Warnings: A little bit of cursing, and, uh, friskiness.
Chapter Two
The enthusiasm in Yuffie's kiss sends an undeniably erotic thrill through my body, and I can feel nearly every inch of her form pressed limberly against me.
All of me.
Her legs, quite possibly her best feature, long and shapely, come close to matching the length of my own, something that I had had no idea of until this moment. I am made more than aware of this fact, though, as she slightly alters her stance and immediately that expanse of skin so teasingly revealed by her kimono is now touching me through the lightweight fabric of my dress pants.
I inhale a sharp breath in response and she takes advantage of my parted lips to slip her wet tongue inside my mouth, pulling me even closer by the taut hold she has on my neck. With her other hand, the one splayed upon my lower back, she begins to caress up the dip of my spine, and the action draws an involuntary shudder from me, from the deepest parts that have gone such an agonizing amount of time without the touch of another.
But something is wrong, despite the pleasurable sensations, and the fog enshrouding my mind gradually starts to dissipate as I piece it together.
The young woman is eager, yes; pliant, certainly; confident, without a doubt, but there is a clumsiness, a lack of finesse to her movements that catches my attention and it takes me several seconds to place my finger on it.
Inexperience.
While my brain is still trying to reconnect, I cautiously stretch out my tongue to glide along hers, which is busy invading my mouth with all of the delicacy of a stampede of chocobos. Her grip on my neck is too tight, almost crushingly so, more of a fighter's hold than that of a lover's.
Her left, however, that is stroking and exploring at a leisurely pace, feels amazing and I lean as much as I am able into it. I am bereft of what to do with myself, with my own hands.
Thinking of my limbs seems to bring back my awareness of them, but not control, and the bottle of expensive, illegal liquor that is still clutched in my hand slips from my grasp to crash upon the floor in a tinkling shattering of glass. Simultaneously, several words that have been eluding me flash to the forefront of my mind.
Subordinate, half my age, Princess of Wutai, close friend, Vincent's, and most alarmingly, virgin.
With a rush of sound that is nearly excruciating and very shocking, my hearing, which I do not remember losing, returns.
And with the noise, consciousness of my surroundings; the loud unintelligible murmur of too many voices, the clinking of glass and dinnerware, the indistinct contemporary music that pulses throughout the room.
I am kissing Yuffie.
No, I am making out with Yuffie.
In front of a large crowd of people, most of whom I do not know.
I reach my hands up to grasp her shoulders and attempt to pry her away; the effort proves futile and I then try to move myself back, only to come into contact with the wall, and Yuffie compensates by pushing her hip against my groin.
Unable to prevent it, I groan into our joined mouths and thrust forward, shivering at the friction that is created.
As the situation is clearly spiraling out of control, I briefly consider flailing my arms in the hopes that a bystander will notice and remove the ardent ninja from my person, but before I can enact the feeble plan I find myself being drawn back into the kiss.
Her advances gentle following the initial rush and she relaxes the hand clasping my neck, on which I can already feel the soreness of bruising developing, but the cessation of acute pain works to wonderful effect.
Just as my reason is shut away and I begin to reciprocate, she withdraws with a parting tug on my bottom lip, her small chest heaving against my own with quick, panting breaths. Her delicately featured face stares up at me with heavy-lidded, stormy eyes, her cheeks suffused with blood and turned a dark pink, and her lips half-parted and swollen.
I do not believe I have ever seen Yuffie appear so lovely, not even when her vitality radiates from her so blindingly in the heat of battle.
"You are very beautiful, Yuffie," I whisper carelessly, and instantly regret my tendency towards automatic compliments.
It is the wrong thing to say, and I barely have time to raise my arms in defense as she practically throws herself at me; had she been more than a few inches away, the results would have been damaging. As it is, I manage to place my right hand over her mouth before it reaches mine, and instead, my knuckles strike painfully against my face.
Irritation starts to well up inside of me, overriding my confusion and surprise, at being assaulted in such a manner.
"That is enough, Yuffie," I state firmly. "Your behavior is highly inappropriate."
She attempts to speak but her words are muffled by my hand, her lips brushing lightly against my palm, and I hesitantly remove it and allow my arm to drop to my side.
"Why?" she questions once she is able, her tone petulant, and then gives me a significant and unnervingly mature look. "You liked it."
The simple declaration, and the realization that she could currently feel exactly how much my body had enjoyed her ministrations, causes heat to rise up through me, and I try to fight off the unusual impulse to blush.
I fail, and the embarrassment helps to calm and dampen any ardor I am experiencing. I welcome the sobering result.
"That does not matter. Please," I stress, "let go of me."
Obviously offended, she removes her hands and takes an unsteady step back.
My relief at her actions is jarring and clearly indicative of how wrong this entire incident is.
"What the hell is going on here?" a rough, familiar voice demands suddenly.
I jump guiltily, having been completely unaware of the approach of the volatile aviator due to my unwavering focus on the young woman in front of me.
I turn slightly in order to face the man, who is clean-shaven for once, but whose black suit is now rumpled, missing the tie, the jacket and shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and the sleeves rolled up to his biceps. Of course, there is a cigarette dangling from his mouth, unlit, and another tucked behind an ear.
"You fucking cradle-robbing, Tuesti?" he asks and narrows his blue eyes into a squinting, threatening glare.
"Cid…" I begin, unsure of what I intend to say, but fortunately, or unfortunately, Yuffie has no such problem.
"Shut your mouth, old man!" she yells as she rounds on him, hands balling into fists and placed on her hips in indignation.
"Old man? He's fucking older than I am, brat!" the pilot responds, his angry gaze shifting to her, while jabbing a thumb in my direction.
"So what? You're not my father, Highwind, and it's none of your business who I screw!"
"Screw? You're-"
"Yuffie! Cid! Calm down!" I attempt to catch their attention, but they both ignore me.
"-having sex with a guy old enough to be your father? Not to mention your goddamn boss!" he exclaims and moves closer to Yuffie, who mirrors him until they are not even a foot apart.
There is excited murmuring, and I glance about to notice numerous spectators gathering at a safe distance around us, attracted by the heated and scandalous argument between two of the Planet's most famous inhabitants. My eyes catch sight of and track a tall, dark, hulking figure making his way through the throng, his massive shoulders pushing people away with ease.
Barret comes to a stop in front of the others and surveys the situation with a bad-tempered expression.
"I'm not a child, and I can have sex with whoever I want!" Yuffie retorts, discrediting her claim of maturity with immature wording.
"Like hell you can! If you don't have enough fucking sense to-"
"Both of ya shut your damn mouths!" the large man thunders, the sheer volume startling and silencing Cid and Yuffie, who swivel their heads to stare at him, dumbfounded. Seeing that he has their interest, he continues is a low, grumbling, hiss, "This is Tifa's wedding day, and no one, no one, is gonna mess it up. I don't know, and don't care, what this is about, but it stops now. Got it?"
His mechanical, prosthetic hand has changed into the multi-barreled mini-gun, and he absently fiddles with the trigger while his disapproving glare swings from one offender to the other.
And then settles on myself, as though I am somehow the cause behind the fight, and I widen my eyes at him in response, feeling vaguely alarmed at being the recipient of such an intimidating stare.
The mountainous man has never fully forgiven me for my involvement in the kidnapping of his daughter years ago, nor the fact that I was once a ShinRa employee. I do not think he knows that I designed both the city of Midgar and the reactors which helped to nearly destroy the Planet, and it is not something I ever plan to inform him of.
"Of course, it was simply a misunderstanding," I say in acknowledgment.
There is a long stretch of silence as he holds my gaze, before he nods and the tension in his posture eases while the mechanisms in his gun whirl, morphing it back into a metal hand.
"What happened? Is everything alright, guys?" Tifa emerges from the crowd, looking concerned, with Cloud close on her heels, looking annoyed.
"Everything is fine, Tifa," I reassure her smoothly and take a step around Cid, presenting her with a charismatic smile.
She does not appear reassured, and a small frown crinkles her brow as she studies each one of us in turn.
"Just fucking peachy, girl, so don't worry about it," Cid remarks and fidgets with his smoke.
"Everything's okay. Too much alcohol, that's all!" pipes Yuffie, who beams at the newly married woman and laughs a bit nervously.
"I took care of it. Bunch of damn idiots, the lot of 'em," Barret adds, earning glares from the pilot, ninja, and martial artist.
"Barret!" Tifa admonishes, "Don't say mean things like that!"
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," he responds good-naturedly with a grin that lessens the harsh lines of his face, more than familiar with this common exchange.
She continues to stare at him with mild reproach for several seconds, then smiles and turns towards Yuffie.
"I'm going to throw the bouquet soon," she informs the younger woman excitedly, holding up the brightly colored, white and yellow flowers she has grasped in her hand. "Are you gonna try to catch it?"
"Try?" Yuffie exclaims, her pride wounded, "Those overgrown weeds are as good as mine!"
Tifa giggles, bringing her free hand up to cover her mouth; her large, wine-hued eyes dancing with the movement. Her beauty and happiness is breathtaking to behold, and I glance at Cloud, who looks like he has been struck and is staring at his wife as though he is lost.
In love, I mentally correct myself, and avert my gaze. I know I should be in high spirits at the concept, but all I feel is minor despair and dim panic.
"Well, come on, let's see if you can," she teases, and Yuffie issues an odd squawking noise in affront at the slight. "Everybody else is coming to watch, right?"
There are mumbles or nods of assent from all of us and Tifa appears satisfied, maneuvering around in the excess fabric of her dress and walking gracefully in the direction of where, I assume, she will be throwing the bouquet.
We all follow in her wake, the group of guests that had been bunched together beginning to disband, and I attempt to hang back from the others, but Cid also slows his pace until he is ambling along beside me. The look I receive from the other man is not friendly, but he does not say anything, and neither do I.
Arriving at the edge of the dance floor, I join the loose perimeter made up predominately of men, many of whom seem apprehensive, some enthusiastic, and even a few that look to be placing bets with one another.
"Fifty gil on Yuffie?" I ask Cid jokingly.
He merely glares at me and lights his cigarette, takes a deep puff and then blows the smoke into my face. I cough and wave a hand in front of me to disperse it. Deciding to disregard the rude gesture, I focus my attention on the large gathering of women in front of the stage, which contains the abandoned instruments that had been used by the band earlier in the evening, the DJ stand, and Tifa, who is clutching the flowers in both hands close to her chest.
"Ready?" she inquires in a raised voice, her eyes sparkling in the glare cast by the bright overhead lights.
A chorus of "Yes!" answers her, and she spins around, quite a feat in what she is presently wearing, pauses, and then tosses the bouquet over her head.
Bedlam results in various screeches, curses, and screams. I have difficulty following the hapless bundle of flowers' path as it bounces off of outstretched hands, and numerous times it is forcefully removed from someone's grasp as they are attacked by another.
I am greatly relieved that my gender renders me incapable of partaking in such a barbaric and archaic tradition.
At last, one small woman stands triumphant among the others, raising the disarrayed bouquet above her head like a weapon, and surprisingly, it is Shelke.
There is a genuine smile on her face, at odds with her normally reserved nature, before she is tackled to the ground by Yuffie.
I wince in empathy at the impact and shake my head at the ninja's antics, not astonished in the least.
Sitting astride Shelke, who is laid out flat on her back, Yuffie mimics the other woman's actions from a few seconds ago and thrusts the flowers high into the air in victory, grinning madly.
The occupants of the room explode into raucous applause that I choose not to participate in.
I watch as Yuffie's eyes scan the audience quickly and then come to rest on me. Her grin widens even further and the look she sends in my direction is almost enough to stop my heart; it does pause alarmingly for a moment.
A jolt of fear washes over my body.
She should not be looking at me that way; not Yuffie.
The desire to flee is nearly overwhelming and I break eye contact, hurriedly turning and beginning to walk away, but a rough grip on my arm prevents me from doing so. I jerk my head sharply to the side to scowl at Cid.
"Where the hell are you going? We need to talk," he states, a fresh cigarette bobbing from his lips.
"No, Cid, no we do not," I snap, my fear being channeled into anger, and he draws back in surprise. "Yuffie was right; it really is none of your business."
I pull my arm free from his slackened grasp, paying no mind to how he is now gawking at me, and set about finding a way out of the building; I desperately need air.
Dodging around people with less poise than I had shown earlier due to my lack of concentration, it takes me a few minutes to discover a recessed door with a glowing "Exit" sign set into the wall above it.
I sigh in relief as it opens when I push on the handle, and I step out into the pleasurably cool, refreshing night, shutting the door carefully behind me.
I lean back against the barrier and close my eyes, waiting for my sight to adjust to the darkness. Breathing deeply, I appreciate the solitude and strive for control of my emotions and thoughts.
Yuffie had been holding a wedding bouquet and staring at me like that.
I find myself unable to give a name to what that had seemed to be, even inside of my own mind, and just the recollection causes a pang of trepidation to travel through me. I shake my head, rattling it unpleasantly on the hard surface of the door.
Ludicrous; it had only happened because of the intensity of the moment, from the adrenaline brought about by the struggle for the flowers. Why anyone would want to fight for such an object is beyond my ability to comprehend.
Feeling properly convinced, I open my eyes and stare into the dimness of what appears to be an alleyway and directly at Vincent, who is standing merely a couple of feet away right in front of me.
I make a soft sound in the back of my throat at the shock of his unexpected presence; the noise is unhappy and pained, and I hazily wonder how much more I can handle tonight before I simply have the heart attack that my physician has warned me about on many occasions.
"Vincent," I greet, and find nothing more to add, my heart pounding disconcertingly fast for a number of beats before returning to a steady tempo.
He does not move, does not even seem to breathe; only watches me, and I watch him in return, following the play of shadows on his enigmatic face.
"Lovely night," I finally speak, uncomfortable with silence unless I am alone.
He doesn't respond in any way, and I feel frustration claw at me for not knowing what he wants or how to react around him. He destroys my center of composure without even trying, and this is not his fault, it is my own.
"I can't deal with this right now," I murmur, more to myself than to Vincent.
"Deal with what?" he asks with no inflection to his tone.
"You," I answer, unthinkingly, honestly.
His expression remains the same, but I still open my mouth and then close it again, intending to apologize until I remember his negative reaction from before, leaving me unsure of what to say.
"How do you feel about Yuffie, Vincent?" I question, catching myself off guard as my vocal cords do not seem to be connected to my brain, operating independently.
"Yuffie?" Confusion sweeps over his expression. "What do you mean?"
"How do you feel about her?" I repeat.
There is no sound as the seconds tick by and a serene breeze stirs his locks of gleaming hair, which I trace with my eyes as I wait.
When no reply seems forthcoming, I risk prodding the stubborn, dangerous man for one.
"If you have any romantic feelings towards her at all, and you do not act soon, you will lose her."
EN: This is really not going as I had planned. Yes, I had a plan… vaguely.