On a Sunday

Title: On a Sunday.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Squall
Rating: NC17.
Summary: It all began on a Sunday.
Disclaimer: The characters and places contained herein are not mine and I am making no money from this. They belong to Squareenix.
Beta: With thanks to Race_Ulfson for betaing and help with key areas.

It was on a Sunday when he first noticed the young man who lived in the pub.

Seifer had spent years travelling wherever there was work. No home really to call his own, he spent as much time throughout the year as he could moving from small job to small job, bar to monster nest to construction site, and returned to Raijin and Fujin for the winter.

He kept his head down whenever he saw the familiar black, blue and gold of SeeD uniforms or recognised a face from his days as head of the Disciplinary Committee. Better to injure his pride briefly than spend another week or two in the disciplinary centre at a Garden, find himself tossed into a local police station's cells or wind up in yet another fight. It was almost nice to be able to blend in with the crowd.

Growing his hair until it was long enough to tumble into his eyes and bother him, Seifer watched as his scar faded enough to let him forget who he'd been and how close he'd come to greatness. By the end of the summer the sun bleached his hair and tanned his skin until he barely recognised the figure in the mirror come September. However the dark tan of his skin always made that old scar show up stark and white again, one final reminder of who he had been who he would always be in the eyes of the people who'd fought him, and of that weakness that had controlled his life. One final reminder that he did indeed have a rival - and an equal - somewhere.

He still felt older than he looked but at least he was happy. In spite the hard work, the wandering and that reminder.

It was pure chance that Seifer picked up the job in WinHill. One of those right place right time things where he’d managed to find something that paid well and gave him a guaranteed place to stay and food to eat. When they’d reached WinHill, Seifer had found he liked the quiet air to the little village, even if most of the people tended not to talk to the workers if they could avoid it. He understood that, mostly. They were outsiders, threats to the peace and tranquillity that the little place offered and so long as the builders weren't too loud the locals would warm up to the interlopers soon enough.

The old pub in the village square looked almost deserted by daytime. At night he saw shadows move against the grime and the flickering lights of candle flames dancing in the dirty windows; still, no one came to or went from the somewhat dilapidated building that Seifer ever noticed.

Sunday was the only day off the construction crew took; the owner was in a hurry to have the house they were building finished before winter set in. Late one Sunday afternoon, with the leaves already starting to turn into deep reds, golds and ambers, falling from the trees in a constant snow of colour, Seifer paused as he’d headed for the hotel and watched as a man in tattered jeans and a baggy shirt set about repainting the old window frames of the ancient tavern. The stranger hadn't bothered to mask the glass or the brick; instead he applied the paint carefully with a brush that he cradled in his long, slender fingers.

Seifer wondered if it was possible to be attracted to someone, want someone, purely because of his hands.

Seifer lingered for a while, only leaving when beckoned away by one of the casual friends he’d made on the building site, returning after lunch to watch the man again. With the window frames now glistening, wet with white paint, the stranger had turned his hand to sanding the old shutters down.

Chocolate brown hair pulled back into a pony tail that trailed between his shoulder blades, his shirt sleeves rolled up to bare his pale arms, the young man worked intently at his task, not looking up even once. With every long rasp of the sand paper on the faded wood a little more of his fine hair came loose from the band until he finally relented and pulled it free of his hair.

Only when the stranger was finally beginning to pack up as the light started to fade away did Seifer decide to cross the old cobbles to meet him. He had no idea what to say, or why he wanted to meet the man beside the fact that he had beautiful hands, but still…

When the man straightened and turned to look at him, Seifer’s breath caught in his throat. Familiar blue-grey eyes widened in surprise and pale lips parting to speak but no sound coming from them, Squall Leonhart was just as shocked as Seifer himself was.

Seifer was saved from having to talk himself out of anything when a voice from behind, one of the people he was working with, called to him.

“Nice to see you again, Squirt,” Seifer offered briefly and turned to head for the hotel as fast as his pounding heart would allow. Squall did not speak, and even though his pulse was thundering in his ears, Seifer still heard the quiet click of the door closing behind him.

********



The following Sunday, Seifer returned to the square. He’d spent the whole week on edge, just waiting for an army of SeeD to turn up and arrest him, drag him back to Garden and throw him in the cells. However, he was still in one manly piece by the following Sunday, and a free manly piece at that.

His curiosity dragged him back to the square, to watch the pub for some sign of life in the hope of gaining some explanation for what had happened.

The shutters had been repainted and re-hung, the glass of the windows had been cleaned and now curtains rather than a thick layer of dust and grime shielded the interior from prying eyes. Squall had to be there, had to be working on the house for it to have changed in the comparatively short time that had passed since they’d met the previous week. Besides, he couldn’t really see Squall running away. It just… wasn’t his style.

With a deep breath to steel his nerves, Seifer straightened, ready to stroll over to the building and knock on the door.

Just as Squall opened the door.

Squall always seemed to know instinctively just how to diffuse him in his most masculine moments.

Watching Seifer for a moment, arms folded across his chest in that daring yet patient pose, Squall frowned deeply. Then, as though he’d suddenly decided to be generous, he inclined his head in invitation and disappeared once more into the depths of the building.

With his head held high, Seifer strolled across the cobbled square. He took his time, of course, making sure that Squall knew he was only stealing into the building on his own terms. Inwardly cursing himself for lingering enough for Squall to get the drop on him, he slipped through the door and into the dimly lit bar.

It was empty, save for a few boxes piled in one corner, each labelled in the familiar tiny and completely illegible scrawl, and a couple of old stools that remained at the bar. The air was still faintly stale and musty as though it had lain empty for a long time before Squall had finally made it his home. Dust motes danced and glittered in the air, stirred into movement by Seifer’s passing as he headed for the open kitchen door.

Squall was seated at the kitchen table, an old, well used, pine thing. A battered paperback novel sat at his elbow, pages splayed on the old worn surface, the spine cracked with repeated use. He had a mug in one hand, the bittersweet, earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the room and making the old place seem more like a home somehow.

Seifer wanted to believe that he hadn’t aged, even with the long hair and the change of location, but something in the way Squall held himself, something in his eyes had and that kept Seifer from offering the meagre attempt at an amiable greeting.

It was strange to see Squall not in leather. He looked so incredibly unreal, wearing black jeans and a fading tee-shirt, too normal.

Seifer couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of Squall Leonhart as normal. He didn’t want the younger man to be normal – he wanted his ‘shattering defeat’ attributed to someone almost godlike and unbeatable. Not this innocent looking guy that seemed barely more than a teenager -so long as you didn't look too closely into his eyes- who, when he offered a small smile, made the room seem warmer.

A second coffee cup sat at the other end of the table, and Seifer took the place that had been set for him. “So…” he started, wrapping his fingers around the warm mug and taking a long drink.

“So,” Squall echoed. "What are you doing here?"

"Working on that new house at the end of the village," Seifer replied with a brief shrug. He had no urge to elaborate - not without hearing some of Squall's story first. It was like sparring to talk with Squall Leonhart, he would offer a piece of information for Squall to counter with one of his own until they were bored of each other and moved on to more adventurous pass times.

But then, everything they did was like sparring sooner or later.

"How about you?" he asked, setting the mug back on the table. "What are you doing in a little place like this?”

Squall frowned thoughtfully, pushing the chair back with the hollow scrape of wood on the stone floor. “I’ve been here a few weeks. Just trying to get this place in shape now,” Squall replied, refilling his cup from the pot waiting on the side. “I’m… retired, I guess.”

Seifer was taken aback by his forthright tone. He’d not expected the honesty any more than he’d expected to hear the words. “You’re not old enough to retire. You’re… what? Twenty five?”

With a single nod, Squall turned to lean against the kitchen counter. He managed to fool even Seifer for a minute, his elbows resting on the counter in an attempt to look relaxed but Seifer saw through the façade too quickly. Squall was restless, nervous. His eyes darted to the door every few minutes, wary and worried. Something had changed him into this skittish little warrior and it sickened Seifer.

Too soon the day ended with so many questions remaining unasked or unanswered. Seifer was cautious not to ask whether he could visit again, instead turning up the following week and waiting to be invited in. Squall always let him in with the same gentle inline of his head. One week, the door was already waiting for him, wide open.

Somehow, Seifer wound up helping Squall repair the place in the hours he was supposed to spend resting. It helped to pass the time when they were silent.

Eventually they ran out of things to do and Seifer discovered, to his fascination, that he could make Squall laugh now. He'd gained Squall's trust without even trying. He'd found a way into the ice guarded hidden heart of the boy from the orphanage.

He enjoyed those moments that they shared, remembering old times and jokes, even if he knew it couldn’t last.

********

And three weeks later, again on a Sunday, Squall surprised him.

They'd spent the day re-varnishing the wooden rail that stretched up the open staircase and then engaged in a little light hand to hand sparring. Seifer was ashamed to admit tat he was enjoying any excuse to touch Squall that he could find and any excuse to watch Squall work, his slender fingers moving with incredible skill and deftness over the wood. The evening rounded up with a few beers upstairs on the new leather couch and a relaxed discussion about old times, old friends and what had become of them.

He still didn't know why Squall was holding off on using his gunblade - it was there, Seifer had seen it and he was well aware that the case was moving around every time he visited - or why Squall was there and it still seemed wrong to ask. So Seifer waited. There were still several weeks before he had to say his goodbyes; time enough for Squall to come to trust him enough to talk about that. Though, he did talk a lot more than he had as the moody teenager.

Now Squall’s hair was past his shoulder blades and his smiles came easier as he relaxed into the civilian way of life, and the old attraction Seifer had felt for the younger man while they'd been teenagers seemed to be returning in spades.

Squall cooked, a winter stew that they ate back to back on the couch with fresh bread and the sound of an October rainstorm pattering against the windows for company.

Seifer could feel something coming. Even as the fire was beginning to burn low in the hearth, before he finally decided it would be best to brave the lousy night and return to the room paid for by the company. He wasn't sure what it was, or how he knew, but when Seifer rose from the comfortable nest of sofa cushions and the warmth of the throw that never seemed content to stay where it belonged over the back of the couch for more than five minutes, he was beginning to wonder if he'd imagined it.

"What time is it?" Squall asked, roused from his thoughts or the light doze he'd managed to disguise by the movement. His hand fumbled for the stereo remote, silencing the music, some soft, understated movie sound track Squall had put on so they would have something to listen to besides the rain.

The rain had just seemed to grow louder and had drowned it out all the more determinedly.

"It's after midnight," Seifer replied, throwing a glance at his watch. Who'd have ever thought he could spend a full day with Squall Leonhart and not wind up fighting with him? Even now, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, the concept seemed utterly alien to Seifer and he wondered briefly if it were a sign one of them were coming down with something. "Get your ass in bed, Squirt, I'll see my self out."

He watched as Squall stretched, rubbing the heel of his hand over one eye before allowing his body to go slack again. "No, I need to lock up for the night. I'll see you out."

With a shrug, and a chuckle, Seifer headed for the stairs. "Only you would lock up around here, Leonhart. I don't think anyone has heard of breaking and entering in this village."

"It makes me feel safer."

Seifer paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder at Squall. He couldn't imagine not feeling safe and sound in the sleepy little village. It was so quiet and calm that Seifer half believed he could sleep naked in the village square and wake up perfectly fine, if a bit sunburned. "You always were a little weird, Squirt. Come and lock up then."

Squall rolled to his feet, hiding a yawn and followed Seifer downstairs to the front door of the former pub. His hair was mussed from their earlier sparring and a brief, playful but impromptu wrestling session that had come about when Seifer had chosen to tease him about being able to cook.

Outside the rain fell in constant sheets along the street and the cobbles shone in the light from the open doorway. It was a lousy night and Seifer was not looking forward to the run back to the hotel.

"You could stay, save walking back in this rain," Squall said, his arms folded across his body, his hands rubbing his bare arms for warmth.

"Nah, better get back or I won't be able to get up for work... I'll see you in the week,Squirt."

In the moment that Seifer turned to leave, everything changed. Squall's slender fingers wrapped around Seifer's wrist and pulled him back briefly. Squall's strength held him in place and Squall's lips found his.

It was a soft kiss. Incredibly shy and cautious and not like he would have imagined a kiss from Squall to be at all. It ended just as he was getting over the surprise at Squall Leonhart kissing him. Squall let go of him and Seifer stepped back into the rain.

"Night, Seifer," Squall said as he closed the door.

Seifer ran for the hotel where the builders had all been given rooms for the duration of their stay, the bitterly cold rain running under the collar of his jacket and soaking his shirt quickly.

He'd go back, when he'd had time to think and figure out what to do. He'd kiss Squall and demand an explanation.

Seifer would have sworn Squall was straight as an arrow. Even if he didn't look it. Having a thing for someone and being resigned to the fact it would never be returned was an entirely different thing to knowing that the someone cared for you in return.

The next time he saw Squall Leonhart, he would return that kiss.

********

The following Sunday, Seifer hammered on Squall’s door. It was barely light, he was still angry at the sudden kiss that had been given to him with no recourse and after a week to brood on it, he was ready for anything Squall could throw at him.

Everything… except how Squall Leonhart looked when he first woke up. Wearing only a pair of loose drawstring pants and still yawning, he completely disarmed Seifer’s anger. His brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail that peeked over his shoulder, Squall looked as though he literally had just rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, letting his hands fall away again to rest at his sides. “Get it over with before the coffee’s ready.”

Seifer got it over with. Cupping Squall’s face with both hands he pressed a soft kiss to the younger man’s lips, just a short sweet kiss. “What, did you think I was going to hit you?” he grinned.

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

Silencing any further protestations with a deeper kiss, Seifer pushed Squall back off his doorstep and into the privacy of the former bar. This time he was in control, and he planned on spending the whole day showing Squall just how good a kiss could be.

********

It was on a Sunday that Seifer came to say his goodbyes.

By now it was Halloween, and jack o lanterns grinned and grimaced from every doorstep of the tiny village. Even Squall's home hadn't escaped the invasion of vegetables and one a neighbour’s boy had carved sat outside his front door glowering at anyone who approached almost as effectively as its owner.

With the job over and done with, and the house finally completed, Seifer had no reason to stay. When he'd set out for Squall's home that morning Seifer had been convinced of that. However, seeing Squall standing in the kitchen wearing a sweater pulled out of shape and size by a couple of years of careless use, faded to the same colour as his dark eyes, seeing the sunlight catching his hair, Seifer realized he'd lost any chance of leaving with the second kiss they'd shared.

The day outside was bitterly cold, despite the bright sunshine. The trees were almost bare skeletons, a world apart from the lush green, heavy with the last crop of fruit he'd seen when he'd first arrived in late August. There was already a touch of frost in the air at night and the winter would be only a matter of days away. Seifer almost shuddered at the thought.

With the sweater arm long enough to cover his knuckles while he stirred the hot drink, Squall looked as though he were trying to hide in the oversized piece of clothing. He must have suspected what was happening the moment Seifer walked through the door with that heavy duffle bag on his back. He didn't say a word, simply watched Seifer with a disinterested air.

"So... I'm leavin', Squall. Job's done, nothing to keep me here," he said even though a voice inside him was screaming 'ask me to stay!'

The spoon suddenly stopped. The absence of the sound of stainless steel on china left the kitchen feeling hollow and empty again, too quiet for their own good. Of course Squall wouldn't bother with the radio when it came to menial tasks, why try when you'd block the music completely to focus on the little domestic task? Seifer hated the silence.

"It was... nice seeing you again Seifer," Squall said as he turned to face the older man slowly. The old mask was firmly in place but it couldn't hide the touch of fondness in his eyes. "Come back and visit me, if you can."

Turning his back on Squall, Seifer headed for the doorway. If Squall was determined to make him take the first step, he would. Damn him.

Seifer let the bag crash to the floor and, staring straight ahead, sighed defeatedly. He wouldn't look at Squall, not when he was offering this single chance, not when he was daring to try and push whatever was between them to a higher level. He didn’t want to see the expression on Squall’s face when he said no. "I think I missed my bus."

"Oh," Squall said. Even his forced nonchalance couldn't prevent him from taking a step towards Seifer. "Well, then... you'd better stay."

He hadn’t said no.

Seifer swept across the kitchen without a second thought, pulling Squall into his arms before the younger man had a chance to dodge him. He held Squall tightly for a moment, his cheek pressed to Squall's messy hair and one hand cupping the back of his head to hold him there until Squall's arms slid around his waist and squeezed. "What am I stayin' as? A lodger or a lover?"

There was no verbal answer. Instead, Squall lifted his head slowly, his dark eyes flickering to Seifer's lips for a moment before he rose to steal a kiss.

Seifer could have quite happily died for that kiss.Squall coaxed his mouth open gently to slide his tongue against Seifer's, filling his mouth as his fingers kneaded at the small of Seifer’s back. Squall stole Seifer’s breath away as efficiently as he did everything else and Seifer believed for a moment that if it hadn't been for Squall holding him up he might have slumped to the floor, his legs turned to jelly by that one, quick kiss.

"So... lodger then?" he grinned, breathlessly when finally released. The question coaxed a chuckle from Squall. That single kiss had managed to dispell all of Seifer's fears enough to give him the chance to joke but in the same breath it had given him a whole new set of fears.

He wouldn't rush this, he decided. Squall deserved respect, and he wasn't ready to risk whatever was beginning between them for a quick fumble. He’d sort the other stuff out first.

"You know my coffee's getting cold, right?"

"Stop whining, Squirt, you're spoiling the moment."

Squall squeezed Seifer tightly again, just for a moment, and manoeuvred carefully out of his embrace. "Go dump your bag upstairs, I'll bring this up," he offered.

Almost bounding off, walking on air as he carried the heavy bag upstairs to the lounge, Seifer found himself grinning like a loon. He wondered for a moment whether he should venture into the bedroom and dump the bag there but he held back, instead settling it beside the sofa and shrugging out of his heavy coat.

Lionheart was sat on the small coffee table that stretched out in front of the sofa, its hard case sitting open and a small vial of gun oil and rag beside it. He'd managed to arrive early enough to catch Squall acknowledging the presence of the master weapon again. There were scars running along the length of the adamantine blue blade that no amount of polishing would be able to lift from the surface.

"Sorry, I didn't expect you this early," Squall startled Seifer from his thoughts as he set the mugs of steaming hot coffee down beside the black case. His pale hand closed the lid carefully with a soft click, flicking the latches into place before he moved the case into the corner.

Slumping onto the sofa with coffee in hand, Seifer eyed Squall curiously. "I..."

"The scratches came from an Odine brand weapon. Stronger than anything I've seen, before or since," Squall offered as he sat beside Seifer. He took one quick swig of the scalding hot liquid and sat back, staring down at his folded hands in silence.

"Wasn't gonna ask that," Seifer said, sliding one hand over Squall's folded ones to squeeze them. "Just wondered if you were ever gonna tell me why you ended up leaving Balamb Garden."

"Oh..."

Squall remained silent for a while, long enough for Seifer to decide he wasn’t going to hear anything about the subject and huff several times. He settled himself back on the sofa, drinking and wondering just what he was letting himself in for by staying, or what he’d let himself in for by falling for Squall.

“One too many bad missions. They sent me away to recover, and when I was finally good enough to return to my duties… I didn’t want to go back so I quit,” Squall said at last, his eyes staring forward into nothingness. The cool tone to his voice was not nonchalance, but practiced indifference and apathy. Seifer didn’t like the sound of Squall’s voice. He knew there was something deeper, darker to Squall’s words. Someday he’d get the truth.

Leaning forward just long enough to set his mug down, Seifer turned to look Squall in the eye. “So, what now?”

“I don’t know,” Squall replied honestly. He offered his arm to Seifer cautiously – wary of doing too much too soon simply because things were changing again and he didn’t know where his boundaries were. Seifer took the invitation just as carefully as it had been offered, stretching out along the sofa so he could rest his cheek against Squall’s shoulder, letting him be the one to do the holding for the moment. “We just carry on like we have every Sunday since we saw each other, I guess.”

Seifer smiled, closing his eyes. “So we drink coffee, fix something and make out on the couch til it gets dark. Sounds good to me.”

It sounded good to Squall too.

********

The first night he slept in the same bed as Squall, he dreamt of D-District. He'd still not found the words to apologise for that and he wasn't sure if he ever would. The nightmare tore him from his slumber and left him in a cold sweat.

When he reached for Squall, the brunet was already gone. He hadn't gone far, though. Seifer found him sleeping on the sofa, a blanket pulled around his shoulders. Every night after that, Squall would still disappear somewhere between the hours of midnight and two, move to the sofa and more often than not, wake up before Seifer did.

The days were growing ever shorter and the weather worse with every passing day. Rainstorms lashed the small village, and it showed no sing of letting up before the holidays. Seifer had already contacted his friends saying that he’d be coming to visit but only staying for a couple of weeks, he just had to find some way of breaking it to Squall.

The fact that his… lover of sorts hadn’t laid a finger on him worried him. The fact that Squall was running off every night to sleep on the couch worried him even more.

Time to face his problems. Seifer had to speak with Squall about both his visit to his friends and the way he left every night. Finally he managed to stay awake, staring into the darkness and getting himself more and more worked up, until Squall woke beside him with a short gasp, and crawled out of bed.

Seifer waited until he got to the door to speak. “Where you going, Squirt?”

In the darkness, Seifer couldn’t see Squall’s expression. He heard the hitch of breath and the doorknob stop turning. “I… was going to get a drink.”

“Baby,” Seifer began, sitting up and reaching to the lamp on the bedside table to switch it on. “Don’t lie to me.”

Squall paused, caught between the urge to run and the need for comfort. Finally his hand slipped off the doorknob and he returned to the bed, climbing back into the warmth that the covers afforded them. “It was just a bad dream. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“The same bad dream you’ve been having every night since I came here?”

Seifer felt the barest flinch. Squall closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself. He shivered briefly and curled deeper into the nest of sheets and blankets that they shared. “Yes,” he said softly, his voice was only a shadow of itself; a faint attempt at speech that was simply wrong coming from the beautiful, strong young man.

Sighing, Seifer tucked the blankets tighter around his lover. “Is it me?” he asked, brushing his fingers along the delicate line of Squall’s jaw, rubbing his thumb over Squall’s lower lip. The thought that it could be him – a very real suspicion since, after all, he’d given Squall enough trouble for a lifetime of nightmares – made Seifer feel sick to his stomach. “Is it the war? If it is, I can go.”

“No. It’s not you. Hyne, Seifer. I keep dreaming… that I’m killing you. That I’ve killed you and this is the dream.”

Seifer switched the lamp off once more, allowing darkenss to flow back into the room, and pulled Squall into his arms. “Baby, even now you couldn’t kill me. And I’ll be happy to pinch you if you want me to prove it isn’t a dream.”

Squall was so tense in his arms that Seifer feared holding him any tighter would make him snap like a brittle twig. “I keep dreaming I’m waking up next to your corpse. It’s… I have to sleep on the couch so I don’t keep dreaming it.”

“Baby, I’m not dead,” Seifer growled, forcing Squall’s chin up to look at him. “I didn’t have a crush on a wimp who couldn’t take a few bad dreams – you’re better than this.”

His answer was a very sad smile that Seifer could barely see in the dimness. Though he didn’t speak again, Seifer half knew that Squall didn’t agree, and that he wouldn’t agree until he’d worked through whatever mental shit that was confusing him this time. Whichever way it was, Squall would need time.

“Listen… I need to go see my ol’ posse before the winter really takes hold up there. Either you can come with me as my lover, or you can stay here and work through this. I don’t care which and you know wild chocobo wouldn’t be able to keep me from coming back,” Seifer rested his forehead to Squall’s, their scars mated. Blood for blood, life for life, now Squall was his Seifer was sure as hell he’d never let the little bastard go, especially not to some stupid dreams that didn’t make any sense anyway. “But I do need to see them. And you need to work this out.”

“I…” Squall shook his head, dismissing whatever thought had crossed his mind. “No. I need to work it out. Like you said.”

“You’re admitting I’m right?” Seifer asked, pulling Squall to him in a bear hug.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Chuckling softly, Seifer realised he could feel Squall’s smile against his bare shoulder. At least there was a chance that Squall would manage to work through his shit and come up with the right answer. And if he didn’t, then it would be up to Seifer to shake him up a little and see how long it took him to come up with that right answer.

********

Two weeks he’d been planning to spend with Raijin and Fujin. Two whole weeks.

He hadn’t even lasted seven days. He’d ended up hitchhiking – Seifer hated hitchhiking, he always got caught in the rain and tonight was definitely no different to the norm – and by the time he finally reached WinHill, it was eleven and he was sure Squall would be in bed.

The truck had dropped him around a mile from the village before carrying on south. And just as it had gotten out of sight… the heavens had opened. Seifer had bitched the whole way to WinHill, cursing his choice to wear jeans with every step.

When the pub finally swam into view through the downpour, Seifer found himself smiling. All the pent up frustration, all the unease that had been his constant companion over the previous days were being washed away by the rain and, even though he was still bitching at the weather, he didn’t care so much anymore.

He banged on the door when he reached it, in the fragile hope that maybe Squall would be awake or at least sleeping lightly enough to hear him. Really he was surprised when the window overhead opened immediately and Squall leant out to eye him.

“Hey Juliet,” Seifer grinned up at the younger man. “You gonna let me in?”

Squall tipped his head thoughtfully. “I suppose so. It’s unlocked, leave your boots and coat downstairs.”

Then he disappeared inside again, closing the window with a soft clunk as the wooden frame hit home. Seifer darted inside as quickly as he could, absently wondering why Squall was awake and why the door was open as he began to peel his sopping clothes off and hang them on the back of it. Not just his coat, but his sweater and jeans as well, too heavy and waterlogged to attempt to move another step in.

“Fujin called,” Squall said. He’d appeared at the top of the stairs when Seifer had been struggling with the wet woollen monster that was the sweater he’d been wearing. Squall was looking a damn sight better than Seifer felt, it’d be just his luck to come down with a cold after finally making it home.

“How’d she know to call you?” Seifer asked, taking two steps towards Squall before deciding to shed his socks as well. He hated squishing when he walked.

“You left your phone there, Idiot. She guessed who you were… mooning over, I think she said, when you only had six names on the list and two were mine. She’s going to send it on,” he paused for a moment, standing hip shot and smiling faintly. “You should have called, Dumbass,” the younger man rolled his eyes and beckoned Seifer up the stairs. Clad in only those now familiar drawstring pants and holding a towel, he looked like a million gil.

Then he threw the towel at Seifer. “I thought I’d lost it! …If it has porn on it when it gets here, I didn’t do it.”

With a small smile, Squall descended a few steps. “Just so long as none of them are me, I’ll believe you.”

Scrubbing at his hair, Seifer grinned. “I wouldn’t do that to you. All my Squall porn is on the camera in my dresser drawer.”

“Ha.”

Drying himself as quickly as he could manage, Seifer climbed the stairs until he was standing on the very next step down from Squall, looking up into his eyes. It was strange to see him from this angle – he was so very used to looking down into those beautiful eyes that he’d never wondered what a different perspective would bring. From this angle, they were darker, dizzyingly intense. “I know I said I’d be away for a couple of weeks, Squall, and you said you were going to work stuff out. Am I back too soon? How’ve you been sleeping?”

Pausing for a moment, Squall shook his head. “No. I’m glad you’re back,” he smiled, looping an arm around Seifer’s shoulders gently. His skin was so warm when Seifer embraced him that he wanted to tighten his arms around the lithe form and cling to Squall. “Come upstairs, you’re shaking.”

“It’s cold out there. And wet. And I’m tired, but not tired enough to notice that you didn’t answer the whole question.”

“…If anything, it got worse after you left. Every time I woke up without you there I wondered if I had killed you,” the younger man admitted in a soft voice, nosing against the damp strands of Seifer’s hair that stuck to his forehead. “If things don’t get better I’ll see someone.”

Seifer remained silent for a little while. If Squall was willing to actually do something about these dreams, then they had to be worse than he’d suspected. “Okay,” he nodded at last. Then he finally kissed Squall – a soft, tender kiss that made his knees feel weak. Squall felt perfect in his arms, and coming home… when had he started thinking of Squall’s place as home? Coming home even after just a single week away felt incredible. “Let’s move before I start turning blue.”

Squall smiled, backing up the stairs. His hands never left Seifer, like fire on Seifer’s chilled skin, until they finally reached the couch. The blankets from the bed and half the pillows besides were balled up on the cushions, barely feet from the phone. A fire burned in the fireplace, the logs crackling quietly as they were consumed.

“You were sleeping in here?” Seifer asked, unravelling the tangle of bedclothes and crawling under. The room upstairs felt warmer, but the appeal of getting horizontal with his lover right now was what inspired the idea of sleeping on the couch. Moving the blankets seemed like entirely too much effort when he was already tired.

“I was going to tonight. In case you called,” Squall nodded at the phone as though he were trying to prove it.

Seifer tugged Squall down into the mess of blankets after him, clinging to him as tightly as he could. “Did you miss me?” Seifer asked at last, his curiosity getting the better of him at last.

Stretching out over his lover, and resting his head on Seifer’s shoulder. Even just holding him again made those almost seven days worth it. “You really have to ask?” Squall murmured, his voice muffled against Seifer’s bare shoulder.

“In the hope that some day you’ll stroke my ego.”

Squall gave Seifer one of his patented ‘you’re an idiot’ looks. “I missed you, Seifer. Don’t go running off again for a while, okay?” he tipped his head until that long, pretty hair fell away from his eyes again.

“Not planning on it, Squirt,” Seifer said, running his fingers through the soft brown strands of Squall’s hair slowly. He felt himself smile without meaning to, just because he could touch Squall’s hair again. It was stupid and small and gave him the greatest comfort he could imagine just from such a simple gesture. “I say we stay here tonight. I’m comfortable, you’re warm and it’s closer to the coffee maker for in the morning.”

“Sounds good. …You didn’t tell Fujin who you were staying with. Why?”

“For a start, I didn’t know if you were 'out'. And, let’s be honest, Squirt, neither of us are gossips,” he replied, tracing his thumb over Squall's cheek gently. Somehow Seifer's hands looked and felt big and clumsy whenever he touched Squall's face; that was the reason he was always so careful and gentle when he touched Squall's perfect features. Seifer was good with his hands, he had to be to pick up the jobs that had kept him going from week to week, but Squall somehow managed to strip all that away from him in a heart beat. "I figured we could tell her next time I visited."

Looking thoughtful for a moment, Squall finally shrugged as though it didn't matter. "Okay," he said simply adding almost as an afterthought, "do you want to sleep with me?"

That had been the last thing Seifer had expected from Squall's mouth. It took a minute to play that through in his head just to be sure he hadn't misheard. "You're asking if I want to have sex with you, right? Not sleep as in eight hours horizontal with our eyes closed."

Squall nodded. "Yeah.”

If Seifer was honest with himself, he had never thought that when it finally came to taking the next step in the remarkably comfortable and really rather good relationship developing between them that Squall would be the one to suggest it. He was a romantic at heart; he’d imagined something happening after an evening of wining and dining Squall or the like, not that Squall would ever let him do that without at least teasing him first. “Yes, Squall,” he said finally, pressing his lips to his lover’s in a gentle, longing filled kiss. “I want to sleep with you. Wanted to the day I saw you painting those damn window frames.”

With a soft laugh, Squall snuck out from the nest of covers they shared. It was good to see him smile again as well – Seifer missed that smile during the hours of darkness when the threat of whatever nightmares were troubling pressed down on them again.

“Where you going?” Seifer asked, catching Squall’s hand carefully but not letting go.

Squall lifted Seifer’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “We need lubricant, if we’re going to have sex. You do know how this works, right?”

Of course he knew how it worked. He’d had a few lovers, he’d had… practice over the years but Squall’s suggestion left him feeling off balance, horny and at least a little lost. Everything seemed to fade away and he was an inexperienced teenager again despite his earnest desire to be cool and suave for Squall. “Yeah, I know. Just give me a minute to get over the insane jealousy that you know how this works.”

With another soft sound of mirth, Squall stood and headed for the bathroom. Seifer did indeed feel jealous – Squall was his. Now and even before he’d been around to keep the younger man occupied, and the thought of anyone else touching him made Seifer see red. It was an overbearing and overzealous reaction but he simply couldn’t help it.

When Squall returned, he was naked. He’d seen Squall naked before, but…

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Squall asked, flicking off the light switch, leaving the room in the semi darkness. Only the light from the fire and the gentle starlight that peeked through the rain clouds remained.

Because you’re beautiful. Because I want you. Because I love you. Seifer would have answered anything if he could have formed the words. Instead he just shook his head and beckoned Squall closer. “Tell you later,” he croaked.

Shaking his head, Squall smiled. “Let me in.”

Seifer lifted the covers carefully, making room for his lover again. “So…”

Kissing his lover, silencing any further protestations from him, Squall traced his hand over Seifer’s firm, flat belly. His fingers dipped just beneath the edge of Seifer’s boxers, barely touching but still making Seifer shiver. He really was feeling like a teenager, like this was the first time anyone else had touched him and he was sure that Squall would make him come before they even managed to get anywhere.

“Let me touch you,” Seifer whispered, tracing his fingertips along Squall’s chin and down his throat.

Rolling his eyes, Squall straddled Seifer’s hips. “You already are,” he pointed out.

Wrapping his fingers around the hard length of Squall’s sex and stroking him lightly, Seifer almost chuckled. “You know what I mean, Squall,” he murmured, watching the younger man with a sly smile.

Squall shivered. He kept very still when Seifer’s hand was on him, his eyes half closed and his breath already beginning to come in quick little gasps of pleasure. Still it felt strange to watch him, the wild eyed young man who had stolen away Seifer’s thoughts and breath on more than one occasion; ever cool and controlled yet beginning to flush with excitement.

Pressing the bottle he’d collected from the bathroom into Seifer’s free hand, Squall gave him a look that was all hunger and need. “Is this real?” he asked softly. “You’re not a dream?”

“I never thought I’d hear you call me a dream, Squall,” the elder man beckoned his lover down into a kiss, coaxing his lips apart to taste his tongue as he pushed one slick finger into the tight heat of Squall’s body. And for a moment he too wondered if he were lost in a dream, lost in the warmth of his lover’s skin, mouth and body as it yielded to his finger. “I’m no dream, baby,” he whispered, hoarse against Squall’s lips. “I’m real, this is real.”

“Real,” Squall echoed, his voice hitching as Seifer pushed a second finger into him. The movements were measured and slow, a world apart from the desperation he was feeling but Seifer could have waited a thousand years to be able to do just this.

“Yeah, baby,” he pressed a kiss to the corner of Squall’s mouth and smiled. “Believe me yet?”

Smiling wickedly, his eyes closed and his thick lashes so dark against the pale skin of his cheeks that Seifer couldn’t look away, Squall shrugged and rolled his hips. “Ask me when you’re inside me.”

Taking the husky whisper as a challenge, Seifer prepared Squall’s body as languidly as he could. The blankets slid away as the brunet writhed on his fingers, his hard cock rubbing against the flat of Seifer’s belly until he was gasping for more, for release.

With a distinct lack of grace, Seifer managed to slide the boxers off and kick them away under the blankets. He couldn’t help a whimper as he rubbed the length of his cock along the slick cleft of Squall’s ass, almost trembling with the effort it took to hold back. He didn’t say another word as he finally positioned himself and began to push into the tight heat of his lover’s body, rocking his hips to drive himself deeper, little by little.

“Believe me now?” Seifer asked again. His voice was strained, his fingers flexing lightly on Squall’s hips. Though he wanted to remain still, he couldn’t help but roll his hips slowly just to feel the friction and the way Squall’s body moved around him. Heaven. Unreal.

Squall’s only response was a groan of pleasure, leaning down against Seifer as he moved slowly. His lips trailed along Seifer’s collar bone restlessly, the soft waves of his hair flicking along the tanned skin of Seifer’s chest. As he moved, the sheets slipped away, tumbling just out of reach.

The warm light from the fire caught along the soft lines of Squall’s body – the curve of his ass, the graceful arc of his spine, the lines of his thigh – and Seifer just couldn’t resist touching him, stroking him. Just to be able to feel the silky skin and toned muscles under his hand. He let Squall be the one to move at first, taking his pleasure with long slow movements, interspersed with quick little thrusts. How long it had been since Squall had had a lover, Seifer didn’t know but the desire and need to wipe away every memory, everything that had gone before was foremost in his mind.

Once, when he’d been younger and much less comfortable, he’d wanted to own Squall. He’d wanted that annoyingly quiet boy to belong to him body and soul.

Now he simply wanted Squall’s heart. Maybe this was his real romantic dream.

Seifer began to thrust into Squall every time he pushed back onto Seifer’s cock, his fingertips moving in soothing circles at the small of Squall’s back. Wrapping his free arm around Squall, he coaxed the brunet into remaining still as he thrust into him over and over, listening to the hitch in Squall’s breath every time he pushed inside the tight heat of his body.

And Squall made the most delicious sounds as he ground his hard cock against Seifer’s belly – soft whimpers, longing moans and the tender, needy little whispers of Seifer’s name that had Seifer’s head swimming with more pleasure than even fucking Squall in the long even strokes bought him.

All too soon, Squall came between them with a strangled cry of pleasure, shuddering in Seifer’s arms. And Seifer followed him, gasping Squall’s name into his hair and holding him as tightly as he could.

When the colour returned to the world and Seifer remembered how to breathe, he couldn’t help grinning. Squall was the one to move first, easing himself away from Seifer just far enough to slide free of Seifer’s cock. He pulled the blankets back up before cuddling against Seifer, resting his head on his lover’s shoulder sleepily.

“So… That wasn’t your first time, hm?” Seifer asked cautiously, tucking the blankets in carefully around Squall and kissing his forehead.

“No,” Squall shook his head. He wore a sleepy smile, his fingers tracing the edges of Seifer’s old choker with slow, lazy movements. “But… it was the first time it really meant something. If that makes sense.”

The honesty to Squall’s softly spoken words took Seifer by surprise, and touched him in a way he couldn’t have imagined. It wasn’t a confession of love, not a trite offering that was thrown around as casually as the time of day, it was real. It was honest.

It was enough to have Seifer hooked.

He loved Squall. Deeply and completely even though it had only been a matter of weeks and he was still exploring all the facets of the quiet young man’s personality that he’d never had time for before, that he’d never have imagined existed back in Garden. It was too soon to tell him that, Seifer knew, but he wasn’t sure how long he could hold out. Even if those three little words were trite and entirely too commonplace, Squall needed to hear them from someone who meant it. “It does, baby,” he whispered, squeezing Squall tightly as though he needed to prove just how much sense it did make. “I feel the same.”

It was another hollow offering but Seifer didn’t know how to put words to what he was feeling, how to explain it to Squall.

“Get some sleep,” the younger man ordered, his eyes flickering closed as he yawned. “We can try something else in the morning.”

Seifer didn’t answer. There was no point – in a matter of minutes Squall was fast asleep and Seifer wasn’t far from it himself. Between the warmth, the comfort of Squall’s body and the closeness that they’d shared after the long walk in the rain was sapping his strength, even if he wanted to watch Squall sleep for a while.

“I love you. I really love you,” he whispered to the sleeping figure in his arms as the clock that hung over the fire softly chimed midnight. A new day. “And when I think you’ll believe me, I’m going to tell you that.”

A new chapter in his life had begun, and it had been on a Sunday.