Title: Club Night
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profit gained. This is a fanwork.
Summary: Squall ends up meeting someone at a club. But then what?
Notes: Damon was created and is owned by Trysten. This was a gift to her in 2003.
The music was so loud it felt like the entire structure was shaking, dancing in its own obscene way to the beat of the repetitious dance music that reverberated through its dark recesses. And in one of the darker, more receding recesses, a young brunette hid from the constant assault of the pounding music and the crush of bodies dancing in the same obscene manner as the building. He kept his head low, looking mainly at the ridiculous plastic sword that had fallen to the bottom of his glass once he'd eaten the garnish off of it and choked down most of the rather offensive beverage that had been ordered for him.
And at that moment, Squall Leonhart hated almost everyone. He hated Selphie for having the audacity to suggest he even come to a place like this. He hated Irvine for ordering the bedamned drink he had thankfully finished so long ago that his mouth was forgetting the wretched taste. He hated Quistis for basically sitting on him until he finally agreed to come, well aware he could throw her across the room but too respectful to actually do it. And most of all, he hated Zell. Not just for abandoning him in one of the dark back booths of the hellish club, but also for having the audacity to ask him to dance before doing so.
Dance... It wasn't that it was quite possibly the worst idea ever, despite the fact that it just might have been. It was quite a few things that, when lumped together, cemented the notion of it being the worst idea ever.
For starters, Squall wasn't much for dancing. Sure, he could do it, but he had to first want to. Second, he wasn't much for drinking, though a few more minutes in this place could change that quickly. And besides that, dancing with Zell, especially if it was the sort of groping decadence he'd witnessed on his way to his dark table, probably would have been more than a bit embarrassing.
He couldn't hear anything besides the pounding of the music, but he caught the shadow of the figure standing across the table from him a split second after he felt the distinct feeling of being watched. So much for a hiding place.
Somehow he heard the sound of another glass clinking against the empty one in front of him. Or maybe he didn't hear it so much as felt it, a counter rhythm to the bass line that seemed to be echoing even inside his body. It was almost hypnotizing at times, Squall had realized, and that was why he'd hidden as far in a corner as he could. It wasn't quite as permeating back there, buffered by the throngs of bodies and decorations between him and the blaring speakers.
He had been amazed to find a corner booth available, but the night was still quite young. Surely later in the night he'd be forced to vacate for a less inconspicuous location by some flock of groping club goers who wanted a tiny bit more privacy than the dance floor offered.
Looking up, Squall found himself staring at another man, one with spiky dark hair and beautiful dark makeup accentuating his face. He was wearing loose black pants and a shirt that may as well have not been there at all. His arms were decorated with a variety of leather straps and buckles ending in black fingerless gloves displaying slim fingers tipped with slightly chipped black nail polish.
And he had just set a drink in front of Squall, identical to the now empty glass beside it, except this one was brimming with the horrid concoction that had taken so long to choke down.
Before Squall could protest, the other man slid into the booth, setting his own drink down in front of him. It didn't have the same amount of vegetation Squall's did, instead it was a color Squall really wasn't sure anyone should be drinking.
The other man stared at Squall with dark eyes, silently waiting for his gift to be accepted so the night could move on. It was all Squall could do to not glare and then either knock the man unconscious or simply leave.
Still, the alcohol that was already in his system was doing its job and had lightened up the young brunette just enough that he made eye contact with his admirer for a brief second before grabbing the full glass in from of him. The other man raised an amused eyebrow as Squall removed the little plastic sword from the drink and made a small display of pulling each piece of vegetable free using only his tongue.
One black-tipped finger came to rest against a dark lower lips as Squall's admirer watched the show, letting a small smile show through as Squall looked over at him to double check that he had been watching.
However, Squall's focus reverted back to the tabletop as he downed the drink, this one much quicker than the last. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. He couldn't believe he'd just flirted with the other man.
It was just the alcohol, he told himself, and that's what Quistis had said he needed while she was sitting on his chest, brandishing her whip: A few less inhibitions.
The other man was still curiously watching Squall as ice blue eyes flicked back to see what was going on. Once he had Squall's attention he quickly finished his drink and slid across the booth to stand.
Squall looked up, questioning, as he picked up the little plastic sword he'd discarded on the table and dropped it into his empty glass.
It was then that Squall's admirer held out his hand, beckoning for Squall to come with him, to follow him into the mass of bodies on the dance floor.
Shaking his head, Squall tried to sneak further back into the booth, only to have the other man slink onto the seat on his hands and knees, crawling catlike to cup Squall's chin with one hand, forcing their eyes to meet. Then the other man let go quickly, catching Squall's arm and trying to coax the icy-eyed brunette to go with him.
Instead of relenting, Squall held his ground, not moving at first from annoyance and then from curiosity as the other man slid closer. The man leaned close as if he was going to try to yell above the music but instead only pushed aside Squall's hair and traced the outline of Squall's ear with his tongue, sending involuntary shivers through the brunette's body.
Squall felt like his body had suddenly started a war against his brain. While the last few rational thoughts in his mind told him to get out while he could, the pleasure coursing through his body as the other man licked and nipped at his neck convinced him otherwise.
Finally the other man pulled back, again offering a hand to Squall as an invitation to dance. The alcohol was starting to effectively silence that irritating voice of reason in Squall's head and with his fingers entwined with the other man's, he let himself be led into the crowd.
Before he could get lost in the bodies around him, the other man pulled him close and Squall let out a small gasp as a pair of girls pushing past threw them tighter against one another.
The black-haired man, under slightly better lights it looked black to match the rest of his adornments, just grinned wickedly as he started moving to the music, keeping Squall close and grinding against him as he effectively ran his hands over almost every inch of the brunette. Squall found himself a little slow to respond, finally finding his rhythm as he moved within the tiny space the rest of the club goers allowed him. He even let his curious fingers ghost over the body of the other, not quite processing that not only was this someone he didn't know but also another man.
And then, without warning, Squall found the other man kissing him, licking against his slightly parted lips to seek further entrance. It felt absolutely amazing, and the brunette found himself leaning into the kiss and almost sloppily kissing back a moment later.
He was thoroughly aroused midway through the kiss, a fact confirmed to him as skilled hands stroked him through his leather pants, and once those hands left his erection and moved to his cup his buttocks, he ground himself against his admirer.
Reality hit him the moment their arousals touched through many layers of thick fabric. He was half-drunk in a club, throwing himself at someone he didn't even know, and that someone happened to be another man as well.
At that moment, reality hit Squall and he realized just what he was doing.
And he ran, pushing quickly through the crowd on his way out, not even pausing to look back at the disappointed black-haired man who was still standing in the middle of the dance floor.
Drink Lemonade! Tip Your Waitress!