Warning: Some "humor" may be the opposite of defensive and good. Some fluff. Some angst. Some plot. Some content not suitable for children (see rating). And if you are a child and you've made it this far, stop destroying your brain cells and read an actual book.
Chapter 7: I Want, I Want, I Want (But that's Crazy!)
Free will is a false concept.
There is no such thing as freedom to one's mind because human nature, education, and culture do not allow it. No one has the freedom of thought because others always shape their thoughts. Teachers, parents, and close ones cultivate my mind into something they want. My mind is merely just a figment of others' choosing.
My thoughts, no matter how hard I try to break from the mold and transform myself into a unique individual, are like yours simply because we have been taught how to think, what to say, and who we are as a people.
You may tell me that choices in life give me the freedom to think for myself. But those choices are only available from outsiders and my decisions are only shaped from past experiences.
And because of this, my choices and decisions shall remain restricted to who I am.
And I am no one.
-Cloud Strife
Fate.
Fate had a sick, twisted sense of humor in that it only appeared to remind Cloud of its horrid, unwanted presence. Like a recurring disease, it continued to illustrate just how atrocious his life really was by placing him in circumstances he'd rather not be in. In fact, he was sure fate had a vendetta against him because he merely existed. Perhaps as he crawled out the womb, screaming and kicking, he left some sort of imprint on the world—wait, no. That would imply his life had value and meaning. While his existence had been heavy with disappointment and failure, it wasn't to the point of being important. And for Cloud, that seemed worse.
Not only did his life encompass more shit than an entire barn of laxative-induced horses, it still wasn't enough shit to garner him status. He was in second to last place in the race for happiness, which ultimately meant no one cared.
"Why do you look like someone shot your puppy?" Well, maybe Reno cared, Cloud mused but then remembered Reno tended to be curious on subjects he would later deem uninteresting. Now that he thought about it, it summed up the job of a journalist quite perfectly.
They sat, side by side, on the chilled hallway floor across from the investigative journalism classroom, waiting on Sephiroth to arrive and unlock the door. Cloud, who was excused early from his morning class after finishing his test, arrived first. And like suspicious clockwork, the others showed soon after.
Yuffie lined his left as Reno sat by his right and Cloud held his phone above his knees so that both could read his most recent text message:
I'm free to do our session this Saturday at 2!
Bring tights if you have them. ;)
-Kadaj
Reno broke into a wild fit of rowdy laughs that echoed off the walls and directly into Cloud's reddened ears.
"I don't wear fucking tights." Cloud growled. "And I don't plan to."
Yuffie, trying to mask her amusement and attempt a more empathetic approach, rested a reassuring hand on the blond's shoulder and said, "Well, it is a fashion trend now, Cloud…"
Since when was dressing up in an attire suited for flamboyant gay men who dreamt of becoming Napoleon Bonaparte a trend?
"No."
"It could be important."
Hardly. Cloud scoffed, "It could cure cancer for all I care; I'm not doing it."
"But you already agreed." Yuffie. Why was she always right?
Still huffing with dimming laughter, Reno supplied unhelpfully, "It's just another way of getting you out of your pants."
Cloud sent him a withering glare, but it never reached the level of death he wanted it to as he was distracted in the process. Shining ebony shoes with enough gloss to put Scarlet's lips to shame, stepped into view. And as blue eyes slowly took in the ironed black slacks, perfectly measured suit, and strands of silver hair that escaped from a hold in the back, Cloud slumped in dread.
How the hell was he so quiet?
"I hope your current conversation doesn't pertain to your writing assignment…" A sharp look at the Rolex watch on his wrist, Sephiroth finished, "which is due in twenty minutes."
"Of course not, Professor Crescent!" Reno strained a grin. Apparently, his one-on-ones with Sephiroth hadn't calmed his awe-inspired fear of the man. He then announced with a harsh pat on the blond's back, "We're just discussing fashion options for Cloud."
Green eyes surveyed the blond in scrutiny.
It had been a few days since their ever-looming conversation in the office, so as Sephiroth watched him in his indifferent gaze, Cloud was reminded of that other look he received. The one that held an entire world of unknown clouded emotion after announcing his ridiculous theory on Cloud's attraction. The one before he gave his unexpected proposal to which remained unanswered—Sephiroth made sure to check each day by asking him. That color and emotion which darkened those usually brilliant eyes haunted Cloud's memory and thoughts, churning out more questions and less answers.
Among the questions unanswered was Sephiroth's idea of payment.
Yes, the internship option weighed heavily in Cloud's mind. However, his instinctive reaction to suppress any cause for hope deterred him away. He might as well dig out the root of optimism before it grows into a looming tree of regret.
And then there was the other option of repayment. This one lurked in the darkest corners of Cloud's mind, occasionally reminding him of the unknown 'gratification' Sephiroth hinted at. At first, he assumed the man meant money. But—even if Cloud had only known him for a couple of months—he knew Sephiroth had another extravagant idea. Perhaps he could ask him and finally conclude his internal debate, but he sensed the answer would be more than he bargained for.
"I would suggest a better bag then." Sephiroth contributed to their conversation of fashion as his eyes found the said tattered object laying in a pathetic lump at Cloud's feet.
Like a mother protecting her child from verbal abuse, Cloud brought the item closer to his body with his feet in an attempt to hide it from cruel judgement.
"It has been through a lot." Cloud defended. Only he could call his bag ugly…which it was.
"It appears so." The man then turned from his students, took out his keys, and unlocked the door to the dimension of learning. All three hopped to their feet and followed their professor in, footsteps scattering as they found their desks.
Yuffie turned in her seat to whisper, "You think you'll be doing erotic poses?"
Cloud found himself much happier thinking the opposite, so a frown took place as he replied deadpanned, "No."
Reno snorted. "I don't know, Cloud. You might land yourself a modelling job for some homosexual harlequin novel cover."
"I'll send you a copy, you incessant goo of—"
"Cloud." The blond jerked his head up at his name. A boiling pit of hope that his professor hasn't been listening to their conversation rose to the surface before he could suppress it. Sephiroth gestured for him to approach with a wagging index finger.
Cloud knew this moment. This was the time Sephiroth asked for an answer, and like the other three times, he would say:
"I haven't decided." Cloud told him once he reached the front desk.
Sephiroth leaned back to survey his student thoughtfully before announcing, "I'll need an answer by the end of the week."
Cloud nodded. He hated this. This feeling of not knowing what would happen if he made the wrong choice—or even the right one. Because he knew from experience that everything happened for a reason and, usually, those reasons presupposed an outcome he'd rather avoid.
Before Cloud could turn back to sulk in his seat in drowning thought, Sephiroth raised a hand to halt him.
The man reached inside a drawer to his left and pulled out two small cards; one, however, lay snug inside a white envelope. He handed the cards to the puzzled blond as he explained the bare one marked with inked digits, "If I am in my other office when you have an answer, just call this number."
Cloud rose a brow. "Is this your personal number?"
"No…" A pause. And then a smirk tilted his lush lips before he plucked the card from Cloud's hand, laid it on the table, and began to write a set of numbers underneath the current print.
Nice penmanship, Cloud mused internally before the implemented action struck him.
Once it did, Cloud stumbled for words, "I-I wasn't asking for it, just…"
Sephiroth handed it back when finished and warned, "Be wise with it."
Cloud hoped his cheeks didn't show his embarrassment as he nodded dumbly. He doubted he would even use it, much less spread it around like a gifted disease. Thrusting the cards into his pocket—momentarily forgetting about the second one—Cloud turned on his heels and strolled back to his seat.
It wasn't until halfway through the lecture that he remembered the envelope. So out of boredom, he drug it out of his coat pocket and popped the flap open. There were two pieces inside. One was flimsy like photographic paper and the other stiff like a credit card.
Cloud, due to his inner greed, focused on the credit card—
No, it was a gift card.
Choco's Chicken. What kind of BDSM fast food restaurant did Sephiroth recommend to him? Confused and albeit entertained, he lifted the other paper, its backside up and read the beautifully etched print.
A date with the 'object' of your attraction.
I recommend the fried pickled chicken.
It's quite delicious.
For a moment, Cloud was stunned to find Sephiroth remembered his favorite dish—though to be a journalist, it was often required to have a decent memory—and slightly surprised that fried pickled chicken was served this far north.
A smile growing, Cloud flipped the photo around and doubled into ringing laughter at the image. His obnoxious laugh interrupted Sephiroth's lecture, turning heads to see what insanity the troublesome student was up to now. But after a quick look to the struggling blond, Sephiroth continued without a reprimand, gaining the attention of his oh so dedicated disciples once again. Though, there was a slight quirk to his lips that gave him away.
Cloud held, within his hands, a photo-shopped picture of a rusted lamp post in a swamp-like area. And at the bottom right corner lay a badly edited sign that said 'Welcome to Thailand'. It was probably the worst Photoshop job he had ever witnessed and he wondered how much Sephiroth paid the artist to do it.
If it was more than ten dollars, Cloud would insist on a refund. But with a knowing grin towards the distracted professor, he placed the card within his pocket and pointedly ignored his inner questions of doubt and anxiety.
Admittedly, it was a nice gift.
Saturday came too fast.
And no, he did not purchase any tights. Call him an anarchist, a rebel, a fiend against the law of art, but Cloud had standards, dammit! These standards would be implemented under a strict sense of stubbornness and a struggling will to clutch onto what was left of his withering dignity. And his poor, poor dignity, if it had eyes, it would demand an optometric surgery for a hasty removal.
And if Kadaj had any problems with Cloud's choices of wear, the blond would—this time—set his foot down without another word of doubt or second-guessing.
Reno and Yuffie, like their first escapade into the realm of religious confusion, set him up in what they referred to as a 'completely different and eye-opening' suit.
The suit had stripes.
That was it.
Reno joined him in the backseat to help with the technology, but as he reached to unbutton Cloud's shirt to apply the sound wire, the blond blocked his hand.
"If I'm going to change clothes in there—which is a high possibility—it might be too risky." He warned and then tapped the camera emblem already attached to his coat. "I'll just bring in a visual."
The red-head thought it over for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and nodded in agreement. "Good point."
Yuffie wished him luck after crushing him in a brutal hug, and like a strange moment of déjà vu, Reno slapped his ass in encouragement as he said, "Strike a pose for me."
Dick.
Kadaj didn't waste any time in coming to the door and letting the blond in. In fact, Cloud barely had time to deliver a second knock before it swung in a cringing screech and revealed a well-groomed—as well-groomed as he could get—Kadaj who gave a lecherous grin as he took in Cloud's appearance.
"Please, come in."
Cloud stepped over the threshold into the familiar room of strange paintings. He gave a small, polite smile, and couldn't help but awkwardly wave to a staring Jesus. His Karma meter was almost overloaded, so if he could gain any kind of retribution points, he at least had to try.
However, given the familiar territory and remembering the tour, Cloud asked, "Are we holding the photo session…here?"
"No, no. My studio is in the basement."
Cloud almost laughed, thinking the statement was a joke on an overused cliché used in typical horror novels. But after surveying the confident, eased look on Kadaj's face, he realized he may have made a mistake in not including sound.
"Perfect." He held back a dry tone and replaced it with cheer, almost too cheery to the point he sounded like a living cartoon character. Since when did he have a fucking basement?
Kadaj led him down the hall, towards his bedroom as Cloud watched his feet in churning thought. Why didn't he show him his supposed studio during the tour of terror? Cloud could have skipped five entire chapters of his life if he were to see it back then. For fuck's sake, he could have avoided most of his confrontations with Sephiroth—
"Here it is." Kadaj stated proudly, gesturing to a small, compact room within his bedroom.
"That's your closet."
Luckily, the scenario of being trapped in a closet—Cloud knew there was irony in that phrase—and tortured by maniacal man with issues remained forever unseen as Kadaj chuckled and slid the hanging clothes to the left, revealing a door.
At this moment in particular time, Cloud assumed this might have been a dream. Or maybe he was just a character in a horribly written horror novel that intended to adopt every cringe-worthy cliché in the history of thrillers. No wonder Kadaj didn't show him this during the tour. If he was freaked out by the hanging iconographic paintings of the world's entire database of religious figures, then perhaps leading him to a secret basement of pornographic art would be the last nail in the coffin.
Figuratively and maybe literally.
The door led to a downslope of steep stairs, lit by dim hanging bulbs that were quite fitting given the situation. But as they descended, the area began to brighten in fluorescent, white light that gradually met his eyes so he didn't have to squint. Once they reached the actual room, Cloud noted that almost everything was white.
A white changing curtain, a white background, a white stool, a white marble floor, and a white pair of tights and a see-through undershirt. Towards the far-left corner was a desk of hanging photographs and cluttered papers of what Cloud assumed to be 'artistic notes'. But while he wanted to ask about the desk of mystery, his mind still reeled on another important factor.
"What's that?" He pointed to the tights and the flimsy, transparent undershirt with a risen brow.
Kadaj turned to him with an excited smile, clapping his palms together as he announced, "Your wardrobe!"
Fuck no it wasn't. "Um, I thought I was going to wear what I brought…"
"While you look stunning in what you have on, I have a theme." Kadaj explained, picking up the questionable wardrobe and extending it out for Cloud to take. The blond didn't move. "It involves the idea of angels and demons, and how humans perceive them."
Cloud wasn't surprised at the theme, but how was a flimsy leotard even close to a human's perception of an angel?
"No offense, but I don't picture angels wearing something you would find in a hermaphrodite's closet." Maybe it was all in offense.
Gratefully, Kadaj only smiled at his words and explained, "Exactly! Our perception is just that. We live life assuming what we think is true, but we never ask ourselves 'what if'?"
Cloud disagreed. He asked himself that question every day of his life.
Kadaj continued, "What if angels seek out happiness and love through pleasure?"
Cloud didn't know too much about religion, but he knew for a certain fact that Kadaj just encountered the idea of blasphemy in the highest order.
"So…you think angels are sexual deviants?"
With a laugh, Kadaj shook his head. "Of course not, but this is my point. People are so closed off on the matter of asking 'what if?', so I chose a subject that might have them think deeper."
Cloud blinked. "And what are demons then?"
Kadaj grinned in a slow, mischievous way that had Cloud's skin prickle with unnerved energy.
"Pleasure too, but out of lust." And then with a wink, "You're going to love the outfit for that one."
Cloud wasn't sure of a lot of things in life, but he had a strong feeling he would question his entire existence once he sees the demonic garments.
"But it isn't ready yet, so we'll have to schedule another session for that one." Before Cloud could object, he thrusted the angel outfit into the blond's hesitant arms and gestured towards the changing curtain that wrapped around in a cylindrical shape. "It should be a few poses, so it won't be too long."
A hand drifted down the length of Cloud's arm as he spoke, dull green eyes brightened in enthusiasm and a tongue darted out to coat dry, chapped lips. Those eyes lowered on Cloud's dreading face and the blond found this moment a good time to walk away.
Which he did.
Once inside the cylinder of soft cotton, he made sure there were no gaps or breaks among the curtains before he started to strip. Why was he even doing this? Didn't he promise himself to put a stubborn foot down and save his dignity? But as he removed his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and started to unzip his trousers, his answer remained in the void of mystery.
"Oh, and underwear isn't needed! Don't worry, everything is washed!"
Oh.
Cloud took a brief moment to breathe. In and out, in and out as he let the cool air of the conditioned room fill his lung in gradual breaths. It might have been ragged, but he felt the strange energy slowly release itself from his tense body.
And then he was naked.
Subconsciously, he rubbed a thumb over the area above his right knee, pushing away the memories that flooded with the motion. What an emotional, pathetic moment he had to encounter, as if he were one of those people who shuddered in fear from a memory. It was cowardly, and if not pitiable, then it had to have been a wretched sight. Snatching his fingers from his knee in a conscious protest, he slung the stupid transparent shirt over his head.
And as he bent down to collect the dreadful tights, a shine reflected in his peripheral vision.
Looking over at the distraction, he felt his jaw drop and his face flush with scarlet.
He forgot about the camera attached to his jacket, which coincidentally was pointed in his naked direction. Dear God, kill him now.
Letting out an embarrassing squawk, he kicked his removed shirt over the lens, covering his body from onlooking eyes. Maybe they were decent enough in turning away…Cloud chose to not dwell on that bout of hope for too long.
After slipping on the tights, which took longer than any appliance of clothing should ever take, Cloud opened the curtains. The material hugged in places that he never wanted to be hugged and still didn't as he tried to adjust himself in the tight space of cloth.
Now reminded of the camera, he grabbed his coat and placed it on a table near the setup, praying the angle was a good one.
The setup consisted of a white backdrop that stretched towards the ceiling, curved at the floor, and expanded about ten feet from that angle. One large cone-like light stood on a tripod, close to the edge as a small light sat near the back of the setup. Kadaj altered and adjusted a gigantic circular mirror as Cloud approached.
The blond pulled at the tights awkwardly as he spoke, "How quick is this going to be?"
Kadaj turned and his expression went from surprise to one of devilish, animalistic intent. Cloud, while oblivious to most expressions of desire, knew what this was. Though one-sided, the air was thick with it as clouded green raked over Cloud's body—unfortunately covered in a garment that left no work for the imagination.
The younger shifted on his feet, about to blurt out some ridiculous offensive insult if the silence grew. But it didn't.
"You are…marvelous!" Kadaj beamed, his eyes still murky with lust as they drifted down. "Just perfectly exquisite in every way!"
While he appreciated the compliments to his form, Cloud's top priority was to find evidence for Yuffie and end this day once and for all. So, he ignored the attempt to fluff his ego and walked to the center of the staged area.
"Where do you want me to stand?"
Kadaj closed the space between them to position him with greedy hands that lingered for too long at his waist. The touching was unnecessary and more so uncomfortable as a pose developed.
Cloud held back a grimace as slithering fingers slid to his knees and pushed at the inner areas to part them. He felt like a human doll, one of those artist puppets that the user manipulates before drawing it. He had no voice in the matter and Cloud happened to like to use his voice.
"Can't I just do my own poses?" Though the suggestion wasn't a very brilliant one, it helped distract his mind from wandering hands that wouldn't stop 'positioning' his thighs.
"Oh, no. I have a certain idea I'd like to accomplish."
Cloud wished this idea ended with haste.
After a few more adjustments—thankfully nowhere too personal—the pose was finalized.
And Cloud felt fucking ridiculous.
Even if standing, he knew it appeared erotic as his legs were parted, one positioned behind him so that he placed some weight on his toes. His hips were slanted, back arched, head tilted, one arm outstretched to the side with fingers in a reaching pose as his other acted like another person's, holding his chin.
"Can you lower your eyelids?"
Cloud narrowed his eyes.
Kadaj chuckled at his naivety, "No, as if you were looking at someone you loved."
For fuck's sake, Cloud wasn't an actor. Was there a specific look to love? Did it involve actual hearts in the eyes or did he have to tattoo a sonnet to his forehead?
Trying a different approach, Cloud lessened the harrowing look of disdain and opted for something more peaceful.
It hadn't worked.
"Have you ever been in love, Cloud?"
This was supposed to be a photo session, not a therapy session. Cloud was tempted to drop the pose and explain, but he didn't want to go through the torturous step of uncanny touching again.
So, holding onto the pose tightly, he responded with reluctance, "Never."
A pause. And much to Cloud's surprise, Kadaj remained very professional as he answered, "Well, imagine someone you've been attracted to—or have dated—and pretend like you're in the same room with that person. That it's just the two of you and there are no restrictions to expression, no one watching, no one judging. You can say anything, do anything…and feel anything."
While good advice, Cloud hadn't been attracted to a person since Tifa in junior high and that relationship ended terribly. So, she was out of the picture in regards to imagination.
"Use your eyes to express it." And then Kadaj added such simple words, words that would mean nothing to a casual viewer; but for Cloud it sparked an image. This image was unwanted but its appearance stayed like a cancerous cell infecting other thoughts around it. It spread across his cheeks in a guilty blush and embraced his mind in a tight squeeze so that the only option was to endure it.
It was an image of emerald-silver eyes with glistening strands of silver brushing the tips of long eyelashes. These eyes were imaginary, they were figments of Cloud's subconscious want, and he had no choice but to look into them. Gazing into the unreality of mysterious green, Cloud found them other-worldly as they watched him with just as much intensity as the real ones would. But these were different. These had another color to them that he had never seen, something that tinted that breathtaking green into a hue of undeniable desire.
The silver within them glinted in what Cloud considered an aching longing and it swirled with a growing heat that gradually lurked into Cloud's blood, raising the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck with anticipation.
They were getting closer, green wholly enveloped his vision and he imagined the warm whisper of sweet breath on his lips. It almost tickled him as they suspended above his skin at a torturous distance. Cloud parted his lips, waiting for that moment of softness, the moment of importance to rain down on him like a soft blanket of comfort. Yes, that's what he wanted right now. Comfort, importance. Something warm to hold onto, to be held. No one was looking, so it was okay.
It was okay. No one was watching, those eyes whispered to him as they got closer.
For him, during this moment, it was acceptable to want this, to want to feel something close to him—oh so warm and gentle as the caressing green embraced him in—
Snap!
Cloud jolted, almost stumbling off balance, and broke his pose in a startled freeze. Kadaj had taken the photo and was now grinning from ear to ear in blissful satisfaction as he watched the blond with a tinge of pride, but overall desire.
Cloud felt…exposed. As if he reached inside himself, tore open the most inner barred feelings, and threw them into the world of reality for everyone to judge and scrutinize. They weren't allowed to though. These were his thoughts. No one could touch them nor cast their nosy, unwanted eyes onto them. He'd be damned to turn into one of those pitied creatures who revel in coddled, false sympathetic attention.
So he straighten his stance, tightened his fist, and squared his jaw as he said, "How many more poses?"
Turned out, there weren't many more. Kadaj was so pleased with the first one—and Cloud had already walled away his innermost 'desires'—that he decided seven deemed an appropriate amount. After allowing Cloud to change back into his original suit and scuttling off towards the cluttered desk, Cloud reentered the cylindrical tube of cotton and slipped on his clothes.
This time, he remembered to cover the camera.
Once finished, he joined Kadaj at the desk of mystery, his curiosity leading him to snoop as the other transferred the photos from his camera to a simple laptop. Photographs laid in disorganized piles, and scraps of paper with small writing dotted the surface occasionally. Blue eyes scanned the images of random beautiful men and women, each in an attire with a specific them, some noticeably younger than others. But he didn't find what he was looking for.
Kadaj set the camera on the desk, his eyes distracted by the screen as he murmured praises like 'so good', 'gorgeous, beautiful, spectacular!'. The motion knocked a few pictures onto the floor, and Cloud instinctively followed and relinquished them.
All it took was a simple, noncommittal glance to the recent victims of escape.
Cloud's heart began to hammer and his mouth dropped open at the image in his hand.
There it was. There she was.
Yuffie. Her pixie face scrunched in frustration as she stood casually by her mailbox, skimming through a set of envelopes. It was from such an awkward angle, Cloud only guessed it might have come from the inside, perhaps through a window. And that only furthered the sentiment of eeriness and the urge for him to leave. But, he couldn't yet. Not only had he come all this way, endured so much mortification, he also had an obligation.
Sure, he may not consider them as friends, but he knew them. He knew Yuffie's innocence—well, excluding her manipulation skills—her natural, sometimes false state of happiness, and her similar situation of loneliness. While Cloud got by just fine without other people and embraced the cold feeling with welcome, Yuffie craved more.
So, she didn't deserve this.
Given his train of thought and never really skilled at keeping his mouth shut, Cloud let loose a low whistle as he commented like a lustful man would, "Who's this? She's quite something to look at." And added, "Now this would have been a perfect model for you."
It got Kadaj's attention.
The other man stood from his crouched position on his computer and looked over Cloud's shoulder at the image. If he was threatened by its discovery, he didn't show it as he smiled in soft remembrance.
"Yes, quite the beauty." His dainty, cold fingers slipped over Cloud's to gently take the photo away as he spoke in his tone of unusual cheer, "I intended her to be my model, but then I met you."
Cloud was cast a flirtatious grin, but all he could do was stare blankly at the man. And then he met him?
"You just dropped her?"
Kadaj laughed off his comment and announced, "Yes, she was fine with it. Don't worry!"
What a beautiful lie. If Cloud had Kadaj's skill in lying, he could likely fool even Sephiroth. It was so well-said and smoother than Cloud could ever achieve himself, that if he didn't know Yuffie, he might have believed him.
"Oh." Cloud managed, stuck in a momentary wave of shock. A part of him—a very small, miniscule part tinier than a flea's leg—had wished Kadaj took her photos for some artistic reference, nothing malicious or with a darker intent. But now, as he obviously lied, the truth of the matter laid in the hands of a murkier path. One that Cloud was now fully involved in.
Although glad he replaced Yuffie in the spot of uncomfortable situations, Cloud had a curdling feeling that it would just get worse down the road. That road involved more mishaps, mysteries, and subjugated humiliation than he could ever imagine. And while he could live life content on just imagining it, something tugged violently at his conscience, his being and thoughts. It purred and whispered of answers to curious questions, questions that had been dug from the grave of past experiences and weighed the blond down to a heap of puzzled confusion. Oh, curiosity was such an awful disease as it infested his mind with prodding, unanswered questions, like dangling a juicy, bloody steak in front of a ravenous tiger but always out of reach. And Cloud, the tiger in this situation, had been teased for so long and now he wanted that fucking steak.
He wanted answers.
"I have to go." Cloud announced, his decision sparking a new path for the day.
Kadaj snapped his head from the computer screen and held up both hands for Cloud to wait. "One second! I want to give you a copy!"
Cloud would much rather dive into a pool of rusted nails and snakes than receive a reminder of his modelling experience, but Kadaj insisted vehemently and so he waited…impatiently.
The man tapped the enter key and from somewhere underneath the disarrayed desk, a printer started to buzz to life. It must have been the latest model as it was quick to spit out the photograph.
After receiving the 'gift' and an accompanied walk back to the front door—a hand on his lower back of course—Cloud darted down the street towards Reno's Camry.
Once inside the comforting warmth of the vehicle and behind the walls of protection, Cloud slumped backwards and dutifully relayed the entire story to patiently waiting ears. Though, he made sure to extract the part of his wild imagination regarding green eyes and focus more on Yuffie's picture.
"But I never knew about the modelling!"
"I know that."
"Why would he say that?!"
"Because he lied."
A look of absolute horror crossed her features before she cried, "I'm so sorry, Cloud! It's all my fault you might be in danger. Oh God, what if he wants to make a skin suit out of—"
"First of all," Cloud interrupted, not wanting to hear her brutal theories of Kadaj's intentions. "Don't apologize. Secondly, yes, it is your fault but I was stupid enough to go along. Thirdly, just stay away from skin suit conversations."
He already had haunting thoughts of Ted Bundy-Kadaj, he didn't need a Buffalo Bill version.
"Sorry." She apologized which earned her a quick glare.
But Cloud had other things to do besides chastise Yuffie on her overwhelming tendency for apologies.
He took out his phone, ignored the curious looks from his car-mates, scrolled through his short list of contacts until he found his target, and pressed call.
Pushing flittering images of hazy green eyes aside, he waited through five rings until a click was heard and Sephiroth's voice came through, deep and brazen.
"Crescent here."
What a shit greeting.
"Is that really how you greet people?"
There was a short pause on the other end before he spoke again, smoother, "Cloud." Wherever he was, it was eerily silent.
"Are you at the office?"
"Yes, but not at the school. Why?" Even over a static reception, he still held the world in the palm of his hand with just his voice.
"I need to speak with you."
"You are now." Cloud could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
What an asshole, he thought and grumbled, "I meant in person."
"Have you come to a decision then?"
"Yes. But I have some things to show you."
Another pause. "Involving Kadaj?"
"Yeah."
A rustle was heard and then, "Very well. You have the address. Tell the receptionist your name and she'll let you through."
And just like that, the conversation was over as a sudden click popped into his ear. Cloud should probably lecture him on the act of social manners. Ha! Maybe he should also school him on how to be a hypocrite.
On the way, Reno had guided Cloud through the steps on downloading his video recording on a portable disc. Much to Cloud's dismay though, Reno had failed to upload any editing software to his piece of shit computer, so the blond had to rely on his sense of memory and fast-forwarding skills when he showed Sephiroth. They had enough awkward moments already, he certainly didn't want to showcase an accidental strip tease.
While they were wholly confused as to why they made a pit-stop at M.C.R.'s Helena headquarters, Reno and Yuffie—perhaps feeling obligated now—made no further comment on the subject.
Well, except for Reno.
"So, are you like fucking the professor or…?"
Cloud choked on a fresh breath of air as Yuffie reprimanded with a sharp "Reno!"
"What? They're obviously sneaking around and you know as well as I do that—"
"For fuck's sake, Reno. No." Cloud bit out and attempted to ease his voice as he partly explained, "I can't say right now, but it has to do with the internship."
Yuffie gasped in excitement, hope filling her eyes more than it had ever touched Cloud's existence. "I knew it! I knew he had a soft spot for you, Cloud. See? I'm always right and if you need any advice for any kind of future situation, I am here for—"
Cloud was out the car before she finished.
Only so much torture could be handled in a day and a pep talk from two of America's most outlandish citizens counted as an overload.
M.C.R. Helena Headquarters towered with recently washed glassed reflections, steel industrial pillars lining the sides, and massive letters perched at the soaring top that read 'Media Center of Reporting'. It had to have been the tallest building in the city—knowing Sephiroth, it likely was—as Cloud had to arch his back to catch a glimpse of the sun-speckled sign. If the intent was to make passerby feel small and insignificant, it worked.
The inside was just as intimidating as the outside. Pristine, marble floors, suited men and women with perfectly pulled back hair, and a small set of stairs that led to the front desk—because one act of back-arching wasn't enough.
As he walked up to the blonde receptionist—how cliché—Cloud noted the excessive use of silver within the area.
"May I help you, sir? Did you have an appointment?"
Cloud, temporarily distracted by the reflecting surface of almost everything, snapped his attention to the petite woman with a name tag that read 'Elena'.
"I'm here to see Sephiroth." After a raise of a brow that said 'wait in line', the young man added, "I'm Cloud Strife."
Understanding brightened her subtly attractive features as she smiled, lifted a desk phone to her ear, and dialed a number with blurred speed. At least she had talent.
"Mr. Strife is here." Professional and without a tinge of lust that Cloud expected. How strange… "Yes, sir." Placing the phone back into its mount, she simultaneously ripped a piece a white sticky note from its case and jotted down a number.
Handing over the recent writing to Cloud, she informed, "He's in room 635." And with a smile, "I recommend using the elevator."
Cloud gave her a dry look as he muttered, "Thanks."
Like he was going to climb six flights of stairs for a man who wouldn't lift a finger to at least send an escort. Now, Cloud had to navigate his way through a maze of mirrors that would put every Bruce Lee movie to shame.
After finding the elevators—which were towards the back of the building—Cloud stepped inside, avoiding eye contact with his co-passengers, and waited. He waited in a torturous crawl of time as whoever oversaw the music must have had a terrible past and an even more terrible taste in tunes.
The sixth floor didn't come soon enough—and Cloud was agreeably delighted to know Sephiroth wasn't one of those CEOs that insisted on occupying the top floor. Maybe his ego wasn't too bad after all. With a swift look at the spread of silver and flow of mirrors, Cloud quickly tossed that thought aside.
Room 635 proved to be another surprise for the blond as it wasn't an actual room at all. Well, it had four walls and a door, but the inside lacked in most things rooms should have.
Like lights and space.
It reminded Cloud of those security rooms in movies where the camera would pan over a sleeping security guard as mischief would take place within the monitors. Except these monitors displayed a very familiar sight.
Cloud's videos.
"Fancy setup." The blond remarked to Sephiroth, who sat in a cushioned office chair watching Kadaj through Cloud's point of view.
The man didn't turn as he responded, "Quite."
"Find anything interesting?" Cloud approached the table of controls and monitors that made just as much sense to him as K-Pop music did. Finally, Sephiroth inclined his head to cast the blond a bored look before returning his attention back to the screens.
"Not yet."
Wasn't he just loaded with conversation today, Cloud thought sarcastically as his eyes skimmed over the monitors. They each showed a different moment. Some displayed Cloud's first encounter with Kadaj as others showed his time at the exhibit. It appeared just as awful as he remembered.
"Well, if you're bored, I've got a new one for you." He dug out the enveloped disc and waved it next to Sephiroth's head. Said man flicked his eyes from the object to Cloud as an interested brow rose.
"Oh? And when did this happen?"
"Today."
"Your modelling went well?" Cloud would have bristled in annoyance at the amusement ringing in his tone, but he was too busy on cultivating a strategy to avoid the beginning parts of the video.
"I have a knack for it. I just may abandon journalism."
Seizing the disc away in a swift motion, Sephiroth spoke, "I take it something happened?"
The professor removed the recording from its case and Cloud attempted to reach for it, not ready for a movie night yet.
"Yes, but you can't keep it." His attempt to relinquish it failed as Sephiroth simply moved it out of reach and sent Cloud a strange look.
"Pardon?"
"This video involves images I'd rather not let anyone see—"
Either Sephiroth didn't get the memo or he was just an asshole as he slipped the disc into a third slot of the wicked machine. "I've seen plenty of 'images' in my time, Cloud. I can manage."
Kadaj's face from earlier appeared on one of the larger monitors and death seemed like an appropriate action to take.
Cloud never considered himself a hypocrite, but he realized a stubborn attitude in other people besides him didn't sit well with his self-aggrandizing pride.
"Sephiroth." The warning that came from his mouth and the stern tone behind it turned the silver-haired man to face Cloud in interest. Now that he had his attention, "At least let me skip to the end. That's where I found Yuffie's picture."
Both brows furrowed at the newfound information as he stood and prodded for more information, "Did you question him about them?"
"Yes, but he lied and said she knew." Cloud just wanted to fast-forward the recording. That's all. A systematic walk-through was at the bottom of his priorities at the moment.
He attempted to swerve around the towering figure and stop the playback, but strong hands held him in place as more questions flooded the tense air.
"Lied? What exactly did he say?"
Those same green eyes peered down at him, reminding Cloud of his earlier, guilty imagination into the emerald world. They obviously weren't darkened with desire this time, but still held a glint of wonder, as if he wanted something else.
Oh, right.
An answer.
"He told me she was supposed to be his model, but he found me instead." Cloud rushed out in a jumble of words as he saw Past-Cloud descending the staircase. "And that she didn't mind, but I can skip to the end and show you if you want—"
"Oh, hey Cloud!"
Sephiroth dropped his hands from the blond's arms as Cloud twisted to find Zack grinning at the doorway. Well, at least he had a fucking audience to his very first recorded strip tease. Most people had to suffer it alone.
See? Fate.
Cloud offered a glum, "Hey."
Zack was still as handsome as the other two time they crossed paths.
"Didn't know you were stopping by."
"I came to deliver something." For once, hope clouded his mind as he asked, "Are you staying?"
"Nah, I've got paperwork."
"Which should be on my desk by tonight." Sephiroth finished for him as a small sliver of relief relaxed Cloud's stiff posture. One down, one more to go.
"Yeah, yeah." Zack brushed off the order like a teenager would after a parent reminded them of chores.
Cloud chose this opportunity of distraction to slip silently around a reprimanding Sephiroth and onto the complicated machine fit for a science fiction movie.
Now, which one was the time slider? Cloud poked at a familiar button, but the action only altered a different monitor. For fuck's sake, this thing required the assistance of Spock and his disciple of computer nerds to even activate the power switch. How the hell was—
Cloud twisted a knob at the far-left bottom of the table and he almost fell to the ground in overwhelming relief as the video quickened its pace the faster he turned it. Flittering over his conversation with Kadaj and his walk to the cylindrical curtain, Cloud felt a victorious smile tug at his lips.
"What are you doing?" Long, gripping fingers grasped his wrist and pulled his hand from the knob, effectively spinning him around to meet an irritated Sephiroth.
"I'm trying to save myself from a world of humiliation," Cloud tugged against the steel grip and added, "so if you don't mind…"
Another tug, but it was pointless. Those strange, captivating eyes were born with curiosity, with a need to know everything surrounding them. A journalist had been trained to exercise this skill of inquisitiveness to the point of incessant use. And Sephiroth was the guiltiest of it, using his powers of wonder and scrutiny to educate himself on the most mundane of topics. Because he could. Because no one could challenge him.
Not even Cloud, as he watched those experienced eyes flick past him and onto the exposing scene that played out. Turning around would be redundant as he already knew what was being shown. He saw it in Sephiroth's expression as emerald eyes widened in shock, his hand tightened on his wrist, and the silver in his eyes reflected the image. And God, those enchanted orbs were so brilliantly lit as they focused intently on Cloud undressing.
Air stilled and Cloud could hear his own breath quicken with anxiety as he watched his professor watch him. A different him. One that obliviously discarded his pants and reluctantly stripped himself from his boxers, revealing all there was to show. The main attraction had been fully bared as Cloud saw those eyes hone in with heady interest.
Silence became suffocating and the grip on his wrist began to numb Cloud's fingers as Sephiroth's jade eyes swirled with various colors. Speckles of silver were almost gone as they gradually dissipated the longer Sephiroth gazed.
Cloud knew that look. What a familiar one it was, but while hooded in murky green, it still differed from his imagined one. This real one lacked the gentle warmth, the compassion, and the vibrant colors of embrace that Cloud had subconsciously conjured. Oh, heat was there but it burned instead of comforted, it scorched the screen with unadulterated desire.
And then those fiery eyes finally became aware of Cloud's physical presence—all of his physical presence—as they raked in slow, intoxicating heat over the lithe, frozen body. Cloud fought against the helpless feeling that buried itself within his conscience. He despised that feeling, refused to let it overcome him as he watched those daunting, burning eyes engulf his body with a palpable want.
"I tried to warn you." Cloud attempted a bravado of graveness, but his voice sounded small compared to the looming silence.
Green eyes snapped to his. And for a moment, Cloud thought he might have been angry, but his thoughts on Sephiroth's current stance in emotion halted in a staggering freeze.
Sephiroth gripped the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape, and held him in place as he swooped down to collect a startled gasp with his own devouring lips.
The force knocked their momentum backward and Cloud's lower back coincidentally slammed against the built-in table's edge, eliciting a sharp intake of breath at the stinging pain.
Cloud clutched onto Sephiroth's broad shoulders—trying to find some sense of balance in this overturned world—as their mouths slotted together in a panicked frenzy of wet, carnal kisses that involved more tongue than any of those pornos Cloud saw at the exhibit.
As Sephiroth demanded and dominated his lips, Cloud had no choice but to enforce his own rules of aggression. Lifting his bottom on the desk for a better angle from above, he fought back against the intruding tongue with his own. A thrill of electric waves shuddered down his spine, activated his skin on high alert, and charged his blood with high voltage lust as he felt strong fingers seize his waist and re-position him on the table into a lower, more submissive situation—legs parted and head tilted for Sephiroth to control.
Cloud would have found their actions of domination amusing, but the heat that curled in a restricting hold around his abdomen constrained any other feeling besides reckless desire. And oh, it was as reckless as Cloud could ever imagine as they bit, pushed, pulled, and challenged each other with their own ideas of gratification.
Yes, it was definitely gratifying—
Gratifying? That word. That simple, single word held more meaning behind it than its very own diction.
As if the sturdy, steel walls came crumbling down around him and washed the cold Montana air over his burning skin in a quaking avalanche of reality, Cloud gasped and pushed back against Sephiroth's hard chest.
Their kiss broke and before Sephiroth could reconnect his hungry lips to Cloud's, the dizzied blond rushed out in a heap of words, "The internship."
Sephiroth paused in his advance and Cloud clarified, to himself and to his professor, "I want that option."
He could question his own answer later, because now he was distracted by the swimming pools of green being enveloped in gradual shock.
And Cloud knew it wasn't because of his words. What had they just done?
Sephiroth, with the purest expression Cloud had ever seen him hold, snatched his hands away from the younger's body in a blur of motion as if it physically hurt him to touch Cloud.
Pushing away and distancing himself with just as much speed, he cast the blond a hardened, barely composed stare as he clipped, "Very well." And with a clenched jaw and still slightly bewildered eyes, he gestured towards the door and demanded, "You can leave now."
Any other day, Cloud would have lashed out at the harsh order and perhaps lecture the man on the significance of parting words, but he wanted to leave just as much as Sephiroth wanted him to. The air was too stuffed to think—or even breathe—as he slid off the desk onto jittering legs in silence and passed the stoic professor without a single glance.
Shock rendered him incapable to think straight, halted his brainpower to the absolute minimum, and hazed his surroundings even as he made it back to Reno and Yuffie. They questioned him on his apparent state, but he answered them numbly—in fact, he couldn't remember what he said.
It likely worried them, but maybe tomorrow he could explain.
Yes, tomorrow.
He could dwell on everything tomorrow.
Sephiroth, Kadaj, the internship, Yuffie's picture, the Hojo case…they could all wait until tomorrow.
Author's Note: Thank you kindly for reading, for kudos-ing, for reviewing, and just for being who you are. Much love and thanks!
