#classified.

Xu can’t quite bury her face in the sheets, trying to hide a moan-- old habits die hard, and she grew up with thin dorm walls to contend with. Here, it doesn’t matter. 

No one’s going to hear them over the sound of the bed slamming into the wall relentlessly, anyway.

Her hand keeps a death-grip around one of his wrists, nails digging into his skin; the opposite ass cheek is going to be goddamned red by the time they finish, she knows.

The pain is icing on the cake-- the only way this might be improved is if he grabbed her hair and pulled. 

“Shut up,” she gasps, “I already told you-- oh, fuck...” A low whimper, biting off his name, her body reacting exactly the way she wants, exactly the way she craves, and god, this is better than faking it for the inevitable bug in the hotel room. 

Yeah, it’s a job, but that doesn’t meant they can’t enjoy themselves. 

Selphie is above him, her body arching as she moves, his hands digging into the small of her back (so small, so delicate, and yet he can feel the muscles beneath her skin, hard-won and earned), and the almost indecently-soft bedding is practically electric against his skin. 

No, if Laguna were asked today, right now, what his favorite room in the palace is, he’s going to have to say this random guest room just off the north wing on the fifth floor, close enough to dash into when this little slip of a SeeD makes a certain face at him, a little tilt of her chin that doesn’t even need words. 

She’s half his age, and right now, he doesn’t care about that, that she’s all of twenty something to his (double that, add a few for good measure, Laguna doesn’t think too hard about how old he’s getting, especially not now.)

Good christ, he’s close, he can’t break so quickly, not now--

He feels twenty-something in the way he reaches, yanks her down to kiss her hard, her flippy curls crushed by his hands in her hair. She flips easily beneath him; the bed is large enough that they barely travel at all.