Just a late-night one-shot without sense or purpose. Not linked to any of my other stories, but hopefully suitably entertaining nonetheless!

Warning for the quirky ones:Shounenai (boy-love) ahead.

It was Saturday night. Or rather very early on Sunday morning.

In a pub in downtown Balamb, Squall emptied his glass. It was the 'one' in 'one too many beers', but he was currently too inebriated to care. That was what a boys' night on the town was all about. And they had done well: Irvine, for one, was in the men's room wrenching his stomach for the third time that evening, and Zell was vast asleep on the bar surrounded by various glasses containing a diversity of half-finished mix-drinks.

The esteemed Commander of Balamb Garden waiting for the bartender so he could ask for a refill, but the man was too preoccupied with washing glasses to noticed him. Looking around for something else to do, Squall found the only other person of their company who could hold his drinks reasonably well sitting on the barstool next to him.

"Sso, Sseifer," he started, slurring slightly.

At hearing his name, the blonde looked up from his glass, his fourth straight whiskey of the evening. "Yeah, what is it?"

Now it's a well-known fact that if you've got blood in your alcohol rather than the other way around, chances are that your choice of topics is not the most intelligible. And Squall's current course of conversation was a textbook example. Not really sure about what he wanted to do now he had Seifer's attention, he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"If you were gay… what type of men would you fall for?"

Seifer, who was not nearly as drunk as the rest of them, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

Squall pressed his lips against the side of the empty glass and glance sideways to the ever-polishing bartender. "Fer argument's ssake, 'f coursse," he finally said between his lips and the glass.

The tall blonde pursed his lips. The fact that he was sober enough to recognise an odd situation when he found himself in one wasn't a guarantee that he had the wits about him to know when to hold his tongue. But then again that wasn't one of his virtues even under best of circumstances.

"I'm not gay," he started after a few moments of well-faked thought. "But if I was, I think I'd go for the slender type. Y'know, lean build, nice ass. Nothin' too bulky."

Squall grinned. "Sso, no Raijdjin."

"Nuh-uh, definitely not."

"You'd pref'r me?"

"Probably."

"Gooood… Hey, barkeep! How 'bout a refill?"

The bartender growled in Squall's general direction, but opened another bottle of Galbadian import beer and put it in front of him.

Happy as a kid, Squall held the bottle over his glass and tried to pour. He missed the glass. Twice.

"Ah, screw this," he muttered, shoving the glass aside and putting the bottle to his lips. He gulped half of it down in one go.

Seifer smirked at the sight. "I should get a picture of this."

Squall put the bottle down and glared at his one-time rival.

"Nhnno, y' don't. Y're not Selphie."

"Too bad."

Seifer tilted his head back and poured the remainder of his whiskey down his throat. He came back smacking his lips and ramming the glass on the bar. Without being asked, the bartender filled it up again.

With an amused grin on his lips, Seifer observed Squall as the younger man fiddled with the beer bottle in his hands, apparently deciding if there was an even more efficient way of getting as much of the alcohol into his system in the shortest possible time. He chuckled. The Lion of Balamb was impossibly intoxicated, and it was funny as hell.

"So what about you?" he asked after a while, knowing very well what a rat he was for teasing Squall while he was at his most vulnerable.

Squall, of course, was completely clueless.

"What about me?"

"If you were gay, who would you go for?"

Squall's face split as his grinned ear to ear. "Ha, thasssa no-brainer!"

"Oh, really?" Seifer retorted innocently while taking a sip. This was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"'f Course," came Squall's answer, again between his lips and his drink. "I'd go f' you."

A spray of whiskey squirted from Seifer's mouth.

"WHAT!" he exclaimed loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear, and for Zell to wake up.

"Zzzit time te go home yet?" the martial artist inquired sleepily.

Seifer glared at him. "No, go back to sleep!" Then he returned his attention to Squall, who was in the process of finishing his beer. "You're fuckin' pullin' my leg, right?"

Squall looked at the blonde and smirked in a feral way that was so out of place it scared Seifer.

"Dunno 'bout legs," he slurred. "Bu' the fuckin' part ssoundss good…"

"Someone'sss getting' laid?" said another voice, slurring even worse than Squall.

Both gunblade specialists looked up at Irvine, who had come crawling from the restrooms to rejoin his drinking buddies. He looked pale and a bit greenish.

"Not you, Irvine," answered Seifer flatly. "No one's gonna do you with your breath smellin' like that."

Irvine held his hand in front of his face and breathed. His face contorted. "Ye're right, man. I'll be over there, fresjenin' up."

"You do that."

While the cowboy sat down on the other side of Zell and ordered himself another drink to wash down the remnants of the previous drinks, Squall lunged and grabbed Seifer's hand.

Seifer looked at Squall's hand laying over his, and then up at the man himself. His brows arched in silent question.

Squall giggled.

Seifer's brows arched higher.

Then Squall leaned closer, hanging off the edge of the barstool. "Y'know, y're very handsome in this light," he smirked.

Unsure how to deal with a commanding officer getting way too familiar, Seifer leaned back a bit in an attempt to keep more than four inches between his face and brunet's.

Squall in turn only leaned closer, eventually losing his balance. His legs had given up hope of carrying him some two hours and ten drinks ago, so he grabbed hold of Seifer's collar to make up for the lack of support. But as usual, the blonde proved to be not of the supportive kind.

"Hmm, cozy…" was Squall's reaction when they found themselves on the floor next to the bar.

Less than happy with the skinned knee and torn shirt that Squall's little escapade had earned him, Seifer opened his mouth to make one of his trademark sarcastic comments. But he never got time to utter so much as a syllable before something wet closed over his lips.

The brunet's kiss was clumsy and drenched in alcohol. Seifer had received innummerable kisses in his life that were both tastier and better performed than this one, but still he found himself unable to do anything but sit there and lean into the touch.

After enduring a full two minutes of alcohol-induced snogging, Seifer knew he was hooked for the rest of his life.

Squall, on the other hand, wasn't even aware of his own existence anymore the moment he broke contact. The only thing the Commander was interested in now was finding some place soft and comfy. Or more alcohol, whichever presented itself first. Pressing his face against Seifer's shoulder, he found the first. With a content look on his face, he snuggled up against the blonde's neck and fell asleep.

Seifer cursed under his breath. His body was screaming for more attention, but the only legal thing he could about that right now was hope. Hope that come morning Squall would remember it all and be more than willing to give a repeat performance. Or that the brunet wouldn't remember a thing. Every other scenario would result in painful embarrassment for both of them.

He hoisted Squall up and onto his shoulder, swaying invariably once he stood up in a way that he considered to be the right angle to the floor. The floor did not agree. Still trying to find his balance, he glanced over at the other two men. Irvine and Zell were both sound asleep and snoring loudly amidst an impressive collection of used glasses.

The clock on the wall behind the bar chimed four o'clock.

Seifer sighed. "I think it's time to call a cab..."

R&R please!