Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Plot Synopsis: SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =) Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods!
Author's Note: You might have noticed that I changed the title of the story. I really didn't like the original, and Final Requiem is much for fitting for Kuja. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please, review if you do. Kuja likes the attention=). I'd like to thank my beta, Littlehouseinthewoods, for her feedback and phenomenal proof-reading skills. She keeps my stories readable. Thanks, LH =).
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Final Fantasy: Final Requiem
Chapter Three
They were falling.
Kuja squeezed his eyes shut as they tumbled through the suddenly icy air, clinging to the man who held him with all of his might. He could feel the rush of bitter cold that penetrated the downy veil of the angel's wing and shivered as his enhanced body strove to compensate for the rapidly falling temperature. The angel's arms tightened around him, molding him to the perfection of that tautly-muscled body, but Kuja was too frightened to properly appreciate it.
Because they were falling, he thought with a rush of panic. Not flying, where that stunning wing could actually be of use, but plummeting through the sky to what would most assuredly be a horrifically painful death. Had his angel lost so much strength that he could no longer fly? Or was that streak of cruelty that Kuja had sensed in him coming to the fore?
As disturbing as both thoughts were, Kuja found himself praying for the latter. He had already died once, and it wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat. If scaring ten years off his life was his angel's idea of playtime, he could deal. He'd just have to teach the beautiful man that there were other, more enjoyable ways to pass the time.
But not right now, Kuja thought as he fought back a wave of hysteria. All of his considerable mental resources were focused on finding a way to land them that didn't require them becoming a splat of unrecognizable genetic material on the ground below. His angel couldn't—or wouldn't—save them, so it was up to him to do so.
Kuja turned his face into the other man's throat—Gaia, but his skin was soft—and forced himself to concentrate on the unpleasant reality of their impending deaths. He called on one of his natural abilities, one unrelated to his superior skills as a mage, and hoped that it was strong enough to carry two people. Otherwise, they were dead, plain and simple.
He called it Glide, although it really didn't have a name. It was an ability that was unique to him, consisting of nothing more than a simple manipulation of the molecules in the air currents around him. With no more than a thought, he was able to slow their frantic descent, which was enough to ease Kuja's fears. They would survive and—hopefully—he would finally be able to claim what was his.
They floated to the ground in a gracefully gradual descent which had Kuja smiling smugly against his angel's throat. He'd just shown the other man that he was strong enough to play with him on his own level, and if the bulge he felt rising against the top of his thigh was any indication, his angel positively loved knowing it.
He wiggled in the other man's arms, letting his own appreciation be known, and was rewarded with a knee-jerking laugh. That low, velvety voice was darkness incarnate, and the sound of it sent shivers of pleasure through Kuja's body. He felt quivering lips touch his head as more laughter spilled forth, and knew that he had pleased him. He tried to lift his head, to capture the other man's lips with his own, and was denied as strong hands held him in place.
He sighed with a combination of relief, disappointment, and frustration as his angel's feet finally touched the ground. He waited impatiently for the other man to put him down and retract his wing, so that he could look up and see the gorgeous face hovering so close to his own, and was shocked when he was unceremoniously dropped on his ass.
An embarrassingly un-masculine yelp escaped him as his ass hit the cold, hard, wet ground. He scowled up at the other man, who was watching him with a small, amused smile, and exploded. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" he demanded, surging to his feet on a wave of righteous anger. "I saved our lives—your life—and this is how you repay me?"
"We were never in any danger," the angel told him in a dangerously soft voice. He held out one black-gloved hand and curled it in an impatient beckoning gesture, his thick ebony wing flapping slightly in accompaniment. "Now, come to me, little monkey. I must heal."
Kuja lifted one silver-violet brow in a haughty gesture. "I don't think so," he said sharply, rising to his feet and pulling his damp kilt away from his frozen ass. "After the stunt you just pulled, you're going to have to work to get back in my good graces!"
The smile slipped as the other man dropped his arm, but Kuja didn't notice as he discreetly reached beneath the sodden cloth and rubbed his aching tail. He made sure that the angel couldn't see it—he was quite ready to reveal that part of himself yet—but groaned as he realized that it was going to be sore for quite some time to come. His angel had dropped him a tad too hard.
"You know, I like a sense of humor in a man, but you took your little joke a bit too far," he continued, withdrawing his hand and trying to arrange the wet material around his bare thighs. "Gaia, but I'm soaked. Where are we, anyway? And what the hell is that smell?"
"That is the scent of mako, as you well know." The other man narrowed his eyes, although though the look in their brilliant depths was one of curiosity, not anger. "Do you truly think to defy me, my pretty little marionette?"
"Marionette?" Kuja echoed with outrage, images of Garland flashing through his mind. "I am no man's puppet!"
"No?" The silver-haired god smiled again, the tips of his gloved fingers just barely grazing the suddenly sensitive skin of Kuja's cheek. "Then what are you, little monkey, if not mine?"
Kuja couldn't respond as that simple, nearly platonic touch sent fissions of heat shooting through him. He leaned into the gentle touch, his eyes fluttered closed as he enjoyed the pleasure of simple human contact. It had been so long since anyone had touched him. . .
He forgot that he should be angry with the other man, or what had prompted his outrage in the first place. Every fiber of his being was focus on the magic of his angel's touch, and of the passion that it promised.
"I almost wish this wasn't necessary," his angel murmured, opening his hand and smoothing it along the delicate line of Kuja's jaw. "You're very beautiful, for all of your defiance. I don't believe I've ever seen another quite like you. Hojo did his job well."
Kuja couldn't halt the pleased smile that spread across his lips at the praise, although he didn't understand all of his angel's words. All while he knew was that he was beautiful, and this powerful, perfect god of a man appreciated that beauty. If nothing else, Garland had done that much for him.
His angel sighed, the sound light despite the naturally deep timber of his voice. "Unfortunately, Mother won't be denied," he said with something resembling regret. "Open your eyes, little monkey. I want you to greet Reunion with full awareness."
Thick silver lashes swept up, revealing hazy diamond-blue eyes, and Kuja was shocked to see a bright, almost ephemeral light glowing around the other man. A brilliant aquamarine in color, the thin wisps of energy wove around his angel's powerful body like a lover's caress. And in the midst of that startling brilliance, a vague, shadowy form began to take shape. It seethed just under the angel's skin, a blue-skinned demon with blazing violet eyes, and ribbons of long silver hair.
Was his angel. . .Trancing?
Kuja himself had Tranced only once, but the he could well imagine that his physical metamorphosis had been just as shocking to those in observance. He had been enraged at the time, fueled by the remnants of Queen Brahne's greed and lust for power, driven by the knowledge that he had been created to fail. He only vaguely remembered seeing flashes of crimson and alabaster as his skin and clothing transformed into a stunning array of downy feathers. Even his tail had changed, taking on the vibrant scarlet hue of his of fury. He had destroyed an entire world, then. What would his angel do, now?
As though in answer to his silent question, the angel's smile widened, showing just a hint of the cruelty that had so intrigued Kuja. The hand on Kuja's throat tightened fractionally, just enough to hold him in place, and the angel's sword materialized between them. The other man held it to his throat, forcing his head back as the sharp blade pressed lightly, almost teasingly, against his vulnerable skin.
"It's time, little monkey."
Kuja gazed into beautiful, soulless green eyes and read his death in their gleaming emerald depths. "Why?" he asked in a pained whisper. "Are you truly so angry, my angel?"
Those strong, patrician features distorted for an instant, betraying a bewilderment that Kuja didn't understand, before settling back into the cruelly beautiful lines of sadism. "It's what Mother desires," the other man replied simply.
Kuja swallowed hard, wincing as he felt that gleaming silver blade cut ever so slightly into his skin. "You don't want to do this," he warned, his voice almost pleading as he began to gather massive amounts of his spirit energy between his palms. "You really, truly don't."
"Oh?" The other man's wonderfully deep voice took on a mocking tone as he eased Kuja's body closer to his own. "And why is that, little monkey?"
"Because you won't live to regret it," Kuja told him, praying that he wouldn't have to unleash the magic singing beneath his skin. "I'm not a part of your world. Whatever's happening to you, I can't stop it. Do you hear me, Angel? Killing me won't heal you."
"Do you take me for a fool?" the angel asked scornfully. "I can feel Mother's cells within you. They resonate with mine, calling to me—calling to her. I don't know how you survived Reunion, but it doesn't matter. You will be reunited with her soon enough—through me."
Kuja's heart was heavy with disappointment as he realized that he would have to kill his beautiful gilded god if he wanted to survive. "I'm sorry, angel," he said, his voice heavy with genuine regret, "but I don't think I'm ready to meet your mother."
The other man's expression showed fury, the likes of which Kuja found all too familiar. "So be it," his angel said very, very softly.
That beautiful body shifted, preparing to strike, and Kuja prepared himself for the beautiful concerto of death. He stared into lovely, silver-sheened green eyes, and opened his palms between them. Holy flared to full, powerful life, the ultimate white magic flashing with achromatic brilliance. He heard a low, deep cry, quickly suppressed, and then the sword separating them disappeared.
Kuja wasted no time, scrambling away from the other man, another spell already building. He didn't know if he would need Flare, but he wasn't taking any chances. As much as he wanted his angel, he wasn't quite prepared to die to have him.
Whirls of pure white light swirled around the leather-clad warrior as he dropped to his knees, and Kuja found himself inching forward in sudden distress. He could almost feel the angel's pain, so different from the rage of only moments before, almost as though it were calling to him. What had his angel said about his mother's cells?
Ridiculous, Kuja told himself sharply. He was a visitor to this world; he and his angel couldn't possibly share any genetics. The other man wasn't one of Garland's "perfect" creations. He didn't even possess any of the physical characteristics that would mark him as a Genome. It simply wasn't possible, and Kuja was angry with himself for thinking such a thing, even if only for a moment.
The angel was on his hands and knees now, swaying unsteadily, his glorious wing gone, that sparkling green light all but consuming him. All Kuja could see of him were his eyes, twin orbs of blazing emerald green which betrayed a will even stronger than his own. His angel was filled with a burning desire to live, and it resonated with something deep within Kuja's own heart.
He knew it was a mistake even as he began to crawl towards him. This man was dangerously unstable, trapped in some sort of Oedipal delusion that Kuja didn't understand. He had already proven himself untrustworthy of Kuja's trust, and yet here Kuja was, reaching out to him with a healing hand.
Cursing himself as the worst kind of fool, Kuja reached into that roiling mist of seething aquamarine and called on the only healing spell in his vast arsenal of offensive magic. It was only a mid-level Cura spell, so it wouldn't heal the other man completely, but it would be enough to save the angel's life. His actions afterwards would determine whether he kept that life or not.
Kuja knew himself well; two years of solitude had given him a great deal of time for self-reflection. He had learned that while he was capable of compassion, he still possessed the ruthlessness which had served him so well as Garland's Angel Of Death. He had a great capacity for cruelty, and if his angel squandered the precious gift Kuja had given him, he would utterly destroy him, and deal with any regrets later. Kuja was nothing if not a survivor.
The strange blue-green vapor began to dissipate, fading away until only a silver-haired, leather-clad angel remained. Lines of exhaustion marked that proud, beautiful face, and Kuja made a soft sound of sympathy as he eased himself under the other man's shoulders and helped him up. "You owe me your life, angel," he told the other man with inborn arrogance. "Don't make me regret sparing you."
The taller man tensed against him, and then relaxed as that simple action proved taxing for his fatigued body. "Who are you?" he asked, the dark velvet of his voice little more than a strained whisper.
"At this moment, I'm your savior," Kuja replied smugly. He led the other man to an oddly symmetrical slab of stone and carefully lowered him to the ground before it. "But, you can call me Kuja."
"Kuja," the other man repeated dumbly, and he smiled as he seated himself on the damp ground beside him. "That's right, Kuja. Now," he slid his arms around the larger man's shoulders and eased him into a supportive embrace, "rest, angel. We'll talk more once you've recovered your strength."
The angel's head dropped to his shoulder, his stunning emerald eyes sliding closed, and Kuja was moved in spite of himself. He hugged his angel close, turning his face into that stunning fall of hair, and prayed that he wouldn't be forced to kill the other man when he woke.