Oh dear - I'm getting slower at the updates if anything. I will finish all my stories eventually. I promise.
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Play With Me Chapter Seven
The Devil You Know
Reno looked Yazoo straight in the eye, poured all the contempt he could muster into his voice, and took a desperate chance because he knew he was almost out of options.
"All right," he told the remnant, "Go ahead." He let his hands fall to his sides, never taking his eyes from Yazoo's.
Yazoo stilled – hesitated. What was the Turk up to now? Surely it couldn't be this simple?
"C'mon!" Reno challenged, impatient. "What are you waiting for? You've wanted this long enough, right?"
"But – what do you mean? You mean it's all right?"
Yazoo almost flinched from Reno's glare as the Turk replied, " - the fuck? No – it's not all right! But you're not gonna stop until you've done it, are you? You don't give a shit about what I want anyway – so come on. Do it. Knock yourself out."
"But – I –" Yazoo looked at Reno in complete confusion.
"Oh, don't worry about me," Reno told him. "You know how it goes – one step closer and everything'll be fine, yeah? I'll be all over you like a rash – everyone's happy."
"But it's not – you don't want –"
"No – I don't. And you don't care that I don't, so come on – get it over with for fuck's sake."
"Get it over with? You make it sound like – like an ordeal – but you want me – I know you do!" Yazoo's voice caught with frustrated tension. "Why are you doing this? You think I'm 'hot' – that's what you said. You like what we do, when it's happening."
"Yeah – you're right. You're hot as fuck, and you know I can't stop you – so come on!"
"But – you want to stop me," Yazoo said, miserably.
"Yeah – but I can't, so what's the problem? Do that magic that you do, and I'll go along with anything – you know that. So just do it!"
Yazoo lowered his eyes, and shook his head. "Not like this."
Reno's short laugh was derisive. "Why not? How's any other way gonna be better? What – you want to buy me dinner first and then rape me?"
Yazoo's head jerked up, and his eyes were wide with shock. "No! Don't use that word! I –"
"You said you'd do it against my will," Reno interrupted, with a dismissive shake of his head. "What other word is there?"
"I gave up everything for you!"
"Never asked you to. Even if I had - that don't make you entitled."
Yazoo stared at Reno, frozen – too disorientated to react. Reno made no move – said nothing. At last Yazoo whispered, "Why do I love you? I must be insane. He was driven mad – perhaps we're susceptible to madness. I don't – I don't know what to do!"
"Do it – or let me go."
"I can't!"
"Make a fucking decision!"
"I can't. You're confusing me – you want too much."
"I want? I don't want a damned thing, except my life back."
Yazoo shook his head again. "Too much," he repeated. He turned away, saying, "We'll need firewood. And fresh water. I'll fetch them. You stay here." Without looking at Reno again, Yazoo left the hut.
Reno leaned against the lockers, wanting to feel relieved - another reprieve won, although how long it might last he couldn't guess. But the traitor in his head was asking those insidious questions again. "Why? Why not just let him? It's another way to survive – an easier way. You could gain his trust – convince him that you love him, until you reach civilisation and find a way to escape. It would be so much better. It would be so good! You want him. Why not?"
"No!" Reno said aloud. He bent to retrieve the empty can from the corner where it had been thrown aside, and touched the metal of the lid carefully. Cherry juice smeared his fingers red. The lid was a lot sharper than the dull knife he'd taken from the locker earlier. With slow pressure he bent the rim of one side of the lid as far over as he could with his hands, and then put it down on the wooden floor of the cabin and pressed it flat beneath the sole of his boot. Picking it up he inspected the result critically. He thought the folded edge would give him enough purchase to make his improvised weapon lethal. "I'm still a Turk," Reno thought. "I could kill him with this. I will."
x-x-x
Loz entered the inn at Icicle and stared at the innkeeper, who took a hasty step backwards and stammered, "C-can I help you, Sir?"
"I'm looking for my brother. He might be coming here. Have you seen him?"
"I – I don't think so, Sir," the innkeeper managed, with a nervous laugh that died at the appearance of Loz's frown. "It's out of season you see – very quiet. We don't get many visitors at this time of year."
"He won't be alone." Loz's frown deepened. "He'll be travelling with a thin man – red hair – bright red hair."
"No – no one's arrived in town for more than a week – and then it was only Erikson with the supplies from Bone Village." The innkeeper tried for a smile. "Not much happens here. I'd have heard if there were new folks staying in town."
"All right. Then I will need food, and a bed. I'll stay until they arrive."
"Yes – of course. Well – as I was just saying, it's off-season, so our special rate applies - only one hundred and eighty Gil a night."
"I don't have money. When my brother comes – he'll pay you."
"I – that's not how we usually –"
Loz leaned on the counter, and looked down at the innkeeper. "My brother will pay you."
The innkeeper swallowed. "Of course. I'm sure that will be fine. I'll show you to your room."
Loz stretched out on the bed, grunting with annoyance when he realised that he was a good few inches too long for it. Staring at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling, he thought about Yazoo. "I've managed so far," he thought. "I've fitted in and got a room – they think I'm just an ordinary guest. But what do I do now? I need you Yazoo. I want you."
When the innkeeper reported the affair to his wife later in the evening, he spoke very quietly, just in case their strange visitor had hearing on a scale with his size. "When I took him his food," he whispered, "he was polite enough. But his eyes were red and I could hear him through the door before I knocked. I swear he'd been crying like a baby!"
"You think he got lost in the snow? Maybe he's damaged?"
"I don't know. But he's weird. Looks like one of those SOLDIER types used to come and train up here years ago. From Shin-Ra. Only men I've ever seen that big."
"Do you think he's dangerous?"
"Can't tell."
"Hmm." The innkeeper's wife patted his arm, reassuringly. "Keep the gun in our room tonight, just in case. I'll get Doc Larson to visit tomorrow – see what he thinks."
Alone in his room Loz tried to sleep. The stew had been good, and for a while afterwards he hadn't felt quite so bad, but now he thought he might cry again because it was so hard to sleep without Yazoo. Loz curled on his side so that his feet were on the bed at least, and thought about his brothers. He twisted a piece of his own short hair around his index finger and thought about Yazoo's hair – so much longer and softer – and the way all three of them used to sleep together last time they were here – Kadaj usually in the middle – all of them safe, and protected, and complete. Things that were like each other went together, didn't they? It was natural and right. In the cave – last time – whenever they'd left the two Turk prisoners alone at the same time, they'd always been together when they went back for them. One time Kadaj had told Loz to hold the man because he wouldn't let them take the girl. The male Turk had struggled even though he must have known that he had no chance against Loz, and in the end Loz had been forced to knock him out to get the girl away from him.
But Loz thought he understood why the man had fought so hard. It was how things should be, wasn't it? Turks should be with Turks, and Kadaj, Yazoo and Loz should be together, when they couldn't be with Mother. That was why Mother had sent all three of them – so they wouldn't be alone – so they could look after each other.
Yazoo and that red Turk whose name Loz swore to himself he was never going to use even in his mind – they did not belong together.
"Kadaj – are you there?" Loz whispered into the darkness. "Yazoo, where are you? One of you – both of you - come and find me. Yazoo - forgive me! I don't know what to do without you!"
x-x-x
Yazoo wasn't speaking to Reno, and Reno was just fine with that. The remnant went outside several times, returning with large plastic bottles from the lockers, which he had filled with water from the stream. After that he collected bundles of sticks and small branches. Reno made no move to escape – there was no point with night falling and Loz probably out there somewhere. Besides – he was considering a more permanent solution to his problem. The difficulty was the magic – the attraction – whatever the hell it was. Reno's brain was becoming marginally less susceptible to it – but he still only had a matter of seconds before it kicked in and left him helpless. He could kill an ordinary human in seconds, but Yazoo's reactions were supernaturally fast. Reno had no ranged weapon – the knife he had slipped into his sleeve was too blunt to stab effectively even if he threw it with all his strength. Yazoo would probably catch it anyway – he was that good. Reno found himself smiling at the mental image of Yazoo turning with that impossible grace – a blur of silver and speed – to pluck the blade from the air mid-flight. If he fucked like he fought – Oh Gaia! Reno couldn't help remembering Yazoo's kisses – the way it had felt to touch him in the cave before he'd discovered that resistance was possible – the things Yazoo had offered to do…
Yazoo looked up from stacking bottles of water in one of the lockers and noticed that Reno was smiling. He longed to ask why, but as soon as the Turk felt the weight of his gaze he frowned and Yazoo lowered his eyes hastily, not wanting more harsh words - afraid of more harsh words. He had never been afraid of anything human before. He felt as he used to when Kadaj would reprimand him for not obeying an order quickly enough – "No wonder Mother doesn't speak to you – you're useless! Don't you want to help Mother? Don't you want her to be happy?" Loz would comfort him then – the touch of his reassuringly heavy hand on Yazoo's shoulder – a whispered, "Don't worry – he just wants everything done quickly, for Mother."
Loz loves me, Yazoo thought. He would take me back at once, even after all the things I said to him. Reno doesn't love me. He hates me so much that he won't let me touch him even though physically he wants me. He doesn't understand that I love him. How can I make him understand?
Yazoo wanted to cry, and that made him think of Loz, and he wanted to cry even more. But he was sure that Reno despised tears, and Yazoo feared the scorn he would see in Reno's eyes, the contemptuous curve of his lips, his mocking laughter. Yazoo swallowed his – what was this feeling? Frustration? Unhappiness? -and concentrated on building a fire in the grate below the stone chimney that had been built onto one wall of the cabin. When he'd finished he took matches and firelighters from the first locker and lit the fire. Luckily the chimney was simply a wide funnel of stone, and had remained free from birds' nests over the years, but for a while the cabin filled with the stink of scorched dust and cobwebs. Yazoo stood beside the fire gazing into the flames. Reno wondered what he was seeing, and thought of Nibelheim.
The warmth of the fire drew Reno, but he was careful to keep his distance from Yazoo. His fingers flirted with the sharp-edged arc of the folded can lid in his pocket, and his eyes narrowed, focussed on the back of Yazoo's head. In Reno's old world killing someone in Yazoo's present position would have been ridiculously easy – a silent approach and a quick slash to the throat would have ended his captivity instantly. But Yazoo wasn't a normal person – Reno wondered whether he was really a person at all – and it seemed likely that he'd sense any move Reno could make in time to block it. No question that there would only be one shot at this, and the most sensible time to make the attempt would be while Yazoo was asleep.
Decision made, Reno went to the lockers in search of coffee and discovered a large box of individual sachets of Mideel Blend 34. He ripped three open, tipped them into a mug and inhaled the scent of coffee as he rifled through the second locker for the kettle and a trivet. "Almost as good as a smoke," he said to himself, pouring water from one of the bottles Yazoo had filled into the kettle. Yazoo watched him, but said nothing.
"Don't suppose they'd -" Reno made a thorough examination of the food locker while he waited for the kettle to boil, and emerged triumphant with a packet of SOLDIER cigarettes. There was a picture of a helmeted Second Class SOLDIER on the front and Reno raised an eyebrow as he found a box of matches and lit a cigarette. "Wonder why they didn't put him on the front? Slapped him on just about everything else."
"Sephiroth didn't smoke." Yazoo broke his self-imposed silence suddenly, crossing to Reno and holding his hand out for a cigarette. Reno gave him one, more out of curiosity than anything else, and shoved the packet into his back pocket, stepping away from Yazoo quickly as he did so. Yazoo examined the cigarette thoughtfully, but didn't ask for the matches. Glancing sideways at Reno and then away, Yazoo said, "He didn't want to advertise them – thought it wasn't fair on civilians."
"Not fair, how?" Reno asked.
"Because the mako in the SOLDIERs' systems meant they could smoke without damage." Yazoo looked at Reno again. "You're not enhanced. You shouldn't –"
Reno shrugged. "I get hurt, I get cured. Figure that clears up most of the shit."
"Cure doesn't mend all the damage. Not disease damage."
"Mends enough. I'll take the risk. What are you – my fuckin' mother?"
"I'm – I don't want you to hurt yourself. I –"
"Don't worry," Reno told him, with a hard smile. "Not planning on hurtin' myself."
Yazoo tossed back his hair, and to Reno's astonishment, created a small fireball in the palm of his gloved right hand, lighting the cigarette from it and then casting it into the fireplace above the kettle where it disappeared up the chimney with a soft whoosh and a crackle of sparks.
"You have fire materia too?" Reno asked.
"No – I don't need materia for that. It's just a trick powered by lifestream energy. Genesis showed me – showed him I mean."
"Never heard that Sephiroth could do that."
"No. He didn't really see the need to use it. His sword was usually enough. But long range this kind of magic could be useful." Yazoo smiled and his expression softened. "Genesis always did insist on making his point. Over and over… That was one of the things Sephiroth liked about you – the way you moved. Always moving, he thought. He thought your character would be like that too - not dwelling – not obsessing. He never had a friend like that. Genesis was so caught up in trying to be the best – and finding meanings in that play – it used to drive me – uh – him – crazy. I could still quote the whole thing."
"Loveless?" Reno asked. "Gaia – don't! Seen it guarding the old President so many times I could probably quote it too."
Yazoo put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. Reno waited for him to collapse in a fit of coughing, but nothing happened. Yazoo turned his head to give Reno a quizzical look, and Reno had to turn away. There was something so inexpressibly sexy about the sight of Yazoo smoking that Reno found himself aroused even though he'd been careful to keep his distance. Yazoo observed Reno as the Turk frowned and exhaled smoke, tapping ash from the end of his cigarette with an irritable gesture. Trying to get Reno to talk again in a way that wasn't overtly hostile, Yazoo asked, "Did the old President like Loveless?"
"Ask me, he liked the actresses. They were all he was ever watching. Fancied himself as a bit of an actor though, so maybe it was the play he was into. Heard some stories about his – uh – amateur dramatics… "
"Well – Sephiroth was certainly no fan of Loveless. And Angeal used to annoy him too sometimes, although not as much. All his talk of honour."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. But he thought he wouldn't get tired of you. He wondered what you'd talk about."
Reno shrugged. "I don't talk about anything special. Just stuff. Rude wasn't much for talking – isn't – shit! – isn't."
"What?" Yazoo looked at Reno, but he had turned his face away and was taking a long drag on his cigarette, shoulders tensed. Yazoo waited, but Reno said nothing else. The silence stretched until it was broken by the frantic bubbling of the water in the kettle.
Reno poured water onto the coffee in his mug, and stared down into the steaming dark liquid. He'd been dreaming of coffee since his capture, but now all he could think about was his slip of the tongue and what it meant. Only a week – one week! And already I'm acting like this is my life. I have to get out of here – away from him, before I lose it. It'd better be tonight.
Reno set the mug of coffee on the hearth to cool. Moving to the lockers, he shook out a foil-backed bedding roll, a camouflage-patterned sleeping bag and a blanket. Under cover of these actions he slipped the can lid blade into the sleeping bag, hoping he'd get the chance to use it later.
"Reckon I'll get some sleep while we're somewhere warm," he said. His tone was hostile again as he asked, "You gonna leave me alone, or what?"
"Yes." Yazoo didn't understand his own motives any more. All he knew was that he couldn't force Reno into anything – not now. Not after what Reno had said. Was it still a game? Yazoo felt that he was quickly losing all control of whatever it was that was happening between them.
"Right," said Reno, spreading out the bedding near the fireplace. "Guess we'll see." He grabbed the coffee mug and downed the still-steaming drink as quickly as he could, returning to the lockers for more sachets. If he was going to be able to stay awake longer than Yazoo he'd need all the help he could get.
"I won't touch you," Yazoo said, his voice flat. "I'm not what you think I am."
"Don't know what the fuck you are; don't give a shit," Reno said, pouring hot water onto his coffee and drinking the second cup in one go, before stripping off his ragged shirt, trousers and socks and spreading them out close to the fire in the hope that they'd dry properly. Yazoo went to the lockers himself so he wouldn't have to resist looking at Reno virtually naked. He took out bedding of his own and made up a neat bed in the farthest corner of the hut from the fire. Without another word Yazoo removed his coat, folded it carefully and placed it on the floor. Then he lay down facing the rough log-built wall and closed his eyes.
Reno watched the shadows flickering red and grey on the wooden boards of the ceiling. They twisted and leapt in unpredictable patterns with the movement of the flames in the slowly diminishing fire – uneasy motion that did nothing to settle Reno's jittery, caffeine-heightened nerves. Good. He had to stay awake if he were to have any chance of killing Yazoo. He stroked the crushed metal of the folded edge of the can lid with his thumb, thinking about the force that would be necessary to kill with such a small and slippery weapon. There was no weight to it – no balance. He'd killed with knives on occasion, though he preferred his EMR given a choice. He was going to have to act very quickly, and it was going to be messy, and why in Gaia did the image of a bloody red line across Yazoo's pale throat make him feel queasy, when he'd killed more people than he could remember?
He isn't even a person, Reno told himself. He's a remnant – that's what they called themselves, last time they were here. Kadaj at Healen – 'Remnants of Mother's legacy' he said. Some kinda – left over trace of Sephiroth. Like a bad photocopy when the ink's almost out. Doesn't even look all that much like Sephiroth – too soft – too fucking pretty…
What? What the hell? Yeah. He has to die."
It had been too long since he'd slept properly, and his body was exhausted despite the cures and the potions – or perhaps because of them. There was always a price with mako derivatives, whatever the company liked to tell the public. Give the body too much easy help and it would stop fighting for itself eventually. Reno had seen research the public never would – victims of illegal mako-drugs whose autopsies revealed next to no antibodies in their blood. You had to use materia sparingly – give your system time to recover. That was why it worked so much better on wounds than on diseases: when immunity was already low materia could actually make things worse. SOLDIER members were different – the Jenova cells seemed to protect them. Yazoo? Reno didn't know. But given that he could absorb materia into himself, it seemed unlikely that he'd be harmed by it.
Alien, Reno thought. Not even part human, like SOLDIER. Less human than fucking Sephiroth! How could I want that? How could I want any part of that? Shit – sooner he's dead the better. C'mon you bastard – sleep! Give me a fuckin' chance.
Yazoo lay still, listening to Reno's soft breathing, wondering what to do. They couldn't stay here for long – Loz would come looking for them once he realised that they weren't going to turn up in Icicle Inn. Eventually other Turks would come too. If he were Rufus Shinra, Yazoo would have every available member of staff out looking until his lost red Turk was found. Did Rufus Shinra care about Reno? Did the other Turks? Was there one of them who missed him more than the others? Yazoo had never really considered other people last time – always there had been the three of them, and the awareness of Mother, through Kadaj, and the knowledge of Sephiroth. All other conscious things were there to be used or ignored or destroyed as Mother instructed Kadaj. If there was time, they could be played with. But Sephiroth wasn't the same as Mother – and Sephiroth's memories in his head made Yazoo feel different from how he'd felt last time. Sephiroth had watched people, and wondered about their lives. Sephiroth had watched Reno, and seen something that drew him.
Sensing that Reno was still awake, Yazoo said quietly, "He saw you fighting Avalanche troops in Junon. He was supposed to be stopping them from using the cannon, but he still paused to watch you. He thought – he thought he'd never seen anyone fight like that – even SOLDIERs."
Reno considered ignoring Yazoo, but his curiosity was roused, and he asked, "Yeah? Bloody mess that battle was. Too many of them."
"You survived. No one else fought like you. I've – he'd never seen anyone unenhanced move that fast."
"Always been fast," Reno said. "Not fast enough though – or I wouldn't be here."
"When we fought - last time – by that – monument – it was like… Like fighting with my brothers – like something that fitted. I could feel it then. I think you could, too, but you won't admit it. I could have killed you – in the helicopter."
"Kinda thought shooting out the cyclic was supposed to be a slower way of killing me? You knew we were gonna crash and burn!"
"You were low. I thought you'd survive. If you hadn't – then I'd have been wrong about you anyway."
"Which obviously makes it just fine to kill me?"
"That's how I saw things then. It was only – a distraction – a pull I had to ignore. But even then, I didn't want you to die. Now everything's different. You know you're attracted to me, Reno. Not just that you want me – not that simple. Sephiroth knew it. If he'd asked you, you wouldn't have said no, would you?"
Reno made his tone as indifferent as he could manage, given the discomfort Yazoo's words provoked. "Sephiroth? Hell yeah – I'd've gone for that. Who wouldn't? But – hate to break it to you princess – you ain't no Sephiroth. You're like – like a cheap Wall Market whore playing Sephiroth dress-up. You're pretty as hell an' if you weren't what you are I'd most likely fuck you into next week and we'd be done. But you ain't even human, and even I have some standards, yo."
Yazoo wondered at the sensations Reno's words caused in his body – feelings layered on feelings that were both new to him, and yet half-familiar – things that perhaps Sephiroth had felt. An odd, dropping sensation in his stomach – bitterness, disappointment – a sudden shortness of breath at the idea of Reno fucking him 'into next week' – hate for the deliberate cruelty of the words – and slight, detached amusement as he recognised Turk bravado, and knew that much of it was a lie. But under all that there was an awareness of an ache in his heart - because, really, all this was so stupid! He loved Reno, and Reno loved him – had to love him, because otherwise nothing made sense. Why was Reno being so – so obstinate about admitting it to himself? How long was this game going to last? Wearily Yazoo told him, "You can say what you like Reno. I know the truth. You can't fight it forever."
"You're insane," Reno said. "No point talkin' to a lunatic. Go to fuckin' sleep will you?"
"Did you know," Yazoo asked in an infuriatingly calm voice, "That your accent gets stronger when you're angry? It's the same when you're uncomfortable about something – or when you're lying."
Reno didn't deign to reply. Yazoo's soft laughter had Reno's fingers tightening over the can lid in his left palm.
"It's quite endearing, actually," Yazoo commented.
"Go to sleep," said Reno. Go to sleep. Go to sleep so I can kill you. Go to sleep so I can be free.
The fire had burned very low by the time Reno was confident that the even pattern of Yazoo's breathing meant the remnant was asleep. Yes - the remnant. Not even human.
Reno moved silently until he reached Yazoo. Crouching beside the sleeping figure, Reno gripped the can lid firmly and looked down at the remnant, pale skin tinted rose by the low red firelight.
Yazoo was beautiful – no other word for it. His silver hair haloed his peaceful face, and his expression was serene – innocent -
As hell! Reno had a sudden image of himself - a wild-haired demon, his naked skin red in the light of dying flames, poised to kill this creature that was all angelic perfection.
Ha! Reno thought. They called Sephiroth an angel, too. Better a self-confessed devil than an angel like that! What was it the boss said, that time Rude called him out for slapping the Cetra girl? "Evil should look like evil"? Yeah. Never claimed to be nothin' but a killer. C'mon Reno – do what you do."
But he hesitated. Yazoo was so –
Do it! Reno told himself. Do it – be a Turk. Get back to Rufus and the others.
Yazoo's mouth looked so soft – the curve of his lower lip – irresistible…
It would be better if I could capture him alive, Reno procrastinated, leaning towards Yazoo, drawn in. We could find out why they're back. It would be better – if he – if he didn't have to die –
No!
With a huge effort of will, Reno pulled away and tightened his grip on the improvised blade.
Do it! Now!
With all his renowned speed, Reno lunged forward, his right hand tightening in Yazoo's hair, yanking his head back, exposing that pale throat and forcing skin taut. One swift, deep cut. Reno felt the flesh yield to the blade – knew the wound was fatal.
Yazoo somehow got to his knees, grabbed Reno's wrist and twisted until bones snapped. Reno cried out in agony and dropped the can lid. Yazoo's other hand was clamped to the long wound on his own neck, blood running out between his fingers. Before Reno could move, Yazoo let go of his wrist, caught him around the throat and held him still. He couldn't struggle free. The whole cabin appeared bathed in green light, and Reno's eyes widened as Yazoo took his hand from his own throat, shaking blood from his fingers. The cut Reno had made was closing up, flesh reforming. He'd never seen any kind of Cure work so fast or so completely. Then he was fighting for air, as Yazoo's hand tightened around his throat.
No good – he'd failed – he was going to die.
The pain in his left wrist was excruciating – he thought it was broken – but his thoughts were growing hazy in any case – his vision exploding into darkly fizzing stars. A sudden burst of green light – was his sight going? No – yes – no more air – no more –
Reno's body folded, boneless, to the floor when Yazoo released his grip.
On hands and knees Yazoo crawled to Reno's side, more exhausted than he'd ever remembered feeling before. Reno had made the decision to remain a Turk, it seemed, even if it meant risking his life. Yazoo finally allowed tears to fall, now that Reno couldn't see them.
"Reno!" he whispered. "All I did was love you. I thought you were starting to understand, but you really meant to kill me. So much hate!"
He picked up the can lid and inspected the blade, red with his own blood. It was an effective, crude weapon – cunning and brutal.
Apt, thought Yazoo. So apt.
Yazoo took Reno's left hand in his own, stroking his thumb over his shattered wrist, feeling the damage. The pale skin was unnaturally hot, beginning to swell, and already mottled with purple and red bruises. "I can't cure you," Yazoo said quietly. "You'd try to kill me again. You nearly succeeded. No human should be that fast – Sephiroth was right about you."
Despite his shock and anger, Yazoo found that he was feeling an odd sensation somewhere in his throat – a kind of pride that his Reno was so fierce, so determined.
"I should hate you," he thought, looking at Reno's crumpled body. He suspected that sleepel would work on a human for longer than it had on Loz – but with this one it was best to be cautious. Sighing, Yazoo picked up the unconscious Turk and laid him on his sleeping bag. He made up the fire, then knelt beside Reno, finally able to gaze without fear of mockery.
"Why do I love you?" Yazoo wondered aloud. "What is it about you? I should make myself hate you." He tried to look at Reno objectively – seeking flaws. The Turk was too thin – ribs starkly visible, the ridge of his collarbone, the blue-shadowed dip at the base of his throat. He was all sinew and bone and hard muscle – no softness anywhere – not like Kadaj's softness or Yazoo's own – hidden strength beneath smooth, yielding skin. No – Reno was raw – all hard lines and jutting edges. And scars – bullet wounds and the marks of blades, and one long silver line across his rib cage that must have been made by a huge sword. Reno was too thin, and too damaged to be attractive, surely? And yet Yazoo found himself longing to press his mouth against that hollow above Reno's collarbone – to fit his own body's softness against those sharp angles until edges blurred.
The bluish-white skin of Reno's throat – so pale as to be almost translucent – was marred now by the dark bruises caused by Yazoo's fingers. Very gently, Yazoo touched the marks he had made. He gazed down at Reno's face, and although he knew that it was by no means an aesthetically perfect face, he could find nothing in it that he didn't love.
Why? Yazoo asked himself again. Why this face? Why this man? What is the use of love when it brings nothing but misery? He tried to kill me – I should kill him. That would make Loz happy. But I can't. I can't. I love him. There's nothing I can do about it.
Yazoo covered Reno with the blanket from his own bed, and sat beside him, watching, waiting patiently for the moment when Reno would open those amazing blue-green eyes and glare at him with the blistering force of all his human hate.
TBC. Thanks for reading.
