Final Fantasy VII (Sephiroth/Vincent)
Jul. 13th, 2007 11:52 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
raisedbymoogles.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: The Beginnings of Salvation
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raisedbymoogles
Rating: R
Warnings: Naked men wrestling
Word Count: 869
Summary: Sephiroth is rescued from the cold of the Crater by a mysterious figure...
A/N: This may or may not be the beginning of a longer Seph-centric fic that's been percolating in my head. You Have Been Warned.
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth/Vincent: Guilt sex - "You have not received my forgiveness yet."
A black shape, almost formless but for the massive wings, swoops low overhead. The frigid air roars at its passing, sending knives into the climber's bare flesh. Shivering, he clings desperately to the cliff, the Malboro at the top forgotten for now. With any luck the icy wind will scatter his scent, and the monster will move on.
The Marlboro seems to have no such thoughts and belches its challenge, a noxious cloud of black gas. The winged one arcs to the east, letting the wind carry the monster-magic safely away, and circles around to come at its opponent from behind.
Marlboros are not built for swift turns. This one never had a chance.
The climber flinches as chunks of slimy flesh are thrown over the cliff face, the winged one momentarily lost from view. For a moment he thinks he is clear, then a great black head peers over the wall and its gaze focuses on him.
Sephiroth is trying to decide whether being eaten or falling would be the quicker death when a fresh blast of wind breaks his grip on the rock, and the decision is made for him.
***
Waking up naked with an equally naked stranger is never the most relaxing experience, but Sephiroth's recent history left him ill-equipped for surprises even under the best of circumstances. He lashed out without thinking, an open-handed strike that sent the other crashing into the cave's far wall -
- or tried to, the stranger twisting in midair and hitting the stone neatly feet-first. His legs bunched and Sephiroth rolled up and settled on the balls of his feet just in time to meet the stranger's launched counterattack. Just before he hit, Sephiroth caught a glimpse of brass claws and bit back a curse.
Sephiroth and his enemy-rescuer fought in silence but for the occasional grunt of effort or pain and the wet slap of naked flesh. They wrestled on the ground, sweat-slick palms gripping each other's arms and shoulders and anywhere they could get a hold, metal claws digging into Sephiroth's skin painfully but without cutting. It had been a very long time since Sephiroth had fought barehanded, used his entire body in the attempt to subdue another, and his opponent was very good. He felt unused muscles stretch and tear, pushed past their limit - but he wouldn't yield, motivated by the deadly intent in his opponent's eyes. The raven-haired stranger tangled his legs with Sephiroth's, robbing him of both stability and leverage, and with another heave of wiry muscle shoved him down hard to the floor.
Sephiroth gasped and, in the absence of anyone important watching, resorted to dirty tactics: he yanked the stranger's long hair back with every ounce of his faded strength. His opponent gasped, more in protest than pain, as the line of his white throat was exposed to view. Sephiroth grinned harshly and took advantage of the momentary distraction to roll them so that he was on top. Before he could consolidate his new position, the stranger struck with his metal arm and sent Sephiroth flying into a snowdrift at the mouth of the cave.
Cold, cold, COLD! his body screamed. Sephiroth scrambled back inside and crouched, shuddering, until a blanket draped itself over his shoulders. He squinted up at his rescuer - still naked in body as the proverbial jaybird, manhood at half-mast despite the cold, but Raven-Hair might as well have been wearing a mask for all the expression he displayed. "Shall we start over?" he asked, low voice without inflection.
Sephiroth clutched at the blanket, drawing it close over his shoulders. "Please," he rasped. "I am - my name is - "
"I know who you are," the stranger said, saving Sephiroth from having to say it.
The General closed his eyes and remembered falling, unafraid only because he lacked hope. He remembered the bitter cold, what might have killed him faster than anything else but for the body heat of a perfect stranger given without reserve. He remembered the winged monster, which this stranger must have slain in order to get him here uninjured. For the life of him, he could not remember hitting the ground. Sephiroth asked, "Then why didn't you let me die?"
"Because," the stranger said in the same uninflected voice, "I didn't want you to get off that easily." He moved away, and Sephiroth bowed his head to keep from seeing the easy grace of his bare body.
"I must have wronged you personally, then," the former General said bitterly. "What was it? Did I kill someone you loved? Or - " He frowned, sifting through his broken memories. "Were you in Cloud's band, by any chance? I'm not - I can't seem to remember very clearly."
"I was. But that's not why I'm angry at you."
Sephiroth peered up through a stray lock of hair. "So I did kill someone you loved."
The stranger paused mid-step, and Sephiroth watched as the muscles in his back tensed, knotted, then relaxed. "Yes. And until you make amends for that, Sephiroth, I will make very sure that you do not die."
Since the stranger's back was turned, Sephiroth allowed himself a smile. "Very well."
Author/Artist:
raisedbymooglesRating: R
Warnings: Naked men wrestling
Word Count: 869
Summary: Sephiroth is rescued from the cold of the Crater by a mysterious figure...
A/N: This may or may not be the beginning of a longer Seph-centric fic that's been percolating in my head. You Have Been Warned.
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth/Vincent: Guilt sex - "You have not received my forgiveness yet."
A black shape, almost formless but for the massive wings, swoops low overhead. The frigid air roars at its passing, sending knives into the climber's bare flesh. Shivering, he clings desperately to the cliff, the Malboro at the top forgotten for now. With any luck the icy wind will scatter his scent, and the monster will move on.
The Marlboro seems to have no such thoughts and belches its challenge, a noxious cloud of black gas. The winged one arcs to the east, letting the wind carry the monster-magic safely away, and circles around to come at its opponent from behind.
Marlboros are not built for swift turns. This one never had a chance.
The climber flinches as chunks of slimy flesh are thrown over the cliff face, the winged one momentarily lost from view. For a moment he thinks he is clear, then a great black head peers over the wall and its gaze focuses on him.
Sephiroth is trying to decide whether being eaten or falling would be the quicker death when a fresh blast of wind breaks his grip on the rock, and the decision is made for him.
***
Waking up naked with an equally naked stranger is never the most relaxing experience, but Sephiroth's recent history left him ill-equipped for surprises even under the best of circumstances. He lashed out without thinking, an open-handed strike that sent the other crashing into the cave's far wall -
- or tried to, the stranger twisting in midair and hitting the stone neatly feet-first. His legs bunched and Sephiroth rolled up and settled on the balls of his feet just in time to meet the stranger's launched counterattack. Just before he hit, Sephiroth caught a glimpse of brass claws and bit back a curse.
Sephiroth and his enemy-rescuer fought in silence but for the occasional grunt of effort or pain and the wet slap of naked flesh. They wrestled on the ground, sweat-slick palms gripping each other's arms and shoulders and anywhere they could get a hold, metal claws digging into Sephiroth's skin painfully but without cutting. It had been a very long time since Sephiroth had fought barehanded, used his entire body in the attempt to subdue another, and his opponent was very good. He felt unused muscles stretch and tear, pushed past their limit - but he wouldn't yield, motivated by the deadly intent in his opponent's eyes. The raven-haired stranger tangled his legs with Sephiroth's, robbing him of both stability and leverage, and with another heave of wiry muscle shoved him down hard to the floor.
Sephiroth gasped and, in the absence of anyone important watching, resorted to dirty tactics: he yanked the stranger's long hair back with every ounce of his faded strength. His opponent gasped, more in protest than pain, as the line of his white throat was exposed to view. Sephiroth grinned harshly and took advantage of the momentary distraction to roll them so that he was on top. Before he could consolidate his new position, the stranger struck with his metal arm and sent Sephiroth flying into a snowdrift at the mouth of the cave.
Cold, cold, COLD! his body screamed. Sephiroth scrambled back inside and crouched, shuddering, until a blanket draped itself over his shoulders. He squinted up at his rescuer - still naked in body as the proverbial jaybird, manhood at half-mast despite the cold, but Raven-Hair might as well have been wearing a mask for all the expression he displayed. "Shall we start over?" he asked, low voice without inflection.
Sephiroth clutched at the blanket, drawing it close over his shoulders. "Please," he rasped. "I am - my name is - "
"I know who you are," the stranger said, saving Sephiroth from having to say it.
The General closed his eyes and remembered falling, unafraid only because he lacked hope. He remembered the bitter cold, what might have killed him faster than anything else but for the body heat of a perfect stranger given without reserve. He remembered the winged monster, which this stranger must have slain in order to get him here uninjured. For the life of him, he could not remember hitting the ground. Sephiroth asked, "Then why didn't you let me die?"
"Because," the stranger said in the same uninflected voice, "I didn't want you to get off that easily." He moved away, and Sephiroth bowed his head to keep from seeing the easy grace of his bare body.
"I must have wronged you personally, then," the former General said bitterly. "What was it? Did I kill someone you loved? Or - " He frowned, sifting through his broken memories. "Were you in Cloud's band, by any chance? I'm not - I can't seem to remember very clearly."
"I was. But that's not why I'm angry at you."
Sephiroth peered up through a stray lock of hair. "So I did kill someone you loved."
The stranger paused mid-step, and Sephiroth watched as the muscles in his back tensed, knotted, then relaxed. "Yes. And until you make amends for that, Sephiroth, I will make very sure that you do not die."
Since the stranger's back was turned, Sephiroth allowed himself a smile. "Very well."
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