Fudge

ficlet from the Magic series
by scribblemoose

Squall lay on his bed, naked apart from the rumpled sheet draped over one thigh, and watched Irvine as he shaved.

He was surprisingly methodical about it. So much of Irvine's life seemed chaotic to Squall that these little bits of routine seemed odd to him. And endearing.

He stretched, arms over his head, and yawned, and let a little smile creep onto his face.

"What?" Irvine raised an eyebrow at him, foamy gel dripping from his chin.

"Nothing," said Squall, contentedly.

"You ought to get ready," said Irvine, swooshing his razor about in the sinkful of water. "Not that I'd mind you going to dinner naked, but we wouldn't want to shock Quistis."

Squall grunted. "She's seen it all before," he said, snuggling back into the mattress.

Irvine raised both eyebrows this time, and there was a satisfying glare of jealousy in his eyes.

Squall just yawned, as much to hide his smile as anything, and wiggled his toes. "I guess you're right. I should be getting up."

Irvine turned back to the sink and swooshed his razor again, more agitatedly this time.

Squall didn't think much more of it; he just let himself drift pleasantly, watching Irvine's ass and enjoying the way the muscles shifted and flexed along his back and shoulders. It was only when Irvine wrenched the towel off the rail so hard it nearly ripped that it occurred to Squall there might be something wrong.

"'vine?"

"Hmm?" Irvine wiped his chin and peered critically at himself in the mirror.

"Um. You okay?"

"Of course I am." But Irvine didn't turn around; there was no reassuring smile, and he was squeezing the tube of aftershave gel so hard it squirted clean past his waiting palm and splattered in the sink.

Squall frowned. He recognized something here, an echo from his relationship with Rinoa. This was a Danger Sign.

"What is it, babe?" he tried. "Did you cut yourself or something?"

"'Course not," muttered Irvine.

"Then-"

"I'm fine."

Now Squall knew there was something wrong. He was fairly sure Irvine was saying his lines.

There was a little bit of him, deep inside, from long ago, that wanted to just stomp off into the shower and forget about it. He'd done his best, after all. What was he supposed to do if Irvine wouldn't talk to him? Irvine was the one who was always on about the importance of communication. Fuck him. Whatever.

But that was only a little part of Squall these days. Still there, still the hard core of him when he needed to be strong. But it wasn't in charge any more.

"Come here you wanker," he said.

Irvine looked startled, but he padded over to the bed without hesitation.

Sometimes it was handy being Irvine's commander as well as his lover.

Squall didn't say anything; he wouldn't have known where to start. He just tugged Irvine down and kissed him. Sliding his hand around to curl at Irvine's neck, tickling the soft hairs at his nape, moaning softly as Irvine's mane fell against his face. He flicked his tongue at the seam of Irvine's lips until they parted, then plunged into his mouth, exploring hot and wet and soft and not letting go, even though he could feel Irvine's arm quivering where it held his weight awkwardly, balanced on the bedside table. Eventually Irvine negotiated his way onto the bed, barely breaking their kiss, sliding his body warm and sleek against Squall's. Squall wound his arms around Irvine's neck, still kissing, soft and endless, lost in fresh, toothpaste flavours and the morning scent of shower gel and shaving.

"Oh man," Irvine whispered when they finally came up for air. "No-one kisses like you, babe. No-one."

"Mmm," said Squall, and stretched his neck for more kisses. He'd already forgotten why he'd started this, his actions increasingly directed by the stiffening, lengthening flesh between his legs rather than his brain.

Irvine eagerly kissed him back, rolling a little way on top of him, rocking into his hip. His tongue slipping around Squall's in dizzying circles, fingers weaving into dark, glossy hair.

Squall felt himself begin to melt. Reason slipped away and gave way to lust, and passion, and a depth of love and care that almost overwhelmed him.

There was no time for more than this: in half an hour they had to put on uniforms and face the world. They'd discovered the hard way that if they didn't their so-called friends felt no compunction about leaning on the buzzer and harassing them until they surfaced.

Which was probably just as well, thought Squall dimly, or they'd never eat.

It didn't matter. It was enough, this gentle squirm of bodies and mouths and fingers in hair, to blur the feelings into good.

Squall kissed Irvine, and held him in his arms, and knew for certain that whatever it was that had bothered him, it didn't bother him enough to get in the way.

And that was all that mattered.