A/N: Touch, Sight, and Smell are from Tseng's POV while Taste and Sound are from Sephiroth's. It's a little fluffy, and I apologize. I'm typically a little darker, but I like this all the same! Enjoy! ^^
Touch
To touch the flawless body was a rare treat that only a select few had ever been permitted to relish. The toned muscles spoke greatly of the unhidden power that could be summoned with a few simple movements, and the silken texture of the fragrant silver locks complimented the smooth, unmarred skin so many shades lighter than the Wutain's own. Mako-lit green eyes concealed beneath long lashes often hid so many emotions and feelings, but in seldom occurrences, one could see right into the soul of the general through those emeralds. Those lips always fascinated the Wutain, and he was always lured in by their texture.
Tseng would never admit that enjoyed—longer—for the moments that he was allowed to run his blood-stained hands over the expanse that was the general's chest. His touches were always gentle even in the height of his passions, and the kinetic memory within him remembered every ridge and valley on that powerful body. Those hands never missed a detail, but they were never invasive. His finger tips would brush the long eyelashes before traveling across smooth eyelids until they were lost in the silver mane. The thick hairs on the general's scalp were always soft, always felt clean, and no matter how Tseng would tug or ball the hair, it never seemed to tangle. The Wutain could willingly spend hours running his fingers through that cascade of silver and would never tire of the feel or the satisfaction that came with the sensation it left on his fingers.
Those lips would always torment the Wutain even if he attempted to keep them at bay. Smooth and soft like the hands that would often accompany them, those lips would whisper words that were often lost on Tseng's creamy skin. They would tease him just so as they traced lines up and down his body in the wake of those skilled fingers. They would rip out sighs of pleasure without any regard for the Turk's pride, but they would also keep those sighs hidden from the world as they would pass them into the general's mouth.
As much as he hated to give in, Tseng would never trade those touches for the world. Nothing in his broken, painful world would ever take those moments from him; he swore he would never allow anyone to see them. Sometimes, they were the only thing that kept him in tuned with reality and kept him from losing himself in the world of paranoia and despair that he trekked far too near.
Taste
The taste of exotic spices would always mix with the sweetness of the Wutain's saliva every time Sephiroth would plunder the man's mouth with his tongue. The general always associated the taste of the spices with an exquisite meal he had once eaten during his stay in Wutai, and to say that he relished in the taste's presence would have been in an understatement. It amplified the residual sweetness from the Wutain's other shameless pleasure: sweets. The thought would always coax a smile and a small chuckle from the general as he would attempt to guess what confection Tseng had consumed a handful of minutes before their meetings; it had turned into a game for the two of them, and neither one of them minded playing in the least.
The taste of the Wutain's skin was something Sephiroth had never found in a lover before, and it could drive him into a fit of an insanity in the moments the Wutain would allow him near. While the exotic spices were an undertone in the man's kisses, they were alive and full of life on his skin ready to be tasted. The taste was highly intoxicating, and it was quite lethal whenever a mako-enhanced sense of taste was allowed to taste it. He would bite, lick, kiss, anything too keep that taste from leaving his mouth. If only the Wutain understood the state of affairs a simple kiss could place the general... Perhaps the Turk knew but would never tell; he simply teased Sephiroth with his saccharine lips and body.
The words would never leave Sephiroth's lips, but perhaps they didn't need to. He would always find solace in the tastes of his lover even if he did not outwardly express it to the man. His offering was already placed at the altar, and he was certain Tseng was more than willing to taste it.
Sight
Those observant silver eyes of the Turk never missed a movement no matter how subtle the general attempted to make it. When the general blinked, Tseng knew; the Wutain would shameless observe every stretch of muscle, every calculated movement, every graceful step. Sometimes, he thought his silver vision went beyond that of a normal human's and permitted him to see something beyond the physical thing that the general was; however, he would never speak a word and hid it behind the emotionless mask he had long since mastered.
Every smile was filed into the observant Turk's memory, and every emotion that flickered through those emerald eyes was logged and stored in a much similar place. He had seen nearly every emotion filter through those knowledgeable eyes, but those equally watchful eyes continued to pull him under a spell and keep him guessing. Tseng didn't mind in the least as long as he was permitted to eternally catalog even the most insignificant of movements.
The silvery gaze knew the general's body as well as the Wutain's hands; it saw while the hands felt, but it was a fair more powerful stimulant sometimes. To see the way the general moved his head just so to keep the silvery strands from falling into his eyes or to see the way those lips would twinge into a smile that spoke of darker, base ideals was overwhelming in a manner that could never be captured from touch alone. His eyes brought him under Sephiroth's influence and spell, and he would never break free as long as he had his vision.
Sound
The enhanced hearing could pick out the subtle rustle of fabric that would always announce the Turk's approach; it could even hear the silenced, light footfalls that carried the Wutain thousands upon thousands footsteps. In his presence, the sound of the silk lining on his issued suit was calming even if his movements were aggravated by some external stressor, yet the sounds that would leave the Wutain's lips were the most beautiful.
The words could be accented or spoken flawlessly as if he had been a member of Midgar his whole life; however, none of the slang that was spoken by the natives of Midgar had even entered his vocabulary. Whenever anger leaked into the Wutain's tone, the sensitive ears were always strained to pinpoint the source of the man's sudden indignation; those ears could even hear whenever the anger would suddenly turn into a poisoned sweetness that the Turk had perfected during the long grueling hours of interrogations. Yet, those nuances fell sharply short of the sounds that would leave those bewitching lips when the two were alone.
The sighs and mumbled words would suddenly become far more pronounced as if they were solely for Sephiroth's ears. Groans and quiet protests escape those barely parted lips if he is too forceful, but moans and hitched breaths nearly always follow. The Wutain is too proud to beg, but the sounds that escape his lips are more than enough to prompt the general to action. The pleasurable, nigh inaudible screams that often constrict in his throat are not lost upon the general, who tries with all his might to rip those melodies from his lover. The fluid song of the Turk's body and voice entrance him, and he will forever falter in his resistance.
Smell
The scent of the general was never the same, yet Tseng always seemed to expect him whenever he was unable to identify a particular smell. One moment the general would smell of pine, but at their next meeting, a delicate smell of rain would radiant from the man. The earthy scents were the general's favourite, yet the Turk preferred the aromas that reminded him of the sky and water he felt fitted the general far better.
Those fragrances were reserved strictly for the general's skin; his hair was an enigma all its own. The redolence of the silvery strands always perfectly complimented the cologne the general would select for the day's affairs, but those locks would always pull the Turk to them with their understated scent. He thought of ways to bury his faces in that long mane when the general was oblivious to his movements for a few brief moments, and he was never disappointed with the inhale of each aroma. Sometimes, it would be a spicy cinnamon; others, the refreshing smell of bamboo would waft from those strands. Floral perfumes were sometimes present, but those were few and far between and only seemed to occur when the general was forced into the field.
Tseng would delight in the scent of his lover when they were intimate. It was overpowering, sometimes suffocating, but the Turk hardly cared. It was the only familiar, constant scent that exuded from the man no matter what cologne or shampoo he had an endeavoured to use that day. It was the only smell that the Wutain would lose himself in totally, and he was more than grateful for it. It was provocative in only a way that Sephiroth could manage, and it left he wanton and bare before the man. Yet, he would continue to hold it closer to his chest than the memories as it was one of the handful of things that could trigger the more vivid moments of intimacy. He would never surrender that to another, and he would only share those memories with his love. In his opinion, that suited him just fine.