Okay! Sorry this took so long! The idea's been floating around for ages, but man, it's hard to write...
Special thanks to: Platerair Queen, who helped me feel a lot better about my carelessness. :D You are loved.
Disclaimer: Squeenix owns everything, including my soul.
Warnings: Mentions of sex, commodification of human beings, twisted-ness in general
Beta anyone? O_o I have not much faith in my coherency.
Soon after Sephiroth was born, a prophecy was made of a child that will bring glory and strength to the empire. This child, the prophecy says, will be born from an unblessed bond, and will bear a mark of the heavens.
Sephiroth - born from an unwed union of a noblewoman and a military strategist - had pale skin, silver hair, bright eyes, and a small quarter-moon mark on his neck. It was no surprise, then, that everyone considered him to be the child of prophecy – a child of the heavens at night. Because of this, Sephiroth grew up with the burden of everyone's expectations. He knew no one except his teachers and did nothing but train to become the greatest general in the history of the known world. He knew no mercy, no kindness, no love. After all, books do not tell of these.
However, on his first battle, Sephiroth had, inexplicably, let a prisoner go. But this one prisoner sold information to the enemy and nearly caused Sephiroth's camp to lose. It was after this battle that his guardian, his father's brother, took him aside and revealed to him the truth of his life.
"There is no prophecy", his uncle said. "And your parents paid for it. The wrath of the gods have struck them and their oracles down; but mercy has been shown to you. Do not waste it."
Since that day, Sephiroth lived for nothing but victory. His parents' lives have been shed for his survival, and so he decided to honour their deaths through this one thing. No one will ever find out of their disgrace as long as he breathes in this Earth.
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His allies called him a godsend, his enemies a demon. From childhood he was called 'special' but now he has recognized it as simply being different. Being unique marks you for life, and it is mere chance that decides whether for better or for worse.
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Sephiroth knows he is lucky. In his birth, in his battles, in his life. He considers his skill only second to his good fortune. After all, if he was not marked for 'greatness' he would have been marked for wickedness... and no amount of money or skill would have helped him.
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As the years went by, the burden of his uniqueness grew, and Sephiroth took to keeping his hair long. His hair, his skin, even his height he could not change – but that one small mark he could at least hope to hide. He knew it was useless, but it always made him feel better. Because even while Sephiroth has learned to accept being who he is, but has always been difficult to completely smother the small hope that one day people would just stop looking.
It was on one of these days of secret self-pity that he found the boy. The boy was hard to miss in the market, what with his pale skin and golden hair contrasting with the dark corner of the pen he had huddled in. Idly, Sephiroth watched as the boy occasionally looked up apprehensively at the world around him, and curled tighter upon himself whenever a customer came.
The boy was different, that much was certain. Blue eyes and gold hair bright even through the grime that covered him. Pale skin red in places the sun has beat down upon, but barely any darkening. Singular. Unique.
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Sephiroth wondered if that was what his fate would have been, had luck deserted him.
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For days, Sephiroth wandered around the market, eyes always straying to the blond boy but never venturing close. Even as angry red blotches appeared on his flesh from the fierce sun on his moonbeam skin, he ventured out in the sweltering heat to watch the boy from afar. After all, the slave merchant could leave any day. Every morning might be his last chance to see the boy.
"Why don't you just buy him already?" his lieutenant asked one day; and on a whim, Sephiroth did. Barely any thought went to approaching the trader, to asking for the little one to be brought to him, and to finally, finally, asking for the boy's name.
"Cloud..." The boy said, carefully, meekly. Blue eyes stared in confusion. Slaves were just slaves after all, and how many masters knew their slaves were even people, much less know their names? Just like that, after one word rough from thirst; Sephiroth knew he would have to buy Cloud.
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Not a day went by that Sephiroth did not see Cloud. At first, it was like being in the market all over again... except for the certainty that Cloud would still be there the next morning. Sephiroth would watch Cloud's dealings from afar, watching as the boy's eyes, skin, hair, grew brighter by the day. It fascinated him such that the need to understand overtook him, and so unwittingly his summons came more and more often. Once a week, twice a week, every other day, every day... twice a day, thrice a day, every meal.
...And in the middle of the third month of Cloud's stay, Sephiroth had to leave; and here he realized how much Cloud had become a definite part of his day. Everyone, everything seemed dull when compared to Cloud's brightness. Each meal he took was filled with buzzing silence; incomplete without Cloud's light voice.
Time passed without him knowing. His days returned to the lifeless, uninteresting existence of months past. He began noticing the whispers, the awe, the jealousy all over again. What humanity he had begun feeling was stripped from him and replaced by the strategist, the soldier, The General.
He did not know how long he stayed away; all he knew was the sharp feel of relief when he could finally return.
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There was no special intent in calling Cloud to his chambers instead of his parlour – but Sephiroth is unprepared for the longing that fills him when Cloud enters the room. His breath hitches like a man released from death, and he cannot stop himself. He calls Cloud to him, and runs his long fingers along the pink flush on pale cheeks.
Cloud doesn't move an inch even when Sephiroth runs his hands down the other's back through thin tunic, and the haze in Sephiroth's mind parts enough for the tall man to issue permission. To move, to act, to react. He pulls Cloud close, sets the other on the bed beneath them. He breathes in the sweet, fresh scent of the younger man and lets himself taste the beckoning pink lips. His hands wander underneath the flimsy cloth of the other man's clothing, and feels smaller arms lift and hesitate.
He smiles when those arms lift and do not push him away, and watches contentedly when the younger man opens blue eyes to look imploringly at him. He nuzzles a pale neck when those blue eyes close and the raised arms finally settle on Sephiroth's skin. Warmth, and what he supposes is happiness, settles around his heart as he feels more of Cloud, and as Cloud explores more of him.
Sephiroth watches as Cloud bites and licks, sighs and moans, touches and kisses. There is adoration in the young man's eyes but one unlike the distant awe others give him. When Cloud's eyes flutter Sephiroth knows Cloud sees only Sephiroth. Sephiroth is special to Cloud not from a prophecy or battle prowess, but for companionship.
Cloth parts, and Sephiroth strives to touch every inch of skin in the other's body, and is rewarded when Cloud frantically strives to do the same. "General!MasterMyLordMasterMyGeneralMyMaster..." Not even his titles detract from the contentment that has settled around him like a thick fog, and it takes only a whisper for Cloud to start screaming "Sephiroth" instead.
His heart pounds as he slips fingers briefly into his own mouth before plunging them inside the pliant body beneath him, and he moans long and hard as Cloud gasps and arches into him. Cloud is louder than even the blood pounding in his ears, and it takes only a moment for him to break and sheathe himself, finally, into Cloud. He pushes and he pulls and he pushes, and it doesn't take long for either of them to peak. Hot seed flows out of him and into Cloud, and Cloud's flows freely on their bared chests and Sephiroth's hand.
Sephiroth smiles and brushes lips along a sweaty, blond-fringed forehead and pulls Cloud closer as sleep takes them. When Sephiroth wakes the next day to bright blue eyes, he arranges for Cloud to stay closer, into a room adjoining his, even as he knows that he will not let the other stay in any bed but his own.
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He is a person only to Cloud, and Cloud is a person only to him. For this, Sephiroth keeps Cloud beside him, and revels in the feel of being human.
Thanks for everyone who reviewed/faved/alerted! XD Wanna make my day and review/fav/alert more? Heheh. Watch out for my next (currently partly-written and sorta stuck) twisted!Seph SxC fic.