For Madisuzy's old KissBattle prompt (which I re-used as a summary; I'm terribly lazy/uncreative, I know). Excellent beta work courtesy of Licoriceallsorts and A.
It's the KissBattle fill. There will be a kiss. Not romantic one, in fact very unromantic one, but still.
Some human memories and tearful lore
Mother. Mother. Mother. Mother and her expectations. Mother and her explanations. Mother and her expostulations. Rufus was sick of listening to Kadaj's tirades (geostigma, medicines, exhaustion and stress had something to do with his nausea, too, but those causes implied weakness, so he swiftly ignored them). All the Remnant's pretty speeches sounded like a cry for attention to Shinra's ears, and that made him even more irritated, though as a manager he appreciated Sephiroth's technique: rivalry, stick, carrot – like a diagram from some human resources' handbook.
"Mother's calling us; good sons will obey her and will be rewarded, bad sons will be punished and damned – and I will be her favourite, most beloved son!" The Remnant bent over the President's wheelchair, invading his personal space "With your help, sir, either freely given or forced, as the case may be".
'Sir' privately wished him a long, painful and silent death (choking on his words would be nice), but smiled, and tried to keep sarcasm out of his voice as he responded:
"Help is a pleasure for a fine soul; you're welcome". – Just shut up.
The real danger was this: if the silver-haired abomination ever woke up to the fact that the sound of his voice was pure torture, he could break Rufus completely, reduce him to a sobbing wreck, begging for mercy and willing to hand over his precious Mother on a silver plate.
The boy opened his mouth, probably to start another oration – and this time Shinra decided he could either shoot himself from a hidden gun or silence this megalomaniac. He, very consciously, chose the latter, letting his instinct take care of the details.
Surprisingly, the first thought that came to his mind was to grab the Remnant's chin, bring their faces closer and kiss him.
I shall never go to a psychoanalyst, never, ever, no matter what Reeve says, mused the President, mentally writing a memo and sticking it onto some sort of imagined fridge. He imagined it all quite vividly, the yellowness of the paper, his elegant hand-writing, the sophisticated chrome refrigerator. Just to distract himself from fact that he was, very physically, pressing his lips to Kadaj's, hard enough to feel the Remnant's teeth beneath his skin. Hard enough to hurt, so he expected some resistance, anger even, but the teenager was too shocked to do anything. He froze with his mouth half-open on the first vowel.
Rufus considered it an invitation, if not from the boy, then from Fortune (For Fortune is a woman who to be kept under, must be beaten and roughly handled echoed in his head). A gentleman never refused an invitation: he slipped his tongue inside, curious to learn whether the oral cavity of this strange, silver phantom differed somehow from a real human being's.
In the name of science then. Gums: checked. Teeth: checked. Cheeks: checked. Inner part of lips: checked. Hard palate: checked. The Remnant's anatomy was as boring as his tirades. Such a disappointment. Everything was normal but the taste – the flavour of Kadaj's mouth resembled mako, just a more mellow mako; like the difference between the taste of real apples and the artificially created aroma in sweets.
The boy's tongue moved suddenly – Shinra didn't know if the movement indicated a desire to escape or respond, so he held Kadaj's jaw tighter and bit his lip, just in case. The Remnant's tongue was dancing chaotically now, almost like a panicked creature, but Rufus quickly understood that these gestures were rather a silly attempt to regain his dignity and some control over the situation.
That poor little silver thing was trying to kiss him back. Really, if Shinra had a heart, rather than a useful myogenic muscular organ, he would be touched by these shy, clumsy, uncoordinated, graceless attempts. But, being himself, he become irritated at his pawn – doll – tool – interlocutor, who dared to disturb his... well, words like "caressing" or "tenderness" would be a bad joke – exploration.
This was probably the very first – and Shinra certainly hoped the very last – kiss in the boy's life, so all this crudeness was easily understandable, although the President immediately assured his uncertain self that his first time had been of course much better, less childish, passive or unsure.
The taste changed suddenly. It was strange – almost like a lack of any taste, a dark hole in a lively composition. This strangeness reminded Rufus of something. He licked the inside of the Remnant's lips, to pursue the memory – the boy's tongue slipped over his, incidentally, but still pleasantly...
And in that second Shinra recalled. Another kiss, much more skilful, much colder and much more indifferent – the equivalent of a slap in the face, because for a person so brilliant at this game the pretence of emotions would not have been a problem. "Now, if Lazard were to have trouble because of my insubordination, well… Then by all means, go ahead, sir" echoed in President's head – or maybe even in that useful myogenic muscular organ – and he broke the present kiss, somewhat – almost – shaken.
Coming back to his usual self took him practically no time, so he could savour the Remnant's disorientated silence – delicious silence. But the pleasure didn't last long enough. Kadaj, it seemed, had decided in favour of ignoring what had just happened, because he turned on his heel to face Edge and started another tirade about the fate of the city, Mother, her favourite sons...
It's my city, thought Shinra acidly, and my citizens, not your sandbox. Loudly, yet trying to sound nonchalant, he observed:
"Why should she choose you? He even kissed better".
This time he managed to silence the Remnant for a few wonderful hours.
The title is shamelessly sarcastic. And stolen from Poe. The context of the verse (which is unimportant, but still, it's a very nice poem):
Silence
There are some qualities—some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold Silence—sea and shore—
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!