Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 36 )

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

Preparing dinner, Squall stood in front of the counter beside the stove, slicing a red pepper with an experienced hand. He paused abruptly, his hand stilling in mid air, the knife's edge hovering without a set destination. His mind filled with thoughts of his latest encounter with Seifer.

 

At the kitchen's dining table, Lore sat in a chair, one leg folded beneath him as he pored over his homework for the night. He was relieved to be caught up with all the schoolwork he had missed following Cale's death, but with less than two weeks before the end of his sophomore year, there was no reprieve from looming final exams.

 

Despite being engrossed in an annoyingly complicated trig problem, Lore still caught the lack of his father's movement out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't particularly interested in what his father was doing, although enticing smells filled the air, but there was a comfort in absently hearing the self-assured man move about the kitchen. The lack of noise and movement was what distracted him from his work, so he glanced over.

 

Finding his father stationed as though frozen in a single instance, Lore frowned. “Dad?” he called, wondering at the man's vacant expression.

 

Stirring from his thoughts, Squall's hand automatically set the knife down on the chopping board. Glancing sidelong at his son, he intoned a quiet note of question. “Hm?”

 

Brows furrowing for a moment, Lore shook his head. “Nothing, you just seemed lost for a minute.”

 

Giving a small shrug of dismissal, Squall simply said, “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

 

Lore hesitantly returned to his homework, casting concerned glances towards the other end of the kitchen every so often.

 

--

 

Seifer absently ran an index finger along his bottom lip, his eyes scanning the lines of text he had written. He was working on a speech he would be giving that coming Friday, when he opened his training center. It was a tedious affair, but he couldn't shun the business side of his venture when his business had yet to prove profitable. He needed to make a good impression, which meant reminding his investors how charming he was.

 

As he lifted a pen to mark his work, Seifer realized what his other hand was doing to his lip. Ceasing the movement, he stared accusatorially at the fingers of his left hand. The feel of Leonhart's lips was not easily forgotten and even when he forced the brunet's face from his mind, the sensation and taste lingered hauntingly.

 

Balling his fist, he lowered his hand slowly. He forced his thoughts back to his speech, knowing any further reflection on his day's encounter with the elusive swordsman would wear down what little patience he had left.

 

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Seifer gave a gruff sigh. His phone rang, vibrating along the coffee table in turn with the ringing. Just as another series of rings began, he snatched the device up and answered the call.

 

“Yeah?” he bit out without checking the caller ID.

 

“Hey man!” Raijin greeted enthusiastically. “I can't tell right from left in this city. If I'm by the shiny metal building shaped like a giant sphere, how do I get to your place?”

 

Chuckling at the sound of his friend's flustered voice, Seifer sank back against the couch. “You're close. If that building is on your right, go the next intersection.”

 

There was a short pause before Raijin spoke again. “Okay, which lane?”

 

“Keep going straight,” Seifer instructed.

 

“I knew we had the right street,” Raijin declared victoriously. A moment later, he intoned an injured grunt of pain.

 

Seifer quirked a single blond eyebrow and wondered at Fujin's infliction of pain on Raijin.

 

“Where to next?” Raijin asked dejectedly.

 

“Keep straight for another three blocks. You'll recognize my building from what I told you.”

 

“Okay, we'll be there in like a few minutes, ya know.”

 

 

--

 

 

Lore closed his math textbook, glad to be done with numbers for the night. With mouthwatering scents in the air, he knew dinner was almost ready. As he hastened to clear his spread of work from the table, he noticed his father standing still once again.

 

Growing concerned at the continued absentmindedness his father displayed, Lore shoved his textbooks and notebooks into his backpack, and set the bag on the floor beside his chair. Standing up, he said, “Dad, what's wrong?”

 

Staring vacantly at the sautéing vegetables in a wok on the stove, Squall neglected to add the already cooked strips of chicken at the right time. While he remained oblivious to the world around him, his mind was centered Seifer and what it would be like to date the insufferable man.

 

Approaching his father, Lore said louder than before, “Dad, what's wrong?”

 

Squall started in surprise, turning quickly to face his son. “Sorry, what?”

 

“What's wrong?” Lore pressed. His brows were knit in a concerned expression and his eyes studied the former commander with stubborn resolve to help in some way.

 

Squall knew all of his son's expressions well. The boy sensed an underlying cause for his air-headed distraction and would not rest until he gave a suitable explanation.

 

“Did something happen during the spar?” Lore inquired intuitively. He only knew the finer details of the spar. He was sore to have missed it, but there was no excitement in simply hearing what had happened, so he had been satisfied with the knowledge that the arrogant knight had lost.

 

Once again aware of his surroundings, Squall tore his attention from the concerned youth and hastily added the meat to the stir-fry. Tossing the contents together with a wooden spoon, he saved the vegetables from withering to mush and the chicken from having too little time to heat through again.

 

After adjusting the heat beneath the wok, he regarded his son and attempted to explain his peculiar behavior. His candor would not be appreciated if his explanation were simply that he couldn't stop thinking about Seifer. “After the spar,” he began slowly, taking his time to produce the right words, “Seifer said some things that have been on my mind.”

 

“What things?” Lore pressed, unable to let the matter rest with such a vague answer.

 

Squall stared into expectant blue-green eyes and waited for the right words to come to him again. When none came, he tried to force an explanation out. The result of his forced explanation was a sad attempt to sugar coat what the ex-knight wanted from him. “He wanted to arrange a meeting, some time together this Friday.”

 

Lore opened his mouth to question what his father meant, but his mind connected the dots before he could make a sound. Eyes going wide, he exclaimed dubiously, “He asked you out!?”

 

Squall fought the urge to cringe. “In a manner of speaking,” he confirmed.

 

“As in a date?” Lore intoned, his temper bordering on outrage.

 

 

--

 

 

“A date!?” Raijin intoned incredulously. He dabbed a napkin at his mouth, having just sputtered his drink over his lips.

 

Seifer laughed without restraint, his voice rich and deep. Raijin and Fujin had arrived at his apartment safely and were now seated beside each other on a three-seat couch in the living room of his recently leased apartment. The expecting couple would remain with him through the weekend. They were there to attend the grand opening of his training center, and to catch up after more than a month apart.

 

“That's not funny,” Raijin muttered, wiping the front of his shirt with the same napkin. “I mean, sometimes I don't get your sense of humor, ya know?”

 

“Raijin,” Seifer began after his laughter died off, “it's only funny because it's true.” This caught both his friends' attention. It was more difficult admitting his feelings to those he knew than it would have been to complete strangers. Telling his friends as soon as they settled in was the only way to give them enough time to adjust to the bizarre and unexplored change of events in his life, time enough to not gawk at him during the opening ceremony when his hands would undoubtedly stray to grope his date's body.

 

“Explain,” Fujin commanded tersely. Seated next to her husband, her hand unconsciously rubbed along her swollen belly.

 

Seifer scratched his chin and glanced from one face to the next. “It's a long story,” he warned.

 

“It's still early where we came from, ya know?” Raijin said, giving the go ahead. He stared curiously at the unusually solemn swordsman.

 

Clearing his throat, Seifer launched into a very brief version of what had happened since his move to Esthar. “Do you remember how I was pissed about Leonhart dating some college professor and not even giving me a second glance?”

 

Raijin gave a small nod, recalling the insanity that had last visited him in Fisherman's Horizon. He had thought it all a simple matter of Seifer's bruised ego needing a little time to heal.

 

Seifer informed, “I tried seducing Leonhart, just to prove I could.”

 

Scoffing in disbelief, Raijin chortled as various images formed in his head of Seifer putting the moves on the ice prince from Balamb. It was a culmination of awkward endings.

 

Growing less modest about his recent dalliances with Leonhart, Seifer straightened in his armchair and grinned as though seducing the frigid ice prince was something to boast about. “As it turns out, it didn't take much to get him hot and bothered for me. The real issue is that it didn't take much for me either.”

 

There was a bout of silence. Finally, Raijin spoke when it became apparent the ex-knight wasn't joking. “Are you serious?” he remarked with a cringe. “You slept with him? Like even though he's a guy, ya know?”

 

Seifer shook his head and continued to grin. “He's the best fucking lay I've ever had,” he admitted bluntly. “I can't explain how it happened. Maybe it was always there.”

 

Eyes wide, Raijin tried to absorb what the ex-knight was saying. “What was always there?”

 

“The attraction,” Seifer asserted, inching forward in his chair and regarding his friends squarely. “At first, I tried kissing him to make a point, but I couldn't stop.”

 

“Oh Hyne,” Raijin muttered. A dull throb in his head told him he was thinking too hard.

 

Sighing, Seifer took a moment to reflect on what he had just told his friend. “I can't explain it,” he added with a shake of his head. “It's absolutely insane, but he's fucking amazing in bed.” He was disinclined to admit that sex was no longer the only reason he pursued his rival. Still, he hadn't explained why he was going on a date with Leonhart, if in fact such a thing could be explained.

 

“This is Leonhart you're talking about, ya know?” Raijin commented.

 

“I'm not saying I'm in love with the guy. He's still cold as ice, but I think you two can agree that his attitude towards me is largely the result of what I do to him. He's a hell of a lot warmer than he lets on.” Taking a pause, Seifer added, “I set myself up for a fall. I got hooked.”

 

“Hooked?” Raijin reiterated incredulously. If not for the faintly painful pounding in his head and continued throbbing of the shoulder his wife had punched earlier, he would have thought himself to be asleep at that moment.

 

“I can't sleep with anyone else,” Seifer explained. “I've tried.” A thoughtful expression came to his face. “There are things about him, things I never really noticed until I noticed that they weren't things anyone else had.” Inwardly cringing at how he sounded, he tried to rephrase his nonsensical ranting. “I tried hooking up with some high class women, but each of them was always missing something that Leonhart had.”

 

“That's why some guys have to settle, ya know?” Raijin advised. He hastily tagged on, “Not that I ever had to settle, but a lot of people do.”

 

“That's what I thought too,” Seifer agreed wholeheartedly. He had tried to overlook the flaws he had found in potential female bedmates, since it had felt like his own sullen nitpicking, but he had discovered the pathetic reality of what happened when he tried sleeping with someone who wasn't Leonhart.

 

“So what's this business about dating Leonhart?” Raijin inquired. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught his wife's agreeing nod.

 

Heaving a heavy sigh, Seifer stared into his burly friend's dark brown eyes. Glancing to Fujin, he caught her crimson eye and held it for a long moment. “I'm telling you this in confidence. Esthar would make a fugitive out of me if word spread that I was banging the president's golden son.”

 

“Just another reason why all of this makes so much sense,” Raijin muttered sarcastically. “If anyone likes to brag, it's you my friend.”

 

“Yeah, well I know when not to run my mouth off,” Seifer defended.

 

“We got it, ya know? You're nailing someone a lot of people would come after you for.” Raijin glanced to his wife. “It's not like we would want to run around telling anyone about this anyway, ya know?”

 

Seifer's eyes darted surreptitiously around the room, as though he feared being overheard. “The reason I can't settle is because the last time I tried, I couldn't.”

 

Raijin's face expressed complete confusion. “You wanna like expand on that a little?”

 

Fujin set her hand on her husband's knee and gently squeezed. She shook her head in gesture for him not to make the blond swordsman clarify his words.

 

After several lost moments, Raijin realized his blond buddy was referring to impotency. He bristled uncomfortably, not knowing what to make of his heterosexual friend's confession.

 

Spotting an opportunity to make a sport out of his confessional instead of being made sport of, Seifer elaborated to an unnecessary degree. “I still find women attractive, but Leonhart is in a whole different class. The way he smells is always ridiculously good. No one else smells like he does.” Seeing his strictly heterosexual pal blanch at his words, he remarked, “You would think his skin was rough and mottled from fighting, but it's so smooth and soft.” When Raijin appeared near an apoplectic attack, he finished, “Nothing compares to how tight his pert little ass-”

 

“Enough!” Fujin barked. She held her hand up in a pleading gesture for Seifer to stop explaining. She was on the brink of going into early labor.

 

“In a lot of ways, this would be a totally funny joke, ya know?” Raijin commented. “But, you're a little too convincing man, so it's like just creepy.”

 

“Creepy,” Seifer snipped. His eyes narrowed and he stood from his seat abruptly. “There's nothing creepy about it. I assumed I could talk to you guys about this.”

 

Raijin stared into the jade-green eyes of his blond buddy. “You're seriously serious?” he murmured, at a complete loss. Glancing to his side, he shared a confused and uncertain look with his wife.

 

--

 

“Are you serious?” Lore intoned with continued disbelief. Turning from his father, he stalked away several steps before rearing back around and declaring, “I knew it. I knew something like this would happen.”

 

“What?” Squall questioned, growing rather confused himself.

 

“You,” Lore said with an ebullient wave of his hand.

 

Squall simply frowned and waited for enlightenment.

 

“You're you, and can't help it, but it's like one of those things where if a person tries it then they have to buy it because they suddenly realize what they've been missing even though they don't deserve to make any purchases.”

 

At this point, Squall began to wonder if he had made a mistake in telling his son. The boy was more upset than he had anticipated, spouting complete nonsense.

 

“Are you going?” Lore asked. If his father was so hung up on the matter, it could only mean the man was giving it some serious consideration.

 

“I don't know,” Squall admitted. After a moment, he corrected, “Probably.” He was more than likely to accept a date with Seifer. After leaving the training center, his anger and outrage had subsided, leaving him with an even tempered rationale.

 

“I thought you weren't seeing him anymore,” Lore said. “I was surprised you sparred with him today.”

 

“I haven't set the best example for you,” Squall confessed. “Writing a person off like I did to Seifer is wrong, no matter what he did or said. Working the issues out is how an adult handles things.”

 

“That guy's way of handling things involves sex,” Lore grumbled.

 

“Lore,” Squall said in a scolding tone.

 

Scowling, Lore grudgingly mumbled, “Sorry, that was crass.”

 

“Seifer's intentions may not be pure, but they aren't sinister.”

 

Groaning in frustration, Lore locked eyes with his father. “Hyne, what I wouldn't give to be having this argument about Cale,” he said in a moment of carelessness. Eyes widening, he immediately wished he could retract his words.

 

Squall hid his hurt. “You and me both,” he murmured quietly.

 

“Dad, I didn't mean it like that.”

 

“The lesser evil, I get it,” Squall assured.

 

Lore remonstrated, “I know it sounds hypocritical, but when I said it's okay to be with someone I don't like, I was hoping you would end up ignoring Seifer for the rest of your life.”

 

Squall nodded in understanding. “I enjoy sparring with him,” he reminded.

 

Seeing a window of opportunity to haggle his father's relationship with Seifer down a notch, Lore declared, “Sparring partners is something I can live with.”

 

Squall expressed his truest feelings on the matter. “I'd like to explore what else there might be.” He wasn't looking for a committed relationship. He wanted to join Seifer on Friday because his fear and denial had been replaced by curiosity.

 

“You mean, you want to go on a date,” Lore surmised with a morose demeanor.

 

“Yes,” Squall confirmed.

 

“If I were any less hungry, I'd be going to bed early,” Lore grumbled as he turned away and stalked towards the table.

 

Squall watched his son for a moment before turning his attention to the sizzling stir-fry. Adding soy sauce to the mix, he continued to fuss over the meal with slouched shoulders. Without warning, he was assaulted from behind by a glomping teen.

 

“Just to be clear,” Lore said as he hugged his father, “I'll love you no matter what.”

 

Squall patted the boy's hands. “Same here,” he returned.

 

Slipping away, Lore returned to his sullen state. “This isn't over. It's only Monday. I have until Friday to talk you out of this.”

 

 

--

 

 

Dressed sharply in a pair of slate grey slacks and untucked wine red dress shirt, Seifer knocked on Leonhart's apartment door. He had barely managed to wait until noon.

 

Squall answered the door, his expression seeming strained for the simple action. He stood for a moment, staring at the face of the man he simultaneously wanted to strike and kiss.

 

Seifer met unreadable grey-blue eyes and longed to know what the brunet was thinking. Raking his eyes up and down Leonhart's form, he saw his rival casually dressed in blue jeans and baggy grey hoodie. Though the man's neck was visible, the enticing hollow and collar line were covered from his lusting view.

 

From within the apartment the stove's timer went off, drawing Squall's attention away from his roguishly handsome visitor. Stepping back, he turned and walked off towards the kitchen, leaving Seifer unattended and with no invitation inside.

 

Seifer sighed as he stepped inside Leonhart's humble abode. His eyes involuntarily ogled the brunet's pert rear end, which was another feature of the former commander's physique that peaked his carnal interest. Sadly, the oversized hoodie and loose waist of the jeans left most of the sightseeing up to his well-informed imagination. As he followed his rival, he wondered if the stubborn swordsman had purposely worn such concealing clothes.

 

Sniffing the air as he was assaulted with a variety of pleasant scents, Seifer tried to guess what wafted in from the kitchen. He followed Leonhart with aroused curiosity.

 

In the kitchen, Squall stopped the timer and killed the heat beneath a pan of roasting walnuts. Lore's soccer match had been rescheduled for that afternoon. For reasons he suspected had to do with attaining more of his time and devotion, he had become the host of a prospective victory party for Lore and some of the teen's friends on the team. Since a party needed food, he had spent the morning in the kitchen, dreading what the ex-knight would make of his baking exploits upon arriving. Though he was loath to stoop to any indirect method of redemption, he hoped to reclaim some good grace with Lore for his efforts. He had decided to concede to Seifer's request and go out on a date with the ex-knight, and his son knew of this decision.

 

When Seifer entered Leonhart's kitchen, his steps faltered as soon as he caught sight of the mounds of baked goods on the table. The room was at least ten degrees warmer than the rest of the apartment and he suspected that heat had poured from the oven all morning.

 

Chuckling darkly, Seifer glanced around with delighted mischief in his eyes.

 

While Squall shuffled the walnuts on the skillet, he rolled his eyes. Even with his back to the ex-knight, he knew what expression the man wore.

 

Seifer's mind quickly concluded that Leonhart's clothes were indeed meant to ward him off and deter any miscreant behavior. In a room so warm, no one would have willingly donned such heavy clothing.

 

“What?” Squall prompted when no verbal comment came from the blond. He didn't bother turning around.

 

With a grin in place, Seifer muttered, “It's nothing. I just don't envy you is all.”

 

Squall stiffened. Setting the pan back down with a clatter, he turned around and leveled the amused blond with a stern gaze. “This is who I am,” he declared defiantly. “I'm a father.”

 

“So I've noticed,” Seifer commented diffidently, unable to read where the brunet was coming from.

 

Crossing his arms, Squall said, “I'll go out with you on Friday.” At the sight of Seifer's knowing smile, he added, “I assume you anticipated my answer.”

 

“I had high hopes,” Seifer corrected. “I don't boast to know much of anything that goes through your head.”

 

Chin lifted defiantly, Squall stared for a long moment into jade-green eyes. “I don't trust you,” he stated, his gaze bordering on a glare. “I don't know what you're after. It was just sex at first, some way for you to prove yourself. I don't trust your motives, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I'll warn you now that if you compromise my relationship with my son, then I'm through with you.” He took a deep breath after speaking, finding the action more taxing than most. There was a lot he wanted to say.

 

Seifer wasn't sure how Leonhart had managed to ruin his pleasure in wrangling a date. He frowned while standing under the stern gaze of steely blue eyes. “I'd be the first to admit that my motives in the past haven't always been pure, but what exactly are you doubting?”

 

Squall's expression became one of wry humor. “What could I possibly doubt when you ask me out?” he muttered sarcastically.

 

Laughing, Seifer nodded in agreement. Moving across the kitchen, he approached the brunet slowly. “You do have a point,” he said after his amusement subsided. “There's nothing I can do about not having your trust, but I'll have it one of these days.”

 

Pressing back against the counter's edge, Squall stared searchingly into bright green eyes. “Lore doesn't like you,” he reminded. Letting his gaze fall, he looked thoughtfully towards the floor. “For anything beyond this Friday, he has to approve. I won't date someone my son hates.”

 

Stilling his approach, Seifer felt as though an invisible wall had instantly been erected between him and the object of his desires. Clearing his throat, he questioned, “Does your kid run your life?”

 

Squall gazed at the blond with steadfast eyes. “Lore is my life,” he murmured quietly.

 

As he fought the urge to take a step back, Seifer was reminded of the baggage his rival came with. If he were capable of turning his attention to someone else, someone less complicated and not male, then he would have. He wasn't capable though. He wanted Leonhart, no matter the cost. Making nice with the kid would be a small price to pay for taking Leonhart home at night.

 

Remaining complacently still, Squall didn't move when the ex-knight sauntered closer. Head tilted back, he gazed up at the tall blond and waited for the man's response.

 

“I read you loud and clear,” Seifer assured. Towering over the brunet, he set his hands on either side of slim hips and leaned down. He captured bowed lips, brashly claiming them without permission. Sliding a knee between Leonhart's legs, he pressed closer.

 

Growing excited, Squall's loins began to throb at the feel of the blond's thigh brushing between his legs. A foreign tongue invaded his mouth, smoothly gliding against his own in gyrating tandem. He had never been particularly partial to kissing, especially the physically disappointing pecks of greeting and parting. Kissing Seifer was like having sex. It was nearly as satisfying, though perhaps not quite as fulfilling. The exchange was hot and wet, and made his entire body convulse with blind pleasure and abandonment.

 

When the brunet shivered, Seifer asked, “What do you feel?”

 

“Hm?” Squall intoned softly. Strangely, his mind wasn't entirely blank. His body vibrated pleasantly and his thoughts weren't exactly sharp, but he felt unusually lucid compared to the blithering mess he usually became when kissing Seifer.

 

Kissing Leonhart harder, Seifer wrapped his arms around the reciprocating creature's lithe body. Slipping his tongue deeper, he gave credence to the term `tonsil hockey.'

 

Melting against the ex-knight, Squall quickly realized the blond's touch held the same affect as usual. His thoughts scattered, fleeing to the far reaches of his mind as his handsome partner filled his head, not to mention his mouth.

 

Seifer could feel every hitch of breath and subtle shiver. With such delicious responses from his rival, he felt an unreasonable desire to know why Leonhart reacted so sensitively. “What do you feel?”

 

Though he had no intention of answering, Squall was pressed to reply when Seifer squeezed him tightly and denied him a kiss. “Hot,” he answered shortly, unable to conceive a more articulate response for how he felt whenever Seifer touched him. He squirmed within a tight embrace and strained higher, successfully capturing the ex-knight's parted lips.

 

As a tremor coursed through his body, Seifer imagined he knew exactly how Leonhart felt. There was something unnerving about how perfectly his rival molded against his chest and fit inside his encompassing arms. Their bodies fit together with seamless comfort.

 

After thoroughly ravishing the brunet, Seifer broke away with a slick lipped grin. “You taste like chocolate,” he commented. Casting a covert glance towards the table at the other end of the kitchen, he observed an array of dishes. “And cherries,” he added.

 

“What's all this baking for?” Seifer inquired. Not ready to feel any distance form between them just yet, he dipped his head low and nudged until he received access to Leonhart's neck. Brushing his lips across smooth skin, he silently inhaled a deep breath and savored his rival's scent. It was entirely sweet, as though sugar hung in the air and clung to the baker's skin after hours of exposure.

 

Head falling to his shoulder, Squall exposed his neckline as best he could, baring it to the blond's lustful administrations. Gasping quietly when the ex-knight yanked aside the shrouding collar of his bulky hoodie, he felt his knees go weak when feverish lips were at the hollow of his throat. “My son,” he managed to answer, scarcely able to form the words.

 

Seifer grumbled a deep note of acknowledgment, his manner between understanding and disapproval. If Leonhart could retain thoughts of the kid at such a moment, then that wall he had felt erected between them was going to be harder to knock down than he had originally anticipated. The brat whose hereditary makeup resembled his own could prove a formidable opponent in vie for Leonhart's affections.

 

A blur of grey material obscured Squall's vision for a moment, and then his hoodie lay in a heap on the floor. The ex-knight seemed intent on doing more than just kissing, and he could think of no reason to protest.

 

Seifer reached over towards the stovetop and turned the dial for the oven off. “It's been too long,” he said, his tone deep with longing.

 

Nodding faintly, Squall silently agreed. Despite having reservations over dating the ex-knight, the green light for sex was undoubtedly a reason to admit his own denial and move past it. He reached out and grasped the dress shirt that kept the ex-knight's enviously sculpted body from view. Nimble fingers hastily began to unbutton Seifer's shirt. Every inch of tanned flesh exposed excited his own arousal.

 

Speeding up the undressing process, Seifer pulled his shirt overhead. Casting the unnecessary garment aside, he turned his attention to his rival's regrettably covered body.

 

“The bedroom,” Squall directed. He slipped from between the counter and Seifer, evading grasping hands that were likely to tease him until he relented to simply fornicate on the kitchen floor.

 

Close to follow, Seifer stopped abruptly in the kitchen's entryway. “Which one?” he questioned.

 

Already half way across the living room, Squall glanced back at the topless blond with abs of steel and seriously considered jumping the man where he stood. Swallowing thickly, he replied, “What?”

 

“Which bedroom?” Seifer rephrased.

 

“End of the hall,” Squall answered, not knowing what the blond was really asking.

 

With a shake of his head, Seifer stalked closer. “No.” Taking hold of the brunet, he led the man to the hallway leading off the spacious living room.

 

“Seifer,” Squall raised in protest as he tugged his hand away.

 

Turning around swiftly, Seifer pressed Leonhart against the wall and silenced the man with a kiss. He had secured a date for that Friday, and had suddenly grown rather greedy. Venturing to have sex after their bellicose encounter the previous day already seemed to push the envelope, but he wanted to push even more and demand a place in Leonhart's bed.

 

Squall ran his fingers over the sun-kissed skin of Seifer's bare chest. “What are you after?” he inquired quietly, his voice coaxing in its softness.

 

“When I figure that out, I'll let you know,” Seifer assured. Sealing the brunet's plush lips, he kept them from making further inquiry into his intentions. With his arms firmly wrapped around his rival's body, he slowly moved towards the first doorway on the right.

 

Pushing back, Squall forced his way out of muscular arms. Sending a clear message, he made his way farther down the hall while pulling his t-shirt overhead and letting it dropped carelessly to the floor. He refused to have sex with Seifer in the same bed his son had crawled into at night as a child.

 

Wistfully, Seifer watched as Leonhart disappeared inside the bedroom at the end of the hallway. The distance between the two rooms was insignificant, but there was a subtext of meaning that he wanted to explore. He conceded defeat, recalling his rival's declaration of distrust.

 

As he trailed to catch up, Seifer made it his new goal to give Leonhart better memories of sex in the guest room.

 

--

 

 

After a pleasantly strenuous workout, Seifer lay asleep in Leonhart's guest bed. Despite the early hour, a catnap had been agreeable. Sleeping was a natural post-coital activity for him.

 

Waking up was a less than satisfying affair. He found himself alone, his dark haired companion having slipped away undetected. Sitting upright abruptly, he sheets pooled at his waist. After gruffly rubbing his face and smoothing back disheveled strands of silky blond hair, he peered around the empty room in a hopeless attempt to locate his partner.

 

“Leonhart?” he called out, wondering where the sexy minx had run off to. When no immediate response came, the urge to set out in pursuit grew irrepressible.

 

Seifer was out of bed and zipping up his pants in record timing. It wasn't until he had reached the hallway that he realized Leonhart had no reason to run off or even a place to go. If the slowly adjusting swordsman had fled the scene, then he simply needed to stay put in order to see the man again.

 

Assessing the time by his wristwatch, Seifer determined that it was a few minutes after two o'clock. Barefoot and shirtless, he made his way down the hall. Common sense told him to search the bathroom first, where a proud brunet would likely be washing away all vestiges of immoral behavior. Instinct directed him elsewhere.

 

Seifer crept silently into the kitchen. A damp haired brunet stood before an open window, staring thoughtfully at the world outside. Spotting his discarded dress shirt neatly folded on the edge of the table, he grinned. If he weren't undeniably aroused by Leonhart's domestic tendencies, he would have opened fire with an unending series of sarcastic remarks.

 

With a mug of steaming tea in one hand, Squall turned and cast an acknowledging glance over his shoulder. He met intense green eyes briefly before turning back and gazing out the window.

 

Snatching his shirt up, Seifer slipped into the rich colored fabric, neglecting to button it. Stealthily approaching Leonhart from behind, he slid his arms around a narrow waist and pressed close. He chuckled when the man stiffened in surprise, his spooning action obviously unanticipated.

 

Squall remained silent. He had nothing worth saying and even less worth doing that would warrant his presence elsewhere. Lore's match wasn't for another three hours and he had already gone overboard with the party snacks. He had considered paying a visit to Cale's grave, but reconsidered since his mind was still completely filled with Seifer. It seemed more appropriate to deal with Seifer, instead of running away.

 

Hugging Leonhart tightly from behind, Seifer bowed his head and let it rest against a delicate shoulder. He inhaled the scent of recently washed hair and skin, a scent so pleasing to him that he could not suppress a soft groan.

 

A strange and unfamiliar warmth spread through Squall's body. Tentatively, he raised his free hand. His fingers extended towards the blond's resting head. Only once did he draw back in hesitation before plunging his fingers into silky hair. He ruffled soft strands gently. The action stirred foreign emotions inside him, triggering a lurking fear of the unknown. He swallowed thickly and mustered his courage, continuing to rake his finger through Seifer's hair as the man silently allowed him to do so.

 

Seifer's arms involuntarily wound tighter, no doubt inflicting an uncomfortable amount of compression on his complacent rival. He buried his face in the crook of Leonhart's neck and hummed a deep note of approval, the sound practically a purr of encouragement. Sensing the man was about to stop, he murmured, “That feels good.” He grinned when gentle fingers continued to run through his hair.

 

Taking a cautious sip of his tea, Squall became absorbed in the repetitious action of brushing the ex-knight's hair. He didn't know why he had done it, just that it felt appropriately intimate for the calm moment they shared.

 

An attention grabbing cough sounded from near the kitchen's entrance. “Am I interrupting something?” Irvine inquired in a passively aggressive tone.

 

Squall dropped his hand quickly, a faint tinge of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as though he had just been caught having sex.

 

As Seifer's intimate moment with Leonhart shattered into a million pieces, he was filled with animosity for the sharp shooting cowboy who intruded. “You missed the real show, Kinneas,” he spat venomously. Releasing the now tense swordsman from his arms, he turned around and faced the gunman in his blatantly disheveled state of dress. As he started buttoning up his shirt, he commented, “But I'm not sure you could handle such a show as Leonhart puts on.”

 

Jaw clenching as he exercised restraint, Irvine strode closer, his attention momentarily distracted by the arranged display of cookies and other like sweets on the table.

 

Properly composed, Squall turned to face his best friend without a misgiving blush. He sipped his tea slowly, reserved in his calm manner of indifference. He met violet-blue eyes evenly and waited for the inevitable question.

 

“What's he doing here?” Irvine asked, addressing the former commander in a futile attempt to ignore the ex-knight's presence.

 

The change in Squall's countenance was so subtle that a replay would have been necessary to spot the difference. Gazing with wry humor, he did not respond to the gunman's question, but silently asked his own. He had no reason or obligation to answer Irvine. He was beyond excuses. He had gained a new level of understanding and felt overwhelming relief to be rid of his previous guilt. While he was not exactly guilt free, he was done with making excusing for his actions.

 

Irvine read the message contained in stormy blue eyes. “I see,” he uttered with a loathsome glare thrown in Seifer's direction. “He has an invitation.”

 

Seifer quirked an amused brow. “I've got a hell of a lot more than an invitation, Kinneas,” he drawled smugly. Slipping an arm around Leonhart's waist, he informed the gunman, “I've got a date.”

 

Face contorting angrily, Irvine glared at the ex-knight balefully. Addressing the brunet, he bit out tersely, “Is this how you stay away from him?”

 

A grin stole over Seifer's lips, expressing the elation he felt for confrontation. His last encounter with the cowboy hadn't exactly paved any roads for his moving in on Leonhart. His recent achievement was made sweeter by Kinneas' witnessing oppositional presence.

 

Rolling his eyes, Squall pulled away from the goading blond. “Take it outside,” he advised coolly. Showing more interest in his tea than either of the other two men, he sipped his drink slowly and moved towards the island counter in the center of the kitchen.

 

Following the former commander, Irvine gently grasped the man's shoulders and demanded the attention he was due as a best friend.

 

The single step Seifer took towards the gunman revealed just how close he came to losing control of barely contained lashing jealousy. Glaring with menace in his eyes, he warned the auburn haired sharpshooter to keep the physical contact to an absolute minimum.

 

Although Irvine reveled in being able to annoy the ex-knight, he knew he would inadvertently annoy Squall by expressing any unnecessary skinship. Once he held the gaze of stormy blue eyes, he said, “I got a call from Lore this morning.” Sparing the tall blond a scathing look, he continued, “He told me the strangest thing. I gleaned from his ranting that some asshole had asked you out on a date and you were actually considering it.”

 

“Was considering it,” Squall corrected evenly. Taking another sip of his tea, he watched as relief washed over the gunman's face. Taking pity on the intrusively concerned man, he quickly added, “I said I would go.”

 

Seifer chuckled darkly. Leonhart's subtly vindictive manner was giving him an erection. He had the distinct impression that Kinneas was in the doghouse. His recent physical escapades with Leonhart had no doubt raised his own status. He felt terribly satisfied knowing he was in better graces than the trigger-happy cowboy who had highhandedly told him to stay away.

 

“You're obviously still upset with me,” Irvine commented as he turned away from the brunet. “But that doesn't make me any less concerned for you.”

 

Squall's expression softened. “I'm not upset with you,” he said quietly. “You were right about my not taking the mission.”

 

“I was?” Irvine questioned with no small amount of surprise. Waving a hand, he dismissed the outstanding issue of the horribly failed intervention a couple nights ago. “That's not why I came here.”

 

“I know why you came here,” Squall assured.

 

“You're a little late,” Seifer muttered. Grabbing the back of one of four identical wooden chairs stationed around the oval shaped table, he gracelessly pulled the chair out of place and took his seat. Angled to face Leonhart near the center of the kitchen, he indiscreetly raked his eyes over the brunet's form.

 

Irvine made a hasty counter to the ex-knight's remark. “If you knew anything about Squall, then you'd know my timing would have no affect on his answer.”

 

Seifer scoffed. “You lack the proper means of persuasion then, because I had no trouble influencing him.”

 

“Seifer,” Squall called sharply, warning the blond not to continue.

 

Seifer locked eyes with his rival before casting his gaze to the gunman. “He's easily influenced after good fuck,” he stated with a lewd smirk.

 

Irvine's instinct was to draw his gun and adorn the bastard blond's pointedly exposed chest with a few bullet holes. Past experience held him back. His last encounter with the ex-knight was not easily forgotten. Turning his focus to someone more agreeable and willing to listen to reason, he placed his back to Seifer and faced Squall.

 

“This is the man you accepted a date with?” Irvine remarked disbelievingly. “Squall, what exactly blinds you to the fact that he's a total asshole?”

 

Shrugging indifferently, Squall commented, “I'm not blind to that fact.”

 

Seifer cast his rival an affronted look.

 

“Then what is it?” Irvine asked in desperation. “What is it that attracts you to someone who sits in your kitchen like he's the king of the castle, leering at you like you're a piece of meat, while showing no respect for you? He's a dog. He's here because he gets off on the ego trip of sleeping with you.”

 

No longer complacent to simply listen, Seifer stood and strode towards the gunman.

 

Irvine reacted out of more than just self-defense. Rearing on the approaching blond, he threw a punch. The thought of the ex-knight shamelessly using his best friend was positively enraging. He felt extremely satisfied when his knuckles impacted the smug man's firm jaw, effectively wiping away any trace of the infuriating smirk that had taunted him.

 

Squall set his mug down on the island countertop. He readied himself to intervene. Evident surprise registered on his face when Seifer failed to return Irvine's strike.

 

Rubbing his jaw, Seifer opened and closed his mouth to test how well it still worked. The radiating throb quickly abated and he was left with the conclusion that Leonhart was the only person aside from himself who knew how to throw a good punch. “If you're quite finished,” he began, his narrowed eyes pinning the wary gunman in place, “then I suggest you take a second to remember what happened the last time we faced off. This overprotective friend routine grew old a long time ago.”

 

“Well seeing as I'm still Squall's friend, I imagine it's not that old,” Irvine returned.

 

“He's a big boy, Kinneas,” Seifer reminded. “He can make big decisions without a second opinion.”

 

Eyes narrowing, Irvine spat, “Influencing his decision, which you so freely admitted to doing, is the same as forcing a second opinion on him.”

 

“It was more like forcing it in him,” Seifer corrected.

 

“Enough,” Squall said quietly. Despite the soft tone he spoke in, his voice immediately managed to grab the rapt attention of both men. Regarding the gunman, he instructed, “Take a seat and we'll talk in a few minutes.”

 

“Suddenly I'm the odd man out?” Seifer questioned.

 

Squall didn't bother confirming or denying. He would never turn Irvine away from his home. The gunman was his best friend, and regardless of the impending argument that would ensue once Seifer left, he had no intention of turning a deaf ear.

 

The muscle in Seifer's jaw visibly clenched as he realized there was no argument he could form to convincingly explain why his continued presence was necessary. Intent on wiping the smug expression on Kinneas' face away, he said, “Do me a favor, Leonhart.”

 

Squall's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but his expression remained unreadable.

 

“Wrap some of this stuff up for me, will you?” Seifer requested with a disarming smile.

 

Irvine stiffened. “What?” he muttered, his tone suggesting he would use deadly retaliation if he heard the same request made again.

 

Seifer explained, “Fujin's staying with me for the week. She's eating for two and nothing I have in my kitchen appeals to her.”

 

Staring intently at the kitchen table, Squall studied the large amounts of baked goods. The ex-knight's ploy to infuriate Irvine was obvious. Despite this, he could not deny that his own pathetic ploy to appease Lore would be seen through instantly. He would end up throwing away half of the food, and would sooner send Seifer away with a care package for Fujin than he would waste the food.

 

“Whatever,” Squall agreed. He took a hesitant step towards the sink. Opening a drawer along the counter, he procured a carton of aluminum foil. He paused for a moment, feeling overly self-conscious. Drawing a sheet of foil out, he tore it cleanly and solidified his decision.

 

“Hyne,” Irvine groaned despairingly. The thought of Squall sending the blond off with anything homemade was nerve grating. Squall's aptitude in the kitchen was known to very few people and serviced to even less. The exchange was a gesture of intimacy, one he felt disinclined to witnessing.

 

Acting the part of the victor, Seifer smirked while he finished buttoning his shirt. “Excuse me while I find the rest of my clothes,” he said, casting the gunman a smug look before exiting the kitchen.

Changing tactics, Irvine decided he should remind the former commander that there were other fish in the sea. There was no need for such a toxic selection. “You're a thirty-five year old who looks twenty-two,” he began, “rich, famous, influential, your father is the president of Esthar, you're smart, attractive enough to be the world's number one ladies man-”

 

“Irvine,” Squall interrupted.

 

Irvine held a hand up. “Any woman would kill to sleep with you. Any man would kill to have your body, in more ways than one. Why in Hyne's name are you going on a date with that world class jerk?”

 

“Because I want to,” Squall said.

 

Irvine could not dispute the pale brunet when the man spoke with such honest conviction. “I hate him,” he muttered loathsomely. “I will always hate him.”

 

Squall stopped piling cookies for a moment. Staring solemnly into the gunman's eyes, he said, “Seifer isn't half the jerk you think he is.”

 

Violet-blue eyes widened in astonishment. Irvine could not believe what the swordsman had just said. “Are you serious?” he remarked incredulously. “What I think is, he's not just half the jerk, he's ten times the jerk.”

 

“And me?” Squall asked quietly. “When I was still a cadet, a lot of people considered me a jerk.”

 

“Aloof, maybe,” Irvine amended. “But never a jerk.”

 

Shaking his head, Squall moved on to the brownies. “Can you blame anyone for the wrong impressions they might have of me?”

 

“I'll blame reporters for selling lies as truths,” Irvine said with a rueful expression. “If anyone has a bad impression, it's because they don't know you.”

 

Squall rolled his eyes. “Irvine, I wouldn't care if the world hated me,” he reminded. “My point is that you don't know Seifer like I do.”

 

“Are you about to tell me there's more to him than being a jerk?” Irvine questioned. He scoffed at the notion.

 

Squall merely shrugged. He wasn't on a mission to change anyone's opinion of Seifer.

 

“What, like he's a jerk and a dick?” Irvine queried.

 

“No, that's just what I think with,” Seifer corrected as he reentered the kitchen. The spring in his step suggested that he was beyond insults and could not possibly be defeated.

 

Squall stiffened visibly, hoping the blond hadn't overheard him speaking. Hastily covering the platter with foil, he turned to the ex-knight to hand it off. His eyes gazed away.

 

Seifer's hands brushed over his rivals. A heated thrill ran through his body, instilling in him a great sense of loss at leaving. “Hey,” he murmured, trying to capture the brunet's full attention. When mesmerizing grey-blue eyes flickered to rest upon his face, he nearly staggered backwards at the swelling sense of pride that overcame him. He understood in that moment that his date with Leonhart was entirely consensual. The stubborn swordsman wasn't agreeing because of his incessant hounding. Leonhart wanted to date him, pure and simple. His entire aspiration had been to obtain a willing partner, and he had accomplished this.

 

“I'll call for the details,” Squall said, fighting the urge to fidget. He withdrew his hands, leaving the load in the blond's possession.

 

“Walk me to the door,” Seifer requested.

 

Hesitating for a moment, Squall eventually gave a faint nod. He spared the gunman an assuring glance and followed the ex-knight out of the kitchen.

 

Standing in the apartment's entryway together, Seifer took the liberty of claiming a long kiss goodbye.

 

Squall remained resolute in his decision to accompany the ex-knight that coming Friday, but his doubts and concerns only multiplied. Kissing Seifer, however, had a way of ridding unnecessary worries. The man's lips seemed to know exactly what felt good. To say the blond's technique was above par would be a grave understatement. He could barely keep up, and before long he could barely keep standing.

 

Seifer's tongue delighted in exploring his rival's delicious mouth. With each shaky breath he took in and breathless sigh he let out, his need for more mounted. He cradled the brunet's head while holding his platter bearing hand out awkwardly.

 

“You have to leave,” Squall managed to say when the ex-knight pulled back long enough to catch a few panting breaths.

 

“I know,” Seifer agreed. “But when I look at you…” he trailed off, his mouth soon attached to Leonhart's again.

 

A quiet moan escaped Squall, causing him to stiffen in realization of just how quickly the exchange was escalating.

 

“It's fine,” Seifer mumbled against plush lips. Fisting damps locks he secured Leonhart's participation and delved deeply into the man's open mouth.

 

Turning away, Squall returned, “It's not.”

 

“Kisses shouldn't have limits,” Seifer admonished.

 

Agreeing wholeheartedly, Squall locked eyes with the blond while his wits scrambled to remember why he needed to stop kissing the enticing man. His argument was lost completely when his eyes cast a flickering glance to the ex-knight's kiss bruised lips.

 

Seeing his rival's desire for more, Seifer suddenly felt it best to leave the man high and dry. With difficulty, he reined in his urges and took a solitary step back. “You're right,” he conceded.

 

Squall reluctantly released his hold on the ex-knight's shirt. Hiding his surprise and disappointment, he schooled his expression meticulously.

 

Licking his lips hungrily, Seifer remained rooted in place while coming to terms with the distance that separated their bodies. Images of Leonhart in the throws of passion were fresh in his head, and his ability to keep control was sorely tested.

 

Jade-green eyes gazed into the living room. “Kinneas is a real touchy feely kind of guy,” he commented suggestively.

 

With a scowl, Squall refuted, “No more than the average person.”

 

“Do me a favor,” Seifer muttered with no small amount of disdain, “don't let him touch you.”

 

Stormy blues eyes widened. “What?” The ex-knight was reading too far into Irvine's camaraderie.

 

“You heard me,” Seifer grumbled impatiently. His absence would leave the pheromone-exuding swordsman open for grabs. While he doubted Kinneas truly cared for his rival romantically, he wouldn't put it past the ego-bruised gunman to try something out of spite.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Squall returned. There was a limit to how much jealous paranoia he could put up with.

 

“I'm not. I don't want him touching you,” Seifer groused.

 

Squall countered, “He's my closest friend.” He would not doubt the integrity of his best friend. The ex-knight was being ridiculous.

 

“How would you feel if Fujin were all over me?” Seifer reasoned.

 

Squall's brows rose in a wry expression. “Fujin's married,” he pointed out sardonically.

 

Running his free hand through his hair, Seifer groaned in exasperation. “So is Kinneas, but that doesn't stop him from acting like a jealous lover every time I'm near you.”

 

“He's concerned,” Squall excused coolly.

 

Seifer snapped, “Concerned or not, the thought of him touching you drives me crazy.”

 

Squall rolled his eyes. “He doesn't trust your intentions. Neither do I for that matter.”

 

“Stop being difficult,” Seifer demanded. He raised his hand and balled it as though he were fighting the urge to strangle the mulish brunet. “Just tell me that you'll act like I was in the room with you two, ready to shoot Kinneas for touching you”

 

“Whatever,” Squall muttered in annoyed concession.

 

With a sigh, Seifer gazed deeply into stormy blue eyes. “You knew I was possessive when you agreed to go on a date with me,” he reminded.

 

“Possessiveness has a limit,” Squall muttered tersely.

 

Seifer chuckled darkly, amused at the irony of his rival's words. He had never felt such a strong desire to possess someone completely. Leonhart had no idea just how jealous he could be. It wasn't his intention to come on so strong, but he was helpless against the overpowering instincts that arose in the presence of the brunet.

 

Smirking, Seifer warned, “You might understand what it's like this Friday”

 

Squall questioned the ex-knight's words silently, his eyes talking for him.

 

Reading mesmerizing eyes, Seifer elaborated, “You'll be my date, but that won't exactly keep Esthar's most eligible ladies from fawning over me”

 

Squall rolled his eyes. The ex-knight was full of ridiculous fancies that day.

 

Seifer made a promise. “Just wait Leonhart. You'll turn green. Before we finish dinner, you'll be all over me, marking me so everyone knows you're first in line.”

 

“There's a line?” Squall muttered dryly. Moving around the towering blond, he pressed the release for the door. He waited expectantly.

 

Seifer strode out of Leonhart's apartment. He turned for a final look.

 

“Careful not to trip over your own ego on your way down,” Squall advised before shutting the door in the arrogant man's face.

 

Seifer stood rooted, staring intently at the closed door to Leonhart's apartment. A mischievous light brightened his eyes. Turning away, he strode down the hall and began listing the names of women he knew that had previously lacked an invitation to Friday's opening ceremony. The concept of a jealous Leonhart was too alluring to dismiss.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's note: Well, another long wait for another update. Seifer and Squall are still a far cry from declaring their undying love for one another, but there's still enough intrigue to work with for many more chapters. Seifer hasn't even realized that taking Squall as a date is as good as coming out of the closet. The baker Squall ploy was a little contrived and overworked, but I had to give Seifer something since he didn't get an invitation into Squall's bedroom. I consider it a consolation prize. ^_^ For anyone anxious to see how Seifer and Lore develop their relationship, that time is quickly approaching.