Need (Final Fantasy VII, Tifa/Rude, R)

[queenoftheskies.livejournal.com]

Title: Need
Author/Artist: queenoftheskies
Rating: R
Warnings: sex
Word count: 2,576
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Tifa/Rude: being the weaker one - Rude was tired of being strong, and Tifa was tired of being ignored.
A/N: This is late. I'm sorry.
Summary: Tifa and Rude take comfort in one another


Alone.

Rude guessed he'd always be alone as long as he was a member of ShinRa. Still, he'd been with them a long time and they'd always taken care of him. And, besides, it was all he knew how to do. It wasn't too bad most of the time, but sometimes, they got a really dirty job and he hated that. He hated having to be the long arm of ShinRa, hated being a bad ass, sometimes, he even hated having to pull Reno's ass out of the fire...even though he knew Reno would do the same for him.

Most of all, though, he hated being strong: strong for ShinRa, strong for everyone else. There was never anybody there for him.

Cold rain pelted down on his back. Water worked its way into his boots…ShinRa-issued, best boots around. He was starting to hate the rain almost as much as he hated being alone. It had drowned Midgar for over a week now, with no end in sight.

Someday, he'd develop the backbone to call it quits, to find a more respectable job in a more respectable city, but that day hadn't come yet. All he wanted to do tonight was to drink himself into a stupor and forget about his job.

He stopped at a seedy bar on the outskirts of town, shook off as much water as he could, shed the newspaper he’d been using as an umbrella, and stomped the mud from his boots before he entered. Not that the mud mattered, but he was accustomed to drinking at respectable places.

Shouldering his way into the dimly lit pub, he flinched at the stench of unwashed bodies, vomit, and smoke that stung his eyes. He cased the room, counted the number of faces he’d seen on wanted posters, before he stepped inside. Respectable, this place was not.

Just the kind of place he was looking for tonight.

His footsteps thumped on the worn hardwood floor. All eyes looked up as he made his way to the bar. He was thankful he'd abandoned his habitual black suit and slipped into something more suitable--worn camo baggies and an old tee shirt under a worn jacket--before coming. He'd even left his shades at home. It didn't seem to make much sense wearing them out in the rain.

Before he could order, he caught a flash of movement from the corner of one eye.

“Hey.” A brawny guy with one eye and a scar that ran the length of his face shoved Rude way from the bar. “Don’t I know you?”

“It could be I killed your brother,” Rude snarled, though he didn’t know the man, or thought he didn’t. He looked the man up and down. They were probably pretty evenly matched, though he didn’t doubt the thug had a multitude of weapons hidden in various pockets and orifices. “It could be I’ll kill you, too.”

The man smiled. Cracked lips pulled back from broken, yellowed teeth. “Let’s see you try.”

Rude took one swing, broke the man’s nose and maybe his cheek too. He took no satisfaction in the crunch of bones, the spray of blood, or the pain that shot through his knuckles. The man stepped back with a yowl and a growl, holding the remains of his nose with one hand while he produced a knife with the other. Rude let him swipe once, tripped him, and then pulled a gun from the pocket of his baggies.

“I can splatter your head or you can take it out of here.” Movement in the shadows caught his attention and he glanced up in time to see a familiar face move further into the darkness. It could have been his imagination, but he didn’t think so.

The man leapt while he was distracted, sliced open his forearm before Rude whirled to bring the gun to bear on the hole in the middle of the man’s face. “I'm feeling generous right now. If I see you again, I won't give you another chance. Understand?”

The man nodded, the motion slinging blood across the front of Rude’s tee shirt. He considered killing the bastard on principle, but then, that was one way he differed from the other Turks. It took more than a bar fight to make him kill.

A man and a woman, both in states of neglect, rushed forward to grab the man and haul him out. Rude waited until the door closed behind them, then searched for the familiar face again in the throng of deadbeats that crowded the bar.

Ignoring the bartender who had come forward to take his order, he made his way through the crowd and into the semi darkness that pervaded the corners of the decrepit building. She stayed just ahead of him like a spectre of some long dead memory or a figment of his imagination.

He cornered her finally, in a booth at the back of the bar. She'd slid so far back in the darkness he couldn't see her face.

“I thought it was you,” Rude said, fishing, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.

She did finally, reluctantly, moving into the tiny light of the gas candle in the center of the rattrap table. “You should be at the Seventh Heaven,” Tifa chastised, “with Reno. How’s a girl supposed to stay in business if all her customers bail on her?”

“Who’s minding the store tonight? Cloud?”

She flinched at the mention of the name and looked away.

“Mind if I sit down?” He indicated the worn booth with a wave of one hand.

She shrugged, her gaze dropping to the frosted glass she held clutched in her hands. “Go ahead.”

The seat was well broken in and surprisingly comfortable as he slid across the cracked vinyl. “What’s a nice girl like you…”

“Doing in a place like this?” The sarcasm in her voice bit like a viper. “If I can sleep on the ground with monsters crawling all over me, I think I can handle myself here.”

Rude raised his hands as a ward. “I don't remember saying you couldn’t.”

Tifa downed the shot glass sitting in front of her and then turned it upside down on the table beside three others. “Sorry. Had a bad day.”

Rude hailed the waitress, maybe the only one the bar had. She was scraggly and a bit past her prime, but she came when called. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the same thing the lady’s having.”

The waitress laughed and gave Tifa a knowing glance.

“What?” Rude asked when she was gone.

“They’re calling it Bahamut Sin’s revenge,” she said with the first smile she’d shown. “Downing another shot, she added, “It’s got a kick.”

He leaned back in the booth, stretched his legs out underneath. “I can handle myself.”
She looked him up and down, her eyes slightly unfocused. “Maybe.” There was challenge in her expression.

Rude couldn’t help but grin. She was a fine-looking woman. Dark hair framed a pretty face with dark eyes. She had a set of breasts that didn’t quit. But, there was more to her than looks and breasts. She was a fighter, in the literal sense of the word. He’d seen her in battle, felt the sting of her fists and feet alike. Not only that, though. She’d had a rough time in the world, had to fight for everything she got. Seemed like nobody ever cut her any slack, but any time she got knocked down, she got right back up. And, he could respect that.

"What're you doing here?" she asked, leaning back in her seat.

"Bad day." He echoed her with a faint smile.

"Kill someone's old mother today?"

His smile faded. "That's not funny."

"Why do it if you don't like it?"

"A man's got to make a living," he quipped. "Why do you tend bar?"

"I don't kill people," she countered.

"Gun. Booze. It doesn't matter, Tifa. Both kill." He looked away. "And everybody's got to die sometime."

The waitress returned with his drink. He slipped an extra tip on her tray as she turned away. Tifa was watching him when he lifted his drink. He dipped it her way in toast before tossing it back in one gulp.

The glass shattered when it hit the floor. His eyes watered, his head pounded, and if it hadn't been for the glass of water Tifa shoved in his face, he thought he might have passed out.

"What did you say that was?" he asked in a hoarse voice, when he could speak again.

"Bahamut Sin's revenge. Rot gut. Powerful stuff."

"How can you drink that shit?" he demanded, scooping up the shards of glass from the floor.

"I saw what you did." She nodded toward the waitress, stuck dealing with mako head.

Rude shrugged. "Some people have it harder than others."

"Sorry about the comment earlier." She downed another drink. "I know you don't take those contract jobs. I just..."

"I know." His smile returned. "Had a bad day."

“I know this place,” Tifa said, slapping some money on the table as she rose. "We could go there, spend some time together, if you want."

Rude’s eyebrows rose. “Do you do this kind of thing often?”

Her eyes bore into him. “First time,” she admitted finally. “You?”

He shrugged. It wasn’t like they were getting married. “No.” He slid from the booth. “Though I wouldn't mind some company tonight."

She took his hand and dragged him toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. This place makes me want to puke.”

She barreled over a man who stepped in front of her, shoving him out of the way. Another tried to pinch her and wound up with a couple of broken fingers. One that tried to cop a feel lost the use of his hand.

She was a regular power house. Rude liked that in a woman. “What about your boyfriend?”

“What boyfriend?” she growled.

There was the rub. That explained everything. Maybe she was worth a second look after all. “The Turks could use a woman like you.”

“Fuck you,” she said. “And screw the Turks.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He followed her into the streets where the rain had tapered back to a drizzle.

She stopped to look out over the half-deserted streets. They weren’t more than garbage heaps here. “It’s not far.”

“Does it have bugs?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”

“You picked the place,” he reminded her. “I’m just saying, it could have bugs.”

#

The room wasn’t much to look at, but it was better than Rude had expected. A crippled dresser sagged against one wall while a nightstand without drawers cuddled up to the bed. The lamp perched atop it was fitted with a dirty light bulb that cast a minimal amount of light around the dingy room, but wore no shade.

That was fine with him. He didn’t have to see in order to enjoy Tifa's company. Except that he wouldn’t mind a gander at the girl’s breasts. They were legendary. A touch, a squeeze, and an eye full might make the whole trip into the ghetto worth while.

She didn’t say much, but he could tell by the way she wrinkled her nose that she didn’t think much of the place either.

“Seems clean enough,” he said, slipping out of his jacket. He tossed it onto the back of a decrepit chair which released a cloud of dust. Rude coughed. “Or not.”

Tifa grabbed him by the tie and pulled him down to her level. Her lips were hot and insistent against his.

She threw him onto the bed and straddled him across the waist, her backside pressing against his erection. Hands on his chest, she leaned forward to claim his lips again, her breasts warm through the fabric of her shirt. Rude’s fingers tangled in her hair, slid down to cradle her cheeks. She nipped at his bottom lip, sucked while passion rose inside him.

Her tongue plunged into his mouth before he was ready, but he met her tongue to tongue, licking the underside of hers, drawing her in further inside.

His hands slid down her sides to her backside. It was tight yet muscled beneath the dark shorts she wore. She squirmed when he squeezed and, with a light moan, pressed herself against him, grinding until he hurt. Encouraged, he worked his fingers down inside the waistband, digging at the soft skin he found beneath.

Back arched, she rubbed against him again, shifting until his fingers had room to work their way down over her ass cheeks and between them. Her kiss grew deeper, her tongue more insistent when he pressed his fingers against her, just barely inside her.

Tifa released his lips with a gasp and a shudder that ran the length of her body.

She slid down him, unfastening his pants as she went. Unencumbered by underclothes, he sprang free. She rubbed one cheek against his erection, closed her eyes, and ran her tongue along the underside from the base to the tip. Rude shuddered. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman.

She took him in her mouth, her teeth rough against his cock, her lips soft and insistent. Her hands wrapped around him, held him steady, while she went down on him, sucking harder when his body grew stiff with pent up excitement. Working her way back up to the head, she lapped at it with the tip of her tongue until Rude trembled and exploded in her face.

A satisfied smile lit her face, though sadness shadowed her eyes. Wiping her face with one finger, she tucked it into her mouth and licked it off, before tackling his penis again.

To his surprise, he hardened. He'd never managed two erections in a row. Stripping off her shirt, she mounted him, lowering herself onto his dick with a hiss, riding him hard until he thought he'd come again.

He sat up so suddenly she lost her balance, but he was there, arms wrapped around her. "We've got all night," he whispered against her ear.

"No," she gasped. "No, I..."

His mouth dropped to her breast. She rode him again, slowly, more deliberately. His fingers dropped between her legs. They moved together, her grunting until she came with a tremor that took him with her. She closed around him, her orgasm echoing through his.

Spent, he fell back against the bed with a thud, thankful his head hit the pillow instead of the headboard.

“That was nice,” he said when she rolled off him.

She landed with a thud on the hard mattress, lay silent for a few minutes, and then muttered, “Thanks. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

Rude rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “You mean to tell me Strife doesn’t appreciate that.”

Tears swam in Tifa’s eyes, eyes that, until now, had been devoid of any emotions other than anger and desire. “Some days, he doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

Rude grunted. “What a jerkwad.”

Tifa sniffled. “Thanks, Rude.”

“I should be the one thanking you.” He grinned. “That was some ride, Tifa.”

A flush crept into her cheeks. “I’d started to think the world didn’t notice I was a girl.”

He twirled a strand of her hair around one finger. “I’m off Friday night. You free?”