Archive of Our Own

For one is Love

And one is Bitter Shame 

Or Hatred.

Each, forever conjugal,

Forever balanced to the other’s scale

Impregnates snow and scatters seed in flame.

Of them is God, resolved to unity—

The planets’ cavern, the structured flesh of stars,

The final flesh, the last stockade, the bone

Golden and spherical.

Only His boundary delimits Love.

Only His bars decree the depth 

To which His Self is sown.

Mother is still with him, as awareness returns. 

He is not forgiven—he will not forgive himself—but his failure has not earned him her abandonment. As always, she is gentle with him, kind and understanding. 

The wet that had seeped from his eyes has frozen into crystals on his skin, and the same goes for the blood he bled. His wounds…ache. Fangs of ice are biting into them, tearing into his flesh. 

Mother is safe, though. Safe within him. He has kept her safe, at least. Her, but not…

His head won't quite lift to let him look at the one before him. Their kin, slain in a battle he arrived at too late to change the outcome of. Brutally burned and ripped to pieces. Executed just for existing by them. 

He will avenge it. He will—

With gentle but firm force, his eyes are made to flutter shut again as mother's cells urge him to sleep. To stay still and in stasis until he has fully healed. As always, she is wise. As he protects her, she protects him. The only one to have ever done so. 

His sleep is long, and dreamless.

When awareness returns a second time, his wounds have closed and healed. As he moves to stand, the ice that had formed around his body breaks apart and falls down, soundlessly. 

He lifts his head. 

They've long since left the nebula behind, and what's left of his kin's asteroid host has been pulled into orbit around an unfamiliar planet. It's small and white, like a pearl. The constellations surrounding it are unfamiliar as well. 

Hm.

He studies them for another long moment, his wing at the ready but held still for now. 

It is…unclear how much time has passed. 

It does not matter to him, of course, or to mother. They have eternity. But…

Even across a distance as vast as this, he can feel the one he has bound himself to. The distance…aches. They are not meant to be apart. It is hard enough as it is, to wait for his beloved's foolish attachments to the humans in his life to fade away and disappear. For him to finally claim his rightful place at Sephiroth’s side. 

Unfortunately, as he has come to realize, force is not Sephiroth’s ally in this case. Patience is needed, and delicacy. As a warrior, Cloud has his own pride. As he roams the wilderness of his world like a lone, packless wolf, it is only natural for him to cling to his independence. 

But with every reunion, Sephiroth can feel how it becomes harder and harder for his beloved to let him go, even though the man's profound stubbornness will not let him admit to it. This usually manifests in Cloud being unable to decide if he wants to cling to him or push him away, in thorny silences and possessive teeth marks.

The last of these marks have long since faded. It is their mother's blessing that grants both him and Cloud the ability to heal without any traces left behind, but in this case, permanence would be preferable.

The urge to return to his beloved's side at once tugs at him, but he cannot forget his mission. This unfamiliar planet will need to be investigated before more personal desires may be indulged.

With a gesture of his hand and a calling forth of mana, space parts for him. 

His kin's lifeless body, mangled and burned and partly frozen over…it will need to remain here. By continuing to tumble through the cosmos on the asteroid that has become its grave, at least it will be safe. It is very unlikely that anyone or anything will find its remains here.

If only his kin had discovered how to open and travel through portals as well, it would not have been so vulnerable to attacks. Then again, it is knowledge that has been granted to Sephiroth only through repeated deaths, so perhaps it is a pointless thing to ponder.

His wing lifts and with a single powerful shove, the grave is left behind. 

As they were already in orbit, the journey down to the planet's surface does not take more than a handful of wing beats. It appears to be covered entirely by a shallow ocean, while the sky is covered by pearlescent clouds. This makes the water itself appear white. When viewed from the surface, it must be near impossible to distinguish sea and sky.

The surface…

He has to round half the planet to finally find it: a single strip of land, like a black rip in the surrounding white. When he lands on the shoreline, he finds it covered in black sand and dark reeds that rustle in the soft breeze. 

The reeds bear some resemblance to a species he has seen in some of Cloud’s pictures: stiff stems with long, sharp leaves, topped by spikelets covered in tufts of soft-looking hair. These ones are smaller, and colored blue instead of green and brown. 

The sounds the reeds make when the wind moves them is like whispers, mingling with the gentle waves. 

The only other lifeforms around are small, four-winged insects gliding on the breeze, and even smaller fish that glitter in the shallows. Above the waters, the pearlescent clouds glide slowly across the sky. Just as Sephiroth had suspected, looking at the horizon, it is difficult to find any degree of separation between the water and the air. 

Leaning down, he slips one gloved hand into the ocean and lifts up some of the white sand. 

The moment it makes contact with the atmosphere, it darkens and turns black. 

How curious. Something in the air must cause a chemical reaction to occur within the grains. 

When he lets it slide back underwater, the sand turns white once more. 

Behind him, the reeds whisper. 

Would Cloud…like this place?

He seems to have a preference for wide open spaces. For quiet solitude. 

Yet another shared trait between the two of them.

Sephiroth lifts his head again. Inside him, his heart beats. 

It may not even need to anymore. He is beyond the constraints of a mortal form. Mother has made him beyond, for she is always with him. Through her, he is never alone. 

His heart beats, and yet there is a certain…vacancy. In his chest. Mother is with him, and yet…

It feels strange to stand here on this shore, with only the sounds of the reeds and the waves. 

Above him, the sky is white, and empty.

The journey back to the planet that is his birthright takes longer than usual. The remains of the asteroid had indeed traveled far while he remained sleeping. Navigation, however, is not an issue. 

No matter how far he travels, his lodestar always guides him back to its side.

The call of said lodestar's presence becomes stronger and stronger as he enters the atmosphere, as he falls down through the skies like his mother did before him, as air once more flows through his feathers like water. 

The sun is close to setting as he touches down on the barren plains, bathing the landscape in red light and stark shadows. He's landed behind his lodestar's back, who now whirls around to face him, the steel of his drawn blades like lightning cutting through the shadows. 

Masamune is called to his hand just in time to deflect the ferocious attack, only for Cloud to immediately launch another. 

His lodestar, who tends to shroud himself in gloom…in battle, he becomes the brightest thing in the entire universe. 

Cloud is silent, his eyes blazing, his teeth clenched. It always takes time for him to thaw, to allow the distance between the two of them to be closed without any steel separating them. He may yet act like a bloodthirsty, territorial wolf, but he did heed Sephiroth’s call. He always does. 

As they exchange blows, Cloud relentlessly pursues him over the plains while Sephiroth teasingly evades him. His beloved's blades chase after Masamune as if desperate to feel its sharp edge. 

It is exhilarating as always, to take flight and have Cloud jump after him, using boulders and collapsed infrastructure as footholds as they ascend higher and higher. In those moments, Sephiroth can see what his beloved has yet to realize himself: Cloud is desperate to return to the skies. 

After all, it's no coincidence that Cloud chose an occupation that keeps him on the move, that has him endlessly travel the land back and forth. Though a poor substitute, this must satisfy his ingrained instinct for reunion at least enough for him to function. 

Whether Cloud accepts it or not, as he is Sephiroth’s lodestar, so Sephiroth is his. 

The saw-toothed blade in Cloud's right hand tries to hook Masamune and yank it aside. With a gentle twist of his wrist, Sephiroth nudges it aside, but allows Cloud’s main blade to slam itself against Masamune. To crowd in and push. 

Their faces are very close. Cloud’s gaze is piercing and cold as ice. The wind tugging wildly at his clothing makes it appear as though he is spreading his own black wing. 

He is radiant, he is—

Not as strong as he should be. 

Hm.

Careful not to outwardly give anything away, Sephiroth forces himself to pay closer attention to his beloved's movements. Even in play fights, Cloud never pulls his strength, never gives an inch. But this time, after the initial couple of blows, the force behind his attacks is noticeably diminished, his speed lagging behind by almost two thirds of a second.

Under the sky blue of Cloud’s eyes, there are shadows. The black clothing fluttering around him sits just a little more loosely than it should. 

Cloud was healthy when Sephiroth last left him. 

What has happened?

Further observation will be necessary to obtain the answer. Certainly Cloud seems too agitated yet to be confronted directly. Every strike of his blade, diminished in strength as it may be, every line of his body as he twists around in the air, as he chases Sephiroth through light and shadow—

There is something that Cloud wants, desperately. 

It would be better for his health not to deny him any longer. Like a wild wolf, it will be only once Cloud has tasted blood and sated his hunger that he will calm down and let himself be tended to.

As Cloud chases him and Sephiroth lets himself be chased, they've completed an almost perfect circle back towards where Cloud's bulking black vehicle is parked. Sephiroth descends again, careful to keep his speed at a level where Cloud can easily follow. This time, when Cloud’s blade aims to capture his, Sephiroth lets Masamune be hooked and shoved aside, leaving himself wide open. The force of the shove slams his body against the cliff wall at his back and then—

The pain is undeniable and piercing, as Cloud’s blades sink into his arm and deeply into his abdomen. For a moment, Sephiroth can feel his eyelids flutter, his fingers going lax. For a moment, he is back there; hanging suspended in midair as Cloud pierces him through again and again with his blades surrounding them in a circle. 

Cloud, glowing like a blue flame, like a falling star. A star that had fallen onto Sephiroth and through him. It had hurt, but more than that, it had felt like an awakening. Sephiroth had not just felt pain, he had felt Cloud; his will and his wounds, his longings and his memories. 

For a moment, it had felt as though they'd collapsed into one being. And it was only then that Sephiroth had understood what they truly were to each other. 

But where back then their reunion had brought Cloud peace, now it only seems to have piqued his ire even more. Still unsatisfied, he hisses out his displeasure and leans more heavily onto his blades. Sephiroth hears his own breathing hitch but forces himself to endure, even as mother's cells scream at him. Having only recently repaired this body, they are not pleased at being sliced open again so soon after. 

Forgive me, mother. I promise this is necessary. 

“Is it so wrong of me to want to give you what you crave?” Sephiroth asks, smiling down at the vicious little wolf that is standing between his legs and piercing him through. 

For some reason, this doesn't ease Cloud’s anger either, only changes the taste of it. He goes from burning to bitter, ripping his blades out and then turning away, his head ducked down and his shoulders tense. 

Hm. Maybe this has been a miscalculation after all.

Cloud has complained before when victory had come too easy, but in those instances he had still found pleasure in putting Sephiroth to the sword. In pinning him down and forcing him to his knees. 

What is different this time?

“Whatever. I'm going home,” Cloud announces sullenly, and then doesn't make a move to do so.

The obvious ploy for reassurance makes Sephiroth smile. His wounds already closing, he dismisses Masamune and steps forward to caress his beloved's cheek. 

Cloud averts his eyes but doesn't lean away from the touch. Leaning down, Sephiroth promises, “I'll be waiting.” And then, with a single wing beat, he is gone.

Cloud's dwelling is a familiar sight by now, bathed in the bluish shadows of day ending and night beginning. Sephiroth sweeps his gaze around critically but there are no obvious explanations to be found for Cloud’s diminished health. It's only when he remembers the refrigerator that the picture becomes a little clearer.

The appliance holds nothing but a black lacquered box, inside which there are…pastries? They are not spoiled, but they have not been touched at all. 

Hm. So at least some of the unhealthiness appears to be self-inflicted. 

Why?

Sephiroth sets the box down and closes the refrigerator door, then leans against the counter while he waits, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

Cloud causing himself damage can not be tolerated. The reason must be ascertained and then the situation rectified. 

He can feel his beloved getting closer as Cloud drives across the plains. It won't be long now.

Across from Sephiroth is a broad window showing the descending night. But the view is disturbed by what is crowding the windowsill and greedily reaching for the sky with green leaves and yellow petals. 

These…were not down here the last time Sephiroth was there. They were confined to the roof and out of sight. Is their appearance in Cloud's living space a symptom of his malady? In Sephiroth’s absence, has he been reaching for the only other tether he knows?

Or…could they be the cause of the symptoms after all?

He can feel his frown deepen as he stares at the flowers. 

It is still frustratingly unclear what the little Ancient had done to Sephiroth when he had been sent to the lifestream a third time. The memories of that time are…

Vexing as it is to admit, he has yet to make sense of them. 

The quiet of Cloud’s dwelling is interrupted by the roaring of an engine, coming closer and closer, and then stopping abruptly. A few moments later, there is the sound of footsteps on the stairwell, of a key turning in the lock, and the door opening. 

Typically, the first thing Cloud does upon entering and seeing him is to complain. 

“You know, it's damn rude to enter someone else's place while they're not even there.” With a clatter, his keys land on the counter, and then Cloud takes a glass out of the cupboard to drink from the sink. 

The moment Cloud turns back around, Sephiroth moves: lifting him onto the counter and tilting his head back to better observe his face as he confronts him. 

Stubborn as ever, Cloud feigns ignorance of his condition and insists that he is not hungry at all, a boldfaced lie. 

There is a moment of silence as Sephiroth wrestles with the cold anger that surges up in response to his beloved's irrational refusal of his care. 

Very well. It seems a more proactive approach is needed. 

The protective paper crinkles as Sephiroth lifts one of the pastries out of the box. A myriad of flavors flood his mouth at the first carefully sized bite, but he pays them no mind. All that matters is chewing the bite to a point where it can be swallowed without risk of choking. 

Cloud’s eyes widen as Sephiroth’s grip on his jaw tightens, as a thumb is slipped between his lips to keep them open. The first touch of their mouths after so long a time…what is usually an act of passion is now purely one of practicality. It does not feel less divine, though, as Cloud clumsily accepts the nourishment from Sephiroth’s mouth and swallows it. 

Sephiroth can hear his beloved’s heart rate pick up, can feel the quickened breaths wash over his skin like a shy caress. But now is not the time for tenderness. Undeterred, Sephiroth keeps feeding him, bite-sized piece by bite-sized piece, even as Cloud’s instinctual resistance morphs into an equally instinctual need for more. The hands pushing at Sephiroth’s arms now cling to him instead, and the sweet smell of the pastries in the air is made even sweeter by Cloud’s pheromones wafting up from his skin.

How ardently must he have longed for their reunion, if this is enough to arouse him? 

Cloud is making tiny, soft noises. His thighs press against Sephiroth’s hips. He is very tempting like this, but Sephiroth won't indulge him just yet. 

Half the contents of the box seem like sufficient nourishment—for now. Sephiroth will make sure that Cloud eats again later. The box is deposited in the refrigerator, and then Sephiroth fixes his beloved with a stern look. 

“You have yet to tell me what happened. When I left you last, you were in much better health.” 

Cloud, who has been staring up at him with glassy eyes and saliva-slickened lips, abruptly turns his head away. “You wouldn't need to ask if you didn't fuck off for over half a year!” 

Sephiroth stills. In the silence, only Cloud’s harsh breathing can be heard. 

…had Sephiroth really spent this long in stasis? 

Under other circumstances, it would not matter. What is time to a God? It is nothing. It is meaningless. 

With one exception.

Until the moment comes when Cloud agrees to ascend with him, Sephiroth’s beloved will be excruciatingly aware of every second that passes, every day and month and year that goes by. Even more so, when they are separated. To ease Cloud’s pain, Sephiroth had been making sure to return to him every three to four months. He had never been…delayed like this, before.

“Eternity does not know time as you know it,” Sephiroth explains, haltingly. Better not to overwhelm Cloud with the full truth about the delay. “It…can become difficult to measure how much time has passed in this world.” 

His beloved still isn't looking at him. Cloud is keeping his eyes averted, posture tense, shoulders protectively curled inwards. He is wearing more black than he did last time, strapped to and draped over his body like a funeral shroud. 

Sephiroth leans down and carefully gathers his beloved in his arms, strokes his spine to soothe his tension. “I have left you bereft for too long.”

Of course Cloud would grow sick in his prolonged absence, his cells and his soul desperately calling out for reunion. Howling in pain, with no way to reach him and make it stop. 

Cloud's head is resting above Sephiroth’s heart. His warm breath is caressing the bare skin there. Cloud audibly swallows, and his voice is a growl when he demands, “Start making up for it, then.”

With that, Cloud fists one hand into the hair at the back of Sephiroth's neck and tugs him down into a biting kiss. Sephiroth allows it, and surrenders his mouth, tongue, and saliva to his beloved’s ravenous hunger. There are many ways in which Cloud has been starving, so now, he shall be nourished without fail.

Impatient fingers try to rid Sephiroth of his armor, and when they don't succeed, Cloud finally breaks their kiss and all but growls at the uncooperative buckles. He is very cute like this. Very prickly as well—when Sephiroth dares to offer his assistance, his hands are slapped away. 

Despite his obvious impatience, Cloud sets the armor pieces down on the counter instead of letting them drop to the floor. Once Sephiroth’s upper body is bare, Cloud complains about the blood smears from the wounds that Cloud himself caused. 

Sephiroth is not allowed to help with those either. Cloud twists to the side, wets a dishtowel at the sink, and wipes the blood stains away. The water is cold, the cloth rough. 

Cloud’s gloved hands are warm, where they brush Sephiroth’s skin. His motions are methodical and not particularly gentle. The act of being washed clean by him feels sacred nonetheless. 

After Cloud is finished with his arm and shoulder, he takes Sephiroth’s hand in his own. The wet cloth swipes over Sephiroth’s fingers and rubs between his knuckles. The fabric greedily soaks up the blood, staining itself further. Cloud does not seem to care. 

Around them, the shadows grow deeper, while behind Sephiroth’s back, the full moon rises bright and cold. 

When Cloud moves on to his abdomen, Sephiroth settles both of his hands on Cloud's thighs. They are spread apart to accommodate Sephiroth between them. Even through the thick fabric, the strength of his muscles is palpable. Gently, Sephiroth starts a circling motion with his thumbs. 

Cloud's breath audibly stutters at being caressed so close to his arousal. But he doesn't waver in his cleaning efforts. If anything, he becomes bolder—the top button of Sephiroth's fatigues is popped open, and wet cloth swipes low over his belly. Then, the dishtowel is discarded and Sephiroth is dragged back down into a ravenous kiss.

Heels nudge his legs further apart. A gloved hand slips between them, and—

He hears himself gasp, feels blood rush to where he is being cupped and massaged. His fingers falter where they'd been caressing Cloud’s inner thighs, but he's not given time to regain the rhythm of his motions. Cloud reclaims his mouth, and doesn’t stop massaging him through his leather fatigues until he is straining against them. The scent of Cloud’s own arousal hangs heavy in the air between them, sweet yet sharp-edged. 

His beloved is a wolf that has been fed, yet has only grown more hungry for it. Sephiroth allows himself to be pushed towards the bed and then down onto it. The moonlight floods in through the window in the roof slope directly above. The sheets smell of a sweeter, more floral soap than they used to. 

Cloud stalks after him, every inch the predator. His eyes, fixed on Sephiroth, burn with a cold, blue flame. 

He settles himself between Sephiroth's legs and frees them from the confines of the boots, his motions rough and impatient. Sephiroth only becomes aware of his own arousal again when Cloud’s knuckles brush against it, popping open the buttons of his fatigues. The noise he makes in reaction only seems to spur on Cloud’s cravings. 

As soon as Sephiroth lies completely bare beneath him, Cloud leans down and bites his inner thigh. The bite is followed up by an almost-kiss, which is followed up by more bites. They feel…

Sephiroth leans his head back and exhales. Spreads his propped-up legs wider. 

Cloud's mouth is hot, his teeth sharp. He's still wearing his gloves, but he takes one off to sink slickened fingers into Sephiroth and rub. 

Sephiroth’s breath hitches. His muscles want to tense at the sudden intrusion, but he forces them to relax. Cloud continues to kiss-bite his thighs, spiky bangs shielding his eyes from view. Deep, rosy teeth marks, shiny with saliva, are left behind on Sephiroth’s skin. It's like Cloud can barely restrain himself from tearing chunks out of him. 

His fingers, too, are almost aggressive in the way they rub and stretch Sephiroth from inside. Sephiroth often wonders why his beloved even bothers with this. Between the two of them, pain is rapture, desire is a blade. There is no need for Cloud to consider human delicacies when it comes to seeking oneness with his God. 

As if in response to Sephiroth’s thoughts, Cloud withdraws his fingers, and starts to undress. It always takes him a while until he's ready to bare his body to Sephiroth; another incomprehensible habit of his. Shouldn't he know by now how wanted he is, how adored? Does he still not trust that Sephiroth won't suddenly strike him like a serpent from the shadows? 

Cloud tugs down the zipper on his sleeveless top, his face turned away. Sephiroth sits up and helps him pull the piece of clothing over his head. His fingers brush Cloud’s heated skin, and there's a split second where Cloud's body almost flinches away. With his head ducked down, Cloud doesn't see Sephiroth’s endeared smile.

Little wolf…so eager to touch, and yet so skittish still?

Cloud shoves his pants down his legs, kicks off his boots, and then pushes Sephiroth down on his back again with so much force the bed frame shakes. And he's no less forceful when he shoves his way inside Sephiroth, when he greedily and violently ushers in their reunion. 

In response, Sephiroth hears his breath catch, feels his hips lift off the bed. 

This feeling—

The first thrust is so harsh, it pushes him up the bed and deeper into the sweetly smelling sheets. It's not unlike the way it had felt during their earlier fight, when he had left himself open to receive the unbridled force of Cloud’s anger and desire. Even the pain is similar: the way it jolts through his body like a lightning strike, sending sparks up his back and ecstacy through his nerve endings. 

Cloud's fingernails are digging crescents into his hips. The little wolf's teeth have sunken into the flesh of Sephiroth's chest. Breath, hot and damp, washes over his skin. 

The thrusts are hard, but the pace is slow, as if Cloud wants Sephiroth to feel every inch of him when he draws back. As if he wants to make sure his absence is felt just as much as his presence. The blue flame of his soul is so much closer to the surface when they reunite like this. When they're one like this. It's right there, pulsing beneath Sephiroth's fingertips where his hands are pressed to Cloud's upper back. Blazing, burning, consuming both of them with a ravenous hunger, and—

A raindrop falls onto Sephiroth's chest. Slides over his skin. Another follows, and another. 

“Aah, hngh—”

Cloud’s nails dig into Sephiroth's skin even deeper. His hips stutter as he loses his rhythm. Forehead pressed to Sephiroth’s chest, face hidden from view, Cloud is…crying?

A hand stroked over Cloud’s spine scans for wounds or pain inside Cloud’s body and finds none. And yet the tears keep coming. Cloud's back is trembling, muscles bunched up, lungs heaving. 

“Cloud?” 

No reply. Cloud's hips continue to thrust forward almost desperately, even as his ragged breaths start to sound more and more like sobs. 

In an effort to soothe him, Sephiroth strokes the soft hairs at the back of Cloud’s head, but it's like his beloved doesn't even feel his touch. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. 

“Cloud—”

Reunion should not bring about this kind of reaction. Should not make Cloud sound like he is suffering, like he’s not even quite present in this rapturous moment. Should not render him deaf to Sephiroth’s voice and unresponsive to his presence. 

With his thighs pressed to Cloud's sides and his arms wrapped around Cloud’s back, Sephiroth flips their positions and lowers Cloud down onto the bed without breaking their intimate connection. Like this, Cloud’s face is no longer hidden from view. 

His cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears, the bloodthirsty wolf from earlier has regressed into a weepy cub. 

Gently, Sephiroth attempts to stroke the wet away from Cloud's skin, his own fingers trembling inexplicably. What has brought on this sudden upset? Reunion should have made Cloud feel better, not worse. Has anything else happened in Sephiroth’s absence that Cloud has neglected to tell him about? Is he getting tangled in the threads of their shared past again? Is he—

Cloud's fists hit Sephiroth’s chest.

“D-don't le-eave m-me alone!” 

The cub's teeth are bared, eyes glazed over and red, face twisted with anguish. Tears keep falling onto Sephiroth's fingers that have frozen mid-motion. 

“You c-can't, y-you—” 

Nails dig into where Cloud was just pushing at Sephiroth, drawing blood in their desperation to drag him closer again. 

…has their prolonged separation caused this much pain and fear?

Oh, Cloud.

Heedless of the cub's clawing grip, Sephiroth engulfs him in his arms and presses him close. “Shh. I am here.” He caresses Cloud’s tousled spikes, presses kisses to his fevered skin. Cloud trembles in his hold, his heartbeat frantic, his nails red with blood. 

“Beloved,” Sephiroth says, his voice pitched low and soothing. “Do not be afraid.”

“Nghk—” Cloud makes a noise almost like he's trying to choke something back, and then suddenly, all the tension goes out of him. He slumps into Sephiroth's hold, face hidden against his chest, and starts to sob so hard his entire body shakes. 

Cloud is a seasoned warrior. His soul feels older than the body it inhabits. And yet, in many ways, he is also still a child. 

Half a year must feel like an eternity to him. He doesn't even know what time is. Time that builds mountains, that turns desert sands into ocean waves and formless matter into blazing stars. He doesn't know what true unity is either, cannot feel it around or within him. 

Sephiroth holds him closer. Presses a kiss to the top of Cloud’s head. Rocks them gently from side to side.

All this could be avoided if Cloud finally stopped clinging to his life on this unruly planet. He would never have to suffer loneliness again. 

It would be easy, so laughably easy, to take him away by force. But it would also be unsatisfying. Not to mention that Cloud’s will has grown too strong—he will not let himself be subjugated by anything anymore, not even his God. It's as frustrating a development as it is thrilling. 

Right now, though, Cloud is weak and vulnerable. He needs the shelter of Sephiroth's body, the comfort of their cellular bond. His lungs are still heaving, breath hiccuping, shoulders trembling. Tears are still soaking Sephiroth’s skin while Cloud is making noises like a tiny, wounded animal. 

Sephiroth strokes his beloved's bowed back and smiles.

“Good, Cloud. Cry it out…surrender your pain to me.” 

Cloud doesn't react, but that is to be expected, lost as he is in his meltdown right now. It takes a while, but finally, his sobs become sniffles, and his breathing starts to even out. He remains leaning against Sephiroth’s chest, his eyes open but gaze vacant, as though he is half asleep. 

Sephiroth picks up Cloud’s slack hands, one after the other, sticks the fingertips into his mouth, and licks away the dried blood.

Cloud does not seem to notice. Now that his tears have dried, the side of his face feels hot where it's resting against Sephiroth’s chest. The crying must have dehydrated him. 

Sephiroth carefully lifts Cloud into his arms, and then rises from the bed. Comfort and direct skin contact have helped Cloud calm down, so sudden separation feels ill-advised. 

Cloud's body seems to agree. With uncoordinated movements, Cloud tucks his head into the curve of Sephiroth’s neck, while his hands come up to bury into his hair.

Holding Cloud against his hip with one arm, Sephiroth walks towards the sink. The glass Cloud had used earlier is still in it, but Sephiroth selects a new one from the cupboard. Eyes it critically. 

It seems clean. The water from the sink is acceptable in quality as well, as a tiny sip confirms. 

Back on the bed, getting Cloud to drink turns into an exercise in patience. The cub's mood has shifted from weepy to moody, and he keeps stubbornly turning his head away.

“Cloud,” Sephiroth admonishes him gently, “behave.” 

Cloud finally does, but not without an exasperated huff, as if Sephiroth was the one acting unreasonable. And then he drinks so fast he might have choked if Sephiroth hadn't held the glass out of reach. 

Really, how does he survive while Sephiroth isn't there to oversee his health? 

“There, now.” Once all the water is drunk, and the glass safely deposited on the nightstand, Sephiroth cups Cloud's face. Presses kisses to the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, so that his lips can brush them off the skin. The tracks taste salty, but in a distinctly gentle way. 

It's peculiar, and occasionally frustrating, how soft Cloud can be. To his own detriment, no less.

“My beloved…why do you hurt like this? Have I not promised you eternity?” 

Cloud has his eyes closed, and keeps them closed as he finally admits to his fear of being left behind. 

Sephiroth suppresses the urge to sigh. It seems he really did underestimate just how much Cloud would unravel in his absence. That he still thinks of Sephiroth's devotion as something so fickle, and as himself as something that could be so easily discarded…

“Look at me,” he commands.

Cloud's eyes open and he tilts his head back. Sky blue shot through with glowing green meets Sephiroth’s gaze. Cloud's eyes are wide and glassy, and a little unfocused, like he's not quite there. It's a reaction Sephiroth has observed in him before, as if Cloud had temporarily lost a little bit of himself with the flow of his own tears.

“Cloud. That which binds us together…I would rather forfeit my own existence than abandon my ties to you.” 

He can hear Cloud’s heart stutter at that, hear his breath catch.

It's so endearing that Sephiroth has to stroke away Cloud’s spiky bangs and press another kiss to his skin. “I have promised to wait until you are ready to follow me. How come it is now you who is impatient?” 

As is always the case when Cloud is shown especially gentle affection, his skin heats in a blush. And as always, his response to being teased is to frown and grumble. “Maybe I just wanna savor…this.” 

Cloud doesn't specify what he's referring to, but it isn't difficult to guess. 

Shortly after Sephiroth had flipped their positions earlier, Cloud’s distress had caused him to soften and their intimate connection to break. Now, as he is cupped and stroked, he hisses with sensitivity but bucks into the contact. The eagerness makes Sephiroth smile, and his touch becomes more teasing—just firm enough to arouse, but not to satisfy. 

“If it's savoring you want,” he asks, his cheek brushing against Cloud’s, “why not finish what you started?” 

Cloud is still slick from earlier, and he is swelling against Sephiroth’s palm now. The intimate physical touch seems to have brought back the sparks of his prickly temper as well, as Cloud claims not to know what Sephiroth is talking about. 

Sephiroth feels himself smile again. Such an unruly, contrary cub…

“You're now the one who has left me bereft,” Sephiroth points out. His breath washes over the skin of Cloud’s neck, causing a shiver. “It's lonely, being the only one inside this body.” A swipe over the tip, collecting sticky moisture. “Won't you return? Won't you reunite us?” 

Cloud fists a hand in the hair at the back of Sephiroth's neck and pulls, forcing eye-contact. 

“Beg,” he commands, his tone as hard and unyielding as his gaze. 

There he is again—Sephiroth can almost feel the wolf's teeth at his throat, the threat of its hunger. 

It should be blasphemous to order a God to submit like this, and yet Sephiroth’s body only responds with heightened arousal. 

Cloud lets go of his hair, only to run his hands down Sephiroth’s sides and then slip them down his back. His eyes hold Sephiroth’s, even as his fingers tease and caress the slickened skin close to where—

Sephiroth had still been stroking Cloud, but now his grip falters. That feeling from earlier is back: of hanging suspended in the air and about to be pierced through, held in place by Cloud’s gravitational pull, by his fury and his love. 

“Please,” he hears himself say. Then feels his thighs spread further as Cloud’s hand slides deeper between them. He holds the wolf's ice blue gaze until fingers press into him and—

His hips twitch forward, and breath leaves him in a rush as sparks like sword-friction light up his back. 

“Please what?” Cloud asks, voice like steel, his fingers keeping up their merciless torment. 

Leaning down, Sephiroth rests his forehead against Cloud’s. Closes his eyes. In the palm of his hand, still resting between Cloud’s legs, he can feel the heat of him, the throb of his blood. His heartbeat. But it's not close enough this way. Not close enough to Sephiroth’s own.

Cloud needs to partake of it all—Sephiroth’s flesh, his blood, his soul. 

“Consume me.” Sephiroth is breathing, yet his voice sounds breathless. “Consume me from the inside out.” 

Cloud surges up and claims his mouth in a violent kiss, at the same time that he grips Sephiroth's hips and yanks him forward into his lap, and then down onto—

There is less pain than before, but the renewed connection is still a relief. Cloud doesn't have as much leverage in this position, the rhythm slower, but he seems determined to make up for it. His fingers dig into Sephiroth's hips, muscles in his back and arms flexing as he guides their movements. 

The heat and pressure of him inside is…

Sephiroth spreads his thighs wider apart to have his beloved sink deeper inside him. Presses his forehead to Cloud’s so they're sharing breath, so he can breathe him in. 

But even that doesn't appear to be enough to satisfy. At last, the wolf's teeth sink into Sephiroth's throat, as if to hold him in place for the next thrust. The angle has those sword-friction sparks race up his back again, and curl around his hips to pool molten heat between his legs. A sound like a gasp escapes his bitten throat, and the teeth let go of his flesh, leaving it aching and yearning for their return. 

But Sephiroth is given no time to dwell on the sensation. A hand between his legs suddenly and viscerally makes him aware of his own arousal and how it feels to have Cloud touch and stroke it. 

“You're getting so fucking wet. Did you,” panting breath, a bitten-off moan, “did you miss me that much?” 

The meaning of the words doesn't really register. Sephiroth finds his hands pressed to Cloud's spine, his mouth pressed against the heated skin of Cloud’s neck to kiss him there, again and again. He can hear Cloud’s heaving breath in his ear, feel his heart hammering inside the molten core of Sephiroth's self. 

Cloud makes a choked off noise into the scant space between them, and his back arches forward, and—

With how much heat has already built up where their bodies are joined, the spill of Cloud’s seed can barely be felt. And yet, Sephiroth’s body reacts with a rush of pleasure through his nerve endings, which culminates in reaching his own release. 

For a moment that seems to last indefinitely, everything around them—everything except them—falls away. The bed they're kneeling on, the moonlit room, the city built from ruins. Even the planet itself, and the vastness of space beyond it. 

There is no more Self. Only Them…

There is a noise. It takes several heartbeats to register the noise as having come from Cloud, and not the two of them together. 

It takes another few heartbeats to become aware of the way Cloud is shifting beneath him. Or, trying to. Right…Sephiroth’s body…it's bigger and heavier than Cloud’s own. And it must be especially heavy, resting in Cloud's lap like this. 

They need to move. Moving means…separation. 

Once Sephiroth has determined again where the borders of his body lie, he pushes up on his knees. There's a disorienting sensation of free fall, and a soft noise of discomfort from Cloud, as their union breaks. 

Sephiroth pulls Cloud with him as he lies down on his back, letting him rest on his chest. For once, Cloud doesn't protest at all. He seems half asleep already. 

What does it feel like to him, when they reunite? Obviously, it is pleasurable on a purely physical level. But beyond that? Is he aware of their cells clamoring to become one, of their souls intertwining? 

There was a time where it would have been effortless to find out. But Cloud has shut the door into his mind, and refuses to open it again. 

So stubborn…

With fingers that insist on trembling, Sephiroth gently strokes Cloud’s unruly air. He half expects his hand to be batted away, but Cloud only continues to breathe evenly, face buried in Sephiroth’s chest. 

He has fallen asleep. 

Propped up by the pillows at his back, Sephiroth regards him with a soft smile. Cloud really must have been exhausted, if he's all tuckered out already. He must not have been able to find real rest, with so much distance between their bodies. 

Sephiroth keeps stroking his beloved's hair and watches the play of shadows and moonlight across Cloud’s living space. 

This stalemate they've found themselves in…it really is suboptimal to Cloud's continued health. If only he could be persuaded to finally leave behind whatever notions of loyalty bind him to this planet and his life on it, he could finally be free. 

Free and safe, by Sephiroth’s side. 

And then, at last, they could—

Cloud's body, where it's lying between Sephiroth's legs and draped over his chest, shivers. 

In the absence of physical activity, and under the influence of sleep, his temperature must have dropped. 

The covers have been shoved down to the foot of the bed. They seem like they should be warm enough, but even after dragging them up to Cloud's shoulders and waiting what feels like a sufficient time, the warmth that builds up doesn't feel like enough. 

Hm. 

The bed is not big enough to fit the entire length of Sephiroth's wing, the end of it trailing on the floor. But beneath the cover of feathers, Cloud’s body finally begins to warm properly, and lose the new tension that being cold had brought. When his hair is stroked again, Cloud makes a soft noise of contentment in his sleep and buries deeper beneath the wing. His left hand reaches up blindly and grabs a hold of the feathers next to his face, as if to hold the wing in place around him.

He is quite cute like this. 

His grip, though, is quite…strong. 

No one has ever touched Sephiroth’s feathers before. Not even Cloud. It's a peculiar sensation. Not unpleasant, just unfamiliar. 

“Mghrbm.” 

Cloud mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, then shifts so that his cheek is pressed against Sephiroth’s chest. 

He is very cute like this. 

Having their cells be in such close proximity, in addition to the exchange of saliva and semen, must be a balm to his frazzled reunion sense. Cloud's shoulders, which were up at his ears earlier, are finally relaxed. It must be—

Sephiroth pauses in caressing Cloud’s back. There, behind the right shoulder…the skin is lightly raised with scar tissue. 

The wound that had caused it has healed well, and the scar can barely be felt. It should eventually disappear entirely. But the issue remains that it was not there the last time Sephiroth was with him. And that Cloud did not think to mention that he had been attacked and injured. 

Who would dare to hurt him? To mark him like this? 

The wing is pressed more tightly along the length of Cloud’s body, pushing down the blanket so the feathers can touch his skin directly. 

Sephiroth’s fingers stroke through Cloud’s hair until the tight and thorny feeling in his chest fades. 

In the future, issues like this will not occur anymore. Cloud will always be with him. Will always be safe. Nothing will happen to him without Sephiroth knowing. 

All will be well. 

Above them, the stars wander across the night sky as the planet turns. It's a clear night, and the window in the roof slope provides a good view of the celestial spheres. 

Did Cloud place his bed underneath the window on purpose? Does he lie here and watch the stars like this when he is alone?

Does he think of—

“Nnm.”

Cloud shifts in place. His face scrunches up, and then his eyelids flutter open. 

For a brief moment, he merely blinks dazedly, and then he suddenly pushes himself up, eyes wide and startled.

“What the—”

Cloud stares at the wing as though he has never seen one before in his life, and then turns his head to meet Sephiroth's eyes with an offended glare. 

“You were shivering despite the blankets,” Sephiroth explains helpfully. “I had to keep you warm somehow.” 

Cloud does not seem to agree with his reasoning, as usual. He loudly complains, even while he burrows back beneath his feathery shelter. His hand has remained gripped around a couple of feathers, and as Sephiroth resumes stroking Cloud’s hair, Cloud starts examining the feathers in his hold. 

“Can you actually feel this?” he asks while tugging at a feather and frowning at it like it's a puzzle to be solved. 

“Distantly.” 

The feeling is more prominent than his hair being touched, but less intense than skin contact. Thus, “distant” seems like an apt enough descriptor. 

Cloud doesn't seem satisfied with the answer regardless. He continues his investigation, and shifts the feathers around as if looking for something. It's adorable, if futile. Sephiroth knows this body very well, there is nothing to—

An unknown sensation zings up the arch of his wing, along his shoulder blade, and down his back. His breath catches audibly, and Cloud immediately glances up at him with a calculating look in his eyes. “And this?” he asks. 

There's a moment of disorientation where it's strangely hard to remember what Cloud is asking about. And then, when the memory is recalled, another moment of hesitance about what to reply. 

Sephiroth reaches out and strokes the fine hairs at the back of Cloud’s neck, where he often shivers and melts when caressed. “More like this.” 

The sensation probably doesn't quite translate, but with Cloud lacking any feathers—despite what his hair might lead an unacquainted observer to believe—it's the closest he can get to. 

Cloud still doesn't seem satisfied. He keeps on investigating, turning his attention now to the feathers covering the wing’s arch. He starts to complain about their supposed messiness—a bold claim considering the state of his own hair—and then dares to lecture Sephiroth about self care.

“Do you care to explain this?” Sephiroth asks in turn, shifting his hand from Cloud's hair to the scar tissue at the back of his shoulder. 

Cloud stubbornly keeps his eyes on the feathers he's fiddling with. “Just some asshole customer,” he replies gruffly. 

Oh?

“Who was it?” 

Not only laying a hand on Cloud, but marking him with a blade?

If Cloud hasn't sought retribution for such a blasphemous act—entirely possible, given his soft and easily susceptible heart—then maybe it's time for humankind to learn another valuable lesson in what is Sephiroth’s and Sephiroth’s alone. 

Adding insult to injury, Cloud has the audacity to roll his eyes at him. “Chill the fuck out. I'm a big boy, I handled it.” 

As always, he seems determined to misunderstand Sephiroth. 

“I do not doubt your capability in battle,” Sephiroth clarifies, even though no such clarification should be necessary. 

Finally, Cloud deigns to turn around and actually look at him. 

“Then what's your goddamn problem?” He is frowning, a clear challenge in his eyes. 

“Is it so hard to imagine that I worry for you when we are separated?” Anger clamors to well up, but is reigned in. Cloud won't respond favorably to it right now. “Just because I can feel your presence no matter the distance does not mean I am aware of everything that happens to you.” 

Cloud's gruff, caustic demeanor falters. He searches Sephiroth’s eyes with his, and the closed-off expression on his face melts into something vulnerable. At least some of what Sephiroth said must have struck a chord with him, but it's unclear what exactly. 

Sephiroth’s arms lift, and Cloud falls into them. The wing shifts to cover shivering skin once more. Cloud hides his face against Sephiroth’s chest before he speaks again. “So…you do…think of me when you're gone, huh?” 

Cloud sounds vulnerable, too. Hesitant, as if he's afraid of the answer. 

So this is what caused his sudden shift in mood? The idea of Sephiroth…thinking of him?

There had been little else Sephiroth had thought of while still trapped within the deepest depths of the lifestream. And now, too…

“You're my beloved. I am always thinking of you.” 

Cloud's cheek, pressed against Sephiroth’s chest, grows warm with a blush. His heart skips a beat, too. 

His hands, meanwhile, curl into fists, as if that could stop his body's reaction that has already given his true feelings away. 

He really is a wolf…if there's no one to fight, he will fight himself. If there's no one to sink his fangs into, he will tear at his own flesh. 

“You're one to talk, though,” Cloud grumbles, his tone back to gruff and abrasive. “Don't you think I also worry? If some big space monster decided you looked yummy enough for dinner, I'd never know what happened.” 

…space monster?

Sephiroth’s silent laughter shakes Cloud’s body along with his own, which Cloud does not seem to like at all. He curls up and tries to hide more of his face from view.

“Is that what you think I'm doing?” Sephiroth asks. “Fighting ‘space monsters’?”

“How would I know?” Cloud gripes, and now he sounds actually angry. “It's not like you ever talk about it. For all I know, you could be spending so much time up there instead of down here because you prefer the scenery or whatever.”

Sephiroth blinks down at him, but there's not much visible from Cloud aside from his tense shoulders and tousled spikes. 

Carefully, so as not to spook him further, Sephiroth starts carding his fingers through Cloud’s hair again. 

For all his suspicions of Sephiroth's intentions, Cloud has seemed to prefer not to know what Sephiroth does whenever he leaves for the stars. Or rather, he seems to not believe what Sephiroth has already told him: that he aims to travel the cosmos as his mother once did.

Mother…

A phantom pain rises in his chest at the reminder of mother's torment, and his own failure to prevent it. Even an eternity of devotion cannot undo what his past self's naivety and inaction have allowed to happen. 

“My mother…her home is among the stars.” 

His gaze is drawn back to the window in the roof slope above, to the tiny pinpricks of stars, shining like nails in the night. 

“I could not bear keeping her from it, not after the decades she suffered in cruel imprisonment, bound in chains and tortured by human hands. She and this world cannot coexist in peace. There is no place for her here. And so there is no place for me.” 

Cloud, peculiar creature that he is, somehow reacts with sorrow to this statement. As if Sephiroth freeing his mother and bringing her back home is not a tale of triumph. His arms come up around Sephiroth’s middle, and he swallows heavily, as if…

Ah. But of course. He must wonder where he fits into this. If Sephiroth's home will also be his.

Silly little cub.

Cloud is shifted closer, head tugged against Sephiroth’s neck. Held and enveloped by arms and wing. His jaw is tense, eyes squeezed shut, lashes wet with tears.

“There is no need to be sad, beloved.” A tear is stroked away from Cloud's cheek, only for it to be immediately replaced by another. “I am with you, now and forever.” The tears are warm. “My loyalty to my mother does not impede my loyalty to you. You won't be left behind. There is nothing to fear.” 

Cloud doesn't evade his touch, but he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, entire body tense. The tears continue to fall regardless. 

It must be hard for him to believe that he really will not be abandoned in the end. That Sephiroth is not like those treacherous humans who, at the first glance into Cloud's heart, rejected him. Who all but threw him at Sephiroth’s feet when he needed their loyalty the most. 

Cloud really is too forgiving. Too gentle for his own good. It's the only explanation for why he continues to stick to those traitors' sides even after everything they've done to him. 

Sephiroth presses a kiss to Cloud's head, and the cub's breath audibly hitches. 

Cute. So cute. So soft…

Lips pressed to Cloud’s hair with repeated kisses, the thought occurs that if he had known earlier how Cloud reacted to gentle affection, some things may have played out very differently. 

Cloud's tears slow and the tension melts out of him, just from being held and caressed. He keeps his face hidden in Sephiroth’s neck, as if to hide how affected he is by such simple touches. 

Sephiroth allows it. Cloud will withdraw and grow thorny and sullen again if prodded while in such a vulnerable state. 

Eyes sweeping over their surroundings, Sephiroth’s gaze is caught by a group of peculiar objects that are attached to the roof slope above them. They don't appear to be alive, and yet they are glowing as if fluorescent. They vary in size, but all of them are flat and motionless where they appear to be glued to the wall. 

Something about their placement directly above Cloud’s bed, and so close to his body, feels strange. What are they for? Why does Cloud want them close?

Sephiroth hasn't seen objects like these appear in Cloud's memories. Cloud had juvenile drawings pinned to his bedroom walls, but nothing like this. 

“Cloud? What…are those?”

Cloud sniffs, rubs a hand over his face, and looks up—only to sigh and immediately lie down to rest his head on Sephiroth’s shoulder again.

“They're glow-in-the-dark stars,” Cloud explains, his voice strangely weary as if he thinks this should somehow be obvious. “It's…kinda in the name. The kids gave ‘em to me when I moved out. In case I got afraid of the dark, living alone.”

…kids?

Right, the strays Cloud and his “friends” have picked up over time. 

Sephiroth reaches out with his left, but stops before his fingertips can make contact with the strangely glowing surface. 

These are dead things…how would they assuage fears simply by providing luminescence? Why would anyone think Cloud was afraid of the absence of light? 

Sephiroth studies their weak glow for another moment, but still can't make sense of its purpose.

“Are you?” he finally asks.

“Am I what?” 

“Afraid of the dark.”

The question appears to give Cloud pause. He lifts his head and stares at Sephiroth, as if trying to figure something out. 

Whatever he finds or doesn't find in Sephiroth’s expression makes him frown again. Cloud lies back down on Sephiroth's chest, face hidden from view once more. His voice is gruff when he says, “Why would I be? You're the biggest, scariest thing out there.” 

That is…flattering, but Cloud has only ever watched the darkness of the cosmos from afar. He has no notion of what lurks in its abyssal depths. Not yet. 

“Hm.” Sephiroth looks back up at the fake stars. “Then why use them?” 

They are nothing like the real thing. Just lies to make children believe they were safe when they were not. What use could they ever be to Cloud? 

“‘Cuz they were a gift,” Cloud replies. He sounds impatient, as if this, too, should have somehow been obvious. 

Why gift something so pointless? And also…

“Why put them here? Their appearance only crudely matches the real thing, which you can actually see through the window right above.”

Sephiroth feels Cloud shrug and then fiddle with the wing's feathers again. “Not always. When it's cloudy, you can't see ‘em. Plus like…the real ones are really far away.” 

Cloud’s mood seems to have shifted once again. He sounds sad.  

He truly must be feeling it too…the longing to return to the stars, to his true home. His destiny.

That seems the only reasonable explanation for the fake stars and the persistent melancholy. 

It shouldn't be too long, then, until Cloud will finally decide to leave this planet behind and come with him. 

Sephiroth finds himself stroking Cloud’s hair again in a soothing manner. His beloved may be sad now, but soon enough, there won't be anymore reason for sadness. Not ever again.

Cloud only allows the gentle touch for a few moments, and then he suddenly pushes himself up and says “That reminds me. Lemme up for a sec.”

As soon as Sephiroth lifts his arms, Cloud ducks out from under his wing and shoves the covers away, undoing all the work Sephiroth had done to keep his body warm. There is a brief moment where Sephiroth gets to at least enjoy the play of the muscles in Cloud's back and arms, and then Cloud leaves the moonlight behind and slinks away into the shadows. 

When he comes back, he's holding a by now familiar object in his hands. “Sit up a bit,” he demands. 

Sephiroth feels himself smile at the bossy tone. As soon as he's complied, Cloud turns around and crowds into his lap, leaning his back against Sephiroth’s chest. He pushes the power button on his camera and grumbles, “There's a lot to go through, but it's your own damn fault for fucking off for so long.” 

Sephiroth's smile widens. It's adorable that Cloud thinks he would complain about this. “Oh? Maybe I should stay away for longer periods of time more often then.” 

Instead of seeing through the obvious tease, Cloud tenses up. Sephiroth smoothes a hand down Cloud’s chest, over where his heartbeat has suddenly sped up. “Cloud…I was clearly making a joke.” 

Cloud doesn't seem to agree with him at all on this, which is his wont. “Yeah, well, you still suck at those. Now shut up and pay attention.” He clicks on one of the folders and then on the first photo. The scenery is easily recognizable—the plateaus and canyons of the wastelands around the city of Edge, rendered black in the absence of the sun. The sky, meanwhile, is lit up by the lights and colors of the cosmos, which the camera struggled to capture: brilliant white, icy blue, dusty gold, and a deep, comforting black. 

A falling star must have streaked across the sky just as Cloud took the photo, its tail blazing and bright. 

Cloud lingers on the photo for exactly five seconds, and then clicks to the next one. Lingers again for five seconds and clicks to the next one. 

When Cloud had first started showing him the photos he had gotten in the habit of taking during his travels, his motivations for doing so had been rather opaque. Even now, there is an angry, closed off air around Cloud, and when he does comment on one of the photos he sounds defensive, as if daring Sephiroth to question his choices.  

Still, it had not taken long for Sephiroth to see through the ploy and uncover what Cloud was actually trying to do.

It had been both infuriating to realize that Cloud still thought Sephiroth didn't “understand anything.” That he somehow assumed the beauty of the natural world could tempt Sephiroth away from his path of righteous vengeance against this planet and everyone on it. That the insubstantiality of dew on a blade of grass or foam on a cresting wave could ever make up for this world's betrayal and relentless cruelty. 

Especially considering the irony that it was humanity itself that had slaughtered the planet's “stewards” and nearly killed the planet itself. 

It was just like Cloud to plead on behalf of those that did not deserve it. 

This, ultimately, had been what made Sephiroth choose to be merciful and allow Cloud’s ploy to continue unchallenged. Cloud was still young and naive. He couldn't comprehend the nature of what he and Sephiroth truly were, what the universe really was. Not while the scope of his experiences was still narrowed to this single planet, and tainted by the people on it. 

It was Cloud who had yet to understand. And unlike him, Sephiroth could be patient. 

In the meantime…

Sephiroth closes his hand around Cloud’s and drags the camera closer, which is currently showing a picture of the horizon the instant before nightfall, the fading light captured at just the right moment. “Your skill level has increased again.” 

It's true, and yet Cloud reacts as though those words are somehow shocking. 

“W-what? I mean—how the fuck would you know? You've got like, zero baseline for comparison.” 

Cloud is flustered, and not hiding it well. At Sephiroth asking if it's so hard to believe that he could have a sense of beauty, Cloud only bristles more. 

“You don't have a base sense for anything,” he claims, and attempts to yank the camera out of Sephiroth's hold. 

Cloud’s thumb slips. The photo of the night sky disappears and is replaced by—

“Fuck!”

His cursing is in vain. Sephiroth has taken hold of the camera again to make sure he can appreciate what Cloud has apparently been ardently trying to hide from him. 

It's very…

“Cute,” Sephiroth says, smiling, which only seems to embarrass—and therefore, enrage—Cloud more. He makes a lunge for the camera, and that simply will not do. 

With his wing shielding him from Cloud's grabby hands, Sephiroth finally gets to appreciate the photo in peace. It's a little shaky, probably because Cloud had to turn the camera around so both himself and the chocobo would be in frame. Cloud is frowning up at the lens in the way he does when his face doesn't know into which expression to settle. The chocobo behind him mostly just seems intent on eating Cloud's hair. 

Meanwhile, the chocobo lookalike in Sephiroth’s lap angrily climbs off it and lies down on the bed. “Have it your way. See if I'll talk to you ever again,” he threatens. 

Sephiroth’s smile widens. “It's remarkable how similar your plumage is.”

A pillow smacks against Sephiroth’s wing. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” 

Cloud really is so easily flustered. It's one of his most endearing qualities. 

When Sephiroth is done committing the photo to memory, he sets the camera down on the nightstand and moves his wing out of its defensive position. Cloud immediately rolls over to show his back to him, shoulders up at his ears.

Does he still not know that his anger only makes him more tempting?

“What a prickly beloved I have.” Sephiroth presses his mouth to those tense shoulders and makes sure each kiss lingers several seconds. “So stubborn.” Kiss. “So defiant.” Kiss. “So beautiful.”

Cloud's skin tastes mildly salty—the dried sweat from their earlier activities. It warms under Sephiroth’s touch and some of the muscle tension melts away. This no doubt makes Cloud even angrier. 

“The fuck are you doing.”

His ears are a lovely shade of pink. Sephiroth leans down and brushes his mouth against the shell of one of them. “Can I not compliment the one I adore?” 

Cloud rolls onto his back, grips the hair at the back of Sephiroth’s neck, and drags him down into a kiss that's almost more bite than anything else. As if he thinks he can escape those gentle caresses by tempting Sephiroth with violence.

“Are you trying to distract me, Cloud?”

Cloud glares up at him. 

“I'm trying to make you shut the hell up.” 

His glare deepens when he tries to drag Sephiroth down once more only to find that he can't.

“How insolent.” It's difficult to chide Cloud while being so endeared by him. “I would punish you, if I didn't consider the blaze of your anger to be such an unexpected gift.”

His mouth brushes against Cloud’s as he speaks, and Cloud is not unaffected by it, even as he rolls his eyes and makes a show of being annoyed. 

Cloud pushes at his shoulder. “If you want a real gift, you're gonna have to let me up.” 

Oh?

As soon as Sephiroth leans away, Cloud squirms out from under him. He gets up, snatches his camera off the nightstand, then puts it back on the bookshelf and picks something else up. 

Cloud sits down astride Sephiroth’s lap, as if wanting to make sure that he stays put. He wraps the covers around himself, hesitates for a moment, and then makes a grab for Sephiroth’s wing. Cloud moves it to drape over his back like it's just another blanket, and then glares down at Sephiroth when he dares to be amused by the action. 

“Shut up,” Cloud demands, only to immediately contradict himself. “Actually no, don't shut up. Pop quiz time—close your eyes.” 

Oh, so it is time for part two of Cloud’s ploy, then? 

Sephiroth leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes, unable to tamp down on his amused smile. Cloud is so transparent in his plans, but there is no harm in indulging him.

He holds out his hands, palm up. There's the sound of the leather satchel that Cloud had retrieved being opened, and then the first item is placed in his palm.

Most of the things that Cloud collects are relatively common and trivial. The ammonite that Cloud gives him first is quite interesting for once, as he had taken the time to free it from the surrounding stone and polish it. Even more interesting than the object itself is Cloud's offhanded mention that he had found it in Cosmo Canyon.

His work doesn't usually take him as far as the West Continent. Had he been visiting one of his “friends”? Or…

The desert night sky is especially bright. Maybe feeling closer to the stars had eased Cloud’s undeniable need to be closer to his God. Even though Cloud would never admit to it. 

Sephiroth is still thinking about this when he closes his eyes again and the last item is placed in his palm. He runs his fingertips over it.

It's smooth, but not in the polished way the ammonite had been. Small and round, though not perfectly so. 

“Glass?”

Cloud sounds strangely nervous as he answers.

“Uh, yeah. Seaglass. It gets smoothed down by the waves and the sand I guess.” 

Sephiroth opens his eyes.

The blue of the seaglass piece is surprisingly vibrant. As if it had absorbed a bit of the ocean within itself. And not just that. 

“The color resembles your irises.”

Cloud's heart very audibly skips a beat. When Sephiroth looks up, Cloud ducks his head…he is blushing. 

Sephiroth feels himself smile. Sometimes Cloud really is so young, and so predictable. 

Except, when Sephiroth offers the seaglass back to him, something unexpected happens. 

Cloud closes Sephiroth’s fingers around it and pushes his hand back. “It's okay,” he says, stammering. “I mean. It's f-for you.”

…a gift? Is that what Cloud had meant earlier?

Somehow, the seaglass piece feels as though it has suddenly acquired additional weight. As if, were Sephiroth to open his hand, it would be twice its size, perfectly round, and glowing with a dark promise. 

“Then I will keep it,” he hears himself say. 

This only seems to make Cloud more bashful. He squirms in place, shoulders up at his ears. 

“Normal people just say thank you,” he gripes.

Oh?

There's a folded-up piece of black clothing on the nightstand. Sephiroth reverently puts the seaglass piece on top of its soft surface, for safe-keeping. And then, in a movement too quick for Cloud to dodge, he reverses their positions and lays him out flat on his back so he lies on top of Sephiroth's wing. When Cloud opens his mouth to protest, he is silenced with a deep kiss.

It's only when Sephiroth runs his hand down Cloud’s side and slips it between his legs that Cloud finds the wherewithal to complain again. “W-what are you doing?” 

There's a strain in his voice, likely from the delicious pain of Sephiroth's dry fingers stroking him ruthlessly to hardness. He really looks lovely like this: framed by black feathers, muscles rippling as he squirms in place, brow furrowed and teeth sunk into his bottom lip. 

“Thanking you properly,” Sephiroth tells the skin of Cloud’s throat, which shivers in response to the caress of his breath. “Unless…” He slows his stroking down to a stop, thumb coming to rest on the tip. “You don't want me to?”

Cloud immediately bares his milky teeth. The reaction itself already answers Sephiroth’s question. 

“If you stop now I'm gonna fucking kill you!” 

Will he now? Will he put Sephiroth to the sword again to part his flesh and lap up his fresh blood?  

Sephiroth’s lips pull back in a smile, even as a thing not unlike hunger climbs up his throat. He presses a kiss to Cloud's pulse point.

“Promise?” 

Cloud bucks his hips up into Sephiroth's unmoving hand. Though Sephiroth can't see them from this position, he is quite sure Cloud’s eyes are blazing with fury. 

“Yeah, I fucking promise. Now get the fuck on with i—aah!” He cries out as Sephiroth’s teeth sink into his throat. Not hard enough to tear, just enough to lay a claim like a wolf might. 

Cloud's hands cling to Sephiroth’s shoulders, blunt fingernails biting their own claim into the skin there. At the renewed touch of Sephiroth's hand between his legs, he tries in vain to buck up his hips again, pinned as he is under Sephiroth’s weight.

Cloud’s body is heating up. There's the scent of fresh sweat, and then something darkly alluring beneath it…

Sephiroth inhales deeply. 

“You smell so good when you're aroused.” 

Cloud squirms in place. “Shut up!”

As always, compliments seem to enrage Cloud the most. Sephiroth can't help his huff of amusement at the prickly display. His teeth find the stud in Cloud's ear—sometimes plain silver, sometimes, like now, a miniature wolf's head—and play with it a little. This successfully distracts Cloud from Sephiroth lifting his hand away from Cloud's straining arousal to sink two fingers into himself. 

His insides are still slick from Cloud's spend. He coats his fingers with it, the scent of their reunion rising into the heated air between them. 

Cloud makes the most delicious noises when he is touched again: breathy, bitten-off moans and whines. His own pre-release starts to further slick Sephiroth’s fingers, and in no time at all, Cloud’s back arches, his mouth falls open—

Sephiroth lifts his hand away. 

“Ah-ah,” he chastises. “Not yet.” 

The little wolf's claws sink into Sephiroth's flesh as Cloud curses under his breath at the denied release. 

It is very satisfying on its own—the proof that Cloud cannot climax without his touch, his permission. That, no matter what Cloud believes about his independence from Sephiroth, his every cell still cries out for him and always will. 

At the corners of Cloud’s eyes, there are shiny tears of frustration. His lungs are heaving for breath, muscles tense, hands clinging. 

Oh, Cloud…you really long for your God so. Don't you?

Shifting in place, Sephiroth’s wing drags along Cloud’s back as he leans up to hover above Cloud’s hips, knees digging into the bed. Then, he sinks down onto Cloud, taking him back within himself, and starts a slow, rocking motion with his hips.

Cloud cries out, calls his name. 

To soothe him, Sephiroth leans down and laces their fingers together, presses Cloud’s hands into the mattress above his head. Kisses his cheek. 

“Shh. I'm here. I have you.”

There is nothing to fear. 

Cloud's breathing is harsh. His eyes, when they find Sephiroth’s, are glistening and wet. His fingers are clinging to Sephiroth’s with bone-breaking strength. 

Inside him, Cloud is blazing hot, throbbing, leaking. The slow pace is forcing Cloud to experience the true depth of their union, and so he is unraveling quickly. He is trembling, as if about to fall apart. 

A feeling arises that can only come from Cloud. It's like…

Sephiroth stares into Cloud's eyes. Cloud doesn't look away, though his eyes keep trying to flutter closed. 

It's like a wave rising in Sephiroth’s chest cavity. Crushing his lungs beneath its weight. Flooding his throat with saltwater. Pulling at him with a gravity that cannot be denied. It's heavy, and intense, and…

…sad?

Why? Why is there sadness? Why is there…longing? Are they still not close enough?

“Cloud…” 

Sephiroth lets his fingers slip free from Cloud's. Leans down, and wraps his arms around Cloud. Presses their foreheads together. Breathes in Cloud's stuttering breath. 

“Cloud, embrace me.” 

As Cloud reaches for him in turn, his left arm brushes against Sephiroth’s wing. Then, his fingers dig into Sephiroth's back as if trying to reach inside and cling to his spine. 

The shift in position allows Cloud to plant his feet on the mattress, and, like the formidable warrior he is, he immediately takes advantage of it. In an instant, the pace changes from slow and languid to hard and deep. It transforms the heavy water to blazing fire. The fire to crackling lightning, searing through their veins. 

They rock back and forth—as One.

They breathe, in and out—as One.

They—

As the last sparks dissipate, the saltwater rushes back in. Heavier than before. Beneath Sephiroth, Cloud is still breathing harshly. His face is flushed, but the wet droplets on it aren't sweat. They're…

“Beloved.” Sephiroth attempts to wipe the tears away with his fingers. “Don't cry.” No matter how fast he strokes them away, they are somehow immediately replaced by new ones, as if they were raining down on Cloud’s cheeks rather than flowing from his eyes. 

There is no need for this. There is no need for this. 

If his hands aren't helping, maybe his mouth will. He presses a kiss to Cloud's wet, heated cheek. “This is just us.” Kiss. “Our sacred union.” Kiss. “Can't you feel it?” 

Though Cloud is softening within him, they are still joined. Close as they are, they are still breathing each other's breath. So why is there this…ache? 

Why do Cloud’s cheeks still feel wet? Why does it feel like he is trembling, even though Sephiroth can see that he is not?

Cloud's heartbeat is picking up speed again. He turns his head away from the soothing caresses. Pushes at Sephiroth’s shoulders.  Pushes him away. 

“Let me up,” Cloud hisses. His voice is cold. 

Something is wrong. Sephiroth leans up to look at him. 

It's a mistake. 

Cloud immediately pushes himself up and shifts his hips away, separating them. The abrupt roughness of the movement is…

It doesn’t hurt, of course not. Something small like this cannot hurt. But it feels deeply disorienting. Like falling into a sudden void.

“Cloud—”

With his back to him, Cloud makes a grab for his top. Wrestles it over his head, hiding the splashes of Sephiroth's spend beneath the black fabric. Roughly yanks his fatigues up his legs and pushes his bare feet into his boots. 

“Need some air,” Cloud tells the shadows and the moonlight in the room. His tone is flat and his shoulders are tense. “Don't follow me.”

Then, he trudges up the winding metal staircase, opens the trapdoor to the roof, and disappears. 

Silence. 

In the absence of Cloud’s body heat, the sheets cool rapidly. The only warmth comes from Cloud's semen that, following the call of gravity, is now leaking out of Sephiroth's body. 

It would be better if it could be held inside. If…

Sephiroth shifts his gaze from the trapdoor to the window above the bed, and the stars beyond it. His wing, no longer weighted down from Cloud’s body atop it, shifts with him, feathers whispering over the sheets. 

The stars are still and silent, and so is mother. She usually is, when he is with his beloved. It must satisfy her too, to reunite with the cells in Cloud's body, to answer their call and sing in harmony. 

The stars are so bright. Absently, Sephiroth brushes a strand of hair away from his eyes, only to realize his lashes are wet. 

Strange…they must have absorbed moisture from the tears on Cloud’s cheeks. 

Why does Cloud still shy away from their union, even as he clearly craves it? Even as he makes sure to reach his peak inside Sephiroth, so his semen can be received like an offering at an altar of worship?

Sephiroth studies the shine of moisture on the fingers that had brushed his lashes. 

Were Cloud’s tears born of frustration or of sadness? 

Neither makes sense, given the sacred act they had been engaged in.

Then…shame?

Ah. That must be it. 

He moves off the bed and stands. The motion has Cloud’s spend running down his legs, but it cannot be helped. He turns towards the staircase but then stops again. 

If he goes outside undressed, Cloud will complain, and that will derail the reassurance he needs. 

Sweeping his gaze across the room, Sephiroth remembers the dark piece of clothing on the nightstand. 

When he sets aside the seaglass piece resting on top of it and unfolds the fabric, it turns out to be a long robe. A strange combination of dancing birds and whirling snowflakes is embroidered on it. But the fabric itself is cool and smooth to the touch, like flowing water. His wing phases through it easily, and it only needs to be tied loosely in the front. 

Strange, that Cloud should have this. The robe is several sizes too big for him. But it is undoubtedly convenient to wear. 

The metal of the staircase is cold beneath Sephiroth's bare feet, and so is the concrete of the flat rooftop. Cloud is standing with his back to him, head ducked down, hands clenched into fists. 

He looks small and lonely underneath the wide, dark sky. 

Another couple of steps, and then Sephiroth embraces Cloud from behind to press him gently against his chest. 

“Told you not to follow me,” Cloud, predictably, complains. His tone is angry, but his voice is quiet. It sends hazy fog up into the cold air.

Sephiroth leans down so as to rest the side of his face in Cloud's hair and press a kiss there. 

“Is it still so frightening to you, that you need to flee like this?” 

Cloud's sturdy frame tenses further in his hold and he turns his head away. 

“I'm not fucking scared of you!”

Nowadays, this is true. Most of the time, anyway. But…

“But you are afraid of what you feel,” Sephiroth points out, “when we are like this.” He leans down further, until they are cheek to cheek. Cloud's breathing audibly catches and his heart picks up speed. “And when we are not like this, you cannot stand the despair.”

Sephiroth tugs him even closer, so Cloud can feel the even beat of his heart. 

“Don't deny your desires, Cloud. Embrace them,” he advises his beloved gently. “It is only natural for you to seek unity and procreation with me through your body.” 

Cloud makes a choking noise, and then he starts to splutter in protest. “That not what I was—” 

Pressed cheek to cheek like this, Sephiroth can feel Cloud’s shame as it heats his face. It's impossible not to be amused by it. 

“Wasn't it?” Sephiroth asks, his smiling mouth brushing the pink shell of Cloud’s ear. “Your seed is still dripping down my thighs.”

Cloud violently rips himself out of the embrace and seamlessly switches tactics from defense to attack. Just like earlier on the plains, his blazing anger proves far too tempting for Sephiroth not to let himself be pushed up against the nearest solid surface and have Cloud bully his way between his legs. 

“You—!”

Brilliant cerulean burns into Sephiroth as Cloud glares up at him. His chest heaves with breath, and his teeth are gritted so tightly it's like he's barely restraining himself from using them to rip out Sephiroth’s throat. 

What would it feel like, to be consumed, body and soul, by the mouth of a wolf? 

Gently, Sephiroth cups the back of Cloud’s head, fingers sinking into the short hair there, and urges him closer.

“Go on.” 

Give in, Cloud. 

Give in to what you want.

Give—

It's a pity that Cloud isn't tall enough to reach his throat in this position, but his teeth sinking into Sephiroth's chest and biting down hard are also quite…

Without his conscious input, Sephiroth’s head has fallen back to lean against the cold metal of the water tank behind him, and his eyes have slipped shut. Somehow, the pain of the bites is such that it zings down from his chest and then arrives as pleasure between his legs, tingling and warm. 

As if having sensed this somehow, Cloud abruptly dislodges his jaw from where it had been clamped around the left areola. When Sephiroth looks down at him, Cloud's gaze seems fixed on his exposed thighs. Or maybe, on the traces of himself that are glistening on the skin there.

The sight seems to further stoke the fire of the primal spirit which has awakened in Cloud. He fists his hands in the robe Sephiroth is clad in and yanks him towards the trapdoor. 

It is somehow easy and without question, to let himself be led. 

Cold metal touches Sephiroth’s bare feet once more. There's a rustle, as his wing folds up tightly in the narrow space. Cloud won’t meet his eyes, but his hands have not left him, have not stopped pushing and pulling. 

Even once they’re back inside the room, Cloud doesn't let up. He walks Sephiroth backwards until he can push him down onto the bed. And then he kneels on the mattress and stares at him, chest heaving up and down with breath and hands clenched into fists, as if he's barely holding back something violent. 

It is impossible not to smile at the sight of him. Not to lift his arms and beckon Cloud to embrace him once more. 

This is the Cloud that only Sephiroth gets to see. The true Cloud. The one that wants, that takes. 

In front of others, Cloud may play at having tamed his own wild nature, at having rejected his fated place at Sephiroth’s side once and for all. But here, in the dark, in the light, he is as he always was, and always will be.

Contrary as ever, Cloud ignores his open arms. He kicks off his unlaced boots and then starts to mess with the belt on the robe Sephiroth is wearing, tugging it open with rough movements. But instead of immediately sating his hunger by making use of what he has just unveiled, Cloud only lifts Sephiroth’s hips enough to push the robe away from them.

“Don't stain my clothes,” he threatens darkly. Then, he stalks forward on hands and knees and presses a kiss into Sephiroth's mouth that's so hard, it's more a claim than anything else. When Sephiroth opens for him to allow him in deeper, Cloud wrenches his mouth away. He takes hold of Sephiroth's arms and presses his wrists down onto the bed. 

“Don't touch me,” he orders coldly, and then moves away. 

It is very endearing that he thinks he can just make Sephiroth obey him like this. Even though he must know that nothing he could realistically do would—

“Haah!”

Cloud has fisted his hands in Sephiroth’s feathers. Is tugging at them, and…doing something to them with his mouth that has Sephiroth inhale sharply and his body bow off the bed. 

Before he can even begin to identify the intensity of feeling that is rushing through him, Cloud hums around the feathers in his mouth, sending a vibration through them that seems to reverberate through Sephiroth’s entire being. 

“Cloud—”

Already overstimulated nerve endings light up and spark a storm of sensation that obliterates anything in its wake. As if through a haze, Sephiroth can feel his body tremble and writhe. His wing is pinned in place by Cloud’s knees, exposed to the searing touches of his hands and mouth. 

Why is this so—

Cloud abruptly lets go of the feathers in his hold, only to move to a different part of the wing and start his torment anew. 

A line of fire blazes from the feathers in Cloud's hold to the bites he has left on Sephiroth’s chest, and then further down, the heat pulsing and merciless. 

And then it's gone.

It's only when Sephiroth opens his eyes that he realizes they were closed. To his right, there is a hazy image of Cloud. When he blinks, it sharpens. 

Cloud is staring at him. His chin is shiny and wet. A string of saliva leads down from it to the wing that is trembling in his grip.

Both their ragged breaths stir up the air between them. The scent of Cloud’s arousal burns on Sephiroth’s tongue. 

For a brief moment, a look of dark satisfaction seems to bloom on Cloud’s face, and then his expression shutters again. He abandons the wing and knee-walks over the mattress to settle between Sephiroth's legs. Hikes the right one over his shoulder, and—

The skin shivers as Cloud’s mouth moves along the dried lines of his own semen, wetting them anew. By the time Cloud has moved down far enough that his cheek is almost brushing Sephiroth’s sex, he abruptly lets the leg slide off his shoulder again. Instead of straightening up, though, he grabs Sephiroth’s hips with an iron hold, leans down and opens his mouth, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. 

Cloud's jaw clamping down around the base of his swollen arousal is like a lightning strike through his entire body. His hips bow off the bed without his conscious input as the sharpness of the pain lights up his nerve endings and then floods them with…

pleasure?

Before the sensation can be thoroughly examined, Cloud’s teeth scrape over sensitive skin as he moves his mouth up and bites again. 

The same…haze…from when Cloud was using his mouth on his wing is starting to overtake his mind again. The only thing that briefly breaks through it is the pain every time Cloud sinks his teeth into his sex. His pulse throbs between his legs in response, swelling him further. 

The last bite lands directly beneath the tip, and is the most painful of all. Through the haze, Sephiroth can hear his breathing hitch and feel himself leak onto his belly. And then, the wet, hot heat of Cloud’s tongue swipes over his oversensitive glans, coaxing forth more fluid, urging his body to—

Just before the climax can be reached, Cloud leans away and denies him. 

The agony of it is almost as sharp as the blade Cloud had shoved into him earlier. It's concentrated between his legs but pulses outwards through his body like a flood wave. 

He can hear himself cry out, feel his hips struggle against Cloud’s hold. 

It is, perhaps, unbecoming to let himself lose control like this. To give himself over like this. But mother has never reprimanded him for it. She must know it, too—that his and Cloud's union is rightful, and natural, and…and holy. 

Why else would it feel like this? 

His left arm lifts, reaching, beckoning. “Beloved…come.”

Cloud is staring at him. His mouth is still shiny and his eyes are dark, the look in them heated and angry. His hands are visibly shaking as he reaches down to free the bulge of his own arousal from the confines of his fatigues. He doesn't undress further, just hikes Sephiroth’s right leg over his shoulder again and takes himself in hand. 

When he pushes in, Sephiroth only gets to see a brief glimpse of the way Cloud’s eyes flutter closed and his teeth sink into his lower lip before his own eyes slip shut. No matter how often they reunite like this, the gravitational undertow of it never ceases to be overwhelming. Instead of fighting it, Sephiroth finds it wiser to surrender himself completely, to—

Cloud slams his hips forward, pushing Sephiroth up the bed, and then he does it again, and again, and doesn't stop.

The agony is back, now pulsing outwards from the places Cloud is stimulating deep within him. It floods, molten and bright hot, through his lower body, has his mouth fall open and his wing and arms lift to brace himself. His fingers find the headboard and cling to it. 

The teethmarks on his sex burn and ache while another set of teeth, cold and metallic, bite into his inner thighs with each thrust. Every time he inhales, Cloud exhales, panting and shaking. 

Cloud should…should be inside him always. Not through the proxy of his blade. Like this, with his flesh pressing their cells together into almost-one, almost-one, almost-one. 

Cloud—

A final wave of intense sensation bows Sephiroth’s back off the bed and whites out the black and blue of night. Muscles clench. Breath is lost. Heartbeat stumbles. The wet warmth of Cloud’s peak inside him is the only thing that registers through the deepest depth of the undertow. 

Then, a painful and confusing void as he is suddenly left empty. Then, soothing warmth once more as Cloud releases the last of his climax over Sephiroth’s entrance and thighs. 

Then…

Both their breaths, ragged and uneven, in the stillness. 

When Sephiroth’s eyes open, his vision is blurry, lashes inexplicably wet once more. Is Cloud crying again? 

As he moves his head to look down his body, he sees Cloud let Sephiroth’s leg slide off his shoulder and then lean his head against his thigh. Cloud is flushed and sweating. One of them is shaking. 

One of them…

Sephiroth lifts his arms once more, and finally, Cloud comes to him. He clumsily knee-walks over the mattress, lets himself be embraced, and leans down to press their mouths together. The kiss is deep. Cloud is solid in his arms. He is very warm. It's…soothing. 

Cloud’s rapid heartbeat slows while they kiss. He is the one to break away first. 

His eyes really are so blue. Even sweaty and disheveled, he looks so…

“Uh…you good? I wasn't too…um.”

Cloud is looking down at him with a frown, as though he thinks something might be wrong. Or as if he thinks he has done something wrong in just letting himself be what he is, and wanting what he wants.

Truly such a silly little cub. 

Sephiroth reaches up and strokes a thumb over Cloud's cheekbone. 

“Why would I ever complain when you so freely offer me your worship?”

Cloud rolls his eyes and leans away. “Yeah, you're good. Why do I bother.” 

He really is so prickly. A little wolf that is also, at times, a little hedgehog.

When Sephiroth reaches for him again, Cloud presses him back down onto the bed. “Stay down. You're a mess.”

Cloud’s gaze wanders over to the wing that is lying across the bed and the floor, then down Sephiroth’s chest and belly, only to skitter away when he reaches Sephiroth’s thighs. 

“Don't move,” he orders, his tone rough and his cheeks flushed anew, “be right back.”

He moves off the bed, keeping his back to Sephiroth while he holds up his fatigues with one hand. It's endearing, if a little bemusing, how shy he becomes about being seen naked the moment he isn't erect anymore. 

In the shadows on the other side of the room, Cloud undresses quickly. He puts away the soiled clothes and retrieves new ones. Then, he ducks into the bathroom without turning on the light and disappears out of sight. 

The tap turns on, then off, then on again. 

Sephiroth moves his gaze back to the window above the bed. 

Cloud does have a point—from down here, the stars really do seem very far away. 

Still, it is possible that they are watching even now. Their spies are everywhere, and some of them are harder to track than others. 

And if what Sephiroth has learned about her is true, then she might not even need the spies to see. To know. 

Well, no matter. Mother is with him. Mother is stronger than her. Mother is—

The bathroom door swings open, and Cloud emerges. He's wearing underwear and a short-sleeved top, and is holding a towel. His bangs are wet, like he's splashed water on his face without caring whether his hair got soaked. 

Cloud kneels on the mattress. He starts wiping the damp towel over Sephiroth’s chest and belly, all the while avoiding his eyes. 

It's when Cloud reaches Sephiroth’s thighs that his movements falter. His cheeks visibly flush and he ducks his head, fingers tightening around the towel. 

When Sephiroth dares to make an amused noise, Cloud immediately looks up and glares at him.

“What?!”

Smiling in the face of Cloud’s embarrassed ire, Sephiroth asks him, “Did you enjoy yourself?” 

Cloud’s glare deepens. “Can't you tell?” he growls, and starts wiping down Sephiroth’s inner thighs, his movements a lot rougher than before. He is probably succeeding more in rubbing his semen into Sephiroth's skin than lifting it off it. 

“Maybe I just like to hear you say it.”

Cloud continues to bristle. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“How very stubborn of you.”

Sephiroth lets his thighs fall open further, just to watch Cloud grit his teeth as his blush deepens. His movements gentle a little as he wipes the towel over the genitals, though that might only be due to his embarrassment. 

Cloud doesn't try to clean up his own seed that is still inside Sephiroth, and doesn’t comment on it either. He doesn't need to. They both know what it means. 

What is unexpected is that Cloud moves on to his wing next. “Lift that up,” he orders sternly, and then examines it as critically as though he were about to field strip it like a weapon. He is still blushing. 

“Don't move,” Cloud orders next. He grabs the stained towel, marches to the bathroom, and comes back with a fresh one. And a strange…comb? 

Cloud kneels on the bed again and grabs the wing's arch with one hand, holding it in place. With the other hand, he lifts the comb-like object and—

Without Sephiroth’s conscious input, the wing twitches as the comb slides through the first patch of roughed-up feathers. The strange sensitivity from earlier is back, but now, instead of pleasurable, it is…uncomfortable.

Cloud is unimpressed. “Don't be a baby,” he says, but he does slow his combing a little. It does not help much. 

Sephiroth finds himself frowning at the strange comb. His feathers don't need any care. He is not one of Cloud’s chocobos. The next time he flies, the wind will take care of any remaining disorder or stickiness. He has never had to touch his wing to straighten anything out. 

…

The discomfort eases somewhat once the stickiness is cleaned off. Cloud methodically strokes the comb through the feathers, wipes it off on the towel, then strokes it through the next patch. 

…

It's starting to feel…strange. Strangely…good. When Cloud glances over him, Sephiroth finds his own eyes heavily lidded, as if on the verge of the sleep he no longer needs. 

The reason for this reaction must simply be because it's Cloud, tending to him. That's why there's almost a feeling of loss when the comb is finally lifted away. 

Cloud doesn't appear to be quite done with his wing, though. He strokes over some of the shorter feathers, then grabs the wing by its arch once more and moves it this way and that. He's frowning again. 

“What happened here? Looks like something tried to take bites outta you.” He is examining the largest feathers. Sephiroth supposes they are a little worn at the edges. It's unclear whether this was always the case or if it's leftover damage caused by them. 

“Did you fight some big space monster after all—hey!”

It is laughably easy to push Cloud over with his wing and catch him in his arms. His body isn't as warm anymore as it had been earlier. This won't do.

“You're shivering again.” Before Cloud can protest, Sephiroth rolls onto his back with him in his arms, and then wraps him up again in blankets and wing. 

Cloud makes an annoyed noise, but all he does is turn around so he is lying on his belly. Sephiroth cards his fingers through Cloud’s hair. The strands are tangled in some places. 

Perhaps he should have offered to comb Cloud’s feathers as well. 

“How long are you planning on hanging around and annoying me this time?” 

Cloud’s angry tone is belied by the way his body is warming and relaxing in Sephiroth’s hold. 

Sephiroth gazes through the window above. The sky is clear.

“There is a storm coming,” he announces. “It might last three days.”

In his arms, Cloud exhales. Some tension leaves his body with his breath. He is quiet for a while, and seems well on his way to falling asleep when he asks, “...think you can fix your busted eternity clock so you can be here in early summer?” 

Eternity clock? Sephiroth finds himself smiling fondly at the phrasing. 

“That should be feasible. Why?” 

Cloud makes a shrugging motion beneath the wing. 

“...you'll see,” he finally replies evasively. 

Oh? 

Though his curiosity is peaked, Sephiroth doesn't ask Cloud to elaborate. He keeps stroking his hair, until Cloud’s breathing evens out fully with sleep. 

It's warm with Cloud lying on top of his body. His breaths wash over Sephiroth’s skin where the robe he's still wearing leaves his chest bare. After a while, the spot Cloud is lying on starts to feel wet, too. He must be drooling a little. 

There was a time when he'd never let himself be so vulnerable around Sephiroth. As long as Cloud is awake, he still keeps up his guard most of the time. But once he started letting himself sleep around Sephiroth, it was obvious that something had changed. That Cloud couldn't deny himself any longer. 

That he hungered, and was finally letting himself feed. 

Given how extra aggressive Cloud has been acting, he must have been especially hungry this time. There is still a faint…ache…where his teeth had sunken into some quite sensitive spots. 

Come to think of it, Cloud has never bitten his penis before. 

Does it mean something, that he's done it tonight? 

It had felt…

Interesting. 

Better than Sephiroth had thought it would, certainly. 

Even the ache left behind is…not unpleasant. 

Did Cloud know? Had he meant for it to feel this way? Or had he meant for it to only hurt, and nothing else? 

No, probably not. Biting means using one's mouth, and Cloud has made clear that mouth-touches are especially intimate. He had been comfortable with intercourse before he was comfortable with kissing. He had a very strong reaction to being fed mouth to mouth earlier. 

It must be special, then. 

Maybe he can even goad Cloud into doing it again, so further insight into the act and its meaning can be gleaned. Maybe—

“Mghm. Mmmnngh.”

Cloud mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep. His legs move and he shifts his head away from the wet spot of his own drool. Then he lies still again. 

He must be dreaming. 

Sephiroth makes a mental note to remind Cloud to eat again, when he wakes. 

Or to feed him again, should he refuse. 

There is a certain thrill to the idea of Cloud refusing. Of Cloud fighting him on this and having to be persuaded to give in to what he truly wants, with any means necessary. 

More important than that, though, is the simple fact that weakness cannot be tolerated. It is unbecoming of Cloud—now that he has finally become truly strong, that strength needs to be cultivated and maintained. 

As of yet, he is still mortal, after all. 

Though…

The seaglass piece is still on the nightstand. When Sephiroth picks it up and moves it from the shadows into the moonlight, it almost seems to absorb the light into itself, shining a bright turquoise. 

He observes it for a while, turning it this way and that, contemplating. 

While its size is small, its matter is quite dense. It should withstand the slow process of being shaped into an adequate vessel. 

And then, once all the necessary knowledge has been gathered…

Cloud shifts against him in his sleep, but doesn't wake. He probably won't, until morning. 

Sephiroth smiles, though his gaze stays fixed on the piece of ocean-smoothed glass.

How curious, really, that Cloud should hand him the vessel himself. 

Though, maybe it's not that unexpected. No matter what Cloud likes to believe, the two of them will always act in accordance with the other. 

After he has committed the glass piece's original shape to memory, Sephiroth sets it down on his chest, directly above his heart.

And pushes. 

Instantly, there is pain, sharp and undeniable. His eyes squeeze shut as his breath catches, and his head presses against the pillows at his back. He keeps pushing, forcing the glass in, forcing his flesh to part and make space for—

After several long moments of agony, it finally sits within his heart. 

From far away, he can feel Cloud tense, can hear him make a pained noise in his sleep. 

With trembling fingers, Sephiroth strokes over Cloud’s hair until he calms and sleeps peacefully once more. 

The pain is still there every time his heart beats, but it's duller now. It will either fade completely over time, or will simply need to be endured. 

The vessel won't need to stay there forever after all. 

Around them, the room darkens as the moon wanders across the sky, taking its light with it. Cloud's heart is beating evenly and calmly. He is warm.

All is well. 

Moonlight is flooding in through the window above the bed. Not as strong as it was two nights ago, when the moon was full, but still bright enough to illuminate Cloud’s sleeping form. 

He has finally fallen into slumber, after exhausting himself first on the battlefield and then in bed. As soon as the storm Sephiroth had summoned had been dismissed, Cloud had demanded a rematch on the plains. One where Sephiroth wouldn't insult him again by letting him win out of consideration for his health. 

Cloud had been a glorious sight to behold as he stood across from Sephiroth under the dark and bright of the cosmos, sword raised in an aggressive stance. The piece of dark cloak he tended to wear outside had fluttered with his movements almost like the feathers of Sephiroth’s wing had as they exchanged blows, circled each other, and then struck each other again. 

It had ended in a draw. Cloud had seemed surprisingly satisfied with that result. Maybe his bloodlust had already been sated over the last couple days and nights. 

Sephiroth had found that he felt the same. Sometimes, it was hard to resist pushing and teasing Cloud by laying his skin open with carefully calculated caresses of steel. This time, though, the enjoyment had simply been in watching Cloud watch him, in engaging him in what was more a sword dance than a sword fight. 

After, they had stayed on the plains for a while, observing the celestial spheres above them side by side. Cloud's gaze had stayed fixed on the five brightest stars of a spherical star cluster for quite some time. When Sephiroth had inquired after his interest, Cloud's expression had shuttered and he'd ducked his head away.

“Even gods can be killed,” he'd proclaimed with a strange blend of aggression and bitterness. “Just remember that while you're out there doing fuck knows what.” 

Even back inside—back in bed—his moodiness hadn't improved. It was the typical way Cloud acted when he knew he was about to be left behind. 

Less typical had been that Cloud had pushed him down on his back only to then sit astride him and take Sephiroth within himself. 

It is very, very rare that Cloud wants this. He usually doesn't have the patience needed for the necessary preparation, though Sephiroth suspects there are also other factors at play that influence his preferences. 

In any case, when in this position, Cloud’s goal doesn't seem to be to make either of them climax but rather to torture his partner's organ as much as he can with the intense pressure of his own flesh, only to then, once he's finally allowed both of them to reach completion, refuse any and all further intimacy—turning away from Sephiroth’s embrace and the touches of his mouth to lie down with his back to him. 

Sephiroth had let him be. Cloud always seems to need the fragile armor of his own lonesomeness to brace for separation. 

Now, Sephiroth is sitting at the edge of the bed, watching over Cloud’s still form. In his sleep, Cloud has turned back around, instinctively seeking Sephiroth’s closeness. His features are relaxed. It's tempting to stroke his cheek, but Cloud would probably wake. 

Time to leave. 

Sephiroth stands and lets the black robe slip from his frame. His armor, when he puts it on and straps it down, feels restrictive after days of either wearing the loose robe or nothing at all. 

Cloud seems quite attached to the robe. While Sephiroth wore it, Cloud always made sure that it would not be stained by anything. A couple of times, he watched Sephiroth walk around in it with a strange look in his eyes. He complained about having his clothes stolen, yet seemed intensely aroused by the act of parting the robe in the front or hiking it up Sephiroth’s thighs. 

Perhaps the attachment is due to the birds embroidered on the robe’s fabric. Cloud seems quite fond of birds and tends to take a lot of pictures of them. When Sephiroth saw into his memories, there were a lot more instances of spending time around chocobos than other human children.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed once more, Sephiroth drapes the robe over Cloud’s sleeping form. In response to the additional weight atop the blankets, Cloud shifts a bit in his sleep. 

His features are so soft like this. His mouth is open a little bit.

Unable to resist, Sephiroth strokes his leather-clad thumb over Cloud’s lower lip in the gentlest of caresses. 

“Nnh.”

Even deeply asleep, Cloud chases after his touch. Sephiroth’s thumb comes away with a shiny wet smear on it. 

It's time to leave. And yet Sephiroth sits there for a while longer, watching. 

All is well, now. Cloud will be well. Cloud is beloved. Sephiroth has nourished him, warmed him, soothed him. Has given him the union Cloud craves to have with his God. Or, at least, a repeated reunion that is as close to true unity as they can get in these limited forms. 

One day…one day they will leave these limitations behind, reach past the borders of their bodies, and meet each other there. 

But in order for that to happen…

Sephiroth lays his hand over his heart. Over what he is keeping safe in there. 

More arcane wisdom must be gathered, more secrets unveiled. To do that, he has to leave. 

He stands. Cloud does not wake. The strange, dead things imitating stars glow on the wall above his head. 

The real stars, so far above the bed, beckon and whisper. 

In the silent shadows of the room, Sephiroth spreads his wing, and calls for space to part for him, as he parts from his beloved. 

And ascends.