By twentysix years of therapy
I wait silently as Instructor Trepe's last class of the day trickles out the door. The piercing, trilling voice of a girl talking to the Instructor is all too audible; she asks when the results of the test will be in.
"Damn it, why the hell do people stick around after class so goddamn long?" Seifer demands of whoever happens to be listening, hitting the wall with the flat side of his fist.
Because they're obsessed with the teacher, that's why. I wonder why the Garden tolerates groups like the Trepies; they encourage unhealthy student-teacher relationships. Down on your knees, Trepie 19; close your eyes and think of the A you'll get. Sweet teacher, let me touch you. Abuse of power or injurious addiction; take your pick.
"Because there is information to be gained from discussing with the teacher outside of class-time," I tell him, not knowing why I'm bothering.
"It's because they're her goddamn fan-club, that's why," he snarls, "a bunch of fucking loonies, all of them. I'm not waiting any longer."
"You wouldn't have had to wait at all if you didn't cause us to skip class in the first place," I say in a tone slightly marked by irritation.
He turns to me with a wicked smile on his face. "Did I cause it? If I remember correctly, you were every bit as willing to be distracted from the righteous path of abstinence and academics as I was."
I don't bother replying, as the girl (Trepie number sixteen, I believe, although I don't know her name) is leaving the classroom. Seifer follows me into the classroom.
Instructor Trepe sits alone at her desk, sorting a set of folders. She looks up and smiles when she sees us, then puts on an expression that fails despite its efforts to be stern. "Have fun skipping yesterday, boys?" she asks. That last addition, "boys," sounds comical coming from someone with bare months on Seifer.
I lower my head slightly in a gesture of deference. "We didn't intend to--"
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. "Don't bother. You were fighting again, weren't you?" She sighs. "You're concerned about the test you missed?" she asks.
"Yes. Will it be possible to make it up at some later date?" I ask her.
Instructor Trepe nods. "You could take it now, if you like, rather than waiting 'til Sunday. I have a staff meeting to attend so the classroom will be empty." She smiles secretively.
I blink in surprise. "Instructor, that's more than generous. Thank you."
"I trust you," Quistis says simply, looking at me meaningfully before letting her eyes flicker to Seifer, who stands there bored. She turns to her desk. "I'll just give you access to the test..." She types rapidly, then shuts down her board.
"It's all yours, boys," she says, picking up her files and holding them to her chest. "The door should lock by itself when you leave." With that she nods her head and leaves, the door opening and closing around her.
I sigh with relief. It'll be much simpler to take the test now rather than having to take the make-up test on Sunday, when I could be spending my time in the Training Centre or studying for the beastiaology test I have on Tuesday.
I settle down behind my study panel, logging in.
"Are you actually going to do the test now?" Seifer asks dubiously.
"What were you planning on doing?" I ask him, not bothering to turn to face him.
"Oh, I don't know," he says lazily. "Look about the network, monitor the BBS, see if I can't access Instructor Trepe's grades for this class from her computer...."
I frown, turning to look at him. He leans against the Instructor's desk, watching me idly. "Any good reason why or do you just really want to get kicked out of the Garden?" I ask him.
His eyes narrow. "I want to prove that she's falsifying your grades. Everyone knows she favours you and the only reason you're getting ninety-seven point eight percent in this class is because she hopes it'll thrill you right into her bed."
With a disgusted snort I look back to my screen, accessing the folder for Tactics. "That's ridiculous. I earned that mark by doing twice the amount of studying you do. Besides, doing that would only make me lose respect for her," I say, finding the link for the test. "Not to mention that if she had any brains at all she'd only mess with things that are to be subjectively scored."
I ignore him.
He pushes off the desk and walks over to his study panel, right across the aisle from me. Sitting sideways on the bench and watches me, apparently more interested in my actions than of doing the work. Unfazed, I wait for the test to load, mentally locking myself down so that I will not let myself be distracted by him.
First section, thirty multiple choice questions. Second section, three paragraph answers. Third section, two mini-essays. I skim over the questions. Doesn't look too difficult. Exactly what I studied.
Seifer, bored, starts to wander around the classroom. I make it all the way to question twenty before he comes back towards me, moving with purpose.
He stands behind me, leaning over the back of the bench. He leans forward to whisper in my ear, lips not-quite touching me. "Squall."
His cool breath makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise and stirs the desires that have tried to lie dormant during the school day. "Wait," I say with irritation. I pull away when he places his hands on my shoulders, focussing on the test in front of me. It's not as if we didn't already mess around this morning.
"I don't want to," he says, with the innocent arrogance of one who truly and sincerely believes that they are indeed the centre of the known universe. He slides around and onto the bench, crowding me, his right leg pressed against my left.
"Fuck off," I say, fixing him with a withering gaze.
"Need I tell you what I'd in mind instead?" he murmurs, his hand touching my thigh and moving for my groin.
In a single swift movement I grab his wrist and twist his arm back behind his neck, shoving him off the bench and onto the ground and pinning him under me. "I'm serious, Seifer," I say evenly. "Be productive or leave."
He breaks my loose grip on his other hand, kicking up with his legs and throwing himself over to the right, rolling us over so he's on top. He manages to grab my wrists and holds them firmly in his hands above my head, his a display of power while mine was of irritation.
"Let go of me," I growl.
He smiles. He has an advantage in height by half a foot and outweighs me by twenty pounds so he delights in wrestling with me, the only thing he can consistently best me in.
"But you started it. Don't you want to play?" he asks, leaning in to kiss me while he starts to roll his hips against mine in a distraction I hardly need right now. I turn away but he simply kisses my neck as if that were his intention the entire time.
I grit my teeth, trying to pull my hands from his grasp. I jerk particularly hard and he seems to take pity on me and pull back, releasing my wrists. I sit up, shoving him off of me unceremoniously. "Asshole," I mutter, getting up to get back behind my study panel.
He merely laughs, dusting himself off as he gets back to his feet.
"You're screwed up," I say, quickly working on the rest of the multiple choice so I can work on the questions that actually require thought. "It's a classroom. If Instructor Trepe comes back and finds me moaning under you, we're going to get expelled."
"So you admit that you don't find the idea in itself a turn-off, merely the setting?" he asks. Annoyed at myself for giving him an opening, I don't bother responding. "Besides," he continues, "screw Instructor Trepe. She's a poor excuse for an Instructor, anyway. I wouldn't give a damn if she found us fucking like animals on her own desk."
For someone whose ambition it's been to become a SeeD ever since he entered Garden, he behaves bizarrely. His grades in general are fairly good but would be much higher if he bothered with more homework, he'll occasionally skip class, and ever since this--thing--between us started, he's started accosting me in the oddest of places. As if it wasn't bad enough when he just picked fights all the time. God only knows how he, Fujin and Raijin were ever appointed to the Disciplinary Committee.
I focus on the screen, fingers deftly flying across the touch-keys as I answer the first paragraph question quickly. The test is almost unbearably straightforward and simple; I wouldn't be surprised if Instructor Trepe had merely used the ones supplied by the previous Level 13 Tactics instructor. I wish the questions were harder, requiring more thought, so that it would take my mind off the traitorous thoughts in my mind.
"Fucking like animals on her own desk" echoes in the back of my head, pounding at me between the eyes.
He simply watches me. It's unnerving. I do not welcome any kind of attention, which is why dealing with Seifer is such a task. God knows how I got involved in this. I never could walk away from his challenges, of whatever nature.
I type a quick textbook explanation of Kanno's Law of Adaptation, expanding a bit to mention her research on Fastitocalon-Fakes. Moving on to the next question I see that it asks specifically about her observations about the Fastitocalons and sigh.
"Are you done yet?" Seifer asks, still standing to my left.
"No," I say, backspacing over a typo.
He sighs and leans over, grasping my chin and turning it as it suits him so he has access to my lips. I jerk back, causing an unpleasant tingling to spark along my neck. He pushes me down awkwardly against the uncomfortably narrow bench, letting me reach up and accidentally mash the touch-keys as I try for a handhold to pull myself up by before grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head.
"Seife--" I start, unable to finish the second syllable of his name before he kisses me fiercely, cutting off the rest of my protests. I press my lips firmly together, denying him my mouth, and wait for him to switch tacks.
He switches the hands holding my wrists over my head and reach down to the front of my uniform pants. He undoes the fly and reaches in, cupping me through my boxers.
"Seifer--" I manage his first name this time before he cuts me off with a quick and decisive kiss on the lips. I inhale sharply as he squeezes lightly, allowing him to initiate a French kiss between us.
Oh, fuck it. With luck it'll be quick and not only will we both be relieved, I may still have enough time to finish the test before Instructor Trepe comes back. I kiss him deeply and with furious intent; he seems surprised at my abrupt willingness as he lets me wrest control of the kiss from him. Then his hand slips between the opening in the front of my boxer shorts and my mind momentarily blanks as he grasps me firmly in his hand, fingers stroking with the ease and knowledge of practice.
I force my voice to come out evenly, breathing deliberately. "If Instructor Trepe comes back and finds us like this I will kick the shit out of you."
"The door is locked," he shrugs, leaning down to nip at my neck, using a little bit of suction when he settles down to place a wet kiss on the spot.
"It's her room." I force myself to relax but I can't help shutting my eyes tightly closed as his hand works me rhythmically, long quick strokes with large and able fingers.
"Oh well," he chuckles, returning the attentions of his mouth to my neck. He becomes more insistent, teeth biting almost hard enough to hurt and his hand becoming more forceful.
I clench my hands into fists, biting down on my lip. He smiles against my neck, touch becoming vigorous and hard. I have to pant; the rough and ungentle touch is somehow more powerfully erotic than something tender and caring could ever be.
I stifle a moan, unintentionally converting it into a pathetic whimper. I give in and lift my hips upwards, pressing against his infuriatingly clothed body, the fabric mad against the tip of my cock. Breathing hard and unevenly I rock against him, biting my lip as his hand pulls away. I continue to move against him, my nails digging into the flesh of my hands as I open my eyes with difficulty to look up at him.
He releases my wrists and stands up. Letting myself relax I lay there ungainly spread out, left leg pulled somewhat up and leaning against the back of the bench, right leg dangling off the side with my toes touching the floor, wrists crossed above my head with my hands clenched, and my hard-on sticking out of my pants while I stare at Seifer desperately. God.
"Fuck you, Almasy," I mutter, and reach down to take matters into my own hands.
"That won't be necessary," he murmurs, reaching down and grasping my wrist. He yanks back, pulling me to my feet, causing me to stumble into him. The sensation of my painfully erect manhood rubbing against his uniform pants play hell with my nerves. It would be so much easier just to give myself up to him and let him do what he wanted but of course I can't.
I curve my lips upward in what could almost be termed a smile, letting my eyes run wild with need. I take his right hand off my shoulder and place it on my cock, his fingers grasping me firmly.
I raise my chin a little, baring my neck ever so slightly in one of those submissive gestures that turn him on so much, yet keeping my eyes my own. "Finish it," I command him, tempering my voice just enough to ruin the image of submission.
He runs his thumb over the tip of my cock, causing me to grasp at his jacket reflexively. His expression is one of haughty arrogance. "No."
"Seifer..." I whisper, leaning into him and tilting my head back. I close my eyes, stifling an irritated expression when he withdraws his hand to replace it on my shoulder.
"It's much more... interesting to leave you hanging like this. And weren't you complaining about wanting to finish your test earlier?" he asks, the smooth, low voice reminding me of a snake.
"Don't throw the words back in my mouth, Seifer," I say coolly, pressing my body tightly against his. I raise my lips to his, halting just before we touch. I speak in a barely audible voice, forcing him to devote his attention solely to me. "Suck me, fuck me, do whatever you want to me. Make me come."
The words have the desired effect, stroking his ego potently. His mouth fastens down over mine hungrily, pressing hard enough to bruise should he keep it up. His hand moves down to stroke me again and I moan into his mouth mainly for his benefit. He speeds up, working me up in seconds to mindlessness, arms wrapped around him tightly for support as I try to keep from screaming.
Then the goddamn fucking asshole pulls away, leaving me panting, glaring, and not quite there yet.
"Do you enjoy fucking with me like this?" I ask hoarsely, breathing hard.
"Oh, yes," he murmurs, smiling loftily. Then he shoves me violently and I stumble back several steps before he strides confidently forward and throws me backward. I hit the instructor's desk, inhaling sharply before he pins me down suddenly.
"Christ--" I gasp, reaching for something, anything. I find the button that retracts the instructor's image-slate in the desk and hit it, giving us a little more space to work with.
Seifer's hands work quickly on my pants, drawing them down just enough to work with. He breathes hard, focused on what he's doing. He frees himself, then spreads my legs.
I find I'm shaking and immediately clench my teeth, gripping onto the edge of the desk in an effort to focus that energy elsewhere. I don't know if he even notices; his hands grip my waist almost painfully as he readies himself.
And then he pushes himself inside.
I cry out hoarsely, pain searing through me from his unprepared entrance. He starts to move, the pain becoming a tolerable thing I can push to the back of my mind while I focus on the surreal feeling of him inside of me.
"Oh, God..." he hisses, thrusting deep enough to hit that place that makes this whole thing worthwhile. I wrap my arms around him, snaking them under his jacket and shirt to touch bare skin. My legs squeeze around him, and I cling to him pathetically as my world loses all focus except for that point of sheer inconceivable ecstasy in the midst of the mindfuckingly incredible feeling of a guy driving hard into you.
I moan mindlessly, writhing up against him. I lean my head back as far as it will go, the awkwardness of hanging half-off the somewhat-narrower-than-it-could-be desk not even an issue. I dig my regulation-length fingernails into his back, screaming hard when he thrusts particularly violently and raking them across, the knowledge in the back of my mind that he'll feel them later making me pleased.
"Say my name," he pants, breath hot on my neck, reaching down to stroke my cock. I let out a long, drawn out groan, letting my eyes slide halfway open.
"Seifer," I moan, indulging him. I change the rhythm of my bucking, selfishly leaning into his hand.
And shamelessly I do, at the top of my lungs. I don't give a fuck if the soundproofing is imperfect or if Trepe walks in; nothing else matters.
He bites down on my neck, barely muffling his cries as he comes, driving himself in deeply and hard. I feel his seed in me, a foreign warmth.
He seems to have completely spent his energy. He pants, suckling at my neck while absentmindedly working my cock, finally bringing me to orgasm.
...it is over all too swiftly.
I fall completely limp to the desk, eyes closed as I try to immediately distance myself and regain my composure. It comes within twenty seconds, but I wait for Seifer to get up.
He reaches into his pocket with his clean hand and pulls out a handkerchief. Almost regally he cleans him and myself, although by the mercy of some god we're not that badly off.
I hop off of the desk, doing up my clothing. Seifer does the same. I run a hand through my hair, then look at him and give him a small smile. He's sweaty and rumpled, and I know I look the same if not worse.
He takes a single step forward, closing the distance between us. His mouth is on mine, his tongue running across my lower lip, and then he steps back.
"That was entertaining," he says.
"Wasn't that more interesting than a test worth a tiny amount of your final mark?" he asks smugly.
I frown, then silently hurry over to my study-panel. On the screen is displayed a simple text box: "Time limit exceeded. Press OK to return to main menu."
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