Warnings: Slight S&M scene. Dark, as usual. Thanks to Alex for his encouragement. I don't own, so on and so forth. Kadaj is my plushie.

Something of Mother was here, he was certain of it. Like a pulse, it had pounded through his very being the closer he raced to it, drowning out even his own heartbeat. It was so loud that he felt as though his chest would explode from the overwhelming power of that rhythmic thrum. He felt overtaken by desire, his excitement rising with each passing second. The motorcycle was nearly pushed beyond reasonable limits, sending the world spinning by in an indiscernible blur. But even still, Kadaj was not satisfied. No speed could match how much he burned with the need to find whatever was calling to him so persistently.

At first he had ignored the little knot that had formed in his stomach, though it tightened strangely, like something foreign buried within his gut. That little tumor had grown, it seemed. He had spent many nights staring listlessly at the sky, ignoring this deep, primal urge. It was a thing his young mind didn't quite understand. The ground had been cold and unforgiving those evenings, the rocky, earthy smell of the desert permeating his leather clothes. Even when the air went frigid later into the night, he could concentrate on nothing but that calling. He had adjusted himself restlessly, causing Yazoo to watch him with an ever-growing concern.

Kadaj did not ask his brothers if they felt it too. He suspected this was yet another burden that was solely his to bear. Though, admittedly, it wasn't for any altruistic reasons that he did not confide in his brothers. No, he wanted this secret to be his, and his alone. There were very few things that were his own, and Mother was calling to him. His childish thinking had led him to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was showing him favor.

He loved his brothers like no others, however, Mother was the only reason for his existence. He was brought upon Gaia to serve Her. In the end he knew that it was likely none of them would live through whatever was to come as a result of Reunion. They might all die, but their sacrifice would bring life to the Mother they had never known.

He was scared and uncertain, something he also kept from his brothers. He knew Mother's power, felt it like he could his own. He knew Sephiroth had more than tasted that power; he had made it his own, whether through sheer force of will, or perhaps nothing more than genetic ability. That power was something Kadaj was in awe of, though like any follower it also struck fear into the heart of him. Mother had her purpose, and in the scheme of things he knew he and his brothers were only pawns assisting their queen. It was her life that was important, while their own were more or less forfeit.

They had begun their search with a vague understanding of this concept, though, Kadaj suspected that even Yazoo with his cool, detached intelligence, was willing to believe they might all in fact live beyond whatever calamity was to come.

Sephiroth had fallen. The thought alone made his throat tighten uncomfortably, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. Brother was dead. If one so strong could fall, what would become of them? They were three, that was true. He had in his brothers something Sephiroth had not. But would it be enough? Mother loved Sephiroth, and Kadaj wanted to believe that that love extended to his Remnants. They were all pieces of Sephiroth, together making a loose kind of wholeness. They were her guards in a sense, her warriors, the children born of her seed. How could she not love them?

Kadaj had long ago stopped questioning her love; it was undeniable. They were her children. They had become so sickly devoted, so obsessed with her love, that they were prepared to have their young lives taken for the sake of her revival. That was why in the cover of night, Kadaj had left his brothers to chase that call off into the night, wherever it might lead him.

He had driven blindly, trusting instinct alone to guide him as he plunged through a seemingly lifeless desert. The lights on his bike were barely enough to illuminate his path, and not strong enough to rid the ground of the darkest of shadows. More than once he had driven over a rough patch only to discover just how uneven it really was. The wheels bit into the dirt with their mechanical anger, sending him forcefully into the front console. Even then he did not slow, as close as he got to being unseated and thrown headfirst from the vehicle.

Desert had eventually turned to sparse trees, all dry and spindled from lack of water. Low grass began to appear as well, yellowed from the heat and harsh sun of a long summer. The further he went, the thicker the trees became, grouped together in copses, growing steadily more green and lush.

Eventually dawn had come, and that was when the pulse had become almost unbearable. It seemed to only fuel his lost sanity, as he urged the motorcycle even faster. He almost couldn't control the steering; the slightest movement sent it careening one way or the other, a hurtling, dangerous hunk of screaming metal that was burning through the last of its fuel supply. He didn't care. He couldn't stop.

Nothing mattered but Mother.

She needed him.

He came around a bend, winding his way through what was becoming a small canyon. He slowed slightly to make the turn, but could feel the vehicle give even before he had fully completed the curve. There was a split second of recognition, but it was not enough to stop what had already been set into motion. He could feel the back tires slide through the dirt, the resulting cloud so large that it obscured the path behind him. The motorcycle leaned far too heavily to the right, and even as he tried desperately to correct it, he already felt the helplessness welling within him.

Too late, his mind uttered uselessly.

His pupils dilated to nearly full circles even in the bright, obtrusive sun of morning. But it was not his inevitable fall that flicked through his consciousness, it was surprise.

A man was standing in the road.

The crunch was deafening. Metal hit earth, both strong and unyielding in their contact. Kadaj felt himself falling, no longer even on the bike. There was no time to think, no time to act.

He braced for the inevitable.

Hitting the ground hurt, but not like it should have. Instead of bones smashing on impact, he landed roughly on his side, with enough force to bruise and scrape through leather, but not enough to kill him. Confusion rippled through him, even as he rolled a few feet, lost in a fog of brown dust. He felt the air above him move, dispersing the brown for an instant, the gleam of metal letting him know it was his bike. He felt only terror as it tore through the air just above him, barely missing his small body. It was surrounded in a green glow as it plummeted into the ground. It took a mere second for it to become nothing but a heap of twisted metal. The sound of its end was grating, even from his distance, making him shudder with the recognition that he could have been entangled with it in its demise.

The dust swirled lightly in the breeze, taking several seconds to dissipate enough for Kadaj to see a patch of blue sky above his head. His breathing was erratic, his chest heaving with the effort. Dirt was in his mouth, in his eyes, making him choke painfully. The worst was his arm, however, which was positively throbbing. He let out a pitiful cough, trying to breathe in something besides pure dust. It felt as though it coated his lungs, and even as the air was quickly clearing he couldn't seem to get in a breath that wasn't a struggle.

"Driving a little fast for such a narrow canyon," a voice commented.

Something about the voice was terribly familiar, but nonetheless, the sound startled Kadaj so badly he threw himself to one side, trying to face the speaker. The agony that resulted was enough to make him cry out, his gloved hands clenching into fists reflexively, even when it only caused more pain. On his side he felt terribly weak and defenseless. He tried to right himself, raggedly huffing from the exertion. His eyes darted wildly, searching for a weapon. His sword, Souba, was long gone, likely having met the same fate as his motorcycle. The thought made him cringe, tears stinging at his eyes.

The dust was still hanging in the air, but Kadaj could easily see the black boots not a foot from him. Like an animal struck, he defensively tried to move away, even as his young body savagely protested. On his hands and knees he backed up, terrified. His brothers were not around to save him, and though he would usually scoff at the notion of needing protection, a small voice in side of him weakly called out to them for aid.

There was a laugh, soft, but deep. Kadaj's green eyes narrowed hatefully; it sounded mocking. Something inside of him steeled at the sound. The dust was swirling away now, the stranger no longer obscured. The long, black coat was supple and deeply colored, seemingly impervious to the dust that should have coated it. Silver hair broke up the monotony in rebellious, disorganized streaks that had been blown about by the wind, catching here or there on a pauldron or buckle. The face was pale, with features that seemed . . . calculating? The man looked amused, his green eyes glimmering with something Kadaj didn't understand. It was almost as if the light could not touch those eyes, the pupils thin, vertical slashes across the iris, almost indiscernible from the sea of green.

Sephiroth. But how?

"You have nothing to fear." The voice was tinged with a smile that suggested otherwise, but Kadaj did not protest.

"Brother," he breathed in almost a whisper, relieved. How? How had this happened?

The anxiety that had wracked his body dissipated somewhat, though he had begun to shiver. It was almost pleasurable. His fists clenched, crunching in the dirt. His arm was burning, the throbs so close together it was a continuous, horrible ache that couldn't be ignored. Tears were starting to form again, and he fought against them, frowning, staring helplessly at the ground, unable to look his god in the eyes. For that's what Sephiroth was: a god, some kind of insane, avenging angel that fell from the sky and left everything streaked with blood and fire.

A gloved hand found its way to his chin, warm and smooth. He could smell the leather, that intoxicating scent that conjured images of blood mingled with sweat. He swore he could almost detect a hint of smoke, of ash, like the fires of Nibelheim still clung to his General's clothes and hair. Something featherlike fell to Kadaj's shoulder, lightly tickling at his cheek. He stole a glance upward, realizing with a stab of excitement that Sephiroth was kneeling in front of him, the long silver tendrils of his hair falling where they would.

"We've been trying to restore you," Kadaj said quietly, his eyes closing momentarily as leather stroked under his chin, making his shivers worsen.

"Diligently, from what I have heard," the former General stated, smiling again, that same wicked smile. It was almost teasing.

Kadaj's look was earnest, the tone of his voice sycophantic, "Mother led me to you. She wanted me to find you."

The light caress continued, nearly making Kadaj sigh. Yazoo and Loz could be affectionate, but as the leader of their little troupe, it was more often than not he would shrug them off or push them away. It didn't do to be weak, needy, not when one was searching for respect. He'd known from the beginning none of them were meant to last, and in a way, by being distant, he hoped the pain of the loss would be lessened. If any of the Remnants were to survive, it was very likely to be him, though he doubted even his own salvation. They lived for Mother, and in a way, for Sephiroth, the desired one.

A thumb ran over his cheek now, beneath his eye, while the longer fingers explored the shoulder-length silver hair that was draped over most of his face, brushing it back gently. He was still on all fours, the rocks digging into his hands, even through his gloves. His knees were beginning to protest along with the rest of his sore body, but he was too transfixed by the silent, loving gesture that he didn't dare move, for fear it would cease all together.

"I'm sorry we failed you, Sephiroth," Kadaj whispered apologetically, lightly moving his face into the strong hand. "We've been looking everywhere for Mother . . ." He let out a strangled, wet sob, his insecurities rising to the surface, his armor broken down by the simplest of gestures.

He felt so small and weak in the presence of Sephiroth. He had dreamed of him a thousand times, thought of what he would say, how he would impress him, win him over. But another whimper of anguish escaped his lips, as he averted his gaze, feeling all the more pathetic. They had been searching for months, yet here was Sephiroth, somehow, and there had yet to be any sign of Mother. He had failed in every way. She was his one purpose, his single reason for being, and he had failed her, failed her and the beautiful demon that was coddling him like a child. They had played no part in his resurrection. How had he come to be again? Did he know where Mother was?

"You have many questions, but there is no need. Mother must be found, that is our only objective."

Sephiroth forced Kadaj to look at him, the tear-stained face marred by red-rimmed eyes. The silver hair around his face was damp, and with a delicate movement, the older man pushed it away from the intense green eyes.

"I understand," Kadaj replied meekly, feeling tired, worn.

"Your arm, it is broken? You are favoring it."

"I think so." With a pained movement, Kadaj attempted to rise, but was stopped short by those strong hands, one firmly holding onto his shoulder, preventing him from standing.

Again, fingers traced over his face, soothing. He felt so tired. He wanted nothing but to sleep all of a sudden. "I . . .how did you . . .?" Kadaj murmured nonsensically, his eyes blinking rapidly. "Sephiroth?"

He fought for control, but his eyelids kept fluttering closed of their own accord. His speech was slurred, and he continued to mutter, his head slumping lazily so that he could barely hold it up anymore. His limbs felt leaden, and he wanted nothing but to collapse, even if it meant into the dirt.

It took only a second before the Remnant completely lost consciousness, falling lifelessly into Sephiroth's arms. The former General only smiled.

It was cold when Kadaj woke, and black as the void. He felt strangely painless, and for a moment he couldn't remember why it should have been any different. His gloves were gone, he noticed, because he could feel the softness of the blanket that had been placed over him. It was thick, wooly, and smelled of fire. The air was crisp, free of dust, and he felt as though he could truly take a breath again.

His arm . . . it didn't hurt. It was healed. He flexed his fingers gingerly, expecting a shooting pain. It never came.

The realization of his crash, of the clouds of dust, startled him. It came back in one monstrous wave of memory, smothering him in fear. Cold sweat prickled at his face instantaneously, chilling his skin even further. He couldn't see in the black, and he panicked momentarily, trying to get up, until a hand roughly forced him onto his back again. The fingers pushed into his chest, almost making it difficult to breathe.

"Be still." Sephiroth's voice. That calmed him.

"Are we . . . Is everything okay?" Kadaj swallowed hard, as scared as a child, and he mentally berated himself.

"As far as I can see," Sephiroth answered cryptically.

Kadaj's vision was slowly adjusting to the darkness. He was beginning to make out the form of the older man, who was sitting near him. It was clear they were inside some kind of makeshift tent, the canvas holding strong against the wind that was outside. He could hear it howling out there through the narrow, rocky canyons.

"You will do whatever I ask of you." It wasn't a question.

"I have no reason not to," Kadaj answered quietly, though he was puzzled by the declaration.

Then the shadow of the General was over him, looming. He could see the perfect face, feel those eyes boring into him, gleaming evilly in the darkness. Somehow the light had caught them in the dark like it hadn't been able to in the day. They were predatory eyes, the eyes of a monster. It was terrifying and alluring, and Kadaj found himself wanting to reach out to the devil-like apparition the black had created, for it had to be a trick of the night, of the shadows. Something so beautiful could never be so wicked.

He managed to capture a lock of hair. He toyed with it between his fingers, loving the silken texture. His hand was yanked away abruptly, then Sephiroth was over him, staring down at him, and Kadaj felt all the part of something trapped, doomed, in the claws of something much greater.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, though his gaze was stubborn. He was hurt by that simple refusal, though he'd never admit to it.

"You are to do as I ask and nothing more," Sephiroth growled, his calm lost in all but a second.

One of the man's hands had gone to Kadaj's throat, constricting the airflow to the point that he could not answer an affirmative, only sputter helplessly in that vice-like grip. Kadaj tried to pry the hand away, but it was wrapped about his throat like steel, immoveable even as he tore at it. It tightened, and he choked, trying to force air into his lungs.

"Lie still. Trust me."

Everything was screaming in him to get away, to kick, to use his materia and somehow get Sephiroth to let him loose. But those eyes were looking down at him, into him, penetrating through any barriers he had constructed, ripping through them effortlessly and mercilessly. Again, the fingers tightened about his throat, and with a rush of terror, he forced himself to be still, to trust in Sephiroth, even when instinct dictated otherwise.

It had become impossible to breathe and he felt as though his chest was going to collapse in on itself from lack of oxygen. The grasp had not relented in the slightest, which was causing him to panic even further. His own helplessness was appalling to him and he wanted to fight back. It took all the faith he had to lie still. He was starting to get lightheaded, and his temples pounded with blood so harshly he thought that alone would render him unconscious. It felt like someone was taking a hammer to his thin-boned skull.

"Do you have faith in me, Kadaj?" Sephiroth questioned, his tone bordering on obscene.

Kadaj struggled to give him and answer, but he could not. His throat felt like it was slowly being crushed.

"Would you die for my pleasure?"

His vision was blacking out at the corners, but he wanted desperately to please Sephiroth in any way he could. But he had never imagined this, not ever. He felt so conflicted, wrong even. His body was weakening by the second, yet he continued to remain unmoving, a last bid to appease his wicked master. He thought he was going to die staring up at the perfect face, feeling like he had given away every piece of his pride if only to momentarily satiate whatever lust was plaguing Sephiroth. On some sick level, in those precious seconds, he thought it would be worth it.

Without warning, the hand withdrew entirely, leaving Kadaj wheezing, sputtering, the air like needles being driven into his chest. If he took a deep breath everything would spin and grow even darker, so he started off shallow, measured, though his body was protesting vehemently. The urge to gasp was strong, but he knew all too well that it would cost him. He coughed violently, exhausted from the short-lived ordeal. It felt as though his throat was flecked with sand.

He only vaguely acknowledged the cold air as the blanket was pulled back. Fingers yanked at the zipper on the front of his leather suit, undoing it demandingly. It was even colder without the leather to shield him from the frigid air, but Kadaj could hardly concern himself with that. He was more concerned with the fact that Sephiroth was undressing him. He could hardly think for the blood rushing to his head, but his excitement was quickly growing, as was his fear.

The first bite was excruciating. He cried out in shock, hearing the click of teeth as they released his tender skin. The second was agonizing, and he bucked helplessly, clutching at the silver-haired head that was leaning over him. He could feel the welts on the flesh already beginning to form. He knew that the wetness that remained behind was likely not just saliva. Again and again, those teeth bit into his skin, and a tongue sadistically lapped at the marks left behind. At first it was nothing but pain, and he dreaded each wound. But then . . . something changed.

There was a kiss, loving, gentle, then the teeth tore into him, making him grit his own teeth, his body shaking as he held back the cries of pain. Then again, there was the feel of lips on his skin, seductive, adoring. Then the bite. Then that tongue, tracing over the damage. Agony turned to a confused sort of pleasure, and it wasn't long before everything became entwined together and he started to look forward to each bite as much as he did what came before and after.

Soon he was moaning quietly, his eyes closed in the dark. Long strands of hair fell over him, and a warm mouth continued to toy with his stomach and chest. Sometimes Sephiroth merely nipped at him, and like a true masochist, Kadaj found himself mindlessly pushing up toward that mouth with his entire body, willing it to hurt him.

Without ceremony, the ministrations stopped. Sephiroth grabbed him by the hair, pulling him so that he was sitting up. Kadaj was confused, his body stinging everywhere. He could feel wetness on his stomach and chest, some of it so wet it dripped. When he looked down he could see the red smeared over his pale skin, stark in contrast. The blood looked almost black in the lack of light, he thought offhandedly.

Kadaj shivered pleasurably. He was too caught up to consider his own reactions, which at any other time he would have thought strange. He had no concept of right and wrong, and though there would be nothing to plague his conscience later, he would still look back at the memory questioningly, deeply disturbed and curious at his own responses, his desperation to be the focus of the more sadistic urges in Sephiroth. He would later ask himself if he was truly so devoted as to suffer for the sake of another.

Clearly, he was.

Then he heard the sound of a belt, of pants being unzipped. Kadaj was harshly directed downward, awkwardly crouching near Sephiroth's groin. Without giving any other hint of what was about to happen, something warm and soft was pushed against the Remnant's lips. It was already slightly wet, and the substance that greeted his mouth was almost slimy on his tongue. It should have repulsed him, but instead he licked at it hungrily, taking in the scent of it, the feel of it. Then the length of it was shoved into his mouth, making him nearly gag from the abruptness. It was velvety and warm, gliding past his lips with an urgency that made his eyes sting with tears. He had little opportunity to satiate his curiosity, instead acting as nothing more than something slick and tight for the former General to play with.

The hands in his hair aroused him terribly, the grip as strong as ever. He felt he'd die from how his pants were constraining him. It was rough and completely self-serving on Sephiroth's end, but Kadaj couldn't help but love it. The desperation in each thrust, the labored breathing-it let him know he wasn't the only one immensely enjoying it. He couldn't breathe half the time and his gag reflex made him cough repeatedly, choking on Sephiroth's length. It took everything he had not to bite down in a vain attempt to close his mouth. He kept trying to swallow his own saliva, instead only to have it dribble down his chin, as the older man continued his assault.

Finally, Sephiroth withdrew, his elegant hands moving quickly on his cock, determinedly. His head was back slightly, eyes closed. Kadaj was transfixed, unable to look away, to even think. Something about the abandonment in the action made something flutter in his chest. Somehow it was trusting in a way he hadn't expected.

Sephiroth was almost noiseless, and only the rise and fall of his chest gave him away for what he was doing. The green eyes opened, staring down at him with interest. Kadaj's hands went to the older man's waist, and he got closer, leaning his head down, encouraging Sephiroth to use him. A hand was in his hair again, snatching at locks of it in irritation. Once more, it was practically forced between his lips, the width making his jaw ache in complaint.

He put more effort into it this time, trying not to clench his jaw, while simultaneously attempting to make it a tight fit. He could feel his teeth drag against skin as a result, but instead of angering the man, Sephiroth pushed in even harder in response, his thrusts shorter, swifter. He could feel the man's cock grow harder, almost pulsing. He couldn't help but run his hands over the little skin within his reach, mostly Sephiroth's lower stomach, which was solid and smooth and heated under his fingertips. It felt so damn good.

Then it was suddenly warmer and even wetter in his mouth, and the older man was clutching at him, raggedly breathing in a hiss between his teeth. They were both still for a moment, Kadaj closing his eyes, feeling a strange kind of bliss. His desire was as still as hot as a flame, licking at his insides, but he felt Sephiroth's contentment and that quelled it somewhat. He took satisfaction in the other man's satisfaction. He had failed in other ways, but at least he could do this. It was something, wasn't it? The fact that he was even worthy made him shudder with happiness. Something about Sephiroth made him weak and needy. Just bringing the man the simplest of pleasure felt incredible. He didn't understand it, then again, given his position, he decided he didn't need to. It was what it was.

Sephiroth had pulled away, righting himself and fastening his pants. His fingers were deft, as though every action was programmed. The man's grace in every manner was startling. Kadaj was fascinated, quietly observing.

As though nothing of importance had occurred, Sephiroth was almost businesslike when he addressed him only seconds later. "We will find the others tomorrow."

"Then we'll search for Mother?" His voice was raspy, abused, and sounded strange to his own ears. He coughed quietly to clear his throat, never taking his eyes off of the older man.

Sephiroth's eyes grew distant. "Yes."

"Do you think Mother will accept us?"

There was that laugh again, the one that suggested he knew much more than he was ever willing to tell. "She will have little need for the others, though they will serve their purpose, I am sure."

"What do you mean?" Kadaj asked, frowning. His hair was sticking to the sweat that had beaded on his temples. He could smell Sephiroth, taste him even. He tried not to think of it, too intent on the former General's reply.

"Sometimes certain individuals must be sacrificed for the sake of another." Sephiroth said it emotionlessly, in a way that made the Remnant grow cold.

"And . . . what of me? Will you have need of me?" he asked, fearful of the answer he might receive.

"That all depends on how useful you are willing to make yourself," Sephiroth responded, his gaze meeting its near twin.

The look was predatory, hungry. And again those eyes glinted, catching an imagined light in the darkest of shadows.