Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ "Dream of Me" Alternate Ending ❯ Sandria ( Chapter 11 )
[ 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: 2.2K | Visits: 481 | 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: 2.2K | Visits: 481 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: SE owns all this, except for the work on this particular story.
Author's Note: Right, so skip this first bit if you're avoiding the bawdy bits.
This can’t be right. He’s capable of killing me. Any vision that vivid can’t be from a Cycle too far away. He’s capable of killing thousands, even here in this universe. Why should I be any different?
“I should go,” she managed, but her voice quavered.
His hands moved up her ribs. “You forget where you are,” he whispered, “I decide what you should and should not do.”
One arm slipped behind her, and began to pull her inexorably toward him. Their bodies met, and she sucked in her breath, but still he pressed her tight, tighter. His other hand went to her hair-taking out the silver clip that held it up, then raking his fingers through it, massaging her scalp.
Everything about him was this way-harsh and gentle at once. One hand taut around her, the other caressing her hair. The soft, inviting curve of his mouth-the green ice of his eyes.
The hand buried in her hair cupped the back of her head and tilted her face back. Above her, mako-green eyes blazed. Then his lips covered hers-slowly, deliberately. A shudder began in the pit of her belly and spread outward, leaving a wake of warmth and weakness. Her knees went unsteady and she leaned into him more heavily.
His lips moved to her ear. “I’m afraid there will be no escape for you tonight, little flower girl.”
Oh, gods… he’s right. I never could. I never will be able to.
He began to kiss her neck, softly, lightly. It felt like little embers dropping on her skin, or like a string of icicles pricking her, making her pulse hammer and her breath come sharp, ragged gasps.
He was untucking her blouse from the confines of the black skirt, and his warm hands slid up her back, chilling her.
He froze.
Aeris opened passion dilated eyes, coming a little out of the trance he’d woven over her. As soon as her eyes met his, she saw the surprise in them-- and knew what he had found. A blush darkened her cheeks, but she had no time for any other reaction, because Sephiroth seized the collar of her blouse and ripped it-scattering faux pearl buttons.
For a moment, only a moment, his control slipped and he sucked in his breath, staring down at her half-naked body.
He was looking at the scant, silky scrap of fabric that covered her breasts.
Aeris’ blush deepened, but another part of her thrilled at his startled admiration.
The bra was actually one of the more conservative of the “clothes” given her this morning by the household staff. Still, it was the single most scandalous piece of clothing she had ever put on, and she had only done so out of dire necessity.
Since she had not expected to be kidnapped yesterday morning- was it really only yesterday morning?- she had not thought to pack any extra underclothes. So she had no clean bras after the night before, and no panties at all after Sephiroth cut away her underwear. Her underwear was conservative, laceless, concealing--and cheap.
Now she stood before him wearing a white strip of lacy silk that both supported and accentuated her pert breasts-but which barely covered her nipples. Instinctively, she started to cover herself but he pushed her hands away.
“Now, now,” His cool voice had darkened a shade. “None of that.”
She let her hands drop to her sides, but she burned under the mako-green gaze, transfixed on her sloping breasts.
He did not touch her skin, but reached behind her and deftly undid her skirt, letting it slide in gentle folds down her legs, pooling at her feet. The white panties matched the top, tying on the side, white and silky-the color of his hair. The cleft of her womanhood began to throb. With the barest touch to her shoulders, he turned her around before him, moving her in a slow circle, watching the firelight play across her goose-pimpling skin.
Oh, gods! He’s doing it again!
Leaving her naked, without a stich covering her… while he himself stayed clothed.
Would he stop again-as he had this morning- leaving her whole soul shaking and her body pulsing with desperate need?
With one, swift motion, Sephiroth swept the remaining dishes of his placesetting to the floor. The fifty-year old wine, the china crystal, met hardwood floors with a smash.
Then he reached for her.
One arm went around her back, so all she could feel was the smoothe, finely-tailored fabric of his uniform. His mouth covered hers, and her lips parted, inviting his tongue to slide into her. Without breaking the kiss, his other hand slid under her buttocks and lifted her easily to the table.
He bent over her, still locked in a deep, open-mouthed, kiss-- gently plundering her. She lay beneath him, feeling the hard, cold surface of the table beneath her, and the hard, warm surface of his body above her.
He pulled away only to turn his attention to the ivory swells of her breasts, teasing her with kisses along the edge of the bra. Then, carefully, he undid the clasp and the light kisses that grew hotter and more passionate until he drew the tightened amber peaks into his mouth. He was kissing his way down her body now, pressing his face against the swells of her breasts, against the yeilding softness of her belly.
Lower.
No! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t!
Aeris’ eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, gasping. Then his lips and tongue were touching her through the silky cloth, and she lost her balance. Her body jerked spasmodically as heat seared through her. She wanted him to stop. She needed him to continue. But she might have fallen, might have died, and she would not have noticed.
Her breath came in trembling gasps, and she whimpered. She could not see his face, but she felt him smile, his cheeks curving against her thighs.
Then he pulled away.
Aeris lay panting on the table, the room still spinning around her.
“You are proving quite problematic, little flower girl.” Sephiroth’s voice came from one of the tall, bay windows. “When you finish with your duties here, you will find me in my chambers. I have other tasks for you tonight.” He flung open the window and leapt easily into the night, Masamune reflecting back a flash of firelight as he vanished.
Aeris stuffed her shirt in her mouth and screamed.
Ohhh! She would kill him! She would kill him!
If she didn’t die of shame first.
Sandria bit her lip in fury as her high-heels rang out on the flagstone.
She had not expected Lord Sephiroth to appreciate the “reluctant virgin” approach. He tended to be somewhat less-than chivalrous in his designs on women, and he was both hard to satisfy and impatient with ploys.
What was this graceless, shabby wench that he should suddenly change his tactics now?
The women who tried elaborate games with him were the first to go. Sephiroth was not a man who thrilled in the chase, and he could and did tire of women without ever actually bedding them.
That was part of why Sandria had lasted as long as she had. They had a mutual understanding--she would be, at least in his presence, pleasant and even-tempered and always willing. She didn’t have to fake much, though, because pillow-talk praise and false moans of ecstasy annoyed him. Indeed, she annoyed him, whenever she opened her mouth.
Of course, she hated him, too--as a man. But as a status symbol--he was priceless. The way they fawned over her at the market! Jewelry and finely-crafted wares were all hers for free--with the understanding that she would find a prominent place for them in her bedchamber. Men, who had always looked at her appreciatively, now held her in awe.
I had him. I HAD him. Then this snake-eyed, flat-chested SLUT had to come along!
And, she had to admit to herself, her position was precarious now. She had never in her life been reduced to bussing dishes.
I’ve slept with stupid men, ugly men, ancient men-- to AVOID dishes! What am I, a chambermaid? Will he have me scrubbing toilets next?
Or-- floors?
Sandria had never actually been to the kitchen before.
She had almost gone, once or twice, when she considered taking a clandestine lover or two from among the household staff. But, until tonight, she had been the most powerful woman alive--and a little satisfaction in bed was not enough to risk that.
Sephiroth was a miserable lover. He never spoke to her while screwing her, never undressed, did not even pretend she was anything but a hot place between two legs to him. Once he had stopped in the middle of lovemaking to answer three different calls about routine troop movement. During times like that she would sit, smiling beatifically and grind her teeth.
With a toss of her head, Sandria swept into the kitchen.
The clamor of conversation, scrubbing, and pots rattling--all died away. Every eye stared at her as she made her way in with the tray. She dumped the dishes, broken plates and all, into the sink where a man with his sleeves rolled up stood gawking at her.
“I just thought I’d help out,” she said brightly, flashing a sugar smile at the sweaty faces around her.
They’ll see. They’ll all see. Sephiroth will tire of her. And if he doesn’t--well, there are other ways of getting rid of her.
With another brittle smile, she swept out of the kitchen.
A din of voices started up as the door swung shut behind her--and she caught the head cook’s voice clamoring for order.
That whore will pay.
Just a little farther.
Some hubbub toward the kitchen had drawn a number of the household staff, so she managed to make it most of the way to her room unnoticed.
The design of the house was terrible for sneaking. Important, highly-frequented rooms stood next to scarce-used servants' quarters, seeming to follow no pattern except that virtually all of them had a huge, curtainless bay window.
A sudden thought flashed into her mind: The windows open from the outside. It’s designed for someone who can fly.
The awkward distances she had to cross to get to her own wing would be only a short leap across a courtyard for Sephiroth, or maybe two hops from hand-railing to hand-railing.
Maybe it’s supposed to be hard to sneak through . . . A suspicious someone who can fly.
She had redressed herself as best she could, but a number of her blouse’s buttons were simply missing, and the apron did not quite cover the fact that her shirt wasn’t closed. Going to finish up in the kitchen after--after what happened-- was unthinkable. The thought of everyone looking at her--seeing her tousled hair and torn shirt was more than she could stand.
That’s probably how they knew what size bra I wear, she thought, from the last time Sephiroth paraded me around this place without a shirt.
Was it possible to vomit from sheer humiliation?
She would just get to her room, crawl into bed, shiver and hide-- until Sephiroth called for her.
Then what?
She found herself tiptoeing the last few yards. His room was at the end of the hall, and her bedroom just to the right. Was he already in bed? What would she do if he flung open the door and--?
She grasped the handle of her bedroom door, and the heavy oak slid inward soundlessly.
But it wasn’t her room anymore.
Author's Note: Right, so skip this first bit if you're avoiding the bawdy bits.
This can’t be right. He’s capable of killing me. Any vision that vivid can’t be from a Cycle too far away. He’s capable of killing thousands, even here in this universe. Why should I be any different?
“I should go,” she managed, but her voice quavered.
His hands moved up her ribs. “You forget where you are,” he whispered, “I decide what you should and should not do.”
One arm slipped behind her, and began to pull her inexorably toward him. Their bodies met, and she sucked in her breath, but still he pressed her tight, tighter. His other hand went to her hair-taking out the silver clip that held it up, then raking his fingers through it, massaging her scalp.
Everything about him was this way-harsh and gentle at once. One hand taut around her, the other caressing her hair. The soft, inviting curve of his mouth-the green ice of his eyes.
The hand buried in her hair cupped the back of her head and tilted her face back. Above her, mako-green eyes blazed. Then his lips covered hers-slowly, deliberately. A shudder began in the pit of her belly and spread outward, leaving a wake of warmth and weakness. Her knees went unsteady and she leaned into him more heavily.
His lips moved to her ear. “I’m afraid there will be no escape for you tonight, little flower girl.”
Oh, gods… he’s right. I never could. I never will be able to.
He began to kiss her neck, softly, lightly. It felt like little embers dropping on her skin, or like a string of icicles pricking her, making her pulse hammer and her breath come sharp, ragged gasps.
He was untucking her blouse from the confines of the black skirt, and his warm hands slid up her back, chilling her.
He froze.
Aeris opened passion dilated eyes, coming a little out of the trance he’d woven over her. As soon as her eyes met his, she saw the surprise in them-- and knew what he had found. A blush darkened her cheeks, but she had no time for any other reaction, because Sephiroth seized the collar of her blouse and ripped it-scattering faux pearl buttons.
For a moment, only a moment, his control slipped and he sucked in his breath, staring down at her half-naked body.
He was looking at the scant, silky scrap of fabric that covered her breasts.
Aeris’ blush deepened, but another part of her thrilled at his startled admiration.
The bra was actually one of the more conservative of the “clothes” given her this morning by the household staff. Still, it was the single most scandalous piece of clothing she had ever put on, and she had only done so out of dire necessity.
Since she had not expected to be kidnapped yesterday morning- was it really only yesterday morning?- she had not thought to pack any extra underclothes. So she had no clean bras after the night before, and no panties at all after Sephiroth cut away her underwear. Her underwear was conservative, laceless, concealing--and cheap.
Now she stood before him wearing a white strip of lacy silk that both supported and accentuated her pert breasts-but which barely covered her nipples. Instinctively, she started to cover herself but he pushed her hands away.
“Now, now,” His cool voice had darkened a shade. “None of that.”
She let her hands drop to her sides, but she burned under the mako-green gaze, transfixed on her sloping breasts.
He did not touch her skin, but reached behind her and deftly undid her skirt, letting it slide in gentle folds down her legs, pooling at her feet. The white panties matched the top, tying on the side, white and silky-the color of his hair. The cleft of her womanhood began to throb. With the barest touch to her shoulders, he turned her around before him, moving her in a slow circle, watching the firelight play across her goose-pimpling skin.
Oh, gods! He’s doing it again!
Leaving her naked, without a stich covering her… while he himself stayed clothed.
Would he stop again-as he had this morning- leaving her whole soul shaking and her body pulsing with desperate need?
With one, swift motion, Sephiroth swept the remaining dishes of his placesetting to the floor. The fifty-year old wine, the china crystal, met hardwood floors with a smash.
Then he reached for her.
One arm went around her back, so all she could feel was the smoothe, finely-tailored fabric of his uniform. His mouth covered hers, and her lips parted, inviting his tongue to slide into her. Without breaking the kiss, his other hand slid under her buttocks and lifted her easily to the table.
He bent over her, still locked in a deep, open-mouthed, kiss-- gently plundering her. She lay beneath him, feeling the hard, cold surface of the table beneath her, and the hard, warm surface of his body above her.
He pulled away only to turn his attention to the ivory swells of her breasts, teasing her with kisses along the edge of the bra. Then, carefully, he undid the clasp and the light kisses that grew hotter and more passionate until he drew the tightened amber peaks into his mouth. He was kissing his way down her body now, pressing his face against the swells of her breasts, against the yeilding softness of her belly.
Lower.
No! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t!
Aeris’ eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, gasping. Then his lips and tongue were touching her through the silky cloth, and she lost her balance. Her body jerked spasmodically as heat seared through her. She wanted him to stop. She needed him to continue. But she might have fallen, might have died, and she would not have noticed.
Her breath came in trembling gasps, and she whimpered. She could not see his face, but she felt him smile, his cheeks curving against her thighs.
Then he pulled away.
Aeris lay panting on the table, the room still spinning around her.
“You are proving quite problematic, little flower girl.” Sephiroth’s voice came from one of the tall, bay windows. “When you finish with your duties here, you will find me in my chambers. I have other tasks for you tonight.” He flung open the window and leapt easily into the night, Masamune reflecting back a flash of firelight as he vanished.
Aeris stuffed her shirt in her mouth and screamed.
Ohhh! She would kill him! She would kill him!
If she didn’t die of shame first.
***
So that’s the competition, is it?Sandria bit her lip in fury as her high-heels rang out on the flagstone.
She had not expected Lord Sephiroth to appreciate the “reluctant virgin” approach. He tended to be somewhat less-than chivalrous in his designs on women, and he was both hard to satisfy and impatient with ploys.
What was this graceless, shabby wench that he should suddenly change his tactics now?
The women who tried elaborate games with him were the first to go. Sephiroth was not a man who thrilled in the chase, and he could and did tire of women without ever actually bedding them.
That was part of why Sandria had lasted as long as she had. They had a mutual understanding--she would be, at least in his presence, pleasant and even-tempered and always willing. She didn’t have to fake much, though, because pillow-talk praise and false moans of ecstasy annoyed him. Indeed, she annoyed him, whenever she opened her mouth.
Of course, she hated him, too--as a man. But as a status symbol--he was priceless. The way they fawned over her at the market! Jewelry and finely-crafted wares were all hers for free--with the understanding that she would find a prominent place for them in her bedchamber. Men, who had always looked at her appreciatively, now held her in awe.
I had him. I HAD him. Then this snake-eyed, flat-chested SLUT had to come along!
And, she had to admit to herself, her position was precarious now. She had never in her life been reduced to bussing dishes.
I’ve slept with stupid men, ugly men, ancient men-- to AVOID dishes! What am I, a chambermaid? Will he have me scrubbing toilets next?
Or-- floors?
Sandria had never actually been to the kitchen before.
She had almost gone, once or twice, when she considered taking a clandestine lover or two from among the household staff. But, until tonight, she had been the most powerful woman alive--and a little satisfaction in bed was not enough to risk that.
Sephiroth was a miserable lover. He never spoke to her while screwing her, never undressed, did not even pretend she was anything but a hot place between two legs to him. Once he had stopped in the middle of lovemaking to answer three different calls about routine troop movement. During times like that she would sit, smiling beatifically and grind her teeth.
With a toss of her head, Sandria swept into the kitchen.
The clamor of conversation, scrubbing, and pots rattling--all died away. Every eye stared at her as she made her way in with the tray. She dumped the dishes, broken plates and all, into the sink where a man with his sleeves rolled up stood gawking at her.
“I just thought I’d help out,” she said brightly, flashing a sugar smile at the sweaty faces around her.
They’ll see. They’ll all see. Sephiroth will tire of her. And if he doesn’t--well, there are other ways of getting rid of her.
With another brittle smile, she swept out of the kitchen.
A din of voices started up as the door swung shut behind her--and she caught the head cook’s voice clamoring for order.
That whore will pay.
***
Aeris snuck from shadow to shadow.Just a little farther.
Some hubbub toward the kitchen had drawn a number of the household staff, so she managed to make it most of the way to her room unnoticed.
The design of the house was terrible for sneaking. Important, highly-frequented rooms stood next to scarce-used servants' quarters, seeming to follow no pattern except that virtually all of them had a huge, curtainless bay window.
A sudden thought flashed into her mind: The windows open from the outside. It’s designed for someone who can fly.
The awkward distances she had to cross to get to her own wing would be only a short leap across a courtyard for Sephiroth, or maybe two hops from hand-railing to hand-railing.
Maybe it’s supposed to be hard to sneak through . . . A suspicious someone who can fly.
She had redressed herself as best she could, but a number of her blouse’s buttons were simply missing, and the apron did not quite cover the fact that her shirt wasn’t closed. Going to finish up in the kitchen after--after what happened-- was unthinkable. The thought of everyone looking at her--seeing her tousled hair and torn shirt was more than she could stand.
That’s probably how they knew what size bra I wear, she thought, from the last time Sephiroth paraded me around this place without a shirt.
Was it possible to vomit from sheer humiliation?
She would just get to her room, crawl into bed, shiver and hide-- until Sephiroth called for her.
Then what?
She found herself tiptoeing the last few yards. His room was at the end of the hall, and her bedroom just to the right. Was he already in bed? What would she do if he flung open the door and--?
She grasped the handle of her bedroom door, and the heavy oak slid inward soundlessly.
But it wasn’t her room anymore.