the final fantasy anonymous kink meme
I have made this post public again despite leaving LJ to allow people to save their own fics, etc.
Since this kind of thing seems to be spreading LJ-wide, I thought it was time we had one. ;) The original, I believe, is the Bleach Kink Meme, and there's a master list of others here. ;)
So...
The Final Fantasy Anonymous Kink MemeWhat is it? It's ( Read more... )
Since this kind of thing seems to be spreading LJ-wide, I thought it was time we had one. ;) The original, I believe, is the Bleach Kink Meme, and there's a master list of others here. ;)
So...
The Final Fantasy Anonymous Kink MemeWhat is it? It's ( Read more... )
shouldn't... you have so many better things to ...”
“Even assuming I did,” Tifa said reasonably, “I'm still sitting here
trying to talk you into bed. What does that tell you?”
He smiled. “That you're sweet.” He frowned, pensive, then shot her a sidelong,
unreadable glance. “Do you... do you really...?”
“Yes. I really.”
“I could... I think I saw... I'd need some time.” He bit his lip, deep in
thought. “Could you meet me upstairs? Say half an hour?”
“I could come with you.”
“No, I... I'd need some time,” he said. “If you really want to... want to try.”
She had to admit to herself that his insistent reticence made her a little
uneasy; pursuit was unfamiliar to her to begin with, and his strange request for
half an hour made no sense to her at all. Yet the sudden look of guarded hope,
of consideration, that he wore made it impossible to let that come to the fore.
“Your room, or mine?”
“Mine, I think.” He smiled briefly, squeezing her hand again. “And... if you
elect not to... no harm done.”
“Vincent.” She pulled him toward her as she leaned forward, giving him
what she hoped was a stern gaze. “I'm not going to ditch you.”
“I would not look at it that way were it to happen.” He rose suddenly, holding
up a restraining hand as she began to protest. “Let me see to this while I've
still got my nerve,” he said with a crooked smile, and gave her hand one last
squeeze. “I'll... see you shortly, then.”
Tifa smiled back, and drew his hand up to her lips; still smiling, she kissed
the cold knuckles. “I'll be counting the minutes,” she said, letting him go.
He raised the hand and sketched her a small salute; then, without further
comment, spun on his heel and took off rapidly, leaving Tifa to flop back into
her seat, steeple her fingers, and wonder what the hell she'd just gotten
herself into.
She braced her elbows against the table, leaning forward to massage her temples.
She was drunk. She was absolutely drunk and, yeah, she was pretty randy. This
wasn't the first time she'd done something like this and, really, it wasn't that
big a deal, not as long as you were smart and sensible about it. As long as
everybody was safe and clean, who cared if it wasn't true love? It was still
plenty of fun.
But she wasn't being all that smart about it, that was the problem. She'd met a
fellow or two at the Seventh Heaven, but had quickly stopped that once she
discovered how awkward it could be dealing with them afterwards. But this wasn't
someone she was going to have to deal with for a few moments here and there,
making sure not to make eye contact; this was someone she was going to have to
live, work, fight, and hopefully not die beside. If this went wrong, she
wasn't going to be able to walk away from it, pretend it never happened and hope
it went away.
But, then, she didn't think it would go wrong, and she was pretty sure
that wasn't just the booze talking. Sure, she'd be disappointed if he wasn't up
to it after all, but that wasn't the end of the world and, really, she wouldn't
mind it too much. The man was in so much obvious, evident pain it seemed
cruel not to offer a helping hand, even if that boiled down to holding him and
assuring him it happened to everyone... though she sincerely hoped it wouldn't.
They should be alright as long as he didn't get weird about...
Reply
her head in wonderment; he had flat out told her that his whole problem was
pining after a dead woman with whom he'd had some kind of obsessive, violent
relationship; just the sort you want to bring home to mom and dad! And, speaking
of dads, he was more than twice as old as she was, though he didn't look it, and
she didn't really understand it. She knew he'd been out of commission somehow,
comatose, static, unknowing, maybe even un-aging... but she wondered if the
generation gap was dismissed that easily.
But he was so very, very sad... and the hard fact of the matter was that she
could easily see herself carrying a torch just like his. And, uneven as his
temperament might be, he'd been very nice once he'd warmed up to her... and
while he might be a little tatterdemalion, he wasn't bad-looking, not at all.
And she'd essentially bullied him into it, so she couldn't exactly back out now,
no matter what he said about not minding if she blew him off. That was just
asking for it.
She levered herself to her feet, pleased at her steadiness; she was definitely a
little loose, but she was nowhere near stumbling. Folding her hands behind her
back, she reentered the bar, glad of the rush of warmth, and ambled over to the
wait stand, where she discovered with no little surprise that Vincent had
already picked up the tab. She felt guilty over that; she'd been indulging
herself, trying a few top shelf things she'd normally never bother with, and had
planned on putting most of her meager pocket money toward the bill.
Still... it was nice of him. She had the feeling he would have done it
regardless.
Her blood a little cooler but her interest nowhere near snuffed, she made her
way out and into the lobby, glancing at the clock above the door as she did so:
almost fifteen minutes. By the time she made it back up there, it would have
been more than twenty; a little early, but if he wasn't there, she could... lurk
around the hallway which contained all of the group's rooms, where any of them
might happen along and want to know what she was doing.
No. Definitely not.
And why on earth did he need to go on ahead like this? Did he want to psyche
himself up-or out? Grabbing condoms didn't take that long; did he need to get
the dead hooker out of his room first? She swallowed a laugh, shaking her head
as she pressed the elevator button. Now who's psyching themself out?
Fortunately, she didn't encounter any of the others on the way up, or in the
hall; the ones that weren't still out amusing themselves were undoubtedly in bed
by now. She found herself standing once more in front of Vincent's door,
hesitating almost as much as she had this evening; she'd only meant to get to
know him a little better, see if she could get him to string more than five or
six words together at a time... and now she was going to get to know him a
lot better. Bemused, she knocked; it probably hadn't been half an hour
yet, but...
The knob twisted so quickly she suspected he'd been standing behind the door; it
still opened only a crack, and she was treated to the same suspicious pair of
eyes she'd seen earlier before he pulled it the rest of the way. “Hi,” Vincent
said softly.
“Hi,” she responded, smiling and shifting her weight to one hip. He simply
stood, blocking the doorway, regarding her with a strange intensity. “Um... can
I come in?”
“Of course.” He stepped back, waving her in, and Tifa slid past him into the
dark confines of the room. It seemed identical to her own, but he had left the
lights off, so she wasn't sure; the only illumination was the feeble bathroom
light seeping beneath the crack of the closed door. “Welcome,” he continued
awkwardly, shutting the door with a soft click. “I'm... glad you came.”
Reply
door, leaning against it, and she could practically see the tension rolling off
him. “Did you get your errand taken care of?”
“I did.” He nodded sharply. “Quite easily, actually, I, ah...” He stopped, shook
himself. “Can I... get you anything? Or...”
She compressed her lips firmly to stifle the smile; his hesitancy was adorable,
but it wasn't going to get them anywhere. She crossed the distance between them
in two brief strides, laying her palms against his chest; he gasped, pressing
himself back against the door. “Sure you can,” she said coyly, reaching up to
trail her fingers along his cheekbone. He was breathing heavily, but she
couldn't make out his expression; his features were barely visible in the
darkness, only the pallor of his complexion reflecting the faint light.
“C'mere.” She slipped her hand around the back of his neck, gently pulling his
head down.
He flinched when their lips brushed, his heels digging into the carpet, but he
just as quickly leaned forward, not quite kissing her back, no, but not at all
minding her attentions. She wound her fingers through his wispy dry hair, gently
kneading his scalp, and he sighed against her mouth, shoulders relaxing. She
nipped at his bottom lip, and he jerked back in surprise; she tightened her grip
on his hair, holding him in place, and he made a breathy, guttural sound of
pleasure, resting his hands on her hips as he raised his head to nuzzle her
temple. She smiled against his chest, slipping her arm around his waist; this
wasn't going nearly as bad as she'd feared.
She knew a moment's doubt when he pushed her away, but he followed as soon as
she moved, and she realized he was guiding her toward the bed; she carefully
picked her way backwards and allowed him to settle her on its edge, only letting
go as he sat down beside her. He raised his left hand to cup her chin, carefully
holding the great curved claws away from her flesh, and though it made her
nervous, she forced herself to cuddle against his palm, looking up at him
encouragingly. He smiled, and seemed about to speak, but bit his lip instead,
looking sheepish. Before she could respond, his hands were around her waist,
pulling her close; she nestled her head against his chest, slipping her arms
around him in turn, and simply leaned against him, silent as he stroked her
hair.
He held her like that for a long time, long enough that Tifa began to wonder if
that was all he meant to do; that he simply sought contact, comfort,
acknowledgment as a fellow human being. She was just debating the merits of
trying to pull him down and curl up for a nap when she felt the soft prick of a
claw beneath her chin. Startled out of her reverie, she made no movement as he
slowly raised her jaw, but she couldn't repress a slight wriggle of enthusiasm
when he bent down to carefully kiss her. She made herself still, not wanting to
unnerve him as his hand spread to cup her chin; he explored her mouth
hesitantly, uncertainly, but with growing interest. She parted her lips, and
shivered as his tongue eased past them; this wasn't bad, not at all.
He pulled away, holding her at arm's length as if to examine her, and she
grinned. “You sure it's really been that long?” she asked teasingly, leaning
back.
He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Like riding a bike, I suppose.” His fingers
trailed down her arm, the curve of her breast, the curve of her hip. “Though you
are quite... inspirational.”
She tipped him a wink, slipping her thumbs beneath her suspenders. “You ain't
seen nothing yet.”
Reply
have said later what exactly transpired, but remembered it only as brief moments
and flashes of sensation: his hoarse, ragged breathing, the salt of his skin,
his teeth on her neck, the way the muscles of his stomach jumped as she pushed
him down on the bed and slipped her hands beneath the stretchy fabric of his
shirt. His hair tickled delightfully as it brushed against her breasts, the
fabric of her panties snagged as she rose to let him tug them down, and this was
nice, this was good, this was exactly what she'd been hoping for. It was a
little strange to be so aggressive, to take so much initiative, but she fell
into the rhythm easily enough; he responded eagerly, followed where she led, and
it was so much fun finding his good spots: a soft caress here got
a luxuriant sigh, but a scrape of nails there got a throaty moan.
Finally she reared back, sitting on her heels, and raked her sweaty hair out of
her eyes. “I think we've run into a bit of a logistics problem here,” she told
him archly, trailing a finger down his belly to the soft, curly hair that
disappeared into his trousers.
“Mmm.” He sat up reached down to unbuckle his belt, lifted his hips enough to
allow himself to eel out of his pants, and kicked them off to land with the rest
of their discarded clothing. She pounced on him eagerly, pressing him back to
rest on his elbows, and kissed him passionately as she reached down to discover
what he had revealed. He whimpered softly as she palmed his dick; still largely
soft, but there was enough stiffness there that she wasn't entirely
disheartened. Yet as she began to stroke him, just barely squeezing his shaft,
she realized something felt different; the skin moved easily, almost slippery,
but...
“You're Wutaian?”
“You couldn't tell?”
She ducked her head. “I didn't really think about it... I've just never seen
this in person before.”
“It doesn't get in the way.”
She tightened her grip, and grinned as his back arched, his hands fisting in the
sheets. “I shouldn't think so,” she thought, pleased at his reaction, the simple
power she wielded over him. “Is it true you're more sensitive like this?”
“Feels like it,” he gasped weakly, and she laughed low in her throat as she
leaned forward to claim his mouth once more. He wrapped his left arm around her,
crushingly tight, the textured plates of his forearm digging into her back in a
not unpleasant fashion as she continued to work him, stroking, tugging, rolling:
not quite the response she'd hoped for, but there was definite improvement She
rubbed him carefully with her thumb, tracing the curve of his frenum, and felt
something unusual at the base of his glans.
Rubbing her thumb back and forth, she felt a sudden twinge of unease; it felt
like a bump, some sort of raised protrusion. “Um,” she said uncertainly, “what
is this?”
He chuckled, and reached down to take her hand. Running a finger along the curve
of her thumbnail, he pressed down on the pointed corner, and guided her down to
touch the questionable flesh. He guided the edge of her nail onto it, and
pressed down again; she jerked her hand back in surprise as her nail sank right
into it. “That,” he told her in a deeply amused tone of voice, “is for a
dressing ring. Nothing icky.” He seemed to reconsider. “Nothing virulent.”
“A... piercing?”
“Mmhmm.” He leaned back again, regarding her with a tilted gaze. “I had a
guiche, as well, but I'm afraid that healed.”
“Oh, bad luck,” she temporized, a little unnerved. She'd never really formed an
opinion on the subject-nor had she ever seen that in person, either-but
the idea of sticking needles... there... most assuredly gave her the
willies.
“I wish I'd known,” he purred, “I'd have had a ring handy.”
Reply
now wasn't the time to raise the issue. “Oh, I think we'll manage anyway.”
Pressing him back once more, she laid beside him, throwing a leg over his and
grinding her hips against him as she resumed kissing him. The unpleasant
interruption aside, she was growing urgent; she'd vowed to herself to give him
all the time that he needed... but there were limits, and she was reaching hers.
Fortunately, he seemed to be truly getting into the spirit of things, meeting
her with equal ardor, and for a time there was only flesh, kisses, caresses,
cries and moans. Finally Tifa couldn't stand it anymore and hoisted herself up,
straddling him, but Vincent writhed back, reaching down to fumble for something
beside the bed. She lunged for him, hands gripping his shoulders, kissing him
hungrily, but he grabbed one hand and yanked it away, pressing something cool
and cylindrical into it. She jerked upright, confused, and couldn't resist a
breathless laugh when she realized what it was she was holding. “Is this why you
went--you were that worried? For me?”
“If you like,” he drawled lazily, but something in his tone of voice was very,
very odd as he leaned back on his elbows to regard her speculatively. She hefted
the latex weight in her hand, considering it, and realized that this was not
quite a standard dildo. A textured, ridged knob protruded from one end,
perpendicular to its length, and its design eluded her for a moment.
Then it clicked. “For you,” she said wonderingly. She was glad the darkness hid
her expression, because this situation had now officially plummeted beyond the
realms of her experience. She didn't mind that sort of thing, was in fact
well acquainted with the results a well-placed finger could produce, but this
was... extreme. Very extreme.
She looked up at him, wishing perversely she could make out his face more
clearly. No wonder he'd been so hesitant, so shy about it, so willing to offer
her an out; this wasn't the sort of thing you usually just sprang on someone.
She stared at him searchingly, half hoping he'd offer another; had he asked “Too
much?” or even “Are you sure?” once again, she probably would have demurred. But
he didn't, and she soon realized that his earlier comment was all she was going
to get.
“This is... different,” she said finally, lifting it in both hands. He nodded,
raised his hands in a noncommittal gesture. “I've never... this is a new one on
me.”
“I can help,” he said evenly.
“No, I think I see how this works,” she replied, running her thumb across the
bulb; a little thick, but that might be nice. Her thoughts spun drunkenly as she
tried to come to a decision. On the one hand: what the fuck? On the
other... life experience. And it must have taken him so much nerve to get to
this point; so much courage to reach out to her even this much, even after she'd
practically thrown herself at him. And it wasn't repugnant, wasn't
off-putting, wasn't even an unpleasant idea, it was just... weird. Very, very
weird. “So... is there anything else to... do you need to... warm up?”
“Not really,” he responded just as evenly.
“Well... I need a sec.” She was pretty sure this was going to be
mortifying... but, considering what he was asking her to do, he wasn't exactly
in a position to laugh. She leaned back, shifting her balance towards her heels,
and spread her thighs as wide as she comfortably could. Angling it between their
bodies, she brought the bulbed end beneath her, parted herself with it, rubbing
it back and forth to get it slippery... and to enjoy its contours. She would
have preferred his hands, his mouth, but this wasn't bad, and she closed her
eyes for a moment, rocking her hips against it. She cracked an eyelid, and saw
that Vincent was going for something else on the floor; it wasn't that
nice, and if he wasn't enjoying the show, there wasn't much point to it.
Reply
is one for the books, she thought with sudden hilarity as she eased it back,
pressing the bulb against her entrance. Pressure, easy, relax, and it was
in; she gasped at the sudden fullness, arching her back against it.
“Good?” he asked, reclining on the bed once more.
She crept forward on her knees, feeling awkward and ungainly with the rubber
member jutting before her, and rested her hands on his ribs. “This is...
something else,” she said thoughtfully, rolling her hips to feel it move within
her. “Takes a little getting used to.” She felt a gentle tug as Vincent grabbed
the shaft, stroking its length; she wondered at that until she caught the faint
glisten as his hand moved. That, at least, was a relief; she didn't care for
lube, couldn't stand the sticky, tacky feeling as it dried on the skin, and was
pleased not to have to deal with it. Satisfied, he laid back and looked up at
her. “How do you... do you need to roll over, or...?”
“If you like,” he repeated in that same sleepy tone, reaching up to graze her
thigh with the backs of his knuckles, “but I was thinking much like this.”
“You can do it that way?”
“I'm flexible,” he said with a quiet laugh. He pulled himself back a few inches,
and she leaned away to allow him room to maneuver. He slid both of his legs from
beneath her, and then spread them wide, stretching them to either side of her.
She scooted her knees together, and he raised his knees, still spread, into an
almost fetal position, which did indeed offer access to the salient points of
his anatomy.
“Wow,” she said with a giggle, “can you put your feet behind your head?”
“I think so.” He straightened one leg experimentally, but she grabbed his calf
and pressed it back as she leaned forward to kiss him once more, resting her
body against his. It was awkward, the dildo pressing against his thigh and
tugging her in a most unusual fashion; but it was more nice than not, belly to
belly with him, his tongue alive in her mouth, his hand kneading her waist.
“So,” she gasped, “what do I need to...?”
“Just lean forward,” he urged, then reached between them as she rose. He grasped
the member, wiggling it back and forth for a moment before he sighed happily.
“There, just--” She rocked her hips forward and he hissed in what she would have
sworn was pain, but his grip on her flank only tightened. “That's it, just
keep--”
Whatever else he might have said was cut off by a strangled groan, which caused
her to stop. She could feel nothing but resistance, but it was increasing the
more she leaned; she was worried she was hurting him, tearing him somehow. “Are
you okay?” But instead of replying, he merely grabbed her hips and yanked her
forward; she cried out as she nearly lost her balance, but the dildo slid home,
her thighs meeting his with a soft slap.
“Mmhmm,” he groaned unsteadily, sagging back against the mattress, his fingers
once more light on her skin. “That's... the tricky part.” She lay practically
sprawled atop him, feeling the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and took a
moment to gather her wits; this wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought it
would be. She couldn't prop herself up on her elbows without digging them into
him painfully, so she spread her arms to either side of him and raised herself
into a half-pushup, bracing her weight on her knees. She thrust her hips forward
experimentally, barely more than a poke, and was glad she was as assiduous about
her Kegels as she was about the rest of her exercise routine as the bulb nearly
slipped from within her; but his low, liquid moan was more than enough reward
for the discomfort.
Reply
increasing her confidence tenfold; she began to rock her hips back and forth,
trying to achieve a gentle, easy rhythm. He whimpered beneath her, and she felt
an answering flutter of lust at the sound. This was different than simply being
on top, merely being in control of the action; the realization that she could
make him feel this way was so heady as to be intoxicating, and she sped
up as his hands clutched frantically at her sides.
She was surprised at how quickly her abs got tired, but pressed through it,
bucking her hips against him harder and harder as her breathing grew more
labored; she suddenly understood why most men were so enamored of girl on top.
Yet she never dreamed of stopping; his cries were too enthralling, the evidence
of his pleasure an ample substitute for her own. He writhed beneath her, his
hands pressing into her flesh, and she laid her cheek against his chest, her
only regret that she wasn't tall enough to kiss him. Tifa sank into her
movements, barely thinking, barely conscious at all, lost in the simple, basic
fact of--
“Ow!”
“Tifa, I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry--”
She raised herself abruptly, Vincent's attempt to sit up nearly shoving her
upright, and her hand flew to the sudden stipples of pain beside her left hip,
came away wet and coppery; in his own abandonment he had dug his claws right
into her. Her head spun, almost unable to process the new development, and she
wiped her palm on the sheets. “It's okay,” she panted, “just scratches.”
“Tifa, you're bleeding-”
“Just. Scratches,” she repeated firmly, and when he made to protest again she
shoved him back down, grinding her hips against his as hard as she could manage
without tumbling over herself. He actually yowled at the savagery of her
thrust, clutching her tightly as she lowered herself on him once more, and she
quickly pressed her attentions, bucking her hips rapidly. The dead rise!
she thought giddily as she noticed a new obstruction to the mechanical rhythm of
their congress; his cock was hard and firm, almost crushed between their pubic
bones whenever she drove into him.
It only increased her ardor; not only was it fun, it worked! Yet it
seemed as if it required only her notice for the spell to be complete; just as
she shifted her weight, trying to find an angle that would allow her to both
pound into him and rub his erection against her belly he gave a choking,
strangled gasp. He shuddered against her as he crushed her against his chest
with bruising force, and a second later she felt the first warm, wet, spurt
against the bottom of one breast. She held herself above him, as still as she
could, as he came for what seemed like ages, letting him whimper and twitch
beneath her as she reached up to stroke his sweaty hair.
“See?” she panted, grinning lopsidedly. “Told ya!”
Reply
I had this half-written myself, actually. I liked this, a lot, even though it was completely different than anything I'd imagined myself. When I requested this, I didn't think anyone would actually do it... but boy was I thrilled to see someone pick it up. I could barely sit still, I was smiling so big.
It's like... how do you bring something like that up? I guess that was the challenge. And you didn't disappoint, not at all. The thrill and the expression were all there. That was good good good.
I might put my version up here sometime, when I can get to finishing it. Soon, hopefully. If you hang out on AFF.net, you'll see it. If you... read VinTif... well, hell. You'd probably know me by my style, then. But I would never admit it to those kids on FF.net. No... well, maybe...
Ok, honestly? I was damned proud of this prompt. And thus, NEEDED to see someone get into the spirit of it. I am so happy right now, you've no idea.
But yes. Hunting you down.
...Somehow.
So so so appreciated. Very much. Yes, very... very much.
THANK YOU!!
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment