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Hands
Cloud hated Hojo's hands. Objectively there was nothing wrong with them, they were nice even. Long and slender, they were the hands of an intellectual. Fingers tapered down to smooth even fingernails. Both palms and fingers were soft and free of calluses.
But these elegant hands terrified Cloud, they frightened him beyond belief. Strange, how Zack's hands never frightened him, never disgusted him. Zack's hands were short and blunt, heavily callused from sword use. A network of fine scars, collected from sword practice traced across his knuckles and the backs of his hands. Zack chewed his fingernails right down to the quick, the ends ragged and uneven. Zack's bare hands could kill, and have. Snapping a neck would be child's play for those strong hands.
But Zack's hands never made him scream until he was hoarse and could no longer form intelligible sounds. Those hands never made him vomit on himself from the shock and pain. Those hands never made him cry.
One of those hateful hands was draped across his hip right now. The pressure was light, only the fingertips brushed against Cloud's skin. The fingertips were like ice, they seemed to brand into his skin, the coldness searing into his bones. Hojo leaned forward a little, increasing the pressure on Cloud's hip as he adjusted one of the many leads connecting to Cloud's body. Cloud shuddered. Those fingers moved again, always too slow, lingering too long on flesh. He gradually slid them up to Cloud's face, the fingers resting on temple and jaw, the smooth tips catching in Cloud's unruly hair. Hojo frowned, and leaned in closer, examining the electrode attached to the temple. Cloud shuddered again, as Hojo's breath washed over him, the closeness sickening him. He tried to shy away from those hands, but Hojo's hand firmly gripped Cloud's jaw pushing his head to the side, reattaching the electrode. Swallowing back his rising gorge, Cloud closed his eyes and tried to ignore the smooth hand on his face.
When Hojo finally let go, he paused, his thumb barely resting on Cloud's lower lip. A smirk hovered on mouth as he observed Cloud's discomfort. After a small eternity passed for Cloud, Hojo left, slowly dragging his thumb down Cloud's lip and over his throat and then finally, Cloud was free of those hands.
Hojo turned to a control panel, long fingers flashing rapidly over keys, entering a series of codes and commands. There was a pause, and then Cloud felt a current of something, rush through him. Pain suffused his body, and he screamed, body arching against the restraints.
Cloud was wrong; he would never be free of those hands.
-End-