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raajShe wears red every night. And every night, it falls away, and she sees herself just the way he loves her:
Bright green eyes. A smile that's learned and earned its charm by the years. Thick, wavy brown hair falling past graceful shoulders and curling over her breasts and hips, just curvy enough for her liking...and apparently enough for his too. Looking in the mirror under the soft yellow-tinged light and feeling the certainty of her desirability is its own little arousal, a giddiness that has her bouncing up on the balls of her feet and touching herself, from the side of her neck to her collarbone to her breast to her stomach where the excitement dulls; her hand pauses, and then flattens, fingers splaying over the skin to hide a jagged scar.
She hates that mark. It shouldn't mean anything, it doesn't deserve to mean anything, but it holds such a terrible significance. She stares at the mirror, trying to untangle its grip on her and missing both his approach and her name being called. When his warm hand displaces the cold air over her own, it's as though he's appeared from nowhere. But she knew to expect him. The way he's missed her is written all over his face, laid barer than her skin.
His body is significantly more covered up, since all of his clothes are still on. At least the armor's not.
"Sorry. If I'd been quicker..."
"Why are you always overdressed for this?" she complains, turning around to pluck at the faded fabric of his shirt, and totally sidestepping his apology. She knows he's not regretting his tardiness tonight but a different time altogether, one she'd rather not revisit.
He presses, though, his hand still cradling hers between their bellies. "If I'd figured it out sooner..."
"You figured it out just in time. I'm here, aren't I?" She hates the scar as a sign that she could have not been--the moment's still fresh in her mind, as though it just happened again, Sephiroth swooping down and Cloud having only enough time to pull her out of the way of a fatal blow with one still being received--but she is here.
She's here.
The hair on the nape of her neck prickles and she turns her hand to lace their fingers together, stepping closer to have more of his body heat. "So. This is a serious question I have. Why are you always overdressed?"
He looks at her a moment longer, his bright blue eyes so uncertain and vulnerable. Happily, he relaxes into a small, mischievous smile. "When it makes you pout like that...I just have to be."
"You're a bad tease."
"Sorry." A full grin now. His sense of humor is so simple, and such a delight to see when it means that he's truly comfortable. "I can fix it--"
"Ah ah ah! Leave it to me."
When she kisses him, the soft exhale she feels from him tells her he's laughing. Amusement turns to earnestness as their lips hold for longer and his tongue starts to explore, with him pulling back only once she's peeled his shirt up his chest. By that time his pupils have started to widen, dark arousal pushing back the irises' mako glow as he cooperatively lifts his arms for his shirt to be pulled off.
Even with his help, though, there's a moment they get tangled up: his fault, she'd say, for wearing turtlenecks with collars that want to get stuck over his head and wild hair. The pouting is audible by the time she frees him and flings the garment aside. Her giggles probably aren't helping. But pressing close to him and bringing her lips to his neck to nibble, tease, and lick reassures him of how much she wants him, silly moments and all. He slides back into action with his hands running down her back to cup her ass; he squeezes, and she's just managed to open his pants and start to lower them before being lifted into the air with his hungry kisses trailing a path from the crook of her neck to her breast. There he lingers and takes his time, and she knows he's enjoying much too much how he can make her groan. Knows she's not discouraging him, either, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding one arm behind the back of his head to hold him close. Even if he's being a bit of a show-off, not even giving her a wall to brace herself against because he could carry two of her with ease... well, she's not opposed to a bit of showing off when it feels this good. It's obviously making him feel better. She can feel him hardening against her, muscles throughout his body drawing taut in anticipation. It's strange how she feels more attuned to his quickened breath than her own, hears him and his pulse as she would hear the Planet's, but then she reasons, it's not so odd at all. He's her core, something she decided when--
Her back stiffens; her hand slips off his head. Blue eyes glance up at her through a muss of blond hair. The question he's about to ask is so obvious that she doesn't wait to hear it, cutting him off with a kiss.
Is she okay? Yes...yes, of course. As long as he doesn't remember. But he's going to, because every night he does. He'll remember: Sephiroth doesn't miss, and she doesn't live.
Every night he dreams he's saved her. Every night he dreams he was faster, stronger, more clever than anyone has a right to be. She knows he did everything he could.
He dreams of having done more.
She breaks the kiss, turning her lips to his ear with an urgency that startles him. She can feel his surprise and talks quickly, before alarm can make him remember the worst. He's learned to remember bad things more quickly than good ones. "I love you."
"I--" His voice and actions both stutter. Of feelings given freely, he's learned how to respond to vitriol more smoothly than love.
"You don't have to answer. I just need you to know. Cloud, I love you. That never changed. It's all right."
She's pleaded with him like this on some earlier nights. She remembers now. She can't tell if it helps, though; it's always the same once he remembers.
There's tension seizing up his muscles as he looks at her with confusion, obviously wondering what the matter is. She sees the moment he realizes their meeting here is all a lie, his eyes now darkened with horror, and then she sees nothing. Her weight sags forward against him, and her legs slip from where they were twined around his waist until her feet dangle limply on each side of him, toes pointed straight to the dark carpet. She can't move; a corpse shouldn't. But she's allowed to feel all the dead weight of her body, because he remembers carrying it to the lake so clearly.
She tastes bile in the back of a throat that can't swallow it down, and it's hard to tell if it's a memory from when she was dying, or a fresh disgust at being made into such a precious burden. Death was not the end. She could help him even now, if only he would believe in her.
But he never did learn to trust love. Even now, something like a sob is choking in his throat, the sound tight with anger and self-disgust at the fantasy he's been allowed to have. No longer a tender moment, all it appears in his eyes is selfish perversion. He doesn't trust that she really would have given him this much trust or intimacy. And he'll wake up and not believe that Tifa should give him the love she does. He already is waking up, his distress shredding through the vestiges of the dream as it jolts his body into panicked awareness.
She wants so badly to just lift her hand to his cheek, soothe him, make him stop hurting himself over this sick guilt trap. There's no reason why she shouldn't be able to when they're connected. Except that to him, she's dead because of him, and that eclipses every other aspect of her. She isn't loving, isn't giving, isn't wanting, isn't kind. She's just dead.
The bitterness is too strong. When she finally lets go of their connection, to not see any more of the pain she can't relieve, she can hear Sephiroth's laughter, though faint as if from a great distance. Because she fell for the initial illusion just as badly as Cloud, yet again.
Sephiroth knows, after all. As there are things he wants to shatter with his own hands, there are still things she yearns to do with her own. Reassurances to give. Pleasures to share.
The hard truth she has to contemplate, once more apart from her love, is that if she is going to help him, she will need to give those desires up.
***
Baaaasically I had a lot of fun with the intro and idea but actually detailing how it falls apart was kind of like mmnnnn how to make it clear but concise
Bright green eyes. A smile that's learned and earned its charm by the years. Thick, wavy brown hair falling past graceful shoulders and curling over her breasts and hips, just curvy enough for her liking...and apparently enough for his too. Looking in the mirror under the soft yellow-tinged light and feeling the certainty of her desirability is its own little arousal, a giddiness that has her bouncing up on the balls of her feet and touching herself, from the side of her neck to her collarbone to her breast to her stomach where the excitement dulls; her hand pauses, and then flattens, fingers splaying over the skin to hide a jagged scar.
She hates that mark. It shouldn't mean anything, it doesn't deserve to mean anything, but it holds such a terrible significance. She stares at the mirror, trying to untangle its grip on her and missing both his approach and her name being called. When his warm hand displaces the cold air over her own, it's as though he's appeared from nowhere. But she knew to expect him. The way he's missed her is written all over his face, laid barer than her skin.
His body is significantly more covered up, since all of his clothes are still on. At least the armor's not.
"Sorry. If I'd been quicker..."
"Why are you always overdressed for this?" she complains, turning around to pluck at the faded fabric of his shirt, and totally sidestepping his apology. She knows he's not regretting his tardiness tonight but a different time altogether, one she'd rather not revisit.
He presses, though, his hand still cradling hers between their bellies. "If I'd figured it out sooner..."
"You figured it out just in time. I'm here, aren't I?" She hates the scar as a sign that she could have not been--the moment's still fresh in her mind, as though it just happened again, Sephiroth swooping down and Cloud having only enough time to pull her out of the way of a fatal blow with one still being received--but she is here.
She's here.
The hair on the nape of her neck prickles and she turns her hand to lace their fingers together, stepping closer to have more of his body heat. "So. This is a serious question I have. Why are you always overdressed?"
He looks at her a moment longer, his bright blue eyes so uncertain and vulnerable. Happily, he relaxes into a small, mischievous smile. "When it makes you pout like that...I just have to be."
"You're a bad tease."
"Sorry." A full grin now. His sense of humor is so simple, and such a delight to see when it means that he's truly comfortable. "I can fix it--"
"Ah ah ah! Leave it to me."
When she kisses him, the soft exhale she feels from him tells her he's laughing. Amusement turns to earnestness as their lips hold for longer and his tongue starts to explore, with him pulling back only once she's peeled his shirt up his chest. By that time his pupils have started to widen, dark arousal pushing back the irises' mako glow as he cooperatively lifts his arms for his shirt to be pulled off.
Even with his help, though, there's a moment they get tangled up: his fault, she'd say, for wearing turtlenecks with collars that want to get stuck over his head and wild hair. The pouting is audible by the time she frees him and flings the garment aside. Her giggles probably aren't helping. But pressing close to him and bringing her lips to his neck to nibble, tease, and lick reassures him of how much she wants him, silly moments and all. He slides back into action with his hands running down her back to cup her ass; he squeezes, and she's just managed to open his pants and start to lower them before being lifted into the air with his hungry kisses trailing a path from the crook of her neck to her breast. There he lingers and takes his time, and she knows he's enjoying much too much how he can make her groan. Knows she's not discouraging him, either, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding one arm behind the back of his head to hold him close. Even if he's being a bit of a show-off, not even giving her a wall to brace herself against because he could carry two of her with ease... well, she's not opposed to a bit of showing off when it feels this good. It's obviously making him feel better. She can feel him hardening against her, muscles throughout his body drawing taut in anticipation. It's strange how she feels more attuned to his quickened breath than her own, hears him and his pulse as she would hear the Planet's, but then she reasons, it's not so odd at all. He's her core, something she decided when--
Her back stiffens; her hand slips off his head. Blue eyes glance up at her through a muss of blond hair. The question he's about to ask is so obvious that she doesn't wait to hear it, cutting him off with a kiss.
Is she okay? Yes...yes, of course. As long as he doesn't remember. But he's going to, because every night he does. He'll remember: Sephiroth doesn't miss, and she doesn't live.
Every night he dreams he's saved her. Every night he dreams he was faster, stronger, more clever than anyone has a right to be. She knows he did everything he could.
He dreams of having done more.
She breaks the kiss, turning her lips to his ear with an urgency that startles him. She can feel his surprise and talks quickly, before alarm can make him remember the worst. He's learned to remember bad things more quickly than good ones. "I love you."
"I--" His voice and actions both stutter. Of feelings given freely, he's learned how to respond to vitriol more smoothly than love.
"You don't have to answer. I just need you to know. Cloud, I love you. That never changed. It's all right."
She's pleaded with him like this on some earlier nights. She remembers now. She can't tell if it helps, though; it's always the same once he remembers.
There's tension seizing up his muscles as he looks at her with confusion, obviously wondering what the matter is. She sees the moment he realizes their meeting here is all a lie, his eyes now darkened with horror, and then she sees nothing. Her weight sags forward against him, and her legs slip from where they were twined around his waist until her feet dangle limply on each side of him, toes pointed straight to the dark carpet. She can't move; a corpse shouldn't. But she's allowed to feel all the dead weight of her body, because he remembers carrying it to the lake so clearly.
She tastes bile in the back of a throat that can't swallow it down, and it's hard to tell if it's a memory from when she was dying, or a fresh disgust at being made into such a precious burden. Death was not the end. She could help him even now, if only he would believe in her.
But he never did learn to trust love. Even now, something like a sob is choking in his throat, the sound tight with anger and self-disgust at the fantasy he's been allowed to have. No longer a tender moment, all it appears in his eyes is selfish perversion. He doesn't trust that she really would have given him this much trust or intimacy. And he'll wake up and not believe that Tifa should give him the love she does. He already is waking up, his distress shredding through the vestiges of the dream as it jolts his body into panicked awareness.
She wants so badly to just lift her hand to his cheek, soothe him, make him stop hurting himself over this sick guilt trap. There's no reason why she shouldn't be able to when they're connected. Except that to him, she's dead because of him, and that eclipses every other aspect of her. She isn't loving, isn't giving, isn't wanting, isn't kind. She's just dead.
The bitterness is too strong. When she finally lets go of their connection, to not see any more of the pain she can't relieve, she can hear Sephiroth's laughter, though faint as if from a great distance. Because she fell for the initial illusion just as badly as Cloud, yet again.
Sephiroth knows, after all. As there are things he wants to shatter with his own hands, there are still things she yearns to do with her own. Reassurances to give. Pleasures to share.
The hard truth she has to contemplate, once more apart from her love, is that if she is going to help him, she will need to give those desires up.
***
Baaaasically I had a lot of fun with the intro and idea but actually detailing how it falls apart was kind of like mmnnnn how to make it clear but concise
(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-04 05:14 pm (UTC)(At the same time I might be glossing over if CC did something particularly egregious... but I really do think a lot of this might be that Cloud is never going to go right off the bat "YOU ARE AMAZING HOW DO I BE LIKE YOU" ever again. He will save his doting for people who are already friends.)
...So I guess to go one step further, even if neither entry is wrong, BC is way more useful for characterizing Cloud in general because Zack was sort of a rare event. So someone extrapolating Cloud's personality from just CC is more likely to go wrong in my eyes than someone extrapolating from just BC. CC could have fixed this with minor scenes showing Cloud interacting more with other people without Zack around, but at the same time Cloud really wasn't meant to be the focus. ...I'm way too nitpicky and this is why I haven't responded to someone else on tumblr yet because at some point I just go "NO IF I SIT DOWN TO ANSWER THIS I'LL BE PICKING THIS APART FOR HOURS" lol. Moving on!
by worrying about oversimplifying the polyamory, did you mean that they might still be attracted to each other in the relationship but not act on it, or its non-reciprocal (and I have to admit my immediate thought for that scenario is it's Aerith is attracted to both)?
No, no, when I said "oversimplifying the threesome", by threesome I meant the OT3, not simultaneous Cloti/Clerith. Just, while thinking about things from Sleeping Arrangements, I sometimes wonder if I'm going to make Aerith and Tifa come off more as really good friends with benefits rather than a real, mutual romance? (Especially since it takes Aerith longer to realize) Which isn't my intention, but I know they're not going about things conventionally, so then I just get stuck on thinking about the difference between those two things. Although it did occur to me later on that they are committed to and passionate about the relationship itself, not just each other; they're not going to go on/off like friends with benefits might.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-04 08:46 pm (UTC)And yes; its very difficult to ever see Cloud look up to someone in that way again, and would likely just dote on the people who are already his friends. But I would agree; extrapolating Cloud's personality purely from CC is more likely going to wind up at odds with FFVII versus the BC version which is closer to how he's introduced in FFVII. And its a fair point that the short-coming could have been fixed but would have been odd given the game's focus on Zack.
Being nit-picky is good! I think I'd much rather get things right and consistent than gloss over the troublesome bits (though admittedly this can mean rejecting certain things as they no longer fit...)
Ah! Completely misunderstood the OT3 worry - apologies. I think, yeah, when they are committed and passionate about the relationship between the three of them/don't just hook up on occasion it is going to feel like a real mutual romance. And in that way I think the slow build helps more as if they got together too early it might seem more like they're really good friends with benefits. Though, if it helps, I think the Gold Saucer basically seals how Tifa is feeling towards Aerith in that chapter - personally I was in no doubt that it was definitely romantic in her thoughts and actions.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-05 02:09 am (UTC)Ah, yeah, Tifa's feelings for Aerith are definitely better at coming off romantic! It's more Aerith I was worried about, but... fff I really just need to get writing it again (I said, for the thousandth time... I've got like two half-written things of Cosmo Canyon here lmfao)
(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-05 09:06 pm (UTC)