Infinite Night
He could only assume her standards had dropped, with the end of the world and all.
One shot, 2800 words
Rated M for Mature. Contains a seriously adult scene.
…
Thirteen-year-old Talcott made a small whoop and pumped his fist.
"Oh yeah!" He turned to Prompto in the driver's seat. "We made it again."
The old truck pulled into the well-lit lot of the Hammerhead. The gates with rolled barbed wire overhead closed behind them, somehow still a fragile barrier compared to the dark and its horrors.
Prompto grinned at him. They had been running materials the past few months. It was good experience for Talcott. He was learning the roads and which routes were not necessarily safer, but at least slightly less dangerous than others. And Prompto appreciated the company and the extra pair of eyes to watch his back. Ignis didn't think the boy was old enough to be put into such situations. Prompto wanted to agree. But really, to hide the reality of their current world wasn't going to make it any safer for the children of this era.
"You boys are later than expected," Cindy said, her smooth drawl familiar to Prompto's ears. She pulled Talcott's hat off and ruffled his hair. Prompto was pretty sure she considered doing the same to him, but his height was a hindrance so she just squeezed his shoulder before climbing into the truck bed. Her critical eye examined the contents of each crate and seemed to find them satisfactory. Her loose jeans and an even looser sweatshirt tried to hold back the chill in the air. The darkness permeated deep. Prompto rarely saw her in shorts nowadays. Not that he had noticed or anything.
"We took a new road," Talcott said. "Super exciting, right Prompto?"
"Sure," Prompto said with a raised eyebrow. "For someone sitting in the truck."
"I would have been out there helping you if you let me," Talcott said as he folded his arms. "But you're just like Ignis."
"Ouch."
Cindy laughed. "Alright, that's enough. I want you to mark off this route for me on the main map. Even if it's just to warn people off of it."
"And get something to eat?" Talcott asked as they entered the main building.
"Then we're on our way," Prompto said.
"Don't give me that," Cindy said. She pulled a large folded square of heavily creased parchment from a bookshelf and spread it out on the table, as flat as the wrinkles would allow. "You should definitely rest. We have the space."
"But we're already off schedule—" Prompto started.
"And you look exhausted."
Talcott's gaze bounced back and forth between them. "If it's a vote, I think we should stay."
"Yeah. Okay," Prompto said and turned to the map. He knew Cindy was right. He just didn't want to be accused of not pushing himself.
"You know where the kitchen is?" Cindy asked Talcott. He nodded vigorously and was out the door within a heartbeat.
Cindy handed Prompto a red pen and he started to trace the track they had taken. He added in small annotations the dangers they had encountered. She leaned as close as possible without getting in the way, a heavy expression on her face as she read the words.
She was still too close.
Her hair was slightly damp. The simple scent of clean water was almost overwhelming to him. She didn't use perfumed soaps. It was a luxury in this day and age, and useless to someone in her line of work. Prompto felt filthy next to her.
She questioned each note, always asking for more detail, while he attempted to ignore the pressure of her hip against him. It was important to the hunters who often stopped at Hammerhead. He managed not to jump when her hand brushed his each time her finger moved to the next section.
"What's this?" Cindy asked, and he realized she wasn't pointing to the map this time. It was to the piece of ragged cloth he had crudely wrapped around his right arm below the elbow.
"Just a scrape," he said.
"Seriously?" She rolled her eyes up to the heavens—at least, where they should have been—and shook her head. "Can you imagine the king finally returnin', and to find one of his guards died because of somethin' as stupid as an infection?" Her accent got thicker when she was upset. "Sit down while I get the first aid kit. Really, what do you think he would say to somethin' like that?"
"He would ask who," Prompto said. He ignored her command and continued on the map where he had left off. "And someone would say it was Prompto, and he would say, 'Sounds legitimate'."
She laughed, but it quickly sounded forced. There was a deep well in each person which whispered: the king was never coming back. Don't believe otherwise; it's the end of the world as we knew it. Won't we tell stories to our children of how the world used to be bright naturally, and try to explain to them once the sky glowed like this lantern here?
Her laughter faded as she went into another room.
Her return was announced by her reprimand for him not sitting down. He dropped into the seat in defeat, and set his arm on the table as he looked away. The arm was sore but he wouldn't admit he was slightly concerned with what the wound would look like. They should have restocked at the last delivery but there had just been no medical supplies to spare. Healing potions weren't exactly scare, but people were being more careful with using them. What if, one day, the means to make them was all used up?
Cindy untied the cloth and clucked her tongue.
"Break it to me easy if you think we need to amputate," Prompto said, his eyes on the window across the room.
"No. I think you're goin' to survive this, surprisingly," she said.
"You're just saying what I want to hear."
She took his chin and turned his gaze to his arm. "See? It's not even infected. Yet. Good thing you came when you did."
The cut was wide but not very deep, and Prompto had to admit Talcott had done a good job of the initial cleaning. The kid fortunately—or unfortunately—had a high tolerance to blood.
Cindy's hands had more callouses than his, Prompto was certain. He could feel the strength in her fingers as she gently applied disinfectant.
Their earlier conversation made him think of Noct. The memory of climbing the mountain at dawn to catch a glimpse—or capture a photo—of Cindy. The Grease Monkey Goddess? It was forever ago, but with the way the embarrassment flooded in, Prompto would have thought it was just yesterday.
"I, ah, just wanted to say sorry for all the times I've hit on you," he said. "I was…really bad back then." He wasn't really much different, except for being able to keep his mouth shut.
He could sense her smile though she didn't look up. "I don't recall you being a bother. I enjoyed when you boys stopped around back then. I could always get some extra chores done. Weren't too bad to look at either."
Her fingers brushed the straps around his wrist, and he flinched away. She seemed startled by his reaction.
"It's caked in blood, you know."
"We didn't have a lot of water to spare." He dropped his eyes from her searching gaze, and she backed off, going back to cleaning the cut. The silence was uncomfortable for him. It went against the cheerful attitude he tried to cultivate. If he fell sullen, people really would think it was the end of the world, right?
"It's—"
She cut him off. "You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry for pryin'."
"No, don't be," he said. He started to pull at the buckles with his opposite hand but the metal had crusted shut. Her eyes softened with his quiet sound of frustration and helped him undo them. Blood had pooled underneath the leather. It marred the surface of the tattoo, but the design was unmistakable.
"It's just…hard to explain why I have a barcode on my wrist."
She tore her eyes away and used a cloth from the first aid kit to clean the skin. "Did someone put this on you?"
"I guess I would have been a baby or so."
"And here I thought you were just hidin' a bad scar. Or a lover's name."
"I wouldn't hide a scar," Prompto said. "Then maybe I could compete with Gladio. Well, I would not go as far as compete…" He paused, blinked. "Lover's name?"
She shrugged. "Well, why not add to it or somethin'? I'm sure Gladio could point you to a tattoo artist."
He frowned at it. "I don't know if that would work. I couldn't even burn it off."
"Prompto!"
"What? I was feeling desperate."
She shook her head in disbelief and retrieve a jar of salve, smearing it onto the cut.
"Thanks," he said softly.
"Sure thing," she said. Her voice matched his tone.
She looked up, and their eyes met. Prompto remembered when Gladiolus tried to explain to Iris about the building of the bridge in a physical relationship. She had tried to wave him off—she already knew what sex was and anyway she definitely didn't want to hear about it from her brother—but that wasn't what he had been trying to tell her. It was simply how if two people, with mutual attraction, kept getting closer, their bodies would eventually build the bridge between them. Gladiolus' point had been abstinence—which really had been the main objective of the lecture—only worked if the certain parties didn't put themselves into situations where it was easy for the bridge to connect.
Cindy moved forward at the same time Prompto did, their noses bumping but lips still managed to join smoothly. Her hands balanced on his hips; his injured arm attempted to grasp the table for support.
They both heard the door open and though they pulled away quickly, it was hard to believe what they had been doing wasn't obvious.
Cindy went back to examining the well-dressed wound. Prompto looked over her shoulder to see Talcott at the door.
"Kitchen has a bowl ready for you when you're finished here," Talcott said. His eyes were wide but a smirk was definitely playing on his lips. He added, "I'm going to be sleeping in the west building. Uh, I won't wait up for you or anything."
Prompto nodded. He didn't quite trust his voice.
Cindy straightened up and closed the first aid kit with a snap. "You're all good hun," she said to Prompto. She turned to Talcott with a smile. "Good night."
Talcott got the hint, said good night back, and shut the door behind him.
Cindy gestured to the map. "Are you finished with this?"
Prompto nodded.
She carefully folded it up and the creases managed to align. She had never shown Prompto any interest before, and no matter what she said about not noticing, he knew he had been far from quiet about his own interest in her. The nights were infinitely long and lonely for most people. He wondered if she was just looking for companionship, and if he had simply been the first acceptable human to have wandered in.
…Was he okay with that?
"You look stunned," Cindy said. Her words were at odds with the fact her back was still to him. "I'm sorry."
Prompto's hand had gone to his chin without thought. He could feel stubble on his chin. He needed to shave. Or maybe he should just let it grow. His fingers brushed his lips for a moment.
"Does that mean you've changed your mind?" The words had been spoken out loud before he thought them through.
Cindy turned around with an unreadable expression. She wasn't wearing a bra, a thought not useful in the current moment.
"…Maybe." She leaned against the table and tilted her chin up. "I'm sure you're aware I don't share my bed often."
"I don't tend to listen to gossip about friends."
"Good answer." She waved her hand vaguely. "My quarters are thisaway. You look like you be wantin' a shower."
…
The water fluctuated between hot and just lukewarm, but Prompto needed to cool off anyway. He had a feeling she was just going to tuck him in and put him to bed anyway, and definitely not in hers.
He was drying off when Cindy swung open the door. He automatically bunched the towel in front of his crotch, which seemed stupid when it connected she wasn't wearing anything.
Cindy looked him up and down, smile pulling at her lips. "Change yer mind?"
Prompto dropped the towel.
She was in his arms in seconds, and Prompto slid his hands down her back as hers tangled in his hair. When the kiss finally broke, she said, "Remind me I'll need to reapply that salve."
Prompto laughed and hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her into her room. He took in the surroundings. Car and other mechanical manuals were haphazardly piled on the only bookshelf, and judging by the mounds of books piled on the floor, she could really use another shelf.
Cindy loosened her grip and slid down. She barely landed on her feet before she toppled him onto the bed and straddled him. Their lips met again. His hands roamed up her sides, his fingers and palms rough like hers, but from different experiences.
They had left the lights on, an indulgence neither voiced. Prompto didn't want to bring attention to it. He wanted to commit her body to his memory, since he doubted this experience would ever be spoken of, let alone be repeated.
At one point as she laid next to him and they broke for air, she pulled away and stretched out next to him.
"One moment," she murmured, as her eyes drifted shut.
They just stayed there, their breaths fast and deep. Prompto watched her face fall peaceful. She had kept up her cheerful attitude after the starscourge, just like him. Was it just a protective mask to help her—and the others she supported—survive the suffering?
She opened her eyes, her gaze fiery. Her hand cupped the back of his neck and pulled him closer. "Alright. Come on, boy."
He leaned over her and caressed her arms, her breasts, her thighs. The feel of her skin, the way her body tensed and relaxed all at the same time. When his fingers found the junction of her legs, she automatically parted them for him. He spread her, slow strokes, fingers coming back glistening. Cindy's face flushed and her breath hitched. He continued to touch and taunt until she took hold of him and suggested more.
He entered her slowly, making her arch her back and moan softly. She hooked a leg around his hip and held him close.
They set a slow pace. No rush. One could almost believe there was no morning to worry about, no end to the night.
…
It would have been nice to have woken up with her in his arms, but she had risen earlier than him. It was her movements of getting dressed that stirred him. At one point in the night the light had been switched off, and she left it dark for him. He had never paid attention to a lover getting dressed in the morning. Her silhouette was graceful, her motions natural. He didn't think she knew he was awake and he left it that way. She didn't need to put on a show.
She leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. He drifted off.
When he opened his eyes again, the only indicator any time had passed at all was the clock on the wall. It dared to suggest he should get up and ready to leave.
…
The truck was ready, with Talcott standing next to it. His arms were folded as he tapped his foot. An overly large grin clashed with the feigned impatience.
"Say your goodbyes?" Prompto asked as he climbed into the driver's seat.
"Yep. You?"
No, he hadn't. Cindy had looked busy in the shop. He wondered if he should have gone to her anyway, or if she had preferred he didn't make a scene.
Talcott pointed to the dashboard. "This yours?"
A little tub of salve sat there.
"I guess so."
Talcott gave him that big smile again.
"You have something to say?" Prompto asked.
"Uh huh." Talcott shook his head. "Only that what happens at the Hammerhead, stays at the Hammerhead, am I right?"
Prompto shook his head. "Unbelievable. I never thought about that stuff when I was your age."
He put the truck into gear and started out of the lot. The everlasting night greeted them.