Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Mine. ❯ Hunted. ( Chapter 5 )

Warnings: If you're still reading this fic, you already know and you don't care.

 

Pairings: If you're still reading this fic, you should already have guessed.

 

Disclaimer: If you think I own Irvine and Zell and Seifer and Squall and Selphie, then… you're dumb. I do own the plot and the Gayla and the chocobos and all that outside stuff that doesn't belong to Squaresoft.

 

Author's Notes: Sorry this one's been a while coming. I spilled coffee all over my laptop keyboard and it's still in the shop. Luckily, I had a copy of this fic on my data stick, so now I'm fiddling with and posting it at uni - no easy feat when people are walking past randomly… Anyway! Here it is. Oh! FF.Net readers, I'm always worried the FF.Net management, in their unending wisdom <sarcasm, sarcasm> are going to boot me off for my not-so-kiddy-safe-stuff. If that happens, I'm easy enough to find. I'm the KittyMeowMaxwell on www.mediaminer.org , http://gundam-wing-universe.net and http://adultfan.nexcess.net/ I would, in fact, encourage you to read my stuff there instead of FF.net… We all know what their “wisdom” leads to… Also, there are a couple of fics that are exclusively on other sites.

 

Enough plugs, more fanfiction! As usual stuff marked /thusly/ is native-speak.

 

Mine.- KittyMeowMaxwell.

Chapter Five - Hunted..

It was lucky, Zell thought, that Grats had no sense of hearing to speak of. Everything else they might have eaten would be well gone by the time the cowboy got there. But, to be fair, he was doing better, and the native was proud of him for trying so hard.

 

He stilled at a rustle in the trees and Irvine mimicked him - damn, he looked sexy in that loincloth… Mmm mmm… Zell forced his mind back on track and indicated that Irvine should remain there. He inched forward to peep through some thick-growing bushes.

 

“/Come!/” he hissed at Irvine. “/Quiet./” Both were words the cowboy knew and he came, obedient. “/See?/”

 

Irvine didn't know that word, but he knew what it meant when Zell pointed. He looked along the line of the native's finger and blinked.

 

“/Dinner,/” Zell said, rubbing his belly.

 

“They're Grats!” Irvine said. “We can't eat them!”

 

Zell cocked his head, then simply turned his attention to the Grats and reached up and over his shoulder to withdraw an arrow and knock it to the bow. He sighted, drawing the string back, and caught the cowboy studying the flex of his muscles with the movement. He smirked, then let fly, making a pleased sound when one of the Grats screamed and the rest of the growth fled, clicking and squeaking fearfully. The one he had hit keeled over with a low cry and Zell puffed his chest out as he strode out of the cover to his kill.

 

“/Come,/” he said, and Irvine came, making a low sound of appreciation at how clean a shot it had been.

 

Zell generally didn't bother with weapons when he hunted. It was easier for him to simply spring on an enemy and break its neck or beat it to death, but that wasn't as attractive as an arrow. Later, Irvine could see what he usually did.

 

The native took out a Belhelmel-blade knife and began to skin the Grat, showing Irvine something that obviously surprised him - there was white meat under the thick, hard shell of foliage that made up the Grat's body. He offered a strip of the foliage to Irvine and smiled when the cowboy took a hesitant bite which grew more enthusiastic when he realised it was good.

 

“/Good?/” Zell asked, and Irvine immediately picked up on what the word must mean. He was getting better, Zell thought proudly.

 

“/Yes. Good,/” Irvine replied, finishing off the strip with a few quick bites.

 

“/This is even better./”

 

Zell knew the cowboy wouldn't understand that, but it didn't matter. He carefully cut a tentacle off the creature, and it immediately began to drip rich red-and-green blood. He dipped two fingers in the liquid, then held up towards Irvine's lips.

 

“/No,/” Irvine said straight away.

 

“/Don't argue with me./”

 

The cowboy pressed his lips together in a thin line and shook his head, flatly refusing, so Zell simply swiped his fingers along those lips, and watched as Irvine's automatic reflexes took over and he licked them.

 

The sky-blue eyes blinked and blinked again.

 

“Oh! Hyne, that's good! /Good!/”

 

Zell beamed and nodded in an I-told-you-so manner. Grat's blood had a flavour all its own, a combination of peppermint and cinnamon, and it was addictive as any sweet Irvine's own people could make. (1)

 

They took home with them several fat pieces of meat and two tentacles for sweets. The rest, they left, but Zell knew the carnivorous monsters which roamed the forest would dispose of it soon enough.

 

Whipcrack warbled unhappily when they returned, evidently thinking it unfair that Shir'nis could wander around as she pleased. Zell went over and unbridled the yellow bird, figuring he wouldn't be inclined to wander off now that he'd probably forgotten where home was. And he thought Shir'nis was probably a good incentive for Irvine's bird to stay as well. He had already seen Whipcrack flaring his crest and throwing his head back to warble at her in what Zell supposed must be a musical fashion to chocobo ears. (2)

 

Sure enough, Whipcrack trotted over to say hello to the piebald bird, who ignored him. Typical woman, Zell thought with a snort, then headed inside to find Irvine already sitting on the furs and stoking the fire, onto which he had placed a new log.

 

The perfect taken, Zell thought with a lick of his lips. He tends to the fire already. I wonder if he can cook…? I wonder if he'll willingly let me have him, or if I'll have to make him want it so badly he can't refuse his body. Will he fight what he wants? Will he fight me? Ai, ai… he's so beautiful…

 

The native went around to a dim, cool corner of the cave and brought Irvine several big leaves, handing them over as he sat. The cowboy considered for a moment, then he must have remembered the way Zell had done it before and he began to wrap the flesh in the leaves. When that was done, he eyed the fire and the native wondered what he was doing when he stood and went ferreting around the cave.

 

It seemed to Zell that Irvine was already beginning to know his place. He hadn't questioned when he was given the leaves, only spent a moment working out what had been wanted of him and now he was doing it. At least, Zell thought he was, but he had no idea why the man was searching the cave.

 

“Ahah!” Irvine said suddenly and Zell looked up from his musings, cocking his head. The cowboy came back with the harvesting spoon he'd used on Jirrah.

 

“/What?/” Zell wondered, another word Irvine already knew. He had to admit the cowboy was learning faster than he would have thought possible. Yes, he had chosen well. Of course, that was to be expected.

 

“Tongs would be better, but this'll do.”

 

Irvine carefully balanced one of the packages on the spoon and eased it into the coals, making sure it was covered before putting in the next. Soon, the five parcels were all buried and cooking. Zell smiled proudly and patted Irvine's thigh, grinning at the flush that ran down the cowboy's neck.

 

He left Irvine alone only until after they'd eaten, then he was close by the cowboy's side, teaching him more new words. He touched him anytime he could manage it, and each time, the cowboy's reaction became less and less afraid and more and more positive.

 

When Irvine yawned, Zell smiled gently and cupped his cheek, drawing him forward to rest their foreheads together. The cowboy's mouth was already begging for a kiss, even if he wasn't conscious of it, but no. Not yet. Disappointment would make him want to stay longer.

 

“/Sleep,/” Zell murmured. “/Dream. I'll be here in the morning./”

 

“/Yes,/” Irvine said, smiling a little. He knew enough to pick up what Zell meant.

 

He sighed in a disappointment the native knew he wouldn't be able to put a name to, then lay down and Zell gently stroked his hair back from his face, humming softly.

 

“Zell…?” he said, already falling asleep from the combination of a long day and the stroking of his hair.

 

“Mmm…?”

 

“/I'm happy to… to be here…/”

 

Zell smiled, leaning down to brush a kiss over Irvine's brow.

 

“/I'm happy to have you here,/” he replied.

 

Irvine slipped off to sleep in bare moments.

 

Zell was happy to watch him for a long moment, so pleased to have so beautiful a man as his own. His hand stroked out of the cowboy's hair, across the gentle rise-and-fall of the chest, down the taught stomach. He hesitated only a second - what could it hurt? Irvine was asleep and he would never know Zell had taken another peek and another touch…

 

He twitched the loincloth aside, making a sound that was half-sigh, half-groan, then ran his fingertips gently down the side of the prize beneath. Irvine shifted and murmured, but he didn't wake.

 

“/Oh, you are so perfect, my cowboy…/” Zell whispered, turning his hand to run his knuckles back up the same length.

 

Irvine's next breath out was shaky.

 

Zell took his hand back before he did more than he should, and gently replaced the scrap of cloth that was all that protected the cowboy's modesty. He stood and slipped outside to check on the chocobos. They were still there, Whipcrack dancing around Shir'nis who was still ignoring him.

 

“/Foolish bird,/” Zell said, chuckling. “/It's too dark for her to see anyway. Bedtime for you. Stop annoying my girl./”

 

Whipcrack gave a few small kwehs, lowering his head and looking endearingly up at Shir'nis. She chuffed through her nostrils, and seemed quite glad when Zell returned the golden bird to his restraints for the night.

 

“/Only for the night. I don't want you being frightened and running away. Irvine wouldn't forgive me./”

 

Whipcrack still glared as he walked away, and Shir'nis gave a cocky wark, which Zell instantly shushed. He didn't want Irvine to wake.

 

When he returned to the cave, it was to find his cowboy had curled up a little and was shivering. It wasn't very cold in the cave, but Zell supposed there might be a breeze, and it would certainly get cooler during the night. He carefully banked the fire, then collected the Snow Lion pelt and went over to lay down beside Irvine. He spread the warm fur over both of them, then slipped one arm around the cowboy's shoulders, the other around his waist. He made that same wordless, sleepy murmuring and snuggled deeper into the furs and closer to Zell.

 

That pleased the native very much…

 

- - - - - - -

 

Seifer had no pattern. There was no reasoning behind the paths he chose through the trees, crisscrossing the well-worn track that lead between Irvine's home and the O'Leary's. He and his mini-posse took hours to move only part-way up the track while they searched for clues.

 

The Sheriff was just starting to think it was a fool's errand, when Squall reined his chocobo, Dot, (3) sharply off to one side of the track which they'd fallen back onto for about the twentieth time. Seifer knew better than to ignore Squall, even if he didn't bother explaining himself, so he drew Knightly to a halt and turned him in time to see the Deputy slip off Dot and into a crouch in one easy movement. Seifer was faintly jealous that a man could make so simple an action look like poetry.

 

He shook that off, and went through the low-lying scrub to where Squall crouched.

 

“What-” he started, but got no further as Squall held up an unspent shotgun cartridge, shiny new. He stood and Seifer bent so they could examine the cartridge together, Dylan and Bobby joining them some ten seconds later.

 

“Well, don't really mean nothin',” Dylan said thoughtfully, slow words like a docile cow mooing in the pastures. “But I don't reckon we got much to go on.”

 

Squall nodded.

 

“He's right. It might have fallen from Irvine's pockets or saddlebags or it might not have, but we haven't seen anything so far.”

 

Bobby scratched his ear with a work-calloused finger, chestnut eyes thoughtful.

 

“Not many men bother carryin' `round somethin' like a shotgun when a pistol are enough to save yer hide. But Irvine sure do like `em big.”

 

Seifer allowed himself a moment to drag his mind out of the dirt, then he nodded, patting his chocobo's neck gently. Without needing to say anymore, the four men set off, Squall swinging back into the saddle, in the direction the cartridge had lain off the track.

 

They found only scant hints of Irvine's passing, but they found enough to know that he'd been this way. A yellow chocobo feather nestled in the leaf-litter, a tiny scrap of fluff from the ruff of that infernal jacket of his tangled in a bush, and even - spotted again by Squall's sharp grey-blue eyes - four or five strands of long, auburn hair snagged on a low tree-branch.

 

Seifer pushed the other three mercilessly, but no one complained. They were all eager to find Irvine, if they could. Only when the sun was so close to setting that they could barely see the backs of their chocobo's heads and only when Knightly tripped and stumbled beneath him several times in a row did the Sheriff call a halt. All four men were only too glad to find a clear patch, set up camp and light a fire to cook their dinner - they hadn't stopped for lunch.

 

Bobby set tea boiling while Dylan worried about food and Squall went for firewood. Seifer unsaddled all the birds and got them fed, taking a moment to relieve himself before he returned to the merrily crackling fire.

 

Despite the business they were on, the four of them were still in good spirits. They were men of the land, and it was hard to get much closer to it than they were now. They swapped stories and told jokes and laughed, and Dylan even produced a banjo from the back of his saddle. It wasn't long before their stories had accompaniment and they even sang a few bars of well-known ballads before Seifer threw a rock at Bobby for being off-key and Squall glared at Seifer for singing the wrong words.

 

They enjoyed themselves immensely, Irvine aside, and curled up to sleep early, so they could wake and continue on with the sunrise.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Shir'nis woke him sometime through the night, creeping into the cave - a rule she knew she wasn't to break - and nosing his shoulder. He was glad of it, however, because he slipped out from under the fur without waking Irvine. The cowboy made an unhappy sound at the loss of his warmth, but he settled back into sleep almost immediately and Zell walked silently out of the cave.

 

For the chocobo to have broken a cardinal rule, something must be wrong.

 

He followed her soundlessly through the velvet night, painted with stars and the tiny sounds of the never-ending battle for survival that went on in the undergrowth. His thoughts didn't wander even briefly to the warm bundle waiting for him back at the cave, not when being so silent took all his concentration. There was silent, and then there was complete silence. Shir'nis was nervy enough to make him take extra care and be the latter.

 

It wasn't long before the sounds of male laughter and the thrum of music reached his ears. He crouched low and crept forward, waving Shir'nis to stay where she was. It was pitiful, really. They left themselves open to any number of dangers, not the least being his own people. He had seen the tall blonde one before, when he was forced to follow his cowboy close to the town that was a blight on the landscape. The one who laughed and spoke less than the others, but seemed always in deep thought, he associated with the tall blonde one, because he had never seen them separately. The other two could have been any of the men from the town and the surrounding ranches.

 

They never mentioned Irvine, but he knew instinctively that was why they were out here. He showed his teeth in distaste. They would not take his cowboy from him. He would hear them coming a mile off anyway…

 

There was nothing to stop him springing on them now and slitting all their throats. They would not know he was there before it was too late. But no… then more would come, in larger groups. Larger than even he could handle. Kiros would be angry enough with him, then, to kill both him and his cowboy. And, he knew, the dark-skinned native would make Zell watch as he forced that gorgeous body to its knees, tangled dark fingers in the masses of silken hair, jerked back the cowboy's head and slit that elegant, pale throat. That would be worse than his own death.

 

Many would volunteer to hold him helpless while Kiros spilled Irvine's blood.

 

No. He couldn't kill the four strangers. He and his cowboy would have to evade them.

 

He stayed and watched in silence, judging the abilities of each of these men as best he could without watching them track and hunt and kill. Again, he showed his teeth, this time in frustration. He couldn't trust that he knew everything about them until he saw them at work. But he couldn't waste the time to watch them.

 

He and Irvine would just have to move the next morning, and go as far as they could. He hoped he knew enough about the surroundings to find them new shelter. If he took Irvine any closer to the native encampment, trouble would be his anyway. They would have to go in the other direction.

 

Curse this would-be party of thieves! Did they think they could just march in and take from him what was rightfully his?! If it came down to it, he would fight for his right. The tall blonde one was the leader, and Zell doubted he would stand up long in a true fight.

 

But he mustn't let them use their guns. Even he couldn't dodge a bullet.

 

When the group lay down, preparing for sleep, Zell left them and returned to the cave. He rewarded Shir'nis with a sugar cube he'd taken once when he'd slipped into the cowboy's home. Mother, father and son had all been out, and he had found many interesting things in there. Shir'nis loved the sweet, white cubes.

 

He found Irvine still fast asleep, and for that he was glad. He quietly packed away everything, so that soon there was little to say they'd been there, except for Irvine still curled up in the furs. Zell joined him once he was satisfied they would be able to move almost immediately, and the cowboy turned in his arms to face him, burying his auburn head between shoulder and fur.

 

Zell smiled, and went easily to sleep.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Irvine sighed and burrowed deeper into hard-and-soft warmth, reluctant to let go of sleep. He couldn't remember ever having been so comfortable. And safe. So safe.

 

He eventually opened his eyes to find himself looking directly into the sleeping of face of his host. He blushed instantly when he realised his own leg was slung across Zell's hips, and the native's strong arms encircled him, but it faded quickly and he calmed down, realising he liked where he was. He hooked his leg further over the strong line of Zell's hip and pulled himself closer, biting his lip when that drew their lengths into gentle contact.

 

Zell shifted and Irvine's eyes widened slightly at the resultant feelings. But it was good, he realised, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Zell's neck and shoulder. He shifted his own hips far more deliberately and gasped into the native's skin, feeling a growl stir in the chest against which one of his hands rested. It made him jump, and he backed off guiltily.

 

But Zell's sapphire eyes were already studying him, darkened slightly.

 

“/S-sorry…/” he whispered.

 

A smirk spread across Zell's features, flashing those fangs, and his hand snaked quickly around to the small of Irvine's back, bringing him back to where he had been. There was nothing even remotely tentative or experimental about the way the native moved his hips and Irvine's breath caught in his throat.

 

“Z-Zell…”

 

“Shh…” Zell purred, moving his hand from the small of Irvine's back to the cowboy's thigh, pulling it a little further up his body. Irvine discovered that felt even better.

 

“Wh-what…” He couldn't manage to remember how to say the word in Zell's language, especially when the native rolled him onto his back. He still held the thigh where it was, but his movements became smoother, a gentle roll of his hips instead of a jerk. It somehow managed to rub their entire bodies together.

 

Irvine whimpered.

 

Then one of the chocobos warked and the roll of Zell's hips became a rolling of his body, off Irvine and into a crouch. He spat a word Irvine knew had to be a curse, and cast a despairing look at the problem between both their legs.

 

“/Sorry,/” he murmured ruefully, then hurried out, snatching four heavy bags from the dirt-and-rock floor.

 

“Holy Hyne in heaven…” Irvine whispered hoarsely, panting brokenly. “Oh…Oh gods…”

 

“Irvine,” Zell said a minute or so later, apology clear in his voice. “/Come./”

 

“I… I…” Irvine swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “/I can't./”

 

“/Please. Come,/” Zell said gently, coming over to take Irvine's hand. “/I,/” and then he said a word the cowboy realised instantly was `understand'. “/I understand./”

 

And yes, Irvine realised with a blush and a flick of his eyes to the native's loincloth, Zell did understand. He thought his best thoughts of Billy-Jo's Ma in a corset in an effort to calm himself down, and let Zell help him to his feet, then jumped to help when the native started bundling up furs.

 

They were soon on their chocobos, two bags carried by each bird and furs spread out beneath the riders. It was the best and only way to transport them.

 

“/Where?/” Irvine asked, and hoped Zell realised he meant to ask where they were going.

 

“/Away,/”

 

“/Why…?/”

 

Zell didn't answer him, but a glare broke momentarily across his face, and Irvine didn't want to know anymore.

 

- - - - - - -

 

(1) *chant-sings* Cinnamon! Peppermint! Grat's blood! Woo! *giggles* Fuck, we have some weird RPs… But this one was all Hicky! It was Zell that introduced Irvine to the wonders of Grat's blood. How the stuff came to taste like cinnamon and peppermint is beyond me, but damned if that doesn't sound like a bloody good combination. Suffice it to say, Grat's blood can become decidedly sexy and cause quite passionate reactions, but I swear I won't terrify you with the idea ever again. I just had to put it in. There'll be no more mention.

 

(2) Hicky: Whipcrack is singing! ~ Yes, Whipcrack is singing. Let's face it, bloody great yellow birds really aren't all that pretty, so I figure courtship behaviour wouldn't have much to do with looking sexy. More Kitty bullshit. Ain't it grand?

 

(3) More blame to be laid on Hicky. “Dotdotdot!” says she, and I obey. “…” At least she didn't try to make me get him to call it “Whatever…”

 

 

Author's Notes: Sorry for the relative shortness of this chapter, but honestly, if I'd given you the next part as well, that was another two pages, and the next part after than ran straight on from it in a way that would necessitate it being put in as well, which would have made the chapter end up about twice as long as the previous ones, which would mean I'd get to the end of what I've written faster, and at the moment, I don't have a lot of time (and my laptop is at the shop) so I'm not adding to this fic, and I don't want to leave you hanging for months and months while I write more. *takes a breath* That was a mouthful. Heh. Hope you liked the chapter.

 

…

 

…Was that one whole sentence…? ::dies::

 

Oh! Another thing. Huge thank yous to Adriatic. You made me blush and gave me a smile on a cloudy, shitty day in shitty Bendigo after a shitty hour of a boring maths lecture!