Never Lost
By: Phoenix Dayze
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy. Please don't hurt me.
Zack teetered precariously on the edge of insanity. Cloud had spoken of an angel. An angel with silver hair. Zack had questioned him further, but Cloud had said no more, simply smiling a peaceful, knowing smile and drifting into a quiet slumber, still cradled in Zack's arms. Their conversation echoed in his head, words he could never banish.
It was nothing more than a child's dream, a foolish belief, something that Cloud had manifested in his time of need, clinging to it to give himself the surety, the confidence that he craved. That was what Zack told himself. But with silver hair? There was no explanation that Zack could come up with as to why Cloud's imagined angel would have silver hair, a trait unique to only one man…
Sephiroth. He was the gleaming demon that taunted Zack's soul, his beautiful savior, his one, unforgivable mistake. He crept stealthily through Zack's thoughts, hiding in the shadows of everything that Zack longed to forget. He was always there, swirling in the darkness of his mind, a living vision behind his eyes. The friend he'd cherished, the man he'd loved, the General he'd failed to save.
These were the things that haunted him now and always, the thrice-damning failure a burden that he would never shake. Only his dedication to Cloud, his fervent promise to the young man, gave him direction, kept him from slipping into the abyss. But everything had changed. He had allowed his own physical needs, coupled with Cloud's desperate pleas to muddle his mind, and he had taken from Cloud. It had been sweet and perfect, and oh so good, and Cloud had shown no signs of regret in days since, often crawling into Zack's bed at the inn where they slept and curling around his side, stroking him until Zack's common sense failed him and his body took over. And then Zack would condemn himself deeper and deeper into hell as he loved Cloud into the night, taking himself to the edge and back on Cloud's vibrant pleasure.
It was a dream life, and Zack moved through it in a blur of numbness. The death he had taken into himself when he was a prisoner of war returned, only the pain was different, springing from deep within himself, and this time there was no reprieve.
Zack often caught himself dreaming, his mind alive with visions of a young, fresh-faced youth that he didn't recognize. A boy who stood proud and smiled generously, a man who teased the General and fought with grace and flare, a warrior who defended his country, who might have saved the world. Zack embraced and despised these dreams; waking with a bevy of silent tears, and a heart full of slicing, silver agony.
It was times like those that Zack wished he too had an angel, an ethereal dream made real be his own desperate need to banish his demons by a glorified presence alone. It seemed to be a valid cure; Cloud moved about now, his body healed, whistling softly to himself during the day, seeming almost as if the terrors he'd undergone had never happened. And at night, he would come to Zack, asking to be held, his large blue eyes irresistible in their innocence.
But no angel ever appeared to Zack, only the gleaming silver sins of his past. Soon Zack began to hate himself, his weakness, his failure, his selfishness that kept him warming Cloud's bed, the confident pride that Sephiroth had admired in him so long ago chipping away to leave behind a reclusive, insecure mass of sorrow and regret.
Zack jumped, startled out of his musings as Cloud stumbled in, a weary sigh on his lips. He smiled when he saw Zack, moving over to him as he stripped off his mud-streaked shirt. He laid a light hand on Zack's shoulder, massaging gently with his thumb. "You're tense." He muttered softly. "Want me to fix that for you?"
Cloud's voice was a throaty purr, and it brushed over Zack like a cool breeze, making him shiver in response. Zack turned his head, placing a chaste kiss against Cloud's lips. "Not tonight." He whispered. But Cloud was already moving, his hands sliding over Zack's body, pushing him back to sit on the edge of the bed, his mouth dragging over Zack's bare chest with hot, teasing kisses. Moving down, lower and lower, his small hands working the buckle of Zack's belt easily. Heat curled in Zack's belly, a betraying, needy coil of lust that Zack knew would be darkly satisfied.
Zack thrust up into a hot, moist mouth, a sharp cry on his lips. It was heady, maddening suction, intoxicating pressure, and he moved as his body dictated, letting his urgent need for the sanctuary of sexual distraction drive him up and over the edge he'd been so recklessly, uneasily standing on.
There was a silver flash, a gleam of familiar light, and Zack's eyes flew open, his gaze widening with awed incredulity. A man stood before him, tall and lean. His hair was cut, short and jagged above his shoulders. His face was gaunt, drawn, pale, and smeared with dirt, eyes sunk into the hollows over his sharp cheekbones. Dark shadows lined the staring eyes, whose glittering, infallible green was the only bright thing about the man's entire being. The man's clothes hung ragged and loose off of the too thin frame, and one shaky hand reached out to Zack with clearly defined purpose. Only, this was no angel. This was…
Zack's heart thudded painfully in his chest, and his voice was little more than a broken whisper as he choked out a single, impossible word. "Sephiroth…"
tbc...