March 2007, Nibelheim
"No—No."
Tifa is ready to collapse. Her muscle lock, she stumbles from her turn and has to catch herself on her heel as she loses her spot in the mirror. Andrea's voice echoes in its bellow, crashes against the walls and rings in her ears.
He's disappointed, unpleased. She watches her reflection, waits for her image to drift back into focus. Dripping in sweat, her forehead's damp, her fringe sticks to her skin. She wears shorts with a drawstring tied to her hips, a black sports bra. No dance shoes—just her bare feet that ache from the center of the arch. The higher she lifts herself in relevé, the more she feels it. Dancing on polished floorboards—the music stops abruptly as Andrea yells at her.
Tifa tries to find her breath without being too obvious. She sees Andrea behind her, in his usual white shirt and black leggings, always dressed like he's ready to join her in dance, but he never does. He yells and scolds and makes corrections. Constantly asks her if she's ever danced a day in her life. Tifa thought she has—she always thought she was a dancer. But the last five months, she questions herself. Even now, as her chest flutters and her sweat sprinkles the floor, Tifa wonders—was she ever meant to be a dancer?
Andrea grabs her—handles her roughly as he always does. He's not like Cloud, not delicate and careful with her. To him, she's nothing precious. Just a machine meant to be maneuvered. He grasps her shoulders in a harsh grip, a frown curving his mouth as he rolls them aggressively. Tifa holds her balance, tenses her jaw as she withholds her emotions.
"You're so rigid! Too stiff!"
She tries to defend herself, even just a little, with the weakest voice. "It's from years of ballet—"
"Well, you to need to forget it." He releases her so abruptly, it's almost like he shoves her. Tifa stumbles, regains her composure. She finds herself holding back tears like she does for every rehearsal. She tries to grow a backbone, tells herself each day that she won't let his words affect her. But it gets worse each time. She questions her worth, her talent and skill. He works her to the point of complete exhaustion, but it's not enough. He demands more of her.
"A true dancer can weave in and out of styles seamlessly." He extends his arms for demonstration. Tifa doesn't know if she should only listen or follow along. Her hand rests on her chest, her heartbeat rattles through the joints of her fingers. "And now, you need to loosen yourself—let go. Surrender to the dance and let it move you."
He touches her again. Less angry and hostile, but still assertive in the way he commands her body. "Lengthen your neck and spine. Be flexible as you glide across the floor. Slink with the dexterity of a snake."
She follows his direction and rolls her neck. It's been months, but moving like this is still so strange for her. It's less frigid and technical. But sensual—no one has seen her work her body this way. No one except Cloud. It feels wrong, that it's something reserved only for him, for his eyes only—but she's never felt more beautiful and alive unless she is with him. Moving with him, dancing with him—rolling her neck and hips and curving her spine.
She needs to dance the way she has sex. Uninhibited, free, unguarded—uncaring of the fixation of being good and living for the moment. Tifa needs to let go.
It's scary, to free herself of rules so engraved in her mind and body, and just really dance. Andrea watches her, judges her. Turns the music back on and Tifa tries it again. Her back bends, her neck is loose. When she spins, she catches her reflection in the mirror with each turn, tries to be less technical, guided by the music and the sway of her body. It's hard. It'd hard to pretend she's having sex when it's just her and the music and the blaring lights showcasing her as Andrea observes. Tifa wonders if she was ever truly meant for the spotlight, or if she needs to go back into hiding. Because this was a horrible mistake.
"You doubt yourself."
The room is engulfed in a silence that's earsplitting. The floorboards creak in his footsteps as he thumbs the hairs on his chin, circles her in the way she's grown to despise. Soaking her into his vision, taking in her posture and shape and every miniscule detail. Tifa doesn't know what to do when he does this, how she should stand or pose, doesn't even know what face she needs to make. It's so invasive, and she sees it all unfold, watches it in the line of mirrors that playback the room to her like an opera.
It's dramatic and emotional. Tifa is the star, the tragic heroine, and she doesn't want to be. She didn't ask for all this—to be in a magazine, to become a video vixen or whatever Andrea promised her. All she wanted was to dance again. But it's foolish for her to assume she could slide back in without getting attention on herself.
It's a circus and she's the star of her own freakshow. And she has to convince everyone that she's more than that. Tifa is a dancer. A good dancer—she'll be the best dancer.
"Why? Why do you doubt yourself? Do you think no one can see it?"
Tifa bites her lip, chews it from inside her mouth. His voice is muffled against the racket of her heartbeat. It blocks her ears, makes her feel like she's within herself, banging against the prison of her ribcage to break free. He puts her on the spot, expects an answer, but she doesn't have one.
"It's written all over your face, I see the terror in your eyes." His gaze is stern with a touch of sympathy. Sometimes he lets his guard down, shows her a semblance of compassion. It's enough for her to justify every cruel and ruthless thing he says. It's a familiar feeling, something she's done for a long time. People are allowed to be horrible as long as they show a morsel of humanity.
"I'm scared." Her eyes are wet, coated in tears that yearn to break free, but she conceals them, lets them tarnish her vision so that the room is painted as a rainfall. Andrea doesn't like her answer. Something about her irks him now. It must be everything.
"No one wants to see a scared little girl take the stage. Your trauma is not an act. It's off-putting." He clicks his tongue, his expression morphing to sheer disappointment. As he crosses his arms over his chest, he dips his neck to glower at her, drapes her in the gloom of his shadow and gets close. His cologne is overwhelming, she doesn't like it. It's intimidating—not like Cloud. When he's close to her, his smell is warm and sweet and makes her feel safe. Her body screams danger—she wants to retreat, go back to her hiding spot.
"Your audience wants a success story. Not one in the making. Not a poor victim still in suffering. They want you to overcome what happened so they can feel inspired by you."
Tifa stands still, stutters through her breath as it huffs from her nose. When he holds her shoulders, his nails press into her deltoids, and he commands her attention, lures her into a foreboding gaze. Her eyes quaver, she tries to gulp but her throat is too dry. His brows narrow, angled and lifted at the arches. He squeezes her a little more and it makes her lift her chin, push out her chest.
"If you doubt yourself, they will doubt you, too. Then you will have nothing. The support of no one. You'll just be a mockery—the girl with the missing arm trying to dance."
His words sting. Carry with her through the rest of the day. As she feels her clothes stick to her body from her sweat when she gets dressed, they replay in her head like a jammed cassette tape. And she's in pain, so much that she's almost numb from it. Her knees, her back, her neck all stiff and throbbing. It's every day now, even when she rests on the weekend. Everything hurts, in a constant state of distress. Tifa doesn't know what to do, how to relieve it. Who she should tell. They'll all tell her to stop dancing. And she's not willing to do that. She'll endure any pain to dance again. Physical and emotional torture.
But it hurts. It really, really hurts. And she's always so, so tired.
That Friday morning, Cloud takes off work to take Tifa to the doctor.
Usually Aerith takes her, but she and Zack are gone for the weekend. There's a bridal convention in the state next door, and Aerith is vending her jewelry, forces Zack to come with and help her. They take his car, leaving them with Aerith's green bug. She knows Cloud hates driving it, that he's missing work to take her. He misses work all the time for her. She feels like a burden, that she makes his life worse. And she tells him.
Stuck in morning traffic, the car moves gradually. Tifa stares out the window as she sags in the seat. The streets are cluttered with cars creeping forward inch by inch, bumper to bumper. The sound of honking horns pierces the silence, interrupting the murmur of the radio and the humming engine. Clouds blur the sky in an attempt to combat the demanding sun.
Tifa leans her cheek against the window, lets her breath fog the glass. She fidgets, feels the grip of her sling rub her neck, nestling herself in her oversized knit sweater. Almost ready to fall back asleep, her lashes flutter as she drifts in and out of consciousness. She feels Cloud reach over and pat her head, tickling her scalp as his fingers weave through her hair.
"You okay there, beautiful?"
Tifa sighs, shifts herself so she sits up straight as she turns to face him. She rubs her eyes, and she's relaxed, her jaw unwound. Cloud sneaks a glimpse at her, and she does the same. Shaggy, flaxen hair is bright against the morning sun, layered in pieces that frame his face and accentuate his jawline.
His eyes rival the sky, so icy and piercing that they're almost translucent. His gaze searches for hers, and when he finds it, it feels like she's been stabbed by an arrow of love, melting in the gemstones of his eyes. Bushy straw brows, a firm neck with a lump in the bottom center she wants to nick. The rest of him disappears in a baggy black hoodie and distressed jeans.
The car moves so slowly, and Tifa's heart tramples the race, sprinting laps in her chest. She sighs against his touch, the way he gathers her hair and tucks it behind her ear. His hand is always so warm, and he caresses her with such care. She craves his touch—even when she's too tired and dizzy with pain. Cloud cures her.
Even now, her back feels heavy, pins and needles pricking low on her spine. She wonders if she should tell the doctor about her pain. It's only a check-up for her arm. She mentally debates herself, ultimately deciding against it for now.
"I'm okay," she says in a quiet voice.
She resumes her gaze forward, stares at the bleakness of stalled traffic. She's been in an iffy mood all morning, not sure if she's entirely crabby and for what reasons specifically. She isn't mad at Cloud, but her snippy tone isn't convincing.
"You're quiet. More than usual."
Her sigh is long and obvious as she fidgets in the seat. Cloud's cologne smells fresh like he just sprayed it this morning—a woody scent that kindles her nostrils and makes her take deeper breaths. She doesn't know what this mix of emotions is that she feels, how to alleviate them. Tifa is tense, on edge. Not exactly sad, not exactly angry. Almost indifferent but not quite there.
"I'm fine. I just—" As her lips press together firmly, she feels the pressure against her teeth. She knows Cloud is looking at her, trying to decipher her mood. She hates that she can't just be agreeable, that she's ready to start something. Her guilt hangs over her, that she's this poor helpless creature he needs to take care of.
"I feel like I make your life harder."
A beat passes. When she dares to look at Cloud, his expression is mixed as his arms hang over the steering wheel. She stares at his hand, sees the metal band of his wedding ring, the lines of raised tendons stretching from his knuckles. Green veins jut from his wrists before waning into his sleeves. He squints, and Tifa catches a flash of straight white teeth as he squirms his lips.
"Well—" He shoves his hand through his hair, looks between her and the windshield. "First, you don't. And second." He quirks a brow at her as he tilts his head. "Why?"
Tifa aways has to escalate a peaceful moment between them. He gives her permission to speak, to share her thoughts, but sometimes she thinks she oversteps, tells him too much.
"You miss work for me." Her chin is low, she looks at him through her lashes, her hand crawling on her lap as she grips her knee.
Cloud simply shrugs, huffs a laugh and looks at the road. "That's fine. I hate being there anyway. I'd rather be with you."
Tifa should be satisfied—but she pushes, intent on convincing him that she's the worst. "But you're always with me. Wouldn't you rather do other stuff?"
Cloud pauses like he's thinking about it, his elbow braced on the ledge of the window as he leans against his hand. When he looks at her, he narrows his eyes. "Like what?"
Tifa doesn't know, she's sure he could be out there having fun, not sitting around taking care of her all the time. She stares at her lap as her fingers curl into a fist. "Maybe you wanna go out with your friends. Or date more girls."
She finds the courage to look at him after that statement, unsure of his impending reaction. When Cloud turns his head to her, she sees the sparkle of the stud on his left ear as it catches the sunlight beating at his window. His lips part, fumbling between neutrality and a smile.
"I don't," he says, forcing her gaze to lock on him so she stays trapped in the depths of his eyes. "If I never met you, I'd be doing the same things I do now. Except I'd be passed out drunk in the middle of the week."
She bats her lashes, buries herself in the neck of her sweater. "Do you miss that?"
"No." Cloud's smile is almost sarcastic as he droops lower on the seat, leaning his neck back as he watches her. "Not really. Actually, I think life's pretty solid. I can grab tits whenever I want."
He stares at the road as he reaches over, pinches her nipple from outside her sweater. Tifa jerks, tries to suppress a moan, but it slips out of her mouth as a long hum. She wants him to do it again, hopes his hand snakes beneath her sweater to fondle her incessantly. But he doesn't—his grip is back on the steering wheel, while Tifa is left to herself on the passenger seat, feeling the friction of her leggings as she rubs her knees together.
"But I look weird—" She wants to argue, even as her body gets hot and the heat bubbles between her legs. She wants to win the fight that incriminates her, so convinced that she's ruining his life. "I know I look weird. I know you see it."
Traffic's at a standstill. The engine rattles, a pop song murmurs from the speakers. Tifa's body feels funny, her nipples are hard, her chest is hollow as she begins to sweat. They look at each other at the same time. Cloud seems unfazed, like he isn't ready to combust. So casual as he rolls his shoulders, lets his brows unwind.
"You don't look weird. When I look at you, I see my three favorite things—" His expression turns sultry as he bites back a smirk. His teeth slide over his lower lip, his arm hangs on the wheel casually. "Tits, ass, and my most favorite—pussy."
He just says it—he's so dirty. Tifa hates it when he talks like that. It's gross—even as she feels a tight stretch between her legs and her nipples tingle, she frowns at him. Fidgets without her control, rubs circles into the seat with her butt. Her hand slips, gets caught between her thighs, strangled by her own grip as her joints crack.
"Stop." She's firm, grumpy. Her brows pinch together as she shows him her shoulder. "I hate when you say that. And I hate it when you look there."
But he pets her head affectionately, traces the line of her jaw with his thumb when he glides down the rift of her hair. She's intent on keeping her gaze straight, but he coaxes her to return his stare, get caught in the sharp edges of his eyes. Hypnotized by reflects of blue and green.
"Why?"
She stutters, stumbles through her explanation. "It's embarrassing."
"You have a pretty little pussy." He cups her cheek, looks at her so hard that she shatters in his grasp. "I can't look at it?"
Tifa is hot. Her body's on fire, her heart spinning like a top as she oozes heat between her legs. Her lips separate, her limbs turn loose and heavy. Pulsing at the center of her body—the most sensitive part of her twitching relentlessly, begging for a cure, a release. Pleading with her for the shame she says upsets her, but really turns her on the more he says it.
She tries to fight it, but she can't. She might die if left neglected. Starting to melt in the seat, breathing in the current of cologne that drifts in her nose. Tifa needs it now. She can't wait. She has to scratch this itch right now.
"Can you pull over for a second?"
She speaks gently, her voice quavering as she glares at him with beseeching eyes. He lets go of her cheek, his face tensing in concern as he holds the wheel. "What's wrong?"
"Please—" She grabs his arm, wrinkles the fabric of his sleeve when she pulls, losing the cool demeanor of her tone as she begs him. Tiny little desperate whimpers. "Just for a second. Please, please, please."
It clicks, he knows her angle. Gives her a look of squinted eyes and clenched teeth. His chest lifts as he inhales, and with a flick of his hand, he sets off the turn signal. "Okay. No problem."
It takes a minute for him to get out of the line of traffic, driving through different streets until he pulls into an alley. He stills the car, leaves the engine on and it rumbles, Tifa feels the reverb between her legs. It makes her jumpy, impatient. She looks out the window to check for privacy, but Cloud grabs her neck, jerks her gaze to him and starts kissing her.
She sinks into the seat, her knees falling apart. His mouth is warm and wet and eager, greedily puckering against her. He kisses her hastily, coating her in his spit. She's drawn into the suction of his lips as he breaks away and starts again in a sensuous loop that has her writhing and moaning in his mouth with impatience. Engulfed by his warmth, the way he holds her neck and thumbs her pressure point—
"What's the matter?" His voice is low and breathy, he speaks to her between kisses, their lips smacking vulgarly as his tongue crashes to her teeth. She opens her mouth, lets him inside. Her thighs split apart, pelvis thrusting forward. "You get horny all of a sudden?"
They're short on time, Tifa has to get to the doctor—and he doesn't loiter. He knows what she wants. As Tifa hums her response, he fumbles with the end of her sweater, dips his hands inside and quickly cradles her breasts—holds them, juggles them in his palms. Tifa whimpers, throws her head back as he manipulates her nipples, swirls his thumbs in delicious circles that has her drooling.
This feels wrong, it's dirty. They're in public, in Aerith's car. Tifa has to go to the doctor. But he keeps saying the naughty word she doesn't like, and it ignites her, turns her on, makes her body so hot for him.
"You want me to play with your little pussy?" He bites her earlobe, tickles her with the tip of his tongue. His voice is hoarse and rough and she nods, exasperated, pushes her pelvis for him to touch her. One hand drops her breast, sneaks down the plane of her belly and snaps the waistband of her leggings.
"Yes—"
"You're gonna let me look at it?"
Her neck is wet as he nips her skin, kisses down the slope of her throat and twists her nipple with his thumb. She hates that word, she hates that word—she loves that word. Tifa is very bad, she's a bad girl. She likes when he says the word and she likes when he looks at it even though she gets embarrassed. Loves the way he worships the serenity between her thighs and drinks from her like she holds his salvation with her communion.
Tifa is hot, Tifa is hot, Tifa wants him to play with it. "Yea," she moans, her eyes shut and yielded to the glorious darkness, where nothing exists but her pleasure and his touch. "Look at it."
She doesn't see outside the window, of gravelly pavement and bricks lining the back of a building. But he wills her to open her eyes when he pulls on the waistband. He looks—she looks with him. Stares at her own dripping arousal. Glistening folds and a pulsing pink bead that pleads for attention. It's gross and shameful, but she stares the way he does, transfixed by her own beauty, in the lure of her sex. Her sight is obscured when he dips his hand inside, lets the waistband snap at his wrist.
She feels the hard press of his watch against her belly. The metal is cold, clashes with the warmth of his fingers as he delves in the heat between her legs. Each movement makes the watchband shift, brushing against her navel. He finds the source of her pleasure quickly, doesn't delay or tease her—because he loves her and doesn't want her to be late. Touching her erogenous zones—he searches for her mouth to kiss her, one hand performs ministrations on her nipple, the other massages her core.
Tifa feels good, Tifa feels so good—it feels good to be bad and dirty. She forgets about her pain, about every horrible thing in life. She grapples his forearm, holds him down as she elongates her neck, releases her song of ecstasy in his mouth so he can taste it. A hummingbird coming undone, jerking her hips and masturbating herself against his fingers.
Cloud grunts, he's panting—puffs heated breaths on her neck as he works her body. Her muscles contract in a tight squeeze as she braces herself for the drop. She doesn't let go of his arm, nearly rips the sleeve off his sweatshirt.
His scent overwhelms her, she's immersed in everything Cloud, and she loves it, loves his smell and the warmth he bleeds on her, how he rubs her in circles on her breast and on her sex. When he kisses the edge of her jaw and leaves a wet imprint on her skin.
"Baby, get off on my hand." He whispers, tells her—commands her with tenderness, so eager for her to come, and she does. Unravels on his fingertips. Jerking her hips, nearly falls off her seat as she sags lower and submits to the will of her climax. She screams, the sound stays trapped between them in the confines of the car. His hand slips from how wet she is, drags her slick up towards her belly button. They're a mess, it's everywhere.
Tifa plummets from her high, left a breathless mess on the seat. Half-conscious, ready to pass out. Cloud looks through the car with his dry hand, holds the other out as its covered in a sheath of her essence. It's thick, globs of it hang between his fingers. He opens the center console, frowns when there's nothing there but Aerith's make-up.
"Do you know if she has tissues in here?"
Tifa's lower body trembles in the aftershock of her orgasm. She's delirious, almost doesn't hear his question as she tilts her head and struggles to look at him. "Huh?"
Cloud bites back a smile, pats her head before resuming his search. "Tissues. It got everywhere."
"Oh." Tifa forces herself to sit up, opens the glove compartment and pulls out the tissue box Aerith keeps in there. Cloud cleans his hand, and Tifa takes a few, dips them in her leggings and wipes herself because it starts to feel uncomfortable—it still is. Her underwear is wet, she wishes she had a change of clothes, but she'll have to endure the rest of the morning this way.
Cloud takes her to the doctor, thankfully she isn't late. It's a nice quiet office in the hospital downtown. Tifa shuffles on the seat, looks through the stack of magazines on the table. She sees how white her new sneakers are against the grey carpet. Her sling is starting to feel uncomfortable, she didn't put it on right today. It digs in the junction of her shoulder and neck. She doesn't complain, doesn't want to bother Cloud about it. When she sees a familiar issue of Dream Girl, she goes to hide it, but Cloud notices first, grabbing the magazine before Tifa can act.
He slumps on the chair next to her, knees spread in a wide stance. "Who's this cutie?" he taunts her with a playful nudge of his shoulder. Tifa takes the magazine from him, holds it to her chest to conceal the image of her.
"Stop," she whispers, elbowing him right back. "I don't want anyone to see."
She peeks at the cover, hearing the pages crinkle in her grip. Her own face stares back at her. Tifa likes the pictures they chose, but she barely notices her makeup, her hair, or the little pink dress she wears. Whenever she looks at the magazine, her eyes immediately dart to her arm. It's so blunt and obvious—how can it not be the first thing people see? Andrea told her she needs to dance so well that people forget that she's missing it—but how? How is that even possible when it's all she sees when she looks at herself?
Tifa puts the magazine back on the table face down. She's quiet after that. Cloud sits on her right so he can hold her hand. Their palms touch, wrists crisscross, fingers interlaced. She leans her head on his shoulder and relaxes, rubs her cheek against the smooth cotton of his sweater as she waits for the nurse to call her.
"Do you wanna get lunch?"
They're back in the car. Tifa is tired, ready to go home. She hears Cloud's offer and it upsets her. Not because he wants to take her somewhere, but because she feels bad for not wanting to go. She rarely does. Especially now, as she leaves after having the doctor probe her arm, she just wants to go back to bed.
"No, it's okay," she says timidly, stares at her lap as she tries to avoid his gaze.
The car roars to life. The engine rumbles as the dashboard lights up in a burst of color. Cloud lingers, doesn't start driving right away. She hears him tap his knuckles against the steering wheel.
"Maybe there's something you wanted to do before we head back?" Tifa flinches when he rests his hand on her thigh, rubs up and down in a delicate caress that forces her to look at him. His expression is hopeful, brows raised. She hates to disappoint him.
"No. I don't wanna go anywhere." She lets her shame break their eye contact as she slouches, hiding her hand in her sleeve. "I'm tired."
He doesn't argue with her, respects her wishes and drives them back to the condo. It's barely noon and strange how he's home with her on a Friday, while everyone else is gone. Tifa doesn't remember the last time they were alone like. Zack and Aerith left last night, but it really hits now. The coffee table is empty, cleaned off of Aerith's beads and gemstones. The living room is eerily quiet. She slides off her shoes and takes off her sling—and then Cloud takes her hand, leading her to their bedroom.
Tifa doesn't know why her heart is beating so fast. She knows what's going to happen, what Cloud wants to do with her. It's exciting how he leaves the door ajar, as light spills in from the living room and paints a puddle of white on the carpet. The curtains are drawn, they're blanketed in a dimness that shades their bodies. Tifa lies on the bed. Cloud falls gently on top of her.
She opens her legs for him, and he's nestled between her thighs. Braces himself on his elbow as he kisses her. Wet and hungry like he's going to devour her, but still gentle because he treasures her. Cloud never hurts her, he's so careful. Tifa squirms beneath him, coils her arm over his neck and drinks the honey that drips from his mouth. Licks his lips to gather it all, desperate not to leave a single drop.
Tifa feels horny. Her stomach is hollow, the pull of desire stretching between her thighs and urging her to grind against his pelvis. She can feel that he wants her just as badly. Stiff and firm, a bulge pressing into the zipper of his jeans. Tifa's being so bad today. She's excited to have sex.
He drags his tongue down her neck, pecks kisses on her throat as she lengthens herself for him. Her body is hot, layered in a film of sweat, her clothes stick to her skin, and she wants them off, all of them off. Moaning into his touch, she pulls on the tawny hairs of his nape, purrs his name in a whimper.
"Cloud—"
"Yea." He sucks on her neck, lets his hand venture beneath her sweater, palming her belly as he travels up.
"Thank you for taking me to the doctor."
He spits her skin out with a pop of his lips, finding her face again. The shadows sketch a portrait of him, of high cheekbones and supple lips. A sharp jaw and eyes that defy the darkness. Sparkling a deep blue that draws her in, makes her sink to the bottom of the ocean that is his gaze. He kisses her mouth, once, gently. Lingers in the slow graze of their lips. Tifa's melting, her body is so hot, burning holes into the sheets.
"Of course, baby," he tells her, kisses her again just as lovingly as his hand slips higher, cradles her breast and squeezes.
Tifa gasps, lets him swallow the noise in another tender kiss. Her nipples are so hard it's painful. But he relieves the ache with the brush of his thumb, strokes her peak in light circles that have her moaning, writhing below him as she drowns and tries to edge her way back to the surface for air.
She wants to keep talking to him, she feels bad for how she acted in the car. "I'm sorry I was grumpy."
"Don't worry about it." He skims her nipple in quick little flicks, doesn't stop—it drives her crazy. Makes her release a loud moan in the room. She bites her lip, glues her tongue to the roof of her mouth. But he coaxes her to let go, pulls her lips apart with his teeth, enticing her as he massages her breast, teases the stiff tip in a light pinch.
"Let me hear your voice."
They are alone—no one can hear her but Cloud. She doesn't hold back. But she wants more, she needs more. He teases her, plays with her. She wants him to make love to her.
She pulls on the neck of his sweater and he sits up. She's a mess on the bed as she watches him on his knees, grabbing his sweater and tee shirt underneath, pulling them off together before he throws his clothes to the floor. He's a vision of broad shoulders and sculpted deltoids, biceps that bulge and flex as he moves. Tifa palms his chest, feels the firm muscles of his breasts, his pebbling nipples. The lines and ridges embossed on his stomach. Like a sculpture carved in explicit detail. The strap of his boxers peeks from his jeans that hang low on his hips. She gets a glimpse of his Adonis belt, can't stop herself—pulls them lower to see the rest of it.
Cloud is sexy—he has a really sexy body. She keeps touching him, traces his muscles, trickles over firm, tight skin. He pulls her up, has her sit on his lap. Yanks her sweater off her body and exposes her breasts to the air. She's cold, but he holds her, indulges himself in her neck and breathes her in. He's so close, his smell is everywhere, all over her—all she smells is Cloud, and it drives her crazy, makes her so hot and horny that she whines against him.
Holding her jaw, he snaps her gaze to his, merging their eyes until they become one. His brows tense, his lip snarls as he fans her face in a hot breath. Tifa pants through an open mouth, holds his shoulder to steady herself as she feels the air caress her nipples teasingly.
"Shake your titties for me," he tells her. Tifa blushes, feels it burn her cheeks as she tries to pull away and shield herself, but he reels her back in, pushes his palms against her spine so she curves for him, shoving her breasts towards his face.
Tifa is shy—she doesn't know how to do what he wants. Her nails delve into his shoulder, slicing marks on his skin. She jiggles her chest for him, sees the way he stares at her breasts as they bounce and clap together. Keeping the arch in her back, she does it again, lets her breasts move freely—doesn't stop, bouncing herself on his lap as if she's riding him. It excites her, the way he watches, when he slaps her breasts and she yelps from the delicious sensation of pain and pleasure. The sound echoes—he does it again. Smacks her breasts and they rebound in the impact. He holds one, dips his head and draws her nipple in his mouth.
A wet warmth engulfs her, makes her throw her head back and moan—loud and unrestrained. His tongue draws circles, he drinks her in. Sucking and sucking, swallowing her peak like he can't quench his thirst.
Tifa is a mess, thrown into the throes of ecstasy. She writhes and pants as he carefully places her back to the bed. Pulls off her leggings, her underwear. Everything is off her—she's naked. And he crawls, kisses down her body, pries her thighs apart, bows to her sanctity and prays to the goddess between her legs—
Prays with a mouth that seeks deliverance. A pleading tongue—lapping her, spreading her folds apart. Finding the source of her pleasure, and he kisses her there, flicks his tongue against raw, engorged nerves. Holding down her thighs, stabilizing her as she jerks and moves, trying to close her legs but he doesn't let her. Tifa cries—it feels so good. His breath warms her, his tongue swirls and it makes her even hotter—heat builds at her core, simmering in her belly. She's hot, so hot—her back lifts off the bed. Her heart stammers—thunders in her chest. She loses herself, loses control.
Sweat gathers on her inner thighs, smeared on her hip flexors as she's stretched out for him. Everything open and exposed, he drinks from the most sacred part of her. His spit blends with her slick, spreads up to her navel. Tifa's at the edge, ascends the roller coaster—it's too high, it goes higher. And higher. Her heart beats faster, her muscles squeeze tighter.
The drop is strong—it's so strong. She can't take it. She screams, thrusts her hips into his face so hard that he pulls back. She convulses, overtaken by a tremor that has her possessed. Her hips, her pelvis—off the bed, stuttering in the air through an intense orgasmic spasm. Tifa doesn't have to pee, but she does a little—it sprays out of her, beyond her control. It gets on his face, drips down his chin. He watches her like he's entranced, enamored by the way she reacts. As she grabs the pillow and moans, screams—releases a wavering song that's a mixture of both. It's so long and endless, she thinks she's going to die. She's never come this hard before—she doesn't know why she does now. Why her hips come alive, have their own mind, seize her as her knees rattle and her body presses wrinkles into the sheets.
She crashes from the high, lays lifeless on the bed. As Cloud swathes her in his shadow, she watches him with heavy eyes and a hollow chest. He wipes his mouth with his forearm, crawls over her body and rests his weight on top of her.
"That was so fucking hot," he tells her in an eager whisper, tries to kiss her mouth, but Tifa turns her neck as she closes her eyes, suddenly embarrassed.
"It was so gross. I think I peed—"
"You didn't." He sounds so certain as he dabs wet kisses on her neck, nips her collar bone. Tifa is mortified, she doesn't want him to be disgusted with her. But he seems anything but, especially when he starts taking off the rest of his clothes.
She tries not to look, but she can't help it. She likes watching him undress, sliding off his jeans, then his boxers. Until he's just as naked, his blaring arousal staring back at her. Long and thick and twitching, dripping from the tip. His thighs clench, plated in a layer of tough muscle, a long vein blends into his skin and pulses. Tifa props herself on her elbow, waits for him to continue as he curls over her. He cups her cheek, swipes his nose against hers.
"How do you want it?" he asks in a low, gravelly voice.
Tifa is shy again. She dips her chin, meets his gaze through her lashes. Fidgeting beneath him, her hair falls over her shoulder as she turns around and gives him her back. Gets on her knees and balances herself on her hand.
Just the anticipation of this position excites her, pulls a warm stretch between her legs into her belly. The backs of her thighs cement to the front of his. She arches her back for him, curves her spine so she's splayed and open. She drips down her thighs as she waits, the tips of her breasts grazing the blanket, hanging and swaying. She wants him—she wants him right now.
And he gives himself to her. Holds the dip of her waist possessively. Stretches her out as he fills her, gliding deep inside her. And she molds herself to the shape of him, squeezes his length from within. Groans into the intrusion that has her thighs flex, makes her throat grow dry.
Tifa likes having sex this way—it's her favorite. The least personal, not so romantic. She can't even see him. But it's okay, she knows he loves her. He tells her every day, shows her in everything he does.
She grips the blanket in her fist, cocks her head back as he takes her. Pushes himself in her so heatedly, Tifa gives in to another wave of ecstasy. Always so fast and instant when they do it this way. And endless—as long as he makes love to her, she experiences the bliss of her high. She bends her back so much it hurts, wants more of him, every inch of him. Feels him submerge himself in her heat as he grunts behind her. His hands slip as her skin drips with sweat.
Stretched and so full of him—her body, her heart is full. She feels a slight pain in her belly from how roughly he moves, but it's okay, it's overpowered by the immense pleasure bathing her core. Encased in flames, every part of her ignited. He grabs her breasts, squeezes them, plays with her nipples. She screams—she can't take it. She can't—she tells him.
"I can't take it! I can't take it!"
It's whiny and shrill, but it makes him touch her harder, move faster. Tifa is out of her body—nothing makes sense. She sees things that are meant to be heard, hears what should be seen. She's delusional. A mess on the bed as she falls to her elbow, spreads wider, he goes deeper. She loses herself—she's not even a person.
She's an animal, he takes her like an animal. Tifa wants to be his animal. Cloud feels good, he feels so good. She's gonna die. Everything is blurry, she can't see. Only feel, and hear—the sloshing of their bodies as he enters her, the smacking of wet flesh. Dirty noises that turn her on because Tifa is bad, she's so bad today.
He stutters against her—squeezes bruises to her skin as he grunts and pushes into her hard—Once. Twice. She gasps through it, feels him fill her in a dripping heat.
They collide as a heap on the bed. Their bodies drenched in sweat. It seeps in the divots of muscle on his stomach, his arms shiny and glistening. Tifa likes him this way—breathless and delirious, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes like he's just as spent as her.
Cloud draws her to him, scuffles with the blanket so they get under the covers. They lie on their sides, spooning like they do every night. But it's not even afternoon yet on a Friday. Tifa likes this. She likes spending the day with Cloud. She wishes everyday could be like this. But he has to work, and she has to dance. Everyone takes care of her—she wishes she could contribute more. She promises herself she'll try harder to be a better wife and sister-in-law.
He cradles her arm, touches her affectionately. It relaxes her, clears her mind for the moment. When he kisses her cheek, she sighs, lets her eyes flutter as she shifts her body closer to him. His arm wraps around her, his palm flat on her belly. He kisses her again, on her neck, her shoulder—chaste little pecks that have her head limp on the pillow as she searches for his hand so they can hold each other.
"I love you," he tells her.
Tifa hums, feels his fingers curl over hers messily. "I love you, too."
Tifa is tired, but she can't sleep. She knows he dozes off beside her. His breathing pattern alters, it grows shallow, he's relaxed as he holds her. She should feel happy, be at peace. Cloud loves her, he takes care of her. They have really good sex. But after the good feeling dispels, Tifa feels sad. She's so sad. It overwhelms her. She holds back tears, doesn't want to ruin the moment. She should fall asleep and nap with Cloud, then they have the rest of the day to spend together.
But she'll ruin it, like she ruins everything. Because sometimes Tifa can't help but feel sad. It creeps up on her, drags her down from the happiest of moments.
She tries for a long time to fall asleep. But she can't. So, she gets up, slinks out of his arms, and goes to the one place where she can cry in solitude.
~oOo~
Cloud wakes up, but the spot next to him is empty.
He pats the bed trying to find her through his sleepy daze, but Tifa isn't there. He wakes groggily, blinking against the afternoon light peering through the curtains. As he sits up, the blanket falls to his hips, and he's reminded of how very naked he is. The smell of sex mixed with Tifa's perfume lingers in the air. Wrinkles crease the sheets on her side of the bed. It's still warm, still immersed in her scent. She couldn't have been gone long.
The mattress creaks as he rises, finds his jeans on the floor and pulls them on for some semblance of modesty. He rubs his eyes, trying to get accustomed to the light. His hair is a mess, going in different directions. He'd love to go back to sleep, if he could just find Tifa to join him.
He squints against the assault of pure daylight when he leaves the room. But Tifa isn't on the couch. The bathroom is empty. She's not in the kitchen. He notices the curtain to the balcony is pushed open. Tifa sits on the concrete in nothing but her grey sweatshirt. Her legs folded beneath her, she holds herself for warmth as a breeze rushes past her, swishing her hair around her.
It's as if he looks through a window to her soul. Tifa is crying, her tears glistening on her face like dripping diamonds. Cloud feels guilty, like he didn't take good care of her. That he missed something in her voice or body language that showed she was in such distress. He thought everything was fine—they were having a nice day. But Tifa looks so sad, and he hates seeing her like this.
It's an unspoken rule that the balcony is Tifa's personal space, a place she goes to cry without interruption. She used to go often, but not so much anymore. She's there now, alone, and Cloud can't bear to see her suffer, even if she craves the solitude. He'll always do whatever he can to see her smile.
He gets an idea and heads back into the bedroom. A few minutes later, he opens the balcony door, leaving it ajar as he approaches Tifa. She straightens her back, turning her head to dab her sleeve against her face as if she's been caught. Cloud drapes a blanket over her shoulders and takes a seat beside her. He's put his sweatshirt back on and holds his guitar, flinging the strap over his neck.
"It's not quite that warm yet," he tells her, bumping his shoulder against hers gently. Tifa still refuses to look at him, her face turned away in shame.
"I'm sorry." Her voice is low, so quiet that it almost disperses in the breeze swirling around her. She looks to her lap, her left sleeve flopping near her as she shifts her weight. She huddles into the blanket, scours it for warmth. Cloud sits with his legs extended, a knee bent towards his chest as he starts tuning his guitar.
At the sound, Tifa finally looks at him. Her eyes are puffy, glassy with tears she refuses to release in front of him, the skin beneath them dyed red. The sun resides in her irises, painting them crimson. Bleeding eyes, ample and almond-shaped, slender dark brows crumbling above them. Her lower lip trembles as she watches him, her hair flowing behind her like dark silk caught in the breeze.
Cloud rests his back against the railing, gifts her a gentle smile as he adjusts his guitar. "I know you'd rather be alone right now. But I hope it's okay if I sit with you."
Her lips part like she intends to respond, but no words are spoken. Instead, Tifa nods, lets her thigh rest against him when she scoots just a little bit closer. Her mouth keeps moving, she stutters searching for what she wants to say. Rolling her shoulder, she cleans the tears from her cheek, and when she finds her voice, it's so delicate and sweet. "You're gonna play a song for me?"
"Well, I figured it's been a minute since I serenaded you." His laugh is a breath huffed through his nose. He looks at her, willing her gaze to meet his. Tifa waits—waits for him to canonize her. She's a vision of mahogany eyes and heart-shaped lips. A long ivory neck that disappears inside her sweater. She's beautiful, the embodiment of peace even when she feels less than peaceful. To Cloud, she is everything good in the world—she's too good for this world. Definitely too good for him.
"I know another girlie song you'd like," he tells her, narrowing his eyes playfully as he strums a few practice chords to make sure it's in tune. "But this one stays between you and me, alright? No telling Aerith or anyone else."
He extends his pinky, waiting for her to accept this solemn oath and make a blood pact with him. The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at her lips as she raises her fist, opens her pinky, and wraps it around his. Her sleeve falls, revealing her dainty wrist.
It takes a while for Tifa to recognize the song when Cloud begins playing the intro. The melody of the strings drifts into the air around them, but it's when Cloud starts singing that she finally catches on—and he gets the reaction he'd been hoping for. Tifa smiles—his favorite smile. The one where her eyes squint, her chin dimples. When the sunshine bursts from her face and splatters the sky in a rainbow.
Cloud can make up a million excuses how he knows the lyrics to Genie in a Bottle. He can say it was on the radio a lot in high school, maybe he dated a girl who liked the song. But he doesn't have a good reason. The song was everywhere and he listened to it and maybe even liked it a little and might have recorded it on a tape off the radio—but he'll never admit that. All he will admit is that he knows the song well enough to play it for Tifa, to dip in falsetto when he has to.
He recites the spoken portion even though it's completely embarrassing and paints him as a tease—but it's fine. He'll humiliate himself any time of the day to make Tifa happy. He'll wear a dress and pantyhose if he has to, just to see that beautiful smile he loves so much. To hear her giggle when he sings a particularly naughty verse and laughs through it as he bumps his knee to hers.
But then something changes. Tifa's smile fades, the brightness in her eyes dimming slowly. Cloud almost misses the shift until her expression transforms completely. Her lips part, her gaze deepens, and the playful energy that once surrounded her dissolves, replaced by a sultry look. Cloud doesn't know if he's fucking up or doing something wrong. He wants to see her smile and laugh again. But she looks at him differently now. Tilting her head, her hair tumbles over her shoulder.
He wants to finish the song for her, but Tifa stops him—interrupts abruptly as she leans in and kisses him, steals his voice and keeps it for herself. It's not gentle or tender or slow, she's aggressive, starts pushing him down.
He's so taken aback, it takes him a second to stumble through the shock and understand what's happening. She climbs on top of him, straddles him—he struggles to remove the guitar, hears the clamor of wood and chaotic plucking of strings as he pushes it to the side. They became a frantic mess of entangled limbs, heated mouths and searching tongues. The blanket slips off her body, becomes matted on the concrete.
Her hand is in his hair, pulling at the scalp. She bites his lip, sucks it in, lets her spit drip all over his chin. Cloud feels hot, like he's melting beneath his clothes, and he's hard in an instant. It's unbearable when Tifa grinds herself against him, panting in his mouth like an animal in heat, drizzling him in her mist of lust that has them squirming on the balcony floor.
He reaches under her sweater, grabs her ass—she's naked. Nothing but pure supple skin and firm fatty flesh. Shit—he needs to get them inside. Her perfect ass is exposed to the elements and his hands aren't big enough to cover all of her. But she's so manic, Cloud can't pry her off him. Attacked by a jaguar as she pounces him, rubs her wet little cunt over the bulge of his jeans and kisses his mouth hungrily.
He drags them to the sliding door with the force of his heels while she's still on top of him. The rough cement catches his socks, friction burning his skin as they move. He grunts through the struggle—lets Tifa suck his neck and hump him enthusiastically as he reaches to push the door open far enough to get inside. Crawling on his back, luring her in with him—he doesn't want to do it in front of the glass doors—so he pulls her into the kitchen. Barely makes it there when she sits up and throws her hair behind her.
The kitchen is small and pink and cramped. They're between the island and the sink, but it's enough room for Tifa to maneuver herself, for him to watch deliriously as the sun beams behind her, and he's lost in the magnificent vision of her. Ethereal, magical—she gives him her best slutty face. Jaw relaxed, pink tongue poking out. Dark hair disheveled and thrown over her shoulders. He feels her knees dig into his hips, locking him in place so he can't move. His hands are on her ass, pressing firm perky skin, but shit—it's not enough. He needs to see her. He wants to see her beautiful body.
But Tifa's too impatient, she doesn't let him—moving too fast. Unzipping his fly, lets his dick spring out, and he gasps from the relief of it. He's tense, so hard that he twitches, leaking from the tip as it streams in a current down his shaft. Tifa doesn't wait, she lifts her hips, sits on him in one quick thrust. It's so sudden that the feeling is overwhelming, as he's submerged in her warmth and feels her contract her inner muscles to squeeze him.
Shit—"Shit—"
She's already fucking him, bounces off his dick and wails through the motion as her palm plants on his stomach. She feels amazing, hot and sopping wet. He's constricted by her tight little pussy clenching him with every drop of her hips. He slides on the pink tile of the kitchen, squints his eyes against the assault of the sun beaming through the open glass door—always searching for her, ready to bathe her in its glow, because Tifa is so beautiful and perfect, even when she's fucking the sun stalks her.
Fuck, she feels good—so fucking good, but he can't see her. He needs to see her—bouncing tits and her spread little cunt taking him. He wants to look at every dirty, beautiful part of her.
"Hold on a second—" He speaks through gritted teeth, struggles to sit up against her hostility. Tifa doesn't stop moving, delicious moans fluttering from her mouth. She starts scrubbing her hips on his pelvis like she's scooting a chair closer. The friction builds and builds, and if she keeps fucking doing that, he'll only last a few more minutes.
He pulls the sweater off her, throws it to the side. She's naked now—fuck, he sees everything in the stark daylight. Pebbled pink nipples point on milky breasts. Her stomach is flat and curved and he sees the imprint of muscle poking through. Looking at her is making it worse, on the verge of coming, and he needs to stop it. He wants to drag it out so he can enjoy it, let his gaze sink at the sight of Tifa fucking him so eagerly like she's his loyal little slut.
Tifa doesn't stop moving or moaning, even as he stumbles to remove his sweatshirt, pull his jeans off below her. To get just as naked as her so the barrier of clothes doesn't inhibit them.
He loves getting fucked by her on the kitchen floor. She's so manic, like she's possessed by the lure of his dick. He can finally get a good look at her—her eyes are eclipsed by her pupils, turning them pitch black. Her stare is blank, like she's been put under a spell. Panting though an open mouth, her hair chucked forward. Her tits swinging, the tips hard and puckered.
He looks at her little naked pussy. Her thighs split apart, her hip flexors jut as they stretch. Her folds unraveled, her pink clit pokes out like it demands his attention. He stares at her between her legs, watches himself disappear inside her, the way his length shimmers as he's doused in her slick.
The vision of her is overwhelming—she's straight out of a porno. Black eyes that leak with desire. Hair dark and long caressing her body in sensuous waves. Her tits swing forward as she takes him. Cloud squeezes her waist, strains to keep his head up, feels the pull in the tendons of his neck, the stress on his shoulders, just so he can watch her fuck him.
But he's losing control, he needs this to stop so he can steady himself—he forces her off him, exhales sharply at the loss of heat. Tifa whimpers as Cloud places her on the floor beside him. She closes her legs, clamps her knees together. Her chest rises and falls through the tide of each frantic breath.
And he sits up, gives himself a second to settle the drumming of his heart—it doesn't work. Loud, pounding drums straight to his ribcage. Tifa is waiting for him. He grabs her again, handles her roughly as he turns her around. She grunts when he twists her body, brings her back on top of him.
"Come here. Sit on my face."
Tifa hesitates, but he drags her, hears her tiny yelp spill to the void as he grapples the meat of her hips and pulls her core to his mouth. She leans forward, stabilizes herself with a palm to his navel. Her groans paint the air, feminine and whiny, and it only furthers him, makes him pry her thighs apart, his sight obscured by the shade of her glistening cunt. Seeing nothing but the blending darkness of her stretched slit and her clit that protrudes as a pulsing pink bead.
Her scent engulfs him, heightens his senses. The smell of desire and musk, thick and pungent that he wants to eat her, extend his tongue in his greed for her. She's so wet, it's smeared over her inner thighs, drips from inside her and lands as a viscid droplet on his chin. Caged in by her, her shins are the bars that hold him captive, her thighs the shackles that bind him to her. And he immerses himself in her heat, drinks from her sanctity.
He loves the taste of her. Laps his tongue as he teases her clit, and Tifa jolts above him. He feels her slouch, sliding forward on his stomach. He squeezes her ass so hard he knows he'll ruin her flawless skin with blotches of purple and blue. But he wants to ruin her, he wants to leave his loving mark on her body any way she'll let him.
He feels the press of her breasts on his stomach, her nipples poking his skin. Their bodies encased in sweat, slipping together as she holds him in her fist. Cloud grunts, bends his knees. Tifa's grip is tender, touching him with care and affection. She shifts her pelvis on his face, deepens the curve of her spine. Spreads her herself more and more as she sobs through the pleasure. Rolling her little fist, using her own slick to glide her hand in languid strokes. He jerks in her grasp—she traces every ridge, each throbbing vein with curious fingers. Presses a kiss to the tip of the head—
And he's in her mouth. She's in his. He's vulgar and loud in the way he takes her, his tongue messy and fluid. While she moves carefully, struggles to fit him in her throat as her tongue swirls at the line of his slit—and he tries not to buck into her mouth, doesn't want to choke her. She feels so good, her mouth thick with saliva and a naïve tongue, her hand touching what she can't fit. She's so sweet and innocent, and it makes him want to defile her. Desperate to see how far he can stretch her, how much her spine will twist for him. Wants to pull her apart and test the limits of her body.
He changes their positions. Pushes her off his face, hears her whimpers as he manipulates her limbs while they are splayed on the kitchen floor. Cloud sits up, uses the heel of his palm to wipe her essence off his chin. The tile is wet from their sweat, her slick, blended together, and they slip against it as he moves her to his liking.
As he draws her to his lap, her arm furls around his neck for balance. He kisses the confused cute look on her face, rests his back against a cabinet below the sink. Tifa fidgets, shows him a pout that reveals the inner flesh of her lip. She doesn't know what he wants her to do, her knees sliding from the slippery floor. He tells her—
Tucking tousled hair behind her ear, he soaks in her expression, pecks kisses on her mouth as her eyes are heavy and she bares her teeth in her impatience. "Get into a split."
Her lips fumble, she's confused. Cloud palms her body affectionately, glides his palms against the sheen of sweat saturating her flesh. Cups her arm, rubbing circles where the joint used to be. Tifa hesitates, spreads her legs.
"How?" she asks, whiny and shy, and shit—he fucking loves her.
He helps her—twists her hips for her, and she figures it out. Hovers her pelvis above him as he holds her in place, hooks her elbow over his neck and whimpers through the movement. One leg extends forward—long and endless, the meat of her thigh curves into her knee. Her toes point, her leg stretches perfectly straight while the other does the same behind her.
"Does that hurt?" he asks, gripping her waist, feeling the huffs of her grunts warming his face. Tifa shakes her head, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder.
"No. It's okay."
She lowers her hips, slowly impales herself on his dick. He's flooded in her heat, inch by inch, groans through the gradual intrusion—and this time it's different. It's more intense. The way her legs are stretched out, she's tighter, squeezing him at different angles. Her face crumbles in ecstasy, squinty eyed and shivering lips. She bites his neck, silencing her moan. Her hips stutter, it's a moment before she figures out how to move this way. He guides her through it, throws her down on his lap. She uses the slip of the floor to help her slide the ankle on her back leg.
She holds her form so well, it's like he's being fucked by a gymnast. And Tifa is already falling apart, crying through each push of her hips, every time he dips back inside her. Her nails splice into his shoulder, dragging his skin—he knows she's drawn blood, feels the sting of air caressing the fresh wound. He wants her to do it again, to cover him in scratches. He makes her go faster, harder, crushes her waist as he shoves her down, feels her gush a fresh warm stream over his dick.
Tifa looks so good when she takes him so well. When she's whining and moaning, and the neighbors can probably hear them because the balcony door is still open—the breeze that drifts inside is welcoming, cooling their hot bodies as they slide on the floor. Sweat's in his hair, drips down his forehead. Coats his body and he looks like he's covered in grease. Shiny and slick, trickling between rims of muscle.
And Tifa's hair is damp, her body sticky, her fringe pasted to her forehead. His hands slip as he holds her, they're a drenched mess. Wet breasts that shake as she moves, thrown against his chest. Her legs stretch in a straight line, but her spine is twisted so she faces him.
He's getting impatient—Cloud wants to fuck her now. He wants to rut into her, so fucking horny watching her do all the work. He helps her rise from the floor—pushes the small of her back against the counter. His dick stands erect, drives into her navel. Sopping wet and begging to be reunited with her heat. She arches her spine, stands on the balls of her feet to meet his height. Leans her elbow on the counter and pushes aside the rack of pink knives.
He likes how long she's made her body for him. Her breasts tremble as she breathes. Her eyes quaver, slowly returning to life as specks of brown peek through the darkness.
There's longing in her gaze, the desire to please and be pleased. He can't take looking at her like this anymore. He hooks an elbow to her knee—and Tifa must expect he's going to hoist her onto the counter, that he'll fuck her sitting by the kitchen sink. But he leaves her standing, stretching her leg. She keeps it straight, doesn't bend her knee. Points her toes and curves her foot. Calluses scab at her heel, raw and healed cuts peppered on her skin.
He tests her flexibility, raises her leg higher and higher. Until she's in another split. She doesn't falter as her shin rests on his shoulder. Sucking in her stomach, her ribs poke through her skin.
He asks her again, because he always wants to be sure—"Does this hurt?"
"No." Her arm finds his neck. Their bodies move closer, her heat trickling around him as he presses against her bellybutton. "It doesn't hurt."
With his palm embracing her cheek, he moves in to kiss her. Kissing her to distract her, shifting her hips, thrusting himself inside in one brisk motion.
She gasps in his mouth. Her neck elongates, she gasps through every forceful shove of his hips as he grates his pelvis against hers, seeing the rebound of her body as he fucks her—holding her ankle, her face, kissing her dirty little noises and stifling them on his tongue.
They form a chaotic melody of panting breaths and thunderous heartbeats. Rattling the counter as he fucks her almost senseless. He varies his rhythm, moves slower at times so she can melt into his touch. He watches her jaw lose feeling as her eyes grow heavy and her tongue slips out of her mouth.
Until he goes faster, fucks her hard. Her tits rotate clapping together, she's such a beautifully filthy sight. And her face tenses. Squeezed in agony, she throws back her head and screams—grips his neck so roughly she rakes fresh cuts to his skin.
"I—It's too much—I—" She speaks through piercing grunts, and it only makes him go harder, feeling himself on the edge of release the tighter she clenches him and the louder she cries. "I can't take it—"
"You can take it." He kisses her to soothe her fears, licking the drool off her chin. And he decides to give her leg a break, boosts her from the floor to sit on the counter. "—Is this better?"
Her thighs spread wide, the insides smeared with sweat. He pulls her to the edge of the surface, fucks her a little slower but still just as hard. Tifa jerks through every thrust, letting him embrace her as her chin falls to his shoulder.
"Yea—yea—" Her moans grow more erotic, her voice echoes in a sing-song melody and climbs an octave higher. "It feels so good. Oh my god—"
He doesn't want to beat her to the finish—he wants Tifa to come with him. He knows he's hitting a spot she likes—she shivers, wraps her legs around him and presses her heel to his spine. He feels her heartbeat collide with his, frenzied, racing against time—he dips to kiss her nipple, her moan erupting from deep in her gut when he slips his hand between their bodies, finds her clit in the mess of sloppy wet folds.
Setting her off in every way he knows how. Kissing her, touching her, fucking her. Until she spasms, her body locking and freezing as she struggles to breathe. Only able to jerk her head, buckle her hips and grind into his pelvis. She comes silently but chaotically. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes grow ample and wild.
And Cloud relents—the sight of her coming undone enough for him to surrender to his own climax. Because she looks so good coming on his dick, squeezing him in contractions, that he descends, spilling himself inside her. Kissing her mouth so he can share her gasps, their moans blended into a harmony that floats in the room, travels outside.
Tifa collapses on him, limp like she's lifeless. And Cloud wants to do the same, but he has to support her weight, help her off the counter. His spend runs a stream down her thigh when he slides out of her.
They shower together. Cloud feels like he's breaking a law being in Aerith's bathroom. They get saturated in the water sprinkling from the showerhead. It feels like hot ice pricking his skin, rinsing the sweat and sex off his body and drenching his hair.
He hugs Tifa, doesn't let her go for a long time as they let the water run. He's scared she'll start crying again, that having sex somehow leads to her being upset. He doesn't want her to be sad. He wants her to feel good all the time, not to feel like she needs to sneak away to cry because she's a burden to him.
It's late in the afternoon when they lie on the couch together. She rests on top of him, nestles her cheek on his chest as she squirms beneath the blanket covering them. Their clothes are damp, dressed in what they usually wear to bed. Tifa rolls her foot over his, curls her toes on his ankle. His hand delves in her hair, still wet and tangled, before he ventures lower to rub circles on her back.
He holds the remote, surfing through the channels. "Tell me when to stop."
Tifa waits and watches until she speaks up, her voice muddled against his tee shirt. "I like this show."
He leaves it on for her. After only a few minutes of watching, the premise of the mean doctor addicted to painkillers sounds familiar to him.
"Is this the show that made you think you were gonna become a drug addict?" He laughs as he says it, he doesn't mean to mock her, but the sudden memory amuses him. Tifa huffs, makes the motion to get off him, but he hugs her close, doesn't let her leave as he chuckles into her hair.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry."
"It's not funny," she grumbles.
Tifa eases back into his embrace, watching the TV quietly. Cloud starts falling asleep, lulled by the scent of soap in her hair, until Tifa shakes him, stirs his attention.
"We did it a lot today."
Cloud bites back a smile, searches for her hand under the blanket. "Wanna go again?"
Tifa fidgets, greets his wandering fingers with the clutch of her own. "Maybe later." She pauses as she presses her ear to his heart. "Can we order food?"
"Yea." Cloud hesitates to add on to it. He thinks it might upset her, but he's desperate to get her out of the condo. "—Or, I can take you somewhere."
He feels her stiffen, tightening her grip on his hand. "I don't wanna go anywhere. I wanna stay here with you."
Cloud should leave it there, but he pushes. Because some days she does so much better, and others she retreats back to her shell, afraid to be seen by anyone but him. "You don't wanna go to a movie?"
"There's no good movies playing."
Cloud kind of wants to see 300, but he knows that'll hurt his case more than help it. He stalls, keeps trying to think of ways to bait her outside. A horrific idea comes to mind, and it's so awful he tries to suffocate it in his brain. But it survives, and he can't believe what he's about to say—
"The girl from work—Yuffie. She likes you." He grinds his teeth as his jaw tenses, letting Tifa play with his hand beneath the blanket. "Maybe we can hang out with her later."
A beat passes. "The emo girl?"
Cloud slightly stutters. "Uh—yea. Her."
Cuddling closer against him, her leg wraps around his, and she's quiet for a while, like she's thinking about it. "Maybe tomorrow?"
It's a start. Cloud should ask Aerith how she's so good at getting Tifa to go out with her. Maybe she's just more fun than Cloud, or more convincing. She's extremely extroverted—says they're going to do something, and the only choice is to follow her. Cloud and Tifa are both introverts, so the task is near impossible for him.
He ponders on what he can do with her tonight. It's early, their day can't be over. They've already had a bunch of sex. Cloud wants to spend time with her, to do something fun and special so she knows how much he loves her.
He remembers Reno inviting him over the other day. He thinks he can find a way to spin that into something fun for Tifa. "You like dogs?"
Tifa rubs her cheek to his shirt in a nod. "Yea. They're cute."
Their fingers weave together, curled in a fist that she holds at her chest. "You wanna meet Reno's dog?"
Her leg tangles with his as she fidgets on top of him. "He has a dog?"
"Yea. A little old chihuahua."
Tifa is quiet for a while. Cloud thinks she won't answer the question, decides to drop it, he's tortured her enough trying to motivate her. But then she sighs and snuggles him harder, the friction of his shirt rubbing against his chest as she nods her head.
"Okay."