Dodge. Kick. Spin. Punch. Twice. There! Zell whirls, avoids the next powerful swing, and lashes out with his own fist, remembering at the last moment to pull his punch before he takes off Seifer’s head. Though he wonders if that would be such a bad thing.
There’s a smirk and then Seifer dodges at the last moment. Zell twists to keep his balance, as Seifer spins and grabs his arm. Zell hits the nearest wall with a harsh thud, back slamming against padded metal and then Seifer is there, grinning like he’s a victor. He never did release Zell’s arm, instead choosing to pin it to the wall above his head. It’s cold against his back, a contrast to the heat exploding between them.
Zell lashes out with his other hand, body vibrating with restless energy. Seifer, taller bastard that he is, grabs Zell’s wrist and pins it above his head too. He looms over Zell, smelling of sweat and his own special cologne, a victorious smirk on his lips and his green eyes gleaming.
“I thought you wanted a fight,” Zell demands, giving a token tug to his wrists. It would be easy enough to break Seifer’s hold, there’s a reason Zell’s a martial artist, but he’s kinda curious.
Seifer’s lips curl. “There are different ways to battle,” he says, and leans forward, tongue dragging over his lips. There’s a gleam in his eyes that Zell doesn’t miss. “What do ya say, Chicken Wuss?”
Zell’s eyes narrow, a growl peeling his lips back from his teeth. “You know I hate that!”
A tongue chooses that moment to lap up the side of his neck, over trickles of sweat. “Mmm,” Seifer says. “Tastes like chicken.”
Zell jerks. “Bastard,” he spits, and one leg snaps up, knee aiming for Seifer’s inner thigh, where he knows it’ll hurt.
But Seifer’s too smart, sees it coming, turns his body so that Zell’s blow misses. Too bad he’s not seriously aiming to hurt Seifer, otherwise he’d succeed. Seifer better be glad Zell would rather have him with all the important bits intact.
“You know you love me anyway,” Seifer retorts, all too smug and full of himself. His lips move a hotter path and then teeth come into play, biting into Zell’s neck with just enough pressure to make Zell’s shorts tighten.
“Full of yourself,” Zell mutters, and arches toward Seifer, enjoying the knee that’s pushed between his legs, something to provide a delicious friction.
Seifer chuckles. “You know it, Chickie. Now open up and let me in.”