Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and its compilation are the creations of Square Enix, not mine.
Summary: This was the tacit agreement between Vincent Valentine the Turk and Cloud Strife the SOLDIER.
Escapism
by monitor screen
-o-
They had developed some kind of ritual.
The motions were mindless, reflexive and mechanical. Not unlike the trance they slipped into in the heat of battle.
They never talked about this. There was no need to, and talking would ruin the point.
Since they both had a new life now.
*
He thought of Tifa as he walked up the narrow, rickety stairs. He thought of her brave, sad smile as he let himself into that flimsy door, of her strength and hope as he put down his sword in the now familiar corner. He thought of her bar, her house, persistent and consistent and waiting, always waiting, as he registered the silent click of a gun being put together and the near inaudible shuffle of its being put away.
Then he thought no more. Then there was only touch, and heat, and need and memories.
*
Her fingers smelled of soil. Her hair, the leaves.
He worried his teeth over taut muscles, tongue mapping out the ugly remnant of bad stitches.
She danced in the rare slant of sunlight, her light dress swirling, fresh as a flower herself.
He rocked faster, burying his hand into the wild, tangled hair for purchase.
Her skin looked soft and warm, so lively and welcoming by the trim of her dress.
His movements were almost frantic now, harsh panting and blood rushing the only distinguishable senses. Completion was near; he could feel it.
Her lips when she smiled, sweet and so perfectly de...li...cious...
He pushed one last time, squeezing his eyes tight against the other's throat. Just in time for the hard jerks of the body beneath him, the climax he knew in the form of a remembered gun-shot wound.
There was only silence afterwards.
*
When the first hint of dawn leaked through the curtains, he got up and climbed back into his clothes.
Crimson eyes tracked his progress. They followed him across the room and watched him pause at the bedroom door, until he turned and met them and shared a nod of acknowledgement.
Until next time.
No word was spoken; no word was needed. This was the tacit agreement between Vincent Valentine the Turk and Cloud Strife the SOLDIER.
*
He passed Shelke by the window on his way out. They did not greet each other, though she did uncurl from her perch to see him out.
The roar of Fenrir was loud in the cold morning street. He shrugged off the observing eyes from behind familiar curtains, and kicked off for the way home.
Until then.
-o-
