Nothing Better

Seifer/Squall. NC-17. ~1800 words. Dubcon.
He hates how Seifer’s always asking him questions they both already know the answers to.

Squall tips his face to the sky. The muggy air clings to the inside of his lungs, making each breath heavy and laboured. Rain is cool on his skin, slicks his hair to his skull and his gloves to glistening wet like the thick, meaty leaves of the Garden’s tropical plants.

Seifer’s boots thud dully on the closely-packed dirt. “You running away from me now, Leonhart?” he says, his face twisted into a nasty smirk.

Squall closes his eyes with a frown. He hates how Seifer’s always asking him questions they both already know the answers to.

He doesn’t fight it when Seifer tugs him forward by the chain around his neck. Water trickles down Seifer’s face, softening hard lines and gathering to a point to drip from his chin. From his expression, anybody else would think he’s ticked off.

“I bet you’re going to try to tell me you didn’t get my message,” Seifer says.

“I didn’t,” Squall lies. Seifer jerks harder on the chain, twists it around his fist until his glove is pressed tight to Squall’s throat. The pressure makes Squall’s eyes go heavy, and he swallows, hard, just to make it worse.

Seifer lets him do it once more before easing off. “Slut,” he says, and heat prickles the back of Squall’s neck. “Turn around.”

Squall lifts his chin. The side garden is empty, all the students inside either attending classes or blowing them off in favour of something more fun than the endless droning about SeeD protocol. The chances that somebody will wander this deep into the trees are slim.

Seifer grabs his jacket by the collar and jerks him around. Relief mixes with the twisting thrill in his gut. “You don’t want to push me today,” Seifer says, shoving him face-first against the smooth, cold wall, elbow digging into the centre of his back. “Get those belts out of my fucking way.”

Squall’s fingers fumble on the buckles, thick and clumsy in his gloves. Only a few seconds pass before Seifer puts weight behind the push of his arm against Squall’s back. Squall’s ribs begin to ache, crushed to the stone with the cold leeching heat from his skin. Spots dance in the blackness behind his eyelids.

“Seifer,” Squall gasps, and when Seifer doesn’t let up, he forgets about Seifer’s warning and shoves back.

Seifer lets go, grabbing Squall by the hair instead. Squall’s cheekbone grates on stone as he gulps down air and blinks the rain out of his eyes. “Thought I just told you not to push me,” Seifer says, the threat in his voice as hot as his breath on the side of Squall’s face.

Fuck you, Squall wants to say, but the words get tangled up in his throat when Seifer jerks at his pants, loosening them to shove a hand down the back. Rudely, Seifer’s gloved fingers push between the cheeks of his ass, cold on his hole.

“What do you think I’m going to find if I haul your pants down, Squall?” Seifer says. Battle-roughened leather rubs against tender flesh, just a bit of pressure and the idea of Seifer fingering him dry enough to have Squall rocking up on his toes and muscle clenching tight. “Some days you’re so much of a little bitch, I’m not sure you’ve even got a dick anymore.”

Squall stumbles when Seifer yanks his pants down to his knees, his fingers skidding on the wall looking for a handhold. The rain soaks his legs in seconds, cool and soothing on the warm flush of his skin. Seifer’s hands go to his hips first, haul his ass high so his spine arches, then slide down to grip the cheeks and spread him open so the rain slicks the cleft wet.

Squall’s hands curl into fists on the wall. He hangs his head, water dripping from the ragged tips of his hair. Gloved fingers move back to his hole, the come dried there turning slippery again, and Seifer pushes and prods at him until his jaw aches from clenching his teeth.

“And here I thought you’d flake out on me,” Seifer says, petting Squall’s ass like he’s a dog with a new trick. “Didn’t even have to take the potions out of your room.”

Squall’s stomach churns as Seifer starts forcing a finger up inside him. He’s too raw to take it and doesn’t think he could even if Seifer took off the fucking gloves. It’s only been a couple of hours since Seifer shoved him face-down on his own fucking bed, pinned him there biting his pillow trying to keep from screaming as Seifer did him dry just to see his asshole fucked red and swollen.

“I hear you got called to the Headmaster’s office again,” Seifer says.

Squall doesn’t hear what he says after that. Seifer’s finger shoves in him to the knuckle on one hard, brutal thrust, wrenching a harsh grunt out of him as his heart pounds in his ears. Seifer doesn’t wait to start fucking him open, leather tearing at his hole, driving hard inside him to scrape delicate tissue. His stomach rolls, quivers. Something thicker, a second finger or Seifer’s fucking fist, pushes at him, and his knees buckle.

“Stand the fuck up,” Seifer snarls in his ear, catching him around the waist, shoving him at the wall when he doesn’t get his legs under him fast enough. “So, did you?” Seifer asks, finger still buried deep in Squall’s ass but not fucking him anymore. “You suck his dick for some extra credit?”

“No,” Squall says, moans, his voice gone rough with pain. “No,” he repeats when Seifer’s finger jerks free to shove in again, and hates that his cock is thick between his legs, throbbing with his pulse and precome drooling from the tip.

“Yeah, how come?” Seifer says, and fuck, Squall hates this part, too. “You’re a slut, Leonhart. Ass up and tongue out all the time just waiting for someone to fuck you.”

“Didn’t,” Squall gasps.

“Why not?” Seifer presses, threatening again to give Squall another finger.

“Only suck yours,” Squall says, reaching back to claw at Seifer’s wrist, the wet hair sticking to his face obscuring his vision. Seifer pushes harder. A shot of animal panic flares hot under Squall’s skin and he twists away, scrambling to say what Seifer’s waiting to hear. “Only let you,” he says, words tumbling over themselves, “fuck, only want you to fuck my face.”

Seifer’s fingers draw back. Rain strikes Squall’s exposed skin, tiny needle pinpricks that aren’t soothing anymore.

“You want me to fuck you right now, don’t you, Leonhart?” Seifer says, jerking Squall’s head back by the hair. Squall keeps his hands on the wall, already spreading his legs wider before Seifer kicks at his boots. “You don’t care if your ass starts to bleed as long as you’re on my cock.”

Squall squeezes his eyes shut and whispers, “Yes,” too quietly for Seifer to hear over the pounding rain. But Seifer’s never waited for anything like consent, and it wouldn’t be the first time Squall hasn’t been able to walk right after.

Still, when the head of Seifer’s cock pushes at his hole, Squall can’t stop himself from shying away. Stars explode in front of his eyes when Seifer’s hand clamps down on his balls and squeezes.

“You got a problem?” Seifer says over Squall’s rasping breaths.

Squall hears himself apologising like it’s someone else’s voice, hears himself beg Seifer not to leave him without a fuck first, hears Seifer calling him a slut and a bitch and worse, and all he does in response is ask for lube instead of the potion Seifer’d promised if he lasted this long.

This is always when things begin to blur. It burns, itching pressure like ants biting at his skin as Seifer’s cock works inside him on short, jarring thrusts. There’s lube but not enough to ease the friction, not near enough to make a difference when he’s already this sore.

Seifer’s balls slap his ass and he tries to spread his legs wider, forgetting about his pants caught just at his ankles. Seifer laughs, plucking roughly at his nipples, twisting flesh and pinching at the insides of his thighs. One touch melts into the next until everything is an ache, his pulse beating at the inside of his head, throbbing in his cock and in his ass where Seifer pounds him against the wall.

It never takes long for Seifer to come unless the point is to make Squall work for it. But Seifer’s gotten whatever he’s wanted this time and he comes on a low, appreciative groan that Squall can’t help but echo. Seifer pulls back and Squall follows, shoving himself back on Seifer’s cock to feel thick heat spill inside him, sharp and stinging rubbed into torn flesh as Seifer gives him a few more thrusts for being a good enough fuck.

Seifer steps back and Squall sags forward without his support. Squall’s legs tremble, and he realises they’re going to give out seconds before he stumbles into the wall, his shoulder hitting it first before he sinks to the wet, muddy ground.

“Jerk off,” Seifer says. Dazed, Squall turns towards the sound of his voice. He’s standing under a canopy of trees, the bright flare of a cigarette on his lips. He slicks a hand over the mess on his cock, glancing at his hand before holding it out to the rain to wash it clean. “You heard me, Leonhart,” he says. “I want to see you jerk off right there in the dirt.”

Squall says alright, or thinks he does, and wraps a shaking hand around his dick. Only a few hard tugs and he comes with Seifer’s voice in his ears saying it figures it’d be that easy to get off for a fag like him.

The cigarette butt hits the ground beside Squall. Seifer pushes it into a filthy puddle with the toe of his boot. “Pull your fucking pants up,” he says.

Stumbling to his feet, Squall finally notices the mess he’s in, the come smeared between the cheeks of his ass, down his thighs, mixing with the thin mud. Disgusted with himself, he hauls his clothes up, and doesn’t think about his cock still being a little thick.

“Go wait in your room,” Seifer says, skinning Squall’s hair back from his face with a dirty glove. “And don’t take a shower.”

Seifer leans in and Squall tilts his face up, mouth open for Seifer’s tongue. He thinks about biting, about spitting in Seifer’s smug face, but when Seifer pulls back all he does is walk away, licking the taste of Seifer off his lips.


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