Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Eighteen ( Chapter 18 )

Defining Love

Chapter Eighteen

 

Squall nodded his thanks to Dr. Odine. With Dr. Kadowaki out of the country, he'd had to settle for the uncouth scientist to take a look at his shoulder. It was an acromioclavicular separation. Though it was minor enough to not require surgery to reset his clavicle, the ligament needed time to repair before going through the sudden changes a potion would make. So, that left him with the most annoying form of treatment. Following the doctor's orders, he was supposed to wear a sling and rest his shoulder for the week, then return for more fast acting healing.

 

Diagnosis made, he had to deal with the frizzy haired man's invasive staring.

 

The old man who'd been the genius behind Esthar's technological advancement was the president's personal physician, and an overly qualified one at that. The down side to seeing Odine and having his minor injury taken care of was having to deal with the man's obsessively curious nature. Squall's pregnancy had been an absolute delight for the doctor and continued to arouse intrigue to that very day.

 

“Is that all?” the white haired doctor questioned hopefully, pressing for a complete examination.

 

“Yes,” Squall mumbled, slipping his shirt back on carefully once coming to the understanding that any further examination would not be related to his injury.

 

“I can give you something for any pain between now and next week,” Odine offered, already making the prescription out.

 

“That won't be necessary,” Squall said firmly. It was bad enough that he'd have to wear a sling and remain as inactive as possible for the entire week. If Lore or Laguna caught him taking something for the pain, then he'd be forced to stay in bed by the pair of overprotective family members.

 

“Are you absolutely certain there's nothing else I can help you with?” Odine pressed once more, moving closer with a sling for the former commander.

 

Snatching the sling from the old man, Squall attempted to put it on by himself. Failing to succeed, he accepted Odine's help. He scowled at how readily the doctor jumped into action.

 

“I'm just a doctor,” the obsessive scientist began with persistence, “but in my opinion, you're a bit too pale. Are you feeling anemic? Or fatigued perhaps? Your eyelids look a bit flushed, are you having trouble sleeping?”

 

“I'm fine,” Squall bit out, jolting as he felt the man's hands grope his side.

 

“You're a bit thin for your height. Are you experiencing a loss of appetite? The transition after your pregnancy was rather rapid. Most women struggle with their weight, yo-yoing because of metabolic and mental changes.”

 

“I'm not a woman and it's been sixteen years,” Squall reminded tersely.

 

“My, my, has it really been that long?” the old man questioned with disbelief. Fumbling around, he patted his lab coat pockets to no avail. Eventually finding his glasses on top of his head, he put them on.

 

Squall shied away as Odine leaned in close. Wanting to push the man back, he couldn't begrudge the doctor after all the help he'd been given throughout his pregnancy. Odine had delivered Lore.

“You don't look a day over twenty,” Odine observed, keenly eyeing every inch of the younger man's face.

 

Annoyed and uncomfortable, Squall slipped off the examination table and distanced himself from all wandering hands. “Look at my father,” he suggested evenly, not needing to be interrogated about whether or not he used anti-wrinkle cream. Aging was a part of life and one of few constants, even if it didn't affect everyone the same way. He was no longer the seventeen-year-old boy that had been made commander, and he was better for it. Having wrinkles and grey hairs wasn't what constituted maturity. He was thirty-five years old whether or not he looked it.

 

--

 

In Pop's Pub, the trio of former disciplinarians sat together to catch up on what happened in their lives over the previous couple of weeks.

 

Past the customary banter and ice breaking chitchat that set the mood, Seifer's ordering of coffee was on the table for questioning.

 

“What exactly did you do, ya know?” Raijin asked, wondering what could possibly be bad enough to make the ex-knight swear off all alcohol.

 

“I wasn't even that drunk,” Seifer muttered darkly, sipping his coffee. He wondered why it seemed to taste like shit despite the fact that he used to love anything from Pop's Pup.

 

“EXPLAIN,” Fujin ordered, single eye gazing intensely at the blond man. Only a month pregnant, she looked the same as always and was surprised to have Seifer show up again before her belly was well rounded.

 

Sighing, Seifer set his cup down with a chink. “I already told you guys that I've seen the kid and been hanging around Leonhart, right?”

 

Nodding enthusiastically, Raijin commented, “It was like a total shocker, ya know? I was actually beginning to think you didn't care about having a son.”

 

Grimacing at the notion, Seifer corrected, “I don't give two squirts about the boy. He's still the same snot nosed brat I saw ten years ago, hanging all over Leonhart. I never thought anyone could be a bigger mama's boy than Dincht.”

 

“Well,” Raijin began uncertainly, only to keep silent under the warning glare from his wife. Any rationalizing that placed Leonhart with the benefit of the doubt or included Seifer being wrong was not to be said aloud.

 

“Leonhart's gay,” Seifer announced quietly, as though uncovering some masterful plot.

 

Raijin and Fujin both stared at Seifer expectantly, waiting for him to finish.

 

“Come on guys, act a little surprised,” Seifer cajoled angrily. “He's fucking making out with some asshole islander in the middle of the street. I'm surprised Leonhart doesn't have more kids.”

 

“EXPLAIN,” Fujin reiterated, still confused. As much as she wanted to be on the same page with their posse leader, the ex-knight was hard to follow sometimes.

 

“Leonhart likes dick,” Seifer said slowly, annunciating each syllable.

 

Shivering, Raijin commented, “That's gross, ya know?”

 

“Thank you!” Seifer exclaimed.

 

“I meant the way you said it was gross,” Raijin corrected. “The fact that he's gay doesn't really bother me so much, ya know?”

 

Glaring, Seifer ordered, “Shut up Rai, you're not helping.”

 

“Helping?” Raijin returned defensively. “How can I help, ya know? I can't make Leonhart like girls or nothing. `Sides, I'm still stuck on why you're not drinking anymore.”

 

Staring for a long while into the burly man's uncomprehending brown eyes, Seifer concluded that Raijin was sincerely making an effort to listen to his troubles in the hopes of helping somehow. Not having alcohol to loosen himself up, he decided to just put it all out on the table despite the beating his ego would take. “It's like this,” he began, hands folded atop the table diplomatically.

 

Fujin kicked Raijin beneath their table, stopping the man before he interrupted Seifer. It was obvious the blond's mind was worked up and in ten different places at once. There were likely many issues that had resulted in the ex-knight's return.

 

“I got a little tipsy and did some stupid shit yesterday. It's over and done with, but until I can stop obsessing over certain matter, I'm not touching anything that'll make me do something stupid again,” Seifer explained more clearly.

 

“Do we get to know what it was you did?” Raijin questioned curiously. For as long as he'd known the cocky blond, doing stupid things just meant ignoring the consequences and acting as if it hadn't happened. For the man to sit there and admit to doing something regrettable, it had to have been big.

 

“I won't tell you what I did, but I can tell you what I plan on doing,” the blond offered, not entirely certain he wanted feedback on his latest scheme.

 

“Where have I heard that before,” Raijin muttered. All of Seifer's get rich quick scams had started with a master plan and ended with trouble.

 

“SILENCE,” Fujin demanded. Whatever the plan, she'd help the ex-knight.

 

Shifting in his seat, Seifer first tried to explain his standing in regards to Leonhart being gay and having a boyfriend. “Don't you think there's something seriously wrong with me having been around Leonhart for years, and not once did he try to hit on me?”

 

Laughing, Raijin trailed off abruptly when no one else joined in. Glancing to Fujin, he asked, “That's a joke, right?”

 

“No it's not a joke,” Seifer bit out. “It's insulting is what it is.”

 

“Oh man,” Raijin commented, running a hand through short strands of spiky black hair. “You're on an ego trip again,” he thought aloud, wincing as he was promptly kicked in the shin. Though Fujin didn't wear pointy shoes like so many other women, she wore steel-toed boots that were even worse.

 

“From what I can tell, Leonhart just started dating this guy,” Seifer explained. “That means I showed up at roughly the same time. Either Leonhart's been giving me the cold shoulder because he knows he can't have me or he just doesn't know a good thing when its staring him in the face.”

 

“You're not gonna like try to break them up or nothin' are ya?” Raijin asked fearfully.

 

Scoffing, Seifer corrected, “I'm just going to prove who the better man is.”

 

--

 

Squall answered the door with a grim scowl that had been in place long before he'd heard knocking at the door. Dr. Odine had a big mouth and apparently very little respect for patient confidentiality, though he suspected the obsessive scientist had known exactly what blabbing to the president would result in.

 

Laguna had been informed about his minor injury, which meant the nation would have to run itself while the president spent time with a supposedly invalid son. Naturally, Lore had been informed with many embellishing details that made it seem like he'd lost two arms and a leg.

 

Now, Squall had an appointment with Dr. Odine every day for an injury that simply required a few days of not using his gunblade.

 

“Bad time?” Seifer questioned as the door opened and he was greeted with a less than welcoming scowl. He almost cringed at the sight of Leonhart's arm in a sling. Leaning against the wall, he stood confidently with his coat unzipped to display a muscle-hugging shirt of forest green that brought out the color of his eyes. Wearing the tightest pair of jeans he owned, which weren't really all that tight, he made certain the gay man's eyes wouldn't be able to resist checking out his ass. He'd heard that gay men had a thing for the ass.

 

Glaring, Squall blamed the ex-knight for everything. However, at the sound of Laguna shouting out from the bathroom that he should be in bed, the blond became his savior. “Perfect timing,” he muttered darkly, stepping out into the hall. “Give me a ride,” he ordered, nearly insane from being caged in his bedroom for two days.

 

About to question the brunet's odd request, Seifer was silenced by a childlike gesture with an index finger placed before the mouth in a shushing action. Loosing face to keep from laughing, he missed his cue to hurry and was consequently dragged toward the stairs near the elevator.

 

“Quiet,” Squall hissed as the stairwell door shut slowly.

 

Mastering himself, Seifer remembered why he was there in the first place. Reaching a hand out, he ruffled choppy strands of dark brown hair. “That was real cute Leonhart,” he said as casually as he could, as if he often ruffled the former commander's hair.

 

Knocking Seifer's hand away, Squall stared in shocked confusion. Unable to make any conclusions, he simply warned, “Don't touch me.” Turning away and walking down the stairs, he automatically assumed he'd receive his ride as compensation for being put under house arrest because of Seifer's stupid drunken rage.

 

Stunned for a brief moment, Seifer wasn't sure what had happened until he replayed it in his head. He'd just been rejected. Not only that, but how the hell was he supposed to play the part of eye candy if Leonhart was in the lead?

 

“Hurry,” Squall called back over his shoulder in clip order. Laguna wasn't stupid and would probably check the stairs after noticing the elevator wasn't in use.

 

Jade-green eyes narrowed. Lips forming a thin line, Seifer glared as his mood darkened drastically. He wouldn't be discouraged or told what he could or could not touch. Shuffling along, he slowly followed Leonhart down seven flights of stairs, sulking the entire way. When they reached the lobby, he nearly collided with the form that stopped walking abruptly. “What gives?” he complained.

 

Backing up, Squall turned, knight right into the broad formed ex-knight. Darting a quick look upwards, his attention was drawn away when he suddenly realized the annoying inconvenience of his sling. Slipping out of the impeding contraption, he motioned for the blond to follow him after checking to make certain the lobby was clear.

 

Frowning, Seifer went along with Leonhart for the sake of getting what he wanted later. “I didn't park in the ramp,” he informed despite himself when he noticed the brunet heading towards the exit in the lobby clearly marked as a way to the complex's parking garage.

 

“…” Squall glanced at the ex-knight expectantly.

 

Jaw clenching, Seifer swallowed his pride, a feat not to be attempted without someone nearby who knew the Heimlich. For the greater good of seducing the frigid ice prince and soothing his sore ego, he reasoned that making nice with the silent and infuriating man was key.

 

Wary for a moment when the ex-knight simply turned and motioned for him to follow, Squall wondered if something was wrong. He dropped all questions at the dinging sound of the elevator.

 

--

 

Seifer wasn't entirely certain how he'd wound up back in his apartment with Leonhart, but that's exactly where he'd driven without being directed where to go.

 

It was a small place in the thirty-ninth district, close to the lot he'd purchased for his training center. His loft like flat was one of five apartments in the old brick building. The plumbing was noisy and the utilities were from an era before beam lifts and hydraulically mechanized doorways. Though he wasn't on a tight budget, he'd always been frugal with his money and couldn't be certain his training center was going to give back what he put into it.

 

“Home sweet home,” Seifer declared in introduction as he unlocked the outdated deadbolt lock.

 

Stepping past the courteous blond, forcing himself not to glance back at the man for such continuous odd behavior, Squall entered Seifer's apartment with no expectations beyond a place to hide out from his smothering father. Grey-blue eyes scanned the place without bias. “You're not unpacked,” he commented, noting the many boxes stacked about.

 

“This may be temporary,” Seifer explained. Shutting the door, he unzipped his coat and hung it up on a nearby hook.

 

Looking back, Squall's eyes followed the blond as the man circled around him, brushing against him unnecessarily to walk by.

 

Gesturing to the far wall, where his bed was stationed as a fixture before a large window, Seifer offered, “You can use the top blanket to warm up.”

 

Uncrossing his arms, Squall tried to correct his stance and not appear as cold as he felt. Wearing a pair of dark jeans and plain navy blue t-shirt, the weather had been unforgiving in its continued frigidity. “I'm fine,” he stated.

 

Rolling his eyes at the predicted response, Seifer pointed out, “There's no place else to sit, so you might just as well take the offer.” Unsettled into and unfurnished, his apartment was no oasis and not meant for dinner parties.

 

With a withering glare, Squall crossed the open room and sat down on the ex-knight's neatly made bed. “So what was last week really about?” he questioned idly, shifting around until he finally gave up on being respectful. Toeing his sneakers off, he brought his legs up and folded them to sit more comfortably atop the dark brownish-red quilt.

 

Seifer ignored the question for the moment. Rummaging around in the small kitchen nook, he took his time in fabricating a decent lie. “I was drunk,” he reminded, approaching the brunet and offering a bottle of water.

 

Accepting the drink, Squall was confused when the ex-knight didn't let go immediately. Gazing up into jade-green eyes, briefly comparing the color to Lore's, he tugged at the bottle until the man relented and grinned in an unsettling way.

 

“I've been busy and a bit stressed out,” Seifer went on to say, almost laughing at how naively unaware Leonhart was. Just sitting there on his bed, making it almost too easy. He wondered at such obliviousness and pitied Bernhein.

 

Sipping his water, Squall showed no inclination to participate in any discussion, but he listened attentively.

 

Casually sliding into place at the head of the bed, Seifer leaned his back against both pillow and wall. With one leg draped over the edge, he reclined openly and cast a quick glance out the window in thought. “Sparring helps to relax me,” he explained further. “I happened to see you with that Bernhein guy and got a little pissed `cause I wished I could have been beating your ass into the ground instead of explaining to some know-it-all architect why a turf flooring is out of the question.”

 

Frowning, Squall lowered the clear plastic bottle with a soft suction sound at his lips. “Don't make it a pattern,” he requested evenly, hating the prospect of never sparring with Seifer again.

 

Lost for a moment as he noted the brunet's bottom lip glistening from the water, Seifer snapped back to reality and jibed, “Careful Leonhart, I might begin to think you actually care.”

 

Scowling, Squall looked away from the ex-knight's amused face. He'd never understood what motivated the man to do or say the things he did. Despite that, he did care. Perhaps he was becoming meddlesome, but he'd hoped to encourage a more civil relationship between the ex-knight and his son. Now he didn't know what to think.

 

“So you and a college professor, huh?” Seifer questioned skeptically.

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Squall muttered, defensive after the argument he'd had with the blond during their last meeting.

 

“Nothing,” Seifer assured, a deceivingly innocent expression in place. “I'm just curious, that's all.”

 

“Why must you repeatedly concern yourself with my love life?” Squall asked seriously. He was a private person and unwilling to discuss such matters openly, as he'd already informed the ex-knight.

 

“Why is it I can only concern myself with matters of your choosing?” Seifer countered. “I can ask anything I want about you being knocked up, but nothing about some shady homosexual your bringing into my son's life.”

 

Stormy blue eyes studied the tanned man's face. Lowering his gaze to the quilt, absently considering it to be more of an auburn color, he reluctantly apologized, “I'm sorry. I wasn't sure that this was really about Lore.” Who was he to tell Seifer what to be concerned about regarding his son?

 

Hesitating briefly, Seifer stooped to a new low. “It's not like I'm looking to make up for lost time, but the brat's kind of likeable in a stubborn, spitfire sort of way.”

 

Smiling subtly, Squall corrected, “He's more than likeable if you don't bully him.”

 

Hand going to his mouth as he faked a small cough, Seifer hid his disbelieving smile. He couldn't believe how little it took to disarm the former commander. Just mentioning the kid changed Leonhart's demeanor entirely. “You get the point,” he said. “So what kind of man is Bernhein?”

 

Frowning, Squall informed, “He's a good man.”

 

“You've already said that much,” Seifer commented lamely.

 

“What more should I say? It's none of your business,” Squall returned. “Screening the people who come into Lore's life is still my job even if you're starting to care about having a son.” The heated edge in his voice implied that he had lingering issues with Seifer taking over any fatherly duties that he considered sacred.

 

Scoffing, Seifer conceded that he'd misread the brunet's change of attitude. The pale fighter was just as stubbornly tightlipped after being buttered up, which was something he should have expected. “You're right,” he agreed. “I have no right to act concerned now.”

 

Struck again with the odd feeling that something was off in the blond's behavior, Squall stared at the man curiously. Wondering if he was just being overly sensitive, he sighed and chose to ignore it. Running a hand through visually impairing bangs, he took a swig of water and said nothing.

 

“You never asked me why I came to see you,” Seifer said, attempting to keep the conversation going.

 

Shrugging indifferently, Squall licked his lips and waited for the answer to a question he didn't plan on asking properly.

 

Jade-green eyes were drawn for a fleeting moment to the effeminate man's bowed lips. Lowering his line of sight so it wasn't obvious where he'd been looking, Seifer answered, “I wanted to apologize for last time and see if your shoulder was okay.”

 

Nodding in acceptance of the apology, Squall assured, “It's nothing.”

 

“You're wearing a sling, it can't be nothing,” Seifer refuted with false care. Hyne knew he'd given the former commander worse injuries over the years.

 

Scowling, Squall shrugged his right shoulder in a display of its mobility. “I came here to get away from people who care too much,” he stated in annoyance, fingers brushing over the balled up sling at his side.

 

Eyebrow twitching at the adverse reaction to his concern, Seifer informed, “I may care more than you think.” Making to get up, he moved closer to the brunet instead. Resting a hand to the deceivingly fragile man's shoulder, he gave a tentative squeeze. “Does that hurt?” he questioned, feeling around as if he knew what he was doing or could possibly make it better. Contact was essential in making his presence known.

 

Rearing back from the blond's hold, Squall glared. “Don't touch me,” he hissed in warning for the second time.

 

Unable to let such a reaction go twice, Seifer defied the brunet's wishes and roughly tousled dark locks in a condescending manner. “Chill out Squally-boy, I don't bite.”

 

Glaring fiercely, Squall knocked the offending hand away. “Don't touch people when they don't want to be touched,” he demanded icily. He didn't care for any unnecessary contact.

 

“You can let Bernhein paw you in public, but I can't so much as check to see if your shoulder's alright?” Seifer argued, unable to figure a way of seducing such an oblivious person. What he'd first considered advantageous was now troublesome.

 

With a sardonic expression, Squall pointed out, “You're not my boyfriend.” As the words echoed back in his head, he almost blushed at openly admitting that he even had a boyfriend.

 

“You think I don't know that?” Seifer bit out, standing straight and stalking away.

 

Shaking his head in confusion, Squall scooted to the edge of the bed. Feet planted on the floor, he slipped back into his sneakers. Having already received a ride, his expectations of Seifer had been fulfilled. He was foolish to hope for more. They were too different to be around each other and not go insane. Competing for top scores was the most their relationship would ever amount to, whether or not Lore shared their blood equally.

 

“Where are you going?” Seifer asked forcefully, his tone demanding the brunet stay put.

 

“None of your business,” Squall muttered, yanking the cuff of his pant leg over the front of his shoe. Straightening back up, he stood and gazed defiantly at the ex-knight, daring the man to give him an order.

 

Balling his fists, Seifer fought the urge to tackle the pretty boy to the bed. He was controlling by nature and didn't respond well to defiant behavior. Leonhart brought out the worst in him and he resented the man for that. “Dammit Leonhart,” he began in frustration. How the hell was he supposed to seduce the brunet when he could barely curb his murderous desires? Pernicious intentions aside, he doubted the frigid ice prince had a romantic bone in that scrawny little body.

 

Brows drawing together as he tried to make sense of the arrogant man's actions and words, Squall didn't leave immediately. “What is it that you want?”

 

“I'd like half a chance to get to know you,” Seifer bit out tersely.

 

Frowning, Squall questioned, “You want to be friends?” He tried to disguise the shock and disbelief in his voice, but couldn't help sounding incredulous.

 

Wanting to scoff at the notion, Seifer figured the truth was far more extreme. “Yeah,” he said quietly, mood seeming to sober as if seriously attached to the idea of being friends.

 

Running a hand through his hair, Squall tried to analyze the past few weeks through an altered perception of Seifer trying to reconcile past conflicts. It certainly made sense, more sense than anything else anyway, and he'd already accepted that the man had turned to him for a bit of familiarity in such an unfamiliar country. “Okay,” he mumbled in acceptance, suspecting he'd just signed away his sanity for the sake of spending more time with someone who drove him crazy half the time. Whether or not it was actually possible to be more than rivals remained to be seen.

 

“Okay?” Seifer repeated uncertainly. Was Leonhart fucking kidding? Could it really be so easy? Just like that they were friends? “No,” he muttered, thinking aloud before he could stop himself.

 

“What?” Squall questioned. Keeping his right arm stationary, he crossed his left arm over and shifted his weight impatiently.

 

Shaking his head, Seifer took a moment to reestablish the boundaries. Deception was not a game he played very often. He'd slipped into pace with an unsuspecting Leonhart, regarding the offer of friendship seriously when it should only have been considered a tool to become closer to the former commander.

 

Hesitating further, Seifer began to fear that his quick handed retaliation for being bypassed as a suitor was taking matters too far. Even he had his limits and if Leonhart was suddenly willing to be friends, then he was playing with more than one gay man's physical desire.

 

“You've been cooped up all day,” the ex-knight began in hasty excuse. “Take my coat and get some fresh air. I've got a few phone calls to make.”

 

Face expressionless, Squall studied the blond man's strong features, searching for some clue as to what was going on inside that bipolar head. First hot and then cold, he couldn't get a handle on the ex-knight. Having encountered opposition for simply putting his shoes on, now he was being asked to leave. “Whatever,” he mumbled in impassive compliance.

 

Walking around the taller man, Squall made for the door.

 

“Wait,” Seifer said, reaching out and grasping a thin but firmly muscled upper arm. Releasing his hold as if burned, he instinctively respected the repeated request to keep his hands to himself.

 

“…” Glancing sidelong, Squall tilted his head up to meet the blond's line of sight.

 

“Nothing, never mind,” Seifer spoke with rising anger at his continued indecisiveness. Not watching, he listened to the gentle patting of soft-soled sneakers cross the empty apartment. “I still have a few things I want to discuss,” he called out.

 

Making a point of zipping the ex-knight's oversized jacket up loudly, Squall assured, “I have to return your jacket anyway.”

 

Plan for seduction effectively aborted, Seifer sighed at the sound of the apartment door closing. Alone, he hoped to get a better handle on the situation.

 

With still present jealousy over Bernhein, Seifer was faced with one of the worst predicaments of his life. Thinking back on the way his attention was so easily captured by Leonhart's every move, eyes drawn to bowed lips when they formed words or frowned, he realized that on some level he was attracted to the effeminate man.

 

Rubbing his face and heaving a gruff sigh, Seifer groaned in exasperation. As if his relationship with the former commander couldn't have gotten any more complicated, he had to go and develop some whacked out crush.

 

What he needed to decide was whether or not he was going to pursue Squally-boy or let the whole thing blow over like some sickness that just needed to run its course.

 

He wasn't gay, at least not in the sense that putting his mouth anywhere near another guy's dick was a turn on. Shivering in disgust at the mere thought, he decided he could be deal with everything except that. No, facial hair was another issue. He'd be okay if he were the only one with stubble on his chin.

 

--

 

Squall was glad to be outside. Calling home on the nearest payphone, he spent ten minutes consoling Laguna and assuring his father that he hadn't been kidnapped or harmed.

 

There was little to do beside walk around aimlessly, but after seeing nothing but his bedroom walls for two days, the fresh air was enough. It was early afternoon and the day was a rather gloomy grey.

 

Returning after an hour, freezing despite the excess material he swam in, Squall slowly approached the ex-knight's apartment on the second floor. Having bunched the sleeves up around his hands like makeshift mittens, he took a moment to uncover a hand so that he might knock on the door and be heard.

 

The second he rapped his knuckles, than the door flew open and he was yanked inside without any warning. Retaliating, Squall knocked the ex-knight's hand away and glared. Before he could so much as protest, his back met the wall.

 

Better than any love poems or awkward confessionals, Seifer had decided to make himself crystal clear with actions.

 

“Seifer, what-”

 

Seifer silenced the brunet easily. Holding narrow shoulders firmly, knowing it would cause less struggle if Leonhart had half a mind to consider the injury, he dipped his head low. Meeting soft lips with his own, he kissed the unsuspecting man roughly.

 

Eyes widening in shock, Squall didn't quite register what was going on. Considering there was no mistaking what Seifer was doing, it didn't take him very long to bring his hands up and try to push the blond off. When his lower lip was nipped, causing him to jump as if electrocuted, he struggled to shirk the hold on his shoulders off. Turning his head away, he ordered, “Stop it.” As the taller man loomed in again, he tried looking the other way, but found his progress halted. “Seif-”

 

Taking the opportunity, Seifer slipped his tongue past parted lips. The taste was brief, barely enough time for him to feel the other's tongue before retreating at the feisty bite of teeth. Drawing the exchange to an end, he paused before pulled back and gazing down into anguished grey-blue eyes. “You've got my attention Squally-boy,” he announced in a deep tone. “Be prepared for the consequences.”

 

Brows drawing together, Squall shivered in perplexing arousal. “What?” he managed uncertainly.

 

Grinning broadly, Seifer released his hold. As the brunet just stood there like deer caught in headlights, he slowly unzipped the too large coat, stopping half way. Slipping his hands inside, he slid the garment off narrow shoulders. Creating somewhat of a restraint for idling arms, he was still taking a chance by not fleeing the scene right then.

 

Squall stood in shock and confusion. Though his brain was trying to process it, the answer he kept reaching was ludicrous, so he kept trying to reprocess it all in the hopes of reaching a saner conclusion.

 

Daringly, Seifer touched a pale cheek, feeling along the brunet's jaw line and affirming that he wouldn't be having an issue with stubble. It was no different than if he were kissing a woman, just a lot more dangerous.

 

“You seem confused,” Seifer commented knowingly. “It's this oblivious and naïve part of you that makes me want to spoil you.”

 

“S-spoil?” Squall mumbled dumbly, not certain he could form any words if he weren't repeating them. Swallowing, he felt a heat course through his body, cold fingers and cheeks suddenly too warm.

 

Seifer pressed a hand to Leonhart's chest. Staring down at his seemingly helpless rival, there was no mistaking the stirring in his loins. He felt terribly powerful. It was intoxicating, so much so that it threatened to cloud every sensible fiber in him. “Spoil,” he repeated huskily, staring into uncomprehending eyes. “Tarnish and defile you. Rid you any innocence you still have.” Fingers gripping the collar of the frozen man's shirt, he tugged it to the side, revealing the fine curvature of a pale collarbone.

 

Squall flinched at the feel of wet heat against his skin. Shuddering, he leaned away as his body began to react. “Stop it,” he hissed, gripping strands of golden blond hair and pulling.

 

Biting down, not hard enough to pierce porcelain skin, Seifer sucked at the protesting brunet's collar until he'd left his mark. Knowing that any torn ligaments meant steering clear of potions and cures, he left a small gift for Bernhein to find. It wouldn't be easily concealed unless Leonhart abstained from all sexual activity.

 

The urge to peal away every piece of concealing clothing was hard to fight, but Seifer managed to temper himself. Task finished, he detached his mouth from now kiss bruised skin and smirked. “What if I don't stop?” he queried, hand grasping a fine jaw, directing the pretty boy to look at him properly. “That professor of yours has nothing on me,” he informed arrogantly. “If you're into men, why not me?”

 

Eyes widening, Squall shoved at the ex-knight.

 

Backing away, Seifer soothed, “Don't hurt yourself now.”

 

“Bastard,” Squall hissed, tearing at the coat he wore, not even pausing when his shoulder flared in pain at the rash movement. “I don't know what joke this is, but it's not funny.” Shoving the coat into the blond's hold, he made for the door.

 

TBC…