Hurt

Disclaimer: the characters and places contained herein do not belong to me and I make no claim or money from this. I can’t even claim responsibility for most of the idea because it came from both Race Ulfson and the song “Hurt” covered by Johnny Cash.

Find me at http://www.livejournal.com/users/dark_squall or http://www.livejournal.com/users/musemadness

With many thanks to Pixie, Acid Rain and Astraea.

This fanfiction is dedicated in its entirety to Race Ulfson, also known as the beta babe who usually previews all my stuff and tells me where I’ve fucked up.




Hurt.
For Race.




Give up this fight, there are no second chances.
This time I might.
To ask the sea for answers.
Ask for answers – Placebo.




He awoke surrounded by Seifer Almasy.

Wrapped up in Seifer’s arms, the blond cuddling impossibly close and holding him tighter than he’d thought was ever possible, he could allow himself to feel safe just a while longer. The strength of the arms encircling him, the scent of Seifer and the touch of Seifer’s fingers to his spine made him move closer, eager for more even if he was still waking up.

He’d woken like it before, Seifer seemed very content to snuggle first thing in the morning, hold him close and nuzzle into his hair. He took more comfort in that now he realised just what it should really mean to him. When he’d been younger it hadn’t seemed worth the time, he’d wanted sex and release and an escape. Not the clinging openly caring side of Seifer. Now he believed Seifer wouldn’t leave, it was a lot easier to accept.

When Seifer realised his lover was awake, he lifted a hand to pet Squall’s hair gently, the brown locks already mussed and ruffled from sleep. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said cheerfully.

“Hate morning people,” Squall growled, tugging the covers up over his head to block out the light. It was still early, light streaming in through the bedroom window strong enough to hurt his eyes and make him want to burrow beneath the covers and hide again.

“Yeah, but you love this morning person…” Seifer slid his hands down Squall’s back, sliding over the curve of his ass and squeezing him firmly. It was very difficult not to just roll Squall onto his back and begin a repeat performance of the previous evening. “Don’t ya, squirt?”

Although he grumbled darkly, there was no real malevolence behind it, letting Seifer grope freely even if he didn’t respond. “Not before my first cup of coffee.”

“How about I get busy on that then?”

“Yes, get to it slave,” Squall ordered, wiggling out from the circle of Seifer’s arms and rolling onto his back. The covers still lifted up to cover his face; Squall closed his eyes and sighed. The bed was warm, the sheets retaining Seifer’s body heat even as the blond slipped out of the bed to head for the kitchen. Stretching languidly, he smiled a secret smile, one that he couldn’t quite afford to let Seifer see before his mission was finished and he could afford some time away from garden. Somehow saying he loved Seifer was much easier than showing him that contented, self indulgent smile.

“Pushy bottom,” Seifer accused as he headed for the door. He couldn’t help smiling to himself. He was sure a lesser man would skip, and grin like an idiot at the contentment he felt, so it was the lesser of two evils. Even the strike of a pillow at his back, barely enough to even stagger him, was enough to dampen his mood. And of course, it was Squall – throwing things amounted to foreplay. “I hope you don’t think I’m serving you in bed, you lazy shit.”

“You will if you want sex today!” Squall’s voice drifted after him, slightly muffled by the distance and the covers.

Of course he’d had every intention of serving his lover in bed. There hadn’t been a moment when he’d wanted anything but that – he could fuck Squall a lot more comfortably in bed than on the kitchen table… even if that kitchen table did provide a very nice memories. “You want a bagel with that?”

Peering over the edge of the covers as the door clicked shut of its own accord, Squall considered the significance of Seifer serving him something with a hole. A little sore from the previous night and their hurry to indulge in one another, he decided that he’d give Seifer a taste of his own medicine again. Just to remind the blonde of his real place. “Just coffee,” he called.

“Coming right up, your majesty.”

He retrieved two mugs and set them beside the coffee maker. Seifer would make the strongest, blackest bitterest coffee for his lover. Something to wake him up and make him scowl that adorable scowl.

Leaning on the counter, Seifer closed his eyes and considered humming. Everything felt so good and so right that he just couldn’t see how it could end.

Until someone grabbed him from behind, twisting his arms behind his back to keep him immobile and shoving him bodily onto the counter. One of the mugs tumbled off the surface as he was held tight to it despite his struggles and bounced with a clatter to the tiled floor, but did not break. Seifer had a habit of knocking the cups off surfaces when he groped blindly for them in the night and had long since started buying thicker ones in an effort to prevent them breaking when he did.

“What the fuck?” Seifer exclaimed, struggling futilely.

The second he heard the clatter of china on the floor, Squall was up, and already moving to the bedroom door. Opening it just a crack, he watched as Priest slipped through the living room, glancing about worriedly.

In the kitchen, Brent – who Seifer recognised as the one he’d shot in the leg – leant down over his back hissing in his ear. “Tell us where your little boyfriend’s hiding and we’ll go easy on you.”

“You’d better kill me then, you fuck. I ain’t telling you shit,” Seifer spat, trying his best to break free of Brent’s grip but failing no matter what he attempted.

“All in due time,” the second man – shoulder wound who’d planned on raping his lover that first night – said softly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seifer watched the second man fill a hypodermic from a bottle that looked remarkably like the vials he’d disposed of for Squall. Rapture. His struggling increased tenfold; with him out of the way it would be so easy for them to take Squall. Squall was injured, Squall needed his protection. “You’re not shooting me full of that shit. He’s not here anyway, bad luck asshole.”

“Then why were you making two cups?” he asked, smiling, pulling one of Seifer’s arms back and slapping the skin to bring the veins to the surface. Toeing the cup on the floor, making the handle clatter on the tiles, Priest nodded to his partner.

Brent grabbed Seifer’s hair and used the grip to slam his head into the counter, hard enough to make him see stars for a moment. In the moment or two it took Seifer to recover, Priest found a vein, sliding the needle into him and injecting the substance into his vein. “We followed you home last night. Waited ‘til most of the buildin’ was empty so we could get rid of you two.”

Almost immediately Seifer began to slump against the counter. He felt his mind begin to drift, a pleasant haze settling over him and in him, making him want to lay there and just let the feelings consume him, the elated sense, and the contentment.

“Leon, I know you’re in here somewhere!” Priest yelled, pulling a wicked looking knife from his belt. “Give yourself up or your boyfriend here’s gonna OD!”

The silence was deafening. Seifer couldn’t see the doorway with the muscle holding him down on the counter. As he was released, he slumped to the floor, staring up at the ceiling and not quite recognising what he was looking at, but still stared regardless. Half hard, the pleasure high coursing through his veins, he lay there, Squall a distant worry that he couldn’t focus on.

Squall appeared in the doorway, the shotgun that had been hidden under Seifer’s bed tucked against his injured shoulder. The gun roared as he pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in Brent’s back. The violence of the shot nearly cut the man in half, the gun was too powerful to be used in close quarters really but he’d had no choice.

Brent was dead by the time he hit the floor.

The gun kicked back, jarring his already injured shoulder so painfully his stomach rolled and his vision darkened for a moment while he recovered.

However, it was a moment he didn’t have as Priest was suddenly there, barrelling into him and slamming him through the glass table. It shattered under the force of his weight, the glass shards cutting his skin and making him scream in pain. His shoulder was on fire, the agony from the aggravated injury threatening his consciousness again.

It was more luck than skill that allowed him to knock the knife from Priest’s hand as the man covered him, one knee resting on the thick glass. Slamming his fist blindly into the inside of his attacker’s wrist, Squall made him release the blade before he knocked it away.

“Little bastard,” the man hissed, driving his other knee into Squall’s right shoulder.

The wave of pain caused the bile to rise in his throat, and he whimpered aloud. His whole body seemed stuck for a moment, frozen from counter attacking or even protecting himself from the broader, taller man as the throbbing of his shoulder made the room spin and his head ache.

“Great lay isn’t he?” Priest called to Seifer, the blond still lying prone in the kitchen. “Such an eager little whore… shame I won’t get to screw him one last time before I kill the little fucker…” he wrapped his fingers tightly around Squall’s throat, his weight bearing down on the smaller man, restricting his breathing, making him choke. “Say goodbye to your boyfriend, Leon.”

Squall’s left hand scrabbled at the constrictive touch on his throat, trying to peel the fingers back, trying to live.

It was the choked gasps that made him move. He could hear his lover dying in the next room and he wasn’t going to lie there and do nothing about it. His vision was blurred and his mind was clouded, but able to focus on that single point – the pained rasping wheeze of a futile attempt to breathe, the sound Squall was making – he hauled himself to his feet, grabbing a knife from the block and staggering towards the intruder and his lover.

His footsteps were silent on the carpet, a trail of bloody footprints following him as he approached the two struggling men. Seifer was desperate to tell Squall to hold on, to let him know that everything would be okay and he as going to protect him, just as he’d promised… but he remained silent. He had to. For Squall’s sake.

Too focused on his revenge for his fallen comrade and for retribution for the weeks of trust he’d poured into Squall, his Leon, Priest didn’t even notice Seifer behind him until it was already too late.

Grabbing the stranger’s hair and driving a knee between his shoulder blades, Seifer pulled back hard and drew the silver blade across the exposed throat. It bit just below Priest’s chin, the deep wound welling up dark blood almost instantly, and Seifer hissed angrily: “die. Die god dammit.”

Priest tried to scream. He tried to fight, but with his life’s blood pouring down his front and dripping onto Squall beneath him he had no chance. The brunet caught one of priest’s wrists as it released him to attempt to pull the blade away from his throat, he wouldn’t let the bastard stop Seifer now. He wanted to see him die.

Then the former dealer became remarkably still in Seifer’s grip, his body slumping as his heart stopped and his life slipped away.

He didn’t have the coordination to fling the body in his grip aside, but he didn’t want the bastard touching his Squall for a moment longer than necessary – dead or alive. The heavy weight of the dead body was threatening to pull him down with it. “Squall… get up, baby,” he pleaded, his voice too soft to be his own.

Knocking the other hand away from his throat with his good arm, Squall pulled himself from under the dead man, rolling onto his side and coughing weakly as he sucked in draughts of air, his throat objecting, but his lungs protesting more adamantly. “Drop him… and the knife,” he ordered softly, his voice weak.

It took two attempts to roll to his knees, his right arm hanging uselessly by his side. Blood, his own this time, dripped from a deep cut on the injured shoulder, running down his bare arm which hung uselessly by his side. He had only been able to afford time to pull on the soft, grey flannel pants of the pyjamas Seifer had purchased for him; his back was on fire from glass of the table.

Seifer dropped the body he was struggling to hold at last, stumbling onto one knee the second Priest slumped forward onto the glass. It took a concentrated effort to drop the knife, but with only the softest of sounds it too fell to the carpet. “Feel a little… funny…” he murmured, struggling to stay upright.

Squall watched Seifer, confused for a moment, and then it dawned on him. They’d given him rapture; they’d forced Seifer to take the drug. Shuffling closer, he wrapped an arm around Seifer, supporting him, holding him as he nuzzled against his cheek. “I know, I know,” he said reassuringly, his voice the softest Seifer had ever heard it. “Come on, we’ll move to the sofa. You need to help me though; I can’t carry your weight unjunctioned.”

Nodding, he clung to Squall even though he didn’t want to touch his lover. Not because of the blood that covered him, because he was afraid of injuring him further. “Are you hurt? Gods, Squall are you alright? Fuck… my head’s spinnin’.”

“Move Almasy, now,” the brunet ordered in a voice as close to the old commander’s tone as he could manage.

On the third attempt, Seifer managed to climb to his feet, rising with Squall and turning his head to nuzzle and kiss Squall’s hair. His breathing was slow and shallow, his skin clammy to the touch and he could barely concentrate, barely speaking above a whisper. “There might be more. ‘M cold, Squall.”

“I know. I want you to lie down for me,” the brunet led his lover to the sofa, his heart thundering against his ribs with fear. Seifer was exhibiting all the symptoms of an overdose and he was scared. He was more afraid than he’d been in his entire life and he was struggling not to show it to Seifer, though he couldn’t keep the worry from his voice. “I’ll get the gun and a blanket, okay?

“Don’t stay away…”

“I won’t,” he nodded, pulling one of the cushions to the end of the sofa to pillow Seifer’s head and helping him to settle on the long couch. With the blond finally stretched out and clinging to the sofa as though he were going to fall off at any given moment, Squall headed for the kitchen, finding one of the vials of rapture sitting on the counter with a hypodermic beside it.

To Squall’s disgust, his fingers trembled as he lifted the small tube to the light. He was afraid he was going into shock, and he didn’t have time to deal his own injuries when Seifer could slip away at any minute.

The vial was half empty. The same sort of dose Squall had taken regularly. It was more than enough to send someone new to the drug into overdose.

He cursed aloud, slamming the glass bottle back onto the counter and stalking for the bedroom to grab a blanket, grabbing the shotgun on the way. By the time he returned to Seifer, the blond was trembling like a newborn Mesmerize, unable to control the shivers and shudders that racked his body violently.

“Squall…” he gasped as the brunet spread the blanket over him one armed, laying his palm against Seifer’s forehead gently.

“I’m here, Seifer.”

“Don’t like this so much,” Seifer muttered, staring up at the brunet but barely seeing him. He couldn’t understand why Squall had liked the feeling so much, everything felt so fuzzy, so faint and distant and he didn’t want to feel like it. Why had his lover found it so addictive? Granted the pleasure he was experiencing was good but…

“They gave you too much. I need you to stay awake for me, okay?” Squall said, reaching for the phone beside the sofa and hoping beyond hope that they hadn’t cut the lines. However, the handset was as dead as Brent and Priest and he slammed it back down in disgust.

“M’awake. You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” the younger man lied. Every time he moved he could feel another wave of hot blood spill down his back, the clotting wounds tearing open again and sending a fresh wave of agony through him. He couldn’t even move the fingers of his right hand; he had to guess he’d broken his shoulder again, if not worse. But it was nothing. If it would save Seifer he’d take the wounds a thousand times over.

“Hospital,” Seifer said, his words becoming a little slurred as he reached towards the coat rack beside the door. Three times he tried to speak before he finally managed to force the words from his mouth and out into the open. “Ge’my phone baby. In my coat. My tongue’s heavy.”

“Seifer,” Squall stood, looking at the body of the fallen pusher, still slumped over in the glass. “If they ask, I killed both of them.”

“’Re pretty dead,” he nodded, smiling foolishly despite the urgent nature of his trembling and the stumbling of his voice. He watched the body of the man who’d wanted to rape his lover as though it would rise at any second, wary and worried. “Fuckin’ bastards,” he snarled.

With a soft chuckle, Squall crossed to Seifer’s coat, checking the pockets and retrieving his mobile phone. “Guess this means my mission’s over,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

The soft laughter had made Seifer feel safer somehow, after all, Squall Leonhart didn’t laugh at just anything even if he did have a somewhat wicked sense of humour. “Now we can run away together. Run faaaar away…” Seifer paused as he turned his head and saw Squall’s back. He was covered in blood, deep gouges running across his shoulders. Shards of glass were still stuck in his flesh, deep enough to only just be visible and he couldn’t quite make sense of it all. Why was Squall hurt? Why wasn’t he doing something to help himself? “Squall,” he whimpered, weakly.

“What’s wrong?” Squall asked as he returned to Seifer’s side, the worry and fear replacing the mask of ice and unfeeling. The phone was unusable, the battery flat. He was almost relieved, as long as he could keep Seifer alive a while longer he’d make it, he was sure of that. Squall didn’t want the blond to be caught up in the mess this mission had turned out to be when the police arrived. If he could keep Seifer alive. It was a big If, but he couldn’t afford to leave Seifer’s side to find someone to help. He could only hope someone had heard the shot earlier.

It took all of Seifer’s strength not to cry. His Squall was hurt and though he didn’t know for sure why any more, he couldn’t help Squall. And that was the worst feeling really, knowing his lover was injured and that there was nothing he could do about it any more. “So tired.”

“Don’t you dare give in. I didn’t fall in love with a quitter.”

Seifer smiled up at Squall as the brunet returned to his side taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. The distanced feeling was increasing but he didn’t care any more. The pleasure haze too intense to bother worrying himself over. “Not gonna quit, baby. Just need a nap.”

“Wake up, Almasy,” Squall shook Seifer gently. He could feel Seifer’s body temperature dropping, the touch of his fingers to Squall’s palm worryingly cold. “Please.”

“You promised…” he murmured, blinking rapidly as though he couldn’t quite find the origin of that soft, tortured voice that he loved so much, even though he could see his beautiful lover leaning over him with too dark hair and worried eyes. “You’ll stay with me now,” Seifer smiled, his own voice low and drowsy. It was getting harder to stay awake, sleep was calling and he was getting more and more willing to answer the call. Even if Squall wanted him to stay awake, he just couldn’t any more.

“I love you,” Squall whispered, closing his eyes tight as he lifted Seifer’s hand to his cheek, nuzzling against his knuckles. Admitting it like that felt awfully like a goodbye. He wanted to plead with Seifer, make him stay, but doing that would only scare his lover.

He smiled. It was beautiful and honest, none of the smug pride or wickedness that Seifer sometimes wore when he smiled at Squall. And it was breaking Squall’s heart to see it like this. “Always loved you, Squall.”

Squall leant over him, cupping Seifer’s cheek and kissing him softly. He knew the effects of the drug well and while he was afraid that it would be their goodbye kiss, he had to do it. He had to taste Seifer’s lips one last time. He felt his lover’s hand cup the back of his head, holding him there even when the kiss ended.

Seifer’s green eyes had slid closed, his mouth slack and his breathing deathly shallow.

“Almasy, open your eyes!” Squall begged desperately, his hands on Seifer’s shoulders, shaking him, but Seifer was too tired to fight it any more, too tired to even speak his name aloud. “I swear if you die I’m coming after you,” Squall growled, his own eyes closing as a tear curled down his cheek, tumbling onto Seifer’s as he desperately tried to think of something to help his lover.

The remedy… he’d given Seifer a remedy when they’d been at the safe house, in case anything had happened. While the magic wouldn’t be enough to cure Seifer it was enough to bring him back from the brink of death, to alleviate the symptoms of the overdose enough to let Seifer recover. “Seifer, where did you put the remedy?”

“Remedy?” the blond mumbled, one bloodshot green eye flickering open briefly. Why wouldn’t Squall let him sleep? He was so tired, and a little rest wouldn’t hurt.

“I gave it to you the day I healed myself.”

“Oh… hid it,” Seifer gestured wildly, the movement could have been meant to refer to anything as it waved in mid air.

“Where, Seifer?” he sounded desperate. He couldn’t keep the urgency from his voice any more than he could keep Seifer awake, any more than he could keep people from leaving him. This time, he wouldn’t loose Seifer. He would make sure of that.

With a silly sound that was meant to be a laugh but somehow hadn’t come out like that, Seifer motioned towards the bedroom. “’N your bag,” he grinned. He couldn’t remember why he’d put it there. He was sure he’d done it because Squall needed it more than him, but what for…?

“What did you hide it there for? Dumbass,” Squall dropped the phone at Seifer’s side and headed for his bag, searching through it and tossing clothes out to find the small bottle. It was lying on top of the leather dress he’d worn for Seifer the day he’d healed himself. The dress he’d let Seifer fuck him in. He found it somehow amusing that the memory evoked even as he was desperate to save Seifer was one of Seifer saving him.

In the living room, Seifer glowered at his phone and wondered why the screen flickered out every time he tried to press the button to switch it on. Then Squall was back, wearing his usual moody expression, the thoughtful one, where his brow furrowed and he looked downright cute. “Drink,” his lover ordered, bringing an uncapped vial to his mouth. He shoved at the bottle, looking cross, not knowing what Squall was trying to force down his throat and some spilled across his bare chest.

“Almasy, if you don’t fucking drink this of your own accord I’ll make you do it.”

“Always bossing me around…” he accused, trying to lift his head. Squall’s hand was suddenly there, lifting it so he could slide his arm beneath Seifer’s head, then offering the bottle with the same hand to his lips. Unsure of why Squall wasn’t using his right arm, Seifer drank, just so he’d be able to sleep.

The warm glow of the remedy spread through his body, preventing the rapture from moving further and alleviating his symptoms quickly. He felt warmer almost straight away, his shuddering slowing to a more manageable pace and while he still felt exhausted, some of the fuzziness had faded and it felt easier to think.

He reached for his lover, wrapping one arm around Squall’s waist, feeling the cold, sticky, drying blood cling to his skin as he rested the limb around Squall. His Squall. His beautiful injured lover. “Need to sleep. Need to take care of you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this,” the brunet murmured, leaning his forehead to Seifer’s, their scars mated perfectly and his eyes on his lover’s. Slate blue, dark as a summer storm cloud against cool, calm jade green, as vibrant as the sunlight on a blade of grass.

There was a loud bang as the door exploded open, kicked by the heavy boot of a member of the police. “Don’t move!” one of the two officers in the doorway yelled, both of them training guns on the two young men sprawled on the sofa.

“I think we’re saved,” Seifer murmured, rubbing his nose against Squall’s before he slumped against the cushions, too exhausted to stay awake a moment longer.

The last thing he saw before he passed out was the officers arresting his lover, hauling both of his hands behind his back roughly. He saw Squall cry out in pain, saw him try to protect his right shoulder but there was nothing Seifer could do about it but slip into the dark embrace of sleep.

To be continued.

l_ange_hantent – His friends weren’t around. ^_^