He knew he wasn't alone.
Eyes watched him, following his every move, every breath. He was used to it by now. As the head of Balamb Garden, the son of the President of Esthar, and a hero of the latest Sorceress War, he was used to people watching him. Some watched him with admiration, others with fondness or loathing, or even envy. This was different than all of those, yet still familiar. He knew this gaze, though that didn't stop his fingers from curling, itching to reach back and loose his gunblade.
These eyes watched him with an emotion so dark it bordered on obsession. That didn't make Squall move any faster down the empty street.
He turned down an alleyway, a shortcut back to the hotel. Quistis was probably foaming at the mouth right now, wondering what was taking so long. Or maybe she'd taken his earlier advice about not waiting up and gone to bed already.
Hand grabbed him unexpectedly and Squall was taken by surprise for a brief moment, not because he was being accosted but because he'd honestly thought his observer was behind him instead of in front. That surprise gave his attacker the edge he needed. Squall barely caught himself before his hands hit the wall. His gunblade clattered to the floor, it and the entire holster stripped off of him in a second. A move like that required practice, confirming Squall's suspicion on the identity of his attacker.
Not that he'd really doubted it to begin with.
Squall's elbow came up as he turned and he stepped with it, trying to move around the larger man. The elbow was caught before it could connect, but he kept moving, getting ready to bring his knee up and... He forgot about the opponent's second hand until it hit him square in the gut.
Pain doubled him over. His breath was gone and he wheezed through his open mouth, trying to regain both his balance and the ability to breathe. The hand on his elbow propelled him back around and this time his head did hit the wall, forehead rapping against rough brick.
He did not look forward to explaining that to Quistis tomorrow.
Fingers knotted in the hair on the back of his head, pulling his head and then slamming it forward hard enough to make him see stars. He felt light-headed and he knew, distantly, that if it weren't for the wall and the large man pressed right up behind him, he wouldn't be standing anymore.
Hands settled on his belts, reaching down blindly to unhook one, then the other. The zipper of his pants slid down with a hiss barely heard over Squall's labored breaths, and then they too joined his belts on the ground.
He placed a hand flat on the wall, intent on pushing back, pushing them both away from the wall, but fingers twined with his, pulling Squall's arm up as his attacker used superior height to his advantage in keeping Squall off-balance.
"Easy, Squally," the man behind him murmured, lips ghosting light over the back of his neck. "Just let me have my fun." If he closed his eyes, Squall could imagine those lips touching, planting rows of kisses down the side of his neck and his spine, trailing soft, wet butterflies of pressure from one shoulder to the other.
Without his eyes closed, he didn't have to wait long for the first kiss as lips found their way beneath his hair and a hot tongue gathered up a bit of the sweat along the nape of his neck. Something slick and thick pressed against him and Squall gasped, shivering in the brief second before it pushed inside. It hurt, but that was to be expected when it was like this, barely a step away from a dry fuck. Legs lined up behind his own, pushing forward until his knees hit the wall. His head slid down, scraping against the brick and now Quistis really was going to yell at him for getting so banged up.
"You like that?" The man behind him asked. A large hand settled on Squall's hip possessively, guiding it back until his ass was arched away from the wall.
Flesh slid on flesh in a slow, agonizing movement that reminded Squall of battle - of swords drawing out of a still carcass or bandages being peeled away from wounds dried with blood. He must have made a noise because he suddenly heard chuckling and the fingers on his hip tightened.
"You do like that. I know you do, though you won't say it. But I know something you like more."
Hips slammed against his and Squall couldn't be quiet, barely had time to think let alone breath before they were drawing out again and then thrusting home like Squall was a sheath - a home for the burning mass that was splitting him apart from the inside. It was torture and heaven rolled into one. He brought his other hand, his free hand, up, not sure what he was going to do but then it joined his other, pinned against the brick and grinding in time with the rocking of their bodies. There'd be blood on the wall, not just from his hands, but Squall really couldn't begin to care. Maybe he could find a Potion, or something, before Quistis saw them.
Then the hand moved off his hips, sliding around to grab the base of him, right between his legs and it was like a handle his opponent, his adversary, his rival, his not-quite-lover used to control him. Squall was pushed back, impaled deeper on the cock inside of him and then forward, away from one kind of bliss and into another. The motions mixed, speeding up until he wasn't sure whether it was his attacker that was fucking into him or him that was making his attacker fuck him.
Squall felt dirty and bloodied, bruised, beaten, conquered and yet somehow whole. Lips kept time on his neck, leaving yet more marks, both those visible and not, teeth and tongue and a whole realm of emotions that Squall didn't have the time or energy of inventing himself into exploring. He had no control in this, no say, no negotiation, and there wasn't a single word he could say, would say, to make it stop.
He came first, a burning in his legs and arms that spread down into his belly and out to spatter against the wall like some carnal form of artwork. The night swallowed up his cries and then he was borne nearly into the wall, his arms falling limply to his sides, free but aching too much from blood loss and abuse to be of any use. His knees and forehead ground one last time against the brick as he was shoved forward by the hips behind him and then they too stilled, jerking slightly as Squall felt liquid pouring out of him and down his thighs.
They were both breathing hard, sounding raucous compared to the previously quiet night. A last kiss settled on the back of his neck, directly over his spine and then the man was pulling out, stepping away. Squall heard the rustle of cloth and then a zipper being pulled up. He debated the merits of staying against the wall or falling over.
A dry cloth ran over his thighs and between his cheeks, cleaning off the spent seed before disappearing into the rubbish littering the alleyway. Breath ghosted against his legs as his pants were pulled up, refastened. Both belts reappeared, and then finally his gunblade. Squall felt loaded down with the weight of it all as he was finally forced to move. Two hands turned him, kept his back against the wall as blonde hair tickled the scratches on his forehead.
"Good thing I'm not actually out to kill you," Seifer said with a smirk. "Where would your sorry ass be without me following you around to save you?"
Squall snorted, the sound coming out a lot softer than he intended. "You're the one I need saving from." Even his voice sounded tired. Squall didn't blame it. That Potion might have to wait until after he'd gotten some sleep. "Anyone else would have been dead before they got within five paces."
"That close? You're getting sloppy."
His fist connected sharply with Seifer's chest. Squall was proud of himself for managing that much effort.
"Come on. You're helping me into bed and then explaining to Quistis in the morning why her leader's all banged up."
The look on Seifer's face made Squall grin openly. Maybe he'd skip the Potion entirely. A few bruises and scrapes were worth watching Quistis chew Seifer to bits.
The sex, he admitted to himself, was worth it too.