Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or its characters/items/locations. It all belongs to the gods at SquareEnix and Sony.
Writer: ZombieDuke
Comments: Been busy with school and life, but got some inspiration and this little story came out. It can be connected with the "Resurrection" universe too.
Warnings: R, M/M, WAFF, AU
Flames: Will be fucking ignored. Don't read it if you don't fucking like it.
Reviews Are greatly welcomed :)
PS: This story was inspired after reading "Where's my spikes?" by Sasu. Go read it!
Early Mornings…
Blonde hair, blonde—sand painted—lashes, and a cute, unbroken, nose.
What a sight to wake up to.
Sephiroth ran his fingers through the blonde locks, playing with the one lock that ignored gravities desire and ignored the fact he could not feel or move his right arm.
It was times like these that he liked; just the barest hint of pale sunlight was coming in through the window of his room and hitting the foot of the bed, traveling up and over the mountains of sheets made by splayed feet and tangled legs.
He had shut off the alarm clock awhile ago, had quietly shuffled it underneath the pillow that lay abandoned next to him in a desire to keep the outer world from intruding for just a little longer, to keep the fast pace of life down to a gentle hum instead of the frantic hummingbird pulse that living in a city was.
If he didn't move, if he kept his breathing slow enough, he could—whoops.
Too late.
Drowsy, cerulean-coloured eyes slowly opened and he couldn't help the smile that crawled across his face from appearing.
His little chick was waking up.
Sleepy blue met calm green and his chick winkled his nose at the smell that lingered in the air that still clung to them—to the sheets they were wrapped in.
He couldn't help it. He chuckled, his chest rumbling and his chick eyed him with suspicion. The chick was justified in his suspicion. He had been gone too long from his ball of blonde, emotional traumatized, spiky-haired chick for just once to be enough to satisfy him.
He'd been hungry—No. Starving—by the time he returned to home base.
He had thought of nothing since his mission was completed. Except the warm, wiry, spiky haired, youth that he found himself craving each and every night. He had taken his chick without question, dragging him into the nearest empty room before clawing at the regulated uniform the blonde wore, groaning as he attacked the pale throat, leaving marks he knew would be seen and questioned. But nobody ever questioned.
Nobody dared.
Hiss escaped between clinched teeth dragged him from his memories and green eyes glared down at coy blue, his gaze moving to down to watch hypnotized as a cherry pink tongue gently flicked against his abused nipple.
With one hand still in his chicks' hair, he tilted the blondes' hair back, ignoring the wince he saw in those blue eyes and plundered that offending mouth, licking the strawberry coloured lips that opened for him without question and pulling away triumphantly as he heard the breathless moan come from the chicks' bared neck.
His chick would always be his.
Always.
He let go of the physics-challenged locks and kissed those pink lips once more as his chick moved from his nesting place, from his human pillow, and languidly straddle him.
Oh Fuck.
He held back the grimace. Clenching his fingers and gritting his teeth as spider-like trails of electricity shot up his arm, awakening every blood-deprived cell with gusto.
He nearly flinched. But to his credit he didn't. He almost growled when he saw those blue eyes light up with barely suppressed glee at his pain. But didn't.
Well, after last night. He supposed his chick should have a moment of joy at his expense.
And that it was.
A moment.
He reached for his chick with both hands, cupping the blondes face with his hands and dragged him down for another kiss. Smiling as his chick squirmed against him.
It was mornings like this he liked.
No—it was mornings like these he loved.
End.