My mind is a dirty, dirty whore. But then again, so is Seifer's because I stole this idea from an RP with my Squall and my love's Seifer, in which the blond states that if he's ever gone on a mission longer than two weeks, he demands phonesex. I gave it to him willingly. What's more, I finished this in two days. And I'm .. well, I'm proud of it, damn it. And I never say that.

Now .. I've written everything I've had in mind for a while, so maybe I can settle down for a bit and .. I dunno. Come up with some more ideas? -shrugs- If you have any, feel free to throw 'em at me. I'm always up for suggestions when it comes to these two.

Standard disclaimers. I own nothing, but Kym's Seifer owns my Squall, and she owns me. 'Nuff said. Also, any spelling, grammar or italics fail can be credited to the fact that it's midnight and I can't be bothered to properly proofread things the first time around. If there are any mistakes, I'll eventually get to it. Promise. And since I flailed hopelessly for about twenty minutes due to lack of a title, Kym offered one suggestion and I snatched it up. Title-credit goes to her. Muja oui.

It was the sounds -- of water dripping from the leaky faucet in the tiny bathroom, of unseen vermin skittering beneath the floorboards, claws scratching at wood so dry-rotted that it should have crumbled to dust long ago. It was the sound of deafening silence in the dead of night, of his own breathing echoing in the darkness, the almost thundering beat of his heart pounding in his ears.

He was slowly going mad. He was sure of it.

Seifer lay in the relative darkness of early evening, hands linked beneath his head on the sorry excuse for a pillow, and he sighed. The sound itself was meant to be more of a growl, but even his silent complaints to himself had become somewhat muted in their originality. He'd been stuck in Timber for the better part of five days now, charged with the responsibility of ridding the town of what everyone claimed to be a very elusive monster -- the blond had yet to actually see it for himself, and so figured that after five days of waiting for the bastard to show up, he was allowed to be irritated with his situation. To even go so far as to wonder whether the fucking thing actually existed.

What he needed was a distraction. Something to take his mind off of the almost mind-numbing boredom -- and what he wanted the most was back in Balamb, probably still buried beneath a stack of paperwork despite the hour. He pictured Squall sitting at his desk, files strewn across the surface in a sort of organized chaos, a cup of black coffee sitting silently at his right elbow that had probably gone cold an hour or so before. He pictured the look on his face, all quiet concentration despite the ache that had formed behind tired blue-gray eyes. He knew there would be an ache, because the brunet could never be bothered to take a break even when it was so painfully obvious that he needed one. He would continue to sit there, barely moving except to discard the files he'd already gone through, shifting just enough in his chair to ensure that he didn't petrify in that very spot.

Seifer thought of him, and smiled. Reached for his phone, previously forgotten on the tiny nightstand. It was time for that distraction.

He punched in the numbers he'd long since committed to memory, listening to the electronic hum as the call connected, rang four times before it was picked up on the other end. The voice that answered sounded absolutely exhausted, and he felt a small tug in the middle of his chest that he couldn't be there to take it away.

".. Leonhart." His voice was flat, completely devoid of all emotion, and for a moment, the blond felt guilty for disturbing him.

"Hey, Princess," he answered softly, and settled back against the bed, the tiny pillow beneath his head providing no support whatsoever. "Miss me yet?"

He heard the subtle creak of the other's desk chair as he leaned back, that almost inaudible sigh that meant he was allowing himself to relax, just a little. "You mean you aren't in Garden?" He paused, the slight lilt in his voice making his poorly camoflauged amusement that much more apparent. "I should have known something was wrong when I didn't hear Zell saying awful things about you for the last few days."

The blond growled softly in reponse, a sound of mock-offense meant only to prove that he'd heard. "Oi," he grumbled, and nearly scowled at the subtle tinkle of laughter that filtered through from the other end.

"How are things going, anyway?"

He shrugged, despite the knowledge that the brunet couldn't see him. "How would you like to be stuck in Timber for almost a week, with no sign of being able to leave anytime soon?"

Squall chuckled again, and he heard the definitive hitch in his breath that indicated he was stretching as far as his muscles would allow him to -- he almost thought he heard each individual vertebrae pop, which he knew would leave him languid and soft around the edges. Like a kitten, he mused with a silent grin.

"Fair point," the brunet murmured. "Still haven't found the .. whatever it is, then?"

"Apparently, it's something like a behemoth .. but no, the fucker hasn't shown his face once since I've been here." He shifted a little, let his eyes fall closed, allowed himself to just enjoy the sound of the other's voice. "How're things on your end?"

A long-suffering sigh burrowed beneath the surface of Seifer's unease, and he pictured the way the other would be pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, brows so tightly knit that the line of his scar crinkled. "I've been going through the most recent requests for SeeDs .." He paused, sighed again. "As well as the letters from civilians inquiring none-too-politely as to why we have to kill for a living."

The blond growled, eyes briefly flashing a glittering shade of emerald in the deepening darkness of his room. That was something that never failed to creep under his skin, and something he knew Squall had to deal with on a moderately regular basis. "You're helping to keep them safe," he mumbled sourly. "They should be fucking thankful."

"Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, Seifer," the younger replied wearily, though gently. His voice had dropped an octave, taking on the soft quality he allowed solely for the blond, and no one else. "They're going to think what they want, no matter what anyone else says."

"That's fine, just as long as they know they're wrong."

That drew a token snort from the other end of the line, and he began to relax again, the silence between them even over miles as comfortable as if they were in each other's presence; amiable, unstrained. Simple. He allowed it, for the brief span of a handful of deep breaths before he grinned and had to open his mouth.

"So, how many times since I've been gone have you touched yourself and wished it was me?"

Dead. Silence.

His grin widened when he finally heard a very undignified sound catching in the back of Squall's throat, and again, he pictured the look on his face -- it would begin with blue-gray eyes widened in incredulity, mouth slightly agape before he remembered to close it, and then the entire expression would morph into a careful mask of indifference, belied by the faint flush that crept across pale cheeks of its own accord. He would bite his lip, brows knitting in an attempt at a scowl, and he would say --

".. Cocky bastard."

Precisely that.

He laughed, a low, rich sound originating in the very middle of his chest, reverberating through his very bones. "C'mon, kitten. You can't expect me to believe you don't miss me at all." The soft little growl he was offered by way of response only proved to deepen his amusement, and he suddenly wished more than anything to be able to kiss him, to diminish the scowl he was sure he was getting through the phone to naught.

Squall sighed, a decidedly sweet sound, and allowed a small chuckle. "I didn't say I didn't," he said, the sound of his voice all plush softness, much like the curve of his mouth. "But I'm also not saying that I've spent any amount of time breathing your name, when I know you can't hear it."

The blond suddenly found it rather difficult to breathe, ideas formulating in the back of his mind, unbidden, but not unwelcome. He licked his lips, tried very hard to not get ahead of himself. ".. I can hear it now," he all but whispered, no more than a rumble of sound in the back of his throat. He felt his skin prickle with heat when he heard an answering, soft little noise from the other end.

"Seifer, I .. did not give you that phone with the intention of it being used for .. that." He was blushing. He knew he was, without even having to see it. He shifted again, already hard beneath the cover of restricting fabric, and only just managed to resist palming his cock through his pants. "You saying you don't want to?" he drawled, voice thick, seductive. He gave a rough, muffled groan.

"I bet you're already hard, just thinking about it, aren't you?"

The brunet almost whimpered -- he could tell by the hitch of breath, the choked-off moan that he was too proud to let slip. "Don't," came his hushed reply, laced with the definitive need that gnawed at the base of his spine, that demanded his attention. Seifer's grin turned feral, and he chuckled darkly. "Don't what?"

"Don't do that," the other almost growled, a token attempt at remaining harsh, lost beneath the weight of the lust building, threatening to burn him to a cinder. "I can't .. not in my office .."

"We've done worse in your office, Princess." A faint little smile ghosted over the curve of his mouth as he recalled a particular instance in which he'd been enlisted to help with paperwork .. and subsequently failed quite spectacularly, aforementioned paperwork having been scattered across the surface of the desk and the floor by the time they were finished, bodies entwined so completely that neither could tell where one ended and the other began. His cock twitched at the memory of how tight, how hot Squall had been, writhing beneath him, pale skin flushed an almost surreal shade of crimson with every touch, every brush of lips. He groaned, reached to press a hand against the hard length of his erection, sharp little stabs of pleasure skittering across the surface of raw, open nerves.

"Tell me you're not thinking about it."

Squall was silent -- it was dead air on the other end of the line save for the ragged, abbreviated puffs of breath against the mouthpiece of the phone, punctuated by another obscure sound of suppressed need. "I'm .. not .." He paused, swallowed thickly and tried again. "I'm not."

"Liar," the blond all but hissed, once more stroking himself through rough fabric, hips unconsciously rolling upward into the touch. It was maddening, how quickly the other managed to make him want him so badly with just the sound of his voice, whispered through wires, sounding as soft and close as though his head were resting on the pillow next to Seifer's own. He growled, flipped the button at the front of his pants open and dragged the zipper down, sure that the harsh metallic hiss could be heard even through the labyrinth of circuitry that kept them connected. His fingers wrapped lightly around his length, and he began teasing himself in slow, easy strokes. "I know you are."

He allowed a moment of silence in which he continued, unhurried, listening to the increasingly erratic breaths spilling from parted lips, the shape of the brunet's name lingering on the tip of his tongue tasting sweetly of citrus and the most delicious kind of sin. There were times, he had to admit, that he felt as though he were committing the highest sin against Hyne himself with just the thoughts that passed through his mind, thoughts of new ways to make that lithe body sing beneath the touch of his hands, the press of his mouth against flawless ivory skin. Even now, as the sound of belts coming undone filtered through and wrapped around the base of his aching need, he couldn't help thinking that he had done nothing to deserve even this.

Squall fidgeted lightly, his desk chair creaking subtly beneath the shift in his weight, presumably to make himself more comfortable and Seifer imagined how he would look sitting there, slender thighs spread to admit the warm press of his hand beneath tight leather, head tipped back just enough to expose the sleek line of a pale throat. He groaned softly, imagining long fingers dancing over the inside of a milky thigh, nails scraping a breath behind and turning skin a soft, delicate pink. Hyne, I wish I was there with you ..

"Imagine my hand, instead of yours," he murmured faintly, wanting to make sure now more than ever that he was the sole source of the brunet's pleasure, whether he was there or not. There was a low, grating quality to his voice that hadn't been there previously as he stroked himself a little harder, eyes flickering closed as images of that beautiful body slipped to the forefront of his mind. "Imagine my mouth at the side of your neck, at that little spot just beneath your ear .." He paused when he heard that soft hitch of breath, that delicate inhalation that meant he was already close to spilling his release. He allowed himself to feel the smallest bit of pride at that, and he slowed in his own ministrations despite the vehement protest of his own nearly desperate need.

"Lower, over the rise of your collarbone .. down the very middle of your chest, nothing but soft, teasing kisses all the way to your navel .." He paused again, listening for the soft little whimper he knew would soon follow, growling softly under his breath when it came a little louder, a little less restrained. His strokes became almost rough, the shift in his own demeanor startling him just enough to make him take notice, but nowhere near enough to make him stop. "Both of my hands press against your hips to hold you still, and I move lower still to flick my tongue over the head of your cock, just lightly enough for you to feel it .." His own breath caught when he heard the brunet's raw, open moan, sounding high and sharp in the relative silence, and he had to swallow hard, bite his lip almost to the point of breaking skin just to keep going.

"I take you in slowly, tongue flat against the underside .." He licked his lips, tried to keep from thinking of the taste of his skin as his hips bucked against the pressure of his hand of their own accord. ".. all the way until you're fully inside, and I suck hard --"

"-- Seifer!" His name came as a muffled whine, and he couldn't help the feral curve of his mouth as he tilted his head to cradle the phone against his shoulder, free hand curling into a fist in the thin sheets just for something to hold on to. "Close?" he asked almost harshly, and the answering whimper was all he needed to hear to know that it was an affirmation.

"Let me hear you come," he growled.

Squall seemed to shatter beneath the sound of his voice, shuddering a curse under his breath as he came, hard and trembling; the blond purred his approval, picturing once more the flush to his skin, soft brown hair falling into his eyes as they slipped closed, mouth fallen open in a muted exhalation of release. He tasted his name again, biting his lip until he tasted the familiar tang of copper, sweetness and salvation melding with the faltering veil of his sanity as he came, a downward spiral that blurred his vision and set his skin to tingling in the aftermath. He could barely breathe, barely think.

"Love you, kitten," he breathed softly, all trace of harshness melting from his voice as he finally allowed his body to relax, to breathe.

"Love you," the brunet whispered, voice sounding broken around the edges, and yet he could sense that little smirk curving his lips, just enough to count. "Come home soon .. please?"

"Promise."

He listened as the other end of the line disconnected, a small, secretive little smile playing across his mouth as he flipped his phone shut and tossed it onto the nightstand, reached for a discarded shirt and wiped the mess from his stomach. Settling back against the bed, he felt oddly more at ease than he had since leaving Balamb. Suddenly, it didn't seem like such a pain in the ass to be chasing a phantom menace around town.

At least, until the next morning when the fucking thing refused to show. Again.

Fucking figures.