NEUROSES by Kiraya

Disclaimer: If I owned FF7, the rumours of a PS3 remake would've been confirmed already…

Warnings: Vaguely implied, not-quite-consensual sexing up of the m/m sort. Also, insanity.

Author's Notes: Set during game before the end of Disc 1. Pronouns are often more vague than I'd really like them to be.

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I. Naibu no Tairitsu / Insomnia

It was something he would never admit, but he came to fear slumber, and would avoid sleep as long as possible, taking extra shifts on the watch, only waking his companions at first light with a serious expression and dark circles under his eyes.

Sleep provided no rest for him.

But he could never tell them why, could never explain that when they forced him to retire to his bedroll to seek oblivion until morning, oblivion was not what awaited him, that He came instead, robed in arrogance and glory, running those long graceful fingers over and through the fine threads of his soul like a master weaver, a skilled harper, a dedicated puppeteer.

The first time he had fought it, struggled with all his considerable might to escape from the imperious figure that filled his sight so menacingly, but he was like a helpless babe before His strength, dark smile pressing closer, heart-chilling cold like the winters of his hometown, blistering heat like the inferno that had consumed it.

Mine, the whisper came as He moved over and around and through him so it felt as if he were filled and surrounded by that terrible, wondrous power, as if he were a flawless extension of it. Mine Mine Mine Mine Mine—

No no no no no no no no no no oh please please PLEASE—

And he awoke hot and panting and messy and aching and full of shame, full of shame that something so fleeting could have such an effect on him, that something so horribly wrong could bring him such pleasure.

Sleep provided no rest for him, and so he avoided it whenever possible.

But no man can remain awake forever, and so it happened again, and then again, and then yet again — Mine Mine Mine Mine Mine, yes, yes, give this to Me, My pet — and then the fifth time He found something bright and beautiful and everlasting within his soul, something whose name neither of them could remember, and as the darkness licked at it tantalisingly it flared into brilliance and he cried out, reaching in desperation for that warm memory he could feel glittering just beyond his reach, closer than anything he had ever forgotten— ahhhh yes, yes, yes, yesssss, My precious, My pet, My chosen, this is MINE.

Sleep provided no rest for him, and yet he came to crave it like nothing else, and to hate himself for wanting it.

Mine, Mine, Mine, He would whisper afterwards, over and over and over again, long slim fingers running carefully through his sweat-damp hair, thin lips moving light and teasing over his skin like the feather-tickle of phoenix down, indelibly staining him with the hated and coveted memory of His touch, hated and coveted so desperately that it made him sick to think of it—

(and what would she think if she were here instead of somewhere miles upon miles to the north, what would any of them think if they knew what he and their sworn enemy shared here in the deepest darkest corner of his mind when they had all settled down for the night and sought the false comfort of sleep?)

—hush, sweet, hush, beautiful one, My precious, hush, My lovely, Mine—

Hate and desire, hate and desire, hate and desire and, and something else, and he couldn't stand the conflicting emotions—

But… some insidious part of his treacherous soul whispered—

(beautiful, so beautiful, thrilling and terrifying and intoxicating to be given such lavish attention by one such as He)

—wasn't this, in its dark and twisted and terribly wrong way, wasn't this acknowledgment just what he'd always wanted?

Wasn't it?

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10 July 2006.