AN/Warning: Explicit content ahead.
"Hey, Care Barret, it's me." Tifa tried for casual, knew she was failing miserably, but pressed on anyway. "Wondering if you're alright; haven't heard from you. We're all at the Ghost Square hotel tonight so just give the concierge your name and he'll get you a key for our rooms if you made it? If you have, I'm sure you'll realize that everything is free tonight with the trams not working. Either way, shoot me a text to let me know you're ok. You know I worry. Hope to hear from you soon."
"Still no word, huh?" Aerith asked as Tifa disconnected the call, wincing as Yuffie tugged a brush through her hair. The pair of them sat tailor-style on Aerith's bed, Yuffie propped up against the headboard and pillows and Aerith in front of her.
"Not yet," Tifa murmured, quickly shooting a text message to Barret—she knew she was badgering but didn't much care—before folding the device and moving to charge it on her nightstand. "When I talked to Marlene earlier, she said she'd just gotten off the phone with him so I suppose that's something, at least."
"Then at least he's not in some sort of trouble." Aerith gave her a reassuring smile. "Besides, he can take care of himself. I'm sure he'll be back before morning."
Tifa nodded, though worry still weighed heavily on her heart.
The Gold Saucer had been quite an experience thus far, all glittering entertainment and flashy details, nearly giving Tifa a seizure with all its blinking lights and diversions. They'd arrived in record time at just a little past 1030—a four-hour trip turned into just a little over three—helped by the wind, Cid had explained.
Cloud had spent their traveling time asleep, passing out at the table in the Operation Room while everyone had been discussing logistics, her hand clasped tightly in his own. He'd been all but drooling when she'd had roused him gently, suggesting that he rest in one of the berths downstairs instead. He'd refused, blue eyes pleading, and she'd known he was as wary as her of leaving each other's side.
It'd lain unspoken between them that neither had been willing to consider that he rest in one of the crew's cots situated around the same room; the memory of the last time he'd been asleep in one of those cots was still too raw.
Upon entering the Gold Saucer, the team had split up, Yuffie leading a majority of the team to the museum where the Keystone could be found and Noctis to hunt down Dio in an attempt to use his Lucis influence to somehow secure the key. Having had to travel through North Corel to catch the Gold Saucer tram—Cid had been beside himself when he'd realized the Gold Saucer didn't have a landing pad for his ship—Barret had opted to stay behind, his eyes distant and shadowed. Tifa had wrapped herself around him in a hard if a bit awkward hug—Cloud hadn't been willing to release her hand—before the big man had grunted, pressed a kiss to her head, and disappeared into the town.
She'd watched her friend depart with a heavy heart, knowing that North Corel held as many terrible and wonderful memories for him as Nibeleheim had for her.
Standing in the weird museum and peering unimpressed at the keystone—it didn't look much like a key at all to Tifa—Yuffie hadn't wanted to wait for Noctis to report back with any news, had simply wanted to steal the thing and be done with it—Cloud hadn't had any objections to the idea—but Tifa and Aerith had argued that Noctis at least deserved a peaceful chance. The Lucian prince could be quite charming, Tifa had assured, pleading for Cloud to be patient.
Her argument had made Cloud's eye twitch in response before he'd muttered something about sabotage—sabotage? She'd wondered if she'd heard correctly— and not charming anything of his before he'd reluctantly relented.
In the end, Dio and Noctis had arrived to meet everyone in the museum—with Dio having been immune to Noct's charm but promising the Keystone for their use if someone could somehow win a single round of the S-Class chocobo races.
One race, he'd declared, and he'd give them three riders of their choice, along with the use of any chocobo housed in the Gold Saucer stables—barring that of Teioh, who was exclusively used by his best jockey, Joe. He'd even allow them complete access to the training facility, he'd added, with the race scheduled for 6PM that evening as a primetime event to entertain the crowds. That would give them more than half a dozen hours to prepare.
After some discussion, it was decided that Cloud, Noctis, and Cid would be the racers for the evening, the former two having ridden chocobos before and Cid arguing that, as a pilot, he was confident he could master a chocobo. Yuffie had been quite upset, arguing emphatically that, as one of the smallest on the team, the chocobo would likely carry her faster and therefore she should be given the position over Cid—until Tifa had dragged the teen away and had plied her with junk food, soda, and 100GP to be spent at her leisure.
In the end, Noctis had ended up winning the race, having charmed Ester, a chocobo race manager, into choosing for him a beautiful, golden chocobo—Tifa had mused to a giggling Aerith that the chocobo must surely be Cloud's brethren—that had blown everyone else out of the water. Joe and Teioh had come in second, Cid fifth—and Cloud dead last, a good ten minutes behind everyone else.
It hadn't been for his lack of trying, she recalled with a smile. The chocobo—whom she'd named Powder due to the color of his powder blue coat—had just been too young and excited to heed any of his attempts at managing him.
She supposed it had been her fault, however inadvertently. Powder had actually chosen her before Cloud had chosen him, having pranced over and laid its head on her shoulder while she and Aerith had been gathered by its feeding station. He'd warked and kwehed and stolen her heart and Cloud had declared that any chocobo smart enough to choose her had his confidence.
After the Keystone had been retrieved and Cid had mapped their next destination across the globe, they'd arrived at the tram gate only to be told that the trams had malfunctioned, trapping all patrons in and out of the amusement park for the evening. Tifa's initial worry had been that of Barret, wondering if he'd made it to Gold Saucer or if he'd remained in North Corel, and had quickly shot off a text message to see about his whereabouts. She'd been dialing his PHS for a call when Dio's voice had interrupted over the intercom, full of apologies and promising free accommodations and entertainment to everyone in the park—and so they'd resigned themselves to being stuck.
Tifa didn't mind a night off, especially after her up and down emotional turmoil over the past few days, and when Yuffie had declared it Girls Night In, she'd readily agreed—if reluctant to leave Cloud's side. But he'd only smiled, murmured for her to have a good time before Yuffie had dragged her away to their hotel suite for the evening.
Opting out of the haunted-theme rooms, they'd instead been given a suite with a separate living room, luxurious bathroom, and large bedroom that housed three double beds. For safety measures, and to ensure enough room for other guests, Cloud had insisted they remain in groups rather than splitting up, and everyone else had taken the suites around them, securing them a large corner in a wing among one of the top floors.
"Ok, so let's continue," Yuffie announced, twirling the brush in the air. "I'm at a sad zero although it is not for lack of others trying, ok?! I just want to make that clear! Aerith's admitted to one and I believe her because, I mean, she's an older lady and someone's gotta have done her—oww! Fine, m'sorry." The teen rubbed her thigh where Aerith had pinched her. "Sheesh. Anyway, you're up, Teefs. What's your magic number? And if you say zero, I'm calling you a liar! I mean, I've seen the way Spike looks at you and it's not always in your eyes! Leviathan but now that I think of it, you probably did it on Aerith's bed when we stayed at Elmyra's!"
Aerith gasped, staring at Tifa with wide, incredulous eyes.
Tifa glared at the teen, returning to her spot at the foot of Aerith's bed and lying crossways, chin propped up on a fist. "No, I definitely did not 'do it' on Aerith's bed," she denied, reaching out to pat Aerith's hand reassuringly before shooting Yuffie a dark frown. "I'd just been shot, for Shiva's sake. You saw the wound!"
But Yuffie only nodded knowingly. "So if you hadn't just been shot, you would have done it on Aerith's bed, which is basically the same thing. Ugh, how distasteful, Teefs." She ducked when Tifa picked up a hairpin and launched it at her. "Your aim sucks."
"It would've smacked you right on your smack-talking mouth if you hadn't ducked, you brat." Tifa threatened the youth with another hairpin.
Aerith laughed at their antics, then winced as Yuffie hid behind her shoulder, yanking her hair in the process. "Ouch, you guys! Not while you have a handful of my hair, Yuffie. And, Tifa, you still didn't give us your number!"
"Yeah, Teefs, sheesh." She stuck out her tongue at Tifa.
Tifa shook a fist at the youth, fell back to lay flat on her back. "Fine. The answer is two."
"Two?" Aerith prodded.
"Mm-hmm." Tifa thought back to the two boys—and they had been boys, and she just a girl—she'd lain with, her reasons for choosing them having had nothing to do with anything but her twisted sense of self-preservation—and utter loneliness. "First Leo, and a few years later, Soma."
Leo, son of the leathersmith and just her age. She'd chosen him because he'd been kind to her, kind in a way that people in the slums couldn't afford to be, and she'd lost her virginity to him in the shed behind his father's leather shop in the Sector 3 slums—on the very first anniversary of Nibelheim's burning.
She hadn't wanted to be alone.
Soma she'd chosen for reasons that had contrasted those she'd used to select Leo; Soma she'd lain with on the floor of Seventh Heaven the day the property had become hers. A celebration, she'd told herself. Except when he'd left, she'd sat beneath the shower spray until her lips were blue, hand pressed to her heart, and wondering how something that was supposed to be good for it had felt so bad.
She hadn't let herself breathe Cloud's name to comfort herself those nights, convinced that doing so would somehow taint the power of the solace it gave her, wanting to keep it safe and warm and protected from her selfish decisions.
Foolish to cherish a name so much but, goddess, it'd been the only thing she'd carried for herself and, oh, how she'd longed for him.
"Were they hot?" Yuffie asked with a raised brow, interrupting her memories.
Tifa blinked, recalling both faces, one with a strong jaw, the other with deep-set eyes, a pair of kind smiles. "They weren't unattractive," she finally replied.
Yuffie hmphed, parting Aerith's hair into two sections to prepare for a Wutain braid. "I bet they were both blondes. What do you think, Aerith?"
Green eyes flickered, and a pretty mouth smiled softly. "I don't think they were even close to blonde."
And she'd be right; both had had dark hair and eyes. If Tifa had chosen those with blonde hair or blue eyes, it would've been a sad, weak substitution, and she would've been sick all over herself at not having the real thing.
There's only you. For me, there's only you.
She smiled to herself, remembering his words.
She was still apprehensive about whatever came next in her odd, topsy-turvy relationship with Cloud but knew that she had to trust him, as he had to trust her in turn, or they'd only end up back where they'd started—which was nowhere.
The sound of a doorbell chimed, and the three of them looked at each other in surprise.
"Fancy!" Yuffie declared as Tifa rose to answer the door. "That must be Shera. Can't imagine anyone else using the doorbell except for a scientist."
Tifa turned back to glance at Aerith before she reached the door, raised a brow in query.
Aerith pointed to a bag near the restroom, and Tifa smiled. She loved being able to communicate without words, glad she was able to do so with two people in the world.
For Girls Night In, Yuffie had insisted that they all wear the silky pajama pieces they'd purchased in Kalm so long ago but Tifa had hesitated, knowing that Shera didn't have a set to match, not wanting the other woman to feel excluded, only to have Aerith wave off her concern. She'd already purchased something similar at the gift shop downstairs, and only hoped she'd chosen the right size, Aerith had confessed.
Which was a fair concern, Tifa realized after she'd changed into her pieces and seen Yuffie and Aerith in theirs.
Yuffie's orange and cream lace set had somehow made her look even younger than she was, as if she were playing dress-up in her mother's clothing, and she'd grumbled irritably while glaring at the two older women. Aerith had suggested she tuck in the camisole, which hung lower than her shorts, and the advice had altered her appearance enough to her liking that she'd stopped grumbling—and had only glared.
On Aerith, the red silk and white lace looked elegant and stylish, virtuous even. The shorts rode high on her thighs and hinted at more leg, the camisole falling loosely in just the right places, hugging gently in others, and the deep crimson only served to make her emerald eyes more intense, greener somehow, as if they hadn't already been the color of precious jewels.
On herself, Tifa supposed the green silk and black lace suited her, though she would've chosen red and black or blue and black for herself, but liked the way the green contrasted her eyes, much as the red did for Aerith's. And she didn't look gaudy in the pajamas, didn't look or feel vulgar, though the silk curved along her figure much closer than the other two, the camisole riding higher along her stomach with the lace bottom just barely touching the hem of the shorts and leaving a bit of skin exposed, and the shorts much shorter as her legs outstretched theirs as well.
"I still think it's unfair I don't look like that in my PJs," Tifa could hear Yuffie muttering while she undid the door chain.
Grass is always greener, she thought before pulling the door wide with a lavish movement and calling enthusiastically, "Glad to have you join us, Shera!"
Except it wasn't Shera standing there.
It was Cloud.
She stood frozen in surprise for two, three heartbeats, red eyes locked intently on blue before the disapproving squeals coming from behind her reminded her that she wasn't alone with him, that she had two friends that were half-dressed behind her who definitely didn't appreciate someone they hadn't approved of seeing them in said half-dressed state, even if that someone hadn't taken his eyes from her.
Calling a hasty apology over her shoulder, she quickly peeked to make sure the hallway was empty before stepping out into the hall, pulling the door shut and leaning with her back against the wood.
"Hi, Cloud, so sorry," she offered with a guilty wince. She glanced down both sides of the hall again. "We weren't expecting you, was expecting Shera, actually, as if you hadn't already figured that out." Her eyes returned to focus on him, realizing slowly that she stood toe to toe with him, as he hadn't moved an inch upon her advancement, and tried not to be distracted by his cedar and leather scent, by the heat radiating from his body.
Don't hold your breath, stupid, her brain reminded her, and she did her best to release a mighty exhale silently.
The sound of paper crumpling caught her attention and she looked down to see a pink sheet of paper clutched in his hands. "Oh, what's that? Is something the matter, Cloud?"
But he didn't seem to be listening, instead had his gaze locked along her decolletage, blue eyes wide as they traveled the length of lace that edged the sweetheart top of her camisole, along the curve of silk that gave way to more cleavage than she'd shown to a man since, well, since ever really.
Leo and Soma? She hadn't dared show them more skin than what her bar uniform had offered, foolishly modest, though she'd been prepared to be deeply intimate with both, wary of the scar that ran along the bottom of her breasts and unwilling to answer any questions that might arise regarding it.
But Cloud, well, he knew of her scar, had attested that he'd been there to watch her receive it. Could she then show herself to him…?
Ah, goddess, but she was getting too far ahead of herself! Shoving the thought from her mind, she focused on Cloud and wondered, from the way he wet his lips and how quickly azure had darkened to navy, if perhaps she might actually be running behind.
He moved forward suddenly, crowding her against the door, forearms flat against the wood at her shoulders and pressing until they were breast to chest and hip to hip. He felt wonderful against her and Tifa found herself clutching at his side, fingers curled into his t-shirt.
His breath was hot against her cheek when he spoke, voice deep and husky. "I came to ask if you wanted to watch the fireworks with me." He ran his lips gently, barely touching, along her skin back toward her ear. "This flyer says they start at ten."
She tilted her head to give him more access, tugging mercilessly at fabric as her back arched to press deeper into him. "Yes," she gasped.
He groaned low and harsh, pressed a hot, wet kiss against her neck before withdrawing from her, leaving her staring wide-eyed as he backed away.
The pink paper crumpled in his fist and he seemed to swallow hard before speaking again. "That's good. As much as I like what you're wearing—" his voice went hoarse, blue eyes sliding down her body and smoldering for long moments before his chin jerked as if he'd had to will himself to tear his eyes away "—I'll wait here while you get dressed."
She nodded dumbly, unsure of what he'd just done to her in the thirty or so seconds she'd spent with him. Goddess but he'd barely touched her and she'd been panting, head foggy, wondering where and hoping desperately that he was going to touch her, taste her, kiss her.
Kiss her. He hadn't kissed her in what seemed like forever—two days, three?—and she wondered if he'd missed it as much as she had.
He groaned again and stumbled back until his heels met the opposite wall. "I'm not gonna kiss you here, Tifa," he told her, sounding desperate. "I can't. You look too good and I want—" he swallowed again, shut his eyes tight "—just, please, if you'll get dressed, we'll watch the fireworks together."
She nodded, realized he couldn't see her with his eyes shut and fumbled for the doorknob. "Ok," she agreed before stumbling back into the hotel suite.
"Hurry, Cloud!" Tifa urged, patting the space beside her on the mat. "Hurry! They're starting to dim all of the lights! Hurry so you don't miss it!"
Cloud looked up, saw as the upper towers of the usually brilliantly lit amusement park were slowly being dimmed and gave up repacking the plethora of Gold Saucer goody bags they'd accumulated playing games at Wonder Square, remembering at the last second to snag the paper bag of snacks he'd picked up from a vendor. Quickly, he picked his way over to where Tifa was seated.
She was pretty as a picture, her back against a tall tree trunk, long legs tucked beneath her with eyes bright—and still dressed in the forest green kimono with beautifully printed blue and black flora, attire she'd changed into for the play they'd escaped from.
The experience had been entertaining, if a bit ridiculous, and his fault completely for wanting to cut through Event Square in hopes of snagging a private space to enjoy the fireworks. Only once they'd walked through the square's gates, horns had blown and confetti thrown, and staff had announced that they were the 100th couple of the evening—and were ushered along to participate in the amphitheater play.
Momentarily separated and made to change into their costumes, he'd reluctantly climbed into some ancient samurai get-up, wooden katana prop and all—and Tifa into the green silk kimono and indigo obi, complete with black socks and geta.
He'd literally tripped on his feet to see her on stage when he'd been urged on, his whole world narrowing onto the sight of her standing there, her carmine eyes so deeply red and bright, looking absolutely stunning when she'd turned to meet his gaze. The actors had poked fun at his stagger, at the way he'd dropped his katana and how he'd stood motionless just soaking in her visage. He hadn't cared, could hardly hear them or the cheering crowd anyway, only to stumble his way over to stand beside Tifa and continue his enraptured staring.
At some point, she'd nudged him and had managed to get him to participate in what was going on though it'd all been a weird blur. Something about a two-headed serpent who had kidnapped Tifa, who was playing the princess, and he a legendary hero of some sort, sent to save her? There'd been a wizard and a knight and a plump king and, in the end, he'd ended up on one knee, lavishly clasping and kissing Tifa's hand.
The crowd had loved it, cheers and applause nearly shaking the amphitheater. When he and Tifa had taken their bows, patrons had thrown countless flowers and stuffed moogles at Tifa—and a pair of panties had landed near his feet. He'd squicked, moving quickly to stand on the other side of Tifa and away from what he could only assume was a used undergarment, but Tifa had only thrown her head back and laughed.
Dio had been amongst the crowd and had thanked them animatedly backstage, insisting Tifa keep her costume—"No one will ever wear it as well as you," the muscular, barely dressed man had asserted, and if Tifa hadn't been standing with her arm linked tightly with his, Cloud would've done more than just glare at the older man—and an offer to allow them access to a secluded area behind his offices to view the fireworks, promising plenty of space and absolute privacy.
Which was how they'd ended up where they were now, after taking a detour through Wonder Square. He settled in beside Tifa, silently thanking Dio for getting them away from the crowds of sugar-pumped kids and their exhausted parents, and purposely pressed himself hip to hip, thigh to thigh with her.
He glanced quickly at his PHS. "We've still got a bit of time," he murmured, stretching his legs out before him and setting the paper bag in his lap. "It's only a quarter till."
"Ohh," she replied, excitement deflating some. But her eyes brightened again once she spotted the bag in his lap, and smiled at him eagerly. "Snacks!" She reached for the bag before jerking away just as quickly, as if suddenly aware of where she was reaching. "Oh, um, err…may I?"
Crossing his legs at the ankles, he gave her a small, reassuring smile, leaning back against the trunk beside her. "Of course."
Tentatively, she reached for the bag and took out its contents, which consisted of a small bento of mochi samples, a bowl of mixed fruit slices, and two bottles of marble sodas, along with a pair of chopsticks and some sugar and salt packets.
Cloud watched as she chattered excitedly, her lithe hands quickly slipping off the plastic cover from the fruit bowl and picking up the sugar and salt packets, dusting with a measured, keen eye first the salt, then a heaping pile sugar into the bowl. She shut the container and gave it a good shake.
"We'll let those sit for a bit," she declared, setting the bowl aside and reaching for the bento box. "And we'll enjoy these in the meantime!"
She struggled with the mochi for a bit, the chopsticks uncooperative, and switched to her fingers, selecting a light green colored piece. With a sweet smile, she offered it to him but he refused with a shake of his head, urged her to take the first bite, and his attention remained raptly focused on her mouth, the delicate way her teeth sank into the rice dough, how her tongue slipped out to encourage a speck of ice cream from escaping, the sharp gasp of her breath as she sucked in air.
He shifted uncomfortably.
Gods, but he'd been wanting to kiss her all damn day, since the second he'd greeted her across the table in Nibelheim. It'd damn near killed him to resist earlier when he'd arrived at her shared hotel suite and she'd greeted him in lingerie, of all things. LINGERIE! He'd barely been able to tear his eyes from the way the silk had cupped her gorgeous breasts, the shadowed cleavage, the way the black lace curled so gently along her golden skin…And that look in her eyes made even more like glittering rubies contrasted by the color of her green lingerie—he'd seen Tifa Lockhart in lingerie!—with that sweet, confused look because he hadn't kissed her yet…
I should win a godsdamn medal for that feat, he thought now, followed impulse and reached out to catch her wrist before she could lower her hand, guiding her fingers to his mouth. He paid hardly any attention to the last of the mochi, instead used his tongue to prod her fingers for any remaining taste of her mouth and took pleasure in the way her breath hitched, the way she seemed to swallow hard the rest of her treat.
"C-Cloud?"
He released her fingers from his mouth with a soft suck, but kept hold of her wrist, listened carefully to the way her heartbeat sped up. "Did you like that?" he asked quietly, and didn't mean the mochi at all.
There was a long pause before she seemed to catch herself, lashes fluttering. "Matcha," she announced loudly, and he didn't bother to hide his amusement at the embarrassed way her cheeks heated, charmed when she ducked her head. "Th-the mochi, I mean. M-matcha flavored."
"Tifa…" he breathed along her fingers, used his free hand to gently knuckle her chin until her eyes met his once more. His heartfelt suddenly too full at the way she gazed at him, all trust and infinite patience, filled with welcome and acceptance, as if he hadn't told her just hours before that he could hurt her, again, however unintentionally…
What he had ever done to deserve her trust he couldn't figure, not when the memory of watching as she turned away from him was branded into his mind, but he held on tight to her faith in him anyway, knowing he'd fight and defeat a thousand Sephiroths if it would keep her steadfast at his side.
Her gaze dropped from his, carmine deepening before they focused on his mouth, and he felt the tremble of her hand. A second later, her hand flexed and a nimble finger traced his bottom lip, curious and delicate.
And he gave up, wasn't even sure anymore why he'd been fighting it for so long, and leaned forward to capture her red mouth with his.
The first taste of her was heavenly, everything he remembered and so much more than he'd imagined—and godsdamn but he'd imagined. She made a soft sound of surprise, lips parting under his abrupt assault, but he was too hungry for her, let his tongue flicker and deepened the kiss while one hand slid into her silky hair, the other blindly reaching to shove aside bento boxes and fruit bowls, uncaring if they tipped or spilled as long as they were no longer in his way.
He was near desperate to have her pressed against him, mouth working hers as he slipped an arm around her back and tugged, shifted, lifted until she was astride his lap. The curves of her breasts pressed to his chest, her knees pressing into his thighs, and he groaned at the sensations, at every feel and taste of her that was ambrosia from the gods. Ravaging her mouth, he savored the scratch of her fingers in his scalp, the way she adjusted her head above his to better align their mouths.
She was like a drug, saturating all of his senses in pure, relentless pleasure, and he knew he'd remain addicted long after time stopped.
He'd never get enough of her, was taking too much though she followed his lead and gave everything he demanded, met his every suck, every tongue stroke. She seemed as hungry as he was and so he drank her in deeply, even as he grappled for control over his baser instincts.
Hell, he had no experience in this, only dreams, lots and lots of heated, and, if he was especially lucky—unlucky?—sometimes messy wet dreams. He'd learned to rush in those dreams, learned he couldn't take his time, couldn't just hold her as he sometimes ached to because the nightmares would seep in and drag her away…He was letting what he'd learned in those dreams color what he had now, when she was so real and keen in his arms, and fought to relax, to savor because she was here—and in truth, she'd kick any of his nightmare's asses.
She seemed to hesitate when he finally slowed their ravaging kisses, offering wordlessly to let her lead while his mouth gentled, sipping now rather than pulling hungrily though he was still ravenous for her. She drew her head back enough to let them breathe, both of them panting, and he slit his eyes open far enough to catch the sight of her with lips swollen, carmine gaze blurry and cheeks flushed.
"Wow," she whispered, her mouth so close those rosy lips brushed over his. He stifled the urge to press forward, to have her taste in his mouth again—he'd breathed enough air, godsdamn it all—but resisted, letting her curious gaze linger. "Wow," she repeated, more sure now, and her pink tongue snaked out to lathe his upper lip. He groaned low and deep as her hands cupped his face, kept him still, while she used her teeth and tongue.
His arms snaked around her, slithering up along her back and through her hair, palms pressing against silk and her slender shoulders. "Tifa," he murmured, trying to remain patient but aching to have her kiss again only to have her shift her attention across his cheek, down his jaw, to his throat.
She purred something unintelligible, fingers tugging at the neck of his t-shirt until she arrived at the base of his throat. There she hummed a quick sound before using her teeth to tug and suck, at last soothing the skin with her hot, wet tongue. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when, as she licked playfully, she slid further along his lap until she was settled just right over his groin.
He found his hands lowering to grip the silk at her waist while trying to remain still—before finding purchase along her hips and squeezing. "Tifa, please," he grated, nuzzling her cheek in search of her mouth. When she sweetly offered him her tongue, he accepted with a hoarse sound, gave in to the urge, and guided her hips in a figure-eight motion in his lap.
He needed to slow down, he reminded himself, needed to savor her, but gods, she felt too good, tasted too good. The only action he was willing to relinquish was how he was driving himself insane by grinding her atop him. Forcing his hands to loosen, he raised them to cup her face, slipping his mouth free and eyes open. He couldn't hide his satisfied smile when she made a protesting noise, eyes shut tight, and sighing his name.
He gave her back what she'd done to him, trailed kisses across her soft cheek, along her honey and amber and peony scented throat to the small mark he'd left behind in Nibelheim on her neck. "Mine," he reminded her, his voice no more than a growl, and mirrored her earlier actions with his own teeth and tongue.
"Yours," she wailed, fingers tugging at his hair, and he groaned his satisfaction to hear her quick agreement.
She always smelled so damn good, intoxicating him, and he inhaled deeply, using his nose to nudge aside the lapel of her robe. He couldn't resist dipping his tongue into the hollow at her collarbone, nudging further the green silk until her shoulder slipped free and he pressed his lips to the soft skin there. He tasted her there for a long moment, leaving another mark on her skin to match the previous one before drawing back and cupping her face in his hands. Sitting higher than him while in his lap, he waited until her eyes opened and she peered down at him dazedly.
"Tifa," he breathed, stroking a thumb along her swollen lower lip. He wanted more, so much more, but needed to ask her first, needed to make sure that she wanted the same. Except her tongue slipped out, skimmed his thumb and he muttered a curse before drawing her mouth over his. He forced himself to kiss her gently, slowly, until she was soft and pliant in his arms.
"Tifa," he tried again when he could draw himself away. The lights glimmering above dimmed to a shadowy glow.
"Cloud," she answered, head thrown back and offering her throat. And he didn't resist, found himself pressing his lips and tongue down the column of her throat, along her collarbone, to the edge of her slender shoulder once more.
It was now or never, he knew, and he used his teeth to nibble. "More, Tifa," he groaned, found his hands had slipped to her hips again, gripping and poised to grind her along his length once more. But he needed to focus, needed to tell her, no matter how clumsily, that he wanted more. Smoothing his hands up silk, he pressed them to her back, leaned himself forward so that she was tilted, braced along his arms.
At the change of position her head drew forward, eyes opening to focus on him sharply while her hands locked around his neck for balance. "C-Cloud?"
He gazed down at her, the way the shadows danced over her features, the golden skin of her throat and exposed shoulder, her puffy lips and blurry eyes. She was beautiful, captivating, a tempting goddess and, gods, but he would offer everything he had to worship at her altar.
"I want more, Tifa," he managed, gazing deeply into her eyes while he shifted her weight to a single-arm, freeing the other. His hand rose, the back of his fingers trailing across her cheek, down her neck, along her shoulder and finally to trace the lapel of her green silk to where it caught on the curve of her breast, aided by the indigo obi high up along her waist. He used his forefinger and hooked the material, giving the slightest downward tug to illustrate his intentions. "More."
Carmine eyes had dropped to follow his finger, intently focused on where it lay two knuckles deep beneath the lapel fold. She wasn't wearing a bra, he realized belatedly, and did that mean his finger was near her bare nipple? He stifled the insistent voice that begged him to slip further inside the kimono, to let his finger discover for itself if he was right or not. Swallowing a groan, he watched as her heavy lashes lowered for one long, silent moment then flutter, carmine rising up to catch his gaze once more. Her escaping exhale was a heavy whoosh of air.
"More," she agreed throatily and bolstered herself upright using his shoulders. She shimmied in his arms, causing his hooked finger to drag lower the green silk...and reveal to him one succulent, beautiful breast. The back of his finger just grazed the top of one caramel-pink nipple.
He let his finger drag down the already hardened tip, mouth-watering to see just how perfectly she was made. So sexy, so voluptuous, more than his dreams...He tried to say her name but whatever sound escaped his mouth was barely human, something low and deep as his hand slid beneath and cupped the weight of her in his palm.
Heavy, soft, little more than a handful with the top spilling over his fingers, Cloud heard his mouth make that same, half-growl, half-snarl again and rolled her stiffened nipple between his forefinger and thumb.
A blast sounded as the first of the fireworks launched.
The noise jarred Tifa, and she jerked, head twisting around as she sought the fiery trails in the sky. But her motion only served to better thrust her breast into his hand and he gently kneaded, thumbing her nipple back and forth until he could no longer bear it and used his arm to lift her as best he could. She gasped his name at the first press of his wet tongue, then moaned sharply when he began to greedily suckle.
"More," she whimpered, head lolling as his busy fingers tugged her obi further down her waist before dragging down the opposite side of her green silk to release the other breast into his waiting palm.
She tasted sweeter than honey, plump in his eager grasp, nipples like pebbles in his mouth, between his fingers. Already hard as granite and near to bursting in his pants, her whimpers of pleasure were slowly driving him insane.
"Cloud," she mewled, her arms trapped at her sides by the sleeves of the kimono, hands holding hard onto his forearms, the only purchase her fingers could find. "More."
"More," he pledged, nuzzling his cheek against her breasts before switching to give the same treatment of his mouth to the opposite nipple.
Her grip tightened, nails digging into his skin and her hips began to roll, moving back and forth, side to side in his lap. She slid herself over him gently, firmly, establishing a pattern that had his own hips bucking upward in answer until he freed her breasts from his torment, hands moving to part the kimono at her thighs and glide beneath. He groaned deep and dark as his eager palms skimmed over thigh high nylons to reach the soft, bare skin of her upper thighs.
"Tifa." The sound of her name was sharp, gravelly, and he dared to slip his hands further to slide them beneath her panties and cup her tight behind. Soft skin, tight bottom, he shaped her ass in his hands, molding and kneading. Succumbing to the need, he squeezed and began to guide her movements, up and down and around, making sure to answer with the thrust of his own hips.
And still, the fireworks exploded on the horizon, closer together now, building to its grande finale and bathing her in a glimmering, shimmering rainbow of colors. The pleasure of her grinding on him was incredible, nearly had his eyes rolling back into his head again except he could hardly take his eyes off her. Dark head thrown back, her rolling ass clutched firmly in his hands while red, green, blue and flickering shadows danced along her beautiful, perfect body…
She suddenly sat up and began to struggle against green silk, shimmying her shoulders and squirming impatiently, attempting to wriggle her arms free of their captivity. And all that time those amazing, gorgeous, generous breasts danced for him, swayed and bounced and begged for his attention…
"Well, now you're just showing off," he grated and leaned forward to capture a tempting nipple in his mouth once more.
"Cloud," she cried, free hands gripping his shoulders. Her hips jerked, no longer following the motion of his guiding hands, and moved restlessly over him, searching for release.
And damned if he wasn't going to give it to her.
He released one taut ass cheek to follow the edge of her panties forward, two fingers hooked beneath the hem at her thighs until he felt the soft press of damp curls. He shifted to give himself more space between them, for better leverage his exploring fingers, and inched aside her panty, the back of his fingers grazing her soft, damp center.
She gasped when her hips rolled forward and pressed hard against his still digits. "Cloud," she moaned, rocked her hips the opposite direction to press against his fingers again. Her sexy voice seemed louder in the sudden silence, the fireworks having ceased their display, and he soaked in the sound. "More, Cloud. More."
He murmured against her nipple, flicking it with his tongue. "Like this, Tifa?" he asked, used two fingers to part her wet nether lips and lightly tapped just below her tight nub.
Her body jerked and she clutched his hair with a desperate whimper, hips twisting. "M-more...m-more, Cloud."
She was close, already so close, her thighs quivering. He nodded when she pleaded again, trapped her nipple between his teeth and pressed his forefinger against her throbbing clit. In turn, he rolled her caramel-pink peak along his teeth, and rubbed her quickly, firmly. One turn, another, and when he slipped his center finger inside of her, hot and wet and so damn tight—she came apart around him.
She wailed his name, a sharp, abrupt cry, and greedily yanked his head up so she could mash her lips to his. Gently, as her insides tightened around him, her body shivering and knees squeezing his hips, he slowly pumped his finger, letting her ride the waves of her release.
Finished, she sagged against his chest, burying her face into the space between his shoulder and neck as her hips wiggled to escape his still working hand. "Too sensitive," she whispered, and he slipped his hand free.
Though he was still hard as a granite beneath her, the satisfaction spreading in his chest at having given her release was magnificent, and he raised his soaked fingers to observe under the now brightening lights. Clear and slippery-slick, he curiously cleaned his fingers with his mouth—groaned at the taste. She would taste so much better, he knew, once he'd drawn straight from the source…
"Cloud!" Her voice was muffled, breathed into his neck as she caught his actions, and she raised a fist to pound a protest against his shoulder.
"What?" he asked, purposefully obtuse, and pressed a teasing smile to her temple when she sighed defeatedly. He gave her bottom a final, playful squeeze before tugging the green silk to clumsily cover what he could of her bare skin, reluctant to release her so soft and yielding in his arms. She didn't seem to mind, nuzzling her face into his chest and shifting in his lap to snuggle closer.
His breath escaped in a violent hiss when she slid right over his still throbbing cock.
"Oh!" she gasped, going rigid in his arms. "Did I—did I hurt you, Cloud?"
It took him a few, long seconds before he could reply, clearing his throat several times and, still, his voice was strained. "Not exactly."
She seemed to consider his reply for several heartbeats before he heard a soft "Ohh" in response. And before he could explain that she didn't need to withdraw, that he just needed a few moments to collect himself, she began to move, arms sliding forward so her forearms were braced on his shoulders, using them as leverage while her knees drew back just enough and she lifted herself—so that her hips could grind on him, over the same, hard spot in that familiar figure-eight motion he'd directed on her before.
"Tifa." Her name came from the back of his throat, half-growl, half-snarl, half-whimper…could he have three halves? He buried his face in her throat and fumbled, pushing at green silk to slide against the bare skin of her back, one hand sliding forward to cup a plump, eager breast while the other groped blindly to find her taut ass again, kneading and squeezing both. "Ah, gods, more." He bucked his hips to meet hers.
She gave a husky, sexy laugh, well-pleased with herself before her breath caught when he thumbed her nipple, rolled it between his fingers and plucked. He trailed his mouth down to where he'd lifted her breast to meet his tongue, flicking, circling the sensitive caramel-pink tip, and her hips lost its steady rhythm. He murmured approval as her tempo quickened, sliding harder and firmer over him.
Ah, yes, right there, he thought, hand clenching around her sweet, sweet ass cheek.
He cursed the fabrics that separated them, wanted to feel her hot and wet and sliding slick and easy over him. He wanted her naked and bare, covered in nothing but perhaps himself. He wanted a bed to lay her across, wanted her dark hair spread across pillows, to admire every part of her at his leisure with far more privacy than a secluded area behind some corporate offices could ever offer him.
Slow down, slow down, he chanted in his head, even as she whined his name, asked him to please, please kiss her while she shuddered, while he felt her fingers fumbling down his chest, pulling at his shirt, petting his stomach and tugging at the waistband of his pants to undo the buttons there.
Fuck. Don't want to take her for the first time out here. Don't want to take her without seeing all of her. Gotta slow down. Slow down.
It was going to be excruciating to deny his instincts when all he wanted was to let her free him from the confines of his pants, drag aside her panties, and sink himself inside of her. But he wasn't even prepared, didn't have any protection with him and no matter badly he wanted to be bare and raw inside her, the risks were too damn high.
Besides, she deserved so much more than being taken on some damn picnic mat practically out in the open, and he'd sworn to take care of her, all of her, as well as he could.
Panting, sweating, damn near falling apart as she'd managed to free three, four buttons of his pants and had started to glide her hand inside them. He stilled her wrist with a strangle, broken sound, and asked her to wait.
He gathered her against him, cradling her gently and stroking soothing hands down her back. "Let's go upstairs and get a room," he murmured into her hair, breathing deeply her scent as he tried to slow his breaths, his heart, temper his arousal. "Just you and me, so I can see you properly." He rocked his hips upward. "And feel you properly, without all this clothing between us."
She nodded, head cradled along his shoulder. "More?" she asked sweetly, and he smiled, finding her adorable and squeezing tightly.
"Much, much more," he promised, pressing a hard kiss into her hair before releasing her to begin helping her redress and pack up.