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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Project
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: None
Rating: PG13
Summary: Seifer and Squall dream of each other. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fated_children.
Squall wakes clutching at his sheets, breathing hard. For once, he doesn't reach straight over to turn off the alarm clock, and he doesn't immediately move to get out of bed. He just lies there, the noise of his alarm clock bringing him back to reality, and wonders what it's all about. Ever since the end of the war -- no, not quite so long as that: ever since Rinoa broke up with him ("You don't even know what you need, let alone what I want!") -- he's dreamed of Seifer. Not like the dreams he had when he was fourteen, fifteen, but dreams of everyday life.
He wonders, if he went to Deling, to the bar where Seifer apparently works now in his dreams, he'd find him there. He wonders if he'd find a scar on his chest where some dick attacked him. He wonders if Seifer is single.
He reaches off and turns off his alarm clock.
There's only one way to find out.
---
It's one thing to say that to himself, and another to do anything about it. It's a fortnight later when Squall finds himself installed in a hotel room with only a small bag for company -- enough clothes for a week's stay, and that's about it. He's taken leave for the week, with a promise secured that he can have more if he wants it. After all, as Cid says, he never takes enough leave.
For a moment, he sits on the bed, staring at the bag and wondering what the hell he's really doing here. Is he really going on the basis of just a handful of dreams, founding all his hopes and all his newly discovered wants on a dream that really means nothing?
Apparently, he is.
The bar exists, at least, or according to a street map it does. Finding it, in theory, is easy. In practice, Squall finds himself outside the hotel an hour before Seifer, in his dreams at least, starts work at the bar. He doesn't know this part of town -- either from dreams or from his own experience -- and so he just sets off walking, finding the street map unhelpful and hoping to find something that does look familiar.
After about three quarters of an hour, he caves. He hauls the map out of his pocket again, ignoring all of the people he could possibly ask for directions. He's not about to make a damned fool of himself asking for directions to a place that might not exist.
"What the -- Leonhart?"
Squall looks up into startlingly green eyes -- one detail his dreams certainly got right, in painstaking detail. It makes his stomach do a few flips, even if he's trying not to anticipate anything, trying not to expect anything. "Seifer?"
"Squall," Seifer says. He looks amazingly uncomfortable. "Shit. Come to kick my ass?"
"If I'd come to kick your ass, I'd've hunted you down a lot sooner," he mutters, and then wants to kick himself for admitting that he's not trying to hunt Seifer down, for admitting that he's looking for Seifer in the first place. He tucks the map away and tries not to look at Seifer again, not sure from minute to minute what he's going to say or do now that Seifer's right there after what has to have been at least eight months, if not a year, of dreaming solely of him.
"I was thinking of coming to look for you," he says, unexpectedly. And then Squall can't help looking up -- finding him smirking, of course, always smirking.
"Why?"
"Some crazy ass dreams." Seifer shrugs. "I've got work now."
"At the bar?" he asks, and then shuts his mouth tight on the words, because he's not supposed to know that and he doesn't even know if it's true. Seifer gives him an odd look and then nods.
"At the bar. Want to tag along?"
---
Squall's not drunk. Not exactly. But the taste of Seifer's mouth -- warm and eager against his, and so real after so many dreams where he was just an observer -- could be intoxicating, maybe, if he was given to such comparisons. Seifer's hands, warm against him even through his shirt, could certainly be that, the touch sure and certain and nothing like Rinoa, nothing like the gentle loving tenderness that he could never really enjoy.
"Want to come back to my apartment?" Seifer asks, and their lips are just inches apart.
"Yeah," Squall says, and closes his eyes as Seifer kisses him again.
---
Dreams never prepared him for all that. Dreams could never prepare him for this, though he's dreamt of this room, this bed, this man. Seifer curls close against his back, stroking his hip idly, and the intimacy is amazing and it's horrible at the same time. This is what he could never really have with Rinoa, because it didn't feel right -- what she so badly wanted from him.
"Will you quit overthinking it and go to sleep?" Seifer asks, a yawn swallowing the last word. Squall wants to laugh.
"Sure."
There's a long silence and he thinks Seifer is maybe asleep. He says it without even thinking, like he's rehearsing for the morning. "Will you come back to Garden with me?"
Seifer shifts slightly and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. Apparently not asleep, then. "Yeah. Give me time to quit my job and I'll be right there."
"Idiot," Squall says, because that seems to be the only response.
---
"It's so nice to see you guys finally together!" Rinoa says, brightly, embracing them both in turn. Squall gives her a suddenly suspicious look -- suspicious of her visit, coming immediately after Seifer arrived back in Garden, too close to be coincidental. Suspicious of her obvious pleasure at seeing them both together, the kind of pleasure that always shows on her face when she realises a project after some work.
He doesn't particularly like the idea of being someone's project, even if the results are good.
"You arranged this, didn't you? With those dreams?"
She smiles innocently. "Well, let's say I did, shouldn't you be thanking me for it?"
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Warnings: None
Rating: PG13
Summary: Seifer and Squall dream of each other. For
fated_children.Squall wakes clutching at his sheets, breathing hard. For once, he doesn't reach straight over to turn off the alarm clock, and he doesn't immediately move to get out of bed. He just lies there, the noise of his alarm clock bringing him back to reality, and wonders what it's all about. Ever since the end of the war -- no, not quite so long as that: ever since Rinoa broke up with him ("You don't even know what you need, let alone what I want!") -- he's dreamed of Seifer. Not like the dreams he had when he was fourteen, fifteen, but dreams of everyday life.
He wonders, if he went to Deling, to the bar where Seifer apparently works now in his dreams, he'd find him there. He wonders if he'd find a scar on his chest where some dick attacked him. He wonders if Seifer is single.
He reaches off and turns off his alarm clock.
There's only one way to find out.
It's one thing to say that to himself, and another to do anything about it. It's a fortnight later when Squall finds himself installed in a hotel room with only a small bag for company -- enough clothes for a week's stay, and that's about it. He's taken leave for the week, with a promise secured that he can have more if he wants it. After all, as Cid says, he never takes enough leave.
For a moment, he sits on the bed, staring at the bag and wondering what the hell he's really doing here. Is he really going on the basis of just a handful of dreams, founding all his hopes and all his newly discovered wants on a dream that really means nothing?
Apparently, he is.
The bar exists, at least, or according to a street map it does. Finding it, in theory, is easy. In practice, Squall finds himself outside the hotel an hour before Seifer, in his dreams at least, starts work at the bar. He doesn't know this part of town -- either from dreams or from his own experience -- and so he just sets off walking, finding the street map unhelpful and hoping to find something that does look familiar.
After about three quarters of an hour, he caves. He hauls the map out of his pocket again, ignoring all of the people he could possibly ask for directions. He's not about to make a damned fool of himself asking for directions to a place that might not exist.
"What the -- Leonhart?"
Squall looks up into startlingly green eyes -- one detail his dreams certainly got right, in painstaking detail. It makes his stomach do a few flips, even if he's trying not to anticipate anything, trying not to expect anything. "Seifer?"
"Squall," Seifer says. He looks amazingly uncomfortable. "Shit. Come to kick my ass?"
"If I'd come to kick your ass, I'd've hunted you down a lot sooner," he mutters, and then wants to kick himself for admitting that he's not trying to hunt Seifer down, for admitting that he's looking for Seifer in the first place. He tucks the map away and tries not to look at Seifer again, not sure from minute to minute what he's going to say or do now that Seifer's right there after what has to have been at least eight months, if not a year, of dreaming solely of him.
"I was thinking of coming to look for you," he says, unexpectedly. And then Squall can't help looking up -- finding him smirking, of course, always smirking.
"Why?"
"Some crazy ass dreams." Seifer shrugs. "I've got work now."
"At the bar?" he asks, and then shuts his mouth tight on the words, because he's not supposed to know that and he doesn't even know if it's true. Seifer gives him an odd look and then nods.
"At the bar. Want to tag along?"
Squall's not drunk. Not exactly. But the taste of Seifer's mouth -- warm and eager against his, and so real after so many dreams where he was just an observer -- could be intoxicating, maybe, if he was given to such comparisons. Seifer's hands, warm against him even through his shirt, could certainly be that, the touch sure and certain and nothing like Rinoa, nothing like the gentle loving tenderness that he could never really enjoy.
"Want to come back to my apartment?" Seifer asks, and their lips are just inches apart.
"Yeah," Squall says, and closes his eyes as Seifer kisses him again.
Dreams never prepared him for all that. Dreams could never prepare him for this, though he's dreamt of this room, this bed, this man. Seifer curls close against his back, stroking his hip idly, and the intimacy is amazing and it's horrible at the same time. This is what he could never really have with Rinoa, because it didn't feel right -- what she so badly wanted from him.
"Will you quit overthinking it and go to sleep?" Seifer asks, a yawn swallowing the last word. Squall wants to laugh.
"Sure."
There's a long silence and he thinks Seifer is maybe asleep. He says it without even thinking, like he's rehearsing for the morning. "Will you come back to Garden with me?"
Seifer shifts slightly and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. Apparently not asleep, then. "Yeah. Give me time to quit my job and I'll be right there."
"Idiot," Squall says, because that seems to be the only response.
"It's so nice to see you guys finally together!" Rinoa says, brightly, embracing them both in turn. Squall gives her a suddenly suspicious look -- suspicious of her visit, coming immediately after Seifer arrived back in Garden, too close to be coincidental. Suspicious of her obvious pleasure at seeing them both together, the kind of pleasure that always shows on her face when she realises a project after some work.
He doesn't particularly like the idea of being someone's project, even if the results are good.
"You arranged this, didn't you? With those dreams?"
She smiles innocently. "Well, let's say I did, shouldn't you be thanking me for it?"