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For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.	By : KittyMeowMaxwell Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
For
Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.

~
A Kitty and Eoko Fanfiction.

Warnings: Swearing blah blah.

Disclaimer: Eoko and I do not own the FF8 characters,
nor do we make any money off this fic. I wish we did, because then I
wouldn't have to work.

Author's
Notes:

Kitty:
Waa! We are late with updatings again.

Eoko:
It's our new thing?

Kitty:
Yeah, it's totally in.

Eoko:
Totally! It's like arriving slightly late to a party.

Kitty:
Oh, yeah! Fashionably late.

Eoko:
Eeeexactly.

Kitty:
I'M GETTING A PET SNAKE!

Eoko:
She is, and the Canadian found all the legal and permit info for the
Aussie.

Kitty:
Yes. So if ever you get into trouble, Call up Eoko to defend you. You
cannot lose!

Eoko:
I love how everyone says that when I'm going to prosecute
criminals, not defend people.

Kitty:
But you would defend a friend, right? XD Honestly,
I keep forgetting, because mah sister wanted to be a defence lawyer
for a while.

Eoko:
I could reccomend a good defense lawyer and give legal advice I
suppose.

Kitty:
You would defend me, though, ne?

Eoko:
If I legally could, and it would be wise and I wouldn't get you
convicted sue to lack of defending knowledge.

Kitty:
XD I'm sure wouldn't get me convicted. But now, let's let them all go
read about other convicted criminals.

Chapter
3. - Carrying a Dangerous Weapon.

Irvine’s session
was scheduled for right after he’d had lunch. He was to report
to his cell by one where a guard would meet him and escort him up to
Miss Quistis Trepe’s office.

The woman was not there
when they arrived so Irvine and the guard waited in front of the
desk. The room had uniform white walls, a brown leather lounge, a
few armchairs of the same material, and the standard desk and swivel
chair.

Quistis entered the
room several minutes before the meeting was to start. Thin-rimmed
oval glasses sat perfectly across the bridge of her nose, framing
sharp blue eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight, and into a
French twist and in her arms she carried several folders and the
customary clipboard.

She strode around to
the other side of the desk, putting the folders down and shifted them
into a perfect stack. Then she sat down, adjusted the fitted jacket
of her suit and folded her arms over the top of her desk, regarding
the two men.

“Good afternoon,”
she said, offering a warm, yet professional smile. “Mr.
Kinneas, I presume.”

Irvine said nothing.
The guard next to him regurgitated what seemed to be a standard
string of phrases before taking his leave. Apparently two more
officers were stationed just outside the door should Miss Trepe be
assaulted in any number of ways. Irvine was also fairly certain that
any one willing to be alone in a room with convicts was quite capable
of fending for themselves until back up arrived.

Quistis got to her feet
and motioned with one hand at the furniture as the other swept up her
clipboard. “Feel free to use any one of the pieces. Lay down,
sit down, stand if you feel like it, but I’d definitely
discourage the last option.”

The auburn haired man
simply strode over to one of the chairs and collapsed into it in a
very bored fashion. He looked over at the quack-with-a-rack taking
her seat and sweeping a hand beneath her long skirt in order to
smooth the wrinkles out.

Her suit was a
surprising color; a salmon red that not everyone could pull off.
When standing the skirt ended just below her knees. The jacket
tapered down to her waist, then flared slightly in a style that
accentuated the shapely curvatures of her female form. The deep
v-neck would have given a clear view of her ample bosom had she not
been wearing a stylishly-plain baby-blue turtleneck underneath.

Irvine was at least
glad she was an attractive woman, and not some old and decrepit
hunchbacked crone. Though, considering how the other men talked
about her, it seemed her looks were not enough to make up for some of
her less flattering qualities.

“Let me introduce
myself. My name is Dr. Quistis Trepe and I am this prison’s
chief of psychology. I mostly handle everything myself, so we should
see enough of each other. It all depends on you, Mr. Kinneas.”

He cocked a brow at
her, hoping she wasn’t going to start off on a background story
about why she chose psychology, and this prison, and what her goals
were and what those goals would accomplish.

“Now, you only
arrived yesterday. How are you finding things?” she crossed
one leg elegantly over her knee, resting her clipboard on her thigh
and plucking a pen from where it rested behind her ear.

Irvine snorted and
looked out the metal diamond-mesh covered windows. “How do you
think I’m findin’ thin’s? I’m sure you’ve
had yourself enough people through here to know how it all is.”

Miss Trepe simply sat
quietly, eyes soft and focused on him, pen in poised hand over her
papers.

“It’s hell!
Two days ago everythin’ was fine. It was turnin’ out to
be, like, the best day of my life. Then before ya know it- bam!- in
comes Detective Ice-Cock and there goes the rest of my life.”

Quistis made a note on
the paper. “I will assume you are referring to Detective
Leonhart, as that does seem to be what he’s called in here. I
will ask you to try to use his correct name, please. Now, continue.
How is the prison so far? Have you had any uncomfortable
confrontations?”

“Prison is
hell. I hate it! But that is the point. This is my punishment.
Pft. And yes, I’ve had several “uncomfortable
confrontations”.” He curled up his nose and tossed his
head to the side slightly.

“I get assaulted
before I even get two feet through the second gates. Not, like, five
minutes later I got some son of a bitch’s tongue down my
throat. Then I’m rounded up cause some dumbarse
upstairs is too shit-faced to show me where my cell is first.
Then this little tattooed cocksucker gets up in my face and I gotta
tell him to fuck off.”

Irvine gave a long
suffering sigh and pulled his braid over his shoulder to stroke. “I
can’t take two steps anywhere without gettin’ some kinda
attention. Fuckin’ horny arseholes. I know how fuckin’
hot I am, dammit! And I know what the hell goes down in prison-
fuck. I can deal with em, ya know? I ain’t no pansy arse
bitch. But Mr. Your-Mouth-Is-Mine is fuckin’ stalkin’
me. Then I get assaulted again cause I insulted his little
guard bitch, and to just add the fuckin’ cherry and
sprinkles to the damned cake, he’s my cell mate.”

“You seem
agitated.”

Irvine eyes nearly
bugged out of their sockets. “Agitated? Agitated? You
gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! My cell mate- no! Half
this prison, at least, wants to molest and or rape me. And to
make that even better my cell mate happens to be one of the
top-fuckin’- dogs in here!” He tugged on his
braid angrily.

“And at breakfast
the rest of the crew sat down at my table! Like, fuck. I get
in here one day- not even twenty-four fuckin’
hours and I got every prison prince, duke, lord, and jester on my
tail!” He slouched down in his chair and made a very displeased
sound.

“Mr. Kinneas, I
can see that you’re having a great many difficulties already.
How are you dealing with these advances, and other encounters?”

A little smirk tugged
at the hitman’s lips. “Oh, lovely. I got thin’s
handled alright. No one gets too close, and if they do, a few words
is all I need.” He lifted his hands in a motion that was meant
to say ‘now don’t worry ‘bout that’. “I
ain’t gonna do some fool thin’ to get me into more
trouble in here. Just a few harmless threats with a colourful
edge and them fellahs be movin’ on.”

“Do you feel like
you may act on any of these threats, Mr. Kinneas?”

“Not unless I
ain’t given any other choice. Seems if the big boys are takin’
a likin’ to me I might end up in a safe little niche. And I
got the tattooed wonder guard a couple cells down. I’m sure
he’d jump in before anyone was fatally injured.”

“You are
referring to… Mr. Dincht then?”

“If Mr. Dincht is
a short arse midget with blond hair and black lightnin’
slappin’ the left side of his face, then yea. What the fuck is
wrong with that kid? Tell me he’s got mental problems! How
can he, like, voluntarily put himself in prison?? It’s insane!”

Quistis made a little
noise in the back of her throat. “Although I do have some of
my own theories regarding Mr. Dincht, I am not at liberty to discuss
them with other inmates, as I’m sure you are aware.”

“He’s
addicted to sex, ain’t he?”

“I am not at
liberty to say,” she repeated.

“Ah, whatever.
Like I give a damn about the little fuck. Only thin’ I got to
worry about involvin’ him is gonna be blockin’ out his
screamin’. Shit…. why, why, whywhywhywhwy!”

“Mr. Kinneas,”
Miss Trepe interrupted, voice smoothly cutting through his
questioning mantra. “I believe the best thing you can do at
this time is try to relax and fit in. I am also well aware what goes
on down in the cell blocks, and I must say your looks will be
trouble. If it wasn’t hideously bad for my self esteem, I
might even admit you are prettier than me, which only makes things
worse for you. If the leaders of the prison population are indeed
taking an interest in you, you might be wise to take them up on that
offer.”

She smiled and got to
her feet, making a subtle motion that led to Irvine following her
lead. “Mr. Kinneas,” she said, stretching out one hand
to take his, “I do not spout garbage to my patients for a pay
check. I do actually want to help you. And right now all I can
really do is tell you to stay out of trouble, and take the
opportunities you can get because you won’t be getting a lot in
here.”

Irvine shook her hand,
slightly surprised at the strong hold and firm, single shake. For a
woman- for a quack woman, she wasn’t all that bad. Then
again, they hadn’t even begun to discuss his crimes, career,
life, childhood, and whatever else she was going to dig up. Hell, he
had a long time to spend in here. He was sure she’d find out
plenty.

Quistis returned to her
desk, sitting own and pressing a large, orange button on the phone.
“Mr. Kinneas and I are done, you may escort him out now.”

Moments later one of
the guards from outside the room came in and smiled at the woman
behind the desk. “No troubles I see. Wonderful. Let’s
get you back now, Kinneas.”

“Oh, please. I
simply cannot wait,” Irvine said, voice a robotic monotone for
empahsis, walking over to the guard and rolling his eyes.

- - - - - - -

Seifer shuddered as Dr.
Heartilly left the room so he could put his clothes back on. The
girl could be a good doctor, but he doubted very much she’d
ever make it in a prison. A whole lot of the inmates held very…
unconventional views of her, and the rest joined in the teasing just
for the reactions it got.

She would blush at
nearly everything they threw at her, and as they laid it on thicker
she just became more flustered. Seifer would have to remind himself
not to surprise her when her hands were so near his more vital
anatomy. Especially when her reaction was to tighten up say…
her grip- ouch.

Drs. Heartilly and
Kadowaki came back into the room and finished with the last of the
medical details before an officer came in to escort Almasy back to
the cell block. It was annoying, he noted, to have to go and see the
doctors, but he was also glad the prison administration took notice
of his status within their walls. It wasn’t like every Joe and
John in here were getting regular check ups.

He smirked to himself,
striding down the hall towards his cell to drop off his jacket. When
he got there he found Zell on his bunk, sprawled on his side and
propped up on one elbow as he read a book.

“Ink,”
Seifer said, voice dropping to a tone reserved for children and the
feeble minded, “When the cells are open, you go outside; when
the cells are closed, you waste your time reading books.”

The tattooed man looked
up, closing the book and setting it on the floor. “I was out,
but I figured your check up would be done around now and I thought
I’d wait around in case you needed any…” he
trailed off, eyes sliding down from deep green irises to below the
blond’s belt and back up again. “… help
forgetting who last had their hands on you.”

Seifer rolled his eyes,
hooking his jacket over one of the back corners of the cell’s
chair. “Aren’t you just full of self sacrifice?”
he commented wryly.

“Well,”
Zell purred, shifted his weight on the bunk. “It wouldn’t
be complete self sacrifice.”

“Off my bunk,”
the taller of the two said, coming over only long enough to grab Zell
by the back of his singlet and haul him up and off the mattress. “I
ain’t wasting open-cell time getting a blow job when you’re
completely capable of doing that much later in the evening.”

Zell followed Seifer
out of the cell and down the hall. “That mean I get to suck
that big, strong cock of yours tonight?” he asked, voice
dropping a bit and arms snaking around one of the older man’s.

“I haven’t
decided yet,” he stated, rolling his shoulder and slipping his
arm out of Zell’s grasp, causing he shorter man to pout rather
childishly. “You’re pretty fucking eager, Ink. Maybe
you should go release some of this tension with your boy.”

The tattooed blond
sighed audibly. “He’s in that alcohol awareness and
responsibilities program session now.”

“So I’m
second pick? Hoping to get a little action outta me since your
little bitch is busy?” Although he hadn’t meant it, his
voice did have a touch of bite to it, not that speaking with any
level of bite had even made Zell cringe or back down.

“You know it
ain’t like that, Jade!” the little blond said hurriedly.
“You know you’re always first pick in my books. You know
that. ‘Sides, you haven’t been quite so eager to do
nothing with me since Paris showed up.”

“Ooo, yea. Since
yesterday. Sorry I haven’t thrown you down or against a
wall in the last twenty-four hours.”

Zell made a face and
half glared at the taller man. “Wouldn’t be so bad if I
didn’t know you were eager to jump him instead.”
He sighed and lifted his head to look up at the sky as they passed
through the double doors into the yard.

“Please, Ink. It
has been almost two years with you. Maybe I’m getting bored.”
He smirked at the drop of the chin and look of utmost displeasure
that comment caused. “You know I’m fucking with
you, Ink.”

“You
are such a fucking prick. Yea, I know. Oh-” he paused,
looking over to the left. “Hn, you just remember, if you can’t
get a piece of Paris’ sweet arse by the end of the week, you
get ridda that built up tension, kay? I’m getting hailed by
the Biker Boys so I’ll catch up with you later.”

Seifer opened his mouth
to say something, though he wasn’t exactly sure what given the
amount of things he could have replied to, but shut it as the younger
blond left. He scoffed and shook his head. He’d never get
used to Zell, because Zell never played by all the rules. On one
hand, he was very, very much like Seifer’s bitch, on the other
hand he had one of his own. He would follow some of the orders he
was given, but more often than not he’d just snort or laugh,
and he never asked to leave before doing so.

His mental ramblings
came to the same conclusion they always did; he wasn’t a normal
prisoner, and he was never going to be, nor have to be. And besides,
being associated and near someone as emotionally positive as Zell did
wonders for the body and mind.

“Hello,”
Seifer said, coming up behind and to the right of his favourite new
inmate to hate, voice soft and deep. “How was your meeting
with Miss Lens?”

Irvine spun around and
glared at his lovely blond stalker. “Lovely,” he said,
turned to the side and watching a particularly odd series of hand
gestures by one Zell Dincht on the other side of the yard. “She
says I’m “agitated”.”

“No shit!”
Seifer said, and laughed. “That’s almost as bad as her
telling me, “You don’t like it here.””

The auburn hared man
turned to give him an odd look. “What kind of an observation
is that?” he asked, starting to wonder where the woman
obtained any sort of certificate with which to practice.

“Actually,
they’re both fairly good if you think about it. Got you
carrying on for a good long while I bet? Guess what, you say things
you might not normally say when you’re frustrated, mad and/or
bewildered. She shocks the first rant out of everyone with something
lame.”

Irvine eyes narrowed as
he thought back on his session with the blonde woman. “Hm…”
He had gone off when she’d said that. It had been such an
understatement. He’d felt the need to clarify the injustice of
his experiences thus far.

“Might want to
keep that in mind from now on, Paris-”

“My name ain’t
fuckin’ Paris!”

Seifer’s hand
shot out and grabbed the hitman by the chin, turning his face to look
him in the eyes. “Listen up, pretty boy. You’re in
here, and you’re in here for a long time. Be a little more
appreciative that you’ve been given such a charming name
on your first day, and by the big boys no less. That name came from
Prof, who reports directly to Boss. And guess what? We all know you
as ‘Paris’, and you’d much rather be known.”

The knife was out
again, the side of the blade flat against his index finger, the
others curling around the handle. The other side of the knife was
pressed to Seifer’s stomach, the chill of the metal seeping
past the singlet material and into his skin.

“Paris…”
a voice came from the right.

Irvine looked up and
Seifer drew away, releasing the other man’s chin from between
his fingers. Sky blue eyes narrowed and they glared into shining
sapphires. The knife was instantly hidden again, so quickly Seifer
hadn’t caught the movement taken to hide it.

“How did you get
that in here?” Zell asked, eyes flickering between the
assassin’s face and the place he’d seen the knife get
hidden away. “That wasn’t a shank. That was a fucking
knife.”

“I’m
talented,” Irvine said with a snarl in his voice. “You
gonna confiscate it now, like a good little guard?”

Zell cocked a brow at
him. “Uh… no, duh.” He gave Seifer a funny look
then returned his gaze to the hitman. “Only way I’m
taking it is if you do something serious, or I have good reason to
believe you will do something serious. And besides…”
he paused, glancing as Seifer again before reaching one hand behind
Irvine’s neck, pulling him in close while the other held the
knife where it was hidden.

He leaned up to whisper
into the taller man’s ear on the opposite side Seifer was
standing- and now glaring. “Listen, you’re beautiful.
That knife is your protection. But if you do something stupid
I can’t help you. And there are better ways of getting
protection in here.” With that said he released the now
glaring assassin and let him storm off.

“Way to go, Ink.
I’m never going to fuck his sweet arse at this rate.”

“So sorry for
wanting to make sure you didn’t get a knife wound somewhere
vital, or… inconvenient,” he said with a smirk. “Come
on. ‘Noon lock up’s just around the corner.”

“I hate you,
Ink.”

“I
know, Jade. I know.”
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For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.