InsaneJournal

“You gotta be kidding,” Seifer snorted, threadbare armchair creaking as he unceremoniously dropped into it.

“Nah.” Irvine was leaning against a bare patch of wall. “Matron’s worried about you.”

Seifer had been living quietly in Fisherman’s Horizon for the better part of six months. He cursed himself for having dropped his guard a little, thinking that if they hadn’t come after him by then, he was in the clear. You didn’t want to delay the capture and execution of somebody guilty of torture, murder, and acts of war, after all. Coming after him out of concern had never entered into his mind.

“Yeah, go back for the sake of a woman who’s already fucked me over.” Rolling his eyes, Seifer—quite reasonably in his opinion—asked, “Are you retarded or something?”

“Or something,” Irvine murmured agreeably. “I must be, getting stuck with this shit assignment.”

“So I’m shit, now?” Seifer bristled, standing abruptly and brandishing Hyperion, the weapon never far from his hand. “Way to make your case, jackass. Get the fuck out.”

“Not a chance.” Irvine stood his ground in the face of a big ass gunblade in his, well, face. “I’m under orders to bring you back,” a hint of bitterness crept into his voice, “willingly, no matter what it takes.” A deep breath. “Soooooo,” he drawled, “what’ll it take to make you come back?”

The sniper hadn’t made an unfriendly move yet. He was still propping himself against the wall, arms folded across his chest and all his weight on one leg. Not even remotely a battle stance. Seifer relaxed, Hyperion still in hand, but no longer at the ready. “Why you? Why didn’t she come herself, if she’s so damn worried about me?”

“Uh, maybe because, like you said, she’d already fucked you over?” Tendrils of hair fluttered as Irvine blew dismissively from one corner of his mouth. “I mean, yeah, that was Ultimecia, not Matron, but it still looks the same.” He sighed. “I was pretty much what they could send. Anybody from SeeD would make it look like an arrest, and Rinoa’s your ex—who you tried to kill. Anybody else from Garden wouldn’t look too kindly on your attack—on Balamb or Trabia, you megalomaniacal son of a bitch—and I’m the only one left who knows you.” The litany sounded all too prosaic, even for the scattered invective. “You always were a pushy little bitch.” Irvine shook his head ruefully, “Damn cute kid, though. Anyway, I’ll ask again: What’ll it take to make you come back?”

Scorn laced Seifer’s refusal. “You can just blow me.”

That didn’t have the effect he was looking for.

Irvine’s eyes widened a little, and the hint of a smirk turned the corners of his mouth up. “Is that all? Damn, you’re easy.” He was on his knees and working on getting the blond’s pants open before Seifer’s brain caught up to the change in circumstances.

“I meant—” Seifer began, before sucking in a breath as Irvine’s mouth closed around his cock.

“Mmmm?” Violet eyes rolled up to look at him through a delicate fringe of auburn lashes. His fine-boned, almost feminine cheeks were hollowed as Irvine drew back and quirked one expressive eyebrow, barely visible under the brim of his hat.

“Fuck,” Seifer groaned, met only with an emphatic, “Mmm.”

Hardening rapidly under the onslaught of wet heat and suction, Seifer knocked that ridiculous hat from the other man’s head and grabbed a fistful of his ponytail. The other hand, still gripping the hilt of his gunblade, rested on Irvine’s shoulder, leaving a sharp length of steel pressed against a leather-coated back.

Wrapping his gloved hand more firmly in the length of hair, he jerked the kneeling man closer. “Fuck,yeah,” he breathed. “Just like that.” He liked the little choking noises Irvine made around his cock.

It didn’t take long to bring him to the edge, panting, eyes closed, head tossed back and the chain of his choker taut against the strain of his neck, the heat and wet and tongue and teeth and and and—it all stopped.

Irvine opened his mouth and shoved hard on Seifer’s hips, toppling him to the floor, consequently sacrificing more than a few strands of hair as well as his duster, which was sliced by the blade as it passed. Wiping his mouth clean, Irvine merely smirked. “Come back to Garden. I’ll finish that, and then some.” He blew a kiss, scooped up his fallen hat, replaced it at a jaunty angle, turned, and sauntered out the door.

A muted, “See ya later!” came floating back through to the young man sprawled on the grubby hardwood. Seifer looked at the handful of long auburn hairs in one hand, the slightly bloodied blade in the other, and the raging erection in between. “Son of a bitch!” he swore. He’d see Irvine later, alright. He’d make that teasing bitch pay.