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She'd been teasing him. On purpose. She just hadn't expected him to snap.
Eyes flashing with something dark and passionate, he all but vaulted the bar to join her on the other side. Gloved fingers closed around her wrist, sending the glass she held flying, icy liquid splashing across her chest and half the counter. His other hand shoved the blender and coffee maker aside, clearing a space. Mouth hard and hungry on hers, he pushed her back until she was forced to sit, knees spread to make room for him between them.
On Sunday, they'd had a fight. Over something that should have been nothing. She'd asked him how, when he'd never had a girlfriend before, he knew how to play her body so easily. Instead of replying as she more than half-expected (she'd seen enough men bragging in the bar to suspect they did it in the barracks, too), he'd stiffened, adopting the expression that said this subject wasn't welcome, and withdrawn both verbally and physically.
He hadn't touched her since.
"Off." The single word was growled against her throat, his fingers inserted between her stomach and the waistband of her shorts, tugging with obvious demand. Tifa wasted no time complying, wriggling out of her shorts and panties, only to settle into his cupping hands as they curved around her bottom and pressed her close to the arousal tenting his pants.
Oh please yes.
Gloved hands were hard and tight around her thighs, pulling her forward to the edge of the counter, her neck arched and head resting on the raised surface behind her.
Obviously, it was a sensitive subject. His eyes reflected an odd mix of hurt and guilt and uncertainty when he watched her, and it only confused her more. Not that he was unfriendly: they still talked and even laughed together. But he only kissed her on the cheek, and avoided her advances.
It was like he was upset with himself for something, but she couldn't imagine what.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, breath hot against her skin as he lapped at the sweet liquid spilled across her chest and stomach. Her shirt was bunched in his fist, gathered roughly out of the way as he feasted, his other glove slick with alcohol and pureed fruit as his hand shifted to cup her breast, thumb flicking back and forth over the nipple.
Frustrated, and unable to apologize when he kept avoiding the subject, she'd decided to kill him with kindness, break down the thin, shaky walls he'd so hastily thrown up around whatever had sent him backpedaling.
For the last three days, she'd kept him company while he ate a late dinner, her fingers busy making a daiquiri solely so she could tempt him by eating the second half of the banana. Slowly, with obvious enjoyment, and some less than polite noises.
The first night, he'd flushed, fingers tightening on his fork, and locked his gaze firmly on his plate. The second, he'd groaned when she began to nibble delicately around the end, before closing her lips around it like it was a lollipop.
Today, the third day, he'd nearly choked when he saw her suck the fruit deep into her mouth, cheeks hollow. Eyeing him with false concern, she'd held the banana against her chest – oh-so-innocently – and offered him the frosted glass she'd poured before beginning the evening's torture.
That's when he'd snapped.
The edge of the bar was sharp against her shoulder blades, her fingers sliding along the slick surface, looking for purchase. Her legs shifted to curve around his waist, grinding herself against his erection as he bent his head to suck her nipple into his mouth. Head rocking back and forth against the bar she whimpered, legs tightening, her entire body striving to convey the idea that she was more than ready, and wanted him to take her.
Cloud grunted in acknowledgment, hands finding and unfastening belts and straps and pants before closing around her hips. He thrust home abruptly, riding her hard and fast, with only the courtesy of his thumb against her clit to indicate he wasn't completely mindless.
It didn't matter. It was fantastic.
Convulsing around him with frantic pulses, she screamed, fingers white where she clung to the counter as tightly as possible. His answering groan was husky, a throaty shout, hands flat against her back supporting her just so as he came.
Afterward, the bar quiet except for the sounds of their breathing, they each waited for the other to speak. Tifa swallowed convulsively when he withdrew, and then his arms were around her, pulling her upright and against his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder.
"Hojo," She stiffened as he whispered the name into the stillness, replacing drowsy afterglow with nervous confusion, "and Jenova. I know some of it came from Zack, but I'm not certain about the rest."
Suddenly she understood what he was saying, and why he'd shut himself off when she asked.
As she sifted her fingers through his hair, holding him close as if to protect him from the past, he continued. "It came to me the same way I first remembered you and Nibelheim – you touched me, and Jenova... copied... your memories into my head, as clear and real as if they were my own." He shivered a bit, squeezed her tighter. "I think I picked up things from almost everyone who touched me during the year Zack and I were on the run. Thankfully, there were few." He'd already got a mind full from Hojo while floating in that thrice damned tank. Between those and the ideas he inherited from Genesis, Zack's experiences were a drop in the ocean, and sophomoric in comparison.
"I didn't realize Zack was so experienced," Tifa murmured thoughtfully, idly rearranging the spikes that fell over his forehead and ears, and he laughed.
"He wasn't, but he had a vivid imagination." Willing to tease, now that he'd told her and she hadn't run screaming or pushed him away, Cloud tilted his head to watch her with one bright, glowing blue eye. "So do you."
As expected, Tifa flushed and sputtered a protest.
Cloud just smirked and spoke over her. "I'm pretty certain the last time I learned anything that way was after I woke up in the bar with you and Barret. Something about being tied up and played with for hou–"
Her palm firmly covering his mouth, she gave him a stern look, face red as a tomato. That had been her idea – a fantasy, really – and he'd already acted upon it. There was no need to elaborate.
Tugging her hand away he pressed a kiss to her mouth, then slowly straightened. Looking around at the mess he'd made, his expression turned sheepish. "Sorry."
Tifa only laughed.