Author's Notes: Strong sexual content, involving two males. Prostitution. Angst. Song lyrics. Unauthorized use of video game characters in an alternate universe. More angst. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the angst.

Light of Day

By Ashi

//Kody sat down on the avenue
He tapped his feet, to the humming of the highway//

The night was warm, streetlights and shadow and pale, pale skin moving like a song against the distant throb of traffic from busier parts of town.

Leather creaked. His feet ached, arched unnaturally in stiff, sleek boots. One more and he could go.

//He watched the light shine down on the broken glass, and thought,
I don’t got no reasons, yet…//

It was better when he was alone, somehow; when the others had gone, taking with them their wide, painted eyes, their self-conscious movements, their panicked glances to the street belying their assumptions that it would have been easier than this. He had never been like that.

He fit the night like a shadow, shifting easily, leaning against a rough brick wall and tilting his head, just a bit; long, lean legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. So easy. Counts the money in his head, mind clear; no drugs tonight.

//…there it is and there it was
Yeah, it was clear to all of us…//

He heard the car coming and didn’t open his eyes.

Six tonight, eight last night, and the weekend off.

//We kept this hat of broken dreams
And we pulled them out, when we needed them around…//

Footsteps, clipped, in an attempt to sound unhurried and failing. He smiled and opened his eyes.

“Miss me, sweetheart?” The man’s face was a silhouette against the streetlights, the tilt of his head bringing light cascading over his hair like a halo.

He didn’t respond, just smiled as he was pinned against the wall, warm breath against his cheek and a knee settling between his thighs.

//So please hand me the bottle, I think I’m lonely now //

“You know, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen…”

“Mm?” he purred, brushing his glossy lips against the corner of the man’s mouth.

“You”—and he was crushed up against the tall, strong body--“are supposed to come to *me*.”

He arched his back, smiling, wicked, all dark, messy hair and kohl-smeared eyes. “Make me then.”

//And please give me direction, I think the hurt set in //

Oh, but he was rough and sweet and nothing like the others, his hands gliding over belts and leather and smooth, bare skin, touching and tasting and making him forget who was seducing whom. He moaned and kissed back.

//And I don’t feel nothing…//

Oh yes, so easy.

Fingers in his hair, clutching, kneading, pressing him closer.

He let his arms wind up around the man’s neck and drew himself up to that hot, hungry mouth…

“You look comfy.”

Startled, he breathed a curse against the blonde’s lips, reluctantly breaking away to glare at the intruder—a young black-haired thing who merely stared at him unapologetically, crossing her arms over her scantily-clad chest.

//Well, there’s a squeak-hinge down in the back gate//

“Working late tonight, Squall?” she smirked, eyeing the tall blonde curiously.

“…You have no business here,” the messy-haired boy—Squall—managed coldly, despite being just a touch out of breath.

“It doesn’t look much like business at all.”

Squall bristled.

But she was peering around him, ignoring the threatening clench of his jaw, looking back to the man who stood half-shadowed against the wall. “Seifer. Long time.”

“How have you been, Rinoa?” the shadowed figure replied politely, carrying a hint of a sigh. He stared out at the empty street with disinterest.

//It lets us know if he comes around//

Her powdered face twisted into a frown, disappointment quickly masked by annoyance as she turned to Squall.

“Victor needs you to work the club tomorrow night. Be there at ten,” she spat. “And if you don’t show up this time,” she said, eyes gleaming with malice, “he’ll find you.”

She turned to go, smiling coldly at Seifer’s hunched form in the darkness. “Sorry for disturbing you.” And she was gone, heels clacking angrily as she turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

Squall closed his eyes in relief, half-turning at what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle—and could only manage a soft “mph” of surprise as his slack mouth was taken in a kiss.

It was a matter of heartbeats before he responded, falling back into the familiar rhythm he knew only with this man. Right where they left off.

He gave in to the kiss with an ease he shared with nothing else; not sleep, not emotion, not the others. He let his head fall back when Seifer’s ministrations moved to the graceful curve of his neck, unable to swallow a gasping whimper as hot lips roamed his sensitized flesh. He moved against the blonde and clutched the sleeve of his trench. He parted his lips for another kiss. He ignored the disapproving voice that told him he was enjoying himself too much.

Business could wait; he needed this.

He needed it because it hurt to think. He needed it because no matter where he was or who he was with, he was always, always alone and he was so fucking tired of waking up every morning weary and aching and less of a human than he had been the day before.

//But I don’t sleep that good, anyway…no,
And if you’ve never heard that silence, it’s a godawful sound //

Ah, but no rest for the wicked, he thought, tracing his tongue along the smooth outer line of a lip, reveling in the moan he elicited, in the warmth and friction of another human being. And he tasted good too, clean and sweet and the exact same way he always did, every time.

Every time…

With a pang of regret, he realized he could never have this again, after tonight…

…But he forced the thought away, concentrating on warm hands sliding beneath his shirt, up the arching sweep of his back; distracting him, coaxing him, so sweet.

//So please hand me the bottle, I think I’m lonely now//

Oh god, yes, he needed this.

Seifer muttered something unintelligible against his lips, and he ignored it, unwilling to break the kiss and too absorbed to be certain he’d heard anything at all.

But the blonde was persistent.

To Squall’s momentary displeasure, the strong body twisted away, looked at him hazily, panted, “Car”—and Squall smiled, understanding.

“Wall…,” he offered teasingly, but Seifer was already dragging him away, and he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

Seifer all but tore open the door, sucking in a breath as a leather-clad hip slid unnecessarily close to him on its way inside, the gleam of skin against all that oily black all the more captivating directly under the lights; bunching and stretching with wiry muscle as he moved—and the way he moved…

This was taking far too long.

Squall made a pleased little mewl as he was seized, one leg stretched inside the car, and held carefully around the waist as Seifer maneuvered them both inside. With a small degree of difficulty, owing to the presence of an eager body twisting around to straddle his hips, Seifer managed to slam the door shut with a grunt of triumph…which quickly turned into a groan as the bundle in his lap shifted, nuzzling his neck.

“If you were so impatient,” Squall murmured, and Seifer pictured the sexy smile he felt pressing against his skin, “you could have taken me up on my offer.”

“Mmn…but does the wall,” Seifer breathed into Squall’s ear as he lowered him onto the seat, “have a spacious backseat and all-leather interior?”

Squall did not answer, just reached up to tug the heavy trench over his shoulders, spreading his fingers over the bared curve of Seifer’s neck, over the graceful lines of collarbone and muscle. Watched as Seifer sat up, shrugging out of the heavy overcoat and letting it fall, unnoticed, to the floor.

Their eyes met; held. Something had changed.

Outside, the street was dark and silent, and the car light had gone out long ago. Whatever had passed between them was gone, hastily replaced by the raw edge of need as they kissed, moving together—too clumsy, too desperate.

//And please give me direction, I think I just caved in //

When the last bit of clothing had been tossed to the floor, Seifer pulled away, eyes flitting over the body spread out beneath him; at the pale face shining in the dark; at the grey eyes dark and glittering. He saw only need there, mindless and raw, echoed in the impatient twisting of Squall’s body against his--felt it in his own blood.

Maybe he had imagined it earlier…

But it didn’t matter; Squall was drawing him down, kissing him, wrapping long, slender legs around him—God, so beautiful—and all that mattered was the press of hard flesh and hot tongue, his mind drifting into sweet oblivion.

//And I don’t feel nothing
Don’t feel nothing
There’s nothing to feel good about, here…//

Squall moaned and tossed his head, eyes closed; flushed and panting. Oh, he needed this…So good…

The tension was building, unbearable, hot and hard and just like he wanted it. “Nngh…beautiful…Squall, you’re so beautiful…” Squall didn’t dare open his eyes; he knew what he would see and he was afraid of it. And he was close…so close…

It was enough.

Seifer’s cheek pressed warm against his chest, fingers curling against his; and it was enough. It had to be.

//Don’t much get down home to the avenue

I could drive, but it takes so much to get there…//

He tried not to think about all the things he would have to do before the night was over; because it wasn’t planned, and it wouldn’t be planned, and he did not know any other way. He only knew, vitally, in the same sense he knew if it would rain, that he had to get out. And he would leave everything behind.

//Don’t get off on all the broken glass, the Cadillac scene
Well, I’ve seen a lot of good things die, and I’m in an over-emotional way//

He felt tired, suddenly, tired of the past and tired of his future; and, as it happened more and more frequently, he thought of Seifer Almasy.

Nothing in particular about him, just that he was confusing, and frustratingly arrogant, and he had an annoying habit of cuddling after sex. And he was warm against him now, and the way his breath hit his skin felt kind of nice, actually, and Squall suddenly regretted closing his eyes and wished he could see him again, if just to watch him; memorize the planes of his face in the dim glow of a streetlight, slanting in from the rear window…He wondered what he would look like during the daytime, in the morning, maybe; he could imagine the golden crown of hair with sunlight streaming through it, his eyes, the irises broken into so many shards of color that only just flickered in the artificial light. He would glow.

Squall would never see him in the sunlight. He would never see him again, after tonight.

Seifer was stirring against his chest; his weight moved, shifted upwards, lips brushing the sharp line of Squall’s jaw with a reverent kind of affection. A parting kiss, a goodbye; and only Squall knew its significance.

//So please hand me the bottle, I think I’m lonely now//

For a long time, he did not move, watching Seifer dress wordlessly. He reached for his own clothes with a cold, sickening twist in his gut; his hands shook; it took him several seconds to manage his belts and he was hyperaware the whole time of his clumsiness, and what it implied. But Seifer said nothing. He sat looking out the window, fully dressed, transfixed by the skittering path of a paper bag blowing across the street; he did not appear to have noticed. But Squall knew he had.

//And please give me direction, I think the hurt set in//

He looked at the austere profile against the window; at the hands, folded limply and forgotten; and felt a relieving wash of anger. He understood anger—it gave him purpose.

He wanted to crush his mouth against the regal frown, hard enough to bleed; he wanted those bird-bone hands around his throat; tearing at his body; bruising him; forcing him down; taking and hurting and defiling. He wanted to be humiliated. He wanted to break. He wanted to hate Seifer Almasy.

And he wanted to make Seifer hate him first.

He opened the door and got out. It was colder, now; he had noticed it first in the car, biting at the places Seifer’s skin didn’t touch; and he knew it meant dawn, and he had to go now if he was going at all. The money felt heavy in his pocket, safe behind a curve of belt. He’d wasted too much time already.

But he hesitated, watched Seifer’s lanky form emerging from the other side of the car—slow and stiff and mechanical—and Squall waited.

Seifer didn’t look up until he joined Squall on the sidewalk, standing with hands shoved in his pockets, face drawn, unsmiling. Squall felt afraid again when he saw his eyes—saw pain, and longing, and a terrifying strength that was pronounced in every line of his angular face, radiated like heat from his body, a living, tangible thing.

He forgot to be angry.

//Yeah, please hand me the bottle
I think I’m lonely now//

“Do you need a ride?” Seifer asked softly, the question lost in a bigger medium that was understood between them, but left unnamed.

He looked away. “No,” he heard himself saying. “I can walk from here.”

//I’m lonely now…//

Seifer nodded, lips twisting into a grim, shadowed smile as he fished for his wallet. He knew Squall wouldn’t wait.

He watched the retreating form; the long, slender body moving like a shadow over pools of light and sidewalk. He watched for a long time, until the figure had disappeared. He knew he would not be back.

Seifer stood by his car when the first light pierced jutting lines of buildings, sluiced over his hair, his face, his eyes. He looked at the faded brick, the sprawling sidewalk, at the avenue stark and crude in the sunrise. He realized he had never liked morning.

//And please give me direction, I think I just caved in
But it ain’t nothing…//



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