Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 26 )

 

Warning: Mature content, NC17. No underage readers please.

 

Author's Note: To save myself from flying objects, not only have I been practicing my dodging technique, but I am also going to warn everyone of what's going to happen in this chapter. Seifer and Squall are far from declaring their undying love for each other, so a lemon between them at this point is not making love. They have sex, that's it… and it's probably not what anyone was looking forward to either. I will state once again that the rocky road to Seifer/Squall goodness will smooth out, I promise.

 

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

At a firing range in the twentieth district, Squall accompanied Irvine while the gunman practiced. Fairly skilled with a gun himself, he decided some target practice might help clear his mind or at least relieve some stress.

 

“So there was an actual reason for your being in Esthar,” Squall commented as they made their way to the shooting stations.

 

“More than one,” Irvine drawled. “There's a competition tomorrow, but I also felt like visiting.”

 

“…” Squall didn't exactly want to admit that he felt the gunman's timing had been inauspicious, because that would subsequently be admitting he had wanted to go further with the ex-knight.

 

Setting up with practiced ease, Irvine adjusted his hat and removed his custom-made earplugs from one of the pockets in his long leather duster. With various firearms stored neatly in the black duffel bag he toted, he gingerly spread several guns out on the ledge along the firing window. Familiar excitement coursed through him as he loaded his first weapon for some preliminary warm ups. Sobering after a few relishing moments, he remembered he had more than a competition to think about. “I take it you and Cale are no longer involved,” he said evenly, not betraying his disappointment or disapproval. It wasn't his place to make Squall date the doting professor, but he was hard pressed to stand idly by while an arrogant asshole took Cale's place. No good could possibly come from Seifer chasing after Squall.

 

Stationed next to the professional sharpshooter, Squall stood with a depressing aura of unending frustration. He was dressed casually in a pair of well-worn slim jeans given to him by Lore on his last birthday, and a black tank top to welcome the warm weather. Gritting his teeth, he hastily donned his ear protection before raising his firearm and letting loose at the bull's eye target fifty feet away. Somewhat aware that he had fired without allowing Irvine to avoid the loud noise, he knew the man was used to it and only wore protection against the loudest of lethal toys.

 

Mildly surprised, Irvine stilled his preparation and stared curiously at the former commander. He became suspicious when the brunet didn't cease firing until emptying the entire clip. Glancing out his own station window, he studied the skilled fighter's demolished target. Every bullet had hit near the center, but it was erratic and he knew Squall's steady aim could easily rival his own with a little practice. It was obvious his friend was greatly troubled.

 

Exhaling, Squall relaxed his squared shoulders. “Cale forgave me,” he mumbled quietly, not bothering to remove the bulky headset.

 

“He forgave you?” Irvine questioned incredulously, setting his gun down.

 

Stormy blue eyes glanced sidelong to read the gunman's lips. Squall nodded gravely. Reaching up, he removed the ear protection for the sake of hearing Irvine's opinion.

 

Scoffing, Irvine surmised, “It's because he's afraid.”

 

Squall studied the auburn haired man for a long moment. “Of?” he intoned in question, hand hovering near his small arsenal to choose his next gun.

 

Not exactly relieved by the news that his match-made couple was still together, Irvine considered the professor's continued forgiveness. Realizing that it wasn't forgiveness at all, but desperation, he became furious at the ex-knight's interference. “Squall,” he began in a chastising tone, “the man isn't stupid. He knows you're not head over heals for him, but he doesn't want to lose his chance to be with you. You could screw a different person every night right in front of him, and he would still want you back.”

 

Scowling darkly, Squall stared intently at the distant target. “I hate what I become around him,” he murmured to himself.

 

“Seifer?” Irvine questioned, hearing the softly spoken words.

 

Nodding, Squall continued to stare vacantly. “Why?” he muttered.

 

“Why what?”

 

Jaw clenching, Squall glanced over into violet-blue eyes. “Why do I feel so strongly around him? Why now?” He had known Seifer all his life and never once had he harbored a single inappropriate feeling for the man. Yet, now whenever he was in the ex-knight's presence, he was consumed with lust.

 

Irvine couldn't answer the swordsman. “I don't know,” he admitted, pausing to think about it. “Maybe…”

 

“Maybe?” Squall prompted, knowing the gunman had an aptitude for such matters.

 

“Maybe you've always been attracted to him on some level.”

 

Shaking his head, Squall refuted, “He was a good sparring partner, but that was it.”

 

“And now?” Irvine inquired. He was bothered that even he couldn't understand it.

 

Scoffing, Squall removed the clip in his gun and reloaded. “I still can't stand him,” he stated.

 

“But you would like to sleep with him,” Irvine added for the brunet.

 

“…” Grey-blue eyes narrowed slightly, taking offense. Unable to refute the gunman's words, Squall didn't respond.

 

Sighing, Irvine asked bluntly, “What turns you on?”

 

Faltering, Squall lowered the headset he had been about to put back on. Wide eyed, he stared at his companion incredulously.

 

Shrugging impassively, Irvine commented, “I'm trying to understand the attraction. Is it his strength or because you have a fetish for blonds?”

 

With a scowl, Squall informed, “I don't have a fetish for anything.”

 

Hardly thinking it was the ex-knight's hair color that attracted the former commander, Irvine was simply making a point. “A lot of people don't even know they have fetishes. There are patterns though, where you'd normally just assume someone had a penchant for a certain hair color or body type. It's along the same lines as having a fetish.”

 

Considering the ridiculous notion, Squall soundly pointed out, “My track record isn't long enough to show a pattern.” If there were any fetishes to be found, celibacy would be most likely.

 

Humming to himself in thought, Irvine decided to think about for a bit. “Let me think. It'll come to me while shooting.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Squall conceded that it would be best to let the gunman practice before burdening the man with all his problems. Lately, he felt as though he relied too heavily on Irvine, but he really didn't feel confident that he could sort matters out on his own.

 

--

 

Seifer loosened the knot of his tie, regretting his choice of clothing while walking beneath the midday sun to his car. Acting as his own go-for boy, he had left his makeshift office inside the training stadium to retrieve some files from his car. With nothing particularly distracting about placing one foot in front of the other and moving in a straight line, his mind began to think about his former rival. He had tried to keep busy, knowing that once he began to remember yesterday's kiss he would become both aroused and angry.

 

Running a hand through short blond hair, smoothing the strands back, he undid the top most button of his crisp white dress shirt. Thoughts of Leonhart only served to make his body hotter. Hating how he had lost control, he also hated how he had not been allowed to lose control long enough to consummate the raw need burning inside him.

 

He had slept fitfully until dawn, images of a passionately submissive brunet ailing his mind the entire time. Icy showers did nothing to cool his libido.

 

Reaching his car, he paused before unlocking it. Through the tinted windows, he could not see into the backseat, but he knew what was there. Wavering with uncharacteristic indecision, he glanced back at the looming structure of his training center. The construction was ahead of schedule thanks to his diligence. He could certainly afford to take the afternoon off.

 

As soon as the prospect of ditching work to seek Leonhart out was in his head, Seifer was quick to act. Behind the wheel, he dialed the foreman's cell phone to inform the man of his absence. Needing no excuses to leave, he would need one to see the resistant ice prince.

 

Recalling the papers he had left behind, he realized with amusement that he already had the perfect excuse.

 

--

 

“This is unnecessary,” Squall stated. Reluctant to discuss personal matters in a public place, he felt it would be prudent to return to his apartment for lunch rather than eat at the small diner the gunman had driven to.

 

Adjusting his Stetson hat, Irvine assured, “It's fine.” His real motive for bringing the brunet to a remote location was to finish their earlier conversation and break the news that Lore had witnessed the kiss. It was best that the devoted father know in order to reprioritize.

 

Squall went along, sensing there was a hidden reason for the gunman's insistence. Moving automatically, he didn't absorb his surroundings until he had taken his seat. The diner called The Card House wasn't milling with the crowd he had expected, removing his concern of any eavesdroppers. He hadn't made headlines recently, but rumors of an affair with Seifer would certainly constitute some interest among gossipers.

 

Removing his hat and setting it beside him, Irvine straightened and glanced over the brunet's shoulder at the next booth. Nodding, he gestured to it and informed, “Last time I was here, I sat over there with Lore.”

 

At the mention of his son, Squall was compelled to glance behind and see the booth regardless of how utterly pointless doing so was. Regarding the gunman again, he frowned. “What time is the competition?” he questioned, intent on attending.

 

Waving a hand dismissively, Irvine assured, “We can get right to the point.”

 

Frown deepening, Squall commented, “It seems our time together is always accommodating my life.”

 

Violet-blue eyes softened. “Well, if it'll make you frown less while we're together, I'd gladly solve all your problems.”

 

Scowling now, Squall didn't hide his disapproval.

 

“Sorry,” the gunman interjected, realizing his selfless leader hated being catered to. “As your friend, I worry anyway. If you didn't confide in me, I would only worry more.”

 

With a sigh, Squall leaned back against the cushioned seat and relaxed a bit. “I assume there is a good reason why you want to keep me out,” he said.

 

“There is, but let's concentrate on you and Seifer first.”

 

Wary, Squall eyed the gunman suspiciously. “Okay,” he agreed at length.

 

“For starters, let's set aside trying to understand why you feel what you do for him,” Irvine suggested knowingly, realizing they would never get anywhere if they were stuck on such a question.

 

Reluctant to skip the question that was bothering him the most, Squall tacitly consented and gave a look for the gunman to continue. Before the man could speak further though, a teenage waitress approached.

 

“Your menus, sirs,” the young waitress said, handing off two menus to both men.

 

“Thanks darlin',” Irvine drawled, the words automatic yet sounding intentionally flirtatious.

 

Blushing from ear to ear, the girl's eyes shot shyly to the tabletop and refused to meet the strangely colored eyes of the rakishly handsome man with long auburn hair. “Would you like drinks while you decide?”

 

“After you,” Irvine said courteously, smirking at the sour expression that overcame the former commander's face. Terribly temperamental over the littlest things, it was a wonder he enjoyed being friends so much. He supposed knowing exactly what set the brunet off made it more entertaining than bothersome. Knowing his stoic companion was not going to request a drink first, if only to spite him, he drawled, “I'll have a lemon tea.”

 

Sighing, Squall mumbled, “Make that two.” He resented any courtesy generally reserved for women, simply because he had competed against his effeminate appearance all his life. Irvine was poking fun at him, and if he needed his friend's advice any less, he would have sent a warning glare telling the man not to push his buttons.

 

Violet-blue eyes watched the waitress leave, involuntarily glancing at swaying hips. Irvine was a devoted husband and the waitress was probably half his age, but some habits couldn't be broken. “Sorry,” he muttered, returning his attention to the sulking brunet. “Sometimes I can't help myself.”

 

Squall rolled his eyes, wondering what it was the gunman was apologizing for exactly.

 

“So where were we?” Irvine redirected, giving the pale man a disarming grin.

 

Bowed lips pressed tightly together, Squall took a few moments before responding. “We were setting aside the root of the problem,” he said, his tone expressing an obvious desire to address the matter.

 

“Why you like the bastard is hardly the root,” Irvine said in disagreement. “Even if you understand that much, it won't change how you currently feel.”

 

Considering it for a moment, Squall realized his apt advisor was right. Crossing his arms, he proposed, “Perhaps I should get a restraining order.” If he couldn't understand why he felt such desire around Seifer, then the simplest solution seemed to be to ignore it and never let the ex-knight's presence stir it up again.

 

Irvine couldn't help but laugh. It was like making the decision to fumigate after spotting a spider in the bathroom. Laughter faltering abruptly, images of the ex-knight's forceful domination surfaced in his mind. “Yes,” he said, reconsidering such a drastic measure. The anger in Almasy's eyes had been frightening, and he didn't scare easily. He would never have a moment's peace if he knew Almasy was lurking nearby to jump Squall.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall informed, “I wasn't actually serious.” Seifer was not at fault, at least no more than he was. “It does seem best not to be around him.” Bitterly, he reiterated, “I hate this. Why does it feel like I have no control?”

 

As Irvine banished the images in his head and concentrated on counseling his friend, his expression softened with sympathy. “I can relate,” he assured. “It's almost magnetic. Once you're too close, there is no escape. When you're apart, you blame yourself and feel foolish for being weak.”

 

Stormy blue eyes widened. That was exactly how Squall felt. Wanting to know what the gunman's experience had been in such a situation, he urged, “Tell me.”

 

“Here you are,” the young waitress cut in, carefully setting a steaming cup of tea before the longhaired man. Blushing faintly, he repeated the action while curiously eyeing the only man she had met that she would call beautiful.

 

“Thank you kindly,” Irvine drawled politely.

 

Clearing her throat meekly, the waitress tore her eyes from the strangely androgynous man before she was caught ogling a customer. “Would you like to hear today's lunch specials?”

 

Glancing to his stoic friend, Irvine doubted the meager eater would consume more than a few bites of anything. “No, we're ready to order,” he replied. Pausing a moment while the waitress readied herself to jot the order down, he informed, “I'll have the seared salmon. No side dishes, just the salmon.” He practically knew the menu by heart even though he hadn't been able to frequent The Card House since his move to Trabia.

 

Squall glanced at the untouched menu in front of him. Though he hadn't given any consideration to what he wanted to eat, he knew right away that he really didn't want anything.

 

“And you, sir?” the waitress prompted.

 

Squall shook his head.

 

“Nothing for him,” Irvine interjected, knowing that strangers couldn't read the brunet's many gestures.

 

“Alright, I'll be back with your order shortly.”

 

Waiting until the waitress was out of earshot, Irvine commented, “You really should eat more.”

 

“…”

 

“Right,” Irvine agreed, not knowing why he bothered chastising the slim fighter when his efforts remained fruitless after sixteen years. Returning to the topic on the table, he informed, “My experience is with women. To this day, if there is a beautiful woman in sight, my eyes are glued and my mind is racing.”

 

Squall scowled. “And Selphie?” he questioned tightly, not liking the implication that the gunman's mind betrayed the happy-go-lucky pilot after years of happy marriage.

 

“I'd never cheat on my little lady,” Irvine stated firmly, not wanting to explain the intricacies of such matters when the focus of their conversation wasn't supposed to be on him. “While all women have a certain appeal, it was only one who made me lose control.” Taking a moment to sip his tea, he revised his way of explaining it. “My first love was a young woman married to some eighty year old geezer who had more gil than a small country.”

 

Attentive, Squall ignored his tea while listening with masked interest.

 

“She was a gold digger and I knew it,” Irvine continued. “But love is blind, or so they say.”

 

“Irvine,” Squall cut in before the man could go on. “Are you implying I'm in love with Seifer?” His tone was even, but narrowed grey-blue eyes held warning. He was somehow able to handle being told he lusted after Seifer, but to be told he was in love with the ex-knight would be a breaking point.

 

Holding a hand up, Irvine refuted, “Hyne no. I'm just telling you how it was for me. I said I could relate, not that the same thing happened.”

 

Sighing, Squall relaxed a bit. Nodding, he waited to hear the rest of the story.

 

Minutely disgruntled at the swordsman's defensiveness around him, Irvine decided it was the result of distress and heightened sensitivity. Choosing not to comment on Squall's apparent distrust in him, he continued, “She used everyone and everything around her like a tool. Her husband was a financial tool and I was a tool that amused her.” He called forth his memories and reminisced over a time that felt so far in the past it might as well have been another lifetime. “She wasn't just my first love, but the first woman I was intimate with. She taught me everything.” He couldn't help but smirk lewdly. “She was hardly a mentor though. Once I was no longer innocent, I was no longer amusing.”

 

A silence fell for several long moments. “That's horrible,” Squall eventually said, having never known of the gunman's experience.

 

Shrugging, Irvine picked his cup up and took another sip. “I don't really like to talk about it. It's embarrassing.” He preferred to let everyone assume he had been born a seductive playboy, rather than picture him as a gangly preteen who couldn't unhook a bra properly.

 

“…” Squall suspected that the only lingering resentment the gunman harbored concerning such an experience was that it proved even he had once been unskilled as a lover.

 

Expressing his main point, Irvine regarded the brunet soberly, “Even though I was young and naïve, I wasn't stupid. I realized that she didn't really care about me. Even while knowing the truth, I ignored it when I was with her because I couldn't help myself.”

 

Subdued, Squall stared at the still liquid in his cup. Ever since that day in Seifer's apartment, something had awoken inside of him. Angry at his weakness, he concluded that he had grown soft since his days as a regularly active SeeD.

 

“It's troubling, but it's not the end of the world,” Irvine consoled. “I moved on just fine.”

 

Forgetting his place, Squall muttered, “Sleeping in a different bed every night for half your life suggests that woman had quite an impact.” He hadn't meant to be hurtful, but he was afraid of what would happen if he allowed himself to carry on with Seifer. What if Lore found out?

 

“If that's the case,” Irvine began, his patience tested, “then I'm fine with it. I'm happy where I ended up. I've made my own bed with Selphie and my life suits me just fine.”

 

Squall knew becoming further involved with Seifer would only be disastrous. Abruptly realizing what he had said to his friend, he apologized, “I'm sorry.”

 

“Forgiven,” Irvine returned. “You're too innocent for your own good.” Disregarding the matter of why the youthful looking man felt an attraction to the bastard ex-knight, the rest of the puzzle was fairly easy to solve.

 

Expression darkening, Squall stated, “I'm not innocent.” He had plenty of blood on his hands, not that he was proud of it.

 

“You are,” Irvine impressed confidently. “You're so innocent that you have no idea how to deal with what you feel because you've never felt like this before.”

 

“…” Realizing the gunman had been referring to a different sort of innocence, Squall concluded that while he was hardly a virgin, such feelings were indeed quite new to him.

 

Irvine was delayed in elaborating when the young waitress approached with his order. Too preoccupied to bother watching the girl leave, he kept his focus on the sullen brunet. “I'm going to make a safe bet and say that this is probably your first time feeling so attracted to someone, to the point where you'd wind up making out in your apartment when your son was still there.”

 

Delicate features remaining impassive, Squall kept a tight leash on his emotions. Beneath the table, his fists clenched the material of his softly worn jeans. Although the gunman was playing the instigator quite well, his anger and frustration were not directed at the man. Irvine was simply speaking the truth. “Perhaps,” he muttered in grudging agreement. Should he have been embarrassed that at thirty-four years old he had never fallen in love with anyone, at least not in a romantic sense? He supposed the closest he had come had been when he had first held Lore in his arms, but that was falling in love as a father.

 

“It might be pent up desires or simply instinct,” Irvine proposed, thoughtfully crossing his arms.

 

“Instinct?” Leaning forward, Squall dared to touch his drink for the first time. His throat felt dry and he was suddenly grateful for having copied the gunman on a whim.

 

Grumbling discontentedly, Irvine explained, “You might be instinctively drawn to Almasy.”

 

Burning his mouth when he took a rather large gulp unintentionally, Squall swallowed painfully and coughed. Staring at the gunman dubiously, he was more interested in learning the reasoning behind the man's words rather than firmly rejecting such a notion. “Why?” he asked, highly doubting that his instincts had anything to do with it.

 

With a heavy sigh, Irvine glared at the center of the table. “Objectifying things, I assume you have an attraction for strength and skill. As much as I hate it, in my unbiased opinion, he is your best match.” Scoffing, he added, “That's if you ignore his twisted personality.”

 

“My best match?” Squall repeated dumbly, the sheer insanity of the words setting in. It was like some bad joke.

 

“Taking into account your feelings and his status as a total asshole, he's the last person you should be involved with.”

 

Needing time to think, Squall glanced to the side and stared off out the window. Seifer was his best and worst match. “Isn't that the root of my problem?” he inquired absently. He was vaguely aware that the analysis of his attraction was the opposite of what the gunman had intended to address.

 

“You're right,” Irvine agreed, still appearing pensive. “Though, now that I consider something else, the cause of it might be easier than the solution.”

 

Brows furrowing, Squall showed his confusion. “Something else?” he repeated.

 

Irvine hadn't considered the effect Lore would have in it all. “It's a bit more complicated than just refusing phone calls and pretending like nothing happened,” he informed.

 

Perceptively, Squall asked, “Does this have to do what you've been keeping from me all day?” Stormy blue eyes studied the quick-drawing cowboy's face, narrowing sharply at the worrisome reluctance he found. Swallowing thickly, he felt the pit of his stomach drop. “Lore knows,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper.

 

Having expected such quick intuitive thinking from his former commander, Irvine simply nodded in confirmation. Prepared to explain in detail, he hastily began, “Lore saw you two. I'm not sure how much he saw, but he was pretty shaken up by it.”

 

Eyes swimming with a mixture of contrite anguish and worry, Squall let his gaze fall. He couldn't imagine what his son thought of him now.

 

Irvine watched silently, wondering if he would need to chase after the brunet.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall mumbled, “You can eat.” He fought the urge to stand up and leave, knowing he couldn't face Lore without some explanation in mind. The truth would serve nicely, if his son still trusted anything he said.

 

Appetite lost, Irvine slid his plate forward, refusing to eat. “He came to me while you were calming down,” he explained, referring to the cold shower Squall had needed after Almasy's departure.

 

“What did you tell him?” Squall asked in a quiet voice.

 

“He asked if you were hurt, I said you weren't. He asked how long it had been going on, I said I didn't know. You know I'm no good at lying on the spot.”

 

Unable to think of anything else to ask, Squall simply mumbled, “Thank you.”

 

--

 

Squall returned home only to find the apartment empty. “Of course,” he muttered, foolishly remembering his son had school. Unlike most mornings, Lore had left early and he had not spent much time seeing the boy off. He tried to recall if Lore had been acting any different, but there was nothing that struck him as odd.

 

Walking into the main flat, he approached the couch in a dejected state. It would be selfish to call Lore out of school, so he would wait. Checking his watch, he determined that it was only one o'clock. Lore wouldn't be home until four.

 

“Hey,” Irvine called, entering the apartment. He had been left to park the car after letting the worried father out at the front entrance.

 

Sitting on the couch, Squall sank into the cushions. “I forgot he was at school,” he informed. It was testimony to just how frazzled his mind was.

 

Chuckling, Irvine commented, “Students tend to go there from time to time.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Squall crossed his arms. Giving the gunman a sardonic look, he hinted that he would have appreciated a little reminder instead of being allowed to rush off pointlessly. With a sigh, he once again forced himself to stop blaming Irvine for his own mistakes.

 

“Want to talk about it?” Irvine attempted consolingly, willing to discuss the matter all day if that's what it took.

 

Squall shook his head, determined to sulk in silence. “Thank you though,” he forced out politely, not willing to forget his manners in light of the mess he had brought upon himself. Irvine was a good friend. He understood the true meaning of friendship and it was nothing like the silly concept he had rejected as a young man.

 

Reluctant to simply leave it at that, Irvine hovered near the former commander. Knowing when to keep silent, he did just that.

 

Lost in thought, Squall forgot about the gunman until the cushion beside him sank down. Inwardly startled, he shot the man a quick glance. Annoyed by the stated of mind he was in, he stood abruptly and announced, “I'll make lunch.” Though he wasn't hungry, he knew Irvine hadn't eaten.

 

“You don't have to do that,” Irvine asserted. “I only took you out to keep you busy and distract you a bit.”

 

“I don't want to take my mind off it,” Squall said, determined to remain focused on what he would have loved to ignore.

 

“Then don't do something useless like making me lunch,” Irvine chastised, gazing evenly into steely blue eyes. He could tell the brunet was torn up inside. Expression softening, he added, “Your lack of appetite is contagious. I doubt I'll be hungry until dinner.”

 

Squall rubbed his temple. He didn't know if he was coming or going. “I need to think,” he said at length. He would prefer to think alone, even if he might simply end up confusing himself further without the clearheaded sensibility of his confidant.

 

Standing, Irvine turned the slightly shorter man to face him. “Then I'll leave you to it,” he said, easily taking the hint. “It's not the end of the world and you know Lore is old enough to understand what's going on, but he won't understand unless you explain it to him.”

 

Frowning, Squall reminded, “I would have to understand it myself before explaining it to anyone.”

 

“Then take your time thinking. Call me if you need me. I'm staying at the Gladstone Hotel, so I'm not far.”

 

“You can always stay here,” Squall offered, finding it unusual that the gunman was in town for a few days and not using the guest bedroom.

 

Shaking his head, Irvine pointed out, “I've got the competition. I have to do the whole meditation ritual.” Seeing that the frazzled father had once again overlooked the obvious, he felt pity for the confused man. “It's okay, you have a lot to worry about right now.”

 

“…” Wondering if he had ever behaved with such air-headedness, Squall didn't bother to comment.

 

“When your done talking with Lore, have him call me,” Irvine requested, knowing he could say a few things to smooth it all over.

 

Nodding absently, Squall accepted the sharp shooter's amicable hug and stood rooted while the man left.

 

--

 

Standing out on the rarely used balcony, Squall brooded in silence. Immune to the loud sound of midday traffic and winds that eventually countered the sun's warm rays, he leaned against the sturdy railing. He had no sense of how long he had been standing there, only that it hadn't been long enough to sort through his thoughts and mixed feelings.

 

Squall had come to the conclusion that he should break up with Cale and ignore Seifer's presence in Esthar. As mature as Lore was, he felt it had been a mistake to begin dating someone so suddenly. It was too great a change to bring into their lives. Though Irvine had admonished the need for having someone around when Lore moved out, he would rather wait and maintain the equilibrium during the last few years he had living with his son.

 

Breathing deeply, Squall felt little relief over determining a course of action.

 

Torn from his musings, his cell phone began to vibrate. Heart in his throat, he hastily unclipped the device from the waist of his jeans. Confirming that it was Lore, he took a deep breath before answering. “Hey,” he spoke as evenly as possible. Checking his watch, he saw that it was only three o'clock.

 

“Hey Dad, I wanted to check in with you first. After practice, is it okay if I go to Grandpa's?”

 

On guard for any note of unease, Squall plainly heard the unsettled and nervous tone in his son's voice. As the boy's words set in, he knew right away what was going on. “For the night?” he questioned knowingly.

 

“Yeah, if that's okay. Grandpa already said it was fine. I've got a report to write for my economics class and figured I could ask Ward to help.”

 

While it was true enough that Ward was Esthar highest authority on Esthar's economic policies, Squall knew the real reason for his son's request. “It's fine by me,” he assured, not wanting to make his son return home if the boy needed time away.

 

“Okay, thanks,” Lore said, intent on leaving their only conversation of the day at that.

 

“Lore,” Squall began, pausing when he noticed how jittery his hand was. Grasping the railing to still the slight shaking, he finished, “I know you saw what happened yesterday. When you come back, we should talk about it.” In the long silence that followed, he fought to breathe against his constricting chest.

 

“Uncle Irvine told you?”

 

“Yes,” Squall answered.

 

“Practice is about to start, I should go,” Lore responded evasively.

 

Almost wincing at his son's dodging reply, Squall tried to keep in mind that the boy wouldn't avoid him forever. “Alright, I'll call you later tonight,” he said. For a moment, he though Lore was going to speak again, but the line went dead and he knew his son had hung up.

 

Gritting his teeth, Squall fought the swarm of emotions that stirred painfully inside of him. When his phone rang again, he quickly answered it. Assuming it was Lore, he jumped at the chance to express his contrite feelings over misleading the boy. “Lore, I'm sorry about not tell you the truth. If you're angry, I understand, but I'll meet you tonight at your grandfather's to at least see you.”

 

Waiting with bated breath, Squall slowly came to the realization that he wasn't going to receive a response. “Lore?” he called uncertainly.

 

There was an audible exhale on the other end, but no one spoke.

 

With a curse, Squall hung up before he began to feel as though someone were watching him. He did not need paranoia to creep up on him when he already felt too many emotions inside. Checking the caller ID, he determined it was the same unknown caller who had been hounding his phone the past couple days. Considering his number was nearly impossible to learn without his express permission, he was not accustomed to screening his calls. Though reluctant to change numbers, assuming the prankster would grow tired after a short while, he was beginning to think it might be best.

 

Phone going off again, Squall knowingly waited until the small screen on the front of the device told him who was calling. When it read `unknown' again, his hopes that it was Lore were dashed and his patience snapped.

 

“I'm tracing the next call,” he bit out in warning.

 

“No need,” Seifer's baritone voice replied. “I'll tell you where I'm calling from if you promise to strip and wait in bed for me.”

 

Stunned, Squall stood stiffly in place. He was at a loss for words, not that he felt confident he could articulate even if he knew what to say.

 

Rich laughter sounded on the other end. “I don't hear clothes rustling, so I'll assume you're going to let me remove them on my own.” Pausing briefly, Seifer kindly explained, “I knew you wouldn't answer if you saw I was calling.”

 

Gaze narrowing, Squall remembered himself. “What do you want?” he questioned in a meticulously controlled voice that expressed no emotion.

 

Laughter dying down, Seifer said, “That's a dangerous question. If you get me started, there's no telling when I'll stop wanting.”

 

Taking a steadying breath, Squall reiterated, “Why did you call?”

 

With a false sigh of whimsicality, Seifer informed, “I left some important papers. I wanted to make sure you hadn't thrown them away.”

 

Unable to deny the legitimacy of the ex-knight's call, Squall moved back inside the apartment and slid the glass door shut. “I have them,” he assured, on his way to double-check the location of the items in question.

 

“Are you home?” Seifer inquired, the question slyly fencing a matter of true relevance and one of personal interest.

 

Steps faltering, Squall debated the evils of answering honestly. “When do you need them by?” he questioned in turn, skirting the inquiry of his location.

 

“Tonight,” Seifer replied succinctly. “Are you alone?” he followed quickly.

 

“No,” Squall lied.

 

“So you are home then,” the tactful blond commented.

 

Scowling, Squall lied, “No.”

 

Seifer chuckled. “I'll be by to get what I want shortly,” he said cryptically. “Since you're home alone, it shouldn't be a problem.”

 

“You can't come,” Squall hissed, eyes widening when a treacherous shiver wracked through him.

 

“See you soon,” Seifer said with an excited undertone, promptly hanging up once he'd had the last word.

 

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Squall stared at it angrily. As familiar desire stirred within him, he was forced to restrain his anger, lest he punch a hole in the wall. Stalking somewhat unsteadily to his bedroom, he sat on the edge of his bed and tried to think clearly. The mere sound of Seifer's voice had left him weak kneed.

 

Knowing he couldn't possibly wait around, he tried for formulate a plan. Though he hated the idea of running away, he wasn't going to take any chances when he couldn't stand to hear the arrogant man's baritone voice without becoming ensnared. He would leave the ex-knight's folder outside the apartment door. He had little doubt of Seifer's ability to break in, but an empty apartment would hold no appeal.

 

Mind set, he had enough forethought to grab a zip up hoodie in case he was out after the sun set. He wasn't sure where he intended to go. Perhaps he would go to Irvine. He also needed to visit Cale and break their relationship off in person, and he would later go to the Presidential Palace to see Lore.

 

Keys in hand, with his black hoodie draped over a shoulder and the thick folder balanced in the crook of his arm, Squall exited his apartment.

 

Apparently Hyne took no pity on unsettled brunet, as he took less than a step and collided with the solid barrier of a muscular chest. Stumbling back, Squall shot a cool glare upwards. Eyes widening with recognition, he retreated back against the closed door. He stared at the grinning blond, his world reeling. Learning from past mistakes, he knew when to avoid battle. He had already tested the strength of his willpower and had lost miserably.

 

“Running away?” Seifer questioned, tutting in disapproval. “I didn't know you were a coward.”

 

Fierce glare returning to his eyes, Squall uncaringly pressed the folder against the ex-knight's chest. “Take it and leave,” he commanded.

 

Jade green eyes darkened as they swept over the brunet's lithe form. He couldn't wait any longer. Though Leonhart was a stubborn actor, he knew the man felt just as he did. Stepping closer, he crowded the smaller swordsman against the door.

 

“Wait,” Squall hissed. Nails digging into the palm of his hand, the small pain did little to keep his mind and body grounded. “I'm breaking up with Cale,” he blurted out, hoping to dissuade the ex-knight's jealous actions.

 

Drawing back, Seifer stared down with question. “I'm not waiting until then,” he informed, his patience already waning after restraining his urge to jump the brunet the moment the oblivious man had run into him.

 

“There's nothing to be jealous of,” Squall remonstrated.

 

“Is that supposed to stop me?” Seifer questioned, amused by the futile attempt. “First, you're going to let me inside,” he instructed.

 

“No,” Squall refused.

 

“I don't mind doing it in this hallway, but I was trying to be considerate,” Seifer informed. Reaching his free hand out, he touched the former commander's pretty bowed lips, his desire to kiss them quite clear.

 

“Don't do this,” Squall requested, turning away from the ex-knight's hand.

 

Eyes sharpening, Seifer remarked, “Why not? This is something we both want.”

 

“It's wrong,” Squall stated.

 

“Very wrong,” Seifer agreed, still as strongly opposed to the objectified concept of fucking his former rival, who despite a rather pretty face was entirely male. “I don't care why I want you. What I care about is fucking you senseless.”

 

Trembling with desire and need, Squall fought to remain composed.

 

Smirking, Seifer noted the change in the brunet's demeanor. “You like that?” he questioned knowingly. Leaning closer, he said huskily, “I'm going to strip you bare and make you squirm with embarrassment while I stare at every inch of your naked body.”

 

Already blushing, Squall bit his lip harshly to keep from reacting further. His breaths came in short and uneven pants, while heat gathered in his loins.

 

“When I'm no longer satisfied with just looking, I'll touch you,” Seifer continued, leaning even closer so that his lips were practically against Leonhart's ear. “I'll touch every inch, every curve, everywhere.”

 

“Before…” Squall began to say, trailing off as his words became lost amid his rampant desire. Shaking his head, he tried again. “Before you do anything,” he said, firmly pushing the ex-knight away. “There is something you should know.”

 

Noting the resistant man's choice in words, Seifer was pleased to realize the brunet had finally given in. Licking his lips, he took a step back and gave Leonhart a few moments to speak his peace. He would not wait much longer to ravish pout lips. “What should I know?” he prompted when stormy blue eyes seemed to loose their focus, lucid thought obviously slipping from the lust dazed beauty's grasp.

 

Resigned to defeat, Squall realized the crux of his weakness was being in close proximity to the overbearing ex-knight. He hadn't stood a chance after running into the man headlong. Refusing to succumb peacefully, he made a final stand before his inevitable fall. Swiftly swinging, he punched Seifer hard and effectively wiped the man's arrogantly seductive expression away. “I despise you,” he hissed vehemently. Eyes flashing cold fire, he sent a silent challenge.

 

Seifer felt the sting of his bruised cheekbone and cut flesh. Straightening after the unexpected assault, he stared bewilderedly into fierce grey-blue eyes. Breath hitching, he saw the same willful fighter he had known as a cadet. A flood of unwanted emotions assailed him. “Leonhart,” he said, unable to differentiate between the younger and older version. He had come to view the two separately, as though two different people, which wasn't necessarily a big stretch of reality.

 

Squall gasped excitedly when the blond violently pushed him back against the door. “Bastard,” he called before feverish lips crushed his own.

 

Seizing the hand that had struck him, Seifer ended their kiss abruptly to examine reddened knuckles. Chuckling with amusement, he traced his thumb over the heavy ring with Griever's emblem. “Not nice,” he chastised. He didn't bother to swipe the trickle of blood he felt roll along his cheek.

 

Having all but forgotten why he had hit the blond in the first place, Squall pressed forward and hooked his free hand around the tall man's neck. Drawing his target down, he leaned in and licked the thin trail of blood gently.

 

Stiffening, Seifer eyed the brunet peripherally. “The door,” he groused impatiently. “Open the damn door.” The sooner he fucked Leonhart, the sooner he would be satisfied. He hadn't felt satisfied in weeks, and such a melancholic feeling took its toll after a while.

 

Mindlessly complying, Squall broke away and turned to face the keypad on the side of the door's frame. Fingers tapping in the code, he then waved his key before the sensor. Beeping to announce the lock's release, the door slid open automatically.

 

Falling short of sweeping the former commander up into his arms, Seifer grasped the man's upper arm and ushered the way inside. Never breaking contact, he dropped his folder, which didn't scatter like the day before because of the rubber band Leonhart had considerately put in place.

 

Excitedly aroused, Squall's anxiety and worry had dissipated completely. He began to lift his shirt with impatience, wanting to undress and move onto the next stage as quickly as possible.

 

“Allow me,” Seifer said, stopping the brunet from undressing.

 

“Hurry,” Squall urged, raising his arms when the ex-knight tore his shirt off.

 

Taking advantage of the responsive swordsman's vulnerable high-armed pose, Seifer pulled the man close and slipped his tongue past parted lips. Hands touching the brunet's warm back, he caressed smooth skin while tasting his former rival's satisfyingly sweet mouth.

 

Desire flaring, Squall's arms wrapped around the ex-knight's neck and held onto the man for support. He readily accepted the blond's actions, shivering as rough hands continued to run over his exposed torso.

 

Tongue stroking in heated rhythm with Leonhart's, Seifer slowly became overwhelmed. Drawing back, he stared at the slick lipped brunet, trying to maintain his loose grasp on his self-control.

 

Nimble fingers making quick work of the ex-knight's tie, Squall began to undress the arrogant man with lusty fervor. Unlike yesterday, he felt certain the blond would fulfill the aching need resonating inside him. Managing to loosen the knot and pull the useless article overhead, only slightly disheveling blond hair, he cast it aside and began to unbutton the man's shirt.

 

Seifer's hands moved lower along the lithe fighter's backside. Groping firm buttocks, he hauled his quarry closer to press flush against him. Grinding his hips instinctively, he groaned at the solid friction against his groin.

 

Hands clutching at the tall man's white dress shirt, Squall returned the ex-knight's action and ground his pelvis against a muscular thigh. He could feel Seifer's aroused state pressing firmly against his stomach.

 

Growling his need, Seifer used his grip on the brunet's ass and lifted the man bodily. Though Leonhart tensed in his hold, the intuitive fighter quickly caught on and wrapped those lean legs around his waist.

 

If Squall had been any less consumed, he would have protested being carried. Lost in the heat of the moment, he dipped to taste his former rival, his tongue invading the man's mouth for the first time.

 

Stumbling as a skilled tongue twined with his own, Seifer sought the wall for support. Using the wall, he pinned the body in his hold securely before fending off an invasion that was beginning to steal his strength. He had yet to resolve why Leonhart was such a good kisser, but he would save that for later.

 

Squall fought to dominate the kiss, not actually caring who had control. When the ex-knight nipped his lip, he realized having control was of some importance to overbearing blond, so he let the man have his way.

 

Deciding to progress farther into the apartment while he was still steady on his feet, Seifer left the wall, only slightly burdened by the extra weight. “First door on the right?” he questioned huskily.

 

Panting, Squall didn't answer immediately. “No,” he said, making a subconscious decision. “End of the hall.”

 

Distantly aware that Leonhart's bedroom was the first door on the right and the spare bedroom was where the former commander wanted him to go, Seifer simply moved down the hallway. Unable to help himself, he stopped every few steps to ravish the brunet's mouth.

 

Despite the short distance, it took a while for the wildly lustful pair to finally reach the bedroom.

 

Squall gave a small grunt when he was released onto the bed, quickly topped by the larger man and given no pause to catch his breath.

 

“I see you've grown out your need for those belts,” Seifer commented, tugging at the brunet's pants. It had been a running joke through Balamb Garden that Leonhart's belts had been some sort of chastity belt.

 

Lending a hand, Squall undid the button on his pants. “It helps to unbutton first,” he informed breathily, quickly moving on to the blond's pants.

 

Green eyes narrowing, Seifer grabbed roaming hands and promptly pinned them to the bed. “I'll lead,” he reminded. He had been looking forward to undressing his former rival slowly, but those plans had been foiled by his commanding need to find release.

 

Not looking for a power struggle, Squall remained complacently idle against the bed. Lifting his hips, he let the blond remove his pants.

 

Seifer smirked as he left the brunet in an awkward state, pants down around lean thighs while he slowly unlaced worn black boots. “I would have guessed a thong,” he commented, glancing at the man's boxer briefs.

 

Not willing to reveal just how intensely he was studying the former commander's revealed body, Seifer pretended to keep his focus on loosening tight laces. Without baggy clothes to hide the lithe figure beneath, the effeminacy of the man was diminished. Though Leonhart's face was fairer than most women he had known, the swordsman's body was made of hard lines and toned muscles. There was no doubt that Leonhart was male and he hadn't quite come to terms with that fact.

 

Exercising amazing restraint, Squall continued to play a passive role. With nothing to do but observe, he did not miss the change in jade-green eyes. Deciphering the ex-knight's thoughts and feelings better than he could his own, he realized the reality of the situation was finally setting in. “What were you expecting?” he questioned soberly.

 

Shaking his head dismissively, Seifer finished removing Leonhart's shoes and pants. Feeling the penetrating gaze of stormy blue eyes, he hastily unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it absently. Deciding that thought was the enemy of action, he crawled atop the smaller man and set his claim upon inviting lips. Less consumed with the act of kissing, he kept it softer than usual while he relished the feel of their bare flesh touching for the first time. He was shocked to find the ice prince to be feverishly warm.

 

Contently lost, Squall memorized the solid contours of the ex-knight's broad back. He had never been jealous of his rival's larger build, but he had admired such a powerful body.

 

Slowly drawn in, Seifer bruised swollen lips as he delved deeper. It was ridiculous that his body was so aroused from such a simple act. Filled with raw need, he was forced to redefine what he had always considered a rather tenuous part of foreplay. He could kiss Leonhart all day and never grow tired of it.

 

“Seifer,” Squall gasped, turning away and breaking the kiss. He had no breath left.

 

Denied access to plush lips, Seifer was forced to play elsewhere. Attacking a slender neck, he trailed heated kisses over every inch. Rouged markings left in his wake would help him find his way back when heady lust clouded even his sense of direction.

 

Taking hold of silky blond hair, Squall arched off the bed as the ex-knight tweaked a hard nipple between nibbling teeth. Biting his lip, he stifled a moan when a thigh rubbed against his sensitive arousal.

 

Cock twitching, Seifer broke away to stare in surprised awe at the flushed expression on the ice prince's face. “Let me hear,” he demanded, wanting to hear his rival's voice unrestrained by tightlipped tendencies and reserved manners. He wanted to hear the quiet man scream, crying out in ecstasy as a result of his actions.

 

Filled with driving lust, Squall drew the ex-knight closer and kissed the man hard. Heated and wet, every fiber of his body called out to Seifer, begging that his needs be fulfilled. Irvine had been right; his instincts were directing him. It was a wildly instinctive attraction, basely innate and impossible to ignore.

 

“Leonhart,” Seifer called, breaking away and staring ardently into eyes of cold steel. The former commander seemed less submissive than the day before, breeding doubts of who was truly in control. Entranced as the pretty boy simply stared up at him, perhaps thinking his exact thoughts, he studied effeminate features that were forever engraved in his memory. The sight of a pink tongue licking swollen lips effectively distracted him.

 

Sinking deeper into appetent lust, Squall wondered if he might spend the entire night simply kissing his childhood rival. Though it did not appease his every desire, he felt no inclination to stop any time soon.

 

Precariously close to losing control completely, Seifer tried to maintain some level of restraint. When a daring hand slid along his side and reached between their tightly pressed bodies to stroke his stiffened length through the tented material of his pants, he snapped.

 

Squall hadn't taken notice of any difference in the ex-knight's level of manhandling dominance, but he was abruptly shown the difference when rough hands seized him and turned him over with frightening strength. Feeling the same furiously passionate touch as on the previous day, he was somewhat startled.

 

Seifer had never claimed to be a caring or gentle man, though he had not intended to actually take Leonhart with iron handed force. There had seemed little need for force when his stubborn quarry had submitted so completely. Nonetheless, he had reached his limit and his ravenous craving drove him over the edge.

 

With his arm bent awkwardly behind his back, held in the ex-knight's uncomfortably tight hold, Squall struggled to move. “Seifer,” he began, head turning to the side to keep from suffocating, “let go.”

 

Unhearing, Seifer pulled the only remaining garment on the swordsman's body down, only far enough to expose the man's tantalizing backside. “I suppose this part of you is skilled as well,” he said with involuntary accusation. Unzipping his pants, he freed his engorged manhood.

 

Brows knit with dazed confusion, Squall was unsure what to make of the growing alarm he felt. Surely Seifer didn't mean to enter him. Regardless of how quickly they had progressed into bed, he had intended to at least draw it out long enough to procure the necessary items.

 

Lifting the lithe fighter's lower body up, Seifer pushed lean legs apart and drew closer. Rubbing the mushroomed head of his cock along the cleft between smooth cheeks, he used a guiding hand to position himself for entry.

 

“Seifer, wait,” Squall spoke in protest, the reality of his situation setting in. Knowing what was coming at the feel of the blond's nudging intrusion, he was still entirely unprepared for what followed.

 

With a hoarse groan of delight, Seifer sunk deeply into gripping heat. Forcing his way past resisting walls of clamping muscles, he cursed at how tight it was inside the prostrated brunet. Searing heat and clamping tightness gave him such pleasure that he thought he must have been dreaming. It felt so good.

 

Eyes wide, Squall's mouth opened to emit a cry equivalent to the pain that flared through his entire body, but no sound escaped him. As swiftly as he had succumbed to overpowering lust, he was filled with another consuming feeling. Pain blinded him, casting him to the other end of the mind numbing spectrum and leaving him thoughtless.

 

Releasing the brunet's arm, Seifer used both hands to grip slim hips as he pulled out and pushed back in. “Relax,” he hissed, his cock being gripped almost painfully.

 

Knowing he could find his voice if he tried, Squall felt a wave of crashing guilt. He had made his own bed. Even instincts could be tamed. Contritely, he bit down on the corner of the pillow and swallowed his cries of protest. He had lied to his son and betrayed a man of honest character all because he had acted like a selfish fool. The pain he felt seemed fitting punishment.

 

As Seifer began to set a steady pace, he felt a creeping suspicion that something was awry. Unable to take his focus off his pending climax, his only real concerns were how unbelievably tight and hot it was inside his rival. He had never felt such heat. Though he had hoped his bedmate would be more vocal, he was far from complaining. The rough friction almost kept him from being able to pull out, but he could already feel the clamping hole loosening up a bit.

 

Eyes scrunched shut, Squall bit down on his mouthful of pillow when the ex-knight started thrusting deeper and faster. He felt broken, as though he had been split down the middle. Mind swimming, the initial shock wore off and his resolve to accept his punishment wavered. Giving a stifled cry when stabbing thrusts became even fiercer, he clawed at the bedding. He needed it to be over. Repeatedly reminding himself that he had experienced pains far worse, the fighter inside him upheld a stubborn mindset. He wouldn't give in, not until it was over.

 

Closing his eyes, Seifer impaled the lithe beauty over and over. Such ecstasy was beyond his expectations. Groaning as he reached orgasm, he thrust a final few times before burying his spurting length. As his entire body shuddered pleasantly, he decided to swallow his heterosexual pride and fist Leonhart to join him in release. Feeling another man's cock for the first time, he didn't dwell on comparisons. Tentatively gripping the soft organ, his initial assumption was that the brunet had already come. As his mind slowly cleared of its euphoric haze, green eyes sharpened in suspicion. Not feeling any sticky release, he was forced to conclude that not only had the former commander not climaxed but the man had also gone soft again.

 

Squall was distantly aware that the ex-knight had stopped thrusting. Too numb in mind and body, he couldn't tell whether or not the man were still inside of him.

 

Sensing that something was wrong, Seifer straightened and began to ease out of Leonhart's tight entrance. Casting a cursory glance down, he froze. No longer consumed by lust, he came to the alarming realization that his partner had not been properly prepared. Though his concept of sex between men was vague, common sense dictated that some form of lubrication was needed. He stared fixedly at spots of blood. Crashing remorse tightened his chest.

 

Jaw flexing stiffly, Squall released his muffling mouthful. Breathing unevenly, he kept his white knuckled grip on the quilt as he gingerly lay on his side. Not daring to look at the forceful blond, he kept perfectly still.

 

“Leonhart,” Seifer began, unused to feeling such guilt, “I didn't mean to do it like that.” To his chagrin, he had just proved a horrible partner in bed.

 

Swallowing hard, Squall tried to find his voice after suppressing it so willfully. “It's fine,” he muttered hoarsely. He didn't understand why his vocal chords sounded strained when he had stifled every noise.

 

Though he was arrogant to a fault, Seifer was well aware that even he made mistakes. He could have placed blame on the capable brunet for not resisting, but he knew he had lost control and hurt the man. Whether or not Leonhart had willingly chosen to take it without complaint, he was still responsible for his actions. “Where do you keep the potions?” he asked.

 

Fingers uncurling, Squall released his strangling hold on the bedding. Hearing only the uncommon tone of concern in the ex-knight's voice, he didn't register the actual words. Exhaling a long breath, he let relief set in. It was over.

 

Frowning, Seifer leaned over the unresponsive brunet. “Hey,” he said, trying to draw the man's attention. Seeing the ice prince's attractive face partly hidden against a plush pillow, he went rigid. With a weary expression in place of the lascivious flush that had driven him wild, pale cheeks were glistening with drying tears.

 

Sensing the intense gaze of green eyes, Squall shifted slightly and glanced up at the hovering man. Uncertain what had caused the ex-knight to have such an odd expression that almost bordered on anguish, he frowned. “What?” he questioned tersely.

 

Concluding that the former commander was unaware of the tears, Seifer reached a hand out to wipe them away.

 

Reacting instinctively, Squall flinched away before the blond touched him. Though his body protested the jolting movement, he followed his sudden urge for distance by moving out from underneath the larger man.

 

Stunned, Seifer ceased his attempt to touch the pale man and stared wide eyed. “Leonhart?” he questioned, not quite understanding what had just happened.

 

Feeling terribly self-conscious, Squall felt compelled to dress. Not quite able to sit up completely, he hissed in pain and leaned to the side. Hand grappling unsteadily, he maneuvered his briefs back on.

 

“Where do you keep the potions?” Seifer reiterated.

 

Not certain he could recite his own name clearly, Squall fought to keep his composure. His thoughts were frantic, several different urges assaulting him all at once. Coming unraveled, he was torn between what to do. He felt exposed, but his body was not cooperating. Curling up beneath the covers and sinking into a dark oblivion of sleep seemed appealing, but he also wanted to take a hot shower.

 

Unable to ascertain what was wrong, Seifer left the bed and grabbed the box of tissues on the nearby dresser. Wiping himself clean, he zipped his pants up and stalked around to the other side of the bed. Waving a hand before vacant stormy blue eyes, his concern increased. “Leonhart,” he groused, baritone voice cutting through whatever deep thoughts were swimming in the man's pretty head.

 

Startled, Squall jolted with shock. Glancing to the foot of the bed, then back to the tall ex-knight in front of him, he tried to figure out when the man had moved.

 

“Are you okay?” Seifer questioned sternly, needing an answer to at least one of his questions.

 

Staring into jade-green eyes for a long moment, Squall eventually replied, “I'm fine.”

 

Knowing that obviously wasn't the case, Seifer studied the former commander intensely. The man seemed rattled, almost skittish or even frightened. He had never seen Leonhart in such a state. Reaching out again, he attempted to touch the fierce fighter again.

 

Though Squall saw the hand coming and he knew it was harmless enough, he was unable to stop his body from drawing away. Startled by his own reaction, he stared at the ex-knight with surprise.

 

Abashed, Seifer stared with mirrored shock. Leonhart was afraid of him. Not knowing what to make of the situation, he decided healing the brunet was priority. “I have some potions in my car. I'll only be a few minutes,” he said, stepping away. Snatching his shirt from the floor, he cast a final glance at the seemingly frail form on the bed before leaving the room.

 

Alone, Squall felt better able to breath. Taking a moment to gather up the shattered pieces of his composure, he tried to convince himself that everything was fine. The sex was over and most likely so was the insane attraction between him and Seifer. With no strings attached, the lust was surely out of their systems.

 

Feeling confident in his conclusions, Squall was confused by the mounting apprehension in his stomach. Glancing around the room, his gaze landed on his boots and pants. Acting quickly, he staggered from bed with a grunting curse. Though he did not blame Seifer for anything, he did not want to be around the ex-knight. He needed time alone.

 

Collecting his clothes, he braced himself against the wall and stumbled to his own bedroom. He had potions there. Only able to hurry after he was healed, he managed to dress haphazardly and slip from the apartment before Seifer returned. His actions felt cowardly, but it would only be one shameful act among many that day.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's Note: 0_o It was a long wait, so thank you all for being so patient. This is the longest chapter I've ever written, and hopefully it doesn't read like it's too long. I know some of you are probably not happy with how the lemon turned out. I suppose it might even seem like Seifer and Squall are even further away from getting together now, but I swear they will get together eventually. Such borderline non-consensual scenes between them will not become the pattern. Well, whether you liked it or disliked it, I'd love to know.

 

On an unrelated side note, is anyone doing The Hunt for Volvo? I did it last year and made it all the way to the end, though I was obviously not the winner. This year is a lot of fun too… except the fact I'm still stuck on the 3rd puzzle… the frozen guy with smeared ink all over him. I should probably just look up the answer, but I'm too stubborn for my own good.