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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Our Time Is Running Out
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Quistis/Selphie
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: The doors close and they're locked in. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
10lilies.
Selphie stumbles a little, and without even breaking her stride, Quistis catches her hand and pulls her up, dragging her along. Around them, sirens are shrieking, and ahead of them, large iron doors are slowly swinging closed, shutting them in. Quistis' breath is catching in her throat and she can hear Selphie almost sobbing in the effort to catch her breath.
There's a sickening crunch as the doors close, locking against each other with the shrill, scraping complaint of iron. Selphie skids to a stop, grabbing Quistis to keep her from running into the door. Both of them stand for a moment, panting for breath. "Shit," Quistis says, and then because that doesn't seem quite enough, and if there's any time to curse, this would be it, "fuck."
Selphie giggles, high and nervous. "Can you imagine what Zell would be saying if he was here?"
Quistis wants to laugh as well, but the adrenaline makes her feel sick and shaky. The red light isn't helping either; somehow, it's giving her a headache. She sits down on the floor carefully, forcing a smile when Selphie plops down beside her.
"How long do you think we've got?" Selphie asks, suddenly quiet.
She shakes her head. "I don't know."
"This is like the Galbadian Missile Base all over again," Selphie says, even quieter. She moves closer to Quistis, her skin hot even through Quistis' sleeves. Quistis carefully wraps her arms around her, holding her close.
"We escaped from that. We can escape from here."
"We were lucky that time."
Quistis nods. She presses her face into Selphie's hair, feeling it silky-warm against her face, tickling at her neck. She holds Selphie tightly, thinking about how thin and frail she seems. Somewhere inside her, a mental ticker is coming to the fore: there were ten minutes to go when they ran. They must've taken five on the stairs, racing upwards, stumbling and nearly falling. Two since they arrived at the door. Not long left.
Selphie shifts slightly in her arms and all of a sudden she's being kissed. It's a clumsy, awkward kiss, noses and teeth bashing, limbs getting in the way at the wrong moment, a desperate kind of kiss.
"For luck," Selphie says, sounding out of breath. Quistis holds on tighter.
Pairing: Quistis/Selphie
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: The doors close and they're locked in. For
10lilies.Selphie stumbles a little, and without even breaking her stride, Quistis catches her hand and pulls her up, dragging her along. Around them, sirens are shrieking, and ahead of them, large iron doors are slowly swinging closed, shutting them in. Quistis' breath is catching in her throat and she can hear Selphie almost sobbing in the effort to catch her breath.
There's a sickening crunch as the doors close, locking against each other with the shrill, scraping complaint of iron. Selphie skids to a stop, grabbing Quistis to keep her from running into the door. Both of them stand for a moment, panting for breath. "Shit," Quistis says, and then because that doesn't seem quite enough, and if there's any time to curse, this would be it, "fuck."
Selphie giggles, high and nervous. "Can you imagine what Zell would be saying if he was here?"
Quistis wants to laugh as well, but the adrenaline makes her feel sick and shaky. The red light isn't helping either; somehow, it's giving her a headache. She sits down on the floor carefully, forcing a smile when Selphie plops down beside her.
"How long do you think we've got?" Selphie asks, suddenly quiet.
She shakes her head. "I don't know."
"This is like the Galbadian Missile Base all over again," Selphie says, even quieter. She moves closer to Quistis, her skin hot even through Quistis' sleeves. Quistis carefully wraps her arms around her, holding her close.
"We escaped from that. We can escape from here."
"We were lucky that time."
Quistis nods. She presses her face into Selphie's hair, feeling it silky-warm against her face, tickling at her neck. She holds Selphie tightly, thinking about how thin and frail she seems. Somewhere inside her, a mental ticker is coming to the fore: there were ten minutes to go when they ran. They must've taken five on the stairs, racing upwards, stumbling and nearly falling. Two since they arrived at the door. Not long left.
Selphie shifts slightly in her arms and all of a sudden she's being kissed. It's a clumsy, awkward kiss, noses and teeth bashing, limbs getting in the way at the wrong moment, a desperate kind of kiss.
"For luck," Selphie says, sounding out of breath. Quistis holds on tighter.
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