Christmas Present for Snii @lichsent ♡~ ‘v ‘ Merry Christmas
★ Long evenings and passing times. They had decided on something while anything was for them to take { but what would that truly be? }. Spiralling thoughts mend and melted together, still torn apart by unspoken ideas. Those quickly averted glances - how curious of an amalgamation of two entities untouchable, being thrown together touched and unknowing to their true fates { or so they assume? }. It’s nearly laughable when finding each other anew. Whatever tumultuous disasters would be right in front of clouded eyes can be brushed off and away, just like tips of fingers, brushing along silken fabrics, covering unmarked skin.
★ Words then were hushed down to nothingness with the rupturing hum tearing apart loneliness of silence. Dragging hands higher and higher, discovering anew what was all theirs to behold— oh, it had all begun with a simple touch.
★ A distinctive way to approach these sorts of situations unbeknownst to both of them { or so it felt? }. An offer declaimed while merely passing by in the hallways, hurrying off to whatever place of carnage and war they would be self-assigned to and yet - enough of a proposal made to halt those steps briskly following an invisible trail. Acceptance conveyed with nought else but eyes, betraying amusement within themselves while only the warrior would be the one to read true nature of what would grow into reality in just a few hours, minutes, seconds - merged together and turned into a beautiful magnum opus of fire and smoke.
★ Why ever would Sephiroth want to bequeath these ticking pulses of someone’s fragility? Cradled closely? Carefully?
★ How comical, keeping in mind this time spent with one another, while time eludes them both { useless? discardable? }, for their eternity, belonging to one another, knowing well enough that nothing would be shown, not a single thing to be brought to the light. So, the swordsman could have laughed about the very picture perfect masquerade of true emotions painting themselves in fine shades and colours before attentive eye, yet? Decides not to. Decides to, on the opposite, merely smile.
★ Presenting a picture out of a long forgotten dream. Some state of normalcy they both never thought to acquire { for was the world not quite so cruel to them? do they deserve anything at all? }.
★ Leaning against the doorframe. Waiting for whatever drawled on painting would be filled with brightest colours, with those brushstrokes of movements soft and light. Stilled nearly, while being captivating, thrilling, in all their well-rehearsed gentility underlined with the faint chiming sounds ticking somewhere in the back of his mind { could Mannimarco hear? could he perceive? }. Ah, sometimes just, all evident it would become that the ex-soldier’s mind was in shambles. Shattered pieces of intelligence. Torn bits of reverence.
★ It all mattered not. For veneration could be acquired elsewhere, would be offered towards this person of undeniable worth. So, when Sephiroth deems it all prepared to a delicious detail relished in underlined with the softened sound of an exhaled breath, tall form shifts to push himself away from wooden surface. Urging to attention with an ongoing drum of footsteps, approaching closer and closer until desiring to lead { allure? } who would not succumb to another’s leadership. Yet here: it was wanted. It was needed. Their own play lest of a charade than both their engagement with the discardable mass of humankind.
★ Engagement now to be fulfilled in different ways. Reaching out with hands free of cover. Determining and discovering that unveiled arch of neck, travelling along within the very beating passion, slow drum beneath pale and near fragile skin.
★ With this very touch, the sounds inside his mind were growing louder and louder, till drowning themselves out towards a pleasant symphony with the fine faint lingering of a melody { like a piano’s? right? similar? discordant? } and then nothing anymore at all but heartbeats and intakes chased along each other in the hush of a very all-telling smile. He’s gotten lost, has he not? Far away drowned out in his own thoughts to be dragged back by iron fist, but still loosely curled around long and unbound strands. searching him - then guiding him. The King does demand the Knight’s attention, and attention he would give within the featherlight breath and touch along discardable material still clinging tightly to whatever piece of soft tissue in reach of eager hands.
★ They had seen each other bare and pure uncountable times before - and yet moments ticking away by the silvery chime of a click, more and more would they covet and seek these subtle notions of an underserved normalcy.
★ He could have sworn that letters had reared themselves to be strung together to words. To questions. To assumptions. And yet never coming into existence when he quietens all attempts with the softness of a single touch. Then another. Another. Another. And yet never quite enough.
★ Mapping out the intricacies of one another. The clock’s handle had dragged itself over pale face for an unknown amount of heartbeats. For a discardable prolonged silence in this evening that appears quite to be too long. Laughable notions when his form cants and head tilts so just that he could place the subtlety of a kiss along exposed show of finely crafted clavicle, a picture perfect nuance in otherwise blending integrity of that slender form moving and quivering just beneath him. Thoughts as mindless as breath being drawn, soon enough everything would be discarded { who would have thought that all of it would be what they truly had desired? }.
★ Instances passing; he feels himself being captivated. Nudge beneath his chin serves for rising head towards chasing shadows in the otherwise stark darkness of a barely lit room. Blinking once, then twice. Those unspoken queries that linger in the back of his mind again, brushed away the same moment thumb would caress bottom lip, abiding kiss offered - and greedily taken.
★ Such a stark opposite - each and every touch formerly offered had been so calm. So reluctant. Exploring each dip and each curve. Along those strong arms, winding around back placed comfortably into the silken softness of bedding? Inside of thighs, twitching with the anticipation of something more offered, shall they only desire to take that very simple step? The nape of neck, so feeble, so delicate, breakable in each other’s hands, yet caressed softly and near reverently? The hollow of one’s spine, ridges of bones followed like the heights of mountains? Yes, indeed, each and every touch had been wanted. Sought. Laid upon those that would destroy and conquer, with a gingerly grace that could be { was one really desiring to take a closer look? } only described as the dance between two calamities intentionally soothing one another.
★ Perhaps, in times like these. In the forlorn hopelessness of an empty mansion where eyes would always say more than a thousand words; their personal disaster could rest and wait for as long as they desire to touch.
★ And the fire finally burns itself out. Expires towards smouldering remains of nought else but cradled warmth. Unimaginable, to find soothing nuances of understanding in the togetherness of two monsters, beasts, the inhumane of power equally touching and feeling. It, indeed, had all begun with a simple touch.
★ Smiles dying upon lips in neverending hours of this lasting evening. One still would want to question { the why? the what? the when—? } and queries, all the same, would never leave lips. It’s a quiet pursuit of whatever there was to chase along each curve and line laid bare right in front of him, endlessly teasing and requiring within the subtle raptures of breaths taken, held, released in far too slow—
★ ---all that had died down to nothingness reaching ears like the fine symphony, made and composed by shifting skin, laboured breaths turning pliant, inaudible. While still, their mocking behaviour with one another in taunting towards edges, bordering on the very permissions given silently, pleadingly would never leave his memory anymore. Taken he had been with an iron grasp, same done as with a fistful of hair that would flow through slowly opening cracks between long { so gentle? far too gentle? } fingers. A foreign togetherness, to be pondered on later, while now the sudden crushing white noise floods senses once again with the metamorphosis of their own personal tranquillity, finally, seemingly, dying out towards the realisations of dawning the morning hours { it had been a piano, no? }.
★ Let morning come. Be as bright as it may be. Be as shining of a reality as their forlorn night had them drowned out into a wild phantasy. Why shall they not - when all comes to an end - be allowed the simplicity of a common and casual reprise.
