Aerith knows everything. And she's trying to give Cloud the hint. But it's not working.
Saturday morning, she asked him to help her and Tifa hold a coil of beads together. She feigned her hand slipped, somehow got his palm right on Tifa's tit. And…he didn't get it. Just got mad at her, telling her she's being weird and apologized to Tifa. Saturday night, she pretends to trip, pushes Tifa into his arms aggressively. Doesn't work either. She asks Cloud what his favorite sex position is in front of Tifa. He gets pissed at her, refuses to answer the question.
Aerith needs to bring in the reinforcement. She kind of sucks at this.
Her toes curl as she lies on her stomach, ankles tapping together. Pink satin bedsheets rumple around her, caressing her skin. Her nightie rides up her thighs, a draft teasing the back of her legs as her hair spills over one shoulder. Glancing at her phone, she answers a text from her mom, a soft hum resonating in her throat. She rolls her foot, flexes and curves the arch.
A heavy weight tips the bed, crawls towards her. Aerith feels the shadow barricade her, darkening the screen of her phone. A gasp stutters from her mouth—it evolves into a fit of giggles. Zack is behind her, grabbing her hips and jerking them up. She snaps the phone shut, arches her back, her cheek crushed to the pillow.
He groans, sinking his fingers in the fat of her butt. "This ass—" Her nightie is pulled up, naked skin kisses the air. Her giggles turn into fluttery moans as she feels his teeth skim her, hooking over the strap of her thong. "I love this ass. I'd go to war for this ass."
Aerith braces herself on her elbows, deepens the curve of her spine so her butt points to him. She sees him through the barrier of her hair—he's almost naked in a pair of black boxer briefs. A soft golden light kindles the room, illuminates his skin in a sunny glow. His body is engaged, muscles flexed. His skin stretches taut over the rigid rack of his stomach. Pushing the phone away, she lengthens her neck, feels the sticky stain of her lip gloss on the pillow.
Zack palms her ass. He bites her skin, his fingers curled to grip her in a possessive hold. He pulls down her thong with his teeth—it's soiled and wet, slopping the inside of her thighs. Aerith smells her own arousal, like viscous honey dripping between her legs. She's open, spread and exposed, as her ass angles to the air, her dress halfway up her back.
Zack kneels behind her, the sheets shift as his knees sink in the bed. He holds her like he worships her, kisses her sex in godly devotion. He drinks from her, blesses himself in the communion of her cunt. His face buried in her as he grunts into the sanctity between her thighs. She feels the glide of his tongue separate her folds, the ripples of his taste buds devour her and he searches—finds the pearl nestled in her core.
Aerith grabs fistfuls of bedsheet. A moan eases out of her mouth as a tremble. He laps her clit, pulls her ass apart as he stretches her out, his nose pressed inside her. Zack leans in, pushes her down so her face is shoved against the pillow, and she screams—he's aggressive, grabs her ass so hard she can already feel the bruises taint her skin.
She's panting, pushes against him so she can ride his face. The heat of his breath ignites her, his hot mouth and eager tongue work her until every muscle in her body tenses as she climbs higher and higher—she's waiting for the drop. But she keeps ascending, past the plateau, it's unbearable. Her body shivers from how tight she squeezes everything. She strangles the blanket, her nails pulling on a thread.
Aerith calls his name out in a gasp that sounds like she's drowning. She collapses, her body ravaged in a euphoric quake—she moans against the pillow, muted even though she screams in her delirium. He won't let go of her, and she comes violently, twisting her hips against his face, her lust pouring in his mouth. He's desperate for it, indulging as he licks her clean.
Aerith is incoherent, everything is blurry, the room spinning as Zack flips her over. It takes her a moment to adjust to the light as she squirms on the bed. She feels the cold air between her legs. Her hair is everywhere, sprawled on her pillow like a blanket of silk.
Zack is all over her, is all over her, his scent a thick mist that consumes her senses. Her legs spread, inviting him to rest his weight on top of her. He kisses her mouth, her neck—the stubble on his cheek grates her skin. Her arms wrap around him, clutching the taut edges of his shoulder blades.
He talks to her—mumbling horny nonsense. How good she tastes, he loves her smell. She's so pretty and her skin is so soft. He pulls the strap of her nightie, freeing her breast. Her nipple is hard, painfully tight. He drags his tongue, sucks her peak into his mouth.
"I love these little fucking titties—" He's so far gone, and Aerith giggles beneath him, squirming on the bed as she hugs him against her with restless legs. His skin is warm, almost burning as his heat transfers to her body, engulfing her in flames. He's so hot in his lust right now, she feels him poking her, ready to slip inside her the moment he's relieved of his boxers.
She wants to talk to him, but she's lost in the sting of her nipple as he fondles her, swirls his tongue and grazes his teeth. Her hands delve in his hair. She likes watching him praise her body—the pucker of his mouth, the angle of dark brows, the way his arms engage as he holds her.
Aerith tries to talk through it, to release what she needs to say to him. "Babe—" She gasps, rolls her neck. Her back lifts off the bed. "I need to talk to you about something."
Zack doesn't stop, her tit still in his mouth, her nipple red and blood-rushed like cherry flavored candy. But he acknowledges her. "About what?"
"Cloud and Tifa."
He tugs the opposite strap, begins to fondle her neglected breast, squeezing the small mound of fat. "What about them?"
Aerith just goes ahead and says it. "Tifa saw us the other day."
Zack's still in titty world, lapping her nipple as he nestles his cheek on her chest. "Doing what?"
"She saw us fooling around on the couch."
He stops abruptly, his tongue poised in mid-air as her breast wobbles beneath him. His eyes erupt like bursts of sapphire when he opens them. "What?"
Aerith is still petting his hair, smiling at him affectionately. "She caught us, babe."
Zack shifts, lifting his head and supporting himself on his elbows so he's not completely on top of her. "How do you know?"
Aerith shrugs. "She told me."
"She told you?"
She gives him a weird look as she playfully shoves his shoulder. "Yea. She tells me everything."
Zack hasn't settled on an emotion yet. His brows are twisted, his eyes seem to glow in the dark in a neon blue haze. When Aerith pats his cheek, his lips break into a vivid smile. It's cute, dimpling at the corner of his mouth. He chuckles as he kisses her cheek.
"That's cause we're fucking hot, babe!" He submerges his face in her chest, blows against the bone of her sternum that has her giggling feverishly as she tries to push him away. "I'm telling you, we need to make a tape, Pam and Tommy Lee style."
"Babe, I'm being serious here!" Aerith's fist fills with his hair, tugging him to meet her gaze.
"Did she see the part when I bent you over the couch?"
She pushes Zack off her, has him roll to lie beside her on the bed. Slipping the straps back over her shoulders, she conceals her breasts, and she sees he's still blaringly hard. He stares at the ceiling, arms flexed as he cradles the back of his head with his palms.
"You really want to talk about them now?" he asks, his eyes darting to glance at her. Aerith leans on her elbow to face him. Her hair tumbles to the bed, revealing the smooth curve of her neck.
"I think it's important," she says.
Zack sighs, nodding in defeat as he stares at the nothingness of the ceiling. "Okay, so Tifa saw us. She told you. What about it?"
Aerith's palm falls to his chest, and his warmth infuses her. His body is solid beneath her touch—her fingers dip in steep, rigid lines separating the muscles on his stomach. "She was asking me about it. If it feels good. Asking me all these questions."
He squints, looks at her from the corner of his eyes. "Okay."
She shoves him. "That means Cloud's not giving it to her!"
Zack groans dramatically, balls his hands into fists so he can rub his eyes. "Oh my fucking god." As he sits up, he twists his body to face her. "And why is that a problem? Good, I'm glad! Let him sweat it out a little." Aerith shrieks when he grabs her waist, pulling her to him as he smacks a kiss to her neck. "Now let's get back at it."
Aerith pulls away, squeezing her jaw when she sits up and folds her arms over her chest, blocking his access to her body. "This isn't about him, it's about Tifa! She deserves to feel wanted after everything that's happened to her."
Zack gives her a dull look, leans his back against the headboard as he takes a similar stance to her. "And what do you want me to do about it?"
She shifts her shoulders, bats her lashes to make the request more inviting. "I want you to talk to him—"
"Jesus, Aerith." Zack holds his head like he's grappling the world's worst headache. "You want me to tell him to have sex with the eighteen-year-old amputee living in his room?"
Aerith taps her nails against her arm, tilting her head as she gives him an expectant look. "She's almost nineteen."
"Why don't you talk to him?"
She chucks a sarcastic laugh. "Because he'll freak out if I say something! He listens to you."
"He just stopped being such a dickhead. Now I'm supposed to give him permission to be one again?"
Aerith doesn't like that he's answering her questions with more questions. Zack's being unreasonable. All he has to do is tell Cloud to be intimate with Tifa. It's not a big fucking deal. He's acting like she told him to commit murder. "Sex is natural! He wouldn't be a dickhead!"
"He's been doing so well. Paying bills, helping out around the house. He hasn't stuck his fingers up your ass in a hot minute." He's rambling, swinging his hands for emphasis, staring off into the pink oblivion of their bedroom. "Now if we could just get him to stop dressing like a pothead from 1999."
"You're overreacting." Aerith is starting to get pissed. Leaning her weight on her hip, she lets her legs fold under her. She's still pretty horny, and wasting time arguing about this isn't helping either of them. "Just talk to him. He's probably nervous, needs a little encouragement."
"I'm not talking to him about this."
"Why not?"
"Because it's weird!" He's out of the bed, pacing the room. And he's still hard, his erection poking his boxers like he's getting an adrenaline rush out of this. "It's a weird thing to bring up! He'll screw her when he's ready. We don't need to get involved."
Aerith scoots to the end of the bed to get closer, whipping her hair behind her back. He's leaving footprints on the carpet from all his back-and-forth wandering, mauve deepened into purple. He's tall and nearly naked and really fucking hot, it's a shame he's being such an ass right now.
She tries a different approach, coils a lock of hair around her finger as her strap slips down her shoulder. Her skin blushes rose in the yellowy light. When she moves her thigh, the skirt of her nightie lifts up to her hip, revealing that she's still not wearing any underwear.
"You can't do this little thing for me?" she whines.
And Zack stops, cocks a hand to his hip as he stares down at her on the bed. He looks like he's going to surrender, she can see it in the blue wave of his eyes, swirling cerulean like he's been hypnotized, seduced by her needy voice and milky thighs.
But he breaks out of his trance, shakes his head as he gets on his soapbox. "What don't I do for you, Aerith?"
She slouches her back, raises her strap, crosses her arms. Aerith is not amused.
"I let you turn this place into a dollhouse!" He paces the room, swinging his arms with erect palms to make his point. His footsteps creak the floorboards beneath the carpet. "And there's glitter everywhere, I can't escape it! There's glitter in my hair, coming out of my ears. There's glitter on my crotch. I cut myself shaving the other day and there was just more fucking glitter!"
Aerith sits there silently, her facial muscles pulling into a deep frown as she watches him vent. Zack runs on fumes, he keeps going, digging himself in a deeper hole. "I converted to Catholicism to marry you, got dunked in front of your whole family. I let you douse me every day with your Mexican voodoo witchcraft—"
She grabs the pillow and throws it at him, Zack catches it before it hits his chest. "That's holy water from the church, you prick!"
He chucks the pillow back to the bed, doesn't aim it at her. "Whatever!"
"God forbid I care about your soul!"
"And then there's your soap operas. Oh my god—" Zack shoves his hands in his hair, pulling raven strands at the root. "I've been following the plot lines for the last five years! Erika Kane and her failed abortion trying to get his revenge. Babe's married to JR, but sleeping with his brother, and also fucking Erika's aborted fetus—"
"His name is Josh!" Aerith yells, kneeling on the bed. The sheets wrinkle as she grasps them, her nails ripping the seams. "And I don't make you keep up with anything! That's on you!"
"I have to—" he argues back, "That's all you ever talk about! All the guys at work have Sports Illustrated at their desk, and I'm spending my break reading Soap Opera Digest."
Aerith is pissed. Because she is really horny. Yelling at Zack is making her hot. But she won't give in, she refuses to let this go. Even as she gets beneath the blanket, he's still fucking going. Complaining about everything he does for her like he deserves a gold medal for being a nice husband.
"And what do I do all this for? So I can come home to a happy hot wife who has the sex drive of a teenage boy." He stops, rubs his chin as he stares at her like he forgot where he was going with this. It takes him a while to remember what they were even fighting about.
Zack comes back to bed, sits on the edge. Aerith's already turned her back to him, flinching when she feels him caress her hair.
"Anyway—" He clears his throat and fondly pets the top of her head. She feels his weight beside her, his shadow looming over her stiff form. "A little abstinence won't kill them. It's a good thing."
Aerith sighs, allows herself a moment before she turns to face him. Her nightie is twisted off center, her tits fall out. Soft pink nipples cradle her breasts, and his eyes dive to the small bouncy swells. Her hair falls over her shoulder like tumbling velvet as she gives him a coy look.
"You're right," she agrees, flashing him a smile that gets him excited. "Abstinence is a good thing. I'm going to sleep."
Aerith fixes her top and lies on her side, her back to him. And Zack is suddenly a sad little puppy, crawling in bed with her, sneaking under the covers to share her warmth. He rubs her back, presses kisses to her hair. Aerith is motionless, unresponsive, she just rolls her shoulder at his pathetic attempts.
"Babe, come on—I'm sorry." His arm wraps around her, dragging her to his chest. Aerith closes her eyes, her vision shrouded in blackness. She huffs when he nuzzles his nose to her neck. "I didn't mean any of that. It was bullshit. I love you—I don't mind doing any of those things for you."
"Fuck off," she tells hm, jabbing her elbow into his ribs. But he's persistent, cuddles her, pecks kisses all over her face and neck.
"Babe."
Aerith grunts, seems to surrender to his begging when she faces him. Their eyes go to war. And Zack is trying to make peace, but Aerith is out for bloodshed. Green overpowers blue, draining the life out of him as her glare is constant—she doesn't blink, a hot breath shoots out of her nose like she's breathing fire.
She feigns a smile that has him off guard as she points to the corner of the room. "Why don't you go over there, do some stretches—" A scowl distorts her pretty mouth before she pushes him and lets him look at the canvas of her back once more. "—and learn how to suck your own dick."
Zack is still trying to make-up, rubbing her shoulder, nuzzling her hair. "Babe, don't be like that." When Aerith doesn't respond, she hears him huff, his weight shuffling beside her.
"Fine. You can sit there and mope. But I'm still not fucking doing it."
~oOo~
On Sunday morning as he's about to start the treadmill, Cloud feels Zack hit him hostilely on the back of the head.
"You still haven't felt Tifa up yet?"
It takes Cloud a second for the black blotches to disperse and clear from his vision, batting his eyes in a series of stunned blinks. Zack is on the treadmill next to him, the equipment beeps as he enters the settings.
He knew he would regret agreeing to work out with Zack in the mornings. But he wasn't exactly expecting this. Cloud doesn't know how to get out of this conversation. It's early, the sun bathes the room in a menacingly bright glow. The walls are stark white, the floor glosses in a beige sheen. Zack's cologne is potent—first thing in the morning and he already smells like he's going to visit a bordello.
Cloud doesn't know how to respond. He's not even sure what the fuck Zack is talking about. He stands at the treadmill idly, leaning his weight on the handles, his face scrunched in confusion as he looks to Zack who's already running—like he didn't just ask Cloud the weirdest question imaginable.
Zack wears a loose tank top and sweatpants that have the Adidas stripes going down the sides, while Cloud wears what he wore to bed because it's too fucking early for this shit. His tee shirt is wrinkled, sweats hanging low on his hips. He barely has the energy to start running. He just wants to crawl back to bed with Tifa.
Cloud's brain is still jumbled from Zack's assault. All he can do is squint as he looks at him and utters, "What?"
Zack's still running, hardly breaks a sweat as he talks. "You haven't felt her up yet. She's out there telling Aerith all about it!"
Cloud feels the color drain from his face. He starts the treadmill, but at a slow pace, powerwalking like a middle-aged mom. Zack isn't looking at him, like they're having a mundane conversation that doesn't need much attention.
"What do you mean?"
Zack finally shoots him a firm glare, taps the settings so he isn't running so fast. "Tifa wants the nookie. So what the fuck are you doing?"
Cloud is still having trouble getting a grasp on this conversation. It's confusing and fucking humiliating—is Tifa really saying that to Aerith? That Cloud won't give it to her? And now Zack's involved—he hates how nothing can be private. His love life is a regular discussion for Zack and his wife.
"I—I don't know—" Cloud increases the speed so he's jogging, amps the incline because he hopes that maybe if he's out of breath, he won't have to answer any more embarrassing questions. "I'm not sure when I'm supposed to. I mean, she just lost her arm."
"Christ, it's been like what? Three months now?" A flush colors Zack's skin as he breathes through parted lips. His tank is so baggy, Cloud sees his whole torso—the rigid plane of his chest and stomach, sweat trickling in the crevices between his muscles. "Don't you think it would make Tifa feel better about herself if you sucked a tit once in a while?"
Cloud hates this. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore. But Zack won't let it go, for some reason very passionate about this subject, like it's very dear to him.
He's already out of breath, running and talking at the same time squeezes his heart, making him feel a sharp pain in the side of his ribs. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do! I don't wanna do the wrong thing and upset her."
"Think about it, Cloud—" Zack's voice is strained and breathy but he manages to get the thought out clearly. "Tifa's had this horrible thing happen to her. She probably feels like shit, like she isn't hot anymore. And here you are, sleeping next to her every night but not putting the moves on her."
Cloud pauses the treadmill, lets it slow to a complete stop as he stands there and stares at Zack—who's still going, barely paying him any mind. He tries to think of a comeback, but his throat is too dry, like something is wedged in his neck and preventing him from speaking.
"She's definitely curious," Zack adds through shallow breaths.
"How do you know?"
"I told you—she told Aerith."
Cloud wants to know the details, but he's too afraid to ask. He hates that Zack and Aerith are the messengers for Tifa, wishing they could just open up and talk to each other about this. But he's terrified—she must be, too. He feels like he's walking a tightrope and with one wrong breath he'll tumble to his demise. He doesn't want to push Tifa too far—but will he if she's already so eager for it?
"So what do I do?" he asks, not really to Zack in particular, but to the void—he really doesn't fucking know. He shrugs his shoulder to wipe the sweat off his forehead, feeling the redness envelope his face, dying his skin. This is so embarrassing, but Zack seems to be a fountain of behind-the-scenes knowledge right now.
"Tonight, before you go to bed—cop a feel. See how she reacts." He answers so easily, like it's that simple. "And then take it from there."
Cloud thinks hard, gripping the support to the treadmill so tautly he loses feeling in his fingers. The idea alone sends his heart in overdrive, like he's about to lose his virginity even though that already happened a long time ago. This is more nerve racking, the stakes are higher—he has to make Tifa feel good, be the physical and emotional escape she needs right now.
"And you better act on it quick," Zack adds, his skin now slick and shining with sweat trickling over his body, "because Aerith isn't putting out until Tifa gets some."
Cloud doesn't really care if Zack is getting it from Aerith. They are weirdly obsessed with this, when it's something that should just stay between him and Tifa. But since she already told Aerith about it, now everyone is involved.
A sigh stutters from his constricted throat, and he starts the treadmill again, runs even faster than Zack to combat the rush of adrenaline he feels. Cloud decides he will make a move tonight. Hopefully it's not a total disaster.
~oOo~
It's the end of the night, and Cloud thinks it might be too late. He missed his chance.
They've said their goodnights and I love you's. He kissed her and then she turned her back to him to sleep on her side. The TV stays on, an old sitcom buzzes against the silence, the flashing screen the only source of light in the room. Tifa is nestled under the covers, her cheek to the pillow as her hair splays around her.
Cloud lies beside her, his arm limp at her waist, breathing in the scent of her clean, damp hair as he molds himself against her. Her warmth radiates, spreads to him, seeps in the layers of clothes he wears and revitalizes his skin. He's horny—he's horny every fucking day. And he tames it, controls his impulses as he's on his best behavior. He's put a wall between them and is terrified to tear it down, to set the animal free. He doesn't know what he might do. He wants her so bad.
Tifa must be sleeping, she barely moves. Her breath is serene, and he wants to shake her awake and startle her, swallow the gasp from her mouth as he defiles her. He shifts, his fingers curl on her navel. Tifa murmurs in her sleep, moving her neck. A patch of pale, moonlit skin reveals itself. So beautiful and innocent, untouched. Her sainthood makes him weak. He's a sinner who wants to keep sinning and drag her down with him.
A breath of pure longing eases from his nose. His body feels so hot in these clothes, beneath these sheets, from the heat she bleeds on him. Cloud remembers what Zack said, and he still feels so conflicted. Because it's wrong, it feels so wrong. And it makes him want it even more.
Her legs are bare, she only sleeps in his shirt. When her foot touches his, her skin is ice cold. Her toes point, digging up his pantleg, like she's desperate to touch him in her dreamy trance.
Her smell is everywhere, entrenched in his nose, swelled in his lungs. All he breathes is Tifa. It makes him dizzy, disoriented. She's supple skin and delicate breaths, sweet scents and silky hair. The moon sneaks in through the window and bathes her in its aura. She's so beautiful—her lashes curl, her lips pucker into a heart. Ethereal skin that glows in the rays of the moon. He can't stand it anymore—he swipes his tongue over the sliver of her neck—he's tasted her and he's already drunk.
He moves against her, finds the hem of her shirt and lets his hand wander inside. He palms her belly, traces each bone of her ribs. His mouth is on her neck, his teeth gently scrape her skin. A hot breath fans her, makes her moan as he touches her. He knows she's awake by the way she pushes her butt against his pelvis, from the curve of her spine as she seems to be moving with him in an intimate sway.
His dick is so hard, straining and begging in his desire for her—he needs to touch her, he'll die if he doesn't. Right now, it's not enough—even as he kisses her neck and grazes her belly, feels her heat engulf him to the point where his body is enflamed. He needs more, he'll go insane if he doesn't get it. He's an animal, driven mad by her perfect body that's right within his grasp.
Cloud tears down the wall, mutters her name into the cave of her neck. Her breast spills out of his palm. She's warm there—too much for him to hold, heavy but fleshy and soft. And so fucking perfect. His thumb grazes her nipple—it perks, the tip pointed and erect. Tifa is moaning, airy breaths dripping from her mouth, trembling from deep in her throat. Her body writhes against him. She doesn't pull away, but edges him on as he circles her nipple in an airy touch.
"Cloud—" she groans almost frantically, holding back a cry when he gently pinches her between two fingers. She's panting, her body shaking. It spurs him, he wants to keep going, fueled by this intense reaction from her.
"Is this okay?" His voice is a gentle whisper. Even as he asks for her permission, he doesn't stop as he twists her peak. Tifa is restless on the bed as she lengthens her neck, rolls her head in ecstasy. She barely releases the "—yea—" as a croak.
He squeezes the fatty mound of her breast, too ample to be this soft. But it is, and he's manic in the way he touches her, sliding his palm over her nipple as he crushes her flesh, pressing dimples in her skin.
He gnarls, clenches his jaw, his teeth gnash together. This isn't enough. He wants to look at her—see her heavy tits and pretty pink nipples, watch the delusional squint of her eyes, the quiver of her bottom lip that paints her as his little slut.
He helps ease her on her back, and her thighs split open for him. Her chest rises and falls like a tsunami, she's ravaged by the storm of her longing, teeth chattering as if she's suddenly freezing even though her body feels so hot. Cloud's between her legs, his weight falling on her body. He kisses her, holds her neck like he's going to choke her, but his touch is tender, feeling her pulse ticks on his thumb. Their lips glide together in perfect synchrony as if they rehearsed this. He kisses her and it feels like the first time, how starved he was to greet her lips, feel the suction of her mouth, taste her spit.
He chews her lip, sucks her in—steam exhumes from his nose as his breath turns to fire. He's led by his heart, a drum that urges him forward, to kiss her deeper, longer. He keeps moving his head to kiss her at different angles, getting more excited at the pop of their lips when he's about to begin a new kiss.
One hand around her neck, clutching delicate skin—the other holds the hem of her shirt. Her leg wraps around him, her heel digs into his spine. Flexible hips that are open and limber—he wants to rut into her, his erection already trying to find its way inside, fighting through the barrier of clothes that separates them.
Cloud pulls her shirt up to her ribcage, sees the white cotton of her underwear as her belly is unveiled. She's tiny, her waist dips from the flare of her hips. Her stomach is flat, and when he touches her, she's sweltering.
"Can I take this off?" he asks as he sits on his knees with the back of her legs on top of his thighs. Her arm is thrown over the pillow, the other tucked at her side. She's splayed on the bed beneath him, her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth. He pulls on the shirt, ready to rip it off her, and Tifa elongates her neck in a delicious moan that vibrates her body. Her knees lock him in, rubbing his ribcage through his shirt.
"Okay," she says, and he almost doesn't hear her from the breathiness of her tone. But he is hanging on her every word, eager for her answer. And he lifts the shirt over her head, helps lay her back down once it's off and thrown to the floor.
He sketches every inch of her to his memory so he never forgets this moment. How beautiful she is, the way the moonlight embraces her, paints a portrait of her in ivory and grey. The shadows add depth, carve out the curves of her body, the angle of her jaw, the slim hill of her nose. The texture of her lips, the dripping darkness of her eyes. He wants to pray to her, bow his head before her and repent to the beautiful saint. He feels so unworthy to see her this way, wonders if he'll turn to stone for the risk of sin he has taken.
She's more beautiful than he imagined. Her breasts are tear drops, falling to the sides as she lies on her back. Her nipples are stiff and pointed, eager for his touch as they pebble for his attention. Tinted blue in the darkness, so visible against the backdrop of her milky complexion. He can't stop staring, transfixed by the beauty of her chest. He feels the separation of his lips, licks them when they get dry from the air that passes his mouth.
Their gazes blend, feeding each other in swirls of lust. His desire is known, blatant—trickles off his body in fierce waves that swarm her, pressed between her legs as he towers over her. Her longing is gentler. Tifa doesn't look at him so hard, her eyes half-lidded. She squirms on the bed and her breasts shake.
The animal is released, and it's starved—ravenous to rip a piece of her meat off the bone. He wants to taste her, devour her, become absolutely immersed in her.
And he does. He curls over her, against her, smothers his face in her perfect tits, and Tifa gasps—so sharp it rings in his ears. He hasn't given her enough time to adjust, to react to what he's doing. But he's starving, he needs to touch her, feel her, taste her—he kisses one nipple at a time. Her back lifts off the bed as she gnashes her hips against his almost violently.
He holds a breast in each hand, squishes the fat and pushes them up, alternating wet smears on her nipples, drawing them in his mouth with the curl of his tongue. They're hard, so firm—he loses his fucking mind when he latches onto one and starts sucking. Swallowing the tip of her breast, his tongue tickling her as his hand stimulates the other, drawing circles over her pert skin.
Tifa is moaning, writhing, won't stop moving on the bed. Her hand delves in his hair, nails sinking into his scalp as her shins move up and down his legs. Her nipples are so sensitive, and they discover this together. She hums a song of intense pleasure that stays locked in her throat, undulating her body beneath him.
He drags his tongue, his teeth graze her nipple. Tifa wails in ecstasy, throws back her head, her hair scattered around her in a midnight spill. It's the most beautiful song he's ever heard. He wants to hear it again, does it again, flicks his tongue, nips gently with his teeth. He's obsessed with her tits, wants to live in the pillowy haven of her breasts for all eternity.
She's panting, gasping, the sheets are pushed so far back they've almost fallen to the floor. He wants her, he wants her so fucking bad. This isn't enough—she's enjoying it, he doesn't want to stop. But he needs more. He wants to taste her.
Cloud goes to the floor, on his knees, grabs her shins and drags her to the edge of the bed. She gasps at the sudden jerking movement. Her legs are open, he sees the jut of her hip bones poke through her underwear. He smells her—it's thick, heavy in the musk of desire. He breathes her in, feels his mouth salivating as his spit grows tacky in his mouth.
Her legs messily wrap around him, her heel rubs against his shoulder blade. Everything is a blur, all he sees is Tifa's inner thighs glisten with sweat, the imprint of her cunt on her underwear, the wet stain that darkens the cotton.
Tifa is shaking, even when he grabs the elastic and lets it snap to her skin first before he tries again. Her legs lift to the air. Straight, her knees don't bend, her calves flex as her toes point. He drags the underwear off her body. It resists his pull, clamped to the dampness between her legs.
Her legs furl around him, long and bare as he presses down on her thighs and lets them fall apart on the bed. She's open and stretched—her slit spreads, her folds unravel. He sees everything, every line and lapel and crease at the center of her body. Dark hair stipples her skin. She's pink, wet and sticky, its shimmers in a gloss that coats her. Her clit pokes out—stiff and pulsing. Engorged and red. He's mesmerized, can't pry his gaze away from her pretty little pussy.
"Stop staring," Tifa whines, tries to close her thighs but Cloud holds them down. "Can I at least take a shower first?"
"No," he answers quickly. He likes this—the sheen of her arousal, the thick smell of her longing. He doesn't want her to wash it off.
Her belly moves with each stammered breath. He can tell that she's scared as much as she's excited. He's determined to make her see stars, have her spiraling in a frenzy of pleasure.
His eyes close, his senses are set ablaze. He smells her, feels her, tastes her—presses a kiss to her clit that has her squirming. His palms strangle her thighs as he wrestles them in place, slipping from the sweat dousing her skin.
He kisses her again, lets his tongue swipe the sensitive cluster of nerves that twitches in his mouth. He laps her—licks her like she's made of candy. He's losing control. He's so fucking hard. And she tastes so good, he's addicted to the flavor of Tifa, feeling her clit prick his tongue. She sings a melody of moans and grunts, pants and gasps. He feels her thighs tense, her legs stop moving so much as she clenches her entire body.
His tongue glides in sensuous circles, his lips pucker to bring her into his mouth so he can suck her clit. He drinks in her essence, his face pressed up against her body, and he can't breathe, each time he tries he just sinks into the scent of Tifa, gets drunker and more delirious like he's succumbed to a gas leak.
He worships her—on the carpet, on his knees, bowed in prayer before the saint between her legs. He's so unworthy, but is a sucker for the mercy she grants him, to be so lucky that he finds himself here, drinking from her sanctity, desperate for her blessing. Frantic—his head bobs and moves, his tongue flicks over the pearl nestled in her folds. It's retreating, he searches for it, clamps his mouth over it and lets his teeth caress her.
Tifa is close, her body is so tense—but she isn't coming. She trembles from how much she clenches, preparing for the fall, but it's not happening. He squeezes her skin, tries to touch her a different way, but she still climbs. Higher and higher but doesn't descend into the ecstasy he's desperate to see from her.
Cloud leans over her, replaces his mouth with his hand, swirls his fingers in a gentle motion and feels her slick soak his skin. Their breaths mingle when he's above her, seeing the contortion of her face, the squelch of her eyes. The snarl of her lips. She pants through her mouth, twists her body on the bed.
"Baby, what's wrong?" He kisses her, lets her taste herself on his tongue. His voice is low, hoarse, caught in the breathiness of his grunts. She looks so good lying naked on his bed, the lust flowing from her eyes and leaving a residue on her cheeks. He still works his hand between her legs, kisses her mouth with a slow tenderness.
"I—I don't know—"
He feels her mouth the words against his lips in desperation. Cloud needs to figure it out—he needs to help her, find the part of her that'll make her explode. He searches with his mouth, wets her skin as he drags his tongue down her neck, feeling the manic flicker of her pulse. Lower, nips her shoulder, her collar bone. Descends until he's at her breast.
He kisses her nipple, and she reacts—jerks into his touch. He gets it now, what he has to do, knows what she likes. One hand between her legs, the other plays with her neglected nipple as he brings the tip of her breast in his mouth. She grabs him, pulls his hair, fidgets beneath him like she's ready to crawl out of her body. She squeals into his ear.
He pinches her nipple between his fingers, twists it gently while scraping his teeth over the other. His hand rubs the center of her body, so wet and slippery that he slips—makes her cry out in agony before he quickly resumes where he was.
He releases her nipple when a gentle pop, painted in a wet smear from his spit. He stimulates the other in his hand as he finds her mouth to kiss her—he takes in her stare, her heavy-lidded gaze, feels the mist of her breath fan his skin.
Her eyes are glassy, her lips shiver as she tries to speak. "Something's happening."
Their heartbeats collide, clashing in a frenzied rhythm. He whispers softly to her, "Let it happen."
It's when his lips fall to hers in a dreamy, messy kiss that he feels Tifa come undone.
Her moan gets caught in his mouth—her back arches off the bed. Her body convulses, she jerks wildly like she's having a seizure. He feels her clit pulse on his fingertips as she stumbles through the quake that possesses her. Her eyes grow wide and blank, she's fallen into a spell. Cloud works her through it—doesn't stop kissing her, flicking her nipple, fingering her clit. Stimulating her in so many ways that her orgasm is deep—it doesn't end. Once one wave ends, another begins, and he's dragged in with her, lost in the sea of ecstasy that's ransacked her body and has the bed shaking.
Her moans are quick and breathless—they taste so good, sweet on his tongue. She says something, it's in another language. He doesn't know which one, but she keeps saying it over and over again.
And then it's over. Tifa lies on the bed trying to catch her breath. A thin film of sweat coats her skin. Cloud tries to ease her by pressing kisses on her neck and shoulder, delving his hand in her hair to massage her scalp.
He's so painfully hard, it fucking hurts. His dick twitches in his pants for some sort of relief. But he decides this is where they should end it. It's enough. Tifa is spent, he's not going to make her get him off. He got enough out of watching her come so furiously. They can save his for another time.
As Cloud looks for her shirt, Tifa sits up. She's slouched, tapping her ankles together and lightly kicking her legs as she watches him. Her eyes are big, she looks at him through batted lashes. It's weird that's she completely naked while he's still fully dressed. He helps put the shirt back on her so she doesn't feel so exposed. And then he lulls her back to bed, beneath the sheets. They face each other as they share the same breath.
His knuckles trickle over her cheek. "Are you okay?"
Tifa nods gently, her eyes drifting close. Cloud hopes he did the right thing. All he wants is for Tifa to be happy and to feel good.
He hopes he didn't go too far.
~oOo~
Tifa can't sleep.
She's not wearing any underwear, her thighs sticky and pasted together. She feels a draft slip between her legs. Cloud holds her, breathing softly on her neck. He's a warm weight against her, holds her body in the cage of strong arms. The TV is still on, he always leaves it for her so she can fall sleep. But she can't tonight. Her mind is racing, her thoughts scattered all over her head.
Tifa did a bad thing. And she liked it.
She got what she wanted. Cloud finally touched her, and it was perfect—it felt so good. Her skin still tingles from his touch, how gentle he was with her. The remnants of passion still make her shiver as she mentally relives it. His mouth, his hands—finding all the places that ignite her. The taste of his kiss is still on her tongue—she knows her own flavor, recalls her essence smeared on his chin, coated on his lips. Tifa has tasted herself—and she liked it. She wants to taste Cloud, wants to kiss him after so he can experience the same rush.
But Tifa is scared. This is all so scary. She doesn't know what she wants. She feels so sad all the time, she's confused. Her walls have been demolished—she's bare and exposed, Cloud has touched her in a way no one has before. A way she's always been so afraid someone would take from her without her permission.
She feels like she's suffocating under these sheets. It's dumb for her to be like this, after wanting this to happen so desperately, and when it does, she's terrified. Tifa wants to cry, and she never has the privacy to do it. She wants to be alone and cry like a baby, let it all out and have no one try to stop her.
Tifa gets out of bed, maneuvering herself from Cloud's embrace. She suddenly feels cold, losing the warmth and protection of his body. She depends on Cloud so much, she wishes she can be more independent, that she could help contribute in some way because everyone is always taking care of her.
Tifa looks for somewhere to cry. She thinks of the bathroom, but someone might hear her. So, she goes out to the balcony. She's barefoot, wears nothing but Cloud's shirt. A light breeze sweeps past her and her arm wraps around herself for warmth. She struggles to slide the door close, and even though she's cold, it's not so bad. The wind is gentle, chilly but not overbearing. The weather has been getting nicer as they reach April, and it's so pretty outside. The moon and the stars greet her, soaking her skin in their glow. She sees life in the grass and trees in the distance. The streets are empty, asleep, so unlike the city where she used to live. It's so quiet here.
The noise of the city used to be her lullaby. Now she falls asleep to the TV and strong arms, doses off to the sound of Cloud's breathing, the rhythm of his heart. Tifa found comfort in being uncomfortable—but now that's she's comfortable, she wants to crawl out of her skin. She hates feeling this way, this constant distress in her body. Something's wrong, something's missing. It hurts. It still really hurts.
She holds the railing, looks out into the canvas of the night's sky. Her feet are freezing on the stone. She lifts her heels, goes into relevé, stands on her toes as she feels the flex of her feet. Stretching like something familiar but long forgotten. She's so out of shape and it hasn't been that long. She feels like she's losing herself, that she'll never dance again.
There's a chair tucked in the corner, pink and cushiony. Tifa sits, brings her feet up from the floor and rests them under herself. She's crying—it feels freeing. The wind cradles her face, drawn to her tears. She's so useless, she can't even hold herself for warmth. She cries for everything she's lost, reminded of all her problems and the uncertainties that await her. She cries because she feels she is a burden to those she loves. But she can't leave, she has no place else to go.
Tifa cries, the tears make their harrowing journey down her face—across her cheek, slipping down the curve of her chin, the line of her neck. Deeper, into her shirt where they disperse and blend with her skin. She wipes her forearm over her eyes, but all it does is scatter the wetness. She feels pain—everywhere, on her body, in her mind. Everything hurts all the time. It's so hard being alive.
She almost doesn't notice when the door slides open, too lost in her thoughts, dazed as she stares directly at the lustrous moon. She jolts back to consciousness as a blanket wraps around her, firm hands rubbing her shoulders to generate warmth.
Cloud kneels before her, he looks worried—he caught her crying. She really didn't mean him to. Tifa wanted to hide from everybody, but even out here she is a nuisance. He must be cold, too, in the tee shirt and grey sweatpants he wore to bed. But he's only concerned for Tifa, making sure she's warm and taken care of. It makes her cry a little harder, and she doesn't know why—why his love for her makes her sad.
She feels the distortion of her face, her eyes crushed in misery. The tears cloud her sight and she can barely see in front of her—just the blue of his gaze, the emerald flecks that churn in shimmering sapphires. She sees blue eyes and ashen brows. A smooth nose and angled jawline. Pink lips and skin a few shades darker than hers. His hair is messy, straw like, disheveled locks framing his face. He fights the threat of sleep, keeps his gaze on her ample and unmoving as his hand reaches to caress her face.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Cloud asks her in that gentle voice he only reserves for her. Tifa shuffles in the blanket, craving the warmth that gathers around her as the breeze snakes inside. He touches her so tenderly, handles her like she's fragile and will shatter. He looks at her with such love that she has never seen from anyone else, never from the person who was supposed to love her.
"I—I don't know." Her voice is distorted, she sniffles to clear her sinuses, sucking in her tears back in. Cloud still touches her cheek, swiping his thumb along her skin. She leans into him, tries to breathe to settle her nerves, but her heart is racing, everything is going a million miles per second. "I—I feel guilty."
There's a shift in his expression, like he joins her in her guilt. "About what we did?"
Tifa doesn't really know the answer, but she nods anyway. His lips squirm, a dimple presses between his brows. He looks so conflicted, and it's her fault. Cloud didn't do anything wrong. Tifa is the problem. All he does is love her, she makes everything more complicated.
"Listen, I'm sorry—" He finds her hand in the blanket, holds it with both of his. His warmth shelters her. "I thought you wanted to—and, I took it too far. I'm sorry. We can take it slow. There's no rush—"
"No." Tifa stops him, her tears splattering off her face when she shakes her head. Her brows slant, the idea makes her angry, enraged. "I liked it. I wanna do it again." She feels shame for what she says, her heart in combat against her as she speaks. But there's a thrill behind admitting it, even as she fights the impending feeling of doom. "It felt so good. You made me feel so good."
He doesn't say anything, just watches her, waits for her to finish as he holds her hand. Tifa can't breathe, her chest moves with each attempt. She has more to say—so much to say. She can't find enough words to get it out. She zones in on his eyes, uses them to focus, sees the way he looks at her and finds comfort in that.
"But I'm scared." The edge is gone from her voice. It's softer, quavers as she speaks. "He's going to know what I did. He'll know that I liked it. He'll find me, and punish me—"
"Tifa, hey—look at me—" Cloud drops her hand to cradle her face, forces her to fixate her gaze on him. She started to drift, leaving the haven of his eyes as she stared straight at the moonlight and lost herself to an illusion of reality. "That's not gonna happen. He's gone, he can't hurt you anymore."
"He'll know. He'll know." Her tears return to ravage her face, her skin burning in the assault. "He'll be so mad at me."
"You're safe now, he'll never touch you again."
She breaks in a sob, whimpering as she cries. Cloud rubs her skin, tries to catch all her tears. There are too many, they soil her face, she's a mess, but it doesn't stop him. He hugs her, curls his arms around her waist, draws her in. She cries on his shoulder, rests against him and accepts his affection.
"Everything is so hard."
"I know." Cloud breathes her in, delves his hands in her hair and combs through it. "Tell me. I'm listening."
When she gasps for air, she feels the wind shoot down her throat. "I can't do anything. I'm so tired. Everything hurts."
He rubs circles on her back. "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere—my arm—" She tries to move it to prove her point, it only makes her wince. "It hurts."
Cloud pulls back a little, the tip of his nose touches hers as his face twists in an uneasy expression. "It still hurts?"
She nods softly, her eyes so squinted from the tears that blind her, they're almost shut. "It hurts every day."
"Have you told the doctor?"
"I did." She's so tired, her forehead bumps his as she's too weak to hold her head up anymore. "He said it'll go away. He gives me more pain medicine. But it stopped working—and I don't wanna be like Dr. House—"
Cloud leans back, tilts his head, gives her the most confused look she's ever seen from him as his brows twist in knots. He grips her shoulders. "What?"
"It's this show I watch on the TV with Aerith," she explains, her voice shaking as she grows more emotional. "He's a doctor and he's mean and he's addicted to Vicodin, the same medicine my doctor gives me."
Cloud's trying to process what she just said, nodding carefully. "Okay, Tifa, I don't know what you're watching. But that's not how addiction works. A doctor isn't going to keep giving you more drugs just because you asked for them."
"But they stopped working—" she interjects, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "They don't work anymore, so I stopped taking them." She's trying to catch her breath, but she's too worked up and upset, taking in sharp breaths but nothing comes out.
Cloud helps her pace herself, guides her in taking careful, deep breaths. The cold air strikes her lungs, revitalizes her as she relearns how to breathe with the heat of his exhale touching her skin. "Okay, let's call the doctor tomorrow and see if you can take something else—"
"Soon I won't be able to see the doctor—" She's panicking again, shaking her head almost frantically as she tries to pull away from him, but he clamps her down, holds her still. Her hair blows against the breeze, swooshing behind her. "The insurance will end in a few months. Everything will be so expensive. The medicine, the doctors—"
Cloud grounds her, tries to be the voice of reason, but it doesn't help. "It's okay, we'll find you a different insurance—"
"No. Aerith has been checking, calling every day. No one will take me. Because of my arm. I can't get new insurance." Her desperation croaks out of her voice, bleeds from her eyes. She feels hopeless, that there's no solution to her problems. She's a burden—a heavy torment on their lives. "I don't know what to do. How to pay for everything, how to stop bothering you."
Cloud looks at her—he really, deeply looks at her. His jaw is rigid, his hold on her shoulders firm and unyielding. She sees the spark of something in his eyes—like the wheels are turning in his head, he's thought of something. He wants to tell her. His nostrils flare as he takes careful breaths. He leans forward, his lashes tickling her brow.
"Tifa." His throat bobs when he gulps, and he takes a second to reorient himself. "Let's get married."
The color drains from her face, her lips split apart and the cold air of the night snakes in her mouth. Everything has stopped. The howling of the wind, her heartbeat vanished. There's nothing, just her and Cloud and the moon gleaming behind them as they perform this forlorn duet.
She stutters to speak. "W—what?"
"Marry me." He says it again, pauses and curses to himself as he tries to figure this out, make it right. He shifts on the floor, gets on one knee, releases her shoulders to take her hand. It's limp in his grasp, she's lifeless, afloat in another world.
"Will you marry me?" he asks.
The moment is surreal, she can't believe this is happening. Tifa tries to choke a word out—say something, anything. He's waiting for her to answer, and she can only shake her head, barely managing to spit out a response.
"But—we can't—You don't—"
Cloud brings her hand to his cheek, holds it there as he nuzzles her. Her knuckles brush his skin, absorbing his warmth—soft yet rugged, the faint sprout of stubble grazing her. "I'll get insurance from work in a few months, before yours finishes. There shouldn't be a problem. If we're married, they can't deny you—"
She pulls her hand away, rattles her head so hard she gives herself a migraine. "No—that's too much. You don't have to do that for me—"
"I want to." He holds her face, forces the connection of their eyes. He's so serious, she sees it in the expanse of his pupils, the tautness of his brows. As his lips brush against hers, he breathes life into her mouth. It's warm and familiar. It cures her of every doubt and fear she holds within. Nothing bad can happen if she's with Cloud. No one can hurt her as long as they're together.
"I love you. I'll do anything I can to help you." He speaks against her lips, tracing gentle circles along her temples. Tifa wants to fight this—the idea is crazy, they're too young. She doesn't want to take any more from his life than she already has. Marriage is so permanent—what if he changes his mind? She can't do it—she can't.
She's still crying. It won't end as her heart is shattering. Tifa should break up with him, she needs to set him free and rid him of this burden. But she can't—she needs him. She loves him. Too selfish to let him go. And she knows he won't leave her. Their love is doomed, but she doesn't care. She wants him to be with her forever. Tifa wants to be happy.
"So let's get married." Cloud fingers the strands of hair that stick to her face, slipping them behind her ear. The wind whistles in the silence, whirls between them in a gentle caress. It's almost perfect, how tender this moment is. This is how she'd want to be asked. And it's happened—he's throwing himself at her, and Tifa surrenders, catching his love and cradling it against her.
When she opens her mouth, it takes a second for the word to relinquish on her tongue. "O—okay."
He's surprised, cocking his head to the side as he gives her a strange look. "Really?"
Tifa relaxes, the tension easing from her face, her shoulders dropped. She stops crying. Right now, the world doesn't seem as dark. There's light in Cloud's eyes—even at night, as they glimmer and shine, she loses herself in ultramarine, swims in cerulean waves. It's peaceful. Tifa feels peace.
She dabs at her cheeks, a shaky smile fumbling on her lips. "Yea."
Cloud laughs, a light chuckle that makes her feel warm inside. He closes the distance between them when he kisses her, slipping his arms around her as he draws her in. They stay like this for a while, Tifa snuggled in the blanket as they kiss under the stars. He kisses her softly, affectionately, lets his adoration leak in her mouth. Tifa feels so happy, she wants to start crying again.
They are in the kitchen. It's dark, Cloud looks through her medicine as Tifa holds a glass of water. He pulls out a small bottle with her pain pills, pops open the cap and takes one out. "Just take one tonight so you don't feel so bad, alright? It's been a few weeks since you've taken them, so they should work."
Tifa nods, sticks out her tongue as he places the pill in her mouth.
Cloud gives her a teasing smile. "I promise you won't turn into an addict."
He takes her hand and leads her back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Tifa feels funny, the longing pulling down her belly, nestling between her thighs. She crawls onto the bed, lies above the sheets, waits for him to join her. She can't stop squirming, rubbing her thighs together. She knows what's going to happen now. It makes her heart race, she feels so hot and her nipples are already hard as her shirt scrapes them painfully.
Cloud lies beside her, leans on his elbow to face her. The TV is off, everything is silent. Tifa hears her own breath—it's chaotic, roaring. Her arm falls to her forehead as she squirms, curving her spine and pushing her heels on the bed.
The desire in his eyes leaks—it spreads all over her, makes her just as dirty. He touches her lightly, grazes the high point of her cheekbone. His scent drifts around her, filling her senses with a heat that makes her nostrils flare. It makes her hot, she wants that smell everywhere, all over her like it was earlier. She wants her lungs to swell with the scent of Cloud.
His hand travels down her body, outlining her like an artist does a portrait. She tenses from the anticipation. Her neck rolls on the pillow when he grabs the hem of her shirt and dips inside. He's warm, his palm travels up her belly as he slides over the steps of her ribcage. He grasps her breast—she groans, airy and dreamy, lets the sound slip from her throat freely. Because she's free—Tifa is free.
"You like it here." He doesn't ask. He tells her. Because he knows, he's certain. Proven right when he twists her nipple and she moans in sweet bliss. It feels so good, Tifa can't hold it in. She lets it out, lets her voice carry in the air. He rubs the tip of her breast with his thumb, his coarse skin tickling her. Her nipples constrict. So hard and sensitive and needy.
Her hips buck, legs falling apart. She feels the twitching at the center of her body. Her shirt lifts higher, exposes her sex. She gushes in her longing, lets it wet the bed, smear the insides of her thighs. Cloud pulls the shirt off her body. She's naked—the air kisses her skin before allowing him to take its place. His lips are everywhere—the voyage is slow and mesmerizing. She feels every press and peck of his mouth. His palm on her belly, it sails lower, and lower, buries in dark curls, finds the source of her pleasure and feeds it.
Her body is in flames. She lengthens her neck as a moan rumbles in her throat. He gathers her essence and smudges it on her sex. His hand undulates, moves amorously. He's so good at this—the way he touches her, rubs the swollen, jolting nerves that are so sensitive, coiled into a ball of pleasure that he uncovers with ease. She drenches him—his hand is wet, so sticky and slippery. And his mouth still travels, exploring her skin.
She's warm between her legs, feels it start to burn in frustration. Tifa wants him to kiss her breast—he knows she likes it, that it'll make her feel so good. She's almost there, she whines as she pokes out her chest, urging him to touch her there.
She's begging—"Please." Grabbing his hair, she pushes his face down eagerly.
His tongue drags, drawing her peak in his mouth. He licks her nipple, puckers his lips to kiss her. So slow and intentional, she feels every flick of his tongue, the texture of his lips, the heat of his mouth. His spit wets her skin. It feels so good, she can't take it. She's ready to let go. But something holds her back.
The fear still lingers, keeps her prisoner in her own heart. And Cloud must know, he must hear the banging from her chest. He releases her breast with a gentle pop, keeps working her between her legs as he moves to kiss her mouth.
"It's okay. It's okay—" he tells her in a delicate whisper.
Tifa is crying, sighing into his kisses. The pleasure ascents, the pressure low in her belly.
"You're allowed to feel good. You're allowed to be happy." He plants kisses down her neck, and she feels the line he draws on her skin with his tongue, the trail of spit he leaves behind. "You're free, Tifa."
He kisses her nipple, and she lets go. Washed over in a wave of rapture. Tears drench her cheeks, stream into the hollow of neck. A deep, guttural quake takes her body. She's coming—so hard and intense. The world she knows shatters, overtaken by the pleasure that immerses her.
She comes and wails in the agony and euphoria. She sees sounds, hears colors. Everything spins and spirals and nothing makes sense. Only the pulsing between her legs, the pleasure that ripples over her body. Cloud's mouth on her breast, his hand burrowed in her sex. His scent all over her, everywhere. His voice, his breath—she pushes her hips into his hand, rubs herself against him—moans and writhes and becomes an absolute disaster.
And when it ends, she crashes, limp on the bed. She feels so relieved and relaxed. Tifa has no worries, they disappear from her mind. She doesn't feel any pain, her arm doesn't hurt her. She doesn't feel so sad right now.
Cloud lies beside her, presses a kiss to her cheek. But she's not ready for this to be over, she wants more—Tifa sits up, her breasts shake as she looms over him. She grabs the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls, seeing the steep line of his Adonis belt, his hip bone, the firm skin of his low belly.
"I wanna touch you, too," she tells him.
He gives her a look as he holds her wrist, urging her to stop. "You don't have to do that. Like ever, if you don't want to."
Tifa pouts, exposing the inner flesh of her bottom lip as she her hand crawls under his shirt to trace the lines and divots of his stomach. His skin is so warm it nearly burns her. "But you did it for me."
"Yes, and it's been the honor of my life," he says playfully, patting her head as he gets comfortable on the pillow.
But she sees him—witnesses his longing press against his pants, sees the shape of him. He looks tempting—she's so curious. She wants to touch Cloud so bad.
She lies down, rests her cheek on his shoulder. Her hand goes low—on his belly, ruffling his shirt. Slides lower—she feels him tense, hears him hold his breath. She slips past the waistband—it's warm, she finds him, holds him. He's almost too big for her hand.
He stifles a sharp breath, elongates his neck as he grabs her wrist as if to stop her again. He's throbbing, pulsing against her palm. It excites her, she wants to roll her fist to illicit another reaction from him.
"Shit—" He's cursing, his neck long and stretched. She likes the lump of his Adam's apple, lifts her head to kiss it. She lingers, presses open mouth kisses on his skin. Her hand doesn't move, he holds her wrist but doesn't stop her. A rush of adrenaline takes her, makes her drip between her legs.
He drops her wrist, and he helps her—pulls the waistband down low enough that his erection springs out. Tifa is almost afraid to look, but she does—she wants to see it. It's pink and hard, twitches in her grasp—pulsing veins trace the shaft as he leaks from the slit. She's so curious, she rolls her fist, likes the way he responds, how erotically he breathes.
"Wait a sec—" He captures her wrist, stops her, takes her hand and guides it between her legs. She's still so wet. When he pulls out her hand, it's dripping, glossy with her own desire, glistening in the darkness. Cloud exhales as he eases her hand back to his length. She holds him, moves her fist, sheaths him in her slick. It turns her on, seeing a part of herself smeared over him. He helps her move her hand the way he likes it. It's faster, her wrist hurts from the billowing motion. But she doesn't stop, biting her lip as she touches him.
Tifa feels everything, every ridge, each throbbing vein. His grip on her is so tight—he squeezes her wrist so hard he doesn't even realize it. But it's okay, she lets him. She likes to watch him lose himself in her touch. His hair is so messy from fidgeting on the pillow. His eyes are glued shut, his teeth gritted. He looks so sexy, she tilts forward and presses another kiss on his neck, tasting the sweat that peppers his skin. She does it again. And again, keeps doing it until she's sucking, swallowing his flesh, moaning into the motion.
The more he reacts, the faster she coils his length. Her heart pounds against her chest—this is exciting—his hips buckle, he's panting. She wants to see him, wants to watch. She's never done this before, she doesn't know what she's doing, led by his guidance. Tifa wants to always give him this kind of pleasure.
Cloud jerks into her hand, and it happens. He surrenders to his lust, and it reveals itself as white spurts that ooze out of him. It gets everywhere—on his clothes, all over her hand, between her fingers. It's warm and viscous, trickling over her skin in a milky luster. She watches until it's over, entranced. Tifa thought she would be more scared, or grossed out, or repulsed. But she likes it. She likes when Cloud feels good, likes watching him come.
They clean up, go back to bed. The scent of their desire lingers in the room. She falls asleep on Cloud's chest. And Tifa is happy. She's going to get married. Everything will be okay.
~oOo~
Cloud is alone in the IT office.
He doesn't know where Cid is, probably smoking his hundredth cigarette of the day. He just sits in here trying to avoid the entire company. It's midway through the day, and it's been pretty quiet so far. He pulls the hoodie of his sweatshirt over his head, sinks in the neck of it. He's ready to go home, this day is dragging.
The door opens, and Reno bursts in, coffee in hand. Cloud buries his head on his desk, groans at the ray of light that shines in the room.
"Close the door," he mutters, his voice muffled as he speaks against his sleeves. "I don't want anyone to know I'm in here."
Reno does as he's asked, and the room is dark again. Cloud should had known he was coming, he could smell him a mile away. The Axe body spray is revolting, he doesn't know how anyone thinks it smells good.
Reno's shirt is unbuttoned, flashing his chest bone. His pants crease when he sits on top of Cloud's desk, puts the coffee down and slides it towards him.
"You look tired as hell."
Cloud is tired—he was up all night with Tifa. And then early this morning, sucking on her tits again because now that he knows she gets off that way, he wants to do it all the fucking time.
Cloud accepts the peace offering, even though he doesn't want coffee. He wants to get smashed. He doesn't remember the last time he drank. He's been so responsible lately, and now he has a new wave of problems to worry about.
"Thanks," he grumbles.
Reno looks at him curiously, raises a brow as he slouches his back. "Yo, check your email. I sent you something."
Cloud grunts, he just got comfortable sitting this way. But he rolls his chair towards the desk, sits up straight as he jiggles the mouse back to life. The screen of the monitor flashes, and he squints his eyes from the sudden glare. Scrolling through the emails, he finds a forwarded message from Reno.
"What's this?"
"It's Reeve's resignation later. From Operations."
Cloud's face squeezes as he snaps his neck to Reno. "Why the fuck are you sending me this?"
A chuckle eases from his mouth as he shoves Cloud's shoulder. "Because it's funny. Just read it."
But Cloud is insistent, refusing to open the email. "You're not supposed to be sending me this shit."
"You're IT! Just delete the evidence."
Cloud leans his elbows on the desk, generously rubs his temples. He reads the fucking email. It's the most bizarre thing he's ever seen. Reeve rambles about how much he hates the company, lists people by name he can't stand. Cloud can't believe he actually put this in writing.
He tries to fight it, but Cloud cracks a smile, chuckles into his palm. This shit is so dumb, Reno's an idiot for sending it to him. But it's fine, it's made his day a little less dull, helping him forget about everything for a second.
"See! I told you it was funny!" Reno seems accomplished, tapping his hand to the desk. Another button on his shirt snaps open. He looks like such a fucking prick.
But once the moment is over, the dread sweeps in his lungs again. Last night, Cloud made a promise to Tifa, told her he was going to marry her. The memory makes his head throb—because he meant it, he plans on going through with it. But he's terrified of the change in his life. Everything was so different six months ago. His life was so boring, so meaningless. Now he's driven every day with a purpose. To be a better person, to take care of Tifa.
Cloud clears his throat, tries to act natural. "Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"
Reno has his phone flipped open, his thumb moving fast as he types a text message. "Shoot."
What Cloud has to say is a mouthful, and he tries to unscramble the words in his head. "So, let's say you're married. And your wife has a pre-existing condition."
Cloud thinks he hasn't given himself away yet, because Reno is nodding along, still looking at his phone. "Okay."
"She has insurance. But it's going to end soon. Can you put her on your plan through the company?"
Reno thinks for a moment, looking up to the ceiling as he shrugs. "It should be fine, as long as there's no lapse in coverage. You might get audited, though."
But he freezes, shuts his phone and turns his body to face him so quickly, Cloud hears his spine crack. His eyes are wide, expanding over his face. His palm covers his mouth and Cloud retreats, tries to hide in his sweatshirt, but it's too late. Reno's figured it out.
"Wait a fucking minute—"
Cloud groans. He can't get out of this. Reno leans toward him, aggressively shoves his shoulder. "You're gonna marry Tifa?!"
"I guess I am," he states, gnashing his teeth together as he suddenly feels very overwhelmed. "I have to." He pauses. "I want to."
Reno is losing his fucking mind. He brings his foot on the desk, nearly knocks over the coffee. "What are you gonna do? You're gonna live with your brother and his wife like a bunch of swingers?"
Cloud presses his cheek to the desk, barricades himself from the outside world as he shields his arms over his head. "I haven't told them yet. But I'm sure Zack will kick me out the moment he finds out."
The conversation is cut short. The door bursts open. Cloud knows it's Cid from the stench of cigarette smoke that wafts in the room. He lifts his head from the desk, dares to face his fate.
"Reno, what did I fucking tell you—" Cid is at it before he's even had a chance to take off his jacket, leaving the door wide open. "You're banned from this office. Get back to your own department."
It's only Monday, but Cloud has a lot to figure out. How and when he's going to marry Tifa, how he'll break the news to Zack. His fucking mom. This is going to be a nightmare. But he's already convinced himself he's doing this. Even if it's crazy, fucking insane. He hopes that Zack will at least have some mercy on him.
Cloud lowers his hood, slumps back in the chair as it rolls away from the desk. Cid is ushering Reno out the door, but stops to give him a narrow-eyed look. His hair is disheveled from the wind, Cloud can see the pack of Marlboros peeking from his pocket.
"Strife, is that a goddamn hickey on your neck?"