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25 October 2009 @ 11:58 pm
Victory Night - Lucil/Elma (FFX)  
Title: Victory Night
Fandom: Final Fantasy X
Pairing: Lucil/Elma
Prompt: Evening/Night
Rating: R
Words: 500
Spoilers?: Endgame, but vague
A/N: I am sad. I vowed to myself I would write 100 word drabbles for a while, but that only lasted a day. Well, this is a good one.

On the horizon, Sin flared and faded. Besaid erupted in cheers. Ex-Crusaders saluted, silent. Not only Sin was gone, they guessed.

They retired early. Firelight and the sound of revelry flickered through the ochu-hide tent.

Their routine had changed since the shared kiss in Kilika. Elma had always served as squire, removing Lucil's armor with a blush that had amused and worried her captain. Now Lucil reciprocated, stripping her down to a white shift. Elma's eyes were shining, ardent— and fearful. She could stare down a basilisk, but Lucil was intimidating even without virgin jitters.

Lucil hesitated to breach this last veil, even after breaking regulations saying thou shalt not. She could taste the younger woman's innocent yearning, her own more base cravings.

"A night to celebrate."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Lucil," she corrected. "You cannot hold me above you, if we are—" She stopped, quizzical. "Elma?"

Elma's eyes crinkled with laughter. "I bet I could. You're not that heavy!"

Lucil relented. They kissed a while, still intoxicated by love's first heady rush.

"You've always liked it when I call you that, right?" Elma said. "You're still my captain."

"But then, what am I to call you?" Lucil said, stroking her hair.

"Elma," she said promptly. "Just Elma. Please..."

"Yes." Lucil's fingers found the hem of her tunic and lifted. She skimmed down her collarbone, cupping a slight breast —Elma was too lean to need more than leather armor's support — and pushed her back onto the bedroll. They wrestled, playful, Elma squeezing her more ample curves through silk until the breast-band came off. Lucil's knee pressed between her thighs. Their legs tangled as they rocked together with rising desire, gasping as lust began to enflame every inch of flesh rubbing flesh.

Almost Lucil managed to leave it there, go slow, taking nearly-chaste pleasure in the athletic young body beneath her. But the slickness coating her leg was calling with a scent that was more than sweat.

"Let's see if you can hold me," she murmured, breaking a kiss. Looking down to savor Elma's flushed face, rumpled halr, she caressed a rosy cheek with a fingertip. Then she reversed, caught her breath at the sight of thighs spread in trusting invitation. Settling on elbows and knees, she bent, touched, parted and dove in, the delicious taste burning her tongue as she licked and sucked.

Elma whimpered and gripped her legs, struggling to keep her cries quiet.

One, then two fingers joined her tongue. Lucil wondered why she had denied this for so long as Elma writhed, hips arching off the mat.

Tawny flesh on white, sticky with sweat—

A choking cry, sweet juices flooding her mouth—

Elma, bless her, was as strong as her word, gripping Lucil's waist to keep her from collapsing.

Lucil reversed again, stretching out beside her and kissing her with warm, wet lips, sharing panting breaths.

"H-Happy Calm, ma'am." Just then, trite words did not sound inadequate.

Lucil gathered her in a fierce embrace. "Happy Calm."