I can taste liquor on his breath. Funny, he doesn't act drunk. But he has to be...because that's the only time he comes to me. Drunk, looking for a warm willing body who knows what he likes. When did I become a Turk's private whore?
Truth be told, I've had a crush on him since I met him in the slums. In fact, I was half way in love with him and he knew it. He reveled in it. That's when this...thing...between us started. And I thought that when I left the slums, it would stop. But it didn't. They follow us on our mission to save the world. They always know where we are. And he always knows which room is mine. It was easier at the start of our journey. Yuffie and Aeris always shared a room, so that left me with my own. But now that Aeris is...gone...Yuffie and I share a room. A small sleep spell protects us from her waking...We do tend to get a little loud.
But back to the present his hands on my hips are warm and soft and make me nauseous. His lips on my neck make me groan and it only encourages him. Then his mouth is on me and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. Wouldn't be good if my fellow AVALENCHE members burst in, guns, swords, and spears (oh, my) blazing to protect me, only to find a Turk with his head between my legs.
In one fluid motion, he's on top of me and inside me and it's so familiar. It's home. But I hate him, and my home burned to ashes and oh god, he's burning me up from the inside. With a flick of my hips and a well practiced roll, I'm straddling him and pinning his hands above his head. If this is wrong then I don't want to be right. Isn't that a song and-oh god, I don't know what he's doing with his hips, but it's heaven for me.
He purrs my name them mummers something about how much he loves...a pause as something I've never seen before flickers through his eyes…then he continues in that voice which sends chills up my spine and makes between my legs ache...how much he loves what I do to him.
The only time I'm alive is when he's inside me. His breath gives me life. His kiss gives me air. His heart makes mine beat. With a thrust of his hips, I'm thrown over the edge. I'm free falling, clinging to him, because if I don't I'll lose myself, and I can't get lost yet because there's still so much to do.
It's over too and he's tucking me in, whispering promises of nothing then he's walking away. Funny...He doesn't stumble. He always stumbles when he's drunk. I roll over and curl up, clinging to his pillow. I hate this. I hate myself. But most of all, I hate him...because that's so much easier than loving him