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FFVIII: Mark
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Seifer's left his mark on the world on Squall's face. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_fantasies.
Seifer blesses the cure magic as he curses the fire magic he was stupid enough to play with. Don't play with fire, Matron'd always said, and there he was, using fire spells in a battle, just to get one up on Leonhart who is laying slumped on the cold stone now. It's not the battle that took it out of him, not the cut on his face -- it was that god damned fire spell and the cure magic comes fumblingly from Seifer's hands, hands that are used to hurting and not healing.
"C'mon, Leonhart, Squally-boy, prettyboy... wake the hell up," he mutters, while he forces out the magic, quick pure tingles of it dancing through him and through Squall and stopping the bleeding, stopping his own bleeding, too. The mark fascinates him, wet blood welling up and smearing across that pretty face -- a mark from him, and one that Squall can't forget.
He's afraid of being forgotten so despite his horror at going too far that mark is a saving grace to him. It'll remind Squall every time he looks in a mirror -- remind everyone who ever looks at that pretty face that Seifer was there and left his mark on at least one person.
Squall's eyelashes don't even flutter and finally Seifer gives up on the cure spells, the hesitating healing, and scoops Squall up in his arms -- so light for all that muscle and strength -- and carries him along to the infirmary, and he ignores every glance that takes in Squall's mark on his face and Squall's body in his arms.
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Seifer's left his mark on the world on Squall's face. For
30_fantasies.Seifer blesses the cure magic as he curses the fire magic he was stupid enough to play with. Don't play with fire, Matron'd always said, and there he was, using fire spells in a battle, just to get one up on Leonhart who is laying slumped on the cold stone now. It's not the battle that took it out of him, not the cut on his face -- it was that god damned fire spell and the cure magic comes fumblingly from Seifer's hands, hands that are used to hurting and not healing.
"C'mon, Leonhart, Squally-boy, prettyboy... wake the hell up," he mutters, while he forces out the magic, quick pure tingles of it dancing through him and through Squall and stopping the bleeding, stopping his own bleeding, too. The mark fascinates him, wet blood welling up and smearing across that pretty face -- a mark from him, and one that Squall can't forget.
He's afraid of being forgotten so despite his horror at going too far that mark is a saving grace to him. It'll remind Squall every time he looks in a mirror -- remind everyone who ever looks at that pretty face that Seifer was there and left his mark on at least one person.
Squall's eyelashes don't even flutter and finally Seifer gives up on the cure spells, the hesitating healing, and scoops Squall up in his arms -- so light for all that muscle and strength -- and carries him along to the infirmary, and he ignores every glance that takes in Squall's mark on his face and Squall's body in his arms.