[Misc] Secrets of the Heart 01

Chapter One: When I’m Gone

I was almost rudely awakened from a happy and, for once, nightmare-less slumber by a loud snort and an arm in the face. The bed shook as the other occupant forcefully turned over, which resulted in the heretofore mentioned arm landing on my nose. I woke up rather groggily, my mind not quite alert, which was odd for me. I am sure that if someone had been looking at me, they would have seen a satisfied look to my face. I wouldn’t say a smile, not yet, but content was probably there.

There was comfortable warmth beside me that was accompanied by a scent that I could never forget… spice and mystery… pain and hunger… desire and sensuality… it was unique, it was all Mugen. I rolled over lazily, pushing the offending arm off of my nose and curling up closer to his warmth, laying my head on his shoulder. He always seemed to be made of fire, as if there was something within him, burning, consuming. I always seemed to be cold, no matter how close to the fire I huddled…

I said that I was almost rudely awakened because I was happily drifting back into sleep, cradled against his warmth, one arm flung over him. My mind began to wander to the past, present, future as I slipped into the dream world albeit rather slowly.

My life before I met Mugen and Fuu… the dojo and the other students I trained with. They will still be coming after me I know. I will fight only to survive. If only it weren’t necessary. The sense of honor and duty instilled in me from birth that I just cannot shake. A desire for redemption for a crime that even I have trouble sometimes believing. Secrets… always secrets.

And then home… father and my brothers… Mugen never need know of them. For all intents and purposes, they are dead. As dead as I am to them. I have no home now, no place to belong. I just wander unceasingly, unwilling to take my own life… yet, quick to take that of others.

Fuu and the Sunflower Samurai, who any person with any sense could have figured out was her father all along, and the many adventures we had together. Reuniting with Mugen made me wonder how she was doing. Maybe we will see her on our travels…

And then finally finding him after this time, rekindling a desire that had burned once, bright and true, that had fizzled when the world came crashing in. This thought startled me into alertness faster than a bucket of freezing water poured over my head. My eyes snapped and I was now unfortunately and thoroughly awake, a pit beginning to form in my stomach and a sinking feeling in my heart.

…What if this ended up just like last time? The both of us waking up to realize with horror that not only were we naked, but we had no recollection of what had happened.

Or at least that is what we claimed.

I certainly remembered every detail, well, my dreams did anyway. He was ashamed of what had happened then, why would now be any different? We pushed that little incident aside and never spoke of it again. Why would we? Neither of us could give conscious thought to anything and I was not going to bring it up when it obviously bothered him. I think he knew on some level, as did I, that both of us remembered.

How could I forget?

So much passion… unlike anything I have ever felt before. Not even when I was with… well, never mind about that.

Mugen mumbled something in his sleep, not even I could decipher it, distracting me from my thoughts. Instantly, my eyes wandered over to him, watching him. I could not help myself, he was so damn sexy. He shifted his body, curling one arm around me, cradling me. He unconsciously licked his lips, that one action instantly erotic. I thought for a moment that he would wake up and I would be faced with the startling truth, unprepared. But no, he just angled his body more towards mine, heaved a great sigh and fell back into a deep slumber, the sheets slipping down from around his midsection to reveal of more of his lean, smooth stomach, tanned skin stretched out so enticingly. I just wanted to run my tongue up and down that caramel-colored expanse, tasting him as I had the night before.

Thoughts of that and other things that I suddenly wanted to do to the rough swordsmen instantly sent messages straight to my groin and I had to bite back a groan. Thank god he slept hard! It was impossible to think clearly with that much temptation in front of me. Sighing reluctantly, I pushed down all urges to kiss him until he woke up so I could ravage him senseless… then again… that idea does sound appealing…

I shook the hentai thoughts out of my mind and sighed again. What if he woke up with the same startled reaction as that other night? I could very well be getting myself straight into a fight I was in no mindset to win. Last night was… special… but I cannot say how he feels… not until I know whether or not alcohol comes into the equation or not. It does tend to change things for the worse.

Pretending as if I could not see him snoring all peacefully, and looking innocent (that’s a first), I edged carefully out of the bed, trying not to disturb his slumber. I snorted at that thought. He slept like a rock! I quietly found my clothes and got dressed, grimacing for only a moment at the soreness in my legs. For all his lithe and lean looks, Mugen was not exactly a light person. I found some of my clothes in the oddest of places. I won’t even stop to wonder how his hakama made it under the single dresser next to my pale kimono. Or how my glasses somehow managed to be folded neatly on top of the dresser either. I could not remember taking them off… or even if I was wearing them… strange.

Retrieving my daisho from their abandoned position in a corner, I sat cross-legged in front of the door, blocking the only entrance/exit from the room. My swords sat at my right hand within easy reach, it never hurt to be careful, as I tried to relax. I needed to think, I needed to decide what to do. I tried to clear my mind to meditate, fingers unconsciously rubbing on my blue prayer beads. Symbols of time not so long past… but long enough to leave an empty pain in my heart. One that I do not wish to dwell upon…

Which brings me to thoughts about my current situation, which has unfortunately disturbed my meditation. The sudden appearance of a bit of light brought my attention to the window. The sun was just rising and casting pale shadows in the room. Too early for me to be up but I wasn’t about to crawl back into bed, not with my heart all curled up in knots. And knowing Mugen, he would probably be asleep for another four hours. I did not want to things to end up like last time.

Then, there were many things that we did not know about each other. Of our pasts and who exactly we were. So many secrets… Would he hate me, I wonder, if he found out what I did? I mean, if he truly realized? I mean, he had obviously done some things… prison tattoos gave him away… but still, there is a difference here.

He had said he loved me last night and I had returned the words. It was hard to believe, it almost appeared surreal. He seemed sincere; even he could not hide the hurt I saw in his eyes. My mind returned to that moment…


…Breathing hard, lost in the symphony of our bodies moving as one, thrust meeting thrust, it was not long before I found myself reaching that crescendo. Mugen emitted gasps and moans, getting louder and louder even as the door behind him thumped.

“Unn… I’m close…” he moaned. I took his mouth with my own, thrusting up hard into him, buried to the hilt.

“Shit, Mugen… so good,” I gasped in return.

“AAH! I… I love you!” Mugen screamed, cumming loudly with a spurt of warm sticky liquid, covering our two bodies.

His profession stirred me forward. I thrust wildly, erratically until I came in a spurt of wild emotion, pleasure filling me to the bone. I clenched his ass in my hands, squeezing, feeling, filling him up on the inside with my cum until finally I collapsed against his body, trapping him between myself and the door…

…“Did you… really mean it?”

Mugen turned towards me, our eyes meeting, locking. Inwardly, I felt an arousal beginning to start again. “Don’t even think about pitying me,” he answered, a bit of his stubborn prideful nature peeking in.

“I wasn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter then.” He looked away, shifting his body from me as if he was ashamed.

“Of course, it does.” I grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to turn and look at me. “I love you. I always have.”

“Tch!” he retorted, trying to pull away. “You do not mean that.” My grip on him remained firm. I wouldn’t let him from me this time; I could not live through it.

I looked into his eyes; saw the scared soul of a little boy looking back at me, the hurt soul of someone who has been destroyed over and over again. “I would not lie to you, Mugen.” …

*end flashback*

He had claimed he loved me in the heat of the moment. When I asked him about it, asked if he truly meant what he said, he seemed so uncomfortable, so lost. He could not even look me in the eye. Like he was afraid that I would not return the feeling. And him afraid of something, well, that put even more of a fear into my heart. It was then that I grabbed him, held him close to me…

He is so much stronger than I. He is not locked up with himself like me; he doesn’t hide from the world, instead embracing it with open arms. Sure he is uncouth and vulgar with no proper manners, but to be anything else he would not be Mugen; he would be something beaten, destroyed by custom and rules. Yet, even with his strength, he feared the emotion that he may have felt then.

I had told him that I loved him in return. He acted as if he did not believe me, like I was incapable of feeling that emotion. I had to convince him, show him that I was not leaving, not like the last time. But it still seemed like he never really accepted what I told him.

It was my fault in the beginning anyways, letting him walk away from me without another word. That first time, I was the first to pretend that I had forgotten what had happened. In truth, I did not want him to think less of me. How foolish I was!

What will be his reaction I wonder, when he wakes up? Will he remember last night, his actions and his words? How will he handle it? It would not surprise me if he left, after all, what have I to keep one such as him? Nothing to offer, very little to gain, that is what he would have in me. I doubt that I am enough for him, that he could love someone such as I, or even desire for that matter.

He would wake up, be furious when he realized what happened, and storm out of the inn, on the road again. I would never see him again, left alone in my own torment.

He is not one to settle down with just one, is he?

Though in the end he did seem quite loyal to the girl and I. Never can tell with him, his emotions are easily changeable. Sake does have that nasty side effect of making someone say or do things that they would later regret. No… he would never stay with one such as me… he deserves better.

I got up from the floor, my actions decided. I would leave before he had the chance to hate me, leave before he broke my already fractured heart. There was only so much an abandoned ronin could take; only so much I could handle anymore. When had I ever gotten the foolish notion that things were possible between us?

We were too different he and I, fire and water, moon and sun, life… and death. There was no way he could truly love me and no way could I ever be good enough for him. I want to be there for him, watch his back in battle, act like a foolish little girl in love… but I just cannot.

How do I know that he will not leave me? How do I know that when I need him, he won’t be a leaf in the wind?

To save myself the heartache, to save myself the pain, I will end it first. Before he can reject me, before he can forget me… why did I ever think to find him? Why did I have to be the foolish one?

I have but one choice…one path to take…

I moved swiftly, hands on the knob when the creak of the bed and a following groan made me freeze in my tracks. I don’t know why I didn’t just open the door; I don’t know why I didn’t just walk out.

“Jin?” I heard him, calling my name as if it were a question, his voice thick with sleep and confusion.


[Misc] Incomplete

~Empty spaces fill me up with holes
Distant faces with no place left to go
Without you, within me, I can’t find no rest
Where I’m going, is anybody’s guess~
When we parted a month ago I should have considered that I would never see him again. But there was always that belief in the bottom of my broken heart, in the inner twisting of my mind that we would all meet again. After all, how many times before had we split, and found each other again? Why should this time be any different?
I should have taken the opportunity to tell him then. Before he was gone, vanished like the mystery he was the enigma that makes him, well, Mugen. I feel empty aside, a part of me is missing now. I am trying to find him even now, though the chances of our paths crossing again, except through fate, are miniscule at most.
We are both wanderers, he and I, and even though he can’t hear me. I still speak to him in my silent way. How many times have I walked into another anonymous town, staring into another’s stranger’s face, and thought I had seen his? There is still no home for me.
Cursed to wander, with my own self, broken.
I can’t believe I let him go. Let him turn from me, walking off in the opposite direction. I did not, or more like could not, even watch him go, just felt his presence, slowly fading off into the distance. I knew, even then, that I should have said something, anything, to make him stay, to tell him the truth. I had turned around, but he was only a dot on the horizon. And then nothing more. Gone.
I still dream of him, every night. Ghostly images haunting me. Visions of caramel colored skin flush with my own pale, pale skin. Reality and fantasy mesh in my dreams, sometimes; I don’t even remember what was real anymore. I swear I can feel the heated press of his lips against mine…
Another town, another group of nameless faces on the horizon. And here I am without money again. Oh Mugen, we never had money in those days did we? Between Fuu eating and him visiting all those damn whorehouses…we never had any money. I laugh because even though we never had any money, we sure managed to spend it fast enough. But my joy is so short-lived…
I am haunted by what could have been and what never was. Our bodies meshing like one, moving to the rhythm, the ultimate pleasure. Letting go of everything, our fears, our worries, our pride, and giving in to the one thing that matters.
The dusty road beneath me barely moves as I walk into the town. This is not exactly what you would call a bustling city. Just another tiny farm town in the middle of nowhere. A clash of red catches my eye in the crowd. My heart leaps thinking it is he. But no, just one of the farm kids. He has brown hair too, just like him…
~I try to go on like I never knew you
I’m awake, but my world is half asleep
I pray for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I’m going to be is incomplete~
It has only been a month, but I feel like I am slowly dying on the inside. There are moments of weakness, days of solitude, crunching together into this long period of utter monotony, trapped within my own thoughts. I travel the roads as if I do not really live, barely noticing what goes on around me. Waking only when danger threatens…and even then my responses are delayed. I am dying without him here.
I contemplated just once of forgetting him. Of moving on with my life, finding a love similar but not the same. But my heart, it…it would not take it. I cannot live without him, searching every day, until I can find him again. I hear rumors, always rumors, of places he has been, the hot-tempered swordsman with the uncouth mouth that is Mugen. I only thought once that if I forgot him, if I moved on, it would be easier to bear. Only once before I nearly killed myself. Gods, I miss him so much. I just can’t do it, just can’t forget…
My stomach clenches at me angrily. I cannot remember the last time I ate. The days seem to blend together, small events unimportant to me. Only the time matters, each minute, each hour I am without him. With my money pouch empty though, I have very few options. My stomach growls at me again, an event I cannot control. My emotions are so restrained, my face impassive, but still my stomach forgoes my training. Even he would laugh at this. Jin, the stoic one, his stomach grumbling uncontrollably. I smile only slightly, thinking of his laughter, it’s kind of funny to me if I think about it.
Tch, I sound like some love-besotted farm girl. But why deny the truth? Better to spend my life as this, then some love-forgotten fool. At least I felt it, at least my heart is not cold, and at least I knew him for a time…
I head for the bar. At least there someone is always looking for a sword-for-hire, and I am very much that. It is the best idea I have. He always did have some of the more creative ways for us to earn money even if he was a lazy cur leaving Fuu and I to do most of the work.
I walk in, the instant smell of several unwashed bodies and drunken men instantly assailing my senses. I refrain from wrinkling my nose but the disgust I suppose, is plainly evident on my face. Ai, I have not had a bath in a long time either. Nearly three days now… As my eyes slowly adjust to the dim lighting, I scan the bar. It is an automatic response of mine, gleaned from years of training and traveling alone…that is until the fateful day he, I, and that girl crossed paths in the teahouse. Things were never the same for any of us after that.
Just another bunch of ugly strangers here, as usual. It seems that is all my fruitless searching has turned up.
With slow sure steps I walk boldly to the counter, sitting calmly in one of the many seats. The server, an older man with squinted eyes, the shifty type, he wouldn’t have trusted him, came up to me, bowing and scraping.
“Sir, what can I help a samurai, for I see the swords at your side, and a fine-looking samurai as yourself for that matter, today?” His words came in all a rush, in a squeaky voice, rusty with age. I am used to this by now. How I sometimes hate my features…a pretty boy is what I think they called me.
“I have no money,” I say quietly, not really meeting the man’s eyes. Would hate to give him the wrong impression. There are things I would do to eat, and then things I would rather die first than do. I still some of my dignity left. There is a line I will not cross, no, not even to see him again. “Perhaps you know someone who needs a sword?”
The man seemed to ponder my question before his lips curved into a smile that did not ease my suspicions in the least. “I might. But I would hate to suggest someone whose skills are perhaps shall I say, unproven?”
My anger bristles. “I have yet to fail in my duty,” I say coolly. No need to let my anger show. It would only let the fool think he has won.
“Don’t listen to him Gouya. He still hasn’t killed me.”
My eyes widen at the sound of that voice. I cannot help my outward reaction. I do not turn though. I do not want him to see the shocked and relieved expression on my face. It is him.
“….” I prefer instead not to respond to him. I know his ways by now. My silence will make him madder than insulting him in return.
“Ah, Mugen. Problem solved I assume?” asked Gouya, scampering over to him. I am forgotten which makes me emit a small sigh of relief. I did not like the way that I was being looked at by the old man. Hate to have to kill someone on my first night in town.
“I’m here ain’t I? Bring me some sake old man,” ordered Mugen. He sat next to me at the bar, leaning back in his normal lazy way. Gods he looked so beautiful, he hadn’t changed at all. Gouya hurried off, I assume to fetch Mugen’s drink. He must have been in this town for longer than a day to have built up a reputation at the town bar.
I do not speak. I have waited to see him for so long, that my carefully planned speeches have gone flying out the door. He sat next to me, so I wait for him to make the first move. But there is so much I want to say, to do. I wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him, tell him how much I missed him, that I lo-, that I wanted him. But I would not embarrass myself in such a way. I had searched for a long time. I was not going to scare him off. Last thing I needed was for him to draw his sword and challenge me again. I did not want to fight him. Not right now.
~Voices tell me I should I carry on
But I am swimming in an ocean all alone
Baby, my baby, it’s written on your face
You still wonder if we made a big mistake~
“Have you seen Fuu at all?” That was his first question. No hello, no how you been? Just a question.
“No. Have you?”
“Nah. Guess she musta settled down with some farm boy or something. Probably had to pay him or something.” He laughed at his own joke. I loved that laughter. So full, so encouraging. He did everything like that, loudly and with great gusto.
“I can see you haven’t changed at all.”
“Neither have you.” Gouya showed up just then, bringing a quart of sake and one shot glass with him, a shot already poured. Mugen downed the liquor in an instant before refilling the glass again.
“You didn’t bring any for him.” He said to Gouya, scowling, arching that one bisected eyebrow. I don’t know why he insisted on having that one eyebrow cut in such a way, but it was sexy nonetheless.
“I don’t have any money,” I said. I still had not looked at him except out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t feel like I could and not flush or do something embarrassing. I could feel small tendrils of arousal beginning within me. I had wanted it so long. Besides, sake is what started this whole mess. Then again, if I had money, sake might be a good thing.
“Bring him a glass Gouya, put it on my tab,” mumbled Mugen, tossing another one back. He drinks liquor like he is never going to taste it again, savoring the flavor, rolling it around in his mouth, before gulping it all down. Then again, the way we were with money then, there was always the chance he was never going to get to drink it again. Gouya nods and runs off again. Mugen must actually pay his bills here…or made some other arrangement.
“I don’t need your charity.”
“Oh, my money is not good enough for you?” He questioned me haughtily, a fight on the edge of his words. Damn. I do not want to fight him right now, but I do want to take his money either. I still have some pride within me, even if I crave the touch of those strong, scarred hands.
“…” I preferred not to respond.
“Ahh, whatever, suit yourself,” said Mugen.
That was odd. He did not get even angrier or try and goad me into a fight. He let me have my way. I did not comment on this, instead rolling the thought inside my mind. Maybe he remembered that night as fondly as I did….maybe.
Gouya returned, placing a glass in front of me and some more sake. He bowed quietly and left. What had Mugen been up to here in this town?
“What are you doing here?” asked Mugen in his typical straight-forward way.
“Wandering,” I answer simply, staring at the sake in front of me. It couldn’t hurt to drink just a little, could it?
“Leaving tonight?”
“No. Out of supplies,” I respond. I stare in front of me.
“Then you are shit out of luck,” he suddenly stated. He tossed back another cup of sake, probably his fourth or fifth. Startled, I turned to look at him, getting my first full on view of him for the first time. God he looked so…so…delicious. I would have given anything to throw cautious to the wind and pounce on him, fucking him until he was senseless and called my name…again and again…
“I know for a fact that the inn has no more empty rooms. Something about some sort of festival starting tomorrow.”
“Hmm,” I say but really I am thinking hard. Damn! I was hoping not to have to spend another night on the hard, cold ground. No matter that I did not have any money, innkeep’s always need an extra hand in exchange for board of any type.
“But lucky for you I have my own very special room. You can sleep on the floor.” Mugen tossed back another shot of sake, grinning evilly at me.
At that statement, I was momentarily shocked into silence. Immediately, I reached forward and grabbed the sake, pouring myself a shot and downing it in one big gulp. Ooh, it burned on the way down but then it filled me with a pleasant warm sensation.
“Thank you.” I say softly, downing another shot of the sake. It does seem to give courage where there was none.
~I try to go on like I never knew you
I’m awake, but my world is half asleep
I pray for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I’m going to be is incomplete~
Mugen laughed. “So what have you been doing the past month.”
“Wandering,” I answer again. Could I really tell him that I had been searching for him? No, did not want to scare him away. I look over at him, our eyes meeting.
“Me too. Can’t beat that life.” He giggled, a strange sound. Apparently the sake was already beginning to work on him.
“Old times are hard to forget,” I say enigmatically.
“Yeah,” Mugen said, not laughing anymore. “It was more interesting when I was traveling with you guys rather than alone.”
“I admit the same.”
“Then that settles it. We should travel together. We’ll make more money that way then alone that’s for sure,” said Mugen, his eyes shone with the idea of more money. He looked so sexy that way, half inebriated and money-hungry. I let my guard down a little.
“I agree,” I say softly, reaching for another drink of sake. I think maybe it is my third or fourth, I am not sure. I haven’t really been counting. Before I grab it, his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. I look at him; confusion I know is evident in my face.
His face has taken on a strange look, his voice a low and wispy tone, “Remember the last time we sat and drank sake together.”
Ummm, how was I going to respond to that? Before both of us claimed we remembered nothing. I wanted to believe him, so I did. But he could have been lying just as I was.
“Some,” I reply simply. I wonder where he is going with this.
Mugen laughed, still retaining his hold on my hand. “I remember that you cannot hold your sake very well. Doesn’t take much.”
“Shut up,” I reply angrily, trying to pull my arm away from him though there is not much force behind my words or my actions. I was not really angry at him; I just wanted him to think I was. I just had this feeling. However, I did not succeed. He only gripped my wrist tighter, looking at me, a strange look in his eyes.
He leaned in close to me. “Make me.” He said huskily. That soft spoken demand was all it took, that and a little bit of sake.
I kissed him without hesitation. Leaning in, claiming that haughty mouth as my own. In the middle of the town bar, people all around, I did not care. He had dared me. Kissing him was just like I remembered. All hotness and spice wrapped in sexy desire. He opened his mouth slightly, letting me in. I was surprised but did not stop to question, pressing my lips against his soft ones. Ah….heaven.
Suddenly, he broke the kiss, pulling away from me, shock and amusement etched into his features. “I thought you said that you did not remember that night.”
“I lied,” I replied huskily, licking my lips. I wanted nothing more than to kiss him again and again. I leaned towards him, eager for another taste. He had let me kiss him once; he should let me do it again. Gods I desired him so much! All that muscular sexy goodness wrapped in mocha skin and hard-ass attitude.
He pulled back a little further. “Not in here,” he hissed softly.
I fell back into my seat, a bit of disappointment etched into my features. “Somewhere else?”
“Shit!” he cursed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe I am doing this.” He muttered.
I looked at him in confusion.
“Come on.” he says to me, getting up and giving a great yank on my wrist. I stumble forward a bit, almost falling on my face but he catches me. It feels so good to be in his arms, so familiar. I inhale his scent, reminding myself of what I had nearly forgotten.
“Where?” I ask almost dreamily. I clutch onto his body as if I can’t stand on my own.
“Where else?” answered Mugen with a smirk. I got his meaning, or at least I hope I did. He led me from the bar, ignoring the looks and catcalls of the men around him. Although my cheeks flamed with embarrassment, it did not seem to bother him much. Nothing ever did.
~I don’t mean to drag it on
But I can’t seem to let you go
I don’t wanna make you face this world alone
I wanna let you go~
Seconds after he crossed the threshold of the doorway into the room, Mugen attacked me. I was shoved against the wooden door, effectively slamming it shut. I looked up startled into his aroused eyes even as his lips crashed against mine bruising. His hot mouth met with mine, taking, claiming. His body pressed up against me. I was trapped between him and the door.
I could not help but groan with the feelings. It is more than I ever dreamed it would be. My hands moved up quickly, pulling his head into my face gently. I kissed him, returning his lusty advance, letting him know that I wanted it too.
“Shit…” moaned Mugen in my mouth even as he ground his hips and his hardness against me. The feeling of his body up against mine, and his arousal rubbing against my own, excited me more than anything I have ever felt. I moaned in response, my body shivering with the feelings.
His hands are roaming up and down my body, frantically trying to remove my clothes. I release his head, trying to take off his clothes as well. I want, no, I need to feel his skin touching mine, all that hot soft skin, pressed against mine. Clothing flies everywhere in the room, a shoe here, a sword there, a gi here, and a red coat there.
Finally, we are undressed. He presses up against the door, his skin slick with sweat already, pushing up against mine. His arousal and mine touch eliciting groans of pleasure from the both of us. It has been so long…
He strings a series of kisses and licks from my mouth to my neck across my shoulder and down my chest, stopping to tease my nipples. I gasp with the pleasure shooting from them to my aching groin. All the while I tease him with my hands, one grasped onto his weeping member the other tweaking his peaked nipples. He is so big in my grasp, so hard, so Mugen.
“Fuck Jin….won’t last…” he moaned, his voice muffled from his face being pressed into my chest.
“Not meant to,” I say shortly, stroking him faster and harder. He groans against me. I smile to myself…this is going to be so much fun. I love to hear him moan, scream my name, and I want to do it again. I let him take the lead in this but now I was going to have my way.
I pulled his head up and pushed him away from my body a little bit. He looked up at me in confusion, a flash of fear shooting through his eyes, of what? Rejection maybe? Doesn’t matter. I gently kiss him, taking away that look. He melts into my arms, working his tongue against mine. I take this opportunity to turn the tides against him. I turn around and push his body against the door; it shudders with the force even as he moans with pleasure. So…he likes it when I am forceful. His hands still flutter all over my body, touching all my hot spots. I copy his move from earlier, grinding up into him, flesh against him. I can feel the heat rising off his body, attacking me in waves. I am so hard…like I cannot wait anymore.
“I’m going to screw you up against this door Mugen, until you cry out for more.” I whisper into his ear, my hot breath wisping against him. I can feel him shudder with pleasure beneath me.
”Promises, promises.” he mutters, a smile breaking out on his face even as his eyes are closed, lost to the feeling. I reach down and grab his cock with one of my hands, gripping it, squeezing it enough to elicit another moan from him.

His hands reach out blindly and grab one of my hands. He takes it and puts one finger, my index finger, into his mouth sucking on it, coating with his saliva.

I groan with the effect his mouth has on me, but I do not lose sight of what I am doing. I squeeze his shaft as I begin to move my hand up and down, a slow and steady rhythm sure to draw out more of the soft sounds I enjoy. God he is so beautiful like this.
I just want to drive into him, end both he and my own torment. But that would only hurt him as I have not prepared him yet. No sooner had I finished this thought then he let go of my finger, leaving it coated with his saliva. Grinning sexily up at me, he crooked an eyebrow and I knew exactly what he wanted me to do with that finger.
I reached down between our sweat-slicked bodies reaching for that puckered opening. I attacked his mouth with my own, distracting him before I plunged in. Better to get it over quickly. He moaned into my mouth, his cries of pain quickly becoming cries of pleasure as I search to find that one sweet spot, that bundle of nerves that will make him scream my name. He was a vocal one, my Mugen.
Carefully, I slip in another finger, stretching him with a scissoring motion. He is breathing so heavily, the sound of it arousing me even further, and if it was possible, making me harder. I add another finger, ensuring that the later pain will be minimal. I can’t take it much longer.
Mugen squirms against my touch, his hands searching for something to grab onto, settling for my shoulders. His fingers dig into my flesh, I wince with the pain, even as the very action itself arouses me. He pushes himself down on my fingers inside of me, moaning with every move, every touch.
I smile slightly, though inside I am slowly losing control. I remove my fingers from him and wrap them around the two cheeks of his ass, lifting him up slightly. He helps me out by wrapping his long lean legs around my waist. Without waiting another moment, I place the tip of my erection at his opening and slowly guide myself in. I nearly die when I feel that wet tight heat wrap around me. It feels so good, I lose myself in the emotions.
“You’re so tight…” I pant, delighting in the feel of being inside him.
He arches his back and bites his lip with the pain. I try to soothe him by kissing him, taking his mouth in mine. I swallow up his moans of pain until they turn into moans of pleasure as I just gently move inside him, finding that sweet spot.
“Gods Jin…don’t go so slow!” moaned Mugen in my ear. His fingers dug into my shoulders, possibly drawing blood, but I did not care.
“Tell me.”
“Tell me Mugen.” I halt my movements within him. I want to hear him say it. I want to hear him tell me what he wants. Only then will it not be a dream, only then will I believe.
“Uhh…do it Jin…” His hips thrust downwards, trying to encourage me to move within him. It inadvertently squeezes me and I have to bite back a moan of pleasure.
“Say it!” I demand. I have to know.
“Fuck me Jin!” He screams, pulling my body closer to his.
A smile breaks out on my face, hearing my name on his lips. I drive up into him, hard and deep, like he wanted. My pace is no longer slow, but fast and quick, the both of us so near our release.
~I try to go on like I never knew you
I’m awake, but my world is half asleep.
I pray for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I’m going to be is incomplete~
Breathing hard, lost in the symphony of our bodies moving as one, thrust meeting thrust, it was not long before I found myself reaching that crescendo. Mugen emitted gasps and moans, getting louder and louder even as the door behind him thumped.
“Unn…I’m close…” he moaned. I take his mouth with my own, thrusting up hard into him, buried to the hilt.
“Shit Mugen…so good.” I gasp in return.
“AAH! I…I love you!” Mugen screamed, cumming loudly with a spurt of warm sticky liquid, covering our two bodies.
His profession stirred me forward. I thrust wildly, erratically until I come in a spurt of wild emotion, pleasure filling me to the bone. I clench his ass in my hands, squeezing, feeling, filling him up on the inside with my cum until finally I collapse against his body, trapping him between myself and the door.
We are both panting heavily, collapsed on top of each other as our bodies slide slowly to the floor. For moments, we do not even speak, just lie on the ground, our bodies intertwined and enmeshed.
Slowly, I pull out of his body, turning my face to look at him. I hesitate, knowing what I want, what I need to ask. “Did you…really mean it?”
Mugen turns towards me, our eyes meeting, locking. Inwardly, I feel an arousal beginning to start again. “Don’t even think about pitying me.” He answered, a bit of his stubborn prideful nature peeking in.
“I wasn’t.”
“Doesn’t matter then.” He looks away, shifting his body from me as if he is ashamed.
“Of course it does.” I grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to turn and look at me, “I love you. I always have.”
“Tch!” he answered, trying to pull away. “You do not mean that.” My grip on him remains firm. I will not let him from me this time; I could not live through it.
I look into his eyes; see the scared soul of a little boy looking back at me, the hurt soul of someone who has been destroyed over and over again. “I would not lie to you Mugen.” I say simply before pulling him towards me into a crushing kiss. I tell him my feelings through that kiss, relaying my love, my devotion, and the promises.
He feels stiff against me at first, as if he won’t let me in. But I am relentless in my pursuit. Wrapping my arms around him until he relaxes and returns my kiss. Finally we part, gasping for air.
“I searched for you this whole time.” I admitted to him.
His eyes widened when I told him that. As if he did not believe me. “I…I searched for you too.”
His words nearly choke me up. I never dreamed that he would be searching for me too. My decision is now made, as if there was ever any doubt. Swiftly I rise to my feet, even as he looks up at me in confusion. I reach down and grab his hand, pulling him to his feet. He stumbles into me, our bodies touching again. God the feel of him on me is indescribable.
I pull him towards me, even as I back up, heading towards the bed. When the back of my knees hit the corners of the bed, I collapsed backwards onto it, pulling Mugen with me, a surprised expression on his face.
I got into a comfortable position before I pulled him into my embrace, throwing a leg and an arm over his body, effectively pinning him beneath me.
“You are not getting away again,” I said simply, snuggling up closer to his body.
Mugen took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I did not want to leave the first time.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Guilt overwhelmed me, guilt over having not spoken before we parted. I wrapped my arms around him as tight as I could, pulling him into as warm and loving an embrace as I am capable. “I love you Mugen,” I said finally, allowing myself to relax.
“I love you Jin,” he responded before his breathing became even.
We drifted off into a tender sleep. I do not know what tomorrow will bring or what the future holds. But I know that with him at my side, I am no longer incomplete.


[FFVIII] Love Potion No. 8.5

“Bored!” whined Zell as his forehead connected with the cafeteria table. He had finished his usual lunch, twelve hot dogs and a glass of milk, to which Seifer had teased him endlessly. The little blond could shovel them in his mouth faster than most people could even eat one.

“Peace is boring?” questioned Seifer, who was sitting across the table from him, a smirk on his face as he devoured his hamburger and fries at a much slower pace than his friend.

It had been two years since Squall and the orphanage gang had defeated Ultimecia and returned from Time Compression. The world had settled into an uneasy peace that slightly hung on a thin thread. There were still minor skirmishes… but nothing along the scale of war.

Balamb Garden, like many of the others, found that it had become somewhat of a police force. Other than destroying the leftover monsters from the Lunar Cry and being hired out as bodyguards, the SeeD’s did not have much to do except train the dozens of children, whose parents now sent to Garden, hoping their little ones could become heroes like the legendary Squall Leonhart and his friends.

Zell mumbled something into the tabletop as he idly started kicking his feet against the ground, blue and black skater sneakers causing skid marks as he did so. He was ever the ball of energy, and he still wore the same clothes from two years previous, despite Selphie’s vehement protests.

“What was that?” questioned Seifer, cocking an ear towards Zell. “I didn’t hear ya, chicken wuss.”

The fighter, whose hair was for once not in its traditional spiked do, looked up with a scowl. “I said, why don’t you try to take over the world again so I can kick your ass!”

The larger man brought a hand up to his chest in mock hurt and outrage. “Why chickie! I’m impressed! You’ve really struck me deep.”

Zell scowled again, sitting back up and brushing his bangs out of his ocean-colored eyes, mumbling ‘asshole’ under his breath before speaking aloud. “Shut up, Seify!” He sneered, knowing he would for certain get a reaction out of that.

The gunbladist frowned and pointed a fork at his friend. “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

The blond fighter humphed, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his chest. “The same thing I said about calling me ‘chickie’!”

Seifer grinned and went back to eating his food.

Two years prior, Squall and company had gone in search of their friend, inviting him back to the Garden. They had met with some opposition at first, Esthar’s citizens threatening war and calling for the Sorceress Knight’s head… until it came to light that Squall was Laguna’s son. Then the threat died a painful death. The Estharian’s would believe anything Squall said, so long as their beloved Laguna backed him up. And in trying to get his son back on his good side, the President was willing to do anything for him.

Of course, all of the orphanage gang believed Seifer when he told them what had happened. How in the beginning, he had chosen to go with Edea, not knowing what he was getting into. By the time he realized the truth and wanted out, it was too late. Ultimecia had already sunk in her claws, and she wasn’t going to let him go, no matter how hard he fought.

She had taken over his body. He could see what he was doing, but it was like he was paralyzed to stop it. Almost if there were two minds within him, the Seifer-owned Ultimecia mind and the one he was before he ever met the Sorceress Edea. After Time Compression, he disappeared for a while, ashamed of what had happened. He wasn’t even willing to come back until Squall had talked with him. Whatever had been said between them, no one ever found out, but it was enough for Seifer to return. Raijin and Fujin were certainly glad to see their leader back and in his right mind.

Now two years later, all of that was mostly a dim memory in the light of all the other events. Cid turned over the Garden to Squall and opened up another orphanage with his now powerless wife, Edea. Trabia was in the process of being rebuilt, financed by a very generous General Caraway.

As many had expected, Squall soon grew tired of the pampered princess and ended their fairy tale romance. The so-called love that had blossomed, a result of circumstance and Squall’s overgrown hero complex, had quickly soured in the face of peace and condition. Rinoa wanted love and attention, money and shopping, while Leonhart just wanted to be left alone.

It was doomed from the start.

Used to getting her way, Rinoa had thrown a fit of Sorceress proportions, nearly blasting away all of Balamb in her rage. Unfortunately, her Knight was not amused. Squall deposited her on her father’s door step and slapped a bill and request for her presence in court two weeks later in his hand.

In retribution, General Caraway signed a check, hoping it would all just go away. Rinoa pouted, begging for Squall to return, but he would have rather faced Ultimecia again than that. The look on Selphie’s face at the sight of the check and the chance to rebuild her home, however, was enough for Squall to sigh, accept the gracious offer, and give a farewell ‘whatever’ to the bratty girl. He hadn’t looked back, and no one blamed him… Orphanage gang material, Rinoa was not.

“What? Teaching little hellions isn’t exciting enough for you?” Seifer teased, returning his fork to his meal and scarfing down the ketchup slathered hunk of meat.

Zell humphed again and kicked idly at the table, rattling the ice in their glasses. “Hurry up and eat, so we can go train.”

The other blond rolled his jade eyes. “For what? Guarding movie stars? Admit it, Dincht! You just want to see me sweat.”

“Puh-lease,” muttered Zell. “Don’t get so full of yourself.”

The gunbladist flexed a muscle as he grinned. “Wouldn’t you if you were me… but then again, chicken wusses can’t be cool–”

It was the fighter’s turn to roll his eyes. “If I remember right, last time it was you that was thrown on his ass!”

“How did I know that you two would begin eating without me?” interrupted a female voice, cutting off Seifer’s planned retort. “And, Zell, you scarfed down your hotdogs, again. One of these days you’re going to choke.”

The two males looked up find Quistis sliding into a seat next to Seifer. Her plate was rather healthy: a leafy salad, glass of water with lemon… and of course, her one indulgence, a rather large chocolate chip cookie that was fresh from the oven. The chain whip-wielder pressed her glasses up her nose as she regarded both men with a reprimanding look.

“Where’s puberty boy?” Seifer asked with a grin as he took a hefty swig of his own bubbly soda, guzzling it down with gusto.

Quistis sighed, looking at him over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses. “Where else? He still refuses to leave his office.” Her fork dug into the leafy greens, and she chewed thoughtfully. “Ever since the Rinoa fiasco, he’s been worrying himself to death about nonsense things.”

“I’m surprised he allowed Selphie her party,” the green-eyed man commented with a shrug of his broad shoulders. He was dressed as usual, zippered vest and slacks, having foregone the heavy trench coat thanks to the warm weather. His metal choker caught the bright light every time he moved his head, and his golden blond hair had grown slightly longer with time. Still, not much had changed about Seifer.

Zell tapped his chin thoughtfully as he raised a brow. “You know… he doesn’t seem to deny Ms. Tilmitt much of anything,” he added.

Quistis put down her fork, surprise evident in her features as her crystalline blue eyes widened. “You don’t think…” she questioned, trailing off.

The implications created a stunned silence. Zell was slack-jawed. Seifer was slightly pale, and Quistis seemed frightened. Until a loud cheerful voice broke through the quiet, accompanied by the sound of cowboy boots clomping against the cafeteria floor.

“Good!” exclaimed a perky brunette as she plopped down next to Zell, frowning slightly at his empty plate, as if she expected to find something there waiting for her. She squirmed as she got comfortable. “You’re all here! I need help decorating for the party tomorrow. I’m gonna use the ballroom, ya know!”

Zell sat up straighter as Irvine settled down on the other side of Quistis, nudging the blonde with his shoulder. “I just remembered!” exclaimed the fighter. “I have to do… something,” he finished lamely, jumping up from his chair and heading for the door. “I’ll catch you guys later… or whatever!” Three seconds later, the door was swinging shut behind him.

“Humph,” Seifer said, finally shoving away his empty plate as he licked his lips in enjoyment. “You’d think if chickie was bored, he’d want to help decorate.” He watched as Zell’s shorter form disappeared out the door.

“Zell? Bored?” questioned Irvine with a raised brow. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

It was long thought that Selphie and Irvine would quickly become a couple, especially at the end of the Sorceress War. Yet, the cowboy’s hands wandered a bit too much, and the perky brunette always considered herself a bit too free to settle down just yet. She was ditzy but not dumb enough to put up with Irvine’s antics. So for now, the two were best friends… or occasional friends with benefits. Whatever worked at the time.

Quistis shook her head, idly adjusting her glasses once more as she did so. “No, a bored Selphie is dangerous. Zell just gets depressed.”

The perky girl nodded knowingly, shoveling cookies into her mouth as Seifer tried to snag Quistis’ and got a fork to the hand for it. “He just needs a girlfriend.” She chewed thoughtfully.

“Hey!” Seifer protested indignantly. “Don’t I need one, too?”

Quistis laughed. “No, you need two,” she teased. “One for you… and one for your ego.”

Everyone chuckled at her comment as Seifer scowled, elbowing her playfully. When had he become such a pushover?

Irvine shifted in his seat, leaning over the table and snagging one of Selphie’s cookies, munching thoughtfully. “Wasn’t Zell talking to that girl from the library,” he questioned. “What was her name? Tamara… or something like that?”

The larger man snorted imperiously. “He’s too much of a chicken wuss to make a move.”


Quistis slapped the gunbladist upside the back of his head before returning to her meal, sipping lightly at the lemon-flavored water. “Stop calling him that,” she chided, while Seifer rubbed the back of his head and scowled deeper.

“He’s right, though,” the cowboy commented. “Two years… and Zell hadn’t so much as learned her number. He just needs a little push.”

Now, the entire time, Selphie had been silent, chewing on her cookies. And a quiet Selphie is usually a dangerous thing.

“That’s it!” the bubbly woman exclaimed. “I’ve come up with the perfect plan. C’mon, Irvy!” She leapt to her feet, determination in her eyes and chocolate crumbs on her face.

The gunman chuckled lightly as he slowly rose to his feet. “Too much sugar,” he muttered under his breath as he winked at Quistis. It seemed Selphie had already forgotten about recruiting her friends for decorating duty.

The two departed, leaving Quistis and Seifer at the table. The gunbladist leaned back, a smirk pulling at his face.

“So puberty boy and hyper girl, eh?” he asked slyly.

Quistis promptly smacked him on the back of the head once more. “Don’t be stupid,” she remarked, biting into her chocolate-chip cookie with a blissful expression on her face.

* * *

Zell hurried from the library as fast as his feet would carry him. He was NOT bored enough to spend five hours blowing up balloons and hanging up streamers in the ball room for Selphie. She was crazy when it came to decorating as everything had to be perfect. And if it wasn’t, she would order it taken down and redone. No one dared argue as she was scary when she was in decorating mode. Even Squall had been known to blanch.

The fighter shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked through the Garden, aimlessly heading for the training center. He had one pair of his less powerful gloves on, but that would be all he needed. Perhaps he could kill some time working off his frustrations, all of them.

He whistled as he walked, looking fondly around the place he called home. Much had changed, not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Garden was becoming more school-like and less military, with classes in science, mathematics and biology being emphasized more than field tactics and battle strategy. Rinoa was gone, not that Zell minded, and he had grown some, both physically and mentally. Seifer no longer irritated him like he used to, and now, they were friends.

All in all, it was a good… albeit normal and boring life. Gah! He hated to be bored.

“Hey, Zell,” came a sweet-sounding voice, distracting him from his thoughts. Ocean-blue eyes snapped upwards as he came to a halt, looking straight at that girl from the library… what was her name? Oh, yeah.

“Hi, Tamara,” he greeted, idly rubbing the back of his head. Man… he didn’t want to talk to her. She was cute and all… smart, too, but she was so boring. And she wasn’t much of a fighter either, too syrupy sweet for that kind of thing. Zell wanted someone he could associate with… someone who knew about the war. Still, she chased him, no matter how far he ran.

“How are you doing today?” she asked as she giggled. The brown-headed girl was clutching a small stack of books under one arm. She wore the school uniform, even though it was Friday, and her hair was done up in a pretty ribbon bow.


He shrugged off-handedly. “Okay, I guess. Bout to go to the training center.”

She nodded, as though really interested. He wondered if there was a way he could get out of this conversation without sounding rude. As he stood there shuffling from foot to foot impatiently, she spoke again.

“Sounds like fun,” Tamara commented before pausing, a light blush spreading on her cheeks. “Listen… you know that party that your friend is throwing for Trabia?”

Zell nodded, fearing that he knew what she was going to ask. Yet, he was too nice to turn her down outright. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, not when she had tried so hard to work up the courage to ask him.

“I was wondering.” She chewed her lip, looking directly at the floor. “You wouldn’t want to go with me, would you?” Her brown eyes were extremely hopeful.

Damn! Double damn his kind heart! Zell knew he couldn’t just turn her down, and didn’t know how to do it gently.

Internally, he sighed, while on the outside he gave her a cheeky fanged grin. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

Her eyes lit up as she smiled brightly. “Great! Umm… I’m room 52 B. So…”

“Eight,” he suggested, running a hand through his hair and flipping it out of his eyes. “I suppose eight’s a good time.”

She nodded enthusiastically, clutching at her books tightly as she shifted in place. “Okay… um, see you tomorrow then?”

He smiled. “Right… tomorrow.”

Tamara blushed before continuing on her way. Zell sighed and idly rubbed his head. Perhaps Seifer was right… maybe he was a chicken wuss.


He threw a punch in the air as he stormed towards the library. Where did he get off thinking Seifer was right?

He didn’t notice the eyes that were peering at him from the bushes nearby. Green leaves rustled.

“I dunno, Selph. I don’t think Zell needs your help,” drawled Irvine as he stepped out from the greenery, brushing away small bits of leaves that had clung to his beige duster.

“Of course, he does.” Selphie giggled as she came out also. She did a little happy dance as a grin widened her face. “And I have just the plan… for him and Mr. Hides-In-His-Office.”

The cowboy raised a brow. “Are you talking about Squall?”

She rolled her eyes as the two of them began to head towards her room. “Of course, silly. Who else would I be talking about?”

The gunman sighed as he stretched his shoulders. He idly tapped and adjusted his hat, slinging an arm over Selphie’s shoulders as the two walked together. While they were not a couple, they were the best of friends. And oftentimes, the bubbly woman involved her friend in her schemes. This time was no different.

“What’s your plan?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders again.

She eyed him mischievously. “For Squall or Zell?”

The cowboy grinned, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Like either one.”

Selphie giggled, a small blush spreading across her cheeks. “I think you will enjoy what I have in my mind as much as I do. And in the end, everyone will be happy. Just think, I’m putting myself in charge of the drinks tomorrow.”

Irvine laughed. “I’m all for it girl, just like fill me in.”

It was going to be an interesting party… as it always was when devious Selphie came into play, and the cowboy was on for the ride.

* * *

One hour after he had picked up Tamara from her room, Zell found he was struggling to find things to discuss with the library girl. He had started to wonder what Seifer was doing… Seifer of all people! It appeared they, he and Tamara, had almost nothing in common, but he had heard that relationships had been started on less so he decided to ride it out. Who knew? Maybe in the next minute or so something miraculous would happen, and they would really click.

Nearly everyone had shown up at the party that Selphie had thrown for Trabia. Even the ice prince had made an appearance, though no one really knew where he was at the moment. Seifer was there with Quistis as his date, both looking stunning as always: Quistis in her casual but cute, black dress and Seifer in his dress slacks and nice, green shirt that brought out the color in his eyes. Selphie was flitting around the party, occasionally manning the punch table in her frighteningly pink dress, and Irvine was making moves on any person he looked at, be they male or female.

The DJ that had been hired was great, playing the perfect blend of strumming beats, fast rhythms, and occasional slow songs. The decorations were perfect as usual with balloons and streamers hanging all over the place. Selphie had once again pulled off an excellent occasion. It was amazing how her mind worked.

Running out of something to say and realizing his mind had wandered, Zell finally settled on asking Tamara if she wanted something to drink. When she nodded yes, he cheered on the inside before threading his way through the crowd, glad for the respite. At the drinks table, he was surprised to find both Irvine and Selphie standing behind the counter.

“What is it this time?” questioned Zell, wrinkling his nose as he walked up to the table. “I hope it’s nothing like the last. That stuff was terrible.” He remembered that punch from the winter ball… after one sip, no one touched the stuff. It was poured out and ended up killing all the grass on the manicured lawn.

“I call it Love Potion No.8.5! It’s my newest concoction!” giggled Selphie. “I think it will do you and Tamara some good.”

Zell quirked a brow. “Is that so? Well, give me two glasses anyway. I suppose I can try it.” He grinned, flashing his fangs at her. “Great party, by the way, like always.”

“Thanks! Coming right up!” she exclaimed, turning around and mixing up two drinks before handing two orangish-pink filled plastic cups to the fighter. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Selph!” Zell promptly tasted one of the drinks, surprised at the sweet tangy taste that exploded on his tongue. “Its good. I’m surprised,” he commented before disappearing into the crowd.

Selphie giggled as she turned to her side and winked at Irvine. “And now watch the magic at work.” The two co-conspirators followed the progress of Zell… all the way up until the moment he ran into Seifer, bully extraordinaire.

“Hey, Selphie! Can I get some punch?” questioned one of her friends from the decorating committee. The perky brunette promptly ignored her in favor of what was going on in the crowd, waving a hand of silence at the blonde woman, whose name she was sure was Cindy. The woman pouted but didn’t say anything else.

Irvine and Selphie watched with bated breath and horrified glances as Seifer and Zell talked for a moment, had a short argument and ended with the taller blond taking one of Zell’s plastic cups and downing the entire drink, probably just trying to be annoying. He handed the empty cup back to the fighter, grinned cheekily and disappeared back into the crowd.

“Oh, no,” murmured Selphie as she turned to Irvine. “They’re going to kill us…”

The cowboy shrugged as he watched Zell slowly make his way back to the punch table, shaking his head and occasionally turning to glare at the nonexistent Selphie. “Perhaps it’s a good thing. It didn’t seem Zell really liked her anyway.”

The bubbly woman stomped the floor in frustration as she pouted. “But they looked so cute together.”

Irvine wagged a finger at his friend. “We still have our other project that I was in the middle of working on when you dragged me away. So long as we pretend we know nothing about Seifer and Zell, we should be able to keep our heads.” With that said, he disappeared back into the crowd, searching for their other ‘project.’

Selphie nodded in agreement, smile creeping back onto her face as the fighter reappeared at the table, sighing heavily.

“Give me another, Selphie,” he ordered. “Asshole took Tamara’s.”

“Coming right up!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “Another Love Potion No. 8.5! And a brand new batch at that!” She poured a glass of the regular punch. “I sense love in the air tonight and with this, you can win her heart!” she gushed.

Zell rolled his eyes at Selphie’s hinted comments and took Tamara’s newly made drink from the perky brunette, ignoring anything further she had to say. He calmly took another huge drink of his before taking a breath and diving back into the surrounding mass of people, threading his way until he returned to where the library girl was waiting for him. He handed her the purplish liquid, glad that Seifer had not inadvertently shown up once more to steal her punch.

“Thanks, Zell,” Tamara murmured as she took a sip of her drink. The fighter took a huge gulp of his, wondering why it gave him such a warm feeling throughout his body when it was supposedly just fruit juice. The two stood in silence for a moment as they watched the crowd, drinking their punch or whatever the hell it was Selphie was serving. It was an awkward silence, and Zell shifted uncomfortably, wondering how to make it all go away.

He opened his mouth to say something when Tamara made a little sound and grinned widely. “Oh! There’s Ellena! I’m going to go say hello. You don’t mind do you?”

He nearly breathed a sigh of relief but refrained from doing so as he nodded slightly. “I’ll be here. Go ahead.”

She nodded in response and disappeared into the mass of dancing and talking people. It seemed the whole of Garden had turned out for Selphie’s party.

Zell downed the last of his drink and scanned the crowd again, wondering if it would be rude to pretend as if he had lost Tamara for the entire night. As he did so, he noticed that everyone in the crowd seemed to be watching something in particular. Instantly curious, the fighter moved to get closer.

As the crowd parted, his blue eyes widened at what he saw. There in the midst of the pulsing beat and strobe-like lights was Mr. Ice Prince himself… dancing. Zell didn’t even know that Squall knew how to dance outside of the professional type they had been taught. Leonhart had lost his leather jacket somewhere and was swinging his hips to the beat and dancing with none other than Irvine.

The fighter went slack-jawed as he suddenly felt the heat in the room suddenly rise several notches. He had never seen Squall that way before, but watching the gunbladist dance and writhe to the beat, wearing those uber-tight leather pants and plain white tank, suddenly made his pants a little bit tighter.

He had the urge to jump into the crowd and join in the dance as well, unable to tear his eyes away even as Selphie joined in, the three of them putting on quite a show. It was then that he felt as if he were being watched, he looked up just a little to find jade eyes staring at him from the other side of the dancing trio.

He was instantly mesmerized by the look, feeling his cheeks heat as Seifer licked his lips and continued to stare. Unable to help himself, the fighter moved towards the gunbladist, wondering if Seifer could dance as well or better than Squall. There was something calling to him, something that made his blood heat and his skin tingle.

Zell worked his way through the crowd until he stood before the golden-haired man, looking slightly upwards due to his shorter height. His pulse throbbed as he locked gazes with Seifer, unconsciously gulping.

“Why is Squall out there dancing?”

Seifer shrugged, never taking his jade gaze off of the blond in front of him. “Cowboy got him drunk, or so I think. Where’s Tamara?”

It was becoming increasingly harder to think as Zell’s pants became tighter. He watched a bead of sweat crossed Seifer’s brow and trickled down his face. The only thing he could imagine was wondering how it would feel to follow that trail with his tongue. It never occurred to him that such thoughts had never crossed his mind before… nor did he care.

All he knew was the pounding pulse of the music around him and the heat filling his veins. And Seifer did not seem to be faring any better. His breathing had increased; his pupils dilated, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. The two seemed to ignore the crowds around them, eyes only for each other.

“Does it matter?” questioned Zell, mesmerized by the way the gunbladist’s muscles flexed under his flattering, green shirt. Someone bumped into him, knocking off his balance and throwing him against the taller, blond man. He could have caught himself… but Zell wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.

He came face to face with Seifer, thrust up against his chest and enveloped by the scent of his cologne. Strong arms grasped his own to steady him, and he looked up into darkened, jade eyes, almost a forest green with their intensity.

“Careful there,” Seifer murmured, his voice low. His hands lingered on Zell’s broad shoulders, not even wondering why all of the sudden he wanted to run his finger’s down the fighter’s chest or kiss those continuously grinning lips.

Yet, instead of pulling back as he normally would, Zell reached up a hand and ran it over the green-clothed chest in front of him, noting completely that Seifer shivered slightly under his touch. He could feel the press of fingers on his arm, and it was almost like the touch burned through his clothes. He wanted more… much more than what they could do in the middle of Selphie’s party with all their clothes on. His aching cock straining at the front of his black dress pants was practically begging for it.

“Do you… want me to stop?” he questioned, sliding his fingers down the front of the shirt and feeling the muscles underneath. Something flipped in his stomach, and he wanted to lean up and attack Seifer’s lips, replace that sarcastic smirk with a pleased moan.

The gunbladist exhaled sharply as he increased his grip on Zell’s shoulders, something in his mind dimming at that simple touch. No, he didn’t want the fighter to stop. He wanted him to keep going. He didn’t understand why… but he was damned sure he wasn’t going to worry about that little detail, not with his blood thrumming through his veins and all of it heading south.

Seifer shook his head, gripping the fighter’s shirt tightly and relishing the feel of the smooth fabric beneath his calloused fingers. “Let’s get out of here,” he growled slightly before releasing Zell’s shirt and pushing his way through the crowd, assuming that the smaller blond would follow him. He was correct.

There was no hesitation on the fighter’s part as the two left the party. Since Seifer was leading, it was to his room that they went. But the moment they walked through the doors into the deserted hallway, Zell grabbed the taller man and shoved him against the wall, leaning upwards to press his lips to Seifer’s in a violent kiss.

The gunbladist’s mouth opened against the touch as their tongues melded together, trying to battle for dominance. Zell pressed his body up against the older man’s, grinding his clothed erection against the muscular body and moaning slightly into the kiss.

Seifer’s hands roamed down Zell’s arms and lightly tracing the lines of his back before reaching down to squeeze his muscular ass, pulling him harder against his own aching cock. Their kiss became harder as Seifer bit down on the shorter boy’s lip and snaked his tongue inside Zell’s warm, wet mouth.

The fighter moaned at the touch and pinched a nipple through the gunbladist’s shirt, unwilling to allow Seifer to make all the moves.

It was the need for air and privacy which finally separated them. They stumbled down the hallway together, occasionally groping and kissing along the way until they got to Seifer’s room. The gunbladist had to try his code three times before he was able to key the room open, and they stumbled inside, all hands and lips and tongues over each other’s bodies, tearing at their clothes, as if a fire had been lit between them that couldn’t be quenched.

The two blond’s stumbled towards the bed as their clothing fell into scattered piles on the floor, finally collapsing naked and sweaty on top of the rumpled sheets and covers of Seifer’s bed. Zell ended up on the bottom, admiring the planes of hard muscle that hovered over him.

The gunbladist was well built, and the fighter had always thought so. He was tall and muscled, though not overtly so. He had a strong body, and his golden blond hair, shining jade eyes, and aristocratic features were the desire of many a female.

Zell reached up and grabbed Seifer’s hands, forcing the taller man down so that they could kiss as he rubbed their naked bodies together. Seifer groaned into Zell’s mouth, while their dripping cocks ground, producing hot friction. The fighter gasped as Seifer released his lips only to trail biting kisses down the side of his neck, nibbling with a bit more intensity than he would have were Zell a woman.

Zell’s short fingernail’s raked down the front of Seifer’s chest as the hot mouth traced over his collar bone until teeth latched onto his nipple and sucked hard. Fire raced through his veins, and his body felt incredibly hot. His cock strained for relief, dripping with precum, and he wanted Seifer to do something, anything to him… so long as it involved them coming multiple times.

“Have you… done this before?” Zell gasped, managing just the one coherent thought as Seifer bit down on his hardened nipple one more time.

The gunbladist shook his head as he grinned wickedly. “I think I can wing it.” He pulled away from the fighter just long enough to reach into his dresser drawer, rifling around until he pulled out a small bottle of lotion, half-empty. Zell raised a brow as he laughed slightly.

“Get much use out of it?” he teased as he rubbed up against the taller man. Seifer bit back a groan and ground down on Zell’s aching hardness, an urgency to mimic the fighter’s own within him as well.

Zell was not sexy like Seifer, but he had his own attractiveness. Big, ocean-blue eyes and blond hair with that cute fanged grin and a body that was a weapon in itself made the fighter very charming. He was short but covered all in muscle, which made him both strong and agile.

And the tattoo! Not only did Zell have the tribal markings on his face, but also one in the shape of a tribal phoenix curled around his right bicep with the tail stretching down the length of his arm. Across his broad back at the top was his entire name in old Centra, a poetic language with flowery script. Yet, it suited the fighter perfectly.

“Don’t start with me, chickie,” intoned the taller blond as he grasped Zell’s dripping cock and stroked it a few times, admiring the size of him and surprised considering his short stature. “I could leave you here like this.”

Zell gasped as he reached up and tweaked the gunbladist’s nipple, pinching and rolling the nub between his calloused fingers and watching as Seifer pulled his bottom lip between his teeth in order to stop his groans.

“You want it just as bad,” he teased.

Seifer nodded in agreement, flipping open the lotion with one thumb as he released Zell’s erection and poured some of the slippery liquid onto his fingers. Coating a few with as much as he thought necessary, the gunbladist aimed a well-lubed finger for the shorter man’s puckered entrance and pressed it inside.

Zell tensed under the unusual feeling, and Seifer could feel the constriction around his finger. His groin tightened as he imagined burying himself inside the fighter, feeling that gripping him as he thrust repeatedly, Zell moaning and crying out his name. The fighter gripped the sheets tightly in his fist, the feeling not painful, just different from anything he had ever experienced.

Seifer wiggled the finger around for a moment before adding a second, not really sure how he should be pacing himself but figuring if it got too much, Zell would let him know. He pushed both fingers inside, moving in and out of the fighter’s entrance as Zell wriggled beneath him, gasping slightly at each movement. Seifer curled his fingers and all of the sudden the fighter’s eyes widened as he bucked into the touch.

“Damn!” hissed Zell, clutching tight to the blankets. “Do that again! Whatever the hell it was!”

The gunbladist grinned as he complied, enjoying the pleased whimpers and sounds that Zell was making as he writhed under the touch. His fingers brushed over that spot, and the fighter made the most arousing whimper deep in his throat. Seifer couldn’t help but lean over and bite on his neck before removing his fingers and searching for the lotion again, not willing to wait any longer.

He wanted to be inside Zell, and he wanted it now. The younger blond gave a small sound of protest but waited patiently as Seifer slicked up his aching cock, hissing slightly at the good feelings his neglected erection was sending his way.

Hovering over the fighter, hands pressed to either side of his body, Seifer aimed his lotion-slicked cock at the ring of muscle, pressing just the tip at the entrance. Zell took deep breaths as he ground down against the hard flesh, his body literally aching for relief.

Seifer tried to go slow, but his body wanted Zell badly, and there was no stopping once he finally pressed inside. Instantly, he was enveloped with hot wet heat as Zell’s body arched, and he gripped onto Seifer’s shoulders, blunt fingernail’s pressing into his golden-brown skin.

It hurt… It burned… not that he couldn’t handle the pain. But it felt as if a hot iron had pressed its way into his body, and he tensed up, immediately making it worse. Zell squeezed Seifer’s shoulders as he tried to force himself to relax, somehow knowing instinctively that it would help. The gunbladist moaned as he felt Zell’s inner walls clenching about his cock and sending thrills of pleasure racing through his body. Still, he did not move, waiting instead for the fighter to make some indication that he was ready.

A moment or so later, Zell finally relaxed enough to undulate against the body atop him, convincing Seifer to move. He pulled out slowly, only to thrust in again, setting a deliberate pace. Pain mixed with pleasure until it was hard to tell the difference between the two as Seifer leaned down and pressed his lips to Zell’s, urging his tongue inside the fighter’s mouth. The smaller blond eagerly returned the motion, nipping greedily at Seifer’s plump lips and running his fangs over the older man’s chin.

The gunbladist shifted in his position, his cock sliding over that special place within Zell that made him moan and writhe. He increased the pace as the fighter wrapped his legs around Seifer’s waist, bucking up into each thrust and biting down on the older man’s shoulder. The mix of pain along with pleasure only added to the desire that flooded his veins and pooled in his belly.

Zell’s hands gripped the taller man’s shoulders as he moaned loudly, probably alerting everyone – if there was anyone around – to what exactly was going on. He could feel it building up inside him as his toes curled, and electricity crackled along his veins. He could concentrate on nothing but the feel of Seifer sliding in and out of him, thick cock rubbing across his prostrate with every movement.

Seifer bit his lip before reaching between their bodies and grabbing Zell’s dripping cock, stroking it firmly as he did so. That was about all the gasping fighter could take. Three strokes later the smaller blond was cumming, spraying both of them with the force of his orgasm.

“F-Fuck!” he hissed as he bit down on Seifer’s shoulder.

That perfect blend of pain ignited the gunbladist’s pleasure, especially Zell’s inner walls squeezing him rhythmically and literally pulling his orgasm from him. Seifer gritted his teeth as he spurted inside Zell, a moaning whimper caught in his throat as hot fire raced through his body.

With a loud gasp, he collapsed on top of the other equally exhausted man, both of them breathing heavily as they struggled to control their erratic breathing and heart rate. Their skin was slicked with sweat, and the thick musk of sex permeated the room.

Seifer rolled to the side, so that he wasn’t suffocating the smaller blond and breathed heavily, fire still running through his veins, though the urgency had disappeared. He wanted Zell, that much was certain, but for now he was satisfied. The fighter felt much the same way as he grinned and idly wiped sweat from his brow.

“That was fucking hot!” he commented, stretching out on the bed.

Seifer smirked as he traced a finger down the younger blond’s arm. “Who knew that little chickie was so good?”

Zell scowled and slapped the hand away. “Shut up…” he muttered under his breath as he sat up and scanned the room, surprised to find his clothes scattered in every direction… and his body ready for more.

Seifer laughed but didn’t say anything more. Instead, he idly glanced at the clock, surprised by how much time had passed. “The party should be winding down soon,” he commented.

The little blond nodded. “Your roommate’s gonna be back soon.” He blushed slightly. “I’m just glad he wasn’t in here. I don’t think he would have liked the show!” With the increase in population of students, most everyone had been forced to share a room… excluding Commander Squall, of course.

The gunbladist shook his head before throwing a pillow at the younger blond and hitting him upside the head with it. “You’re such a wuss, chickie.”

Zell shrugged. “Somehow, that just doesn’t bother me like it used to,” he commented as he stood up and started searching for his clothes as Seifer plopped back down on the bed. “So…”

Seifer quirked a brow. “So… what?”

“What does that make us now?” asked Zell as he zippered up his dress pants. He cast about for his shirt, finally finding it on Seifer’s roommate’s desk. He was unable to meet the older man’s eyes, however.

The gunbladist grinned, his mind’s gears quickly turning at the concept of having a writhing, moaning chickie beneath him every night. It sounded VERY appealing to him. He watched as Zell found his sneakers, chuckling lightly at that because he knew that the fighter would never change before speaking aloud.

“It makes us whatever you want us to be, chickie,” said Seifer, leaning back as he crossed his arms over his head. “However, I’m partial to hitting the sheets with you again.”

“Sounds good to me.” Zell grinned cheekily, doing a small shadowbox move as he headed for the door. “See you tomorrow, Seify!” he called out as he pulled open the door, avoiding the pillow that was thrown at him and darted out into the hallway.

In the room behind him, Seifer chuckled casually before relaxing into the bed, sleep surprisingly swift in coming.

* * *

Seifer yawned as he rubbed at his eyes, staring blearily at his orange juice. He was not a morning person, but Selphie had knocked on his door early this morning, asking him all sorts of weird questions that he didn’t know the answers to. He couldn’t even remember how he had gotten back to his room or what had happened at the party. The entire night was blank to him, but since he was already up, he figured he might as well get some breakfast.

The only other person awake was Zell, which the gunbladist found odd. Usually the fighter also slept in, and it was Squall and Quistis that were the first to rise. Instead, it was only the two blonds staring at their food, and not even Zell was eating his pancakes, instead blinking as he yawned idly as well.

“Zell,” mumbled Seifer, reaching for a fork and contemplating eating his plate of eggs. “You remember the party?”

The spiky-haired blond looked up from his plate and blinked, something weird passing between them. “Nah, do you?” His blue eyes were unfocused as he idly rubbed at them and yawned.

Seifer shook his head. “Not a damn thing. What the hell was in that punch? I don’t even remember drinking that much.”

Zell shrugged. “Don’ know, don’ care,” he mumbled in return, idly poking at his food with his eggs and giving his friend a strange look. He had had the oddest dreams, and he could feel his cheeks heat when he looked at Seifer, though he hadn’t the faintest idea why. What had happened last night?

The gunbladist regarded his friend with an odd look before shrugging and attempting to eat his food. He ignored the strange feeling that was floating around in his subconscious and chocked his loss of memory to whatever strange concoction crazy Selphie had been serving.

Another day… another party.

* * *

[IDW] The Devil Inside

Ratchet’s internal alarm woke him up two hours before it was supposed to. He had done it intentionally, but that didn’t make him any more inclined to get out of the berth. Especially with a warm and snuggly Drift tucked up next to him, still in recharge. The heated whuffs of his ventilations made little puffs against Ratchet’s armor, teasing the cables beneath.

That was unusual. Drift tended to be online the moment Ratchet’s systems clicked into readiness. One did not survive among the Decepticons without having a hair-trigger after all.

Ratchet grinned and tried to ease out from beneath Drift, deciding it was better if the swordsmech got a bit more recharge.

And that, apparently, was the wrong choice to make.

Drift burst out of recharge with a snarl, moving faster than Ratchet’s recharge-befuddled processor could register. He slammed Ratchet down to the berth, a vibroknife appearing from Primus only knew where. He held it to Ratchet’s intake, to the delicate metal protecting his main energon line.

It happened in the space of a vent.

Instinct took over. Ratchet froze, Drift’s weight bearing him down, the knife shaving away two dermal layers from his intake.

The look on Drift’s faceplate was pure Deadlock, there was no doubt in Ratchet’s mind. His lips curled back, giving a peek at the pointed denta behind them. His optics were narrowed and bright. His vents heaved, having gone from zero to fight-or-flight in the blink of an optic. His field had gone sharp and jagged, and now pinned Ratchet down as forcefully as the hand at his intake and on his chestplate.

It was, Ratchet realized, ridiculously hot. He was too old to be embarrassed, but he never would have expected the sight to send a sharp burst of need down his spinal strut. His pelvic array throbbed, valve cycling into readiness, as the urge to submit ricocheted through him like it hadn’t done in centuries.

Drift cycled his optics. They spiraled wide and then inward. He let a sharp ex-vent loose before something like clarity returned. His glossa flicked over his lips, a quick sweep, and then a longer one.


“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, telling himself to remain still, not only to keep Drift calm, but also so his fans wouldn’t start spinning. His intake bobbed beneath the sharp edge of the knife. His arms were at his sides, hands limp against the berth. “You with me?”

“I…” Drift’s optics spiraled with alarm. “Oh, frag, Ratch! I’m so sorry!” The vibroblade vanished even as Drift tried to scramble backward, his plating clamped tight and his field closed down.

Ratchet snatched at his retreating hand, keeping him from moving too far, his fingers wrapped tight around Drift’s wrist. Drift jerked to a halt, staring down at him. His vents whirred, but they did not compare to the heat rising from Ratchet’s plating, the click-click of him attempting to calm his cooling fans.

Confusion trickled into the alarm.

Ratchet worked his intake again, another shiver of want drizzling down his spinal strut. The shadow of the weight of that vibroblade had been enough to tug on something he’d been keeping deeply buried.

“Do that again,” he said, his voice hoarse, bleeding need.

Drift cycled his optics. “What?”

Ratchet’s glossa swept over his lips, anticipation chasing away all that remained of anxiety. He pulled Drift’s hand back toward his intake, leaving no mistake as to what he wanted.

“Do it again.”

Drift’s mouth dropped. His field flared with surprise and uncertainty, but he obeyed. He curled his fingers around Ratchet’s intake and gave the softest of squeezes.

Arousal slammed into Ratchet, heat cascading through his system. His ventilations stuttered and his thighs pushed open as his valve cycled harder. Lubricant slipped through his seams.

Oh, Primus. He wanted this. He wanted Drift to pin him down and frag the Pit out of him.


“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Ratchet whispered, his head tilting further back, offering the entirety of his intake to Drift. His fingers twitched as his frame rolled up eagerly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t. But I just–”

“You’re not scared?” Drift’s fingers flexed around Ratchet’s intake, kneading at the tangle of cables and highlighting the weight of his grip.

He spread his thighs, heelstruts pushing against the berth. His fingers flexed around Drift’s wrist. “’I’m quite sure this is the opposite of scared,” Ratchet said wryly as his spike demanded to be released, and Ratchet denied it.

His valve cycled hungrily. He rolled his hips up and managed to scrape his pelvic array down the length of Drift’s thigh. He left a streak of lubricant behind, the wet sheen a testament to his arousal.

Drift tilted his head. The color of his optics darkened. His lips parted, glossa flicking across them. Heat rolled outward from his frame and the brush of it against Ratchet’s plating caused another shiver.

Drift shifted his grip, thumb hovering over the delicate structure of Ratchet’s intake. And then he pressed down and in, constricting Ratchet’s intake. Ratchet’s frame responded immediately, diverting his oral ventilations, but the pressure was real. The sense of being pinned, of danger, spiked through his neural net.

Ratchet’s engine revved. He moaned, though it was a squeaking, static thing, borne of the fact Drift’s grip on his intake limited his vocalizer.

“This is what you want?” Drift asked and his voice had dropped into a lower register, better a growl.

His field went open again, damp with desire, dark and heavy as it rolled out and over Ratchet, swallowing him whole. Ratchet’s panel snapped open, releasing a large trickle of lubricant. His free hand lifted, not even sure why, perhaps to grab at Drift. But Drift shifted his weight in an instant, grabbing Ratchet’s wrist and pinning it down to the berth.

“Ah, ah, no touching,” Drift said with a little smirk that showed off those pointed denta he always took great care to hide.

He leaned down, closer, his ex-vents ghosting over Ratchet’s faceplate. He nudged his knee against Ratchet’s array, a ridge in his armor rubbing Ratchet’s nub and sending a shock of pleasure through Ratchet’s frame.

“Is this for me?” Drift asked.

Oh, Primus.

Ratchet shuddered from top to bottom. His head tossed back even as he pushed his legs as far apart as they would go. He couldn’t make the offer any plainer. Fortunately, Drift took the invitation, notching his way entirely between Ratchet’s thighs, until he was all but splayed in the other mech’s lap.

“Mmm, I think it is.” He squeezed Ratchet’s wrist warningly. “This stays here,” he said and let go.

Ratchet’s moans served as obedience. His spark throbbed faster and faster. All the heat in his frame pooled southward. He was ready, so ready, and Drift was taking his time, damn it.

Drift laughed softly and pressed the tip of his nose to Ratchet’s, even as his free hand drifted to Ratchet’s array. The first touch of his fingers made Ratchet startle, made him whimper of all things.

“You’re so wet,” Drift murmured, half in awe, half in arousal. “You really do want this.” His finger traced the rim of Ratchet’s valve before finding and circling his node.

Ratchet’s hips danced, following the circles Drift’s finger made. The grip around his intake eased by a fraction.

“Want you,” Ratchet managed to say as he licked his lips and caught Drift’s gaze. “All of you.” Even the darker parts he kept hidden.


Especially the darker parts he kept hidden.

“You’ll tell me to stop?” Drift asked as he slid two fingers into Ratchet’s valve, rubbing them gently against the swollen, sopping lining.

Ratchet shivered, optics rolling back. “Won’t need to,” he forced out, his valve fluttering around Drift’s fingers, more lubricant seeping free.

Drift’s grip on his intake tightened just enough that Ratchet could feel the constriction and a mild alert popped up on his HUD. Drift leaned over him, his optics dark and narrowed.

“You’ll tell me to stop,” he insisted with a little growl.

Ratchet gasped, arousal shooting down his spine and gathering in his groin. He bucked his hips, a staticky groan falling from his lips. Drift’s grip eased enough for him to gasp out a static-laced, “I will,” before his fingers tightened again.

Drift grinned, displaying his fangs proudly. “Good boy,” he purred and leaned down harder as a third finger shoved into Ratchet’s valve. His thumb applied direct pressure to Ratchet’s anterior nub. “Gonna let me do whatever I want, aren’t ya?”

Ratchet couldn’t reply, his vocalizer was unable to activate. He couldn’t nod, not with the grip Drift held. The only avenue he had open to him was comms, but he knew that wasn’t what Drift wanted to hear. So he let his revving engine do the talking, along with his bucking hips and the fluttering of his valve.

“Yeah, you will,” Drift purred.

He leaned down and nipped at Ratchet’s knuckles. He belatedly realized his hand was still wrapped around Drift’s wrist. He’d been so determined to keep it there, he’d locked his fingers into place.

“These aren’t supposed to be here,” Drift said, a touch of a growl in his vocals. “Over your head with the others.”

Ratchet moaned. A tremble rippled over his entire frame as he peeled his fingers free and threw his arm over his head. His hands twitched, in and out of fists, as he had to fight the urge to reach down and stroke all that shiny, tempting armor stretched out over him.

“Now, aren’t you obedient?” Drift said. His fingers curled, rubbing hard against the ring of sensors just behind the rim of Ratchet’s valve. “That must mean you want me to frag you. Is that it, medic?”

Ratchet licked his lips again. His hips bucked, thighs squeezing inward, trying to trap Drift’s hand between them, fingers wreaking torturous pleasure on his valve. The fingers around his intake twitched, tightening.

Another mild warning cropped up and was just as quickly dismissed. Ratchet’s spike popped free, leaking copiously as it bobbed. His optics flashed, engine throttling hard. Primus, he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed this.

Drift smirked at him, all denta. “I can’t hear you, medic,” he purred and his fingers shoved deep, the heel of his palm grinding against Ratchet’s exterior node.

Ratchet’s hips jerked upward. Drift was being a tease, damn it.

He growled in the base of his throat and grasped at Drift’s shoulders, trying to pull his partner closer, harder, deeper.

The hand left his throat and fingers enclosed around Ratchet’s wrists, squeezing to the point of gears grinding together with a pinch of pain.

“I believe I said these aren’t supposed to be here,” Drift said with a playful snarl, tightening his grip.

Ratchet’s internals tightened with need, his thighs squeezing harder around Drift’s waist. He felt trapped, pinned, and he loved it.

“But I don’t think you’re going to behave, are you, Ratchet?” Drift asked with a low purr, their faces inches apart. “I’m going to have to take precautionary measures.”

“Try it,” Ratchet managed to get out, a challenge.

Drift’s smirk did things to him. He felt Drift’s fingers flex around his wrists, and then his world turned upside down.

Ratchet outweighed Drift easily. He was both taller than and outmassed the swordsmech. Yet, Drift flipped him over onto his front as though he weighed nothing.

Ratchet’s windshield hit the berth before his knees did. His engine stuttered, but arousal shot through his lines in a crackling wave of fire. Ratchet scrambled to get his elbows beneath him before Drift was there, his hands grabbing Ratchet’s hips and yanking him backward, into the cradle of Drift’s pelvis.

Drift’s spike prodded at his valve, poking at the swollen rim, brushing over the anterior node, before Drift retreated, lined up again, and filled Ratchet in one smooth stroke. Ratchet hissed through his denta, fingers twisting against the berth cover as Drift’s spike raked across his internal nodes and slammed into his ceiling node.

“Better,” Drift panted and shoved inside Ratchet, his upper thighs impacting Ratchet’s aft. He held himself there, circling his hips, grinding deep.

Pleasure sparked through Ratchet’s lines. His frame jerked as his sensory net flared with heat. Charge spilled out from under his armor. He sank forward, weight balanced precariously on knees and elbows, his valve rippling around Drift’s spike. Lubricant splashed out, soaking their frames.

“Think… you can… keep me like this?” Ratchet ground out, grasping for outrage and settling somewhere closer to desperation.

“I think I can do whatever I want,” Drift retorted.

One hand remained on Ratchet’s hip, fingers hooking into an armor plate, brushing the cables beneath. But Drift leaned forward, draping his weight across Ratchet’s back, the other hand sliding up and up and up until he found Ratchet’s intake again. His fingers fluttered over the delicate cables, a touch bruised.

“Or can’t I?” Drift asked pointedly.

Ratchet shuddered. He swallowed thickly, intake bobbing against the delicate weight of Drift’s fingers. He pushed back onto Drift’s spike, panting for each ventilation, his spark throbbing, and his array burning with need.

“That’s what I thought,” Drift purred, his hand cupping Ratchet’s intake, such a light pressure as to be nonexistent.

But Ratchet’s engine revved, vibrating them both. His valve cycled tight, hips jerking back to take Drift deeper. He shivered, arousal coiling into a thick knot in his tanks, sending charge skittering out from beneath his armor.

“Give me your overload,” Drift growled, his hand tightening around Ratchet’s intake. He rolled his hips, slamming into Ratchet, again and again, rocking them forward on the berth.

Ratchet’s hands dug into the berth, bracing himself. He swallowed, intake bobbing against Drift’s grip, and once again, those errors popped up. He dismissed them as a thrill danced down his spinal strut.

“I’ll take it if I have to,” Drift added into Ratchet’s audial, ex-venting a wash of damp heat.

Ratchet’s moan was static. He twitched as Drift’s mouth dragged up and closed around the edge of his chevron. Denta bit down, rasping against the sensitive metal.

Ratchet’s engine tripped into overdrive. Charge leapt out from beneath his armor, his vents blasting full waves of heat.

Overload slammed into him, swallowing him whole. Ratchet’s head tossed back, intake firmly in Drift’s grip, and he moaned, a sound lost to static. His valve cinched down tight, rippling in waves around Drift’s spike. His own splattered transfluid beneath him, pleasure stripping all sense from him.

He dimly heard Drift growl and the hand vanished from his intake, joining the other on Ratchet’s hip. Drift gripped him firmly and yanked, pulling Ratchet onto his spike and pounding into him with a ferocity he rarely indulged in.

Ratchet clawed at the berth and held on, his spark squeezing tight with pleasure. More charge erupted from his substructure, his array tripping back into an overload cycle before it could completely cycle down.

Drift’s engine snarled. His hips impacted with Ratchet’s aft, over and over, the charge exchanging between their array nodes faster than Ratchet could track. His fans roared as his spike throbbed fitfully, each deep slam raking over Ratchet’s ceiling node, catapulting him toward ecstasy.

Ratchet moaned as a second smaller overload wracked his frame. Drift slammed into him again, only to suddenly withdraw. His hands gripped hard enough to dent metal before Ratchet’s dermal sensors registered the wet, hot splatter of transfluid against his back and aft. Drift’s engine roared, his field slamming over Ratchet with satisfaction.

Ratchet slumped forward, his elbows wobbling and his knees even more so. He panted for oral ventilations, his intake a touch bruised. His processor hummed, and he struggled to find coherency.

Drift peeled his fingers from Ratchet’s hips, sliding them down the outside of his thigh and up again. Over and over, albeit at a slow pace.

Ratchet worked his intake and turned his head, catching sight of his partner from his peripheral vision.


Hazy blue optics focused on him. “Hmm?”

“Did you just mark me?”

Drift cycled his optics before he gave Ratchet a look that feigned innocence. “… should I not have?” he asked, even as his hands swept back up and inward, thumbs rubbing on the plating just outside the rim of Ratchet’s still swollen valve.

Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “You’re cleaning that later.”

Drift shifted his weight, the berth creaking. His optics darkened again, his glossa sweeping over his lips. “Or,” he said as he curled his hands around the tip of Ratchet’s thighs and tugged him a foot or so backward. “I could clean it now.”

Drift’s oral fetish was something Ratchet greatly approved of.

A shiver danced down his spinal strut. “Or that.”

A low laugh echoed in Drift’s intake before he bent forward and Ratchet felt the first long, wet lap of Drift’s glossa across his aft.

Ratchet’s backstrut arched. He moaned and kneaded at the berth. Drift’s glossa stroked a searing path down the curve of his aft, to the swollen twitches of Ratchet’s valve. He lapped up dribbles of lubricant and splatters of transfluid alike, taking care to linger around Ratchet’s anterior node.

Ratchet groaned, his forehead pressing to the berth cover. “I’m not sure that counts as getting me clean,” he said as another trickle of lubricant seeped from his valve.

Drift chuckled. “So? It’s not like we have anywhere to be.”

Well, he did have a point.

Ratchet shivered and shoved his aft back at Drift. “You’re a menace,” he muttered.

“Mmm.” Drift nipped Ratchet’s exterior node between his denta, making Ratchet jerk. “But I’m your menace.”

Ratchet licked his lips, his hips rocking toward Drift’s mouth as his valve cycled eagerly back into readiness. “Yes, you are,” he replied. “So you better stop teasing me, frag it.”

“Yes, dear,” Drift murmured and rose back to his knees, sliding into Ratchet in one smooth, full stroke.

Ratchet moaned and gripped the berth covers a little tighter.

He had nowhere else he’d rather be.

[Misc] Makeovers

Ichigo’s initial fears are coming to life. Ootori is certainly the devil and Ishida has turned himself into the devil’s apprentice.

“Very well,” Ootori announces. “Into the music room with you.”

“Don’t dawdle,” Ishida snap, shoving them both toward the opulent school and its spic-and-span atmosphere that make Ichigo feel about two feet tall and covered in dirt.

“It’ll take both of our not inconsiderable intellect to make this work, you realize,” Ootori says, still in that high-handed tone and only addressing Ishida.

The Quincy snorts, his grip on the back of Ichigo and Renji’s neck unrelenting and surprisingly unbreakable for how tiny he is. “Oh, believe me. I know. I’ve had to work with these louts for years. Damn near useless.”

Ichigo opens his mouth to protest, but Ishida’s fingers grip even stronger, and he winces. Oh, but the Quincy will pay for that later. Pay in full. Yes, he will.

“Nearly but not completely,” Ootori agrees with another assessing look at the two Shinigami. “Hmm. I’ll let Tamaki decide their types. The twins will be in charge of makeovers. I’ll work on crafting a legitimate cover story.”

“And I’ll make sure they cooperate,” Ishida finishes with what Ichigo can only assume is a shark-like smirk, though he can’t see the Quincy’s face right now.

Ichigo looks over at Renji, who’s looking back at him with a distinct air of “kill me now. Please.” Ichigo’s pretty sure the same expression is on his face.

The music room, which apparently doubles as their club headquarters, is even more intimidating than the school itself. Ichigo absolutely does not inch a step closer to Renji.

“Mori-senpai can handle teaching them manners,” Ootori adds, scribbling something in his notebook. “And Honey-senpai will try and inject some charm into them.”

Ishida finally releases his death grip on the Shinigami’s necks, not that there is anywhere to escape. “Good luck to him. I’ve been trying for years.”

Indignity wraps itself around Ichigo like a heavy cloak. “Oy. We aren’t here to be insulted.” He doesn’t think it’s such a good idea that Ootori and Ishida have made such good friends with each other. Their mutual agreements can’t be good for anyone’s sanity.

Ootori smirks in terrifying concert with Ishida. “Don’t worry. We’re going to take care of everything.”

[Misc] Practice Makes Perfect

This is all Kyouraku’s fault. Ichigo taps his foot impatiently, gaze locked on the door, trying not to pay too much attention to his opulent and comfortable surroundings. Lady Crysan is late and he’s two seconds from exiting the building in a flash of shunpo.

That is, of course, when her door opens. Ichigo straightens, ready to greet the woman, but who enters is a short, almost effeminate man who’s face is twisted into a scowl that only deepens upon sight of Ichigo. He stops short and turns to snap something to Lady Crysan, who is just behind him, closing and locking the door as they enter.

“What’s going on?” the man demands as Ichigo jumps to his feet, thoroughly embarrassed at being caught here and struggling for control of the situation. “But–”

Lady Crysan holds up a hand, completely amused. “Calm down, boys. You are both supposed to be here. I have a proposition that I think will solve both of your problems.”

Ichigo snorts; Effeminate man mutters something under his breath.

Nonplussed, Lady Crysan sweeps further into the room and starts reaching for the ties to her robe, languidly undressing. “Now, Sleet here is entirely gay.” She ignores the man – Sleet – as he shoots her an indignant look. “And Ichigo here, while bi, wishes to put a little skill under his belt before going after a certain acquaintance of his.”

A bit distracted by her disrobing, creamy skin coming into view, breasts perky and inviting, Ichigo tries to focus. “… Your point?”

“You can help each other,” Lady Crysan says, one hand toying with her breast as she holds Ichigo’s gaze. “Sleet. Undress.” The tone of command in her voice leaves little room for argument.

Ichigo bristles but the other man startles and looks warily at Lady Crysan and Ichigo. One hand lifts, as though on automatic, only to hesitate.

Without looking at him, Lady Crysan speaks again. “Quickly now. I can promise you won’t enjoy the punishment should you not obey.” Then she does turn her head. “Or you can leave now and forgo your appointment this week.”

Sleet appears indecisive for all of a second before he starts to strip down, to Ichigo’s goggled surprise, and then Lady Crysan turns her attention on Ichigo. She crooks a finger at him, inviting him to come nearer. “Come here, Ichigo,” she croons.

He really ought to shunpo out the window, but curious and captivated, all Ichigo does as she bids, already reaching for his own clothes.

[Misc] Fresh Meat

Surrounded by scantily-clad women with painted faces and alluring scents, Ichigo is quite convinced he’s fallen victim to another one of Renji’s not-hilarious pranks.

“I was under the impression you were in need of assistance,” he says stiffly, doing his best Byakuya impersonation.

The woman next to him, breasts spilling out of her blue kimono not unlike Matsumoto-san, giggles at him. “Oh, we are,” she purrs, latching onto his arm with a grip that would put Kenpachi to shame. “We are so lonely.”

Ichigo works his jaw. This is not funny. See? Not laughing.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he tries to protest. He’s here, ladies, to destroy a couple of Hollow. But does he see any? Of course not.

His hand shoots out, catching the wrist of her free hand, seconds before it succeeds in creeping to the tie of his obi. “No touching, you!”

“Dianthe,” she corrects and presses closer. “But touching is required here. You look tense. Let me help.” Her floral perfume is overpowering. Will he be able to escape with dignity intact?

Wait. Screw dignity. He just wants to get out alive.

Another woman latches on to his left arm, inner thigh rubbing his leg. “Ooo, Dianthe. You’d better share this one.”

Ichigo feels his face get hot. “Uh…”

Dianthe hisses. “Back off! I grabbed him first.”

“Ladies that is quite enough,” another voice interjects, coming from above them. “Kurosaki-san is my client.”

“Yes, Lady Crysan.” Both women pout but withdraw, leaving Ichigo free to look at the newcomer, who makes him flush all over. She’s regal, refined, dressed in a green kimono with hair spilling over her shoulders. But the look in her eyes is that of a predator.

“After all,” she purrs, taking his arm and leading him away, “Kyouraku-taichou was kind enough to send him here and he deserves the best.”

Ah, the name of his betrayer. Ichigo knows who to blame. If he survives this intact, anyway. By the look in Lady Crysan’s eyes, he’s about to be thoroughly consumed.