Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Other Fan Fiction ❯ Protecting the Lion ❯ Shower Pains ( Chapter 47 )

Chapter Forty-Seven

Shower Pains

 

“Was that Quistis?” Squall asked from the couch.

 

Seifer was in the kitchen, propped against the wall beside the window. “Yeah,” he mumbled in dismay. Trepe had called his cell phone shortly after they'd taken a shower.

The Head Instructor had called to inform him that Laguna had arrived. Considering he'd suspected the President to show up no later than a day after the invitation was issued, he should have told everybody else.

 

Trepe's message had been short and blunt. She wanted them to get over to her apartment so she didn't have to babysit. Apparently, Tilmitt and the Commander's father were chattering at a super sonic rate about decorations. Like two peas in a pod, the age difference was not a factor when it came to cheery people and whatever it was that made cheery people super cheerful.

 

Pocketing the small phone in a comfortable pair of faded blue jeans, Seifer leaned forward and lazily straightened up. Squall was probably going to get moody about it, but he had to tell the brunet who had called for Loire to be here.

 

“She wants us to come over to her place,” the blond said while approaching the couch.

 

Squall lay sprawled on his stomach, head resting on crossed forearms. It was difficult to remember the after effects of sex when the immediate effects felt so damn good. His ass was sore beyond being able to walk properly. He'd have to remind Seifer to not listen to him when he ordered the blond to go harder.

 

Gray-blue eyes stared off towards the TV screen, reading the text flashing across the bottom. He actually preferred to simply read lips while having the sound muted. It was less distracting for those around him anyway.

 

As he felt Seifer drawing closer, he was about to sit up when his eyes read the last tidbit of Timber's morning news.

 

Shifting abruptly, Squall shot up from his laying position. Wincing, he slowed down and eased himself to slouch against the armrest. Turning his head towards Seifer, he spoke, “My father's here.”

 

“He's with Trepe and Tilmitt,” Seifer explained. There was something he wanted to ask the brunet, but before that, he had to admit a bit more of the truth. “I asked Fujin to invite him for the festivities and stuff.”

 

“Esthar's President, Laguna Loire, is on vacation. Seated presidential council Kiros Seagill will be managing state affairs alongside the vice president Ward Zabac. Timber would like to wish President Loire a fun time with his son during Balamb Garden's winter festival.” Squall repeated the words he'd read just moments ago. How quickly the holidays became more of a burden.

 

“Huh,” Seifer huffed, “I would of thought someone would be criticizing the guy for leaving like that.”

 

“This is just Timber, they're a mass of sympathetic fools,” Squall replied without any emotion.

 

Brows raised Seifer didn't oppose the brunet's opinion. “Then why do you watch their news?”

 

“Cause you can see through every media bias and they are the most up-to-date,” the brunet replied logically.

 

Casting his gaze back toward the plasma screen on the wall, Squall sighed heavily. Bracing himself, he moved to stand up.

 

“Hey, you really shouldn't be moving around. I know I went overboard, so don't try an' hide it,” the concerned knight urged.

 

With a sarcastic laugh, Squall rolled his eyes. “You give yourself too much credit. I wanted it, so shut up and give me your phone.”

 

Grumbling, Seifer dug into his jean pocket and pulled out the device. Unamused at the brunet's defiance of the human body, he stepped closer to hand it over directly.

 

Squall frowned, but didn't say anything. Taking the phone, he flipped it open and dialed Quistis' number. Straightening up as much as he could, he slowly stepped around the couch. The borrowed gray hoodie sagged with excess material around his form. Wearing it managed to hide the fact that he walked with a bit of a hunch. With his baggiest pair of blue jeans, held to his waist with a belt, he actually felt comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he could be with a throbbing pain in his ass.

 

Seifer folded his arms across his chest. The sleeves of his black cotton shirt were bunged up to just below his elbow. With a mixture of satisfaction and guilt, he watched the brunet slowly walk towards the kitchen. Squall wouldn't say it, but no words were necessary. He'd pounded the poor kitten a little too roughly. Against his better judgment, he'd heeded the tempting man's words and thrust deeply without restraint. The end result had been a sated kitten that couldn't walk right.

 

The blond was mildly surprised that Squall hadn't blown up in his face about setting the problematic scenario up behind his back. But, he wasn't going to complain. He'd learned his lesson about mentioning things that the brunet had already forgotten to punish him for. The last time had been when he reminded the brunet that he hadn't been yelled at for not mentioning that Dollet's Governor had been killed. The devilish beauty had turned him on and then abandoned him while sporting a painful erection.

 

“It's me,” the Commander's voice spoke softly from within the kitchen.

 

Curiously, Seifer followed Squall. Leaning against the doorway, he stared at the attractive Commander. Such pale and delicate facial features, and bright eyes that were alight in the daylight streaming in from the window. He definitely liked the way Squall looked in his clothes. It was cute, the manner in which his sweatshirt was too big. It didn't always register just how much smaller the brunet's stature was compared to his.

 

Though within hearing range, the soft and melodic voice washed over him without his mind comprehending any of it. His eyes were fixed on Squall, just soaking in the sight.

 

That lithe form, beneath the folds of clothing, fit perfectly against him. Choppy bangs fell forth, momentarily obscuring the younger man's vision before an elegant hand absently raked them back.

 

There was a break in the soothing speaking. Habitually, a soft bottom lip was nibbled on. Such small tendencies drove him insane, making blood rush south before he could even protest.

 

How could there have ever been a time when his eyes fell upon Squall without lust? His former playground archenemy had always held that alluring aura and those arousing good looks. And, where emotions were involved, no one else had ever made his blood boil with anger, want, and need.

 

Fourteen years was a lot of time to waste. Although, the end result had benefited them both as fighters, they could have shared each other's beds on so many occasions.

 

When next he heard the brunet's voice, the tone implying that the words had been directed to him, he snapped out of his thoughts and staring. “What?” he asked.

 

With mirth, Squall commented, “Careful, I'm rubbing off on you.”

 

Straightening up, Seifer scratched the back of his blond hair. “It's hard to pay attention when my mind is constantly in the gutter,” he replied, walking closer. Sneaking a hand beneath the draped hoodie and simple white shirt beneath it, he rubbed circles with his thumb against Squall's hip.

 

Squall didn't look up, knowing that craning his head back to look into the tall man's eyes meant standing with correct posture. Instead, he turned his gaze out the window. With a soft thud, he let his head fall against Seifer's broad chest.

 

“It's snowing,” the brunet pointed out.

 

With a soft smile, Seifer wondered if Squall knew exactly what the simplest set of words could do to his heart. Bending his head down, he kissed soft chocolate colored locks. Still a little damp, he could smell the shampoo distinctly. It was clean and fresh.

 

Stilling the massage his thumb had been giving, he snaked his arm further around the slim waist. “Are you going to tell your father about us?” the blond questioned. It was something that he held more stock in than he should. Somehow, the idea that Squall would be willing to tell the older man, who wasn't as close as the rest of the orphanage gang, meant a lot. It was like the first step towards going public.

 

“Nnh,” Squall mumbled in thought. Reaching his right hand down, he took the knight's left hand. Gently, he prodded his fingers against the calloused palm and directed Seifer to open his hand up. Easily entwining their fingers, he gave the hand a soft squeeze.

 

Seifer simply gulped, the back of his neck felt heated. Hyne, he loved Sundays. The little lion pressed against him, holding his hand, he was more content with each passing moment.

 

“You should listen more,” Squall spoke at length. “I asked Quistis to come over here instead. I think it'd be a good opportunity to say something to Laguna about ourselves.”

 

Grinning foolishly, Seifer dipped his head to nuzzle a pale neck. Even with the hooded collar in the way, he attacked the pale skin with fervor.

 

“Ngh,” Squall flinched against the feel. “You haven't shaved,” he said. The blond remained undeterred, even as rough stubble tickling him.

 

“Everyone is ticklish,” Seifer stated matter-of-factly.

 

“No, they're not,” Squall refuted.

 

“Then they have sensitive spots. Places that drive the body wild,” the blond countered while lapping his tongue along the underside of Squall's jaw.

 

Forced to tilt his head back in order to comply the blond's mouth, Squall brought his other hand up to lightly grips the black shirt across Seifer's chest.

 

Giving the brunet a brief break, he spoke, “I've only found three so far.”

 

Brows furrowed, Squall was about to question what the ex-knight was getting at, even with a slightly apprehensive feeling setting in, but Seifer silenced him. The taller man suddenly tightened his grip, pressing a hand against his lower back. With the shell of his ear licked and his lobe teased between teeth, he stiffened at the surprising shivers that rippled through his body. Part of him wanted to pull away, but it was too pleasant of a sensation.

 

Seifer smirked. He'd found out early on that the Commander's ears were touch sensitive, specifically the left one. Sliding his tongue along the appendage, he nipped at the soft tip.

 

“Seifer,” Squall clenched the blond's shirt and tightened his hand holding Seifer's. With his eyes tightly shut, he fought the sudden weakness that the shivers were causing him.

 

“That's one,” Seifer whispered. With a returned squeeze to the hand that was gripping his tightly, he signaled Squall to let go. Slipping beneath the sweatshirt and thin cotton shirt underneath, Seifer slid his hand along the soft and warm flesh of the brunet's torso. He moved higher, the gray hoodie riding up and exposing toned abs. Just as his fingers grazed a nipple, he again tongued Squall's ear.

 

Gasping, Squall arched into the touch of the hand on his chest, while gripping the dark shirtsleeve of Seifer's upper arm. His knees felt weak, as though he might not be able to keep standing. It might have been due to his inability to stand straight in the first place, but he doubted that was the true cause. His mind was at a loss for coherent thoughts.

 

Humming out a deep note of pleasure, Seifer whispered, “That's two.” The hand he kept at Squall's lower back, traveled down, teasingly pushing against the belt that kept him from going any further. Instead, he smoothed over the denim material and carefully groped a cheek of the sweetly defined backside he so loved to fondle. Pressing a finger against where the cleft would be, he ran it along, making sure to press just hard enough for the implication to be made, but not so hard as to cause pain to the abused area.

 

Seifer's hands continued their onslaught while he worried a silky lobe. Moments later, his hands became occupied with holding Squall up as the brunet collapsed against him.

 

Mesmerized by the desire ridden blue eyes that stared up at him, as though begging him to keep going and never stop, Seifer held Squall firmly. “That's three,” he growled before attacking inviting lips.

 

The idea that they should not be kissing so deeply when it could obviously lead to other things didn't register in Squall's dazed mind. And, Seifer was simply never inclined to stop doing something that felt good, regardless the consequences.

 

However, the abrupt knocking at the door brought them both back to reality. Breaking apart, they shot similar gazes toward the small opening by the counter. From the kitchen, they couldn't see the door, but the lack of sound from it opening assured that no one was going to barge in without being invited.

 

“I want waffles!” came a cry from outside the door.

 

Squall blinked at the whining voice of Selphie. It was hard to hide his amusement when he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing it. With a small smile he shook his head at the energetic young woman's antics.

 

When an impatient pounding sounded, Seifer called out, “Tilmitt, just get your ass in here.”

 

Moments later, the door swished open.

 

Casting a fleeting glance towards Seifer, Squall asked for permission to handle things. The situation of telling his father about them was a bit more complicated than simply blurting it out.

 

Frowning slightly, Seifer was compelled to let the little lion do whatever that hidden heart of gold wanted to. Reaching out he ruffled the dark mop of hair.

 

The Commander took a minute to think of the right words to say to Laguna. They hadn't left off on a very good note, and this wasn't the sort of matter he was good at handling.

 

When the group came into view, Squall saw the slightly nervous edge in his father's hazel-green eyes.

 

Quistis and Laguna seated themselves on the stools by the counter, while Selphie skipped further to the kitchen's entryway.

 

“Waffles,” the copper-haired girl demanded with a soft stomping of her sock clad foot.

 

Scampering around Selphie, Gabriel swayed into the kitchen as an unofficial fourth member of the group.

 

Squall, in a rare show of affection, played along with Selphie's mood, which meant dismissing her. Completely ignoring the girl, he forced himself to walk erect and approach the counter. Seated on the other side, he greeted Laguna before anyone else. “I hope it's not too much trouble, getting away like this.”

 

The President's reaction was delayed, but the man eventually replied with earnest assurance. “No, not at all.”

 

“Then you'll stay awhile?” Squall asked.

 

Dark brows drew together, a mixture between confusion and sadness. With a small nod, the ex-Galbadian soldier looked like he was a kid desperately trying not to get his hopes up too high.

 

In a never before accounted display, Squall beamed at his father. “I'm glad then,” he said softly.

 

Quistis very nearly toppled off the stool. Mouth agape, she was stunned with several thoughts flying through her head. Aside from wondering what brought such a display on, she was also cursing that the brunet didn't smile like that more often. He had such a nice smile, and it was being wasted.

 

Soft green eyes suddenly became rather watered.

 

Before Squall could falter at the response, the longhaired man suddenly stood up and excused himself to check something in his eye.

 

Stepping up behind Squall, Seifer goaded, “Jeez Princess, you didn't have to make him cry.” At the moment, he was more than a little jealous of the older man, who'd been the focus of that smile.

 

“Wah,” Selphie cried, bounding in the kitchen and throwing her arms around Squall. “You made him happy,” the happy girl exclaimed.

 

Squall hadn't quite expected to have the small girl's weight thrown at him. Though it should have been easy enough to handle, the sudden flaring of pain in his lower back caused him to wince and stagger back into the blond knight behind. Immediately, strong hands gripped his shoulders and supported him.

 

Done with her hug, Selphie only noticed the odd reaction of the Commander after letting go. “Are you alright?” she questioned with concern, seeing pain in Squall's eyes before it was quickly masked.

 

“Fine,” Squall sighed out, relaxing a bit.

 

“He fell. Everyone has their klutzy moments, you know how it is,” Seifer excused.

 

Quistis scoffed. “I've never seen Squall so much as drop his pencil in class, let alone fall.”

 

The blond knight glared at the Head Instructor, as though offended she didn't believe him. “Showers can be slippery,” Seifer reasoned smugly.

 

There was a suspicious nature about the way both girls suddenly blanched at Seifer's words. The two young men stared from one pale face to the other. When Selphie began to blush, Squall turned to Seifer, expecting the knight to give him some answer. At Seifer's shrug, Squall turned back to Selphie. He was about to ask her if something was the matter, but she began to mutter something.

 

“Umm, how about breakfast?” the green eyed girl asked politely.

 

Squall nodded, still eyeing the two women curiously. Before he moved away from Seifer, he stared down at the sweatshirt he was wearing. Silently, he debated taking it off. It was inconvenient to cook in, with the baggy sleeves. And, he didn't want to stain it, since it wasn't his. But, if Quistis and Selphie acted so oddly about him falling, then what would they say when they saw him walking?

 

“I don't care if you get anything on it,” Seifer stated, stepping towards Tilmitt and motioning for her to exit the kitchen.

 

The brunet cast a glance towards the side of the fridge. Gabriel was pawing at the dangling strings of the hanging apron. With a shake of his head, Squall said, “It'll catch on fire.”

 

“Only if you're Tilmitt,” Seifer stated.

 

“Hey,” Selphie spoke defensively. Further expressing her displeasure, she gave Seifer's arm a punch.

 

“Ouch, down girl,” Seifer held his hands up in defense. “I see why Kinneas is so afraid of you.”

 

Pleased with Seifer's reaction, Selphie giggled.

 

As Squall began to squirm his way out of the gray hoodie, Seifer cast a wistful glance to the navy blue apron. This would have been his first chance to watch Squall wearing it. Instead of loitering around and ogling the brunet, Seifer did the younger man a favor. Calling for Tilmitt and Trepe to follow, he started to walk towards the couch.

 

“What'd I miss?” Laguna asked, appearing in the kitchen's doorway.

 

“We're watching TV while Princess makes Tilmitt waffles,” Seifer explained, grinning at the Commander. Squall was giving him a glare that defied his helping hand. “Come on Loire, you're the only person who knows what Tilmitt is talking about.”

 

“Sure, but call me Laguna,” the older man requested. No one called him by his last name like that.

 

“Sorry, no choice. I use everyone's last names,” the blond knight replied casually, taking a seat on the couch.

 

“It's true,” Quistis began, “I've known him since he was a little boy, but he still calls me Trepe.” She cast a disapproving gaze towards the impersonal knight while taking a seat beside him.

 

“That's not true,” Selphie refuted, sticking her tongue out in thought. “You call Squall, Squall. Even when you were trying to kill each other, I heard you call him by his first name all the time.” Sitting on the floor before the coffee table, she willing took the spot.

 

With a knowing wink, Seifer admonished, “Leonhart's always been a special case.”

 

Selphie cast a furtive glance towards Laguna, who took the last place beside the Head Instructor. Looking questioningly at the knight, she asked silently whether Laguna knew or would be finding out any time soon.

 

Seifer gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, to which the young girl sighed longingly. It was obvious what she wanted to be discussing at the moment.

 

“So,” Seifer began, shifting to turn and better face his boyfriend's dad, “You and Lieutenant Garrant served together?” It might have been a stretch in finding common ground, but if Squally-boy was making an effort, then so would he. After all, he was screwing the President's son.

 

Laguna's eyes became distant for a moment, lost in thoughts of the past. With a fond smile, he gave a nod. “How do you know him?”

 

Letting out a gruff sigh, the blond scratched his head. “It's a long story.”

 

“If it's got anything to do with a knight's post war travels, then I'd like to hear it,” the longhaired man affirmed genuinely.

 

With a cocky smile, Seifer freely recounted his first meeting with The Harold's owner.