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Title: Autumn
Description: Seifer in a rare moment of domesticity. This is most likely from the on a sunday universe.
Pairing: seifer/squall
Rating: PG
Word count: 651
Notes: Drabbles/ficlets tend to be written at work, so they're not as lucid as some of my writing. They're also completely unbeta'd unless otherwise stated, please forgive this.
It was a perfect afternoon for the time of year. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, the air was cool and crisp and the sunlight that streamed through what remained of the autumn leaves was like amber.
Seifer, in a fleeting moment of domesticity and with a little nagging from Squall, had retired to the garden to at least attempt to rake up the leaves that constantly fluttered past the kitchen window. The small garden was bare now, they’d spent most of the summer trying to get it ready for planting the following year – after all the pub was all done now and it was time to move on in the efforts to restore the old place – and the leaves collecting on the lawn and waiting flower beds just made the place look untidy.
Having received his orders, he’d plodded outside to rake the leaves up into one rather large pile in the corner. Every time he turned around it seemed that another load had fallen from the tree and messed up the nice, neat yard again and he’d bitched his way to the lawn and back several times before throwing the rake down and considering a fira on the remaining trees.
Of course, Squall had demonstrated that even after nagging, he could still demonstrate perfect timing. Just as Seifer was about to stalk into the house, there he was. Holding a steaming glass mug of spiced cider, the same rich amber-gold of the sunshine.
Seifer took a drink, and debated on what to say as Squall drank from his own mug, both hands wrapped around the clear vessel.
“Sorry, had to kick you out.”
Squall had beaten him to it – managing to speak first even if he was still a quiet little bastard who needed poking into saying good morning at times. “Oh?” Seifer replied, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “And why, pray tell did you have to kick me out?”
“Organising your birthday present. Didn’t want you overhearing details,” Squall shrugged and set the half empty mug on one of the low stone walls that bordered the flower beds.
“If you didn’t want me hearing details, why are you telling me now?”
Bumping Seifer back half a step as gently as he could, Squall eased the glass from Seifer’s fingers. It was half empty but still warm, still scented with apples and cinnamon and nutmeg. “I realised it must have pissed you off when you slammed the door so hard the clock fell off the kitchen wall.”
“Well…,” he paused, watching Squall placed the first mug beside the second. “Wait, what are you doing?”
“Well,” Squall ran his hands over Seifer’s belly through the old fisherman’s sweater that still smelt of wood smoke and felt as soft as a feather, tracing them further up over Seifer’s chest to his shoulders and back again. It was cool out, and Seifer had wanted something warm aside from his jacket. He still got odd looks from the neighbours any time he pulled on his white leather bomber jacket. “Since I’ve admitted what it was, I need to make you forget.”
He couldn’t help feeling a little smug as he watched Squall watching him through his dark lashes, a faint little smile curling his lover’s lips. “Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“And just how are you going to do that?”
“Oh that’s easy,” Squall said, pushing Seifer briefly but hard enough to have him knocked flailing into the rather large pile of leaves behind him.
Just as Seifer was about to begin bitching again about the leaves, Squall was over him, crawling up his body to kiss him and silence any further protestations.
Oh Seifer wouldn’t forget, he decided, as Squall’s tongue stole into his mouth and his cool fingers wiggled under the edge of his sweater to stroke his hard belly. He just couldn’t remember what he wasn’t going to forget.
Description: Seifer in a rare moment of domesticity. This is most likely from the on a sunday universe.
Pairing: seifer/squall
Rating: PG
Word count: 651
Notes: Drabbles/ficlets tend to be written at work, so they're not as lucid as some of my writing. They're also completely unbeta'd unless otherwise stated, please forgive this.
It was a perfect afternoon for the time of year. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, the air was cool and crisp and the sunlight that streamed through what remained of the autumn leaves was like amber.
Seifer, in a fleeting moment of domesticity and with a little nagging from Squall, had retired to the garden to at least attempt to rake up the leaves that constantly fluttered past the kitchen window. The small garden was bare now, they’d spent most of the summer trying to get it ready for planting the following year – after all the pub was all done now and it was time to move on in the efforts to restore the old place – and the leaves collecting on the lawn and waiting flower beds just made the place look untidy.
Having received his orders, he’d plodded outside to rake the leaves up into one rather large pile in the corner. Every time he turned around it seemed that another load had fallen from the tree and messed up the nice, neat yard again and he’d bitched his way to the lawn and back several times before throwing the rake down and considering a fira on the remaining trees.
Of course, Squall had demonstrated that even after nagging, he could still demonstrate perfect timing. Just as Seifer was about to stalk into the house, there he was. Holding a steaming glass mug of spiced cider, the same rich amber-gold of the sunshine.
Seifer took a drink, and debated on what to say as Squall drank from his own mug, both hands wrapped around the clear vessel.
“Sorry, had to kick you out.”
Squall had beaten him to it – managing to speak first even if he was still a quiet little bastard who needed poking into saying good morning at times. “Oh?” Seifer replied, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “And why, pray tell did you have to kick me out?”
“Organising your birthday present. Didn’t want you overhearing details,” Squall shrugged and set the half empty mug on one of the low stone walls that bordered the flower beds.
“If you didn’t want me hearing details, why are you telling me now?”
Bumping Seifer back half a step as gently as he could, Squall eased the glass from Seifer’s fingers. It was half empty but still warm, still scented with apples and cinnamon and nutmeg. “I realised it must have pissed you off when you slammed the door so hard the clock fell off the kitchen wall.”
“Well…,” he paused, watching Squall placed the first mug beside the second. “Wait, what are you doing?”
“Well,” Squall ran his hands over Seifer’s belly through the old fisherman’s sweater that still smelt of wood smoke and felt as soft as a feather, tracing them further up over Seifer’s chest to his shoulders and back again. It was cool out, and Seifer had wanted something warm aside from his jacket. He still got odd looks from the neighbours any time he pulled on his white leather bomber jacket. “Since I’ve admitted what it was, I need to make you forget.”
He couldn’t help feeling a little smug as he watched Squall watching him through his dark lashes, a faint little smile curling his lover’s lips. “Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“And just how are you going to do that?”
“Oh that’s easy,” Squall said, pushing Seifer briefly but hard enough to have him knocked flailing into the rather large pile of leaves behind him.
Just as Seifer was about to begin bitching again about the leaves, Squall was over him, crawling up his body to kiss him and silence any further protestations.
Oh Seifer wouldn’t forget, he decided, as Squall’s tongue stole into his mouth and his cool fingers wiggled under the edge of his sweater to stroke his hard belly. He just couldn’t remember what he wasn’t going to forget.
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