![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Growing Incentive
Pairing: Cloud/Tifa
Rating: K
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ffvii_het_meme , for Tifa cutting her hair and Cloud reacting. Prompt asked for pre-AC (so I fail, as this is post-AC), but it's what came to mind.
Cloud sat at the end of the bar, quietly tallying the repairs Fenrir needed after facing off against Sephiroth’s remnants. Scrapes, dents, bullet holes – his beloved machine had suffered everything but a flat tire.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Tifa finish cleaning the last of the glassware, leaving the bar ready for another day. In particular, he watched the sway of her long brown tresses where they fell between her shoulder blades. A few months ago, before he let his geostigma fears chase him away, her hair had been much longer, the ends almost brushing the backs of her knees. Now the longest strands didn’t even reach the small of her back.
The length of her hair had been one of the few frivolous things she allowed herself, and he wondered, yet again, why she’d cut it. His puzzlement – along with his distraction – must have shown on his face, for she teasingly called him on it.
“What has you so confused, Cloud? Still trying to identify where and when each and every scratch occurred?”
He smiled a little, realizing he was a bit obsessive when it came to Fenrir, but shook his head. “I was wondering why you cut your hair,” he replied honestly, voice softly curious.
Tifa hesitated, her smile faltering for a moment, but quickly turned the question around. “Why did you cut yours?”
Blue eyes blinked in surprise. He’d only once changed his hair, when he first joined Shin-Ra: he’d worn it long back in Nibelheim. “It was against regulations. SOLDIERS could do what they pleased, but the rest of us had standards to follow.” He shrugged, his manner dismissive. “Once it was cut, I found I liked it better.”
“Mmm,” wiping at an already well-polished spot on the counter, Tifa nodded in understanding. “Maybe I like mine better this way, too.” It was suggestion and explanation in one, should he care to accept it.
“Do you?” Cloud tilted his head to try and catch her eye, but hers flickered nervously from point to point around the room.
She found she had no answer. The shorter length was easier to maintain, but there were times she missed the weight and feel of the longer style. As Cloud continued to watch her, eyes serious and solemn, still curious, she found herself willing to tell him the truth.
“After you left, I just... Denzel was getting worse, and business was failing. Marlene cried herself to sleep once every few days. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do anything to fix any of it. I needed to feel like I was in charge of something.” So she cut her hair, because it was a decision only she could make, and it somehow let her feel a little more in control of her life.
Standing, he reached across the bar to place his gloved palm over her fidgeting fingers. “I’m sorry.” His words were simple but heartfelt. Sorry he’d left, sorry he hadn’t been there to help, sorry things had seemed so hopeless. His steady gaze promised that – should there ever be a next time – she wouldn’t be alone.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. “That I cut my hair?” she joked. “You don’t like my new look?”
His smile flashed brighter, just for a moment, and he chuckled a little. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he told her, “as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“But?” despite his care to be non-judgmental, there was definitely a ‘but’ in his tone.
His free hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head, as he almost abruptly let his lips curve in a boyish grin. “But... I did fantasize about your hair.” Long, soft, silken and fragrant, and belonging to a woman he all but idolized? Of course he’d fantasized about it, and the different ways he could play with it should the right situation ever arise.
Tifa’s jaw dropped as she stared at him, and then she started giggling. “You did not!”
Undeterred, he reached out to wrap some of her tresses around his fist, and used them to draw her closer. “Oh yes I did,” he assured her, murmuring the words against her lips between kisses, “and in great detail.”
Brown eyes soft and wide, her cheeks just barely pink, she smiled. “Tell me,” she half begged, half ordered.
Letting her hair slip from around his fingers, he shook his head, grin changing to a smirk. “I don’t think so. But if you grow it out again, I’ll show you.”
With one last kiss he left her there, mouth once more agape with surprise, as his footsteps faded up the stairs.
And eyeing the strands falling over her shoulder, she wondered: just how long would it take to regrow her previous length?
Pairing: Cloud/Tifa
Rating: K
Prompt:
ffvii_het_meme , for Tifa cutting her hair and Cloud reacting. Prompt asked for pre-AC (so I fail, as this is post-AC), but it's what came to mind.Cloud sat at the end of the bar, quietly tallying the repairs Fenrir needed after facing off against Sephiroth’s remnants. Scrapes, dents, bullet holes – his beloved machine had suffered everything but a flat tire.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Tifa finish cleaning the last of the glassware, leaving the bar ready for another day. In particular, he watched the sway of her long brown tresses where they fell between her shoulder blades. A few months ago, before he let his geostigma fears chase him away, her hair had been much longer, the ends almost brushing the backs of her knees. Now the longest strands didn’t even reach the small of her back.
The length of her hair had been one of the few frivolous things she allowed herself, and he wondered, yet again, why she’d cut it. His puzzlement – along with his distraction – must have shown on his face, for she teasingly called him on it.
“What has you so confused, Cloud? Still trying to identify where and when each and every scratch occurred?”
He smiled a little, realizing he was a bit obsessive when it came to Fenrir, but shook his head. “I was wondering why you cut your hair,” he replied honestly, voice softly curious.
Tifa hesitated, her smile faltering for a moment, but quickly turned the question around. “Why did you cut yours?”
Blue eyes blinked in surprise. He’d only once changed his hair, when he first joined Shin-Ra: he’d worn it long back in Nibelheim. “It was against regulations. SOLDIERS could do what they pleased, but the rest of us had standards to follow.” He shrugged, his manner dismissive. “Once it was cut, I found I liked it better.”
“Mmm,” wiping at an already well-polished spot on the counter, Tifa nodded in understanding. “Maybe I like mine better this way, too.” It was suggestion and explanation in one, should he care to accept it.
“Do you?” Cloud tilted his head to try and catch her eye, but hers flickered nervously from point to point around the room.
She found she had no answer. The shorter length was easier to maintain, but there were times she missed the weight and feel of the longer style. As Cloud continued to watch her, eyes serious and solemn, still curious, she found herself willing to tell him the truth.
“After you left, I just... Denzel was getting worse, and business was failing. Marlene cried herself to sleep once every few days. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do anything to fix any of it. I needed to feel like I was in charge of something.” So she cut her hair, because it was a decision only she could make, and it somehow let her feel a little more in control of her life.
Standing, he reached across the bar to place his gloved palm over her fidgeting fingers. “I’m sorry.” His words were simple but heartfelt. Sorry he’d left, sorry he hadn’t been there to help, sorry things had seemed so hopeless. His steady gaze promised that – should there ever be a next time – she wouldn’t be alone.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. “That I cut my hair?” she joked. “You don’t like my new look?”
His smile flashed brighter, just for a moment, and he chuckled a little. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he told her, “as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“But?” despite his care to be non-judgmental, there was definitely a ‘but’ in his tone.
His free hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head, as he almost abruptly let his lips curve in a boyish grin. “But... I did fantasize about your hair.” Long, soft, silken and fragrant, and belonging to a woman he all but idolized? Of course he’d fantasized about it, and the different ways he could play with it should the right situation ever arise.
Tifa’s jaw dropped as she stared at him, and then she started giggling. “You did not!”
Undeterred, he reached out to wrap some of her tresses around his fist, and used them to draw her closer. “Oh yes I did,” he assured her, murmuring the words against her lips between kisses, “and in great detail.”
Brown eyes soft and wide, her cheeks just barely pink, she smiled. “Tell me,” she half begged, half ordered.
Letting her hair slip from around his fingers, he shook his head, grin changing to a smirk. “I don’t think so. But if you grow it out again, I’ll show you.”
With one last kiss he left her there, mouth once more agape with surprise, as his footsteps faded up the stairs.
And eyeing the strands falling over her shoulder, she wondered: just how long would it take to regrow her previous length?
