Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.

Second Night

by: thelittletree

(Everyone's right. Sex isn't everything. But it is something -- sometimes the catalyst that brings two people together. In Vincent's case, one of the few weaknesses that allows Tifa to hope when his fear is almost great enough to turn their first night of lovemaking into a one-night stand. This has an R rating because there is sex. This scene takes place the day after 'Illuminating the Dark', so don't read if you think it might ruin the relationship for you to read about them tumblin' into the sack. Though I don't go into any real detail. I'm more about the feelings, thank you. Oh, and just to clarify, I've got no good reason for having written this, 'cept I wanted to. And maybe to show how I guess it might've happened, and that Vincent's fear is the same from beginning to end, tho that ain't no brain-buster. Okay, enough talk.)

He'd been sitting against the wall when she'd woken up and, despite the fact that he'd been fully dressed, despite the blanket he'd almost certainly draped over her for his own comfort more than a thought for hers, she'd taken it for a good sign that he was there at all. Legs drawn up but relaxed, hair still loose from the moment she'd tugged the tie out and thrown it behind her, thoughts a million miles away until she shifted a little on the floor to warn him that she was awake.

And she'd found it easy to smile at that picture of him in her hallway, even knowing what he'd probably been thinking about. To shift up beside him with the blanket respectfully in place and to lean in against his arm, the most contact she would dare try at first, like a tentative question. To glance at him without being afraid, or sorry. She'd brought him through and, right then, she'd been able to imagine that there was a place for everything. If only he would stay relaxed like this, there was absolutely no reason why...

"You work this morning. I should go."

…it shouldn't be all right. Except for the fact that he seemed completely unwilling to risk even the smallest concession.

She'd made herself continue smiling, even as he'd stood and stepped to the door without once meeting her eyes. He'd stayed, she'd reminded herself. That meant something, right? "Don't go far." She hadn't really intended to say it out loud, even in a whisper.

He hadn't replied, if he'd heard her. Though she'd been sure by the way he'd closed the door, softly as if to give himself the chance to hesitate, that he had heard.

By the time her shift ended that day, her stomach felt like someone had been kicking at it from the inside until the butterflies had wilted into little more than a few numb, nauseous flutters. But she was determined that he would a make a decision, whether it be a resolve to try or the hideous fallout that might've been inevitable from the beginning. Either way, he needed to let her know what they needed to do next. Because it was a given that things weren't going to be able to stay the same.

She'd kissed him. He'd kissed back. She'd gone for his buttons, he'd settled twitching fingers on her ribs until she'd ducked her breast into his palm. She'd nipped, he'd moaned, and then she'd been blissfully, intoxicatingly crushed between him and the wall with a very good indicator to his state of mind pressing into her lower belly.

And, from there, it had been out of their hands had either of them wanted to stop.

He was sitting at his table as she came in, and she felt his sudden gaze like a heavy hand dropping on her shoulder -- abruptly veiled, dark with pupil and memories that probably alarmed as much as they stimulated. And then he darted his eyes away, back to the card game at hand, and Tifa almost felt the need to catch her breath before turning attention to Lily's small talk.

"How was work?"

"Oh, fine. Is that shepherd's pie?"

"You bet. There's gravy for it on the counter. Vince, should we expect a wager tonight, or you just wanna stare at the table?"

Oh yes, it was certain that things wouldn't ever go back to being the same.

She joined the next hand and began to eat as if nothing was different, even though she wasn't hungry and the tension was like a wire strung between them beneath the table, left to vibrate with every breath and heartbeat. A hum she felt sure would drown out every other noise in the room if she concentrated too hard on it. Quiet, but restless, Vincent shifted in his chair and the sound was like the echo of unfinished conversation. Tifa chewed on her lip and fought the impulse to gulp her food, lose her hand, and usher Lily out the door.

However, Lily seemed to have smelled it in the air. Next bet, she folded with a smile that was almost too gracious and stood before starting to gather the plates. "Well, I've got some laundry to do, and then I'm going to bed. I'll see you two tomorrow."

The minutes seemed like hours before the door closed behind her, but as soon as they'd been left alone Tifa found herself abruptly too afraid to look up from her cards. Though she couldn't seem to remember whose ante it was.

Vincent didn't give her any clues as she fiddled with her aces, and eventually the tension was like another presence in the room. Finally, she forced a fortifying breath and lowered her hand to the table. "So, Vincent…" She'd wanted to sound sure, but her voice had taken on the damnably unsteady warble quivering in her gut. "Your bed this time?" She made herself raise her eyes and stare steadily. She'd called, it wasn't anytime to be thinking of backing down.

He didn't seem to be breathing for a moment, like he wanted her to believe he'd turned into a piece of the furniture. But then he shuffled up in his chair and began to sort through his cards. "I need time to think."

But she knew him too well to believe thinking would ever bring him the answer they needed. "About what? Whether you want this to have been a one-night stand?"

His gaze flicked up to hers at that, and she could see that she'd sparked a tiny flame of indignation in his eyes. It gave her hope.

"About the future," he clarified solidly without elaborating.

A part of her brain wasn't surprised by his response. Of course the future, but she'd thought they'd gotten mostly over the first hurdles of trust. Maybe not; maybe the thing with Eike had built the ultimate bridge too far.

But, still, Vincent had slept with her. He could have pushed her away. He could've walked out the door. But he'd stayed. Some part of him had been tired of holding back, tired of waiting; some part had been ready to take the risk. And it hadn't just been the part below his belt.

She sighed heavily. "What can I do?" she asked quietly, not wanting to drive him further behind the wall he was slowly, surely rebuilding. "What can I do to convince you that…" It would take a little while, she knew, before this would become automatic. "…that I love you, if just saying it isn't enough? Tell me you're willing to try, tell me you can't promise anything, but don't tell me no because of the chance it might not work out. You should know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn't do this unless I was pretty sure, and that I wouldn't break it off without a very good reason. The last thing I want is to make either of us hurt."

His expression was what she'd labelled 'weary' -- not wanting to explain, but knowing he was going to have to. "I know that. I don't mean the near future." She frowned and almost bit off a 'What?', but a candid, word-heavy glance from him silenced her rash tongue. "If we…" He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. "I can't do this halfway," he continued softly, like it was a vulnerable confession. "If I let myself love you, it will be with everything, and that means I'll lose everything when you inevitably age and die."

It painted a picture for her, their potential life flashing through her mind. Herself growing older, eventually an elderly woman in a bed somewhere. And he, perpetually twenty-seven, holding her brittle hand and trying to keep his own fragile humanity from destroying him in front of her.

And for a moment she felt she could almost let him go, for the ripping agony it would cause him to have to let her go…

But another second of thought made her certain that she wasn't concerned about the future. The future was going to come anyhow, whether he said yes or no. This was about the here and now, because nothing lasted forever, even if you did, and though he could hide himself away in an apartment, waiting for the whimper or the bang at the end, it would never make him happy to simply trade the threat of one kind of pain for another.

Silly, blind fool, she thought and stood, resolved. Before he chose, for the both of them, she was going to make sure he was seeing his choice in the light of reality. Because it was easy to believe you were doing the right thing when you ignored all of the grey areas between the black and white.

"Vincent." She skirted the table until she was standing where he couldn't ignore her even if he refused to look. "Hang the future. What's going to make you happy right now? Letting this, us, slip through your fingers to become another regret for a risk you didn't take…" She could almost feel the twitch this caused in his arm, a little too near the mark for his liking. "…or accepting the fact that sometimes you have to take the bad to get any of the good?"

The pause was almost painful in the moments before he glanced up, standing next to him as she was. Because she wanted to be so much closer, in his arms again, and it would only take one word from him. She could almost taste the tension radiating from him, the memory of a brief lovemaking that would never have been enough to sate all of what lay beneath the surface, drawing the barriers apart.

When his eyes found her face, she could nearly feel the way he was helplessly drinking her proximity in. "Tifa, I…" He leaned back from the table, cards dripping out of metal fingers, words failing miserably.

And she wasn't sure if it was taking advantage or taking an invitation. But she wasn't going to let herself care. Taking his hand, and feeling her pulse throb like an ache in the pit of her stomach, she slid into his lap, facing him, too close now, she hoped, for opposition. And kissed him softly, revelling in the sudden, heavy relief of his body as her mouth offered what it had devoured last night, the vulnerable crease between his eyebrows as he struggled against submitting to his own desire.

As his defences quavered, she unrepentantly exploited every opportunity, brushing gently against his lips with her tongue and teeth, exploring their texture, nipping playfully. Until he gave a faint moan low in his throat and, without warning, pulled her firmly against him. The kiss deepened as he finally gave up all pretence of holding back, and a reflexive jerk of his hips let her know through the dizzying feel and taste of him that he very much, very soon, would be wanting to do much more than kissing.

In wholehearted agreement, she wrapped her ankles around the back legs of the chair and ground into the heat and pressure of his arousal, almost tempted into a giddy laugh as he tugged his mouth away to give a broken groan. Eyes closed, lungs fighting, muscles rolling beneath her as if to hold onto the friction that was both too much and not enough.

Frightening heaven to know she could do this to him. Frightening heaven to think that maybe they were going to have the rest of her life to perfect it.

"Tifa…" His voice was slightly desperate, despite how he was trying to force control. "…we should move to the bedroom."

But she knew they wouldn't make it and she pulled him simply to the couch before beginning to shuck out of her clothing. She was still wrestling with one pant leg when Vincent, fully stripped in seconds, began to urge her down, his mouth a hungry brand on her skin. Too far gone for foreplay, much like last night, but this time he was hesitating, waiting, fingers trembling as he touched her as if he wanted to make an attempt to give her something back.

But this was not the time. His store of patience and restraint couldn't cover his eagerness, and, truthfully, she wasn't willing to wait either. Quickly, before he could try and make a coherent protest, she raised her legs around his hips and in one move pulled him into her.

His surprised groan, half muffled into her throat, sounded like it was part pleasure, part pain as his fingertips clutched her hard enough to leave bruises. And she let it quiver through her, threading through her own pulsing desire. Last night had been like the tip of the iceburg, breaking into and barely melting the miles of frozen need underneath. It had been too long for both of them.

He was moving almost immediately in short, hard thrusts, his body's ardour finally winning out over any remaining resistance, and she matched his rhythm, arching against him into the position that had worked so well last night. His breath hitched with sounds that sounded almost like words as he gripped her shoulder for urgent leverage, and she dug her nails into his skin as the simmering fire began to blaze.

He was so beautiful, pale skin and lean muscle and hair that fell like a shuddering veil. She suddenly wished she could see his face.

"Vincent…"

His breath was hot for a moment against her cheek as he raised his head enough to look at her, his eyes filled with something so infinitely breakable she thought that whatever she'd wanted from him -- trust, love, himself -- he'd given it to her. And she was suddenly aware of the terrible, humbling responsibility of holding charge over his imperfectly restitched heart.

And the blaze became an inferno, too advanced to rein in, as he pressed trembling lips into her cheek to stifle his anguished outcry. And she succumbed with something near a sob to her own brimming release.

She couldn't help a small grunt as he collapsed against her a moment later, his weight too much on a couch that was noticeably too small and uncomfortable for two. But it only lasted a second before he was pushing off of her. He didn't stop there, however. Another second showed him ready to get up completely from the sofa. Feeling suddenly vulnerable to her doubts as the air hit her, Tifa grabbed his right arm and tried to pull him back down, not willing to let him simply walk away or start getting dressed.

And was instantly aware of the muscle-tensing shock in his expression as he lost already precarious balance. And could only watch, unable to prevent, as he slipped abruptly to the floor with a thump.

Hastily, she sat up and turned to look at him. He was practically on his back, grimacing, and the look he shot her was somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "I wasn't going far."

She couldn't help a brief, self-conscious chuckle and tried to gather up the hair that was falling in her face. "I'm sorry."

His fingers reached up in what almost seemed an unthinking gesture to sweep a lock away she'd missed. "It's all right." And then, with a stone of dread in her stomach, Tifa felt the unwelcome return of the tension in the sudden stillness of his hand as he touched her skin. Yes, they were naked in his apartment, they had slept together a second time, and his fears remained. He dropped his arm and glanced away. "We shouldn't have…"

But she wasn't going to let him finish. Quickly, she rolled off the couch and was pleased to feel his arms half prepared to catch her in the moment before they both grunted with the impact. Then she shifted around until she was curled up against him, head tucked under his chin, giving him no opportunity to retreat. "I chose you, Vincent," she whispered into the base of his throat. "It's either this, or I go away forever. Because I can't love you and not have you."

A few seconds passed like minutes of heavy silence. And then his arms were coming around to hold her.

"Tomorrow, your bed?" she asked tentatively after a moment.

She felt him swallow. "Tomorrow."

It wasn't exactly the promise she'd wanted to ask of him. But it was more than she'd had before. And she was willing to take him piece by piece, over years, decades, if it was the only way he could let himself go.