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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Only They
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: A stormy night and the only ones who would fight out there in it.
It could only be them. On a stormy night, everyone else stays safe within the walls of Balamb Garden, locked in their rooms, locked away. But they never would. Balamb Garden confined them, and perhaps the only times they did feel free were the times when they fought, fierce fights stirring the blood like nothing else. Pure rivalry, pure adrenaline -- all of it pushing them, pushing them to the edge and over. Pure love -- love of the fight, and of each other, didn't matter which, it was all the same
Sparks fly, metal ringing over the top of the softer sounds of rain and the rumblings of the thunder, a sated, lazy storm-sound, even as the rain is pelting them, stinging their faces. Clashing, halting, held body to body for a long moment, eyes shouting of defiance, of that heated rivalry. Love and hatred all mingled, and perhaps more than a little lust, and the primal need to be the best -- it's what makes Squall feel human, and it's what Seifer lives for after all that he'd done.
The moments of liberation. Blood pounding. Blades clash, and scrape, strident sounds cutting through the clamour of the storm. Clear cut. Something they can always return to.
Squall's heart pounds. His blood rushes through his veins, pushed to his limit to return every slash, every blow. Pushing himself that bit further to defeat the man standing against him. And yet, hesitating when it really comes down to it, reluctant to ever end the perfect duel. Reluctant to ever match the challenge in the other's eyes, in case they lose this, this thing that defines them both so easily.
Seifer is intent, his vision narrowed in to see only the rain-wet, leather-clad man before him. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, dart away from the sparks that fly as their gunblades connect and scrape along each other. His eyes are narrowed as he follows Squall's lead, parries his strikes, and then takes control of the situation again, forcing Squall back. Never ready to surrender, but no longer needing to win.
Only they would fight in the midst of the storm. Only they would find comfort in the stark reality of the gunblades clashing. Only they would love in quite that way.
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: A stormy night and the only ones who would fight out there in it.
It could only be them. On a stormy night, everyone else stays safe within the walls of Balamb Garden, locked in their rooms, locked away. But they never would. Balamb Garden confined them, and perhaps the only times they did feel free were the times when they fought, fierce fights stirring the blood like nothing else. Pure rivalry, pure adrenaline -- all of it pushing them, pushing them to the edge and over. Pure love -- love of the fight, and of each other, didn't matter which, it was all the same
Sparks fly, metal ringing over the top of the softer sounds of rain and the rumblings of the thunder, a sated, lazy storm-sound, even as the rain is pelting them, stinging their faces. Clashing, halting, held body to body for a long moment, eyes shouting of defiance, of that heated rivalry. Love and hatred all mingled, and perhaps more than a little lust, and the primal need to be the best -- it's what makes Squall feel human, and it's what Seifer lives for after all that he'd done.
The moments of liberation. Blood pounding. Blades clash, and scrape, strident sounds cutting through the clamour of the storm. Clear cut. Something they can always return to.
Squall's heart pounds. His blood rushes through his veins, pushed to his limit to return every slash, every blow. Pushing himself that bit further to defeat the man standing against him. And yet, hesitating when it really comes down to it, reluctant to ever end the perfect duel. Reluctant to ever match the challenge in the other's eyes, in case they lose this, this thing that defines them both so easily.
Seifer is intent, his vision narrowed in to see only the rain-wet, leather-clad man before him. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, dart away from the sparks that fly as their gunblades connect and scrape along each other. His eyes are narrowed as he follows Squall's lead, parries his strikes, and then takes control of the situation again, forcing Squall back. Never ready to surrender, but no longer needing to win.
Only they would fight in the midst of the storm. Only they would find comfort in the stark reality of the gunblades clashing. Only they would love in quite that way.