Wind and sorrow bear a spark. - Lovage, "Lifeboat."
When Lightning first kissed him on the night of Serah and Snow's wedding, a hard and impassioned thing, one that hurt more than appealed – well, maybe a little – Hope felt a wave of relief that quickly became excitement. This is it, he thought, the brave little fool. It's finally happening. Everything he'd agonized over for literal centuries, everything he'd imagined with ever decreasing guilt the more it came to mind, leading to an expansion of thoughts that made him do the same, was starting then and there, in the darkness of the stairwell leading up to her flat.
Hope had been too elated to notice the rush and haze of the kiss, tasting of liquor and the lingering sweetness of cake that made his molars ache. And how, really, was he to notice that there was something wrong about it? First kisses were never much to enjoy, in his experience. Firsts of anything were rarely enjoyable - not that he'd want Lightning to agree on that part. Not with him.
In hindsight, Hope should have just skipped right over his excitement and landed on confusion, which is what he felt more often than not, now, months later. Confused and unbearably stifled, which Snow had a more vulgar description for, but that wasn't much of a surprise. This is kind of his area of expertise, Hope thought, remembering what both Lightning and Snow had shared, separately, on their own time, about what the years in Yusnaan had done to him. Lightning's had been more from observation and astute guesswork, while Snow's were a grim reminiscence of days gone by.
"Not that you need reminding, kid," Snow had added, trying to smile to break the silence, ending up laughing instead as he shook his head. "What did I call you back then, do you remember? My wing man? That was a pretty strange time in our lives, before... Well." Snow trailed off, forcing a cough.
Hope knew that tone of voice and the awkward way his friend chuckled, a desperate little plea for Hope to laugh with him, please. But Hope had just sighed instead and reminded Snow of their ages, again.
"Eh, you'll always be a kid to me," Snow joked, shrugging, which gave Hope an idea. Not a very comforting one.
That might have been it. The problem behind Lightning's artful ability to freeze hard, cold, but be so unbearably polite when they were alone together, so gently pushing his hand out of her skirt, so gracefully twisting out of his arms and showing him the long, immobile line of her back, her forbidding squared shoulders. All these little denials and rejections that left him burning now had a purpose, a point, besides simple inexplicable frustration. She sees me as just a kid, too.
Hope fumed over this discovery for a while, chewing along the inside of his cheek hard enough to make it hurt. He couldn't hide this distraction even when Lightning was around, which was a dangerous venture. He knew her better than to think she would ignore something that bothered him, even if he tried to hide it from showing. She was too careful, too observant - even if she tried to keep parts of herself likewise hidden from his gaze.
Lightning eyed the muscle twitching in his jaw and more than once asked him what was wrong, with increasing aggression and blatant concern. But Hope denied her an answer, smiling as graciously as he could.
"It's nothing, Light. Don't worry." He wondered if she'd realize the echo of her own words back, the same line Hope would hear when each touch and kiss and moan and thrust crossed some barrier she erected arbitrarily, convenient only for herself. Lightning didn't let on if she did.
This worry continued to gnaw at him, making tatters of his patience until he found himself back at Snow's for the second time in as many days, muttering into his third can of beer and appreciating very much the way Snow was learning how to listen and keep any amused expressions off his face throughout the worst of it. Being with Serah again must have made him learn basic levels of empathy; it wasn't a trait Snow had shown centuries and lifetimes ago, in the old world. Hope wondered how to thank her for it.
But once Hope had finished confiding in his friend, and Snow had started to laugh, loud and mocking and with the most pitying of smiles, all thoughts of thanks vanished. "Stop it," he said, annoyed, fast becoming angry. "It's really not that funny."
"I'm not laughing at the problem, I'm laughing at you."
"You can stop that, too."
"Nah, can't," Snow said, pretending to wipe away a tear. He shook his head and jabbed at Hope's shoulder with a hard little stab of his finger. "You're being stupid, which is... not a word I'd ever thought I'd have to use about you, Hope. You're really hung up on this, aren't you?"
"I'm talking to you about it, aren't I?"
Snow accepted the low blow with grace, and a half shrug. "Look, it can't be that. The age thing, I mean. I mean, she's dating you, yeah? And she made that first move to start with. It's definitely not that."
"So... what?" Hope asked, out loud and more to himself, not expecting an answer. What he got was unwelcome. That seemed to be happening a lot these days.
"Knowing Light, it's probably something all weird and personal."
Something personal. Something weird. Something that would make her so uncomfortable with him, and him specifically.
Hope went cold. He thought he knew what that could be, too.
Offer yourself to me... My beautiful goddess. The words crawled out of Hope's memory as if from a distant dream, echoes and scraps but with telltale, glaring stains that could never be forgotten, that years of regret could never make right again. It wasn't me - that wasn't me saying those things. She has to know that. Right? But Hope couldn't answer for sure, just like he couldn't answer himself whenever he wondered how much of a difference lay between what he really wanted and what Bhunivelze had vocalized.
Obey. Submit your body to me, and become the new goddess. ... Disgusting.
Hope nudged his can of beer across the table for Snow to finish, his stomach working into a miserable knot. If he was to be honest with himself, a part of Hope wasn't sure how Lightning could stand to be alone with him after hearing taunts like that. God had taken his body and used his voice and made an awful, unholy wreck of feelings Hope would never let reach such a monstrous, cruel pitch. And he showed it all to Light. What Hope felt was beyond embarrassment, it was a deep and biting shame.
Before he left Snow's that day, all but shoved out the door once Snow noticed the time and calculated how long it would take Serah to be back from work, Hope received one last parting gift of advice. "Look, the best way to figure this out is to just ask her. Not me. Not that I mind, y'know, since we're friends and all, but you should go to the source with this one. I only know how to handle one Farron sister at a time."
"Phrasing," Hope pointed out, exaggerating his wince of dismay, knowing that it would make Snow laugh. It was a decent enough deflection from the quietly horrified mood Hope had fallen into, though he doubted Snow was clever enough to realize it. Serah couldn't be expected to work miracles, though to hear Snow talk of her might make a more gullible man think differently. And it wasn't as if there lacked a precedent for that sort of thing in her family - Hope only had to look to Light to see evidence of that.
Hope fought off a smirk more than once as he walked the straight shot five-minute walk to his home, thinking on what Snow had said. Snow was right - a terrifying thought in itself, but one Hope would let slide in this case, since it didn't threaten to damage any property or person. Hope was being stupid about this. He should just go to the source for an answer. And soon. The sooner he got an answer, the quicker he could undo this mess and work to fix it, to fix them.
Hope would never have admitted this to Snow, but he didn't think his heart could stand it if he had to endure one more night of Lightning pushing him away. After all that they had been through, after everything they had seen... to feel those walls slide up and that gentle, almost pitying rejection come crashing between them was like a kind of death unto itself. Hope didn't challenge it, didn't push or coax or argue with her when it happened, no matter his own feelings on the matter. But he couldn't help but want to know some kind of answer for it all. There wasn't any harm in asking.
Tonight was as good a night as any other to try, Hope reasoned. He even had a few hours to work up the courage to do so, before she was expected to come over. Lightning always spent the night after they decided on what to have for dinner, which was take out more times than not but they were getting better about their money and their health and tried a few times to make something in Hope's grossly underused kitchen. They'd never talked of moving in together properly yet, though Lightning had mentioned more than once in the past month how little time she was spending in her apartment, and how silly it was to keep paying rent for a place that was turning into a "three room rest stop." Hope had waited for Lightning to bring up the subject, ready and willing and almost embarrassingly eager to help plan out this new stage to their relationship, but she never did - so he never tried.
That was something else he could ask her, once this nagging little intimate matter was settled. Let her be more comfortable with me touching her before I bring up wanting to live with her.
The afternoon slipped away while Hope paced around the same familiar paths in his home, eyeing his mobile phone and almost jumping each time it trilled in his hand, only to have his own hopes be dashed when he saw just who the messages were from. Snow seemed intent on being a distant but still very much present cheerleader in this particular struggle, as he continued to message Hope on the hour, every hour, since they'd last seen each other. Not that the messages were making much sense.
Just gotta take that plug and put it in her socket. "What?" Hope was stopped dead by this first message. He squinted at the words and raised the screen up to his eyes as if being closer to the message could transform it into something sensible. "Are you... What?" he spluttered, and angrily thumbed his way out of the message, dismissing it from the screen.
Only to have another appear an hour later, the hour Lightning should have arrived. This one was so absurd that Hope simply had to read it out loud.
"'Your name is one letter away from dope which is what you're being about this, so take that 'd' and put it in Lightning instead.'" Hope wanted to laugh. He wanted to turn and throw the phone through the window and enjoy the sound of it crashing down into the roots of the hydrangea bush outside. He wanted to find a brick and break it against Snow's head. None of this would solve his problem, but it would make him feel better, in some little way.
Hope turned on his heel and was prepared to underhand toss the phone onto the couch when he noticed that the door to his apartment was shutting, that Lightning was the one shutting it - and that her expression made it plainly clear that she had just heard what Hope said. His face fell.
To her credit, either to some kind of supernatural patience or the love she had for him, Lightning restrained herself enough to raise one eyebrow and narrow her gaze, drawing it over Hope as if it were a blade. She had her overnight bag over one shoulder and balanced a bag of Chinese take out in the opposite hand, which only made Hope feel worse. She bought it herself, her treat - she didn't have to. I would have helped. Even this little thing was enough to make Hope squirm.
"What are you reading?" Lightning asked at last, lowering her eyes and making slow, cautious movements as she entered his apartment. Hope watched as she strode past him, setting her bag on the floor by the hall leading further back towards his room. She didn't glance back or pause to wait for him as she continued to walk into the kitchen, pushing the light switch on with her shoulder in a tense shrug.
Hope hesitated before following her into the room. He could sense the friction in the air around her. It was crackling like her nickname, making the air on his arms and the back of his neck stand up, alive and alert. He couldn't be completely afraid, though - she wasn't looking at him. Hope knew she would glare death and daggers and hell itself at anyone when she was properly upset. This lack of eye contact meant something else - the trouble was knowing what.
"Just something stupid Snow sent me," Hope said at last, deciding on the truth.
Lightning kept her back to him as she carefully removed each carton from the bag and set it up in a neat line on the table. "About me," she said, her voice clipped.
"It was about us, actually." It was easy to say the words, to speak honestly, but Hope's body didn't make the task any more comfortable to bear. His hands were uncomfortably warm and he had returned to chewing on the inside of his cheek, his new nervous habit, as he approached Lightning and dared place his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to give her cheek a kiss. It surprised him that she didn't shrug him off, push him away, or turn from the attempt. She accepted the kiss without complaint, even reached up to give one his hands a comforting stroke, her touch shooting through him like fire.
"And why is my brother-in-law interested in our relationship?" Lightning tapped her nails on the back of Hope's knuckles before she turned to face him, taking his hand in hers and holding it lightly, fingers intertwined, before dropping it down between them. Both a link and a barrier to keep Hope from stepping closer.
Hope had already dug himself a nice little honest hole to stand in. He might as well finish the burial properly. "I... may have... asked his advice about something important," he said, rushing the words together.
Lightning squeezed his hand hard, her eyebrow darting up again. "Advice."
"Yes."
"From Snow."
"... Yes."
"About putting a... what in... me?"
Hope tried to smile, but he didn't see the point. Lightning wasn't looking at him, having dropped her eyes to a part of his face that was just below his gaze, a habit of hers he'd long since noticed and she'd quickly given up on hiding. There was a dark, rouge tinge to her cheeks, a flush that was making her lips stand out darker in comparison, and Hope tried not to look at her mouth for too long, tried to keep his thoughts focused and his attention strictly above the neck, which, the way that thoughts of this nature always seemed to go, ensured he thought about everything but. "We can take turns yelling at him about it later. He was pretty out of line."
Lightning shook her head, moving her thumb in little circles across the back of his hand, every now and then scratching at him with her nail. "That doesn't explain why you went to talk to him in the first place. What's bothering you?"
Here was where his honesty would end. Hope started to reply, had the words ready and prepared, the smile frozen in place, but Lightning raised her eyes to his, and the words died.
"And if you say, 'It's nothing,' I'm going to hit you," she said. "I swear, I'll do it. I'll hit you. Right in that pretty face. Nothing doesn't lead people to asking advice from Snow. That's not how it works - that doesn't even make sense."
She was the one talking fast now, the flush still in her cheeks and her teeth flashing every so often to chew at the corner of her lips. Hope wished she'd never stop doing that. "You did phrase the sentence a little strangely, yeah," he admitted, smiling. "But I understood you just fine."
Lightning lifted her free hand and gave him a shove, hard enough to make him reel but not enough to break their linked hands. "Talk to me, Hope. I'm here, I'm listening... I can probably even help," she said, her voice barbed, her tone sour, but her words precisely what Hope had wanted to hear. I'm the one who should say that, he thought, amused and elated. It was like their first kiss all over again, though he hoped confusion wouldn't show up to ruin this again.
"It's not exactly easy to say," he hedged.
"Try harder," she grumbled.
"Fine." Please don't hit me. "It's been bothering me for a while now, and Snow was being nice or dumb or nosy enough to try to help me figure things out."
"Figure what out?"
I'm getting there, Light. "Figure out why you can't stand it when I touch you." Hope squeezed her hand this time, lifting them both up so she could look at their locked fingers. "Not like this; it's obvious you're comfortable with this. But I mean when we're... in bed."
Lightning's eyes opened wide in shock as she froze, her posture turning rigid, her face the only part of her that hadn't become tense stone. "What do you mean?" she asked. Hope wasn't sure how much of that question was rhetorical; he chose to hear it as a sincere request for an explanation.
Hope took in a quick breath and continued to talk, looking directly into her eyes, making sure his voice was level, smooth, calm. He'd had to use this voice before - not on Lightning, no, never with her. In the time stretching from his years at the Academy to the wasteland the world became without her, in the long awful years after Etro's fall, Hope had to use this voice quite a bit to get by. Someone had dubbed it his "Director's voice," and all who heard it were quick to take what he said seriously, obeying whatever request was made of them when this tone was used. Hope had been told this voice could be eerily intimidating, watching his face go still and having only his mouth move to give the thoughts shape. He tried to soften it as much as he could, not wanting to do anything like scaring her.
"I mean exactly what I just said, Light," Hope said. "When we're in bed together and it seems like we're one step away from finally having sex - you pull back. You always stop me, every single time. You shut me out."
"And this is something you tell Snow," Lightning said, her voice wooden, her hand clinging hard to his, as if to prove that she could do it. She could touch him without wanting out. "Snow, and not me."
"I'm telling you now," Hope pointed out, but he relented. "And I should have mentioned it sooner but I was... nervous."
Lightning waited for him to continue, eyeing the change in his expression, the way his eyebrows knitted across, the way his mouth pulled down at the corners. Hope heard her low, quick intake of breath and felt her move closer to him, watched her lift her free hand to try to smooth his brow and stroke his cheek, urging some warmth and life back into his face. "Keep talking," she said quietly, soothing him. "I had no idea... Why were you nervous?"
"I thought you were disgusted by me." The words were out, were free, finally, but Hope was no happier to have released them.
Lightning almost cringed. "Never," she said at once, shaking her head. The response was as easy and immediate as breathing. "I could never... Why would I ever be disgusted with you, Hope? How could you think that?"
Submit... Offer yourself to me... Obey.
Hope suppressed a shiver of revulsion and focused all his attention on the warmth in Lightning's eyes, the comfort of her touch, the way her body was pressed against his and how he could feel her, finally, after so many long hours of waiting and wanting. "Because of what He told you when He was in control of me." Hope kept the memories at bay, not wanting to hear that dreadful echo ringing in the corner of his thoughts. Not now, not this time. Not with Lightning so close and warm and listening, not with the truth pouring out like a lanced wound, an awful sting that Hope knew preceded the first part of healing.
Hope forced himself to speak, trusting in the love Lightning had for him, in the love that was in her touch and her soft blue eyes. "He... Bhunivelze twisted everything I felt for you, Light. They were all my own thoughts and feelings and He just made them into something horrible, something... disgusting and perverse. It was the only reason I could think of for why you'd shut me out: you kept thinking that I'd end up that way, too."
"I'd never," Lightning said again, shaking her head. "I know you, Hope. I trust you. We're partners, right?" Lightning said softly, still stroking his cheek. She tried to smile at him, a tender expression that usually cut through all of Hope's distraction, narrowing the world down to the bend of her lips and the love in her eyes. But it was just barely succeeding this time. "And I won't let anything change that. I don't want anything to change it."
Hope closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, raising his hand to hold onto the one she used to cup his cheek, pressing it hard to his skin. Just having her close like this, just having her within reach to touch, to kiss, to hold - it was a miracle unto itself, something he thought rarely, and yet also far too often, would never happen again. All those years between them that they could have shared but had lost, she warring endlessly in Valhalla, him toiling constantly on Pulse, trying to repair the damage before it could be properly done... and watching it all come tumbling down. Then the years with Snow and Noel, trying to patch up what remained of the world and its people, always with the end goal clear in his sight: find Lightning, find a way to get her back. Keep fighting so there could be a future, a tomorrow, a day coming soon that they could share together. Together.
Well, they were together now. She was here, now. She was alive. And so was he - thanks to her.
Lightning paused, humming thoughtfully to herself. Hope opened his eyes and gazed at her, close enough now that to kiss her would mean a simple bend of his head, the smallest of movements to complete the greatest act of courage. But she was talking again, and he would have to be brave later. "No, we're more than that - we're survivors. All of us. It's just... different when it comes to you and me."
"Different how?" Hope let go of their intertwined hands and moved his arm cautiously around her waist, pulling her flat against him. Lightning didn't cringe, didn't flinch. She didn't even break in the stride of her reply, which he appreciated more than words could convey.
"What we all went through together on Cocoon and then on Pulse makes us all survivors of the same war, but with you it... feels more personal than that. It's like we're the only ones who made it out of one specific battle." Lightning frowned and tilted her head, unsatisfied. "I'm not sure I know how to say it..."
"Try harder," Hope prompted, reminding her.
Lightning smirked. "Don't get cocky with me. But... I see it like this. He went after us, Hope. You and me. No one else. The others may have dealt with the fallout from His choice, but you and me were in the center of the blast. And as much as I hate knowing you had to be used like that, too... I'm glad that someone else understands. I'm glad that it's you who understands. And you're free to stop me from being a sappy mess any time now, Hope."
It was easily the longest statement Hope had heard her say in the months since they started dating, and definitely the most emotional. He grinned, unable to resist the urge to tease her for this, but only lightly - he wouldn't want to scare Lightning back into her emotional shell, not after emerging, finally. "How is it sappy? It's not often that I get to hear you talk like this. You're speaking from the heart."
Lightning made a face. "Now you're doing it. Stop."
"It's not always a bad thing to confide in someone," Hope persisted, wanting her to understand just how much comfort he was taking from this change in conversation. I should've known better than to hide how I feel from you, he thought wistfully. I only feel right when I'm with you.
"You're not just someone, Hope," Lightning argued. "You're more than that. To me. To me you're... you're..."
Hope waited, the very spirit of patience though internally he was raging. Say it, please. Say it, tell me.
Lightning struggled to find the words for a few seconds more and came up short. She shook her head and glanced him over, offering a pleading look for him to understand, for him to know without her needing to supply the words. But that's now how it works, Light. You need to talk to me, confide in me. "Just stick around, Hope. Stay close to me, okay? I'm... happy when you're near me. Like this, specifically." She glanced down pointedly at their embrace.
That was an easy promise for him to make. "I don't plan on leaving you, Light. I like being here with you."
She nodded once, chewing briefly on the edge of her mouth again. "Even if I get... difficult? And push you away? Which I'm not doing to hurt you, ever?"
Hope paused. "Are you still going to?" he asked quietly, working hard not to feel wounded.
Lightning surprised him. "I don't want to," she said. "I know that you said you were nervous – well, I am too, Hope. But not for the reason you're thinking. It's not about Bhunivelze," she said, delivering the name like a punch. Hope could hear the rancor in her voice, the disdain, pure and poisonous. "He might have said your thoughts and feelings, and He may have used his voice to do it, but... it was through His filter, Hope. It wasn't you. Not really, not completely. Not in the way that matters to me."
Hope was silent for a long moment. "That's good. … Thank you." Hope pressed his lips to her forehead, kissing her brow and breathing in the scent of her hair. "Now it's your turn," he said, feeling her tense again. He continued, gently. "Talk to me, Light. Please. You just said you were nervous, too. Why?"
"It's, ah..."
"Please don't say it's nothing, because there's no way I'm going to believe you, Light." He hesitated, phrasing each word carefully. "It's important to you and I want to hear it. I want to help if I can. So confide in me a little bit."
Lightning sighed. "Hope, I'm... I'm no good at this. At any of it. At being close to anyone, at... touching them and holding them and letting them do the same for me."
"We seem to be doing just fine, I think," Hope countered.
Lightning blushed a deep crimson. "That's because I'm always following your lead, but once it reaches a point where I'm... I'm really not sure what to do next, I just can't bring myself to keep going. It's too much. It's... it's not something I know anything about." She shut her eyes. "And if you tell Snow that I promise to hurt both of you in ways you haven't even considered possible."
"I won't tell him," Hope said quickly, his spirits lifting, his expression clearing. Was that really it? She's nervous because of her lack of experience? "And, Light... you could have just asked me."
The corner of her left eye twitched. "No, I couldn't," she said at once.
Hope persisted. "Of course you could have. It's nothing to be upset about – it's actually kind of..."
"If you say 'cute,' Hope, I swear..."
"... A relief, is what I was going to say."
"How is me being a virgin a relief to you?" she demanded, incredulous.
Hope wet his lips, thinking fast. Hearing the word used in association with Lightning, by Lightning herself no less, was an interesting experience he did not guess he would be having once this day began, much less when this conversation between them started. Snow was actually right, Hope reflected, keeping his face very still to not let it betray the bizarre amusement he got from that fact. It was something weird and personal. And lucky for him, something completely and utterly fixable. "Relief's probably not the best word to use," he began.
"I'll say," Lightning grumbled.
"... but I'm still relieved all the same, Light," he added, smirking, trying to be charming. "Because this is something I'll gladly help you with."
It took Lightning a moment to process that. When she did, her reaction was immediate. She squirmed in his arms, pushing at his chest, pulling her hand away from his face and giving his shoulder a hard shove. Hope kept his arm around her and continued to smile politely, pulling her along with him with every step. "Stop it. Stop smiling at me. Don't even look at me."
Hope waited until her blushing and the worst of her fidgeting had passed, not to mention her shoves, before he wrapped his other arm around her waist and held her close again. "Still nervous?" he asked, his voice low.
"Very," she said.
"Still want my help?"
She nodded once. "I will if you promise to stop smiling like that."
Hope nodded. "Fine." He pulled at the back of her shirt in slow, insistent tugs. "Ready?"
Lightning's face had gone pale, her expression the usual war between remaining calm and letting Hope know far too well how much she was failing at that. "Make it quick," she said, looking as if she were asking him to amputate a limb.
Hope shook his head, deliberately slow. "No. No, that I won't do. Not for you, not for us – not for the first time. I'll make it last. I'll make it matter." Firsts were usually disappointing, or at the very least never what someone built them up to be – but that didn't mean Hope had to let Lightning experience it that way. He could help, he could try – he could give something to her, instead of having to worry about how disgusted she was at the very idea of the offer.
"Keep talking to me, Light. Tell me what you want." Start simple, Hope reasoned, help make her comfortable.
He watched Lightning work to get the words out, her eyes meeting his in quick flashes of shared glances before she looked away again. "I want us to get out of the kitchen, since we aren't going to be eating for a while and it makes no sense to be here now." She took a breath and laughed once, tonelessly. "I want us to go to the bedroom, and..." her voice trailed off, her eyes flickering up to find his, gazing up at Hope from beneath her pale, short lashes. Whether or not she did it on purpose, the effect was immediate. Hope felt his blood rushing hot down through him, and he slowly stepped back just a small space of air between them now. A space that Lightning stepped forward to close in an instant, on instinct. "I want you, Hope."
She was kissing him before the words had barely left her mouth, pressing her lips to his and tasting him with her tongue, letting him respond in kind when he had recovered enough from the shock to do so. Hope noticed belatedly, coming out of the haze of his thoughts and the feel of her against him, moving her hands and mouth over him, that he was actually grinding against her, that Lightning had moved a hand to his hip to grip and push at the bone there to steady his movements. He laughed low in his throat, a chuckle that turned quickly into a groan when Lightning's lips moved to his neck.
"Your turn now," Lightning whispered, her words moving over the skin of his throat, followed by a flash of teeth, topped off with a soothing kiss. "Tell me what you want, Hope. Talk to me. Tell me."
He didn't have to take time to give the words shape. His answer was instant, always. "You," he breathed, the word turning into a groan as he held her hair in one hand and moved the other across her back, beneath her shirt, up her spine. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest as his fingers trailed down her spine with just enough hint of his nails to make her shiver – which in turn only made him groan again. "You. I want you, Light."
Lightning bit his neck a littler harder than before, knowing he was sensitive there, knowing how easy it was to work him up by applying any sort of pressure and pleasure to his throat. Hope didn't have to ask her to do this – it was an act Lightning picked up all her own from observation and deduction of their time together. And she seemed rather happy to continue it, encouraged by Hope's moans or hisses for air, at the way his hands would pull lightly but eagerly at her hair, while the other would slide down her back and grab her through the bunched up fabric of her skirt. All of which he was doing again, now.
"I want you to say my name," she said, moving her mouth up to Hope's ear, her tone low, her voice hard. "Say my name, Hope. My real name."
He didn't need to be told twice. "Claire," Hope moaned, honored to say it, to be given permission to use the name. Even in the new world she had made it clear that 'Lightning' was the name she felt more comfortable with, a choice that Serah hadn't questioned and so Hope had followed suit. If her own family didn't protest then he certainly had no right to. Hope didn't have time to wonder what could have made her change her mind, not with his hand moving up her skirt and her not pushing back, finally. Not with her own hand moving deftly across his button, his zipper, and tentatively reaching down to stroke him. "Claire," he said it again, kissing her hard, pressing against her with matching intensity. "Claire."
She ran her thumb along the side of his cock through the fabric of his boxers; he could feel her mouth twisting into a little smirk as he stopped kissing her long enough to moan again. "I want you. In the bedroom, now," he said, his head a haze, his mind gone, his nerves and blood and body and her hands moving over him all that mattered.
"So let's go," Lightning – Claire, he reminded himself – said, pulling her hand out of his pants and using it to give him an encouraging shove. Hope snatched at her hand and focused very intently on putting one foot in front of the other as they went back to his room. The walk had never felt longer, had never seemed to take up as much precious time as it did in that moment.
He was on her before the door could close, waiting for her to meet his eyes and nod the smallest of nods before he took her in his arms and pulled her closer to him. Claire responded to each of Hope's kisses with equal gusto, making him wonder just where her unease from moments ago had gone. He supposed his own confession had something to do with this unraveling of Claire's, that his ability to confide in her had opened up a similar path for her.
They really had been stupid. It really was so simple.
Claire pushed Hope down onto the bed and sat on his lap, positioning her knees on either side of his hips and settling down with terrible, tempting care against him. He could feel the heat of her through her panties as she ground her hips slowly, pressing against his still hard cock but keeping her hands mercilessly above his waist. They pulled at each others' clothes in angry, determined tugs – her shirt came off first, revealing her breasts and the lacy black bra he loved, with the surprisingly delicate little bow in the center, then his shirt next, landing on top of hers on the floor. Hope's hand found the clasp of her bra quickly, undoing it with no more than a casual flick of his fingers which he slid up her arms to tug at the dark, thin straps.
Claire was eying him closely, her skin flushed again. It was a different blush than what he had seen in the kitchen. There was no embarrassment to be seen in her expression, no hesitation in her demeanor. Hope let the bra drop gently to the ground and rubbed at the indents along her ribs, the sore red marks beneath her breasts. "What is it?" he asked, his thumb moving along the edge of her nipple, smiling to feel her tense, to hear her quiet gasp.
"How many times have you done this before?" she asked, breaking off to stifle a moan when Hope kissed her breasts.
Hope blinked and pulled back, wondering if this was a trap. "Often enough to know what I'm doing," he said, settling on a half-answer, a full truth. She didn't need to know the full details of his years without her, of his years before the Academy and after, during the mess of decades that had been him, Noel, and Snow trying to keep the world from falling apart. Not every detail, and certainly not now.
Claire moved her hand up from the base of his stomach and the light dust of hair leading down, moving her hand over his chest and back around his neck. "Just wondering," she said, shrugging, wrapping her other arm around his neck and continuing to grind down against him, a little harder this time. "You took that bra off pretty quick, Hope Estheim."
He smiled and kissed her words back into her, using the light edges of his teeth against her bottom lip. "Like I said, I know what I'm doing."
"And you've wanted to do this for a while," Claire added, her breasts against his chest, his hand caught between them until the only way to free it was to move it down, into her skirt, rubbing his thumb against her heat.
"Yes, I have," he said, slipping his fingers beneath the band of her panties, stroking at the damp patch of hair there, reaching her tender skin. Claire shivered and hissed louder, though Hope kept his touches light, his kisses hard, his voice low. "And what about you, Claire? You seem pretty eager yourself."
"Shut up," she hissed, no venom in her voice, she closed her eyes and was breathing quickly through her mouth, pressing her forehead against Hope's as his thumb worked in slow, steady circles, the tips of his first and middle finger gently coaxing her open. "That's not -" she gasped; his fingers were inside now, pushing into the heat and the warmth and she was so tight, so nervous. Hope had to stop.
But Claire surprised him. "No, don't," she said, her voice soft, the words trembling in the air between them. "Keep going. Please. Just... slowly." Hope began to move his fingers again, listening to every hitch of her breath, feeling every tremor of her body. "Like that," she said, rolling her hips and closing her eyes again. "Just like that."
Hope continued for as long as the position would allow him some comfort, before he used his free hand to tug at the band of her skirt and drew his other hand out of her to help with the effort of tugging it down. Claire moaned in frustration as his fingers left her, her eyes flying open as she looked at him before realizing what he was trying to do. She smirked briefly. "Right, sorry."
"Don't be," Hope said, the words hoarse and harsh. He noticed the way her eyes lingered on his undone button and zipper, at the damp patch that she had worked into the front of his boxers, the obvious mound that stood there, aching. "Just need to get this off of you."
Claire used her hands to push Hope further back on the bed until they were sitting in its center, using their brief time apart to shove her skirt down and off her long legs, kicking it off in a harsh jerk so that it collapsed to the floor some feet away from their shirts. Her underwear was just as quick to disappear, her hands moving with harsh, angry twists as she bunched it into her fist and threw it as well to the side. Hope took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, the sheen of sweat or lust that seemed to make her glow, the smooth and taut skin of her belly, the glimmering little ring hanging from her navel. She had a narrow waist and hips, he could almost wrap both hands around her back and have his fingers meet at the little notch of her spine. Her rose colored hair was a wispy mess from his clutching hands and her own impassioned, angry tending. Claire pushed a strand out of her eyes and reached out with both hands at the dark gray cloth of Hope's trousers, tugging them insistently and hard. He was, of course, only too happy to help.
Hope mirrored Claire's movements when he stripped himself down, tossing his boxers aside with an angry flick of his wrist, and felt a small cold thrill of hesitation as he saw her eyes moving down to his cock. "Claire?" he asked when she hadn't moved.
Claire tapped the front of his shoulder and smiled, a wicked and tempting little grin that he loved. "You take over now," she said, as if she had tagged him in for a fight, settling down to kneel on the bed and cross her arms over her chest, covering her breasts. He'd have to do something about that.
"With pleasure."
Hope guided Claire until she was lying on her back, running his hands down her thighs and over her knees, moving her legs apart and keeping a close eye on the way she settled in to the new position, getting comfortable. Her hair fanned out around her face in a pale halo, her breasts uncovered again as she propped herself up on her elbows to watch as Hope settled in between her legs, pressing his lips to the inside of her thighs and kissing the warm skin there. Hope returned his fingers to where they were and pushed them in deeper, enjoying the sound of Claire's moan, the way her stomach clenched as she let in and pushed out the soft, gasping air.
"Look at me, Claire," he said, purposely moving his lips so they brushed over her wet and sweet skin. He waited until she opened her eyes and returned his gaze, the light in them clouded by the haze of lust, before tending to her with his mouth, moving his tongue in the same steady long stroke to match his fingers.
The effect wasn't immediate, but a properly satisfying build. Claire dug her heels into the mattress and wound one set of fingers into Hope's hair, tugging on it and pushing his face down in equal, opposite turns. She was moaning again, louder this time, and longer. He began to count the length of it as he continued to work, building her to an orgasm. Her stomach began to flex, her hips bucking and bumping a little too forcefully into his lips. Hope tried not to laugh, knowing it wasn't the time and she certainly wouldn't appreciate the sound, not since it would break his concentration. He settled with placing one hand on her stomach and pushing her back down gently, flat, holding her steady, keeping her in place.
Claire moved her free hand down to rest on top of his, holding it tight, whispering his name as she arched, shivered, moaned. Hope's movements slowed as the intensity of her orgasm subsided, her muscles clenching around him in slower waves of pressure, before he could hear her gasps for air become satisfied and quiet sighs.
But it was his turn now. One look at Claire let Hope know she understood this, too. She was biting her lip again and moving slowly, limbs like liquid and the muscles trembling, as she sat up and reached out for him.
Hope licked the taste of her off his lips, tried discreetly to clean the edges of his mouth with his fingers, but Claire was staring at him, watching his every move and growing more and more still as the seconds passed. "Would it help if I told you to relax?" he asked.
"A little," she admitted, scooting closer to him, her arms around his neck and settling in close, as if touching him were the easiest thing in the world, as if even a few seconds of separation when they were this close, this bared, this vulnerable were a few seconds too long for her to stand. "You could try. Please try."
Hope shifted until he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, drawing Claire down into his lap with her legs on either side of his hips, pleased when she crossed her ankles at his back as if to lock herself in place. He kissed her breasts again before moving his attention up to her neck, one of his hands guiding her down her slowly, carefully while the other reached down to take hold of his cock. "Relax, Claire," he breathed, fitting the tip inside her, waiting until she looked at him before he continued to speak and move. "I've got you. See?" He pulled her down and moved himself further inside, fighting hard to keep his voice steady. She was agonizingly wet and hot and tight, still so tight, and he would take care with every inch of her that he explored.
Claire began to match the rhythm that Hope set, basing his thrusts and her descent on the movements of her breath. Every gasp earned a long stroke, every moan and hiss short, steadier bursts that soon slowed into the tantalizing rhythm. They gazed into each others' eyes every now and then, Hope humbled and awed and aching at how close she was to him, at how readily and tenderly her body accepted him. He tried not to laugh, decided instead to smirk. She'd probably consider that sappy, too.
"What's so funny?" she demanded, scratching her nails across the back of Hope's neck, alarming him. He moaned and thrust up harder into her, forgetting his promise to take care.
"Absolutely nothing," he grunted, continuing to thrust deeper when Claire didn't protest, when her body made it clear that it was an exploration she could take. "Just thinking about you."
"Yeah? Well you should be," Claire said, moving her lips over his and reminding him of her teeth. "You damn well better be thinking of me."
"I am."
"All of me," she continued mercilessly, grinding down harder on him, taking in another inch. "Wrapped around all of you."
Hope moaned and swore as she began to take over, setting the pace now, moving faster and harder. "I am," he repeated, closing his eyes, losing himself in the heat of her, the way she was slipping down tighter over his cock. He was almost completely inside her now.
"And no one else." Claire's ability to keep her voice low when her own breath was coming faster and harder was impressive, but Hope couldn't match her resolve. He could feel his body aching, could feel his nerves afire, knowing he was about to come.
"No one," he grunted, gasping. "Just you, Claire."
Claire kissed him, licking the last taste of her off his lips, drawing her tongue across his mouth in a cruel, long stroke. "I know enough to see what's happening now," she whispered, her voice a tease, her breath moving across his cheek and into his ear. "You're going to come, aren't you? Huh?"
"Yes." Hope forced the word out, his hands digging harder into her hips, no longer guiding her at all, just holding on as tightly as he could as they continued to fuck, steady and deep. "Yes, Claire – yes."
"Come on, then," she persisted, biting his ear, pushing her breasts against him, clenching her muscles around his cock. Where had she learned that? Or was it instinct, too? "You made me come and now it's my turn to repay the favor. Yeah?"
"Yes," he gasped the word. He was already losing his grip.
"So come," she said. "Inside me. Do it, Hope. I want it, I want... I want you."
"Yes," he moaned again, his vision blotted out by dark blotches and bright, blinding streaks. Hope lost himself in the final three thrusts, whispering her name as she continued to move over him slowly, drawing out the length of his orgasm as he had done for her.
It was a while before they moved or spoke, silence falling over them, the only motion being their bodies fighting to catch their breath. Hope met Claire's gaze and was amazed at the way she could still blush, even now, with him still inside her, after everything that she had said just minutes past. He kissed her lightly, his heart racing, his pulse thrumming in his ears, matching Claire's attempts to find her breath.
"There was no reason to be nervous, was there?" he asked, smiling.
Claire rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder, pressing her heels onto the mattress and slowly lifting herself off of him. "I told you before, don't get cocky."
"I'm not," he insisted, continuing to smile, following her lead as she lay back on the bed and brought him to rest over her, curling up with one arm propped on which to lean his head, the other hand finding hers to hold and stroking her still trembling fingers. "I'm just comforting you."
"I don't need comforting," Claire pointed out. "Not after... that."
"Had fun, then?"
"Yes," she said, and he felt her body tense at the ease in which the answer slipped out. Claire looked at their locked hands, at the way his body fit nicely over hers, shifting her hips until she had her legs in a more comfortable position beneath him. "You... were really..." she trailed off, searching for the words.
Hope waited, smoothing the damp strands of hair off her forehead, kissing her cheek, her neck, running the tip of his nose along her warm and soft skin. "Really what?" he asked, when silence fell over her again.
"Good," she finished lamely, biting her lips and shaking her head in a small angry jerk. "I know I have nothing to compare it to, not like you do, but... you were good. Okay? Don't make me say it again – and don't," she added, poking her finger against his chest and giving him a stern glare, "Pass that along to anyone else. Not even Snow."
"You can trust me, Claire," Hope said, trying not to smirk, trying not to feel too smug. "Always. I promise."
Claire nodded and smiled, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him down close so they could rest. Hope lowered his head until his cheek rested against her breast, listening to the comforting beat of her heart. It's the same pace as mine, he realized, slipping into the very edges of a soothing sleep. We're in synch.
"Hope?" she asked gently, stirring him from rest. He murmured gently to let Claire know he was listening. "Was I.. okay?" Her voice was vulnerable again. Hope could feel her cringing a little as she asked, as she winced and realized just how tender the question made her.
Hope pushed himself back and looked into her eyes, waiting until she met his gaze before he gave her an answer.
"So what did you say?" Snow demanded, leaning forward in his chair, almost sliding off of it. He was gazing at Hope with rapt, wide eyes. "Come on, finish it."
"I said for me she was the best," Hope said, shrugging. "And she was. It's as simple as that."
Snow nodded, taking this in. "But... aren't you going against your word? Telling me this?"
Hope laughed. "Yeah, about that... Once she read your messages this morning, she left me a note before leaving. 'I changed my mind. Tell Snow everything. And once you're done, give him this message from me.'"
Snow waited. "What's the message?"
"'Thanks for giving my boyfriend a little push, but stay the fuck out of our sex life.'"
Snow grinned and laughed, actually clapping his hands in delight. "Well hey, tell her I said you're welcome. And that I'm always there in spirit."
Hope groaned. "No, that'll just make it worse."
"Yeah, it will," Snow agreed. "But at least it'll be fun, though."
"You're enjoying this a little too much for it to be just vicarious enthusiasm."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just pretend I said thanks, too."
Snow gave Hope's shoulder a firm, brotherly pat. "No problem, kid. That's what friends are for."
"That's what you're for," Hope corrected, deciding he wouldn't pass along Snow's full message when he saw Claire tonight. They'd done their talking and sharing the first time – tonight they could try to go without words. Just each other, silence and motion, matching the rhythm of two bodies linked as one.