~ Chapter Thirty-Two - Reality Check ~

[Zayin House, Monday, 27th of October, 11:48 pm]

Seifer hurried down the corridor of his apartment building, towards the elevator that would take him downstairs—away from Squall and Quistis. He didn't care what they thought of his abrupt departure. He needed alcohol and he needed to be the fuck alone. No more fucking reminders.

Forcing his mind clear of intruding thoughts, he rushed out of the building and past his pickup. A few streets farther he jumped onto a goods lift. The rush of adrenaline and whipping winds helped, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. Not tonight. He needed whiskey and lots of it to work through the mess of his thoughts. To face the truth he'd been told.

Matron.

His stomach lurched as the image of the young woman stroking his hair reasserted itself. A childhood memory that intersected and interweaved with the grim menagerie of his more recent past. He held on more tightly to the goods lift. He needed to focus if he didn't want to end up as a smear somewhere on Esthar's gleaming walkways. Leaping off at the last second, he steadied his footing against the translucent blue road below. He hadn't been this way in a while, but he was only a couple of back streets away from one of Esthar's more unsavory parts.

The signs were bright and colorful, each broadcasting their seedy offerings into the night. Everything from nightclubs to sex stores. An easy place to pick up drugs on the go. Or a quick fuck if you were inclined to pay and willing to sink that low. Ignoring the lackluster calls and offers of several prostitutes lingering on the sidewalk, he hastened his step as he passed by a club he knew all too well. He'd been there plenty of times as he'd sought out the true pleasures in life. Drugs and fucking. The thrill of the hunt for a willing partner for the night.

He grimaced, then stepped down a small side alley and into the dingy bar that was his goal. It was dimly lit inside, the air heavy with smoke. A fair amount of people were there, sitting at worn tables or propped up at the bar. Lowlives like himself. Seated by themselves, away from others. It was just the kind of bar he needed; a rundown dive where all the drunks, addicts and depressed fuckers washed up to try and figure out what the hell had happened to their lives. A place for regrets.

Pushing onto a bar stool at the darkest end of the room, he scratched at his stubble. He'd probably end up spending most of his cash here tonight. He called over the bartender.

"Double whiskey, neat."

His eyes dropped to the stained surface of the counter. As soon as the alcohol was placed in front of him, he downed half and stared at the remaining liquid. Amber and gleaming. He rolled it around in the glass, then gulped down the rest. Placing it back on the counter, he waited for the bartender to look his way again. "Same."

By the third drink he was starting to feel the effects, his mind beginning to escape the blankness he'd imposed on it. Images of his mistress reappeared.

His Matron. The woman who had taken him in as a son.

He knocked back his drink, looked up at the bartender and gestured for a refill.

It was all so fucked up. How the hell could she be one and the same woman? Apart from that one memory he couldn't remember her at all, but as he sat there, focusing on a past he'd rather never have known about at all, glimpses of the woman from his childhood emerged. His memories froze on an image of her, looking younger than when she'd been his mistress. She'd been beautiful then, just as beautiful as when he'd met her again as a failed cadet. He'd been attracted to her, to the power she'd exuded.

He narrowed his eyes as he remembered Deling City and the parade. Where Squall had been speared by an icicle.

Afterwards, he'd joined her in her lush bedroom at the grand estate she'd been staying at. She'd slowly let her dark violet gown come undone and he'd joined her willingly. He'd been high on the power of defeating Squall and the others and it had fused with his mad want for her. He could still feel the blind lust so clearly, right along with his elation at being able to stay hard when he'd entered her, unlike his fumbled attempts with Rinoa and Fujin. He'd come hard. The first time in his life he'd come inside someone. She'd taken that from him.

"Bring me the rest of the bottle," he yelled at the bartender while throwing some cash on the counter.

He clenched his hands. When he thought of her supple and milky-white body, he felt nothing but revulsion now. No attraction, no lust. He felt sick with the conflicting emotions. All that was left was the dread and shame. He'd been here before, disgusted by what they'd shared and by what she'd made him feel, mere moments after the most atrocious deeds he'd ever committed. A cocktail of sick satisfaction and all-consuming lust. Why the hell hadn't she gloated over him emptying his seed into the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had? Ultimecia had always played her cards right, and no amount of pain was ever enough. She would've loved tormenting him over that fact towards the end. After he'd failed her. After he'd tried to—

He brought the bottle to his lips, not giving two shits about what it looked like. He wanted alcohol induced oblivion so badly, for the approaching unconsciousness to take over, but he was nowhere near it at all.

Squall hadn't wanted to tell him. Squall had kept those pictures to himself and had only relented after being inadvertently pushed into it by Quistis. Did Squall suspect just how deep it all went? Squall had looked at him with such pity, had tried so damned hard to mend the pieces and hold everything together.

He took another large swallow, then pushed the bottle aside. "Your best herbal spirit," he said loudly, waiting for the bartender to fetch his order. Another glass was placed in front of him. He eyed it carefully. Squall's preferred poison.

The man he'd both fucked and torn apart.

Something broke inside him. How could he be so sick? To bring the man he'd forced through hell into his bed, a man he'd fought a war against? How the fuck had Squall even allowed it? Who the hell let their torturer fuck them? Did Squall get off on being dominated and humiliated? Was that it? The perfect match for the physical pain of a raw fuck. Squall was fucked up if that was the case. Even more so than himself. There was no way he should be allowed anywhere near Squall ever again.

He downed the glass of opaque, dark alcohol, wincing at the sharp taste. It wasn't any better than the pastis he'd tried at the palace, but it served well to clear his mind. To see the truth for what it was. The bloodhound knight and the savior of the world. He brought the bottle of whiskey to his lips again. No fucking way he'd let Squall sink that low. There'd be an outcry if anyone ever found out. Squall would lose his job, would be slandered and dragged through the mud.

Shit. He'd thought he could change things, that he could actually cheer Squall up and teach him to enjoy life. How fucking rich. He hadn't even realized what he'd reduced Squall to. A madman's fucktoy. Hell, he'd been right in his first guess as to why Squall had downed that bottle after their night on Avalanche. Who the hell would want to deal with something so fucked up?

But no more. He would not let this sick thing between them continue. He wouldn't let Squall risk defamation or gain satisfaction from being degraded by the man who'd only ever caused him pain. And he had. Even if Squall hid it well and was determined that it wasn't his fault, he'd seen it in the man's eyes. The shock and betrayal. When Squall had been pinned to that wall and had taken the first jolts of electricity, those grey-blue eyes had been their most honest. And it tore a hole in his heart. Ultimecia had to have known. She hadn't ordered him to torture any of their other captives. Only Squall. She had seen what he hadn't. She'd seen how Squall was the one person to make him weak, how this would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He pressed his fingers to his eyes and let defeat consume him. There was no stopping the swarm of memories now. Alcohol was his only true companion in this.

~ o ~

[Zayin House, Tuesday, 28th of October, 3:40 am]

The walls felt too close, the ceiling too low and the air too stale as Seifer made his way to the elevators. Stumbling into an abrupt lean against the wall next to the swirling buttons and numbers, he groaned and felt the wall behind him tilting. Or maybe it was himself. He closed his eyes to shut out the flickering lights. The whole building moved like it was out at sea. Swallowing back the acrid taste at the back of his tongue, he pressed a few buttons with blurry numbers, certain one would be the right one. It would be easier in the elevator, when he could follow the increasing count on the display.

A ding signalled an elevator's arrival.

Pushing away from the wall, he took the precarious steps that brought him into the smaller compartment. The lurch of sudden upward movement unsettled his stomach, the elevator's walls closing in even further. He stared at the display that would tell him when to get off, but his reeling head and fuzzy vision made it an almost impossible feat. He knew he needed to get off at the ninth floor, but everything around him was spinning.

The doors opened and a girl entered. She moved straight to a corner, as far away from him as possible. He'd do the same if it didn't mean he'd actually have to attempt movement. His stomach roiled at the mere thought. He swallowed hard and tried to bite back the unpleasant tang.

Ding.

The blue number looked vaguely like a nine, so he stumbled into the hallway. A familiar can lay on the floor, next to a stain that had been there ever since he had moved in. Home. He staggered the best he could, leaning against the wall whenever he needed to stop himself from falling. Stumbling inside his apartment, he closed the front door and leaned back for support. It was pleasantly dim inside, the only light source his small work lamp, along with a bright square. Squall's laptop. He grimaced.

Shutting his laptop with a sigh, Squall placed it on the coffee table. He took a moment to steel himself, the ruckus of Seifer's blundering entrance telling him exactly what the man had been up to. He'd hoped against hope that maybe the blond had been riding Esthar's goods lifts, seeking out adrenaline to vanquish his distress like last time. But as the hours had passed Squall had started to fear that Seifer wouldn't return for the night at all.

Getting up from the couch, he turned to take in Seifer's appalling state. The man was unsteady on his feet, the reek of alcohol and smoke reaching him even from where he was standing. Seifer's usually well kempt hair was disheveled, matted with sweat, but most troubling was the revulsion that marred the man's face.

They stood there and stared at one another, neither of them saying anything. When Seifer finally pushed away from the door and stumbled past the couch, Squall was being utterly ignored. Seifer opened a kitchen cupboard and started to fumble around in it. The sounds of glasses clinking against one another none too gently, hard enough to break, finally stirred Squall to move from his transfixed position by the couch. Any more of this and Seifer would cut himself on broken glass.

Picking up his empty coffee mug from the coffee table, he walked up to the kitchen to join Seifer by the sink. The man immediately stumbled away from him, as if he was the one that stank a mile away. Squall frowned but persisted. Leaving his mug in the sink, he reached into the cupboard Seifer had been rifling through and retrieved a glass. Not about to ask what Seifer had been meaning to drink, he filled it with tap water and held it out to the drunk blond.

Narrowing his eyes at the outstretched hand, Seifer took the glass but didn't move it to his lips. Instead he tried to focus on just standing still as Squall turned around and began washing his mug. The man looked disturbingly at ease, as if it was fucking normal for him to be staying in his apartment. As if their past wasn't the biggest fuck up of all. He'd been far too hopeful that Squall might've come to his senses and decided to leave. Of course the man would stay and see things through. Fucking hero complex.

He took a greedy few gulps of water and nearly missed the counter when he set down the glass with a loud thud. He could swear the counter had just moved, but then the arm he'd been using to prop himself up gave in and he almost stumbled. It took all his effort to regain his focus on the man in front of him, and then he remembered another unwelcome guest. "Quisty still 'ere?"

At what could either be an old nickname or slurred speech, Squall glanced at Seifer. "I drove her to her hotel."

"Good," Seifer said, his voice growing more resolute as he pulled himself up to his full height, trying not to sway. "You need to leave too."

Frowning, Squall turned to fully face Seifer. The man was having trouble holding himself up properly, the reek of alcohol even sharper up close. Too late he realized it had been a mistake to let Seifer run off again. "I don't think so," he stated firmly, not about to be bullied.

"I do," Seifer bit back. When Squall just squared his jaw and sent him an unimpressed look, he gripped tightly onto the edge of the counter. "What we're doing—" he started with a grimace. "You staying here. It's wrong."

During the many hours of waiting, Squall had resolved to deal with whatever Seifer would throw at him, but he hadn't expected this. The level of contempt in Seifer's countenance was entirely too convincing. "Not to me," he said evenly, refusing to believe it of Seifer as well.

"It's. Fucked. Up," Seifer said forcefully, wanting Squall to realize just how fucking sick this was. He tried to keep himself steady; to find the right words. "How can you let me fuck you?" he demanded but immediately brought up a hand to knead at his forehead, nausea blooming at the focus he was trying to muster. "How—How can you even look at me?"

Squall tried to ignore the tone of disgust and forced himself to focus on the problem that had reared its ugly head; Seifer's self-loathing. He'd seen it at work more than once now and was becoming intimately accustomed to the antagonism that went with it. He straightened himself, his gaze hard.

"I started doubting your guilt long before I let you fuck me. It will take more than sex, or this, to cloud my judgment."

Seifer closed his eyes to summon the power to keep himself standing. This was pointless. There was only one way to make things right. "I want you out of here."

As they came full circle, Squall realized Seifer wasn't going to listen to reason. The man looked, smelled and sounded drunk, his every word slurred. Seifer was too far gone, left alone with his thoughts for too long. He reminded himself of how Seifer had been looking forward to their upcoming hunting trip, of how they'd had sex with searing passion just that morning, of everything the man had said at the palace. But most of all he reminded himself of what they still needed to do.

"No," he said evenly, readying himself in case things got physical. "I'm staying."

Seifer stumbled closer and grabbed a fistful of Squall's shirt. "Wasn't D-District enough for you? You want more pain? Or do you actually like being fucked by your torturer?"

The words hit Squall with the force of a physical punch; to have what he'd shared with Seifer reduced to something so ugly. He easily wrenched himself free from the drunk and balled his fists, tempted to repay the hurt. "You're an asshole," he bit out, seething. "But I'm still staying."

Even through his addled impressions, Seifer could tell how close Squall was to losing it. How far he'd pushed him. He was almost there. "I bet Rinoa was too sweet for you. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Not like me, huh, Leonhart?" He pulled up his lips in a snarl and took a step closer. "Fucking masochist."

With Seifer's face practically shoved in his, Squall found it hard to breathe. There was no lie in the man's words that he could detect, the revulsion painfully honest. He wanted nothing more than to deck the bastard, to repay the hurt that coursed through him. It suddenly became very easy to recall all those times in the past when Seifer had waltzed right over his every boundary, always managing to single out the words that would cut the deepest. He wouldn't fall for the bastard's baiting this time.

Enough.

Junctioning Shiva, he immediately dove into his magic stores and cast an Esuna spell on Seifer, keeping Protect and Stop spells at the ready. They weren't cadets anymore. He would not be provoked.

Pulled into the present, every thought yanked into clear and sharp focus, Seifer stared straight into silver irises regarding him with cold fury and felt his own blood start to boil. Heedless of the man's fortified strength, he slammed him up against the nearest wall. "Fuck you, Squall!"

Despite the harsh impact and threatening proximity of the blond, Squall forced himself to do no more than meet Seifer's gaze. "Are you done?" he asked coolly.

"No," Seifer said as he stared Squall down. "It's all still fresh in here," he accused, his voice dangerously low as he tapped a finger against his temple. "Every fucked up thing I did." He squared his jaw, refusing to let the words spill that would clue Squall in to the full extent of the truth. Instead he focused on the wrongness his mistress had put between them.

"I tortured you. One of the few people I actually care about," he said, his words heated. He released his grip and headed straight for the bottle of whiskey and glass on the counter.

When Squall stepped in to block his access, those grey-blue eyes looking up at him with more emotion than he'd ever thought the man capable of, it was a moment before Seifer could gather the annoyance to push the man aside. Grabbing the bottle and glass, he filled it to the brim as he strode off. "Stay the fuck away."

Squall could only stare as Seifer thrust up his glass with a taunting smirk, as if bringing a toast. His chest squeezed painfully at knowing just how much pain lay behind such volatile behavior. All anger fled him, to be replaced with a terrible sense of helplessness.

"Stop this," he said, unjunctioning as he spoke the words.

"Make me," Seifer challenged, but when Squall just looked back at him without any fight he threw his tumbler against the wall. "Stop being a fucking coward and hit me!"

Fighting to remain unflinching, Squall glanced at where the whiskey had splattered all over the wall, a mess of glass shards scattered onto the floor. "You've punished yourself enough," he said, not letting go of Seifer's gaze as he walked from behind the kitchen counter.

Seifer chuckled darkly. "Not nearly enough," he said under his breath. "Hit me. Make me fucking pay for what I did to you," he gauded, unable to fathom how Squall still wasn't getting this. "I beat and electrocuted you. I know what you look like when you're in unimaginable pain." He grit his teeth and clenched his fists, the image forever seared into his mind. "I left you behind to die."

"That wasn't on you," Squall said vehemently. This self-hatred scared him far more than the anger. "What happened at D-District was done to both of us."

Meeting Squall's stare head-on, Seifer knew they'd reached an impasse. Squall could never understand the depth of this; how having those memories and living with them was tearing him apart. He'd been able to manage when they'd been subdued, pushed to the back of his mind. He'd even managed to block it all out the past few days when they'd been screwing like bunnies. He grimaced. That was why it was hitting him so much harder this time. He had something to lose now.

"That doesn't change anything," he said forcefully. "I still see it. When I close my eyes I still see you up on that wall."

Crossing the final distance to stand in front of Seifer, Squall needed the man to snap out of the past. "Then look at me now," he implored. "We're not in that prison anymore. We're here. Safe. Together."

Forcing himself to really look at the man in front of him, Seifer wanted so badly to give in. Together. It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss Squall and forget about everything, but the sense of wrongness wouldn't leave him. "You're the fucking SeeD Commander, Squall. I'm a war criminal. There'll be a witch-hunt if anyone ever finds out."

"I'll never let that happen," Squall said with dangerous calm. If the public at large would ever judge his choices; if he ever had to choose between remaining commander or abandoning Seifer… No command was worth such disloyalty. He'd throw it all away before he'd let any harm come to Seifer.

"You can't control everything," Seifer said in annoyance, some of his earlier steam giving way to deep felt frustration. "I'm not going to fuck up your life again."

"I make my own choices. This is one of them."

With a snort, Seifer moved to sit down on the couch. Squall was so fucking stubborn and he didn't know how the hell to move on from this. He didn't want Squall to get hurt again, not because of him, no matter what Squall thought he could decide. And he couldn't just ignore his past and bury it again, not when Squall was right there. Closing his eyes, he tried to shut it all out.

Squall watched in silence as he let Seifer come to terms with what he'd said. The man didn't look particularly happy about it, but he was also still in the apartment and no longer reaching for his next drink. It was a meager victory, but Squall would take it.

"You need sleep," he pointed out, reminded of his own exhaustion. "And a shower. You reek."

Irked at being told what to do, Seifer opened his eyes. "I'll sleep here," he said, grabbing a cushion and planting it firmly in place for the night.

Frowning at the clear line in the sand Seifer had drawn, Squall tried to tell himself that it made no difference if they slept separately, that getting Seifer to Winhill was all that mattered, but his throat closed up with a sharpness that revealed his true feelings. "Suit yourself," he said stiffly and walked away.

Ignoring the brunet, Seifer moved to lie down on the couch and pulled up a blanket. He closed his eyes but he couldn't shut out Squall's retreating footsteps, the turning of the door handle, or the thud of the bedroom door falling closed.

Turning around with a deep groan, he made himself more comfortable, but peace eluded him. He stared at the tatty fabric of his old couch, hating the sense of loss that took over now that Squall had left the room. The hot flare of his anger fizzled out, leaving him drained and numb in the wake of his own internal chaos. Slowly but surely regret started to gnaw at him, not necessarily for what he'd said but for how he'd said it.

Closing his eyes, he couldn't forget the look in Squall's eyes even when the man had stayed adamant and calm in all of his reactions. He'd hurt Squall. Again. The last thing he'd wanted to do and it had been the exact outcome. His past had swallowed him whole and he'd lashed out hard. Kneading his forehead, he tried to force away the emptiness that overwhelmed him. Throughout it all Squall had remained firm. Squall believed in him and had taken his side without a single sign of doubt. He looked over at the bedroom door. He owed the man so much.

He should be punished for what he'd done to Squall and sleeping with the man felt like a reward. He had no right to be around Squall or gain any pleasure from it. That realization alone hurt so fucking much; to know what they could have, what it was like to be with Squall, and not deserve any of it. There was nothing he wanted more. And by some fucked up coincidence or sick twist of fate, Squall was foolish enough to want it too.

Sitting back up in the couch, he sighed. The storm of his emotions had taken its toll, leaving only his weakness. Despite everything, despite all he'd said and still meant, he wanted nothing more than to join Squall in bed and feel the man against him and inhale his scent again. It would be so easy to let Squall decide for now. If Squall wanted to stick by him and risk everything, then how could he deny him? Even if it was so fucking wrong.

He rubbed his face tiredly. He'd managed to push the memories away before. He'd sworn he'd do it for Squall so he could show the man a good time. Getting up from the couch, he walked over to the sink and filled a glass with water. Could he do it again? Probably not with Winhill coming up. The mere thought made him tense up. How could he even go through with Winhill? How could he ask Squall to do that for him? What good could even come from it? They'd just be digging into memories that were better left alone.

Or maybe he'd finally be able to forgive himself.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as he tried to imagine what it might feel like. Relief. Absolution. No more of this crushing guilt. Squall by his side, smiling and unequivocally his.

Anything might be possible. They had to try.

Pushing away from the counter after emptying the glass of water, he walked to the bedroom door. Past be damned, he would clean up and indulge in Squall's closeness. After Winhill he might not get another chance. Lowering the handle, he opened the door to the bedroom gently. Squall was lying on his back on the bed, lost to thought. The quick smoothing of the man's expression into an blank mask had come just a second too slow, belying the impassive gaze that turned Seifer's way.

"...I'm taking a shower," Seifer said awkwardly, the words sounding absurd after all the harsh things he'd hurled Squall's way. Grabbing a clean pair of boxers, he hurried into the bathroom.

Flicking on the lights inside the small room, he was met by his reflection and grimaced. It had been a while since he'd seen those dark circles beneath his eyes and a paleness that had nothing to do with a lack of sunshine. He ran his hand under the cold tap and through his hair. He brushed his teeth on autopilot, getting rid of the stale taste of alcohol and vomit, and stripped down. The moment he entered the shower a flood of recent memories descended on him. Squall leaning back against the tiled wall, lips parting to let out panting breaths as Seifer stroked him to completion. Soft gasps that left the brunet as he fucked him from behind. Squall's warm skin, wet and smooth. Hard muscles wherever he touched. A deeply passionate kiss.

He'd never be able to shower in here again without thinking about Squall. He closed his eyes and washed as quickly as possible, while trying to rein in his straying thoughts. Nothing would ever be the same after what they'd started. There was no going back.

Turning off the spray, he grabbed a towel and dried off his hair. A brief pat over the rest of his body would do. He needed sleep, he could no longer deny it. Slipping into his boxers, he turned the lights off and dumped the towel to the floor. When he entered the bedroom, Squall was still awake, the man's eyes once again drifting over to where he was standing. They followed him all the way over to the bed, but Squall didn't speak. The man's retreat behind a carefully collected facade told him just how badly he'd fucked up.

Lifting up the duvet on his side of the bed, Seifer lowered himself onto the mattress, his muscles getting heavier by the second. He was so fucking spent. Hardly any sleep the previous night, a taxing day and a clusterfuck of an evening. He sighed, then looked over at Squall. For the first time in days it felt hard to breach the distance between them, but there was no way he'd fall asleep like this. He turned on his side and scooted closer, then moved his arm until it was resting across Squall's stomach. The tense lines of Squall's expression softened in response, ever so slightly. Another shift and he was pressed up against the man, his nose touching soft locks. When Squall turned his head to meet his gaze, he captured the man's lips and instigated a slow kiss that finally doused the tension that had clung to him ever since he'd left the apartment. Squall readily accepted it, the man's arms wrapping around him.

They kissed like that for a while, the closeness of the act enough to silence all the thoughts that had been swarming in his head. Squall's skin was soft underneath his fingers. No space was left between them. Squall was holding onto him, the man's hands firm against him. Every single move was laced with longing, a deep need that had grown since they'd last touched like this. He moved on top and guided the man's shirt up and off, needing to feel all of him.

Releasing an unsteady breath, Squall drew Seifer close against him. Part of him knew he was letting Seifer pull all of his strings, in whatever order the man pleased, but he couldn't help but need this. The sense of rejection Seifer had afflicted him with, however short-lived, had been enough to rob him of any chance at sleep. He didn't dare question what had brought the man back into the bed they'd shared for days now. All he wanted was for Seifer to erase his earlier words with something more potent.

Their reconciliation was almost painful for the relief it brought him. He let Seifer take whatever the man wanted from him. Kisses, caresses, every dangerous expression of intimacy he feared. When Seifer stopped to study his face, Squall could only look back with open honesty and hope that it was enough for now. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

Pulling Seifer back down for more deep kisses, he let out an encouraging sound when the man tugged at his underwear. He lifted up his hips, his boxers discarded within seconds. Seifer's naked body covered his, flushing Squall to his core with more than just arousal. This felt too fragile to call it mere lust.

Seifer's hands snuck between them, raising his legs into position. He couldn't quite recall when Seifer had grabbed the lube, but the man started to apply a generous amount on both of them. Two fingers pushed into him slickly, just enough to ease their passage before retreating. And then Seifer was inside him. A gasp, and he unraveled.

Seifer's thrusts weren't dominating nor were they gentle. Slowly but surely Seifer was taking possession of him. Those warm lips never relinquished his, every bit of touch used to reestablish connection. His legs were bent back at an unforgiving angle to allow for the closeness, but Squall's only thought was to tighten his hold even further. The waves of pleasure that rolled through him washed away all else. It didn't take either of them very long to come, Seifer following him closely behind.

His exhaustion hit him full force the moment his orgasm receded into a pleasant buzz. His eyes fell closed, only to open again when Seifer slid out of him and lowered his legs to the bed. The man proceeded to quickly wipe both of them down with a handful of tissues. Just as well. Squall didn't think he had it in him to bother. After the catharsis of sex, all he wanted was sleep. He only barely remembered to set his phone's alarm. They'd only get a few hours of sleep at best.

Seifer settled in next to him, pulling him close when he made no move to budge. He was kissed again, the feeling of coarse whiskers and the scent of minty toothpaste mingling with fading alcohol following him into his dreams.

~ o ~