Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ 'Twas the Night Before Christmas... ❯ 'Twas the Night Before Christmas... ( Chapter 1 )

Warnings: The usual. Sex, lies and videotape… well, sex anyway. Lemon! Self-pleasuring, bad language, yadda yadda. Yaoi. Sex!

 

Pairing: Do I ever tell? I think most people reading this will know my stuff anyway, and be able to guess pretty easy.

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy 8 or any of it's affiliates and I make no money off this, just pure enjoyment.

 

Author's Notes: I left it a bit late to put this up, but it was written before Christmas. I just went on holiday and couldn't upload it. Anyway, it was Eoko/Hicky's Christmas Present. Those of you reading Mine or Lightning ought to know by now that it is she who keeps me writing. Mostly via an intensive program of irritating pestering… Anyway! On with the fic! A belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

 

`Twas the Night Before Christmas…

 

“I swear, to Hyne in heaven, and anyone else who might be listenin', there is no one in existence with a brain so pea-sized as yours!”

 

`Anyone else who might be listening' at the moment constituted the entire cafeteria. Verbal stoushes between Zell Dincht and Irvine Kinneas had been coming more and more frequently since they'd been forced into the same room by renovations to the SeeD quarters. So much so, that people followed them almost constantly, hoping for a show.

 

Today, yet again, they had obliged.

 

“And I swear there's no one who fucks anything that moves,” Zell stretched the three words out and annunciated them so there could be no mistake as to what he'd said. “without any qualms like you do!”

 

“You callin' me a slut, Dincht?” Irvine growled back.

 

They were on opposite sides of the cafeteria and no one was really sure how this particular argument had even started, or what it was really about. Well, no one, that was, except the tiny SeeD who carried a scythe half as tall again as herself and could look perfectly innocent despite the fact that her personal computer was cluttered with pictures and writings all devoted to same-sex relationships - graphic ones. She had incited the fight, passing a whisper one way across the cafeteria that Zell-said-Irvine-was-a-whore and one the other way that Irvine-said-Zell-squealed-like-a-girl-in-his-sleep.

 

“Why, Kitty? Really?” The SeeD beside her tapped a rapier against her boot while they watched Irvine and Zell scream at each other across the room.

 

“Damn fucking right I'm calling you a slut, Kinneas! Everyone knows it's true!”

 

“I don't know!” she squealed. “I'm sorry.”

 

“No, you aren't.”

 

“No, I'm not.”

 

“You better just watch your mouth, Blondie, or you might find a shotgun rammed down it!”

 

Zell's eyes dropped deliberately to the front of Irvine's jeans and one blond brow cocked significantly.

 

“Shotgun? Pencil, more like… And I don't want it anywhere near my mouth.”

 

A snigger ran round the room.

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Irvine snarled, manhood insulted in more ways than one. “Ain't had no one go away unsatisfied!”

 

“Irvy, that's a double-negative,” Zell purred back. “Ain't had no one. If you ain't had no one, then you've had someone go away unsatisfied. Boo-fucking-ya!”

 

Irvine just stared at him, then rubbed his temple. The intelligent-Zell image was really ruined by the exclamation at the end…

 

“What does that even mean?!” the self-proclaimed cowboy demanded.

 

“Well,” Zell's voice took on the tenor of one explaining to a child. “A dou-ble-ne-ga-tive is wh-”

 

“Not that, stupid! I, like, know what a double-negative is! I always get accused of usin' them. Booya! What does `booya' mean?”

 

That actually made Zell hesitate, and everyone could see him trying to decide on an answer. In the end he just shrugged and lifted his hands.

 

“Wouldn't know. Bit like `yeehaw', really, except it doesn't work for riding.”

 

The way he said it left no doubt as to what exactly he was referring to, and Irvine showed his teeth, then before anyone could even shout, pushed himself up onto the table and launched at Zell. The fighter caught him by pure reflex, then suffered a fist to his eye for his trouble as they fell.

 

“Ow! Hynedammit, Kinneas! You'll break something doing shit like that!”

 

“Hopefully somethin' of yours,” was the snapped reply.

 

When it became apparent Irvine was serious about wanting to hurt him, Zell got serious about wanting to stop the sharpshooter. It was no difficult task to capture both wrists, and easier still to transfer them to one hand. The other went to the front of Irvine's vest and Zell shoved him bodily off, then stood, dusting his own clothes down.

 

“Keep dreaming,” the fighter muttered, then turned and left.

 

Irvine collected his hat, directed a glare at the cafeteria in general, then stalked out as well.

 

“Boy on boy action!” the instigator of the whole mess squealed, punching the air.

 

“They were beating each other up,” her friend pointed out.

 

“Minor detail!”

 

“You're hopeless…”

 

- - - - - - -

 

It was, Irvine was certain, something to do with the fact that he knew Zell could snap him in half should he wish to. He'd seen the little fighter in action, watched him lift things ten, fifty times larger than himself, limited only by the fact that a Ruby Dragon or the Omega Weapon were the biggest things he could test his strength on.

 

Fighting with Zell turned him on. Bad.

 

Seeing that unbelievable body tense and ready, watching muscle flex, and those little fangs flash at him got him hot faster than watching Xu and Selphie French kiss. And that was saying something.

 

Suffice it to say, he had a problem to take care of. He virtually ran back to their shared room, ignoring everyone on the way, even if they called his name. The second the door hissed shut, he threw his hat aside, freed his hair because he loved how it felt around his shoulders, kicked off his chaps, shut the door to his own little room off the main area and put his left hand against a wall. He slowed down after that, savouring the anticipation as he unzipped his jeans and eased his right hand in to free the source of his problem. His tongue came between his teeth, glancing across his lower lip, then withdrawing so only the tip showed. He gave a long, slow stroke, eyes falling half-shut in pure ecstasy.

 

He'd been with enough people to be able to conjure up a pretty good map for what it would feel like to have Zell touch him, and he'd used it a lot lately, so it came easily to him. He began to stroke more earnestly, ducking his head so that his hair slipped over his shoulders and curled around his neck.

 

“Mm… yeah…” he whispered to the phantom fighter, glancing briefly at a drawer across the other side of the room where he knew there were a couple of things that would make the fantasy better, but he didn't want to stop to retrieve them. His lips parted for a throaty ah, and his fingers flexed against the wall. His pace quickened and his hips bucked a little. “Hyne…” The word came involuntarily, and he gave a knowing twist, wringing a moan from his own throat. He tossed his head back, breath coming in short pants and the movements of his hips grew rhythmic. “Zell…” he whimpered, then louder; “Zell, yes, Zell!”

 

“Do you have to leave your shit everyfuckingwhere?”

 

Irvine stilled like he'd been shot, and his body trembled with the desperate need to continue. His chaps hit him square in the side then fell to the floor and he would swear up and down he was the colour of Zell's shoes. This was, honestly, the true contention between them. Zell was a neat-freak-Nazi, Irvine really wasn't. Then again, some still-rational part of his brain considered, some of it had been on purpose, because of the guilty pleasure he took from watching Zell get pissed off.

 

“Do you mind?” Irvine growled, trying to pretend like he wasn't mortified.

 

“Not really, no,” came the flippant reply, and he couldn't help but glance at Zell.

 

The fighter leant in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest and Irvine's hat on his head. Those fangs were out and his smirk was positively predatory.

 

“Don't let me stop you…”

 

“That's my hat,” Irvine said, because his brain could barely function. He still trembled.

 

“Yeah, well. You leave it lying around and you can't expect it to be left alone.” The fighter pushed off the doorframe and came over to Irvine, a hand curling around his neck, the other going down to lace fingers with the sharpshooters. He moved their hands slowly, and Irvine half-swallowed a whimper. “I repeat - don't let me stop you…”

 

“But…”

 

“I heard you calling my name, Cowboy. You only had to ask… Think I wouldn't want to fuck you…? Everyone wants to fuck you.” His voice was low, soft, and spoke sex against Irvine's shoulder blade. “I've done exactly what I just caught you doing when I listened to you through the walls getting fucked by some other guy…”

 

That revelation made him groan and his hips bucked in their paired hands. He could feel Zell's want through their pants, but one hand was pinned by Zell's around his length and the other was holding their weight. If he moved it, they'd fall. He whimpered again and Zell's fingers twitched against his throat.

 

“Zell…” he gasped, and the name sounded different on his tongue now the man was here, strong hands at his throat and around him. “I'm…”

 

“Oh, I know…” he purred, and stroked faster, harder, letting Irvine move his hips into their hands.

 

“Ah… ah… ah… Ooh!” He tensed and a shudder ran through him, body arching with his release.

 

“Good…” Zell whispered. “Now. What shall we do with you…?”

 

Irvine could only pant, head hanging low and legs trembling. When Zell released him, he stumbled a little, but the fighter's hands caught his hips and steadied him.

 

“And here I thought you were a whore… Can't even stand up and I only touched you with a hand…”

 

“Fuck off…” Irvine growled, after a bracing swallow.

 

“I don't intend to fuck anything but you,” Zell replied, adjusting the hat on his head. “Strip.”

 

Irvine turned away, but did as he was told, kicking off his jeans, removing his jacket and vest. He heard the fighter undressing behind him, and his skin tingled. When Zell's body came against his again, this time devoid of clothing, he gasped softly. Hands ran up his body and came against his nipples, stroking softly.

 

“Zell-”

 

“Shush,” Zell demanded, and a gauzy scarf came against Irvine's mouth, making his heartbeat quicken. “Open.”

 

The sharpshooter parted lips and teeth and Zell drew the scarf between them, tying it at the back. He used it to pull Irvine's head back while his other hand smoothed down the long spine, fingers dipping between rounded cheeks and teasing at the sharpshooter's entrance. He twitched, one long leg drawing up onto its toes, and made a soft noise through the gag.

 

“You're so damn beautiful, Kinneas…” Zell growled, hand stroking further down and curving around the front of Irvine's thigh.

 

The sharpshooter arched his hips back towards Zell, purposely rubbing against his length and smirking at the low groan he received in reply. The fighter pushed him away, then.

 

“On the bed.”

 

Irvine went as he was told, sitting in the middle and looking obediently up at Zell.

 

“Oh, that was silly,” Zell said after a long moment, flipping Irvine's hat off his head to hang over a bed knob. “I wanted to see if that mouth of yours is good for anything other than talking shit.”

 

The sharpshooter's eyes dropped to Zell's length and he gave a little whimper, nodding. His hands twitched on the silk sheets.

 

“You want to do that, hmm? You want to taste me…?”

 

Again, Irvine nodded, but Zell only smiled and reached out to stroke his hair, the smile widening when the sharpshooter's eyes fell shut and he groaned softly.

 

“I knew there was a reason you keep it long… You're like a big kitten…”

 

Zell slipped onto the bed, straddling Irvine's lap and burying all his fingers in the masses of hair, stroking and rubbing hard and strong. The sharpshooter's arms came over his shoulders, resting loosely there and he gave a long, drawn-out moan, arching his neck and pressing his head into the caress. The fighter used the grip to push Irvine onto his back. One hand remained in the auburn hair, the other urged each arm up above Irvine's head.

 

“Whore…” Zell whispered, licking at the hollow of Irvine's throat and holding his wrists where they were.

 

Irvine made a displeased sound, but could of course say nothing and Zell chuckled, then reached over the side of the bed and into the pocket of his shorts, from which he withdrew another scarf. This one, he used to tie Irvine's wrists to the bedhead.

 

He sat back a little, licking his lips and eyeing the sight the sharpshooter made. He really was beautiful, even if he was disgustingly untidy and talked a whole lot of shit most of the time. The fighter highly doubted that Irvine had slept with everyone he said he'd slept with, but he got so pissed off when he was accused of being a slut, that it was well worth pretending to believe it. He deserved to be pissed off, anyway, since he was constantly pissing Zell off.

 

Irvine whimpered through the scarf, bringing Zell back to the present and he stroked a hand down the length of the sharpshooter's torso, watching him arch a little into the touch.

 

“Maybe this'll teach you to be tidier, Cowboy.”

 

Sky-blue eyes blinked at him and he curved his hands around the insides of Irvine's thighs, parting his legs and pushing them up a little. He didn't resist at all, but watched through red-gold lashes. When the fighter's mouth closed about his length in one swift movement, he gave a muffled cry, and his legs flexed in Zell's hands. Once he had the sharpshooter writhing and fighting the scarf around his wrists, the blond lifted his head, licking his lips.

 

“Are you sorry, yet?” he wondered, purposely breathing the words across Irvine's damp length.

 

Irvine didn't reply, and Zell wasn't even sure he had heard. His eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed and his breath panting through the scarf. He had his head turned a little to the side, resting against his upraised arm, and the fighter thought he had possibly never seen something so erotic before. He bent again, licking the curve of a thigh, then up to Irvine's navel at which he hovered, tongue dipping and lapping. The sharpshooter made tiny little whimpering noises in reply, lifting his hips and clearly dissatisfied with the shift in attentions.

 

“Eager, aren't we? You really are a whore…” The words whispered along Irvine's skin as Zell's mouth traveled up the center of his torso then across to a pierced nipple where he spent a great deal of time, listening to the sharpshooter's muffled cries. The gold hoop through each nipple made it easier to tease him, teeth catching and tugging, tongue stabbing through, curling around and over and the fighter had heard before that piercing made them more sensitive. Of Irvine, it certainly seemed to be true.

 

Then again, Zell reflected, Irvine wasn't one to be quiet. Nevertheless, `vocal' was an understatement - and that was with a gag. The fighter smirked and licked across to the neglected nipple, paying it equal attention. He brought their arousals into close contact and wrapped a hand around them, stroking slowly, teasingly. He stopped all touch when Irvine shifted his hips up, seeking more friction, and the sharpshooter groaned, but he got the message and forced himself to be still while Zell began stroking and licking again.

 

When he ceased again, Irvine cried out and gave the fighter a wide-eyed, begging look. Zell smirked and flattened himself full-length along the needy red-head, pressing a kiss to his gagged mouth, then wondering softly against it; “If I take this off, will you use that pretty mouth to beg…?”

 

Irvine made a soft sound that he was fairly certain was agreement, so he reached around to undo the gag and took it gently from the sharpshooter's mouth. He licked his lips and swallowed a couple of times, then smiled slightly at Zell.

 

“The wrists?”

 

“Nuh-uh.”

 

“Oh, c'mon, Zell… I ain't goin' nowhere…”

 

“That's a doub-”

 

“I know! Shut up!”

 

“None of what just came out your mouth sounds like begging, Cowboy…”

 

Irvine pouted at him, and it was evident the expression was well-practiced. Zell ignored it and brought the scarf up again, but the sharpshooter turned his head aside and whimpered softly.

 

“Please…” he whispered.

 

“That's a little more like it.”

 

He wrapped one end of the scarf twice around Irvine's arousal then drew it slowly away, so it stroked around and around right to the other end. He took that other end and repeated the process in the opposite direction. The sharpshooter squirmed, pulling on the scarf around his wrists.

 

“Zell! Nn…”

 

The fighter chuckled and removed the scarf, dropping it aside, then he turned and knelt over Irvine. The sharpshooter didn't hesitate to open his mouth and take the fighter's length within, in the same moment as Zell lowered his head and returned the gesture. They both moaned lowly and Irvine's hips bucked a little, but Zell put a hand to them to hold them still. He, however, had no such restraint. His hips flexed rhythmically, and Irvine didn't complain, only shifted a little to make it easier for himself. It wasn't long before Zell was forced to release Irvine's own arousal, teeth clenching reflexively.

 

“Guess… that… mouth of yours… is good for something… e-else…” he groaned.

 

Irvine didn't respond, only suckled and licked more enthusiastically, making Zell shudder. It took every ounce of will the fighter possessed for him to withdraw and move away. He knelt on the bed, panting, and Irvine watched him in smug silence, tongue darting out along his lips.

 

“Good…” he murmured and Zell chuckled.

 

“I aim to please.”

 

“Likewise…”

 

“Should I be gentle…? Are you as fragile as you look, Pretty One…?”

 

“I ain't fragile, Dincht. I ain't no pansy.”

 

“That's a-”

 

“Shut up!”

 

Zell chuckled and rolled his hips against Irvine's, lips dancing along his jaw-line and hand reaching down to run teasing fingers along his length again.

 

“So… I won't be.”

 

“Won't be what?”

 

“Gentle,” Zell growled. His hands went to Irvine's hips and rolled him onto his stomach. He watched to make sure the scarf and not the sharpshooter's wrists twisted, then lifted his hips, smiling slightly when he automatically tucked his knees under. The fighter lifted Irvine up the bed a little so he could support his weight on his elbows then he slid his hands down to curve around the front of the sharpshooter's thighs.

 

“You have any-”

 

“Bottom draw, darlin'. Cowboy's always ready to ride…”

 

“Whore! You really are…” Zell chuckled, then reached for the draw, and fished through a pair of handcuffs, several cases of bullets and a bunch of Greens to find what he was looking for. He withdrew the tube and coated his fingers, then pressed one carefully inside of Irvine. The sharpshooter made a low sound and lifted his hips.

 

“Maybe I am. …Thought you said you weren't, like, goin' to be gentle.”

 

Zell snorted.

 

“Maybe not, but I won't hurt you either.”

 

He added a second finger, preparing Irvine thoroughly, then coated his own length and leaned over the sharpshooter's back, nipping at his earlobe. Irvine turned his head a little, hands fisting where they lay on the pillows and he whimpered when Zell rolled his hips against his arse.

 

“Don't tease me…” he breathed. “Not now.”

 

Zell smirked, stroking his hands down the curve of Irvine's waist and hips, then back up his spine to be buried in his hair where they rubbed. The sharpshooter's back arched and he lifted his hips pleadingly, sighing.

 

“Please, Zell… Please… You've… tortured me enough…”

 

“Had enough?”

 

“Yes… Please!”

 

“You want me?”

 

“Oh, dear Hyne, yes!”

 

Zell ran his hands back down to Irvine's hips, holding them still as he entered the sharpshooter in one swift movement. His lover moaned from the back of his throat and again, his back arched. He spread his legs a little further and Zell let out a long sigh against the back of his neck.

 

“Moan for me, like I heard you moan for all those other men and women… Tell me what you want…”

 

“I… want… I want… you…”

 

“Mmm… just what I wanted to hear…”

 

The fighter gave a few shallow, experimental thrusts, attentive for any sign of discomfort. When there was none he smiled.

 

“I want you, Zell…” Irvine said again, his voice strained. “Please… please…”

 

Zell didn't bother with a reply, only laid a hand next to Irvine's elbow and began to take him in earnest, blown away by how damn good it felt. The sharpshooter moved in all the right ways and made all the right sounds to drive him out of his mind with pleasure and the need to gain more of it. His hair spilled over his shoulders and down his long back, and he was indescribably beautiful.

 

“…Nn… please…” The word seemed to come easily to his lips, even around a throaty moan. “Oh, yes, Zell…”

 

There had never been anything special about his name. It was, after all, only one syllable and certainly not the prettiest of names. But the way it sounded when Irvine said it like that was something he would never forget.

 

“Irvine…” he sighed against his lover's ear, and his pace quickened. Irvine went with him, lifting his hips to what thrusts he could, and crying out his pleasure.

 

“Oh, Zell…” the sharpshooter breathed. “Oooh, Zell!”

 

The fighter groaned and curved his free hand around Irvine's hip and down to stroke his arousal, drawing a wild cry of his name from the sharpshooter's lips. He let go, then, muscle flexing under both their skins, breath coming in ragged pants, hair damp and bodies shining in the half-light flickering through the curtains.

 

Irvine's cries grew more desperate, and he made no attempt to muffle them. They drove Zell to greater lengths to please him, his movements more urgent, his stroking tighter, harder. Then with one final, throaty repetition of Zell's name, every muscle in Irvine's body drew tight with his release, and it was all Zell needed to push him over the edge as well.

 

They collapsed together, Zell sprawled across Irvine's back, and it was a long few moments before either of them managed to start sorting out their thoughts again. Irvine was panting, little whimpering sounds breaking from his throat with every exhale and Zell stroked long auburn hair back from the sharpshooter's face to press a kiss to his temple.

 

“Mmm… I should have… tied you to a bed… months ago…” the fighter managed finally and gained a broken chuckle in reply.

 

Irvine whimpered when Zell withdrew and he arched, keeping in contact as long as possible.

 

“Zell…” he whispered. “Don't…” He trailed off, blushing, and turned his face into the pillows.

 

Zell reached up to untie the scarf and dropped it aside, massaging Irvine's wrists gently to help the returning circulation. He pressed a kiss to each of the sharpshooter's palms and propped himself up on one elbow.

 

“Don't what…?” he asked softly, stroking Irvine's spine.

 

“Nothin'… I guess you better go…”

 

“Go..? Where would I be going?”

 

Irvine lifted his head, a vulnerability in his sky-blue eyes which Zell had never expected to see there. It made him feel protective and he settled further down on the silk sheets, drawing the sharpshooter into his arms.

 

Without needing to say it, they both realised suddenly there was more to this than a mutual release of the tension they'd been causing in one another. Zell breathed in the scent of Irvine's hair and Irvine curved his leg over the fighter's hips, pressing closer to him.

 

“And here I thought Christmas weren't until tomorrow…” Irvine murmured, making Zell chuckle.

 

“Speaking of, isn't Selphie's party in… an hour?”

 

Irvine glanced at the clock on his bedside table and made a noncommittal noise, rolling them so he was draped across Zell's strong body. He stroked his hands across the fighter's chest and down his torso, finally wrapping one around his length. He licked his lips briefly, bending his head to nuzzle at the blonde hair.

 

“C'mon… I unwrapped my present, now I want to enjoy it… I go to Selphie's party every dang year. I, like, think she'll deal with me missin' one this time around, don't you?”

 

Zell chuckled, a deep chesty sound, and his hands slid down to Irvine's hips, pulling him closer.

 

“Mmm… you got a point… And anyway, if we tire each other, it'll be easier to sleep and Christmas will come faster…”

 

“Good point,” Irvine whispered and opened his mouth to Zell when the fighter leaned up to kiss him.

 

- - - - - - -

 

“Maybe they killed each other…” the little scythe-carrying SeeD mused from the corner of the party, around which Selphie was doing laps, looking for Irvine and Zell. “Do you think they killed each other, Eoko?!”

 

She sounded more than a little hysterical.

 

“Probably. They were pretty pissed off…”

 

“Eoko!” Kitty squealed, hitting her none-too-gently. “You're supposed to make me feel better, not worse!”

 

Eoko only laughed and dragged Kitty over to get something to drink.

 

“I'm sure they're fine. They're likely to knock each other unconscious before any real killing can occur.”

 

“Ee-ooh-koh!”

 

- - - - - - -

 

“Ignore it,” Zell growled when Irvine's phone rang.

 

“I intend to. Ah! Don't stop…”

 

“I don't intend to…”

 

“We should… do this… every Christmas Eve…”

 

Zell chuckled, shaking his head a little.

 

“Baby, I'm not waiting until next Christmas to do this again…”

 

Irvine grinned, and suffice it to say, the pair of SeeD's not only missed Selphie's party, but Christmas morning as well. And they didn't care one bit.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Author's Notes: Yes, Eoko is Eoko and Kitty is me. Well… our fic-selves. They're different than our real selves… mostly. ;) Yay for Christmas and yaoi!