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Zack kisses like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to do.
Which, is not to say his kisses are bad, in any way, as much as they are… intense. Even the little pecks on the lips (which sometimes turn into three and four pecks on the lips) make Cloud a little flustered, if not for the fact it’s simply Zack kissing him, than for the fact Zack makes sure each kiss is not only a whisper or lips against each other, but a full on reunion of familiar flesh. Each one holds meaning, be it a simple “love you” to something more deep, like other words Zack is a little too prideful about speaking. “Thank you for being here” and “I hope we can be together again soon” are usually the phrases he means, with kisses like such.
When there’s more time, when there’s less personal space and less “me’s” and “mine’s” between the two, Zack kisses like a drowning man fighting for air.
Again, not that he’s bad at it, but that the action itself is deep and a little mind-numbing, if anything. His tongue knows just how to pry Cloud’s mouth open (“pry” is not the correct word—“assist” is better) and lap in all the right places, all the ways that make Cloud breathe a little bit heavier through his nose, make his hands grab a little more desperately at leather suspender-straps. He wants, he wants so much, and legitimately knowing that Zack will appease him, will make sure everything’s taken care of even before the next shift of grunts take their place at sentry duty, makes pleasure shoot through each one of Cloud’s nerves and give him goosebumps like he’s never felt before.
It’s not that they don’t like taking their time, so much as there just isn’t enough time to waste with petty things, like casual eye movements and admiration of such and such a feature. Not that these things go undone, because one of Zack’s absolute favorite things in exchanges like these is to see how red Cloud’s face can go when he compliments him on parts of his anatomy that never see the light of day, or other little things he can think of and notice when they’re like this, intertwined to the point where separating might actually be painful.
Undressing is easy—there is not much of “let me undo your belt for you” or “I’ll unbutton your shirt for you”. Though such actions may seem intimate, they waste time, and neither Cloud nor Zack is very patient with waiting enough for such petty things, not when they can be done quicker, not when they can be naked together faster.
The act itself is not as hasty, not as hectic. Hell, it takes a awhile to get into, because if it’s not Cloud marveling at mako-infused eyes and tracing meaningless patterns along one solid, perfectly-sculpted body anchored above him, it’s Zack adoring the pale, unabused body below him—one that isn’t riddled with scars and etchings of war, one that hasn’t suffered life-threatening blows.
Zack adores and loves and appreciates, embarrasses and embraces the blond, the kid of only seventeen that mumbles about just how badly he wishes to be like him, a real SOLDIER. Which is to say, being such is great, but it’s not really something one desires to be told in bed; work and sex should be separate worlds, and although Cloud is a part of both, Zack discourages speaking about it in general.
So he hushes him, speaks in a low voice that he loves, loves, loves this boy, that nothing on the entire planet matters in bed; not work, not duty, not anything but each other. Cloud face hits one of Zack’s favorite shades of pink, and the elder can’t help his grin nor when his lips automatically go pressing against Cloud’s, to speak a language that doesn’t involve words.
It’s not shagging, and it’s not fucking. It’s barely even sex, in Cloud’s mind, because the amount of tenderness, the utter devotion and slowness that Zack uses can’t possibly be something so simple and plain; Cloud knows for a definite fact that, if Zack so held a desire to, he could crush his throat, snap his neck in one hand, probably.
But he doesn’t, and that’s what holds meaning, what holds depth and devotion behind it. Because Zack does everything, makes sure there’s a pillow under Cloud’s hips if Cloud could use a little help on the angle. He makes sure nothing is too painful or if one bit is particularly uncomfortable, he makes sure not to do it again. He’s slow and attentive, even when it aches not to move just that little bit, or to slam into Cloud relentlessly—the care he shows for the younger boy is literally astonishing.
And if it so happens that Cloud might not get release from Zack rocking into him, from feeling stone-solid abs flex and contract against his belly and puffs of moans from the fighter against his shoulder, it’s never over then, not ever. Because Zack will pull away, will lick his lips like a wolf about to feast on his prey, and he’ll suck the kid off like it were an expected part of the exchange. Even when Cloud jumps from the action, squeaks out a meek, “hey!” in surprise, Zack doesn’t even bat an eyelash, only makes sure he’s holding Cloud’s hips up as a go-ahead for the guy to lose it, to buck and moan and feel good while he sucks the kid’s cock like it’s the last meal he’ll ever get the honor to taste.
(And Zack knows lots about honor.)
After, when the room is silent save for Cloud trying to gather his wits and cease his panting, they lay together, so impossibly together, pressed skin-to-skin from tip to toes in ways that are never routine—fingers interlocked one night may be one laying half-atop the other another night. Ways that are intimate, loving and comforting in all the right ways.
Zack will watch the blond cadet sleep, then, if only for a little bit; Cloud almost always ends up doing so. Peaceful and quiet, a kid who hasn’t had to slaughter a human being personally, who’s only source of distraught will be when he’ll get leave this month to go back home and visit his mom, and how he’ll get some of his wages wired to her so she’ll have enough to eat without him there to help out around the house. Zack feels honored to know even personal details such as these about the kid who lays so close to him, trusts him in so many ways it makes Zack’s head spin a little bit when he tries to think about it.
He leans over to find his pants, to pull out his PHS and fumble to set an alarm to go off in a couple of hours, a good bit before Cloud’s due to his shift of sentry duty for the evening. Only then does the fighter see it fit to sigh in utter content, to shift that little bit against the blond so lost in slumber beside him, and allow himself a moment’s peace.
Such a rare thing, in times of warfare.