Author's Note: Gah, sorry about the wait, everyone! School sucks so bad right now. The next one is going to be a bit of a wait too, but it'll be worth it. :D
And they say only women need comfort food. Hah. I'm the anti-thesis to that theory, and I'm certainly not afraid to admit it (despite Yuffie's questions about my sexuality).
I made my stops on the way home (I took off early with the excuse of a migraine, and since Pemille is perpetually concerned for my health she gladly promised to take care of things while I was gone), stopping at the grocer to pick up fresh asparagus, some lean pork cuts, and all of the things I would need to make alfredo sauce from scratch. I don't care what you say; it just doesn't taste the same out of a jar.
So with these things in hand I officially sulked my way back to my apartment, looking dangerously ragged for a man of my position.
If I had bothered to explain my situation to any of the men eyeing me like I was some washed up piece of drift-wood, I can assure you they would sympathise. After all, it's not every day that you have a potentially outrageously sexy kiss dangled in front of your face only to discover it was part of some game that you had initiated no less.
Cooking at least provided me with some time to think. As I diced garlic and whisked the white-sauce, I was mulling over the domino like effect the events since Omega were having on me; the frustration, the confusion, the tension. I knew those three things were caused by one another, only I had no idea what order they were meant to be placed it. Was the tension because of my confusion that was caused by my frustration? How many possible combinations could there be? Was I even listing all of the parts?
Of course I wasn't, and I knew it quite clearly, even though I danced around admitting it to myself on more than one occasion. My little situation in the hallway with a certain ninja really cinched it though, and it became painfully apparent that Yuffie herself was the catalyst for all of these things that were slowly driving me over the edge of insanity.
When the fuck had that happened? Annoyed, I abruptly let go of the whisk, watching with a dented brow as is swirled around the edge of the pot once before settling, the sauce bubbling happily around it.
Was it really horrible-- that horrible, anyway? I picked up the whisk again, mindlessly stirring the simmering substance. Well she was young, that was for sure. Much too young to be caught up with an old man like me, but I had to stop looking at this from everyone else's perspective. Was it really that horrible if I had a healthy little infatuation with Wutai's white rose?
It was a mere matter of minutes before I had constructed a plate fit for any high-end restaurant, and after cleaning up after myself briefly in the kitchen, I retired to the dining room and sat down, only to find my appetite was nonexistent, even though the aroma was enticing and I knew I hadn't eaten hardly anything that day at all. I couldn't seem to stop my brain from working over-drive.
Of course it wasn't that bad. It was a healthy infatuation, after all. It's not like I was wishing she were there with me at that very moment or anything. She'd probably be stealing my materia and all of the shiny things in my house while I thought she was using the restroom. This strange circumstance we were trapped in what quite enough: I had someone to flirt with on a regular basis, and I got to spend quite a bit of time with her. I liked spending time with her, and I liked the way her smile could brighten to mood of an entire room. She was a good colleague, a good friend, and an even better distraction. However, I knew quite well that these types of things have a tendency to fester and grow, and then it wouldn't be just a little infatuation sooner or later. This is what I feared the most. Already I could feel the implications of something more stirring in my heart; the horrible twitching feeling in my chest every time she smiled in my direction, and the tightness in my throat every time my mind settled on Vincent, his disappearance, and his potential return.
I sighed and looked down at my meal, stabbing a piece of the pork with my fork. What was worse was the look on her face every time his name was mentioned.
She deserved better than to be his second rate side-kick. This was Yuffie Kisaragi! Why the hell would she ever settle for being the shadow, especially when she had the potential to outshine the entire world? Maybe I was setting her up for more than she was worth; maybe I was the only human alive who didn't see her as an immature brat, and saw her as a beautiful, terrible, menace, who was talented, clever, and smart. No, surely it was obvious.
What might not have been so obvious were my more sultry observations, such as the gentle curve of her thighs, her flat stomach, toned arms, and finally filling out breasts that were getting a lot more show time thanks to the change in outfit she had recently instituted. (The real reason I let my employees get away without wearing a WRO uniform? Vincent got away with it because he had a gun, and guns kill. Yuffie got away with it because her boss is an old pervert and had a thing for her short-shorts.)
It was unfair, this crush (for lack of a better term). It caught me full on, all at once, and Yuffie had no idea of my feelings, let alone any inclination of similar emotions. Hell, she could be at home right now thinking of all the ways I compare to an uncle, or worse, her father, rather than in the way that I was thinking of her: busily likening her to a goddess of erotica. The images washed over me much faster than I could control, and I found I had clenched my eyes tight against them. It was no use; behind the blackness of my eyelids they were even more vivid, and I could quite distinctly tell in that instant that a cold shower was in requirement.
Damn that woman and her legs.
I rose from the table, ungracefully and roughly shoving my chair backward. It was only because of that encounter in the hallway that she was so engrained in my thoughts, I readily suggested; my fingers tugging at my hair as my feet took me out of the dining room and down the hallway to the master bath.
These usually steady engineer's fingers shook as I reached for the brass door handle, and I flung it open, facing myself in the mirror. My brow was knit and a scowl replaced my usually pleasant expression, aging my entire appearance at least ten years. I raked a hand through my hair once again, and I thought with a hint of bitterness that all too soon it was all going to be pulled out from his habit of mine.
As I clutched the marble counter, trying my best to find some semblance of understanding and sense in this situation; I sighed loudly, shoving away from the sink. Nothing made sense. Not even the simplest of things made sense, like the prospect of a cold shower on a Thursday night.
No, none of it made sense.
My eyes shifted to the bath and shower, and I glared icily at the faucet, which glinted at me merrily.
It was becoming a bit of a ritual, this. I stepped out of my clothing quite easily and made for the shower, turning the tap on full blast at a moderate temperature.
Yes, soon all of the thoughts and feelings that Yuffie had stirred up would all be gone, and I would no longer be plagued by this desire to tear those little shorts off of her and throw her over a desk. My hand trembled as I touched the dial, but I did not bother to turn it. I closed my eyes.
Mistake. I could see her playful smile and the suggestive arch of her eyebrow as she slid backwards onto my desk. A few pieces of what I was sure was important paperwork fluttered, unnoticed, to the ground, and in a blatantly lewd gesture she parted her legs-- slowly, sensually.
I groaned, but I did not have the willpower to turn the knob all the way to cold. Why should I? It was her fault I was in this situation. She was the cute and funny and pretty and dangerously wicked one of the two of us. What had I ever done to cause any of this? I had initiated a little game of pranks, but if she had known my intention, she would have never been so cruel as to taunt me with those lips.
Once again the event played out in my mind like a movie. Well, more like some kind of a porno. She was trapped between me and the wall, and I could feel every inch of her move as she wriggled against me, trying half-heartedly to free herself.
My problem was now far past the point of being ignorable, and without much thought I gripped my erection in my hand, hissing loud over the sound of the water beating off of the tile and my body.
It wasn't my fault that the reason I had gotten into this whole mess was due to this apparent need I had to see her happy, when it seemed like the only person in the world who could make her smile didn't care so much as to give her a call and let her know he was alive.
It wasn't my fault that she walked around in the office scantily clad and cheerful.
It wasn't my fault that when I had her up against the wall that afternoon I realized she smelled of cherry blossoms and lavender.
It wasn't my fault that when I closed my eyes, I could see her smoky grey eyes gazing at me from the corners of my memory ingrained imagination.
It wasn't my fault that when I jerked off in the shower like some common, indecent man, unable to reign in animalistic urges, I panted her name.
It wasn't my fault.
I slept, thankfully very soundly, that night; although I closed my eyes with a weight of guilt dragging the lids down, and woke in a very similar state. My alarm clock sang shrilly at me, before, with the weight of a dead man, my hand came crashing down on it.
"Fuck off," I mumbled, face planted in my pillow.
My request was short lived, however, for exactly nine minutes later, the perpetrator returned, disguised with the voice of a weather reporter, cheerfully exclaiming that on this sunny July day, the temperatures in Edge would reach record highs.
I sighed and turned my head to face the clock radio, reading a disgruntled 7:09 glaring at me in red. The weather woman chirped on for another few minutes, discussing the possibility of smog alters and other dangers associated to the hot weather, and I stared blankly at it until the nine turned to a ten, and then resignedly reached over and switched it off, dragging my tired bones out of bed.
The weather woman was right, and I was glad to be headed straight to a nice air conditioned office that morning, even as I left my car to go inside. I offered a weak smile to Pemille as I passed her office, and swung into my own, rather abruptly. On my desk, as usual, was a mug of steaming hot coffee, a newspaper, and a brief agenda of the scheduled meetings and phone calls I had that day.
Ah, beloved order.
Meeting in the board room with the public health department, a short phone call with the head of transportation, and then Tseng was to meet with me to go over the finer details of what Monday's initiation of training was going to look like. I read down the list, nodding at this and that, sipping from my coffee.
"Morning, Reevey!" Her voice was sickly sweet, and I felt a grating shiver crawl up my spine.
"Good morning, Yuffie," I replied not looking up. I had seen enough of her last night, visions of her floating tirelessly through my mind.
"You busy?"
"I have fifteen minutes to enjoy my coffee and check my e-mails before I need to head to the board office, but otherwise, no, not for now. What's up?" My solitary thoughts diminished, apparently, and I glanced up at her, offering her a smile.
She slid into my office, as I expected she would at any inkling of an invitation. "I'm bored."
I didn't bother to point out she had only just arrived, because I doubted that boredom was really what she was feeling. Pushing aside the awkward feelings running circles in my head, I leaned back against the desk and looked pointedly at her from behind my coffee mug. "Hear from Tifa today?"
I knew by the way her face fell that I had hit a nerve.
"No, but it's really early in Nibleheim still..."
I nodded in agreement, although I recognized her attempt at self-assurance. "Of course, how ridiculous of me to forget."
Her eyes left my face and fell to the floor as she scratched behind her neck. "So, uh, did you do anything fun last night?"
Burning hot coffee hurts particularly badly when one swallows suddenly, trying to prevent themselves from choking. I became aware of this fact quickly, and coughed brutally with wide eyes while Yuffie looked on with curious concern and amusement.
"Forget how to swallow, huh?"
She didn't know that I was thinking of my activities the night prior; of her face in my head constantly, an imaginary companion for imaginary pleasure.
"I'm okay," I rasped.
She giggled, and I clutched my coffee even tighter. "Sure thing, boss man. Call me if you have any trouble breathing or blinking or something."
I made a face at her as she sauntered back to the door. "Have fun in your meeting, Reevey!"
I shot her a withering look.
"Oh, and I hope you realize we never called a truce."
My eyes widened. "A truce?"
"Yeah, you know, to our game?" She was leaning on the doorframe, smiling wickedly. "Just thought I'd let you know that the stink bomb I put in your car is fair game."
I groaned. "You didn't."
She was gone. All I saw was what was left of her as she skipped out of my office, fingers waving behind her in a lack-lustre farewell. I could feel a headache working its way into my head at the prospect of another day full of childish pranks... or not so childish pranks. Like always, the mere thought sent images rushing to my head.
Maybe one more day wasn't so bad; at least it gave me ample chance to exact the revenge she so deserved.
Author's Note:Haha, poor Reeve. I'm going to have to up the rating before I get my ass kicked for being too pushy with the T rating. haha. If anyone has any problems with that, let me know and I might arrange to post the M rated story elsewhere, if people would rather I do it that way. Anyway, I miss hearing from you guys, so I hope to hear what you all think. As usual, I'm looking for your opinions concerning future chapters, and advice on things like Vincent's returns etc.
