FicWad

This chapter just kept growing.. Please, concrit if you have time.

It’s early evening when they arrive in Costa Del Sol. Cloud staggers onto the dock, pale and shaken. True to Zack’s prediction, he felt better after vomiting, but within an hour he’d felt worse again, and had proceeded to vomit multiple times for the rest of the trip. He really hates sea travel.
Zack shoulders his bag and holds out an arm for Cloud’s. Cloud smiles weakly.
“Thanks,” he whispers, heaving the black canvas duffle over, then clams up as Sephiroth emerges onto the dock. The general motions for them to follow, giving an approving look to Zack’s double load. Cloud falls in with Private Andrews, a few feet behind Zack. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the air is humid and still hot from the strong afternoon sun. Zack can feel his uniform shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back and his feet are swampy in his boots.
The cool air of the lobby hits him like a shot of phoenix down-- it wakes him up, but within moments he can feel every weary ache down to his bones. He longingly eyes the worn, sun-bleached wicker furniture by the window, but stands with Cloud and Andrews. Andrews is shifting his weight impatiently from side to side as Sephiroth checks them in. The cute brunette receptionist drops the keys, gaping and wide-eyed, but eventually she hands them over and gasps out, “Have a nice stay.”
Sephiroth turns away. The receptionist leans her chin on her hand and sighs. Zack catches the slight twitch of irritation in the general’s face as he returns to the group.
“You are free to do as you please tonight, however,” and Sephiroth looks at Zack, “we regroup at 0600 tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
He hands a key to Cloud, and adds quietly, “Try to re-hydrate, Private.”
Cloud nods a sharp affirmative.
“Dismissed,” Sephiroth says.
“Sir!” The Privates chime, saluting in unison. Andrews nudges Cloud, and they scuttle upstairs.
“Are we sharing?” Zack asks, hefting his bag. He realizes he still has Cloud’s ShinRa issue rucksack, but he’s going to find Cloud as soon as he changes anyway. He wants to sit on the beach and watch the sun set, preferably with an ice cold girly drink, and he isn’t going to do it alone.
Sephiroth nods. In one smooth motion he turns and shoulders his pack, avoiding masamune’s length strapped across his back. It’s a completely impractical sword, in terms of travel, but Zack has no room to speak. The buster’s solid weight is at his back, constant and reassuring. He can’t sleep without it close at hand, and he knows Sephiroth is the same.
Their room is upstairs at the end of the hall. The lock slides open easily, but the door creaks as it swings in. It’s a small room, but it feels open. A window on the far wall looks out over the water. The blue gauzy curtains flutter just a little against the warm adobe walls. Sephiroth moves to look out the window. Zack drops his bag with a thud, being slightly more careful with Cloud’s (never know when the kid’s going to start smuggling contraband), and sits heavily on the twin bed nearer the door. He pulls on the laces of his boots, and tugs them off with a relieved sigh. His socks follow, balled up and thrown towards his bag.
“Sweet Shiva, that’s heaven,” he says, laying back on the thin mint green comforter, spreading his toes in the air.
Sephiroth frowns, but there’s a tell-tale twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“I can smell your feet from here,” he says.
“You can smell Scarlet coming from three floors down,” Zack retorts.
“That has more to do with Scarlet’s perfume that with my ‘keen senses’.”
“Maybe,” Zack hums. He peels out of his shirt, then squats on the floor to sort through his bag. He comes up with flip flops, a white wifebeater (only a little wrinkly) and two pairs of swim trunks. One pair is deep blue, the other is bright yellow with a floral pattern in pink and day-glo orange. He chooses the yellow.
There’s no point in showering. It’s still muggy outside and he might swim later. Guaranteed he’ll get sand somewhere it shouldn’t be. He changes quickly.
“What do you think?” he asks, standing up to display the goods.
Sephiroth snorts.
“If you come in late, don’t wake me.”
“If I come in at all, I’ll keep that in mind.” Zack winks lasciviously. “You should get out to watch the sunset, I hear it’s amazing.”
Sephiroth hums noncommittally. “Strife’s in room 204. Don’t encourage him to drink.”
“That was just once time!” Zack ignores Sephiroth’s pointed look. “Right, see you later.”
Zack takes Cloud’s pack and the other trunks. His sandals make satisfyingly loud slaps against the soles of his feet as he walks down the hall. He knocks briskly on the hardwood door. There is a loud thump, followed by hurried footsteps, and the door opens.
“Sir,” Cloud says uncertainly, peering past Zack’s shoulder into the hall.
“We’re off-duty,” Zack reminds him, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. The bathroom door is half-open and he can hear the shower running.
“I brought your stuff,” he says, tossing the duffle bag onto one of the beds. “Get changed, we’re going out.”
“Zack…”
“I’ll buy you dinner. You haven’t eaten all day.”
Cloud glares at him.
“That’s because I was puking all day.”
“I know, you must be hungry!” Zack says, grinning widely. He wads up the shorts and throws them at Cloud’s face. Cloud catches them. His reflexes are much better than they used to be.
“Put those on. Oh, you might want to brush your teeth. Your breath is horrible.”
Cloud rolls his eyes openly. It makes Zack proud, to see how far he’s come from the shy backwater boy he met almost two years ago.
“Gimmie a minute,” Cloud says, slouching into the bathroom. Zack sits on the bed, half-listening to Andrews’ easy chatter and Cloud’s grunted replies.
---
Walking down the boardwalk to the beach, they pass tiny booths in which pretty, bikini-clad girls wave decorative paper fans, wafting the foreign smells of spicy peppers, curry, smoky barbeque, stir-frying vegetables, and perfumed sugary candies. It’s what he imagined Wutai would smell like, before the war. By the time he got to the capital, in had stunk only of burning wood, melted plastic, hot, tangy metal, and the sticky sweet oily smoke that clung to everything, that got in their pores so that for weeks after they all reeked of charred flesh.
Zack passes by ‘Dan’s Bar-B-Q’ for a booth selling steamed vegetables wrapped in thick, flat bread.
“You should eat something plain,” he says to Cloud, who nods and asks for the same thing Zack’s having. Zack orders two, and a bottle of water. They take their food on paper plates and walk to the beach. Zack stops at an open-air bar to buy a large, icy drink that has purple and turquoise layers.
The beach is less crowded than he expected. They find two lounge chairs easily. Zack leans back in his, warm plastic strips sticking to the backs of his arms. Cloud’s finished his wrap already. Zack hands his plate over.
There is a light breeze blowing out to the water. It rustles through the leafy palms, carrying the scent of tropical fruit and cheap jasmine incense.
Three girls are shrieking and running through the surf, kicking water at each other. Late season tourists, probably, too fair-haired to be from here. One is a particularly busty blonde. Her tan is definitely fake, her hair color probably is too, and he’s willing to bet her chest isn’t real either. It’s bouncing perkily though, and he’s enjoying the view.
Cloud hums contentedly, licking his fingers clean. He takes a long swallow of water; Zack watches the slow stretch of his neck, the bead of moisture running down his cheek to the angle of his jaw.
“You should put on sunscreen,” he says, tossing the bottle at Cloud’s lap. Come prepared, that’s something he learned from training that was worth remembering. It’s better to have something and not need it, than to need it and not have it.
“It’s almost sunset,” Cloud complains, but he’s grinning. He takes his shirt off and slathers the sunscreen on thick. With fair skin like his, Zack won’t be surprised if he burns anyway.
“Thanks,” he says, and tosses it back. The bottle lands heavily, kicking up sand.
“I’m going to swim, are you coming?”
“Nah, think I’ll stay here,” Zack says, and wiggles back into the chair for emphasis.
Cloud takes off running down the beach, all long limbs and awkward coltish grace. The borrowed trunks, laced tight, are still almost falling off. Cloud’s not as skinny as he used to be, though. He’s been putting in long hours, training with sword and rifle and lifting weights in the gym, in addition to regular PT. Zack can see muscle starting to define itself on his back, in the angled light; latissimus and trapezius sculpting his shoulders, and erector spinae creating two dimples in the small of his back, right above the waistband of Cloud’s shorts. Dimples that he finds irresistible in women.
“Hi,” a sweet voice warbles.
Zack jerks his head up, startled. It’s the blonde from the beach, holding two coconuts with little pink umbrellas and slices of pineapple sticking out of the top.
“Hello,” he says, giving his most charming smile, the one that says, ‘I may not be the best looking man here but I’ll sure as hell show you the best time.’ He’s been practicing that smile; now that he’s 18 he can finally badger Sephiroth into joining him at Midgar’s many bars and clubs, he’s going to need it.
“Um,” and she blushes. This girl, in a barely there red string bikini, with absolutely impossible breasts, blushes.
‘Still got it,’ he thinks.
“You looked like you could use another drink,” she says, gesturing to his empty glass with one coconut. The drink slops onto her hand. Not in the least fazed, she licks it as it drips down her wrist.
“Absolutely. Please, join me,” he gestures to the chair Cloud vacated. He watches appreciatively as she bends over to delicately set the drinks in the sand. She sits in the chair and scoots backward, jiggling. Every move she makes is calculated, but he doesn’t care. He’s 18 years old and it’s a free show.
“I’m Zack.”
“Tina,” she says, “Cheers.”
He gently knocks his coconut against hers. He takes a sip. It’s icy cold and artificially sweet, without any obvious flavor other than the pineapple floating in it, but it burns pleasantly on the way down.
“So what brings you to sunny Costa Del Sol?” he asks. She stirs her drink with a neon purple straw.
“Fun and sun,” she replies lightly, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head. More jiggle. This girl is trying too hard.
“The same,” he says, matching her breezy tone. “Where are your friends?”
“Oh, they went dancing. I’m not much of a dancer,” she says, smiling in a way that implies she’s better at a different kind of dancing. Zack represses a snort.
I’m sure you are,” he says, watching the sky’s pink blush fade to orange. The sun is sitting fat and lazy on the water.
“Is that your brother? You have the same hair.”
Zack laughs into this drink.
“Just a friend.”
“Okay. Listen, why don’t we leave your friend to it and get out of here?”
Zack blinks.
“That was fast,” he blurts, too surprised to play it off.
“Well?” She asks, tapping her perfect manicure against the coconut shell. He’s tempted. It’s been a long day; a long week, and it would be nice to forget it all, to forget about this mission and the vaguely uneasy feeling he’s had since they left Midgar, to lose himself in skin and mouth and hair. Zack looks at his drink. In the fading sun, the little pink umbrella is the exact color of Aeris’s favorite hair ribbon.
“Nah,” he says, tossing back a big gulp of the drink. It was free, after all.
“Your loss,” she huffs. She takes her time walking away, swinging her hips and running her hands through her hair. He laughs too loud, quickly chokes it down around the straw. The drink isn’t too bad if he swallows fast.
The sun is bisected on the horizon, dying the sky and water bloody red. Against it, Cloud’s silhouette ambles up the beach, moving impossibly slow until he sheds the shadows and is suddenly close, bathed in the dying glow.
“Who was that?” He asks, dropping to the sand with a giddy smile. His hair is shining coppery on the backs of his arms. The fine down on his face catches the light, tracing his profile in sharp crimson.
“No one.”
The girl left her drink in her hurry to make a grand exit. Zack leans over and swipes it, popping his own straw in and sipping.
“Mmkay.”
Cloud leans against his side, his wet hair cool on Zack’s stomach. He twitches; a fine tremor runs through Cloud’s body.
“Are you cold?”
He leans over and pulls a fluffy white hotel towel from under his chair. He wraps it around Cloud’s shoulders before he answers.
“There are fish in the water,” Cloud offers instead, pulling the towel closer around himself. “Little orange ones, and a long silver one that chased them away.”
“Hunting,” Zack mumbles, staring into the coconut. He thinks the drink is mostly rum. It tastes all right now, soft and mellow around the edges. A nice warm buzz has settled in his brain.
They sit quietly in the warm breeze, watching for the sun to sink out of sight. The moment before it finally gives in, everything goes still. In the hush Zack can hear a slow reggae beat coming from the bar. The last line of fire is hanging over the water, frozen; it shivers and disappears. A high wail echoes across the waves, ululating, like the sky is crying out against the night.
“What was that?” Cloud whispers slowly.
“Whales,” Zack’s mouth says, and he realizes it is. They sit, very still, as a series of guttural clicks draws out a swooping chirp in response. He thinks he could reach out and touch the sound waves shaping the air. The song resonates through their bodies, holding them motionless, not blinking, barely breathing, until it stop as suddenly as it begun, in a dying gasp. In their awed silence he can feel that first cry vibrating in his soul.
Awareness fades in gradually. The sky is indigo trimmed in violet.
"It’s late,” he says quietly, pushing himself out of the chair. The plastic peels reluctantly away form his skin. He holds out his hand; Cloud’s palm is warm in his. They walk slowly to the hotel in the cooling night wind, gazing up to see the first stars come out. By the time they reach the hotel Cloud is shivering. It’s warmer inside, but he keeps Zack’s towel wrapped snug around his shoulders. They stop at Cloud’s door. In the moonlight the towel is gleaming white; Cloud’s hair is pale, his skin is pale, his eyes are dark and unreadable. He lets the towel slide off, hangs it over Zack’s shoulders like a mantle. The tendons in his neck flex silvery like barracuda.
“Good night,” he whispers, and leans in to brush a kiss, just a ghost of touch, to Zack’s mouth. Cloud’s lips are warm and chapped, and it’s the most natural things in the world to lean in, to open his mouth and taste, lick the ocean salt from his mouth. The hot, slick press of a tongue against his sends electricity sparking through his veins; he breathes out hard though his nose and slides his hands up the smooth skin of Cloud’s back to pull him close. A soft moan echoes in the hallway; he pulls back, not sure who made it or if it matters.
“Stop,” he says, pushing himself away, staring down the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.
“Why?”
Cloud’s voice is empty and flat. Zack shuts his eyes against it.
“I can’t.”
Cloud’s standing with his arms wrapped tight around himself, staring at nothing, more lost than Zack has ever seen. He leaves him in the hall with no apologies, no room to wonder 'what if this', no room to question. It’s easier that way.