At-Tack

Warnings: Language, Slash, M/M sex, light bondage, oral, anal, and generally a good time had by all.

I do not own any of the characters of Final Fantasy VII. (Sigh) Unfortunately, they are all in SquareEnix's stable. Lucky bastards.

Post-Advent Children. Have never played Dirge of Cerberus so any details in that storyline are not included.




Holiday lights twinkled brightly and the gentle hum of voices washed over the party hall. Geostigma was gone. Sephiroth defeated, again. Jenova's dreams of conquest stymied once more. The town of Kalm declared today a day of peace and celebration.

A lone figure in tattered crimson drifted about the edges of the throng before washing up in a secluded alcove next to an equally tattered stranger. The outsider worn an oversized brown cloak, a high crowned hat with a large floppy brim, and carried a wrapped walking stick that easily topped his height of six feet. With a sigh, Vincent Valentine stared out over the gathering, drinking in the normalcy of Yuffie's teenaged antics and Cloud's oblivious caving to Tifa's feminine wiles. The small signs of a normal life came as a comfort to Hojo's UnDying creation.

"Quite a sight, eh?" the visitor said conversationally.

"They have earned the right," stated the gunman quietly.

"So I've heard. But I still wouldn't drink the punch if I were you."

Vincent swung to face the brown male, an questioning look evident in his crimson orbs.

"At least three have decided to add a little 'Holiday Cheer' to it, if you catch my drift."

"Only three?" the crimson man asked dryly.

A chuckle escaped from under the floppy brim. "That I've seen so far. The gun-armed guy put in a pint of rum, the pilot dropped in a pint of whisky, and that loud-mouthed, redheaded Turk dumped a whole fifth bottle of vodka. That gonna be some potent shit if it doesn't burn you from the inside out."

Vincent actually smiled behind his silk scarf. "Sounds like them. Like I said, they've earned it."

"And you haven't? Why are you here in the shadows while they play in the light?"

The gunman let out a long suffering sigh. I *am* the shadows. I remain here so there will be light for them." He sighed again, staring unseeing at the crowd before him. "It is the only proper atonement for my sins."

"ChocoboShit."

"I beg your pardon?!?"

"ChocoboShit! Pure. Unadulterated. ChocoboShit. You. Are. Full. Of. It," enunciated the brown stranger. "You are afraid. They would welcome you with open arms if you would only take the first step. But you hide here in the shadows pining for a totally fucked up relationship with that female headcase scientist."

"Lucretia," corrected Vincent. "And she was not a headcase."

"Lucretia Borgia, maybe," snorted the high peaked hat. "That bitch was as psycho as Hojo."

The UnDying's eyes began to glow crimson as Chaos struggled to break free. "Take. That. Back. Lucretia was innocent of Hojo's madness. I failed to protect her, and her son. Now I am eternally damned for that failure."

"Fuck that. You have unrealistic view of a cunt you never were allowed to touch, let alone screw," snarled the brown tattered stranger. "So you put her on a pedestal and took all the blame on yourself for a situation you had no control over. Get over yourself! She never loved you. She was married to the job. She eagerly gave up the child in her womb to Hojo's insanity for a chance of company advancement. She was not, is not worthy of your loyalty nor your fidelity."

"You know nothing," spat the gunman. "Take. It. Back."

"Fuck you," sneered the visitor. "If you want to live in the past, fuck you. Just quit dragging everyone else down with you!" He spun on his heel and left the party and a sputtering Vincent behind. Striding across the well manicured lawns, he headed for the stables and his personal green chocobo. Just inside the side door, he quickly located the tack room and ducked within. He had just found his saddle when a heavy hand descended on his shoulder and turned him around.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" growled Vincent. "You. Know. Nothing. Not about me. Not about Lucretia. Not about what happened back then."

"Obliviously." The brown tattered stranger turn back to the right hand wall to search for his bridle.

The gunman took a deep breath and started over. "Ok, that was not an appropriate beginning. I apologize. What is your name?"

"I am called the Chocobo Sage," replied the tall stranger, finally spotting the hackamore on the back wall. He had taken only a single step when he was brought up short by the ominous click-click of the twin hammers of Valentine's double barreled shotgun. He slowly turned back to face the crimson clad man, only to be brought up short by the double bore staring at him and nudging the floppy brim of his hat.

"Try again, stranger," said the gunman flatly. "We met the Chocobo Sage. Short little guy, with a memory like a sieve. I'll grant you the hat, but that's about it."

"You met my mentor, my teacher. He found me, lost and starving many years ago. He taught me all the chocobo lore he could remember." He paused for a moment, overcome by the memories. "He --- he knew the end was coming. He sent me away on Emerald to gather Zeio nuts. When you guys defeated the entity in the Northern Crater, it caused a shockwave that took out the cabin and several landslides as well. When I went back, the cabin was leveled. I buried him there, in his mountains. Then I took up the hat and the title of Chocobo Sage."

"But who are you?"

"The Cho ---"

The shotgun muzzle jerked and knocked the floppy brimmed hat to the floor. Silver hair cascaded down and green cat-eyes widened in surprise.

"Sephiroth!"

"That is no longer my name."

"But --- how ---"

"Years ago, there was a battle in Nibelheim. Strife got a lucky shot in. I stumbled anf fell into an open shaft which led to a pool of the LifeStream. I don't know how long I was there. I surfaced near the North Crater where the old Chocobo Sage found me and took me in. The rest you know. Now get that fucking gun out of my face!"

The shotgun lowered reluctantly as crimson orbs stared suspiciously. Vincent nudged the edge of the brown cloak with its muzzle. "Take it off," he stated flatly. "Take it all off. If you are not the Sephiroth we have repeatedly battled, certain scars will be missing. Disrobe. Completely."

Green cat-eyes narrowed dangerously. Jerkily, the ex-General began removing his clothing. "You won't get away with this, Valentine. I will retaliate tenfold for each second of this humiliation."

"Yeah, yeah," smirked the UnDying. "Now strip!"

Soon, the silver haired man stood nude in the close confines of the small tack room. The gunman circled his captive, noting the smooth, unblemished skin in various areas. There was a definite dearth of Cloud-inflicted scars. "Well, perhaps you are telling the truth ---"

Any further comment was abruptly cut off when the nude man showed how he became the elite leader of the elite cadre. In a flash, he snagged a bridle and broke the reins free. Tossing the bit and headstall aside, he grabbed the nearest wrist and spun the dark haired man about, lashing wrist to metal claw behind his back. Carefully winding the strips of leather, he insured the golden hand could not cut the reins nor get free.

"Now, let's return the favor ..." In a trice, the gunman was nude was well, his clothes in shreds about him. "What to do, what to do ..."

"How about turning me loo --- mmmmphf!"

Vincent's own scarf appeared as if by magic in his mouth and tied around his head. Crimson eyes widened and crossed as they tried to see the ruby silk stretching his lips.

"Perrrrfect," growled the Sage, surveying the bound man before him.

Vincent spun about, his foot arcing up in a textbook wheel kick. Sephiroth stopped the blow, holding the foot in a Mako-enhanced grip. The gunman teetered, balancing on the other foot. Ruby eyes narrowed in anger and frustration at this open and vulnerable position.

"Now what will you do, Red?" smirked the Sage. "Especially when I do ... this!" He reached with his other hand and grabbed the redhead's crotch, squeezing and then rhythmically rubbing the other man through his leather pants. The raven haired man moaned pleadingly as Sephiroth literally had him by the balls.

"Do you promise to not try that again or anything similar?" husked the silver haired man.

Vincent was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded. His leg was released, but the grip quickly shifted, clutching a taut buttock, preventing escape. Moving over, the talented hand in front began rubbing his aching cock. After only a few strokes, his member stood proudly at attention.

"That's good, Valentine," encouraged the Sage. Giving his captive a little nudge, he backed the bound man up against the nearest saddle on its stand. Finally releasing the tight ass, he traced a hand up and began tweaking the flat nipples.

The gunman moaned and started bucking his sips into the ex-General's snug grip. He mewled in pleasure as the swordsman leaned down to lick at a reddened peak. Arching into that delicious heat, the UnDying groaned in abandon, tossing his head back and forth.

"Just a little wanton, aren't you?" asked a husky whisper. "That's ok. That's what I want. I want to see you come apart by my touch."

Shocked, Vincent stared at the silvered haired man, only to be rewarded with a bawdy wink. What did he mean ... "come apart"? Surely he didn't mean ... that ... did he?

Slowly, as if to not startle his prey, Sephiroth worked his way down the smooth chest. Taking his time, he started at the flat nubbins, bringing them back to reddened peaks before moving down to plunge into the depths of the gunman's naval. Nipping at the tender skin surrounding it, the Sage soon had the UnDying mindlessly surrendering to his pleasures once more.

Muffled groans and gasps escaped the crimson, silken scarf as Vincent thrashed in his bondage, whipping his head back and forth. Raven strands turned into tiny stinging lashes whipping across pale flesh.

So long. It had been soooo long since anyone had touched him ... willingly and by consent. He mewled and bucked his hips, unconsciously asking for more.

Vincent hissed behind the gag as his pants dropped to his ankles, then screamed when that hot mouth descended over turgid flesh. So overwhelmed, he didn't even noticed the single slick digit that pierced his entrance.

As that talented tongue traced the big vein on his cock, the gunman groaned and thrust his hips forward again. But as he drew back to do it again, two wet fingers popped through his tight ring of muscle. He gasped and squeaked beneath the scarf, startled by the unfamiliar sensation. An unspoken question in his eyes, he stared into the slitted green orbs of his tormentor.

"I warned you, did I not, that I would not suffer the indignities that you inflicted in silence. I warned you of my retaliation. Now you are mine for the rest of the night ... perhaps longer. And while I have been explaining this to you, you have relaxed. Now ... where are you hiding ...?" Sephiroth twisted his fingers and rubbed just ... there.

Vincent saw stars. Hell, he saw a whole galaxy of stars. Then a hot mouth descended once more, and the gunman's rational mind flew away on velvet wings.

Small flashes of pain and discomfort occasionally pierced his blissful cloud. But each time they appeared, they quickly drowned in the following cascade of pleasure. He collapsed completely back against the waist high saddle and stand. Legs no longer able to bear his weight, he feel his end approaching.

Startled by the gunman falling back, Sephiroth soon realized his captive was further along than he had previously thought. Reaching up, he snapped off the small strand of leather used to tie a chocobo rider's lariat to the saddle.

Abruptly pulling his fingers free of their hot heaven, he quickly bound his captive's cock and balls, preventing any release. Tying it off, he finally met the pleading crimson orbs above the ruby scarf.

"You were about to get ahead of things there, Val," the swordsman murmured as he stood, towering over the fallen Turk. "You seem to forget. This isn't for you. It's all for me."

Easily lifting the gunman to his feet with his Mako-enhanced strength, Sephiroth spun the Turk about, laying him across the saddle. He chuckled darkly as the taut buttocks cradled his erection. "Yessssss," hissed the ex-General. "Can you feel it? Do you feel the way your hot little ass clutches at my dick?" He leaned down and nuzzled his captive's neck. "Are you ready to holster *my* gun?" A thrust of his hips punctuated his question.

Vincent growled warningly behind the blood-red scarf, attempting to wiggle away from the looming threat to his ass. Ok, so it wasn't virgin territory, but the silver haired man felt HUGH! He didn't want this. No really. He didn't want the other man covering him, pistoning into his prostate until he lost his mind. Oh fuck.

As he continued to struggle, his over-sensitized cock rubbed against the smooth, worn leather seat of the saddle, jangling his nerves further. All he could smell was leather and musk. It made a heady brew, overwhelming his senses and his rational mind.

Sweat slick skin slid easily against the saddle. Slowly, oh so slowly, he ceased his frantic scrambling and relaxed back into the overpowering male behind him. Finally, he lay there, breathing heavily. As he could only breathe through his nose due to the ruby scarf, Vincent felt as if he could catch his runaway breath. The tack room seemed to spin around him, dipping and twirling crazily. So absorbed in the phenomena, he momentarily forgot the silent ex-General behind him.

Sephiroth had grabbed a bottle of elixir earlier when he had been suckling on the gunman, using it to lube his fingers. Now he poured it on his cock, hissing at the cold, syrupy feel. After it warmed a bit (and cooled him down a little as well), he began stroking himself, coating his length more evenly. That finished, he pulled back a little and poured the rest on the head of his dick and the gunman's exposed crevice. With a wicked grin, he drove forward, ploughing in past the tight ring guarding the raven haired man's entrance.

Vincent screamed behind the gag, first in shock of the cold elixir, then in a bit of pain of the initial penetration. Almost sobbing, he writhed on the impaling member, driving it deeper and deeper. In his frenzy, he failed to note the ex-General had stopped once pushing past that first tight ring. Flailing about, he drove himself further and further onto that wedge shaped phallus. When he finally stopped, the silver haired man was balls deep in his ass.

“I’m impressed, Val,” husked Sephiroth, gently stroking the gunman’s back. “You got me all the way in that easily. ‘Course, you did just have four fingers wiggling around in there.” He rotated his hips, then snapped them forward, earning a broken groan from his captive. “So hot. And still so tight. Gods, you feel ... mmmmm.”

The silver haired man leaned back, holding only onto the bound wrists of the UnDying. Lunging forward, he jerked back sharply at the same time, making the raven haired man meet his thrust.

Vincent squealed as his prostate was hammered. No longer fighting the other man, he let himself be repeatedly yanked back to meet the forward thrusts of the ex-General. Arching his back, he presented his ass for the Sage’s pleasure. Broken mewling and clenching inner muscles encouraged his captor to pound him harder.

Sephiroth rode the UnDying with a vengeance. More than once he had to stop to prevent his own orgasm, but that never decreased the gunman’s torment. Nipples were rolled between agile fingers, then pinched and twisted. Balls were rolled like dice, then pulled and squeezed. The tightly bound cock was teasing touched, roughly stroked, and raked lightly by fingernails. Then a series of sharp slaps to a trembling ass, and the pounding would begin once more.

After the third time the Sage stopped, Vincent literally shook with need. Beggingly mewling, he arched and whined, trying to relay his distress and desires to his captor. The ruby scarf loosened, then fell from his lips. “Tell me,” came the dark whisper, low and commanding against the nape of his neck. “This is your chance. Tell me what you want ... what you need ... what you desire ...”

“Please ... ohgodsplease ... Sssss ... oooohhh!!” babbled the UnDying, desperate tears tracing down his pale cheeks. Though the swordsman stopped thrusting, holding him impaled against the saddle, Vincent still continued to move, to attempt to rock his hips against his captor. “Please let me come! I ache ... I hurt ... I *need* you ...” the gunman gasped, howling when the Sage rotated his hips, nailing that pleasurable jangle of nerves inside. He arched and rubbed his ass against the ex-General, seeking more. “Take me. Take me here ... now ... hard ... I *want* to not walk right for a week. I *want* to go around with a stupid grin n my face for days. Most of all, I *want* YOU to fuck ME senseless. I want *you* to make me come until I pass out!”

Gentle lips pulled at an exposed earlobe, tugging softly as hot breath played across the bare nape. “Then, let’s see what we can do about that .... hmmmm?”

Sephiroth shifted back once more, leaving the blood-red scarf around the gunman’s neck. He wanted to hear every whimper, every sigh, every scream that he could wring from the UnDying.

Gasping softly, Vincent felt the ex-General shift and prepare himself. Likewise, he widened him own stance and arched his back once more even as he internally tensed. No matter how much he wanted it, he knew without a doubt that swordsman was going to give him exactly what he wished for.

Driving forward once more, Sephiroth jerked back on the bound wrists of the gunman. Grinning in satisfaction at the high pitched shriek resonating in the small tack room, he did it again and again.

The UnDying could see nothing but stars. Every strike from the ex-General nailed his prostate , and Mako-enhanced hands easily held and guided his own body’s response. At times like this, it was so easy to give in to the sensations bombarding his flesh and float away on a cloud of bliss. ... But what about Cloud? And Lucritia? Tifa? Yuffie? Responsibilities?

For the first time since awakening in the present, Vincent shut out the voices and let himself feel. This was his time, his place, his moment. “Yes!!! Harder!! OooohSssss! NNNG!” he screamed. “Please! Sssss ... I, I ... I need ... I want ... oh!oh!oh!” He met the Sage thrust for thrust, whining, begging, pleading for more, harder, deeper.

Sephiroth growled at the beautiful sight before him. The long raven hair flowed down the ivory back, held here and there by the sweat dampened patches of skin. Taut buttocks clenched and milked his length as he plunged into those hot depths. Pale peach intermingled with black and tarnished gold, fingers intertwining with metal claw.

He thrust again, watching the impact ripple through the lean body. Shifting minutely, he surged forward again. This time, he nailed that pleasure spot within. Tremors shook the muscled frame as the gunman howled in exquisite bliss. The ex-General drove himself and his bound UnDying harder, faster, closer to the ultimate pinnacle . Hands shaking with the effort of holding back his own release, he reached beneath and untied the thin leather strand, freeing his captive’s cock and balls.

One, Two, Three, ...

Vincent screamed, the sound easily overpowering the small tack room. A virtual geyser spewed forth, splattering come across the leggings of the saddle. His body twitched and jerked from the random firings of overwrought nerves.

The rhythmic tensing of muscles brought on the Sage’s end. Sephiroth growled deep in his throat as his own release boiled forth. The low growl became a full-throated roar as he reached his peak, feverishly pounding into the spasming ass below.

Collapsing forward, he pinned the gunman against the saddle. Harsh gasps filled the air as both men struggled to regain their breath. Slowly, the room steadied, and the ex-General heaved himself to his feet, pulling free of the UnDying.

Vincent yelped when the Sage withdrew so abruptly. Catching the silver haired man’s eye, he rotated the littlest finger on the metal claw.. The oil lanterns reflected off a sharpened edge of mythril, and suddenly, the gunman stood free of his bindings.

Seeing his “captive” easily liberate himself from the thick leather reins, Sephiroth’s eyes momentarily grew large, then narrowed with the understanding that the UnDying had let himself be made captive. He watched in silence as the other man stretched and work circulation back into stiffened arms. When the raven haired man seemed recovered, the Sage stepped forward, brushing against the sweat slickened chest of the other man. Feathering his fingertips along the lean jaw under crimson orbs, Sephiroth offered a single comment.

“Submission is much sweeter when it is given, not taken.”

A tentative smile appeared on the gunman's’ face. Finally, someone understood. It was not theirs to take, but his to give. A single nod, then he was gone in a flurry of crimson, his tattered cape swirled about the tiny tack room which seemed strangely empty to Sephiroth after he was gone.

Only the ruby scarf remained. A token of his presence, and a promise of a next time.

The End, but reviews or encouragements and welcomed gladly.