FF7 Fic - "Sacred"
Title: Sacred
Word Count: 1095
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: FF7 does not belong to me/no profit is made from this work.
Summary: In the Temple of the Ancients, past and present collide.
Warnings: Implications of Sephiroth/Cloud
Inside the temple, everything was lit with a warm golden light - the floors, the mural-covered walls, even the visitors to these hallowed halls - everything that was, except for Sephiroth, who glowed eerily, cold and pale as the moon. It was a testament to the former general’s confidence that he was seated on the floor in a position that eerily mirrored Tseng at the entrance to the building, simply holding his sword but not bothering to attack. An even greater testament to his conviction and the hold that Jenova had on him was the honest and straight-forward way he announced his intentions, his plans for the poor, beleaguered Planet. There was never a doubt in his face or his voice that he would accomplish his goals. Everyone else - everything else - was irrelevant, less than worth his lofty attention.
“Wake up!” Sephiroth had ordered as he fled from the room, and Cloud had given chase in a fury. To save everyone, he’d end this here he’d decided, end this madman’s bizarre spree of slaughter and terror across the face of Gaia. Cloud’s rage was a pressure inside his head as he followed the low laughter through the dusty hallways.
He wasn’t at all sure how he’d passed by Sephiroth, how he’d missed such a tall, commanding presence, until the streak of dark and silver struck him from the side, knocking him into the bricks below the mural. Cloud didn’t even have enough time to grab his sword from its sheath before he was pinned into place, Sephiroth’s arm at his throat, and the deadly silver of Masamune poised diagonally across his body.
“I knew that you’d come to me… you’ll follow me to the ends of the planet, won’t you?” the words were practically a purr as those unique green eyes looked down at Cloud in pleasure.
“To end this! To end the madness of you!” Cloud snarled up at him, his teeth gleaming in the torchlight.
“Ah, my wolf-cub shows his fangs,” leather creaked as Sephiroth closed the distance between them, and Cloud noted that the black leather felt as cool as the swordsman looked. For all of the chill emanating off of the swordsman, his bared chest was surprisingly warm and Cloud felt himself shudder and draw away. “But it’s all a show, isn’t it my pet? Lone wolves aren’t really alone, are they, Cloud? They may not run in a pack… but they still cleave to the right mate… to the one that can match their pace.”
Inside Cloud’s head, the pressure was reaching an agonizing crescendo, driven on by the pounding of his heart inside his chest. I’m frightened, he told himself, willing his gaze to stay furious instead of weak and pathetic. The strange intensity of his pulse frightened him and he wasn’t sure if his heart was trying to pound itself to pieces and stop… or if it was finally, desperately trying to start. He raised his hands to push Sephiroth away, only to watch his own fingers curl themselves into the dark leather. The cool calm of the former general was seeping into them, seeping into him...
… Everything was going misty and white and the only heat he could feel was the pressure of that long body pushing him against the stone wall, of a mouth over top of his, of a tongue slowly invading his own mouth, gliding inside, tasting him and sending ripples of hunger down his spine.
“D-damn it, no… I won’t be treated like your toy!” he frantically twisted himself to one side, heedless of the threat of the Masamune, but the weapon never cut into him. Instead, he broke free and stumbled only a half step away, his own body oddly uncoordinated and clumsy, and was caught up easily as Sephiroth’s arms encircled him from behind. He didn’t even recognize the moan that escaped him as their bodies collided again. A gloved hand spread wide against his solar plexus, and he could feel his breath, his strength seeping away at the pressure.
A lock of silver hair brushed along his cheek as it slithered over his shoulder, and Sephiroth’s gentle, reasonable voice was in his ear, “You won’t? Then how do you want to be treated, Cloud? Do you remember how it was, how it could be… How well we complimented each other in our ways?” Their bodies were curved together, nested perfectly, cloth inside leather, and Cloud’s knees were turning to water. Every time Shinra’s former general spoke his name - purred his name, really - it felt like like he was being stroked along the length of his body. A part of him rejoiced at the sound of it even as another part knew he should be gibbering in terror. Only Sephiroth’s strength was keeping him on his feet as he shuddered and the fog was lapping at his thoughts, stealing them away. Cloud’s body felt oddly fragile, as if it were made of glass and silk and secrets. Dampness gathered on his lashes, and he knew if he turned around now, his mind would shatter into a thousand useless pieces.
Your friends are coming. Whether Sephiroth actually spoke those words, or they flowed silently between them, Cloud wasn’t even sure. All he knew is that those strong arms were putting him back on his feet. His vision was slowly clearing to leave him to stare at the mural in front of him, at the great orb descending from the skies. Gloved fingers trailed along his nape as that soft voice whispered into the most primal part of his brain. I’ll never be far away from you, Cloud… and you will always come to me. You will always be there when I need you.
By the time Cloud blinked to clear his vision, he was alone and feeling colder than ever. The sense of desolation was so great, the desperation so deep, that he wondered if he’d imagined the whole of the encounter. Blankly his gaze went up the picture in front of him, as he wondered if the world’s end would be all that bad a thing…
“Cloud!” Aerith’s hurried footsteps barely registered on Cloud’s awareness, her warmth barely reached his soul as he let Meteor’s depiction fill his gaze. Sephiroth’s chill still ran across his skin, leaving him oddly disconnected, disjointed, left him thinking that something so large falling from the sky would leave a scar on the world to match the one on his own chest.
Most of all, he never doubted that he’d find Sephiroth again; they were each other’s fate, that’s the only thing Cloud really knew for sure.
This entry was originally posted at http://rissicat.dreamwidth.org/91320.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Word Count: 1095
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: FF7 does not belong to me/no profit is made from this work.
Summary: In the Temple of the Ancients, past and present collide.
Warnings: Implications of Sephiroth/Cloud
Inside the temple, everything was lit with a warm golden light - the floors, the mural-covered walls, even the visitors to these hallowed halls - everything that was, except for Sephiroth, who glowed eerily, cold and pale as the moon. It was a testament to the former general’s confidence that he was seated on the floor in a position that eerily mirrored Tseng at the entrance to the building, simply holding his sword but not bothering to attack. An even greater testament to his conviction and the hold that Jenova had on him was the honest and straight-forward way he announced his intentions, his plans for the poor, beleaguered Planet. There was never a doubt in his face or his voice that he would accomplish his goals. Everyone else - everything else - was irrelevant, less than worth his lofty attention.
“Wake up!” Sephiroth had ordered as he fled from the room, and Cloud had given chase in a fury. To save everyone, he’d end this here he’d decided, end this madman’s bizarre spree of slaughter and terror across the face of Gaia. Cloud’s rage was a pressure inside his head as he followed the low laughter through the dusty hallways.
He wasn’t at all sure how he’d passed by Sephiroth, how he’d missed such a tall, commanding presence, until the streak of dark and silver struck him from the side, knocking him into the bricks below the mural. Cloud didn’t even have enough time to grab his sword from its sheath before he was pinned into place, Sephiroth’s arm at his throat, and the deadly silver of Masamune poised diagonally across his body.
“I knew that you’d come to me… you’ll follow me to the ends of the planet, won’t you?” the words were practically a purr as those unique green eyes looked down at Cloud in pleasure.
“To end this! To end the madness of you!” Cloud snarled up at him, his teeth gleaming in the torchlight.
“Ah, my wolf-cub shows his fangs,” leather creaked as Sephiroth closed the distance between them, and Cloud noted that the black leather felt as cool as the swordsman looked. For all of the chill emanating off of the swordsman, his bared chest was surprisingly warm and Cloud felt himself shudder and draw away. “But it’s all a show, isn’t it my pet? Lone wolves aren’t really alone, are they, Cloud? They may not run in a pack… but they still cleave to the right mate… to the one that can match their pace.”
Inside Cloud’s head, the pressure was reaching an agonizing crescendo, driven on by the pounding of his heart inside his chest. I’m frightened, he told himself, willing his gaze to stay furious instead of weak and pathetic. The strange intensity of his pulse frightened him and he wasn’t sure if his heart was trying to pound itself to pieces and stop… or if it was finally, desperately trying to start. He raised his hands to push Sephiroth away, only to watch his own fingers curl themselves into the dark leather. The cool calm of the former general was seeping into them, seeping into him...
… Everything was going misty and white and the only heat he could feel was the pressure of that long body pushing him against the stone wall, of a mouth over top of his, of a tongue slowly invading his own mouth, gliding inside, tasting him and sending ripples of hunger down his spine.
“D-damn it, no… I won’t be treated like your toy!” he frantically twisted himself to one side, heedless of the threat of the Masamune, but the weapon never cut into him. Instead, he broke free and stumbled only a half step away, his own body oddly uncoordinated and clumsy, and was caught up easily as Sephiroth’s arms encircled him from behind. He didn’t even recognize the moan that escaped him as their bodies collided again. A gloved hand spread wide against his solar plexus, and he could feel his breath, his strength seeping away at the pressure.
A lock of silver hair brushed along his cheek as it slithered over his shoulder, and Sephiroth’s gentle, reasonable voice was in his ear, “You won’t? Then how do you want to be treated, Cloud? Do you remember how it was, how it could be… How well we complimented each other in our ways?” Their bodies were curved together, nested perfectly, cloth inside leather, and Cloud’s knees were turning to water. Every time Shinra’s former general spoke his name - purred his name, really - it felt like like he was being stroked along the length of his body. A part of him rejoiced at the sound of it even as another part knew he should be gibbering in terror. Only Sephiroth’s strength was keeping him on his feet as he shuddered and the fog was lapping at his thoughts, stealing them away. Cloud’s body felt oddly fragile, as if it were made of glass and silk and secrets. Dampness gathered on his lashes, and he knew if he turned around now, his mind would shatter into a thousand useless pieces.
Your friends are coming. Whether Sephiroth actually spoke those words, or they flowed silently between them, Cloud wasn’t even sure. All he knew is that those strong arms were putting him back on his feet. His vision was slowly clearing to leave him to stare at the mural in front of him, at the great orb descending from the skies. Gloved fingers trailed along his nape as that soft voice whispered into the most primal part of his brain. I’ll never be far away from you, Cloud… and you will always come to me. You will always be there when I need you.
By the time Cloud blinked to clear his vision, he was alone and feeling colder than ever. The sense of desolation was so great, the desperation so deep, that he wondered if he’d imagined the whole of the encounter. Blankly his gaze went up the picture in front of him, as he wondered if the world’s end would be all that bad a thing…
“Cloud!” Aerith’s hurried footsteps barely registered on Cloud’s awareness, her warmth barely reached his soul as he let Meteor’s depiction fill his gaze. Sephiroth’s chill still ran across his skin, leaving him oddly disconnected, disjointed, left him thinking that something so large falling from the sky would leave a scar on the world to match the one on his own chest.
Most of all, he never doubted that he’d find Sephiroth again; they were each other’s fate, that’s the only thing Cloud really knew for sure.
This entry was originally posted at http://rissicat.dreamwidth.org/91320.html. Please comment there using OpenID.