Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Other Fan Fiction ❯ Protecting the Lion ❯ Heated Arguing ( Chapter 6 )

Chapter Six

Heated Arguing

 

“Go lay down. Get some sleep if you can,” Seifer ordered sternly as he shrugged out of his trench coat and hung it on one of the hooks along the entryway wall.

 

Squall frowned at the blond's actions. Turning to face his older rival, he crossed his arms and tilted his chin up ever so slightly in defiance. “Don't act so comfortable. I didn't invite you in,” he said seething.

 

“What's the matter? Is the commander's apartment messy?” Seifer joked while walking right past the younger man.

 

“Dammit Almasy, do you listen to a word I say,” the brunet hissed as he turned to follow the blond's movements.

 

Seifer walked into the living room. Hopping over the back of the couch, he settled down onto the soft cushions. An amused smile turned the corners of his mouth upwards as he reveled in the anger his actions incited. Luckily, the commander could not see his express, lest his head be cleaved off his shoulders.

 

“What are you playing at?” Squall asked. He disliked the way his voice seemed to echo in the empty apartment. Somehow it felt vacant without Rinoa stopping by all the time.

 

“What do you think I'm playing at?” Seifer countered, wondering how long he could keep the quiet man talking.

 

Squall refused to reiterate or venture a guess. Instead, he angrily rounded the couch with and glared at the former sorceress knight.

 

Seifer concluded that he could not keep the commander talking for very long. While steely blue eyes shot daggers, he could not take his eyes from pouting lips, lips that refused to speak further. It had been six months since he had been able to partake in such a ritualistic argument. He had completely forgotten how enjoyable it could be.

 

Squall stood firmly, demanding an explanation.

 

Running a hand across his mouth and holding it at his chin in a show of deep thought, Seifer indulged the blunt nature of his rival. “I wasn't going to come back,” he said seriously. Hopefully there would be more opportunities to royally piss Leonhart off and he could pass this fight over for a more civilized discussion.

 

The meaning was clear to Squall. He understood what the older boy meant. Seifer hadn't been biding time away from Garden. His childhood rival had left permanently. He wasn't sure how he should feel about that. In truth, he hadn't really given it much thought. His days after the war weren't filled with the pompous prick trying to pick fights every time they crossed paths, but those fights had somehow been therapeutic. He hadn't had a good training session since he'd received the scar on his face. Impassively, he gave a faint nod of understanding and left it at that.

 

“Right, well far be it from me to expect a token of some emotion at never seeing me again,” Seifer muttered sarcastically, unable to hide a subtle undertone of hurt.

 

Shifting his weight to one leg and crossing his arms, Squall finally said, “Did you honestly expect me to be crying everyday I didn't get to see you?” His tone was harsher than he meant it to be.

 

Green eyes snapped up. Seifer looked stricken and bewildered. Quickly remembering himself, he let his gaze fall and turned his head to the side slightly before mumbling, “Don't be an ass. Of course I didn't.”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose Squall admitted, “I didn't sit outside the gates waiting for your return. I stopped waiting for anything a long time ago. You know that.”

 

Seifer felt a wave of heat hit the back of his neck as he recalled the memories of their time at the orphanage. He distinctly recalled a small and vulnerable little boy crying outside in the pouring rain. How many days had little Squally waited for Sis to return? How many times had the small boy's heart been broken? How many times had Seifer watched from the sidelines with his own sadness?

 

Clearing his throat, Seifer realized it wasn't fair to expect that his rival feel some sense of loss. While they had never been friends, they had always shared a strange bond through their rivalry. He supposed that if anyone had deserved his consideration before running off with Edea, it had been Squally-boy. Perhaps his lack of regard had played into the boy's sad fate to continually be abandoned. Jaw clenching, he ignored the small pang of regret that stirred within him. “Forget it,” he dismissed. He realized that he couldn't enter this conversation with the assumption that he was the designated good guy.

 

“Whatever,” Squall replied in masked agreement.

 

“I came back because you need help,” the blond informed, returning to the initial topic.

 

“I-” Squall started to respond but was cut off.

 

“Don't need help from anyone,” Seifer finished for the stubborn commander. “I know,” he agreed with mock sincerity. Leaning back he spread his arms out to either side along the back of the couch. “But I'm not just anyone. I'm Seifer Almasy.”

 

Furrowing his dark brows, Squall just stared at Seifer like the man had two heads. “Get over yourself.”

 

“You first,” Seifer countered. “You're not perfect and never will be. What you're doing, as commander and headmaster is not right.” The flicker of emotion he saw in the slender man's cold eyes was all the encouragement he needed. “They don't have the right to ask you to do all this. Why do you do it?”

 

Pink lips parted to answer, but no words came forth.

 

Seifer's eyes lingered on the other's mouth as he wondered what the brunet was about to say. “It is impossible to keep this up. Running a Garden is not a one-man show. The crew around you is more competent than you think. I know Cid had an easy ride with all the extra help he accepted.” When those lips formed another frown, he attempted to follow the possible thoughts inside that pretty little head of the commander's. “It's not a sign of weakness to accept help, but it is a sign of being pathetically weak to collapse in front of a room full of reporters and cameras after six months of working yourself to the bone and not taking care of yourself.”

 

Steely blue eyes snapped from their unfocused gaze at the floor.

 

Continuing, Seifer pointed out, “You're too pale and thin. You can still swing that blade of yours, but it doesn't sing like it used to. If I wanted to, I could render you helpless in a matter of seconds. Your reflexes are slow and your stamina is nonexistent, and last night someone got close enough to take pictures of your ass.” His words were bitingly harsh in their blunt truth. “Do you still question why I'm here?”

 

Squall could not hide how he felt. The contempt in his eyes showed through brightly. “I don't need a nanny,” he commented, not daring to raise his voice and show the bullying blond that he was upset.

 

“No, you don't,” Seifer agreed. “You need food and sleep.” It was a dead end conversation. Before he could even consider that he still harbored his own indecision regarding Trepe's proposal, he stated, “I'm here to do a job. This is legitimate.” He raised an eyebrow, daring the commander to lie and say an agreement hadn't already been reached back in the conference room. He knew his rival had as many noble and honorable tendencies as he lacked. No matter how influenced the weary man had been to accept a bodyguard, there was no going back.

 

“Since when have you been the spokesman for relying on other people?” Squall spat, angry with what Seifer was saying and angry that it was true.

 

Grinning smarmily, Seifer said, “Six months is a long time.” Standing up he glanced around the room. He had been looking forward to grating on his rival's nerves and couldn't think of a better opportunity. The sullen man had yet to be informed of certain stipulations in his contract, one of which was residing in the same quarters. “Get some sleep. I'll get you up in time for the conference. Trepe would have my head if you were late.” When he saw the stubbornly refusing expression on Leonhart's face he ordered, “Go now. What do I have to do, set your room on fire and throw some children in there before you'll get your ass in gear?”

 

Sighing, Squall mentally kicked himself for agreeing to this. Hesitantly, he took a step towards his bedroom, but then stopped. “What….” he didn't quite know how to phrase it without making it seem like he cared.

 

“What will I be doing?” Seifer supplied, suppressing a smirk at his rival's predictability. “I'll be in the spare bedroom, unpacking.”

 

Squall's shoulders went rigid. Seifer was staying with him, within close proximity? Was there any point in arguing? He hadn't one a single argument the entire day and quite frankly, he didn't have any fight left. He walked to his room and closed the door on the most recent problem in his life. He would wait until later to protest Seifer's stay in his apartment. Hardly heeding the ex-knight's orders, he intended to rest a bit of his own volition.

 

 

--

 

The next Squall knew there was loud knocking at his door and muffled speaking.

 

“Time to get up Leonhart,” Seifer's voice came from behind the closed door.

 

Standing, Squall staggered while moving across the room. He had actually fallen asleep. He supposed there was no helping it, even if he had only intended to rest his eyes briefly. His body felt slightly refreshed, but far from sated. The work he had accomplished earlier that morning would make up for his current slacking.

 

Opening his bedroom door, Squall walked out. The change brighter setting didn't seem to agitate his eyes, which meant his migraine had passed. Rubbing the final remnants of sleep from his eyes, he made his way over to the couch.

 

Seifer was sitting comfortably on the couch with the television on, but he turned it off at the sound of the commander's approach. Glancing behind, he saw a messy haired brunet with half lidded sleep dazed eyes. His breath hitched slightly. Seeing Leonhart like that was not something he was used to. Seeing the man unguarded felt like he was committing some forbidden act.

 

Realizing he had been caught staring, Seifer scratched his head and fought to keep his expression straight. He would die before he blushed. The pretty boy commander was attractive enough, but effeminate features were not so alluring that someone as straight him would ever harbor a single desire. “No doubt Trepe will show up soon. You should get dressed,” he managed to say.

 

“I am dressed,” Squall replied succinctly. He had on his usual clothes; donning a white t-shirt and black leather pants. Despite his rank as Commander, he kept his image of a low ranking mercenary because it suited his tastes.

 

“This is politics, get on your uniform,” Seifer rebuked.

 

“You're delusional if you think I'd actually listen to you,” Squall hissed before turning and heading for the main door.

 

Before the commander could take more than a single step, a strong arm wrapped around his waist. Faster than he could react he was sharply pulled backwards.

 

Seifer was not about to let his stormy eyed charge get away so easily. Neither of them could stand to obey the other, but at the same time neither of them could handle the other not listening to them. It was something of a catch 22. Seifer was beginning to like the fact that he had some professional authority over the pale brunet. He would abuse his authority every chance he could.

 

With unpredictability on his side, the ex-knight was easily able to take the smaller man by surprise. His arm had snagged around a slim waist and he promptly dragged the commander over the back of the couch. Moving quickly, he stopped kicking legs by sitting atop them.

 

“Seifer!” Squall cried. “What the hell are you doing?” Fisting the green sweater, he tried to shove the larger man off. He was officially pissed off.

 

“Wear your uniform,” the blond ordered.

 

Looking defiantly up into green eyes, Squall quirked an eyebrow. “You are delusional,” he commented, refusing to do anything his rival ordered him to do.

 

“You will change,” Seifer pressed again, the confidence in his tone only serving to further taunt the commander.

 

“I won't,” Squall hissed out, eyes narrowing.

 

Roughly Seifer grabbed the slim wrists and forcefully pinned them above the brunet's head. Leaning back he looked down as if admiring his work. The commander was successfully pinned beneath him, which was quite an accomplishment. He was playing with fire however, and knew Leonhart's retaliation would be a painful one.

 

Narrowed grey-blue eyes seemed to realize the defenseless predicament he was in. Squall jerked his legs and arms to test just how immobile he was. It would seem he was effectively trapped. He would hardly concede to wear his scratchy and stiff uniform simply because the ex-knight had him pinned to the couch.

 

“Wear the uniform. It's what you should be wearing at one of these things.”

 

“No,” Squall refused once more.

 

“Why not?” Seifer asked.

 

“Seifer,” Squall growled. If only he hadn't left Lionheart in his bedroom. He tried twisting about and bucking the blond off, but it was no use. “Get off me,” he ordered, falling still.

 

“Wear the uniform,” Seifer ordered redundantly.

 

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Squall simply glared at his rival's gloating face. Relaxing his body, he sank down into the cushions deeper, squirming uncomfortably for a moment and then falling still. He was patient enough to wait for Quistis' arrival, at which time the ex-knight would be forced to let go. With any luck, the head instructor would reconsider the blond's position as his bodyguard for such treatment.

 

“Do you think to wait me out?” Seifer questioned. His anger was pricked when the stubborn young man seemed to relinquish control without any worry or fear. They weren't even friends and the brunet seemed to have some solid belief that he wouldn't do anything more than bark orders.

 

“That was the plan, unless you decide you value your life and get off now,” Squall said. Wondering how long he would be waiting, he craned his head back against the couch, trying to get a glimpse of the clock on the wall. The couch's armrest blocked his view, but he was confident it wouldn't be much longer.

 

Feeling as though he'd been struck by genius, Seifer acted on impulse and leaned forward. Dipping his head low, he attacked the smooth and pale skin of the commander's neck.

 

“Hey!” Squall shouted. What the hell was Seifer doing? Eyes growing wide in shock, he felt warm lips pressed against his neck. Too shocked to react right away, he began struggling furiously at the feel of a wet tongue and pressure from a sucking mouth.

 

Seifer had set to the task of giving Leonhart a scandalously prominent hickey. With skin so pale, even a slight kiss mark would be obvious. Regardless of fulfilling the requirements of his ingenious idea, he carried on nibbling and sucking unnecessarily. He was distantly alarmed that he had to contain himself and not trail his mouth elsewhere, but he figured it was merely his desire to push his rival's buttons.

 

When Seifer was quite finished, he gave a final lick to his mark. Briefly, he thought the commander shivered beneath him, but he was certain it had only been more struggling. Pulling back, he was forced to school his expression with meticulous care, lest he reveal the shock and preposterous attraction he felt at the sight his eyes were presented with. Leonhart lay beneath him, a position that had been rather suggestive from the beginning, head pressed back with silky haired splayed out beneath. Pale cheeks were blushing and stormy blue eyes were averted almost shyly. A slender neck was now blemished with his kiss mark, a rouged spot still slick from his mouth. He had never seen such an indecent display, and he wouldn't be a man if he didn't acknowledge the sheer sexuality of it.

 

Slowly, far too slowly for Seifer's ego to remain intact, reality sunk in. Hastily removing himself from atop the commander, he awaited the painful retaliation he had known would eventually find him. Struck bluntly, Leonhart's fist connected with his mouth. The taste of blood did not serve to calm him or instill a greater sense of self. In fact, he was almost unhinged by the way his eyes were drawn to the stalking lion's well-shaped ass as the man retreated angrily.

 

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Seifer sighed. Dealing with Leonhart was going to be more trouble than he thought. His memory had failed to do the young man's stubborn qualities justice. His reaction to such challenges was becoming a bit unpredictable. Wiping his bruised and cut lip, he walked to the other bedroom. It wouldn't be long before Trepe arrived.

 

Squall came out wearing his SeeD uniform, metals and ranks in place. The high collar hid the hickey Seifer had given him. He had been greatly disturbed by the ex-knight's inappropriate actions until he had realized the connection between marking his neck and the high collar of the uniform he had refused to wear.

 

Seifer could not contain his amusement when the commander came out dressed properly. He laughed out loud, making no effort to contain it. '

 

“Bastard,” Squall spoke vehemently. Still abruptly, he eyed the blond dubiously. “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked.

 

“It's what all the cool kids are wearing,” the knight replied with a smirk. The silence that followed let him know his sense of humor would not be appreciated, so he explained, “I'm going to go with you, but my popularity isn't what it used to be. If I go like this, I'll be just another reporter.”

 

The commander's responded with a harsh glare. “You're a fool,” he stated testily, still livid with the older boy.

 

“Really? I have it on high authority that I'm a genius,” the blond returned.

 

Scoffing, Squall gave the tall man a once over. “Whose authority.” It was rhetorical.

 

The knocking at the door stirred the bickering pair from their isolated world.

 

“Come in,” Seifer called out, grinning at the scowl this earned from his rival.

 

There was a pause before the door glided open and heals clicked against the tiled entryway. Before anyone came into view, a voice called out, “You know, it'd be nice if you dressed appropriately to one of these things for once.” It was Quistis. “There have been a few articles lately about….” As she walked further in, she stopped herself and just stared.

 

It was unexpected to find Squall actually wearing his uniform. Every event was a battle to coerce the commander into dressing properly. Thusly, she had lost each battle. Not even Rinoa had been capable of persuading the recalcitrant man. His refusal to dress the part was subject to scrutiny among the other Garden commanders and veteran soldiers. The media had also played with it. Crystal blue eyes stared in disbelief, seeing Squall dressed regally. Her attention was drawn away from her commander upon noticing Seifer. “Seifer, you look ridiculous. Take that off,” she reprimanded.

 

Seifer had discarded his casual apparel. Donning a sharp black suit, he was dressed to a T, from his cufflinks to his stylish Dick Tracy hat that was added for dramatic affect. Raising a hand to falsely adjust a cuff he smirked. “Don't try and mask your feelings for me Trepe. Just cause you think I look sexy right now doesn't mean you should get angry.”

 

Huffing, Quistis faltered for a response before eventually scoffing and dismissing the man's insinuation. In truth, while she didn't care to see Seifer in any respect that wasn't platonic, she could not deny what any sane woman would. The ex-knight was dashingly handsome, something made more apparent by the simple change of clothing.

 

Rolling her eyes, the head instructor crossed her arms. Inside she winced at how the blond towering before her would not be fooled for a second. “The conference is in fifteen minutes. We need to go and meet President Loire right now.”

 

Reaching up, Seifer clasped a hand around the stiff top of his black hat and smoothly took it off. “Okay, no problem. His highness is ready to go.” His attempts at blending in with a room full of reporters would no doubt backfire, but he hopeful that his presence might distract the muckrakers enough to lessen the quick fire questions shot at the commander. It was now his job to take care of his rival, insane as that was.

 

“Why weren't you in your office?” Quistis asked Squall, shifting from foot to foot. It was a bit awkward standing in the presence of two extremely attractive young men.

 

Frowning, Seifer nearly spoke against his former instructor. It was obvious Leonhart needed to be resting, not working. Still, his thoughts might mislead his audience into thinking he actually cared, so he didn't rely instinctively. Instead, he commented, “He had to make himself look all pretty. I can't promise that he'll smile for the cameras though.”

 

Giving the knight a confused look Quistis ignored the disrespectful tone and questioned, “Why do I get the distinct impression that you intend to go to this meeting?”

 

“Because I do. I'm not Leonhart's nanny for nothing,” the cocky blond explained.

 

“Nanny?” the instructor intoned skeptically.

 

Smirking, Seifer muttered, “Leonhart's word, not mine.” Standing straight, he subtly reaffirmed his intentions to attend the conference.

 

“I can't have you in those rooms.” Quistis held a hand up to halt the large man's steps.

 

“Then you've got a problem,” Seifer declared, staring down at the blonde woman. “Leonhart goes no where that I'm not allowed. Either I go or he stays. It's your choice.”

 

Quistis knew when to give up. Arguing with either of the two rivals was like arguing with a wall. “Fine, let's go,” she caved. Pausing for a moment as a thought struck her, she looked back to her reticent commander. “Squall, why did you decide to wear your uniform?”

 

Squall didn't answer. The blush that crept to his cheeks was terribly self-deprecating.

 

Seifer seemed to have sensed the distressed feelings Squall felt and walked up beside him. Ruffling the brunet's hair he spoke for the commander again, “Because he's a good boy, aren't you?”

 

“Whatever” Squall mumbled angrily, stalking to the doorway.

 

TBC… please review!