Resisting Temptation
Fang knew all about temptation, but she'd never been this tempted before. There was something about watching Lightning dance only feet away – her body moving to the music – that did horrible things to her self-control.
As the pink-haired woman ran her hands up and down her sides, Fang couldn't help but wish that those were her hands touching Lightning. An image came to her mind, unbidden and perhaps unwelcome: her hands ghosting along Lightning's sides and then settling on her hips, easing the soldier back against her as they let the music guide them. It would be so easy then to tilt Lightning's head back, to watch surprise fill those stormy blue eyes before they fluttered shut in surrender, Lightning melting in her arms as Fang finally kissed her after so many months of waiting and wanting.
Damn it.
Fang swallowed thickly and shook her head. This was why she hated drinking so much. She could hold her liquor, but she was definitely buzzed now, and it was getting harder and harder to keep her mind focused and away from the one subject it always wandered back to – Lightning.
It had all started hours ago. It was Vanille's birthday, and the redhead had kicked things off with a picnic at the park that was okay for all of them – even Dajh – to attend. In the evening, they had moved things to Lebreau's bar. Lightning hadn't drunk anything there – she hated to drink around people she didn't know – and Fang had been too busy watching over Vanille to drink either. The redhead was good enough at getting into trouble when she was sober. There was no telling what kind of mischief she might get up to when she was drunk.
In the early hours of the morning, they'd headed back home with a few of the others. So here they were at Lightning's house – a house that Lightning, Fang, and Vanille had shared since the two Pulsians had awakened from crystal stasis – and Vanille was still going strong, fuelled by a mix of alcohol, sugar, and general good cheer.
Vanille had also broken out a case of Oerban spirits that she'd brewed up for the occasion. The Dia had always been an inventive bunch, and Vanille had somehow managed to get her hands on the recipe for one of Gran Pulse's most notorious liquors.
In many ways, Oerban spirits were a wonderful drink. It started off cool, almost icy, in the mouth before settling into a kind of warm, heady heat that filled the mouth and then left the whole drinker's body in the grips of a dreamy, languid haze. Lightning had tried some and quickly developed a taste for it. But Fang had felt a twinge of concern for the other woman. Lightning could handle alcohol, but Oerban spirits were deceptively strong.
To see the effects the spirits could have, all Fang had to do was look at Vanille. While Lightning had taken to dancing to the music, the redhead had challenged Snow to perhaps the world's most awkward arm-wrestling contest. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that Vanille had precisely zero chance of beating Snow. The man was enormously strong, and from what Fang had seen, he could hold his liquor with the best of them.
Ten attempts later, and Vanille had finally given up in favour of encouraging Serah to try her luck. The younger Farron had to be at least a little buzzed because she sat down opposite Snow with a look of utter determination on her face. Then there was Hope. The young man was most definitely drunk, struggling to keep his head off the table as he watched Serah huff and puff as she tried to force Snow's arm down.
That left Fang almost alone with Lightning, and Lightning's dancing was doing things to her libido that she wasn't at all comfortable with. And now Lightning was walking toward her, a sway in her hips and something dark and dangerous in her eyes. It was no secret that they were attracted to each other. Too much had happened for them to deny that – too many stolen glances, too many lingering looks, too many touches that were too intimate for friends.
But they'd never acted on that attraction, not really, too afraid of what it would cost them if things didn't work out. Fang wasn't sure how or when it had happened, but Lightning had gone from being one of her friends to being her best friend. Vanille would always be in a class of her own, but Lightning had laid claim to parts of Fang's heart that she'd never thought someone could touch. It terrified her as much as it thrilled her.
Fang had tried dating a few other women, but that had never gone anywhere. It wasn't their fault. She was supposed to see those women for themselves, but all she could ever see were women who couldn't stack up to Lightning. They didn't have the same fire that Lightning had. They couldn't match her in all the ways that Lightning could. And they couldn't possibly understand why Fang sometimes woke up in the middle of the night with one hand clamped down over her mouth, so she wouldn't scream and scream and scream.
There were still times when that happened. There was an old Yun saying that Fang had come to appreciate: in the dead of the night, everyone is a child. The dreams didn't care how strong Fang was. Sometimes, she would close her eyes and all she could see was Cocoon shattered on the ground, her friends dead, and a field of corpses that went on and on and on. And all of it was her fault.
Then she'd wake, one hand over her mouth to hold back the scream, the other clawing at the darkness. But that never lasted long. Lightning always seemed to know when Fang had those dreams. There would be a knock on the door, and the lights would turn on. Lightning wouldn't say a word. She would just look at Fang with eyes that saw far too much. Lightning had those dreams too, Fang was sure of it.
Then Lightning would turn on her heel and go downstairs to do paperwork – she always seemed to have paperwork. Fang would follow because, really, she'd follow Lightning anywhere. And then she'd fall asleep with her head on Lightning's lap, soothed by the tapping of fingers on keys or the scratch-scratch of a pen on paper. When she slept like that, she never dreamed of all the mistakes she could have made. No, her dreams were of Lightning, always of Lightning and a future she wanted so much but couldn't quite bring herself to reach for.
So here Lightning was, so beautiful that Fang ached just looking at her, and she was getting closer with each step. She stopped in front of Fang, slightly ungainly in the way that most inebriated people were yet still graceful because she was Lightning Farron, and Lightning Farron had perhaps the finest sense of balance of anyone that Fang knew.
Lightning reached down, one hand closing around Fang's wrist, and tugged gently. The calluses on Lightning's hand were works of art, Fang thought, cataloguing a life of hard work and combat. Some people preferred soft hands, but Fang wanted hands like Lightning's. These weren't innocent hands, the hands of someone who'd be scared off the moment they saw the ghosts behind Fang's eyes and the monster under her skin. No, these were the hands of a warrior, of a woman who understood that Fang didn't want pity so much as understanding.
"You look bored," Lightning said. Liquid heat shimmered in her gaze, and the shirt she wore was damp with sweat. "Dance with me."
Fang knew she should say no. Lightning would never have acted this way if it wasn't for how much she'd drunk, but it was so, so hard to refuse her. A good woman would have anyway, but Fang wasn't sure she was a good woman. She let herself get pulled to her feel and let Lightning smile over her shoulder as she started to dance, guiding Fang's hands to her waist.
"Don't just stand there." Lightning leaned toward Fang, her back pressing against Fang's front. There were several pieces of fabric between them, but Fang's skin still burned. "Do something."
But Fang couldn't do anything. Dancing required coordination, and all of her coordination had fled the moment Lightning touched her. It was impossible for her to think – or maybe thinking was all she could do – and now she realised how much the alcohol was affecting her too. All she could see was the blue of Lightning's eyes, her gaze flicking back over her shoulder every now and then, burning a hole right through Fang's soul.
All Fang could feel was the slim waist she held and the muscles in Lightning's back as the other woman rubbed against her. Even her senses of smell and hearing were overwhelmed. She was so close she could smell Lightning, smell the scent that was uniquely the soldier's. It made her think of blood and battlefields, silk sheets and tender lips. And the sound – the music shook the world every time Lightning moved to it, and the whisper of Lightning's shirt against her own was going to drive her insane. Maker, Fang was going to fall apart, and it had everything to do with what she shouldn't be doing but was.
Only her sense of taste was left unsatisfied, and it would have been so easy to lean forward and lick the sweat off Lightning's throat before capturing her lips.
Somehow, they changed positions. Lightning was facing her now, arms slung around Fang's neck. She pulled Fang down until their lips were almost close enough to touch. Every moment stretched out into eternity, and Fang could have sworn she saw the rest of her life spread out before her, all of it hinging on this moment. Lightning spoke, but Fang barely heard the words, unable to focus on anything but how good Lightning felt in her arms, how soft her lips looked.
"Fang." It was Serah's voice that broke the spell. The younger Farron's eyes were surprisingly clear, and there was no small amount of concern in them. "Do you think you could take my sister up to her room? I'd do it, but…" She trailed off and nodded at Vanille, who had latched onto her arm like a barnacle.
When Fang looked back at Lightning, she finally noticed the exhaustion beneath the other woman's fiery gaze, the weariness that the alcohol had uncovered as surely as the desire. Fang thought of Lightning's shifts – too many, but the Guardian Corps needed her, so many people needed her – and realised that Lightning must have been running on empty. She always was these days.
But Lightning was in no mood to leave. Instead, she pressed closer to Fang, let Fang feel every inch of that perfect body, before she slipped away, dancing to the music in a way that made it seem more like the music was following her than the other way around. It was driving Fang mad, one beat, one movement at a time.
Fang forced herself to think through the haze of want that clouded her mind. Lightning would wake up with a heck of a headache tomorrow – Oerban spirits were like that – and it didn't help that she was reaching for another glass of alcohol. Oerban spirits did that. They chipped away at a person's inhibitions while still leaving them with the illusion of control. That's why Vanille had only started drinking Oerba spirits here. She trusted everyone here to look after her and not take advantage of the situation.
"Keep an eye on Vanille," Fang said at last. "I'll take Lightning to her room. She can sleep it off, I guess."
Serah nodded and resumed trying to pry Vanille off. "Thanks."
Fang eased the glass out of Lightning's hand. It was half full. Maker, had Lightning been drinking Oerban spirits by the glass? It was a miracle she could still stand, never mind dance. "Come on, we need to get you up to bed, Lightning."
"Yes, we do." Lightning's smile smouldered, and Fang nearly flinched away. She couldn't do this. But who else was there? Serah had Vanille to worry about, Hope was about three seconds from unconsciousness, and Lightning probably wouldn't react well to Snow trying to get her upstairs. So Fang gathered the tattered remnants of her will, put one arm around Lightning's shoulders, and steered her toward the stairs.
They made it up the stairs and then moved down the corridor to Lightning's room. Fang had been in there before, but there was something different about it now. It had always been Spartan. Lightning didn't have many possessions, but she treasured the few she did have. Two photographs held pride of place on her bedside table: one of her, Serah, and their parents and another showing all of the former l'Cie together.
Lightning pulled away from Fang and ambled toward the bed, kicking off her shoes and then sitting on the edge of the bed. It would almost have looked innocent – how many times had Lightning grumbled about a bad day at work while Fang listened from the doorway – were it not for the raw desire in Lightning's gaze. Suddenly, the emptiness in the room took a new meaning. There was nothing for Fang to distract herself with. There was only Lightning. The soldier beckoned with one hand, and Fang found herself walking over, powerless to resist her.
Fang stopped in front of Lightning, and this time, it was the other woman who put her hands on Fang's waist. For a split-second, Fang was struck by a vision of how this could go. She could have Lightning. She could press the other woman into the bed, tear the clothes from her body, and take and take and take until the only word on Lightning's lips was Fang's name. It would be so easy, and she would make it so good for both of them.
She blinked, brought back to the present, as Lightning yanked her down onto the bed.
"I've wanted to do this for a long time," Lightning whispered. The room seemed smaller somehow, the walls closing in and spinning, the warmth of Lightning's body sapping all of the strength from Fang's limbs. "I've watched you, wanted you, needed you."
"Lightning…" Fang forced herself to push the other woman away. The alcohol was making it hard to think – her thoughts moved with all the speed of molasses – but this was wrong. "Not like this."
"You don't want me?"
"I do. But…" Fang took a deep breath and stood, forcing herself to walk to the door. "But not like this, not when you aren't yourself. Get some sleep." And then she closed the door, stumbling away before she could change her mind and do something they would both regret. She staggered down to the bottom of the stairs and held her head in her hands, wondering if she'd just done the stupidest thing in her life.
But as tempting as it would have been to say yes to Lightning, she couldn't regret saying no. Whatever they were to each other – and Fang still wasn't sure where they stood – they deserved to do things properly, when both of them were in the right frame of mind to choose what happened next, for better or for worse.
She fell asleep on the stairs.
X X X
Breakfast the next morning was interesting. Fang hadn't drunk quite as much as the others, and she had some experience with Oerban spirits. She went upstairs to check who was sleeping in which bedroom and then headed back downstairs. Serah and Vanille had ended up in the redhead's bedroom while Hope had passed out on the couch. She poked him to make sure he was alive, and the young man groaned and rolled over again.
Snow, of course, was perfectly fine and ridiculously chipper for a man who'd drunk so much the night before. He was in the kitchen making pancakes.
"Hey." Fang blinked blearily and winced as Snow banged a few pans against each other. "You're up early."
"Not really." Snow glanced at the clock on the wall. "Actually, you're up rather late." He laughed, and Fang fought the urge to take one of the pans and cave in his skull. "That stuff Vanille served was something else, but you know me…"
"You're huge, you can hold your liquor, and you're largely impervious to criticism." Fang started making some coffee and glared. "Yes, I know you."
Snow grinned, proving that he really was largely impervious to criticism. "That's right."
"So… where did you sleep? I saw Serah and Vanille sleeping upstairs. Please tell me that you guys did not have a three way, otherwise I'm going to have to kill you."
"Fang!" Snow dropped one of the pans. "Seriously? Don't even joke about that. But, yeah, Vanille kind of passed out a little after you took Lightning upstairs. She must have finally run out of energy. Serah tried to pry her off, but you know how Vanille is. Serah conked out pretty soon after that, so I just carried the two of them upstairs. It was tricky getting around you though since you decided to sleep on the stairs. As for me, I took the recliner chair. It wasn't too bad." He chuckled and glanced at the living room. "Hope is going to have one heck of a headache when he wakes up. How about you? Why did you decide to sleep on the stairs? Did something happen with Lighting?"
"Nothing happened." Fang winced at how hard her voice was. It wasn't Snow's fault that things between her and Lightning were so weird. "Look, I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's okay." Snow's easy-going nature made it easy to forget how observant he really was. "I know how things are between you two. I think… I think you did the right thing sleeping on the stairs."
"Thanks." Fang chuckled. "You're pretty smart, big guy."
"That I am." He nodded at one of the pancakes he'd made. "You can start eating those if you…" He trailed off as Lightning stumbled into the kitchen.
The other woman looked like death warmed over. She took one look at the pancakes, grabbed one for herself, and then stalked back into the dining room to eat, looking more like a zombie with pink hair than Cocoon's most famous soldier.
"Okay, that was just scary." Snow patted Fang on the shoulder. "Good luck, Fang."
"Thanks." Fang took a sip of her coffee for courage. "I'll need it."
Lightning didn't mention what had happened, and perhaps that was for the best. Maybe she couldn't remember. If that wasn't the case, then Fang wasn't about to say anything. They were so close now that something like that was bound to change everything. Fang wasn't sure if either of them were ready for that.
It was another two days before Lightning finally said something, and it happened in the kitchen. Vanille had gone to work early, leaving the two of them eating breakfast together. Fang turned and found herself boxed in, Lightning moving forward until Fang was trapped in one corner of the kitchen.
"Fang, about Vanille's birthday party…"
"Uh…" Fang wasn't sure what to say. What could she say?
"Why did you say no?" Lightning asked, eyes intense, her hands on either side of Fang to trap her in place. The soldier looked almost nothing like she had that night. Now, she was in full command of her senses, gaze razor-sharp, every muscle poised to explode into action if Fang tried to get away.
Fang thought long and hard about trying to get away, but there would be no escaping without a fight. "It wouldn't have been right. You'd been drinking, and you weren't yourself and…"
"Did you think I didn't really want you?" Lightning asked. "Is that it? Were you worried that I wouldn't have enjoyed going to bed with you?" Lightning's gaze had softened now, settling into something that was half concern and half something that Fang refused to speculate about.
"That's part of it." Fang bit her lip. "I… I don't know what we are, Lightning. But whatever we are, it's better than a quick roll in bed when we're both drunk. And it wouldn't have been right." She held up one hand, cutting off Lightning's protests. "I know you can handle alcohol, but you don't know how Oerban spirits are. They loosen you up. They can… make you do things you wouldn't normally do." She sighed. "I didn't want to force you into anything."
"What if you weren't forcing me into anything?" Lightning leaned forward. "What if that's what I really wanted?"
"I… I don't know."
Lightning moved closer, pressing into Fang's space. Then she was kissing Fang, hard and deep, and it was the most perfect thing in the world. They pulled away, foreheads resting against each other. "I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since Vanille's birthday. But I know what I want – it's what I've wanted for a long time now."
"And what is that?" Fang wanted to burn this image into her memory: Lightning gazing at her with so much love.
"You." Lightning took a deep breath. "It's always been you." She kissed Fang again and then pulled back, fighting to steady her breathing. "I know you don't want to rush things, but we've wasted so much time already." She touched Fang again, seemingly unwilling – or unable – to let go. "I'm not saying we should jump into bed right now, but we can't go back to the way we were, too afraid of moving forward to do anything."
"I know." Fang nodded slowly. "We have to start somewhere. We could… start with breakfast, I guess."
"We've had breakfast before, Fang."
"Not like this, not knowing what we know now. It's a start." Fang gulped. "Love has to start somewhere."
"Do you love me, Fang?"
"Yes." Fang tried to keep her voice steady. "I love you."
"Good." Lightning's cheeks flushed slightly. "Because I love you too." She kissed Fang again and then laughed nervously. "I can't seem to stop doing that."
"You don't have to." Fang laughed, pulling Lightning against her and kissing her. "In fact, I'd prefer it if you never stopped."
X X X
Author's Notes
As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.
This chapter is based on Fangrai Forever Prompt #351: Drunk Lightning is a tease. She's acting nonchalant about it, but oh she is such a tease. Drunk Fang is torn, and so turned on. She can almost feel the sexual tensions thunder in the air.
I'll start off by pointing out the obvious: alcohol can have a definite impact on people's ability to make good decisions. If you're going to hit the bars, always look out for your friends. Never take advantage of someone who is drunk. And if you think someone might be in trouble, don't be afraid to ask for help. It's better to be safe than sorry. Finally, don't drink and drive.
When I saw this prompt, I was immediately reminded of the very first prompt that I filled (i.e., Chapter One of this story). I wanted to capture the same kind of feel, the same languid, almost dreamy sort of atmosphere. Hopefully, I did that. I think Fang explained her reasons for saying no well enough, so I'm not going to go into that anymore. I'll just say that Fang would prefer that whatever they have be based off something genuine, as opposed to a quick alcohol-fuelled roll in the proverbial hay.
Despite the fact that I've filled several prompts based on alcohol, I'm really not much of a drinker. I don't even really drink coffee. Possibly the only thing I've developed an addiction to is Pepsi Max, which is my drink of choice when I'm writing late at night. Scarily enough, I'm currently out of Pepsi Max. I might even have dropped down onto my knees and screamed "No!" at the sky.
Finally, my newest original story Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf is now available on Amazon! It weighs in at 35,000 words and goes for $1.99. You can find links to it in my profile. Most of my previous stories have been fairly serious (e.g., The Last Huntress), but this one is different.
If you've been looking forward to something humorous from me, then your wait is finally over. Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf is a fantasy with plenty of humour, warmth, action, and a healthy dose of craziness (the kind you've come to expect from me). You can find links to it in my profile
Here is the blurb (you can find a link to a longer preview in my profile):
Two necromancers, a bureaucrat, and an elf – it sounds like the start of a bad joke, only the joke is on Timmy.
Timothy Walter Bolton – better known as Timmy – has spent most of his life as a necromancer. When he isn't terrorising his enemies, he's plotting inside his castle, which is built on top of lightless chasms filled with nameless horrors and beings of a generally malevolent and megalomaniacal nature. But after one of his latest creations, a zombie hydra-dragon-bear, tries to eat him, he decides that maybe it's time to find a new, less dangerous, career.
But that's easier said than done. He's a wanted criminal with no shortage of powerful (and crazy) enemies, and he has a bone or two to pick with the Everton Council of Mages.
Hope arrives in the form of a new law. War is coming to Everton, and the Council is desperate. In exchange for providing some help, Timmy might just earn that pardon he's been looking for. Of course, just because it's possible to earn a pardon doesn't mean that it's going to be easy.
To earn his pardon, Timmy is going to have to take down some of Everton's most dangerous enemies and put together a quirky group of unconventional heroes, most of whom want nothing more than to mangle him and/or the Council in as vicious a way as possible. It's a good thing that he's got some help: an obnoxious ten-year-old apprentice who thinks that pink glasses are appropriate for a budding necromancer and a bumbling bureaucrat who may or may not make it through their first real fight without puking his guts up.
Wonderful.
Still, Timmy's never been one to back down from a challenge even if their first recruit is basically the elf version of the bogeyman.
As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.