Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Resurrection II: Cloister of Trials ❯ Laying Plans ( Chapter 3 )

Flattery usually washed over her like stale bathwater, but Lulu had apparently shucked her usual cynicism along with her clothes. The sorceress rested against Sir Auron with a pleased, contented smile spreading across her features, basking in his warmth. Pleasant twinges were still tingling between her thighs like periodic depth charges. She let out a languid sigh.

 

“Tired?” he murmured at her ear. “Perhaps it's time for you to sleep.”

 

“Oh, no,” she purred, cuddling against him. “I have plans. Just let me catch my breath.”

 

A low chuckle. “That... sounds like trouble.”

 

“I'm sure it will be no trouble for a legendary hero.” Lulu draped her arms over his, curling her fingers over his sword-hardened hands. As always, the mage could not help but appreciate the man's hidden power, his caged strength that cradled her as gently as Kimahri might cup a flower in his palm. His chin rested against her temple, and his warm breath on her cheek was soothing, quiet. They were both Guardians, used to putting their lives at risk for others, yet right now, the alien concepts of safe and protected felt very real. It was difficult to think of moving and breaking the spell of the moment.

 

It was also all too easy to imagine in the blissful afterglow that some unspoken communion was passing between them. Lulu was nothing if not pragmatic. Sex was sex, and lust was not love. Best to quash such thoughts quickly. Therefore she roused herself, turned in his embrace, and smiled coyly up at him. “As I recall, you said I might have my way, after you had yours.”

 

Auron reached out to smooth aside the slanting curtain of black hair that tumbled across one side of her face. “I believe I did.”

 

“And Sir Auron is famous for honoring promises.” Her hands had come to rest again on his broad shoulders, and she dug her fingers in firmly, massaging him with subtle warmth.

 

“Indeed.” The smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth reached his good eye. “So what's our itinerary?”

 

Lulu found a low wondering laugh, for the innocent question recalled that first sunlit day in Luca when he had come striding purposefully over the causeway and into their lives. “Well, you are a Guardian, after all. I think it may be time for you to face another Cloister of Trials.” The sly glint in her eye would have struck fear into any living man.

 

His brows drew together warily, but the warrior's reply was prompt and confident. “I foresee no difficulty.”

 

The sorceress chuckled. “We'll see.” Her hands had worked their way around to the nape of his neck, where she paused to remove the band on his ponytail. Black and ash-colored hair came loose and fell like a crest between his shoulderblades. The ends were slightly ragged, betraying the swordsman's habit of trimming it with any handy blade. She brushed her fingers through it absently.

 

“Trying to put me off my guard?” Auron queried wryly.

 

“Maybe.” Lulu wriggled and slipped off his lap, eliciting a faint groan. “Impatient? Well, then, I suppose we had better try the direct approach.” She rolled her fingers expressively down his chest. “Take off your clothes.”

 

Some men might have been shy, bashful, or clumsily impatient to show off their physique. Auron was none of these things. With exactly the same self-assurance as when he unsheathed his sword, he stripped before her appraising eyes. Not that he bothered with ceremony. One boot hit the floor, then the other. Calmly he stood and turned towards her, unbuckled his pants, and peeled them to his ankles, stepping out of them and folding his arms across his chest as if awaiting inspection. Lulu's breathing quickened as she beheld him clearly at last- that first night in the forest had been too dark to see him properly- and took in the raw physicality of the man. The bulky coat he normally wore had concealed a body not unlike some of the Aeons: sculpted muscle, every inch of him art, even the broken lines of scar tissue lapping the right side of his chest that twisted downward from his cheek like buckled ice in a frozen river.

 

In the glow of the oil lamp behind her, Auron's body seemed to be licked with flame. She had already begun to memorize the muscular contours of his chest and flat stomach, heavy shoulders and brawny arms toned to wield the weight of a blade most men would barely be able to lift. His legs and lean hips had the same treetrunk solidity. His sturdy calves were built for occasional bursts of speed, sudden leaps, crouching swings. The bold sign of his virility keenly reminded her that Chappu had been a mere boy. It was stout and solid, anchored in dark curls that made her fingertips ache with the memory of touching him there. The shaft stood slightly away from his thighs and begged to be stroked to full power.

 

Not yet.

 

Lulu moistened her lips, savoring the flickering light playing over his hard flesh, and beckoned him to her with a fingertip.

 

The swordsman sank to one knee beside the bed, enveloping her in his arms and kissing her deeply and firmly. His body molded against hers. She groaned softly when his manhood brushed against the still-tingling skin of her inner thigh. Again, she had to steel herself to wait. She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing the toned firmness of his buttocks. Lulu suckled his tongue with something else clearly in mind. Growing aroused by the heat of his body pressed against hers, she was sorely tempted to toss aside her schemes and surrender herself to the greedy pulse of yearning that was beginning to build inside. But at last she relinquished his tongue and kissed both of his cheeks. “Now,” she said breathlessly, “lie down.” Her eyes darted sideways towards the head of the bed. “On your back. The Trial hasn't started yet.”

 

“I was beginning to wonder if you had gone astray in the Calm Lands,” Auron quipped, disentangling himself from her. Normally his words would have stung, but present circumstances had put any thought of their Guardian duties pleasantly on hold. Circling her waist loosely with one arm, Auron rolled around her onto the bed and stretched out, propping his head on his arms. The move afforded her another mouthwatering spectacle. Lulu swung her legs up onto the shelf-bed and carefully climbed over him, bracing herself above him with her hands planted above his shoulders so that her robe hung open. Her full breasts dangled tantalizingly close to his chest.

 

Sir Auron let his gaze travel over her from scalp to toe, unhurriedly lingering at sights along the way. The sorceress enjoyed very much the intense scrutiny, feeling her cheeks grow flushed as his keen eye feasted on the curve of a hip, a trim ankle, the bed of silky black fur between her legs. When he returned his full attention to her face, Lulu smiled alluringly down at him, issuing a gentle but firm command: “Eyes closed.”

 

The battle-scarred warrior gave her a wry look.

 

Lulu chuckled, leaned down, and kissed his left eyebrow. “This one, at least.”

 

“Hmph.” But he obeyed.

 

“Now don't look.” The mage rose to her feet and slipped across the room to the window, moving carefully so as not to trip over anything. The great sword's hilt clanked against the wall when she lifted it. Lulu shot a glance over her shoulder to confirm that he was, for the moment, still playing along. Pleased, she dragged the stool across the floor with one foot to mask the sound of the weapon being drawn from its sheath. Then she returned to the head of the bed. “Lift up your head and shoulders a little,” she instructed. When Auron had complied, she carefully eased the broad, flat blade underneath the mattress, leaving its hilt protruding.

 

Finally Lulu retrieved the discarded linen sash of her robe and trailed the ends of it lightly over his chest. “Now, I want you to raise your hands over your head. No peeking, no- grabbing!” she laughed, dodging as he reached for her. But that was exactly what she had expected. She threw a wide loop around his wrists and swiftly drew it tight, slipping one end under the other to form a half-knot.

 

His smile was amused. “Are you having fun?” he queried diffidently. “You can't honestly think that shoestring is going to hold me.”

 

“Of course not.” Lulu bent over him, kissing his forearms as she gently pushed his hands back and down. She threw another loop around the sword's hilt and twisting the sash to leave about two hand-spans between his wrists and the weapon. Then she tied a pair of firm knots.

 

“So..?” Auron prodded, twisting his hands experimentally.

 

Lulu sat down to enjoy the view. “So if you keep doing that, you might bend your sword. There's no bedpost; I had to improvise.”

 

He growled and his good eye snapped open. The mage was perched almost primly on the edge of the bed, gazing down at him with a decidedly roguish smile.

 

“You never asked,” Sir Auron said crossly, “whether I liked it when you were trouble.”

 

“No,” she purred. She bent over him, mouth hovering tantalizingly a few inches above his. “So, for your Cloister of Trials, do you prefer fire and ice, or thunder and water?”

 

There was a soft groan. “On the whole,” he muttered, “I prefer you with fur and leather, but in lieu of that, I'll take fire and ice.”

 

Sliding over the bed, she straddled his thighs, her sex tantalizingly just out of reach so that her silky fur would barely brush him when she moved. “Now,” she purred in that hypnotic voice, “the challenge for this Trial is silence. If you make a sound, all the puzzles will reset themselves, and you will have to start over from the beginning. Understood?”

 

“Oh, no.” Auron dropped his head back against the pillow with a thump and chuckled, shaking his head. “You do realize this could take days. I don't see much incentive for `solving' your puzzles.”

 

Her eyes gleamed. “The Chamber of the Fayth?”

 

“Ah.” He snorted, but there was a pleased glint in his eye. “I should have guessed.”

 

“Shall we begin?”

 

She shrugged out of the robe entirely, smiling as his gaze roamed over her. She began to touch herself...