Petal soft kisses, slick skin and warm breath - abandoned to a place where words lack sense and body. Tastes entwining, hands imbibing the scripture of sin as they congregate under the protective anonymity of the night. His back arching - closer now - until the stars were in the backs of his eyes, and the only language he spoke were humming moans and heaving respiration. Lover's embrace - settle him down onto the bed beneath them, calloused grip caressing down his tightly muscled form, a gentle touch along his jaw until those glistening blues opened and they looked on, hazed with affection. He kisses him then, takes them into rest until the sun stripes the room through slits in their blinds.
I love you. He would say, drowning a tea bag in a mug, old gift from many yesterdays ago. Poached eggs, bacon and generous amounts of sauce sat on a buttered toast, cutlery ready for their own use.
Fireplace crackling in the background, spelling away the weekend frost. Porcelain and steel clinking, compliments to the chef who smiles as he sweetens his tea. Five years they hid in the shadows, lurking in the safety of reticence and secrecy. Shielding away the shared breakfasts and late night coalitions from public scorn.
It never truly bothered Sephiroth, to keep a songbird locked away who promotes himself as pure mediocrity, suspicions quelled to others by his hard work and resilience. But the wings were withering, the poor bird dying, flapping weakly against the torrent which grew stronger as years drifted by. For together they could not reach the abandon, the climactic nexus of their union.
Smiles abound at work, locking away the actions of moments before, and the desperate yearning for something more. Shelving away soldier profiles and writing mundane accounts of missions past. A hand buried away in his red hair, pen scratching on paper whilst his partner in crime departs the office for a corporate luncheon.
Old fat men, with wives and children at home, and a bought woman in their laps, chewing open mouthed at expensive foods they could not pronounce, all paid for by an introduced cut to staff wages. Laughing at the 'leaners' in society – those bereft of the benefit to be born with a silver spoon in the mouth. Caviar dribbling down their designer suits, patted clean by a working-class woman who yelped when groped inappropriately by a winking overpaid corporate seat warmer.
They concluded all important matters with the question "Why else do I pay my lawyers?" and indulged with intellectual debate on plastic surgery for wives and mistresses and the worthwhileness of buying property for their favourite escort to exist as a tax haven. Bastard children were brought up, someone scoffed and claimed they couldn't keep count – which was jovially received by the company.
Corporate lunchtime was overstayed and the execs piled into the back of a serviced limousine – luxury imbued with the tastelessness of coloured disco lights and half-naked women. He sat amongst them, disengaged - wishing that on at least one occasion he could afford the cost to take his Genesis to a restaurant with an expensive menu full of foods whose names they could not pronounce, and they would laugh and smile about their time together and the beauty trapped within them. To then retire into a chauffeured limousine and see the city they hid from through the eyes of the privileged for at least one moment.
They stopped to a strip of flashing neon lights and gaudy architecture. A place where women were not shy for the benefit of survival. He stood and watched blankly as the girls inside the luxe brothel lined up. The corporate pigs whistled, turned up their noses and debated whether their tits were real. Selections made, credit cards on the table and Heidegger grabs Sephiroth by the arm.
"See that blonde over there? We nabbed her for you." He winks and bounds away with two brunettes.
The blonde takes Sephiroth by the hand, thinking she cut a sweet deal because she got the handsome man, and whisks him off upstairs to her boudoir.
"So…" she begins, pushing him onto the bed, "What kinks have you got up your sleeve?"
He stands back up and sits in a chair across the room. "I'm not having sex with you. I'm sorry. It's nothing personal, I just don't want sex."
She cocks her head, uncertain whether he was playing hard to get or serious. She sashays over to him, ghosting her hands over his shoulders as she lands into his lap. "You sure about that sweetie?" she whispers, rolling her body seductively over his, breasts pressing against him.
"Yes, really. Please get off me. I'd rather watch a movie or something if you don't mind." He nods at the television on the wall.
"Really?"
He sighs, Genesis was not going to like this, "Yes. Really. I'm in a committed relationship that my colleagues don't know about."
"Oh." Her body changed in that moment as she got off his lap and handed him the remote, gone was the sexuality and she was just a woman in a tight dress, "Guess I'll just enjoy my paid time off then."
When the time they had lapsed, he left the brothel and wandered the streets. Wondering how men and women could abandon the people they love for 60 minutes of lust and yet talk about the sanctity and the worth of their marriages as 'wholesome' and 'right'. Advertisements for bridal jewellery flocked Loveless Avenue as highly original marketing experts decided to cash in on the irony of a jewellery store on a street with that name.
He imagined that in the late hours of the night, after the extravaganza of a showing at the theatre, Genesis would walk past these stores. Seeing pictures of men and women smiling over a diamond encrusted ring with words of eternal love and commitment plastered over their righteous, lawful proposed union. He would peer into the glass, wide-eyed, amazed at the platinum rings and the finely cut flawless diamonds – wondering which one would look best on him, and thinking of all the scenarios of proposal he could. Yet, when they walked by together, there was pained curiosity in his eyes. He would pretend, for their sake, that he was not interested in being like the couples in the magazines, or the smiling pair of models in the posters posing with a photoshopped ring. Sephiroth would drift, ask if he was interested, but he'd brush him off, call him ridiculous.
"Why would anyone pay ten thousand gil for a rock and metal?" he'd laugh, forcefully and unamused.
But then he did go, saying "Let's see just how ridiculous these things are!" and would bicker about how small or too large certain diamonds were, and, in particular, how the prices were inflated, inconceivable and absurd. "Did you know they artificially manipulate the price of diamonds by only distributing a limited amount to the market each year?"
Sephiroth would go along with it, pointing out flaws himself. Until one day, a new ring was introduced by Cartier – a jeweller Genesis looked the most amazed by.
"It's…pretty shit, huh?" he said, "Underwhelming, I mean look at that price for a bit of platinum and a shiny dumb rock with some smiling cardboard idiots next to it."
It was beautiful. "Yeah, the price is pretty high."
He turned around, looking at Sephiroth, his eyes dulled by wetness in the dim lights of the midnight city. He smiled, chuckled, "Aren't you glad? We don't ever have to waste money on something so hideous and meaningless."
Now, Sephiroth stood in front of the store. It angered him. The way people were so flippant – cheating, denial and betrayal. Yet they had the privilege to visit their sick partners in hospitals without malice, and the privilege to be validated in some way, no matter how superficial it may seem. Because deep down, it bothered him that they had to be content with having something so perfect between them regarded as decriminalised sin.
They had two hours until closing time. He stepped in and made a phone call.
Exiting the office, Genesis swung his coat over his shoulder and called the elevator. Overworked, tired, he stumbled in yawning and checked the clock. 19:36, time to make dinner. In the apartment, he tossed his coat on a lounge chair, grabbed a frying pan and some oil and prepared to make a quick meal of stir fry with rice.
The sound of the shower turned on and Genesis smiled, mentally welcoming his partner home after a long day of kissing corporate ass. Sephiroth stepped out in loose fitting pants, hands busy towel drying his hair as the smell of spices and hot dinner hit his nose.
"Smells good," he says, kissing the redhead before they sat for dinner.
Food was soon on the table. Perfectly arranged cutlery, with neatly presented partner situated opposite to him. As usual, it tasted as good as it smelt; warmed their bodies from the mid-winter chill and inspiring of domestic conversation.
"I was at a brothel."
Genesis puts his loaded fork down, smirking, "How did it go?"
Sephiroth groaned after swallowing a mouthful, Genesis chuckled, "Heidegger had this ingenious idea to buy me an hour with one of the escorts."
His partner choked a little, coughing, "And?" he wheezed, looking on with concern.
"I watched a movie with her on the TV she had. She was confused though. Attractive woman, but…" he smiles at Genesis.
"Don't!"
"What?"
Genesis pointed his fork at him, "You're going to say something insanely cheesy and out of character."
"Out of character for anyone except you." He smirks, "You know I love you."
The redhead groaned, "See what I mean!"
Sephiroth chuckled and resumed his meal, catching the smile in the corner of Genesis' lips amongst his mock frustration.
They cleaned up together, Genesis filling him in on the day's events that he missed. Stress, workload failing to let up and the prospective loom of new recruits in the coming months. The director had been struggling with the rest of upper management to secure appropriate finance for the long proposed mental health initiative, and Angeal reported a gas leak induced fire in the training rooms leading to several casualties.
"But that's all over for today. Now I've just got tomorrow to worry about." he rolls to the side in the bed, drawing patterns on his lover's chest with an idle finger.
Morning came, early rise. And the work routine began as usual. They parted ways from Lazard's office to commence their own duties – Genesis busy with training the military's elite, whilst Sephiroth sat in board meetings with the Director.
Fat, glutton – just finished padding his secretary's pay in exchange for a new set of breasts to familiarise himself with – the president manned the hall. They discussed politics without care for the people, debated how to carpet bomb Wutai villages without the public speculating they were committing racial genocide.
"Next topic." The president said, smirking at the general of his army, "Sephiroth."
"Yes, President Shinra."
His sick grin widened – sweat slid down his oily, plump face, "You've been in the papers."
Grayscale tabloids hit the table, he motioned to his secretary to pass them on to the general. Taking the article he read the headline.
SOLDIER's Finest Perverts
"What is this?"
"Read it."
And so he did.
He laughed, "And? Ask anyone in my army and you'll find that this isn't exactly a secret."
The blonde bastard smacked his lips. He entered the room smelling like sex and not fear of this abomination of humankind. With a click of his fingers he believed that his desires would be followed through by his subordinates. But his power over the silver demon was waning – he had a new contender for his whim – the redheaded whore who was taking Sephiroth's cock up the ass. And he wondered, who he would choose – the company that raised him, or the sly slut who slept with him for rank.
"Consider your image, Sephiroth. We can't have people thinking that SOLDIER is your private whorehouse, and what of Genesis? People are now distrusting of his ability, believing that he manipulated you into becoming your right hand."
Sephiroth sneered, "If you must know, he was my right-hand before we started seeing each other."
"The people don't know that."
"Then tell them."
Shinra sighed. He sighed to hide the anger that his 25-year-old investment was being defiant, that he was not the obedient soldier who asked no questions, but followed only his orders that Hojo promised he would be. "There are plenty of lovely women we can get for you. All of them, I am sure would surpass a man. Especially him. Doesn't he have a sour temper? He kicked you out of the apartment that one time, remember? Or how about the constant battles born from his own jealousy, hm?"
For years. Shinra must have taken him for a fool – a fool who would go to the grave fighting for reasons they did not know or care to believe. A fool who would catch tears in his lover's eyes because he could not attend a conference or fancy get together as his lifelong companion. A fool who would pain over the injustice their relationship faced, while men like the Heidegger and Shinra, and women like Scarlet, would cheat on their partners, commodify their relationships and spit on his own for being immoral.
It was infuriating. To see their blindness. He saw the horrors of war – the way men came back to the barracks from the frontlines, eyes empty save for fear; all hope lost, all humanity and faith in the beauty of living vanished. They had not seen how a man can change from a fine soldier with aspirations to become a father into a drunkard buying women with stolen coin.
They had never felt pain and despair – the very feeling of darkness and despair. They had never felt or understood the importance, the necessity for people like him to have a companion, someone beyond desire and lust. They never felt the burn of love and the crazy things it will make you do – to be content to drown in idealisms, to cast away the bleakness of war, to be able to smile and cherish living again. To be human.
"I've listened to you. And I have followed you into wars I did not agree with. I've committed crimes in your name as well as justice. But this. I'm sorry, president. I think I've deserved my one choice in life. And I choose Genesis."
Shinra's eyes had never been so wide before. And what was he to do? Shout at the most powerful man in the world? He stammered, offered him money, luxuries, an early retirement. This was little to do with the fact that he was with another man. This was because Sephiroth defied him. And he could only watch as the man, smug, stood up and stormed out of the meeting room. The tether he held him by had snapped. And they all sat in the meeting room with fear – they had lost him.
Their mouths hung agape, like the heartless souls they were, to dare to think that he would abandon the pleasures that kept him human.
And so for what little it was worth, he made his choice. He chose to be a fugitive.
He messaged Genesis, to meet him at nightfall in the abandoned church in the slums. A handsome sum was paid for flowers, and he prepared for departure with word spreading quickly as Lazard carried out his wishes.
Nightfall came. Genesis wandered the slum district, having arrived straight after work. He tossed coin to an old woman playing the flute and told a group of children beyond safety to return home. It was cold, dark and damp – melted snow slicking his boots. The area by the church was occasionally dangerous, however today was calm. The moon was high, the air was gentle, his footsteps on old paths resonating in the quiet.
Climbing the stone stairs, he approached the door and froze. Tied to the handle was a small bouquet of flowers and a handwritten note:
To my Gift of the Goddess.
"Loveless?" he pondered, taking the lilies and entered the church.
Light – candles lit, familiar faces – though few, were warm. By the altar – the love of his life. Salutes were made as he walked slowly down the petal littered aisle. The world has slowed down, his face full of awe, confusion and surprise. His chest clenched, lips twitching into a smile, emotions overwhelming him. The church was a blur, all that mattered was the handsome man at the end of the room who smiled at him and took his hand.
He searched in his eyes, prepared for an alternate explanation to why Sephiroth was in a suit and why he was given a bouquet, yet he received nothing but a kiss on the cheek. It was reality. This was happening.
"You…You should have warned me. I'm not in anything nice." He huffed, flustered and on the verge of tears.
His lover smiled, "You look perfectly beautiful as you are now."
"Gentlemen." Lazard, their officiant, smiled at the pair, "Let's proceed."
That was all, but a dream for a forgotten time. Nibelheim burned down, his lover was dying and he himself had disappeared. War tore through Shinra – weakening the company's influence, opening themselves up to the weaker forces of AVALANCHE. Genesis had lit the fire – a fire which ravaged a corrupt empire and left behind a live carcass for the vultures to finish off. At that time, he thought Genesis insane – but he did it, he single-handedly dismantled Shinra, and did not receive credit for his accomplishment.
Years later he emerged from the bowels of hell. Because he did not say no to Shinra. He did not defy his orders. And he did not follow his lover. He refused to abandon his post as General, he refused to believe in realities which the company did not endorse. He allowed himself to support a cause he never believed in. He turned himself into his own lover's enemy, the one person who had never betrayed him.
Sephiroth had criticised him, took him for a liar – because he was hurt, because he could not accept that Genesis broke his heart for good reason. For years, he turned his back on the person who wished to grant him salvation. For years, he listened to the fat man drawl. For years, he watched his lover sink into depression. For years, he was told he was not allowed to love the one person who loved him the most.
So when his sword sliced through the back of old Shinra's chair, he could not care less. The old man thought he was still in control. He embraced him like nothing transpired over the years. He behaved as if he did not mandate the hunt for Genesis' head. He acted like the man who truly meant the world to Sephiroth, the man he himself betrayed for the good of a corrupt organisation, never mattered to him. Men like him thought they could rule the lives of others, that they bought favour, that men like Sephiroth who were designed to be fools, were always fools.
And that was why, with great pleasure, he had left his sword impaled in his thick skull.
For it had been five years since the last time he saw him smile. He would destroy the planet just to hold him again – to hear him laugh, to stroke his hair, to embrace his touch, to smell his scent, to taste his kisses and to see the world with him.
In a cave long forgotten, Sephiroth found himself visiting often. Despite the work that needed to be done. Despite the voice in his head screaming, pleading that he forget and summon meteor. But there was one thing in this world – one thing which the war and the chaos brought to him the realisation that as much as he wished to turn his back once more, the world had something precious for him.
He loved him. Still.
He would watch him – sealed in his protective cocoon; to one day come open and enter the new world that Sephiroth was to create. A world which they could rule together – where they were free. To the world, he was a monster, but he wondered who he was to Genesis. His beautiful, Genesis.
A monster, the voice in his head said. And if that were the case then he would have nothing to save the world for. But he was still human. He was nostalgic for the love they had, and he craved his touch, his sweet words and his comfort. As he looked up at him, encased in crystal, he felt he could stay here; forget the world, forget Jenova. In reality, he was to set the planet ablaze for what it did to them.
Regret was not a concept that Sephiroth believed in. Decisions were to be made, and consequences were to be dealt with – hoping for an alternate outcome, one which may not have happened, was pointless. Had he been any other man, then regret would be the word he would use. Because despite his burning desire to inflict chaos upon the world, deep within he knew, he should have chosen Genesis.