Thursday

You Don't Know What You Do to Me

Vincent wandered in and out of the bar all night, for the second night in a row. He'd appear suddenly, sitting in the shadowed corner at the far side of the counter, then just as abruptly vanish. His declared barstool was situated with direct sight of the Turks' booth. Several times, she caught him staring at her, and Tifa again felt self-conscious of the blazer that barely covered her naughty bits. Later in the evening, his gaze targeted the Turks. The predatory glares grew increasingly menacing the more Reno leered at her and made comments under his breath that she assumed were off-color. The redhead quieted down when he noticed Vincent's intense regard, clearing his throat loudly and making a pretense of conversing with his partner.

Her reserved friend's presence felt as much a shield as Cloud's when the blonde would hang out on occasion. She'd always received less hassle on those nights. Tifa couldn't help feeling disappointed the last time she'd tried to check on Vincent to offer a drink. He was gone without a word. And a handful of hours later, when the night was closing in on last call, he hadn't yet returned.

"How old is Yuffie?" Tifa's head snapped up to find Rude perched on a barstool next to Vincent's vacant one.

"Oh—um," Tifa blinked at him, surprised the usually reticent man initiated a conversation, nevermind ask the age of the troublesome ninja. "Well, let me think. I guess Yuffie just turned 21 last fall."

Rude gave her a single nod, lips stretched into a thin line of disapproval. Tifa looked over at her young friend, who wore a grimace as she tottered on the spiked heels, struggling to take the order from a table of ogling old men. Tifa shuddered. The bald Turk must've noticed the attention Yuffie garnered, too. Though Yuffie had been a legal adult for a few years, Tifa wasn't the only one straining to see her as anything other than an innocent, albeit pesty, teenager. Even for all the wrongs Rude had committed over the years, the man was still a gentleman.

Tifa received a fair amount of attention herself, not the least of which came from the mischievous redhead. She dreaded bringing drinks to their table but long ago resigned herself to the punishment. Her staff didn't deserve the aggravation, and Yuffie would only start a brawl with the man—or worse, another bet.

By the time Tifa signaled the last call, most of her patrons had left. Her staff cashed out once the bar was nearly empty and cleaned, leaving only the ShinRa lackeys lurking in their booth. Tifa sighed irritably at their penchant to stay through close. She didn't usually complain to them directly. They ordered from the top shelf and always left a hefty tip. But the past two nights, they'd shown up early. Tifa's patience was pretty well spent with the number of cackles, taunts, and jeering she'd received regarding her new uniform. She wished Vincent had stayed longer. He at least kept Reno in-line with only his presence.

She lifted the last trash bag and carried it into a small passageway with direct access to the alleyway. Tifa tossed the bag into the dumpster just outside the door and wiped her hands on the towel she'd draped over a shoulder. Once back inside, she locked the door and dimmed the light in the hallway.

Tifa let out a yelp when an arm snaked around her waist, startled that some unknown person had grabbed her.

"Reno!" Tifa shouted when she recognized him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" His larger frame trapped her near the exit as he braced his hands on the wall around her.

"Just had a question for ya, babe," he drawled, his stupid mouth stretching lasciviously with his drunken grin. "You ever considered what it would be like? You—and me? Naked? Sweatin? A good ol' belly-on-belly rub for luck?"

Tifa crossed her arms and drew a deep breath. She didn't much feel like getting into a bar brawl this night with the intoxicated Turk. She was tired, wanted to get out of these heels, take off this clingy blazer and go to bed. She considered kneeing him in the groin or perhaps knocking his chin back the heel of her hand—just enough to stun without inflicting too much damage.

He misunderstood her hesitation and leaned his head down toward her collarbone. "Mmm, Lockhart," he breathed hotly against her neck. "You don't know what you do to me, yo."

Tifa reluctantly placed her hands upon his half-bared chest, fingers trembling over his exposed skin, strangely repulsed and attracted to him all at once. She could smell her most expensive whiskey mixed with a hint of heady cologne.

It had been a while. Her body had grown lonely for a man's touch—and she felt herself respond to his sudden proximity and the graze of his lips against her neck.

For one tiny nanosecond, she considered giving in. He'd be good for it—she knew he would be. It was hard not to notice the number of single-night winners that occasionally tried to snag the redhead for more. Men, women—he'd refused every one of them for a second round, at least the ones Tifa witnessed in her bar.

But she wasn't a one-night kind of girl, not if her nearly-there relationship with Cloud was proof of anything. And she hadn't yet reached that level of desperation. Tifa as quickly regretted the consideration and gave the Turk a disinterested look.

But she again miscalculated how he would interpret her pause. He was encouraged by her heaving chest and goose-pimpled skin. Tifa sucked in a shocked breath as he rubbed his nose against hers. "Come on, doll. We can be—frenemies with benefits," he cooed with his trademark, sexy simper.

Before she could retort, he pressed his lips against hers. His warm tongue plunged into her mouth as his hands palmed the sides of her thighs, slowly sliding upward in search of flesh he couldn't see.

Tifa quickly grabbed his hands and shoved them away. At the same moment, she broke free from his kiss and turned her head to deny him access to her lips. With her fingers rolled into a fist, she shot up with her elbow, intending to connect with his stubborn chin. But her trajectory missed, and her elbow caught nothing but air. He leaned away from her with a lecherous grin as though he anticipated her response.

He took a step back and shrugged at her. "Ah, damn, babe. I can take a hint. Guess I'll just mosey on outta here and find a willin—"

His words were cut short as he was hoisted backward by a giant hand roughly latched onto his scruff. Reno continued to wear that shit-eating grin as he was dragged from the hallway, quite at ease with being so manhandled by his partner.

Too shocked to get her legs working just yet, she watched the Turks exit the bar without a fuss. Her chest tightened in frustration as she struggled to find her bearings again.

He kissed her. That dirty, perverted Turk kissed her. Right on the mouth. She wiped at her lips, hoping the action would tear the memory—the feel of his lips against hers from her skin. There was no hope for it. Her flesh still burned; her anger boiled—somewhat at her own body for its treacherous response.

"What's wrong, Tifa?" Yuffie asked as Tifa walked in a daze around the bar, trailing the path her frenemies had just taken.

She looked around the now empty and clean bar, thankful no one had witnessed the Turk's antics. "Um—nothing, Yuffie," Tifa replied as she locked the front door. "You mind getting the lights for me?"

Tifa tore up the staircase as Yuffie's voice called to her, "Sure, but is everything ok?"

Tifa paced in her room for several minutes, tidying the already clean room. A door gently closed down the corridor from her room. Yuffie had likely gone to bed. But Tifa wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too wound up to lay comfortably. She needed to erase the memory of that Turk's lips.

Maybe Cloud was still up—probably hanging out in the garage, polishing his bike. She'd find relief in his arms. He may not seek her out very often, but he never rejected her either.

Tifa wrenched the door open and flew downstairs and into the garage. She was thankful the light was on, and that Cloud was still awake. She could hear him tinkering on something behind her truck. A warmth filled her breast at the thought of him finally taking the time to repair her busted brake light.

When she rounded the back of her vehicle, no one was there. Confused, she twirled around herself, searching the shadows for him. Tifa retreated a few steps back until she bumped into a warm body. She turned around, eager to feel his familiar lips, and grabbed onto his clothing. Without even looking up at him, she yanked him down and curled her fingers into his hair, which felt longer than ever. She'd offer to cut his hair tomorrow.

"Um—" His voice rumbled, low and gravelly, as she pressed their noses together with her eyes squeezed shut. Tifa just wanted to smell him. The familiar scent of his soap flooded her senses, and she relaxed into him, forgetting everything already.

"Shh, don't say anything," she whispered and pulled his head down to hers. She licked his lips, and she felt him tremble at her touch. Tifa smiled when she heard a deep growl erupt from his chest and mashed her lips against his with frantic desire.

Cloud tasted different, more like chamomile. Her tea, the kind he never drank because it reminded him of the mountains. She paid it no mind as his arms wrapped around her body and lifted her off the ground. He pulled her into him, their bodies fully flushed together as heat spread from her breasts to her aching sex. He felt so—desperate—as though he would consume her with every part of his embrace and the eager suck of his lips. He seemed so much more present and interested in her than their last encounter. Even his chest felt larger against her—height taller—

Tifa's eyes snapped open, and she pulled back abruptly. Their lips disengaged with a sweet pop.

Gazing back at her with lustful despair was their friend, the former Turk—her silent protector from a few hours ago.

Her hands slid from around his neck as she brought them close to her chest. "Vincent," she whispered in confusion as her gaze dragged over his face and rested on his mouth. "I—I thought—" she stammered as her breath hitched in her throat. No words would come to her as he gently lowered her to the floor and took a step back.

As he stared back at her, a flood of emotion flashed in his eyes—uncertainty, mortification, loneliness, need. He seemed not to know what to do with his hands, so he fumbled with the ends of his cape. "I fixed your tailgate," he said sheepishly and pointed at her truck.

Tifa could feel a blush turn her face a vivid color of red as she turned around to see her newly repaired taillight. She counted to ten, breathing deep to steady herself and face what she had just done—face Vincent.

When she slowly turned back, he was gone, and she stood in the garage alone.