Okay... so, yeah. I have no idea where this came from. The first line just popped into my head and it all went downhill from there. I don't even support RenoXCloud as much as some other pairings cough sephxcloud. Anyway, I decided to post this up because my account looked so lonely with only one terrible fanfiction up there. At least this one makes sense. And on wit' da show!
Tryst
The
first time it happens, you're sure it's a fluke. Has to be. Could
have been anyone, really, caught in your alcohol-laden vision and
designated lover of the night. That's how you ended up with
Rude
in a dress on the roof of the Shinra building back in its heyday
after all. Somehow, he was as drunk as you were, which made it okay
when he pressed his hot mouth to yours till the world exploded and
you woke up to a throbbing headache and the dying roar of an engine.
The second time, and you're still drawn to those glowing blue eyes and deceptively lithe body pressed up against you in the crowd and against the wall and on the floor. This time he's not staggering as much as you are, but that's even better because you both make it to the motel this time, past the indifferent clerk and to your own temporary, secret, sinful den. The morning tastes bitter and lonely, which bothers you more than it should, seeing as you've done the same thing to your fair share of people before.
The third time, and you wonder whether he's seducing you instead of the other way around, flapping moth and dancing flame reversed. You're not even drunk, although you pretend to be in order to let his guard down. The world contracts into one sensation after another for an entire night and nothing else matters, nothing else exists, nothing can ever stop the perfect moment of bliss that you fall in to. In the morning, you catch him right before he slips off on that bike of his.
"Hey, Cloud, we have to talk."
"About what?" He's defensive, distracted, not looking you in the eyes but at everything else.
"Don't play the idiot. We both know about what."
"There's nothing to say."
"Nothing! Four times is not nothing. What are you going to do? We can't keep this up forever."
"Why not?"
"What about Tifa, man? She's bound to notice sooner or later and then what? She'd probably take it better if we hadn't lied to her for ages about it." Calling this an it, still pussyfooting around.
"Leave her out of it. This was a mistake, all of it."
"Well, even if it is, what's your plan? We can't keep living like this. I can't live like this." There, you've said it, admission making everything real. The words hang in the air. He finally looks straight at your eyes and you see hurt? guilt? love if you squint? Then he turns away and runs to his bike, pushing gas down hard. You let his figure recede from view.
There isn't a fourth time.
A/N The whole "four is death" comes from their pronunciation in Chinese/Japanese where the word for "four" is almost a homonym for the word for "death." And now you know.
R&R
