Mind Games

Summary: A world built of cards falls apart. Angst.

(A/N. This is part one of a two-parter, the final two installments of the series. The text has now been updated with beta comments. So much thanks to toxictattoo. You made this better and have my gratitude.)


End Game (Part 1 of 2)


Cloud slammed into Yazoo's ass, his fingernails digging long, red stripes down his back. The force caused Yazoo to spread his hands wide, lowering his head to brace himself for the impact, all the while urging Cloud on with a growling voice and harsh commands.

Cloud responded with increasingly harder and rougher thrusts. Pain. Pleasure. Melding into one. Yazoo's need was affecting him on a primal level; a longing to quiet that need, to fuck the haunted look from Yazoo’s eyes and make him whimper with the outcome of release.

Yazoo had literally dragged Cloud to the inn. He had roared up to the church, bent over the handlebars as if the devil, or Sephiroth himself, was after him. There was a squeal of tires when Yazoo slammed on the brakes to swing the back end around, skidding up inches from Cloud’s feet.

Shuttered eyes looked pointedly from Cloud to the back of the bike.

Cloud didn’t hesitate. He settled in behind Yazoo, giving a sharp nod when he was ready.

Within five minutes, they’d reached the inn. Within ten, Cloud had Yazoo naked on his hands and knees, sliding in to the slick heat with long strokes and the loud slap of skin on skin. Yazoo was alternately growling out his name, then reduced to ragged breaths as he forced himself back against Cloud’s cock with every thrust. Forcing Cloud deeper.

Yazoo hadn’t given Cloud time to worry about too rough or too hard or too fast.

Yazoo demanded it.

Cloud couldn’t fuck hard enough to satisfy Yazoo. Or himself. The sight of that silver hair spread over his back, a few strands falling forward over his shoulder as he’d presented his ass to Cloud, had been an instant punch to the gut. And when Yazoo had looked back over his shoulder with defiant eyes, Cloud was stripping his clothes and grasping for the lube in a frantic rush.

The fuck was primal. Feral. Like Yazoo himself. He was a mass of contradictions. Pure sex one minute. Sheer power the next. Never backing down from what he wanted, simply taking it as if he had every right in the world. But this wasn’t taking. This was screaming out to be taken. To be fucked until the world went away.

Cloud understood.

Sinking into Yazoo’s body made troubles fade, if only for a short while.

Squeaking springs were magnified in the silent room as Yazoo rocked underneath him, pushing himself back with desperate movements, taking Cloud in as far as he was able. Pushing harder, always harder. Small moans escaped through heavy breaths as if it would never be deep enough.

Cloud wanted to grab the moment and stretch it out for an eternity, sending a big fuck you to the passing of time that would never release its toll, inflicting more damage with every second that passed.

His body wouldn’t allow it, though. The feeling building in his stomach couldn’t be controlled; not with Yazoo underneath him so willing, so intense. His hand gripped the ends of Yazoo's hair, jerking his head back with a yank. He forced himself to pry his hand open to settle back on Yazoo's hip, but closed eyes were magnifying the intensity to a level that was maddening.

Yazoo. He should concentrate on Yazoo. Bring him off first.

But Cloud was hanging on to the last of his control by a thread. He couldn’t wait.

A jolt of energy spread through his body, electricity and fire and warmth mixing together. It sent shivers down his back, and the built-up tension coiled in his stomach. He shoved in one last time, driving himself home till his hips collided with Yazoo's ass.

Buried so deep, his orgasm hit like a shot of raw mako pumped straight into his veins. He emptied into Yazoo, body shaking and senses flooded, rocked by the sheer force. He only kept enough wits about him to feel Yazoo shifting to pull on his own cock to ride on Cloud’s wave.

A few tentative thrusts milked the last from his body, and Cloud slumped over, dropping his forehead down against Yazoo’s back, skin warm under his touch and slick with sweat. His limbs felt wooden, as if any movement would be too much effort.

He didn’t want to open his eyes. Didn’t want to come back down to the reality of a world that wouldn’t stop hurting.

No fuck would ever make it disappear totally. It could only push back the tide.

Yazoo’s back rounded upwards as his head sank down towards the mattress, breathing hard until the small hitches finally smoothed out. Cloud could feel the rise and fall of Yazoo’s body underneath him, and unconsciously matched the same rhythm.

He didn’t move until Yazoo finally forced him to, pushing up one shoulder to lightly knock Cloud over onto the bed. Cloud landed on his back and threw his arm up over his eyes to block out the bright sun streaming through the window.

They came to this room often, and Cloud knew it by heart. The cracks in the wall. The knotholes in the planks under his bare feet. The way the bed squeaked in protest to their rough movements.

They’d never been here during the day, though.

Next time they needed a room that faced north.

Next time…

The thought didn’t scare Cloud any more.

He reached over to pull Yazoo down next to him, too sated to do more than flop a hand out to tug at the end of Yazoo’s hair before letting it fall back to the bed. But Yazoo was already sitting on the edge and tugging his leather up over his legs.

Cloud blinked.

Yazoo didn’t owe him anything. They weren’t that way. Never had been.

It still confused him.

Yazoo shrugged on his jacket without looking in Cloud’s direction. “I have to go. My brothers are waiting.”

Cloud remained silent, knowing that his confusion, no… his hurt, was showing on his face. But he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t find that blank mask that usually served him so well.

Yazoo’s fingers slowed on the zipper as he neared the top, and he finally looked up to meet Cloud’s eyes. Lightning-quick, he dove in to shove Cloud back on the bed, devouring his mouth with an almost frantic need.

As quickly as he started, he pulled away, taking small steps backwards towards the door while his eyes searched Cloud’s face, as if memorizing every line, every shadow.

“We’ll see each later… When it happens.”

He turned without another word, and the door swung shut behind him. The soft click echoed through the room.

Cloud slowly gathered himself up off the bed, his mind running over the confusing words and a strange let-down residing in the pit of his stomach. The room felt too empty, the air too cold upon his skin. The feeling made him uneasy. A let-down wasn’t part of the package he had signed on for.

He shoved it aside. Instead, he gathered up his clothes, strung across the bedroom in a line from the door to the bed. As he reached for his sweater, his fingers brushed over the silver wolf. The lone wolf. He held the symbol in his hand as his fingers closed tight around the cold steel, the edges biting into his skin.

He had to force himself to uncurl his fingers and finish dressing.

It would be a long walk back to Old Midgar, past grey streets and greyer faces. A world beat down by Geostigma and filled with rubble from Meteor, left as if a monument to despair. The atmosphere darkened his mood and added yet another dip to the roller-coaster of emotions that wouldn’t let him get off, that wouldn’t end.

He adjusted his sword and headed off with purposeful strides, looking only straight ahead and refusing to acknowledge the desolation that his long trip would lead him through.

Arriving back at his hide-away, he slipped through the large wooden doors of the church, now standing ajar. His senses instantly sharpened. Each step took him through a different color painted on the floor by the stain glass windows. His footsteps echoed in the empty space and crunched on splinters of shattered wood. He took in the broken pews with trepidation. An ever-expanding knot grew in his stomach.

When he saw the dark hair, a spray of black in a sea of yellow and white flowers, his heart exploded in his chest and constricted his breathing. He rushed to Tifa's side. Cradled her in his arms.

Questions spun wildly in his head as he looked down at her slack face. Who did this? Who had this power? Who?...

Sephiroth.

Sephiroth was back. Cloud refused to acknowledge that it could be anyone else. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t believ-…

Shame flared in his gut. The geostigma seared his skin, and pain exploded behind his eyes.


~~


The ride to the brother’s base flew by in a haze of dark blue and glowing white. The landscape blending together, beauty unnoticed, drowned out by the silent screams in his head.

Tifa… lying unmoving on the bed.

She had slept too long. She had woken too soon.

The rest was a blur. Too many subjects battering at his shell. Geostigma. The children. Tifa's yearning words to be a family.

He wasn't fit to be a family. He wasn't fit to help anyone. Not when he'd been with Yazoo. He couldn’t explain it to her, couldn’t reveal his shame. Instead, he remained silent, drawing ever inward under Tifa’s relentless questioning and her refusal to let go.

His eyes watered from the sting of the wind as he drew closer to the inevitable confrontation. He wanted to stretch the ride out, slow down the headlong rush. Fate wouldn’t let him.

It had taken Tifa, and finally Rude and Reno, to prompt him to do what he had to… go to the Forgotten City. To confront the mess that he couldn’t help but feel guilty for.

The Forgotten City. It lay just ahead, the miles quickly eaten up under his spinning wheels. It was a sacrilege to Aeris' memory. Yet another knife, rusted and jagged, cutting through his skin and digging into muscle.

If anyone knew what he had done… It would only be the start of what he deserved. Cloud wanted them to hate him. He needed them to hate him for his part. For what had happened to Tifa.

For what had happened to the Denzel and Marlene…

He ducked as the first shot blazed down the lane. Yazoo. From the first time they’d met, tied up in an empty room in the heart of Edge, it had been impossibly wrong.

Cloud couldn’t believe it had ever gone this far. His weakness had brought everything down to this. A confrontation that had been written in blood from the very beginning.

Children, scores of children from all areas of Edge, landed on light feet in front of his bike. Their eyes glowed an unnatural green, their faces echoing the looks worn by old men, those who had survived the ravages of war. Or the brothers.

His bike skidded out from underneath him as he flung himself to the side to avoid Denzel. Here. In the blood-stained hands of a madman. It was as if Cloud had handed him over to the brothers himself.

Kadaj leaped over the top of the spinning bike without a care in the world. And why would he be concerned? He had the children spread out in front of him, ready to do his bidding. He had Loz behind him to stop the sliding bike with a quick slam of his large, hard-soled boot.

And he had Yazoo. Standing idly by. Awaiting the slightest word from his brother.

Kadaj stood in front of the children, peering down at Cloud with eyes wide and full of twisted excitement. "Glad you could make it."

Cloud looked up from his crouch on the ground. “I'm here for the kids.”

Kadaj ignored him with a smirk, instead turning back to the children. “See this man?” His arms spread wide with the passion of his speech, and his voice grew stronger.

“He's our big brother. But alas... in our happy flock...” he pulled Souba with a flourish to prick at Cloud’s throat, a small amount of light glinting off the metal of the hollow blade, “he's what you'd call a black sheep.”

And Yazoo did nothing.

It took Marlene’s voice calling his name to break Cloud from his trance.

He lunged for his sword.

Time flew by in a haze, his muscles responding automatically from years of training. Lunging at Kadaj. Deflecting Yazoo’s bullets with the flat of his blade. Dredging hand-to-hand combat from skewed memories to battle with Loz in a close fight.

It angered him to have to fight with Loz, far more than Kadaj's lofty speeches ever could. It was as if Yazoo was sending his brother to do his dirty work.

Maybe Yazoo couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought didn’t comfort him.

When Loz hit the ground with Dual Hound, powered up to its maximum level, it sent a wave of stinging earth roaring towards him. Yazoo stood in its path, a small smile on his face as he waited for the exact moment to back-flip out of the path of his brother's raw power.

It was the smile, more than any bullets, more than any words, that hurt.

Cloud was losing the fight. Always trying to stay one step ahead of the three brothers, and always ending one step behind. Scrambling to simply keep up. Striving to hold his own.

He flew to the trees to gain respite but it did little good. Loz knocked over the tree with the full force of Dual Hound behind the blow, a crash that exploded up the length of the massive trunk and sent Cloud pin-wheeling to keep his feet.

Any last bit of composure drained away when Yazoo landed on the other end of the broken-over trunk. Exuding power and confidence in every step he took, holding Loz’s gun side by side with Velvet Nightmare in a double-punch of power, Yazoo trained the sights on Cloud as he advanced.

"Here we are."

Cloud brandished his sword, ready to deflect bullets if needed, and held his ground.

Yazoo kept walking steadily forward. He darted his eyes to the barrel of the gun, in clear reference, then back to Cloud.

"I will do it."

Cloud met his eyes with a terse nod of acknowledgement. He knew.

"I hope you're not surprised."

Cloud finally answered. "No. Not surprised."

"You knew what I was."

"Yes."

"You know what I am."

Cloud never dropped his defensive stance.

"Yes." The knuckles on his hand turned white as he gripped the sword. "Why the children?"

Yazoo tilted his head as if the answer was totally obvious. "They're going to help us find Mother. The Reunion is coming. You should join us."

He spoke as if he was inviting Cloud to a tea party. As if it was perfectly natural to rip children from their parents and use them for his own ends.

"Let. Them. Go."

Yazoo shook his head and his hair whispered around his shoulders. "Why do they mean so much to you? They're not yours."

He gave Cloud that far too familiar look, peering out from under his bangs with a hint of a smile. "I'm yours." He blinked, long and slow, exuding a sexual air even in the midst of chaos. "Come with me."

The muscles in Cloud's arms shook violently at the off-hand invitation, and his legs buckled underneath him. He buried his sword in the tree for balance as he sank to his knees. Disbelief, tinged with anger, all colored by his own part.

Would Yazoo be so nonchalant if Cloud had never given in to that first sexual encounter? If things hadn’t progressed as far as they had?

Yazoo watched, relaxed and confident, as Cloud struggled.

Cloud caught the movement of one of the children, an unfamiliar face; he could have been any kid in a crowd. Cloud may have seen him on the streets of Edge once. Or not. It didn’t matter. He was someone’s child. Somebody loved him as much as Tifa loved Denzel and Marlene.

Denzel. Marlene.

Cloud raised his head to meet Yazoo's eyes, then slowly straightened to his full height. He saw the disappointment in Yazoo's face, knowing it was mirrored in his. Hurt and loss echoing through the silence on both sides.

Then finally... acceptance.

Yazoo started deliberately down the tree, firing in rapid succession.

Guns jumping with every squeeze of the trigger.

The first shot skidded past Cloud’s cheek before he could get his sword up. Sloppy. But Yazoo was being sloppy too.

Sharp retorts echoing through the silence.

This time he was able to swing the sword in an arc, catching the bullets to glance off into the woods.

Flames blazing from the end of the barrels.

Yazoo was getting closer. Cloud could see the stitching on his leather jacket. Could see the lines around Yazoo's pursed mouth as he concentrated.

The smell of gunpowder lingering in the air.

Cloud ducked, whirled his body, and deflected attacks with his sword. Unable to take the last step. Unable to make the final, killing blow.

Instead, he leapt from the tree, aiming futile swings at Kadaj. Kadaj was the one to blame for this. He was the leader whom both his brothers followed with unwavering loyalty. He was the one who was destroying Cloud's carefully-built world of cards.

It was a world that would have fallen apart anyway. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. Kadaj was to blame for it all.

Kadaj fought with a whirlwind intensity, a wide smile on his face and a lust for the kill shining in his eyes. He fought with purpose, but he also fought with the joy of a child playing with a new toy. It only took one swing of Souba to drop Cloud to the ground, scrambling for his sword as it skittered away.

Cloud's hand reached out, only to stop only inches away from the metal handle. So easy to reach out and grab it. Just one more stretch, one more crawl forward. Instead, he sat back on his knees and met Kadaj's grinning face with resignation in his eyes, hands empty, throat unprotected.

A rustle distracted the brothers' attention. The sound drew his own eyes up to a swirl of red cloak in the sky. So fitting that it would be Vincent who disrupted his last-minute decision. Vincent, the one person who could understand the depths he’d sunk to.

Cloud reluctantly reached his hand out the last few inches to close over the hilt of his sword.

Shots rang out from the depths of the red fabric, distracting the brothers while giving them nothing solid to aim at in return. The swirl of the cloak was a dance of red that entranced Cloud. The color of blood. It drew his eyes away from the useless sword he now held. Red. The color of shame. Concentrating on the shimmer that darted in the sky kept his eyes from straying towards Yazoo, standing defiantly, and defending his brother with the dedication of a lioness defending her cubs.

Red. The color of betrayal.

Vincent pulled him away from a fight he could never win, whisked away to a safe place to recover. The physical wounds were minor. They would heal. They always did. It was the mental wounds that ripped through his psyche and tore at his heart.

Those were the wounds that could never heal.

~~~