Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Other Fan Fiction ❯ Protecting the Lion ❯ The Embers of Desire ( Chapter 7 )

Chapter Seven

The Embers of Desire

 

“Commander Leonhart!” the reporters chimed collectively as their hands shot into the air like overly eager students in a classroom. With their notepads in hand and pencils held aloft, it seemed as though even the commander's every movement was being noted.

 

Flashes went off and the whizzing of the filmstrips rolling filled the room. Official business had been taken care of already. Balamb Garden had cosigned an agreement with the nation of Esthar. The declaration of allies had not been Squall's idea. In fact, the reticent commander was far from liking the move. He had been given an ultimatum, something he hardly appreciated.

 

For all Laguna Loire's carefree tendencies and clueless innocence, the Estharian President was one hell of a political mastermind. Esthar was a secluded nation with technology far more advanced than anywhere else. With the desolate aftermath of the most recent sorceress war, cities were in shambles and the economy was crushed. Esthar had remained virtually untouched, excluding the Lunar Cry. Not only had Esthar been specifically prepared for such an event as a crazed sorceress, but they had also been well equipped to aide in repairing the damage for less fortunate countries.

 

Regardless of Esthar's capability, the hidden city-nation had made no move to help anyone. As a result, it had become Squall's responsibility to persuade President Loire to give a hand. Though his relationship with the President had been a well kept secret until that day, Commanders Trent and Zephlar from the other gardens had known of it and made it quite clear that it was his duty to take advantage of his blood ties.

 

What Squall had failed to foresee was the true politician hidden beneath Laguna's goofball exterior. The former Galbadian soldier had agreed to do everything in his power to help, if Balamb Garden forged an alliance with Esthar. Obviously, Squall could not vouch for Galbadia or Trabia, but the President had settled for Balamb. It was a great move for Esthar. They had more than enough resources to help out and now they had the assurance that no matter what happened in the future, Balamb Garden would not be sending hired mercenaries to attack them. The treaty also held a rather intricately tangled web of words that basically stated that if Esthar went to war with any nation, all Garden facilities excluded, then Balamb would have to back them up.

 

Some people, mainly SeeD, had questioned why Esthar hadn't helped before. The answer was simple. Esthar had suffered previous tyranny from Adel and were not quick to feel sympathy. Since no one really knew too much about them, very few people expected anything from them. For all any civilian knew, Esthar was still a myth or legend.

 

While President Loire received much praise and commendation for his caring gesture, even if it was six months delayed, Squall was receiving scrutiny for creating an alliance. It was understood that as a facility that trained mercenaries for hire, alliances were forbidden. Commanders Trent and Zephlar were opposed to the move, regardless of making it clear that it was Commander Leonhart's duty to persuade Esthar to help out.

 

Squall's grey-blue eyes scanned to room carefully. It was important to know each reporter by his or her name and to have an idea for what questions they were going to ask. Sadly, he could barely remember his secretary's name, let alone a room full of overly curious gossip mongrels. He doubted it would have made a difference. They were all going to have the same thing on their mind.

 

Disregarding who he was gesturing to, Squall finally chose one of the many hands that were waving frantically in the air.

 

While the rest of the room settled down and made ready to quote the commander, the woman he had called upon straightened up and smiled. “Commander, how does your relationship with President Loire effect Balamb Garden's relations with Esthar?”

 

“It doesn't,” the commander answered evenly.

 

This process went on, one question after another.

 

“Commander Leonhart, how are you dealing with the other gardens in this alliance?”

 

Suppressing the urge to comment sarcastically, Squall swept the hair from his eyes and responded, “This alliance is germane only to Balamb Garden. Trabia and Galbadia have no involvement.”

 

“Sir, what are the responses of the other gardens?”

 

“I have no comment for you at this time. I can only speak for Balamb Garden.” It was inevitable that Trabia and Galbadia denounce his decision, but he would deal with that when the time came.

 

Feeling a distant pounding in his head, Squall rubbed his temple casually while Laguna answered a few questions. He felt like a fish out of water. Dropping his hand, he straightened. He loathed press conferences. His only reprieve was the long winded President. Laguna was a reporter's worst nightmare, speaking at great lengths about anything but what had been asked in the first place. Lucky for Squall, that meant a few intermissions.

 

While the cheery man ranted for the millionth time about how regretful it was to be estranged from Commander Leonhart, Squall surveyed the crowd, trying to spot Seifer. Before he could manage to find the knight's head of golden blond hair, he was asked an unprompted question.

 

“Mr. Leonhart, does Miss Heartilly's disappearance have any correlation with the man who's been stalking you?”

 

Nearly showing the surprise he felt, Squall managed to form a reply, “We have no reason to believe that is the case.” He eyed the reporter carefully.

 

The same reporter followed up, “Then, what is your belief on her mysterious absence? Has she left you?”

 

Squall stared at the older man for a moment. Dark brown hair, almost black, with hints of gray near the temples, a stern square jaw. His dark eyes seemed to glint with amusement. Blocking out the noise of cameras and few whispers among other reporters, the only sound Squall heard was the tightening grip of his leather gloves. Taking a steadying breath, he answered in the only way he could manage, “I have no comment at the moment.” Clenching his jaw, he did his best not to send a harsh glare in the direction of the man who had asked such a personal question. “I would, however, like to comment that this is a conference about Balamb Garden's alliance with Esthar and not an inquiry into my personal affairs.”

 

“But, sir,” the audacious reporter continued, earning several gasps from his fellow reporters nearby. “Is your safety not a matter of the public's concern?”

 

“No, it isn't,” Squall spoke more harshly than he intended.

 

It was then that Quistis stepped in and called an end to the conference. Squall, Laguna, Quistis, and Kiros stood from the long table at the head of the room and walked through a door on the wall behind them. The door led to the conference room where they had signed the document for the alliance, not to mention where the gang had eaten breakfast that morning.

 

Once inside the room, Squall felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The conference was over. He could return to his office and work in complete solitude. Before he took his leave, he needed to know how that last reporter had known so much.

 

Seifer strode in from the other entrance at the far end of the conference room. Grinning smugly, he strode closer.

 

Kiros crouched slightly in preparation to fend of the intruder. Laguna also seemed to tense up, ready to fight. It was not a good idea to be a stranger and walk in on such a group of people.

 

It was a moment later that Selphie bound in behind the handsome blond and skipped over to Laguna to give him a hug.

 

“Laguna!” Selphie greeted. “Kiros!” She released the President to hug his bodyguard, much to poor Kiros' dismay.

 

“Selphie, it's good to see you.” Laguna returned in mirrored enthusiasm.

 

Turning around, the cheerful girl finally took notice of the man she'd whizzed by. Her smile widened as she looked the tall knight up and down. Giggling, she said, “Looking good, Seifer.”

 

Seifer smirked, hardly unaware of his attractive appearance, but looked beyond the messenger girl and at the head instructor. Flashing his pearly whites, he jibed, “See Trepe, our girl Tilmitt here knows how to be honest with herself. Why can't you admit how damn hot you think I am?”

 

Seifer's humor was lost on the two older men in the room. Kiros Seagill and Laguna had never had the pleasure of being exposed to the blond's sense of sarcastic humor.

 

Quistis could not suppress a mild blush, causing the narcissistic ex-knight to laugh at her. Glaring, she crossed her arms defensively, not appreciating being made fun of.

 

“Seifer Almasy?” Kiros questioned, hostility apparent in his tone.

 

“The one and only,” Seifer admitted proudly.

 

Squall gently slapped his hand to his forehead. This was one confrontation he could do without.

 

“And why is Adel's lapdog anywhere near the President of Esthar?” the dark skinned man asked Squall, accusation clear.

 

“Adel?” Seifer remarked incredulously. “No, I don't recall being her knight. Ultimecia on the other hand is another story,” he corrected.

 

“You help one, you help them all,” Kiros countered, taking a step in front of Laguna.

 

“Relax Seagill. I'm no enemy of Esthar.” As if in a show of sincerity, or perhaps mock, Seifer reached up and removed his hat to place it against his heart.

 

“What do you want Seifer?” Squall asked, half hoping that the blond would say there was some catastrophe and it required his immediate attention. If that were the case, he could skip out on the personal time Laguna would try to have with him.

 

“I wanted to tell Trepe that she'll need to find another instructor for this afternoon's class on basic spell casting,” Seifer supplied smoothly with feigned innocence, as though he had nothing to do with the regular instructor not being available.

 

“That's Fujin's class. Why won't she be able to teach today?” Quistis asked warily.

 

Answering vaguely, the blond said, “I sent her on a little assignment.”

 

Sighing, Quistis was faced with the fact that Raijin and Fujin would always answer to Seifer above everyone else. “What assignment?” she inquired automatically.

 

“She's tailing that journalist jerk-off from before. I think his name was Haden Adams.”

 

Quizzical blue eyes widened behind wire rimmed glasses. Hastily, Quistis flipped open the folder she was carrying and scanned the pages.

 

“His name won't be in there,” Seifer informed. “From what I've gathered, he's not an actual reporter. He's got balls though, not to mention some very well informed sources.”

 

Tucking a stray braided strand behind his ear, Kiros gave a small nod to everyone. “That takes care of what I was going to discuss with you Commander.”

 

Frowning at the cold attitude he was receiving from Kiros, Squall watched the lanky man walk away.

 

“I'll see you at dinner, Squall.” Laguna looked hopefully into his son's eyes.

 

Squall clenched his jaw and fought to keep a scowl from his face. The only reply he could manage to his father's request was a small nod. His nod seemed to mean the world to the longhaired man, as his youthful features lit up with joy.

 

Flipping her folder shut, Quistis gave Seifer an approving smile. “It would seem my confidence has not been misplaced.”

 

“Gee-whiz Trepe, I don't know what to say. Does this mean you'll sleep with me?” Seifer shot lewdly.

 

Rolling her eyes, the blonde instructor responded, “Sometimes you're worse than Irvine.”

 

“Ouch, that hurts,” Seifer said lamely, walking over towards Leonhart. “Come on, let's get going.” He casually placed a hand on the small of the lithe commander's back, applying just enough pressure to make his intentions clear.

 

Not wanting to be escorted, Squall stood firmly in place. “Go where?” he asked.

 

Dropping his voice to a whisper, Seifer replied, “To your place. This whole morning hasn't exactly been a picnic for you and now you have dinner with daddy dearest later.”

 

The deep tone of the ex-knight's voice made the hairs on the back of Squall's neck stand up. It suddenly felt a little too warm in the room. Shaking his chocolate strands, he ignored the odd feeling. “I'm going to my office.”

 

“No, you're not,” Seifer stated firmly, giving a gentle push to the smaller man's slender backside. It wasn't forceful enough to bodily move the brunet, just enough to clarify that he wasn't backing down. “Hey Trepe,” he spoke without taking his eyes from the top of that silky mop of hair. “The commander's got some time off coming to him, right? He's taking the rest of the day off. Think you can handle things?”

 

The response was immediate. “Of course,” both Quistis and Selphie chimed.

 

Squall still refused to budge. He stood resolutely, glaring at the two women he now considered traitors.

 

Seifer didn't need to see into those stormy eyes to know that the brunet was furious. Dropping his voice again, swearing he had detected a peculiar tensing, he whispered, “I don't have a problem with marking you up again in front of everyone.” There was definitely a reaction this time. Pout lips parted in an inaudible gasp.

 

Jerking away, Squall glared up at the ex-knight. “You wouldn't dare,” he hissed.

 

“Is that a challenge?” Seifer asked with a playful smirk.

 

Grey-blue eyes widened, disbelief registering as it became apparent the blond man had every intention of pinning him to the table. While the outcome might simply result in a scuffle, the display itself would be wholly unprofessional and incriminatingly suspicious. Bottling his anger, Squall bit down harshly on his lip, forcing himself not to fillet the cocky bastard right there. Taking a step forward, he distanced himself from his rival while grudgingly complying.

 

As Seifer moved to follow his furiously complacent charge, he placed his hat on Selphie's head. The last thing he heard was the joyful girl's giggling before he left.

 

Catching up to Leonhart, Seifer shadowed the slim commander all the way back to their joint residence. It would seem the younger man was sulking. He was determined to win every argument within the twenty-four hour testing period. If he backed down, he knew there was little chance of ever getting his rival to listen to him. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but sometime within that past hour or so, he had decided to take his role seriously. He would be Leonhart's bodyguard, if only to ease a bored mind.

 

As they turned the corner, the commander's apartment in sight, Seifer noticed a black fur ball sitting before the doorway.

 

Hearing his master, Gabriel's ears shot up. Scampering closer, he met the sulking brunet halfway.

 

Recognizing the animal as the one from the pictures, Seifer reached a hand down in greeting. The cat seemed uninterested in anything but its master, but took the time to sniff his hand before turning away and trailing after Squall, who had walked right past the feline. He couldn't help but find the creature's cold greeting rather familiar. Perhaps it was true that a pet and pet owner shared similar personalities.

 

Squall didn't wait for Seifer. Gabriel barely managed to make it inside following at his heels.

 

Seeing the door shut, Seifer sighed and unclasped the holster of his blade. It was quite possible that within the privacy of his own apartment, the commander wouldn't hesitate to commit murder. Wary of the brunet's mood, Seifer entered the code and opened the door. The fact that the print scanner was now disabled wasn't exactly something he approved of, but since the device had proved useless, he wouldn't strike an argument over it.

 

To Seifer's relief, the younger man was not waiting to cleave him in two. Instead, he was distressed to find him curled up on the couch with the cat kneading his chest. Lionheart was unstrapped and resting on the coffee table, while the stiff jacket of the commander's uniform was haphazardly draped over the back of the couch.

 

The feeling he received from the sight of the unguarded ice prince was completely different than anything he had expected. Seeing Squall dozing so carefree and without being ordered to do so was unsettling.

 

“Squall?” Seifer called, rounding the couch and taking a seat at the opposite end from his tired charge.

 

“Nnh?” was the mumbled response from an already half-asleep brunet.

 

“You're going to sleep?” Seifer questioned, not sure he should believe what his eyes were seeing.

 

“Nnh,” was Squall's response again.

 

“Without being forced?” Seifer tilt his head in confusion. He wanted to shake the man awake and check to see if stormy blue eyes were dilated, but he had been watching too closely for the commander to have taken any drugs. He thought to question the brunet's choice of using the narrow couch, but decided he didn't care where the man slept so long as it happened.

 

For a moment dark eyelids squeezed shut before clouded eyes peered through narrow slits. As if in confirmation, Squall shifted his form to face the other way. Back facing away from the couch, he curled closer to himself, almost furrowing into the creviced cushions. Gabriel seemed accustomed to the shifting movements and leapt out of the way before gently patting his way back into his master's arms. “Observant, aren't we?” the brunet remarked sarcastically after shifting his body.

 

Under normal circumstances, Seifer would have scoffed, taking the reserved man's humor in stride. At the moment he was having trouble finding his own breath. He had the distinct feeling that he was the only person alive Leonhart would ever reveal such vulnerability to. He didn't know how to take it. He felt as though he had been given a huge responsibility, like it was his job to make sure no one else saw this side of the man.

 

Unable to disturb his resting charge, Seifer grabbed the remote on the small coffee table and turned the television on. The only stations programmed in were news channels, which was something he had learned earlier that day. He had been surprised by it considering Rinoa had been living in the apartment, or at least sleeping over occasionally. He was keenly aware that there was no sense of personality in the apartment, as though the inhabitant had just moved in and hadn't settled down enough to decorate.

 

Turning the volume down so that it wouldn't disturb the sleeping beauty, Seifer tried to concentrate on the screen in front of him. Concentrating on the news proved to be an impossible task. Green eyes kept darting glances to the napping commander. The brunet's deceivingly small form was clad in black from head to toe, exaggerating the paleness of already pale skin. Those loose pants, which hadn't been tailored, to compensate for a recent weight loss, made him look even smaller. Without bulky boots, the folds fell to cover part of his feet.

 

Before Seifer knew it, his eyes fixated, roaming his childhood rival's body with avid interest. Not conscious of his actions, he indulged whatever interest his eyes found. After several long moments, his attention was drawn to the kiss mark on the brunet's neck. It was a mark indicating a lover's possession. It was a mark he had made.

 

Hastily, Seifer stood up and stalked to his new room. The thoughts forming in his mind were not right. Such an attraction was meant for a pretty little number he met at a club in Deling, not Squall Leonhart. Certainly he hadn't been celibate long enough that his desperate libido was turning to the nearest piece of tail in sight. If he was going to ogle anyone as a last resort, it should have been Trepe or the messenger girl. He supposed it was simply the amount of time he had spent with his rival. The entire day had been a bit weird. His lifestyle had changed completely.

 

Excusing his overactive hormones for a suppressed need to have a quick fling, Seifer changed from his suit. Dinner with President Loire was most likely not going to be a formal event, so he donned a comfortable pair of jeans and a grey hoodie.

 

Whether to prove that he was not the least bit attracted to the moody brunet, or to keep an eye over the sleeping boy, Seifer returned to the living room. He noticed that Squall had curled up a bit more. The cat seemed to find such squished quarters too confined and sat on the cushion next to Seifer.

 

In another gesture of friendliness, Seifer reached a hand out to pet the black fur ball. Bright yellow eyes seemed to study him with a level of intelligence above that of a normal feline. He had never been a cat person, so he wasn't privy to proper feline behavior. Regardless, there seemed something odd about this creature. Though friendly enough, accepting hit touch with a purr, it was hardly as affectionate as towards Squally-boy.

 

“You like him a lot, don't you?” Seifer questioned aloud. He half expected an actual response, but when the animal did nothing but stare at him, he returned his focus to the TV.

 

Depending on how long Squall was going to sleep, Seifer might have to find something other than the news to keep his mind's focus away from his rival. Even as he reminded himself that a quick tumble with a cute new recruit would relieve him of his creeping desires, he couldn't keep his eyes from stealing occasional glances.

 

 

TBC…Please review!!