Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ K.S.o.S ❯ Chapter 1

Warnings: Yaoi, big-time lemon, serious bad language, naughty candy. ;)

 

Pairings: So not telling.

 

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the FF8 characters - although I tend to forget that, since Irvine seems to have taken up permanent residence in my brain - and I make no money out of this, just procrastinate on Uni assignments and appease both my muse and my very good friend Hicky.

 

Author's Note: This was a prize! The contest was: What does K.S.o.S stand for? Hicky got it. Hicky chose the pairing. Blame this fic on Hicky. I do. See if you can work out what K.S.o.S stands for before the fic tells you. Have fun!

 

K.S.o.S.

~ KittyMeowMaxwell.

 

The first time Zell saw the shirt, it didn't even register. He wondered a little about it, but it was barely a blip on the radar. Different things were printed on shirts all the time. This one only stuck in his mind because he couldn't work out what it meant. The letters K.S.o.S were arranged in an arc across the chest, and beneath it was the word "Student". The back of the shirt read "Lollipop 101". It puzzled him for only the five minutes it took him to get to the cafeteria, and then lunch became more interesting. But when the shirts started appearing on various students (both male and female), he wasn't the only one who wondered what it meant.

 

"Kay-Ess-Oh-Ess..." Selphie mused, gnawing on her thumbnail one lunchtime while Zell ate several hot dogs and Quistis daintily polished off a round of sandwiches. "What's it meeean?!"

 

"Actually," came a low voice behind them. "We pronounce it Kay-Sos." It was a tall, well-built man Zell knew by the name of Javier, and he was grinning.

 

"Kay-Sos then!" Selphie groused. "But what does it mean?"

 

"Can't tell you. Gotta be a student to know, gotta know to be a student." And with that, Javier winked and sashayed off, the "Lollipop 101" on his back taunting them.

 

"But hooow do we find out?" Selphie whined, flicking jelly beans at Zell's hot-dogs.

 

"Selph!" he complained, picking two of the things out of the sauce. "That's just wrong. Who cares what it means anyway? It's just some stupid student thing."

 

And that was the last he heard about it for a while, though people continued to appear in the shirts. They could now be found in groups, chatting and laughing, but falling silent whenever someone who wasn't wearing a shirt happened by. Zell didn't pay it much attention - like he cared.

 

Of course it was a different matter when one of their tight-knit group actually appeared in one.

 

He literally ran into Irvine one evening, sending the sharpshooter sprawling on his arse. He'd been fleeing from the pig-tail girl at the library, who had been doing her damnedest to get him to go out with her, despite the fact that everyone in Garden knew by now he just didn't go for her type. Or rather, her sex.

 

"Irvine!" he cried.

 

"Fuckin' hell, Zell! Watch where you're goin'! Little sh-"

 

"Irvine, you gotta save me!"

 

Irvine blinked up at him.

 

"Right... You run into me, knock me clean over, don't give me no apology, and then expect me to help you?" He stood, righting his hat, and planted a hand on one cocked hip.

 

"Fuck, you look gay..." Zell said suddenly, because the sharpshooter really did, in tight black jeans and a K.S.o.S shirt that showed off his navel.

 

"Right... You run into me, knock me clean over, don't give me no apology, insult my masculinity, and then expect me to help you? Not gonna happen."

 

"Please? Irvine? C'mon! The damn library girl's still after me!"

 

"Damn. I thought library chicks were supposed to be smart... One, everyone knows you are gay, two, everyone knows you're stupid... Why bother...?"

 

Zell glared at him and started to say "fuck you!" but then he remembered he needed Irvine's help and made puppy-dog eyes at him instead. Irvine sighed and rolled his eyes, popping a lollipop in his mouth that Zell hadn't even realised he held. He waved his hand at Zell to follow and went up the corridor to his room, where he punched in the code and entered. Zell followed, breathing a sigh of relief when the door hissed shut behind him.

 

"Don't touch nothin'," Irvine warned him around the lollipop and disappeared into the bedroom area of the dorm room.

 

"Don't worry," Zell muttered, looking around the surprisingly neat room. "I don't go around blowing holes in people's rooms..." He remembered well the day Irvine had done just that in his room. With his granddad's guns no less...

 

"You still, like, sore 'bout that...?" Irvine called back. "I swear to Hyne there was a cockroach the size of a dog there."

 

"As if," Zell growled, dropping into a cushy armchair. His room was pristine, and he knew it. People didn't call him a neat-freak for nothing.

 

Irvine left the bedroom and headed for the bathroom with the K.S.o.S shirt slung over his shoulder. Zell stared when the sharpshooter wasn't looking. Both Irvine's nipples were pierced. That was hot...

 

"Hey!" Zell said suddenly just before Irvine disappeared into the bathroom.

 

The sharpshooter stopped, lollipop stick out the corner of his mouth, and arched a brow.

 

"Chocobos sleep in hay."

 

Zell rolled his eyes, then pointed at the shirt.

 

"Yours doesn't say "student"."

 

A smirk spread across Irvine's features and he held the shirt up for Zell to see. Where all the others read "Student", this one read "Head-Master." Zell blinked and Irvine lowered the shirt, continuing into the bathroom.

 

"Need to put it in soak. Fuckin' Javier spilled a Cruiser down the back. A red one, nonetheless. If the stain don't come out, the shit can have me a new one made..."

 

"Umm..." Zell hesitated. "Headmaster doesn't have a hyphen..." he pointed out finally and he heard Irvine laugh over the running of a faucet.

 

Irvine came out of the bathroom, winking at Zell and he took the lollipop out his mouth, gesturing at the fighter with it for emphasis.

 

"Smart. This one does." And he lifted the candy back to his lips, tongue curling around it in a way that forced Zell to cross his legs, then tugging it back into his mouth with said tongue.

 

Zell started to come to a realisation of what K.S.o.S might be. Or, at least, the Lollipop part.

 

"Irvine..." the fighter started.

 

"Yeah?" came the reply as Irvine bent to open a small fridge against one wall. "You want somethin' to drink?"

 

"No... thanks." He paused. "All those women that flock around you..."

 

Irvine smirked, nodding, and opened a can of soft drink with a pop-hiss.

 

"Lovely, all of them."

 

"Do you even do anything with them...?"

 

Irvine snorted.

 

"Hell, yes! Not much compares to a lovely lady's legs 'round my waist and her naked bre-"

 

"Don't say anything more!" Zell cried, waving his hands.

 

"Oooh... Right. Totally other-team. I remember. Borin'."

 

Zell squinted a little, watching Irvine take the lollipop out to down half the drink, then take the candy back in with the same should-be-illegal movement of his tongue. Something clicked.

 

"You're not straight."

 

Irvine looked at him, arching a brow.

 

"Not for a damn long time, Einstein. You just figure this out now?"

 

Zell flushed, because the answer was yes. He had just figured that out, and his gaydar was usually better than that. Being in Irvine's room with a half-naked Irvine suddenly got a whole helluva lot more nerve-wracking and Zell looked furtively at the door.

 

Of course he had fantasized about Irvine Kinneas. Who the fuck hadn't fantasized about Irvine Kinneas? He'd always been one of the most beautiful men the fighter had ever come across, right up there with Squall Leonhart and - yes, Zell could admit it, even if the arsehole still called him names - Seifer Almasy. But Irvine had "beautiful" down to a fine art. Squall was untouchable, but clad himself in leather in a way that screamed "come fuck me", and it really worked for him, that combination of back-off and come-here. And Seifer was dangerous. He cultivated that, knowing that touching him was like committing the worst, but most impossibly delicious sin one could ever commit, and that everyone wanted to commit it.

 

Irvine... Irvine was just plain beautiful. He kept a delicate balance between his beauty and his masculinity, so that there were very few people who wouldn't look at him twice. The lines of his face, all smooth and elegant, appealed to men because he seemed to them like a delicate piece of porcelain artwork that needed to be taken care of or be shattered, igniting the protective instincts that resided in all the male half of the population. The same lines appealed to women, because when he smirked at them, they could see something that was both predatory and reassuring, and made their toes curl, as did the depth he could fake in his sky-blue eyes for them. The thick lashes that framed those eyes drew a man's gaze and allowed him to read a passion to match his own where women saw depth. He begged to be fucked with those eyes and that mouth. The perpetual pout drew men for obvious reasons, women because he gave off a lost-puppy air with it. He was tall, but slender, his movements graceful and easy, a swing to his hips that demanded men's eyes been drawn to them. By the same token, he was well-defined and muscled enough to appease his female lovers, and his long legs worked just as well holding him poised above a she as they did wrapped needily around the waist of a he.

 

And his hair... well, that just went without saying.

 

It wasn't surprising he was a playboy. He had everything one could ever need and more. But up until that moment, it had never occurred to Zell that the appeal Irvine held for him, and most of the gay men he'd ever spoken to who knew the sharpshooter, was purposeful, and well-used.

 

"Umm... So... anyway... What does the K.S.o.S stand for?" Zell asked, pronouncing each letter individually.

 

Irvine smirked, parting lips and teeth to show the last of his lollipop and moving his tongue around it in a way that could only be labeled provocative and erotic, then bit it off the stick and flicked the plastic into his waste-paper basket.

 

"Kinneas..." Irvine purred, sauntering over and edging his way between fighter's legs, a hand going to his shoulder. "...School..." He knelt, showing a wide-eyed Zell the tip of his tongue between his teeth. "...of..." Zell couldn't find it in him to protest when the sharpshooter unzipped his fly, freeing an already-growing arousal from the confines. "...Sssuck." And Zell's eyes rolled back in his head as Irvine's slid shut and he took the fighter completely into his mouth.

 

Zell shuddered, hips bucking, but Irvine rode the movement with practiced ease, rolling his tongue against the underside of Zell's arousal. He was rewarded with a deep throated moan and the sudden clutch of the fighter's fingers in his hair, tumbling his hat free of the auburn silk.

 

Zell had asked the question specifically to get his mind off this sort of thing. He certainly hadn't expected the heat of the self-proclaimed cowboy's mouth to wrap around him, nor that tongue to perform the same movements it had against the candy of the lollipop against his own skin. His fingers worked against Irvine's head, the other hand clutching at the arm of the chair, and he graced Irvine with another moan that sent a shiver down the sharpshooter's spine.

 

Irvine ran his hand up under the fighter's shirt, delighted at the twitch of his skin and the tightening and relaxing of the muscles in his stomach. The sharpshooter had wanted to try out this particular little firecracker for some time, ever since word had come to him through Javier, on good authority from Terry, who had learned it from Rikan, who had heard straight from Hajen that Zell was not only a top, but a damn good one.

 

A gloved hand came to his back, leather and finger-tip cool and warm against his skin and Irvine lifted his eyes to find the fighter watching him through golden lashes. The other hand slid from his hair to cup his chin and drew him away from the delicacy in his mouth, urging him up Zell's body. The vicious silver studs on the fighter's first knuckles glinted in the light.

 

"Head-Master. I get it. Sit."

 

Zell guided Irvine into his lap, smiling at the ease with which the sharpshooter's knees went to either side of his thighs and his hips settled against the fighter's own. Irvine shifted, smirking when the fighter hissed at the rub of denim against heated flesh.

 

"You're certainly takin' this in your stride," Irvine murmured, watching Zell's face.

 

"I've taken a lot of men in my stride," Zell replied easily, smirking.

 

Irvine's brows shot upward. Who knew Zell Dincht, of all people, could be so smooth and appear so relaxed with the sharpshooter where he was? And, more so, that he could go from being nervous and stuttery to being in control in zero-point-two of a second, once he realised what was being offered. It would be a decidedly good way to pass a couple of hours, discovering this new Zell.

 

"I'm sure you have..." Irvine agreed softly, licking his lips.

 

Zell leaned forward, nosing at one of the gold hoops adorning Irvine's nipple.

 

"These are sexy, Kinneas. When'd you get them? I never saw them when we shared a room during the Neo-Sorceress War."

 

"After that then, obviously."

 

Zell took the hoop between his teeth and tugged gently, releasing it with a smirk only when Irvine hissed and flexed his fingers against the fighter's neck.

 

"You're pretty damn sexy all over, in fact," Zell decided, running his hands down Irvine's sides to tuck his fingertips into the waistband of his pants.

 

"Glad I meet your approval," the sharpshooter remarked wryly.

 

Zell put a finger to Irvine's lips, then slid the hand around to the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Having fully expected a fight for dominance, Zell was surprised and thrilled when, instead of resisting, Irvine willingly relinquished control to him, parting lips and teeth to welcome the blonde's tongue into his mouth. He tasted of the lollipop he'd just finished, and sex, courtesy of his mouth's previous activity, and Zell devoured him, sampling every inch of warmth.

 

Irvine's tongue curled against his own, coaxing and teasing with brief, light brushes until Zell actively sought it. Then, the sharpshooter chuckled into the kiss, squirming a little in Zell's lap, which made the fighter groan slightly.

 

"Stop that," he demanded, breaking away from Irvine's mouth and not able to hide a smirk when Irvine followed, seeking a return to the kiss.

 

"Stop what?" Irvine wondered innocently, grinding his hips in a slow circle against Zell. "That?"

 

"Yesss..." Zell hissed, swallowing.

 

Irvine smirked, then slid his hands down Zell's back, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt and dragging it upward, then tugging insistently until Zell lifted his arms so they could get it off. The sharpshooter made a low sound of approval in the back of his throat that was undeniably sexy and ran his palms down Zell's front.

 

"You ain't so bad yourself, Blondie," Irvine allowed, tracing the muscles in Zell's abdomen.

 

Zell chuckled lowly, making Irvine bite his lip, and went for the piercings again, at which the exact process needed for forming words fled the sharpshooter's mind, and he could only moan. Zell's teeth caught at the hoop, tugged briefly, then let go as his tongue darted out to tease the flesh and his lips and teeth worked teasingly around it.

 

"Nn..." was the nearest Irvine could get to speech, not only swamped by pleasure but shocked at the apparent and obvious skill of Zell's mouth. He made it his job to know everything about everyone when it came to their sex-lives, so where had the fighter been hiding?!

 

Zell licked a path across to the other nipple and graced it with the same treatment, his palm running up Irvine's thigh, then across to rub a slow circle against the front of the sharpshooter's pants. It gained him a low, keening moan and another shift of black-denim-clad hips which, in turn, made Zell himself groan faintly, the sound vibrating gently against Irvine's chest.

 

The fighter's eyes flicked up to Irvine's face briefly, and he smirked a little when the sharpshooter tossed his head back at a particularly firm rub, lips parting for what could pass as a whimper. He brought his hand up to free Irvine's hair from its ponytail, running his fingers through the auburn waterfall the moment it fell about his shoulders and down his back.

 

"You know..." Zell purred against his chest. "I've imagined what your hair might feel like..."

 

Irvine gave a weak, breathy chuckle, swallowing and managing to pull some of his wits back around him, now that Zell had ceased the pleasurable torture of his nipples.

 

"You and ninety-five percent of Garden, Dincht."

 

"Only ninety-five?" Zell wondered, standing suddenly and giving a snort of laughter when Irvine yelped, expecting to go crashing to the floor, which he didn't, because the fighter held his weight easily. He recovered quickly and wrapped his legs around Zell's waist, then gave a shrug as he was carried towards his room, Zell kicking off his shorts and boxers as they fell around his ankles.

 

"The lesbians and the very few totally straight men don't want me. But it ain't for lack of tryin'."

 

Zell snorted.

 

"You tried to fuck a lesbian?"

 

"Two, actually. I, like, walked in on Selphie and Xu by accident, and tried to get them to let me join them."

 

The fighter stopped at the foot of the bed, blinking.

 

"Xu's a dyke?"

 

"What, you didn't know?" Irvine asked, genuinely surprised. "Yeah. She and Selphie have been dating for almost six months. Damn dykes and their need to commit. Must be a female thing. Women always want to do it with me, too."

 

Zell snorted and lay Irvine down on the bed, crawling over him and smiling predatorily down at him. He ran a hand down the sharpshooter's middle, undoing the snap at the top of his fly, then hovering teasingly over the zipper, just so he could watch the anticipation in sky-blue eyes. Irvine licked his lips and, after a long moment of being patient, stopped being so and lifted his hips a little, brushing his fly against the palm of Zell's leather-clad hand.

 

"Eager, aren't we...?" Zell purred, making Irvine shiver and smirking at the reaction.

 

"Me...?" Irvine teased. "Never!" And he pressed against Zell's hand again, begging with his pouting mouth and sky-blue eyes.

 

"Guess they're right when they say you're a slut, Kinneas..." the fighter mused, cupping his hand over the front of Irvine's pants and flexing his fingers slowly.

 

"Watch your mouth, Blondie, or I swear I'll kick you out."

 

Zell smirked and cocked his head, laying a hand to Irvine's shoulder and pressing down a little, presenting him with a measure of his strength that caused a flutter of pure arousal deep in the sharpshooter's belly.

 

"You and what army, Cowboy?" His voice was low, hot, teasing, and Irvine shuddered.

 

"I'm sure I'd find one..."

 

"You really want to...?" Zell moved his hand in a slow circle, rubbing the heel of his hand against the front of Irvine's pants.

 

"Umm... mmm..." was the only response Irvine could manage and he lifted his hips into the stroking hand, whimpering softly.

 

"That is what I thought."

 

The fighter smirked and finally put Irvine out of his misery, unzipping his jeans and reaching inside. Golden brows shot up and Zell's smirk grew.

 

"No underwear? You really are a slut."

 

"What? Ain't you never gone command-oooh..." Irvine trailed off into a slight moan as Zell wrapped his hand around the sharpshooter's arousal and stroked slowly.

 

"Wouldn't you like to know," the fighter purred, brushing his thumb across the tip, and catching Irvine's pleading moan in his mouth, then descending for another kiss. Irvine submitted to it without a fight, again sending a thrill down Zell's spine.

 

Zell knew most of the people who were aware of his preferences assumed he was the submissive one. He figured they went on his easy-going nature and - Hyne damn it - his height. But they didn't seem to factor in his sheer body mass and strength. There had been very few encounters where he'd spread his legs for anyone. But by the same token, Zell had certainly never judged Irvine to be so excessively submissive. Even had he known the sharpshooter was bi, he would have thought there would be some fight. He was pretty, yes, and slender too, but it took no small amount of strength to lift and control a shotgun, especially with the ease with which one Irvine Kinneas did it. There had to be plenty of men smaller and weaker willing to give themselves to him, and surely, surely he would give at least some pretext of fight, even against someone like Zell, who could easily overpower him.

 

But there was none. He opened his mouth and withdrew his tongue, allowing the fighter to dip his own within. Only when he had made it clear Zell could have his way, could have whatever he wanted, did Irvine run his tongue along the blonde's and join the kiss.

 

And it was fucking sexy.

 

Zell didn't think he'd been this turned on since the night he lost his virginity. Irvine made a little mewling noise and Zell smirked into the kiss, his tongue unsubtly demonstrating what he planned to do later. …Much later if he could keep himself at bay. He tightened his grip around Irvine's arousal and stroked slowly, eventually drawing back from the kiss to watch the sharpshooter's face. It wasn't long before he decided Irvine needed those pants off and they were gone in seconds, but Zell did nothing more than stroke.

 

“Mmm… Zell…” Irvine whispered, skin-warmed leather and warmer fingertips driving him to a state of trembling. Red-gold lashes kissed smooth cheeks and his hair fanned out beneath him, making the picture of eroticism he presented all the more delectable, to Zell's thoughts.

 

“You're gorgeous, Kinneas, d'you know that…?” Zell wondered, watching the sharpshooter begin to squirm as he tightened his grip a little and let his thumb brush randomly over the tip.

 

A slight smirk formed on Irvine's mouth and he nodded a little.

 

“I-I've been… to-ld that before…” he managed, hips lifting and teeth showing a little as he gave a bitten-off whimper.

 

Zell left off his teasing, which made Irvine actually pout, and settled over the sharpshooter, stroking his hair back from his face. He pressed another kiss to Irvine's mouth, backing off before there was any real response just so he could hear the disgruntled huff. He smirked when Irvine opened his eyes to look up at him.

 

“Cruel,” the sharpshooter asserted, then suddenly buried his fingers in the spike of Zell's bangs and worked at ruining the architectural accomplishment with no amount of gentleness whatsoever. Payback, Zell guessed, for his teasing, but the smile Irvine gave when the golden bangs finally fell over sapphire eyes was worth the discomfort.

 

“What…?” Zell asked after a few minutes of the close scrutiny.

 

“You look older.”

 

“Older?”

 

“Mmm… and… and um… more commanding. Dominant…” he trailed off and thought for a moment, then breathed; “…Animal…”

 

Zell gave a low, throaty chuckle, opening his mouth against Irvine's. He did nothing more, but the sharpshooter opened his mouth in return, letting out a soft, ragged sigh. The fighter's tongue flickered out, dipped and retreated, then dipped again and retreated again, again and again. And each time, Irvine made a sound that was more pleading than the one before it, and his tongue started to follow, begging for more.

 

“I'll remember that,” Zell said eventually, but Irvine had already forgotten what they'd been talking about.

 

“Please…” he breathed, arching his entire body just in a request for a decent kiss.

 

“No,” Zell said, and he smirked and started to sit up, but Irvine's arms went around him, giving him pause as the sharpshooter lifted and rubbed against him.

 

“…Please…” he whispered again, mouth opening beneath Zell's in sweet surrender. (1)

 

Zell groaned and gave Irvine what he wanted, the kiss hungry and passionate on both their parts.

 

Irvine felt claimed, tasted and taken in a way he hadn't felt for as long as he could remember. Zell's tongue delved into his mouth with a sure, confidant air that made it clear he just expected to be obeyed. And obey him, Irvine did. He let Zell set the pace of the kiss, taste what he wanted to taste, run where it wanted to run. He shivered, letting the fighter feel through the kiss just how much he wanted and needed. I ain't no pansy girl or delicate sub, Dincht. I'm a man, just like you `n' I can take whatever you, like, wanna give.

 

When Zell broke the kiss, Irvine was ready. He knew the fighter would sit back and he followed so he could latch onto a nipple, suckling and licking. Zell moaned into his hair and he felt the shudder. He ran a hand down Zell's back, then around and up to tease at the nipple not occupied by his mouth and the fighter's back arched, another moan breaking free of his throat.

 

“Irvine…” he whispered, and it sent another shiver down the sharpshooter's spine.

 

Zell didn't let him go on for very long, pressing him back and down with an instance that refused to be disobeyed. Irvine murmured wordlessly, complaining, and Zell touched his face, smiling.

 

“I taste good?”

 

“Mmm…” Irvine nodded, licking his lips, and his hand stroked up Zell's front again, fingers splaying apart around a nipple.

 

Zell shook his head with an exasperated roll of his eyes and took hold of Irvine's wrists, pinning them down beside his body. The sharpshooter struggled, but Zell had a feeling it was only because the fact that he couldn't get free thrilled him. He smirked and leaned down, mouth close by Irvine's ear.

 

“Bet you like to be tied up, huh?”

 

Irvine bit his lip, which was answer enough and Zell chuckled, that low, silky chuckle that made the sharpshooter shiver from head to foot. He turned his head, lips against golden hair.

 

“Zell…” he whispered, lifting his knees and spreading his legs a little further so that the fighter's hips settled more securely against his own. “Please…”

 

Zell gave in to the instinctive rock of his own hips, moving in a slow, easy rhythm against his new lover, but he wasn't ready to let Irvine have what he wanted yet. Then again, he wasn't entirely sure how much longer he could keep himself under control. Irvine squirmed and arched beneath him in a manner that was altogether too wanton to be ignored, and the way he sounded should be classified a sin, Zell thought.

 

“When'd you get so damn sexy, Kinneas…?” Zell wondered breathlessly, drawn back down Irvine's throat in a trail of butterfly-kisses to lick and suckle at those pierced nipples.

 

Irvine whimpered, arching into his mouth and the rock of his hips and the fighter felt those long, elegant fingers clutching at his back.

 

“A-always have… bee-een… but… blondes have a history of… of… of bein'… blind…”

 

“Blondes are a species now…?” Zell wondered between strokes of his tongue and Irvine moaned from the back of his throat when the fighter brushed his fingertips lightly over the tip of his arousal.

 

“Mmm… `least you ain't the first t-to ask that question - Oh, Hyne, st-op teeeasin' me!”

 

“Who else's asked it?” Zell asked, because driving Irvine wild with need was just too much fun.

 

“Nn… nn… Uh… Umm…” Irvine struggled to remember how to talk when Zell's finger stroked deftly against his entrance. “Umm… Q-Quistis… `course… `n'… `n'… damn fine blonde cadet I were teachin'… teachin'… sharpshootin'… He were sexy as they come… `n'… S-Seifer… Mmm… Seifer…”

 

Zell sat up a little, looking down at Irvine and stilling, which made the sharpshooter actually whine. He smirked, then licked at those pouting, kiss-reddened lips.

 

“You've fucked Seifer?”

 

Irvine managed a snort.

 

“As if… He… he… he… fucked m-me.”

 

Zell considered this a moment, then purred easily;

 

“Well, I'm gonna fuck you better.”

 

Irvine shuddered at the promise and his eyes slipped shut. Hyne did he look like some male centerfold come to life out of Zell's wildest fantasies. He was fucking gorgeous. And Zell was starting to wonder why he hadn't realised it before - oh, right. He'd thought Irvine was straight.

 

Zell had barely started looking for that oh-so-necessary tube when he found it under his nose, balanced on one long-fingered hand. He arched a brow.

 

“Under the pillow,” Irvine answered the un-voiced question. “Always p-prepared…”

 

The fighter shook his head and mouthed `slut' at Irvine again. All the sharpshooter could manage by way of protest was a half-hearted glared, but his eyes soon slid elsewhere to watch Zell coat his fingertips with the contents of the tube. The fighter put the tube aside and locked his eyes with Irvine's as he slipped the hand between them and slowly - too slowly, Irvine thought - slid a finger within him.

 

“Good?” Zell asked when Irvine's eyelids fluttered and he shivered.

 

“Mmmhnn…” Irvine affirmed, nodding slowly and squirming on the sheets.

 

Zell teased Irvine with that one digit until the sharpshooter was certain he would go insane and he cried out, pleading wordlessly for a second. A moment more torture, and Zell acquiesced, adding a second finger and working them gently within the sharpshooter. Deeper, and deeper Zell worked his fingers until Irvine could feel leather within and those deadly silver studs cool against his arse. He whimpered, wanting, needing.

 

“Do you want me…?” Zell whispered, as though he'd read Irvine's thoughts.

 

“Oooh, Hyne… yeees…” Irvine moaned, pleading. “Please… please…”

 

Zell didn't bother to hide his shiver and Irvine, somewhere in his pleasure-fogged brain, registered it, and reveled in it. But his conscious self didn't pay any attention, too far gone in pleasure and tingling need.

 

“Shh…” Zell soothed gently as he removed his fingers. “Shh…”

 

“Why… why… w-why do t-tops always… sa-y that? I can't shh!”

 

Zell gave a broken chuckle, shifting his weight, then carefully lifting Irvine's hips and positioning himself at the sharpshooter's entrance. Irvine obliged without question, wrapping his legs around Zell's waist and arching his back to ease the slow entry the fighter began to make. They both shuddered and moaned and it was all Zell could do not to just drive into the slender, elegant beauty so willingly surrendering himself. But he was nothing if not a conscientious lover, and he stilled when he was fully seated, trembling even as Irvine trembled, to give the sharpshooter a chance to adjust.

 

For his part, Irvine ecstatically pleased he'd gone with his instincts and taught Zell the meaning of K.S.o.S. It felt terribly good to be wrapped around the fighter as he was, and the sharpshooter shifted his hands up and down Zell's back before settling one at his hip and the other at the back of his neck. The latter he used to pull Zell down to his mouth, speaking low and husky against it.

 

“I sh-showed you my… my talent… You… show me… y-yours. Please, Zell… I ca-n't wait… any… longer…”

 

Zell groaned and gave three careful, shallow thrusts, watching Irvine's face for any sign of discomfort. When there was none, he ducked his head against the sharpshooter's neck and began a deep, slow, immensely satisfying rhythm. Irvine just let himself feel the flex of those powerful muscles between his legs and under his hands for a few moments before his body gave in and he arched, exposing his throat to an eager tongue as his head pressed back into the pillows.

 

Zell tasted sweat-damped skin, smelled shampoo in a lock of hair that had snaked across Irvine's neck, felt the way his skin twitched wherever one wandering hand touched it, heard the low, needy moan that shivered free of the sharpshooter's throat and saw… There just weren't words, Zell realised as he propped himself up a little to look down at his new lover. To see Irvine Kinneas spread out in the throes of passion beneath him was something he didn't think he would ever have words for. And then anything even resembling words fled his mind, and only one word remained, and he whispered it like a prayer.

 

“…Irvine…”

 

His own name came back to him in the same manner and Irvine's fingers tightened against his neck and at his hip, a silent plea for more which he couldn't have denied if he wanted to, because his body had taken over. He picked up his pace and Irvine met nearly every thrust with a lift of his hips.

 

Irvine's throat was caught in a soft moan when Zell's hand wrapped around his arousal and began to stroke in time with his thrusts, leather and warm-hot skin. The moan grew into a wail that rang through the room at such a pitch that someone had to have heard it. They didn't care. Let all of Garden know what they were doing, it felt damn good. And they could both feel it, how well each was pleasing the other, and that only made it better.

 

“Zell!” Irvine cried suddenly, head tossing back and forth. “Oh, dear Hyne in Heaven, Zell!”

 

The fighter felt his lover's body tense, and the near-painful clutch of the slender fingers against his skin, Irvine's entire stunning frame arched clear of the bed and he nearly screamed Zell's name in a way that made the blonde feel faint. And with that, the sharpshooter tipped over that sought-after edge and Zell was a bare second behind him.

 

They collapsed, panting, and neither of them was willing to speak into the silence broken only by their ragged breathing and the beating of their hearts. Irvine's hands moved gently over Zell's back, stroking apologetically at the places he had marked, and Zell shivered.

 

“That were…” Irvine said eventually, but he ran out of breath and couldn't finish his sentence.

 

“I know,” Zell replied and started to shift out and off of Irvine, but the sharpshooter held him where he was.

 

“You ain't… leavin'?”

 

Zell snorted.

 

“I don't… think… I can walk…” he replied, and Irvine's grasp loosened so that the fighter could roll off him, flopping on his back beside his lover.

 

His lover. Irvine Kinneas. He had just slept with Irvine Kinneas. Zell grinned.

 

Irvine blinked, having shifted on his side to look at Zell.

 

“What…?” he wondered.

 

“I just slept with you.”

 

“…No shit, Sherlock.” (2)

 

“Do you have any idea how many times I've imagined doing that?!”

 

Well, Irvine thought, there's the Zell I know…

 

But he smirked anyway.

 

“I've got some idea,” he said cockily, folding his hands behind his head.

 

Zell rolled his eyes, then rolled his body over atop Irvine again and ducked his head to bite the sharpshooter's neck before there could be any protest.

 

“Fuckin' hell, Dincht! What the hell're you doin'?!” Irvine cried, pushing futilely at Zell's shoulders. He had a suspicion he knew exactly what Zell was doing and he didn't let anyone give him marks like that! “Get off!” He felt Zell chuckle against his skin and the fighter only bit and sucked harder, obviously working on a very long-lasting mark. Irvine couldn't keep a low whimper entirely behind his teeth and he gave up pushing - it was useless anyway.

 

Zell backed off eventually and pressed a gentle kiss to Irvine's lips before rolling onto his back again. The sharpshooter tried to remain pissed off at the dull throb in his neck, but when he looked at the fighter, he found he just didn't have the heart. Instead, he curled up against Zell's side, slinging a leg over his hips and an arm over his shoulders. Zell shifted a little to wrap his arms around Irvine and kissed his temple.

 

“So,” he ventured. “Better than Seifer?”

 

Irvine chuckled lowly.

 

“I'm not sure. Might just have to have another go…”

 

“Later,” Zell said lowly, stroking Irvine's hair back from his face with a still-gloved hand. “Sleep now.”

 

“Mmm…” Irvine agreed, eyes already slipping shut. “And when we wake up…?”

 

Zell smirked, words a heated promise that followed Irvine into his dreams.

 

“I'll make you moan my name again…”

 

~TBC~

 

(1): Well, if that isn't the most over-used and gag-worthy romance novel pair of words in all creation. So sue me. It fits.

 

(2): Wow. They have Sherlock on Gaia too. This one'll give Hicky the shits. XD

 

~ ~ ~

 

Author's Note: I've got vague ideas for continuing this, but nothing set in concrete yet, so it might be a while. Keep an eye open! In the meantime - Zell 4 Irvine 4 Eeevaaah!