Fizz

from the Sniper Slut in Galbadia Series
by scribblemoose

Irvine watched Squall from across the room. The Commander of Balamb Garden was doing his level best to Perform.

He wasn't the only one watching. They were all lined up on the opposite side of the room, sipping drinks and nibbling canapes and hoped very hard that Squall would succeed. Quistis wasn't just staring at her student; her lips moved as she willed Squall to remember all she'd taught him. Rinoa looked at her lover wiht that dreamy sort of expression she tended to wear whenever Squall was wearing uniform. And Selphie just looked... amused.

"Oh no," said Quistis. "He's smiling. That's not good. Not good at all."

"No he isn't," Irvine said, amused at himself for the speed with which he leapt to Squall's defence.

"Not Squall. Martine. He only ever smiles when he's winning."

"It'll be fine," said Selphie, with such confidence that Irvine could only wonder what she'd done.

Then her face fell. "Oh."

"Oh no," said Rinoa.

"He's blown it," said Quistis. "I honestly thought... oh dear."

Squall was stalking away, and Martine was striding towards them with a very grim expression on his face indeed.

"Shit," said Zell. "What d'we do now?"

Irvine took a deep breath and straightened his hat.

"You guys suck up to Martine for all you're worth. And I'll go after Squall."

And with that he hurried away, grabbing a few things from the buffet table on the way.

"Typical," said Selphie, stamping her foot. "He always gets the fun parts!"

*******

Squall's door was firmly locked, but Irvine hadn't been with Selphie all this time without picking up a few tricks. And Squall's private door code.

"Fuck off," said Squall, voice muffled. He was laid out on his bed on his stomach, boots kicked off, head buried in his arms.

Irvine chose to ignore that. "Hey, man. I brought some of the party with me. Thought you might need cheering up."

"I don't need party," said Squall to his pillow. "I need a fucking brain transplant."

Irvine put his armful of things down by the bed and sat down next to Squall. "It's not your fault. He's such a picky bastard."

Squall grunted.

"He is." Irvine stroked the hair back from Squall's face. Squall irritably shook it back.

"It doesn't matter what he's like. I'm supposed to... manage him."

"Says who?"

"Quistis, for one."

"Well, that's easy for her to say."

Squall turned his head a little; one eye glittered up at Irvine through his bangs. "What d'you mean?"

"Teachers." Irvine kicked off his boots and let his coat slip off his shoulders. "It's all very well to know all then theory of how diplomacy works, to study strategy and motivations and..." he found he'd run out of the few buzzwords he'd picked up from Quistis' muttered explanation earlier that evening. "... it's entirely another to deal with a real human being."

"Yeah," said Squall, looking somewhat surprised by this new revelation. Then his face darkened. "Everyone expects me to be able to do this stuff, though. Always have."

Irvine finished unbuttoning his shirt and tossed it on the floor with his boots and coat. "Everyone?"

"Yeah. You know. Everyone." Squall sighed, and buried his face in the pillow again. "Just leave me alone, Kinneas. You should be with Selphie."

Irvine chose to ignore that. "What about the stuff I brought with me? Sure I can't tempt you?" He stood up, the easier to undo his pants.

Squall shook his head.

"There's champagne."

Squall shrugged.

"And raspberries."

Squall made a sort of hmming noise.

"And..." Irvine knelt on the bed at Squall's side, swept the shock of dark hair away from Squall's neck and kissed him there. "Ice cream."

A little shiver ran down Squall's spine. Irvine smiled.

"Ice cream?"

"Two kinds. Vanilla and strawberry ripple. It'll melt soon if we don't hurry."

Squall looked up, his eyes shooting wide. "Fuck. You're naked."

"Yeah." Irvine gave him a wide, langorous grin. "And you're dressed. That can't be right."

Squall stared at him. "What..."

"Come on," said Irvine, tucking Squall's hair behind his ear and moving in to kiss him. "You know you want it."

"Oh Hyne," Squall murmured. "You always-"

And then Irvine's mouth met his, and the words were gone, lost in a soft, sure press of lips on lips, a tangle of tongues and mingling of panting breaths. Irvine took his time unbuttoning Squall's uniform, peeling it carefully off Squall's body when Squall would have rushed. Making sure he had his lover's total attention, to drive Martine and work and expecations far from Squall's mind.

Once they were both naked, Irvine rolled Squall on his back and straddled his thighs. Reached down to collect the things he'd left beside the bed and lined them up next to them on the bed.

"Hmmm. Ice cream first, then." He plunged the spoon into the large dish and scooped up a generous portion of rapidly softening ice cream. Fed it to Squall, who watched him all the while as his little pink tongue shot out to lick at the stuff.

The second spoonful he fed to himself.

The third spoonfull ddin't get fed to anyone. Irvine dripped it carefully over the length of Squall's swollen cock, delighting in the gasp and surge of hips it elicited.

Then he reached for the raspberries, and popped a handfull, one by one, into Squall's mouth. Rested one on his lover's lips and crushed it there with his own, juice running down both their chins to land sticky on Squall's chest.

The last few he placed with exaggerated care on Squall's erection, planting them firmly in the coating of mostly-melted ice cream.

The champagne he popped one-handed, aiming the surge of foam neatly at Squall's waiting mouth. They shared the stuff, mouth to mouth, chaos of bubbles bursting on their tongues, fizzy and exciting as elixir.

It was Squall who took the bottle from him and poured it over his chest and belly, cascaded it over his cock. Rubbed it into his balls and thighs, licked the remaining sticky from his fingers, then dragged him down to kiss some more.

Irvine lay on top of him, hard and writhing, found Squall's sticky, creamy, slippery sex with his and rubbed against it. Silk and velvet and hard as steel, and they bucked and writhed together, tongues duelling, long kisses, soft hair, strong, tangling limbs.

Irvine came first, a long series of pulsing shots that mingled with the mess on Squall's belly. He scooped it up, come and cream and fizz and fruit, and slathered it over Squall's cock and pumped it, fast, Squall beautiful and rocking up and fucking the tunnel he made for him with long, trigger-sure fingers. By the time he arched and yelled and pulsed thick white over his own chest and belly, it took only a quick stroke and squeeze for Irvine to come again.

They collapsed in a wet, sticky heap on the bed. Squall was laughing weakly, his fingers drabbling in the goop on his body with a sort of amused disbelief.

"Better?" Irvine passed him a towel, taking a moment to enjoy the echoes of lust in Squall's eyes, the faint tremble to his limbs.

"Yeah," said Squall, with a smile that wouldn't go away. "I'm not sure Quistis would approve, though."

Irvine padded over to the little cupboard where Squall kept his kitchen things, and returned with a couple of mugs. He filled them with the last of the champagne, and clinked his to Squall's. "You leave Quistis to me," he said, with a wink.

"Why?" said Squall, a wicked glint in his eye. "Won't you share?"

Irvine spluttered on his mouthfull of champagne, so much so that Squall came to his aid, patting his back a little too heartily. "You okay?"

"Fizz," Irvine complained, regaining his breath. "Got up my nose."

"Poor baby," said Squall with a grin.

Then there was wrestling. And finally they collapsed on the bed, Squall nestled in Irvine's arms. Much to Irvine's amusement, Squall had hiccups.

"Fucking bub-hic-bles," Squall complained.

"I know a cure for that," said Irvine.

"Really?" Squall looked up at him, curious and hopeful.

"Oh yeah," said Irvine, with w very wicked grin. "What did we do with the rest of that ice cream?"

~owari~

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