Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Mine. ❯ Warned. ( Chapter 7 )

Warnings: Yaoi, slash, of course. Native Zell, bad language, the usual stuff that makes everyone love this fic.

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Squaresoft characters or any of their affiliates, but I do own the plotline and the personalities of Whipcrack, Shir'nis and Jirrah. I also own Dylan and Bobby - but you can have them if you like. I don't make any money off this fic, only fans.

 

Pairings: Seriously…

 

Author's Notes: Anonymous from gundam-wing-fanfiction, you're slightly nutty. Obsessed and nutty. It's rare that I update more often than fortnightly or so… In fact, just a warning, but I don't know when the next update will be. I'm going home and the internet access is shaky at the moment, since we moved house. But fear not! I won't have disappeared.

 

On to the fic! As usual /indicated native speak/.

 

Mine.- KittyMeowMaxwell.

 

Chapter Seven  - Warned.

 

“It's all…” Squall murmured, then swore and whistled through his teeth in a way most unlike him. But Seifer knew how he felt.

 

They'd found Irvine's clothes and his gun, along with most of Lightning's tack stashed under a pile of rocks some thirty minute's ride from the cave they were currently in. The only reason they'd found it was because Seifer had been so bored and frustrated with finding no clues that he'd started throwing rocks to pass the time, and he'd happened to dislodge the top one, which set them all falling and revealed the flash of dark metal that gave away Irvine's gun. There were no tears in the clothing, only dust, and it was evident they had been disposed of and then, on a second thought, hidden away.

 

“Sure'n all these signs scream `savage', Sheriff,” Bobby drawled, indicating the burnt-out fire, dried pitch, old animal skins and various other leavings within the cave.

 

“Don't mean that's got anythin' teh do with `is clothes, but,” Dylan reasoned, though he sounded disbelieving of his own words.

 

Seifer's spine crawled. His hunch was confirmed and it made him nervy thinking about it. What would a savage want with one Irvine Kinneas? If they had come across one another by accident, surely someone would have ended up dead. That bespoke planning, even kidnapping, but what in Hyne's name would be the point?

 

If the savages meant to bargain, to keep the land they were slowly losing, then taking Irvine was an exercise in futility. His family wasn't rich, and they owned one of the smallest ranches in the area. He also wasn't important enough to call the attention of anyone richer or more important than his own family. It didn't make sense.

 

Squall shook his head and ran his gloved fingers through his dusty hair, then shrugged his shoulders.

 

“At any rate,” he said slowly, tugging absently at the cuff of his red-brown deer-hide jacket. “They've been gone long enough for the coals to go stone cold and this pitch to dry solid. At least a few hours.” He swept his hat back onto his head and glanced at Seifer.

 

“We're not hanging around here,” the Sheriff said instantly to the unspoken question. “We've got to get as far as we can before sunset.”

 

Bobby had disappeared, but as the three of them left the cave, he came striding back through the trees, a grin on his face.

 

“Bet our savage weren't happy he had to move on. I'd reckon he scouted out `n' saw us a-comin', or there ain't no way he'd've left. Cave here's the perfect place. Come see what I found.”

 

He waved a hand and turned to head back the way he'd come. The others looked at each other, then followed after him. When they reached the hot lake, Seifer heard Squall groan in appreciation - man always had been a sucker for a hot bath.

 

“Shit. Will yer lookit that…” Dylan murmured, whistling lowly.

 

Bobby nodded.

 

“Constant water supply, cave's nice `n' closed in - stay warm as toast - and then there's this. `N' we know game's purdy good `round here.”

 

“Seifer…”

 

“Squall?”

 

A smirk tugged at the corners of Seifer's mouth - he knew what Squall was going to ask for.

 

“We've got time for a swim, don't we? Obviously whoever's got Irvine isn't going to do anything too vicious anytime soon…”

 

Dylan was already leaping naked into the hot water.

 

“Guess we do,” Seifer said with a raised brow. Who was he to turn Squall down if the Deputy wanted to get naked and wet…? “Nosiree, not me…” the Sheriff muttered, smirking slightly.

 

“What was that?” Squall asked, looking sidelong at Seifer partway through undoing his dark, dark jeans.

 

“Nothing at all, Squall. Nothing at all.”

 

They were soon all four of them splashing about in the water with no idea that dark eyes watched them.

 

- - - - - - -

 

They were just preparing to move off the next morning, having woken quite contentedly in each others' arms, when a blow-dart hissed through the air, only missing Irvine because Zell saw it coming and threw himself at the cowboy, pressing him to the ground. He crouched over his charge and showed his teeth, hand inching towards the pouch at his belt, where his own blow-pipe was nestled.

 

“/I'd refrain, if I were you…/” Kiros' voice came clearly to them both and he and three other dark-skinned natives melted out of the trees.

 

Zell crouched lower, covering as much of Irvine's body as he could without lowering his guard. The cowboy lay still beneath him, save for a tremble that coursed through his frame every minute or so. He was afraid. And he should be, Zell thought, visions of that elegant throat slit to scarlet flashing across the backs of his eyes.

 

“/What do you want, Kiros?! I'm moving away from your lands!/”

 

“/They come for him,/” Kiros said, showing his own teeth and puffing out his chest in a conscious show of intimidation and domination. Zell didn't back down or move from his protective position and his eyes flashed rebelliously at Kiros.

 

“/They come after us. It makes no difference to you. They won't come near your lands./”

 

Jirrah appeared from some dark hidey-hole even Zell hadn't seen, and the Gayla's short fuzz-fur stood on end, wing-fins mantling. He hissed and one of the braves' tight-drawn bow settled upon him.

 

“/Jirrah!/” Zell snapped, fearful for the Gayla's life. “/Be calm. All is well./”

 

Jirrah made his low, wet purring sound, but harsher, firmer - a growl. He floated over to Zell's side and the native reluctantly stood, waving the Gayla to take up his protective position. If he must lose one of them, he would rather it be Jirrah than his cowboy.

 

“/All is not well,/” Kiros spat, the Cockatrice tail-pinions in his hair clattering and hissing against one another when he made an almost violent gesture in Zell's direction. “/You bring down these men upon us, all for foolish pride. Slit the creature's throat now and be done with it. It will never please you./”

 

Zell slit his eyes and strutted two steps forward. How dare Kiros tell him what to do with his property, his taken?! Chief or not, the choice was not his.

 

“/I bring nothing down upon you, only upon myself. We're well away from the camp. We're no threat to you./”

 

Body language and gestures were exchanged, each man reminding the other of his dominance, in different areas. When Zell refused to back down, Kiros snarled, and it was only Old Law that protected the blonde from attack. Kiros could not touch him without due provocation or cause and, despite what the Chief said, there was no cause.

 

“/It will bite you, in the end, Zell. It cannot be trained. You'll fail and it will go back to its people, and they will kill you./”

 

Zell crouched a little, holding himself ready to attack and making sure Kiros knew it. He did have cause. Despite Kiros' place in their tribe, he still had no right to come into another man's place and start making demands. Impermanent or not, this was his place, and he would defend it, and his property, if Kiros forced it of him.

 

“/You are looking for me to fail, Kiros. You want reason to throw me out. You've wanted reason since the moment you laid eyes on me. Even now, you think you can use this to get rid of me. I'm taking him away from my people for their sake, not yours. I don't care if the Outsiders take your life. You're only endangering yourself and these braves by being here./”

 

Kiros' eyes flashed and he showed his teeth again, out of habit more than the belief that it would have any effect. Zell only returned the gesture, and growled from the back of his throat. Two of the three braves took a step backward.

 

“/You won't dispose of it…?/” Kiros wondered dangerously.

 

“/No. I'll keep him./”

 

“/Then I will slit its throat myself!/” Kiros snarled. “/You can't protect it all the time./”

 

“/And you can't stay away from camp for too long. Go home, Kiros. Go home./”

 

Zell lowered his body further, muscles tense and twitching, and he only wasn't throwing himself at the Chief because he respected the Old Laws and the very position of Chief, even if he didn't respect Kiros himself. If the man took one step towards Irvine, Zell would kill him.

 

Kiros curled his lip in disdain and turned his back, a rude but easily understood gesture.

 

“/You'll have to bring it to camp eventually, if you want it recognised as a taken, and yours at that. Be certain that gaining the HeartSeer's (1) approval will not be easy for you, youngling./” He spat the last word as an insult, then stalked off into the trees, waving his braves to come after him. All four soon disappeared.

 

Zell snarled and threw the nearest available object - a lump of rock - in the direction Kiros had come. Why must he pester and interfere?! Zell knew what he was doing! He knew he had been right when he said Kiros was looking for a way to get rid of him, but he had broken none of the Old Laws - and would break none.

 

He took three deep breaths and turned to face Irvine, around whom Jirrah was now securely wrapped. He looked afraid, but desperate to hide it. His pride made Zell proud. The native's face softened at the sight of him - how could it not? He was so beautiful, strong, elegant and, Zell was sure, passionate.

 

Oh! How he wanted to lay Irvine down and give him the pleasure he deserved, make him arch and cry out and plead. To take his own pleasure in the giving. But they were too vulnerable here. He would have an arrow or a blow-dart in his unprotected back while he took what was his.

 

To say the least, that would certainly ruin the mood…

 

Zell went over to Irvine and offered a hand. They still needed to move onwards. If Kiros and his braves had seen the group searching for Irvine, and come here following, surely they couldn't be more than a few hours behind.

 

Zell only hoped this new shelter would be hidden enough to keep them safe without having to keep on the move. While it was a treat to watch his cowboy swing so easily with the movement of the chocobo, they couldn't talk properly, and there was a lot he wished to teach his newest taken. There were proper tasks and behaviours Irvine would need to know.

 

They packed swiftly and were soon off again, Jirrah weaving among the trees, appearing and disappearing as he pleased.

 

- - - - - - -

 

After they'd been riding for a little while, and Irvine grew bored with the endless and repetitive scenery of trees, he spoke.

 

“/Why want me, when it causes trouble for you?/”

 

Zell glanced over his shoulder at Irvine, eyes veiled, then he returned his gaze forward and Irvine wondered what he was hiding. It wasn't the first time he'd wondered it, and the conversation this morning had given fuel to that wondering.

 

“/Impossible not to want you,/” Zell said after a long moment of silence, but there was more to it, Irvine was sure.

 

“/Why not one of your own kind?/”

 

At this, Zell gave a strange snort of laughter that Irvine thought might well be sarcastic. He wished he could see the native's face, and to that end, he kneed Whipcrack forward, bringing him alongside Shir'nis and Zell. The native looked at him, arching a golden brow, but didn't send him back. Irvine watched him struggling for a long moment before he reluctantly spoke again.

 

“/My own kind, as you say, are none of them beautiful as you, and certainly not special as you./”

 

“/Special?/” It was Irvine's turn to arch a brow. “/What's special about me?/”

 

Zell looked at him then, with eyes that were faintly sorrowful, then it cleared and he smiled, reaching out to pat the sharpshooter's cheek.

 

“/You will see. Now, worry only about traveling. Worry only about me./”

 

Irvine rolled his eyes slightly. It seemed everything was about Zell. (2) But then, it was hard to worry about much else when all there was to see were trees, Zell, chocobos, trees, Gayla, trees, Zell. To say that Zell was probably the most interesting thing to see would be an understatement.

 

As they traveled, Zell taught him some more obscure words and broadened his knowledge of the native's language. He was surprised himself at how quickly he'd picked it up, and how easy it was now to speak it. Then again, there wasn't much else to do as well as see, so he supposed it wasn't really so surprising.

 

Zell halted them at midday and went about teaching Irvine more about hunting. They caught their lunch, cooking it, then ate while they rode.

 

“/You always only eat Grat?/” Irvine wondered, arching a brow when Zell gave a chuckle.

 

“/No,/” the native said after swallowing his latest bite, a laugh in the word.

 

“/But I haven't seen you catch anything else./”

 

“/You'll be upset if I tell you,/” Zell asserted, still smirking. By now he was licking his fingers clean and Irvine was momentarily distracted by watching the native's tongue.

 

“/No I won't,/” he said after a longer-than-necessary pause and a shake of his head to clear it.

 

“/Will. Although, comforting would be enjoyable./”

 

Irvine blinked, then pretended he hadn't heard that, and persisted.

 

“/Why? Why have I only seen you hunt Grats?/”

 

Zell gave a longsuffering sigh, settling his hands back in his lap, and he looked solemnly at Irvine. The cowboy blinked a few times at him, all sorts of ideas on what Zell might be about to tell him meandering through his mind.

 

“/Too loud./”

 

Irvine frowned, totally uncomprehending.

 

“/What…?/”

 

“/Grats can't hear. They're deaf. You make noise enough to scare off anything else. Grats is all I can hunt with you./”

 

The cowboy stared at him, then flushed and looked away, embarrassed at this revelation. He thought he'd been getting better today. Zell's warmest chuckle slid down his spine and the native came over to him, patting his shoulder.

 

“/Sorry,/” Irvine said. “/I'm surprised you haven't got rid of me by now, what with being chased because of me and, like, not being able to hunt properly./”

 

The native shook his head.

 

“/Grats are good enough food. You'll get better, it takes a long time. It took me many days, many weeks. You can't expect to know instantly and you've already learned to speak very well./”

 

Irvine smiled at the compliment, turning his eyes shyly to the native. He'd realised it wouldn't be appreciated - proper, probably - if he initiated any contact between them, but he desperately wanted Zell to kiss him right then. He hesitated, then wondered softly;

 

“/Will you kiss me?/”

 

Zell cocked his head and a smirk curved his lips. He cupped Irvine's chin and drew him forward a little. The cowboy was already parting his lips and he shivered when the native's tongue dipped gently within before his mouth captured Irvine's own. He realised Zell must rather like that way of kissing. So did he.

 

The native's hand came to his waist and Irvine was just glad they were both such good riders, or there was no doubt they would have fallen off. Irvine already felt as though the ground had fallen out from beneath him. His stomach leapt, then settled into a low, simmering almost-fire, warming further when Zell's hand smoothed up the thigh closest to him. His tongue met the native's, a heady, addictive feeling, and one of his own hands went to Zell's shoulder.

 

The native broke away long before Irvine would have wished it and licked his lips, reaching out to brush his fingertips along the cowboy's lower one.

 

“/You're eager for me. I am pleased,/” he said, smirking a little and Irvine found he had a small smile to offer in return. He liked the thought of pleasing Zell, whatever that pleasing might entail.

 

Right on the heels of that realisation came the one that it was an altogether too female thought. (3) Dammit! Zell was confusing everything and making it all weird. Whoever heard of two men doing… being… Whoever heard of it anyway?!

 

Irvine looked away, cursing himself, now, for asking what he had of Zell. He was supposed to be resisting these strange urges, and he should never have behaved the way he did when he woke up in Zell's arms. Never mind that it felt… well, good. It just couldn't happen anymore. He would resist!

 

Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion whomever `they' were that Kiros had talked about `they' were coming after him. Of course the town would have sent someone by now - he'd been gone three days. Was it only that long?

 

He settled into a melancholy silence, watching Zell's back and thinking of home and how strange his life had become since he left. He forced himself to keep away from thinking any thoughts involving himself, Zell, touching and sweat.

 

It was harder than he thought it might be.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Of course, the next morning, Seifer regretted the selfish urge that had lead him to let Squall Leonhart get naked and go for a swim. They had wasted the rest of the afternoon, and camped in the cave they'd found, and now the trail was even harder to follow. Whether or not it was a product of the time they'd wasted, Seifer still blamed that. He pushed the others mercilessly, snappish and standoffish, which inevitably began to irritate Bobby, Dylan and even the possibly un-irritatable Squall.

 

By about lunch time, said Deputy snapped.

 

“Seifer! It's over! It's done with. We maybe made a mistake, but beating us up about it isn't going to help Irvine! Nor is beating yourself up so get over it and be a decent leader. Stop taking it out on us!”

 

Seifer snapped back.

 

“It's your fault, Leonhart! If you hadn't wanted so badly to go for a fucking swim, we wouldn't be having this argument!”

 

Squall growled, quite unlike himself.

 

“If I remember rightly it was Dylan in the water first, and besides that you could easily have said no!” He reined Dot closer, dropping his voice to a vicious hiss so the other two couldn't hear it. “And don't think I don't know why you said yes, either, Sheriff. Did you enjoy the view?”

 

Seifer's righteous anger deflated at that and he looked away, ashamed of himself. Squall was right. He had no one to blame but himself. The Deputy's hand came to his shoulder and, when he glanced up, Squall gave him a slight smile.

 

“Everyone makes mistakes, Seifer, even you. Let's just get on with it, okay?”

 

Seifer was mildly surprised. Not only was it the most words he thought he'd ever heard Squall say in the space of five minutes, that last part was the nicest thing he'd ever heard Squall say. He couldn't help but smile back, if only because a smile actually looked kind of funny on Squall's face.

 

“If you two're, like, done with yer manly bondin'…” Bobby drawled. “We should probably get goin'…”

 

Seifer glared at Bobby, but the man was grinning teasingly. Squall just rolled his eyes and pulled his chocobo's head around to follow Bobby. Seifer followed Squall.

 

They found few clues that day to let them know whether or not they were on the right track, but Seifer's gut was leading him and, since his gut had been right about the savage in the first place, he was inclined to obey it. He was reluctant to stop at all, even well after the sun had set, but it was dangerous for the birds and for them, a low-hanging tree-branch or kamikaze creature real worries.

 

The mood had been subdued their second night, but it was even more so now. They all knew they only had enough food to keep them for two, three more days at the most, and it would take them at least a day, probably more, to trek back in a direct line to the town. There was only so much they could hunt, and they all knew the savage would know the place like the back of his hand and be easily able to find enough to feed himself and his captive.

 

They settled down to sleep much earlier, so they could wake much earlier, and it took Seifer a long time of tossing and turning to finally drift off.

 

- - - - - - -

 

(1) Is this not a cool word?! Well, it's better than the stereotypical “Matchmaker”, which I originally had, and was saved from by the inventions of - yep, you guessed it - Hicky. What would I do without her? Well… I probably wouldn't be writing this fic at all.

 

(2) In the words of The Great Zell-Puppeteer Hicky: “S'all `bout the fighter!” Or… in this case, the native.

 

(3) No, I'm not a male chauvinist. Pretty damn hard when I'm a female… It was the thinking of the time I'm… sort of… loosely… portraying in this whacked out fic.

 

Author's Note: Yay! Kiros! I love Kiros so much, but he's so mean in this fic! I'm sorry Kiros! *schnoogles him*
Kiros: Get… it… off… me!