As the Rush Comes [FFVII, Cloud/Tifa, NC-17]
Title: As The Rush Comes
Author: sekiharatae
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex. Also, I don't really know what I'm talking about. This could be unintentionally comedic.
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cloud/Tifa: sex on the back of a motorcycle - leather and oil and hot metal
Word count: 1560
Summary: Pretty much what the prompt says. PWP.
A/N: This was due on the 21st. I'm sorry I'm so very late.
She should have known he was planning something, when she stepped into the garage and he stopped dead before breaking into a slow, pleased smile. His gaze rolled over her, from the tips of her sneakers to the braid in her hair, and his eyes were a hot, vibrant blue when they met hers.
“I just finished giving Fenrir a tune-up,” he said. “Would you like to come for a test drive?” As he spoke he swung one leg over the bike, bracing himself before holding out a hand in invitation.
Denzel and Marlene were occupied, and the bar wouldn’t open for a few hours yet, so she shrugged and nodded, and grabbed the extra set of goggles from the peg by the door.
But when she went to hop on behind him, his smile widened and he shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he told her, “you caused enough trouble last time.” She blinked innocently back at him, containing her giggle only through dint of effort: her wandering hands had proven to be quite the road hazard, forcing him to pull over in order to get things under control again. Tugging her forward, he helped her settle herself in front of him. Since he moved only the smallest fraction to give her space, she ended up essentially in his lap: bottom snugged into the cradle of his thighs, body angled forward into the fuel tank.
Wriggling a bit, she braced her hands in front of her and eyed him over her shoulder. “Are you sure this will work?”
Cloud’s eyes were masked, but the curve of his mouth was temptation incarnate: knowing and just a bit wicked.
“I’m sure,” he answered, leaning forward to grasp the handlebars. The shift in position forced her to mimic his posture, and she slipped a bit further back in the seat, under the shelter of his lean form. “It’s a little close,” he admitted, his breath warm against her temple, “but you don’t mind being close to me, do you, Tifa?” Voice dark and faintly suggestive, he followed the question with a brush of his lips along her throat, one hand sliding between her and the bike to urge her flush against him. Swallowing, her body suddenly tense and overly aware, she shook her head. Low, masculine laughter teased the sensitive shell of her ear as he started the engine, the appreciative sound prompting a shiver. “Hold on,” he warned, arms braced on either side of her, and kicked Fenrir into motion.
Riding in front of him, his body hard and strong behind and above her, the bike rumbling beneath, was distinctly different. Cloud was in his element, moving with the same innate grace and surety he used when fighting, handling the bike with a skill that was just on the safe side of reckless, Fenrir perfectly responsive to his every whim. Being in the middle of the communion between man and machine felt somehow safer and simultaneously more dangerous than riding pillion.
It was also considerably more arousing. The scent of man and leather mingled with oil and hot metal, saturating her awareness, surrounding her with the oddly primal fragrance. Behind her she could feel his length, already hard and assertive, rubbing against her through their clothes as the steady vibration of the engine awakened the tangle of nerves between her legs.
Once they were under way he ground himself against her, testing her interest; Tifa pushed back instinctively, the slight motion of her hips all the acceptance he needed. His right hand briefly fell from the grip to close gently behind her knee, coaxing her to lift her leg and tuck her foot behind his calf, before repeating the motion on the other side. Soft knit fabric stretched over her spread thighs, the new position widening her stance, opening her further, pressing her tighter against Fenrir.
Her hips arched of their own accord as she exclaimed his name on a gasp. With their heads so close together, of course he heard.
“Good?” he asked, teeth catching on her earlobe as her cheeks flushed in response. She nodded and he smiled, then his wrist moved, revving the engine higher.
Biting her lip, head back and firm against his shoulder, she came in a rush. It was a small thing compared to what he could give her with the stroke of his hands or cock or tongue, but still heady and welcome. Cloud neither helped nor hindered, just let it happen as he crooned wordless appreciation, enjoying the feel of her taut and trembling everywhere they touched. When it was over, her panties damp and slick, folds wet, she relaxed against him, knowing they weren’t finished. At the speed at which they were moving and the way every bump and ripple in the road forced her harder against Fenrir’s constant vibration, additional stimulation was a given. His arousal also waited, hard and eager where it was snugged up against her bottom, promising there was more in store.
She moaned at the realization that her body was already straining toward another climax, felt his chest vibrate against her shoulders in response, although whether the noise he made was amusement or anticipation, she couldn’t say. The pleasure was coming too easily to be overwhelming or truly gratifying, but the rising crest of sensation was still sinfully good, and she gave herself over willingly. When it passed, her hands were tight around his forearms, eyes closed, mouth open to gasp for breath.
Body wanton and empty, it wasn’t enough. He’d long since taught her to need the press of his strong fingers or hard cock; denied either, internal muscles clenched in futile desire, hungry and unsatisfied.
Raising her hand she curved her fingers along his jaw, turned her head to graze his lips with her own. “Cloud,” she murmured against his skin, just slightly pleading, her hips moving restlessly, seeking more.
She thought his mouth quirked in response.
Then his palm was skimming over her flat stomach, inching fabric out of the way to slide inside her waistband. The ball of his hand came hard against her mound, urging her back against him and rotating firmly. Fingertips searched further, seeking lush welcome to gentle his touch as he circled her clit. She whimpered, wanting him inside, as she tightened and burst a third time.
Better, but still lacking.
Her slim form was arched like a bow, head back and the fingers of both hands clenched in his shirt, mindless and needy, when Cloud brought Fenrir to a smooth halt in a shadowed alley, somewhere deep in the ruins of Midgar. Neither really cared where, provided it was away from prying eyes. Nudging the stand down with his foot, he braced his legs on either side and teased her fingers loose so he could ease her forward enough to free his erection. Then he tugged her skirt up, shoved the soaked fabric of her panties out of the way, and drove home.
Tifa keened, hands sliding across the bike’s sleek shell, seeking purchase.
Gloved fingers wrapped around hers, guided their grip to the handlebars, showed her how to work the throttle. Warm, affectionate laughter played against her skin when she was too far gone to learn or care. Satisfied just to let the machine idle, he began a gentle rhythm, palms curved around her waist.
As her pleasure sounds grew louder, more desperate, he increased the pace and force of his thrusts. Each one briefly compelled greater contact between her aching clit and the tantalizing vibration of the bike, but the low rumble wasn’t enough to push her over.
“Please, Cloud,” she begged, hips moving in small, frantic circles under his steadying hands, “I need... I need...”
“What, Tifa?” he coaxed, even as he leaned forward, pressing her flush against Fenrir from breasts to groin. “What do you need?” His fingers closed over hers where they were still wound tightly around the handlebars.
Sandwiched between him and the leather seat, her motions became jerky. “More!” she gasped, and he knew that if her arms had been around his neck, her nails would’ve been digging desperate crescents into his shoulders. “Please, I need it. Let me! I need--”
“To come?” the question was breathed into her ear, impossibly calm, and she cried out in wordless agreement. His hand on the throttle flexed, wrist turning. “Come on then, Tifa. Come for me.”
Everything flashed white, and for a few, blissfully long moments she knew nothing but how fantastically good it felt to clench tight around him. His hips held hers still against the steady thrum of the bike, hard and insistent, making sure she had what she needed to ride the fine edge of pleasure past the breaking point. Distantly, she was aware that he followed her over, his groan echoing from the walls around them as her louder scream faded.
“This,” she panted, once she was coherent enough to do more than moan, “is why I don’t wear skirts more often. It’s too dangerous around you.”
His breathing was calmer than hers, but still more rapid than usual as he nudged her chin, encouraging her to turn her head. “This,” he countered, feathering kisses over her lips between breaths, “is why you should wear a skirt every day.”
She had to concede he had a point.
Author: sekiharatae
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex. Also, I don't really know what I'm talking about. This could be unintentionally comedic.
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cloud/Tifa: sex on the back of a motorcycle - leather and oil and hot metal
Word count: 1560
Summary: Pretty much what the prompt says. PWP.
A/N: This was due on the 21st. I'm sorry I'm so very late.
She should have known he was planning something, when she stepped into the garage and he stopped dead before breaking into a slow, pleased smile. His gaze rolled over her, from the tips of her sneakers to the braid in her hair, and his eyes were a hot, vibrant blue when they met hers.
“I just finished giving Fenrir a tune-up,” he said. “Would you like to come for a test drive?” As he spoke he swung one leg over the bike, bracing himself before holding out a hand in invitation.
Denzel and Marlene were occupied, and the bar wouldn’t open for a few hours yet, so she shrugged and nodded, and grabbed the extra set of goggles from the peg by the door.
But when she went to hop on behind him, his smile widened and he shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he told her, “you caused enough trouble last time.” She blinked innocently back at him, containing her giggle only through dint of effort: her wandering hands had proven to be quite the road hazard, forcing him to pull over in order to get things under control again. Tugging her forward, he helped her settle herself in front of him. Since he moved only the smallest fraction to give her space, she ended up essentially in his lap: bottom snugged into the cradle of his thighs, body angled forward into the fuel tank.
Wriggling a bit, she braced her hands in front of her and eyed him over her shoulder. “Are you sure this will work?”
Cloud’s eyes were masked, but the curve of his mouth was temptation incarnate: knowing and just a bit wicked.
“I’m sure,” he answered, leaning forward to grasp the handlebars. The shift in position forced her to mimic his posture, and she slipped a bit further back in the seat, under the shelter of his lean form. “It’s a little close,” he admitted, his breath warm against her temple, “but you don’t mind being close to me, do you, Tifa?” Voice dark and faintly suggestive, he followed the question with a brush of his lips along her throat, one hand sliding between her and the bike to urge her flush against him. Swallowing, her body suddenly tense and overly aware, she shook her head. Low, masculine laughter teased the sensitive shell of her ear as he started the engine, the appreciative sound prompting a shiver. “Hold on,” he warned, arms braced on either side of her, and kicked Fenrir into motion.
Riding in front of him, his body hard and strong behind and above her, the bike rumbling beneath, was distinctly different. Cloud was in his element, moving with the same innate grace and surety he used when fighting, handling the bike with a skill that was just on the safe side of reckless, Fenrir perfectly responsive to his every whim. Being in the middle of the communion between man and machine felt somehow safer and simultaneously more dangerous than riding pillion.
It was also considerably more arousing. The scent of man and leather mingled with oil and hot metal, saturating her awareness, surrounding her with the oddly primal fragrance. Behind her she could feel his length, already hard and assertive, rubbing against her through their clothes as the steady vibration of the engine awakened the tangle of nerves between her legs.
Once they were under way he ground himself against her, testing her interest; Tifa pushed back instinctively, the slight motion of her hips all the acceptance he needed. His right hand briefly fell from the grip to close gently behind her knee, coaxing her to lift her leg and tuck her foot behind his calf, before repeating the motion on the other side. Soft knit fabric stretched over her spread thighs, the new position widening her stance, opening her further, pressing her tighter against Fenrir.
Her hips arched of their own accord as she exclaimed his name on a gasp. With their heads so close together, of course he heard.
“Good?” he asked, teeth catching on her earlobe as her cheeks flushed in response. She nodded and he smiled, then his wrist moved, revving the engine higher.
Biting her lip, head back and firm against his shoulder, she came in a rush. It was a small thing compared to what he could give her with the stroke of his hands or cock or tongue, but still heady and welcome. Cloud neither helped nor hindered, just let it happen as he crooned wordless appreciation, enjoying the feel of her taut and trembling everywhere they touched. When it was over, her panties damp and slick, folds wet, she relaxed against him, knowing they weren’t finished. At the speed at which they were moving and the way every bump and ripple in the road forced her harder against Fenrir’s constant vibration, additional stimulation was a given. His arousal also waited, hard and eager where it was snugged up against her bottom, promising there was more in store.
She moaned at the realization that her body was already straining toward another climax, felt his chest vibrate against her shoulders in response, although whether the noise he made was amusement or anticipation, she couldn’t say. The pleasure was coming too easily to be overwhelming or truly gratifying, but the rising crest of sensation was still sinfully good, and she gave herself over willingly. When it passed, her hands were tight around his forearms, eyes closed, mouth open to gasp for breath.
Body wanton and empty, it wasn’t enough. He’d long since taught her to need the press of his strong fingers or hard cock; denied either, internal muscles clenched in futile desire, hungry and unsatisfied.
Raising her hand she curved her fingers along his jaw, turned her head to graze his lips with her own. “Cloud,” she murmured against his skin, just slightly pleading, her hips moving restlessly, seeking more.
She thought his mouth quirked in response.
Then his palm was skimming over her flat stomach, inching fabric out of the way to slide inside her waistband. The ball of his hand came hard against her mound, urging her back against him and rotating firmly. Fingertips searched further, seeking lush welcome to gentle his touch as he circled her clit. She whimpered, wanting him inside, as she tightened and burst a third time.
Better, but still lacking.
Her slim form was arched like a bow, head back and the fingers of both hands clenched in his shirt, mindless and needy, when Cloud brought Fenrir to a smooth halt in a shadowed alley, somewhere deep in the ruins of Midgar. Neither really cared where, provided it was away from prying eyes. Nudging the stand down with his foot, he braced his legs on either side and teased her fingers loose so he could ease her forward enough to free his erection. Then he tugged her skirt up, shoved the soaked fabric of her panties out of the way, and drove home.
Tifa keened, hands sliding across the bike’s sleek shell, seeking purchase.
Gloved fingers wrapped around hers, guided their grip to the handlebars, showed her how to work the throttle. Warm, affectionate laughter played against her skin when she was too far gone to learn or care. Satisfied just to let the machine idle, he began a gentle rhythm, palms curved around her waist.
As her pleasure sounds grew louder, more desperate, he increased the pace and force of his thrusts. Each one briefly compelled greater contact between her aching clit and the tantalizing vibration of the bike, but the low rumble wasn’t enough to push her over.
“Please, Cloud,” she begged, hips moving in small, frantic circles under his steadying hands, “I need... I need...”
“What, Tifa?” he coaxed, even as he leaned forward, pressing her flush against Fenrir from breasts to groin. “What do you need?” His fingers closed over hers where they were still wound tightly around the handlebars.
Sandwiched between him and the leather seat, her motions became jerky. “More!” she gasped, and he knew that if her arms had been around his neck, her nails would’ve been digging desperate crescents into his shoulders. “Please, I need it. Let me! I need--”
“To come?” the question was breathed into her ear, impossibly calm, and she cried out in wordless agreement. His hand on the throttle flexed, wrist turning. “Come on then, Tifa. Come for me.”
Everything flashed white, and for a few, blissfully long moments she knew nothing but how fantastically good it felt to clench tight around him. His hips held hers still against the steady thrum of the bike, hard and insistent, making sure she had what she needed to ride the fine edge of pleasure past the breaking point. Distantly, she was aware that he followed her over, his groan echoing from the walls around them as her louder scream faded.
“This,” she panted, once she was coherent enough to do more than moan, “is why I don’t wear skirts more often. It’s too dangerous around you.”
His breathing was calmer than hers, but still more rapid than usual as he nudged her chin, encouraging her to turn her head. “This,” he countered, feathering kisses over her lips between breaths, “is why you should wear a skirt every day.”
She had to concede he had a point.