Fondling his bottom lip with the moist tip of his tongue, Irvine cannot help but screw heavily pleased eyes on the sight before him.

Pretty:
lips as rosy pink as those of any girl Irvine has ever kissed -- and not too bad as far as softness, too -- plus:
a neck that's fair and smooth, almost close to silky, contrasting the pointy prominence of the adam's apple in the center; as well as:
hair that feels nearly as soft and smells nearly as nice as the hair of most of the girls Irvine has ever ran his fingers through...

Pretty: the foremost word in his mind to describe Squall. Pretty. Like a girl. ...heck, even prettier than some girls without makeup, actually. ...or, heck -- with probably just the right makeup and all? -- even prettier than Selphie herself.

In fact, Irvine would probably have trouble convincing himself Squall is indeed a guy if he'd never known him at all from childhood, or never watched him wield his gunblade in battle... or... if he wasn't, right this moment:
gazing at Squall's muscle-toned build in its stark-naked glory; and
rubbing his hand along the firm and curve-less plane of his hip; and
breathing in the none-too-delicate allure of his musky scent; and, most especially:
holding the most physical proof of Squall's masculinity in his very hand.

Unable to keep from smirking, Irvine shifts his heavily pleased eyes southward, to the thick, hard, and reddened cock throbbing in the caressing grip of his right hand. ...Heh, nosiree, Squall is definitely no girl alright.

Squall tilts his head back against the alabaster tiles of the bathroom wall, moaning softly at the tight, deliberate motions of Irvine's fingers. A sliver-thin smirk needles its way across his lips as his slate eyes, obscured just a tad by a few damp strands of his hazel brown hair, lock fast onto Irvine's smirking green own. He buries the blunt, roughened tips of his fingers into the bare flesh of Irvine's hips, tightening his clamp on him even more, and then remarks in a flat voice, "The hell you looking at, bitch."

Irvine feels a rush of heat spread over his face. "Bitch, huh?" he snarls, though with a playful lilt in his voice. Sure, he ought to get riled as hell to be called that name, one he could never think of calling any girl he has ever met, but...

to be called that name by Squall, whose eyes have now closed half-way in slyness and smirk thickened with tease...

Irvine feels his own smirk grow even wider, and his cock grow even much impossibly harder. Because:
for Squall to express himself in a way no one else is privileged to hear; and
for Squall's face to register something other than detachment and aloofness...
is arousing in itself as far as Irvine has recently come to learn.

"Bitch, yeah," Squall nods his head lazily, a strange glint in his eyes as he reaches out to slide his fingers through Irvine's long ponytail. "My bitch."

Just as he opens his mouth to blurt out a mock-protest of Hey!, Irvine hears himself gasp at the feel of Squall's fingers closing around his jutting erection. And just as Squall starts to stroke the underside of his cock and brush his thumb over his balls, Irvine succumbs to the pull of that pretty mouth and leans forward to release his moan into its intimate heat. He lets his tongue delve in to tangle wildly with Squall's own, moving his urgent lips with enough harshness to bruise, and he sucks and nips and licks at every bit of Squall's pretty mouth, which tastes hardly as sweet or moves nowhere as gently as those of most the girls Irvine has ever reached second base with, for there is nothing fluffy and tame about their kiss after all, nothing to remind Irvine of all the soft and light and tender locking of lips he has ever engaged in with girls, nothing but a burst of raw desire and long-contained passion Irvine is sure as hell he has never felt with anyone else.

And as if to emphatically stress this point, Squall flips themselves over and crushes him back against the smooth wet tiles, bringing every nude inch of their bodies pressed even more tightly together. With Squall's cock in Irvine's hand, and Irvine's cock in Squall's hand, hips rolling against each other and thighs gliding and slapping in insistent friction and bodies arching into one another, the two young men make no attempt to pause nor hold anything back in their kiss, which only deepens with each passing second, until Squall renders Irvine stunned and a little upset by breaking it all short.

"Why in hell didja --"

"Turn around," Squall murmurs, sultry breath hitting his cheek, "Irvy."

Irvine damn nearly comes at the sensual way his nick rolled off that pretty tongue, even more so from Squall suddenly calling him like they all used to, back in their days at Matron's warm little orphanage... and for a starkly odd moment... Irvine feels as if they were six-year-old kids once again, young little boys wanting to do nothing more than play.

...except that he couldn't remember having ever played with Squall as a kid, since Squall had always preferred to be left alone and Irvine had never really cared all the same.

...and except that Irvine is rather hesitant to believe this right here is mere playing between them, in any case...

"Irvy," Squall murmurs once more against his cheek, hands trying to turn the slightly taller boy around by the hips.

"...Hmm, 'kay then," Irvine simpers against that pretty nose, "Squally."

Drawing his hands off Squall, Irvine turns his back to him at last, forearms braced high against the wall. He bends a little at the waist, and makes to widen the spread of his legs.

It isn't too long before he feels the vehement strokes of Squall's hands again, and, closing his eyes, he submits himself to the pair of slick fingers stabbing their way through the tender pucker of his buttocks.

"Ahh shiiit..." he clenches his teeth, but the immediate, searing discomfort fades after a while, and soon Irvine finds himself supporting the full weight of his body on his toes, legs slightly quivering and knees threatening to give from the dizzying pleasure of Squall's fingers swirling inside of him.

"Damnit... Squall..." he half-gasps, half-groans.

The pleasurable sensation only manages to double as the fingers are eventually replaced with the substantially hard, swollen length of Squall's arousal, and after the first few thrusts that Squall applies to him Irvine cannot help but let out an endless moan, in much the same way most of the girls he's ever fooled around with had.

Squall's hands spread themselves over his hips, keeping him steady in his grasp with all firmness and strength Irvine has never felt under a girl's touch... and as Squall bends forward to moan just behind his ear and continues to:
pound in and out of him with much intensity and speed; and
slam his thighs forcefully against the back of his own; and
just ride him hard and ride him deep...
Irvine cannot recall a time he has ever felt as hot and as desired like this making love to any girl --

and heck he really ought to quit it with the fucking comparisons already because, no shit -- as much as he adores all them girls and them ladies and just in general the fair sex, Squall really is the only person he has ever wanted for himself anyway -- ever since their fateful 'reunion' at Galbadia Garden -- and definitely the only guy he's more than a little glad to bend over for again and again.

"Fuck, Squall..." he breathes out, too powerless to keep a full moan from gushing forth.

In a little while he can feel Squall's hand fisting around his aching cock, and it is all that it takes him to moan even louder, and throw his head back abruptly, and push and grind his hips in an effort to meet the heightened force of Squall's penetration.

"Irvine...aammmgnhhh!"

The cry that resounds all over the tiny room is deep, and coarse, and lusty -- not of the high-pitched or whimper-like sort that has always been music to Irvine's ears -- driving Irvine himself to cry out a string of blissful utterances as his white-hot release rushes out to coat Squall's hand, just before Squall spills himself into the burning crevice of Irvine's buttocks.

They stay as they are for a few more moments, struggling to find normalcy anew in their breathing, with Irvine leaning onto a shoulder of his against the wall and Squall leaning a bit limply into him, arms coiled tight around his sticky waist.

Just then:

"Is it seven yet?" asks Squall.

Irvine winces in disappointment. ...Right, they were supposed to be getting ready to head out for a training session in the first place. Shit. "Dunno," he mutters his reply to the wall. "Think we better get dressed already, anyway. Sephy and the others should be out waitin' by now."

Squall exhales a low grunt. "That case, they're just gonna have to wait ten more minutes," he declares, ever so flatly. "...Shower?"

"Heh, again?" Irvine cracks an all-too-excited grin. "You said it, babe."

Swiftly, Squall tugs at Irvine's ponytail, allowing the long strands of his honey blond hair to flow softly down his back.

"So c'mon, bitch," Squall murmurs against his hair, his voice huskily enticing.

And, just like that, Irvine is hard and ready for his pretty boyfriend once again.

END

This fic received an Honorable Mention from scribblemoose and Gwendolyn Flight
in the Scarlet Seduction Squall/Irvine Contest. *beams* XD