Final Fantasy VIII, Squall/Zell, unarmed combat
Zell moves like a dancer. A dancer who fights. A fighter who bakes battle into another dance. Every motion is a perfect orchestration of muscle and sinew. Every punch and kick and spin proof of a weapon honed to a razor edge.
He is beautiful.
And when he touches me, I can almost believe he's something I can have. Because all that grace and training is lost and he's a novice with enthusiasm and a few guilty glances at a porn mag somewhere to give him ideas and he comes to me.
Callused hands and chapped lips run all over me, learning everything they can. He licks marks onto my neck, flicks my nipples with his tongue, and traces the heat of my length through straining leather. The only thing I can do is kiss him, hold him to me tightly and show him how I like it. Arch and sigh within the powerful cradle of his arms.
I don't know why he wants me. There are any number of reasons. But I know the reason I let him in. I need him. I need the nervous glances, the hesitant touches, the way his eyes light up sky blue when I take control and show him what I want. I need the way he shivers around my fingers and tries so hard not to be scared. I need the broken little moan he makes right before I scrape over his prostate and make him scream.
He's beautiful. When he's dancing, or fighting, or clawing my back with his hips rocking hard to my own. He's a master of his own body; a living weapon. So when he comes to me and places shy kisses behind my ears, or kisses me like the first time all over again, I get the terrible urge to keep him. To own him, if I could. My Zell.
But I would never be able to let him go again. And I can't dance.