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Wild Animals

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They were just supposed to be playing, just messing around, but of course Seifer can't take anything lightly and when he gets like that Zell's not about to let himself get beaten, either, so even the taunts drop away after a few minutes into the breathless quiet of the fight, just the slap of impact and the sticky peel of sweaty flesh off the training mat. Seifer's pretty good, and he has the natural advantages of height and reach -- where does he get off being so damn tall, anyway? -- but hand-to-hand is what Zell does best. He's fast, light on his feet, striking when he gets a good shot and redirecting the force of Seifer's punches instead of being dumb enough to stand still for them. His limbs ache and his heart pounds and that's good. He feels really alive like this, being pushed to try harder, and Seifer would probably never admit to feeling the same but he doesn't need to when he's got that look on his face like this fight is the only thing in his world.

Zell twists, blocks, sliding past Seifer's guard, and for a second his training just takes over without consulting him and he's throwing a high punch -- and Zell connects hard, and Seifer's head snaps back. He stumbles, hits the mat on one shoulder and rolls defensively -- his training -- but then doesn't get right back up.

Adrenaline hammers in Zell's veins. They'd been keeping it to body blows, pretty much, and then he just hadn't thought about it, and -- Seifer sits up, shaking his head slowly. "God damn, Zell."

"Shit," Zell says when he gets a look at Seifer's face. When you give somebody a black eye, it tends to be obvious pretty fast, and Seifer has the start of a pretty impressive shiner there. "Sorry about that."

"The hell you are," Seifer says, but he doesn't sound really pissed. "You're smiling."

"That's just nerves," Zell says. "I can't help it." He raises a hand to his mouth self-consciously. The tape on his knuckles is frayed loose at the ends.

Seifer smirks, a little lopsided. "Not smiling, just baring your teeth, huh?" he says. "Like the wild animal you are."

Zell opens his mouth to protest and Seifer lunges for him, grabbing his ankle and pulling him off-balance. He hits the mat with a yelp, the breath forced out of him, and kicks to try to get free before Seifer can use his weight to his advantage. Too late -- Zell's distracted for half a second by the slide of muscle in Seifer's bare shoulders and then he's pinned, pressed against the mat with Seifer's body hard and hot on top of his. He braces his heels against the mat and bucks, unwilling to give up that easily. Seifer laughs, his breath warm against Zell's throat.

"Give it up," he says. "I got you like this and you know it." His thigh slides between Zell's and Zell suddenly doesn't care that his leverage is crap for trying to get away.

"Yeah, take your victory where you can," Zell says. He grinds his hips, feeling Seifer's cock just as hard as his, and that feels like winning, too -- there's nothing one-sided about this, no matter how much Seifer tries to play it cool.

He's not even trying right now, growling at the friction and sinking his teeth into Zell's shoulder.

"Hhha," Zell breathes, digging his fingers into Seifer's arms. "Now who's the animal?" Sometimes he thinks Seifer never got the hang of the fact that kissing and biting are two different things -- or maybe it's just that he really likes to leave bruises. It doesn't matter why, does it, when it makes Zell feel this worked up. He hooks his ankles around Seifer's and pushes up with his hips and doesn't even worry about the needy panting sounds he's making, because Seifer's doing it too.

The first time he tries to reach down between them to get their shorts out of the way, Seifer grabs his wrist and pins it to the mat beside his head. "You in a hurry?"

"Goddamnit, Seifer," Zell says. "Don't tell me you want soft and slow. Not like this." He grinds against Seifer's cock, hard, and Seifer's breath catches. His grip loosens just enough, and Zell twists his wrist free before Seifer can recover.

Seifer grabs for him again, but when Zell palms his cock and squeezes he stops trying to make Zell wait. He laughs softly, hooking a thumb in the waistband of his shorts and tugging them down. "When did you get so pushy, huh?"

"What, are you sorry I figured you out?" Zell says. He only has the advantage for a few seconds before Seifer is shoving a hand into his shorts and grabbing his cock. Seifer's knuckles are taped, too, and the tape is an almost-too-rough texture against the shaft of Zell's cock, but if he minded almost-too-much he wouldn't be hooking up with Seifer in the first place.

Their rhythms don't match, but that's okay, and times like this neither one of them wants to give ground. Zell licks Seifer's neck to taste his sweat, breathes deep to catch his raw scent. Wild animals, sure. He's pretty okay with that.

When Seifer bites him again, Zell is the one who growls. It sort of almost hurts, but the same way a good sparring match does, where it's more exciting than anything, where it gets him more amped up instead of bringing him down. He digs his fingers into Seifer's shoulder and curses -- Seifer won't back off unless he actually says stop, so he can let go as much as he wants, pushing and thrusting and panting -- and it's sort of always a competition, but they also never settle on whether it's a competition to come first or hold out longest, so Zell doesn't get hung up on it, just gives himself up to how good it feels and comes all over Seifer's hand.

And of course then Seifer has things to say. "Yeah, you go for that?" His voice is shaky, his breathing fast and shallow, as he rocks into Zell's grip. "I pin you down, hurt you a little, and you come all over yourself?"

"Like you're one to talk," Zell says. He does this little flick of his wrist on the next stroke, this thing that always makes Seifer shudder. "I hit you in the face, and that's what made you want to jump me."

Seifer grunts, not denying it, just thrusting harder into Zell's hand, probably too close to argue. His breath hitches unevenly and Zell can feel how tense he's gotten, how ready -- Zell squeezes a little too hard, rubs his taped fingers over the crown of Seifer's cock, and that does it, makes Seifer jerk above him and spill all over them both.

There's a second of too-hot, sweaty stillness while they both try to catch their breath, and then Seifer rolls off before Zell has to shove him. "Not bad," Seifer says.

Zell rolls his eyes and sits up. That's still about as nice as Seifer knows how to be, a lot of the time. "Yeah, I guess you're half-decent, too," he says. He prods experimentally at his shoulders -- the places Seifer bit him are low enough that they won't show once he has a shirt back on, so if they're not too tender there's no point in wasting a potion. And really, they don't seem too bad. Seifer's face, on the other hand....

"You're a mess," Zell says. Seifer's eye is swollen, bruising a deep, angry purple. "Let me go get you a potion for that."

"It's fine," Seifer says. "Don't worry about it."

Zell frowns. "You sure? I mean, it's going to look like we --"

"I said, it's fine," Seifer says. "My friends don't think I'd be stupid enough to stick with someone who wasn't treating me right." He gestures to Zell's collar bones. "I don't see you in a hurry to get rid of those."

"Well, no, but --" Zell stops, because Seifer is staring at him like he's being an idiot. The bruises Seifer left him are hickeys, which he thinks are not really comparable to a black eye. But he can't come up with any other way to read that look. "You have the weirdest sense of romance of anyone I've ever met," he says.

Seifer snorts. "Not my fault if you can't appreciate it," he says.

"Hey," Zell says. "I didn't say I didn't appreciate it. It's just weird. But I'm okay with weird." Before they can get in an argument about which one of them really has unreasonable standards -- the answer is, it's Seifer, okay -- Zell crawls over there to kiss him. And Seifer probably knows it's a distraction technique, because he's not dumb. But still, he kisses back.