Final Fantasy VIII, Squall/Zell, unarmed combat
“You sure you’re up to this?” Zell asked, eyes full of doubt as he watched Squall carefully rested his gunblade against a nearby tree and stripped off his jacket. “I mean, not to be a boastful asshole or anything, but I’m specialized in unarmed combat and you’re not.”
Squall didn’t say anything, just stepped forward as he adjusted his gloves, pulling them tighter over his knuckles, the leather creaking under the strain. He stood for a moment before lashing out, fist hitting solidly against Zell’s jaw, sending him tumbling backwards.
“Shit!” Zell got up from where he’d fallen, rubbing his face tenderly. “You bastard, I wasn’t ready!”
Squall smirked, scarred eyebrow raising slightly. “Not so cocky now,” he said, falling back into a defensive stance. “I think I can take you.”
Zell paused for a moment, rubbing the sting out, before getting to his feet. Smirking, he stepped forward. “Alright,” he said, a sharp grin on his face, eyes narrowed. “Let’s do this!” And he launched himself at Squall.
They were vicious, ignoring their friendship as they fought, holding nothing back from each other. Somehow, somehow, Squall managed to shove Zell back against a tree, it’s bark digging into his back painfully, though significantly less so than the bloody bruises adorning his face and body. Zell comforted himself with the thought that, as bad as he felt, there was no way he looked as bad as Squall did.
I guess he needs a little more to back off, stubborn asshole. But before Zell managed to shove Squall away, Squall jerked the zipper down on his jean shorts and reached inside, grasping hold of his cock roughly.
“Fuck, Squall,” Zell cried out, hands grabbing Squall’s around the wrist but unable- or unwilling- to push him away.
Squall said nothing, just stared at Zell as he tugged on him, fingers sliding up and down his cock with practiced ease. Letting go of his wrists, Zell instead fisted Squall’s jacket at the shoulders, bowing his head as he panted. He squeezed his eyes shut as he chanted in his head don’t come, don’t come . Squall squeezed suddenly, shockingly, fingers suddenly digging into his flesh and, despite himself, Zell came. Squall let him collected himself, fingers immediately gentling, stroking always comfortingly. When Zell caught his breath and looked up at him, Squall smirked faintly. “I win,” he said and Zell sighed and shrugged.
“Yeah, well,” he said, reversing their positions, shoving Squall against the tree and kneeling down in front of him. “I’ll get you next time,” he said, fumbling with his many belts.