Warnings: angst, masturbation, mind control, masochistic and male/male sexual overtones.
It's a bit darker than I usually post here. Despite that, it's still mostly a character piece. Prompt: Sephiroth/Cloud, phantom pain.
He was supposed to be whole now, whole and fully himself. No longer some incomplete creature, pieces of another frantically clutched at to fill the gaps. No longer a broken puppet, waiting eagerly for the words of He who pulled the strings. Unable to move forward, move on, move at all without His permission.
Letting go of Zack was easy enough. Remembering that he had a friend named Zack, someone who did his best to shelter and protect him through all the worst of his experiences in the labs, went a long way towards healing old wounds. He couldn't think of a better outcome than for Zack and Aeris to be together once more, in the Lifestream.
It was the one who hurt him the most he wanted to cling to.
Sephiroth, the man he'd admired and idolised for so long. Sephiroth, the man who'd destroyed his hometown. Sephiroth, the God who had whispered into his mind, and made him dance to His commands.
For years he'd heard that voice, whispering in his mind. It had begun back in the laboratory in Nibelheim. I shall be a God, and this world will tremble before me, it murmured. I shall have my vengeance, then take my rightful place among the stars.
That voice, so powerful, so confident, echoed in his dreams as he wandered, mako-dazed, inside his own head. It called to him, seduced him with its certainty. And when he was himself once more, he couldn't help but listen when that voice spoke, couldn't help but follow its every command. Couldn't help but crave the approval he'd always longed for, spoken by that confident voice that couldn't be wrong. Good little puppet.
Now it was gone. Sephiroth was gone, destroyed at last. And rather than whole, Cloud could feel the empty place in his mind from where that presence had been excised.
It was easier to hide it during the day. There were things to do, things to keep him busy. Deliveries to make, which took him away from people who asked him awkward questions, unable to understand why he was not happy. Unable to understand how he could be happy, to be so controlled.
It was the nights that were difficult. He took to sleeping at the church, again to avoid impossible explanations. Dreams could fool him, feel real enough that for a brief time he was sure he heard Sephiroth's voice once more, calling to him. Controlling him, consuming him, a heady rush of blissful submission that had him crying out with longing. Until he'd wake and find there was nothing but the longing, the need for Him, left behind.
Then he'd lay on his bedroll, gasping, trembling and remind himself that Sephiroth was gone. And when that hurt too much, he'd reach between his legs, grasp the aching flesh there in an attempt to bring momentary oblivion. But as an escape, it was a sad failure: his strokes would gradually become harder, rougher, his grip harsh enough to hurt; and it was always the memory of a cruel, powerful voice murmuring, Good little puppet, that pushed him over the edge.
Cloud knew Sephiroth was gone, better than anyone else could. He felt his absence keenly. But sometimes the memory of those whispers still echoed in his mind, like a phantom pain.