Rated NC-17-- You've been warned.
~ Scorecard ~
By rhapsodisiac.
Summary: Seifer has something to say about the rant.
Disclaimer: Square owns the boys, I just mess around with them and make them fall in love. Er, hate. Er, lust. Whatever the hell it is they're doing.
~o)O(o~
"I found it, you shit."
Squall spat out some toothpaste, glancing at and quickly away from the reflection he should have already noticed in the mirror (if only he hadn't let himself get so lost in thought again). Seifer smirked, his angry one, and didn't remove his shoulder from the side of the bathroom doorframe, didn't uncross his arms. Squall put the brush back into his mouth and kept scrubbing, more violently than before, pretending that he didn't know what Seifer was talking about and that he didn't care if he made his gums bleed.
"And I can't help but believe you wanted me to," Seifer continued. Staring at his own warped reflection in the water-spotted faucet, Squall heard the crinkle of a printout unfolding. "Leaving the file on the desktop like that, labelling it with the date and nothing else. Very unlike you. Very unorganized. And certainly not very secretive."
So what, Squall wanted to say, you know the laptop's off-limits. Your fault you found it, not mine. He didn't feel guilty for whatever it specifically was that made Seifer angry -- but then he supposed it was selfish of himself not to delete it, to allow himself to write it in the first place. To even allow Seifer the chance to see it and feel bad for something that was no one's fault but his own. Shit. He spat again at a sudden fear, allowing himself room to speak around the minty bubbles in his mouth, "Did you show Zell?"
"No fucking chance."
Thank Hyne.
"I have a question."
Squall's eyebrows lifted and then twisted sarcastically. What, Seifer was asking permission? No, just announcing it beforehand, as though he didn't already have Squall's attention. Squall filled the bathroom cup with icy water as he waited for him to continue.
Seifer lifted the printout. "'He thinks I don't notice,'" he quoted, "'I always notice.'" The last sentence was growled. "Give me some damned credit, Leonhart. Of course I know you notice."
Squall filled his mouth with water, let it splash into the basin a moment later. He didn�t know whether to believe that or not. "What's your question?" he prompted, reaching for a towel to wipe his mouth.
"My question is, what gave you the right to ruin the game? Foul, Squall." Seifer's crossed the tile without catching a boot on the bathmat, and his voice lowered. "Foul." Squall stared at the faucet again and wiped his mouth a second time, stalling. He could feel Seifer's chin hovering over his shoulder, breath on his neck, and became much more attuned to the fact that he wasn�t wearing anything but a towel.
The tile under his feet and the remnants of the water in his mouth were way, way too cold. It sifted out a memory that must have been five years old at least, that he hadn't thought about in half as long: leaning down to get a drink from the outpouring of recycled recleaned water in the Training Centre, and looking up to see Seifer's reflection right over his shoulder. This time he didn't look up, because last time he tried that, he'd been shoved into the pool head first to have a too-close encounter with a prehistoric sized goldfish. Big goldfish had teeth, he had learned the hard way, and he didn't want to get bitten again. So to speak.
"And you thought you could get away with it. Didn't think you'd get caught cheating, did you?"
"Maybe I wanted to," Squall threw forward, and had to restrain his own wince.
Seifer tsked a few times. �Was that supposed to be combative?� He reached over Squall�s shoulder with his pointer fingertip extended, up to where the mist hadn�t yet receeded from the mirror. SL, he wrote, then beside it, SA, perfectly neat but still containing the upwards slash crossing the A that had made the letter his trademark since he was old enough to write it. Or since he was old enough to carry a gunblade, Squall couldn�t remember.
Their initials, side by side, like a romantic reminder in early morning of things to come in the evening. Small puffs of leftover steam twisted before the twin lamps on either side of their reflections, softening the atmosphere in a near �moment,� and then Seifer had to go and ruin it. "This is a scorecard,� he explained. Figured.
Squall lowered lashes still clumped together with dampness, scowling at the back of his hand. �Thanks," he mumbled. He wasn't disappointed by that, hell no. Seifer didn't share romance; that was his and his alone.
�You like me,� Seifer bit crisply beside Squall�s ear, �because you think I pose no obligation.� He made an amused sound, the click of a hammer inside the empty barrel of his mouth, while eyeing Squall�s reflection intently. �It�s not like I need you. You like to be the only one who needs, the victim of so many games, and you love wallowing in it. It lets you think you�re in the right, lets you think you�re safe in sadness.� Squall wanted to leave, but instead, watched his knuckles go white as he gripped the counter�s edge, compelled to endure Seifer�s performance. �But I�m not an excuse. Neither is he.�
Seifer reached forward again and added a vertical line beneath Squall�s initials, and when he pulled his hand back again, it landed beneath Squall�s chin to tilt it upwards, toward the display before them. �You actually managed to get me to pity you, and I�m not afraid to admit defeat,� he said, �Not in this case. Do you know why?�
Squall didn�t answer. Seifer didn�t fill the silence for him, just kept staring at him in the mirror, eyes unwavering as he subtly untucked the corner of Squall�s towel, terrycloth flumping peacefully at their feet.
Squall had expected this since Seifer first showed his face in the doorway. This was simple. Engage in a short staring contest, get naked, get fucked, come in the sink. It would be a pleasant (mindblowing, something suppressed nagged) start to the day, with minimal cleanup.
If only Seifer would let him not look at himself.
That hand left Squall�s chin to play at the damp locks of hair stuck to one cheek, and when his eyes dropped again, Seifer mumbled, �What are you afraid of? Don�t even look at me, gorgeous as I am, you�ve seen me a thousand times. Look at you.� His other hand played at one buttock, caressing with uncharacteristic patience, and a shiver crept up Squall�s spine. He held still and let it dissolve as goosebumps, and looked up to find his own lips already parted.
�I�m not afraid.�
�What, then?�
�I�m just not interested.�
�Not interested?� A sarcastic puff blew from Seifer's nostrils to Squall's shoulder. "Not interested in the man you're so determined to protect?"
"Shut up."
"If I took him seriously, I'd say he was a pussy, in all honesty. He's scared to death. You think you can take care of him. You think about him more than you think about me, or about Zell, most likely the two of us combined. And you say you're not interested?"
�Fucking with my head isn�t a turn-on, you know.�
In response, Seifer reached around and uncharismatically took hold of Squall�s erection � purely, by the feel of it, a gesture to prove its existence. He didn�t have to say anything, his point already made. Squall recoiled a little from the flustered image in front of him, which pressed him back against Seifer. �Rock, meet hard place, pun intended,� Seifer observed with a squeeze. Squall swore. Seifer bit him to still him. �You�re about to tell me to get it over with, aren�t you?�
Squall shut his mouth and scowled.
�You feel how hard I am?� Seifer pinned him tight to the edge of the sink, purposefully enough to make the question rhetorical. �Contrary to the evidence, fucking with your head, my dear, is about as far as I�m going to go.�
Seifer released him swiftly and disappeared around the doorway, his tall stature allowing him to move quickly without rushing. Squall rested the heels of his hands on the counter again, his hard-on throbbing frustratingly, and took a deep breath. He heard his apartment�s front door open and close as Seifer left him alone.
He wouldn�t jack off. There would be something wrong about it in this situation, although he couldn�t exactly describe what. He had administrative crap to get started with anyway.
Lifting his hand, staring at himself, Squall drew a vertical line beneath Seifer�s initials, and finished towel-drying his hair.
