Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 42 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

By: DB2020

Warning: Mature content ahead. Youths beware.

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Two

Seifer strode through the halls of Trabia Garden as though he owned them. Making his way at a leisurely pace, he gave passersby enough time to double-take and realize who he was. The expressions on the cadets' faces were priceless.

In black slacks, a forest green sweater with a high collar, and a knee-length trench coat, he was a prominent figure among so many uniformed bodies. Even if the crowd had been more colorful, he wouldn't have failed to stand out, but now he was like a blazing light that attracted all the wrong attention. He appeared wholly unaware of the escort at his side; a mousy looking boy who shrunk inward every time Seifer glanced at him.

In his office, Irvine reclined in a chair with his feet propped on the desk. The tips of his worn cowboy boots pointed to the ceiling while his hat covered his eyes. At the meek knock on his door, he twitched but did not stir.

Seifer burst into the office, not waiting for an invitation. The mousy escort gave a yelp, but didn't try to intervene.

Startled at the outburst, Irvine jerked awake, nearly falling out of the chair. Papers rustled and plopped to the floor, along with his hat.

Seifer didn't suppress his laughter, even though he knew it didn't help his cause.

Standing straight with fire in his eyes and a reprimand on his tongue, Irvine suddenly appeared baffled when he realized who had just entered his office. “Almasy?” he intoned incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Excellent question,” Seifer said after his laughter subsided. He moved forward until he stood across from Kinneas, not caring that he stood on several of the papers that had fallen.

Irvine took an angry step forward, but faltered before taking another. He had wasted enough of his time and energy on Seifer. Fighting now would accomplish nothing. A few punches weren't worth the brain scrambling repercussions of being punched in return, and Squall certainly wasn't going to stop dating the man for it.

Picking up his hat and dusting it off, Irvine set it atop his head and peered narrowly beneath the brim. “Don't waste my time,” he said. “Why are you here?”

Seeming to take notice of the mess for the first time, Seifer used to the toe of his boots to brush fallen papers out of his way. “I certainly didn't mean to interrupt your beauty sleep,” he remarked.

“Get out,” Irvine ordered. What did it matter to him why Seifer was there?

“I came to talk,” Seifer said, his civil tone betrayed by his sneer of contempt. He didn't want to be there, but Squall had placed him in an impossible situation. There were no other viable options. Kinneas was his only hope, which was not a hope he wanted.

“In person? You could have called,” Irvine pointed out.

“You could have hung up,” Seifer returned. The best way to catch someone's attention was to look them in the eye. He needed to be taken seriously, because he wasn't going to beg.

Irvine inclined his head and tipped his hat back. His fingers twitched, itching to draw his gun. Jade-green eyes flickered to the holster at his hip, not missing where his thoughts were headed. Although Squall was a common interest between them, the laconic brunet was also their point of contention. He would not accept Seifer in Squall's life. It could only end disastrously, and he didn't want Squall having more heartache after Cale. “Once again, what do you want?” he asked acidly.

“A small favor,” Seifer said, smirking at the way the cowboy's eyes narrowed to pinpoints.

A quiver of anger coursed through Irvine. The ex-knight had limitless arrogance and audacity. “What makes you think I'd do you a favor?”

Holding back for as long as he could, Seifer relished the cowboy's outrage. Pissing people off was more than a hobby, it was an art form. Finally relenting the tiny detail that would quiet Kinneas' wrath, he muttered, “It's not for me. It's for Leonhart.”

Jaw clenching and unclenching, Irvine struggled to swallow his lump of volatile feelings. Grudgingly, he asked, “What does Squall need?”

Seifer couldn't keep from grinning. He enjoyed watching the gunman squirm. He knew the man wanted to reach across the desk and throttle him. Although he had no sympathy for overly protective best friends, he could empathize with wanting to shield Leonhart from the rest of the world. “Leonhart needs you on this mission of his,” he explained in a mockingly civil tone.

Confused, Irvine glanced around his desk as though clarity could be found somewhere in the scattered papers. Wondering if he were still asleep, he tried to fathom the chain of events that had happened since Seifer's sudden appearance. If he were dreaming, then he certainly had an accurate depiction of the ex-knight as someone who cast the world into disorder.

With a frustrated sigh, Irvine demanded, “What are you talking about?”

“His mission,” Seifer said, stressing each syllable. “He deploys in a week to an island near Centra.”

“Yes,” Irvine muttered. “I know he has a mission. What about it? What's it got to do with me?”

Seifer prayed for patience. “I have an exceedingly short fuse, Kinneas. Each moment I spend explaining things to your remarkably small brain, I lose time that could be put to better use fucking Leonhart.”

Violet-blue eyes narrowed, and a small jerk in Irvine's fingers suggested that he teetered on the edge of attacking. As he took a shaky breath, his nostrils flared with the effort of calming himself. A strong voice in his head tried to reason that a few bullets wouldn't necessarily kill Seifer, just maim the man. He had a particular part of the ex-knight that he would truly enjoy maiming. “Then I suggest you talk faster, Almasy. I can get you a pen and paper if you'd prefer. It seems like Squall's been leading you around by the nose, so if you're taking after him and not speaking, then writing should be just fine.”

“You're a fucking riot,” Seifer muttered. Leaning forward, he gripped the edge of the desk. He was only an inch taller than Kinneas, but he stretched that inch into a mile and towered over the sharp shooter.

Leaning forward in turn, Irvine stared balefully into jade-green eyes. Even as his eyes burned to blink, he refused the urge. “Do you hear me laughing?”

Voice dropping to a menacing baritonal, Seifer questioned, “Just to be perfectly clear, are you or are you not on the mission?”

Through gritted teeth, Irvine declared, “Centra's a little out of the way for Trabia Garden.”

“Okay,” Seifer bit out. “Is there any way you can get on the team?”

Irvine finally blinked. Drawing back, he tried to imagine why Seifer would be asking him such a question. “Why would I do that?”

Taking a deep breath, Seifer took a moment to calm down. “Because I can't,” he admitted.

Further perplexed, Irvine felt his anger turning into sheer frustration. He could not understand what motivated Seifer's actions. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Dammit Kinneas!” Seifer snapped, his fist hitting the desktop. He ignored the gun suddenly leveled at his forehead. Standing straight, he paced away and cut the air in a violent gesture. “You're the one who's always so concerned about Leonhart's safety,” he ranted. Turning around, he regarded the gunman earnestly. “It should be obvious.” They had one thing in common. Leonhart was everything at the moment. Leonhart was his reason for being there, and his reason for not attempting to lunge across the desk and kill Kinneas.

Holstering his gun, Irvine frowned. “You're worried about him?” he said in disbelief. Finding confirmation in the ex-knight's glaring gaze, he shook his head disapprovingly. “You don't know him very well then.”

Rolling his eyes, Seifer muttered, “We all know Leonhart's a big boy who can take care of himself. I give him props for knowing how to handle a blade.”

Irvine scoffed. “Have you picked up a history book lately? He's the best fighter in the world, probably the best there has been or will be for generations.”

“It's sick how your little fan club drools over him.”

“Well, we can't all be sore losers like you,” Irvine quipped.

Seifer ignored the insult, not wanting to alienate the gunman further. “It's the crew he's with that concerns me,” he explained. “Two months alone with him in closed quarters. They'll be in life and death situations. Those cocksuckers would have to be eunuchs not to go after him. They probably already carry torches for him, like you do, wagging their tails and worshipping him like an idol.”

Irvine was stunned. He didn't know whether to laugh or draw his gun again. “Is that a joke?”

Approaching the desk again, Seifer tried to impress how serious he took the matter. “If I can't be my own eyes and ears, then I need someone there who'll look out for him,” he stated. When the gunman simply continued to stare blankly at him, he added, “After witnessing your annoyingly persistent attempts to keep me away, I figure you're a trailing runner up for the job.”

“Please, don't sing my praises,” Irvine drawled. His immediate reaction was to throw Seifer out of his office, by the force of every handy SeeD in Trabia Garden if necessary.

Before Irvine could reject the ex-knight, an annoying understanding came to him. Seifer was absolutely right. Squall would be cut off from the world, surrounded by a dozen young men. Rules and boundaries would be thrown out after the first day. The scenario would be an isolated group fighting to survive, while struggling under the pressure to complete the mission.

It was a breeding ground for delinquent and rogue behavior. The reason that women were generally kept out of such missions was because past instances had revealed strained relations between the sexes. Squall was not a woman, but to a lot of mercenaries, someone like Squall was the highest ideal.

Irvine had stashed the news of Squall's mission away without thinking twice on it. Squall didn't go on missions often, but was capable enough that he didn't worry. Now that Seifer pointed out the unique circumstances that increased the particular risks involved for Squall, he felt like a fool for not expressing any concern sooner.

Not wanting to reveal his hand, Irvine hid his growing trepidation. He was eager to place a call to Cid, but refused to give Seifer the satisfaction of agreeing so quickly. Instead, he smiled.

Seifer grew cautious, unable to follow the gunman's thoughts and changes of expression. The man seemed oddly at ease all of a sudden.

Taking his seat again, Irvine drawled, “You need me to be with Squall, because you can't be with him yourself.” Already on board with the idea, he put up a false pretense. “This should be interesting,” he said, opening the door for negotiations.

Squall sat beside Cale's grave. Knees huddled to his chest, he leaned his head against the cold headstone and stared off towards the horizon. There was a cluster of long flat clouds that shifted the sunset from orange to pink. A warm breeze played through his hair, tousling wayward strands.

For the last hour, he had taken refuge in the cemetery's silence, thinking to himself and letting his thoughts stray wherever they wanted. In two days, he shipped out for Centra. As excited as he was about the mission, he wasn't happy.

There was more incentive to stay home than usual. Lore wasn't the only person unhappy with his departure. Seifer wanted him to stay, but would never ask him to.

Sighing, Squall reminded himself that there was no one else qualified to lead the team. While building another garden wasn't a matter of life or death, it was important to Cid. Disappointing the headmaster wasn't an option. Even at thirty-five, he remained indebted to Cid Kramer.

The sound of crunching gravel startled Squall from his lost reverie. Drawn back to reality, he unfurled his legs and stood. Turning, he spotted Seifer's tall form striding closer, up the ascending gravel path. The red rays of sunlight made the ex-knight's hair appear a ruddy gold, and gave tanned skin a darker glow.

Jade-green eyes remained fixed on the slim silhouette at the top of the small hill. There was no mistaking the feel of speculative stormy-blue eyes watching his every movement. When he drew even, he paused at the edge of Bernhein's grave. The grassy mound was nearly level, but still distinguishable.

Squall didn't speak. He turned away and looked towards the horizon. The view calmed him, though his heart rate spiked when Seifer stood beside him. Their arms brushed.

Seifer studied Leonhart's profile. The man was achingly beautiful. Behind long lashes, the entire sunset was reflected in bright blue eyes. The very shapes of the clouds were visible if he looked deep enough. Leonhart's eyes were no longer a grayish-blue. They seemed to absorb the colors of the sky, appearing red, orange, pink, and even gold. Pale skin took on a glowing hue, almost translucent. For a moment, he thought he might be dreaming. When he reached out and caressed Leonhart's cheek, he knew he was awake. Not even his most vivid dreams could replicate the soft warmth of his rival's skin.

Sliding his fingers down along a delicate jaw line, Seifer ghosted over a slender neck and set his grip at the nape. Squeezing gently, he urged Leonhart to look at him. When those mysteriously golden hued eyes found his, he felt lost.

There was something intangible between them, and Seifer feared Leonhart was close to slipping away. Digging his fingers into thick brown hair, he refused to let the man disappear. Leonhart gave a small wince that indicated he was being too rough, but he didn't care.

Squall felt his knees buckle in mere anticipation. Seifer's eyes shimmered an emerald green in the sunlight, their focus burning into him. He knew what came next. Seifer would kiss him. He waited several painstaking moments, his body desperately trying to prepare itself for the onslaught of desire.

Seifer's breathing grew taut. Leonhart's lips beckoned him, but he didn't act immediately. He knew every tangible aspect involved. Each one of his senses was stimulated and teased by the minx in front of him. His eyes were captivated by Leonhart's ethereal beauty, and a warm breeze taunted him with the scent of untamed brown hair. His head swirled with distinct memories of the warm feel of that supple body, and how sweet those plush lips tasted. Yet, there was something more between them, some nagging presence. It wasn't physical. It was an emotion he couldn't identify.

Gnawing on his lower lip, Squall suppressed an unbecoming plea that threatened to escape. Why hadn't the man kissed him yet?

As satisfying as a kiss would be, Seifer wanted something else. Using his hold on Leonhart, he pulled the brunet close. Drawn within the confines of his arms, he crushed the seemingly fragile body against his chest and prayed the force didn't break the man.

Struggling to breathe, Squall couldn't find a voice to complain when the restricted breaths he did manage were full of Seifer's scent. Burying his face against the hollow of the man's neck, a woodsy spice set him at ease.

“Two fucking days left and you spend your time here,” Seifer scolded. He felt Leonhart squirm indignantly, but he kept a firm hold. “A lesser man would be jealous,” he declared, all the while throwing Bernhein's headstone a vicious glare. Berhnhein's death had immortalized the man in Leonhart's heart, but he would not be defeated. He would fill Squall's every waking thought until there was no room for anyone else.

“Let go,” Squall urged in a muffled voice.

Arms tightening, Seifer felt every curve and crevice of his body piece together with Leonhart's. “Never,” he said. He inhaled against Leonhart's hair, the chestnut strands appearing bronze in the light.

Struggling to push back, Squall began to feel lightheaded. His ribs ached and his lungs struggled against the immense pressure. “Seifer,” he hissed.

“Is that what you really want?” Seifer challenged.

“I can't breathe,” Squall gasped. As alluring as the ex-knight's neckline was, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it if he passed out. When the pressure eased, he took deeper breaths and relaxed in the loosened hold.

“Better?” Seifer questioned.

Nodding against the ex-knight's solid chest, Squall closed his eyes. Despite the warmth of the day, he huddled against Seifer as though he felt a chill. The world began to fade away, and he wished it would never come back. He wanted to disappear inside Seifer's arms.

The sky paled, the pinks and reds slowly bleeding away. Darkness set over the cemetery, even as the western sky remained light.

___

Waking slowly, Squall gained a hazy awareness. Warmth wrapped around him like a blanket, though he could feel that the soft fabric of the bed sheet was only drawn to his waist. A dull throb radiated from his lower body. Sighing softly, he recalled the hours he had spent with Seifer. The sleeping blond didn't know the meaning of excess. Even worse, he had become weak to Seifer's manners of persuasion. He couldn't refuse the man any more than he could refuse a request from Lore.

Not remembering when he had fallen asleep, Squall could only conclude that he had drifted off in exhaustion. Under different circumstances he might feel resentment. Instead, he conceded that his physical stamina was no match for the ex-knight's insatiable sex drive.

He tried to coax his arms to move, but his limbs were stubborn and comfortable where they were. His body was completely drained. Seeing that it was still dark, he wondered why he had woken up.

Squall found that his throat was dry. It felt scratchy when he swallowed. He grimaced inwardly. Though he was the last person to strain his voice from overuse, Seifer wrought the most embarrassing sounds from him. In need of a glass of water, he lifted his head from his bedmate's pillowing arm.

A sharp intake of breath sounded near Squall's ear. The arm draped across his midsection tightened its hold. Hauled back, the distance that had formed between their sleeping bodies disappeared.

“Stay,” Seifer murmured, still half asleep.

Eyes drooping shut, Squall felt the ex-knight's command work like tendrils of magic. Setting his head back down, he reached a lazy hand up to the outstretched arm that cradled him. Slipping his fingers along an open palm, he twined his with the demanding man behind him. Sleep washed over him again, but not before he felt Seifer's fingers respond in a firm grip.

Seifer's heart fluttered pleasantly. There was no denying how pleasant and natural it felt to hold Leonhart in his arms. Dating his rival still seemed like the most ludicrous farce in the world, but it was far from a joke. Their sexual compatibility only increased the more familiar they became with one another's bodies. Their conversations were scarce, but they had more in common than he had previously thought. He truly enjoyed the brunet's company, even when they were both fully clothed and not facing each other with weapons.

He was wary of how deep his attachment would grow. Despite all his romantic notions as a naïve youth, he had never fallen prey to sappy delusions about true love. He had a fair share of heated relationships in his repertoire, but even those were accompanied by a levelheaded understanding that breakups were inevitable. He had loved only a handful of women in his life. He knew what love was and how it felt. He knew the signs to look for that would tell him how close he was to falling in love.

What he felt for Leonhart was not love. He felt a mild disappointment at this, but would never admit to it. Nonetheless, his feelings for Leonhart were like nothing he had ever experienced. Like all things unknown, there was reason to remain cautious.

At least when he had been overcome by lust for the reticent swordsman, he had known what lust was. He had known what to do with those feelings. When lust overcame him, the solution was to fuck Leonhart against the nearest wall. Now, he had no idea what sort of murky feelings lurked inside him. There was a sense of rightness; that everything in his life was lining into place.

He also felt a great deal of greed. Holding Leonhart close, he never wanted to let go. He wasn't simply greedy for attention. He was greedy for everything. He felt a suffocating need to possess Leonhart completely.

Unlike lust, he had no idea how to go about expressing such emotions. Searching for some outlet, he settled on tightening his hold and nuzzling the nape of Leonhart's slender neck. Inhaling the sweet fragrance of silky brown hair, his eyes fluttered closed and his mind cleared. There was nothing wrong with living in the moment. He would save his introspective reflections for when he had nothing better to do. It was a sin to think of anything but the creature in his arms.

___

Together in Fisherman's Horizon, Squall and Seifer had spent their morning visiting with Raijin and Fujin. Fujin was bigger than ever, and Raijin could barely contain himself with anticipation. Eager to show off his honed cooking skills, Raijin insisted they stay for dinner. While Raijin was at the market buying groceries, Squall and Seifer lounged on the edge of a dock. Squall had never fished before, which Seifer happily rectified.

On such a clear day, the sun beat down strongly. It felt like summer compared to the mild spring back in Esthar. Squall was grateful for the constant salty breeze that swept in from shimmering waters. The wind rustled his hair and cooled his brow.

The piercing cries of seagulls faded to background, a sound as constant at the waves that washed against the dock's slimy wooden pillars below.

Glancing over at the patient blond, Squall wondered how such a hot-tempered man enjoyed fishing. They had been sitting in silence for nearly an hour, and not a single fish had bitten.

“Fishing out on a rig is more exciting,” Seifer declared, breaking their long silence. “The waters can get rough near Trabia, so we leaned north as much as possible. Reeling a line in the middle of an ice storm is exhilarating.”

Squall jostled his pole, wondering if there was a trick that he was missing.

“There aren't many fish in this spot,” Seifer explained. He flashed a bright grin and pointed out to the horizon. “It just has the best view. You seem to like that sort of stuff.”

Glancing away, Squall hid his embarrassment. Seifer was surprisingly considerate at times. The view was captivating and calming, which was exactly what he needed to help prepare his mind for the mission. Once his emotions were collected, he smiled softly in thanks. Setting his pole aside, he took a deep breath and relished the warm air.

“Do you have plans for tonight?”

Squall sighed quietly. Feet dangling over the edge, he squinted against the sun's rays. “Rest,” he said.

“I'd like to spend more time with you before you go,” Seifer said, masking his eagerness as demanding insistence.

Squall shared the ex-knight's longing. “I'm staying home with Lore.” Seifer and Lore were incapable of agreeing on how he should spend his time before the mission. Saturday had been given to Seifer and Sunday was reserved for Lore. He hated having his time cut short with either of them.

Seifer knew there was no arguing the matter. Leonhart would spend his remaining hours in Esthar with the boy, which was a blow to his ego. He wasn't number one in Leonhart's life, not yet anyway. “It is possible to be near two people at once,” he pointed out.

Brows furrowed, Squall said, “Only if you're at my place.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I don't know,” Squall replied. It was only bad if Seifer fought with Lore. There was also the matter of whether Seifer intended to spend the night.

Seifer tightened his hold on his fishing pole. He became determined to sleep over at Leonhart's place, no matter how much Lore might protest. “I'll sleep on the couch if the boy bitches.”

Squall cast the blond a disparaging glance.

“Lore,” Seifer corrected with a wry smirk. “If Lore bitches.” He waited a moment before adding, “which he always does.” This earned him an icy glare, but Leonhart's wrath was not otherwise evoked.

Squall hid his contentment. Over the course of the next couple weeks, or quite possibly months, he believed his time away from home would give him a new perspective. He had every reason to believe that his feelings for Seifer were a fickle and fleeting whim. When he returned, he might not want Seifer the way he did now. Seifer might not want him. With the grim prospect of ending their relationship before it ever really began, he felt greedy for every moment left.

“It feels like a test,” Seifer stated.

Surprised, Squall regarded the ex-knight curiously. There were moments when he suspected the man could read his mind.

“Will we feel the same, or will it be the biggest mistake either of us has ever made?” Seifer elaborated, naming off the possibilities like the rules of a board game.

Squall gave a small nod of agreement. He almost pitied Seifer for having to wait. Their doubts would only grow the longer they couldn't see each other. However, unlike Seifer, he wouldn't have to think about it. The mission would distract him. At night, he would be too exhausted to think.

Knowing he would spend every spare moment worrying about whether Leonhart's feelings had cooled off, or if Kinneas was making sure no one touched him, Seifer cursed his torturous prospects. “For the record, if you come back and suddenly want nothing to do with me, it won't stop me. I'll fucking chain you to my bed.”

Squall couldn't help but smile softly. The ex-knight was incorrigible.

“You smile because you think I'm joking,” Seifer muttered in warning.

Shaking his head, Squall regarded the ex-knight evenly. “It's because I know how serious you are,” he informed. After a moment, he added, “I'd like to see you try.”

Seconds from pouncing on the brunet and teaching the man a lesson, Seifer's fun was interrupted. Footsteps announced that they were no longer alone.

“Seifer,” Raijin called out, “Why are you fishing here? It's like the only place there aren't any fish, ya know?”

“I'm just that talented,” Seifer returned. He began reeling in his line. Leonhart followed his lead. Though he would have liked more time alone, he feared Leonhart's pale skin might burn if they stayed in the sun any longer.

Standing up, Seifer announced, “We should head back to Raijin's place.”

As Squall stood, a strong hand braced his elbow and pulled him up. Shooting the ex-knight a warning glare, he shrugged his arm away and straightened. Jade-green eyes returned his narrow gaze defiantly. Not heeding his warning, the man set a hand at the small of his back and directed him to walk. He took an involuntary step forward, but remained stubbornly rooted after.

“Fussy as ever,” Seifer commented.

Quirking a skeptical brow, Squall pointed out, “You'd have thrown a fit if I tried leading you.”

“Let's not forget who the man is in this relationship,” Seifer muttered. The ice that filled Leonhart's eyes told him he had gone too far.

Clenching his fists, Squall fought the urge to punch the blond. Managing to master his emotions, he chose to walk away.

Leonhart stormed off, leaving Seifer to conclude that even if they were having sex, their rivalry wasn't gone.

Raijin scratched the back of his head, glancing back and forth between the swordsmen. “What'd you say?” he questioned when Seifer came nearer.

“The wrong thing,” Seifer answered.

“You never could keep your mouth shut, ya know?” Raijin jibed.

Regretting that any of his limited time with Leonhart would be wasted on their usual bickering, Seifer was tempted to chase after the man and win his favor back. With a gruff sigh, he resolved, “I'll let him cool down a bit.”

“Is he still staying for dinner?”

Seifer rubbed his jaw and considered how angry he had made Leonhart. “Yeah. He's pissed, but not enough to take it out on you or Fujin. He'll just ignore me the whole time.”

Raijin clapped the blond on the back. “This is why I don't think you make a good couple.”

With a grin, Seifer declared, “This is why we make a great couple. All that anger of his translates into sex.”

“I didn't need to know that, ya know?” Raijin complained before walking away.

Though he made light of the situation, Seifer knew he wouldn't be having any sex until he apologized. He had never apologized more than a handful of times in his life, and each of those apologies had involved Leonhart. He knew the brunet was sensitive about his gender being called into question. He should have bit his tongue, but it was easy to fall into the habit of exchanging sharp remarks.

Squall's alarm clock barely managed a single beep before it received a loud smack from a cursing blond swordsman. With an amused smile on his lips, Squall opened his eyes. The mattress shifted beside him as an agitated ex-knight settled back into place.

“You're up anyway,” Seifer observed, turning onto his side to face the brunet.

Quirking a wry eyebrow, Squall silently pointed out that Seifer's attempt to silence the alarm had been louder than the alarm itself.

Seifer huffed in annoyance. “It's not too late to call Cid and tell him you're sick.”

The corners of Squall's mouth twitched, threatening to smile again. Expression softening, he studied the blond's face. The room was dark, but they were only inches apart. Even if it had included a string of crude curses, he relished his a wake up call.

“You're sexy when you're happy,” Seifer commented, grinning lewdly.

Scowling, Squall cast aside the blanket and started to sit up. As expected, strong arms grabbed him and pulled him back. “I have to get up,” he said.

With his lips against Leonhart's ear, Seifer informed, “I've been up for hours.” Slipping a knee between his rival's legs, he pressed his erection against a firm thigh.

Squall squirmed towards the edge of the mattress while he pushed at broad shoulders, but his half-hearted attempts to escape stopped when Seifer kissed him. Warm lips pressed insistently against his. Before the arrogant man slipped him tongue, he opened his mouth and asked for it.

Groaning a pleased note, Seifer commended Leonhart's cooperation by stabbing his tongue deep inside an eager mouth. Stroking against his rival's tongue, he pressed his body closer and rubbed his erection against the warm body beneath him.

Squall distantly feared he would be late for the briefing, and possibly deployment if Seifer decided to do more than kiss him.

Breaking away from slick lips, Seifer chuckled darkly. “I tampered with the alarm,” he said proudly.

Squall cast a dubious glance to the radio clock on the nightstand. It read three o'clock. He didn't need to be up until four, which gave him an hour more with Seifer and an hour less of sleep. When Seifer's tongue found its way back inside his mouth, he realized he would be stifling yawns throughout the briefing.

The feel of clothing was restrictive to Seifer. Leonhart had refused to have sex even though it had been their last night together. Apparently having a son in the room across the hall was a major turn off, which meant he had to suffer in silence or sleep on the couch.

Shivering as a roughened hand slipped beneath his shirt, Squall knew he was in trouble. The man's expert touch flicked over his nipples, massaging them until he couldn't tell if the sensation were painful of pleasing. Lips released, he lay panting while the ex-knight nipped at his neck. He gasped Seifer's name.

Seifer broke away, sitting up while straddling Leonhart's body. Yanking the man's shirt up, he hiked it over messy brown hair and tossed it aside. Grabbing the back of his own shirt, he pulled it off and let it join Leonhart's.

“Seifer, no further,” Squall objected.

“At this hour, they're sound asleep,” Seifer assured. Lying flush against the writhing brunet, he enjoyed the feel of their skin touching. Coaxing compliance out of his rival, he began kissing the man's neck.

“Nnh,” Squall intoned a moan captured behind clenched teeth. Fisting blond hair, he tugged demandingly. “Stop. Lore is across the hall.”

“Then you'll just have to keep from screaming,” Seifer teased.

“No,” Squall refused. His resolve began to waver when Seifer attacked his neck again and drew the waist of his pants lower.

“They won't hear,” Seifer argued, feeling himself edging closer to what he wanted. He was on the brink of acceptance. Though he knew the consequences could be a seriously pissed off brunet that left without so much as a goodbye kiss, he wanted to keep pushing for more. He had just spent the night in Leonhart's bedroom; a place the man had previously denied him access.

“Why do you do this?” Squall hissed.

Nipping a delicate chin, he replied innocently, “Do what?”

“Always push for more.” Squall didn't know how much he had to give, but Seifer seemed intent on taking a mile whenever he gave an inch.

Seifer didn't have to think twice when giving an answer. “Because I want it all. Everything you have to give, I want it,” he stated.

Squall pressed back against the pillow and gazed up into Seifer's eyes. “I'm not the only one with something to give,” he said in a soft voice. The man might think of giving him a reprieve every once in a while.

Seifer felt a small tremor of delight course through him. “I'm yours,” he lilted. Dipping down, he kissed Leonhart gently. Being gentle meant keeping a clear head and staying focused, which was why he so rarely expressed himself in a gentle manner. Putting forth an effort, he didn't demand entry or force reactions from Leonhart's body. He coaxed plush lips open with a gentle nip, and slid his tongue inside slowly and rhythmically. He massaged supple flesh while sweet moans told him what he was doing right.

Leonhart's undivided compliance surprised Seifer. Not for the first time, he uncovered the veteran fighter's weakness. The stubborn swordsman crumbled beneath a gentle hand.

Drawing the blanket higher, Seifer eased some of Leonhart's apprehension by covering their forms. Propped on his elbows, he hovered over the brunet and attacked a pale neck.

Squall arched back against the mattress. Spreading his legs wider, he rubbed against Seifer's solid weight.

Biting the shell of Leonhart's ear, Seifer said huskily, “Take off your pants.”

Squall shifted awkwardly, lifting his hips and pushing his pants and boxers down until he freed a single leg. A surprised moan escaped him when the blond reached down and stroked his manhood. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he glared at the ex-knight.

Torturous in his ministrations, Seifer watched Leonhart writhe in pleasure. Stormy blue eyes were desperate to keep quiet. Taking pity, he tugged at the corner of the blanket and offered it as something to bite on. Leonhart shook his head, but as he pressed his fingers inside the man's tight hole, a clamped hand came loose and released a dangerously loud cry.

Before Squall could change his mind, not confident that he could keep quiet, Seifer stuffed his mouth with the blanket. He started to spit it out, but the ex-knight set a hand over it and met his eyes with a warning.

“I'm not stopping,” Seifer declared. “If you don't want to wake anyone, use the blanket.”

Eyes sharpening, Squall glared. Grabbing the blanket, he tore it from mouth and hissed, “I can manage.” Determination filled his eyes.

Smirking at the underlying challenge, Seifer leaned in close and whispered, “Maybe if I go real slow and don't get too rough, it'll help.”

Seifer set his own goal. If Leonhart was determined to keep quiet, then he was determined to be gentle until the very end.

Arms braced on either side of the pinned brunet, Seifer ghosted his lips across his rival's. He trailed the tip of his tongue along the crevice where pout lips met. Leonhart's mouth opened to invite him deeper, but he resolutely declined. Kissing a flushed cheek in apology, he trailed his lips down to a slender neck.

Squall writhed in agony and ecstasy. The places that Seifer kissed him were on fire and sent shivers through his body. Hips bucking, he rubbed himself against the ex-knight's abdomen. When the man shifted away, denying him something to rub against, he nearly whined at the loss.

Frustration mounting, Squall bit the inside of his cheek. Seifer was everywhere at once. Stretching fingers worked his entrance, while his nipples were painfully teased, and a playful mouth sucked at his beating pulse. Smothered in heat, he wanted to cry out and beg for release. Hips bucking against air, he found no relief for his throbbing manhood. The fingers inside him were careful to avoid the one place that could make him climax.

Clawing at the bedding, Squall fisted the sheets desperately. He needed to anchor himself to something before he went insane. Seifer placed fleeting touches all over his body, stimulating him without satisfaction. If he arched into a touch, it was gone the next moment.

Heart beating rapidly, Seifer began to doubt his ability to stay in control. The sight of Leonhart drowning in pleasure was too much. Stormy blues eyes gazed up at him from beneath long lashes, brimming with frustrated tears. There remained a hazy awareness in them, and he knew Leonhart would remain stubbornly silent.

Seifer removed his fingers from a clamping entrance and pushed the band of his boxers down to free his manhood. The angry red tip of his cock glistened with pearly white fluid. He was painfully hard.

Breaths increasing, Squall felt dizzy as Seifer nudged inside him.

“Shh,” Seifer whispered, stroking the side of the panting brunet's face. The man was on the verge of hyperventilating. “Calm down,” he soothed. Guiding his length slowly inside, he pushed until a clamping hole swallowed him completely. Buried in tight heat, he struggled to stay motionless.

Gently knocking their foreheads together, Seifer repeatedly whispered calming words. “It's okay. I'm inside you. Just calm down.”

Suddenly exhausted, Squall felt his eyes drift shut. When Seifer began to move, pulling out and thrusting back inside him, he jolted awake. His teeth sunk into his lower lip, stifling a cry.

“Hold onto me,” Seifer urged, wanting to feel Leonhart's body wrapped around him.

Squall shook his head, unable to release his hold on the sheets. Instead, he drew his legs up, spreading them wider. Hips gyrating, he met each of Seifer's thrusts, urgently impaling himself on the man's spearing organ. He could feel the tip of Seifer's cock penetrating deeper with each thrust.

Groaning, Seifer began thrusting harder and faster. He wanted to be gentle, but he simply couldn't. Being with Leonhart meant forfeiting control. His desires could not be managed.

Squall came without warning. Knuckles white, his body became taut and arched off the bed. A hand stroked him, drawing out each jerk his spurting organ gave. Teeth finally releasing his abused lip, he gasped silently, nothing more than a sharp intake of breath. Before he could relax back against the bed, Seifer's arms wrapped around him and pulled him upright. Mounted in Seifer's lap, he could feel a throbbing cock as it jerked inside him, filling him with seed.

Wrapping his arms around the blond's neck, Squall hugged the man close. Breaths mingling, they continued to rock against each other. Seifer kept thrusting even after he was spent, trying in vain to draw the moment out.

Slowly unwinding, they eventually relaxed in each other's embrace. Seifer lowered Leonhart to the bed, still pressed close to prolong their connection. When a hesitant hand nudged his shoulder, he knew their time was up.

Kissing Leonhart's warm temple, Seifer withdrew his flaccid length. Bent knees hugged his hips, as if telling him not to leave so soon. Regretting the loss, he claimed plush lips in consolation.

Squall urgently met Seifer's lips, trying to fill the void left behind. There was a cold moment of emptiness whenever the ex-knight was gone from inside his body. As if to affirm this coldness, a chilled shiver overcame him.

“Cold?” Seifer murmured. Settling in beside the smaller swordsman, he adjusted the blanket over their forms.

Squall sighed and sat up. Peering over the blond's form, he found that it was nearly four o'clock.

“Fuck,” Seifer muttered bitterly, wishing he had set the alarm two hours ahead instead of one. Regaining his composure, he flashed Leonhart his business smile. “You know, I think the clock might be busted from when I hit it. What we just did couldn't have been more than a half-hour.”

Squall simply shook his head. Seifer was just like Lore. As a boy, Lore had frequently sabotaged his alarm, setting it later in the hopes that being late would mean he had to cancel his mission. Smiling softly in remembrance, he said, “Lore once reset all the clocks in the house.”

Appearing surprised, Seifer muttered, “The kid's smarter than he looks.”

Rolling his eyes, Squall added, “He did that when he was seven. What's your excuse?”

With a grin, Seifer leaned in and stole a kiss. In a husky voice, he informed, “I don't need one. I'm fucking adorable no matter how old I am.”

Squall set his hands on Seifer's face and stroked his fingertips over a stubble-ridden jaw. He gazed for a moment into glinting green eyes. Setting a gentle kiss to the man's lips, he only lingered long enough to convey his regret at having to leave.

“I know,” Seifer grumbled. Running a hand along the side of Leonhart's face, he said, “You need to get ready.”

Squall nodded.

“Are you taking a shower?”

Hesitating for a moment, Squall nodded again. Sensing that Seifer was about to remove the hand at his cheek, he clasped it and leaned into the warm palm. After satisfying his selfish desire for the man's touch, he released his hold and turned away.

Daring to believe that Leonhart was becoming touch-hungry, Seifer's groin throbbed pleasantly. “I'll join you,” he declared. He would never pass up the opportunity to shower with his rival. Every gasp and moan reverberated off the tiled walls, and steamy air made the brunet's pale skin flush from the heat.

Not bothering to dissuade the blond, Squall slipped from the bed and made his way to the bathroom. He was no longer opposed to having more sex.

Shrugging into his worn bomber jacket, Squall prepared to leave. Seifer and Lore were in the kitchen, sulking over his refusal to let them see him off at the train station. He was mildly embarrassed by the fuss everyone was making, but he supposed the competition Seifer and Lore had with each other dramatized matters.

“Do you have everything?” Laguna asked.

Squall glanced at his duffel bag and the gunblade case propped against the entryway wall. With a nod, he assured that he had everything. Glancing at his watch, he murmured, “I should go.”

Laguna cast a cautious glance to the kitchen. “Should I get them?” he asked.

Sighing, Squall shook his head. Lore and Seifer were only pretending to ignore him. Their ears were no doubt strained to hear everything he said. “Just tell them I said goodbye,” he told his father. Laguna appeared shocked, not believing that he intended to leave without hugging Lore.

Squall had no intention of leaving so hastily, but he wasn't going to coddle a pair of sulking brats. Chairs scrapped against the kitchen floor, followed by thudding feet rushing to reach the living room.

“Wait!” Lore called out.

“Dammit Leonhart!” Seifer followed, glaring from across the room.

Lore rushed forward and hugged his father. “I don't see why I can't drive with you to the station.”

“I'll be back soon,” Squall responded, leaving no room for argument.

Seifer scoffed. `Soon' meant a couple hours. Leonhart wouldn't be back for at least two weeks.

“Be careful,” Lore urged.

Tousling raven hair, Squall promised, “Always.”

With a final squeeze, Lore stepped back. He glanced over his shoulder and glowered at Seifer, but stepped back to let the man have a moment.

Seifer took the boy's grudging retreat as his cue. Setting a hand on Leonhart's shoulder, he directed the man into the entryway for a private word. “What's Cid's policy on conjugal visits?” he asked.

Confused for a moment, Squall couldn't tell if Seifer was joking or not. With a shrug, he replied, “No tolerance.”

Hand squeezing a bony shoulder, Seifer declared, “I'm not liking the idea of you surrounded by a bunch of horny teenagers.” He had made his feelings on the matter clear from the start, but he wanted to urge caution once again.

Frowning, Squall corrected, “They're older than that.”

“Even worse,” Seifer stated. “They might realize your hidden potential in bed.” Earning a glare for his comment, he shook his head and tried to find a better focus. “For once, I'm not trying to be offensive. I'm serious, Leonhart.”

Squall's expression sobered. “What would you have me do?” he asked. He was at a loss for how to appease anyone in this situation. He couldn't call off the mission, nor did he want to.

Seifer pulled Leonhart into his arms. “Promise me you'll take measures.”

“Measures?”

Tightening his hold, Seifer listed off his top few concerns. “Sleep alone and inside a tent, where no one can see. Don't let anyone see you without your clothes on. If there's an opportunity to bathe, don't take it. You don't need to smell good.”

“Seifer, stop,” Squall interrupted.

“I'm serious,” Seifer reaffirmed. “Even if I can't convince you to do any of it, don't dismiss that I want you to.”

“…” Squall pushed away. Studying somber green eyes, he understood that Seifer was serious. Crossing his arms, he shifted his weight and scowled at the floor, silently signaling that he was listening.

Seifer tried to impress some level of self-awareness into the man. “You have no idea how hot you are,” he informed. He had an extremely biased view, but if he thought back to when he hadn't been turned on by the man, he had always been aware that Leonhart was attractive in an effeminate sort of way. “Don't go gathering firewood and bending over for each twig you find. You're oblivious like that.”

Squall sent Seifer an icy glare. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Not deterred by the ice in grey-blue eyes, Seifer continued, “Don't daydream about me in front of them. You get this glossy eyed look and your cheeks get flushed. It'll make them excited.”

“I do not-” Squall began to protest, but Seifer cut him off.

“Baby, you're sexy when you scowl. What do you think you look like the rest of the time?”

Scowling reflexively, Squall tried to mask his embarrassment by turning the tables. “What about you?” he queried.

“What about me?”

“…” Squall's eyes were invariably drawn to the exposed hollow of Seifer's neckline. Realizing what he was about to request, he forced his eyes elsewhere and berated himself.

Quickly catching on, Seifer chuckled.

“Never mind,” Squall muttered, regretting that he had spoken up.

Seifer fastened the top button of his shirt. “I only wear it like this because I know it turns you on,” he said. “But just in case it comes undone, I'll wear a tie.”

Brows furrowing in annoyance, Squall offered an indifferent, “Whatever.”

Seifer needed more of a reaction out of his rival. “I'll be sure to keep pepper spray in my man-purse. I won't walk home alone at night. I'll avoid dark alleys and strangers that proposition me with candy, and I won't-”

Cheeks flushing, Squall felt mortified. He resented being made fun of for a brief lapse in character. “Asshole,” he hissed, turning on foot and stooping to grab his duffel bag.

Demeanor sobering, Seifer grabbed the brunet's arm and gripped it tightly. “Leonhart,” he said sternly. He waited for the swordsman to look at him. When the man stood straight, letting the bag's strap fall, stormy blue eyes were carefully guarded. At the worst possible moment, Leonhart had retreated where he couldn't follow. “I didn't mean it like that. I meant that you can trust me. I'm not going to be picking up girls in a bar just because I'm unbearably horny.”

Squall's expression remained even. “Can't you trust me?” he returned.

“I trust that you would never intentionally invite trouble. I'm not saying this to be mean, but you can be oblivious when it comes to reading emotions.”

“…”

Sighing in exasperation, Seifer was forced to rub salt in the pretty-boy's wound. “How long was Bernhein in love with you before you even noticed?”

Guilt and remorse flashed through Squall's eyes. His lips pressed tightly together, holding back an instinctive denial. Though he knew that no one was perfect, especially himself, he didn't like feeling completely inept. Knowing that he was somewhat incompetent when it came to relationships, he couldn't defend against Seifer's insinuation.

“I'm sure you could beat up anyone who tried something on you, but it's more efficient if you take certain precautions that deter anyone from even considering you in that way.”

There was a sound logic to the ex-knight's argument, but Squall preferred to think better of his teammates.

“Just promise me you'll think about what I'm saying,” Seifer pressed.

Remaining thoughtful for several moments, Squall eventually gave a bare nod of agreement.

“One more thing,” Seifer announced.

Before Squall could pinch the bridge of his nose, he was yanked forward. Colliding with Seifer's solid chest, warm lips were at his neck. He pushed back, but gained little distance. “Seifer,” he hissed. He wanted to glance over his shoulder to see if Lore and Laguna were watching, but he decided it was less embarrassing if he didn't know.

Seifer sucked hard at pale skin, marking a point just beneath Leonhart's jaw line. Even after the task was finished, he lingered until the body in his arms trembled.

When Seifer finally broke away, Squall set a hand at his neck and glared.

“You're not allowed to get rid of it,” Seifer ordered. Leonhart's eyes only grew more defiant. “If you're hurt, you can take a potion, but don't do anything just for the sake of getting rid of it.” Grinning, he set an index finger at his own throat and inclined his head back. “You're more than welcome to return the favor.”

Glaring coolly, Squall stormed away from the overbearing man. Lore and Laguna were no longer in the living room. He found the two in the kitchen. Approaching his father, he hugged him.

Laguna's arms were still hesitant in embracing Squall, afraid that expressing too much affection would push him away. Unable to hold back, he squeezed tight. “There's no shame in running away from a fight if it means saving your own life,” he declared. With a kiss to Squall's forehead, he stepped back and wiped at watery eyes.

“Stay safe,” Lore said as he hugged his father one last time.

Squall set a quick peck to Lore's hair and murmured, “I'll be back before you know it.”

Seifer waited in the kitchen's doorframe, but Leonhart brushed past him. He followed closely, confident the man wouldn't leave while still angry with him.

Slinging his duffel bag and gunblade case over his shoulder, Squall walked to the door and pressed the release. He hesitated a moment before stepping out into the hall, but forced himself forward.

Seifer stared in disbelief as the door hissed shut. “Fuck me,” he murmured in wonder, having been certain Leonhart would rise above it all and forgive him for his antics. Expression growing hard, he glared at the door. Starting forward, he rushed to follow.

Squall leaned casually against the wall outside the apartment door. When Seifer's form nearly ran past him, he had to suppress his smile.

“You little shit,” Seifer accused, reading the amusement in sparkling grey-blue eyes. Stalking closer, he towered over the brunet.

Quirking a challenging brow, Squall gazed up beneath dark lashes. Reaching out, he grabbed the front of Seifer's shirt and pulled the man down. Pressing his lips to a warm neck, he tentatively opened his mouth and nipped.

Setting a bracing hand against the wall, Seifer groaned. A devilish mouth sucked at his pulse. It was over too quickly, the erotic feel of soft lips suddenly gone.

Releasing his hold, Squall drew away from the ex-knight's neck and observed his work. A bright red mark stood out against tanned skin like a bruise. A faint blush tinged his cheeks at his own brashness, but he preferred to consider it revenge.

Demandingly, Seifer stooped and captured Leonhart's mouth. Crushing plush lips, he grasped the back of the brunet's neck to prevent a retreat. Plunging his tongue inside, he tasted Leonhart's sweet flavor.

As Squall curled his tongue around Seifer's, he nearly lost his grip on his baggage. The perceptive blond helped keep it in place.

Swallowing succulent moans, Seifer delved deeper, roving every recess of his rival's mouth. He was too lost in the sensation to care that their breaths were growing ragged.

Squall broke away when he felt the press of Seifer's knee between his legs.

“Let me take you to the station,” Seifer urged.

Shaking his head, Squall said, “It's easier to just leave it here.”

“It's not easy to leave it anywhere,” Seifer refuted. Grasping Leonhart's chin, he claimed another kiss.

Swept away again, Squall was drawn into the kiss. He ran his fingers through Seifer's hair, trying to memorize the silky texture.

The minutes ticked by, and neither of them could cease their frenzied clashing of lips. Seifer had accidentally drawn blood when nipping Leonhart's lower lip, but he refused to stop.

Finally, when lightheadedness demanded they separate, the two rivals broke apart. Panting, Squall wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Seifer's eyes were filled with lust.

“Bye,” Squall said, almost too quiet to hear. Hitching his luggage up, he turned away.

“Wait,” Seifer called. “If something happens, if I need to contact you, can Cid make it happen?”

Squall made the mistake of glancing back. When his eyes met Seifer's, his body moved of its own accord. Walking up to the blond, he rose to the balls of his feet and kissed the man again. He managed to force himself back, keeping the kiss gentle and fleeting. “Lore knows the process,” he said.

Seifer nodded. Watching Leonhart walk towards the elevator, he fought to stay in one place. “One more thing,” he called out.

Squall waited until he was in the elevator to face the blond. Holding the doors open with the button, he waited to hear more.

“Say my name,” Seifer requested.

Squall felt his indifferent mask slip. Wanting to ask why, the blond told him before he had to.

With a grin, Seifer declared, “My name should be the last one out of your mouth before you go, not your son's.”

Scowling, Squall released the door's button.

Seifer watched intently as the doors slid close. Even if he couldn't hear it, he clearly saw Leonhart's lips form his name.

As Squall briefed the team on the mission's parameters, his eyes kept straying to Irvine. The gunman had slipped in at the last possible second, preventing him from questioning why the man was there.

When the briefing was over, Squall approached Irvine with curiosity in his eyes.

Irvine grinned. “You're wondering why I'm here,” he ventured.

Crossing his arms, Squall waited for the explanation.

“I'll tell you the day before we head home. If I tell you now, your anger might cool off before the sparks have a chance to fly.” Irvine was determined to turn this mission around on the ex-knight. He wasn't trying to break the two swordsmen up, but he certainly wasn't doing Seifer any favors for free.

Crossing his arms, Squall studied the gunman. “Did Cid ask you to come?” he asked quietly, not wanting his voice to echo in the hanger.

“No, this is something of a personal choice,” Irvine drawled. “Just consider me as friendly company.”

Squall's attention was distracted when the airship's pilot approached.

“We're ready, sir,” the pilot announced.

“Okay,” Squall confirmed. Too preoccupied to waste time on figuring out why Irvine was there, he concluded that the appeal of an adventure had called out to the gunman.

“Whatever,” Squall muttered while studying the gunman's violet-blue eyes. Moving past the man, he headed towards the airship's ramp.

Irvine caught a glimpse of Squall's neck. There was a bandage. Unable to suppress his curiosity, he questioned, “What's with the injury?” It was protocol to consume a potion before all missions.

Hand darting to his neck, Squall glared at the floor. “It's nothing,” he muttered dismissively.

“You're stocked with potions, right?”

Turning his glare on the gunman, Squall resented the question. Of course he had potions. As leader, he was fully prepared.

“You don't want to waste it on something minor?” Irvine guessed.

“No, it's nothing,” Squall reiterated.

Irvine sidled up to the agitated brunet. Raising a dexterous hand, he snatched at the bandage. When Squall jerked away, it came off.

Hand clamped over his neck, Squall glared with venom. “Irvine,” he hissed. He had half a mind to assign the sharpshooter to baggage detail for such a stunt, but he couldn't issue an order out of personal annoyance.

Swallowing his laughter, Irvine questioned, “Is that a hickey?” Surmising what had happened, he continued, “Seifer marked you and made you promise not to take a potion just to get rid of it.”

Grabbing the bandage from his friend, Squall reset it without a word.

As Squall walked away, Irvine called after him, “I can't believe you agreed to that.”

Squall's only response was a sullen, “Whatever.”

There were fifteen members in total, seventeen including Squall and Irvine. When Squall entered the flight deck, the group's excited chatter came to a screeching halt. Anyone who wasn't seated straight corrected their form. Heads shot to the front and the atmosphere suddenly became heavy.

“At ease,” Squall directed, walking down the narrow aisle to the control panel. Turning around, the wide windshield at his back, he regarded everyone. With a small frown, he noted the absence of a single body. Running through the checklist in his head, he queried, “Where's Dannis?”

Squall had not been pleased to accept Miles Dannis onto his team. Cid had vouched for the boy, assuring that despite disciplinary issues, the recent graduate was a promising soldier. Dannis was the youngest recruit, and at eighteen acted with the ego of an experienced veteran.

No one breathed. A few eyes flicked to the small doorway when Irvine strolled in.

“Who died?” Irvine wondered aloud.

Crossing his arms, Squall gave Irvine a tightlipped look. Irvine promptly took his seat and removed his hat.

Squall checked his watch. It was almost time to liftoff.

“Sir,” a young man with many freckles began, “Dannis was with us during the equipment check.”

Squall rifled through his files to find the inventory log. Before he could confirm whether Dannis had indeed signed his equipment in, running footfalls approached.

A burly form ducked through the doorway. Dannis resembled Raijin build, but had a somber countenance that never betrayed what he truly thought. Spiky red hair stood like a flame and piercing grey eyes met Squall's defiantly.

Dannis paused for a moment, scouring the area before proceeding at a slow pace down the aisle. Approaching the commander, he neglected to salute and waited with an air of impatience for Squall to speak.

Forced to incline his head to meet the towering redhead's gaze, Squall's expression remained unchanged.

In the back, Irvine sat on the edge of his sit, his hand gripping the back of the chair in front of him. He was moments away from drawing his gun and forcing the brash soldier into submission.

“Sir,” Dannis said after the commander's silence didn't break.

It suddenly struck Squall that Dannis reminded him of Seifer. An amused smile threatened to soften the straight line his lips were set in.

Swearing he saw laughter in steely blue eyes, Dannis lifted his proud jaw higher.

“Sit,” Squall directed.

Making slow work of it, Dannis took a seat in the front row, a place usually reserved for officers.

Squall was torn on how to handle Dannis. The young man was clearly testing his bounds, seeing how far he could push before being forced back in line. Quistis would have kicked him off the ship already.

For the most part, Squall was immune to cocky displays of self-importance. He didn't need to assert his own authority over such petty displays, but there was always the danger that small acts of defiance could lead to a serious act of insubordination. Furthermore, others were likely to copy Dannis.

Approaching the pilot's seat, Squall gave the order to liftoff. Turning to face his team, he directed, “Strap in.” He took his own seat two places away from Dannis. It would be a two-hour flight. Preferring to review the mission files, he quickly resolved that Dannis wasn't worth his consideration. If trouble arose, he would deal with it. Until then, there were too many ifs and maybes to waste time fretting over.

Leaning over a bit, Dannis queried, “Are you wearing perfume, commander?” There was laughter in his voice, but he had sense enough to only speak loud enough for Squall to hear, his voice silenced from everyone else by the sound of the roaring engines.

With a sigh, Squall pinched the bridge of his nose. The boy definitely resembled Seifer in personality.

TBC…

Author's note:

I'm so happy to finally update! This chapter has been in indecision limbo for so long. It seems that the longer I take in writing, the more time I have to change my mind and re-write everything. Things were definitely jumpy in this chapter, since I kept cutting and chopping scenes. It's a little sparse, filled with mostly dialogue, so some edits might come along to spruce it up. It's also kind of a slow going chapter that spends way too much time getting to the point where Squall finally leaves (I swear I'm not trying to be self-pitying with this). There was a little intrigue in the end, which leaves me eager to get working on the next chapter.

Despite its flaws, it's full of SeiferxSquall goodness, so I hope you enjoyed it.

My eyes are not fresh, so I apologize for any grammar issues and typos. If there's a really bad error, please let me know. Otherwise, I'll get around to polishing it later.

Thank you all so much for the reviews. I know some of you were getting a little impatient for an update, so double thanks for waiting and still reviewing. I received some really good constructive criticism, which I always appreciate, so thanks for that too.

Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate it. I happily colored eggs and can't wait to see my new niece all dressed up ^_^