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Further Disclaimer: This scene contains material NOT appropriate for all ages or tastes. Kindly leave if you suspect this will make you or those responsible for you unhappy.
He loved her.
He wanted to say it, but the declaration still did not come easily to him. He had been so painfully clumsy earlier, forcing the phrase from his body so it came out leaden and stiff: empty words that filled with truth as he spoke them.
He loved her: gods, how he did. He clung to the emotion as desperately as he had fled from it before, with all the ferocity of long denial.
Again, she dipped her hands and poured the sacred spring water over his head. She was washing him, washing away sorrow and isolation, the empty riches and the fame that meant nothing to him. He saw his own face distorted in the water and almost failed to recognize it as his. He looked-- happy.
She murmured to him, telling him she was making him clean, telling him his body was beautiful.
For a third time, warm water ran over his scalp and dribbled in little crystal beads down the shining strands of his hair.
For an instant, he wondered what the long-silent Ancients would say if they knew what sorts of things he was thinking of while being baptized.
Things that had nothing to do with holiness.
Or perhaps his desire had everything to do with the sacred.
Aeris,you are my salve-water, my cleansing spring, and all this holy water is your embrace. Touching you is touching my own healing. With you I am not merely regenerated-- I am reborn.
She sidled up to him, and he was keenly aware of her nearness and her nudity, and the way the warm water did little to dispel his desire. Her touch was different now: wet fingertips running slowly up his pale chest, down the ridges of his stomach.
Nearer, and nearer still, and then her body was against his. Below the surface, her hip brushed him, the water muting the contact, but above, her nipples touched his chest, then her breasts pressed flat against him, and the curve of her ribs angled against his. He felt each point of contact as acutely as if it were pain.
Her skin was warm, a damp embrace that made him shiver, and he touched her, hands sliding down her shoulders, her back. Lower.
The kiss was deep, unhurried, part exploration and part claiming. He played at lovemaking, stroking her tongue and the roof of her mouth. His hunger for her was building again, but he held himself back. For her, he would be careful.
She leaned into him, her mouth opening, angling first one way, then the other to grant deeper access. Below the water he felt a growing need, which only worsened when she pressed against him harder, pushing them both deeper into the water. They slipped on one of the golden symbols, and the stairs bit into his back when he sat. For a moment, they were both completely underwater, but she still kissed him, her naked hunger turning to mad urgency. He brought them up for air, returning her kisses fervently.
Did she want it like this? Now? Here in the water?
She broke off abruptly and he bit back a curse.
She sat straddling him, head down on his chest, panting.
Damn it, Aeris! I need you now!
But he cut the thought off and let her pull away, finding her footing on the stone stairs.
When she looked up at him, her eyes were bright as summer meadows.
He saw the question, and in answer, he nodded.
He was ready. He could make her his like a man, not a demon.
Water splashed as he reached up to touch her face.
Come to me, glorious lady.
She took his hand in both of hers, and pressed it against her cheek, leaning her head into his roughened palm.
She looked so purely innocent, so trusting, with her eyes closed, skin soft as petals against his calluses. She was treasuring him. It made his heart flare to life, bound him to her with an unshakable devotion.
This time was special. This time, he would hide behind no salacious words, no domineering. Those were games were for other nights. Now she would have him, his true heart, if she would have it. She would know him for what he was: purely, solely, entirely bound to her.
She smiled up at him, and now her eyes were black pools edged with green.
"Sephiroth," she whispered, "it's time."
He swallowed. "Alright."
She swatted water at him and, with a saucy little toss of her head, replied, "Wrong answer."
He remembered then, that other night, how he had flung her to his bed, snarling at a hesitation he had only imagined in her.
Sephiroth grinned and chuckled. "I'm yours," he said. Then his smile slid away and he added more soberly, "I'm yours."
She grew serious too and he reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. He drew her towards him, felt her lean into his embrace, and he bent down to cradle her, one arm looping around her shoulders, the other slipping beneath her knees as she clung to his neck. Her body dripped a gown of diamond spray as he lifted her out of the water.
Be merciful, my captor, he thought, his gaze on her shining eyes. I am in your hands.
He carried her up the stairs, over the threshold between water and earth, and laid her down in the light, setting her on the soft moss so that her hair fanned out among the star-shaped flowers: the corporeal embodiment of his first vision.
For a long moment, he only looked at her, at the way the water droplets on her skin caught the light and flashed, at his shadow slashing across her body.
Then he leaned over her.
He would begin with her face.
The first kiss was to her forehead, crowning her, and she breathed his name in answer: "Sephiroth."
His lips touched her right eye, kissing it closed, and again she whispered his name. Then her left, his lower lip caressing her eyelid, and again she answered: "Sephiroth."
His mouth moved over hers, parted lips open as he shared his breath with her. He denied her the kiss though, moving lower and touching his mouth to her shoulder, her elbow, her wrist.
"Sephiroth, Sephiroth, Sephiroth."
Each light kiss was a question, each ragged murmur a reply. It was a divine catechism, a little liturgy: each of his kisses a priest's canticle, each of her sighs the congregation's answer.
He kissed his way down her left arm, and with each press of his lips, she named a little more of her body as his possession.
He bent down, defying gravity as he hovered above the soft swells of her breasts. His hands covered each one, fondling her with the faintest of caresses: brushing the nearly-invisible golden hairs of her skin.
Gods, how he wanted to make her feel. He wanted her to ache for him the way he ached for her, wanted her to tremble in irresistible agony.
He cupped her breasts more firmly, massaging the yielding flesh. His breath was on her skin, and he bent still lower, drawing her tightened nipples across his eyelids. When he kissed her, he kissed her heart, feeling her pulse fluttering beneath his lips.
"Sephiroth."
He ran his hands lower, smooth and slow and inexorable as deep water, down the slope of her waist, the flare of her hips. Her skin was pliant to the touch but roughened with chills. He settled himself between her legs, lifting the right one to his lips. He kissed his way down her thigh, kissed her knee, her calf, her ankle. And each time she answered, "Sephiroth." He turned to her other leg, administering the same treatment, leaving no part of her untouched, no part that did not answer to his name.
He paused then, waiting until her senses returned before continuing. Dark, sparkling eyes opened, and she saw his intent.
Yes, my pet, you know what's next.
Only then did he spread her thighs, slipping his hands beneath her hips, raising her, hooking her legs over his shoulders. His name came quietly-- a faint whimpering sound-- as he kissed the pit of her belly, the place where his child would grow one day. Then he moved her higher.
For a moment, he only looked, smiling down at the amber curls that quivered when he breathed, at that most intimate part of her being, which wept now-- hungry for him.
He would kiss those tears away.
But he made her wait for it, keeping the first kiss like all the others: innocent and unhurried, listening to the melody of her voice moaning his name. The word was strained now, faltering and desperate. Then he breathed deep into her secret lips as he had into her mouth, and this time, he did not deny the kiss. She gave a little breathless wail as his mouth covered her, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in the delectable taste of her flesh.
Cetra taste better, he thought, and smiled to himself as he ran his tongue deeper.
Author's Note:
I have heard it said that great magicians never reveal their tricks. Me, being a moderately crappy magician, will say this:
According to some kabbalistic traditions, the ten sephiroth correspond to ten different parts of the body, so when Sephiroth kisses Aeris, he is, in fact, tracing over her body the sephiroth-tree from which he gets his name.
For those who don't know, "sephiroth" (or "sephirodt") is a Hebrew word literally meaning "numbers" or "enumerations." The kabbalah is a mystical branch of Judaism, which uses the sephiroth to describe the ten attributes of God. I know very little about kabbalistic sex, other than that it places heavy emphasis on breathing. (In Hebrew, the word for "breath" and "spirit" are the same word.)
And to everyone who's encouraged me with emails or reviews—once again, thank you! You don't know how much it means to me.
