The room was small, cramped, and almost squalid. The heat in it was palpable, but Squall wasn’t complaining. He’d designed it that way, asked for the heat and the cozy comfort of a small room in which the bed just barely fit. Strangely enough, it reminded him of his previous dorm room at Balamb Garden. Almost, but not quite. He’d subtly changed the layout and the furniture, because he wanted all this to take place somewhere he was comfortable with…but not a place that held memories. He didn’t want the guilt.
It would have been too strange.
Once his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, he gingerly began to take steps forward. One step…don’t bump into the dresser, two steps…don’t jam your hip on the end table and knock over the little lamp, three steps…stop before your shin hits the bed.
It was a very small room.
Slowly, Squall lowered himself onto the firm mattress, his fingertips twisting themselves into the topmost blanket. He stayed there a moment, sweat trickling down the back of his neck and into the collar of his t-shirt. Then, with a slight shrug of his shoulders and a minute twist of his hips, he had settled himself thigh-to-thigh with the man on the bed next to him.
The man on the bed next to him. The ultimately perfect, unquestionably desirable man sitting calmly on the bed next to him. With an air of indifference, Squall rested his head on the man’s shoulder, nestling it slightly in the crook of his neck. He inhaled deeply, smelling sweat, cologne, and a faint, lingering dust of gunpowder. The simulation program was so thorough.
One of the man’s arms circled Squall’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Every sensation was heightened in that instant of euphoria and adrenaline, the instant of acceptance. To supplement this new development with a more daring move, Squall settled his right hand one the man’s left thigh, kneading softly. This elicited a startled gasp from the man, which in turn caused Squall to jerk his head forward in surprise. The man’s mouth was open in a silent protest, and Squall smiled ruefully as he allowed his left hand to drift to the man’s chest. After all, he hadn’t programmed his fantasy with a voice.
It would have been too…painful.
Before his fantasy attempted speech, Squall closed his lips over the trembling, pale pink of the other man’s own. The feeling was wetness, warmth, and blatant hesitation for a moment, before the lips parted and allowed Squall’s tongue to stroke the inside flesh very gently. Squall shivered, cuddled in the man’s embrace. He was already very aroused, his excitement and anticipation acting as an aphrodisiac for the evening.
Hands were all over his body, touching, exploring. With a tip of his head, Squall bared his neck for the other man’s access, relishing the soft, sucking kisses he was receiving. Every motion felt spontaneous and authoritative, but not rushed. It was something he missed with Rinoa; spontaneity was no longer a part of their love-making and it made it unsatisfying. Sometimes he felt guilty for his falsified adultery, but always it came back to one thing: he was frustrated.
And it wasn’t as if this was a real person he was fucking. It was a computer simulation.
Those large, warm hands had moved to his chest and nimble fingers were lightly stroking his nipples, teasing them to tiny peaks beneath his thin t-shirt. Squall moaned, pushing his body against the other man, quivering with need and hunger. He liked submission. He liked being pinned beneath another person, smelling and feeling and tasting without being in control. He liked being forced to his knees, being made to perform for another person, to bend and yield to their every whim.
He liked being dominated. Suffice to say, Squall had problems when he was forced to be the dominating partner, the leader not the follower. He found himself hesitant, uncomfortable, and nervous when asked to be controlling. He’d discovered that he was simply not good at it, not good at being on top and having that direct power. After several disastrous nights with Rinoa, the girl had taken it upon herself to initiate sexual activity with her fiancé…and often found herself atop his body rather then the other way ‘round, although it was never a conscious decision.
Squall pushed himself into the other man’s lap, tangling his fingers in the stiff shirt lapels that were irritating his hands. He licked and sucked his way down the man’s jaw to his ear, where he paused just slightly. “I want…I want to suck your cock,” he whispered airily, absently allowing his hands to travel down the strong chest before him, “Will you let me?”
*Aha! I am the /ultimate/ tease! Bwaha! Worse than Squall even! ^^; This is only because I haven't finished the story yet and am prolonging my misery*