Morning's soft
by Alialka
Author's Note:
It's been so long since I wrote not only for this pairing, but for the whole FFVII fandom as well. It actually feels like I'm a little bit rusty. But after a long year I'm trying to claw my way back into writing and I hope this is a good direction that I'm going to.
This is nothing too fancy, nothing too special. It's just something soft and tender; because both Zack and Tifa deserve that.
I hope you all enjoy.
It's a tickle that wakes him.
So soft, barely there… a brush of fingertips against warm skin, a whisper of air over his neck. And so he stirs, just a bit a first and then some more; slipping into awareness and into the warm embrace, into reality beneath parted lips that peppered his skin with his name the night before.
She's warm next to him and when Zack turns, he can see his reflection her eyes – still blurred with the remains of dreams, still hazy, but beautiful none the less.
The room's quiet.
There's a goodmorning hidden somewhere in her breaths; a helloburied deep within his tightening embrace.
They fit, soft curve to strong muscle and Zack kisses the top of her head.
It's somewhere way after dawn, but still long before they have to get up, before the day and their lives catch up with them. He's only just returned – just the other evening – and he brought the cold winds of the North entangled in his clothes.
Tifa met him half way up the stairs, with arms open wide and a Imissedyou whispered between her feverish kisses.
He forgot about the cold even before they reached the top floor. By the time he found the doorknob, their clothes were already yanked up or pulled down, the bed too far away.
They never made it.
But now, hours and many deep moans later, Tifa was still wearing his shirt; back to front, but that didn't matter, nor did her scratched elbows or his red knees. With a satisfied, low hum Zack slips his hands under the loose material, the skin on her back warm underneath his fingers.
Calloused tips brush against puckered flesh ; she stiffens briefly as he touches the memory of a steel kiss and fire and scorched lives, before a sigh escapes her lips and he waits. Waits for her to move away, to run, to erect her walls and defenses like every other day.
Because Zack knows she's stubbornly strong like that.
She looks up from beneath the fringe of her lashes and her eyes are soft around the edges. And she scoots closer, tucking her head beneath his chin and she doesn't let go.
Because she knows she can allow herself not to be so stubbornly strong in his arms.
Her action makes his heart swell, the feeling painful and oh so wonderful, and he noses her hair. He missed her, somuch, and only now it dawns upon him. It frightens him, but this? This is a good kind of fright.
The kind that makes Zack realize he's never going to let go.
"We still got time," Tifa finally whispers, her fingers ghosting over his pulse.
Her whisper is a lazy sound that rolls slowly off of her lips, her breath warm and moist against his skin.
The room's filled with faint light and blurred shadows, and it's only her and him, only them, and he can hear the soft ticking of the clock. The world's still asleep outside; there are no noises that can crash into them and tear them apart.
Zack smiles – it's reflected in the blue of his eyes – and tilts her chin up, brushes fingers against her cheek.
"Yeah…" his voice is low and happy and she's the reason behind it "We've got all the time."