Another completely unrepenetant, unreedemed plotless lemon! Wheee! ^_^ Feedback is always ever so greatly appreciated.
Would You? Could You?
Squall sank into the seat with a low exhale of breath, wincing slightly. He was already moving again by the time I dropped into the seat beside him, hips arching up off the vinyl as he fumbled at his belt, pulling the heavy leather open with a jangle of buckles.
"Hurts?" I asked quietly, my fingertips lingering against his leather clad hip.
"A bit," he replied shortly. His skin was vividly red, flushed like a sunburn all around the thick black marks. The center, curving gracefully around his navel, was just visible above the line of his waistband, the dark half circle sweeping up under his shirt in a long, smooth line. It drew the gaze like a magnet, framed between white cotton and black leather, and I hadn't been able to tear my eyes away. It was beautiful.
Relieved of the bite of his belt buckle against the abused skin, Squall settled back again, shoulder pressed to the window. The Dollet-Balamb train was a public commuter type and in the early afternoon it was still fairly empty. There were a few other passengers, business folk, and I could hear the click and clatter of someone typing on a laptop from up in the front of the car and the subdued sounds of the station outside.
Squall leaned his head against the window glass, wincing again and shifting the weight of his hips around. "You should have worn something looser," I chided gently. My suggestion of it that morning had gone unheeded. He shot me a glare, lips pressed shut, and said nothing.
It's probably a good thing I didn't actually raise him. Beyond the obvious reasons, I mean. I have a feeling his early teen-age years might have been the death of us both.
Squall shifted again, trying to find a position that was comfortable. Finally, with a little frustrated snarl, he lifted his hips back up and pulled open the topmost button of his pants.
"Squall!" I hissed.
"What?" he said. "Damn thing pinches." Another two buttons came undone and he sank back down with a relieved sigh.
I made an incoherent sort of noise, my eyes huge. The leather gaped wide across his hips, framing the bottom half of the flushed tattoo and a positively indecent amount of skin, providing ample evidence of just what he wasn't wearing underneath. "Squall!" I hissed again. The sound of the other passengers at the front of the car, the clatter of typing and the rustle of pages turning, suddenly seemed exponentially louder.
He just looked at me, cool and infuriating and sprawled in the seat like a picturesque centerfold. "What?" he asked again.
"You know 'what'," I whispered, aghast. If I had had a coat I would have thrown it over him, but the day was warm and neither of us had worn one.
He shrugged. Glancing down, he stretched slightly, one hand slipping under his shirt to tug the edge of it up and display the full design. "They did a good job."
I made another noise and reached out to tug his shirt back down. He caught my wrist, tugging my hand forward to press it to his stomach. His skin was hot to the touch, slick with oil they had put on it.
He closed his eyes, making a little sound deep in his throat. "Feels better when you're touching it," he whispered.
I made another small choked noise, my throat going dry. Under my palm I could feel his muscles loose their tension and he sighed again, a tiny pleased noise.
Gingerly, far too aware of just how it would look to an observer, I gently pressed my hand to the thickest part of the design. Squall let his head fall back against the seat, relaxing. "S'nice," he murmured.
I was barely breathing for more reasons then I felt like counting. I trailed a trembling fingertip along one of the lines where it arched out towards his hip. "It's beautiful."
Squall made a wordless type of sound. "I like your hands on me," he said, mercifully dropping his voice. "Your hands, your eyes..."
I swallowed dryly. He had been hours under the needle and it had been worth every minute of it, the hot tension wracked so tight down my spine and through my thighs that I couldn't move. He hadn't made a sound through any of it, his eyes closed, head tilted back against my chest. Only his hands, curved around my wrists while I pressed mine to his chest, had occasionally moved.
It had been the most fucking incredible thing I had ever sat through.
Squall shifted in his seat, stretching, the motion accidentally slipping my hand lower. "All I could think of was you," he breathed, and his tone alone set my pulse speeding with a nervous jolt. I knew that tone too well. He half opened his eyes, looking up from under the fringe of his lashes, and there wasn't a trace of smile anywhere on his lips as he slid the tip of his tongue across them. "You watching, you touching me... gods, that was so fucking hot..."
My lungs were frozen, my breath squeaking in my chest. "Squall... dammit..."
His whisper cut across mine, smooth and dark, pitched for my ears alone. "Wanted you so bad... I was so damn hard the whole time..."
"You're going to be the death of me," I hissed softly through frozen lips, jerking my hand back.
He caught my wrist, holding me in place, his fingertips trailing up the inside of my arm. "You know what the best cure for pain is?"
"I'm not listening," I warned him through gritted teeth. "I am not hearing this."
But he had leaned in, his shoulder against mine, the whisper brushing my hair in hot puffs of breath and my traitorous body was no more listening to my verbal warnings then he was. "Endorphins," Squall breathed softly. "Arousal... orgasm... it floods your brain with endorphins. Shuts down your mind's reception of pain signals. Natural analgesic."
I was certain my face was a shade of red not usually found in nature. "Behave!" I whispered back breathlessly. "Dammit... Squall, button those back up and behave! When we get back to Garden..."
He said nothing for a minute and I wondered if I had actually won the battle. Except that he wasn't letting go of my wrist, my palm cupped across heated skin and cool leather that I could feel like a shock up my bones, my fingers tingling. I swallowed hard and tried another tact. "If this ends up on the cover of a tabloid..."
Squall chuckled softly. "It would look worse for me then you," he said. "'Commander accepts sexual favors in payment for SeeD assistance in Esthar'... the Headmaster would have a apoplectic fit."
"Exactly!" I said hastily. "So let... go..." I tugged, but in a test of sheer hand to hand strength with no other leverage he had me beat.
"Laguna," he whispered and his breath was on my throat, sending shivers down my spine to linger warm and hot in already primed nerves. I closed my eyes, trying valiantly to pull myself together.
"For gods sake... this is a public train-"
"Empty," he interrupted, unconcerned.
"Not entirely!" I gasped. "Dammit... you did not inherit an exhibitionist streak from me!"
His lips were just touching the skin beneath my ear, warm and soft, his smile curving them. "Would Raine have tried to do you in public?"
"No!" I protested, strangled. "But you got it from her side of the family, I'm sure of it..."
His free hand brushed my hip, sliding in slow motion down my thigh. I bit back a gasp. "Doesn't it excite you even a little?" he asked.
"No," I lied. Badly. And he knew it; the evidence was all too apparent under his hand and I was having to shift uncomfortably.
Squall's lips pressed a light kiss to my throat, the warm tip of a wet tongue brushing across my pulse. "Laguna," he whispered again and his voice was low and throaty, vibrating through me. "Want you..."
I couldn't seem to breathe right and it was scorchingly hot in the train car. Old things with broken air conditioners, I thought vaguely. There was sweat down the back of my shirt, sticking to the seat. Squall's lips were still on my throat with a gentle, languid suction that was pouring fire down my nerves. "Please..." His whisper was soft and husky and deep with need.
I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes locked firmly on the seat back in front of me. My answering whisper, when I forced it out, cracked slightly. "How quiet can you be?"
I didn't need to see his smile. "You're the one who yells," he reminded me, his fingers tugging at my belt.
I knocked his hand away, half twisting around. When I pulled my wrist away from his grasp he didn't stop me. "I'm not the one who needs to worry about it," I told him firmly. Any answer he might have made was lost in a deep, indrawn hiss of breath as I unfastened the last two buttons.
He is so right to the touch, all silk and heat and the smooth slide of skin. Squall made the smallest of noises as I freed him, his head falling back against the seat as he closed his eyes. I had to work hard to control my own breathing as I tentatively slid my hand up the hard length of him; this was sheer insanity, the sun streaming through the window, the sound of a cough and the shuffle of feet echoing from the front of the car, but with him hard and straining against my palm I doubted I had the self control to call it off.
Squall half lifted his hips, hampered by the angle of the seat. His hand came down on mine, pressing hard, and there was a shiver in his fingers. "Fast," he hissed brokenly. "Gods..."
He was already close to the edge, flushed and tense, the muscles trembling through his thighs. I stroked upward again, just hard enough and no where near as hard as he wanted. Squall bit back a noise, one hand bruising against my thigh, the other fumbling to catch and clench on the armrest.
He had a point. There was something horribly exciting about it all.
I circled the slick head of his erection with a fingertip, listening to his breath hiss between his clenched teeth as his hips moved restlessly. Any other time I would have held him like that for as long as he could physically stand it; ready and wanting and just not quite there and so gorgeous as he panted, his eyes closed, lost in it all. Any other place I would have taken the time to enjoy it. But the little panicked voice in the back of my mind wouldn't entirely shut up; call it a survival instinct.
Squall opened his mouth, breath exhaling in a gasp as I tightened my grip and slid, base to crown and back again. His teeth were clenched, lips cupped in an 'oh' as he struggled to keep his breaths deep and even and soundless, a counterpoint rhythm to the stroke of my hand against him,
Unreal. Not four yards from us were other people, complete strangers, minding their own business and completely oblivious to what was going on behind them. Utterly oblivious to the little silent breathy cries Squall was biting back, lip caught between his teeth, or the slick, hot feel of him in my hand, or the sunlight warm across his belly and the gorgeous lines traced there. It was mind blowing, and if I thought about it too hard I was going to loose any coherency.
And then the little background noises I was half listening to, the typing and the papers and the occasional soft voices, were interrupted by the louder, more immediate clatter of the door at the front of the car opening and someone entering, their footsteps coming down the center aisle.
You know that old saying about your life flashing before your eyes in moments of extreme stress?
It really does.
Squall was trembling beneath my hands, on the knife edge of tumbling over. I took a deep breath and raised my free hand, cupping it hard across his mouth and felt him jerk in surprise. There was the blessed sound of voices, the footsteps pausing as someone asked a question and someone answered. I let the breath out, my lungs tight, and leaned over to slide my lips around the head of Squall's straining erection.
My hand muffled the choked sound he made, his body twisted, hips thrusting up. The taste of him, salt and musk, flooded heavy across my tongue in a hot wash as he trembled and his teeth were sunk into my palm. I swallowed hard.
Six frantic racing heartbeats later - I was counting - I dared to take my hand off his mouth. I probably hurt him getting buttons into some semblance of refastened - I heard his panting breaths catch several times - and his belt was still undone... hell, someone his age, maybe it could pass as a fashion statement? What did I know?
I knew the taste of him was all over the inside my mouth, that was what I knew. I knew he was flushed and breathing hard and sprawled limp in the seat, his eyes dark and heavy lidded under disarrayed hair, his shirt still rucked up a little across his stomach. Never mind an undone belt - I'm not sure a full change of clothes would have helped.
There were horrific visions of tabloid covers dancing through my mind.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I lost years off my life in that instant. Cringing, I twisted back around in my seat. An older woman was standing in the aisle, iron grey hair drawn back beneath the dark cap of a train conductor. She smiled slightly; my panicked expression was probably humorous.
"I'm sorry," she said politely. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just need to see your tickets."
My heart was pounding so loud it nearly drowned her out and I couldn't begin to bring her words into some semblance of meaning. I stared, blankly, until Squall's elbow nudged my side. "Pocket," he breathed. His chin was dropped down to his chest, eyes closed in a creditable imitation of sleep.
"Oh! Oh, of course... I'm sorry..." I was babbling, a nervous grin plastered across my face as I half stood, fumbling around in my back pocket for the tickets I had shoved there earlier. The woman was patient about it, smiling with me as I rattled on about the weather and Dollet and anything else I could think of. She took the crumpled tickets I produced and tore off the stubs at the end, handing them back with a polite "Thank you, enjoy your ride," and continued on her way to the next car without a backwards glance.
I collapsed back into the seat, daring to breathe again. "Oh gods... oh Hyne... fuck..." My heart was racing so hard it hurt, my hands shaking. I was covered in cold sweat and almost dizzy with the adrenaline.
Warm fingers caught my chin, turning me to face Squall. His thumb brushed along my lower lip, his eyes bright. "That," he said softly, "was insane."
I was trying to find words to whole heartedly agree when his mouth closed hard over mine, the kiss stealing my breath away. He tongue trailed across my lips when he drew away, a lingering caress full of promise. "I owe you," he whispered.
It took a minute for me to regain my breath. "Damn right you do," I told him. "Fuck..."
His small smile was pure devil, one dark brow arching up in mute challenge. "We could."
"No!" I squeaked. "You really are going to be the death of me... Here..." I pushed him away, shifting us both around, then drew him back so that he was resting against my side, his head pillowed against my shoulder. "Just... just sit. Behave."
It wasn't a smile, not really. It was a smirk. "And if I don't?"
"I..." What was I supposed to threaten him with? I sighed, running a hand over his hair. "I would say I'd beat you, but I'm half tempted to do that anyways," I snapped a bit peevishly. "When we get back to Balamb..."
Squall reached up, his fingertips running gently across my lips to silence me. "When we get back to Garden," he said, "I'll make it up to you." A small pause, his other hand tugging mine down to twine our fingers together, his voice rich with promises. "Any way you want."
"Any?" I queried.
I pretended to consider. "So if I said I wanted to do this again... say, on the Headmaster's desk one afternoon..."
Squall's breath caught, resuming slightly faster. "Like hell I didn't inherit it from you," he accused.
I used my free hand to pat the top of his head, a gesture he pushed away irritably. "No," I corrected. "I think I inherited it from you."
"Would you? Could you? On a train?
Would you? Could you? In the rain?"
"I would not, could not, on a train!
I would not eat them in the rain!
I will not eat green eggs and ham!
I will not eat them, Sam-I-Am!"
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