Final Fantasy 8 (Irvine/Squall)
Title: Reposer
Author/Artist: Cognomen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M
Word count: 933
Prompt: Final Fantasy VIII, Irvine/Squall: Voyeurism - "it ain't such a thrill"
A/N: I wish I'd had time enough to go back and replay a little bit of FF8, I feel perhaps like I've been away from it too long. Anyway, though it's a pairing that I enjoy, this fic was hard to write. (Since I haven't played the game in many a year.)
What was downright aggravating was the casual drape of gunbelt and hat over the posts of his dormitory bed. Like they belonged there, along with all the rest of this ridiculous scene. Squall didn't want the cowboy there, nor especially, did he want the absolute mess that had become of his bed - previously made to Garden regs that morning.
Now all of it's blankets and pillows were mounded up to one side, pushed up against the wall to pad the back of one unwelcome guest. He sprawled on Squall's bed, naked as the day he was born - and any day he could manage since.
His agile hands were on himself, fingers coaxing his erect cock with expertise that spoke of self study. Squall froze, torn between dropping his books on the floor or hurling them at Irvine. With any luck, a well placed shot would knock him unconscious - Squall knew the other Seed well enough to know that anything less would just encourage Irvine.
Unaware of Squall’s presence - or damn good at ignoring it - Irvine’s fingers worked slowly, but with singular intent. There was no teasing involved - he just knew exactly where and how long to press himself before he would pause, or shift his hold to a different position. Also, he made low noises.
Low, desperate and needy noises. Almost mews, but there was still drawl in them. There was something signature in everything about Irvine, it seemed. It was charming and frustrating at the same time. Squall realized he was still watching a fellow student beat off on his bed.
“Kinneas. You missed your room by about half of Garden.” He kept his tone cool, and carefully kept interest off of his features.
Instead of snapping to attention, or even seeming properly embarrassed, Irvine’s fingers slowly stilled and he let his eyes drift halfway open while he slowly exhaled. He didn’t even seem like he’d been caught at anything amiss - there wasn’t a hint of a child’s cookie jar remorse.
The distant thought that someone - worse, possibly Seifer - could walk in at any second and possibly draw the wrong conclusion moved Squall from the doorway. He kicked the door closed behind him, keeping sharp attention on the other student. First, he dropped his books, then he made a quick lunge for Irvine, anticipating a struggle. He seized a handful of amber ponytail and yanked, and Irvine did not even attempt to dodge away. Instead his body arched almost bonelessly with the motion, bringing his face into close proximity with Squall’s.
Irvine's half-opened eyes focused lazily on Squall, his expression curling slowly from intent to pleased, a smile working lazily over his features. Squall pulled harder on his handful of ponytail.
“What do you think you’re doing to my sheets.” Squall hissed, yanking for emphasis. Irvine’s relaxed muscles let his head loll backwards with the motion, baring his neck.
“Well, well,” he drawled, heedless. His hands curled unrelenting in Squall’s bed linens, crumpling them into submission with fingers that left behind streaks of dark gun oil on the white, darkening it where it touched damply. “Looks like the life of the party’s finally decided to join in.”
“Get out of my bed.” Squall pulled harder, Irvine relented, sinking down off of his elbows and letting his back rest now on the wreck of pillows and comforter that he’d previously been leaning against.
“Yer making that a little difficult.” Irvine grinned harder, one hand freeing from the sheets to seize a big handful of the fur ruff that lined Squall’s collar. It wasn’t as good a handhold as he wanted, but a sharp jerk unbalanced the already leaning Squall. “Now hold still and watch if you’re not gonna help out.”
He looked directly up at Squall while his hands slid slowly down his own bared chest. Irvine made sure that he had Squall’s attention before he took hold of his own length again. It was impossible not to be fascinated by the skilled motions at this distance. The soft sounds of Irvine’s breathing - carefully measured, seconds counted on the exhale to keep climax off as long as possible.
One of Irvine’s hands finally drifted away from the steady motion - though now it was reaching the point where he had to pause for long counts of ten. He reached up toward the body leaning over his own, Squall’s attention still turned downward, and pushed up the white t-shirt over the lines of Squall’s stomach to reveal skin. There was no protest.
“It ain’t such a thrill, you know.” His voice slid against Squall’s collarbone, molasses thick with promised sensation. “Rolling around in your sheets while you watch - too much starch in ‘em.” He lifted a fist-full of sheet and ran it along Squall’s stomach, despite the other’s warning growl. It scratched, stiff.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Irvine gave up on control, smirking for a brief moment before he surrendered totally to the tides of sensation, closing his hand firm around his erection and giving the last few decisive strokes while his free fingers caught hold of Squall’s hair, to make sure the other watched while he came. His breath shuddered free of it’s careful control, at first pushing out in low hisses, and finally galloping away into pants and sighs as he went over, spilling white mess onto his own stomach and fingers. Squall only had a second to worry about the sheets before they were being used to clean up.
“Fix the bed, Kinneas.”
One sleepy blue eye regarded Squall, half hidden between dark lashes. “I’m not done messing it up yet.”
Author/Artist: Cognomen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M
Word count: 933
Prompt: Final Fantasy VIII, Irvine/Squall: Voyeurism - "it ain't such a thrill"
A/N: I wish I'd had time enough to go back and replay a little bit of FF8, I feel perhaps like I've been away from it too long. Anyway, though it's a pairing that I enjoy, this fic was hard to write. (Since I haven't played the game in many a year.)
What was downright aggravating was the casual drape of gunbelt and hat over the posts of his dormitory bed. Like they belonged there, along with all the rest of this ridiculous scene. Squall didn't want the cowboy there, nor especially, did he want the absolute mess that had become of his bed - previously made to Garden regs that morning.
Now all of it's blankets and pillows were mounded up to one side, pushed up against the wall to pad the back of one unwelcome guest. He sprawled on Squall's bed, naked as the day he was born - and any day he could manage since.
His agile hands were on himself, fingers coaxing his erect cock with expertise that spoke of self study. Squall froze, torn between dropping his books on the floor or hurling them at Irvine. With any luck, a well placed shot would knock him unconscious - Squall knew the other Seed well enough to know that anything less would just encourage Irvine.
Unaware of Squall’s presence - or damn good at ignoring it - Irvine’s fingers worked slowly, but with singular intent. There was no teasing involved - he just knew exactly where and how long to press himself before he would pause, or shift his hold to a different position. Also, he made low noises.
Low, desperate and needy noises. Almost mews, but there was still drawl in them. There was something signature in everything about Irvine, it seemed. It was charming and frustrating at the same time. Squall realized he was still watching a fellow student beat off on his bed.
“Kinneas. You missed your room by about half of Garden.” He kept his tone cool, and carefully kept interest off of his features.
Instead of snapping to attention, or even seeming properly embarrassed, Irvine’s fingers slowly stilled and he let his eyes drift halfway open while he slowly exhaled. He didn’t even seem like he’d been caught at anything amiss - there wasn’t a hint of a child’s cookie jar remorse.
The distant thought that someone - worse, possibly Seifer - could walk in at any second and possibly draw the wrong conclusion moved Squall from the doorway. He kicked the door closed behind him, keeping sharp attention on the other student. First, he dropped his books, then he made a quick lunge for Irvine, anticipating a struggle. He seized a handful of amber ponytail and yanked, and Irvine did not even attempt to dodge away. Instead his body arched almost bonelessly with the motion, bringing his face into close proximity with Squall’s.
Irvine's half-opened eyes focused lazily on Squall, his expression curling slowly from intent to pleased, a smile working lazily over his features. Squall pulled harder on his handful of ponytail.
“What do you think you’re doing to my sheets.” Squall hissed, yanking for emphasis. Irvine’s relaxed muscles let his head loll backwards with the motion, baring his neck.
“Well, well,” he drawled, heedless. His hands curled unrelenting in Squall’s bed linens, crumpling them into submission with fingers that left behind streaks of dark gun oil on the white, darkening it where it touched damply. “Looks like the life of the party’s finally decided to join in.”
“Get out of my bed.” Squall pulled harder, Irvine relented, sinking down off of his elbows and letting his back rest now on the wreck of pillows and comforter that he’d previously been leaning against.
“Yer making that a little difficult.” Irvine grinned harder, one hand freeing from the sheets to seize a big handful of the fur ruff that lined Squall’s collar. It wasn’t as good a handhold as he wanted, but a sharp jerk unbalanced the already leaning Squall. “Now hold still and watch if you’re not gonna help out.”
He looked directly up at Squall while his hands slid slowly down his own bared chest. Irvine made sure that he had Squall’s attention before he took hold of his own length again. It was impossible not to be fascinated by the skilled motions at this distance. The soft sounds of Irvine’s breathing - carefully measured, seconds counted on the exhale to keep climax off as long as possible.
One of Irvine’s hands finally drifted away from the steady motion - though now it was reaching the point where he had to pause for long counts of ten. He reached up toward the body leaning over his own, Squall’s attention still turned downward, and pushed up the white t-shirt over the lines of Squall’s stomach to reveal skin. There was no protest.
“It ain’t such a thrill, you know.” His voice slid against Squall’s collarbone, molasses thick with promised sensation. “Rolling around in your sheets while you watch - too much starch in ‘em.” He lifted a fist-full of sheet and ran it along Squall’s stomach, despite the other’s warning growl. It scratched, stiff.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Irvine gave up on control, smirking for a brief moment before he surrendered totally to the tides of sensation, closing his hand firm around his erection and giving the last few decisive strokes while his free fingers caught hold of Squall’s hair, to make sure the other watched while he came. His breath shuddered free of it’s careful control, at first pushing out in low hisses, and finally galloping away into pants and sighs as he went over, spilling white mess onto his own stomach and fingers. Squall only had a second to worry about the sheets before they were being used to clean up.
“Fix the bed, Kinneas.”
One sleepy blue eye regarded Squall, half hidden between dark lashes. “I’m not done messing it up yet.”