He doesn't know what is his and what is hers anymore. Where he begins and where she ends. They've gotten so good at this, so good at reading each other, at wanting each other in silence that their bodies move in memorized rhythm, aware of one another, aware of every little need. He pins her against that wall, the house is theirs for the rest of the day, he doesn't need to be quiet, she doesn't need to censor her screams.
His hands slide down her waist, he kisses her neck, takes in the taste of her skin, the way she responds to him. Her little moans right in his ear, always so full of want, quietly begging for more by pressing against him, and he knows it's just to feel his hard cock, to tease, to make him grunt and close his eyes and then kiss her so she can gently bite his bottom lip, let her eyes linger on his, tell him everything he needs to know and he follows through, he always does, but does she know, does she, does she know how euphoric he gets when she's this close, when she's almost melting into him, breaking down in her pleas, the ones she whispers softly and in secret, the ones that tell him he's good, so good, the exact ones that make him unzip his pants and pull his cock out, lift her up as she wraps her legs around his waist and throws her arms around his neck, waiting with her mouth hanging open while he pushes her panties to the side and then gasping when he finally enters her.
One hard thrust and he keeps himself there, buried, still, in love. Addicted. It's the third time today, the third time he's taken her in his arms like this; it all started hours ago in bed when they were all about hazy, sleepy kisses and giggles and her t-shirt, the one she stole from him, rose up a little too high when she climbed on top of him. Then in the shower-strawberry scented shampoo and soap, the water running down her naked body, invinting him in. And now they're here, in the hall and they don't have any pretty excuses this time, no fancy way of explaining why.
He starts moving slowly, and she throws her head back and moans and then comes back for another kiss and he doesn't stop sliding in and out of her, a perfect, steady pace. He's lost in her, aware of everything else, aware of the fabric of the old tank top she's wearing right now, the one she reserves for Saturdays and lazy, summer days. The leather of her skirt, the cotton of her panties (still neatly pushed aside, making way for him, put to good use), the shaky groans echoing throughout the house, the quivering of her lips, the messy hair, the red cheeks. His thrusts are hard now, controlled, calculated. She's squeezing around him, keeping him there, not wanting this to end but unable to hold back.
She bites her bottom lip a bit too hard, his grip on hers tightens, his fingers dig into her soft skin, he groans all desperate in his movements, pumping in and out of her as she clings to him and then he stops, forehead on hers, both breathing way too hard, lips parted open as he tries to form the words he wants to say but everything has been lost on him, even the easiest syllable, and so he slips out and she protests but then melts into his kiss and he turns her around gently even in his urgency.
Getting the hint, she lifts her hips and presses her hands flat against the wall, waiting for him. He holds his cock, strokes himself while looking at her, takes long enough for her to say his name, and then he guides himself into her one more time, all the way in, no holding back, no control left. One of his hands on her waist to hold her in place while the other one snakes up to the front. She's soaking wet, he doesn't go slow this time, he doesn't even stop to think, it feels so damn good and he makes sure to rub her clit, to give her every reason to scream because he wants the entire world to know that she belongs to him and no one else, that they find each other no matter what and there's nothing quiet about it.
He can't help his own moan when he feels her clenching around him, so close like that, so close to coming all over his cock and he can't help his movements, the increased pace, the rhythm that suits them just right, the eletric feel he gets when one of her hands go down on top of his as if to make sure he won't stop touching her, and he wants to tell her not to worry about that, no, but then she's saying to keep going, just like that, rightthereyespleasepleaseplease and then she's a trembling mess in his arms and it's too much and he closes his eyes, throws his head back, holds her tighter and comes inside her, grunting and hissing, uttering her name with a sigh.
They don't dare to move, not right away at least. Adrenaline still cursing through their veins, he's going soft inside her, breathing returning to normal, but they still feel like time is different for them, that nothing else exists. When they do move he fixes her up first; adjusts her panties and her skirt and then he zips up his pants. She turns around to look at him, blushing and smiling, and he brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes before kissing her, both still lost in a daze.
They wrap their arms around each other and once the kiss is over, Tifa says:
"I think I forgot how to move," they laugh and he allows himself this moment to contemplate and appreciate the fact he's the only man who's heard this from her, the soft praise making his heart beat a little faster.
"Cloud," she starts again in that sweet tone of hers.
One glance is all it takes for him to understand, one glance and the red on her cheeks goes well with the smirk on his face, one glance and the world fades yet again to nothing and it's just them and she wants more and they're having fun, loving like this, they're having fun, there's peace everywhere nowadays so he picks her up and she clings to him, giggling, he picks her up and carries upstairs, back to their bed even if the day is almost ending-it doesn't matter, not at all, just one taste is not enough and it will never be enough because he wants more too.