Fanfic -- "Turn About" (non-smut version)

[sekiharatae]

Title: Turn About (non-smut version)
Pairing:  Cloud/Tifa
Rating: T
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cloud/Tifa: foot rub and other pampering - just one night
Summary: Cloud's had a rough few days.  Tifa makes everything better.

It was not uncommon, at the end of a long day, for Tifa to collapse on the sofa after her shower and put her abused feet in Cloud’s lap. “You have magic hands,” she’d all but moaned the first time he’d reduced her to a weak-limbed mass with nothing more than a simple foot rub. He’d smiled – that sexy-yet-shy smile – and then carried her upstairs to finish the job, leaving her boneless and quivering and thoroughly satisfied.

There were dozens of tiny little ways he spoiled her like that; from picking up rare and beloved ingredients whenever he had the chance, to helping her clean the bar after he’d already worked a full day of deliveries. “You take care of me all the time,” he’d countered, when she’d protested that he didn’t need to do so much, “let me do this.” She’d hesitated, and he’d pressed. “Let me, Tifa.”

So she had. Largely because pampering her seemed to make him happy, and she’d be a fool to say she didn’t appreciate the help, or enjoy the attention. If anything, what upset her was the fact that she rarely – if ever – had a chance to pamper him. To have him lean on her. Geostigma and mako-poisoning aside, Cloud was a man who never got sick, and whose energy and stamina surpassed everyone they knew (excepting, possibly, Denzel and Marlene on a sugar high, and even then it was a toss-up).

When the search parties scouring Midgar in the wake of the Deepground incident were finally dispersed, that changed. Cloud returned home filthy, sporting a variety of cuts and bruises, the knees and hems of his pants torn and ragged. Although he hadn’t slept in four days, his eyes were clear, not glassy, his exhaustion only apparent in the tone of his voice. More obvious was the abuse to which he’d subjected his body: close to one hundred hours spent moving concrete rubble and steel girders searching for Vincent or any other survivors, had left even his mako-enhanced body worn, muscles knotted, joints tight. Never one for broad gestures, now every movement was honed to a strict minimum to avoid jarring or straining anything further.

Between the grime and the blood and the shuffling movements, he reminded Tifa of a zombie. A blond, blue-eyed, beloved zombie, but a zombie just the same.

Forcing back her distress, she was quick to assist him in removing his armor and sword harness, kneeling to help him out of his boots so he wouldn’t have to bend or try sitting: once he was seated, it might be difficult to get him moving again. He ate standing up as well, single-handedly devouring a chicken casserole that would’ve fed four. Her eyes narrowed at that, but she resisted the urge to scold: in the first place, it wouldn’t change the fact that he obviously hadn’t been eating, and in the second, Cloud would always be Cloud. When he finished, she helped him upstairs to the shower, taking his ruined clothes and leaving him to drain the hot water heater.

He took inordinate pleasure in watching the gray-tinted water wash down the drain, and in the feel of hot water and steam-warmed air on skin that had been too long coated with ash and dirt and – in some places – blood. It took three tries before his hair lost its stiffness and the water ran clear. Once clean, he stood with his arms raised and braced against the shower wall, letting the hot spray beat down on the muscles in his back and shoulders, coaxing them to relax.

Heaven.

Although still somewhat stiff, by the time the water turned cold Cloud felt he could walk without wincing at every step. For which he was glad, because when he entered the bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, Tifa was waiting, and it’d been far too long since they’d been together. Dressed in panties and an oversized t-shirt that had slipped down over one shoulder, she met him with a smile and a kiss, before surprising him by urging him to lay down on the bed on his stomach. He wanted to protest, to tell her he needed her more than sleep, but the soft mattress and cool sheets felt sinfully good, and when she undid the loose knot at his hip to spread the towel out, he suspected she had ideas other than sleep in mind.

When she straddled him he was certain of it, although a bit confused. “Tifa? What are you...?”

“Shhh,” came the response, along with the faint sound of a cap popping open. Then her hands were at the small of his back, cool and slippery. Slowly, one hand on either side of his spine, she stroked smoothly upward, and he found himself releasing a deep sigh in tandem with the motion. Her fingertips ghosted along his shoulders, down his sides, and then returned to the small of his back only to repeat the cycle. After a few repetitions, he realized there was just the faintest tingle left behind on his skin, accompanied by the merest hint of birch in the air: she was using the massage oil she sometimes worked into her legs and arms after a particularly strenuous workout. The vaguely minty tang was both soothing and revitalizing, and Cloud sighed again, reaching out to pull a pillow close, curling his arms under the fluffy weight and resting his head on top.

“Good?” she asked, voice soft, as if worried she’d disturb him.

His answer was equally low, a wordless sound of pleasure. It was better than good: at the moment there was nothing to worry about, no enemies to fight, and the woman he loved was doing fantastic things to ease all the built-up tension from his body.

Well, almost all. Tifa’s ministrations were feeding a different, pleasurable sort of tension, and he had not the slightest interest in making her stop. No one else had ever touched him just to give pleasure. No one had ever slathered him with attention the way she was now. Mind and body soaked it up, the way his skin absorbed the light oil as her hands worked over his back.

Hissing in a breath as her knuckles rubbed deep, kneading a particularly stubborn knot, he then exhaled a low moan when his muscles unclenched at her insistence. She moved on to the next trouble spot, prompting a gasp and a vaguely pleased whimper. Tifa chuckled, leaning down to breathe in his ear, “If that’s what I sound like when you rub my feet, I know why it turns you on.” Cloud flushed at her teasing, but gamely turned his head for her kiss.

“If it feels this good when I give you a foot massage,” he answered, nipping lightly at her bottom lip before snuggling his face back in the pillow, “I know why you enjoy them so much.”

Sitting back up, she scooted a little further down on the bed and started to rub tantalizing circles over his tail bone with her thumbs. He jerked a bit in surprise, but subsided under her touch, only to reach down and rearrange things a few seconds later. Tifa grinned, but didn’t stop the motion of her hands. “You’ve never had a massage before?”

“No,” although muffled, she could still hear the blatant enjoyment in his voice, “I’ve never really had the opportunity.” He paused, arching into the press of her fingers. “Besides, it took me months to be comfortable with Barret or Cid walking up and thumping me in the shoulder or patting me on the back. I still get jumpy if a customer does it.”

Tifa could picture it, too: she’d seen him start away when customers tried to pat him on the shoulder in thanks. “I guess that would make sitting still for a massage difficult,” she agreed, keeping her tone light and cheerful, refusing to let regret over things she couldn’t change intrude on the moment. Shifting to straddle his calves, she bent down and pressed a nipping kiss to the curve of his butt, delighting in the surprised sound he made in response: half gasp, half laughter. “But I’d be happy to give you one, anytime. I’m not an expert, but Master Zangan said I had a nice touch.”

“Very,” Cloud agreed, lifting his head to look at her over his shoulder. “I hope you made him keep his clothes on, though, and your teeth to yourself.” His eyes were bright with relaxed amusement.

“Cloud!” she protested, swatting him firmly on his too perfect ass, “Bad images! Bad images are not allowed! I can’t bleach my brain!”

Shoulders shaking with silent laughter he subsided, and the room became quiet except for their breathing and his occasional sighing moan. Tifa’s thumbs soothed away aches in his glutes he wasn’t even aware he’d had, before she stretched out on top of him, her face snug in the curve of his neck and shoulder, her light weight pressing him gently into the mattress.

“All better?” she asked, lips against his throat.

His answer was a sleepy, affirmative grunt, followed by an impressive yawn.

She laughed, the sound soft and happy, prompting his mouth to curve in response, although he remained silent, eyes closed. “Good night, Cloud,” she breathed, ghosting a kiss across his lips as she shifted to lie beside him, pulling the covers up over them both.

He mumbled something unintelligible, one arm slipping around her waist to hold her close, and then he stilled, his breathing even and regular.   He was adorable in his utter relaxation -- a far cry from the zombie she'd met at the door -- and even as she followed him into sleep, Tifa basked in the knowledge that she'd been the one to give him that calm.