Auron makes a sound of satisfaction at the drag of Tidus's weight over his hips, perhaps the first sign that he's enjoying this for what it is. Yielding to clever hands and a willing body. Two years, give or take, and they'll both be gone. If Auron knew that, he wouldn't have agreed to this either. But even with everything he's learned, he can't actually imagine any future that isn't more of the same burning sun rising over the flat sea and settling between impossibly tall, brightly-lit buildings.

Never-ending. Just because he escaped death, much the way the city itself did so long ago, doesn't mean that the same logic applies to him. But he has a choice while the city has none. Sometimes it almost seems as though he has more choices now than he had in life. And if that isn't miserable...

Auron raises his hips, lifting them both off the of bed with a creak, back bending in a strong, subtle arch. They persist in being clothed from the waist down, but there's not much left to hide. He squeezes his hands like he's suddenly remembered what Tidus told him to do, then ventures a step further, sneaking his fingers between parted thighs. His skin's so hot to the touch that the only evidence of the thin fabric is the weave of the thread he can feel under his fingertips.