June 2006, Nibelheim
Cloud thought being married would mean his life was over. But it's actually pretty fucking sick.
Every morning, he wakes up—and there are tits right there. He can reach over and grab them whenever he wants, and Tifa just lets him. He has unlimited access to tits, and not just any tits, but Tifa's perfect fucking tits. They're an instant mood lifter. Cloud can never have a bad day if he has a handful of titty to squeeze the joy right back in him.
And he has never had so much sex in his life. They go at it practically every day, multiple times a day. Cloud wonders why he was so freaked out about relationships when they are actually the key to having consistent sex. He doesn't have to cross his fingers and hope to find a girl with low enough self-esteem willing to have sex with him. Even then, sex was a once-in-while-if-he-was-lucky thing. Now it's all the fucking time. And he Doesn't. Have to. Wear. A Condom. Shit—everyone should get married.
He's running late for work—again. Scrambling to get dressed, the smell of sex is plastered all over him. Cloud might have put his shirt on backwards, but there's no time to check. He just needs to get some clothes on so can get out of here. The sun beats in through the window, shining a streak on the bed. He shuffles on the carpet to catch his balance as he pulls up a pair of jeans, hearing a tear rip further at the knee.
Tifa is a lump under the blankets, she shifts and exposes her sleepy face. Eyes narrow from the salutation of sunlight, her hair disheveled and matted. She holds the blanket to her chest, dark blue rumpled from the curl of her fingers. It slips and he sees the tremor of her breast. A nipple greets him—pink and stiff, still puffy and swollen from his mouth.
Cloud breathes fumes from his nose, stops struggling to get ready. He only finished fucking her moments ago, but he's already hungry for more. He sees her pearly waist, the curve of her shoulder. Her cheek smushes to the pillow as she rests against it.
Shit—shit. He's already late. But it doesn't matter. He drops the sweatshirt he was about to pull on and takes wide strides to the bed, kneeling at the edge as he cups her cheek and kisses her. Tifa is warm and smells sleepy, her aroused scent still coats the sheets, and he's riled up again. He tries to kiss her slowly, maintain a tender pace. Her tongue licks his lip, her teeth graze his mouth. Cloud pushes her hair out of the way so he can see more of her face.
"I have to—" Tifa kisses him before he can finish his thought. "—go." It's what he says, but Cloud's rubbing a rug burn on his knee as he bows to her, kissing Tifa like he plans to stay in bed with her for the rest of the day. She fidgets, reaches to grab the collar of his tee shirt so he can't leave.
"Don't go," she whimpers, kissing his bottom lip with a wet and eager mouth. Her eyes are scarcely open, lashes heavy as she bats them. "I miss you so much all day."
Cloud is hard. He feels her bite his lip, suck him into her mouth. And his touch wanders, traces the curve of her shoulder, moves until he finds her breast and lets it fill his hand. He feels her nipple harden and rub against his palm, and Tifa moans, writhes under the blanket as he squeezes the thick swell of fat.
"I miss you, too," he tells her. Tifa whines again, stretches her neck and reaches for his mouth.
"I'm so sad when you're not here. I wanna be with you all the time."
Tifa looks like she's ready to cry, and Cloud hates that she feels this way. He doesn't want her happiness to depend on him, he wants her to feel happy always. They've gotten really attached to each other. And he doesn't mind it, but he can't be with her every waking moment. Even if he really desperately wants to.
"I know, baby. But I really have to leave. I'm sorry." He lifts her head off the pillow, pets her affectionately. Her hair is a mess, her eyes are nearly squinted shut. He kisses her face, pecks her cheek and her nose, kisses the shiver off her lip. Gathering her in a hug, he takes a deep breath so her scent can be buried in his lungs. He wants to stay. He wants to call in sick. But he can't—he has to be an adult.
Grazing the stub of her arm, he presses his mouth to her shoulder, helps her sit up as the sheets fall around her. Goddamnit motherfucker—her tits are flawless. The way they droop in their weight, lifted by the perk of her nipples. They shake with every tiny movement. Cloud wants to grab them, smother his face in them, suck on her tits until she comes furiously. But no—bad Cloud. Not now. He has to leave. He can revel in her hot body when he gets back.
"You wanna get out of bed and see me out?" he asks, hoping to get her moving so she doesn't end up spending the entire day in here waiting for him. With a pouty lip, Tifa nods, lets Cloud grab a clean tee shirt for her to put on.
As Cloud takes her hand, he feels her ring nick his finger. He's greeted to the usual morning sight when he opens the door. Aerith fixes Zack's tie, wears a little pink nightie as her hair is tied up into a messy bun. Strands slip free and pepper her face. Cloud knows they're mumbling some nasty shit to each other because they giggle and Aerith gets on the balls of her feet to nip his neck. Zack grabs her ass from under her skirt. It's too early in the fucking morning for this.
As Cloud drags Tifa out of their bedroom, he clears his throat dramatically, makes sure to get their attention. Zack and Aerith don't scramble to let go of each other as they should. They gradually separate, and Aerith squeals in delight when she sees Tifa, taking her hand with both of hers as she hauls her to the kitchen.
"Tifa, you're awake! We can have breakfast together, just us girls."
Cloud is already at the door. He has to leave right this second if he wants to be only five minutes late, but he doesn't want to rush and make a scene. He moves quick enough, shoves on his riding boot and stuffs the ends of his jeans in them sloppily. His tee shirt is baggy, half of it tucked in his waist. He does a quick check—it's on the right way. He's a fucking hot mess.
Zack slicks his hair back when he finishes his tie. He lifts the cuffs of his sleeves, rolls them all the way up to his elbows. A grin tugs on his lips, flashing a white smile when he approaches Tifa. He extends brawny arms and slouches his back to hug her.
"Good morning, little sister," he says in a playful voice, holding her close as he rocks her gently. Tifa stands on her toes to reach him, her head resting on his shoulder as her arm wraps around his back. A serene smile graces her lips. They're a vision of candy and rainbows against the backdrop of pink and sunlight.
"Good morning, big brother."
Cloud lingers at the door, watches with angled brows and suspicious eyes. He pretends to fuss with his boots, keeping his gaze on the affectionate display. This would be the perfect moment for Zack to exact his revenge on him, but nothing happens. They just hug, and then Aerith joins in, creating a dreadfully wholesome scene. Zack is a much better man than he is.
Cloud is approximately four minutes late when he stumbles in the Shinra building. He hears his boots squeak against the tile as he moves quickly—going through the usual routine of ignoring Yuffie, who is usually too engrossed in something else to pay any attention to him.
It takes one quick glance in her direction to see that she looks as creepy as usual. Her eyes resemble a panda today, only one visible as the other is shrouded by the blue streak in her hair. She stares intently at the monitor, her hand gripping the mouse where he notices her wristband and the fingerless glove that's shredded in ripped fishnet.
Move, move, move—don't make eye contact. But it's too late, Yuffie's already noticed him. Her dark eyes lock on him like a target, and Cloud realizes he won't be just four minutes late anymore.
"Hey, Abercrombie! C'mere!"
God fucking damn it, what the fuck does she want from him? And she needs to stop calling him that. Cloud stops in his tracks, swallows back a groan as he takes a breath to brace himself. Forcing a painfully awkward smile, he walks over to her desk, which is a chaotic mess of magazines and post-it notes. When Yuffie rolls her chair back, he notices the rest of her outfit, a black graphic tee and pleated skirt with striped leggings.
"Good morning, Yuffie," he says with no passion whatsoever. His knee bounces, he needs to go before Cid rips him a new one. Cloud rubs the back of his neck, shifts his lips uncomfortably as he looks down at her.
"Okay, okay—" She gets excited, holds back a laugh as she swivels herself on the chair and extends her palms for emphasis. "I want you to ask me what are you going to do with your life."
Cloud gives her a blank stare. "What?"
"Just ask me!"
Shoving his hand through his hair, he hums in aggravation. "What are you gonna do with your life?"
Yuffie curves her back, sticks out her chest sassily as she plants her hands to her hips. "I'm gonna get what I want!"
Cloud doesn't get it. He just nods and says, "Okay."
She looks offended, scoffs at him like he just dissed her entire family. A tattered gloved hand dramatically clutches her chest. "You don't know where that's from?"
"No, I don't. Later."
But Yuffie doesn't let him leave. She rises aggressively from the chair, sending it spinning behind her before she leans in, slamming her palms on the desk. "It's from the shoes video! It's totes hilarious."
Cloud looks at his watch, lets it slide up his wrist. He's six minutes late now. "Okay."
"I'll send it to you. When you add me on Myspace—"
He waves her off, already on his way. "Will do."
Jessie in accounting's outlook keeps crashing.
It's the third time this week. Cloud suspects she's doing it on purpose somehow. Her cubicle always reeks of strong perfume—so intense that Cloud thinks it will cling to him and get on his clothes He leans over her desk, using her mouse to try and restore her email. Jessie sits scooted away, and he catches a glimpse of her glossy, tanned shin as she crosses her legs. Dark auburn hair flipped over one shoulder, she leans her elbow on the table, watching him. As she shifts her weight onto one hip, her skirt climbs higher. The spike of her heel stabs into the carpet, and she lengthens her neck to look up at him.
He feels her stare drill into him. Cloud tries to avoid looking directly at her, afraid to fall in the trap of her gaze. He focuses on the monitor, grates his teeth as he holds his breath. The stuffy cubicle make him feel even more uncomfortable, especially with Jessie so close that he can feel the heat of her breath on his arm. She taps her nails on the desk, batting dark, curly lashes. Her lips are painted a vivid red, and she sucks in her cheeks, clicking her tongue impatiently.
"I don't know how this keeps happening," she confesses in a low voice, like she's onto his suspicions. A smile teases her lips, and as she leans her weight on the desk, she reveals the line of her cleavage.
Cloud nods, lifts his brows in mock bewilderment as he pulls her keyboard closer. She watches his arms flex, noticing the curl of his bicep as he leans in to examine the screen. There's a framed photo of her with a teenaged boy by a stack of notebooks. "Yea, it's pretty weird, isn't it?"
Jessie hums in approval, still checking him out. She's so blatant about it that it makes him feel awkward. Did he dress too slutty today? Maybe his shirt is too tight? She glares at him like he's a piece of meat she picked out at the butcher, but when her gaze drops to the hand gripping the mouse, her brows knit together.
"You're married?" she asks, absentmindedly taking his hand to examine it more closely. Cloud stutters, wishing she would keep her voice down as it carries over the commotion of the office. He lets Jessie inspect his hand for a little longer before pulling away. His palm feels slick with sweat, and he quickly wipes it on his shirt.
"Uh, yea. I am."
When she looks up at him through her lashes, he sees the way she purses her lips, the imprint of her tongue from the inside as she swipes it over her teeth. Her arms fold at her chest, pressing wrinkles on her blazer. "You're wearing your ring on the wrong hand."
Cloud shifts his attention back to the monitor, tries to act natural as he continues messing with her settings. "My wife's Orthodox."
As she nods, her lips pucker, and she whips her hair behind her, dragging her chair closer to the desk. Her fragrance bleeds in his nose, igniting his nostrils. Cloud tries to swallow the discomfort. But he's still here, and Jessie's still talking.
"Really? Greek? Russian? Serbian?"
Shit, how many different Orthodox religions are there? He thought it was just one. Cloud feels the strain in his neck when he shrugs, tries not to overthink the question. "Uh—Russian."
Jessie smiles, it's less flirtatious and more inquiring. She tilts her head, lets her hair bounce with the motion. "You married a Russian girl."
"Yea, she's—" What is he doing? This is none of her fucking business. He doesn't want everyone in the office talking about him and especially not about Tifa. But he doesn't shut it down, his mouth moves and Cloud lets it happen. "Russian and Bulgarian."
"Oh, wow," Jessie coos, her smile evolving to a sly grin. Dimples form on her chin as she rests her cheek on her hand, and with raised eyebrows, she checks him out from head to toe, tracing the hills and valleys of his body like she's trying to see through his clothes. "Lucky girl to have such a young, cute husband."
He is somewhat thankful to Jessie because Barret is in the office today, and she gives Cloud an excuse to be missing for a while. He wears the Shinra hoodie tied around his hips because it's too hot for this bullshit. He just wants to go home at the end of the day, but they can't even grant him that mercy.
"Kid, Highwind tells me you got hitched."
No—it is four fifty-five. They are not starting this now. Barret had all day to talk to Cloud about this. But he chooses the last possible second—Why does he sound so calm? There's no edge in his tone, he sounds like he's chatting with one of the girls in purchasing. Cloud sits at his desk, tries to look busy for the next five minutes while Barret looms over him. His palms press against the desk, fingers spread wide as Cloud suffocates in his shadow.
Cloud sighs and ruffles his hair, accepting that he can't avoid this conversation. He would prefer Barret yelling at him to put the hoodie back on, but instead, he stands there in his slacks and suspenders, his glasses tipped at the edge of his nose.
"Yea…I did."
Barret knocks the wind out of his lungs with a hearty pat on his back, jolting him forward against the desk. "Well, congratulations, kid! Why didn't you speak up sooner?"
Cloud didn't even speak up later. He doesn't want to make this a spectacle for the entire office to gossip about. But he feels like this is the beginning of the inevitable.
Then Cid returns to the room, bringing the stench of cigarette smoke with him. Cloud feels smothered between them. He just needs to survive the next four minutes so he can go back home to Tifa.
But Barret grabs Cloud's shoulders, shakes him like a maraca. He feels like he has a concussion, his brain tumbles in his head, his thoughts scrambled.
"Highwind, how's about we take the newlywed out on the town?"
No—no. Cloud doesn't want to go out and paint the town red. He wants to go home and indulge in his new favorite pastime: fucking his wife. But it's too late—it's already happening. Cid agrees, spreads the word to the other departments. They drag him to a restaurant in the city. Cloud barely has a second to text Aerith and figure out how the hell he's going to get his bike home before he's near passed out drunk at a table sitting next to Reno.
Reno and—shit, Yuffie is there, too. She sits at the other side of him. Cloud is crammed between them and hardly acknowledges those from other departments at neighboring tables. He catches his reflection on the polished wood as a foreboding light shines directly above him. Drool hangs off his lip from the last shot they forced him to take, and his eyes have faded, verging on grey in his daze. He's so out of it, Cloud can't find the energy to sit up straight or close his mouth.
"So, who'd you convince to marry you?"
Whyyyyyyyyy is she talking to him? Why is she here? Yuffie has her elbows on the table, tilts her head as she scoots her chair towards him until she's uncomfortably close. He can hear pop music playing from the radio amid the uproar of the restaurant. The noise buzzes in his ears, makes Cloud feel like he's not really here as he narrows his eyes at Yuffie, squinting until her image comes into focus.
He tries to answer her, but his arm slides on the table, his head too heavy for him to hold. "Uh—what?"
Cloud hates this, being here and drinking and drifting in and out of reality. Yuffie staring at him like she's going to eat his soul or whatever creepy shit she's into. Her heavy eyeliner dominates her eyelids, makes them look sunken in her head. He wonders if he were to touch her hair, would it feel rock hard from the amount of hairspray holding it in place.
"Who's the girl you convinced to marry?" she asks again with slanted brows. In the light, every pore on her face is visible, and her eyes are so dark they swallow him whole until he's submerged in her creepiness. "Is she hot?"
"Fuck yea—she's a major hottie—"
Reno leans in, hangs off Cloud like he's a pillar of strength despite being on the brink of collapsing at the table. The pungent scent of Reno's cologne stifles Cloud's nostrils. His mouth is dry, so are his eyes, his throat. He's fucking dehydrated. Why does he do this to himself? Cloud clings on with the last shreds of his willpower, the cold surface of the table chilling his skin as he folds his arms for support.
But Cloud agrees—Tifa is hot. Way out of his league. And he says it out loud because he can't discern his thoughts from his rambling tongue. "She's way too hot for me."
Yuffie shoves him hostilely like they're suddenly best friends now. "I wanna see what she looks like!"
Cloud's cheek is pressed to the counter as he groans. He guesses this could be worse, Jessie from accounting could be next to him trying to feel him up from under the table. She even tried to take this seat before Yuffie dashed in and it claimed it for herself. Now he just feels the vibration of her knee bouncing and the smell of her girly perfume snaking around him as she gets impossibly close.
"Sorry, don't have a picture." Cloud feels like he's on a merry-go-round with Yuffie, seeing the room spin as she shakes his shoulder, unhappy with his answer.
"You don't have a picture of your own wife? Wow, you fuckin' suck."
"He's got a picture of her up on his Myspace—" God, Reno, shut the fuck up. But he keeps going, pats Cloud's back while he's fighting for his life at this table. His body begs for some food or water—something that isn't straight tequila. "—You should find him on there."
"I did—" Her voice gets nasally and whiny, and she doesn't let go of his arm, trying to shake the posture back into him, but Cloud's already too far gone. "He won't add me!"
"Dude, the fuck? Just add her. She doesn't bite."
Cloud stares up at the ceiling lights, blinking lazily as if he's fallen asleep with his eyes open. He feels the condensation from the glass suddenly placed beside him trickle down his chin. Yuffie and Reno help him sit up, urging him to drink. He expects his throat to burn from the taste of alcohol, but it's water. It feels refreshing, as if Cloud has been revitalized, even though he's still half dead.
"What a noob. You're a fuckin' lightweight," Yuffie says through a snicker as she wipes the slobber off his face with a napkin.
"He needs coffee and something to eat." Reno feeds him water like Cloud has lost the ability to care for himself. And though food and coffee are eventually brought to the table, another shot glass is placed in front of him as well.
"What the fuck," Cloud groans, rubbing his temples to ease the headache threatening to consume him. He takes the soda Yuffie is drinking and pours the shot in her glass. It fizzes from the chemical reaction, and Yuffie smirks sinisterly as she rubs her hands together. Her gloves are wet, even her wristbands are damp.
"Alright! You rule, Abercrombie!"
Reno snorts, shoves his elbow to Cloud's ribcage. "She calls you Abercrombie. I love it."
He slides his glass between them, Yuffie catches it and cradles it to her chest. "Yo, let's get Yuffie drunk."
"What the fuck do you boneheads think you're doing?"
Cloud's had tunnel vision the last hour, forgets that Cid sits across from him with Barret. Cid's skin looks almost orange in the light, his eyes crinkle as he glares at them, a scowl plastered on his face. "She's fucking underage. You trying to get us kicked out of here?"
"Buzz off, Cid." Yuffie tips her nose to him, pours the alcohol Reno passed her in her glass as well, stirring the concoction with her straw. "I'll have my dad get you fired."
"I'd like to see you try, sweetheart." Cid does what Cloud always tries to avoid—argues with the teenager. She shoots him a vulgar gesture, sticks out her tongue that Cloud finally notices is pierced with a metal stud, and slips it between her fingers erect in a peace sign. But she's not giving him the peace sign.
"Highwind, leave it. Look at her, I'm sure she's done much worse. You in a cult, kid?" Barret shakes his head, drinking out of a bottle of beer. His glasses fog from the condensation.
Yuffie wiggles her hips as she sips, bites down on the straw with a crooked smile. "Your mom's in a cult."
Cloud's gone back to hibernating on the table, losing the will to live. Cid gets up, reaches over and tries to rouse him from his stupor. He doesn't react, just lies there, uses his arm to shield himself from the assault of lights above him. "Strife, you alive? We gotta get you back to your misses in one piece. Eat something for Christ's sake."
Cloud moans, shifts just enough to convince everyone he's still conscious. He catches a tall figure rise from the table next to them, and immediately after, Yuffie abandons her drink and starts shaking his arm, springing Cloud back to life.
"Oh my god, oh my god!"
Cloud thinks he might throw the fuck up. He swallows hard, forcing the bile back down his throat where it burns in his chest. His vision blurs, and no matter how much he blinks, the room keeps spinning. Waiters move in every direction, but he can't focus on where Yuffie is pointing.
"Abercrombie—look! Oh my god, he's so friggin' hot."
Yuffie pulls on his collar, baring his clavicle and shoulder to the cold air. Blinking frantically, he tries to figure out who she's referring to. Reno leans in, strokes his chin as he follows the direction of her frantic gesture.
"You talking about Vince from the call center?"
Yuffie bites back her squeal, but it's enough to nearly deafen Cloud in his left ear. She fidgets in her seat, scoots her chair even closer until they become conjoined twins. "Yes! He's so hot!"
Cloud figures it out, sees Vincent heading towards the bathroom. He can't miss him—impossibly tall, long black hair, always looks forlorn and tortured. Definitely Yuffie's type. But a look of repulsion falls over his face as he leans back into his seat and jerks his neck toward her.
"He's like thirty-five!"
"So?" she snaps back sassily, holding the hem of her skirt like she doesn't know what to do with herself. "I'm eighteen. It's legal."
"It's fucking nasty," Cloud mumbles, reaches for the glass of water but misaims. Reno helps him, slides it in his hand and holds it as Cloud drinks. He feels like a fucking baby.
"He plays guitar in a punk rock band." She's gushing, cheeks tinting in a blush as she holds her fists to her face. It's weird seeing her act so girly when Cloud views her as a demon spawn. But she flutters her lashes and twists her shoulders. "They're called the Turks, and I go to all their shows."
Cloud is ready to fall back to the dark haven of the table, but Yuffie doesn't let him retreat, she grabs his arm and tugs like she's his little sister desperate for attention. "And last week, I went up to him after their set, and guess what? Guess what?"
Reno is loving this. Cloud feels the heat of his smirk beside him, senses his presence as he leans closer to get a better view of them. Cloud sighs, taking a moment to collect himself as he slides his hand down his face. "What?"
"He said hey."
As Yuffie explodes in a frenzy of butterflies and cooties, Cloud rolls his eyes, his elbows embracing the table as he slouches. "Wow. Sounds like he's in love with you."
"Oh, and—" She pauses, takes a sip from her straw. "Then he took me backstage and we made out."
Cloud nearly chokes on his own spit. She just says it likes it's nothing. And it's…pretty fucking gross. Vincent sounds like a creep, he's twice her age. Cloud doesn't know why he suddenly cares, like he feels protective of Yuffie. And Reno is losing his mind as he slaps his hand on the table and gets scolded by Cid. This night is a fucking nightmare, and it's only Thursday. They still have to go to work tomorrow.
"I'm gonna go outside and smoke." Yuffie makes the random announcement as she shifts her chair back and rises. When her arms stretch overhead, Cloud hears her bones crack. "You freaks coming or what?"
Cloud isn't sure what's happening, as if they're forming some sort of comedic trio. Now he's outside, leaning against a brick wall in front of the restaurant. The city is filled with life—cars are jammed together in a heap of lights and colors, the sidewalks littered with a diverse parade of people enjoying their night as Cloud stands there miserable. The heat is relentless, a sharp contrast to the air-conditioned restaurant. The humidity pierces his skin, the wet heat seeping in his lungs.
He didn't know Yuffie smoked. At first, he thought she might be joking, until she pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lights one like she's a forty-year-old chain smoker. When she offers a cigarette to Reno, he accepts without hesitation. And then to Cloud—he just looks at her for a second. He dabbled in smoking a few times in high school, couldn't stand it. But he doesn't want to seem like a little bitch, so he takes a cigarette from her and lets her light it while it's in his mouth.
Cloud is still fucked up, but he's got a handle on his thoughts and prepares himself for the burn of the first breath. He fails miserably—immediately erupting in a coughing fit that has Reno pounding on his back to help him through it. His throat feels scorched, the heat sweltering in his lungs as he hunches forward, bracing himself on his knees. Cloud bites down on the cigarette, watching their streams of smoke blend and coil together.
"What a fuckin' pansy," Yuffie howls, her hostile laughter filling the air. Bystanders shoot him concerned glances because he's that pathetic. He feels like a fucking idiot. Reno has his blazer off, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Smoke eases from his nose. He has a knee bent, his foot tucked against the brick wall as he looks at Cloud with squiggled brows.
"Dude, you alright?"
No. Cloud is drunk, his chest is on fire, he is ready to pass the fuck out in the middle of the street. Despite this, he tries to play it cool, clearing his throat before taking a shallow drag from the cigarette. He stretches his neck, the smoke stuttering out of his nose, his face contorted in agony as his shoulders tense.
"I'm perfectly fine."
Cloud gets used to the cigarette, feels the buzz in his head from the nicotine collide with the alcohol boiling in his gut. He sees the crescent moon among the starlight and thinks of Tifa. He misses her, wants to go home—but he realizes right now, he's not totally miserable. Yes, he was brought here against his will, but he hates his coworkers a little less than he initially thought.
"Yo Yuffie—" Reno shifts his weight to his other leg, flips the collar of his shirt as a cunning smirk falls on his lips. "Next time you catch Vincent at one of his shows, you should blow him."
Cloud groans, almost spits his cigarette to the pavement when he throws his head back against the brick. Reno is such a fucking asshole. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He shrugs, rolling his shoulders and chewing on the cigarette as he extends his palms, laughter speckling his words. "What? Yuffie, you know how it goes, right?"
She's unfazed by his question, doesn't blush or twist her hips shyly. Yuffie just smokes, lifting her brows casually as she adjusts her leggings at the thigh, wearing Converse high tops that go all the way up to her knees.
"I've given head before," she says, the smoke spilling from her mouth as she speaks. "Not to a guy. But I've done it before."
"Yoooooo—" Reno balances the cigarette between his fingers as he dabs his wrist to his mouth. Lines carve his forehead from how high he lifts his brows. "You've gone down on a girl?" And when Yuffie nods, Reno offers her his fist in a bump of solidarity. "She's a motherfucking G!"
Cloud thinks Yuffie is lying. She's probably trying to impress them, like she wants in on their group. It's kind of cute, how badly she tries to be his friend. He should probably stop fighting it so hard.
Reno takes Cloud home. His bike is still parked downtown. He's fucking screwed for tomorrow.
Despite being coherent enough to stumble in the building on his own, Cloud leans against the wall as he struggles to press the button to his floor—he hits three wrong numbers before finally landing on the correct one. In the mirrors lining the wall, he catches a glimpse of his reflection. He looks like a disaster, barely able to hold himself up.
He struggles with his keys for a solid five minutes, squints to glide it in the doorknob, and he almost forgets how to turn. Once the door opens and he stumbles inside, he's blinded by pink—he forgets he lives in a dollhouse. The lights are dim, the TV is on—Aerith and Zack have the Super Nintendo out. And as he hears Aerith holler and throw the controller to the floor, Cloud is kind of thankful he didn't come home earlier after all.
He closes the door with a push of his back, then surveys the room with a tilted head and narrowed eyes. He takes a moment to adapt to the pink surrounding him. Everyone's gathered at the couch—Zack is squeezed between the girls. They're all dressed for bed, Aerith sits with her legs tucked under her while Zack sprawls with a wide stance, leaning forward as he grips the controller with both hands.
Tifa sits to his left, eats directly from a pizza box on the coffee table. She wears Cloud's old Creed tee shirt from high school, her thighs pressed together as she taps her ankles. Layering two pizza squares, she takes a bite, grease smearing on her lips. She's so fucking cute.
Cloud recognizes the sound of the video game they're playing, he remembers playing it with Tifa at the arcade. Aerith is pissed—her hair tumbles over her shoulder as she ducks to grab the controller carpet, the skirt of her nightie lifting up her thighs. She blows her hair away from her face and gets situated back in her seat. "You're fucking cheating, babe!"
"How am I cheating, Aerith?" Zack doesn't even look at her, a coil of hair slipping over his forehead as he's ready for the next round. "It's a game, chill the fuck out."
No one's noticed Cloud is home and practically dying. Except for Tifa, she sees him hanging on for his life at the door and her face lights up. He lives and breathes for her fucking smile—he nearly melts into a puddle on the carpet. He loves the curve of her lips and the way her eyes squelch—and that fucking dimple she saves for him on her chin. Tifa puts the pizza back in the box, wipes her mouth with a napkin before she waves at him.
"Hi Cloud!"
Aerith finally acknowledges him, her face unlaxes from her scowl as she flashes him a warm smile. "Hey sweetie, you have fun hanging with your work buddies?"
Cloud grunts, tries to slug his way to his room without dying. He catches Zack glancing at Tifa, shrugging his shoulders as he readies himself for the next round. Zack's tee shirt dips as he leans forward, his arms flexed as he grasps the controller with a firm grip.
"Okay, little one. I'm gonna need my good luck charm."
Tifa nods, rests her hand on his arm as she kisses his cheek. She leaves a wet imprint on his skin, and Aerith scoffs a laugh, a near sinister smirk curving her mouth.
"You better make-out with him, Tifa," she taunts, already pressing buttons before the round has even begun. "Because Zack's dead meat!"
Zack and Aerith need to make some fucking friends. Cloud trudges past them, finds the clarity to pat Tifa's head before he makes it to the bedroom. He dives face first to the bed. He hasn't even taken his boots off. He smells like liquor and cigarette smoke and hates he's getting the stench all over the sheets. The door is cracked open, inviting in a sliver of pink light as he hears the commotion coming from the other side of the wall. Aerith is raging because she's a sore loser. Cloud feels like a grandma because the sight of Tifa eating made him stupidly happy, he hopes she eats the entire box of pizza.
His vision is clouded by darkness as he smothers his face to the pillow, twists his body on the bed like a starfish. Even though he can't see anything, Cloud can still feel the room spinning. He feels like shit, wants to get up and shower but he's too drained, his body's gone limp. He snivels against the pillow, kind of wishes Aerith wasn't so fixated on the game so she could baby him like she usually does when he's wasted. But he just suffers in silence.
He hears the door creak shut, then gentle footsteps approach the bed. A weight presses up against him, makes the mattress shift as a warm body embraces him. The scent of Tifa immerses him, she's clean and sugary, her leg curls over his hip as he cuddles him sleepily.
They lie together in the stillness for a while, Cloud just enjoys her being near him, feeling her warmth like he's been cuddled by a velvety blanket. Tifa kisses his ear, then his neck, nuzzles her cheek to his shoulder.
"I missed you," she says in a tiny voice.
Cloud hums, tries to move to face her but he's stuck in place. "I missed you, too."
"You're wearing your shoes on the bed."
His head sinks deeper on the pillow. His voice comes out muddled. "I'm sorry."
"You smell like smoke."
"I'm sorry."
Tifa snuggles him, her skin feels like satin when she touches him as her breath warms the back of his neck. She squirms, becomes restless. "Can I kiss you?"
"I reek of booze," he warns her, tries to lift himself but fails as he's cemented to the bed. He feels her hand skim his arm, the lightest graze of her fingertips.
"It's okay," she answers softy. And Cloud musters all the energy he can to shift to his side towards her. The room is cloaked in shadows, the TV is off. It takes a moment for the sight of Tifa to straighten into focus. She rests her head against the pillow, dark hair draped behind her. She smiles warmly at him, and he reaches to cup her arm, sliding his palm up and down her smooth skin.
"I'm sorry." It comes out in a whisper, and he holds her cheek as he caresses her face, feels her warmth permeate him to the bone.
"Why?" she asks, shuffling closer to him. Their noses touch, she wiggles her face in an Eskimo kiss.
"I should have come home."
When Tifa pecks his mouth, it has him puckering his lips, reaching for more. He smells the mint on her breath, feels the tingle of it numb his skin. She searches for his hand, lets their fingers thread together when she discovers it. "It's okay."
Their eyes drift close at the same time. They kiss slowly, gently. It feels so good, like a burst of ecstasy on his lips. He likes the sigh that eases from her nose, the hum that stays trapped in her throat. Cloud is horny, feels his hard-on push into his jeans, but he can barely move, he's fucking spent. Tifa fidgets, gets closer to him. Fuck—he wants her. Even if it's in the smallest of ways.
He guides her to sit on top of him, unzips his fly so he can feel her put pressure on his dick. Tifa is a vision in the darkness, a portrait of curves and angles carved out by shadows. She braces her hand on his chest, lengthens her neck and lets her hair plunge over her shoulders in messy waves.
Cloud holds her steady, dips his hands beneath her shirt and skims her waist. His eyes are heavy but he keeps them open and alert, would rather die than miss the sight of her so wanton with lust, her gaze droopy and feverish.
"Why aren't you out there with Zack and Aerith?" he asks her, his fingers skating over the curve of her belly as he revels in the sharp breath she takes.
"It was fun at first," she says, her voice airy, and Cloud feels her shift her hips on his pelvis, shooting a delicious pang of pleasure into his body. "But then Aerith keeps yelling at Zack and she's kind of mean to him."
Cloud cracks a smile, an amused breath warms his nose. His knuckles graze her navel, travel up to her ribcage, the skin between her breasts. Tifa catches her breath, doesn't release it as their eyes lock in place.
"Don't worry, they're not getting divorced. They always do this."
She rolls her neck in ecstasy. He touches her breasts, lets them fill his palms, spilling from his grasp because there's too much of her to hold. And Tifa starts moving, gets herself off as she lazily grinds on his bulge.
He feels her heat, the drizzle of her underwear soak through his own. He thinks she must look amazing rubbing herself on him, and he's eager to watch it—he yanks his hands out of her shirt, grabs the hem and pulls it up. Forces her to bite down and hold it there.
Her brows twist, she bares her teeth keeping her shirt tucked in her mouth. Her tits shake through every jerk of her hips. Her panties are stained dark. Tifa keeps her palm flat on his stomach, flinches when he roughly grabs her breasts, squeezes, lets his thumbs circle rosy tips. He manipulates her nipples, likes the squelch of her eyes, the cry that's muffled from the fabric stuffed in her mouth. And she feels so good against him, humping him like an animal in heat.
Cloud is drunk and stranded in a wave of lust that consumes him. Too drunk to hang on or try to maintain any sense of control. It doesn't take long for Tifa to come, as she stutters through an intense orgasm that has tears squeeze out of her eyes. She shudders against him with shivering thighs while her tits swing, and he fucking loses it. His orgasm is sudden and intense, and he has to anchor his hands to her waist so she doesn't fall from his spasm. He groans through the rippling pleasure, feels himself get heavier, exhaustion sweeping over him. But now he's fucked. He really needs to shower.
Cloud barely survives that, braces his forearm to the tile as he lets the water rain on him, beating on his back. It's torture going through the motions when he feels so shitty. Bathing, brushing his teeth, putting on fresh clothes—but he feels a lot better once it's done, he can go to bed not feeling like a complete disgusting mess.
Tifa's already asleep, the TV murmurs in the background as he sees her buried underneath the sheets. Cloud crawls to her, pastes the front of his body to the back of hers in a ritual they've performed for months. She's a burst of warmth and sweet smells, and he burrows his face in her hair to be absorbed in the aroma that is Tifa.
Cloud goes goes in and out of sleep, drifting between a drunken slumber and anxiety induced calamity. He notices Tifa gets out of bed several times throughout the night, refilling the same glass of water. She sits at the edge of the bed and drinks, the sounds of her little gulps stirring him awake. After about the third time she does this, Cloud draws her against him when she slips back in his arms.
"You okay?" he asks sleepily, spitting out a mouthful of her hair.
Tifa shrugs, scoots her butt closer so it's pressed to his groin. "I ate too much. It's making me really thirsty." A beat passes, the TV flashes in a series of commercials as Tifa sighs. "I'm getting fat."
Cloud huffs a laugh, smacks his palm to her thigh like he's trying to prove a point. "You're not fat. You're hot."
Tifa fidgets, he can tell she tries to stifle a laugh. "I gained weight. I have a belly now."
"You mean this?" Tifa squeals when he clutches her tummy, dips his fingers in the swell of her flesh. "There's nothing there."
"Stop." She giggles as she struggles against him, but Cloud's relentless, doesn't stop palming her stomach until he can convince her she's perfectly fine.
"I told you, you're hot as hell."
"You don't think I look weird?" she asks him after a drawn-out moment. Her voice shrinks, her shoulders slouch. "That my arm looks weird?"
He kisses her neck, takes an elongated breath as his chest expands with the scent of her. "You could have three arms and you'd still be sexy."
Her breathing alters, he feels the tension that pulls between them. Tifa shifts, puts pressure on his dick as she arches her back. "Prove it."
"Prove it?" Cloud repeats the words back to her. He knows what she wants, what she's asking from him. He hears it in her tone, from the heave of her breath, the way she writhes beside him. But he's still fucked up, he can barely move. He can't prove shit right now and he hates to leave Tifa unsatisfied, especially when she feels so bad about herself.
"I'll prove it in the morning, okay?" he promises her, and a wave of silence passes between them before Tifa nods her head.
"Okay."
Cloud feels like he's dragged through the gates of hell when his alarm rings a few hours later. He moves quickly to silence the clock before Tifa completely wakes. His heart stammers, he can still feel the vibration of the noise rattling his insides. He sits up and looks down at Tifa as she shifts in the sheets and falls back asleep. It's six in the morning, the room is still blanketed in darkness. Usually, he works out with Zack before work. But Cloud is fucked up, it's the beginning of a hangover, and he lets himself fall back asleep before the next alarm rings.
His eyes are closed for only a minute before the racket commences again. Groggy eyes pull open against his will. He can't delay the inevitable, he doesn't want to disturb Tifa. So, he rolls over to his side and shuts the alarm.
Sunshine spills in the room. It's overbearing, Cloud misses the bleakness, squints his eyes against the morning light. He feels like complete garbage. His body is heavy, a headache crushes his brain. Pain like he's pulled every muscle in his body. He promises himself he's never going to drink again.
He looks at Tifa, sees the back of her head, the dark mop of her tangled hair. She sleeps soundly, unbothered by the noise or greeting of daylight. She looks so peaceful, he can't disturb her. It'd be stupid for him to roll on top of her and fuck her through a post-drunken stupor to prove a point that's already been made.
So, Cloud gets up, gets ready for work like a functioning member of society. He feels like he wants to throw up, but he powers through it. Shaves his face, brushes his teeth, dabs cologne on the pressure points of his neck. He still feels like shit, but at least he can manage to camouflage as a normal person. When he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, he sees trembling blue irises squeeze shrunken pupils. He thumbs the hairs of his brows to even them out, sees bags under his eyes that make him look as exhausted as he feels. His hair is a bigger mess than usual, he puts minimal effort in trying to do anything about it. He's tempted to keep the same tee shirt and sweats on and just go to work looking like a total bum, but he decides against it.
Back in his room, Cloud pulls out a random pair of jeans, shuffles into them. He doesn't even look when he yanks a shirt from his drawer, removes the one he's wearing, feels the air caress his skin in a morning kiss. But before he can get dressed, he hears the creak of the mattress behind him.
And then a small, sleepy voice. "Cloud?"
He holds the shirt, ready to put it on as he turns to face her. Tifa is drowsy, struggles to keep herself upright, her heavy eyes accompanied by a sleepy smile. Her shirt is too big on her, slips down her shoulder and exposes the curve of her arm, ivory skin and a long supple neck. Cloud looks at her, lets his gaze feast on the beauty that is Tifa. He feels knots tie inside his belly, his teeth gnash through a clenched jaw.
"What about now?" she asks. And that's it. He's done for.
Cloud drops the shirt, eagerly climbs into bed with Tifa. Her giggles are sweeter than the morning song of the birds outside the window. He's on top of her and under the covers, between her legs, delves his hand in her hair and plants sensual kisses on her mouth. Enveloped by her warmth, drowning in her scent. Immersed in her, his senses set aflame by Tifa.
"Hello, my hot wife," he teases, stealing kisses off her lips as he feels her smile against his touch.
"Hi."
Cloud is all over her, knows he's short on time but doesn't want to rush, trying to find the balance in-between. He's turned on—his body is hot, like he's being boiled alive in his own skin. Even hotter as she presses up against him, lifts her back off the bed to grate her pelvis into his.
Cloud loses it—he pries off her shirt and throws it to the floor, immediately indulges in the view of her breasts. He grabs one in each hand, pushes them up, lets his breath fan her nipple and soaks in her reaction. Her eyes turn glassy, swept in a lustful haze. As she breathes through an open mouth, he sees the tip of her tongue poke between her teeth.
He laps her nipple, feels it harden against his tongue as wrinkles constrict her areola. He sucks the tip of her breast gingerly, his head moving with the motion. He plays with her neglected breast, flicks his thumb over her nipple in feathery touches that have her squirming.
Tifa moans, releases her song in the air. He usually tells her to keep it down, clamps his hand over her mouth and feels her teeth grate his skin, but he wants to hear her voice. The quiver of her lip turns him on, the way she grabs his shoulder and sinks her nails in his skin makes him want to draw more reactions out of her, each more intense than the last.
She moves below him eagerly, he feels her scrub her cunt against his erection despite the barrier of clothes separating them. Cloud is horny, he needs to be inside her the next instant, but he wants to make her come first, knows how close she already is by the way she moans and snaps her hips in delayed pleasure.
He lets go of one breast, watches the tear drop droop as he slides his hand between their bodies, dips in the waistband of her underwear and finds the source of her heat. She burns him, dripping liquid fire on his fingers, and he uses the smear of her essence to coat her clit, feeling it jut out and poke him in excitement.
His mouth on her tit, his hand between her legs as he strokes her clit in slow circles—he releases her nipple with a gentle pop, forces eye contact as his tongue grazes her swollen peak.
"Do you like that?" Cloud knows the answer, but he wants to hear her say it, craves the sound of desperation in her whimper. He drags his tongue over her nipple, licks her in quick little flicks that have her bucking her hips violently as he works his hand between her thighs.
Tifa nods, stumbles to speak. "Y—yes!"
He enjoys this view of her, as sweat dots her forehead, pastes her fringe to her face. Her hand slips down his back, grips his bulging shoulder blade.
Tifa comes and it's glorious—furious. She huffs through her breath like she's giving birth, convulses on the bed so wildly Cloud has to hold her down. He feels her spasm on his fingertips as her clit comes alive, fluttering in a manic pulse. Tifa comes and the bed shakes, her tits shake, the headboard slams to the wall.
Cloud can't wait anymore—he's going to be late for work, he needs her right now. His dick is so hard, it's strangled in his pants. His hand is drenched in her desire, and he pries her lips apart to make her taste herself. She takes him in her mouth eagerly, wraps her tongue around his fingers—and that's it. He's going to fuck the shit out of her.
When he pulls down her panties, it resists, pasted to her cunt from the gush of her arousal. He chucks it to the floor, follows it with his clothes until he's just as bare as her. Tifa stares, eyes fixed on his blatant erection as he kneels between her legs, forces her thighs apart. He feels himself drip at the slit, twitching from the anticipation of seeing her spread cunt, the way it weeps for him and glistens in the sunlight.
Tifa swallows a gasp as he grapples her thighs, slides her closer to him and aligns his center with hers. Her legs are open, her hips fall apart with ease. And he holds her waist as he submerges in her heat. Inch by inch, he watches his dick stretch her out. He likes the way her back arches off the bed, the look of possession that contorts her face as he fills her.
He drowns in the warmth of her, bathes in the dew of slick that immerses him. Tifa reaches for the pillow behind her, squeezes until feathers poke out of the seam. She's a vision of female ecstasy, splayed and open for him. She clenches from inside her and he feels her embrace his dick, drawing him in deeper and deeper—and now he's moving, digging his fingers into her navel as he fucks her.
He likes her on her back, looking down at her as she lies there and takes it, seeing the rebound of her tits that synch with each thrust. Something between a moan and a grunt barks from her throat, her face is twisted erotic and he can't get enough of her looking this way, watching her little pussy take so much of him.
He angles himself, lifts her hips, fucks her hard—and Tifa screams. Her tits are going crazy, bouncing, rotating. Cloud rams into her, bites his lip so hard that blood coats his tongue. He breathes fumes from his nose, fire spills from his eyes and caresses her body in flames. She's hot to the touch, her skin is burning. He fucks her and fucks her and fucks her past the point where it should end, where she comes in a mournful sob of his name and tears falls down her face and neck. But it's not over. He still has no much left to give. He needs more—Cloud wants to see more from her. More of her body, more of that dirty face, more of her fucking tits.
Tifa cries as he scoops her in his arms and slips out of her. His dick is rock hard and throbbing from the loss of her heat. He showers her in affection, dabs gentle kisses on her face, cleans the tears off her skin. She murmurs like a kitten against him, settling from her high as she reciprocates his tenderness and catches his kisses on her mouth. She lets him pull her up from the bed and twist her body to his liking.
She seems surprised when they switch positions, as Cloud takes her spot on the pillow and guides Tifa to sit on top of him. Her knees lock at his hips, and his dick seeks her, presses to her belly and smears her in her own slick. Tifa looks hesitant and scared, her brows crumbling as her lip extends into a fleshy pout.
"I don't know how," she whines, and it just makes him want to see it even more.
"I'll show you what to do."
He wants her to sit on it. And she does—he holds the small of her waist to steady her as she lifts her hips and holds him in her grasp. His eyes are stuck on her cunt, seeing the juices drip down her thighs and land as a viscous drop on his dick. She sinks down slowly, impales herself on his length until he disappears inside her.
Her hair streams behind her as she throws back her head, releases a guttural moan that comes from deep in her belly. Her hand braces his stomach as she leans in, squeezing her tits between her arms. She's so fucking perfect. Cloud lets a hand drift from her waist so he can strum her nipple as his gaze bleeds with hers.
She's wet and warm and so fucking tight, and he's desperate for her to move, to bounce on his dick recklessly but Tifa keeps still, looks at him with pleading eyes because she doesn't know what to do.
He clamps onto her butt, squeezes her fat and shows her how he wants her to ride him with the up and down motion of her hips. Tifa whimpers, does as she's shown. But she moves slower, leans on him as her hand slips up his chest. He likes watching her hips falter, the way her tits swing as she shoves her pelvis. Tifa sighs through the motion, bobs her head as she gets more comfortable. But it's not enough—he wants to see her go wild, wants to come with the vision of her getting off on his dick.
His arms envelope her, drawing her in until her breasts stick to his chest from the bond of their sweat. She stifles her moans, lets him kiss her mouth with a gentle sweetness. Tifa struggles to move, it's different when they're this close. But she figures it out. Cloud writhes beneath her, sinks in the sheets as they make love to the morning sun. He needs to leave, he has to go—but it's all forgotten, he can't think of anything else when Tifa is on top of him, undulating her body as she takes him inside her again and again. His palm glides, from her ass, to her back, to her shoulder blade. And he invites her wandering tongue in his mouth, entangled in a lush dance of eager lips.
"Baby, come on," he urges her, grabs her ass so hard that she breaks the kiss in a loud pop and sits back up again. "Fuck me harder."
Her answer comes out as a whine, and this may be too much for her. She slouches, struggles to find the arch in her back. And Cloud helps her out a little, grabs her hips and shifts her forward, hitting a different wall inside her that makes her gasp, lose the feeling in her jaw as her mouth hangs open.
She's enthusiastic—bounces on his dick with gasping breaths, frantically reaches for his hand until their fingers interlock as a single fist. Tifa is so fucking loud—he needs to tell her to shut the fuck up, but he doesn't. He lets her lose control, watches her surrender to her pleasure in the guise of shaking breasts and a loose tongue. He sees the rotation of her nipples and he fucking snaps—he slaps her tits, watches them rebound from the impact as she yelps in pain.
Cloud climbs—he's almost there. He indulges in the vision of her, basks in the feral way she fucks him. Tifa is good, she's a fast learner. He likes teaching her new things. He likes when she rides him. The sun chases her, stalks her in its gleaming rays. She so beautiful, everything she does, every single movement is a work of art.
And he wants to dip himself in ink and mark her as his creation. His eyes are blank, a moan stutters from his mouth as he pulls out of her. He does as he desires, submits to his passion and brands her in his spend. Her body is a smooth naked canvas, and he colors her in, stains her in streams of white. It splatters on her stomach, over her breasts. On her chin. Tifa is his, she belongs to him—she's a masterpiece they create together.
Cloud plummets from his high swiftly, crashes back to reality as he sees Tifa on top of him covered in his cum. She looks freaked out, it drips down her skin and she stays still like she's afraid to move.
"Crap—" He gets her off him, scrambles to grab the box of tissues and clean her up. He has to use a bunch to wipe the residue off her body, and it leaves her skin sticky. Tifa stays quiet like she's traumatized, watches him with big eyes that rarely blink.
"I'm sorry." His apology is rushed—because he's fucking late as hell and needs to get the fuck out of here. But he can't leave her like this. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why did he have to come all over her like that?
Cloud hurries to get dressed. He feels like this is becoming a regular occurrence. "Give me a second—" he tells her, barely has his shirt over his head when he opens the door and—motherfucker. Aerith is right fucking there in the middle of the living room. The coffee table is pushed back, a yoga workout plays on the TV screen and she's on the floor following along in a sports bra and leggings.
Cloud didn't know what to expect, he was hoping for a miracle, like she slept in or went out for morning errands. No, she is right outside the door, probably heard everything. But she feigns ignorance as she looks at him, huffing through a lunge as her palms touch in prayer.
"Morning, Cloud!" she greets him in her usual chipper tone, flashing him a smile as her ponytail swings behind her. "Pretty late for you to still be here. Won't you be late to work?"
Yes, he's late. But he can't leave yet. He has to clean Tifa up. And now he needs to make it look as unsuspicious as possible. He pulls his shirt the rest of the way down as he meanders to the kitchen and looks for a rag.
"Yea—it happens." He just says whatever to move the conversation along, hopes she stops giving him attention as he runs the sink and wets the rag he pulled out of a drawer. Aerith flows through another yoga pose, extends her arms as she twists to the side.
"What you got there? Spill something?"
Cloud freezes like he's been caught. Aerith says it so innocently as if there's no way that she knows. But she does, he's certain. There's something cunning about the way she smiles at him.
He narrows his eyes at her, nearly sprints back to the room in the guiltiest manner possible. "Yup—clumsy me."
Cloud's in, he shuts the door behind him. What a fucking disaster. Tifa sits on the bed curled in a hunch, her legs folded, surrounded by crumbled tissues. She pouts when she looks at him, blows a strand of hair away from her face. Pursing his lips, Cloud climbs on the bed with her, starts cleaning her off with the wet rag.
"Tifa, I'm so sorry." He gets her tits and her belly and her face, but he knows she'll still need a shower after this. Tifa stays quiet, observes him with curious, ample eyes. Cloud leans in and kisses the cute look off her face.
"I'll be back later, okay?" He holds her cheeks, kisses her again and feels her reciprocate.
"Okay."
Cloud cleans up the bed, chucks the tissues to the trash by his desk. Now he just needs to dispose of the cum rag. He opens the door, slides it closed. Aerith is still there. It's only a couple of steps to the bathroom, and he can hide the evidence in the hamper. Aerith doesn't face him, she's bent in an upside-down V as she stretches her legs and spine, pointing her butt to the air.
He hardly gets a step in when she twists her neck and smiles at him. "Clean up your little mess?"
God this is fucking humiliating. Cloud clears his throat, pulls on the belt loop of his jeans. He's so fucking close to the bathroom. "Don't worry about it. Go back to doing your downward doggy style or whatever the fuck it is."
Aerith chucks a laugh as she breaks out of her pose, sits herself to the floor and points at him. "It's called downward dog, mister." A smirk spreads on her lips as she quirks her brow at him and winks. "Doggy style is what you and Tifa were just—"
Aerith screams, flails on the floor like she's a fish that's been caught. The cum rag is on her face, sprawled over her head and blinding her as she struggles to rip it off.
"What the fuck! That's fucking disgusting, Cloud!" She pries it off her face, throws it to the carpet as she quails in revulsion. Her body warps almost unnaturally, her expression distorted in horror. "Ew! Ew!"
Cloud is already at the door, zipping up his boots as he flashes her a brisk wave of his hand and tugs his sagging pants. "Later."
But where the fuck does he think he's going? He's halfway down the elevator when he remembers his motorcycle is still downtown, probably covered in tickets. How the fuck is he going to get to work?
He really hopes Cid doesn't give him shit for being late, especially when he and Barret forced Cloud out last night.
~oOo~
Zack makes Cloud rehearse in the living room how they'll break the news to their mom.
Cloud is not the best at lying, but he needs to make-up a story that won't incriminate Zack and his step-dad. He keeps fucking it up, sits straddling a chair in the living room like he's performing a monologue while Zack and Aerith criticize his performance from the couch.
"Okay—no." Zack cradles his head as if Cloud's miserable attempt is giving him a splitting headache. Aerith sits beside him, loosens his tie and peppers kisses on his cheek. She wears the weirdest pants Cloud's ever seen—stretchy and hugging the curve of her butt, but wide-legged with a flared leg that stops at her mid-calf. He doesn't question it, he knows she likes to wear whatever's in fashion. But this one is fucking weird.
"You can't mention Aerith, you can't mention me, and you especially can't mention my dad," Zack finishes, his tenor tone ringing in the room. He rubs his thumb to his temple so hard he nearly shaves off the bone. "We knew nothing. We're innocent in all this."
But the three of them were more involved than Cloud and Tifa were. How does he not mention Aerith when she orchestrated the whole thing?
"What the fuck am I supposed to tell her?" Cloud shoves a hand through his hair as he hangs off the backrest. His watch slips down his wrist with the movement, and the short-sleeved button-up shirt he wears over his tee billows open. He's in dark blue jeans that aren't completely shredded yet he still manages to look like a reject. "How do I tell her what happened without bringing you up?"
"Easy—" Zack clears his throat as he sets the stage, Aerith hanging on his every word, snapping open the buttons of his shirt as she tugs on his collar. "I'll call mom, tell her I discovered what you did and she should know." He gestures to himself and his wife with near frantic eyes. "Me? Aerith? We had no idea. We let your girlfriend move in, but didn't know you snuck off and got married."
Cloud watches him enact the scene with a dull expression. They are really going to let him take all the heat for this. He's glad Tifa's asleep in their room and not around to hear this bullshit. It's fine—Zack did him the favor of a lifetime, Cloud will go along with whatever he plans.
He nearly jumps out of the chair when the doorbell buzzes. They look between each other, stalling to answer it.
Zack cranes his neck to Aerith. "Are we expecting anybody?"
"I don't think so," she replies in a shrug, but lights up as a thought strikes her. "Unless it's that batch of supplies I ordered!"
Zack isn't so convinced as he sits back and rubs his neck with caution. "But this late?"
Aerith gets up, her pants swishing around her legs as she goes to answer the door. She flicks her hair over her shoulder with a quick motion, a cheery expression painting her face as she grasps the doorknob.
When she opens the door, her smile vanishes. She covers her mouth and screams.
Oh shit—they actually fucking summoned her. Cloud's mom stands on the other side of the door. She wears the same pair of jeans he remembers from the early nineties, an orange blouse neatly tucked into the waist. Her hair is pulled back, revealing the stern glower on her face. Blonde hair like Cloud's, blue eyes like both her sons'. She stands taller than Aerith, arms folded over her chest. Aerith stutters through a greeting as her eyes fade into a dull, fractured green.
"Hello, Aerith," his mom speaks humorlessly, motioning for her to get out of the way.
"Uh—um—hey Claudia—" Aerith is ignored as Zack and Cloud are frozen in horror. Their mom strides into the condo as she looks around with very narrowed, judgmental eyes. She goes straight to Zack at the couch, forces him up from his seat as he towers over her. When she hugs him, her cheek presses to his chest. Cloud is overlooked—Zack is her favorite son. It's fair, Cloud was a pretty shitty kid to raise compared to him.
Zack hesitates, pats her back with a rigid hand. The tremor of his voice gives him away as guilty. "Uh, hey mom. What brings you here?"
She pulls away from him just as quickly, grips Zack's arms as she jerks her neck to Cloud behind her. "I don't want any of you to play stupid with me. I saw the picture. I know what you did, Cloud."
No hello, not even a hug for him? His mom is seething, unzipping her bag as she marches over to his chair and pulls out a folded piece of paper. And fuck—she's printed out the picture he posted of Tifa on Myspace the other day. It's printed straight from the webpage, complete with the website's border and everything. The photo Aerith took of Tifa in Gongaga: in her white dress, holding her bouquet of flowers, striking a pose she called an arabesque—back curved, her leg lifted to the sky. Cloud hadn't captioned it, he didn't see it as a wedding photo, just a beautiful picture of Tifa in the garden, bathed in sunlight. How did his mom even get ahold of this? She's not on his Myspace. He's not even sure she knows how to use a computer.
When Cloud grabs the paper from her, it crinkles in his grasp. He sees where his mom circled in red ink, around the blurry image of a ring on Tifa's hand. Son of a fucking bitch.
"Brandon's mom saw him looking at this—" Cloud tries to remember who the fuck is Brandon, probably someone he used to get drunk with in high school. "—she sent it to me. Who is this girl? Why is she wearing a wedding ring?" She pauses, he sees her hands ball into fists as she gives him a look that's almost nasty. "What did you do?"
He gives up. His mom is already here, she's already onto him. The jig is up. Maybe he can spare Tifa the humiliation for another time and just rip the band-aid off now. Cloud sighs, looks around the room for some semblance of support, but no one offers it to him as he shifts his weight on the chair.
"I…got married."
It's complete pandemonium. His mom paces the room and turns hysterical. Zack tries to calm her down, to take a seat at the couch, but she fights him—shifts the blame on him for enabling Cloud by marrying Aerith—and it's not a pretty sight. She fucking hates Aerith, finds any excuse to belittle her. Zack's on his last thread of patience with her.
"How could you do this to me? Haven't I been through enough?" Cloud isn't sure who she's talking to. The three of them sit on the couch as if awaiting their sentencing. Claudia stands before them, waving erect palms and swinging her purse. Cloud slouches, curled against the armrest. He notices Aerith cowering in the opposite corner, biting her tongue, holding back a confession that could get them all fucking killed.
Zack…is visibly unimpressed. He sits with a wide stance between them, his head propped against his hand as their mom launches into a tirade. She rambles on about her sacrifices and how she wanted her sons to marry nice girls—but isn't she supposed to be mad at Cloud? Zack's been dragged into this and she doesn't even know his dad married them yet.
"Mom, you're overreacting—" Before Cloud can even finish the thought, she points at him, now the subject of her rage.
"You—" Her lip quivers, blonde brows slanted and pinched together. Her beige lipstick smudges, he sees remnants of it on her teeth. "What business do you have getting married? And keeping it from me? Who is she, where is she?"
The door to his bedroom opens. This night is filled with the worst possible fucking timing. A sleepy Tifa emerges, creeps out of the room in dainty steps. She rubs her eye, messy hair coiling over her shoulders. She's in Cloud's tee shirt and nothing else.
"Is everything okay?" she asks, a tired yawn woven in her words.
His mom glares at her, eyes widening as her jaw drops to the floor. "Oh my god—" Cloud thinks she's noticed the obvious, that part of Tifa's arm is missing. But a different kind of terror distorts her face as she shifts her attention to Cloud, her hand flying to her mouth. "She's an oriental!"
Oh yea. Cloud almost forgot his mom is kind of fucking racist. He groans into his hands, wishes he could fucking disappear. But he can't let Tifa take the heat all by herself. She looks petrified, leans against the doorframe as she realizes what's happening and who's in the room with them. Cloud gets up from the couch, takes Tifa's hand and reluctantly leads her to the frantic lady in the middle of the room.
Her hand is sweaty, she barely manages to curl her fingers against him. And Cloud heaves a sigh, watches the way his mom gawks at her like she's from a different planet. Tifa fidgets, grips the carpet with her toes as she turns eerily quiet. And then Claudia finally gets it, sees Tifa's arm and has to take a step back from the shock as she grasps her shirt at the chest.
"Mom, this is Tifa." He lets go of her hand, clears his throat to settle his nerves. "My wife."
Tifa tries to smile, but it comes out warped. His mom looks at her face, then her arm, to her naked legs before her gaze settles on Cloud in horror.
"Are you trying to get her papers? Is she an illegal?"
This couldn't go any fucking worse. Cloud blinks hard, balances his emotions so he doesn't freak out and lose it as he cradles his forehead. "She was born here, mom."
Tifa is ready to cry, and he thinks it's time his mom should leave. She doesn't greet her, shake her hand, give her a hug. Just stares at her like she's an act at a freak show. Tifa's been through enough, he doesn't want to see her upset over something as stupid as this.
"I don't understand—" Claudia tries to rationalize what she sees, and perhaps the wheels start turning as she gets it. Her son is married to an amputee and something terrible must have happened to her. She doesn't question why Cloud did it or why he didn't tell her—doesn't self-reflect on how she behaved at Zack's wedding, that she has an established rap sheet of interfering. She just looks at Tifa and immediately judges her. And Tifa has experienced enough cruelty in her life. He won't let his mom show her anything less than kindness.
They argue, go back and forth. Cloud stays calm even though he's pissed, while his mom goes into another tangent of Cloud betraying her, letting her down. He should have found a nice girl, she keeps saying. Someone's daughter from church. And Tifa watches idly, slides her lips together as she wraps her arm around herself.
Her voice is small when she interrupts. But it resounds, echoes in the room and bounces back to him.
"I was a virgin."
Everything stops. Cloud feels like he's out of his body when he looks at her, losing sensation in his jaw, his eyes expanding to saucers. Whatever Tifa is doing, she needs to abort—this is a bad idea. And Claudia tilts her head, strands of blonde hair slipping from her ponytail as she squints her eyes at Tifa.
Stiff arms cross at her chest. "What was that?"
Tifa falters, looks at her new mother-in-law through her lashes as her chin dips low. She twists her hips timidly, shrugging her shoulders. "I was a virgin when we got married."
Claudia glares at her a moment longer—a really long, drawn-out, uncomfortable moment. And then she just melts. Her hands embrace her heart, the look of repulsion leaves her face and transitions into unbridled affection.
"Oh. Oh my goodness—" She stands at the same height as Tifa, gently cradling her cheeks, swiping her thumb over the apples fondly as she smiles at her. "You're a good girl, aren't you?"
Everyone is floored. Cloud, Zack, Aerith—their jaws hanging loose, they watch the scene unfold like they're trapped in a horror movie watching somebody get axed to death. But Tifa is smiling her warm, sweet smile as she nods, so happy as Cloud's mom caresses her face, fawning over her.
"You don't find pure girls like this anymore. Young ladies with values."
What the fuck is happening? She suddenly likes Tifa because she was a virgin? Ignores everything else, doesn't bother to ask what happened to her arm. Cloud looks at the couch frantically, gives Zack and Aerith a pleading look. But they are just as dumbfounded as he is, shaking their heads with strained expressions. They watch in pure terror as Claudia hugs Tifa, rocking her back and forth in a motherly embrace.
"At least one of my sons found himself a good girl and not another tramp."
Wow, another pointless dig at Aerith. It's almost funny how senselessly his mom hates her. Zack's apparently had enough of this, sighing as he gets up from the couch and pries their mom off Tifa.
"Alright, mom. Visiting hours are over." He guides her towards the door, but she digs the heels of her sneakers to the carpet, trying to anchor herself. "We can finish this circus act another time."
"But, but—" She looks behind her, reaches her arm out to Tifa as her expression morphs to a forlorn glower. "I haven't properly met my daughter-in-law. I have so much catching up to do."
Zack opens the door for her as he ushers her to leave, giving her a very pained smile. "You can come back once you've learned how to stop disrespecting Aerith."
It's over, she's finally gone. An uncomfortable silence lingers in the room, and Zack groans when he slumps back on the couch next to Aerith, spreads his knees open and buries his hands to his face. His tie hangs loosely on his neck halfway undone, his skin flushed red, spreading toward his broad sternum.
"Well, at least we got that shit out of the way."
Aerith is uncharacteristically quiet. She rises from her seat, her pants flapping around her legs as her shirt climbs up her waist. There's a sultry look in her eyes as she angles a brow and takes Zack's arm with both hands, pulling him up from the couch.
"Come on. Let's go."
He looks confused, slouches as she drags him toward their bedroom. Dark brows furrow, the blue in his eyes reflect like a shard of broken glass. "What's going on?"
Aerith smiles, her hand wanders to his tie as she lugs him inside their room. "I'm gonna give you the nastiest blow job."
His smirk is goofy, jaw squared and dimples dotting his cheek as he lets her lead the way. "Okay—alright."
The door closes, and Cloud is left with Tifa. What a weird fucking night. He hopes she's not totally traumatized. She stands quietly, maintains her same stance as she holds herself, rolling her ankle and looking to the floor. When Cloud lulls her against him in a hug, he feels her relax in the embrace as her arm coils around his neck.
"Sorry about that."
But he feels the curve of her smile on his shoulder, noticing her knee bend gracefully as she lifts her foot, pointing her toes in bliss.
"It's okay. I think your mom kinda likes me."