Title: Relationships for Dummies

Author: Mostly Harmless

Fandom: Final Fantasy 8

Pairings: Squall/Laguna

Rating: R to NC-17

Summary: Laguna Loire tries to come to terms with his relationship with Squall. Smut ensues.

Warnings: Practically PWP in ever way. Angst. Incest. Adult language. OOC.

Author's Note: This is the Sequel to "Atmosphere" but you don't have to have read it to understand. Not Really. The supernatural aspects from "Atmosphere" have been removed for the one-time gimmick they were. This one's not as funny. Like "Atmosphere", I wrote this one because I wanted to try out kinky, dirty talk. I might have taken it too far.

Relationships for Dummies:

A Complete, Step-By-Step Beginner's Guide For Managing the Unusual Relationship You Have with Your Son, Even When You're Not Really Sure if You Have a Relationship with Him or Not, but Get the Feeling that Sex in the Back of Your Limo Counts for Something

Step One: Honesty

Let's face it, if you picked up this book, you're probably already ready to take the plunge and start a relationship. A lot of people don't realize that finding someone special has as much to do with who you are as it does with who you're looking for. When you're searching for a new love, take a look at yourself and figure out exactly you're putting yourself out there. What do you want out of a relationship? Companionship? Romance? Take a minute to address what's really on your mind...

Laguna Loire was thinking about sex. Again.

Unfortunately for him, his was not the kind of life where he could walk out of a meeting and traipse off to the bathroom to take care of the problem. The Minister of Finance wouldn't appreciate that.

"Mr. President, where are you going?" Laguna imagined the stern-faced man asking with a frown.

"Oh, sorry! I've just got to go wank. I'll be back once the beast is tamed."

No, that really wouldn't work. Through rock hard (bad choice of words) determination alone, he made it through the day. His head was crammed full of thoughts as he wandered through the palace and he was still thinking when he settled down in his quarters with a cup of tea. Tea was always good for what ailed him, but it wasn't helping to make his problem go away. So he sipped and thought some more. Outside, night lulled and lazed and waited for him to join in.

He needed a solution and he needed one now. For the past four weeks, sex, which had disappeared from his mind for years, had re-appeared with a vengeance. Or at least the idea of it had, which was almost worse. He was president! He didn't have the time to be chasing skirts. Yet and still, ever since his last dinner with Squall, he'd been in a delicate state of perpetual readiness to screw or be screwed.

The cause was that, against all reason and common sense, he had ended up half naked and in a clinch with his son in the back of the Presidential Limo. There had been quite a lot of sloppy kissing and heavy breathing and then the next thing he had known, Squall was coming in his hand. And then returned the favor with the kind of skill born of experience and experimentation. Considering Squall and Laguna's particular relationship to one another, this was not normal behavior.

They were in a difficult position and duties had kept them from truly talking about it. Laguna had to admit that he was a busy guy. Squall was too. Between the two of them they ran the world's wealthiest country and most powerful army respectively.

Still, despite being so busy, when he tried to sleep in bed at night, Laguna found he had lots of time after all. Time to think. And in that time, as sleep ran away from him like the Gingerbread man in that damn story, Laguna had time to regret. He could hear a tape-recorder version of his own voice accusing him over and over. "You pervert, you slept with your son. You pervert, you slept with your son." It made him wonder and worry whether Squall was beating himself up over the whole thing, too

Part of the problem was that it hadn't been bad at all. Far from it. Squall's kiss had been like the dawn of spring, like the song of the birds, like the bloody rainbows in the sky if he wanted to think in clichés. Putting it simply, kissing Squall had been good. Late at night with nothing to distract him, he could get off thinking about the kisses alone. The rest of what had happened that day just sweetened the deal. When he was a younger man, he never would have put too much stock in a handjob. Maybe it was because he was older, or maybe it was because he had been off the market for so long, but a handjob in the back of that limo had been like a shot of caffeine to his libido. Double Mocha Latte with a Twist of Lemon.

A switch had been turned on. But now it wouldn't turn off. If he had a free minute between conferences, he was thinking about sex. If he was in the shower, he was thinking about sex. When he went to bed at night, sex, sex, sex. But not just any old generic sex; only the flashes and scenes of Squall's handsome face and beautiful body, exposed and aroused and wanting him seemed to do the trick. His writer's mind could replay that entire night in detail from the restaurant—when a bead of moisture had clung to Squall's pretty, pouty mouth before his pink tongue had darted out to lick it away obscenely—to the drive back to Esthar when he had given in to his wants and pulled Squall to him in a kiss that was like contained fireworks. He could remember the feel of Squall's cock in his hand and how it felt to be pumped to completion by his son's calloused fingers. He could remember it all and worse, did. Everyday. When he was supposed to be doing other things like signing treaties and meeting with Heads of State.

On the whole, it was a lot to deal with. But Laguna was anything but a quitter. He refilled his teacup and an idea formed in his mind. Maybe, he thought, his fixation on that night with Squall was only an indication of general horniness. When was the last time he'd cut loose, stopped acting like a president and started acting like a man with wants? No clear memory surfaced to answer his question. Perhaps there were cobwebs forming in interesting, underused places. No wonder he was as randy as a teen! It was an answer he could deal with. Horniness, he decided as he went to bed, was definitely to blame.

Step Two: Finding that Special Someone

Now that you know what it is you want, now's the time to get out, get active and get yourself a new love! There are lots of great places to meet potential mates. You can try the old fashioned way and visit clubs, churches, or even the supermarket. Or you could get high-tech and try a dating service. Look around and find a place to satisfy your relationship needs.

To combat the fact that his horniness was now to astronomical levels, Laguna woke up the following morning and procured some Adult Entertainment through very secret, secure channels accessible only to the president. Or at least that's what his Aide told him. The simmering and sinful materials arrived the next day. In the evening when his business was done, The Estharian President (a perfectly respectable guy, really) opened the first magazine in the stack of emergency wank supplies and had a browse. Staring down at the classy naked ladies with breasts bigger than mangos spread out like a feast in exotic locations, Laguna was overcome by the heavy, brain-fogging, unavoidable urge to...

yawn and go to bed.

Okay, so he was a bit troubled. Any straight, red-blooded man who learns that a bevy of big-breasted nude women makes him limper than a noodle would be. But he wasn't, you know, as devastated as he could be. Or at least that's what he was telling himself as he tossed and turned and tried to sleep that night. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was time to consult his libido about the nature of his sexuality. After all, Raine had been a long time ago and there would never be another woman to take her place. Perhaps she and the all-but-forgotten Julia had been the exceptions, not the rule. He decided to find out. Thus resolved, he finally went to bed, but his dreams were of Squall.

The next day was the same as every other day. He woke up, ran the country, made important decisions that affected the lives of hundreds of thousands of people and managed a meal or two while he was at it.

But as the day wound down, he remembered his resolution to figure out his own sexual leanings. The secret channels were used again complete with cryptic secret codes:

"The eagle has landed. The mustard has boiled over and the stove is on fire. The fuzzy weasel needs a nest. I repeat: the fuzzy weasel needs a nest bad."

And waiting for him the following day was a stack of high quality Gay Adult Entertainment. Swallowing a breath-full of courage, he opened the first page. Now he was treated to the sight of naked men with muscles bigger than mangos spread out like a feast in exotic locations. There was a reoccurring theme involving boots and cowboy hats. Laguna decided that he needed to have a chat with Irvine about his fashion choices the next time they met. "Son," he'd have to say in a grim, disapproving tone of voice. "Do you know you dress like a porn star? Do you think that's appropriate? Hmm? Is that the image you want to present?"

But other than the urge to have a heart-to-heart with Irvine, the only thing that the magazine stirred in him was a bit of self-consciousness. He'd have to hit the gym more, he decided. It wasn't that he was flabby or out of shape, but his muscles weren't quite large enough to conquer a world yet. By this magazine's standards, he was unfuckable.

He picked up the next magazine just in case it was quantity that counted and flipped to the centerfold. Instant trouble. Heat spread down his body and pooled in his groin where a delicious, painful tightening was happening.

Mr. January was...

Laguna dropped the magazine and then scrambled to pick it up again, fingers shaking as he flipped back to the page. He gawked.

No, it wasn't quite perfect, but it was close. The theme this month was "Heroes and Warriors." Riding the current trends—well, riding was the perfect word, wasn't it?—the magazine had found someone that looked too, too much like one popular Garden Commander and World Savior. His expression was intense. Laguna reached back to his days as a writer and found the word smoldering apropos. With his eyes, the model was daring you to follow the lines of his body down, down, down. Laguna gave in. Reclining atop a blanket made of white fur, Mr. January wasn't fully nude, but the image was almost more exciting for what you couldn't see.

Mr. January wore a fur-lined jacket pushed off his shoulders to reveal his rippling chest and a heavy silver pendant dangled around his neck. His nipples were pink buttons calling to be licked. His tight, black pants were unbuttoned, unzipped and his splayed legs parted the fly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of soft curls and a hard, hard...

Laguna closed the magazine. Dear Hyne, he thought, his eyes are even that strange mix between stormy blue and ash grey. He suspected they were contacts; he suspected the man's hair was dyed. He suspected he needed to go somewhere quiet and take care of his problem.

And there was the answer he was looking for. Standing in the shower—chest heaving with his breaths, wrist sore, and hot water washing the evidence away—Laguna realized the country's budget problems were nothing compared to his own.

Not women. Not men. Just Squall.

Step Three: Communication

So now that you've found the one you want to spend your time with, it's time to get to know them! Plan something special. Don't overdo the romantic mood with candles and chocolate, which might scare them away. Instead, make it comfortable. Then get down to the business of getting to know each other.

Two weeks later...

Everything was arranged. There was nothing left for him to do, and with the way his nerves were messing with his head, there was nothing he could do.

Squall was coming to see him.

If it were anyone else, that simple sentence wouldn't carry so much weight. But even Squall's method of transportation was...unique. In answer to Laguna's thoughts, his palace started to shake. Yes, he thought, Squall knew how to make an entrance. He didn't even have to try very hard since he got taxied back and forth in a giant flying fortress containing a highly trained military force. The darn thing scared wildlife at best and blotted out the sun at worst.

The fact that it was pretending to be a school just made the whole thing even more twisted. This was worse than a wolf in sheep's clothing. This was a Panzer Tank in a cute, fuzzy bunny suit.

Laguna strode to the balcony leading off of his quarters and watched as Balamb Garden slowly lowered itself to the ground, like a dragon curling around itself to sleep atop its treasure. He imagined the dust kicked up by the fortress was actually smoke curling from the dragon's nostrils as it slept and dreamt dragon dreams.

He'd fought his fair share of dragons in his life, but he didn't feel up to it anymore.

"Dammit," he cursed on a whisper. There had to be a better way to do this.

He'd wracked his brain for weeks, but he really was beginning to believe there was no easy way for one to break up with his son.

Break up, he thought in the equivalent of a mental snarl. No, that wasn't quite right either. After all, one fantastic, mind-blowing grope-fest in the back of his limousine didn't count as being together in the first place. And the few, stilted conversations over the comm that had resulted hardly made them sweethearts.

All across his city of glistening lights and colors, men and women peeked out of their houses and watched the chariot of their savior arrive with all the extravagance of a sunrise. The people of Esthar still weren't used to visitors any more than they were used to the idea of being completely visible. Now they had to contend with the fact that any Tom, Dick, or...er...Squall that came around would notice immediately that there was a very wealthy city right there. You can't miss it. No, really, their cloaking system's down. You can even knock on it if you like.

Thunk, thunk.

See? Solid!

They were handling it better than Laguna had thought they would, however. There was even an air of excitement for the New World where they lived. A world with no Sorceress and no fear. A world where new people and new ideas came to them daily from visitors from far away places. In particular, the arrival of Balamb Garden and the heroes it contained was a highly anticipated event. Laguna had even heard that many stores had declared a holiday in celebration. As president, he hadn't given them the okay to do that. But he was pretty sure the Public Security and Business Act from two years ago had a clause in it about warranted holidays. He'd let it slide.

Balamb blocked the nighttime horizon beyond the border of his city. It was as if a whole chunk of sky had been removed and replaced by a metal creature. The configuration of its lights shifted and Laguna wondered how many little soldiers were moving around inside, securing things, double-checking things. He watched it, wishing the outskirts of the city could jump to the side so he could see if anyone was leaving.

From behind him, his secretary suddenly cleared her throat, surprising him. He whirled and eyed her as if she were an invading army. Calming himself, he listened as she began to speak in her usual friendly tones. "Commander Leonheart has arrived," she said, quite unnecessarily. Laguna had to fight not to slap his own forehead. She'd come with great references, but stating the obvious was the one skill she'd failed to mention in her resume. He was just on edge enough that this was the proverbial straw that broke the Bahamut's back.

"Gee, ya think? I hadn't noticed! He's so quiet and stealthy in that Flying Fortress of Terror of his! Like a bloody cat pissin' on cotton!" Laguna said. His voice was unnaturally high and he got the feeling that he wasn't breathing as often as he should.

"I'm sorry, sir?" The uncertainty in her voice was almost endearing. He took a deep, calming breath like Kiros always suggested and found himself capable of behaving like a human, after all.

"It's...nothing. I'm sorry. Thanks."

She bowed herself out of the room with an I'm-two-seconds-from-tears look on her face. Laguna vowed to buy her flowers soon in apology. It wasn't her fault that his son did strange things to him simply by existing.

His mind was momentarily alight with a flash of creamy skin, soft hair, cold eyes that burned him. If he concentrated, there were sound effects, like the sound of a tongue lapping at his neck or the sound of a moan forcing its way from his throat. That moan had been a name, not so long ago. His son's name.

Leaning on the railing, he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes until spots and darkness overwrote the images of Squall. He didn't want to see them; they were starting to get old despite the fact that they never lost their appeal. He'd thought about that day so much he was sick of it, even if his body was still quite, quite interested. One way or another, he needed to end this.

In the weeks since he realized the true cause of his problem, he'd tried writing a letter to Squall, but that had seemed cowardly. Besides, what would he say?

Dear Son,

Despite the fact that it was the best (and only) fun I've had in ages, I'm afraid that fooling around with you was a bad idea. It's not that you're not beautiful and desirable and maddeningly sexy. It's that I think you probably did the whole thing out of pity for an old man who you could never possibly want. The whole incest thing is a little disturbing, too, though not as much as I'd like since I wouldn't be dreaming and fantasizing about you all the time if it bothered me a little bit more. I'm working on building up a healthy dose of instinctive revulsion and will contact you once I've succeeded. I'd still like to try being your father, but can we work towards eliminating this pesky sexual attraction? It's keeping me from focusing on what the Minister of Finance is saying and he's a scary guy.

Sincerely,

Your loving (in a perfectly normal, platonic sense) father, Laguna Loire, Estharian President.

Yeah, brilliant. So the letter was out. He'd composed calls in his head that ended up sounding just as dumb. Besides, a call was hardly less cowardly than a letter. So he had to see Squall in person. Luckily, the SeeDs had been scheduled to come anyway to discuss security for the upcoming World Summit. The timing had seemed so convenient. Squall will be here anyway, he had reasoned; I might as well get this over with. So he had sent along an invitation to continue their monthly dinners. And now Squall was here.

Through some freakish twist of fate and time, the day happened to be the one-month anniversary of when Laguna had learned the texture and taste of Squall's mouth. More than just his mouth, he remembered on a blush. He hadn't known why he was doing it at the time, but after Squall came in his hand, he had tasted the shine on his fingers with a long, slow swipe of his tongue. It hadn't tasted very good at all, but a part of him was scrambling to do it all again, bad taste and all. Probably just because it was a part of Squall and no matter how many times and ways he tried to convince himself that he didn't, he wanted him. All of him. Painfully.

He couldn't figure out where these feelings had come from. It had to be pure physical attraction because, after all, what did he really know about Squall? Sure he had spent a considerable amount of his youth with the boy in his head, a constant, bolstering presence that made him feel invincible. Sure Squall had a whole set of memories in his head that belonged to Laguna. And sure sometimes he still got the feeling that they could read each other's thoughts and feelings without talking, but that was just his imagination.

Wasn't it?

He figured that if he really understood Squall, their dinners together wouldn't be so quiet and uncomfortable. Squall didn't like to talk about anything, more or less himself. How could he possibly know him well enough to care for him in that way? So anything he was feeling for Squall was merely displaced fatherly affection based on years of separation and an insurmountable guilt complex due to his failure as a parent. The fact that Squall's kisses made his blood sing had nothing to do with it, of course.

When his secretary's timid voice came over the intercom, Laguna sighed in resignation.

"Show him in."

Step Four: Conflicts and Setbacks

All relationships have rough spots. It's learning to overcome them that helps the two of you become closer. Don't forget the valuable lesson from step three: communication. Talking is a definite way to get back on the track to enjoying being with each other.

He moved into the room and then crossed to where a lavish dinner had been arranged on a table that looked out of place. He'd never had a real dinner table in his quarters before, but this one had been brought in especially for today. Up till now, if he ever ate in his quarters he used the same coffee table he'd had for ages. He was pretty sure Kiros had found it when they redecorated the suite and installed that fancy voice-activated security system. The security system was still a little intimidating, but the coffee table was an old friend.

Laguna looked uncomfortable in his own skin as he stood before the door.

Squall stepped through it and a little shot went through Laguna's body, spreading out and settling heavily in his gut. "Hi," he choked out.

Squall closed the door behind him and it made a friendly little click.

"Mr. President," Squall said and inclined his head. He was dressed in his usual black and fur, but his gunblade was probably back in its case somewhere inside Balamb. Squall had his own quarters now, didn't he? And that fancy office of Cid's was all his to do with as he wanted. There was room in either of those for the Lionheart even if it was probably the biggest, unwieldiest sword ever made.

"Hungry?"

"I could eat."

Laguna gestured awkwardly towards the spread. "Er...this way...?"

The table was too long and Laguna found himself squinting at his son across the way. Luckily, the meal was a traditional Estharian one which meant that both he and Squall had dozens of plates and bowls before them with no need to pass anything back and forth. Everything was colorful and beautifully arranged; cold salads and decoratively cut vegetables. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves for the Commander. Everything was perfect. Now the only problem was communication. Laguna was staring at his plate and realized the distance between them wasn't helping him. He glanced up. How could he handle a conversation when he could barely see his son's face?

"So...how's Balamb?" he tried.

"What?"

"I said: HOW'S BALAMB?"

"Oh. IT'S FINE."

"GOOD."

Yes, the table was a little too long. Shouting across it to deliver his news wasn't appealing. And now he couldn't eat a bite. Squall was looking like he always did, but Laguna kept imagining him stretched out half naked on a fur blanket with his legs spread just so...

He needed to get this over with.

"Actually, can we skip dinner for a minute here? I need to talk to you."

Squall's smooth face flickered with a frown, but he nodded, stood, and moved into the sitting area. Laguna followed, thinking that he had it good as far as living arrangements went. His quarters inside the palace were expansive and, after being their sole inhabitant for so long, they were tailored specifically to his tastes. Every chair was broken in perfectly. He selected his favorite couch and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Squall chose the chair across the way and mirrored his posture.

"Okay. Right. Thanks. Sorry about dinner," Laguna said, getting off to a bad start. Squall was giving him the look that said he thought Laguna was an idiot. Sadly, Laguna was inclined to agree with him.

He took a breath and tried again. "I guess you figured out that I wanted to talk to you before you got here?"

"Yes," Squall said. Was it his imagination, or was Squall's voice like smoke and satin all at once? Did he sound like that all the time? No wonder he was so far gone; Squall was everything desirable in the world.

"And I guess you figured out that I wanted to talk to you about…the last time we had dinner?"

"I did."

Laguna rubbed absently at his leg; it was starting to cramp a little. "Right. So." He gestured helplessly. "What do you think?"

"About?"

"About what happened that night!" Laguna said exasperatedly. How had his son made it through life being such a horrible conversationalist? "About what will happen from now on. About how the hell I'm going to live with myself knowing what I did and who you are." The last was said with a dark tone so unlike his usual cheerful voice that Laguna barely recognized it as his own.

Squall eyed him for a minute and then said, "Laguna, it happened. What good will regretting it do?"

Hmmm. That was a reasonable question. "Not the least bit of good," Laguna answered. "However, it's already too late to regret my regret because I was already regretting everything by the time you told me not to regret it, Squall." He paused and blinked a few times. Then Squall blinked, too.

Laguna shrugged. So that hadn't made any sense at all. But words weren't his friends when he spoke. They only loved him when he wrote and then they caressed him like Squall had. Once. He'd have to try again. "You're a wonderful, handsome young man. Anybody would want to be with you. But you're my son and you're only...how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen!" He slapped his forehead. "You're still a minor in, in, in...somewhere! So not only did I force you to do that—"

"You didn't force me, Laguna."

"—but I corrupted a minor, too!" A voice in the back of his mind was telling him to calm down and get a hold of himself, but it was a very weak, snot-nosed sounding voice and Laguna didn't want to listen to it. He was on edge. "I can't justify my actions. I can't tell you what I was thinking! Hyne knows I have no idea what you were thinking!"

In response to his tirade, Squall only scowled at him and Laguna scowled back.

Hyne Squall looked good when he scowled, Laguna's mind told him, wickedly. And that was just the calming bucket of ice water he needed.

He closed his eyes and took a minute to bring himself back to the issue. He had to tell Squall what he had decided. Fantasizing about him while he did it was counterproductive. If you have the energy to notice how kissable he looks, he thought, you have the energy to do what needs to be done.

Laguna took a moment to compose himself. "I'm an old man and you're a young hero with a bright future ahead of him," he began, choosing his words carefully. "I don't want to assume that anything would have ever happened again. My guess is that it was a one-time thing, something that just happened. After all, I'm me and you're you so why would you want...?" He didn't finish the sentence but trailed off, gesturing at himself and adding a self-depreciating laugh.

Squall didn't laugh with him so Laguna nervously cleared his throat and continued. "But just in case we ever ended up in the back of a limo again, I wanted to say that it's a bad idea. This is. Us. Whatever." He waved a hand between them to illustrate what he meant just in case Squall was feeling as stupid as he was. "I want to be your father. I want to be your friend. I should never have touched you like that. I was wrong to do what I did and I'm sorry."

There, he had said it. And he was sorry, too, but not exactly for what he was apologizing for. But since he was sorry for something, he decided the lie wasn't as bad as it would have been if he weren't sorry at all. Of course, by the time he was finished, humiliation had bowed his head until he was staring at his hands. But it was over. Over, he realized, was a very, very ugly word. He didn't like it.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed his words like a grubby child after the ice cream truck.

"So that's what you wanted to say?" Squall asked finally.

Laguna nodded. He wanted to ask for forgiveness, but could only repeat, "I'm sorry."

Squall didn't say anything and so Laguna looked up quickly. Squall was studying him with that blank expression of his. Looking at him like this, Laguna couldn't see many similarities between them. Squall was too intense, too troubled. He had probably just made it worse.

"I...I think you should go," Laguna whispered.

Squall didn't speak. A second passed and then he stood and moved to the door. From where Laguna sat, facing the door, he could see Squall's entire journey as if in slow motion. It was painful watching him go. He didn't look back over his shoulder or say anything at all. He just walked away like...like it didn't matter. Laguna didn't like admitting it to himself, but he had kind of hoped Squall would put up more of a fight about this. He could have at least looked a little disappointed or something.

When Squall's hand closed on the doorknob, Laguna closed his eyes and kept them closed. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to see this.

He heard the click when the door closed, but it didn't sound so friendly now. That was what 'over' sounded like. He groaned and dropped his head onto the back of the couch and then rubbed at his stinging eyes. "Dammit," he said. And then just because it made him feel a little better, he added a few more: "Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit."

He laughed bitterly. "You're an idiot," he hissed at himself. When a pair of warm hands settled onto his knees, he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Yes, you are," a satin voice agreed. Laguna didn't move at all; he just waited as if afraid those hands might disappear if he did anything at all. The hands slid higher up his thighs, slowly. Laguna let himself smile.

"You came back," he said.

"I never left."

And at that moment, Laguna decided to become a quitter. He dropped his hands to cover Squalls and guided them up, up, up. Intertwined, their hands moved over his abdomen, past his collarbone and finally stopped at Laguna's mouth. He kissed Squall's hands, one at a time, and then he opened his eyes to stare at the prize he got for being a quitter.

"Hullo."

Squall gave a broken smile in return. "Hello."

"Will you kiss me now?"

"If you want."

And then he did—leaning into Laguna's body—and the fireworks were back. Laguna spread his legs and pulled Squall between them. When they still weren't touching enough for his liking, he slid down on the couch until his hips dangled off it and Squall was pressed right there. He vaguely recalled that right there was the spot that had gotten him into so much trouble in that damn limo in the first place. He was starting to wonder if parts of his anatomy had it out for him. It was almost like Conspiracy against the President, if you thought about them. With Squall's lips on him like this, he decided he needed to award his treasonous body a Medal of Honor the minute it was done having the fuck of its life.

Step Five: Taking Things to the Next Level

Relationships are hard work and, let's face it, some disagreements are just too difficult to fix with just talking. At times like this, mind-blowing, sweaty, raunchy, don't-kiss-your-mother-with-that-mouth sex will save the day. Forget about all that romance. Who the fuck needs it? Instead, grab that special someone, push them down onto the nearest available surface and ravish them until their eyes pop out or they forget their own name. Or maybe both. And remember Love Birds, if it's not hot and dirty, it's not good.

There was a chorus of moans from the two of them and the kiss had to stop for a moment. When it started up again, Laguna's brain decided it was time to explain things.

"I...mmm...didn't mean it...I...mmmm...yessss...I want this and...ohhhhh...please don't...mmm...go..."

"Mmm..." was Squall's intelligent reply.

"I just...couldn't believe...mm...mm...more...again...mmmm...what was I saying?"

"Mmnnmm."

"Oh, right...I couldn't believe you would...ohhhhhh...want...want...Hyne I want you!"

"Mmmmmmm!" Squall answered enthusiastically.

But despite the pressure against his cock and the feel of Squall's rubbing between his legs, both men were content just to kiss, to explore each other's mouths. It started out slow, just an exploration, soft as spring rain.

Laguna had sunk further down onto the couch so that Squall was almost on top of him, supporting himself on his elbows on either side of Laguna's waist. The gentle spring rain suddenly turned into a hurricane.

It was mostly tongue now, as if the two muscles were making love in place of the two men. Squall's tongue in his mouth was forceful and then soft, demanding and then teasing. The kiss changed with its wants, but it was always thick, always thirsty, always the center of everything Laguna was feeling. The kiss was desperate now, both men greedily taking and wanting more. It alone had brought Laguna to his current state, shaking and half ready to come. His neck arched and his breathing labored, he had poured everything he had into this kiss and felt as if he'd never be able to get all of it back again. Some of it had become Squall's, a part of him forever. And now Laguna's hips were moving, lifting up in a rhythm that matched that of the tongue pumping in and out of his mouth. He rubbed against Squall's heat, sparking his own. A little more...a little more and he'd...

His trembling hands cupped the sides of Squall's face and pulled back. "We have to...we have to...If you touch me I'll—"

"I know," Squall said. He was just as breathless as Laguna and the words were broken by the sound of him trying to get air into his lungs. "I know. We'll slow down." He dropped his head and lapped gently at Laguna's neck. "We'll slow down."

Now Squall's hands joined the game, but they were more patient than his mouth had been.

"Here?" Squall whispered against his ear.

"Umm...no...bedroom?"

"Okay. Up."

Then Squall's hands were tugging him up, but once he was standing, they didn't let go. Laguna didn't mind at all.

The two of them touched and kissed all the way to the doorway of Laguna's bedroom, which was as far as they made it before they began tearing at each other's clothing and grinding against each other wildly. Squall dropped to his knees.

"What do you...want to do?" Squall asked as the fly of Laguna's pants released the pressure against his erection.

"Oh...well...anything sounds good...at this point," Laguna answered back. "What you're doing now is great. You should do that...more. Yes, more is no problem. Right here. Now."

"Mmmm," Squall answered and nuzzled against Laguna's hip. "Not a problem for me, but that door was unlocked."

Laguna felt confusion happily sweep lust away.

"Wuh?"

"The door, Laguna. To your quarters. It was unlocked."

A tiny logistical error occurred in the circuits of Laguna's mind. Somehow, Squall had kicked his long-dormant sex drive into high gear so that he felt like he was going to come at any second. And yet, now that he had accomplished the magic of reinvigorating Laguna's Libido, his goal was to talk about doors. Was the furniture next on the docket? Maybe they'd exchange decorating tips after that! This is infuriating, Laguna thought. He wanted to shag, not talk about doors!

"What are you talking about? Do that thing you were doing with your hands again."

Squall stealthily evaded the hands that sought his. "No, what about the door? Anybody could come in. I'll go lock it."

"If it's that important to you, fine!" Laguna huffed, then raised his voice to say clearly, "Nighttime settings. System armed."

Instantly there was a mechanical whine that sounded through the room. The lights dimmed and the sound of several doors closing and the resulting click, click, click made Squall tense. The lights dimmed and only a few, gentle lamps here and there illuminated the wide space of Laguna's quarters. Squall's face in the faint light was otherworldly: smooth and pale. He was unreal, a ghost, a specter. Beautiful.

"What the hell was that?" Squall asked gruffly, seemingly just to ruin Laguna's romantic internal monologue.

"Security system."

Now Squall was wearing an expression as close to disbelief and horror as Laguna imagined he was capable of. "Security? It sounded like a prison lockdown," he said. There was a beat and then both men laughed because, between the two of them, they had three sets of memories—two of them identical—of what a prison sounded like.

When Squall's husky laughter ended, he pressed his face against Laguna's thigh. "Your security team is paranoid."

"I've been president since Hyne was wearing knickers. If I die," he shrugged, letting the implication speak for him. Laguna was hardly a vain man, but he could be realistic when his infection optimism took a vacation. "They worry," he finished.

Squall looked thoughtful, then said, "So who can get in now?"

"No one but the guards. And maybe Kiros."

"Good," Squall growled and then lowered his mouth to Laguna's cock. Laguna felt his body start to fold neatly in half, bending to be closer to the cause of the delicious sensations sending electric waves through him. They up his tummy and to his heart and then out through his head until he thought he might faint. Squall's tongue was everywhere, pressed against the slit at the tip of his cock and then laving the base before dipping back to tease the heavy balls.

Laguna cried out and said a word that might have been a human language, and just might have been illicit to a Moomba.

There should have been no way that Squall could do that with his mouth. Laguna made another noise he couldn't identify—something between a moan and a gasp—and clutched at the doorframe. It was good, good, so good. He couldn't even find a place to put his hands that was safe because he wanted to grab the back of Squall's head and fuck his face. Good, good—

"S-stop," he said.

Squall lifted his head. In the moment that the two looked at each other, one could hear the puzzlement of crickets ringing through the air.

"What?" Squall asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Stop."

Now Squall looked as puzzled as the crickets sounded. Perhaps he was wracking his brain for any instances of a man asking him to stop giving him a blowjob. Not finding any, he looked even more confused, asking, "Is it...bad?"

"Hyne, no."

"So it feels good?"

"Yes."

"Then why am I stopping?" Squall asked, his voice two clicks shy of exasperated.

"Because. You shouldn't do that."

"I shouldn't? Why not?"

"Nobody should."

Squall suddenly looked at his father with new eyes. His expression showed that he was wondering if this man—who looked fifteen years younger than he was, had a body like a god, hair like silk, a voice like velvet, skin like porcelain, and the personality to tie it all together into a highly-screwable package—was secretly...a prude? Squall seemed to have decided that it was a miracle he was ever born and that he'd become a religious man starting tomorrow to thank the higher powers.

"Laguna...if it feels good, just go with it," he said on a sigh. And then he lowered his head again, this time not stopping even when Laguna made half-hearted protests. He gently tongued the head of Laguna's cock, and then trailed down. Lower.

Laguna found his no's turning into yes's instantly. Squall's hands were gliding over him like a boat over water and the heat of his tongue was enough to melt Laguna into a puddle of warm, contented flesh. A thick swipe up the underside of his shaft had him twisting. Then Squall's mouth was hovering over the head of his cock again. He stopped, looking up at Laguna's flushed face, asking for permission.

Laguna gave it. "Please. Yes."

Then slowly, oh so slowly, he eased Laguna's cock into his mouth—not all the way, just enough to playfully lick the underside and tongue the vein. Then, as if he were bored with merely sampling the taste of Laguna, he locked his lips around the head and sucked.

"Weahhhh, awadaaaa" Laguna cried out and then silently apologized to all the helpful Moombas who might have been near enough to be offended.

He was burning inside, the wet intensity engulfing him. His back arched away from the doorframe, his hips shuddered forward. He tried to stop himself but couldn't keep his fingers from digging into the short hairs at the back of Squall's hair and pulling him down farther, farther. Take it all...take it...

Squall had to stop licking and sucking long enough to restrain him by putting his hands on Laguna's thighs and pushing back.

Then he purred deep in his throat and sent Laguna into sobbing. The feeling of that purr was almost a reprimand that said, "Stay still."

Too quick for him to notice, Squall grabbed his hips and tugged him forward, swallowing as he did so until his face was buried in the soft hairs surrounding Laguna's cock, giving him what he wanted. Laguna's mind was coherent enough to wonder about gag reflexes and why it was that Squall didn't seem to have one, but then he was feeling his soul and his essence streaming downwards, rejoicing to meet the clever mouth that gave them so much pleasure.

Bonelessly lolling forward, Laguna felt it coming. It built, and built. He was so close.

"Squall I'm...you should...Hyne howthehelldoyoudothatwithyourtongue?"

In answer, Squall did that some more, massaging with his tongue even as his throat swallowed and his head bobbed.

The universe, quite simply, came to an end, and Laguna felt sorry for it since it hadn't done anything to deserve such a fate, but really, orgasms like this didn't happen every millennium and it only made sense for the stars to melt and the heavens to implode since everything inside him had. Or it seemed to in how he lost what made him him when his seed was spilled, but gained it all back with a scream that left his throat aching.

He came back down slowly, drifting, and was ecstatic to find his world still there, waiting for him, kneeling on the ground before him.

He was vaguely aware that Squall didn't release him even after he was spent. Instead, he gently sucked on the softening heat in his mouth, taking what he could find and swallowing it all.

Laguna watched in fascination as his cock slipped from Squall's mouth and he licked his lips like a cat. "Dear Hyne," Laguna whispered. What had he created? His son was a deadly weapon.

"Good?" Squall asked. Laguna didn't imagine the smug expression; they had both heard him scream louder than a B-movie actress confronted with the Wolf Man.

"You know it was."

"Good." He stood with the grace of a dancer, roughly pulled Laguna to him and kissed him soundly, giving back some of what he had taken, letting it mix with what Laguna had to give, and then talking it all back with long drinks and dips of his tongue.

From then on, it was tumbling, tripping, almost dancing through the semi-dark. Laguna's bed was too far away today where it had been just right every other day.

"Nice bed," Squall whispered as he undid the buttons of Laguna's shirt. He took the compliment because, well, it was true. The bed was high and soft and oh so very big. Being a squirmer, Laguna wanted the peace of mind that came with having several full 360s to go before the floor became your best friend. Besides, years in the military had made him into a man who valued space almost more than comfort. Years as a president had made him into a man who didn't mind accepting perks. The bed was a perk.

They fell backwards together onto it and let the comforter embrace them.

In the time it took for Laguna to become familiar with the contours of Squall's collarbone and to learn that he was ticklish where his rips stood out, there wasn't a single scrap of clothing between them. Laguna blew a puff of air upwards, hoping to knock hair that had escaped the holder out of his face the better to see his son. He realized it would have been more effective doing it manually, but that would have involved taking his hands off Squall, which was not an option.

"It's too long," he complained.

"No, it's not," Squall answered and then ended the conversation by rolling Laguna onto his back and pushing his hips down until their erections ground together in a maddening pleasure-pain. Laguna (who would have thought such a thing impossible before) felt his cock stir with interest once again.

"I'm too old to keep up with you," he huff-puffed even as his hips lifted to meet Squall's.

Squall wrapped a hand around the now fully hard proof that Laguna wasn't nearly as old as he liked to pretend. All of Laguna's skin clambered to be touched like that, his cock was just lucky tonight. "You seem to be doing fine to me."

"Ohh...oh...hmmm, feels good. I'm telling you, my arthritis will start acting up any minute and then it'll all be over. Mmmm."

"You don't have arthritis."

"Tendonitis, too. And an allergy to corn."

Squall stroked the smooth, slick shaft in his hands with teasing pressure. It hardened and lengthened and Laguna was too busy panting to invent a new illness.

"Lube?" Squall asked.

Laguna's mouth fell open. "Oh. My. Lord," he managed then recovered. "Yes. Okay. Right. There's oil. In the drawer."

When Squall raised a brow at him, Laguna was glad for the blush-hiding darkness. "I-I've been, ahem, thinking about you. Recently. A lot."

Squall stared at him for a moment and then silently left the bed to rifle through the drawer. He came back quickly and took his position above Laguna once again. "Will you let me?"

Laguna's mouth was dry. It took him a minute to answer. "Touch me," he said. Like a good little soldier, Squall obeyed. Laguna got the feeling that there was no place left on him that was stroked, teased, and sometimes pinched. Then came the teeth, biting gently into his nipples. Laguna learned a little something about himself.

"Harder."

If Squall was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he turned the pressure up a notch—

"Uhohh...harder."

—and then another.

"Harder."

Squall lifted his head. "Are you kidding?"

"—like it...mmmmm."

—and then another, but with a surprised look on his face that Laguna couldn't see for all that he was squeezing his eyes together tightly and seeing stars.

It could have been painful—should have been painful—and he'd be sore as hell in the morning, but at the moment, Squall's perfect white teeth torturing his nipple felt like a little piece of heaven. Plus, he made up for all the minor stabs of pain with soothing licks of his tongue.

To Laguna, the warm up was so good that by the time Squall was spreading his legs about and kneeling between them, he had quite forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. It was the cool tickle of liquid drizzled between his legs that reminded him. A tiny part of his mind told him to panic. The rest of it told him to spread his legs wider. So he did.

Squall was slow and cautious. He teased the area around the pucker before ever touching it, as if to get Laguna used to the sensation. Now the oil was warm and teasing his body where it slid. Even the tops of his thighs were slick with it. Laguna watched with half lidded eyes at the concentrated expression on Squall's face as he readied his body to take him. Then he let his eyes slide down to his toned body, hidden by shadows, and then lower to where his cock bobbed against his belly, hard and leaking. That was for him. All of it.

Laguna's head fell back. "Please..."

A second later and the first finger slid into him. It twirled and moved and then made room for the second. Laguna grit his teeth. Compared to Squall, the fingers were nothing. He had to adjust, be ready. And then the fingers did something—just a simple gesture really—which made Laguna scream.

He came down again when he felt the flutter of kisses over his eyelids and the stroke of a smooth hand down his face. "Okay?"

"That was...intense."

Squall shook his head once in understanding and then added a third finger. The discomfort was worse, but it was tampered by a throbbing anticipation. He wanted to feel that again. Not from fingers. He wanted Squall's cock to do that to him.

There were so many sensations: the feeling of warm, slick liquid sliding out of him and onto the sheets, the feeling of knuckles grazing and pushing against skin no one had ever touched before. Control of his own body was long, long gone.

"Please, do it. Do it. I want it. In me..."

Suddenly there was the empty, abandoned feeling of the fingers leaving his body. He whimpered in disappointment and then in need. Finally, the head of Squall's cock came to rest against him and then Squall as whispering instructions in his ear—something about bearing down, about telling Squall to stop when it was too much.

When the thick head pushed in, past, and through, Laguna wanted to back away to make what felt like ripping end. What had he been thinking wanting this? It was too much. "Squall, it—"

"Wait, just wait," Squall panted back. It was obvious from the way his body shook that holding back and going slow took all his self-control.

Squall slid a little further in, but not too far. Still, Laguna could feel it, the sudden shift of pain to something else entirely.

"It's...it's...oh my...Squall, you're..."

"Are you hurt?" Squall gasped out in a strained voice that implied that even if Laguna wasn't, he was. That, plus the way he stopped moving suddenly, was a giveaway to Laguna that something was afoot.

"No, it...nnng...feels good" he said and adjusted his hips a little, slyly trying to move that rigid heat deeper into his body. "Are you okay?"

"Nn-nnng, don't do that. I'll be fine. Just...don't move."

"What, like this?" Laguna asked and rolled his hips so that Squall slid just a little further in.

"Nnng! Ah! Ahh. Stop, I'm gonna c-c...stop. Please."

Laguna felt a smug curl to his lips begin and fought it. After all, Squall had been causing him similar troubles all night. "You're that close?" he tried to ask without taunting.

"Yes."

"You know, this used to work when I was young and randy—"

"When you were young and randy? When?"

"Respect your elders, boy. And if you want this to last longer than five minutes, try to think about something boring."

Squall looked as if he might insult him before another expression—one that might as well have said 'Oh, why the hell not?'—flitted across his features. There were several long minutes when neither man spoke. The only sounds in the room were those of their breathing—heavy and labored but not as frantic as a moment before.

"What are you thinking about?" Laguna asked.

"The payroll," Squall admitted with a rare smile. "You?"

"The budget report," Laguna answered. He waited a beat.

"Um...Can I move now? I hate to be a pest, but the thing is that you feel really, really good inside me and I want more. I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me. All the way inside me. Can you give that to me, Squall, or is this old man still too much for you?"

"Laguna," Squall growled, "shut up," and then he thrust his hips forward.

Laguna felt himself shatter into a million pieces and then pull back together with every nerve, every feeling focused on where Squall entered and filled him. When his senses came back to him, he was amazed to find he was still in the game.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Laguna panted and then added, almost as an afterthought, "do that again."

So Squall obliged him with one long, torturously slow thrust followed by a short, powerful one. He continued the pattern and did it so well that Laguna thought he was going to scream in frustration. It was just what he wanted, it wasn't enough, it was too much, it was too fast, no! faster, faster, no more, more, harder, deeper, there.

"Fuck, Squall," Laguna cried when every single thrust hit that spot inside him that made dots of white explode before his eyes.

"Stay with me," Squall panted back and then scooped Laguna's legs over his arms, opening him wider and changing the angle of his thrusts to one that was even more intense.

"Oh, don't do that! S'good...it's t-too," Laguna tried to say and then had to stop when his teeth clattered together painfully. If letters could have spelled themselves clearly into appropriate words in his mind, they would have spelled things like 'ram' and 'thrust' and 'clench' and 'filled'. But words and letters and anything above the primal wants and needs escaped him. All he was now was any nerve or atom of his body where Squall touched or invaded with hot, even, steady strokes.

Impossibly, it was harder now and his beautiful perk of a bed was shaking like an earthquake. All the muscles in Squall's thighs were bunching, working like machines to piston his cock in and out of the heat beneath him. Laguna was close. He opened his eyes and stared through the haze of sex and lust. Squall was biting his lip and sweat had spiked the ends of his hair. The noises he made—salvaged from the buried caveman genes civilization had smoothed over—were so fitting for a man called "The Lion of Balamb." He was growling in time with the movements of his body.

Everything was building inside him at peaks and crests. When Squall entered, he claimed, sheathing himself in and out, over and over and over, and that place was hot, glowing, spreading the fire taking over bringing him to the brink pushing lifting dragging taking taking being owned.

Laguna's hands couldn't hold still. One minute they clung to Squall's shoulders and ass, holding him inside him and feeling it deep and long. Then the next they flailed out to the side and clutched at the blankets. He felt like a complete loser for even thinking it, but a part of him wanted to raise a hand to his mouth and bite down on the knuckle to keep from embarrassing himself with another horror movie scream. He started the motion, but Squall stopped him halfway.

"No," he panted. "I want to hear you. Scream for me."

And somehow or another, that did it. The fire leapt and Laguna's body went taught, arched, like a string stretched from his bellybutton to the ceiling, holding him up. Squall's fingers dug into his lower back and he thrust in harder than ever once, twice, then a series of fast and shallow before he dove in to the hilt and stayed there, emptying himself into Laguna as Laguna emptied himself messily onto his stomach and Squall's stomach.

The scream was...pretty embarrassing. Luckily, the top of his head must have blown off so he could die happy now without having to face the memory.

He thought hard for a minute and realized he couldn't remember his name. Wow, having the top of your head blow off during an orgasm must be pretty damaging, he realized.

Squall was thoughtful enough that he didn't crash down on top of him, but went to the side. He reached for his father immediately, though, and there was a weightless tumbling that ended with Laguna using Squall like a mattress, wedged between his legs like Squall had been between his. The two of them were struggling to breathe, but they kissed despite the difficulties.

And Laguna, true to form, took the silence to talk. "Th-Thank you. It was good. I like—I like..."

"Shhh..."

"Mmmmmmmm."

Squall's hands held Laguna's hips against his own and Laguna wondered for a moment what it would be like to be joined together always, to forever feel this movie-perfect glow. Or...er...afterglow, his mind supplied.

"Do you think...?"

"Shhh..."

Laguna frowned. Okay, the sex was great. Amazing. But really, he was beginning to suspect that they had a communication problem.

At least they understood each other in really important ways, he thought consolingly. For example...

"You shouldn't do that if you're too sore for another go," Squall murmured but his body obviously liked it. Laguna lifted his head to stop kitten licking a taut Commander nipple. He chuckled to himself, half crazed. If that were the case, he had just gotten fucked by Commander cock.

Squall frowned down at him when the chuckles went high-pitched.

"You're not going insane, are you?"

"Maybe I am," he answered and returned to licking away. He'd wanted to do this for weeks. Eventually, Squall really did make him stop with a grunt and a "Come here."

Spring came early, rainbows seemed to shoot across the nighttime sky. Squall was kissing him and clichés were okay by him.

They kissed themselves to sleep—the last one Laguna managed being more of a drag of his lips across the salty skin above Squall's heart than anything else. Then he fell into a deep sleep. And this time, he didn't dream of Squall since the real thing was in his arms. Squall was much better in real life anyway, he decided. More handsome, too.

To Be Continued...?

Well, what did you think? I don't think this is exactly finished yet, but I would like a beta-reader to look over it before I do any finishing touches. If you're interested and have the time, please contact me. Thanx!