Rough [Rude x Tifa, FFVII, NC-17]
Title: Rough
Author/Artist: windrider1
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic sex
Prompt:Final Fantasy VII, Rude/Tifa: rough sex - How could he be afraid of hurting her when she punched as hard as he did?
Word count: 2120
A/N: Late. So sorry. Real Life can suck.
Smooth arms circled his waist-hands moving on him, hurried, beneath his cool white shirt to explore fevered skin-pressed him back against the wall. His own hand bunched the dark hair behind her head in a tight fist, jerked back so he could lower his mouth to taste hers. She returned the kiss with equal hunger, moaned into him. She pulled at his shirt, rending the seam, trying to tear it off him.
Rude lifted her, gave a satisfied grunt when long, fighter legs wrapped around his waist. His hands cupped her ass, moved her against his erection as they stumbled along the hall. “Hurry,” she rasped into his neck, her hot breath making him groan. Who knew Tifa Lockhart was such an impatient woman?
He fumbled for the hotel card key in his back pocket and she leaned back slightly to give him room, but her mouth was never far from his ears as she whispered all the things she wanted to do to him, and him to her. Her breathy whisper caused a few more seconds of fumbling before he managed to grip the small rectangle. He shoved it unceremoniously into the card reader and as soon as he heard the faint click, Rude kicked the door open then slammed it shut with the back of his boot.
He turned as he did so, shoving Tifa up against the closed door, his hands sliding beneath the fluttery hem of her skirt. She always wore a skirt for him. It made it so much easier. Her sexy black panties were tugged away by impatient fingers.
“Why do you wear those?” he grunted as he tossed them aside.
She grabbed his sunglasses, tore them from his face and flung them across the room. “Why do you wear those?” she countered.
“They block the sun.” His answer was simple.
She busied herself with pushing at his pants, her palm sliding down the front to cup him. “Stop talking,” she ordered, “and touch me.”
Rude smirked. It was a rare thing for him to be told to shut up. But, he'd learned early on that she didn't want him for his conversation. Obediently he closed his mouth and shoved two fingers between damp folds, and had the satisfaction of watching her eyes widen, then close on a shudder.
He pressed hard, pulled back, curled his fingers; repeated the process. She writhed against him, grit her teeth and thrust her hips up, clutched his shoulders as she rode each hard stroke. His features were set in harsh lines as he watched hers contort in pleasure. He'd take her to the edge, teeter her on the brink, before pulling teasingly away.
Frustrated, she leaned up, her teeth tugging at his earrings. “Is that all you've got?” she challenged with a roll of her hips. She was always doing that, he thought with a growl. Challenging him. Pushing him. Demanding him.
With a determined glint in his eyes, he slammed her down onto the floor with enough force to knock her breathless. Her gasp and arch sent blood pounding to his groin, and one thought smoldered its way into his brain: her body was made for this. Hot. Tight. Strong.
He jerked her top over her head, leaving it tangled around her wrists so he could stare at her, vulnerable; exposed. She wouldn't be vulnerable for long, not for him anyway, so he took quick advantage.
Her breasts, possibly her most renowned asset, heaved as she struggled to gain her breath back. His tongue flicked out, teased a nipple up and then he scraped his teeth over the perky bud. He ran one hand up the column of her throat, the very tips of his fingers brushing her jaw gently.
Tifa turned her face, bit his thumb. “Stop playing,” she hissed.
She never allowed for his gentleness. Never wanted it. A sudden, inexplicable flash of anger had him flipping her onto her stomach, and shoving the edge of her skirt up her back. He stroked her with one hand while his other undid the snaps of his pants and pushed them down his thighs. On his knees, he nudged the head of his cock against her and she moaned, pressed back.
“Say it,” he ordered, pushing her torso into the carpet, holding her there. She shook her head, fingers raking trails into the pile. Rude bent his head, licked along damp heat and bit the curve of her ass. He rubbed himself against her, holding back his own groan. “Say it,” he repeated, brushing her clit with the tip of his dick.
“Fuck me,” she responded finally, breathless and slightly needy.
He shook his head, slapped the palm of his hand against her ass, causing her to jump; startled. “Fuck me, what?” He pressed a bit, then withdrew, dampening the head with her heat.
She flicked him a narrow look between dark strands. “Fuck me, now.”
His lips twisted. So that's how she wanted it, eh? He pushed himself away from her and before her small complaint left her lips he drug her back, placed his mouth fully on her.
“Oh!” Her fingernails scored the carpet.
Rude smirked against her, used his tongue and lips to make her gasp and cry out, until she was practically crawling backwards into his face.
He leaned back, licked his lips but used his fingers to continue to circle the hard little bundle of nerves. “Say it,” he commanded again.
“Please!” It was choked and angry, and he knew he would pay for it. That thought made his erection swell even more, so hard it was painful. He rolled her, lifted her legs over his shoulders and thrust forward in one fluid move.
Shiva, she was tight and hot, and felt so good.
“Yes!” She threw her head back, her hands clutching her breasts as he pounded out a brutal rhythm.
She was exquisite, he thought, as she lay there panting and crying out for him. Yes; for him. In this moment, she was his. His. Not Strife's. His.
He covered her mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue demanding entrance, filling her with the taste of herself.
She tore his shirt open, clutched at him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her small cries of satisfaction muffled against his lips. He held her tightly, feeling white hot pleasure approaching. Her body was clinging to his, her sweat dampened skin pressed as close as humanly possible to his and still he wanted more.
Her fingers curled around the base of his skull and she jerked his head to the side. Her breath was heated silk, her mouth hot satin as she kissed his neck. Without warning, she levered herself, her ankles tight around his neck and then he was bending...back...back...impossibly back.
His hands followed the curve of her spine as she folded them over so that she was on top. Her flexibility could never be overstated, he thought, appreciatively.
Palms flat to his chest, her thumbs toyed with his nipple piercings as she rode him. Her mouth slack and damp as she rolled her hips so that she rubbed against him just so, but not quite what he needed. Testing his limits, bringing him to the edge, then back again. She adjusted herself, curved her knees up and used his chest for bracing so that he was almost completely removed before she sank back down, as deep and as hard as she could.
“Watch,” she murmured, staring at him. His eyes were riveted to her and he watched, hungrily, as she trailed her fingers over the tattoos on his chest, traced his defined muscles until they danced between her thighs, where they were joined. She rubbed herself and him, her thumb flicking her clit. “So good,” she crooned. “You fuck me so good.”
And all thought left his mind, replaced by mindless scorching need. It spread through his body until he shook with it. “More.” He tightened his hold, bruising her with his strength. At one time he would have worried over this aggression, but weeks of this, of her, and he let go of the fear of wounding her. How could he be afraid of hurting her when she punched as hard as he did?
He reached up, gripped the back of her neck and jerked her down. He found her throat, soft and vulnerable, her heavy pulse beating beneath his lips. His teeth clamped against her firmly, but not breaking skin and he ordered, “Harder, Tifa. Ride me harder.”
Eyes dark and glazed, she in turn ordered him to, “Say it.”
He would have laughed if not for the burning need making him near mindless. “Fuck me, hard.”
She shifted, arched back and flexed.
Holy Ifrit!
“Fuck me hard, what?” she asked, coupled with a grinding rotation and tug of his nipple ring.
Silence and a tightening of fingers on her hips was the only response.
Brows lowered, she leaned down to taste him. She trailed her tongue over the beads of sweat glistening on his skin, moved to his ear, teasing with a caress of her tongue. She reached behind her, grasped his damp balls in one hand, squeezed gently.
His groan was guttural, torn from his throat. She continued her assault until his labored breath steamed her neck as he opened his mouth to speak. Then she paused, cocked her head and waited.
“Please,” he croaked.
Her teeth skimmed his jaw and her tone was teasing. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes.”
Her smile was victorious and fleeting, and in the next moment he was hissing breath through clenched teeth and fisting dark strands as she closed over him. Hot and wet and merciless, she worked him. Up and down, rolling her hips and grinding hard.
“Don't stop,” he rasped, head back and tendons standing out on his neck. He gripped her hips in his hands, pulled her down as he surged up and she cried out. And again. And again.
Her eyes were closed, head thrown back and he could feel her muscles tightening, quivering and the cries she gave were louder, plaintive. She was close, and as much as he wanted to send her over, he wanted her to see him more. With a snarl he rolled them on the upsurge and sank deep. He pressed her wrists above her head and plunged hard and fast. “Tifa,” he groaned. “Tifa...”
She bit into his shoulder, tightening on him and she was so, so close; he could feel the slick of her, but her eyes were still closed. He placed her wrists on top of one another, held them with one hand as the other captured her jaw, forced her head back.
“Look at me,” he groaned. “I want you to know who's making you scream.”
Passion hazy eyes blinked up at him and her mouth parted on a keening cry. “I know who...” she gasped, arched, and broke on his name. “Rude! Oh, gods, Rude, please...please...”
His name on her lips was enough to shatter him. His thrusts were stuttered, hard and fast, near frantic as he came in long hot spurts. Like him, his orgasms tended to be silent but intense, and as he shook off the last small shocks that shuddered his body he felt her shift beneath him.
He slipped from the warm hollow of her body and rolled to the side, watching with a mixture of want and regret as she fumbled her skirt back down and reached for her top.
Her back was pink and raw from the carpet and her face was flushed to match.
“Same time next week?” he asked, not bothering to do anything more than lift his pants around his hips.
She glanced down at him, still on lying the floor with shirt torn and pants open enough to reveal the sheen of him and her on flaccid flesh.
She shrugged, brushed her hair back over her shoulder.
The indifference of the gesture did something unpleasant to him, but then she said, “I was thinking maybe tomorrow. Dinner at Seventh. If you want?” and he was sucker punched in the gut.
She bent, brushed her lips over his and was at the door before he could reach for her. “Let me know, okay?” And then she was gone.
Alone in the room he'd paid for for the night, Rude flopped back onto the carpet surrounded by the smell of lust and spent sex.
Tomorrow sounded perfect.
Author/Artist: windrider1
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic sex
Prompt:Final Fantasy VII, Rude/Tifa: rough sex - How could he be afraid of hurting her when she punched as hard as he did?
Word count: 2120
A/N: Late. So sorry. Real Life can suck.
Smooth arms circled his waist-hands moving on him, hurried, beneath his cool white shirt to explore fevered skin-pressed him back against the wall. His own hand bunched the dark hair behind her head in a tight fist, jerked back so he could lower his mouth to taste hers. She returned the kiss with equal hunger, moaned into him. She pulled at his shirt, rending the seam, trying to tear it off him.
Rude lifted her, gave a satisfied grunt when long, fighter legs wrapped around his waist. His hands cupped her ass, moved her against his erection as they stumbled along the hall. “Hurry,” she rasped into his neck, her hot breath making him groan. Who knew Tifa Lockhart was such an impatient woman?
He fumbled for the hotel card key in his back pocket and she leaned back slightly to give him room, but her mouth was never far from his ears as she whispered all the things she wanted to do to him, and him to her. Her breathy whisper caused a few more seconds of fumbling before he managed to grip the small rectangle. He shoved it unceremoniously into the card reader and as soon as he heard the faint click, Rude kicked the door open then slammed it shut with the back of his boot.
He turned as he did so, shoving Tifa up against the closed door, his hands sliding beneath the fluttery hem of her skirt. She always wore a skirt for him. It made it so much easier. Her sexy black panties were tugged away by impatient fingers.
“Why do you wear those?” he grunted as he tossed them aside.
She grabbed his sunglasses, tore them from his face and flung them across the room. “Why do you wear those?” she countered.
“They block the sun.” His answer was simple.
She busied herself with pushing at his pants, her palm sliding down the front to cup him. “Stop talking,” she ordered, “and touch me.”
Rude smirked. It was a rare thing for him to be told to shut up. But, he'd learned early on that she didn't want him for his conversation. Obediently he closed his mouth and shoved two fingers between damp folds, and had the satisfaction of watching her eyes widen, then close on a shudder.
He pressed hard, pulled back, curled his fingers; repeated the process. She writhed against him, grit her teeth and thrust her hips up, clutched his shoulders as she rode each hard stroke. His features were set in harsh lines as he watched hers contort in pleasure. He'd take her to the edge, teeter her on the brink, before pulling teasingly away.
Frustrated, she leaned up, her teeth tugging at his earrings. “Is that all you've got?” she challenged with a roll of her hips. She was always doing that, he thought with a growl. Challenging him. Pushing him. Demanding him.
With a determined glint in his eyes, he slammed her down onto the floor with enough force to knock her breathless. Her gasp and arch sent blood pounding to his groin, and one thought smoldered its way into his brain: her body was made for this. Hot. Tight. Strong.
He jerked her top over her head, leaving it tangled around her wrists so he could stare at her, vulnerable; exposed. She wouldn't be vulnerable for long, not for him anyway, so he took quick advantage.
Her breasts, possibly her most renowned asset, heaved as she struggled to gain her breath back. His tongue flicked out, teased a nipple up and then he scraped his teeth over the perky bud. He ran one hand up the column of her throat, the very tips of his fingers brushing her jaw gently.
Tifa turned her face, bit his thumb. “Stop playing,” she hissed.
She never allowed for his gentleness. Never wanted it. A sudden, inexplicable flash of anger had him flipping her onto her stomach, and shoving the edge of her skirt up her back. He stroked her with one hand while his other undid the snaps of his pants and pushed them down his thighs. On his knees, he nudged the head of his cock against her and she moaned, pressed back.
“Say it,” he ordered, pushing her torso into the carpet, holding her there. She shook her head, fingers raking trails into the pile. Rude bent his head, licked along damp heat and bit the curve of her ass. He rubbed himself against her, holding back his own groan. “Say it,” he repeated, brushing her clit with the tip of his dick.
“Fuck me,” she responded finally, breathless and slightly needy.
He shook his head, slapped the palm of his hand against her ass, causing her to jump; startled. “Fuck me, what?” He pressed a bit, then withdrew, dampening the head with her heat.
She flicked him a narrow look between dark strands. “Fuck me, now.”
His lips twisted. So that's how she wanted it, eh? He pushed himself away from her and before her small complaint left her lips he drug her back, placed his mouth fully on her.
“Oh!” Her fingernails scored the carpet.
Rude smirked against her, used his tongue and lips to make her gasp and cry out, until she was practically crawling backwards into his face.
He leaned back, licked his lips but used his fingers to continue to circle the hard little bundle of nerves. “Say it,” he commanded again.
“Please!” It was choked and angry, and he knew he would pay for it. That thought made his erection swell even more, so hard it was painful. He rolled her, lifted her legs over his shoulders and thrust forward in one fluid move.
Shiva, she was tight and hot, and felt so good.
“Yes!” She threw her head back, her hands clutching her breasts as he pounded out a brutal rhythm.
She was exquisite, he thought, as she lay there panting and crying out for him. Yes; for him. In this moment, she was his. His. Not Strife's. His.
He covered her mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue demanding entrance, filling her with the taste of herself.
She tore his shirt open, clutched at him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her small cries of satisfaction muffled against his lips. He held her tightly, feeling white hot pleasure approaching. Her body was clinging to his, her sweat dampened skin pressed as close as humanly possible to his and still he wanted more.
Her fingers curled around the base of his skull and she jerked his head to the side. Her breath was heated silk, her mouth hot satin as she kissed his neck. Without warning, she levered herself, her ankles tight around his neck and then he was bending...back...back...impossibly back.
His hands followed the curve of her spine as she folded them over so that she was on top. Her flexibility could never be overstated, he thought, appreciatively.
Palms flat to his chest, her thumbs toyed with his nipple piercings as she rode him. Her mouth slack and damp as she rolled her hips so that she rubbed against him just so, but not quite what he needed. Testing his limits, bringing him to the edge, then back again. She adjusted herself, curved her knees up and used his chest for bracing so that he was almost completely removed before she sank back down, as deep and as hard as she could.
“Watch,” she murmured, staring at him. His eyes were riveted to her and he watched, hungrily, as she trailed her fingers over the tattoos on his chest, traced his defined muscles until they danced between her thighs, where they were joined. She rubbed herself and him, her thumb flicking her clit. “So good,” she crooned. “You fuck me so good.”
And all thought left his mind, replaced by mindless scorching need. It spread through his body until he shook with it. “More.” He tightened his hold, bruising her with his strength. At one time he would have worried over this aggression, but weeks of this, of her, and he let go of the fear of wounding her. How could he be afraid of hurting her when she punched as hard as he did?
He reached up, gripped the back of her neck and jerked her down. He found her throat, soft and vulnerable, her heavy pulse beating beneath his lips. His teeth clamped against her firmly, but not breaking skin and he ordered, “Harder, Tifa. Ride me harder.”
Eyes dark and glazed, she in turn ordered him to, “Say it.”
He would have laughed if not for the burning need making him near mindless. “Fuck me, hard.”
She shifted, arched back and flexed.
Holy Ifrit!
“Fuck me hard, what?” she asked, coupled with a grinding rotation and tug of his nipple ring.
Silence and a tightening of fingers on her hips was the only response.
Brows lowered, she leaned down to taste him. She trailed her tongue over the beads of sweat glistening on his skin, moved to his ear, teasing with a caress of her tongue. She reached behind her, grasped his damp balls in one hand, squeezed gently.
His groan was guttural, torn from his throat. She continued her assault until his labored breath steamed her neck as he opened his mouth to speak. Then she paused, cocked her head and waited.
“Please,” he croaked.
Her teeth skimmed his jaw and her tone was teasing. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes.”
Her smile was victorious and fleeting, and in the next moment he was hissing breath through clenched teeth and fisting dark strands as she closed over him. Hot and wet and merciless, she worked him. Up and down, rolling her hips and grinding hard.
“Don't stop,” he rasped, head back and tendons standing out on his neck. He gripped her hips in his hands, pulled her down as he surged up and she cried out. And again. And again.
Her eyes were closed, head thrown back and he could feel her muscles tightening, quivering and the cries she gave were louder, plaintive. She was close, and as much as he wanted to send her over, he wanted her to see him more. With a snarl he rolled them on the upsurge and sank deep. He pressed her wrists above her head and plunged hard and fast. “Tifa,” he groaned. “Tifa...”
She bit into his shoulder, tightening on him and she was so, so close; he could feel the slick of her, but her eyes were still closed. He placed her wrists on top of one another, held them with one hand as the other captured her jaw, forced her head back.
“Look at me,” he groaned. “I want you to know who's making you scream.”
Passion hazy eyes blinked up at him and her mouth parted on a keening cry. “I know who...” she gasped, arched, and broke on his name. “Rude! Oh, gods, Rude, please...please...”
His name on her lips was enough to shatter him. His thrusts were stuttered, hard and fast, near frantic as he came in long hot spurts. Like him, his orgasms tended to be silent but intense, and as he shook off the last small shocks that shuddered his body he felt her shift beneath him.
He slipped from the warm hollow of her body and rolled to the side, watching with a mixture of want and regret as she fumbled her skirt back down and reached for her top.
Her back was pink and raw from the carpet and her face was flushed to match.
“Same time next week?” he asked, not bothering to do anything more than lift his pants around his hips.
She glanced down at him, still on lying the floor with shirt torn and pants open enough to reveal the sheen of him and her on flaccid flesh.
She shrugged, brushed her hair back over her shoulder.
The indifference of the gesture did something unpleasant to him, but then she said, “I was thinking maybe tomorrow. Dinner at Seventh. If you want?” and he was sucker punched in the gut.
She bent, brushed her lips over his and was at the door before he could reach for her. “Let me know, okay?” And then she was gone.
Alone in the room he'd paid for for the night, Rude flopped back onto the carpet surrounded by the smell of lust and spent sex.
Tomorrow sounded perfect.