BY : voltress
Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 682
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor the characters therein. I don't make money off this story.


Chapter 1
: Soulmates

Seifer was a god.  That’s what his soulmate had thought those few years ago when laying his normally apathetic gaze on Seifer for the first time.  Nowadays throngs of adoring fans shouted both Seifer’s given and stage names, serving to reinforce Seifer’s god status and god-sized ego.  Today Seifer sat on a sofa chair, bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, much like a king on a throne holding a scepter and orb.  The rich and famous who were in the dank back room with Seifer were just as awed by him as the fans cheering in the main concert auditorium.

Seifer may have grown up in the gutter of shitty Ol’ Town Esthar, but now he was a god.

Muffled sounds of fans shouting for Seifer’s band, Blood Kiss, could still be heard in that dank back room.  The auditorium was filled to the brim, just like all Blood Kiss concerts were, and the fans oozed riot-levels of energy.  But Blood Kiss hadn’t taken stage yet: The fans had one more hour of opening bands to go before satisfaction came.

“Flare, man,” Thoran, Blood Kiss’ second guitarist, said, calling the egotistical blonde by the famous stage name.  He sat to Seifer’s right, in another lazy chair, like a prince beside the god-king.  “I loved that place.”

With a shrug, Seifer said “Property value was peaking.  Besides, I have so many other mansions around the world.  I didn’t need three in Esthar.”

“‘Property value’,” Thoran muttered as he lifted his own beer up to sip.  “You know you’re only 20, Flare.  You spent 99 percent of your life broke as fuck.  Stop thinking like you’ve some economics doctorate or some shit.”

“Hey,” Seifer said with thick amusement.  “If you want to play doctor-patient with me, come out and say it.  You don’t need to go using fancy language to try to seduce me.”

“You’re not examining my prostate, Flare,” said Thoran, frowning as he joked.  “Go find Griever for that.”


The god-ego inside Seifer shivered at the thought of Griever, causing Seifer to reinforce the wall long ago constructed around his heart.  “Griever” was the name of the most important person in the world to Seifer, bringing Seifer to life in ways that only a soulmate could.  But Griever had also, over the years, dug a black pit into Seifer’s heart -- in the way that only a soulmate could.  

Griever was the lead singer in Blood Kiss.  The world at large believed Flare (Seifer) and Griever to be boyfriends and permanent lovers.  In reality, they’d broken up two years ago but still retained a fuck-buddy relationship.

“He’s busy,” Seifer said, waving the cigarette-holding hand dismissively, “staring at some wall.”

The joke was old, but it was often brought up because Griever had a penchant for ignoring people and standing in corners while staring at nothing.  The first time Seifer had seen Griever -- who was then only known as “Squall” -- Griever had been standing in a corner at a party, ignoring most everyone that came up to talk to him.

“Besides,” Seifer said as he moved his beer up towards his lips, “if I go find Griever now, Blood Kiss will be late to the stage, you know that.”

As Seifer poured a long drink of beer into his mouth, Thoran half frowned in pretend disgust.  Probably the most famous thing about Blood Kiss, their music notwithstanding, was the overtly exhibitionistic aspects of Flare and Griever’s homosexual relationship -- on stage, behind stage, in the middle of dance floors, in recording studios, restaurants, anywhere Flare and Griever went.  And those fans cheering in the auditorium were expecting such a show on stage tonight.

“Seif’s right,” Dami said after walking up behind Seifer’s sofa-throne.  He was Blood Kiss’ drummer and the eldest band member at 28-years-old.  The drummer leaned against the back of the sofa-throne and put a hand onto Seifer’s shoulder.  “And he needs to save his money shot for the fans.”

As Seifer chuckled and drank his beer, Thoran continued his feigned disgust.  Over the years, during Blood Kiss’ reformation and rise to fame, Thoran had seen more homosexual sex acts than avid gay-porn watchers, so in all honesty Thoran was desensitized to it all.

“Seif, this is Cassandra,” Dami said, patting Seifer’s shoulder.

Glancing back, Seifer saw a large-breasted woman with long ash-blonde hair smiling.  He recognized her as the guitarist from the third band that had performed tonight, Dazzled: He had become a master at remembering people’s names and where he’d first seen them, even though he would sometimes meet hundreds of people a day.

“I was wondering if I could get your autograph,” Cassandra said with a coy grin, after which she bit her lower lip.

She was pretty, and Seifer did have sex with women still, but swarms of women threw themselves at his feet daily.  She wasn’t interesting enough, and besides, Seifer was trying to stay loyal to his current boyfriend. (Seifer dated, but only those who understood he’d never give up Griever.)

“Yeah, sure,” Seifer said with a welcoming head nod.  He took a drag from his cigarette, then put it out in the ashtray beside his sofa-throne.  When Seifer turned back, Cassandra had walked around to his front and was leaning over, which showed off almost all of her breasts.  A permanent black marker was held out for Seifer to take.

“I was hoping,” Cassandra said in a deep and flirty voice, “you’d sign one of my breasts, and Griever would sign the other?”

It wasn’t anything new to Seifer, and without hesitation he accepted the black marker and went about signing her left breast’s cleavage. “For a tattoo?” he asked.  “A lot of people get our signatures tattooed.”

“Yeah,” Cassandra said with an embarrassed smile.

As he replaced the cap to hand the marker back to Cassandra, he said with near-boredom “I’ll have to get Griever for you.  If you tried to get him yourself, he wouldn’t even realize you exist.”

Seifer gulped down the last of his beer and set the bottle to the side before he stood up.  Cassandra, after saying her thank-yous, nodded in understanding and followed after Seifer to find Blood Kiss’ introverted singer.


No one called Griever “Squall” anymore, no one except Seifer, and Squall’s own family.  But Squall only saw his father, Laguna, and sister, Ellone, a few times a year, and even those two had grown more accustomed to referring to the stoic man by the famous “Griever” name.

“Griever” was not so much a stage name; it was the person Squall had become.  Even before joining Seifer’s band Blood Kiss at sixteen, the stoic brunette had already been given the name “Griever”.  The brunette singer was “Griever”, a quiet eighteen-year-old who took no interest in being alive.  Only three things could hold his attention: sex, sleep, and being Blood Kiss’ singer, in that order.  The first and last of those three were only interesting to Squall because they had to do with Seifer.

Since the moment Squall had laid his grey-blue eyes on Seifer almost four years ago, Squall’s “Griever” armor had taken a hard hit.  Before Seifer, Squall had barely been able remember to breathe, he had been so intertwined in his own head, so lost in his own torments.  However, while impossible for Seifer to admit, Squall did change after meeting Seifer.  The stoic, icy, and seemingly emotionless fifteen-year-old Squall had felt things for the first time in almost ten years.  And he had developed an all-consuming obsession -- with Seifer.

Life, however, is never easy or uncomplicated.  Squall was lord of complicated.  Seifer’s god-ego, as big as planets and stars, could only handle so much Griever, and the two men eventually lost their connection.

Squall continued his obsession with Seifer, and Seifer continued to barricade his own heart against Squall’s muted affections, but today all that remained of their relationship was their fuck-buddy status.

Looking down at his own hands, Squall stared hard at the burn-scars between his fingers.  He was a chain smoker who would oftentimes forget to dust the ash off the end of the cigarette butt, and thus had a tendency to burn himself, even through the leather gloves he wore.

Gently, Squall traced his left pointer finger over the burn-scars on his right hand and a vague curiosity surfaced in his mind -- Had Seifer seen these scars?

Squall’s eyes darted to his wrists at the thought of Seifer.  The entire reason he’d taken his gloves off was to stare at the bruises on his wrists.  

Seifer had held Squall down hard last night.  The bruises weren’t from rope; they had formed under Seifer’s brutal grasp while the two men had fucked.  A surge of tingles flooded from Squall’s crotch to his chest at the memory of Seifer’s thrusting and the memory of Seifer’s perfect face as their bodies moved together.

Erotic desires began to flood through Squall and he started debating searching for the egotistical blonde man.  Seifer might scold him for sexual advances, as Seifer sometimes did when there were Blood Kiss duties to be conducted, but Squall knew Seifer would always give in.  The question was: Was Squall horny enough to interfere with Blood Kiss duties?

Harshly grasping his own wrist, Squall relished the throbbing pain and the memories it induced.  It was all he would allow himself at that moment.  He was horny, but he was always horny for Seifer, and Blood Kiss meant the world to the blonde man.  Squall did not want to interfere with the band’s performance schedule tonight.


It was Seifer’s voice, sexy and heavily thickened with eroticism, the same tone Seifer used when they were slowly fucking.

The tingles already emanating from Squall’s crotch increased, and he closed his eyes against the waves of pleasure.

“Some chick wants you to sign her tit,” Seifer said.

Slowly Squall opened his eyes and released his bruised wrist.  As he turned away from the wall he’d been facing, Squall lifted his grey-blue gaze up to see Seifer’s immaculate face, five o’clock shadow, and sexy grin -- oh, how Squall relished Seifer’s lips.

The only reason Squall even heard anyone speaking was because it was Seifer speaking.  And as Squall processed the sentence, he began to see the girl standing with Seifer.

“Where are your gloves?” asked Seifer.  He always noticed everything about Squall.

“Pocket,” Squall replied.  His voice was far softer than anyone would have guessed prior to hearing the brunette man speak.  It was almost a complete contradiction to his singing voice, which was loud and passionate.  Holding up his wrists for Seifer to see, Squall said “I was looking at my bruises.”

Stepping forward to gently take Squall’s exposed wrist, Seifer frowned.  After a second of looking over the dark fingerprint bruises, Seifer turned his sea-blue eyes up to Squall’s face.  “You didn’t take a potion syringe this morning?”

“I guess not,” said Squall.  Slowly, he reached up and caressed Seifer’s cheek and the stubble of Seifer’s ever-present five o’clock shadow.

Trying to ignore Squall’s delicate touches, Seifer used his free hand to search Squall’s leather pants’ front pockets for a cigarette pack.  Squall moaned, a ghost smile on his lips and his normally dead eyes sparkling in lust at Seifer.  Turning his gaze up to glare with some amusement at Squall’s face, Seifer’s fingers found the pack and pulled it out.

Seifer held up the empty Malboro Tentacle brand cigarette pack.

“You smoke a whole box today yet?” asked Seifer.

“I never keep track,” Squall said, the subtle amusement in his tone only obvious to those who knew him -- namely the Blood Kiss band members.

“We’ve a concert tonight,” Seifer said, trying to shove away the urge to flirt with Squall back.  “You’ve got tar all over your throat and lungs, Griever.”

Squall quickly leaned over and mashed his lips against Seifer’s in a hard kiss that Seifer forced himself to yank away from.

“You need to take a fucking potion syringe,” Seifer snapped.  He couldn’t let Squall distract him, no matter how much Seifer wanted that.

Squall slipped a hand into the front pocket of Seifer’s jeans as he said “Then give me one.”

The brunette singer’s fingers weren’t looking for a potion syringe, and Seifer smirked despite himself when those fingers began to fondle his cock.  Grabbing Squall’s bruised wrists, Seifer pulled Squall’s hand from his jeans pocket and snapped “Sign the girl’s tit.”

As Squall slowly took his hand from Seifer, he turned his gaze to the girl he’d forgotten about.  He assessed her amused expression briefly then dropped his eyes to her chest where he saw Seifer’s “Flare” signature.

Cassandra stepped forward and held out her black permanent marker to Blood Kiss’ singer.  She was forced to stand there awhile as Seifer shuffled through his back pockets.

“Griever,” Seifer snapped loudly.

All amusement and most all of life had left Squall’s grey-blue spheres as the brunette man looked up to his lover.

“Stop staring at my name,” Seifer said in a softer but not soft tone, his eyebrows slightly raised.  “Sign her tit.”

The deadening gaze returned to the girl’s cleavage, and then Squall finally noticed the marker.  He slowly stepped forward and just as slowly accepted the marker.  He allowed himself a lingering assessment of the “Flare” signature before finally firmly grasping the girl’s right breast and signing “Griever” across bare skin.

When done, Squall replaced the marker cap and held out the pen for her to take.  She said something to him, but he didn’t bother listening as he turned back to Seifer.

“No problem,” Seifer said past Squall, a pleasantly charming smile on his lips.  He then looked down to Squall and opened the metal cigarette case he’d been searching his pockets for.  In the case, along with a few cigarettes and pills, was a small potion syringe.

Potion syringes were expensive, almost exclusively used by the rich.  Seifer’s first experience with one had been at 16-years-old after having a confrontation with his own foster father and a bat -- Squall’s wealthy family had allowed Seifer access to the thousand-Gil potion shot that mended Seifer’s bones in minutes.

As gently as Seifer’s frustration with Squall would allow, Seifer injected the brunette singer in the side of the throat.  Squall, however, didn’t even flinch, his gaze unwavering as he stared at Seifer’s perfect lips.

“Now,” Squall said, Seifer barely able to begin to put away the empty potion syringe and the metal cigarette case as Squall grasped Seifer’s crotch, “am I allowed to play with your cock?”

Taking hold of Squall’s bruised wrists again, Seifer shook his head.  “We go on stage in about 40 minutes.”

“I’ll get you off three or four times in that,” Squall said with hidden amusement, his fingers working on undoing Seifer’s jeans.

It was difficult to resist Squall, or perhaps it was impossible -- Seifer had never really tried.  He lowered his eyes down to Squall’s hands, which had managed to undo the jeans and slip inside.  Squall’s wrists were still visible, and the bruising had already lightened.  Seifer focused his eyes on those vanishing bruises as he felt Squall’s warm hands fondling his hard shaft and balls.

Holding up his jeans with one hand, Seifer moved the other to place his palm gently on Squall’s silky cheek.  The grey-blue eyes turned up and met Seifer’s soft gaze.

“I knew I shouldn’t have walked over here,” Seifer whispered, loudly so that Squall could hear above the background music and talking.  Then Seifer closed his eyes and leaned forward, pulling Squall by the back of the neck towards him.  Their temples met and Seifer whispered “But Hyne you feel good.”

“You feel good,” Squall replied, his lips brushing against Seifer’s beard stubble.  He breathed in deeply then said “And you smell good.”  He brought his mouth to Seifer’s neck and gently, with tongue and slow motions, kissed Seifer.  “And you taste good.”  He kissed Seifer deeply on the neck again.

Seifer could feel the cold air on his hard cock, and Squall was pumping him fast.  He kept his eyes closed as he moaned softly, his cock throbbing in Squall’s soft grasp, and eventually his mouth met with Squall’s.

There were brief flashes of light.  Seifer knew that people in the dank backstage room were taking picture of their sexual activity, but people were always taking pictures of them no matter what or where.  No doubt a few people had begun video recording Flare and Griever as well.

Griever jerking Flare off backstage was to be expected: It’s what people assumed would happen, because it’s what always happened.  The two were gay lover icons, a world renowned couple, and infamous for their X-rated show.  Anti-Blood Kiss groups such as “Mothers Against Blood Kiss” had even been formed in attempts to subvert the overt homoerotic exhibitionism behavior.

Seifer continued to kiss Squall hard and allowed himself to slip to orgasm.  The heavy taste of cigarettes and the smell of leather and cologne overflowed in Seifer’s senses, bringing the blonde man to a fast and satisfying orgasm.  His cock tingled and throbbed, and he shot his load out while trying to kiss Squall as hard as possible.

Seconds of heavy breathing filled the air between the two men as Seifer tried to kiss Squall back, who was still eager and forceful with his mouth.  The brunette singer fondled Seifer’s cock another minute before Seifer finally forced himself to think about more than what else Squall could do to him.  While opening his eyes, Seifer took his cock from Squall’s gentle grasp and put himself back into his jeans.

“You don’t want more?” asked Squall, gazing up at Seifer with faux innocence -- one of almost all of Squall’s expressions that only came out during sex (or singing).

While Seifer had a chance to smile, his verbal reply was interrupted by Dami.

“Flare, you blew your money shot all over his fucking stage clothes,” Dami said while shaking his head.

Seifer stole a quick glance to Dami, who was taking a drink from a beer bottle while staring at him with lifted eyebrows.  Cassandra was next to Dami, phone out and pointed at the two, but Seifer ignored her presence.  As Seifer turned back to Squall to see the damage done, he mentally berated himself: Squall was irresistible and always aggressive, Seifer knew better than to wake the Sleeping Lion from his otherwise glazed state of existence.

“Hyne-fucking-damn it, Griever,” Seifer said with a lowered angry tone.  Along the bottom portion of Squall’s button-up black shirt were obvious wet stains of cum.  The blonde guitarist’s nostrils flared as he turned up to see Squall’s blank expression.  

The grey-blue gaze slowly looked down to assess the shirt, after which Squall used the backs of his fingers to attempt to brush his shirt clean.  

Immediately Seifer grabbed Squall’s arm to stop the brunette singer from smearing the cum further.

“Really, Griever?” growled Seifer.

Squall took his arm from Seifer and brought the cum-covered fingers up, towards his opening mouth.  The brunette man only had a half-second to taste the cum on his own fingers when Seifer very lightly smacked his cheek.

With an amused laugh, Seifer said “Knock that off.”  He then took hold of the top of Squall’s shirt and began to unbutton it, not minding if he actually ripped a button off.

With erotic desires pouring from his eyes, Squall watched Seifer’s frown.  The shirt was ripped off seconds later, exposing Squall’s tattooed upper body -- “Flare” and “Seifer” along with various tattoos of flames decorated his otherwise milky white skin.  

When Seifer turned back up to Squall’s face to notice the seductive ghost smile, Seifer took one step backwards and said in harsh amusement “You’re not getting that!”  He held up the black shirt.  “I’ve got to find you another fucking shirt.”

Seifer began to turn around and head off to wardrobe when Squall softly said “Wait.”  Their eyes met again.  “I need more cigarettes.”

Perhaps it was half a joke, which would have been saying something for the stoic Griever, but it was certainly a half serious statement.

Seifer laughed anyways, and as he shook his head, he motioned for Dami.  “Dami, give him some cigarettes.”

Even as Dami complied, amused as well, and even as Seifer turned away again to head off, Squall’s grey-blue eyes lingered on the blonde guitarist.  Squall accepted the cigarette pack without acknowledging Dami, and he continued to stare at the spot in the crowd that Seifer disappeared into.

The drummer had said something to Squall -- he knew it even if he hadn’t heard Dami.  And since Squall generally liked Dami, as he liked Thoran (the other Blood Kiss guitarist) and Hazen (Blood Kiss’ bass player) -- they were, after all, the only family he wanted -- Squall often tried to acknowledge their existence.  

When Squall forced himself to look up at Dami, the drummer was smiling down with amusement in his light-blue eyes.  Squall had taken a cigarette from the pack without thought, and as he brought it up to his own lips, he realized Dami had a lighter lit and up for him.

After a deep inhale, Squall pulled the toxic stick from his lips.  Smoke billowed from his mouth as he spoke.  “Thanks.”

“No prob, Griev’,” said Dami.  He slid an arm around Squall’s waist and began to lightly pull the singer along.  “C’mon.  Dance with me.”

And Squall complied.


When Seifer reached the door to the hallway, Thoran had caught up to him.

“Flare, where are you going?” asked Thoran.

Seifer, with inward bitter pleasure, handed Squall’s shirt off to Thoran, who accepted with mild confusion.

“Griev’ needs a new shirt,” Seifer said as he slipped through the dank room’s door into the hall.

Thoran followed with a frown, looking at the shirt in his hands.  “What’s wrong with this one?”

“I came on it,” replied Seifer, keeping a straight face despite his amusement.

Throwing the shirt onto the floor, Thoran groaned loudly and then wiped his hands onto the back of his own jeans. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Seifer laughed, walking by various other bands who’d taken up position in the hallway.  “Don’t just leave that on the floor,” Seifer said, smirking.

“Hyne,” Thoran grumbled, still following after Seifer, but leaving the shirt behind.  “Anyways.  I wanted to ask you when we were doing that contest winner shit.”

Having reached the changing room door, Seifer stole a glance back to the brunette guitarist before he remembered what Thoran was talking about.  “Oh,” Seifer said, and he returned to his mission of getting Squall a new shirt.  “Wednesday next week.”

Thoran leaned in the doorway with crossed arms, watching Seifer search the wardrobe.  “I dunno why we agreed to do that.”  

“Good publicity,” Seifer replied in a near-mumble.  He found a new shirt for Squall easily enough, as most all of Squall’s clothes (stage and off-stage) were almost completely uniform, only slight variations of all-black styles.

“We’re going to get sued,” Thoran said, half smirking.  “You know that, right?”

With a real laugh, Seifer said “Why?”

“The soda sponsor and Levy wrote up that huge contract,” said Thoran.  “You know, about ‘appropriate behavior’ around the teenagers who’ve won.”  He pushed off from the doorway and stepped backwards to let Seifer exit the small changing room.  As he followed Seifer back to the dank room, he said “Maybe I can control myself.  And maybe you can control yourself.  But what the fuck are you going to do about Griever?”

Hearing their band manager’s name, Levy, gave Seifer the mental image of the older man -- who was slightly overweight and nearing 50 -- red-faced in rage.  Levy was generally always red-faced in rage, having taken it upon himself to be a bitter father-figure to the billion-Gil band-turned-corporation.

“It was Levy’s idea,” Seifer said with a shrug and half a smile.  

“He’s just trying to give himself a heart attack,” Thoran muttered.

The two guitarists entered the dank room, quickly making their way through the crowd, back to where Squall and Dami had been.

As they walked, Seifer said “There’s a schedule of stuff we’re supposed to do with the winners.  So long as we stick to that, and don’t take those underage to any real Blood Kiss parties, it should be fine.”

“That’s what reminded me about the contest,” Thoran said.  He kept pace slightly behind the god Seifer, but close enough that their shoulders were only a half-foot apart.  “That party tonight.”

“Shit,” Seifer mumbled.  “I forgot about the grunge party.”

“I texted my girlfriend,” Thoran said, “and she reminded me.  I was trying to get pussy, man.  She got all huffy, thinking I wanted to take her to the party for sex.”

“She doesn’t go to that shit,” Seifer said, smiling with a small frown.  The frown lifted and he said “Hell, I don’t even take Trevor to that shit.”

Seifer had been dating Trevor for seven months, which was the second longest relationship in Seifer’s life: The first had been with Squall for the ten months they dated prior to Seifer breaking it off.  The third longest relationship ever for Seifer had been three weeks, but Seifer didn’t remember the name of that boyfriend -- or even if it had been a boy or girl.  If asked why he was still with Trevor, Seifer wouldn’t have had an answer; however, it probably had to do with a random comment from Squall months back about Trevor being a decent guy.

The two guitarists had reached the spot where Seifer had left Squall and Dami, but both were gone.

“Fucking hell,” Seifer mumbled as he looked around.

“Let’s skip it,” said Thoran.

“We shouldn’t,” Seifer replied halfheartedly.  “The fans like it too much.”  He spotted Squall with Dami, both dancing together -- the only two in the room who were dancing, and they were dancing fairly erotically -- and people were watching and photographing them.  Sighing heavily, Seifer said “It gives people wet dreams that Blood Kiss will show up at their random-ass party,” and then he headed towards the two.

As Seifer walked off, Thoran scoffed.  He hated the grunge parties, filled to the brim with drugs, alcohol, and group sex.  Not that he hadn’t indulged in his share of all three, but the grunge parties were always in some torn-down, condemned building, with about 100 random and very questionable people.  None of the five Blood Kiss band members did drugs or drank alcohol while there, and they were always two feet from their bodyguards.  It was long, boring hours of pretending to have an awesome time.

Watching Dami and Seifer faux argue as Squall pulled the new button-up shirt on, Thoran wondered if it was about time for Blood Kiss to go on stage.  Performing, at least, would be a genuine awesome time.


Zell gripped the piece of paper tighter as he sat in the back of the taxi.  It had taken almost all of his allowance, but he’d managed the trip from Balamb to Deling City.  And now as Zell stared out at the broken-down house the taxi had pulled in front of, Zell was certain he’d blown months worth of mowing lawns for nothing.

“You... sure this is it?” asked Zell.

“Yeah, kid,” the driver said.  The man was not unsympathetic.  “Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

Sneering out the taxi’s window at the broken-down house, Zell was not sure.  He looked down to the paper with the address once more.  The writing was legible; there was no mistaking any of the numbers or the street name.  If this was it, then, unfortunately, this was it.

“I’ll take you back to the train station,” the driver said as he looked back at Zell through the rearview mirror.  “No charge.”

“That’s okay,” Zell said.  He swallowed then reached into his pocket for his money.  “How much?”

After a sharp sigh, the driver replied “Twenty seven Gil.”

Zell counted out the crumpled paper Gil then handed it forward before shoving the small remainder back into his pocket.

“Be safe,” the driver said.

“I will,” Zell replied, though only because he didn’t know what else to say.  After jumping out of the taxi, Zell took a long moment to stare out at the solitary broken-down house.  It was past sunset and the house was out in the middle of nowhere, no street lamps in sight, but lights were on inside the house and Zell could make out music -- the legendary band Blood Kiss’ music!

The tattooed fifteen-year-old felt his heart skip a beat.  It was too bad his best friend, Selphie, had been stuck babysitting tonight, as she was the one who’d been invited to this party and was supposed to be with Zell.  Not that she had ever been invited to a place like this either, but when she’d been given this address by some cute guy at a concert last weekend, no questions were asked.  Blood Kiss was certain to be here!

Feeling excitement with a slight mixture of nerves, Zell crossed the cement path to the front doors.  The porch light flickered, barely giving Zell enough light to see the paint chipping from the exterior walls.  But that did not unsettle the short, tattooed teenager, because the Blood Kiss music resonating from the house confirmed every desire he had.

The wild fantasy of Griever himself answering the front door filled Zell’s mind.  Since thirteen-years-old and seeing Griever on a life-size cardboard cutout, Zell had been utterly in love with the leather-clad and gorgeous lead singer of Blood Kiss -- who was known for speaking little, sexy singing, and being one of the world’s ultimate gay icons.  

The front door opened before Zell had finished crossing the walkway up.  A couple men stumbled out, their arms on each other’s shoulders, laughing insanely.  Zell stopped dead in his tracks as he watched the two make their wobbly way down the few cement steps.  When one began to fall, the other let go and laughed harder, and after toppling to the cement pathway, the first laughed hard and loud as well.

Zell, still filled with youthful excitement mixed with innocent ignorance, began to walk forward again.  He pushed aside his uncertainty and focused on his mission: These two men would not stop Zell from meeting the love of his life.

“Hey, boy scout,” the standing man said when he saw Zell.  “Selling any cookies?”

The one on the ground laughed in giddy delight.

Trying to smile despite the butterflies tossing up pandemonium in his stomach, Zell shook his head.  “No,” Zell said and he took a few steps in an attempt to walk a wide path around the two.  “There’s a party here, right, for Blood Kiss?”

“Yeah,” the standing man said.  “Blood Kiss will be here.”

Most people may have questioned the obviously drunk and drugged out man, but Zell took him for his word.  The tattooed teenager’s heart raced as the thought of seeing Griever face-to-face, and adrenaline calmed any doubts that were attempting to surface.

“The music?” asked Zell.

“Stereo,” the standing man answered.

“Oh,” Zell said.  He was slightly disappointed that Blood Kiss hadn’t arrived yet and they weren’t playing live inside somewhere.  

Before Zell could think further on that point, the standing man had stepped to him and placed a hand on one of Zell’s shoulders.  “You want a drink or anything?” the man asked, a coy but drunken smirk on his lips.

“Uh,” Zell said as he stepped around the man and passed him, pulling away from the uninvited hand.  “No.  I don’t drink.”

Zell’s answer only induced more insane laughter from the two.  As the tattooed teenager stepped backwards, towards the house and away from the two bothersome men, Zell was stopped again in his tracks as someone barreled out of the house and vomited over the porch’s wobbly side rail.

After a quick glance to the new, third man, Zell turned his wide-eyed attention back to the first two.  They had, however, forgotten about Zell and gone back to whatever it was they had been doing in the first place.

Inhaling a small but sharp breath of air, Zell turned around completely and began to walk up the few cement steps.

The front door was still open, giving Zell the sight of some people dancing to the very loud stereo music.  Zell knew the song to be off of Blood Kiss’ “Deeper Now” album.

Crossing the barrier into the house, Zell’s eyes almost began to water.  The air was thick with smoke, some of which had to be from drugs, and the air had the stench of sex and body odor, making Zell question how safe his lungs were.  

Breathing out heavily from his nostrils, Zell suddenly realized some people were openly having sex -- some on the couches, some on the floors.  Zell’s cheeks burned red as he tried to find someplace safe for his eyes to look.

It took a minute or two of standing there while people shoved by him, some carelessly spilling splashes of their drinks, but eventually Zell noticed the rest of the house as well.  The paint and wallpaper were peeling, floorboards were rotted and broken, and the furniture looked as though it had spent ten years in the rain.  This Blood Kiss party was nothing like the glamorous event Zell had envisioned.

Sure, Zell had figured there would be alcohol, drugs, and even sex.  But everything here, from the house’s foundation to the people partying, was so dirty and nasty.  Ultimately, Zell found himself seriously questioning whether Blood Kiss would show up to a shithole like this.

“Hey there, little one,” a woman suddenly said.

Her voice snapped Zell out of his assessment trance.  He turned to her, seeing a pretty but very thin woman with blonde hair and hazy eyes.  In her right hand was an open beer bottle, while the other hand had a thumb hooked into a belt loop on her miniskirt.  One of the straps on her T-top shirt slipped off her shoulder.  And, not that Zell noticed, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Hey,” Zell said with slight wariness.

After a long pause, the hazy-eyed woman smiled a drunken grin.  “What’s up?” she asked in a slow slur.

“Nothing,” Zell mumbled quickly as he shook his head.  In a strong voice, he asked “Uh, Blood Kiss... is coming, right?”

A small laugh accompanied the twitch of a smile on the drunk woman’s face.  “Hell yea,” she said.  She stepped closer to Zell, but her small frame and weakened ability to stand made Zell less uncomfortable with her closer proximity.  “I’ve been to a million of these things.”  She paused to push a few blonde strands of hair from her face.  “I’ve seen Blood Kiss show up twice.”

That did not sound promising to Zell.

“But,” she said, cocking her head to the side and smiling a decent grin at Zell, “my friend Jennifer knows for certain they’ll be here.  She banged one of Blood Kiss’ roadies -- you know, a dude who carries band equipment.”

“Oh,” Zell said.  

“Blood Kiss is all about,” the drunk woman said, looking serious and focused as she spoke, “you know, ...ol’ school shit.  They prefer parties like this, cause this is where they’re from.”

Zell held back a sneer at that.

“And,” she said, “they don’t turn down invitations from anyone cool.”

Anyone cool’ was vague, and Zell couldn’t imagine how any of the drunken and gross people he’d seen could be considered ‘cool’.  However, he wasn’t about to argue with some random woman; after all, she was being nice enough, which was more than the two drunk men outside had been.  And Zell had high hopes that she was right -- in whatever way meant Blood Kiss would show up.

“Ya know,” she said, smiling her drunken, toothy grin, “their concert should be over by now.  They’ll probably be here soon.”

As fanatical of a fan as Zell was, he did not know Blood Kiss’ full schedule and was unaware of any concerts they were holding in Deling City currently.

The woman, whose name Zell still had not caught, stepped forward and put an arm on his shoulder.  “I take it,” she said, “you’re here to meet Flare.”  Her blonde eyebrow raised in amusement.  

“Why Flare?” asked Zell.  While he did not like her arm on him, he did not pull away like he had from the man outside.  

After a light but drunken laugh, she said “He’s been known to take home a cute boy or two.”

Zell knew the rumors of Flare’s promiscuity, but Zell had a hard time believing in such nonsense.   The ultimate point was: Flare had Griever, so why the hell would Flare so much as breathe in anyone else’s direction?  Zell knew if Griever was his lover, he’d devote everything to the brunette singer.

“I figured,” the woman said, “you were here for him to pop your cherry.”

Zell’s face burned and his sapphire eyes darted down.  He was mortified she’d assumed (and rightly so) that he was a virgin.

“It’s okay,” she said, and Zell brought his eyes back up to her hazy gaze.  “Let’s get you a drink, calm you down before the big man shows up.”

Attempting to smile pleasantly, Zell shook his head.  “No thanks.  I’m--”  He remembered the laughter from the men outside because of not drinking. “--I’m not ready for a drink right now.  I, uh, want to remember meeting Blood Kiss for the first time.”  People forgot things when they were drunk, right?  Zell thought he’d heard some of those jocks at school mentioning ‘blackouts’.

“Yeah, of course,” she said with a nod.  She pulled her arm off his shoulder.  “Well, you wanna meet Jennifer?  She’s got the best stories about being backstage with that roadie guy.”

Zell was not interested in any stories Jennifer may have had -- except the brief glimmer of hope that perhaps she’d met Griever and could tell Zell more about him.  But that was highly doubtful, and Zell would have rather declined this drunk woman’s offer, except he didn’t want to be waiting for Blood Kiss alone.  There were plenty of other people here, plenty of other intimidating people and people having sex all around him.  This woman’s company was probably the best Zell would find.

“Sure,” replied Zell.


“We’ll stay an hour,” Dami said, leaning heavily back into the leather seat of the limo.  To his left sat Hazen, and to Hazen’s left was Thoran.  Across from the three sat Seifer and Squall.

While Seifer nodded in agreement to Dami’s statement, Squall stared out the dark limo window at the traffic as they left the main part of Deling City. The brunette singer had a lit cigarette in his right hand, which rested on his own right knee.

Honestly, Squall did not know where they were going, and while he heard Dami mention staying an hour somewhere, those words were quickly forgotten.  He had used up a lot of his ability to socialize already, and honestly Squall would have preferred simply going to sleep.

“I’m fucking setting my watch,” Thoran said, appearing serious as he held up the watch.  “Sync up, guys.  We’re fucking Mission Impossible-ing this shit.”

The guys (minus Squall, who was not paying attention) laughed.  

Seifer shook his head while smiling.  “You’re a moron.”

“Fuck you,” Thoran said plainly.  Pointing to his watch, he said “When my watch beeps, the limo is leaving!”

After taking a short but hard look at Thoran’s watch, Seifer looked up at Thoran’s serious expression.  “You need to upgrade that piece of shit.”

“What the fuck are you talking about!” Thoran replied loudly.  “This is a state-of-the-art scuba diving watch!”

“You don’t scuba dive,” Seifer said as he moved his left arm over the top of his seat’s backrest.  “Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s fucking awesome,” Thoran said, lowering his watch down, feigning hurt feelings.

After rolling his eyes, Seifer said “You better not have spent a shitload of money on that.”

“It’s my money,” Thoran replied in a faux dejected voice.

“I can’t believe I take care of your estate,” Seifer said, “and you waste money like that.”

“What the fuck did I say earlier?” Thoran asked.  “About the economics doctorate shit?”

With a light laugh, Seifer said “Now I’m thinking about examining Griever’s prostate.”

Thoran of course laughed, and Dami did as well even though he hadn’t heard the original joke, but Hazen sneered.

“Dat’s nasty,” Hazen said in his slang-filled dialect.  

Blinking away the preoccupation with nothing, Squall turned from the window to look at Seifer.  Deadpan, Squall said “I can take off my pants.”

Despite never listening to anything, Squall somehow always managed to hear when Seifer was speaking to him, or at least about him.

“D’ere is no way ya’re horny,” Hazen said to Squall, a deep and serious frown lowering the bass player’s brow.

Squall had barely turned his attention to the bass player, when Seifer said “You want to play doctor-patient with us, Hazen?  You can be the nurse.”

“Let me get my fucking phone out,” Dami mumbled, reaching into his pocket for the video phone.

“Ya noticed us three are sitting over here?” Hazen said, motioning to his slide of the limo.  “Away from ya two?”

There was barely a few seconds for laughter when the limo driver chimed in through the intercom.  “We’re pulling up now.”

“One fucking hour!” Thoran said, holding up a pointer finger as he looked from each member of Blood Kiss.

“Why the obsession with bouncing tonight?” Dami asked, shoving his phone back into his pants pocket.

“My girlfriend is at the hotel,” replied Thoran as the limo door opened.  “I’m getting pussy as soon as I get back.  Then she’s gone to Centra for some shit for a month.”

“Isn’t she mad at you?” Seifer asked, shifting to get out of the limo.

“Nothing flowers can’t fix,” Thoran said.

After Seifer stood from the limo, he nodded to the bodyguards who were gathering.  Each member of Blood Kiss had two: The bodyguards had followed the limo in two separate cars, which were parked across the street.

Once Thoran was standing on the sidewalk, Seifer smirked.  “Flowers?” the egotistical blonde said.  “You buy yourself a couple grand scuba watch and your girlfriend gets some 100-Gil bouquet?  Kinda cheap, huh?”

“I have to get her diamonds because she misunderstood me?” Thoran asked, frowning at Seifer.

“You are straight, right?” Seifer asked.

Hazen had gotten out of the limo, followed by Squall, and then finally Dami.

“Do you know anything about women?” Seifer asked Thoran.

“Damn it,” Thoran mumbled, now considering if flowers were enough.

“Ah, man,” Dami said.  “Look at this place.”

The rest of Blood Kiss turned their attention to the house, and a few people had come outside to greet the legendary band.

“It’s nicer than my first apartment,” Dami said, smirking.  He patted Seifer and Hazen on the shoulders, then walked towards the obviously condemned house.  The drummer’s two bodyguards followed.

“Damn that’s depressing,” Thoran said as he stared at the back of Dami’s head.

Thoran and Hazen began to follow Dami to the house, and all three of the men smiled at and spoke to the people who were waiting.

As those three walked off, Seifer turned to one of Squall’s bodyguards.  “I know I say this every time,” Seifer said to the burly man, “but...” The blonde guitarist breathed out heavily.  “If Griever does anything other than stare at a wall, text me.  Alright, Blake?”

The bodyguard smiled and nodded.  “Will do, boss.”

“Thanks, man.” Seifer said.  He then turned to Squall, who had gotten out a new cigarette and was lighting it.  “We’ll stay about an hour.  Then we’ll go back to the hotel and you can sleep.”

“Sure,” Squall said, his voice barely audible against the stereo music and chatter from the condemned house.

A few minutes later, Squall was slowly making his way through the house.  Plenty of people greeted him, and a few tried to start conversations with Squall, but the brunette singer neither saw nor heard any of them as he strolled.  Blake and Squall’s other bodyguard, Wade, followed closely behind, scaring off anyone who thought about pressing Squall.

If an hour had passed, Squall wouldn’t have been able to realize it.  He was tired and bored, and every face that flashed before his indifferent gaze seemed to be a duplicate of the last.

Squall had smoked three cigarettes and was getting out a fourth before the memory of the scars on his fingers surfaced.  They weren’t an important memory, but they had the benefit of reminding Squall about the wrist bruises that were now gone.  

Squall’s grey-blue gaze stared without focus down at the carpet at his feet.  Flashes of sex with Seifer swirled through Squall’s mind, the intensity of Seifer’s eyes and the pleasure induced by Seifer’s perfect body.

The image of Seifer’s hard cock, dripping with precum made Squall’s mouth water.  His tongue flicked the end of the cigarette held between his lips, and when he pulled the toxic stick from his mouth, he breathed out heavily with billowing smoke.

Then, almost instinctually, Squall snapped back to reality and looked up.

There were plenty of people watching him, plenty having sex or doing drugs, any of whom could have drawn Squall’s attention.  The only thing, however, that Squall’s normally apathetic gaze saw was a pair of sapphire eyes, shimmering despite the poor yellow lighting in the condemned house.

The beat from the music pounded through Squall as he stared through the crowd at those beautiful eyes.  Squall’s tiredness had vanished and adrenaline surged up, giving him a feeling of vertigo mixed with excitement -- similar to how Squall felt when he was about to perform.  And those shimmering eyes did not falter, did not waiver, as they too stared through the crowd back at Squall.

Squall continued his fixated gaze, seconds ticking by and yet time felt frozen.  Then Squall saw more, the rest of what went with those perfect eyes: long eyelashes, cherry lips, creamy skin, a tattoo along the left of the boy’s face, a slight blush on the cheeks, blonde spiked hair, and uncertainty in the boy’s stance.  But despite the uncertainty, there was desire, hunger in those sapphire eyes.

“Griever,” Dami said, with light laughter in his tone.  

Blinking, Squall turned away from his fixated gaze and saw the drummer standing to his left.  

“Do you realize,” Dami said, “that you’re staring into nothing in the middle of the room?”

Remembering his cigarette, Squall lifted his hand up while lowering his eyes to Dami’s chest.  Most of the cigarette had burned away, leaving only two or so hits.  

While Squall flicked the long bar of ash from the cigarette, Dami continued his teasing. “Did you forget to make it to a wall before zoning out?”

Squall looked up from under his thick, mascara (stage-makeup) covered eyelashes and took a long drag to finish the cigarette off.

“C’mon,” Dami said with a smile and head nod.  “I’ll take you to Flare.”

Dropping the cigarette butt onto the already fucked up floor, Squall accepted Dami’s hand and let himself be led through the crowd to Seifer.

The shimmering, sapphire eyes resonated within Squall’s mind as he walked.  The brunette superstar let a few thoughts surface as he wondered if he should talk to that tattooed boy, if he could talk to the boy.  Squall had never attempted conversation with anyone other than Seifer, and it was strange to Squall that he was considering attempting such a tiresome endeavor with some boy.  But Squall was considering at least asking the boy his name -- because Squall at least wanted to know that much.

When Squall and Dami reached Seifer, the blonde guitarist was sitting on a couch, smiling wide as he spoke loudly to the people that had gathered around.  Seifer resonated god as he let his ego control every breath of air taken around him -- and that crowd of peasants ate up every second of attention the egotistical blonde superstar gave them.

“Flare,” Dami said.  He’d stopped beside the couch but continued to pull Squall until the brunette singer almost toppled down as he was forced to sit near Seifer.  “Griever’s so fucking tired he’d zoned out in the middle of a room.”

Seifer’s brow lowered but there was humor in his sea-blue eyes as he turned his attention from Dami to Squall.  Any chance Seifer had to speak was quickly ended as Squall moved forward.  The brunette singer’s hands both reached to Seifer’s cheeks and their mouths suddenly met hard.

Squall beat his mouth against Seifer’s, his tongue quickly penetrating the blonde god’s lips, eagerly and with rampant desire forcing Seifer into deep, long kisses.  Surges of arousal fluttered through Squall, and he couldn’t kiss Seifer hard enough or deep enough to find satisfaction.

And Seifer loved every heartbeat of Squall’s intensity.  

Their mouths never parted or slowed as Squall climbed onto Seifer’s lap.  The blonde guitarist’s hands quickly found Squall’s leather clad ass, and without encouragement, Squall pushed his crotch down against Seifer, which only served to make Seifer squeeze and pull at Squall harder.

They continued those deep and uncontrolled kisses while Squall rocked himself against Seifer until finally Squall pulled his lips away, moving his mouth over Seifer’s five o’clock shadow, down Seifer’s jawline, and to Seifer’s throat.

Rolling his head backwards to enjoy Squall’s mouth, Seifer said “Hyne, Griever.  You’re so fucking hard.”  He gripped Squall’s ass, his own cock hard and throbbing in pleasure from Squall’s thrusting.  

“You should suck my dick,” Squall said against Seifer’s ear before moving to suck the blonde man’s earlobe.

Nuzzling Squall, Seifer said in a groan “Is that what you want?”

Squall sat up enough to look down into Seifer’s eyes.  “It’s what I need,” Squall said as he wove his fingers through Seifer’s hair.

It took only a second for Seifer to toss Squall to the side on the couch.  Their mouths met again as Squall continued to run his fingers through Seifer’s hair.  Seifer undid Squall’s belt and the front of Squall’s leather pants, but before yanking Squall’s pants off, Seifer sat up.  

The blonde guitarist shrugged off his coat and tossed it down onto the couch.  He then lifted Squall up and moved him over to sit onto the coat before he pulled Squall’s leather pants down.  On his knees in front of Squall, Seifer lowered his mouth down and took the entire throbbing erection into his mouth and throat.  

Tightening his grip on Seifer’s hair, Squall closed his eyes and moaned out loudly.  The brief image of those shimmering sapphire spheres flashed through Squall’s mind, but he did not question it.  Squall continued to moan, desperately grasping Seifer’s hair, shoving the blonde man down hard while trying to shove himself up into the blonde god’s perfect mouth.

The tattooed face swirled through Squall’s mind, and he opened his grey-blue eyes to try to remember reality.  He looked down at Seifer, to watch Seifer’s perfect lips move up and down his hard shaft.

Squall released his grip on the blonde hair and instead gently cradled the back of Seifer’s head in his palms.  The blonde guitarist looked up, meeting Squall’s lust filled expression.  

Smiling as much as he could, Seifer sucked harder while still staring up at Squall.  The brunette singer’s mouth was open and a small smile was just visible on his lips.  A second later, Squall moaned loudly and his body tensed before he came.  Seifer eagerly encouraged Squall’s orgasm, sucking hard and moving fast while finding deep satisfaction in the way the stoic singer’s body quivered.  

When grey-blue eyes closed and the quivering stopped, Seifer pulled off Squall’s cock and rose from his knees.  Seifer sat down heavily on the couch beside Squall before gently putting Squall’s cock away and closing the opened leather pants.

Seifer wrapped an arm over Squall’s shoulders and waited for the brunette singer to react.  Squall’s hard breathing eventually died down, but when he opened his cloudy eyes, he realized Seifer’s attention had turned away.

The blonde god was smiling and half glaring at someone, distracted in some conversation Squall had not bothered to listen to.  After a minute of sitting on the couch, watching Seifer’s lips moving while Seifer spoke, Squall forced himself to stand up.

Seifer gave Squall a brief glance but as Squall began to walk away, Seifer quickly returned to his conversation with Thoran and Dami.  

A minute later, Squall was inhaling another toxic breath of cigarette smoke, his tongue flicking the cigarette butt, and everything else in the world vanishing from memory.

Sleep sounded good.  The soft sheets and heavy fur blankets sounded perfect, even if nowadays Squall spent his hours in bed alone -- Seifer always vanished after sex.

Then, despite the default state of apathy Squall lived in, he remembered those sapphire eyes.  They had been so beautiful, so perfect, and Squall had brief non-word thoughts about wanting those shimmering eyes to have seen Seifer sucking him off.

Instinct led Squall through the condemned house, by hordes of people trying to speak with him, and eventually Squall returned to the place where he’d seen those perfect eyes -- but those eyes and that gorgeous tattooed face were gone.

Squall scanned the faces in the crowd, all seemingly undistinguishable from each other.  And so, quite uncharacteristic for his Griever-self, Squall headed forward to look for that boy -- if only to see those eyes again and, perhaps, to find out that boy’s name.

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