to the earth they sing

by M.A. Blackthorn

Tattoos. He'd asked her earlier in the evening why she had chosen wings. 'A wish,' she'd said and left it at that.

Title: ...to the earth they sing

Rating: PG-13 maybe

Warnings: Implied nudity. Non-explicit sexyfuntimes.

Word Count: 368

Prompt: Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core, Tseng/Cissnei: Tattoos – Show me yours and I'll show you mine.

A/N:Title is from a Martin Luther quote: "Good news from heaven the angels bring, Glad tidings to the earth they sing: To us this day a child is given, To crown us with the joy of heaven." Written for areyougame at dreamwidth.

Tseng caught his first glimpse after a botched mission. He was entering the infirmary as Cissnei was sliding her shirt over her shoulders. She was quick enough that he had barely taken in the purple on her back before it had disappeared from view. Too dark to be a bruise. Too deliberate to be stitches. She turned to face him.

"Hey Boss."

With that, she floated past him, leaving him standing in the doorway. Her shampoo smelled like strawberries.

---

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Her breath tickled the back of his neck.

"I'm not sure that would be wise."

It was like someone else has spoken but they were his words. She stood there, contemplating his back as he'd contemplated hers for the longest seventeen seconds of his life.

"Right."

He felt her leave, an absence at his back. Her toothpaste smelled like peppermint.

---

He ran his tongue over the blade of her shoulder, tracing the line swooping over the arch. His fingers danced over the curve of her hip, drawing out their own patterns in breaths and whispers.

Lips dragged over skin into the shallow valley of her back. He could feel the tension ripple through her as she fought not to squirm. He dug his hips into the mattress, not bothering to try.

Too quickly, she flipped onto her stomach, leaving him staring at her navel. He raised his eyes to meet hers. Her hand came up to trace the lines of his lips, cheekbones, temples. She brushed her fingers along his forehead, slowing down when she reached the mark in the middle.

"What does it mean?" It was the first thing she'd said after he'd asked her earlier in the evening why she had chosen wings. 'A wish,' she'd said and left it at that.

"Nothing. Not now." She cocked her head to the side, silent. She said no more. It had been enough.

He dipped his head to scrape his teeth along her hipbone. It was too poetic to ever say aloud, but he couldn't help but think that her soap smelled like clouds.