She wouldn't be wrong about his own missed happiness, nor would she be wrong to assume there were parts of it he'd given up on for himself. It was why he'd held back; respect for her, yes, but that crippling fear of breaking his own heart by falling for someone who wouldn't -- couldn't -- return his feelings.

It couldn't be farther from his mind as he's so wrapped in her, every move of her body, every breathless sound egging him on. It's hardly moments before his cries mix with hers, the fervor with which she clings to him as her muscles tense and flutter making him kiss her back just as ravenously, whimpering as his speed increases. Feeling her orgasm against him, hearing the dazed way she calls his name, he has no chance -- and the coiling tension pulls him rigid as he gasps her name right back. In it's place is a languid, satisfied warmth, a shakiness of exertion and disbelief.

Panting, he lets his weight down onto her, smiling and smiling as he cups her face, pressing much gentler kisses to her. "Aerith," he sighs, "I love you."