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Cloud blinked, and for the seven hundred and seventy seventh time redirected his gaze from Tifa’s legs to the road ahead. To the distant, vague shape of Kalm, it’s outline growing sharper and more focused with every step. For the moment, the path ahead was clear of monsters, the road flat and barren of interest.
Completing his scan of the terrain, he found his gaze sliding sideways and down of its own volition, once again settling on Tifa's black knit stockings. The dark color somehow made her limbs seem longer, the clinging fabric emphasizing the slender strength of them, and he couldn’t stop himself from pondering what her legs would feel like wrapped around his waist.
He swallowed, then dragged his eyes away, forcing his line of sight back to the front where it belonged. I should have more self-control than this. I’m a SOLDIER first class, not a teenager pining after his first crush!
A sudden spike of pain through his head turned his vision briefly white; wincing, eyes slamming shut, he raised his right hand reflexively as if to ward off or soothe the pain away. The gesture was useless. For a few seconds the sharp ache lingered, before disappearing as abruptly as it came. Slowing his pace for the duration, Cloud kept moving, hoping his lapse would go unnoticed. He hated to see the way Tifa’s eyes darkened and her features twisted with concern each time he had one of these episodes.
Sighing soundlessly as the ache abated, he dropped his hand and reopened his eyes, finding that for once he’d gotten his wish: Barret and Red followed along behind him without comment, while Tifa still paced alongside Aerith a few feet ahead and to his right. And like iron to a lodestone, his gaze sought out the line of demarcation between black fabric and fair skin. This time he didn’t fight it. Just for a few moments, he promised himself. Until his brain settled and his nerves stopped fizzing with phantom impulses.
As a kid, he’d always thought Tifa was pretty, but when they reunited in sector seven, pretty no longer sufficed as a description. All grown up, she was beautiful inside and out, in face, form, and personality. And sweet, and cute, and sexy.
Odin’s short and curlies she was sexy. That long dark hair, those perfect curves... and when she fought...
The first time Cloud saw her in action, it took considerable effort for him to behave normally afterwards. To not let on how affected he was. Because she was hot. Smoldering like the fires of Ifrit hot. Phoenix fire hot. Her body lithe and elegant, movements swift and agile, Tifa performed complicated attacks and finishes with deceptive ease. She was a powerhouse in a delicate, feminine frame, and the combination of beauty, strength, and competence was an incredible turn on.
For Cloud, watching Tifa’s back came naturally, both in battle and out. Maybe even especially out, because she was far too forgiving of people sticking their noses into things that didn’t concern them. Like the item seller. Or that guy complaining about Cloud moving in next to her. Or the randos calling out questions about who he was and why they were together. Or that idiot Johnny. Especially Johnny. Fortunately, mako eyes proved effective at glaring most into silence, encouraging people to mind their own business.
He could understand their interest, up to a point. Even with his SOLDIER discipline, he sometimes had to remind himself not to let his gaze linger overlong. Because this was Tifa. Feminine perfection. Temptation incarnate. But ogling and jealousy-fueled shouting crossed the line from admiration to outright creep. Women deserved to be treated with respect, Tifa most of all.
Which was why Cloud was so disgusted with his current inability to control himself and stop staring. Even after that moment in her apartment, when she asked him what would look best on her and all but invited him to look his fill, he hadn’t been like this.
There was something about the scant handspan of pale skin bared between the top of her stockings and the bottom of her skirt, and the skin-tight fabric delineating every muscle and curve of her legs, that grabbed his attention and wouldn’t let go. Captivated, he wanted to pull off his gloves and skim her silk-soft skin with the tips of his fingers. Curl his hand around her thigh and feel the warmth of her radiating through the soft cotton, run his palm over the fabric to feel the strength underneath. Wanted to slip his fingers up, under the hem of her skirt, with the knowledge that only he was allowed to take such liberties. That only his explorations were welcome.
And that was when she was wearing plain, serviceable black cotton. When she’d dressed up to interrogate Corneo...
Widening his stance, Cloud adjusted his gait to accommodate his body’s reaction to the memory, vivid and indelible, of Tifa wrapped in pale, coeurl-patterned purple satin, the material clinging to her every curve. Spotting her in Sam’s carriage had been easy: only one head of hair could be that dark and glossy, only one profile so perfect. Focused on where she was going and why, her change of clothing had only registered in a distant, abstract way, and afterwards he’d been preoccupied with making sure she wasn’t in over her head. So it wasn’t until he’d jumped through all of the trio’s hoops and reunited with her in Corneo’s dungeon that he’d had time to actually process what she was wearing.
“Well?” Tone teasing and slightly flirtatious, she’d spread her arms wide to display her finery. Whether it was her delivery or something in her expression, he’d suddenly realized she was wearing exactly the style he’d suggested would look best on her for their date. She’d donned a form fitting, cap-sleeved sheath, the high neckline featuring a cutout displaying her cleavage. The floor-length skirt was slit up to her hip on both sides, showing off her gorgeous legs and allowing for plenty of movement. But what caught and held his attention, had him swallowing reflexively as his heart rate accelerated, were her lace and fishnet stockings. That her hair was up in a pair of soft, messy buns, giving her an air of innocence in contrast to the overt sensuality of her clothing, just made the whole more effective.
Tifa had once asked him if SOLDIERS could read minds. He couldn’t, but she had an uncanny ability to bring to life fantasies he hadn’t even known he had. At least his ridiculous, voluminous skirt had been good for hiding the tell-tale bulge betraying his lack of control.
If plain black cotton tempted him to touch, pale purple fishnet seemed to beg for it. The thin, barely-there barrier created an artificial distance, one that would render each brush of his fingers, each press of his palm, all the more teasing. Her warmth and the hint of skin all the more tantalizing. Cloud wanted to see how long he could resist slipping his fingers beneath that band of lace at the top, how long before he was driven to switch his attentions to her bare skin. He wanted to feel her grow hungry and frustrated as he nuzzled kisses against her inner thigh, the open mesh no barrier to the heat of his breath or the wet stroke of his tongue.
When not focused on fighting or tactics, his head was filled with thoughts of Tifa in nothing but those fishnet stockings, legs clamped tight around his waist, or hips, or back as he thrust deep inside her. Twined around his as he held her open and fingered her to completion. Hooked over his shoulders as he used his mouth. He wondered how the fishnet would feel as her legs slid over his skin, and if she would cling so hard his flesh bore the diamond imprint of it the same as hers. How careful he would need to be to avoid tearing the delicate webbing as his sword-calloused hands wandered.
His favorite image, the one he’d revisited most often since discovering this previously unknown fascination, was of her legs raised and spread, black lace perfectly framing her wet pussy. Of Tifa wanting, waiting, and open, completely his. The thought had his fatigues becoming decidedly tight and uncomfortable, and Cloud shook his head to clear it, fighting the urge to groan in frustration.
Tifa and I aren’t like that, he told himself in an attempt to get this newfound tendency to daydream under control. For all their flirting, for all that she seemed to welcome his touch, they weren’t a couple. Not yet... a voice deep inside him whispered; grimacing, he swiped a hand through his hair as he resolved to ignore it. Usually, that voice guided his interactions with Tifa, but usually it was far more helpful than at present. Even if we were a couple, Tifa might not humor this... kink, or fetish, or whatever it is.
That was a sobering thought, the breath of Shiva he needed to calm both brain and body, at least for the moment. Directing his attention outward–as he should have been all along–Cloud realized he was no longer walking behind Tifa and Aerith, but some slight distance ahead of them. Whether he sped up or they slowed down, the arrangement solved his line of sight issues. It also left him close enough to overhear their conversation, once he was paying attention.
“Think we’ll be able to get a change of clothes in Kalm?” Aerith asked, the words accompanied by a dull slapping sound, as if she was swatting at a smudge of dirt on her dress. “We left in such a hurry there was no time to pack, and my clothes are looking and feeling a bit ripe.”
“Maybe the inn will be able to launder our things,” Tifa suggested. She sighed, something wistful in it. “As impractical as they were, I wish we didn’t have to leave our dresses behind at Corneo’s.” Aerith must have made a face at that, because Tifa started to laugh. “Maybe you didn’t like yours, but mine was made by someone dear to me in sector seven. I wish I could have kept it.”
“Considering how much Madam M spent on mine, if Leslie knows what’s good for him–and it sounds like he’s at least learning–he'll take both dresses back to her for safekeeping.”
“You think so?”
“Yup.” Aerith started to giggle. “Cloud’s too, probably.”
“Be nice!”
His back to them, Cloud allowed himself a smile at the familiar scold, feeling a rush of warmth at Tifa’s unexpected defense.
“I am nice!” Aerith protested, still giggling.
“Uh-huh.” Tifa sighed again, but there was a touch of humor to it. “Well, if you’re wrong, I did at least manage to keep the hair ornaments and stockings. They were small enough to fit in my pockets.”
“And Cloud’s earrings. Needed a memento, huh?”
Aerith’s tone was arch, Tifa’s voice rising in protest, but Cloud was no longer listening.
She kept the stockings. She kept the stockings. She kept the stockings.
Titan’s sweaty thong, I am so fucked.