Title: Broken Beds

Author: Renaissance Makoto

Pairing: Laguna/Squall

Summary: Jealous sex leads to furniture shopping. Or maybe just to more jealous sex.

Warnings: NC-17 SMUT! Seriously: strong language and graphic smut. NOT BETA READ. Come on, this is me we're talking about here: Have I ever had a beta?

Author's Note: This is part of the Domestic storyline in which Laguna and Squall live together, have an established relationship, and have kinky sex all around the house. Yep, I'm serious. That's the entire point of this storyline. Anything that doesn't make sense is because it's carryover from the prequel that's rotting on my hard drive. Cheers!

They stared down at it together now that it was Saturday afternoon and they'd slept the entire morning away. Laguna had a feeling that there would be ugly marks when they finally wrestled the thing out the door. They'd have to hide them with carpet or just have a new floor installed. He shrugged mentally: Good thing they were rich.

And, well, now that they were fully awake and sore and covered in bruises and no longer able to go out into public without the entire world thinking, "Well, you two have been shagging like rabbits," they had nothing but time to stare down at it, actually.

"We broke it," Laguna said intelligently. Squall nodded and rested his chin in his fingers.

"Yeah," he said, finally. If that had been the conclusion of his long think, Laguna realized they were in trouble.

Stained with sweat and lube and come, the cheerful green sheets greeted their shocked expressions as if to say, "Don't bother washing us. Just burn us in effigy to the gods of sex."

And Laguna seriously considered it because maybe in gratitude the gods would relieve him of some of the unwanted side effects of sex of the kind they'd had.

Laguna ached.

Squall had never fucked him that hard before and that was saying something.

He thought back to the night before, screaming out a twisted warbling variation of Squall's name just as the poor abused bed coughed out its last and collapsed beneath them, shoving Squall's hard, pulsing cock in harder with the jolt of it all and making Laguna sob, scream again, beg for more.

They'd both gone still, Squall's cock still twitching inside him and come dripping out of him slowly and they'd listened to the night. After the noise of Laguna screaming with each thrust and Squall grunting as he fucked himself off inside Laguna's sore hole and the bed bloody crashing to the floor, the night sounded quiet. Too quiet and Laguna wondered if this was why their neighbors had moved away. He was loud sometimes.

Okay, all the time.

Laguna had squirmed moaned at the slick feeling of Squall sliding in bareback on his own come and had bit his lip.

"Come on, finish this. Don't stop. Don't ever stop fucking me." And he'd sounded like a complete whore, like a tight young twink half his age and he hadn't cared. He'd wanted it like a tight young twink, so it was all okay. Actually, he always wanted it like a tight young twink and this line of thought was really bad for his ego.

And Squall had still been hard inside him, tireless. So he'd given Laguna what he'd begged for and just kept fucking him on the broken bed, whispering dirty things into his ear.

"You fucking love my cock, say it."

And it was true, so Laguna said it.

Again and again and again.

"I love it, fuck me, god, yes!"

And he had no idea what had gotten into Squall; why he'd dug his fingers into Laguna's hair hard and used his body long and filthy, marking everywhere across his skin. Laguna was a mess of purple bruises and bite marks all along his neck. He had a book signing in two days and he'd have to wear makeup so, yes, twink status complete. As a joking suggestion for the jacket to one of his books, his editor had suggested calling him hot, golden and full of cream so, yeah, a twink all the way.

Ah, his editor. Right.

That was probably it.

Now that he thought about it, Laguna had a suspicion that Squall's violent, thoroughly rough and nasty, and utterly enjoyable fuck-fest last night had come from his walking in on Laguna talking to Kiros, heads bowed close together, conversation low and serious. And there was a pattern to this if he really cast his memory back: That surprise fuck he'd gotten on the carpet at four in the afternoon two weeks ago had been after he'd had lunch with Kiros. He wasn't willing to dismiss the events as unrelated.

And Laguna was aware in an abstract way that Squall and his editor didn't get along. Kiros had the honor of being Laguna's oldest friend. They'd served in the war together, been through a million nasty situations together. They hugged each other.

In perfectly manly ways, of course.

Squall was his son and his lover and sometimes Laguna wondered if Kiros didn't know that they fucked wildly whenever possible. Maybe he'd known for years and only tolerated it because he'd tolerate anything from Laguna, no questions asked.

And maybe he knew in a way that he'd never admit to himself that Kiros loved him. It was a conflicted love, old and a little tangled up with friendship and obligation and something like desire through a stained glass, but it was still there. Laguna ignored it, focused on the good old days and the comfortable present and just...coasted. How long he thought he could keep it up, he didn't know, but it had worked pretty well so far. After all, he'd been fucking Squall for over five years and deliberately not fucking Kiros for well over twenty.

Only, Squall was jealous.

In all likelihood, Squall had convinced himself that Laguna and Kiros were sleeping together behind his back, patiently waiting for him to go into work or on a trip so that they could be alone together. Squall was fighting back the only way he knew how: Laying claim to Laguna in obvious, deliciously painful ways. Last night had been wild and good and just so damn wrong that Laguna could feel all the emotion behind it in every tweaking pain—was aware of it now like it lingered in the air around them like a ghost, a phantom.

Squall had done things with his tongue that Laguna was sure were illegal. Squall's tongue, maybe more than the lube and the fingers, had opened Laguna open for all that cock he'd been fed. His body had eaten it up, taken it so deep he thought he might choke on the dick in his ass.

Laguna shifted and felt every thrust inside him from last night like a tattoo against his skin. Squall had been marking territory like a dog. Maybe he'd been reading his day planner and knew Laguna had to meet with Kiros again today and had made the bite marks and bruises as visible as they were as a way of saying without words "Mine. Back off."

Maybe.

But Squall was a complicated man and one who played things close to the vest at all times. Laguna would never know his motivations entirely and would never dare ask.

He thought, sometimes, to liberate Squall from the delusion that he and Kiros were an item. It was cruel to keep him in the dark. Then again, sometimes he played to it because it was fun to see Squall get jealous over him; fun to watch him turn possessive and cave-man. And the sex when Squall was jealous…it was worth it.

So, yes, sometimes he flirted with Kiros. Touched him when he knew Squall was watching. Laughed too low and loud at his jokes. Leaned in a little too close. It was so petty, but Laguna found he was addicted to the flint in Squall's eyes, the tightening of the muscles in his jaw. Squall when he was jealous radiated danger and it made Laguna's cock turn hard so fast it was like hitting an on button. It made him want to beg, to beg like a bloody tart for Squall to push him up against a wall and take him fast and dirty.

"We could go shopping," Laguna suggested after a moment. "You don't go in for another four hours."

"You want to go buy a new bed?" Squall asked, eyebrow quirked. He had scratches running down the entire length of his back from Laguna's blunt nails and teeth marks on his shoulders.

Laguna wished the world could see them.

"This one didn't make it," Laguna said huskily. "We need something...sturdier."

Squall crossed his arms. "Sturdier?"

"Well, yeah," Laguna said, throwing his arms into the air. "Maybe something wood this time. Especially if you plan a repeat of last night. Ever."

He could still feel the headboard slick beneath his fingers with his sweat, grasping at it convulsively; remember every shudder at the growl against his neck. Remembered trying to retreat from the brutal invasion into his body even as his mouth begged for the pleasure it knew was coming.

"Hold still. Don't move. Don't you dare fucking move. Take it. Take it all. Come on, ride my cock."

"Hnng, Squall. It's too much. Slower. Please…hnnn!"

"No. Fucking take it."

And he had, all of it and keened for more.

"Does it still hurt?" Squall asked in a low hiss against his ear.

"Nnnng. No. God, you feel good. You know you feel so good to me."

"Is there a problem?" Squall asked flatly, snapping Laguna away from his thoughts.

"I look like I've been mugged," Laguna said, holding out one bruise-covered arm as evidence. There were certainly more where those came from. "So maybe I should be the one asking you: Is there a problem?"

Squall's jaw flexed. His posture was so defensive Laguna imagined that this is what he looked like when he was interrogated. Maybe this was how he'd looked when they'd captured him over there in that bloody, stupid, useless war. He'd never given in or given up and the world had called him a hero for it. He'd been sent home scarred and battered but never broken.

Now he looked immovable, unflappable.

"If you don't want me touching you," Squall began but stopped abruptly when Laguna let out a surprised laugh.

"Squall, that's not what this is about. You can't seriously believe I don't like sex with you: We both know I do. I just want to know what you were going for last night. I mean, I look like I've been very well fucked. If that was your ultimate goal, congratulations!"

When he was angry, his words ran together and his vowels did strange things. He knew it became obvious at times like this that he wasn't from here, but controlling it was hard when his mind was twisted up with other things. It was probably another sore spot with Squall that Kiros and Laguna easily slipped back to their native way of speaking when they got together, like a shared bond between them no one else could ever understand.

Squall glared at him and he glared right back.

And Laguna's anger even surprised him. He suspected it was partly self-loathing. He was furious with himself for not being angry at all with Squall about the rough treatment. Not in any real way. They both knew he liked it that way.

"Harder! Please! Harder, harder!"

Still, he should have been at least irritated with Squall over his jealousy. He wasn't and that was probably the root of it all: He wasn't capable of staying mad at Squall. Never had been, actually.

"I just want to know what you were thinking. Is this because of Kiros?"

Squall's eyes hardened and his nostrils flared. Too low and deadly he said, "I fucked you like that because you like it."

Laguna took a calming breath. "Yes, okay, we have rough sex quite a lot, but last night was more than that. You were…rougher than usual."

Squall's eyes suddenly went dark and Laguna didn't have time to blink, more or less move. The hand around his neck was unforgiving, crushing.

"You liked it," Squall growled. "Admit it."

Around the constriction in his throat, Laguna gasped. "Squall," he tried.

"Admit it," Squall demanded, all flint.

"Yeah. Yes. Okay. You know I did. You know how I like it."

"I know now you like it," Squall agreed. "I'm the only one who can give it to you."

Unspoken were the words, "Not Kiros, not anybody else."

The mattress was as soft as ever underneath his back as he was forced down onto it, but decidedly lower with the legs snapped and useless. He was pushed against it as his legs kicked apart. They were bent loosely at the knee and slipping under so that he was almost kneeling on the ground. His back was bowed too far, almost painfully and he stared up wide-eyed at Squall's angry face.

No, not angry.

Laguna licked his lips, slowly. Then again. "Say it," Squall said and his fingers flexed against Laguna's neck.

Laguna could barely speak at all, throat dry with lust and something like fear.

"Squall," he croaked, but Squall only raised his voice. "Say it!"

Laguna gasped and managed to find the strength to stammer, "Nobody else can fuck me like you do. Nobody else." And maybe he did it deliberately, fighting back the only way he knew how: With words.

Yes, with a few simple words he had implied that he compared Squall to all the other men who came and went and fucked him because he was one hell of a lay and gagging for it when his young lover was out of town.

Yes, all those imaginary men he wasn't fucking because he was like a heroin addict and Squall's dick was the best high in town.

Laguna smirked internally: He was so going to hell for letting Squall's mind go down the wrong garden path, but first, he was going to get another round of filthy sex pushed to perfection by the sting of jealousy.

Above him, Squall's face was an amusing collage of anger and lust and violent intent towards anyone who had touched Laguna and to Laguna himself for letting any other cock inside him when obviously he was only supposed to ride one cock and suck one cock for the rest of his life.

Laguna smiled weakly and readied himself for a new round of bruises.

He reached up and cupped Squall's cheek, tender and soft—a hilarious gesture in the midst of all this potential rage. Squall looked fit to kill something and Laguna decided not to invite Kiros over for a while, for the man's own safety.

"Come on, Squall," he said bemusedly. "Give it to me on this piece of shit broken down bed. Give it to me one more time before we put her out to the curb. I want one last good memory of the old girl."

Squall's face showed surprise, but his hand finally loosened and Laguna took a gasping breath of air, grateful. Squall's knee came up and pushed into the bed beside Laguna as he leaned over, movements powerful and deliberate like a jungle cat.

The kiss was restrained, explosives imminent but held at bay, waiting. Laguna could feel already that this was going to be good.

Against his lips, Squall asked: "You're still sore?"

"Yeah. But it's okay," Laguna breathed. He slithered a hand down, got his pants undone and wiggled them down his ass and then off. Then he make quick work of Squall's fly before pulling him close, legs going around his waist gracefully until their cocks brushed together and Laguna had to gasp.

"I don't want to hurt you," Squall said, nipping along Laguna's already battered neck.

"Liar," Laguna said and ignored the way Squall tensed beneath his hands.

"Laguna—" Squall tried, but again he was interrupted.

"Don't worry," Laguna whispered, twisting a little to brush their bodies together again, "you already broke the bed, so you can't break it again. Make it as hard as you want. You know I can take it."

"Like this?" Squall whispered. He licked his fingers in an obscene way and then brought them down between their bodies, pushed in. It wasn't enough, especially after last night and this was going to hurt. But Squall was asking if Laguna wanted it some other way, maybe wanted him to go get lube or to take him from behind for comfort. If maybe Laguna just wanted to rub himself off against Squall and then suck Squall dry. He was saying that he'd do it the way Laguna wanted but it was a lie.

Squall wanted it like this and he made that clear as his fingers scissored inside Laguna then stabbed in a few times. Then a third finger was shoved in, not gently, not smoothly.

"Gnn," Laguna said and arched at the pain which wasn't really bad. Never bad with Squall. "Just like that," he answered. "Don't stop." Because he wanted what Squall wanted at the end of the day. At the end of every day, actually.

And if Squall wanted to fuck him even more raw with only spit for lube so that the friction set his ass on fire and made his hole sore for days and days…

Then yes, he was a horny little twink after all, begging for cock like the slut he was.

"Fuck me," he chanted. "God, Squall, please!"

"So hot," Squall said, twisting his fingers once, twice. "I broke the bed last night, but can I break you?" he demanded. His fingers slowly slid out then, trailed around his red, irritated hole like a loving caress before a beating and Laguna braced for what came next. It was never easy to take all of Squall. He filled him up, made him weep with the stretch of it, the burning invasion and friction and tirelessness.

God he loved it. He was a whore for Squall every time. His hole was hungry for it, fluttering with the loss of those fingers, so fucking sore from last night and about to get worse.

He screamed and screamed and cried and tried to push Squall away and pull him closer at the same time as Squall just ground himself in thick and hot and leaking come, bareback, no lube, fucking, fucking, jerking his hips.

And it was endless; how long was he? How thick and solid with blood and need?

Laguna's hands scrabbled on Squall's hips as his own squirmed away, then dove back, taking all he could until—

"God, fuck, Squall you're—" Laguna tried to say but it all came out a mess. He wanted to convey the idea that no one he'd ever fucked had been this big and this demanding and had fit inside him like he'd always been made to be there—too much and just enough and burning through him like embers.

Squall sac finally came to rest against Laguna's ass and their breath was too loud in the bright room and Laguna had a moment of folly thinking that it was barely lunchtime and he was already getting his ass turned out.

He'd never walk again.

He laughed, but not with humor, shifted to feel that cock hard inside him. "You can't break me, Squall," he said. "You can try, but you'll never succeed."

Squall growled then pulled out, fucked his way back in hard and too fast. Laguna cursed, twisted, called out Squall's name.

Squall's name.

And Squall smiled against his neck, predatory, knowing. "You're so tight," he said. "You feel this good every time. This is what you're body's for, to take my cock whenever I want."

Laguna clutched at his shoulders through his shirt, held on because he felt like he was about to rattle apart.

"Squall, god, please!"

"You're mine," Squall said and licked at the salty skin behind his ear, smelled Laguna's long hair where it tumbled out of his ponytail.

"And I broke you a long time ago."

With each thrust, the broken bed creaked and groaned and Laguna Squeezed his eyes together and knew that this is what it felt like to be loved by Squall.

And maybe, just maybe, he really was broken. As broken as the bed and as broken as Squall never would be.

Author's Ramblings:

Okay, so, someone once complained that Laguna always bottoms in my fics. To this I would like to say, "Urkljalskdjfajfs;?"

Because, well, yeah, it's true. I think I tried to write Laguna as a top and never finished it. I'll try again one day. Until then, stay tuned for more pointless, plotless sex with Squall on top! Woot!