Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ And He Plays the Violin ❯ And He Plays the Violin ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Eris Langely 
First and only chapter to this one shot. However, if popular opinion demnds it, I will add on with more chapters.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.29.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 937 | Status: Completed
First and only chapter to this one shot. However, if popular opinion demnds it, I will add on with more chapters.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.29.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 937 | Status: Completed
Her breathing was regular proving that she was sleeping. He watched, smoothing down her raven hair. She had been wonderful, and in so many ways. Before they had started she had confessed her virginity was someone else's. Who's, however, she wouldn't comment on. But he didn't press, and they did it. He didn't know what it was supposed to be like. Maybe he had hoped for fireworks. He smiled blandly at the thought.
"Squall..." she murmured, rolled her head off his bare chest. He raised his freed hand to his face, tracing the scar that had been made, what? A year ago? His previous train of thought resumed. There had been nothing, just an animalistic lust and climax barely satiated.
He sat up, slowly, so as not to disturb Rinoa's sleep. Dispite the fact they were soulmate, connected through time and space, consumed by a love impervious everything, except nothing. Nothing. That was what he felt deep inside where other's joy and anger would erupt from he felt nothing. The deep nothingness, which Rinoa was supposed to save him from, was still there, like a hole.
He glanced at Rinoa, who seemed to be thoroughly unconscious and slid his legs over the bed. Her presence was suffocating him. He stood up and slid on boxers and pants. He shivered self-consciously and slid on a shirt. He took one last look at the sleeping beauty and cautiously opened the door, and crept out.
The mournful cry of a violin wafted through the quad, dancing with the near silent waves and paying homage to the lonely moon. A lone voice cried its loneliness, with a silvered tongue and honeyed words. The near full moon watched the scene, silhouetting the mournful pair and crying silver into the quiet sea.
The musician laid his partner across his lap, pausing to watch the fish at their nightly games. Huge schools of fish, whose names were never known to him, swam in easy sight. He lifted the bow, and pointed at one, jerking the bow back in a fluid motion. He picked up a small piece of rosin, and caressed the strings of the bow, each movement fluid and loving. After several strokes, he let the piece fall from his long barely calloused fingers.
He let his thoughts drift with the waves. They led him to Selphie, his childhood love, who didn't remember him. He reminded himself bitterly. He lay back on the rough carpet of the quad. Before the battle with Ultimecia they had realized there was nothing, only a friendship albeit not very close. Before being sent forward to battle the witch, they had spent one night together, which had held even less romance and love than his lowest expectations.
His words came back to haunt him on this lonely night, and he spoke them indifferently. "Sharpshooters are loners by nature." Irvine smiled, feeling bittersweet. He slid off the hair tie, and let his russet locks lay free. He relaxed, feeling at home in this environment, missing his own with a sudden ache. However, quiet, bare-footed steps made him sit up, and search the night for the person interrupting his nostalgia.
Squall padded through silent Garden, and down the stairs of the quad. He touched the tree that had seen the worst attacks yet bore no marks, except for a scar made by an accident. He gave it a brief smile, and continued on toward the sound of waves that reminded him of his unsystematic visits to the Balamb harbor. He continued on, lured by the sea air.
The wind made the long dark locks frame their slender face. The figure wore a loose shirt that obscured the chest, and pants. The moonlight seemed to hug this random element of the night, making the masculine form and his surroundings ghastly and surreal.
Squall didn't miss a beat, and continued down the stairs, prepared to ignore the unexpected change. As he neared, the man called out. "Go away Squall." The voice was bitter and annoyed, not the usual light voice of Irvine. Squall wasn't about to leave, and made a comment on the obvious.
"Your hair is down." Irvine only glared, refusing to acknowledge the comment.
"Shouldn't you be spending the night with Rinoa?" He was still bitter, and slightly angry.
"..." Squall's usual reply stopped the conversation as he kneeled, then sat near Irvine, dispite the obvious and almost hostile warnings and wishes.
'Stubborn bastard.' Irvine thought cynically. Squall probably came down to the quad for fresh air and quiet. Irvine resumed his former sitting position and positioned the violin under his chin. Since he couldn't very well pollute the air, he might as well ruin the quiet. He sat the bow over the strings and played. The tune wasn't particularly upbeat, but it was fast and loud. He continuously glanced over at Squall as he played, frowning since the unexpected and very anal visitor seemed to relish it.
As the song ended, Irvine continued to play, without missing a beat, sliding into a piece he wrote while under the influence of Pachelbel's 'Canon' and the anonymous writer of 'Chopsticks'. Squall became a distant matter as he lost himself in memories and the music. Hot dry summers in the Gabaldia Garden, in the arms of some beau reformed in his mind. The wind in his face as he drove through the sandy beaches in the fastest car he could. Butterfly kisses in the shade of an outcropping and a romantic night of wining and dining. He lost himself in the reminiscence of it all. Balamb and Squall were lost; it was just he and his hommes.
He awoke to the humid sea air, and the quad. He glanced down to see Squall laying down, his eyes mostly, if not completely closed. An ivory stomach relfected th e moonlight, peaking through a large gap between the hems of Squall's shirt and pants. The skin was taunt, the muscles beneath were well toned. Irvine drank in the sight, sniling at the tranquil beauty of his less than tranquil leader.
He touched the taunt skin, lightly playing with it, as the muscle quivered. Squall's eyes shot open at the feathery touch of the gunman.
The music as soft, and quick, and soothing enough to allow Squall to relax, lying down with his arms pillowing his head trying to find some soothing element of his past. When Irvine's unbidden fingers played on his now exposed stomach he flustered, torn between desires.
Despite his awareness the sharpshooter's calm fingers continued stroking the exposed flesh with a calm hunger that brought Squall's rational mind into play. His own calloused hand grabbed Irvine's wrist as he sat up, causing a blink from Irvine. Instead of trying to break Squall's grip, the companion touched Squall's face, tilting it gently, and then bending forward touching their lips. The kiss was exhilarating, yet brief, almost like giving a thirsty man a taste of water, but only that. The desire that consumed the emptiness was great, and frightening, yet more addictive than any drug.
Irvine smiled at the internal havoc that played on his leader's face. Obviously, his attractive leader wasn't objecting, the confusion however, was amusing. Maybe this was what they needed; a good complicated love life that offered thrills and risk. He let his hand leave his leader's face then took the violin and bow, never trying to pull away his captured wrist. Irvine stood, pulling Squall up as well, who looked even more confused.
"I never thought you to be an exhibitionist, Squall." He smiled, leaning forward to kiss Squall's cheek. Squall, however had other plans. He caught Irvine's mouth with his own, letting in to a forest fire of desire. Irvine knew that that one kiss answered any questions about how willing Squall was. Quietly they padded to Irvine's visitor's quarters.
Squall was consumed by desire and lust, fueled by the chosen's feminine good looks, and the power of his touch. He wanted Irvine to consume him in kisses and touches, until their passions had burned away, leaving husks of human emotions. He followed Irvine obediently, like a puppy. To prevent this paradise from dissipating into a life like dream, he refused to relinquish Irvine's wrist.
The walk seemed like an eternity, and a day. Their pace would quicken then slow, the tediousness of walking nearly drove Squall insane with longing. Had any seen the couple, their secret would've been hidden for it looked as if Squall was forcing Irvine back to his room. Had they looked closer, the rampant desire in Squall's eyes would've made them think themselves dreaming.
Before the door to Irvine's room, they stopped. Irvine's face looked concerned and tight, as if a conclusion had been drawn. "Squall, go back to your room, and wake up next to Rinoa." Irvine's voice was unusually harsh, and Squall's lust ridden mind had trouble understanding.
"Irvine?" Squall's voice was tiny, and surprised.
"How can you fuck me tonight, while Rinoa sleeps, waiting for your return? Think about someone else for once Squall. We risked our lives fighting with you, now your going to betray one of us so you can sate some midnight impulse?"
"But?"
"I was wrong. Go away; go back to your soul mate, the one who risked her life more times than any other to save your wretched neck. Don't betray her so you can have a man-whore." He spat the words out and turned away from Squall, shaking from anger.
"I- I'm- Irvine, please! I want you!" Squall's words reminded him of when he was eight and looking for Sis. To his surprise, Irvine turned toward him again. Irvine raised his hand and backslapped Squall in emphasis.
"Get out of my sight!" Irvine growled, opening the door to his room. A tear ran down Squall's face as he turned and started back to his room. He heard Irvine shut the door, a quiet thud against it as he fled back to Rinoa's arms.
Irvine fell against his door, tears coming unbidden down his cheeks. His words came hoarse in his throat, as he whispered the words he wanted Squall to here.
"I'm sorry... I just can't betray everyone more than I have..." He fell to the ground sobbing.
"Squall..." she murmured, rolled her head off his bare chest. He raised his freed hand to his face, tracing the scar that had been made, what? A year ago? His previous train of thought resumed. There had been nothing, just an animalistic lust and climax barely satiated.
He sat up, slowly, so as not to disturb Rinoa's sleep. Dispite the fact they were soulmate, connected through time and space, consumed by a love impervious everything, except nothing. Nothing. That was what he felt deep inside where other's joy and anger would erupt from he felt nothing. The deep nothingness, which Rinoa was supposed to save him from, was still there, like a hole.
He glanced at Rinoa, who seemed to be thoroughly unconscious and slid his legs over the bed. Her presence was suffocating him. He stood up and slid on boxers and pants. He shivered self-consciously and slid on a shirt. He took one last look at the sleeping beauty and cautiously opened the door, and crept out.
The mournful cry of a violin wafted through the quad, dancing with the near silent waves and paying homage to the lonely moon. A lone voice cried its loneliness, with a silvered tongue and honeyed words. The near full moon watched the scene, silhouetting the mournful pair and crying silver into the quiet sea.
The musician laid his partner across his lap, pausing to watch the fish at their nightly games. Huge schools of fish, whose names were never known to him, swam in easy sight. He lifted the bow, and pointed at one, jerking the bow back in a fluid motion. He picked up a small piece of rosin, and caressed the strings of the bow, each movement fluid and loving. After several strokes, he let the piece fall from his long barely calloused fingers.
He let his thoughts drift with the waves. They led him to Selphie, his childhood love, who didn't remember him. He reminded himself bitterly. He lay back on the rough carpet of the quad. Before the battle with Ultimecia they had realized there was nothing, only a friendship albeit not very close. Before being sent forward to battle the witch, they had spent one night together, which had held even less romance and love than his lowest expectations.
His words came back to haunt him on this lonely night, and he spoke them indifferently. "Sharpshooters are loners by nature." Irvine smiled, feeling bittersweet. He slid off the hair tie, and let his russet locks lay free. He relaxed, feeling at home in this environment, missing his own with a sudden ache. However, quiet, bare-footed steps made him sit up, and search the night for the person interrupting his nostalgia.
Squall padded through silent Garden, and down the stairs of the quad. He touched the tree that had seen the worst attacks yet bore no marks, except for a scar made by an accident. He gave it a brief smile, and continued on toward the sound of waves that reminded him of his unsystematic visits to the Balamb harbor. He continued on, lured by the sea air.
The wind made the long dark locks frame their slender face. The figure wore a loose shirt that obscured the chest, and pants. The moonlight seemed to hug this random element of the night, making the masculine form and his surroundings ghastly and surreal.
Squall didn't miss a beat, and continued down the stairs, prepared to ignore the unexpected change. As he neared, the man called out. "Go away Squall." The voice was bitter and annoyed, not the usual light voice of Irvine. Squall wasn't about to leave, and made a comment on the obvious.
"Your hair is down." Irvine only glared, refusing to acknowledge the comment.
"Shouldn't you be spending the night with Rinoa?" He was still bitter, and slightly angry.
"..." Squall's usual reply stopped the conversation as he kneeled, then sat near Irvine, dispite the obvious and almost hostile warnings and wishes.
'Stubborn bastard.' Irvine thought cynically. Squall probably came down to the quad for fresh air and quiet. Irvine resumed his former sitting position and positioned the violin under his chin. Since he couldn't very well pollute the air, he might as well ruin the quiet. He sat the bow over the strings and played. The tune wasn't particularly upbeat, but it was fast and loud. He continuously glanced over at Squall as he played, frowning since the unexpected and very anal visitor seemed to relish it.
As the song ended, Irvine continued to play, without missing a beat, sliding into a piece he wrote while under the influence of Pachelbel's 'Canon' and the anonymous writer of 'Chopsticks'. Squall became a distant matter as he lost himself in memories and the music. Hot dry summers in the Gabaldia Garden, in the arms of some beau reformed in his mind. The wind in his face as he drove through the sandy beaches in the fastest car he could. Butterfly kisses in the shade of an outcropping and a romantic night of wining and dining. He lost himself in the reminiscence of it all. Balamb and Squall were lost; it was just he and his hommes.
He awoke to the humid sea air, and the quad. He glanced down to see Squall laying down, his eyes mostly, if not completely closed. An ivory stomach relfected th e moonlight, peaking through a large gap between the hems of Squall's shirt and pants. The skin was taunt, the muscles beneath were well toned. Irvine drank in the sight, sniling at the tranquil beauty of his less than tranquil leader.
He touched the taunt skin, lightly playing with it, as the muscle quivered. Squall's eyes shot open at the feathery touch of the gunman.
The music as soft, and quick, and soothing enough to allow Squall to relax, lying down with his arms pillowing his head trying to find some soothing element of his past. When Irvine's unbidden fingers played on his now exposed stomach he flustered, torn between desires.
Despite his awareness the sharpshooter's calm fingers continued stroking the exposed flesh with a calm hunger that brought Squall's rational mind into play. His own calloused hand grabbed Irvine's wrist as he sat up, causing a blink from Irvine. Instead of trying to break Squall's grip, the companion touched Squall's face, tilting it gently, and then bending forward touching their lips. The kiss was exhilarating, yet brief, almost like giving a thirsty man a taste of water, but only that. The desire that consumed the emptiness was great, and frightening, yet more addictive than any drug.
Irvine smiled at the internal havoc that played on his leader's face. Obviously, his attractive leader wasn't objecting, the confusion however, was amusing. Maybe this was what they needed; a good complicated love life that offered thrills and risk. He let his hand leave his leader's face then took the violin and bow, never trying to pull away his captured wrist. Irvine stood, pulling Squall up as well, who looked even more confused.
"I never thought you to be an exhibitionist, Squall." He smiled, leaning forward to kiss Squall's cheek. Squall, however had other plans. He caught Irvine's mouth with his own, letting in to a forest fire of desire. Irvine knew that that one kiss answered any questions about how willing Squall was. Quietly they padded to Irvine's visitor's quarters.
Squall was consumed by desire and lust, fueled by the chosen's feminine good looks, and the power of his touch. He wanted Irvine to consume him in kisses and touches, until their passions had burned away, leaving husks of human emotions. He followed Irvine obediently, like a puppy. To prevent this paradise from dissipating into a life like dream, he refused to relinquish Irvine's wrist.
The walk seemed like an eternity, and a day. Their pace would quicken then slow, the tediousness of walking nearly drove Squall insane with longing. Had any seen the couple, their secret would've been hidden for it looked as if Squall was forcing Irvine back to his room. Had they looked closer, the rampant desire in Squall's eyes would've made them think themselves dreaming.
Before the door to Irvine's room, they stopped. Irvine's face looked concerned and tight, as if a conclusion had been drawn. "Squall, go back to your room, and wake up next to Rinoa." Irvine's voice was unusually harsh, and Squall's lust ridden mind had trouble understanding.
"Irvine?" Squall's voice was tiny, and surprised.
"How can you fuck me tonight, while Rinoa sleeps, waiting for your return? Think about someone else for once Squall. We risked our lives fighting with you, now your going to betray one of us so you can sate some midnight impulse?"
"But?"
"I was wrong. Go away; go back to your soul mate, the one who risked her life more times than any other to save your wretched neck. Don't betray her so you can have a man-whore." He spat the words out and turned away from Squall, shaking from anger.
"I- I'm- Irvine, please! I want you!" Squall's words reminded him of when he was eight and looking for Sis. To his surprise, Irvine turned toward him again. Irvine raised his hand and backslapped Squall in emphasis.
"Get out of my sight!" Irvine growled, opening the door to his room. A tear ran down Squall's face as he turned and started back to his room. He heard Irvine shut the door, a quiet thud against it as he fled back to Rinoa's arms.
Irvine fell against his door, tears coming unbidden down his cheeks. His words came hoarse in his throat, as he whispered the words he wanted Squall to here.
"I'm sorry... I just can't betray everyone more than I have..." He fell to the ground sobbing.