A/N:
Installment three of this unexpected character study. Please review!
Disclaimer: Nope, still own nothing.
Mild suggestive male/male situations. Very tame.
Taste
By Catsitta
There was a reason why he wanted a taste.
Something deeper than his fear of touch, deeper than his disdain of company…deeper than anything he could explain, drove him to be curious. To desire. To lust.
All he wanted was a single taste.
How little he understood back then.
Sephiroth would never deny what occurred between them, nor would he speak of it again. But he would admit, that at sixteen, he was far from ready to deal with the consequences. A broken child, he had been, seeking comfort in the only way he had loathed to try.
He did not know exactly why he wanted it or why he had taken the chance, but he had…and he was beyond lucky that nothing changed between them. The next day, it was as if nothing had happened. They had gone back to being friends…to being rivals…the air clear of tension Sephiroth had never noticed until that point.
But, a small part of him wished that something had changed. Maybe then, he would have healed raw wounds he had unwilling forgotten. Maybe then, he would have figured out that he was not without love, without need, without the basic drives of human nature just a little bit sooner. Maybe then…Genesis never would have left.
Was he to blame, Sephiroth often wondered when alone at night, staring aimlessly at the PHS in his hands. When he pressed speed dial number five, he no longer heard his friend's voice through the speaker, chiding him for calling at some ungodly hour. Then he would shake his head and tell himself that if he was to blame, he would take it all back, every touch…that single taste…those cruel words…that bitter fight. He would have done everything in his power to make things right if it meant his friend would come home…or perhaps, never leave.
Never left him alone to the dwell in the dreaded silence he sought with such vigilance.
Never left him alone to think…to dream…to ponder that day that was so very long ago. When he was sixteen, and Genesis eighteen, and there was no thought to what tomorrow would bring. The war was on hold, a tentative treaty bringing quite over the bloodstained battlefields of Wutai. And they were at last back in Midgar, quivering with anxiety, uncertain what to do now that the nightmare was over.
Angeal had taken everything in stride, or at least pretended to, and taken up the mantle of responsibility of training the SOLDIER youths, teaching them the ways of honor.
But Sephiroth remembered struggling against ingrained instinct, fighting with that primal drive to fight and kill. He remembered spending his days training so hard and sleeping so little that he collapsed from exhaustion. Genesis was the only one who saw him at his weakest. The only one who dared approach. The older boy had no reason to fear him, only to envy or perhaps hate him. Except, for all they were rivals, they were also the closest of friends. He knew that Genesis felt concern for he possessed more emotion, more passion, than any other SOLDIER alive.
He had helped Sephiroth up off the gymnasium floor, careful not to touch skin, which must have been a trial since the young General wore only his gloves, boots and pants. But the older boy had managed and somehow wrestled him out of the room and into an elevator. How they got to his quarters was anyone's guess, for he was drifting on the edge of unconsciousness the entire time.
Waking up came abruptly, however, when Genesis turned on the shower, drenching him with the cold spray.
There was a moment of tension between them, where warrior instincts threatened to take hold, but Sephiroth relaxed rather than attacked, and assessed his surroundings and situation.
Genesis called him an idiot.
Then gave him some water and an order to change clothes and to get some sleep.
What happened next was all out of curiosity.
And, a mistake neither were ashamed of making.
A taste. Why he wanted a taste was still a question that was unanswerable. Especially since his phobia of touch was undeniable, a soul twisting pain that was hard to describe. Sephiroth blamed it on being young, but he had always known better.
He had wanted it.
He still craved it.
It was an instinct that even he, the perfect weapon, would not deny.
He wanted acceptance. He wanted to revel in the feel of passion's embrace. He wanted to lose himself, to lose all control. He wanted Genesis. The only person he had felt could understand and would not turn him away for his actions.
And Genesis did not deny him.
How their lips met was as questionable as how they managed to get to Sephiroth's quarters. But they did and it was awful. Not awful in the sense that the kiss was bad, or even awkward, quite the opposite. It was awful in the sense that his careful constructed barriers were ripped apart, his fear of touch multiplying tenfold in intensity. Nightmares so terrible that they left him numb, assaulted him, tore deep into his conscious mind until he was nothing left but his naked self.
He might have screamed had the older boy not stolen away his breath.
With that kiss, that taste of something not quite forbidden, Sephiroth did lose himself ever so briefly. It was worse than any torment he had ever suffered at Hojo's hands for a reason he could not explain, but it satisfied something that had been waiting in the darkness of his heart. For all he hated it, he wanted more. He demanded more.
Genesis gave what he was asked for.
Perhaps the boy knew that his friend was struggling with demons in his past. Perhaps he saw the torture in Sephiroth's eyes. Perhaps he had wanted none of this to happen…or perhaps this was what he had wanted all along. Perhaps it was an indulgence to some fantasy to control and restrain his superior officer…his rival and friend. Or perhaps it was as much of a nightmare for him as it was for Sephiroth.
He never asked.
There was no need.
Sephiroth remembered that next morning he had woken up, for the first and only time, not alone.
Safe.
Comfortable.
Accepted.
But with no delusions that it would last.
All he had wanted was a taste. No strings attached. No regrets.
So why did nothing make sense anymore? Why did he feel so alone…so betrayed?
Why could he not put down the PHS and stop listening the sound of a missing friend's voicemail, replaying it over and over, as if doing so would make the man come home?
fin
A/N: Please review!
Word Count: 1,122