Serpent Under the Flower

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Author Notes: I have been plotting and planning and scheming with this story since I released Pray Their Graces and then Fiend Angelical. From its conception on that very bizarre day I knew that this story would be the most difficult thing I have ever planned on writing, and I put it off. I did this for almost two years before deciding to hunker down, suck it up, and write the damn thing. However, I did the research. I decided to give this a green light after meeting a poly group and having them almost literally explain exactly how it works, and since then it's weighed heavily on my subconscious.

This story will take five men and put them in a relationship with one another. It's not going to be easy, and it's probably not always going to be happy, but I will try my hardest to make sure it is satisfying.

Note that the title is, once again, from Shakespeare.

Warnings: This story contains homosexual content. There will be five men, in various states, having sexual relations. There will also be violence, crude language, blasphemy, and what I'll name "the really not nice buffer" to cover any and all potential yucky things. This is intended for mature audiences. If you are underage I ask you not to continue reading or keep your age to yourself. I get creeped out thinking about a twelve year old reading this.

Disclaimer: I, Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-, do not own, think I own, or will ever own Final Fantasy VII or its Compilations. I write because it produces great entertainment and joy for me, and I love contributing twisted things to fandom.

Serpent Under the Flower

Chapter One

Genesis was fond of poetry; sonnets and ballads, cinquains and epistles, odes, quatrains, and villanelles. It didn't matter what it was classified under, he enjoyed it all. Something beautiful happened when words were combined by someone with a sharp mind and a sharper pen.

He wrote his own poetry when the mood struck. He had written at least a hundred different endings for Loveless, and though satisfying in its own particular way there was something always missing. It would never be quite good enough for anyone's eyes but his own. Surely it was better than most, but until Genesis could look down on his writing and say with conviction that it was complete, that his masterpiece was finished, he would hide it from prying eyes.

His other work could be found in various stages of progress—some in leather-bound books, others smudged with ink and hidden underneath the floorboards from the privy eyes of his mother (or worse yet, his no-nonsense father) could not reach. The disparaging glare from his parents kept Genesis on a tighter leash than he could appreciate—how was he, the artist of the family, supposed to do anything with his life when bound in their chains? His back could only bend so far.

His father wanted Genesis to join the Shinra Army; had since he was a small child. Genesis was sure that was the only reason he was allowed to interact with commoners in town. His father only mocked the peasants, enjoyed watching them work for their bread and when they failed. He never even thought to lend a hand or any amount of gil to the people that kept Banora alive.

"To be a SOLDIER means knowing your place. Knowing your place is far above others. It's much like being the mayor and a major share-holder in a company; you can learn much from me before heading out on your own."

Genesis Rhapsodos called bullshit.

Resting his pen on the worn leather cover, the red-haired teenager let out a sigh. The clock in the corner of his desk nestled between several militaristic strategy texts proclaimed the time to be well-past midnight.

Good.

Genesis stood from his desk chair, pulling his arms up and allowing his back to pop, stretching his neck from side to side, Regarding the room coolly—the half-packed boxes and clothing scattered across the room adding a certain air of finalization—Genesis pushed his chair in and grabbed his new red coat.

(His mother seemed deeply shamed that the only thing her son wanted for a goodbye present was the maid to make him a banora-white pie and a flamboyantly red leather coat. What would the neighbors think of their questionably odd son...?)

He slipped the leather jacket on, pushing his arms through the sleeves. The jacket creaked, a sound Genesis knew he needed to get used to, and he took a few exaggerated moments to flip his bangs from his eyes.

It felt...

Genesis bit his lip and grabbed the corner of his jacket, clicking his boots and took three strides toward his mirror.

He did this when he was younger, when his parents and the maid would be be gone. It was something he liked to do, something that helped convince him that he was going to be something. He never told Angeal that he did it—his sense of narcissism wasn't something he wanted to brag about to his friend. Angeal had problems even looking in mirrors—didn't even like to shave. Genesis liked how he looked and was quite comfortable in his own skin, but... It wasn't that he feared who he was—in fact, Genesis knew once he left this backwater speck on the map he would finally be out from under his father's thumb and could flaunt who he was without a care—it was simply that...

Gaia really wasn't ready for him yet.

They would be soon, though.

Genesis looked into the mirror, turning his cheek to the left and tilting his head up. He smirked, something his mother always told him he was good at. It would be intimidating one day in the not too far off future—SOLDIER First Class. He already could beat Shinra SOLDIER Third-Classes; the local Shinra doctor, Professor Hollander, flew in several SOLDIERs for tests. Of course Genesis would have to go through all of the legalities when he and Angeal got to Midgar, but they were already a shoe-in for SOLDIER.

We even have our mako shots.

Genesis couldn't exactly explain why they already had their shots, but Hollander took care of them since they were kids and it all led to the same place. SOLDIER First Class was within his grasp. He could almost taste it on his tongue like a ripe fruit.

Looking back into the mirror, he straightened his coat and put his hands on his waist, cocking his head up. The mako in his eyes made his entire face light up eerily. The look would frighten the pants off of Shinra's enemies soon. Exactly like Sephiroth.

Sephiroth. Genesis felt his body shake. Ever since Sephiroth showed up on the front page of Midgar Times he wanted to meet him, wanted to be just like him. It didn't matter that Genesis was older than Sephiroth, or that Sephiroth seemed colder than a winter at Icicle Inn. It just mattered that Sephiroth was the one to beat, the one to be and Genesis didn't take no for an answer. Nature dictated that he and Sephiroth would be friends, be rivals.

"SOLDIER," Genesis whispered with reverence. "I'm going to be a SOLDIER."

He remembered saying such things in front of the mirror as a kid; posing and talking to the mirror as if it were his audience and he the main actor. But there was something missing, a vital piece of the puzzle.

The teenager looked over his form—he needed a sword, of course... but there was something else missing. Genesis pulled at his shoulder and glanced at the mirror, hoping that if he stared at it long enough whatever was missing would pop into place and reveal itself.

And it did. It was a glance to the corner of his mirror when he noticed it—the book on his desk. Loveless. A trademark, a symbol... his very own Masamune.

"When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end
The goddess descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar

She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting."

A lightbulb over his head—

"Genesis Rhapsodos, the beloved General. Shinra's First-Class Poet. First Class SOLDIER." His last words came out a whisper, "Genesis Rhapsodos... Sephiroth's only competition."

He turned quickly and grabbed the book, his inane drabbles and beautiful lines and the most epic poem ever created.

"The pen is mightier than the sword," he mused, tucking the tome into his jacket pocket. Turning back to the mirror, Genesis smiled.

Angeal looked into his friend's window and chuckled. It was a good thing Genesis was so absorbed in looking at himself in the mirror to notice that his friend was watching—Genesis would kill him. It was funny watching him strut like a peacock around his room, juggling between packing his boxes and staring at himself in the mirror.

Sitting in his home, staring at his empty walls and listen to his mother cry through the paper-thin walls wasn't the way Angeal wanted to say goodbye to Banora. She had kept it together through the entire day—up until Angeal kissed her goodnight and Gillian broke down outside his bedroom door. After losing his father a few months before his mother had been tethering on the edge of a precipice; hopefully this didn't push her over it. Angeal didn't want to leave her alone to the weary life the Hewley's lived for generations. But... Shinra loomed in the distance, a place with no night and no day, Midgar the perpetual city of motion.

Angeal batted his knuckles against the wooden frame of the window, causing Genesis to turn sharply (dropping his pose without preamble) and grab a few things in his haste to covering up his adventure of mirror-gazing. He sighed, flipped his bangs, and threw the layaway shirt and book on the bed before stalking over to the double-window and forcing it open. If Angeal hadn't backed away (skinning his hands on the tree's bark) he would have fallen down roughly three stories and probably killed himself.

"You should know by now that you can just open the damn thing from out there. I don't understand why you don't just call and tell me you're coming over—I know your brain is a little bigger than a walnut," Genesis taunted. He flamboyantly gestured to Angeal. "Are you going to come in or not? I could just push you out of that tree, if you want. Let's see what my father thinks of you dying in his front yard."

Angeal grunted as he pulled himself through the open window, bucking against the edge of the window and tree. Genesis grabbed him from under his armpits and tugged him with a little effort; he was almost through the window when he unceremoniously began falling down. The hardwood floor looked painful and not fit for impact... and he didn't even want to know what Genesis's parents would say when they were woken to the peasant boy sneaking into their son's room. But, luckily for Angeal (and unluckily for his best friend) Genesis took it up himself to soften the blow—and the noise—cushioning his body before Angeal fell.

Awkward.

"Can you get off me?" Genesis grunted, pushing against Angeal's shoulders. Genesis's face was flushed and pained... he could tell because their faces were about an inch apart. When he spoke, Angeal could feel the words whisper on his face.

Even more awkward.

"Sorry," he said, untangling himself His hand accidentally landed on Genesis's thigh rather than the floor he was flustering to reach, but Angeal played it off smoothly and didn't flinch when the other teenager hit hm in the back of the head.

"You oaf, what am I going to do with you?"

Angeal didn't respond.

The redhead ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the unpacked mess of his room. "Want to help me finish up?" he asked while already handing clothes and books to Angeal. "I need to have everything done by tomorrow morning, before those planes come to pick us up. Heaven knows that I can't leave anything here—with my luck, my father will turn this bedroom into a study or something."

Juggling with the massive pile of clothes Genesis handed him, Angeal set them on top of the bed (hearing Genesis groan about making sure to fold them neatly, not like a retarded beast) and slowly began to work in silence.

It was nice, the silence. There was something about the quiet that comforted Angeal, though he couldn't exactly pin-point the exact cause. Was it nice just to hear his own breathing and the bare scruffing of his boots on the floor.

It didn't take much longer for Genesis to become agitated, spending more of his time looking through his books or refolding his cloths than he was packing.

"Let's take a breather," Angeal said as he put down a packed box, wiping a bead of sweat from his eye.

Genesis nodded and put one of his sweaters down on his mussed bed. "Lets," he murmured. "Want to go outside?"

"I'll never be able to get back in."

"Very true," Genesis laughed before flopping backward. The boxes balancing on his bed shook. "You think we're ready to go?"

Not responding immediately, Angeal sat down on the other side of the bed and leaned back before catching himself on his elbows. He turned his head sideways, assessing his friend. "Probably not," he admitted, "but it's our duty to be ready."

The other boy tsked. "Do you think the other SOLDIERs are going to give us a hard time?"

Angeal shrugged before realizing Genesis couldn't see him. He responded caustically with, "You? Most definitely," before letting his arm give out below him and dropping him to the mattress. The springs made a low squeak of disapproval and he noted that Genesis's ceiling was a shade or two lighter than the walls. "I doubt there will be any catastrophic problems."

"Think Sephiroth'll be there?"

"The better question is if Sephiroth'll care," Angeal responded.

Genesis said nothing.

"I think your obsession with Sephiroth is admirable, but also foolish." Angeal didn't turn to his friend. He continued, "Despite the fact that Hollander says that we're stronger and more well-equipped for SOLDIER because of our childhood experiences, I doubt we'll be able to achieve the stature Sephiroth reached in as short of a time period as he."

"Maybe not as fast," Genesis admitted with a hint of jealousy, "but we'll still get there. Sephiroth is going to be my rival. Just give it a year, maybe two, and I'll we'll be on equal footing."

Of course Genesis would be optimistic.

With renewed vigor, Genesis pulled himself off the bed and began packing his things, while Angeal lay stoic in the same space.

He buried his face into the comforter, closing his eyes and allowing the warm smell that reminded Angeal of home to lull him to sleep.

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