Suck

by scribblemoose

The door burst open (only Squall could somehow burst through automatic doors) and Irvine's copy of 'Trigger Monthly' slid off his lap and onto the bed beside him. Squall in a fury was an amazing thing, like a force of nature, and Irvine watched him with a mixture of dread and eagerness as he stormed across the room towards him.

Squall stood next to the bed, wrenched open his fly, and said: "suck it."

Irvine raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind the fucking commentary. Just suck my fucking dick. Please."

The please sounded a lot more needy than Squall had probably wanted it to, and that alone might have persuaded Irvine, if he'd needed persuading at all. He said nothing, just arranged himself on his knees, hands gripping Squall's hips, took Squall into his mouth, closed his eyes and tasted. Hot, thick flesh. Soft skin. Salt and a hint of lemon soap, and Squall. Irvine hollowed out his tongue, tilted his head just right, and took Squall straight down his throat.

Squall roared like a lion, his fingers fisting tight, one in Irvine's hair, the other clutching the soft collar of Irvine's shirt. His hips lurched forward, squashing Irvine's nose into his belly.

Wow. Needy. Very needy indeed.

Irvine gently pushed at Squall's hips, negotiating himself enough space to breathe, at least.

Squall made a strangled sort of noise, his fingers spasming, thighs trembling. Irvine rubbed his thumbs over Squall's hipbones for a few soothing seconds, then tugged leather and cotton out of the way to give himself room to move.

"F'r fucksake ~suck, dammit..."

Irvine slid Squall's cock out of his throat, out of his mouth, and let it bounce wet against his cheek. "Impatient," he observed.

Squall's eyes were burning into him, all storm and thunder, with just that tiniest spark of vulnerability that made Irvine's spine melt.

He caught the head of Squall's cock between his lips again, and lashed at it with his tongue. Squall made a desperate, keening sort of noise that degenerated into curses, but some of the desperation had faded. He trusted Irvine to take care of him, if nothing else.

Irvine took a second to lick his own palm, nice and slick to wrap around the root of Squall's cock, then filled his mouth with the rest of it, til his lips met his own knuckles and his own dick gave a sturdy throb in his pants. Hard as steel, but no point worrying about that just yet. Squall first.

He hollowed his tongue out, moulding it to the underside of Squall's cock, and started to suck. It felt good. Tasted good. Mouth full of thick, hard cock, Squall's hips flexing, moving, instinctively fucking the tunnel of Irvine's hand and the hot, wet cavern of his mouth.

"Oh fuck," Squall murmured, from a long, long way away, and then he came. Hard. His eyes were shut so Irvine resisted the urge to give him a show, saving the pleasure of having Squall make his face all sticky for another time. He swallowed instead, each spurt answered with a gulp and a lick and a murmur of appreciation (he didn't have to pretend, either, Squall tasted good, creamy and kinda sweet), and even when Squall was done, his hands trembling on Irvine's shoulders, Irvine didn't want to stop. Kept sucking at Squall's dick until the trembling reached Squall's knees, only then letting it drop from his mouth, nuzzling it with his cheek like a cat.

"Man," Squall said, and it came out as a squeak. Irvine laughed at him for that, and looked up to see the anger gone, storm passed, Squall's face flushed and relaxed and smiling lop-sidedly at the ceiling.

"Martine again?" said Irvine. He briefly considered tucking Squall's dick away and zipping him up, but Hell, it was gone seven o'clock and that meant Squall was his. So he set about undoing his shirt instead.

"Yeah," Squall said. "Such a dickhead. Pisses me off every single time."

"You should fire him," Irvine said.

Squall raised an eyebrow, and rubbed his thumb over Irvine's lower-lip. "Really?"

Irvine's grin was broader than a wendigo's back.

"Maybe not," he admitted, and tugged Squall down on the bed beside him.