Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Wardrobe Malfunction. ❯ Wardrobe Malfunction. ( Chapter 1 )

Warnings: Language, adult themes, sex! Lemon! Yaoi! That's about it.

 

Pairing: Zell x Irvine - Yes, for once I am telling.

 

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own the original Zell or the original Irvine. However, a much more in-depth and sexy Irvine does belong to me. ;) I don't make any money off this fic.

 

Author's Notes: I did the thing you can do on fanfiction dot net where you choose the people who are involved in the fic and I did it with Irvine and Zell. There are six. Six fanfiction that fit into this category (well, where they're actually listed. None of mine came up because I rarely tell the pairing, so there are probably more!) Anyway, suffice it to say there is a serious lack. And let me tell you not all those fics that came up were very good at all.

 

Hopefully this one is a bit better than some of those… ::grins::

 

Wardrobe Malfunction.

~KittyMeowMaxwell.

 

Why, oh why am I shoppin' with one Zell Dincht? He has the fashion sense of a one-eyed, colour-blind, Catoblepas with cataracts. Oh. Right. Those swimmin' exercises.

 

Who would have thought that under those baggy shorts and that ridiculous… jacket… thing… were muscles like that? Granted, it, like, makes sense, since he can pick up a Ruby Dragon with one hand, and Doomtrain with the other, then stand on one leg and probably balance my weight on the one he ain't standin' with.

 

But still. That was a perfect body. He's short, but fuck, he's gorgeous.

 

“Irvine… Irvine… Irvine!”

 

The sharpshooter snapped out of his reverie and blinked several times, trying to work out why in the hell Zell was standing there shirtless glaring at him.

 

“Nice,” Irvine said, referring to Zell's chest, and not the bright orange parachute material pants he was currently wearing.

 

“You think so…? Hyne, I think they look stupid…”

 

Irvine blinked again and finally dragged his eyes away from the dusky nipple they were riveted on to observe the pants.

 

“Actually, yeah, they do.”

 

“Then why did you-”

 

“It's called sarcasm, Dincht, might wanna look it up sometime…”

 

Zell glared at him.

 

“If I'd known you were going to be a fucking arse to me all damn day, I wouldn't have let you come.”

 

“I wish you would let me come,” Irvine said, still daydreaming about what he'd do to that nipple with his tongue given half a chance.

 

“Well, you're here, aren't you?” Zell replied exasperatedly, totally oblivious.

 

Yes, he was there. Why was beyond Zell. What had possessed him to ask Irvine to come with him was also beyond him. Granted, the cowboy had impeccable fashion sense - the ridiculous cowboy getup he for some reason fancied aside - but thus far, he'd been about as helpful as Squall would have been.

 

“Is that leather? No? It sucks.”

 

“Forget the pants, Dincht. Why ain't you tryin' the jeans we found?”

 

“They're tight…” he whined, shifting uncomfortably.

 

“Yeah, and? Geez, Zell. It ain't like you got somethin' to hide. You got a body most men would kill for, y'know.”

 

That observation, coming from Irvine, made Zell acutely uncomfortable and he disappeared back inside the change room. The offending jeans were hanging on a hook in the wall, looking innocent and generally like ordinary jeans, but Zell knew they were evil. He didn't like too-tight clothing, despite what Irvine might say… or possibly because of it.

 

He shook that thought out of his head and finally relented, kicking the orange pants to a corner of the little room and taking down the jeans. They did fit snugly around his legs and arse and he wrinkled his nose at himself in the mirror. He didn't want unknown women staring at his butt because his jeans showed it off. He didn't want unknown women staring at his butt period. And, generally, he didn't need to show his butt off to pick up in the bars and clubs he favoured, because the tattoo was by far enough to get him a little.

 

“Well?” Irvine called after a long while.

 

Zell sighed, but he opened the door so Irvine could see.

 

The sharpshooter gave a low whistle of appreciation, eyes sweeping down the jeans.

 

“See, now, I got no damn idea why you're so negative about jeans like that. They look mighty fine.”

 

Zell made incoherent mumbling noises and went back into the cubicle, Irvine shaking his head as the fighter went.

 

“Honest!” Irvine called. “Your arse looks great in them.”

 

“Why the fuck are you looking at my arse anyway?”

 

“Did you not bring me along to tell you what does and doesn't look good?” Irvine shot back.

 

Zell fell silent at that, partly because Irvine was right, but mostly because the zipper of the Evil Jeans refused to come undone. He struggled with it for several minutes, until Irvine called to ask if he was alright, then struggled with it some more. In the end, he had to admit defeat.

 

“Irvine!” he hissed through the minute crack between door and doorframe.

 

“What?” was the in kind reply.

 

“I can't fucking get this fly undone…”

 

“You what?”

 

“I can't get the fly undone!”

 

“Are you serious?” There was a laugh under the words that made Zell scowl.

 

“Would I make myself look like even more of an idiot by making up something like that?” he muttered.

 

“Well…”

 

“Fuck you, Kinneas!”

 

“Well, Zell, I can't help you unless you let me in,” Irvine pointed out, trying hard not to laugh out loud.

 

Zell considered this for several moments, then finally sighed and opened the door, looking covertly around to make sure no one had seen before he shut it and locked it again.

 

“Show me,” Irvine said, brushing Zell's hands away.

 

He took hold of the zipper, forcing himself not to think about the fact that his concentration now lay solely upon Zell's crotch, and tried to undo it. The fighter had been right, however. The zipper was stuck fast. He tried with both hands, he tried jiggling it, he tried tilting it at odd angles, and even tried using his teeth - Oh, Hyne, oh Hyne, oh Hyne, oh Hyne… - but nothing worked. Even when they both gripped the thing with their thumbs and forefingers of both hands and tugged with all four of those hands, the zipper wouldn't move.

 

“Well fuck me dead,” Irvine said disbelievingly, staring at the offending zipper and tilting his hat back on his head. “Dang thing's stuck worse'n chocobo shit to a cowboy boot…”

 

Zell stared at him, then gave a snort of laughter.

 

“Only you, Irvine. Only you,” he said.

 

Irvine grinned up at him and shrugged slightly.

 

“Well, I know one more thing we could try, but you prob'ly won't like it…” the sharpshooter mused, trying in vain yet again to just yank the stubborn zipper down.

 

“What…?” Zell wondered warily.

 

“You remember… fuck, no you wouldn't. When we used to get stuck zippers back at the orphanage, Matron would breathe on them… I dunno, it were somethin' to do with the heat or the vapour or somethin'… Don't guess you'd be wantin' me breathin' all over your crotch but,” he said, chuckling. (1)

 

Zell swallowed, all kinds of thankful that Irvine was still staring at the stupid zipper, because he knew he was blushing. The thought of Irvine breathing all over his crotch had actually been quite a pretty fantasy that he'd used more than once. Along with the thought of Irvine wrapped around him, Irvine in the shower with him, Irvine writhing beneath him, Irvine, Irvine, Irvine, fuck.

 

“Well…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'd rather that than have some sales chick come in here, have to cut the pants off, and then probably charge me for them on some pretence that it was my fault.”

 

Irvine chuckled.

 

“Well, that's a point,” Irvine agreed, then glanced up at him, grinning. “Just close your eyes and think of the woman of your dreams,” he teased.

 

Instead, Zell watched as Irvine tipped his hat back further and leaned forward, put his mouth close to the damn zipper, and breathed gently on it. It wasn't long before the warmth was seeping through the material and Zell made the fatal error of looking at the mirror.

 

There he was, bare-chested, and there Irvine was, on his knees, his cowboy jacket clinging to his slender frame, his ponytail snaking down his spine and - Dear, sweet, merciful Hyne above - his head level with Zell's pelvis. Of course, his body reacted in the same instant as Irvine said; “Gotcha,” and the zipper slid free. He looked up and yelped as Zell suddenly pushed him backward. He tumbled off his knees and onto his behind, back against the mirror as Zell crouched over him, fingers under his chin lifting his head into a hungry kiss.

 

Of course, the cowboy and consummate ladies' man didn't take long to catch on. He opened his mouth to the kiss and made an agreeable sound when Zell settled in his lap, a knee to either side of his thighs. A long-fingered hand curved around the fighter's waist, the other going into his hair, and Irvine made a small sound into the kiss.

 

That was all the encouragement Zell needed to push the sharpshooter's jacket open and undo his purple vest, slipping a hand inside. His fingers instantly found one of the little gold hoops he'd seen a week ago during the compulsory SeeD marine exercises and teased it gently. Irvine broke away from the kiss to moan softly, but the connection his head made with the mirror wasn't so soft. His hat fell off and Zell actually looked up to make sure the mirror wasn't cracked. Irvine gave a needy whimper and the fighter smirked, leaning forward to suck on one of those delectable nipples.

 

Irvine's breathing hitched and he clenched his teeth to keep any sounds from breaking free.

 

“Fuck, I… love that…” he whispered, at which Zell smirked and moved to the other nipple, his fingers coming up to tease at the first.

 

Irvine arched, one foot lifting to press against the opposite wall of the cubicle as his hands fisted, one in Zell's hair, the other in the brand-new jeans. He bit his lip hard, squirming in such a way that the fighter thought he just might have died and gone to heaven.

 

Zell struggled for a long moment in an effort to get his hands inside Irvine's pants, but the way the sharpshooter was folded on the floor of the little room made it impossible. He drew away and stood, pulling Irvine up with him, and those long-fingered hands instantly stroked whatever they could reach, one dipping inside Zell's own pants to rub at the front of his boxers.

 

“Irvine…” he whispered, pressing the red-head back against the mirror and licking at his throat. “Fuck, Irvine, we're in a changeroom. We can't-”

 

“Why the fuck not?” the sharpshooter cut him off, his voice husky and rough. He rubbed particularly hard and Zell swore hotly against his skin.

 

“Because… just because!”

 

“Ain't it turnin' you on…?” Irvine wondered throatily, then smirked as he cupped the front of Zell's boxers. “Don't be lyin' to me now…”

 

“But… that's not… It… fuck, stop that!”

 

“'Kay…” Irvine said innocently, ceasing the rubbing of Zell's boxers. In the next instant, he'd dipped his hand inside and was slowly stroking the fighter's length.

 

Zell put a hand against the mirror beside Irvine's shoulder, panting, and a tiny groan escaped fanged, clenched teeth.

 

“We could get caught…”

 

“I know…” Irvine smirked. “Makes me hard just thinkin' of it… Dang, Zell… don't you get it?”

 

“What?” Zell growled. Just Irvine's voice was enough to bring him undone.

 

“I want you to fuck me,” the sharpshooter said huskily. “Right here. Right now.”

 

Again, Zell swore, but the argument went out of him, because Irvine was right. The whole situation was a turn-on. Then again, any situation with Irvine probably would have been. But he couldn't think with Irvine's hand doing that!

 

“Stop it!” he demanded, and to emphasize the command, he pulled on Irvine's wrist and spun him around to face the mirror, pressing against his back.

 

Again, Irvine's breath hitched, and he pressed his hands against the cold glass, biting his lip as Zell undid his belt and his fly then eased his own hand inside the sharpshooter's boxers. Strong but gentle, the fighter took hold of Irvine's length and slowly stroked.

 

“Zell,” Irvine whispered, then rested his forearm horizontally against the mirror, biting a mouthful of his tan jacket to muffle his moans.

 

“You're even sexier than I imagined…” Zell whispered, licking at Irvine's ear as he thumbed the tip of the sharpshooter's length.

 

“You… imagined me?” Irvine replied shakily, then had to bite his jacket again because Zell's free hand was at his nipple.

 

“Hell yeah. Who wouldn't?”

 

Irvine gave a breathless chuckle through the material, his hips bucking a little, so that Zell pressed a bit closer to try and hold them still without having to move one his hands from their tasks.

 

“C'mon…” the sharpshooter bit out after a time. “Do it…”

 

“Aren't you one for foreplay…?” Zell wondered lowly.

 

“Ordinarily, damn right I am, but… a department store changeroom ain't exactly the place for extended foreplay. Anyways…” He arched his body, pressing his arse back against Zell's hips. “I think you're good `n' ready just now…”

 

Zell growled and pushed his boxers down a little, freeing his length, then he lifted the tail of Irvine's jacket and lowered his pants as well. The sharpshooter's belt buckle clinked as Irvine reached down to move his boxers out of the way as well, then they suddenly came to a halt.

 

“Irvine… I haven't got…” Zell trailed off, looking helplessly around.

 

“You reckon I do?!” Irvine muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “Fuck, I can't… I need…” He trailed off as well and glanced at himself in the mirror, Zell's fingers curved around his hips. No way was he leaving this damn little box without satisfaction.

 

Reaching down to one of those hands, Irvine brought Zell's fingers to his mouth and, closing his eyes, took them between his lips, licking and suckling them in a way that made Zell swallow hard.

 

“You can suck me off any day, Cowboy…” he growled and Irvine smirked, releasing the fingers.

 

“One thing at a time, Firecracker,” he whispered.

 

Again, Zell lifted the tail of the tan jacket out of the way, this time sliding a slick finger inside of the sharpshooter. Irvine twitched. His mouth had returned to the sleeve of his jacket, and his hands were fisted against the mirror.

 

“You like that…” Zell observed, working his finger gently. Irvine nodded a little, eyes falling shut and hips lifting into Zell's touch. The fighter smirked and soon added another finger, making Irvine gasp and press his forehead against the glass.

 

“Hyne, Zell… p-please…” he begged softly, and Zell was only too happy to oblige.

 

He removed his fingers, and held that damn jacket out of the way as he carefully entered the sharpshooter. It occurred to him that he could have taken the jacket off, but he didn't want to pause to do so, and anyway, it didn't matter now. He let go of it and held Irvine's hips instead, trembling with the effort of holding still while Irvine whimpered and shifted in front of him.

 

“Just… wait a bit…” Zell gasped.

 

“I'm ready…” Irvine assured him. “Fuck, am I ready…”

 

Zell's grip tightened a little and his tongue ran along his lower lip as he shifted his feet just a little in preparation.

 

They both jumped when there was a knock on the door, and Irvine groaned. Zell curled a hand over the sharpshooter's mouth and hoped his voice would be steady.

 

“Yeah…?” he called.

 

“Sir, you've been in there an awfully long time. Is everything alright?”

 

“Uh…” Zell said as Irvine wriggled against him, then he collected himself. “Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine. Just having an argument with a pair of jeans…” That made him remember that the jeans weren't his so his shimmied a little to make them fall around his ankles and Irvine gasped slightly.

 

There was a moment's silence, then; “Can I help you with that?”

 

“No,” Zell said hurriedly, hand pressing harder against Irvine's mouth when the sharpshooter gave the tiniest of whines. “No, really. I'm fine.”

 

“Alright…”

 

They heard retreating footsteps and Zell breathed a sigh of relief, then growled as Irvine moved against him again.

 

“You got no fucking patience, Cowboy…” he muttered, but he was privately glad the waiting was over. He brought his hand back to Irvine's hip and the sharpshooter bit into his jacket again as his new lover began a hard, steady rhythm within him.

 

He didn't tease Irvine, but instantly wrapped his hand around the sharpshooter's length, stroking in a counterpoint to his thrusts. He could see the effort it was taking Irvine to remain silent, and he resolved to do this again, when they had more time and more privacy so the sharpshooter could make as much noise as he wanted to.

 

Right now, however, he was just interested in satisfying them both before that sales clerk came back…

 

Irvine seemed to have the same idea, because he arched his hips to make Zell's movements smoother and his breathing was harsh around his sleeve.

 

“Hyne, I wish I could hear you moan…” Zell whispered and felt Irvine tremble at the tone of his voice.

 

The fighters thrusts became harder, more desperate, and Irvine shuddered and arched in front of him, whimpering constantly, now, through his sleeve. Those sounds and the way the sharpshooter moved were enough to tip Zell over the crumbling edge into release and his hips bucked deep into Irvine as he groaned against the red hair.

 

Irvine gave a bitten-off cry that it was unlikely anyone outside of the changeroom failed to hear and his body shuddered from head to foot with his release. He went completely limp and Zell had to hold onto him to keep him from falling and injuring the fighter's most treasured possession in the process.

 

“Fuck…” the sharpshooter hissed, panting shakily.

 

Zell just chuckled and carefully eased out of the relaxed cowboy. The little fighter hunted around a minute, eventually finding his own shorts, and fished several serviettes out of one of the big pockets, which he used to carefully clean them (and the mirror) off.

 

“What…?” Irvine wondered at the serviettes.

 

“Oh… uh…” Zell flushed. “Ma always takes extra when she eats out, because she says you never know when you might get stuck in a public toilet without toilet paper… (2) Guess it's a habit I picked up from her…”

 

“Good thing…” Irvine murmured, a smirk curving his lips as he drew up his boxers and pants.

 

“Yeah,” Zell agreed, chuckling.

 

“Buy the jeans, Zell. Your arse really does look damn sexy in them,” Irvine said, leaning back against the mirror and running his hand through his hair before placing his retrieved hat back on his head.

 

“Would they make you let me fuck you again…?” Zell wondered, pressing close and licking along the sharpshooter's jawbone.

 

“You don't need nothin' to make me let you do that again, Blondie…” Irvine promised him lowly. “You can do it any dang time…”

 

Zell grinned and kissed the sharpshooter fiercely, then went about dressing himself in his usual clothing.

 

When they left the changerooms, the two women working on the floor of the store glanced at them, then away again, blushing and Irvine gave a snort of laughter. The man behind the counter wouldn't look at them as he scanned the jeans and took Zell's gil.

 

“Nice changerooms you have there,” Zell remarked as they left the store, at which Irvine howled with uncontained mirth and the man scowled.

 

As they left the shopping center, Irvine linked an arm through Zell's and grinned.

 

“Hands down that were the best dang shoppin' trip I have ever been on,” he decided, and the fighter grinned.

 

- - - - - - -

 

(1) My Nanna swears by this. I have never personally had a zipper stick like that, but she swears black and blue that breathing on a stuck zipper will get it unstuck.

 

(2) Nanna again. She always makes us put any unused serviettes in our handbags. And you know what? I've been glad of them more than once. ::grins::

 

- - - - - - -

 

Author's Notes: Well, it was short, but it was hawt. Hope you enjoyed it!