The sounds of sex were deafening. The gasping, the moaning, the sound of skin against slick against skin, the squeaking noises of the bedsprings and the way the headboard would occasionally slam against the wall. It was hot and it was sticky and there were lips pressing kisses against exposed flesh. Then, in the middle of the crescendo
Squall woke up, blinking out the sleep from his eyes and staring at the ceiling from his lonely bed.