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She had met him before, even fought him once or twice... it never ended well, for her. But she had a mission, and she couldn't let Cloud down. Aerith was the key, and no harm could come to her. Although, Tifa was no fool, and it was clear that there was more to his order to protect her, than simply a mission. Ever since Zack's death, Cloud was a changed man. He took on several of Zack's attributes, even a pension for innocent, perky flower girls.
She had spent her life trying to get close to Cloud, to make him really see her. It had been her hope, that when this was all over, they may finally have the chance to start over; have a family. But if his tastes ran towards the innocent and perky, well then... game over. For she could be neither. Tifa had seen and experienced too much in her short life, for such childish fancies.
It all would not matter soon. Cloud was away, and Aerith was well hidden. All she had to do now, was keep it that way.
He studied her. She put on airs, it seemed for she must be trembling in fear. Her calm calculation of him, was as intense and steady as his own of her. He had seen her fight before, and she was magnificent. Never did she fail to surprise her adversary, even when said foe was him, so he knew to be careful going in. He could not be fooled by her lithe, small frame. Nor the angelic countenance of her face. She was a genuine warrior.
"You arn't SOLDIER. My fight isn't with you." his deep voice rumbled. He would offer her an out, as a gentleman, but as a warrior, he knew better than to think she'd take it.
His voice flowed over her, in a dangerous embrace, that forced her to suppress a shiver. Her eyes narrowed and she fixed her gloves. With a satisfied smirk she lowered into her fighting stance. She may not win this, but she'd make him leave with a limp.
He stood regarding her, silently, his silvery hair and long jacket flapping with the strong draft in the ramshackle church. Outside a storm howled; inside was the eye.
She hardly had time to blink, before he was upon her. She spun, just barely missing a thick and powerful fist, meant for her gut. She turned, her boots kicking up years of sedimented dirt and dust, as she faced the man behind her.
Her long hair was down, and wiping around her by her sudden movement. He was impressed by her speed. She didn't have the training or the unnatural advantages of a SOLDIER, but she fought like one. He was left wondering about her. Who was she? From where did she hail? For what does she fight? Such pondering were beneath him. They went beyond normal curiosity. In fact, Tifa could prove to be his most dangerous adversary, for she was slowly becoming an obsession.
She made her move when she saw her opening. It was a split second, but his focus had waned. She didn't know why, for he was always a most unwavering predator, but she wouldn't question her luck. Her leg spun at his head, the long slits of her shin length coat, causing the tails to swim about her, like two vipers coiled for attack. She was as stunned as he, when she connected.
The force was so brute, that he was sent flying into the heavy wooden pews, their old wood splintering around him. A low growl escaped his throat. He was being foolish, and careless. He wasn't just some 2nd class SOLDIER. He was a living god, and mortals did NOT get the better hand.
With an explosion of rubble, Sephiroth rose from the mass of his mistake. Wood, dirt, dust all flew into the air, his chest heaving with barely contained rage, as he panted for control.
Tifa was on high alert. Before her stood the most dangerous man alive, and he was eyeing her through his wild bangs, with impressive venom, and hate. Her heart raced with fear, but again she lowered into her fighting stance and waited.
He was moved by her spirit. It was a shame she would never pledge her allegance to him, for she would be a formidable ally to have at his right hand. With injections given to all SOLDIER recruits, she could potentially be his equal match of the battlefield. And yet, he had no desire to change her in any way. Her wine colored eyes would be grievously missed.
The echo of his heavy boots, as they carried him forward, was like a bomb going off in her ears. It echoed in the emptiness of the church, causing her instincts to scream for her to run.
Like a wolf, he prowled towards her. Lithe sinewy muscles rippled under his clothing with each movement. She felt enthralled, watching him move.
Slowly her stance dropped, until she was standing, looking almost directly upright at the man mere inches from being pressed flush against her. Those teal eyes studied her face, with such... reverence. It made her shiver.
He rose from the rubble and stood, ready to attack. To kill her for her insolence. He has expected her to cower, or run, but Tifa rarely did what one expected. In spite of her terror she had lowered again to fight him. Such loyalty to Cloud was waisted. She would lose her life to protect the woman who rivaled her love, all because he had asked her to. Oddly, he didn't find her loyalty foolish. It was an honor to conquer such a woman. Tifa was a rare breed of femininity.
Women fell in to two categories when they met him. They either showed their cowardice, and ran in the opposite direction, or their loose morality by cleaning to the broad chested warrior for attention, or whatever other resources they hoped he may offer, either money, protection, or his seed. Both breeds of women disgusted him. Tifa however fell into a category all her own, for she did neither. She was the perfect blend of maternal ease, and graceful lethality.
Before he knew it he was moving towards her, his guard dropped. He wanted to touch that lethal maternity; to feel all that was good under his large hands. But would she let him taint her with his caress?
Slowly he removed a glove, as she stood upright, studying him with the most endearing curiosity. His hand ghosted over the left side of her face, so close to touching that flawless skin.
She could feel the heat from his hand, so radiant that she thought it might burn her. Her heart was racing now for entirely different reasons. Why was she not fighting him? Why was he not fighting her? And why was she so in rapture with the study of his painfully beautiful face?
That one she knew. It was his eyes. Not the unnatural shade, but the man hidden behind the insanity. He was hurting, and lonely. Overwhelming was the desire to ease the pain, and absolve the loneliness. Tifa knew she shouldn't care. He was her enemy, and yet she could not stay away from that dangerous spark of emotion for him.
Her breath hitched pleasantly in her throat when his hand, lowered from their hovering, to allow calloused fingertips to graze her jaw. Short manicured nails just barely scratched the skin. It was a warning. A reminder of who and what he was, and could do, but she didn't flinch, or falter her gaze. Only his Tifa could stare the devil in the eyes, he mused.
He would reward her courage he decided, and satiate his own desires in the process. With reverence and approbation, his fingers graced the side of her neck, in a loving stroke. Those glorious wine colored eyes closed slowly, and her breathing deepened. She knew she was playing with fire, and yet she allowed him the touch. It thrilled him, more than it should, that she accepted him, though her acceptance should not matter at all.
He fanned his fingers out, splaying them across her neck, and sliding them to the front of her throat. He could feel her heart racing under his touch. Was she scared? She should be.
With his palm lowered, and thumb wrapped around, her tiny neck was almost fully surrounded by his lethal hand. She wondered if he would squeeze, choking the life out of her. It would be a good way to die, she thought morbidly. To die by such a weapon as Sephiroth, and so intimately with is bare hand.
It was as if he was deeming her worthy of his touch, and acknowledging her as an honorable adversary. It was so intimate, and so terrifying.
His touch was just as hot as she had expected it to be, but the calloused hand which dwarfed her neck in it's lethal grasp, held her with such gentle care, that it was almost a whisper over her tingling skin.
He stepped forward, now fulling against her curvaceous, and tempting flesh. Her eyes opened, the expression in them could inspire him to give up all of his goals, to simply have iher./i Acceptance and love shone up at him, with such radiance, that he sought to posses her. He didn't even bother to think about the consequences, or why she would look to him so.
When her eyes opened again, the man before her was simply Sephiroth. Not a crazed assassin seeking godhood. Just a man, flawed and insecure, and needing her, as no other would do. She loved him for that; for being able to look at her and actually see her. His acceptance of what she was, made her tremble with insecurity, for she could not bear the thought of being a disappointment to him.
His head lowered marginally, testing her for a reaction, but all she did was run her gaze along his face, studying the changes the small movement made along his jaw, and the way his hair moved. He expected her to run, or attack, never had he expected her to lean in to his hand, so trustingly, and tilt her head as her gaze fell to his lips.
His hair seemed to have a life of it's own, as it caressed again his shoulders, and his bangs tried to shield his eyes from her view. He had moved closer to her, and she leaned in with acceptance. The slight movement proved to be her undoing however, for it gave her a much more private view of his innate beauty.
One could not call Sephiroth rugged. For all the power contained within his tightly muscled body, he was too beautiful. His jaw was squared, and eyes angled like a wolfs. His hair perfectly silvered, thick and luxurious while his lips... they looked so soft.
Unbidden her right hand, which like it's twin had been deathly still at her sides, rose to his face. She knew the trouble she was inviting by daring to touch him, but the action was instinctual, and happened before her brain even processed the danger she was putting herself in.
He allowed her the caress, her soft tiny fingers touching his lips with curiosity and awe. She could feel the heat of his breath fan over her bare fingers, reminding her that this godlike creature before her, was flesh an blood, just as she. Tifa watched in awe as those lips moved, it was a faint, almost imperceptible twitch, but it looked like... a smile?
Sephiroth fought the urge to nibble lightly at the fingers grazing his lips. The touch was so soft and with such familiarity, that he was burned by the intimacy of it. He wanted Tifa to remove those fingerless gloves so that she might touch him fully, with the flesh of that hand.
He lowered his head further, merely to study the depths and emotions swimming in those large wine eyes of hers. It was no coincidence that those wine colored eyes had him drunk with everything that was her. The hand that was posed so menacingly at her throat, stroked its thumb in small languid circles at the flesh beneath his mercy, as his head continued to lower.
Her hand dropped to brace herself against him. It found the exposed skin of his chest, and her fingers dug gently into the flesh. She felt like she was seeking to ground herself, for the moment she touched him, her head was spinning. He was a solid wall of muscle, his raw power crackling like electricity between them. Through her muddled mind she wished silently that his armor straps were cast aside, to allow her free roam of the solid planes. However, she supposed, it was to her benefit that they were not.
Tifa's touch felt good. Too good. Her hand grasping at his chest made him feel important. Like she was drowning and he was her life line.
He closed the distance between them, and his lips brushed against hers, again testing for a reaction. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she didn't pull away, rather her eyes became hooded, and swimming with desire. The nails of her little fingers dug in to his chest slightly. A rumble of approval bellowed from within his chest, for he understood the reason she clung. She was falling in to the moment, just as he, and desired it just as much.
Sephiroth wanted to crush his lips against her, to own her and tame her, but he fought the urge, to instead enjoy it as a lovers caress. He would indulge this ones, in the meaningless ritual of a kiss. It was simply a curiosity to be fed, and nothing more. Yet even as the reasoning came to his mind, he knew them to be the reassurances of an unconvinced man.
Her breath, which fanned against his face was damp and hot, and oh so sweet. He cradled her lower lip between his own lips, and slowly, softly, sweetly, he pressed against them.
Her knees were weak with his closeness, and she was happily drowning in him. His kiss was the most delicate and reverent of embraces, and she responded with equal adoration. Her eyes fluttered close, in ecstasy, and her free hand rested on his bare wrist, as she leaned in to deepen the touch of their lips.
At her light touch, which did not try to remove the hand at her throat, Sephiroth's free arm wrapped around her tiny waist, pulling her firmly against him, as if he could take her in to him, where she could heal his battered soul. Then... miracle of miracles, she returned his kiss.
He may not have been a god yet, but he had just seen heaven.
Overwhelmed with the depth of his emotions for the girl he now embraced, he slowly pulled away. Her studied her face, and saw no regrets, or shame. He leaned in again, wanting to recapture her lips, wanting to see if, now that she had time to regather her wits, if she would deny him. She didn't.
She moved to meet him as he came closer, she had assumed for another kiss, but froze in start when he growled at her and shoved her away with the hand at her throat. She stumbled back, choking slightly at the force, but with the grace of a lifetime of martial arts training, she righted herself and caught breath.
He turned with a dramatic sway of leather and silky hair. She reached out for him, just before his back was fully to her, but she caught his eyes, and again loathing and hate looked back at her. Her face fell, and her hand dropped.
Sephiroth smoothly walked away, leaving the warrior to stand there, quaking from his kiss. He loathed and hated himself, for his weakness, but he was wise enough to acknowledge when he was defeated, "Tifa Lockheart must die." he said aloud to himself as he shoved open the church doors, flooding the sanctuary with light. She was the single person on this planet, who had the ability to conquer him.
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AN: There was a lot of symbolism in here: From the gloved, the storm and light, the shattering of pews, etc. Try and pick them all out and figure out what they mean. Do you think Sephiroth would be able to kill Tifa? What should happen if they were to meet again? How would Cloud react? Food for thought! :)
This was my first FF fanfic, and I am unfamiliar for the most part, of the story plot, etc. I know some of the basics, but Tifa and Sephiroth are two characters that have always had me fascinated. I hope this wasn't so off that it was hard to read.
Also, no beta, so grammar is a mess. Sorry! Please forgive.
Review please!