Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ "Dream of Me" Alternate Ending ❯ Alone Together ( Chapter 10 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Masamune's Song 
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.09.2007 | Updated On: 07.17.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 500 | Status: Completed
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.09.2007 | Updated On: 07.17.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 500 | Status: Completed
“Have some wine,” he was saying, “You look shaken.”
Aeris tried to still the trembling in her limbs. She could not look at him, dared not.
The pain. She could still feel it with more clarity than anything around her. She still shivered from the absolute coldness in his eyes. Mako-green cat’s eyes watching her die.
He pressed a glass--filled unfashionably high-into her trembling hands.
Abruptly he jerked his head back toward Sandria and barked, “I said clean it up!” Aeris flinched more than Sandria did and wine sloshed in its crystal glass.
The blonde woman went white, then red. When she was this angry, some of her beauty slipped, because her skin went splotchy and her blue eyes clouded.
“Of course, my lord, I simply did not understand-”
Sephiroth snapped his fingers at her.
Aeris watched the other woman rise and, gracefully, kneel down, making the act of gathering scattered china as provocative as possible. She was deliberately showing off her curves, stretching the silky fabric of her dress to reveal as much thigh as possible, and her position on her knees made her highly-visible cleavage even more visible.
Sephiroth wasn’t watching.
He was staying close to Aeris, leaning against the table in front of her.
An unnecessarily loud “thud!” of a closing door announced Sandria’s departure.
Aeris had already finished the glass.
“More?” He seemed amused.
Aeris flushed, particularly when she saw that the bottle of wine he’d poured had to be twice as old as she was.
She hadn’t even tasted it, only been aware of its warmth spreading down her chest, bringing life back to her limbs.
She shook her head as he plucked the wineglass from her fingers. Somehow, she felt naked without it, and her hands went immediately to her apron, where she tried to get some of the drying dinner-sauces off her hands.
How ridiculous I must look to him! But she managed to whisper, “Thank you.”
He leaned over and dampened a linen napkin in the carafe of water beside him. When Aeris risked a glance up at him, she could not help but note the lean, aristocratic build, and the fluid, leonine grace to all his movements. He reached out then, and gently but insistently, took one of her hands and began sponging it with the damp cloth.
She was acutely conscious of the blister that had developed as she scrubbed the floors. And there was no question of his not noticing, because he worked with painstaking slowness over every part of her hands.
Was it only the cold water that made her shiver?
The silence stretched on, heavy with suggestion, until he turned his cat’s eyes on her without pausing in his ministrations.
“Now then,” he said, “What frightened you?”
Fear became her.
It widened her green eyes, turning them to starlight and emeralds, and she trembled like spring grass.
But something-some emotion he did not know how to name-kept him from truly enjoying the sight of her like this. It had to do with the connection he sensed between them- a deep, soul-alignment that made physical touch both unnecessary and inescapable.
For an odd moment, he had wanted to be like the wine-warming her, smoothing away the rigidity of fear.
This kind of stirring was foreign to him. Particularly since he was accustomed to displays of fear. From his women, they were usually false-hoping to coerce him with doe-eyed trepidation. From those less “close” to him, the fear was real-but also well-warranted.
Another soul’s fear almost never played upon his emotions. This was unfamiliar ground, and the soldier in him was wary of a trap.
Why could he not simply enjoy the way her sun-bronzed cheeks paled slightly, the way her ragged breathing suggested other sensations?
If Sandria had been half so lovely when she was afraid, he would have kept her frightened indefinately.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The two women could not be more opposite.
He had met Sandria at a ball after tiring of a black-eyed beauty with a jewlery fetish. Presumably it was a ball, but every eligible girl, and few not-strictly eligible ones, were busy displaying themselves to greatest advantage before him. After a half-hour of stuffy air and sickly-sweet perfume, he had pointed and said to Reno and Rude, “That one,” then retired for the evening.
They had brought the wrong woman. Sephiroth had actually been pointing to a blue-eyed, auburn-haired girl nearby, but he had not bothered to correct the mistake.
But Aeris . . .
Instead of a stuffy, opulent room--barren rock and chill winds. Aeris had approached him during one of his moody spells. One of the days when those who valued their necks avoided him. He had noted her approach without showing he was noted it-listening to the soft sand crunching under her feet. She had come offering- what? A flower? Talk of being the last Cetra?
Understanding.
That was five years ago, and had he not found her himself, he would have paid the two-million gil reward without a second thought, and considered the money well-spent. For her, he had stalked through vacant alleys, passing sewers boiling with foul-smelling steam, through black city darkness and pools of artificial light. Always, always, feeling her presence just ahead, maddening in her nearness.
He was hunting her still.
A hunt-or a dance.
In her slight form he sensed a vast power, and he was grappling with her for that power- either to absorb it, or destroy it. When she was here, close to him like this, he could sense it: vibrant and stirring, as if the silver strands of the Lifestream itself were being strummed, and he could almost, almost hear their melody.
As he listened for the silent song emanating from her, the alien emotion-the one he could not name- grew stronger.
He wanted to reach out to her. Feel her curl into him, melting against him, clinging to him just as she had when he had sped through the sky with her-quickening his flight deliberately so that her small hands would clutch at him for safety and warmth. But this time he wanted her to soften for him, wanted her to nestle, reassured, against his chest.
What was this feeling?
Could it be--pity?
You stupid, pathetic bastard. The inner voice was sneering, distinctly Hojo’s now. Look at you-falling for every cheap whore trick she tosses you. Can’t you see she’s using you? Waaa! I’m the last Cetra! I’m a poor, helpless female, rescue me! And you--you eat it up like the besotted fool you are. Kill her! Kill her now! Kill her you stupid, goddamn ignorant fuck!
No emotion played on his face, only shadows from the fire in the grate flickered over his features.
No emotion played on his face, only the shadows from the fire in the grate flickered over his features.
Aeris felt her breathing steady a little. She was still embarrassed, which was his fault. She would feel less shabby if she wasn’t dressed in a maid’s costume, if he wasn’t so clearly at an advantage.
Planet! Oh, Planet, help me! I’m alone in a room with him--my killer!
Hush, child. You share a destiny. Not a fate. You may be bound together, but the nature of that binding is your choice and his.
But he’s dangerous! Oh, Planet, get me out of here!
“Well?” his voice was soft, sinuous. “What was it that frightened you so badly?”
She shook her head, dropping her gaze. “It was nothing.”
He picked up her other hand and began attending to it. “Ahh,” he murmured, “So my little flower girl is a liar.”
She wanted to retort, but it had been a lie. She faltered.
Should I really try to explain? How can I?
She could hardly think with him leaning toward her like this, how could she hope to try to explain a feeling that was hers and the Planet’s alone?
She risked looking into his mako-green eyes, which were still on her-watching her. Waiting.
She swallowed. “I can . . . hear the planet. And sometimes I can see the Lifestream. See, the Lifestream doesn’t only connect the living with the dead and back again, but it also connects other, mirror-images of the planet. Turns of the Cycle, I call them. They are other paths that I, or those around me, could have walked . . . I was afraid- because I saw one just now where you- murdered me. And I felt like that world was the real world, and this world was just a vision--I could feel it all. Masamune--cut through my heart, I think.”
You see, Sephiroth? I dream of you even while I’m awake.
He had paused in his cleaning and listened, intently. She searched his face for any sign of mockery or derision, but there was none. He only nodded, looking like he believed her completely--like it never occurred to him to doubt her. Even if he had just called her a liar.
“Ah… that explains it,” he said softly, as if she had answered something he had long been wondering about her. “But I am not that Sephiroth, correct?”
“No,” she flushed again, although she wasn’t really sure why. “It’s just--it hurt so much--”
“I’m not hurting you now.”
He slid off the table and leaned closer to her, raising her fingers to his mouth. Slowly, his sensuous lips parted and he slid one of her fingers into his mouth, like a cat licking her clean. Icy fire shot through her veins and she shivered more violently than ever. Part of her wanted to jerk her hand away, but she knew it was impossible-and not merely because his grip was stronger. She could only watch, breathless, as he tasted the next finger, then the next. She could not even tear her gaze away from the sight of him standing before her, eyes closed, drawing each of her fingers between his lips.
Then he straightened, and he pulled her up after him. Holding her by the wrists, he moved one of her arms around him, pressing her hand to his side, as if they were about to dance together.
She did not try to move away, although it left mere inches between them and the heat from his body was filling her senses, making her giddy and pliant.
He took her remaining hand and raised it to his mouth again, kissing her palm, her wrist, making her skin burn wherever his lips touched.
Then he lowered that hand, too, to his waist, so she was holding him in a loose embrace.
Strong hands slid down her sides, coming to rest on the apron strings-which zipped open, letting the white fabric flutter to the floor between them.
Her throat went dry.
Aeris tried to still the trembling in her limbs. She could not look at him, dared not.
The pain. She could still feel it with more clarity than anything around her. She still shivered from the absolute coldness in his eyes. Mako-green cat’s eyes watching her die.
He pressed a glass--filled unfashionably high-into her trembling hands.
Abruptly he jerked his head back toward Sandria and barked, “I said clean it up!” Aeris flinched more than Sandria did and wine sloshed in its crystal glass.
The blonde woman went white, then red. When she was this angry, some of her beauty slipped, because her skin went splotchy and her blue eyes clouded.
“Of course, my lord, I simply did not understand-”
Sephiroth snapped his fingers at her.
Aeris watched the other woman rise and, gracefully, kneel down, making the act of gathering scattered china as provocative as possible. She was deliberately showing off her curves, stretching the silky fabric of her dress to reveal as much thigh as possible, and her position on her knees made her highly-visible cleavage even more visible.
Sephiroth wasn’t watching.
He was staying close to Aeris, leaning against the table in front of her.
An unnecessarily loud “thud!” of a closing door announced Sandria’s departure.
Aeris had already finished the glass.
“More?” He seemed amused.
Aeris flushed, particularly when she saw that the bottle of wine he’d poured had to be twice as old as she was.
She hadn’t even tasted it, only been aware of its warmth spreading down her chest, bringing life back to her limbs.
She shook her head as he plucked the wineglass from her fingers. Somehow, she felt naked without it, and her hands went immediately to her apron, where she tried to get some of the drying dinner-sauces off her hands.
How ridiculous I must look to him! But she managed to whisper, “Thank you.”
He leaned over and dampened a linen napkin in the carafe of water beside him. When Aeris risked a glance up at him, she could not help but note the lean, aristocratic build, and the fluid, leonine grace to all his movements. He reached out then, and gently but insistently, took one of her hands and began sponging it with the damp cloth.
She was acutely conscious of the blister that had developed as she scrubbed the floors. And there was no question of his not noticing, because he worked with painstaking slowness over every part of her hands.
Was it only the cold water that made her shiver?
The silence stretched on, heavy with suggestion, until he turned his cat’s eyes on her without pausing in his ministrations.
“Now then,” he said, “What frightened you?”
Fear became her.
It widened her green eyes, turning them to starlight and emeralds, and she trembled like spring grass.
But something-some emotion he did not know how to name-kept him from truly enjoying the sight of her like this. It had to do with the connection he sensed between them- a deep, soul-alignment that made physical touch both unnecessary and inescapable.
For an odd moment, he had wanted to be like the wine-warming her, smoothing away the rigidity of fear.
This kind of stirring was foreign to him. Particularly since he was accustomed to displays of fear. From his women, they were usually false-hoping to coerce him with doe-eyed trepidation. From those less “close” to him, the fear was real-but also well-warranted.
Another soul’s fear almost never played upon his emotions. This was unfamiliar ground, and the soldier in him was wary of a trap.
Why could he not simply enjoy the way her sun-bronzed cheeks paled slightly, the way her ragged breathing suggested other sensations?
If Sandria had been half so lovely when she was afraid, he would have kept her frightened indefinately.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The two women could not be more opposite.
He had met Sandria at a ball after tiring of a black-eyed beauty with a jewlery fetish. Presumably it was a ball, but every eligible girl, and few not-strictly eligible ones, were busy displaying themselves to greatest advantage before him. After a half-hour of stuffy air and sickly-sweet perfume, he had pointed and said to Reno and Rude, “That one,” then retired for the evening.
They had brought the wrong woman. Sephiroth had actually been pointing to a blue-eyed, auburn-haired girl nearby, but he had not bothered to correct the mistake.
But Aeris . . .
Instead of a stuffy, opulent room--barren rock and chill winds. Aeris had approached him during one of his moody spells. One of the days when those who valued their necks avoided him. He had noted her approach without showing he was noted it-listening to the soft sand crunching under her feet. She had come offering- what? A flower? Talk of being the last Cetra?
Understanding.
That was five years ago, and had he not found her himself, he would have paid the two-million gil reward without a second thought, and considered the money well-spent. For her, he had stalked through vacant alleys, passing sewers boiling with foul-smelling steam, through black city darkness and pools of artificial light. Always, always, feeling her presence just ahead, maddening in her nearness.
He was hunting her still.
A hunt-or a dance.
In her slight form he sensed a vast power, and he was grappling with her for that power- either to absorb it, or destroy it. When she was here, close to him like this, he could sense it: vibrant and stirring, as if the silver strands of the Lifestream itself were being strummed, and he could almost, almost hear their melody.
As he listened for the silent song emanating from her, the alien emotion-the one he could not name- grew stronger.
He wanted to reach out to her. Feel her curl into him, melting against him, clinging to him just as she had when he had sped through the sky with her-quickening his flight deliberately so that her small hands would clutch at him for safety and warmth. But this time he wanted her to soften for him, wanted her to nestle, reassured, against his chest.
What was this feeling?
Could it be--pity?
You stupid, pathetic bastard. The inner voice was sneering, distinctly Hojo’s now. Look at you-falling for every cheap whore trick she tosses you. Can’t you see she’s using you? Waaa! I’m the last Cetra! I’m a poor, helpless female, rescue me! And you--you eat it up like the besotted fool you are. Kill her! Kill her now! Kill her you stupid, goddamn ignorant fuck!
No emotion played on his face, only shadows from the fire in the grate flickered over his features.
No emotion played on his face, only the shadows from the fire in the grate flickered over his features.
Aeris felt her breathing steady a little. She was still embarrassed, which was his fault. She would feel less shabby if she wasn’t dressed in a maid’s costume, if he wasn’t so clearly at an advantage.
Planet! Oh, Planet, help me! I’m alone in a room with him--my killer!
Hush, child. You share a destiny. Not a fate. You may be bound together, but the nature of that binding is your choice and his.
But he’s dangerous! Oh, Planet, get me out of here!
“Well?” his voice was soft, sinuous. “What was it that frightened you so badly?”
She shook her head, dropping her gaze. “It was nothing.”
He picked up her other hand and began attending to it. “Ahh,” he murmured, “So my little flower girl is a liar.”
She wanted to retort, but it had been a lie. She faltered.
Should I really try to explain? How can I?
She could hardly think with him leaning toward her like this, how could she hope to try to explain a feeling that was hers and the Planet’s alone?
She risked looking into his mako-green eyes, which were still on her-watching her. Waiting.
She swallowed. “I can . . . hear the planet. And sometimes I can see the Lifestream. See, the Lifestream doesn’t only connect the living with the dead and back again, but it also connects other, mirror-images of the planet. Turns of the Cycle, I call them. They are other paths that I, or those around me, could have walked . . . I was afraid- because I saw one just now where you- murdered me. And I felt like that world was the real world, and this world was just a vision--I could feel it all. Masamune--cut through my heart, I think.”
You see, Sephiroth? I dream of you even while I’m awake.
He had paused in his cleaning and listened, intently. She searched his face for any sign of mockery or derision, but there was none. He only nodded, looking like he believed her completely--like it never occurred to him to doubt her. Even if he had just called her a liar.
“Ah… that explains it,” he said softly, as if she had answered something he had long been wondering about her. “But I am not that Sephiroth, correct?”
“No,” she flushed again, although she wasn’t really sure why. “It’s just--it hurt so much--”
“I’m not hurting you now.”
He slid off the table and leaned closer to her, raising her fingers to his mouth. Slowly, his sensuous lips parted and he slid one of her fingers into his mouth, like a cat licking her clean. Icy fire shot through her veins and she shivered more violently than ever. Part of her wanted to jerk her hand away, but she knew it was impossible-and not merely because his grip was stronger. She could only watch, breathless, as he tasted the next finger, then the next. She could not even tear her gaze away from the sight of him standing before her, eyes closed, drawing each of her fingers between his lips.
Then he straightened, and he pulled her up after him. Holding her by the wrists, he moved one of her arms around him, pressing her hand to his side, as if they were about to dance together.
She did not try to move away, although it left mere inches between them and the heat from his body was filling her senses, making her giddy and pliant.
He took her remaining hand and raised it to his mouth again, kissing her palm, her wrist, making her skin burn wherever his lips touched.
Then he lowered that hand, too, to his waist, so she was holding him in a loose embrace.
Strong hands slid down her sides, coming to rest on the apron strings-which zipped open, letting the white fabric flutter to the floor between them.
Her throat went dry.