It had been well over half a year since she left Cloud. Tifa arranged the pillows on the bed. She had changed sheets and replaced the old duvet covers with new, fresh ones and sighed with satisfaction at the sight of the nicely made bed and the inviting softness already tempting her to sneak underneath. She has been living with Rude for a few months now. The tall Turk was in the bathroom washing off after a long day's work and getting ready for the evening. Tifa had already taken her turn in the bathroom and was now secretly getting ready to tempt Rude in a sensual garment she had bought previously. It was a hipster in cream colored lace, with matching bra and suspenders. The anticipation tickled her skin like the sweetest caress as she removed her dressing gown and slipped into her feminine underwear.
She looked at her own features in the bedroom mirror on the wardrobe door facing the bed. She was a young lady, but not without the imperfections that most women complained about. She had a slender figure, but it was by no means the guarantee of a flawless body. In fact, Tifa was slightly displeased by the stretch marks on her thighs since she had developed fast during her teenage years, the small, humble breasts and the extra padding she began depositing on her behind. It was all a genetic legacy from the females in her family, but even though she sometimes complained, Rude didn't seem to notice those things.
Whenever she pinched the uneven skin on her thighs and asked, "See?", he would tilt his head, lean close, move his fingers over the area of complaint and still end up shaking his head.
Interestingly, Cloud didn't see it either. HE would also shake his head no matter how closely he studied the imperfections. Well, when it came to Cloud, Tifa sometimes wondered if he was only being nice, whilst other times he was so distant it was a wonder he even found his way home.
Tifa sighed deeply and thought of Cloud. There was still a tinge of pain in her chest as they had shared so much of their youth and past; she had saved his life when falling into the Lifestream and in some ways, Cloud had saved hers when he finally decided he would let her go. They were the closest of friends, but trying to press that friendship into the framework of a relationship had been a mistake and it took them years to figure it out. She would always be there for him, but they were happier being separate. She had put the past behind herself. Her relationship with Cloud was over, but she still cared for him as if he had been her brother. Was he happy? Was Cloud putting the past behind himself too? At least, that was what Tifa hoped.
The water was turned off and the bathroom went quiet. Rude was on his way out and Tifa had to shake the images of Cloud out of her head. It wasn't because she had feelings for him that intruded on her personal life, but seeing him made her feel as if Cloud was watching and judging her actions. However, a seductive deep mutter rescued her and wiped the remnants of Cloud from her mind.
"Is that a present for me?"
Tifa snapped back to reality, gasping at the presence of Rude. He was leaning against the architrave with arms crossed, his chocolaty skin standing out marvellously against the white towel. The dark pigments in his skin gave a depth to the dark velvet enveloping his beautifully sculpted body. She sighed whilst senses were saturated with his masculinity; pronounced muscles, a towering stature and a pearly set of teeth shining back at her between full, kissable lips. Rude was a black Adonis and contrary to his name, he was an exquisite lover. Gentle when needed or fervent when wanted.
When Tifa started dating Rude, she had found him very shy and in some ways socially clumsy. But it was quite the contrary. He was very knowledgeable and eloquent in a way that often required a pocket thesaurus just to keep up with the pace in his conversations. Although his words were impeccably correct, Tifa feared that his private emotions and lifestyle would be just as edgy as his social approach, but once inside the comfort of his home, the man changed into a smooth criminal. Rude turned out to be an excellent cook and following a candle light dinner, he morphed into a passionate lover and cosseted her with pillow talk sweeter than the honey-glazed pear-soufflé he had prepared for dessert.
A feeling of exaltation was rising in her, of reaching that pinnacle of emotion, which would fling Cloud out of her mind for the remainder of the night and abandon her to this sexy man. The nakedness of his eyes on her was like a penetration and she was trembling with anticipation.
They were alone in the room with its immense, heavily carved bed, but the surge of emotions made the air thick and almost crowded. Tifa felt that the gesture he would make would be a possessive one, one that could not be eluded. She waited and he moved up to her. Rude stood before Tifa suddenly slack, awkward and his eyes uneasy.
He said with a disarming smile, "You realize, of course, that a woman with stilettos like that is expected to exert power and take control. I've never been in that position," he bent over to deliver a soft kiss to her earlobe, whilst continuing, "but I want you to put me into that position."
At this acknowledgment of his timidity she was immensely moved by a strange mix of tenderness intertwined with predatorily lust to consume. And the size of the prey made no difference. His strength was bowing to her, was hesitating before the fulfilment of the dream that had grown between them. It was she who moved towards him and offered her mouth.
Rude kissed her back, his two hands guided over her breasts. He kissed her neck where the veins were palpitating, and her throat, his hands around her neck possessively like a collar. She swayed with desire to be taken wholly. Suddenly, Tifa tore herself from the embrace and pushed Rude onto the bed. The mattress compressed under his massive weight and ripping the towel from his hips, she crept closer. Her caresses had a strange quality, at times soft and melting, at other times fierce, like the caresses he had expected when her eyes fixed on him, the caresses of a wild animal. There was something rapacious about her hands, which she kept spread over each part of his body, and which took his sex and hair together as if she grasped soil and grass together.
When Rude closed his eyes, he felt Tifa had many hands, which touched him everywhere, and many mouths, which passed so swiftly over him. With a wolf-like sharpness, her teeth sank into his fleshiest parts, the inside of his thighs and the side of his torso, making the large man arch his body like a bow. Her tongue flicked over his glans, the pigmented shaft disappearing into her mouth over and over, tugging and sucking rhythmically until he was ready to spend. Rude's breath was fervent and frantic, he had to make her halt or the game would be over too soon. With a sudden movement, he lay his full length over her. Tifa loved it when Rude rested his body on her. She greatly enjoyed his weight on her, to be almost crushed under his body. She wanted him soldered to her, from mouth to feet.
Her eyes were blurred by the violence of her feelings. When Tifa looked at Rude, she was magnetically drawn again to touch him all over, to discover him with all her senses. She rubbed her whole body against his, with animal luxuriance to enjoy even the friction of their skin. Her hand travelled over every part of his being, touching, searching, and feeling it over and over as if she wanted to ascertain his form, time and again. Her fingers were sometimes light then suddenly they would become frenzied, pressing violently and deep into the flesh to hurt him as if to assure her of his reality.
Shivers passed through Tifa in overwhelming waves as Rude whispered to her to raise her legs, until the knees touched her chin, to turn so he could play with all her tender parts with his mouth and two hands. The honey flowed from her, forming a tiny rivulet guiding his fingers effortlessly into her depth. His mouth found a home between the folds of soft petals opening to her sex, and as his busy tongue playfully extracted her first orgasm, Tifa withdrew, her hair wild and eyes drugged. Through a mist of euphoria the girl watched her desire and commanded him on his back. She then slipped down in the bed until her mouth reached his penis again and began kissing all around it. Rude fisted the pillow on both sides of his head and sighed.
His penis shook slightly at each kiss. He was looking at her, watching her mouth fall over the pulsating member. He couldn't tear his eyes from witnessing her lovable abuse as she moved up and down and then fell, fell with a sigh of unbearable pleasure. Reaching a zenith of his bliss, Rude acted with a sense of panic, eyes glistening with desperation as he rammed the girl like raging Taurus. He crouched over her so that he could take her with force, touching the very bottom of her cave, rubbing every inch of himself against her body and enhancing every impulse from her nerves. With her hands on his buttocks, she quickened his pace to bring about the climax they both longed for. As a compliant slave, Rude hastened his motions inside of her and through earthy yet deliciously exciting demands he incited her to come with him. His hands caressed Tifa and his mouth fused with hers, so that the tongues moved in the same rhythm as their bodies, and following a few determined thrusts, the climax was spreading between her mouth and her sex, in crosscurrents of increasing pleasure, milking the overflow of joy through his body.
Tired and exhausted, lace torn and sheets stained, Tifa rested her head against a massive torso that had assumed a slow pace, heaving with calmness. She watched Rude for a few seconds before pulling the covers up to her neck and allowing the night to take the dreams where they rightfully belonged. She was happy, happier than she had been in a long time.
Cloud appeared in her head, reminding her of the good times they shared, but her heart no longer ached and there was no pity to dwell on. Cloud would be happy again too; and until then she would be there for him… as a friend.
Night was chased away by the morning and the morning by the afternoon. The purpose of life has always been to shift and change, oscillate between events to bring about new situations to refine all those it provided for, all the living. It gave the keys to hidden treasures in the mind to better prepare the soul to the endless journey once the backdoor to the material plane was opened. Life was for the living, and some people belonged there, but then there were those walking the face of the planet that were merely pretending to be alive when, in fact, they were just living in an illusion. They were walking and living with the dead.
Vincent had indulged in the closeness of Miss Khin for weeks, revelling in their union as it brought the man in him alive once more. He inhaled her scent, relished her taste, taken pleasure in her warmth and reached ecstasy inside her. He lay on his bed, watching the ceiling. Life was so ironic, for from this moment on, he and Sephiroth were tied together not only in the past through Lucrecia, but in the present through Sïana. Sephiroth felt closer than ever before. Vincent took a deep breath. Indeed, the presence of the angel could be felt everywhere and the memories from the past no longer tormented.
Feeling uplifted and at peace, Vincent decided to take a stroll downtown and have a cup of coffee in the patisserie called Vanilla Orchid where he and Miss Khin often flirted over a steaming cup of espresso and poppy seed pastry. It was the best bake shop in the uptown areas and while Vincent was not much for earthly pleasures of this sort, there was a certain charm in spending early afternoons at a nice place and watching the weekend shoppers pass by outside the tinted windows.
He stepped off the train at the Wintergate station and walking up the stairs to the street level, his face was washed over by the sunshine pouring out of the sky. It was a lovely day. Another season had passed and the late spring had turned into summer. People were walking in waves towards, along and around him and whilst taking his time and meandering against the current, Vincent had finally reached the patisserie. He knew that Miss Khin would not be there this time to receive his company, for she was away on business, but it mattered not, for it was enough to enjoy the wake of her footsteps along the street and the memories of the discussions they had about life in general.
Vincent ordered a double hit espresso, along with some poppy seed cake and seated himself in an armchair near the window. Sipping on his coffee and relishing each spoonful of cake the Daemon lord allowed for his mind to slip into silence. It was heavenly not having to experience the noise, the tormenting thoughts and the agony of the past. He smiled and thought of Miss Khin. What an extraordinary woman, he thought to himself. She was turning Fifty-three this year and by the Gods, that meant that Vincent would be closer to his eighties and Sephiroth would have turned forty-two. Though the memories of the angel were always spiced with a hint of bitterness, Vincent could weave those thoughts into events of a possible life.
Yes, Sephiroth would turn forty-two this year, when the constellations on the skies moved into the Scorpio, whereas Vincent carried the traits of the Leo. That combination alone made them impossible partners, something, which the Daemon inside refused to understand. Sephiroth was sharp and deadly, just like the Scorpio, whereas Vincent had endurance and unrelenting strength to stand the grounds for what he believed in. Both were creatures with fire as element and carrying characteristics of leadership, fuelled by pride and the need to satisfy inner daemons. This was a fertile soil for constant conflicts between the two, so much alike how they repelled each other yet they constantly searched for the heat that bonded them. They were chained to each other. One was the question and the other the answer; hunter and killer; both warriors uniting with the bed as their battleground where the weapons of lust were unleashed on a desired foe. Chaos purred inside Vincent who smiled at the obvious frailty of his Daemon.
"Easy boy," he whispered to himself and took another sip.
He caught his reflection in the window and realized that the man staring back was so different from how he had seen himself in the past. He looked alive. The long hair was properly trimmed on the edges, giving it a healthy body that framed his face and rested against the shoulders. The cream colored shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the middle of the forearms, was a nice contrast to the cinnamon skin and light blue jeans that restrained his hips in strong denim. The leather shoes were light brown in color, matching the belt around his waist. He was a thing of beauty and though time passed, the Daemon inside would cherish his youthful appearance. But his eyes were getting old. The shine in them was not like that of a young man. It was saturated and looked very tired. The red in them was turning opaque like a ruby traps the impurities of its surroundings inside the crystalline grid and turns unclear.
But even if the wounds of the past were healing, secluded pockets of his treacherous mind would open up and bring about the past as if it had been only yesterday. And yesterday was suddenly today, for there she was, on the other side of the tinted window. She stood there looking back at him, yet not noticing him watching her intently like a predator. At first, Vincent didn't know if the woman was trying to communicate with him, but as she arranged her stocking in the reflection of the window, he realise she was only focusing on herself. But it was she; it really was. Everything about her was she. The long, brown hair captured in a plaited ponytail entangled with a ribbon. The frills on the edge of the skirt, the feminine blouse and her movements in particular; it was all HER.
Vincent dropped his cup, which shattered on the floor, but his senses were overloaded to the point where he could neither hear nor speak a word. The splinters and shattered pieces of crockery crushed and crackled beneath his weight as he moved up to the window. His heart raced wildly in his chest as he leaned close to the window. 'That woman', he thought. Those lovely eyes, blinking back from the scene behind the reflection, those full lips being thoroughly moistened with the lipstick she was applying.
Vincent leaned closer to the glass, almost to the point where he thought he could kiss her. He wanted to, he wanted to so badly, yet resentment slashed him from within. Something was rebelling and that something was Chaos. Vincent would not obey as he watched the likes of Lucrecia on the other side, basking in the freedom of sunlight whilst he himself was caught between four walls. He longed to reach out to the girl and finally embrace the life he so desperately wished for - a life with Lucrecia. The mere notion of such possibility gave birth to a smile that his aching lips formed against the will of an inner power that kept his mouth stale.
Vincent touched the window at which his image broke through the glass and startled the girl on the other side who immediately backed away and disappeared in the crowd. Vincent remained standing there, watching the memories of the girl as if she still hovered outside. His obsession flourished once more and ripped open the wounds that had barely begun to form a tender crust over a bleeding past.
At once, Sephiroth had fallen from his angelic pedestal and was subsequently reduced to a rogue, whereas the erotic rendezvous were buried in shame and guilt. In the reflection of the tinted glass Vincent noticed his blurred vision was washed clear when the eyelids could no longer withhold that black fluid trickling down his face. It seemed like tar at first, but as he soaked the trail with a white linen serviette, he noticed it was tears of blood; nothing human. The Daemon was mourning the loss of Sephiroth and the love of a woman who healed those wounds that were the only companions of Chaos inside a fragile human mind. The Daemon was trapped within a prison of guilt and fear, stirred by anger and frustration, and delivered through hatred and destruction.
He was a child of Gaea, used as a weapon for her benefit. He was the Daemon of all daemons, yet only a dove in the hands of a gentle woman who saw past an engine and captured the ghost in the machinery. The body of Miss Khin had been the safe haven between worlds where Angels and Daemons were met on equal grounds. Where Heaven and Hell united in a no-man's-land, where the Good tasted of Bad and the Bad smelled of the sweetness of the Good.
Vincent was reborn and Chaos had died once again. It was all lost. The magic was gone and the mantle was resting heavily on burdened shoulders. She was in her crystal palace, drops pelting gently against the surface of the water; distorting the image of a pitiful man who had fallen from his own Grace into the hell he knew best.
She was there. She hadn't moved for decades. Jenova kept her alive in a body that longed for death. Lucrecia's complaint could be heard through the delicate chink of crystals that vibrated through the air. Vincent shielded his thoughts from her and drifted into his own mind. He never should have engaged in the quest for Sephiroth's past; it had led him astray and left him wandering in darkness. It was here he had his place; next to Lucrecia; inside a secret cave that hid them from the world outside. He belonged here, secluded and forever wondering if there will be a common future for them. And Chaos would remain mourning. It was his fate and it was sealed the very day he was united with a broken man. Vincent was but shattered pottery and Chaos was the glue that held him together. He was scarred and crackled but still what resembled a human. A human, something Vincent only used to be, for now he was not complete and never would be until he could be reunited with Lucrecia.
Days of tormenting nightmares turned into weeks of anguish. No enchanted dream catcher in the Universe could entangle his nightmares and relinquish them with the morning sun. No sun could burn the dreams that had lingered on for decades and now were a part of the present again. Vincent tried to recall what it was like to be without those nightmares and the guilt, and to remember those few weeks he enjoyed living again, but those swift moments of stillness had fallen into oblivion. Life was no longer what surrounded him. Vincent was in a cocoon of suffering and the only company he had was that of the dead. The memories of what used to be life, but sometimes he wasn't even sure it was his past that he was seeing. Had he ever lived or had it all been a fantasy, a desire?
In the stillness of the night the tired warrior kept his heart shut from the woman he was watching at a distance. A woman he had loved unconditionally spending his days mourning the loss of, and longing to be reunited with. Yes, this was his true self. These obsessive thoughts were what he recognized about himself; a set point in a changing emotional state. Yes, this was Vincent. The man that never smiled never laughed, never indulged in anything other than the pain surrounding him. The man with the sensual dreams and the simple pleasures was gone.
"No more… Sephiroth," he whispered. "No more. Please."
He lifted his gaze from the crystalline water and watched the clear visage of Lucrecia shimmer through the crystal walls. She was dormant, yet still agile and aware of her surroundings. She was a frozen statue in what seemed a prison of ice; so cold, so barren, and so much… so much Lucrecia herself. She was a frozen soul inside a beautiful temple, so much Lucrecia… so much Sephiroth. Indeed, a frozen soul inside a beautiful temple.
"Damn you," Vincent whispered, cursing his thoughts as they drifted onto the angel.
He was to bury those memories, not revive them. He had to forget. He had to forget Sephiroth. He had allowed the emotions in his heart to die, the desire in his body to fade and guilt to seep into every hidden corner of his soul.