A/N: final chapter! For the 'free day' prompt for LesTi! This chapter contains background Cloti and an implied mmf threesome. I wanted to go all in for this one. Thank for you reading this series.

lust

eight: fuck em only we know

Leslie hasn't licked the salt off his wounds yet. He's not one to do so these days. He's been through enough shit to know how pointless it was. Hence why his hand remains limp in hers as she brings him up the stairs.

Her steps tap against the floorboards. Despite the quiet, the sound blocks him from hearing his own breaths. Beneath the brim of his cap, he spots the picture frames resting on the ledges. Frozen smiles mock him, the happiness in their eyes shimmer with judgment.

Does he care? Not really. That's what he tries to tell himself.

Photographs of the past shouldn't intimidate him. Especially when he's fucked the girl trapped in the frames. She sits on Fenrir while its true rider stands behind her, the looming presence has explored all the crevices of her body, of her soul. Something Leslie wishes he could do.

(But he's received permission. Approval. Body touched. Soul, maybe not.)

Still, it feels wrong.

Once they reach the top of the stairs, Tifa looks at him, tilting her head. Worry lines her face again, like last night when she asked him to stay. He told her I can't. How could he stay when Cloud's arms were wrapped around her, their bed unmade, soiled by the spend of three people?

She takes a deep breath, then releases it.

Leslie could almost feel it feather his throat. The memory is too fresh, the pain a little too resistive to his usual numbness.

"If it feels wrong…" she begins. "Don't do it."

"You're telling me that?" His hand slips from her grasp. Leslie's voice lowers as he says, "I've done things that felt wrong, but I kept doing it."

Wall Market. Corneo. Unwilling brides. Discarded brides. They still haunt him. His reunion with Merle ended in disaster, their relationship withered to ashes. Their child, a byproduct of an attempt to repair. But the damage was done. Tifa knows this. Her frown tells him so.

"Leslie, that's the past."

Forgive yourself.

You didn't know what to do.

She kept telling him this. Over and over. As if that'd change anything.

"You know, someone once gave me that advice. 'If it feels wrong, don't do it.' And well, I don't know if I actually followed it." Tifa's chuckle rings sad. "Thought I did."

"Then does this feel wrong to you?"

Such a loaded question with an answer that could shoot him in the chest. He wants to retreat back to the bar, where the glasses need shining, where the chairs have to be put down. Working with Tifa had set him on a routine. Sleeping with her? It offset the rhythm he survived on.

"Somehow, this feels right."

Leslie doesn't believe her. "What about Cloud?"

"He's out."

Out on a delivery? Out of the picture?

How could he ever forget? Cloud's iridescent mako eyes watching him as Leslie buried his full length inside Tifa's tightness, her cries muffled by Cloud roughly rutting himself past her lips, down her throat.

Cloud's stare lingered on Leslie. It cut through the darkness and the wet sloppy echoes of their bodies. Watching. Always. He couldn't tell if it was inviting or unwelcoming.

"Fuck her harder, Leslie."

He was surprised at the aggression Cloud inflicted. His hand bound tight around Tifa's neck, the other gripping her arms back, opening her up so Leslie could take her. Perhaps, Cloud was showing Leslie what's his.

"Leslie, if I didn't want this then you would know."

Leslie wants to repeat his question.

What about Cloud?

He chooses not to. She walks on, like a goddess who doesn't answer prayers nor Leslie's questions.

Tifa stands before him, her bare skin adorned by dusk's glow. The light comes in slants from half-open blinds, exposing the dust wavering in the air. Delicate lingerie dresses her body. Straps cage her ribs, nipples peek through fabric that hardly covers her breasts. The lace on her shoulders remind him of angel wings while the material wrapped around her hips and arousal are a hint into heaven. He loves its lilac shade, the tone so muted compared to the dress he met her in.

Cloud must've gifted her this.

Leslie is sitting on their bed, its sheets smell clean rather than that of spilt seed. Tifa already had the duvet replaced, the bedsheets changed. That was the first thing he noticed when he walked in.

There's no turning back now.

In two hours, the bar will open. Within that two hour gap, it was expected for Leslie to come early. Tifa never minded. He'd sit by the bar nursing a drink as she drew conversation. They'd fill the void with mundane words that never meant anything. Eventually, mundanity eased into something sacred. They'd talk deeply. Of Merle. Of raising children. About what's been lost and what's to gain. During in-between moments of serving and receiving orders, she'd touch his arm or he'd lay a hand on her lower back.

If Cloud was around when Leslie arrived, in minutes they'd be in the garage with oil smeared on their cheeks. Leslie was a worthy assistant to fixing up Fenrir. They had a budding camaraderie. Cloud sometimes smiled. Leslie would smirk at Cloud's straightforward cluelessness. It seemed they united better when Tifa came, leaning by the door frame with ice cold drinks in her hands. Cloud's eyes tended to roam across her figure. Tifa never ceased to blush.

Leslie wasn't free to think about touching her.

Until now.

Tifa approaches Leslie, languid in her walk. Collarbones flushed pink. Her eyes fade at the sight of him, the lust evident.

He wonders if the previous night fogged her mind all morning–bodies conjoined, in lewd positions. Sweat on his brow. Cloud's quiet moans. The way they'd sink their cocks inside her, filling her up too snugly as though the two men needed to prove something.

If Merle knew what he's about to do, it'd be further proof that Leslie continues to be Wall Market scum.

His hands curl around the back of her knees as she stands between his legs. Leslie runs his palms up her thighs, grabbing the fleshiness of her ass. One sudden squeeze and she's gasping. Leslie's cock twitches, restrained by his pants. Better to wait. Leslie's okay with the self torture. Especially with Tifa's tits in his face. Her pert nipples need his attention, the tip of his tongue is ready to poke.

Leslie's right hand wanders, tracing her hip bone down the crease amidst her thigh and pelvis until his fingers graze her pussy. Tifa steadies her grasp on Leslie's shoulders, her breath withheld. Tifa's dampness seeps through the lace when he presses a thumb to her clit. Leslie bites his tongue at the sound of her high pitched gasp.

"You always this wet?"

"Don't be mean. You know the answer."

"Yeah. I remember well."

"Hey now…" Tifa flicks off his hat, pushes her tits closer to his face. His breath ghosts over them.

"Hey." Leslie's thumb yanks the lace aside. Knuckles brush her outer lips, slicking up and down until two fingers slip skyward.

Her sharp cry doesn't go unheard.

Leslie swallows a lump in his throat. He pumps and pumps. His middle finger scrapes a spongy part. Tifa whimpers, digging crescents into his leather jacket, encouraging him to lick a nipple, and he does just that. Clasping his mouth over lace, his saliva makes it sticky between his tongue and her nipple.

"Ah, damn it, Leslie…" Tifa shifts so she's nearly sitting in his lap. Her knees rest on either side of him. She holds herself up for his fingers to stay deep inside her.

He fingers the fuck out of her. Every tiny sound elicits his blood to rise, mind dizzying. Leslie can't wait to fuck her. Logic and his defected moral compass are smashed the second Tifa trembles on him. He uses his free hand to rub her clit in quick strokes, still pumping with his other. She's louder, breaths caught in her throat. Tifa clutches onto him, her hand fumbles beneath his shirt, feather-light touches to his abs.

With a pop, Leslie releases his mouth from her breast, gasping out, "Come Tifa."

Tifa bursts at the seams, her heated body writhing over his, riding his fingers. Sweat dribbles amidst her tits. Her come sputters, spraying onto his tented pants. Tifa's moan is drawn wide. Come streams down his palm, lacing Leslie's wrist.

After pressing his lips to her shoulder, he asks almost mockingly, "This still 'feels right' to you, Tifa?"

When all she seems to do is catch her breath, Leslie pulls his fingers out, grasps her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Tifa's cheeks are pinkened, expression dazed. "C'mon, Tifa," he murmurs, "Tell me."

Fingers pry open her mouth, she whines when he shoves them in, tongue grazing at his fingertips. As much as Leslie hopes she would say it feels wrong, as much as he prays she'll say it feels right, he knows the balance of selfish desire and consideration for others is moving on a different axis.

The state she's in induces suppressed ferality inside him, one he couldn't explore the night prior. How hard did Cloud and Leslie fuck her? Not that hard if she wanted Leslie again. He's curious. Wouldn't Cloud be enough? He's more than enough. Screw it, can't think about that. This is between Leslie and Tifa.

"Tifa."

"I-I don't know anymore Leslie," she says this like she's hurt him. He hates it when she's like this, concerned for him as though he may easily break into shards. If she picked them up, she'd only bleed.

Leslie sighs, stuffing his fingers deeper, feeling her lips meet his knuckles. "It doesn't matter," he lies. He thinks she believes him.

Tifa bites down on his fingers. Leslie relishes in the sting.

Without the earthy scent of Cloud's come inside, her arousal is fragrant like bergamot. Inflamed flesh, more gorgeous beneath the setting sun. Tifa's legs are thrown over his naked shoulders, hands caught in his strands. Leslie's tongue flicks across her clit in a pace that has her squirming. He has to pin her down, keep her in place, so he squeezes her hips but she's hardly still. Tifa's mewls grow without rhythm along with her attempts to grind his face. She wants to take more pleasure than what he'll give her. The slope of his nose and his bruised lips are already dampened by her wetness.

He didn't expect her to be a selfish lover. Perhaps being on her knees everyday changed her.

Leslie flattens his tongue against her folds. Then his tongue curls, gathering the juices to her clit. He taps, taps, taps, loving how her clit pulsates, how her folds are malleable under his tongue.

"Ah! Leslie…" she whimpers, trembling once more.

Tifa's at her breaking point.

Leslie leaks with pre-come, he closes his eyes, concentrating on the rising lilt of her voice, the tangy taste he slurps. He likes the pain from his scalp, her hands pulling his hair taut. Hold on, Tifa.

Quickly, he single handedly unbuckles his belt with a click. Pants rustle down to his knees. Leslie seizes his cock, treating himself to a long stroke. Though he'd prefer it to be her small hand, he imagines Cloud's for a split moment.

Tifa shatters with another holy scream. He hums, stealing every droplet she spills.

Leslie lets go, he kicks off the rest of his clothing, then crawls atop her body. Tifa stares up at him. Tears bead her lashes. Spit stays wet on her bottom lip. Her own saliva there, rather than his come, which he smudged all across her lips last night.

He can't stop the hammering beat in his chest, the sweat growing in the divots of his shoulder blades. His cock skims her cunt. Her heat immerses his thoughts into memories.

"Y-you, you come in her mouth…"

"Alright. I will."

"Leslie, let me suck you off," Tifa pleads, a shy fist conceals her mouth. She glances away. The wolf ring glints at him. "I want to make you feel good."

This is ridiculous. Leslie can't help but chuckle. If only he could clear his mind, drag his past self to warn him against fucking Tifa with her man. But who the hell was he kidding? He wanted this, he even embraced the dull hurt that came with it.

"No, this is about you."

Leslie snatches her fist, dropping his mouth on her lips. He doesn't take off her ring. Instead, he kisses her like she's his lover. Soft and sweet. She kisses him back, chaste lips enlock.

They're both drowning. She's soaked up his fantasies, his security in who he is. Her tongue sneaks into his mouth, scraping his canines until he takes her in. All play pretend while skin caresses skin. There can be commitment. There can be love. If she allows it. If he invades.

Leslie wouldn't, even if he's gotten a shallow taste. They both know this, perhaps Cloud does too.

Withdrawing himself he asks a question he'll regret, "...do you have any feelings for me?"

Tifa wistfully smiles, edging her chin, in an attempt to kiss him again. But Leslie remains steadfast, hovering above, needing a reason to continue or to stop.

On the bedside table, the clock ticks. He ignores the wind's song tiding past the window, the beat of his heart in his ears, Tifa's gentle pants. Leslie's cock stays hardened. Engorged, needy as it pulsates. His stomach is tight, pain and desperation for release gnaws at him.

It doesn't matter if Tifa has feelings for him or not.

Leslie's a giver. That's what he'll do. Give, give, and give till there's nothing good left in him. Sacrificing virtue for an ounce of purpose led him to lose. He'd lost Merle. He'll lose Tifa. He'll lose Cloud. What is it he's giving?

Leslie pauses, forcing a rough kiss onto Tifa, biting her lip. She yelps in surprise, instinctively spreading her legs asunder. He pulls from the kiss to lick the pain away.

Aligning the head of his cock to her slit, he watches as her come glistens. Tits heave as Tifa awaits, mouth agape, eyebrows scrunched. Leslie breathes heavily, every cell in his body begs him to plunge into her.

There's no one to watch them, no one there to stifle Tifa's moans with a slapping hand or a cock. There's no rush to fuck her fast so the other guy can go harder. Leslie grins then, crazed and delusional.

Tifa's his for the moment. Nothing else matters.

With a jerk of his hips, Leslie finally does it, he slams his cock into her opening, all the way to the hilt. Her pussy embraces him. Warm. Tight. So damn tight. He groans at the pleasure that travels from his cock to the rest of his body. A cry escapes Tifa's throat.

He grabs Tifa's wrists, forces them above her head, they indent the sheets. His fingers coil around them, close to constricting her blood flow.

"Fuck," he grunts, as he continues to thrust with her legs wrapped around his waist. He wants to go slow, but his pace is wrecked by how good Tifa feels. There's no sense of control in how he fucks her. He's callous. Reckless even, because this is what she likes. In a blur, her tits bounce, her head thrashes into the pillow while she cries and cries for him.

"Leslie, don't stop…!"

Erratic, he hits deeper, his skin bathes in euphoria. Her walls swallow. The more her wrists twitch in his grasp, the more painful his grip becomes. Tifa's hands ease into fists since she has nothing to hold onto. Leslie's in a haze of lust, mind tarnished with primal desires. Tifa's pussy begins to constrict, she meets his thrusts, her strength weaker yet determined to reach higher.

"Ah, ah, Leslie!"

It's sloppy when he kisses her, when his lips press against her jaw, and when he leaves bruising constellations on her neck.

"Fuck, Tifa," he slows down his pace, admiring her. Their eyes are drawn to each other. Focused and intense. Hers, darkened with not only desire but perhaps, love.

Leslie's unable to rid the previous question in his mind. So he asks between ragged breaths, "do you have feelings for me…Tifa…?"

"I do, Leslie! I do! Please, please we-I need you."

He lets go of one of her wrists, thumbing her clit, pressing, rubbing. Leslie returns to that violent pace, smirking at the spittle dribbling from her mouth. Tifa erupts in uncontrollable tremors, holding him to her, his name a desperate cry.

The squeeze from her walls has him unraveling next, an explosion that wipes every thought, every feeling into incoherence. A twisted growl. Pent up anguish released. Pleasure taints his body. Whiteness scars his vision. He collapses on top of her.

Leslie can barely register Tifa kissing his neck. She takes his face in his hands, smiling wide at him.

Seeing her smile evokes clarity from a sudden memory.

Tifa's swollen mouth suctions his cock, head bobbing up and down. Not yet fully taking him. Her tongue licks the vein on his cock, and Leslie's about to beg, about to bring his hands to her scalp. But there's already another hand clutching her strands.

Mako eyes flicker from Leslie's face to Tifa's. Cloud seizes Tifa's head off Leslie's cock, tonguing her earlobe before saying, "This isn't the last time he'll be inside you."

Leslie shudders from the cruel absence of her mouth. Or was it from Cloud's words which sounded like a promise in a premonition? He's unsure.

Tifa nods slowly, whimpering as soon as Cloud's teeth sink into her neck. Amidst the onslaught, she catches Leslie's gaze. Her lips evolve into a radiant smile, a smile he's always loved.

"He means it."

Cloud shoves Tifa's head down on Leslie's cock. A throaty groan flees from him when he reaches her tonsils. Leslie's vision blurs as he involuntarily jerks into her, watching Cloud forcibly guide Tifa.

Damn.

It sounded so good when she choked, when she swallowed.

Leslie, now staring at the girl in his arms, has an epiphany that he never thought he'd conclude.

Tifa plays with his hair. She strokes his cheeks. Leslie holds her closer, allowing himself to freely smile and embrace this moment, knowing that he'll be granted more.

It's then that he decides to say it. "Tifa, I…"

There's no consequences, nor is there anything for him to lose anymore. From here on out, he'll keep gaining her affections, her time. Tifa licked the salt off his wounds, cleansed it through her acceptance of him into her life—into her and Cloud's life.

Tifa's face is curious yet kind, like it was the day he entered Seventh Heaven, when his world was falling apart.

"I love you," he confesses without the need for Tifa to profess her feelings back.

But she does–with her lips sealed onto his.