Final Fantasy Seven: Sephiroth/Zack
Jul. 8th, 2007 10:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
forgottenlover.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Perception
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
forgottenlover
Rating: R
Warnings: None I can think of
Word count: 366
Summary: Sephiroth had no idea why Zack offered him such things.
Sometimes, it was just too overwhelming being who he was. Those were the times when he desperately wanted to retreat, to walk away and recover himself, but he was rarely given such chances. Instead his duties pulled him more and more tightly strung, and he knew he was far from the calm visage he took care to present to those in power, the expressionless a precaution taken for the simple reason that all should not know the roil and pitch of his unsteadiness.
A few over the years had been able to successfully tell when he was in such a twisted position. Fewer had found a way to help.
Zack was one of those few, coming to him as the last of the battles died down, staying close to his side. He helped ward away those that didn't need immediate orders, and they retreated to another area where he could be away from it. He still couldn't relax, of course, but it was clear that the younger man was aware of that. The way he was watching him said he was, and he stayed near, patient, waiting.
"Why do you do this?" It wasn't the first time the man had come with him this way, but it was the first time he'd asked instead of simply taking what he was offered.
The teen dug through a bag near his bedding and padded back to him, simply reaching up and pressing a small oil bottle into his palm, utterly at ease even though deadly tension hadn't fully left him yet and was a risk to the one touching him. "You need somebody Seph. So just… Well, I'll be that somebody."
That was no real answer. Curling his fingers around the oil, he didn't try to get more clarity out of him, didn't try to convince him that he required a true answer, instead seeking one from his lips as his fingers curled tight in black hair. If one could not be spoken, then perhaps one could be found in the form, the secret that drew the man in uncovered as easily as clothes were removed.
If not, well… then it was certainly not for lack of trying.
Author:
forgottenloverRating: R
Warnings: None I can think of
Word count: 366
Summary: Sephiroth had no idea why Zack offered him such things.
Sometimes, it was just too overwhelming being who he was. Those were the times when he desperately wanted to retreat, to walk away and recover himself, but he was rarely given such chances. Instead his duties pulled him more and more tightly strung, and he knew he was far from the calm visage he took care to present to those in power, the expressionless a precaution taken for the simple reason that all should not know the roil and pitch of his unsteadiness.
A few over the years had been able to successfully tell when he was in such a twisted position. Fewer had found a way to help.
Zack was one of those few, coming to him as the last of the battles died down, staying close to his side. He helped ward away those that didn't need immediate orders, and they retreated to another area where he could be away from it. He still couldn't relax, of course, but it was clear that the younger man was aware of that. The way he was watching him said he was, and he stayed near, patient, waiting.
"Why do you do this?" It wasn't the first time the man had come with him this way, but it was the first time he'd asked instead of simply taking what he was offered.
The teen dug through a bag near his bedding and padded back to him, simply reaching up and pressing a small oil bottle into his palm, utterly at ease even though deadly tension hadn't fully left him yet and was a risk to the one touching him. "You need somebody Seph. So just… Well, I'll be that somebody."
That was no real answer. Curling his fingers around the oil, he didn't try to get more clarity out of him, didn't try to convince him that he required a true answer, instead seeking one from his lips as his fingers curled tight in black hair. If one could not be spoken, then perhaps one could be found in the form, the secret that drew the man in uncovered as easily as clothes were removed.
If not, well… then it was certainly not for lack of trying.
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