Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Defining Love ❯ Defining Love ( Chapter 45 )

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Five

 

The exam room was small and private. Aluminum counters and a sink basin gleamed. A long row of cabinets held an array of vials, boxes of medicine, and gauze.

 

Still in their dark fatigues, Irvine and Squall had wasted no time in getting to the Lunatic Pandora Laboratory. Dr. Odine toddled in a white lab coat that reached his feet.

 

The doctor hummed to himself several times before Irvine lost his patience. “Well doc? Should I start planning a baby shower?”

 

“Pregnant?” Odine intoned with surprise, sounding as though he had forgotten his reason for examining Squall in the first place. Furry white eyebrows shooting high, he shook his head. “No, no,” he assured. “Mr. Leonhart isn't the least bit pregnant.”

 

Irvine gave the doctor a doubtful look. A person was either pregnant or they weren't. There was no `least bit' about it. He wondered if he should take Squall for a second opinion. Then again, considering the unique circumstances, there might be room for such things as partial pregnancy or near fertilization.

 

The gunman shivered at the unpleasant concept of the commander being `fertilized'. He wanted to slip out of the examination room and hunt the ex-knight down like a dog.

 

With a sigh, Irvine took a moment to accept Odine's assertion that Squall wasn't pregnant. There was a modest amount of relief in that fact, but there was obviously more to the doctor's findings.

 

Swiping a handheld device over Squall's exposed abdomen several more times, Dr. Odine's expression scrunched up into a look of deep thought.

 

“You sure?” Irvine drawled. “You have this look that says there's something going on.”

 

“Yes, something is indeed going on. The sorceress' spell dispersed without a trace sixteen years ago, but here it is, active as ever.”

 

“The spell isn't broken?” Squall questioned, speaking for the first time since taking his place on the examination table.

 

“It did break, but it seems to have mended.” Dr. Odine sounded excited.

 

“Spells don't mend,” Irvine stated.

 

“Quite right,” Odine agreed. “But I'm almost certain the spell ended. It finished its job in any case. It's hard to say anything definitive about such a complex spell. Para-magic has many baffling qualities that continue to evade my understanding. I simply don't know enough to…” The doctor trailed off, his dark beady eyes gleaming as he stared intently at Squall's stomach.

 

Jaw clenching, Squall sent the doctor an icy look. He wanted to put his shirt back on and wipe the messy slop of clear lubricant off his stomach. He had received a favorable answer to the question that had brought him there, but judging from the perplexed look in Odine's eyes, there were more questions to address. Hearing that Ultimecia's spell was active inside his body did not bode well for anyone.

 

Before Squall could press for answers, Irvine jumped in. “What's going on inside him? Why is the spell still there?”

 

“Well,” Odine said with a speculative frown, “there could be any number of reasons. If I had been given the opportunity to study Mr. Leonhart's condition sixteen years ago, I might know more now.”

 

“He's not your lab rat,” Irvine hissed.

 

Sitting upright, Squall reached to the counter for the box of tissues. It was apparent that Odine wouldn't find any answers by taking another sonogram. Wiping his stomach clean and slipping into his white t-shirt, he stood from the exam table.

 

“A few simple tests may tell us more,” Odine reasoned.

 

“Nothing invasive,” Irvine said. The gunman knew exactly what Dr. Odine had in mind. Before Lore had been born, the doctor had begged to poke and prod Squall with a number of foreign looking instruments.

 

Squall gave Irvine a cool glare, reminding the man that while he often opted for silence he was still capable of speaking for himself.

 

Irvine sighed, realizing he didn't need to be so over protective. He settled for giving one last warning. “Not like last time. Don't keep coming around with weird equipment. And if it's a needle, it better be to take blood, not inject a strange glowing liquid.”

 

Odine shuffled over to his chart on the counter. He cast a crestfallen look toward the president's son, though his attention was directed at the young man's stomach. “As a scientist, I have always mourned the loss of such a unique subject of study.”

 

Arms already crossed, Squall slid them lower to hug his midsection. The doctor's penetrating gaze made him uncomfortable. If given the chance, Odine would gut him open like a fish and study his innards for better understanding of Ultimecia's spell. The fact that he could snap Odine's neck kept the man from doing anything more than a harmless sonogram. Odine was also kept inline by the fact that his father was the president of Esthar. Esthar was the only country in the world at a stage of technological advancement that could sustain Odine's interest. With a faint smile, Squall loosened his arms and let them fall to his sides. He remembered what had happened sixteen years ago, when his friends had rallied against Odine. There was nothing the scientist could do against his wishes, not when so many of Squall's supporters were in positions of power and promised to use violence.

 

Thinking along the same lines as Squall, Irvine crossed his arms and stood at attention. He eyed the doctor coldly, as though targeting the man through a riflescope. There were no other para-magic specialists qualified to give answers on such a bizarre medical anomaly, but that didn't give Dr. Odine the upper hand.

 

Seeing that his regiment of tests would be limited to blood work, Odine leveled with the former commander. “I don't know enough to give you the answers you want. Without a proper examination, I can't even begin to understand how the spell became active again.”

 

A nagging concern came forward in Squall's mind. With what little he understood about Ultimecia's twisted aims in impregnating him, he knew that those aims had involved Seifer as much as himself. He could not ignore the fact that spell's recent upstart coincided with another upstart in his life. Turning a somber gaze to the doctor, he asked, “Could there be a catalyst?”

 

Bushy white eyes brows shot so high they nearly disappeared among frizzy white hair. Behind thick spectacles, Odine's eyes widened with astonishment. “Genius!” he exclaimed. Turning around, he shuffled through pages in a notepad to find a clean sheaf and then began writing furiously. “A catalyst. Why didn't I think of that? It makes perfect sense.”

 

Odine's hand went abruptly still. Looking expectantly at the quiet brunet, he prompted, “What catalyst did you have in mind?”

 

An abused lower lip slipped free from gnawing teeth as Squall prepared to answer. “Seifer Almasy.”

 

--

 

Lore didn't know how to break the ice after the way he had left things with Seifer. The man was an arrogant jerk, but even jerks had their moments. Though the ex-knight's moral high ground was still well below sea level, the man had principles.

 

The issue was clearer once Lore had set aside personal feelings. It wasn't about walking in his father's shadow. It was about becoming a fighter.

 

Standing outside Seifer's office, Lore cast the dolled up secretary a cursory glance before walking past her desk. Her eyes lifted from her computer screen to follow his progress.

 

With permission to come and go as he pleased, Lore squared his shouldered and raised his chin. Straightening the smug curl to his lips, he reminded himself that curing the ex-knight's favor not something to be proud of. Once he was certain he didn't appear smug overeager, he knocked.

 

“Come in,” Seifer called gruffly, eyes peering over the top of his laptop's screen. He made no effort to hide his smug amusement at the sight of the raven-haired youth.

 

Lore offered a stiff, “Hey” and closed the door. Trudging closer, he slung his backpack off his shoulder and set it near the chair before taking a seat. Visiting Seifer's apartment at midnight had seemed extreme, so he had curbed his desire to talk with the man and waited until the next morning. It was almost seven o'clock. His first class didn't start for an hour, but the ex-knight appeared to be well underway with work.

 

Seifer had misjudged Leonhart's son. He hadn't expected Lore to turn up again. As the boy sat before him, he second-guessed his own conclusions. Annoyed that both generations of Leonharts had a knack for throwing him off his game, his gaze narrowed.

 

As a result of his annoyance, Seifer's tone was more biting than circumstances warranted. In a sharp black suit, a crimson dress shirt and light grey tie, he exuded an aura of power. The tailored lines of his suit could not hide the mass of muscles beneath. His eyes were sharp and intelligent. It was not difficult to believe that he was as much a force to be reckoned with in a business meeting as he was on the battlefield.

 

Those sharp eyes pinned Lore in place. In a deep, commanding voice, Seifer said, “Contrary to popular opinion, I don't like to dick around with my time. I'm busy, so spit it out.”

 

Glaring, Lore fought the urge to flip the ex-knight off and stalk from the office. Swallowing his annoyance, he asked in a sulking tone, “What does it take to be SeeD?”

 

There was silence. Blue-green eyes darted around the room evasively when Seifer didn't respond immediately.

 

Seifer felt certain the kid could do better. An apology for wasting his time would do for a start. Then he realized that Lore had bypassed an apology on purpose. The intentional omission was the sort of cocky attitude that he would have expected from himself.

 

A broad grin lit Seifer's face. He couldn't help but find the boy amusing. “A lot more than you have,” he quipped.

 

“It can't take much if they let someone like you in,” Lore shot back, cocking a daring eyebrow.

 

Seifer laughed. He hadn't encountered anyone this feisty since Dincht. It was far more satisfying that slinging remarks at an unresponsive Leonhart.

 

Huffing, Lore reached up to his necktie and tugged it looser. His eyes flickered to the pristine knot and perfect order of Seifer's tie. He envied the orderly presentation, which made his own appearance look sloppy by comparison. After countless attempts to tie his necktie, he had settled for something barely passable. The knot was either too tight or the lengths wrong. He missed his father's nimble fingers and how perfect the man could tie his ties.

 

Leaving the knot to hang crookedly, Lore regarded Seifer with a cautious eye. “The training you have in mind,” he began, trying to convey his concern without sounding halfhearted, “how extensive is it? Do I have to leave school?” He didn't want to give up soccer either. Not yet. Making soccer his career was just a pipe dream, born from his avid admiration of the Toramas. Though, he harbored serious hopes of playing in college.

 

Closing his laptop, Seifer gave the boy his full attention. Everyone in Garden had unique backgrounds, but none as unique as Lore's. The boy wasn't being coerced to join military ranks for lack of better options. There was nothing the kid couldn't do in life.

 

Lore had everything Seifer had only dreamt of as a kid. Money, family, security.

 

Behind his successful appearance, Seifer was envious. When he was too young to know better, he had fantasized about having a father. Matron had been his mother, but there were times that a boy sorely needed a father. Leonhart fit the bill of his dream father nicely, though he had envisioned someone a bit more rugged. A father that was tough as nails, so he could brag. But also a father who had a soft side, so he knew it was okay to do things like hugging the man. Seifer's chest ached. He yearned to feel Leonhart's delicate fingers running through his hair.

 

Drawing a sharp breath, Seifer refocused his mind and regarded the raven-haired boy with a thoughtful frown. “No matter which Garden you enroll in, the core requirements are geared towards fighting. You don't know jack about using magic or summoning Guardians. By law, that's not something I can teach you.” He didn't give a rat's ass about legality, but Leonhart would fillet him alive for it.

 

Lore nodded glumly. His mind had reeled with different scenarios all night. His excitement had bubbled until it spilled out of him, but he was quick to remember that becoming SeeD wouldn't be easy. He was discouraged each time he remembered that he was getting a late start. Most first year cadets were fourteen years old. He was already sixteen, a year younger than his father had been during the war.

 

Seifer eyed the kid's blazer and tie. The school uniform reminded him that sending the kid off to Trabia or Balamb was easier said than done. “How many years do you have left?”

 

“In high school?”

 

Seifer made a flicking gesture that told the boy to answer.

 

“I'm a sophomore, but finals are in a couple weeks.”

 

Nodding, Seifer confirmed, “Two years.”

 

“I think I should finish.” Discouragement became dread as Lore realized that graduating from high school was another delay. He would be an eighteen then, well outside his cohort as a first year cadet.

 

Seifer scoffed. “For the safety of my sex life, I think you should too.”

 

Furrowed brows indicated that Lore didn't understand the comment, but he scowled as it dawned on him.

 

Laughing, Seifer elaborated, “If Leonhart didn't put you in Garden himself, that means he wants you where you are. I don't need him having a hissy fit about this.”

 

Lore let the lewd comment pass uncontested. “My dad wouldn't mind. He'd support any decision I make.”

 

Skeptical, Seifer studied the conviction in the boy's eyes. “Waiting two years works in your favor. Whether you hop a flight and enroll tomorrow or wait two years, you'll still be green as grass when it comes to magic and summoning. At least if you wait, you can train and be ahead of the curve where it really matters.”

 

Surprise registered in Lore's expression as he listened to the ex-knight's insight. The man was giving the whole thing some serious thought. “And you'd train me?” he hedged. Being ahead of the game when it came to hand-to-hand combat was mildly comforting.

 

Grumbling a note of discontent, Seifer frowned at the strange mixture of trust and hope in blue-green eyes. He didn't like being the target of any of anyone's trust or hopes. “Watching you putz around with a blade should be funny as fuck,” he muttered basely. “Besides, I get to put your training fee on Leonhart's tab. He pays in a currency I can't get anywhere else.”

 

Lore pulled a disgusted face. “That's my dad, you asshole.”

 

Content that the kid wasn't so adoring anymore, Seifer relaxed. “What can I say? I don't do anything for free. I'm not the benevolent sort.”

 

“Clearly,” Lore muttered.

 

A muffled ring tone curtailed any further remark from either one of them. Lore glanced down at his backpack, which slouched against the leg of the chair.

 

Seifer sat forward. His heart beat against his rib cage.

 

The ring was generic. It was the ring Lore had set for anyone who wasn't on his speed dial. Lore felt a strange certainty that it was the call he had been waiting for. Seifer seemed to share this odd sensation.

 

“Answer it,” Seifer hissed. His tense form was ready to upheave the entire desk and throw himself at the book bag.

 

Snapping into action, Lore crouched and roughly unzipped the front pocket.

 

“Hello?” Lore greeted urgently. The phone was upside down. He fumbled it around into the correct position. “Hello?” he repeated.

 

“Lore,” Squall said, a smile in his tone.

 

Unashamedly, Lore allowed the edges of his mouth to pull into a wide, goofy smile. He resembled his grandfather when he did this. Shooting up from his seat, he paced away, excitement and giddy relief rushing through him like a torrent. “Hyne, Dad!” he exclaimed, at a complete loss for anything else to say. Just hearing his father's voice after two months was overwhelming.

 

When Lore turned around and paced back towards Seifer's desk, his steps faltered. The ex-knight's dark expression set him on edge, effectively dividing his attention. He eyed the blond man with uncertainty.

 

“How are you?” Lore managed to force out, his voice faltering for a moment.

 

“I'm fine. I'll be home in an hour.”

 

Reaching up, Lore began to tug his tie until the knot slipped free. Skipping school was a given, and a properly tied tie became the lowest priority on his list.

 

When jade-green eyes met the boy's, Seifer said, “Tell him not to call me.”

 

Surprise became confusion as Lore tried to figure out Seifer's aim. Covering the mouth of his cell, he gave the man an expectant look.

 

Seifer grumbled his annoyance at having to repeat the order. “Tell Daddy Dearest not to call me.”

 

Still confused, Lore followed the instruction mechanically. “Seifer says don't call him.”

 

There was silence on the other end.

 

“Any particular reason?” Lore asked, speaking to the ex-knight but also speaking so that his father could hear.

 

Seifer raked frustrated fingers through his hair. “He'll know why,” he asserted. His impatience to see Leonhart had a jittery affect on his body. He stood from the desk and paced to the window, unable to keep still. Knowing that Leonhart had returned to Esthar would make the remainder of the day unbearable.

 

A quiet voice replied over the still line. “That's best,” Squall agreed.

 

“Dad agrees that it's best,” Lore related. “Why don't I just hand the phone over?” he suggested, not understanding Seifer's intentions.

 

“No,” Seifer and Squall said in sync. The surround sound effect gave Lore a small start.

 

Knowing that he could exert a small amount of restraint while there was still distance separating him from Leonhart, Seifer didn't need his senses toyed with by Leonhart's voice. If he spoke to the swordsman, his restraint would crumble. He would drive like a mad man across the city. And whether family was present or not, he would act on every ounce of lust he had stored inside his body.

 

Seifer decided that it was best to wait a little longer. “After he's had his hellos with you and Loire, send him to my place.” Swallowing his frustration, he added, “I'll give him until eight o'clock.”

 

Scoffing his disapproval, Lore said to his father, “Seifer wants you to come to his house at eight.”

 

“By eight,” Seifer hissed in correction. “Come earlier if he can.”

 

“By eight,” Lore repeated, throwing the ex-knight a scowl. “I think Grandpa wants to do take out.”

 

Squall's nod was lost over the line. After a pause, he said, “I talked to Grandpa. He's at home already.”

 

“You called Grandpa first?” Lore was surprised, but not offended. Concerned that he had sounded petulant, he added, “Not that it matters.”

 

“Protocol,” Squall said, explaining everything in a single word. Standard protocol didn't require him to contact the president, but his visit to Dr. Odine's laboratory had raised a few eyebrows and alerted Laguna. Before Laguna could jump to conclusions, he had spoken with his father to stifle any panic.

 

It suddenly occurred to Lore that he had a lot to discuss with his father. Casting Seifer a sheepish glance, he felt the first hint of dread settle in his stomach at the prospect of declaring his intention to enroll in Garden. He anticipated several reactions from his father, but would never know for certain how the man would take the news until he actually broke it.

 

Feeling that he had betrayed his father on some level, Lore's excitement drained away. “I'll see you at home then,” he said in a subdued voice. The extended pause on the other end confirmed that Squall had perceived the change in his manner.

 

“Love you,” Squall said in parting.

 

Warmth washed over Lore at those words, but it only increased his guilt. “I love you too,” he responded. In his inward speculation over how his father would accept his decision, he missed the strange look Seifer gave him.

 

--

 

After calling his son, Squall let the phone slip from his ear. He flipped it shut and tossed it to the empty seat beside him. With a sigh, he pressed back into the cushions of the luxury car sent as his escort. Laguna enjoyed throwing expenses around whenever possible.

 

Irvine had wanted to ride with him into Esthar, but Squall had sent the gunman on his way. They had parted at the train station, Irvine headed for Trabia.

 

The drive through the desert gave Squall time to think about his current situation. He berated himself for not noticing the change in his body. It was still unclear whether his morning sickness had been the workings of the spell inside him or if it had simply been the heat. The coincidence was suspicious, but he had confidence in Dr. Odine's conclusion that he wasn't pregnant.

 

The nausea he felt at the moment had nothing to do with morning sickness. He was sick with worry. He faced a number of serious problems. Although he wasn't pregnant, the possibility of becoming pregnant was a rude reality. It had been seventeen years since he felt the cold clutch of dread twisting his stomach in sharp knots. He remembered the pervading suspicion that something had changed inside him after escaping D-District Prison. Despite his disbelief, he had known that something grew inside him. It was unnatural and impossible, but to his horror his stomach had started to swell.

 

A dull pain broke through Squall thoughts. His hands clutched the fabric of his pants, strangling the material until white knuckles throbbed for blood.

 

Guilt washed over him. He remembered the bundle of tiny limbs and bright pink skin, nestled in the crook of his arm. Squinted eyes, which had known nothing of sorceresses or death or violence, had stared at him. Lore had been a quiet baby for the first six months. When Lore had developed an understanding that crying made Squall jump to attention, the attention-hungry baby cried at the drop of a hat. But Squall had loved it. He had loved how Lore clung to him, preferring him to everyone else.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall closed his eyes and suppressed his memories. His concern needed to be focused on the present. Head cleared, he began to consider the problems he now faced.

 

The numbers of persons he would have to involve further complicated matters. Laguna was still under the impression that his visit to Dr. Odine had been a routine check up after his extended exposure to the elements. That night, or perhaps tomorrow, he would have to sit down and tell Laguna and Lore about what was happening.

 

A small part of him was tempted to keep it a secret. He even reasoned that it was selfish to unload such worry onto his son. He could live with a guilty conscience. It wouldn't be like telling a lie, just omitting a few facts about how his mission had gone and what he was up to when he left the city to see Dr. Odine.

 

Keeping the strange development inside his body a secret was appealing, but it wasn't practical or justified. Even if he anticipated panicked reactions, the situation was not a medical emergency.

 

Other than Laguna and Lore, he was obligated to speak with Seifer. Irvine already knew what was going on, which meant Selphie would soon know. Then there was Rinoa…

 

Eyes flickering to his cell phone, Squall hesitated. Dr. Odine had sounded gleeful at the idea of a second pregnancy, but that wasn't an option for Squall. He had left Odine with orders to find a way to break or reverse the spell.

 

A cold shiver ran the length of his spine when he considered that the spell might have been lingering inside his body all these years.

 

Though vast, Odine's knowledge was limited. Squall knew that the man couldn't promise solutions. There was one person who could offer help. Squall hesitated because he knew that asking for help would mean revealing some part of his relationship with Seifer.

 

Only a handful of people knew about him and Seifer. It never occurred to him that his relationship with his rival was a secret. He hadn't treated it that way. Discretion had been important, but there was no reason to hide.

 

Resenting his own insecurity, Squall grabbed the phone and searched through his contacts.

 

The call rang twice before a warm, cheery voice answered, “Hello?”

 

“Rinoa,” Squall greeted, trusting she could recognize his voice. His personal cell phone was at home. ID on a military phone was blocked.

 

“Squall!?” Rinoa's shock was understandable. Squall spoke less over the phone than he did in person and he rarely initiated a call.

 

Squall forced himself to exchange pleasantries. It was the least he could do when he was calling to ask for her help. Thankfully, Rinoa knew him well enough to keep the small talk to a minimum.

 

“You've called for a reason,” Rinoa surmised.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I'm all ears.”

 

Following a sigh was a long pause of silence. Rinoa knew better than to speak up. “Can you come to Esthar?”

 

Sensing that something was wrong, though Squall's passive tone gave nothing away, Rinoa quickly responded, “When do you need me?”

 

Wincing at the sound of panic in the sorceress' voice, Squall tried to choose his words diplomatically. He wasn't certain it was possible to reassure her that nothing was wrong and still impress urgency. “Tomorrow or the day after.”

 

“Is everything okay?”

 

“Yes. There's a small issue of para-magic to resolve.”

 

“Oh, Hyne!” Rinoa exclaimed. “Is it-” she choked for a moment. “Is it another sorceress?”

 

“No,” Squall said. His jaw was stiff with reluctance as he explained, “It's in me.”

 

The strange statement hung in the air.

 

“Squall, what are you… I don't understand…”

 

Squall felt the moment that understanding came to Rinoa.

 

“Oh, Hyne!” she repeated. “Squall, are you okay?”

 

Before Squall could attempt damage control, Rinoa was yelling in the background for Ellone. In the next moment, Ellone was on the line.

 

Squall muttered the same assurance, making it his mantra. “I'm fine,” he said in response to every question they asked.

 

 

The conversation did not end well. Squall hung his head and pinched his nose while fending off a migraine. When Squall flipped his phone shut, he felt a false sense of calm fall over him. Staring out the window with a stony expression, he watched the neon city loom nearer.

 

His mind slipped into tactical planning. Wishing he could express his worry as openly as Rinoa and Ellone, he held his anxiety at bay and continued to stare out the window, looking like a man whose greatest dilemma was whether he needed to add coffee to his grocery list.

 

Inside, he felt something slip away. Eyes scanning the skyline of buildings, he wondered if he could spot Seifer's training center from his position. He was too far south.

 

How would Seifer react? Would he be able to force the words out of his mouth when he saw the ex-knight? Or would he be swept away by his desires? Would Seifer even give him a chance to speak before stripping his clothes off?

 

Squall imagined the whirlwind of desperately grappling bodies, but it seemed too ridiculous to be possible. Even though he knew how crippling the attraction he felt could be on his mind's ability to think clearly.

 

Condoms, Squall recalled, were a safeguard he and Seifer had stopped using. Their relationship was exclusive. What use were condoms except to make a messy act a little less messy? Men couldn't have children.

 

Feeling an old wound twinge, Squall felt familiar doubts stir in the back of his mind. How many times had he tortured himself in the past, questioning his manhood as his bulging belly declared to the world that he was pregnant? How hard had he pushed himself after Lore was born, swimming countless laps in the pool, jogging miles on end, and doing sit ups until he couldn't stand straight? He had been ashamed, both at his physical appearance and his apparent vanity.

 

Releasing a weighted sigh, Squall reminded himself that he wasn't pregnant. It was the potential for pregnancy that tormented him now. Close to two decades after the war and Ultimecia still had a hold on him.

 

As Squall scraped the distant recesses of his brain for ways to break the news to Seifer, he quickly realized how moot it all was. The issue was a deal breaker. It didn't matter how he spun the tale. Seifer would want nothing to do with him.

 

The man barely tolerated Lore for his sake. The questions the ex-knight had once raised about his pregnancy remained unpursued. Seifer would rather pretend that a stork had dropped Lore at his doorstep.

 

A contrary voice spoke and told Squall to have a little more faith in Seifer. The machismo-obsessed ex-knight had suspended strict heterosexual ideals for the sake of entering a relationship with him. However tentative their current relationship might be, it was clear Seifer was serious.

 

Fluctuating back and forth, Squall remembered the look of disgust on Seifer's face the night the blond had confronted him about Lore. He had seen a lot of the ex-knight's expressions up to that point. Their rivalry had ensured he saw everything from spiteful contempt to pure hatred, but never such disgust. He had fallen in Seifer's eyes, no longer a proud swordsman but a softhearted fool who answered to the whims of a five-year-old.

 

Seifer had left without a shred of doubt. The man had wanted nothing to do with Lore and even less to do with Squall. Seifer had stayed away for eleven years. Seifer hadn't come back into Squall's life because that disgust and disappointment had changed. Seifer had scarcely thought of him or Lore in those years spent at sea. It had been a twist of fate that brought them together again. Not a change of heart.

 

Squall had witnessed enough in the past few months to conclude that Seifer's opinion had changed. The man treated him as an equal, and his attitude towards Lore was occasionally civil and increasingly tolerant.

 

Squall couldn't tell if he was deluding himself one way or the other. So much had changed between them, but they were still the same people they had been six months ago. There had been a spark of attraction brought on by Seifer's bruised ego. Where that attraction led had surprised them both, but they weren't different people because of it.

 

There had been a few occasions when Seifer's eyes had strayed to the scar at his abdomen. Squall didn't know what those stray glances indicated.

 

--

 

Seifer didn't want to be accused of being a cheesy romantic. His mind volleyed back and forth. A candlelit dinner sat ready in kitchen. Five times already, he had blown out the candles and begun clearing the table.

 

Then, when he had felt foolish and angry at how wound up Leonhart had him, he had set everything back up again. A few minutes would pass, and he would grab the plates again and blow out the candles.

 

Finally, he snapped. Clattering dishes were stored away and already cooled chicken, green beans, and roasted potatoes were stored in plastic bags and set in the fridge. The candles were chucked into the garbage.

 

Seifer was not accustomed to having doubts. He hated indecisiveness in others and would not tolerate it in himself. So the dinner was scrapped. Once he saw Leonhart, dinner would have been the last thing on his mind anyway.

 

By seven o'clock, Seifer had run out of distractions. Work had been impossible after Lore left his office that morning. A drenching ten-mile run and exhaustive workout lifting weights had done little to distract him.

 

He paced his apartment, fighting the urge to drive across the city to Leonhart's apartment. He changed his bed sheets, which had been changed the day before already. It was seven-thirty when there was a knock at his door. About to see if he could find a distraction on TV, Seifer lowered the remote before he could turn on the mounted plasma screen. Rising from the couch, he forced calmness into his long strides.

 

If he hadn't been expecting Leonhart, he would have known it was the reticent brunet anyway. The knock had been distinctive. Sharp, but not demanding. Leonhart was a patient person. Most people would have knocked again by now, but not the reserved commander.

 

Hand raised to release the door's lock, Seifer hesitated. Setting his forehead against the door, he waited for Leonhart to knock again. How long would the composed swordsman wait? If their roles were reversed, he would have pounded on the door and kept pounding until the door opened.

 

Leonhart didn't knock again. Seifer cursed under his breath. Leonhart's ability to exact restraint dug at his ego.

 

Pressing the release, Seifer stepped back from the door as it opened. Eyes slipping over the dark and imposing form in his doorway, his heart began a hard, fast paced beat. His breath caught in his throat, stifling any smarmy remark that might come to mind.

 

Worn black leather conformed to long, lean legs. A black fitted t-shirt outlined slim hips and a firm flat chest. Two months of hoofing through the jungle had failed to impart more than a faint tan. He met effeminate and stern features of a delicately pointed chin, high cheekbones, sharp eyebrows, thick lashes and bright grey-blue eyes. Choppy bangs obscured one of the man's eyes, but left the pale pink scar visible.

 

Body reacting without direction, Seifer reached out and snagged the front of Leonhart's shirt. He hauled the man inside his apartment. Tripping steps caused Leonhart to collide against his chest, grabbing onto him for balance. An electric jolt heated the back of his neck. He delighted in the feel of Leonhart grabbing onto him. For a moment, he was completely lost in the desire to have the man clinging to him in desperation.

 

Squall tensed, his body resisting the ex-knight's touch. Two months of keeping constant guard wasn't easy to reset. As strong arms enveloped him and squeezed tight, he tried to push away. Seifer's hold only tightened. Though the ex-knight didn't speak, Squall could feel the man telling him to stop fighting. Reluctant to submit himself into someone else's grasp, he remained stiffly posed until warmth and comfort washed over him. His body lost its instinctive tension. Pressed against the broad welcoming chest, he relaxed.

 

Seifer held Leonhart with more force than necessary. It wasn't a desire to dominate, but rather to possess. There was nothing tender about the way he kept the fighter's arms pinned to a lithe torso.

 

Head falling against the soft nest of unkempt hair, Seifer's eyes closed as he inhaled the scent of the sun. It had been too long. He couldn't tell if time were flowing forwards or backwards, or if time had frozen altogether.

 

Minutes passed and the silence between them remained. Neither man spared words for a greeting. Words were utterly useless.

 

Seifer needed to feel Leonhart's body to confirm that it was real. Lips setting a trail, he sought Leonhart's mouth. The intuitive swordsman knew what he wanted. That pretty face lifted from the crook of his neck and gave him access to full lips.

 

Seifer kissed the corner of Leonhart's mouth. Wanting to move slow and fast all at once, he bared his teeth in an effort to keep control. Tracing his tongue along a pout lower lip, he tasted the warm flesh. Soft lips parted, inviting him inside. Nipping the bottom lip, Seifer teased it gently.

 

Gasping, Squall's breath caught tightly inside his chest. His mind sank into a heavy fog. Their faces were close enough to share a single breath. Seifer's teeth and tongue toyed with his lip. He hadn't kissed the arrogant bastard in two months. The titillating moment tested his patience.

 

Leonhart was patient enough to wait outside his door but not enough to delay the kiss. Seifer grunted as slim hips humped against his leg. The sweet friction had him sinking his teeth into the lip he teased. Accompanied by a quiet whimper was the of tasted blood. He had pierced delicate skin. Lapping at the tangy wound, he felt the body in his arms shiver.

 

Seifer slipped an arm higher and tangled his fingers into thick brown hair. Giving in to sweltering lust, his tongue plunged inside Leonhart's mouth. He met wet warmth with an aroused groan. A responsive tongue slipped against his own, twining and drawing him deeper.

 

When Seifer's hands began groping him, Squall slipped his arms free from the ex-knight's slackened hold. Reaching up, he slid his arms around the man's neck and raked his fingers through silky blond hair. The man groaned responsively into their kiss and a strong hand squeezed his buttocks in encouragement. Hips grinding forward, he rubbed against a muscular thigh and felt the bulging press of Seifer's manhood against his stomach.

 

Seifer grabbed slim hips and hitched Squall higher against his body. Their arousals pressed together through constrictive clothing. Every cell in his body vibrated with the need to thrust inside the creature in his arms. The sudden spike in desire caught him by surprise, triggered by his latent understanding that the man in front of him was actually real. It wasn't a dream. Dreams didn't smell this good or feel this warm.

 

Squall tensed as Seifer's fingers dug painfully into his hips. It hurt enough to let him know something had changed. Breaking away from eager lips, he found darkened green eyes. Silently, searching for understanding, he asked what the man wanted.

 

Seifer's pulse jumped frantically while his chest heaved. Eyes dropping, he stared pointedly at the swollen flesh of reddened lips. Falling into a daze, he took a deceivingly calm step back and kept his hands cupping the commander's hips.

 

Squall ran his hands over Seifer's chest, feeling solid muscle beneath the businessman's tie and dress shirt. The ex-knight's fingers tugged at his belt, causing him to sway forward. Sensing that Seifer intended to skip the foreplay, he slipped a hand into his back pocket and produced a condom.

 

Seifer grabbed the packet impatiently and nipped the corner to hold it in his teeth. Not needing to explain his intentions, he dropped his hands from Leonhart's belt and set about unbuckling his own.

 

With quick fingers, Squall unfastened his leather pants. He stared with a flushed shyness as Seifer's engorged organ sprung from the opening in unzipped pants. Undulating heat rolled around in the pit of his stomach, slithering lower into his loins.

 

Taking the condom in hand, Seifer directed, “Turn around.”

 

Shivering, Squall ignored the instruction and leaned closer. Claiming Seifer's lips, he coaxed the man's tongue out and sucked on the appendage. Strong hands ran along his back and slipped lower. He hummed encouragement as a hand pushed the loose waist of his pants down. As daring fingers rubbed along his cleft and pressed against his entrance, he reached for Seifer's manhood.

 

Breaking away, Seifer took a sharp breath. “Fuck,” he hissed, rocking into Leonhart's hand as it stroked him. Grabbing the teasing hand, he gripped a bony wrist tight until it released his straining cock. Taking the hand, he forced its palm against the entryway wall and directed Leonhart to turn around.

 

Squall's breath hitched when he felt Seifer's manhood against him. “The condom,” he said, guileless in his reminder.

 

Seifer was too preoccupied to think twice. Sparing enough time to tear the packet open and slip the condom on, he hastily prepared to enter. There was no lubricant and he hadn't stretched the tiny opening. The condom's slippery surface would have to suffice.

 

Head dropping, Squall hissed at the sharp pain. He wanted it too much to care that it hurt. Inching his feet apart, he rocked his hips against the invading organ. Firm hands kneaded and spread his buttocks, opening him for deeper penetration. Slithering heat crawled up his spine.

 

“You okay?” Seifer murmured, inserting himself deeper.

 

Eyes closed as he took steady breaths, Squall made certain words came out instead of a whimper. “Just do it,” he said. More than the pleasure of an orgasm, he longed for the comfort of drifting off to sleep in Seifer's arms.

 

Clamping resistance kept Seifer from burying himself completely. Drawing out, he squeezed Leonhart's hips in warning. A single hard plunge drove his cock deep inside his rival.

 

Squall cried out, unprepared for the pain and then the quick burst of pleasure that made him come. His manhood jerked, pearly fluid spurting as his muscles clamped around Seifer.

 

Not noticing that Leonhart had already climaxed, Seifer rolled his hips and strained to push deeper than was possible. Pulling out again, he began thrusting.

 

Starved of physical contact, Squall's body was quick to recover and his manhood stirred to life again. The sound of bare flesh slapping filled his ears.

 

As Seifer thrust harder, anger filled him. Leonhart had left him. Now that his partner had returned, he was marking what was his and making it a punishment.

 

Each spearing thrust drove Seifer's possessiveness deeper inside Squall's body. Split open, Squall accepted all of it. There was anger and desire. But mostly, there was a deep seeded desperation to possess. Pleasure turned into ecstasy when Seifer angled his thrusts differently and struck his prostate. Arching his back, he slipped lower against the wall and bucked his hips. He failed to stifle a keening groan.

 

As teeth sunk into the tender flesh at the back of his neck, Squall tried to pull away. A hand encircled his throat to keep him in place. Teeth found that same vulnerable spot again. Instinctively, he tried to shy away. Seifer wouldn't let him. A warm tongue licked him, soothing marks left by teeth.

 

Weak to the assault of pleasure, Squall rocked forward as another orgasm pulsed out of him. He didn't understand how something so violent felt so good.

 

A violent shudder ripped through Seifer's body. Tension centered at the base of his cock and then exploded through the tip. In pounding thrusts, he emptied himself inside his rival.

 

Before the wobbly brunet could collapse to the floor, Seifer held the man steady.

 

Squall straightened with a hissing jolt at the ache that flared. He pulled his pants up and steadied his footing.

 

Running his hands up Leonhart's arms, Seifer massaged tense shoulders. He had learned patience, to keep a leash on his desires until he had prepared Leonhart's body. He felt guilty when he handled the man roughly. The doughty swordsman could take a beating, but bruises were the last kind of mark he wanted to leave. Thumbs working out knotted muscles, Seifer used a gentle touch to assure that he was in control of himself now.

 

Squall set a hand over one of the hands that rubbed his shoulders. Though the massage felt good, he didn't like the apologetic tone. Turning around, he stepped back so that his back was against the wall. Expression neutral, he stared into green eyes. There was accusation and guilt in those eyes. In a slow movement, he stepped closer, holding the man's gaze. Raising his hand, his fingertips trembled as they brushed across a stern chin and proud jaw.

 

Seifer's heart was in his throat. He tried to read the sentiment in Leonhart's eyes, but cool irises were unreadable. Dark eyelashes fluttered lower, and he knew the man's attention had flickered to his mouth. It was a short lapse. Those eyes darted back up. Delicate fingers crept along his cheek.

 

In a slow and gentle motion, Squall stroked Seifer's cheek. It was unreasonable to think that he shouldn't have gone on the mission. As SeeD, his personal life could not take priority over an important mission. Despite knowing this, he still couldn't stop the torturous realization that it had been wrong. Leaving had been wrong.

 

Hobbling to the balls of his feet, Squall kissed Seifer. At first it was just the barest brushing of their lips, and then a bit firmer. The blond was right to be angry, although he wouldn't turn down future opportunities simply because it meant they would be separated for a few weeks.

 

Anger depleted, Seifer lifted Leonhart into his arms.

 

Squall felt as though he were back in Diablo's hold, cradled with care. His scowl masked his embarrassed blush.

 

In rushed strides, Seifer crossed the spacious living room. “Two months, you little prick,” he grumbled as he punched the release on his bedroom door. His lips curled into a smile when Leonhart simply kissed him in response. The proud swordsman wouldn't apologize or make excuses. It had been business, which was something he understood. Still, he wasn't keen on repeating the experience of sleepless nights and days that dragged on forever.

 

Depositing his armload on the bed, Seifer toed out of his shoes and stripped his tie off.

 

After pulling his boots off and letting them thud to the floor, Squall lay back on the bed and wriggled out of his pants. Seifer was on him the second he stripped his shirt off.

 

The feel of bare skin heightened every sensation. In lazy, slow strokes, Seifer explored his rival's body. The mad grappling and rushed climax in the entryway of his apartment had been something necessary to get out of the way. There had been pent up frustrations and anger that needed a release.

 

Far from sated, Seifer could at least restrain himself. Now he could be gentle. He knew that light gentle touches drove Leonhart wild.

 

Squall caught Seifer's sly smirk and felt his heart race with an edge of fear. He was in bed with a seductive devil.

 

In waves, they touched and tasted each other. When they were both too aroused to hold back, tenderness turned to heated rutting. As damp skin cooled, their hands and tongues explored again. Hours passed in a few blinks as they became reacquainted.

 

--

 

Squall wasn't able to stay asleep very long. His mind and body were still acclimating. He drifted awake and felt the warmth of Seifer's body and comfort of a soft mattress. His mind told him that this was wrong. He should feel a hard damp ground and see the low ceiling of his tent.

 

“If you're not going to sleep, then I'm not holding back,” Seifer said, still half-asleep himself. As he rolled their forms over, he stretched over the body beneath him and began nipping along Leonhart's neck.

 

For a moment, Squall thought he was dreaming. During the nights when his body hadn't been exhausted beyond the ability to function, he had dreamt of Seifer. His body remembered the ex-knight's touch and it became hauntingly real when his mind drifted between plains of consciousness. When a warm hand stroked his softened length to life, he knew he wasn't dreaming.

 

Grinning impishly, Seifer devoured his tempter all over again. Languid thrusts brought him to climax.

 

Seifer rested his body atop Leonhart's until it became necessary to shift to the side and let the man breath. He started to reposition himself, resting at the head of the bed and making room for the brunet to nestle against his side.

 

Squall hooked a hand behind the ex-knight's neck and pulled him closer. Reading confusion in green eyes, he snatched the man's pillow and set it on his side of the bed before settling down against it. Opening an arm, he waited patiently.

 

Drawing the sheet higher, Seifer shifted closer. Fingers slipped through his hair and cupped the back of his neck.

 

In silence, Squall directed Seifer's head to rest against his chest.

 

After tasting every inch of Leonhart's naked flesh, Seifer felt strangely reserved. It was several minutes before he allowed himself to relax, resting more of his weight against the smaller swordsman. Leonhart's chest was firm, not at all the comfortable perch that the man seemed to find his chest to be. Then he heard the heartbeat. Eyes widening, he shifted his head and listened. He couldn't so much hear the heart as feel its faint thumping. Delicate fingers began stroking his hair, brushing tangled strands and softly trailing across his temple.

 

Seifer let out a pleased hum, the deep and gravelly sound almost like a purr. Letting go, he forgot that his muscle-heavy frame could crush the lean form of his rival. He reveled in the feel of stroking fingers. When the fingers stopped, he grumbled a petulant complaint. Lifting his head, he discovered that Leonhart had fallen asleep.

 

 

--

 

They slept through dawn. Mid-morning brought warm sunlight streaming into the bedroom window. The light slanted across their entwined forms. Seifer's bleary eyes were the first to flutter open.

 

A curse at the open curtains was on Seifer's tongue, but then he caught the sight of Leonhart bathed in sunlight. Long and lean limbs were marked by pinkish bruises in the places he had lavished kisses. The navy blue bed sheet rode tantalizingly low on the slight flare of Leonhart's hip.

 

Seifer couldn't be certain if it were a play of light or if he were still asleep, but pale skin seemed to glow. For a moment, he didn't dare to move. The bridge between his fantasy and reality was too thin to tell the difference. There was an ephemeral quality to the sight, like it would disappear any second.

 

Leonhart sensed the light. Eyes scrunching, he tried to furrow against Seifer's chest, but found no cover.

 

Seifer realized that the warmth was real. The entrancing figure curled against him was not a figment of his imagination. Chuckling at his foolish sentimentality, he brushed aside Leonhart's bangs and set his lips against the diagonal scar between furrowing eyebrows. A quiet mumble hummed in Leonhart's throat, but the brunet said nothing discernable.

 

“Wake up,” Seifer whispered. Long lashes fluttered in response. Nuzzling Leonhart's temple, he let his hands slide over the familiar contours of his bedmate's body.

 

The bedcovers rustled as Seifer slipped into place between Leonhart's legs. Out of sight, his hand slid up a smooth thigh and spread tender flesh. He nudged against the man's opening.

 

Arching pleasantly as an aroused heat spread through his lethargic body, Squall bent his knees and spread his legs. “Condom,” he said, casting a squinted glance to the nightstand where Seifer kept them.

 

Seifer reached out and opened the top drawer. Pushing aside a bottle of lubricant, he snatched the box of condoms. The lightness of the box brought a sneer to his lips. There were no more condoms.

 

“We used the last of them last night,” Seifer said. Before the mission, condoms had been an unnecessary courtesy. Leonhart had never expressed a preference one way or the other. Not using a condom gave him an excuse to join the man in the shower. There was a devious satisfaction in leaving his mark inside his rival's body. A potion could erase his hickeys, but not his seed.

 

Tossing the box over his shoulder, Seifer settled back between Leonhart's legs. Kissing plush lips, he said, “I'll just have to help you clean up in the shower.”

 

“No,” Squall said. His foggy mind woke quite suddenly. He hadn't meant to skirt the issue of the spell, but Seifer had a forceful presence that pushed all other thoughts from his head.

 

Seifer frowned. “It wouldn't be the first time I haven't used one,” he said. A nagging suspicion surfaced from the back of his mind.

 

Squall shook his head. He shifted so that Seifer's prominent arousal didn't rub against him.

 

“Why do I get the feeling that there's something to this?”

 

Eyes turning to steel, Squall set his face into what he hoped was an unreadable mask. He shrugged dismissively.

 

“Leonhart,” Seifer bit out, demanding an answer.

 

Cold dread clinched inside Squall's stomach. A frightened alarm told him make up an excuse. Fear seized him, telling him that Seifer would react to the truth with contempt and disgust. The thought of being cast out of the ex-knight's bed and apartment had his heart in a vice. Responding the only way he knew how when such panicked emotions raged inside him, Squall raised his guard and kept his expression carefully mannered. With a glare, he warned the ex-knight not to press the issue.

 

A sharp sliver of disappointment pierced Seifer's chest. Stripped bare in bed, he had set aside all pretense and expected Leonhart to do the same. Sex was meaningless if their defenses were raised. Leonhart had erected a wall to keep him out. His pride didn't allow him to show the extent of his disappointment and hurt.

 

Moments ago, desire had been evident in stormy-blue eyes. “You're not saying something,” Seifer concluded. Leonhart had a habit of keeping thoughts locked inside that pretty head, but there was a difference between not speaking and not telling. “You're not telling me something.”

 

Shocked at how easily the ex-knight had read him, Squall's mask slipped. “No,” he said, his denial lacking conviction.

 

Temper flaring, Seifer groused, “Then what?”

 

“I have my reasons,” Squall admitted. Lying would do no good. He didn't have it in him to lie, and Seifer would have seen past it.

 

Jaw clenching, green eyes narrowed with menace. Grabbing Leonhart's hands, he pinned them to the bed and pressed his weight between parted legs.

 

“Seifer,” Squall said in warning.

 

“Not good enough. What are your reasons?”

 

“…”

 

Seifer continued. He would never penetrate Leonhart without express consent. Working for that consent, he suckled a beating pulse. The stubborn fighter writhed, jerking against his restraint. Leonhart could have broken away with more force, but they weren't on the battlefield. It was difficult to muster a fighting spirit when the instinct to kill had no place in the bedroom.

 

Squall's struggle became halfhearted. The blond teased his pert nipples. He teetered on the edge, his body responding with enthusiasm. A fresh wave of dread reminded him that his refusal was important. He clung to his memories of shame and humiliation and the violation of someone else's spell lurking inside his body.

 

With a frustrated hiss of refusal, Squall wrenched his arms free. He pushed Seifer off and rolled away. Snatching the bed sheet, he wrapped it around himself and stood from the bed. He lurched to the side, his legs wobbling, but he caught his balance.

 

“Dammit, Leonhart!” Seifer shouted. “I won't stop anything until I know what's going on.” Standing, his towering frame threatened force.

 

Retreating a step and hating himself for it, Squall glared at the ground. He sucked in a sharp breath. He almost blurted the words out, but forced himself to exact control. In a level tone, he said, “Dr. Odine found something. It's not safe without protection.”

 

Anger turned to confusion as Seifer tried to pick apart Leonhart's words. Several moments passed. With dawning understanding, jade-green eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Are you knocked up?”

 

“No,” Squall said.

 

Seifer had become visibly paler. “Are you saying you can get knocked up?” He had screwed Leonhart enough times to have a small army of children by now.

 

Arms sinching the wrapped sheet tighter around himself, Squall shivered when all the blood seemed to drain from his body. “I don't think so.” He swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. He saw shock and panic in Seifer's eyes. Disgust was sure to follow. He waited, holding his breath like a man facing a firing squad.

 

“You don't think?” Seifer shot back with a sneer.

 

Anger entered green eyes, and Squall was thankful for it. He could deal with Seifer's anger. He hoped that the man raged and yelled, if only to keep the natural reaction of disgust at bay. His mouth had gone dry, making it difficult to speak. “There's a possibility. Odine needs to run more tests.”

 

Running a hand over his jaw, Seifer tried to wrap his head around what Leonhart had just told him. Though he was shocked at the world shattering revelation, his stronger response was anger. He glared at the floor. He would have glared at Leonhart, but the man was too adorable standing there in a bed sheet. His anger would be disarmed if he looked at his rival. “When did he begin running tests?”

 

Quietly, in a manner that suggested he had become resigned, Squall murmured, “After the mission.”

 

Turning his back, Seifer walked to the other side of the bed. Slipping into his boxers, he searched for his pants. “Get dressed. We need to talk.”

 

 

--

 

 

Seifer needed to keep his hands busy. A “talk” with Leonhart meant a lot of unfilled silences that were poor a substitute for words. He needed full sentences to understand what was going on, and he didn't have the patience to pry answers from the mute commander. If his hands weren't holding onto something, he might just give in to the urge to strangle his rival.

 

Squall came into the kitchen. An instinctive voice repeated the same argument in his head. He had been a fool to become attached to Seifer. He had no business harboring expectations. Though he tried to assure himself that being turned away by the ex-knight was not the end of the world, his eyes began to sting.

 

Appalled with himself, Squall bit down on the inside of his cheek. Pain and the taste of copper flooded his mouth. The lump in his throat dissolved and his eyes dried. Once he was certain he had collected his emotions and beat them into submission, he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

 

Rearing around with a skillet in hand, Seifer pointed to the door. “Put a shirt on,” he ordered. Somewhere between the bedroom and the kitchen, Leonhart had taken a potion. Porcelain white skin was unmarked and on display. He couldn't think clearly when Leonhart looked like that.

 

Pout lips formed a faint frown. “Couldn't find it,” Squall said.

 

“Then one of mine,” Seifer shot back. “Second drawer down in my dresser.” After a moment's thought, he added, “Wear a sweatshirt too. Bottom drawer.” He didn't need to see his over-sized t-shirt falling off a pale shoulder, eroticizing a sight that was already hot to begin with. He needed Leonhart buried beneath baggy folds and mounds of clothing. Then he could effectively keep his anger fueled.

 

Squall returned a couple minutes later. He scanned the kitchen while folding the cuffs of a light grey hoodie. The blood hadn't circulated back to his limbs. His fingers were stiff with cold. He was grateful to wear the hoodie.

 

“At what point did condoms become necessary?” Seifer asked, not bothering to turn around from the stove. If he had turned, he would found a very pale brunet who looked so fragile that a strong breeze might break him.

 

Crossing the kitchen, Squall approached the coffee maker. The cabinet above it had filters and a sealed bag of dark roasted beans. As he set about making coffee, he considered Seifer's question. Clinging to logic, he forced his mind to work with the same dispassionate rationality he used in the field. Presumably, condoms had been necessary all along. Dr. Odine had theories, not answers.

 

“I don't know,” Squall replied after a full minute of silence. The way Seifer clattered the skillet to a different burner told him his answer was not received well. Filling a pitcher of water, he studied the stiff angle of the man's shoulders and back.

 

Bowing his head, Seifer declared, “You should have told me last night.”

 

Squall gave a rigid shrug that turned into a shiver. Seifer didn't see his response. Pouring water into the coffee maker, he didn't voice his opinion on the matter.

 

“Say something,” Seifer said.

 

“…” Squall dumped the left over water down the drain and left the pitcher to dry.

 

Temper lit, Seifer finally turned around. Stalking to the brunet, he grabbed hold of the hand that was about to set a filter inside the coffeemaker. “Stop,” he hissed. “Say something.”

 

Pulling his hand away, Squall eyed the ex-knight coolly. He studied the handsome blond's agitated expression. The filter had crumpled in his grasp. Before he could decide how to respond, Seifer acted first.

 

Dropping to his knees, Seifer reached out and grabbed the sagging folds of the borrowed hoodie. Lifting the sweatshirt, he exposed a pale midriff.

 

Startled, Squall staggered back until he met the edge of the counter. He felt warm fingers slip beneath the hem of his pants and pull the waist lower.

 

Green eyes stared at the horizontal scar along Leonhart's abdomen. He started to touch the pinkish line, but the swordsman knocked his hands away and tugged the sweatshirt back down.

 

Unwelcome memories came forward in Squall's mind. Hugging his stomach, he stepped away and moved to the table at the other end of the room.

 

Seifer sensed that he had done something wrong, but he was too preoccupied to care.

 

Squall circled around the table, needing to have the structure between him and Seifer. He took a seat and held a staying hand up when the ex-knight started to approach. A nauseous flipped in his stomach. He couldn't stand to have those green eyes look at him that way.

 

Worry tainted Seifer's anger. He stood in the middle of his kitchen, at a loss for what Leonhart was thinking or feeling. The sight of the doughty swordsman huddled behind the table unsettled him. Leonhart was wary of him, sending out signals that blared in the silence of the room, telling him to stay back. Images of grey-blue eyes wide with skittish fear flashed through his mind. He had hurt Leonhart before, when his impatience had led to violence.

 

Seifer scowled. Ten minutes ago, he had slept with the brunet in his arms, no guards between them. Now the man clutched a bent knee as though clothes and the distance was a type of defense.

 

A strong protective desire rose inside Seifer. He wanted to shake answers from Leonhart and express his anger. At the same time, he wanted to rush across the room and gather the man into his arms. He struggled to scrape together his patience, but he managed to control his conflicting urges. He held his hands up. “You're impossible,” he said, backing away.

 

From his perch, Squall watched the ex-knight return to the stove and turn a burner on. Minutes passed in silence as the man moved around, from the refrigerator to the stove and back again. Seifer kept to the other side of the room, allowing him to think.

 

The knot in Squall's stomach loosened. Seifer's uncharacteristic display of patience eased some of his insecurities. If the ex-knight were going to point him to the door, the man would have done it by now. He had admitted enough of the situation to suggest that another pregnancy was possible. Seifer was most upset about not being told sooner.

 

Squall foolishly allowed himself to hope. When the blond cast a cursory glance his way and earned a burned finger for the moment of inattention, Squall cracked a faint smile at the amusing display. A mumbled curse fell short when Seifer caught his smile.

 

Leaning back against the counter, Seifer scratched the rough stubble on his chin. After a night like last night, he had come to believe that touching Leonhart was an unconditional right. He had been gravely mistaken. His possessive nature targeted his rival as something to be possessed, but the man wasn't an object. Leonhart had given him permission to touch and kiss every inch of that firm and supple body. He didn't have that permission anymore. He wanted that privilege back, but knew he would chase it away by demanding it.

 

“Come here,” Seifer said, extending an arm and waving the brunet over. He had half a mind to storm over and grab Leonhart, but there was something fragile in the balance. A forceful hand would break it.

 

There was a lot that Seifer didn't know about Leonhart, especially the details of what had happened after the war. He recalled the stash of pictures he had once searched through at Leonhart's home. There had been something strange about them, something missing. He couldn't quite remember what it was.

 

Though he didn't move forward, Seifer let impatience color his tone. “Get your pansy ass over here.” The icy glare that followed had a warming effect. There was a feistiness to it that was familiar.

 

The rational and analytical parts of Squall's mind shouted warnings, telling him he was a fool for hoping and trusting. He stood from the table and patted across the polished kitchen floor.

 

Seifer wouldn't be content to assume that the brunet had accepted him again until he had the man in his arms. Arm outstretched, he flicked his fingers. In a painstakingly slow movement, Leonhart slipped a smaller hand into his. Fingers curling around the hand, he gripped it tightly and drew Leonhart closer.

 

The argument in Squall's head suddenly cut off. The hard barrier of Seifer's chest and firm pressure of strong arms made his mind blissfully quiet. It wasn't enough to just be held though. Linking his arms around, he clutched the back of man's wrinkled t-shirt, bunching thin cotton in a white-knuckled grip. Against his cheek, he felt the rapid beating of the ex-knight's heart.

 

“You're impossible,” Seifer repeated, almost breathless. He struggled to think straight, unable to focus when Leonhart clung to him. “Sometimes your antics are cute, but not that. Don't act like you don't want me to touch you.”

 

Squall's hold tightened. “Then don't touch me like that,” he said.

 

The pressure in Seifer's chest tightened. “Like what?” He had a vague idea of what had prompted Leonhart to suddenly shut him out, but he needed something more concrete. “Don't touch your scar?” he ventured.

 

Squall shook his head. He didn't elaborate. Unable to express his feelings properly, he could only convey that it was important not to repeat the mistake. Lore was the best thing in his life, but his life after the war had been troubled and dark.

 

With a sigh, Squall pressed closer, relishing the firm press of their bodies. It wasn't Seifer's fault. Visiting Dr. Odine yesterday had brought back bad memories. He hated feeling like some science project awaiting dissection. Feeling Odine's eyes and eager attention on his body had made him sensitive about his scar and the way others looked at him.

 

Seifer tightened his hold. “This doesn't change anything. I still need answers.”

 

“So do I,” Squall whispered. When Seifer started to pull back, he kept his hold on the wrinkled shirt and nudged his head beneath the crook of the man's jaw. It was easier to speak if green eyes couldn't see his face.

 

“Tell me,” Seifer urged, determined but patient.

 

Breathing a musky scent that had traces of a spicy aftershave, Squall relaxed and loosened his tightlipped hold on words. “The spell is active again.”

 

“The spell that made it possible for you to have a kid?” Seifer wanted complete clarity, even if it meant restating the obvious. He felt the brunet nod, an action that brushed soft hair against his neck and made him shiver.

 

Clearing his throat, Seifer kept his focus. “You said `active again', which means it wasn't active before.”

 

“Not since Lore was born,” Squall said.

 

“Is it because of me?”

 

Squall was surprised at how quickly Seifer came to that conclusion. The ex-knight was uncommonly smart, something the man didn't let others forget. “I don't know.”

 

“So what do we do?”

 

Leaning back, Squall met green eyes cautiously. “We?” he murmured. He didn't want to believe that a problem giving him so much grief could be resolved by Seifer's simplistic straightforwardness. He had anticipated outrage and disgust, not easy acceptance.

 

“You and me. What do we do?”

 

“…”

 

“What?” There was an edge of alarm in Seifer's voice. The way stormy blue eyes swirled with emotion was unsettling. “What did you have in mind?”

 

“I just…” Squall was at a loss.

 

“Just what?” Countless possibilities of what was about to come out of Leonhart's mouth ran through Seifer's mind. What if Leonhart wanted another kid? What if the spell's activation meant it was only a matter of time and that there was nothing anyone could do to stop Leonhart from getting knocked up? What if he couldn't have sex with Leonhart again? The last possibility drained the color from his face.

 

“I didn't think you'd want to stay,” Squall admitted.

 

Mind continuing to reel for a moment, Seifer didn't absorb Leonhart's statement. When the meaning caught up with him, green eyes sharpened to pinpoints, narrowing with fiery accusation. Leonhart's lack of faith was like a betrayal. His anger found a new fuel. It was a miracle that he didn't step back and throw a punch, but the thought of striking that delicate face, which appeared innocently oblivious to where his anger came from, made him sick. Leonhart was too precious to hurt, even if he wanted to throttle the alluring creature until some common sense sank through that dense skull.

 

Scoffing, masking the extent of his anger, Seifer declared, “Am I the only person Hyne bestowed with both good looks and brains? You're a beauty Leonhart, but you're dumb as fuck if you thought I'd want out because things got a little weird.”

 

Now Squall's mind argued that he was a fool for different reasons.

 

Seifer gave a firm squeeze. “Don't mistake the fact that I'm still holding you. I'm pissed. You don't know me better than to think I'd cut and run? Bastard might run in my blood, but I don't ditch a good lay that easily.”

 

A disarming realization struck Seifer. Stormy blue eyes searched his face, watching for some indication that he felt the same as on the night he had confronted the commander about Lore being half his. Seifer would be the first to admit that he had a track record of acting like an asshole. He kissed Leonhart's forehead. “I'll start thinking of ways you can make this up to me.”

 

Squall scowled. Seifer took his chin and pressed his thumb against his bottom lip.

 

“That cute pout of yours won't work. I've got kinky things in mind.” A good portion of his anger melted away as he realized how advantageous the situation could be.

 

Squall pushed away. Before he could step back, Seifer took his upper arm. The man's joking expression had been replaced by a sober intensity.

 

“I'm hurt by it,” Seifer stated.

 

Guilt was quick to fill the holes left by Squall's doubts and uncertainties.

 

Bristling indignantly, Seifer continued, “More like insulted. You know me better than that.”

 

“Do I?” Squall countered. “I remember what you thought of me eleven years ago.”

 

Shaking his head, Seifer clarified, “We've got some bad blood between us. I'm not saying I'm a saint. The last few months can't erase the past. But I can't get closer to you if you don't realize that my feelings have changed. You're not the same person to me that you were before. You mean more.”

 

Squall felt too many emotions churn inside him all at once. He struggled to keep a stony expression, afraid of revealing that he felt giddy and lightheaded. His commonsense chided that he shouldn't read too deep into the ex-knight words. When Seifer said that he meant more, it was just a euphemism for the fact that they were sleeping together.

 

“Or am I getting ahead of myself here?” Seifer muttered. Stormy blue eyes were still guarded. Far from expecting Leonhart to respond with a declaration of undying love, he still expected more of a reaction. He would have settled for a halfhearted nod.

 

“It's more than sex,” Squall said, too lost in the hazy boundaries of what their relationship was to realize he had spoken aloud.

 

“Is that a question?” Seifer queried.

 

A troubled crease formed between Squall's brows. “I don't know,” he responded in monotone. He didn't know anything. He stood there in Seifer's kitchen, huddled close to the man so that he could feel comfort and warmth. There was nothing particularly sexual about it. He enjoyed the feeling. He could lose himself in Seifer's arms and feel nothing but safe and secure. It had started as sex, but the insufferable ex-knight had come to mean far more to him than Squall was willing to realize. When had that happened, he wondered.

 

“Don't go where I can't follow,” Seifer chastised. He tapped his fingers against Squall's temple for emphasis.

 

“You mean something,” Squall blurted out. As a faint blush crept its way up to his cheeks, he broke away and moved to the counter. “I'll help,” he said, changing the subject.

 

Seifer didn't move right away. He just stood there, his heart racing excitedly as he struggled to keep his feet grounded. Leonhart had just turned the tables on him. Grabbing the man's upper arm, he hauled the brunet around to face him. The straight-laced swordsman was in no mood to play. Those bright eyes pierced him with cold daggers, but he didn't back down. He moved forward, forcing Leonhart to walk back until meeting the counter. Towering over the smaller man, Seifer leered. His lewd grin danced with mischief.

 

“What do I mean to you?” Seifer demanded, hitching slim hips up and setting Leonhart onto the counter.

 

Squall shook his head, conveying that he had no idea what Seifer wanted from him.

 

“Show me,” Seifer directed, his hand cupping a pale cheek.

 

There was a hesitant moment where grey-blue eyes didn't let their guard down. Then sharp features softened. Leaning closer, Squall set his lips against Seifer's. He kept the kiss short and moved his lips elsewhere. Full lips chastely pressed feather soft kisses along a chiseled jaw line, feeling prickly stubble that was barely visible from a distance. He felt strong hands tighten around his hips, encouraging him to continue.

 

Squall moved his lips lower, pausing at a beating pulse and a trembling Adam's apple. Then he moved higher, retracing his pattern until he brushed against the soft lobe of Seifer's ear. In a very unchaste manner, he flicked his tongue out and drew the earlobe into his mouth. He sucked gently and then nipped. Letting out a quiet sigh of warm breath, he worried the lobe like he would his bottom lip, teasing the pliant flesh.

 

Seifer gave a low groan. “Shower now. Breakfast can wait,” he declared in a husky voice. His interrogation could also wait. Leonhart was an enigma of contradictions. Behind an icy and guarded exterior was a depth of passion that only he knew about. Ego swelling, Seifer gripped dark hair possessively. Leonhart was his, to touch, to taste, to mark, to consume. “Mine,” he said, his baritone dropping to a silkier note that was deeper than sin.

 

Squall shuddered in response. Releasing Seifer's ear, he met eager lips.

 

Seifer almost broke the stove dials when he turned the burners off. Scooping Leonhart into his arms, he ignored the man's tense resistance and crushed enticing lips against his own.

 

What few furnishings Seifer had in his apartment he managed to run into, cursing sharply even as Leonhart sucked on his tongue. The swordsman was too skilled with that devilish mouth. It made him jealous, causing him to stab his tongue deeper and lose sight of where he was going. After knocking his elbow hard against the doorframe, he cursed but became lost in the kiss again.

 

Reaching the shower without any serious injury was a surprise to them both.

 

For the first time since the training center's grand opening, Seifer felt the lushness of wet heat around his cock. He made himself hoarse from groaning as Squall demonstrated that not having condoms didn't mean they couldn't touch each other.

 

--

 

Breakfast became brunch.

 

Instinctively aware of each other's presence, Seifer and Squall were efficient when they worked together in the kitchen. Most of the ingredients were already out on the counter.

 

As the skillet heated, Seifer dropped a dob of butter and let it melt. “How do you like your eggs?” he asked.

 

Opening the carton of eggs, Squall gave a shrug. “Whatever,” he said. He preferred them fried, but would eat them anyway Seifer chose to make them.

 

Grumbling to himself, Seifer accepted the offered eggs from Squall's grasp. He counted five eggs. “How many are you having?”

 

“One,” Squall said. He had grabbed five thinking that Seifer would eat about four, but he could just as easily grab more or put one away.

 

Seifer nodded. “Four for me is good.” Leonhart took the skillet with the bacon off the burner and moved away to plate it. The eggs would only take a couple minutes. “Pour me some coffee, would you?” he called over his shoulder, cracking the first egg with one hand. Before he could tell the man how to fix his coffee, Leonhart set a steaming mug on the counter beside the stove, the creamy brown liquid loaded with half-and-half. “Thanks,” he mumbled, watching the brunet move away again and begin rinsing the hot skillet under cool water. He took a sip and groaned a sincere note of appreciation. He hadn't known that his coffeemaker could make coffee so good.

 

At the table, Seifer hashed out a few more questions. Every so often, he ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing back damp strands. The feel of wet hair reminded him he had just taken a shower, which in turn reminded him of the way those plush lips had wrapped around his cock and sucked him dry. Seifer's eyes stared intently at Leonhart's lips. As the man ate, taking pekish bites, he felt his pants tighten.

 

Clearing his throat, Seifer forced his eyes away from Leonhart's mouth. “When do you see the doc again?”

 

“When Rinoa gets here.”

 

Seifer almost choked on his bacon. Taking a swig of coffee, he grimaced as hot liquid scalded his throat. He coughed and took a deep breath to keep his eyes from watering. “What?” he croaked out.

 

Squall arched an eyebrow.

 

“You never mentioned that Rinoa was coming,” Seifer said.

 

“She's a sorceress,” Squall stated blandly.

 

“What can she do?”

 

Squall shrugged. “She helped before,” he informed, eyes falling to the center of the table. Before Seifer could lead with another question, he grabbed his plate and stood.

 

Seifer turned in his chair, watching Leonhart's retreating back. “How did she help before?” Narrow shoulders stiffened. He wasn't going to receive an answer. Grunting a note of frustration, he asked a question that branched into a different subject. “Does she know about us?”

 

Squall set the plate down in the sink and turned to meet expectant green eyes. “No,” he replied. He busied himself with washing his plate, but when he finished, Seifer was still waiting for him to elaborate.

 

“Don't exert yourself,” Seifer quipped sarcastically.

 

“I'll try not to,” Squall returned with a defiant glare. Speaking wasn't his strong suit. That wasn't news to anyone. If Seifer didn't want to experience the disappointment of not getting answers, then the man might stop asking so many questions.

 

Picking up his plate, Seifer joined Leonhart at the sink. “I guess she's in for a surprise then.” Winding his arms around a slim waist, he pressed against Leonhart from behind. Setting his chin against damp tufts of brown hair, he smelled his shampoo.

 

Rinoa had accompanied Squall to Seifer's training center on the opening night. It had been natural for him and Seifer to attend separately, each with their own partner. To an extent, they had hidden their relationship from the world. Irvine knew about Seifer, which meant Selphie also knew. But not Rinoa, no matter what she might have suspected after his strange behavior the night of the party. He had taken off in an uncharacteristic show of jealousy. Seifer had chased after him. In their absence, he had no idea what Rinoa concluded.

 

Apprehensions formed as Squall realized that his relationship with Seifer was about to go public. Ellone was coming to Esthar with Rinoa. Once the two women found out, the rest of the world was sure to follow. The public eye hadn't been centered on him in years, but after a major mission there were press conferences and an increased amount of media attention.

 

“Don't even think about it,” Seifer muttered against Leonhart's ear. The tenseness in lithe muscles told him exactly what was going on in Leonhart's head. Sometimes he knew what the man was thinking, and other times he was at a loss. “The last thing I want to do is take out an ad in the paper, but I'm going with you to see that quack doctor even if it means Princess Rinoa sees me pinching your ass.”

 

Squall hung his head. He could tell by the ex-knight's amused tone that the man intended to put on a show. Seifer was enjoying all of this, or at least intended to enjoy it.

 

Grinning, Seifer wallowed in Leonhart's sudden trepidation. Taking advantage of an exposed nape, he nipped at the jutting bone. The velvet moan that erupted from Leonhart came as a surprise. Peering around, he saw that the ice prince was even more surprised by it. Stormy blue eyes were wide with shock and a pale hand clamped over the mouth that had permitted such a delicious noise to escape. Chuckling darkly, he repeated the action, this time sinking his teeth in more sharply. He stopped short of sucking when Leonhart collapsed in his hold, legs giving out.

 

Squall tried to shake Seifer's arms off. His whole body felt weak. He shivered uncontrollably. Though he wanted to cover the vulnerable spot on the back of his neck, he couldn't move.

 

Breathing in shallow gasps, Squall's eyes fluttered shut and his head lolled to the side. He clutched Seifer's bracing arm, trying in vain to stand on legs that felt like jelly. He hated that Seifer could do such things to him. Shivers continued to wrack his body. He arched away, but found no reprieve.

 

Seifer was merciless in using Leonhart's weakness. The power rush did as much for his ego as the soft moans did for the iron stiffness in his pants. Dominating a person wasn't worth much if that person weren't strong. Leonhart was as strong a fighter as there was in the world. Holding the swordsman's slack body, feeling each helpless tremor, he felt the trappings of power. It was intoxicating to the point where he couldn't stop. Ironically, Squall's reaction had its own power.

 

Seifer held Leonhart to his chest as he knelt on the cold black and white tiled floor. Cradling a slender neck, his rough palm grazing the sensitive nape, he ravished bowed lips until they were a swollen crimson.

 

Seifer was ready to strip Leonhart bare and take him on the kitchen floor. Reality thumped his head when he remembered he couldn't penetrate the man. For the first time since the war, he cursed Ultimecia for what she had done to his rival. He had never stopped cursing the sorceress for the way she had screwed with his own life, but he had not cursed her on Leonhart's behest. Now he was angry. Because of her, he couldn't devour the willing creature in front of him.

 

Salvaging what he could from the situation, Seifer filed away a few scenarios he would like to try involving the kitchen counter and the kitchen table. Leonhart still had a debt to pay off for doubting him.

 

Helping the brunet up from the ground, he smirked in response to the glare directed at him. “It'll only take fifteen minutes for me to run to the drug store for condoms.”

 

Squall rolled his eyes. “I'm going home.”

 

A familiar bitterness awakened in Seifer. Mornings always meant that Leonhart left. It was a routine he wasn't willing to accept.

 

“What time am I seeing you tonight?”

 

Squall shuffled his weight from one leg to the other. “My return dinner is tonight.” Lore and Laguna were teaming up to make him dinner, which sometimes amounted to ordering in, but was always a pleasant affair. He wouldn't be surprised if Kiros and Ward showed up, or if Irvine dropped by.

 

“What time?” Seifer had a few projects to take care of at the training center, but nothing so dire that he wouldn't blow them off if it meant staying in bed all day with Leonhart.

 

“Six,” Squall said.

 

Seifer snagged the front of Leonhart's sweatshirt, his sweatshirt. Tugging the man close, he smirked at how high his rival's tolerance had become to his constant antics. The brunet had always had an impossibly long fuse to ignite, even when he knew which buttons to push.

 

“What are you doing today?” Seifer asked, unwilling to let go.

 

Tilting his head at the question, Squall shrugged. “Writing my report. Grocery shopping.” There was a pause. He hesitated, not certain his intention to visit Cale's grave counted as part of his plans for the day or if it were worth mentioning. “I'm going to the cemetery at some point.”

 

Green eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed. “You're still pining after that teacher?”

 

“Cale,” Squall supplied the name just as he repeated Lore's name for the ex-knight.

 

Seifer couldn't compete with a dead guy, and he didn't intend to. Bluntly, he stated, “It pisses me off. Don't go to the cemetery.”

 

The darker hues in Squall's irises seemed to lighten as his gaze became stern.

 

Seifer read Squall's `I don't take orders' expression loud and clear. He didn't back down. “People go to gravesites once a year, if even that,” he reasoned. Logic was on his side, and it certainly sounded like a better argument than flat out admitting that he was jealous of a dead man and wouldn't abide continued affection for a corpse.

 

A tension released in Squall's shoulders, making them sag a little. Crossing his arms, he glanced away and tried to gather words for a suitable response. Seifer wasn't the type of person who made exceptions, even for someone who was no longer alive.

 

Wanting to convey a certain sentiment, Squall met Seifer's eyes again. “He died for me,” he said.

 

It felt like a punch to the gut. Seifer almost winced. He already shared Leonhart with Lore, and didn't want to give up another piece.

 

 

TBC…

 

Author's note: Wow, ridiculously long time to update. I'm sorry. My focus was admittedly elsewhere over the summer. I've got to start shilling out more original work and less fanfiction, since fanfiction doesn't pay and I'm graduating soon. 0_o

 

That said, I'm no less determined to finish Defining Love. This chapter is my longest to date. I probably should have made it two chapters, but oh well. There was an array of outstanding issues that I started to address, like the pregnancy and whether the romance is public or private. None of the issues were forgotten. I'm just too longwinded for anyone's good and it took me forever to get around to them.

 

Rinoa and Ellone promise to be a hoot in the next chapter. I've dabbled with the idea of bringing in Zell and Quistis, but only if the story goes there. I'd hate to force in outside characters just for a quick cameo. It is an isolated setting, where everyone is split up, so things can get a little contrived if underused canon characters pop in for a visit.

 

Thank you all for overwhelming support. I've gotten a couple more offers for a beta, but Takayu has already done the first half of the story. I'm in the process of reposting the edited chapters.

 

Sorry for any errors, grammatical or otherwise in this chapter. It's so long that I couldn't proof it in a single sitting without my eyes seeing stars.