[ It is impossible to explain the way she feels on the dancefloor, the way that their body heat meets and joins together. She feels something from the way his hand is on her waist, guiding her gently, to the way his hand is in her's. From his palm is a hot sensation, their bodies somehow fitting together perfectly in the moment. Something snaps, only to tug them both closer. She could never explain it, only feel it.
So it goes like that for a moment, their bodies close but never quite close enough. The way he slides against her, heat first but skin last, is enough to catch in her mind in the same way that fabric catches on a door handle. The floor is just the two of them for a moment, just them and the twists of Cloud's hips and way the sight makes chills rush up her spin like hot water. Just them and the way she has to fight to keep up with him against her own clumsiness, laughing as she narrowly misses stepping on his feet in her heels. They click-click-click on the dancefloor each time they connect, and she follows well enough to roll-slide-meet with him.
As the rhythm works it way through her body in rolling waves of thunderous boosted bass notes, she inches closer to Cloud, until they're chest to chest and the crowd is closing in around them. The song hits a crescendo and everyone is jumping again, and her body is brushing up against his, just barely teasing the closeness she wants. It only occurs to her then— does Cloud feel it, too? With her head tilted up, she looks up. Her nose and the corners of her eyes are crinkled in a laugh, joyous and unbridled. Her gaze is searching, picking at his expression with curiosity and anxiety and need and wonder, and yet still she doesn't pull away. ]
Okay, Mr. King of the Dancefloor. I see how it is.
[ The lights are pulsing, vibrating with the crowd and the beat, so that they're rotating between a brighter room and a darker room, and each time, he's lit up. Shadows cut along his face in sharp angles, all of the familiar but somehow new. Aerith knows him, and yet she's entranced, somehow caught off guard.
Her arm raises to drape over his shoulder; she could pull him closer even still, could lose herself to the swirl of green-blue that is his gaze. ]
no subject
So it goes like that for a moment, their bodies close but never quite close enough. The way he slides against her, heat first but skin last, is enough to catch in her mind in the same way that fabric catches on a door handle. The floor is just the two of them for a moment, just them and the twists of Cloud's hips and way the sight makes chills rush up her spin like hot water. Just them and the way she has to fight to keep up with him against her own clumsiness, laughing as she narrowly misses stepping on his feet in her heels. They click-click-click on the dancefloor each time they connect, and she follows well enough to roll-slide-meet with him.
As the rhythm works it way through her body in rolling waves of thunderous boosted bass notes, she inches closer to Cloud, until they're chest to chest and the crowd is closing in around them. The song hits a crescendo and everyone is jumping again, and her body is brushing up against his, just barely teasing the closeness she wants. It only occurs to her then— does Cloud feel it, too? With her head tilted up, she looks up. Her nose and the corners of her eyes are crinkled in a laugh, joyous and unbridled. Her gaze is searching, picking at his expression with curiosity and anxiety and need and wonder, and yet still she doesn't pull away. ]
Okay, Mr. King of the Dancefloor. I see how it is.
[ The lights are pulsing, vibrating with the crowd and the beat, so that they're rotating between a brighter room and a darker room, and each time, he's lit up. Shadows cut along his face in sharp angles, all of the familiar but somehow new. Aerith knows him, and yet she's entranced, somehow caught off guard.
Her arm raises to drape over his shoulder; she could pull him closer even still, could lose herself to the swirl of green-blue that is his gaze. ]