The Truth
by scribblemoose

It wasn't that he didn't love her.

She smiled at him, and his mind said 'she's sexy', but it wasn't the same as feeling it. It was more like noticing, in the same way as he'd notice if she looked sad, or happy, or worried. That's how he knew he loved her. He could count on the fingers of one hand how many people he could look at and tell what they might be feeling, and she was one of them.

Irvine was another.

It wasn't that he didn't need her. She'd changed his life; she was always there to support him, to listen to his pathetic attempts at sharing his worries and ideas. The sound of her voice comforted him. After a hard day he lay on his bed with his door open and listened for her footsteps, always pleased when they arrived.

She'd give herself to him, and it wasn't that he couldn't make love to her, or that he didn't enjoy it. It was fine, in its own way, just like a quick wank in the shower was fine. She was warm and nice to hold, she smelt good, and she was so generous with herself, her body, her time, her patience. She was beautiful, he knew she was, and he could forget, sometimes, just for a little while, about his doubts. It would be like it was the first night, so new and exciting, such a feeling of closeness, all the precious intimacy that he'd been deprived of for most of his life. Somehow it didn't matter, then, if it wasn't as exciting as he'd thought it would be.

He was good at denial. He'd had plenty of practice. It was as easy to say he didn't want anyone but Rinoa, as it had once been to say he didn't want anyone at all.

But, still, it was a lie.

He knew it was a lie the night of Selphie's birthday party. He'd had a bit to drink, and so had Rinoa, and they were watching Irvine dancing with Quistis. Rinoa giggled, and said how sexy Irvine looked, in tight suede pants, his hair loose down his back, writhing with Quisits for all the world as if they were planning to rip each others' clothes off any second. And Squall said:

"Yes, he does."

Rinoa spluttered out champagne giggles, which turned to raucus laughter, as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

"I mean, she does, too," Squall forced himself to laugh too, and quickly convinced himself that it had been the slip of the tongue that she'd assumed it was.

But later, when he was in bed with Rinoa, the lie crumbled. It was the first time they'd done this for a while, a week at least, he couldn't remember. They'd both been busy. But it seemed the thing to do, after a party, and besides, she was nice to hold, and kiss, and it was only when he was about to slide into her, and he stroked her wetness with his skilled fingers, and dared to travel down, a little further, beyond her waiting entrance, to the tiny hole beneath, it was only then, when he suddenly wondered if it felt the same taking a man, as taking a woman there, and he felt a sudden surge of lust, and he was going to ask, the words were on his lips, "would you like to..."

Unguarded by alcohol, his mind at least was more honest than usual.

~Would you like to have me fuck you in the arse and pretend you're someone else?~

The thought froze him. He was almost immediately soft; panic spread through his body like a fire through tinder wood.

"Squall?"

"Gods, I'm sorry Rin, I. . ."

"If you want, we could..." she reached down, and felt the shameful limpness. "Oh!" She was surprised. Well, it had never happened before, although how it hadn't seemed suddenly impossible to imagine.

He couldn't get the image out of his head, of leaning over Irvine's body, of shoving inside him...

He squeezed his eyes tight shut, and with the image, came a rush of blood to his groin; his desire returned as fast at it had vanished. But it wasn't for her. He knew, all at once, that it had never really been for her.

"That's better," she said, happily. "I guess you're a bit stoned, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, twitching the freshly stiffening penis that made him a traitor, an insult to the kind, lovely woman he was about to fuck.

How could he not, after all?

And if he could only do it by turning her over and taking her from behind, if he could only do it by kneeling behind her, pressing his hands into the small of his back, so he was hardly touching her at all; if he could only come by shutting his eyes and pretending she was someone else, that he was somewhere else, if he could only do it by making it a lie...

Better that than the truth.

* * * * * * *

Squall watched Irvine from his perch on an upturned crate, and tried to make some sense of his feelings.

It would have been easier to take on Ulimecia again, all alone, blindfolded, with no magic. Really, it would.

He admired the grace and altheticism of Irivne's long body. Squall had never really thought of the gun as a poetic weapon, not the way blades were. Tell the truth, he'd always thought of a rifle as a poor SeeD's gunblade, but in Irvine's hands it turned into something altogether different. He didn't just fight with it as a gun, for one thing. Irvine might have been the best sniper in Galbadia Garden, or, in fact, the world, but that meant fuck all when you're up against someone face to face. So since Ultimecia Irvine had been working with Zell to perfect his hand-to-hand, and he'd spent long hours in the junk shop in Balamb designing a whole new rifle.

He still called it Exeter, even if there was nothing of Exeter left.

It was half staff, half rifle, a hybrid as ridiculous and as ruthlessly efficient as Lionheart. Seifer had said it was dangerous, to mix two styles so different, ridiculous to design a weapon so contradictory.

But then, what did Seifer know?

Seifer. There was a feeling Squall knew about. If people could be feelings? He had stopped himself thinking about people so long ago, it was hard to tell. But he knew that when Seifer came to mind, he brought baggage with him. Years of rivalry, betrayal, and that odd sort of aquiescence, a kind of arrogant submission, if there could be such a thing. Squall took most things at face value, so it wasn't hard to accept Seifer's apology and have him back in Garden. Truth be told, he felt sorry for him, and he'd missed the constant voice taunting and goading him. It made him strong.

However little the others understood it, he needed Seifer.

For most of his life, he'd thought that's what friendship was.

He saw Rinoa come into the Training Centre, ready for her lesson with Quistis, and his guts flipped inside him. That was another feeling, of course. Rinoa had been so good to him. Not just with her patience, her love, drawing him out bit by bit, helping him come to terms with the confusion and painful contortion that was his long neglected self. Not just with her undeniably beautiful body, given so willingly, so often. She'd never asked why he never made the first move, why he made any move at all less and less frequently. She looked sad, sometimes, wistful, but he could never work out why.

He turned back to Irvine; he was pushing Zell back now, lean muscles rippling across his naked back, sweat glistening over his shoulders.

How often had he sat watching Irvine lately?

How often had he lain awake at night, thinking about him?

How often had he thrust inside Riona's body and imagined something very different?

Irvine had Zell against the wall, pinned with the thing that used to be a rifle, victory on his lips.

It was too much.

He couldn't do this anymore. All the confusion, the worrying, the horror at what he must be came to this moment, this single pinpoint in time, and Squall pushed to his feet and -

"Irvine! I -"

Irvine heard the choked thing that was Squall's declaration. He turned, fingers trembling a little with the exertion of the fight, and Exeter fell to the ground.

He smiled.

* * * * * * *

This was madness.

Squall could hardly breathe, partly because of the kisses that Irvine was assaulting him with. Not hard and greedy like he'd expected. Soft, lingering, building in intensity so that he was always just a little more excited than he'd been a moment ago. Irvine didn't kiss just with his lips, or even just with lips and tongue. He used his whole body: fingers threading in Squall's hair, teasing the soft curls at the nape of his neck; chest rubbing a little to bring Squall's nipples swiftly to life - and fuck, but Squall had neve reven *noticed* his nipples before. Irvine writhed his groin against Squall's, not hard, just enough that Squall could be absolutely certain that he wasn't the only one getting aroused here. And all of this in time with the kiss, slow, building, building, building. . .

"Oh gods, Irvine, I... I..."

"Shhh." Irvine held him close, stroked his hair.

"I don't know what to do, I haven't..."

"We're not going to do anything, babe. Not yet. This is good, huh?"

Squall pulled back, just far enough to look at him. He could see the heat in the violet eyes, the passion tempered by patience, the faintly amused smile. "Yes," he admitted. "It's good."

"Then why don't we just keep right on doin' it?"

A smile cracked across Squall's face, lighting his eyes and, he was fairly certain, making him look foolish. But he couldn't help it.

"That's just the sexiest thing I've ever seen," husked Irvine, and started kissing him again.

It wasn't all, as it turned out. However patient Irvine would have been, Squall couldn't be. Not now. Not now he'd decided, and hurt Rinoa, and finally admitted what he wanted. Irvine finally gave in when he felt Squall's hand sliding down his back and under his jeans, teasing the very top of his buttocks, moving his hips so firmly he was practically humping Irvine's leg.

"What d'you want, babe?" Irvine asked.

Squall had no idea. Everything. Something. Anything.

He made a kind of squeaking noise, which was the best he could manage.

"Can I touch you?" Irvine's fingers hovered over the biggest buckle of Squall's many belts.

Squall just nodded, not even bothering to try his voice this time.

His fingers can't be that different from Rinoa's, he reasoned. Fingers are fingers, after all. A little longer, maybe, his palm a little broader, calluses in different places from different weapons.

It felt as different as a gunblade from a whip. Irvine's fingers were electric, knowing, confident. They seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and where, and how much.

"You like having your balls touched, babe?"

Squall nodded, wide eyed. "Gently," he squeaked.

Irvine smiled, and with a single feather stroke made Squall's bollocks his friends for life.

Squall sucked in breath and arched under Irvine's touch.

"You want my mouth?"

"Gods, Irvine..."

"It's okay," Irvine reassured him, "there's plenty of time. I can just keep doing this if you..."

"Mouth," stammered Squall, "please, mouth."

Irvine grinned a lazy grin and slowly kissed his way down Squall's bare chest, his hair falling like a blanket over Squall's lap as he kissed the very tip of Squall's leaking cock.

Squall felt Irvine's tongue lapping up his precome, and he very nearly got the real thing too.

"Wait!" Squall squeaked. "Can I... I want... the same. Can I?"

Irvine raised his head, licking his lips. "You want to suck me?" he checked.

"Yes," said Squall. "I... please?"

Irvine laughed his rich, easy laugh.

"Sorry," said Squall, suddenly uncertain, a blush rising up his cheeks, a scowl chasing across his face. "If you don't want-"

"Oh, fuck, no, yes, I do, oh, yes, of course I do," Irvine's expression was almost alarmed. "Oh, gods, if you knew how often I'd jacked off in the shower just dreaming of that mouth of yours, I'd..." He hesitated, gradually realising that Squall was confused, and needed an explanation. "It was just hearing you say please," he said. "As if it was me doing you the favour. It's never been put to me quite that way before. Not everyone likes sucking dick the way I do."

"No," said Squall, relieved. "No, I know." Rinoa hadn't liked it. She'd pretended she had, she'd tried not to show it when her jaw ached if he took too long, but he'd known she wasn't keen and he rarely let her do it.

"But you do?" Irvine was stroking his hair, soothing, taking away the doubt again.

"I don't know," said Squall. "I never tried."

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"Oh babe," whispered Irvine, eventually.

"Can I?" Squall asked again.

Irvine nodded, his turn to be suddenly rendered mute. He deftly unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly and pulled out his straining erection, lifting his balls carefully free of the zipper as Squall tugged his jeans down his thighs.

"It's bigger than mine," said Squall, almost to himself.

"Not really," said Irvine. "Thicker, maybe. Yours is longer, look..." He scooted next to Squall and lined their erections up against one another. "See? You've maybe got an inch on me, and I'm a little bit wider here, and... Squall, are you ok?"

Squall was transfixed. He stared at his cock, nuzzling up to Irvine's, nestling in his loose palm like they'd done this all their lives, like it was a perfectly normal, natural, right thing to do.

He realised, with horror, that he was about to burst into tears.

"Squall, babe, what's wrong?" Irvine's arms were around him before the first wet streaks slid down past his nose, holding him, rocking him, strong, as strong as himself, safe, warm. "I'm sure length counts more than girth, you know."

Squall sputtered laughter despite himself.

"What is it?" Irvine said, stroking his back in circles.

"It feels so good," said Squall. "This, here, with you. I never thought it would, I thought it would always be like..."

"Rinoa," said Irvine quietly, when he was certain Squall wasn't going to say it himself.

Squall nodded. "Why does it feel so right?"

"Because it is right," said Irvine, as if that made it all simple.

"But you and Selphie, and Quistis - is it like this with them, and you?"

Irvine thought for a moment. "I see it like this," he said, eventually. "For me, it's right with different people, different times. Last year it was Selphie. Now, it's you. It was never Quistis, though," he grinned ruefully. "That's just a rumour."

"Oh," said Squall. "I see."

"But maybe for you it's different," said Irvine, carefully. "Maybe for you it's me now, and next year it'll be another guy. But could be it'll always be guys."

Squall knew in his heart that was true. He just knew it.

"Yes," he said, "except. . ."

"Yeah?"

Oh gods. He couldn't believe he was going to say this. He'd never said it to Rinoa, not once, he'd never thought he'd say it to anyone, and now...

"It's more than that. I want to... I don't want this to be just..."

He couldn't say it. Of course he couldn't say it.

"I love you."

Irvine stared at him for a minute, and Squall waited for things to get awkward and embarrassing. He decided his timing sucked: at this rate he'd just put a premature end to the thing he'd just admitted he'd wanted.

"Oh, babe. Oh. Wow."

"Sorry," said Squall. "I shouldn't have. Oh. Fuck."

Then that laugh again.

"Squall, sugar, let me tell you something," said Irvine. "Please try and believe me, when I say that having Squall Leonhart tell you he loves you and that he wants to suck your dick, is not a bad thing. Ever." He stroked back Squall's hair. "Thank you," he said.

"Then..." Squall ran out of words again; he shrugged, hoping Irvine would be able to make some kind of sense out of that.

"I'm not in love with you yet," said Irvine. "But you keep going like that and who knows?" The smile faded a little from Irvine's generous mouth, and his eyes were suddenly intense, holding Squall's like a promise. "I do love you, though," he said. "And I want you something fierce. And I'd like to be with you. Is that good enough, for now?"

Squall nodded, trying hard to breathe.

Irvine ducked to kiss him, and pushed him gently back on the bed. He set about undressing the both of them, and then scooted around so they lay top to toe, and when he slowly engulfed Squall's cock in his mouth, it was all Squall could do to keep from crying out, and then those gentle fingers were making love to his balls again, and he did cry out, and then a single finger snaked inside his body and set it on fire, and he cried out louder.

He snuffled his way up Irvine's belly, his nostrils flaring with the delicious musky scent of Irvine's sex, rubbed it with his cheek, lapped his tongue along the length of it and finally took it into his mouth. Just the head at first, licking back the foreskin, glorying in the silk and steel feel of it. Then he nibbled his lips down the length of it, managing to fit about half of it in before it filled his mouth completely. He could feel Irvine's throat wrapped around his own cock, and he wanted to do the same, but Irvine wouldn't let him, he pulled back.

"Later," he murmured, palming Squall's erection smoothly to take away the shock of cold air after the wet heat of Irvine's mouth. "Just take what you can for now."

Then he swallowed Squall again.

Squall did as he said, happy for now just to taste and lick and slurp at it like an ice cream, saying over and over in his head, "I'm a cocksucker, I'm a cocksucker, I'm a cocksucker..."

It felt so right.

It all felt right. It felt right to thrust into Irvine's mouth, to cup Irvine's smooth balls in his hand and to lick his way around that thick shaft with a tongue so wet that drool dripped onto the bed; it felt right to come down Irvine's throat, and to let Irvine spray his face; it felt right for Irvine to bundle him in his arms and lick the sticky mess from his cheeks and lips, to kiss him and share their flavours, to hold him tight, legs tangled, as they tried to catch their breath.

"You okay?" Irvine asked.

"I'm gay," Squall said, astonished.

"Yeah," said Irvine. "Unless it's just the Kinneas magic. . ." he caught Squall's glare. "Gay, then," he said. "You okay with that?"

"I don't think I have a choice," said Squall. "But yeah. It feels better. Much, much better."

Squall snuggled into Irvine's side, more relaxed than he'd ever felt in his whole life, and slowly drifted off to sleep.