A Night of Rest in the Wilderness (FFVIII, Seifer/Irvine, NC-17) - for Rina
A Night of Rest in the Wilderness
Gunpowder
Fandom: FFVIII
Characters/Pairing: Irvine/Seifer, eventually, if they'll ever stop bickering
Rating: R (for a distinct lack of pants) Yup, just moved pretty boldly into NC-17.
Length: ~4200 words OMG
Notes: Gunpowder is now the name of the mission-based universe in which Seifer and Irvine do things and basically have a lot of hot mansex. I blame Nay for this idea pretty much, and am secretly hoping! she will come collab in this 'verse with me since most of it was her idea anyway and Seifer/Irvine is hot. Yes, that's right. I stole this idea, shamelessly! COME PUNISH ME, NAY. WITH PORN. Or dirty sex-slave fic, either one.
Anyway, I've pulled an IMAGINARY moment out of the overall story as an excuse to write man-smut. This is a gift for lassarina. Happy Birthday, darling. all Seifer/Irvine is pretty much your fault anyway
Summary: The aftermath of battle, days of running, and teamwork; Seifer and Irvine are too tired to sleep.
It's finally quiet in their empty hotel, quiet and dark. They won't dare to turn the lights on until they absolutely have to; this floor of the hotel is pretty deserted, and it'd be a dead giveaway to anyone on the streets who ever bothered to look upwards. There's still some dim light coming through the windows - for now, anyway. Seifer is cleaning his gunblade by memory more than anything, absently moving the polishing cloth along Hyperion's length.
Irvine's gun is in his lap; Irvine himself hasn't really moved since he fell to the floor. His back is leaning against the bed, and his head is crooked back at what looks like an awkward angle, propped up by a pillow. He seems to be staring out the window, although Seifer has no clue what he could possibly be looking at.
Seifer clears his throat roughly; breaks the silence. "Don't you need to clean that?"
"Yeah." It's a long, slow drawl in the darkness. Irvine sounds ridiculously lazy.
"Well, get on it." Seifer flips Hyperion, takes the cloth to the other side automatically. "I don't want you watching my back with a gun that won't work."
"Can't," Irvine says, still barely moving. "Not enough light."
"There's still light."
"Enough for you." Irvine finally tilts his head, and Seifer sees those uncanny near-violet eyes catching some of the faint window-glare. "That gunblade don't have all kinds of little parts that'll fall all over the damn place once you open it up."
Seifer traces the veining in Hyperion's blade through the cloth; he can feel the grit. "That's a little unprofessional of you, isn't it? I thought you said you knew your gun like you knew your... anyway. You're supposed to be able to take care of your own weapon, aren't you?"
Irvine snorts in reply. "Could put the damn thing together blindfolded," he points out, "with my hands broken. That don't mean I want to." His long fingers dance on the gun a little, like whispers in the fading light. "Besides, not like it's a matter of life or death right now, is it."
"If that gun accidentally shoots me tomorrow, Kinneas, I will kill you."
"Not if I shoot you, you won't." Irvine's grin is a flash in the grey.
A silence fills the room: small, and taut, and somewhat comfortable. Irvine sets the gun beside him, stretches out his long legs.
"We could turn on a light," Seifer offers finally.
"Why?" Irvine clasps his hands behind his head, leans back against the bed again. "Risk bringing all them poachers down on us just so as I can clean out Exeter's barrel? Not worth it. She's a good gun, and she don't need babyin'. Besides, when was the last time we had a room with a bed?"
Seifer doesn't reply; Irvine's right. The last night - well, last night they didn't sleep at all, and the night before they'd each grabbed a couple hours of sleep in the basement of some crappy abandoned shack. Seifer is continually surprised every time they find another crappy abandoned shack in these woods, although at this point he shouldn't be. The part of Centra they're wandering is pretty crappy and abandoned all on its own.
"Think we'll both be able to sleep tonight?" Irvine's eyes are back on the window, Seifer notes. Maybe it's a sniper habit, because he sure as hell can't see anything other than a dark patch of sky.
"I don't see any reason to have a watch," Seifer says, shrugging; Irvine probably can't see him, but it makes him feel better, anyway. "As long as we don't turn the lights on. Chances of them finding us are pretty slim, anyway. They probably didn't even come into town." It's just a little port-town on the edge of Centra, almost as abandoned and crappy as the rest of the continent. The whole town is pretty deserted, honestly, but Seifer doesn't think the GF hunters will risk even this small bit of civilization.
He isn't even sure who's hunting, anymore: in the past forty-eight hours he and Irvine have both been chased and given chase. It's like a retarded game of hide-and-seek, where whatever team has the GF is suddenly Not It.
"Well, if they find us, we'll sure as hell wake up." Irvine chuckles, and picks up his gun; the movement is faint in the growing darkness.
"Hopefully one of us will, anyway." Seifer stills, finally dropping Hyperion's cloth to the floor. "You can sleep, if you want." He's exhausted, but not tired. It's as if the past few days are still running through his blood, as if he's packing Hypers.
"May as well lie down." Irvine stands up; Seifer can hear the clack as Irvine lays Exeter beside the bed. There is some rustling, and then the clear sound of a zipper, and then more rustling. Something soft lands in a clothing puddle somewhere to his left.
"That had better not be your pants, Kinneas."
"What if it is?" Even in the dark, he can hear the cowboy's grin. "I haven't had them off in a week, Almasy. And da-amn, if this ain't comfortable, I don't know what is."
Seifer hears the bed creak as Irvine sits, stretches, relaxes. The room is almost completely dark - he can see only shapes, really, as Irvine stretches out full-length across the mattress.
"Gods, this is nice." Irvine pats the bed, and the sound is surprisingly soft. "C'mon, Almasy, you need your sleep too. If you pass out on me tomorrow, I swear to Hyne himself, I will shoot you."
"I'm almost done." The light's pretty much gone, anyway; Seifer's just loath to go to bed, for some reason. They've been running for days - maybe he's just not ready to sleep.
"I promise your fancy sword'll make it. Get your ass in this bed, I don't bite."
"No, but you cuddle." Seifer stands up anyway, taking a couple steps through the grey and dark towards the bed. Hyperion goes on the floor on what he hopes is the side Irvine is not on; he doesn't particularly fancy having to patch up Irvine's sliced-open foot. "And I'm pretty sure you don't have any pants on."
"Don't sound so excited," Irvine replies. "You know you wanna check." Seifer hears him pat the bed again.
Seifer snorts. His own clothes are filthy: dirt, and sweat, and the crusted blood from that last skirmish, the one that kept them up last night. He peels off the jacket, and then his t-shirt. His pants come off too, because what the hell. It all gets tossed into the room somewhere. Tomorrow morning, when the sun's up, he'll be able to find it all.
He sits on the bed, feeling the ache of exhaustion in all his muscles. "This mission sucks," Seifer says. "Kinneas, you had better be wearing boxers."
"Stop thinking about me naked, you pervert," Irvine says, laughing into the dark.
Seifer's head finally hits the pillow and he stretches out his arms and legs, taking as much room from Irvine as he possibly can. His body feels like one gigantic bruise, and it's really nice to finally stretch out on something that isn't stone or dirt.
"This is much nicer than that place we stopped last night," Irvine says lazily, echoing Seifer's thoughts.
"Two nights ago," Seifer corrects him, automatically. It had been a horrible night, snatching an hour or two of sleep while the other took a desperate and lonely watch. Well, not entirely lonely: they'd switched the GF back and forth, too, not wanting to seal it into the carrying chamber until they were far enough away to be safe. "God, that night sucked."
"I had such a massive headache." Irvine laces his hands behind his head again, his elbow brushing against Seifer's. "That GF's a bitch and a half. I hope Squall's happy with her."
"Good riddance." Seifer's eyes trail the darkness to where his pack might be, instinctively checking for the GF carrying crystal, although he knows he won't be able to see it in the black. "Should've let the bastards shoot her, honestly. I think I'll give her to Squall to Junction when we get back." Asura was some kind of proud thing that hissed in the back of his brain and made Seifer feel like he'd had one too many heads. Giving the rogue GF to Squall directly would be an amusing kind of revenge - on both Squall and Asura.
"Yeah," Irvine says, "but can you imagine fighting somebody on the field with Her Junctioned?" He shivers, dramatically, and Seifer can feel it across the warmth of the bed. The cowboy radiates heat, like a portable furnace. "I'd rather give that bitch to somebody who knows what they're doin'."
"I think she'd Junction the human, not the other way around," Seifer points out with bitter amusement in his voice. "We can let Rinoa handle her. I don't want that thing in my brain any longer than absolutely necessary."
Irvine's quiet for a moment. "I bet they're using 'em themselves," he says finally. "I mean, I ain't sayin' we're superpowered or anything, but we should've gotten off a lot easier last night." Irvine's drawl comes out when he's worried, or nervous, Seifer knows. And he can't really blame Irvine: if these bastards they're chasing are packing raw, rogue GFs, without really knowing what they're doing, the rest of the mission is really going to suck.
"They shouldn't have been able to follow us like that," Irvine finishes. In the silence, Seifer thinks.
The night previous flashes through his head: running through the woods, Asura pounding in his head and the poachers shrieking; Irvine taking off, Junction-pushing his speed to get far enough ahead to try and pick off one or two of the guys behind them; Seifer stopping, trying to slow them down while Irvine gets in a goddamn tree or something and starts shooting the bastards; Hyperion, a ring of fire around him, and the clap of Irvine's gun over his shoulder -
His blood's racing again. "Maybe," he says, not wanting to admit how sore he really is. Bone-weary, and yet not tired enough to sleep.
"Hell of a fight, though," Irvine says nonchalantly.
"Yeah." Seifer grins. It's a good feeling, being able to take point all the time with someone's sure-shot at your back as you spin and slash and try to think of new names for your Fire Cross. He and the sniper make a good team, surprisingly, but he doesn't want to be the one who admits it. "Damn good fight," he says instead.
Irvine shifts again, doing something with his pillow; Seifer can feel the puffs of air on his face as Irvine wrestles it into submission. The bed quivers. "You're easy to fight with," Irvine says once the pillow has been subdued. "Don't have to worry about shooting you on accident."
"It's because I'm way more coordinated than Tilmitt," Seifer points out.
"Nah," Irvine says, lazily, "I just don't care if I shoot you."
It isn't hard to reach out in the darkness, elbow the cowboy in the gut. Seifer does so. "Prick."
Irvine laughs. "I'm so tired I'm not tired, y'know?"
Seifer smirks. He's so exhausted that his body aches, and his thoughts are coming in slow lazy spirals as he relaxes into the slightly musty bedspread - and yet, his heart is pumping, and he feels strangely - alive in this bed. Exhilirated, almost, to have survived that skirmish and Asura's angry wail and the gunshots. "You should sleep anyway," he orders. "Tomorrow is probably going to suck, too."
"I'm mostly amazed that we're here," Irvine says, amused. "We got the GF, too, which is so brilliant, and we're both here, safe. And mostly uninjured. In an actual goddamn bed."
"Don't sound so romantic, Kinneas." Seifer rolls his eyes, into the dark. "I'm going to vomit all over your pillow."
"You know what I mean," Irvine shoots back. "You know exactly what I mean. It feels good."
Seifer smiles at the ceiling because he knows Irvine can't see him. Exhaustion is a good feeling - he's tingling all over, with the feeling of having done something fucking right finally when they've been chasing these bastards for days. He doesn't even mind that the cowboy's here; hell, Irvine was a big part of this thing, he couldn't have done it alone, and the fact that they work so well together is not only refreshing, but has to be an insult to Leonhart on some level. In fact, Irvine's temptingly warm across the mattress, and -
"We should sleep," he says instead, tucking the smile away in the back of his head to remember the next time he gets shot in the arm.
"Can't," Irvine replies lazily. "Too awake."
"Do laps around the room, or something."
"I know you've got better ideas than that," Irvine says, his voice pitched low to carry his meaning clearly across the room.
Seifer says nothing. A part of him has been waiting for this, ever since that first night, but they've been on mission and although it was sorely tempting, the basement of a crappy abandoned shack wasn't exactly the best place for -
He isn't really surprised when Irvine's mouth comes out of the darkness, warm and demanding against his. Irvine almost misses his mouth completely, but Seifer turns his head, claiming Irvine's lips with his own. There's something electric - Irvine's warm bulk in the bed beside him, and the ache in his muscles, and they've finally got that GF and they can have a night of rest. Seifer kisses Irvine back because he's fucking proud. There's a warm rush through his body. Irvine's lips are almost hard against his: he's awake, and eager, now.
"Still not tired, huh?" Irvine's a faint chuckle in the darkness, as he shifts closer to Seifer, letting Seifer roll slightly onto him like a body-sized pillow - shit, the cowboy doesn't have anything on. He should've known; it was too dark to see before, and he can feel Irvine chuckle, as if he's been planning this from the second he got in the bed. He probably has, the pervert.
Seifer bites at his lip, once he finds it in the black. "Where the hell are your pants?"
Irvine's skin is warm against his leg. "You won't be able to find them now," Irvine says, and Seifer can feel him shrug. "Are you really that concerned?"
"Hell no," Seifer says, and kisses him, hard. When he breaks away, he adds: "I just find it funny that you were butt-naked while I had my gunblade out. I could've tripped, and cut your dick off, or something."
Irvine chuckles again, and his hand dips low down the back of Seifer's boxers. "You're horrible at pillow talk," he says nonchalantly, and how is Seifer supposed to think of a witty retort with Irvine's hand cupping his ass like that, grabbing just so and - Seifer grunts, low, and now he's finally on top of Irvine. Irvine's naked body. And Seifer's only thinking that this is totally unfair and that there should be skin-on-skin everywhere. Irvine's already half-hard, as if thinking about that battle got him all horny-like in bed. Seifer's not exactly ready to admit that his blood's already hot - but then again, fighting has always been a kind of a turn-on.
"You never give me a chance, you talk too much," Seifer says as a retort, but they've both forgotten what Irvine said in the first place.
Seifer's arms are achy, and he rolls back onto his side - keeping one leg thrown over Irvine, possessively. Irvine follows his momentum, slinging his naked body on top of Seifer's - when did he get so warm, Seifer thinks, kind of wildly, it's as if Irvine's got Ifrit Junctioned to his skin temperature or something. It's nice; the heat is seeping into his bones all comfortable-like, and Seifer grabs where he thinks Irvine's face is - he's close, at least - and tugs him down for another long kiss. Their legs are now completely tangled, and there's warmth and a more solid urge pressing against Seifer now, and damn.
He'd wondered, momentarily, in-between watches and bits of sleep and Asura's prideful spittings, whether Irvine'd meant it the first time. Irvine breaks the kiss off to nimbly maneouver down and remove Seifer's boxers, and Seifer stops wondering; skin on skin, it's surprisingly comforting, and the cowboy shifts to toss the boxers somewhere into the darkness.
"I bet you're tired," Irvine says to him in a low voice, and before Seifer can say anything, Irvine's down between his legs. His breath is warm, and Irvine licks Seifer's cock - slowly, gently, and whatever Seifer was going to say comes out as the beginning of a really embarrassing moan. Seifer snaps his mouth shut; he's certainly not going to argue, as Irvine shifts himself and slowly slides the entire length into his mouth.
This time, Seifer moans for real. "Fuck, Kinneas," he says, half-meaning it. It feels so good, and the tension left in his body is just slowly fading into a warm pool, collecting between his legs as Irvine works him in his mouth. He bucks his hips, grabbing at where Irvine's head should be - his hand tangles in Irvine's hair, and he hears a muffled curse that just comes out as warm breath against his cock.
"Sorry," he says, not sorry at all.
Irvine turns his head upwards momentarily, and the air is suddenly cool on bare skin. "Quiet, Almasy, or they'll find us." His voice in the dark is the breath of a joke, and Seifer smirks, mostly because Irvine can't see him - but then the warm mouth descends on him in the dark and he growls a little. Irvine is so fucking warm. He thrusts his hips upwards again, wanting to get deeper, and Irvine obligingly wraps his hand around the base of Seifer's cock, pumping mouth and fingers together in rhythm.
The added tension is just what he wanted, and Seifer lets out a sharp breath. "Yeah," he growls, barely paying attention to the words. The room is dark and every one of his senses has been rerouted to feel Irvine's slick lips and fingers on his cock. He leaves a hand on Irvine's head, letting it move up and down with Irvine's motions as if he's in control here, although in this darkness he doesn't dare pump the cowboy's head for fear of an accident. "Faster - oh, fuck, yeah."
Seifer's tingling now, all of that stolen heat pulsing and throbbing as he thrusts himself into Irvine's hand and mouth again - it's so slick and tight and Irvine speeds up, tightening his lips, and the friction is just so, almost too much. Seifer raises his head off of the pillow, imagining he can watch as Irvine's warm mouth and hand pump his length - faster, now, and - he's imagining it, too, Irvine's mouth wrapped around him - and it's so close - Seifer can feel himself tensing, and he - Seifer hisses, mostly, as the orgasm rushes through him, his fingers clenching on bedsheets as his other hand tries to force Irvine's mouth down on him even more as he comes. Irvine makes some kind of muted sound at this, but he obliges - holding the tension tight as Seifer spills into that warm mouth. His legs buck a little, and he shudders with the force of it.
The heat runs through him, ridiculously fast, and Seifer sags back against the pillow behind him, feeling tingling warmth as his legs stop spasming. His arm has apparently fallen to the side, because Irvine is sitting up, chuckling again as he does something with the sheet. Probably cleaning himself, Seifer realizes belatedly. He's warm - and fucking comfortable, now.
"You like that?" Irvine's low voice from the darkness, and Seifer tries to turn his head. His limbs are heavy, still full of shuddering heat.
It's as if the exhaustion of the entire week has finally caught up with him; he can't keep his eyes open. "Nice," he manages to say, lethargically. He's so comfortable - and tired. "Good night now."
"Hey," Irvine says, his voice full of humour and good-natured hurt: "that's not fair."
"Never said it was," Seifer mumbles. "It was your idea." And he rolls face-first into the pillow and crashes into warmth and sleep.
Seifer wakes up to pale sunlight through the tiny window and the realization that Irvine stole the blankets in the middle of the night. The cowboy's cuddling him again, like he always does, although for some reason it isn't quite as annoying this morning - probably because without the blankets, the room's chilly. He isn't surprised: Irvine, sleeping, will cuddle anything that doesn't move out of his way fast enough. Seifer wrestles himself out of lanky arms, ignoring the sticky-dried spot, and surveys the room.
There are clothes everywhere. His boxers are draped over his pack, haphazardly, and Seifer wonders idly whether Asura enjoyed the show. Irvine's pants are draped over the room's single chair, and his own jacket is lying across the floor, looking like hell. The entire place looks like a brothel. Seifer laughs, low. What a mess.
He hears Irvine shift in the bed behind him. The cowboy has the blankets pulled up to his chin, leaving a long stretch of bare shoulder and slim, muscled back showing... Seifer smirks. Irvine is notoriously hard to wake up in the morning on real sleep; the nights he sleeps with Exeter in hand and one eye open don't really count. Give Irvine a pillow, and he's impossible to get up - it'll be even worse today, on the first real sleep they've gotten in a week. Plus he - well, no, he doesn't feel bad about falling asleep last night. Not at all. It's just ...well, he'd like to encourage that sort of behaviour. And besides, the damn cowboy needs to get out of bed some time this century.
Seifer gets back into bed, behind Irvine. He pulls back the covers and reaches down; Irvine twitches against his hand. Like most mornings, he's already half-hard; it doesn't take long for Seifer's hand to coax Irvine's cock, a soft grasp and a couple slow and gentle tracings with rough fingers.
"What'reya doin'?" His accent is hilariously jumbled in the mornings, when he forgets where he is.
Seifer smirks against Irvine's bare shoulder, licking it before he rolls Irvine onto his back. "It's your wake-up call," he says as he moves downward, between Irvine's legs. "It's time to get up." His voice leaves no room for argument.
"Mmph," Irvine mumbles intelligibly. "'m sleepin', Seifer."
"Not any more," Seifer says, drawing his hand along Irvine's hard length again. "This is payback. You interrupt my sleep, I'm gonna interrupt yours."
Irvine has one drowsy eye open, squinting somewhat hilariously down at him. "'s hard to tell if you're serious," he says finally.
"Wake up," Seifer orders, crouching down and taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in the way Irvine's face heats up as his tongue darts out. "Of course I'm serious."
He watches until the other man's head falls back into the pillows, and then takes Irvine's entire length into his mouth. Irvine moans, and Seifer can't help but smirk a little in the daylight.
"Quiet, you idiot," he says, "or they'll hear you."
- - -
THIS IS THE PORN THAT WOULDN'T STOP
ALSO, WHY CAN I NOT WRITE VAGUE PORN? WHY MUST I ALWAYS WRITE EXPLICIT DETAILS? WHY MUST I ALWAYS USE THE WORD COCK! OH MY GOD
Anyway: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RINA.
I BARELY BELIEVE I AM POSTING THIS.
Gunpowder
Fandom: FFVIII
Characters/Pairing: Irvine/Seifer, eventually, if they'll ever stop bickering
Rating: R (for a distinct lack of pants) Yup, just moved pretty boldly into NC-17.
Length: ~4200 words OMG
Notes: Gunpowder is now the name of the mission-based universe in which Seifer and Irvine do things and basically have a lot of hot mansex. I blame Nay for this idea pretty much, and am secretly hoping! she will come collab in this 'verse with me since most of it was her idea anyway and Seifer/Irvine is hot. Yes, that's right. I stole this idea, shamelessly! COME PUNISH ME, NAY. WITH PORN. Or dirty sex-slave fic, either one.
Anyway, I've pulled an IMAGINARY moment out of the overall story as an excuse to write man-smut. This is a gift for lassarina. Happy Birthday, darling. all Seifer/Irvine is pretty much your fault anyway
Summary: The aftermath of battle, days of running, and teamwork; Seifer and Irvine are too tired to sleep.
It's finally quiet in their empty hotel, quiet and dark. They won't dare to turn the lights on until they absolutely have to; this floor of the hotel is pretty deserted, and it'd be a dead giveaway to anyone on the streets who ever bothered to look upwards. There's still some dim light coming through the windows - for now, anyway. Seifer is cleaning his gunblade by memory more than anything, absently moving the polishing cloth along Hyperion's length.
Irvine's gun is in his lap; Irvine himself hasn't really moved since he fell to the floor. His back is leaning against the bed, and his head is crooked back at what looks like an awkward angle, propped up by a pillow. He seems to be staring out the window, although Seifer has no clue what he could possibly be looking at.
Seifer clears his throat roughly; breaks the silence. "Don't you need to clean that?"
"Yeah." It's a long, slow drawl in the darkness. Irvine sounds ridiculously lazy.
"Well, get on it." Seifer flips Hyperion, takes the cloth to the other side automatically. "I don't want you watching my back with a gun that won't work."
"Can't," Irvine says, still barely moving. "Not enough light."
"There's still light."
"Enough for you." Irvine finally tilts his head, and Seifer sees those uncanny near-violet eyes catching some of the faint window-glare. "That gunblade don't have all kinds of little parts that'll fall all over the damn place once you open it up."
Seifer traces the veining in Hyperion's blade through the cloth; he can feel the grit. "That's a little unprofessional of you, isn't it? I thought you said you knew your gun like you knew your... anyway. You're supposed to be able to take care of your own weapon, aren't you?"
Irvine snorts in reply. "Could put the damn thing together blindfolded," he points out, "with my hands broken. That don't mean I want to." His long fingers dance on the gun a little, like whispers in the fading light. "Besides, not like it's a matter of life or death right now, is it."
"If that gun accidentally shoots me tomorrow, Kinneas, I will kill you."
"Not if I shoot you, you won't." Irvine's grin is a flash in the grey.
A silence fills the room: small, and taut, and somewhat comfortable. Irvine sets the gun beside him, stretches out his long legs.
"We could turn on a light," Seifer offers finally.
"Why?" Irvine clasps his hands behind his head, leans back against the bed again. "Risk bringing all them poachers down on us just so as I can clean out Exeter's barrel? Not worth it. She's a good gun, and she don't need babyin'. Besides, when was the last time we had a room with a bed?"
Seifer doesn't reply; Irvine's right. The last night - well, last night they didn't sleep at all, and the night before they'd each grabbed a couple hours of sleep in the basement of some crappy abandoned shack. Seifer is continually surprised every time they find another crappy abandoned shack in these woods, although at this point he shouldn't be. The part of Centra they're wandering is pretty crappy and abandoned all on its own.
"Think we'll both be able to sleep tonight?" Irvine's eyes are back on the window, Seifer notes. Maybe it's a sniper habit, because he sure as hell can't see anything other than a dark patch of sky.
"I don't see any reason to have a watch," Seifer says, shrugging; Irvine probably can't see him, but it makes him feel better, anyway. "As long as we don't turn the lights on. Chances of them finding us are pretty slim, anyway. They probably didn't even come into town." It's just a little port-town on the edge of Centra, almost as abandoned and crappy as the rest of the continent. The whole town is pretty deserted, honestly, but Seifer doesn't think the GF hunters will risk even this small bit of civilization.
He isn't even sure who's hunting, anymore: in the past forty-eight hours he and Irvine have both been chased and given chase. It's like a retarded game of hide-and-seek, where whatever team has the GF is suddenly Not It.
"Well, if they find us, we'll sure as hell wake up." Irvine chuckles, and picks up his gun; the movement is faint in the growing darkness.
"Hopefully one of us will, anyway." Seifer stills, finally dropping Hyperion's cloth to the floor. "You can sleep, if you want." He's exhausted, but not tired. It's as if the past few days are still running through his blood, as if he's packing Hypers.
"May as well lie down." Irvine stands up; Seifer can hear the clack as Irvine lays Exeter beside the bed. There is some rustling, and then the clear sound of a zipper, and then more rustling. Something soft lands in a clothing puddle somewhere to his left.
"That had better not be your pants, Kinneas."
"What if it is?" Even in the dark, he can hear the cowboy's grin. "I haven't had them off in a week, Almasy. And da-amn, if this ain't comfortable, I don't know what is."
Seifer hears the bed creak as Irvine sits, stretches, relaxes. The room is almost completely dark - he can see only shapes, really, as Irvine stretches out full-length across the mattress.
"Gods, this is nice." Irvine pats the bed, and the sound is surprisingly soft. "C'mon, Almasy, you need your sleep too. If you pass out on me tomorrow, I swear to Hyne himself, I will shoot you."
"I'm almost done." The light's pretty much gone, anyway; Seifer's just loath to go to bed, for some reason. They've been running for days - maybe he's just not ready to sleep.
"I promise your fancy sword'll make it. Get your ass in this bed, I don't bite."
"No, but you cuddle." Seifer stands up anyway, taking a couple steps through the grey and dark towards the bed. Hyperion goes on the floor on what he hopes is the side Irvine is not on; he doesn't particularly fancy having to patch up Irvine's sliced-open foot. "And I'm pretty sure you don't have any pants on."
"Don't sound so excited," Irvine replies. "You know you wanna check." Seifer hears him pat the bed again.
Seifer snorts. His own clothes are filthy: dirt, and sweat, and the crusted blood from that last skirmish, the one that kept them up last night. He peels off the jacket, and then his t-shirt. His pants come off too, because what the hell. It all gets tossed into the room somewhere. Tomorrow morning, when the sun's up, he'll be able to find it all.
He sits on the bed, feeling the ache of exhaustion in all his muscles. "This mission sucks," Seifer says. "Kinneas, you had better be wearing boxers."
"Stop thinking about me naked, you pervert," Irvine says, laughing into the dark.
Seifer's head finally hits the pillow and he stretches out his arms and legs, taking as much room from Irvine as he possibly can. His body feels like one gigantic bruise, and it's really nice to finally stretch out on something that isn't stone or dirt.
"This is much nicer than that place we stopped last night," Irvine says lazily, echoing Seifer's thoughts.
"Two nights ago," Seifer corrects him, automatically. It had been a horrible night, snatching an hour or two of sleep while the other took a desperate and lonely watch. Well, not entirely lonely: they'd switched the GF back and forth, too, not wanting to seal it into the carrying chamber until they were far enough away to be safe. "God, that night sucked."
"I had such a massive headache." Irvine laces his hands behind his head again, his elbow brushing against Seifer's. "That GF's a bitch and a half. I hope Squall's happy with her."
"Good riddance." Seifer's eyes trail the darkness to where his pack might be, instinctively checking for the GF carrying crystal, although he knows he won't be able to see it in the black. "Should've let the bastards shoot her, honestly. I think I'll give her to Squall to Junction when we get back." Asura was some kind of proud thing that hissed in the back of his brain and made Seifer feel like he'd had one too many heads. Giving the rogue GF to Squall directly would be an amusing kind of revenge - on both Squall and Asura.
"Yeah," Irvine says, "but can you imagine fighting somebody on the field with Her Junctioned?" He shivers, dramatically, and Seifer can feel it across the warmth of the bed. The cowboy radiates heat, like a portable furnace. "I'd rather give that bitch to somebody who knows what they're doin'."
"I think she'd Junction the human, not the other way around," Seifer points out with bitter amusement in his voice. "We can let Rinoa handle her. I don't want that thing in my brain any longer than absolutely necessary."
Irvine's quiet for a moment. "I bet they're using 'em themselves," he says finally. "I mean, I ain't sayin' we're superpowered or anything, but we should've gotten off a lot easier last night." Irvine's drawl comes out when he's worried, or nervous, Seifer knows. And he can't really blame Irvine: if these bastards they're chasing are packing raw, rogue GFs, without really knowing what they're doing, the rest of the mission is really going to suck.
"They shouldn't have been able to follow us like that," Irvine finishes. In the silence, Seifer thinks.
The night previous flashes through his head: running through the woods, Asura pounding in his head and the poachers shrieking; Irvine taking off, Junction-pushing his speed to get far enough ahead to try and pick off one or two of the guys behind them; Seifer stopping, trying to slow them down while Irvine gets in a goddamn tree or something and starts shooting the bastards; Hyperion, a ring of fire around him, and the clap of Irvine's gun over his shoulder -
His blood's racing again. "Maybe," he says, not wanting to admit how sore he really is. Bone-weary, and yet not tired enough to sleep.
"Hell of a fight, though," Irvine says nonchalantly.
"Yeah." Seifer grins. It's a good feeling, being able to take point all the time with someone's sure-shot at your back as you spin and slash and try to think of new names for your Fire Cross. He and the sniper make a good team, surprisingly, but he doesn't want to be the one who admits it. "Damn good fight," he says instead.
Irvine shifts again, doing something with his pillow; Seifer can feel the puffs of air on his face as Irvine wrestles it into submission. The bed quivers. "You're easy to fight with," Irvine says once the pillow has been subdued. "Don't have to worry about shooting you on accident."
"It's because I'm way more coordinated than Tilmitt," Seifer points out.
"Nah," Irvine says, lazily, "I just don't care if I shoot you."
It isn't hard to reach out in the darkness, elbow the cowboy in the gut. Seifer does so. "Prick."
Irvine laughs. "I'm so tired I'm not tired, y'know?"
Seifer smirks. He's so exhausted that his body aches, and his thoughts are coming in slow lazy spirals as he relaxes into the slightly musty bedspread - and yet, his heart is pumping, and he feels strangely - alive in this bed. Exhilirated, almost, to have survived that skirmish and Asura's angry wail and the gunshots. "You should sleep anyway," he orders. "Tomorrow is probably going to suck, too."
"I'm mostly amazed that we're here," Irvine says, amused. "We got the GF, too, which is so brilliant, and we're both here, safe. And mostly uninjured. In an actual goddamn bed."
"Don't sound so romantic, Kinneas." Seifer rolls his eyes, into the dark. "I'm going to vomit all over your pillow."
"You know what I mean," Irvine shoots back. "You know exactly what I mean. It feels good."
Seifer smiles at the ceiling because he knows Irvine can't see him. Exhaustion is a good feeling - he's tingling all over, with the feeling of having done something fucking right finally when they've been chasing these bastards for days. He doesn't even mind that the cowboy's here; hell, Irvine was a big part of this thing, he couldn't have done it alone, and the fact that they work so well together is not only refreshing, but has to be an insult to Leonhart on some level. In fact, Irvine's temptingly warm across the mattress, and -
"We should sleep," he says instead, tucking the smile away in the back of his head to remember the next time he gets shot in the arm.
"Can't," Irvine replies lazily. "Too awake."
"Do laps around the room, or something."
"I know you've got better ideas than that," Irvine says, his voice pitched low to carry his meaning clearly across the room.
Seifer says nothing. A part of him has been waiting for this, ever since that first night, but they've been on mission and although it was sorely tempting, the basement of a crappy abandoned shack wasn't exactly the best place for -
He isn't really surprised when Irvine's mouth comes out of the darkness, warm and demanding against his. Irvine almost misses his mouth completely, but Seifer turns his head, claiming Irvine's lips with his own. There's something electric - Irvine's warm bulk in the bed beside him, and the ache in his muscles, and they've finally got that GF and they can have a night of rest. Seifer kisses Irvine back because he's fucking proud. There's a warm rush through his body. Irvine's lips are almost hard against his: he's awake, and eager, now.
"Still not tired, huh?" Irvine's a faint chuckle in the darkness, as he shifts closer to Seifer, letting Seifer roll slightly onto him like a body-sized pillow - shit, the cowboy doesn't have anything on. He should've known; it was too dark to see before, and he can feel Irvine chuckle, as if he's been planning this from the second he got in the bed. He probably has, the pervert.
Seifer bites at his lip, once he finds it in the black. "Where the hell are your pants?"
Irvine's skin is warm against his leg. "You won't be able to find them now," Irvine says, and Seifer can feel him shrug. "Are you really that concerned?"
"Hell no," Seifer says, and kisses him, hard. When he breaks away, he adds: "I just find it funny that you were butt-naked while I had my gunblade out. I could've tripped, and cut your dick off, or something."
Irvine chuckles again, and his hand dips low down the back of Seifer's boxers. "You're horrible at pillow talk," he says nonchalantly, and how is Seifer supposed to think of a witty retort with Irvine's hand cupping his ass like that, grabbing just so and - Seifer grunts, low, and now he's finally on top of Irvine. Irvine's naked body. And Seifer's only thinking that this is totally unfair and that there should be skin-on-skin everywhere. Irvine's already half-hard, as if thinking about that battle got him all horny-like in bed. Seifer's not exactly ready to admit that his blood's already hot - but then again, fighting has always been a kind of a turn-on.
"You never give me a chance, you talk too much," Seifer says as a retort, but they've both forgotten what Irvine said in the first place.
Seifer's arms are achy, and he rolls back onto his side - keeping one leg thrown over Irvine, possessively. Irvine follows his momentum, slinging his naked body on top of Seifer's - when did he get so warm, Seifer thinks, kind of wildly, it's as if Irvine's got Ifrit Junctioned to his skin temperature or something. It's nice; the heat is seeping into his bones all comfortable-like, and Seifer grabs where he thinks Irvine's face is - he's close, at least - and tugs him down for another long kiss. Their legs are now completely tangled, and there's warmth and a more solid urge pressing against Seifer now, and damn.
He'd wondered, momentarily, in-between watches and bits of sleep and Asura's prideful spittings, whether Irvine'd meant it the first time. Irvine breaks the kiss off to nimbly maneouver down and remove Seifer's boxers, and Seifer stops wondering; skin on skin, it's surprisingly comforting, and the cowboy shifts to toss the boxers somewhere into the darkness.
"I bet you're tired," Irvine says to him in a low voice, and before Seifer can say anything, Irvine's down between his legs. His breath is warm, and Irvine licks Seifer's cock - slowly, gently, and whatever Seifer was going to say comes out as the beginning of a really embarrassing moan. Seifer snaps his mouth shut; he's certainly not going to argue, as Irvine shifts himself and slowly slides the entire length into his mouth.
This time, Seifer moans for real. "Fuck, Kinneas," he says, half-meaning it. It feels so good, and the tension left in his body is just slowly fading into a warm pool, collecting between his legs as Irvine works him in his mouth. He bucks his hips, grabbing at where Irvine's head should be - his hand tangles in Irvine's hair, and he hears a muffled curse that just comes out as warm breath against his cock.
"Sorry," he says, not sorry at all.
Irvine turns his head upwards momentarily, and the air is suddenly cool on bare skin. "Quiet, Almasy, or they'll find us." His voice in the dark is the breath of a joke, and Seifer smirks, mostly because Irvine can't see him - but then the warm mouth descends on him in the dark and he growls a little. Irvine is so fucking warm. He thrusts his hips upwards again, wanting to get deeper, and Irvine obligingly wraps his hand around the base of Seifer's cock, pumping mouth and fingers together in rhythm.
The added tension is just what he wanted, and Seifer lets out a sharp breath. "Yeah," he growls, barely paying attention to the words. The room is dark and every one of his senses has been rerouted to feel Irvine's slick lips and fingers on his cock. He leaves a hand on Irvine's head, letting it move up and down with Irvine's motions as if he's in control here, although in this darkness he doesn't dare pump the cowboy's head for fear of an accident. "Faster - oh, fuck, yeah."
Seifer's tingling now, all of that stolen heat pulsing and throbbing as he thrusts himself into Irvine's hand and mouth again - it's so slick and tight and Irvine speeds up, tightening his lips, and the friction is just so, almost too much. Seifer raises his head off of the pillow, imagining he can watch as Irvine's warm mouth and hand pump his length - faster, now, and - he's imagining it, too, Irvine's mouth wrapped around him - and it's so close - Seifer can feel himself tensing, and he - Seifer hisses, mostly, as the orgasm rushes through him, his fingers clenching on bedsheets as his other hand tries to force Irvine's mouth down on him even more as he comes. Irvine makes some kind of muted sound at this, but he obliges - holding the tension tight as Seifer spills into that warm mouth. His legs buck a little, and he shudders with the force of it.
The heat runs through him, ridiculously fast, and Seifer sags back against the pillow behind him, feeling tingling warmth as his legs stop spasming. His arm has apparently fallen to the side, because Irvine is sitting up, chuckling again as he does something with the sheet. Probably cleaning himself, Seifer realizes belatedly. He's warm - and fucking comfortable, now.
"You like that?" Irvine's low voice from the darkness, and Seifer tries to turn his head. His limbs are heavy, still full of shuddering heat.
It's as if the exhaustion of the entire week has finally caught up with him; he can't keep his eyes open. "Nice," he manages to say, lethargically. He's so comfortable - and tired. "Good night now."
"Hey," Irvine says, his voice full of humour and good-natured hurt: "that's not fair."
"Never said it was," Seifer mumbles. "It was your idea." And he rolls face-first into the pillow and crashes into warmth and sleep.
Seifer wakes up to pale sunlight through the tiny window and the realization that Irvine stole the blankets in the middle of the night. The cowboy's cuddling him again, like he always does, although for some reason it isn't quite as annoying this morning - probably because without the blankets, the room's chilly. He isn't surprised: Irvine, sleeping, will cuddle anything that doesn't move out of his way fast enough. Seifer wrestles himself out of lanky arms, ignoring the sticky-dried spot, and surveys the room.
There are clothes everywhere. His boxers are draped over his pack, haphazardly, and Seifer wonders idly whether Asura enjoyed the show. Irvine's pants are draped over the room's single chair, and his own jacket is lying across the floor, looking like hell. The entire place looks like a brothel. Seifer laughs, low. What a mess.
He hears Irvine shift in the bed behind him. The cowboy has the blankets pulled up to his chin, leaving a long stretch of bare shoulder and slim, muscled back showing... Seifer smirks. Irvine is notoriously hard to wake up in the morning on real sleep; the nights he sleeps with Exeter in hand and one eye open don't really count. Give Irvine a pillow, and he's impossible to get up - it'll be even worse today, on the first real sleep they've gotten in a week. Plus he - well, no, he doesn't feel bad about falling asleep last night. Not at all. It's just ...well, he'd like to encourage that sort of behaviour. And besides, the damn cowboy needs to get out of bed some time this century.
Seifer gets back into bed, behind Irvine. He pulls back the covers and reaches down; Irvine twitches against his hand. Like most mornings, he's already half-hard; it doesn't take long for Seifer's hand to coax Irvine's cock, a soft grasp and a couple slow and gentle tracings with rough fingers.
"What'reya doin'?" His accent is hilariously jumbled in the mornings, when he forgets where he is.
Seifer smirks against Irvine's bare shoulder, licking it before he rolls Irvine onto his back. "It's your wake-up call," he says as he moves downward, between Irvine's legs. "It's time to get up." His voice leaves no room for argument.
"Mmph," Irvine mumbles intelligibly. "'m sleepin', Seifer."
"Not any more," Seifer says, drawing his hand along Irvine's hard length again. "This is payback. You interrupt my sleep, I'm gonna interrupt yours."
Irvine has one drowsy eye open, squinting somewhat hilariously down at him. "'s hard to tell if you're serious," he says finally.
"Wake up," Seifer orders, crouching down and taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in the way Irvine's face heats up as his tongue darts out. "Of course I'm serious."
He watches until the other man's head falls back into the pillows, and then takes Irvine's entire length into his mouth. Irvine moans, and Seifer can't help but smirk a little in the daylight.
"Quiet, you idiot," he says, "or they'll hear you."
- - -
THIS IS THE PORN THAT WOULDN'T STOP
ALSO, WHY CAN I NOT WRITE VAGUE PORN? WHY MUST I ALWAYS WRITE EXPLICIT DETAILS? WHY MUST I ALWAYS USE THE WORD COCK! OH MY GOD
Anyway: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RINA.
I BARELY BELIEVE I AM POSTING THIS.