Pater Familias

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.




The alarm jangled every nerve I possessed. I slapped the clock, sending it crashing onto the floorboards. Up above I heard the usual, beginning machinations of morning intercourse. For just a moment I fantasized about Sephiroth’s instrument failing his enthusiasm. Then, feeling guilty, I simply moved to the next room. If I moved out I’d merely submit another person to the couple’s sexual proclivities.

Groggy, I sat upon the couch. The television didn’t interest me. I turned on the radio and listened to make certain I still had the station I liked. Classical music interested me far more than the crap on the air waves these days.

I didn’t have to go into work today. I considered going in anyway. I did have quite a bit to accomplish before Monday.

A knock came at my door. I gathered a deep breath and opened my mouth. “Come in,” I said, wondering if I’d even locked the door last night.

Cloud Strife waltzed in.

“Hey,” he said.

Apparently I’d let the door locks slip. “Strife,” I greeted, feeling three thousand years old. “What can I do for you at seven in the morning?” This seemed an obscene time to deal with anyone.

“If you don’t mind I’ll just sit here,” he said. “I was supposed to meet up with Aerith, but she’s busy.” His red cheeks betrayed his calm words. I knew without asking he’d already tried my son’s door.

I relented. “I’m making breakfast,” I announced. “Eat with me or sit here, I don’t care.” I would inform Sephiroth he infringed upon his woman’s schedule in due time.

“Okay.”

Strife followed me into my kitchen. He sat at my table, managing to look completely ill at ease. I flipped the radio on in here and quickly tuned it to the classical I enjoyed. Sephiroth had changed it to heavy metal the moment I’d left the room. He’d underestimated my tolerance for harsh music.

“Bacon?” I asked, yawning, reaching for the refrigerator door.

“If you’re having it,” he said, using his manners. He looked down at the table and sighed audibly.

For perhaps ten minutes I cooked without saying anything. The silence became oppressive. I put the bacon on a gentle heat and cast a glance at Strife. He looked utterly lost.

Cursing my newly found caring, I started making pancake batter. “Strife,” I said suddenly, watching his head snap upward. “Tend the bacon and I’ll finish up,” I said.

He managed the bacon admirably, turning it exactly the way it should be turned. He hovered, his frame vibrating tension.

I looked at his hunched shoulders, his set expression and his tense fingers. I could say nothing to alleviate his tension.

At least, nothing ordinary.

“Stick out your tongue,” I ordered.

Strife did as I ordered without pause, not seeming to think.

“Good,” I murmured. “Reflexes?”

“Okay, I guess,” he answered listlessly.

I threw a sauce pot at him, watching in satisfaction as he dodged. “You’re fine,” I said. “But you need to give up your insecurity.”

“Fuck you,” Strife replied calmly, taking up the tongs once more. “I’m not insecure.”

“Like hell,” I replied. “You’d like to be in between Sephiroth and Aerith so bad its killing you.”

Cloud cast me a look so leaden with hate I’d have turned to stone if he’d had the ability.

“Whatever,” he answered.

I made a few dozen pancakes in the amount of time it took to formulate a reply. Not saying anything, I made a plate for him and set it down on the table. I sat, sliding him the syrup.

He squeezed the bottle. I watched in horrid fascination as his food vanished underneath a flood of brown. He ate mechanically, not looking at me.

I’d had enough.

“Strife,” I said sharply, watching him snap automatically to attention.

“Yeah?” he asked after a moment or two.

“Give it up,” I advised. “Sephiroth and Aerith are happy the way they are.”

“I know that,” he said, pushing his fork into a mass of flour. “I just feel so damn lonely.”

Well, I knew something about that. “I understand,” I responded, willing him to look at me. “But, loneliness isn’t fatal.” Really, he had to feel lost if he was willing to sit here and eat breakfast with me, his one-time tormentor. Gathering my nerve for deeper talk, I momentarily closed my eyes. “Would you ever have imagined my son as a lonely man, Strife?”

Strife hesitated. “I’d never thought of him as human, with human failings before recently,” he confessed. “Or you for that matter.”

“If humanity is a state of mind as well as body, until recently Sephiroth and I weren’t human at all,” I said, partially agreeing with him. “But, my point is that you can’t be un-lonely by moping after anyone.” I got up and poured us both a glass of milk. While his head was turned I slipped a mild stimulant into his drink. “Sephiroth saw the woman he wanted and he didn’t stop until he’d secured a future with her. You need to do the same thing.”

“I like men more,” he answered, looking faintly embarrassed.

“Whatever,” I said, using his word. “It doesn’t make a flying fuck to me if you prefer chocobos. In fact, you almost look like a chocobo with that hair.”

Strife growled into his milk. “It just grows this way, damn it,” he said. “It always has.”

“Believe me, I’m aware.” I’d checked his entire physical makeup so many times I could probably make a new Cloud Strife in under a week.

He finished off his breakfast, drank his milk and carried his plate over to the sink. “You aren’t going to eat any more than that?” he asked, turning the water on while looking at my half-finished food.

“No.” The sight of all that syrup had upset my need to eat. “Do me a favor and eat the rest of the bacon so I won’t have to put it away or find an inventive use for it.” I’d see what his appetite was like.

Strife cleaned his plate, dropped it in the drainer and went to stand next to the stove. Idly, he picked up a piece of bacon and stared at it. Two seconds later it vanished. Another minute and I didn’t have anything edible left in sight. I calculated his hunger against his fluctuating testosterone levels and frowned. He could probably eat more than what I’d given him.

I opened the refrigerator and sifted through my vegetable drawer for the container in which I kept my supplements. Taking up a mako vial and a multivitamin, I loaded a syringe.

“What are you doing?” Strife asked, coming closer out of curiosity.

I turned and gave him an injection, which he valiantly tried to evade. But, I could give injections to moving targets; he didn’t escape.

“What the hell?” He rubbed his arm, an angry frown darkening his face. “I thought you needed to take blood first.”

“Not after seeing how you eat,” I replied, tossing the needle on the countertop. “You’ve got an insulin problem too. I’ll fix that later this week. You should feel much better in a few minutes, though.”

Strife sighed. “Thanks, I guess.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I suppose I can go up and get Aerith now; they’ve quieted.”

“Make your move swiftly,” I advised. “Sephiroth’s libido doesn’t rest for long.”