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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Lovemarks
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Zell
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: After a sparring match... For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
candywrapper, because she is my world and she needs a bit of encouragement and cheering up today.
"You look like an idiot," Seifer says. His voice is lazy -- more with affection than actual fatigue, Zell thinks, despite the sparring match. Seifer might be a gunblader, but he can keep up with a fistfight when he chooses. He prods, experimentally, at a large bruise already blossoming across his jaw.
"Fuck," he says, when he's decided that yes, that definitely hurts, and no, Seifer isn't getting any sex for the next three weeks. "Bastard. Why do I look like an idiot?"
"Your hair. Half gelled up, half flopping down." Seifer shrugs and reaches over to run his fingers through Zell's hair, again and again, until it all floats down wispy around his face. "Better," he says, thoughtfully, and then, conversationally, "but you're going to have one hell of a black eye tomorrow."
"Have you seen my bruises?" Zell asks, in an indignant hiss, though he suspects Seifer knows exactly where every single one of his punches hit hard enough to leave the bright marks -- purple and blue and near-black, colours that will all bleach away to sickly yellow before they disappear. "Fuck."
"Think of them as lovemarks," Seifer suggests, yawning softly. He stretches out on his back on the warm grass. "You're the one that wanted a fight, and I have at least as many bruises as you."
Zell regards him suspiciously. "Where?"
Seifer smirks. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Zell makes an annoyed noise. After a moment, Seifer moves a little closer. His fingers brush Zell's ankle, and he closes his eyes, looking content. Zell can't help but grin, can't help but reach out to touch him -- even if he is annoyed.
Pairing: Seifer/Zell
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: After a sparring match... For
candywrapper, because she is my world and she needs a bit of encouragement and cheering up today."You look like an idiot," Seifer says. His voice is lazy -- more with affection than actual fatigue, Zell thinks, despite the sparring match. Seifer might be a gunblader, but he can keep up with a fistfight when he chooses. He prods, experimentally, at a large bruise already blossoming across his jaw.
"Fuck," he says, when he's decided that yes, that definitely hurts, and no, Seifer isn't getting any sex for the next three weeks. "Bastard. Why do I look like an idiot?"
"Your hair. Half gelled up, half flopping down." Seifer shrugs and reaches over to run his fingers through Zell's hair, again and again, until it all floats down wispy around his face. "Better," he says, thoughtfully, and then, conversationally, "but you're going to have one hell of a black eye tomorrow."
"Have you seen my bruises?" Zell asks, in an indignant hiss, though he suspects Seifer knows exactly where every single one of his punches hit hard enough to leave the bright marks -- purple and blue and near-black, colours that will all bleach away to sickly yellow before they disappear. "Fuck."
"Think of them as lovemarks," Seifer suggests, yawning softly. He stretches out on his back on the warm grass. "You're the one that wanted a fight, and I have at least as many bruises as you."
Zell regards him suspiciously. "Where?"
Seifer smirks. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Zell makes an annoyed noise. After a moment, Seifer moves a little closer. His fingers brush Zell's ankle, and he closes his eyes, looking content. Zell can't help but grin, can't help but reach out to touch him -- even if he is annoyed.