From a prompt for the Final Fantasy Kiss Battle. Prompted by, and dedicated to, Wallwalker.
Thanks as usual to my beta 0oMooncalfo0. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Characters belong to Square.
"You know I'm everything you have," he says, her flavour rolling on his tongue. His mouth closes around a stain of red lipstick, nipping the tip of her shoulder bone and sucking downwards.
It would be easy to lie. It pleases him that he needn't. She's his. Only his. Forever his. For those who could be enticed by the human half of her beauty, the rumours manage to keep them at a distance…rumours that he personally went to the trouble of spreading.
She's a witch—she's wicked—she's power—she's fire—she'll burn you to ashes with a word with a glance.
They'll all burn, Kefka thinks, like moths lured to candlelight. If they dare trespass, he'll burn them for her. His ownership defines the limits of her territory: the boundaries only his hands and lips can cross; the outlines of her body and mind that only he can touch and taste and take. But they won't. Terror is the best anti-aphrodisiac.
She smiles absently at him, dim and subdued like sunlight in winter. Her body gives off so much heat, his fingertips burn as they trace the knobs and dents of her spinal column, up to the bony nape of her neck. He seizes hold of a tight fistful of hair at the back of her skull, and pulls her up to claim her mouth.
She's sweet like a fruit that looks ripe on the exterior—sweet flesh, sweet scent, sweet taste—but has started to rot at its core. His kisses only corrupt her further. The tip of his tongue travels across her neck, maps the shell of her ear. "Mine," he whispers, and he bites into her earlobe. Hard. Hungrily. The most delicious fruit, exclusive to his palate.
...
"You know I'm everything you have," he says, and she clings to the only truth that has ever come from his lips. She clings to it like her nails onto his back, and shivers to his fingertips as they crawl along her spine line.
In this man-made world, Terra has always been both actor and spectator. When she's upon the stage, the rest of the world stares up at her in awe. Fire incarnate, she entices and repels her audience. Like the grim fascination of a horror story. When she steps down, the rest of the world melts away. She walks across an endless row of empty seats, the exit never reaching.
Rumours are superfluous. The world has enough eyes to see, and ears to listen, and lips to curse. It's her magic that has insulated her existence into a glass globe. Fire can't melt the walls that isolate her. Fire is their cornerstone. Rumours are but a screen: smoke and mirrors in this unending freak show. The world watches. The world coils back in fear. But Kefka is his own realm, every square inch as unreachable.
Except to her. Except to each other. She's his, he's hers, they belong together here, alone.
Terra arches into his touch. She trembles as his fingers trace each of her bones. She burns as his mouth finds her neck, her arms, her lips, everything of her that's not hindered by clothes. She melts to his kiss.
She could fit her whole world in a mirror reflecting back on themselves. She answers, "yours," and she means it. She feels it. If Kefka's everything she has, she will cling to this world of two, and these kisses of his that resemble affection.
She takes them all because she prefers them to nothingness.
Thanks for reading =)