Thin Line (Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth/Aerith, thin line between fascination and obsession)1/2
She didn’t know what it was about him that drew her in, and she had a feeling that her thoughts were beginning to border on obsessive. She had noticed everything about him, from the way his hair could look white in the sunlight, to how sometimes the hilt of blade had minimal stains of dried blood on it.
She had known from the start that he was a dangerous man, one her mother would’ve had a heart attack over, had Elmyra known what transpired between them. Had she known how their relationship had moved past being mere acquaintances to companions, and eventually to lovers.
Sephiroth never talked to her about himself, never shared his past or present with her. But despite that, a sort of intimacy had formed between them. One she couldn’t—and had a feeling never would—share with Zack. Sephiroth knew what it was like to be alone, what if felt like to be treated differently. And she somehow imagined that he knew what it felt like to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.
That was why she allowed him to do as he wished with her. She let his mouth brand her shoulders, her breasts, her hips… and lower. She let those hands that had seen war, had caused so much death, touch her in a way that one had before. Her purity had been corrupted, even against the warnings that the planet seemed to whisper in her ear. When he was close, nothing else mattered except the scent of his skin and the rough touch of his hands on her.
Her first time, he had eased her into sex, allowing her body to become used to the new sensations, to lessen the pain as much as possible. But later… later he had stopped the gentle ministrations and showed her the raw, almost animalistic power behind black leather and pale, unmarked skin. Until it didn’t matter where they were. Never in public, because she knew that he had an image to keep, but in the safety of her church, late at night…
Tonight had been such a night. He had only just returned from some mission, and she hadn’t asked questions. She had merely slipped off her pink jacket and had made sure that her hands were stained with mud or dusted with dirt.
And now he was in the space between the pews, on his knees and with her legs wrapped around him as he fucked her. As he moved her hips against his, long fingers digging into soft skin, and she didn’t even care that they were desecrating what had once been a place of worship. She couldn’t bring herself to form coherent thought.
Her senses were full of him. Of his slippery, soft hair, his leather scent, the powerful thrust of him so deep inside her welcoming body. Placing her over his coat, he arched her upward, the new angle helping her soar up towards her release.
It was in those very moments, right before orgasm, that Aerith realized that maybe he was just as fascinated with her as she was with him. Those green eyes—slit like a cat’s—were always so intent on her, on her face, her body, her eyes. Her reaction…
Aerith let out a mewl of ecstasy as her body tumbled over the edge and her hips undulated with his hard thrusts, eyes closing and pale skin flushing a pretty pink. She pried her eyes open just in time to watch his face slack with pleasure, gaze half-lidded, pale lips parting to release a rough gasp.
One, two, three jabs of his hips and Aerith swallowed hard as she felt him spurt inside her. It took him only a few short minutes to compose himself, and she had to admire that, too. Always so controlled…