Notes: Inspired by BlackRose.


By Phoenix Requiem

Beautiful. How else could you describe him? I know he doesnít see himself that way, but he is. Iím not the only one who sees him, admires him, this way and it fills me with pride and a raging jealousy. He seems oblivious to it all; doesnít seem to know what all the adoring glances and stares are for. Could he really be so blind to his own attractiveness?

I watch him as he sits down on the bed, the springs slightly protesting under his weight. He strips his shirt off, tosses it on the foot of the bed and runs a hand through his hair. Gorgeous. He leans back against the headboard, his eyes lock with mine, daring me to look away. I canít and donít even want to try. He pulls his hand down from his hair and slides it down his chest over taunt muscle and smooth skin. The slow, sensuous movement of his hand mesmerizes me as it traces over his stomach and stops at his waist, fingers barely resting on the hidden clasp of his leather pants. Heís doing this on purpose and I know heís watching me, but I canít meet his eyes when his hands are unfastening his pants and then I hear the slow purr of his zipper being lowered. Did I forget to mention how fucking sexy he can be? I glance up at his face as he leans back, arms over his head, and my mouth goes dry. His eyes seem to penetrate me, know exactly whatís on my mind and I almost feel guiltyÖalmost. His expression is lustful, but thereís a softness to it and is it just me or has the temperature in here been steadily climbing? A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me heís enjoying this, teasing me, and my breath hitches in my chest.


Itís all I can manage and the word comes out breathy. Funny, right now I canít seem to remember how to breathe, not when heís laid out like a centerfold. I shift in my chair, uncomfortable and all too aware of just how much this scene Squall has created is affecting me. He sits there, watching me watching him, as I squirm in my chair again. He doesnít utter a sound and I find that I canít get any words past my frozen lips. This is Squall, my Squall, the one nobody else ever sees. Yep, lucky me.


Every nerve in my body responds to the softly spoken word, my heart skipping wildly in my chest. I know he doesnít want to talk, I know that look on his face, in his eyes, well enough to know that speaking is about the last thing he wants to do. If I had a camera right now- but I know Iíd never show that picture to anyone, not even under pain of death.

I push up from the chair, my eyes still on Squall, and see a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. Call me weak, but thereís only so much temptation I can handle. My trembling fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt and he raises an eyebrow at me. I manage to get four of the buttons undone and just pull the shirt over my head. Stupid buttons, why do they insist on making them so small? I toss the shirt to, well, who really cares where it went, and hurry out of my pants. Squall sits there like a picturesque model, waiting, as I reach the edge of the bed. Heís still in those skin-tight leather pants and has showed no signs of getting out of them any time soon. He reaches for me and I shake my head and point to the last article of clothing standing between us.

"Not until you take those off."

He eases up from the bed and stands before me, his hands going to his waist. He nods toward the bed and I sit down, waiting to see what he has in mind. He pushes the pants over his hips with a deliberate slowness that makes me want to shove his hands aside and snatch his pants down. His hands hold my attention; nothing can make me look away even though I know what was under those tight leather pants; itís not like they leave much to the imagination anyway. He pulls one leg out then the other and stands before me unselfconscious and naked. I look up at his face.


My voice is barely a whisper as I try to speak again. It must be amusing for him to discover that Iím damn near speechless. He bends down, puts his hands on my shoulders and I close my eyes. I feel his lips brush against mine and lean forward. He pushes his body against mine and forces me back as he crawls onto the bed. I run my hands through his hair, down his back and dig my nails into his ass, I want him so bad Iím trembling and he hasnít even touched me yet. I try again to speak, but what comes out when I manage to say anything is a plea whispered against his lips.

"Squall, please."

He reaches down, grabs one of my legs and pulls it up as his mouth moves to my ear. His breath is warm against my skin and my eyes close as his tongue traces around my ear. He grinds his hips against mine and I arch up against him.


He bites my neck and the sound that comes out of me can only be described as a squeak.

"Tell me you want me."

When the hell did Squall become such a tease? I try to move, but he has me pinned to the bed and he hasnít let go of my leg. Without any leverage, thereís nothing I can do but squirm and plea.


He leans up and I open my eyes. Thereís no expression on his face as he looks at me, but I know he can see the desperation on mine.

"Please what?"

I lean up toward his lips and he shakes his head. He wants me to tell him what I want, that I want him. My head falls back on the bed and he waits. He knows thereís nothing I can do, no move I can make and seems quite content to lie there and look at me.

"Tell me."

Left with no other option, I make my confession.

"I want you."

I expect him to smile, but his expression doesnít change. He releases my leg and reaches between us. I close my eyes and wrap my legs around his waist.

"Look at me."

I open my eyes just as his hips shift. I bite my bottom lip. Why is he still making me wait? What else does he want from me? I feel his erection press against me and shiver. He leans up, his hands on either side of my head, and watches me, but doesnít move. Iím free to move, but something in his eyes makes me remain still.

"I love you, Laguna."

And then he forces his entire length into me. I cry out, my head snaps back, my eyes close, I clutch his back with my nails; he groans, loud. Squallís movements are fast and I know this wonít last long, but it doesnít matter because Iím as close to orgasm as he is. He slides his hands under my shoulders and pulls me toward him as he thrusts forward, hard. I cry out his name as the tremors of orgasm race through my body. My hands move, my breath comes in short gasps and the voice that cries his name repeatedly is loud enough that everyone in the hotel can probably hear it. I hear him call out my name, his voice whispers against my shoulder as he shudders then stills. Neither of us move or speak; the only sound in the room is our labored breathing. I make a disappointed sound as Squall tries to pull away from me and tighten my arms and legs around his back. He kisses my sweat soaked forehead and pulls back to look at me.

"I mean it."

"Mean what?"

Probably not the brightest thing I couldíve said right then, but I canít think straight with him looking at me like that.

"I love you."

I smile and he kisses my forehead again. I unwind myself when he tries to pull away from me. He lays down beside me and I smile again as I close my eyes; its just occurred to me that this is the first time heís said he loves me.

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