Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Make It Burn ❯ 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: not owned by me.

I'll get a guitar,

And a lover who pays me.

If I can't be a star I won't get out of bed.

--"Waking Up," Elastica

The music was loud, thrumming through Laguna's body like a lover, the crowd pressed close around him, despite the VIP status of his front row, center stage seat. He stole a glance behind him, amazed at all the sweaty, gyrating bodies in one small space, thoroughly enjoying the show despite being packed like sardines.

He heard a plaintive, sensual wail, and turned his attention back to the stage. The singer of the hot new band was wrapped around his microphone stand, crooning into it, his warm baritone like honey, just rough enough to remain utterly masculine. It was making things low in Laguna's body tight.

He watched, enthralled, as the song entered into a guitar solo. The vocalist plucked the wireless from the mic stand, stalking over and melding himself to the back of the black-haired guitarist, wrapping sinewy arms about him and licking one long, wet line up his cheek. The guitarist swatted him away playfully, a laughing smile on his face. The frontman never lost a beat, delving back into the song's lyrics with professional finesse, smiling and winking at the nearly rabid audience as he rubbed one hand down his sweaty chest, lifting up his tight shirt and caressing his stomach. Fanservice at its best.

Laguna's mouth was dry as he watched. He had received the ticket, along with an invitation and back stage pass, in the mail not two weeks prior. When he had sliced open the plain blue envelope, he wasn't sure what to expect out of the former Garden cadet. He had only met Irvine maybe a few times on official SeeD business, but the lanky Galbadian always seemed out of his element to him. Not that Laguna was overly perceptive, mind you. The honey-haired soldier just seemed like he was missing his calling in life.

Apparently, Laguna hadn't been the only one to think that, as he watched said former sharpshooter writhe to the music onstage. His hair was loose and messy, lank curls flowing around his shoulders and down his back, brushing his tight ass. He looked completely happy, working the Estharian crowd (mostly young girls, Laguna noted) into a frenzy with just a suggestive buck of his hips and a lick of the microphone tip. Though Laguna, with a discreet adjustment to his pants, had a hard time denying that it wasn't just the female portion of the crowd that fell victim to Irvine's undeniably sexy charm. He had never had such a reaction to the Galbadian before, but then again, he had never quite seen Irvine like this.

The band played through the night, ripping out two hours' worth of pounding, dirty rock and roll, the songs' lyrics full of innuendo, sexuality, and Irvine fucking the crowd for all they, and he, were worth. Laguna stayed for the entire show, both enchanted and afraid of the figure Irvine cut onstage.

When the band finally played their last encore to the sold-out crowd, Laguna made his way to the backstage area of the popular Estharian club. He flashed his pass at the bouncers barring the door needlessly; they were quite aware of exactly who he was. Slipping past the throng of too-pretty, too-young girls trying to seduce and/or whine their way backstage, Laguna walked down the narrow, badly-lit hallway, unsure of where he was supposed to go. A faint cry from inside one of the dressing rooms halted him in his path, and he turned in the room's doorway.

Irvine was inside, as was a multitude of other eye candy, both male and female. Currently, the frontman was trying to pry his barely clothed body off a couch also occupied by about a half-dozen oversexed girls and makeuped teenage boys. Winking at them all, he untangled himself and went to greet Laguna.

"Hey, glad you could make it, Mr. President." The lecherous grin remained in place as Irvine made an obvious show of checking out the older man.

"Laguna," the former soldier forced out, his normally quick and witty greeting dying on his lips. "Just call me Laguna, please," he clarified (read: squeaked).

"Laguna," Irvine echoed, licking his lips. The Estharian president tried to ignore how the singer rolled his name around on his tongue, turning it dirty. "Enjoy the show?"

Though the Galbadian was standing a respectable distance away from Laguna's personal space, the president could still feel the heat coming off his body, making him want to take those last few steps and see if Irvine tasted as good as he sounded. He shook his head. Bad thought, very bad thought. He felt the beginnings of a cramp in his leg.

"Laguna?"

"Y-yeah?" The older man blinked owlishly.

Irvine chuckled. "Let's go somewhere a bit more..." he looked around the crowded room, " ...private. Come on, I think there's an empty dressing room this way." He motioned for Laguna to follow him further down the hallway.

The pace was slow as every few feet the singer had to fulfill his rock star duties and sign an autograph or take a picture while being groped by some underage floozy in his/her mother's clothes and makeup. Making their way inside a small, empty room roughly the size of a broom closet, Irvine flipped the switch and closed the door heavily behind them both, locking it with a resounding click. The roar of the crowd outside the room was a dull murmur within, making Laguna think the rooms had been built to be soundproof. Turning to face his companion, he opened his mouth to casually speak.

Instead, he found it otherwise occupied with full, sweet-tasting lips that only moments ago had been crooning seductively into a microphone, and now were just as seductively milking all of the president's resolve as the kiss deepened. Irvine's hands were on either side of Laguna's face, guiding him in the breathless kiss as the Galbadian drank him down, his tongue delving in and letting Laguna finally taste him. It was what he had wanted after all, right?

Moaning into Irvine's mouth, for a moment Laguna immersed himself in the sensations he had been fantasizing about only moments ago. It was only when Irvine pressed his hard, half-nude body against his own, that reality finally sank in. He was -President-, and Irvine was his son's _friend_, young enough to be his own child, Hynedammit! What was he _doing_?

Pulling away, Laguna steeled his grip on Irvine's shoulders, preventing the former sniper from rejoining their mouths. His body was throwing a fit internally, cursing and spitting at him. He watched as the lust-filled expression on Irvine's face fell to one of incredulity, then disappointment, and finally, grim acceptance. "Irvine, I..." For once, he had no words. "I'm sorry, I can't do this," he finished, looking into the muted violet eyes sympathetically.

Irvine's kiss-swollen mouth curved up into a self-deprecating smile. "Like father, like son, hmm?"

Laguna looked at Irvine curiously. "Huh?"

Irvine snorted, moving to lean against the wall; not that the movement put any more distance between them in the suddenly suffocating room. "Squall rejected me, now you. I guess I'm just not good enough for the Leonhart-Loire's, huh? Poor pitiful pop star."*

"Wait, what?" Laguna shook his head, his temples suddenly throbbing. "What do you mean, Squall rejected you? A-and how did you know I would even go for this in the first place?"

Irvine rolled his eyes, internally wishing for a drink. He advanced on Laguna, pressing him against the wall and breathing down his skin, eyes hooded. "I could see it in your eyes during the show, the way you watched my every move." His voice was low, throaty, making Laguna shiver. "You want me bad, Mr. President." Before Laguna could interject, Irvine pushed away, adding, "And I don't wanna talk about Squall, okay?"

Laguna nodded automatically, still trying to wrap his head around the strange, yet highly erotic, chain of events thus far. "Hyne, I need a beer," he breathed.

"Me, too," Irvine agreed. He regarded Laguna silently for a moment. "Hey... you wanna maybe grab a drink back at my hotel room? I promise not to do anything you don't want." A slow, lazy grin found its way back onto his face, though not quite reaching his eyes.

"That..." Laguna bit his lip. He knew the sharpshooter was asking him for more than just a drink. 'Say no, say no,' his mind chanted. "...sounds like fun." 'Dammit!' "Just for a little bit, anyway."

Irvine's grin lit up his face, and Laguna nodded at him, swallowing audibly. He tried to quell the butterflies in his stomach as he followed the singer through the hallway once more, but his butterflies had just been petrified and now weighed heavily in his bowels, wanting to drag him down.

--

Unlocking the door, Irvine motioned his guest ahead of him and flicked on a lamp. He watched Laguna silently as the Estharian walked a circle around the suite, apparently impressed. "Nice," he said conversationally.

Irvine shrugged, and pushed off the wall he was leaning on. "If you say so, it's just a hotel room." Walking to Laguna and running one finger down his exposed forearm, Irvine eyed the older man, an intense look to his gaze. "Want that drink?"

Laguna shrugged, grinning a lopsided smile that turned his eyes into half-moons. Irvine's own face softened into an answering smile; he couldn't help but feel at ease around this man. Why couldn't Squall be more like his father?

Moving to the minifridge, Irvine grabbed two beers and handed one over to Laguna, who was looking downward at something. Irvine caught Laguna's gaze, and the older man's cheeks colored as he looked away. He had been staring at Irvine's butt.

Grinning and sprawling on the bed, Irvine reached over and picked up the phone, dialing three numbers quickly and speaking lowly into the receiver. When he hung up, Laguna looked at him curiously. Irvine shrugged. "Room service. They'll be here in ten minutes. Make yourself comfortable." He gestured toward the empty spot on the king-sized bed.

Settling himself comfortably, Laguna let his body bounce for a moment on the comfy bed. When Irvine raised an eyebrow at him, Laguna just replied, "Testing the mattress out."

Irvine couldn't help laughing, though he had to point out that there were infinitely more pleasurable ways to go about that, which made Laguna blush. Irvine decided he liked that look.

The two lay in companionable silence, drinking their beers, content for the moment just to be in each other's presence. Irvine was stretched out on his back, Laguna beside him.

Clearing his throat, Laguna looked at Irvine curiously. "So when did all this happen?"

Irvine quirked an eyebrow. "This?" he echoed.

Laguna waved his beer in his general direction. "The band. Leaving SeeD. What made you decide on the career change?"

"Well, first off, I was never SeeD, just a cadet who happened to be good with a gun," Irvine clarified. "And the band... that just happened. I stayed at Balamb Garden for about a year and a half after the second Sorceress War, then decided that I didn't want to play soldier anymore. I left Balamb, went back to Galbadia and found out an old friend was starting a band and needed a lead singer. I tried out, and BAM-- things just blew up from there."

"Sounds kinda sudden," Laguna commented, taking a swig from his bottle.

"It seems like a dream, sometimes," Irvine murmured, staring ahead of him unseeingly. "I wake up, every once in a while, not knowing where I am, or how I even got there. It's all so surreal. Sometimes-- naw, you don't want to know."

"I might." Laguna's voice was soft.

Irvine shut his eyes briefly, warding off some unknown, unseen pain. "Sometimes, I just want to go back." His voice cracked.

Laguna regarded Irvine with sympathetic eyes, inching closer to the former sniper. Irvine opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to keep the wetness rimming them from falling. The older man reached out, brushing a strand of hair sticking to Irvine's cheek away. "Back where?"

Irvine worked his jaw, trying his hardest not to cry. "Back to before... before the defeat of Ultimecia, before I remembered how unwanted I was, am. When I had a golden ball of sunshine to call my own, and the crush I had on my commander was just that-- a crush. Back before it all got so damn complicated."

"What happened to Selphie?" Laguna was pretty sure she was the 'ball of sunshine' Irvine was referring to.

"She's fine, great in fact, last I talked to her. She's got a new boyfriend, a Trabia G cadet, and told me she, quote, 'couldn't be happier.' By the time she got around to asking me how I was doing, I didn't have the heart to tell her how much I really missed her."

"Hmmm." Lost in thought, Laguna set his beer down and let his fingers run up and down Irvine's toned stomach, whispering against his skin. Irvine closed his eyes briefly at the contact, both happy at the touch and wishing it were much, much more, even if it was just to forget. When fingertips touched the small piece of metal at his navel, Irvine let out a rush of air. He knew what was coming.

Laguna raised his head to get a better look, fingering the silver jewelry. The piercing was a small ring, a tiny pendant of a lion attached to it. Looking up into half-lidded violet eyes, the former soldier played with the loop a bit before asking, "When did you get this?"

Irvine shut his eyes, face unreadable. "Had it. Since a year after the battle against Ultimecia. When Squall and I..." He swallowed, turning his head to the side, away from Laguna.

"When you and my son were a couple?" Laguna asked. "I don't understand, I thought Squall was back with Rinoa."

Irvine snorted, looking back at the raven-haired man. "He is, and yes, we were, to answer your question. At least we were until Rinoa showed up, big as a house, claiming Squall to be the father. Kinda puts a kink in a brand-new non-heterosexual relationship."

"He left you just like that?"

"It was a mutual decision. We mutually decided that I was still gay and Squall would pretend to be straight. Let's see how long _that_ will last," Irvine quipped, his loud, sarcastic comments a poor mask to the pain he felt inside.

"Irvine..." Laguna pulled the younger man to him, letting him rest his head on his chest. He leaned down and kissed the singer's forehead, offering what comfort he could.

"Just stay," Irvine said, voice a whisper. "For one night, okay? Just one night."

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