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.