Quistis/Rinoa : Want
Title: Want
Themes: (2) Fear; (41) Left alone; (65) Irrational; (70) Fever; (81) Power
Relationship: Quistis/Rinoa; challenge
Rating: T? T+?
Warnings: mild molestation, XD. Unbeta’d; unedited.
Words: ~1500
Summary: The bond crumbles; the magic wants.
Quistis awoke to a pounding on the door, blank to fretful in approximately two seconds, and it took her a third to actually get to the door itself, mashing her palm on the button as she threw a sweatshirt on. Midnight calls weren’t common but were at least to be expected in a place like Garden, especially for someone as highly ranked as she; it must be a real crisis, she thought as the door slid open: she hadn’t been paged.
Somehow she was not surprised. “Squall,” she said crisply, noting his appearance; he was disheveled, and a little sweaty, and bright red, as if he’d run from somewhere. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rinoa,” Squall breathed, and Quistis heard a note of panic, which worried her: Squall didn’t like to show his concern for anyone, and for him to show this much anxiety over someone he’d broken up with a week ago marked a real loss of control.
“What do you mean?” She looked him over again: heavy breathing, bright face. “How do you know - oh, wait…”
“Yeah, the bond,” Squall confirmed quickly, surreptitiously wiping his brow. “She’s having these…” He broke off suddenly, swallowed, and continued. “It’s bad. Can you go?”
“Me?” Quistis replied almost in shock, and Squall spat harshly, “Well, it’s not like I can go, is it?”
Quistis stepped back, straightening her spine and narrowing her eyes. “Are you okay?” He was so clearly worked up about something, and she’d never really quenched that old big-sister instinct: “Look, you’re sweating …do you have a fever?”
“Something like that,” Squall muttered, turning slightly redder and shaking his head. “Quistis, please. Can you go?”
A few harried minutes later saw her parking one of Garden’s top-line motorcycles in a niche outside Rinoa’s apartment building, a duffel bag over her shoulder, swearing rather profusely under her breath. She’d never been able to deny Squall, never; it was a character weakness, she grumbled, adding a few choice (and creative) epithets Laguna had taught her over a chairman’s banquet.
Beneath the grumpy mutterings she knew it wasn’t all Squall: she was worried about Rinoa. She was here out of genuine worry and concern just as much as she was here to placate Squall. Quistis knocked on the door. Rinoa didn’t answer, which wasn’t surprising - she’d told Quistis once that her worst dreams could swallow her sometimes - so Quistis gently unlocked the door with the spare key Rinoa had given her and slipped inside.
“Rinoa?” She tried to make her voice as soothing as possible, which was not easy for someone accustomed to barking orders. “Rinnie, are you in here? I’m sorry, I let myself in…”
And then wham it hit her from behind like only a Stop spell could: she felt it take, felt it gel all of her muscles even as the adrenaline frantically rose to fight it. Quistis recognized it instantly - any veteran SeeD would - and felt the rage beginning to build, urging it on. Adrenaline was the fastest way to break free (other than Esuna); something in the chemical worked against the spell, eating through its hold on muscular function. Quistis knew if she got angry enough she’d work straight through the Stop and into her Limit, and so she focused on that - until she heard a low laugh that chilled her spine, freezing her mind in place where the Stop had not.
Rinoa stepped into view. Her hands were shaking slightly and her hair was pulled forward to cover her face and there was an unfamiliar glint in her eye: almost a glow, or a pulse. The voice was both hers and not-hers in a way that sickened Quistis.
“So he sent you.” Rinoa took another step, circling Quistis where she stood and closing the door behind her. “The Knight sends a soldier to answer the call.” Her eyes traced Quistis’s frozen form as if in cruel analysis, finally meeting Quistis’s frozen gaze in mockery: Quistis saw something mad in her eyes, and urgent.
Rinoa sighed: “Not man enough to heed the call himself.” She shook her head, dark strands of silk brushing her pale face. “Not man enough to answer,” she repeated, “so he sent a woman.”
The sorceress’s voice was suddenly smooth and silky and seductive and Quistis couldn’t have moved even if the magic hadn’t glued her together. Rinoa approached her with achingly long steps until her face was directly in front of Quistis’s frozen one. The shorter girl reached out, tracing Quistis’s cheek with soft fingertips.
“Can you do his job?” Rinoa asked, her fingers trailing fire: down the nape of Quistis’s neck, around the soft curve of her breast. “Did he send you to do his dirty work?”
Rinoa, Quistis tried to say, but Stop was still holding her in place and her voice would have caught in her throat anyway. It must have showed in her eyes, something like panic, for Rinoa laughed, and this time it wasn’t her laugh: it was an empty laugh, half-mad, the laugh of a sorceress, and Quistis began to understand.
“He won’t answer,” Rinoa said, and now her voice was rough and needy and urgent; “I’ve been calling, and calling, and he won’t answer, he keeps turning away.” The sorceress wrung her hands together, gaze slightly unfocused, as if she’d forgotten Quistis was there: “Something’s not right, and I keep calling, and I think it’s broken, I can’t find anything, I’m still looking but he left me alone,” and she turned away almost, at an angle, hair trailing her face like long dark fingers.
“It wants him,” Rinoa rambled - softly now, as if to herself - her hands contorting around each other in the air, voice blurred and quivering and wanting as well: “it can’t find him, and it wants him, and so it makes me want him, it makes me want, and-” and then there was a sharp, shuddering gasp that ran a completely different kind of shudder down Quistis’s spine.
Rinoa’s mad eyes snapped back to her in that instant, a predator remembering her quarry. Her eyes trailed down Quistis’s body and then back up to her face in a blatantly sexual movement. “But you’re here,” she murmured, crossing the room again with determined strides, “help me,” and then Rinoa kissed her.
Quistis couldn’t move; she couldn’t; but she felt something like adrenaline running through her veins, starting somewhere in the lower pit of her belly and moving through her like a warm rush as Rinoa’s soft lips fought at hers, demanding attention. The girl’s hands were on her face again, in her hair, trembling, and then Rinoa was sucking at her neck while one hand dipped to cup Quistis’s breast, thumb tracing her nipple through the soft t-shirt.
“Help me, Quistis,” Rinoa pleaded, her voice unraveling, “it’s looking, it won’t stop looking, make it stop,” and then she’d pressed her lips on Quistis’s again and it was all rough and needy and urgent and Rinoa was on fire and her fingers trailed down Quistis’s chest, tracing her curves, fumbling about the waistband of her workout pants, and Quistis was kissing her back desperately, tongue tracing against hers and as she brought her hands up to bury them in Rinoa’s hair she realized she was moving.
Arousal fought the spell better than adrenaline ever had. Quistis moved her hands to cup Rinoa’s face and whispered, “Rinnie?”
Rinoa looked up as her knees crumbled beneath her and Quistis deftly moved her hands to catch Rinoa at the elbows and then at the waist, dropping to her knees too, to stare the girl in the face, both still panting.
Rinoa’s eyes were both wild and hers as she gasped: “I can’t! I can’t do this, the bond wants him, and I’m alone; the power wants something, and it’s trying to - to make us want each other again, and it’s all heat and lust and it’s looking.” Her body was still shuddering and Quistis dared not put her arms around the girl: who knew what would happen. She was surprised her own body was still; she could still feel the warmth in her thighs and belly, and she tried to ignore it, and failed miserably.
“And he won’t answer,” Rinoa whisper-moaned, and this time the pure physical want was so obvious in her voice Quistis did shudder. “And if he won’t answer it - it just gets worse.”
In the back of Quistis’s organized mind the reason for Squall’s earlier discomfort became painfully evident and Quistis filed it away with equal parts disturbance and amusement: fever, indeed. Something like that. Though she found she couldn’t quite condemn him: she had been just as affected by Rinoa, and she didn’t have any sort of sorceress-bond excuses at her disposal.
“And I can’t,” Rinoa choked out, burying her face in her hands in utter mortification: “I can’t even be embarrassed about it, because I want him so bad,” and that was basically a moan in itself and Quistis had to step away out of fear.
Fear of Rinoa’s next actions, Quistis thought, as she stood and watched the girl writhe on the floor, softly panting as she tried to catch her breath; but fear of her own as well.
For: fated_children
XP: brokenprism : [ arc] : comments/crit will make me your best friend!
Themes: (2) Fear; (41) Left alone; (65) Irrational; (70) Fever; (81) Power
Relationship: Quistis/Rinoa; challenge
Rating: T? T+?
Warnings: mild molestation, XD. Unbeta’d; unedited.
Words: ~1500
Summary: The bond crumbles; the magic wants.
Quistis awoke to a pounding on the door, blank to fretful in approximately two seconds, and it took her a third to actually get to the door itself, mashing her palm on the button as she threw a sweatshirt on. Midnight calls weren’t common but were at least to be expected in a place like Garden, especially for someone as highly ranked as she; it must be a real crisis, she thought as the door slid open: she hadn’t been paged.
Somehow she was not surprised. “Squall,” she said crisply, noting his appearance; he was disheveled, and a little sweaty, and bright red, as if he’d run from somewhere. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rinoa,” Squall breathed, and Quistis heard a note of panic, which worried her: Squall didn’t like to show his concern for anyone, and for him to show this much anxiety over someone he’d broken up with a week ago marked a real loss of control.
“What do you mean?” She looked him over again: heavy breathing, bright face. “How do you know - oh, wait…”
“Yeah, the bond,” Squall confirmed quickly, surreptitiously wiping his brow. “She’s having these…” He broke off suddenly, swallowed, and continued. “It’s bad. Can you go?”
“Me?” Quistis replied almost in shock, and Squall spat harshly, “Well, it’s not like I can go, is it?”
Quistis stepped back, straightening her spine and narrowing her eyes. “Are you okay?” He was so clearly worked up about something, and she’d never really quenched that old big-sister instinct: “Look, you’re sweating …do you have a fever?”
“Something like that,” Squall muttered, turning slightly redder and shaking his head. “Quistis, please. Can you go?”
A few harried minutes later saw her parking one of Garden’s top-line motorcycles in a niche outside Rinoa’s apartment building, a duffel bag over her shoulder, swearing rather profusely under her breath. She’d never been able to deny Squall, never; it was a character weakness, she grumbled, adding a few choice (and creative) epithets Laguna had taught her over a chairman’s banquet.
Beneath the grumpy mutterings she knew it wasn’t all Squall: she was worried about Rinoa. She was here out of genuine worry and concern just as much as she was here to placate Squall. Quistis knocked on the door. Rinoa didn’t answer, which wasn’t surprising - she’d told Quistis once that her worst dreams could swallow her sometimes - so Quistis gently unlocked the door with the spare key Rinoa had given her and slipped inside.
“Rinoa?” She tried to make her voice as soothing as possible, which was not easy for someone accustomed to barking orders. “Rinnie, are you in here? I’m sorry, I let myself in…”
And then wham it hit her from behind like only a Stop spell could: she felt it take, felt it gel all of her muscles even as the adrenaline frantically rose to fight it. Quistis recognized it instantly - any veteran SeeD would - and felt the rage beginning to build, urging it on. Adrenaline was the fastest way to break free (other than Esuna); something in the chemical worked against the spell, eating through its hold on muscular function. Quistis knew if she got angry enough she’d work straight through the Stop and into her Limit, and so she focused on that - until she heard a low laugh that chilled her spine, freezing her mind in place where the Stop had not.
Rinoa stepped into view. Her hands were shaking slightly and her hair was pulled forward to cover her face and there was an unfamiliar glint in her eye: almost a glow, or a pulse. The voice was both hers and not-hers in a way that sickened Quistis.
“So he sent you.” Rinoa took another step, circling Quistis where she stood and closing the door behind her. “The Knight sends a soldier to answer the call.” Her eyes traced Quistis’s frozen form as if in cruel analysis, finally meeting Quistis’s frozen gaze in mockery: Quistis saw something mad in her eyes, and urgent.
Rinoa sighed: “Not man enough to heed the call himself.” She shook her head, dark strands of silk brushing her pale face. “Not man enough to answer,” she repeated, “so he sent a woman.”
The sorceress’s voice was suddenly smooth and silky and seductive and Quistis couldn’t have moved even if the magic hadn’t glued her together. Rinoa approached her with achingly long steps until her face was directly in front of Quistis’s frozen one. The shorter girl reached out, tracing Quistis’s cheek with soft fingertips.
“Can you do his job?” Rinoa asked, her fingers trailing fire: down the nape of Quistis’s neck, around the soft curve of her breast. “Did he send you to do his dirty work?”
Rinoa, Quistis tried to say, but Stop was still holding her in place and her voice would have caught in her throat anyway. It must have showed in her eyes, something like panic, for Rinoa laughed, and this time it wasn’t her laugh: it was an empty laugh, half-mad, the laugh of a sorceress, and Quistis began to understand.
“He won’t answer,” Rinoa said, and now her voice was rough and needy and urgent; “I’ve been calling, and calling, and he won’t answer, he keeps turning away.” The sorceress wrung her hands together, gaze slightly unfocused, as if she’d forgotten Quistis was there: “Something’s not right, and I keep calling, and I think it’s broken, I can’t find anything, I’m still looking but he left me alone,” and she turned away almost, at an angle, hair trailing her face like long dark fingers.
“It wants him,” Rinoa rambled - softly now, as if to herself - her hands contorting around each other in the air, voice blurred and quivering and wanting as well: “it can’t find him, and it wants him, and so it makes me want him, it makes me want, and-” and then there was a sharp, shuddering gasp that ran a completely different kind of shudder down Quistis’s spine.
Rinoa’s mad eyes snapped back to her in that instant, a predator remembering her quarry. Her eyes trailed down Quistis’s body and then back up to her face in a blatantly sexual movement. “But you’re here,” she murmured, crossing the room again with determined strides, “help me,” and then Rinoa kissed her.
Quistis couldn’t move; she couldn’t; but she felt something like adrenaline running through her veins, starting somewhere in the lower pit of her belly and moving through her like a warm rush as Rinoa’s soft lips fought at hers, demanding attention. The girl’s hands were on her face again, in her hair, trembling, and then Rinoa was sucking at her neck while one hand dipped to cup Quistis’s breast, thumb tracing her nipple through the soft t-shirt.
“Help me, Quistis,” Rinoa pleaded, her voice unraveling, “it’s looking, it won’t stop looking, make it stop,” and then she’d pressed her lips on Quistis’s again and it was all rough and needy and urgent and Rinoa was on fire and her fingers trailed down Quistis’s chest, tracing her curves, fumbling about the waistband of her workout pants, and Quistis was kissing her back desperately, tongue tracing against hers and as she brought her hands up to bury them in Rinoa’s hair she realized she was moving.
Arousal fought the spell better than adrenaline ever had. Quistis moved her hands to cup Rinoa’s face and whispered, “Rinnie?”
Rinoa looked up as her knees crumbled beneath her and Quistis deftly moved her hands to catch Rinoa at the elbows and then at the waist, dropping to her knees too, to stare the girl in the face, both still panting.
Rinoa’s eyes were both wild and hers as she gasped: “I can’t! I can’t do this, the bond wants him, and I’m alone; the power wants something, and it’s trying to - to make us want each other again, and it’s all heat and lust and it’s looking.” Her body was still shuddering and Quistis dared not put her arms around the girl: who knew what would happen. She was surprised her own body was still; she could still feel the warmth in her thighs and belly, and she tried to ignore it, and failed miserably.
“And he won’t answer,” Rinoa whisper-moaned, and this time the pure physical want was so obvious in her voice Quistis did shudder. “And if he won’t answer it - it just gets worse.”
In the back of Quistis’s organized mind the reason for Squall’s earlier discomfort became painfully evident and Quistis filed it away with equal parts disturbance and amusement: fever, indeed. Something like that. Though she found she couldn’t quite condemn him: she had been just as affected by Rinoa, and she didn’t have any sort of sorceress-bond excuses at her disposal.
“And I can’t,” Rinoa choked out, burying her face in her hands in utter mortification: “I can’t even be embarrassed about it, because I want him so bad,” and that was basically a moan in itself and Quistis had to step away out of fear.
Fear of Rinoa’s next actions, Quistis thought, as she stood and watched the girl writhe on the floor, softly panting as she tried to catch her breath; but fear of her own as well.
For: fated_children
XP: brokenprism : [ arc] : comments/crit will make me your best friend!