Kalli's Journal

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Daydreamer

Squall glanced in the mirror next to his dorm door. He rearranged a stray lock of hair, tilting his head to the side. Thoughtfully running his finger down the length of his scar, he decided that he passed. He was only going to the canteen for lunch anyway.

As he turned away and reached for the door handle, a wave of dizziness passed over him. He stumbled and clung to the doorframe. It felt like his eyes had rolled back into his skull and the world had briefly tilted on its axis. Through his suddenly cloudy brain he remembered the sensation; he'd felt it several times before.

He turned and pushed himself away from the door, trying to resist the urge to just lie down on the floor. He set his focus on the bed. If he was going to be forced to live another episode of that moron's life, he was at least going to wake up on his comfortable bed at the end of it.

It seemed to take forever to get there. His feet felt weighted, so heavy he could barely even shuffle across the carpet. His legs threatened to give out at any second, he could feel them shaking with every step. The bed began to disappear from sight as his eyelids fluttered shut, then jerked back open, only to waver and shut again. He reached the bed just as he lost his battle with consciousness and fell bonelessly onto the soft duvet.

Laguna was humming to himself. It was a loud tuneless noise, but there was no one else around to hear him and it vibrated pleasantly in the back of his throat. He was content.

Bright mid afternoon sunlight filtered through the thin hotel curtains, bathing the room in a soft orange glow. A ceiling fan spun languidly, clicking with each circuit, stirring a light breeze to take the edge off the afternoon heat. Outside of the covered window came sounds of the city; a dull constant thrum of activity several floors below. Laguna approached the window, flicking the curtain back to peer down to the streets below, still humming happily to himself.

The noise stopped as a strange sensation flickered through him. He let the curtain drop and took a couple of paces back. It wasn't the first time he'd felt it. It was as if suddenly his thoughts weren't his own, or at least as if he was sharing them with someone else.

He shook his head. He was being silly. There was probably some scientific explanation for the feeling, like a lack of oxygen to the head, or something.

All the same, he mouthed a silent "hello" to the fairies...

He resumed the humming, this time making a little more effort not to sound like a dying Torama, and hung his jacket up in the wardrobe. Kicking his shoes off and toeing them almost neatly beneath the bed, he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He folded it roughly and began to undo his trousers. His fingers ran nimbly over the button fly and he peeled his trousers off, along with his underwear. Then he sat down on the bed to tug off his socks, which were far too thick for this kind of weather. Last, but not least, he hung his dog tags over the bedpost.

Making his way around the bed to get to the bathroom, he passed the full-length mirror on the outside of the wardrobe door. He stopped and backed up a few steps. He didn't normally stop to admire himself, at least not when he was undressed, but today he felt inexplicably... curious... That was the only way to describe it. Interested to know how he looked, or even, what he looked like.

His body was lean and toned. He ran an appraising hand over the curve of his hips and turned to the side, raising the leg closest to the mirror so that his knee was bent, striking a modest pose. His ass was smoothly rounded. He tensed the muscle and ran his hand over the hard curve of flesh, dipping into the hollow dimple.

He leaned in close to the mirror to inspect his face. A slender hand was raised to run along his cleanly shaven jaw. Although he had a strong bone structure, there was something almost feminine about his look. Must be the high cheekbones and long hair, he found himself thinking without reason. He smoothed his palm over his silky black hair before fingering his earring, thoughtfully, yet without a single comprehensible thought passing through his mind. He had beautiful sky blue eyes.

Laguna blinked and shook his head. He wasn't normally so vain. He smiled to his reflection, noting the cushioned curve of his lower lip, and completed his journey to the bathroom feeling slightly bemused.

The white tiled hotel bathroom was cold and impersonal, but it was something that the Galbadian soldier was used to. He'd long since forgotten what the comforts of home were like. The chill of the room was welcome after the heat of the day.

He shivered the moment the soul of his foot touched the bare tile and quickly padded across to the bathmat. The glass door of the shower rattled open and he stepped inside, pulling it shut behind him. He turned the water on and a jet of icy water splashed over his shoulder and chest, making him jump back.

The next minute was spent jumping in and out of the spray, twiddling with the temperature gauge with the skill of the safe cracker. Finally, he got it to stay at a pleasantly warm setting and eased himself fully under the shower with a sigh of relief.

He placed his palms against the shower wall and lent on out-stretched arms against it, dipping his head down. The warm water collected in his hair resting at the base of his neck, making a dull sloshing sound as it pooled there. It slowly soaked in and began to trickle over his shoulders. Laguna sighed again at the soft tapping of droplets on the back of his neck. It was as good as any massage.

He tipped his head up, facing into the stream. Droplets fell heavily onto his eyelids, catching in his long dark eyelashes like jewels. He smiled softly, his lips glimmering from the water.

Sluggishly, he forced himself to move, pushing himself away from the wall to stand up straight. He began to soak his hair through properly, ruffling and pushing the water through his hair with his hands. Then he picked up the complimentary shampoo from the corner shelf in the cubicle and dolloped the contents of the small bottle onto his hand. He rubbed it into his scalp roughly, working up a thick lather and piled his long hair on top of his head to wash the ends. Suds splattered against the tiled walls and slopped onto the floor as he vigorously worked the shampoo in. Watery lather slipped down his arms and neck, tickling as it formed languid trails over his shoulders and down his back.

Laguna reached up and unhooked the showerhead from its place above him and began to wash the shampoo out. As he pushed the suds through the length of his hair, his fingers easily gliding to the ends, he thought how silky his hair really was. He knew it was a strange thought to have, but he couldn't keep down the swell of pride all the same.

The last of the shampoo spattered to the floor and the foam swirled down the plughole, clockwise, Laguna noted although he didn't know why. He flexed his toes in the shallow pool that was beginning to form and replaced the showerhead. For a moment he just stood under the spray, feeling the jet of water patter against his skin. A sheen covered his body, the water catching the bathroom light and highlighting the curve of his toned muscles. Then he picked up the sorry excuse for a bar of soap that came with the complimentary shampoo and began to lather it in his hands.

A smile broke out on his face, at first just a slight curl at the corners of his mouth but quickly developing into a wide teeth-flashing grin, as the soap grew slippery. He purposely squeezed his hands tightly, so that it would pop out of his grasp and he'd have to catch it again with the other hand, repeating this several times before making it ping away from him completely. It flew through the jet of water, bounced off the tiled wall and slipped across the shower floor, spinning, until it came to a stop against his foot. A delighted laugh bubbled out of him, drowning out both the sound of the roaring shower and the voice in the back of his mind, who was sighing in frustration at being forced to take part in such a farce.

Laguna began to wash himself down with the lather he'd built up on his hands. He began around his neck and behind his ears, quickly moving over shoulders and arms, once again humming tunelessly to himself. He washed his back the best he could, twisting and stretching to try and get all of it, but failing. Deciding that he'd have to buy a loofah sometime, he bent down and picked up the soap to get more lather.

He began to wash his chest, the soap making his hand slip easily over the hard contours of muscle. He slowed down, his humming fading away, and slid his hand over the area again, his other hand inching further down to the ripples of his stomach.

He liked the sensation as he caressed his body, he didn't often have the chance to stop and drink in moments like this. He rarely paid himself any attention. It made him feel sexy. It was almost as if he was putting on a private show for someone he couldn't see.

A slick finger ran across his nipple, quickly stirring the nub into a hard peak. He scrapped the tip of his fingernail across it, sending vivid shocks through his chest and down his spine. His fingers splayed out as he explored his body, the hand on his stomach slipping across it, into the soft concave of flesh at his waist, between his hip and his ribs. He was slightly ticklish here, and although it was impossible to tickle himself, he felt small pleasant tremors run through him.

Closing his eyes to the soft spray of water, he imagined it was someone else's hands running over him. A stranger: exploring, discovering, claiming his body. His mouth fell open to release a small sigh. Warm water drizzled over his lips, spattering onto the tip of his tongue.

He began to fall backwards, half hoping fancifully to be caught in strong warm arms. An icy shock ran down the length of his back, from his neck to the top of buttocks. With a jerk, he stood back up. Damn stone-cold tile wall! The moment was ruined.

A small voice whispered in his head, he couldn't quite hear it, he didn't honestly want to; fairies, he could deal with, but voices in his head... But it was soft, murmuring, it soothed his annoyance away and his hands found their way back to his skin. They smoothed over his hips and a little way down his thighs, then sliding a back up the inside teasingly, before returning to his stomach.

His skin was so soft, so pliable. His fingers rubbed against the flat of his stomach before dipping lower. As they brushed through the first damp curls of hair, Laguna gasped. His breathing had picked up and he was now close to panting. His chest heaved, contours glistening, as he sucked in the moisture heavy steam around him.

Tentatively, as if it was something he had never done before, his fingertips stroked his semi-hard arousal. Even though it was nothing like the first time he'd touched himself, this time felt different, so intimate. Maybe it was the humid atmosphere around him going to his head and making him dizzy, but it almost didn't feel like his hand running along his length, palming and persuading it to full hardness.

He closed his eyes again, letting his other senses soak his surroundings up; the pressure as his hand wrapped around his erection, the smell that the steam carried deep into him of perfumed soap and shampoo, the rhythm of the shower spattering against the floor, and the thud of it against his skin.

It was a labor to breathe in that steam. It clung to his throat, making the air seem thick. His hurried breaths didn't help, his lungs constricted desperately in search of oxygen. It didn't matter; he knew that it wasn't going to hurt him. It was just a little steam. It only increased the feeling that he was powerless to himself, which in turn gave him a wicked thrill and he increased the speed of his strokes, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

His other hand traveled up the length of his body, breaking the river of water that ran down it. It traveled over his collarbone, into the hollow between them, then continuing up his neck to his Adams Apple. Laguna moaned, the sound vibrating against his fingertips, before moving up over his jaw line. He pressed his fingers against his open mouth. His lips were silky and slick. His breath panted hotly against his skin as he lightly trailed his digits over his sensitive lips. Tiny feathery sensations tickled through his mouth and he put his tongue out to lick them as they passed, before thoughtlessly sucking his index finger into his wet mouth.

The thumb of his other hand traced over the pre-come leaking from his arousal and smeared it over the head, resulting in tiny waves of pleasure radiating through his groin. He groaned around his finger and fell backwards, his mind too lost to register the cool solid wall he came to rest against. Using this as support, he began to buck his hips, thrusting into his hand urgently.

Despite the constant stream of water from above, beads of sweat began to break out and form rivulets down his skin, joining and mingling with the existing water that coated his body. His panting was now loud enough to echo in the small space of the shower cubicle. The sound filled his ears, punctuated occasionally by soft keening cries of desperation. Momentarily, he thought that he heard someone else panting as well, at first by the side of him, then somehow inside him, but he dismissed the thought as an echo.

His hand slid back down to caress his chest as he felt the build up of white heat in his belly. The feeling coiled unbearably tight, then it felt like something had snapped inside him and he was released. He cried out long and low as he came, the milky fluid bursting from him in a stream that splattered against the glass door.

With a raking sigh, he sank to the floor, too spent to even think. He fought to regain his breath in the damp air as he let the warm water wash over him. His hand was almost too heavy to move, but he managed to lift it to sweep his hair from his face, before letting it drop back down. He'd have to move soon, else he'd fall asleep. Just a few minutes more...

Squall's eyes snapped open and he was instantly aware of his surroundings and of being awake again. His breath heaved out of him, but it was already beginning to calm down. It stuttered as he remembered the dream.

He felt too weary to move, but despite being drained, he forced himself half upright on his arms. He was balanced on the edge of the bed, but he'd made it. He let his arms give way, temporarily resting face first on his sheets before making the effort to roll over onto his back.

The movement made him uncomfortably aware of the sticky warmth around his groin.

Sitting up, he began to unfasten his trousers. As he wriggled out of his ruined leathers, he tried to be annoyed, but he couldn't. He had to admit that had been a wet dream and a half. He continued to strip and then went to his bathroom.

As he adjusted the heat of his shower unit, he considered the plughole; the water drained clockwise, the same as Laguna's. Squall worried his bottom lip with his teeth thoughtfully. Laguna must have been on this side of the equator. Squall wondered where, and just how long ago that event had taken place. Was he still there?

He still thought that Laguna was a moron, but if he ever got the chance to meet him, he wouldn't mind re-enacting that dream. This time, he'd be there to catch him when he fell backwards.