Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. ❯ Invasion of Privacy. ( Chapter 7 )

For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.

~ A Kitty and Eoko Fanfiction.

 

Warnings: Swearing! (In case you hadn't noticed that by now.) And boy/boy relations (In case you hadn't worked that out by now.) Violence.

 

Disclaimer: Eoko and I do not own the FF8 characters. T_T Such a sad, sad thing. We don't even make any money off of this. Woe.

 

Author's Notes:

 

Kitty: Woe! The update is way late again~

 

Eoko: And you used to give me hell. ^^

 

Kitty: I know, right? I'll try to be better, but it's report time and stuff.

 

Eoko: Hey, if I can live with only being able to RP once or twice a week, I can forgive a late update. Besides, we write for us, and we've already read it. XD

 

Kitty: True, true. Although I don't know if I can live with only being able to RP once or twice a week... Keke.

 

Eoko: You'll get a holiday soon enough. Also, the manga WINTER DEMON 3 is AMAZING! OMNOMNOM DEMON SMEX!

 

Kitty: Oh, I saw that one, but I didn't get it because of brother... stuff. And you know how I feel about that.

 

Eoko: Brother stuff? The only brother stuff is the little story at the end to entice you to buy Dark Prince.

 

Kitty: Wait... uh... Man, I can't remember now. Anyway! I suppose we should let them get on with readng the fic.

 

Eoko: Yea! We can go talk about sexy manga by ourselves. XD

 

Kitty: Or, you know, RP while we have the chance. Yes! Read on, oh loyal subjects, read on!

 

Chapter 7 - Invasion of Privacy.

 

“You're really twitchy, Paris… Miss out on your morning coffee or something…?” Zell wondered, watching with more than a little appreciation as the assassin bench-pressed fifty-five kilos. (1) Muscle flexed along his arms and under his singlet.

 

Irvine ignored him.

 

“You should have a spotter,” Zell pointed out after a moment and when Irvine didn't reply, he moved to stand at Irvine's head, holding his hands out in case he should lose his grip on the barbell.

 

“I ain't goin' to drop it,” Irvine drawled. “I got steady hands…”

 

“I bet you do,” Zell murmured with a smirk, but he didn't move. From where he stood, he had the perfect view of Irvine's entire body, and it really was a sight. It was evident the man kept his body in supreme condition. His stamina must be amazing… The guard couldn't help that his mind wandered a little.

 

“Ink!”

 

Zell looked up, blinking, but Irvine continued, sweat making his singlet cling to him and his hair curl against his cheeks, sticking there. He had a feeling those were nipple-rings he could see through the material… It took the guard a long moment to bring himself out of his daydreams - some spotter he really made. Too bad if Irvine had, indeed, dropped the barbell.

 

“Jade…?”

 

“What do you think you're doing?” Seifer growled, standing toe-to-toe with Zell and towering over him.

 

“I'm… spotting for Paris…” Zell replied, blinking owlishly.

 

“No, you're drooling all over him like a raccoon in heat. Fucking whore. Back off, before I make you.”

 

“Geez, calm down, Jade. You'd've killed me if he dropped the damn weights and died while I was here…”

 

“You're talking, but I don't hear a word you're saying, because it's all stupid shit. I'll spot for him.”

 

“Fuck, Jade. You're a bitch to live with when you're being told no,” Zell growled, and went to a second bench preparing, and then proceeding to bench-press, thirty kilos (2) more than Irvine.

 

“Shouldn't he, like, have a spotter…?” Irvine pointed out flatly, arching a brow up at Seifer. It was quite a good angle to look at him from, the assassin mused, and would be improved if he was without pants.

 

“Trust me, he'll never drop those weights,” Seifer replied, but he nodded to Javier a minute later when the kid appeared and went to spot for Zell.

 

“Your worship of him is kinda sickenin'…” Irvine muttered.

 

“I swear you're just getting bitchier, Paris… Do you want to die?”

 

Irvine shrugged awkwardly from under the barbell. He considered for a moment, then gave a slight grin.

 

“I'm in here for basically the rest of my life anyways. Might as well damnwell die…”

 

“Or you could stop being such a prat and open up a little, if you catch my meaning.”

 

“I'm not stupid, Blondie…” Irvine growled.

 

“Could have fooled me,” Seifer growled right back. He moved fast to straddle Irvine's waist, hands going around the barbell and tearing it from the assassin's hands. He dropped it to the floor with a thud that made everyone look over, then away again because, of course, he could do whateverthefuck he wanted and God help anyone who said otherwise. He planted his feet on the floor and took hold of Irvine's wrists, jerking them down against his stomach.

 

“You don't give u-”

 

Seifer used the opportunity presented by Irvine's open mouth to plunge his tongue in for a hard, possessive kiss. He felt the other man start to give into it, then he twitched and arched, trying to pull away. Seifer just didn't get it. Why the hell did he keep fighting when it was obvious he didn't want to?!

 

“Paris, what the hell is your problem?!” he snarled in the man's face. “You want i-”

 

Seifer suddenly found himself dragged off his cellmate and rammed down onto the floor. A set of hands went to each of his arms, and a fifth, fisted, connected excruciatingly with his face. He spat blood and glared up at the smirking face of Captain Kinley Hardarse.

 

“Arsehole…” the guard growled, and courageously kicked the man's kidneys while he was pinned. Seifer groaned but didn't give the man the satisfaction of crying out.

 

Suddenly, without anyone really being sure how it happened, the guard found himself pinned to the floor with six feet of assassin on his stomach.

 

“You know…” Irvine remarked with a cold detachment that came easily to him. “I could kill you, if I hit you hard enough in just the right place…”

 

“Paris! Get off him!” It was Zell's voice, and Zell's fist in the back of his singlet.

 

Irvine just smirked slowly at the man beneath him and let Zell drag him free, getting to his feet and dusting his hands off as though he'd touched something particularly nasty. He glanced at the other two guards, who took their hands away from Seifer as though they'd been burned.

 

Seifer stared at him. So did everyone else, but he just put his nose in the air as though nothing had happened.

 

“You got a visitor, Kinneas,” one of the guards said.

 

“Yeah?” Irvine replied. “Lead on.”

 

“Cuff him,” Kinley demanded, getting to his feet.

 

Irvine smiled sweetly and offered his wrists while the other inmates stood well back, Seifer wiping blood from his chin. No one was ever safe when Kinley was around, and Irvine would suffer in the coming weeks or months or years for his behaviour.

 

The guards handcuffed him then lead him to the visiting room and over to where a little brunette in a snappy yellow suit with a ridiculously low neckline and a ridiculously short skirt sat at one of the glass tables, waiting for him. He eyed her and sighed happily. Her legs were amazing.

 

Fuck, he was horny…

 

“Hey there, li'l darlin',” he drawled smoothly, leaning over to kiss her cheek before he sat. She giggled and flapped her hand at him, but it was obvious she had no objections.

 

“Hello, Mr. Kinneas,” she replied, lifting a hand to fluff the upsweep at the end of her hair.

 

“Oh, come now. You don't gotta be that formal. `Less you want me to call you Miss. Tilmitt…?”

 

“Ew, good point,” the woman said, making a face. “No, call me Selphie, and I'll call you Paris.”

 

Irvine scowled.

 

“Where did you hear that?”

 

She giggled, shrugging her shoulders, and leaned forward on her elbows, showing impossibly more cleavage.

 

“You think you're the only one who I've got in here?” she asked sweetly.

 

Irvine rolled his eyes and sighed.

 

“Well, you can call me Irvine, or I'll just piss off.”

 

“Aww… don't you like your wittle bitch-name?” Selphie crooned, sitting back again, and giggling insanely.

 

“…I'm no one's bitch… And I don't have to stay here.” He started to stand, but she grabbed his hand.

 

“No, I'm sorry! I won't call you a bitch, or Paris.” She took a little notepad out of her jacket pocket, along with a pen and crossed one leg over the other. “So, tell me, how has your time here been so far?”

 

“Ain't you forgettin' somethin', li'l missy?” he replied, arching a brow.

 

“Uhh…”

 

“Chocolate. Chocolate for answers. No chocolate, no answers.”

 

“Crap. I forgot! But… I'll bring twice as much next time!”

 

“Nope. That ain't good enough. I only work pre-paid.”

 

“But… I need-”

 

“You know I don't care `bout your little expose`, girly. I couldn't give a flyin' fuck what you want to publish in your daily rag…”

 

“It's a national paper!”

 

“Hooray for it…” Irvine said in a bored manner.

 

“You promised!”

 

“Darlin', I'm an assassin… I ain't doin' nothin' for free. You bring me the chocolate, or I won't say a thing. That's how it works. Like it or lump it, girly.”

 

“But… but… but… Please? Please? Pretty, pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top?”

 

“Oh, stop it. If beggin' worked on me, I wouldn't be in here for multiple murders, now would I?” He smiled darkly at her and she shrunk away, swallowing and shaking her head.

 

“N-no… I guess not…”

 

“Precisely. Now, it's very simple. Chocolate. Answers. The end. Later, gorgeous.” And with that, he stood, turning and heading for the door. One of the guards there stepped aside and opened the door, a second taking Irvine back to the yard.

 

“Hot visitor, Paris,” Rikan said as the guard was removing the handcuffs.

 

“She'd look better if she'd brought what she promised me…” Irvine replied darkly, but then he gave a slight smile. “But she is pretty foxy…”

 

Seifer curled his lip in undisguised disgust.

 

“Fucking women. They're all the same. Cling to you and fawn and giggle stupidly…” he muttered.

 

“So… like Lock, then…?” Illo said, grinning.

 

Everyone laughed, except Rikan, who scowled, and Irvine, who turned around and headed off.

 

“Where are you going?” Seifer asked.

 

“Not that it's any of your business…” Irvine replied, and disappeared around a corner.

 

“I reckon he's going for a shower,” Raphael said.

 

“Off you go and set his clothes on fire then, Blaze,” Rikan said.

 

Everyone ignored him this time.

 

Seifer went after Irvine.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Sure enough, when Seifer arrived, Irvine was under the hot water, a hand against the tiles and his wet hair around his shoulders. He sighed and groaned happily and Seifer licked his lips. Between his shoulders, a bucking bronco was tattooed, hooves shining and raising a cloud of dust.

 

“Jade,” Irvine said by way of greeting, despite the fact that the blond hadn't even spoken or moved.

 

“How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Know I'm around even when I don't say anything.”

 

Irvine snorted, throwing his head back and running his hands through his hair. He arched his back and lifted one foot onto its toes like a horse.

 

“It were my job to make sure I never got caught. I got pretty damn good senses…”

 

“But no brains.”

 

“How do you equate brains with lettin' you fuck me?”

 

“Protection, of course.”

 

Irvine shrugged his shoulders and turned off the water, drawing a towel around his hips and tying it off. He lifted a second towel and began to dry his hair, watching Seifer.

 

“I can look after myself.”

 

“Are you sure about that? One knife isn't going to protect you if some of them lower down figure out no one's on your side, and no one will much care if they touch you.” He moved closer, voice dropping. “They're like piranhas, you know. They depend on numbers.”

 

“Jade… you don't scare me. Just back the fuck off.”

 

“Why did you attack Captain Hardarse?” Seifer asked suddenly, possibly trying to take Irvine off guard. The assassin wasn't caught.

 

“I may hate you, but I hate him even more, on principle. You both hit me, but he's a guard. You ain't. I'm on your side, when it comes to him, but that don't mean I'm goin' to bend over and wriggle my hips at you.”

 

“Whoever said anything about you having to wriggle them?”

 

“Oh, ha, ha…” Irvine muttered and dropped the towel, getting dressed again.

 

Seifer didn't even bother to be covert about watching him. There was another tattoo on his stomach, a brightly-marked rattlesnake with its head curling over his navel. And - the mob boss bit back a groan - his nipples were pierced.

 

“You really are built to be fucked, Paris…”

 

“I know,” Irvine replied, smirking as he dressed. “But I ain't that desperate that I want to be fucked by you.”

 

“Some people would beg to be fucked by me,” Seifer growled, following Irvine out of the showers as the assassin finished towelling his hair and tossed the towel into a laundry basket.

 

“Ink? Ink don't count, darlin'. He'd beg to be fucked by me, and I don't do that with men. No siree.”

 

“Then you do fuck men, or rather, you let them fuck you…”

 

Irvine smirked over his shoulder, heading for the yard again.

 

“Wouldn't you like to know, Jade. Wouldn't you like to know…”

 

“I guess you didn't fuck him that time, either,” Zell said as Seifer returned and Irvine went to lean against a wall, lighting a smoke. Seifer followed suit, pulling out his smokes as well and offering one to Zell. The guard just arched an “are-you-braindead?” eyebrow, and Seifer took them back, shrugging.

 

“I saw him naked. Fuck, he's sexy… I'm this close to just tying him to his bed with his sheets and fucking his cowboy brains out…”

 

Zell snorted.

 

“Just because he sounds like a cowboy, doesn't mean he is or was one.”

 

“No, but the bronco between his shoulder blades is a dead giveaway.”

 

“He has tattoos?!”

 

“Yes, Ink, he has tattoos.”

 

“Dammit!”

 

“Oh, get over it…” Seifer muttered.

 

“Bet they aren't as good as mine.”

 

The mob boss just rolled his eyes and took a long, soothing drag on his cigarette. He flicked the end off, and glanced at Zell.

 

“Hey, Ink… reckon you can get your hands on some chocolate…?”

 

- - - - - - -

 

(1) That's one hundred and twenty pounds for you Americans. Everyone else is metric! Get over it! Also, this Irvine could bench-press me and not even break a sweat. I weigh forty-five kilos.

 

(2) Sixty-six pounds.