Characters: Rude (claim), Tifa, Rude/Tifa
Prompt: #33- Horny (100_situations)
Word Count: 624
Summary: Sometimes things change a little.
Author's Notes: Smuttish material in here. You have been warned.
It was a rare occurrence that his hormones would act up in a way that it interfered with his daily life. He was a calm and reserved man, and he wasn’t a slave to his sexual urges, but it seemed that there were times when she was around that he couldn’t control himself. Times like that made him stop and wonder if what he felt for her was just lust, or love, but her kiss, her smile, that told him is wasn’t just lust. Lust didn’t knock you on your ass like this.
She was always so beautiful to him, a soft gentle face that he couldn’t help but smile in response to.
She never meant to make him lose his control. She did it with such simple things.
She came back into the bedroom, hair dripping, wrapped tightly in some silken robe. She told him Yuffie had bough it for her for her birthday. “A piece of Wutai for you,” the young ninja had said.
What she did was completely innocent: she went to the dresser and started to dig through it to find clothes. So innocent that it shouldn’t have made him lose control, it really shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it sometimes, and his feet seemed to move of their own accord, bring him up behind her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulled her back against him, lips meeting her neck. She squeaked, then shivered, squirming slightly to resume what she had been doing, but he did not let go, did not remove his lips from his neck, his other hand sliding down and untying the knot of her robe.
She breathed out a question, asked him shakily what he was doing, but she got no answer, none except the feather light feeling of his fingers sweeping across her. She shuddered against his grip, squirmed again. He kissed the edge of her mouth, pressing his hand firmly against her, stroking her. She gasped, tilting her head back against his chest, hands grasping tightly at his arms. It was one of his favorite expressions on her: when she tried so hard to pretend she didn’t enjoy what he was doing. It was almost amusing.
His fingers moved in precise motions, his other arm anchoring her to him. Every so often she would squirm, but for the most part she kept her head arched back against him, breathing slowly becoming heavier, shallower, and he waited, ever so patiently, for that telltale sign that she was close: a small, pitiful whimper in the back of her throat. And when he heard it, he smiled against her neck sliding a finger inside of her, listening for that sharp intake of air, then that breathy moaning of his name as his thumb flicked over her swollen clit, sending her over the edge.
He turned her around, pressed his lips against hers, and she returned the kiss, arms locking tightly around his neck as he hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, afraid to fall even though she knew he would never drop her: it was merely instinct. He could have taken her right there, he reasoned, but even when a slave to his hormones, he was still thoughtful of her, so he opted instead to carry her to the bed, to lay her down, to kiss her flushed flesh, to let her catch her breath before thrusting inside of her, watching her eyes close, hearing her breathe out his name against, softly, almost afraid.
It was times like these, thrusting inside of her, feeling her warmth around him, watching the pleasured look across her face, that he knew this was more than lust.
He had fallen for her, and hard.