Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Mine. ❯ Weighed ( Chapter 4 )

Warnings: Language, yaoi (duh), strange native behaviour, odd Gayla stuff…

 

Disclaimer: Don't own FF8, do own the plot, don't make money, blah blah…

 

Pairings: If you haven't guessed by now, shame on you.

 

Author's Notes: Sorry it's been a while. I've been busy with uni and teaching rounds etc etc. This chapter is a page shorter than usual, but that's because the next section is five pages long, which would have made the chapter too long. Anyways! Enjoy!

 

As before, anything marked /like so/ is native speak.

 

Mine.- KittyMeowMaxwell.

 

Chapter Four - Weighed.

 

They ate - Irvine wasn't game to ask what they were eating, if Zell would even understand him anyway - and then the native sat to fletch arrows and darts, on the floor with his powerful legs crossed lotus-style. His loincloth formed itself to his shape and often, Irvine found himself glancing there.

 

He was sure Zell had caught him at it more than once.

 

The native didn't follow when Irvine went to relieve himself, but his eyes did until the cowboy was out of sight, and it sent a flush from the base of his neck to his toes. He didn't understand why just a look from those sapphire eyes could make him shiver.

 

He was glad to be out of the cave for a while, but he daren't stay out too long. Who knew when Zell would come out and find him with the fur gone from around his body. Not only had he found it physically impossible to do what he needed to do whilst holding the fur around himself, but it was getting warmer as the day wore on, and the light mountain breeze kissing his sweat-slick skin was very welcome.

 

When he was done, he spent about ten minutes figuring a way to fasten the fur around his hips so that it saved his privacy, but he wouldn't have to hold it up. When he returned to the cave, he reasoned, he would try and get the native to give him back his clothing.

 

Then, as he was returning, Irvine spied Whipcrack. The bird still wore his bridle, because Zell had used it to tie him to the tree, and Irvine had ridden bare-back before. Granted, he didn't fancy returning to cow-chores, but his mother must be worried… And he was worried… about the confusing reactions he seemed to have to the blonde in the cave. He had to get away, and what better time than now?

 

He crept quietly over to Whipcrack, shh'ing the chocobo when he warbled happily and began to nip at the freed auburn hair. He untied the reins and flicked them easily back over Whipcrack's crest. The bird began to dance excitedly - he knew what signaled a ride.

 

Irvine had to lead him close by a rock so he could climb upon Whipcrack's back, but that was accomplished easily enough and he clicked (1) his tongue softly, guiding the chocobo to turn with a gentle touch to the reins and shift of his knees. Whipcrack turned and headed off.

 

The longer they went without Zell appearing, the more confidant Irvine became. He was going home.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Zell wasn't overly concerned when the cowboy left the cave. It must be boring for him to sit there and watch like that, and besides, every man had business to take care of. As time wore on, however, his attention began to wander from the fletching and his eyes began to flick to the cave entrance.

 

Where was Irvine?

 

When Shir'nis stuck her head in the cave and warbled lowly, clacking her beak in a manner he had long ago come to associate with concern or worry, he stood and stalked out.

 

Whipcrack was gone.

 

He snarled, showing his teeth, and quickly climbed onto Shir'nis' back courtesy of her bent knees and offered wing. He let her take him, giving her no guidance with legs or light touch, because she could surely follow Whipcrack's scent far more easily than he could track their passage.

 

“/Foolish cowboy! Doesn't he see what trouble he could get himself into?/” Zell lamented. “/He doesn't know how to survive out here, and what if Kiros or one of the others should find him? They won't hesitate to kill him for being on our lands. Ah, ah, ah! Not good./”

 

Shir'nis made a repeated, soft kweh and Zell shut up. The chocobo automatically lightened her step and her head cocked. He heard it too, the snap of twigs and shh-hiss of branches touched and displaced by passage. He narrowed his eyes. The willful cowboy would be taught a lesson.

 

Zell and Shir'nis swung around in a wide circle, easily able to judge their position in relation to Whipcrack and Irvine by the dreadful noise they were making. The cowboy probably thought they were being quiet.

 

It must have been quite a shock, Zell thought, when he and Shir'nis suddenly appeared out of the trees right in front of the fleeing pair. But he had no time to worry about that sort of thing. Not now. He took advantaged of the shock that stopped Irvine in his tracks, kneeing Shir'nis forward so that he could snatch hold of Whipcrack's reins.

 

“/Let go,/” Zell demanded and the authority in his voice must have been enough to convey the meaning, because the cowboy's slender fingers released the strip of leather.

 

Zell flicked the reins over Whipcrack's crest and wrapped them around his hand, then wheeled Shir'nis and set off at a swift trot. Irvine said nothing. He sat his chocobo (2) in silence, and when Zell glanced back, he had his head bowed, that stunning hair forming a curtain to hide his face. It was a submissive posture, a wordless acknowledgement that he could do nothing at the moment to deny the native's rules. It made Zell straighten on his chocobo's back and puff his chest out.

 

He drew Whipcrack forward, alongside Shir'nis, and guided his own chocobo closer to Irvine's so that their knees brushed. The fur having been moved to cover only half Irvine's body was an improvement, but the cowboy would take a loincloth when they returned to the cave, if Zell had to hold him down and force it around his slim hips. He looked up when Zell's leg brushed his, and his eyes were a mixture of sorrow and eagerness.

 

Zell cocked his head.

 

- - - - - -

 

From the moment Zell caught him, Irvine pondered what it meant that he wasn't overly upset the native had followed and stopped his `escape'. There were mixed, confused feelings, but he could pick them out. Upset. He was upset his mother wouldn't know where he was. Fear. What was Zell going to do with him? Frustration. Why couldn't he get free? Where was his gun? Why didn't he want to try harder? He should want to. Anger. Where did the native get off dragging him out here anyway? Eagerness. He wanted to spend more time with Zell.

 

It was a huge confusion of feelings and Irvine didn't like it.

 

Then Zell's leg brushed against his and he glanced up, finding his gaze caught and held by the native's. There was such an animal strength and wildness about him, that he took Irvine's breath away. He was unlike any man the cowboy had ever met before. He would take what he wanted and no one - least of all Irvine - better dare to argue with him. There was selfishness, too.

 

Those lips curved into a grin, the tattoo down the side of his face shifting, and he reached out to stroke the fur along Irvine's thigh. Irvine would swear he could feel the heat of the man's hand through the thick pelt. There was a stirring between his legs and he flushed, dragging his eyes away from Zell's.

 

The native's hand slipped free, but he remained beside the cowboy and their legs brushed often. Irvine had a feeling Zell was making them do that.

 

Irvine was knowledgeable enough to recognise the reaction of his body for what it was, but that was a feeling reserved for women. He shouldn't be reacting like that to a man, least of all this man. Irvine snuck another peek at Zell, thankful when those sapphire eyes were looking straight ahead. He studied the native, from broad shoulders to tapered waist to those powerful legs. Irvine had never thought a man could be so completely made of muscle. Even he, through all the heavy lifting and fighting with yet-to-be-broken chocobos, and muscling cows into flea-dips and harvesting greens by hand, was not quite so muscled. Every movement Zell made, something flexed. The cowboy felt a sudden need to stroke his palms over the tanned skin and feel the flex-and-relax beneath them.

 

He licked his lips, and `stirring' barely covered the response between his legs at that thought. He quickly looked away, ducking his head and forcing himself to calm down.

 

Oh, Hyne, what was happening?

 

He was glad when they reached the cave, if only because it gave him something to do in climbing off Whipcrack's back and tying him to a tree branch. He didn't need to look at Zell to know that he would be sent inside, so he went and curled up on his side on the furs, hiding his face. He heard Zell enter and squeezed his eyes shut, all manner of `punishments' flashing through his head.

 

There were movement sounds, cloth against cloth, and then he smelled the native close by and heard him lower his body to the furs. A hand smoothed through his hair and Irvine couldn't help but relax slightly. Zell lightly touched his eyelids and it was easy enough for the cowboy to understand the unspoken command. He opened his eyes.

 

Zell offered him a loincloth.

 

Irvine could only stare for a long moment, then he sat bolt-upright, dislodging the fingers from his hair. His hands when possessively to the fur about his hips - at least it covered more than that thing! A golden brow went up and the native pushed the issue, holding the scrap of cloth closer to Irvine.

 

“No,” Irvine shook his head. “I ain't wearin' that!”

 

The other brow went up and Zell did not look impressed.

 

“I don't care what you think, I ain't wearin' it!”

 

The cowboy fisted his hands tighter in the fur, prepared to fight for it if he had to, and the smile slipped and faltered on Zell's face. He gestured once more with the Torama-hide loincloth, and when Irvine still shook his head, he pounced. That was the only word the cowboy could think of to describe it - he pounced.

 

Irvine found himself on his back, one leg hooked over his chest, another pinning his hips down. Zell pried his fingers free of the fur, ignoring his protests, and opened it. The cowboy shuddered when Zell's tongue touched one of his little fangs and he gently cradled Irvine's length. The cowboy's breath came panting and ragged and he watched the native slowly tilt his head, lids lowering slightly. His hand shifted, but it was a strange movement - a weighing, Irvine's short-circuited brain managed to supply. He was being measured, then Zell met his eyes and gave a languid smirk, and Irvine suddenly knew.

 

You belong to me, the twin sapphires stated. This… this belongs to me. Remember.

 

Then Zell's hand slipped away and the pair of them took on the task of fastening the loincloth around Irvine's hips.

 

He didn't fight it. He was too busy fighting his body. It screamed at him, and he didn't know what it wanted, what he wanted. Men weren't supposed to… It… it was supposed to be for a man and a woman… Not… not…

 

But the fire in his belly and the stirring between his legs was for no woman. It was for this man. This wild, fierce, dangerous man. He couldn't let it get the better of him, he couldn't let himself feel these things… It was just… just… wrong.

 

Zell backed off when he'd tied the cloth, admiring his handiwork. Irvine sat up, running a hand through his unbound hair, and took a shaking breath. He glanced at the native and forced himself to just not react to the sight of him.

 

There. I can do it, he thought triumphantly, then Zell smirked at him and a quiver ran through the depths of his belly. He looked hastily away, swallowing and squeezing his eyes shut.

 

Oh, Hyne give me strength…

 

- - - - - - -

 

He could have had the cowboy then, Zell knew. He'd felt it in the way that oh-so-delectable treat had twitched in his hand - Hyne, he'd wanted to lean down and taste it. He'd heard it in the ragged way Irvine's breath hitched. Seen it in the way his hips lifted, just a little, without his consent, silently begging. He could have had the cowboy. But no. It wasn't time. He had to be patient. There was confusion there. Guilt. Zell remembered guilt, but that had all changed. He would make it change for Irvine.

 

Some ten minutes later, Irvine still sat there, quite obviously not looking at him. It would have been amusing, were it not for the fact that Zell never had been the most patient of men. He knew his patience would wear thin, and that it might be before the cowboy was ready. Some things, Zell had not learned restraint in.

 

Oh, he could be restrained during, most certainly. He would have his partner arching and moaning and begging before he gave them what they wanted, but before… He rarely waited. He wasn't used to waiting.

 

There were rules. Men who chose the path he had chosen were separated into two distinct groups and marked thus. It was easy to recognise a taker as opposed to a taken. He was a taker, and when he wanted to, he took. Courtship was short, a taken would never dare to say no, but of course it was then the taker's job to be sure the taken enjoyed himself. It was thus with men and women, also, and two women. Those who chose to be with men and women both wore appropriate marking to show this, as well as their chosen role in same-sex pairings.

 

Irvine was so obviously a taken that Zell didn't need markings to know it. His grace and beauty deserved to be cherished and his needs met by a taker. By him. This one, Zell wished to keep. This one, he would not simply spend a few nights with until he tired of it, or scattered nights here and there when he wished. No. The cowboy was to be his, forever and for always, and Zell had decided he could be faithful, as was the way. He would not only see to it that Irvine was given the marks to proclaim him a taken, but also, he would personally give a mark of his own, so all would know they weren't to touch.

 

Oh, to see that slender, pale, graceful body arch beneath his own… To hear the cries… Just imagining it was almost enough to make him groan. The loincloth suited the cowboy, Zell thought, showing off the length and muscles of his thighs, the rounded curve of his arse, the dip of his hips into his waist. It was better than all those clothes he used to wear. And his hair spilled free and silky down his back.

 

Although… now that he looked…

 

Zell frowned. He had forgotten to make sure Irvine brushed his hair after their bath, and it was snarled and knotted. His own still hung in his face, but it took only a few sweeps of his fingers to make sure it hung smooth. The cowboy, though…

 

Zell stood and he saw the flick of Irvine's eyes to him, then away again. But he noticed the cowboy couldn't resist watching him when he moved around the edge of the cave, skin gleaming with that light sheen of sweat in the firelight. Ah, yes. The loincloth flattered him, too, and he knew Irvine noticed. He was surprised the cowboy hadn't complained about the fire, but glad. He didn't know if he'd be able to explain that he needed to keep the fire hot for their food, as well as the pitch he used to fletch his arrows and darts, and various types of herbal medicines and poisons. Not without using words they could both understand.

 

The native found a Cactuar-spine brush and went over to Irvine, watching the cowboy tense as he settled behind him.

 

“Shh…” Zell whispered, which had reassured him before.

 

Irvine ducked his head a little, swallowing, and Zell reached out, smoothing a hand down his spine in a gentle stroke. The hand went no lower than the small of the cowboy's back, then slipped across to curl around his waist as the native shifted closer, knees going just a little way to either side of him.

 

Irvine shivered, but Zell couldn't manage to determine if it was a shiver of fear or one of mild excitement and expectation, anticipation. He made a soothing sound from the back of his throat and his fingertips stroked gently at Irvine's skin where they rested around his waist. The other hand brought the brush up and began to gently tease out the knots in the cowboy's partially dry hair.

 

- - - - - - -

 

There were a few long moments of nothing much but wincing and clenching of teeth, and every time Irvine made an audible sound, Zell said something Irvine could only assume to be “sorry”. Once the worst of the knots were gone, and the brush was moving more easily through his still-damp hair, Irvine tried the word.

 

“/Sorry. Sooorry. Sorry./”

 

Zell chuckled, and he sounded pleased. He said the word again, more slowly, helping Irvine to get the pronunciation right. The cowboy relaxed under the brushing, and continued to say the word until he got it just right and Zell's hand moved at his waist to pat him gently in encouragement.

 

This sparked a fervor of point-and-say, until, after about an hour of practically needless brushing and much pointing, Irvine could say “fire”, “arrow”, “feather”, “fur” and “hair” in the native's language. He would have been able to get more, he thought, if Zell were not so damned pedantic about pronunciation.

 

Zell finally left his hair alone and went to get a water-skin, bringing it over and offering it to Irvine, who nodded and took the skin. From that, he learned both “yes” and “thank you”. The native was beaming proudly at him, and it sent a warm feeling through his whole being - then his stomach growled.

 

“Lunch time,” he said.

 

Obviously, Zell didn't understand the words, but he understood the eager burbling of Irvine's stomach well enough, and he set out a lunch of salted meat and several forest vegetables that the cowboy had never seen before. Each was a new delight and Irvine thoroughly enjoyed learning the new tastes and Zell's word for each of them.

 

Shir'nis stuck her head in the cave just as they were finishing and warbled at Zell who laughed softly and went outside with the leftover vegetables, presumably to treat the two chocobos with them. Irvine sat and stared at the fire, trying to keep from glancing hopefully at the entrance every five seconds. He was fast becoming to dislike time apart from the native, even the shortest of times, and he couldn't believe just how fast these feelings had seemed to appear. The strength of his reactions was frightening.

 

It wasn't long before Zell came back and he strutted around the cave not really doing much that Irvine could see, except for showing off. The man certainly seemed to have a high opinion of his own body, and he seemed, also, to delight in demonstrating the movement of each muscle to Irvine. He was like a new chocobo to the paddock trying to win the eye of the females away from the males who had been there long before him. When Zell took a few moments to return his hair to that crest with a sticky substance out of a clay jar, the image was only strengthened and Irvine burst into a sudden fit of laughter. He couldn't explain what he was laughing at to the native, and the quizzical look on Zell's face only made him laugh harder. He got pissed off with the laughing after a while and put a hand over Irvine's mouth, muttering what the cowboy assumed to be “shut up”.

 

He crouched beside Irvine and cocked his head, as was his habit, and the cowboy had no idea what he was looking at, but it made him flush. He wanted to take Zell's attention off him, so he asked a question that he had wondered at before. Or, pointed a question. He indicated the jar Zell had taken the substance from, then indicated the blonde upsweep of hair and said the word he had learned, trying to make it obvious it was a question.

 

“/Hair?/”

 

Zell frowned at him, evidently not quite sure what he was asking, so Irvine stood and went over to the jar, picking it up and showing the inside to the native with a questioning look.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Ah!” Zell said, catching on, then called out. “Jirrah!”

 

The Gayla floated leisurely within, tail flicking, and Zell stroked his back until he settled down on the floor of the cave. Then, with Irvine crouching close by to watch, he gently opened Jirrah's large mouth, taking what looked like a big spoon from where it hung on the wall, and sticking it within until only what was in his hand was still outside. He scooped a few times, then withdrew the spoon, filled with what could only be Gayla spit.

 

“Oh, that's disgusting!” Irvine cried, and the tone of his voice made Zell grin amusedly.

 

The native indicated that he should follow and went around the edge of the fire to where he had been fletching. They both sat down and Zell gave the spoon a practiced flick of his wrist, so that the wet goo ended up in a wide, flat bowl with a splot. Pink tongue showed in the corner of the blonde's mouth and he added a tiny portion of pitch to the goo, along with a pinch of crystallized powder from a little bag and he crumpled a leaf from another plant Irvine had never seen before. A little work with a pestle and Zell produced the exact substance from the clay jar.

 

“That's wrong on so many levels…” Irvine muttered, making a face.

 

Then Zell dipped his finger in the clear stuff and drew a line from Irvine's shoulder almost to his elbow before the cowboy could protest. He yelped, and glared at Zell, who only grinned. The cowboy was amazed when it dried, stiff and hard, moments later. No wonder Zell's hair could stand up like that.

 

The native went and got a soft piece of woven cloth, tipped a little water on it, and cleaned off the concoction in one easy stroke. He smiled, moved the stuff from the bowl to the jar and told Irvine with a point of his finger that it was called “gel”. (3)

 

“That is just disgusting, you do know that, right? Yuck.” And he made a face.

 

Zell made the same face, then told Irvine the word for it. The rest of the afternoon was spent with the native teaching the cowboy how to fletch an arrow, and teaching him more words, then in the early evening, Zell stood up and beckoned to Irvine to follow.

 

They left the cave, Irvine fussing with the loincloth.

 

“/We,/” the native said, then a word Irvine didn't understand that made him frown in confusion.

 

Zell struggled, obviously trying to find a way to explain it through gestures, but nothing he tried got through to Irvine. After about five minutes of wild gesturing and more and more confusion, they both gave up, and Zell disappeared back into the cave for a moment. When he returned he had his bow in hand and a quiver of arrows slung across his back, and the cowboy had some inkling of what they might be doing.

 

They set off silently into the trees, Zell far more silently than Irvine. It seemed every time he took a step, Irvine broke a twig or set a rock rolling or kicked a pile of leaf litter. It got to the stage where he stopped stock still and refused to move a step. The native went a few steps more before he realised the sounds had stopped, and turned, cocking his head in question.

 

“/I… no…/” Irvine said, which was as close to “I can't do it” as he could get in the unfamiliar language.

 

“/Yes,/” Zell said, then another word and a gesture. Irvine realised immediately that the word was “come”.

 

He shook his head, embarrassed and nervous. He knew what they were doing, and how were they supposed to catch anything with him wandering along sounding like a roll of Armadodos? (4)

 

The native came back to him and took his arm, pressing against his side which only really succeeded in making him more nervous. He showed Irvine how to move his feet, body set low, so as to disturb as little as possible. He watched, then tried it, and he wasn't as good as Zell by a long shot, but it was better than before. They set off again, and he watched the native closely, wanting to become as silent as he. Sure, that was what it was.

 

Irvine groaned.

 

- - - - - - -

 

(1) If anyone can tell me what the fuck “clickled” means, it would be much appreciated… That's what I typed twice in a row trying to type “clicked” here.

 

(2) Geez, I guess this and the whole “clickled” incident should teach me not to be writing between midnight and one in the morning… Every time I've tried to type “chocobo” since I started writing at about eleven thirty, I've gotten “chobo”… which I'm figuring is a very poor chocobo with no home… XD

 

(3) Well, why not? *grins* Gel made out of Gayla spit. Hooray!

 

(4) Collective nouns are awesome. You know, like, a pride of lions or a gaggle of geese or a murder of crows. Yup, a murder. I figured a “roll” of Armadodos made sense. XD Expect me to play more with collective nouns.

 

Author's Note: Just because it's an awesome song and we have a bit of a cowboy theme… *sings* Save a horse, ride a cowboy! All the girls say: save a horse, ride a cowboy! Woot! Go Big and Rich! I love that song!