I Know My Way
Title: I Know My Way
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profit gained. This is a fanwork.
Summary: There's no need for lights.
Notes: My friend Orin Drake wrote a song and immediately, there was songfic~
I Know My Way...
Too many times... Hell, he'd even stopped bothering to knock, knowing full well that the door would be left unlocked for him.
He didn't need light to see. He knew his way. Even being able to see in the dark, he could walk the hallways with his eyes closed.
There was no way to make the door latch click in any way but the one that pierced the darkness, sounding infinitely loud in the silence of the night. That, he thought, could have just been in his mind, though. The same way he always seemed to be noisier when trying to be quiet or managed to spill something on himself when he was wearing a white shirt after months of wearing things with stains and not spilling a drop.
He locked the door behind himself.
Ah, furniture. But he knew his way around that, even managing not to knock his boots against the end table that seemed to always jump out of place and nip at his ankles like some sort of wooden guard dog.
All of the suites were really the same on the inside. Lightswitches and dividing walls placed in identical positions, easily navigated by anyone familiar. It was easy to know where to turn. And when.
Walking softly despite his boots, he was thankful for carpet thick enough to make up for his normally heavy footsteps. Again, the feeling of trying to be quiet only to end up being noisier than usual.
Besides, he was fairly sure his presence was far from a secret. He was likely expected.
That was not his doing. No matter how many times...
The bedroom door was quieter than the front door, at least. It dragged on the carpeting in an uneven pattern that would eventually wear a path. But it wasn't often that the door was even closed.
He paused, wondering.
Through The Dark...
"I know," he found himself replying as he slid his jacket off, listening to it rustle a bit when it hit the floor. His shirt followed, a softer, dull noise. His boots were harder, knotted a bit and he actually had to look at them, really look at them to be able to get them off.
He wondered just how closely he was being watched in the dark room, heavy curtains drawn to block out the light from the city.
The zipper of his pants taunted him, equally loud no matter how he tried to ease down - fast or slow it sounded the same. But slow only delayed things. He hadn't come for slow.
"Were you out?"
"No," he said, taking one step too many and bumping against the edge of the bed, falling half onto it before laughing. "I wasn't out."
"Maybe you should have been."
"Maybe you should have been, too," he shot back. People, places... This was becoming too routine, dark nights and desperate desire. There were so many other options...
"Can't do... this with her," he answered, wondering how just a voice could be getting to him so thoroughly.
The blankets sounded infinitely noisy as they were tossed around and eventually reorganized to trap both of them between the same layers, both naked in the dark.
I Know My Way...
He couldn't help feeling that he was being too loud, crying out as hands ran over his body, tongue following and seeking lower, capturing him and pulling him into full arousal. Shifting awkwardly, he hit his head on the headboard, a decidedly noisy thump. But it was more noise than pain.
Dragged a foot down on the bed, he reached to rub the back of his head once before ignoring everything but the feel of a warm mouth around his erection.
"Damn," he muttered, wondering why he was the one so blessed as to be on the receiving end of the act.
Natural noises, soft and wet did little to cover the decidedly inorganic sound of a plastic tube and lid. He let his body give to fingers seeking to penetrate him, knowing he'd soon have nothing but intense pleasure and the sound of their voices combined.
It would be strange for him to admit that even though he could see in the dark, he chose not to.
Thick arousal replaced those fingers a moment after that mouth pulled back, leaving him desperate for release. He could hear the swish of long hair, feeling it more than hearing it as it trailed over his stomach and stuck for a second to the lingering saliva on his erection.
He did not tense. He did not freeze.
"More," he whispered, wondering why his voice had come out so softly. "More."
The mattress springs squeaked for a moment, almost too loud and a little silly as his body was filled, no pause for adjustment before more hard thrusts threatened to make him beg louder.
Listening to the sound of their bodies meeting, he couldn't help but try to memorize them. He knew these nights wouldn't last forever. But he could hope.
And then there was no other sound than his own voice, sounding very much foreign as it rang in his ears. Hands wrapped around his arousal, one of them his own he realized, being guided more than anything to create a fast rhythm matching that which was rocking his body.
He wondered if it was the darkness that made everything so much more intense. Not being able to look up and see the ceiling slowly showing cracks in the plaster... There was nothing other than sensation for a linked series of moments, cycling through his senses to settle on feeling, wetness on his hand as he came, hot and thick.
Just his hand. He couldn't see anything else. The rest he imagined in the few seconds before perfectly seductive moans blocked even the rough thrusts into his body from his consciousness.
He could listen to that voice all night.
But that wasn't the only reason he had made his way through the dark.
Drink Lemonade! Tip Your Waitress!