"I'll trade you," Irvine says, leaning down to Zell's ear.

Zell, half-drowsing on an ancient, decaying settee, startles fully awake. "Huh?" He looks around, at the others sleeping, and at Irvine's knowing smile. "What, now?" he whispers. "Here?"

"Round the corner," Irvine says, jerking his head at the ponderous staircase nearby. The shelter underneath it is black even in the lightning-streaked darkness. "C'mon. Nobody will miss us."

That's not strictly true. Quistis lifts her head to watch them go, her mouth tightening in a combination of teacherly disapproval and jealous understanding. Zell steals a last look at Squall drowsing asleep with his head pillowed on Rinoa's lap, dreaming the dreams of a sorceress' knight, and lets Irvine pull him into the shadows.

The space beneath the staircase smells of neglect and stagnant magic, but Irvine fills it with his own scent: discharged gunpowder and vanilla tobacco. The kiss is urgent, messy, and largely perfunctory. Irvine is already turned on, the hard line of his cock pressing up against Zell's belly. Zell wonders how long Irvine was awake, if he was watching Selphie sleep and thinking circular fantasies about the white strip of her panties just visible between her legs. Hell, thinking about Irvine thinking about Selphie is enough to get Zell hard the rest of the way, and he's not much on girlpanties. He's impatient, even before Irvine is finished kissing him.

The growl of Zell's fly coming unzipped is loud in the close darkness. Irvine was the one who asked, so he kneels first, simple locker-room courtesy. His thumbs press into the muscle above Zell's hipbones, and his breath is warm in the damp air, a brush like Siren's feathers against Zell's swollen cock.

"Ask me," Irvine says, and Zell fumbles behind him for a marble pillar to lean on, support he knows he's going to need.

"Suck it--" Irvine's mouth is dragging on Zell's cock before Zell has even finished saying it, the command getting hitched up in his chest and turning into something like a plea. A burst of thunder around the buttresses masks Zell's ragged moan. He wonders, in the part of his mind still processing nominal amounts of logic, how many guys Irvine blew in Galbadia Garden. It seems like the kind of place where Sodomy 101 would be a required credit, and they bunk up three to a room, there. Irvine certainly hadn't learned to suck cock from any copy of Girl Next Door.

"More," Zell urges, rocking his hips into Irvine's mouth. "C'mon Irvine, get me off." Irvine doubles his efforts and brings a bit of his teeth into the bargain, and Zell clenches his fists in the lapels of Irvine's coat. For a split second Zell imagines that there is white fur and black leather knotted up in his hands, and it is all the prompting he needs. He comes in the middle of a crack of thunder, letting his own furtive noise get lost in the reverberations, letting Irvine swallow him down. Release spreads warm from between his legs, like a slow cast of Esuna.

Irvine licks the tip of Zell's cock and gets to his feet again, one hand dragging across his mouth, the other undoing his belt.

Zell hesitates before going to his knees, pants half-zipped. "Hey, Irvine."

Irvine blinks at him. His jeans are undone but not his chaps; his cock juts up from a frame of black denim and tan leather. The ring in the tip glints like a spark in a burst of lightning. "You're not going to renege on me, are you, Dincht?" Irvine grins but it's feral at the edges, unraveling from his desperation and the endless 'right nows' they've spent lost in time, in the castle.

"No, it's not that, it's just--" Zell dares a glance at the rest of the party sleeping less than ten yards off. Squall's boots are all of him that's visible, dangling off the arm of the sofa. "Fuck me," Zell breathes, before he can change his mind.

Irvine's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and then down in something like concern. "That's not even trade," he says, but his heart isn't in it. Zell lets his shorts slide down the rest of the way, turning and bracing his hands against the pillar, presenting a fine view of an ass he knows is nothing to be ashamed of. There was a reason he got a black flame tattoo on his buttock before he got one on his face.

"You don't wanna?" Zell angles his hips back, and Irvine runs an appreciative hand over the black inkwork framing the curve of his ass. Zell feels the rough spot of a trigger-finger callus and shivers. "C'mon, do it."

Irvine's coat rustles as he digs in an inner pocket, tearing open a foil wrapper with his teeth and rolling the condom over his cock with a practiced gesture. It's nothing fancy, the sort one could pick up discreetly at Dr. Kadowaki's office with no questions asked. A packet of lube comes from somewhere in Irvine's vest, and his fingers are hot and slippery as they flicker all too briefly in and out of Zell's asshole. The noise Zell makes must be convincing, as Irvine presses up behind him and pushes his cock in.

Zell groans, not really caring that there's no atmospheric discharge to cover the sound. Irvine's cock is almost but not quite too much, shoved hard into Zell's ass and stretching him full; the buckle of his chaps is a sweet bruise in the making. Irvine must have learned more than blowjobs in Galbadia, stroking Zell's cock and balls as he thrusts, petting him until he starts to get hard again.

"That's it," Irvine murmurs, rocking into him, the leather palm of his glove rubbing the underside of Zell's head. "Get that pretty thing up for me again, Zell."

"Got a phoenix down?" Zell laughs, breathlessly, but they both know he doesn't need it. Zell has his hands braced on the pillar, looking down at the tip of his cock winking in and out of the sharpshooter's hand. He asked for this to stop thinking about Squall, about time compression, about sorceresses, even if just for a moment. Irvine shifts his angle and Zell forgets, as cleanly as if a GF wiped it away. For a short burst of seconds there is nothing but the friction and strain between them, and Zell spills again into Irvine's glove, feels the explosion of warmth as Irvine finds the release he needs. The wind whistling through windows and empty corridors covers the sound of their harsh breathing, the rustle as they put their clothes back together. Their relieved smiles flash at each other and are gone, like belated lighting.

Irvine picks his hat up off the floor and dusts off the brim. "Thanks," he says, as though they've done nothing more than trade stocked spells. "Get some sleep, okay?" Irvine doesn't look behind him, walking back to the others and resuming his spot on the rug, next to a stain that looks suspiciously like blood. He tilts his hat down low over his eyes, crosses his boots at the ankles, and is drowsing in less than a minute.

Zell waits only a moment and then follows, to snatch a few more hours' sleep on enemy ground.