His Eyes

BY : londonbelow
Category: Final Fantasy VII > General
Dragon prints: 457
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Author's Notes: I'm not entirely sure where this came from, or even if it's any good. I'm pleased with it, but it's a bit unconventional as far as the style I chose to write it in. But you know how it is. It gets late, you get upset and bored, and you just start writing. So here they are. Hope you enjoy them. Blee blah bloo they aren't mine, flim flam flap not makin' any money, wing dang doodle please don't sue me.

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I wonder, sometimes, what color his eyes are. Usually when I'm alone. Usually when I'm drunk, or bored, or just lonely. When I have nothing else to do and no one to occupy my time, I think about him and about his eyes. Are they blue, I wonder, or perhaps green like mine? Brown, black, gray, hazel...I go through them all, trying to place them in his head, trying to make him an entire person. Somng ong other than the mirror-eyed beast I see day in and day out, something human, feeling, alive. Something I can relate to.

I've asked him to take the glasses off, just kind of casually, sure if he knew why I wanted them off he'd never give in. He never has, no matter what I say, no matter how angry or friendly or pathetic. He just looks at me from behind the lenses and doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I know what he's thinking. Partners. We're partners, not friends. Not buddies or pals or any of the other thousands of synonyms that exist. We work together and that's all. That's all it's ever been for him. Business. Sometimes, when it's quiet, I let myself hate him for that.

I asked him again, tonight, five minutes ago. Take off the glasses, just for a second. Just so I can see you. And he just looks at me and I look at my reflection and outside the hotel room the night animals sing to the moon. In the glasses, in his eyes, I look small and vulnerable and I can't help but wonder...is that the way he sees me? Every day, does he look at me and see this tousle headed child looking back at him? I wonder if I should ask him that, too, and what harm it could do if I dared. Is that it, Rude? Am I just a baby to you?

He hears his name and his brow furrows and he speaks, soft and low like the echo of a whisper of thunder. No, no. No, hys, ys, you've got it all wrong. There's no child here, only you and me. And the glasses, I add. He almost flinches at that. He knows how I hate them, knows how they torture me. He's always known and always kept them on and I wonder if he realizes what that does to me. I wonder if he realizes the nights that I've spent staring at the ceiling and wondering if he even has eyes behind the lenses, or if there are just dark, hollow sockets there in his skull.

And then his hand is rising and the glasses are sliding down and I can't help but catch my breath. Years I've wondered, years it's tormented me. And now that I'm about to find out what the hell he really looks like, I'm terrified. What ifs run through my head. What if there's nothing in his eyes? What if they're as dead as the mirrored lenses he covers them with? What if they stare out at me dead, unfeeling, unrecognizable? What if these windows to his soul are firmly shut?

And what if they aren't?

He lowers the glasses to his lap and looks up at me. Gray. Like a storm, like steel, like wind and rain and, god, everything I ever wanted from them. He looks at me and I look at him and I see myself in his eyes. No child, no orphan there, but something wonderous. Something beautiful that only he sees. Something that he's sharing with me, now. His voice is like his eyes, clear and dark and meltingly right. Do you see now, Reno? And I can only nod and look at myself in his eyes, all strawberry smoke and crystal green irises, flashing smiles and graceful limbs. I see now why he always kept those glasses on, trying his damnedest to keep me from myself. To keep me from him.

But now his lips melt under mine and his hands find my waist as mine run down his neck. Pieces of clothing fly, some torn, some whole, all guaranteed to be crumpled and sad in the morning. Reno, Reno. My name, over and over from his lips as he runs his hands down my body, crouching over me like lion at its feed. His eyes stay locked on mine, letting me inside him even as he enters me. A finger, then two, and it feels so right. Maybe it's just the light I'm seeing inside him or maybe...maybe it is right. Maybe we should have done this a long time ago.

His mouth crushes mine and he pushes into me, hard and thick and painful, and it feels like he's sucking the air from my lungs he's so frantic. Hands on my hips, pulling me down, further and more agonizing with each inch, but I can't scream because I have no breath left. I can only struggle, claw at his back. He doesn't notice. He's too immersed in what he's doing, too involved in his image of smoke and sweetness and long, pliable limbs. And then he's fully sheathed, inside me, on top of me, all around me, and he holds still for a full minute, letting the pain ebb away.

When I stop thrashing, but before I can relax, he moves inside me. Stretching me, filling me, fucking me, loving me. His hips twist, hands slip down to support me and on the next thrust he hits me just right and I scream. His name, my name, God's name...I'm not sure what I'm saying, only that it pleases him, makes him move faster and harder. So I keep screaming, begging, moaning. Anything to keep him moving,keepkeep the ecstasy coursing through me. Anything for the rawness, the sheer power of our coupling.

He comes before I do, and for the first time since he took off the glasses, his eyes close. He shudders above me, fills me with warmth. My name is on his lips, rough and ragged, almost a sob, and my hands fly up to frame his face. I beg him, open your eyes, I need to see your eyes. And they fly open, catch my gaze. That's all it takes. That's all it's ever taken. My cry of completion is wordless but he can see himself reflected in my irises and he knows that no matter when it was, no matter who I was with, it was always his name in my mind and his face in my heart.

I love you, he whispers, and I love you I whisper back as we lie on the floor of our hotel room. Neither of us care that the bed is right there. Neither of us care that there's a good chance we'll be caught. We just watch each other, hold each other, and eventually we fall asleep nestled in each other's arms. And finally, after all these years, when I dream of him, his eyes are the right color.


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