Silver and Gold [complete]

I don’t own Final Fantasy or its characters, bla bla bla. Warning: death fic. Angst city. You get the idea.


Silver and Gold

His hand lifted slowly, touched his left shoulder, and settled there. It slid downwards gradually, fingertips inside the deep, smooth scar, across his chest and body, then ending at the right side of his hip. He lifted the large, rugged hand again, it settled on his shoulder, and stroked downwards once more.

Why… did you miss?

He didn’t move any part of him but his arm, lifting it and running his fingertips down the heavy wound, perfect creamy white and as thick as his wrist. In the light, his inner organs could be faintly seen through the thin layer of scar tissue, but he wasn’t in the light. He was lying in a heavy pile of silk pillows and blankets, covered in a fine layer of dust, darkness surrounding him.

His hand lifted again, stroking downwards.

Why did you miss?

I should’ve died.

Why did you miss?

You did this to me! I could be dead, free of this life!

Why? Why did you miss?

His fingertips rested on his hip, feeling the end of the scar. The memories played like a movie he’d seen too many times in his head. The rage. His eyes, blazing with rage. The sword, slicing down in a final silver flash. His happiness, at his end. It was over, he could relax in death. Free. The fire in his body, the pain, all were nonexistent as he opened his arms, falling, sinking deeper into nothingness. A laugh would have escaped his throat but blood gushed out instead. He was happy for the first and last time in his life.

And then the falling stopped. He hit the end, and he knew that though his soul was dead, his body was still alive. Then he stopped laughing, and a scream of pure and utter agony rang through his body and out his throat, gurgling and sputtering with crimson.

He had woken up here. Mostly healed, and mostly helpless. He could lift his arms and legs a little, but couldn’t walk on his own without great effort. His left arm was the strongest now, because he always moved it, lifting it to caress the silky-smooth scar over and over. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his hand fell limp and something between a coma and sleep overtook him as it did every day.


So.

She was dead now.

He was dead long ago.

Many of the old ‘group’ had coupled off with either each other or somebody new. He was left alone, empty satisfaction.

But, he couldn’t fall into the pit he used to. The loving pit of emptiness and swirling thoughts of agony and penance. He couldn’t seem to get back there, no matter how hard he tried.

He lay on his back.

He lay on his side.

He lay on his stomach; he curled into the fetal position.

He curled up into a ball; he put his head in his hands and dug his fingers into his scalp in fury and frustration. Then, the tears came. Again. The tears of frustration, sorrow, things he couldn’t even put into words.

It wasn’t that he missed her. It wasn’t even that he didn’t get to say goodbye, to tell her how he really felt, to show her all the things she meant to him.

It was that he had done nothing.

And now, he was nothing.

The coffin lid slammed shut and he cowered within, making soft moans of anguish as hot tears slid down his cheeks. He just wanted to sleep, to go to darkness forever. But something was stopping him. He couldn’t! He tried his hardest.

After the tears stopped, he took to his old habit. One golden talon extended carefully and slid along a small groove in the wood paneling before his face. It moved down slowly, and when he reached the bottom, he lifted his finger again and repeated the motion. He pressed just light enough so that the groove wouldn’t go all the way through the wood for years.

Consciousness.

Again.

Somebody behind him. As usual. Fine. He remained unmoving, spare the jerking of his body as he was pressed upon. His eyes didn’t open as his assaulter clubbed him across the back of the head.

“C’mon, scream for me! Oh yeah, god!”

His face remained in the pillows as the sting of a bullwhip barely fazed him.

“Scream, you whore!”

Nothing came out of his mouth. Nothing ever did.

The man finished, threw some coins on the floor, and left, but not before laughing, “They were right! You are as good as they said! I’ll be back for you from now on!”

It barely registered as the attendant-girls came in after the man, cleaned him, and changed the soiled pillows and blankets for fresh ones. He was rolled onto his back gently as they whispered to each other all sorts of things about him, where he was from, who he might be.

Here, nobody knew. Nobody cared.

It was the one thing he was thankful for.

One of them mounted him and had her fill before leaving. They always did that. One of them would stay behind, and do as they pleased with him. Sometimes it was just a kiss, sometimes they would do nothing but lap up some of his seed. Everybody had their price for favors.

A new customer came in. Another male.

His legs were parted and he was penetrated viciously, without any of the warning the others liked to give. To make themselves feel better for using him.

It didn’t matter. He remained limp as always, mouth open slightly, eyes half-mast and unseeing. When the man left, his hand lifted slowly and he touched the scar on his shoulder, sliding his fingers down slowly.

Why did you miss?

I wanted to die.

I still want to die.

If you just knew I was here… would you finish the job, or would you let your feelings get in the way?

If only you knew I was here.

If only…

His thoughts fell away like a child turning a puzzle over and dumping the pieces all over the floor with a laugh, uncaring as to whether it ever got solved again.

Why did you miss?

He lifted his hand to touch his shoulder again.


Noises.

There were noises in the room, clumsy, human noises. Somebody touched the coffin lid.

“There you are.”

A soft, caring voice. Concern and frustration threaded into it.

“Come on, wake up.”

His eyes opened and he looked at the deep gash in the wood before him, his ghastly hand resting beside it in a small pile of shavings. Strong arms surrounded him and lifted him slowly, pulled him out of the coffin, into a lap. Irritation filled him as his hair was brushed from his face carefully. Why couldn’t he be left alone?!

“Your hair has grown so long. Look, it touches the floor.”

He knew how long his hair was. It didn’t matter.

“Oh, Vincent, why must you do this to yourself?”

Soft kiss on his cheek. The hands that had lifted him out embraced him. One held onto his shoulders, keeping him upright. The other slid up his thigh and across his hips, then searched downwards again, cupping him. The lips touched his mouth carefully, testing.

No resistance.

No response, either, but that didn’t matter.

His tongue pushed inside Vincent’s mouth, again meeting no resistance as the caressing increased. Finally he pulled away, and rested his forehead against Vincent’s neck with a heavy-hearted sigh.

“Just like the good old days. You haven’t changed.”

He didn’t respond, but he did take note of the blade strapped to the blonde’s back. If he leaned forward just slightly, he could end all of this…

“Well, this needs to change. The others have been asking about you.”

Lies.

“Tifa and I are going to New Midgar; it’s the only place I know of to find replacement parts for the HW2. Cid will be there, too. We want you to come. Visit. Talk with us, for god’s sakes.”

The last sentence was less the voice of the ones he was speaking of and more his own.

“Come on. Get up. Come with us.”

He got up slowly, warily.

“There you go! That wasn’t so hard. They’re waiting outside…”

Debate crossed his face as he looked out into the hallway quickly, then back to Vincent.

Again he was kissed, hotter and more desperate. His hands were held viciously as though he would fight back, which he wouldn’t, and his body was pressed against the stone wall. His eyes remained open and dead as he was kissed and the thigh between his legs attempted to rouse him.

It forced his weapon to be raised, but did nothing in the way of any rousing.

Upon seeing his success, Strife released the hands and got on his knees, unbuckling the old leather bodysuit and revealing his hard-earned prize. He moaned as his lips caressed the unyielding organ, his tongue searched its length.

He took it into his mouth carefully, one hand guiding and stimulating as well.

Vincent stared at the wall opposite them as he remembered the ‘good old days’ as well. The raping. The torture.

He could hear them outside Cloud’s bedroom, back then. ‘I haven’t seen Vincent around lately.’ ‘Me either.’ ‘He’s probably moping somewhere.’ ‘Yeah.’

In truth, he had been tied by the wrists to Cloud’s bed. He didn’t bother screaming for help. He didn’t care for questions to be asked. Frankly, he didn’t care.

Cloud panted and swallowed desperately as Vincent’s seed spilled forth, a choked gasp escaping the red-eyed man.

“Oh fuck. Oh yes. You’re twice as big as my husband! Oh, yes!”

She bucked on top of him a few more times though he had finished a while ago, then finally rolled off and lay beside him, kissing his shoulder and neck.

“You want to know something?” she whispered into his ear.

He didn’t reply.

“You look exactly like that monster, Sephiroth. Except, you’re far skinnier, less muscular, and his hair was more silver. Yours is sort of gray, and you’re more lean than muscular. But it doesn’t matter. You’re a good fuck.”

She straddled him once more and kissed him deeply.

“I wonder what he was like?” she whispered. “Sephiroth, I mean. I bet he had a huge cock, too, and could last for hours at a time.”

She went on kissing him for quite some time, until the impatient rapping at the door. “Time’s up!” a gruff voice growled.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled, getting up and gathering her clothes.

He was left alone in the room again.

Why did you miss?

Too bad the woman hadn’t realized who he was.

Maybe she would have killed him.

One swift puncture with a nail file or something through his thin scar and he’d be dead within hours.

…But why did you miss?


Vincent walked through the New Midgar streets silently as the others talked.

He heard the people around them talking, too.

Several men and women stared at him.

A teenaged girl asked him if he wanted to get a bite to eat with her.

He ignored it all.

His fingers touched Death Penalty within his cloak, hidden away. Softly his fingers caressed the hilt, the trigger, the shaft.

He had had enough.

Finally he had agreed to going to New Midgar, because in a huge city as this, it was easy to disappear. As they walked in the market, he was also looking for something specific. His eyes gazed at the alleys they passed carefully.

Not deep enough.

Not dark enough.

Not unused enough.

Not… he paused.

Perfect.

Behind a fruit cart was a deep, dank alley, looking like nobody even dared to go down it. His body wouldn’t be found for weeks. And, since only those who had secrets to keep would ever find the body, there wouldn’t be a funeral.

Simply a disposal.

Good, no pity, no tears for him.

What was there to cry for?

His agony was ending. People should be happy.

Cloud would have to find another fuck hole, but it wouldn’t be hard. Tifa was so in love with him that she was willing to pretend that he didn’t do much of what he really did behind closed doors. Their marriage was perfect.

Vincent stroked the hilt of Death Penalty again carefully. Soon. Very soon.

He looked over to the trio. They were crowded at a machine-parts stand, ogling the things they wanted for the Highwind II. He slipped into the crowd, examining them to see if they noticed.

Nobody saw the man in red disappear into the shadows.

He hurried to the back of the alley carefully, picking his way around garbage and useless scrap metal. He reached the end and sighed contently, parting his cloak and taking full grip on Death Penalty. He was about to unsheathe it when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“Down the stairs,” a deep, gruff voice sneered.

“What?” he asked nervously, shocked that anybody had caught him off-guard.

“Don’t play dumb!” the man growled, pushing him down a set of stairs and through a steel door, slamming it shut behind him.

Vincent looked around the dimly-lit place slowly.

He knew this smell.

Sweat, sex, smoke and sour alcohol. He was in a brothel of some sort. Well, whichever. The same applied to here as it did in the alley. Easy clean-up, no grieving, no funeral. Nobody would realize he was gone.

“Room 18,” a new man rumbled, much like a bulldog from his place behind a dirty desk.

Vincent stood and was headed to the designated room in the left hall, but stopped as he heard a shotgun cocked. It was aimed at his head.

“Don’t fuck around, pretty boy. Pay first. Three thousand Gil for him. He’s good but you have to do the work.”

Vincent nodded, took the money from his pocket, and put it on the desk.

“What’d you do, dig this up from a grave? This money looks decades old!”

Vincent shrugged and walked into the hall, looking at the numbers. 12, 14, 16, 18.

He opened the door and closed it behind him slowly, lifting Death Penalty.

So the brothel would be out one whore. Too bad. They could get the rest of the money and more than enough to make up for it from his cold body. He took aim at the middle of the room, head-level, and reached for the light.

With a careful flick of his talon it turned on and Death Penalty was aimed perfectly at the man’s head with lightning precision.

Vincent gasped.



He lifted his hand slowly and ran it along the scar. The light hurt his eyes. Nobody ever turned the light on in here. No matter.

He reached his hip and started over at the shoulder.

“Sephiroth!”

The hiss of his name brought some attention to him. So, finally, somebody recognized him. Finally, blissful end. He knew this voice, though.

Ah yes, the freak Hojo played with years ago. Vi…? Victor… Vincent. His name was Vincent.

The man approached Sephiroth slowly, his shadow cast over him as a slight frown painted his face. Such blood-red eyes. What a goddamn waste.

Why did you miss?

Now, it doesn’t matter. Now, I can die.

Vincent got on his knees so he could look closer at the body.

His hand touched his shoulder carefully, as though making sure he was real, and ran along the scar as Sephiroth himself had done for ages now. “Good god,” he whispered. “Good god!”

His gun hit the floor and he fell to his hands and knees. His face was inches from Sephiroth’s. For the first time since his waking in this place, Sephiroth’s eyes moved with purpose, and met those above him. There was a long moment of silence.

The red-eyed man was debating something behind that pale, milky face.

“I thought I was just going to kill a whore,” he finally whispered, his hand sliding back to the gun. “Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, but…”

He put the weapon at level with Sephiroth’s face, and touched the tip of it to his forehead. Carefully he reached up and took hold of the unused shackles on the wall at his head, and locked Sephiroth's wrists in it.

The silver-haired man blinked. Why the hell did he need to be chained? It wasn’t like he was struggling. The gun was put several feet away, across the room, and Vincent came back, crawling on his hands and knees like a predator. His gold hand scraped on the stones eerily, making sparks.

He turned the light back off, and faced Sephiroth silently, the thrill of hunting burning bright in his eyes. He crawled on top of the soldier slowly, causing his mako-green eyes to widen and glow a little brighter.

This guy wasn’t serious!

But… he was! Sephiroth’s mouth opened a little more as the shock hit him. He hadn’t responded to anything in years. Here and now, he was filling with emotion like a water pitcher under the tap.

Vincent began to undress himself slowly, and as he got down to his leather bodysuit, the full impact of what was about to happen hit Sephiroth. He pulled on the shackles, but only got a little noise out of them as response. He had no strength in him to do anything at all. It had been too long doing nothing for too many years.

Sephiroth writhed and fought as best he could, but it was entirely useless. His legs were parted viciously and the white face grinned evilly at him in the shadows. Maybe he would fight, but the freak couldn’t get a scream out of him. He wouldn’t show weakness if it was the last thing he did.




Vincent looked at the opening exposed for him, the weak body beneath him. It felt so good. To have this power, this strength over the one that had ruined his entire life. It felt so good!

He bared his teeth in a menacing grin as he hardened, the anticipation driving him wild. Fuck Sephiroth! He would fuck Sephiroth! He would fuck him until he could barely move, fuck the hell out of him! And there was nothing he could do about it!

He pushed the long legs open wider, eliciting a quiet growl that didn’t get further than Sephiroth’s throat. Oops, he probably tore a tendon there. Oh well. He lowered his chest and slid his hands to Sephiroth’s backside, grasping the smooth knolls of flesh to harm and pulling them apart. He plunged with no warning, gaining the reply of the chains but not the man. Sephiroth was pulling at his constrictions with all of his might, while his torso whipped back and forth like a fish out of water. He, too, was baring his teeth, and his breathing had doubled.

“Does it feel good?” Vincent hissed, his upper lip twitching once as he said it. “Does it feel good to be fucked? To feel what you did to me?! Fucked for no reason!”

He lifted his left hand and slid it down Sephiroth’s back slowly, digging his talons in. He felt the warm blood running down the gold of his hand, but Sephiroth didn’t make a sound other than ringing the chains and his heavy breathing. Vincent began to pump into the tight opening, his blood coursing through him in fiery pulses.

“This… is what you did… to me!” he seethed, pushing into the heating body repeatedly. He lifted his shimmering, bloody left hand again and tore four deep gashes into Sephiroth’s arm. The man jerked, but didn’t scream.

He wanted a scream!

He wanted to hear the agony.

Better yet, he wanted to hear a moan. He wanted Sephiroth to enjoy this, because that would make the humiliation all the worse.

Vincent knew what to do to make it feel good. He knew what it was like to have another man inside of him. He knew where to press for, what would get the moans he was craving with a watering mouth.

He aimed for that spot inside of Sephiroth, leaving up the wounds for pressing into the hot body. Licking at the white scar, he wrapped his arms around Sephiroth and lifted him up slightly, pressing himself up inside, deeper, harder.

Yes! Yes, almost there, he was weakening. Sephiroth had paused his attempts at escape as his breathing grew even heavier, becoming slightly vocal. A little more, and he would get his moans of pleasure.


Sephiroth couldn’t help it. He tried. With all of his might, he tried to keep his mouth shut, to keep the freak from getting what he wanted. But he was slowly breaking down. Nobody had done this before, not while he was actually paying attention, not when he gave a damn!

And, they had always done so for their own pleasure, not caring what he felt.

Here and now, he was feeling something new, and it was driving him wild with each thrust of that cock into him. Filling him, pushing him apart, making him ache… his head fell back, his mouth opened wide to gasp for air, and he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could make them. “Ah… ah…” he hissed, his heavy breaths becoming words.

Vincent lapped at his nipple gently, bit it with utmost skill. He rolled it around on his tongue as he thrust harder, pulled Sephiroth onto him with more force.

“Nnnnnnagh,” Sephiroth sneered, head rolling back and forth. “Hah… ah… haaah…”

The groans in his throat were trying to escape. His mouth became dry as he pulled in each breath with difficulty. “Ah… fuck!”

It came out of him, regardless of all the struggling. A long, low moan slithered from his throat as Vincent’s seed poured fiery hot into him, and his own shot against the man’s stomach. But to Sephiroth’s surprise, the same thing came from the freak. His mouth dropped away from his chest and his forehead rested there instead as he made quiet noises to himself, almost like whimpering.

There was a long moment of pause and simply breathing as Vincent held Sephiroth straddling his lap. Sephiroth's mind raced as he looked over to the Death Penalty on the floor just a few precious feet away, and pulled on the chains again.

The red-eyed man wasn’t going to kill him any more, he could feel it. His chance for death was slipping away! He had to keep the raven-haired experiment busy.

He looked down at Vincent, then began to struggle with strength anew at the prospect of losing his chance at death. It was mere seconds before the pale man was tossed onto his side then pushed onto his back as Sephiroth had been. He turned himself around to face the man below him now, hanging by the arms. He looked down into the crimson eyes, which were dulled and uncaring.

It wasn’t like Sephiroth could do anything to him, chained up, right?

He was wrong.


Vincent gasped as he felt Sephiroth’s renewed erection press against him, push into him. His eyes widened, and he didn’t pull away, though he could’ve. Why not?

He’d kill him then himself soon enough. One more fuck wouldn’t make a difference. At least it wasn’t Cloud. He didn’t want to see that body, that cock, that face, again.

He flicked a casual talon across Sephiroth’s shoulder just to spite him, and caught the resulting trickle of blood in his mouth. He swallowed it with a daring look towards his ‘attacker’, just to show him who was still in charge.

Sephiroth’s eyes blazed as he plunged hard into Vincent, who bared his teeth at the thrust. There was no real need to be vicious, but he supposed he had earned it.

Sephiroth pushed inside the pale body slowly, biding his time. He pulled hard on the chains with each thrust, not only because he was holding himself up with them, but also because the bolt holding them to the wall was slowly weakening.


Vincent moaned freely, lifting his legs and wrapping them around Sephiroth’s waist. He grabbed onto the pillows beneath him with all his strength, his left hand shredding a silk slip and causing feathers to fly in the room.

Several snowy feathers settled on Sephiroth and Vincent and all around them, giving an almost eerie sense that one of them was an angel whose wings had fallen apart.

Neither believed it of themselves.

Sephiroth pulled harder on the shackles, as new sweat beaded on his back and forehead. His arms were burning from holding himself up, as little as he weighed now, trying to free himself.

Sephiroth’s eyes widened as he saw the man’s right hand inching towards the gun beside them. Not yet! He would not lose this chance! He would not let another day go by alive!

He pulled at the chains with all of his strength, and relief filled him as he fell on top of the pale man, who blinked in shock. Immediately the red-eyed man began to struggle, lunging for his gun. Sephiroth grabbed the chain that had bound him and wrapped it around Vincent’s neck like a flash, pulling on it with his bound hands at one end and his mouth at the other.

It had all happened so fast, Vincent couldn’t concentrate at first. He realized he was caught by the throat with the same chains he had bound Sephiroth by, and no more air was reaching his lungs. His face began to burn and his vision blurred as he reached for Death Penalty. But, as he was, he realized his job was being done for him.

Relief washed over Vincent as the chain pulled tighter around his thin throat. Contentment filled his face, and he made a soft smile towards Sephiroth, who couldn’t see it.

Thank you.




His jaw ached and a molar was ripped from his mouth as Vincent reached for his weapon, but for no apparent reason he suddenly stopped his struggle and fell still.

Sephiroth took his chance and pulled his hardest. The red-eyed man’s breathing stopped, and he fell limp into the feathers.

Sephiroth felt relief wash over him. He crawled over to the gun, and after some struggling, had it aimed for his head, propped between his knees. He looked over at the man lying in the feathers, whose life he had ruined in more than one way. Whose life he had now taken.

There was a small smile on Vincent’s face, as though he had been happy when he died. Sephiroth dismissed the idea. Not a do-gooder like that; he had too much to live for, didn’t he? Whatever.

He smiled and looked down the length of Death Penalty, his finger caressing the trigger.

Thank you.



-End

I’m pretty sure this was the first deathfic I ever wrote. Don’t quote me on that.

Still… hooray for angst; great with a side of rape, served hot.

Read and review if you’d like.