UnComfortable o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
By: Vain
27.10.2002
I do not own Squall Leonhart, Seifer Almasy, Rinoa Heartilly or any of the other members of the Final Fantasy VIII cast. They are the property of Sony and Squaresoft and I am not making any profit from using them. The song "Comfortable" was preformed by John Mayer and can be found on his album Inside Wants Out (track 7) from Columbia Records.
Special thank you goes to the Guardian of the Mashiroi Kaze for the preliminary beta.
NOTE This story has YAOI and SHOUNEN-AI in it—Seifer/Squall pairing, no character bashing.
This story has and in it—Seifer/Squall pairing, no character bashing.This story was originally launched under my secondary pen name, "Hanakai." For convenience's sake, I have decided to streamline my fics under my original pen name, Vain. SAME AUTHOR. SAME STORY. DIFFERENT NAME. As a fic is re-uploaded under my Vain pen name, I will delete it from my Hanakai profile. Eventually, Hanakai will be deleted entirely, so please update your faves and bookmarks to reflect this.
Thank you for all your previous reviews—I saved them all—and I hope you all review again. I'm greedy.
For progress notes on the pen name transition or if you have any questions, please see my Livejournal (linked both my profiles). I hope this doesn't inconvenience anyone & thank you for your patience.
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Chapter One
UnImpressed
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I just remembered that time at the market,
Snuck up behind me and jumped on my shopping cart
And rode down aisle five.
You looked behind you to smile back at me,
Crashed into a rack full of magazines.
They asked us if we could leave.
0614 hours.
He squinted slightly so that her edges blurred and fuzzed into the background until she, the others, and everything else in the room was an indistinguishable smear of color. And yet she continued talking, blissfully unaware of the fact that he had temporarily erased her.
"You never talk to me anymore, Squall. We're all getting worried about you. You have to let someone in . . ."
So he stopped hearing her voice, allowing an older, deeper voice long ago ingrained in him to overlap it.
"You're not listening to me!"
Yes, I am.
"You never listen to me!"
Yes I do. How could I ever hear anything else?
"Look at me, goddamn it!"
"Would you just—"
"Whatever."
"Squall!"
Gray eyes blinked several times in attempt to focus on the girl in front of him. "Rinoa . . .?"
The petite sorceress huffed in irritation and stood up, cocking her hips slightly to the side and pouting prettily. "You're not listening to me!"
"You're not listening to me!"
"Yes, I am."
Her expression darkened. "Oh?" A slender size 6 1/2 heel began to tap on the floor. "Really?"
For a moment the young man shifted across the cafeteria table. It was not a motion of discomfort, just a slight movement to alleviate the pressure on his knees. Rinoa began to nibble at her lower lip impatiently, a gesture he still found remarkably endearing despite all that was happing to them—to him.
He looked down at his untouched tray. ". . . Whatever."
"Whatever!" The tapping heel impacted on the polished linoleum floor with a decidedly loud click. "Fine," she snapped, her long hair flashing beneath the florescent lights as she spun around sharply. "Whatever."
A sharp poke in the ribs distracted him from watching her slender backside sway stiffly out of the cafeteria doors.
He turned to his right to frown at Irvine. The cowboy scowled in disgust, violet eyes shimmering faintly before he tugged down the bill of his hat. "Smooth, Commander."
Zell snorted and out of the corner of his eye, Squall could see Quistis' lips purse in irritation. Even Selphie looked aggravated as she snuggled closer to Irvine.
Wonderful. It wasn't even 07:00 hours and he had managed to upset everyone at the table.
A small wrinkle appeared in his forehead, deepening his scar, as that young man's frown deepened. He opened his mouth and then closed it. The words that he needed wouldn't come out. "I . . ." He scowled in consternation. "It's . . . nothing."
Irvine made a quiet noise in the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously bitter. "'Course it's not."
For a moment Squall considered replying, but he knew that there was really nothing that he could say. He stood up with a sigh and carried his tray to the trashcan. He really hadn't been hungry anyway.
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There were practically no people in the halls this early, which was just as well. Squall was so distracted that the Galbadian army could have walked beside him in full parade dress and he wouldn't have noticed. His eyes studied the familiar linoleum as he walked—meandered, really—to the elevator to go to his office.
It wasn't like there was really anything to be said—there wasn't. It was something that he would have to deal with on his own. And if Rinoa couldn't handle his brooding silences, if Irvine and Quistis couldn't take his lack of appetite and the dark smudges beneath his eyes that seemed to grow daily, and Zell and Selphie couldn't handle being pushed away . . . well then, there was nothing he could say.
He wanted to be happy with Rinoa. He truly did. He just . . . wasn't. And he knew why. She knew why. Half of the Garden knew why. Yet still the situation simply stagnated. The wounds were too old, too deep, too festered to bear examination. Better to cover them and hold them close to him so no one could prod at them and make them worse.
And if the wounds never closed, never healed, the pain would remain to remind him that it hadn't been a dream or a fever; it had been real. It still was real. And if that was all he could have, then that knowledge would have to suffice.
He could handle this. He had decimated armies. He had walked from one end of hell to the other. He had been strong enough to bear the weight of the world, so what was this? Nothing. A painful sort of nostalgia, that was all. Just emotions.
Very, very real emotions who had stood at attention to accept their long overdue promotion to SeeD yesterday morning. Emotions who had come waltzing back into his life eleven months ago without warning or apology. Emotions who had stood in Cid's office and looked down into his eyes and said with a graveness he wouldn't have believed them capable of, "I want to be a SeeD, Leonhart. And I want your blessing to do it."
What was he supposed to say when faced with these emotions—with this rival, this Knight? No?
He tried, oh sweet Hyne how he had tried, but his tongue heeded only his treacherous heart. "Do whatever you want, Seifer. As long as you stay out of trouble, I don't care."
"But I want your blessing."
"Why?"
Why did you leave me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you come back here? Why weren't you here sooner? Why did you hide from me? Why did you ask for me? Why ask for my blessing? Why do you need it? Why do you care? Why don't you care?
don'tToo many questions.
And the former Knight's jade eyes softened in a way Squall had never seen before as he stared at the younger man. "For luck."
No apologies, no explanations, just Seifer and his damnably green eyes. And frighteningly enough, that had been enough.
So Seifer Almasy was back in Garden and was now a member of SeeD. The others had been furious, especially Rinoa.
"Have you forgotten what he did to you—to me! He tried to kill us!"
"I know. I was there at the time."
"He tried to kill me! The woman you supposedly LOVE! He threw me right into Her arms!"
"Squall!" "What's done is done, Rinoa. Seifer is back and he's not going anywhere any time soon, so I suggest you deal with it."
Then she slapped him. In the middle of the cafeteria during lunch. The silence that followed had been deafening, so loud in fact that it followed him back to his office when he walked out on her. It still followed him.
It had been something symbolic, he supposed—that walking out. There had been no quiet anger, no icy glares, not even a twinge of irritation when her delicate hand impacted with his cheek and the replicated Griever ring that she wore tore into his pale skin. There had been nothing but the quiet spatter of his blood hitting that cafeteria floor and that endless, penetrating silence. It bore into his soul, eroded whatever love he had felt for her, and left him quiet and empty.
What was Squall supposed to say while he was buried underneath all that silence? They wanted answers that he didn't have. How could he tell them that he didn't know why he couldn't speak to them?
He simply couldn't. He didn't understand why he felt a sick sense of dread when he climbed into bed with Rinoa every night long after she had gone to sleep. He had no explanations for why he dreamed in shades of a remarkable green he had only seen in one place. There was no real reason why Rinoa's touch should leave him feeling as though a dry wind had rushed through him and left him gutted in its wake. He didn't know why it hurt him every time one of them walked past Seifer and made some snide comment.
But he did know that the pain buried behind his fallen rival's glorious gaze was enough to make him feel physically ill. The Great Seifer Almasy . . . An exile in his own home and a pariah in the halls he had once walked through the way a king walked through his palace. It hurt.
It hurt even more every time Seifer walked out of a room as soon as he entered it or went out of his way to not see Squall or ignored the notes Squall slid under his door asking if they could train together.
They had all abandoned him—of that he felt certain. Quistis, Irvine, Selphie, Rinoa, even his infallible Zell . . . Zell who never left him behind, his friend . . . They had all left him. They felt he had betrayed them by welcoming back the Sorceress' Knight.
Didn't they know that he never had a choice? He could have no more turned Seifer away than he could have torn out each and every one of his own veins. Why couldn't they see that? Why couldn't they understand that with Seifer he never had a choice? The blond was inside him, moving in him like a living thing. He had chosen Rinoa. Hadn't that been enough?
Apparently not.
Squall turned sharply, suddenly intent on heading for the Training Center. He had the sudden urge to kill something. He was quite surprised then when he turned and suddenly walked into a wall—a very living, solid six foot four blond wall.
His forehead slammed hard into Seifer's broad chest and the taller man yelped sharply in surprise as Squall stumbled backwards to land on the immaculate floor with a thump and the jingle of belt buckles. The tip of Lionheart, which he had strapped across his back, hit the ground hard, slamming the hilt into the back his head.
"Ow."
"Oh, Hyne . . ."
The anguished whisper made the shorter man raise his impassive eyes to Seifer's face. The look in the blond's eyes was something close to panic.
"Squall, I—"
"It was my fault," he interrupted quietly in his soft, flat voice. "I was thinking."
Seifer's eyes softened in that strange way again and he smiled slightly. "You're always thinking . . ."
Squall's face didn't change, but for a moment his eyes smiled, mirroring the expression in Seifer's eyes. "I'm sorry."
The blond shook his head and held out a gloved hand to aid the Commander to his feet. His white trench coat whispered around his calves as he bent over. "No, I shouldn't have been so close."
"No . . ." Squall stood and pushed his unruly auburn locks out his eyes. "I meant about everything." He gave his companion a sidelong look, his eyes the color of thunderheads. "Everything."
Seifer stiffened noticeably and walked away from his former rival to lean on a handrail and study the water that flowed through the Garden. For a moment he said nothing, but when he did speak, Squall had to strain to hear him over the water's quiet whisper.
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
There was a leather-muffled jingling as Squall came to stand next to him. Seifer hesitated, unused to such intimacy after eleven months of solitude, but Squall's eyes were fixed on the water instead of him. He sighed and allowed himself the minor indecency of leaning in closer, just close enough to smell Squall, to almost taste his breath should the shorter man turn to look at him.
A delicate frown hovered at the edges of Squall's pale lips. "I don't?"
Seifer shook his head, unable to manage a verbal response.
Squall shifted closer so that he was almost leaning against Seifer's chest. Seifer inhaled deeply and felt a twinge of contentment. His heart lurched at Squall quiet words, however.
"I thought you hated me."
Green eyes quickly scanned the hallways. They were utterly alone. A tentative arm moved to the other side of Squall to rest on the railing at his right side as Seifer shifted behind him, trapping him between the other man's body and the railing. Seifer seemed to freeze for a moment as though he were unsure if Squall would allow this new, unexplored contact between them. Surprisingly, the lithe brunet made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sigh and slumped back bonelessly against Seifer's chest. Instinctively, Seifer drew his arms in closer. If his hands hadn't been locked in a death grip around the railing, he would have been holding Squall against him.
Curious to see what Squall was willing to give him, he rested his chin on the other man's slender right shoulder. Squall leaned back, exposing the long white expanse of his throat and laying his head on Seifer's left shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the tension leave the blond's body.
"I . . . I'm not mad at you." Seifer's lips brushed his throat gently as they moved, sending small chills through him. "Why would you think that?"
"You run from me. You don't want to talk to me . . ."
"I shouldn't talk to you," the other man corrected gently. Squall's scent was almost making him dizzy. "I doubt your friends would approve." A shallow smirk quirked at his lips and Squall moved slightly so that the motion was pressed to his jugular.
"So? Even when we were fighting all the time . . . we've never not talked. Even during the war . . ."
Seifer stiffened and started to pull away, but stopped when Squall pressed his throat to his cheek. There was no doubt in Seifer's mind that Squall had no idea of how this had to look, of how this was making him feel. Squall wasn't stupid, not by a long shot—he was simply innocent. Completely and utterly innocent. And even though the Lion had had Rinoa in his bed every night for eight months, Seifer knew for a fact that they hadn't had sex yet. And he doubted that they ever would at the rate things were going. Subtly is not the best way to pursue emotional issues with the High Commander.
Never mind the fact that said High Commander was pressing himself rather tightly against the body of a man in the middle of the hall at 6:27 in the morning and stretching himself against the man (who happened to have tried to kill him about a hundred or so times in the past) in way that practically screamed "throw me on the floor and fuck me!" to the casual observer. And Seifer was very close to doing just that. But he wouldn't—he couldn't. Squall understood that this was surrender and he was offering it to Seifer because he thought—knew—on some level that this was what he needed to do to keep Seifer from running back to his new SeeD dorm and shutting him out. This was the first time they had spoken in private since Seifer's return and he still knew how Seifer worked. He had always known.
What he didn't know was why Seifer ran from him, why Seifer couldn't trust himself alone with Squall. The blond sighed, annoyed with the young man pressing himself oh-so-innocently into his embrace and even more annoyed with himself for not just pushing the man away and telling him all the answers to the "whys" that Seifer had seen swimming in his gray eyes when Squall realized exactly who it was he'd walked into. And that was looking increasingly like a good idea since it would only be a matter of time before Squall noticed the growing erection he was so calmly pressing his nice, round bottom against.
And yet for some ridiculous reason (most likely the nice, round bottom), Seifer couldn't move. "So what if we haven't talked," he muttered irritably into that smooth alabaster neck. He pressed closer against the skin in what could have easily been mistaken for a kiss.
"I miss you," the brunet replied simply as though it was the most logical thing in the world.
Seifer chuckled bitterly, his whole body shaking with the sound. "Why?"
He could almost imagine the slightly confused frown the question earned him. "Why do I need a reason?"
The blond rolled his eyes. Best to do this quickly anyway. Better that he knows. Best to just rip the scabs off this damn wound and let it all finally bleed out all over the floor for him to see. Better that he walks away in disgust so that he leaves me alone and I can forget about him. Because this . . . isn't real if he doesn't know. And it's not fair to either of us.
"What are you thinking?" Squall murmured softly.
Seifer pressed another almost kiss against his throat. "Do you want to know why I'm avoiding you? Why Rinoa glares at me every time I walk into the room and the Chicken Wuss looks at me like he'd like to use me as a punching bag?"
Squall nodded. "Yes." He paused for a moment, considering something. "Do you want to come eat breakfast with me in my office?"
It took all of Seifer's self control not to roar with laughter at the request. He kissed Squall's neck again, nipping at the soft flesh before licking it lightly so that there was no mistaking the action. "I'm in love with you, Squall."
He tensed, readying himself for the man in his arms to freak out, to turn around and hit him, to hurt him. But he didn't move. Holding Squall like this . . . well, it would definitely be worth getting the shit kicked out of him.
Instead, though, Squall simply opened his eyes to stare at the distant ceiling and frowned slightly. "What?"
Seifer smiled darkly and moved his slow kisses up to Squall's earlobe. He pressed his now-obvious erection against his companion's leather-clad behind firmly and rocked slightly, just enough to move their bodies. He really wasn't sure how much more obvious he had to make this. "I'm in love with you," he repeated calmly. "I want to touch you, to hold you, to feel you underneath me and hear you scream my name when you come. I want to make you beg. I dream about it, you know. About you. About making love to you so much that you can't walk the next day without a Curaga. I dream that you love it."
". . . Oh."
And still the explosion didn't come. In fact, Squall said absolutely nothing for over a minute as Seifer capitalized on his . . . whatever by nipping at the exposed skin and rolling his hips gently against him. If not for the fact that Seifer was both Seifer Almasy and almost painfully aroused, he probably would have been in fear for his life. Instead he began to suck lightly on the juncture between Squall's neck and shoulder.
He became so absorbed in the act that it took him a minute to understand what Squall was saying.
"Seifer?"
"Mmm?"
"I dream of you too."
And Seifer stopped. He stopped moving. He stopped kissing. He stopped breathing. "What?"
Squall slowly pulled away from him and turned in Seifer's arms so that they were facing each other. Seifer could taste his breath; it was coffee and cinnamon and something so wholly Squall that it was only his utter shock that stopped him from kissing the other man.
Squall's eyes shifted from stormy confusion to stunning blue and back, but his face was impassive save the small, confused from. "I dream about you too."
Seifer jerked away and turned to go. He made it about three steps away before a deceptively slender hand wrapped around his forearm.
His voice was growl. "Let me go, Leonhart!"
"Seifer . . ."
He jerked away from the touch. "Don't you DARE! Don't you fucking play with me, you little—"
"Breakfast?" Squall flushed slightly—something Seifer had never seen, but found himself wanting to see again—and looked down at the floor, his face growing redder by the second. "If you want, I mean," he whispered softly. "If you don't . . ."
For a moment, Seifer stared at the other man in confusion, utterly unable to process what was happening. "I . . ." He cursed himself for sounding so weak. "I . . . was going to the cafeteria . . ."
"Oh." If possible, the blush actually deepened. "The others are still there and . . . I haven't eaten . . . I just—"
"Your office?"
Squall looked up into a gaze that had suddenly become cold and unreadable. "Yeah . . . I . . . still miss you," he explained softly after a moment.
Seifer crossed his arms and frowned at the floor. "Cafeteria coffee?"
Squall shook his head. "I make my own . . . Xu bought me a coffee maker for Yule . . ."
They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment before Seifer looked up, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "Pancakes, of course?" he asked with false gravity. Seifer was an unconsummated pancake addict.
"Of course."
The blond nodded sharply and spun on his heel, headed towards the elevator. "Step lively then, Puberty Boy!" he called over his shoulder. "Flapjacks wait for no man!"
Squall did not look down at his watch was he quickly followed after the other man's longer strides. He didn't know that it was six thirty nine. He also did not look over his shoulder to see the figures materialize from around the corner of the Cafeteria hallway. He did not know that Irvine Kinneas and Zell Dincht had seen and heard nearly everything.
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This story has and in it—Seifer/Squall pairing, no character bashing.don'tme