Incongruity

Every day that he sees her, he tells himself chidingly with a vulgar snarl that she is not meant for him.

So they're sitting alone in the room, the television cackling monotonously in the background, the shapes flickering in and out in a spectrum of colors. The smoke from the cigarette placed gingerly between two chaffed lips drifts towards the ceiling in the damp air, writhing and curling in on itself as it disappears. And he pulls the smoke harder into his lungs, willing his eyes shut. And as he feels her shift nervously besides him, he wishes for a moment that he could be like that smoke and disappear. Once in a while when she's not around, he tells himself that she doesn't mean a thing—not one damn thing—to him, and that he'd be better off with some other lady, maybe someone from a small town or somethin'… And then, when she walks into the room, her dress swaying near her pale ankles, and her lips pulled into a pouty smile, he immediately takes back everything that he just told himself.

But now, they're just sitting there, and she lets him press a hesitant nicotine kiss to the corner of her lips, and she lets him put his arm around her back, his fingers lingering under her ribcage. She lets him turn her around and brush her cheek with the other hand, the edge of his palm tracing her jaw line and moving down to her chin where he expertly lifts her face up, drawing her into a tender kiss—a word never before heard in his dictionary.

She pushes back as he presses the kiss deeper, her lips turned down into a pale pink line, her eyes lowered, lust…disappointment…

And he pulls away too, rubbing the side of his head, breathing harshly. She almost says something then, but decides against it as he's already opened his mouth to speak. So she looks at his face, angled and unshaven, and perfect…just that perfect rugged look, his lips chapped but still somehow to her—perfect—his cheeks a defined slant.

His eyes are a dark blue, the perfect contrast to his waifish blonde hair, which is short and cropped, and spiked but not really, just messy and uncombed. They're lowered considerably, smoldering in her direction, taking her in with a greedy gulp as his voice grates roughly. His breathing is harsh; tipping off the scale as her own breathing escalates, almost becoming a small droning whimper. She wants him to kiss her, to pull her close. It sounds like it would be so right…and then…she thinks about the aftermath…and it sounds like it would be so wrong.

"…You want me, but you don't. Right…?"

As he pulls her tighter against his side, palm cupped against the curve of her waist, she sigh's softly, resting her head against his shoulder, craning her neck as she presses a chaste kiss to his jaw. His gaze is still burning at her, lips twitching, calloused fingers brushing softly up and down against the fabric of her dress in rhythmic motions.

He almost thinks that he might have to repeat himself, but then, she closes her eyes, smiling gently—as if she's happy about their compromising situation—her hands grasping his shirt.

Her voice is light and airy, he imagines that it's a bit more husky than usual, but, then again, he's probably imagining.

And she answers back, leaning over to at least kiss him one more time…

"…What a contradiction, huh?"

It sounded so right…

Lips brushing against her own, he retorts, his smoky breath ghosting over her almost trembling lips.

"Yeah…what a striking, brazen, wish…"

She finds while he picks himself up, sticking another cigarette between his lips…that she has nothing more to say.

But…in the end…

It sounded so wrong…

End

A/N:

Don't ask how I got this pairing. It just seemed to fit so well.

Plus, I'm a big sucker for weird things like this, so…that pretty much explains it. I think I'll do more of it, I'm really starting to grow fond for them.

Go Cid and Aerith!

TMoh