Pairing: Sephiroth x (female) Reader
Warnings: OOC, creepiness, blood, naked soapiness and social ineptitude.
Disclaimer: Sephiroth and Genesis Rhapsodos belong to Square Enix©, reader belongs to herself. I hope. The title is borrowed from the Felix da Housecat song of the same name. I get nothing from this but entertainment.
Closing your eyes and letting your head fall back into the hot spray, you fail to notice someone else entering the large, communal shower room. You gasp in surprise when you open your eyes and see General Sephiroth, himself, watching you with an unreadable expression on his flawless face.
"Did I miss your promotion to First Class?" he enquires, narrowing his jade eyes at you.
"N-no, sir," you stammer, folding your arms in front of your chest in a weak attempt to conceal yourself from his scrutiny, "commander Rhapsodos suggested that I shower here."
Unsatisfied, the general arches one perfect silver brow and waits patiently for further explanation.
"He was under the impression that you were away on an assignment, sir," you continue, feeling the irony of your words, "he thought it would be less crowded in here."
"I was," he retorts, apparently assuaged by the elaboration, "it was a quick one."
Noticing the red streaks on his face and hair, you decide not to ask questions.
Without any further discussion, the general shrugs his armour and duster from his broad shoulders and begins to unfasten the belts across his pale, muscular chest. As though coming to a sudden realisation, he stops and turns back to you.
"Should I wait until you've finished?" he asks casually as you gawk at him.
Realising the futility of trying to cover yourself, you drop your arms in resignation. You're all comrades, after all, and you've always demanded to be treated as an equal by your male counterparts. Besides, it would be ludicrous to pass up the opportunity to see the Demon of Wutai in all his naked, wet, soapy glory. If he has no problem with it, you decide, then neither do you.
"No, sir," you manage to force out, "that won't be necessary."
"Very well," he says with a nod.
The general continues removing his belts and harnesses, discarding the remainder of his clothes before stepping in to the adjacent shower and turning on the water.
Unable to stop yourself, you let your eyes wander over the expanse of porcelain skin pulled taut over his godlike form, pausing with wide eyes below his waistline. Noticing the unwanted attention, he audibly clears his throat in an obvious attempt to pull you out of your perverted trance. The effect is only temporary, however, and you can't help but watch him pull his long hair over his shoulder to survey the bloody mess.
Conceding that you probably won't stop watching, he decides on a different approach to ease the awkward situation in which he now finds himself.
"One of the drawbacks of having so much hair," he shrugs, lifting a bottle of ShinRa standard issue shampoo from the nearby shelf, "it's a pain getting blood out of it."
You feel a little disappointed at the realisation that he uses the same products as the rest of the army, you'd been sure he had to use something special to keep his hair in such amazing condition. As your mind wanders though, your mouth stays on point.
"I can help," you offer, only realising after the words have escaped, "if you'd like…"
You shrink under his green cat-like gaze as he considers the offer, fully expecting to be ejected from the room swiftly and painfully. Elation overcomes you however, when he nods and thrusts the shampoo bottle at you before turning his back to allow you access to his legendary mane.
Slowly, you leave the warm spray of your own shower and shuffle forward into his personal space, assuming position behind him. The cold air bites at your back, but the heat radiating from Sephiroth is enough to keep you comfortable. With the utmost reverence and caution, you squirt a substantial amount of the stuff into your hands and smooth it down the length of the liquid-silver tresses of the general, rising up on tip-toes to reach the top of his head. Your eyes keep scanning the statuesque form in front of you, sure that you must be dreaming as you carefully work the red streaks out of the smooth, wet mass in front of you.
Your mouth hangs open as you watch the General squeeze shower-gel into his hands and begin lathering his chest and stomach. Absently, your hands leave his hair and start massaging lather into his shoulder blades and down his sides.
An unexpected chuckle escapes him, but it seems a distant noise to your extremely distracted ears.
"You're a great shower assistant," he smirks.
You're absolutely entranced as he slowly turns around, your eyes fixed on his hands as he moves them up his stomach agonisingly slowly, gathering soap in his palms.
"I can be helpful too," he almost whispers with a mischievous glint in his eyes, laying his large, soapy hands on your hips before moving them slowly up your sides.
Now, you're absolutely sure that this is a dream and that, any second, your alarm is cruelly going to drag you from it. No obnoxious screeching is heard though, only the rush of the water and the pounding of your heart in your chest as your arms drop to your sides to allow him access.
Fearing that you might suddenly implode, you close your eyes and arch into his touch until long fingers move below your chin and gently tilt your face up towards his.
"So keen to watch earlier," he purrs, his hot breath brushing your face, "now you don't want to?"
You force your eyes open to gaze up into the feline orbs above you as the other skilled hand continues to send bolts of electricity through you. He lets go of your face and brushes his fingertips down the length of your arm, causing a shiver to run through you. Before you can register the loss though, the hands are gone.
Without a word, he steps back into the spray and rinses the soap from his hair and body. You watch him, as though hypnotised by his every movement, waiting for those hands to be on you again.
Instead of resuming his previous ministrations however, he simply passes you and wraps a ShinRa standard issue white towel loosely around his hips.
"Thank you for your help, lieutenant," he smiles before gathering his belongings and sauntering into the locker room, leaving you gaping with your jaw close to hitting the tiled floor.
"You're welcome, General," you mutter bitterly, switching the temperature of the shower from hot to ice-cold.
Next time, you decide, you'll just shower with the other Seconds.