FicWad

The tumultuous afternoon downpour has tapered off, but Lulu lingers, steeping in the aftermath. Wisps of vapor eddy through the lush forest. The rich dark earth squelches underfoot. A final distant rumble of thunder sounds petulant, and Lulu smiles sympathetically: one can't keep that sort of thing up forever. Suddenly her breath catches as shafts of sunlight slice down through the jungle canopy to the forest floor. They gild faint tendrils of steam rising from glistening stems and vibrantly green leaves. She has seen the crystal flowers of Macalania, pyreflies rising from the Moonflow at sunset, and the vast oceanic green ripples of the Calm Lands, yet Besaid, sweet island jewel, still arrests her with its verdant beauty.

In the storm's wake, the drip of water and distant birdsong barely disturb the silence. Lulu's head is still buzzing from the echo of rain drumming against her scalp and shoulders just a few minutes ago. It's time to go back. Threading her way through the underbrush, she has to force herself to focus and mind her step. Even so, her white skin is streaked with mud and green smears by the time she slithers down the vines to the hanging ledges halfway down the cliff. The myriad waterfalls' quiet susurrus has swollen to a roaring symphony, amplified by fresh runoff. Hopefully her gown has not been swept from the rocky shelf under the bridge where she left it.

It's still there but damp. The mage spreads the stiff fabric out across the rocks -- black dries quickly, at least -- steps under a pounding freshet to sluice herself clean, then throws herself onto the luxuriant bed of thick moss and lilies at the edge of the roiling pool. Spray prickles her bare skin, quickly warming again under the tropical sun. A few feet away, roiling water smooths out to a quivering pillow of glass, then plunges with an iridescent rush down to the riverbed far below. She knows the force of the water would carry her over in an instant if she were foolish enough to dive in. Her hands flex in absent rehearsal of /waterga/, but she is not vain enough to think her own powers a match for the living currents of Spira.

She ought to be getting dressed. There is always the chance that someone taking the path between village and beach might happen to glance down while crossing the bridge and spot the pale figure sunning herself beside the waterfall. The sun is already uncomfortably hot, but the chilly mist of water dusting her cheeks feels delicious./ Just a few more minutes.../

A shadow falls over her. The sorceress' eyes snap open, then widen.

A looming figure stands upon the swaying span almost directly overhead, hands propped against the railing, gazing straight down at her. She should be furious at the blatant scrutiny. Instead Lulu feels a thrill shoot through her that has been absent for too, too long. Barely daring to breathe, she raises her right hand in a graceful but imperious gesture and crooks a finger towards herself.

The frowning intruder stands there, rooted, watching her for a long maddening moment before moving off and vanishing from her field of view. A short time later she hears heavy boots scraping on the rain-slick rocks. Finally, he drops the last few feet into the lush greenery beside her, landing in a crouch.

Red coat. Tufts of gray and white hair jutting around the ears. Tiny beads of water coating the lenses of his dark glasses. Sardonic gleam in one eye that gives away little besides cynicism. That little is enough to make her yearn.

"Auron," she says firmly and precisely, as if trying to strengthen a spell with a spoken incantation. Rolling up on one hip and elbow, she extends her hand towards him, palm upward. She hears his hoarse intake of breath and revels in wielding a different sort of power.

Unhurriedly he moves to her side and sinks to one knee, cupping a hand under hers and drawing her palm to his lips. Her fingertips curl, brushing the side of his jaw. Same old scratchy stubble. Suddenly she is laughing again, as if drunk on spring wine. Rain has made her giddy.

Auron arches an eyebrow, settling beside her and drawing her close, resting her cheek against his shoulder. The seams and straps of his jacket dig into her skin, but she doesn't care. Her lips curl into a dreamy moon-smile as knowing fingers begin to comb through her long tresses. She arches her back when his knuckles skim against her spine, unknowingly affording him another delectable view.

"I still miss you," she admits. "Yevon forgive me, but I do."

He grunts. "Yevon never had much to do with it."

Lulu exhales as his hands steal around her ribs, drifting over those tempting globes. "I suppose not."

She shivers once. A ghost should not make her feel so much more alive than the touch of the living, but she has never wasted much time cursing fate's ironies. Instead she twists towards him and seizes the edge of his coat with a demanding yank, gasping in satisfaction at the first bruising kiss. He is seldom gentle. That is one of his charms.

Auron's tongue wrestles roughly with hers while he grips her chin with one hand. Unselfconsciousness is another. He unbuckles his heavy belt and shucks his coat nonchalantly, never breaking contact with her lips. Their fingers flirt together in mute caresses as they unlatch the clasps of his armor and open it like a mussel's shell, casting it onto his discarded coat with a clank. Then Lulu wraps her white arms around his shoulders and straddles his lap with a provocative wriggle, answering his low growl with a sultry laugh.

Witch Auron used to call her in private moments. His inflamed gaze brands her thus while she kneads his muscles and nips him with her nails. Stinging sparks tumble off her fingertips in a second light rain. The sorceress is not surprised when he suddenly reaches up with both hands to seize her wrists, shoving her until she tumbles backwards into the lilies. Transferring his grip to one hand, he pushes her arms over her head and pins her under him, scowling. His wolfish expression should be terrifying, but she sees the telltale glimmer of a smile softening the corners of his mouth.

The agreeable weight of his hips between her legs is pleasant enough, but the coarse fabric against her inner thighs isn't what she's wanting. Lulu squirms against his trousers, silently pleading. He snorts and leans close to trace her elegant brows and cheekbones with his lips. Damn his patience! Soft kisses gradually transform into nips and tantalizing licks. She writhes when the tip of his tongue trails down the side of her throat.

Nor is his free hand idle. With swirling, firm strokes he circles and squeezes all her lovely curves, silently asserting his right to every inch of her flesh. It thrills her to be yielding, for once. They groan together as his fingers slide into her, claiming her there, too.

Auron falls upon her for more predatory kisses, rumbling in her mouth. Lulu is too drunk with his attentions to remember caution, rolling her hips and basking in his primal gaze. Still holding her down one-handedly, he keeps both of them from tumbling into the pool. She is writhing and moaning shamelessly by the time he relents, releases her wrists, and gathers her in his arms, cuddling her close for a moment before allowing her to finish undressing him.

Auron lets out a satisfying whuff of air when she reaches down to fondle him, teasingly stroking his arousal. His breathing has quickened and grown raspy. But his patience is not inexhaustible. Abruptly he sits up, catching one of her ankles and lifting it to kiss the sole of her foot. Lulu jerks -- his stubble tickles! -- and does not realize what he is up to until he raises her other leg, hooking her heels over the top of his shoulders.

With a throaty sigh, she guides him into her body, head falling back as he takes over and begins to move her with slow, deep thrusts. His fingers trickle down the sides of her legs, searching for hers. Their hands meet and lock together, pulling rhythmically in an intimate tug-of-war. The mage squeezes him between her thighs, reveling at how he fills her, ravishes her with ever-quickening strokes, lifting her hips off the ground at a delicious angle. His hoarse, panting breaths speed up as he drives into her. Bodies gleam with perspiration. Lulu tries to postpone the heady explosion as long as possible, but when his face begins to unravel with sheer lust, she loses control and grinds her hips against his with wanton urgency. He batters her forcefully in return.

Something ruptures inside. A part of her leaps over the falls, swept out and down in the rushing, tumbling water. She is falling, but she feels as if she were soaring. A shrill cry cuts through the damp air like an animal's scream. Her last coherent memory is his strong body pumping into hers, shuddering as he fills her achingly to the brim...


~ * ~

"H-hey."

Lulu opened her eyes to find Wakka's earnest face gazing down at her, pride and humble awe mingling in his brown eyes. He looked almost as dazed as she felt. "You okay, Lu?" He bent close and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"Mmm." Her throat felt raw. Oops, she thought, remembering how much he hated it when the Aurochs teased him about the sounds that occasionally came from their hut. She smiled up at him muzzily. "Oh, yes." Some part of her noted that the rain drumming on the roof had stopped, and the damp air of the hut was oppressively humid. Or maybe that was just the heat radiating from his limp body sprawled over hers.

"Sometimes you're just utterly amazing," he mumbled, a little embarrassed.

"So are you, Wakka," she said automatically. She reached up to brush his wilting orange crest out of the way. Oh, he was, in his own gentle way. But sometimes...

Her eye caught on the glint of mirrored glass flickering in the light of the oil lamp beside her bed. She must remember to find a safer hiding place for them tomorrow. For now, the cracked metal-rimmed shades she had discovered beside the falls winked at her tauntingly from a hook where she had hung them on the wall.

Sometimes memories refuse to stay dead.