TITLE:Skin Deep
AUTHOR:Carmilla
EMAIL:carmilla99@hotmail.com
FANDOM:FFVIII.
RATING:R
NOTES:Seifer's POV. Set after the game ends. Bear in mind I'm only on disc 2, forgive my technical errors.
SUMMARY:Saifuu. Angsty. Depressing. (That's all, folks.)
DISTRIBUTION:Exclusive to Crunchbucket's new Fujin shrine, just to get things going.
DISCLAIMER:I own nothing. I make no money. Squaresoft is God.

The slim white shoulder is turned away from me. Silver hair spreads out over the pillow, gleaming in the early sun's rays. Idly, I study the structure of the narrow back presented to me. Her bones are delicate, like a bird's. Her face, too, relaxes in sleep. The tense lines drop away, and she looks almost innocent. Some outsider might think her fragile, but I know better. She has a core of steel, and it is the wellspring of her strength.

I don't often get the chance to watch her like this. Usually she wakes before I do, and makes her way back to her own quarters. Ashamed of me? Very possibly. Ashamed of herself? I hope no, but I can't discount it. I'm not exactly the most popular guy around. Associating with me always has excluded her from other friendships. Apart from with Raijin, of course. But Fuu and I-we always shared domething deeper. We're on the same wavelength, we've got the same mentality, we look at life the same way. Live hard, live fast, fight your own battles and trust your own judgement. She's probably the only person I'd want at my back in a fight. We've lived for all we're worth, fast and reckless, taking our chances as they come. That's probably what got us into bed in the first place.

We'd been training hard, and I offered to let her come back to my room clean up and have a drink. I offered her some squash while she went to wash her face. She came out of the washroom and sat down. I passed her the cup, and our eyes locked.

I can still see her face now. Flushed with exertion, bringing her colour rare to her. A couple of strands of hair, still wet, clung to her, dripping tiny rivulets of water down her cheeks. I felt a spark pass between us. I'd felt it before, and always brushed it away, but suddenly I thought, "Why the hell not?" Before I could change my mind, I put the glass down and leaned in to kiss her.

Her mouth was hot, and tasted of salt and spices and something that was just Fuu. Our tongues duelled fiercely. In combat I was the acknowledged champion, but here the winning spot was up for grabs. Before we knew what we were doing we were in the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind us. Never submissive, never passive, that was my Fuu. No lover I've ever had could match her for energy and aggression. Lovemaking with her was like a raging battle, and I enjoyed every minute of it. The taste of her, the salty tang, intoxicated me. Her skin, so icy to look at, was pulsating with fierce heat. It was like making love to a desert of pure, white sand. I relished the sensuality, the intensity. I luxuriated in the movement of a body shaped by violence, the vocalisations like war cries. This was like no seduction I had ever known. She refused to surrender. She would not be tamed.

After that it became a regular thing. We came to each other's rooms late at night and always left before anyone else was up and about. Raijin must have known-despite the fact he often acts like a moron, he has sharp eyes and the wit to use them-but no-one else did. And we intend to keep it that way.

She still hasn't woken. I guess last night must have tired her out. I quite enjoy the extra time with her, but it does have the unfortnate affect of leaving one to think. Especially with her so close, I'm not keen on thinking.

What I mainly object to are those annoying little thoughts, like "Where's this all heading to?", "What if this is wrong for her?" "What if you lose her?" More than anything, I hate "What if" thoughts.

We've never said the word "love", although we've been sleeping together for nearly three months now. Sometimes, just for a minute, the defences drop from her face, and she turns her gaze upward on me, and the word hangs between us, trembling and insubstantial. But one of us alway turns away, and the spell is broken, and the moment is gone. It scares me. It scares me because I know that this could be the real thing. It scares me because, in those brief moments, she seems to see into my soul. And, as much as I trust her, I don't want her to do that.

There's too much darkness in me. Fuu thinks she knows my limits, she thinks she knows how far I'm prepared to go and where I'll draw the line. She's attracted to the hint of danger within me because she thinks I can control it. She's wrong.

She never saw me at my worst. She has no idea how black and twisted my dark side really is. When the sorceress had a hold on me, everyone thought she was controlling me like a puppet. But all she did was encourage the urges I already had. Some of the things I did-torture, interrogation, intimidation-I shudder to think of now, but some part of me enjoyed them. It was no plant in my brain by the sorceress' power-something inside me responded to what I was doing.

Since our defeat, I've been a wreck. I've pushed some boundaries back within myself and unleashed thing I'd rather not have found. My mind's still in turmoil. Parts of memories are missing. Even now, so far on, I wake up some mornings waiting for that smooth, seductive voice to tell me what to do. Even worse are the times when I actually wish things were back to the way they were before. How pathetic, that some remnants of my childhood 'romantic dream' still linger in my jumbled thoughts. All that's a hell of a lot of baggage to take on in a real relationship. And I'm not about to ask Fuu to shoulder it.

I know I should probably leave her. Get out of her way and let her get on with her life. But I can't. I can't bear to give up what I have, I don't dare take more. So here we are, stuck in this rut. Not a real relationship. Not a real connection. Not a real anyhting. Just skin on skin.

Softly, I brush a finger over her outstretched shoulder and down her arm. A shudder runs over her and she moans softly, deep in her throat. Slowly, she rolls over to face me. Such a simple little thing. One touch, A simple connection.

Skin deep.

Sometimes, it's deep enough. Sometimes, it has to be.