Fic post: "The Stereotypical First Date Disaster"
The Stereotypical First Date Disaster
by duokinneas
Summary: Well, that's just great. After discovering Zell's food allergy, it looks to Seifer like everything's going downhill...especially now that Zell won't make up for it.
Pairing: SeiferxZell
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII and its characters are the property of Squaresoft-Enix, Ltd., and their individual creators. I'm not writing this fic for profit.
Warnings: male-male romantic interaction, language.
Special Thanks To: Zelly, for egging me on and getting me to write something that will hopefully, hopefully, end up in 10_dates if I can get the balls to write nine more responses to the prompts. Thanks, Zelly!
They learned the wrong way that Zell's allergic to peanuts. How the dumbass didn't know about the allergy, Seifer can't say. He's too busy saying other things, like, "Breathe, chicken wuss!" and, "Shit!" and, "Hey, Dincht, you're gonna live."
Bent over the toilet, a sticky-looking string of saliva still swinging off his lower lip, Zell coughs and splutters. At least he's finished puking his brains - what little he had - out into the basin. While Zell makes raspberry-blowing noises, trying to spit the dangling string out for good, Seifer reaches past him and flushes the toilet.
"Well, Dincht, I gotta say I've never seen you sexier than when you're puking," says Seifer.
Zell whips around and gets a chinful of spit, which he wipes off furiously first with his hand, then scrubs at with scraps of toilet paper. "Hey, fuck you!" he says. His voice is still rough from throwing up.
But Seifer acts like he hasn't heard. It's easy; he's had a lot of practice. "Some date, eh, chickie?"
"Fuck. You."
"I was considering it before you discovered your bulimic tendencies," says Seifer.
"Like I'd want to sleep with you," says Zell.
"Who said anything about sleep?"
Zell rolls his eyes and elbows past Seifer out of the narrow stall. One of the sinks is occupied, but Zell squeezes in next to the guy at the counter and turns the water on blasting. Seifer hangs back, watching the chicken wuss cup his hands under the faucet and fill them with water, which he gulps down noisily. There's nothing quiet about Zell - Seifer's known that for a long time, longer than almost anyone. Even washing his face a few minutes later, he manages to make loud splashing noises and slap his hands against his cheeks and jaw. The sound almost echoes in the small, now empty bathroom.
"Feel better?" Seifer asks.
Nodding, Zell says, "Thanks."
"Yeah, well, it's not every day I get that kind of blackmail material." But Seifer can't help smiling a little bit. Just a little bit - he's not grinning, because Seifer Almasy doesn't grin at a wimp like Dincht, especially not after said wimp has potentially ruined their date.
Not that it's a date, either, not really.
Seifer keeps telling himself that.
"We should get back out there," says Zell, studying himself in the mirror. He seems to be checking his crest of hair, as if it might've been touched by puke or backsplashed toilet water. "Waiters probably think we're gonna dine'n dash."
"Nah," says Seifer.
He leads the way, though, and is glad to see that the offending dessert plate has been removed. The threat of peanuts is that much farther away from the chicken wuss. The part of Seifer that agreed to come on this potentially hilarious, potentially hot date with Zell is relieved. Instead of sitting down, he reaches for his coat and the check, but Zell's already gotten the latter and is examining it. Chickie doesn't have any manners - he should know not to look at that till they get up to the front. He shouldn't know what Seifer's paying to feed his ass and keep him entertained.
They don't speak on their way up to pay the bill, and that annoying part of Seifer wonders if it would be too crazy, if it'd make him too much of a pussy, if he put his arm around Zell's shoulders. They look particularly inviting right now.
Seifer shakes off the temptation. He's not gonna make a fool of himself in public when he's got Zell for that.
He manages not to protest when Zell pays the bill; after all, he only recently returned to Garden, and his own paychecks are smaller than Zell's are. May as well let the newly-instated instructor wine and dine him, if it means Seifer's rewarded for his patience later.
Outside in the cool night, Seifer lets out a breath that looks like a puff of smoke - damn, does he need a cigarette - and says, "So?"
"I don't know about you, but after I've thrown my guts up in a public restroom, I usually just want to go home," says Zell. He sounds a little bitchy. He even looks a little bitchy, with his arms crossed over his chest like that and his oversized canine teeth seeming to stick out just a bit over his bottom lip.
This time, Seifer doesn't resist the wimpy-ass urge to drape an arm over Zell's shoulders, though it's more like plunking it down. The weight of Seifer's arm around him seems to surprise Zell, who drops his arms to his side and stands there, blinking like a dipshit, for a few minutes before he steps closer and wraps an arm tightly around Seifer's waist, like he's trying to strangle Seifer around the middle. Strangely, Seifer doesn't mind. He must've had too many beers with dinner. Never mind that he only had one and half of Zell's when the chicken wuss said he wanted to be able to drive them home later.
"Then I'll take you home, chickie," says Seifer. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna leave you alone."
Doing his best Squall imitation, which isn't very good for being the icy bitch's best friend, Zell says, "Whatever." But because he's doing such a piss-poor job making fun of Squall, Seifer knows he doesn't really mean it.
Walking back to the car, neither of them moves their arms. It's weird, walking this way, connected to someone else's body by his own arm and the arm tight around his waist, but Seifer figures it's not too bad. He'll never let anyone else know that, though, and definitely not Zell. When they get in the car, Seifer drives even though Zell tries to whine, "But you've been drinking," at him.
He whines back, "But you've been yakking," and that solves it. Zell splutters and cusses at him and Seifer chuckles.
"How could you not know you're allergic to peanuts, by the way?" Seifer asks. "The way you shovel food in your mouth, you must've eaten them before and not puked all over yourself."
"I don't 'shovel,' I inhale, and even then, that's only hot dogs. I didn't go shoving everything down my throat tonight."
"Nah, I guess you didn't. Trained you well, chicken wuss," says Seifer, dodging the fakety pissant slap Zell tries to lay on his arm. "Watch it, I'm driving."
"Oh, suck it, Seifer," Zell grumbles.
"You wish."
Out of the corner of his eye, Seifer can see that Zell isn't all that pissed off. Actually, he looks like he's enjoying himself. He has the same smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he does when he's fighting off monsters in the Training Center, the smile that says as troublesome as this is, he feels like it's worth it. Seifer fights down a ridiculous smile of his own and tries to keep his eyes on the road. That's difficult when Zell starts talking again.
"Hey, sorry for wrecking the night, man," he's saying.
"It ain't over yet," says Seifer.
"Oh, yes, it is. When we get back to Garden, I'm brushing my teeth and rinsing my mouth, and I'm going to bed. I have to get ready for my next class," Zell says.
"Your next class is on Monday, dipshit," says Seifer, "and you can brush your teeth and whatever, but you're the one who puked. You gotta make it up to me that I stood behind your gagging ass in the bathroom and made sure you didn't choke."
"You're a prick, Seifer. I don't owe you anything. You're the one who tried to kill me by ordering food with peanuts in it."
"Stop pouting, princess, you know you're over it." In spite of himself, Seifer's smirking. It might even be the beginning of a genuine smile, but fuck if Seifer Almasy grins like Angelo after a visit to the groomer when the only company he has is the chicken wuss. Fuck if Seifer doesn't want said company, though; for one thing, this would be a lonely drive without it. "Wanna watch a movie when we get back?"
"You can. I'm going to sleep," says Zell.
"Stubborn little bitch."
"Arrogant asshole."
Seifer snorts. "Only the truly gifted are allowed to be arrogant, Dincht. It's a privilege. And c'mon, I know you'll watch a movie with me. You don't have anything better to do. I mean, it's not like you have friends."
"You've forgotten who helped me kick your ass back during -" Zell begins.
Seifer interrupts. "Friends that count," he says. He doesn't want to talk about Ultimecia.
Normally, Zell would press on anyway, as if Seifer hadn't cut him off, but he lets it go with surprising grace and says, "Fine, we can watch a movie, but I get to pick it and if I change my mind, you have to get out when I say. Deal?"
"Fine."
"Shake on it?" says Zell.
"Fuck, chickie, I'm driving." Seifer shakes hands with him anyway, though he's watching the road and not looking at Zell. He doesn't want to see the gleam of small triumph in Dincht's eyes, after all.
When they're quiet together, it doesn't piss Seifer off. Any silence in Leonhart's presence means that the ice princess is weighing him, dissecting him with those icy eyes, and it always makes Seifer feel naked - not in a positive way, either, but like he's been stripped and thrown into a frozen lake. Silence around Rinoa means she doesn't know how to vocalize her vapid thoughts. It's not like Seifer voluntarily spends much time around her, either, with the way she worships Leonhart. And though he's accustomed to silence from Fuujin, whose words are more valuable because she's usually so quiet, Raijin's silences are awkward, like Raijin wants to speak but thinks Seifer might cuff him for it, or can't come up with what to say to pacify Fuujin.
This silence, with Zell, is a comfortable one. Sure, Seifer still feels like baiting and barbing his little chickie, but he doesn't feel pressured and he can let his back sink into the seat a bit. He didn't realize he was tense till he got this chance to relax. When he sneaks a sidelong glance at Zell, it looks like he feels the same way. Zell's looking out the window at the dark landscape rushing by, but he doesn't have the look of somebody who's not paying attention. Seifer shifts and he swears Zell is following his movement.
Good.
Seifer's fine not talking until they reach Balamb Garden. Before he can say anything, Zell says, "Apart from, y'know, me losing my dinner, do you think this has been a good, uh, date?"
"Sure, chicken wuss," says Seifer automatically.
He doesn't have to stop to think about it to know he means it. He's had a good time. Zell is a lot easier to tolerate when he's not posturing in front of Leonhart, trying to impress the commander, and easier to handle when they're just arguing, not in a fistfight or about to get into one. Seifer almost lets himself smile thinking about having normal-pitched, everyday conversation with Zell over dinner. It made him feel that much more human again. And Seifer will give anything to feel human, to feel real.
Zell makes him feel more real than anything else, but Seifer will never admit it, and especially not to Zell himself. Though it doesn't take much concentration, he pretends to be extremely occupied with parking the car in the darkness so he doesn't have to elaborate on the date, on feelings, but Zell doesn't seem to want him to.
"Good," says Zell, slipping out of the car.
On the way up to Zell's room, which has moved since he became an instructor, Seifer isn't sure what to do with his hands. It was okay, earlier, in the street, to put an arm around Zell. He was being a jackass then and willing to embarrass himself. Seifer doesn't want to have his invitation to Zell's room revoked, though, so as much as he wants to get his hands on Zell - any part of Zell - he keeps them in his coat pockets. He's wearing gloves, so his hands are boiling off by the time they get out of the elevator at Zell's level, but at least he hasn't done anything gay, like grope Zell's ass or stroke his fingers through Zell's hair.
Seifer almost wants to groan at the unfairness of it when Zell easily, like it doesn't agonize him at all to just reach out and touch people, links arms with him instead of just leading the way like a normal person would. Hyne, it's not like Zell's holding his hand or anything, but something about the contact gets to him.
He wishes he could reach out like that and touch Zell when he wants, how he wants.
Seifer decides that he spent way too many years hitting Zell.
Instructors' rooms don't look that much larger than the dorms, but Zell has more things in his room than Seifer ever has. He has posters and photos on the walls, books and magazines in neat stacks everywhere, and carefully arranged knickknacks on his shelves. Seifer's never owned so much as a potted plant, and Zell has a few of those, too, though they're small and look like they could use more sunshine. Seifer's furniture consists of his bed, a table for his lamp, and a chair for watching his small TV; though Zell's rooms aren't that much bigger, he's managed to fit a couch in the living area, and Seifer sinks down on it gratefully, peeling off his coat and gloves and draping them over the arm.
"Aren't you gonna strip, too, Dincht?" Seifer asks tauntingly, but Zell just smirks at him and drifts into the kitchen. That's one perk of being an instructor, Seifer supposes; it'd be nice to have his own kitchen so he wouldn't have to bother with the cafeteria anymore.
"Want anything to drink?" Zell calls.
Seifer starts off shaking his head, realizes that Zell can't see him, and says, "No." After a minute, he adds, "Thanks." He's in the guy's rooms; he may as well pretend to have manners. He can always find a way to piss Zell off later if he gets tired of playing polite.
It takes a few minutes for Zell to brush his teeth and stop fussing around, adjusting couch cushions and hunting through his DVD collection to find the movie he wants to watch. Seifer waits, sprawled on the couch and watching Zell almost hum with activity. He hasn't seen Zell this worked up about something other than a fight since...well, Seifer can't really remember, but he imagines that when Zell made instructor, he probably did backflips around Leonhart's office. For a moment, Seifer wishes he'd been at Garden to see that.
"You have toothpaste on your face," Seifer says.
Zell licks his thumb and rubs around the corners of his mouth. "Did I get it?"
There wasn't any toothpaste, but Seifer says, "Yeah," and leans back so far, he can't see Zell anymore, just the ceiling and where it meets the wall. He stares at that for a few minutes, trying to relax. He's starting to get worked up himself. Must've been Zell touching his lips like that.
"Got it," Zell says, but Seifer only barely registers it. He misses all the previews and the first few minutes of the movie, too busy examining the ceiling to let the sounds of explosions distract him. "You alive over there, asshole?"
"Yeah," says Seifer again.
This is his kind of movie. While he didn't expect the chicken wuss, of all people, to have intelligent taste in movies, he's surprised they agree on something other than beating the shit out of each other and, apparently, wanting to try this dating thing out. Apparently, they also share an interest in cars blowing up, buildings being stormed - and blown up - and more rounds being fired in a minute than Irvine Kinneas could ever fire in his whole anxiety-riddled life. Psh, the pansy.
But Seifer can't concentrate on it, and it doesn't even require that much thought. That's what's so sad.
What's worse, all he can think about is putting a hand on Zell's thigh. It's right there. It's looked totally grope-able all night, in the tight jeans Dincht's wearing - an improvement on his shorts and on the regulation SeeD uniform. And Zell's so distracted by the movie, cheering the hero on, that he'll never notice if Seifer cops a feel.
Zell's thigh is firm under his fingers, and Seifer gives it a squeeze, none too gently. Every part of Zell is a weapon, and it feels like it; his thigh isn't just firm, it's hard, and Seifer wants to trail his fingers up and see what else he can get hard for his chickie.
Unfortunately, the chickie chooses that exact moment to notice Seifer's grip loosening and sliding that fraction of an inch higher up his thigh, closer to his package, and the chickie chooses to take it like a bitch and freak out, instead of being a man about it. Seifer could kill him, if his legs weren't so sexy under the jeans.
"Hey, jerk, whaddaya think you're doing?" Zell demands, squirming. He's not doing much to keep Seifer away, so it doesn't seem totally wrong to give his thigh another squeeze.
"Just testing the merchandise," says Seifer.
"No way, man!"
Zell stands up, turns off the TV, and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks exactly like a waterlogged housecat, minus the water, plus the shitty attitude and the injured dignity. He glares at Seifer and even in the darkness, Seifer can see the twitch at the corner of his mouth where Zell might be trying not to smile, or open his mouth and beg to be taken now and thrown over the kitchen island like a bitch. He can also see how incredibly blue Zell's eyes are, which is such a homo observation to make that Seifer curls his lip in contempt at himself.
But he turns it into a sneer at Zell and says, "What, you mean you're a prude, Dincht? Didn't seem like it when you asked me out. On a date. Which even a closet-case virgin like you knows can end in sex."
Still glaring, Zell hisses in an angry breath that sounds like he's trying not to explode, or maybe trying to keep from laughing, but there's no laughter in his voice when he becomes a human grenade. "Fuck, Seifer, I don't do that on the first date!"
"Sorry, chicken, but after that display in the bathroom earlier, I thought you might put out. Y'know, make up for my troubles."
"What?!" Zell splutters. It's almost - cute, and Seifer nearly gags at himself for thinking that. "Then - then you can get the hell out, asshole!" Zell continues, and it's not cute anymore.
Seifer rises from the couch and draws himself over Zell, standing close enough to bump his chest - the bottom half of it, anyway - against Zell's crossed arms, and leers down at him. He's letting Zell know what he's missing. The part of him that was pleased to be sitting across a table from Zell earlier, talking to him without trying to punch him or get him riled into doing something stupid, is pissed off at the main part of Seifer for picking on Zell again. Isn't this supposed to be a date?
"Fine, I'm leaving," says Seifer, but he doesn't move.
"Fine."
An uncomfortable minute passes with Seifer trying hard not to grab Zell and throw him over the nearest available surface. He can't help it that Zell's flushed, smells delicious even though his mouth undoubtedly tastes like toothpaste, and is wearing decent clothes that do his body justice, so he looks like he's asking Seifer to run his hands over that fighter's body full of packed muscle. Seifer takes deep breaths, maybe to calm himself down, maybe to take Zell in, and Zell seems to be trying not to hyperventilate, breathing fast. To his credit, the chicken wuss doesn't yield any ground.
It just makes Seifer want to fuck him more, though.
He finally turns around to leave and says, "Thanks for the date," over his shoulder.
Like so much else, it's an assholish thing to do, but since when has Seifer been anything but a royal asshole?
"Seifer!"
"Yeah?"
Standing at the door, ready to reach for the handle and leave, Seifer turns halfway around. Zell's uncrossed his arms, looking a little surprised, like he didn't expect Seifer to obey him and get out of his room. It's almost like he's offended that Seifer's doing what he wants for a change. Seems like nothing is good enough for Zell.
Seifer prompts, "Well? You want a goodnight kiss?"
Zell takes that huffing breath again, but he storms forward with his shoulders squared and his teeth flashing like he wants to leap up and bury them in Seifer's jugular. There are uses for those, but not right now. For now, Seifer grabs Zell around the waist, hauls him closer so their bodies slam together, and crushes his lips down on Zell's.
He was right: Zell tastes like toothpaste. It overwhelms any other flavor he might otherwise have in his mouth, which gives Seifer every academic excuse to repeat this experiment and see what his instructor's mouth normally tastes like. Psh, fuck that. Seifer rubs his tongue in little half-circles over Zell's until the chicken wuss realizes that yes, even a fucking loser like him gets a kiss at the end of the date. Then Zell kisses back, throwing his arms around Seifer's neck. He must be up on his tiptoes with the way he's leaning up into Seifer, tongue hot in Seifer's mouth, little guttural moans escaping the back of his throat.
Shit, he's getting into this.
Seifer works his lips against Zell's one last time, gives Zell's tongue one last obscene lick with his own, before he draws back. His back bumps against the door, but that's okay. Zell looks molested, his mouth abused and swollen, and his eyes are shining at Seifer.
Well, fuck. Whoa. Seifer didn't expect that.
"You got that kiss on one condition, Cadet Almasy," says Zell.
He's trying to look professional and polished, which is impossible to do when you've just let your rival kiss your face off and when you've been acting like a thirteen-year-old girl for the last half hour. Somehow, though, Seifer can't bring himself to laugh in Zell's face. He smiles indulgently instead.
"Oh, yeah?" says Seifer. "What's that, Instructor?"
"Pick me up next Saturday and you'll find out," Zell says.
by duokinneas
Summary: Well, that's just great. After discovering Zell's food allergy, it looks to Seifer like everything's going downhill...especially now that Zell won't make up for it.
Pairing: SeiferxZell
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII and its characters are the property of Squaresoft-Enix, Ltd., and their individual creators. I'm not writing this fic for profit.
Warnings: male-male romantic interaction, language.
Special Thanks To: Zelly, for egging me on and getting me to write something that will hopefully, hopefully, end up in 10_dates if I can get the balls to write nine more responses to the prompts. Thanks, Zelly!
They learned the wrong way that Zell's allergic to peanuts. How the dumbass didn't know about the allergy, Seifer can't say. He's too busy saying other things, like, "Breathe, chicken wuss!" and, "Shit!" and, "Hey, Dincht, you're gonna live."
Bent over the toilet, a sticky-looking string of saliva still swinging off his lower lip, Zell coughs and splutters. At least he's finished puking his brains - what little he had - out into the basin. While Zell makes raspberry-blowing noises, trying to spit the dangling string out for good, Seifer reaches past him and flushes the toilet.
"Well, Dincht, I gotta say I've never seen you sexier than when you're puking," says Seifer.
Zell whips around and gets a chinful of spit, which he wipes off furiously first with his hand, then scrubs at with scraps of toilet paper. "Hey, fuck you!" he says. His voice is still rough from throwing up.
But Seifer acts like he hasn't heard. It's easy; he's had a lot of practice. "Some date, eh, chickie?"
"Fuck. You."
"I was considering it before you discovered your bulimic tendencies," says Seifer.
"Like I'd want to sleep with you," says Zell.
"Who said anything about sleep?"
Zell rolls his eyes and elbows past Seifer out of the narrow stall. One of the sinks is occupied, but Zell squeezes in next to the guy at the counter and turns the water on blasting. Seifer hangs back, watching the chicken wuss cup his hands under the faucet and fill them with water, which he gulps down noisily. There's nothing quiet about Zell - Seifer's known that for a long time, longer than almost anyone. Even washing his face a few minutes later, he manages to make loud splashing noises and slap his hands against his cheeks and jaw. The sound almost echoes in the small, now empty bathroom.
"Feel better?" Seifer asks.
Nodding, Zell says, "Thanks."
"Yeah, well, it's not every day I get that kind of blackmail material." But Seifer can't help smiling a little bit. Just a little bit - he's not grinning, because Seifer Almasy doesn't grin at a wimp like Dincht, especially not after said wimp has potentially ruined their date.
Not that it's a date, either, not really.
Seifer keeps telling himself that.
"We should get back out there," says Zell, studying himself in the mirror. He seems to be checking his crest of hair, as if it might've been touched by puke or backsplashed toilet water. "Waiters probably think we're gonna dine'n dash."
"Nah," says Seifer.
He leads the way, though, and is glad to see that the offending dessert plate has been removed. The threat of peanuts is that much farther away from the chicken wuss. The part of Seifer that agreed to come on this potentially hilarious, potentially hot date with Zell is relieved. Instead of sitting down, he reaches for his coat and the check, but Zell's already gotten the latter and is examining it. Chickie doesn't have any manners - he should know not to look at that till they get up to the front. He shouldn't know what Seifer's paying to feed his ass and keep him entertained.
They don't speak on their way up to pay the bill, and that annoying part of Seifer wonders if it would be too crazy, if it'd make him too much of a pussy, if he put his arm around Zell's shoulders. They look particularly inviting right now.
Seifer shakes off the temptation. He's not gonna make a fool of himself in public when he's got Zell for that.
He manages not to protest when Zell pays the bill; after all, he only recently returned to Garden, and his own paychecks are smaller than Zell's are. May as well let the newly-instated instructor wine and dine him, if it means Seifer's rewarded for his patience later.
Outside in the cool night, Seifer lets out a breath that looks like a puff of smoke - damn, does he need a cigarette - and says, "So?"
"I don't know about you, but after I've thrown my guts up in a public restroom, I usually just want to go home," says Zell. He sounds a little bitchy. He even looks a little bitchy, with his arms crossed over his chest like that and his oversized canine teeth seeming to stick out just a bit over his bottom lip.
This time, Seifer doesn't resist the wimpy-ass urge to drape an arm over Zell's shoulders, though it's more like plunking it down. The weight of Seifer's arm around him seems to surprise Zell, who drops his arms to his side and stands there, blinking like a dipshit, for a few minutes before he steps closer and wraps an arm tightly around Seifer's waist, like he's trying to strangle Seifer around the middle. Strangely, Seifer doesn't mind. He must've had too many beers with dinner. Never mind that he only had one and half of Zell's when the chicken wuss said he wanted to be able to drive them home later.
"Then I'll take you home, chickie," says Seifer. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna leave you alone."
Doing his best Squall imitation, which isn't very good for being the icy bitch's best friend, Zell says, "Whatever." But because he's doing such a piss-poor job making fun of Squall, Seifer knows he doesn't really mean it.
Walking back to the car, neither of them moves their arms. It's weird, walking this way, connected to someone else's body by his own arm and the arm tight around his waist, but Seifer figures it's not too bad. He'll never let anyone else know that, though, and definitely not Zell. When they get in the car, Seifer drives even though Zell tries to whine, "But you've been drinking," at him.
He whines back, "But you've been yakking," and that solves it. Zell splutters and cusses at him and Seifer chuckles.
"How could you not know you're allergic to peanuts, by the way?" Seifer asks. "The way you shovel food in your mouth, you must've eaten them before and not puked all over yourself."
"I don't 'shovel,' I inhale, and even then, that's only hot dogs. I didn't go shoving everything down my throat tonight."
"Nah, I guess you didn't. Trained you well, chicken wuss," says Seifer, dodging the fakety pissant slap Zell tries to lay on his arm. "Watch it, I'm driving."
"Oh, suck it, Seifer," Zell grumbles.
"You wish."
Out of the corner of his eye, Seifer can see that Zell isn't all that pissed off. Actually, he looks like he's enjoying himself. He has the same smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he does when he's fighting off monsters in the Training Center, the smile that says as troublesome as this is, he feels like it's worth it. Seifer fights down a ridiculous smile of his own and tries to keep his eyes on the road. That's difficult when Zell starts talking again.
"Hey, sorry for wrecking the night, man," he's saying.
"It ain't over yet," says Seifer.
"Oh, yes, it is. When we get back to Garden, I'm brushing my teeth and rinsing my mouth, and I'm going to bed. I have to get ready for my next class," Zell says.
"Your next class is on Monday, dipshit," says Seifer, "and you can brush your teeth and whatever, but you're the one who puked. You gotta make it up to me that I stood behind your gagging ass in the bathroom and made sure you didn't choke."
"You're a prick, Seifer. I don't owe you anything. You're the one who tried to kill me by ordering food with peanuts in it."
"Stop pouting, princess, you know you're over it." In spite of himself, Seifer's smirking. It might even be the beginning of a genuine smile, but fuck if Seifer Almasy grins like Angelo after a visit to the groomer when the only company he has is the chicken wuss. Fuck if Seifer doesn't want said company, though; for one thing, this would be a lonely drive without it. "Wanna watch a movie when we get back?"
"You can. I'm going to sleep," says Zell.
"Stubborn little bitch."
"Arrogant asshole."
Seifer snorts. "Only the truly gifted are allowed to be arrogant, Dincht. It's a privilege. And c'mon, I know you'll watch a movie with me. You don't have anything better to do. I mean, it's not like you have friends."
"You've forgotten who helped me kick your ass back during -" Zell begins.
Seifer interrupts. "Friends that count," he says. He doesn't want to talk about Ultimecia.
Normally, Zell would press on anyway, as if Seifer hadn't cut him off, but he lets it go with surprising grace and says, "Fine, we can watch a movie, but I get to pick it and if I change my mind, you have to get out when I say. Deal?"
"Fine."
"Shake on it?" says Zell.
"Fuck, chickie, I'm driving." Seifer shakes hands with him anyway, though he's watching the road and not looking at Zell. He doesn't want to see the gleam of small triumph in Dincht's eyes, after all.
When they're quiet together, it doesn't piss Seifer off. Any silence in Leonhart's presence means that the ice princess is weighing him, dissecting him with those icy eyes, and it always makes Seifer feel naked - not in a positive way, either, but like he's been stripped and thrown into a frozen lake. Silence around Rinoa means she doesn't know how to vocalize her vapid thoughts. It's not like Seifer voluntarily spends much time around her, either, with the way she worships Leonhart. And though he's accustomed to silence from Fuujin, whose words are more valuable because she's usually so quiet, Raijin's silences are awkward, like Raijin wants to speak but thinks Seifer might cuff him for it, or can't come up with what to say to pacify Fuujin.
This silence, with Zell, is a comfortable one. Sure, Seifer still feels like baiting and barbing his little chickie, but he doesn't feel pressured and he can let his back sink into the seat a bit. He didn't realize he was tense till he got this chance to relax. When he sneaks a sidelong glance at Zell, it looks like he feels the same way. Zell's looking out the window at the dark landscape rushing by, but he doesn't have the look of somebody who's not paying attention. Seifer shifts and he swears Zell is following his movement.
Good.
Seifer's fine not talking until they reach Balamb Garden. Before he can say anything, Zell says, "Apart from, y'know, me losing my dinner, do you think this has been a good, uh, date?"
"Sure, chicken wuss," says Seifer automatically.
He doesn't have to stop to think about it to know he means it. He's had a good time. Zell is a lot easier to tolerate when he's not posturing in front of Leonhart, trying to impress the commander, and easier to handle when they're just arguing, not in a fistfight or about to get into one. Seifer almost lets himself smile thinking about having normal-pitched, everyday conversation with Zell over dinner. It made him feel that much more human again. And Seifer will give anything to feel human, to feel real.
Zell makes him feel more real than anything else, but Seifer will never admit it, and especially not to Zell himself. Though it doesn't take much concentration, he pretends to be extremely occupied with parking the car in the darkness so he doesn't have to elaborate on the date, on feelings, but Zell doesn't seem to want him to.
"Good," says Zell, slipping out of the car.
On the way up to Zell's room, which has moved since he became an instructor, Seifer isn't sure what to do with his hands. It was okay, earlier, in the street, to put an arm around Zell. He was being a jackass then and willing to embarrass himself. Seifer doesn't want to have his invitation to Zell's room revoked, though, so as much as he wants to get his hands on Zell - any part of Zell - he keeps them in his coat pockets. He's wearing gloves, so his hands are boiling off by the time they get out of the elevator at Zell's level, but at least he hasn't done anything gay, like grope Zell's ass or stroke his fingers through Zell's hair.
Seifer almost wants to groan at the unfairness of it when Zell easily, like it doesn't agonize him at all to just reach out and touch people, links arms with him instead of just leading the way like a normal person would. Hyne, it's not like Zell's holding his hand or anything, but something about the contact gets to him.
He wishes he could reach out like that and touch Zell when he wants, how he wants.
Seifer decides that he spent way too many years hitting Zell.
Instructors' rooms don't look that much larger than the dorms, but Zell has more things in his room than Seifer ever has. He has posters and photos on the walls, books and magazines in neat stacks everywhere, and carefully arranged knickknacks on his shelves. Seifer's never owned so much as a potted plant, and Zell has a few of those, too, though they're small and look like they could use more sunshine. Seifer's furniture consists of his bed, a table for his lamp, and a chair for watching his small TV; though Zell's rooms aren't that much bigger, he's managed to fit a couch in the living area, and Seifer sinks down on it gratefully, peeling off his coat and gloves and draping them over the arm.
"Aren't you gonna strip, too, Dincht?" Seifer asks tauntingly, but Zell just smirks at him and drifts into the kitchen. That's one perk of being an instructor, Seifer supposes; it'd be nice to have his own kitchen so he wouldn't have to bother with the cafeteria anymore.
"Want anything to drink?" Zell calls.
Seifer starts off shaking his head, realizes that Zell can't see him, and says, "No." After a minute, he adds, "Thanks." He's in the guy's rooms; he may as well pretend to have manners. He can always find a way to piss Zell off later if he gets tired of playing polite.
It takes a few minutes for Zell to brush his teeth and stop fussing around, adjusting couch cushions and hunting through his DVD collection to find the movie he wants to watch. Seifer waits, sprawled on the couch and watching Zell almost hum with activity. He hasn't seen Zell this worked up about something other than a fight since...well, Seifer can't really remember, but he imagines that when Zell made instructor, he probably did backflips around Leonhart's office. For a moment, Seifer wishes he'd been at Garden to see that.
"You have toothpaste on your face," Seifer says.
Zell licks his thumb and rubs around the corners of his mouth. "Did I get it?"
There wasn't any toothpaste, but Seifer says, "Yeah," and leans back so far, he can't see Zell anymore, just the ceiling and where it meets the wall. He stares at that for a few minutes, trying to relax. He's starting to get worked up himself. Must've been Zell touching his lips like that.
"Got it," Zell says, but Seifer only barely registers it. He misses all the previews and the first few minutes of the movie, too busy examining the ceiling to let the sounds of explosions distract him. "You alive over there, asshole?"
"Yeah," says Seifer again.
This is his kind of movie. While he didn't expect the chicken wuss, of all people, to have intelligent taste in movies, he's surprised they agree on something other than beating the shit out of each other and, apparently, wanting to try this dating thing out. Apparently, they also share an interest in cars blowing up, buildings being stormed - and blown up - and more rounds being fired in a minute than Irvine Kinneas could ever fire in his whole anxiety-riddled life. Psh, the pansy.
But Seifer can't concentrate on it, and it doesn't even require that much thought. That's what's so sad.
What's worse, all he can think about is putting a hand on Zell's thigh. It's right there. It's looked totally grope-able all night, in the tight jeans Dincht's wearing - an improvement on his shorts and on the regulation SeeD uniform. And Zell's so distracted by the movie, cheering the hero on, that he'll never notice if Seifer cops a feel.
Zell's thigh is firm under his fingers, and Seifer gives it a squeeze, none too gently. Every part of Zell is a weapon, and it feels like it; his thigh isn't just firm, it's hard, and Seifer wants to trail his fingers up and see what else he can get hard for his chickie.
Unfortunately, the chickie chooses that exact moment to notice Seifer's grip loosening and sliding that fraction of an inch higher up his thigh, closer to his package, and the chickie chooses to take it like a bitch and freak out, instead of being a man about it. Seifer could kill him, if his legs weren't so sexy under the jeans.
"Hey, jerk, whaddaya think you're doing?" Zell demands, squirming. He's not doing much to keep Seifer away, so it doesn't seem totally wrong to give his thigh another squeeze.
"Just testing the merchandise," says Seifer.
"No way, man!"
Zell stands up, turns off the TV, and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks exactly like a waterlogged housecat, minus the water, plus the shitty attitude and the injured dignity. He glares at Seifer and even in the darkness, Seifer can see the twitch at the corner of his mouth where Zell might be trying not to smile, or open his mouth and beg to be taken now and thrown over the kitchen island like a bitch. He can also see how incredibly blue Zell's eyes are, which is such a homo observation to make that Seifer curls his lip in contempt at himself.
But he turns it into a sneer at Zell and says, "What, you mean you're a prude, Dincht? Didn't seem like it when you asked me out. On a date. Which even a closet-case virgin like you knows can end in sex."
Still glaring, Zell hisses in an angry breath that sounds like he's trying not to explode, or maybe trying to keep from laughing, but there's no laughter in his voice when he becomes a human grenade. "Fuck, Seifer, I don't do that on the first date!"
"Sorry, chicken, but after that display in the bathroom earlier, I thought you might put out. Y'know, make up for my troubles."
"What?!" Zell splutters. It's almost - cute, and Seifer nearly gags at himself for thinking that. "Then - then you can get the hell out, asshole!" Zell continues, and it's not cute anymore.
Seifer rises from the couch and draws himself over Zell, standing close enough to bump his chest - the bottom half of it, anyway - against Zell's crossed arms, and leers down at him. He's letting Zell know what he's missing. The part of him that was pleased to be sitting across a table from Zell earlier, talking to him without trying to punch him or get him riled into doing something stupid, is pissed off at the main part of Seifer for picking on Zell again. Isn't this supposed to be a date?
"Fine, I'm leaving," says Seifer, but he doesn't move.
"Fine."
An uncomfortable minute passes with Seifer trying hard not to grab Zell and throw him over the nearest available surface. He can't help it that Zell's flushed, smells delicious even though his mouth undoubtedly tastes like toothpaste, and is wearing decent clothes that do his body justice, so he looks like he's asking Seifer to run his hands over that fighter's body full of packed muscle. Seifer takes deep breaths, maybe to calm himself down, maybe to take Zell in, and Zell seems to be trying not to hyperventilate, breathing fast. To his credit, the chicken wuss doesn't yield any ground.
It just makes Seifer want to fuck him more, though.
He finally turns around to leave and says, "Thanks for the date," over his shoulder.
Like so much else, it's an assholish thing to do, but since when has Seifer been anything but a royal asshole?
"Seifer!"
"Yeah?"
Standing at the door, ready to reach for the handle and leave, Seifer turns halfway around. Zell's uncrossed his arms, looking a little surprised, like he didn't expect Seifer to obey him and get out of his room. It's almost like he's offended that Seifer's doing what he wants for a change. Seems like nothing is good enough for Zell.
Seifer prompts, "Well? You want a goodnight kiss?"
Zell takes that huffing breath again, but he storms forward with his shoulders squared and his teeth flashing like he wants to leap up and bury them in Seifer's jugular. There are uses for those, but not right now. For now, Seifer grabs Zell around the waist, hauls him closer so their bodies slam together, and crushes his lips down on Zell's.
He was right: Zell tastes like toothpaste. It overwhelms any other flavor he might otherwise have in his mouth, which gives Seifer every academic excuse to repeat this experiment and see what his instructor's mouth normally tastes like. Psh, fuck that. Seifer rubs his tongue in little half-circles over Zell's until the chicken wuss realizes that yes, even a fucking loser like him gets a kiss at the end of the date. Then Zell kisses back, throwing his arms around Seifer's neck. He must be up on his tiptoes with the way he's leaning up into Seifer, tongue hot in Seifer's mouth, little guttural moans escaping the back of his throat.
Shit, he's getting into this.
Seifer works his lips against Zell's one last time, gives Zell's tongue one last obscene lick with his own, before he draws back. His back bumps against the door, but that's okay. Zell looks molested, his mouth abused and swollen, and his eyes are shining at Seifer.
Well, fuck. Whoa. Seifer didn't expect that.
"You got that kiss on one condition, Cadet Almasy," says Zell.
He's trying to look professional and polished, which is impossible to do when you've just let your rival kiss your face off and when you've been acting like a thirteen-year-old girl for the last half hour. Somehow, though, Seifer can't bring himself to laugh in Zell's face. He smiles indulgently instead.
"Oh, yeah?" says Seifer. "What's that, Instructor?"
"Pick me up next Saturday and you'll find out," Zell says.