Paper Tiger Burning

I respectfully credit all Original Creators, namely Squaresoft, which became SquareEnix,for these characters. In this way, I pay homage to my Fandom's Original Creator, and illustrate my Community's belief that Fan Fiction is "fair use". I do not claim to own these characters. I do not make money or gil from using these protected characters, nor do I wish to make money or gil from them. In other words, I am borrowing these characters to entertain the adult fanfiction community, but I am doing so with the highest degree of respect to the engineers, game designers, music makers, and voice actors.



I awoke to a sensation utterly unfamiliar. The back of my head lay firmly but gently in the girl’s lap. Most of my lower body hung off the settee. Apparently I’d collapsed without making it all the way to the floor.

I’d never been held this way.

I could smell her. Her scent stirred me deeply, reached into a part of myself that both soothed and stimulated. The slender, feminine thighs under my head felt strong yet soft, cradling as much as bracing me. That delicate, dragging sensation in my hair felt like…fingers. Her hand stroked my head, my hair. Quietly, she hummed. Her voice softly, gently entered my ears, bone-meltingly beautiful in tranquil power.

“I’m so sorry you learned it like that,” she said. By her tone I knew she hadn’t noticed I’d awoken.

“I’m sorry you had the misfortune anyway, but to have me blurt it out…”

She sighed.

“You ill-fated creature,” she whispered. “You’ve ever been a tiger in a cage, magnificent, wild and starved.”

Her words pierced me to my very depths. I’d never felt sorry for myself before. I’d been angry, motivated, disappointed, but never sorry.

Should I allow self-pity? I didn’t think so. It stood contrary to accomplishment. It wasted time. Frequently, it lost a commander his men.

Her hand dropped down to smooth my brow. She gently pushed a few strands of hair from my face. “You and I are the only ones of our kind, though we aren’t the same. I’ve always been on the outside looking in, wishing I could be seen and valued for who I am instead of what I can do.” She laughed very quietly, but the sound held a harsh tinge. “I’ve been relied upon for healing and you for killing. Now we’ve both treated each other to our particular talents.”

For a moment she merely held my face in both hands. Then, she lightly traced my left eyebrow. “Beautiful things aren’t supposed to be deadly. If you were hideous instead of beautiful I doubt you’d be such a shock to the system.”

She was most likely correct, though I’d never thought of it in that way before.

She went back to stroking my hair.

It felt good.

Her tender touches calmed my raging center. It intoxicated me, being cared for with a tender hand. Until this moment the only person to ever touch me kindly had been Professor Gast.

I knew she wouldn’t touch me like this if she believed I was awake.

“You’ve done evil things and probably enjoyed every moment,” the flower girl said quietly. “People are a balance, Sephiroth. Your balance is leaning heavily toward the negative, but you aren’t all the way there. An evil person doesn’t buy roses, or rescue an old enemy.”

I had rescued her because I owed it to her, not because I felt pity. She’d never been my enemy as much as a weak obstacle, though I wouldn’t point that out and deflate her ego. I wanted her to stay awhile, after all. As for the roses…

I didn’t know what had compelled me to over pay a little street urchin for her flowers. Usually my strongest urges had to do with blood and pain and terror. But I obeyed my instincts as much as possible, trusting in myself. Still, the girl should know an evil person could buy roses. What kind of logic did she employ in her Cetra brain?

“I can’t imagine for one moment you enjoy answering to Shin-Ra again. You’re a warrior, not a desk clerk.”

The hatred I held for my current position would frighten her, I felt sure, if she knew the intensity of it. I despised cloaking myself as human. I’d ever felt an animal and I didn’t intend to abandon my role as predator. The flower girl saw this animal in me, though, proving her powers of perception.

“I hope you’re alright. You haven’t moved for an hour. You drive yourself too hard and when you hit a snag, you collapse. Cloud is like that too, and Vincent.” Her fingers tightened in my hair briefly. “Hojo has harmed so many. His poison has infected nearly all of my friends. None of us sleep properly. Cloud’s nightmares are epic, and Vincent exists in a shell, hollow and heartbroken. He only sleeps when he absolutely cannot go on any longer. And me? I sleep, but my dreams are full of needles and freezing cold, and pain. I wonder that you, Hojo’s prime project, can sleep at all.”

I rarely slept, true. The moment I closed my eyes for sleep I went back to a seven by seven cell. Sharing that with the flower girl or her friends made me feel exposed. Fear swept in, a near alien emotion, unused since childhood.

“I’d better wake you, though. You won’t like knowing I had you on my lap, most likely. But I hope I soothed you enough for a little rest, a little respite. What else can I do while knowing my mouth laid another tragedy at your feet?”

That raw, bleeding place inside my chest didn’t feel as empty now, curiously. She meant well, the girl. I never punished a failure in my men that resulted from good intentions, only stupidity. Extending her that same generosity didn’t feel much of a stretch. I had fallen weak only to awaken in her arms unscathed. Had she meant me any harm I’d have found a kitchen knife through my heart.

Or not. That might possibly kill me.

I pretended to awaken as she called my name and touched my forehead. Sitting up, I took inventory of my body. I felt a little stiff from lying awkwardly, but nothing important.

“Are you alright?” the flower girl asked softly.

Though we couldn’t see each other, I looked toward her. Her feminine musk still clung to me, warming me. I imagined taking her in my arms and burying myself in her benevolent warmth, listening to her voice cry out in pleasure.

What does evil feel like, piercing good?

I could already answer that, partially. When evil pierces good it feels like an orgasm, but an orgasm as achieved by selling oneself. At least I imagined the comparison solid; I’d never sold myself.

Or hadn’t I? I’d sold myself to Shin-Ra. Every death committed by my hands under their reign was that empty orgasm, a climax that left me feeling cheapened. I remained nothing more than hired muscle after all these years and all these lives.

“I’m functional,” I answered finally, sensing her growing agitation at my silence. “What happened?”

“You seemed to just pass out,” she answered, sighing. “You wouldn’t wake up so I tried to make you comfortable.”

“I see.” I stood, pressing a hand to my empty belly. Conflicts of the mind aside, I had a body that needed fueling. Reaching down, I took up the makeshift blindfold from the arm of the settee. “I’m going to cook,” I told her. I desperately needed to occupy my hands and my mind on the mundane. I couldn’t, wouldn’t think about Hojo, not right now. Right now I could do nothing about him. “I’m going to make light while I do so, so you should put this back on,” I continued, pressing the silk into her hands.

She gave a small sound of amusement. “Sephiroth, is this a tie?”

“Yes.” My lips twitched in sudden, relieved amusement. She accepted my evasiveness and gave me a way out with her distractibility. “You find it unbelievable that I should wear one?” I asked, still not quite believing she wouldn’t press my weak point about Hojo. When you found an enemy’s weak point, you pushed on it.

“Not if I go by their original purpose,’ she answered, giggling. I heard her tying the cloth over her eyes, the creak of the knot going tight. “They were made for dueling, you know. If you wanted to challenge someone you grabbed their necktie and pulled on it, choking them.”

“How appropriate; just putting one on makes me feel like I’m choking,” I said.