Final Fantasy VIII: Irvine Kinneas/Squall Leonhart, chair
Title: Unlikely
Author: twilightsrain/edenbound (ficjournal)
Theme: Chair
Rating: NC17
Notes: This claim was listed as Seifer/Squall but I'd asked for Irvine/Squall. >_>; So Irvine/Squall it is.
A chair is a sort of unlikely place to have sex most of the time. Likely to be uncomfortable, and possibly rather likely to just collapse under the combined weight of two young men. But Irvine really isn’t arguing with Squall about it, especially because Squall is in his lap, wriggling and writhing and kissing rather distractingly and wonderfully at his neck. His arms are tight around Squall and his head is tipped back and he isn’t thinking of anything beyond the desire to have Squall, to make him his and make him moan and make him writhe.
The integrity of the chair is probably the furthest thing from his mind. And Squall has thought about it and dismissed it with the air of one who knows he’s blessed with luck and good judgement.
"God, Squall," Irvine whispers, as Squall wriggles against him, deliberately putting pressure on his cock. Squall smiles -- one of his shy, clever, sly half-smiles -- as he undoes Irvine’s pants and gets them down somehow, getting his own pants off and making Irvine watch him as he takes each belt off and lets it fall.
"Ssh," Squall says, and Irvine finds himself with a lapful of wriggling Squall Leonhart again. Lube is pushed into his hand and he finds his wits enough to open it and get his fingers coated, reaching around to tease against Squall’s entrance -- his fingertips pushing in and then pulling out, circling and teasing until Squall writhes in his lap again, back arched, and gasps out a command. He smiles, then, and stops teasing, pushing his finger into Squall deeply -- adding another just as soon as he thinks Squall’s expression has gone from vague discomfort to his demanding eagerness.
Squall kisses him hard and for a moment he loses himself in that, but then he twists his fingers -- just enough to draw a gasp from Squall -- and pushes a third slowly into him, pushing them deep and delighting in the way Squall moans, running his free hand up over the arch of Squall’s spine.
"Ready?" Irvine whispers, sliding his fingers out of him, and Squall kisses him hard again -- impatient as ever, reaching to wrap his fingers around Irvine’s cock as he lifts up and then pushes down onto it. Irvine’s hands rest on Squall’s hips, his fingers digging in just a little as his hips push up reflexively.
"Fuck," Squall whispers, eyes closed, and then he squeezes around Irvine again, smiling again, and starts to move, drawing all kinds of eager noises and incoherent pleas from his lover.
Irvine keeps his eyes closed as well after that, pushing up and listening to the creak of the chair, and to Squall’s groans and his own rushed breaths. And he focuses on the feel of it, the way it takes his breath away and makes him shiver a little as Squall squeezes around him, tighter than ever. He wraps his hand around Squall’s cock, teasing, and rocks his hips up again.
He always finds it’s over too soon. He opens his eyes when Squall squeezes tighter around him, panting, meeting Squall’s eyes that are dark and half closed in ecstasy, and he watches Squall’s expression when he comes -- watches sheer bliss crawl over his face and thrusts up harder one more time, coming inside Squall as Squall leans against him more, arms winding around his neck.
"The chair -- " he says, breathlessly.
"It’ll be fine," Squall murmurs, face buried against his shoulder. Irvine isn’t one to argue. He wraps his arms tighter around Squall’s waist and holds him close.
Author: twilightsrain/edenbound (ficjournal)
Theme: Chair
Rating: NC17
Notes: This claim was listed as Seifer/Squall but I'd asked for Irvine/Squall. >_>; So Irvine/Squall it is.
A chair is a sort of unlikely place to have sex most of the time. Likely to be uncomfortable, and possibly rather likely to just collapse under the combined weight of two young men. But Irvine really isn’t arguing with Squall about it, especially because Squall is in his lap, wriggling and writhing and kissing rather distractingly and wonderfully at his neck. His arms are tight around Squall and his head is tipped back and he isn’t thinking of anything beyond the desire to have Squall, to make him his and make him moan and make him writhe.
The integrity of the chair is probably the furthest thing from his mind. And Squall has thought about it and dismissed it with the air of one who knows he’s blessed with luck and good judgement.
"God, Squall," Irvine whispers, as Squall wriggles against him, deliberately putting pressure on his cock. Squall smiles -- one of his shy, clever, sly half-smiles -- as he undoes Irvine’s pants and gets them down somehow, getting his own pants off and making Irvine watch him as he takes each belt off and lets it fall.
"Ssh," Squall says, and Irvine finds himself with a lapful of wriggling Squall Leonhart again. Lube is pushed into his hand and he finds his wits enough to open it and get his fingers coated, reaching around to tease against Squall’s entrance -- his fingertips pushing in and then pulling out, circling and teasing until Squall writhes in his lap again, back arched, and gasps out a command. He smiles, then, and stops teasing, pushing his finger into Squall deeply -- adding another just as soon as he thinks Squall’s expression has gone from vague discomfort to his demanding eagerness.
Squall kisses him hard and for a moment he loses himself in that, but then he twists his fingers -- just enough to draw a gasp from Squall -- and pushes a third slowly into him, pushing them deep and delighting in the way Squall moans, running his free hand up over the arch of Squall’s spine.
"Ready?" Irvine whispers, sliding his fingers out of him, and Squall kisses him hard again -- impatient as ever, reaching to wrap his fingers around Irvine’s cock as he lifts up and then pushes down onto it. Irvine’s hands rest on Squall’s hips, his fingers digging in just a little as his hips push up reflexively.
"Fuck," Squall whispers, eyes closed, and then he squeezes around Irvine again, smiling again, and starts to move, drawing all kinds of eager noises and incoherent pleas from his lover.
Irvine keeps his eyes closed as well after that, pushing up and listening to the creak of the chair, and to Squall’s groans and his own rushed breaths. And he focuses on the feel of it, the way it takes his breath away and makes him shiver a little as Squall squeezes around him, tighter than ever. He wraps his hand around Squall’s cock, teasing, and rocks his hips up again.
He always finds it’s over too soon. He opens his eyes when Squall squeezes tighter around him, panting, meeting Squall’s eyes that are dark and half closed in ecstasy, and he watches Squall’s expression when he comes -- watches sheer bliss crawl over his face and thrusts up harder one more time, coming inside Squall as Squall leans against him more, arms winding around his neck.
"The chair -- " he says, breathlessly.
"It’ll be fine," Squall murmurs, face buried against his shoulder. Irvine isn’t one to argue. He wraps his arms tighter around Squall’s waist and holds him close.