carpet with a muffled clatter. "So our battle wasnít evenly matched. Do you want to have a rematch?"

Seifer undid the series of buttons on Treizeís pants, peeling them off his tense thighs. "Later. Now I think Iíd like to fuck you."

Treize leaned back, pulling Seifer down on top of him. "Then show me what kind of romantic killer you are."

The rest of their clothing was scattered carelessly across the room, and Seifer stretched his captive across the polished wood table, Treizeís skin golden against the maps that had failed to make it to the floor. There was a vial secreted under the lip of the table, and Treizeís searching fingers found it, popping the seal with one hand and reaching between their bodies to anoint his lover with the contents. Seifer murmured hungry profanity, bucking in eager violence. Treize wrapped his legs around Seiferís waist; it had been more time than he could remember that heíd had a lover who knew how to take him, who wasnít afraid of him, who wasnít a child.

"Do it, my beautiful Seifer." Treize whispered into one perfect ear, and gasped as Seifer did, pushing in hard and swift with the grace of one used to taking. Treize arched underneath him, letting himself be taken completely, and Seifer had to brace himself against the table as Treize began rolling his hips upwards,

gasping out Seiferís name as if heíd always said it.

Seifer shut his eyes, the willing surrender of his better so different from Leonhart, his body sweet and tightening. Treizeís hand went between his own legs, not allowing Seifer the honor, and long fingers worked his sex in time with the harsh thrusts impaling him, filling him to the brink of pain. Then, with strong swordsmanís arms shaking as he held himself up, Seiferís body tightened, shuddering as he pumped his release hot into Treizeís constricting warmth. White spilled over Treizeís hands, spattering on his chest and the mahogany table, soiling the maps he was sprawled on.

For a moment the two combatants lay sprawled breathlessly in each otherís arms, and then Treize, turning his head, said with almost a complete lack of concern, "Oh, dear."

"What?" Seifer lifted his face from Treizeís chest, tongue flickering over his lips where heíd been licking at the Oz Generalís skin. "What is it?"

"Do you see that?" Treize pointed at a small pile of circuits on the floor, spilled from the broken case that housed them, casualty of Seiferís eagerness.

"Yeah?"

Treize settled back against the table with a sigh. "Thatís what got you here."

"Oh." There was a pause. "So, Iím stuck."

"For now." Treize sighed ardently, Seiferís tongue kitten-rough against his left nipple, savoring the salt sweet of sex.

"Well. What should I do then?" Seifer didnít seem perturbed.

Treize sat up to kiss his golden lover. "Perhaps youíre looking for a job?"

~owari~

 

 

for anyone interested, this is how this little fic began:

Seifer: *looks at Treize*

Treize: *looks at Seifer*

*little black and purple anime heart bubble swastika scoosh*

Squall & Zechs: ugh. *look queasy*

Seifer: Should we institute military coups or have sex?

Treize: Both?

Seifer: Smashing! ^/_^ *shoves maps and confidential stolen documents off Treize's war table and spreads him over it* unnn...how about we *gropre grope BITE nibble nibble* get some of those UNNNNyeah- nuclear missiles and-

Treize: YESSYESSYESSBLOW ME OFF THE FUCKING MAP!! *struggles to press button on console* You in there! Lt. Cannonfauder!detonate a _nnnNNNUN god baby HURT me- country! I don't give a damn which one, just not THIS one! Yes! I want to be your missle silo you cold hearted BASTARD!!

Seifer: I love it when you say sweet things... tell me some more...

Treize: unnI betrayed my own father at age nine!

Seifer: Yes!

Treize: I sold my sister to pay for my illustrated copy of Mein Kampf!

Seifer: YES!

Treize: *growling* I unn had my UNN highschool HARDER! chemistry teacher DO IT!! executed for-

Seifer:Unngod!

Treize:TRRRREEASSSSONNNUNNNNNNNnnnnnnnn....*pant pant pant* Who did we just wipe off the map?

Seifer: *gasping* I think Burundi? We just came all over it anyway.


Squall: *shellshocked* *twitch*

Zell: C'mon, baby, it'll be okay. *leads him away quietly*

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