マル走

-Independent ROCHE roleplay blog; rocked by SODA-

Mostly Final Fantasy 7 Remake compliant and heavily headcanon based.

NSFW Prompts

"Damn, Sunshine- You almost sound better than her motor," Roche chuckles, rich and deep against the curve of Zack's ear.

KISSING  MEME  PROMPTS [ALWAYS ACCEPTING *WINK WONKS*]

How many times have they crossed swords like this, in the dead of night, surrounded by the heat of concentrated lasers slicing through alloy and the steady rumble of working machinery.

For Roche, he can't- doesn't want- to think about anything else that may have come before. Listless days spent chasing hazy ghosts of a time that he had the unfortunate luck of not being born into, hoping to catch the phantom glint of a thousand headlights creating a river of chaotic cries and roaring engines. Pushing a beat up old 500cc to it's very limits until he tasted blood and asphalt. Grainy footage of men and women proudly flaunting their rebellious rage with long coats emblazoned by the finest and most time consuming of hand embroidery, slogans and symbols that carried more weight than the very fist of God.

Was there ever a time that actually mattered- before fate had sent a certain Cloud Strife across his winding path? Had anyone made his heartbeat leap straight out of his throat quite like the blonde casting a dismissive glare in his direction- all while he stood in stark, defiant opposition to the intensity of Roche's increasingly wild demands?

He'd long thought his hungers to be insatiable. Maybe they never would be appeased, not by anything of earthly value anyway, but Mister ex-SOLDIER managed- had came the closest to maybe quieting the ever present growling of his desire for just... More.

More speed, more adrenaline, more challenges, more danger- If he didn't reach for everything, then what was the point?

If he couldn't have everything that Cloud had to give, then he didn't want to bother having him at all.

He'd once said that there might not be a place for their particular kind of fire. Sad, but true- perhaps.

When he reaches for him, it's in a shower of bullets and sparks flying from scraping metal. The smell of exhaust and ozone, oil and brimstone. A flash of bared fangs as he tugs a leather glove free from his hand, tossing it aside. Gently does he trail the tips of his bare fingers along the blonde's forearm before giving a turn of the wrist- cradling the fellow warrior's hand within his open palm. Roche leans out of the saddle of his trusty mount and presses his lips to the valleys of battle torn knuckles calloused from combat.

They'll always have tonight.

What must be the universe’s sick sense of humor has sent him this man to torment him. The point of his sword drops where his sense of incredulity rises. Cloud pushes his tongue against the roof of his mouth, releases a soft ‘tch’‘ of disbelief when his opponent pulls out a goddamn comb and starts brushing his hair, and backs up a couple steps on the oil-slicked asphalt.

Temptation is there, nagging at his heels– take off, follow after Jesse, but there’s no way he can beat a souped up motorcycle on foot.

And his arms hurt like hell, whether he admits it or not. He’d be in trouble if Roche tried to come at him again with his mako-fueled steed. Cloud glances sidelong, looks for some sort of cover away from the open road. A worst-case scenario is still probable even with Roche dicking off in the background.

“Hate to break it to you, but Shinra didn’t give me much of a choice. Why don’t you run off back to your masters if you’re going to waste my time?”

“Oh, this mongrel doesn’t answer when ordered to speak, heel, or sit. They know it, I know it- we’re merely allies of convenience for now. The only siren call that lures me is the promise of danger and adrenaline- Putting it all on the line and pushing past the limits. But enough about me, what I wanna know is...”

Roche trails off, pausing to fold up his switchblade comb and tuck it back into the breast pocket of his uniform. His gaze snaps up suddenly, another grin that’s all canine teeth and reckless abandon as he guns the engine and his bike bucks forward, near steamrolling into the blonde- but Roche leans back and pulls, skidding nearly entirely sideways as he pushes out of the saddle. 

He’s nearly nose to nose with other man, curiosity and amusement glimmering in the wild nature of his eyes.