Chaos wrote this, which is why its such an example of an awesome drabble.... Beta'd by Georgie so blame mistakes on her.


In The Realm of the Senses:

Touch

Hot As Ice

There's something about the way that Sephiroth touches him that is like nothing else. Even Angeal's loving caresses can't achieve the same reaction – a complex mix of emotions where lust and affection only played a small part.

The general is possessive, even where eyes could see them together. The fear of discovery, and the forced separation that would quickly follow boils Genesis' blood. Excites him, Sephiroth is all too sure. That's why he does it with a smile. But he is subtle, firm and he never lets Genesis forget his place.

As one who speaks through gesticulations as fluently as his voice, there's nothing more powerful than those hands on his body. More than a purr of that extravagant voice, Genesis will bend to any will, as long as it bends him physically.

He never denies when Sephiroth guides him, hands in his hair pushing him downwards, and dictates a rhythm. Genesis allows himself to be conducted through corridors with a gloved palm on the small of his back; the fingers angling more and more downwards as they approach the door to the general's apartment.

Sephiroth is a man of few words; he relies on glances – his coldly expressive eyes – to convey his wishes and opinions. His hands lie stationary at his side a vast majority of the time during the day. Only when he sees a flash of scarlet do they rise; only when Genesis is a mere breath away does he touch.

It gives Genesis a chill throughout himself to think that he is the only one to hold the Silver General's desire. No one knows how warm Sephiroth's hands really are; how his blunt nails feel in the smooth skin of thighs. He has trained Sephiroth to be everything he wants – to know where to touch in all the right moments – and the joy of experiencing that is his alone.

To add to the elation, Genesis knows that the situation and the feelings and frustrations that accompany it are entirely mutual. A brush of his lips and a stroke of his hand melts Sephiroth's icy public façade in the blink of an eye. And when he was under the influence of such touches, Genesis' adept skill playing a pleasurable havoc on his nerves, Sephiroth could be made into anything.

It is calming to know, unspoken, that Sephiroth is just as vulnerable as he is.

Perhaps that security is peculiar in a relationship that all sources say should never work. They are just too different. Cold indifference to burning flamboyancy. Ice and fire.

The contrast neutralises the natural animosity and leaves a void that can be filled with a strange, silent affection. And the only language that they know and suits them - keeps them in their places and reminds them of it constantly – is touch.