Head Over Feet
folder
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
651
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
651
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Final Fantasy VII or its characters, Square-Enix does. Nor did I make any money from the writing of this fic.
Watching
Special thanks to Kuromei, MyValenwind, and Nelleh for reviewing this for me! I’m glad to see that I haven’t lost my touch! You guys are so awesome to me! Much obliged!
Title: Watching
Characters: Sephiroth/Tseng (one-sided?), Zack
Rating: T
Words: 1076
Warning: fantasies about boysmut, language
Description: It is an emotion Sephiroth doesn't yet understand, and one he'll never chase.
Dedication: For margyy, who makes me gorgeous banners and I have only writing to offer because I am broke, broke, broke.
“And then he said...”
Sephiroth only half-listened as Zack babbled into his ear, some story – likely hilarious and involving drugs or alcohol – that was his usual attempt at injecting some humor into Sephiroth's existence. Sometimes, it worked; sometimes, it didn't. At the moment, Sephiroth was too distracted to care either way, but he made appropriates sounds of attention when necessary and Zack was satisfied with it.
Their footsteps echoed in the empty hall, Sephiroth's quick pace followed by Zack's rapid steps. The general folded his arms behind his back, noticing how eyes averted as they passed, the faces of some soldiers shining with awe and reverence. Others twisted with envy. And some with another emotion altogether, one Sephiroth still wasn't sure to interpret.
“... Jude just doesn't understand that you can't load a... ”
The corridor was lined with massive windows, open to the elements, bright sunlight streaming through them in checkered patterns against the polished floor. Sephiroth's gaze wandered to their view, this side of ShinRa's complex facing the courtyard where a few training exercises were in full swing, as was usual.
Sephiroth paused to watch. As General of ShinRa's forces, it was only logical that he should observe the actions of the soldiers. Only, it wasn't the troops practicing down there. No, this group was smaller. They didn't run through manuevers, but engaged in hand-to-hand combat with varied weapons.
Turks.
Zack stopped once he realized Sephiroth had stopped, turning around to glance out the same window. “Ah, Veld has them training today, huh? Makes sense after that failure in Kodac.”
Sephiroth made a noncommittal noise of agreement, his gaze focused through the clear glass to the courtyard below. Most of the Turks had stripped out of their traditional navy blue suits and dressed down into clothing more suitable for training – white shirts and sweatpants, with sneakers exchanged for polished loafers. Men and women alike traded skilled blows, looking as if they had been out there for hours.
Green eyes surveyed the assortment of Turks, pretending a clinical interest, but in the end, he searched for one individual in particular. His gaze skipped from a redhead, to a bald man, to a woman, to a tall blond, his brow furrowing in confusion. He wondered if the sub-commander wasn't present, until Sephiroth located him, alone in a corner, working with a training dummy.
Unconsciously, Sephiroth's hand curled into a fist as he watched.
Tseng's hair was pulled back like always, but sweat dotted his forehead. He was incredibly focused, those silver eyes severe and determined as he landed blow after blow against the wooden dummy. He wasn't thickly muscled like those drug-amped idiots that seemed prevalent among the soldiers, but he was toned, lean and fit. His strength perfectly suited to his occupation.
“Even Tseng's down there, huh?” Zack idly commented, never bothered by the lack of conversation on Sephiroth's part. “Veld must be really pissed if he's punishing his favorite.”
A part of Sephiroth stirred at this revelation. “Favorite?”
Zack shrugged, dragging fingers through his black spikes. “Everyone knows that Veld's always wanted Tseng to take his place. Even from the beginning.” Crystal-blue eyes glanced at Sephiroth. “Well, apparently not everyone, since you didn't know.”
If it were rumor then of course Sephiroth didn't know. He hadn't the time to pay attention to conjecture, only facts.
He focused on the window again, pretending an interest in the others, but his eyes for Tseng alone. The black-haired Turk had paused to rest, swiping a towel over his sweat-streaked face and throat. His skin was a wonderful shade of bronze, so different from the pale, never-darkening shade of Sephiroth's own.
Sephiroth wondered when this fascination had began. When his eyes had started seeking out Tseng or he searched his reports for any vague mention of the sub-commander. And when his erotic dreams had replaced nameless faces and touches with images of Tseng, skilled hands that glided over Sephiroth's body, and a skilled tongue that tasted of anise.
Why anise? Sephiroth didn't know. But to his imagination, he always thought of Tseng carrying the flavor of black liquorice, dark and vaguely sweet.
Zack shook his head, stepping away from the window. “He'll have them at that for hours,” he said, stretching his arms above his head before folding them behind his neck nonchalantly. “Pity the poor bastards.”
Sephiroth didn't immediately move, captivated by the view he could enjoy without making it seem as if he were staring. Tseng had no idea that Sephiroth was watching, that Sephiroth entertained thoughts in the back of his head.
Pushing Tseng to the ground, divesting him of his clothes, dragging his palms down that bronzed back. Watching marks raise in the wake of his fingers, a pant of pleasure escaping from the Turk's lips. He imagined that Tseng would be rather silent, holding back his sounds until he had no choice to release them. And Sephiroth would make every effort to drag out a moan, or a whimper, or a whine.
Sephiroth wondered if Tseng's eyes darkened with arousal, if that pale silver became a stormy grey. If Tseng would submit or fight every step of the way, until the blood boiled in their veins and instinct took over.
“Seph?”
He blinked as though coming out of a haze, nearly jumping in place. Sephiroth forced his gaze to tear away from the window, focusing on his best friend.
Zack was waving his hand through the air, as though trying to get his attention. “Meeting in ten minutes, remember?” Zack said, his other hand pointing down the hall. His lip pulled into a grin. “Or would you rather spend your day dreaming away?”
Shaking his head, Sephiroth fell into line beside Zack, glad that the design of his clothes hid the fact that he was half-hard within the confines of his pants. “The latter sounds like a more useful way to spend my time than listening to Heidegger's simpering.”
Zack laughed, nudging Sephiroth with his shoulder. “See? I tell everyone you have a sense of humor! Why doesn't anyone believe me?”
“Perhaps because you have a tendency to both exaggerate and tell falsities when the mood strikes you,” Sephiroth smoothly countered, firmly erasing images of a flushing, panting Tseng from the back of his mind.
Foolishness, it was, and he was the general of ShinRa's army. He hadn't the time for such idle dreams.
* * *
a/n: So, so, so sorry for the wait, guys. I've had major computer trouble, as in my laptop has DIED. I'm presently working on my mother's until I can afford a new one. Or afford to get mine fixed. So in the meantime, updates aren't going to be as frequent. I don't know when I'll be able to get another.... April perhaps? It's up in the air at this point since I'm sorta between jobs...
I haven’t written another ficlet yet. I’m currently picking my brain for ideas and waiting for inspiration to hit. But keep an eye out! And thanks for reading!
Title: Watching
Characters: Sephiroth/Tseng (one-sided?), Zack
Rating: T
Words: 1076
Warning: fantasies about boysmut, language
Description: It is an emotion Sephiroth doesn't yet understand, and one he'll never chase.
Dedication: For margyy, who makes me gorgeous banners and I have only writing to offer because I am broke, broke, broke.
“And then he said...”
Sephiroth only half-listened as Zack babbled into his ear, some story – likely hilarious and involving drugs or alcohol – that was his usual attempt at injecting some humor into Sephiroth's existence. Sometimes, it worked; sometimes, it didn't. At the moment, Sephiroth was too distracted to care either way, but he made appropriates sounds of attention when necessary and Zack was satisfied with it.
Their footsteps echoed in the empty hall, Sephiroth's quick pace followed by Zack's rapid steps. The general folded his arms behind his back, noticing how eyes averted as they passed, the faces of some soldiers shining with awe and reverence. Others twisted with envy. And some with another emotion altogether, one Sephiroth still wasn't sure to interpret.
“... Jude just doesn't understand that you can't load a... ”
The corridor was lined with massive windows, open to the elements, bright sunlight streaming through them in checkered patterns against the polished floor. Sephiroth's gaze wandered to their view, this side of ShinRa's complex facing the courtyard where a few training exercises were in full swing, as was usual.
Sephiroth paused to watch. As General of ShinRa's forces, it was only logical that he should observe the actions of the soldiers. Only, it wasn't the troops practicing down there. No, this group was smaller. They didn't run through manuevers, but engaged in hand-to-hand combat with varied weapons.
Turks.
Zack stopped once he realized Sephiroth had stopped, turning around to glance out the same window. “Ah, Veld has them training today, huh? Makes sense after that failure in Kodac.”
Sephiroth made a noncommittal noise of agreement, his gaze focused through the clear glass to the courtyard below. Most of the Turks had stripped out of their traditional navy blue suits and dressed down into clothing more suitable for training – white shirts and sweatpants, with sneakers exchanged for polished loafers. Men and women alike traded skilled blows, looking as if they had been out there for hours.
Green eyes surveyed the assortment of Turks, pretending a clinical interest, but in the end, he searched for one individual in particular. His gaze skipped from a redhead, to a bald man, to a woman, to a tall blond, his brow furrowing in confusion. He wondered if the sub-commander wasn't present, until Sephiroth located him, alone in a corner, working with a training dummy.
Unconsciously, Sephiroth's hand curled into a fist as he watched.
Tseng's hair was pulled back like always, but sweat dotted his forehead. He was incredibly focused, those silver eyes severe and determined as he landed blow after blow against the wooden dummy. He wasn't thickly muscled like those drug-amped idiots that seemed prevalent among the soldiers, but he was toned, lean and fit. His strength perfectly suited to his occupation.
“Even Tseng's down there, huh?” Zack idly commented, never bothered by the lack of conversation on Sephiroth's part. “Veld must be really pissed if he's punishing his favorite.”
A part of Sephiroth stirred at this revelation. “Favorite?”
Zack shrugged, dragging fingers through his black spikes. “Everyone knows that Veld's always wanted Tseng to take his place. Even from the beginning.” Crystal-blue eyes glanced at Sephiroth. “Well, apparently not everyone, since you didn't know.”
If it were rumor then of course Sephiroth didn't know. He hadn't the time to pay attention to conjecture, only facts.
He focused on the window again, pretending an interest in the others, but his eyes for Tseng alone. The black-haired Turk had paused to rest, swiping a towel over his sweat-streaked face and throat. His skin was a wonderful shade of bronze, so different from the pale, never-darkening shade of Sephiroth's own.
Sephiroth wondered when this fascination had began. When his eyes had started seeking out Tseng or he searched his reports for any vague mention of the sub-commander. And when his erotic dreams had replaced nameless faces and touches with images of Tseng, skilled hands that glided over Sephiroth's body, and a skilled tongue that tasted of anise.
Why anise? Sephiroth didn't know. But to his imagination, he always thought of Tseng carrying the flavor of black liquorice, dark and vaguely sweet.
Zack shook his head, stepping away from the window. “He'll have them at that for hours,” he said, stretching his arms above his head before folding them behind his neck nonchalantly. “Pity the poor bastards.”
Sephiroth didn't immediately move, captivated by the view he could enjoy without making it seem as if he were staring. Tseng had no idea that Sephiroth was watching, that Sephiroth entertained thoughts in the back of his head.
Pushing Tseng to the ground, divesting him of his clothes, dragging his palms down that bronzed back. Watching marks raise in the wake of his fingers, a pant of pleasure escaping from the Turk's lips. He imagined that Tseng would be rather silent, holding back his sounds until he had no choice to release them. And Sephiroth would make every effort to drag out a moan, or a whimper, or a whine.
Sephiroth wondered if Tseng's eyes darkened with arousal, if that pale silver became a stormy grey. If Tseng would submit or fight every step of the way, until the blood boiled in their veins and instinct took over.
“Seph?”
He blinked as though coming out of a haze, nearly jumping in place. Sephiroth forced his gaze to tear away from the window, focusing on his best friend.
Zack was waving his hand through the air, as though trying to get his attention. “Meeting in ten minutes, remember?” Zack said, his other hand pointing down the hall. His lip pulled into a grin. “Or would you rather spend your day dreaming away?”
Shaking his head, Sephiroth fell into line beside Zack, glad that the design of his clothes hid the fact that he was half-hard within the confines of his pants. “The latter sounds like a more useful way to spend my time than listening to Heidegger's simpering.”
Zack laughed, nudging Sephiroth with his shoulder. “See? I tell everyone you have a sense of humor! Why doesn't anyone believe me?”
“Perhaps because you have a tendency to both exaggerate and tell falsities when the mood strikes you,” Sephiroth smoothly countered, firmly erasing images of a flushing, panting Tseng from the back of his mind.
Foolishness, it was, and he was the general of ShinRa's army. He hadn't the time for such idle dreams.
a/n: So, so, so sorry for the wait, guys. I've had major computer trouble, as in my laptop has DIED. I'm presently working on my mother's until I can afford a new one. Or afford to get mine fixed. So in the meantime, updates aren't going to be as frequent. I don't know when I'll be able to get another.... April perhaps? It's up in the air at this point since I'm sorta between jobs...
I haven’t written another ficlet yet. I’m currently picking my brain for ideas and waiting for inspiration to hit. But keep an eye out! And thanks for reading!