"Prosecutor vs. defense attorney. Bonus points for inappropriate behavior after hours in the courtroom, especially involving suit ties." ~ The Strifehart Kink Meme

"Prosecution, you may call your first witness."

There was a soft hum of acknowledgment, and Prosecutor Squall "Leon" Leonhart stepped around the table. His hand touched the bar that divided the room into two, as he slowly walked from his end to the other side. All the while, his eyes never left those of his target, and a small, pleased smile curled his lips as the final distance between them closed.

"I call the defendant to the stand," he declared, his voice lowered to a rumbling purr. "If the defense would kindly release him from its custody…"

In answer, the criminal defense attorney – one Mr. Cloud Strife – leisurely leaned against his own table with one hand, a similar smile gracing his features as the other came up to greet the approaching lawyer. Once deeming him close enough, fingers caught a slim white necktie in a pincer grasp before tugging at it in silent demand. At the other end of the "leash", the other man turned his head and nibbled the skin over an exposed collarbone.

With the final distance closed between them, the prosecutor was not that quick to seek out his "defendant", instead roaming over his colleague's thin dress shirt and feeling for the muscles beneath fabric and skin. As his fingers blindly trailed over what felt like ribs, the defense attorney mumbled something that could have been a pleasurable moan or a half-hearted protest. Either way suited him just fine.

The fingers of Strife's free hand dug into the thick dark material of Leonhart's suit jacket, barely refraining from tearing the material apart. The other hand found a new angle to tug the necktie from, pulling the brunet's head away from his current location and insisting on a different one. There was an overly dramatic sigh before Leonhart obliged him, and finally met parted lips with his own.

The two men purred against each other, suit jackets pushed back and once pressed shirts liberally rumpled as each pair of hands continued to wrestle for purchase, any leverage they could gain in their battle for dominance. It was eventually the blond who relented, allowing a hand to reach down and fondle the now prominent bulge tucked beneath once neat dress pants.

Breaking contact momentarily, remembering their roles, Strife managed to gasp out, "Do you need to swear him in?"

"I see no need at all," Leonhart replied, fingers lingering for a moment longer. "He seems honest enough."

"Smart ass…"

The brunet mumbled something unintelligible before reaching for the belt buckle about his associate's waist. What followed was a slow grinding of the zipper coming down, but then there was another pause, another amused hum.

"I see you have withheld underwear from the court," Leonhart commented lightly, fingers ghosting over exposed flesh. "Does the defense have an explanation for not mentioning this vital piece of information the first time?"

Strife suppressed another groan before answering simply: "The defense has none."

"Very well…" and then the hand ducked between fabric and skin to located the "defendant" in question. "Please testify to the court about what you saw."

Still safely tucked beneath the cloth barrier, the already somewhat alert "witness" perked up a little more under careful strokes of a thumb. Strangled sounds echoed from above as the administrations continued.

"Witness…" Leonhart growled, adding just the slightest bit of pressure, "the court would like to remind you to please emit everything in your testimony."

"O-Objection…!" Strife stuttered out from another valiantly restrained cry. "The prosecution is stalling."

There was an amused noise from the back of Leonhart's throat, and then he chuckled, conceding the point. "Objection sustained."

At once, the "defendant" was pulled free and laid with little gentleness in plain sight. Whistling at the sight of darkened flesh, the brunet wrapped his fingers around its hardened girth and started to tease its sensitive surface some more. With that sudden spike, the blond let one startled cry slip pass his defenses, earning a soft "tsk" from the man above him.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he spoke up, not relenting in his endeavors. "This is a court of law, and the witness will remain calm."

"G… damn it, Leon," Strife growled, his clenched fists trembling in their clutches over the man's bunched jacket. "I said quit stalling…!"

On his end, Leonhart was as smug as a cat swimming in cream, and he gave his reply. "The defense will refrain from personal attacks on the prosecution."

"And the prosecution will refrain from wonton whining," the blond fired back in retort.

Dark brows arched in playful defiance. "… This court does not condone the defense's tone of speech…" the hand caressed its captive "audience" a little longer, touches too light for the needed release, "I'm tempted to hold you in contempt."

Still retaining some coherence, Strife sent a questionable look the other's way. "Your puns are more awful than usual."

The man shrugged. "It's been a long day."

"Overruled," the blond answered. "Now enough expository banter and get on with it, or I'll finish it myself."

This time, there was a definite pause. The hand moved even further back, only the tips of fingers still staying their place.

"… would you?"

"… would I what, prosecutor?"

"Pleasure yourself," Leonhart clarified quietly, though his challenge was not as pronounced as he had hoped. "Would you do it?"

A hand left abused cloth material and threaded through dark hair, tugging lightly.

"When we get home," Strife whispered in promise, "maybe I will let you watch…"

The unspoken condition was there, waiting for the brunet to act upon it. Fingers flexed restlessly, thoughts playing in the other's head threatened to tear him to shreds, starting with his own arousal that he was barely keeping at bay as is. Finally, his hand returned, this time with purpose.

Throwing his head back with the sudden, more persuasive onslaught, Strife arched his body toward the other, his individual grips on jacket and hair flexing, slackening and tightening over and over as he rode out sensations of pleasure coursing through him with each powerful stroke. As his resolve crumbled, his shaking became more and more visible.

Finally, with a soft curse, Leonhart informed him that he had got exactly what he wanted. The brunet glared down at the stain on his undoubtedly expensive suit and tie, uncaring for what had missed him and landed instead on the table surface. The blond seemed quite smug about it, but the expression was lost with a gasp as the hand continued its work with a vengeful edge. It seemed a blissful eternity as the rest of it made its way out, soiling the table as much as the two attorneys.

Momentarily disorientated and barely able to keep his own weight, Strife was panting as he clutched onto Leonhart for support, allowing the other to return him to a state of decency. Nuzzling indulgently into the crook of the other man's neck, he sighed contentedly.

"Ahem."

Sluggishly, both men turned to acknowledge the added presence of others in the area: those intended for the first afternoon session in the same room. Of the many awkward expressions on the many faces, only one young man in a blue suit seemed particularly shocked by what he had just witnessed unfold. Behind them, yet to take his seat, the presiding judge eyed them both with an offended glare.

"Prosecution and defense," he spoke sternly, "with all respect and dignity due your offices, I must insist you remove yourselves from this courtroom immediately."

There was a dual response of "Yes, Your Honor", and both men at least thought to readjust their jackets before sliding around the table. As an afterthought, Strife reached up to his head, removed the cap he had been wearing for the fun of it, and graciously returned it to a very flushed bailiff on his way out.

Shaking his head in exasperation, the judge retrieved his gavel – surprisingly left untouched – and banged it twice for order.

"A-All rise!"

It did not seem necessary – everyone was still pretty much on their toes after what had just happened. Regardless, procedure was procedure. Stiffly, the judge took his seat.

"The court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Larry Butz… Mr. Wright, would you hurry to your place? We have a schedule."

"I-err… y-yes, Your Honor."

(Honestly,) the judge grumbled under his breath, watching the young novice approach the far-from-clean table apprehensively, (kids these days…)