Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Mine. ❯ Beaten. ( Chapter 8 )

Warnings: Yaoi, of course, Zell's ego… Nightmares, bad language, blahblah… If you're still reading this fic, you don't mind any of this anyway!

 

Pairings: Yeah…

 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Final Fantasy cast, but I do own everything else, so if you take it, be prepared for a horrible, horrible death by drowning in Gayla-spit hair gel.

 

Author's Notes: Sorry it's taken so long! We had no internet! //cries// It's so sad to be without internet! But here it is! Here it is! Do enjoy, won't you?!

 

/This here/ as you ought to know, is native speak.

Mine.- KittyMeowMaxwell.

Chapter Eight - Beaten.

Whispers. That was how it always started. Whispers he couldn't quite understand, though he knew they were talking about him. Backs turned to him, ridiculing him, laughing, joking, pointing, grimacing.

 

Shouting.

 

He cringed and tried to hide from them, but there was nowhere to hide, in his dreams, in his mind. It tore into him, a long-lived pain that he couldn't escape.

 

“Wrong.”

 

“Sinful.”

 

“So arrogant, too!”

 

“Disgusting…”

 

“Don't touch him!”

 

“Horrible.”

 

“He must be disturbed!”

 

They were nameless, faceless shadows, chasing him to a point where he was certain there could be no return. His gun invited him, beckoned, crooned. Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth.

 

This was the only way to free himself, to get away, to hide. He knew, now, there was no place for him. He was too strange, too different, too twisted and wrong.

 

“Seifer.”

 

He flinched, fingertip twitching on the trigger.

 

“Seifer! No!”

 

No? But what else was there? It was the only real answer, the only real release.

 

“Seifer!”

 

“Seifer…”

 

- - - - - - -

 

“Seifer!”

 

He awoke with a start and a twitch, sweat on his brow and his heart in his mouth. It took a long few moments for him re-orient, and realise Squall wasn't jerking the pistol from his mouth and wrestling it away from him, wasn't holding him as he sobbed and begged and pleaded to just end it all. His gun was safe in its holster, Squall's face steely as ever above him, but he could see the worry in the storm-coloured eyes.

 

“Squall?”

 

“You were dreaming again.”

 

Seifer shuddered. He remembered how he'd gotten to that point, how desperate he had been. He remembered how, after taking the gun from him that first time, Squall had basically been forced to baby sit him for three months, to keep him from doing the same thing. That was the time he'd let himself believe his Deputy and friend might… but Squall had gently rejected him, careful with his fragile psyche.

 

Hyne, you're beautiful… Seifer thought painfully, then shook his head to clear it of such thoughts.

 

“Thanks…” he murmured. “Glad you woke me.” He sat up, running a gloved hand through golden hair and swallowed. “It's worse if it goes… if…” He trailed off, then glanced at Squall. “In the dream… sometimes you don't stop me…”

 

Squall drew him close and hugged him tightly, Seifer, as always, surprised at the act of kindness, but glad of it. He let the Deputy hold him, though it galled him to let anyone see his weaknesses. He hoped Dylan and Bobby were still sleeping - assumed they still were, or there would be no way Squall would let his guard down so much.

 

“I'll always stop you,” Squall said fiercely. “You're my best friend.”

 

“I remember a time when we hated each other,” Seifer said as they separated and Squall chuckled ruefully, nodding his head.

 

“I thought you were an arrogant know-all, too young to have the Sheriff's badge when I only had the Deputy's.”

 

“Well, I was an arrogant know-all.”

 

“You mean you are,” Squall said in a deadpan voice that only served to make the comment funnier.

 

Seifer chuckled and shook his head.

 

“Watch it, Deputy.”

 

“Or what?”

 

“I'll give your badge to Knightly.”

 

“Sure. I believe that. You going to go back to sleep?”

 

Seifer shifted, running a hand through his hair and lowered his eyes.

 

“No… I… don't think so. I might just go for a walk.”

 

“You want company?”

 

Yes. But more than you're willing to let me have, so…

 

“No. I'll be fine. Go on back to sleep. I'll wake you soon as the sun rises, anyway, and we all know how much of a morning person you're not.”

 

Squall swatted him lightly, then headed back to his own bedroll, curling up a little under his covers and grousing about how they'd got cold. Seifer considered offering to help warm them up for him, but discarded the idea and headed off into the trees. He had to stop thinking those things, or it was going to get him into serious trouble with his best friend.

 

- - - - - - -

 

That night, as they reached the cave Zell had been aiming for, the native relaxed somewhat. This was much harder to find than the last one, and Zell was fairly confidant the tall man and his group would not be able to find them. He would go back later, leaving Jirrah to take care of his cowboy, and erase their trail, then lay some false ones.

 

Between the two of them, it took only a few moments for them to set the cave up as the previous one had been, then Irvine curled up in the furs, watching as Zell made and lit a fire.

 

Firelight truly did the cowboy wonders. It stroked his skin, gilding it, painting it to gold and throwing fingers of shadow across it. It was getting harder and harder - in more ways than one - to ignore his wants. He wanted Irvine, wanted to taste his skin and feel his pulse under his tongue, be it in his throat or in his arousal. He wanted to hear him moan and see him go wild beneath him.

 

It plagued his dreams, and their sleeping beneath the same fur wasn't helping any. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out. He didn't know if he would make it to tomorrow morning.

 

Maybe he could satisfy himself with a kiss or three, but he doubted it. He knew his own body, and he knew a kiss would only make him want more.

 

Zell occupied himself getting their dinner ready and hanging the weavings around to soften the walls, doing it all in the most strutting and show-off way possible. And his cowboy watched him the entire time, trying, he knew, to sneak a peek beneath Zell's loincloth.

 

Well, it was truly worth a look, if he did say so himself, which, of course, he did. Ah, yes. Irvine would squirm at having Zell inside of him. There was no feeling, the native was sure, to compare to it. There couldn't be, because there was no one to compare to him. He was strong, he was capable, and a stunning lover. Irvine would be satisfied with no one else after he had experienced Zell.

 

When they'd finished eating, Irvine looked expectant in a way that almost made Zell give in. He wanted to take his taken. Oh, how he wanted to. But no. He could not let his guard down. Not yet. Tonight, he had to check on their pursuers and lay false trails, eradicating the one true one.

 

He taught Irvine how to fletch an arrow, laughing with him at the myriad of failed attempts, especially when the native tried to send one flying out the cave mouth, but it whistled strangely and heeled to one side, pinging off the edge of the stone and ricocheting off at a wild angle to hit Jirrah side-on. The Gayla gave a burbling yelp and burrowed under the furs. They decided not to test anymore of Irvine's fletched arrows for a while yet, though, after an hour or so of doing it, he started to get better.

 

The focused concentration soon wore him out, however, and Zell noticed his eyes begin to droop. He didn't want to stop, in fact, he was forced to physically remove the tools from Irvine's hands in order to get him to. He smiled at his cowboy, brushing a kiss along his temple as he lay down under the Snow-Lion pelt, shoving Jirrah aside a bit.

 

Irvine's eyes were already flickering closed, but he murmured a complaint when the native moved to go back to his work.

 

“/You are safe,/” he assured Irvine, touching his silky hair.

 

He adored Irvine's hair. Many men and women of his people wore their hair long, but it was nearly all dark-hued, and much thicker, coarser. Irvine's was smooth and light, and fell beautifully about his shoulders. The cowboy didn't like sleeping with it down, Zell could tell, but he would get used to it, because there was no way the native would have it otherwise and, of course, what he decided was what happened. He knew his taken was starting to understand that.

 

“/I know… I just…/”

 

- - - - - - -

 

It was hard to remember he was supposed to be resisting the needy, wanting urges the native made him feel, and Irvine forced himself to stop speaking, to pretend like it didn't matter. He had been going to tell Zell he felt lonely. They had traveled through so much forest today, it made him feel small, and he dearly wanted the native to hold him, remind him that he wasn't the only human on the planet.

 

Zell's hand was soft in his hair, and Irvine sighed.

 

“/You what…?/” the native wondered gently, fingers going deeper in an almost massaging motion.

 

“/Nothing…/” Irvine murmured, hearing that his own words were slightly slurred from tiredness and the soothing touch. “/I'm fine… Are you… Are you going to, like, sleep here tonight… with me…?/”

 

He tried to tell himself he didn't sound hopeful, that he was only gathering information so he could prepare himself for the event.

 

“/Of course. Where else would I sleep? You belong beside me./”

 

Irvine smiled, and he was too tired to remind himself he shouldn't. He sighed, relaxing under the stroke of Zell's hand and the purr of the Gayla by his thigh. He was asleep in minutes, tired out by traveling all day and then concentrating on the fletching.

 

- - - - - - -

 

“/Jirrah,/” Zell whispered sharply, and the Gayla slipped out from under the furs, making Irvine murmur wordless protest. “/Take care of him,/” the native told Jirrah, then ushered him over to lay atop the furs, over Irvine. The Gayla settled down, but didn't close his eyes.

 

Zell tiptoed silently out of the cave and whistled softly to Shir'nis. She came, Whipcrack on her tail, and the native wagged a finger at Irvine's chocobo.

 

“/No./”

 

He warbled softly as Shir'nis bent and proffered her wing for Zell to climb up and the native was surprised when Whipcrack mimicked her. He looked so mournful when they were ready to leave, that Zell gave in.

 

“/Alright, but be quiet. No singing./”

 

They set off into the night, following their own tracks back between the trees. It was easier and faster to travel without Irvine and things to carry.

 

Again, Zell heard their followers before he saw them, two of them in low conversation. He slid from Shir'nis' back and told her to stay. Whipcrack, he told more forcefully, but the gold bird seemed to understand well enough. Maybe Shir'nis was rubbing off on him.

 

The native stepped through the shadows, silent and swift. His bare feet made the smallest whisper of sound every so often, and his fingers brushed lightly against leaves and tall grasses, but that was it.

 

“…alright?”

 

Zell parted the bushes a little and saw two of the group were awake, one sitting up in his bedroll, the other just returning to his. He cocked his head, eyes narrowing a little.

 

“Yeah, he'll be fine. He has nightmares sometimes… It's a long story, anyway, and it isn't my business to be telling you, Bobby.”

 

“If the Sheriff's unstable, or-”

 

The brunette cut across the other's words, sounding angry.

 

“He isn't unstable. Everyone has nightmares.”

 

“I guess…”

 

“Go back to sleep. Trust me, I've been his Deputy for a long time now, and I know him. He's fine.”

 

The other grumbled a little, but he lay back down and Zell showed his teeth in a feral grin. His hand dropped, touching his thigh briefly, then moving up to the little pouch at his hip. From it, he withdrew his blowpipe and a dart. There was a soft sound as he slipped the dart into the pipe. It was time for a warning.

 

The pipe came to Zell's lips and the dart whispered in deadly silence through the darkness. He didn't need to see it to know it had hit its intended target. He returned his blowpipe and shifted, starting to stand.

 

Cold, cold metal pressed into the base of his skull and his eyes widened, fingers flexing against the ground. Surely, surely there was only one thing that would feel like that against his skin.

 

“Where's Irvine, savage?” a voice growled, soft and dangerous.

 

Zell's tongue darted out to wet his lips and he hissed. Yes, he had been foolish not to notice there was one missing from the group, but still. Did this man think he could honestly best him? Even with a gun to his skull, he was more than a match for Tall-and-Blonde.

 

“I said where is he?!” The snarl was accompanied by a jerk of the pistol, grating against his bone in a way that made a dull ache begin at the point where it pressed. He heard a click, and knew the gun was cocked.

 

This man's arrogance was his undoing, Zell thought dispassionately as he moved, fast as a striking Anacondaur, hand flashing up to catch the wrist that held the gun. His very isolation was his downfall. The native jerked and twisted, satisfied the ugly pop of a dislocating thumb. Tall-and-Blonde bit back a yelp - foolish. He didn't want his companions to know he had been so easily overpowered. Embarrassment was his second mistake. The gun fell from his fingers and Zell's other hand came up to his jaw, laying him out flat with an - obviously - impressive display of skill.

 

He still held the wrist and, as he placed a foot in the center of Tall-and-Blonde's chest, he pulled upward, threatening to dislocate more than a thumb.

 

Jade eyes glared up at him and he smirked.

 

“Irvine…” he told the downed man. “Mine.”

 

He reached down, a hand curling around Tall-and-Blonde's throat, and pressed his thumb and forefinger to two vulnerable pressure points. (1) The man passed out and Zell grinned, dropping the wrist he held.

 

Now, they would have to turn back. He had beaten their leader, and staked his claim, and they could not argue that. They had no right to come for Irvine. Zell's dominance and right to ownership were proven.

 

Although…

 

Zell dusted off his hands and went back to Shir'nis and Whipcrack, frowning slightly. These were not his people. Irvine had already shown a misunderstanding of his place and the proper behaviour and there could be no guarantee that, even though Tall-and-Blonde now knew who was the better, he would just go away. The chocobos moved silently, heading for the cave while he thought.

 

The native growled and touched Shir'nis' shoulder suddenly, reverting back to his original plan of wiping out their trail and laying false ones. He should have killed that man when he had the chance, he realised, but it was too late to go back now.

 

No matter. He was still much smarter than them.

 

He spent roughly half the night making certain the group would spend days chasing their own tails, then returned to the cave, adding a couple of logs to the dying fire, then slipping beneath the Snow-Lion pelt.

 

Irvine half-opened his eyes and the sleepy, happy smile he offered warmed the native more than any fire ever would. Zell drew him close, watching the cowboy's lips already part in half-aware asking.

 

Ah, so beautiful.

 

Irvine struggled to understand the new feelings and needs, Zell knew, but in this state, his body took over. The native wasn't one to deny him, and he knew these encounters would only whet the cowboy's appetite further. He dipped his tongue gently within the offered mouth, taking it for a soft, slow kiss.

 

His taken made a small, wordless sound, tongue running willingly along Zell's own in silent encouragement. It started gentle, exploratory, but it soon grew hungry. Irvine's fingers flexed against his shoulder and his own hand went to the cowboy's hip, pulling them into closer contact.

 

“Zell…” Irvine whispered into his mouth when they parted for breath, and it brought him back to his senses.

 

He was tired, Irvine was half asleep and now was not the time. Now was the time for sleeping.

 

“Irvine…” he murmured back, stroking red-gold away from pale neck. “/Not yet./”

 

“/But-/”

 

“Shh. /Now is not the time. I… I am tired,/” he admitted and after a moment, Irvine chuckled at that.

 

“/I thought you maybe don't get tired./”

 

“/Not often,/” Zell replied with a grin.

 

“/Arrogant,/” Irvine said, then sighed. “/But… I…/”

 

“/Tomorrow,/” the native suddenly promised on impulse. He knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer anyway, and he was loathe to do so. The cowboy wanted him, that much was obvious, and they were both hungry for one another. “/Tomorrow, I'll show you how beautiful you are./”

 

Irvine snorted a little, but he was smiling.

 

“/But not in a she-folk way?/” he hazarded.

 

“/Definitely not she-folk,/” Zell agreed, tucking the fur tighter around both of them. “/Sleep. Dream./”

 

The cowboy nodded obediently and tucked his head down against Zell's bicep, eyes flickering shut. He'd hardly woken up, so it was bare moments before he was sleeping again.

 

Zell wondered if he would be so agreeable to things when he was fully awake…

 

- - - - - - -

 

Squall stirred and automatically glanced over to Seifer's bedroll. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, certain his eyes must be lying to him. The morning sun painted the trees and the dead fire a soft gold-orange, displaying for the Deputy's eyes that, yes, Seifer was still gone.

 

His hand went automatically to the pistol resting in its holster by his pillow and he hissed at Bobby and Dylan. Dylan grumbled, burrowing deeper beneath his covers. Bobby didn't move.

 

“Dylan! Bobby!” he snapped lowly. “Wake up!”

 

Dylan grumbled some more, but he peeped, bleary-eyed, out to see what Squall wanted. The Deputy tapped his finger against his gun, then indicated Seifer's bedroll and Dylan arched an eyebrow, but went for his own pistol.

 

“Wake Bobby, would you?” Squall whispered. “I'm going to see if I can find the Sheriff.”

 

Dylan nodded warily, fully awake now, and got up while Squall set off into the trees. He did an automatic circuit around the perimeter of their camp, so he came upon Seifer soon enough. He cursed softly and hurried to the Sheriff's side, pressing his ear to his chest. Seifer's heartbeat was strong and steady, his breathing deep. He seemed simply to be asleep.

 

Squall gave him a shake and, when that didn't rouse him, a couple of soft slaps to the cheeks. The Sheriff stirred, eyes screwing shut, then slitting open, and he hissed suddenly, drawing his right hand up against his chest and cradling it as he sat up.

 

“Fucking cocky bastard!” he exploded ferociously, surprising the hell out of Squall.

 

“Seifer…?”

 

“He was here. Right here! I had my gun in his neck, for Hyne's sake! How the hell did he… Shit, Squall, he was so fast. And strong. Damn, could have broken my arm. Did dislocate my thumb.” He held it out for his Deputy's perusal. “Can you pop that sucker back in for me, please?”

 

Squall shrugged, then calmly reached out and `popped that sucker back in'. Seifer scorched the air with heated words, then suffered in brooding silence while the brunette splinted it.

 

“You'll be fine,” he said flatly, then; “Who was here? Who was fast?”

 

“The savage. The one that has Irvine.”

 

Squall arched a skeptical eyebrow.

 

“It could have been any savage,” he pointed out, smirking when Seifer swore again at a particularly hard yank with the strong grass he was using to tie the splint. “Sorry,” he said, but didn't sound it.

 

“Sadist… and it was him. He told me so.”

 

“He… told you…” Squall said disbelievingly. “Right. He just out and said `Oh, by the way, I've got that man you're looking for, Irvine.' I'm sure…”

 

“No. He just said mine.”

 

Squall blinked at him, dropping his now-splinted hand.

 

“Mine?”

 

“Yeah. He said `Irvine. Mine.'”

 

“He spoke our language?”

 

“Only the one word. Seemed to struggle a bit with it. But he was pretty fucking clear. He's got Irvine and he knows we're looking for Irvine. He kicked my arse,” Seifer indicated the purpling bruise adorning his jaw. “Then let me know for sure he has him. I get the feeling he figured that'd be enough to make me turn around.”

 

“That would make sense…” Squall mused.

 

“What…?” Seifer stared at him.

 

Squall made a noncommittal sound, then waved a hand.

 

“Before I was your Deputy, I was someone else's, remember?”

 

“Yeah, but what's that got to do with-”

 

“Shush. He was fascinated by the savages. Studied them whenever he had a spare five minutes. They have a very physically-based society. If you can beat someone else up, then you can tell them what to do, especially when it comes to people. There's an obvious divide, marked by tattooing, between sex-roles. Basically, they have a fairly loose culture when it comes to that, but if a male wants to keep a female, then she doesn't get a say, and he beats off any competitors who might want to change his mind.”

 

Seifer stared harder.

 

“O…kay… One, I think that's the most words I've ever heard you say in one go. Two, Irvine isn't a female.”

 

Squall snorted.

 

“Seifer, you of all people ought to know that isn't the point. They accept that difference in their people much more readily than we do. `Female' is a relative term.”

 

“Irvine isn't-”

 

“The savage must think he is.”

 

“But-”

 

“Sheriff! Deputy! Y'all better git on over here!”

 

They were both jogging out of the trees in seconds.

 

Dylan was kneeling beside Bobby who was on his back. He'd opened Bobby's shirt and they could see every vein in sharp, livid purple relief. Each tainted vein lead back to a black-feathered dart in the man's neck. His lips were drained of blood, his eyes wide and staring, and his fingers had a death-grip on the bedroll beneath him.

 

“Hyne fuck me!” Seifer spat, kicking a rock so hard that it shot off, rebounded from a tree and hit Knightly in the toe, making the bird wark in protest.

 

“Poison,” Squall muttered. “I've… seen that before… An attack… a death… A Malboro did it.”

 

“This wasn't a Malboro, it was the savage,” Seifer muttered.

 

“I know that… but… Seifer, he got the poison from a Malboro. That means he killed one. That's no small feat. If he can kill a Malboro, he can kill us.”

 

Seifer snarled.

 

“I'm not letting some backward, brainless savage beat me, Squall! You and Dylan take Bobby's body back to town, but I'm not stopping!”

 

Squall snorted, running his gloved hand through his hair.

 

“Don't be stupid. I'm coming with you. Dylan, you take Bobby on back and let them know what's going on. Tell… Tell Mr. and Mrs. Kinneas we're doing everything we can to get their boy back, but let them know… let them know where he is, that it's going to be damn difficult and we might not… Well, you get the picture. Sorry to make you have to do that.”

 

“Don't worry none `bout it. I've had to give bad news afore. I'll just take `nough food to git me back to town, y'all take the rest, yeah? Bring him back, if yeh can.”

 

They wrapped Bobby's body in his blankets and tied him as carefully as they could to his chocobo's back, then switched and changed around saddle bags until everything was balanced and most of the food was with Squall and Seifer. The Sheriff and Deputy took their hats off and paid silent respects until Dylan and Bobby were out of sight, then Seifer swung grimly into the saddle.

 

The savage had a lot to pay for.

 

- - - - - - -

 

(12) Bullshit? I have no idea. I never said I was working in any conceivable realm of truth here… I don't know jack about pressure points.

 

Author's Notes: Zell is so awesome in this fic. I love writing him so much. He kicked Seifer's arse! Yeah, baby! Booyah! …Is it wrong that, upon my current re-playing of Final Fantasy X, I'm actually coming to like Wakka…?