Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 41 )

Warning: sexual content ahead, minors stop here.

 

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-One

 

Sunday evening Squall found himself at Seifer's apartment once again. Dinner and a movie had sounded simple enough over the phone, but nothing was ever quite as simple as it seemed between them. What started with the best of intentions might end in bloodshed.

 

As Squall sat in the ex-knight's pristine kitchen, he brooded over their date last Friday. If he could determine what had set the man off during their last dinner, he might try to avoid such a caustic turn of events this time.

 

Squall knew that Seifer wanted his trust. Could it be so simple? He doubted it, again concluding that nothing was ever simple. As grey-blue eyes stared off in lost reverie, distantly registering the blond's movement on the other side of the room, he considered the possibility that Seifer valued trust more than most people. Perhaps he was the one who didn't value it enough. Had Seifer been right to become angry with him? Had he blithely dismissed something that the businessman held in high esteem?

 

“What are you thinking?” Seifer asked, disconcerted by the distant look in his rival's eyes. He didn't like it when Leonhart's thoughts strayed where he couldn't follow.

 

Thoughts returning to the present, Squall's eyes focused. “Hm?” he intoned curiously.

 

Seifer rolled his eyes. “What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

 

Squall scowled. “Nothing,” he mumbled. He didn't appreciate the blond's casual references that described him as pretty, or any such condescending adjectives.

 

Striding across the black and white tiled floor, Seifer quickly closed the distance between them. Towering over the brunet's seated form, he reminded, “You're here with me.”

 

Bowed lips pressed tightly together, Squall stared up in defiance. When Seifer raised a hand to his face, his eyes darted a cautious look to unclenched fingers, as though expecting the man to strike him. It was a mindless lapse, his thoughts too scattered to remember how different his relationship with Seifer had become. Warm fingertips brushed along his cheek, and he immediately felt guilty for his instinctive reaction. The fighter in him would never forget that the man who currently stroked his cheek was the same man he had once considered an enemy.

 

Seifer had caught Leonhart's subtle reaction. He tried to reason away the dull throb in his chest. He knew it was the former commander's instinct, merely a cautious response that good fighters never lost. Nevertheless, they had spent enough time familiarizing their bodies with each other's touch that he had thought such need for caution lost.

 

“You're not afraid of me,” Seifer said, his tone almost questioning.

 

Squall grasped the blond's wrist and nudged his cheek against the caressing hand until he felt the press of a warm palm. He wasn't afraid, and would have resented the implication if he didn't see what he thought to be pain lurking in green irises.

 

“You were once,” Seifer hedged. He remembered Leonhart's heartbreaking reaction to him after he'd forced himself on the man. There had been fear written all over the swordsman's features that day. That vulnerable and hurt expression was burned into his memory. “When I hurt you,” he elaborated, waiting for stormy blue eyes to widen in remembrance.

 

Brows knit with worry, Squall tightened his hold on Seifer's wrist. “That was shock,” he corrected. Though he had felt fear that day, it had been his body's reaction. His mind had been too shocked to acknowledge the situation properly.

 

“What were you thinking about before?” Seifer redirected, hoping to catch the brunet off guard.

 

“Trust,” Squall murmured before he could catch himself. He sent the ex-knight a withering glare for the underhanded tactic.

 

Seifer smirked in victory, but the expression promptly fell. Kneeling down, he dropped his hand from Leonhart's face and set his grip on the man's knees.

 

Squall let the ex-knight turn him in his seat, swiveling him around like a turntable. Facing earnest green eyes, he read each emotion that passed through those vibrant orbs.

 

“It's important to me,” Seifer stated. “I want your trust.” He felt like a fool for having treated matters like a game. Over the years, his ego had prompted him to make many bold and sometimes foolish moves, but none so outrageously bold or foolish as when he had decided to seduce Leonhart simply to prove he could. His credibility had been shot, and his request for a serious relationship must have seemed like a ploy to further seduce the man.

 

When Seifer had first broached the subject of trust, he had been denied. He had assumed that Leonhart had brushed him off without seriously considering the matter. Last Friday, he had realized that Leonhart truly didn't trust him, and it hurt more than he had expected. His affection for the dour swordsman was genuine. He needed Leonhart to understand and trust that he was serious.

 

“I know,” Squall murmured. He had been too hasty to dismiss the man last time. Taking a deep breath, he explained, “It's not you that I don't trust. It's what we have.” He didn't know how else to explain his doubts.

 

A jolt of delight fluttered in the pit of Seifer's stomach. Leonhart's words were impossibly good news. He hid his elation, but couldn't keep from grinning. “Does that mean you trust me?” he pressed, wanting to hear the exact phrase come from the brunet's enticing mouth.

 

Squall frowned. “I trust that you won't intentionally hurt me,” he conceded. He was reminded of his promise to Raijin the other day. He had promised not to hurt Seifer, at least not intentionally. He couldn't foresee where their relationship was going, but he could make a conscious effort not to hurt anyone involved. He had already hurt Cale, and felt sick at the thought of repeating that cruelty. He trusted that Seifer would return the favor.

 

Neither of them could trust the strange attraction they felt, which was something they could both agree on. It had come upon them so suddenly and with such force, that it was a miracle they were both still standing. Their whirlwind romance was as frightening as it was captivating. What if they woke up in the morning and the attraction was gone? Or worse, what if it was only gone for one of them? What if the attraction grew? Squall couldn't imagine feeling more lust than he already felt, and feared that more might be poisonous. There was simply no trusting what was between them.

 

Seifer seemed to follow his thoughts, and gave a grave nod as his insecurities trailed off in a never-ending stream of questions. “I should have explained better before,” he said evenly, his apology buried somewhere in his words.

 

“Explaining things has never been a talent of yours,” Seifer admonished with a wink. He felt too relieved to care that Leonhart had misled him by making him believe he was the one who couldn't be trusted.

 

Squall didn't consider the matter settled, but he allowed the ex-knight to draw him into a kiss anyway. Eager lips pressed firmly against his, coaxing him to consent to something he couldn't imagine rejecting. A slick tongue slipped inside his mouth, stealing his breath away. Before he could completely succumb to the pleasures of Seifer's invasion, a charred scent caught his attention.

 

Still hungry, Seifer grumbled a note of complaint when Leonhart broke away.

 

Squall pressed the back of his hand to his lips and made a nodding gesture towards the other end of the kitchen.

 

Seifer finally took notice of the smell, sniffing the air before his eyes widened. Bolting from his place at Leonhart's side, he rushed to the stove and removed the saucepan. He waved a hand, fanning billows of smoke that rose from the burnt sauce. “Shit,” he cursed.

 

Hand remaining at his mouth, Squall hid his smile.

 

Jade-green eyes narrowed at the sight of Leonhart's face alight with amusement. He couldn't possibly be angry when his blunder resulted in such a rare reaction. Of the few emotions Leonhart accidentally expressed, amusement was never one of them. It was always a scowl of disapproval, a fleeting expression of shock, or his favorite glare of death. “Well at least you're amused,” he muttered in complaint, secretly rejoicing.

 

Squall sobered, his smile effectively hidden. “Do you need help?” he offered, his smile threatening to break through again.

 

“Fuck that,” Seifer rejected. “I'm a damn fine chef.”

 

Squall inclined his head and cast a skeptical look to the saucepan. Seifer had cooked for him before, but he hadn't had the appetite to eat then and didn't know if it had been any good.

 

Rummaging around in the fridge, Seifer started all over again with the cream sauce. “Just keep your skinny ass over there and watch a master at work.”

 

It didn't take long for Squall to realize that Seifer's skill in battle didn't translate into the kitchen. He watched out of the corner of his eye, almost feeling pity. He would have stood to offer a hand, but the view from the table was too nice to give up. His eyes shamelessly strayed to the blond's sculpted buttocks, not exactly visible in casual denim pants, but Seifer's tall frame made it necessary to lean over frequently. He was embarrassed to acknowledge the fact, but he lusted after his rival's body, finding each line devastatingly sexy.

 

When Squall's thoughts began to form daydreams, he blushed. He was becoming as big a pervert as Irvine.

 

Seifer managed to set the skillet on an unheated burner without dropping it, though he voiced several colorful curses and nursed a burnt finger.

 

Squall quirked an amused eyebrow. “Are you always this graceful?” he queried sarcastically. Despite the man's claims to the counter, he couldn't tell whether Seifer knew what he was doing or not.

 

“Laugh it up,” Seifer muttered. After running his finger under the tap, he dried it on a dishtowel. He returned to the stovetop to stir the contents of another pan. “It's you that's making this difficult.”

 

“Me?” Squall intoned, as if to say he were all the way on the other side of the room and couldn't possibly pose any obstruction.

 

“How am I supposed to sauté mushrooms when all I want to do is bend you over the counter?” When Leonhart made no reply Seifer looked over his shoulder. The reserved ice prince was blushing. He groaned, narrowly suppressing his desires. “Go in the other room before I attack you,” he directed.

 

Squall didn't know whether Seifer was serious or not, but when the man cursed once more after receiving yet another burn, he decided to wait in the living room.

 

 

--

 

 

Seated together on the couch, Seifer slouched back with his arm draped over Leonhart's shoulder. The smaller fighter leaned in against him, making it impossible to concentrate on the movie. The sweet scent of his rival's hair and warm press of that luscious body kept his mind battling the onset of an erection. It wasn't long before he was given an amusing show as a distraction.

 

Squall felt drowsy. Only on his second glass of wine, he felt the warm effects as though he had drunken on an empty stomach. Dinner had been surprisingly good, suiting him enough to warrant more than the few measly bites he took at most meals. He was pleasantly full, something that should have counteracted the wine. He never held his alcohol well, but it usually didn't affect him quite so much. Now, he was ready to fall asleep against the blond's shoulder.

 

The room was dim and the volume on the TV was low enough not to bother Squall as he felt his eyes become heavier. He considered briefly that Seifer's presence put him at ease, and he fell asleep quite easily when the man was nearby.

 

Seifer could barely contain his laughter at the sight of his rival nodding off. He feigned ignorance, spying out of the corner of his eye. The brunet nodded forward a couple times, waking abruptly each time. When it happened a third time, he couldn't contain himself any longer.

 

Seifer laughed out loud, startling Squall awake. Blushing from ear to ear, Squall sent the ex-knight a reproachful glare.

 

Seifer held his hand up in a staying gesture. “Hyne, don't be mad.”

 

The color in Squall's face darkened. His glare became icy. On the verge of making excuses about the wine and warm room, he held his tongue and reminded himself that he didn't need to excuse himself to anyone.

 

Tightening his hold, Seifer pulled the blushing beauty closer. Leaning in, he kissed full lips hard. “I like it,” he assured, never breaking from Leonhart's mouth. “You can be cute sometimes.”

 

“Cute?” Squall hissed, not liking the adjective when applied to him. He needed to make a list of adjectives that Seifer was forbidden to use around him.

 

“Yes,” Seifer confirmed. “Cute.” He slipped his tongue inside his rival's mouth. Leaning forward, he lowered the smaller fighter to lie back on the couch. He crowded atop the man, his tongue never stopping its wet exploration.

 

Pushing at the ex-knight's chest, Squall ended their kiss. “The movie,” he reminded. He was still agitated and resented having his weakness exploited. Every argument couldn't be resolved with sex.

 

“What movie?”

 

Brows raised in expectation, Squall waited until it clicked for the blond.

 

“Right, the movie,” Seifer commented with a wry glance at the television. “You didn't seem that interested.”

 

For a long moment, Squall stared into the frisky businessman's eyes. He searched vibrant green irises for a flicker of understanding. “It can't all be about sex,” he murmured. It wasn't all about sex, and he knew this. There were times when it was also about sparring, but that didn't make what they had a real relationship. He couldn't possibly consider Seifer as his boyfriend if all they did was fight on the field and screw in bed. What sort of example did that set for Lore? He had no idea what common interests they might share, or if they were compatible enough to sustain a relationship, but that's what they were trying to find out. Sex couldn't be a fall back plan for everything, even if the temptation were tantamount.

 

When Seifer processed Leonhart's meaning, his desires turned cold. Disengaging, he backed away from the slender figure. It was relatively easy for him to rein his desires in when the heat had fled. “Is that what you think?” he muttered. Sitting back, he crossed his arms and stared intently at the television. He didn't invite just anyone into his home and cook them dinner. If it were just sex, a hotel would have been more than enough.

 

Squall studied his rival's stern profile. Shifting, he sat up from his reclining position and dared to sidle closer. “What's wrong?” he queried, not understanding why the man seemed angry.

 

“Nothing,” Seifer returned. “Let's watch the movie.”

 

Scowling, Squall continued to study the man. He stubbornly refused to let the matter go. The minutes began adding up. Green eyes eventually flickered his way, but were too guarded to reveal anything. When handsome features softened slightly, he opened his mouth to reiterate his question. Before he could utter a sound, a strong arm snaked around his waist and hauled him close.

 

“I'll behave, so watch the damn movie,” Seifer said through clenched teeth. His arm tightened around Leonhart's waist, pressing the smaller man's body to his side.

 

Squall squirmed in discomfort. When he realized he wouldn't be let free without a serious effort, he gave up. Rolling his eyes, he muttered a sullen, “Whatever.”

 

--

 

The movie had long since run its course, and continued to replay the thirty-second menu sequence over and over. The sound was muted and the faint glow from the TV was lulling.

 

Seifer leaned back against the couch, awkwardly propped against the armrest. He had fallen asleep, his arm still firmly wrapped around Leonhart's waist. The brunet slept soundly against his chest.

 

It was the painful crick in his neck that had woken him. He lifted his head from the back of the couch, gingerly turning it to work stiff muscles. His arm had gone numb. A quick glance down at his rival told him that he probably wasn't the only one experiencing discomfort.

 

“Leonhart,” Seifer murmured, gently jostling the sleeping beauty. The adorable creature stirred, only to nestle deeper into hold. Jaw clenched, he fought the desire to attack the oblivious man.

 

Seifer shifted forward and deftly maneuvered his extraction. He doubted that Leonhart would remain asleep for much longer, but he wanted to have his fun anyway. Deciding not to wake the fighter, he slipped his arms beneath the curled form and lifted the light weight from the couch.

 

The movement did wake Leonhart, but Seifer didn't relent his hold. He looked down into the dim glint of stormy blue eyes. Not saying anything, he hefted his load closer and walked off towards his bedroom.

 

Squall protested every step the ex-knight took, but he didn't voice any of his opposition. He was too tired to start an argument, and it seemed like a small compromise to let himself be carried the short distance to the bedroom.

 

“You didn't raise hell,” Seifer commented as he gently set the brunet on his bed.

 

Squall searched green eyes. “I didn't see the need to,” he answered. Turning away, he crawled to the head of the bed and pulled the comforter down.

 

Seifer swallowed thickly, beating his desires down with a stick. Aside from the tantalizing view of Leonhart's ass, he was keen on the sight of the man settling in for the night. Leonhart was comfortable in his presence and apartment, and had apparently decided to spend the night. He was thrilled.

 

A surprised cry of protest sounded from Squall when the ex-knight grabbed his ankle and yanked him back. Flattened against the bed, he started to push up, but strong hands grabbed his hips and flipped him around. Before he could berate the impulsive brute, a heavy body pressed him into the mattress and warm lips crushed his own.

 

“Can it be about sex now?” Seifer spared time for the question, drawing back to assess the situation. Leonhart's reactions were never predictable, though they tended towards the volatile end of the spectrum. His advances might be met with acceptance, just like when he'd carried the man to the bed, or his attempt at foreplay might earn him a black eye.

 

Squall hesitated, a stream of protests running through his head. Silencing his thoughts, he gave a faint nod. He grabbed the back of Seifer's neck and pulled the man back down, seeking his rival's lips with fervor.

 

Seifer kissed Leonhart, grinning all the while. There would be no black eyes that night.

 

 

--

 

 

The following morning came all too soon. Lying prone and naked, Seifer's outstretched arm searched for his partner. His fingers grasped cold bed sheets. He opened bleary eyes, confirming that he was alone. A disappointed sight escaped him. His mate had run off. It seemed impossible that Leonhart had pulled off an escape when he made a point of reaffirming his hold every time he drifted awake.

 

Rolling onto his back, he sat up and ran a hand through bed-rumpled hair. “Leonhart,” he called out, vainly hoping the man was within earshot. No answer came.

 

“Fuck,” he cursed, casting aside the sheets. A quick glance at the radio clock on the nightstand informed him that it was seven o'clock.

 

As he slipped into a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt, his ears pricked at the sound of running water. A sly smirk spread across his face. He tiptoed to the bathroom.

 

Squall jumped at the sharp rake of the shower curtain's rings sliding across the rod. A rush of cold air entered the shower. He turned and met gleeful green eyes. Though sent Seifer a warning glare, his reasons for showering and heading home became less pressing.

 

Seifer enjoyed the view, reveling in the sight presented to him. Dark hair dripped and clung to a pale neck. His rival's face was exposed, no wayward bangs to hide attractive features. Leonhart was truly stunning. His eyes traveled lower, possessively ogling pale flesh and toned muscles. He licked his lips at the sight of pert nipples.

 

Before Squall could reprimand the ex-knight, he found himself mirroring Seifer's heated gaze. Silky blond hair stuck out at odd angles, the unkempt manner oddly suiting the meticulously well-groomed businessman. There was stubble along a stern jaw line, and he longed to run his hand over it. When his eyes reached the strong hollow of Seifer's neckline, he bit his lower lip. The shirtless swordsman left his sculpted upper body exposed, and it drove Squall wild. Richly tanned skin and washboard abs made him sink his teeth deeper into his lip. The low riding waist of Seifer's pants seemed to be held in place by a tenting erection.

 

At the same moment, both men made their move. Seifer reached out to grab the sopping brunet, his hand set at the back of a pale neck to draw plush lips closer. Squall brashly drew the waist of Seifer's pants down and freed the engorged organ inside, his hand quick to stroke the throbbing member. Seifer groaned into their kiss.

 

Squall gasped in surprise when a strong arm lifted him from the shower. His world tilted as the blond spun him around and set him atop the sink's counter, the cold marble shocking him for a moment.

 

Seifer fisted the dark tangles of Leonhart's dripping hair. Gaining entry to the swordsman's sweet mouth, he plunged his tongue inside.

 

Spreading his legs, Squall shifted closer to the counter's edge. He slipped the waist of Seifer's pants even lower, and then pulled the man's hips closer. The press of a throbbing cock against his abdomen signaled his own flaring arousal. He needed to have Seifer inside him.

 

With a bracing arm at the small of Leonhart's back, Seifer position his rival for entry. He delayed his moment of ecstasy, hesitating long enough to ask, “Did you take a potion?” One look at alabaster skin and he knew the answer. His marks were gone. Leonhart's tight entrance couldn't accommodate him without preparation. Usually he enjoyed the task, but it could be tedious when his cock wanted relief.

 

“It's fine,” Squall returned.

 

“It's not,” Seifer countered, his tone one of reprimand and frustration. He began to release his rival, needing to grab a bottle of lubricant.

 

Squall held tight, not wanting to let the blond leave. “No.”

 

“Leonhart,” Seifer groaned. Cupping a delicate face in his hands, he searched big stormy blue eyes for understanding. “Two seconds,” he coaxed.

 

Squall shook his head.

 

“I'm not doing that again.” Seifer pulled the swordsman's hands away from his neck. The last time he had penetrated the man without preparing first, there had been blood and tears.

 

“You're an idiot,” Squall grumbled. He slipped from the counter and pressed close to the retreating ex-knight. He would punch Seifer if he were forced him to explain himself. After a night like the one they had shared, his body needed more than just scrubbing on the outside. It was difficult to clean himself when his entrance was sore, so he took a potion beforehand. It was beyond embarrassing to admit, which was why he preferred to shower alone. He generally became aroused when washing vestiges of semen and lubricant from inside. He was already stretched.

 

To make his point, Squall firmly grabbed one of the ex-knight's hands and directed down along the cleft of his buttocks. He buried his face against a muscular chest, hiding his blush. If he were any less aroused, he would have given up on the notion of sex and kicked the blond out of the bathroom.

 

Seifer began to protest Leonhart's insistent actions, but his fingers had a life of their own. When his fingertips rubbed and pressed against the puckered ring, he quickly realized that pliant flesh was softer than usual. It gave easily as he pressed two fingers inside.

 

“You took a potion,” Seifer reaffirmed with confusion. Leonhart wasn't as tight as he should have been. “Why are you stretched?”

 

Squall rolled his eyes.

 

Seifer jumped to the conclusion that his rival had been having fun without him. “Why the hell would you do that when I'm in the other room?” He wanted to ask if he could watch the next time, but he too aroused to risk the chance of the prickly swordsman kicking him out of the bathroom.

 

Mentally casting a slew of insults at the ex-knight, Squall drew back and glared at the man. “I was cleaning myself,” he finally hissed. “Asshole,” he added sullenly.

 

Seifer laughed. He almost chastised the brunet for not explaining with words from the start, but he knew that he would have to learn to live with some habits. In the thirty years he had known Leonhart, speaking had never been the man's first choice of expression. Now he had the pleasure of seeing the way agitation made his rival more adorable than usual.

 

Securing his favor, Seifer pressed his fingers deeper and stroked against the sensitive prostate gland. All tension left the body in his arms. “Hold onto me,” he directed. He removed his fingers and ran his hand along a smooth thigh. Setting his grip behind a knee, he hitched his rival's leg up.

 

Squall wrapped his arms around Seifer's neck. He felt the cold press of the wall at his back, and then the tightened grip of the arm supporting his lower back. What came next made him cast his head back and clutch the ex-knight closer.

 

Seifer pressed inside his rival, his cock already weeping pearly beads. He pressed his lips against his rival's ear. “What you do to me should be a crime,” he whispered. Without warning, he thrust deep, spearing the former commander against the wall.

 

“Seifer!” Squall cried, biting down on his lip too late to stop the noise. His fingers dug into tan flesh. He couldn't tell if he touched the ground or not. Seifer held one leg up, while the toes of his other barely reached the tiled floor.

 

“I'm sure there are laws against it,” Seifer murmured as he nuzzled Leonhart's neck. It was wrong to feel so much for one person. His sex drive had never interfered with his life before. Before, when wanted sex he would have simply made time for it. Now, sex was all he thoughts. His life revolved around screwing Leonhart and figuring out ways to keep the man nearby. It was more accurate to conclude that Leonhart was all he thought about, but the implications of such a conclusion repelled him.

 

Seifer rocked in and out of Leonhart. He set a steady pace, slowly grinding against the quivering brunet. He held back for as long as he could, wanting to draw the blissful experience out as long as possible. Nipping and kissing along the Leonhart's collar, he listened to each hitch of breath and sweet moan. He began to thrust harder and faster, driving his throbbing length deeper and deeper. He could only hold back for so long before the pleasure became too much.

 

Squall bucked his hips, meeting each forceful thrust. The world faded away, replaced by hot friction and pulsing pleasure. Even at the height of his carnal need, he remained aware of Seifer's presence. The ex-knight was inside him, in front of him, all around him. There was nothing in his world except Seifer. He wanted nothing but Seifer.

 

“Sweet fucking Hyne,” Seifer exclaimed, unable to curb his tendency to swear. Leonhart felt on fire. Every inch of supple flesh answered to his touch. The recalcitrant fighter submitted to him and accepted him without resistance. He sought Leonhart's mouth as he thrust faster. He was addicted to the clamping heat that gripped his manhood tightly. He needed to feel Squall, whether it was while he thrust his cock in and out of the man's body, or when he felt the firm press of a warm body in the middle of the night.

 

“Close,” Squall gasped. He couldn't last much longer. He had no stamina when it involved delaying an orgasm, Seifer saw to that.

 

Seifer came first, having been close since the moment he set eyes on his rival's naked body in the shower. He didn't stop until his manhood spent every last jerk. He felt the warm gush between them, and knew Leonhart had followed his lead.

 

It took several moments for reality to settle in. Squall's heart beat with a note of fear as he oriented himself again. He set his head against Seifer's broad shoulder while he caught his breath. It was alarming to lose control like that. He never left himself exposed, except around Seifer.

 

Seifer stepped back, drawing Leonhart away from the wall. Water still sprayed from the showerhead. While attacking plush lips, he navigated his way to the shower.

 

 

--

 

 

All at once, Seifer and Squall found themselves ensconced in work. An entire week passed with nothing more than late night phone calls. Seifer had attempted to make those calls as erotic as possible, only to give up when Squall kept hanging up on him.

 

Squall spent the majority of his time in Balamb, organizing and instructing a team that would head into the heavily invested jungle of an island off Centra's coast. Plans for a marine based garden were on hold until the surrounding area could be secured. Unlike the relatively harmless monsters that roamed the rolling plains and shores near Balamb Garden, the monsters on this island were dangerously aggressive and many of them were unknown.

 

When Squall returned home late Friday night, he did so with a heavy heart and tired body. He had exhausted himself researching and gathering intelligence on the creatures and environment of the island. His brain buzzed with strategies for tactical extermination. The week had proven particularly taxing by his mind's tendency to harbor stray thoughts of Seifer. It wasn't easy to instruct mercenaries when he kept remembering the feel of Seifer's lips kissing his neck.

 

As he walked down the hallway from the elevator, he checked his phone for messages. He expected to find several texts from Seifer. They had a knack for missing each other. Whenever he found the time to return a text, the ex-knight ended up in a meeting or interviewing trainers or discussing plans for sporting events.

 

Stormy blue eyes read over the first of several missed messages. Seifer was as demanding in the tiny print that filled his phone's screen as he was in person. The man wanted to know when he planned on returning to Esthar. His schedule had been tentative all week. He had flown back and forth, managing to spend a couple nights sleeping in Esthar and seeing his son off to school in the morning.

 

Swiping his keycard and keying the code, Squall debated the evils of letting Seifer know he had already returned. He was too tired for a night of passionate lovemaking, though he could be easily persuaded.

 

“It's about fucking time,” a baritone voice barked from the living room.

 

Squall's steps faltered. His son materialized from around the corner. Lore knocked him back apace, but the boy's arms clung tightly and steadied his precarious balance.

 

“Mamma's boy,” a sullen voice grumbled.

 

Squall peered over his son's shoulder and found Seifer standing casually near the entryway. Jade-green eyes practically sparkled, though a predatory gleam undermined their warmth.

 

Seifer straightened his tall frame and cast a lopsided grin his rival's way. Leonhart looked tired, but not tired enough to keep from blushing when stormy blue eyes strayed to the bit of his collar exposed beneath the top of his pale blue dress shirt. He wasn't the only one starved for sex.

 

“What are you doing here?” Squall asked evenly, masking his surprise.

 

“The mice will play,” Seifer returned, waving his hand.

 

Squall quirked a skeptical brow. Seifer was hardly a mouse.

 

“He just came over,” Lore informed his father. “He won't leave.”

 

Seifer pressed a hand to his heart. “I'm hurt, kid.”

 

“I asked him to at least stay for dinner,” Laguna explained, joining Seifer to crowd the entryway.

 

Everyone's gaze turned to rest on the president. He stood farthest away, drying his hands on a dishtowel. Squall was immediately concerned that his father had been cooking, which was never good news.

 

“You cooked?” Squall asked in a cautious tone. The collateral damage his father could cause in a kitchen was unparalleled.

 

Laguna smiled sheepishly. “That was the plan,” he said.

 

Seifer scoffed. “I cooked,” he assured.

 

Lore glanced away sullenly. He'd never admit that he had enjoyed something Seifer made for dinner.

 

Laguna explained, “Things started getting out of hand. I think there's something wrong with your stove. So, Seifer stepped in.”

 

Squall looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock. If he had hurried back and made it on time for dinner, he would have seen quite the show.

 

“There's a plate in the microwave,” Laguna said.

 

Squall didn't know what to say. He wondered if he had entered the wrong apartment. Seifer appeared perfectly at home and had cooked dinner for his family. Lore didn't seem ready to gouge the man's eyes out, which was a promising sign, but bizarre nonetheless.

 

Lore reached out and grabbed his father's duffel bag. “Are you finally done?” he queried, hitching the bag over his shoulder.

 

“Until the mission,” Squall replied. The task force assigned would need another week to prepare, and then he would lead the team.

 

“What mission?” Seifer interjected, cutting the brat off.

 

Lore glanced over his shoulder ruefully, having been about to ask that very question.

 

Squall shrugged and shouldered past the inquisitive duo.

 

“I'll heat your plate up,” Laguna offered, turning and making his way to the kitchen before Squall could stop him.

 

Squall didn't respond to Seifer's question.

 

“How long will you be away this time?” Seifer demanded. He was hot on Leonhart's tail as the man moved through the living room.

 

Squall didn't bother turning around or stopping. He made his way to his bedroom. “Between two weeks to two months,” he answered over his shoulder.

 

“What?” Lore remarked in protest. “Why so long?” He was nearly atop the ex-knight's heals in similar pursuit.

 

Crowding into Squall's room, Seifer and Lore stood inside the door, their broad frames effectively blocking the exit as they posed their questions. Squall stared from one stern face to the other. He suddenly wasn't too keen on the idea of Lore spending time around Seifer. On the off chance that the two stopped bickering long enough to bond, he might never win an argument again if they teamed up against him.

 

“It's just an estimate,” Squall assured. It would only be two months if everything went wrong. Cid had put together a capable team. He had already approved the candidates for the mission, and he expected the sweep to go smoothly.

 

“Even two weeks is longer than usual,” Lore pointed out.

 

Squall shrugged. “It's a bigger mission.”

 

“What kind of mission?” Seifer pressed. He crossed his arms, not liking the idea of Leonhart running off into danger without him to watch his back. As cadets, he had often teamed up with Leonhart for drills. Though he had never made a point of looking out for Leonhart, he had always been in a position to do so. If Leonhart had wound up in a sticky situation, he would have helped, if only to hold it over the man's head.

 

With a scowl, Squall reminded, “I can't give details. It's a sweeper mission.”

 

Lore gnawed on his lip, uncertain how he felt. He didn't disapprove of his father's job, but it had been ages since the man saw combat. “Does it have to do with the new garden they're building?”

 

Squall nodded. It was rare that Cid requested his help on missions, and even then his aide didn't enter the field unless absolutely necessary. The island they intended to clean up could have any number of unknown monsters. Cid wanted him there for any worst-case scenarios that might arise, and he was inclined to accept the request since he truly enjoyed fighting. He could tell by the wary look in his son's eyes that the boy was not as enthused about his mission.

 

Jaw clenched, Seifer reflected on the past week. Even when Leonhart had flown home for the night, he had not seen the man. If he had, he wouldn't have been able to let go without an entire night of satisfying his desires. They had both been busy, and couldn't afford to lose sleep like that. The time apart had crawled at an agonizingly slow pace.

 

Two months was a long time. Seifer hadn't lived in Esthar much longer than two months. In that time, his entire world had turned upside down. A lot could happen in two months, and Leonhart would be absent for all of it.

 

“Two months,” Seifer murmured to himself. A daunting fear formed in the back of his mind. What if Leonhart returned with a renewed outlook on their relationship? Two months was a long time to reconsider what they were doing.

 

Seifer's thoughts veered down a different path. His expression darkened as he considered who Leonhart would be spending those two months with. Leonhart would be surrounded by a group of oversexed teenagers and young men who would desperate for release by the end of the first week. He had an iron grip on his desires and unparalleled self-control, and even he couldn't quite contain himself around the former commander. Lesser men would crack quickly and resort to force.

 

Seifer grew less worried about Leonhart facing nasty critters in the jungle and more concerned with the possibility of mutiny and an organized gang rape. If he said his thoughts aloud, he would have laughed at how ridiculous they seemed, but his mind reasoned that anything was possible.

 

Squall watched the parade of various emotions flit through Seifer's eyes. He needed to be alone with the man. “Lore, make sure your grandfather doesn't set anything on fire.”

 

Setting the duffel bag down, Lore cast a cautious glance to the ex-knight before retreating. He knew an order when he heard one. He didn't like leaving Seifer alone with his father, but he didn't think the arrogant man was bold enough to attack when he, his grandfather, and his grandfather's escort of guards were only a shout away.

 

Squall shrugged out of his bomber jacket and set it at the foot of the bed. “It shouldn't be that long,” he said quietly.

 

“But it might be,” Seifer returned. He couldn't quite grasp his reasons for feeling so opposed, but he had strong reservations against Leonhart leaving for such a long time. “The boy said-”

 

“Lore,” Squall corrected insistently. His son had a name. Their son had a name.

 

Seifer hesitated. Clearing his throat, he amended, “Lore said you were practically retired.”

 

Squall scoffed. He felt retired at times, which only made him feel old. His affiliation with Balamb Garden had grown distant. He was practically a figurehead, only called out for major operations. There were no more challenges and Cid made sure he never came too close to battle. The world was a relatively safe place without an out of control sorceress. The prospect of two weeks immersed in a jungle, not knowing if an insanely strong monster lurked around the next tree, was positively thrilling. As much as he would love to spend his time moonlighting in Seifer's bed, he would rather wield his blade and feel the rush of an adventure.

 

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Squall waited to hear what it was Seifer wanted from him.

 

Seifer strode closer. He refused to voice the nature of his concerns, and he would never ask Leonhart to step down. He understood what a mission meant. The thrill of a fight and allure of adventure was in their blood, practically hard coded into their DNA. There was only a single solution. He needed to have a little chat with Kinneas. If the overprotective gunman weren't on the mission, then the man at least stood a decent chance of joining up. He hated the prospect of requesting a favor. He just needed to make Kinneas realize that they had a common interest at hand.

 

With a sigh, Seifer muttered, “I'll be damned if I would ever asked you to back down from the promise of a good fight. Tell me you're at least ditching me for some serious fucking carnage.”

 

A smirk betrayed Squall's excitement. Bowing his head, his bangs fell forward and shadowed his expression. “Unexplored territory,” he muttered cryptically.

 

Towering over the seated brunet, Seifer reached out and drew a delicate chin higher. “Do you know how hard it's been this week?” His thumb traced back and forth over a pout bottom lip. The petal soft texture and sensuously plush shape beckoned him to take a taste. He loved those lips. They were his. Only he was allowed to crush them against his own, turning them from a seashell pink to a near crimson. It had been a very long week, a week without Leonhart's lips.

 

“I have some idea,” Squall whispered in response, his lips brushing against Seifer's thumb. There was a coy undertone in his voice that he hadn't intentionally adopted.

 

Seifer's expression darkened. “Where are my manners?” he remarked. “I haven't welcomed you back properly.”

 

A shiver ran through Squall's body. Seifer's voice had dropped a note. The husky baritone stirred warmth in his loins.

 

“You know why I couldn't before,” Seifer murmured. Drawing his fingers from an enticing mouth, he trailed them along Leonhart's smooth jaw line, and down a slender neck. His eyes, clouded with lust, followed his hand's pursuit. “Once I start…” He trailed off, swallowing thickly as his fingers felt a beating pulse.

 

Squall knew exactly what Seifer meant. If the man had kissed him in the entryway, they would have pealed each other's clothes off before managing two steps to his bedroom. “Not all the way,” he admonished. He reached out and grasped the blond's shirt, tugging him down.

 

“No promises,” Seifer said. He fought his surging lust. It suddenly seemed like a bad idea to have come there. The bedroom door remained open, and he had a week of pent up desires to express. He wanted to ravish plush lips, tear away the smaller swordsman's close, and pin the man to the bed. He couldn't, not with President Loire and a minor in the other room.

 

When Seifer realized that Leonhart's pulse was racing, he couldn't hold back any long. He seized his rival's shoulders and toppled the man to the bed. He kissed those perfect lips, feverishly melding them against his own. His restraint snapped, and his desires flooded forth.

 

Pinned down, Squall inched back against the mattress. He drew his legs up, spreading them to feel the solid press of Seifer's body against him. He wounded his arms around the man, hugging him close while battling a slick tongue. Rough hands groped all over his body, touching him as though making certain he were real.

 

Seifer feared that he might be dreaming, but the solid body beneath him didn't vanish into thin air. He groaned into their kiss, reveling in the sweet taste of Leonhart's mouth. How had he managed to go an entire week without kissing Leonhart? How could he possibly hope to survive two months? He needed Leonhart. He needed to kiss the fussy fighter, to have him in his arms at night and wake up to the sight of that gorgeous body covered in marks he had made.

 

“Hyne, I need you,” Seifer declared, saying the words before he could realize the depth of meaning behind them. He broke away from kiss-bruised lips and gazed into dazed eyes. He felt a small token of fear at how his statement would be received. The urge to explain himself and amend his words arose, but he decided there was no better way of expressing how he felt. He refused to retract his statement

 

A flicker of understanding came to Squall's eyes. As his mind cleared, Seifer's words rattled around, countless interpretations coming from them. He didn't know what to make of the man's statement or solemn expression.

 

Seifer let his edging fear overcome him. Later, he would berate his cowardice. Feeling overwhelmed by his emotions was becoming a theme around Leonhart. Before the confused swordsman could respond, he cut he man off and claimed swollen lips again. It was far too soon for such sentiments, and he didn't know why he had let such troublemaking words slip out.

 

Rolling to the side, Seifer drew Leonhart atop himself. He groped his way down to the brunet's pert buttocks and kneaded supple flesh until he elicited a sweet moan.

 

Laguna turned the bend into his son's bedroom and nearly tripped over his own two feet. “Oh dear,” he mumbled. Blushing from ear to ear, he stumbled back a step into the hallway. Glancing down the narrow corridor to the living room, he tried to determine if Lore was still in the kitchen. He returned his gaze to the sex craved couple.

 

Seifer rolled their forms back over, preferring to be on top. Gathering Leonhart's wrists together, he pinned them above the man's head. He didn't have a fetish for bondage, but a thrill ran through him at the minor subjugation. He broke away from slick lips to exploit Leonhart's sensitive neck. He sucked hard at a racing pulse. His grip on bony wrists tightened with each moan the panting beauty made. Before he could catch his breath, his insatiable appetite forced him to return to Leonhart's mouth. His tongue danced against the writhing swordsman's, thrusting inside and claiming his territory. Two months without such succulent delights seemed impossible.

 

Laguna cleared his throat. He didn't want to intrude, but felt it would be prudent to at least remind Squall that there were others in the apartment. When throat clearing proved futile, he knocked several times on the doorframe. Hand shielding his eyes, he scanned the floor for a stick to prod his son with, knowing he'd never find one. Preparing to pound on the door, he paused for a moment and stared in befuddled confusion at lip locked lovers. How did they breathe?

 

Startled from his inappropriate observations, Laguna's ears perked at what he thought was his grandson calling for him. He took a deep breath and pounded his fist against the open door. “I'll be there in a second!” he shouted to Lore, pointedly making his presence known.

 

Jolting in Seifer's arms, Squall went rigid.

 

Seifer growled a note of frustration, his hand about to slip beneath Leonhart's shirt. Drawing their kiss to an end, he reluctantly glanced towards the doorway. Spotting the bright red older man, he sighed. At least the president had the good sense not to stare. He didn't want anyone seeing his rival's aroused expressions, even if that someone couldn't possibly pose a threat.

 

“If he weren't the president, I'd kill him,” Seifer whispered, earning a smack against his shoulder. He grinned and kissed Leonhart again.

 

Squall pushed at the ex-knight's shoulders, urging the man from atop him.

 

In no hurry, Seifer slowly detached himself, making certain to brush against the brunet as much as possible. Standing from the bed, he raked a hand through his hair. He offered a hand to help Leonhart up, but the stubborn swordsman ignored him while standing on his own.

 

Squall fidgeted for a moment, tugging the hem of his shirt down and wiping his lips. He should have known better than to let Seifer kiss him with the door open. He had hoped that their time apart had given him some self-restraint, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Even as he stood before his own father, who had just witnessed him sucking on another man's tongue, all he wanted to do was request the ex-knight join him in the shower.

 

Appearing cool and collected despite his inner turmoil, Seifer demanded control of himself. It was easier to suppress his rampant desires if he reasoned that doing so would allow him to fulfill his sexual appetence at a later time.

 

“I'll leave, but Friday night you're mine,” Seifer bargained. Before he could stray farther than the doorway, stormy blue eyes beckoned him back. Rushing closer, he stooped to capture Leonhart's mouth. One kiss turned into two, and then three. He tried to break away, but invariably found himself kissing the brunet again.

 

Squall knew he should push Seifer away, but he received each kiss willingly.

 

Laguna cleared his throat again. He stared bashfully towards the floor, pretending not to notice how reluctant both men seemed to part.

 

Seifer cast a narrow gaze towards Laguna. “I was starting to like you,” he muttered in mock disappointment. “You're a real kill joy, Mr. President.”

 

Laguna cast a guilty gaze to his son, appearing rebuked. It wasn't until Squall nudged Seifer in the ribs that the ex-knight spoke up. “I'm joking,” he grumbled.

 

Lifting his head, Laguna glanced between the two with a hopeful gleam in hazel green eyes. “I didn't mean to bother, but it seemed like… I mean, the door was open and all…”

 

“It's fine,” Squall assured, too embarrassed to explain that he often forgot about his surroundings the moment Seifer's lips were on his.

 

“Eat dinner,” Seifer instructed. He placed one last fleeting kiss to Leonhart's mouth before walking away.

 

Squall watched after the ex-knight, with an eager longing in his eyes that revealed his desire to follow.

 

Laguna stood still as Squall stepped out into the hallway to catch a final glimpse of the blond disappearing into the entryway.

 

“Squall,” Laguna said in a solemn voice. He stared after the ex-knight as well, and then regarded his son. Though he had already received more than an eyeful, he dared to pry further into his son's affairs. “How serious is this?” Watching the two interact, he wondered if Squall were even aware of the gestures that suggested a deep love between them.

 

Squall frowned. With a shake of his head, he requested clarification.

 

Laguna studied the former commander for a moment. “Back there,” he began, gesturing to the bedroom, “you could barely let go. I see it in your eyes right now. You're a heartbeat away from running after him.”

 

A rosy blush came to Squall's cheeks. He glowered at his father, but couldn't hide his embarrassment.

 

Laguna frowned. A sharper edge in his eyes indicated that he spoke with the same conscientiousness that he did as president. “The same goes for Seifer. I think he would have carried you out of here if he thought he could get away with it.”

 

“Laguna,” Squall said with a biting edge. He had enough people telling him he was insane for dating Seifer. He didn't need his father inputting further opposition.

 

“For the record, I like Seifer a lot,” Laguna assured, fearing he had given the wrong impression. “Lore isn't too fond of him, but I think they had a good time together today.”

 

Squall gaped at his father. “What?” he intoned incredulously.

 

Laguna smiled warmly. He had felt awkward intruding on the couple, but now that he had his son alone, his wits returned. He wanted Squall to understand that the whole world wasn't against the gunbladists' relationship. “You should have seen them. The insults went back and forth. They're both so sharp, but they always missed the target on purpose.”

 

“Really,” Squall murmured to himself, unable to believe any of it. He wished he had returned earlier.

 

“I just want you to know that I'm happy you've found someone to love.” Laguna set a hand on Squall's shoulder and squeezed gently. He had liked Cale, but that had been a safe choice. Squall had stars in his eyes whenever Seifer was around. The risks were greater, but so were the rewards.

 

“Love?” Squall choked on the word. Seifer's declaration about needing him echoed in his mind, though he didn't know why. He wanted to assume that the passionate ex-knight had spoken in the heat of the moment, but there had been a brief pause afterwards when jade green eyes had searched his own for a response. What had Seifer meant by those words?

 

Shaking his head, Squall forced the matter from his mind. He was reading too much into everything. Seifer was the bluntest person he knew, and if the man had intended to tell him something, he wouldn't have to pick apart each word to find the meaning.

 

“Did I say something wrong?”

 

“It's too soon to tell anything,” Squall stated. He wanted to deny what his father had said. There was a voice inside him screaming that love had absolutely nothing to do with what he felt for Seifer. He couldn't quiet this voice, but he couldn't express it either. Some part of him suppressed the anxious thoughts that pointed out how ludicrous it would be to love his rival. All he could manage was to deny that he felt love at that moment, which suggested a future where it was possible.

 

A small tremor passed through Squall as he considered where his whirlwind romance might lead.

 

“Are you okay?” Laguna feared he had overstepped his boundaries. He wasn't as close to Squall as Lore was. He had limits.

 

“I'm fine,” Squall assured evenly. He wasn't fine.

 

“If you're too tired to eat, I can wrap the plate up and put it in the fridge. It's good though, you should try it.”

 

Nodding absently, Squall turned and walked back to his bedroom. “I need a shower,” he muttered over his shoulder. A cold shower might help cool his desires, but it could nothing to stop the rampant thoughts running through his head.

 

TBC…

 

A/N: 0_o

 

Sorry, late again. I had to find a solid direction for this chapter, which wasn't there no matter how much I had written for it. There are more pages of scrapped writing than there are pages that I actually used, which depresses me, but I'm hoping to salvage some bits for the next chapter. I hope everyone had a happy holiday. Thank you all for the awesome reviews.

 

Consider this chapter a holiday present, but given at a post-holiday time to fend off the depression of having to wait another year for the holidays. ^_^ It's not an excuse, it's a scientific fact.

 

Please tell me what you think. I'm trying to ease into the love thing, even if the story is already getting ridiculously drawn out.