The general consensus seems to be that I’m not following 
the challenge anyway, and I’ve already gotten one vote in 
favor of hooking Squally-boy up with someone. It's going to
wind up Squall/Irvine, but please, feel free to chime in with 
your preferences.

This chapter is going to be sort of an interlude, and the next 
chapter will explain the events within this one, and so will take 
place in the time between the last chapter and this. Our boys 
had a VERY busy day. ;)

*******************************************************
Complete Me, Miserable
Chapter Three: I’m Supposed to Love You Back
*******************************************************

Squall’s afraid of being left alone.

He’d never admit it, of course. But I remember him crying in the 
rain after his ‘Sis’ left, wondering aloud why he wasn’t good 
enough to make her stay, wondering what he’d done to make 
her leave. 

He’d never admit it, even to himself, but since then he’s been 
terrified of solitude. You think he couldn’t have gotten a single 
dorm? Hyne, he’s one of two gunblade specialists in the *world*. 
They would’ve given him just about anything he asked for. They 
did for me.

But he chose instead to live with Mister Hyperactivity, even though 
he made it seem like a lack of choice with a ‘whatever’ and a glare. 
But he was craving company, and some part of his GF addled brain 
must have recognized Zell as "familiar".

Oh, didn’t think I knew about that? Sure, we aren’t supposed to 
have GFs junctioned outside of class, but I practically *expected* 
him to keep at least one. 

I told you, terrified of solitude.

That he picked Shiva and retreated into his Ice Prince shell tells 
you just how contrary a fuck he can be. 

So the memory loss is the worst in him; Hyne, I even remembered 
his name. I remembered that rain-soaked little boy long after he 
forgot the reasons behind our constant fighting. I remembered.

But then, I actually prefer to do without the GFs. Too much like 
asking for help, and I’d much rather handle things on my own. 
Not that I can’t use with the best, but I’ve seen what abuse can 
do.

Look what it did to Squall. Poor fuck doesn’t even remember why 
he can’t stand to be alone. No, I have little enough of my past as 
it is; I don’t want to forget anything I don’t have to. 

Zell’s forgetting I understand; he left us so long ago, and he actually 
got adopted. He actually had a family to make new memories with. 
And then he met Quezacotl, who seems to love that spiky-haired 
bitch as much as Shiva loves Squall. 

So Zell’s memory loss makes sense; and besides, it’s probably a 
good thing he’s forgotten growing up together. As I remember it, I 
wasn’t much nicer to him then than I profess to be now. In public, 
anyway. Which I’m not giving up for anything-- Chicken Wuss is 
*pretty* when he’s pissed off. 

But Squall . . . he forgot because at some point he decided that 
he wanted to. 

That’s right. He *used* the GFs like a fucking drug to make the 
pain go away.

Except the GFs only got rid of his memories; his pain stayed 
behind, perhaps intensified by his forgotten reasons. All he 
knows is that he hates to be alone.

You can’t really heal unless you can remember the wound. 

He just goes on like this, living alone and hating every second 
of it, unable to trust someone to stay with him long enough to 
be happy.

So I don’t leave him alone. Not that he’s happy about my presence, 
usually. He’d just blow me off if I tried a nicer approach, though; he 
may not remember it, but he’s always resented Zell’s friendship with 
me. 

And it has been a friendship. 

Sort of. 

Remember now, Chickie’s cute when he’s mad. He might not 
appreciate that, but I certainly do. Always have, always will. 
******


I walked down the hall with my usual confident, assertive stride, clinking 
oddly with every other pace. 

I had a present for my Chickie. And after the day we’d just had, we both 
deserved a test run.

Zell’s room was roaring; I could barely hear something like "Dig me 
now, fuck me later" screaming over his bitchin sound system, too loud 
for coherence.

Why’d the Chickie have to be the only one of us with money?

When I strode through the door, my trench coat flaring artistically, the 
floor and walls were actually throbbing with the bass and occasional 
techno trill. I bet Squallie-boy was loving this.

Indeed, the Tight-Assed One was absent; I feel for the guy, but 
he can be a drag, so I breathed a sigh of relief and advanced 
on Chickie’s side of the dorm. I tapped on his door- slightly open, 
good sign- but he obviously couldn’t hear me, so I nudged the 
door a bit. It swung wide.

Zell was dancing. Not unsurprising, true; the song had a hard, 
fast beat, and Chickie loves anything involving movement -wink 
wink nudge nudge say no more. He was doing a fast, unstructured 
head banging one-man mash pit around his tiny room, singing 
along to a chorus of  "And sing it to the tune of suck it, suck it, suck 
it" into the handle of a broom.

That’s right. He was also cleaning.

I leaned into the doorjamb, smiling a bit to myself and raising one 
brow curiously at the words. "I been denied all the best ultra sex,"? 
Hardly a fair charge. I’d thought our sex life quite . . . successful.

Zell had hit the chorus again, and gyrated around to very suddenly 
face me.

He stopped moving abruptly, and I frowned.

He clicked his stereo to ‘OFF’.

"Having cyber sex with someone other than me?" I asked him, 
playfully though he probably couldn’t tell from my tone. 

"Umm, Seifer, we don’t have cyber sex." 

He’s also terribly cute when he’s confused. 

Which is usually. All the better for me, then.

"You busy?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow again in what I know 
to be an exceedingly effective expression. He grinned, that little 
curl of lip over one canine. Very sexy.

"Not anymore," he grinned, bouncing a little bit on his heels as 
though preparing for a fight. 

"Drop the broom," I suggested, and the broom hit the tiles with a 
clatter. I held up the cuffs I’d been holding behind my back. "You 
might want to turn the music back on."

He skinned out of his clothes-- an older pair of his usual skater 
shorts and a tank stained unto death-- before I could even set 
down the cuffs. I had to smile at his enthusiasm; who wouldn’t 
approve of a willing worker?

Zell climbed onto his bed, the usual dorm mattress from hell 
with an iron headboard and frame, my addition. He sprawled 
out, face up, all gold-dusted muscle in the harsh dorm lights. 
We look beautiful together, gold skin on gold skin. He was 
singing along to the chorus again, though only mouthing the 
words since I was in the room-- he has a wonderful voice, but 
won’t let anyone hear it. 

Squall might have heard it, if Zell always sings when he’s getting 
dressed.

If so, I might have to kill him. Or Zell. Or both.

I chained Zell to the bed, his arms above his head and linked 
together by the cuffs. I grinned to myself. Chickie’ll have a tough 
time straining the bed frame like this.

"Seifer, c’mon!" he whined, pouting at me sexily. As a sort of 
reward I leaned down and nibbled around to one nipple; I paused 
there for a moment, just breathing him in . . . And then bit down. 
Hard.

"Wahhh!" he yelled, startled. I drew back, smugly examining the 
deeply-indented nub of flesh, watching the blood flow back into 
the tip. His chest was heaving, and he’d started out in a sweat. 
He was also glaring at me. "What in Hyne’s name didja do that 
for?" he demanded.

"You taste good," I purred, hoping to worry him. It worked.

"No more eating me!" he said fervently. "Back to the sex!"

"Absolutely, Chicken," I said. I was smiling. He wasn’t. He 
tensed when I mouthed near his nipple, but I just licked the 
abused flesh, and leaned back to watch him shudder.

"Seifer," he whined, writhing prettily. 

"What," I sang, mocking his tone of voice. Now he was pouting. 
I love this!

"Could you please *get on with it*!" he yelled, flexing his hips 
insistently.

Apparently danger makes him as horny as it makes me. Good.

I yanked his legs down and apart, just to watch him grind his ass 
into the blankets, and worked a hand down between his thighs. A 
light sweat had sprung up on his gold-dusted skin, and I used that 
and a little spit to work in a finger.

Don’t try this at home kiddies. Lube is for safety. What we do . . . 
is for fucking idiots. In every sense of the words.

Zell moaned, and pressed down against me; my wrist was starting 
to hurt at the angle, so I scooted closer to his end of the bed, so 
that I was cupping his scrotum in my palm and working my fingers 
in below that. He apparently approved, as he started moving about 
desperately in a pathetic attempt to hump my arm.

I worked in a third finger; his face twisted, but I was fondling his 
prostate, so it could have been pleasure or pain or both. Either way, 
I had no intention of slowing down. He’s just as pretty hurt as mad.

His perfect white teeth closed on his pouty lower lip, and I had a 
sudden flash of//

broken white splinters of bone 
spit blood 
dripping on snow 
from a bow-shaped mouth

//and gasped. My fingers must have twisted in response to the vision, 
because Chickie moaned and thrust upwards desperately. I held him 
down with my free hand, splayed broad on his belly, a worried frown 
wrinkling my brows.

These visions were coming more often, now.

Now working my fingers in a slow thrust, I ducked my head down into 
the junction where shoulder meets neck, drinking in the sweat-scented 
skin there, licking a broad strip up to his ear so that he shivered and 
laughed..

"Stop, Seifer," he muttered, still gnawing that pretty lower lip. I couldn’t 
watch. "Just get on with it!"

I smiled. I’m sure it was a cruel curling of the lips, just enough to bare 
fangs; Zell calls it my sexy grin. I never bother to argue. I kissed the 
skin I had just licked, feeling a tendon thrum beneath my teeth and I 
bit down.

Zell squalled, pun intended, and bucked up onto my fingers. I pulled 
them out roughly, keeping my teeth clamped in his sweet flesh, feeling 
the blood rise to meet my teeth as I threw one leg over his writhing 
hips. I love the writhing. I got one knee beneath his thigh, pushed the 
other aside carelessly until he rested partly on top of me, and thrust 
home.

He squalled again. My teeth had broken through those first delicate 
layers of flesh, as my cock had sunk into his innards. He bucked, 
and I bit him again, wanting him still and compliant as I battered 
into him. He loved this. 

Always had.

That infernal music was still playing, and I released his mangled 
shoulder to take his mouth, roughly, biting at his lips until we both 
bled crimson, coppery tang of life in the close and humid air. The 
roar of the T-rexaur was far from here, sunk in his own blood. Zell 
was sobbing, and I keened, teeth snapping closed on his throat 
as I came, shuddering.

Everything was dark, and still. After a time, Chickie mewed, and 
I worked a hand between us to pull at his erection until he arched 
and screamed and came. Then darkness again.

"Hey, Seifer?" Zell said, hoarsely.

"Yeah, Chickie?" I asked, not opening my eyes.

"We’re getting sticky."

"Shut up, Chicken Wuss."

"Don’t call me that!"

"Sure thing, Chickie."

Then black.

******

We were lounging, sweated out on Zell’s cotton-blend sheets, when 
he of the kinky pants returned. 

"Zell?" Apparently Chicken had put our song on repeat, for when 
Squall’s head popped in our door it was to the tune of "I love 'em 
when they don't give a mutha fuckin' shit". "What are you listening 
to?" the brunette asked with his distinctive look of disdain.

"Umm, Shiva’s Bitch," Zell murmured sheepishly. I rolled over to 
look at him, raising one eyebrow.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Not another one," Squall muttered, shaking his wet brown hair and 
ducking back out of sight. Wet? How many showers did that boy take?

"What was that about?" I wondered, staring after him.

"You don’t know?" Zell squealed, sounding utterly delighted. "There 
are like ten bands named after Shiva: Loving Shiva, Shiva’s Influence, 
Shiva’s Lover, Shiva’s Bitch, umm, there are more, I just don’t listen to 
them."

"That’s . . . bizarre," I muttered, wondering why my sword or something 
equally cool didn’t have band-groupies. A GF? GF’s aren’t cool. 
Memory-sucking devils . . .

"You okay?" Zell asked; I returned my attention to Chickie, grinning 
lazily.

"Not as good as I’m going to be," I said suggestively. 

"Again?" Zell squeaked, surprised but apparently pleased.

"This music is making me horny," I rumbled, crawling to cage him on 
all fours, doing a push-up until my chest just touched his. "You?"

"Me?" He squeaked again. "I’m good to go!"

"As always," I chuckled, letting it rumble through our chests. I felt 
so *good* when we were together! Like rolling in sunshine or a 
blanket fresh from the dryer. Warm and fuzzy.

What? 

I’m not allowed to want warm and fuzzy?

***
A/N The song misquoted is actually "Faggot", by Mindless 
Self Indulgence; chapter title taken from "Miss You Love" by 
silverchair.