FFVIII: Slices and Segments
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Main characters: Seifer, Squall
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Seifer/Squall
Contains: AU
Rating: PG
Summary: Fetishboy's all grown up now. For
feywood, for getting up on time today. She is likely the only person who is going to be interested in this fic, I'll warn you now, because it's a tiny bit of a rather bigger 'verse which would take an author's note longer than the fic itself to explain. A quick overview, if you really want to read it: it's an alternate reality where they all grew up in the orphanage. Squall and Seifer were friends when they were young, but drifted apart. As a teenager Squall was generally self-destructive and starved himself. He and Seifer got together and, with a lot of effort, Squall eventually got better. This is, however, set when they're grown up. Explaining the summary: Fetishboy is what the very first incarnation of this Seifer called this Squall to taunt him, and it stuck.
"An apple and an orange?" Seifer asks, not quite able to resist giving Squall a peck on the cheek as he passes him. "Getting ambitious these days, wifey."
"Seifer," Squall says, in that huffy little way he has when he's attempting to sound pissed off, and Seifer grins as he's hanging up his coat and going back over to drape himself over the back of the sofa and irritate Squall. Well, also to nuzzle at Squall's neck and catch the scent of his skin and his shampoo and soap and sweat and leather, in what is almost a ritual between them now. "How was your day?" Squall asks, softer, and Seifer shrugs, wrapping his arms around Squall like that, too lazy to even move round and sit down properly.
"Okay. How was your day making art?" He watches Squall eating, which is still something of a miracle, even though Squall's been better for years now. He's chopped up the apple into tiny slices and pulled the orange to pieces and picked most of the white pith from it, and he's eating them one at a time -- one slice of apple, one segment of orange, over and over, unvarying. Seifer smiles and kisses the back of Squall's neck and resists the urge to call him anal, because some things will never change.
"Mostly productive," Squall says, licking juice from his fingers, and Seifer grins and bites at his neck.
"I could give you some more inspiration," he says, and Squall huffs in that little way of his again.
"Seifer," he says, just like before, but hey, it's not a no.
Main characters: Seifer, Squall
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Seifer/Squall
Contains: AU
Rating: PG
Summary: Fetishboy's all grown up now. For
feywood, for getting up on time today. She is likely the only person who is going to be interested in this fic, I'll warn you now, because it's a tiny bit of a rather bigger 'verse which would take an author's note longer than the fic itself to explain. A quick overview, if you really want to read it: it's an alternate reality where they all grew up in the orphanage. Squall and Seifer were friends when they were young, but drifted apart. As a teenager Squall was generally self-destructive and starved himself. He and Seifer got together and, with a lot of effort, Squall eventually got better. This is, however, set when they're grown up. Explaining the summary: Fetishboy is what the very first incarnation of this Seifer called this Squall to taunt him, and it stuck.
"An apple and an orange?" Seifer asks, not quite able to resist giving Squall a peck on the cheek as he passes him. "Getting ambitious these days, wifey."
"Seifer," Squall says, in that huffy little way he has when he's attempting to sound pissed off, and Seifer grins as he's hanging up his coat and going back over to drape himself over the back of the sofa and irritate Squall. Well, also to nuzzle at Squall's neck and catch the scent of his skin and his shampoo and soap and sweat and leather, in what is almost a ritual between them now. "How was your day?" Squall asks, softer, and Seifer shrugs, wrapping his arms around Squall like that, too lazy to even move round and sit down properly.
"Okay. How was your day making art?" He watches Squall eating, which is still something of a miracle, even though Squall's been better for years now. He's chopped up the apple into tiny slices and pulled the orange to pieces and picked most of the white pith from it, and he's eating them one at a time -- one slice of apple, one segment of orange, over and over, unvarying. Seifer smiles and kisses the back of Squall's neck and resists the urge to call him anal, because some things will never change.
"Mostly productive," Squall says, licking juice from his fingers, and Seifer grins and bites at his neck.
"I could give you some more inspiration," he says, and Squall huffs in that little way of his again.
"Seifer," he says, just like before, but hey, it's not a no.