Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 29 )

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

In the surrounding darkness of his apartment, Seifer remained awake as he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed. Room cast in shadow, there was scarcely enough light to make dark shadows distinguishable. Every unpacked tower of boxes looked like some monster lurking in the corner, but Seifer had stopped fearing imagined monsters at the age of six and had begun fighting real monsters by the time he was fourteen.

 

A soft sigh came from the sleeping form curled against his side. Shifting slightly, the sound of fabric was heard distinctly in the stillness.

 

Arms and pillow cushioning the back of his head, Seifer gazed down at the top of tangled brown hair. “I'm not a fucking bolster,” he muttered darkly. Green eyes narrowed suspiciously when the sleeping swordsman furled closer, leg twining with his own beneath the covers. Doubting whether the man was truly asleep, he was about to break away, but went rigid when the pretty boy twitched.

 

Jolting, Squall awoke abruptly. Eyes wide, he stared with dilated pupils into the darkness. He glanced around furtively to find the ex-knight. Blinking in quick succession, he processed the situation before hurriedly shifting back. “Sorry,” he whispered, turning over and inching closer to the edge facing the window. Without a warm chest as his pillow, he lay flat and used a bent arm to cradle his head.

 

Seifer stared for several moments at Leonhart's backside. His eyes gazed low to a narrow waist revealed where the blanket drooped and thin white t-shirt rode up. Traveling up a slender frame, he ended his greedy study by staring at the nape of an exposed neck. Closing the distance between them, he let his arms slide around and pull the smaller man against his chest. “It's a narrow bed,” he said in a husky voice, his lips ghosting the brunet's ear.

 

Shivering, Squall squirmed about until he was facing Seifer. Cheeks tinged scarlet as his actions became less mechanical and more the result of a focused mind, he glanced at the placating blond. “Is this something you'll hold over my head for the rest of my life?” he questioned quietly.

 

Rolling his eyes, Seifer informed, “I'll forget you acted like a chicken-wuss if you forget I let you sleep in my bed without having sex first.”

 

Nodding hesitantly, Squall rested his head back against his childhood rival's solid chest. “You're still a bastard,” he informed, tugging at the blanket until it covered his shoulders.

 

Chuckling, Seifer returned, “And you're still a fairy.” He jumped at the feel of delicate fingers pinching the flesh of his inner thigh. When the brunet made no further move to hurt him, he smirked. As long as he was still a bastard in the view of pretty stormy blue eyes, then he could deal with being an understanding bastard for a single night.

 

--

 

Shaken awake, Squall's brain was slow to interpret what was going on. Delayed in responding to the ex-knight, he eventually stirred and opened his eyes groggily.

 

Mumbling in a tired tone, a loud whisper that tried to convey a somewhat intelligent message while still half asleep, Seifer instructed his bedmate to move. “Leonhart… you gotta move.”

 

“Nnh,” Squall replied, eyes closing as his mind judged the situation to be unimportant despite lacking all details.

 

“My arm's asleep… get to my other side…” Seifer elaborated breathily, not entirely certain a numb arm was worth waking up for.

 

Groaning in complaint, Squall lethargically complied. Even in the deepest reaches of his mind, he knew he was imposing. Clambering over the ex-knight's form, he crawled to the man's left side before collapsing back to bed.

 

“Smooth,” Seifer muttered sarcastically, apparently able to throw insults even in his sleep.

 

Squall didn't respond. Settling back in, he felt the blond's strong arm encircle his shoulders and pull him in close. If he were any less tired, he would have pointed out the man's numb arm was due to holding him constantly. Instead, he lay in a position mirroring his previous one, the sound of a beating heart almost audible when his head pressed against the left side of the arrogant ex-knight's muscular chest.

 

On the verge of falling back to sleep, wakefulness was instilled into Squall's mind suddenly. Eyes widening, he stared guiltily with the realization that the last person to hold him in bed had been Cale. He was surprised at how similar it felt. The warmth between two bodies was the same. The knowledge that he wasn't alone beneath the covers was both comforting and at the same time kept him from relaxing completely. He hadn't slept very well the night Cale had held him. He wasn't used to sleeping with someone else, not someone larger than him anyway. Every toss and turn reminded him he wasn't alone and the feel of embracing arms was restricting.

 

“Go to sleep,” Seifer ordered. Moving his hand from its resting place on a jutting shoulder, he ran it over Leonhart's face and forced wakeful eyes to close. His fingertips trailed briefly over pout lips before he returned his hand to its perch.

 

Eyes closed, Squall bowed his head and tried to forget. It was impossible though. With his eyes closed, it might as well have been Cale holding him. It felt the same.

 

Sighing a quiet simper, Squall furled closer. Brows drawn contritely, he indulged a horrible whim. He let himself imagine Seifer was Cale. He let himself listen to each breath the ex-knight took, comparing it to the sound of Cale's breaths the night they had spent together. Deciding the sound was the same, he drifted quietly while imagining he was in Cale's arms. He had hurt the professor and rejected the man unfairly. Now, in death, he was trying to hang on pointlessly.

 

Believing himself to be a horrible person, Squall clutched Seifer's shirt as his eyes clenched shut. It was too little, too late. He wished he could have loved Cale. He wished so many things had turned out differently. Why had he gone to the islander's apartment in the first place? He should have gone to Irvine. Why hadn't he reacted first? He had seen the gun plain as day. He was trained to react swiftly, but he had hesitated, not believing Luca to be deranged enough to use it.

 

Biting his lip harshly, Squall forced himself not to cry. It was difficult when he remembered that Cale hadn't taken any chances and hadn't hesitated. The entire night had been full of missed chances. He could have easily prevented the professor's death. Had he not been satisfied enough to cheat on the kind man and break up? He had carried on blithely, leading the unsuspecting islander to an untimely end.

 

How many years ago had he stopped junctioning a guardian force while out of the field? Magic would have saved Cale. When had he stopped carrying potions on his person? A single potion would have healed Cale enough to buy time.

 

“Don't get my shirt wet,” Seifer chastised.

 

Squall withdrew from his thoughts, the ex-knight's baritone voice cutting through and pulling him back. Sniffing quietly, he wiped at moist eyes and tried to clear his mind.

 

--

 

The clattering sound of a frying pan woke Squall up. Sleepy eyes shied from the light streaming in through the window he faced. The shade had been opened and he knew exactly who had opened it. Turning over, he burrowed deeper under the blanket and pulled the single pillow closer. It was several moments before he realized he was alone in bed.

 

Listening attentively while his eyes rested, Squall heard what sounded like someone busy in the kitchen. Curious for a moment, he took a deep breath and smelled grilled fish. Rather disturbed by the thought of Seifer making breakfast, he chose to stay put and not confirm the situation visually.

 

“Guess again, Kinneas,” Seifer's rich voice spoke in a mocking Galbadian drawl.

 

Squall could hear the bullying blond. The kitchen was more of a kitchenette with its three walls and the sound carried clearly. Confused, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He half expected to see Irvine standing nearby, but the studio apartment was empty, save for the Seifer in the sectored kitchen area.

 

Seifer peeked his head out and glanced at a very dazed brunet. Phone to his ear, he smirked when stormy blue eyes looked his way. “He's right here,” he said tauntingly. “But I don't think he wants to talk right now.”

 

Upon realizing Seifer was on the phone with Irvine, Squall frowned. Before he could demand to have the phone, the blond disappeared back into the kitchen. Head pounding, he rubbed his temples and tried to recall the previous night.

 

“You can try that, but any idiot knows how to disable the GPS chip in a cell phone,” Seifer carried on.

 

As the events of the previous night came to him, Squall listened impassively to the one sided conversation. He was in no rush to talk to anyone. In fact, he was quite dreading it. Even though Seifer was being an ass, he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

 

Drawing the blanket close, Squall hugged his knees and debated his next move. Lying back down and sleeping was appealing, but the amount of sunlight coming in from the window suggested he had already slept in quite a bit.

 

“I'll stop jerking you around when you stop giving me such amusing reactions.” Seifer leaned against the kitchen's entryway wall. He wore a pair of slate grey slacks and sharp crimson dress shirt. Not entirely sure if he would be working that day, he was still showered and dressed for whatever he might end up doing. One arm crossed over his torso while the other held the phone up, he gazed towards the wallowing swordsman in his bed. “He's alive if that's what you're calling to confirm,” he said smarmily.

 

Torn between speaking with Irvine to calm the worried gunman down and remaining isolated with his thoughts, Squall rested his head against his knees while looking sideways at the belligerent ex-knight. The man was incorrigible.

 

Seifer smirked while staring into grey-blue eyes from across the room. “Slow down cowboy, I can't get a word in edgewise. Do you kiss Matron with that mouth?” Blood stirring, he began to feel aroused as Leonhart attentively watched him. He wanted to fuck the brunet hard, until that innocent expression disappeared forever. It was an attractive look, but every time he saw the man staring at him with such obliviousness, the urge to subjugate and spoil rose to a level he had trouble controlling. Missing what the gunman said, he had to refocus on what he was doing. “Let me ask him if he'll talk to you,” he interrupted.

 

Uncertain for a moment, Squall eventually shook his head subtly when the ex-knight held the phone out with a questioning expression.

 

Shrugging, Seifer moved back into the kitchen, where Leonhart's beckoning eyes and fuck-me-now pheromones couldn't reach him. “He doesn't want to talk to you. If it's any consolation, it probably has something to do with being tied to my bed with a dildo up his ass.”

 

Wide eyed, Squall thought he heard the sound of a gun firing over the line of the phone. When he heard Seifer laughing, he feared he had indeed heard Irvine shooting.

 

Laughing hard, Seifer clutched his stomach. “Hyne, you're better than Dincht,” he commented when his amusement subsided long enough to allow him to speak. He sobered quickly when the pale brunet stepped into the kitchen wearing naught but a flimsy white t-shirt and black boxer briefs.

 

Squall held his hand out for the phone. Unable to ignore the distress his friend must have been under because of his actions, he stood impatiently before the ex-knight. Once the blond reluctantly handed him the phone, he frowned upon examining the device. He recognized it as his own.

 

Eyes trained on his rival's pert ass, Seifer stared lewdly as the brunet walked away. Taking a deep breath, he tried to clear his lustful mind but only found his pants tightening.

 

“Irvine,” Squall spoke quietly once he was out of sight.

 

“Hyne, is that you Squall?” Irvine's worried voice questioned desperately.

 

Scouring the floor for his pants, Squall eventually found what he was looking for. “Yeah, it's me,” he replied with an air of indifference. Bending to pick his pants up, he nearly yelped at as a hand gruffly groped his buttocks. Straightening and whirling around, he glared at the offending blond.

 

“Are you okay? Where are you?” Irvine asked in quick succession. His distress was obvious.

 

Frowning, Squall tried not to take his attention off of the ex-knight while answering. He backed up to the bed when the tall swordsman crowded his personal space. “I'm fine,” he answered. Stumbling back onto the bed, he held an arm out and gestured for Seifer to stay away. “I'll return home soon.”

 

“What happened? You fell off the grid yesterday. Laguna got a call that you were a witness to some murder-suicide. We couldn't get a hold of you and then we find the apartment looking like you'd been kidnapped. What the hell is going on?”

 

“I'll explain later,” Squall supplied succinctly. “Tell Lore I'm sorry for making him worry. I have to go.” Hanging up abruptly, he evaded the pouncing ex-knight. “Stop it,” he ordered, whirling around when a shameless hand snagged his briefs and tried to pull him back.

 

“You're a tease, Leonhart,” Seifer accused. “I go all night without laying a finger on you and then you prance around like this. Give me something here.”

 

“…” Squall glared. The ex-knight's arousal was not his problem. If the man needed release, there was a bathroom with a door.

 

Smirking, Seifer successfully brought his prey down onto the bed. Swiftly topping the scantily clad fighter, he looked intently into mesmerizing steely eyes. “It's no use fighting,” he reminded. Dipping low, he possessed inviting lips, kissing them fiercely.

 

Warring with conflicting emotions, Squall refused the insistent blond. Head turning to the side, he murmured, “It's too soon.” Not knowing if there would ever be a time where he could completely accept his childhood rival's sexual advances, it was still clear for his socially stunted mind to understand the day after losing a semi ex-boyfriend was too soon to sleep with someone else.

 

Groaning in complaint, Seifer leaned back and commented, “It's been ten hours. There are only five stages of grief. How much longer could you possibly need before you let me fuck you senseless?”

 

Shivering at the ex-knight's words despite himself, Squall scowled at such insensitive reasoning. “I'll have sex with you right now if it means you'll stop asking for it.”

 

Brows furrowed angrily, Seifer gazed down at the enticing man beneath him. “And here I thought there was no reversing a hard on,” he spat cynically as he clambered off the passively resistant brunet. Nothing ruined a passionate moment like pointing out that the act was entirely functional and done as some favor. He was nobody's charity case. If he could find the right opportunity, he would loosen Leonhart's tight ass and make the man addicted to it. “When I do screw you again, you'll be begging for more.”

 

“…” Squall gave the ex-knight a dubious look. He didn't see how sex between men was anything to become excited over. Fingers were fine and the experience of penetration was not without its pleasures, but when it came to having an entire cock shoved up his ass, he would sooner suffer electro shock torture.

 

Sighing heavily, Seifer straightened up. Making some minor adjustments to his crisp shirt, he strode smoothly back towards the kitchen. “I assume you're going to the police station?” he said, easily segueing to a wholly unrelated matter.

 

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he reached down to retrieve his jeans, Squall frowned. “Why?” he inquired, not certain what he was missing.

 

“To give your statement,” Seifer returned informatively. Shuffling around in the kitchen, he plated his breakfast. He had made enough for two people, but wasn't about to directly offer anything. Making Leonhart breakfast would be bordering on an act of kindness, so he considered his actions to be wasteful cooking.

 

Slipping into his pants, Squall again questioned from the other room, “Why?” If memory served him correctly, he had already given his statement.

 

Setting his plate down on the counter with a clatter, Seifer opened the silverware drawer and procured himself a fork for his seared salmon. “A verbal statement, Leonhart,” he clarified condescendingly. “Writing shit down is what you do when you confess to a crime, not witness one.”

 

“They ask for both actually,” Squall corrected as he entered the kitchen. Crossing his arms, he stood out of the way. It was a small area with barely enough room for the broad framed ex-knight to sit on a stool and eat at the counter.

 

Nodding as his point was made for him, Seifer sampled his food. “That cop wanted you down there before noon. You probably don't remember. By that time, you were clinging to me like a baby.”

 

Cheeks heating in response, Squall didn't say anything.

 

Chuckling, Seifer basked in the glow of having something truly embarrassing to hold over the brunet's head. At length, he glanced sidelong at a flustered swordsman. “Relax, I won't mention it in mixed company.” Leonhart's embarrassing tale consequently fed into his own sappy behavior and he didn't need anyone asking why he had succumbed to the evils of pity and sympathy.

 

Squall scoffed, his disbelief quite evident. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to fathom the logical order of events that had led to his seeking sanctuary with the ex-knight. If it hadn't actually happened, he wouldn't have believed any of it.

 

Eyes sharpening, Seifer forced himself to look away. He felt compelled to assure Leonhart he would remain discreet. He had no idea from where such kindhearted urges sprung. They either came in groups or multiplied. Controlling his words and actions very carefully was the only solution until whatever pity he had for the man disappeared. Losing a loved one was an understandably trying ordeal, but he wondered at the heartache the supposedly emotionless ice prince displayed. Just how hung up was Leonhart over Bernhein? Was the white haired islander really worth crying over?

 

Grip tightening on his fork, Seifer contended with the notion that Leonhart was almost too dolorous over Bernhein. It suddenly seemed very unlikely that they had broken up. “Who was he to you?” he found himself asking before he could think twice.

 

Stirred from his thoughts, Squall concluded that analyzing his actions last night was pointless when his emotions were still so mixed up. His collected demeanor was fragile and inside he was filled with uncertainty and instability. In another five minutes he could be curled up in the blond's bed crying again. Delayed in responding, he eventually gazed into piercing green eyes. With a frown he murmured, “Cale?”

 

“Who else?” Seifer clipped tersely. “Why were you even at his place last night? I thought you were breaking up.”

 

Jaw clenching, Squall appeared very reluctant to discuss Cale. His heart ached when he spoke the professor's name and his emotions became a dark storm when his mind recalled the man's handsome face.

 

Seifer knew he was treading on thin ice, the brittle mask his rival had in place fracturing after a single mentioning of the dead gay man. Steely blue eyes became subdued, dulling to a vacant and lackluster color of a cloudy sky. Though he knew the epicene fighter was hurting inside, his pity was banished by a powerful feeling of jealousy. Bernhein was dead, yet still occupying Leonhart's mind. He was in the same room as the Leonhart, yet didn't seem to exist at all.

 

Before Seifer could consider giving the grieving swordsman a break, he was on his feet and closing the distance between them. Roughly grabbing narrow shoulders, he physically shook the forlorn expression from Leonhart's face. “Stop it!” he barked testily.

 

Brows knitted in confusion, Squall gazed into frighteningly intense jade-green eyes. Blinking, he silently asked the blond what it was he should be stopping and why such brute force was necessary.

 

“Do you see me standing right here?” Seifer demanded, fingers digging into bony shoulders, the thin t-shirt serving as a negligible barrier between their skin. “If that fucker didn't have the common sense to duck and cover, then he doesn't deserve the time of day from you.”

 

Mouth agape, Squall was too horrified to even strike the blond for his words. “He…” he began to say dumbfounded. “He protected me.” Cale had plenty of common sense and no military training, yet the man had gone against instinct.

 

Though his hold tightened, Seifer questioned in a contradicting tone of calmness, “What?”

 

Squall searched Seifer's heated eyes for some sense of understanding or perhaps wisdom into what he still couldn't comprehend. “By the time it happened…” he couldn't bring himself to make excuses, it was too bitter a taste on his tongue. “I didn't react,” he admitted numbly, adding further, “He crossed the line of fire. I was the target.”

 

Gaze sharpening, Seifer carefully studied grey-blue eyes. His mind reading abilities had not improved, yet he still couldn't help but try. Had Bernhein truly protected Leonhart? Despite the islander's formidable appearance, he hadn't considered the bow-tie wearing bookworm the type of person to react with any sense of selflessness when faced with mortal danger. It just wasn't feasible. He had witnessed the cowardice of civilians time and again, and had been forced to conclude that cowardice was often the same as human instinct. Self-preservation was number one in everyone's mind.

 

“Why did he do it?” Squall murmured at length, the question posed to no one in particular. He became detached and immersed deeper in his thoughts. The answer was both obvious and confounding. He did not doubt that Cale had loved him, for only a man in love could possibly desire to wait two years to forge a relationship that held no promise of equal requital.

 

Calming, Seifer took a step back abruptly. He released the brunet, his arms falling to his side in a show of concession. He grappled with the concept of Bernhein's supposed sacrifice, not quite able to picture it or even believe it. If such were truly the case, then Leonhart's bereaved behavior was set into perspective. Guilt was no doubt more painful than the loss itself, and the two together seemed to have driven a stake through the pale swordsman's heart.

 

Seifer turned away, bottling up his bitter jealousy and storing it away to be expressed at a more fitting time. Rubbing his jaw, he plopped back down on the stool and forced himself to begin eating. Unable to even taste his food while in such a foul mood, his skill at cooking fish was wasted on that morning's breakfast.

 

Staring distantly for several lost moments, Squall eventually strode from the kitchen somberly.

 

“Shit,” Seifer cursed quietly, his fork clattering against the plate as he let it drop. He wasn't unused to such mood swings from the former commander, but the situation was undoubtedly trickier than usual. It hadn't been his intention to pour salt in Leonhart's wounds.

 

Sighing, Seifer forced himself not to go after the brunet. He was beginning to question what he was after in the first place, which shouldn't have been anything more than the opportunity to prove himself in bed. He would not allow his intentions to become unclear.

 

In Seifer's bathroom, Squall finished washing his face. With a final splash of cold water, he braced his arms on either side of the white pedestal sink and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Rivulets of water dripped down his face, his lengthy bangs were somewhat damp after his haphazard splashing.

 

Usually finding no point of interest in his own appearance, Squall almost reared back at the sight he presented. Skin paler than usual, his eyes were reddened with dark bags beneath. He was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

 

With a soft groan, Squall hung his head while reaching out for the nearest towel. Hardly caring if it were even clean, he buried his face in it and rubbed the coarse material against his skin furiously. Taking a sharp breath when he was quite done, he cast the towel aside carelessly and ran his fingers through his hair. The attempt to neaten wayward strands was futile. He had gone to bed with damp hair and the morning result was an unmanageable mess.

 

Digging his cell phone out of his pants pocket, he checked the time. It was already ten o'clock. If he had any chance at being prompt, he would need to leave for the police station soon.

 

The mere thought of recounting the events of the previous night caused a knot to form in Squall's stomach. He wondered if the ex-knight planned on accompanying him. Though he would never admit it, the prospect of having the blond at his side was a bit relieving.

 

In the kitchen, Seifer managed to finish his breakfast. When Leonhart returned, he surreptitiously muttered, “I'm less hungry than I thought. Help yourself to what's left over.”

 

Nodding with vague understanding, Squall remained rooted in place near the open entryway. He wasn't hungry, though he distantly registered the offering and appreciated it. Fighting the urge to fidget, he questioned in an almost meek voice, “Are you coming too?”

 

“That was the agreement,” Seifer replied casually, discarding his plate in the sink. Gesturing to another plate he had set out, complete with eating utensil, he pressed, “Go for it. Cooked salmon doesn't refrigerate well.”

 

Mouth open to inform the ex-knight of his lack of appetite, Squall stopped himself short. Belatedly realizing the food was hardly leftover, he strode forward so as not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whether or not he actually ate didn't matter. Simply accepting the offer was the least he could do under the circumstances.

 

Rummaging in his fridge, Seifer handed off a chilled bottle of water. Satisfied that his good deed had been done under the radar, he took a bottle for himself before leaving the room. His watch informed him that there was plenty of time before noon and he fancied showing up fifteen minutes late just to piss that lieutenant guy off.

 

Squall sat and stared at the food Seifer had made. It was strange. Poking the fish with his fork, he appeared torn between eating it and examining it for poison. Glancing at the vacant entryway, he wondered what the ex-knight meant by making him breakfast.

 

Sighing, Squall unscrewed the cap on the water bottle he had been given. Taking a sip, he quickly realized just how thirsty he was.

 

“Pace yourself,” Seifer muttered as he passed the kitchen's entrance, catching a glimpse of an apparently dehydrated brunet.

 

Having downed half of the sixteen ounce bottle, Squall was finally satisfied. “We should leave,” he stated matter-of-factly.

 

Scoffing from out of sight, Seifer ambled into the kitchen while leafing through a packet of papers. “You're never in any rush to talk about anything. Somehow I doubt you care about showing up on time to talk about last night.”

 

Lips brushing the rim of the bottle, Squall shot the ex-knight a warning glare.

 

Distracted for a moment, Seifer's eyes were trained on pout lips that glistened from recently consumed water. His lapse was brief. Quickly forcing himself to look away, he feigned interest in the papers he held, though he could no longer remember what he had been doing with the stack of shipping orders. “Fine, we'll leave soon,” he conceded distractedly, his eyes straying again. He was just in time to watch Leonhart lift the bottle and take a sip, the swallowing action drawing attention to a slender throat. A tantalizing pink tongue darted out to lick bowed lips, causing him to swallow reflexively for an entirely different reason than the brunet had.

 

Staring off, Squall seemed bemused in his own little world. After several moments, when a familiar heat crept up on him and he became acutely aware of jade-green eyes boring holes in his clothing, he regarded the blond. Nodding subtly, he acknowledged that they were in agreement on leaving shortly.

 

Stopping himself short before he began to envision taking Leonhart on the countertop, or perhaps actually doing so, Seifer returned the nod and turned away. “Finish eating, we'll leave after,” he instructed, leaving the kitchen yet again and establishing a mental barrier that made the area strictly off limits.

 

 

--

 

Lieutenant Garber's office did not encourage any private interactions. The surrounding walls were clear panes of reinforced glass with vertical blinds spaced intermittently so that when drawn the entire room could be shielded. Squall sat diminutively in his seat in front of the lieutenant's desk. Slightly on edge, it was a conscious effort to sit still. Beside him, Seifer sat casually, appearing entirely at home in a twin chair.

 

“Where is that prick?” Seifer grumbled in annoyance, glancing around to the office door for the fifth time in two minutes.

 

“…” Squall checked the wall clock, briefly wondering how it was held up. It was a little after eleven o'clock. He wouldn't have been surprised if the lieutenant were under the impression that he wasn't going to show up. Judging from the sound of the phones constantly ringing in the background, it was a busy Thursday morning in Esthar's twenty-fourth precinct.

 

Squall occupied himself with studying the lieutenant's desk. It was almost too average for any normal person. It wasn't disorderly or ensconced with files, but neither was it meticulously organized. He concluded that the lack of any case files meant there was a conscious effort to keep the important stuff from prying eyes. There was a name plaque that read `Lieutenant Silas Garber', the lettering rather plain in its Helvetica font. His brief analysis was only a minor distraction and a force of habit.

 

The near silent swoosh of the clear door announced the lieutenant's arrival. In plainclothes once again, the senior detective walked evenly into the room as he unbuttoned his dark grey suit jacket, his badge and gun revealed as a result. “Mr. Leonhart,” the thirty-something year old man greeted.

 

Standing smoothly, Squall turned and met the officer's extended hand. He gave a single nod in greeting, but when the man didn't release his hand and proceeded to stare at him, he was forced to acknowledge the sandy-blond detective with all his attention.

 

Sharp green eyes held suspicion and distrust as they pinned the lieutenant with a piercing glare. Seifer brashly extended his own hand, interrupting whatever silent exchange passed between the other two. He became quite annoyed when the slightly shorter man shook his hand and released it just as quickly.

 

“Mr. Almasy,” the lieutenant greeted formally as he moved around his desk. “I am surprised to see you accompanying Mr. Leonhart today.”

 

Bristling indignantly, Seifer straightened and stood to his full height. “It seemed appropriate,” he said cryptically, trying to figure out what the man's game was.

 

Brows rising in slight surprise, Lieutenant Garber turned his attention to the silent brunet. “Still playing the mute?” he questioned bluntly.

 

Showing no outward reaction, Squall's face remained impassive. Unflinchingly, he met the lieutenant's eyes. He had nothing to hide. He didn't play games and he most certainly didn't care if anyone disapproved of him.

 

Inhaling sharply, Garber rubbed his jaw and openly studied the fair skinned brunet who had very clear grey-blue eyes. It was difficult to believe Mr. Leonhart had ever seen battle with such eyes. They were too clear, almost innocent. He didn't like it, not when he found it difficult to scrutinize the man objectively. The obvious signs of continued distress made it near impossible to remain apathetic. He suspected Mr. Leonhart had been crying, which was unexpected considering the persona he had previously associated with the mercenary.

 

“Please, sit down,” Garber offered hospitably after a few moments.

 

Taking his seat, Squall glanced to the ex-knight when the tall blond didn't sit down. “Seifer?” he questioned quietly.

 

“So you do speak,” the lieutenant commented, unable to keep from smirking at the first sound of Mr. Leonhart's voice. He didn't know what he had expected the former commander to sound like, but it was surprisingly soft and dulcet. It fit the man's image perfectly.

 

“How about skipping the formalities,” Seifer suggested, finally sitting back down when Leonhart reached out and touched his wrist. He sat forward on the edge of the hard wooden seat, making no effort to hide his dislike for the pretentious prick behind the desk.

 

Squall regarded the ex-knight with a scowl. The blond's hostile tone was blatantly detectible.

 

Studying Mr. Almasy in turn, Garber was intrigued by the relationship between two men he had believed to mix together like water and oil with the side effects of mixing nitroglycerin. Striking green eyes were menacing and intimidating. Ultimecia's knight had a powerful physique that was threatening all on its own.

 

Gesturing for the former knight to wait, Garber opened a side drawer on his desk and pulled out a case file and two other manila folders containing as much information as he could gather on both Squall Leonhart and Seifer Almasy. Setting them down on his desk, he opened the first of the three folders and let his eyes scan the first page briefly before regarding both men in front of his desk.

 

Squall waited apprehensively. He had the distinct impression that Lieutenant Garber wanted more than his witnessing account of Cale's death. The circumstances weren't exactly suspicious, so he didn't quite understand what more to it there was.

 

The lieutenant stared pointedly at the pale brunet. “To be honest, a case like this normally wouldn't have come to my attention. But you're the president's son, so here we are.”

 

Eyes scanning the modest desk, Squall eventually met the officer's sharp brown-eyed gaze evenly. “Are you going to ask questions or would you like me to reiterate everything I already put on paper?” he queried.

 

“I am sorry if this seems crass, but there are still some questions I would like to ask.”

 

Squall nodded and waited patiently while the lieutenant poured over the open file before starting.

 

“Your account of what happened was quite thorough. It was, however, lacking the finer details regarding the nature of your relationship with the deceased and why you were at the scene in the first place.”

 

Silence fell upon the three men and all eyes were on Squall.

 

Squall fought a wave of nausea. He took a deep breath, trying to relax. He knew he would have to concentrate extremely hard just to make it through each question. With resting arms on either armrest of his chair, he slowly uncurled the fingers of his right hand and drummed gently. Repeating this action several times, his mind was forced to focus in order to keep a steady rhythm. The technique was meant to show defiance when keeping silence during interrogations, but he had always found it helpful in staying grounded.

 

“Mr. Leonhart?” Garber prompted.

 

Biting his lip as he gathered the right words, Squall looked up and met the lieutenant's knowing gaze. “We were involved,” he finally said in response. “Cale was my boyfriend,” he added candidly, all the while drumming his fingers slowly.

 

Tapping his pen atop the open file, Garber commented, “I see.” He had suspected as much, but could hardly go on assumptions when the president's son was involved.

 

Wanting to say a few words, Seifer settled on bottling his anger up with his jealousy. When the time was right, he would release it. He wanted to know whether or not Leonhart had broken up with Bernhein. He didn't know why it mattered, but it did.

 

“Mr. Leonhart,” the lieutenant began, pausing to debate whether to redirect his line of questioning.

 

Rubbing his temple as the headache he had been able to ignore suddenly demanded his attention by hammering more intensely, Squall gave a terse correction that he normally would have left alone, “It's Squall.”

 

“Squall then,” the lieutenant corrected.

 

Seifer shot his dark haired counterpart a withering glare. “It's Mr. Leonhart,” he re-corrected.

 

Frowning with a look of uncertainty, Garber just shook his head. “You were at Mr. Bernhein's apartment when Mr. Miner showed up. What motivated Mr. Miner to retrieve a gun and attempt to shoot you?”

 

Wondering if he were missing something, Squall glanced to Seifer. At length, he reiterated, “I was involved with Cale.”

 

“And?” the lieutenant prompted.

 

Uncomfortable, Squall ceased his drumming on the armrest and crossed his arms tightly. “And, Luca disapproved of me.”

 

“Why?”

 

Squall was under the impression that he had made himself quite clear already. “Lieutenant Garber-”

 

The lieutenant cut in, “Silas, please.”

 

Brows knitting, Squall hesitated in using the man's first name but figured it was only fair. “Si-” he stopped himself short, catching sight of a rather angry ex-knight. Clearing his throat, he proceeded without directing his words to anyone specifically. “I don't like to make assumptions.”

 

Leaning forward in his cushioned seat, Garber set his pen down and folded his hands diplomatically. “You say that, but you expressed concerns to Mr. Bernhein that Mr. Miner wasn't right in the head.”

 

“Those weren't my words,” Squall refuted. “Luca seemed unstable and obsessed, a combination that is generally a red flag. He was a college student with a crush on his professor, and it seemed harmless up until yesterday evening. I had no proof, but I didn't need proof to ask Cale to be careful when dealing with him.” He took several quick breaths after speaking. If he kept going, his jaw muscles and tongue were going to protest further expenditure.

 

“He was stalking you?” the lieutenant pressed, his tone becoming sterner with each question.

 

“Again,” Squall bit out tersely, “I have no proof that such was the case.”

 

“Yet it's in your statement from last night.”

 

It was almost amusing to Squall how the lieutenant pressed him to speak as though he would accidentally let something slip. It was in his laconic nature to consider his words before speaking, even when his emotions ran high and he became rash. “I believe such assumptions were clearly labeled as assumptions based on nothing but my own suspicions. I'm not daft, Lieutenant Garber. Luca was the obvious candidate. I'm also not without enemies. Luca never registered very high on any of my lists until last night.”

 

Nodding in agreement, the lieutenant commented, “Yes, I suppose he proved quite a threat last night.”

 

Squall's hand shot out to grip the ex-knight's forearm. He knew the man was about to speak up and he didn't need or want anyone defending him.

 

Seifer closed his mouth, glancing sidelong with unmasked surprise. He had been on the verge of calling the lieutenant a few unseemly words. He had reacted without consideration and wondered how the brunet could have possibly known his intentions so quickly.

 

Retracting his hand, Squall darted a quick look that held obvious disapproval. He had received a lifetime of chivalry from his rival and could not stand anymore. Though he appreciated the unexpected support and safe haven, he could handle speaking with the straightforward lieutenant on his own. In fact, it was easier to suppress his contrite feelings when encountering such subtle antagonism.

 

“Could you describe your relationship with Mr. Bernhein?” Garber requested.

 

“…” Crossing his arms again, Squall appeared perplexed.

 

The lieutenant clarified what he desired to know. “Had you been together very long? Were you still on good terms?”

 

“Not long,” Squall replied, forcing a note of indifference into his tone. “Last night…” he began, trailing off as his mind replayed it all again. Swallowing thickly, he tried again, “Last night, we… or rather I…”

 

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Seifer eyed the man with the badge carefully. He spoke up, “That's circumstantial and hardly relevant.”

 

“The relevance of my questions is not for you to decide, Mr. Almasy,” the lieutenant returned.

 

Smirking snidely, Seifer leaned forward in his seat. “Is there doubt surrounding Bernhein's death?” he inquired smoothly, holding the detective's gaze.

 

Bristling slightly, Lieutenant Garber admitted under intense observation, “No. There is no question how Mr. Bernhein died or who killed him. There are, however, concerns as to why Mr. Leonhart was there.”

 

“Concerns?” Squall intoned quietly.

 

“Political bullshit,” Seifer clipped. “That's why your on this case, isn't that right?”

 

Clearing his throat, Lieutenant Garber straightened up. Disliking the ex-knight immensely, he reminded himself that responding in kind was not an option. Eyes trained on the thoughtful brunet, he explained, “It is not my intention to drag anyone through the mud. I need your answers to know how to respond when I'm asked these same questions.”

 

Biting his lip, Squall contended with the possibility of Cale's death being largely publicized because he was Laguna's son. “How certain are you that this will be a headline?” he questioned solemnly.

 

Lieutenant Garber almost flinched back from the pale mercenary's pleading eyes. It was hardly within his power to control the press, but he suddenly wished it were. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he commented, “I take it you haven't turned the news on today.”

 

Filled with trepidation, Squall simply stared. It was already in the news? What were they saying?

 

--

 

“This is where we part ways, princess,” Seifer stated after coming to a stop in front of Leonhart's apartment. He was in no rush to receive Kinneas' retribution for his earlier antics. Though he could still kick the gunman's ass, he expected to be gunned down and bullets were not easily dodged.

 

Nodding complacently without even retaliating for the insulting nickname, Squall stared out the passenger side window at his apartment building. He didn't trust his composure to hold up in front of others, but he had procrastinated the inevitable long enough. Reaching around his seat, he snagged his grey hoodie from the back of the car before attempting to leave. His hand hesitated in opening the door.

 

Sighing, Seifer cut the engine. “A few minutes then,” he muttered, offering the brunet an extension.

 

Glancing at the ex-knight beside him, Squall gave a faint nod of thanks. Taking several measured breaths, he steeled his nerves. He knew that upon being assaulted with questions regarding last night, there would be a strong desire to break down.

 

“Let me see your phone,” Seifer demanded, hand extended as though expecting his rival to instantly produce the device.

 

Gazing questioningly at the blond, Squall waited for some explanation.

 

Rolling his eyes, Seifer said, “For Hyne's sake Leonhart, do you want my hand down your pants?”

 

Sending a withering glare, Squall leaned to the side and fished his cell phone out of his pants pocket. Phone in hand, he looked back at the bossy man. With obvious reluctance, he slowly handed the device over.

 

Grumbling a few unintelligible remarks under his breath, Seifer flipped the brunet's phone open. Making a show of his actions, he sent the pale swordsman a chastising look before angling the phone away and clicking away at the buttons secretively. When he was finished, he tossed the phone over for the uninterested fighter to catch.

 

Staring at his phone uncertainly, Squall then looked to Seifer as though asking if it would explode the next time he tried to use it.

 

Straightening up, Seifer glanced away. “My number's in there,” he informed, staring pointedly forward and not making eye contact.

 

“…” Squall didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he appreciated the indirect assurance that he had someone to call.

 

Seifer rubbed the back of his neck, already beginning to regret his actions. Clearing his throat, he muttered, “It's not like I'm offering you anything.”

 

“Hmn,” Squall intoned indifferently, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

 

“Look, last night never happened,” Seifer bit out in agitation. “If you're horny, call me. If you need to cry, lock yourself up in the bathroom.”

 

A small smile flitted across Squall's face. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly, concluding that he did indeed appreciate the ill-disguised kind gesture.

 

“For what?” Seifer groused, feigning ignorance for a night they would both forget or at least pretend never happened.

 

Squall looked over and stared into jade-green eyes. “For nothing,” he said with a wry smirk and false confidence.

 

Wanting to look away, Seifer couldn't take his attention off Leonhart. The fighter's brittle mask could not hide the pain in grey-blue eyes. Those eyes still gave him the distinct feeling that the brunet wanted him to do something, as though pleading for him to make it better. Unable to do anything more than he already had, he was annoyed by the strange sadness that lurked somewhere inside of him.

 

Breaking eye contact first, Squall turned away and reached for the handle to open the door.

 

“Wait,” Seifer called out.

 

Stilling abruptly, Squall started to look back. Without warning, a strong hand cupped the back of his neck and directed him closer. Fervent lips suddenly crushed his own. He was both startled and lost. Whether he opened his mouth willingly or an insistent ex-knight made a forced entry, a slick tongue was soon twined with his own.

 

Seifer sought to taste his rival one last time before they parted ways. He suspected they wouldn't be seeing each other for quite awhile, most likely not until after Bernhein's funeral. He did not delude himself into believing the brunet needed him. The comfort he had given had been a necessity of the moment and he firmly believed his number in the man's cell phone would not be utilized, though he couldn't deny he harbored the faint hope of receiving a call.

 

Swept away, Squall's mind became blissfully blank. Responding ardently, he kissed Seifer back hard. One hand reached out to grasp the arrogant man's shirt to gain better leverage as he drew closer. His other hand sought silky blond hair, relishing the soft feel while disturbing the well-groomed placement of each golden strand.

 

Groaning encouragingly, Seifer wound an arm around his rival's lithe torso and nearly pulled the man into his lap. Tongue battling in a rhythmic dance of passionate delight, he began to regret his initiating the kiss when his disposition did not allow for any final fulfillment. His regret did not last very long.

 

Carrying on for some time, it was a wonder either man was still fully clothed when they both so obviously wanted to become completely lost in the sensation. Simply tasting each other, neither man broke away for very long and only to catch a few quick panting breaths. Muffled groans filled the car and the air became heavy with lust.

 

Maneuvered into the ex-knight's lap, Squall straddled muscular thighs awkwardly in the confined space of the driver side seat. Hands cupping either side of the roguishly handsome swordsman's face, he sucked on the tongue that refused to finish exploring his mouth.

 

Seifer's hands gruffly kneaded the shapely flesh of the former commander's ass. If there were any justice in the world, then Hyne would see fit to banish all thoughts of Bernhein from Leonhart's mind for the next twenty minutes while he ravaged the man's body. Odiously, he longed to be buried inside his rival in the same manner as before. As painful as the experience might have been for his partner, his pleasure from it had been conversely equaled. The tight clamping heat that had surrounded his stiff organ was one reason he had found it so hard to apologize. He had found great pleasure in fucking Squall, so it was difficult to regret something that had felt so damn good.

 

Optimistically, Seifer's hands snuck beneath the hem of his rival's thin white t-shirt. Groping and squeezing toned flesh, his rough fingers greedily felt smooth skin as though it were a foreign treat. It was a wonder to him that Leonhart could have such creamy skin, but he supposed he was just used to the feel of his own tanned hide that was far from soft after years of exposure to the sun.

 

Squall leaned back, the blond following him so their mouths were not deprived of each other. He flinched in surprise when jolting pleasure coursed through him. Rough fingers were toying with his hardened nipples.

 

Seifer smirked into their kiss. Leonhart's reaction had been satisfactory considering he had barely touched the man. “You like that?” he whispered huskily, a hair's breadth between their slick lips.

 

Squall nodded numbly in response. Consumed with lust, seeking base pleasure was his only goal. His tongue darted out to lap at the ex-knight's lips. He was dissatisfied that they weren't kissing.

 

Chuckling darkly, Seifer reached a hand up and fisted lengthy brown hair before plundering his rival's mouth mercilessly. He had never felt so alive as when Leonhart melted against him and his blood heated to a nearly unbearable degree. His other hand remained in place against the lithe fighter's firm chest, and he brushed the man's pert nub once again. The result of his actions was a moaning simper from the submissive beauty in his lap.

 

Shivering convulsively, Squall felt the entire world fade away. His hips bucked forward, rubbing against the hard bulge poking him from beneath.

 

Breaking away, Seifer cast his head back and groaned as his stiff cock was rubbed against. Opening his eyes, he decided to give justice a little hand and take Leonhart regardless of the less than desirable circumstances. Taking hold of a delicate chin, his thumb pressed against a plump bottom lip. As he held the panting brunet's flushed face, a warm tongue licked his thumb lasciviously. Though his parting kiss had hardly been innocent, his intentions had not been to tear his rival's clothes off and have his wicked way with the man in the car. Eyes narrowing, Seifer accused, “You've tempted me.”

 

Squall didn't answer. He was entirely drunk. Lust had intoxicated his senses and he was a great deal more accepting of it than on previous occasions. Mimicking the blond's hold, he set a hand at the junction between ear and jaw. Involuntarily, his hips ground down again.

 

Jaw dropping as he let out a breathy groan, the hand Seifer had beneath Leonhart's shirt shot to the man's waist. Caressing lower, he groped his rival's enticing ass and aided in grinding their pelvises together repeatedly.

 

“Nnh,” Squall moaned encouragingly. Releasing the ex-knight's thumb, he sunk his teeth into his swollen bottom lip.

 

Surging forward, Seifer sought to top the brunet by flipping the man into the passenger seat where there was a bit more room. Sadly, he had not accounted for the steering wheel so narrowly distanced from the awkwardly posed swordsman.

 

Squall jumped at the sound of a blaring horn. Quite startled, his heart raced and the veil of lust quickly lifted.

 

“Shit,” Seifer cursed, arms still wound around the smaller man's form.

 

Needing little time to assess the situation, Squall hastily scrambled away. With the passenger side door half open before he even left the ex-knight's lap, he snatched his sweatshirt hastily and shrugged into it as soon as he was in the seat beside the blond. He wasn't sure if having an erection was going to make it easier or harder to face his family. He would certainly have something to distract him when answering everyone's questions.

 

Covering his face, Seifer groaned in frustration as he sunk back into his seat. It wasn't fair. There was no justice in the world.

 

Licking his lips, acutely aware of how kiss bruised they were, Squall regarded his companion dolefully. Leaning over, he clutched the blond's red dress shirt and kissed the man hard. Keeping it short, he broke away and muttered, “Sorry.” The guilt over his actions hadn't set in yet. Until his stomach turned to knots and his berating conscience declared him to be a deplorable person, he remained truly grateful for being given a few brief moments of relief. He had dreamt of Cale and not been spared a single moment of peace all night, but when the ex-knight had kissed him, his dark thoughts had scattered and all but disappeared indefinitely.

 

Jade-green eyes watched ruefully as the greatest cock-tease in existence left him with a raging hard on. Banging his head against the headrest several times, he then reached around the steering wheel and turned the ignition key.

 

 

TBC…

 

 

Author's note: Wow, I've never rewritten and discarded so much for a chapter. Every time I wrote something, I'd read it the next day and deem it completely unnecessary or disagreeable with mood of the chapter. 0_o it was getting a little frustrating. This was a rather sappy chapter, but some quality Seifer and Squall time that didn't involve fighting was overdue. You'll have to forgive the typos, general grammatical errors, and perhaps repetitive reference nouns. I didn't read over this chapter as many times as I would have liked. Again, I cannot give enough thanks for all the reviews. You guys really keep me going. Thank you so much. I hope you liked it.