Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 8 > Fated Children
The day of Kiros' twentieth birthday, Ward and I took him out to 'celebrate'.
Now, as you might guess, 'celebrate' means two completely different things to Ward and me. To Ward, 'celebrate' translates (in Giant Crazy Guy With An Anchor talk) to 'go out drinking, buy yourself a hooker of indeterminate gender, purchase some illegal narcotics and make it back to the barracks in one piece without having contracted some sexually transmitted disease'.
My version of 'celebrate' translates (in Perfectly Logical Not Nearly As Crazy talk) to 'ditch the Giant Crazy Guy, come over to my apartment, and let me shag you rotten to commemorate the fact that you're actually legal'.
We compromised. We did this because, One: we're generally pretty good guys, despite the fact that we go running around with various Implements of War trying to kill things because General Caraway tells us to; and Two: Kiros decided that we were dictating his birthday party, so we couldn't exactly do one or the other. Had to be little bits of both.
So, sitting in a seedy bar, watching a woman take her top off, we'd come to the compromise of: Drinking, half-naked ladies, more drinking, and, later in the evening, I got to shag Kiros rotten.
Which, I'll have you know, I was planning on doing with or without the compromise. What can I say? I'm a gift-giving sorta guy.
So, apparently, was the lady with her top off. Maybe self gift-giving, but gift-giving either way, because there was no way those tits were real. No way in /Hell/.
"You're staring again," Kiros said. My brain kinda short circuited for a second.
"What?" I didn't look away from the strippers incredibly fake tits.
"You're staring at her breasts."
"That's what they're there for," I contended. He chuckled a little, nuzzling my ear. And . . . my brain short circuited again. That might have also had something to do with him slipping his hand into my lap, but whatever.
"Laguna-."
"Why aren't you staring at her tits? Look at 'em! They're /huge/!"
He laughed and continued, "I think we should go now."
"Huh? But we're just getting-." He bit my ear. There went my brain again. "Oh."
"Yeah. /Oh/." He chuckled a little, straightened, and said, "Now stop staring at the stripper's breasts, give Ward the money for your drinks, and I'll go wait for the bus."
The bus?
Kiros was walking away. Now, here's something you've gotta understand: Kiros in civvies is a sight to behold. He's got this thing with really tight clothes out of uniform. I think he does it just to tease me. Anyway, Kiros in civvies is great. Except it totally butchers braincells, because he's got this tight little ass, and I don't care how straight you claim to be, with that tight little ass and those lady hips of his, you're gonna stare.
Stripper? Ward? The bus? Fuck that.
"Laguna, gimme the money." Oh, right. I grinned at Ward, handed him some gil-he just rolled his eyes, scoffed, and tucked a bill into the stripper's G-string-and hurried myself right out the door.
Kiros was standing on the curb, getting some interesting looks from people passing by, staring at the stars and looking pretty much like he owned the entire fucking planet and he was damn proud of the fact.
What was I suppose to do? I went right over, and proved to myself that I owned the man who owned the planet. He made this grumbly sort of noise-we had this rule of not mackin' it in public because an Officer could come by and pop our asses for inappropriate conduct-but fuck if I was gonna listen.
The bus showed up.
Damn bus.
I sat down first, next to the window, kinda grumbly because being on the bus meant I wasn't getting my mack on with Kiros.
Except he just kinda . . . sat on me, see. Which, I'll have you know, was really pleasant, entirely unexpected, and pretty much brain-murder.
I had a feeling the entire night was going to be like that. Especially because he didn't get off my lap, and there's only so much you can do when you have a hot piece of ass pressed right up against your crotch. C'mon! I possess only so much self-control. And he knew it.
I'm telling you: man's a damn tease.
Lucky us, the barracks were mostly quiet. That meant we got back to my rooms without any sort of upset-even with us falling all over each other, even with us talking and laughing and generally making asses out of ourselves, whatever-and only had about thirty seconds to look around nervously as I had him pinned to the door as I tried to unlock it.
We weren't /that drunk/, I swear. It was just a really happy day. I mean, he was /legal/! I was no longer a dirty pervert for pounding his tight little ass into the mattress!
"You're legal," I leered at him. He grinned, putting on this innocent little expression as he stepped backwards to my bed, me stalking him a little bit. With a soft little laugh, he sat on the edge of the bed and just kinda stared at me for a second.
His hair-god his /hair/; you'd think I were some sort of perv or something-was really soft and fine like always, and I just spent a couple seconds running my fingers through it while he undid my belt and the button and fly of my jeans. After a while, in which my braincells were slowly but surely killing themselves off, I laughed, looked down at him and asked, "Wha'cha doing down there?"
"Performing my first illegal sex act as an adult."
Hot breath, pouty lips, looking up at me through his eyelashes hair in between my fingers holy fuck I was going to burn in Hell and it was going to be /great/.
"Uh . . . Kiros . . . ?" Hot /breath/, damnit! "You, uh . . . you sure about-oh /fuck/."
Brain short circuiting earlier was nothing compared to my brain imploding when he did this thing with his tongue and the head of my cock. There was nothing for me to do, really-my hands got real tight in his hair, and he made this breathy little noise when I, how shall I say, brutalized his mouth.
But from the noises he made after that first little instance, he did not apparently mind the whole 'My name is Laguna and I'm here to fuck your mouth' thing. Which was good. Because short of somebody shooting me in the head, I wasn't going to stop.
"Ow, teeth. /Teeth/." Ok, yeah, I'd stop for shit like that to.
He was panting for breath when I finally got the message that he wanted to stop giving me head, and his lips were all glisteny and swollen and sweet god in heaven, there went my braincells again, off on their killing spree.
He made that breathy little noise again when I bowled him into the sheets and kissed him until I couldn't kiss any more because my mouth was getting all dry and my brain wasn't functioning and he was grinding up against me which felt really fucking /good/.
"Fuck." He laughed at me, the fucking little prick.
"That's the idea, yeah." When did he get his pants off? And why wasn't I invited? He did this things with his tongue and my neck, and his hips against mine and it was really nice.
"/Fuck/."
"Are you going to keep saying that, or are you actually going to do it?" Sexually frustrated and unsatisfied Kiros officially gained a spot on my list of top twenty People I Like to Hang Out With.
Don't get me wrong. I love spending time with Kiros in all his prudish, way-too-intelligent, let's-make-a-joke-at-Laguna's-expense glory. If I didn't, I wouldn't spend time with him when he wasn't a little sloshed and a lot horny on my bed-or his bed-or the shower rooms-or . . . well, anyway. It's just that him being horny was a lot more interesting for me than him being a prude.
Because him being horny meant I was getting something. And I might've been twenty-four, but that's something like the peak of sexuality for men, or something. Or maybe that's women . . .
He did that thing with his tongue and his hips and my body again. Where was I? Somewhere between rambling about something and him digging around under my pillow for various sex act paraphernalia, no doubt. Yeah. That was a nice place to be.
"I thought you were performing illegal sexual acts."
"I /did/."
"A blowjob isn't illegal!"
"It is in Centra. Hold still." Hot hands, hot breath, pouty lips holy god I was totally going to pay for this at some point. I'd be impotent or something. Lose my sex drive.
Turn /queer/, heaven forbid.
Oh wait. I'm having sex with a guy. Too late, already there. Send you a postcard from the fiery pits of Hell!
He was making this little noise again-not the one from before-and for a while, I just stared at him. Because, see, he had his hands between his legs and he was, ya know, doin' stuff. And to somebody who'd been drinking a little bit, that was, One: really hot; and Two: really kinda funny lookin'. But mostly really hot. I mean, he had his fingers-and he was touching himself and making this noise and I knew that as soon as he said the word, I was going to be fucking him . . .
And I knew that short of getting his entire fucking fist in there, he was going to be snug as a well-made glove around my cock. Which, I will have you know, is just short of being the most excellent thing on the planet.
And up until that blowjob, it had been the most excellent thing on the planet.
One of his hands came out from between his legs, and was just on my cock for a while, and then he was making a gaspy noise and pulling my closer (/not by my cock/, you sick pervs!) and looking at me with those dark blue-ringed eyes of his like I was the sexiest thing on the planet and, because he owned the planet, he owned me.
I could deal with being owned. Totally.
Tight as a glove/. He grunted a little, like he always did when he fucked-which wasn't as often as you might think, because for the most part I'm all for 'Let me pamper you and we can have some foreplay and I'll lick chocolate off your nipples and then we can have a roll in the sheets'-and just kinda grabbed my shoulders real tight and /held on because there was no way I was going to slow down at this point, short of somebody shooting me in the head.
. . .
We had sex. There. You happy? I said it. We had sex, and it was great, and if I could go back and relive it, I totally would, because it was the best consensual of-legal-age sex I'd ever had. Now, admittedly, it wasn't quite as good as our second time, when we almost got walked in on by General Caraway-oh my god, I still have these weird sex-dream/nightmares about that-but it was really good.
Afterwards, he laid there for a second before kinda sitting up and looking around for his pants. I grabbed him sleepily and pulled him back down against me.
"Stay," I ordered. He grunted and obviously kept looking for his pants. "That's an /order/, Seagul."
"I can't find my pants."
"Find them in the morning." My afterglow was dying because of him. C'mon, Kiros/, I was silently begging. /Just lie back down, bask in the afterglow, and if we're both up in a couple of hours, we can do it again.
"Laguna-."
"Go to sleep Seagul."
He chuckled, flopping down next to me, and just whispered, "Yes, Sergeant Major Loire, Sir."
Mmm. I liked that voice on those words. I liked that voice on a lot of things.
But right now, I just liked that he was actually going to stay. At least until I was so totally asleep that he could slip out from my arms, find his pants and return to his own apartment.
I threw my leg over him for good measure.
Now, as you might guess, 'celebrate' means two completely different things to Ward and me. To Ward, 'celebrate' translates (in Giant Crazy Guy With An Anchor talk) to 'go out drinking, buy yourself a hooker of indeterminate gender, purchase some illegal narcotics and make it back to the barracks in one piece without having contracted some sexually transmitted disease'.
My version of 'celebrate' translates (in Perfectly Logical Not Nearly As Crazy talk) to 'ditch the Giant Crazy Guy, come over to my apartment, and let me shag you rotten to commemorate the fact that you're actually legal'.
We compromised. We did this because, One: we're generally pretty good guys, despite the fact that we go running around with various Implements of War trying to kill things because General Caraway tells us to; and Two: Kiros decided that we were dictating his birthday party, so we couldn't exactly do one or the other. Had to be little bits of both.
So, sitting in a seedy bar, watching a woman take her top off, we'd come to the compromise of: Drinking, half-naked ladies, more drinking, and, later in the evening, I got to shag Kiros rotten.
Which, I'll have you know, I was planning on doing with or without the compromise. What can I say? I'm a gift-giving sorta guy.
So, apparently, was the lady with her top off. Maybe self gift-giving, but gift-giving either way, because there was no way those tits were real. No way in /Hell/.
"You're staring again," Kiros said. My brain kinda short circuited for a second.
"What?" I didn't look away from the strippers incredibly fake tits.
"You're staring at her breasts."
"That's what they're there for," I contended. He chuckled a little, nuzzling my ear. And . . . my brain short circuited again. That might have also had something to do with him slipping his hand into my lap, but whatever.
"Laguna-."
"Why aren't you staring at her tits? Look at 'em! They're /huge/!"
He laughed and continued, "I think we should go now."
"Huh? But we're just getting-." He bit my ear. There went my brain again. "Oh."
"Yeah. /Oh/." He chuckled a little, straightened, and said, "Now stop staring at the stripper's breasts, give Ward the money for your drinks, and I'll go wait for the bus."
The bus?
Kiros was walking away. Now, here's something you've gotta understand: Kiros in civvies is a sight to behold. He's got this thing with really tight clothes out of uniform. I think he does it just to tease me. Anyway, Kiros in civvies is great. Except it totally butchers braincells, because he's got this tight little ass, and I don't care how straight you claim to be, with that tight little ass and those lady hips of his, you're gonna stare.
Stripper? Ward? The bus? Fuck that.
"Laguna, gimme the money." Oh, right. I grinned at Ward, handed him some gil-he just rolled his eyes, scoffed, and tucked a bill into the stripper's G-string-and hurried myself right out the door.
Kiros was standing on the curb, getting some interesting looks from people passing by, staring at the stars and looking pretty much like he owned the entire fucking planet and he was damn proud of the fact.
What was I suppose to do? I went right over, and proved to myself that I owned the man who owned the planet. He made this grumbly sort of noise-we had this rule of not mackin' it in public because an Officer could come by and pop our asses for inappropriate conduct-but fuck if I was gonna listen.
The bus showed up.
Damn bus.
I sat down first, next to the window, kinda grumbly because being on the bus meant I wasn't getting my mack on with Kiros.
Except he just kinda . . . sat on me, see. Which, I'll have you know, was really pleasant, entirely unexpected, and pretty much brain-murder.
I had a feeling the entire night was going to be like that. Especially because he didn't get off my lap, and there's only so much you can do when you have a hot piece of ass pressed right up against your crotch. C'mon! I possess only so much self-control. And he knew it.
I'm telling you: man's a damn tease.
Lucky us, the barracks were mostly quiet. That meant we got back to my rooms without any sort of upset-even with us falling all over each other, even with us talking and laughing and generally making asses out of ourselves, whatever-and only had about thirty seconds to look around nervously as I had him pinned to the door as I tried to unlock it.
We weren't /that drunk/, I swear. It was just a really happy day. I mean, he was /legal/! I was no longer a dirty pervert for pounding his tight little ass into the mattress!
"You're legal," I leered at him. He grinned, putting on this innocent little expression as he stepped backwards to my bed, me stalking him a little bit. With a soft little laugh, he sat on the edge of the bed and just kinda stared at me for a second.
His hair-god his /hair/; you'd think I were some sort of perv or something-was really soft and fine like always, and I just spent a couple seconds running my fingers through it while he undid my belt and the button and fly of my jeans. After a while, in which my braincells were slowly but surely killing themselves off, I laughed, looked down at him and asked, "Wha'cha doing down there?"
"Performing my first illegal sex act as an adult."
Hot breath, pouty lips, looking up at me through his eyelashes hair in between my fingers holy fuck I was going to burn in Hell and it was going to be /great/.
"Uh . . . Kiros . . . ?" Hot /breath/, damnit! "You, uh . . . you sure about-oh /fuck/."
Brain short circuiting earlier was nothing compared to my brain imploding when he did this thing with his tongue and the head of my cock. There was nothing for me to do, really-my hands got real tight in his hair, and he made this breathy little noise when I, how shall I say, brutalized his mouth.
But from the noises he made after that first little instance, he did not apparently mind the whole 'My name is Laguna and I'm here to fuck your mouth' thing. Which was good. Because short of somebody shooting me in the head, I wasn't going to stop.
"Ow, teeth. /Teeth/." Ok, yeah, I'd stop for shit like that to.
He was panting for breath when I finally got the message that he wanted to stop giving me head, and his lips were all glisteny and swollen and sweet god in heaven, there went my braincells again, off on their killing spree.
He made that breathy little noise again when I bowled him into the sheets and kissed him until I couldn't kiss any more because my mouth was getting all dry and my brain wasn't functioning and he was grinding up against me which felt really fucking /good/.
"Fuck." He laughed at me, the fucking little prick.
"That's the idea, yeah." When did he get his pants off? And why wasn't I invited? He did this things with his tongue and my neck, and his hips against mine and it was really nice.
"/Fuck/."
"Are you going to keep saying that, or are you actually going to do it?" Sexually frustrated and unsatisfied Kiros officially gained a spot on my list of top twenty People I Like to Hang Out With.
Don't get me wrong. I love spending time with Kiros in all his prudish, way-too-intelligent, let's-make-a-joke-at-Laguna's-expense glory. If I didn't, I wouldn't spend time with him when he wasn't a little sloshed and a lot horny on my bed-or his bed-or the shower rooms-or . . . well, anyway. It's just that him being horny was a lot more interesting for me than him being a prude.
Because him being horny meant I was getting something. And I might've been twenty-four, but that's something like the peak of sexuality for men, or something. Or maybe that's women . . .
He did that thing with his tongue and his hips and my body again. Where was I? Somewhere between rambling about something and him digging around under my pillow for various sex act paraphernalia, no doubt. Yeah. That was a nice place to be.
"I thought you were performing illegal sexual acts."
"I /did/."
"A blowjob isn't illegal!"
"It is in Centra. Hold still." Hot hands, hot breath, pouty lips holy god I was totally going to pay for this at some point. I'd be impotent or something. Lose my sex drive.
Turn /queer/, heaven forbid.
Oh wait. I'm having sex with a guy. Too late, already there. Send you a postcard from the fiery pits of Hell!
He was making this little noise again-not the one from before-and for a while, I just stared at him. Because, see, he had his hands between his legs and he was, ya know, doin' stuff. And to somebody who'd been drinking a little bit, that was, One: really hot; and Two: really kinda funny lookin'. But mostly really hot. I mean, he had his fingers-and he was touching himself and making this noise and I knew that as soon as he said the word, I was going to be fucking him . . .
And I knew that short of getting his entire fucking fist in there, he was going to be snug as a well-made glove around my cock. Which, I will have you know, is just short of being the most excellent thing on the planet.
And up until that blowjob, it had been the most excellent thing on the planet.
One of his hands came out from between his legs, and was just on my cock for a while, and then he was making a gaspy noise and pulling my closer (/not by my cock/, you sick pervs!) and looking at me with those dark blue-ringed eyes of his like I was the sexiest thing on the planet and, because he owned the planet, he owned me.
I could deal with being owned. Totally.
Tight as a glove/. He grunted a little, like he always did when he fucked-which wasn't as often as you might think, because for the most part I'm all for 'Let me pamper you and we can have some foreplay and I'll lick chocolate off your nipples and then we can have a roll in the sheets'-and just kinda grabbed my shoulders real tight and /held on because there was no way I was going to slow down at this point, short of somebody shooting me in the head.
. . .
We had sex. There. You happy? I said it. We had sex, and it was great, and if I could go back and relive it, I totally would, because it was the best consensual of-legal-age sex I'd ever had. Now, admittedly, it wasn't quite as good as our second time, when we almost got walked in on by General Caraway-oh my god, I still have these weird sex-dream/nightmares about that-but it was really good.
Afterwards, he laid there for a second before kinda sitting up and looking around for his pants. I grabbed him sleepily and pulled him back down against me.
"Stay," I ordered. He grunted and obviously kept looking for his pants. "That's an /order/, Seagul."
"I can't find my pants."
"Find them in the morning." My afterglow was dying because of him. C'mon, Kiros/, I was silently begging. /Just lie back down, bask in the afterglow, and if we're both up in a couple of hours, we can do it again.
"Laguna-."
"Go to sleep Seagul."
He chuckled, flopping down next to me, and just whispered, "Yes, Sergeant Major Loire, Sir."
Mmm. I liked that voice on those words. I liked that voice on a lot of things.
But right now, I just liked that he was actually going to stay. At least until I was so totally asleep that he could slip out from my arms, find his pants and return to his own apartment.
I threw my leg over him for good measure.
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