Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Other Fan Fiction ❯ Protecting the Lion ❯ Too Close For Comfort ( Chapter 31 )

Chapter Thirty-One

Too Close For Comfort

 

It was ironic how the very reason Irvine and Seifer were at each other's throats managed to bring them together.

 

“Tilmitt,” Seifer's voice spoke with a commanding air, “Stay here and set up whatever little camp it is that lets you work. I want all information on that number.”

 

“Do you honestly think that someone like this guy would have left a trail?” Selphie asked, half her attention on setting up all her equipment.

 

For a brief moment, violet eyes met jade green. Standing in the cabin of Ragnarok, Seifer cocked the pistol before holstering it beneath the folds of his long coat. “The bastard got impatient. He wanted to lead Squall to him, that means leaving breadcrumbs. I don't care if you only manage to find out the type of music he likes, I want every stone overturned.”

 

Pulling a laptop into her lap, Selphie answered, “Okay”

 

“Kinneas,” Seifer walked towards the cabin door, stopping partway to stand beside the cowboy. “I have no need for a gunman with slow reflexes.”

 

Before the auburn haired sharpshooter had managed to reach the upstairs of The Harold, he'd fallen under the noxious fumes. Under the cover of the gas, he'd been exposed to its impairing effects longer. Selphie and the bar owner had to practically carry him to the rendezvous point.

 

Flexing his fist, Irvine regarded the blonde knight solemnly. “I'm more than ready,” he replied, his other hand gripping Exeter tightly.

 

“Then let's go shoot us an angel.” Seifer grinned with a dangerous gleam to his green eyes.

 

The two young men swept from the cabin with clanking boots and swishing coats. Between them they had their weapons of choice, Exeter and Hyperion, as well as a small arsenal of other trinkets that might come in handy. Having abided by the fundamentals of honorable fighting all their military careers, they were easily able to use other methods.

 

The first to break from the code of a fighter was the first to die, which meant they would hunt down and kill this man who had dared to kidnap the Commander.

 

**

 

Jeremiah Epson Larkner was the president of Pier View Shipping, an infamous shipping industry. One of the world's wealthiest men, Larkner was the second president of the company. The founder, his father, had passed the business down to him. At a young age, the new president had been taken under the wing of his father's advisors and learned the tricks of the trade.

 

The company, having been founded some fifty years ago, had its roots well placed within the heart of Dollet. What had become shady rumors early on, turned into sinister facts. Pier View Shipping was known for its connections with drug lords.

 

The police were powerless. Between the bribery and fear that Larkner, who was better known as The Reaper, instilled in judges and politicians, there was no convicting the man for any crime.

 

The foolhardy souls that managed to gather enough evidence and also managed to side step all the dirty traps set by well paid lawyers, never lived to see a day passed Larnker's acquittal.

 

He'd been successfully charged with, and found innocent of, ten different accounts of murder and twenty accounts of accessory to murder and torture. Smuggling, bribery, drug dealing, extortion, murder, and torture were just a few more highlighted aspects on the man's non-existent criminal record.

 

No law official could touch him, no judge or jury would convict him, no victim could fight him, and no politician would stand in his way. Not even the Governor had called in for reinforcements. Surely the band who had saved the world could have taken him down, but so great was the fear he created in the hearts of every official that they would turn the other cheek, lest he become their shadow and end their life.

 

Larkner was seemingly two different men at the same time. While a few determined detectives had pieced it all together and managed to keep the rumors alive about his aliases, not many knew about the link between Pier View Shipping's president and the leader of the yakuza group known as Hollow's Demons.

 

These were the facts that Selphie managed to extract from every single profile she could hack her way into. Seifer had been correct in the assumption that Epson, or rather Larkner, had left a trail for Squall to follow.

 

Deeper than the facts were the motivations of the man. The twisted reasoning behind the killer's actions, and his want for the Commander. Reasons that none of the band of fighters could know, but a couple could wager a vague guess.

 

In the past year, Larkner had found another passion, other than killing and relishing the expanding power he had over an entire city. His interest in the war had been minimal, since he didn't feel fear, he had little to worry about. Business had suffered slightly, but none so much that he couldn't carry on with the latest feud. There had been one last surviving group, an underground mafia gang, such as his own. There would always be other insignificant schoolyard gangs that ran around with colored bandanas, but they were childish idiots who knew nothing of what it truly meant to be a real yakuza clan. But, there had been a last remaining group, which he might consider a threat.

 

Shortly before the war, and during, his interest had lain with eradicating the vermin and driving his clutches deeper into Dollet. One day however, there had been a broadcast from Trabia. It was by sheer chance that he'd caught a glimpse of it. On that screen he'd caught sight of the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Squall Leonhart, SeeD from Balamb Garden. With his interest piqued, his obsession quickly grew.

 

He'd researched everything and anything about the boy. Named Commander at seventeen, the young man had ended the war and become renowned all over the world. There were times he'd been angry that so many people could gaze at his little lion, but he'd already concocted a plan to make the boy his, so his jealousy was abated with impatient lust.

 

**

 

“Down, you fool!” Seifer yelled, yanking the sandy brown leather of Kinneas' coat.

 

Caught in the middle of standing up, Irvine hadn't gained the balance to counter the sudden pull backwards. At the same moment when he stumbled back to the floor, partly landing against the knight, a shot pierced the air.

 

“My hat,” the gunman cried, catching the ruined headpiece as it fell from atop his auburn hair. Two clean bullet holes, the size of his pinky, had been punched straight through.

 

“Screw your hat, and take your shot,” Seifer hissed out, pushing the gunman to the side and off his leg.

 

Mourning the loss of his hat, which was as dear to him as Exeter, Irvine snapped, “Take mine, when she has us in her sights and is ready to fire again? Please, tell me how and I will gladly put a bullet in her head.”

 

“Well, if you had stayed down like I said, then we wouldn't be in this mess,” Seifer countered, not having a plan of action and settling for the exchange of angry words.

 

“We've been sitting here for over an hour, while Squall is out there somewhere.” Replacing his hat carefully while keeping below the window, Irvine add as an after thought, “He's probably gagged and bound, there'd be no other way to keep the Commander from fighting.”

 

Gritting his teeth Seifer rolled his eyes at the gunman's display of worrisome feelings. Perhaps Kinneas didn't realize just what sort of dangers the little lion was in. “My guess is that the bastard used some drugs. It fits the profile, just look at the aphrodisiac in the box left outside the apartment, and the smoke bombs used in the bar.” Turning his head to emphasize his point, Seifer continued, “Your dear Commander is probably being raped as we speak, so take the damn shot.”

 

Amethyst eyes narrowed and glared fiercely. “Don't say that Almasy,” Irvine hissed. While he knew the truth of it all, he was hoping beyond hope that nothing of the sort had happened to Squall.

 

“Cowboy,” the ex-knight began, shifting to retrieve the target rifle propped against the wall, “If you're not shooting, then I am.”

 

With a seething glare, Irvine swiftly grabbed the gun. The feel of the rifle was nothing like that of Exeter, and his hands longed for the familiar grip. In one swift movement, he stood up and turned around, shifting further away. The gun was in place before he'd even stopped moving, his eye searching through the magnifying lens to find his target.

 

As another well-placed bullet grazed his coat, missing only because he'd still been moving, he pulled the trigger.

 

In a moment of stilled silence, neither man spoke. The easy nature in which Irvine remained in front of the window was enough confirmation of a hit target for Seifer to shift into viewing range as well.

 

Inside the empty office room, where papers were scattered and chairs askew, Irvine and Seifer waited.

 

The room they were in had recently been filled, milling with office workers. Cubicles separated each worker's little space, though now the room was vacant. They had taken it upon themselves to empty it, taking only a few rounds of a semi automatic.

 

After speaking with a few of Rui's friends, they had managed to track down The Reaper's Angel. Unable to bypass the security of the assassin's location, they had set up camp in the building directly opposite.

 

The trouble they'd faced was not necessarily with the entire security set up of Pier View Shipping, but with the ruthless assassin that stood as guard for The Reaper. True to the woman's name, she acted as a right hand man and kept them from so much as moving around in the room freely. How she had managed to become alerted to their location was beyond them.

 

All that mattered was that she was dead now, and they could safely take down whatever remained in the form of security.

 

**

 

It was difficult to concentrate on the flickering star. Squall found that within the glow of dusk, it was too faint to remain visible the entire time. In fact, it was easier to see if he only saw it out of the corner of his eye.

 

Normally, he wouldn't have cared about something so trivial as fixing his sights on a random star in the darkening twilight sky. However, he'd subconsciously chosen it as a focusing point, something to keep his mind off the alarming appearance of the psychotic man's engorged penis.

 

It was a useful technique, used when being harmed or tortured, as a last resort when knowing he couldn't fight back. Focusing intently on anything but what was being done, and the pain would be eased, if only a little. The star wasn't helping, as his attention was suddenly drawn back at the first intrusion of Epson's finger.

 

Should he be grateful that the man was going to prepare him? `No,' he concluded lamely, forcing his eyes back towards the sky above the clear glass of the ceiling. It was going to hurt like hell no matter how much preparation he was given.

 

He winced as the finger was pushed deeper inside of him, then roughly pulled out and thrust back in.

 

Biting his lip, Squall narrowed his eyes and continued to stare upward. A curse nearly escaped his lips as a second finger was added. Sharp pain shot through him, as those fingers were pushed in and out, with no hesitation over the resistance his entrance gave. There was no lube to ease the appendages' intrusion, nor was there consideration for the time it would take for his body to adjust and stretch.

 

The next finger added was the last straw for his attempt to remain impassive. There was only so much pain he could take without reacting. A coarse and stifled cry slipped passed his lips.

 

It would seem his reaction invoked something within the sadistic bastard before him.

 

Epson gave a groan as he stroked his prominent cock. Violently thrusting his fingers in and out of the brunet, he listened as the young man gave an almost whimper. It was like music to his ears. He couldn't wait any longer. Squall would heal eventually. He wanted to feel the lithe beauty squirm beneath him, writhing in pain, becoming his completely.

 

Fiercely gripping the brunet's smooth white thighs, Epson levied the boy's legs up, pressing them forward and exposing that sweet entrance for all his plundering glory.

 

Squall froze with apprehension. His chest was compressed as his legs were pressed against it. The merciless man gripped him, just behind the knees, with enough strength to bruise. Unable to find his focus, or really pull many coherent thoughts together at all, Squall squeezed his eyes shut and waited. As he felt the man's penis rub against him, he clenched his fists tightly, digging his nails into tender flesh.

 

It was then, with miraculous timing, that the sound of shattering glass reached his ears. His initial thought was that it was too good to be true, and he didn't open his eyes until his legs were released.

 

Barely cracking his lids enough to see that Epson was no longer before him, he took the opportunity to draw his legs together, a need that had been swelling the moment they were forced apart. Taking a deep breath, he again struggled against the weakness instilled in his bones. A weakness caused by his earlier efforts at escape and whatever he'd been injected with.

 

Pulling on the chain, Squall shifted higher on the bed, away from Epson. Finally glancing around the room, he remained stiff in disbelief. The insecurity that relief would bring, kept him from letting the feeling wash over him, instead he watched the scene without emotion.

 

There were dark ropes, lines, coming from outside. Shattered glass from part of the window, just far enough away to have missed raining down on his exposed body, was scattered about, jagged shards forming an opening where the pane hadn't fallen away completely.

 

He felt the first prick of emotion as he realized that Seifer and Irvine were now inside the room, it was embarrassment. Weak and pathetic, he'd fallen victim and been utterly helpless. Never had he had such a shameful moment, and now he had witnesses, who he'd have to face.

 

Obviously they'd dropped their lines down and made a rather forceful entrance. With some satisfaction he watched as Epson stood, bewildered, hastily tucking himself back inside the confines of his black pants.

 

There seemed a standstill of action, as the blonde knight glanced at him and then at Epson.

 

Swallowing sorely, Squall finally let relief wash over him. He could deal with shame. The embarrassment was decidedly better than being taken against his will.

 

Hoarsely, he spoke, “Mind lending me some clothes.” Hardly modest, he didn't bother with hiding himself.

 

Violet eyes remained trained on Epson, but Irvine shrugged out of his coat quickly enough. When Irvine turned to face Squall, a faint blush crept to his cheeks. Tenderly, he draped the garment over the Commander's shoulders. Pulling it up and drawing it around the smaller form, he helped the pale man sit up further. The moment he looked into those gray eyes he knew something was amiss. “Squall?” he questioned tentatively.

 

With a lazy blink, Squall wavered slightly in the upright position, but managed to keep balance after a moment. His eyes flickered back to the gunman's.

 

“Are you,” Irvine searched for the right words, “on something?”

 

“Obviously,” Squall whispered in confirmation. Swallowing dryly again, he decided to use his voice as little as possible, since it was scratchy enough without damaging it more. With an inebriated gesture, he rattled the cuffs and chain, pointing out that he was still bound.

 

Furrowing his brows, Squall mentally questioned why Seifer wasn't at his side. Not that he expected it, or that having Irvine wasn't good enough, but it seemed as though the knight might have a bit more of an inclination, whether as a job description or because of their recent bonding.

 

Upon observation of the blonde, Squall felt a tremor run down his spine. There was a heated fury in those green eyes that he'd never seen before. Seifer didn't even look his way, but glared fiercely at his former captor.

 

Epson stood straight, silently staring without a trace of fear. As Irvine broke the chain, with a well place shot, the man shouted, “He's mine!”

 

Seifer clenched his teeth, his jaw visibly flexing. Without tearing his eyes from the filthy bastard's face, he spoke vehemently, “Kinneas, take Squall,”

 

“Seifer,” Irvine started calmly, “We should-”

 

Cutting the gunman off, Seifer bit out, “I have something to deal with right now, so take the Commander and watch over him `til I get back.” With a calm smile, which both unnerved the gunman and caused a bit of fear at the same time, Seifer added, “There are some things that those pretty blue eyes just shouldn't see.”

 

Hesitating a moment longer, Irvine gathered Squall to him. The brunet protested feebly. He managed to carry the young man's weight a little too easily. Pulling a phone from the pocket of his brown trench coat, which was currently wrapped around Squall's form, he pressed a button on the side and said, “Drop a tray down, I've got the Commander.”

 

“Leave him!” Epson shouted, taking a step forward.

 

Irvine cast a final glance behind, turning away before he could watch what punishment the knight had in mind. As the engine of Ragnarok sounded nearby, he knew Selphie had arrived. Shortly after a small platform was dropped down, held secure by four cables. Stepping carefully out of the window, he deftly managed to step onto the swaying structure.

 

Squall knew well enough not to squirm while hovering high in the air. But he felt inclined to protest. “We're not leaving without Seifer.”

 

“I'm sure he won't be more than an hour, he's too impatient to draw it out any further,” the gunman commented, shaking his head slightly.

 

For what that bastard deserved, Irvine would have only been able to shoot the man a few times before a finishing shot. It was better that Seifer take care of it, since the blonde seemed more capable of turning terribly vengeful and cruel.

 

Both he and Seifer had seen into the room from the rooftop before crashing in. Closing his eyes, he sighed with relief. They'd been far too late, but just in time.

 

Squall's eyes remained fixed on the large window that was steadily decreasing in size. The relief he'd let wash over him was suddenly gone. Now he felt no better than if he were still back in that room beneath the forced hand of Epson. He wanted Seifer. Plain and simple, he wanted the blonde nearby again.

 

From ruffling his hair, to protectively holding onto him, Squall wanted to at least have the knight within his sight. Biting his lip and tasting the metallic tang, a surge of emotions rushed forth, threatening to seize hold. Thickly swallowing, Squall was baffled by the stinging his eyes gave. It was perhaps the rapid winds that enveloped him as they were drawn higher.

 

A weak shudder wracked his body. Too tired to fight mentally or physically, Squall conceded that his chest was aching suddenly with longing. Biting his lip harder, he almost wished for the surrendering darkness to shut his mind down, only so that time might pass unnoticed. Then, when he woke up again, Seifer would be there.