Desert Cold (Final Fantay X-2, Paine, #10)
Title: Desert Cold
Fandom: Final Fantasy X-2
Character: Paine (Paine/Nooj)
Theme(s): #10, Ice
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: Minor, for Paine's backstory.
Wordcount: 442
Disclaimer: Characters, places, and themes from FFX-2 are copyright Square Enix.
Notes: A departure for me in many respects. Feedback of any and all kinds definitely welcome.
She had expected the desert to be hot, and it is during the days, but the nights are cold, harsh winds sweeping in as soon as the sun goes down, stars glittering overhead like shards of ice. Cold like a Macalanian snowfield, cold like the unfeeling metal of his hand, running down her side, caressing her stomach, lightly brushing the inside of her thigh, then higher up, smooth and hard and chilled against slick and soft and warm. She gasps, almost a sob, as a steel fingertip finds her sweet spot and presses gently against it. Closing her eyes and gripping shoulders of taut muscle and unyielding steel, she wills the rest of the world to disappear. He strokes faster, harder, then the finger slides up and in, and she cries out as his ice meets her fire, stoking her flame. Another finger joins then, colder even than the first, and every nerve feels it teasing her, tempting her with its delicate touch, and she moans, pressing into his hand, and then she is over the edge, falling falling falling into the vortex, hearing herself call his name as if from a great distance.
And then he shifts yet again, laying back, drawing her with him and back to herself. "Look at me," he murmurs, and she does, opening her eyes to meet his, dark and hungry. He lifts her into place and groans as she settles down and there is no more cold, only heat as he slips inside her, pulling her tighter, closer with every thrust, gazes locked until the very last when he buries his face in her neck with a shudder, pushing and pushing, reaching deep enough to touch the fires still blazing at her center.
Too soon it is over, and he lifts her off. She begins to shake again, this time with chill as the sweat that covers both their bodies evaporates into the cold dry desert air, and he pulls her against his right side without speaking, warming her with the heat of his living flesh and the comforting softness of the blanket he has spread over them both. She nestles into him, her hand roaming over his chest and coming to rest over his heart, the beat slowing along with his breath as he drifts into sleep. Lying there, unable to rest, she feels the ice again, but this time it creeps into her soul at a glacial pace: slow, certain, unstoppable. And it covers just a little more of her heart as she wonders just how much time they have left before the eternal cold comes for him and her ice age begins.
Fandom: Final Fantasy X-2
Character: Paine (Paine/Nooj)
Theme(s): #10, Ice
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Warnings: Minor, for Paine's backstory.
Wordcount: 442
Disclaimer: Characters, places, and themes from FFX-2 are copyright Square Enix.
Notes: A departure for me in many respects. Feedback of any and all kinds definitely welcome.
She had expected the desert to be hot, and it is during the days, but the nights are cold, harsh winds sweeping in as soon as the sun goes down, stars glittering overhead like shards of ice. Cold like a Macalanian snowfield, cold like the unfeeling metal of his hand, running down her side, caressing her stomach, lightly brushing the inside of her thigh, then higher up, smooth and hard and chilled against slick and soft and warm. She gasps, almost a sob, as a steel fingertip finds her sweet spot and presses gently against it. Closing her eyes and gripping shoulders of taut muscle and unyielding steel, she wills the rest of the world to disappear. He strokes faster, harder, then the finger slides up and in, and she cries out as his ice meets her fire, stoking her flame. Another finger joins then, colder even than the first, and every nerve feels it teasing her, tempting her with its delicate touch, and she moans, pressing into his hand, and then she is over the edge, falling falling falling into the vortex, hearing herself call his name as if from a great distance.
And then he shifts yet again, laying back, drawing her with him and back to herself. "Look at me," he murmurs, and she does, opening her eyes to meet his, dark and hungry. He lifts her into place and groans as she settles down and there is no more cold, only heat as he slips inside her, pulling her tighter, closer with every thrust, gazes locked until the very last when he buries his face in her neck with a shudder, pushing and pushing, reaching deep enough to touch the fires still blazing at her center.
Too soon it is over, and he lifts her off. She begins to shake again, this time with chill as the sweat that covers both their bodies evaporates into the cold dry desert air, and he pulls her against his right side without speaking, warming her with the heat of his living flesh and the comforting softness of the blanket he has spread over them both. She nestles into him, her hand roaming over his chest and coming to rest over his heart, the beat slowing along with his breath as he drifts into sleep. Lying there, unable to rest, she feels the ice again, but this time it creeps into her soul at a glacial pace: slow, certain, unstoppable. And it covers just a little more of her heart as she wonders just how much time they have left before the eternal cold comes for him and her ice age begins.