Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Other Fan Fiction ❯ Strings Attached ❯ Cookies and Kisses ( Chapter 9 )

Chapter Nine

Cookies and Kisses

 

There was a constant hum of the large storage refrigerators and walk in freezer. Squall was less than enthused to be wrangled into baking for the festival. Apparently Selphie had been quite serious about the celebrations starting two weeks ahead of time, special meals acting as the prelude.

 

Spotlessly clean floors of black porcelain tile, aluminum countertops galore, and high hung racks of pots and pans, stovetops, ovens, etc. There were a few stools here and there, in place for those five-minute breaks or meticulous hand work that called for precision and sitting down.

 

Squall stood before a large mixer, churning the ingredients together with the aid of the machine due to the large quantity. As it mixed, he found himself feeling the solitude surround him, caress him with its inanimate noises. It was in that silence that his mind managed to sort through everything best.

 

Soon enough, he found himself conversing with his Guardian Force, disregarding that anyone overhearing would question his sanity, at least those who didn't know about Shiva's level of compatibility.

 

`You're still upset,' Shiva whispered in the forefront of Squall's mind.

 

“I'm not,” Squall spoke aloud to the empty kitchen. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at himself and realized that a good quarter cup of flour now adorned his red apron. Better the guard than his own clothes at least. Why was it he seemed to become a total klutz the moment a bag of flour or sugar or any other ingredient was placed in his hands?

 

“I was angry, very angry,” he conceded to the Guardian Force.

 

`I didn't know,' the Ice Queen continued in the repetitive stream of apology.

 

The last thing he needed was an excuse. “How could you not know?” he questioned wryly. It had been a long time since he'd last spoken with her like this, giving her a reluctant silent treatment. He did not visit her in dreams or summon her often in battle, but enough was enough.

 

`I do not pry, I know you dislike that above all else. Your love for this man was a great surprise.'

 

“You're the one who said I was foolish to think myself incapable of loving,” he replied.

 

`But to already love him so deeply was a blessing even I could not foresee.'

 

Finely sculpted brows drew together. Should he be insulted by that? “You make it sound like Seifer isn't the person you expected me to,” there was a pause of hesitant embarrassment, “fall in love with.”

 

`Indeed little one,' the nurturing guardian agreed.

 

There was soft chuckling before he felt her presence fade to the background. Curious at her departure, he began to summon her forth again but was cut short at the sudden feelings of strong arms wrapping around him.

 

Starting with surprise, Squall jerked against the hold, futilely so, as the gentle embrace tightened. Just as his hand grasped the hilt of his knife he settled his instincts and retracted his hand from his inner thigh.

 

“Sneaking up is one way to get yourself killed,” Squall hissed.

 

With a deep chuckle Seifer bent low to nuzzle Squall's smooth and slender neck. He outright laughed when the pale beauty squirmed at the feel of his unshaven chin and coldly damp hair.

 

“Stop that,” the brunet reprimanded while trying to tilt his head and force the ex-knight away from his neck.

 

Seifer teased, “Stop what?” He blew a puff of warm air into Squall's sensitive ear. Loosening his grip, he nibbled on a silky lobe and inhaled deeply of fresh scented skin and the sweet lingering fragrance of shampoo.

 

Squall remained lax in the hold. A shudder wracked through his body as Seifer sensually ran groping hands down his sides and across a taught stomach. “You're in love with me,” the blond spoke huskily.

 

Mustering his self-control, Squall evenly replied, “Let me finish.” Freeing one arm he stretched it out to flip the mixer off.

 

In one abrupt movement, Seifer pulled at the slim waist, effectively clashing Squall's ass with his groin. Hooking his right arm cross wise along Squall's chest and down to a hip where he could feel the sexy curve of bone through the cotton fabric, he kept his reluctant kitten in place. “You love me,” Seifer whispered breathily.

 

Plush lips parted to utter another reprimand but the words never came at the gentle press of warm lips to his neck.

 

The tall knight ducked his head low, trailing his mouth along one side to the other, brushing silky strands from an enticing nape before making it to the other side. It wasn't enough though, so he used his free hand to pull at the azure shirt's neckline. The long sleeved shirt was just stretchy and loose enough to allow him to expose nearly all of one narrow shoulder. Not entirely satisfied, he moved to a smooth jaw that he still found hard to believe remained to smooth without shaving.

 

“Seifer,” Squall breathed out, groaning as he threw his head back against a broad shoulder and decided that once he got used to it, the stubble wasn't so bad. “You'll get flour on your sleeve,” he managed to say with the last vestiges of his quickly waning sense.

 

The knight's broad form went rigid. Seifer began to laugh outright, affectionately hugging the smaller man against his rumbling chest. “You sure know how to kill the mood.”

 

Squall gave a noncommittal shrug, not sure how relieved he should feel that Seifer had stopped.

 

“A good morning kiss then,” Seifer settled, dusting off the sleeve of his white dress shirt, pointedly examining it for any trace of what wouldn't be noticeable in the first place.

 

Rolling his eyes at the blond's display, Squall relented, “If you get off.” Seifer was leaning heavily against his back, hunching him forward to carry his weight.

 

“I'll get off, if you spread your legs for me once you're done and let me fuck you raw on one of these counters.” He emphasized his suggestion by nudging a knee between Squall's thighs and subtly bucking against the lithe man's shapely ass.

 

Squall scowled at the knight's vulgar words. He found greater distaste in the fact that he felt entirely turned on by it. His mind filled with a rather vivid image of himself being thrust into while bent over the counter, or what Seifer so eloquently referred to as fucked raw. “You're being a crude moron,” he eventually bit out.

 

“And you love me for it,” the blond shot back, sneaking a hand around to cup Squall's sadly less than hard erection. Still, even through the course cotton of that red apron and tight fabric of those black leather pants, he could feel some manner of aroused state.

 

Squall stared across the counter, seeing the vacant room and casting a sardonic expression at it. He would not be the only one effected, the only one pushed around. He spoke softly, not trusting that he could actually speak in a lust filled tone on call, “What I love is your cock buried inside of me, fucking me, tearing me apart, coming inside me over and over again.” He emphasized his points by grinding back against the tensed knight. Before he could burst out laughing, finding little else quite so funny as completely shocking Seifer, he added a few cherries. It was more a mockery really. “Harder,” he urged as though they were in the midst of having sex, “Deeper, I won't break, Hyne Seifer, fuck me harder.”

 

Squall didn't take notice of the fact that Seifer was no longer leaning on him, nor that there was a rather prominent bulge poking him in the back. Just as stormy blue eyes registered this last part, he was roughly spun around.

 

In a frenzied kiss, Seifer found that he could not delve deep enough into the brunet's mouth quickly enough. A joke to be sure, Squall never spoke in such a manner. But he would not be man if that hadn't completely turned him on, sending trills of pleasure through his body and a rush of blood directly to his now throbbing dick.

 

Seifer could taste hints of mint toothpaste. He twirled his tongue against Squall's, loving the wet exchange and naturally sweet taste that was entirely Squall. Roving each crevice, he drew out encouraging moans. This had been the morning kiss he'd missed when his minx had run off to fulfill festival duties so early.

 

Before, he'd cursed that they were not somewhere private, where Squall would be willing to take things quite farther than the heated meshing of lips and tongues. Now, he cared little for surroundings, simply wanting to bend the brunet over and do exactly as the pale Commander had spoken.

 

“There are consequences for brash taunts Leonhart,” he warned at the panting end of the kiss. Gruffly kneading leather clad cheeks, he initiating another fevered meeting of their mouths.

 

Managing to pull away long enough for a sharp intake of air and a quick reply, Squall spoke, “This ends now if you threaten to punish me.” Another franticly needy kiss ensued. The feel of Seifer's tongue entwining with his own made his legs feel weak, seeming to pull the stability right out of them. “And,” he breathed out, more into Seifer's mouth than against it, “no…no leather comments…”

 

“Whips?” Seifer asked, only half listening as he punctuated the moments with frantic and sloppy open mouthed kisses, one after the other.

 

“No,” the brunet managed to affirm. Helplessly losing himself, Squall found his hands grappling with the knight's tie. “You choose to wear a tie today?” he voiced in complaint.

 

“I thought I'd be wearing it longer,” Seifer retorted while happily setting to work on blindly unbuckling one of Squall's belts. It was a relief to only feel one, binding leather pants to a slim waist. He hoped that his lack of interest in taking the apron off wasn't a dead give away that he intended to screw the brunet with it on.

 

Something in Seifer's words struck Squall with a sharply edge brick of reality. “Shit,” he cursed with a mixed gaze of accusation and apology up at the tanned man's chiseled face.

 

“Oh no,” Seifer began, his jade eyes pleading, “No, no, no, no,” he repeated imploringly. “Don't quit on me now kitten, not now.”

 

“We're in the kitchens,” Squall reminded, more to himself than Seifer.

 

Desperate to rekindle that lustful fire, and cursing whatever had doused it, Seifer attacked a slender neck. He suckled on a collarbone, earning a beautiful moan.

 

Squall was more than apprehensive about someone walking in, but Seifer had this way of turning his mind about and erasing all worries. It wasn't a pleasant disadvantage to be at, unless he was already under the influence, in which case it was quite pleasant. “Not here, please,” he requested, knowing that if Seifer so chose, he would indeed find himself atop a counter or against the floor.

 

A cat's meow shattered the moment, teetering the couple over the edge to the side that held no quickies in the kitchen.

 

“Hold on,” a voice called, distant from outside the door leading to the cafeteria.

 

More meowing followed, along with the sound of scratching against one of the swinging double doors.

 

“It's so early,” the falsetto whining of a young female cadet filtered through.

 

With a growl, Seifer broke away from his quarry. His hands were the last to leave, lingering on the Commander's butt, reluctant to let go.

 

Just as the doors opened with a small crick, two forms came into view and Squall abruptly turned back to the counter. Seifer still stood in close proximity, nearly pressed against him.

 

Greta entered the kitchen with a part time aid in toe. She wasn't surprised to see Commander Leonhart, having been informed that he'd be giving a hand with the additional preparations during the winter festival. However, the presence of Seifer Almasy was a bit unexpected, but not without merit since the knight was the Commander's bodyguard.

 

Gabriel scampered across the room, quickly seeking out Squall.

 

“Gabriel,” Tracy called out to the black cat. She'd figured the cute little guy was just really hungry, but the black form darted around with a set target in mind, which she didn't realize until she looked up to see the Commander and Ultimecia's knight. With an inaudible gasp, she understood.

 

Squall was almost thankful for the distraction Gabriel provided. Time had slipped away from him and he hadn't realized that the cooks would be filing in soon. Bending down, he picked the excited creature up, spoiling it with uncommon affection for the sake of filling the awkward space.

 

“Good morning,” the red haired woman greeted in a voice that did not suggest it was only six o'clock.

 

“Morning,” Squall mumbled in response, giving a curt nod to both Greta and the cadet at her side who sounded vaguely familiar.

 

“Good morning Commander, sir,” Tracy gave a brief salute, also needing to fill the awkward void. After obsessing over her previous encounter, her mind had quickly jumped to the ready with this one. Maybe it really was just her, maybe she was seeing things where there was nothing to be seen. Regardless, her perceptive eyes had quickly taken in the sight of the two men standing far too close than for simple conversation.

 

Once again, the blond knight looked as though he'd been kissing someone, and for that matter, so did the Commander. As much as her eyes wanted to focus on the fact that Squall Leonhart was wearing an apron covered in flour, she diverted her attention to the light blue shirt that was out of place. The neckline was lopsided, as though a certain tanned knight had been rearranging it. And for a man whose white shirt and black dress pants looked primly pressed, the black tie was obviously in the process of being taken off.

 

Seifer refrained from saying anything, biting his tongue with bitter regret. Could he not get one moment alone with Squall? Discretely shifting out of view, knowing the serving girl's eyes had a knack for picking up every detail after hearing the some of the rumors that were flying around, he moved further away and took a seat on a nearby stool.

 

“Finish here and we can have breakfast,” he mumbled to the brunet currently scratching the ear of a purring mass of black fur.

 

Ten minutes later, Seifer was sipping a cup of coffee and nursing the painfully unfulfilled erection. Falling into the bored slump, he seemed dead on his feet but willing to bite the early morning bullet to watch Squall. It had been around four o'clock when the insane Commander woke up and prepared for an early day. Seifer had protested adamantly, but that never stopped Squall. So, after a lie in that consisted of no extra sleep and only tossing and turning, Seifer had grudgingly followed, showing up an hour later. He was almost certain that had be not been interrupted with Squall, he would have been wide-awake and not sulking in a sleepy state.

 

Greta had been the one to make the coffee, more sympathetic to the ex-knight's sour mood. She'd joined the Commander in time to help him form little round balls of some chocolate cookie dough concoction in need of chilling. There were about twenty dozen finished so far, which was a bit of an anomaly in her opinion. It was almost as though it had suddenly appeared, the way a single person could make so much in such a short time span. There hadn't even been a trace of the regally feminine boy's work, except for what was on the borrowed smock.

 

That one cadet, Tracy was her name if Seifer recalled Tilmitt's words correctly, was nervously moving back and forth around the kitchen to set everything up.

 

“So, after doing this, are you done for festival volunteering?” Seifer asked with a dramatic yawn.

 

“Doubt it,” Squall replied.

 

“What are they?” the knight followed up. He'd been eyeing the stuff for some time, not seeing how it was edible.

 

With a halfhearted shrug, Squall conceded that he didn't really know. “Some type of cookie Selphie wanted to go with the gourmet coffee she ordered for breakfast.” Truthfully, Squall wasn't a baker by any means. Most of what he was capable of throwing together would have made him a cook, but even that seemed basic to him and hardly made him qualified for this work.

 

Speaking for the first time, not including the awkward morning greetings to both the Commander and his bodyguard, Greta commented, “You didn't follow the recipe exactly.” It wasn't chastising, just an observation made by a chef. Nearby there was a piece of paper that looked untouched, not to mention too far away to imply the Commander had even used it.

 

“Never do,” Squall spoke at length, his mind elsewhere. At the last stage of his baking tasks, his hands were ritualistically following an established routine. Because of this, his mind wandered. It was early, and for the first time in weeks, his body felt it. That was the trouble with sleeping regularly, the body began to grow used to it, to depend on it. Though, he'd had quite the wake up call when Seifer joined him.

 

“Have you had any formal training?” Greta inquired in the politest tone Squall had ever heard anyone use.

 

It was slightly disconcerting to be addressed with such an obvious wariness. He may have been the Commander, but considering he was currently rolling balls of cookies in a flour-dusted apron on, he imagined she would lighten up. Naturally, he wasn't one to talk, never really letting his guard down around anyone but a select few he'd known most his life.

 

“Not really, I don't think,” Squall answered with an air of uncertainty.

 

Golden brown eyes cast a curious sidelong glance at the choppy haired brunet. Assured by Zell's word that Squall Leonhart wasn't nearly as menacing or icy as he seemed, she ventured to voice her thoughts, “You don't think?”

 

“Do you have any chef's hats around here?” Seifer asked. Seated at a nearby counter, elbows propped on the shiny aluminum surface, he stared unabashed at the Commander with obvious want in his jade eyes. The half empty mug of coffee wasn't nearly as useful in waking him up as the thought of Squall dressing up just a little more. The apron was inexplicably sexy, more so than usual. He was none too happy that it wasn't the one he'd given to Squall, but it still did wonders for outlining that slim waist and showing that gentle curve of hips.

 

Squall chose to ignore Seifer's words. Showing Greta that she too was better off not listening to the blond knight, he said, “I don't remember much from when I was a kid. I think my sister might have shown me a few things.”

 

“You have a sister?” the red head immediately followed up, hinting at an underlying want to know more about all of Zell's friends.

 

Squall nearly smiled at this. It wasn't any secret why the blond boxer sang this young woman's praises. There was something so entirely innocent and shy about her that was completely disarming. While she seemed nervous and uncomfortable, she managed to put others at ease.

 

“Yeah, adoptive actually,” he indulged, willing to speak full sentences only because she was Zell's wife and she was making an effort to at least become acquaintances with himself. It sounded extremely odd in his head, to think that any of them might be married. But he supposed it couldn't have been any more odd than the others thinking of him and Seifer together. There was an odd feeling of warmth at the idea of other people knowing, perhaps saying that he was Seifer's boyfriend or the vice.

 

“So, Greta,” Seifer spoke up rather pointedly cutting in, “Where'd you grow up?” It was a random question, anything to disrupt the cozy little exchange between this woman and Squall.

 

“Eh?” the short woman intoned with a sort of unprepared floundering.

 

Squall shot a quick look towards Seifer, reprimanding him for setting her on edge with that intimidating tone. “Balamb, wasn't it? Did you know Zell then?” the brunet input in the most soothing tone he could manage, which wasn't really all that soothing. It wasn't like him to make nice, but he also wasn't going to let Seifer bully her. Being Zell's wife didn't mean she automatically became Mrs. Chicken-wuss.

 

Eventually, Greta pulled her attention back to the man beside her. She definitely never expected to find solace in speaking to Squall Leonhart. “Uh, yes, Balamb.”

 

`Play nice,' Squall mouthed to Seifer.

 

Green eyes sparkled with mischief, and something else that Squall wasn't quite sure how to read. `Blow me,' the knight mouthed back.

 

Squall wasn't sure if Seifer was just being an ass or if he was really making a request. Either way, he shrugged his shoulders subtly and returned his focus to rolling the rest of the dough into balls.

 

The sound of a pan being dropped nearby distracted Greta long enough for her to tell Tracy to be careful. Returning her focus, she spoke, “I never knew him when I was a kid, though I had heard of him. He had quite the reputation for the weirdest things. Like, his record for chin ups, or the most consecutive back hand springs down the harbor ramp.” Giggling slightly, Greta shook her head at some fond memory. “I wish I could have seen it really, they say he ended up falling over the edge.”

 

Gray-blue eyes cast a glance at the top of the young woman's head. While he wouldn't be one to use such a tidbit against Zell, though he did feel such a sight would be amusing, he knew Seifer would. But, he wasn't about to tell her that Seifer would tease her husband mercilessly for it.

 

Growing more comfortable, perhaps from the easy silence that seemed to be a part of the Commander's personality, she continued. “I went to Deling City to learn the finer points of cooking. There are so many restaurants there that I hopped from one job to the next and just soaked it all in, every place was so different with what it served. You know, there was this one place I worked at for about four months that made Estharian cuisine. I didn't really know what it was, but now it all makes sense. I didn't really think such a place existed.”

 

“Hmm,” Squall voiced in agreement.

 

“And you're the president's son, I just think that's amazing. President Loire is such a nice man, though his tastes are a little weird. But, that's just me thinking back to what I made at that restaurant. He has more of a Galbadian stomach.”

 

“Galbadian stomach?” the brunet questioned.

 

“Yeah, it's all about the meat with them. Generally, Estharian cuisine is centered around exotic fruits.”

 

“I see,” Squall said, truly interested. It might come in handy to know this. It was one thing to judge a person by their mannerisms and their accents, but to know their background by what they ate, that was intriguing.

 

Seifer glared with unwarranted malice at the homely looking woman beside Squall. It wasn't that they looked good together, but that Squall didn't seem as uptight and closed off around her as he should. Dincht's wife or not, she was still a stranger.

 

“I'm not petting you,” Seifer announced at the staring cat on the counter. The feline just looked at him expectantly while swishing its tail back and forth.

 

“Seifer,” Squall reprimanded, “Keep him over there.” It wasn't the most sanitary idea to have Gabriel running all over the kitchen while preparing food.

 

“I'm wearing white,” the blond knight shot back.

 

With a scoff, Squall gave the sulking man a reprimanding glare.

 

Grinning at his own humor, Seifer said, “Put on chef's hat and I'll break out a ball of yarn.”

 

“There are not hats, stop being an idiot.”

 

“Hey kid!” the persistent ex-knight called out to the blonde cadet near the back pantry. “Know where any of those white mushroom hat things are?”

 

There was a startled sound of boxes falling, before a blinking cadet appeared in flustered nervousness.

 

Greta held a warm smile of amusement. Zell had told her many stories about the odd exchanges that occurred between the Commander and the rivaling knight.

 

Minutes later, Squall found himself grudgingly forced into the most ridiculous looking chef's hat. Glaring icy daggers at an amused blond knight, he folded his arms and shifted on foot.

 

Greta and Tracy found themselves taking a break to cast subtle glances at the pair's antics. Tracy was beside herself with speculation, unable to deny the vibes she was getting from the two.

 

Seifer nearly lost it when the hat flopped forward, too big for the angry kitten's head. It was adorable and sexy all at once. “I wish I had a camera,” he stated with longing.

 

“I wish you'd jump off a roof,” Squall shot with seething ill content. How exactly did Seifer manage to put him in situations like these? Quistis always said he was the most stubborn person she'd ever met, so why did he end up posing for Seifer in a hat?

 

Seifer smiled broadly, more amused at the brunet's words.

 

“Tch,” Squall intoned in defeat when that smile sent a pleased shiver down his spine.

 

Tracy kneeled down inconspicuously to pet Gabriel and watch the two, she was just in range to hear their words if she strained her ears.

 

Seifer stepped closer to his moody charge. After the potion incident, he felt fairly confident that he could handle any level of anger Squall sent his way. Reaching out he snatched the item from atop the brunet's head.

 

“This isn't exhibitionism. I'm not asking to make out with you in public,” Seifer whispered dejectedly.

 

“It's just the hat, it's stupid,” Squall replied.

 

Seifer raised his brows questioningly. “You sure about that?” His green eyes almost sparkled in challenge. “Fix my tie,” he ordered.

 

Gray-blue eyes narrowed. Hesitantly, Squall took a small step closer and reached up to fix Seifer's tie. All the while he straightened and set it in order, the knight shown an arrogant smirk down at him. With a precarious jerk, he tightened the knot a little too tightly and grinned at Seifer's faltering smirk.

 

“Thanks,” the blond said with a gulp. Hooking an index finger beneath the knot, he loosened it slightly.

 

Squall shot him a look of defiance, as though claiming victory on the challenge.

 

“You've got a little something on your cheek,” Seifer whispered.

 

“I don't,” Squall hissed with wide eyes. Not willing to lose, he stayed in place, but he gulped with apprehension. He hoped that Seifer didn't do what he thought the knight was about to do.

 

Seifer ducked closer, languidly trailing his tongue across a pale cheek. He cast a quick glance to a gaping cadet frozen in place. He winked before looking away. Eyes fixed on the silky strands of hair that nearly brushed his nose, he spoke low enough for only Squall to hear, his lips hovering millimeters from the Commander's ear, “Trepe wants you to make us public at the next press conference.”

 

 

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