Fic: Just Conflict Me (2/?)
Title: Just Conflict Me
Pairing: Seifer/Hayner
Disclaimer: KH isn't mine, isn't mine.
Rating: NC-17. And yes, I do mean in this chapter too.
Summary: Sometimes, Hayner presses into his own bruises just to feel the little sweet burst it gives him. Sometimes, Seifer does it for him. Most of the time, Seifer just gives him the bruises to begin with.
Author's Notes: Um. Yeah. This is my love-song to Seifer/Hayner and masochism all in one go. Used to be called "Counting the Signs" but I changed the name.
Warnings: Underage sex and masturbation. Also, Seifer's a jerk and Hayner's a masochist.
* * * * * *
Part 1
* * * * * *
Just Conflict Me
* * * * * *
The next few days pass in a vague blur, Hayner’s mind trying to turn back to that moment periodically - and inexplicably - throughout his normal days and Hayner trying to make it stop. He focuses on schoolwork and Struggle and doesn’t think about it, damn it. Because normally, normally, he doesn’t have to do that, he doesn’t have to press on a bruise to make himself come. Normally, neither does anyone else.
Hayner taps his pen between his teeth, shifting in front of his desk at home. He doesn’t need to. Just because it was the hardest he has ever…
The blonde shakes his head, taps his fingers on the desk instead of into his skin, tries to look at the paper in front of him. No. No. He bends towards the homework, resting the pen on paper as he stares unseeingly at the words.
(A sweet burst of pleasure, coating his limbs with its power, rendering them limp and useless and so, so good and-)
What he knows now is like a sickness in his mind, sprawling and creeping outwards until every thought about sex has him hard and squirming uncomfortably in his seat, wondering with quiet thoughts if he could just try it again, just reach down and …
Hayner shakes his head. No. No, no. Not again.
But the thought doesn’t leave him alone.
Because he can. He can do it.
His breaths are coming quicker now, and he really needs to focus on his homework and get it done. Just because he’s a teenaged boy doesn’t mean that he has to jerk off every minute. He has other things to think about. He has school. He has Struggle.
And he has a darkened locker room where he pressed his fingers, curious and shaking, into a bruise and the sweet ache that it let out brought the orgasm that was stronger than any he’d ever had before.
Hayner groans helplessly. The bruise on his lower stomach has faded, but he’s still had Struggle. He has new ones. Seifer is the only one who takes practice as seriously as Hayner does and he’s the only one that hits hard enough to leave marks all the time. And while he has resisted the urge to give in in the locker rooms (though he still knows where he was when it happened, can point to the exact spot where the curiosity overcame him), this….
This is his own room.
Hayner bites his lip and looks at the door, hands tense.
He could....
(He gets a little harder, part of his mind begging ceaselessly for him to just give in.)
In a flash of movement, the door is locked, the lights are turned off, and Hayner kneels on his bed, face turned into the pillows, hips and ass high in the air as he pulls down his pants to free his eager dick.
He starts stroking immediately, moaning softly at the relief it brings. His hips thrust absently into the circle formed by his own hand. Hayner hisses slightly at the burn of friction, but he can’t decide whether to move closer or not. A bead of precome is already forming, and he smears it around, biting his lip when the growing slickness makes everything feel better. The bruises and scratches that cover his body throb with his pulse as if they want to make sure that he knows of their existence.
But oh, he knows about them.
His free hand, closed into a fist, digs roughly into a large bruise on his thigh, knuckles forming points of sweet contact that go straight to his cock.
Hayner lets out a muffled cry, biting down on his lip and whining when that, too, gets a spark of pleasure that curls around his entire body. His hand speeds up almost helplessly, ramping up all the feeling until he’s pressing his bare ass into the empty air, because fuck this feels good, and he can’t- more, please, fuck-
How much better would it be, Hayner wonders, if it wasn’t him touching himself?
The image flashes through his mind of someone else touching him, their fingers leaving bruises and scratches in his skin, their breath warm and damp in his ear, and he moans brokenly, hand pumping his erection furiously.
Calloused hands, long-fingered and broad, holding his hips and skating over his cock. Teeth leaving marks in his neck, sucking a deep bruise into his neck that hurts as it’s made, but god, feels good, and blonde hair, finally not covered by that damn beanie, tickling and gracing across his cheek, and-
-Seifer pressed against his back, hand moving over his cock, voice whispering in his ear as he leaves spots of sweet, sweet warmth that will mark him for days to come all over his body, teeth scraping against the tendons of his neck and-
¬Hayner arches hard, forehead and knees and forearm pressed solidly into the mattress as his orgasm completely wreaks his body. He breathes shakily, whining on every exhale as he collapses to the side, limbs weak. The fan in his room whispers cold air across his skin with a constant low hum, and Hayner limply wiggles under the bedspread, warm and loose and still very confused. (A small seed of worry sprouts up in the back of his mind, because Hayner is nothing if not normal; he doesn’t do shit like this.)
His homework can wait until tomorrow.
* * *
Hayner wakes up the next morning no less confused than he was before he slept, sleep gritty and irritating in his eyes. He stumbles out of bed at the third alarm he has set, scrubs half-heartedly at his face in the bathroom. Looking at his face in the mirror, Hayner drags a hand down his cheek and sighs.
-pillow pressed against his cheek-
He…
-hand sliding against his cock-
He had…
-the idea of arrogant blue eyes and blonde hair and bruises bringing him off-
With a groan, Hayner covers his cheeks and eyes, steadfastly ignoring the hot spread of a blush across his face. Yeah, he wanted to think of someone when he was jacking off, but Seifer?
Seifer, of all people?
“Hayner! Are you ready to go?” his mom calls up the stairs at him, and he shakes himself. Now is not the time. He can’t think about it. He has school.
But his mind turns to it and contemplates it on the drive there, until all Hayner is doing is looking blankly out the window and wondering to himself what Seifer would do if he knew that Hayner had thought about him while masturbating.
Hayner snorts. Seifer would probably punch him and sneer about how superior he is and how Hayner wouldn’t be worth his time. The bastard.
Rain starts to fall in staccato patterns on the window of the car as they pull up to the front of the school, streaking the glass and distorting the world that Hayner isn’t really looking at. The blond waves to his mom without making eye contact as he clambers out of the car; he barely even sees the sidewalk in front of him, his mind still caught on his … experience of the night before.
Why Seifer?
He leaves the best bruises during practice, Hayner admits that. Seifer leaves the bruises that last, the ones that ache for days afterwards. The ones that make him hard when he accidentally (deliberately) runs into a desk. The ones that he touches when he needs the extra edge to get off, apparently.
Hayner opens the front doors with a sigh and resolves to avoid Seifer as long as he can. He needs to fight someone else during practice anyway so his skills don’t get locked into patterns.
“Out of the way, chickenwuss!”
So of course he has to run into Seifer first thing.
Whipping around, Hayner bristles at the insult and juts out his chin belligerently at the taller blond, fists clenching again, the slight tingle of nails biting into his palms grounding him. “Watch where you’re going, dumbass!”
Seifer sneers at him. Crossing his arms, he leans back, flicks his eyes up and down Hayner’s frame. “Just make sure that you’re not late to class. I’d hate to give you detention and make you miss your beloved Struggle practice.”
“Oh yeah? I bet you’re just scared that I’ll kick your ass!” Hayner taunts, and he readies himself for the fight that he sees flash through Seifer’s eyes.
But the bell rings and Seifer only shoulders him to one side as he strides towards his classroom. Hayner subtly flips him off before he shoulders his backpack and scuttles off to his own. Arrogant fuckwad. Why the hell had Hayner thought of him of all people?
His bruises ache slightly, sending a spike of arousal shivering through his body, and Hayner slides into his seat with a sigh.
Oh yeah.
There is that.
His head hits the desk with a thump.
* * *
By the end of school, Hayner is practically vibrating. He tenses and flinches at every bit of blond hair that he sees out of the corner of his eyes until even Pence leans over to pat his arm with a worried look in his eyes. Hayner stiffens, relaxes, blinks at him with a small shake of his head.
“Maaaaybe you should work this off during practice, alright? You’re a little… on edge.” Pence smiles up at him, and Olette nods, her green eyes watching him curiously. Hayner lets out a slight sigh and forcibly relaxes his shoulders, nodding to the two of them.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day.” He grins weakly. Standing, he shoulders his bag and starts walking to the locker rooms, waving behind him. “Alright, I’m heading off. See you later!”
Seriously, what is wrong with him? It’s just Seifer. He’s nothing special, anyway. It only happened once. It was just some… fluke or something! It will not - cannot - happen again! But there’s a strange twist under his sternum as he thinks that vehement statement, and Hayner speeds up his steps slightly. The hallways go by him in a blur, his eyes turned down to the floor. Surely part of him can’t want… He pauses in front of some lockers, silence and the fading noise of footsteps echoing around him. Curiously, Hayner licks his lips and he nudges the knuckles of his hand into a bruise on his upper thigh. Sweet, sweet, shivering arousal warms his body, and Hayner focuses his mind on Seifer, on Seifer touching the bruise instead of him.
The arousal spikes a little higher. Hayner jerks his hand away from his thigh, breathing stuttering and hard.
That settles it. Part of him wants it to happen again. He starts walking fast, mind buzzing and blood pounding, and he shoves the arousal down, willing away another erection.
But he doesn’t want Seifer.
Hayner shakes his head as he pushes open the door to the locker rooms, mind whirling. This isn’t getting him anywhere.
The comfortable hum of voices washes over him, punctuated by laughs, underscored by echoes and running water. Hayner breathes in the damp smell and feels his shoulders relax, releasing tiny aches from being held for so long. He wanders over to his locker, spins the wheel on the lock.
A hand pats his shoulder. Hayner half turns around, fingers still twirling to find the combination. Seifer looks back at him, mouth slanted into a hard line, blue eyes intense.
“What do you want, Seif-”
“Coach just got a call from your mom, chickenwuss,” Seifer sneers, and he uses the hand still on Hayner’s shoulder to tug him away from his locker. “Go talk to him.”
Hayner casually flips him the bird as he shrugs off Seifer’s hold. He ignores the snort he gets for that and just knocks on the open door to the office. His coach looks up at him and gestures him in.
“Hayner, we just got a call from your mom. She sounded upset. Do you know what’s going on?”
Unease rises in Hayner. His mom is a level-headed person, and for her to sound upset…. “No sir, I have no idea.”
The coach sighs slightly and shakes his head. “Alright then. Hayner, go home. Your mom said that she needed to talk to you. Now. Consider it an excused absence, okay?”
Hayner, a vague sense of dread flooding him, only nods and gets ready to leave.
(He can feel someone watching him as he exits the locker room, but when he looks back, the only things he sees are Seifer’s eyes, steady and locked on him. For some reason, it makes him feel better.)
* * *
His mom is sitting at the table when he gets home, phone held in white-knuckled hands in front of her. Tissues litter the table sporadically. Hayner takes a cautious step inside the kitchen, palm pressing flat against the door frame like it can save him, like he can fling himself backwards if he needs to, out of this room where the air is heavy and ringing in the silence.
Hayner swallows. His voice catches in his throat, blocked. After a second, he musters his will again, taking a huge breath. “Mom?” he asks, and her head jerks up like she hadn’t heard him come in.
She takes a steadying inhale and nods at him, sniffling and clearing her throat into a nearby tissue.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Hayner asks. His fingers flex in the door frame. This… He knows immediately that he will not like what it is she’s about to say, and his heart is pounding fast in his throat.
“Your granddad just died, Hayner. We’re going to live closer to your grandmother.” His mom looks at him steadily, her red-rimmed eyes the only things that belie her inner sorrow. “I’m sorry, but we’re moving at the end of the school year.”
“That’s… That’s next month!” Hayner protests, fists clenching and unclenching. “What about my friends?”
His mom just stares at him, her entire body sagging like gravity is crushing her with its force. “Hayner… You can keep up with them. Technology and all.”
Hayner’s first thought is, strangely, “But… Seifer…. Seifer doesn’t even like me.”
And his second, “I’ll never see him again…”
The longing he feels after that realization is inexplicable. But his chest feels like it’s breaking, and this is a pain he doesn’t like.
* * * * * *
Part 3...
Back by popular consent, here's the second part of the Masochism fic! There are going to be a LOT of parts, just as a heads up.
AND TADA, ENDING SEPTEMBER ON A GOOD FUCKING NOTE.
Pairing: Seifer/Hayner
Disclaimer: KH isn't mine, isn't mine.
Rating: NC-17. And yes, I do mean in this chapter too.
Summary: Sometimes, Hayner presses into his own bruises just to feel the little sweet burst it gives him. Sometimes, Seifer does it for him. Most of the time, Seifer just gives him the bruises to begin with.
Author's Notes: Um. Yeah. This is my love-song to Seifer/Hayner and masochism all in one go. Used to be called "Counting the Signs" but I changed the name.
Warnings: Underage sex and masturbation. Also, Seifer's a jerk and Hayner's a masochist.
* * * * * *
Part 1
* * * * * *
Just Conflict Me
* * * * * *
The next few days pass in a vague blur, Hayner’s mind trying to turn back to that moment periodically - and inexplicably - throughout his normal days and Hayner trying to make it stop. He focuses on schoolwork and Struggle and doesn’t think about it, damn it. Because normally, normally, he doesn’t have to do that, he doesn’t have to press on a bruise to make himself come. Normally, neither does anyone else.
Hayner taps his pen between his teeth, shifting in front of his desk at home. He doesn’t need to. Just because it was the hardest he has ever…
The blonde shakes his head, taps his fingers on the desk instead of into his skin, tries to look at the paper in front of him. No. No. He bends towards the homework, resting the pen on paper as he stares unseeingly at the words.
(A sweet burst of pleasure, coating his limbs with its power, rendering them limp and useless and so, so good and-)
What he knows now is like a sickness in his mind, sprawling and creeping outwards until every thought about sex has him hard and squirming uncomfortably in his seat, wondering with quiet thoughts if he could just try it again, just reach down and …
Hayner shakes his head. No. No, no. Not again.
But the thought doesn’t leave him alone.
Because he can. He can do it.
His breaths are coming quicker now, and he really needs to focus on his homework and get it done. Just because he’s a teenaged boy doesn’t mean that he has to jerk off every minute. He has other things to think about. He has school. He has Struggle.
And he has a darkened locker room where he pressed his fingers, curious and shaking, into a bruise and the sweet ache that it let out brought the orgasm that was stronger than any he’d ever had before.
Hayner groans helplessly. The bruise on his lower stomach has faded, but he’s still had Struggle. He has new ones. Seifer is the only one who takes practice as seriously as Hayner does and he’s the only one that hits hard enough to leave marks all the time. And while he has resisted the urge to give in in the locker rooms (though he still knows where he was when it happened, can point to the exact spot where the curiosity overcame him), this….
This is his own room.
Hayner bites his lip and looks at the door, hands tense.
He could....
(He gets a little harder, part of his mind begging ceaselessly for him to just give in.)
In a flash of movement, the door is locked, the lights are turned off, and Hayner kneels on his bed, face turned into the pillows, hips and ass high in the air as he pulls down his pants to free his eager dick.
He starts stroking immediately, moaning softly at the relief it brings. His hips thrust absently into the circle formed by his own hand. Hayner hisses slightly at the burn of friction, but he can’t decide whether to move closer or not. A bead of precome is already forming, and he smears it around, biting his lip when the growing slickness makes everything feel better. The bruises and scratches that cover his body throb with his pulse as if they want to make sure that he knows of their existence.
But oh, he knows about them.
His free hand, closed into a fist, digs roughly into a large bruise on his thigh, knuckles forming points of sweet contact that go straight to his cock.
Hayner lets out a muffled cry, biting down on his lip and whining when that, too, gets a spark of pleasure that curls around his entire body. His hand speeds up almost helplessly, ramping up all the feeling until he’s pressing his bare ass into the empty air, because fuck this feels good, and he can’t- more, please, fuck-
How much better would it be, Hayner wonders, if it wasn’t him touching himself?
The image flashes through his mind of someone else touching him, their fingers leaving bruises and scratches in his skin, their breath warm and damp in his ear, and he moans brokenly, hand pumping his erection furiously.
Calloused hands, long-fingered and broad, holding his hips and skating over his cock. Teeth leaving marks in his neck, sucking a deep bruise into his neck that hurts as it’s made, but god, feels good, and blonde hair, finally not covered by that damn beanie, tickling and gracing across his cheek, and-
-Seifer pressed against his back, hand moving over his cock, voice whispering in his ear as he leaves spots of sweet, sweet warmth that will mark him for days to come all over his body, teeth scraping against the tendons of his neck and-
¬Hayner arches hard, forehead and knees and forearm pressed solidly into the mattress as his orgasm completely wreaks his body. He breathes shakily, whining on every exhale as he collapses to the side, limbs weak. The fan in his room whispers cold air across his skin with a constant low hum, and Hayner limply wiggles under the bedspread, warm and loose and still very confused. (A small seed of worry sprouts up in the back of his mind, because Hayner is nothing if not normal; he doesn’t do shit like this.)
His homework can wait until tomorrow.
* * *
Hayner wakes up the next morning no less confused than he was before he slept, sleep gritty and irritating in his eyes. He stumbles out of bed at the third alarm he has set, scrubs half-heartedly at his face in the bathroom. Looking at his face in the mirror, Hayner drags a hand down his cheek and sighs.
-pillow pressed against his cheek-
He…
-hand sliding against his cock-
He had…
-the idea of arrogant blue eyes and blonde hair and bruises bringing him off-
With a groan, Hayner covers his cheeks and eyes, steadfastly ignoring the hot spread of a blush across his face. Yeah, he wanted to think of someone when he was jacking off, but Seifer?
Seifer, of all people?
“Hayner! Are you ready to go?” his mom calls up the stairs at him, and he shakes himself. Now is not the time. He can’t think about it. He has school.
But his mind turns to it and contemplates it on the drive there, until all Hayner is doing is looking blankly out the window and wondering to himself what Seifer would do if he knew that Hayner had thought about him while masturbating.
Hayner snorts. Seifer would probably punch him and sneer about how superior he is and how Hayner wouldn’t be worth his time. The bastard.
Rain starts to fall in staccato patterns on the window of the car as they pull up to the front of the school, streaking the glass and distorting the world that Hayner isn’t really looking at. The blond waves to his mom without making eye contact as he clambers out of the car; he barely even sees the sidewalk in front of him, his mind still caught on his … experience of the night before.
Why Seifer?
He leaves the best bruises during practice, Hayner admits that. Seifer leaves the bruises that last, the ones that ache for days afterwards. The ones that make him hard when he accidentally (deliberately) runs into a desk. The ones that he touches when he needs the extra edge to get off, apparently.
Hayner opens the front doors with a sigh and resolves to avoid Seifer as long as he can. He needs to fight someone else during practice anyway so his skills don’t get locked into patterns.
“Out of the way, chickenwuss!”
So of course he has to run into Seifer first thing.
Whipping around, Hayner bristles at the insult and juts out his chin belligerently at the taller blond, fists clenching again, the slight tingle of nails biting into his palms grounding him. “Watch where you’re going, dumbass!”
Seifer sneers at him. Crossing his arms, he leans back, flicks his eyes up and down Hayner’s frame. “Just make sure that you’re not late to class. I’d hate to give you detention and make you miss your beloved Struggle practice.”
“Oh yeah? I bet you’re just scared that I’ll kick your ass!” Hayner taunts, and he readies himself for the fight that he sees flash through Seifer’s eyes.
But the bell rings and Seifer only shoulders him to one side as he strides towards his classroom. Hayner subtly flips him off before he shoulders his backpack and scuttles off to his own. Arrogant fuckwad. Why the hell had Hayner thought of him of all people?
His bruises ache slightly, sending a spike of arousal shivering through his body, and Hayner slides into his seat with a sigh.
Oh yeah.
There is that.
His head hits the desk with a thump.
* * *
By the end of school, Hayner is practically vibrating. He tenses and flinches at every bit of blond hair that he sees out of the corner of his eyes until even Pence leans over to pat his arm with a worried look in his eyes. Hayner stiffens, relaxes, blinks at him with a small shake of his head.
“Maaaaybe you should work this off during practice, alright? You’re a little… on edge.” Pence smiles up at him, and Olette nods, her green eyes watching him curiously. Hayner lets out a slight sigh and forcibly relaxes his shoulders, nodding to the two of them.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day.” He grins weakly. Standing, he shoulders his bag and starts walking to the locker rooms, waving behind him. “Alright, I’m heading off. See you later!”
Seriously, what is wrong with him? It’s just Seifer. He’s nothing special, anyway. It only happened once. It was just some… fluke or something! It will not - cannot - happen again! But there’s a strange twist under his sternum as he thinks that vehement statement, and Hayner speeds up his steps slightly. The hallways go by him in a blur, his eyes turned down to the floor. Surely part of him can’t want… He pauses in front of some lockers, silence and the fading noise of footsteps echoing around him. Curiously, Hayner licks his lips and he nudges the knuckles of his hand into a bruise on his upper thigh. Sweet, sweet, shivering arousal warms his body, and Hayner focuses his mind on Seifer, on Seifer touching the bruise instead of him.
The arousal spikes a little higher. Hayner jerks his hand away from his thigh, breathing stuttering and hard.
That settles it. Part of him wants it to happen again. He starts walking fast, mind buzzing and blood pounding, and he shoves the arousal down, willing away another erection.
But he doesn’t want Seifer.
Hayner shakes his head as he pushes open the door to the locker rooms, mind whirling. This isn’t getting him anywhere.
The comfortable hum of voices washes over him, punctuated by laughs, underscored by echoes and running water. Hayner breathes in the damp smell and feels his shoulders relax, releasing tiny aches from being held for so long. He wanders over to his locker, spins the wheel on the lock.
A hand pats his shoulder. Hayner half turns around, fingers still twirling to find the combination. Seifer looks back at him, mouth slanted into a hard line, blue eyes intense.
“What do you want, Seif-”
“Coach just got a call from your mom, chickenwuss,” Seifer sneers, and he uses the hand still on Hayner’s shoulder to tug him away from his locker. “Go talk to him.”
Hayner casually flips him the bird as he shrugs off Seifer’s hold. He ignores the snort he gets for that and just knocks on the open door to the office. His coach looks up at him and gestures him in.
“Hayner, we just got a call from your mom. She sounded upset. Do you know what’s going on?”
Unease rises in Hayner. His mom is a level-headed person, and for her to sound upset…. “No sir, I have no idea.”
The coach sighs slightly and shakes his head. “Alright then. Hayner, go home. Your mom said that she needed to talk to you. Now. Consider it an excused absence, okay?”
Hayner, a vague sense of dread flooding him, only nods and gets ready to leave.
(He can feel someone watching him as he exits the locker room, but when he looks back, the only things he sees are Seifer’s eyes, steady and locked on him. For some reason, it makes him feel better.)
* * *
His mom is sitting at the table when he gets home, phone held in white-knuckled hands in front of her. Tissues litter the table sporadically. Hayner takes a cautious step inside the kitchen, palm pressing flat against the door frame like it can save him, like he can fling himself backwards if he needs to, out of this room where the air is heavy and ringing in the silence.
Hayner swallows. His voice catches in his throat, blocked. After a second, he musters his will again, taking a huge breath. “Mom?” he asks, and her head jerks up like she hadn’t heard him come in.
She takes a steadying inhale and nods at him, sniffling and clearing her throat into a nearby tissue.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Hayner asks. His fingers flex in the door frame. This… He knows immediately that he will not like what it is she’s about to say, and his heart is pounding fast in his throat.
“Your granddad just died, Hayner. We’re going to live closer to your grandmother.” His mom looks at him steadily, her red-rimmed eyes the only things that belie her inner sorrow. “I’m sorry, but we’re moving at the end of the school year.”
“That’s… That’s next month!” Hayner protests, fists clenching and unclenching. “What about my friends?”
His mom just stares at him, her entire body sagging like gravity is crushing her with its force. “Hayner… You can keep up with them. Technology and all.”
Hayner’s first thought is, strangely, “But… Seifer…. Seifer doesn’t even like me.”
And his second, “I’ll never see him again…”
The longing he feels after that realization is inexplicable. But his chest feels like it’s breaking, and this is a pain he doesn’t like.
* * * * * *
Part 3...
Back by popular consent, here's the second part of the Masochism fic! There are going to be a LOT of parts, just as a heads up.
AND TADA, ENDING SEPTEMBER ON A GOOD FUCKING NOTE.