Testing the Waters
For: Me, really, but also for any of mah buddies who like de pairing. >.>
Testing the Waters
It was the sound of bead curtains rustling; trees blowing in the wind; of rattlesnakes that woke him. His breath stuttered in the hot air, choking him in his throat, and he tried to remember who he was, how he'd gotten here, where here was.
No answers were immediately forthcoming.
He was lying on a bed of long-dried moss on the ground, and it was hotter than hell out, and he couldn't remember anything even when he tried (and when he tried, there was this painful sensation of something scratching from the inside of his head, clawing to get out, so he resolved not to do it). There was, mercy of mercies, a stream nearby, and just a little ways down the stream there were some trees, cover, a place to hide from the sun; he took refuge there, scooping up the water into his hands and drinking it down desperately, until his gut ached and his throat wasn't quite so raw and sore.
Eventually he looked at himself in the faint reflection of the water, puzzled, trying to piece together what could have happened to land him here, where ever the hell here was.
His reflection glared back at him with fierce iron-gray eyes, his mouth set in a frown. For a long time, they stared at each other, his reflection ageless and he sitting there, wasting energy and time. He'd need to find food, shelter; and while he wasn't sure why, he knew that he'd been taught how to survive in places like this.
It was the rustling of the bushes behind him, which he'd been so grateful to for their shade, only moments before, that set him on edge. Now they were damnable things, hiding a possible enemy or predator, and he had nowhere to go but into the water. It'd make too much noise, and he shouldn't risk getting caught in a current that was stronger than he thought it was...
Then a head popped out of the brush, framed by messy golden hair and set with an irritating, superior smirk.
He knew the other boy's name even though he couldn't, currently, remember his own. "Seifer," he grumbled, glaring his best glare and doing all that he could to look non-chalant.
The other boy's eyes widened in surprised recognition, but there was no answering name to call him, and the taller boy broke through the brush noisily-- much to his distaste; if they had enemies, they'd be well-marked now-- striding over to him and cocking his blond head to the side.
"...You look older," Seifer decided, and he found himself scowling in answer. The older boy (Seifer's older, yes) smirked and knelt down, straddling him with long, strong legs, leaning down until he was in (my name, what's)'s face, blue eyes glaring into silver.
It belatedly occurred to him to be rebellious, to struggle, but Seifer's hands were braced on his upper arms, pinning him to the ground, and Seifer's lower body was immovable. The blond boy laughed, in a way that made his rival's skin crawl, and bent his face even lower, his lips on the other boy's earlobe.
"...you look older, Leonhart."
How old WERE they, anyway? God, and that thing in his head, it was still scratching, it was really...hurting him, he needed to make it stop but he didn't know how. Maybe it was the thing in his head that made him forget to struggle; maybe not. Seifer's weight rocked against him and settled on his stomach, forcing all the air from his lips in a sigh, a hiss, as he grit his teeth and turned his face away.
"...stop it, Seifer," he whispered, not for the first time. And because it was not the first time, he knew that Seifer wouldn't listen to him, so he wondered why he bothered saying it at all.
Force of habit?
He couldn't remember. Seifer was stronger than he was, and not confused, and he didn't know why they were different like that here and now, but he didn't resist, breath coming short and shallow as Seifer began rocking their bodies together, ignoring clothes, dirt, ignoring possible danger. He wanted to tell Seifer that they shouldn't let their guard down like that; something, or someone might have seen.
But at the same time, part of him didn't want to have to endure the teasing he knew he'd earn if he said anything; the name-calling, and the way Seifer would sneer at him. And part of him-- a small part, that paced and snarled in the back of his mind like a carefully caged beast-- craved this sense of danger, liked the risk that they were taking, liked to know that he wasn't safe with Seifer, that he never would be.
At some point Seifer bent down and took his lips, and that was when he remembered that he was a SeeD cadet, when Seifer was fucking his mouth with that silver tongue that Seifer is so proud of.
Then he remembered that he was being tested for something, but not what, and while he was remembering that, Seifer was undoing his belts, and slid the extra ones off of his hips, binding his hands together at the wrists with them. He didn't remember to struggle; there were too many other things on his mind.
The name 'Shiva' flickered in his mind when Seifer pulled away his pants, yanked them down to his ankles and hooked his legs over that strong neck, his body bending to Seifer's will like a puppet. He felt like some kind of pretty doll, panting Seifer's name, whining mindless pleas for him to stop, for him to continue...
It was when Seifer was inside of him that he remembered what Shiva was; it was when Seifer was crushing all of the resistance out of him that he summoned her in a desperate flurry, a wave of ice washing out to erase the warm of the day for a scant few seconds.
She didn't touch Seifer, but now he understood what she was, lurking in the back of his head, even though he knew she'd taken his name from him and he couldn't seem to get it back.
Seifer claimed him there for what he thought was the first time, by the bank of the stream, and made him answer, made him writhe and beg with a hand to his dick, made him come with Seifer's name on his lips.
And only then was Seifer satisfied; only then did the older boy move to clean the mess they'd made. Even when they were done getting themselves back together, he knew that he himself looked terribly disheveled. Seifer reached out and he was afraid, too uncertain and confused from what has just happened to realize that Seifer was only taking Shiva back; Seifer was only touching his face to call her back out of his head.
When she was gone, his whole body ached, and he sagged against Seifer, memories coming back in a weird jumble, nothing quite making sense. He wanted to ask what his name was, but he couldn't speak coherently enough to do it. Seifer carried him back through the brambles to Garden.
Seifer laid him out in his bed after undressing him, Seifer made sure he would be able to sleep and only then did Seifer leave. Seifer gave the report to their superiors about Leonhart's performance during the field test, Seifer told them of Shiva's affinity for him.
It was only when he woke again that he remembered his name, and it trembled on his tongue uncertainly when he said it, whispering to himself.
"Squall?"