Prompt: When She Sleeps Under The Morning Light
Sephiroth opened his eyes to the dim grey light of the small hours of the morning. It filtered through the thin and moth eaten curtains of the humble inn. It was better than sleeping on hard earth for brief, vigilant moments in his fight against Shinra. Better for a number of reasons.
Tifa lay still in his arms. Her arm hung loose over his waist and one ankle hooked around his leg.
It was rare they had the luxury of a shared night, even rarer for it to be somewhere relatively safe. They had been so exhausted from the fight and flight the night before that the most they could do was confirm neither was hurt before collapsing into bed. Shinra were a cruel and unrelenting opponent, who stole every last moment. Until they were brought low, these precious quiet moments were the most they could have.
Tifa sighed in her sleep. She showed no other sign of waking, despite the stripe of weak light draped over her face. She was so beautiful. The softness of her skin, the bow of her lips, the gentle brush of eyelashes against her cheeks. Her face was relaxed, her fringe falling the wrong way over her eyes. He pushed it back gently, running his hand over her head, through her hair. She looked peaceful. His heart clenched. It was an unfamiliar expression on her.
One day, she would have peace in more than her dreams. He swore it to himself.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, suddenly aware of every second passing by before they would have to get up and go their own ways again. The hand draped over his waist shifted, finger tips running up his spine.
She mumbled something. It could have been his name. He kissed her ever so gently on the lips. She opened her mouth, pliant and warm and infinitely soft. Her eyes were still closed as she burrowed into him. He withdrew. She whined like she never would out under the sun.
He ran a hand between her legs, which elicited a much more pleased sound. He smiled, pushed her gently onto her back, and maneuvered himself further down the bed, between her legs. She made the tiniest little sounds as he mouthed her over her panties. It sent a shiver down his spine.
He chased down those little noises she made. She arched her legs up over his shoulders, and threw her back against the pillow. He drank of her patiently, carefully, working her up into a panting and writhing creature. He ignored his own body's response and worshipped her. She sang his name.
He rose up, his hand moving rhythmically inside of her and the taste of her still on his tongue. Wine red eyes looked up at him. They pleaded for him.
He branded the sight into his mind. When he was alone against every power in the world, he would remember this.
"Sephiroth," she whispered, her voice breaking on his name. "Please, I need you."
He kissed her, plundered her mouth. His free hand caressed her neck, while the other maintained its pace.
"You have me," he said, rough and choked. "You will always have me."
Her voice left her, and his legs clamped around him like a vice. She clutched at him and shuddered through her orgasm, her hips rolling over his hand. Her teeth latched onto his neck. He felt like the most powerful man on Gaia.
Which, in fact, he was. It felt like it meant something with her panting beneath him, her eyes closed, and a satisfied smile on her lips.
Somewhere, the sun was rising. She claimed his lips, before it could find them.
Next Time: Make Me