Starbound
The sky is broken, streaked with orange and pink. The colors war overhead, torn by the sliver of a crescent moon that fights like a warrior overhead, pierced by needles of thousands of stars that highlight the sky.
She doesn't know where he is taking her, only that he has something planned and that it is so very random. She knew it the moment that her friends appeared that afternoon, offering free babysitting services for the weekend. The kids had all been so excited that she could hardly object, even though it was a school night.
When he came home, there was something in his eyes that she still wonders about. It was wild yet sincere, his irises colored by the oceans that crash outside of the tropics. It overlapped his thoughts and plans, the designs he was covering deep beneath. His blue-green eyes were brighter than she's seen them in a while, smoldering as if lit with flame, and she wonders what exactly is fueling that burn.
He is skilled at many things but at keeping his thoughts and his schemes to himself, he is an expert. She knows this better than anyone, after so many years of knowing and loving him, so many spent at his side. Not much has changed in that time - he is still the same idealistic and romantic boy he was on that water tower all those years and years ago, just encased in the hard, handsome shell of a man who has been to hell and back a dozen different ways in the past decade and a half.
They've been flying Northwest at a steady pace for some time now, and she has no idea where he is taking her. All she knows is that he insisted they shower and change into comfortable clothing, and then he was hurriedly packing an overnight bag. His occasional impulsivity never ceases to amaze her, and she could only watch as he pulled blankets from the linen closet and grabbed a bottle of Nibel whiskey from the bar.
As perplexing as his behavior is, she is happy and she trusts him, and the truth is, they rarely take the opportunity for any spur-of-the-moment rendezvous like these. Their lives are consumed with raising children and running their businesses, with keeping house and home. While the world may have quieted in the last few years, their lives have only gotten busier and grown more hectic.
A little bit of a reprieve away from all of it is welcome, she thinks.
"How did you manage to convince Cid to let you borrow his airship?" she asks him, turning away from the windows to face him where he hovers over the controls. "Isn't this model only a year old?"
He smirks at her, blue eyes glowing in the dimness of the bridge. "I was very convincing," he says with a shrug, then focuses his attention back on the radar screens.
She continues to watch him, biting her lip. He's dressed in a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater and black pants, leaving the cut definition of his arms exposed. Everything fits him too well, tailored to the point that she can see the lines of his torso press into the soft fabric. She stares and she is lost, hazy around the edges while she collapses into his beauty that she's come to love more and more as the minutes turn to hours and the hours turn to days.
"This looks like a good spot," he says, recapturing her attention. He idles the airship, hovering it closer to the ground. She watches as he steps out from behind the controls, and then he bends down to pick up their bag.
"It's a nice night," he tells her. "You wanna see the stars?"
She swallows, and her heart begins to pick up speed. His voice is low and there is something simmering beneath his words. She can't tear her eyes from his, and when she takes too long to answer, he's crossing the space between them and pulling her into his arms.
"Come on, Tifa," he is whispering now and she can't imagine why; it is only the two of them, perhaps for miles. "I have something to show you."
She nods, then lets him take her hand. She doesn't know why she has become mute, but she has nothing to say and she will never not trust him. She's loved him for as long as she can remember.
She follows him wordlessly off the airship, carefully navigating down the rope ladder after he deploys it. The temperature has dropped a bit more, but it is still not cold enough to make being outside uncomfortable. She has dressed in a long-sleeved tunic and leggings, and as the breeze whips through her hair, it feels perfect outside.
He takes her hand and leads her through the foothills. The ground here is grassy and green, and she can hear the ocean crash against the shore in the distance north. She realizes they are beyond the Wastelands, and the smog that lingers around the Midgar Region has dissipated. They are close to the edge of the continent, far away from the petrified lands that forty years of mako energy has desecrated.
It looks very, very familiar to her.
As she is thinking this, he squeezes her hand. Electricity surges through her veins and she thinks that she is being burned where they connect. She looks up at him again, finding his eyes calm blue oases that she could drown in if she takes another step closer.
"What are you thinking?" he asks her.
She isn't sure how he is quite so able to do this to her all the time, but he reads her thoughts and finds a way to force them to the surface. She blushes slightly, shaking her head from side to side, goosebumps rising under her sleeves when he holds both her wrists in his hands together in front of her.
"Where are we, Cloud?" she asks.
He offers her a faint smile. His smiles still tend to be rare, and each one that she receives is a gift. This one is a little bit teasing, undergirded by something fiery that makes her breath quicken.
"You don't remember?" he asks her, his thumbs tracing circles across her pulse points.
She glances around again. The sky is now purple and black, lit up by thousands of stars. The grass reaches their shins in places, and the mountains shield them to the east while the ocean serenades them from the west.
She looks up at him. She sees the airship behind him, its rotors spinning where it floats. It is sleeker than the Highwind, built from new-age steel and Mythril that's been pulled from deep below ground. But as the wind ruffles his soft blond hair, the smooth, pale muscles of his arms illuminate under the moonlight, she realizes the effect is the same.
Her cheeks burn as the memory returns, and she pulls back, turning away from him and balling her hands into fists.
"Oh, Cloud…" she stammers, disbelieving that he brought her to this very same place where they first made love, grass in her hair and his fingers digging into her flesh so hard that he left bruises in his wake.
They haven't talked about that night much ever since, and she's kept it sacred, an overspill of passion and desperation that sat at the edge of the end of the world.
She hears him drop their overnight bag and then, he is crossing behind her. He moves almost silently, only the subtle shift of the fabric of his clothing making any sound. She remembers the clink of his armor that night when he had approached, the sound of his sword stabbing into the soil behind him.
But now he moves quietly, and soon he is behind her and his hands are on her shoulders.
"You remember?" he asks her.
"How could I forget?" she replies.
His hands slide down her arms, pouring warmth into her skin. His arms cross over the front of her body, and he lowers his chin by her shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against hers as he pulls her in and holds her close.
The sky is falling, and she looks up, seeing the stars glimmer so close it is almost as if they are seeping into her skin.
"Tifa," he says softly, and the way that her name unfolds from his mouth liquefies her knees. "It was… five years ago today."
She swallows. She hadn't thought about this - in fact, she had stopped thinking about those days before they defeated Sephiroth altogether. Those memories feel like they belong to a different life, so much has changed in the half a decade since. She glances down, watching Cloud's gloved hands skim the front of her body, coming to a stop at the lowest point of her waist, just above her hips.
"Five years…" she repeats.
"Tifa," he chants her name again, and her heart flutters and leaps, her imagination dancing with the thrill of what he might say next. "You still trust me, right?"
"Of course," she affirms over her shoulder.
He releases her waist and gently turns her in his arms so that she is facing him again. The green has picked up in his eyes, and they spark. She knows that they are alive with lust and with love.
"Then trust me," he tells her. "Just… try to let go tonight. I want this to be special."
He leans in, and when she sees those beautiful eyes close, she knows he is going to kiss her. His lips are always soft, but tonight, she feels like she is kissing the heavens.
She lets go.
.
.
.
She finds that she can't move. She is staring at the burnt sienna and magenta streaks that climb into the sky, at the rain-doused crowns of rock that surround them.
"Tifa?"
She hears his voice behind her.
"What… what are you going to do?"
She turns to him, sees him standing right at her side, just a pace still behind her. He is close to her, almost as close as they were in the verdant ethers where she entered his mind. She blushes at the thought, wondering if they will ever have the opportunity to be that close ever again. She feels the soreness and the aches all throughout her body and the fog in her brain from the way that experience stretched her, and she wishes more than anything that they will be close like that again.
"I…" she pauses, looking away from him. She doesn't want to seem like a coward, doesn't want to betray how foolish she feels. She is supposed to be strong. If only she had been stronger all along, maybe they wouldn't have lost as much as they already have.
"Don't be afraid," he tells her.
She lets out a breath. "As long as I'm with you... As long as you're by my side…"
She trails off, but she hears him move closer, his armor clinking. There is the sound of something stabbing into the dirt, and Tifa glances to the side, realizing that he has unburdened himself of his sword.
"Tifa…"
"No matter how close we are… before this, we were so far apart…"
She isn't sure why she is telling him this. It's not as if these words will ever change anything. There is a very good chance that they are going to die tomorrow, not unlike the way so many of their friends have already perished since this all began. All of her sentiments will mean nothing when that happens.
And yet, Cloud moves closer to her. He is still behind her, but he is close enough that she can feel his warmth cut through the crisp January breeze.
"Tifa," he says softly. The cool facade she'd grown so weary of the past few weeks is no longer propped up by a lie but is all Cloud, the real him, a cute attempt to dissuade her fears. "There's so much I want to tell you…"
She blushes at the tenderness in his voice, but there is still so much space between them, and she looks up at him.
She thinks she knows just what to say.
Maybe.
Maybe… maybe words aren't the only way.
.
.
.
He crouches over the fire he has built, gently kindling the flames to a roar, smoke drifting into a thick gray plume above their heads. She sits on a bed of blankets and pillows a few feet away, her legs stretched out long in front of her and crossed at the ankles.
He glances up at her, catching the way that she smiles so coyly at him. It is dark and cool out, but with the way that fire burns, it lights up the deep scarlet in her eyes and warms the air around them. When their gazes meet, her smile expands, and he can't wait to be pressed skin to skin with her again, their bodies joined into one.
The night that they are commemorating in these grassy foothills was born from a realization that the embers that burned between them for so long were at the point of combustion. They've had each other for the last five years, but before that, they were two binary stars, rotating around each other but never colliding.
All he wants is to feel the burn of her lips forever, to sink into the endless sea of her. She is where he begins and where he ends, and it has always been that way. Bringing her back to this place where they finally acknowledged the river of infinity that runs between them stirs the ache in his soul, and he cannot accept any distance between them. He's already wasted half his life trying to close it.
Still, he has to make sure that this moment is perfect. Life is too short and they can never be too sure when disaster might strike again. The pain of the years that hides behind them still burns, and his memories are pin-pricked with them. They rise and they fall but they still color his days, and she is the only one who calms the storm clouds of his soul.
The sun is gone and the stars reign over the sky, sinking glitter into the silk of her hair. She holds her knees and her eyes are rubies, plunging him into the despair of her love. It is all-encompassing and it suffocates him, and all he wants is to crawl between her knees and beg her for forgiveness and to let him be hers forever.
She smiles at him and he isn't sure why his heart beats so loud or why he feels so afraid. He has nothing to be sorry for - his days of sorries are left in the past and they are a blight that he will never visit again. But somehow, after all this time, he still knows he isn't worthy. He is a blemish on the surface of her sun, a dark spot marring the radiance she pours onto the world. He is a mortal and she is a goddess, the eternity in her eyes, his life in her hands.
She stretches and the heavens seem to envelop her, and her hair leaks across her shoulder like the night is a river that drips from her crown. She rolls her neck to one side, basking in the late evening breeze. His eyes fall to the slender stretch of her neck and he is ready to press kisses to it, ready to have her melt under him, ready to bury himself inside of her where he has always belonged, the home that he has always wanted.
He doesn't deserve her.
"This is a bit different from the way I remember it," she remarks, nodding towards the campfire.
He makes his way over to the pile of blankets where Tifa is sitting, sliding up to sit beside her. He leans in close, eager for her warmth and her softness. She is dressed so casually but so sexily, a soft white tunic that clings to her curves, thick black tights that accentuate the endless lengths of her legs.
He can't wait to be between them, buried until he can go no further.
"Maybe a little," he admits, knowing that his cheeks are betraying him as he feels them grow warm. "Last time I didn't exactly have the resources to craft much of an atmosphere."
She leans her arm against his, bumping into him playfully. Her head drops to the side, falling onto his shoulder. He can't help the way that he smiles, draping one arm over his knee. Whenever she seeks out his body with hers - whether it is for comfort, companionship, or contentment - he feels a thrill race through his entire being.
It's all he's ever wanted - to be there for her, to be everything she needs and wants, to fill her gap and to complete her, to make her whole.
"I didn't mind," she responds. "But this is… really romantic, Cloud."
She leans in closer, signaling the intimacy she wants to invite. He opens his arm and wraps it around her, pulling her in close. His heart is fluttering now, and he thinks about why he brought her out here.
"I'm glad you think so," he agrees. "The rocks were a little rough that time, weren't they?"
He reaches for the canteen of whiskey he's packed, pulling back a swig before he offers it to her. She takes it and drinks, giggling as her cheeks flush, and the laugh that she emits sends his heart up into the sky like a flare.
"The grass was a bit itchy," she agrees. "But…these blankets are a nice touch."
They pass the bottle back and forth between them, the fire and the stars their only light as they chatter. Cloud feels his head swim and soon, Tifa finds her way into his lap, her arms around his neck and her legs folded over his as she presses kisses into his throat. She tugs at the collar of his turtleneck, then brushes her lips against his.
"Did you bring me out here to make love to me, Cloud?" she asks him.
Tifa is tipsy by now, he can see it in the way that her pupils are wide and her cheeks red, can hear it in the bubbly laugh behind her words. But she is happy, and with him, she is safe.
She may be tipsy, but his soul is drunk.
"Maybe," he teases. "What if I brought you out here to fuck you, Tifa?"
She bursts into laughter, his vulgarity sending her into a tailspin. She hides her face against the crook of his shoulder and leans all of her weight into him. He laughs in response, but he is forced back into the pile of blankets and pillows he's laid out. She lands on top of him, and her hands are splayed on his chest, her legs entwined with his and the rivers of liquid fire that flow under his skin ignited.
"Is that what you did to me that night, Cloud?" she asks with another giggle, her voice riding on a sultry breath. "Fuck me?"
There's no stopping the grin that crosses his lips. "I think it was a little of both," he responds coolly. "But I seem to remember us being arranged the other way around that time."
"I like being on top," she purrs, and before he can manage another retort, she is kissing him, firmly and hotly.
For him, that's all it takes.
.
.
.
He is looking down into eyes that are the color of his blood whenever an enemy gets too close and claws open his skin. They are the color of the materia that rallies the most legendary of gods, the hue of the gems that crest under the pressure of the caves on Round Island. They are sparkling and crimson and stark, and they are wide with desire, all for him.
Words aren't the only way.
He is staring at her, still disbelieving in what he's heard. She's given him a pass, it seems, while at the same time opening the floodgates to his wildest desires. It's almost too good to be true.
Especially because it is Tifa.
She looks up at him, and her lips are slightly parted. The sun has just gone down, and the lingering colors in the sky paint highlights to her hair. The stars are beginning to pop against the darkness of the canvas above, twinkling one by one as if invisible hands are flicking their switches to life.
His hands feel sweaty and his heart is racing and loud. His body seems to quake, and he wonders how he can move forward. He has wanted this moment with her for weeks now, has thought about it more than he's thought about anything else in his life. But now they are here and she is looking up at him and waiting, and she has given him permission, even if it is implicitly so.
He hesitates too long, again. He doesn't know why he always fucking does this, but she looks down at her boots and bites her lips and he realizes that he is on the verge of ruining this moment that might never come again.
He doesn't say anything in response to her sentiment. He reaches for her shoulders, pulls her in close.
Drops his lips to hers, without thinking about it.
He's never done this before, but she is everything he's ever wanted and a lack of experience isn't going to corrupt this moment for him. Her lips are soft and they taste so sweet, like a confectioner's sugar. He wonders how this can be possible. The press of their mouths together starts off shy and careful, but it blisters away into something messy and needy, lips parting and tongues darting, teeth scraping and leaving nips and bites.
Tifa unravels with soft moans and the gentle press of her body against his, and he knows at that moment that she is his for the rest of the night.
And if they live past tomorrow - maybe she'll be his for the rest of his life.
.
.
.
Her body is burning from the inside out, her tongue embroiled in a sinful dance with his, the man who has been hers one way or the other for the last five years, the boy who has held her heart in his hands for the last fifteen.
She is on top of him and they are kissing, and his hands are now on her back, snaking their way up her shoulders before mapping a trail back to her hips. He is pushing her top up and away, and she feels the cool night air caress her skin as he pulls it over her head and tosses it out of the way, forgotten.
She holds his cheeks in her hands, deepening their kiss as her hips rotate over his. Most of their passions unfold under their sheets in the too-narrow confines of their full-sized bed - she really wants to purchase a queen sometime in the near-future. But they are almost always careful and quiet, living in a house with paper-thin aluminum walls and two children in the next room. She realizes that while it's almost been five years since the last time they lay down in this very same spot, this is almost the first time that they could be unbridled and free.
She sighs against his lips and surges her hands up into his hair. Her thighs have locked around his waist and she has him pinned, and he groans every time he struggles to roll them over to place himself on top. She knows that he is stronger than she is, so she knows that he is throwing this game.
He likes her being on top of him like this, sinking the hardness of his entire body under the softness of hers. She knows this, and so she relishes it. The air nips at her skin, but his fingers drag across her flesh and she bites into his lip softly, her entire life gaining meaning again when he moans.
His fingers move like dancers across her back, finding the clasps that hold her bra together. They unhook them, and the fabric falls open and is torn away. She never understands how he always manages to get her so near to naked when he remains quite clothed herself, but she hums and leans in to kiss him again, pressing her breasts to his chest and enjoying his taste.
She flutters her eyes open, pulling away again. He is beautiful. More beautiful than the stars, more beautiful than the sea, eyes that are sapphires and hair that is citrine. His skin is the color of the moon, luminite and pale, and his lips are pink, blood rushed from her kisses.
Cloud is hers, she reminds herself desperately. He has been hers since before she knew how to live, and though life tears them apart sometimes, he always returns to her. He has vowed and promised forever that he will be at her side, and she holds on to that simple covenant between them, her heart unwilling to ever release the chains that bind them.
Something charges and snaps in the space that exists between their eyes, because she sees the mako that is buried in his gaze flare as if a reactor has burst. He is growing wild, and she feels the hardness beneath her that signals his own rising desperation. She parts her lips, running her hand over the muscles of his torso, trailing down to his abdomen. She finds the hem of his sweater and pulls it out of his pants, and he reacts by sitting up on his elbows, watching her as if he could eat her alive when she begins to drag the soft material up his chest and over his head.
Eat me, she thinks. Eat me alive.
Maybe he can read minds because he smirks when she tosses his sweater to the side, and he rolls over her, pressing her back into the blankets. He is on top now, just as he wanted, but there are no protests coming from her. He could bury her into the earth's core if he wanted, and she would gladly let herself descend.
"You're beautiful," he tells her, his breath simple air against her windpipe. She shudders, nerve endings raw with the need to feel him, as endless as the universe inside of her bones. His hand finds her cheek, and he strokes the crest of pink that erupts across her flesh when his words land inside of her heart.
"You know what I love about you, Tifa?" he asks, leaning in to nuzzle her throat with soft kisses, his nose brushing the underside of her jaw.
"Tell me," she sings, wanting to hear it all.
"You've always been so shy," he tells her. "It's really cute. Whenever I compliment you, you always get so bashful. Why, baby?"
"Don't act like you aren't shy, too," she tosses back at him, feeling her face burn. He is kissing her collarbone now, and her hands are back in his hair, tugging at the strands at the nape of his neck. "You like to hold your feelings in, don't you, Cloud?"
He groans when she scrapes her fingernails across his scalp, and he leaves a bite mark on her skin. "I show better than I tell," he responds, an open-mouth kiss on her clavicle following his words. "But don't change the subject, Tifa. Why do you get so quiet when I tell you that you're beautiful, that you're strong, that you're smart… and sweet?"
His lips are moving lower and she is wading in wave pools of muted, hazy pleasure, a sting and a burn finding its way to all of her hottest parts. She wants to fall apart for him, wants to open herself as wide as she will go. She will never get enough of the way that he pours himself into her, and she has cleared away enough space of herself for him to live forever and ever, until the stars have all fallen from the sky.
"I don't know," she says, and she wants to cry, because even though she's been with him for five years and loved him for an eternity, she is still so afraid of her own feelings, still so terrified of what lives within.
He hums lightly against her skin, dropping kisses that feel like feathers. He is still holding her hand, and the other reaches up to find her hair. His fingers weave into ebony silk, tangling themselves in her strands. He moves lower and kisses a line from her ribcage to her navel, and she arches her back and whines, wishing he would free her from herself.
"It's okay," he whispers into her belly, still flat but softer than it was the last time they lay here like this. "But you know you don't have to be shy with me, Tifa. You can let it all out."
Maybe she will, she thinks when his hands find the waistband of her leggings.
.
.
.
He has been holding her, one arm around her back with his fist in her hair, the other clasped with his bicep over her shoulder and his hand at her chin. The kiss goes on for as long as it took the gods to build the heavens, but still, it is not enough.
Colors swirl around them, fading pinks and yellows, climbing periwinkles and violets. The stars glitter and the clouds submerge, and he pulls away just as the last line of gold at the horizon slips into oblivion.
Her heart pounds, louder and harder, stinging the inside of her chest with pain. He tastes like the sunrise, resplendent and complete, a burst of light in a cavern of darkness that has held her hostage all these years. His hands are weights that pin her to him, and she feels crushed, the tides pulling her into him.
"Tifa…"
He can whisper her name like that for the rest of eternity. She never wants to stop hearing him call her name, never wants to forget the smooth way that it rolls off of his tongue. It escapes his throat like a plea or a prayer, like a wish he is sending upon an altar. It blows open her desires tenfold, and she presses into him, parting her lips again, sore from his mouth being sewn to hers.
"Cloud…"
He scoops her up in his arms, anchors her to his body. Her legs are pressed together and his arms are wrapped around her thighs, just below the swell of her bottom. How he is so strong and how he can maneuver her within his grip so effortlessly is a talent and a skill she will never tire of. She is strong and she does not need his protection, but she will never say that she doesn't want it. These last few weeks have burned into every fiber of her being the need for the sanctuary of his care.
She is falling apart but he is holding her, refusing to let her go. She needs him and she wants to say it, wants him to say it, too. But she absolved them both of that ritual, and now their only recourse is to speak with their bodies, for their words to unspool with the spill of the light of souls into one another.
He looks around, and she holds him with her arms circling his neck. He spots a soft patch of grass that surrounds an outcropping of rocks, not far from where he has mounted his sword. He turns back to her, shining cobalt singed by verdant darts that burn. He blinks and she is hopeless, lost forever in this boy who is more than just an unattainable star. He is a galaxy in another universe, and now, he has become her whole world.
These thoughts crowd her when he gets on his knees, laying her in the grass. He lowers her to her back, and she feels the soft blades caress her skin, whispers of healing under the firelights in the sky. Five years of pain and trauma, seven of loneliness and despair, and her dreams are finally being torn open, unrefined and bloodied where she had left them to die.
But they are here now and he stares at her with longing and lust, with affection and adoration. He has always been kind to her, has always been far more gentle than he is with anyone else. But tonight his eyes betray something different, a side of him that has been sheltered in so much pain, buried under the cold blue fog of a mako tank. It is resurfacing, and it is crashing into her, his body lowering over hers as their eyes meet.
He is all steel and velvet, hard and smooth, and she aches. Her body has come alive for him hundreds of times in the last few weeks, and she is no stranger to the throbs and the pulses that plague her whenever he is too close or he speaks too softly or his eyes collide with hers. But now that they have shared that first kiss and he is laying atop her, these pains feel like they can kill. She is spiraling, the pang between her thighs desperate, the peaks of her breasts craven and crazed. He bites lightly into her neck and she begs, her hips rolling and her eyes closing and shutting the world and its tortures away.
"Touch me," she begs. "Please, I'll do anything…"
Why is she whining like this? Why does she need him so bad? Cloud moans his agreement, and the rod under his pants that is rutting against her thigh alerts her to how badly he wants her, too. They have been ignoring this push and pull between them for too long and now the tightropes are about to snap, everything ready to crash back down to earth.
"I'll give you anything," he whispers into her throat.
.
.
.
Her skin smells like blood currant and roses, and he thinks he likes this new soap. It is embedded in every pore, and it pulls him in and buries him, and he thinks he is becoming a part of her.
His lips are divining themselves on the taste of her flesh, and her soft breasts are the current objects of his meticulous affection. They heave under him with every breath that she takes, each growing more erratic as her excitement builds. He wants to carry her higher and higher, because for him, there is nothing greater in the world than watching her fall.
"Cloud," she whispers, a listless sound that means nothing and everything at once. It plunges him into darkness, only for him to be rescued again by the purity of her light.
The last time, it was warmer, he remembers. Maybe it was because the reactors were still alive in those days, spewing radiation into the skies. But it doesn't matter to him because she is all the heat he needs. He would take her against the ice of Gaea's Cliffs and he would survive because she is his life and his blood and there is nothing hotter on this earth than her.
"Tifa," he whispers her name back to her, capturing her nipple in his mouth. He rolls it under his tongue and her body coils, her fingers gathering palmfuls of his hair and twisting. Her moan sounds like an angel's whisper, and he looks back up at her, his heart running laps inside his ribcage.
"Can I taste you again?" he asks her.
She giggles and he's not sure why he even bothers to ask. Tifa loves when his mouth is all over her body, and she squirms, stretching her arms above her head, her body a silent offering. He glances at the taut, firm plane of her exposed belly, and when she smiles and closes her eyes, his hands go for her waist and pull the rest of her clothing away.
Her scent - its subtle changes that flow along the cycle of her femininity - has become imprinted across his senses. He can walk into a room and sidle up beside her and he knows everything he needs to know about her mood, her health, the way that she feels and the state that her body is in. And right now his senses are alight, funneled through her arousal and her desire, by her love and her admiration that shine within the vermillion disks of her eyes.
The mystification that enraptures him as he pushes her thighs apart might be what ends him, but he can't die tonight. He lives for Tifa and as long as she is here, there is no place else that he can be. He leaves a trail of soft kisses along the line of her inner thighs, drawing impossibly close to her wetness and her heat. She whimpers and shivers, her beautiful tits wobbling under those perfectly narrow shoulders and that glossy lake of black hair.
Why is she so gorgeous?
He is losing himself in her and the back of his mind is plagued with wonders of his disastrous past, his tongue finding its way between her folds. Why did he wait so long? Why did he walk away? Why did he find fault in everything that he did, hesitating until the last tether nearly tore and everything they had worked so hard to build was on the verge of collapsing?
"Cloud…"
That soft whine tears him out of the absolution of thoughts that are heedless, but the guilt will always remain. The journey of their love started on this night five years ago, but he has come close to fucking it up more times than he wants to admit. And yet still, she is here, by his side, waiting for him every night, forgiving him for every stupid thing he does and pushing him to be a better man with each morning that opens up beyond their window panes.
He looks up at her, rubs the outside of her thigh with his palm. He squeezes her flesh, and her lips quiver as she bites into them, opening her eyes again to meet his gaze.
"I'm right here," he tells her. He's still not good at expressing himself verbally, but he's better than he was the last time they visited these hills. "Let me love you, baby."
He may not be great with words but he knows how to send her into orbit, and he can see her cheeks redden as she swoons.
He dives back in and she is swollen, her lower lips puffy and blood-filled, her clit stiff and engorged. She rocks her hips up and pushes his head down, and he swirls his tongue everywhere but there, dipping into the heat of that pot of honey he's been stuck in for the last five years and can't seem to climb his way out of.
"You always taste so good," he croons up at her, pulling away from her sweetness, his lips shining and his tongue drenched. "You like it when I fuck you with my tongue, don't you, baby?"
His voice is barely audible and Tifa whimpers, trembling above him. His dick is harder than steel and leaking in his shorts, and he is eager to free himself, ready to dive inside of her. But her pleasure is his priority and that is all he focuses on, his words have flying her to new heights. He smiles and dives back in, his tongue swirling over her clit with one quick pass that leaves her breathless, and then he is nipping at the warm junction of her thighs.
He's always loved to tease her, and she's always loved to be edged along.
.
.
.
When he dreamt about this all those years ago - quiet nights in his bedroom across the alleyway from hers with the sheets pulled up to his chin, rowdy evenings in the infantry barracks with his bunkmates swearing and laughing in a cacophony on every side - he hadn't imagined it quite like this. He could always picture her beauty but he would be lying if he said he understood anything about women or the female art form. It didn't matter how many dirty magazines his squadron left lying around or how many 'informative' lessons Zack taught him, the picture he painted in his head of Tifa never drifted beyond a certain purity.
But now she is lying beneath him, lips stung from his kisses, rib cage expanding with every breath. Her eyes are wide and the color still unbalances him, the wavering shimmers of cinnamon and honey turning his bones into lava. He inhales, his fingers tingling, and he leans forward, reaching for her cheek to brush his fingers along the line of her jaw.
"Please," she asks him again.
He is wearing too many layers and he needs to shed them, but he needs to get her naked, too. He sits back on his knees and undoes all of his armor, and she watches him curiously when he tosses his gloves into the grass. She doesn't wait for him, and she sits up and does the same, peeling away her gloves and armguards and compression sleeves, setting everything neatly to the side while he discards his without a second thought.
She slips her shoulders out of her suspenders, and he realizes that this is really happening, that the world is finally a just place, allowing them this moment at the edge of the apocalypse to be together. He cannot bare to see her do this on her own; there is too much honor and duty that he has to fulfill to her, even in this act of amorous incarnation.
He leans forward, sliding her hands away. She stops what she is doing, letting him take over. The sudden shift of submission is almost jarring, and Cloud feels something snap in the air between them. It is that live wire of electricity that binds them, and when she looks up at him, full lips turned down into a needy little pout and her eyes wide with longing, he knows that his obligation to take care of her extends far beyond what he promised on the shaky rafters of that water tower that night.
He peels each piece of clothing away, one by one, and she melts, compliant and obedient. Her cheeks flush when her breasts are exposed, and she tries to cover them with her arms, tucking her fists under her chin. The starlight dies from her eyes as she looks down, and Cloud wonders what he did wrong.
"Tifa," he whispers, terrified that he might lose this moment with her, that their intimacies might collapse before they've even been built. "What's wrong? You trust me, right?"
She nods, but she doesn't look up. He takes her wrist in one hand, pulls her arms away. She doesn't resist, but he hears her sigh and realizes it is masking a sob, and his entire world ruptures.
"It's so ugly," she puffs.
He doesn't understand these words because nothing about her could ever be ugly. But he sees the scar that peaks out from under her left breast, curving a pale, smooth line that ends near the crest of her ribs. It blows his memories wide open, and he sees her first tear escape. There is so much shame in her eyes that it destroys him, makes him think he might not be able to live another day if he can't fix this and get her to smile again.
"Tifa," he says softly, and then he is pulling her in close, right into his lap. She doesn't resist and he knows how badly she needs his warmth, how much she wants this closeness. He kisses her forehead, and caging her between his knees in the grass, he pulls his sweater over his head and tosses it in the grass with the rest of his gear.
"You are beautiful," he tells her, pulling her chin up so that he can look her in the eyes. Already hers have begun to wander, but he will give her plenty of time to ogle him all that she wants. "Every part of you is beautiful. This scar is beautiful. It's your strength, your fearlessness. It's a part of you."
She sobs, wiping shyly at her eyes, but he sees her smile.
He leans back on his hands, opening up the view of his torso. "I have plenty of scars," he tells her, hoping to ease her insecurities. He brings a hand up to the space below his heart. "One from him, too. You and me… maybe we're the same."
Her eyes blaze fire all across his chest and his abdomen, and then she looks back up at him again. She scuttles closer, her thighs widening around him. The scent of her arousal, sweet and feminine, is like a cloud around him and he is floating. He leans up and circles his arms around her, holding her to him.
"You're beautiful too," she finally says. "Cloud, I - "
"Shh," he whispers, sensing the hesitation and the terror in her voice. He doesn't want her to stress. He wants her to be happy, wants her to wake up in the morning with her soul reawakened and the tremors inside quieted, wants her to know that whether they live or they die, he has loved her more than anyone or anything.
He kisses her, his hands snaking under her skirt. Their lips meld a thousand different ways, and she is clawing at him, her tiny but powerful hands undoing the buckles of his pants. She is twisting them open, and he is sliding his hands against the smoothness of her thighs, snapping that hot little elastic of her stocking against her skin. She whines and leans in, biting at his lip, and his erection bumps against the warm flesh of her palm and he growls into her mouth, almost ready to lose it.
Not yet, he thinks, pulling her hand away.
.
.
.
Her back defines another impossible arch and her knees widen as far as they will go. She hears herself whine but it's not enough, and she pushes down on his head, again, rolling her hips forward in a languid circle of encouragement. He looks up at her, those blue-green eyes blazing like wildfires.
"Let go of my hair," he commands her softly, his voice low but the tone stern. "Put them above your head. No more touching or you won't get to come until the sun comes up."
She would really like to stamp her feet in frustration, but it's impossible with the way she's spread out beneath him like this. Instead, she obeys, her insides liquifying at the calm authority behind his demands.
"I'm sorry," she can't help but whisper. She is too achy with want and she is desperate to please him so that he will alleviate the pressure that has built inside of her. All she wants is him and she will do anything to have him; that's the way it's always been, whether it was tonight or a night five years ago, whether they are under the stars or under the sheets.
"I just want you so bad," she adds when he keeps staring at her.
Cloud offers her a lazy smirk, and then his lips sweep across her core again and the subtle shockwaves filter all the way up to her scalp. She shivers and balls her hands up into fists above her head, wires of tension snaking along every highway of nerves in her body.
He nuzzles her the way he has for the last eon, and when she lets out a heady sigh of exasperation, he relents and lifts his tongue to her clit. He laps at it slowly, and she coos and sighs, dizziness pulling her into a cyclone of pleasure.
"You're so wet," he whispers against the fullness of her pussy, and she wants to weep and slam herself deeper into the earth, her hands tearing at the pillow above her head. "You taste so fucking good, Tifa."
She whines and then he is sucking on her clit, tongue flat against it, his hands holding both her thighs up and open. She is bared to him and him alone, and there is nowhere to go but deeper into the transcendency of his affection. He laps and sucks, lets his teeth brush across that sensitive button of flesh, and she cries as she comes in his mouth, her nails slicing slits into her palms.
He drinks from her until she is spent, and then he crawls back up beside her. She is trembling and she feels as if the stars have all burst into dust in an explosion above her. His mouth is wet with her slick and he looks pleased with himself, and it only throws her deeper into the void.
"Look at you," he whispers, his eyes trailing her from head to toe. He unbuckles his pants, sliding out of them so that he finally is fully matching her state of undress. "Gorgeous, just like I told you, baby. Always so pretty, all of you."
"Cloud," is all she can rasp back, her throat dried out from all of her moans and cries. His smirk deepens into a smile and he leans over her, a naked Adonis of smooth alabaster lines and sinewy muscles. He props himself up on one hand, eyes low lidded and lips parted, and he is lifting her thigh, holding her open and laying her calf on his shoulder.
"Do you want me to make love to you?" he asks her. "Or do you want me to fuck you, Tifa?"
His voice is playful but sweet, and the combination makes her smile. She feels her wetness slip out of her, sliding in the direction of her thigh. Every muscle in her tummy is tighter than the wound-up gears of a clock, and her breath quickens, lungs hastily expanding. She wants him so, so bad, she will take anything and everything, she just needs him to give it to her, now.
"Both," she gasps, desperate to grab his shoulders but remembering his instructions and keeping her hands above her head, fisting the blankets.
"Maybe," he concedes, and he lowers that free hand to the sopping hot mess between her thighs. His index and middle fingers trail her slit, brushing over those petals that are still so sore from her first climax. He slides them inside of her, and she feels the pleasure blind her when he curls them upward, pressing right into her spot.
He knows exactly where to find it, and every time is more devastating than the last.
"Oh, oh… please, baby, Cloud, please…"
"Shhhh," he scolds her again, and he leans in and kisses her hard on the mouth. He rotates his wrist, increasing the pressure, and her hips buck, wanting even more. He pulls away at this, a tether of saliva stretching between their lips, and he stills the motions of his hand, pushing up again.
"Fuck yourself on my fingers, Tifa," he orders. "Show me how bad you want me to fill you up."
She loves him but she also hates him, because when he is like this, he is pure danger and she would do anything he says, absolutely anything at all. She stretches her body out again and works her hips, squeezing her eyes shut as she concentrates on letting her body ride those long beautiful digits, searching for the searing euphoria that scorches her nerve endings away into ash.
"Just like that," he murmurs, dipping his face into the space between her shoulder and her throat, blessing her hot skin with gentle kisses. "You're perfect Tifa… such a good girl… that feels good, doesn't it, baby? Mmm…"
His breath dances over her throat, and she is moaning, straining for release, this time one that will break open deep inside of her. "Yeah… oh… Cloud… ahhh…"
He is nipping at the juncture below her earlobe and she is disintegrating. There is no one in the world who can turn her into fairy dust the way that Cloud can, and here she is, scattering amongst the winds.
"You want to come, baby?" he asks her in a whisper that kisses her cheek, and she nods eagerly, clenching her core over his fingers. He pumps into her a few more times, fucking her hard, and just as she is about to come, he pulls his fingers out of her with a pop.
"Cloud!" she sobs.
He kisses her again, and before she can beg, he silences her with his fingers in her mouth. She tastes herself, and the mako in his eyes flares and burns, flaying her away right where she lays under him.
"Almost," he promises her.
.
.
.
She shifts in his lap, and he is petting her, stroking at the soft heat under her panties. Firefights are breaking loose in her head, pleasure blooming like wildflowers inside of her when he bumps the pads of his fingers agains the ache in her clit. He is clumsy but he is focused, his eyes watching her face with intent as he explores. He draws circles and she arches her back, and he leans in to kiss her, swallowing her soft, delicate moans. Two fingers crawl under the band of her panties, sliding into the slick warmth below that patch of fabric. It is the first time she has ever been touched there and the sensation of his skin sliding across hers drives her while, her vision whiting out as she cries and digs her nails into his shoulders, slicing them open.
He makes her crazy, and this is only their first time. This is her first time being kissed, her first time being touched, her first time being loved, and he drives her mad, straight into lunacy and right off of a cliff.
She holds him even closer, fingers surging into his hair. He shifts in an eager display to get more, and she doesn't hesitate to help him maneuver out of her skirt and her underwear. She marvels at the precision with which he works when it comes disrobing her, and she wonders how much experience he has with this sort of thing, her own inner insecurities riding wavelengths under the pulse of her heart. He peels away each layer with military efficiency, but when he tosses them to the side, he moves with the haphazard lack of caution of a teenage boy.
Soon, they are both naked and Tifa is shivering, her body pressed close to his as he curls her back into his lap. It is chilly out here, but that is not why she trembles. She is skin to skin with him, this boy who has enamored her for so long that her mind is spun with him. The last few weeks have been brutal, torturous even, but they are here now and she has him, and he is holding her close, all skin and heat and strength that she clings to like a lifeline.
"Is this…" he starts, but he loses his words somewhere in her hair. "I've never…"
He can't bring himself to finish, but it's okay, she knows where he is going with this. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and holds him close, nuzzling her cheek against his. "Me either, Cloud," she tells him. "Please, I told you… I trust you."
He pulls away from where he's been buried kissing her throat, and he finds her lips again. She can't stop the way that her thighs widen, ankles locking behind his back. She glances down between them, sees his length, hard and ready, leaking at the tip and nestled against her thigh.
"Is this okay?" he asks her, indicating the way that she is folded around him and the way that his hard masculinity is jerking closer to the warm softness of her womanhood.
She can the way that she is losing a part of herself, feels herself dissolving into nothingness the closer he inches to her heat. She likes the way that they are embraced, how she can look deep into his eyes and find the safety and the loyalty there. Words may have danced between them quickly, but he is holding her and he is closer than he's ever been, and she knows that this moment is theirs and that it may very well be their last. If she could melt into him she would, but for now, she will take this, pressing her breasts into the firm, warm planes of his chest.
"Yes," she whispers an affirmation into his lips, and he kisses her again, relishing in her taste. Their tongues mingle and she feels the cloudburst open up in every limb and under every sensitive patch of skin, and she purrs and presses against him, eager and willing, the deepest part of her ready to submit to him forever. "More than okay. Everything is perfect, Cloud. You're perfect."
He blushes and it is adorable, and she wishes she could capture a photograph of the way he looks down. But he distracts himself by reaching for his hardness and raising it between them, sliding its tip between her folds, stroking it over the slick heat of her opening and letting it gently kiss her clit.
Her mind whites out again and she is certain that she is losing all of her faculties because nothing has ever felt so good. It can't possibly be real, this moment they are sharing, their skin raw and sliding together. Nothing can feel this good after the pain that she has felt, her chest torn open and her hands left with blisters and sears, her home reduced to ashes, and everyone she's ever known bloodied and burnt.
Except for him.
Her hands wrap around his face and she pulls him in even closer, kissing him again. Kissing is an epic pleasure she will never grow tired of, and she is glad it is not nearly as taboo as the rest of the act they are about to perform. She already knows she is going to search high and low to find every excuse to kiss him whenever and wherever she can after this, because there is something simply sublime about it.
"Tifa," he whispers against her lips, and she knows that her name is his affirmation of love. It is his way of saying what other people profess with three simple words, and she accepts it, sews it into the deepest crevasse of her heart.
"Cloud," she returns the sentiment, and they kiss again, just as he slides inside of her.
Her vision is filled stars when he enters, inch by inch that ties them together. She whines, too many sensations hitting her at once. There is the stretch and the pull of his length and his fullnesss and there is the stinging pain of her own thin barrier being taken down. There is the smooth glide of his silky hardness sliding past her walls, the pulsing of him inside her, and the earth-shattering sensation of him against her farthest wall, finding a part of her she never knew existed. It fills the corners of her eyes with hot tears as ecstasy brands itself to her veins.
"Tiiffaaa…" he moans when he is fully inside of her, hiding his face against the inside of her throat, laving her with hot kisses over and over again, his body quickly lined with sweat.
She cannot call his name back. She cannot think, can only feel, and his hands are holding her hips and he is moving, grinding into her, his rhythm slow and erratic but bringing her to the edge of creation nonetheless.
He is filling her and that is all that matters, because where she was empty, and broken, she is now whole.
.
.
.
He can't take the enveloping heat that is paralyzing him, feels like he is wading through a river of bliss that has penetrated him to his core, gutting him wide open. She is wrapped around him fully, her arms encasing his shoulders and her fingernails slicing the skin of his back. But none of that matters quite as much as the way that her warm, slippery pussy is presently melting him, and all he can do is clutch the litheness of her body in the shelter of his hold as he thrusts with all the concentration and focus he can garner, threading it into every moment he presses into her.
The perfection of the sounds that she makes only carries him higher and deeper, and he doesn't realize how hard he is squeezing her, how tight he has her curled under his arms. His hips are reaching up, seeking the deepest part of her, trying to carve out the space where he will live forever.
She moans and whines and he scrapes into her, his eyes searching her face for the contortions of pleasure that signal he is fulfilling his duty to her in this way. But her eyes are closed and he can't see those puddles of grenache, and every thrust grows more unstable, his body shaking as they hold each other close.
He loves this position because it feels like the very first time that he held her, a hug shared in a bed of reunion flowers, her tears streaking a line to her chin. But it is not enough, and the bloodlust he feels is raging deep in the pit of his belly, and he pushes himself to his knees, winding an arm around her waist so he can lay her in the grass.
She purrs and sighs, but she is still locked around him, refusing to let him go. That's okay because all he needs is a little leverage. She can cling to him as much as she wants, this closeness and this intimacy is everything he needs to survive.
He is careful with her when he lowers her, and her hair spills and fans out all around her. She blinks and looks up at him when she falls into the dewy grass, but he lays his weight on her and kisses her again, quieting her whimpers of pleasure and assuaging her fears and concerns.
"You… feel… so… good…" he moans, every word interspersed with a thrust.
He doesn't stop. He can't stop, even if he wants to, even if he tries, because they are tied together and this back and forth won't end until both of them are released.
"Cloud," she cries his name, her voice carrying into the wind.
He can't call back to her. He wants to, but he's blunted, his mind and his body and his soul trapped in a fog that chokes. She is his everything and every squeeze of her warmth cuts off his life supply, his thoughts dissolving into mist.
He falls apart, into her. There is no up or down, no here or there, no left or right, and no right or wrong. There is only Tifa, her body and her soul accepting his, her love wrapping around him.
"Tifa," he manages.
Eyes like goblets of wine look up at him. He is intoxicated by them, losing himself in their depths. He feels a pain as his heart squeezes, and he unravels, threads in his blood untying themselves from his soul.
He wants to tell her that he loves her. That sentiment has been etched onto the surface of his heart for so long. But the words are caught in the typhoon that has captured his heart, and all he can do is stare, watching as the orgasm he has just given her unfurls her blood and sends blooms of color into her face.
"Cloud…"
She is his beginning and his end, his alpha and his omega, and he is tied to her, bound to her forever through the constellations that have threaded them together since the beginning.
"Cloud!"
He unspools, threads of stardust lacing away from him in every direction. His body is no longer in his possession but it is owned by her, and she pulls every last drop from him, her cries and sighs of relief and release sending him into a whirlwind.
Quiet descends, and the earth has stilled. He holds her, time still binding them but no longer on his mind. Not at this moment.
There is so much he wants to say. So much to share, especially with armageddon on the brink, hours away. But his words are boxed and caged and after what he has shared with her, he knows that he does not need them.
Not tonight, at least.
.
.
.
She is in a frenzy under him, her hands scrabbling as she begs for more. He is ready to give it to her, the way that he loves to give it to her every night, only this time, he won't need to cover her mouth the way he does when they are home, their children asleep just down the hall.
No, this time it is like their first time, only now, he is experienced and he knows her, every inch of her body and the way that every little touch sets her off. He knows every way to bend into her, how to move his body to drive her to the edge, how to pull her back into a space where she screams and cries and no one can hear her but him.
He has been stupid. He has been foolish and proud and he has made mistakes. No man is perfect, he surmises, but no man is also a failure at the levels he has been, and no man on earth is deserving of a woman like her. But no matter how pitiful he is, no matter the way he has laid ruin to their lives in the past, she always takes him back, always accepts his flaws, always drinks in every part of him, relishing in the ugliness that makes him who he is.
Maybe it doesn't matter, because she is clenching under him, and he opens up inside of her, his very life spilling across the ocean floor. There is nothing in front of him or behind him, only Tifa, the woman who breathes life into him whenever he has fallen to his knees. He shudders and he sighs, and the moan he releases into the tender flesh below her collarbone is a eulogy to the pain that their lovemaking has broken.
They are spent, breaths heavy and hard. She holds him tight, her walls clenching around his slowly slackening length. She tries to kiss him but she is sloppy, and after half a decade of loving her, he knows why.
He turns his head, his vision still swimming in a fog of pleasure when he tries to focus. Every limb is weak, but he lets go of her hand and reaches for his pants, pulling them towards him as he rolls onto his side.
She purrs quietly when he shifts, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder. She offers him a shy smile, then bashfully looks away. She is shrinking herself against his body, the thin layer of sweat between them their only barrier as she folds herself into him.
He fishes through his pockets, finds the tiny box. He pulls it out and props it open, laying it on the tuft of pillow that is between them, her spill of midnight hair the curtain that shields them from the night.
A jewel that is as pure and white as the brightest northern star twinkles against the crimson in her eyes. She lifts her gaze to his, and he touches her cheek, feeling that softness that has left him in ruins for an eternity.
"Tifa," he beckons softly. "Will you marry me?"
He isn't sure what her answer actually is because after a pause, it is muffled in a cry. She is suddenly attacking him, her body plastered to his, their lips sealed together. She is loving him and he loves her back, and there is no up or down or beginning or end. There is only Tifa, and she is only his.
Forever.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too," he replies, the first time he's communicated this with his words and not his body. The weight of it crashes into him and he is frozen, yet her arms around him reawaken him and he is whole.
"I love you," he says again. "I love you so much."
And now, he realizes with a strange sense of irony, the winds nipping his shoulder and the airship's rotors bleating into the sky, that he never had to keep these words so caged. Now that they have been released into the wild, there is no pulling them back.
Not that he would ever want to.
"I love you," he says again. "And I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" she giggles over the ring as he slides it onto her finger.
He kisses her and doesn't answer. He's sorry for everything, for his failures and his misreadings, for all the lifetimes they never lived together.
Sorry that he hadn't found her sooner.
He kisses her and sorries are forgotten. There is nothing left but them.
I love you.
