Entry tags:

fanfic: final fantasy viii ficbits, fanfic: final fantasy x/x-2 ficbits

The Kissing Battle seems to be winding down. I have several files full of interesting stats about it, and will probably post those later today, or Monday. I will say the following: HOLY CRAP, as of right now, we wrote 143 drabbles/ficbits.

If that's not fabulous, I don't know what is.

I only wrote seven pieces, because everything I started ended up wanting to be a full-fledged story, and one of the seven I wrote is going to become a full-fledged story, complete with mantouching and hijinks. I had a lot of fun, though (and wrote Seifer/Squall, ha!). Now I owe a lot of people a lot of feedback.

Long Held Back (450 words)
Rinoa/Squall, G/worksafe
He refuses to see the truth that he has created.

Rinoa knew how to handle Squall when he was depressed or annoyed, the right words to say (something whimsical, to make him smile), the best place to touch him (his hands, because he automatically curled their fingers together).

His anger is different, and it took her months to figure out how to deal with a lifetime of rage that was bottled up and hidden from even himself.

"I don't want to talk about it." He didn't look at her, but she shut the office door behind her, anyway.

"You shouldn't be so mad at them, you know." He wasn't going to listen, so her words were wasted, but it felt better to talk. She stepped around the wreckage on the floor, causalities of the war that was always raging just under Squall's surface. "They did their best."

"You define best in strange ways, Rinoa." The pencil Squall was using snapped. "Your team was sloppy. You caused more damage than any SeeD team in history. You barely caught the poachers. They almost—" He dropped the pieces and picked up a pen, instead. "This was your first mission as a squad leader, and you—"

"We can't plan for everything." Knowledge of her lessons with Quistis, the uselessness of battle plans, the need for SeeDs to be creative, made her feel confident. Squall knew it as well as she did—it wasn't why he was upset. "You shouldn't punish them because you—"

The desk quaked when Squall shot up, his hands tight on the edge. "I swear, Rinoa, if you keep pushing me, I'll—"

She crossed her arms. "What? Demote me? Cut my salary? You can't be unfair to other people just because you're scar—"

Squall's desk wasn't that heavy, anyway, and he threw it, arms straining up, sent it sliding away and paper flying around them like a color-coded snowstorm. He came for her next, face dark, but she stood her ground even as he picked her up and shoved her against the wall. "Strip you of your license," he said, breath hot on her face. "Kick you out of Garden. Put you somewhere safe." His voice was eerie and calm even as his fingers dug into her arms.

She touched his cheek, flushed red and hot with anger and fear. "I'm strong," she said, and tilted her head. "Didn't you help make me that way?"

She wasn't surprised when he kissed her, shaky and slow. "Rinoa—" he said, desperate, against her mouth, and Rinoa wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.

"I know," she said, and squeezed him tight as he buried his face in her hair. "I know."


Spinning Free (444 words)
Seifer/Squall, G/worksafe
The world only skips beats for them.

"Seifer."

Squall's voice is flat, as usual. Seifer isn't jarred by it anymore, the cold, hard man Squall is, post-war, post-Rinoa, post-losing friends to Time Compression, post-feelings. The cadets around him at other library tables wince away, but Seifer only looks over his shoulder.

"Commander, what a surprise. I was just writing up my fun-filled mission briefing. Don't tell me I'm late."

Seifer can't read Squall anymore, not like he could when he was a kid, still wet-behind the ears. Being a leader has changed him in ways Seifer doesn't care for, but doesn't express, because people like him can't tell the Commander that gave asylum to turn frowns upside down. The apathy bugs him, though—the lack of care Squall has for his skills drives him crazy.

"Come with me, please."

Seifer doesn't argue; there's no point. He collects his things, but instead of heading toward the door, Squall heads toward the private study rooms. He shrugs and gives the people still watching with wide eyes a nasty look, sending their gazes darting back to their books. He follows, and the private study rooms are made for tutoring and in theory fit two people, but with both he and Squall it's awkward. Then Squall pulls the door shut, flips the lock and everything stops making sense.

The punch comes out of nowhere and lands perfectly on his midsection to send him huffing and draping over Squall's arm, dropping his notebooks. He can't breathe and struggles to suck in air, but Squall is already shoving him back against the wall, face close enough for Seifer to see the the green tint in his eyes. Squall's hand curls around Seifer's neck and presses his head against the wall.

"You could've been killed."

"You only wish for luck like that," Seifer says, and the lines in Squall's forehead deepen. "I got it done; what's the problem?" He leers, shoves hips forward. "Would you miss me?"

Seifer isn't expecting the answer to be yes, except Squall doesn't exactly say yes. He slams Seifer's head against the wall again and presses their mouths together, firm and wet and demanding. But it's positive enough, like Squall has been waiting for an excuse to feel. Squall pins Seifer's arms and presses closer, his heartbeat frantic against Seifer's chest. It's like desperation as he licks into Seifer's mouth, eyes closed and grip firm, like he doesn't want to let go, or maybe can't.

And it clicks for Seifer as he gets an arm free to wrap around Squall's neck and kisses him back, that maybe not letting go is the whole point.

The Heat Underneath (504 words)
Baralai/Gippal, G/worksafe
There's no one to see.

Baralai wiped at his forehead with his bandana. "We're lost."

"We are not lost, I know exactly where we are—"

"We've passed the same worm skeleton for the third time ten minutes ago. We are going in circles. Please admit that your magical oasis does not exi—"

Gippal shouted and pointed. "Ha! Right there!" Baralai followed Gippal's finger, fully expecting to see more endless sand. What he did see made him want to weep with relief, the shock of green rising out of the sand. If Gippal could see it and he could see it, then—

Gippal was off and running, and Baralai followed behind, tripping over the dunes that Gippal had grown up on. They tumbled into the oasis, trampling over huge leaves. Gippal stopped, dropped the pack he was carrying and pressed his hand against a tall palm. Baralai went for the sparkling water of the pool. He tossed water on his face and arms, a minor relief—he was filthy everywhere.

"This is the last time I trust you when you ask to go on an adventure."

Gippal only grinned and sat down on the edge of the pool to fill his canteen. "Come on, it wasn't that bad."

Baralai snorted. "I can't think of many worse things than wandering around the desert for two hours." He sat back and laid on the sand. "It's going to be dark soon. Why did you bring me out here?"

Baralai jumped as Gippal shifted and covered him, his head blocking out the sun. His cheeks were pink from being out all day, and his lips curved as he looked down. "You have a sunburn, Praetor. That bodyguard of yours is going to lecture me for returning damaged goods." The various buckles on his clothes pressed into Baralai's skin as Gippal bent down, and Baralai sucked warm air and the scent of Gippal's sweat.

"H-his name is Isaaru." Baralai had imagined this moment for weeks now, ever since—but hadn't expected it to happen like this. "Gippal—" His breath shuddered out when Gippal brushed their cheeks together, then their noses.

"All alone." Gippal kissed his jaw. "No way for you to avoid it. No meetings, no paperwork." Baralai arched when Gippal kissed his neck. "Stranded on an oasis with nowhere to run."

Baralai didn't like to be fooled, and really, he should have seen it coming, with the supplies and the pack and—hadn't Isaaru helped him pack? Baralai moaned when Gippal slid his mouth over the pulse in his throat and decided that he didn't care, and he might buy Isaaru a gift besides. "Gippal, I—"

He didn't get to finish, words lost as Gippal pressed their lips together, mouth gentle and slow. His hand slid into Baralai's hair and he urged with lips and tongue, asking, asking—

Baralai finally cupped Gippal's neck with his hands and kissed him back and said yes, yes, as the palms around them rustled in the wind.

A History in Kisses (312 words)
Paine/Nooj, PG/worksafe
She was always running toward him.

Their first kiss is on Bikanel.

Under the stars, in the chilly, desert night air, the wistful note in Nooj's voice for peace he had never been able to catch makes her brave. She slides in close, the light from their camp a few feet away catching in his glasses. His eyes are curious, and when she kisses him, his lips are chapped from too much sun, just like hers. It's awkward and she thinks she's made a mistake, misread his sidelong looks, but then his mouth opens and his palm cups her cheek. His eyes never leave hers, as the wind whips sand around them in the dark as their mouths move.

She doesn't know if their second kiss is real.

She dreams about it. There is always a bright flash of light across her eyelids, the steady, burning pressure of gunfire and sticky warmth on her hands. She wakes up night after night, with the memory of almost dying. She doesn't know whether the anguished cry she hears in her dreams is her own voice, nor if the warmth on her lips and cheeks comes from familiar lips of someone else or her own tears. She thinks she doesn't want to know.

Their third kiss is in Luca.

She's leaving with Yuna, and it's the right thing to do. He has a speech to give, people to rally with his presence, and yet he tugs her close with Baralai and Gippal staring in awe, presses them together with a chilly touch at her back and a warm one at her neck and kisses her, urging her mouth open, not asking, but telling, over and over again with the sweep of his tongue and the grip of his hands.

He walks away with no words, she touches her lips, and thinks it feels like flying.


Let Go (397 words)
Gippal/Tidus, G/worksafe
Here, there's just enough space to fit.

Tidus brushed sand off his legs and stared at the machine Gippal was working on. "What's it supposed to do again?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out." Gippal eyed him. "Are you sulking again?"

"I'm not sulking." Except he was, he felt like he was always sulking, caught between why and so what and Wakka's farewell message of some things aren't meant to be, ya? He had been sulking for four months that felt like four years, and he was tired. But he didn't know how to stop.

"You're totally sulking, great." Gippal dropped his wrench and plopped down on the sand beside him. "Listen, I know it sucks. And yeah, so maybe you don't really have friends right now because all your friends were Yuna's friends. But it'll get easier."

Tidus stared up at the sky. "I don't think I'm sad. I agreed with her...sort of. She was different." He shrugged. "Feels like I don't belong here without her, though."

"Hey now." Gippal nudged him with a shoulder. "Your sphere break skills say different on game nights." He rubbed his neck. "And..."

Tidus bent his head. "And? And what?"

"Nothing, forget it." Gippal went to stand, but Tidus got a grip on a buckle and tugged him back.

"No chance." It wasn't like Gippal to keep his mouth shut, anyway. Tidus was used to all sorts of opinions out of him, and if there was one about him, he wanted to hear it.

Gippal gave him a strange look. "You might punch me."

Tidus grinned. "You have a really hard head." It was a joke, funny, but then Gippal pushed him back onto the hot sand and covered him. His back was on fire and Gippal looked serious in a way Tidus had only seen a few times before. Everyone gave him those looks sometimes, because of Shuyin, but the look on Gippal's face was different somehow. "Gippal?"

Gippal leaned down and it wasn't like Tidus didn't get it—it was just unexpected. Gippal's breath was warm on his lips, and when he kissed Tidus, slow and careful, it felt like a question he'd been waiting to ask for a long time. It was easy, then, for Tidus to slide his hands into Gippal's hair, damp with sweat, kiss him back and give the answer.

Bold As Love (425 words)
Paine/Nooj, G/worksafe.
Hunters always find what they're looking for.

"She's pretty."

Paine gave Nooj a look and then looked back to the screen, where Leblanc waved in front of her new airship. Paine figured Rikku and Yuna were already on the docks where Leblanc's ship was parked. It wasn't that Paine thought that Leblanc didn't deserve whatever practical joke Rikku had cooked up—her rivalry with Leblanc would never end—but Paine didn't feel like it. "Oh? Which one?"

Nooj rolled his eyes at her and Paine grinned up at him. He tapped his cane on the pave stones and turned away from the screen when the camera panned away from the new airship. "Never thought the Syndicate would beat us."

Paine nudged him. "Oh, so you're jealous they get to show off first. Buddy said odds were, they'd burn the engine out in three months."

"Optimistic."

The square was crowded—new airships were big deals these days. Paine shuffled closer to Nooj when someone bumped her. "It doesn't matter. Airships don't find spheres, sphere hunters do. Leblanc's no hunter." Nooj's face told her that he didn't quite believe it, but then again, Leblanc had sent him an invitation to join the Syndicate. On scented paper, even, so Paine could guess where Nooj's reluctance came from.

Paine had never told him about the statue in the Chateau, but some things were better left unsaid.

"Gippal says it'll be soon, just needs a new coat of paint." Nooj's hand brushed the bare skin of waist. "What are you going to name her?"

It was unexpected, so all Paine could do was stare at him for a moment. When she finally understood, she shook her head. "You're the captain, I'm just—"

He kissed her before she could finish, his palm spread across her back as people jostled them, pressing them closer. Someone whistled, but she couldn't care. His mouth was soft and sure and his hands firm. She touched him, the skin of his neck warm from the sun, and kissed him back.

When he pulled away and moved, his lips brushed her cheek, and the skin below her ear. His cheek was afternoon-rough, and Paine shivered.

"I'm your captain," Nooj said, voice hushed, and she felt him smile. "And I say you get to name our ship." His eyes were amused when he pulled away, but he didn't let go of her. "Problem with that, pilot?"

Paine licked her bottom lip, and watched his throat jump. "No, sir," she said, and pulled him back to her.