Disclaimer: I don't own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

Pairing: IkeMarth
Genre: romance, humor
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1303
Warnings: homosexuality, PWP

A/N: Futago no Seishi here. This ridiculousness can be blamed entirely on SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr. See, she had the audacity to play the words "oral" and "hiked" in succession on our Scrabble game despite knowing full well that I have a childish, dirty mind. Written entirely on my smart phone while I was stuck in bed sick. This is basically phone porn word vomit. I'm sorry.

Interlude

"M-Marth," Ike stuttered, his voice pitching up in a rather un-masculine way on the tail end of his partner's name. He was looking slightly panicked and mortified, eyes wide and his mouth forming a small "o" as if to mirror them. All in all, he was looking nothing like his normal self, all bravado and testosterone and boyish charm.

"Yes?" was the only response said boy in question gave as he inched even closer to Ike, completely invading the mercenary's personal space and unclasping his cape all the while.

"What are you doing?" Ike squeaked out in alarm as he felt his cape shrug off his broad shoulders and fall with a soft fwump onto the ground by his feet.

Marth smiled a small smile that didn't reach his eyes but managed to do alarming things to Ike's heart. He felt faint as the prince stood directly in front of him, hands resting on his chest, which was heaving as if he'd been running for hours. Which made absolutely no sense, as they had just entered the practice arena and hadn't even done so much as unsheathe their swords.

"Touching you," the smaller swordsman answered calmly as those hands slid slowly down the front of his torso before coming to a rest on the waistband of his linen pants, slung low just above his hipbones.

Ike was sure that if his eyes opened any bigger, they'd fall straight out of his head. Marth was staring intensely at him, and Ike found it increasingly hard to speak around the lump (of panic? embarrassment? … arousal?) in his throat. "W-Why… are you t-touching me?"

It was at this precise moment that Marth decided to grip his shirt above the edge of his pants and, with one sharp movement, completely tugged the cloth free from its tucked in position and simultaneously forcing all the breath from his lungs in a shocked gasp.

"Because I want you."

Ike wasn't sure how he was managing to remain standing, seeing as his lungs weren't cooperating with his brain, and all he could think about was that, yes, it was definitely a lump of arousal keeping him from speaking.

Marth apparently took no pity on his plight because he didn't lay off his assault in any way. Rather, he grazed slender, calloused fingers across his abdomen, setting Ike's nerves on fire before hooking them into the waistband and giving it the same treatment as his shirt.

"M-M-Marth!" he managed to yelp in surprise around the lump in his throat, his hips lurching forward as the cloth slid down his legs, painfully and distinctly aware of the very embarrassing physical effect Marth had on him. Holy Heaven on High, he wanted to shrivel up and die right on the spot. Or do extremely rude things to the other boy. Or both. Can he do the latter then the former to avoid the mortification?

Marth let out the smallest of sighs, staring rather intently down at his growing problem. Ike felt his face flush with embarrassment and made to cover himself with his hands. However, ever the quicker one, Marth deftly batted his hands out of the way.

"I like this," Marth murmured before looking up at him with a small smirk, eyes intense and affecting Ike as much as the cool hands now touching his flesh with feather-light strokes. And it was the last expression he saw before Marth was suddenly sinking down onto the floor, and he found himself staring in disbelief at the other's impeccably polished tiara. Ike made a choked sound of both pleasure and protest as Marth gripped the hem of his shirt and hiked the garment up over his stomach, and then quickly lost his balance as that disarming smirk wrapped around the head of his erection not a split second later.

"Marth," he gritted out between clenched teeth as desire, unbidden and unrestrained, unfurled in the depths of his belly. Ike found himself hunching over to steady himself on the other's shoulders, shock still twisting up his features as he tried to comprehend what was going on. Marth, a prince and his partner, was on his knees, mouth on his penis, in the middle of the practice arena. And god was his mouth doing unspeakable things to him.

Ike panted through his teeth, trying in vain to still the insistent twitching of his hips lest he hurt the other. But Marth's mouth felt like liquid sin, hot and unrelenting on his flesh, as unrelenting as the swordsman himself, and Ike could scarcely hold himself back as Marth swallowed him whole. One of his hands found its way to the other's hair, fisting in the fine strands with such recklessness that he knocked the tiara straight off. But he couldn't care—not when Marth was dragging his tongue, flat and hard, up the underside of his cock, sucking out his desire and any remnants of his hesitation.

Suddenly, Ike was alarmingly aware that he was close; embarrassingly so after such a short amount of time, but fuck it if Marth wasn't a master at even this. "Stop," he pleaded breathlessly, screwing his eyes shut as if that could forestall the inevitable. When his plea went unnoticed, he tugged on the other's hair, desperation and lust thick in his voice. "Marth, please. Stop!"

But Marth wouldn't, and as the muscles deep in his body started to clench and his hips started to buck, he whispered in panic, "I'm going to come, please."

And as if Marth interpreted his words in the complete opposite, the prince clamped his lips down around the base of his member and sucked hard, dragging his mouth up to the tip and Ike just couldn't help it. His orgasm was forcibly dragged out of him and, with a broken cry, he emptied himself into Marth's mouth, body shaking with release.

Ike was distantly aware that the other was peeling his fingers from their death grip on Marth's hair. He jumped with a start, unfisting his hands immediately and stepping back hastily. Perhaps too hastily, though, as his still hard member slid from the other's mouth with a plop, a trail of ejaculate following suit to dribble down Marth's face.

Ike stared wide-eyed at the dirty sight before him and, as desire punched him squarely in the gut once more, he choked out, "I'm sorry!"

Marth was smirking again, reaching up to wipe the come off his chin in such a sexy manner that it shouldn't even be possible. But any reply the prince was about to make was abruptly cut off by a horrified voice.

"FUCKING HELL! HOLY SHIT, NO!" Two blue-haired heads shot up to the source of the yelling. At the edge of the arena stood Link, his practice gear in hand, with an utterly appalled expression contorting his fine-boned face. Ike felt the blood drain from his own face as he scrambled to yank his pants up to reclaim what little remained of his dignity.

"JUST FUCKING NO!" Link roared, turning his head and covering his eyes as if he could unsee everything. "THIS IS NOT WHAT THE PRACTICE ARENA IS FOR, FUCK!"

Ike was sputtering, trying to straighten himself out and burning crimson with very real shame. He stumbled after Link, who was making a running beeline for the exit, trying to think of something he could say. "Wait! I-It's… it's not what you think!"

After the words left his mouth, he was struck with the sobering realization that it was exactly what it looked like. Casting Marth an utterly grieved look, he noticed the shorter man was hiding his mouth behind a hand, eyes dancing with glee.

"This isn't funny, Marth!" he wailed as he chased Link out of the arena, Marth's clear laughter ringing out behind him.

-fin-

A/N: Bonus points if you caught the roundabout reference to Swords' and my "Cheat Code."