Golden Sparks
"We should prob'ly head back to our rooms."
"Yeah. Prob'ly."
Tifa's heart hammers in her chest, a wild drumbeat echoing the whirling lights of the Gold Saucer as she and Cloud disembark from the Skywheel. Cloud's eyes, those deep pools of mako blue, meet hers with a brief intensity that sends shivers down her spine before he abruptly looks away again, her cheeks bright. Their hands brush—a spark, a connection that lingers like the memory of their first kiss, still fresh and searing on her lips. The night air is cool against her flushed skin, a stark contrast to the warmth Cloud's presence radiates.
Cloud clenches his hands into fists and begins to make his way down the corridor, his steps deliberate. Almost too deliberate, as if he's in a hurry. Tifa glances back at the gondola they just vacated, watching as another couple claims it for themselves. Her lips burn and her cheeks flare as the heat of the memory returns.
He's close enough that she can count the spikes in his blond hair, can revel in the subtle scent of leather and sweat that is uniquely him. It's still spilling over from their encounter in the gondola and she is dizzy from it, a moment stolen among gilded stars and firelight sparkling in the sky with a boy she hasn't seen since she was a silly and naive girl. A girl who believed in promises under stars, who believed in fairy tales and dreams, who believed boys like him might make them come true.
Cloud eventually slows his mad pace so that they can walk side by side, but he still avoids eye contact as deliberately as he can, steps hesitant. The silence between them is filled with the echoes of what just transpired high above the ground, where the world had dwindled to nothing but the two of them and their memories and their hopes, reality left far behind for a little while.
The corridors of the Ghost Hotel loom ahead, dimly lit and hauntingly empty, a fitting backdrop for the tumultuous emotions swirling within Tifa's mind. Their brief reprieve among the fireworks was magical and is beginning to feel unreal as they return to the inevitability of the present. She feels each step like a drumbeat leading up to the ineluctable parting at her door. She reaches her room, her inner voice screaming at her as she turns the nob and pushes it open. Cloud stops beside her, the proximity electric, a current that she can neither break nor fully connect with.
He looks around as if on high alert, but his eyes still don't meet hers. "Goodnight, Tifa," he manages, voice rough like gravel, betraying the calm facade he attempts to uphold.
"...Night, Cloud," she replies, her voice a breathy whisper, her heart yearning to bridge the gap, to pull him into her orbit and never let go. Her heart is swelling in her chest, making each breath pained. She steps across the threshold and feels as if she is leaving him behind in another world. Their eyes meet again, locked in a silent conversation they're both too shy to voice. Words hover on the tip of Tifa's tongue, sweet nothings and bold declarations, thoughts and follow-ups and what ifs and maybes. But they remain caged behind unsure lips. Cloud's hand twitches, as if to reach for her, but it falls back to his side, uncertain and unfulfilled.
He finally looks at her, and she sees the same intensity in his bright, ultramarine eyes that she saw on the gondola. A man who knows what he wants. A man who is strong and full of passion and desire. A man who only shows that side to her.
She knows she never had to worry about his affections being compromised. But she always worries about his headspace and his heart. There's been something off since the moment she found him, but through quarrels and qualms, through hugs and handholds, they've found a rhythm.
And now, they've kissed.
She licks her lips, yearning and wishing. Wishing that, maybe, he'll kiss her again. A kiss goodnight, wouldn't that be nice?
But he looks away, staring down at his boots, his leather-bound hands curling into those shaking and unsure fists again, nerves and feelings wound up tight under every finger.
With a nod that doesn't quite match the turmoil within her, Tifa turns away, the click of the door sealing her inside her room sounding far louder in her ears than it should. On the other side of the thin wall, she imagines Cloud, standing there, just as affected, just as lost in the tidal wave of new sensations that threaten to drown them both.
Or maybe he isn't. Maybe the kiss was nothing but a magical moment that he's already forgetting, that it will never be breathed of between them again when the stars and sparks are gone and the sun replaces them with its rays.
Tifa leans back against the door, breathless, her fingers trembling as they graze her lips, the phantom pressure of Cloud's kiss still lingering there, a promise of what had only just begun and what could finally be, if only time was a little more kind to them. If only she could voice her desires and show them as boldly as he showed her on that gondola. If only she could have stopped him from going next door to his room.
If only she could have kissed him in Gongaga, when his doubts and his agony nearly tore them apart.
Tifa peels away from the door, sighing, her heart a fluttering bird caged in her chest. With every step into the room, the echo of Cloud's kiss pulses through her. She's a tempest of excitement and uncertainty, her skin still singing with the memory of his touch, so sweet and tentative at first, then burning like the fiercest blaze in the Gold Saucer's starry night sky.
She reaches up, fingers brushing over her lips, tingling as if his presence lingers there, a ghostly caress that stirs a warmth deep in her belly. With a giddy laugh, she closes her eyes and leans on the skull-covered dresser, the world whirling into a blur of colors and sensations—all consumed by the thought of him.
In the privacy of her room, the walls adorned with the soft glow of neon lamplight, Tifa sheds her clothes, each piece a whisper sliding to the floor. She steps into the comfort of an oversized t-shirt, a garment that's become familiar as she's had to pick up and start her life all over again on the road.
At least, she's had him.
She stands before the mirror, her reflection still flushed and bright-eyed. The cool air teases her exposed skin, but it's no match for the heat radiating from within, a fire kindled by Cloud's hesitant, searching lips. Her hands drift across her body, tracing lines and curves, each touch a reminder of where his might have been, could be, should be.
If only.
Lying down on the bed, the sheets cool against her overheated skin, Tifa sighs and closes her eyes. Sleep is elusive; her mind races with thoughts of Cloud—his spiky blonde hair that defies gravity, those intense blue eyes that hold galaxies of unspoken words, the way he wields strength and vulnerability in equal measure. He's her storm, her refuge, her question and answer all at once.
Tifa buries her face into her pillow, inhaling deeply. It's just fabric and feathers, yet somehow it smells like possibility, like hope, like Cloud. Her pulse quickens with every breath, with every beat whispering his name. The longing twists inside her, a sweet ache that draws a soft sigh from her lips—a sound meant for him alone. She desperately wants him to be the one to draw those sounds from her lips, for his lips and tongue and hands and more to drag them out of her in ways she hasn't even fantasized about yet.
The giddiness as she remembers the feel of his tongue brushing across hers and the fierce grip of his hand on her shoulder has her squealing with disbelief into the dark silk of the bedsheets. It still seems like more of a dream she concocted, a memory she admits she's been carrying and making up in her own head for a very, very long time now. There is no way that this is all real.
Her room, a sanctuary of solitude, now feels too vast, too empty. The space between their rooms—a mere wall—is both an unbearable chasm and a bridge waiting to be crossed. Tifa wrestles with the yearning, a desire so potent it threatens to sweep her away. For now, though, it's her secret to keep, her silent confession to the night and the plastic goblins that hang around her room.
She longs for Cloud with every fiber of her being, craving the next moment when they can explore this newfound passion unhindered by fear or doubt. She knows that there will be little time for a reprieve when they wake up and proceed with the next leg of their journey. Even tonight was more of a fluke than a possibility. Nothing can change the fact that they are chasing Sephiroth, that danger lurks behind every corridor, that something is still terribly wrong with Cloud and his memories. It was only two days ago that he'd nearly killed her.
And yet.
The sounds of the Gold Saucer beyond her window are still alive, and so is everything inside of Tifa - alight with the desperation of what it means to not only truly yearn for another soul, but to be tormented by that yearning and all of the barriers that seem constructed between them.
She tries to push that thought aside, knowing sleep will never come if she hinges her thoughts on Sephiroth and all of Cloud's brokenness and the trauma that won't seem to let them escape. Instead, she returns her thoughts to the gondola, to Cloud and his bright, aquamarine eyes that seemed more blue than green when he reached out his hand to hers, conviction and desire written plainly in his stare.
Not one bit.
Tifa's fingers tremble as she slides beneath the cool sheets, her mind a whirlwind of the memory of Cloud's touch and his taste. The soft cotton clings to the skin of her legs and thighs, a whispering caress that is nothing compared to the pressure of his lips on hers or his hand clutching her hip as he pulled her into an embrace. She draws a shuddering breath, closing her eyes, and there he is—etched in the darkness behind her lids, more vivid than any dream. All blue eyes and flaxen hair, pale skin coating muscles as smooth as stones. A boyish smirk that's reminiscent of the troublemaker who lived next door to her, who once was a daily fixture of her life and then suddenly refused to be.
A boy who is a man now, briefly hers for one glittering moment in the sky thousands of feet above ground, amid a kaleidoscope of golden sparks.
The memory of their kiss ignites a fire within her, a smoldering ember fanned to life by every fleeting thought of him. His hands, once so hesitant, now blaze a trail down her arms in her imagination, leaving goosebumps in their wake. A sigh escapes her, a silent plea for more, for the heat of him against her, the heaviness of his physique, the sigh of her name as he whispers into her ear.
Shiva, how she loves the way he says her name, the softness and the eloquence that only Cloud could use. The lighthearted boyishness that reminds her of her childhood. The seriousness and the certainty and the love that betrays how deep his feelings run. There is no other word he can say that would unravel her more.
Tifa.
She shifts restlessly, her t-shirt riding up to expose her bare skin to the cool air of her hotel room. It's a sensation that sparks curiosity, a boldness she's never known. Her fingertips graze her collarbone, trailing over the sensitive expanse of flesh until they brush the swell of her breasts. There's a gasp, a hitch in her breath as she explores the soft curve, thumb circling a taut peak through the thin fabric, imagining it's Cloud's touch sending these ripples of pleasure through her.
Sudden heat pools at her core, an insistent throb that demands attention. Her mind blanks for a moment as her fingers dance purposelessly over her ribcage. She realizes at that moment that as much as she has felt the call of desire before, she has never answered it like this. Even since Cloud's returned to her life and awakened deeply held feelings she'd realized she'd buried, there's simply been no time for her to indulge her basest desires this way. But now, she is presented with this moment, Cloud's kiss and his touch and most importantly, his three, promising little words fresh and echoing in her mind.
Not one bit.
Tifa bites her lip, hesitating only a moment before slipping her hand lower, past the barrier of her panties. The world narrows to the sensation of her touch, tentative and exploratory between her legs. Her clit pulses under her questing fingers, a beacon of desire guiding her toward uncharted realms of pleasure.
Her breath catches, a moan strangled in her throat as she discovers the slick heat of her arousal. Her face is cast in blush as her movements become more purposeful, rhythmically teasing herself, chasing the elusive promise of release, the image of Cloud's long and artistic fingers replacing her own. Every stroke whispers Cloud's name, an invocation of longing and love, drawing her further into the depths of her passion as she just pretends.
With each pass, each press, the fantasy of him consumes her—a tempest of wanton need. She imagines his body over hers, his breath hot against her neck, his weight a delicious pressure pinning her to the bed. He is everywhere and everything, the source of her pleasure, the object of her deepest desires. He is her home and her fortress, the one with whom she always feels safe and cherished.
Her senses contract to a single point of sensation, her focus narrowing as her body coils tight around the building ecstasy. The room fades away, time loses meaning, and all that exists is the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and the relentless pursuit of the cresting wave.
"Cloud…"
Tifa's fingers tremble, exploring with a hesitance born of innocence. The warmth between her thighs is new, intoxicating, terrifying. The sound of his name spilling from her lips like a sacred plea. Each tentative touch ignites a spark within her, yet the embers of guilt fan alongside pleasure, fighting the compulsion to curl into herself as if to hide from the shame of her own desires.
Just a little more…
Cloud roams the confines of his room, restless energy coursing through him. The night air brushes against his bare torso, doing nothing to cool the heat that Tifa's kiss has seared into his soul. His hands, calloused from countless battles, now seem foreign to him, having gently held Tifa's shoulders and then her face just moments ago. He closes his eyes, the memory of their lips colliding in a dance of sweet urgency playing on a loop in his mind.
Tifa. The girl next door. His closest and oldest friend. His best friend. The prettiest girl he's ever seen and the only girl he's ever loved.
Loved?
Loves.
His chest rises and falls with deep, deliberate breaths as he tries to still the quiet storm within. Sweatpants he picked up back in Kalm hang low on his hips, the casualness at odds with the intensity of his pulse and his nerves. Cloud lets out a sigh, a sound tangled with wonder and frustration and a fervent yearning that refuses to be tamed.
"Damn," he mutters to himself, his voice barely a rasp. His blue eyes flicker open, reflecting a maelstrom of emotion. Cloud groans and strides toward the bed, movements laden with strain like the haunches of a pacing tiger. He collapses onto the mattress, Tifa's scent - orange and jasmine - lingering like one of the hotel's ghosts on his skin, mingling with the charged air of the Gold Saucer's electric night.
The world outside fades to a mere backdrop as Cloud's thoughts spiral, centered entirely on Tifa—her strength, her softness, the curves of both her body and her smile. The way she never relents in her support of him, keeping his mind together even as it falls further into the depths, piece by piece. The walls of his room feel like they're closing in, his every breath shared with the echo of her laughter, the vision of her dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she leans in for another kiss that he wishes now he had stolen before leaving her in her room for the night.
Goddamnit.
Cloud doesn't know how any of this can be, really. Days ago his mind was fracturing to the point that he nearly killed Tifa, pushing her into a reactor full of mako. He thought at the time that it might be over between them, over before it had even begun.
Yet tonight she'd sat in front of him, doe-eyed and diffident, sheltering the spill of her affections behind tentative and seeking words, her hands clutched in her lap in that oh-so-adorable way that always leaves him weak.
"Or am I getting ahead of myself again?"
He still doesn't believe it. Again? That was the most fucked-up part, he thinks. Again?
What the fuck did she mean, again?
She'd wanted him, even before tonight? How the hell has he missed that?
He must really be fucked up.
"Shit, Tifa," he exhales, his voice lost admit the sheets. A longing more profound than any battle cry rises in him, an ache so potent it threatens to eat him alive. He closes his eyes and tries to center himself, tries to distract himself by thinking of anything other than Tifa.
Sephiroth. The Temple of the Ancients. Yuffie talking him to death. Hell, Cait Sith or Cid Highwind. Cid Highwind naked. That almost does it.
But it's not enough. He tosses and turns, from his side to his back to his side again, facing the wall. But all he can think of is Tifa, her lips and tongue and her taste and scent, the flutter of her eyelashes as she glances up at him before turning shyly to close the door to his room, bidding him goodnight.
Cloud's hand drifts involuntarily, seeking solace in the only touch he's ever relied on since he's been too afraid to fully claim hers until moments before. His fingers tremble as they brush against the hem of his sweatpants, the fabric whispering promises against his heated skin. The Gold Saucer's lights flicker in the distance, but their glow is nothing compared to the fire Tifa has lit within him—a blaze stoked by a kiss that still lingers on his lips, the sweetness of it haunting him and cursing him.
He's stuck in stasis, reminiscing over the moment. The image of Tifa, vulnerable and trusting, unfolds across his mind's canvas—the way her eyes widened when he held out his hand, shining with a mixture of fear and longing. The way she nodded her head so cutely, as if she didn't understand. The way she slowly reached out, trusting him with her heart.
He'd thought he was going to die right there.
A surge of exhilaration courses through him at the memory, his pulse echoing the rhythm of that shared moment, the intimacy of it more profound and thrilling than any battle he's ever faced.
The room's stillness amplifies the rush of his blood, each heartbeat an echo of Tifa's name. Cloud's breath hitches as the raw edge of desire carves deeper into his being, a hunger so fierce it claws at his restraint. He imagines the softness of her curves beneath his hands, the taste of her skin, sweet and intoxicating, coaxing a groan from the depths of his chest. He came so close in that gondola, but the Skywheel ended before they could get further than a few loops and twists of their tongues together. He had been working up the nerve to pull her into his lap when the glass doors slid open.
He still wants to murder that attendant.
"Damn it," he spits out, caught between frustration and the insatiable yearning that Tifa has awakened. The desire to claim her, to lose himself in the warmth of her embrace, wars with the knowledge that he must wait.
He just doesn't think he has the patience to wait any longer. Sephiroth and Shinra and planetary wars be damned.
Cloud's body is a live wire, every nerve ending alight with the memory of their closeness. The sensation of Tifa pressed against him in the gondola, the heat of her breath mingling with his, burns away all rational thought. It's a craving that demands satisfaction, a primal urge that refuses to be ignored.
"Need you, Tifa," he whispers into the void, the sound barely escaping his lips. Only the goons and goblins hanging from the ceiling hear his foolish pleas. His hand moves of its own volition, seeking relief from the torment of want. Yet even the touch, self-inflicted though it may be, is a pale imitation of what he truly craves—the feel of soft woman against him, the melding of their bodies and souls in a dance as old as time itself. He stands at the precipice of surrender, every fiber of his being vibrating with the intensity of his emotions. Love, lust, and longing intertwine, a triad of sensation that propels him forward. It's more than mere physical need—it's the ache of connection, the pull of destiny that links him irrevocably to the woman who has become his heart's true north.
It's only Tifa. It's only ever been Tifa.
Cloud's heart hammers in his chest as he frees the thick length of his cock from his sweats, a relentless drumbeat that echoes the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind. The world outside fades away, leaving only the image of Tifa imprinted on his every sense—the softness of her lips, the fire in her touch, the intoxicating scent of her hair. The memories of their kiss cascade over him, a fervent torrent that fills every crevice of his being with longing. Cloud's fingers curl into the pillow, clutching it as if it could anchor him in this storm of emotion. Yet, it's not just passion that claws at his soul; it's fear—the insidious whisper of his own failing strength and the ever-present shadow of Sephiroth that threatens to engulf everything he holds dear.
But Tifa is his lighthouse in the darkness, her presence a beacon calling him back from the brink. With each ragged breath, Cloud tries to steady himself, to reconcile the chaos within. Her name becomes a mantra on his lips, a prayer for solace amidst the encroaching dread.
His movements are both urgent and reverent, each glide of his palm stoking the fires that rage deep within, the wetness at his tip staining his fingertips. Even though he's traversed the path of solitary pleasure countless times before, tonight the act feels like an inferno—a blazing testament to the seismic shift their kiss has wrought upon his world. He imagines it's her touch igniting his skin and leaving him to drip this way, her hands exploring the breadth of his longing and rendering him useless. He'll gladly let her ruin him with her touch.
"Ah, Tifa," he gasps, the sound slicing through the stillness of the room, a confession of his most carnal desires. The fantasy of her consumes him, her imagined caress pushing him closer to the edge of reason and restraint.
As pleasure mounts, so does the weight of his fears—a juxtaposition of ecstasy and anxiety that threatens to overwhelm him. But Cloud clings to the image of Tifa, allowing it to ground him, to remind him that there is something pure and real worth fighting for.
Cloud's breath hitches, his hand stilling as a soft moan pierces the silence of the Ghost Hotel's thin walls. It's Tifa's voice, unmistakable and laden with something he's only dared to imagine—a sound so intimate it sears through him, leaving him paralyzed in the wake of its implications.
"Cloud, " she sighs into the quiet of her room, yet loud enough for his SOLDIER-enhanced senses to catch every tremulous note of longing. The realization that she's caught in the same tempest of desire as he is sends a shockwave through his system, more potent than any adrenaline rush he's ever known on the battlefield.
His heart races, pounding against his ribcage. Every nerve ending alight, Cloud wrestles with a moment of indecision that burns hotter than the passion that has been building within him. Tifa is right next door, thinking of him, just like he thinks of her. Maybe even touching herself, just like he is. His mind burns.
Then, resolve washes over him like a tidal wave, obliterating doubt and fear.
He rises, anguishing as he slides his unfulfilled cock back into his pants, his movements deliberate as he snatches a t-shirt from the back of a chair, pulling it over his head without care for the way it clings to his sweat-slicked skin. Boots follow, and he washes his hands and cleans himself up, staring at his reflection in the mirror as he fixes his messy spikes of hair in an effort to improve his appearance for her.
She likes his hair, he thinks with a stupid grin on his face. He catches her staring at it, and more than once, she's made those dumb chocobo jokes about it that everyone seems to be so fond of.
She's the only one who can get away with that.
The short distance to Tifa's door might as well be leagues for the thunderous beat of his heart echoing in his ears. But Cloud strides forward, each step fueled by an intoxicating blend of desire and trepidation.
He stands before her door, a barrier that seems paper-thin and as insurmountable as the walls around Kalm. His fist hovers, then raps lightly against the wood, the sound a faint echo of the tumult inside him.
"Tifa," he calls, his voice a gentle entreaty, barely above a whisper, yet drenched with anxiety and the barest edge of vexation. He's blueballing in his sweats and concealing his erection is both painful and deadly for his blood pressure.
There's a vulnerability in that single utterance, a plea wrapped in the syllables of her name—a call to the one who anchors him to a reality where love might just conquer the chaos that threatens to engulf him. And as he waits, every second stretched taut with anticipation, Cloud swallows and tries to keep the last remaining threads of his sanity from unraveling before she makes it to the door.
With how long she takes, he isn't sure he'll make it.
The quiet of the room shatters as a knock pierces the fog of Tifa's desirous thoughts. Her fingers freeze, heart hammering against her ribs, and she feels her breath catch in her throat. Cloud's voice, a tender murmur through the door's barrier, is like a siren's call, both terrifying and irresistible.
"Cloud?" she whispers to herself, disbelief coloring her tone. Panic flits across her features, and she scrambles for composure, drawing her knees up to hide her vulnerability. She still burns with the memory of their kiss, and that heat is concentrated at her center, pulsing in the tiny bud between her thighs. She pulls her fingers away from the hem of her panties, puffing out a dangerous breath as she attempts to calm herself.
What is he doing at her door? Her heart pounds as a blend of fear and humiliation washes over her. Did he have any idea what she was in here doing?
Slowly, Tifa rises, a rush of blood coloring her cheeks crimson. She looks around and realizes she doesn't have any sleep pants with her, and she feels silly pulling on her skirt. Instead, she pulls the hem of her oversized shirt as low as it will go, then crosses the dimly lit room, each step unsteady, as if she's learning to walk anew in this world where boundaries between her and Cloud are beginning to blur. She wrings her fingers of both hands together, every nerve in her body tight with uncertainty and tension.
She reaches the door, her hand shaking as she grasps the handle. A deep breath fills her lungs, and she wills her racing pulse to calm. With a flick of her wrist, the door creaks open, revealing Cloud, his presence filling the doorway, his eyes pools of midnight blue that seem to strip away the distance they've kept for so long.
He stands there in the threshold, dressed in simple night clothes - a worn t-shirt that clings to the muscles of his upper body and light grey sweatpants that sit a little too low, revealing those narrow and powerful hips. She stares at the middle section of his body for a little too long.
"Can I come in?" His voice finally rumbles, low and dangerous, the simple question loaded with the weight of everything unsaid between them.
"Y-yes," Tifa stammers, stepping aside, her heart somersaulting within her chest as he enters. The proximity of him—a heady blend of sweat, leather, and something purely Cloud—makes her dizzy. The space of her room, once ample, now feels suffocatingly small. "Is everything alright?"
He turns to face her, his gaze seeking hers, and in that moment, she can see the raw edge of his longing. His body is filled with tension and Tifa can't imagine why. His eyes are like mako lampposts in the dead of night, boring into her and refusing to let go.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he confesses, the words spilling forth like a dam breaking.
The admission sends a surge of warmth flooding through Tifa, washing over her doubts and her insecurities, leaving only a blazing trail of need in its wake. His honesty, his vulnerability—they're gifts more precious than any treasure the Gold Saucer could offer. It's all she's ever wanted. The heat between her thighs that her earlier thoughts and touch inspired bursts like the fireworks that adorn the Skywheel Square.
"Cloud..." she begins, her voice barely a whisper, but no further words come. They stand there, two hearts drawn together by a force that neither fully understands but neither can deny.
Cloud stares at her, his heart hammering at the speed of light. Tifa looks more beautiful than he's ever seen her - a skimpy t-shirt and bare legs betraying her form, her long, dark hair slightly tousled, her skin flushed and her eyes bright like blood diamonds. Her skin has a slight sheen, and his enhanced senses pick up her heady scent and the swirl of her pheromones in the air.
It's enough to make his knees weak, and he almost wobbles.
She finally steps back, and Cloud slides into the room, closing and locking it behind him. He stares at her, his resolve igniting into action, and before Tifa can utter another word, his hands find the small of her back, pressing her firmly against the cool wall. She gasps as his lips claim hers with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation, a passionate urgency that sweeps away any lingering uncertainty.
Where his kiss on the gondola was like fresh rainfall, this one is a wicked storm. And Tifa is happy to be caught in it, fierce and unrestrained.
Her fingers thread through Cloud's hair, the spiky blond strands a stark contrast to the softness of his touch. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, each beat echoing the intensity of his desire. His hands roam over her form, mapping the curves of her body with a possessiveness that thrills her to the core.
"Cloud," she breathes out between kisses, her voice a tremulous sigh lost in the fervor of their embrace.
"Shh," he murmurs against her lips, his voice rough with need. His fingers curl into her waist, and she whines at the pleasure that coils inside of her with his harried touch.
Cloud is overcome with so much need from this kiss that he growls an angry sound and nips at her bottom lip, fat and juicy, almost breaking the skin. Tifa whines, pulling at his hair, her hips meeting his in a slow grind.
It's enough to set him off. The sound of their mingled breaths fills the room, punctuated by the quiet rustle of fabric as limbs entwine in a dance as old as time. Then, with a strength born of desperation, Cloud lifts Tifa from the ground, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The wall supports her back as he grinds against her, the pressure of his arousal insistent through the barrier of their clothes.
Tifa moans into his mouth, a sound of pure want vibrating through them both. He edges her closer to that precipice, the friction of his body against hers a tantalizing promise of what she desperately needs and wants. He grinds against her and attacks her throat, swearing under his breath as he tastes her skin with kisses and bites.
Tifa whimpers and throws her head back, her world narrowing down to the sensation of him, the heat of his skin, the taste of his kiss.
"Please," she whispers, a plea that is both an invitation and a surrender.
Cloud's mind tears through a whirlwind of over-responsiveness and the need to dominate her at her soft but desperate whisper. He closes his eyes, breathing in deeply to ground himself before he loses it. His cock is throbbing and Tifa is clinging to him, her body fitting around his perfectly like clay around a mold.
He wants to fuck her right into this wall.
Cloud responds instead by pulling away suddenly, steadying Tifa's trembling form as he carries her towards the bed. As much as his base desires are tempting him, Tifa's heart is always his priority and he will forever be careful with her, putting her needs first before his own. His movements are deliberate and controlled—a stark contrast to the tempest of emotions swirling within him. As he sets her down, his blue eyes burn with an intensity that reflects the flames consuming them both.
Cloud's lips descend on Tifa's with a craving that leaves her dizzy. His kiss is ravenous, swallowing her gasps as he trails the heat of his mouth over her jawline and down the tender column of her neck. Her pulse flutters beneath his lips, the rhythm hastening with each brush of his mouth over her skin.
"Beautiful," he breathes against the hollow of her throat, the word more a worship than a mere compliment. It invokes a memory of distant Midgar and a time where she thought their reunion had more time to flourish, before the weight of the world crashed atop them both. His hands, paradoxically dominant yet reverent, find the hem of her shirt. As the fabric lifts, cool air kisses her heated skin, and she shivers, anticipation coiling tightly within her.
"Cloud," Tifa exhales, her voice a hushed echo of the storm raging in her heart. She can scarcely believe the reality of him, here, wanting her, his hands traveling and his mouth seeking. Her clit aches and she claws at him, her body alight and desperate for more of his attention.
Cloud groans. Tifa begging and sighing his name is enough to destroy him. He wants to hear these sounds from her forever, wants to put her in a place of pure longing and desire for him and leave her there, dependent on his touch.
Dependent on his love.
His mouth descends once more, this time capturing a pert nipple between his lips. He suckles gently, eliciting from her a soft moan and a vivid giggle that fills the room like a melody, electrified sensations ripping to her core. His tongue swirls, lavishing attention upon her until her back arches, pressing into the sweet torture he administers. The way she moves makes him cloudy with want, his cock growing impossibly harder, leaking inside of his sweats in a way that only Tifa can make him react.
"Never imagined..." he trails off, words lost to sensation as he moves to her other breast, offering it the same reverence. "Being with you... like this." His words are filled with truths. As close as they've grown, this moment is a dream he never thought he'd actually obtain, even when he pressed his lips to hers on that Skywheel.
"I've always wanted you like this," she moans with abandon, kissing him messily. It's then that Cloud realizes that Tifa - the shy and demure and reserved girl who keeps her feelings caged away - is full of passion and need.
And it seems he's unlocked it.
Maybe he's not such an unlucky bastard after all.
Cloud sheds his shirt, muscles rippling under the moonlight streaming through the window. Tifa's breath catches at the sight—strewn with light scars, a testament to countless battles and to a strength she has always admired.
He positions himself between her thighs, her scent engulfing him along with the sweet heat of her body. Everything is magnified with his enhanced senses, and for the first time, he considers how much more overwhelming sex is going to be because of it. He isn't sure whether he should be thrilled or terrified.
His lips trail lower, worshipping her belly, then kissing the delicate insides of her thighs. She's softer than vanilla creme and tastes just as delectable, and he commits every lick to memory. Each press of his mouth is both a question and an answer, speaking volumes in the silent language of their flesh.
His desire eclipses his normal calm stoicism and it is reflected in the way that he is suddenly pulling at her panties, looking up at her with a wild question of consent in his eyes. She nods and helps him by lifting her hips, letting him slip the flimsy fabric away over her ankles and leaving her lying bare before him, vulnerable and yearning. Their eyes lock, twin pools of blue and scarlet swirling with emotion—and for a heartbeat, time stills.
"Cloud," Tifa whispers, her voice laced with trust and the edge of a need too long denied. She lowers her hands from his hair to the tops off his shoulders, grazing the heat that radiates from the powerful muscles there.
She really does still trust him.
Maybe she even loves him, if he can imagine the honor of such a thing.
He pushes her thighs apart, staring between them. She's spread apart and wet, the bright pink petals of her folds swollen, the little nub of her clit hard and poking out, begging for his attention. He's never even seen a woman like this much less touched one, but he's consumed by the need to touch her hottest parts, to make her fall apart the way her leaking arousal suggests she's desperate to.
Without breaking their gaze, Cloud lowers his head, brushing his lips along her slit. It's a kiss filled with the promise of unity and devotion, with the beginnings of a connection deeper than either had ever known. He laps gently, learning her taste and the feel of every smooth fold and crease of her pussy. She tastes nice and she's soft and silky.
Cloud thinks back on the gondola, wondering once more what she meant by again. To think he had missed a chance to do this earlier?
Motherfucker.
It doesn't matter. He has her now and he is going to make sure they both never forget how badly he wants her and how much she means to him.
He laves her folds and strokes his tongue against her opening, sucking it gently, and teasing his way into her entrance. His mouth is a symphony of sensation, each movement a crescendo that builds Tifa's pleasure higher. The reverent way he tastes her, explores her, pays homage to every quiver and sigh she emits. His tongue flicks against her clit tentatively at first and then purposefully, bright blue eyes flickering up at her to watch her reactions. He sucks gently, rhythmically, drawing out the intensity and the pleasure until Tifa's world narrows to the electric pulse at her core.
"Cloud..." she gasps, her fingers tangling in his spiky blonde hair, urging him closer to the epicenter of her heat. Her body arches, hips seeking more of his exquisite torture. She's close, so close, the coil tightening as he continues to lavish attention to her desperate and throbbing clit.
When the wave finally crashes over her, Cloud's name is a desperate cry from her lips. It leaves her breathless and him giddy with smug satisfaction but also the serious need to quell his own aches. Her back bows off the bed, muscles tensing in blissful release. In the aftermath, her hands—shaking with newfound boldness—reach for him.
Seeing her so needy makes his heart crumble, and Cloud climbs over her as she seeks, pressing his lips to hers so that she can taste herself entwined with the heat of his tongue.
"So good," he whispers against her lips, pressing the weight of his upper body into hers.
She chokes out another desperate sound and fumbles with the waistband of his sweatpants, needing to feel him, to show him the same fervent affection he has bestowed upon her.
His cock springs free, hard and ready and larger than she anticipated. Still, she swallows her hesitation and gently wraps her fingers around his length. A shudder courses through Cloud's frame as Tifa strokes him, a mix of surprise and raw arousal etched on his handsome face. He wants to ravage her, but he's careful, holding himself back and caging his bloodlust, especially when she pulls him in to kiss him deeply, tasting herself on his lips again—a sharp, sweet reminder of what they've shared.
"Make love to me," she breathes against his mouth, guiding him to her entrance, a silent plea evident in her eyes and parted lips.
Cloud thinks he is going to die.
"Are you sure?" His voice is hoarse, eyes searching hers for any hesitation, for that affirmative spark he yearns to see. Always the protector, even now, his concern wars with his longing as he positions himself at her beckoning warmth.
"Please, Cloud," Tifa whispers, her answer clear in the clasp of her hands on his shoulders, the earnest hunger in her gaze.
Their bodies align, hearts beating a perfect, frenzied rhythm as they cross the threshold into uncharted intimacy. He pours himself into her, fueled by love as vast as the starlit sky above their childhoods.
Cloud's heart hammers against his chest, a symphony of nerves and desire as he eases himself inside Tifa, inch by measured inch. She is hot and wet and tight, a prison of ardor and euphoria that he's certain he'll never escape. Her breath catches, a sound that tugs at the very fabric of his being, spurring him to pause to ensure she is okay.
"Does it hurt?" he murmurs, his voice laced with genuine concern. His heart is thundering so loud he can barely hear it over the sudden softness of his voice.
Tifa shakes her head, her eyes glistening with tears nonetheless. "No, don't stop," she assures him, her hands tracing up his arms, anchoring on his shoulders and holding him close. "It feels... right."
A hesitant smile dances across Cloud's lips as he continues, slow and deliberate. He slides into her, and the tightness grows more consuming and his blood vessels swell near to the point of bursting. Her walls clench around him and she moans and begs with tender, quiet cries of his names. Cloud growls like a Northwood wolf and pushes his hips forward, his cock throbbing and pulsing and swelling with pleasure.
The initial awkwardness between them dissipates like mist in the morning sun as Cloud watches Tifa's expressions shift—pleasure, wonder, trust—and something primal within him stirs. He thrusts his hips faster and she raises hers to meet his, her wetness growing until he can feel the slick coating his dick begin to run between them, wet slaps echoing across the room. The rhythm they find is natural, instinctive; a shared pulse that grows stronger with every heartbeat.
The head of his cock greets a spongy plateau inside of her, and Tifa's moans turn into vivid cries. She arches off of the bed and scratches blood out of his deltoids.
"Cloud, please, more," she breathes out, her voice a siren call, drawing him deeper, his hips thrusts beginning to piston as he pins both her thighs back, raising his torso above hers and leveraging himself on his knees so he can fuck her tightly and neatly, despite his earlier warnings to himself.
"Ti—" His reply comes out as a groan as Tifa's walls clench around him, inviting him to abandon restraint.
He answers the call, his thrusts gaining momentum, driven by months of unspoken desires now voiced in every gasp and moan. Cloud lifts Tifa's legs further, draping them over his shoulders, granting him access to the core of her heat. He marvels at the feel of her, the sight of her beneath him—strong yet vulnerable, fierce yet yielding.
Sobbing and begging. And all his.
"Beautiful," he whispers again, his words mingling with sweet profanities that make Tifa arch her back and clutch at him tighter. She claws at his pectorals, leaving them with more scratches, her mouth open wide as she howls in pleasure. "You're so fucking beautiful, Tifa."
Their movements blur into fervor, an exquisite dance of push and pull, give and take. With every thrust, Cloud stakes his claim, marking her as his own in a way that words and not even a kiss under a brilliant and gilded sky could never encompass. His name spills from Tifa's lips like a prayer, a plea, a proclamation.
"Please, Cloud," she pants, nails digging into the muscles of his back, urging him on. "Harder."
He obliges, his body a vessel of raw energy, pouring into her with each powerful stroke. Their sex is a wildfire, untamed and consuming, fanned by whispered declarations and the unyielding grip of their embrace. Cloud's vision narrows until there is nothing but Tifa—the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her wrapped around him, drawing him inexorably towards a precipice they are poised to leap from together.
Cloud's breath hitches as the precipice of pleasure looms before them, the room echoing with the crescendo of their heartbeats. With a swift motion guided by instinct and ardor, he gently turns Tifa over, her soft belly pressing into the sheets, her hair cascading around her like a dark waterfall. He positions himself behind her, his hands sliding over the curves of her hips, grounding him in the moment.
"Ready?" he murmurs, a note of concern threading through the lust in his voice.
"Always for you," Tifa replies, her voice laced with trust and desire, her voice broken over her first orgasms and the heat that's risen through her body.
Her words are too much for him. The world narrows to the point of contact where their bodies join. Cloud thrusts into her with renewed vigor, holding her by the waist and watching her perfect ass bounce off of his pelvis as he strokes her tight and delicate walls with his cock. Tifa's moans fill the room, spurring him on, their rhythm syncopated with the pounding of their hearts. She is leaking all around him, oozing onto the sheets, her toes curling and her ankles rolling.
As they teeter on the brink, Cloud's movements become more insistent, deeper, more potent than the last. Tifa meets him thrust for thrust, her body a perfect counterpart to his fervent pace. He watches the space between them where they connect, his cock disappearing and then sliding out of her again, long and swollen and full, urgent for release that is not just imminent—it's necessary.
"Cloud— yes !" Tifa cries out, her voice climbing as she succumbs to the wave crashing over her.
Cloud lost count of her orgasms, but that's okay he thinks, sweat pooling into his eyes.
He gasps, the sound torn from his throat as he follows her over the edge, their climax shattering through them in unison, leaving them quaking, bodies shaking as they cling to each other amidst the aftershocks.
Spent and sated, Cloud's strength ebbs, and he collapses onto Tifa, their sweat-mingled skin sticking together, his release warm between them. He rolls off her with care, ensuring she's comfortable, and they find themselves lying side by side, chests heaving in the aftermath.
In the quiet that follows, Cloud's gaze lingers on Tifa, tracing the contours of her face softened by satisfaction. Love swells within him, pure and overwhelming, its intensity rivaling the physical pleasure they've just shared. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch tender.
He can't believe his luck. The fucking Skywheel was one thing but this? He is sure Sephiroth is fucking with his head again.
"Are you okay?" he asks, pushing that thought aside., the question holding more than concern for her immediate wellbeing.
"More than okay," Tifa whispers, turning to face him with eyes that shimmer with emotion. Her arms wrap around him, holding him close, her face nuzzling into his chest and her pretty lips leaving sugary kisses there.
They lie there, wrapped in each other's warmth, the air between them thick with the weight of unspoken promises and shared dreams. Cloud lets his final guard down, letting himself sink into the feeling of Tifa's body beside his. For a brief moment, the specter of Sephiroth and the uncertainties of tomorrow dissipate, overshadowed by the connection they've forged tonight in the land of spun gold.
"Stay with me," Tifa breathes, her fingers finding his, entwining with a gentle squeeze.
Stay with her, Cloud repeats in his mind with an inwardly directed laugh. As if she'll ever be able to get rid of him after this.
"Always," Cloud vows, feeling the truth of his words deep in his bones.
They drift into sleep, limbs entangled, anchored by love and the silent commitment to face whatever challenges come—together.