[FF7AC] [FIC] Kadaj/Yazoo
Title: Purpose
For: grygon
Medium: Fanfic
Request(s): FF7AC, Kadaj/Yazoo anything
Fandom(s): Final Fantasy VII: AC
Characters/Pairings: Kadaj, Yazoo, Loz, Kadaj/Yazoo.
Rating/Warnings: R
Feedback: Criticism welcomed.
Spoilers: Pretty vague, but spoilers throughout FF7AC.
Word Count: 1,145
Summary: Yazoo had hated Kadaj.
Thanks: To T for the beta job.
Kadaj had stared at him with cold, spider-like eyes, teeth shining in the low light of the slums, had grabbed Yazoo’s hair and yanked him downwards. The pain had been sharp and real, and that is Yazoo’s first memory of Kadaj.
“Brother,” Kadaj had said, simply, and there had been a command in even that small, insignificant word.
Brother.
Insignificant.
---
They had hated each other, at first. Like real brothers, Loz had said, but Yazoo had hated Loz even more than he had hated Kadaj. Loz was one of those idealistic fools that was always the first one killed.
Remnants, they were more than mere Remnants, with the reflections of Mother’s stars in their eyes. Kadaj was the chosen, and Loz accepted it at face value.
Yazoo was beautiful, strong, and could kill a man eight stories away from a moving train. When he spoke, people turned to see; they liked the pretty dip of his face and the alien brightness of his eyes. His voice, deep, dark, commanding, sultry in an obscene way; it made people listen.
Kadaj was nothing, Yazoo had believed. Just another dying brat in the midst of a city overflowing with them. A kid with a smart mouth and a cocky attitude, pretty enough to make himself some money but not intelligent enough to do anything better than that.
Yazoo had thought himself to be Mother’s chosen. He was the most beautiful of all the so-called Remnants, the strongest, the smartest. It was only logical that his body would be the willing container for Mother’s ultimate weapon.
“Brother,” Kadaj had said, the condescension dragging the word through the tension-jagged air. And with that, Yazoo was no longer the strong, beautiful creature that could kill a man eight stories away from a moving train.
He was just Kadaj’s brother.
---
The leather suit is uncomfortable, clinging to his skin like rain. Yazoo pulls down the zipper with an inaudible sigh of relief, the slippery leather falling away.
“I sent Loz to find Big Brother’s stash,” comes a voice from behind, and Yazoo forces himself not to stiffen. Kadaj could not be more than a meter behind him, yet Yazoo had not even heard him enter.
Yazoo peels the leather from his skin, letting it land in an awkward pile at his feet. Kadaj’s eyes burn against his back, and Yazoo smiles. It is not a kind smile.
“My orders?” Yazoo asks, wringing the water from his hair and not caring as the water darkens the carpet of the hotel room. They won’t be around long enough to have to pay for any damages, anyway. The air-conditioned air is cold against his skin, but Yazoo barely feels it. He had opened the drapes wide the night before, and the city is alive below them, lights twinkling with unknowing cheerfulness.
Mother will change all of that, Yazoo thinks, and his wet lashes dip against his cheeks, eyes fever-bright in the darkness of the room.
“We will take the stolen truck for the children, tomorrow, and when Loz returns-”
“The Reunion,” Yazoo breathes, turning to catch Kadaj’s gaze. “Shall we begin to collect the children now? The children of the slums have no bed time, after all,” Yazoo says, lips drawing back to reveal his teeth bared in a smirk. “What do you say, Brother?”
Kadaj smirks back, the fluorescent green of his eyes filtering through the hair that half-covers his face. “Big Brother won’t join us, Yazoo,” Kadaj replies, softly. “Mother will be displeased.”
Yazoo moves forward, the tips of his icy-wet hair tumbling over his shoulders and sticking to his naked chest. “She will never be displeased with us, we who are the ones who will bring Her back,” Yazoo says. Kadaj’s gloved fingers are warm where they curve around the subtle taper of Yazoo’s waist.
“No?” Kadaj moves slowly, like a predator, and Yazoo thinks bitterly that this is why Kadaj holds the reigns and he is merely the pawn in this game.
“No.” Yazoo’s answer is vague against Kadaj’s lips. The darkness slides between their bodies, cool and black.
“Pretty words,” Kadaj says, when he breaks away. His mouth is silver against his hair, and it’s wrong for a vision so like a reflection to be beautiful, but Yazoo knows it is.
Yazoo drags his tongue across Kadaj’s cheek, leaning to taste the sharp line of Kadaj’s jaw. Kadaj laughs and presses his open palms to Yazoo’s shoulders, pushing him downwards. Yazoo lets himself be pushed, gracefully folding himself to his knees, resting his face against Kadaj’s thigh. The scratch of a zipper comes next, as Kadaj pulls it slowly down in a mockery of what Yazoo had done, mere moments before.
“Pretty words,” Kadaj laughs, again, as his fingers twist in Yazoo’s hair. “But it is not we that will bring Mother back… it is I.”
Yazoo chokes as Kadaj presses against his mouth, jaw stretched to its limit, throat burning from the abrupt, unexpected intrusion. Kadaj yanks against Yazoo’s hair, the strands catching in the empty zipper trail.
“Don’t you think, Yazoo?” Kadaj asks, and there is something somber in that abject cheerfulness. Yazoo relaxes his throat, and the minutes slide against each other, Kadaj gently rocking against his mouth. Neither of them make a sound that is not controlled carefully for the sake of rousing the other.
“Ahh,” answers Yazoo, but the words is too drawn out to be calculated, too much of a moan to be anything but a moan.
“Good,” Kadaj says, eyes glinting like fire, and then he shoves himself against Yazoo and lets himself go, silently.
---
“We’re almost there,” Loz crows. The children are submerging themselves into the lake, the forest is glowing with a soft blue murmur. “Mother’s really going to come back, Yazoo!”
“Don’t cry, Loz,” Yazoo says, in a disinterested tone. He’s watching Kadaj, eyes riveted on that small figure whose voice booms in confidence against the backdrop of the children’s quiet fear.
“I’m not crying, Brother!” Loz says, but he is, the tears trailing down his face, pooling in his collar bone.
---
Sephiroth is glorious in all his ferocious finery, bringing out a yearning, desperate part of Cloud that Yazoo did not believe existed. He knows very little of their story, and does not care to know much more: all that matters is that Sephiroth is the key to bringing Mother back. Even if it is at the risk of letting Kadaj die, even if he and Loz are taken, too, as long as Mother can take control again, nothing mattered.
Watching Kadaj disappear is like watching an ocean evaporate to a single drop of water, like watching a world explode into nothing but empty space. Yazoo loads his gun and fires, but even as the bullets hit their mark, he knows they’ve already lost.
For: grygon
Medium: Fanfic
Request(s): FF7AC, Kadaj/Yazoo anything
Fandom(s): Final Fantasy VII: AC
Characters/Pairings: Kadaj, Yazoo, Loz, Kadaj/Yazoo.
Rating/Warnings: R
Feedback: Criticism welcomed.
Spoilers: Pretty vague, but spoilers throughout FF7AC.
Word Count: 1,145
Summary: Yazoo had hated Kadaj.
Thanks: To T for the beta job.
Kadaj had stared at him with cold, spider-like eyes, teeth shining in the low light of the slums, had grabbed Yazoo’s hair and yanked him downwards. The pain had been sharp and real, and that is Yazoo’s first memory of Kadaj.
“Brother,” Kadaj had said, simply, and there had been a command in even that small, insignificant word.
Brother.
Insignificant.
---
They had hated each other, at first. Like real brothers, Loz had said, but Yazoo had hated Loz even more than he had hated Kadaj. Loz was one of those idealistic fools that was always the first one killed.
Remnants, they were more than mere Remnants, with the reflections of Mother’s stars in their eyes. Kadaj was the chosen, and Loz accepted it at face value.
Yazoo was beautiful, strong, and could kill a man eight stories away from a moving train. When he spoke, people turned to see; they liked the pretty dip of his face and the alien brightness of his eyes. His voice, deep, dark, commanding, sultry in an obscene way; it made people listen.
Kadaj was nothing, Yazoo had believed. Just another dying brat in the midst of a city overflowing with them. A kid with a smart mouth and a cocky attitude, pretty enough to make himself some money but not intelligent enough to do anything better than that.
Yazoo had thought himself to be Mother’s chosen. He was the most beautiful of all the so-called Remnants, the strongest, the smartest. It was only logical that his body would be the willing container for Mother’s ultimate weapon.
“Brother,” Kadaj had said, the condescension dragging the word through the tension-jagged air. And with that, Yazoo was no longer the strong, beautiful creature that could kill a man eight stories away from a moving train.
He was just Kadaj’s brother.
---
The leather suit is uncomfortable, clinging to his skin like rain. Yazoo pulls down the zipper with an inaudible sigh of relief, the slippery leather falling away.
“I sent Loz to find Big Brother’s stash,” comes a voice from behind, and Yazoo forces himself not to stiffen. Kadaj could not be more than a meter behind him, yet Yazoo had not even heard him enter.
Yazoo peels the leather from his skin, letting it land in an awkward pile at his feet. Kadaj’s eyes burn against his back, and Yazoo smiles. It is not a kind smile.
“My orders?” Yazoo asks, wringing the water from his hair and not caring as the water darkens the carpet of the hotel room. They won’t be around long enough to have to pay for any damages, anyway. The air-conditioned air is cold against his skin, but Yazoo barely feels it. He had opened the drapes wide the night before, and the city is alive below them, lights twinkling with unknowing cheerfulness.
Mother will change all of that, Yazoo thinks, and his wet lashes dip against his cheeks, eyes fever-bright in the darkness of the room.
“We will take the stolen truck for the children, tomorrow, and when Loz returns-”
“The Reunion,” Yazoo breathes, turning to catch Kadaj’s gaze. “Shall we begin to collect the children now? The children of the slums have no bed time, after all,” Yazoo says, lips drawing back to reveal his teeth bared in a smirk. “What do you say, Brother?”
Kadaj smirks back, the fluorescent green of his eyes filtering through the hair that half-covers his face. “Big Brother won’t join us, Yazoo,” Kadaj replies, softly. “Mother will be displeased.”
Yazoo moves forward, the tips of his icy-wet hair tumbling over his shoulders and sticking to his naked chest. “She will never be displeased with us, we who are the ones who will bring Her back,” Yazoo says. Kadaj’s gloved fingers are warm where they curve around the subtle taper of Yazoo’s waist.
“No?” Kadaj moves slowly, like a predator, and Yazoo thinks bitterly that this is why Kadaj holds the reigns and he is merely the pawn in this game.
“No.” Yazoo’s answer is vague against Kadaj’s lips. The darkness slides between their bodies, cool and black.
“Pretty words,” Kadaj says, when he breaks away. His mouth is silver against his hair, and it’s wrong for a vision so like a reflection to be beautiful, but Yazoo knows it is.
Yazoo drags his tongue across Kadaj’s cheek, leaning to taste the sharp line of Kadaj’s jaw. Kadaj laughs and presses his open palms to Yazoo’s shoulders, pushing him downwards. Yazoo lets himself be pushed, gracefully folding himself to his knees, resting his face against Kadaj’s thigh. The scratch of a zipper comes next, as Kadaj pulls it slowly down in a mockery of what Yazoo had done, mere moments before.
“Pretty words,” Kadaj laughs, again, as his fingers twist in Yazoo’s hair. “But it is not we that will bring Mother back… it is I.”
Yazoo chokes as Kadaj presses against his mouth, jaw stretched to its limit, throat burning from the abrupt, unexpected intrusion. Kadaj yanks against Yazoo’s hair, the strands catching in the empty zipper trail.
“Don’t you think, Yazoo?” Kadaj asks, and there is something somber in that abject cheerfulness. Yazoo relaxes his throat, and the minutes slide against each other, Kadaj gently rocking against his mouth. Neither of them make a sound that is not controlled carefully for the sake of rousing the other.
“Ahh,” answers Yazoo, but the words is too drawn out to be calculated, too much of a moan to be anything but a moan.
“Good,” Kadaj says, eyes glinting like fire, and then he shoves himself against Yazoo and lets himself go, silently.
---
“We’re almost there,” Loz crows. The children are submerging themselves into the lake, the forest is glowing with a soft blue murmur. “Mother’s really going to come back, Yazoo!”
“Don’t cry, Loz,” Yazoo says, in a disinterested tone. He’s watching Kadaj, eyes riveted on that small figure whose voice booms in confidence against the backdrop of the children’s quiet fear.
“I’m not crying, Brother!” Loz says, but he is, the tears trailing down his face, pooling in his collar bone.
---
Sephiroth is glorious in all his ferocious finery, bringing out a yearning, desperate part of Cloud that Yazoo did not believe existed. He knows very little of their story, and does not care to know much more: all that matters is that Sephiroth is the key to bringing Mother back. Even if it is at the risk of letting Kadaj die, even if he and Loz are taken, too, as long as Mother can take control again, nothing mattered.
Watching Kadaj disappear is like watching an ocean evaporate to a single drop of water, like watching a world explode into nothing but empty space. Yazoo loads his gun and fires, but even as the bullets hit their mark, he knows they’ve already lost.