All the typical things that Squall associated with a bad day were occurring as frequently, and as methodically as a pendulum’s swing. He could almost sense some kind of invisible tally of the many annoyances clasping his every being at the moment.
Selphie and the Garden Festival committee were once more pestering him for plans on how to make it “the best year ever!” The spunky, and disgustingly happy young-woman had already interrupted him on half a dozen occasions that day, and the thought of such continued conversations seemed to be a looming threat.
“Squall! Why don’t you want to help? You’re such a stick in the mud!” Squall would have thought that the paucity of the members of her committee would have hinted at how little interest people put in the arrangement each year, but an endless streak of cheerfulness (and endorphins) seemed to have her in a kind of comatose state of never-ending glee.
To add to his list of daily chores, he needed to help design a menu for the cafeteria not consisting of hot dogs since Balamb had to delay their shipment.
He needed to find three additional trainers for the SeeD forces due to the fact that he had been left with a small pile resignation letters after what he believed to have been an efficient budget reconstruction.
And to top it all off, he was responsible for the demeaning task of writing up the next few day’s announcements.
In front of him were several blank note cards, begging for something to be written on them, but the incessant tapping of a leaking fountain pen was all Squall had to offer.
Releasing a deep sigh, the brunette reclined in his chair and rested his weary feet on the desk. A lack of motivation seemed to be wiping itself all over him, and the fact that he had not gotten anything accomplished the entire morning only deepened his annoyance.
Was procrastination really a reason for why he was so moody?
He had been called a jerk, asshole, fucker, chicken, stick-in-the-mud, grouch, and almost every incarnation of “moody” he could imagine. It didn’t help one bit that all of these comments came from people that knew him the best.
Maybe being insouciant had its advantages… He certainly would be able to fill the announcements with more interesting things than a melancholy drone pronouncing the lack of school spirit; it didn’t seem to help when the one lacking in said spirit was the orator.
It’s not like he could be totally blamed for such outbursts, or lack thereof; he had suffered enough invectives from the hands of people in the garden. He personally felt like it was some unwritten rule that his moodiness should be tolerated like an unspoken rule.
“Don’t worry about Squall now, that stick up his ass was planted by all of us, and we’ve got no right pulling it out now.”
He could hear the conversations now, if only he could find a way to verbally abuse his colleagues and students without giving them an opportunity (or right) to retaliate, or try to rectify his mood.
But if Squall was the lion with the thorn (or above-mentioned stick) in his paw, then there were certain Christians who were content to pull, and then jab it back into its original area of intent.
Christian would actually fit the boy very nicely as a physical determiner. Blonde, blue-eyed, with an utterly fake and wholesome-esque smile anyone could swear belonged on someone who hadn’t broken the law. Seifer had been the main antagonist of Squall since they were strong enough to hit each other with rocks.
The raw energy they could manipulate and create from un-studious remarks to each other was rivaled only by the energy created during such other activities.
Now Squall wasn’t the type to simply dibble and dabble with people like toys, but situations were different at the garden. Seifer had given (and received) a scar, an unruly and completely irritating reminder that the two of them had some kind of past together.
One could imagine they’d appear old and gray at a reunion, and the onlookers and spectators of the crowd would still be pointing and whispering about the exchange they had had years ago.
Squall rubbed the pinkish mark on his face from the beginning of the scarred flesh to other end, smirking that such a brand was not unique to him. A quick slash of a gunblade and the two had forever retroactively assured that they were the two that had injured each other on the battlefield.
Squall rubbed the left side of his stomach, feeling another scar, delivered by the same pompous blowhard, but in situations that had left an even greater unsavory flavour in his mouth.
The boy said he could still taste the enigmatic scars that he had left upon Squall, but the second of which was imprinted upon him with less hostility, but with equal, if not greater emotion.
The buzzer on Squall’s desk glowed red and emitted a hissing “buzz” sound. As the onomatopoeia registered to him, Squall put his feet back on the ground and pushed himself closer to his desk.
His long fingers pressed the reply button. “Yes?”
“There’s someone to see you. Should I send him up?”
More trouble… Well, if he had to face whoever these people were, at least he could use their meetings as an excuse for his further sloth. “Sure.”
Another buzzer sounded and he could hear the smooth mechanical clinks and clangs, showing that his office door was now open.
And in strolled the very muse upon which he had been placing such lugubrious effort. Not only were his steps surprisingly uneven, he was soaking his entire carpet.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Squall rose from his desk and circled to meet the man head on as he moved deeper into his office. He crossed his arms, trying to hide the faintest snicker of amusement from the brooding man in front of him.
Seifer secured the towel around his waist, tucking the edges of the dark green fabric into itself, preventing any further showing of parts of his body usually left for private viewing. “Leonhart, can’t you run this Garden correctly?” His scratched a spot not visible to Squall on his back, and tapped his foot, waiting for Squall to take the next move.
Feeling the weight of yet another encumbrance, the brunette sat down on one of the thick leather chairs in his office and frowned. “What do you mean Seifer?” He was actually somewhat interested in seeing what would bring a pride-stricken man like Seifer into his office, dripping and still covered in a soapy lather.
“Well what I mean is that it’s probably your responsibility to make sure that the showers work properly.” Seifer seemed exasperated and he crossed his arms across his chest, but not doing the same for his lower limbs, leaving particular parts of his anatomy bare.
Squall became as stiff as steel, and peered beyond the other man’s head, desperately trying not to lose his focus. Don’t even think of that… The brunette squirmed in his chair. “Well, is there something wrong with the water?”
“Well I’d say so.” Seifer finally bridged the gap in the towel, though Squall was unsure as to whether he had noticed Squall’s subtle panic or he just became aware of the air-conditioned office. He continued. “I had just done some exercises in the training center, and I went in the showers, and when I turned the water on it worked fine for a few minutes, than it felt like I was getting covered with icy daggers.”
Squall’s eyebrow raised and he smiled, contented by the mental image. “So you’re saying the water heater is broken?”
Seifer didn’t seem impressed and he leaned in closer, resting his face on his hands, while his knees supported his elbows. “Would you remind me of what you had to do this get this position, because I’m beginning to doubt to intelligence of Cid’s choice.”
Oh great, it appeared that yet another dispute was stirring, but Squall unfurrowed his brow and took a deep breath. “Fine Seifer, I’ll get one of the janitorial workers to take a look at it.” He stood and walked back to his desk, expecting his guest to disappear in a similar manner.
Seifer watched him move, blinking with an amused look on his face. “Well, someone certainly has lost his up and go,” he stood as well and followed, securing the towel yet again. “A few months ago if I had said something like that to you you’d be all over me.” He stepped closer to the desk, dangerously close, and rested his still soaking arms onto Squall’s desk. Tiny suds and water droplets began to cover the rich oak desk, and it seemed that Squall’s paperwork might have to be redone.
“Come on Squall, do something about it.”
Still stalwart, Squall continued to scratch at the papers, until one particularly large water droplet smudged out most of Tuesday’s announcements. “May I ask why you didn’t clean yourself off a bit before you came up here?”
“Am I upsetting you?”
“Yes.”
“How much so?”
“Answer the question.”
Seifer sighed and stood up straight once again, crossing his arms. “I dunno, I guess I thought it might piss you off, and I didn’t want to get all that crusty soap crap on me.”
Squall turned red and removed his hands from the table, pressing them to his sides, clenching them in some type of sweet reprehension, imaging the sweet pleasure of gutting Seifer. “So you thought it would be better to mess up my work?”
He shrugged, “I guess so, besides, from the looks of it, it seems that you only had a couple lines anyway.”
“Why am I getting the impression that you had ulterior motives in coming here?”
Seifer smiled widely, intentionally showing his teeth, “well than maybe you’re a bit smarter than I thought you were.” He moved around the wide table, still tracking water onto the thick carpeting.
“I take it there’s no water problem than, am I correct?”
“Absolutely.” Seifer, spun Squall’s swivel chair around to face him and he stood accordingly.
“So I take it you have a reason for this little diversion?”
“Well yes,” Seifer moved his hands around Squall, trailing them up from his upper-back down to his buttocks where he squeezed a bit and moved his hands into the fabric, pinching further. “Firstly it gave me a reason to show up to your office half naked,” Squall rolled his eyes, and they opened again quickly from a particularly tight pinch. “And secondly, it’s always interesting to have sex with you when you’re good and irritated.”
Squall gave the faintest affirmation of a grin and continued to allow the firm constrictions that Seifer was putting on his body; namely the lower regions of it.
Followed by the ruffled “umph” sound the towel made as it hit the ground, Squall felt further intrusions and prodding against his backside, although this time he also noticed that both of Seifer’s visible appendages were in front of him, pressing him to his desk.
“Maybe I can put you in a circus, I bet you could write with that thing if I found a pen small enough to fit in it,” Squall chided at his lover, as the blonde man’s lips traced up and down his neck.
Seifer began with the unbuckling of Squall’s myriad of belts and zippers. The boy beneath him allowed a hortatory pant of approval as he leaned his body further into Seifer’s, making a human curve. Finding this behavior encouraging, Seifer moved his other hand to the jungle of leather as well, forcing more of his weight onto Squall.
“You know you weigh a ton don’t you?” Squall gasped, feeling enormous pressure now on his back as well as his behind.
“Well forgive me for not being the frail little bottom Mrs. Take-me-now-you-hunk-of-man, one of us has to work out.” Seifer finally succeeded in removing the constraining belts and allowed them to topple to the ground freely.
Squall’s hands met with the other pair, as he allowed his own to encircle the rougher appendages. “You know you love me.”
“Never said I didn’t babe,” Seifer said half-mindedly; the pants and underwear joining the belts, “never said I didn’t.” Almost free of his physical inhibitions (personified in his tightly knit clothing), Squall only needed to remove his shirt; though this act was seemingly being done for him.
Seifer pulled the leather jacket off roughly, pulling the wearer’s arms back with it. Afterwards, unable to control his baser urges much longer, he bent down and stole further wisps and licks down Squall’s back and neck, while smoothly rolling the white T-shirt over his body.
As the final garment was being displaced, Seifer took the opportunity to move his aching form into the regions he so superciliously longed for. The fabric rolled up, and Seifer followed the trail it made up Squall’s back until the obstructions moved over his neck. Seifer was then close enough to hear a longing cry as the shirt was finally removed and there was nothing keeping him from his satisfaction.
Seifer repositioned his arms so that they were firmly placed on top of Squall’s, widely spaced over his smooth desk. At the same time he applied all of his weight onto his submissive lover and moved his hips in for the kill.
Sharply, and full of the same caution he would take stitching a wound, Seifer probed his erection into the depth of Squall. As always, sharp cries escaped the lips of the retrieving man, only to hoarsen with further physical intrusions and audits.
Now in a state of equipoise with his intrusion into Squall’s body, Seifer moved his right hand along Squall’s toothsome flesh onto his hip for further grip. Entrenched into Squall as deeply as his feelings for him were, Seifer moved his head into the crook of the younger man’ neck. He cooed him and gave quiet “shushes” as not-quite-screams of pain broke loose from Squall’s mouth.
Upon the instruction of another shush, Squall bucked quickly. “Let’s see if you can stay quiet if I do this to you tough guy!”
Seifer only chuckled, and began to pick up the pace. He brought his hips closer and closer in connection with Squall’s, eliciting groans from himself in tones he didn’t even know he could make.
The cries quieted down and Seifer could tell that Squall was beginning to enjoy himself.
“See,” Seifer smirked, barely getting the words out amidst the frantic movements. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to hold out for long.”
There were no answers, and the two just moved more closely, like a martinet Seifer kept Squall down against the desk, not wanting to surrender an inch of leverage when it came to pleasuring himself with Squall’s entrance.
Upon the tightening of the entrance below him, Seifer had to give him, and he stood straight, moving his other free hand around the unconquered side of Squall’s waist. The brunette now stood to meet him, gasping in a way far to colloquial to identify it as Squall’s.
This was it, Seifer knew it, the feelings of constraining pressure around his swollen member were now far to beguiling to fight against. Sensing the end was near, Seifer made a small leap forward, engorging himself fully in the bowels of his long-standing partner. There, he finished them both off, my relieving himself as wholly and deeply as he could.
Squall’s brow furrowed when he felt the familiar sensation of Seifer’s semen trickling inside of him, and he knew now from his own sensations that it wasn’t only soap ruining his desk and note cards now.
Apart from the now habitual aching in his behind, Squall was satisfied and contented to all reasonable denotations.
“Well aren’t you going to say thank you?”
“Thanks for what?”
Seifer moved away, removing his limp presence from Squall and dressing in the meager towel that he had placed on the floor. “For that, you know you needed that a whole lot more than I did.”
Squall brought up his pants in one swift motion and began buckling his numerous straps again. “Well you ruined my desk and what I had of my announcements,” he motioned towards his untidy desktop, “but I guess that wasn’t all bad.”
A couple tissues entered Squall’s trash bin as Seifer cleaned himself up. “I’ll see you later babe, I still have some training to do, gotta stay in shape for later tonight,” he chided, smirking and turning around to leave the room.
“Wait up Seifer!” Squall jumped as proficiently as he could while trying to put his shirt back on. “After that little treatment I’m just as covered in dry soap as you,” he wiped some sweat from his forehead, “I think we both need to go the training center.”
“And then the showers?”
