Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII/Final Fantasy IX
Characters: Zell, Zidane
Rating: PG for innuendo
Warnings: misleading and silly?
Prompt: Zell and Zidane play a game or sport together
A/N: You know, there is something really satisfying about going to do research for a fic and finding out that the topic you've picked is 20,000 times more appropriate than you ever expected. ^___^ All this terminology is legitimate, believe it or not. (Oh, and I have no idea how the Balamb Garden got all the way to Lindblum, but there you go).
Squall took a left on his way out of the lift, bypassing the wide main stairs in favour of the small antechamber regent Cid had set aside for them during their stay in Lindblum. He very nearly collided with Steiner on the way in and had to flatten himself against a wall to avoid it when the big knight burst through out of the room as though an entire pack of behemoths was at his heels.
“Gah! – Er, pardon me!” Steiner exclaimed, wild eyed and panicked, and though Squall braced himself for a flurry of profuse and dramatically worded apologies, Steiner simply gave him a flustered look and bustled off, plate mail clattering noisily as he went.
Squall watched him go with a raised eyebrow. That had been rather unusual.
“Bastard!” an outraged voice yelled suddenly from the other side of the door. “You just squopped my wink!”
Odd. That had sounded like Zell.
“So piddle yourself free.” The second voice was definitely Zidane’s, and Squall could almost picture the goading tilt to the thief boy’s grin as he added, “Or can’t you handle the blowup?”
Suddenly Steiner’s abrupt departure didn’t seem quite so strange after all.
Squall debated with himself for a moment, then derided himself for being such a coward and reached determinedly for the door handle. Even with Zell involved, whatever was going on inside couldn’t be that bad. Probably.
The door opened on smooth, well-oiled hinges. Squall took two steps inside, stared, and had to fight the very real urge to sigh.
Blank and Irvine were leaning against the wall closest to him, eyeing the goings on with identical expressions of vaguely horrified amusement.
Squall strode over, face grim. “Who talked those two idiots into that?” he demanded, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the very literal floor show Zell and Zidane were putting on.
Irvine gave him a wry look. “You even have to ask?” he asked, tilting his chin towards where Seifer was sitting on a couch on the far side of the room, laughing so hard he was in imminent danger of sliding right off onto the floor. Sat more demurely next to him was Quistis, both eyebrows raised right up to her hairline, though she didn’t seem at all inclined to look away. Her hands were pressed firmly over Eiko’s eyes where the girl was sat in her lap. Eiko seemed decidedly put-out about this fact.
“Cupped it!” Zidane crowed, drawing Squall’s eyes back to floor as triumphant ear-to-ear grin spread across the thief’s flushed face. Zidane leered at Zell. “Lose those pants, buddy.”
“Lucky shot,” Zell griped, though he was shimmying out of his baggy shorts as he spoke. He slumped back down to the floor with a frustrated sigh, dressed in nothing but a pair of socks, one shoe, a corded necklace and his underwear. “I’ll gromp you next time, just you wait.”
“I’ve still got more clothes on than you,” Zidane shot back smugly, stretching leisurely in his pants, undershirt, socks and wide cuffs. Glancing at the substantial pile of fabric at Zidane’s side, Squall suspected that fact had more to do with having more clothing to take off than any particular disparity in ‘skill’.
“Keep on laughing, Monkey Boy.” Zell hunkered down on his knees and elbows to take his turn and Squall blinked when he realized that he was watching the way Zell’s boxers pulled tight across the firm muscles of his ass. “We’ll see who manages a drag off first.”
Zidane’s answering grin was pure challenge. “Just watch where you jump in or you’re gonna get nurdled.”
This sent Seifer into a fresh bout of hilarity, the tears rolling down his face as he pounded one fist into the pillows, practically howling with mirth. Eiko pouted. Quistis seemed strangely unperturbed by the whole situation.
Squall resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. “Putting those two in the same room at the same time was a disaster waiting to happen,” he declared fervently.
Blank shrugged. “At least Seifer didn’t manage to convince them to play for kisses this time.” Something in his expression shifted then, speculation laced with a healthy dose of what Squall was sorely tempted to call devilry. “Do you think we ought to tell them that it’s supposed to be played in teams?” he asked, wide eyed and innocent.
“Later,” Squall declared firmly, before the instantaneous grin that flashed across Irvine’s face could get them all into a very great deal of trouble. “We’re supposed to be having dinner with regent Cid and his wife tonight.”
“Oh well,” Irvine shrugged. “Perhaps another time. Probably a better idea anyway,” he added, with a wicked smirk. “It’d be impolite to interrupt before they’ve finished their game.”
“Ten gil on Zidane,” Blank said promptly and Squall went to go find somewhere else to be before he was tempted to add his own bet.
Strip tiddlywinks. What would they come up with next?
~ And for anyone's who's wondering, you can find out about Tiddlywinks terminology here. *hearts*