[Final Fantasy VIII] Marks
Jan. 26th, 2012 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lassarina posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rose_in_winterCharacters: Seifer/Quistis
Rating: Teen
Contains: reference to BDSM
Wordcount: 169
Notes: Written forever ago, reposting as part of my effort to make all my stuff match.
Betas: None
Summary: Seifer's interested in Quistis's whip.
He is scarred, thin pale tracery wrapping round his ribs and hips, thicker white ridges upon his arms and back. The dark line that slashes between his eyes almost matches the twisted mass on his leg. Given time, she could identify the source of each wound; weapons leave distinctive marks, and she learned them all for the combat medicine exam. Her fingertips brush the edge of the scar that almost completely encircles his left arm, and she wonders about the whip-marks that coat his torso, but she does not ask.
"So, Trepe." He turns, and grins in the way that means trouble. She forces herself not to reach for her weapon.
"What, Almasy?"
He glances left, to where Save the Queen lies neatly coiled against the wall, and his smirk spreads. Her hand twitches.
"What's a guy got to do to earn that?"
She considers it a remarkable moral victory that she leaves the room without damaging anything in it, including him, and at her normal measured pace.
Rating: Teen
Contains: reference to BDSM
Wordcount: 169
Notes: Written forever ago, reposting as part of my effort to make all my stuff match.
Betas: None
Summary: Seifer's interested in Quistis's whip.
He is scarred, thin pale tracery wrapping round his ribs and hips, thicker white ridges upon his arms and back. The dark line that slashes between his eyes almost matches the twisted mass on his leg. Given time, she could identify the source of each wound; weapons leave distinctive marks, and she learned them all for the combat medicine exam. Her fingertips brush the edge of the scar that almost completely encircles his left arm, and she wonders about the whip-marks that coat his torso, but she does not ask.
"So, Trepe." He turns, and grins in the way that means trouble. She forces herself not to reach for her weapon.
"What, Almasy?"
He glances left, to where Save the Queen lies neatly coiled against the wall, and his smirk spreads. Her hand twitches.
"What's a guy got to do to earn that?"
She considers it a remarkable moral victory that she leaves the room without damaging anything in it, including him, and at her normal measured pace.