Work Text:
House Husband Sephiroth
“Concentrate,” he hissed to himself. His hand gripped the knife in perfect form, the knife that he had freshly sharpened and oiled for this moment. The edge of it gleamed off the sunlight from the newly
curtained window, a bright yellow gingham specially chosen to add cheer to the tidy kitchen. He closed his eyes to envision his next move, a complex cut to the potatoes to form an accordion texture that would crisp up pleasingly when roasted. After his moment of meditation, he took a sharp breath and executed his intent. It would be a nice complimentary dish for the breaded pan seared chicken cutlets and lemon zested broccoli he was preparing next.
He allowed himself a grim smile. The entire kitchen was spotless. He’d even moved the refrigerator and stove to clean beneath them, an easy feat for a soldier of his strength. The laundry was freshly complete, crisply folded and organized by color, weather need, and style. The bedding was also freshly washed and the bed remade with razor sharp corners. The pillows had been fluffed and a few drops of lavender oil had been added. The floors were scrubbed by hand and so well disinfected that he would not be ashamed to serve this meal directly on the tile. It had been a good, productive day.
Just as he finished whisking the sauce for the chicken, Tifa burst through the door. “Hi honey!” she said happily as she peeled off her boots. “Oooh it smells good in here!” She dumped her work pack on the couch and hopped up to him. He turned to her with his arms open, and she happily buried herself against his chest. He gave a soft sigh and kissed the top of her head. She smelled like beer, fry oil and sweat. He thought it might be the most amazing smell in the world.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” he said as she poured her a glass of wine. “Tell me about work.”
Tifa draped herself gracefully across the couch and chatted about the new line chef, the specials, the rude customers she loved to deal with, that Rude and Reno had visited (they must have them for dinner) and could he watch Marlene for Barret tomorrow? (of course he could, he had a special case of dolls that teach materia combinations for just such an occasion), all of the other minutia of their now peaceful days. He allowed himself to feel content.
“What did you do today?” He smiled gently and bent to kiss her, taking the opportunity to slide a coaster under her wine glass.
“Not much. I tidied up.” He motioned lightly around their little home, as though he hadn’t spent hours deep cleaning the place. She gave him a sweet smile, easily seeing through his dismissive gesture. He brought her a plate of food so she could curl herself, cat like, into the blankets he’d left out for her. While she ate he scooped up the backpack and shoes to their hooks and cubbies, and whipped the cream for the fruit tarts he’d made for dessert. The moan of pleasure she gave when she sank her teeth into the delicate butter based crust was worth every second he’d spent carefully rolling the pastry into hundreds of layers.
“Delicious,” she cooed. “I can’t believe you just learned to cook!”
He chuckled at the compliment. Cooking was a new skill to be sure, something he’d never needed to know growing up as a lab experiment for Shinra, nor in the barracks as a Soldier. Never the less, it required disciplines he was accustomed to. Precision. Care. Style. Repetition and skill. It was nearly as satisfying to perfect as sword form. Not quiet. But close enough.
“I’m gonna take a shower!” she declared. “Don’t forget, Cloud’s stopping by for a package pickup in a few!”
“Cloud,” Sephiroth hissed through gritted teeth. His old enemy, the goal of murdering Cloud had been central to his life for years. He clenched his hand into a fist and swallowed the rage he felt whenever Cloud’s name was spoken. It did not help that Cloud was now also his wife’s ex, and she still worked with him. This meant they occasionally had to cross paths, and Sephiroth was not allowed to kill him anymore.
The little bastard didn’t even knock when he stopped by. Just walked right in as though he still lived there, as though he still had a right to Tifa’s space. Sephiroth growled low and managed not to shatter the dish he was washing as he turned around.
“Tifa, here for pickup,” Cloud yelled, and strolled in his dirty boots across the sparkling floor to the counter where Sephiroth had neatly contained the packages Tifa managed for him. Sephiroth snarled and turned just as Cloud realized he was there in the kitchen. Cloud froze instinctively, the old animosity had not worn off, and slowly reached for the heavy sword strapped over his back. On the same set of instincts, Sephiroth reached for his trusty kitchen knife in place of his beloved masamune. They stared each other down, perfectly matched enemies, tense and ready to fight.
“Hey! Cloud! What the hell!” Tifa pulled a shirt over her head and swatted her spiky haired ex. “Look at your boots! They’re gross! Sephy just did the floor!”
Sephiroth relaxed as soon as she entered the room, and sighed, “It’s nothing.”
Cloud had remained frozen, and slowly looked down at his boots. Clearly he’d never thought to remove them when he’d lived here, scoffed Sephiroth. He slowly backed up to the door, and removed the offending footwear. His hands went up in surrender. Tifa gave Sephiroth a look that said everything, an expression of ‘see? isn’t that better?’ that instantly lowered his blood pressure. She picked up the package and a folder of paperwork and shooed Cloud to the (cleared and recently polished) table to go over his next set of deliveries. Sephiroth took the opportunity to mop the floor. Civilians are disgusting, he concluded. He glanced at his wife, wearing a serious look on her face as she talked business, and decided they were worth dealing with.
Later she was warm and naked in his arms, curled and content and breathing softly. She snuggled closer and rested her chin on his shoulder, and purred, “Sephy, are you happy?”
“Yes,” he said, and meant it. For the first time, with her, he was happy.