Rewriting History

by scribblemoose

Rinoa... Seifer...

Rinoa...

What's wrong with you?

What do you want from me?

Why?

Squall rolled onto his back on his hard bed, one arm flung across his eyes, as if he could hide from the images that kept playing back in his mind.

Battle. Blood. Death. Sacrifice.

His command. His orders. His decision.

Rinoa...

It was bad enough that he'd lost so many SeeDs and cadets, people he'd trained with, lived with, for years. Faces he knew, even if he'd never shared words with many of them. But Rinoa was innocent, a civilian, there for no reason other than her loyalty to him and the others. Or so he'd thought.

Now he had no idea whether she was a traitor or a would-be friend. All he knew for certain was that she was hurt, and it was his fault.

Like all the others.

He couldn't stop thinking about the blood.

One particular Balamb SeeD appeared over and over in his thoughts. A gunblader, a boy he'd trained and sparred with, dying in front of his eyes on the steps of Galbadia Garden, just because Squall had told him to. He watched the blood flowing endlessly, forever, Squall had had no idea a person had so much blood in them, it just kept flowing, and flowing, and Rinoa was sick and the others would hate him and...

He was dimly aware of a strange noise, a melodic, bell-like sound at the edge of his consciousness. Reluctantly, he sat up and opened his eyes, and hoped it wasn't yet another threat.

It sounded again, and he realised from the winking light on the wall that it was his door chime. He'd never heard it before. The only person ever to visit his room had been Rinoa, and she always just marched right in. Usually while he was asleep, which he found really unnerving. He was supposed to be trained to wake at the slightest thing, and yet she'd managed to watch him dreaming...

The chime came again.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and rubbed his face with his hands. His body felt gritty and dirty despite being scrubbed pink under a scalding shower less than an hour ago, and his muscles ached with fatigue. He summoned what strength he could muster without Shiva's comforting help, and forced himself to answer the door.

Irvine stood there, looking pissed off, obviously about to give up on Squall ever responding to the chime.

"Yes?" said Squall, curtly. "What is it?"

"No sign of Seifer. Looks like he got away somehow while we were fussing over Rin." His voice was flat and cold, detached. Pissed off. "Edea's gone back to the orphanage. I just thought you wanted to know." He saluted, and turned to leave.

"Irvine?"

He watched Irvine stride down the corridor, suede duster swishing around his heels. There was something wrong.

"Kinneas, what..."

Irvine looked back at him. "Was there something else?" Again, that flat, emotionless tone.

Squall looked helplessly at him, and grappled for words. "You... I... um..."

He may as well give up. What did it matter, anyway? No point relying on anyone else. You were always on your own in the end. So why was he worried about Irvine? And why, especially, did he think he could help?

Irvine's eyes were flat and lifeless, as removed as his voice. But somewhere in there Squall caught a glimpse of something so familiar that it shocked him to the core.

"Are you okay?" he blurted out, quick, before he could change his mind.

"What?" Irvine looked as if he couldn't believe his ears.

"Are you okay?" repeated Squall. "You look... sad."

Idiot. Of course he looks sad. Any normal person would look sad. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"I'm alright," said Irvine, stiffly.

"Oh. Good." Squall felt relief flood through him: he'd asked, Irvine said he was okay, so that was that, duty done, all over. He was about to retreat back into his room, when he got another flash of the look in Irvine's eyes.

Pain and fear fluttering in indigo, like a trapped moth.

"No," he said, softly. "You're not alright."

"I'm-" Irvine started another denial, but Squall held his gaze, and he couldn't finish it. "I'm no worse than anyone else," he said. "It's been a hard day."

"You want to talk about it?" asked Squall. So dangerous, so very dangerous, this was. His world was falling away, the safety of solitude and denial, and he knew once it had gone...

"You don't want to talk to me," said Irvine. "You've got enough on your plate. And anyway..."

See? What made you think he would want to talk to a stupid, arrogant bastard like you, anyway, Leonhart? What on earth could you do to help, even if he wanted it?

"It's okay," said Squall. "Maybe Quistis, or..."

"I'm fine," said Irvine. "I'll be fine."

Squall hesitated for a moment. Irvine was doing his best to shut him out, sanding firm and square on his two booted feet, hands stuffed in pockets, not budging. His expression was carefully arranged indifference. Except for those eyes.

Every muscle in his carefully-stilled body screaming tension, crying out for a reassuring touch that Squall could never give him, however much he wanted to.

"Please," Squall choked out. "Come in for a bit."

He wished he hadn't looked so hard.

* * * * * * *

Irvine sat awkwardly on the edge of Squall's bed, and shrugged his duster off his shoulders. He wore his usual vest underneath, soft purple cotton. He wasn't wearing his chaps for once, just black jeans that fitted him snugly, stretched tight over his hipbones. He clasped his fingers together and hugged them between his knees, stretching his back and shoulders. A futile gesture: the newly-relaxed muscles just snapped up tight again as soon as he released the stretch. Not like Irvine at all, this ball of closed-off tension.

He was making Squall feel positively relaxed by comparison.

Squall handed him a mug of tea and a bag of sugar. He may not be known for his powers of observation when it came to people, but even he knew that Irvine liked his tea hot and nauseatingly sweet. He watched, almost amused, as Irvine shovelled white granules into his drink. It was a wonder he didn't bounce off the walls like Selphie did, with that much sugar inside him.

Squall sat next to him on the bed, careful to leave space between them. He looked down at the mug cradled in his own hands, and tried to think of something to say. He could see a tendril of rust-coloured hair curling around the muscle of Irvine's upper arm, and had to force his eyes away. Whatever Irvine needed, Squall was certain that having his commander ogling him wasn't it. He promised himself there and then that he would keep his own feelings firmly under wraps, especially any feelings he had about Irvine. He'd only had the barest peek at them himself over the past few days, and he certainly wasn't about to share.

"You okay?" asked Irvine, with a tiny scrap of his usual enthusiasm.

"Yeah," said Squall. "You?"

"Yeah, I just..." he looked up, met Squall's concerned gaze. "No, not really," he confessed.

"You want to... talk about it?" said Squall, hoping he did. If Irvine wanted actual honest-to-gods advice, Squall had no idea where he'd start.

"I don't know," said Irvine. "I'm not even sure I can."

"I know what that feels like," said Squall, with a tight grin. "Famous for it."

Irvine grinned back, the curve of his lips natural and generous. "We all have our secrets, I guess."

"Yeah."

They sat in awkward silence for a couple of minutes: Irvine sipping on sugary tea and staring at his feet; Squall starting to regret not packing Irvine off for counselling or at the very least to Quistis, or Selphie...

Why wasn't he with Selphie?

"Um..." he ventured... "where's Selphie, then?"

"Dunno. She went off with Zell somewhere, I think, muttering something about Rinoa and a ring."

"Oh. And you didn't... go with her?"

"No." Irvine took another swig of his tea.

"I thought..."

"Yeah, everyone did. But it never happened. I thought maybe after today, even, you know, the adrenaline of battle, seeing how heroic I was and all... but nothing. We're just friends, man. Looks like that's how it's always gonna be."

"Oh."

"I wasn't very heroic, anyway. She had to hold my hair back while I threw up, after the first guy I killed. Romantic, huh?"

"Shit. You mean that was the first-"

"No, not the very first person." Irvine's voice was small and low, none of his usual swaggering drawl. "But the first person I knew."

"From Galbadia Garden." It dawned on Squall for the first time, that he'd sent Irvine to war against his own Garden, his old friends.

"Yes. We were in class together for a while. I didn't like him much, but..." Irvine stopped, struggling for the words, probably trying not to cry.

Squall waited. He knew this feeling. The blood and death and regret. He knew.

"... I went out with his sister, once, and he warned her off me. Didn't see him much after that... until today. And then I shot his brains out. I murdered him, in cold blood."

"No, it wasn't, you didn't..."

"If you're going to tell me I didn't have a choice, you're wrong," said Irvine. "I could've thrown down my gun and walked away. I didn't have you there to talk me into it, this time. I could've run."

"You're not a coward, Irvine."

"You know what, Squall? Sometimes it's not the coward who runs away. Sometimes it's the coward who stays and follows orders."

To anyone else, that would have felt like a slap round the face. But not to Squall. There was nothing Irvine could say that he hadn't already thought himself.

"If you hadn't led them into Galbadia we wouldn't have defeated Seifer and the sorceress," he said. "It was a heavy price to pay, but it was still the cheapest on offer."

Irvine sighed heavily, swilling the last of his tea around in the bottom of his mug. He'd drunk it quickly; Squall's was still half full. "I'll never forget his face," he whispered. "As long as I live, I'll never forget his face."

"Good," said Squall. "That'll make it easier for you to kill the next evil we come across. Because that's what that was. It wasn't your friend. It was the sorceress that did that to him, that made you kill him."

"Like she would have made you kill Seifer, if you could've."

"Yes." Squall felt himself flinch at the mention of Seifer's name.

"But you never quite did it, huh?" Irvine looked sidelong at him through his long, thick lashes. "He always seems to survive, somehow."

Squall swallowed, hard. "It's complicated." Shit. Why did he say that? Why couldn't he just have pretended he'd been licked? Seifer had been a damn hard opponent, after all, and there were three of them in the fight. Any one of them could have...

"You guys have a history," Irvine said. "Apart from when we were kids, I mean... Quistis said you've always been at each others' throats."

"Yes."

"So? Why not kill him when you had the chance?"

"I... he annoyed the fuck out of me, but I didn't hate him. Not like that. Not enough to want to kill him. Besides, I tried..."

"I saw you, Squall. You missed on purpose, I saw you."

Squall started to panic. He'd hoped no-one would pick that up, but he might have guessed Irvine's sharp eyes would catch it. The last shot somehow hadn't gone off, his blade had glanced a blow across Seifer's thigh, bringing him to his knees but not actually killing him...

"So? Why is it right for you to duck out of killing Seifer, who you'd scarred and beat up and hated for years, but it's also okay for me to kill a guy I'd never wanted to hurt in my life?"

The pain was clear on Irvine's face now: his eyes were wet, his breath coming short, his tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. It hurt Squall to see it, more than anything else he'd seen that day. More than the blood, the carnage, the loyal deaths of those under his command. It hurt more than he could bear.

"He was my lover," he whispered.

Irvine's eyes flew wide in astonishment; for a moment he just stared through the still air at Squall, completely silenced.

"Fuck," he said, eventually. "Fuck."

"Nobody knows," said Squall. "It was over a while back, he left me for... well, it doesn't matter. He hasn't always been like he is now."

"What, a pig headed, arrogant fuckwit?"

Squall found an unexpected smile creeping onto his face. "Well, yeah, he's always been like that," he said. "I was thinking of the evil part. He's not always been evil. Just..."

"A pig headed, arrogant fuckwit," Irvine finished for him.

Squall shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." You could add possessive, screwed-up and stupid to the list, he thought. But that's not to say I didn't love him.

"It must be so hard for you," said Irvine, his own pain buried for a moment as he wrestled with this new information. "I hated you, you know, for wanting me to shoot Matron, even when it was clear you didn't know what you were asking of me. And today... and all the while, we've been hunting down your ex-lover and..."

"He's not Seifer," said Squall firmly. "At least, mostly not."

Irvine's face went still as his mind worked; Squall could almost see what he was thinking, knew what would come next.

"The prison. He..."

"Tortured me, yes. And the others. And for that, and for today, I'll kill him. It just wasn't the right time." When he was on his knees he looked at me, and I saw a shadow of the boy I grew up with. All the while he's there, I can't kill him. Won't. Can't.

Irvine looked unconvinced, but he didn't say anything for a while; he was thinking again, Squall could tell. Rewriting history in his mind to take account of this change of fact.

"And Rinoa..." said Irvine.

"What about Rinoa?"

"Well, everyone thinks you and she..."

"I know."

"But..."

"Everyone thinks you and Selphie, too. Sometimes things look different from the outside."

Irvine drained his mug, and got up to set it carefully on the desk. For a moment Squall was frightened he would leave. But he sat back on the bed, drawing his knees up to his chin, heels braced against the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around his long legs.

"Things aren't always what they seem, huh?" He scrubbed his nose against one knee, rubbing at an itch.

"No," said Squall. "It's not always easy to see who your friends are."

Irvine watched him, head on one side, as he finished his drink and put the empty cup next to Irvine's. "I am," he said, eventually. "Your friend."

"I know," said Squall. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't."
"You wanted to help. You asked me in because you wanted to help me."

"Yeah." Squall gave a sardonic little grin and cast his eyes down, picking invisible fluff off the bed. "I'm not doing so good, huh."

"No, you are," Irvine reassured him. "It means a lot that you understand. And it sure beats being alone."

Squall wasn't so sure about that.

"So, Rinoa," said Irvine. "She knows you don't like girls?"

"Not yet. And you'd better not tell her." Squall's eyes flashed silver at him. "I'll tell her when the time's right."

Irvine shrugged. "Not a problem at the moment, is it? She's not listening anyway."

"No." Squall picked more savagely at the blanket.

"So what happened with her, and Seifer... do you think..."

"No," said Squall, his voice dangerously low. "I don't think about it at all. Ever."

Irvine flinched, realising that he'd trod on dodgy ground. "Sorry," he said. "I'm curious. Martine used to say it would be the death of me one day."

Squall sighed, his anger evaporating as quick as it had flared. "'s okay. I don't want anyone to know about me and Seif until all this is over, and he's dead."

"Promise," said Irvine, catching Squall's eye to show he meant it. "Our secret."

He looked beautiful, even with the pain in his eyes. His mouth was slightly open; Squall could just make out the tip of his tongue, pressing against his teeth. His vest was a little too big for him, falling slightly off one shoulder, and he looked vulnerable, hugging his knees to him like that, vulnerable like Seifer never had. His hair framed his pretty face, long tail a streak of copper down his back. Squall had to fight to keep from thinking about what it would be like to touch it.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep again," said Irvine, looking away now, staring at Squall's gunblade case leaned against the wall opposite. "You'll have to chuck me out when you get tired."

Squall knew that wouldn't be any time soon.

"You want to do something?" he asked. "We could play cards, or something?" Or I could strip you naked and fuck you til dawn.

Squall swallowed hard, shocked by his own thoughts. He'd realised a while back that he felt something for Irvine, but he'd done his best to block it out, and he'd been doing so well...

"Nah. All those monsters just remind me of... you know. Guns. Fighting. Blood."

"Yeah. Know what you mean."

"It must be hard for you," said Irvine. "Suddenly being in command like this, everyone looking to you for decisions..."

"It's my duty," said Squall, the words coming easy, a habit. "I do what needs to be done."

"What d'you do, then, to cut loose? D'you drink, or take it out on grats in the training centre, have a leaders' support group, what?"

"I just deal," said Squall. "It doesn't matter."

"You can't mean that."

"I just get on with it," said Squall. "Why, what d'you do?"

Irvine gave him a knowing look, and winked. "You know me," he said. "Guns and women."

To his horror, Squall felt a blush rise up his cheeks.

"Oh."

"It was easier back in Galbadia. I had friends there. That kind of friend, I mean. And I had hoped that me and Seffie..."

"Of course. Yes. Right." Women. Of course. Just women. Not that it mattered. It was reassuring, in fact. Made it safe. "You want some more tea?"

Irvine shook his head. "No thanks."

He went quiet again for a while after that, rocking himself gently, still hugging his knees, his chin rested on top of them. He was gazing at nothing, thinking, miles away.

Squall could have watched him like that forever. Feeling Irvine's pain twist his own gut, hating himself for putting it there.

After a while, the tears came. Two tiny rivers, one from each eye, dropping onto his strong hands. No sobbing, no noise. Just tears.

"Irvine..."

He didn't respond. Just kept staring, the tears still falling, the pain so bright and raw that Squall could hardly stand it.

"Irvine..." His voice broke on the second syllable, and he didn't dare risk trying to say anymore.

He reached a hand across Irvine's broad shoulders instead, fisting his fingers to keep them from trembling. He pulled the muscles tight and pressed his arm across Irvine's back, gave him what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

Then, all of a sudden, the tension in Irvine broke; he let out a cry and twisted to collapse into Squall's reluctant arms, his long body spread across the gap between them, his face buried in Squall's neck, his hands clutching Squall's T-shirt at his waist, chest heaving, sobbing.

Squall sat there for a moment in wide-eyed shock, before he finally lowered his shaking hands to stroke Irvine's hair. He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, keeping the feelings hidden behind lids and lashes. Irvine's hair felt like silk in his fingers, soft and sleek. Somehow the leather tie came undone, and Squall found himself spreading the stuff out over Irvine's back, burnt copper bright against the purple shirt.

Irvine's weeping gradually slowed, his breathing eventually stuttered to something like normal, apart from the odd gasping sob. Squall was about to push him away, gently, but away, back to safety. Back to normal.

He felt something on his neck that might have been a kiss.

His mouth opened, but no noise came out. He sat absolutely still, rigid-still, waiting. It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. Irvine hadn't just...

He did it again. Definitely, that time, no mistaking it. Soft lips and the tiny lick of a tongue, right on his neck, just under his ear. He was sure. He could tell, by the way his skin was on fire, longing for another touch, another brush of lips and graze of faint stubble.

And again. Irvine was kissing his way up to Squall's jawline, his breath hot puffs against Squall's neck.

"Can I?" he whispered, between kisses. "I'm sorry, I... I want... I need... can..."

Squall was still frozen, as cold and unresponsive on the outside as he was burning up on the inside. He couldn't speak, and then Irvine was moving away, the promised lips never reaching his face, he was pulling away...

"Sorry, man," he was saying. "I'm sor-"

Squall finally managed to move, catching Irvine's head in his hands and pulling him back for the kiss he'd nearly lost, a soft cry escaping his lips in the instant before they met Irvine's. The sensation of warmth and comfort all but overwhelmed him; he moved his mouth with Irvine's, slow at first and then faster, easy, no bumping noses or clash of teeth, not even when his fingers turned to fists in Irvine's hair and pulled him closer still, not even when Irvine's mouth opened to welcome Squall's tongue. He tasted sweet from the tea, and fresh like toothpaste, and he was stroking the underside of Squall's tongue with his, twisting them together, his hands at Squall's waist pushing up his shirt to find bare flesh, skin tight and ready, waiting for his touch.

They pulled back for a moment, panting, not daring to open their eyes before they plunged back for more.

Squall could barely believe this was happening. He had worked so hard, tried so hard not to feel, and besides, guns and women, and Selphie and Rinoa and oh gods, but it felt good, another human being in his arms again, warm and moving and breathing and wanting him. Irvine's hands were sliding up his back now, fingers kneading the muscles either side of his spine, and Squall had to swiftly slide a hand inside his leathers to twitch his cock to a position where it had room to continue to grow. He felt Irvine smile into their kiss as he did the same, shifting about and then rolling onto his back, pulling Squall down with him.

Irvine's hands were back under his shirt, moving up his sides, one thumb daring to flick at a nipple. Their kiss was interrupted for a swift moment as the shirt was pulled off his head, and he struggled to return the compliment, shaking the soft fabric free of the pendant that fell across Irvine's chest. Squall threw the vest over his shoulder and lowered his head to taste golden skin, following the outline of muscles and ribs. Irvine's body responded easily to him, pressing up to meet his caress, never flinching. Not ticklish like Seifer had been; Irvine was comfortable in his own skin, and the less clothes he wore, and the more Squall touched him, the more comfortable he seemed to get.

Squall realised he was pressing his erection into Irvine's thigh, and Irvine was shifting his leg in time, pressing into the movement, flexing muscles hard for Squall to grind against.

"Can I..." Irvine asked, but his fingers were already undoing the snap of Squall's leathers, and he swiftly worked the fly open, and reached inside.

Squall bit his lower lip hard, Irvine's touch stealing his breath and making his heart pound in his chest so hard it almost hurt. It had been so long since another human being had touched his cock, and Irvine touched it confidently, lovingly, respectfully, curling his fingers around it to grasp it firmly but not too tight. He rubbed over the head with his thumb, spreading precome and helping to ease the foreskin back, then started to pump it in long, slow strokes.

With shaking hands, Squall returned the compliment, cursing as he fumbled with unfamiliar buttons. Irvine's cock formed a long, thick ridge under the soft cotton of his briefs, warm to touch even through the fabric, a sticky spot of wet pooling on his belly. Squall shifted onto his knees to coax Irvine's jeans and underwear over hips and buttocks and down his thighs, helping with boots and socks so he could strip him completely naked, all golden skin and long limbs, his cock twitching against his belly. Squall heard Irvine gasp as he leaned over and lowered his head to dip his tongue straight into the slit at the top, tasting precome and the unique flavour of Irvine's skin. He opened his mouth wide and took as much of it down as he could, stroking the underside with his tongue, lips pressed tight around the shaft. Then he felt fingers tugging gently on his hair, pulling him off; for a moment he thought Irvine didn't like it, that he'd changed his mind.

"Need... hold..." Irvine mumbled, pulling Squall up his body..."need to hold you..."

Squall willingly wrapped Irvine in his arms, kissing him deep, reassuring him. He pulled him onto his side and shifted his leg over the top of Irvine's so that their cocks nestled into each other; Irvine hissed in breath at the contact and started to writhe, grinding his hips into Squall's in the rhythm of their kiss, slow, a blues rhythm, stirring their erections together. Squall couldn't resist reaching a hand between their bodies to touch the hardness, groaning softly as he explored ridges and veins, his fingertips tingling, brushing against Irvine's as he joined in, stroking with knuckles and wrist, gasping.

Suddenly Irvine's body tensed, and there was a flood of warmth over Squall's hand; a groan followed by another. Squall caught a look of surprise and an apology in Irvine's eyes, as he shuddered in Squall's arms, and found himself smiling; it was endearing, somehow, that Irvine thought it might matter.

It didn't, in the slightest. Even as the last spurts flowed over hiss hand, Irvine was turning his attention to Squall's pleasure, using his own come to slick Squall's cock and make his hand glide easily up and down. It had been so long, and it felt so good, that Squall only lasted for a few blissful strokes before he was clutching at Irvine's shoulder and pumping thick come over his belly. He closed his eyes and next he knew his cock was enveloped in warm wet, and he realised was squirting into Irvine's mouth, coating his tongue. His fingers clutched wildly at Irvine's hair, and he felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes, it was so good, so intense, so human and real and so damn good...

The blood pounded in his ears and he fell bonelessly back onto the mattress as Irvine sucked him dry, gently stroking his thighs, his hair pools of dark rust over Squall's belly. He worked his way slowly up Squall's body, and crawled into his waiting arms, tucked his head under Squall's chin, and curled into his body, one leg across Squall's thighs, arm curved around his waist.

Squall held him tight, listened to his breathing. Not his sleeping breath, nowhere close. Neither of them would be able to sleep, even now, he knew that.

He didn't care.

He brushed his lips over Irvine's hair.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Better," said Irvine, and he sounded it. "You?"

"Better."

Squall stroked his back, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was lying on his bed half naked, with Irvine Kinneas in his arms.

"I wanted you for the longest time," said Irvine. "Can I stay?"

Squall hesitated. It was a lot to ask. They had so much to do, and it was going to be so hard. He couldn't afford to feel like this, to want so much.

Irvine's body felt like heaven, warm and alive and vibrant next to his.

"Yes," he said.

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