"You look tense."
His words, smooth and easy and almost mocking. Of course he looked fucking tense; he was a wanted man. Even though the war was over, the hatred of the people for the person who had served as the sorceress' right hand had not diminished.
He said nothing, cyan eyes cold. They usually were.
"I can help you."
There was a hint of an offer in that velvet drawl, the slight twist of a smirk on full lips. The blonde looked at him with surprise. Seifer Almasy was no queer, but the look the other was giving him was undeniably enticing. The sharpshooter couldn't possibly look feminine, all lean, strong angles and a hard curve of jaw, but Seifer might be able to put his prejudices aside.
He was tense, after all.
A hand reached out and curled in that fall of auburn hair, tugging sharply forward until that smirk had come within reach. Lips sealed over the other's without any thought or gentleness, tongue taking possession of that smooth-talking mouth until any trace of that mocking quirk of lips had disappeared.
Irvine hadn't expected the man to actually take him seriously. He had been teasing, as was his wont, pushing at boundaries. Not that he minded the blonde's sudden interest and actions; he had merely never take Seifer for the type to fall for his incessant flirting. Well, the cowboy would take what he could get.
Hands curved acceptingly around the back of the other's neck, body pressing against the other male's willingly as anything. He had never been one to question things, nor to be discriminating.
One the other hand, Seifer never did this. He couldn't even think of the last time he'd gotten this close to someone. Rinoa, it had to have been Rinoa, the bitch who had left him for dead and defected to live in love with his greatest rival, his greatest enemy. The thought gave his kisses a hateful cast, biting at the other's lips, drawing a speck of crimson blood against the smooth skin.
The sniper just sank into him, a sound muffled by the hard press of the blonde's mouth.
Hands were not deft, not practiced as they stripped the cowboy of his clothing, though Seifer dealt with his own a great deal more easily. He had not felt the rise of lust for too long; he had been dying by seasons, alone and in hiding. Fuujin and Raijin had stayed with him only for so long, once the war had ended and they realized the man who had been their friend was diminished, faded. They had gone, like so many others, even if they had never learned to hate him like the rest of the world.
They seemed to be the only ones. Fuujin, Raijin, and Irvine - though he could not fathom why the last did not want him dead.
He thought, as he sank teeth into the firm curve of a shoulder, of how the cowboy had sought him out, had come to find him in the stinking hotel in Dollet where he had been living of late. How he had invited the blonde out as though it were easy as that, had insinuated himself back into Seifer's room. It made no sense. He had been on the opposite side, on the winning side, had fought against the self-proclaimed Sorceress' Knight and beaten him into a pulp. Why was he here now, acting as though they were friends - or something else?
Irvine had always been easy. A loner, a drifter. Why not go against the norm, seek out someone who didn't want company? His tendency to push the limits, to go against orders to do what he thought was right, was what had both honored and alienated him from his counterparts during the war.
Why not.
Seifer had never thought of this, of the rough push of hands against a body distinctly lacking in softness or curves, of Irvine's hasty instructions in a throaty, lusty voice - the cowboy had done this before. The blonde pushed into him, first with fingers, then with his cock, with only the slightest hint of distaste. He had done worse in his time, had killed innocents, had let his mind be controlled because of some damned romantic dream...
The thoughts made him rake his nails down the sharpshooter's spine, and below him Irvine bucked backwards, sounds falling from his lips as easily as his ever-teasing words. Seifer was glad to have him silenced for once, at least of any intelligible vocalizations. He didn't mind the moans.
He had always assumed that if someone was going to be under him like this, it would have been Squall. Not that there had ever been any thoughts of such an encounter entertained in the blonde gunblade-wielder's mind, but it had never been an impossibility, now that he had thought about it. It would not have been for pleasure. To humiliate, to prove that he was superior to the other for once... that would have been all.
This was different.
Irvine whimpered his name as though it were a plea, hips striking backwards with every thrust the blonde made. And thoughtless, Seifer found himself responding, driving with greater force until they were both collapsed on dirty sheets, bodies wrapped together, sweat and other fluids sticking at their skin.
When it was over, the sharpshooter cleaned himself up and left the blonde alone.
His tension had lessened; his loneliness hadn't.