Pleasantly Depressed – Ch 30 "Of Burn Cream, Blackmail, and Braille"
By the time the dizziness faded enough for him to recognize the ceiling, he was feeling pretty good. Damn good, actually. Fluffy.
He wanted to wriggle around on the soft carpet like a kitten, or maybe curl up for a nap. Or just grin himself silly. Or purr. Life was good. He was good. Satirical musicals were good.
Though he could've sworn he didn't think so a few days ago.
And there was Irvine! Five feet away, on his back with a glazed expression, easy to reach. Oh, he could do things with Irvine. To Irvine. Heheh.
He scooted over to Irvine and cuddled up next to his side. An arm wrapped itself limply around his back, weak but warm.
Yeah, nice and fluffy.
Off in the distance, he could vaguely make out the doc, writing in her notepad. She was speaking, something about positive results and resting until the aftereffects faded. She probably wasn't talking to him, so he blissfully tucked his head into the sniper's shoulder and settled in for a nap.
Except Irvine's fingers were doing very interesting things to the small of his back, and suddenly he wasn't so keen on being idle.
The doc made more sounds when they started kissing, then she left the room. Irvine barely moved his lips, but he was the first to use tongue, so Squall wasn't worried about him not being interested.
Everything felt nummy. He wanted to test this theory. Kissing, yep, felt nummy. Licking, oh yeah, nummy. Biting, so-so, less nummy more warm. Fingers rubbing his back, very nice and tickling. Fingers on his shoulder, just as good. Chest rubbing against Irvine's, pretty nice, could be better if there weren't any shirts. Darn it all, this could be a lot more fun if Irvine would do more than just lay there.
He poked the cowboy's shoulder. "Hey, move."
The cowboy blinked. "Can't. Tired."
Squall pondered this. "So… I should move?"
The cowboy managed a shrug.
So Squall licked the areas he could reach, because he'd decided he rather liked the licking part.
Ha, Irvine lied. At least one part of him was moving. Hm, wonder if he could lick it. Have to get rid of some clothing first.
"You… are one snuggly Squall."
"Mmhmm. Can I take your pants off?"
"…Sure."
"Really?"
"What the hell."
Off with the pants!
By the time he got them removed, he wasn't so very fuzzy anymore, and took a longer look at Irvine. The guy was clearly exhausted, dazed, and unwilling to move more than necessary, but a weary smile and other obvious body features said he was still interested.
"You sure? Want to wait until you're doing better?"
"Months? Hell no. Feels nice. Have fun."
Fun was good. Good was fun. Squall was drunk. Ish. Something. Drugs? Infirmary. Doc? Irvine. Kissing! Kissing good. Licking good! Ooh, no pants.
The cowboy made interesting grunts as Squall licked a path down his chest, and briefly checked to see what bellybutton tasted like. He got lint on his tongue for his trouble, and spat it out. Ick. But the hips looked ever so curvy, and he eagerly took up the hunt again.
Hm, Irvine wasn't the only one moving. He had a little issue of his own that was insisting on removal of pants. It was a crime; there must be no pants! He fumbled with his first belt and, after much struggle, valiantly slung it off and waved it smugly.
Irvine grinned lazily. "You're silly."
Yeah, he was kinda silly. Maybe a little too much. He frowned, and shook his head, dashing a little of the fuzziness. "Too much?"
"Meh."
"Meh. What's meh?" This was… not wrong. Not wrong, not close. Off, weird, different. He wanted, Irvine wanted, but he usually wasn't… but it felt so right. He was…
…Trying to give Irvine a blowjob on the floor of the infirmary.
Fuck. Where was Kadowaki? He hauled himself to a stand using a nearby counter, and noticed for the first time that his legs felt like water.
Irvine strongly disagreed with him standing up, and weakly snagged his pants cuff. "Come back here."
He looked down, and…
Irvine is… really… sexy…
He didn't think he'd noticed before. Well, yeah, he'd known that Irvine was very attractive "for a guy" and the girls seemed to like him, and he was aggravatingly confidant in his charms, but Squall would look at the gunner and see "Irvine". If he pushed himself, he'd see "Galbadian", "tall", and "damn hat", which was currently propped up on a chair in the corner. "Irvine" was usually enough, and brought with it plenty of nice sensations. But he'd never actually looked before.
Irvine was stretched out on the floor, pantless, vest unbuttoned, lean and sultry, squinting up at him with those long thin eyebrows quirked ever so slightly, in a gesture of amusement and concern and skepticism and arrogance and caring that was Irvine's and Irvine's alone. Damn if he didn't have long fingers. Looked like a bloody lemur. Fit him, though. Long hands, long arms, long legs, looked like a bloody stork. How did he make it seem natural? And how did he get his back to twist like that?
The gunner saw him looking, and smirked, the fainted hint of a twitch of the lips that said all it needed to.
"Squall?"
Damn. Had his name ever been that erotic before? He licked his lips, and realized they had dried out.
"Mind if I fuck you?"
Irvine snorted, still smiling. "Feel free. 'Bout damn time, if you ask me."
The rest of the belts came off fast, though they put up a brave fight and gave him a few welts as he snapped them off too quickly. Pants came off, and flung across the room, and damn if Irvine's eyes didn't dilate at that.
Recalling the last time they'd been like this brought up an important reminder. "Hey, we got anything like that conditioner?"
The cowboy rolled his eyes. "We're in a medic bay. There's got to be a hundred and one ointments in this room that'll serve. Try that cabinet."
"Where?"
"There. Over… that way to the left. Says niks something."
It actually said "Skin Treatments". Rooting through it located a fat jar of burn cream that looked fairly gooey. Then his legs gave out and he had to crawl back to deliver his prize.
It was a conundrum to say the least.
The door said "Surgery – Do Not Enter". It said it on a laminated sign with crisp, clear printer lettering, size 48, font Rockwell. Usually when Kadowaki put out The Sign, it meant heaps of trouble for the poor soul who didn't pay heed.
But, Irvine was in there. And the wedding was in six hours.
She had her dress and flowers and honeymoon champagne ready and everything.
But Irvine was behind the door that said she couldn't come in.
And he wasn't answering his cell again.
Maybe if she knocked? No, Quistis had said that might throw off the surgeon's concentration. Last time someone had knocked during surgery, they'd had spent the next week polishing the atrium floor with a toothbrush.
Maybe she could just poke her head in for a quick moment, see if it was alright. As long as she was quiet about it, no one would notice, right?
After all, she had to give him his cummerbund.
She clasped the handle gently, careful for squeaks, and turned it ever so carefully. Millimeter by millimeter, until the latch was past the doorframe. Then pulling the door open, slow as syrup, pausing at every tiniest creak.
She peered in carefully, ready to duck out of view if the Doctor spotted her.
No doctor, but there was Irvine! And Squall! Squall was up! Hurah! And…
I'm going to fucking kill him.
Squall and Irvine were…
I'm going to fucking SLAUGHTER him.
…In the infirmary!
…Damn Squall's a hottie. I'm going to kill him.
It was six hours until her wedding, and her fiancé was boning the Commander… er, the Commander was boning her fiancé… in the infirmary. With burn cream!
And she couldn't look away.
Irvine never got that stiff with me. Oh fuck, Irvine's gay! My fiancé's gay!
Her fiancé was moaning in rhythm as another man pushed deep into him.
Sweet mother they're hot. Must take picture. Camera…have no camera. So that's how big Squall is. And look at the muscles. Irvine really should've taken gunblading if it gives those sorts of muscles.
Though, Irvine doesn't look too bad either.
My fiancé's gay! I'm a fag hag!
Squall's gay?!
…Wait a sec… what exactly did Squall need my shampoo for…
…Oh he did NOT…
Behind my back?! Oh, and all those MISSIONS, and the HICKIES, and Squall's such a good FRIEND to Irvine. I'm going to fucking slaughter them.
Soon as they finish.
If they ever finish. Wow, stamina. Irvine doesn't take this long with me.
Oh jeez, my boyfriend's gay. I'm supposed to be getting married to him and he's gay.
Maybe I can blackmail video out of them.
Ooooh, Squall/Irvine bondage video…
Mmmmm.
Yeah, slaughter. Soon as they finish.
So gonna make him pay for all the wedding purchases.
He could barely twitch, but Squall took care of everything. And his skin was so very sensitive right now.
His lover pushed into him, and was in his mind, and in his soul. He floated in the golden warmth, tingling with sparks, and happily settled in for the most mindfuckingly pleasant sex of his life.
The pleasure rippled through him, from the abdomen up into his chest and head, and back down into his hips where it pooled and focused. Squall thrust, chipping away at an aching need that had been hidden inside him all his life. He could almost feel Squall, almost be Squall, groaning and pushing, reaching for that pleasure spike. He whimpered, and it felt so good to vibrate with sound, and let it tremble down into his lungs and meet with the pleasure riding up, and harmonize in perfect waves until he thought he'd float away.
Everything was a rhythm, a pulsing rhythm of pressure and heat, throbbing through him. He breathed in time to it, his heart beat to it, he tossed back his head and moaned in time to it, and unending sound that rose and fell, cresting and ebbing as he rode the changing tides.
Squall's hot breath tickled along his skin, prickling as it cooled. His eyelids fluttered from the sheer overload of it all, and he thought, After this, I'm going to need some serious drugs to reach this level.
His lover stroked a hand down his thigh, kneading the skin with his knuckles, and arched at a new angle, striking a sharpness in him that left him breathless and focused, groaning as his stomach clenched. Then down again, into the warmth and liquid gold like sun in summer, and his chest thrummed with the chords of it all.
He drug his fingers up from the heaviness and flicked them across Squall's arm, feeling the tiny hairs like reading Braille. He caught his lover's eyes, and they shared a secret look, and knew each other, and reveled in their moment.
I guess eventually it'll have to end. With an orgasm, of course. And we'll never be here again. Never again this close. But we were, for a brief moment, we were. Luckiest bastards in the terra.
He soaked it in, and trembled as the world rocked, and they rocked with it.
Curled up on the discarded coat, Grrface pouted. Silly humans were at it again. And now that they'd taken back the older brother, he wouldn't be able to have so much fun. Much less play with his ball of yarn.
Oh well. He could always go play with his sparklies.
Wait. This was the jacket. With the pockets! Maybe there were things to chew!
Gleeful as only a moomba could be, he dove into the treasure cave of the pocket with great gusto, and quickly found himself a tube of nitro glycerin to gnaw on.
The End