bakerstreet | The Hot Springs Meme

The Hot Springs Meme

THE HOT SPRINGS MEME

Hey there, science lovers, Cave Johnson here. I'd like to thank you all for volunteering to participate in this Relaxment Enrichment program. Now what could be better than science you ask? Well, my friend, my answer to you is relaxing- for science. Today we have a series of relaxing scenarios for you sciencepreneurs, and you'll need to use the Random Number Generator to find out which one you'll be in. The eggheads in the office are telling me that none of you will probably even read this and just skip below to the prompts, to which I say, well done! Science doesn't have time for reading! So I'll cut to the chase.

1. At home - Ahh, it's not really a hot spring, but there's not much better than a hot bath in the privacy of your own home, well, until someone else busts in, that is. Was it an accident?
2. Bath House - One side for the men and one side for the ladies please! Or maybe you'd prefer the mixed bath?
3. Hot tub - Put on your swimsuits and hop on in. Or don't, if that's more your style.
4. Hot springs - Who knew that this place was just waiting to be found behind all of those rocks and trees? Jackpot!
5. Wildcard - Pick any! Or make up your own scenario!

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ooc: so do you have a preference? because I'm feeling torn between awkward or sweet.

[ give me all your sweet and then we'll just make it sweetly awkward anyway ]

{Tifa was exhausted.

She was also messy, achy, spattered with things she didn't want to look at too closely and very, very satisfied. Putting down that nest of monsters with Cloud today had not only earned them enough gil for their next project but it had been nice to be doing something that the fate of the world didn't hinge on. As much as she was looking forward to spending that gil, at the moment, she was far too busy concentrating on the thought of hot water and soap and a soft, comfortable bed directly after to think that far in the future. Even pleasantly hazy at the satisfying end of a long day, it was powerful enough motivation to keep her on her feet and moving forward.

It was also what dulled down her sense of what was proper enough to have her reaching out to catch at Cloud when he would have kept walking to let her have first dibs on the bathroom. His harness, she thought as her fingers curled around it, was really good for that kind of thing.

It had been such a nice day, just the two of them, with nothing to worry about but watching out for each other and when to share elixirs. Simple and uncomplicated and comfortable. She wasn't ready for it to end just yet and her wine dark eyes were a little hopeful and a little unsure about his reaction as they lifted to his while she took a step backward into the room, fingers still curled but loose enough he could slip away if he wanted to.}

[ Exhausted was too fair a word for what Cloud felt; that bone-deep, dead tired resided on a tier all its own. But even under the weight of so much lacking energy, he still felt good. Accomplished, even if all they'd made headway over, today, had been a minor nuisance in the greater scheme of worldly things. And though it should probably have made him guilty, again, in some minor way, to be basking (just a little) in that rare warmth somewhere underneath all of the worn-out and beaten down he'd accumulated over the course of the day, Cloud was, for once, content enough to leave well enough alone.

If needed, he could always justify those little side trips to himself, somehow, anyway.

As they spilled in through the open door of the empty house, he really only had it in mind to steal into the villa's generous bath for long enough to scrub himself free of the most superficial layers of dirt and curiously unpleasant monster grime, a far more basic maintenance than he'd give his beloved sword before succumbing to the draw of other, less pertinent matters (like sleep). He'd clean thoroughly in the morning, once his strength had returned and the couch in the lounge wasn't looking nearly so tempting a place to simply pass out.

So she could go first, if she wanted - but if she didn't, he'd just have to be quick about his business.

This awkward dance of silent courtesy was only barely begun before she stopped him in the hall, though, before he could turn back, or make some nonsense excuse for heading past her and slipping out of sight. She'd caught him by the leather strap looped securely over his shoulder, a strangely stilling gesture - but not so startling as that first backward step. ]

Tifa?

[ It wasn't a rejection or even attempted stalling, uncertain as the prompt arch of his brow as he took a step forward, after her. ]

{all it took was that single step forward of his to have the soft little glow spreading up through her and curling her lips for him. As tired as she was, pleasantly hazed over in her head, there was still nothing that could stop the wonderful spread of comforting warmth through her that he would automatically follow her hopeful tug. A hot shower, a soft bed with Cloud was easily now her epitome of her own Promised Land and she hummed a soft sound as she continued her backward retreat into the bathroom, hand never leaving the leather of that strap. Her eyes, perhaps just a little blurry, still looked surprisingly young and unmarked by the usual wear and tear.}

Help me wash my hair?

Uh-

[ It was more of an exhale than an answer, and not much of the latter, to begin with. He could always blame ineloquence on the slower turning of all those (rusty, anyways) worn down gears in his head, the long day, whatever he wanted - but he had a feeling she wasn't going to ask. The whole world seemed silent, quiet for once in the empty house, and disturbing that any more than they'd a need might have been an unforgivable sacrilege.

Besides - anything he said, now, would merely be supplement to his already obvious concession. The snick of the latch snapping back into place as he turned halfway in her permissive grip, to push closed the door behind them, should have been confirmation enough, his nod unnecessary in addition. ]

Sure.

{there were times when things were sparks and flame and there were times when things were quietly silly and playful and then there were times like this too when simply being together was so right and comforting that it was a little like falling asleep in absolute contentment. The click of the door as Cloud shut out the rest of the world so that it was just the two of them together and they didn't have to rush or worry or second guess was a sweet sound and she shifted up on her toes a little to dust a light kiss over his cheek, careful of a smattering of monster blood when she did so.

She still wasn't entirely over the fact that he wanted to be with her, that he was so willing to quietly show it, and she wasn't sure if her feeling that way would ever change. Giving his nose a gentle nudge with hers, she settled back down on her heels and went to work on his shoulder guard. Not that he needed her help with it but she liked helping him out of the rough, patched armor, as if she could lift other weights off him as well when she did and even if she was a little drowsy her fingers were still nimble enough to remember what they were doing. This tired and mellow she had a vague inkling she was going to break one of her cardinal rules and not pick up after them but at the moment, that seemed okay. At the moment shower, Cloud, bed seemed much, much more necessary to focus on.}

[ He went cautiously still as she kissed him, worried that were he to move too clumsily in his deeply tired state of mind, she might not miss that sticky, drying ichor he can feel still clinging to the surface of his skin. The taste of mako-bred monster blood is not one he's ever been particularly fond of, himself, on those rare and wholly unpleasant occasions when he'd had no choice but to suffer the lesser (but no less grimy) consequences of his trade.

The feel of hands tugging at the familiar weight on his shoulder shook him gently out of his temporary freeze, resetting whatever wind-up key it was that spurred on his halting, mechanical movements. First, to the armor at his wrists, his gloves, which he could discard over the edge of the sink without having to so much as glance at his hands - necessary, as he was busy, still, studying the delicate, pale lines of her face beneath the fringe of dark hair, so much dirt and phantom splatter.

(She was the closer combatant between them, but maybe that practice was where she'd learned to dodge the worst of the filth.)

With his arms bare, then, he'd take after her lead and reach for the fastening to that elbow guard, one he'd had time to figure out but still fumbled with the catch on, anyway, before tugging down carefully on the long sleeve behind her glove. For this, sadly, he did have to divert his attention temporarily - but that burning mako gaze couldn't have been any comfort. He'd think the same, distantly, no matter how long or well they knew each other. ]

{she shifts when he starts his own ministrations on her, shoulder coming to settle lightly in the curve of his far one as he takes away the signs of her rougher lifestyle. She isn't ashamed of being a fighter - it's just so nice to be reminded that it isn't all she is and that she's allowed to be soft and protected too. That Cloud gives her that safety to be just that has her closing her eyes for a long moment on a relaxing exhale, head shifting to rest against the side of his jaw. She loves his hands on her...

A content inhale and opening eyes is her response to the last of her gloves being stripped off and she raises her palms to run them down his cheeks, touch soft, lips and eyes smiling. Messy or not, touching without gloves in the way is something that's still sweet and precious to her and she suspects he knows it with the way she always has to reach for him these days as soon as they're off of her. A little more awake, at least enough now to make it through the shower without drowning, she's still pleasantly mellow inside and she rubs a thumb lightly over his cheekbone, eyes flicking up to find his with the private smile that only he ever sees in that wine rich color.

She loves his eyes and she loves the way he watches her. She loves being able to feel it across a room now, loves catching him at it, loves soaking in those moments when she's the center of his attention. They're not the same color she remembers from childhood but they're the same eyes and if anything, she thinks the intent way he had of watching something, as if it's a secret he's searching for the key to, has only gotten stronger. The mako in them doesn't bother her anymore. It's him. Just another part of what makes Cloud Cloud and that's all that counts to her. He gets another of those soft, whispering kisses, there and gone, across his lips this time because she doesn't say 'I love you' with words very often but it comes out all the time despite that lack of verbalization. He's precious to her, so much more precious than she can explain, and these chances to be tender and gentle with him are the closest she can come. Then her hands slip away, waiting until he's set his sword aside to start helping him out of his belt and suspenders.}

[ Into the sink they go, after his own gloves, polished metal clattering against porcelain. It's more noise than either of them has made, really, since she spoke to him so briefly in the hall - but the hall is leagues away, cut off into some other world, the one where they are but two basic components in a much greater whole, surrounded by noise and chaos and constant support. And though this quiet coexistence is not lit out in the least by their separate roles, out there, it is far easier to miss. More difficult to appreciate, without words, and still know for certain that it is communicated just as well.

His expression remains the same quiet, impassive mask as she turns out of that comfortable pose to map out the contours of his face for the thousandth time. That first touch always seems so important to her, though, and far be it for him to disturb any peace she can garner from it. The feeling's nice; lightly calloused fingertips tracing some invisible pattern over softer skin always preferable to the hard edge of knuckles or blunt metal claws.

Not that he really knows the feeling. (Of course not.)

He doesn't realize his eyes have fallen half shut in the day's persistent languor until her hands leave him, temporarily, the shape of that airy brush of lips clinging fast to his skin. The cue's unsubtle enough, and he shuffles back a short step to give himself the room to pull the heavy sword off his back. The room's far from cramped, and they're standing far too close, but Cloud doesn't complain.

After an instant's contemplative hesitance with the long hilt in his hand, he turns back and settles the weight of the blade against the bathroom door. The lock's been broken since he bought the place, anyway.

His self-satisfied smirk is just as subdued as the rest of him, but all the more evident for it. ]

{she watches him, mild, blurry curiosity, as he debates with the sword and when he specifically assigns it a spot, he's not the only one with shifting lips, though hers are more of a mix of feminine satisfaction and slightly shy awareness. It tints her cheeks the smallest bit but objecting to his silent statement is the last thing she'd want to do. Instead it makes her happy, deep down in the center of her chest, mixing with the already warm and relaxed feelings there and her hands are waiting for him when he turns back around to her, first to let his harness fall to the floor and then to reach for the hem of his shirt, fingers sliding under the gore splattered fabric to help pull it off.

If he didn't use a slashing weapon and just battered things instead, he'd probably get less messy. When Tifa attacked things most of their insides stayed inside. She has a hard time imagining him fighting with anything other than a sword though and on the rare times she's not busy fighting next to him, watching him use it still manages to take her breath away. Maybe there's something wrong with her that she finds the way he fights so beautiful but if so, it's too late to change now.

It comes with its price though, the same way her style of fighting does, and her fingertips brush the scars on his skin once the shirt is out of the way. She almost has every single one memorized already, not from disgust or alarm, though some of them are alarming, but rather because they're marks on her heart now as well. Times that he's been hurt, that both echo that hurt to her and yet remind her how strong he is too, to have taken those blows and kept going. In the soft mental twilight of exhaustion she can feel both proud of him and protective of him at the same time without fighting the dichotomy. Some things will never change in her however, no matter how tired she is, and as her fingers trace gently over him there's no doubt at all that she's checking him for new hurt, usual sly and entirely transparent attempts at subtlety while she does so long lost thanks to the exhaustion.}

[ Those little resurgences of his borrowed confidence are but fleeting, and at the look he finds on her face as the momentary triumph of a very good idea fades, his own smile is further subdued. It doesn't disappear, not entire, but melts into something not so sharp but uncertain, quietly hopeful. He'd never presume to know what she's thinking (though it's become far easier to intuit little things, yet), and that hesitance is only asking permission, some sign of approval, each time he forgets himself and steps more boldly than he means to let.

Her seamlessly resumed undressing of him seems like a positive enough signal to assuage any passing concerns.

Pushing his hands under the collar of his uniform top as she tugs it up over his head, Cloud grimaces briefly - he's careful not to come into closer contact with any of that dried-on mess than he absolutely must, already tense even before that wandering touch finds him, again. The surprised sound he makes is very quiet (but not quiet enough), muffled as a faint tinge of color rises in his face.

Oh. Right.

The familiar motions settle on him after only a moment, and he stands still once more as he attempts to take his own mental inventory of any new bumps or scrapes she might happen upon, in her search. Other than a few narrow, shallow cuts taken out of him (his shoulder, his left side, something smarting thinly across his back), though, the better part of the damage is already healed; these few remaining injuries are too insignificant to waste the energy or the supplies. ]

Your turn.

[ And he means just a simple sweep for any lingering wounds, but that flustered look's unshakable, now. ]

{Tifa needs Cloud's moments of confidence when it comes to her - when it comes to them. For so long she'd been under the impression that he was simply 'not interested' and the reminders that he truly is, that he's with her because he wants her and not because he feels obligated or because it's easier to simply go along with it are necessary to her. The little things he does, those moments when he forgets and assumes his place with her is secure - they're vital to her. She needs the reassurance as much as he does. One day, she would like to think that he'll be confident enough in them that he won't worry about overstepping. For now though, they're both still starting and they're new at the whole relationship thing and - and she doesn't mind if that means they get to learn how it goes together. It's still a little scary but it's sweet to her too that he's just as lost, maybe even more so, than she is sometimes. It's why, while she's not the most forward, she's still trying to be better about it, knowing he needs reassurance that it's all right between them just as much as she does. She really does want him and she really does want to be with him. It's important that he knows that. So she knows what he means when he speaks up but she also knows there's more than just that and that he knows it too.

They're still learning together. It's okay.

Her fingers shift, reach up to stroke his cheek tenderly and she lifts her face to his to brush another fleeting kiss against his lips. They're okay. She can be brave. So she settles back down and first peels off her top, trying to keep the fabric from her face and then, cheeks a deepening pink but sure, she reaches back and unhooks her bra, letting the straps slip down her arms before she takes that off too. Her eyes still creep up to find his, needing reassurance of her own. She can take on monsters and mega-corporations without flinching, but that's because she's not vulnerable to them the way she is and always will be to him and what his eyes reflect when he looks at her.}

[ There's a steady concentration in his gaze (hard, bright eyes edged with exhaustion) that only barely serves to cover for the lower burning heat beneath - a match for the slowly fading flush still painted across that pale complexion. Since it seems the most logical course of action to mirror hers, he begins to methodically take inventory of scars, old and new, searching for any hint of fresh scratch or bruise with the careful sweep of a thumb, the cautious press of fingertips, altogether an only slightly stilted rendition of her far more delicate search.

The brush of impossibly soft skin is more than a little distracting, exceptionally so as his hand ventures too near the smooth swell of a breast, warm and distantly conducting the beat of her heart. But he can be objective, when circumstance calls for it (and often when it doesn't), even knowing full well he wouldn't have to think twice of it were she nearly anyone else. There's a whole planet's worth of women he's still not interested in, after all, and none of them have ever given him pause half as often as her. There is an almost tangible effort in not leaning to close the remaining gap between them to steal another kiss (clumsy, maybe, but more staying than the light, brief kind she seems so fond of, at the moment) - only the thought that if he does, then neither of them will get very clean before sleep steals the last of their will to keep mobile prevents him.

Her pace has pretty much always set the precedent, before, anyway. ]

Looks all right.

[ And his hands fall away as his gaze flicks back up to meet hers; in any other mood, he could have been easily fallen under suspicion of being a tease, but it's only tired sincerity he wears, now, over that glimpse of something hotter. Nodding his head toward somewhere just behind her, he takes a fraction of a step back. ]

Get the shower? [ While he stumbles out of his boots and pants - that's the plan. ]

{she's still aware enough to lift suddenly heavy lidded eyes to his when his fingers finally leave her skin, their wine dark color more concentrated than usual and she sways forward the littlest bit when he steps back, tugged invisibly forward as if she'll follow. She keeps her feet planted though and it keeps her from breaking that careful necessary kept distance between them. She still has to inhale deep in the newly thick air that threatens to drown her lungs though and it takes her mind a long moment more to manage to shake off what his fingers gliding over her skin did to her enough to let his words make sense.

Even when she's not exhausted, it's almost embarrassing how little Cloud has to do to muddle her thoughts completely. Tired... she doesn't stand a chance - but she tries.

Shower.

They were supposed to be taking a shower.

Right.}

Mm. {she manages the sound. She loves it when his eyes look like that... but she also manages to focus her fuzzy edged brain on turning her body around, finding the knob for the faucet and turning it on. It's easier when she can't see that heat in his eyes and the sound of running water is pleasant enough to make its way into her conscious, promising warmth and cleanliness - and Cloud. Leaning over, she waits for it to heat and then adjusts the temperature, fingers of one hand under the flow of water where it washes skin that her gloves hadn't covered clean. It's the flip of a toggle to have the water going from faucet to overhead in the shower, though she's careful to make sure she's safely out of the spray before she does so, instinctive as a cat when it comes to not wanting the sudden shock of unexpected water. The same automatic maneuvering has her wiggling out of her own boots and socks, sighing at the feeling of relief at the tile under her bare feet.

She tells herself it's safe to turn around and look at Cloud then. That she's been separate enough to have resettled herself. Her drowsy brain buys it - until she turns around and feels herself go utterly weak for him. Forget the skirt she's still wearing and the ribbon still in her hair - her hands reach for him because nothing seems as important as being in his arms.

Even if her brain wasn't loggy, it would still probably agree with that assessment.}

[ The way that she leans in toward him, that she seems to need a moment to jump-start the sluggish turning of that intricate mechanism inside her mind that ordinarily keeps her so sharp - he wouldn't call it gratifying, but it is, anyway.

Tifa has always been about the little details, though; to a point that it almost appalls him, now, that his earliest infatuation with her had been so blind to the facts of the matter, there. It isn't about the overall of any reaction he manages to clumsily elicit, but the subtle cues, tiny, seemingly insignificant pieces of the far greater puzzle. And in the rare moments when he remembers how to tally those little things up, doubt is, for once, the weaker voice calling for his attention.

If he makes it hard for her to think, fumbling through the learned facade of somebody much more capable, she hasn't got a clue what an idiot he feels like behind every cool look.

As she finally appears to piece together his simple request, turning her back to him (which he briefly sweeps with that same appraising gaze, for any other sign of injury), he cocks his hip into the edge of the sink, balancing against it as he pulls up a knee. Swiftly tugging down the zippers on each boot, in this fashion, he kicks them off along with his socks, before indulging in a brief stretch.

It's this, and the fact that the water doesn't take long to warm (even now), in a resort town like Costa - and maybe his brief, self-conscious hesitation, too - that catches him unaware with his pants halfway down his hips when Tifa's suddenly stepping back toward him and

...It's not the most graceful reception, when she steps into the uncertain circle of his arms. ]

H-Hey...

{considering how for so long he only showed the entirely in-control side of himself, working hard to prove to everyone that it was the only side he had, she still finds it flattering when he stumbles a little for her. It's a safe stumble and it means he's vulnerable to her, that she matters enough to him to care about being unsure for. Usually it would make her feel unsure too... except when he hesitates or is caught off guard with her this way, it's never followed by rejection or withdraw on his part. It means everything to her and each time he does, it makes her braver about doing whatever it was that surprised him again. Now it makes her smile, tried but soft and content and has her shutting her eyes, face tucking in against his throat. Oh... he feels so good to be tucked in against and for a long minute her mind debates just falling asleep that way, entirely upright and still dirty, because it still just feels so nice being this way with him.

Her ingrained need to keep things clean however, country girl raised and determined slum dweller later, is strong enough to keep her from giving in entirely to the exhaustion and the sudden contentment though. She inhales instead and one of her hands shifts to stroke down his back, careful of the scrape she saw there in her earlier inspection.}

Sorry. {it's a drowsy whisper against his skin, another soft smile. They're supposed to be getting clean and the water's already running and they shouldn't waste that and - } I know I'm not helping, am I?

{it not exactly a deterrent that he looks so rakish when his pants are like that, hair even messier than usual and there's something about the dirt and sweat streaks that help complete the look for some reason. If she were less tired, she might already be plotting how they could break another locked door but at the moment, she can simply appreciate how incredible he looks and enjoy the thought that she gets to see him this way.

It still surprises and amazes her.

No help at all, she's at least cognizant when she murmurs words that are more directed at kicking herself back into motion (unsuccessfully) than at chiding him over their current situation.}

We should take a shower.

[ There's a breath of uncertain sound, as faintly tinged with amusement as his skin still is with that unflattering shade of pink, before he shakes his head. ]

Not really.

[ Helping would be anything but pressing up flush against him the way she is, warm and soft and pliant and if there's still any dirt or grime left over on her from the day's work, it's already been put completely out of mind, a fading memory that only recurs once she's reminded him there's something they're supposed to be doing, here, and it's not this.

With a somewhat choked noise that clearly indicates assent, he nods again and draws his hands up to her shoulders, palms dragging over bare skin (skin that's always bare, considering her uniform of choice, but somehow still seems strikingly intimate to touch, now). ]

That's... Probably a good idea. [ The dirt and sweat on his own skin hasn't left his mind, in the same way, unfortunately. And it's not something he needs to unintentionally add to any mess on her he's overlooked. With the very certain knowledge that falling asleep as is would be all too easy, he finds his own version of her simple determination (not nearly so ingrained, perhaps just sympathetic), and shifts back just the breath of space it takes to shuck haltingly out of the rest of his clothing.

The mirror's already beginning to fog over, and the steam is cloying on skin already heavy with dust and blood and other residue he'd rather not think on too long, and there's probably less time left to be so comfortably alone together than he'd like. ] Come on.

{when she hears that quiet sound that might as well be a laugh, feels it against her and through her because she's so close, she can't be the least bit repentant about not being helpful. Instead, she feels the warmth of it pool in her chest and her stomach and her smile spreads. Cloud's laughter is so rare that each time she earns even the whisper of it Tifa feels as if she has done some great, important thing on par with freeing planets. The pleasure of it wanders lazily through her drowsy mind and the stroke of his hands over her bare skin simply compounds the absolute pleasure.

She loves the slide of his hands over her, soaking in even the smallest brushes as if she's lost in the desert and he's her only source of rain. It has the breath leaving her now in a long, complete sigh of contentment that seems to take the very last of her tension with it. One day she's determined to be brave enough to tell him how much she likes those simple strokes but she's still shy about vocalizing bluntly what she wants. This tired though, there's not even the attempt to hide the small, quiet sound of regret that slips out as he shifts the smallest bit away from her, unhappy with the loss despite the sensible nature of it. Her arms still loosen though, her own fingers trailing, reluctant to leave the warmth of his skin but giving him his space anyway. There's still a deeply buried part of her that's afraid to cling, afraid of being pulled away from in response. So her hands fall to her sides but it takes her a long moment to focus enough to realize he's still talking about the shower and he's already ready for it before her mind catches up and reminds her that she's not.

Her hum of agreement is soft and it takes her a little bit of fumbling to undo the clasp and the zipper of her skirt, letting it fall and then, a bit more shyly, slipping off the underwear underneath. It's the first time her eyes leave him since they've opened and her hair ribbon comes out quickly afterward so the long strands fall around her, a satin shadow of modesty that's enough for someone that's still getting used to sharing her body with someone else. The whispered twinge of self-consciousness is enough to rouse her a little, enough to make her reach for his hand before moving to the shower, the porcelain warm under her bare soles thanks to the hot water. The sudden rush from the shower head over her wakes her up enough for an inhale - and then the unconsciously whispered moan of pleasure as it soaks her, eyes shutting, body relaxing. It's instinctive to want to draw him close again, to share the spray of hot water and how good it feels and her hands tug lightly even as she turns to face him, face raised even with her eyes still closed, lips smiling with the happy silly pleasure of simple joys like hot water and being near the man she loves. His name isn't a question or a request. Just a softly humming appreciation of that fact.}

Cloud...

[ At times like these (not often, a thought to be both gracious and regretful), he wishes quite stringently for the few years of military immodesty and regularly shared facilities to lend him some measure of confidence, no matter how dim and fuzzy the memories, now. It's become a thing he can but passingly fool himself into, though, and then only so long as he's able to keep his eyes to himself. But then that's too much like ignoring her, and he doesn't want her to think that - almost as bad as if he'd looked, anyway, and found something wanting.

And he won't, or can't, ever think of leaving her to believe that. Maybe once, before, when everything was a matter of merely keeping his distance, taking the least invasive path through life as he fought to detach himself from everything that reminded him too strongly of what he couldn't remember. When she'd been a stranger and not somebody he'd ever have thought of letting in so close (but doing so in his backwards fashion, anyway, never holding others to nearly the same standard of strangeness).

There are times when the person he was, then - the person he alone imagined himself to be - feels very close, still, hovering just over his shoulder in quiet contempt for what he's really become. But it isn't like that, now.

So he looks up cautiously but not too hesitantly as she catches his hand, sans the easy grip of his harness to hold onto, and pulls him past the gaudy curtain he's never thought to replace, over the short step up over the rounded, white barrier, and into the bath. She's first under the water for leading (and because he would have let her, insistently probably, were there positions reversed), and the simple, appreciative sound she makes draws both empathy and a distracting bolt of heat through him that has nothing to do with his own proximity to the spray of warm water. The difference between dry, bare skin with a fine sheen of evaporated sweat mingled with dust from the fight and the road and the same slicked with soap and water invades his exhausted mind, tactile memory more reliable (another to be both gracious and regretful).

He's only human (mostly, anyway), and when he leans down to kiss her, this time, he's sure to do a far more thorough job than any of those light, fleeting favors passed in front of the bathroom sink. ]

{she prides herself on being practical. She's the sensible one in the group, ready to ground things or cover the details of the dreams and ambitions of everyone else when they sweep off the ground and soar. In a world of dreamers, hers are so mundane and simple - and, until recently, seemed just as impossible as everyone else's - that it always brought her quiet pleasure to be able to help fit in the basic details to loftier goals, to contribute that way even if it wasn't as impressive or sweeping. She likes being the one that focuses on getting the small, daily jobs done so that the larger jobs can move on smoothly, the one that tries to stay practical minded and watch where their feet are landing while someone else looks far ahead. She likes being able to silently take care of the others and their dreams that way because it's how she shows she cares, how important they are to her, and in return she gets drawn forward into greater things than she'd ever dream of herself.

Practicality and sensibility go right out the door when Cloud kisses her like this though and she's happy to let them go, raising her arms to wrap them around his shoulders and melts into him with the pure abandon of mixed exhaustion, hot water heated muscles and the complete melting pleasure of being kissed by the man she's utterly devoted to. Hot water tanks, the imminent arrival of friends, time limits all entirely melt away in that moment. There's only the slow process of seeing just how completely she can relax into his more solid frame, the slow shut off - finally - of her mind, the wonderful way he kisses and the pleasure of slowly, languidly stretching and spreading her fingertips across the growing wet surface of his shoulders and upper back. She's finally where she's wanted to be all day long and the contentment of being that way fills her up to the brim with its thick, liquid warmth. Drowsy enough not to think to stop them, the whispered sounds she makes against his mouth give away her secrets.

There's a part of her that's always afraid these moments will never come again and so when they come, she soaks them in. For moments like these, she'll willing to let go and let someone else think about silly things like practicalities.}

[ Practical - it's a miracle he even knows the word, at all, let alone ever puts it in practice beyond packing supplies before a fight. (And even then, sparingly so, with his poor habit of trending toward strange and spur-of-the-moment purchases more than anything meticulously selected or well thought out.) But wonders never do cease, and in the interest of maintaining that truth, he somehow scrapes together wits enough to break away only a little belatedly, warm, humid air and running water driving a wedge between them as it clouds his mind on that same breath.

There's a tremor in his hands, steady grip unsteadying as they slow to a stop in their incessant, wandering slide over the smooth slope of her sides, fingers edging along her back, tracing the firm jut of a hip with his thumb. Things he does without thinking, only wondering in retrospect whether he comes off half as awkward as he then begins to feel. His experience is little, though, beyond her. And Tifa's, as well, he supposes (imagines, assumes, rather well hopes, if only on the sake of precious pride). It's all right not to be perfect, maybe. A little.

(No time.)

Lamentable, but true enough. If they have any fooling around that can't be put off until tomorrow and somewhat safer opportunity, Cloud still fancies he's got the self-control left over to at least hold it together until they were clean and squared away someplace it wouldn't be half as suspicious to spend too much time. (The too much time they've probably spent, already.) Flicking a few strands of damp blond out of his way with a shake of his head, he combs a lock of dark hair back over her shoulder - the part that's always half-obscuring her face where it hangs, tapered higher than the rest. ]

Want me to wash it?

{by the time he finally pulls back she's absolutely lost, so mellow and relaxed inside that all she wants to do is curl herself up around him - and the stroking, she wants more of his hands stroking over her skin. If she was a cat, she'd purr but instead it's a sighing little hum from smiling lips and the fact it takes a long time for her to blink her eyes open for him, color behind those lashes wine dark and warm. Somewhere, in the back of her head, there's something about women supposed to be being mysterious and not to give everything away, that she's supposed to still be hard to get or hard to fathom or just hard to read - except all of that goes out the window when Cloud touches her and thoroughly soaking in his touches, his kiss, the glide of his hands and the solid stability of his body against hers seems so much more important than remembering feminine rules she's always been a little suspicious of to start with.

He's not wrong in his guess, if it isn't obvious enough with the way her own shyness and hesitance for so long almost lost her everything. She doesn't know how things are supposed to go between them, has no prior experience to fall back on for reassurance, learning as they do, but when he has her in his arms, when her mind clouds over with just them and forgets half taught rules on how good girls are supposed to behave, she's a surprisingly honest partner, reactions open and transparent even if they're still often shy and rely more on actions than words. She doesn't know what perfect would be, has no basis for comparison but she thinks the way they are is just right and she likes that better than she thinks she'd like perfect.

Hazy eyes focus on the face in front of her and she's still surprised he's so handsome, not paying enough attention to be caught off guard. Her own fingers slip out of his hair to slide along his cheek with a smile and her body sways the littlest bit to catch as much of his touch against her shoulder as she can. He's watching out for both of them she knows and it's silly and it makes her heart lighter. It has her, too tired, too happy to be inhibited, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss before she turns around, wet hair swaying almost playfully, offering him the long shower slick strands of its darkness that slide all the way down to her knees, teasing whispers of pale skin between the strands. She's aware enough to hand him back the shampoo before resting her hands, palm down, against the wall in front of her, eyes shutting again, absolutely trusting.

It's just an excuse to have him touching her again and she's unrepentant.]

Please?

[ With any luck, the rush of the running water is enough to cover the sound he makes, low in his throat and helpless to stifle, when she stands like that, turning her back on him. He nearly forgets he's holding the bottle she'd only handed him a half a second before (and that he'll chalk up to fatigue, at least in his own mind, as he fumbles with the cap and imagines that his own fleeting embarrassment is only the cloying heat of the sauna-grade air trapped in with them). That swimmy, lightheaded sensation goes again, soon enough, though, and here's the tricky part-

Because it's a strangely ungainly act, to wash someone else's hair for them - not so automatic as scrubbing away at one's own - and even if it isn't the first time, wash or brush, that he's done so, it's ever a task to approach as meticulously. Even Tifa's patience can be tried by a particularly nasty tangle, and giving her the trouble would definitely ruin whatever's left of the leisurely aspect in the moment.

By some stroke of luck, there's not much of the day's mess to fight through (belatedly, he berates himself for forgetting to scrub off his own dirt and grime as soon as the water hit his back, but hasn't he already resigned himself to another shower in the morning?), and after he's combed her hair out through his fingers, he falls almost immediately into the comfortable lull of massaging his fingers artlessly over her scalp, tipping her head back with a gentle tug. With something to focus on, it's easy to put overthinking every little movement to death out of the picture, with only the soft shadows of response from her and the fleeting skin contact brushing the pale curves of her back to put forcibly out of mind.

Lazy and tired and busy trying to remember their unfortunate lack of any lasting privacy, the whole process takes approximately an eternity (a credit to the water heater, having not yet given out on them). ]

Rinse?

[ Who needs multiple syllables, anyway. ]

{by the time he's done, she's ready to simply melt into the wall and never move again. She's been utterly fascinated by his bare hands for a while now, finding them surprisingly intimate and personal looking when they're stripped of the gloves and metal they've been hidden under without fail since she found him in the train station, as if touch without the barrier of safe leather between it wasn't allowed to him. She'll admit that she enjoys the glide of that leather over her or wrapped reassuringly around her own leather clad hands. There's nothing that matches the feel of his bare hands on her though and she secretly treasures the implied intimacy of it. Every single touch of those hands is usually savored and soaked in like spring sunshine after a winter that's gone on too long. Usually.

Somewhere in all of that fingers tangled in her hair and against her scalp and the light tugs that shivered all the way down her spine to the base of it, it all blended together into something delicious that had her sighing, little soft happy humming noises slipping in to those sighs. Lids fluttering over closed eyes, she felt loved and spoiled and cherished full up past her heart and down past her toes. By the time he's done, she's his all over again for the hundredth time, the thousandth time, and everything in between.}

Mm. {it's a little sound and a littler head nod, eyes still shut, as tangled up in what he's done to her as his fingers in her hair and it's as much knee joints that have turned into hot oil as waiting to make sure it won't get tugged accidentally that has her pausing a long minute before she turns around blindly, eyes still closed against the soap that's traced streaks down her cheeks, over the rest of her. She doesn't need to see him or the spraying water to know where both are, just as aware of his steady, heating presence and the thrum of that as the softer beat of the water. Her fingers slip out to find him again as she steps forward under the water, ducking her head so that it beats down, washing away bubbles, plastering the dark hair in seaweed strand patterns across her skin. If they could curl up together like this and not either run out of hot water, time or comfortable positions, she would in a heartbeat. Eyes are safe to open from the spray at that angle and they do, garnet wine as they peer up at him, happy and young and warm right down to the core thanks to what he's done to her. Fingers brush his skin, wanting to share.}

You next?

The Hot Springs Meme

seriously - why are there no evil Tifa evily rubbing hands together icons?

SOMEDAY I'LL FIND YOU ONE

ilu

MY HEART

>:3

i picked out your new theme song ☞ http://youtu.be/s98UgBSNoL4

http://i43.tinypic.com/14dplk6.jpg

is it just me or are they starting a Costa tradition with undressing

I can think of worse traditions... Barret probably can't.

whateva he's just jealous. of tifa.

http://i44.tinypic.com/km7wm.jpg

you know it. still pissed they got turned away at Event Square

it's because only Cloud is allowed to crossdress

Then they should have let him be the princess. :( Instead of breaking my heart.

if they ever remake, we'll march on the SE offices and make our demands known!

I want doing Cloud's makeup at the Inn to be a whole minigame of its own please

http://kagaminoir.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24#/d47crgt

WHY DID I GO AND PLAY THIS i'm always mad when there are skirts with no matching tops....

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nice icon use

my icons are always appropriately utilized

of course, of course. I've NEVER seen you abuse them! (and you totally knew I'd do this one first)

of course. I know where your priorities run. B)

one of the many reasons we make a great team

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