But seduction isn't making someone do what they don't want to do. Seduction is enticing someone into doing what they secretly want to do already.

—Waiter Rant

Chapter One

There was something absolutely delicious about knowing that people took his classes because they wanted to look at him. It was gratifying, a stroke to his ego—which, as Zell Dincht was always saying, didn't need any stroking—and all in all quite satisfying to his pride.

It also meant he had a wide variety of willing young ladies who liked to come by after class for 'tutoring'.

Today's recipient was a petite bottle-blonde—he'd only been a little disappointed to learn she dyed—with generous, bouncing breasts and wide, pouty lips. Those lips had been painted red when she'd come in, but that lipstick had quickly been smeared over his own lips, his chest and stomach, and then his cock.

He wondered if there were any adverse side affects to fucking somebody while you had their lipstick all over your cock. Later, he'd have to check up on that. Yes. i Later /i . Now was time to be watching the girl on his lap, lifting her gently and meeting her settling strokes with sharp, hard thrusts. She made a soft little noise every time he did that, throwing her head from side to side and exposing her neck to his lascivious kisses.

She came with a soft little cry, biting her bottom lip and clenching all around him. It was hard not to come in her, but he managed it, just barely. Pulling her off his lap, he set her on his office desk and stood before her as she began to do up her bra and uniform shirt, jerking his cock quickly as he leaned into her a little.

She giggled, softly whispering into his ear, "Don't stain my blouse, Instructor Kinneas. My roommate will start to ask questions."

"Your roommate . . . that's Aida Cummins, right?" The girl nodded softly. He chuckled and bit the girls' ear roughly, telling her, "She's in my homeroom. Ever wondered why she came in so late on Thursdays?"

"Study hall," the girl gasped as he worried his teeth against her earring.

"Study hall," he growled back at her, spitting the small stud onto his desk. It had become something of a ritual, to take little trinkets like that from the girls he fucked. They never seemed to mind.

She leaned against him a little, rubbing her firm, naked stomach against the head of his cock. He hissed softly, moving his hand a bit faster.

He was going to stain her blouse. She knew it. She even moved into it a little, sliding off the desk and crouching just a little so his come hit her chin and dribbled down her neck to taint her breasts and make her shirt a little transparent.

As he chuckled and fell back into his desk chair, he told her, "You should get going before that dries."

"Same time next week, Instructor Kinneas?" She drew her finger through the come on her chest, smearing it over her lips like lip gloss. He grinned and winked at her cheekily as she stepped out of the classroom.

He had papers to grade. Straightening himself up, he grabbed the stack of tests he'd given the day before, and began that tedious task.

After what felt like days—it was probably closer to an hour and a half—his door slid open. Expecting his next 'tutoring' session, he slid back in the chair, and smiled genially at . . .

At not Leena Worthily, but a very stormy looking Squall Leonheart, arm crossed vindictively over his uniformed chest and scowl turned to top notch. The flirty smile turned into a shy, sheepish grin and he stood up quickly, straightening himself out and hoping he didn't have anything left over from—.

"You have some lipstick on your neck, Kinneas."

Irvine swiped at it quickly, blushing a little. Squall sighed in exasperation and took the chair set across from Irvine's desk. He crossed his legs stiffly and just stared at Irvine for a very long, very awkward couple of minutes.

"So," Irvine finally simpered, trying a cheeky smile. "What brings you down to my room?"

"Zell was complaining about his students being late. Said most of them were coming from your room. Said a lot of them were female students."

"Bah," Irvine scoffed, laughing a little. That's right, Kinneas. Laugh it off.

Squall wasn't buying it. He leaned forward, flipping through some of the loose papers on Irvine's desk. He discretely grabbed the earring sitting on his desktop and tucked it into his uniform pocket.

Nothing was discrete when Squall was around. Sharp gunmetal eyes narrowed in annoyance, and he held out his hand for Irvine's trinket.

After several moments pinned under that stare, Irvine handed over the earring, already quickly excusing, "Miss Ganover took them off while we were practicing our posture in class today. All the girls leave their jewelry with me. She must have missed it."

Squall took the earring and tucked it into his own pocket. He stood then, looking around the office slowly as he planted his hands firmly on Irvine's desk.

Aw crap.

Slowly, Squall leaned in, until he was within a breath of Irvine's nose. He stayed there for several long moments before growling darkly, "You're a terrible liar Kinneas."

"Actually—."

"Don't talk. I want you in my office in twenty minutes, Kinneas. And if you're not there, I'm going to have Zell i drag /i you there. And Zell's not too attentive. I wouldn't be surprised if he failed to get your ass through the door all the way and something gets stuck . . ." He trailed off threateningly.

Irvine blinked at him in close range, and quietly said, "But they ope—."

"Not if I have a say in that."

The earring came back out of Squall's pocket, and landed with a painful sounding slap between them. Irvine managed to contain his flinch for the most part, but he swore he saw the tiniest of smirks lighting Squall's features as the slightly older man straightened, turned away, and marched out of the room as if nothing had ever happened.

Ten minutes later, Leena Worthily was told to reschedule her 'tutoring' for some time . . . later. He didn't say when, just handed her Marissa Ganover's earring, told Leena to give it to her, and hurried his way out of the office.

If Irvine had thought Squall alone was threatening, he had obviously never spent any time with vindictive young female professors from Balamb Garden—which was a lie, but he'd never spent any time with them when they'd been vindictive at him, which was an entirely different matter than being vindictive in his presence.

Squall was seated comfortably behind his desk, half turned away from the door, sorting through a strangely thick manila folder with a look of stern consternation etched across his features. Quistis Trepe stood at the left end of the desk, speaking quietly with one of Irvine's various female students; Selphie Tilmet stood on the right end, looking utterly scornful and breathlessly callous.

When Squall turned towards the door, his scowl returned to that deep setting. Irvine felt his stomach drop to his toes, and he stepped very slowly up to the desk. He tried not to notice that his student was staring at him with this disgusted look in her pretty brown eyes, tried not to look over at Selphie, knowing that wouldn't do any good.

She told you this would happen, some gloating little voice which sounded suspiciously like Diablos grumbled in the back of his head. She said that if you kept thinking with your dick, it would get you in trouble.

Oh, shut up. He didn't have anything clever to say to those truths.

For a moment, Squall just stared at him. It was uncomfortable, being under all those eyes. He shifted his gloves with his thumbs unconsciously.

Abruptly, Squall gestured at the student standing at Quistis' hip. "You can go now, Miss Norton."

"But I—."

"Your complaints have been noted, Miss Norton. Now, if you'll excuse us, this is for the Instructors and myself only. You may return to class."

"Yes, Commander Leonheart." The girl scurried out of the room, pitching worried glances over her shoulder at them.

Long after the door had closed, Squall sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his chair. After a moment, he looked sidelong at Quistis and asked, "Do we even have an explicit disciplinary rule against Instructors having relations with their students?"

"Galbadia does," she offered helpfully. He nodded and closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. It was unnerving, having them talk around him like he wasn't even there.

"And those rules entail—?"

"—the Instructor in question having their genitalia ripped off by a behemoth?" Irvine found himself grimacing, not just at the thought, but also at the genuine hurt lacing Selphie's angry words. He knew that she was still tender about their breakup, knew the matter of his infidelity with her stretching into his bachelorhood wore on her nerves.

Still, that comment was just mean.

"I believe the action actually involves an immediate expulsion and arrest of the Instructor." Quistis shrugged nonchalantly under Irvine's incredulous, gaping stare. Squall hummed over the idea; Irvine's gaze snapped immediately to him, and a nervous, insane little laugh broke his otherwise calm facade.

"You cannot be serious."

"Kinneas," Quistis began rigidly. Irvine remembered that voice, from when they were very small and the rest of them would get too rowdy or obnoxious. She continued with that same rigid frost in her voice: "You have sexually assaulted at least sixteen students. And those are just the young women—."

"Hey!"

"—and you really think we're going to let you off with a slap on the wrist?" She scoffed harshly, rolling her eyes at him. "What, it wasn't enough you had one girl at your beck and call, you had to toss her aside for your students who let you fuck them for an A?"

"Now wait just a goddamn minute here!" Irvine snapped, whirling on Quistis with righteous anger in his eyes. "Okay, I'm a pig, right? But this has nothing to do with my student's academic performance!"

He realized, much too late, that those were not the words he'd meant to say. But, even as he was turning to quickly remedy those swift and hurtful words, Selphie was beginning to get that hitch in her breathing that she always got right when she was about to cry.

"Sephie," he murmured, reaching for her. "Sephie, I—."

"You go to Hell," she snarled as tears began to drip down her cheeks. "You go to Hell and you die!" She started off towards the door with angry mumbles. Quistis growled darkly behind Irvine. And what would have been a rather calm and peaceable convergence dissolved into a match of snapped and shouted swears.

"Both of you, stop it!" Squall finally snarled, standing quickly and slapping heavy hands on the thick desk top. Selphie let out a hiccoughing sob, slowing only a little on her way to the door. It opened just as Irvine peered at her curiously through his bangs. She gave one final huffing cry, and stormed passed Zell, standing in the doorway.

For a minute, there was an all consuming silence, before Zell shut the door and asked, "Besides the obvious, what did I just miss?"

"I don't want to have to do it," Squall said quietly, long after Quistis and Zell had left to instruct their classes. Irvine grunted noncommittally from where he sat with his back to Squall's desk. "You're a good Instructor. We don't have anybody else on staff with your talents, and it will be at least two more years before any of your students graduate—."

"Thanks for making me feel like a novelty T-shirt, Leonheart," Irvine grumbled, picking at a broken nail. He sighed, thumping his head against the desk a few times.

After a moment, Squall murmured, "Don't break my desk." There was half a smile in those words. Irvine scoffed a little, but stopped his head from bouncing against the desk. There was a silence expect for the scratch of Squall's pen for some time.

"You knew I was doing it."

"Yeah." It hadn't been a question, but Irvine just shrugged a little at Squall's immediate answer.

"So why wait until now to do anything about it?"

"Meya Gordon complained about your advances towards her." Irvine went through his roster for a moment, trying to match the name to a face. It took a while to match that tearful face from earlier to the bright, smart sniper-hopeful with gun oil on her cheek to the name, Meya Gordon.

He turned, rose to his knees, and peered across the desk at Squall. "I never made advances on her. She's a good marksman. I offered her some special lessons in proper sniping, but—oh." He sat back down then, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

Squall quietly asked, "What?"

"I'm always offering to tutor the other girls. But those girls are in because they want me to make advances on them. Gordon's actually i good /i at what she does." He lifted himself back up and said, "If you do fire my ass, make her an Instructor as quick as possible. She'll do good."

"I'll keep that in mind." But from his voice, Irvine figured his recommendation was as good as null. He kept watching Squall for a while, arms crossed on the desktop and head pillowed on his sleeves. After a while, Squall sighed and pondered, "Yes?"

"I didn't make an advance on Gordon."

"I believe you."

"No youdon't," Irvine gritted. Squall put down his pen slowly and sighed, pillowing his chin on his interlaced fingers. "Face it. You think I wanted to fuck her as much as anybody else in this damn Garden."

"You're right. I do." Irvine's face fell a little in disbelief. "But," Squall quickly continued, "I do believe that you do have some measure of self-control hidden away in you, and that you would extend that self-control when it came to something you truly cared about."

"Like, apparently not my job?" Irvine rolled his eyes. Squall sighed.

"I never said that. I'm agreeing with you: you didn't want to sleep with Miss Gordon." He paused there, then quietly admonished, "That doesn't mean you're getting off the hook for the fifteen other young women you sexually assaulted."

"They were all legal," Irvine offered helplessly. Squall half-rolled his eyes and shook his head a little.

"They're students, Kinneas. And you're their teacher. Whether they were consenting, whether they were of legal age, doesn't matter. It's an abuse of authority. And we can't allow that in Garden."

"Yeah, yeah."

"It wouldn't have been any better in Galbadia." Irvine groaned and slid back down the desk. He thought he heard Squall chuckle a little at his misfortune.

"Don't remind me. I grew up there. You have no idea how many times I had to try and weasel my way out of detentions and expulsions and . . . actually, I didn't have to weasel my way out of too many." He scoffed a little. "Martine made sure of that."

"Martine? Wasn't that Galbadia's Headmaster?"

"My adoptive father, before Mom and he broke up." Irvine chuckled humorlessly. "Made sure I was always treated well. I suppose this is what I get from all I learned in school." They fell into a silence then, broken by Squall's pen.

After quite some time, Squall tapped his papers on his desk, set them onto a tray, and quietly said, "At least you had one. A father."

"No, I had Martine." Irvine stood as Squall collected his things. "And besides, you have Loire, right?" To that, Squall rolled his eyes. But he was smiling a little, as though that small admonishment was all he needed to remind him that, Yeah, he had it better than most of the orphanage gang.

"Are you going to follow me all the way to my room?" Squall asked as they stepped out of the office and strode towards the elevator. Irvine took his hat off and messed with it absently as he chuckled nervously.

"Am I invited? Or is Rinoa over to throw a shit-fit all over me too?"

"She's in Timber this month." They stepped into the elevator together, and Squall pressed for the first floor as Irvine leaned nonchalantly against the wall. "I'm thinking of giving her a room of her own."

"I'm sure she'll be pleased with that," Irvine said sarcastically. Squall just gave Irvine a sharp little look; he held up his hands defensively as the door dinged for the first floor and they stepped out into the mostly dark concord.

They walked through the halls in an amiable silence, until they drew close to Squall's door. He turned to Irvine—it was still amusing to see him stare up at him—and scowled a little.

"Go away."

"I'm going."

"Now," Squall snapped. Irvine rolled his eyes a little, shook his head, and stepped around Squall.

As Squall punched in his code, Irvine half turned and said, "I'd think you were scared I'd make a move on you."

"You wish." And he stepped into his room without a look at Irvine's surprised expression.