Wardrobe Malfunction.
Wardrobe Malfunction.
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Warnings: Language, adult themes, sex! Lemon! Yaoi! That’s about it.
Pairing: Zell x
– Yes, for once I am telling.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do not own the original Zell or
the original
However, a much more in-depth and sexy
does belong to me. ;) I don’t make any money off this fic.
Author’s Notes: I did the thing you can do on
involved in the fic and I did it with
and Zell. There are six. Six
fanfiction that fit into this category (well,
where they’re actually listed. None of mine came up because I rarely
tell the pairing, so there are probably more!) Anyway, suffice it to say there
is a serious lack. And let me tell you not all those fics
that came up were very good at all.
Hopefully this one is a bit better than some of those
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>Why, oh why am I shoppin’
with one Zell Dincht? He has the fashion sense of a
one-eyed, colour-blind, Catoblepas
with cataracts. Oh. Right. Those
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>Who would have thought that under those baggy
shorts and that ridiculous… jacket… thing… were muscles like that? Granted, it,
like, makes sense, since he can
and Doomtrain with the other, then stand on one leg
and probably balance my weight on the one he ain’t
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>
style='mso-ansi-language:EN-US'>But still. That was a perfect body. He’s short,
but fuck, he’s gorgeous.
“
The
sharpshooter snapped out of his reverie and blinked several times,
trying to work out why in the hell Zell was standing there shirtless glaring at
him.
“Nice,”
Zell’s chest, and not the bright orange parachute material pants he was
currently wearing.
“You think
so…? Hyne, I think they look stupid…”
his eyes away from the dusky nipple they were riveted on to observe the pants.
“Actually,
yeah, they do.”
“Then why
did you-”
“It’s
called sarcasm, Dincht,
might wanna look it up sometime…”
Zell glared
at him.
“If I’d
known you were going to be a fucking arse to me all damn day, I wouldn’t have
let you come.”
“I wish you
would let me come,”
said, still daydreaming about what he’d do to that nipple with his tongue given
half a chance.
“Well, you’re
here, aren’t you?” Zell replied exasperatedly, totally
oblivious.
Yes, he was
there. Why was beyond Zell. What had possessed him to ask
Granted, the cowboy had impeccable fashion sense – the ridiculous cowboy getup
he for some reason fancied aside – but thus far, he’d been about as helpful as
“Is that leather? No?
It sucks.”
“Forget the pants, Dincht. Why
ain’t you tryin’ the jeans we found?”
“They’re tight…”
he whined, shifting uncomfortably.
“Yeah, and? Geez, Zell. It ain’t like you got
That observation, coming from
he disappeared back inside the change room. The offending jeans were hanging on
a hook in the wall, looking innocent and generally like ordinary jeans, but
Zell knew they were evil. He didn’t like
too-tight clothing, despite what
might say… or possibly because of it.
He shook that thought out of his head and finally relented,
kicking the orange pants to a corner of the little room and taking down the
jeans. They did fit snugly around his legs and arse and he wrinkled his nose at
himself in the mirror.
unknown women staring at his butt because his jeans showed it off. He didn’t
want unknown women staring at his butt period. And, generally, he didn’t need
to show his butt off to pick up in the bars and clubs he favoured,
because the tattoo was by far enough to get him a little.
“Well?”
long while.
Zell
sighed, but he opened the door so
could see.
The
sharpshooter gave a low whistle of appreciation, eyes sweeping down the jeans.
“See, now,
I got no damn idea why you’re so negative about jeans like that. They look
mighty fine.”
Zell made
incoherent mumbling noises and went back into the cubicle,
“Honest!”
looks great in them.”
“Why the
fuck are you looking at my arse anyway?”
“Did you
not bring me along to tell you what does and doesn’t look good?”
Zell fell
silent at that, partly because
was right, but mostly because the zipper of the Evil Jeans refused to come
undone. He struggled with it for several minutes, until
struggled with it some more. In the end, he had to admit defeat.
“
the minute crack between door and doorframe.
“What?” was
the in kind reply.
“I can’t fucking get this fly undone…”
“You what?”
“I can’t
get the fly undone!”
“Are you
serious?” There was a laugh under the words that made Zell scowl.
“Would I
make myself look like even more of an idiot by making up something like that?”
he muttered.
“Well…”
“Fuck
“Well,
Zell, I can’t help you unless you let me in,”
out loud.
Zell
considered this for several moments, then finally sighed and opened the door,
looking covertly around to make sure no one had seen before he shut it and
locked it again.
“Show me,”
Zell’s hands away.
He took
hold of the zipper, forcing himself not to think about the fact that his
concentration now lay solely upon Zell’s crotch, and tried to undo it. The
fighter had been right, however. The zipper was stuck fast. He tried with both
hands, he tried jiggling it, he tried tilting it at odd angles, and even tried
using his teeth – Oh, Hyne,
oh Hyne, oh Hyne, oh
the thing with their thumbs and forefingers of both hands and tugged with all
four of those hands, the zipper wouldn’t move.
“Well fuck
me dead,”
said disbelievingly, staring at the offending zipper and tilting his hat back
on his head. “Dang thing’s stuck worse’n
chocobo shit to a cowboy boot…”
Zell stared
at him, then gave a snort of laughter.
“Only you,
slightly.
“Well, I
know one more thing we could try, but you prob’ly
won’t like it…” the sharpshooter mused, trying in vain yet again to just yank
the stubborn zipper down.
“What…?”
Zell wondered warily.
“You
remember… fuck, no you wouldn’t. When we used to get stuck zippers back at the
orphanage, Matron would breathe on them… I dunno, it
or the vapour or somethin’…
Don’t guess you’d be wantin
crotch but,” he said, chuckling. (1)
Zell
zipper, because he knew he was blushing. The thought of
actually been quite a pretty fantasy that he’d used more than once. Along with
the thought of
writhing beneath him,
“Well…” he
said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d rather that than have some sales
probably charge me for them on some pretence that it was my fault.”
“Well,
that’s a point,”
agreed, then glanced up at him, grinning. “Just close your eyes and think of
the woman of your dreams,” he teased.
Instead,
Zell watched as
tipped his hat back further and leaned forward, put his mouth close to the damn
zipper, and breathed gently on it. It wasn’t long before the warmth was seeping
through the material and Zell made the fatal error of looking at the mirror.
There he
was, bare-chested, and there Irvine was, on his knees, his cowboy jacket
clinging to his slender frame, his ponytail snaking down his spine and –
above – his head level with Zell’s pelvis. Of course, his body reacted in
the same instant as
said; “Gotcha,” and the zipper slid free. He looked up
and yelped as Zell suddenly pushed him backward. He tumbled off his knees and
onto his behind, back against the mirror as Zell crouched over him, fingers
under his chin lifting his head into a hungry kiss.
Of course,
the cowboy and consummate ladies’ man
didn’t take long to catch on. He opened his mouth to the kiss and made an
agreeable sound when Zell settled in his lap, a knee to either side of his
thighs. A long-fingered hand curved around the fighter’s waist, the other going
into his hair, and
made a small sound into the kiss.
That was
all the encouragement Zell needed to push the sharpshooter’s jacket open and
undo his purple vest, slipping a hand inside. His fingers instantly found one
of the little gold hoops he’d seen a week ago during the compulsory
the kiss to moan softly, but the connection his head made with the mirror
wasn’t so soft. His hat fell off and Zell actually looked up to make sure the
mirror wasn’t cracked.
gave a needy whimper and the fighter smirked, leaning forward to suck on one of
those delectable nipples.
his teeth to keep any sounds from breaking free.
“Fuck, I…
love that…” he whispered, at which Zell smirked and moved to the other nipple,
his fingers coming up to tease at the first.
against the opposite wall of the cubicle as his hands fisted, one in Zell’s
hair, the other in the brand-new jeans. He bit his lip
hard, squirming in such a way that the fighter thought he just might have died
and gone to heaven.
Zell
struggled for a long moment in an effort to get his hands inside
way the sharpshooter was folded on the floor of the little room made it
impossible. He drew away and stood, pulling
hands instantly stroked whatever they could reach, one dipping inside Zell’s
own pants to rub at the front of his boxers.
“
pressing the red-head back against the mirror and licking at his throat. “Fuck,
in a changeroom.
We can’t-”
“Why the
fuck not?” the sharpshooter cut him off, his voice husky and rough. He rubbed
particularly hard and Zell swore hotly against his skin.
“Because…
just because!”
“Ain’t it
wondered throatily, then smirked as he cupped the
front of Zell’s boxers. “Don’t be lyin’ to me now…”
“But…
that’s not… It… fuck,
“’Kay…”
ceasing the rubbing of Zell’s boxers. In the next instant, he’d dipped his hand
inside and was slowly stroking the fighter’s length.
Zell put a
hand against the mirror beside
shoulder, panting, and a tiny groan escaped fanged, clenched teeth.
“We could
get caught…”
“I know…”
hard just thinkin’ of it… Dang, Zell… don’t you get
it?”
“What?”
Zell growled. Just
voice was enough to bring him undone.
“I want you
to fuck me,” the sharpshooter said huskily. “Right here.
Right now.”
Again, Zell
swore, but the argument went out of him, because
turn-on. Then again, any situation with
probably would have been. But he couldn’t think with
“Stop it!”
he demanded, and to emphasize the command, he pulled on
the mirror, pressing against his back.
Again,
and he pressed his hands against the cold glass, biting his lip as Zell undid
his belt and his fly then eased his own hand inside the sharpshooter’s boxers.
Strong but gentle, the fighter took hold of
“Zell,”
rested his forearm horizontally against the mirror, biting a mouthful of his
tan jacket to muffle his moans.
“You’re
even sexier than I imagined…” Zell whispered, licking at
sharpshooter’s length.
“You…
imagined me?”
replied shakily, then had to bite his jacket again
because Zell’s free hand was at his nipple.
“Hell yeah.
Who wouldn’t?”
the material, his hips bucking a little, so that Zell pressed a bit closer to
try and hold them still without having to move one his hands from their tasks.
“C’mon…”
the sharpshooter bit out after a time. “Do it…”
“Aren’t you
one for foreplay…?” Zell wondered lowly.
“Ordinarily,
damn right I am, but… a department store changeroom
arched his body, pressing his arse back against Zell’s hips. “I think you’re
good ‘n’ ready just now…”
Zell
growled and pushed his boxers down a little, freeing his length,
well. The sharpshooter’s belt buckle clinked as Irvine reached down to move his
boxers out of the way as well, then they suddenly came to a halt.
“
Zell trailed off, looking helplessly around.
“You reckon
I do?!”
“Fuck, I can’t… I need…” He trailed off as well and glanced at
hips. No way was he leaving this damn little box without satisfaction.
Reaching
down to one of those hands, Irvine brought Zell’s fingers to his mouth and,
closing his eyes, took them between his lips, licking and suckling them in a
way that made Zell swallow hard.
“You can
suck me off any day, Cowboy…” he growled and
“One thing
at a time, Firecracker,” he whispered.
Again, Zell
lifted the tail of the tan jacket out of the way, this time sliding a slick
finger inside of the sharpshooter.
twitched. His mouth had returned to the sleeve of his jacket, and his hands
were fisted against the mirror.
“You like
that…” Zell observed, working his finger gently.
hips lifting into Zell’s touch. The fighter smirked and soon added another
finger, making
gasp and press his forehead against the glass.
“
too happy to oblige.
He removed
his fingers, and held that damn jacket out of the way as he carefully entered
the sharpshooter. It occurred to him that he could have taken the jacket off,
but he didn’t want to pause to do so, and anyway, it didn’t matter now. He let
go of it and held
trembling with the effort of holding still while
“Just… wait
a bit…” Zell gasped.
“I’m
ready…”
assured him. “Fuck, am I ready…”
Zell’s grip
tightened a little and his tongue ran along his lower lip as he shifted his
feet just a little in preparation.
They both
jumped when there was a knock on the door, and
sharpshooter’s mouth and hoped his voice would be steady.
“Yeah…?” he
called.
“Sir,
you’ve been in there an awfully long time. Is everything alright?”
“Uh…” Zell
said as
wriggled against him, then he collected himself.
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine. Just having an argument with a pair of jeans…” That made
him remember that the jeans weren’t his so his shimmied a little to make them
fall around his ankles and
gasped slightly.
There was a
moment’s silence, then; “Can I help you with that?”
“No,” Zell
said hurriedly, hand pressing harder against
tiniest of whines. “No, really. I’m fine.”
“Alright…”
They heard
retreating footsteps and Zell breathed a sigh of relief, then
growled as
moved against him again.
“You got no
fucking patience, Cowboy…” he muttered, but he was privately glad the waiting
was over. He brought his hand back to
hip and the sharpshooter bit into his jacket again as his new lover began a
hard, steady rhythm within him.
He didn’t
tease
but instantly wrapped his hand around the sharpshooter’s length, stroking in a
counterpoint to his thrusts. He could see the effort it was taking
and he resolved to do this again, when they had more time and more privacy so
the sharpshooter could make as much noise as he wanted to.
Right now,
however, he was just interested in satisfying them both before that sales clerk
came back…
because he arched his hips to make Zell’s movements smoother and his breathing
was harsh around his sleeve.
“
felt
tremble at the tone of his voice.
The
arched in front of him, whimpering constantly, now, through his sleeve. Those
sounds and the way the sharpshooter moved were enough to tip Zell over the
crumbling edge into release and his hips bucked deep into
unlikely anyone outside of the changeroom failed to
hear and his body shuddered from head to foot with his release. He went
completely limp and Zell had to hold onto him to keep him from falling and
injuring the fighter’s most treasured possession in the process.
“Fuck…” the
sharpshooter hissed, panting shakily.
Zell just
chuckled and carefully eased out of the relaxed cowboy. The little fighter
hunted around a minute, eventually finding his own shorts, and fished several
serviettes out of one of the big pockets, which he used to carefully clean them
(and the mirror) off.
“What…?”
serviettes.
“Oh… uh…”
Zell flushed. “Ma always takes extra when she eats out, because she says you
never know when you might get stuck in a public toilet without toilet paper…
(2) Guess it’s a habit I picked up from her…”
“Good
thing…”
murmured, a smirk curving his lips as he drew up his boxers and pants.
“Yeah,”
Zell agreed, chuckling.
“Buy the
jeans, Zell. Your arse really does
look damn sexy in them,”
said, leaning back against the mirror and running his hand through his hair
before placing his retrieved hat back on his head.
“Would they
make you let me fuck you again…?” Zell wondered, pressing close and licking
along the sharpshooter’s jawbone.
“You don’t need nothin’ to make me let you do
that again, Blondie…”
promised him lowly. “You can do it any dang time…”
Zell
grinned and kissed the sharpshooter fiercely, then went about dressing himself
in his usual clothing.
When they
left the changerooms, the two women working on the
floor of the store glanced at them, then away again, blushing and Irvine gave a
snort of laughter. The man behind the counter wouldn’t look at them as he
scanned the jeans and took Zell’s gil.
“Nice
store, at which
howled with uncontained mirth and the man scowled.
As they
left the shopping center,
linked an arm through Zell’s and grinned.
“Hands down
that were the best dang
on,” he decided, and the fighter grinned.
- - - - - -
-
(1) My
stick like that, but she swears black and blue that breathing on a stuck zipper
will get it unstuck.
(2)
in our handbags. And you know what? I’ve been glad of them more than once. :
- - - - - -
-
Author’s
Notes: Well, it was short, but it was hawt. Hope you
enjoyed it!