gunpowder tarnished fingertips slide softly down the length of the male's face. Biggs noted the blackened streak across marble skin and felt a wave of warmth as he realized that it did nothing but make what he felt more true, "You're beautiful."
A battlefield isn't the place for sentiment to bloom. There are no sweet words or soft kisses to be found in a place where some go to find vain glory, to fight for a worthy cause, but where most often go to die the worst kinds of deaths. You can scarcely look around the Sector 7 slums today without seeing a glimpse of blood, guts, limbs scattered about from bombs dropped by the fascists flying high above in their gilded helicopters.
How they must look like ants scurrying about from up there, insects ready to be crushed under stirs, it stirs the pent up anger inside of him, the feeling he often tries to keep buried because it rarely ends well when displayed. But what he would not give right now to be up there spilling those bodies upon the floor like the mako in those poisonous reactors.
Steely grey eyes seem stuck upon the artificial sky, feet rooted to the spot as he tries to process his feelings at this worst of times. Only when a set of gloved fingers settle upon his face does Squall snap to attention, ready to slice the assailant open. But a familiar face halts a tirade of violence, and if anything a softness comes over the lion's face. Biggs. He'd lost him a while ago through smoke and ashes, thought he might have lost him for good this time, apparently not.
A battlefield isn't the place for sentiment to bloom, yet Biggs seemed to care little for that unspoken rule. The former spy can scarcely take what follows a gentle touch , those shouldn't be words meant for someone like him. They're for pretty girls, for guys who smile and laugh and have soft dreams when they close their eyes at night. Squall Leonhart is none of those things, he never has pleasant dreams either.
But the warmth in Biggs' voice almost makes him think it possible to smile, laugh, and simply just sleep when darkness falls. Usually, there are no sweet words or soft kisses to be found in this unforgiving place, though he hopes with a piece of his own vanity that their kiss is the first and that no one else can ever make a claim to have done so too. If Biggs' lips are the last that Squall ever kisses, he'll sleep well forever after.