Never Lost

By: Jades

(Zack/Cloud, Sephiroth/Zack)

NC-17

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any characters therein, and I make absolutely no profit from this story.

Sephiroth sighed as he watched the new recruits run through basic drills for the hundredth time. This was what he'd been promoted to General for? To watch dozens of ignorant whelps make fools of themselves before being rejected from the SOLDIER program? It seemed a little pointless, and more than a little aggravating. He should be on the field, making life and death decisions, seizing victory at the tip of his sword. That was, after all, what he had been trained to do.

His hands clenched at his side, the rough leather of his gloves stretching with a slight crackling sound. Shiva, he wanted to move, wanted to lay into these fickle men and show them what a real warrior was like. That course of action was ill advised to say the least, but that didn't make it any less desirable. The image of the rowdy men lying crumpled and moaning on the ground with himself standing smug and satisfied amongst the carnage of his own creation was enough to bring a wisp of a feral smile to his lips, and did absolutely nothing to abate the temptation growing within him. His fingers flexed. They ached to fly, to take, to satisfy. His hand moved, inching closer and closer to the hilt of his sword.

The door slammed with a loud, reverberating bang, and Sephiroth whipped his head around with all the others as hard, clunking footsteps glanced off the slatted floor of the practice room. A young, red-faced teenager slid to a halt before him, his hand raised in a half-hearted salute, the credence of which was lessened even further by the unapologetic grin plastered over his face. His chest heaved under his uniform shirt that stretched a bit to tight across his broadening shoulders. The boy's impossibly dark hair jutted up in unruly spikes, a few strands falling into his large, well-set violet eyes. When he spoke, it was in a husky purr, his voice already having deepened, despite his youth. "Private Donovan reporting for training, General Sir!"

Sephiroth blinked. What in Shiva's name was Shinra thinking? Didn't he have it bad enough with the group of intellectually challenged, coordination deficient lumps of glorified chocobo dung he already had? What was he supposed to do with this ragtag, cocky little runt? Not so little. His mind chided. He has a good inch on you in the shoulders at least. His eyes roamed the boy's semi-slouched form. And possible the hips as well. He released a breath he wasn't aware that he'd been holding. At least he wouldn't have to worry about him getting crushed by some other over-zealous cadet like that fool last week.

He gave the boy another once-over and fixed him with a firm stare. "Why…" he drew the word out for emphasis, "are you late?"

The barest hint of red graced the boy's cheeks and his eyes glittered. "I was indulging in a rather personal form of stress relief." He said, looking right at him, unabashed, unembarrassed. "I lost track of the time, Sir."

A small crease formed between Sephiroth's brows, as he tasted the boy's words. Did he just admit to being tardy because he was pleasuring himself? What kind of kid was this? A few of the other cadets snickered, making sarcastic comments out of the corner of their mouths to the man standing next to him. Sephiroth brought an exasperated hand to his forehead. "Private…Donovan, was it?"

"Zack."

Sephiroth looked up at him. "What?"

"It's Zack, Sir. Zackary Donovan." He squared his shoulders, his pride evident.

Sephiroth smiled inwardly. So this…Zack…was not only comfortable with who he was, he was proud. That was a pleasant change. It was rare to find someone who bore their name with confidence, much less someone who was still struggling to find their place in the world. "Well, Zackary Donovan, from now on make it a point to 'relieve your stress' on your own time." He gave him a wry look. "If you're late again, I assure you that it will be quite awhile before you'll be able to use that excuse again."

Zack's eyes widened slightly and he stood a little straighter as he realized exactly what Sephiroth was threatening. "Sir, yes, Sir!"

"Now," Sephiroth said with a wave. "Arm yourself and make ready; I want to see what you're capable of."

Zack grinned then, his posture instantly changing from reined in respect, to easy self-assurance. The boyishness lurking along the slender lines of his body dissipated as soon as his hand closed around the hilt of one of the training swords, leaving behind a honed determination tinged with unmatched grace.

Sephiroth's throat went dry. Zackary Donovan, the slouched, rumpled mess of a cadet had just transformed from boy to man instantly before his eyes. It was a radical, impossible change, one that spoke of maturity and deeper instincts, and Sephiroth found this new, wired body much more appealing than the one he'd been scrutinizing earlier. He waved his hand and one of his better cadets stepped forward, sword at ready. Another wave, and the battle commenced.

To say that Zack was good would have been a misuse of the word. He was incredible. His moves were smooth and sure, his reflexes phenomenal, his skill unmatched by any trainee Sephiroth had seen. When Zack made it into SOLDIER, and Sephiroth knew that he would, and received his Mako enhancements, he would be damn near unstoppable.

Sephiroth's eyes followed Zack's body as he moved across the floor of the practice room, working his blade, pulling off moves that most of his cadets hadn't mastered by graduation. The lazy confidence that the man wore was eye-catching, his easy grace, his lean muscles that seemed to harden before Sephiroth's eyes, his toned body that knew itself—its talents and its limits—so well, that his fluid movements seemed as casual as breathing.

Heat boiled beneath Sephiroth's skin, a curl of arousal twisting through him as he watched. Zack in motion was a beautiful thing, an intoxicating, dangerous mix of fierce sensuality and soft fatality. In all his nineteen years, Sephiroth had never seen anyone this skilled, and the possibilities that flooded his mind were endless, and more than a little inappropriate. Zack's body was a beautifully mastered weapon and Sephiroth longed to possess it, to wield it as he would his sword, to hold its power in his hands.

Zack ended with a flourish that would have made a vain man blush, and he hoisted his sword up over his shoulder. He stared over at Sephiroth, waiting.

Sephiroth swallowed, then waved him over. "Where did you learn to fight like that, Private?"

"I told you," Zack said, not answering his question, "its Zack."

"I think…Private," Sephiroth said sternly, a light frown creasing his brow, "that you should answer the questions you are asked."

Zack flipped the sword over to another cadet, who caught it easily. His arms crossed loosely over his chest. "You wanna know what I think…General?" That last was tacked on like an afterthought rather than any real respect for the title. "I think," Zack said, moving closer, "that you're entirely too tense. You should relax, take the stick out of your ass, and live a little!" As if to demonstrate his point, Zack's hands seized Sephiroth's face, and standing on tiptoe, he leaned in and sucked Sephiroth's bottom lip into his mouth.

Sephiroth's eyes widened, the green flaring behind the rapidly dilating black slits. Before he could protest, before he could even move, Zack's tongue was pushing between his lips, silencing any possible attempt at speech. Zack's tongue was hard and slick, as lithe and toned as the rest of him. It moved in Sephiroth's mouth with all the grace and skill that the man had shown himself to bear, gently bringing Sephiroth to arms, calling him out to duel with him. And duel they did, Sephiroth's urgent hunger overruling his senses as he forced Zack to retreat back into his own mouth, tongue following to completely supplant this man who had so recklessly attacked him. It was harsh, ardent, and real, and the two men traded dominance as often as their opponent would allow.

Sephiroth gasped in lungfuls of air as Zack finally broke the kiss, pushed back from his body, and skittered away, laughing. But his face was flushed, and his eyes were twin rings of royal purple around a void of churning lust. Sephiroth forced his body back under control, and ordered Private Donovan to drop and give him two hundred or be put on lavatory duty for a month.

As Zack dropped to the ground, his lean form spread out in a straight, muscled line and began to count off, Sephiroth smiled contentedly to himself. Not exactly a pile of bloodied cadets, but close enough. This Zackary Donovan was a cocky little bastard, he was disrespectful and more than likely going to be a hell of a lot more trouble than he was worth, but he had nerve, and Sephiroth liked that. He subconsciously licked against his lower lip, which still tingled from Zack's onslaught. Yes, he liked it a lot.

tbc