Too Little

Too Little
A One-Shot by Ellipsis the Great
Summary: “I said I think I love you, Chickenwuss. You got a problem with that?” “Yeah, I do. We’re just fucking, Seifer. No more, no less. I’m straight, for fuck’s sake.”
DISCLAIMER: Kingdom Hearts and everything affiliated with it belongs to SquareEnix and Disney. All I own is the plot…
Rated: M

The first time we had sex, both of us were drunk. Illegally drunk; he was just shy of twenty-one and I was just a few months into being twenty. But that never bothered anyone, really, except for maybe Olette.
Anyhow, we were drunk. And horny, which you wouldn’t think was possible; we weren’t really the hormonal teenagers we’d once been.
Still, we got drunk at some party or other and fought and kissed and stumbled into a room and fucked, and fucked, and fucked.
The next time was almost planned.
Almost.
We were sober, this time. But just because we weren’t drunk didn’t mean, has never meant that we wouldn’t do stupid shit.
Somehow, it did mean that what had once just been plain old drunken passion had turned into angry sexual tension, and the all-too-familiar fight in front of the Usual Spot had led to a not-all-that-familiar fucking session. In the Usual Spot. Luckily, the Usual Spot wasn’t all that usual, now that everyone had gone off to college or work, and the only time we had to spend with each other was spent doing something else.
Or someone else.
After that, we fucked whenever we could, wherever we could.
Sometimes we fought first. Sometimes we actually almost made a date of it.
But we weren’t dating, not at all. There was no dinner and a movie, no flowers, no kissing in the rain, no holding hands. No relationship at all outside of bed (or the couch, or the kitchen table, or a wall, or any other flat surface that would lend itself to our purposes).
I usually topped, after the first time. The first time, I was too drunk to care and he was too drunk to check his strength. Because, really, fucking me (or, rather, being fucked by me) let him let go…of strength, of power, of the push to lead that he hated.
And he DID hate always being in charge, you know. But Rai was too stupid to lead himself, much less anyone else, and Fuu was too quiet, and Vivi was too…well, needless to say Seifer was thrown into a leader’s position with his friends. And when he saw that things needed to be taken control of, because the Twilight Police weren’t doing shit to keep people safe from the sudden onslaught of newcomers from destroyed worlds, and because no one else was willing to do anything (or, as in my case, saw anything that needed to be done), he was thrown into a leader’s position in the Disciplinary Committee.
And he didn’t mind it, not really. Something needed to be done, so he did it, in that brash, arrogant way of his that made you think he’d planned all of it all along.
But he hadn’t, and didn’t much like it.
So when we fucked, he just let go of all of the bullshit he’d pushed onto himself, and let me lead.
Besides—I didn’t like to bottom. Didn’t like letting go. Kind of needed to be in charge of something. Someone.
It wasn’t a good relationship by any means, I’ll admit.
Well, like I said before, it wasn’t really a relationship.
But it worked. It was good for us at first, I think. A good way to let go or hold on. To escape from our everyday lives. To step back and just let things be; let our carnal desires take over our judgment.
And then, one day, he said it.
“I think I love you, lamer.”
He said it just before he orgasmed, so I didn’t pay it much mind. Or, rather, I let myself forget about it and released and then pretended in the aftermath that I hadn’t heard.
But, of course, Seifer is stubborn. So he said it again, one day, outside of the bedroom. I was at the sink—my sink, the one in the apartment that was mine, which was two streets away from the one that was his—washing dishes, and he just waltzed in like he did sometimes—the door was unlocked; I never gave him a key—and put his hand—hot and demanding and strong—on my shoulder, and said it.
“And just what in the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked, jaw clenching. Scrubbing harder at the stain on the plate I was washing.
“I said I think I love you, Chickenwuss. You got a problem with that?” He demanded.
“Yeah, I do.” I snapped back. “We’re just fucking, Seifer. No more, no less. I’m straight, for fuck’s sake.”
And I was straight. I still checked girls out—the curve of their ass, the plumpness of their breasts, the length of their legs, the hourglass figure of their hips. I loved women. Loved fucking them. Sometimes did, when I was in a bigger town than Twilight Town, where I could fuck whoever I wanted and not worry about dealing with pissed off fathers and gossiping aunts and girls who just didn’t get that a one night stand was a one night stand. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. The end.
“Straight guys don’t usually fuck other guys.” He pointed out, deadpan.
“They do when there’s nothing else around.” I said tersely. “Once I leave for college in the fall, this little…whatever-it-is will be over. Done with. Kaput.”
His eyes narrowed, like he was ready to fight tooth-and-nail over it, but he didn’t say anything. Just scowled, snarled something unintelligible, and left.
And that was all I saw of him for a while. A long while, because soon after that I moved to Space Paranoids, where I was going to school to be a computer engineer. Joined the Struggle Team, and started dating the team’s manager, a sweet art major named Naminé.
Then, at the Inter-Worlds College Struggle Tournament, I saw him again. He went to a military school, SeeD Academy, way out in Balamb Gardens. Surprisingly (well, surprisingly to everyone but me), he wasn’t the Captain of the team. That was some guy named Squall Leonhart who bit the head off of anyone who called him anything but Captain or Leon or both.
Seifer looked good, though. He looked these-pants-are-smaller-than-I-thought-they-were good, with gelled, golden-blond hair no longer hidden by that stupid beanie, tanner than usual skin, and a tight Struggle uniform that hugged his chiseled upper body but hung teasingly loose around his ass, merely hinting at how firm I knew it was. He had taken the jacket off, and held it loosely over one shoulder so that anyone with any inclination to look (and, boy, did I have more of an inclination that I’d thought I would) could see the rippling muscles of his arms, and the way one arm’s muscles bunched up with the movement.
And then he snorted, scowling in a soft way that I wasn’t used to at all as he listened to the man in front of him, who had hair that was even more impossibly spiked than mine and a facial tattoo that made my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, because weren’t those banned in military schools? Then his lips formed a name that I had never known him to call anyone else, and the sudden jolt of jealousy that that shot through me made me jump a little in surprise.
“What a cute couple.” Naminé’s gentle voice startled me, and I looked down at her only to follow her gaze back to where mine had just been.
“Couple?” I asked.
“I think so.” She said, only slightly uncertain. And then giggled when Seifer grabbed the other guy’s head and pulled him forward, kissing his forehead as he chuckled fondly and the other guy pretended not to enjoy the attention.
“Hm.” I grabbed her hand, trying to remind myself that of course I couldn’t be jealous of Seifer, for god’s sake, and certainly not of some guy I’d never even met before. Because I had a girlfriend, and we were happy and in love, and I had never, would never be gay, even if Seifer and I used to be fuck buddies.
“Did you go to school with him?” She asked curiously. “That’s Seifer Almasy, right? It says in the program that he’s from Twilight Town, too.”
“Didn’t I ever tell you about him?” I blinked. “We used to fight all the time—he’s my old Struggle rival.”
“Ooh…” She cocked her head to one side, looking at me. “You never said his name.”
“Oh.” I said, frowning. “Well, yeah, that’s him.”
“Did you know he was gay?” She asked as the couple walked off, still arguing over seemingly nothing.
“You don’t come out in Twilight Town.” I said instead of answering. “Not unless you want to get, like, lynched or something.”
“But did you know?” She asked, undeterred.
“I…guessed.”
“Oh, well.” She hummed noncommittally, then shrugged. “There’s no helping homophobes, I guess.”
“I guess.” I echoed softly.
I saw him again at a bar a few hours later, after dropping Naminé off at her hotel room because she didn’t much like drinking. He was with that guy again, but they weren’t arguing this time. Just sitting together with some other teammates. His…partner? Boyfriend?…was telling a story or something, hands gesturing wildly as the other guys at his table laughed and egged him on and nursed their beers.
I ignored the way Seifer was looking at the other guy, with rapt attention and something like adoration and fond irritation, and went to the bar to grab a beer for myself, all the while scanning the bar for my own teammates.
“Chickenwuss!”
I jerked a little, just from habit at hearing the name, but didn’t answer or turn to look. Hadn’t that been the name I’d seen him calling his…whatever-he-was earlier?
“Chi—Hayner! Oi, Hayner!”
This time I did turn, even though I didn’t really want to, to see Seifer and his teammates looking at me.
“Seifer.” I said, allowing myself to wander closer to their table.
“Been a while, lamer.” He said, voice cold even though he’d been the one to call me over, not the other way around.
I let my shoulders roll upwards in an easy shrug. “I guess so.”
“How’s the girlfriend?” His voice grew colder, if possible.
“She’s fine. It’ll be two months next week.” I replied, nodding my head at tattoo-faced-guy. “And the…boyfriend?”
Tattoo-faced-guy laughed, throwing an arm around a slightly disgruntled Seifer. “Five months and still going strong!”
“And thank Shiva for that.” Someone else said. “As much pouting as Seifer was doing at the beginning of the semester, I didn’t think he’d ever lighten up.”
“Someone broke his poor little heart this summer.” Tattoo-face said, patting Seifer’s head in a sympathetic way that, in the past, would have made Seifer tear someone’s head off.
This time, though, Seifer just shrugged. “And now you’re looking at him.” He said, as easily as if commenting on the weather.
The table got quiet.
“But…he’s straight.” Someone said. “Isn’t he?”
“So that was the problem.” Seifer drawled, like he hadn’t already known that, and rolled his eyes. “I understand so much better, now, Selphie, thank you.”
“Well, then, you’re an idiot.” Tattoo-face said to me. “I’d have turned gay for him, if I wasn’t already gay to start with. He’s really good in bed.”
“I know.” I said. “But I’m straight. And this conversation is weird.” I raised my cup towards Seifer. “See you in the ring.”
He didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes at me and raised his glass in acknowledgement as the rest of his table went quiet and stared at the two of us.
I didn’t see him in the ring, though. Not really. As Captain of my team, I fought against his captain, instead. Seifer fought Tron, and won. Of course. And Space Paranoids took second place in the tournament, for the second year in a row.
And the last time we fucked was just like the first—drunk, angry, and horny, even though then both of us were legal and neither of us were kids anymore. And this time was even more ill-advised than the first; we both had someone else, and I was straight, straight, straight.
At least, I thought I was. And then Naminé and I had sex for the first time a few weeks later and I realized that, even though I did enjoy the breasts and vagina and legs and hips, it just didn’t get me going the same way he did.
But, of course, by then it was too late.

The End