[Fic] [FFVII] This is Home Too
Title: This is Home Too
Characters: Tifa/Cloud
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: ~2,200
Summary: Tifa has helped Cloud through his bad memories, but sometimes she needs help with hers.
Insanejournal Kinkfest Prompt: July 13, Slow, reverent sex--welcome home
A/N: Yay! The story that caused me massive anxiety is finished! I got the home part and the sex part, but not quite the "slow, reverent" part. I hope it's still okay. Never writing sex again.
~~~
One day, she thinks, Cloud will use the front door, and the entire building will collapse.
But the 7th Heaven regulars know what it means when that dark figure slips in the back door and gives Tifa the smallest of waves, sometimes a smile, before quietly making his way upstairs.
The ones old enough to be her father sit back and smile tolerantly at her "living situation." The ones not old enough to be her father hunch a little lower over their drinks and smile ruefully at her living situation.
"Doesn't even let you say 'welcome home,' does he?" says a new customer from a place that Tifa knows doesn't exist.
She smiles and shrugs. She doesn't want to talk about home with a man from a place rebuilt in the ashes of her hometown. So she thinks about Cloud instead.
I'm home.
Welcome home.
Most people living together as they do would say that. Most people would miss it.
But the last time the two of them were included in "most people," Nibelheim was a real place, Sephiroth was a hero and the only thing that shone in Cloud's eyes were a little boy's big dreams.
But that's how it is.
The regulars make sure to get their orders in, because last call will be early tonight.
~~~
Cloud is on the roof waiting for her. No matter how late he gets in, how tired he is, he always waits to spend a little time with her before turning in.
It makes her smile.
She sits down behind him, legs stretched out along either side.
"Hey," she says.
He doesn't say anything, but leans his weight back into her as she puts her arms around his chest.
It's so nice, so normal, that Tifa thinks she could stay like that all night. At least she does until Cloud's deep, regular breathing tells her she might not have a choice.
"Hey," she says, nudging his leg with her foot. "Don't fall asleep out here."
He grunts. "I'm tired, Tifa."
"Mmm?"
"I had to detour around Fort Condor, and it must be behemoth breeding season or something, they were everywhere."
"Oh, yeah?" she says. "You didn't help two kids with their chocobo project all day while tending bar from mid-afternoon. I even had to bounce some Turks out after Happy Hour."
He grunts again. "The chocobo thing sounds fun."
"Marlene clogged the sink with feathers to see if they would float, and Denzel glued his fingers to his hair."
He chuckles. "All right, so we're even, then."
"And then Marlene used the scissors to help him get the glue out. There's a bald patch on his head now. I'll arm wrestle you for the 'who's had the hardest day' title."
"Okay, you win."
"Of course."
"But only because I'm too tired to arm wrestle you."
She has to smile, and rubs her face in his hair. He's still so serious, she makes the most of his rare lighthearted moments.
"The kids'll be upset they didn't get to say 'welcome home.'"
"I didn't want to wake them up. They can do it in the morning."
And that's how it is, she thinks.
They are both silent for a while.
"Hey, Cloud," she says.
"Mmm?"
"What do you say--" She hesitates. "What do you say when someone asks where you're from?"
He shifts a little, and she hopes she hasn't started him in a bad direction.
"No one asks," he says. "I guess I'd say Midgar, or maybe Edge."
Tifa breathes a little easier.
"Where I live," he continues in his quiet, serious voice, "in a bar with my mom and the two kids she adopt--"
"Hey!" She squeezes him hard with her arms and legs.
He chuckles, and she can feel it vibrating through his back. His hand is warm as he pushes her knee away.
"I'll just say Midgar. Why?"
Not Nibelheim, she thinks. Just like me. They were the only ones who remembered Nibelheim. Even if they wanted to say it, they would have to explain. She shakes her head. They are moving on. But still. Sometimes it still hurts to remember, to explain.
"Tifa?"
"Hmm?"
"Why?"
She says nothing and rests her cheek against his head. His hair that sticks up everywhere tickles her face as it flutters with her breath. She should be happy that he at least sort of thinks of this place as home.
"Something happen?" he asks.
"It's alright."
He pulls away, turning his head to glance back at her. "You can tell me if something happens," he says. "I'm not going to fall apart over every little thing." He turns back.
Tifa stays quiet for a while.
"Someone from Nibelheim came in tonight," she says finally, leaning forward, resting her weight against his back.
"Really?" He sits up a little, but then sinks back down. "Oh."
It's in his voice too. The same little jolt of hope that she felt when she heard the name. Then the same remembering. The same disappointment.
"Oh," he says again. He rubs her knee absently.
Her body rises and falls with his sigh.
"It's almost like a real place again," she says.
"No, it's not."
"Yeah," she says. "We're the only ones who really know that. It just--" She sighs herself.
He's quiet again. There's nothing to say. Everyone is dead.
No. Tifa slides a hand across Cloud's chest, feels for his heartbeat. No, not everyone.
"Even the good memories are hard," she says.
"Yeah."
"But they're still good," she says firmly.
He straightens a little. "Yeah.
They are both trying.
~~~
As they go back inside, though, Tifa doesn't want to watch him go, even if it's just to his own room. When they get to the landing, she grabs his hand as he turns from her.
"Tifa--"
She doesn't move.
"Tifa, I just got back."
She frowns in the dim light.
"Back home?" she asks, looking up at him. She must look the way he does on those late nights when he knocks softly on her door. When he doesn't want to stay alone.
Sometimes that's how it is.
"Y-yeah," he replies. He doesn't say anything else, and she knows neither of them are fully there yet. Completely home.
So she changes the subject.
"At least kiss me goodnight, Cloud."
He groans. She knows he hates this. No matter how many times he does it, no matter how many times it leads to long nights of trying hard not to wake the kids in the next room, Cloud still has a hard time with that first kiss.
Usually, Tifa loves this. It's almost like he's a shy kid again.
But tonight, she just can't manage the gentle teasing that usually goes with all this. Somehow, this time she wants--something, she doesn't know what. She just knows she doesn't want to watch him go. So she stands close and looks up at him, catching those eyes that shine softly with unnatural light. Maybe she should smile now, she thinks, but she can't. Instead, she grips his arms.
"Cloud--" She doesn't know what she wants to say. Don't go. she thinks.
They're both quiet, and now it's almost like she's a shy kid again.
She tries not to sigh, ready to turn away. Sometimes that's how it is too.
Cloud leans in a little awkwardly and carefully touches his lips to hers. This one-man army who she's seen cut down any and all before him, this better than any SOLDIER, this survivor of Shinra obscenities, kisses like a hesitating, adolescent boy.
Like he would have back home in Nibelheim. Like he was afraid she wouldn't kiss back.
Nibelheim is gone. And they're not children anymore. Tifa kisses back, kisses back and presses her whole body into him.
"Cloud--" she whispers.
He says nothing as his arms slowly slip around her, his hands sliding under her shirt, up her back. No soft knock at her door this time. She pulls him into her room tugging at his clothes.
He complains, sometimes, that's she's too impatient. But his bare skin that has become wonderfully familiar to her is so warm under her hands, a warmth her younger self couldn't have imagined back in Nibelheim all those years he was gone. That younger, naive self, Tifa knows, would've closed her eyes tight, trying to imagine that beyond her room, the world lay unbroken, that she and the young man in her arms were carefree within it.
What an absurd, childish lie.
Opening her eyes, Tifa pushes Cloud to her bed, and stretches out to cover his body with her own. During the nights they've spent together, it has unexpectedly evolved into a game. She moves quickly, he tries to slow her down, and it all usually ends in a dirty little fight. But tonight, there's nothing playful about her lips on the pulse in his neck, her grip on his arms as she tries to clear old thoughts clogging her mind. She tries to think only of Cloud's fingers kneading the small of her back, to concentrate on moving in time to his ragged breathing.
But as Tifa raises herself, hands on his chest, she stops. Between her fingers she can see his familiar scars, no longer covered, no longer hidden. Usually, she pretends not to see, refusing to draw attention to bad memories.
Usually.
They'll never fade, she thinks staring at the thin, pale marks on his chest. His body heals from any wound as if it never happened. But that blade left precise, permanent reminders. Tifa squeezes her eyes shut. Didn't they make him so he wouldn't scar? Or was his body just as disposable as everything else they damaged, everything they destroyed? Back in that place. That's home too. She grits her teeth and pushes hard, ignoring the harsh noise in Cloud's throat. Her breathing is uneven, out of control, and her knees scrape the sheets so hard it burns. Cloud's face contorts into a grimace, and his fingers dig into her thighs.
Tifa suddenly wonders if she's just the last in a twisted line forcing what they want from his body.
The cry she doesn't mean to make sounds embarrassingly like a sob.
But then his hands slide up to her waist, her ribs, and he pulls himself up, wraps his arms around her tightly. She's not crying. There are no tears, but she can't hold back the choked sounds with each breath. Cloud presses his mouth to her neck, then her shoulder, then just below her collar bone.
"Hey," he murmurs against her skin. "It's alright." Raising his face, catching her lips, he takes the chance to twist her around, push her to the bed, hold her still. Her breath catches, her fingers grip his shoulders and she pushes back against his weight. But he holds her still. Sometimes she forgets how strong he is.
"Hey--"
Her thoughts are still stumbling, lurching. Thoughts of SOLDIER and mako or whatever they did to him not so long ago. Memories of a boy in Nibelheim who kept pace with her up a mountain. She shakes both from her mind, shutting her eyes tight. Good memories can be just as hard, and that one's not particularly good.
"Tifa--"
She opens her eyes to find him looking down at her, his expression a strange mix of desire and concern.
"It's alright," Cloud whispers again, panting slightly. How many times has he heard her say those words? To Marlene. To Denzel. To him. "We're alright. Right?" He puts a hand to her overheated cheek, and Tifa holds it there, squeezing his fingers. That's right. There were promises. And he is here now, with his unfading scars and shining eyes, the real Cloud, not the one in his head. Not the one in hers.
It's still not easy. But she reaches her other hand up behind his head. His hair that sticks up everywhere is soft between her fingers. She pulls him close until she feels his lips, soft against hers. She's strong too. The real her.
This is how it is. This is how they will make it. This girl and boy who had once only imagined the other have now fought together, struggled together, survived together. There are no more unsure glances now, no clumsy confessions, no grand illusions. They've earned the comfort they've found in each other. Cloud hooks a hand under a scraped knee and draws her leg further up his side, breathing heavily. He takes his time now, instead of keeping up with hers.
Even this, Tifa knows, as sweet as it can be, won't help her forget. But she--they have resolved to live with their memories. She'll close the bar early for him as long as he waits on the roof for her. She'll answer his knock on her door and tease the first awkward kiss from him.
Because she wants the shy boy in her memories who started her dreaming. And she wants the man in her arms who is nothing like how she dreamed.
And on nights like these, when he moves almost too slow to her too fast, she believes as much as anything that he wants her the same way.
He squeezes her leg. She kisses his flushed face.
Welcome home, Cloud Strife.
Welcome home, Tifa Lockhart.
~~~
Characters: Tifa/Cloud
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: ~2,200
Summary: Tifa has helped Cloud through his bad memories, but sometimes she needs help with hers.
Insanejournal Kinkfest Prompt: July 13, Slow, reverent sex--welcome home
A/N: Yay! The story that caused me massive anxiety is finished! I got the home part and the sex part, but not quite the "slow, reverent" part. I hope it's still okay. Never writing sex again.
~~~
One day, she thinks, Cloud will use the front door, and the entire building will collapse.
But the 7th Heaven regulars know what it means when that dark figure slips in the back door and gives Tifa the smallest of waves, sometimes a smile, before quietly making his way upstairs.
The ones old enough to be her father sit back and smile tolerantly at her "living situation." The ones not old enough to be her father hunch a little lower over their drinks and smile ruefully at her living situation.
"Doesn't even let you say 'welcome home,' does he?" says a new customer from a place that Tifa knows doesn't exist.
She smiles and shrugs. She doesn't want to talk about home with a man from a place rebuilt in the ashes of her hometown. So she thinks about Cloud instead.
I'm home.
Welcome home.
Most people living together as they do would say that. Most people would miss it.
But the last time the two of them were included in "most people," Nibelheim was a real place, Sephiroth was a hero and the only thing that shone in Cloud's eyes were a little boy's big dreams.
But that's how it is.
The regulars make sure to get their orders in, because last call will be early tonight.
~~~
Cloud is on the roof waiting for her. No matter how late he gets in, how tired he is, he always waits to spend a little time with her before turning in.
It makes her smile.
She sits down behind him, legs stretched out along either side.
"Hey," she says.
He doesn't say anything, but leans his weight back into her as she puts her arms around his chest.
It's so nice, so normal, that Tifa thinks she could stay like that all night. At least she does until Cloud's deep, regular breathing tells her she might not have a choice.
"Hey," she says, nudging his leg with her foot. "Don't fall asleep out here."
He grunts. "I'm tired, Tifa."
"Mmm?"
"I had to detour around Fort Condor, and it must be behemoth breeding season or something, they were everywhere."
"Oh, yeah?" she says. "You didn't help two kids with their chocobo project all day while tending bar from mid-afternoon. I even had to bounce some Turks out after Happy Hour."
He grunts again. "The chocobo thing sounds fun."
"Marlene clogged the sink with feathers to see if they would float, and Denzel glued his fingers to his hair."
He chuckles. "All right, so we're even, then."
"And then Marlene used the scissors to help him get the glue out. There's a bald patch on his head now. I'll arm wrestle you for the 'who's had the hardest day' title."
"Okay, you win."
"Of course."
"But only because I'm too tired to arm wrestle you."
She has to smile, and rubs her face in his hair. He's still so serious, she makes the most of his rare lighthearted moments.
"The kids'll be upset they didn't get to say 'welcome home.'"
"I didn't want to wake them up. They can do it in the morning."
And that's how it is, she thinks.
They are both silent for a while.
"Hey, Cloud," she says.
"Mmm?"
"What do you say--" She hesitates. "What do you say when someone asks where you're from?"
He shifts a little, and she hopes she hasn't started him in a bad direction.
"No one asks," he says. "I guess I'd say Midgar, or maybe Edge."
Tifa breathes a little easier.
"Where I live," he continues in his quiet, serious voice, "in a bar with my mom and the two kids she adopt--"
"Hey!" She squeezes him hard with her arms and legs.
He chuckles, and she can feel it vibrating through his back. His hand is warm as he pushes her knee away.
"I'll just say Midgar. Why?"
Not Nibelheim, she thinks. Just like me. They were the only ones who remembered Nibelheim. Even if they wanted to say it, they would have to explain. She shakes her head. They are moving on. But still. Sometimes it still hurts to remember, to explain.
"Tifa?"
"Hmm?"
"Why?"
She says nothing and rests her cheek against his head. His hair that sticks up everywhere tickles her face as it flutters with her breath. She should be happy that he at least sort of thinks of this place as home.
"Something happen?" he asks.
"It's alright."
He pulls away, turning his head to glance back at her. "You can tell me if something happens," he says. "I'm not going to fall apart over every little thing." He turns back.
Tifa stays quiet for a while.
"Someone from Nibelheim came in tonight," she says finally, leaning forward, resting her weight against his back.
"Really?" He sits up a little, but then sinks back down. "Oh."
It's in his voice too. The same little jolt of hope that she felt when she heard the name. Then the same remembering. The same disappointment.
"Oh," he says again. He rubs her knee absently.
Her body rises and falls with his sigh.
"It's almost like a real place again," she says.
"No, it's not."
"Yeah," she says. "We're the only ones who really know that. It just--" She sighs herself.
He's quiet again. There's nothing to say. Everyone is dead.
No. Tifa slides a hand across Cloud's chest, feels for his heartbeat. No, not everyone.
"Even the good memories are hard," she says.
"Yeah."
"But they're still good," she says firmly.
He straightens a little. "Yeah.
They are both trying.
~~~
As they go back inside, though, Tifa doesn't want to watch him go, even if it's just to his own room. When they get to the landing, she grabs his hand as he turns from her.
"Tifa--"
She doesn't move.
"Tifa, I just got back."
She frowns in the dim light.
"Back home?" she asks, looking up at him. She must look the way he does on those late nights when he knocks softly on her door. When he doesn't want to stay alone.
Sometimes that's how it is.
"Y-yeah," he replies. He doesn't say anything else, and she knows neither of them are fully there yet. Completely home.
So she changes the subject.
"At least kiss me goodnight, Cloud."
He groans. She knows he hates this. No matter how many times he does it, no matter how many times it leads to long nights of trying hard not to wake the kids in the next room, Cloud still has a hard time with that first kiss.
Usually, Tifa loves this. It's almost like he's a shy kid again.
But tonight, she just can't manage the gentle teasing that usually goes with all this. Somehow, this time she wants--something, she doesn't know what. She just knows she doesn't want to watch him go. So she stands close and looks up at him, catching those eyes that shine softly with unnatural light. Maybe she should smile now, she thinks, but she can't. Instead, she grips his arms.
"Cloud--" She doesn't know what she wants to say. Don't go. she thinks.
They're both quiet, and now it's almost like she's a shy kid again.
She tries not to sigh, ready to turn away. Sometimes that's how it is too.
Cloud leans in a little awkwardly and carefully touches his lips to hers. This one-man army who she's seen cut down any and all before him, this better than any SOLDIER, this survivor of Shinra obscenities, kisses like a hesitating, adolescent boy.
Like he would have back home in Nibelheim. Like he was afraid she wouldn't kiss back.
Nibelheim is gone. And they're not children anymore. Tifa kisses back, kisses back and presses her whole body into him.
"Cloud--" she whispers.
He says nothing as his arms slowly slip around her, his hands sliding under her shirt, up her back. No soft knock at her door this time. She pulls him into her room tugging at his clothes.
He complains, sometimes, that's she's too impatient. But his bare skin that has become wonderfully familiar to her is so warm under her hands, a warmth her younger self couldn't have imagined back in Nibelheim all those years he was gone. That younger, naive self, Tifa knows, would've closed her eyes tight, trying to imagine that beyond her room, the world lay unbroken, that she and the young man in her arms were carefree within it.
What an absurd, childish lie.
Opening her eyes, Tifa pushes Cloud to her bed, and stretches out to cover his body with her own. During the nights they've spent together, it has unexpectedly evolved into a game. She moves quickly, he tries to slow her down, and it all usually ends in a dirty little fight. But tonight, there's nothing playful about her lips on the pulse in his neck, her grip on his arms as she tries to clear old thoughts clogging her mind. She tries to think only of Cloud's fingers kneading the small of her back, to concentrate on moving in time to his ragged breathing.
But as Tifa raises herself, hands on his chest, she stops. Between her fingers she can see his familiar scars, no longer covered, no longer hidden. Usually, she pretends not to see, refusing to draw attention to bad memories.
Usually.
They'll never fade, she thinks staring at the thin, pale marks on his chest. His body heals from any wound as if it never happened. But that blade left precise, permanent reminders. Tifa squeezes her eyes shut. Didn't they make him so he wouldn't scar? Or was his body just as disposable as everything else they damaged, everything they destroyed? Back in that place. That's home too. She grits her teeth and pushes hard, ignoring the harsh noise in Cloud's throat. Her breathing is uneven, out of control, and her knees scrape the sheets so hard it burns. Cloud's face contorts into a grimace, and his fingers dig into her thighs.
Tifa suddenly wonders if she's just the last in a twisted line forcing what they want from his body.
The cry she doesn't mean to make sounds embarrassingly like a sob.
But then his hands slide up to her waist, her ribs, and he pulls himself up, wraps his arms around her tightly. She's not crying. There are no tears, but she can't hold back the choked sounds with each breath. Cloud presses his mouth to her neck, then her shoulder, then just below her collar bone.
"Hey," he murmurs against her skin. "It's alright." Raising his face, catching her lips, he takes the chance to twist her around, push her to the bed, hold her still. Her breath catches, her fingers grip his shoulders and she pushes back against his weight. But he holds her still. Sometimes she forgets how strong he is.
"Hey--"
Her thoughts are still stumbling, lurching. Thoughts of SOLDIER and mako or whatever they did to him not so long ago. Memories of a boy in Nibelheim who kept pace with her up a mountain. She shakes both from her mind, shutting her eyes tight. Good memories can be just as hard, and that one's not particularly good.
"Tifa--"
She opens her eyes to find him looking down at her, his expression a strange mix of desire and concern.
"It's alright," Cloud whispers again, panting slightly. How many times has he heard her say those words? To Marlene. To Denzel. To him. "We're alright. Right?" He puts a hand to her overheated cheek, and Tifa holds it there, squeezing his fingers. That's right. There were promises. And he is here now, with his unfading scars and shining eyes, the real Cloud, not the one in his head. Not the one in hers.
It's still not easy. But she reaches her other hand up behind his head. His hair that sticks up everywhere is soft between her fingers. She pulls him close until she feels his lips, soft against hers. She's strong too. The real her.
This is how it is. This is how they will make it. This girl and boy who had once only imagined the other have now fought together, struggled together, survived together. There are no more unsure glances now, no clumsy confessions, no grand illusions. They've earned the comfort they've found in each other. Cloud hooks a hand under a scraped knee and draws her leg further up his side, breathing heavily. He takes his time now, instead of keeping up with hers.
Even this, Tifa knows, as sweet as it can be, won't help her forget. But she--they have resolved to live with their memories. She'll close the bar early for him as long as he waits on the roof for her. She'll answer his knock on her door and tease the first awkward kiss from him.
Because she wants the shy boy in her memories who started her dreaming. And she wants the man in her arms who is nothing like how she dreamed.
And on nights like these, when he moves almost too slow to her too fast, she believes as much as anything that he wants her the same way.
He squeezes her leg. She kisses his flushed face.
Welcome home, Cloud Strife.
Welcome home, Tifa Lockhart.
~~~