AU. Originally written for the UST prompt on the shiny new Strifehart Kink Meme on LJ: community. livejournal. com/cleonrp/2723. html
Disclaimer: dood, fanfiction. Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and the characters and universes therein are the property of Disney and Square Enix. I receive no remuneration for this work; it is a parody and as such utilizes the Fair Use clause of the Copyright Act.
Every Friday night, Squall Leonhart goes clubbing with his girlfriend. She likes to dance, and he doesn't mind watching her dance as long as no one gets too frisky.
He used to come solely to watch her, to unwind a bit with his usual rum and coke and let her have her fun.
Now, he comes to watch him.
He's gorgeous. Squall's never felt that way about any man, ever before. It's a ridiculous thing, feeling such desperate attraction for someone of his own sex. For anyone else, really, as for all intents and purposes he's engaged to Rinoa.
He's felt those sharp blue eyes on him since he walked in tonight—since he walked in the very first night. Though the guy's very clearly here with someone else too—someone tall and intimidating with long silver hair, wearing lots of black leather and not much else; someone Squall would never in his life dream of messing with—he only seems to have eyes for Squall.
By the fourth Friday, Squall figures it's a very, very fortunate thing that the silver-haired man seems to be so completely obsessed with watching the way the blond's lean, perfect body moves on the dance floor. He never really seems to notice that he's not the one that intense, sensual blue gaze is focused on.
On the sixth Friday, Squall encounters the blond just as he's leaving the men's room. A powerful rush of heat floods through him as the man looks him up and down, blue eyes that are so much more stunning up close meeting with his own once more just as their shoulders brush in the narrow hallway.
Squall has never felt so desired before in all his life.
When he goes home with his girlfriend that night and lays her down on their bed, he's ashamed to find that the entire time he's making love to her, he's thinking about someone else.
Rinoa tries, once a night, to drag him out onto the floor to dance with her. It's a routine they've fallen into. She comes up all coy and sweet, tucking her sleek, dark hair behind one ear before offering her hand to him. He consistently declines and tells her to go play.
On the seventh Friday, Squall stares past her at the blond spikes of hair, blue eyes, bare muscular arms and lean torso whose shape is only enhanced by a strange, sleeveless blue sweater. This time, spurred on by something he doesn't think he wants to understand, he downs what's left of his drink and concedes.
A few minutes later, out in the middle of the crowd because Rinoa always likes being at the center of the action, his nose picks out a hint of something only vaguely familiar but incredibly pleasing from amongst the overpowering mix of colognes and body sprays. He feels the hot burn of electricity when someone bumps lightly into him from behind, lingering just longer than is proper for an accidental touch, and he instantly knows who it is. He can feel it in the sudden jump of his heart and the stirring down below.
It's him.
He won't turn around and look; it would be suicide. Rinoa's gazing happily at him, her hands curled warm and soft around the back of his neck, and he smiles faintly down at her and hopes that the rare gesture is enough to convince her he's not having a bad time.
Three songs come and go without so much as another glimpse of the gorgeous blond, and he can't help the inappropriate feeling of disappointment that settles low in the pit of his stomach. He's just about to excuse himself and head back to the bar to buy another drink when he catches another whiff of that same subtle cologne, and a sharp pang of desire hits him when the man suddenly reappears in the crowd not six feet away from him, directly in his line of sight over Rinoa's shoulder. His back is pressed up against the broad chest of his partner, arms going up behind him to twine around the taller man's neck, and the long lines of his amazing body are on perfect display as the two of them start to grind together to the heavy beat of the music.
The silver-haired man's eyes never look up from the smaller, more slender figure pressed against his own, held captive by the possessive roaming of his large, leather-gloved hands.
The blond's eyes never leave Squall's.
It's almost too much to handle.
But at the end of the night, he leaves with Rinoa. He always does.
And he always wonders what would happen if maybe someday, he didn't.