Angel and the Beast

Standard Disclaimers Applied

Summary: It didn't take so many pushes to fall when you were already standing not so far from the edge. But after falling down that edge, would it be as easy to climb back up…when you had already lost one of your wings? Please R&R.

Pairing: Sephiroth/Squall Leonhart (Their short encounter during the OP is striking enough to make me write this, believe it or not... XP)

Rating: M (R); adult contents

Warning: This fanfiction contains BL, semi-non-con yaoi and adult contents. If you find said contents disturbing, I suggest you leave this page immediately. Unfortunately, this fic is also un-beta-ed.

"Man is neither angel nor beast; and the misfortune is that he who would act the angel acts the beast."

- Blaise Pascal (1623-1662)

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How far would it take for one to believe and stop believing? How far would it take for one stop believing to revert back to believe? It didn't take so many pushes to fall when you were already standing not so far from the edge. But after falling down that edge – into the depthless abyss that shattered the wholeness of your soul – would it be as easy to climb back up…when you had already lost one of your wings?

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Angel and the Beast

Be Neither

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Squall Leonhart didn't believe of angels. Still didn't believe even if reflecting in his eyes were not only the thrilling memories of flashes after flashes of deadly silver those long moonlight colored locks brought back but also the spread of one enormous black wing that completely shrouded the sight of any bright stars from view. Its blackness was blacker than the veil of darkness around them as if symbolized the eternal fall as sins blackened the wing of which color was once pure white.

White, white wing forever stained black. Blackened by the very ash of smoldering fire.

Still, the man's pale feature and long, lustrous hair that gleamed like quicksilver were there as a stark contrast.

The very image of a fallen angel.

Yet, instead he focused his thought back to the fonder memories of their previous fights, reliving the thrill and excitement as well as bloodlust that drove through him as if having a spirit, a life of its own. He loved the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins as its roar for battle drummed so loud in his ears it was deafening. If there was one reason needed for one to continue fighting, the easiest way was to say that the person enjoyed it.

In a fight, nothing else seemed to matter but skill, experience and sharp, watchful senses. And at one point, all of those would perfectly synch together as your body moved of its own accord – driven by its own survival instinct and the raging song of the fight – as the only sound that was most audible was no other than the sweet whisper of the hollow eyed bane. There was only a thin line that separated foolishness and bravery. The same as there was victory in defeat as warriors fell and were forever glorified.

He didn't fight for glory. Nor did he fight for duty even if he followed it with much strictness.

He fought…for the sake of feeling alive.

For he didn't believe of angels – had long stopped believing ever since he had learned merely desperate prayers could never make wishes come true.

Wings were just wings with no more meaning than just leaving people tantalized.

And he only believed in what these two hands could really grasp. Past was what was already in the past and future wouldn't be there if you had become a past yourself in battle. What was mattered was only the present…and present alone.

Even if the present...is insanity.

Squall Leonhart didn't believe of angels. Still didn't believe even if scraping across the very bare skin of his back were the velvety feel of feathers – feathers of that one sinfully black wing. The fight between them wasn't for glory. Nor was this one for duty as it only brought forth more and more questions about its nightly occurrence.

Why, why, why…and why…

"Why do you persist?" The one winged angel inquired, deep voice vibrating and cutting through the silence that accompanied the all around obscurity despite his brilliant green eyes being able to penetrate through darkness's veil. "Why do you keep on fighting?"

Swords raise. Steels clash. Sparks fly.

The question faded into silence saved for the occasional whistling of the chilling night wind.

"Why do you keep on fighting me?"

Unspoken Challenges. Lips crash. Desire unleashes.

There was no answer. The pretty brunette remained silent as those plaint lips that seemed much more stubborn than how they looked and felt – even from a careless brush of a fingertip – closed together, refusing to let out any sound that would please and soothe the insane angel's sadistic vibe. Even as his breath became shaky and in the end, he started panting.

There was no glory in this fight as much as there was no shame.

Why can't either of us be left alone?

Solitary that either of them knew they would like to have. Even if there was no peace even in solitary for those walled hearts.

Broken souls can't be saved when this loop cannot be stopped.

For deliriously searching for each other just to initiate another battle was unreasonable madness.

To fight and fight and fight...

For he deemed it real embarrassing only when he didn't fight back at all the moment the first of these many battles that were less fatal yet much more dangerous started. And the young SeeD Commander didn't know he was so addicted to victory until he had crossed his sword with the ex-Shinra General.

Why, why, why…and why…

Perhaps it was just his thirst for victory because he used to be the one always triumphed.

Without resorting to prayers.

Or maybe…he just wanted to prove his existence…and be alive…

I have long stopped praying...

Even in those brilliant cat-like eyes whose coldness mirrored the ice he had carefully walled himself with.

"Ah…" Smooth, pale thighs wrapped around the other's well-toned torso and storm colored eyes began to glaze over as the boy, sitting on the other's laps, guided himself to take in more and more of the silver angel's impressive length. Ungloved hands tightened their grip on strong shoulders, fully aware of the soft caress of those long silvery tresses as he tried his best to swallow back the sound fleeting from his own lips.

I hate those childish wistful wishes.

He was pleasuring no one but himself. He was torturing no one but himself. And if this battle was judged by the sound of his screaming, he would let Sephiroth hear nothing but the ghost of his self-fulfilled moan.

This battle. This game. This…

"You really are a beast, aren't you?" The one winged angel smirked, cat-like green orbs lit up with amusement as the boy's lithe body lay momentarily flush against his – soft chocolate brown tresses tickling bare skin – as he rocked himself back and forth, narrow hips moving alluringly in fluid circular motion, and his breath became more and more ragged.

Wild, senseless attraction.

Sharp fingernails dug into flawless pale skin. Deeper and deeper. The pace quickened.

Beautifully breaking himself.

The boy looked as if he would then and there collapse from the overwhelming sensation as he brought himself closer and closer to completion – even though he could never really feel complete. Yet the silver haired man knew better. For despite how fragile – unlike those more muscular men in SOLDIER he was quite accustomed to – this boy looked, the ex-General still remembered how the boy could catch up with him and Masamune even if it required more than just following the speed and parrying blows to signify the end of such battle.

This boy…was truly a beast.

A beast that was so fierce, so alive and unyielding. A beast that could only prove its existence in battles as if battles were the lives…the air…that it breathed and craved.

No matter what type of battle it was.

Half-lidded blue-gray eyes snapped fully open as the silver angel bent down to feast upon his exposed throat, sinking his teeth not-so-tenderly into delicious milky flesh.

Squall gasped, his throat quivering yet the stubborn little Lion let no sound escape and retaliated by raking his nails across the silver angel's smooth back – stopping once only when his fingers touched the very beginning of the black, black wing – hard enough to leave long red mark against pale skin in its wake as the older man continued to ravish him.

Kisses after kisses. Bites after bites. Tongue tracing, trailing...

"Ah...ahn...nn..."

Had he been more hateful, he could easily have torn down that wing, ripping its magnificence into shreds. Yet he instead decided to lock away the desperate memories of unfulfilled wishes and depressive longing - even if they still leaked – and shied away from the accursed wing that kept reminding him of his blurry childhood.

"Please, come back. Please, don't go..."

He had promised himself to never again weep.

However, that little retaliation was generously rewarded…with one strong hand on his hip. Its grip – like vice – was so firm and tight it sure would leave a bluish bruise as it completely stopped the boy's self pleasuring motions. The little Lion's breath hitched as he was abruptly pinned to the ground – the wicked angel's throbbing cock slid out of his hot entrance in a way that could only be called the most painful tease – with Sephiroth now holding his shapely legs apart.

Perfectionists couldn't afford to lose.

The silver haired man was smirking down at him triumphantly, successful in seizing the control back…so easily as if he was just toying with him in the first place. Cat-like green orbs glowed so bright as if blazing in the obscurity as their owner found satisfaction in the sight of his little beast furiously blushing.

Yes, his. For from the moment this game – initiated from the little Lion's persistence to repeated challenging and twisted into something less lethal but much more complicated than the simple swing of trusted swords – started, he was determined to see it through the end how far the little beast would go just for the prize of victory he could never have.

How far he had to push for this stubborn beautiful thing that dared chasing him to fall and break, thoroughly break.

You're mine to break.

Once the fall began, it wouldn't stop. Would not stop even if you had a wing to fly back, for that one wing was of no more need to soar high…when what you could do was dragging more and more victims – those with no wing – toward the abyss…so that they would break…so that they would shatter…

And be in much worse shape than when you first fell from the edge.

Without something to grab…and cling…

So that…

"Scream, beast."

He could hear him beg and see him cry.

The agony that is burning inside.

"And I will forgive you."

For never ever falling apart. For staring back with the same fierceness in those eyes.

"You are no angel." The boy finally replied, his voice rasp and shaky as he too was swallowed by the flame of this twisted game of desire despite the challenge in his eyes that wasn't wavering – never wavering.

For not really falling from the edge even standing oh-so-close.

For a brief moment, Sephiroth paused and stared at him, green eyes darkened with something unreadable.

Pain. Hatred. Suffering. Envy. What do angels dream of?

"You are a beast who understands nothing." That was the last thing the one winged angel said before bending down and captured those soft pretty lips, muffling – unintentionally or maybe intentionally – the scream leaving the boy's throat as he again claimed his victory that had neither shame nor glory for the night as the lithe body beneath him squirmed and writhed.

In this close-off world, everything did seem never-ending.

There is no prayer.

Yet somehow, someday, something was sure to meet its end.

"Please...hear me..."

Squall Leonhart didn't believe of angels. Still didn't believe even if flying around him was the evidence that were the feathers once believed to be white. Still didn't believe even if sometimes between those searing kisses that left his lips staining with crimson, there was one single tender one, of which tenderness almost brought tears to his eyes.

Maybe because all these battles that seemed never-ending caused even him to teeter closer to the very edge of his sanity that for once, he let himself believe the delusion of his blurry eyes. That it was white he saw instead of black. That it was really an angel's wing instead of a demon's.

And that when he caught one of those soft beautiful feathers, it would eventually guide him…home.

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Fin

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Yes, this one shot can be called just a raving piece of writing but well, as I have already said above, just the opening with these two is too damn tempting. (Not to mention, I love both Seph and Squally. XP) I didn't mean it to come out so...psychological but again, as far as I am concerned, I think Sephiroth and Squall are quite alike in a way that they are the one at the top and the thing about people at the top is that they cannot afford to lose. But I think I won't explicate here as I'd better leave the rest to readers' interpretation.

Please forgive me for any mistake you may or may not find in this piece.

And again, reviews are pretty, pretty much appreciated. Thank you. X3~

- Chesiere Cat