Final Fantasy IV, Rydia/Edward, not-so-courtly romance Final Fantasy IV, Cecil/Rosa/Kain, innocent intentions Final Fantasy IV, Kain/Valvalis (or whatever version's spelling you use,) us against the world
Final Fantasy VI, Cyan/Terra, when summer finally comes Final Fantasy VI, Sabin/Terra, laughing at yourself Final Fantasy VI, Edgar/Terra, treating you like a princess Final Fantasy VI, Setzer/Daryl, adrenaline rush Final Fantasy VI, Locke/Celes/Setzer, something warm and sweet to drink
Final Fantasy VII (OGC), Barret/Tifa, sparring Final Fantasy VII (OGC), Cloud/Yuffie, punitive measures Final Fantasy VII (OGC), Rude/Elena, exasperation
Final Fantasy VIII, Quistis/Fujin, losing the war Final Fantasy VIII, Irvine/Ellone, meadows and memories Final Fantasy VIII, Selphie/Raijin, retraining
Final Fantasy IX, Zidane/Freya, playful Final Fantasy IX, Freya/Amarant, oil and leather Final Fantasy IX, Zidane/Dagger, fussy formal clothes Final Fantasy IX, Steiner/Beatrix, five failed attempts at poetry (and one that succeeded)
Final Fantasy X, Tidus/Rikku, sea spray Final Fantasy X, Tidus/Yuna, mementos Final Fantasy X, Auron/Lulu, sunlight on cold skin Final Fantasy X, Issaru/Yuna, no way to know what might've been Final Fantasy X, Wakka/Luzzu, "I do know."
FFVII: Cloud/Yuffie, Courtesy, PGastrangerentersFebruary 15 2010, 20:11:21 UTC
There was an irritating tapping on his forehead, and even though Cloud didn’t like spending a lot of time asleep (because he didn’t really want to dream), he was as comfortable as one could be in a crowded tent on a chilly night.
He cracked an eye open to spy Yuffie rolling the small orb of materia between her thumb and forefinger, grinning. “Hey, that’s…”
“Your mastered Ice,” she whispered, tapping it against his forehead again before closing it up in her fist. “Yes, it is.”
He was tired. He didn’t have time for her stupid games, not when they had a long walk ahead of them the next day. “Yuffie, don’t steal my materia. You said you’d stop…”
“This isn’t stealing,” she informed him. “This is me doing you a service. This is me showing you, Cloud Strife, just how easy it is for someone to take your oh-so-valuable mastered materia.”
“Put it back,” he hissed, hearing Barret snore loudly beside him. He didn’t need the guy rolling over to crush them both.
“Don’t you think you should keep your sword closer when you sleep?”
It was under his blanket right at his side, in its sheath even. If it was any closer, he’d hack off one of his limbs. How the hell had she done it? “Yuffie…”
“Anyone could come into your tent and snatch away your gil-to-be. And I’d be really sad to see that happen to you.”
“Get out of my tent.”
“You know, I did this as a courtesy. The least you could do is thank me for pointing out your serious security issues!”
He yanked her by the arm, prying the materia back from her swift little fingers. “Thanks for your concern.”
She leaned close until her mouth was hovering millimeters from his. “You don’t sound very sincere.”
Barret snored again, a colorful mixture of curse words spluttering out in his sleep. Cloud knew what Yuffie wanted, and if it meant he’d get a few more hours of sleep (and his mastered Ice would remain on his person), then he had to give her the compensation she was demanding. He tilted his head up, meeting her mouth.
She probably hadn’t expected him to actually do so, and he almost delighted in the little squeak she made as he ran his tongue teasingly along her lip before pushing her back. “Stay away from my materia.”
She did so, and then almost tripped on her way out of the tent.
FFX, Isaaru/Yuna, GowlmooseFebruary 17 2010, 07:37:35 UTC
There had been a commotion in the village that morning, but Yuna, only half awake at the time, didn't realize the cause until she came out of her tent to see an unexpected figure standing on the steps of Besaid temple: Isaaru, looking strangely small in civilian clothes. Three years past the final defeat of Sin and the Sending of the aeons, and Yuna had never seen him out of his Summoner's robes, until today. His shoulders were stiff, and his auburn hair ruffled in the breeze.
A half-ring of villagers had gathered a respectful distance behind him, including the Aurochs, murmuring amongst themselves. Yuna pushed past Letty, catching his eye; he nodded, then spoke a few quiet words to his teammates. As the throng dissipated, Yuna stepped up next to the visitor. "Hello, Isaaru."
He looked down over his shoulder, greeting her with a politician's smile: warm, but not quite reaching his eyes. "Lady Yuna. It is good to see you."
"And you," she replied. "What brings you to Besaid?"
Isaaru faced forward again. "The Praetor sent me to Kilika for a meeting with the Youth League. Our business finished a day early, so here I am. I haven't been to this temple since my pilgrimage, and I felt that I ought to see it again." He glanced at Yuna. "Perhaps you understand."
Yuna nodded, twisting her fingers behind her back. The distant look in his eyes was one she knew well. "You miss them."
"I do." He lifted his gaze to the spire of the temple. "Did you know, the aeon of Besaid was the last one I prayed to? This was the last stop on our pilgrimage. We had commissioned a fishing boat to take us most of the way back, to speed the return journey. The ship would have dropped us at the edge of the Calm Lands. I would not have passed through Luca, or Bevelle, and we would have likely been weeks ahead of you. And so I will always wonder: if we had not been waylaid here by the Al Bhed, would we have beaten you to Zanarkand, with no knowledge of Yevon's treachery?"
"Maybe." Yuna glanced up at Isaaru's face, his expression stoic in the morning sun. "I still wonder, too, about what would have happened if I'd made different choices. But of all the things I learned last year, maybe the most important is that we'll never know. We shouldn't live in the past, or in an imaginary future. We should take joy in the world we have now." She lifted herself on tiptoe and dropped a light kiss on Isaaru's cheek. "And it gets easier to do that every day."
Isaaru turned to face her. "And if anyone would know the truth of that, my lady, it would be you." Taking her left hand in his right, he bowed his head over it. "Thank you, Yuna."
"You're welcome." His hand was soft, not callused at all, like a priest's hands; Yuna felt the warmth of his skin against her fingers and fought back a blush. She squeezed his hand, then pulled away. "Would you like to go inside?"
Isaaru looked over her head at the temple door, then shook his head. "I've seen what I need to see."
"In that case, please join me for breakfast. I'm sure Rikku made enough for an army, as usual, and everyone will be glad to see you."
Isaaru bowed again, his smile genuine now. "I'd be honored. Lead the way."
Re: FFX, Isaaru/Yuna, GauronluFebruary 19 2010, 20:25:10 UTC
Aww. There's the solemn -- if slightly politician-ish -- Isaaru I love. I heard his voice in these lines.
He's such a peculiar figure: he has to fail, for Yuna to succeed. That's usually the role of a villain, not a good man. You show him handling that role with grace, as he did even in defeat in FFX.
FFX: Auron/Lulu, "One Moment", (R) NSFW.auronluFebruary 19 2010, 19:50:53 UTC
A/N This ficlet is inspired by and picks up where Lynnxlady's wonderful story Grieve left off. Except I don't write them as well as she did.
There should have been more hours between midnight and dawn.
More warmth, too, although Lulu characteristically refused to yield to the elements. The hull of the airship's deck was cooling now, but it had nearly scalded them for a few hours while they...
... Auron's back was stiff. Regrets were pointless, but he wondered why he felt none.
He looked down at her cheek, stark white under the red edge of his coat. He suspected that cheating death at Yunalesca's hands had only whetted Lulu's appetite for defying fate: she would fight his death, too, just as she would battle the night sky's creeping chill with firaga applied to the ship's metal skin. Even asleep, there was a prideful arch to her eyebrow.
Defiance. He had died for it. She still lived by it. Perhaps that was why he had awakened to find the mage curled against him, warm curves pressed against cool, scarred hide, reminding him of what he was not. Her hair flowed over his hip. Her scent was on his face. Her breath, slow and steady, was hot against his neck.
Bemused, he watched the rise and fall of his coat across her shoulders, wondering how soon before Kimahri or one of the others came looking for them and tripped over the rest of their clothes tossed into the airlock. It would be prudent to wake her. But their current situation had little to do with prudence. His arm fit as comfortably around her waist as the weight of a sword against his back, but it was a lie. This conjunction was as temporary as hastega's heady rush. They should be returning to familiar orbits, propriety, duty. Yet he found himself reluctant to disturb the beautiful creature snuggled against him. He supposed he was still a man, and she was very much a woman... as he now knew all too well.
They could afford to wait until sunrise, surely.
Her breaths grew shallower. At last, a lavender-shaded lid flicked open. She looked up a him with a moment's unguarded wonder before her dazzling smile tucked in its corners and retreated to a prim line. She exhaled and stretched out, unselfconsciously rubbing against him.
Auron regarded her drily. "Good morning."
"No platitudes," she said at once.
"I wasn't aware that-"
He had forgotten how quickly she could move to dodge a fiend's lunge. Her mouth crashed over his. Auron responded with gusto, cynically amused at his body's lifelike responses. She was... difficult to refuse.
Her fingertips were trickling down his sides, stroking knitted muscle. They were also freezing. Auron was barely warmer than the thin air, but he wrapped his hands around her ribcage and rolled her beneath him. They wrestled in the growing light of dawn, legs twining. His knees clanked against the hull. Heat lashed his back in parallel lines: she was playing with fire again.
Lulu's free hand slapped the deck-plates. Warmth spread out underneath them like desert heat on Sanubia's sands.
"Don't waste your strength," he chided, propped above her on his elbows. Her breasts felt too soft against his scarred, stubbly chest.
She laughed: a low, purring chuckle that melted coherent thought as effectively as a Confuse spell. "Don't guard me, Sir Auron. I'm no summoner."
"Are you sure?" He brushed the fringe of black hair away from her face.
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Hm?"
"Drawing life from a statue is a summoner's gift."
"Hush." She traced a fingernail against his cheek, a caress paralleling his scar. "No flattery, either. You'll spoil your reputation as a curmudgeon."
"Your reputation is also in jeopardy."
"Our secret, then," she said, drawing him down for another exchange of friendly fire. Tongues feinted and danced, the same give-and-take as when swordsman lashed out with a break attack, then sidestepped to let her magic finish the job. His spine arched as she sent a splash of snow across the small of his back.
"Stop that," he said.
"Is this better?" A shower of sparks prickled his shoulderblades.
He cupped a hand over her neck, feeling the pulse leap beneath his thumb. "Superfluous," he said. "You don't need magic."
"No, I just need-" she broke off with a faint moan as he began to nibble a line down from her throat to her stomach. "-that."
There was a different sort of magic in the way she squirmed beneath him, belly trembling under his mouth as he sampled her white skin. Her heels scrabbled against his back as he prowled her body with lips and teeth, seeking spots that made her gasp. Barely understanding what drew him (a powerful scent, not of the Farplane, but its polar opposite), he slid down between her legs. He nipped and kissed her soft inner thighs until her hands were twisting in his hair, mutely begging.
Benediction. Sometimes in the heat of battle, when sinew and sword and enemy's spine met in perfect, deadly communion, he had rediscovered the rapture he had felt as a novice monk listening to hymns soaring in the bell-like dome of St. Bevelle. But that was destruction, or, worse, lies. This was a different sort of euphoria. Lulu's heat, taste, scent and husky sighs were intoxicating. He barely minded the sharp nails digging into his shoulders as she clutched at him, writhing shamelessly for her own pleasure.
Pleasure. It was alien to them both, but they seemed to have found a way to it. She was close to its peak, to judge by her shuddering breaths. Auron was finding it increasingly difficult to remain on his stomach. He sat up with a grunt, reaching for her hands and lifting her towards him.
Her whimper of protest softened to a purr as he pulled her in for another passionate kiss. He skimmed a hand down her back, drawing her onto his lap. She knelt over him and laced her arms loosely around his shoulders, breaths quickening in anticipation. Holding her lust-filled gaze, he reached down, massaging his thumb against her as he guided himself in. Her welcoming moan was delicious.
They rocked together, Lulu rolling over him sensuously. Her unraveling braids swung against the small of her back, tickling his thighs. He palmed her breasts, squeezing and caressing them. Conscious thought crumbled away. When Lulu finally stiffened over him, hanging for a trembling second before her hips slammed down like thundaga, he was lost. Auron groaned and ground into her with shuddering jerks, forgetting for a few precious seconds the irrevocable gulf that separated them.
Embracing, they sank into slow, sensual kisses. A few final twinges of pleasure caused minor upheavals as they came down from the heights. Finally Lulu slumped against him, panting and spent. He slipped out but not away, holding her loosely.
Auron traced her collarbones with his thumb, noting how the early morning sunlight and shadows accentuated the lines of her shoulders. Her skin was cooling, damp with perspiration. "Will you be all right?"
Lulu's lips brushed his cheek. "Will you?"
"Hmph." He started to answer, then realized she meant something more than exhaustion over a night's ill-advised liaison. "I don't know. I've been avoiding...leaving... for a long time."
"Have Yuna send you." The words were fierce and quick.
He stiffened, but perplexity trumped irritation - or maybe it was just the smell of her warm, vital body turning everything upside down. "You want me sent?"
"No, but-" She exhaled, lifted her head, and had the courage to smile. "I don't relish the thought of fighting you like Lady Ginnem. When the time comes, go. Don't look back."
"Of course." It was no longer of course, exactly, but suddenly he understood: Lulu was releasing him lest she shackle him. He pressed one final kiss against her brow. "Come. Yuna needs her guardians."
Efficient as always, they gathered their belongings and re-girded themselves, settling into proper personas. They said not a word on the lift-ride down, exchanging only a nod when they parted.
One moment. There would not be time for another, before the pilgrimage's close.
Well, maybe one more, Auron thought with a hidden smile, watching the swing of the mage's hips as she glided off.
FFX, Tidus/Yuna, mementos, PG at mostjessicamariekFebruary 26 2010, 10:07:30 UTC
Yuna sits cross-legged on the floor of the spare room, going through all the things she's stuffed in there over the past few years. They need the space now, though, so all the old things have to get sorted out and moved. She knows she should just get rid of some of this stuff, but she can't. There's an element of duty, of something she owes to the friends who stood beside her, but also...
She smiles to herself as her fingers brush the dust off a picture. She's not sure when this was taken, or by who, but it shows all of them smiling, even Sir Auron - maybe one of them had just said something funny, or maybe Rikku had just tripped over her own feet again, or maybe it had been something else entirely, but the important thing is they all look happy. She had it framed shortly after she got home to Besaid, and kept it on her bedside table for those two years, so she could remember how wonderful it had been to have shared that sort of bond. After she came home for the second time, the picture went into the junk room. After all, she doesn't really need the reminder anymore.
There are seashells from the Mi'ihen shore with a little bit of sand still stuck in the crevices, and her old staff; flowers from the Calm Lands, pressed flat between the pages of a prayer book, and a piece of starstone from the spring in Macalania Woods, still faintly glowing after all this time. Under that, there's her summoner's robe, folded neatly and tucked away as some sort of relic. The fabric's still soft, the colors bright, but she knows she won't ever wear it again. The girl who wore this...she's not here anymore - she's been replaced by the young woman sitting on the floor in a haze of dust and memories.
Another pile a few feet away has her dresspheres and garment grids, a few small machina parts dredged from the desert, a couple movie spheres and a picture of six people and a Hypello standing on the deck of an airship, waving and smiling (well, except for Paine, who just looks faintly amused at her friends and their antics). She had set the Songstress dressphere apart from the rest of them - Lenne deserves her rest, Yuna thinks, after all that the older woman had been through.
There's a small stack of books in the corner - picture albums of her parents, her mother's diary, a few thick books in Al Bhed that she'd had brought with her to Bevelle. A worn doll leans against them, and Yuna thinks that she really should have that old thing restuffed sometime in the next few months. Might as well get a little more use out of it. The flowers from her own wedding are still hung upside down where she put them to dry, blue and white petals faded now, but Yuna still thinks they're beautiful. She's so deep in her memories that she almost doesn't hear him walk in behind her.
"Taking your time, huh?" Tidus sinks to the floor behind his wife and sets his chin on her shoulder. "You know, the crib and stuff already got here." "I know," she says, "but I sort of got sidetracked." She leans her cheek against his hair and closes her eyes. "Besides, there's some good memories attached to this stuff." He picks up the picture of the seven of them and makes a face. "...you mean like Wakka beaning me in the head with a blitzball for trying to kiss you where he could see?" "Is that why everyone's smiling?" Yuna giggles and leans back against him, and he wraps one arm around her chest, just above the swell of her stomach. "Yeah, 'cause everyone but me thought it was hilarious." Tidus can't quite keep the hint of a laugh out of his voice, though, and she turns her head to smile at him. She's not entirely surprised when he takes advantage of that to kiss her again, and she turns slightly to face him, letting the framed photo slide off her knees. She's fond of her mementos, but she really does prefer the present.
Final Fantasy IV, Rydia/Edward, not-so-courtly romance
Final Fantasy IV, Cecil/Rosa/Kain, innocent intentions
Final Fantasy IV, Kain/Valvalis (or whatever version's spelling you use,) us against the world
Final Fantasy VI, Cyan/Terra, when summer finally comes
Final Fantasy VI, Sabin/Terra, laughing at yourself
Final Fantasy VI, Edgar/Terra, treating you like a princess
Final Fantasy VI, Setzer/Daryl, adrenaline rush
Final Fantasy VI, Locke/Celes/Setzer, something warm and sweet to drink
Final Fantasy VII (OGC), Barret/Tifa, sparring
Final Fantasy VII (OGC), Cloud/Yuffie, punitive measures
Final Fantasy VII (OGC), Rude/Elena, exasperation
Final Fantasy VIII, Quistis/Fujin, losing the war
Final Fantasy VIII, Irvine/Ellone, meadows and memories
Final Fantasy VIII, Selphie/Raijin, retraining
Final Fantasy IX, Zidane/Freya, playful
Final Fantasy IX, Freya/Amarant, oil and leather
Final Fantasy IX, Zidane/Dagger, fussy formal clothes
Final Fantasy IX, Steiner/Beatrix, five failed attempts at poetry (and one that succeeded)
Final Fantasy X, Tidus/Rikku, sea spray
Final Fantasy X, Tidus/Yuna, mementos
Final Fantasy X, Auron/Lulu, sunlight on cold skin
Final Fantasy X, Issaru/Yuna, no way to know what might've been
Final Fantasy X, Wakka/Luzzu, "I do know."
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He cracked an eye open to spy Yuffie rolling the small orb of materia between her thumb and forefinger, grinning. “Hey, that’s…”
“Your mastered Ice,” she whispered, tapping it against his forehead again before closing it up in her fist. “Yes, it is.”
He was tired. He didn’t have time for her stupid games, not when they had a long walk ahead of them the next day. “Yuffie, don’t steal my materia. You said you’d stop…”
“This isn’t stealing,” she informed him. “This is me doing you a service. This is me showing you, Cloud Strife, just how easy it is for someone to take your oh-so-valuable mastered materia.”
“Put it back,” he hissed, hearing Barret snore loudly beside him. He didn’t need the guy rolling over to crush them both.
“Don’t you think you should keep your sword closer when you sleep?”
It was under his blanket right at his side, in its sheath even. If it was any closer, he’d hack off one of his limbs. How the hell had she done it? “Yuffie…”
“Anyone could come into your tent and snatch away your gil-to-be. And I’d be really sad to see that happen to you.”
“Get out of my tent.”
“You know, I did this as a courtesy. The least you could do is thank me for pointing out your serious security issues!”
He yanked her by the arm, prying the materia back from her swift little fingers. “Thanks for your concern.”
She leaned close until her mouth was hovering millimeters from his. “You don’t sound very sincere.”
Barret snored again, a colorful mixture of curse words spluttering out in his sleep. Cloud knew what Yuffie wanted, and if it meant he’d get a few more hours of sleep (and his mastered Ice would remain on his person), then he had to give her the compensation she was demanding. He tilted his head up, meeting her mouth.
She probably hadn’t expected him to actually do so, and he almost delighted in the little squeak she made as he ran his tongue teasingly along her lip before pushing her back. “Stay away from my materia.”
She did so, and then almost tripped on her way out of the tent.
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A half-ring of villagers had gathered a respectful distance behind him, including the Aurochs, murmuring amongst themselves. Yuna pushed past Letty, catching his eye; he nodded, then spoke a few quiet words to his teammates. As the throng dissipated, Yuna stepped up next to the visitor. "Hello, Isaaru."
He looked down over his shoulder, greeting her with a politician's smile: warm, but not quite reaching his eyes. "Lady Yuna. It is good to see you."
"And you," she replied. "What brings you to Besaid?"
Isaaru faced forward again. "The Praetor sent me to Kilika for a meeting with the Youth League. Our business finished a day early, so here I am. I haven't been to this temple since my pilgrimage, and I felt that I ought to see it again." He glanced at Yuna. "Perhaps you understand."
Yuna nodded, twisting her fingers behind her back. The distant look in his eyes was one she knew well. "You miss them."
"I do." He lifted his gaze to the spire of the temple. "Did you know, the aeon of Besaid was the last one I prayed to? This was the last stop on our pilgrimage. We had commissioned a fishing boat to take us most of the way back, to speed the return journey. The ship would have dropped us at the edge of the Calm Lands. I would not have passed through Luca, or Bevelle, and we would have likely been weeks ahead of you. And so I will always wonder: if we had not been waylaid here by the Al Bhed, would we have beaten you to Zanarkand, with no knowledge of Yevon's treachery?"
"Maybe." Yuna glanced up at Isaaru's face, his expression stoic in the morning sun. "I still wonder, too, about what would have happened if I'd made different choices. But of all the things I learned last year, maybe the most important is that we'll never know. We shouldn't live in the past, or in an imaginary future. We should take joy in the world we have now." She lifted herself on tiptoe and dropped a light kiss on Isaaru's cheek. "And it gets easier to do that every day."
Isaaru turned to face her. "And if anyone would know the truth of that, my lady, it would be you." Taking her left hand in his right, he bowed his head over it. "Thank you, Yuna."
"You're welcome." His hand was soft, not callused at all, like a priest's hands; Yuna felt the warmth of his skin against her fingers and fought back a blush. She squeezed his hand, then pulled away. "Would you like to go inside?"
Isaaru looked over her head at the temple door, then shook his head. "I've seen what I need to see."
"In that case, please join me for breakfast. I'm sure Rikku made enough for an army, as usual, and everyone will be glad to see you."
Isaaru bowed again, his smile genuine now. "I'd be honored. Lead the way."
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He's such a peculiar figure: he has to fail, for Yuna to succeed. That's usually the role of a villain, not a good man. You show him handling that role with grace, as he did even in defeat in FFX.
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There should have been more hours between midnight and dawn.
More warmth, too, although Lulu characteristically refused to yield to the elements. The hull of the airship's deck was cooling now, but it had nearly scalded them for a few hours while they...
... Auron's back was stiff. Regrets were pointless, but he wondered why he felt none.
He looked down at her cheek, stark white under the red edge of his coat. He suspected that cheating death at Yunalesca's hands had only whetted Lulu's appetite for defying fate: she would fight his death, too, just as she would battle the night sky's creeping chill with firaga applied to the ship's metal skin. Even asleep, there was a prideful arch to her eyebrow.
Defiance. He had died for it. She still lived by it. Perhaps that was why he had awakened to find the mage curled against him, warm curves pressed against cool, scarred hide, reminding him of what he was not. Her hair flowed over his hip. Her scent was on his face. Her breath, slow and steady, was hot against his neck.
Bemused, he watched the rise and fall of his coat across her shoulders, wondering how soon before Kimahri or one of the others came looking for them and tripped over the rest of their clothes tossed into the airlock. It would be prudent to wake her. But their current situation had little to do with prudence. His arm fit as comfortably around her waist as the weight of a sword against his back, but it was a lie. This conjunction was as temporary as hastega's heady rush. They should be returning to familiar orbits, propriety, duty. Yet he found himself reluctant to disturb the beautiful creature snuggled against him. He supposed he was still a man, and she was very much a woman... as he now knew all too well.
They could afford to wait until sunrise, surely.
Her breaths grew shallower. At last, a lavender-shaded lid flicked open. She looked up a him with a moment's unguarded wonder before her dazzling smile tucked in its corners and retreated to a prim line. She exhaled and stretched out, unselfconsciously rubbing against him.
Auron regarded her drily. "Good morning."
"No platitudes," she said at once.
"I wasn't aware that-"
He had forgotten how quickly she could move to dodge a fiend's lunge. Her mouth crashed over his. Auron responded with gusto, cynically amused at his body's lifelike responses. She was... difficult to refuse.
Her fingertips were trickling down his sides, stroking knitted muscle. They were also freezing. Auron was barely warmer than the thin air, but he wrapped his hands around her ribcage and rolled her beneath him. They wrestled in the growing light of dawn, legs twining. His knees clanked against the hull. Heat lashed his back in parallel lines: she was playing with fire again.
Lulu's free hand slapped the deck-plates. Warmth spread out underneath them like desert heat on Sanubia's sands.
"Don't waste your strength," he chided, propped above her on his elbows. Her breasts felt too soft against his scarred, stubbly chest.
She laughed: a low, purring chuckle that melted coherent thought as effectively as a Confuse spell. "Don't guard me, Sir Auron. I'm no summoner."
"Are you sure?" He brushed the fringe of black hair away from her face.
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Hm?"
"Drawing life from a statue is a summoner's gift."
"Hush." She traced a fingernail against his cheek, a caress paralleling his scar. "No flattery, either. You'll spoil your reputation as a curmudgeon."
"Your reputation is also in jeopardy."
"Our secret, then," she said, drawing him down for another exchange of friendly fire. Tongues feinted and danced, the same give-and-take as when swordsman lashed out with a break attack, then sidestepped to let her magic finish the job. His spine arched as she sent a splash of snow across the small of his back.
"Stop that," he said.
"Is this better?" A shower of sparks prickled his shoulderblades.
He cupped a hand over her neck, feeling the pulse leap beneath his thumb. "Superfluous," he said. "You don't need magic."
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"No, I just need-" she broke off with a faint moan as he began to nibble a line down from her throat to her stomach. "-that."
There was a different sort of magic in the way she squirmed beneath him, belly trembling under his mouth as he sampled her white skin. Her heels scrabbled against his back as he prowled her body with lips and teeth, seeking spots that made her gasp. Barely understanding what drew him (a powerful scent, not of the Farplane, but its polar opposite), he slid down between her legs. He nipped and kissed her soft inner thighs until her hands were twisting in his hair, mutely begging.
Benediction. Sometimes in the heat of battle, when sinew and sword and enemy's spine met in perfect, deadly communion, he had rediscovered the rapture he had felt as a novice monk listening to hymns soaring in the bell-like dome of St. Bevelle. But that was destruction, or, worse, lies. This was a different sort of euphoria. Lulu's heat, taste, scent and husky sighs were intoxicating. He barely minded the sharp nails digging into his shoulders as she clutched at him, writhing shamelessly for her own pleasure.
Pleasure. It was alien to them both, but they seemed to have found a way to it. She was close to its peak, to judge by her shuddering breaths. Auron was finding it increasingly difficult to remain on his stomach. He sat up with a grunt, reaching for her hands and lifting her towards him.
Her whimper of protest softened to a purr as he pulled her in for another passionate kiss. He skimmed a hand down her back, drawing her onto his lap. She knelt over him and laced her arms loosely around his shoulders, breaths quickening in anticipation. Holding her lust-filled gaze, he reached down, massaging his thumb against her as he guided himself in. Her welcoming moan was delicious.
They rocked together, Lulu rolling over him sensuously. Her unraveling braids swung against the small of her back, tickling his thighs. He palmed her breasts, squeezing and caressing them. Conscious thought crumbled away. When Lulu finally stiffened over him, hanging for a trembling second before her hips slammed down like thundaga, he was lost. Auron groaned and ground into her with shuddering jerks, forgetting for a few precious seconds the irrevocable gulf that separated them.
Embracing, they sank into slow, sensual kisses. A few final twinges of pleasure caused minor upheavals as they came down from the heights. Finally Lulu slumped against him, panting and spent. He slipped out but not away, holding her loosely.
Auron traced her collarbones with his thumb, noting how the early morning sunlight and shadows accentuated the lines of her shoulders. Her skin was cooling, damp with perspiration. "Will you be all right?"
Lulu's lips brushed his cheek. "Will you?"
"Hmph." He started to answer, then realized she meant something more than exhaustion over a night's ill-advised liaison. "I don't know. I've been avoiding...leaving... for a long time."
"Have Yuna send you." The words were fierce and quick.
He stiffened, but perplexity trumped irritation - or maybe it was just the smell of her warm, vital body turning everything upside down. "You want me sent?"
"No, but-" She exhaled, lifted her head, and had the courage to smile. "I don't relish the thought of fighting you like Lady Ginnem. When the time comes, go. Don't look back."
"Of course." It was no longer of course, exactly, but suddenly he understood: Lulu was releasing him lest she shackle him. He pressed one final kiss against her brow. "Come. Yuna needs her guardians."
Efficient as always, they gathered their belongings and re-girded themselves, settling into proper personas. They said not a word on the lift-ride down, exchanging only a nod when they parted.
One moment. There would not be time for another, before the pilgrimage's close.
Well, maybe one more, Auron thought with a hidden smile, watching the swing of the mage's hips as she glided off.
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She smiles to herself as her fingers brush the dust off a picture. She's not sure when this was taken, or by who, but it shows all of them smiling, even Sir Auron - maybe one of them had just said something funny, or maybe Rikku had just tripped over her own feet again, or maybe it had been something else entirely, but the important thing is they all look happy. She had it framed shortly after she got home to Besaid, and kept it on her bedside table for those two years, so she could remember how wonderful it had been to have shared that sort of bond. After she came home for the second time, the picture went into the junk room. After all, she doesn't really need the reminder anymore.
There are seashells from the Mi'ihen shore with a little bit of sand still stuck in the crevices, and her old staff; flowers from the Calm Lands, pressed flat between the pages of a prayer book, and a piece of starstone from the spring in Macalania Woods, still faintly glowing after all this time. Under that, there's her summoner's robe, folded neatly and tucked away as some sort of relic. The fabric's still soft, the colors bright, but she knows she won't ever wear it again. The girl who wore this...she's not here anymore - she's been replaced by the young woman sitting on the floor in a haze of dust and memories.
Another pile a few feet away has her dresspheres and garment grids, a few small machina parts dredged from the desert, a couple movie spheres and a picture of six people and a Hypello standing on the deck of an airship, waving and smiling (well, except for Paine, who just looks faintly amused at her friends and their antics). She had set the Songstress dressphere apart from the rest of them - Lenne deserves her rest, Yuna thinks, after all that the older woman had been through.
There's a small stack of books in the corner - picture albums of her parents, her mother's diary, a few thick books in Al Bhed that she'd had brought with her to Bevelle. A worn doll leans against them, and Yuna thinks that she really should have that old thing restuffed sometime in the next few months. Might as well get a little more use out of it. The flowers from her own wedding are still hung upside down where she put them to dry, blue and white petals faded now, but Yuna still thinks they're beautiful. She's so deep in her memories that she almost doesn't hear him walk in behind her.
"Taking your time, huh?" Tidus sinks to the floor behind his wife and sets his chin on her shoulder. "You know, the crib and stuff already got here."
"I know," she says, "but I sort of got sidetracked." She leans her cheek against his hair and closes her eyes. "Besides, there's some good memories attached to this stuff." He picks up the picture of the seven of them and makes a face.
"...you mean like Wakka beaning me in the head with a blitzball for trying to kiss you where he could see?"
"Is that why everyone's smiling?" Yuna giggles and leans back against him, and he wraps one arm around her chest, just above the swell of her stomach.
"Yeah, 'cause everyone but me thought it was hilarious." Tidus can't quite keep the hint of a laugh out of his voice, though, and she turns her head to smile at him. She's not entirely surprised when he takes advantage of that to kiss her again, and she turns slightly to face him, letting the framed photo slide off her knees. She's fond of her mementos, but she really does prefer the present.
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