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Dark hair - burnished red by firelight - fell past pale shoulders, along a graceful spine, and over sweetly rounded buttocks to pool on the forest floor between strong masculine thighs. Their activity shrouded by a moonless night, Tifa knelt astride Strife's lap: both of them naked, painted with shadows and faint, flickering light from the orange glow of their small fire. His back braced comfortably against the ancient tree under which they'd made camp, hands splayed across her shoulder blades to support the suppliant arch of her body, Strife's fair head moved over the ample swell of her breasts, prompting her to sigh his name in tones of longing.
Watching as slender fingers twined through golden blond spikes, Rude swallowed, imagining it was his lips scattering worshipful kisses over Tifa's soft skin rather than Strife's. The fantasy lasted until her sigh escalated to a breathy plea, and the other man's laughter – husky and complacent – sounded through the otherwise silent night. Strife's narrow features became slightly more pronounced as his lips closed around one pert nipple and began to suck.
Slowly, the motion almost obscured by layers of shadow, Tifa ground herself against Strife's erection. Low, wordless approval issued from the other man's throat, his hands shifting to guide her hips. Denied the rhythm she sought, Tifa keened, and the sound – desperate and needy – shot straight to Rude's groin.
Hot eyes watched avidly as she tossed her head, body bowed and hair rippling with the motion, the long strands brushing restraining hands and coiling over hard muscle in a near-weightless caress. Where Rude would have gasped aloud, savoring the light touch of those gorgeous tresses, Strife ignored it, continuing his ministrations. That control both angered the Turk, and left him envious. Tifa deserved a man who would answer her passion with his; Strife's lack of reaction struck him as cold, even given the emotionless mask the ex-SOLDIER tended to wear.
Rude would have let her know he was a man, not a machine.
Needing to see her face, he moved stealthily around the edge of the clearing, keeping to the shadows and trees so the firelight wouldn't reflect off his eyes or head. He came to a stop behind and a bit to the left of Strife, with a clear view of Tifa's enraptured features over the other man's shoulder.
Just in time to hear her keen Strife's name. Rude's arousal jerked at the blatantly needy sound, his gaze captured by the motion of his rival's hand, sliding between pale thighs.
"More. Oh Cloud, more!"
Breathy and pleading, her words prompted a low-voiced and indistinct reply, little more than a husky rumble on the night air. The tendons in Strife's wrist corded, and then Tifa was crying out again, things Rude had fantasized her saying to him on more than one occasion.
Closing his eyes he took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that this was a surveillance job, not a peep show – despite the opinions to the contrary made by his heart rate and erection. He opened them to find the other man flat on his back, with his head between Tifa's spread thighs. She leaned forward as he watched, bracing her hands against the tree, the position once more obscuring his view of her face and breasts.
The next few minutes were torture. He knew what Strife was doing, and was himself fiercely hungry for the taste of this woman. Hearing her greedy little sounds of pleasure was almost enough to make him spill in his pants, he wanted her that badly. At the same time, he was a bit shocked that Strife would choose to position her above him, where she had more control. The other man was obviously a demanding and dominant lover - more so than Rude - and he would never have submitted himself, not even for Tifa.
When her voice rose in a steady chant, endlessly repeating a plea for Strife not to stop, he realized that the other man had conceded nothing. Tifa's release would be how and when Strife chose to give it to her.
Bastard.
She came with a drawn out scream, completely uninhibited and ecstatic; and Rude was forced to take himself in hand as it rang out, fingers tight at the base of his shaft and tugging on his balls to keep from coming. Shiva. He'd never heard a woman scream herself breathless like that - from sexual pleasure alone - much less made it happen himself.
Jealousy surged higher, hot and fierce. Where previously Rude had considered Strife nothing more than an impediment, a trouble-maker the boss wanted him to keep tabs on, now he found he was quickly coming to hate the other man.
Mouth, nose and chin all glistening faintly with the evidence of Tifa's enjoyment, Strife slid from between her thighs. He paused only to rub his face on the blanket beneath them before sealing his body to hers, back to chest. They moved together at a leisurely pace, punctuated with repeated, exhaled sighs of Strife's name. The other man murmured in reply, his voice a low growl. Unable to look away, Rude curled thick fingers around his erection and stroked in time to their coupling, letting himself pretend the words that began to tumble from Tifa's panting mouth were for him.
"Want you," she moaned, and he held himself tighter. "Need you!" escaped as a whimpering cry, and his hand moved a little faster. "Yes! I'm yours! I'm yours!"
Fuck. His whole body jerked at the sound of that passion-laced avowal. She should be mine. Would be, if Strife had just stayed wherever the hell he'd disappeared to when Fair died. He knew it was a lie even as he thought it, but didn't care. At least he'd had more of a chance before Strife came out of nowhere, insinuating himself into AVALANCHE and Seventh Heaven practically over night. Tifa had shown as much interest in Rude as she did anyone else, until Strife had swept her off her feet without even trying.
Rude sucked in a deep breath between his teeth, pushing the banked anger aside in favor of enjoying his fantasy as it played to the soundtrack of Tifa's passion. Faintly, he heard the rumble of the other man's voice, the words indistinct, the tone demanding; and Tifa's rose in response, ringing through the clearing.
"I'm yours! Yours! Only yours!" The words were desperate and pleading, pushing him over the edge. Rude came in his fist as he watched Strife slam forward and then stop, Tifa suddenly going wild in his arms. It was the only way to describe it: head back and tossing, whole body trembling and spasming as she cried out.
Gaze rapt, captivated by the spectacle, Rude collapsed slowly to his knees. He gasped for air, and dark blue eyes, glowing from within, snapped up to meet his own. A self-satisfied smirk played around the other man's mouth, and at that moment Rude knew Strife had been aware of his presence all along. He knew I was watching, and put on a show! His hands clenched into fists, filled with impotent fury that anyone would treat Tifa like an object - would put her on display.
Strife shifted, taking Tifa with him as he leaned forward, sheltering her slender, still-trembling form with his own. Faster than Rude could blink, his rival's attitude changed from smugly passionate to fiercely protective, the mako in his eyes blazing a warning.
Rude swallowed, re-evaluating his opinion. Strife hadn't been putting on a show, he'd been giving a demonstration. Making it clear that Tifa was his – his and supremely content. She was out of Rude's league and out of his reach. The glare in those blue eyes belied his otherwise emotionless expression, making it clear that this had been a one-time lesson, to be kept between the two of them.
Almost like a courtesy, from one man who knew what it was like to long for something - hopelessly and completely - to another.
A repeat wouldn't be tolerated. The next time Rude felt like watching would be the last time he saw anything, ever, if Strife had his way.
Strife's blond head jerked in dismissal, their entire exchange having taken only a few heartbeats, and turned all of his attention to the woman in his arms.
For the first time, his words were clear and audible, carrying through the clearing as he gathered Tifa close: "Shhh, I've got you. It's alright."
Rubbing his fingers clean with a handful of leaves, Rude struggled to his feet, fastened his pants, and quietly disappeared into the night.