Written for LJ springkink comm challenge. Prompt: Squall/Irvine - Crossdressing and claiming in public - "honey"

To the Contrary

"They think I'm what?" Squall nearly spit out his coffee, surprise hurriedly making way for a glowering stare on his face.

"Your secret's out, I heard them gossiping about it at a bar last night," Selphie shrugged helplessly, her little legs swinging from his desk, and her amused eyes betraying the sympathetic pout on her lips. Squall refrained from starting a reprimand about being at a bar during a mission in the first place, seeing as how that misdeed had gained him regrettably needed information.

"How did they find out?" he demanded, and Selphie shrunk away from the accusatory tone.

"Hey, it's not like it's my fault that you're so obvious," she said, sticking her tongue out at the Commander's grimace.

Irvine chuckled once, but at the admonishing glare those silver eyes were quick to regale him with, his face straightened out in the closest parody of sternness he could muster. He raised a delicate eyebrow and added, almost hesitantly, "You can't be that ashamed of it, can you?"

"Irvine," Squall began warningly, but when Irvine didn't lift that mildly hurt look from his face, he sighed and leaned heavily back in his chair. There was a moment of silence to pick his words carefully, tone neutral and eyes strategically placed on the mission briefing Selphie's thigh was half covering.

"It's not that at all… it's that it undermines my position, and we need their total obedience for this to work. Any doubt or rebellion caused by mockery and rumors places the mission at a risk," he raised his eyes then, looking pointedly at Irvine as the Commander, not Squall.

Irvine hated that difference, but he supposed it was true.

"Do you understand, Kinneas?" the Commander asked.

"Yes, sir," Irvine mumbled back, glancing at Selphie instead. She blew him a sympathetic kiss, her legs swinging extra-enthusiastically to emphasize her thoughts.

"But, Irvine…" the name brought the sniper to look back, and Squall was back, giving him the smallest quirk of an attempt at a smile, with a tone fractionally gentler than his earlier commanding voice, "You know it's nothing personal."

Irvine grinned back widely, "Yeah, I know."

"Hey, hey, hey! I know how we can fix this!"

Squall gave Selphie a suspicious look, while Irvine cocked an eyebrow curiously.

"How, sugarpie?"

The smile on Selphie's lips was decidedly devious, and had the situation not been so drastic, he would have put a stop to her plan at that immediate moment.

"Well, they go to that bar every night, for starters," Selphie offered.

Squall waited for her to continue, and when it became obvious she was waiting for a response, rolled his eyes and prompted tersely, "And?"

She gave them one of her brightest smiles, "All ya gotta do is show them you're not gay, right? So, take a date. A girl date."

Irvine straightened from his slouch with an immediate protest, "For the love of—"

"And where do you propose we get a date?" Squall folded his arms across his chest, ignoring Irvine's dismayed sputter, "Are you offering yourself?"

Selphie cringed slightly, "Well, that would have worked, but they kinda know I'm not interested in you," she said with a nervous glance at Irvine, who quickly turned around to cover his laughter, elbowing Squall's shoulder.

Ignoring Irvine was an art, and Squall proceeded to show his talent for it by continuing, "What does that mean?"

Selphie shrugged noncommittally and murmured something along the lines of, "I just told them you weren't my type, ya know?"

"Except not in so many words, I bet."

Squall kicked Irvine's shin and repeated with even more careful enunciation, "So then where do you propose we get a date?"

Irvine immediately shook his head, "Hey, you may be my commander, but I'm still not letting you make out with another gal, especially so you can prove you're not gay!"

The brunet was clearly confused, "Why would I have to make out with her? We just have to find a girl that I can show up at the bar with, right?"

Selphie audibly sighed, and took Squall's hands in both of her own, "Ooh, poor Squally. You don't know much of anything, do you?" she said sympathetically, and then nodded to herself, "Yup, we have a problem, Irvy. He has no idea what to do," she patted his hand understandingly, "Let me explain. They're pretty much totally sure that you're going out with a guy named Irvine. Just showing up with a girl isn't gonna change their minds, unless you, you know, actually do something with her. It's the only way, sweetie."

Squall was beginning to get this particularly horrified look in his face, and Irvine would have enjoyed it with great relish if he hadn't been trying to figure out how they could do this, because, "Nu-uh, I'm not letting him—"

"I don't want to," Squall assured him. Selphie huffed and crossed her arms.

"So then? What are you guys gonna do about this? It's not like Irvy can be your date seeing as how he's not a girl, so—"

Her legs abruptly ceased swinging, and her large eyes widened with a gleeful spark, and both Squall and Irvine eyed the sudden change with well-placed wariness, "Hey! Wait, I have a better idea!" she jumped off the table and practically bounced in place as she talked, the figurative whirring of the wheels in her head coinciding with the clicking of her teeth as she gurgled out the thought process, "They're never gonna see Irvine, right? You're the only one who gets any actual contact with them, according to the mission plan-reporty thing, right?"

Squall raised an eyebrow, "…Yeah. We work on our side, and I relay instructions to them that they accomplish on their own, but aside from that there should have been no contact between you two and them," he gave her a pointed glare. Irvine's face suddenly morphed into a horrified contortion as the pieces clicked. Squall was still late to the party.

Selphie remained unaffected, brightening even more if that was possible, "Perfect. Irvy can—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm not gonna—"

"—be the girl!"

Squall stared, and then stood up, throwing an arm out toward Irvine, "Are you crazy? How is that going to work? He's clearly…" he struggled for something that would simultaneously be truthful and unoffending, "…a he," he finished lamely, and sat back down.

"Sugarpie," Irvine began, his head tilting with the barest hints of a frown, "While it's a good idea in theory, are you looking at what you're trying to do? I'm not exactly dainty girl material."

"Oh, pish-posh, Irvy. There's a wonderful woman inside you, and I know just how to bring her out," she looked far too pleased at the prospect of attempting that.

Squall groaned and placed his head in his hands.

He slid his hands back from around Irvine's torso, and did a quick job of the small, frustrating clasps. Then looked over Irvine's shoulder, blinking repeatedly to reconcile himself with the sudden appearance of the swells of supple rubber that so accurately imitated the real thing.

"Thanks, darling. Don't think I would have been able to do that on my own," Irvine murmured absently, clearly just as thrown off balance by the new weight pulling him forward, his wide green eyes staring at the mirror in front of them.

Squall said nothing, faintly aware there was heat laughing on the surface of his face, and picked up the next item of clothing, holding it up critically, "She wants you to wear this?"

Irvine plucked the item in question from his hands and fingered the wrinkled cloth experimentally, "Hey, I'm not shaving my legs. They're not very womanly anyway, so this is the best solution."

Squall watched him bend down, his long ponytail-tied hair slipping partly over his shoulder like a scarlet drape, and lay the skirt on the ground, placing one foot after another in the middle and pulling up the cloth over his long, dark legs. The waistband settled flatteringly on the lowest point of his hips, exposing the lines of his pelvis bone and somehow falling away from the curve of his butt so as to exhibit it.

Irvine caught Squall's gaze and let a slow, predatory smile grow on his face, "Do you like what you see?" he purred, tilting a cocky hip to the side so the waistband fell just a little lower, slipping dangerously low to expose pale, timid skin. Squall turned away under the pretense of picking up the shirt that Selphie had left for them. Which, by them, he meant Irvine, but somehow, he had been roped into being the one to help Irvine dress. 'I can't look at another man's man!' Selphie had chirped.

Squall held out the tank top for Irvine, but the sniper, as opposed to simply reaching out for it, leaned over to steal a kiss from Squall, just a chaste sweet peck. Squall scrunched up his eyes and said, "What the hell was that?"

Irvine tugged the shirt over his head, hat lying on the ground irreverently, and then raised his arms to stretch out his luxuriously long torso, which now seemed oddly shorter with the addition of the… Squall looked lower, focused on the dip of his bellybutton, and waited for the emerald-green cloth to slink down to it.

"Well, I'll be…" Irvine muttered, and Squall stepped next to him in front of the mirror. He had to work his throat like a faulty car engine and try twice before making a sound.

Squall paused, and glared across the street where 'Rachel's' shone in foreboding neon colors. Irvine waited patiently at his side, idly playing with the copper-yellow stone that sat primly on his collarbone, matching his skirt.

"Damn, this stuff weighs a ton," he complained, pulling at the array of bracelets that sat heavily on his wrists and shaking them.

Squall paid his words no heed, but looked him over one last time, noting with a critical eye the transformation. Selphie, to give her due credit, did know what she was doing. Irvine glanced to his side to glance at the children running by them, and his long, unbound hair followed the motion. Squall rarely saw it down in public, and the result was surprising. The angular lines of his face, which Squall had at first insisted would give him away, were softened by the waves that framed it. His muscled arms, another problem in Squall's eyes, were likewise hidden and slimmed by the curtain of scarlet that covered them. Sandals completed the outfit, the same color as the skirt, and flat, a relief to both Irivine and Squall, one for not having to wear heels, the other for not having to wear taller boots in order to remain the same height as the former.

It was the makeup, however, that had been the final touch. Squall had glanced at the myriad of small bottles and compacts that had littered the vanity in the hotel, but had watched, amazed, at their efficiency.

"Copper tones as best on him," she had explained, "Because of his hair and eyes. We want to play off on those, so that they don't focus on you strong chin, Irvy."

There was a hint of gold shimmer on his eyelids, contrasting with the violet of his irises, and Squall chalked off the allure of his long, dark eyelashes to the mascara. She had somehow worked the rouge to his advantage and filled his long face out, made it softer and more feminine. And Squall couldn't, for the life of him, remember another time when Irvine's lips had looked quite as plump and inviting, though the pink shimmer to them made him shudder inwardly.

He swallowed, and pointedly ignored the dark hole between his fake breasts, "Irvine… are you sure… that you can do this? I mean, one thing is looking the part, another is acting it. I mean," and he glanced back across the street to that threatening neon sign, "You're… a he—"

Irvine batted ridiculously flashy eyelashes and pressed his full, pouting lips together, "I can sit like a lady and keep my knees together at all times, if that's what you want, baby," he crooned, and Squall considered the tone in the pit of his stomach. His voice, he was sure, would be his biggest giveaway, but this nearly breathless falsetto wasn't too off the mark. Squall had to glance again, deeply, to convince himself that yes, this was his Irvine, and not some woman with an uncanny likeness to him.

"I take it I'm doing good?" the Irvine-look-alike laughed, and Squall nodded absently.

"Yeah… yeah," he sighed, "Come on."

"Aye, Commander."

Rayleigh threw one back with clear relish and let the bottle clunk heavily on the table.

"And once we finish Balamb's job, we should be rolling in the dough!" Kris laughed, nuzzling against his girl, a cute brunette with a Dolletian accent.

"Think the chick'll come again?" Brun asked, peering closely at his bottle as if gauging how long it would be before he would have to get a new one.

"The Trabian one? Hope so. She was cute," Rayleigh said, "And her stories were quite amusing."

"About the commander?" Brun chuckled, "Makes it hard to take him seriously. I didn't know he was only eighteen or so."

"That makes us his seniors by… man, by half a decade!" Kris frowned and shook his head as if that didn't sit well with him, but then just laughed and pecked his girl's lips.

Rayleigh's laugh was cut off abruptly as he saw the couple who entered the bar, and he raised a surprised eyebrow, "Well, well, speak of the devil. But…" the eyebrow rose further as he noted the woman clinging to his arm, "Didn't the Selphie girl say he was gay?"

His comrades all swiveled about to look toward the doorway, and Kris gaped, "Wait, who is she? I thought he was gay?"

"Duh, that's what Ray just said, dumbass," Brun elbowed Kris harshly, and Rayleigh silenced them both with a stern glare.

"Let's invite them over, this could prove interesting. If anything, maybe a couple beers will get us a better pay for the generous service we are doing Balamb," he said, standing to make his way to the Balamb Commander and the girl at his side, who had taken seats at the barstools. Rayleigh was amused to see the puzzled frown on the kid commander's face as he followed the woman's explanatory finger down the menu.

"Squall, right?" he called with a grin, and the young brunet immediately raised his head to scowl in his direction. The woman took her sweet time lifting her head in a regal sweep to gaze at him as he approached them.

"Ah, Rayleigh," the commander nodded once, and the girl raised a hand in a polite wave. Cute chick, he thought. Tall and thin, but with very pretty red hair that cascaded down her back and a sharp face with full lips and almond-shaped violet eyes. She had a strong amicable presence, tapered by the hands folded neatly in her skirted lap and her demurely cross ankles. A nice catch, he had to admit, and wondered if maybe the Trabian girl had been pulling their leg when she'd told them of the Commander and his sniper boyfriend.

"Commander, welcome to our humble hang out," he motioned to the corner were all his comrades sat, eyeing the scene with interest, and grinned, "Would you and your lady friend like to join us?"

The woman's lips quirked into a smile at his words, as if secretly amused by something, and Squall gave her a sharp glance before turning back to him, shrugging, "Sure. Why not."

Rayleigh had caught that odd habit of the kid to make questions sound like statements, but had yet to get used to it. The kid spoke like monotone was the only damn dialect in the nation.

"Good, good," he said, motioning for them to follow him to the corner where all his fellow rebels sat, noting with a grin the amused looks Brun and Kris were giving him.

"Hey, Commander Squall," Kris waved and thrust his chin out at the redhead who stood submissively behind the kid commander, "Who's the girl?"

The kid colored red, like someone had painted his face with a marker. Rayleigh and a dark-skinned man next to him, Antion, exchanged glances and chuckled. Either this was his first relationship, or they'd only been together for a little while.

"Uh, this is," Squall stammered and hesitated, but the redhead girl suddenly pouted and pulled at his arm plaintively.

"Honey, there's no need to be embarrassed about it," she whispered something in his ear, which made the commander grimace slightly, and then turned to the expectant faces about her with a winsome smile, "I'm Carla, nice to meet you."

Her voice was very husky, a fresh-out-of-the-bedroom type drawl that wasn't entirely unpleasant despite its depth. She sat down, pulling her boyfriend down with her and flipped her hair coquettishly. There was, to Rayleigh's amusement, a sort of incredulity to the kid's eyes when he looked at her. Maybe this was the first time they'd gone out together, he thought with a smirk.

"You boys going to share the drinks?" she asked after a minute, and Brun sputtered out an apology and handed her a beer.

"And you, Commander?"

Squall shook his head, and Carla frowned and nuzzled his neck, "Oh, c'mon honey, have a drink or two. It's never bad to loosen up. I've been telling you that for years."

"Just make sure you don't loosen up too much, Carla," he hissed back at her. Rayleigh watched the exchanged with laugh.

"She's good for ya, Commander. You're wound up tighter than a spring. Take her advice, a good woman knows when to let loose."

Carla beamed and nudged the kid, "Hear that, hun? I'm a good woman. So be a good boyfriend and take my advice," she turned to the men and mock-whispered, "The only time he ever lets loose is in the bedroom, and even that's a struggle."

The kid looked like someone had just shot him.

Laughter erupted from all sides, and Carla looked pleased as she settled next to her seething, dismayed boyfriend. The other girls giggled softly and gave the kid appraising looks.

"Ya got a chatty girl," Brun leaned back in his seat approvingly, "I like her."

"Well you can have her," the kid growled, though Rayleigh didn't miss the way his hand tightened around her waist.

"How did you two ever get together in the first place? He doesn't look your type at all," Kris guffawed and took a swig of his drink, offering some up to his girl.

Carla smiled sweetly and sidled up to Squall, tracing a finger along his jaw. The tense, uneasy look her gave her was priceless, but she ignored it and practically purred, "Oh, it's not obvious, but I like commanding men."

"Wish you'd listen to commanding men," the kid muttered, sinking back into his seat, which only allowed Carla more room to make herself comfortable against him.

"He doesn't like independent women," she explained as she raised her glass, and frowned at finding it empty. She batted her eyelashes and "More, please."

Brun blinked, but obliged, "Another one?"

She smiled again and fingered the necklace that lay over the expanse of her bare chest, "I've been told I drink like a man."

The kid groaned.

"One for him too," she added after giving him a grin and pecking his cheek, "He also doesn't like manly women. Oh, Squall, honey, you got somethin' on your face…"

Squall put down the pastry he'd bitten determinedly into and was about to raise his hand to wipe the crumbs that had stuck to his upper lip off, but his girlfriend beat him to it.

Rayleigh watched with raised eyebrows as Carla slid herself onto the kid's lap and placed her hands on the side of his face. Then, carefully, licked the crumbs off herself, and didn't waste the opportunity to ease her lips onto to the motion. The kid commander appeared too shocked to even respond, but his eyes did close, and his hands did twitch. Rayleigh wondered how far down his throat her tongue reached.

"There, you're clean now," she giggled, arms wrapped around the back of his neck once she broke away. The whole table was looking at her and her dazed boyfriend, but that didn't seem to be bothering her at all.

Kris laughed loudly, "Man, and we used to think you were gay!"

Rayleigh, Brun, and several others choked simultaneously on their drinks, and Rayleigh barked out, "Kris!" who at least had the grace to look mildly surprised at his alcohol-impaired impulse controls.

"I suppose he does give that impression at first glance, but once you get to know the guy, it's practically unthinkable, right?" Carla was the only one to laugh, and Squall glowered underneath a deep flush. Rayleigh felt a bit sorry for the guy.

"Yeah, totally. Sorry 'bout that, man," Kris said as he passed him a drink.

"Understandable," Squall sighed, and Carla laughed. Rayleigh never did figure out what she found so funny about the situation the rest of the night.