FFVI/FFX Ficlet: Sting It Up
More from 0tp, since CLOUD AND LEON ARE BEING BITCHES. I hope to have them written soon enough, but how soon is soon has been turning out to be a dangerous question.
Meanwhile this...
Title: Sting It Up
Pairings/Characters: Setzer/Jecht, Leo, Braska, Auron.
Warnings: Drunken foolery. Language. CROSSOVER from Final Fantasy VI and Final Fantasy X. Far-West AU. Not beta'ed as always.
Word Count: ~780
Rating: NC-17 / M, for gay sex.
Summary: Freedom where least expected.
A/N: Written for the No True Pair challenge, May/June round, Week 2 - the prompt is "hadncuffs/prison scenario".
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His ass stings - whether it's a shard of glass that embedded itself there after his close and personal meeting with the bar, or one of the darts that the bastard in the next cell was throwing around, Jecht can't tell. It just fucking stings. "Hey, girly-grandpa hair, is there something in my ass?"
He knows he's still drunk. Jecht doesn't care - he's in jail already, he might as well enjoy inebriation while he can. His neighbor seems about to nurse a hangover - not that he looked much happier even when they were in the salon. Bitchfaced, witty bastard. "There will be much more in there than you've ever dreamed of if you keep talking that loud. And my name is Setzer."
There, he's done it again. They'd wrecked a fine missus' salon because of this fucker, and he keeps being bitter in jail. A couple of aces up Jecht's sleeves meant nothing at all. They could have settled things quietly, but suddenly there were cards up in his face, good whiskey staining linen and leather as bottles were shattered and turned into weaponry, and it all ended up in one damn grand lot of damage getting done to the establishment. And to Jecht's ass.
"You're just being a wuss 'cause I'm that much better at poker than'ya," he sneers, leering through the bars that separate their cubicles, floor dust clinging to his sweaty clothes. Sheriff Leo doesn't believe in pleasantries for drunk fighters. "And 'cause the ladies were all over me in spite of y'girly hair."
"I don't need to cheat to win - and I couldn't care less about the company offered, " Setzer scoffs, tilts his hat up, a slight smirk splitting his face open harder than the scars. Jecht knows someone who fought way worse than whiskey-sacks when he sees one - those babies are old, about as deep as his own. The West is merciless, and a night in jail can be better than the desert for a traveler who hasn't secured himself a place in some lady's much worn mattress.
"No money for the service?" though he did have quite the bounty to bet...
"No interest whatsoever," Jecht wonders if the room is swimming for a second, but it turns out that Setzer really is leaning against the dividing bars as well, alcoholic breath nasty and warm against Jecht's face. "I'd much rather have a gentleman for the night."
He's not drunk enough to boggle at that - the hair is a screaming sign anyway, and the guy dresses up way too nicely, pointed boots and embroidered jacket - flicks cards like one sends notes to a pretty girl. He's built to be some aristocrat fancy-pants - must be a diligence thief, forger at best, in this land. But he's seen ugly things, just like Jecht has found things way below gold up in the mines - comfort comes as it comes in the West, and if the whiskey is out of order another man's touch will do. If this Setzer has grown to like it better, it only tells a tale about loneliness.
His ass is stinging much too early, dammit. "No gentlemen 'round here; mind a miner's attention?"
"Since they've stripped us of cards..." Jecht loves being drunk - he was punching the mouth he now kisses not three hours ago.
The bars are a bloody problem - they hamper his style, leaving tongues to meet outside of mouths in wet, messy swipes. The arms of them both are a little too thick for manoeuvring past the restraints, still they reach each other's skin - Jecht himself undoes what shirt buttons of his that had been closed, not wanting a gift from Reverend Braska torn by some night-warmer.
They jerk each other off - gun-calluses handle his cock, trace the map of his scars. The guy is all milky-silver shine under those black leathers, the kind of treasure one wouldn't mind stumbling upon in the digging shaft - not gold, far from that, but valuable in itself. Jecht grunts, Setzer breathes heavily. The night guard must be drinking himself off in another salon, Sheriff Leo quieting the bar owner's sorrow with a good fuck. The prison floor is cold, matching the desert village outside - the irons between them warm to their body-heat.
They smirk at each other until both come.
In the morning Reverend Braska bails him out - Auron guarantees it's coming out of any gold he finds for the next couple of years. "Make it for the next five or so. I want girly-hair out, too."
He'd cheat on everything - not on his need for a better sting in his ass.
-------
Yes, I just wanted Setzer in a cowboy's hat.
Meanwhile this...
Title: Sting It Up
Pairings/Characters: Setzer/Jecht, Leo, Braska, Auron.
Warnings: Drunken foolery. Language. CROSSOVER from Final Fantasy VI and Final Fantasy X. Far-West AU. Not beta'ed as always.
Word Count: ~780
Rating: NC-17 / M, for gay sex.
Summary: Freedom where least expected.
A/N: Written for the No True Pair challenge, May/June round, Week 2 - the prompt is "hadncuffs/prison scenario".
-------
His ass stings - whether it's a shard of glass that embedded itself there after his close and personal meeting with the bar, or one of the darts that the bastard in the next cell was throwing around, Jecht can't tell. It just fucking stings. "Hey, girly-grandpa hair, is there something in my ass?"
He knows he's still drunk. Jecht doesn't care - he's in jail already, he might as well enjoy inebriation while he can. His neighbor seems about to nurse a hangover - not that he looked much happier even when they were in the salon. Bitchfaced, witty bastard. "There will be much more in there than you've ever dreamed of if you keep talking that loud. And my name is Setzer."
There, he's done it again. They'd wrecked a fine missus' salon because of this fucker, and he keeps being bitter in jail. A couple of aces up Jecht's sleeves meant nothing at all. They could have settled things quietly, but suddenly there were cards up in his face, good whiskey staining linen and leather as bottles were shattered and turned into weaponry, and it all ended up in one damn grand lot of damage getting done to the establishment. And to Jecht's ass.
"You're just being a wuss 'cause I'm that much better at poker than'ya," he sneers, leering through the bars that separate their cubicles, floor dust clinging to his sweaty clothes. Sheriff Leo doesn't believe in pleasantries for drunk fighters. "And 'cause the ladies were all over me in spite of y'girly hair."
"I don't need to cheat to win - and I couldn't care less about the company offered, " Setzer scoffs, tilts his hat up, a slight smirk splitting his face open harder than the scars. Jecht knows someone who fought way worse than whiskey-sacks when he sees one - those babies are old, about as deep as his own. The West is merciless, and a night in jail can be better than the desert for a traveler who hasn't secured himself a place in some lady's much worn mattress.
"No money for the service?" though he did have quite the bounty to bet...
"No interest whatsoever," Jecht wonders if the room is swimming for a second, but it turns out that Setzer really is leaning against the dividing bars as well, alcoholic breath nasty and warm against Jecht's face. "I'd much rather have a gentleman for the night."
He's not drunk enough to boggle at that - the hair is a screaming sign anyway, and the guy dresses up way too nicely, pointed boots and embroidered jacket - flicks cards like one sends notes to a pretty girl. He's built to be some aristocrat fancy-pants - must be a diligence thief, forger at best, in this land. But he's seen ugly things, just like Jecht has found things way below gold up in the mines - comfort comes as it comes in the West, and if the whiskey is out of order another man's touch will do. If this Setzer has grown to like it better, it only tells a tale about loneliness.
His ass is stinging much too early, dammit. "No gentlemen 'round here; mind a miner's attention?"
"Since they've stripped us of cards..." Jecht loves being drunk - he was punching the mouth he now kisses not three hours ago.
The bars are a bloody problem - they hamper his style, leaving tongues to meet outside of mouths in wet, messy swipes. The arms of them both are a little too thick for manoeuvring past the restraints, still they reach each other's skin - Jecht himself undoes what shirt buttons of his that had been closed, not wanting a gift from Reverend Braska torn by some night-warmer.
They jerk each other off - gun-calluses handle his cock, trace the map of his scars. The guy is all milky-silver shine under those black leathers, the kind of treasure one wouldn't mind stumbling upon in the digging shaft - not gold, far from that, but valuable in itself. Jecht grunts, Setzer breathes heavily. The night guard must be drinking himself off in another salon, Sheriff Leo quieting the bar owner's sorrow with a good fuck. The prison floor is cold, matching the desert village outside - the irons between them warm to their body-heat.
They smirk at each other until both come.
In the morning Reverend Braska bails him out - Auron guarantees it's coming out of any gold he finds for the next couple of years. "Make it for the next five or so. I want girly-hair out, too."
He'd cheat on everything - not on his need for a better sting in his ass.
-------
Yes, I just wanted Setzer in a cowboy's hat.