Final Fantasy VII (Barret/Tifa)
Jul. 28th, 2007 10:57 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: Close Call
Author/Artist: queenoftheskies
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic sex
Word count: 3,586
Summary: Tifa and Barret get trapped behind enemy lines and have some time to kill
Prompt: #12. Final Fantasy VII, Barret/Tifa: Trapped together - waiting for the heat to die down.
A/N: I'm very sorry I'm late posting this.
Close Call
“God damned Shinra.” Barret spat on the sandy dirt for emphasis. “I vote we blast our way out of here and wail on those sorry sons of bitches until…”
“We’re out-numbered.” Tifa turned to regard him with worried eyes. She understood his anger; she shared it. But he was all worked up over something they couldn’t change and busting out of the broken down shack wouldn’t do anything but get them both killed.
The big man threw his arms up in exasperation as he paced away from the door. To his credit, he did lower his voice at the reminder there were at least three dozen troops outside looking for them. “We can’t just wait around here. There’s no telling…”
“The others will come.” She wished she felt as certain as she sounded. Oh, she was sure they wanted to come, sure they wanted to rescue their lost comrades, but she wasn’t sure they had the ability to…not without losing Sephiroth’s trail.
“If they were coming,” he said, turning away with a snort, “they’d have been here by now.”
The rumble in the pit of Tifa’s stomach reminded her they’d already gone one day without food. They’d scavenged the remains of the hut without any luck. Whatever had happened here, the building had been abandoned long before tragedy struck. There wasn’t so much as a scrap of food, a stick of furniture, not even a thread of blanket to protect them from the night’s chill. And night was falling rapidly again.
She slipped back away from the slatted window as a shadow passed by on the trail outside. That was how she knew they hadn’t given up. There patrols were still regular; they passed by like clockwork in teams. She’d counted at least six different teams in the past few hours. They had to have a camp set up nearby. She only hoped to hear the fearsome roar of Bahamut or the angry sizzle of Ifrit before she and Barret died of starvation or were forced to take on SOLDIER in desperation.
She was running out of patience, so she knew he was already ready to take a stand: break out or die trying.
“Think of Marlene.” It was the only hope she had to offer him, the only way she could convince him to stay alive to fight another day. “If you don’t care enough about the resistance to preserve your own life, at least think of her.”
The pacing stopped. He turned on her with an angry growl and eyes narrowed so thin she could barely see the whites. “Easy for you to say.”
“It’s not easy being cooped up here.” She flinched against the rise in her voice and strode to the center of the room where she stopped to catch her breath. His anger, his irritation, his desperation were contagious. She had to find a way to deal with them, a way to help him deal with them, or they were both shit out of luck. “You’re not an easy person to be around at the best of times.” She paused, willing some of the anger to drain from her voice. “Do you think I enjoy being stuck here with you?”
“Only person you want to be stuck with,” he grumbled, dropping onto a collapsed beam almost as big around as his chest, “is Cloud.”
“That’s not true.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew her denial sounded like an admission.
Running both hands through her hair, she pushed it back from her forehead, wishing for some way to bathe. They’d been on the march for a week before the troops had waylaid them—quite by accident, she was sure—and the battle had gone their way until she and Barret had managed to get separated from the others.
They’d lucked out as far as water had gone. Rain from the day before had pooled into the remains of a cracked pipe along one edge of the shack, giving them plenty to drink. They could hole up there for a number of days before they actually became desperate enough to venture out for food. By that time, she hoped the troops would become bored of looking for them—or whatever it was they were doing—and go about their business.
On a whim, she wandered toward the busted pipe, wondering where it led and if it might provide a way out for them, a possible way around—or under—the troops.
Barret pretended not to watch her, but once she knelt beside the pipe and dug in the dirt around it, he demanded, “Whatcha doing?”
“Looking for a way out.”
“We’ve already been over every square inch of this motherfucking…”
“If there are other pipes,” she said, jerking back when her right hand struck a sharp edge, “they might lead…”
“Outside.” He brightened, trotting over to join her. His brow furrowed when his eyes fell across the red smear covering her hand. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” It was, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Not when he was in one of his moods. She’d learned to tiptoe around those, learned that he was one hell of a kind man and a good father, but when he was in a mood, the only thing he was good for was to turn loose on the enemy.
“Nothing my ass.” Setting his gun aside, he reached for her hand before she could hide it at her side. “Now let me see.”
The center of her palm was laid open by a dirty gash that exposed layers of meat, but thankfully, no bone. It hurt like hell, throbbing until Tifa wanted to clench her hand into a fist and pull it from Barret’s hands.
“Just stop,” he said in a quiet voice filled with concern.
The gentle chastisement surprised her and she caught her breath as he cradled the injured hand in his metal hand and fumbled in his pack for a medkit with his left.
“We’ll have you all fixed up in a minute or two,” he promised, rummaging until he pulled out a roll of soft cloth as well. “Good idea about the pipes. Problem is, we don’t know where they come out.”
Tifa watched him work on her hand in silence, admiring the strength in hands so huge, yet so amazingly gentle. When he looked up, all anger gone from his eyes, she offered him a smile, hoping he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, hoping he couldn’t see what she felt.
Butterflies stirred in her stomach, unexpected after the amount of time she’d spent with him, both in public and in private. She couldn’t help but wonder, as she watched his grace and tenderness, what it would be like to be touched by him, loved by him, how much of his anger he could divert into physical passion, and whether he’d ever noticed her as anything other than a weapon to be directed toward Shinra in an effort to stop their insidious schemes.
“I might have enough magic left to heal this,” he offered, “instead of wasting time with stitches or wrapping it up.”
“I…” Tifa’s breath caught in her throat at the first touch of warmth in her hand, warmth that stirred more than damaged cells in need of Barret’s healing touch. “You should save your magic...”
“For what? Neither one of us has enough magic left to do any battle damage or we’d have been out of here by now.” Dipping the end of a clean cloth in the rain water, he dabbed at the edges of the cut. “Might as well use it for something useful like healing.”
Filled with question, his eyes met hers and held them while he waited for reply. Tifa swallowed an unexplained burst of fear that rose into her throat, robbing her of speech. Instead, she nodded, dropping her eyes as soon as he’d returned his attention to the wound.
“This might hurt a little bit,” he apologized. “Never done this up close and personal before.” Barret chuckled without looking up.
She might have been mistaken, but she thought she heard a nervous tremor in his laugh. Instead of comforting her, the knowledge that he was as ill-at-ease as she, served only to deepen her own trepidation.
The fingers on his flesh hand sparked and a golden glow settled across his dark skin. Tifa felt her eyes drawn to it, drawn to the power he wielded in a way all his own. One wouldn’t expect such a warrior, a man hardened enough to have lost a portion of his arm in battle, to be the harbinger of life and healing as well.
His own eyes settled on the manifestation, filled with wonder. They all felt the power every time they cast in battle. It wasn’t often, though, that they worked with it on a personal level, that they had the chance to actually think about what it was they were doing.
“Do you think…” Her voice sounded small against the sudden silence. “Do you think the magic changes us? Do you think any part of it becomes a part of us?”
It took him a moment to answer and when he did, his voice was choked with emotion. “Yeah, Tifa. Whether or not we can use it without the materia, it changes us. Who’d have thought…” He watched the thread of energy snake around his fingers and halfway up his arm. “Someone like me could ever hold something like this in his hand.”
“I don’t understand.”
Their eyes met, but only for a moment, before both pair dropped again.
“I’m just thankful for the chance to do something…” He exhaled slowly, wagging his head. “I guess I get tired of killing just like the next man. Some day, well, I like to hope it’ll all be over.”
He traced the line of the wound on her palm with his index finger, laying a trail of sparkling particles across it. The glow crawling around his hand died suddenly, leaving only the cast magic in its wake. They watched with wonder as the cut healed, as the skin knit back together, leaving only the barest evidence the gash had ever existed. It took another moment for the tingling sensation in her hand to die and within that span, even the scar had disappeared, leaving her palm unmarked.
“Thank you,” she whispered, raising her eyes to meet his.
He turned suddenly, dropping her hand. “No sweat.”
“Barret?” She followed him, only a step or two, as he stomped toward the downhill slope of the shack.
He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Huh?”
“It will be.” She hurried to join him, not quite sure whether she was trying to convince him or assure herself. “One day, the fighting, the killing…” She laid one hand on his shoulder. “It’ll all be over and we’ll be able to live in peace.”
“I want to believe it, but sometimes…” A low curse rumbled deep in his throat as he whirled, nodding toward the front of the shack. “Just look at ‘em out there, doing their best to destroy the planet, sucking every last breath out of it and then turning it into shit that’s going to kill us all.”
“Maybe…” Tifa’s voice trembled. He was a man; he could never understand that maybe there were ways other than fighting. “Maybe fighting isn’t the only thing we can do for this world.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes grew stormy, his expression dark. His brow settled into a frown.
“Maybe we need to give people a reason to live, Barret. A reason to join us, a way to help the planet even if they can’t fight or they’re too afraid to stand up to Shinra.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. “What kind of way?”
“I…don’t know,” she admitted, feeling suddenly small. “Aeris would probably be the person to ask about that. She’s so much more connected to the planet than I am.”
“You believe all that Ancient bullshit?”
Tifa shrugged. “I don’t know.” The last rays of sun spilled through the hut, filling it with a blaze of orange. “Sometimes…” She shrugged again. “I’m not sure I know anything at all.”
“That’s not true,” he protested, following her to the smooth depression where they’d been sleeping beneath an overhang of wreckage. “What would the resistance do without you, your knowledge of people and places, your organizing skills?
“Anyone can do those things.” She peered out a blast hole in the back of the shack, wondering how long it would take them to reach the woods in the distance if they decided to make a run for it.
“But, nobody can fight like you,” he said from so close behind her that his breath stirred the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
Tifa inhaled a quiet gasp without turning around.
“Nobody is you.” A big hand fell gently on her shoulder. “I know I’m pretty hard to get along with sometimes, but you know what?”
“What?” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“I can’t think of anybody I’d rather be stuck here with. If there’s any chance of escape, I know that, between the two of us, we’ll make it. We’re a pretty good team.”
“Yeah.”
The word emerged as more of a sigh than a reply, but before she could sink to her knees in the hollow, he’d captured her arm, demanding, “You okay?”
She turned to face him, her eyes rising slowly to meet his. They were the most honest, earnest eyes she’d ever known. They hid nothing, expressed every feeling, every reaction he felt. But, for once, she wasn’t sure what she saw in them, wasn’t sure she understood the guarded way he looked at her, or the pain he pushed aside.
Words failed her, so she nodded as she leaned toward him. He met her halfway, bending to press his lips to hers. She melted against him, sliding her arms around him as he folded her into his.
The kiss was desperate and hungry, each devouring the other’s lips with passion long hidden, a give and take born of need long denied. Their tongues met and tangled, hot breath mingling with the taste of days old garlic and meat and wine.
His chest was hard beneath the metal mesh shirt he wore; equally hard muscles stretched across his ribs and down his belly and Tifa traced them, one leading to another, until she found her way down past his navel and into the battered combat pants he wore.
His hands were surprisingly gentle as he opened her top, his fingers eager when they traced the curve of her breasts. He pulled back suddenly, eyes on his metal hand, then turned away before she could stop him.
“It’s never bothered you before,” she accused, pulling her shirt closed. She felt strangely naked, strangely abandoned with his back to her. “Why now? Is it me? Is it because…”
“I don’t have any right to…”
“Gods dammit, Barret.” She dug her fingers into the meat of his upper arm. “Look at me, you coward. You turn and look at me now.”
He obeyed, reluctantly, though his head remained bowed, his eyes averted.
“Do you want me?”
Though his only response was to lick his lips, she didn’t miss the quick glance her direction or the bulge in his pants.
“I want you,” she whispered, surprised that she meant it. “So, unless you plan to make me a rapist, you need to either take me, or fight back.”
His eyes widened and filled with lust. Strong hands—one human, one not—stripped the shirt from her, then gathered her close and tipped her back until he could drop his mouth to one breast and take it into his mouth.
He was good, his tongue and teeth working the nipple while his lips drew more of her into his mouth, sucking and pressing against the tender skin with alternating force that sent shivers of pleasure rippling outward from wherever he touched her. He sipped her like he would a drink, taking short tastes of her, his lips toying with the nipple until she curled against him, grinding her legs together against the growing tension between them.
“The other one,” she whispered, taking his face between her hands and turning his head until she broke his grip on it.
He settled between her breasts, drawing in a deep breath before a long, languish lick that took him up to her chin. He kissed it and then dropped his head abruptly, latching onto her other breast with a nip that took her breath away. Running her fingers through his closely cropped hair, she held him as she forced her breast deeper into his mouth.
He accepted it with a passion that surprised her. His teeth marked her, his tongue aroused her, his lips explored every inch of her chest before dropping to her navel and beyond.
He took down her shorts with his teeth and his hands, easing her down into the dirt where they slept, crouching over her while his hands dropped to the belt at his pants. Before he could unbuckle, she pushed his hands aside, opening the metal clasp with trembling fingers, sliding the zipper down in anticipation that made him rumble somewhere deep in his throat.
He shoved his heavy canvas baggies and his boxers down past his knees in one push, freeing his erection, which he took in his metal hand. He pumped it a couple of times, until it trembled in his grip, then thrust it inside her with enough force to take her breath away.
It was big and she was tight, too tight until he punched free and she squeaked, biting down on her bottom lip against the pain. He filled her and she closed around him. His rocking took her breath away as he forced himself deeper, rubbed against her, then retreated only to plunge again.
As the thrusts became more desperate, he remained buried deeper, jerking his hips so he could pound inside her without backing out at all. He wrapped his arms around her again, lifting her until he could capture first one breast, then the other, biting and nipping and sucking until her body was on fire.
He came with a massive rumble, a silent roar and a shudder that shook her down deep inside. She wrapped her arms around his back, tried to force him deeper still, tried to hang onto the tingling that had begun where they joined.
He pulled out with a grunt, grasping his cock again, milking the last bit low on her abdomen and into the curly hair between her legs. Then he descended, licking himself off her, tangling his teeth and his tongue in the hair before his tongue found its way inside her.
He parted her with massive fingers, dipped his tongue into the heat his cock had occupied only seconds before. Tifa cried out, pressing her hands over her mouth to keep their tormentors from discovering them. She thrust upward toward his face and his tongue extended, licking and tasting while he spread her legs further.
He pulled back, elbows against her thighs and then his head dropped until he could extend his tongue, while he peered at her from over the top of her pubic bone, watching her with eyes still filled with desire. The first lick at her clit sent her squirming until he forced his weight down on her, just enough to hold her still. The next lick—just a quick brush from the tip of his tongue—ignited a fire inside her, a fire hungry and burning, yearning for more.
He fanned the flames with quick flicks of his tongue, alternating them with a nip here and there, dragging his teeth, his lips across her until she thought she’d scream. It wasn’t until he settled down to lick her in earnest that the muscles tightened around the ball of fire that had built in her groin.
It exploded with an unstoppable force that trembled through her body, releasing a wave of heat that rivaled Ifrit’s aura, washing over her and into her while her body trembled until she was left weak and spent.
Barret dropped beside her; the thud sending a cloud of dust between them. They lay in near darkness for long, peaceful moments and, for the first time since she’d joined the resistance, Tifa felt free. Free from painful memories, from wants, from desires.
“You know,” Barret said at length, rolling to face her as he propped himself up on one thick arm. “There’s something I don’t understand.”
“Hmmm?” she asked, still happy in the afterglow.
“What, exactly, is it that you see in Cloud anyway?”
Tifa’s eyes snapped open, her eyes met his. Laughter flickered in them, at the smile that played at the corners of his mouth. Was it a joke? Or a challenge? Or did their entire future hinge on her answer?
She considered a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know, Barret.” Sliding her hand up behind his neck, she pulled him forward, capturing his lips. The kiss was gentle, the neediness gone. But, the spark was still there if she wanted it. She could taste it in his lips, see it in his eyes, feel it in all the places his body met hers. “Right now, I really…don’t…know.”
Author/Artist: queenoftheskies
Rating: R
Warnings: graphic sex
Word count: 3,586
Summary: Tifa and Barret get trapped behind enemy lines and have some time to kill
Prompt: #12. Final Fantasy VII, Barret/Tifa: Trapped together - waiting for the heat to die down.
A/N: I'm very sorry I'm late posting this.
Close Call
“God damned Shinra.” Barret spat on the sandy dirt for emphasis. “I vote we blast our way out of here and wail on those sorry sons of bitches until…”
“We’re out-numbered.” Tifa turned to regard him with worried eyes. She understood his anger; she shared it. But he was all worked up over something they couldn’t change and busting out of the broken down shack wouldn’t do anything but get them both killed.
The big man threw his arms up in exasperation as he paced away from the door. To his credit, he did lower his voice at the reminder there were at least three dozen troops outside looking for them. “We can’t just wait around here. There’s no telling…”
“The others will come.” She wished she felt as certain as she sounded. Oh, she was sure they wanted to come, sure they wanted to rescue their lost comrades, but she wasn’t sure they had the ability to…not without losing Sephiroth’s trail.
“If they were coming,” he said, turning away with a snort, “they’d have been here by now.”
The rumble in the pit of Tifa’s stomach reminded her they’d already gone one day without food. They’d scavenged the remains of the hut without any luck. Whatever had happened here, the building had been abandoned long before tragedy struck. There wasn’t so much as a scrap of food, a stick of furniture, not even a thread of blanket to protect them from the night’s chill. And night was falling rapidly again.
She slipped back away from the slatted window as a shadow passed by on the trail outside. That was how she knew they hadn’t given up. There patrols were still regular; they passed by like clockwork in teams. She’d counted at least six different teams in the past few hours. They had to have a camp set up nearby. She only hoped to hear the fearsome roar of Bahamut or the angry sizzle of Ifrit before she and Barret died of starvation or were forced to take on SOLDIER in desperation.
She was running out of patience, so she knew he was already ready to take a stand: break out or die trying.
“Think of Marlene.” It was the only hope she had to offer him, the only way she could convince him to stay alive to fight another day. “If you don’t care enough about the resistance to preserve your own life, at least think of her.”
The pacing stopped. He turned on her with an angry growl and eyes narrowed so thin she could barely see the whites. “Easy for you to say.”
“It’s not easy being cooped up here.” She flinched against the rise in her voice and strode to the center of the room where she stopped to catch her breath. His anger, his irritation, his desperation were contagious. She had to find a way to deal with them, a way to help him deal with them, or they were both shit out of luck. “You’re not an easy person to be around at the best of times.” She paused, willing some of the anger to drain from her voice. “Do you think I enjoy being stuck here with you?”
“Only person you want to be stuck with,” he grumbled, dropping onto a collapsed beam almost as big around as his chest, “is Cloud.”
“That’s not true.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew her denial sounded like an admission.
Running both hands through her hair, she pushed it back from her forehead, wishing for some way to bathe. They’d been on the march for a week before the troops had waylaid them—quite by accident, she was sure—and the battle had gone their way until she and Barret had managed to get separated from the others.
They’d lucked out as far as water had gone. Rain from the day before had pooled into the remains of a cracked pipe along one edge of the shack, giving them plenty to drink. They could hole up there for a number of days before they actually became desperate enough to venture out for food. By that time, she hoped the troops would become bored of looking for them—or whatever it was they were doing—and go about their business.
On a whim, she wandered toward the busted pipe, wondering where it led and if it might provide a way out for them, a possible way around—or under—the troops.
Barret pretended not to watch her, but once she knelt beside the pipe and dug in the dirt around it, he demanded, “Whatcha doing?”
“Looking for a way out.”
“We’ve already been over every square inch of this motherfucking…”
“If there are other pipes,” she said, jerking back when her right hand struck a sharp edge, “they might lead…”
“Outside.” He brightened, trotting over to join her. His brow furrowed when his eyes fell across the red smear covering her hand. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” It was, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Not when he was in one of his moods. She’d learned to tiptoe around those, learned that he was one hell of a kind man and a good father, but when he was in a mood, the only thing he was good for was to turn loose on the enemy.
“Nothing my ass.” Setting his gun aside, he reached for her hand before she could hide it at her side. “Now let me see.”
The center of her palm was laid open by a dirty gash that exposed layers of meat, but thankfully, no bone. It hurt like hell, throbbing until Tifa wanted to clench her hand into a fist and pull it from Barret’s hands.
“Just stop,” he said in a quiet voice filled with concern.
The gentle chastisement surprised her and she caught her breath as he cradled the injured hand in his metal hand and fumbled in his pack for a medkit with his left.
“We’ll have you all fixed up in a minute or two,” he promised, rummaging until he pulled out a roll of soft cloth as well. “Good idea about the pipes. Problem is, we don’t know where they come out.”
Tifa watched him work on her hand in silence, admiring the strength in hands so huge, yet so amazingly gentle. When he looked up, all anger gone from his eyes, she offered him a smile, hoping he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, hoping he couldn’t see what she felt.
Butterflies stirred in her stomach, unexpected after the amount of time she’d spent with him, both in public and in private. She couldn’t help but wonder, as she watched his grace and tenderness, what it would be like to be touched by him, loved by him, how much of his anger he could divert into physical passion, and whether he’d ever noticed her as anything other than a weapon to be directed toward Shinra in an effort to stop their insidious schemes.
“I might have enough magic left to heal this,” he offered, “instead of wasting time with stitches or wrapping it up.”
“I…” Tifa’s breath caught in her throat at the first touch of warmth in her hand, warmth that stirred more than damaged cells in need of Barret’s healing touch. “You should save your magic...”
“For what? Neither one of us has enough magic left to do any battle damage or we’d have been out of here by now.” Dipping the end of a clean cloth in the rain water, he dabbed at the edges of the cut. “Might as well use it for something useful like healing.”
Filled with question, his eyes met hers and held them while he waited for reply. Tifa swallowed an unexplained burst of fear that rose into her throat, robbing her of speech. Instead, she nodded, dropping her eyes as soon as he’d returned his attention to the wound.
“This might hurt a little bit,” he apologized. “Never done this up close and personal before.” Barret chuckled without looking up.
She might have been mistaken, but she thought she heard a nervous tremor in his laugh. Instead of comforting her, the knowledge that he was as ill-at-ease as she, served only to deepen her own trepidation.
The fingers on his flesh hand sparked and a golden glow settled across his dark skin. Tifa felt her eyes drawn to it, drawn to the power he wielded in a way all his own. One wouldn’t expect such a warrior, a man hardened enough to have lost a portion of his arm in battle, to be the harbinger of life and healing as well.
His own eyes settled on the manifestation, filled with wonder. They all felt the power every time they cast in battle. It wasn’t often, though, that they worked with it on a personal level, that they had the chance to actually think about what it was they were doing.
“Do you think…” Her voice sounded small against the sudden silence. “Do you think the magic changes us? Do you think any part of it becomes a part of us?”
It took him a moment to answer and when he did, his voice was choked with emotion. “Yeah, Tifa. Whether or not we can use it without the materia, it changes us. Who’d have thought…” He watched the thread of energy snake around his fingers and halfway up his arm. “Someone like me could ever hold something like this in his hand.”
“I don’t understand.”
Their eyes met, but only for a moment, before both pair dropped again.
“I’m just thankful for the chance to do something…” He exhaled slowly, wagging his head. “I guess I get tired of killing just like the next man. Some day, well, I like to hope it’ll all be over.”
He traced the line of the wound on her palm with his index finger, laying a trail of sparkling particles across it. The glow crawling around his hand died suddenly, leaving only the cast magic in its wake. They watched with wonder as the cut healed, as the skin knit back together, leaving only the barest evidence the gash had ever existed. It took another moment for the tingling sensation in her hand to die and within that span, even the scar had disappeared, leaving her palm unmarked.
“Thank you,” she whispered, raising her eyes to meet his.
He turned suddenly, dropping her hand. “No sweat.”
“Barret?” She followed him, only a step or two, as he stomped toward the downhill slope of the shack.
He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Huh?”
“It will be.” She hurried to join him, not quite sure whether she was trying to convince him or assure herself. “One day, the fighting, the killing…” She laid one hand on his shoulder. “It’ll all be over and we’ll be able to live in peace.”
“I want to believe it, but sometimes…” A low curse rumbled deep in his throat as he whirled, nodding toward the front of the shack. “Just look at ‘em out there, doing their best to destroy the planet, sucking every last breath out of it and then turning it into shit that’s going to kill us all.”
“Maybe…” Tifa’s voice trembled. He was a man; he could never understand that maybe there were ways other than fighting. “Maybe fighting isn’t the only thing we can do for this world.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes grew stormy, his expression dark. His brow settled into a frown.
“Maybe we need to give people a reason to live, Barret. A reason to join us, a way to help the planet even if they can’t fight or they’re too afraid to stand up to Shinra.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. “What kind of way?”
“I…don’t know,” she admitted, feeling suddenly small. “Aeris would probably be the person to ask about that. She’s so much more connected to the planet than I am.”
“You believe all that Ancient bullshit?”
Tifa shrugged. “I don’t know.” The last rays of sun spilled through the hut, filling it with a blaze of orange. “Sometimes…” She shrugged again. “I’m not sure I know anything at all.”
“That’s not true,” he protested, following her to the smooth depression where they’d been sleeping beneath an overhang of wreckage. “What would the resistance do without you, your knowledge of people and places, your organizing skills?
“Anyone can do those things.” She peered out a blast hole in the back of the shack, wondering how long it would take them to reach the woods in the distance if they decided to make a run for it.
“But, nobody can fight like you,” he said from so close behind her that his breath stirred the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
Tifa inhaled a quiet gasp without turning around.
“Nobody is you.” A big hand fell gently on her shoulder. “I know I’m pretty hard to get along with sometimes, but you know what?”
“What?” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“I can’t think of anybody I’d rather be stuck here with. If there’s any chance of escape, I know that, between the two of us, we’ll make it. We’re a pretty good team.”
“Yeah.”
The word emerged as more of a sigh than a reply, but before she could sink to her knees in the hollow, he’d captured her arm, demanding, “You okay?”
She turned to face him, her eyes rising slowly to meet his. They were the most honest, earnest eyes she’d ever known. They hid nothing, expressed every feeling, every reaction he felt. But, for once, she wasn’t sure what she saw in them, wasn’t sure she understood the guarded way he looked at her, or the pain he pushed aside.
Words failed her, so she nodded as she leaned toward him. He met her halfway, bending to press his lips to hers. She melted against him, sliding her arms around him as he folded her into his.
The kiss was desperate and hungry, each devouring the other’s lips with passion long hidden, a give and take born of need long denied. Their tongues met and tangled, hot breath mingling with the taste of days old garlic and meat and wine.
His chest was hard beneath the metal mesh shirt he wore; equally hard muscles stretched across his ribs and down his belly and Tifa traced them, one leading to another, until she found her way down past his navel and into the battered combat pants he wore.
His hands were surprisingly gentle as he opened her top, his fingers eager when they traced the curve of her breasts. He pulled back suddenly, eyes on his metal hand, then turned away before she could stop him.
“It’s never bothered you before,” she accused, pulling her shirt closed. She felt strangely naked, strangely abandoned with his back to her. “Why now? Is it me? Is it because…”
“I don’t have any right to…”
“Gods dammit, Barret.” She dug her fingers into the meat of his upper arm. “Look at me, you coward. You turn and look at me now.”
He obeyed, reluctantly, though his head remained bowed, his eyes averted.
“Do you want me?”
Though his only response was to lick his lips, she didn’t miss the quick glance her direction or the bulge in his pants.
“I want you,” she whispered, surprised that she meant it. “So, unless you plan to make me a rapist, you need to either take me, or fight back.”
His eyes widened and filled with lust. Strong hands—one human, one not—stripped the shirt from her, then gathered her close and tipped her back until he could drop his mouth to one breast and take it into his mouth.
He was good, his tongue and teeth working the nipple while his lips drew more of her into his mouth, sucking and pressing against the tender skin with alternating force that sent shivers of pleasure rippling outward from wherever he touched her. He sipped her like he would a drink, taking short tastes of her, his lips toying with the nipple until she curled against him, grinding her legs together against the growing tension between them.
“The other one,” she whispered, taking his face between her hands and turning his head until she broke his grip on it.
He settled between her breasts, drawing in a deep breath before a long, languish lick that took him up to her chin. He kissed it and then dropped his head abruptly, latching onto her other breast with a nip that took her breath away. Running her fingers through his closely cropped hair, she held him as she forced her breast deeper into his mouth.
He accepted it with a passion that surprised her. His teeth marked her, his tongue aroused her, his lips explored every inch of her chest before dropping to her navel and beyond.
He took down her shorts with his teeth and his hands, easing her down into the dirt where they slept, crouching over her while his hands dropped to the belt at his pants. Before he could unbuckle, she pushed his hands aside, opening the metal clasp with trembling fingers, sliding the zipper down in anticipation that made him rumble somewhere deep in his throat.
He shoved his heavy canvas baggies and his boxers down past his knees in one push, freeing his erection, which he took in his metal hand. He pumped it a couple of times, until it trembled in his grip, then thrust it inside her with enough force to take her breath away.
It was big and she was tight, too tight until he punched free and she squeaked, biting down on her bottom lip against the pain. He filled her and she closed around him. His rocking took her breath away as he forced himself deeper, rubbed against her, then retreated only to plunge again.
As the thrusts became more desperate, he remained buried deeper, jerking his hips so he could pound inside her without backing out at all. He wrapped his arms around her again, lifting her until he could capture first one breast, then the other, biting and nipping and sucking until her body was on fire.
He came with a massive rumble, a silent roar and a shudder that shook her down deep inside. She wrapped her arms around his back, tried to force him deeper still, tried to hang onto the tingling that had begun where they joined.
He pulled out with a grunt, grasping his cock again, milking the last bit low on her abdomen and into the curly hair between her legs. Then he descended, licking himself off her, tangling his teeth and his tongue in the hair before his tongue found its way inside her.
He parted her with massive fingers, dipped his tongue into the heat his cock had occupied only seconds before. Tifa cried out, pressing her hands over her mouth to keep their tormentors from discovering them. She thrust upward toward his face and his tongue extended, licking and tasting while he spread her legs further.
He pulled back, elbows against her thighs and then his head dropped until he could extend his tongue, while he peered at her from over the top of her pubic bone, watching her with eyes still filled with desire. The first lick at her clit sent her squirming until he forced his weight down on her, just enough to hold her still. The next lick—just a quick brush from the tip of his tongue—ignited a fire inside her, a fire hungry and burning, yearning for more.
He fanned the flames with quick flicks of his tongue, alternating them with a nip here and there, dragging his teeth, his lips across her until she thought she’d scream. It wasn’t until he settled down to lick her in earnest that the muscles tightened around the ball of fire that had built in her groin.
It exploded with an unstoppable force that trembled through her body, releasing a wave of heat that rivaled Ifrit’s aura, washing over her and into her while her body trembled until she was left weak and spent.
Barret dropped beside her; the thud sending a cloud of dust between them. They lay in near darkness for long, peaceful moments and, for the first time since she’d joined the resistance, Tifa felt free. Free from painful memories, from wants, from desires.
“You know,” Barret said at length, rolling to face her as he propped himself up on one thick arm. “There’s something I don’t understand.”
“Hmmm?” she asked, still happy in the afterglow.
“What, exactly, is it that you see in Cloud anyway?”
Tifa’s eyes snapped open, her eyes met his. Laughter flickered in them, at the smile that played at the corners of his mouth. Was it a joke? Or a challenge? Or did their entire future hinge on her answer?
She considered a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know, Barret.” Sliding her hand up behind his neck, she pulled him forward, capturing his lips. The kiss was gentle, the neediness gone. But, the spark was still there if she wanted it. She could taste it in his lips, see it in his eyes, feel it in all the places his body met hers. “Right now, I really…don’t…know.”
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