areapermostcapricious:
“If I believe it proper,” Kuja responded smoothly, Sephiroth’s attempt at an insult rather disappointing the Mage. “Really, it depends upon the guests I choose to invite. The nobles do tend to be a bore, after all—it would be best for the lot of them to keep their mouths shut. Even you would prefer my melodic voice over their disdainful, frivolous prattling.”
He dropped his foot, moving to replace the teacup upon the saucer balanced on the SOLDIER’s back—though he did not withdraw. Instead, he allowed the tips of his nails to trace along the sharp outline of Sephiroth’s scapula—gingerly, feather light.
“But then again, the things I might choose to do to my table—well, it might just leave them speechless without even my ordering them to be.”
Letting his head hang down towards the floor again, Sephiroth curls his hands into fists, resisting the tempting urge to fly to his feet and send the dishes crashing. To be treated as an object was already humiliating enough, but to also be spoken to in such a condescending manner? It was enough to make the leather of Sephiroth’s gloves creak as he clenched his hands in anger.
However, his single retort had been used, and according to the rules of their little game, he was relegated back to the role of the voiceless furniture. But even in this subjugated pose, he should have known that Kuja would cheat. He could acutely feel those nails tease and taper along his back in a motion too light to even be called a touch. The muscles of his back bunched up before he could still his reflex-- making the china clink together noisily before he forced himself to relax.
At that particular little threat though, Sephiroth could not stop the snarl that curled his lips. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed, looking up at Kuja in undisguised fury.
