Title: The Gift
Author: that anonymous person
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: OGC
Pairing/Characters: Sephiroth/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: Word says 3,258
Warnings: Sex; nothing hardcore
Disclaimer: FFVII and the compilations belong to Square Enix.
Summary: He didn't know the boy's name. Didn't care to. He was just a body.
Notes: Set pre-original game canon. Written for a challenge posted in the community, ffvii_yaoi. Check thatanonperson for more notes -
mostly musings on the idea and the actual writing process.
Sephiroth pulled open the door to his room, easily dismissing the group of First Class SOLDIERs that had waylaid him in the hall, and stepped inside the room that had been given to him while ShinRa and the Wutaians were under talks, only to immediately freeze.
Heightened senses made it easy to detect when something was wrong; a smell out of place, the scent of a new body, even the quiet breathing of someone who he wasn't used to. He could detect any of it. It had been bred into him, enforced over the years in studies and honed to a keen edge in the recent fighting.
But it wasn't the heightened senses that told him of danger or alerted him to the possibility of danger. It was much simpler than that: he saw, sitting there quite obviously, a Wutaian boy sitting on his bed.
His first instinct was to go for his sword and his fingers were tight around the hilt of the Masamune when the boy jerked his head upwards, saw Sephiroth, and scrambled of the bed, prostrating himself on the ground a few feet from the general. Sephiroth closed the door behind him, but moved no further into the bedroom, waiting to see what would happen.
"I- no harm, no harm," the boy said, his voice cracking and stumbling over the unfamiliar common tongue. He lifted his head for a second, only to drop his forehead back to the floor. Sephiroth could tell he was trembling; indeed, anyone would have been able to see it, with enhanced vision or not. And the fear, the terror was plain to taste on the air. For whatever reason the boy was in the tent, it was clear he was terrified and at least in no immediate position to strike out. Sephiroth uncurled his fingers from the sword, letting his hand drop to his side as he studied the boy on the ground.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded in the common tongue, stepping closer and looking over the boy. He was dressed in a simple kimono, one that suggested nothing about his status or class or clan. He was still prostrate on the ground, although Sephiroth could see him turn his head a little, to glance upwards, only to look back down at the ground the moment he realized that Sephiroth was watching him.
"A gift," the boy murmured, barely loud enough for even Sephiroth to hear. "A gift from Hojo-sensei."
At the first mention of the boy being a gift, one of Sephiroth's eyebrows arched up, disbelieving his words, and when the boy mentioned Hojo's name, both eyebrows shot up. Hojo wouldn't send him a gift, especially not a boy, not from so far away. Hojo was in Midgar, according to all indications, and not likely to ever leave his labs. His hand went back to the Masamune's hilt, eyes still on the boy. There was still the possibility of a threat and Sephiroth meant to be on his guard until he was confident that the boy was harmless.
"Sit up," he told the boy, falling into the Wutaian dialect. "Why did Hojo send you to me?"
The boy sat up slowly, keeping his eyes focused on the ground; his relief at not having to use the common tongue was palatable, however, and his voice perked up slightly.
"He asked my mistress to find a suitable boy," he told Sephiroth, "and send him to you. Along with this." The boy paused for a second, reaching into the sleeves of his kimono, and Sephiroth tensed, fingers tight around the Masamune, ready to strike.
But the boy only withdrew a piece of paper, folded into an intricate square. He glanced at Sephiroth again, paling even more, and held the paper up in offering. "For you, general-sama."
Sephiroth took the paper, leaving his hand still on the sword's hilt, until he realized he couldn't unfold it with just one hand; with that, he set the Masamune down, close by but not directly in contact with his person. Keeping an eye on the boy, he unfolded the paper, not entirely sure what to expect. Why Hojo would have a boy sent to him was beyond Sephiroth; he could see no use for the boy.
According to reports, you have been even more temperamental than usual. Sephiroth read over the note quickly, frowning as he read the hastily scribbled lines from Hojo. It was Hojo's handwriting; Sepiroth spent enough time reading over notes that he could easily identify the scientist's scrawl. And certainly sounded like Hojo, although Sephiroth still wasn't sure how such a note came to be in the hands of some random Wutaian boy. I asked an acquaintance to send a boy to you, in hopes that it will help your temper.
That was it. A few hastily scribbled lines that still told Sephiroth nothing and only commented on his unusual surliness as of late and left him wondering what exactly he was to do with some random boy. Especially in a way that would ease his temper.
Sephiroth crumbled the note in his hand and looked at the boy again, who was watching him warily, although there was something slightly unidentifiable beneath that wariness. Sephiroth frowned at him and the boy made a silent noise, dropping his gaze. "Have I displeased you, general-sama?" he asked, keeping his head bowed. "If you do not like my looks, my mistress will be happy to send another. Or a girl, if you are not interested in boys. Or both, if you would rather-"
Sephiroth listened to what the boy was saying, perplexed even more by the words. "No," he said simply, cutting off the boy. Sephiroth used the confused silence that followed, the boy trying to decipher what exactly Sephiroth meant by that no, to finally study the boy who had been sent to him.
Pale, with the dark hair and dark eyes so common in Wutai, and small: he would easily be a head shorter than Sephiroth was and Sephiroth hadn't yet reached his full height. He couldn't tell how old the boy was, never a good judge of age, and there was something about the boy that said he was older than even Sephiroth, but the still boyish curve of his cheek and pouty lips hinted at being even younger.
"Why exactly were you sent?" Sephiroth demanded again, stepping forward, further into the room and drawing closer.
"A gift," the boy repeated, "chosen by my mistress-"
"Yes, yes, I am aware of that," Sephiroth said, waving his hand to cut off the boy again. "For what purpose are you to be used?"
The boy's eyes widened at that and Sephiroth felt distinctly uncomfortable, aware that his entire lack of social awareness was showing through. But the boy dropped his gaze back to the floor and crawled forward, until he was at Sephiroth's feet. He looked up then, no longer wary and his dark eyes blazing with that still unidentifiable emotion. "For whatever purpose general-sama sees fit."
Sephiroth shifted, slightly uncomfortable suddenly, looking at the boy kneeling at his feet. It sent a shudder up his spine, barely suppressed, and caused a tightening in his groin. He knew what that was – had dealt with before, knew the cause of it, what it was supposed to mean. But he couldn't say he'd ever gotten hard just by having someone look at him, or kneel at his feet or anything of the sort – it had only been vague dreams, the touch of something sudden and soft and not intentionally meant to arouse, or even the feel of water against his skin, when a rush of hormones left him filled with something Sephiroth did even exactly understand. And always the need had been satisfied, without thought, never caring that there could be more to satisfying basic needs.
There probably was something big about it, or at least Sephiroth had assumed so, from listening to people talk, but it had never concerned him, until now. Now he had the opportunity, perfectly ready and willing, at least from what Sephiroth could deduce, and he had no idea of what to do.
Sephiroth growled, low in his throat, and took a step backward, automatically reacting to the unknown with scorn; it was easier to save his pride that way, rather than admit to not knowing what to do about any of this. That didn't deter the boy, however: he simply crawled forward again, his hands going to Sephiroth's hips, seeking out the opening in his long coat.
"Allow me," he whispered, and something flashed in his eyes that made Sephiroth feel even more awkward and alone, something that told Sephiroth he didn't understand the world and likely never would. And then the boy ducked his head and his hands undid Sephiroth's pants, and none of it mattered.
The boy had been gifted to him; let him judge, if he was going to. He was there for a purpose, a purpose he knew only too well. He slid his hands inside Sephiroth's pants, wrapping his fingers, long and slender and surprisingly warm, around Sephiroth's cock, and if he hadn't been fully hard before, he was now.
A long stroke, his hand still loose around Sephiroth, caused Sephiroth to growl again, hastily biting it off because he didn't quite understand where the noise was coming from, but understood enough to know he wanted more. The boy had been trained well, though, and read that bitten-off growl for what it was. He glanced up, dark eyes meeting pale green, and ducked his head forward, lips wrapping around the head of Sephiroth's cock.
It was only quick reflexes that stopped Sephiroth from bucking forward; even though it was something so simple, so little – the touch of soft lips, a moist, wet tongue to the head of his cock – it was more than anything Sephiroth had experienced before and when combined with the tension of earlier, the same tense feeling he'd had ever since they'd stopped fighting and settled down to talk, it was almost overwhelming. He reached down and tangled a hand in the boy's hair, pushing it back from his face, although the heavy black jacket he wore prevented a decent view.
The boy paused for a second, waiting to see if Sephiroth would direct him in any way, and, sure he wouldn't, went back to what he had been doing. He dragged his tongue along the underside of Sephiroth's cock, tracing the thick veins, and wrapped his lips around the head once again, sucking hard.
The feeling of having something other than his hand around his cock was enough to set him on edge; his fingers tightened reflexively in the boy's hair and it took a conscious effort for him to loosen his hold. As the boy's head started bobbing, his mouth working over Sephiroth, he let go completely, reaching for the few buckles that held his jacket together and shedding it. Normally fastidious, Sephiroth didn't even watch the material fall to the floor, too focused on the body kneeling at his feet still. He raked a hand through the boy's hair, pulling it away from his face, and nearly lost it at the sight of his cock disappearing between those plump lips.
As though reading his mind, the boy glanced up and Sephiroth could have sworn he smirked around the mouthful of cock he had; only he couldn't be sure, because a split-second later, the boy had seemingly swallowed him whole: Sephiroth could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of the boy's throat, and his nose was pressed into the sparse curls at the base of Sephiroth's cock.
The sensation was gone a second later, the boy back to lapping at the head, and his hand curled around the base, his other hand moving between Sephiroth's legs to cup his balls. It pushed him even closer to the edge, a tense white heat coiling inside him, and when the boy deep-throated him again, Sephiroth knew he was gone.
By the time he came to his senses once again, the boy had maneuvered them to the bed, and for a second, Sephiroth was disoriented, wary – the fact that he had been dazed enough to not realize that he'd been lead to the bed wasn't a good thing; he hated the thought of control being taken from him like that. But then the boy wrapped his hand around him again, pumping, and the demands of his body were enough to distract Sephiroth from anything else.
He didn't completely harden beneath the skilled hands stroking him, too spent; it hadn't been that long that he was unaware, Sephiroth realized; the thought soothed him a little and he relaxed into the pillows, watching the boy with heavy-lidded eyes.
The ties of the kimono were easy enough to undo, especially with no constricting obi, and the boy obviously had practice at it, quickly discarding the robe to the side and moving to unlace and pull off Sephiroth's boots. His pants followed, Sephiroth raising his hips to allow the boy to slide them off. He watched silently, although the simple act of undressing wasn't really a show, nothing erotic to turn him on or make him desperate for the boy straddling his hips.
He didn't know the boy's name, didn't really care to – he was a face, a body, nothing more; the boy hadn't even said much beyond the words at the beginning off all of this and Sephiroth didn't care to hear him talk, didn't want some pointless, meaningless conversation. There was already too much talking in his life and really, he just wanted some quiet. He wasn't going to guess how the boy knew to keep silent, or if it were something besides his own desire for peace keeping the boy from talking, but Sephiroth didn't care.
The boy shifted, drawing Sephiroth's attention from his thoughts and back to the matter at hand; he watched the boy settle over his hips, leaning forward to grab a small vial that had been placed on the nightstand, coating his fingers in something clear and slick. For a second, Sephiroth was confused, but as the boy's hand disappeared beneath him, only for a brief look of discomfort to cross his face, Sephiroth realized what was going on.
It was impossible not to hear about sex and all of the trappings – from blowjobs to the kinks that so many seemed to indulge in – when in the field, in showers and mess halls, just like it was impossible to escape the sounds of sex when resting in a tent with only a foot between one canvas wall and the next. Sephiroth had picked up what sex between two men involved, at least from a clinical standpoint. He'd never actually seen it first hand, the preparation that went into it, and slightly fascinated by the thought, he reached out, wrapping a large hand around the boy's balls, lifting them so he could see.
Realizing that Sephiroth wanted a show, the boy splayed his legs wider, angling his hips for a better view. It took a conscious effort for Sephiroth not to squeeze his hand too tight, carefully running his fingers over the warm skin beneath his palm, as he watched. He glanced at the boy's face once, a look that Sephiroth knew well enough was pleasure in his eyes, but he was more interested in watching the fingers scissor in and out of the boy, stretching him wider. Strangely enough – or perhaps not so oddly, but Sephiroth was never entirely sure about what was odd or not – the sight did more for him than the few strokes to his cock had, and by the time the boy was withdrawing his fingers, reaching for the vial to coat Sephiroth with the slick liquid, he was more than ready.
It felt odd for him to be on the bottom, not exactly the position he felt the most comfortable in, but it was the best for the moment: as he watched, the boy grasped his cock and shifted backwards, raising his hips so he was hovering just above Sephiroth, and slowly lowered himself down. For the moment, the boy's face was the most attractive thing; as he was stretched wider than his fingers had accounted for, his lips tightened and a look of discomfort settled on his features. It disappeared moments later, when he was fully settled and stopped moving, allowing his boy to adjust.
Sephiroth's hands settled on the boy's hips, just resting for the moment, as the boy adjusted and he began to move. It didn't take long for Sephiroth to find the rhythm; he was, after all, a warrior and fighting was little different than dancing, he'd come to learn, with a pattern in the movements. And as unskilled and socially inept as Sephiroth might have been, a novice to most things sexual, the very act was as old as time, written in the make-up of the body itself. It didn't take long at all.
His fingers tightened around the slim hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he began to direct the rhythm, drawing a gasp from the boy as he bucked his hips up sharply. The sound was more pleasing than Sephiroth would have imagined.
Instincts were kicking in, as he realized the act wasn't so different than so many of the other things he'd done, and Sephiroth, never pleased to be in a position he wasn't entirely in control of, took matters into his own hands. He withdrew, flipping them over so he had the boy beneath him, and hooked one of the boy's legs over his shoulder as he pressed in. The boy looked up at him, surprise visible in his eyes until he lowered them, and Sephiroth didn't even attempt to hide his smirk.
He bent the boy nearly double, leaning over him as he moved, rocking in and out of the boy with swift strokes, hard and fast. This gave him an opportunity to study the boy's face, watching as emotions flickered across it, ones he either knew or could easily guess at: pain and pleasure and as he felt the walls clenching his cock constrict, something intense. It looked almost painful, he realized, although it was explained away when the body beneath his arched up with a choked off gasp, and a heat Sephiroth was familiar with hit his belly.
Spurred on by the boy's orgasm, Sephiroth continued moving, feeling the white-hot tension curling in his groin again and coming seconds later. No sound escaped him, although feeling drained from his body: he wanted nothing more than to collapse on top of the boy and lay there, not even moving.
But training and the entire fact that he had never slept in the same bed with someone else, and the simple desire to be clean, forced him to move. Not right away, although he did let go of the boy's leg, letting it drop back to the bed, but quickly enough. The semen on his stomach hadn't even cooled by the time he moved, withdrawing from the boy and sitting on the side of the bed.
"Is general-sama pleased?" the boy asked. Sephiroth could hear him shifting, was aware of him sitting up on the behind him. "If he is not-
"You were fine," Sephiroth said shortly and stood up, disappearing into the bathroom. By the time he stepped back into the room, the boy was gone.