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At Eighteen

Eighteen. Finally. Presents set aside in a small pile in his room to be sorted in the morning. Unsure if he felt infinitely older than eighteen or infinitely younger. Hard to tell, having never been eighteen before.

Cloud was moaning beneath him, encouraging his motion as though somehow he was actually doing good despite not thinking he had a clue what he was doing. He'd always been beneath Cloud, at least metaphorically.

He'd grown his hair long - not really long but long enough to rival Marlene's and make Tifa do a double-take every time he walked through the backdoor after a long day.

Once, weeks before, he'd made the mistake of asking Cloud what it was like to be eighteen. Cloud didn't know. Cloud only knew how old he was because of what year it was. And then Cloud had started telling stories that seemed nearly impossible to believe. But Cloud had the scars.

He was looking down at them right now, some pink and some white and all of them visible against the tan that Cloud had to actually be working on since no one could be that color naturally.

Cloud was roughly stroking his own arousal, eyes closed as though he was locked in something more intense than the encounter actually was. For all the times he'd had to watch Cloud, his idol, begin to break and crumble, this was actually the hardest. But as he thrust in and out of the blond's body, sure that he'd come within seconds, he couldn't look away.

He didn't want to know what memories he was still competing with. Because Cloud just didn't seem to ever let go. A little, yes, but not fully. Cloud still started sentences on occassion with 'My mother' or have nightmares about things so recently confided.

But Cloud was beautiful in orgasm, sweat making his body glitter as he let his semen splash on his stomach in an absolutely shameless display.

Cloud's voice drowned his out. Cloud's pleasure nearly drowned his out.

"Denzel?' Cloud murmured a few minutes later, reaching to run fingers through hair grown out.

He knew he'd keep happily competing.