Loveless

Still not my game. Square owns it. Again, I had to pare down the sexuality in this chapter to publish it on other sites. Here is the chapter in its entirety, the way it was originally meant to be. 7. New Beginnings The rocket stayed right where it crashed. It stayed that way for five years. And in that five years, Cid decided that if Shera was going to stay in the house that they built (that he built, if you want to put a fine point on it), then he was going to make her existence as miserable as his. And so he did. Every day had its own cadence: wake up; scream at Shera if she still slept next to him; use her body if he woke up with a hard-on (which, owing what he slept next to, was surprising); tell Shera how useless she was; work on the rocket; drink his tea; scream at Shera some more; watch TV; wish he could tie one on; scream at Shera even more; use her body some more (and, oh, did it get his motor running to see her turn her head into the pillow so she couldn’t look at his face; so submissive…); go to bed. So it went every day. But…sometimes, Shera would wake before Cid, and she would listen to him moan and sob and mutter in his sleep. Sometimes, he would call out to her, and she would reach out and stroke his hair out of his eyes, and he would settle back. Sometimes, when she woke before him, she had to restrain an urge to caress his cheek, or stroke his chest, or run her fingers over his body; he was a healthy man, and before he woke he would groan and writhe a bit and his manhood would stiffen. Once, she did caress that which throbbed and swelled, and he had gasped and called her name and drew her close. His sleeping hands had run over her naked body, and she had quivered under his somnolent ministrations. He had nuzzled her cheek, and kissed her soundly, deeply. She had still hated him passionately, but she also missed him, and missed his touch. Her mind had quailed from his sleepy affection, but her traitorous body had opened to him like the unraveling of a rose’s bloom. She had pressed the length of her body against him, and he spooned her. His sure hand had slid up her thigh, and gently probed the opening between her legs. She had sighed, and shuddered profoundly. He had brought his lips to the nape of her neck, and nipped her gently where it met her shoulder. She had moaned, a gentle susurrus, and had rocked her head back onto his shoulder. His other hand had found her clitoris, and she trembled under his slow, agonizingly pleasurable attentions. He had brought her to easy orgasm in that fashion; he always could. As Shera basked in the afterglow, Cid’s sleeping body had spooned closer to hers, and he had surprised her by nuzzling her neck again and maneuvering his cock to her aperture. He had bent her slightly forward with his body, and pressed his hands against her pelvis. He had rolled his hips, grunted softly, and slid himself in—slow, the way they both liked it. He had begun to rock her; he brought a hand to her breast and ran his fingers over her areola. The nipple hardened, and she gasped, and rocked with him. So slow—oh, so deliciously slow, he had made love to her in his own dreamscape, and Shera had been almost disgusted to find that she wanted this, mind and body, so very badly. Cid had sighed deeply again, and planted tiny kisses around the nape of her neck, and began whispering Shera’s name. His body heat had spiked, and his breathing deepened and lengthened—he wasn’t panting yet, but he was close. Then he had suddenly withdrawn himself, and turned Shera over to her back, and Shera had finally glimpsed his face. Cid wore a sweet expression of drowsy contentment, his eyes hazy with sleep and bliss. He had smiled at her then, that half-grin of his that had stolen her heart so many years ago. Against her will, Shera lost what self-control she had remaining, and gave herself to him, body and soul, all over again. He had propped himself up on his hands, and entered her again; when he had resumed his slow, steady stroke, he lowered himself to his forearms and cradled Shera’s head. His unseeing, slumbering eyes locked with hers, and their lips brushed against each other. She had locked her arms around Cid’s neck, and her tongue darted out and flicked against his lower lip. His mouth had dropped open, and he had begun to pant arduously. He had squeezed his eyes shut and rocked his head back and made music of her name. “Oh, my G—Shera, uhnn…Shera!” Shera had felt her unquestionable release come again—that sweet, spiraling crescendo that begged to transpire, the thrill that buzzed through every fiber of her being; and she couldn’t help but arch her body and mold herself to him, and to cry out his name under her breath. When they made love, she had always used his given name—no reason, it just always happened that way. This time had been no different. “Ahh…Shido. Yes, yes! Shido!” She looked up at Cid, and he was nearing his own little death. He made love to her fiercely and ardently then, until finally his body stuttered, and he cried out. He had brought his lips to hers, and kissed her deeply again while his orgasm still throbbed through his member. He had smiled tenderly at her again, and lowered himself to his side, and spooned her again, and drew her close. His deep, measured inhalations told Shera that he had gone back to wherever he usually went in sleep. So…this is why she stayed. Not because she was atoning for some wrongdoing, imagined or otherwise. Not because she had no other place to go. Not because she was merely his assistant. Shera realized that she still loved Cid, despite all that had transpired between them during the past five years. It never happened again, this sweet, sleepy love, but it was okay—Shera knew, then, why she did what she did…why she stayed. And so she lived under the shadow of her erstwhile lover, and his crushed dream. O-O-O-O-O Until the whispers came again…the whispers that told of the Shin-Ra Space Program’s new beginning…they gave him a glimmer of hope. But then there were other, more sinister whispers, whispers of a madman hell-bent on genocide. One morning, not too long after their romantic interlude, the call Cid had been praying for had come. The phone rang as he drank his morning tea. “Shera! Pick up the god-damned phone!” Silence descended. A moment later, Shera walked into the kitchen and handed Cid the phone. “Palmer,” she said quietly. Cid leapt from the chair, and grabbed the phone. He put the phone to his ear, and barked a hello. He was silent for the most part, pacing in and out of the kitchen, and gave monosyllabic answers to Palmer’s queries. Cid finally said, “Thanks. Bye,” and hung up the phone. He walked back into the kitchen, and handed the phone to Shera. “Palmer’s on his way,” he barked. “Put up some more tea. Rufus is prob’ly gonna be with him.” Under the gruff order, did Shera hear…jubilance? She sure did. O-O-O-O-O Cid went off to Shin-Ra #26 to work on it while he waited for Palmer. While he was gone, some visitors arrived at his little house. Shera received them, and bade them wait for the Captain. “He should be in for his early-afternoon tea,” she said. The leader of the travelers, a young man named Cloud, nodded, and sat in the small kitchen to bide his time. Presently, the Captain arrived…in a foul mood, as usual. He sat at the table, and demanded his tea. He glanced at the visitors. Hey, wait…wasn’t Spike there just in his rocket, asking to take the Tiny Bronco? He rolled his eyes to Shera, and hollered, “What the fuck are ya waiting on? Serve them tea!” Shera bent her head and did as she was told. Spike had some girls with him—two young ladies—and the trio stared at Cid incredulously, glanced over at Shera, and then glared bloody murder at Cid again. Cloud cleared his throat, and began, “Uh, Captain, we have very little time…” “What,” said Cid, as his ire rose. “My hospitality not good enough fer ya? Sit yer ass down in that chair and drink yer god-damned TEA!” “Yessir,” said Cloud, as he plopped hastily into the nearest chair. His companions, Tifa and Aerith, followed suit. Cid nodded, and inclined his head curtly at Shera. “Palmer’ll be here any minute.” “Yes, Captain.” That moment, Palmer bustled in. Like Cid, he had aged somewhat over the past thirteen years. Unlike Cid, however, he still drank to excess. He tottered in, and seized Cid’s hand in a sweaty, meaty handshake. It was all Cid could do to hide his moue of disgust. He loathed the man. “Hey-hey-hey! M’boy! How’ve you been?” He wafted bourbon fumes into Cid’s face. Cid would have cheerfully murdered Palmer, if he could get away with it. Instead, he grinned mirthlessly, and said, “Ahh, same old shit, Palmer. Want some tea?” “Oh, you read my mind.” He turned to Shera. “Shera, if you would—extra lard, please?” Cloud’s jaw dropped in revulsion, and he turned to Cid. Cloud was shocked to see Cid expression of abhorrence. Wasn’t this the guy that led the Space Program? Wasn’t this guy Cid’s ticket into outer space? Palmer got his repugnant tea, and sat himself next to Tifa, who was still firing daggers from her eyes at Cid. Palmer smiled blearily at her, and turned to Cid. “Rufus will be here soon.” Cloud bolted upright. He had to get out of here, now. Then Shera glanced from the kitchen window, and said, “Rufus is here.” Cloud shot a panicked glance at Tifa and Aerith. Aerith jumped out of her chair, and made a beeline for the back door. Tifa and Cloud followed suit. Cid ignored the three, and stomped out the front door. Palmer watched them go, and then sobered a bit. He turned to Shera. “Hey…those guys were from Avalanche!” O-O-O-O-O “Whaaat? Whaddya mean the Space Program is being discontinued?” As Aerith started up the Tiny Bronco, Cid argued with Rufus Shinra in the front yard. “Just so, Mr. Highwind. There’s no money to be made in space…Mako is the way to go.” Cid felt all his dreams shatter into nothing. My chance, Cid thought, my last chance. He heard a familiar roar emanate from the expansive backyard. Is that…the Tiny Bronco? Who’s the dead man that touched my baby? He had little time to speculate, because the Tiny Bronco zoomed past them. Cid watched it bank, and come around for another sweep. He ran, and leapt for the wing. He gained purchase and pulled himself onto the fuselage. The Tiny Bronco gained altitude. Some eager beaver shot at his baby, and one shot was a direct hit. The Bronco dropped rapidly and crashed into the ocean. The Bronco submerged for a moment. Cid watched with some amusement as the small group that stole his baby struggled to get away from the biplane. Cid hung on to the fuselage, and waited for the plane to make her slow ascent. The Tiny Bronco was a seaplane, after all, and rose to the surface like Cid thought she would. The Tiny Bronco broke the skin of the water, and Cid darted out from under the fuselage and popped to the surface like a cork; he blew air explosively. He mentally cursed the group for making him lose his favorite set of goggles to the briny deep. Cid glared at Cloud, and ran his fingers through his sopping hair. “Thanks for nothing, Spike.” Cloud pulled himself onto the plane’s carcass. “Now do you see why we needed it? We need to stop Shin-Ra.” “Those bastards.” Cid splayed himself over the starboard wing, and hung his head over the water. “They took everything. I got nothin’ left. The Bronco is history now, too.” “Captain…” Tifa began. “Cid. Call me Cid. What?” Tifa hesitated a moment, then pushed on. “Avalanche can use someone like you. Will you join us?” “Against the Shin-Ra? You bet I will. They even took the rocket from us.” He crawled to the cockpit, and extracted his spear. “My pike’s yours.” Aerith glanced at the spear, and then dimpled at Cid. “You can keep it.” Cid crimsoned. Some spear—just the blade of a kitchen knife attached to a pole. He regained his composure, smirked at Aerith, and poked the tip of the blade into the canopy. It split like paper. “Too bad, Baby Doll. It serves its purpose.”