Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Chapter Nineteen ( Chapter 19 )

Defining Love

Chapter Nineteen

 

“It's no joke Leonhart,” Seifer assured, reaching out to stop the brunet's hasty departure.

 

Tearing from the ex-knight's hold violently, Squall bit his lip to stifle a pained grunt at wrenching his shoulder once more. Grabbing his right arm and cradling it close, he glared fiercely until the blond took a step back. “What gives you the right?” he hissed venomously.

 

“The right to what?” Seifer returned, half expecting to see his breath with the sudden drop in temperature he felt under those icy eyes.

 

“Don't touch me again,” Squall said with a low tone of warning. Turning, he opened the door swiftly, if only a little awkwardly. Considering the blond's words that claimed it was no joke, he stated coldly, “I'm not interested in men like you.”

 

Jade-green eyes narrowed at the declaration. Anger incited, Seifer couldn't begin to understand why those words hurt him as they did, piercing straight through his egotistically confident defenses. Jaw clenching, he made certain not to impede Leonhart's departure, fearing he'd do something grievously regrettable.

 

--

 

Squall stood in the small bathroom that lead off from his bedroom. Leaning over the counter and dry sink basin, he held the neck of a black turtleneck down while studying the hickey Seifer had left. Scowling at it, he raised his eyes and stared for a brief moment at himself. He couldn't deny the truth regarding what had happened. Seifer's touch had turned him. Letting go of the high neck to his shirt, he adjusted it to make certain there was no chance of anyone seeing he mark on his collar.

 

“Dad?” Lore called from within his father's bedroom.

 

Backing away from the counter, Squall exited the bathroom to answer his son's call. Knowing what was in store, he decided he could brood about being treated like a ten year old, and perhaps it would take his mind off more distressing issues.

 

“You're not even wearing the arm thing!” Lore exclaimed in mild outrage.

 

Quirking a brow, Squall walked to his unmade bed, upon which he'd left a torn strip of an old bed sheet. Having left his sling on Seifer's bed, he'd procured his own makeshift version. Picking the flimsy piece of material up, he appeased the dark haired youth by holding it out in silent request for help in putting it on. “It's called a sling,” he mumbled.

 

Frowning, Lore snatched the ragged piece of sheet from his father's hand, not questioning where the actual sling was since it was likely lying in a dumpster somewhere. Stepping closer with a warming sense of being needed by his ever self reliant father, he said, “I know what it's called. I also know that you should be wearing it.”

 

Having learned how to put the sling on by himself, certain he could manage just as easily with the new version, Squall bowed his head while it was done for him. He made no attempt to help, but waited like a child who couldn't tie their shoes. “I don't need it,” he protested quietly, mentally refuting such a conclusion. Perhaps it had been unnecessary before, but after returning home his shoulder hadn't stopped throbbing.

 

Shaking his head, Lore informed, “Grandpa told me what you did.”

 

“I just wanted some fresh air,” Squall supplied in excuse, giving credence to the notion that he was like a prisoner. In truth, he was actually more stubborn than Lore and Laguna combined and could easily win his way outside.

 

“Fresh air?” Lore questioned incredulously. “There's fresh air on the balcony. It's the same air you went all the way to the thirty-second district for.”

 

“I needed to stretch my legs,” Squall added, pinching the bridge of his nose at how ridiculous such an excuse sounded when put into words. Though it had been true enough when he'd demanded Seifer give him a ride, it still sounded like poor reasoning.

 

“That's a twenty mile stretch of the legs,” Lore said, not for one minute believing that there wasn't more to the story. “I assume you didn't run the whole way.”

 

Smiling at how futile it was to fool his perceptive son, Squall relented his loose hold on the truth. “Seifer came by to apologize. I asked him for a ride.”

 

Brows drawing together in an upset manner, Lore asked, “Did you spar with him in your condition?”

 

“No,” Squall answered. He almost added that the ex-knight had only given him a ride, but the kiss mark on his collarbone wore heavily on his conscience and kept him from lying to the one person he strove to be completely honest with. “For the last time, my condition is fine.” He'd received worse injuries on a near daily basis when first training with a gunblade, but they'd all been superficial and easily mended with a potion.

 

Grumbling a note of disapproval, Lore hugged his father, selfishly holding onto the smaller man to sooth his worries. “You have no idea how many stupid mistakes I made on my math test yesterday because all I could think about was how you'd probably give Grandpa the slip and hurt yourself even worse.”

 

Frowning, Squall pulled back and looked into blue-green eyes sternly. “This is nothing to go failing a math test over.”

 

“I passed, but I didn't do as good as I could have if I were certain you'd stay home and take it easy,” Lore informed.

 

Sighing in defeat, Squall tousled raven strands and informed, “Whatever grade you earn is your own doing.”

 

“I know,” Lore muttered, grinning reassuringly. “It was a practice test anyway.”

 

Rolling his eyes at the plotted guilt trip, Squall asked, “Where's Laguna?”

 

“The kitchen,” Lore informed morosely, praying the peanut butter and sour cream he'd seen on the counter weren't going into the same concoction.

 

Cringing, Squall hoped he wasn't going to be subjected to tasting the president's cooking. “This is what happens when you won't let me make dinner,” he said.

 

Nodding in agreement, Lore requested, “Can we order in again?”

 

“Naturally,” Squall replied succinctly.

 

Relieved, Lore moved on to other matters. “I'm tired,” he declared, heaving a heavy sigh and drooping his head against his father's good shoulder. “I hate school. Can I quit?” Midterms were exhausting and that was without having soccer practice thrown into the mix.

 

Standing in the hallway just outside Squall's room, Irvine watched the tender moment between father and son. He couldn't recall a time when Tyler had returned from school and unloaded feelings of frustration while hugging him for comfort. Every family was different, but he was slightly jealous.

 

“Howdy,” Irvine greeted to make his presence known.

 

Breaking away from his father, Lore blushed faintly. He was well aware of his so-called complex, which his uncle had repeatedly referenced during their last meeting.

 

Smiling knowingly, Irvine strode into the inner sanctum of the Balamb lion's personal quarters. “If you drop out now, you'd regret it,” he commented.

 

“I wasn't serious,” Lore muttered.

 

Amused, sensing some lingering scorn for supporting someone his nephew had deemed an enemy, Irvine simply smiled disarmingly. “Someone should stop Laguna before you guys lose a stove and Esthar loses its leader,” he drawled.

 

Starting in remembrance, Lore said, “I'll tell him we're ordering something tonight.” He rushed from the room to save his grandfather from singed hair.

 

“Hey darlin',” Irvine greeted more informally. Moving closer to his former commander, he leaned in and placed his customary peck to a pale cheek. Standing back, he gave the brunet a scrutinizing gaze. “You seem well enough,” he commented, having heard what happened through the grapevine.

 

Frowning, Squall stated, “I am.”

 

“You seem bothered though,” the gunman went on to say, hand at his chin in thought. “I can spot love problems a mile away.” There was no missing the marker when the practically celibate man had just entered a semi serious relationship. He'd been expecting a phone call, but taken the opportunity to visit so that Squall couldn't hang up on him when he tried to give advice on how to play bottom in bed.

 

Gaze sharpening in surprise, Squall's free hand shot to where Seifer had marked him. Clutching his shirt, he cursed silently at whatever had been in his eyes that gave him away.

 

“What's that?” Irvine queried with underlying excitement.

 

“What's what?” Squall returned impassively, lowering his hand as if he hadn't reacted to the gunman's words moments before.

 

Smirking, violet-blue eyes alight with glee, Irvine commented slyly, “I didn't take Cale as the aggressive type, fooling around when your shoulders busted.” In fact, Cale was the exact opposite of aggressive, more likely to change ice packs for an injury than instigate a make out session. There was always a chance that Squall had started something, but he didn't quite think that was the case.

 

Cheeks heating, Squall felt a sense of unease as how dangerously close the auburn haired man was getting to something he'd rather take to his grave.

 

Waiting for a few moments, Irvine's expression changed from that of excited interest to that of shocked disbelief. Eyes widening, he couldn't be certain he was reading Squall's subtle look of guilty worry right. The former commander was as calm and composed as ever, but those stormy blue eyes couldn't hide everything. “You're not…” he began, but trailed off in order to better phrase his question. “Did someone else…”

 

Jaw clenching, Squall stood on pins and needles. He could say any number of things to keep the gunman from speaking further, but it would come out sooner or later.

 

“Dad, is pizza okay?” Lore called down the hallway from in the living room.

 

Jumping at the chance, preferring later over sooner, Squall walked around the annoyingly perceptive former playboy. “No. We're not having junk food two nights in a row,” he answered, already trying to remember the number for the deli in their district that delivered on weekdays.

 

“Mind if I stay for dinner?” Irvine questioned with obvious intentions of cornering the brunet some time that night.

 

Pausing at the doorway, Squall glanced over his shoulder. “Won't your wife miss you?”

 

“She's chaperoning an overnight fieldtrip for Tyler's class,” Irvine informed smoothly, as if to say he had all night to badger the truth out of the tightlipped man.

 

Glaring halfheartedly, Squall muttered, “Whatever.”

 

--

 

Squall spent the majority of dinner brooding over what Seifer had done, trying to make sense of it. Every so often, he'd glance up from his nearly untouched sandwich and lock eyes with a puzzle solving gunman, at which point he'd promptly look away.

 

Reflecting on the kiss he'd been given and the way his body had felt, Squall couldn't fathom a more backwards matching of actions and reactions. Falling deeper into the clutches of his vivid thoughts, he sunk low in his seat as he shivered in memory of wet heat on his skin.

 

Snapping to, Squall stood from his seat abruptly. All eyes turned to him and he felt mortified at what he'd been thinking about during a family dinner. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, picking his plate up and working his way around the table.

 

“What's wrong?” Lore asked, making to get up as well.

 

“Nothing. I'm fine,” Squall assured, waving a hand and gesturing for the raven-haired boy to stay seated.

 

Moving across the kitchen, Squall opened a drawer near the sink and proceeded to store his food in plastic wrap. There was no sense in being wasteful just because he couldn't bring himself to eat.

 

Setting his empty plate in the sink, he turned around and faced the spectating group. “I'm fine really. Finish without me,” he instructed, wishing his actions could go without interrogation just once. Leaving the room to sort his thoughts out privately, he felt as though confessing to Irvine might not be so bad, since he wasn't able to figure much of anything out on his own.

 

Irvine stayed Lore by squeezing the troubled boy's shoulder. “Sometimes he really is fine and sometimes he needs time alone.”

 

Hazel-green eyes watched the brunet's lithe form disappear from view. For the most part, Laguna was well adjusted to the relationship he had with his son, even when his ideal bond of affection was flaunted in front of his eyes every time he saw Lore and Squall together. Still, he sometimes wondered just how his son perceived him. Was he always going to be `Laguna'? Sixteen years seemed to conclude as much, but he was hopeful that there would come a time when the retired commander would call him `Dad'.

 

“I'm going to call Kiros and have some work sent over,” Laguna announced, pushing back from the table and excusing himself to make the call. The implication that he would be spending the night was clear.

 

“Thanks,” Lore said before his grandfather left.

 

Glancing back with a broad grin, Laguna assured, “When you're done with your homework, we can watch a movie.”

 

Shoulders sagging, Lore realized the president's decision to keep him company was really just an excuse to good off. Nonetheless, his grandfather's presence would ultimately help him forget that his father was being unusually distant. “I hate it when he doesn't talk to me,” he stated, in no mood to finish his dinner after spending most of the meal without a single word from the man he idolized.

 

“Welcome to the club,” Irvine consoled. “I think his brain's just too worked up.”

 

“About what?” Lore asked, not having realized there was any new development in his father's life that would weigh so heavily on the man. Frowning, he concluded that something had happened with Cale. “What did Cale do?” he hissed.

 

Chuckling good naturedly, Irvine easily decided that it was best he not voice his suspicions. The protective boy would flip out if he admitted to having doubts about what had happened and who was involved. “I think it's the usual trouble with work,” he offered in misleading conjecture. “He probably had to pass up an assignment `cause of his shoulder, and the headmaster's been real stingy with giving him work in the first place.”

 

“Well it's not like they can have him doing the dirty work,” Lore said.

 

Shaking his head, Irvine refuted, “Dirty work is exactly what your dad wants to be doing. He'd take a ten day sweeping mission in the middle of a marsh over an hour of office work in a heartbeat.”

 

“Do you think we were too hard on him for leaving?”

 

“Leaving?” Irvine questioned.

 

Nodding, Lore elaborated, “Seifer showed up and before Grandpa could stop him, Dad left so he could get a ride.”

 

Looking deep in thought for a moment, Irvine frowned. Shaking his head to dismiss such a ludicrous notion as Squall having done something with Seifer Almasy, he smiled at his own foolishness.

 

--

 

It was late, later than Squall had intended for it to be. He'd immersed himself in work on his laptop, seated in the kitchen where he could see into the main flat and monitor Lore and Laguna. He'd developed a rather odd typing method, using only one hand unless necessary to use both.

 

The sudden lack of noise was what drew his attention. Looking up, he peered over the screen of his computer and saw the TV was off.

 

“You gotta see this darlin',” Irvine drawled quietly, setting the remote down and standing up from the couch.

 

Closing his laptop, Squall left his place at the kitchen table. Frowning as he was gestured to be quiet, he approached the couch slowly. Stormy blue eyes beheld the sight of his son and father asleep, apparently unable to take a second movie in one night. The similarity in their leaning poses, each utilizing a small pillow and an armrest, was amusing enough to put a smile on his face.

 

“I think it's past your children's bedtime,” Irvine said with an amused grin. “And time for the adults to have a little talk.”

 

Squall regarded the gunman with slight apprehension, wondering just how much the lanky man knew. Given a knowing wink, he feared the man must have read his very thoughts. “Indeed,” he agreed in defeat.

 

Nodding in satisfaction at finally having his chance to interrogate the secretive brunet, Irvine left Squall to tuck the sleeping boys in for bed.

 

Sighing, Squall went about waking the raven haired duo and sending them off to bed. It was a slow going task when neither seemed compliant with waking up or retiring before he did, but he managed to plead his case of staying up just a little bit later to talk with Irvine.

 

With Lore and Laguna down for the night, there was nothing left for Squall but to deal with a mysteriously knowledgeable gunman. He was reluctant to speak with the auburn haired man, yet also compelled to discuss the source of his troubled mind. Their long termed friendship had bread many understandings between them, which usually helped more often than not.

 

With an assuring smile, Irvine welcomed the brunet's company. “Have a seat,” he offered.

 

Declining, Squall shook his head. Moving towards the other end of the room, he asked, “Do you want some tea?”

 

“Please,” Irvine accepted, figuring he might as well if the brunet were making some anyway.

 

Squall went about his task silently.

 

“Don't laugh,” Irvine warned, jumping right into what he wanted to discuss. “I gotta ask you something simply for the sake of eliminating all possibilities.”

 

Water set to heat in the microwave, Squall turned and leaned against the countertop. He waited patiently to hear the gunman's question.

 

“Did you fool around with Seifer Almasy?” Irvine asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

 

Blanching, grey-blue eyes widened, a reaction Squall simply could not prevent.

 

Irvine's expression became that of shock in turn with the former commander's. “Squall, why?” he uttered in disbelief.

 

“I didn't consent to it,” Squall impressed quickly, left arm wrapping around the small of his waist. Cheeks a rosy shade of embarrassed, he cast an uncomfortable gaze to the floor.

 

The sound of a fist banging on the kitchen table cut through the silence and startled Squall. Looking up, he met the narrowed eyes of the sharp shooter, violet-blue irises gleaming as if mere seconds away from pulling the trigger.

 

“I'll kill him,” Irvine hissed.

 

“That's hardly necessary,” Squall commented with a frown. He placed his back to the gunman when the microwave beeped.

 

“Did it just happen today?” Irvine questioned, wondering how long the brunet had been left to brood alone over such an unforgivable act.

 

Bowing his head, Squall mumbled something to the affect of an affirmative. Sighing, he said more clearly, “I'm not sure how it happened.” It had all happened so fast, the ex-knight's lips against his before he could think to act. He'd been a fool not to see it, but how could he have known. He still didn't believe it.

 

Teeth grinding, Irvine repeated, “I'll kill him.”

 

Glancing back at the gunman uncertainly, Squall pointed out, “When Cale did it, you were ecstatic.”

 

Ready to declare that the ex-knight's death was a perfectly suitable punishment, Irvine closed his mouth before he could say as much. “Wait,” he said in double taking confusion. “What?”

 

Lips pressing together firmly, Squall refused to repeat himself. Returning his attention to steeping tea, he willed the heat he felt on his face to go away. It was embarrassing enough to think about it, but far worse to talk about it.

 

Recalling what it was that the president's former secretary had done, Irvine questioned, “He kissed you?”

 

“Not so loud,” Squall protested, fearing what might happen if Lore were to find out.

 

“That's it?” the gunman asked warily. “He didn't try to do anything else?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Slightly annoyed, Irvine left his seat and strode closer to the under reacting brunet. “What do you mean `of course not'? If he kissed you against your will, then raping you isn't a giant leap away.”

 

“Rape?” Squall hissed incredulously. “Hyne, I'm not that incapable.” Just what was it that made his family and friends fear he'd be raped?

 

Brows lifting, Irvine pointed out, “But he managed to kiss you.”

 

Glaring, Squall defended, “I was taken by surprise.

“I'll bet,” Irvine agreed in agitation. Sidling close to the shorter man, he pressed for details, “What happened exactly?”

 

Loath to give a play by play of what had happened, Squall scowled.

 

“Darlin',” Irvine began, arm rising to encompass narrow shoulders gently. “You're not getting away until I know every gritty detail.”

 

“Does it really matter?” Squall gazed into the gunman's eyes. He didn't know what to make of Seifer, or himself for that matter.

 

“It does to me,” Irvine returned.

 

--

 

“Hey,” Squall greeted, crouching down at the end of Cale's lane.

 

Breaking from his stroke abruptly, Cale dunked under the water and moved closer. Propping his arms on the small ledge bordering the pool, he gazed up at the pale beauty he could hardly believe he was dating. “Hey yourself,” he returned.

 

Squall studied plastered white hair and dark red eyes. There was no question that the tall professor possessed handsome features, but he wondered if his attraction was strong as it should be.

 

“I thought you weren't scheduled to have your shoulder healed until this afternoon,” Cale commented, observing the brunet's lack of sling.

 

“I got impatient,” Squall explained, shifting carefully to remove his jacket. Dressed in a long sleeve grey shirt and black leather pants, the heated air was too much.

 

“Do you wanna swim a few laps and test your shoulder or should we get out of here?” Cale asked, running a hand through sopping hair and causing it to spike out.

 

“Kiss me,” Squall said.

 

Eyes widening slightly, Cale just stared for several moments. “Now?”

 

“Now,” Squall affirmed. Shifting to sit down, he proceeded to unlace his boots.

 

Cale swallowed thickly, not sure what to make of the brunet's actions.

 

Squall knew it was wrong, but he wanted to prove a point. He was far more turned on by Cale than Seifer, and though he was reluctant to make such a comparison, he felt guilty that his body reacted to the ex-knight in the first place.

 

“You'll get wet,” Cale warned, wondering if such a fact had already been taken into account given the sudden lack of shoes.

 

“Don't care,” Squall returned shortly.

 

Casting a cursory glance around to make sure they were indeed alone, Cale pushed up with his arms as his only support. Tentatively, he met the former commander's lips. Softly at first, he was surprised at the warm tongue that flicked out.

 

Pressing for firmer action, Squall ghosted his tongue along the professor's lower lip. Not certain he could explain what he wanted in words, he urged the younger man for more by wrapping his arms around bare shoulders. Leaning forward enough that he'd surely fall if not for the man in his way, he left himself open for some expression of need or demand.

 

Uncertain what the brunet was asking for, Cale only knew what his own body wanted and that it wasn't a good idea. Breaking away, he said, “Any more and I'll end up crossing the line.”

 

Squall shivered at the concept of crossing the line, not entirely certain what it might mean. Boldly, with desperation to rid himself of any thoughts concerning a certain cocky bastard, he slid into the water.

 

“Squall,” Cale began in surprise, backing away from the ledge to make room for the fully clothed brunet.

 

“It's been two weeks,” Squall informed, vaguely recalling that it had been around that long since they'd started dating. “We've done nothing but kiss.”

 

Treading water, Cale stared uncertainly. “I don't want to pressure you for anything if you're not ready.”

 

Annoyed by such a caring mindset, Squall stated, “I'm not a child. If I don't want you to do something, I'll tell you.”

 

Crimson eyes seemed taken aback for a moment.

 

Squall waited for the professor to do something, but grew impatient suddenly. Moving closer, he leaned up to kiss Cale again. At the feel of strong arms encircling him, he shivered. When he was pushed against the side of the pool, he made a quiet noise of approval.

 

Cale didn't know what to think as he cornered the wet clothed beauty, but when plush lips parted, it didn't matter.

 

Deepening the exchange, Squall felt an uneasy knot in the pit of his stomach. What he was doing was wrong, but he was afraid what would happen if he didn't. He was horrified that he'd encouraged Cale to behave more like Seifer, but it was too late.

 

TBC…