Title: Loving Corpses
Summary: Everyone knows what Cloud is, and they put it to good use. He just wishes that a night of passion didn't always have to be rewarded with waking to another dead lover.
Warnings: boy/boy, dark themes
Disclaimer: Do I really need to say it? Not mine.


"Go on," Cloud encourages.

"'I weep for Narcissus, though not for his beauty; never did I see his beauty. I weep for Narcissus because time after time he knelt at my side, I would look into his eyes to see my own beauty reflected,' the pond replied,'" Genesis recounts.

"Then what?"

Echidna, almost completely solid by this point, shakes her head, what might one dare to call a smile playing at her lips. "They truly do not read you these stories in Nibelheim?"

In reality, most residents of Nibelheim did not know how to read. He had learnt -by slim chance- from his mother, who had little by way of reading material. Often during his childhood, his writing lessons occurred on walls with rocks or, when he'd gotten old enough, knives, the explanation behind the upward strikes in his writing and unique (awkward) way of holding pencils and pens. Though he was often bullied for his vast knowledge on matters as proper grammar, his mother took pride in his ease of ability to learn things like correct grammar and spelling, or how he could usually find the meaning of a word by context alone. "Did I say something funny?"

The redhead knows this, trying not to draw attention to the detail, lest he cause the blond embarrassment. "That is where the story ends," Genesis explains neutrally. "Narcissus drowns, the flower blooms, the pond weeps, the Goddess asks, and the pond replies. That is the ending."

"What's the point then?"

"The point is: don't be vain," the woman answers.

"The moral has many possibilities," Genesis contradicts sternly, acting as though ignoring Echidna. "For example: how a likeness can bring people together."

"How so?"

"In the pond's case, she knew that she was seeing her beauty in Narcissus. Yet for some, we see a beauty in others that we ourselves possess, admiring without noticing we have it as well."

"So, the story is about projection?"

"The symbolism of a story, as I've already said, can be debated. To find the meaning in a story for yourself, that is the best meaning it can have."

"Are you quite certain you are of the male genome, Rhapsodos? Never have I met a mortal man quite so poetic."

"Then perhaps you should rephrase the question to 'Are you certain you are a mortal man?' because, yes, I am quite certain of the other," the ex-SOLDIER replies cheekily.


The executioner no-more wakes to the still night between his like-winged lover and ophidian (tor)mentor, the stars opening their eyes back at him from the half dilapidated roof. He wants to sleep longer, but finds himself unable. Chilled sweat drenches his body, a pain running down every molecule of his being. As he becomes aware, Genesis stirs beside him, an unknown energy connecting them, the same eerie way it once had with Echidna. "What?" the redhead asks gruffly, voice sodden with sleep.

"This is why I know you are not immortal," Echidna mocks from his other side. "Look to his eyes."

The winged man obeys, looking to the pupils of a cat, shifting from thin to wide and back rather than a human. "He's changing?"

"Little by little, yes, he is. Who do you think would be able to claim him?"

"I know of three capable of the task. But none of them would. They care too much for him. Cloud, calm down," the ex-SOLDIER orders.

"You cannot rightfully tell him to do so. You remember what it was like, surely?"

"I remember it was worse resisting," Genesis replies ominously, glaring to the immortal. He resents her vastly, one who was born such could never understand such pain.

Genesis strips the blond, filling the basin. The water is mostly warm, yet Cloud shivers. The mirror fogs, memories and humanity getting locked on the other side, asphyxiating.


"You must have been pretty sure that was going to work, considering I could have died."

"About 90 percent."

"90 percent?" the blond asks.

The redhead turns questioningly at the tone, receiving a harsh smack to his face. "What was that for?" Genesis yelps, a hand reaching for the mark, more from shock than injury.

"The missing ten percent," Cloud replies, a scowl marring ethereal features, walking to the exit of the drafty lodge.

"You do realize what happens if you leave here, no?"

"Of course I realize," the incubus replies darkly. "You're welcome to tag along as well, though it must be a tough choice at this point: between a dead immortal and an parasitic one," he adds.

"Not at all. I am only forced to ponder: do you love him so?"

"...If I had to choose between living and loving him, my choice would be to tell him I love him with my dying breath."

"I see...in that case: I shall not interfere. Do what you must and... And return safely."

The incubus smiles softly, unseen by the redhead behind him. A smile for the closest thing to a love that could never again be. A smile for a love that perhaps never was to begin with... "I will."


Take to the sky and live free;
Cast away wings- man,
But prisoner eternal

The price of freedom-
Ever steepest in expense-
Morals become null

Your quest for answers,
Once come to pass, is selfish
In definite truth

A hated atrocity
Or healer of worlds?
In the name of the Goddess,

I ask your intent


"You cannot be here," the silveret remarks uneasily.

"Can't be here, can't go to the Lifestream. Tell me, Sephiroth, is there a place I can exist?"

"You could be caught. They would kill you if they found you here."

"I could be killed anywhere if someone found me. What difference does it make where it happens?" Cloud shrugs.

"I suppose it makes none, though I'd rather not witness your execution. Or perpetrate it, for that matter," the general states coolly.

"You know, I always thought you were too pretty to kill. Why become a murderer when you could be a model? But I get it...I understand, now; you're just a Shin-Ra lapdog. You can't choose anything for yourself. And... whatever you do -whoever you kill...- you don't have to think about it. Orders are your life, and nothing else matters. Who you kill, why you kill them...it's not your job to think about things like that. That's someone else's job. You... you are a puppet. But, I still love you. No matter how low you or I sink, I'll never stop."

The silveret remains silent. Just long enough to let it sink in and siphon it out. "You're really going to stay with him? With Genesis?" he finally asks, quietly.

"What choice is there? Besides; it's not as if you have a problem with it."

"No," the general agrees, perhaps too quickly, missing the facetious expression of the blond's turned face. "I just never figured you were one for missionary style."

All mischievousness drops at the vague insult, but Cloud merely shakes his head. "There is still so much you have yet to understand... All in due time, love. For now the only thing you might comprehend is: I learned early the art of forsaking my own preference quickly after finding I have most control on my knees."

A flutter of wings and the imp is gone again. Leaving Sephiroth alone for more times that week than the silveret would like to recall.


"You don't seem to understand, Zackary," the general states, younger mewling against the wall. "Not everything is about sex. This is," he provides, gripping hips with violent affection. "But not everything."

Really, it isn't though. At least, not to Sephiroth. It's more about distancing emotions. Angeal had seen it only a few times, and mostly when they were younger; when the silveret had been angry with Gast or with another SOLDIER. He hadn't seen his lover with that look since pale hair clashed horribly with maroon 3rd gear. But he remembered the expression well, and knew they would be visiting a very sore -even if pleased- Zack Fair at the infirmary some time tomorrow. If it went on like this, Angeal could very well wind up in the next bed over.


A/N: Jeez, Seph, aggressive much? Well, that's a wrap. Next chapter on Tuesday.

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