[A/N: 10/50 of the 50Shuffle Challenge, this time to Infection by D'espairsRay (: Credit must be awarded to gothicdragon752 for giving me the prompt "you're the liquid venom running in my veins", cause as they say, the muse was being a SULKY CHILD D
I have discovered it likes long car journeys though O:]
-
He was like poison.
A sweet, sickening, sinful toxin, burning through Sephiroth's veins without respite, with every frantic beat of his consumed heart. Like fire, lava, searing heat scorching through caverns of untouched ice, he left a trail of destruction and rapture in his wake, as visible and tangible as charred ruins. Constant beautiful agony, yet as necessary to Sephiroth as water or air; an itch that begged from the inside to be relieved, with every smouldering gaze shot from under charcoal black lashes.
He was always there, waiting.
Constantly ready, like a hunting cat – though he knew very well that he was the one who would be the prey – such a willing capture, like a deer throwing itself onto the gun to feel the agony of the bullet and revel in the violent beauty of its death.
Not that he was always ready to give in – when a particularly fey mood was upon him, he became like a snake – darting in for a touch, a kiss, then wriggling away and beginning the chase once more, forever beckoning with that hypnotising stare.
And he was insatiable.
Release was always sweet, almost unbearably so, the inevitable ending to the clash of enhanced bodies, the victory of the vicious, loving battle. Yet relief never lasted long, and unless it was physically impossible – assignments to far-flung corners of Gaia were a constant bane – a day passed when they were not together. Otherwise, they would never be able to survive the endless assault of that poisonous obsession.
Obsession? Yes, that was what it was, really – a unique brand of destructive obsession with the enigma of Genesis Rhapsodos, an unrelenting curiosity that had no solution or sating. There was no question that it was returned in kind – it certainly seemed that the redhead had made it his life's goal to provoke the great, untouchable, invincible Sephiroth into losing control, if only for one burning, desperate second.
He was a weakness.
A chink in the all-encompassing armour of the war machine; the only one who could make Sephiroth drop his guard to let humanity in. The fault had begun as a mere crack – the occasional stolen kiss, chaste caress – yet over time it had widened, like a great maw in the Silver General's defences, always pulsing more of that sweet, sweet venom from fangs of crimson and auburn. He was a weakness – but oh, had he known it, and used it always to his advantage. He knew that all it would take was a sly look, a gesture, a breathed word, and as if pulled by a rope Sephiroth would come running. Of course, the same was true for the opposite; Genesis was ever ready when Sephiroth asked – nonetheless, it was not such a victory for him; ShinRa's prodigy, used to having all under his emerald gaze at his beck and call.
He was like poison – but what a fatally necessary nectar.