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...drabble

Irvine had kissed him first, Squall reminded himself as he let his pants be pulled away and flung down onto the floor into a small, concise puddle of leather.

And he'd kissed Irvine the second time. But that didn't really count because Irvine would have kissed him again.

Irvine was still kissing him, he noted as some strange and vaguely happy noise snuck from somewhere deep in his body to spill from his lips. The ceiling was his saving grace, something that he could focus on that wasn't Irvine, wasn't kissing him, and certainly wasn't trailing those kisses down dangerously low, to where anything could happen.

The third time - yes, Irvine had kissed him that time. That time he remembered quite well.

After that, Squall preferred to blame the straining junctions in his mind, the strong voices that fed on his memories, taking a kiss or two away or even taking a hundred.

The bedsprings moaned louder than he had as Irvine shifted upward, gently licking the outline of Squall's lips before backing up his reputation with yet another kiss.

Squall closed his eyes. Irvine did tend to kiss him first.