Entry tags:
FFVIII: What If?
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Laguna/Squall
Warnings: Laguna POV, incest, angst
Rating: PG13
Summary: Laguna thinks too much about the ever uncomfortable what if. For
fated_children.
Squall has a way of saying the word that made my stomach twist in a most pleasant way at the same time as making my intestines get all tangled in a most unpleasant way. Just a simple word, but it makes me fall to pieces every time. Usually because it's so damn wrong to hear it when I'm pressing him down on my bed, kissing and teasing and tasting, but so...
It sends shivers down my spine when he says it. "Daddy," he whispers, and his voice is teasing, coy, seductive. So wrong. That word is a child's word, and when he says it he almost taints it, making the word something depraved, something secret. Something worthy of only whispering. And yet nothing he ever says could be tainted; he's perfect.
I admit that it scares me, even when he whispers it, because I've never been that. And now I never can be that. I missed the days when he might have called me that, and it be a good word, rather than a mockery or a guilty pleasure. But when he whispers it, it gives me a taste of what I could have been, no matter how he says it. That's terrifying, because I was never prepared to be a father, and yet at one time I wanted it so much.
So there's always the fear, lingering, on the edges of my mind. What if I had been there for him as a child, but we still, somehow, ended up like this? What if I'd never become President of Esthar, but just a father, and what if even then I fell so hopelessly, so wrongly, in love with my son?
What does that say about me?
Pairing: Laguna/Squall
Warnings: Laguna POV, incest, angst
Rating: PG13
Summary: Laguna thinks too much about the ever uncomfortable what if. For
Squall has a way of saying the word that made my stomach twist in a most pleasant way at the same time as making my intestines get all tangled in a most unpleasant way. Just a simple word, but it makes me fall to pieces every time. Usually because it's so damn wrong to hear it when I'm pressing him down on my bed, kissing and teasing and tasting, but so...
It sends shivers down my spine when he says it. "Daddy," he whispers, and his voice is teasing, coy, seductive. So wrong. That word is a child's word, and when he says it he almost taints it, making the word something depraved, something secret. Something worthy of only whispering. And yet nothing he ever says could be tainted; he's perfect.
I admit that it scares me, even when he whispers it, because I've never been that. And now I never can be that. I missed the days when he might have called me that, and it be a good word, rather than a mockery or a guilty pleasure. But when he whispers it, it gives me a taste of what I could have been, no matter how he says it. That's terrifying, because I was never prepared to be a father, and yet at one time I wanted it so much.
So there's always the fear, lingering, on the edges of my mind. What if I had been there for him as a child, but we still, somehow, ended up like this? What if I'd never become President of Esthar, but just a father, and what if even then I fell so hopelessly, so wrongly, in love with my son?
What does that say about me?
