Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Dress Up ❯ One-Shot

Dress Up
by scribblemoose

"What about her?" Squall nodded towards the long line of cadets that wound through the busy cafeteria.

"Which one?"

"The one with the fair hair, picking out an orange. Looks a bit like Quistis, only less... fierce."

"Oh, Teila? I've had-" Irvine coughed suddenly. "I mean, I've had, um, I... Before. Um. Nah. She doesn't do anything for me. Really."

Squall looked at him through rapidly narrowing eyes. "I can take it, you know," he said, his thunderous features suggesting the exact opposite. "I'm not jealous of your conquests."

"No, I know that. Of course. But, no. Blonde, you see. Never really went for blondes."

"You went for Quistis."

"That was different. Orphanage bond, that was. I expect."

Squall snorted. "You're such a bad liar, Irvine."

Irvine gave him his best, cutest, most adorable smile. "You should know you're safe, then," he said. "Now we're together there's no-one else, babe, blonde or otherwise. You can rely on it."

For an instant, Squall smiled back, until he caught himself, and swiftly wiped the faintly dewy-eyed expression off his face. "Then let me rephrase my question," he said, slowly. "If you didn't have... if we weren't... if I wasn't... back before you met me, what kind of girl did you like then?"

"Well..." Irvine scanned the lunch queue impassively, but nonetheless thoroughly, Squall noticed.

"Xu, maybe? Xu's pretty."

"Nah. Not really my type."

"I don't think you have a type," said Squall, spooning more sugar than was good for him into his coffee and stirring it vigorously.

"Perhaps you've turned me off girls forever." Irvine propped his head up on one elbow, and batted his eyelashes at Squall.

Squall scowled at him. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You know perfectly well what."

Irvine laughed, a deep, throaty sound that brought Squall close to trembling in an instant.

Two hours fighting a sorceress, and he stayed cool as Shiva herself. Yet Kinneas could turn him into a quivering fool with one wink.

Irvine winked.

"What about clothes?" Squall asked, surprised and immensely grateful that his voice didn't come out as an adolescent squeak. "Do you like girls in skirts, or jeans, or-"

"Why?" asked Irvine. "I'm not interested in anyone but you. Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just curious," said Squall, as casually as he could. "I never really understood about girls. Just wondered, you know, what you find attractive about them."

"It helps if they're breathing," said Irvine, with a grin.

"Oh, forget it." Squall banged his mug down on the table, a little harder than he'd meant to. "It was just conversation. Forget it."

"I'm sorry." Irvine went to take Squall's hand, but Squall yanked his away. "I didn't mean to-"

"I said it doesn't matter," said Squall, through clenched teeth. "Leave it."

Irvine looked at him for a moment, a flare of genuine annoyance in his normally soft eyes; eyebrows creased together; the hand that had reached for Squall snapped back to his side. "Fine," he said.

Squall bit his lip, hating the pang of hurt that 'fine' stabbed through his chest. He was so bad at this. Relationships seemed effortless to Irvine. To Squall, so much as a conversation felt like one big risk.

"Stockings, I guess," said Irvine, somewhat grudgingly.

"What?"

"You asked me what I like girls to wear. I have a real thing for stockings, and short skirts... and, oh, gods, uniforms. You remember that time when we were in Dollet, and that policewoman stopped the car? And she got all gooey because she recognised you, and let us off?"

"Not sure I do," said Squall, gruffly, pushing fingers through his bangs and staring resolutely at his mug.

"Well, she was wearing that tight little uniform they have, with the peaked cap over one eye and all, and the shortest skirt... and I swear she was wearing stockings. Black ones, too."

"And just after that you nearly crashed the car at the next set of traffic lights," Squall remembered.

"Did I?" asked Irvine, casually. "I must have been distracted."

"Hm."

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the cadets and other SeeDs going about their usual lunchtime business, Squall trying very hard not to attempt to guess which girls were wearing stockings and might therefore pose some kind of a threat.

"Hey, Squall..." Irvine gave him a slow, lazy smile. "You doing anything straight after lunch? Only it seems mighty warm in here all of a sudden, and I thought maybe we could go back to your quarters and cool down some." He paused to lick his lips. "Eventually."

Squall was about to grin back, a thrill already shooting up his spine as he imagined what Irvine might have in mind. It would probably involve a lot of rolling around naked on Squall's bed, one way or another, and that was a very inspiring-

A single thought stopped Squall in his tracks, an instant before he was about to stand up and lead Irvine wordlessly to the residential area.

What had got Irvine horny all of a sudden?

"No," he heard himself say. "I've got work to do."

"Oh."

He could all but taste Irvine's disappointment.

"And so have you," he said, brusquely, climbing to his feet. "Or at least, you should have. I'll see you at dinner. Probably. Maybe tomorrow."

Then he was storming out of the cafeteria, still not quite sure what had happened, only knowing that there was a sick feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the hot dogs, and everything to do with the thought of Irvine getting all worked up over some girl in stockings.

He was dimly aware of Irvine watching him as he left, looking disconcertingly like a wounded puppy.

Squall pretended not to notice, and went to get ready for his four o'clock meeting.

* * * * * * *

He'd never been jealous before in his life.

But then, he'd never had anyone to be jealous about. He dimly remembered bursting into tears once when he'd found out that Ellone had been telling bedtime stories to Seifer, after he, Squall, had fallen asleep. But that was just kids' stuff. He was only five years old. Surely that didn't count.

He had been, perhaps, a little miffed when he first realised that Rinoa had been serious about Seifer. But that was all about Seifer's betrayal and having Rinoa dumped on them like that. He was gay, for fuck's sake, so why would it have mattered who Rinoa had been out with?

He'd never been jealous.

Squall slammed his fist on the entry button to the training centre, and stomped inside, but before he'd killed even half a dozen grats, he realised his heart wasn't in it. He chopped his way through another ten or so out of habit, until he reached the secret area. It should be fairly quiet in the middle of the afternoon, he reasoned, and he could do with somewhere to think.

He slumped on a bench, looking out over the simulated swampland of the training area, and tried to make sense of his ever-baffling emotions.

"Having a nice brood, Squall?"

Just what he needed as his rage was sinking into depression: Selphie Tilmitt, possibly the most cheerful person in the whole of Balamb Garden, and Irvine's ex-girlfriend for good measure.

"Leave me alone," he said, knowing full well she wouldn't. Even, perhaps, hoping she wouldn't.

"Not just yet," she said, true to form, and flopped down next to him. She picked up the safety chain that dangled from the end of his gunblade, and started to fiddle with it.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular," said Selphie. "Just saying hi."

"Great. Hi. Mission accomplished. Off you go, then."

Of course, she ignored him. But she didn't say anything else; just fiddled with the chain, and flexed her legs out in front of her, stretched and fidgeted and hummed under her breath.

"So, how's things?" she said, eventually.

"Fine," said Squall.

"Good. Irvine okay?"

"You saw him yourself last night. You went out to that concert with him, remember?"

"Oh yes, of course. It was good. You should have come."

"Not my kind of music," said Squall.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I had to work," he said, more honestly.

Then a tiny thought popped into his head. A question. He was fairly certain it was the sort of question he shouldn't be asking, but-

"Selphie..."

"Yup?"

"I was wondering. Um. When you were with Irvine..."

"Ye-es?"

It didn't feel right, asking her. However mutually agreeable her parting from Irvine had been, a break up was a break up, she was Irvine's ex, and he was Irvine's... current, he supposed.

"Oh, nothing."

Selphie sighed. "It's been six months, Squall. It's fine. What did you want to know?"

She looked like she meant it, her face cheerful and genuine as ever.

"Did you ever wonder about other girls?"

A smile broke across her pretty face. "All the time," she said. "But Irvine didn't mind. He was very understanding."

Squall half opened his mouth to reply, before her words really sank in. "What?" He stared at her, shocked.

"I'm teasing, silly. You mean did I wonder about him going after other women?"

Squall shrugged, a little embarrassed. He really wasn't any good at this.

"Squall," said Selphie, gently. "Irvine lo- Irvine thinks the world of you. You should trust him. He's not going to go chasing after women when he's got you to keep him warm at night."

Squall shifted uncomfortably. Maybe because she'd hit on something he knew in his heart to be true. But also because it was unnerving that she could see it so clearly. Although he knew that everyone else knew about their relationship, he'd never been happy talking about it, as such. Everyone was so excited when he got together with Rinoa, and then they were all disappointed when it didn't work out....

"Thanks," he said. "I have to go. There's... things. Things to be done. Work things." He picked up Lionheart, and got to his feet.

"If you really want to show him how you feel," said Selphie, completely ignoring Squall's attempts to end the conversation, "why not plan a romantic evening, just for the two of you? I think he finds it a bit difficult, with you working so hard, and then we all spend so much time as a crowd... He's a born romantic, you know. Candles, soft music, a whole evening of you to himself - show him you care."

That was just a little too much. To his horror, Squall blushed. "He knows how I feel," he said in a small voice, readjusting his belts.

"Sure. Sorry." Selphie beamed at him. "I get carried away, sometimes. I'm sure you know what he likes. See you in the bar later?"

"Probably," said Squall, already on his way to the door. But he stopped, just as he reached it, and looked back. "Thanks, Selph."

Selphie just smiled.

* * * * * * *

The longer the day went on, and the more Squall dwelt on it, the more he thought Selphie was probably right. Irvine had been very patient with him, but he was so new to all this, and for all that he'd known he was gay even while he was with Rinoa, he'd never slept with a man before, never mind had a relationship with one. He really didn't know what to do.

He didn't have anything scheduled after the four o'clock meeting. His first free evening in a month. He probably had some candles somewhere, and there were those new sheets that Quistis had given him for no readily apparent reason last birthday...

If it had been for Rinoa, he wouldn't have hesitated. He'd done those things, and more, for her. To make up, perhaps, for the things he couldn't give her. But Irvine...

What if he laughed at him? What if it wasn't the right thing to do?

Squall lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, paralysed by indecision.

He wished with fleeting regret that Rinoa was still here to advise him. He could call her, of course, but it seemed insensitive, and anyway, it was the middle of the night in Esthar. But she'd been so good at all this stuff. She'd taught him nearly everything he knew about people. But somehow they hadn't covered this at all.

Why stockings, anyway? What was so special about stockings?

Squall remembered a club he'd been to in Galbadia once, with Zell and Seifer, back in the days when they were still cadets and he and Seifer could almost get along for ten minutes at a time. It had been Zell's 16th birthday, and Seifer decided it was time to broaden his horizons. Squall really hadn't wanted to go, but of course, Seifer made a dare of it so he couldn't back out. They snuck out of Garden after curfew, and managed to get to Galbadia in time to hit the clubs.

He really, really hadn't wanted to go to a gay club. He'd spent four years in denial over his sexuality by that point, and he was just getting good at it. Seeing half-naked men in cages set him back further than he cared to admit. He'd spent most of the hour they were there trying to hide his hard-on under his jacket, and was positively relieved when Zell finished his eighth cocktail and started to go green, necessitating a hasty departure.

Squall shuddered at the memory, but there was one little vignette in the whole episode that had been torturing him since lunchtime.

There were strippers at the club, male strippers. Only, they weren't stripping off male clothing. One of them had been wearing stockings, with a little blue garter and high heels. He'd been so confused and horny by that point, he hadn't known for sure whether it turned him on or repulsed him; it had seemed odd, more than anything. Uncomfortable.

Surely Irvine hadn't meant for him to...

His door buzzer went, and Squall was, for once, grateful of the intrusion.

* * * * * * *

"I saw Irvine earlier," said Quistis, passing yet another file to add to the pile Squall was burdened with. "Don't forget that one, it has all the receipts for munitions over the past six months in it. The new President is bound to ask who's arming Garden, that's conclusive evidence. He looked sad."

"The President?" Squall said, confused.

"No, silly, Irvine."

"Oh." He was practically jogging to keep up with Quistis; he may have had a couple of inches over her in height, but she was all leg, and he suspected she practised walking fast, just to put other people at a disadvantage.

"Did you have a row?"

"No," said Squall, a bit too quickly.

"This one's the report from Esthar giving the projected quantification of lunar cry threat for the next ten years."

"You mean how many monsters there are left?"

"Yes," said Quistis, patiently. "But try and say it the other way. It sounds more impressive."

Squall cut off a derisive snort, remembering that Quistis was usually right about these things.

"So things are okay between you two?"

"Yes," said Squall, figuring that was a fair answer whether she was referring to the President of Deling or Irvine, although being strictly true in neither case.

"Try and keep things civil. Remember you have to go to the formal reception after the meeting, and play the host. I know you, if you fall out with him it'll be all sulking and scowling and whatevers, and that won't do us any favours."

Squall scowled. "Whatever."

Quistis grinned at him. "You do so love to wind me up, don't you?"

Squall gave her just the hint of a smile. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"Here we are," said Quistis, as they came to a stop outside the meeting room Squall spent so much time in. He sighed. How, in the name of Hyne, when he found people so difficult, and had been so hell bent on a future of killing monsters, ended up in a world full of diplomacy and reports? Sometimes he could have cheerfully strangled Cid for promoting him in less than a year to a position he shouldn't have been in for another thirty. If ever.

He straightened up, cleared his throat, and tried to look as old, serious and non-scowly as he could.

"Stop by Irvine's on your way home, sort things out," said Quistis, as she pressed the entry button with one long, neatly-manicured finger.

"What?" Instantly flustered, Squall found himself looking back at Quistis as he all but fell into the meeting room.

"Good luck, Commander," she said, with a smile, as the door shut behind him.

* * * * * * *

Somehow, Squall managed to get through the meeting without causing any major diplomatic incident. Or, at least, he didn't think he had. He tried to put it out of his mind: Quistis would no doubt inform him very swiftly if he'd done anything terrible.

Now he just had to get through the reception, and it would be over. The President would be packed off to enjoy the limited thrill of Balamb nightlife, and Squall would be free to get back to his brooding.

He hurried back to his quarters to shower, trying not to remember what Quistis had said. He knew he should talk to Irvine. He should apologise for storming off, explain that he really wasn't jealous, and somehow, perhaps, try to find out if Irvine's interest in stockings was gender-specific.

He really, really hoped it was.

Oh gods.

How could he ask him? It was one thing knowing, it was another thing actually-

Irvine was leaning against the door to Squall's room, hat drawn low over his eyes, one foot flat against the wall. Arms folded around himself, strong and curved with muscle, shown off perfectly by an indigo silk vest. One strand of copper wisping against his golden skin.

Squall approached slowly, a little breathless, bracing himself for Irvine's smile.

It didn't come. Irvine skipped the smile part, and the hello part, and simply grabbed Squall by the shoulders, pressed him to the door, and kissed him. Hot and hungry, one thigh working between Squall's, one hand sliding across his shoulder, fingers curling softly to cup his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek.

He sucked gently on Squall's tongue, nibbled on his lower lip, and started to work his other hand between them to mess with buckles and buttons.

"Inside," gasped Squall, between frantic kisses. "Inside, Irvine, now!"

Irvine reluctantly released Squall for long enough for him to operate the keypad; it took him three tries to persuade his shaking fingers to enter the right code.

They didn't get too far inside, though: no sooner had the door shut behind them than Irvine had Squall up against the cool metal again, kissing his neck and stripping off Squall's belts with impressive skill. Squall cried out as Irvine reached inside his pants and curled his fingers around Squall's rapidly-hardening cock. His forehead fell onto Irvine's shoulder, his eyes tight shut, panting, his mind totally, gloriously blank of anything but the urgency Irvine was building in him. His cock stretched happily into Irvine's palm, twitched as Irvine stroked it. Squall let the pure pleasure of it roll over him for a while before he sought to reciprocate, finding Irvine just as keen and ready as he was.

Irvine lifted Squall's head gently from his shoulder, rubbed their noses together. Squall's tongue darted out and found Irvine's, twisting around it, drawing their mouths together, starting a long kiss that got deeper and deeper as they stroked and pumped each other faster and faster.

It didn't take very long; Irvine had brought him to fever pitch with the very first kiss, and he knew exactly how to touch Squall, where to touch him, to bring him off in moments. Another time, Squall might have hoped to hold out, but it felt so good, he simply melted into Irvine's arms and surrendered, kicking his head back against the door as he spurted helplessly into Irvine's palm. Pure release, simple and basic and so damn good he wanted it to last forever.

He reached down with both trembling hands, and formed a tunnel for Irvine to fuck, keeping it tight and close, and spreading wetness over the tip, luxuriating in hardness and silkiness and his own wetness, which Irvine was licking from his hand. When Irvine came, just a few moments later, Squall dropped to his knees and enveloped his cock in his mouth, licked and sucked the semen out of him until it flooded his tongue in hot, sticky spurts.

He collapsed against Irvine's thighs, spent and sleepy, still more than a little mindless. Felt gentle fingers in his hair, on his shoulders, as Irvine encouraged him to his feet.

They exchanged foolish grins, and a few brief kisses.

"Need shower," mumbled Squall.

"Come with you." Irvine stroked Squall's bangs back from his face, tucked his hair behind one ear.

"You go in after. I have to be quick," said Squall. "Got to go to reception."

Irvine pouted adorably. "Bummer."

"I'll be back. Soon." He reluctantly dragged himself away from Irvine's arms, and towards the bathroom.

Squall had completely forgotten his worries, unable to think of anything much until he was in the shower, spray pounding against his neck, when the fierce pleasure Irvine had given him started to recede, and the world slowly settled back around him. And even then, it didn't seem so important any more. Nothing that couldn't be dealt with through a few straight questions.

When he returned to the bedroom, Irvine was lying on the bed, almost asleep, one arm flung across his eyes.

"Hey," he said, softly, peeking out at Squall from under his forearm.

"Hey. Irvine, I... there's something... I was wondering..."

"Mmm?" murmured Irvine, sleepily.

"Irvine, I was wondering. When we were talking, earlier, about what you liked, and... um... what if... do you..."

He stopped, and took a deep breath.

"Doyouwantmetodressuplikeawomanforyou?"

Suddenly, all Squall could feel was panic, all he could hear was the roaring in his ears, and all he could do was brace himself for Irvine's derision, laughter or possibly...

"Yeah."

Oh Gods. Oh Hyne. That was, without a doubt, absolutely the worst option.

He couldn't even see Irvine's eyes to check whether he was serious, or just playing along; they were hidden under his arm, and by the time Squall had mustered enough breath to even consider saying anything else, the soft breath and steady rise and fall of Irvine's chest told him his lover had fallen well and truly asleep. Not only that, but Squall was late for the reception; it was all he could do to pull on his clothes and drag a comb through his hair before he had to leave.

Unaware of his frenzied departure, Irvine slept on.

* * * * * * *

The reception passed in a blur. Squall tried his best to concentrate, to smile, to shake hands with the President's entourage, and make small talk, but found it harder than ever. Quistis was her usual, charming self, and he was, not for the first time, incredibly grateful to her. But he felt hot in his dress uniform, stifled by the politics and the social niceties, and wanted more than anything to be elsewhere. Either on the beach in the cool night air, killing monsters, or on the beach in the cool night air, rolling around naked with Irvine.

Except, every time he thought of Irvine, he remembered what Irvine had said, and panicked, and the room seemed even hotter, his collar stiffer, the conversation more tedious, until it was all he could do to keep himself from plain running away.

Finally, just when Squall had decided the reception was going to last all night, if not his entire life, the President's secretary discretely interrupted their conversation to remind his employer that there was a car waiting to take him into Balamb. Squall was free to leave.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door to his room, was that the lights were... flickering. Soft. No, not lights. Candles.

His room was swathed in candlelight.

It smelt different. Nice. Not so much leather and gunblade polish, more sandalwoody.

Irvine was more or less where Squall had left him, only wearing less. He was draped in a sheet, to be precise, head propped up on one elbow, hair loose and falling in waves over one shoulder. He looked beautiful. Outstandingly, breathtakingly beautiful.

Squall stood there, baffled, confused, and suddenly very, very tired.

"Oh, babe," said Irvine, voice deep and husky. "Fuck, you look good."

"What?" Squall scratched the scar between his eyes, battling with the familiar feeling that his life had somehow changed while he wasn't looking.

"You look so... oh, fuck. Come here."

Squall moved towards him, and started to undo the buttons of his jacket.

"No," said Irvine, quickly. "No, let me."

He got up from the bed and crossed the last few steps between them, the sheet trailing behind him, pooling at his feet, leaving him golden and naked the candlelight. He kissed Squall softly, once, then harder, his skin smooth and warm under Squall's hands. Oddly vulnerable, his naked body pressed against Squall's clothed one. Squall rather liked that feeling, if he was honest with himself.

"You look..." Irvine spoke between kisses, "so hot... in uniform."

He definitely liked that idea. A lot. So much so that certain parts of his uniform started to feel distinctly tight as a result.

"You look hot naked," he said, running his fingers lightly down Irvine's spine.

"I want you to take me, like that," said Irvine. He'd undone the buttons of Squall's jacket and slipped his hands inside to hug him, but made no move to take it off.

"What, standing up?"

"Dressed," said Irvine. "Dressed like that."

One corner of Squall's mouth twitched; he half-smiled. "Uniform?" he said, remembering suddenly that it wasn't just stockings that Irvine had been talking about at lunchtime.

"Oh, Hyne, yes," said Irvine. "You don't get a better uniform than yours in this world, Squall. Fuck me. Please?"

"But I thought-"

"Don't think," pleaded Irvine. "Please don't think. No need to think." He kissed Squall harder, pressing his naked body against the rough cloth of Squall's jacket, the perfect cut of his pants. Moaned as Squall gently but firmly pushed him away.

"Alright," he said. "I'll fuck you. On one condition."

"Of course," said Irvine, running his index finger down the gold beading on Squall's jacket. "You're the Commander."

He looked up at Squall through long eyelashes, eyes hooded, gleaming with mischief. He slowly licked his lips.

"Command me."

Squall swallowed hard, suddenly very hot, and very pleased, and very, very horny.

"Get on the bed," he said. "On your back, to start with."

Irvine gave him a wicked little grin, and saluted, before doing as he was told.

Squall took his time, getting lube out of the drawer, kicking his shoes under the bed, unpinning the chain and medal from his jacket and putting them on his desk. Then he turned and looked at Irvine, waiting obediently for him on the bed, arms raised above his head, emphasising his long, leanly muscled body, just the right side of thin. The sight of him set Squall's heart thumping, and he struggled for a moment to keep his self control.

He crossed to the bed, and straddled Irvine's thighs, not letting his eyes dwell on the temptation of Irvine's straining cock, for now. He thrust his own groin forwards a little.

"Get it out," he said, watching Irvine's face carefully.

Squall ran his fingers through his hair, shaking it out to fall ragged and messy over his shoulders and half his face and down his back, in complete contrast to the clean-cut precision of his clothes. The man he was, inside the man that Garden had made him.

Irvine deftly unzipped him, peeled back his fly and tugged his pants down just far enough for him to be able to coax Squall's cock out. He stroked it gently, reverently, transfixed by it, jutting proud and stiff from dark uniform pants.

"Thank you," he said.

That was a bit too much for Squall, who had to cover a giggle with a gruff cough and a frown.

"Lick it," he said, sternly.

Irvine shimmied down the bed, propped himself on his elbows, and darted his wet tongue out towards Squall's erection. He paused to nuzzle at his balls before licking up either side, and then the underside, pausing with his tongue pressing flat and warm and wet on the sensitive spot at the join of foreskin and shaft.

Squall could feel Irvine's breath on the head of his cock, hot and moist.

"Suck it," he panted, leaning forwards, making it easier for Irvine to reach. Irvine took Squall's cock into his mouth, slowly, gently, cheeks slightly concave as he began to suck.

"That's it," he murmured, threading his fingers through Irvine's hair, watching him as he took him deeper and deeper down his throat, sucking harder now, bobbing his head a little, opening his throat so Squall could slip all the way inside. Until he was buried to the hilt, Irvine's breath coming hard through his nose, lips clamped hard around the root of his cock.

"I'm going to fuck your mouth now," Squall said. "Okay?"

Irvine nodded, not taking his eyes off Squall's for a second.

He moved slowly at first, only building speed when he was sure Irvine could take it. Wondered how far Irvine would let him go, how hard he would let his throat be pummelled, whether he'd mind if Squall came helplessly down his throat before Irvine got the fucking he'd asked for.

He didn't find out, in the end: as good as it felt in Irvine's mouth, the longing to bury himself in the slick heat of his ass was growing more urgent with every thrust.

"It's time," he said, finally, pulling clear of Irvine's all-to-tempting throat and tongue and lips. Irvine chased his cock with a few last licks and kisses, then watched as Squall started to coat himself with lube.

"How do you want me, Commander?" he asked, eyes round and innocent, but for the undeniable spark of lust.

"On your back, like that," said Squall, gruffly. "Put your legs on my shoulders."

Irvine rested his ankles lightly either side of his neck; Squall slicked his ass throroughly, smiling at the rush of pleasure that made Irvine arch and rock his hips as he stroked and stretched him.

He paused to kiss one anklebone, before shucking his own pants down to his knees, and pulling Irvine's legs close, touching the tip of his cock against Irvine's asshole.

He opened his mouth to give an order, but found he couldn't say a word. Suddenly not so sure of himself, he sank into Irvine's body, just a little, until he felt resistance, then waited, watching Irvine's face, careful not to hurt him.

Irvine's eyes were closed, he was breathing deeply. All at once he opened for him, and Squall pressed home. He leaned over Irvine, and kissed him gently.

"Am I doing it right for you, Commander?"

The fantasy fell away; it felt wrong, suddenly, very wrong, to pretend they were anything other than lovers, friends, equals. Squall searched Irvine's eyes, his arms suddenly trembling, threatening to give way under him.

"Oh Hyne," he all but whimpered, "I can't... Irvine, I..."

"Shh... what's wrong?" Irvine looked up at him, concerned, but apparently found the answer without Squall saying another word. He pushed the jacket back over Squall's shoulders, started to undo his shirt.

Squall forced himself to pull out of Irvine, just for long enough to take off the rest of his clothes in a frenzy, wanting only to be naked and honest and himself. After a brief struggle with awkward cuffs and tangled underwear, he knelt between Irvine's thighs again, trembling fiercely. He let out a groan as he pressed into his lover, Irvine's insides so hot and slick, his legs folding around Squall's back, pulling him close. Safe.

He stayed there for a long moment, dipped his head and kissed Irvine's hair and cheeks and eyelids. Eventually, they started to rock slowly together, Irvine raising his hips in perfect time to meet Squall's thrusts.

"Is that good?" whispered Irvine in Squall's ear, as if there could be any doubt.

"The best," murmured Squall. "So hot, so fucking tight and good and... oh gods, Irvine, I just want to... want it to... I just... oh..."

"Me too," said Irvine. "I want you inside me forever. I want to feel this forever. Just with you. There's no-one else. There'll never be anyone else, all the while I have you."

Squall paused, fought to catch his breath, and opened his eyes, suddenly very focused on what Irvine was saying to him.

Irvine smiled. "I'm not as stupid as people think," he said. "You were jealous. You're frightened I'd go off with someone else."

"Yes. It was Selphie," whispered Squall, the truth bubbling up from nowhere. "Until you knew I was interested, you were with Selphie. And I thought..."

"If I'd felt this way about Seffie," said Irvine, tugging Squall's head down, kissing him. "You wouldn't have stood a chance."

"But... you..."

"No-one else, Squall. I love you. No-one else."

"Oh gods," Squall breathed.

Then Irvine was kissing him again, holding his hips still so he could fuck himself on Squall's cock until Squall's body got the message and started to fuck him back, and it was tight and hot and intense and close and good. Better than good.

Squall came deep inside Irvine's body, with a roar, of triumph or relief or joy or something, he didn't know: he only knew that it felt good and important, and he looked down and watched Irvine's face as he brought his lover with him, a slow smile of satisfaction dawning on his face as Irvine spurted hot and wet in his hand.

Sweat was dripping into his eyes, and suddenly he felt very, very sleepy. His eyes started to close, and his arms felt as if they were about to fold under him.

"You said you... I... you... oh Hyne, I'm so tired..."

"You want to get into bed? Or shower first?" Irvine stroked the back of his neck gently under his hair.

"Mmm," said Squall, forcing himself to straighten up, dragging himself reluctantly from Irvine's body. "Shower."

"Okay then. Come on," said Irvine, already off the bed and snagging a warm towel from the radiator.

He padded after Irvine, yawning, absently scratching his chest. He dimly remembered that there was something he'd been worried about, but he couldn't recall exactly what.

He stood under the hot water with Irvine, rested his head on Irvine's shoulder, even let him wash him.

Then he remembered.

"Stockings," he said.

"What, love?" Irvine's hand stopped in the act of soaping his shoulders; he tilted Squall's chin up so he could see his face.

"I'm sorry Irvine," said Squall, with all the seriousness of a drunk pretending to be sober. "I don't think I want to wear stockings."

Irvine laughed. Just a chuckle at first, and then a full blown, deep, rich, belly laugh.

Even with his sex-fogged brain, Squall was fairly certain he hadn't expected Irvine to laugh.

He managed to look a little offended.

"I'm sorry, Squall," gasped Irvine eventually. "But what on earth made you think-"

"You said," said Squall, plaintively. "Earlier. I asked if you want me to dress up in women's clothes, and you said yes."

Irvine frowned, and thought for a moment, absently kneading Squall's shoulders. "I don't remember-"

"Earlier. After... before I left for the reception."

"Oh," said Irvine. "Then. Um. I think I misheard you."

"What?"

"I didn't hear the womens' clothes bit. I thought you just meant, well, dressing up. Like you were tonight. Manly dressing up."

Squall's eyes went wide. "Oh."

"Sorry, babe. I was half-asleep."

"Oh, thank fuck for that!" Squall felt almost dizzy with relief. "I thought."

"I'm not saying you wouldn't look mighty pretty..." Irvine ran soapy fingers along the top of Squall's thigh, "but it's not you, really, is it? It's not how I think of you."

Of course, now Squall thought about it, he should have realised that. Irvine had never treated him as anything but a man, had given him nothing but dignity, whether as his Commander, his friend or his lover.

His lover.

He looked up into Irvine's eyes, followed a streak of water down his cheek with one fingertip.

"You said you love me," he breathed.

"Yes," said Irvine, and caught Squall's finger between his lips, sucked it gently, kissed it.

"I love you, too."

Irvine grinned. "I know," he said. "But it's good to hear you say it."

Squall knew that deserved at least a scowl, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to. So he smiled instead, and let Irvine take him in his arms, and kiss his hair.

Just for a minute or two.