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Temptation Calls

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Squall eyed the text for a long moment, debating the implications.

He knew who had sent it, of course – they'd been foster brothers long before becoming captains of rival teams, and openly keeping a record of all of Seifer's teammates' numbers had cut down on the arsehole using someone else's mobile to shit-text him – but he couldn't begin to guess why such would be the topic of conversation. Or, for that matter, why Seifer would text it to him, accidentally or no.

Quisty, if he was daft enough to tell her, would probably say something about it being a...what was it called again when you secretly wanted someone to know something, but you didn't intend to tell them? A Frankenstein Slip? (Something like that; Squall didn't pretend to understand or care about half of the psychology nonsense Quistis loved so much, let alone remembering all the babbling nonsense names for all of it.) Anyway, she'd probably suggest it meant something on some mental level that Seifer, himself, wasn't aware of.

Zell would probably say it was another one of Seifer's tricks to fuck with him, but Squall felt that texting the rest of his team and telling them he was sleeping with Squall would have been more effective. Not that any of them would believe him; Seifer being loud and proud about his bisexuality, didn't change the fact that Squall had happily adopted the asexual title that Quistis had bestowed upon him after months of Rinoa attempting to date him. (Which, yes, he knew he could just be gay, but he'd never had any particular interest in relations with males, either, so... As previously mentioned, Quistis was a bit of a psychology nut, and labelling her friends apparently came with that territory.)

Rinoa and Selphie would probably suggest variations on asking Seifer what he'd meant: Rinoa would suggest Squall just text him back and point out that was a wrong number (and maybe he should bring it up later to put Seifer off his game), while Selphie would suggest he catch Seifer in a public place and ask him as loudly as possible, just to enjoy the chance of watching him squirm.

(Let it never be said that women weren't capable of vengeance on scales so extreme, it was truly terrifying.)

Irvine, of course, would have something inappropriate to say about the matter, then shrug it off. Whether or not he'd suggest bringing it up again, depended entirely on his temperament in the moment.

His mobile buzzed in his hand and Squall startled for a moment, before flicking the answer button and bringing it up to his ear. "Seifer," he said, settling back against his chair.

"That message wasn't meant for you."

"I'm aware." Of course he knew Seifer wouldn't have sent him a message about them not sleeping together.

"Did you read it?"

Squall raised an eyebrow at the screensaver of his computer, letting the silence speak for him; it had long been his greatest weapon when dealing with Seifer, though it rarely worked so well on anyone else.

Seifer sighed over the connection. "Right. Of course you did. You know, normal people just auto-delete texts from their rivals."

Squall raised his other eyebrow at that, because Seifer had taken a great deal of pleasure, over the years, in commenting on how not normal Squall was. (Not that Seifer was a paragon of normalcy himself; a childhood spent being shuffled around in the foster system did not lend itself to well-adjusted members of society. And, yes, that was a line from Quistis.)

Seifer was quiet for a moment, like he was expecting a response from Squall, before he cleared his throat in that way that few got to hear, but Squall was intimately familiar with from the days before he'd decided feeling shame was for losers – or whatever nonsense had let him stop feeling the need to apologise for being a dick – and said, "I'm just going to hang up and we can pretend–"

"Are you implying you want to sleep with me?" Squall asked without really realising that was what he was about to say; a bad habit from his childhood which occasionally reared its troubling head when it was just him and Seifer.

Seifer was utterly silent for a moment, before the line clicked and went dead.

Squall pulled his mobile away from his ear and stared at it; that had been a 'yes'.

Well, that was...not as unexpected as Squall might like to pretend. He was familiar enough with Seifer's conquests over the years to recognise he had an aesthetic type, and he absolutely fit it: Male or female, they always had brown hair and light-coloured eyes. They were also always physically fit, though not overly muscular.

...and Squall had clearly spent too much time thinking about Seifer's many sexual exploits.

Squall shook his head and set his mobile aside, deciding he didn't care whether or not Seifer wanted to sleep with him; Seifer could sort that little issue out on his own time.


Okay, so it turned out he maybe did care. Like a catchy song, once it was in his head, he couldn't seem to get it to go away. He could distract himself for maybe an hour with something else, but the moment he spotted his mobile out of the corner of an eye, or saw a photo or mention of Seifer while browsing the internet, it came back to him:

Seifer wanted to sleep with him.

By the time his clock clicked over to the time he needed to be heading for bed, Squall had got next to nothing done since Seifer's text.

"This," he told his reflection, pointing at it with his toothbrush, "is ridiculous."

His reflection, unsurprisingly, had no comment on the matter.

He sighed a bit and finished brushing his teeth, then turned in for the night.

In the dark, however, with nothing at all to distract him, thoughts of Seifer returned. Except, it wasn't the now familiar 'why' or 'what to do about it' questions, but more of a 'what if'. What if he agreed to get into bed with Seifer? What if he actually went up to the arsehole and said, 'Fuck me'?

Warmth thrummed through him, and his dick – which had always been disinterested in any and all sexual fantasies Squall had tried to speed up the process of stress-relief masturbation – was twitching and filling in his pants.

Squall clicked the light back on and sat up to stare down at himself in disbelief for a moment. Which sort of morphed into a mental image of Seifer staring at him, reaching down to touch–

Squall did a quick mental backpedal, a little bit freaked out by how utterly unfamiliar everything was. He tried imagining Rinoa or Nida or even Zell in Seifer's place, and his dick drooped in disappointment.

What did that mean? That he was suddenly attracted to Seifer? But he'd known Seifer practically his whole life! Shouldn't he have been suffering this confusion when he was a teenager, same as everyone else?!

He could almost hear Seifer's sarcastic, 'Did you just call yourself normal, Squally?'

His dick perked right back up at the thought of Seifer being there, watching him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his face for a moment, then looked back down at himself and, hesitating for only a beat, reached out and curled his hand around his dick. It didn't take much to imagine it was Seifer's hand instead – Squall's fingers were a little longer and thinner, he knew from years of familiarity, but they looked about the same when fisted around something – and heat shot through him in a way that bore little resemblance to the times he'd masturbated as stress relief.

"Seifer," he heard himself whisper as if from a distance.

His mind helpfully supplied him with an approximation of Seifer's voice whispering, "Come for me, Leonhart," in his ear, and Squall did, ejaculate shooting out of him with far more force and speed than he'd ever felt before.

He lay back for a moment after, staring up at the halo of his bedside lamp on the ceiling, and tried to get his heart to slow back down to a normal rhythm. That had Unexpected. Weird.

Why Seifer? And why after so many years of knowing each other? They'd been rivals for long enough that even the potential charm of hate-sex – one of the many terms he wished he'd never heard from Selphie and asked for clarification on – was gone. Assuming they'd ever actually hated each other enough for such to qualify. (Squall certainly hadn't; Seifer would always be his friend and foster brother, and no team rivalry would change that.)

With no answers forthcoming, Squall cleaned himself up, then clicked his light back off and turned over to sleep.


His subconscious must have been turning the question over all night, because when Squall woke, he had something like a working theory: Seifer was his foster brother; thinking of him in a sexual light never would have occurred to Squall before, and the idea that Seifer would think of him in that way, especially when he knew Squall had happily adopted the asexual title, was...mindboggling.

Why Seifer would ever consider him in such a light, Squall couldn't begin to guess, though he presumed it might have had something to do with whomever that text had originally been intended for; fuck knew Squall hadn't been able to stop thinking about the possibility once it was in his head, and he didn't spend half his day (or however much time Seifer set aside for such endeavours) considering potential sexual escapades.

With something like an answer to the 'why's of the night, Squall found himself turning to the question of what to do about the matter. He was inclined to simply ignore it, but if the day before was any indication, his productivity levels would be severely lowered for at least a few days, and they had a match in a couple days; he couldn't afford to be distracted by this matter while his team was depending on him.

Since brain bleach was not, in fact, an actual thing, the only other option seemed to be just having sex with Seifer and getting it out of the way. Familiarity with Seifer's sexual habits suggested it would just be a one-off, which suited Squall fine; getting it out of the way should free both of them from wondering about it in future.

Squall checked the time, then did some quick mental calculations to determine at what time Seifer would be sufficiently caffeinated to answer the door and take part in a conversation, but not so caffeinated that he might leave his flat. Seifer had always been a late riser, so Squall would have more than enough time to get ready and get over to his flat. Which was good, because the thinking-about-Seifer problem was already making Squall's morning start extremely slow.


One day, Seifer would probably kill Fuu. The previous day's extremely awkward conversation with the subject who featured in way too many erotic daydreams was one reason, opening his door to said subject when he had only just finished his first cup of coffee was a very good second reason. The coming ruin of his professional career, not to mention the fall-out between him and Squall, were about to be reasons three and four, and Seifer was pretty sure that was enough reasons that a jury wouldn't convict him.

"Can't you keep normal fucking hours for once, Leonhart?" Seifer complained, mostly because it was familiar to complain about Squall's habit of waking up with the sun, while normal people – like Seifer – were much happier crawling out of bed far closer to, oh, noon. (Which it was not, but the occasional morning practise was hell if he didn't try to keep something like a regular schedule, so he usually aimed for some time between nine and ten.)

Squall shrugged and tilted his head to one side in that way that meant he didn't understand Seifer's issue with mornings. "May I come in?" he asked in that mild, unassuming tone that a part of Seifer would always hate, even if he loved watching other people lose their cool attempting to get Squall to react like a normal fucking person to...pretty much anything. Insults, innuendoes, jokes, etc. (Although, in all fairness, Seifer had grown up with him, and he still sometimes forgot that Squall's reactions were in his eyes and the minute twitches of his facial muscles before he managed to get them back under control, not his voice.)

Seifer sighed and stepped back, motioning him in. And he could almost hear the conspiracy theorists taking this completely out of context and assuming either one of them was about to be put out of commission via violence, or that there was sex happening, thereby giving Fuu more fodder for her inexplicable interest in him and Squall sleeping together. As if Seifer hadn't pointed out at least a dozen times that Squall was so not interested in sex with anyone.

As soon as Seifer had shut the door, Squall said, "Let's have sex."

Seifer blinked at Squall's bland stare for a moment, then stuck a finger in his ear to see if it was full of earwax. When it came back relatively clean, he shook his head, muttered, "Coffee," and pushed past Squall to return to his kitchen and the half-full pot waiting for him, because auditory hallucinations meant he almost certainly wasn't caffeinated enough.

Squall's sigh behind him was pointed and annoyed, like he thought Seifer was wasting time, or something.

Seifer poured himself a fresh cup, then turned to see if Squall had followed him – he had – and motioned toward him with what was left in the pot.

Squall raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking why Seifer was offering him coffee when he knew Squall only liked that overly sugared shit they sold at 'fancy' coffee shops like Starbucks.

(It was really quite impressive how much Squall could convey via such minute gestures. That, or they'd known each other way too long.)

Seifer huffed and returned the pot to the warming tray. "You know where the drinks are," he said into his mug, before taking a long swallow.

Squall turned his eyes toward the ceiling for a beat – an action he'd almost certainly adopted from all the times Seifer had needed to ask some higher power for help in getting something through to his emotionally challenged best friend-turned-rival – then caught Seifer's eyes and said, "Let's have sex."

Seifer debated the likelihood of this being another hallucination, weighed that against the probability of Squall resorting to violence if he rang up a psychiatrist, and settled on setting his mug on the worktop and saying, "Squall, what happened yesterday... Could you just...forget about it?"

"No," Squall replied. Simple and to the point.

Seifer really hated him some days.

And then Squall apparently divined that he needed to follow that up with an explanation of his mental processes – maybe there really was a god – because he said, "I tried."

Seifer rubbed at his eyes. "And your solution is to just...have sex."

"Of course."

Maybe he'd do the world a huge favour and kill both Fuu and Squall.

Seifer shot him his best flat stare. "You think sex is an unnecessary waste of time."

"It is."

Seifer floundered for a moment, because what the actual fuck, then turned away to drink some more of his coffee and give himself a minute to think.

He'd known for a long time that Squall didn't do attraction, not like Seifer or pretty much the entire rest of the human race did. That had been obvious since they'd both hit puberty and Seifer couldn't, for the life of him, find someone Squall was interested in sleeping with, and since Squall had viewed the act of romance as a waste of time, he'd given up on finding him a girlfriend or a boyfriend to maybe develop a thing for after the first double-date.

Squall had been the one to suggest an explanation, which had apparently come from one of the friends he'd made in university. And Seifer would probably always be a little disturbed by the idea that not everyone saw a hot person and thought 'I'd bang that', but it was nice to know that their hell-trip through the foster system hadn't completely broken one of the few people Seifer could call a friend without fear of retribution.

Fuu's extremely disturbing comment about how Seifer'd been essentially fucking male and female versions of his oldest friend since he'd figured out what fucking was had been enough of a mind-break without taking into account the fact that Squall was so very off limits. And to have Squall fucking offering himself was–

"No," he said to his fuck-ugly overhead cupboards.

There was a beat of silence, then Squall said, "No what?"

Seifer forced himself to take a deep breath, then turned around to face Squall. "I'm not sleeping with you. I'm not doing that to you."

Squall's whole face rearranged itself into a picture of confusion, one of the few times Seifer had seen him react like something approaching a normal person, and it was weird and wrong and a little bit heart-breaking; Seifer much preferred the only time he'd seen Squall throw his head back and laugh at the stupidest fucking joke Seifer had ever told, but it had been so worth all the groan-worthy jokes he'd had to go through first.

(Okay, maybe he'd been a little bit in love with his best friend long before Fuu had pointed out his 'type' and he'd been forced to admit he was sexually attracted to him. But, really, could he be blamed for loving the only person who'd never tried to throw him away at the first chance?)

"I don't understand," Squall said, arms pulled in tight across his chest, and Seifer knew that move, had seen him do it hundreds of times because there was no one there to hug a lonely, terrified little orphan but himself.

He curled his hands tight around his mug and pushed back against the edge of the worktop hard enough he could feel it denting his spine, trying to hold himself back from pulling Squall into a hug like he'd used to, because that would not help. "Look, I don't pretend to know what the fuck's going through your head most of the time, but this... This whole sleeping with me because you think it's what I want? We're not doing that. I am perfectly fucking capable of ignoring the urge to jump you, okay? So just...go home and forget about it."

Squall blinked once, his head tilting slightly to the side, and then he said, "Oh," like he'd just figured something out, and started walking toward Seifer.

Seifer had about five seconds to anticipate the punch and squeeze his eyes shut, and then Squall was yanking his hand away from his mug and pulling it down to press against his crotch.

His initial reaction was to try to yank his hand away, because what the actual fuck?! But Squall was a fucking immovable object when he wanted to be, and Seifer was stuck.

Only once he stopped trying to pull away did he realise what Squall had wanted to show him: He was hard. Like, aroused-hard, not–

Seifer sucked in a surprised breath and caught Squall's eyes, absently noting the rare stain of embarrassment across his cheeks and nose. "What–?"

"Like I said," Squall muttered, looking away and releasing Seifer's hand, "I tried."

Squall was attracted to him? Like, to the point where he got aroused just talking about sex? With Seifer?

Was that...possible?

Seifer shook that question away, because current evidence suggested it was, and he had enough trouble figuring out Squall's oddities without wondering after his sexuality. Anyway, Squall wanted him, which was about a thousand times more important than anything else right then. Other than, maybe...

"You think, what, one fuck is going to make all thoughts of sex with each other go away?" he had to ask, setting his mug on the worktop in preparation of...wherever this went. Fucking or someone getting punched, though he knew which one he was more interested in.

Squall shrugged. "Isn't that how it works?" he said with all the naivety of someone who didn't constantly want to jump hot people. "It's not like you ever sleep with the same person twice."

Seifer somehow managed to choke back a disbelieving laugh. "I– Squally, please don't use my sexual history as a basis for any of this," he managed to get out without either laughing or crying.

Squall's eyebrows scrunched together in that way that meant he was confused, before something like a realisation flickered in his eyes and his forehead smoothed back out. "Trust me to sort out my own lingering interest, should there be any."

For a moment, Seifer was hurt by the assumption that Squall thought he was worth only one fuck. But then he stopped and forced himself to take a breath, to try and follow Squall's convoluted logic: He was basing his understanding of sexual hook-ups on Seifer's habit of sleeping around with whoever caught his attention first when he felt like sex, so a sort of 'one and done' ideal. He wasn't thinking in terms of emotional attachment, probably couldn't even conceive of the idea that there might be a difference between sleeping with a stranger and sleeping with someone you genuinely cared about.

He slumped back against the worktop and offered Squall a smile that felt slightly helpless. "What if you're not the one with...what did you call it? 'Lingering interest'?"

Squall blinked, then raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'Who else is there?'

Seifer couldn't even really be angry with him, in the end, because it was just so...him. (Maybe a little bit 'so both of them', if Seifer was being honest; they both had their own abandonment issues and fucked up ways of dealing with them.)

Instead of trying to figure out how to explain how Squall was way too fucking important to him for Seifer to just fuck once and kick out, he pushed away from the worktop and stepped into Squall's space, cupping his face in his hands. "It's not always just about sex, Squally," he murmured, before leaning in and pressing his mouth against Squall's.

Squall held very, very stiff for a moment, before sort of haltingly attempting to kiss Seifer back.

Seifer pulled back just far enough to look into the stormy blue eyes and said, "Stop thinking."

Irritation sparked in Squall's eyes. "What would you know about thinking?" he snapped.

Seifer snorted, far too familiar with that rejoinder to be bothered by it. "Stop overthinking, then."

"Kissing is unnecessary for sex," Squall insisted, his eyes sliding to one side like he was maybe embarrassed about what he'd just said.

"Which Wikipedia article did you read that on?"

"I didn't–!"

"That was rhetorical," Seifer interrupted with a laugh, before kissing the tip of Squall's nose.

Squall went cross-eyed, which was probably the most charmingly adorable thing Seifer had seen him do in a long time, and his heart hurt a little remembering that Squall thought this would be a one-off.

(If he thought it would work, Seifer might actually insist they do the 'proper thing' and date, first. But, given how long they'd known each other, not to mention Squall's general disinterest in dating, he doubted that would change anything; he'd still be stuck painfully in love with his emotionally-challenged best friend-turned-rival, while Squall assumed one fuck would fix everything.)

Well, if one fuck was all he was going to get, Seifer was damn-well going to make it a good one.

"Why did you do that?" Squall asked, blinking up at Seifer. His eyebrows were on their way to drawing together in a confused frown again, because of course he would try to figure out the point behind a kiss on the nose.

"To confuse you," Seifer said, because that was the best answer he could come up with that wouldn't completely derail everything even further. And then, because he didn't much care for his potentially only time with Squall to be in the kitchen, and he was fairly certain any attempts to either pick Squall up or distract him with kisses while walking him backward toward his bed would end in him being punched, he pointed out, "The bed is down the hall."

Squall stared at him for a long moment, his eyes that particular shade of grey-blue that Seifer had never quite figured out how to read, and then he stepped back and said, "Yes," before turning and walking from the kitchen.

Seifer closed his eyes and took a moment to breathe and settle the vague remainders of uncertainty; Squall did actually want this, inasmuch as he would probably ever want sexual contact, and Seifer could learn to live with it if Squall decided one time was enough. (It wasn't like he hadn't already learnt how to live with unrequited love.) Fuck, the fact that he could have even one time was about as close to a miracle as he'd ever probably get.

He didn't let himself linger for long, though, because there was maybe a tiny part of him envisioning Squall getting fed up with waiting and just stalking from the flat, never to be heard from again.

Squall had not stalked out, though he did look distinctly nervous when Seifer found him in the bedroom, standing at the end of the bed and staring at it like he suspected it might eat him if he got too close.

Seifer resisted a laugh at the mental image of his bed actually eating Squall and stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around him the same way he'd sometimes done when they were kids and Squall had needed a hug, but wouldn't uncurl or turn toward Seifer for a proper one.

And, just like when they were kids, Squall relaxed into his hold, his shoulders slumping as the tension drained out of them. "Why is this hard?" he muttered, sounding irritated.

Seifer could think of a couple reasons, but since he still didn't much relish getting into emotional complications, he offered, "You're overthinking everything."

Squall huffed and his hands came up and curled around Seifer's wrists. Not to pull him away, but to keep him there, like maybe he really just needed the familiar tactile comfort.

And that hurt, a little bit, to think that Squall needed comfort. But, too, it made Seifer glad that it was him Squall had fixated on, no matter the outcome, because he could comfort him when his way over-active brain complicated everything. Or whatever it was that Squall was struggling with.

He sighed into Squall's hair, then tilted his head to the side and kissed the tip of his ear before quietly saying, "At least pretend you trust me."

"I trust you," Squall muttered, dropping his hands to his sides.

Rather than argue the specifics of what kind of trust Squall had in him, Seifer unwound his arms enough to tug on the front of Squall's open jacket. "Am I undressing you, or–?" he asked, because he was fairly certain Squall would prefer to remove his own clothing.

Unsurprisingly, Squall brushed his hands away and took a couple quick steps to the side, shooting Seifer a flat stare over his shoulder that made it clear that he thought Seifer was daft for asking.

Seifer made quick work of the shirt and trousers he'd thrown on to answer the door, then leant back against the wall to watch as Squall very carefully removed and folded his clothing, piling it all neatly out of the way. Which, well, that could be read as nerves, and maybe it was, a little bit, but Seifer also knew that was just how Squall settled himself in a new environment, ensuring his own things were just so. Seifer was the opposite, tossing his things around to lay claim to as much space as he could, making it all his. Although, he'd always taken care to leave Squall's things unmolested, leaving more than enough space around his neat little piles that Squall wouldn't feel cornered or unwelcome.

Some things, it turned out, never really changed.

Squall slowed to a stop when he was down to his pants, thumbs hooked in the waistband and absolutely still while he stared down at his feet.

Seifer gave him a moment, then pushed off from the wall and walked over to him. "Come here," he ordered, catching two fingers under Squall's chin and making him look up and around so he could kiss him.

Squall pulled away to stare at him, his eyebrows pulling together into a frown again. "What was that for?" he asked.

Seifer glanced up at the ceiling a bit helplessly for a beat, then looked back at Squall and asked, "How dead is romance today?"

"What the fuck, Almasy?" was Squall's response, which pretty much meant romance was dead and long buried.

Seifer had figured as much, really, and he nodded in understanding even as he caught the waistband of Squall's pants and pushed them down as he dropped to his knees.

"What the–?" Squall started, before choking and grabbing for Seifer's shoulders as he took him into his mouth.

Squall tasted clean, like that scentless shower gel he'd got into while they were in secondary, and it was so utterly right – so exactly like he'd dreamt – he couldn't help but moan.

Squall's grip on his shoulders tightened, nails – which Seifer knew had been carefully trimmed and filed to lessen the chance they'd catch on anything and break – pressing sharply against his skin. And that was something he'd never have dreamt, was just a reminder that this was reality.

He glanced up as he pulled back enough to encircle he head with his tongue, and found Squall staring down at him with his mouth just a little bit open, like he'd lost his perfect control over his facial muscles, and his whole face a particularly fetching shade of pink.

Seifer couldn't resist pulling off entirely and flashing him a smirk, before smoothly swallowing him all the way down, secretly delighted in all the time and effort he'd put into training his gag reflex.

The noise Squall let out was half-broken in a way that just made him that much more interested in completely breaking him. The mental image of Squall spread out over his bed looking completely debauched had him moaning again, and the responding bite of Squall's blunted nails against the skin of his shoulders was really just a bonus.

As heady as it was having Squall in his mouth, slowly wearing down his careful control, Seifer pulled away well before he thought Squall might be about to come, rubbing circles with his thumbs over the sharp jut of Squall's hip bones as he looked up at him. "The bed, I think," he said, his voice coming out a little rougher than usual.

Squall shuddered, his eyes falling closed, and Seifer couldn't help but notice the way his cock twitched, given how close he still was to it.

Seifer allowed himself a brief smirk – nice to know Squall thought his roughened voice was arousing – then stood and took the half-step forward that was necessary to have their bodies pressed together, cocks just slightly out of line with each other because Seifer's legs were longer.

Squall gasped against his throat, fingers tightening on Seifer's shoulders again. And then he sort of pulled back and up – getting up on his tiptoes, a distant part of Seifer's mind helpfully supplied – and his mouth pressed tightly and maybe a little desperately against Seifer's own.

"Yes," Seifer breathed against Squall's mouth, wrapping his arms around him and and helping to support his weight as much as Squall would let him. He licked along the tight seam of Squall's lips, not really expecting a reaction, but Squall's mouth opened, his hands holding hard enough to Seifer's shoulders to ache, and Seifer gave himself a brief moment to wonder why Squall had gone looking for information about open-mouthed kissed, before deciding it was way more important that he just fucking kiss him.

Squall may have done some research on open-mouth kisses, but it was readily apparent that he'd had no actual practice with them. Seifer was happy to spend some time instructing him on the finer points, so he stopped trying to attack with his tongue, and he wasn't constantly knocking his teeth against Seifer's because he was moving his whole head forward.

"Better," Seifer gasped when he hit the point where he wasn't managing to draw in enough air through his nose to keep standing, so he'd pulled away from Squall's extremely distracting mouth.

"Shut up," Squall breathed, sounding more done-in than cross.

Seifer silently checked off that little win and brushed a quick kiss to Squall's mouth before motioning behind him with his head. "Don't make me carry you."

Squall's nails bit into his shoulders again, a pretty clear 'fuck you', then he shoved at Seifer's chest as he got off his toes. Seifer let him go, but kept his arms held to catch Squall if he wasn't completely steady on his feet. Which earned him a quick glare before Squall turned away to walk toward the bed, but Seifer couldn't bother drudging up any shame.

Once Squall was lying on the bed, he turned a look on Seifer that he recognised, one of uncertainty mixed with determination to see his choices through, and Seifer knew exactly what Squall was expecting – he'd been graphic enough in retelling his conquests in secondary and university, Squall probably hadn't even needed to go searching for information on gay sex.

Squall was, however, going to leave disappointed, because Seifer had no interest in mucking about with preparing a virgin who had decided this was a one-off. Especially a virgin as fucking impatient as Squall was.

So Seifer forewent the lube, but he did grab a couple of condoms, in part to lessen the mess, but also because he couldn't guarantee he was safe, even though he was careful. (He really probably should have used one while giving Squall head, but he'd wait to regret that bad life choice until after Squall had left and/or his most recent test came back positive for something he could have potentially passed on.)

He opened and rolled on his own condom before joining Squall on the bed, going for another kiss before Squall could ask about the second condom. Unsurprisingly, Squall held stiff for a moment before easing up and returning the kiss.

Only once he was certain Squall was distracted, did Seifer reach down and palm his cock. And, okay, finding Squall still hard and leaking was maybe a lot a turn-on, as if he needed the help. So was the choked little noise Squall let loose in his mouth, and Seifer was going to fucking treasure every moment. (What he wouldn't give for a recording of some sort. Assuming that wouldn't end with Squall actually attempting to kill him next time they faced off, which it would.)


Pulling his hand away from Squall to open the other condom won him not-quite-a-whine. Smiling into the kiss at the noise earned him a smack to the side, the noise loud in the muted quiet of the room, and Squall pulled back, deeper into Seifer's pillow – he was going to be smelling Squall's shampoo for days, and waking up with so many boners, fuck him – to scowl up at him. Which, well, would have worked better if he wasn't flushed, his lips just that little bit puffy from overuse, and the pupils of his eyes wide with want.

Seifer was pretty sure he fell in love all over again.

"It's no fun if you're quiet, Squally," he said with his most irritating smirk, just to watch Squall's expression get stuck between irritation and uncertainty.

And embarrassment, apparently? Who knew getting Squall in his bed would get that ancient reaction to his teasing?

Rather than openly gloating – mostly because that would see Squall out of his bed and yanking on clothing faster than Seifer could manage an apology – Seifer ducked his head down and pressed a wet kiss to the pulse point just under Squall's left ear. And, oh, he was so tempted to leave a line of hickies, make sure Squall didn't forget him for a minute, but, even if that wouldn't result in Squall attempting to break his face, he wasn't so cruel as to make his asexual best friend face the questions such marks would result in.

Rolling the condom onto Squall, of course, got a flat, "What are you doing?" from him.

Seifer rolled his eyes at Squall's ear, then leant back up, pressing their foreheads together. "Do I have to explain the concept of lessening the mess, to you?" he asked.

Squall huffed, breath puffing against his lips and eyes going half-lidded in a way that meant, 'You actually understand the concept?'

'I wash these sheets enough because of you,' was on the tip of his tongue, but Seifer couldn't say it. Not when he was staring a one-off in the eye. Too much, too true.

So he caught his hand around both of their cocks and moved along the condoms, tightening his grip until Squall squeezed his eyes shut and he tried to choke back another little noise, one hand sliding between their mouths to press tight over his own mouth, like he really thought that would be enough to keep Seifer from hearing the broken little noises catching in his throat.


As many fucking times as Seifer'd had sex, he'd never been quite so turned on by his partner attempting to not make noise as he was with Squall. Which was fucking typical. And yet.

"Please," he breathed out before he could choke the word back.

Squall's eyes opened, blinked, went wide, like he could see something Seifer sort of wished he hadn't, and then his hand moved, his head turning slightly to the side. Seifer had about half a second to miss the warmth of him against his forehead, and then lips were pressing against his, warm and wet and quick to open to Seifer's tongue. He swallowed down the shuddery, broken little cry Squall let loose as his hips jerked up toward Seifer, cocks sliding together in his grip.

And then, without any warning, Seifer's hand wasn't the only one wrapped around them, a loose hold bracketing the other side like Squall wasn't completely certain what he was doing, but he was damn well going to try, which was Squall.

He so wasn't going to last, what the fuck

"Tighter," he gasped into Squall's mouth.

"Shu-hah!" Squall attempted in response as he tightened his grip, fingers sliding warmly between Seifer's.

He really didn't need Squall to finish that to know what he'd wanted to say, so Seifer licked his way back into Squall's mouth, traded whimpers as Squall squeezed like he knew what he was doing, and Seifer–

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled away from Squall's mouth, pressed their foreheads together and tried to focus on making Squall come first. But he honestly had no idea if he'd managed it before his orgasm was racing through him, sweeping him away with the sort of fury that he swore he'd never experienced with anyone else, but maybe that was just wishful thinking or what the fuck ever–

He choked out a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding and opened his eyes.

Squall's eyes were closed, his breathing a little ragged, but evening out; at least Seifer hadn't left him wanting while he was riding off on his own orgasm, small fucking favours.

Fuck, he wanted to hold him, to tangle their legs together and fall back asleep to the sound of Squall's barely-there breathing, always trying not to be noticed until he'd fallen into oblivion and he flopped over on his back and let out the loudest fucking snore

Seifer clenched his jaw and forced himself to roll to the side, off Squall, swinging his feet off the bed and twisting to sit on the edge before turning his attention to removing his condom.

Silence fell between them, heavy and sharp-edged. Seifer felt the urge to say something flippant, or maybe nasty, but years with Squall had taught him that such a response would...not end well. Assuming there was any way this could end well.

The bed shifted behind him, and it was a real struggle to keep from turning to watch Squall, try to gauge his response by the faint glimmer of emotions in his eyes.

"What was–" Squall started, before pausing, taking a breath. "That wasn't what I was–" He stopped again, letting out a quiet, frustrated sound.

Seifer shoved himself up, off the bed, and tossed his tied-off condom toward the closest bin. Then he pasted on a smile that was maybe a little too sharp and turned to flash it at Squall. "No anal sex until the third date, Squally," he insisted in a cheery tone that didn't sound like him at all.

Squall's eyes narrowed just enough to be noticeable to Seifer, far too used to watching for the most minute changes in his expression. "Since when?" he said, voice gone flat and uninterested in a way that meant he was thinking.

"Since I said so," Seifer tossed back with a careless roll of his shoulders, turning away. "Well, now I want a shower. You're welcome to wait your–"

"What do you mean, 'date'?" Squall interrupted.

Seifer couldn't think of a good response to that quick enough that it would make Squall drop it, so he said, "Shower," and started walking that direction.

The mattress groaning and a rustle of sheets was all the warning he got before a hand wrapped around his bicep hard enough to hurt. "Seifer–" Squall started, before being interrupted by a wet 'plop'.

Seifer knew he was going to regret looking down before he did so, and he groaned at the sight of Squall's used condom fallen to the floor. "Squall," he said in a voice that was barely kept even, "I know it's been a while since you had a sexual education class, but–"

Squall sort of push/pulled him and stepped forward, close enough their chest would touch if they both inhaled at the same time, and grabbed both of Seifer's ears, yanking his head around so there was no way he could miss the icy glare Squall was pinning on him, the faint sheen of confusion not really easing it any. "Explain," he ordered, voice gone that particular tone of uncompromising that promised that nothing short of one of them catching fire was going to get Seifer out of this.

Seifer swallowed down an order to clean up the spilled condom and reached up to pry Squall's fingers from his ears, then threaded their fingers together. "It was never just about having sex with you. Not for me," he offered, hated, a little, how much saying that hurt.

Squall's eyes went wide and he stared at Seifer like he was seeing him for the first time, or something.

Seifer forced a smile and stepped back; retreating to the shower was sounding more and more important to the future of his sanity. "Clean that up," he ordered, pulling away from Squall's hands.

Or, well, trying to, because Squall squeezed his fingers together, holding on tight, even as his face just...shut down. Wiped clean of any possible hint of emotion in that way that only he could seem to manage.

"Squall," Seifer said, low and warning.

Squall's face just sort of...broke, the emotionless wall he was so good at crumbling away to reveal something that reminded Seifer of a time when he'd been truly lonely, when he'd been so certain that no one would ever want to put up with him, because he was 'nasty' and 'prone to violence' and a 'waste of food'.

But then another little boy had come to the home he was in, and he'd cried and said, 'I'm all alone...'

"I'm...scared," Squall whispered, and he looked it, same as he had way back when they were children. "I don't– I can't–"

And Seifer, just like he had back then, yanked Squall forward into a hug.

This Squall didn't burst into tears, but he did cling to Seifer like he was all he had left in the whole world; that same hug that had made Seifer want to protect him, had made him want to be nice just long enough that, when Seifer finally got kicked out, Squall screamed and raged and just generally made a nuisance of himself until he got to go with.

"Stay," Seifer heard himself say, managed to snap his mouth shut before anything more could get out, or he resorted to actually begging.

Squall's arms tightened around him for a brief moment, then loosened so he could lean back, look up and catch Seifer's gaze. And he still looked lost and terrified and so utterly broken, like he maybe couldn't remember how to rebuild that stupid wall or mask or whatever-the-fuck.

And then he said, "Okay."

Which, from Squall – who would never use a full sentence when a single word would suffice – was a promise that he wasn't leaving, that he'd be there, just like he'd always been.

They would have to sit down and actually talk eventually – which would probably be about as much fun as cleaning up a flooded cellar with one cup and and one slightly moth-eaten flannel to share – but Seifer decided kissing Squall was far more important right that moment, and Squall didn't seem interested in disagreeing.