Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 32 )

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Two

 

 

Seifer breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of his rival's hair. A lazy grin spread across his face as he was reminded of the sun. He had smelled Leonhart's bedding like a bloodhound and not known what the ensnaring scent had been, but he now likened it to how the sun gave laundry a very distinct fragrance. Finally able to place it, he felt a strange sense of victory for the insignificant accomplishment.

 

Opening his eyes, Seifer took another deep breath and sighed. His body was stiff. Though he wanted to stretch languidly, he didn't move a muscle. Leonhart was comfortably furled against him, tucked closely to his side while his pillowing arm kept any distance from forming between their bodies.

 

Reaching his free arm behind his head, he groped beneath the single pillow until he found his wristwatch. He was surprised it hadn't lodged itself between the mattress and the wall after the disturbance he and Leonhart had given the bed. Glancing at the watch face, he was surprised to see it was past nine o'clock. It was already fairly late in the morning and he had slept for less than four hours. He could feel it in his body. Four hours wasn't enough sleep, especially after his vigorous workout.

 

Content to lie in bed for another five hours or even five days, Seifer shifted about gingerly and settled in deeper beneath the blanket. He watched his rival, studying the attractive swordsman's sleeping face. He wanted to find a ruler and measure the length of dark lashes, he wanted to watch as the color of health was restored to pale skin, and he wanted to trace pout lips until his fingers knew the soft flesh as well as his own lips and tongue knew it.

 

He wondered if the brunet were dreaming and if he were playing any parts in it. It was strangely satisfying to think he might occupy Leonhart's sleeping thoughts. He had always enjoyed the limelight.

 

His plan to laze in bed was ruined when his cell phone began to ring. The sound seemed to intentionally disturb the peaceful silence. Fearing the noise might be enough to wake Leonhart, he cursed mentally before extracting himself with greater delicacy than a man his size was generally capable of. Standing slowly from the bed, he strode with quietly angry footsteps toward the stack of boxes his phone was set atop. Casting a furtive glance back to the sleeping brunet, he decided to take the call in the bathroom.

 

Once he closed the bathroom door, Seifer answered the phone. He groused, “What the fuck do you want?” He was seemingly unaware of the fact that he had no clothes on.

 

“I want my dad,” Lore stated hotly. “I know he's there, so put him on.”

 

“I don't recall having such a demanding son,” Seifer muttered disdainfully. He moved toward the mirror above the white pedestal sink. Grabbing the side of the mirror, he pulled it open on its hinges and revealed a neatly stocked cabinet.

 

“And I don't recall having such bastard as a sperm donor,” Lore shot back angrily.

 

Laughing dryly, Seifer just shook his head. “He's sleeping, kid. I'm not willing to wake him up, but you're welcome to come over and disturb what's probably the first decent sleep he's had in a long time.” He shuffled through various sundry items, from shaving cream and toothpaste to flavored condoms and aspirin. At length, he procured a single potion that had been lying on its side and hiding from view behind a row of bottles.

 

“Where do you live?” Lore asked. In retrospect, finding out where Seifer lived from the man himself was probably the most troublesome way to obtain the address.

 

Closing the cabinet with a gentle thud, Seifer glanced down at the potion in hand. He only had the one. Though he was tempted to down the tasteless contents of the corked vial, he didn't. “Glishter Avenue in the thirty-second district. It's one of the oldest damn buildings in this city, you can't miss it.”

 

“Is he really with you?” Lore questioned warily. He had actually received a straight answer. He couldn't trust a straight answer from someone who found sadistic amusement in stringing people along.

 

“Bring a couple potions with you,” Seifer instructed authoritatively. Inviting the kid over was asking for trouble, but he had come to the conclusion that Leonhart would probably try to kill him for his stunt. If the boy were nearby, he could rely upon Leonhart's sense of fatherly duty to not commit murder in front of the son.

 

With worry in his voice, Lore questioned, “Potions? What are the potions for?”

 

Running a hand over his face, Seifer stared at himself in the mirror for several long moments. The reflected image didn't look right. There was something off about it, something in his eyes that burned too brightly. Sighing, he hung his head and answered the worried brat on the other end of the phone. “He came to me last night,” he explained, wanting badly to flaunt the fact that he had passionate sex to the point of exhaustion. The kid would be outraged and the amusement would be worth the trouble. Instead, he heard himself lie. “We drove out to my training center and sparred until five in the morning. He couldn't walk straight by the time we were done, so he crashed here.”

 

“He's really sleeping?” Lore questioned doubtfully, not knowing what to believe and not knowing what to doubt. Resorting to a spar to relieve frustration seemed characteristic of his father, even when done in the middle of the night.

 

The chill of Seifer's nude state set in. He wanted to return to bed. He also wanted more time with his rival. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him how exhausted Leonhart was. The dark circles beneath the thick fringe of lashes on closed eyes obviously indicated that the swordsman needed more sleep. “He won't be if you show up, so hold off on your little rescue mission until this afternoon.”

 

Incredulous, Lore challenged, “Why should I?”

 

Grumbling his annoyance, Seifer pointed out, “So he can rest you half-wit.” Eyes widening, he bowed his head in shame. There were no personal benefits in buying Leonhart time to rest. That could only mean he was acting on the interests of someone else. Selfishness was his mode of operations, but his scrupulous behavior was beginning to border on selfless and caring. He felt diseased. Lust and attraction weren't the only inane feelings he felt towards Leonhart. Something else had burrowed inside him and taken root. He knew it needed to be cut out and the tainted parts of him cast aside before it became any worse. Leonhart must have known it too, because the former commander had resolved never to meet again. Logically, the only way to stop such unwanted emotions was to become isolated from the catalyst. Nonetheless, he could not force himself to take any action beyond wrapping up his conversation and returning to bed.

 

Lore was suddenly at an impasse. Believing in the ex-knight was too great a leap of faith that went against all common sense and his observations of past behavior. On the other hand, the scenario the arrogant man had described seemed feasible and meant his father was currently resting.

 

“Disturb him or don't, what the hell do I care?” Seifer hissed agitatedly.

 

“Have him call,” Lore interjected.

 

About to hang up, Seifer ground out, “What?”

 

Forced to make a quick decision, Lore didn't quite understand why his default position was to do as the ex-knight suggested. “When he wakes up, have him call me.”

 

“What's the magic word?” Seifer goaded, desperate to redeem his status as a ruthless jerk.

 

“Please,” Lore spat grudgingly.

 

Seifer chuckled, not quite satisfied by the amount of badgering he had achieved, but willing to take what he could.

 

“Asshole.”

 

Clucking his tongue, Seifer admonished, “Little boys shouldn't use such language. Did you pick that up from me or your saintly father?”

 

“Fuck off, you prick,” Lore hissed vehemently, choosing his words out of spite.

 

Chuckling darkly, Seifer hung up.

 

With prospects more alluring than analyzing his actions, Seifer set his phone down on top of the sink and left the bathroom. Returning to the comfort of his own bed, he found that his presence wasn't the least bit missed. Leonhart was sprawled across his former spot, none the wiser to his absence. Scoffing quietly, he slipped beneath the blanket and was immediately greeted by welcoming warmth.

 

After a small amount of coaxing, Seifer managed to reclaim his place and draw his rival against his chest. He was wide-awake. There was no valid reason for him to laze in bed. The strict heterosexual inside him pointed out that there was dried semen on the bedding and he could feel every inch of the sleeping swordsman's body. His weakness revealed itself when he decided not to think about how wrong it was. If he thought too much, he might persuade himself to break away from bed and person completely.

 

Seifer's breath hitched when Leonhart stirred. The androgynous creature inhaled a sharp and quiet breath before squirming about to burrow beneath the blanket. He shivered in response to the warm body that rubbed against his side.

 

When the brunet continued to shift like a languid animal unaware of anything around it, Seifer felt his sore manhood stir to life. His thoughts began to focus on how oblivious and vulnerable Leonhart was, entirely exposed and defenseless in his arms. It was laughable to think his rival placed such trust in him, but he supposed he hadn't given the exhausted fighter a chance to escape.

 

Not wanting to sport an erection for the next few hours, Seifer willed his insatiable libido to calm down.

 

--

 

Sitting on the edge of his father's vacant and cold bed, Lore lowered his cell phone after Seifer hung up on him. He wore his school uniform, khakis and a white dress shirt. His red and gold striped tie hung limply around the collar of his shirt, sadly untied without the helping hand of his father. Gritting his teeth, he contended with hotheaded impatience. He wanted things to be normal again.

 

Lore cast his phone aside and gave a heavy sigh. Gallantly charging to the ex-knight's apartment was a flawed course of action if the end result only disturbed his father. His chest hurt at the thought of his father turning to Seifer for comfort. Apparently, he wasn't enough. If it was comfort through fighting then he could understand why Seifer was better suited for the job, but he wasn't entirely convinced that was the case.

 

Striding in through the open bedroom door, Irvine approached his nephew. Fresh from a shower, long auburn hair hung damply. Dressed casually, he wore blue jeans and his violet dress shirt was not tucked in or buttoned all the way up. “Your aunts are visiting this afternoon,” he announced.

 

Lore looked up at his uncle. Deciding to miss another day of school, he grasped one end of his dangling tie and pulled the accessory off. “Who else besides Aunt Selphie is coming?” he questioned in a morbidly monotonous tone.

 

Taking a seat beside the raven haired youth, Irvine informed, “Your aunt Ellone and aunt Rinoa.”

 

Blue-green eyes widening, Lore remarked, “Since when have they been coming?”

 

Shrugging, Irvine stated, “Since they called five minutes ago and said they would arrive around one o'clock.”

 

Lore didn't know what motivated such a short notice visit. He supposed the news of Cale's death and his father's relationship with the man had spread throughout the grapevine. It still seemed a bit strange to him.

 

Adjusting the cuff of his shirt, Irvine admitted, “I might have let it slip to your aunt Selphie that Squall's been in a depressed rut.”

 

“It's natural isn't it?” Lore defended, knowing his father would hate the idea of everyone gathering to try and cheer him up.

 

Irvine ran a hand through his unbound hair, smoothing out a few tangles. “For most people it is normal. Your dad isn't most people and the circumstances are unique.”

 

Falling back against the soft mattress, Lore groaned. “Isn't there anything we can do besides wait?” he complained, his words were laced with anguished frustration.

 

“The best thing we can do is be as patient and understanding as we can,” Irvine advised solemnly. “Guilt is difficult to deal with, especially for an honor bound commander.”

 

“But he's not guilty of anything. He didn't pull the trigger,” Lore pointed out. Turning his head to the side, he looked at his uncle, seeing only the man's backside. The gunman's shoulders sagged heavily and he imagined there was a heavy weight pressing down on the man. He wasn't the only one feeling frustrated.

 

Empathetic to how the former commander felt, Irvine explained, “In his mind, he should have prevented anyone from pulling the trigger. Cale was a civilian, whereas your dad has had years of training and experience in handling those situations. We all make mistakes and your dad didn't think Luca was going to shoot.”

 

“No one can read minds,” Lore muttered. “He couldn't have known what was going through that crazy guy's head.”

 

Irvine glanced down at his nephew. “With the training he's had, he can read enough from expressions and postures to know whether someone intends to kill.” Rubbing a hand to the side of his cleanly shaven face, he reflected on the situation. “I know your frustrated. I am too, but we can't make him believe it wasn't his fault unless he sees it that way first. He'll come around when he finally realizes going over it in his head won't change what happened. He will be fine, he just needs time.”

 

“I just think we should be able to do something,” Lore said bitterly.

 

“We can,” Irvine assured. “We can be here for him, even if he doesn't know it.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Lore muttered contemptuously, “Yeah, well it doesn't seem fair that our job is to stay put while someone like Seifer makes things all better.”

 

Hanging his head, Irvine hunched forward with his arms propped on his knees. “He went to Seifer, didn't he?” he murmured in a tone that suggested he wanted to be refuted.

 

“Yeah,” Lore answered, knowing his uncle felt exactly as he did. “Seifer said they fought until Dad exhausted himself and now he's sleeping.”

 

Forcing a false smile, Irvine gently slapped his nephew's knee and declared, “That's good news.”

 

“How so?” Lore muttered wryly.

 

“It means he's trying to act out some pent up feelings and now he's resting.” Contrary to his projected feelings, Irvine felt a burning jealousy. His relationship with Squall was far from platonic, but his jealousy had nothing to do with the ex-knight's accusations of suppressed love or desire. He loved Squall strictly as a friend. There was nothing impure about his feelings towards the former commander. He was jealous that Seifer was the person his close friend ran to in times of distress. Knowing that Squall wasn't aware of the depth of concern he felt, he could not blame the emotionally stunted man. There was some sort of logic behind Seifer's source of relief for Squall, even if he couldn't understand it.

 

“Seifer said to let Dad rest,” Lore mumbled thoughtfully. “Strange, isn't it? I mean, it almost sounded like he was being considerate.” He was confused. Seifer Almasy had grated on his nerves the wrong way since the first time they met over a month ago. He couldn't fathom how his father hadn't killed the man after growing up together or why his father tolerated someone so irritatingly outspoken.

 

Pensively silent, Irvine let his eyes roam the richly furnished room. A cream colored carpet and maroon colored walls couldn't have made Squall feel at home. Warm colors didn't suit the so-called ice prince and he had a hard time imagining the brunet in such a bedroom.

 

“I'm worried about him. Do you think I should go over there?”

 

Not answering right away, Irvine thought about it carefully. “Squall's an adult. I'll call him in a bit to tell him about our guests, but I don't think we should interfere.”

 

Lore frowned, but nodded in acceptance.

 

--

 

Senses awakening, Squall listened while his drifting mind partitioned a part of his brain to wake up and determine whether he should continue sleeping or not. There were no sounds out of the ordinary, but a strange feeling of disillusionment drew him from his unconscious state. Sleepy eyes reluctantly opened, only to fall shut again in petulant demand for more sleep. Succumbing to his body's wishes, he chose to settle in and fall back asleep. He started to turn over, merely wanting to sink deeper beneath the blanket. He met with resistance. There was a solid mass against his back, the warmth of another body pressed close. He opened his eyes again, forcing them to stay open as he tried to sit up.

 

Filled with trepidation and disappointment, Seifer recognized that his peaceful time with Leonhart had finally come to an end. Loosening his hold, he let the swordsman escape.

 

Body aching, Squall winced as throbbing pangs of soreness radiated from his lower extremities. It wasn't unbearable, but he would seek a potion for it. Glancing around furtively in confusion, he was having difficulty waking up completely. Such uncooperative behavior from his lethargic body made it nearly impossible to focus his mind. Eventually he understood where he was, how he had gotten there, and why there was such acute discomfort in his buttocks. What he couldn't piece together was why it was so late and why he hadn't returned home.

 

Seifer watched intently, enraptured as the epicene fighter glanced around in confusion. Pretty grey-blue eyes looked on the verge of tears and he imagined it was because the vulnerable brunet was extremely flustered. He was moved to speak. “It's okay, Leonhart,” he assured. His greater sense of reason knew teary eyes were simply tired, but that explanation was hardly entertaining.

 

Startled, Squall's eyes widened and he looked to Seifer as though he had forgotten the ex-knight was even there.

 

Sitting up and meeting his rival evenly, Seifer informed, “That brat of yours called. He knew you were here-” Before he could finished explaining the situation, he found himself grappling to keep Leonhart from leaving. Considering the brunet could barely keep reddened eyes open, the man was surprisingly agile and quick to leap from bed at the mention of the dark haired boy.

 

“Seifer,” Squall hissed in a strained voice, the name grating in his throat as his vocal cords reminded him he had overdone it earlier.

 

“Settle down,” Seifer ordered, dragging his naked rival close. “He thinks you came for a fight.”

 

The ex-knight's words didn't seep in right away and it took Squall a moment before he stopped trying to break free. Going still, he met jade-green eyes and waited.

 

“I told him we sparred all night, so he thinks you're sleeping it off here.”

 

“…” Blinking burning eyes, Squall stared. At length he gave a single nod of understanding. It was a lie he wanted to believe. He imagined he had shown up at the ex-knight's door, Lionheart holstered at his hip. Phantasms of events that had never actually taken place filled his head and he saw his fight with Seifer. He could not be fooled though. Knowing the truth, his mind swam with factual images that were far more vivid. He envisioned his body joined with Seifer's in heated ecstasy as they fucked like animals in heat. Shameful as it was, he could still feel a lingering and throbbing heat in the pit of his stomach.

 

Seifer stared steadily into his rival's eyes, witness to the cogs moving. Pure, unadulterated emotion flashed in the depths of mesmerizing grey-blue orbs. As though he could relive the blissful moments of orgasm all over, his mind brought forth each instance he had buried himself deeply inside the fighter's lithe body and blindly climaxed.

 

“Stop,” Squall ordered.

 

A lewd smirk tugged Seifer's lips upwards. “Stop what?” he questioned innocently, continuing to stare at his rival with penetrating eyes.

 

Glaring icily, Squall muttered, “Stop violating me with your eyes.”

 

Seifer laughed richly, a deep rumble that came from his chest and lit his face with amusement. Reaching out, he set his hand on a pale shoulder, greedy fingers sliding intimately along until he cupped the back of a delicate neck. “Can you blame me?” he queried. Raking his eyes over the brunet's bared form, his smirk widened. “It's hard to ignore the evidence.”

 

Confused, Squall followed the ex-knight's line of sight. His chest held numerous marks, the skin rouged from being sucked on by the relentless blond swordsman. He knew his neck and collar were in worse states. If he concentrated, he could feel a faint throb of soreness along his neck, where Seifer had nipped and sucked hard enough to bruise.

 

Drawn like a bee to a pollinating flower, Seifer slid his fingers into tangled tresses. Gripping Leonhart's silky hair, he leaned in and kissed the bleary eyed man. A shiver of delight ran through him when his actions weren't met with resistance.

 

The more kisses they shared, the harder it became to reason against it. After losing count, what was one more?

 

Lips parting, Squall sighed. The notion of leaving slipped from his dazed mind as a slick tongue invaded his mouth.

 

Seifer delved deeper, sensing what his rival wanted. He swallowed a quiet simper and tightened his hold on tangled hair. Leonhart responded with tantalizing sounds when his tongue was practically down a slender throat.

 

Eyes shut tightly, Squall was sent reeling while the ex-knight consumed him. He felt weightless and didn't even notice that he was falling backwards until he landed against the soft bed with the firm weight of the larger man on top of him.

 

Just as Seifer set his hands on his rival's warm body, his cell phone rang in the distance. Cursing his lack of foresight in leaving the device on, he ignored the obnoxiously loud tune in the hopes that the caller would give up. Binding Leonhart's wrists, he pinned them above the brunet's head to affirm his domineering position. This minor subjugation stroked his ego and gave him a small thrill.

 

When the ringing persisted, Seifer growled a note of frustration before leaving luscious lips in order to determine who he would have to slaughter for calling.

 

Squall lay panting for a moment, his senses slowly returning. He wiped slick lips with the back of his hand and sat up. As quickly as the ex-knight had departed, the man returned. He cast a baleful glance up at the towering blond. Seifer had purposely foiled his plan to sneak home.

 

Scowling fiercely, Seifer grumbled, “He's awake.” He tossed his cell phone to the bed.

 

Blinking heavily, Squall groped for the cell phone among the amassed wrinkles in the bedding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ex-knight's walk away. Taking a deep breath, he raised the phone to his ear. “I'm here,” he informed, wincing at the sound of his voice.

 

“You sound awful,” Irvine's voice drawled smoothly.

 

Squall intoned a sound of agreement, “Hmn.”

 

“I won't ask if you were really up all night fighting, because I know whatever you were up to, it was something you needed.”

 

Scoffing mentally, Squall inwardly laughed at the idea of needing to have sex with Seifer for any reason. His will was weak, decaying steadily with each intoxicating kiss and rough caress. Sleeping with the ex-knight had been a mistake. The ludicrous sex agreement had only been an excuse for him to break down and forget about Cale through physical pleasure. There was still no guarantee that they wouldn't meet again or screw each other against the nearest wall with all of Esthar as witness. Now that the deal was completed and his excuses nonexistent, there was a terrible understanding that nothing would ever feel as good as their time in bed together.

 

Irvine cleared his throat. He was uncertain how to take Squall's silence. “The cavalry is on its way. I wanted to warn you so you had time to prepare.”

 

Brows furrowing, Squall scowled. “Who?” he questioned as trepidation filled him.

 

“Rinoa and Ellone are coming around one. My better half should be here any minute.”

 

Squall groaned as he lowered his head and covered his eyes with his free hand. “What do they know?” he inquired despondently.

 

“Not much,” Irvine assured. “They know you and Cale were friends. I think only Selphie knows you were dating.”

 

Squall stared at the dark brick color of the comforter, recognizing it better than the bedding in Laguna's home away from home. “I slept with Seifer,” he heard himself murmur without thinking. His eyes widened when the words replayed in his ears. “You know the truth because you know me. Lore probably knows too.”

 

There was a long pause, a heavy silence filling the vacant void between them. At length, Irvine replied, “Lore wants to believe you were sparring. He wants to believe in you, but you're making it hard for him. If you look him in the eye and explain that something is going on that you don't understand, he'd have a hell of a lot less to worry about than thinking you simply don't trust him enough to confide in him. I don't think he hates Seifer so much as he thinks he's supposed to hate him. It's not like he'd approve of anyone who wants to get in your pants, so why keep that asshole such a special secret?”

 

Running a hand through wayward hair, Squall smiled softly while no one could see. “You know me better than I do,” he whispered.

 

“On this alone,” Irvine agreed firmly.

 

With a greater sense of clarity, Squall decided to seek the gunman's advice instead of shouldering his confusion and guilt alone. “We'll talk later,” he said. Unexpected eagerness grew inside him. When he returned, he would explain everything concerning the sordid affair with Seifer. He had sought his friend's council in the beginning, but walked alone the moment he became ashamed of himself. It was foolish to think that lying would preserve the respect in their relationship.

 

“Much later if Rinoa and Ellone have anything to say about it,” Irvine warned.

 

“…” Squall was suddenly given reason to lie back down and never stray from the ex-knight's bed.

 

“I don't like your being with him, even for a moment. Please, come back sooner rather than later,” Irvine requested.

 

“One hour,” Squall replied succinctly.

 

“I'm setting my watch,” Irvine informed, chuckling to prove he was only half serious about the time constraint. “If you insist on feeling responsible for Cale's death, then please don't also think you need to be guilty for sleeping with some prick to forget about it. I would rather that you had gotten drunk off your ass, but sex numbs pain just as effectively.”

 

“…” Squall didn't respond.

 

“An hour then,” Irvine said in parting.

 

Lowering the cell phone, Squall ended the call and let the device fall to the bed. Head still bowed, he did not see Seifer standing nearby.

 

“Only an hour, huh? Doesn't that sound familiar?” Seifer commented in a clip tone. He recalled the last time he only had an hour left with Leonhart, but it was somehow far less exciting than it had been before. There was a sense of closure and encroaching ends. The strange feeling in his chest felt vaguely like fear, but he knew he couldn't be afraid of never seeing his rival again. Ten years ago he had gone to live in Fisherman's Horizon where pretty-boy swordsmen didn't exist.

 

Head snapping up, Squall glared icily. Though he wasn't in any position to argue, he defied the ex-knight to coerce him into screwing for the next hour. He didn't have time for games. He needed a shower and a potion to erase all evidence of their time together.

 

With an uncharacteristically solemn expression, Seifer gazed downward out of the slits of his eyes. Lips set in a stern frown, he reflected thoughtfully on how to spend his time. He needed to cut the ties between them cleanly, leaving no frayed ends to snag and unravel. At the same time, he wanted to take the pale fighter into his arms and sully that enticing body until hours turned into days.

 

“May I use your shower?” Squall requested quietly and with an undertone of estranged politeness. “And borrow a potion?” he added as an afterthought.

 

Continuing to stare, Seifer didn't respond immediately. “Borrow?” he eventually questioned with a sardonic quirk of his eyebrow.

 

Pout lips forming a faint frown, Squall gazed tensely and waited for some greater understanding to dawn on him. He couldn't read the emotions revealed in jade-green eyes. He didn't know what the blond was thinking.

 

“If you borrow something, that implies you'll return it,” Seifer lectured. “Does that mean you intend to see me again?”

 

“I didn't mean-”

 

Seifer cut the obstinately resistant man off. “No, you didn't mean anything, did you? None of this meant anything to you.”

 

Incredulous, Squall pointed out, “None of it meant anything to you either.”

 

“What if it did?” Seifer proposed without thinking. He stared searchingly into stormy blue eyes, his heart racing madly while he waited for some reaction.

 

Slow to comprehend the ex-knight's implication, Squall stared with an expression of concentration. When it finally sunk in, his lips parted in a silent gasp. Though no verbal response came to mind, he tried to speak. Failing to emit any sound, he stopped himself by clamping a hand over his mouth.

 

“Don't take it serious,” Seifer muttered. Turning away, he waved a hand dismissively. “You're too easy to mess with sometimes.”

 

Blushing faintly, Squall quickly dispelled the ludicrous notion that the ex-knight had been serious. The only possible meaning behind any of it for Seifer had been an ego boost. The man had indeed proven himself quite skilled at sex. He had lost count of how many times he had climaxed. There was no further redemption to strive for and certainly no plausible reason for his continued presence in the man's apartment.

 

Seifer slipped into a pair of boxers, casually keeping his back to Leonhart. “Go ahead and use the shower.”

 

Carefully standing, Squall walked with a slightly hunched posture. Moving past the scantily clad blond, he made his way to the bathroom, one staggered step at a time.

 

“There's a potion on the sink,” Seifer informed lamely, his eyes watching the slim fighter's nude form hungrily.

 

“Thanks,” Squall said before disappearing from sight.

 

Seifer stared after his rival for several long minutes, his mind in disarray. He couldn't make sense of his actions anymore. Running a hand through jutting blond hair, he smoothed the unruly strands back into a somewhat orderly placement.

 

Desperate for a distraction, Seifer started cleaning up. After setting his phone safely aside, he tore angrily at the dirtied bedding. In his lifetime, he had accumulated his fair share of wild nights, but he had never fucked someone so insatiably before. His appetite had never been so ravenous and he had long since crested his hormonal prime. It was disappointing to know that he could have both quality and quantity, but was unlikely to find it again.

 

Hearing the sound of pressurized water running, Seifer tamed his urge to barge in and screw his rival against the tiled wall of the shower. “I'm turning into a damn queer,” he grumbled under his breath, casting an accusing glare towards the closed bathroom door. He would have felt relieved if he were even remotely disgusted with what he had done.

 

Balling the sheets and blanket up tightly, Seifer carried to load to the stacked washer and drier in a small alcove only a short distance from the bathroom door. Dispensing detergent with a grudge, he tried to label the unwanted feelings that had taken root. Leaning against the running washer, he bowed his head and sighed. His relationship with Leonhart had never been simple, but it had never been quite so complicated either.

 

The sound of the shower running caused lewd images to form in Seifer's head. Picturing Leonhart wet and naked, he clenched his jaw and stalked forcibly away from the bathroom door. Wondering if Esthar's beam lifts emitted some sort of radiation that turned straight men gay, he cursed his unnatural attraction to the effeminate swordsman.

 

Spotting a lone pillow on his stripped bed, Seifer grabbed it and tore the case off. He didn't want any trace left, not even the faintest intoxicating scent of his rival's hair. Returning to the washer, he tossed the item in and let the lid slam shut loudly.

 

Still battling his urge to charge into the bathroom and make the most of the next hour, Seifer paced around stacked boxes while debating what to do. He had already had his fun and needed to leave well enough alone. He needed to control himself.

 

Angrily, Seifer dressed. Though he needed a shower, he wasn't going to stick around any longer. He would stay away until Leonhart left, and then he would sort his head out and forget the recent insanity in his life.

 

Having barely buttoned his jeans, Seifer was already shrugging into a red t-shirt he had hastily snatched from an unpacked box of clothes. Glancing around for his sneakers, he fell head first into the clutches of treacherous desire at the sight of Leonhart fresh from the shower.

 

Squall stood exiguously in a black towel, goose bumps forming on his arms as he shivered against the cool air. His hair was poorly dried and the lengthy strands dripped beads of cold water while clinging to his neck. His clothes were on the floor near Seifer's bed. He had worn them very briefly and was grateful to not have to return home wearing incriminating evidence.

 

Standing off as though about to spar, the two men simply stared at each other.

 

After several tense moments, Squall gestured towards his clothing before moving closer.

 

Swallowing thickly, Seifer commented, “That was a quick shower.” He stared hungrily at his rival's unmarked torso. All his hard work had been erased. As heat gathered in his throbbing groin, he accused the oblivious brunet of intentionally presenting him with a clean canvas. Pale skin was begging to be marked again, to be touched and defiled by his hands.

 

Squall knelt to pick his strewn clothing up. Wary of the ex-knight's intentions when he could feel the heat of green eyes at his back, he glanced sidelong over his shoulder. “Do we have an understanding?” he questioned as he stood up slowly. Clutching his clothes to his chest and forcing himself not to shiver after taking an icy shower, he turned to face the blond and waited for an answer. Accidental run-ins aside, he would do his part to avoid the ex-knight at all costs and expected the same in return.

 

Standing tall, Seifer moved closer with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He stared at the intrepid fighter and silently challenged the man to back away. True to his rival's nature, Leonhart remained in place unflinchingly. He wanted to laugh at how such steadfast tendencies only enticed him more and worked in his favor.

 

Bowed lips forming a straight line, Squall feigned calm indifference. Inside, his heart was in his throat, beating so loudly he feared it gave him away. When a warm hand reached out to cup his cheek, he turned his head away in blatant rejection.

 

Seifer was not deterred. Hand hovering for a moment, he lowered it to caress along a pale neck. His eyes widened in shock. “Shit, you're freezing,” he hissed. Setting a firmer hold on the former commander, his other hand found placement on a thin shoulder.

 

Shrugging his shoulder away, Squall finally caved. Stepping back, he escaped the advancing blond and refused further contact. Whatever they had been, they were over.

 

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Seifer swiftly followed the retreating brunet. “Hold it,” he said, managing to grab a bony wrist and stop the elusive man's escape.

 

Jerking his hand away, Squall bit out, “Don't touch me.” He tried to project a certain level of collected calmness, but he was far from calm. The ex-knight's touch was searing. Heat spread from his neck and shoulder, and his wrist practically burned from the man's hold.

 

“This building is old, but it isn't that old,” Seifer said offhandedly. Refusing to release Leonhart's delicate wrist, he roughly yanked the swordsman close. Wet hair that almost looked black was freezing against his neck. “My shower has hot water. Why the hell do you feel like you went skinny dipping in Trabian seas?”

 

Dropping his clothes, Squall used his free arm to force some distance between their bodies. “Let go,” he ordered.

 

“Trust me, I would if I knew how,” Seifer said. Pulling his rival close again, he felt the chill emitting from the man's lithe body. “For both our sakes, I wish I could.”

 

About to protest one last time before throwing a punch, Squall's retaliation was smothered. Warm arms wrapped around his shivering frame and a hungry mouth found his. Hands clutching the ex-knight's t-shirt, he turned away and remonstrated, “Seifer, that's enough.”

 

Stepping forward, Seifer forced an unbalanced fighter to use him as support. “Don't kid yourself,” he hissed against the brunet's ear. Sliding a hand down, he pushed the towel away from slender hips and let the makeshift garment fall to the floor. “This started because I was jealous. But we both know that was just an excuse. There needed to be an excuse, but I can't think of a single one right now.”

 

“I need to get home,” Squall asserted. His fingers dug into broad shoulders as he kept a steadying hold and warred with the rampant desire to kiss the bastard blond. “This needs to end.”

 

“I agree,” Seifer murmured. Taking another step, he felt the brunet step back in tandem, moving willingly as he dictated. Smirking, he continued to direct Leonhart blindly backwards. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you provoked me.”

 

Squall shook his head. He hadn't provoked the man.

 

“Ever have sex in a shower?” Seifer questioned suggestively. Reaching the bathroom, he attacked plush lips. Successfully drawing his rival into the kiss, he counted it as a victory despite knowing the loss of control was yet another failure to douse his attraction.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's note: ^_^ super long time to wait again. I swear I haven't given up on this or anything like that, I just find myself with less time to write. This is still my main focus though and I will finish it. I hate unfinished stories that are posted but haven't been updated in like two years. This chapter was actually much longer, but I didn't like the last six pages of it, so I chopped it off to be reworked and realized I didn't want to postpone an update any longer. Well, that means the next chapter is already in the works, so the next update will be soon. And just a small warning for anyone who prefers Rinoa bashing in Seifer/Squall fics, as much as I dislike Rinoa in the game, I won't be making her out to be some witch.

 

Thank you all for your reviews, I love hearing what you think about the story, the good and the bad. (I'm shooting to have an update before next Tuesday.)