Title: Hallow's Night
Author: Hecate's Brat & email@example.com
Webjournal: http://hecatesbrat.livejournal.com/ (everything will be moved there instead of eroticgoddess)
Fandom: FF8 (au as it's after game)
Rating: be safe. R
On Going: Hallow's Night (multi-part complete)
Classification(s): Lime, Au (as is its after game), drabble epic
Warnings: ....no freaking clue
Pairing(s): Squall/Zell implied, Squall/??
Author's Notes: all done in drabbles, this was done originally for the various MLs that i was on to liven up. it was like a 10 days of halloween thing. people asked for a lj community, which is created and if you want to try seasonal writing challenges, come on over. seasonalcrack is what you'll be looking for... but i thought that i'd share the stuff i wrote with you all. its all unbeta'ed, so... um yeah! and this is cross posted to a couple places... so, if you see it more than once.. sorry!
Summary: reports of strange events in a floating castle fall on the commander's shoulders
The wind was battering against the house.
"I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight. I feel like I drank sour milk."
An auburn eyebrow went up. "Did you drink sour milk?"
"NO! I haven't..shut up. I didn't eat anything really wrong. just hot dogs." Zell glanced up from lighting the Jack O’Lantern.
"Next you're going to be saying that the veil between worlds is thinnest and should be careful as some demon might try to steal my soul..." Squall placed his gunblade back into its sheath.
Zell made a face, "Well, it is."
Squall smirked unkindly. "Old wive's tale."
Wood creaked under his booted foot. outside the wind quietly blew now, branches of trees like knarled fingers reaching upwards, swayed gently.
Rooms were barren, cobwebs and dust motes hung in the air.
Squall's leathers creaked as he went from room to room, listening for sounds.
Reports regarding the large hovering castle came regularly, despite being cleaned out a year ago. Checking any activity apparently fell on the Commander's shoulders.
The art room ahead had a soft glow emminating from beneath its doors
Squall gripped the door knob, and watched as a long legged black spider crawled over his glove.
The hinges squealed and cried as the door opened.
In the middle of the room was a fat squat cauldron, smoke billowing over the edges and tumbling down the metal sides onto the floor.
Lights danced and bounced around the room which sent the words which lead to previous battles glowing with an ethereal light.
Some words seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, which was a bit more than eerie.
Squall blew a bit of hair out of his eyes and stared at the words that glowed: Vigil, Intervigilium, Inandantia and Inaudax.
A cold slithered into Squall’s bones.
Squall knew better than to touch the words, knowing full well that they could bring him somewhere else; to some other creepy time.
He could hardly resist, they called to him, begged to be touched, stroked.
The black leather glove came off, and warm fingertips stretched out towards the glowing script.
"Touch me. Just a bit closer, Squall..."
Grey eyes blinked at the words that slunk and curled about his ear; the Commander shouldn't listen to the silky words, but he did.
His fingers slid over the words, felt where they dipped and rose, how they warmed under his fingers.
Squall closed his eyes against the sensations that fought for precedence; the scents of skin, of sex, the noises of breathy sighs and whimpers, the sight of something surrounding him, and underneath everything, he could swear he felt someone touching, petting him.
He should stop, come back with more people, find the cause of the sudden activity in the floating castle.
The auburn haired man tried to shake his head, to clear the cobwebs, to fix the sudden want that suddenly seeped into his bones.
An echoing laugh bounced off the walls - were there any walls still?
Squall felt lost.
All thoughts left Squall's mind as he felt soft lips press against his; a tongue darted between his lips and danced against his.
A smell that put him at ease whispered into his nostrils, the warmth of a hand pressed against his body, the sighs of a lover lost could be heard, and the taste was of candy; bittersweet tangy candy.
He wanted more.
The Commander wanted to press his hips against his poltergeist lover, to feel them; however, every time Squall pressed forward to touch or taste on his own, the body would leave.
It left him feeling frustrated.
Squall could feel someone tugging his auburn hair, reminding him of lovers long since past.
Fingers tugged and played at his clothes, the snaps of his pants came undone and were pulled over lean hips.
He could feel his field costume being stripped from him slowly, as if someone was trying to savor this moment.
Squall tried fighting it, then gave in, lifting limbs to give easier assistance to clothes coming off.
Hands stroked, and touched his body. The Commander quickly became hard and could feel a climax shiver through him, leaving his back arched and wordless cries to escape.
Squall awoke hours later on a terrace of the floating castle; his thighs and stomach sticky with his come from the sexual encounter with the entity.
Quickly he located his clothes and dressed.
Squall wandered back into the art gallery, the cauldron still sat there, but there was nothing billowing forth. It looked like a misplaced witch’s decoration.
He glanced at the words, looking normal, as if nothing happened. He touched them, felt the dips and the rises, but nothing changed. No mysterious lover came forth.
Squall frowned and felt like a fool.
It was time to leave he decided.