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Defining Love	By : DB2020 Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1473 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Seven
Like any group of friends that didn’t get around to seeing each other as often as they would like or as often as they always promised they would, there were multiple stories being shared at the same time.
Selphie arrived minutes before Squall was called into conference with Cid. Her interrogation had to wait. She would have flown in hours ago, but Squall insisted on discretion. A giant red spaceship sporting grappling arms would have made headlines no matter where she landed the thing. Boats were primitive transport in her estimation, but Squall’s appointment with Odine wasn’t until the following day.
Now, Selphie demanded that Rinoa fill her in on every detail, both the necessary (“Have you seen them kiss?”) and the tangential (“What kind of dress did you wear to Seifer’s shindig?”). Rinoa and Selphie sat at the table with Lore while the boy absently worked on his homework. Ellone sat next to Irvine on the couch and listened as he explained the particulars of her little brother’s recent romance. Unlike the others, Ellen hadn’t known Seifer prior to the war. The shock of Squall’s interest in the former knight didn’t resonate as deeply in her.
A chorus of shouts sounded outside the sitting room. Irvine shot to his feet, hand hovering at his hip for a gun that wasn’t there. Rinoa glanced at the wide doorway, then across the room to the office door, behind which Squall had taken an emergency call from Headmaster Cid.
“I don’t need a damn escort!” a shout came.
Hunched over his chemistry notes, Lore snorted with laughter. He recognized Seifer’s voice.
The door slid open. Irvine cursed the palace guards for always confiscating his weapons. Nothing would have given him more satisfaction than to neuter Seifer. If it turned out that Squall was pregnant again, he’d do just that.
Seifer took in the room full of familiar faces. Gaze settling on Lore, he asked, “Where’s your dad?”
Lore pointed the eraser-tip of his pencil across the room. “He’s in there, but he’s busy.”
“Good for him,” Seifer said sarcastically, already stalking across the room. He ignored the gaping stares that followed him.
Irvine threw Lore a betrayed look, which the boy answered with a shrug. Since when had Lore’s campaign against Seifer ended?
“Seifer,” Rinoa said, stepping forward in the hopes of playing mediator.
Seifer waved her off. “Not now.” He stalked to the closed door and pressed its release. It was unlocked despite whatever business Leonhart was up to.
Phone cradled between neck and shoulder, Squall didn’t even look up at Seifer’s entrance.
Seifer stood nearby, radiating impatience. When Leonhart threw a glare his way, he made a motion with his hand for the man to wrap things up on the phone. Blue eyes iced over and he could imagine the slew of nasty words Leonhart was saying in his head.
Like everything else in the palace, the office was an oversized multi-colored spectacle of technology. Too much space, Seifer decided. And not enough light, though he figured Leonhart simply hadn’t turned the lights on. At the opposite end of the room were a broad window and long couch. The president clearly enjoyed sitting, because there were couches and chairs around every corner. There were also countless doors. He understood why Leonhart had opted out of living here. It was a soldier’s nightmare, no direct exits and nameless servants hovering in the shadows.
“Any casualties?” Squall asked into the phone. He typed on the desk’s glossy surface. A map of Galbadia came to life as a holographic projection. He zeroed in on the area of interest. “What are his most recent coordinates?”
Seifer leaned against the desk and studied the map for a moment. He liked the touch screen. It would mean he could stop toting his laptop around and still save desk space. He considered getting one for his office.
Squall spared the ex-knight a quick glance. “I doubt he’s after the city. His likelier target is the labyrinth.” He highlighted the Tomb of the Unknown King on the map and plotted the distance from Diablos current position. He gave the image a considering look before he said to Cid, “I’d advise against taking action. Diablos wants freedom, not trouble.”
There was a long pause over the line before Cid agreed. Squall bid the man goodbye and turned the projection off. For a moment, he simply stared at the desktop before he cast Seifer an expectant look.
Seifer understood the unvoiced question. Leonhart wanted to know what had happened back at his office and why he’d shown up at the palace. Pushing Leonhart away had been a mistake, but he couldn’t explain why he’d done it. “It was a mistake,” he said. Of that much he was certain.
Squall stood and crowded into Seifer’s space. He grabbed the man’s tie and yanked him down. The impact of their mouths was painful. He demanded a response.
Catching the back of Leonhart’s neck, Seifer pulled him closer. He answered the demand with his lips and tongue. When he moved to deepen the kiss, Leonhart pushed him back.
“Where do we stand?” Squall said. He held onto Seifer’s tie, a tether that ensured the man wouldn’t leave. He could forgive Seifer’s cold-shouldered brush off at the training center, but his capacity to forgive was limited. He refused to be placed in that position again. It had shaken him awake to the reality that he’d put himself on the line and left himself open to rejection. He needed to feel safe with Seifer. At the moment, he didn’t. He shouldn’t need to grip the man’s tie like a lifeline.
“I’m standing right in front of you.” The edge of uncertainty and vulnerability in Leonhart’s eyes was like a sucker punch.
“And tomorrow?” There was a note of challenge in Squall’s voice. He’d rather have Seifer end their relationship now, before he invested anymore of himself.
“Tomorrow I’ll be standing between you and that mad scientist, making sure he doesn’t do anything to you.”
Squall followed Seifer’s deflection for the moment, but he wouldn’t let the subject go entirely. “He has to examine me.”
“I know his reputation. Kadowaki’s the only doc I trust.”
“She’s not a para-magic expert.”
“Doesn’t mean she can’t oversee Odine.”
Squall nodded his agreement.
Seifer grinned. “I already called her. She’s flying out tonight.”
Not the least bit surprised, Squall just leaned in and kissed Seifer again. The man was incorrigible. He laid his head against Seifer’s chest and wrapped his arms around his trim waist. He didn’t want to let go.
“It was a mistake,” Seifer said again.
Squall nodded again, though with his head against a firm pectoral it was more like nuzzling.
Rubbing the back of Leonhart’s neck, Seifer planted a kiss to the crown of soft brown hair. He breathed in the scent of the man, always like sun on cotton. At the feel of Leonhart’s hands clutching the back of his previously wrinkle free shirt, he smiled. Leonhart usually took impassivity to new heights. On the rare occasion that the man clung to him, he felt like the most powerful man in the world. His arms formed a protective embrace as he silently promised never to take his own confusion and relationship paranoia out on Leonhart again.
“What’s our worst case scenario?” When Leonhart responded with a kind of confused silence, he elaborated. “If Heartily can’t break the spell, are we looking at messy diapers or just having to buy condoms in bulk?”
Squall was momentarily stunned by Seifer’s use of “we.” Then he caught the fatal error in Seifer’s line of thought. He should have realized sooner that Seifer didn’t know the full circumstances of his last pregnancy. He’d been too wrapped up in the novelty of his relationship and countless other distractions like Lore’s decision to enlist.
“Another brat can’t be so bad considering you’re over the moon for the one you already have.” When Leonhart went from pliant to rigid in his hold, Seifer winced at how his words could be interpreted. “I’m not saying I want a kid. I’m just saying that if that’s the worst case scenario, then I can deal with it.” It would have been more accurate to say he’d tolerate a kid if it meant keeping Leonhart.
Feeling warm and cold at the same time, Squall’s stomach sank. “That’s not the worst case,” he whispered.
The hairs on Seifer’s arms stood up. “Then what is?”
“…”
Seifer’s gripped sharp shoulders and pushed Leonhart away so he could look the man in the eye. “What don’t I know?” he demanded.
Squall searched for some flicker of understanding in Seifer’s expression. Apparently, it was too much to hope that Seifer had already spoken to Lore like he’d told him to. He’d been cryptic about it when Seifer had first asked. Given Lore’s sensitivity to the issue, it was taboo to mention anything in their household.
“I died,” Squall said.
“What?”
“…”
“Leonhart!” Seifer snapped. “What do you mean?”
Squall tried to shrug dismissively, but Seifer’s hold was too tight.
“You died, as in what?”
“As in, I died.” Squall didn’t know how else to say it.
“I need more than that, princess,” Seifer said. “Were you caught between time?”
“No.” Squall hated his inarticulate nature. The right words wouldn’t come to him.
“Died how? What happened?”
Squall hadn’t exactly been around to observe the play by play. His heart had stopped the instant Lore had taken his first whaling breath. Resuscitation had failed, though not for lack of trying. He’d never forget the haunted look on his friends’ faces when Rinoa had finally brought him back.
Seifer led Leonhart to the couch by the window. The sky was a strip of pale pink fading into blue. The dying light was strong enough to cast square patterns along the floor.
“Explain,” Seifer said coaxingly, hand resting on Leonhart’s knee.
Squall brushed his bangs out of his eyes, half his face lit by the dusk light. “The spell was supposed to kill me,” he said.
Seifer studied Leonhart’s face, at once soft and sharp, altogether masculine and beautiful. So beautiful it made him ache. He had to force himself to focus on the words spoken and not the way lush lips looked while forming them.
Licking his lips, Squall continued, “We didn’t realize it would happen. At the time, we were more concerned with complications delivering Lore.”
Unable to stop himself, Seifer reached out and traced his thumb along Leonhart’s cheek. He silently urged the man to keep going.
In Squall’s head the sequence of events was clear until the fateful moment his son first breathed. Then his memories fell away into nothingness. “Odine has different theories, but it’s likely that when Lore left me, once he could live without me, it triggered the spell to complete itself.”
“And you died?” Seifer’s voice came out as a sharp whisper.
Squall nodded. “Odine put me in stasis. Eventually, Rinoa was able to reverse the spell’s effects.”
Seifer wondered at the phrasing. “How long is eventually?” In the relative scheme of being dead, ten seconds or ten minutes didn’t make a difference, brain damage excluded. Dead was still dead.
“A couple weeks,” Squall said, almost too quiet to hear. Three weeks, six days, nine hours, seven minutes, and thirty-six seconds to be exact. It was on his medical chart. And in that time, his newborn son hadn’t known his touch or the sound of his voice.
Seifer felt gutted and empty. Needing to stem the rush of loss before he bled out of his figurative wound, he stood from the couch and pulled Leonhart with him. “Where’s your room?”
No questions necessary, Squall led Seifer out of the office. Their fingers laced together and Seifer’s grip was painful. He dismissed everyone’s concerned gazes and simply nodded when they asked if everything was okay. Out into the hall, trailed by palace guards who were hard pressed to leave Seifer alone with him, he made his way through the palace until he came to his rooms. Through another sitting room, they finally reached the bedroom.
Maddened by the thought that Ultimecia had narrowly cost him something so dear, Seifer tumbled Leonhart to the bed and ran his hands over him. He needed to feel the warmth of the man’s body, the pulse of blood beneath his skin. He needed to know that Leonhart was alive.
Squall expected Seifer to start pulling at his clothes, but the man settled behind him and went still.
Seifer wound his arms around Leonhart and threw a leg over his thighs. “Just let me hold you awhile.” He kissed the nape of a pale neck.
Dinner passed without them. Two hours into their seclusion, a meek knocker at the door asked if they were okay, but Seifer’s sniped reply of “Fuck off!” made sure no one knocked again.
“That was Ellone,” Squall said in a sleepy voice.
“I don’t care who it was.” Seifer pressed his nose to the curve of Leonhart’s neck and shoulder.
Squall kept expecting Seifer to start something. For the past hour he’d felt the man’s erection against the small of his back, but Seifer simply held him. He began to drift off again when calloused fingers inched his shirt up. His eyes snapped open.
“Easy,” Seifer said. He snuck his hand under Leonhart’s shirt and pushed the loose band of his jeans lower. “I’m not copping a feel.”
Despite this assurance, the skin that Seifer touched became flushed with heat. Squall shivered in anticipation.
Seifer felt the scarred knot of skin that formed a clean line on Leonhart’s abdomen. It was the only visible evidence of Leonhart’s pregnancy, and subsequently the death that followed. Now he knew why the wound had scarred. The healing had been delayed.
“Maybe just a little feel,” Seifer said as he skimmed his fingers lower.
Squall rocked his hips back against the cradle of Seifer’s pelvis. Heat slithered into his groin when teasing fingers traced the band of his boxer briefs, not quite dipping inside.
Seifer drew his fingers away. As much as he wanted Leonhart’s lithe body writhing beneath him, he reminded himself that knocking Leonhart up essentially a death sentence. Condoms or no condoms, he wasn’t willing to take that risk. “Much as I’d enjoy breaking in this bed, I’m still shell shocked from the bomb you dropped.”
Squall hugged Seifer’s arms to his chest, content to abstain so long as wandering hands didn’t tease him. “Lore’s worried,” he said.
“The kid cares about you. He’s not alone in that.”
“Tomorrow won’t be easy on him.”
Seifer hummed a note of agreement, suddenly able to understand Lore’s overprotective nature. “He can handle himself.”
“I know,” Squall said. He thought of Lore enlisting. “He wants to enlist.”
Seifer was silent for a long moment, then said, “Good for him.”
“You encouraged this, didn’t you?”
“He wanted to train up. Nothing wrong with that.”
Squall shifted around until he faced Seifer. Reaching up, he cupped his stubbled cheek. “He could get hurt.”
“Pot meet kettle,” Seifer said with a laugh. “Princess, you’re still on active duty.”
“Lore has options I never had.”
“You’ve had other options since the war, but you’re still in the game. You don’t see me running off to uncharted islands for months at a time.”
“Garden wouldn’t welcome you back.”
“No offense, sweetheart, but I wouldn’t reenlist if they groveled at my feet with a six figure pay raise. There will always be job openings for mercs and not everyone wants it on the books like you institutionalized folks over at Garden.”
“Do you trade off the books?” Squall asked, tone sharp.
Seifer grinned, impish and suggestive. “The things you don’t know about me.”
Squall rolled his eyes. Seifer liked to edge into grey territory when it came to morality, but the man wouldn’t run or supply unauthorized hits. Relaxing, he rested his head on his bicep.
“Given the kid’s gene pool, it’s a shame to waste him on soccer and a degree in mechanical engineering.”
“Mechanical engineering?” Squall queried.
With a shrug that jostled them both, Seifer said, “The kid might have mentioned something about it.” The kid had a thing for math and mechanics and a knack for spatial reasoning when it came to strategizing on the battlefield. Three months was a long time to observe someone’s fighting technique and listen to them babble when they weren’t pining like a daddy’s boy.
Squall didn’t press the subject. Seifer would never admit to knowing Lore’s likes and dislikes. It was a strange turn on.
“Turn over, you fucking tease.” Seifer rolled Leonhart away and slid in behind him, resuming their previous position. “You can’t look at me like that and not expect me to do something.”
Squall wondered if his arousal had been that apparent. Soft lips brushed against his ear and trailed along his neck.
“Just stay like this until we have to leave,” Seifer said.
Squall estimated the time to be just after midnight. They’d been cooped up in bed for over four hours.
“What are the chances of you behaving yourself if I get out of my work clothes?”
Squall disentangled himself. He hardly lacked control, at least not any more than Seifer did. To prove this point, he proceeded to strip down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs.
Seifer followed suit and folded his clothes as neatly as he could. He’d have to run home in the morning. Anything borrowed from the palace would probably be an Estharian robe.
The feel of bare skin as they settled beneath the covers was almost too much to handle. Seifer indulged in a few gropes, focused mainly on Leonhart’s pert ass. They faced each other with their erections nestled together.
The hot need for fulfillment slowly abated. Their arousal became secondary, merely a side effect of proximity. Squall closed his eyes, but opened them every so often to find Seifer still watching him.
“Is that what the time gap between pictures was about?” Seifer asked as the thought occurred to him.
Squall nodded, heavy lids opening once again. “Lore was twelve when he found out what happened to me. A reporter came to him at school. We never wanted him to know.”
“That explains his complex.” The comment earned Seifer a jab to the stomach.
“I came home and found him burning pictures in the kitchen sink. He didn’t get them all.”
“Just the ones where you were ready to pop and the ones right after?”
Squall nodded again. “Selphie has the digitals on backup, but Lore saw them as a reason to hate himself.”
After a thoughtful moment, Seifer said, “He’s a good kid.”
Squall placed a lingering kiss to the inside of Seifer’s bicep. As he met watchful green eyes, everything clicked into place. He finally understood what he felt for his arrogant rival. The revelation wasn’t the shock he would have anticipated. Although he’d struggled from the very beginning to understand his persistent attraction, the feelings themselves weren’t new. He’d had them for months, growing and changing and altogether impossible to grasp.
He didn’t know if he should keep his newfound understanding locked inside like a dirty little secret. If he’d learned anything over the past two days, it was that Seifer didn’t scare easy. He wanted to believe that telling Seifer wouldn’t change anything, but it had to change something.
Eyes intent on the hollow of Seifer’s collar, Squall said, “I think…”
When Leonhart didn’t finish, Seifer prompted, “What do you think?”
There was a noise in Squall’s ears, the same rush of blood that threatened to drown his senses during battle. “I love you.”
The statement hung between them, making the air thick and dangerous. Squall wasn’t entirely sure he’d spoken the words aloud. He couldn’t hear over the blood rush. He thought maybe he’d spoken the words in his head and that Seifer was still waiting for him to say something.
“Fuck,” Seifer whispered. He was annoyed and relieved at the same time. Part of him had wanted to brave the waters before Leonhart, but another part of him reveled in the assurance that he wasn’t alone.
Squall closed his eyes and counted heartbeats. He was suddenly certain Seifer would walk away. This wasn’t what either of them had signed up for. He breathed deep, inhaling the faded vestiges of aftershave, heady cologne, and a hint of sweat. He tried to imprint this last moment in his mind.
“Today, in my office,” Seifer began, his hand coming to rest at the nape of Leonhart’s neck. He gave a reassuring squeeze. “I realized it. For a split second, I knew. I tried to psych myself out of it.” For six months, he’d believed the feeling would pass like a cold he’d eventually build an immunity against. Instead it had grown stronger, dug deeper into him, and spawned a multitude of other feelings like a mutated viral epidemic. Love was a disease; a beautiful, taciturn, pert assed disease.
Letting out a tense sigh, Seifer continued, “When you left my office, I knew I’d fucked up. I couldn’t get past not having control over what I felt.” He ghosted his fingers over Leonhart’s cheek and waited for him to look up. “I’ve been in love with you for awhile. Maybe since the beginning.” Maybe forever, he thought to himself. Some viruses had a long incubation period.
Squall surged forward and rolled Seifer onto his back. Seated astride the body of heavy muscle, he pinned broad shoulders and stared Seifer down. He searched for some flicker of deceit, anything that would indicate the ex-knight were simply trying to placate him. The soft affection he found in Seifer’s gaze spoke only of love.
Trust didn’t come easily for Squall, so he felt the need to secure Seifer’s confession to something tangible. “If you’re lying, I will kill you.”
The jerk that Seifer’s cock gave caught both their attention. They slanted twin looks towards the bulge in his boxers.
“I’ve never been more turned on by you,” Seifer said, grinning lecherously. The threat of violence should have been terrifying considering the one person who could actually make good on it currently had him pinned to a mattress.
Squall knew he was in love with Seifer when he found the man’s lechery endearing.
“So beautiful,” Seifer whispered. He traced the smile on Leonhart’s lips, wondering if the man even knew it was there.
Leaning forward slowly, Squall brought his chest flush with Seifer’s and brushed their mouths together. Slotting their lips, he deepened the kiss and slowly worked his way inside.
Seifer took hold of Leonhart’s hips and ground their erections together. He fought Leonhart’s tongue for dominance, but gave in when teeth nipped his bottom lip in reprimand.
Squall drank in wet heat, tasting and loving. He was lost.
They began to rock against each other. Seifer sank his fingers into the firm flesh of Leonhart’s ass.
Need coursed through Squall’s body, pulsing downward to the base of his spine. His hole clenched and unclenched, empty and wanting. The dig of Seifer’s fingers into his cheeks reminded him of what was missing. He rolled his hips faster and harder. Without warning, Seifer reached lower and pressed a finger against his entrance, the sensation muffled by a cotton barrier. The pressure was still delicious. Seifer rubbed along his perineum, pushing inward behind his balls until hot shocks of pleasure sparked inside him. “Harder,” he half-begged.
At an awkward angle, Seifer bucked against Leonhart’s writhing body and mercilessly massaged his prostate from the outside. The unhinged whimper Leonhart emitted told him he was close. He pressed his middle and index finger harder against soft flesh and rubbed in quick, firm circles until Leonhart’s whole body seized against him.
Hips stuttering desperately, Squall sought friction from in front and behind. He lost his rhythm, incoherent and mindless as Seifer wrenched an orgasm out of him.
Leonhart became an erotic mess. His whipcord lean body rutted in ecstasy, the roll of slim hips uncontrolled and perfect. The sight sent Seifer over the edge. He came hard and quick, more interested in watching his rival than milking his dick.
Heedless of the spilled seed, they kept rutting against each other. Seifer’s fingers eased their massage, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop because he loved the visible tremors that ran through Leonhart’s body from the stimulation. Breaths mingling, they studied each other, faces only inches apart. Eventually, they settled into stillness.
Seifer cradled Leonhart’s face. “I don’t understand how it happened.” He let his head fall back and laughed, overwhelmed by a slew of sappy emotions he’d sworn never to fall victim to.
“Is it the spell?” Squall asked, voicing the question they were both avoiding. Another shiver raced through him, his body still recovering.
“The quack thinks it reacted to my being here, right?” Seifer said. Was this why he couldn’t get enough of Leonhart, because the spell was pushing them together?
“It’s possible.” Squall maneuvered off of Seifer and settled beside him.
Seifer scowled. “No, that’s not what this is.” What he felt for Leonhart was real. When he was around him he felt content, albeit he was also in a state of constant arousal. Ultimecia’s mind games had never felt like this. There would have been a distinct sense of wrongness, an unnatural pull inside his head and whispering voices that weren’t his own telling him what to do.
“We can’t know for sure,” Squall admonished.
“I know what I feel,” Seifer said, more sternly this time.
“We can’t rule it out.” As heartfelt as Squall’s confession had been, it was undermined by the ugly reality of para-magic. They didn’t know how the spell worked. They couldn’t be certain that it hadn’t affected their decisions from the very beginning.
Seifer balked at the notion that his feelings weren’t his own. Twining their hands together, he pinned Leonhart to the bed and hovered over him. “I know what her spells were like. I’ve felt her magic in my head, the persuasion of it. This is different. This is real.”
“Okay,” Squall said, flexing his fingers around Seifer’s. He’d take Seifer at his word. Drawing his legs up, he hugged Seifer’s waist with his thighs.
When Leonhart’s taut body arched up and rubbed against him, Seifer groaned his regret and released his hands. “I’m gonna need a pillow wall.”
Regretting the loss of contact, Seifer broke away from the delicious heat of Leonhart’s body. After mistaking the walk in closet for the bathroom, he found what he was looking for and returned with a wet cloth. He stripped out of his boxers and forced his eyes away when Leonhart arched off the bed to slide out of his own cum stained undergarment.
Lying naked together was the ultimate test of wills. Seifer ended up wedging a pillow between his cock and Leonhart’s luscious ass. Better safe than sorry. After drawing the blanket over them, he spooned behind the smaller man and trapped him securely with his arms.
“Will you sleep?” Seifer asked.
“No.” Squall was too nervous about his impending appointment. A sliver of doubt curled around the edges of his mind. He realized with startling clarity that he couldn’t trust his feelings for Seifer. There was nothing warm and fuzzy about his love for the man. The possibility that none of this was real terrified him. What if everything he felt disappeared the instant Rinoa neutralized the para-magic?
“This is real,” Seifer said. He pressed a kiss to Leonhart’s bare shoulder. “It has to be.”
Squall responded by shifting deeper into Seifer’s embrace.
TBC…
==Author’s note==
Mean author is mean.
It’s been a year, give or take a few days, since my last update. I do have a lot written for the next chapter, which will hopefully be the final chapter if it works out the way I want it to. But, as you probably know from my other empty promises, I could have 99% of the next chapter written and still find stuff to edit for another year. I’m crap at meeting the deadlines I set myself, but I’m aiming to finish this monster epic before June. *crosses fingers *
The love confessions came kind of easy considering how resistant these boys were the whole time. But I’ve always imagined that their ignorance was never willful, so once they realized the truth they would man up and confess. IDK.
Sorry for errors. I never did bother seeking a beta. Volunteers are welcome, btw. No need to overhaul the whole story if you just want to clean up this chapter and maybe check the next one when it’s ready.
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Defining Love