[A/N: WARNING: There will be ranting here

What the hell happened to the the good old-fashioned break? Seriously, the only free week we have in one whole academic year, and I just HAD to get sick! My stomach is acting all weird and I feel like barfing all over the place. I can count the number of times I've vomited in my whole life on my hand, and now I fell all puke-y! I can't even eat anymore! Do you have any idea how weird that is - me, not eating? I don't even know what it is! It's not a virus, and I don't ... think it's appendicitis. It doesn't seem like gastroenteritis either, 'cause I don't have diarrhea or fever or anything like that. So what the hell IS it? And why, oh why, did I have to get it on the only free week of the year? OTL

"..."

Oh well, at least it didn't come when we had exams - then I'd be REALLY pissed!

*takes a deep breath* I'm okay now. Anyway, that's why I haven't managed to update this thing. Sorry, guys T_T]

Now, onto our feature presentation.

...

So… Part II. Part I was more of the artsy side of things, this part features a –ahem—different kind of "art". If you thought Part I was fine the way it was, and that it doesn't need any tweaking, you don't have to read this chapter. But if you're interested in the smut and you thought Part I was kinda lacking, then by all means, read on.

Hope you enjoy it!

COME ALIVE, Part II

...

Her hands added the final touch, and he could barely contain the rush of excitement as she finished smoothing him over with a brush of sandpaper. It was rough, but her hands were careful, and it heightened his raw emotion as he took in the fact that his entire body and his soul were, at last, complete.

With a last tender brush of her fingers on his cheek, she gave him a satisfied smile before turning to go and flicking the studio lights closed. His newly-formed ears picked up the shuffling sounds of her getting into bed. After a few moments, the sounds disappeared and he knew she was asleep.

Instinctively, he knew... It was time.

Smooth marble gave way to firm flesh and sightless eyes opened to reveal cobalt blue. He flexed his limbs and stretched, testing the dynamics of his new body. A thin shaft of moonlight shone from the window and he turned toward it.

Was it midnight already? So she'd stayed up all night again. Shaking his head, he allowed himself a small smile. He was going to have to talk to her out of that.

With steps remarkably confident for someone who hadn't even been alive a year ago, he made his way to the door, marveling at the smooth way his hand closed over the knob.

She'd made him well.

Pushing the door open, he found himself in a long hall that ended in a set of stairs. Her room was up there, he knew, just above the studio. He knew because he heard her turn and shift in her bed every night - and every night, he wished he was there to share her bed with her.

He stopped at her door, uncertain for the first time.

Would she recognize him...? Would she accept him...? What if she didn't - What if the intimate connection they'd had could only be shared while he was nothing but marble and she the artist who guided him?

From behind the door, he heard her turn in her bed, murmuring a sound so soft he wasn't sure if he'd heard it right. Softly, in her sleep, she had whispered a name - a name neither of them had spoken before, but somehow he knew as her lips formed the word in an exhale...

"Cloud..."

... he knew. It was his name.

Not only had she given him a soul and a body, she had given him a name... and she murmured it in her dreams. She dreamt of it, of him.

Doubts dispelled, he pushed the door open and stepped in. And there she was, lying across her bed, sheets tangled around her waist, face peaceful in her sleep.

She was beautiful.

He'd known she would be. Had seen a glimpse of it when he was still inanimate. But to see her now, with new eyes - eyes she had given him - it amazed him.

Slowly, with as much care as she had demonstrated while she was making him, he approached her. When he was near enough, he knelt down so that his face was level with the bed. Her face was turned toward him, half-veiled by the silken river of midnight black that was her hair. He couldn't see all of her, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared if she was physically imperfect. She had made him. For the past year, she had been his constant companion. She had guided him to life - shaping and molding with exquisite care and respect - and she was perfect to him in every way.

Her hands - those beautiful, life-giving hands - were resting on the pillow beside her head, and in her sleep, she reached out to him, fingers gently beckoning him forward. Her breath, soft and warm, ruffled her hair and touched his cheek. Her skin was pale and soft-looking, shadowed by the thick fringe of lashes that fanned over her cheek. He held his own breath and reached out with one hand to smooth her hair away from her face, letting the tips of his fingers brush the arch of her cheek.

The contact pulled the breath out of him in a heavy exhale. How soft she was... soft and smooth and undeniably alive. Shifting his hand so that his palm cupped her cheek, he marveled at the way her skin felt under him, full of wonder at the fact that now it was him touching her.

She made a small sound, stirred from her sleep, and he smiled at the rightness of it. Now, he was the one waking her.

She did not wake as quickly or as completely as he had. Eyes still hidden by a snatch of pale violet skin and the curl of her lashes, she released a slow, languorous breath that rolled over him and made his entire body tighten. Her hand lifted slightly and curled minutely over his hand where it was still cupped over her cheek.

Remembering the feel of her hands smoothing over him that first time, he repeated the caress, slowly and reverently, from her cheek to her throat. She rewarded him with another soft exhale and tipped her head back, her elegant neck arching toward him.

Taking this as a sign of encouragement, he let his fingers explore the delicate curve of her shoulder down to the crook of her elbow where it was bent over her waist. Her skin prickled in response, and he rubbed his hand over it to soothe her. When she made another small sound in her sleep, he abandoned her arm in favor of her waist. The skin there was covered by smooth, silky fabric and he exhaled in frustration, deciding then and there that the clothing needed to be removed. Soon.

But first, she had to wake. To know that he was alive and that he was right here beside her, and would always be.

With infinite care and patience, he ran his hands over the cool material, feeling it heat with the warmth from her body as he traced the dip of her waist. Her exhales were more rapid now as her breathing became unsteady and her movements became less drowsy than before.

She was almost awake now.

His hand settled on her hip and he leaned closer to her until his mouth was almost at her ear. His voice was low and hoarse, but as smooth and cool as the stone he had once been made of. It came out of him with slight uncertainty, the first time it had ever been used. But there was no hesitation in the way he murmured her name.

"Tifa..."

Tifa. Yes, that was her name. He knew it with the same certainty that told him the woman sleeping in front of him was his maker. That she had been the one to guide him into the world.

It was her name on his lips that woke her.

Thick, dark lashes fluttered open and her eyes - bottomless red and warm, earthen brown - found his in the dark. They went wide and fearful, and he felt her sharp intake of breath - the way her body drew slightly away from his in surprise.

"Cloud...?"

He tensed when she moved away, his eyes clouding over. The small jerk that shifted her hip out from under his palm... it spoke more deeply to him than any verbal rejection she could ever give him. That she would shy away from his touch... it reminded him that he hadn't always been alive like this, that she had once seen him as he had been.

Cold, unfeeling stone.

He hadn't always been human. He had been an inanimate object, impersonal and dead to the world. She'd made him come alive, but... perhaps she could not see him as anything other than what he had been. Perhaps he would always be stone to her - smooth, perfect, carefully-hewn stone, but stone nonetheless. The heart that now lay beating inside his chest threatened to burst with pain, and he looked away from her shocked, crimson eyes.

"Cloud..."

The soft murmur brought his attention back to her, but his eyes still avoided hers. He heard her exhale a soft sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and her hands touched his cheek.

She must have touched him a million times already, but he never grew tired of it. He never would. Each time she touched him, he felt more alive. And now, instead of cold marble, her fingers brushed taut skin, and he felt his new nerve endings tingle, each sensation magnified a thousand fold. Her hand settled over the side of his face and coaxed him to look at her.

She was smiling, her full, rose lips curving upwards, and her crimson eyes sparkling softly as they focused on him. She was beautiful, and it stole the breath right out of him.

"Cloud…" his name on her lips was soft and reverent, flooded with love and acceptance. Both of her hands found his face and brought him closer so she could plant a light kiss at one corner of his mouth then the other. "Cloud..."

All breath left him a relieved groan.

She knew him, too.

He turned his head slightly so that her third kiss brushed against his lips and he lowered his head further so that he could take in more of her. She parted her lips and welcomed him, and all he could think was that it felt amazing to be alive. How had he existed before her? Before she came and brought him to life?

She tugged at him and he followed until he was on top of her on the bed. With a pleased sound, her hands crept upward and tangled themselves in his hair, pulling lightly at the sun-colored strands. Her back arched and he accepted her invitation, slipping a hand under her and bringing her closer until they were as close as they could get, and then he was drowning, drowning in her and he never knew drowning would be this amazing...

When his lungs finally begged for breath, he pulled away from her and he heard her whimper of protest with a small smile. His lips soothed and inflamed as soon as they touched the smooth, sweet skin of her throat. Pulse racing and body dusted with pink, she melted for him, head falling backward on the pillow to offer him more. And he took what she gave because she was everything to him, his life and his sustenance, and he would do anything for her.

There was no hesitation in either of them. There never had been. Not when they were exploring each other with curious, reverent, insatiable hands. No thought of 'too fast' or 'too slow'... only intense, heated focus and that desperate need to know each other wholly and completely.

Her hands explored him as she did that first time. Reverent, with a growing hint of urgency, her fingers trailed over the dip of his spine downward, until they clenched at the small of his back, desperate, as he continued his own explorations. And her whispered moan echoed around the room because he'd finally figured out how to undo the buttons holding her clothing together and his mouth was tasting the skin at the base of her throat, moving downwards, revealing more and more of her until she was laid completely bare to him.

There were no words. They'd never needed them anyway. Somehow, each knew what the other was thinking without uttering a single syllable.

He didn't speak, but his wonder was there when he touched her, hands following the contours of her body and marveling at her beauty. His need was there when he trailed hungry fingers over the length of her thigh and settled it over his hip. His willingness for her was there when he submitted himself to her explorations, even though they both knew that she had known and memorized every part of him even before he had taken form.

Her determination was there when her lips brushed his skin before parting to brand him as hers, even though they both knew she already had that claim. Her love was there when she brushed his golden hair tenderly away from his face as he leaned over her. Her need was there when she allowed him to pin her to the bed, his hands searching - fingers sliding over slick skin, each touch branding her as his.

Her gasps and sighs came freely now, and they set his new body on fire, sparks racing across veins that were now blue and green instead of black and grey and had heated blood flowing through them. Where before her hands had been gentle and careful to keep him from breaking, now her fingers dug into his skin in desperation as he touched her and her nails scraped against him, clenching erratically, whenever his fingers explored further, deeper, pushing her to the limits of reality.

She reached for it, for him, lips parted on a muted scream as pleasure crested and lasted for several long moments before waning slowly, still leaving her wanting more. He was ready to give it to her; he would give her anything. And when her trembling fingers reached out to him, he took them and gave each slender digit a reverent kiss before moving to cover her body with his own.

With a sigh, she opened for him, long, lithe legs wrapping around his waist and shifting languidly so that she enfolded more of him. Crimson locked with cobalt blue, and they came together, fierce and gentle, desperate and tender - longing and love finally meeting after an existence apart.

Bodies flowing together, speaking more eloquently than words, they moved as one. Forearms braced on either side of her head, he leaned over her, eyes hungry yet tender. She clung to him, body clenching and trembling, crimson eyes half-lidded and focused entirely on him. Her fingers slid up his shoulders to wrap around his neck, clinging there to anchor herself and him.

It was amazing to him that they were here - him, flesh and bone, and her, body and soul completely bare for him. Only him.

It was her. She was the one who had made him come alive.

And he loved her for it.

He whispered the words in her ear and watched as her eyes widened, red bleeding into brown. Her fingers slipped into his hair and tugged him closer so she could kiss him, her tongue tangling with his as their movements became just a little more desperate. Hips rolling. Backs arching. Rose lips parting for breath. Slick skin sliding against slick skin. Dark strands of midnight silk clinging to his sweat-soaked arms. Fingers clenching, digging into skin, tangling with hair or cotton sheets - anything they could reach - as they came apart together, bodies shuddering violently and white flashing across vision.

She clung to him while the pleasure crested and slowly ebbed. Despite the fact that his own body felt drained from the aftermath, he held her, keeping her sheltered in the shadow of his body as she lay trembling and shaking, limp but entirely sated. With a deep, contented sigh, she tugged at him again. This time, he collapsed on the bed beside her, and he gathered her close with a contented hum.

Crimson eyes already drowsy but infinitely tender, she smiled at him. Touched his face gently with her beautiful hands. And her voice was soft and sincere, laced with love and amused affection.

"I love you, too."

With one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, she ducked her head and pressed her face into his throat. Within minutes, she was asleep. He stroked her hair slowly, letting the silken strands wrap around his fingers. She made a soft sound in her sleep and he smiled.

It felt good to be alive.

THE END