[Where she finds it embarrassing to let this truth tumble free, the words make Sephiroth’s impatience only grow more steadily. Knowing that this could have happened between them before now is a bristling thought, isn’t it? That he could have pressed his lips against her naked skin like this, touched her with fervor he’s never experienced before. He breathes against her skin, warm and cloying.]

I want to hear it. Ciri… I want to know every little thing you imagined me doing to you. Or you doing to me.

[He doesn’t know why he’s saying this so easily, either; but he knows that he’s not ashamed of it in this moment. The way he sheds his outer jacket when he finally sits up, shrugging it off his shoulders and tossing it aside, is proof of that. His undershirt is off next, peeled away in a single, smooth motion.]

Tell me.