Well, this was originally planned to be some PWP in a tent (it being Tent week for xlightfromabovez and I)... but Stabbing Westward had other ideas. Just needy, rough sex. Om nom nom. Enjoy nonetheless.
Disclaimer - Genesis and Sephiroth, sadly, are not owned by me. But we all know that they're doing this off screen anyway. Trufax.
What Can Be Lost
His grip on Masamune is fixed. Fingers never once relinquished their hold around the hilt wrapped in blue ribbon; never once betraying any hint of his weariness. After an eternity of battle, even a SOLDIER as enhanced as he was suffering from exhaustion. But he couldn't stop… not when Wutai was pumping more and more troops onto the field. He only had to blink after massacring an entire squad to find another directing their weapons towards his chest.
To any onlooking eye, his movements are sharp, erratic and fatal. One slash is all that is needed to kill even the strongest men that the eastern nation could throw at him. There's no magic; no words to his style. Just a cold, ruthless efficiency prevails, that had earned him the title of Silver Tiger, on both sides of the conflict. But unlike the namesake, he takes no pleasure in the kill.
The natives are running out of men and their formation is destroyed, but their courage and drive will never be stopped. There is a moment of peace for Sephiroth. Strange, amongst the litter of the battlefield. Bodies of his comrades, ones he knew in passing and those who were only names in files, lay on the floor. Their eyes blue and glazed, faces torn in agony and splattered red.
A glimpse of scarlet from the right, too vivid to be that of blood, and Sephiroth turns. The swings of Rapier lack flamboyancy; Genesis just as deadly as his own title in Wutaian – Red Dragon. He lives out this, throwing firaga whenever he can, taking out multiple warriors with the twist of his fist. The commander is swamped with opponents, but nothing more than Sephiroth knows he can handle. Contented, Sephiroth returns back to his own mêlée.
There is noticeable fatigue in Genesis' eyes; a frown upon his features. His footwork is faltering, body losing fluency. Though none of the three Firsts had ever wanted to admit it, especially Genesis, the scarlet commander is the most vulnerable of them. Never the weakest, but the first to exhaust himself. His endurance a side effect of poor health as a young child.
Sephiroth turns, drawing Masamune out of the abdomen of a masked warrior sideways, in time to see Genesis succumb to his cruel affliction. The Wutaians descend on him like ants to a wounded insect. Before Sephiroth could appear at his side, Genesis is—
A tongue pushed its way into his mouth with an urgency that dragged him straight through the malicious torture his mind had been tormenting him with night after night. He was taking the lives of some woman's son and husband and a child's father on the battlefield daily. It was only fair that they strike back and take that which his heart cherished most.
His senses were overwhelmed by a rich spice that calmed him and told him that the nightmare was all it was. Without opening his eyes Sephiroth took Genesis deeply into his arms. The weight on his hips was familiar and precious, he never wanted to lose it. His grip was tight and protective; his intention incredibly different to that of his lover. Red-gloved hands wandered down his chest, into the standard SOLDIER uniform trousers that he used for sleeping.
Sephiroth turned his head to the side, letting out a heavy breath of disapproval. He pulled Genesis' hand back out into the open and refused to look at him. He wasn't in the mood for sex. He just wanted to—
"Sephiroth." That rich, cultured voice was all he had to hear to stop thinking. It was evidently affected, shaken almost to the point of tears. His name was whispered again and the older man took to kissing down his lover's jaw line with a hunger that was a need like nothing he'd ever expressed before. "Make me feel alive."
Curling his fingers around Genesis' chin, the general pulled his face up and stared at him. Like his voice, the redhead's eyes were strewn with an inner torment, bloodshot and drained from too much duty. There was lust in there, but not a form that Sephiroth was used to seeing. Pure desperation filled the void where war had stolen his passion.
"I can still hear them screaming, Seph," Genesis whispered and melted into the touch. "I can still feel Wilson dying in my arms… his glassy eyes… I-"
Sephiroth held a bare finger to his lips, silencing him instantly. The scene played painfully vividly in his head. Genesis had dashed back into the fray, hacking into the hostile crowd with blade and fire, to save a Second Class comrade. But the SOLDIER had died moments after crossing back into safe territory.
Genesis was only an acquaintance to the man; the only time they had spoken was as commander and officer. Genesis didn't even know his first name, but due to the incident, he hadn't slept in three days.
What were they fighting for? Sephiroth pondered almost aimlessly as he lost himself in Genesis' eyes in the way he loved, but hadn't been able to since the travesty ShinRa called a war had broken out. Despite of his training, and the indoctrination he had suffered as a child, and the company policy that governed his life, Sephiroth knew what he personally fought for.
A need and want to protect his lover. A desire to survive every fight just to enjoy the warmth of the redhead in his embrace kept him striking in the most hopeless of all fights.
It would have only taken a stray bullet, a fluke swipe of a blade to the right area for everything that Sephiroth treasured to be lost.
Tomorrow his nightmare could become a horrific reality. Tonight could be all they had.
That haunting mix of emotions lingered in Genesis' eyes. He just lay there perfectly still on top of Sephiroth. Motionless and silent. War had twisted the commander into something Sephiroth couldn't even recognise.
But one thing was clear. Genesis needed him. Like he needed him in combat in his nightmare, and Sephiroth could not deny his lover anything. Not when life was triviality, fleeting and evanescent in this land.
Just one too-short glance; a miscalculation; a hesitance in action could steal Genesis from him. And it would all be his fault.
In a flash of movement, Sephiroth rolled over. The motion had the two of them tumbling off the low camp bed and Genesis grunted as his back hit the uneven earth. No time was wasted, and Genesis didn't complain about his hair in the dirt. He just leant up and lost himself in Sephiroth's consuming kiss.
There was something in the way that Genesis just laid there, passively as Sephiroth yanked at the various different items of his uniform to strip him that would normally have the general smirking with delight. The subservience would have filled him with a sense of great power, if his mind could focus on anything other than Genesis.
Green was transfixed on the brightest of blues, and never once faltered. Hands moved with an accuracy brought by experience. Sephiroth was direct, not wandering or teasing. Teasing was a game. And a war zone was not the correct place for games. Let their entertainment wait patiently at home; wait for the moment they returned back to the apartment; for the moment where the two of them would fall entertained on the floor before the door was even locked.
Panting heavily, Sephiroth pulled back and admired Genesis in a manner he never had before. Approbation for his beauty still remained in his heart, but all Sephiroth saw was a naked need; just a soldier like all the rest. A man haunted by memories he never wished to possess.
The general snapped back to himself when Genesis blinked, a moment of sense flashing through his mind as if a trance had been broken. Keeping those devastating blues hidden, Genesis spread his legs wide, giving Sephiroth more then enough room to work.
Sephiroth released a breath he didn't recall holding and raised his hand to his mouth. But Genesis' eyes flared open again and he kicked that wrist back down.
"Only the dead don't feel pain, Sephiroth." He spat the harsh reality the way it was. There was hate in there too. Impatience and a fear - as if he doubted whether he really was alive. Maybe they had all died on the battlefield weeks ago and this was just a farce of their minds breaking the news to them slowly.
Nodding once, a curt sign of acknowledgment, Sephiroth lowered himself back down onto his lover. Every muscle was hard and defined and his skin was moist to the touch; salty to the taste. Sephiroth jolted his hips down once, feeling the vibration of Genesis' grunt with his lips as the lengths of their cocks slid against each other.
For practicality, Sephiroth reached down between their craving bodies, fondling to two of them without concern, just to slick the head of his member. Genesis allowed the gesture, arching his back and offering all he had for that moment his lover took.
And that's all he took – one breath; one slide of his palm.
Genesis reached up to grab the back of his head and yank him down, crushing their lips together. Amongst all the death, the fear of separation purely because they loved still prevailed. SOLDIERs had open mouths, even in a post-conflict delirium, and paranoid executives would still rip them apart on a sniff of suspicion.
Sephiroth kept them close; hissing breaths through his nose as he expertly repositioned his hips, fitting snugly between the redhead's thighs that ensnared him the moment he settled. He jerked his hips upwards, forcing his way into his lover, tight and hot times sevenfold to what he was used to.
The commander convulsed violently, but only released another grunt into Sephiroth's mouth. The pain could not have been much worse than wounds gained in combat, and he was already numbed from horrific recollections. Desensitised from agony when it was all that surrounded them, there was nothing for Sephiroth to comfort; no tears to wipe from Genesis' face.
It just left them to sustain a rhythm – a frantic movement of pushing and pulling and yanking and yielding. Motions grew slick as the proverbial scent of iron and mako tainted the air around them. Genesis was bleeding and he was smirking, near hysterical when Sephiroth released his mouth from the kiss.
His right hand planted firmly on the ground besides Genesis' head. His auburn hair knotted with small sticks, cheeks smeared brown from the dirt. He was still breathtaking, swollen red lips tightened in a sneer. His eyes were a furnace burning his demand for more. He glared hatred towards his lover but his hips and acquiescence admitted his neurotic fervour. And then, all too soon, such ardour was painted, hot and white, across his stomach.
Sephiroth tried to hold on as long as he knew he was capable of, but the moment – Genesis' blind, primal instinct - had snatched away the very last remainder of the man he was admired to be.
Bowing his neck low, forehead pressed against Genesis' collarbone, where sweat had gathered in the hollow, Sephiroth came with a low, curt grunt of fulfilment. He heard the hiss of Genesis as his fluids met with broken skin, but it did not matter.
Pain was just a reminder of being.