finalflight | OPEN POST; [ SEPHIROTH / FFVII ]

[Of course he has. He shares a very similar sentiment towards Cloud; he would love to see him in writhe beautiful agony as he shattered, or as his body quivered beneath his steel.]

And why are you so hesitant to share? Afraid that I'll do it for you?

I know you would. You'd take anything I wanted for myself, and claim everything of mine is in fact yours.

( I mean, he's just speculating, but after their last encounter ... )

[Maybe not terribly off the mark, but perhaps his willingness to steal away anything Yazoo claims as his own is as waxing and waning as the moon. There are times when indulgence is fine enough; there are other times when his mind should be disallowed to think of anything other than himself, or their purpose as a whole and how it might serve their Mother.

Which is it today, then? One wonders.]

And you would argue that it isn’t. Even though you are a part of me, you would claim enough agency to label something as your own, detached from my name.

Is that correct?

( This has to be a trap, which is why Yazoo decides simply to answer honestly and spring it in the hopes of getting it over with. )

If it were something that had no consequence for you or for Mother, yes. I would.

If it has no consequence on us, then is it just a plaything? I wouldn’t break your toys just to spite you.

[Citation needed, but nothing to counter his point right now.]

But you can’t deny me the right to inquire.

Of course he's only a plaything. How could he be anything more?

( Sephiroth isn't going to let this drop, is he? A minute or so passes before a second message comes through: )

Red hair. Blue eyes.

( Please don't say that sounds familiar, because honestly ... he'd be bang on the money. Yazoo's taste in men is tragic, let's all just move on 8') )

Edited 2020-05-30 19:05 (UTC)

[How about.....we don’t.]

The Turk.

[Yes, he’s certain. Though his memories swirl with odd remembrances, shucking away information and experiences unneeded, there are parts of Shinra — and people of Shinra — that leave an impression, that he cannot forget so easily. Especially through the eyes of Yazoo, who he sees through as easily as though they were his own.]

( So, this is going just about as horribly as he'd suspected. Yazoo briefly considers trying to lie, but dismisses the thought almost as quickly as Sephiroth would see through his deception. There's just no point. )

Yes.

You can have anyone you want. Let him be mine.

[Ignores that.]

And what is it that you like about him so much?

( C o n s i d e r s. )

He fights like he wants to kill me, and he enjoys it.

[Yazoo...]

I would hardly call that remarkable. How is it any different than what I could give you?

( Sorry not sorry? )

It's different because I know he wants to fuck me. You merely want to subdue me.

[It’s true that his taste in men is inordinately questionable, and one might wonder what that says about Sephiroth — but maybe such thoughts are better left unspoken.]

You assume that one is always independent of the other. You’ve never requested anything more.

When he looks at me, he burns for me. You've never looked at me as anything but an extension of your arsenal.

Why would I ask for more from a man as cold as you? How could I know?

He burns for you because you are something unattainable to him. Beyond the scope of what a mortal mind and body should be exalted with.

[Yazoo might only be a facet of himself, made manifest, but he is still so much greater than the humans who tread the face of Gaia like an encroaching plague. Sephiroth might not ever look upon the Remnant the same way Reno does, but who does he ever grant that kind of favor to? Even Cloud is given a glimmer of wretched hate in his undying obsession for him.]

Do not pretend that he could satisfy you in ways that I could not. That’s an offense on its own.

I don't have to be unattainable. I could let him have me whenever I please, if I chose to.

( But he hasn't, and in truth? Yazoo hasn't decided whether he ever will—which is in no small part because he already suspects Sephiroth's claim to be true. Reno yearns for what he can't have. Giving it to him would be to break his hold on him, and Yazoo likes being able to press this small advantage. )

I will concede that you likely have the ability to satisfy me. It simply didn't occur to me that you might have the desire to.

[Yazoo cannot fool him. Sephiroth does not believe that he allows Reno to take him whenever he pleases — he knows that the thrill of power and control is not one easily forsaken for a few languorous moments of pleasure. Not unless it’s well and truly worth it.

He knows this because he, too, feels similarly.]

And what of you? Would you desire that?

( In this, Yazoo knows he can't lie. Something dark and heated stirs low in his belly as he considers the question, because if Sephiroth fucks like he fights? He could be everything Yazoo wants from a partner—everything and more. )

Yes. I would.

( But he has a question. )

Did I displease you in selecting him before coming to you?

Disappointed, maybe, that you’d not even consider me to start. But maybe the onus is mine to leave a lasting impression, so that it doesn’t happen again.

[But rarely is Sephiroth so conciliatory, and so—]

I said you need only ask. So ask me.

( Ah, and there it is. Let it never be said that Sephiroth ever made anything too straightforward. )

Fine.

Will you please fuck me?

[One must work for it, after all. Sephiroth won’t disappoint those who do.]

Yes.

Tell me where you are.

[This is just a thinly-veiled contrivance of a request. He could find Yazoo anywhere on Gaia, manifest himself before him as a storm or a silent whisper. But even he can play at courtesy when it amuses him.]

Edge. We have a warehouse on the outskirts.

[As before, and as ever when a conversation has run dry of its usefulness, there is no reply.

A warehouse nestled along the outskirts of a piecemeal city isn’t the most alluring prospect, but Sephiroth doesn’t care much for ugly glamour of the population’s attempts to right themselves in a post-Meteorfall world. The building is abandoned and decrepit, save for the scant telltale signs of half-lives making this their home and headquarters, and the connection to those shards of himself here is strong, secure. The air, stringent as it is tangible, grows thick and cloying; the atmosphere pressurizes, tightens as though becoming a cord pulled apart at both ends, and when reality feels as though it might snap in two—

Sephiroth appears where Yazoo has holed himself away, his footsteps cat-quiet, his roving gaze to match. Silver sways with each step, trailing danger behind him — so, too, is Masamune gripped in the smooth leathers of his left hand, the steel a gentle crescent shimmer in the pallid light. A promise, a threat, an instrument to prove that subduing and seduction can exist in the same breath, a violent part of himself that manifests wherever he appears; perhaps all of the above.

It shines like crystal as he approaches, and his grin is too softly sharp to be kind.]

I can already taste your anticipation.

[Down to his core, buzzing between the empty spaces of every atom in his frame — and Yazoo’s, too, that anticipatory ardor so prevalent that if Sephiroth reached out and ripped it from the Remnant’s spine, it would be shaped just like him.]

( The message goes unanswered, as Yazoo expected. It doesn't stop him from watching his phone for a few long moments as he tries to rationalise what has just happened—tries to understand why now, why Sephiroth would smartly remove Reno from the picture and place himself in his stead. Possessiveness, perhaps? He's gone to lengths to ensure that all three of his Remnants understand their place in this withered world: they may have developed their own personalities, yes, but they are little more than instruments of his will, and there's every chance he simply finds the idea of someone else interfering with his belongings somewhat distasteful.

There's also the possibility that Yazoo simply wounded his pride in choosing Reno. Is this simply a way for Sephiroth to prove that even in this he is superior? That his reach extends beyond the battlefield and the heavens to deep, shattering bursts of pleasure? Yazoo's pulse quickens at the thought, feeling a strange, previously untapped curl of dark want beginning to stir at the base of his spine—

But then the air begins to change. He feels it in a shiver of gooseflesh that pours itself over his shoulders, his hips, his thighs, pulling every atom of his being to attention as Sephiroth bends the planet around himself yet again. Stillness holds Yazoo in place when he manifests before him. For one icy second he thinks he might hate him almost as much as he aches to bring their cells together again—hates his beauty, his strength, his unshakeable place as Mother's favoured son—but that bitter feeling melts into something familiar with each whisper-step of his approach.

Maybe it isn't hate. Maybe it's love—a word that has a slightly different meaning to the Remnants than it might anyone else on Gaia. For Yazoo love can be distilled into three things: obsession, purpose, and the bone-deep need to please. Bright eyes slide along Masamune, skim over his chest, then lift to meet a matching malachite gaze, and Yazoo feels the barest hint of a smirk settling into the corner of his lips. )

Then I won't need to flatter you with words.

( He tilts his head. Whatever attraction he'd had to Sephiroth beforehand seems somehow amplified in his presence, thrumming and pulsing thick between them as he takes a playful step back. The Turk? Already forgotten. Yazoo can already feel his body reaching for Sephiroth's the way it couldn't for anyone else—not even Mother—and he exhales softly as he feels his body beginning to flush. )

Shall I tell you what I wanted him to do to me?

( There's velvet-soft suggestion in his voice, and the slits of his pupils swallow up more green with darkness. )

How I wanted him to touch me?

[When Sephiroth had been subsumed by the Lifestream a second time, swallowed whole by the Planet’s entangling life essence, so much was stripped away in order to preserve himself. All the useless shards of humanity, weak remembrances that made him too soft, until only the core of his hatred remained — just a crystallized, pulsing thing of baleful agency to keep him anchored and conscious in Gaia’s beating heart. And then came the Remnants from those same thrown-away fragments, forced solid, ensuring that his desires were made physical across the face of a world still struggling to recover from his summoned hellfire. Instruments of his will, as they both rightly know. Sephiroth exists in every strand of them; he could wind himself so tight around their cores that each breath would be a trial, then release them so suddenly that they would cry out for more. They are a part of him as much as they are him, such an obvious truth that it is understood without the need for articulation.

Yet he had crafted them as separate from one another, all the same — three brothers who represented incomplete pieces of himself, made deadly and beautiful. Time, distance, and conscious awareness had placed wants and desires into their grasping hands, and the need to exist in the world, rather than merely stand at ready to be deployed, was the only natural result. Sephiroth knows that his authority over them is absolute, that if he commands they shatter themselves into a thousand pieces, he will find them broken and at his feet in his next breath. But for all else in-between, they are not so easily cowed — like children with restless brambles in their veins, nipping at his bootheels when he deigns to be present, asking for more, give them something more.

They might seek it elsewhere. They might find satisfaction in the transient things and little people all around them, but in the end, they would be reminded that Sephiroth should be the only presence that crowds their minds when the day is at its close.

For there are pieces of the man that even the Lifestream could not dilute. His pride, his possessiveness, his predilection towards obsession. And when Yazoo speaks of the Turk and all he can offer, it makes him want to gut the redhead as much as it amuses him. A fragment of himself, desiring a loyal Shinra dog? It connects Sephiroth back to an old origin point from a life long discarded and mostly forgotten, and that is both an offense to be corrected as much as it is an irony that makes him grin wider.

Yazoo steps away, but the gesture is the same as pulling a rubber band back too far. Their anchored connection elasticizes tightly, decrying any distance, and Sephiroth simply steps forward in turn. The length of his blade sweeps away the security that space could have provided with anyone else, but this is nothing revelatory.]

Yes.

[—is his reply, plain and cool. His gaze crawls along the lithe curvatures of Yazoo’s form, but ultimately settles on his face.]

Tell me what you fantasized. How you hoped he would please you.

[Let him turn it all inside-out.]

Edited (typos.....yells ) 2020-05-31 15:35 (UTC)

:eyes: good

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well this Went Places, I’m sorry lmao

L m a o I love that we're this way

smh at us.... i'm just gonna wing it

Hollow laughter, stares at hands

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