I couldn't find many sexy one shots, so I decided to write one myself. With promise of loving later on, don't give up on me guys!


1. Orgasms between the sheets

She was getting frustrated again.

One, because no matter how hard she was working, she didn't seem to be getting anywhere near finished, scrubbing the tables with increasing fervour. Two, because she just couldn't figure him out.

The bar was closed at least, and for some unfathomable reason she'd allowed her staff to head off, telling them with a casual flick of her hand that she'd manage on her own. But there were still stacks of glasses to be washed ready for tomorrow, and she still needed to brush up… Oh god. She was at the stage where she'd feel better doing something else, anything else other than dealing with the problem at hand. But that had always been her main flaw. She'd never just sort things out. She'd let it fester, get worse.

And then there was Vincent.

He'd moved to Edge recently, so she found herself enjoying his company a few times a month. He worked for the police force, he'd told her, as a private investigator. She'd chuckled over her beer when he'd told her; another job, another suit. Though, that in itself wasn't such a bad thing.

She was lonely, and Vincent had helped to ease the isolation a little. Yuffie, Cid and Barret, her closest friends, all lived in towns a considerable drive away, and their visits weren't as regular as she would have liked. Though since Cloud had left two years ago, she'd had a trickle of dates. Most of whom she couldn't picture herself holding a conversation with, let alone have another date, or have any intimate relations with.

And that suddenly became the problem. It became a ball, a hard knot in her gut that wouldn't leave her. She needed somebody, to make her feel like a woman again, someone whose lips, and fingertips could work away all of her tension. Yuffie had jokingly suggested a masseuse, though Tifa didn't let on it was more than just a massage she needed.

She glanced up from the table she was scrubbing at a sudden tap at the door. Who the hell was this? Couldn't they read the 'closed' sign? She caught sight of herself in the window pane; unruly hair, sticking up this way and that out of her untidy bun, her face a little flushed, though she was thankful she'd thought to change her t-shirt from the drink-sploshed one she'd been wearing to work.

"Hello?" She said breathlessly, leaning on the doorframe. A pair of ruby eyes found hers, and she felt her muscles sag in relief. "Oh, Vincent, it's you!" She blew a segment of hair out of her face.

"I saw the lights were still on: but… is this a bad time?" He inquires, soft gaze sweeping over her from the doorstep.

"Oh no! No, not at all, I've been looking for some excuse to procrastinate. Please come in!" She tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, and he chuckled as he stepped past her into the bar. "Can I get you something to drink? I was thinking about drowning my sorrows alone, but a bit of company might be just what I need."

"Well, I suppose I have nothing to wake up to tomorrow. Give me something strong."

"You've asked for it." She chuckled, almost skipping around to the other side of the bar, selecting bottles from the shelves with practised ease.

"I know."

He seated himself in the corner booth, the one which had the newest upholstered seats, and set about shrugging off his coat. He wore a simple white shirt underneath, and a dark blue tie, which he set about loosening. When she returned with the drinks, she'd noticed he'd rolled up his shirt sleeves. Damn. There was something about that man, in a suit.

"Try that." She told him, sinking gratefully into the seat beside him, stretching out her legs underneath the table and letting her head sink back, resting against the wall.

"Gin… and whiskey? Its strong, but fruity… A new one?" He takes another sip of her cocktail, running his tongue over his bottom lip, contemplating the flavours.

"Alabama slammer." She answered, smirking to herself. "All the other cocktails with quirky names are little too sweet for my taste."

"Such as?" He was smiling too, taking a deep drink from the tall glass.

"Between the Sheets, screaming orgasms… that sort of thing." oh the irony.

"I see. You drink those normally?"

"Not really. I haven't liked any I've tried before. Guess I should make my own, though. I find I can make better ones than other bars."

"What's a screaming orgasm?"

She resisted the urge to make a joke. "Its, well, coffee liqueur, Irish cream… a little sickly. But enjoyable, I suppose."


"I hope that wasn't a laugh, Mr Valentine. So immature." She shoved him playfully.

"Apologies, ma'am." He chuckled a little, draining his glass in one, and setting it down with a chink of ice cubes on glass. "Perhaps we could make an orgasm together."

"Excuse me?" She forgot he had the driest damn sense of humour sometimes. Always when she least expected it.

"The cocktail, of course."

"Ok. Sounds like a plan to me." She felt her heart skip a beat a little at the half smile he gave her as he got to his feet, and followed her around to the other side of the bar. "Simple stuff, a measure of each of these;" she slammed two bottles down on the counter, and tossed a couple of ice cubes into the shaker. "Then you add the milk and cream, and then you shake it."

She watched him as he poured rather generous measures of spirit into the cocktail shaker, along with the milk and cream, placed the lid on and lifted it to shoulder level, the ice cubes rattled around as he shook is vigorously. That done, he poured it into the ready glasses, handing her the perspiring tumbler before testing his creation.

"I see what you mean. It's enjoyable, though a little sweet."

"Not befitting of its name, is it?"

"I guess not. What would make a better orgasm for you?"

She leant on the bar with one hand, the other resting on her hip. "Well it'd need to be stronger, and…" she felt a blush creep up her neck. "Well, harder. Something fragrant, and… lingering."

"Like Quantreau?" He was watching her carefully, and she couldn't help but look at him, loosened tie, rolled up sleeves, slightly mussed up hair… here in her bar, drinking with her, laughing with her, and teasing her.

"With lemonade and rum, maybe. Though I'm sure that already exists in another name!"

"Maybe. Orgasms are personal, right?"

"You're not talking about drink any more are you?"

"What are you implying?"

He was good at keeping a straight face, she thought, and couldn't quite tell if he was joking. She chose her words carefully. "Orgasms are personal? There's only one orgasm cocktail, or at least, the original."

"You said you wanted an orgasm to be something stronger. Not me."

"Vincent!" He'd succeeded in embarrassing her, and making her feel foolish, and she wasn't going to let him get away with it. "I've a good mind to send you away-- I've got a lot of work to do, although I foolishly neglected it to banter with you about-- orgasms!"

"Oh, Tifa. You are priceless sometimes." His eyes twinkled, as he stepped a little closer, brushing the stubborn strand of hair that seemed to have evaded her bun out of her eyes. Their amber hues warmed him deeper than any whiskey could.

The Alabama Slammer had been very strong, she though vaguely, as she reached out to toy with Vincent's tie, her fingers sliding between the buttons of his shirt to accidentally brush ice-cooled fingers against his skin. A gentle breath forced it's way past his lips at her touch. A tremor made its way down her abdomen.

"Shall we sit down," He clears his throat, and takes hold of his forgotten drink with his sweating palm. It cools him.

"Yeah." She runs a hand through her hair several times before joining him, slumping forwards in her seat to place her cheek on her folded arms, eyes half lidded. After a moment, Vincent's fingers find their way to the nape of her neck, where they begin to gently trace idle circles, soothing her almost to sleep.

"You work too hard, Tif." He tells her softly, toying with a wave in her hair.

"So do you, If you left the office at 2am." For that was the time he'd arrived, still dressed for work.

"You know full well I've been wanting to come to see you all evening. But there's a lot of paper work to do."

"You know something; I miss having you around. " She is almost asleep, her drink long finished, her skin tingling at the touch of his fingertips.

"I miss you too."

"Then we agree that we like spending time together?"

"Agreed." He laughed through his nose.

"Then you'll stop by more often?"

"I think I could manage that for you."

He said goodnight after they had talked at length about Tifa's recent dating disasters, spending a good deal of time laughing at one particular date where she'd actually excused herself to the bathroom to be sick, due to her date's revolting eating habits. After placing a delicate kiss on her hair, he departed the bar, leaving her just about ready to drop dead on her feet. But she couldn't ignore the sense of anticipation for his next visit.

Frustrated wasn't really the appropriate word for it anymore. She was hungry.


2. Urges

When he visited her next, she hadn't been expecting him. The night had been quiet, and it found her leaning on the edge of the bar, chin in her cupped palm, staring off into space, the gently hum of the background music, lulling her into a stupor.

"Should I expect you to be free this evening?" He'd approached her without her notice, her elbow almost slipping from the bar.

"Geez, Vince, you scared me! Of course, for you, I can be anything."

He raised a brow. "Well, I've been thinking a lot about my last visit. When you said you were lonely."

"Oh?" She straightened up, a delicate blush adorning her cheeks. She had been a little drunk, after all. She couldn't be expected to keep track of every word she said, could she?

"And I've reached a conclusion."


His lips were inexplicably on her neck, hot breath sending waves of heat surging from her breasts to her abdomen. She opened her mouth to speak, though she released a short gasp, edged with pleasure, as his teeth scraped a little at her collar bone. His fingertips brushed her waist, where the hem of her shirt didn't quite meet the waistband of her jeans. His nose nudged at her jaw, to tilt her head to one side, fingers gently pulling her hair aside to gain better access to her earlobe. His warm breath was almost too much to bear, sending her every nerve fibre into overdrive, as his lips brushed her ear.

"Tell me you want this, and I will give it to you." He said, his words sending shivers down her spine. "I can't keep away from you anymore."

"I..." She could hardly speak, her mind on the movement of his lips beneath her earlobe, along her jaw, rather than speech. "God, Vincent…"

His lips traced a gentle deliberate line to her mouth, where he paused, tasting the tension hung in the silence between them. She hooked shaking fingers through the belt holes of his pants and tugged him closer, hips grinding against hips, his erection pressing into her abdomen, causing him to grit his teeth with gratification.

"Kiss me, please, just kiss me." She murmured against his cheek, and that was all he needed, taking her face in his hands and nudging her lips apart with his, gentle brushing of moist skin against moist skin, until she moaned in the back of her throat at the sensation of his tongue teasing hers with gentle brushes, tasting her. Her head was working ahead of her hands, fumbling with his tie, the buttons of his shirt. He was willing to assist her, shrugging his arms out of the sleeves and letting the discarded items fall to the floor.

His firm, strong hands enclosed her petite waist, slipping her shirt off over her head, running over her ample chest, her slender stomach. She was perfect, in every way. Breasts to die for, killer hips, long legs and her smell… it saturated his senses, knocking out any reason from his mind. He was going to take her, right here and now in her bar, and he'd wanted it for so long, he almost couldn't stand the frustration of taking off her jeans, his erection straining against the confines of his clothes.

She weighed almost nothing, lifting her to perch on the wooden surface of the bar, tugging her jeans off and letting them join their other forgotten garments. Red and lace, and sweat, and that inexplicable scent of her, the one he couldn't seem to shake after he'd been to see her. The smell that he would catch on his jacket, drifting over him the next morning. And he wanted her so badly.

He tugged the lace of her bra aside, using his teeth to nip, his tongue to circle the hardening flesh, her fingers knitted in his hair, holding him to her, gripping the overheard glass rack for support. Her taste was nothing extraordinary, he thought as he trailed kisses down her stomach, though there was something. The sweat her skin secreted was sweet, though with a sweet after taste, perhaps the soap she used.

No, it was, exquisite.

She hooked her thighs around waist, pulled him close. "Let's go to the bedroom." A whisper against his hair; he couldn't tear his lips away from her body. He would've been settled with bending her over the bar's surface and just…

"Yes…" The lady gets what she wants, after all.

A short stumble later, through doors, up stairs, her mouth was a brand on his body, everywhere, in places he'd forgotten felt so good when touched. His breath hitched in his throat, at her firm grip on his erection, at how she choked him to the tip, running her thumb over the head, all the while her eyes never left his face. Then her slender legs were astride him, her hair falling in a cascade from her back, caressing his skin. A wave of her scent, and he was gone, her lips a gentle pressure on his as he gripped her body tightly, sliding inside her, groaning at the tightness.

A twinge of pain, until she'd adjusted to him, their bodies flush against one another, lubricated by sweat. Her hips moved, and he was taken to ecstasy; god how long had he wanted for her, wanted to taste her skin, to taste her body, to know her, inside and out, to just take her and…

It had been so frustrating.

Turning her onto her back, he was able to drive into her with the urgency and power she was begging for, sweat forming on his chest. Her nails were sharp bolts of pain-tinged pleasure to him, her breathless moans serving to deepen the sensation of elation in his gut.

It felt so good, to relieve the tension that had existed between them for so long, she thought afterwards, though her only thought then was that there wasn't any way she'd get enough of him, gripping him by his hips, arching her spine, chest to chest, and face to face, body to body, and it was still not enough.

She didn't think the anticipation ever lived up to the experience.

That was, of course, until his hand was working on her, gently teasing, stimulating her, and she'd never felt the need to come as avidly as she did now; her breathing quickened, her heart was ready to burst, arms holding his body tightly in anticipation, though he waited, holding off until the last moment, when he pulled out from within her and moved his mouth to the spot of building pleasure.

She cried out his name, as his tongue circled around her folds, and suddenly he was moving inside her again, her walls crashing in on him repeatedly, drawing from him a low growl of gratification as he reached his own climax.

His lips on her forehead sealed their lovemaking, and he was on his back, strong, muscular chest heaving, her slender forearm draped across it.

"That was amazing." She mumbled, lips on his chest. "I didn't expect this when you next visited me." She trailed lazy shapes across his skin.

"Hm. Well, I didn't either. But I couldn't wait. It has been rather… frustrating, keeping away from you. It didn't help, all your talk of orgasms yesterday. I thought I may not last the night."

"I never thought you'd be flirting with me. You didn't seem the type."

"I could see your bra. It sent me over the edge."

"I see."

In the end, men were quite predictable, even Vincent, with all of his mystery. Frustrating.