Title: Fairytale

Chapter: 4/author not well organised enough to know how long this thing will be

Characters: Pretty much everyone

Pairings: Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Aerith, Tifa/Rude, mentions of Sephiroth/randoms and others as we encounter them

Rating: R overall

Summary: An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince.

Warnings: Yaoi, het, graphic violence, language, a cavalier attitude to historical accuracy, silliness and bloody Sephiroth being an angst muffin. Oh, and slightly weird romance.

A/N: I'm so. Sorry. For the late update. Real life happened, and then Cloud read ahead in the script and went on strike. Apparently he feels he's had quite enough abuse from me, thank you. Also, writing from Cloud's perspective is annoying at the moment. He's all respectful and terrified.

Sephiroth and Cloud's audience with the Queen was at sunset, which gave Cloud plenty of time to worry. Every little mistake he'd made during the course of the afternoon stood out painfully to him: every fumbled curtsey and every tenor-voiced phrase, until he was certain the Prince and his friends knew he was a man.

Lady Aerith and Viscount Fair's visit lasted the whole afternoon, and if he'd been less certain he'd be executed before the day was over, Cloud thought he'd have liked them. They almost managed to dispel the taught atmosphere in Prince Sephiroth's parlour. Their good humour more than made up for Cloud's nervous silence and the reticent Prince at Cloud's side. Tifa was soon engaged in a lively conversation with Lady Aerith, fears apparently forgotten: it seemed that she had far more trust in Cloud than he did in himself.

For his part, Cloud spoke only when he was spoken to; nursing the tea Prince Sephiroth courteously offered him. He kept his eyes lowered, hoping to come over as shy, while he sneaked glances around the room (and any way out of it) from beneath his lashes. The room wasn't exactly secure, Sephiroth's reputation as a dangerous monster being more than sufficient to deter thieves or assassins, but the corridors outside were full of armed guards, servants, and probably other members of the royal family. Climbing out the windows wasn't an option; anyone abseiling down the palace walls was bound to be noticed and the Prince's rooms were too high up anyway. Perhaps if he could convince Tifa to make her excuses and leave while he was visiting with the Queen...? His plan had been to buy her time to run away, but he'd hoped not to be found out until the wedding night, at least. Maybe he'd been too optimistic. Not for the first, or the last, time that afternoon, he cursed himself.

As sunset approached, Cloud's stomach tied itself into ever tighter knots. When his hands began to shake, he set his undrunk tea on the coffee table, almost slopping it over Sephiroth's lap. Because I'm not in enough trouble, he thought. A pair of long-fingered hands, intricately patterned with a thousand pale scars, steadied him about the wrists - the Prince's hands where cold, with sweaty palms, he noticed - and he flinched. The teacup chimed like a bell as it hit the floor and broke in two.

'I'm sorry!' he said. His voice came out as a rather embarrassing squeak and his mouth kept going, after his brain told it to stop. 'I'll pay for it, I promise!'

Prince Sephiroth quirked an eyebrow at him, and he could feel the blush spreading to his ears. At least blushing was ladylike.

'That won't be necessary,' he said.

After that, Cloud decided keeping quiet wasn't enough. He should sit still, too.

Too soon, Prince Sephiroth offered him his arm and led him through corridors and up two flights of stairs to the Queen's chambers. He followed meekly, too worried to look around or memorise the route they took. In what seemed like an instant, they stood in the Queen's presence.

Where in the corridors Cloud had been numb with apprehension, now he felt hyper-aware: something about Queen Jenova awakened every one of his nerves. A witch's son had a fragment of her power, after all. His muscles tightened, ready to fight or run away.

Cloud's first impression of the Queen's chambers was of a winter's night. The windows were covered in heavy blue drapery, no fire burned in the grate and the few candles that lit the room flickered weakly, seeming somehow paler than normal flames. It was terribly cold, colder than the warmth of the corridor outside or the candlelight should permit. A few straight- backed ebon chairs, carved with weird figures, were arranged in front of the cold fireplace. The room was heavy with the smell expensive perfume, obviously intended to cover another, more unpleasant scent. Acid and copper. Cloud shivered. The hand that still rested on Prince Sephiroth's arm clenched until the knuckles were white. Cloud didn't notice until he felt the Prince prying them loose.

The Queen sat in one of the chairs, an open book on her lap. She'd changed her gown to a less formal one, all flowing lines and silvery embroidery, her hair released from its elaborate style to fall gracefully over one shoulder. She'd kept her jewellery and replaced her crown with a circlet. Prince Sephiroth led Cloud to sit in the chairs facing her.

'My darling,' Queen Jenova reached up to embrace him, her jewellery sparkling like ice. The Prince returned her embrace stiffly and returned to his seat. 'And your lovely fiancée. I do hope you have enjoyed each other's company.' She marked her place and set the book aside. Cloud glanced at its title. Something written in a language from the far north.

'What is your intention, mother?' asked Prince Sephiroth. 'I have urgent business this evening.' His expression remained neutral, but his tone took on an edge. 'As I'm sure you're aware.'

'Of course, my darling,' Queen Jenova smiled and Cloud wanted to leave right then. 'That has everything to do with my intention.' She folded her hands in her lap. 'No doubt Lady Tifa is aware of certain... rumours concerning you.'

Cloud noticed her looking at him expectantly.

'There are... many rumours concerning the Western Continent in the East, Your Majesty' he said carefully. 'We - that is, my people - tend to ignore the more... lurid of them.'

'As I would expect,' said Queen Jenova. 'Unfortunately, rumours begin when one is not open about one's private life. No mother wants her sons thrust into the public eye, as I'm sure you understand. We value our privacy, my dear.'

'I understand.'

'If that is all, mother -'

'It isn't,' Queen Jenova waved Prince Sephiroth into silence and returned her attention to Cloud. There was something wrong with her eyes, though Cloud couldn't decide what. It was slowly terrifying him. 'You understand a mother's heart, my dear, don't you? I must ensure you're worthy of my son.'

Prince Sephiroth frowned and leaned forward in his seat. 'Worthy? This marriage was your idea, and Lady Tifa was your choice in fiancée.'

'Yes,' Jenova didn't take her gaze from Cloud's face. 'But one can hardly know a... woman's character without having known her, can one?' She paused and the silence made Cloud feel ill. 'So, just to set my mind at ease, I want Lady Tifa to perform three tests.'

'This is ridiculous -'

'Sephiroth,' Queen Jenova's voice took on a hard edge, and the Prince subsided, chastened. 'Would you really leave me to worry, my darling? All I want is for you to be happy and well. That is what Lady Tifa wants for you too, isn't it, my dear?'

'...Yes, Your Majesty,' Cloud found himself unable to look away from the Queen's terrible eyes, and his voice came out as little more than a whisper.

'Good,' that smile was back and Cloud's hands began to shake again. He clenched them in the folds of his skirt. 'The first test will be tonight, then. All I want you to do, my dear, is spend a night in the Prince's room.'

'Mother - !' Prince Sephiroth's voice held a genuine note of panic now. Cloud managed to break away from Queen Jenova's gaze to look at him. He'd gone quite pale. 'That is -'

'If the young lady is worthy, it won't be a problem, my darling,' Queen Jenova reached out and patted Prince Sephiroth's hand where it clenched the arm of his chair. 'And if not... it's hardly a loss, is it?'

Cloud's presentiment of doom returned with a vengeance; what was so wrong with spending a night in the Prince's room? He couldn't be worried for his reputation, could he?

You're spending the night with the monster prince said a dark voice in his head. He could hear Queen Jenova convincing the Prince with honeyed words and maternal caresses, but he paid them no attention. Instead, he concentrated on the weight of his father's knife against his leg and the whisper-soft chafe of his mother's blessing against his chest. I'll be alright, he told the dark voice in his head. I'll think of something.

After leaving the Queen's chambers, Cloud followed Prince Sephiroth back downstairs, to where Lady Aerith, Viscount Fair and Tifa still waited in the Prince's parlour. Neither of them spoke; Cloud was too busy worrying how he'd survive the night if it turned out the legends of the monster prince did turn out to be true. Prince Sephiroth had composed himself somewhat, but his face still bore the signs of distress. Cloud wondered, briefly, what he was thinking. The Prince had offered him his arm again - out of habit more than anything else, Cloud was certain - and Cloud could feel his muscles jumping beneath his clothes. It reminded him a little of a cat he'd once watched stalking a mouse; it lay with its belly against the ground, completely still, then its muscles twitched beneath its skin and it pounced...

The parlour door opened silently, but apparently Tifa had been waiting: she collided with Cloud, pulling him into a bruising hug as soon as he crossed the threshold.

'Are you alright?' she whispered. Cloud patted her shoulder comfortingly, glad he'd stopped shivering.

'Survived?' said Viscount Fair lightly. He took in the expression on Prince Sephiroth's face and his brows drew together. 'What's wrong? What did she say?'

'Zackary, would you and Aerith take care of Mademoiselle Vala this evening?' Prince Sephiroth said. He glanced back at Cloud. 'Would you consent to that?'

Cloud nodded, his chin bumping against Tifa's shoulder. Lady Aerith and Viscount Fair seemed kind and if his luck held their residence wasn't in the palace. Perhaps he could give Tifa some kind of signal to escape. He tightened his arms around her, just for a second.

'What's going on, Sephiroth?' said Viscount Fair.

Prince Sephiroth glanced over Viscount Fair's shoulder at Lady Aerith. 'Perhaps Mademoiselle Vala should retire for the evening. Aerith, will you see to her? I will send Zackary along in a moment.'

Very gently, Cloud pushed Tifa away from him. Her eyes were round and bright with worry, her lips pressed together until they turned white. Cloud bumped his forehead against hers.

'Go with Lady Aerith,' he whispered. 'If - if you don't hear from me, I want you to run away.' Tifa nodded, and Cloud kissed her cheek. 'Goodbye.'

Lady Aerith had been waiting a discrete distance from them; when Cloud stepped away from Tifa she came forward and gently took her by the elbow. She nodded to Cloud, concern in every line of her face.

'It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Tifa,' she said. Cloud didn't like how solemn she'd suddenly become, as if he was about to go into a dragon's den. 'Good luck.'

With that - the least comforting gesture of good will Cloud had ever experienced - Lady Aerith led Tifa firmly away. The door clicked softly behind them.

Viscount Fair cleared his throat.

'Queen Jenova has ordered that Lady Tifa spend the night in my room,' Prince Sephiroth said. His voice held no inflection, and he stared stonily into the fire as he spoke. The only movement from him was the occasional disconcerting jump off his muscles, barely noticeable beneath his jacket and breeches.

Viscount Fair just gaped. Eventually, he began making odd strangled noises.

'Tonight?' he managed to choke. 'She wants to put some poor little girl in your room, with you, tonight?'

'Yes.'

'What the fuck is wrong with her?' Viscount Fair spun on his heel and began pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly. Cloud scuttled out his way, taking refuge at Prince Sephiroth's elbow. He felt the Prince subtly shift away from him. 'Your mother - that - what the fuck is she thinking?'

Viscount Fair continued to rave with ever increasing volume and profanity. Prince Sephiroth seemed content, for the moment, to let him go. Perhaps he was similarly distracted. Watching the apparently good-humoured Viscount rage ratcheted Cloud's fear even higher. He thought he might be ill; his stomach was knotted so tightly. Quite suddenly, Viscount Fair whirled on Cloud, grasped him firmly by the shoulders and bent down so that they were on eye level. In spite of himself, Cloud felt a ripple of irritation at the gesture.

'You didn't agree, did you?' Viscount Fair said wildly. 'There's - it compromises your womanly virtues, doesn't it? You could refuse for the sake of your reputation, couldn't you?'

Cloud stepped backward out of his hold.

'Are the rumours true, then?' he asked. He was quietly impressed with how calm his voice sounded. 'About the monster prince?'

'Sephiroth isn't a monster!' Viscount Fair said severely, indignation in every line of his form. 'It's hardly his fault he's -'

'Zackary,' said Prince Sephiroth. He finally looked away from the fire. Viscount Fair subsided, looking a little sheepish.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to yell at you, I just - ' He ran a hand through his hair. It sprang stubbornly back into place. 'This isn't right.' He folded his arms and pursed his lips, fury apparently spent for the moment.

'Indeed,' Prince Sephiroth bowed his head. 'I apologise, Mademoiselle.'

'I - what for?' asked Cloud. Prince Sephiroth quirked an eyebrow at him, the briefest twitch of candid expression.

'I hid my ...condition from you. Perhaps, if I had told you the truth sooner, you wouldn't be in the danger you are now.'

Cloud gulped. Well. That was thoughtful of the Prince, if entirely unhelpful. He supposed, if he was going to die tonight anyway...

'I - I haven't been honest either,' he said. 'I'm, um. I'm not Tifa. I'm not a woman.'

'Huh?' That was Viscount Fair.

Cloud took a deep breath and an inexplicable half grin grew on his lips. 'I'm not a woman. Vala's the real Tifa.' Neither Prince Sephiroth nor Viscount Fair said anything, and neither of them reached for any weaponry, so Cloud kept talking. 'My real name is Cloud Strife; I'm a peasant from the same village as Tifa. We've been friends since we were children.' He made a weak gesture with his hands, not even sure himself what he intended to communicate with it. 'I... just didn't want her to have to come here alone.'

Silence. Cloud could hear the fire crackling in the grate, the faint sounds of night birds calling, the terrified rhythm of his heart. He consoled himself - what consolation! - that at least if Prince Sephiroth ran him through now he wouldn't be eaten. It was odd he thought abstractedly, how normally the silence never bothered him. Now he couldn't stand it; it was forcing his tongue.

'I know it's an insult to you, Your Highness,' he said. 'I understand that I'll be punished but I beg you, please let Tifa - the, um, the real one, that is - let her go. This wasn't her idea and - and she shouldn't have to suffer for my actions. So -'

'You're a man,' Viscount Fair interrupted him. He stared at Cloud's chest with such focus that Cloud suddenly felt the need to cover himself. Instead he half turned away toward Prince Sephiroth. He stared too, mouth set in a dispiritingly unimpressed line.

'Zackary,' Prince Sephiroth said. He took Cloud by the elbow. Oh God, he's going to kill me. 'Please lock the door to my room. Take the key with you and return at dawn. Do you understand?'

'What?' Viscount Fair dragged his gaze from Cloud to Prince Sephiroth. 'You're not - you're actually going to go through with that stupid - !'

'Yes, Zackary. It was the Queen's order,' he turned and marched further into his private chambers, an unresisting Cloud in tow. At the threshold of his bedroom, he paused and looked back at Viscount Fair. 'Keep Lady Tifa - the real one - safe.'

Viscount Fair nodded, thin-lipped. He took a key from an ornate little box on the mantelpiece, which he gripped in a white-knuckled hand.

Cloud caught his eye and whispered 'Thank you'.

Viscount Fair nodded gravely to him. Then the Prince closed the door, and Cloud heard the lock snick into place.

He was alone with the monster prince.

Whom he'd just insulted.

He clenched his mother's blessing through the bodice of his gown and wondered how it was going to save him from this.

Somewhere in the last minute, he'd gone from mortally afraid to a kind of numbness. It wasn't exactly a relief - he felt as though he balanced on the edge of a precipice, with a sheer drop into complete hysteria right below him - but it was letting him think a little more clearly. Behind him, he heard fabric rustling. Prince Sephiroth had removed his jacket and thrown it over the end of the bed. He looked angry, but then, he'd looked mildly irritated all day, now that Cloud thought of it.

'While I understand that your intentions were honourable,' the Prince said as his fingers fumbled over his waistcoat buttons. 'You have deceived me, and that I won't tolerate.'

'You're going to eat me,' said Cloud flatly. He wondered where the words were coming from, then decided it was too late for tact anyway. 'I think that makes us even, don't you?'

Prince Sephiroth turned away, still struggling with the buttons on his waistcoat. Cloud hung back near the door and watched him warily. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore.

'Let me do it,' he said. He batted the Prince's hands away, as if he where tying a child's bootlaces, and helped him shrug out of his waistcoat. He glanced around the room, exquisitely appointed in green drapery and mahogany furnishings. 'That door behind us...?'

'To an en suite,' Prince Sephiroth nodded his thanks to him and untied his neckerchief. He discarded it on the bed. 'It doesn't lock, if that's what you're hoping. You might as well make yourself at home.'

Cloud nodded. He sat gingerly on the bed, bouncing slightly on the firm mattress. The coverlet was wrinkled as though someone had lain on it and a spray of yellow roses and cornflowers rested on the pillow. He stroked a curled rose petal with a fingertip.

'You should put these in water,' he said. The mattress dipped as Prince Sephiroth sat and began removing his boots. 'It'd be a shame if they wilted.' He glanced at the Prince: his brow was furrowed as he struggled with his boots, his jaw was clenched. 'Are you...?'

'I don't want to kill you,' Prince Sephiroth managed to remove his boot and tossed it into a corner. 'I don't take pleasure in murdering people and - ' He snarled and wrenched off the other boot, flinging it away. Cloud flinched. 'But I can't - ' suddenly he was facing Cloud. His eyes were as terrible as the Queen's. 'Don't stay near me. It'll only get worse from here.'

'What do you - ?'

'Move.'

Prince Sephiroth lunged forward as he spoke, pushing Cloud, who tumbled off the bed. Tangled in his skirts, he rolled under the bed and lay completely still. He watched as the Prince's bare feet padded over the floor. Pacing, growling, like a great, furious cat. Unarmed but for tooth and claw, but far stronger than a mortal man. Cloud fumbled under his shift for his father's hunting knife. The rustling of his skirts rang far too loud in his ears, every halting breath like a hurricane. Slowly, he pulled the knife from its sheath and clutched it in a shaking fist, knuckles down on the floor in front of his face.

He'd never fought a person before. He'd killed rabbits, and foxes, and once he'd fought off a wolf, but never a person. He pressed his lips together. Maybe if he just stayed under the bed? Perhaps if Prince Sephiroth couldn't see him -

A hand clenched around his ankle. The fingers dug into his flesh and pulled. Cloud stabbed the hunting knife into the floor and held on. A frustrated growl and the grip on his ankle tightened: he felt the bone bend - Cloud yelped and lashed out with his other foot, connected with a wiry arm. Another growl from behind him, and the painful grip eased enough that he broke free. He yanked the knife free of the floor and scrambled out from under the bed.

At the first sign of movement above him, he rolled, once, twice, and stumbled upright. He staggered - his ankle didn't want his weight - and sagged against the nearest wall. He whirled around, eyes darting around the room.

The Prince crouched on the floor beside the bed, far too close for Cloud's liking. He shuffled sideways, mindful of his protesting ankle, the knife held steadily out in front of him. Prince Sephiroth's eyes followed him, though he didn't move. Cloud's hip bumped against a desk. He glanced at it, too afraid to take his eyes off Prince Sephiroth for long. He was afraid to even blink. The Prince's muscles twitched again, barely perceptible beneath his shirt.

He pounced.

Cloud flung himself over the desk. He rolled, strewing papers over the floor in his wake. Landed on both feet. Pain blasted through his ankle, but he ignored it. He ran. Behind him, he could hear the Prince's - growling? No, more like a purr. He fell against the opposite wall and used his momentum to push himself in another direction. Maybe he was over thinking this, but it seemed that the monster prince - sorry, Viscount Fair, he thought as he threw himself past a recliner and pushed it backward into the Prince's path - seemed to be enjoying this. Cloud wasn't particularly agile in his gown. Prince Sephiroth would just let him run around blindly until he couldn't run anymore and then...

It'd been a long day, and Cloud was travel weary. He collapsed against another wall, beside an end table with an elaborate floral arrangement, panting. He couldn't do this all night. The Prince knew he was tiring. He stalked closer, his gait suddenly more animal than man. He was moving in for the kill. Cloud's chest heaved. He frantically reviewed what he knew about wild animals, the only thing he could think of to which he could compare the Prince. Predators. Opportunistic, generally: more inclined to pick off weakened prey. Perhaps if he put up a fight the Prince would give up.

He grabbed the vase from the end table and threw it, as hard he could, at Prince Sephiroth's head. The Prince ducked. The vase flew over his head, showering him with water and a few stray blossoms. He snarled. Cloud didn't pause. He grabbed the end table, gritted his teeth and heaved it at the Prince too. As soon as he let go of the end table, he ran. There was a howl of rage and pain: the Prince hadn't dodged.

And now Cloud was out of ornaments to throw. He cursed the Prince's aesthetic sensibilities.

Something crashed into him. The Prince. His greater weight bore Cloud to the floor, forcing the air from his lungs. Though winded, Cloud managed to flip over and thrust his knife blindly forward. A snarl and hands grappling with his. One wrist pinned to the floor, Cloud snarled back. He writhed and kicked, blinded by a curtain of the Prince's hair. Hopefully, a small part of him thought, the Prince couldn't see him either.

A clawed hand caught his throat. Cloud choked. Prince Sephiroth shook his hair aside. Their eyes met. The Prince's lips were drawn back from his teeth. There was a long slash on his right shoulder. It bled sluggishly, stained the torn edged of his shirt. He growled, low and warning. Cloud concentrated on breathing past the grip at his throat. He let the hand that held the knife drop to the floor, but he didn't let go of the hilt. Prince Sephiroth stared at him, unblinking. Cloud stared back. There was no way out, he thought. Prince Sephiroth leaned toward his face, very slowly, his eyes fixed on a point just below Cloud's chin. An artery: Cloud could feel his own pulse fluttering against the Prince's restraining hand.

The Prince was much stronger and faster than he was. He couldn't fight him off or run from him.

The Prince wanted - needed - to eat the flesh of another human being. That's what the stories said, wasn't it? Prince Sephiroth lowered himself onto his elbows, still gripping Cloud's neck and wrist.

Cloud tightened his hold on the hunting knife. Now would be a perfect time to attack. A stab to the side of the neck while Prince Sephiroth was preoccupied. Cloud shifted as much as he dared, tensed his arm -

He didn't want to. He wasn't a murderer.

Viscount Fair said so: Prince Sephiroth wasn't a monster. How much of the rumour was true? It was just a curse, wasn't it? And if that was true, Cloud thought, there had to be a way to break it. Or at least get around it.

The story doesn't say he has to kill anyone, Cloud thought, while the other half of his mind raged at him. Who thinks about this when they're about to be eaten? Stab him, you idiot!

Very slowly, Cloud raised the hunting knife. Prince Sephiroth obviously wasn't as preoccupied as Cloud thought. He reared up, mouth twisted in another snarl. Cloud paused.

'It's - it's alright,' he said. He wondered if the Prince could even understand him anymore. 'I won't hurt you...'

The Prince didn't move. Cloud took that as a positive sign and raised the hunting knife a little higher. Prince Sephiroth's hand tightened against his throat. Cloud gave a strangled gasp.

'It's alright,' he said again. His voice was hoarse. 'Look.'

With clumsy movements, he turned the knife in his hand, so that the blade pressed against the pad of his index fingertip, with his thumb on the hilt. Then, as though he were cutting a slice from an apple, he sliced the flesh from the end of his finger.

Cloud grimaced and sucked his breath through clenched teeth. He slid the portion of his fingertip from the blade and held out his maimed hand to Prince Sephiroth, letting the hunting knife fall to the floor. His hand quaked as the Prince examined it. Hot blood dribbled slowly over his hand and dripped onto the bodice of his borrowed gown.

Finally, Prince Sephiroth almost daintily ate the slice of flesh. He released Cloud's wrist and neck, and a purr started low in his chest. Cloud was - well. He couldn't honestly say surprised. He didn't think anything would surprise him after tonight. All the tension drained from his muscles in relief, and he lay boneless beneath the Prince, who had begun, quite contentedly, to lick the blood from his hand. He sighed. Carefully, so as not to startle him, Cloud struggled into sitting position.

'I wish I'd thought of this sooner,' he said.

The Prince looked at him for a moment, and then bit his middle finger. Cloud yelped and yanked his hand back. Prince Sephiroth wouldn't let go and rumbled at him.

'You're still hungry,' he said. 'You have to let my hand go if you want more.'

Prince Sephiroth gave him a decidedly petulant look and released his hand. Once more, Cloud wondered how much he understood when he was like this. If any of the Prince's consciousness remained or - He shook his head. He was too tired for that.

Moving as quickly as he dared, Cloud shuffled backward, retrieving his hunting knife as he went. Without breaking eye contact with Prince Sephiroth, he stood, cautiously, and walked backward. The Prince shifted his stance to pounce. Cloud made what he hoped was a soothing noise.

'It's alright,' he said. 'I'm going to sit on the bed. You come too.'

He held out his uninjured hand, palm up, and continued backward until the backs of his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sank down, slowly, and rested his back against the headboard. Equally slowly, he lifted his feet. The Prince watched him settle, before he climbed over Cloud and settled on the other side of the bed. Cloud smiled at him, shakily.

'See? I'm not going away.' As he spoke, he pressed the blade against his hand again. His index finger still bled steadily, and he trembled, dreading the pain. Still, he cleanly sliced off the pad of his middle finger, and offered it to Prince Sephiroth.

As soon as the Prince had eaten that portion, he took his hand back and said, as firmly as he could:

'One more, then that's all for tonight. Understand?' He held the Prince's gaze with his sternest expression.

Prince Sephiroth blinked, and Cloud cut off the pad of his ring finger. This time, he couldn't hold back a small cry of pain. He dropped the knife onto the coverlet at his side, and held his hand out for the Prince. The purring was back, louder than before. Cloud let his head flop backward against the headboard. He closed his eyes, light headed with relief and blood loss, as Prince Sephiroth lapped the blood from his aching fingertips. After a while, the Prince laid his head on Cloud's thigh. His purring slowly quieted, his head grew heavier, and his breathing deepened with sleep.

Cloud sighed. All he wanted now was to go to sleep. No sooner had he thought that, though, than he realised how very tenuous his situation was. It was hours until dawn. What if Prince Sephiroth decided to eat him anyway? He had to stay awake. Had to.

With a great effort, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. Prince Sephiroth's head rested high on his right thigh, heavy and warm, his breath stirring the stray hairs over his face. He still held Cloud's mutilated and bleeding hand, though his grip was slack in sleep. Cloud's thoughts were coming slowly, through a veil of drowsiness, so it was several minutes before he decided he should probably bandage his hand. Infection was something he'd worry about if he was still alive in the morning. Carefully, he pulled his hand out of Prince Sephiroth's, cradled it against his chest. A one-handed struggle with the hunting knife and his shift later, and he had a few entirely inadequate strips of linen. He wrapped them around his fingertips and knotted them as best he could. He let his hand fall to his side.

It rustled. Cloud looked to his side. There was the spray of roses and cornflowers, somehow still mostly intact. He smiled at it, rubbed his thumb over the rounded edges of the petals. The flowers were already wilting, but they were still pretty, and they reminded him a little of his mother. It was oddly comforting, so he left his injured hand where it lay among the flowers.

Cloud watched Prince Sephiroth sleep through heavy-lidded eyes. Most of the Prince's face was veiled by his hair. Cloud brushed it away with his uninjured hand. It was very fine, like spider-silk. Apparently Prince Sephiroth had appreciated the brush of Cloud's hand: he turned his face into Cloud's palm and gently squeezed his leg. If it meant the Prince was less inclined to wake up and eat him, Cloud was more than willing to continue his ministrations. Besides, he found he rather enjoyed touching the Prince. In his exhausted delirium, it reminded him of stroking a very large cat.

The skin of Prince Sephiroth's face was smooth under his fingertips. Not like a woman's, though. Cloud had been with women - not often: it was all fumbling moments, summertime trysts with one-time lovers. The Prince's skin didn't have the cultivated softness of a woman's. His features were stronger, too, the lines of his nose and brow stern and noble. With the lightest touch he could manage, Cloud traced over the slender bow of Prince Sephiroth's lips. He'd only seen them set in a firm line or thinned in consternation so far. Relaxed in sleep, they were almost artistic; all graceful lines and chiselled planes. Cloud had never considered another man's face so intently. If he hadn't been so tired, Cloud imagined he'd be appalled at the liberties he was taking. At that moment, he couldn't muster the will for it, and instead let his mind wander into a rather pleasant fantasy of what those lips might feel like against his own.