parley

By llamajoy

we are young
heartache to heartache we stand
no promises, no demands
love is a battlefield
--pat benatar


He was pale and smooth and hesitant, his hands absently moving over his wet skin. He was beautiful.

He had no idea he was being watched.

If he had been aware of the keen eyes on him, his motions would not have been near so unselfconscious as his fingers smoothed across his chest, down his belly.

Seifer felt his own body respond as he watched Squall touch himself, as if those tentative fourteen-year-old fingers stroked his own thighs, slicked against his own cock. His breath caught in his throat right as the other boy stifled a moan under the gentle hiss of shower spray. Fuck, Leonhart didn't even know how hot he was, how hard he was turning him on. A long slow shiver slid down Seifer's spine, until he ached all over. He was glad it was so ungodly early, glad there was no one else up yet.

How many times was he going to watch the brat whack off before he did something about it?

The tile floor was cold and slippery as he walked those paces to the other shower stall, but his steps were as steady as his gaze.

"Leonhart." And damn but the boy blushed perfectly, sweet rose stain across the bridge of his nose.

"Do you mind?" he said, not moving his hand or turning to hide himself. Seifer was impressed with the dignity and lack of embarrassment in his voice.

Seifer spread his hands, watched Squall's expression change as he realized they were both naked, that Seifer brought not weapons to this confrontation-- Squall's eyes slid downward for half a second, before he could help himself, though they flickered just as quickly up again. He said, "What?!" when he could have said leave me alone, and his voice was not as sure as it had been.

Seifer grinned. ~Mine.~ "Looks like you've got a problem there," he said cavalierly, gesturing offhandedly to Squall's obvious need-- as if the sight of the flushed eager skin wasn't making his blood heat, wasn't pulsing fast and ruthless between his own legs. "Could be distracting," he went on, sounding bored, "in a combat."

Squall licked his lips, thoughtful. The steady rush of the shower made his hair drip in his eyes, made his shoulders bright with reflected moisture. Made his mouth look deep and wet, the cavern between his lips full of promising shadows. "Yeah, so?" Squall's expression had a sort of smile to it now, a smirk. Maybe he could scent Seifer's motives-- or maybe the predatory angle of his stance. "You're not here to fight me." Not a question.

Seifer shook his head, moved a half a step closer until he was less than an arm's length away-- making Squall aware of his greater height, pressing his advantage. "Nah, I'm not." And skilled fingers closed the distance between them, wrapping around Squall's hand and guiding it away from his self-gratification. "I thought I'd get you off instead." And Squall's mouth fell silently open as the other's hand closed on his sex, working it knowingly in his palm. Leonhart, never talkative on the best of days, leaned against the shower wall in silence, letting the water sluice over his body as Seifer first touched him.

Willingness? Seifer was surprised for a moment, soaking in the heady rush of sensation, until he realized Squall's grey eyes were hard on his own. Aa, there it was, the familiar antagonism.

"Don't be angry," he said smoothly, stepping closer to let his other hand trace patterns in the ripples of water down Squall's chest. "If it feels good."

Squall, off-balance, said through his teeth, "Why?"

"Because it's a damn shame to let you have all the fun, Leonhart." ~Because I want you spread against this slick tile wall and gasping my name,~ he thought, with an edge of viciousness. Because I think I'd like to fuck you, prettyboy.~

Squall's eyes narrowed.

Seifer angled closer, dipping his head to speak warmly into the other student's neck. "You gonna question me Leonhart? Or you gonna let me--" He slid an expert thumb across the heat latent in his hand, and Squall's stormgrey eyes closed slowly, showerwater making his eyelashes tremble as he relaxed into Seifer's touch.

"Mm, that's right." Seifer heard his own voice, purring behind Squall's ear, though his mind was elsewhere, spinning thickly with the salt scent of sex, the fierce elation of rendering his rival helpless. "That's right, Leonhart. Let me-- let me--" Each word he emphasized with a slow agonizing pull on Squall's sex, and with his other head he fingered the edge of Squall's collarbone, the water-bright line of his profile-- and he slipped his hand around to cradle the back of Squall's head, fingers splayed in the heavy wet hair. "Like this, don'tcha, brat?"

Squall's hips bucked, and though he bit down on his lip, his voice made a tiny noise of agreement. Seifer smiled, sharkishly, and said, in spite of himself, "Letting me get the better of you, as usual--"

Quick as calling Shiva, Squall's hands came up and gripped Seifer's waist, those fingers unwavering against the wet skin. "No," he growled softly.

Not quite caught off his guard-- he knew better than that-- Seifer shifted his weight into Squall's grip, a motion so fluid neither really knew how they ended up nose to nose and panting.

"Don't--" Squall said breathlessly. "You're not winning--" But his eyes were dark with hunger and it was Squall who tilted up his face to meet the other's waiting lips.

Squall's mouth was sweet to plunder, heat that welcomed the insistent invasion of a rival's kiss. And Seifer kissed him ruthlessly, till they both saw stars, and their bodies sang taut with unreleased energy. He swiveled his hips, pinning the other boy against the Balamb tile, sex brushing greedy sex. Squall gasped, but ground himself still further into the steel edge of Seifer's touch, hands moving wantonly over smooth pale skin, gliding from shoulderblade to hipbones to the muscled curve of backside.

"You want to touch me?" Seifer whispered against Squall's parted lips, feeling those questing nimble hands ghost across his skin, lingering and then moving on, as if afraid to stay too long. Too timid, Leonhart, he thought, feeling generous. He opened his mouth to grant permission--

Squall's hand, already hot, found his cock-- and touched him, as knowingly as if it were his own. A moan escaped him at the delicious feeling of rivals equally matched. "Nnngod, Leonhart, 'fyou stop I swear I'll--"

Helplessly they moved together, hips close and shaking hands working each the other's need. Squall was utterly silent, save his ragged breathing, but Seifer, eyes heavy-lidded in his pleasure, murmured challenge and approval. He could feel the end approaching, as Squall went still, holding his breath.

"Donít surrender so easy," Seifer coaxed, voice husky. "Fight it--"

"I'll fight you," Squall said, with an odd gleam in his eyes, and came.

The fierce expression of his release, the rhythm of his body rocking as he spilled it-- it was too much for Seifer. On the heels of Squall's submission he couldn't help but come, too, riding the wave of it, feeling Squall's fingers tighten compulsively around him.

When he came back to himself, Squall was rinsing himself-- and rinsing him, too. The showerwater was starting to run cold, feeling good against his overheated skin.

"Hmph." He raised an eyebrow, hoping to get a reaction-- any reaction at all-- from Leonhart. "Next time you'll lick that off."

Squall didn't even blink, shutting off the showerhead and reaching for his towel in one economic movement. "Next time," he echoed. He still hadn't caught his breath entirely, but he hid it well. "Same time, same place?"

Seifer was surprised into a smug grin. "I'll hold you to that, brat."

Squall was beginning to shiver, tying his towel around his waist, pushing damp hair out of his eyes and shaking the water from it. "Yeah yeah," he said, and left.

Seifer's own towel was three stalls away, lying abandoned in his puddle. He didn't notice.

Watching him go, that familiar stride turned sensuous, Seifer, running his hand luxuriously over his stomach, didn't realize he was still smiling.

~fin~

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