Same A/N as last chapter. LOL-A/N: As things go, this chapter presented many challenges, and I spent more time finishing it than I anticipated. I finally just had to post this so I would stop changing things!

Chapter 34

Demon Boyfriend

Judging from the exterior, Tifa thought the house was entirely too large for a bachelor. She had yet to experience the grand tour, but even the cavernous dining room echoed with every clink of her fork. When she had arrived, her host was flustered, flapping his arms at the open door to clear the smoke billowing from what she assumed was the kitchen. Vincent led her in with a disarming smile, ignoring the black fumes and setting her purse and keys on his entry table.

With a hand shielding her nose and mouth, she'd asked, "Um, should you check on that?" Vincent only smirked at her finger pointing to the ceiling. He nodded, his newly cut hair dancing about his shoulders in a distracting display of hair porn.

"Probably," he'd said and latched onto her fingers, drawing her into the scorching kitchen behind him.

The oven was the culprit, or at least what he'd shoved into it a good 10 minutes too long. Tifa intervened before he set fire to the WRO village, tossing the charred food into the sink and closing the smoking appliance. Vincent's first attempt at making dinner rolls from scratch likely marked his last.

She tied the extra apron around her white blouse and sky-blue skirt, then mixed a salad while he adamantly insisted he could finish the main dish. Vincent seemed nervous. He skittered about the kitchen in the same t-shirt and jeans from the night before, and she wondered if the clothes were his only alternative to the usual leathers and red cape.

Tifa hid her smile behind her wine glass, still amused 30 minutes later to find something Vincent Valentine couldn't do well.

"How's your roast?" A hopeful glint shined in his piercing eyes.

Tifa stared fearfully at her plate, the meal horrifying to behold. Everything that should be tender was crispy. She shoved the overcooked meat into a gelatinous, creamy substance. He seemed to wait with optimistic expectation as she gripped her fork.

"The gravy is surprisingly—rich—and has um—texture to it." She took a bite, chewing through the involuntary recoil and chasing with a quick drink of her wine. When her eyes watered, he squinted at her, scrutinizing her expression.

"Maybe this was a bad idea." Vincent snatched both their plates before she could protest and strode into the kitchen, dumping the contents into the garbage. Tifa followed him, rolling her bottom lip into her mouth as he rifled through the shelves of his refrigerator.

"Now, what are you doing?" she asked, voice faltering, cheeks beginning to cramp from the strain of hiding her delight at his embarrassment.

"Trying to be a good host." Vincent straightened with a container in his hand. "This is still good, right? The fish stew you made me last week?"

This time she openly cringed. "Uh—wasn't that three weeks ago?"

He tossed the container onto the counter and retreated like it would contaminate the air. "I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of groceries," he said, scratching his neck. "Why don't we go pick something up and bring it back?"

Her mouth quirked at his floundering. "Let's not." She wrapped her arms around him. "I'm not really hungry. How about you show me the house?" she simpered, winning a bashful grin.

They left the kitchen in a mess. Tifa trailed behind him as he walked through the lower level, opening doors and turning on lights. She had the impression he'd not been in some of the rooms since he'd first moved in. The WRO had furnished the home, a gift from Reeve, nothing purchased by Vincent. Dust covered much of the furniture.

Their fingers intertwined, feet shuffling room to room, bumping into each other. Vincent said nothing more than 'guess this is the study' and 'this must be the garage' as though he'd never bothered to inspect his living space. Tifa's free hand latched onto his elbow, and he seemed content with it there, eyes darting to hers often.

Mounting the stairs, he let her head up first, hands linked like lovesick teenagers. Tifa wanted to glance down at him—only to see if he was watching the sway of her hips as she climbed each step.

Once on the landing, they turned into the first door—a small room intended for a child. From the window, Tifa could see Yuffie's house in the distance.

"Don't worry," Vincent sighed behind her. "She won't be showing up here."

"With our string of bad luck, I don't know." Tifa faced him with a sly grin. "Do you sleep in here?"

He canted his head. "I claimed the owner's suite—with the adult-sized bed."

"I see," she said, unable to relieve her increasing nerves. She retreated and paused in the doorway. "Then, continue with the tour, sir." Delightful goosebumps rose on her flesh as Vincent scanned her from her head to toe, brushing against her as he followed through the door.

They passed another room with bunk beds. "Do you take top or bottom?"

Vincent snorted at her teasing, a devious arch in his brow. "Under."

She giggled as they returned to the hallway. Vincent held his hand out. "Bathroom here. Closet. Not sure what this room is—playroom?"

"And that room?" Tifa asked, pointing to a door he'd skipped.

Vincent ushered her inside. By the lived-in appearance, she guessed it was the only room in the entire house he used besides the kitchen. The cherrywood bed was made, but only haphazardly. Against the opposite wall, a matching dresser was covered with various small tools, the sort meant for cleaning firearms. And an open closet door revealed a meager wardrobe and a dirt-encrusted duffle bag on the floor. It seemed a small workshop would suit Vincent just as well.

"You sleep here?" Her hand floated over the coverlet. Tifa strolled toward the window, pulling at the curtain to peer out toward the western sky, the feel of his attention rousing her desire for him.

A ghost of a touch ran through her hair, and she closed her eyes. There would be no interruptions this night.

"We didn't—talk about it last night," he said into her hair. "Are you—ok with this?"

She leaned her back into his chest, clutching the arms that encircled her waist. Peering up at him, she said, "I'm more than ok with this, Vincent. Are you?"

He breathed in her skin at her temple and followed with his lips. "I would be lying if I said I didn't have misgivings. But I know the way I feel about you."

His reflection in the window showed worry as his brows drew together. The expression hinted a little at guilt and uncertainty. Tifa's heart broke at his insecurity.

"Do you doubt that I feel the same?"

"It isn't just that," he admitted, eyes meeting hers in the glass.

She swiveled in his arms. "But I do," she assured him, pulling his head to hers, claiming the taste of red wine and him. She pulled away and said, "Right now, I don't want to think about any reason we shouldn't do this. I just want to be with you."

"Tifa," he whispered, eyebrows twisted in consternation. "I don't—"

She snuggled into him, waiting for him to voice his concerns. His eyes finally lifted to hers. "I don't deserve you. Are you sure you want—someone like me?"

"Someone like you?" Tifa questioned, mild disbelief creeping into her tone. She touched the stubble along his jaw, tracing upward over his eyebrows and lids. "I know you. I feel you—all of you," she whispered, reaching for his lips with her own. Against his mouth, she murmured, "I know the man before me, Vincent Valentine. And there's no one else I want—only you."

He seized her hands, kissing her wrists as he gently pulled her, stopping when his legs hit the bed. She pushed on his chest until he eased onto the mattress and took a single step back.

Tifa had no idea how long it had been since the last time he was intimate. But for her, it had been several months, nearly a year. And this time was theirs to touch another who returned their affection. She wanted to make this memorable.

She turned away as she tugged the zipper on her skirt. It slid from her hips and fell into a heap at her feet. Over her shoulder, she caught the sweep of Vincent's eyes down her back and posterior. And she watched him too, relishing his unintentional seduction as he removed his shirt and unfastened his belt. Her breath stuttered at his pale skin and the tragic beauty of the scars dotting his torso.

Facing the window again, she covered her mouth with a hand, surprised at the sudden welling of emotion the sight of him wrenched from her chest.

Tifa inhaled a deep and steadying breath. Her own scars were cleverly hidden beneath her clothes, too. Wounds he knew she hid from sight—some he'd even witnessed, participated in the battle she'd earned them. But now was not the time to dwell on that past. She pushed the distracting thoughts from her mind. This moment would only be about their future.

Her fingers freed the buttons on her blouse—again, she peered at him with a shoulder slightly raised. Tifa bit her lip as he watched her, shirtless and glorious. She tucked her chin demurely and tugged at her top, dragging it slowly off her shoulders until it draped from her elbows—cleverly hiding her backside as she turned to face him.

Vincent's eyes smoldered as he took her in—she caught a faint golden flash behind his eyes before it just as quickly disappeared. Her breathing hitched at the involuntary display as Tifa sauntered toward her demon boyfriend. He sank into the bed, belt undone and hanging at his hips under a naked torso and chest. She wondered if Vincent understood his allure. He was an intelligent man—surely, he must know.

But another emotion trickled into his eyes. There was a hesitancy, even a tinge of fear. Tifa reached for his face again, and he kissed her palm. He didn't crush her to him as she expected, only stared and smoothed his hands along her arms.

"Forgive me, Tifa." His voice was rueful, desperate. "It's been—some time."

Tifa gave him a soft smile, then kissed his eyelids. He shivered under her lips as she inhaled his scent. She nearly collapsed from the weight of his gaze and pressed her bared breasts to his body. He was warm, more so than she'd once believed he could be as someone with his unique enhancements.

She caressed his face, brushing her lips across his skin as she climbed onto the bed. And he continued to watch her—enthralled, lust and desire blazing on his face, only barely concealing a sadness just beneath the surface.

Tifa traced her thumb under his eye. She held her breath as he appeared on the verge of tears, choking up herself with the emotion brimming in his eyes. She pulled her hands away. "Vincent, are you—"

But he reached for her as her own self-doubt threatened to break, clutching her waist as he trailed kisses over her shoulder, chasing away the uncertainty beginning to well in her mind.

She removed her blouse and bra and fell back into the pillows, pulling him with her and settling into a cozy position. His hands skimmed over her breasts and tummy, and hers explored his body and reveled in his pleasured shudders. Heated passion replaced the troubled shadows and hesitation on his face as she writhed beneath him. It was an effort to go slow, the need to rush powerful and urgent. But he only studied her for every reaction as his hands traveled, so concerned for her enjoyment, furthering her delight, and titillating her heightened senses.

He kicked off his jeans as his hand swept under her lacy panties, peeling off the final pieces of clothing. His fingertips traced the contour of her inner thigh, eliciting pimpled shivers along her flesh. When he reached her core, she arched a leg over his hips and enticed him closer. He sucked in a breath when her hand wrapped around him and gently stroked his velvety skin. His tongue traced her lips, and he moaned into her mouth. A knee slid under her thigh as he nestled, positioning himself over her center.

His eyes shuttered at her touch, then he covered his hand around hers—around himself—and sought entry—far more gentle than last night. Her breath caught in her throat at the feel of him, anticipating the slide just before their eyes locked, and he entered her, measured and slow and easy.

And when he began to move with gradual, torturous strokes, her thighs trembled and stretched to invite more of him. Vincent sighed into her neck, and she curled her limbs around him, kissing his shoulder as he moved on top of her.

No doubt or hesitation remained. There was only Vincent, hovering, inside her, and loving her.

Tifa rocked against him, meeting his rhythm pulse for pulse, savoring his deliberate, intuitive movements. Her hands kneaded his muscled arms, skimming over his shoulders, and her fingernails lightly scratched his shoulders and back. His muscles hardened under her fingertips; he seemed to tense as his face contorted with pleasure and an odd strain. He mumbled something in her ear and gripped her hips tighter. And to her shock, her body quickly rushed to that brink, shaking as the release threatened too soon.

"I can't—" Vincent muttered. She stilled her fingers and searched his face. He stopped moving and dipped his forehead to her shoulder.

Her body ached for him to continue. She tried coaxing him into action with a precise grind against his pelvis. But his hand gripped her hip and subdued her efforts with overpowering strength.

"Is something wrong?" she whispered, feeling his heart pounding against her bosom.

He only shook his head, body frozen like a statue.

After another agonizing moment, she asked, "Did I do something? Are you ok?"

It occurred to her that maybe there was a danger of him transforming during sex. And to her surprise, it sent a delicious quiver coursing through her body as she resisted her desperate, lustful urges.

Vincent chuckled slightly and let out a heavy exhale. "No—no. I just—need a second." He raised his head. "I'm sorry. I don't—um—want this to end too soon."

"Oh," she said, grinning. It hadn't occurred to her that his orgasm was coming as fast as her own. Her smile widened. The two of them were like inexperienced first-time lovers. Unsure how to prolong their pleasure, reaching the goal too quickly for full enjoyment.

A giggle erupted from her mouth—and as soon as it did, she gasped as a burning throb seared deep. Right at that spot—that hard to tickle spot that he was firmly pressed against—and then an uncontrollable tremble coursed at that pinpoint, and she sucked in a breath full of Vincent-scented air.

He stared at her in confusion, still holding her in an iron grip.

She laughed at herself again, and it was her unraveling. "Vincent!" she cried, quaking around him, tightening her thighs as the wave crashed over her.

He groaned and thankfully freed his hold on her hip. She bucked, hips instinctively taking control as she rode out the pleasure. And he came undone, driving deep within her, unable to restrain himself any more than she. He gently bit at her chin, shudders racking with one—two—then a third strong thrust.

And then she laughed again, her core aflame with coital ecstasy, the bliss overwhelming. Her panting breaths mingled with his as he rested his forehead against hers.

Though her arms and legs moved like jelly, she wrapped herself around him. "I'm so sorry—but not," she said through a giggle. "I couldn't help myself."

He chuckled and rubbed his nose against hers. "I'm just happy to know it wasn't only me." Vincent remained in place, cradling her to his hard body as he balanced himself over her, bracing their weight in his arms beneath her back. "I never imagined something so sweet."

Tifa tangled her fingers in his hair, lips seeking his as the euphoria spread into her chest. She relaxed beneath him and said, "Mmm, same. Let's stay here forever."

He pressed his smiling lips to hers, cuddling her close as he moved his hips over hers. She closed her eyes at the brutal delight—almost too much so shortly after release. He nipped at her chin, then asked, "How soon can you—"

Her smile widened. "Really?" He nodded in answer, steadily rolling his hips into her, keeping the touch light and taunting. She stretched beneath, then hiked her knees up. "That sounds almost too good to be true."

This time he did take his time, drawing out her pleasured moans in time with their rhythm. She coiled her legs around his as he spread his out and drove deeper into her. Their hands continued exploring, mouths kissing and nipping tenderly, eyes shuttering and squeezing closed.

And long after, Tifa drifted to sleep to the feel of his lips in her hair. She dreamed happy dreams of his smiles and laughter, surrounded by their friends who were finally on board with their relationship. Tifa fought back the tears, thinking that she'd never seen Vincent smile so big—so genuine.