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Cloud isn’t normally the type to fuck random guys at his roommate’s family’s holiday party.
He’s not really the type to go to holiday parties at all. But Zack had a way of nagging people into submission, and it was hard to argue against his invitation when the alternative was spending Christmas alone in their shared apartment while his ex went Upstate to introduce Aerith to his family.
Yes, it was awkward, but everything about living with Zack had been awkward since the break up. Awkward was old news. He preferred it to being alone, no contest.
The tires had crunched through thick, icy snowbanks when Zack’s car turned off the highway and towards Westboro, the sleepy northern suburb where he and his brother Angeal grew up.
The town was decked out in glittering lights and plastic reindeer, which Aerith cooed over from the front seat. The seat that had been Cloud’s six months ago. He hunched his shoulders and tried to block out the radio’s repetitive chorus of, “rumpa pum pum.”
“Alright, you two,” Zack grinned, his hands tapping excitedly on the wheel. “Get ready for the full Fair holiday experience. There will be caroling, there will be cheese balls, there will children of every age group begging for sweets, but most of all, there will be the annual gingerbread house contest!”
“Gingerbread? Seriously?” Cloud scoffed. “Count me out.”
Zack wagged a finger at him. “Ah ah, not optional, Spikey. Everyone has to participate, no exceptions. We compete in teams of two, and if you don’t enter, no Christmas dinner for you.” His voice takes on a sing-song tone, as if quoting an old family motto. “If you want to eat, you must compete!”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s why I’m telling you ahead of time. So you can practice smiling and pretending you give a shit.”
Cloud feigned a smile that he hoped looked psychotic, and sunk lower into the back seat.
Fuck Christmas. Fuck Zack’s picture-perfect family, rubbing their holiday cheer in his face. Maybe he should’ve stayed home alone after all.
“Aw, cheer up Cloud. I think it sounds fun.” Aerith twisted in her seat to pat his knee. Cloud leaned the other way. “And who knows, maybe you’ll meet a cute cousin to partner up with!” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
He couldn’t tell if it was a mind game or not. He never had the balls to ask Zack how much he told her about their relationship. She doesn’t act like she knows, but… what if she did?
“Not interested,” he said quietly, hoping she didn’t pry further.
“Aw, sure you are. Who wants to be alone on Christmas?”
“Aerith…” Zack jerked the wheel hard right and turned the car into a modest, well-kept cul-de-sac. Aerith crossed her arms and pouted.
“I’m just saying! He’s a perfectly nice guy. There’s no reason he couldn’t find someone nice if he wasn’t such a stick in the mud all the time.”
“He can handle himself,” Zack said, with only a little stiffness in his smile. “He’s just… not used to this kind of stuff. Didn’t grow up with it.”
Cloud never entirely got over how easily Zack navigates uncomfortable truths. Never quite lying, and yet never giving the full story either. It was a constant frustration when they were together, but that night he was glad for it.
“Oh…” Aerith said, looking between them. “Then we’ll just have to make this the best Christmas ever!”
Cloud shrunk from her bright, expectant eyes and jumped out the moment the car stopped. He didn’t need to hear Aerith’s voice to make out the shape of her asking, “What’s his problem?”
Where to even start? Abusive dad, CPS, foster care, enlisting in the army just to stay off the street. People always talk about it like it’s some Greek tragedy, and give him piteous looks after.
He didn’t have the energy to deal with it that night. He just wanted to get inside and find a quiet corner to hide in until the fun and merriment blew over.
He made it about twenty minutes unmolested, but then Zack’s brother showed up with Genesis and their gazillion kids in tow. A stranger with white hair brought up the rear.
Cloud didn’t recognize him at first, there was too much going on. Greetings were shouted over the noise of the party, and strong, clap-back hugs were exchanged. Genesis directed the kids to distribute their gifts, and so it fell to Angeal to make the introductions.
“My business partner,” he said simply, indicating the tall man in black leather. “He makes most of the accessories for our runway shows, and designs his own too, although he ought to do more of that. He’s a genuine talent.”
“Just a craftsman,” the man interjected, extending his hand. “I have no desire for the spotlight.”
Cloud eyed the fine bones of the man’s face, and felt a powerful, disquieting suspicion that they had met before. Something itched at him, but he couldn’t place it, couldn’t imagine forgetting a person with such striking features.
“Cloud Strife,” he introduced himself, taking the hand and finding the texture strange.
The palm was smooth and broad, unmarred, but the fingertips were calloused and pocked by needle pricks. A fresh knick from a Xacto blade tarnished one pinky, and the occasional, small burn scar from melting the ends of polyester cord marred his thumbs.
He’d felt those hands before, the marks and scars as distinctive as a fingerprint. Recognition smacked him cold in the face.
That masked man, from the bar. That seedy second-story joint he wandered into, after he and Zack broke up midway through an anniversary trip in New York City, and who had given Cloud the single best night of anonymous sex he’d ever had.
That night had changed everything. He hadn’t realized how dire his relationship had become until he found more intimacy in the arms of a stranger than with Zack.
It had been the death nail that night. The moment that he finally quit crawling back to Zack, and stuck to it.
He never saw the man’s face because he’d been wearing a leather cat mask, but his eyes were that same piercing pale green, and those hands… those hands were unmistakable. Coarse but gentle, pressing up his spine, gripping the back of his neck, pinching his nipples, pulling his ass cheeks apart to make way for his—
Cloud’s fingers tightened reflexively, and the taller man’s eyes widened at the same time.
He knew. He recognized Cloud too. They both froze just long enough for the others to look curiously between them. Cloud hurried to fill the silence.
“N-nice to meet you,” Cloud spat out in a clipped jumble. The man stiffened his jaw to keep his bland business smile in place, but that just made it look sly; embarrassed and amused in equal measure. He had to clear his throat to cover an awkward chuckle.
“And you.”
“Cloud here was my bunkmate through basic. We stuck together through two tours, somehow, and we’ve been best buds ever since.”
The words stung, no two ways about it, but a sudden, loud clash of jingle bells saved him from having to cringe out a response.
“Alright everybody, I think it’s time to get this party started!” Zack’s dad yelled through a rolled-up Christmas card. “Starting with…”
He called for a drum roll, and the gaggle of Zack lookalikes dutifully patted their legs in a fast beat.
“The annual Fair Family Gingerbread Contest!” Zack’s dad yelled. After a raucous response from the family, he waved his hand in a big gesture towards the enclosed patio at the back of the house. “Grab your partners and pick a station. The clock starts in five minutes.”
“Woohoo!” Zack dragged Aerith toward the door, followed shortly by a bouncing Genesis and a resigned but smitten Angeal.
Sephiroth scanned the emptying living room, landing, eventually, on Cloud.
“And then there were two.”
Cloud considered running into the nearby woods, never to be heard from again. “Do we have to talk about this, or…?”
“Only if you want to,” Sephiroth muttered. Cloud eyed the hand stitching on the taller man’s fine coat, and wondered if Zack’s brother made it, or if it was one of those elusive Sephiroth originals. It didn’t look much like the ones Zack used to bring home from visiting the Gengeal company warehouse, but he never had much of an eye for fashion.
“I hope you weren’t dead set on winning. The last time I had to fix something around the house, I glued my own finger to my pants.”
Was he projecting, or did Sephiroth seem relieved by that? The other man shifted his weight to the other foot, and shucked off his coat to reveal a tight, ribbed black turtle neck underneath. His long, delicate-looking fingers shoved his sleeves up to his elbows, and Cloud couldn’t help but to inhale the appealing scent of his cologne mixed with a brief waft of real leather.
“If we win the gingerbread contest, I’m told the reward is exemption from the talent show.”
“There’s a talent show?”
“The Fairs are a truly inconceivable breed.” Sephiroth tossed his jacket over a barstool and looked down at Cloud.
He really should have stayed home.
“I’m trash at arts and crafts, but I can follow instructions.”
“Then there is hope. As you know, I quite enjoy giving instructions.”
Cloud’s blank stare probably hid most of his shock, but there was no hiding his body’s reaction from himself. He felt the sudden jolt of his heartbeat spiking, the tense, eager tingle of his blood rushing through his veins. The voice of the masked man echoed through his skull. Kneel. Spread your legs. Touch your cock, but don’t you dare come. Good boy, good boy, such a good, eager boy.
Cloud swallowed, his body yearning just from the memory of that voice. He forced himself to slow down. To breathe. They were at a family Christmas party, for fuck’s sake. What was wrong with him?
“Cloud?” Sephiroth called, his steps slowing as he neared the doorway, and his gaze uncertain as he looked back over his boxy, broad shoulder.
His immediate, internal response felt perilously close to, “Yes, sir.” By sheer luck, it exited his mouth as a normal, excusable, “Coming.”
They entered the patio, and the sheer volume of activity makes Cloud wince. Children ran around the narrow gaps between tables loaded up with cookies and sugar. Mariah Carrie belted her signature song from the radio in the corner, and it was all nails on a chalkboard to him.
Without a word, Sephiroth changed course from the center-most table he’d been heading for to a smaller, more secluded spot near the back door.
He had done that in the club, too. Picked up on signals, reading signs Cloud hadn’t known he was sending and making adjustments without being asked. That was one of the main reasons the night had been so enlightening. It brought flaws that Cloud had routinely overlooked in Zack’s character out in the cold light of day.
Zack was a nice guy. He was caring, funny, and sweet. But he wasn’t perceptive. He would never notice if Cloud got a haircut, or if he was having a down day. When he bothered to pick a fight about it, Zack would spend the next few days groveling, which became even more annoying than whatever got him in trouble in the first place.
Sephiroth, at least so far, was the complete opposite. He pulled out Cloud’s stool for him, before sitting on his own, and just that level of consideration was enough to have Cloud leaning forward in his chair.
“Do you have any suggestions for our subject?” Sephiroth asked.
Cloud rolled a candy cane between his fingers. He shook his head. “My foster family was Jewish. I don’t even know how you get icing to dry like that.”
As a kid, he thought the things were built with hot glue. The first time he saw someone break a piece off and eat it, he thought he’d have to take them to the emergency room.
“It’s simple enough. The icing on a cake contains butter, which is why is stays soft at room temperature. This is different,” Sephiroth explained, picking up a conical bag and cutting off the tip with scissors. “This is just powdered sugar and water, and so when the water evaporates, there is only solid sugar left. Brittle, but strong.”
He demonstrated by piping a clean line down one edge of a cookie and holding the edge of another tight against it.
“Here, hold on to those and you’ll see. A few minutes to dry, and they’ll be solid as a rock.”
The walls wobbled in the transfer, but Cloud carefully put them back as Sephiroth had aligned them. His neck prickled when Sephiroth hummed a low, off-hand, “Yes, like that.”
“Y-you know a lot about this,” he said, mostly to distract himself from the pleasant shivers and the unwanted hitch in his breath. With his hands stuck holding the cookies, he couldn’t even rub the back of his neck to hide his flush. “Is baking a hobby of yours?”
“Not anymore.” Sephiroth made a quick measurement with his fingers and then cut one of the cookie pieces into four fin-like shards. “When I was young my parents traveled for work, and so I spent much of my time in the company of domestic servants. When I was lonely, I would ask for lessons as a pretense to be in the kitchen with them, instead of holed up alone in my room.”
“Oh. That’s…” Cloud watched as Sephiroth made another cut, and another.
“Rather sad, yes,” Sephiroth agreed. “But I know how to make a mille-feuille, which is more than most people can say.”
Cloud didn’t even know what a mille-feuille was, but he got Sephiroth’s meaning. He wondered if that was how Sephiroth came by his leather working too, or if the story behind that was less innocent. It had certainly become less innocent by the time Cloud met him in the club. Sephiroth’s sugar-dusted fingers tapped lightly on Cloud’s hand before he could give voice to the question.
“That should be set by now,” he said. Cloud loosened his grip, and the structure indeed stayed together.
The satisfaction of it standing there, solid where it was once a goopy, wobbly mess, surprised him. He cocked his head a bit too proudly for such a minor success, and felt a small, rare smile stretch his mouth.
“Not so bad, is it? Doing foolish things,” the other man said. Cloud looked up just as Sephiroth popped a gumdrop in his mouth, and his eyes got stuck on the motion of his wide, pillowy lips. Cloud’s own mouth went dry.
“Better than singing and dancing in front of Zack’s family,” Cloud said.
“Nearly anything is better,” Sephiroth snorted. He iced another set of walls and placed them in front of Cloud. Like the first, they shifted a little in the transfer. Cloud tried to match them back up, but he must have done it wrong, because Sephiroth stood up, stepped behind him, and placed his hands over Cloud’s.
The sudden bulk and warmth of his body so close made Cloud’s breath catch. Hot breath ghosted his neck, and he wasn’t prepared for the mental images that bubbled up at the familiar rumble of Sephiroth’s smooth voice.
“Like this,” he said, guiding the pieces to where he wanted them. “The angle is important. Don’t let them slide.”
Cloud meant to respond, but only managed a dry creak. There was nothing dirty in what Sephiroth said, nothing that would mean anything to anyone else here, but to him—who spent an evening being told by that voice to some very dirty things—it felt like he’d been stripped naked right there in front of everyone.
His hands shook at the notion, and he could feel it when Sephiroth noticed. His grip loosened and the warm body behind Cloud going rigid, and then shuffling to stand a half-step further back.
After a moment of consideration, he bent until his mouth was just beside Cloud’s ear and whispered, “Are you… getting excited by this, Cloud?”
He said it with entirely too much glee, like a kid discovering a new curse word for the first time. Cloud crossed his legs and tried not to fidget.
“N-no,” he said, and then, when it was obvious Sephiroth didn’t believe him, “Not yet.”
Any longer and their proximity would draw eyes from the family, and so Sephiroth withdrew, and settled back into his chair with an admirably blank face.
“Have you done this with others?”
“You mean gingerbread houses or gingerbread houses?” Cloud stammered.
Sephiroth grabbed the candy cane Cloud had been playing with. Snapping it between his teeth, he spat out the plastic when it came loose and sucked idly at the unbend end. Cloud’s eyes snapped downward when he caught a brief flash of Sephiroth’s tongue.
“I’ve built a few,” Sephiroth began in good faith, an olive branch. “Never openly. I kept it separate from my regular life, always sneaking around. I thought to change that recently, but my partner’s response was... less than ideal, shall we say. She gave the ring back.”
“That sucks.” Cloud winced. Sephiroth’s hands made quick work of two more walls.
“And you?”
Cloud wished he had another candy cane to fidget with, but his hands were very much occupied. He chewed the inside of his lip.
“Zack,” he said eventually, quietly. “But he was never really into it. It was just to get me off. And now he’s got Aerith, so…”
“Sucks,” Sephiroth repeated back to him.
The lapse in speech wasn’t awkward like the last one. It felt peaceful, each of them focused on their task. Cloud’s body relaxed as the minutes stretched on, the assembly line of cut, pipe, hold, oddly soothing and meditative. The table started to look more like a gingerbread homeless camp than a house.
“What are we making, anyway?” he asked, squinting down at the oddly curved roofs.
“The Sydney Opera House,” Sephiroth said.
Cloud lifted his brow. “Is that allowed?”
“It has ‘house’ in the name, doesn’t it? And being different will help us stand out from the crowd.”
“Huh…” Cloud tipped his head, now able to picture the final form from the jagged pieces they’ve assembled. “And you think they’ll go for it?”
“In art, attention is half of the battle. That, and selecting the subject. If you do something ordinary and boring, no one will want to look at it. If you do something too far-fetched and original, then most won’t be able to understand it. The key is to create something on the edge of comprehension. Familiar, but fresh. Original, but digestible. The difficulty is not in the creation itself, but in finding ways to create that are mutually appealing.”
“I’ll put that down as a long winded, ‘I don’t know,’” Cloud said.
“One can never know,” Sephiroth smiled sadly, twirling the now-pointed candy cane between his talented fingers, his eyes unwavering as they locked onto Cloud’s. “No matter how many times I bear my soul, I am as poor at predicting the outcome as I was in the very beginning.”
Cloud wished he could speak so poetically, but he’d probably sound just stupid. Instead, he hooked a finger around the end of the candy cane and pulled it from Sephiroth’s mouth. Sliding it slowly into his own and back out, he licked up the sweet film that it left on his lip.
“I don’t know about souls or whatever,” he said, drinking in the sudden heat of Sephiroth’s stare. “But the one night I had with you was a ten out of ten for me.”
The evening was a blur after that. So many dumb activities and strange traditions, all of it just as cringe and lame as he feared, and yet—with the odd addition of a tall, silver-haired shadow—somehow still enjoyable.
They did win the gingerbread contest, which got them out of the obligatory talent show, which lead to them drinking a bit too much of Zack’s rich uncle’s fifty-year scotch. It went down smooth as water and hit his bloodstream like a semi-truck, and before he knew it he and Seph were both too drunk to do anything but sit.
“I can’t believe you,” Genesis had hissed as he scurried both them into a secluded sitting room with a bucket big enough to puke in. “We are guests here, you overgrown children, guests!”
“I did the contest, I did my part,” Cloud said belligerently.
“And it was really, very good scotch.” Seph did a good impression of reasonable, for a man with so much liquor in him. “That bucket is unnecessary.”
“Give it half an hour, and then you can talk,” Genesis drawled, pulling the chain on an antique desk lamp and bathing the room in orange light. “There’s only one bathroom, and I’ll not have my plus one puking in it.”
“We’re fine,” Cloud flopped onto the sofa, and stretched his arms out wide when he realized how plush and comfy it was. “Oh, this is nice. Seph, come try this is.”
Cloud hadn’t been drunk in so long that he almost forgot what a silly idiot it made him into. Sephiroth, on the other hand, seemed to be more of sad drunk. It took a lot of nudging to get him on his feet in the first place, and even more to get him to sit down.
“As if three kids and a husband weren’t enough to babysit,” Genesis said under his breath, when they were finally both settled. “Don’t come out of this room until you’re fit for polite company, and for heaven’s sake, don’t break anything.”
It was only then that Cloud noticed the old-fashioned wallpaper and antique furnishings. This must be one of those “formal living rooms” he’d heard so about it, the ones only old people have. He found a remote on the side table and jumped when the power button turned on the fireplace instead of the TV.
“Woah.”
Sephiroth shifted on the sofa, and reached behind his back to extract a bulbous pillow with tassels on the corners. With a dour look, he threw it on the floor. That seemed to settle him, because when Cloud tore his attention from the hypnotic flames in the grate, he found the other man sprawled out and listless. He had no idea what time it was, or how much longer the party would carry on. Despite his earlier expectations, he felt no great rush to leave.
What was waiting for him at home? A cold bed and a late night of Zack gushing over how cute and funny and perfect and awesome Aerith was. Awful, just awful.
The light of the fire turned Sephiroth’s hair golden yellow, and it was difficult not to reach out and touch it. Without opening his eyes, the taller man slid over, little by little, until their shoulders brushed. Cloud found it difficult to breathe, as if a cat or a bird had just chosen to perch on his lap.
“Thank you for keeping me company tonight,” Sephiroth mumbled.
“That’s my line,” Cloud said.
“I had forgotten how depressing it is to weather the holidays as a single person. All around you, such love and levity. Everyone paired off and preening. It makes one wonder—”
“—what the fuck you’re doing wrong,” Cloud finished for him.
“Exactly.”
Silence swallowed them again, but this time it felt taut, saturated with a feeling Cloud couldn’t quite name. Sephiroth’s gaze wandered his face, eyes to nose to lips.
“I didn’t feel single tonight,” he said.
Cloud never had an easy time with dating. It was always a chaotic roller coaster that started rough and went downhill from there. This wasn’t like that at all. It was… cozy. Warm.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” he said.
Sephiroth settled deeper into the couch cushions, and tipped his chin up in invitation. “Go ahead.”
The first kiss was tentative, just a fleeting touch, more breath than brush. Just that was enough to get Cloud’s head buzzing, and that made him bolder on the next, and the next. Sephiroth mumbled something against his lips, but Cloud couldn’t begin to make it out. He was busy arching into the touch of cold hands slipping under his sweater.
Careful fingers left trails of sparks across his ribs, and pulled a stifled mewl from his throat when they found his nips. Sephiroth groaned at the embarrassing noise, and the next thing Cloud knew he was being flipped onto his back.
The leather of the cushions creaked as Sephiroth straddled him, his arms bracketing Cloud’s shoulders, knuckles white against the sofa’s back.
“Same rules as last time?” Sephiroth’s voice came out breathy, hushed.
“Red, yellow—” Long, strong fingers gripped Cloud’s hair and pulled, and he gasped, “—green. So green.”
“Yes…” Sephiroth groaned and squeezed his cock through his jeans. It’s so much better with his face uncovered. Cloud can see his expression shift, can feel his pleasure second hand through each flutter of his lashes and clench of his teeth.
“Gonna be good for me, boy?” Sephiroth says in his deepest register. The sound of it sends shivers right down to Cloud’s toes. He tried to nod, but Sephiroth’s hold wouldn’t allow it.
Wetting his lip with his tongue, Cloud managed to say, “So good, daddy.”
Cloud arched his back, hoping Seph would take the hint, but he bent forward to take Cloud’s mouth instead, slow and searching, with just the right amount of tongue.
“Want you…” Cloud said. His hands found the columns of Seph’s legs and pressed up. He fumbled for his belt buckle, which seemed to please him, judging by his flared nostrils and flexing jaw. That hand in his hair found its way to his chin and the pad of his thumb burrowed past the seal of his lips.
“Show me,” he ordered, and Cloud didn’t need to be told to suck. He loved the feel of Seph’s calluses on his tongue, the way he forced the finger in like it was his god-given right to put his fingers wherever he pleased on Cloud’s mind and on his body. He moaned around it, swirled his tongue over and around, pumped his mouth up and down, pretended it was more. If he did well enough, perhaps he’d earn it. He’d plant the idea in Sephiroth’s mind, and when the fantasy took hold, Sephiroth wouldn’t be able to resist.
“Filthy boy,” Sephiroth said, fingers running through Cloud’s hair, breathless in his praise. “Filthy, eager boy. You want Daddy’s cock so bad.”
“Yes, yes, please,” Cloud said, pulling off of Sephiroth’s finger just so he could feel the spit stretch from his lip, so he could show Sephiroth the sort of view that gets stuck in a man’s wet dreams for life. Seph’s whole body quivered, and Cloud knew he’d hit the mark when he heard the zipper rip.
“On your knees, then. Touch yourself.”
Cloud couldn’t get to the ground fast enough. His body was throbbing, his hands shook like he’d been in a fight.
“So gorgeous,” Sephiroth muttered, two fingers sliding back into Cloud’s mouth and then using the spit to slick his cock. “Such a perfect, pretty mouth.”
He’d done that in the club as well, the gesture so similar Cloud can almost smell the leather of the gloves Seph had been wearing. Two pumps and Seph’s as hard as a man can get. He settles back into the couch and spreads his legs wide.
“Go on, boy. Sate your need.”
The phrase struck something deep, like a hammer hitting a gong.
He never thought of this like that before—as something more than desire, a need. Head was supposed to be about the other person; worshiping their body, giving them pleasure. Or at least, that’s what he thought.
But what he felt was more than attraction or generosity. He hadn’t been thinking about Seph’s pleasure when he reached for his belt. Cloud had been thinking about his own, about the hunger he’s carried in his gut ever since the last time this man put him on his knees.
He wanted to suck it because it would feel good for him, because he needed this, in some primal, unspeakable way. To be taken, to be used, to be wanted so urgently by someone that they had no choice but to sate their needs in a completely inappropriate place.
Cloud ripped his fly down and jerked his underwear down in one pull. Sephiroth watches from above. Powerful, incandescent, rimmed in firelight. Light fingers tease his foreskin, tracing the vein, circling the tip. Cloud’s mouth waters, and he walks on his knees until he’s right where he most wanted to be.
He leaned forward and Sephiroth welcomed him, deft fingers shoving blonde bangs out of his face and coming to rest on the back of his neck, not pushing, just there. Supporting. Self awareness colors the old act in a new light, his heart fluttering and stomach tight with the knowledge that they’re doing this for his pleasure, not just Sephiroth’s. It makes him shy and tentative when he finally graces the shaft with his tongue.
Sephiroth’s chest filled with air, and his head fell back onto the cushion. Cloud licked it again, longer, slower, and finally, finally took it between his lips.
“Yes, oh yes…” Sephiroth’s abs twitched under Cloud’s fingers; wanting more, craving the plunge. He wanted that too, but not now, not yet. He’d barely had a chance to taste him, let alone feed this strange desire that’s become an undeniable need.
Tracing the mounds of the other man’s stomach, he dragged his nails through the prickly stubble of his happy trail and let the spit gathering in his mouth ease the way. Deeper, faster, a little more each time. The sounds Sephiroth made were music to his ears, so deep and enthralling.
“Good, Cloud. So good. Taking Daddy’s cock so well—” Cloud swallowed just as he said it, and the way it made Seph’s voice crack sent his own dick twitching and pulsing, hot, slick precum coating his half-hearted strokes.
“Take my mouth,” he rasped when he could no longer ignore the need to breathe. “Come inside, let me taste you…”
Sephiroth tensed with the need to come, his thighs clenching and abs jerking with fast, harsh gasps. Even through his fuzzy vision, Cloud could see how close he’d come. Seph’s hand shot down to grip the base, staving off the inevitable a bit longer.
“Seph?”
“I’m fine,” Sephiroth panted, laughing sheepishly. “It’s been a little while. Didn’t expect to get so close just from…” He snorted again, covering his face with his other hand. Something like pride puffed up Cloud’s chest.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he whispered. “Unless you jizz on my clothes, then we’ll have a problem.”
“Call it royal icing. No one would spot the difference.”
“That’s disgusting,” Cloud snorted.
“But it would work,” Sephiroth smirked. He pumped his cock tentatively, and then let his hand fall away. “I think I’m okay now, if you still want to…”
“God yes,” Cloud moaned. “Want it bad.”
“Cheeky boy,” Sephiroth said, and this time the hand on Cloud’s neck was firm, exerting control. Blunt nails dug into sensitive skin, and Cloud reveled in the burn they left behind, up his neck, over his scalp, and then burying deep into his locks. He guided Cloud onto his cock with that iron grip, and dragged him down like a living sex toy, just a hot, wet hold to be used.
The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The loss of control as unnerving as it was addictive. Sephiroth was the focus now, his power and his pleasure front and center. Cloud surrendered to it with a great, big swell of relief. No need to think, no need to try. Daddy would take care of everything now, all he had to do was obey Sephiroth’s silent commands.
Up, the hand said, and Cloud went up. Down, it said, and swallowed, slid, doing his best not to choke on the intrusion. Lick, suckle, gag—it was all so much easier without words.
A floaty, vague zen took him over quickly, and after that his whole world was sensation. Moisture, friction, scent. They made him one with Sephiroth, made him move and feel and breathe at his command.
The timber of their thrusts turned sudden and punishing, and Cloud knew Seph was nearing his edge. His breathing turned ragged. His nails scratched harder, longer, deeper.
His throat ached from the treatment, but he didn’t want to stop. He wished it could last longer. He wished the hours could stretch on into days, a whole weekend of glorious fucking, until they were shameless and raw, sprawled out on the floor of Sephiroth’s apartment.
He imagined it, what he thought it might be like. Stylish and large, by New York City standards, but small by the metrics of everyone else. Fancy, but not ostentatious. It would be refined and understaded, like Sephiroth himself. It would be the kind of place where the windows had a view. Where you could buy a big sectional couch and discover fifteen different ways to fuck on it without repeating.
He imagined waking up next to Sephiroth in that place. Smelling his body without cologne, and rubbing their cocks together in that lazy, hands-free way that seems ten times more appealing in the morning.
There wouldn’t be space for a dining table, but that wouldn’t matter because they’d drink their coffee on the balcony in fluffy white bathrobes, and Cloud wouldn’t be able to look directly at him, because the sun would turn his white hair blinding.
It was a heinous fantasy, but that’s what rattled through his head when Sephiroth’s back lifted off the sofa and his greedy hands held Cloud tight against his belly as he came. He tapped once and Sephiroth doesn’t let up, too lost and blissful in his orgasm. He tapped again, more urgently, and spent the first few seconds of freedom coughing and wheezing.
Sephiroth startled, leaning forward to study Cloud’s face.
“I’m alright,” he croaked, and gods, was that his voice? He sounded like death. “You?”
Cloud would never have expected to describe Sephiroth as dopey, but that was exactly how his post-nut smile looked.
Loopy and unkempt. Relaxed. Cloud’s heart gave a foolish flip. For once, he didn’t berate himself for it. It was Christmas, goddamn it. He could let himself be happy for a minute or two.
“More than alright,and let the record show,” Sephiroth pointed down at Cloud’s spotless cable-knit sweater, “that I am also a man of my word.”
There were about ten dozen ways they could still be caught, but Cloud didn’t care about any of them. He looks up at Sephiroth’s smug, sex-drunk expression, and threw all caution to the wind.
“So far,” he said, climbing back onto the sofa and spreading his legs to give Sephiroth an eyeful. “But we’ve still got one to go.”
The fire in Sephiroth’s eyes gave him hope that maybe his foolish fantasy wasn’t so far-fetched after all.