Sacrifice


"Vincent?"

"Lucrecia… Tell me it's not true."

"I…"


His eyes run over me with a desire that makes me nervous. He's undoing the buckles and running his hands under my clothes to meet skin with skin and the only way I can seem to fight it is to distract myself. Though I'm not so sure if I'm picking the right things to focus on as I keep my eyes shut and dizzily run my hands under the back of Tseng's shirt.

All the while, his hands are tangled in my hair as he grazes my neck with his mouth like he's tasting me, devouring me, and turning me into something else…


"Face it, Valentine… I win… you lose…"

"This is insane, Hojo… She's your wife!"

"She's the mother of something I—"


Maybe it's fitting, as hot breath smothers my higher reasoning and lips meet my own, tender and demanding at the same time, that I would think of a time…

The last time I ever needed to breathe.

A tongue that carries the remnant of a sweet taste invades my mouth and I invite it by meeting it as if the contact alone can take away what makes me separate from him, and alone. Maybe I can drown myself in it enough to take me away from the subtle taste of copper beneath it that reminds me of blood.

It was the first thing I tasted after the initial shock as the smoke rose from Hojo's gun.

Only… it wasn't as sensual.


"What have you done to me!"

"Vincent…! Vincent…! Kalm down! I can fix it… No…! Please… I can fix it…"

"Kja…"


I need to focus on something else though, before I wind up convincing myself that this is no different. Just like Lucrecia and Hojo, he's turning me into something I never imagined I'd become, and I push him back slightly and stare at him for a moment. His eyes are full of melancholy, dark and forlorn, but unlike Lucrecia's sad eyes, his seem to hold a deeper meaning and I wonder if it's his silence that carries it.

Unlike Lucrecia, he barely expresses what he feels. He never cries and rarely yells or shows any sign of excitement unless he's pushed too far, and I think right now, he highly suspects that I'm having difficulty. But it's not so much with him as it is with myself, and I push him back a little farther, and he tenses, and I can almost hear the shrill sound of Hojo's mocking laughter as I move Tseng onto his back and stare at him for a moment longer.

I know what he's thinking. I can see it in his eyes, and I know he's thinking that he should just stop me now and leave, and never look back.

I can't help it though. I need to do it my way, and I move his shirt to the side and press my mouth to his chest while noting how tense he is, and at the same time, I undo the buckle on his pants and move my hand through the opening while trying my best not to send any dominating signals.

I owe him that much, at least.


"I… can't… breathe…"

"That's because you're dead."


Dead… But still alive… and I suddenly wonder why I don't understand what that means as I move lower and note that Tseng may be relaxing a bit, but he's still expecting me to back out at the last second while I push his pants down enough to keep them out of the way and he lazily places his hand in my hair, lightly stroking his fingertips against my scalp as if to say that he'd like it. But he doesn't expect it to happen.

It's like then. I feel like I'm drowning and losing my identity, and I almost gag before I realize that it's not as bad as I thought it would be, and for the first time, Tseng relaxes. Then he pushes both of his hands into my hair with massaging movements as if to say that it's not as bad as he thought it would be either, and he gasps.


"You can't go back, Valentine… this is what you are now…"


It's the inner struggle—the battle that never ends. It usually gets the best of me, particularly when I ask…

And remember asking…

"What's left to lose?"

And I remember answering…

"Everything else."

Myself…


"Leviathan… Vincent…"

"Vince," I mutter after pulling away and moving back up to him to stare at him, swooning eyes that almost remind me of whirlpools at the moment. They pull me in as if there's something hypnotic hidden behind them. Hands are tangled in my hair, and I can't recall ever wanting to be this close to someone even though I thought I knew what it felt like at one time.

Then he pulls me down to seal the distance between our mouths again, satiating an insatiable hunger, and I nervously roll back, allowing him to be the master to his ever-faithful servant.


"Vincent… I'm so sorry… I only wanted to help…"

"Gyah!"

"Hehehe… Why don't you tell him the truth, Lucrecia?"

"Stop it, Hojo… I never lied to him!"

"Really…? Hehehe… Then would I be correct in assuming that he already knows you did this to him only because you thought it would further your own career?"


And now all the sudden, I think I realize what it is that eats away at me when Tseng takes the initiative and our bodies move against each other in a manner of foreplay. I spent years trying to sort out the difference between what I should believe about the things I didn't want to believe, and I wound up drowning myself in so much denial about everything that I think it's become more of a habit than I realized, and Tseng pushes my shirt off and I pull him back down to take my mind from the possibility.

But I still feel like I'm suffocating, and he moves his tongue inside of my mouth while I invite him to explore as much as he needs to, still afraid. I'm still afraid of losing even more of myself than I've already lost, and I can't help but try to take my mind away from the thought by focussing on the muffled voices from my past.

Voices I had almost forgotten about invade my mind, as well as conversations that never made sense when Tseng's movement and touches become more fevered and his mouth moves to the crook of my neck and I gasp while running my hands along his strong back.

It had been silent in that mansion for so long that I must have forgotten as I avoided the world and slept in that coffin that I used to be able to hear everything that went on in Hojo's lab, and that I used to do everything in my feeble power to drown it out like I'm trying to drown something else away now.

The screams… much like the silent ones that go deeper than my thoughts…

And much like the crippling silence that they were, I feel like I'm unable to say anything now as his hand moves closer to a place where I'm not entirely ready to be touched and he urges me to the edge of the bed, telling me it will be easier this way, and despite how harmless the act may be, I'm just as scared as I was the day that I awoke to see that my hands were no longer my hands and that my reflection was no longer my own, and Lucrecia was frantically trying to sedate whatever monster I'd become so that she could make it all better…

She said she could fix it.

"You need to relax, Vince…" Tseng soothingly tells me before he comments to himself that the last thing he wants is to have Chaos show up because I'm unable to relax, and I don't think he realizes how hard that innocent and badly timed comment hits me.

It hits me because it's a possibility that I never would have thought of if it wasn't for him bringing it to light.

"Kjata…" I mutter before I push him away from me like a reflex that I can't control, and I feel like recoiling when I realize that things can't go any more wrong than I already allow them to.


"Well, Vince, if you have no desire to come out of there, then be my guest…"

"Leave me alone!"

"Very well… But I should warn you, there's no turning back… You are what you are… and if you decide to stay in there, consider yourself forgotten… Hehehe… Though, I don't mind lending you a helping hand… Hehe…"


Brick by brick, the wall outside went up, and I can still hear the sound of the scraping mortar that sealed my miserable fate—the fate that I chose as Hojo screeched his orders with a shrill voice. It ingrained itself so deeply that I don't even recall when he took it down and decided to violate me with extractions to use in his 'further studies'.


"You may wind up being more useful than I initially thought, Valentine…"


Then the door would close and the sound of a key would hollowly click, and it always left me with a feeling of emptiness, much like now.

The last thing that I wanted to do was seal my fate again. But I think I might have when I stare at Tseng with a feeling so full of regret that I can't even put it into words, and he simply stands there, shirt open, pants undone, and a trickle of blood running from his lip that makes me realize I must have pushed him harder than I thought. What's worse though, is that he doesn't even look stunned, just… fed up.

"I know I shouldn't have expected anything…" he calmly says, almost like he's talking to himself while he stares into a nothingness that I can't comprehend, and he does his pants up like he's only getting dressed in the morning and I'm not even here. Then he chuckles to himself, subtly shakes his head, and tucks his shirt in, "But the thought was nice."

After that, he looks around the room while continuing to avoid me and spots a pair of shoes that he tiredly walks over to and puts on.

"What are you doing?" I ask, still sitting here with more regrets than I can count or carry while noting that whatever depression I've managed to put him into, he's completely managed to lose his stance and emanate it like it's some kind of mental ability.

"Leaving," he calmly says. Then he wipes his mouth and wipes his hands against his pants and slightly turns his head while he finishes doing his shirt up, "I don't think it makes sense to stay."

"Where will you go?"

"I suppose I'll go back to where I belong,"

"The farm?" I mutter as I sit up and lower my head.

"Mm," he responds, and he turns around to look down at me, "I think it would be best if we quit trying to kid ourselves."

"What do you mean?" I hesitantly ask, already knowing the answer and not really wanting to hear it—but needing to hear it at the same time.

"I think you know what I mean," he tells me. Then he turns around and hesitantly places his hand against the knob, "I also think it would be best if this is the last time either of us sees each other."

After that, he snickers like he's snickering at a fool, and adds, "We obviously don't know how to resist each other, regardless of how hard we try… and we… Well… I'm getting tired of this…"

"Wait," I hesitantly say, causing him to close the partially opened door and turn around to stare at me while I continue to keep my head down.

"What?"

"Give me another chance."

"Leviathan…" he breathes out. Then he shakes his head and walks up to me while slowly saying my name.

"Vincent… Valentine…" he says, emphasizing the last part when he reaches over to caress my jaw as if he's his old self again, "If only I never sought you out in the first place."

After that, he takes a deep breath and rustles his hand through the mess of my hair as if it's nothing personal, "Then perhaps I wouldn't hate myself as much as I do for adoring you so much."

With another deep breath, he frowns and bends over to pick up my headscarf that he pulled off when we started and he neatly places it on the night stand beside Lucrecia's necklace, "Even after all the things Sephiroth did, I never felt like the fool that you make me feel like."

"Kjata…" I breathe out while staring at the floor for fear of looking at him right now, "I never meant—"

"Don't apologize, Vincent," he warns, and he's about to walk back to the door before I grab him by the wrist and he continues talking like I'm not holding onto him, "You do it so much that you don't even understand the concept anymore."

Then he looks down at my hand around his wrist and frowns, "And saying it isn't the same as meaning it."

"I can't let you go," I mutter, realizing that I can't stand the thought of it while not even really listening to him as I try to convince myself that he's wrong.

"Yes you can," he tells me. "All you have to do is admit to yourself that it was never me that you wanted."

"Don't start that again."

"Then admit it," he says, and he pulls my attention to him by placing his fingers under my chin and tilting my head up. "When you make love to me, assuming that's what you're doing, do you ever imagine that it's with me?"

"What?"

"When was the last time that you actually touched me during the act?"

"I touch you all the time…" I mindlessly mutter. Hell, I was just touching him a few minutes ago.

"Hm… you've developed such an art, Vincent, and with the exception of tonight, you haven't had to touch me at all."

"That's a lie."

"Is it?" he asks, and he quickly pulls his hand loose before grabbing my wrist and bringing it up to his chest. "When was the last time that you touched me here while making love to me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Here, Vincent, a simple reminder of what I'm not," he says, and he drags my closed fist across his breast before I roughly pull my hand free with some kind of inner struggle that I'm unfamiliar with. "I'm willing to go so far as to say that the main reason you refuse to give up the control is because you're afraid that Lucrecia will somehow see you from the grave… Maybe you're afraid of being judged by her in such a way."

"Kjata," I mutter, thinking of how ironic it is that a man so worried about what others think would be the one to tell me that I'm afraid of being judged, "If I make you feel that way, why did you come back?"

"Because, Vincent…" he quietly says and turns around to emptily stare at me again as that strange melancholy slips in and he emptily admits that, "You're the only one I can trust…"

Then he shakes his head and adds as if he really doesn't care about what he lets me know about his pathetic feelings anymore, "And it's been so long since anyone's made me feel attractive."

After that, he turns around and says under his breath, "Even if it was a lie."


I never thought I'd live to see the day when a modern Turk would make me feel this low as I watch him tidy himself up before he reaches for the door, and I suddenly start to worry about what's going to happen to him once he leaves.

Or maybe I'm more worried about myself since he's managed to make me more confused than I've ever been in the past, and I'm unable to know how much of what he says is fact and how much of it is personal injury, and I mindlessly blurt out, "Give me another chance," without knowing what else I can say or do to convince him of something I'm not even convinced of myself.

"Ngh…" he groans in defeat, and he rests his forehead against the door like he's being drained by some kind of unseen force, "You're insufferable…"

"No…" I desperately say, and I move more eagerly to the edge of the bed, ready to bolt and grab him if he tries to leave before hearing me out, "Tseng… Maybe if you didn't take so long to—"

"What? Are you serious?" he disbelievingly asks and turns around to look at me like I've sprung a second head.

"Do you even know what you're saying…? Do you know how much it hurts if…?" he asks, uncertain what it is that he's really trying to ask before he shakes his head and rectifies that, "No… Of course you don't… You're a babbling idiot who doesn't think before you speak."

Then he sighs as I inch more from the edge and he looks like he's recoiling inside—like he suspects something he has no control over is about to happen, and I simply brush off his insult while telling myself that he's only saying it to make me angry enough to let him go.

"Maybe if you didn't mention Chaos…"

"Mm," he considerately mutters before assuming, "or maybe you're just grasping at straws."

"Please…"

"No," he flatly says before muttering to himself that, "I can't believe I've been dumb enough to hear you out for this long," as he turns around, opens the door, and I suddenly bolt.


I never thought I was capable of such insanity, despite that it's been ongoing since I met him.

I'm not even sure how aware I was of the fact that I've been slowly slipping from everything that I thought I was or thought I had control over, and whatever it is about him, I can't let it go.

"Vince!" he shouts in surprise as his legs fly up in an attempt to run up the wall and flip himself out of my grasp, and I quickly pull back to take that leverage away from him before slamming him into the wall and pressing myself against him.

"You can't leave me!" I forcefully growl while he disbelievingly asks if I've gone insane—not that the question was ever up for debate, and I find myself confessing into his ear with warm breath from behind that, "I can't make the same mistake twice…"

Then I hope to hell that he doesn't realize I'm talking about the mistakes I made with Lucrecia before I demand that we try again, and he says something along the line of, "We can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because you can't."

"Yes I can," I growl while inappropriately running my hands over him and brushing my cheek against his while he tries to squirm out of my inhuman grip when I start undoing his buttons, "I want to feel what you feel."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Don't…! Stop it… Vince…! Stop it!" he demands before he finally breaks free from my wandering and violating hands and pushes me away while telling me that, "You can't force me to have sex with you! It doesn't work like that!"

"Yes, I can," I stupidly say and ignore the fact that it makes absolutely no sense as he hesitates for a moment and then shakes his head like he has no idea why he hasn't left yet.

"Well…" he starts, and hesitates again like he really doesn't know why he's arguing with me as he does the buttons back up on his shirt, "Then… I can't force you to follow through."

"I thought that you prided yourself in being a heartless bastard."

"I thought I told you not to call me that," he says before he shakes his head and inwardly struggles with himself as to the fact that I think he really thinks the best thing to do would be to leave all this madness behind.

Yet, he stays.

"It's true," I say, witlessly egging him on for reasons I'm completely unaware of, "You're a bastard."

But I guess he loses the battle because the next thing I know, he's chattering away in Wutian and angrily pushing me onto the bed.

"I must be mad," he disbelievingly admits while almost ripping the buttons on his own shirt and stating, still in Wutian, "I think I know why I can't remember anything."

"Why's that?" I breathe as he moves faster this time, and I manage to hold off my nervousness a little better this time too—though not by much.

"My better judgement has been tampered with," he says while causing me to jump unexpectedly when he smacks my hind-side before spinning me onto my back like he's telling me it's all my fault… Everything.

Other than that, though, he's considerately gentle and careful when he picks up where we left off.


Over 30 years ago, I don't think I ever would have thought about doing what I'm doing now—letting someone else do—as the initial discomfort fades while he does his best to prepare me for something I'm still not entirely sure about.

"Relax, Vince…" Sephiroth's lover commands while grazing his lips against my inner thigh and then tending to my arousal before inserting his fingers into a part of my body that I don't think was ever meant to be penetrated. My fingers dig into the sheet beneath me so hard that it hurts. Kjata, for all I know, he's inserted his whole Gaia-damned hand…

I don't even think the consideration would have crossed my mind when Cloud and his friend's unlocked my tomb and woke me up after a thirty year slumber, and if anyone ever told me that I would fall so desperately in love with a man—a lying, manipulative, and sadistic Turk no less, enough to sacrifice my own identity, I don't think I ever would have believed them.

I might have even laughed at them if I was capable of remembering how.

"Kjata…" I breathe out, panting out of habit and still gripping into the sheets that are starting to tear, and he stands, and I see a brief image of Sephiroth standing behind him as if to state his ownership or to taunt me or ruin the mood. But it's my imagination, I know that as I gasp when he does something strange with his fingers and smiles like I imagine Hades would while an unfamiliar sensation runs through my lower body that almost makes me forget about the discomfort that I may be over-dramatizing about.

Then he satisfyingly whispers to himself while the lids fall dreamily heavy on his eyes that, "That's the spot," as he turns his attention to my leg that he's pulled over his shoulder and brushes his mouth against the calf.


A part of me can't help but suspect that he's milking it for all it's worth as he says things he doesn't normally say and gets me to beg for things I wouldn't normally beg for. All the while, he does unfamiliar things that I'm not entirely sure about just yet, and I almost wonder if this was all he really wanted to do as I become uncontrollably close to feeling that sensation that I've come to relate to only something he can make me feel.

Only this time, it's a little different.

"Mm…" he mutters before he stops and causes an unexpected disappointment. Then he seriously stares at me for a moment.

"We could continue like this if you'd like…" he finally tells me, "I must admit that I'd be happy to oblige…"

Then he kisses my calf again and lightly runs his hands over my hips while I take a moment to consider the offer. But I also consider the fact that if I don't let him do it now—after he's managed to ease my vulnerable exposure this much—I may never let him, and I regretfully tell him, "No…" and he nods with his eyes closed, almost like my answer makes him as nervous as it makes me.

"You're sure?" he thoughtfully asks, with no hint towards being disappointed if I change my mind.

"Yes."

"You're going to feel uncomfortable."

"You mean pain…"

"Perhaps…" Then he pauses for a brief moment and turns serious as he tells me in a manner of instruction that, "You won't be doing either of us any favours if you don't say anything."

Then without warning me, he shows me exactly what he means by 'uncomfortable.'

"Nnnng-gyah…"


"I just wanted to… say goodbye…"


Whatever I was thinking… or not thinking, I'm not sure about what I think of it.

I'm not sure why somebody would choose to sacrifice themselves like this for the love of another, and I'm not sure why they would continue to do it. I'm not even sure why I'm doing it since it hurts like fucking hell.

It's just not meant to be done. There's no way anyone could ever convince me otherwise—not after I've had a taste.

And all the while, he urges me to relax. He tells me it won't hurt as much if I try to relax, and somehow, he seems to think that I need to relax. But I ignore him and I ask myself how in the hell am I supposed to relax? He hasn't even started, to my knowledge, and there's no possible way that I can simply relax.

Maybe I should be thankful though, as the initial pulsing that feels like flames devouring me from the inside eases, that he knows how to read me. And maybe for the first time, I'm relieved about it as he pretends to pay special attention to me and does something to make it not seem as bad, and I think it's strange that the movement would be enough to ease the pain.

And maybe for the first time, I understand and respect him more than I thought I ever would, now that I know…

But he tells me it's not always like this as if he's reading my mind, and he leans in a way that eases the burden even more. Then he does something that pulls my attention away from it, and I find myself suddenly wanting it.

I find myself wanting it so much that I wind up letting go faster than I intended…

And he slows down before stopping and smiles at me like he sees me differently all the sudden. Then he pulls out and crawls over me while I apologize for being so embarrassingly quick, and he simply states in a soothing way that, "It's okay…" as if he understands it more than I thought he would and he tends to himself while staying above me.


"Why didn't you finish?" I finally ask while we lay beside each other after a long silence of staring at the ceiling.

"I thought I did," he smugly answers, almost sounding like he's in a daze that he doesn't want to withdraw from yet.

"No… I mean…"

"I didn't want to hurt you," he breathes out before turning to look at me with that empty study that he's mastered so well that I don't even think he realizes he does it half the time. "You were already being more dramatic than you needed to be."

Then he quickly turns his attention back to the ceiling as if he suddenly wants to avoid something and I wonder if I'm reading too much into what he's saying as my burdening guilt begins to resurface.

"What was it like for you… When you first…?"

"It was a long time ago," he mumbles before quickly turning over to suggest that he doesn't want to discuss it any further and decides that he'd rather sleep while I consider what little he's told me about his past. Then I snuggle up to him from behind, feeling strangely empty and wondering how much more of him remains hidden beneath the surface…


Sephiroth…

It's the first dream I've had since Tseng returned. But there's something different about it.

The son of Hojo looks like he's been going through books for days as he paces through small hills of them scattered about the floor, leafing through one of them as if he's deeply concentrating before he glances at the ones he placed on the heavy desk in the middle of the room. I recognize some of them. They're notes and books from Lucrecia and Hojo.

And he stands there, looking like he's lost in empty thoughts until a voice breaks him out of his daze and he turns to look in the direction it came from, "Do you think he'll still want you once he finds out?"

He doesn't answer the question though. Instead, his eyes grow darker and more withdrawn before he turns around to look at a withering man wearing a similar outfit, but it's a faded crimson and not as revealing as the one that Sephiroth wears.

"Hm…" the other man mutters. He's a Soldier like Sephiroth, I assume, and he sleekly walks around Sephiroth as if he's circling him. Then he brushes his hand through his greying hair and smirks before gracefully shaking loose his own hairs from his fingers as if to emphasize the fact that it's falling out.

"How far does the apple fall from the tree?" he melodically asks, almost like he's toying with Sephiroth before stopping and coyly holding up what looks like a rotting apple. "If only I'd known before I tainted it more…"

Still no words from the silver-haired Soldier though, and he watches the man's every step and action with an empty expression before suddenly lunging at him to clash swords with near-identical length.

There was no warning though.

"So… you are capable of caring for another," the man in fading crimson mockingly surmises while bitterly smiling at his opponent through the cross of swords between them. "Too bad he may not care as much for you if he ever finds out what you've done to him."

At that, Sephiroth eases the pressure of his sword against the other man's defensive hold and steps back while staring at something that the man in faded crimson is holding. There is no expression in his eyes and no expression in his features as he watches the other man flick the papers at him in the same manner that cards would be dealt while he points out that he got them from, "Hojo's secret stash."

All Sephiroth does is watch the papers flutter to the floor with no desire to deal with whatever it is as he emptily stares at the one that landed face-up. It's a scratched and faded picture of Tseng, and the man in faded crimson starts to gracefully walk away, looking satisfied about something while telling Sephiroth, "There's more where that came from."

Then he mildly chuckles while the Silver-haired Soldier continues to emptily stand there, head tilted, dispirited eyes locked on the image while the man of fading colours casually muses as he continues to walk out and his voice grows more distant, "I suppose he has you to thank for surviving that mako incident… and for his resilience… but… I wonder… at what cost…?"