Once again...
Part 2 of the Cloud x Kuja fic. I didn't think it'd be out so soon, but what can I say? I got a little inspired. Again, please be warned, f-list, that this is yaoi. Don't like it, deal with it. B| (Pretend that's Kain or Laguna wearing sunglasses.)
Rating: R
Pairing: Cloud x Kuja
Inspiration: toffeethesnob and her delicious evilness. ♥
Like an obedient soldier Cloud found himself on the stage of the M.S. Prima Vista the following day, but he made it clear he did not completely trust the other with the way he hung the Buster Sword against his back. If Kuja was leading him into a trap he would be ready; Cloud was not the type to go down without a fight. And he knew if Chaos summoned a warrior it was because they were harbingers of discord. Cloud, as Sephiroth’s puppet, was not exempt.
“You really came,” Kuja remarked from behind the edge of the castle’s wall.
Immediately Cloud reached above his head, the familiar hilt of the Buster Sword meeting his palm. It was a seasoned response but it only made Kuja chuckle, a melodic noise that wrapped around the blonde like a blanket. It was deeper, darker, but was there ever a time in Cloud’s life when it was filled with laughter? The thought made his chest ache as he slowly lowered his hand; he couldn’t fathom it but somehow he missed it.
“If this is another one of your jokes, let’s get it over with,” he shot back at Kuja, clenching his jaw soon after.
“You always see the worst in people, now, don’t you?” Kuja accused. “That Oedipus buffoon… He’ll rue the day he took his eye off of you.”
Cloud was silent, uncertain of how to respond. “If you just want to use me to get back at Sephiroth, I’m not interested,” he said at last.
“Just,” Kuja stretched out the word, laughter in his voice. “Not at all,” he clarified, “and was it not you who asked to join me?”
Unable to refute that fact, Cloud scoffed softly.
“Put away your sword,” Kuja bade. “Let’s see the sun in those blue eyes, hm? I’m not playing the villain in this scene.”
Hesitance stayed his hand as he brandished the Buster Sword, but in the end he let it go. Cloud wondered if his eyes deceived him when he noted a moment of relief in Kuja’s eyes, then it passed just as quickly. Could this really be so simple? Could he really trust this man?
“In any case,” Kuja continued as he flipped his hair over his shoulder and turned back around, “I’ve prepared some things for you. Follow me, little puppet.”
Taking one last look at the unchanging sky and scenery beyond the edge of the stage Cloud offered a short shrug and followed the man into the bowels of the ship. It was a short walk when Cloud considered the appearance of the ship, but there were racks of clothes lining the wall-thousands of costumes and accompanying accessories. No wonder Kuja had managed to find something so ostentatious, Cloud mused as he passed by the showy fabrics, there was hardly anything but.
So wrapped up was he in his surroundings that he did not sense the other’s attack until he felt the weight of the wig on his head. Reaching up he felt the coarse strands of artificial hair, the back of his hand pushing the golden locks away from his eyes. A pat here and a brush there and he discovered the ribbons that styled the wig into pigtails on either side of his head. Kuja was laughing; Cloud flushed in embarrassment.
“You fall into the role of the maiden so easily,” Kuja remarked as he worked to keep his amusement in check. “Perhaps you’d like the skirts to go along with it?”
The knuckles of Kuja’s delicate hands brushed against Cloud’s abdomen as the petticoat was held up to him. Cloud started at the sensation, felt the tips of his ears burn, and scowled as he slapped Kuja’s hand away. “Don’t mess with me,” he ground out as he yanked the wig from his head and tossed it to the floor.
Had he really crossdressed before? The memory teased the corners of his mind; he simply could not see himself donning such attire. But somewhere, at some point, he guessed he had.
Rubbing the back of his hand, Kuja frowned. More than the smack on the back of his hand Kuja heard the door of Cloud’s heart slamming. How unfortunate when he was finally making some progress, but he was patient and he was persistent, and even if Cloud was flustered he still had not left.
“What am I here for?” Cloud demanded again as he turned on the other.
“I think that question is best answered by yourself,” Kuja asserted. As Cloud’s brows drew together in confusion Kuja slid onto a dressing table. Just as he had every day the blonde came to the Prima Vista, Kuja watched him closely-every glance, every rise of his chest, every movement of his unruly hair. Cloud might not be an actor on a stage but his performances had always captivated Kuja’s interest.
“I thought,” Cloud said after a moment, once the blood had stopped racing through his veins. “I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” Kuja baited while the corners of his eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a smile.
Cloud shook his head, unable to put it into words. “This place,” he finally said. “All of these useless battles.”
Kuja was silent for a moment, neither meeting the other’s eyes. “Being here reminds you that there’s always someone who believes they can clip your wings,” he admitted and lifted his gaze back up to meet with Cloud’s. “Whether it’s a god or a creator, someone will enjoy watching you squirm. When I look at you I can see you’ve given in; I can see the strings tied around your limbs, connecting you to the man you most hate.”
Again Cloud looked away from him, blue eyes narrowing as he thought of Sephiroth. Cloud could hear the black-winged angel’s words in his head as clearly as if Sephiroth were whispering them into his ear. “You’re nothing but an empty puppet, Cloud,” Sephiroth had told him, over and over until he had believed it. Sephiroth existed within him, moved through him-Cloud would never be free.
“I have no use for hollow dolls with empty minds,” Kuja continued, speaking as if he could read every thought in Cloud’s mind. “It truly sickens me to see them so passively strung along. All good actors know that passion is the root of a performance. Tell me, Cloud: are you a soulless puppet or a passionate hero in this tragic tale?”
Cloud thought for a moment, considering every word the man spoke. “Does it have to be a tragedy?”
A bittersweet look reached Kuja’s eyes as he looked away from Cloud, his gaze falling to the floor. “For you and I this ship that we sail can only end in disaster,” he told the blonde, but a grin was on his lips when he looked back up. “But I never said we would go down without a fight.”
“I thought you didn’t want to fight,” Cloud said.
“Swords aren’t the only ways to win wars, little puppet.” Kuja’s grin only turned more sinister when he saw Cloud’s scowl at the nickname that was coined for him.
“Until you can show me that you possess a will of your own I’ll call you whatever I desire,” he added, effectively silencing protests from the blonde. “If you still wish to join me in my quest, let’s see what it is we’re working with.”
Unsure of whether or not Kuja meant what he thought he did, Cloud hesitated. They might have been in a dressing room, but Cloud could not remember the last time he had undressed in front of anyone. Yet Kuja merely sat there, waiting, until Cloud frowned.
“Go on, we’re both men here,” Kuja persisted, motioning to him.
Cloud wanted to say that he had wondered about that fact before. When he had first met Kuja he had approached the man from the back, and were it not for the light curve in his neck and his unmistakable codpiece he would have been left wondering about the white-skinned man. Kuja was delicate and graceful; he was well-read, well-spoken, and keen. In other words Kuja was everything Cloud was not, but for whatever reason they had crossed paths on that theatre ship and now their fates were mercilessly entangled.
Figuring it was better to simply go along with whatever Kuja had planned, Cloud reached up to work on the buckles that held his shoulder guard in place. As soon as it was loose enough he pulled it free and the heavy metal was discarded on the floor with a loud thud. Next his arms lifted over his head and his fingers twisted into the fabric of his black shirt before he slowly slid it off, the light blue undershirt joining it on the floor shortly afterward. As he worked on the bangles around his wrist Kuja’s brow rose slightly with interest, his gaze veiled, and he rose to peruse the clothing at their disposal.
When the silver-haired man returned to Cloud’s side he had a shirt draped over his arm and something else, but Cloud could not see what it was. Saying he was shy was an understatement, but Kuja seemed not to mind at all. He held the shirt up against Cloud’s body, his fingers running from shoulder to hip as he contemplated sizing. All Cloud could do was frown and turn his face away, the tips of his ears burning and a flush snaking its way up his body.
“It should fit,” Kuja said at last, knowing better than to press too far too fast, and Cloud was already pinker than his eye shadow.
The thought struck Cloud then that the grin on Kuja’s face was wicked with hidden motives, but Cloud grabbed the shirt from him all the same. It did not matter that the sleeves had ruffles or the shirt was made of silk and lace, he just needed some kind of defense against the man. Cloud told himself it was merely a test of endurance; he would not fail it.
When Kuja reached up to stretch the eyepatch around his head he leaned in close enough for Cloud to catch the scent of him, a sweet fragrance wafting from his skin that somehow fit the warm pliability of his body. Cloud was certain that if he touched the man his skin would be as soft as it was smooth, but it was that thought alone that caused him to jerk backward. “I can do it myself,” he protested as he affixed the patch in place on his own.
“No wonder you suit a woman’s role so well,” Kuja commented, amusement in his voice. “You may have the body of a man, but up close your lashes are long and your hair is deceptively soft; when you become flustered it all comes together.”
“Are we going to actually do something or are we going to stay down here playing dress-up?” Cloud demanded instead so that he could cling to the one thing he knew: fighting. “I don’t like waiting around-“
“Oh, we’ll do something, all right,” Kuja assured him, the dark promise in his voice causing Cloud’s blood to race. “All in due time, little puppet. For now, we play dress-up.”
Cloud’s rationality was fraying and Kuja was not relenting. “I didn’t come here to become your plaything,” he protested, and Kuja looked up at him with a dark gaze and a wicked grin.
“You already are,” he said, his voice deeper than Cloud had heard it before.
Unable to stop him, Kuja’s hand found the buckle to Cloud’s thick belt and it only took a flick of his wrist and press of his palm for it to fall away. Now there was even less separating them, and even though Cloud knew he could simply walk away at any moment his feet were rooted to that spot. Kuja knew it as well, knew the blonde would not run, and so he took his time in straightening the white, ruffled shirt over Cloud’s body. A large part of an actor’s identity was his costume, after all.
Taking a step back, Kuja looked over Cloud’s minor transformation. It was close, but not good enough. “Those pants won’t do,” he said aloud, though he meant it more for himself.
As he turned to find something more appropriate Cloud reached out, his sword-callused fingers encircling Kuja’s wrist. There were a tangle of feet, a whirlwind of bodies, and when the storm settled Kuja found his back pressed into a wall by Cloud’s broad frame. Beneath Cloud’s hands, Kuja’s wrists were slender and splayed, and between his bare thighs he could feel the rough fabric of Cloud’s pants.
“Someone’s a bit overeager,” Kuja remarked, though he was barely able to find his voice.
What Kuja had not expected was for Cloud to be so forward. He had heard from other warriors of Chaos about Sephiroth’s golden-haired puppet and his resigned obedience; all he had thought he would do that day was tease the younger man until Cloud begged him to stop, but the look in Cloud’s eyes wasn’t that of begging-it was dark, heated desire.
When Cloud leaned in, his nose brushing against Kuja’s, he turned away. The hands around Kuja’s wrists tightened and the corners of his lips twitched into a grin. It was fun making him wait; every reaction amused him. At first he had wondered if this would even be worth his time, but now he had his answer. No wonder Sephiroth was so enamored with his toy.
“You really are hopeless,” Kuja baited, “just like Sephiroth said.”
Kuja arched into him then, pressing his slight body against Cloud’s as he locked eyes with the blonde. If it came down to force Cloud would easily have the upper hand, but Kuja had always relied on wit to get him out of cornered situations. “One little touch,” he said, close enough to feel Cloud’s racing heart and growing need, “and you’ve lost all of your composure.”
“I’m just,” Cloud paused, his voice rough, low, and hot against Kuja’s cheek, “cutting to the chase.”
“You’re being reckless, little puppet,” Kuja argued, well aware of just how many passages led to the changing room. “What if your master were to see you now?”
The thought of Sephiroth being anywhere near caused Cloud to momentarily relent and Kuja took the time to slip out of his grasp. He took a minute to compose himself before he began walking to the only place he knew was private, but when Cloud did not follow he frowned and turned back to the other. “Are you coming or not?” He questioned. “I might not be so willing to instruct such a clumsy amateur on any other day.”
Even though his head was beginning to cool Cloud followed, winding through corridors until they were somewhere beneath the stage. There was only a small window in the room, enough for him to see various props strewn about the space. When Kuja closed the door behind them he wedged one of the props through the handles; it was not perfect but it would do.
Whatever inhibitions Cloud might have had seemed to melt into the long shadows that the props cast against the floor but he held onto a strange sense of control. Instead of shying away from Kuja or acting rashly again, when Kuja turned back to him he only had time to catch a sliver of light in Cloud’s blue eyes before the blonde reached out, calloused fingers sliding into silky hair. Unlike before Kuja did not deny him when Cloud’s fingers twisted and pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck, tilting Kuja’s head up just enough to kiss him. He needed to find out what level of expertise he was working with, after all.
Kuja’s thumb found Cloud’s chin, urging his mouth open as he deepened their kiss. The eyepatch he had forced Cloud to wear was knocked to the floor so that it would be out of their way, and even though Cloud had already begun to pull Kuja’s jacket from his arms he paused when Kuja’s tongue slid along his own. The silver-haired man’s scent had been sweet before, as effeminate as his outward appearance, but there was something purely masculine about the taste of his tongue and Cloud decided he liked that more.
“Your touch is too rough,” Kuja scolded, Cloud’s hands exploring the expanse of his torso after the blonde had robbed him of his jacket, gloves, and other accessories. “We may be men but we’re not brutes.”
Cloud made a vague acknowledgment in response, but when he still did not let up and his hands slipped dangerous close to things Kuja would like handled carefully he gave a frustrated sigh. Slipping a hand beneath the loose shirt he had put on Cloud earlier, he ran his hand lightly over Cloud’s stomach. It was enough to send a shiver down the blonde’s spine, enough for a muffled moan, and enough for Kuja to feel satisfied.
“Like this,” he instructed, not letting his fingers break contact with the scarred, tanned skin of the younger man.
Cloud’s shirt fell on the floor not long after, and Kuja’s carefully-maintained nails dug lightly into Cloud’s back as he pulled him closer. In the corner of the room was a dusty, velvet couch, but neither cared that it was moth-eaten and old when Kuja pushed Cloud onto it, and he did not stay far from the soldier for long. His lips found the shell of Cloud’s ear, his teeth nipping at his lobe, and when he spoke into Cloud’s ear he used the same tone he had earlier.
“I’m going to teach you how to touch me,” Kuja told him, a dark promise that momentarily made Cloud’s hand on his thigh tighten. “Be sure to pay attention. I won’t accept any less than perfection.”
~~
HERE IS A PICTURE 8D
Thanks, Toffee! We'll pretend Cloud didn't get it right the first time so Kuja beat him up.
Mmmhm. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmhm.
Rating: R
Pairing: Cloud x Kuja
Inspiration: toffeethesnob and her delicious evilness. ♥
Like an obedient soldier Cloud found himself on the stage of the M.S. Prima Vista the following day, but he made it clear he did not completely trust the other with the way he hung the Buster Sword against his back. If Kuja was leading him into a trap he would be ready; Cloud was not the type to go down without a fight. And he knew if Chaos summoned a warrior it was because they were harbingers of discord. Cloud, as Sephiroth’s puppet, was not exempt.
“You really came,” Kuja remarked from behind the edge of the castle’s wall.
Immediately Cloud reached above his head, the familiar hilt of the Buster Sword meeting his palm. It was a seasoned response but it only made Kuja chuckle, a melodic noise that wrapped around the blonde like a blanket. It was deeper, darker, but was there ever a time in Cloud’s life when it was filled with laughter? The thought made his chest ache as he slowly lowered his hand; he couldn’t fathom it but somehow he missed it.
“If this is another one of your jokes, let’s get it over with,” he shot back at Kuja, clenching his jaw soon after.
“You always see the worst in people, now, don’t you?” Kuja accused. “That Oedipus buffoon… He’ll rue the day he took his eye off of you.”
Cloud was silent, uncertain of how to respond. “If you just want to use me to get back at Sephiroth, I’m not interested,” he said at last.
“Just,” Kuja stretched out the word, laughter in his voice. “Not at all,” he clarified, “and was it not you who asked to join me?”
Unable to refute that fact, Cloud scoffed softly.
“Put away your sword,” Kuja bade. “Let’s see the sun in those blue eyes, hm? I’m not playing the villain in this scene.”
Hesitance stayed his hand as he brandished the Buster Sword, but in the end he let it go. Cloud wondered if his eyes deceived him when he noted a moment of relief in Kuja’s eyes, then it passed just as quickly. Could this really be so simple? Could he really trust this man?
“In any case,” Kuja continued as he flipped his hair over his shoulder and turned back around, “I’ve prepared some things for you. Follow me, little puppet.”
Taking one last look at the unchanging sky and scenery beyond the edge of the stage Cloud offered a short shrug and followed the man into the bowels of the ship. It was a short walk when Cloud considered the appearance of the ship, but there were racks of clothes lining the wall-thousands of costumes and accompanying accessories. No wonder Kuja had managed to find something so ostentatious, Cloud mused as he passed by the showy fabrics, there was hardly anything but.
So wrapped up was he in his surroundings that he did not sense the other’s attack until he felt the weight of the wig on his head. Reaching up he felt the coarse strands of artificial hair, the back of his hand pushing the golden locks away from his eyes. A pat here and a brush there and he discovered the ribbons that styled the wig into pigtails on either side of his head. Kuja was laughing; Cloud flushed in embarrassment.
“You fall into the role of the maiden so easily,” Kuja remarked as he worked to keep his amusement in check. “Perhaps you’d like the skirts to go along with it?”
The knuckles of Kuja’s delicate hands brushed against Cloud’s abdomen as the petticoat was held up to him. Cloud started at the sensation, felt the tips of his ears burn, and scowled as he slapped Kuja’s hand away. “Don’t mess with me,” he ground out as he yanked the wig from his head and tossed it to the floor.
Had he really crossdressed before? The memory teased the corners of his mind; he simply could not see himself donning such attire. But somewhere, at some point, he guessed he had.
Rubbing the back of his hand, Kuja frowned. More than the smack on the back of his hand Kuja heard the door of Cloud’s heart slamming. How unfortunate when he was finally making some progress, but he was patient and he was persistent, and even if Cloud was flustered he still had not left.
“What am I here for?” Cloud demanded again as he turned on the other.
“I think that question is best answered by yourself,” Kuja asserted. As Cloud’s brows drew together in confusion Kuja slid onto a dressing table. Just as he had every day the blonde came to the Prima Vista, Kuja watched him closely-every glance, every rise of his chest, every movement of his unruly hair. Cloud might not be an actor on a stage but his performances had always captivated Kuja’s interest.
“I thought,” Cloud said after a moment, once the blood had stopped racing through his veins. “I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” Kuja baited while the corners of his eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a smile.
Cloud shook his head, unable to put it into words. “This place,” he finally said. “All of these useless battles.”
Kuja was silent for a moment, neither meeting the other’s eyes. “Being here reminds you that there’s always someone who believes they can clip your wings,” he admitted and lifted his gaze back up to meet with Cloud’s. “Whether it’s a god or a creator, someone will enjoy watching you squirm. When I look at you I can see you’ve given in; I can see the strings tied around your limbs, connecting you to the man you most hate.”
Again Cloud looked away from him, blue eyes narrowing as he thought of Sephiroth. Cloud could hear the black-winged angel’s words in his head as clearly as if Sephiroth were whispering them into his ear. “You’re nothing but an empty puppet, Cloud,” Sephiroth had told him, over and over until he had believed it. Sephiroth existed within him, moved through him-Cloud would never be free.
“I have no use for hollow dolls with empty minds,” Kuja continued, speaking as if he could read every thought in Cloud’s mind. “It truly sickens me to see them so passively strung along. All good actors know that passion is the root of a performance. Tell me, Cloud: are you a soulless puppet or a passionate hero in this tragic tale?”
Cloud thought for a moment, considering every word the man spoke. “Does it have to be a tragedy?”
A bittersweet look reached Kuja’s eyes as he looked away from Cloud, his gaze falling to the floor. “For you and I this ship that we sail can only end in disaster,” he told the blonde, but a grin was on his lips when he looked back up. “But I never said we would go down without a fight.”
“I thought you didn’t want to fight,” Cloud said.
“Swords aren’t the only ways to win wars, little puppet.” Kuja’s grin only turned more sinister when he saw Cloud’s scowl at the nickname that was coined for him.
“Until you can show me that you possess a will of your own I’ll call you whatever I desire,” he added, effectively silencing protests from the blonde. “If you still wish to join me in my quest, let’s see what it is we’re working with.”
Unsure of whether or not Kuja meant what he thought he did, Cloud hesitated. They might have been in a dressing room, but Cloud could not remember the last time he had undressed in front of anyone. Yet Kuja merely sat there, waiting, until Cloud frowned.
“Go on, we’re both men here,” Kuja persisted, motioning to him.
Cloud wanted to say that he had wondered about that fact before. When he had first met Kuja he had approached the man from the back, and were it not for the light curve in his neck and his unmistakable codpiece he would have been left wondering about the white-skinned man. Kuja was delicate and graceful; he was well-read, well-spoken, and keen. In other words Kuja was everything Cloud was not, but for whatever reason they had crossed paths on that theatre ship and now their fates were mercilessly entangled.
Figuring it was better to simply go along with whatever Kuja had planned, Cloud reached up to work on the buckles that held his shoulder guard in place. As soon as it was loose enough he pulled it free and the heavy metal was discarded on the floor with a loud thud. Next his arms lifted over his head and his fingers twisted into the fabric of his black shirt before he slowly slid it off, the light blue undershirt joining it on the floor shortly afterward. As he worked on the bangles around his wrist Kuja’s brow rose slightly with interest, his gaze veiled, and he rose to peruse the clothing at their disposal.
When the silver-haired man returned to Cloud’s side he had a shirt draped over his arm and something else, but Cloud could not see what it was. Saying he was shy was an understatement, but Kuja seemed not to mind at all. He held the shirt up against Cloud’s body, his fingers running from shoulder to hip as he contemplated sizing. All Cloud could do was frown and turn his face away, the tips of his ears burning and a flush snaking its way up his body.
“It should fit,” Kuja said at last, knowing better than to press too far too fast, and Cloud was already pinker than his eye shadow.
The thought struck Cloud then that the grin on Kuja’s face was wicked with hidden motives, but Cloud grabbed the shirt from him all the same. It did not matter that the sleeves had ruffles or the shirt was made of silk and lace, he just needed some kind of defense against the man. Cloud told himself it was merely a test of endurance; he would not fail it.
When Kuja reached up to stretch the eyepatch around his head he leaned in close enough for Cloud to catch the scent of him, a sweet fragrance wafting from his skin that somehow fit the warm pliability of his body. Cloud was certain that if he touched the man his skin would be as soft as it was smooth, but it was that thought alone that caused him to jerk backward. “I can do it myself,” he protested as he affixed the patch in place on his own.
“No wonder you suit a woman’s role so well,” Kuja commented, amusement in his voice. “You may have the body of a man, but up close your lashes are long and your hair is deceptively soft; when you become flustered it all comes together.”
“Are we going to actually do something or are we going to stay down here playing dress-up?” Cloud demanded instead so that he could cling to the one thing he knew: fighting. “I don’t like waiting around-“
“Oh, we’ll do something, all right,” Kuja assured him, the dark promise in his voice causing Cloud’s blood to race. “All in due time, little puppet. For now, we play dress-up.”
Cloud’s rationality was fraying and Kuja was not relenting. “I didn’t come here to become your plaything,” he protested, and Kuja looked up at him with a dark gaze and a wicked grin.
“You already are,” he said, his voice deeper than Cloud had heard it before.
Unable to stop him, Kuja’s hand found the buckle to Cloud’s thick belt and it only took a flick of his wrist and press of his palm for it to fall away. Now there was even less separating them, and even though Cloud knew he could simply walk away at any moment his feet were rooted to that spot. Kuja knew it as well, knew the blonde would not run, and so he took his time in straightening the white, ruffled shirt over Cloud’s body. A large part of an actor’s identity was his costume, after all.
Taking a step back, Kuja looked over Cloud’s minor transformation. It was close, but not good enough. “Those pants won’t do,” he said aloud, though he meant it more for himself.
As he turned to find something more appropriate Cloud reached out, his sword-callused fingers encircling Kuja’s wrist. There were a tangle of feet, a whirlwind of bodies, and when the storm settled Kuja found his back pressed into a wall by Cloud’s broad frame. Beneath Cloud’s hands, Kuja’s wrists were slender and splayed, and between his bare thighs he could feel the rough fabric of Cloud’s pants.
“Someone’s a bit overeager,” Kuja remarked, though he was barely able to find his voice.
What Kuja had not expected was for Cloud to be so forward. He had heard from other warriors of Chaos about Sephiroth’s golden-haired puppet and his resigned obedience; all he had thought he would do that day was tease the younger man until Cloud begged him to stop, but the look in Cloud’s eyes wasn’t that of begging-it was dark, heated desire.
When Cloud leaned in, his nose brushing against Kuja’s, he turned away. The hands around Kuja’s wrists tightened and the corners of his lips twitched into a grin. It was fun making him wait; every reaction amused him. At first he had wondered if this would even be worth his time, but now he had his answer. No wonder Sephiroth was so enamored with his toy.
“You really are hopeless,” Kuja baited, “just like Sephiroth said.”
Kuja arched into him then, pressing his slight body against Cloud’s as he locked eyes with the blonde. If it came down to force Cloud would easily have the upper hand, but Kuja had always relied on wit to get him out of cornered situations. “One little touch,” he said, close enough to feel Cloud’s racing heart and growing need, “and you’ve lost all of your composure.”
“I’m just,” Cloud paused, his voice rough, low, and hot against Kuja’s cheek, “cutting to the chase.”
“You’re being reckless, little puppet,” Kuja argued, well aware of just how many passages led to the changing room. “What if your master were to see you now?”
The thought of Sephiroth being anywhere near caused Cloud to momentarily relent and Kuja took the time to slip out of his grasp. He took a minute to compose himself before he began walking to the only place he knew was private, but when Cloud did not follow he frowned and turned back to the other. “Are you coming or not?” He questioned. “I might not be so willing to instruct such a clumsy amateur on any other day.”
Even though his head was beginning to cool Cloud followed, winding through corridors until they were somewhere beneath the stage. There was only a small window in the room, enough for him to see various props strewn about the space. When Kuja closed the door behind them he wedged one of the props through the handles; it was not perfect but it would do.
Whatever inhibitions Cloud might have had seemed to melt into the long shadows that the props cast against the floor but he held onto a strange sense of control. Instead of shying away from Kuja or acting rashly again, when Kuja turned back to him he only had time to catch a sliver of light in Cloud’s blue eyes before the blonde reached out, calloused fingers sliding into silky hair. Unlike before Kuja did not deny him when Cloud’s fingers twisted and pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck, tilting Kuja’s head up just enough to kiss him. He needed to find out what level of expertise he was working with, after all.
Kuja’s thumb found Cloud’s chin, urging his mouth open as he deepened their kiss. The eyepatch he had forced Cloud to wear was knocked to the floor so that it would be out of their way, and even though Cloud had already begun to pull Kuja’s jacket from his arms he paused when Kuja’s tongue slid along his own. The silver-haired man’s scent had been sweet before, as effeminate as his outward appearance, but there was something purely masculine about the taste of his tongue and Cloud decided he liked that more.
“Your touch is too rough,” Kuja scolded, Cloud’s hands exploring the expanse of his torso after the blonde had robbed him of his jacket, gloves, and other accessories. “We may be men but we’re not brutes.”
Cloud made a vague acknowledgment in response, but when he still did not let up and his hands slipped dangerous close to things Kuja would like handled carefully he gave a frustrated sigh. Slipping a hand beneath the loose shirt he had put on Cloud earlier, he ran his hand lightly over Cloud’s stomach. It was enough to send a shiver down the blonde’s spine, enough for a muffled moan, and enough for Kuja to feel satisfied.
“Like this,” he instructed, not letting his fingers break contact with the scarred, tanned skin of the younger man.
Cloud’s shirt fell on the floor not long after, and Kuja’s carefully-maintained nails dug lightly into Cloud’s back as he pulled him closer. In the corner of the room was a dusty, velvet couch, but neither cared that it was moth-eaten and old when Kuja pushed Cloud onto it, and he did not stay far from the soldier for long. His lips found the shell of Cloud’s ear, his teeth nipping at his lobe, and when he spoke into Cloud’s ear he used the same tone he had earlier.
“I’m going to teach you how to touch me,” Kuja told him, a dark promise that momentarily made Cloud’s hand on his thigh tighten. “Be sure to pay attention. I won’t accept any less than perfection.”
~~
HERE IS A PICTURE 8D
Thanks, Toffee! We'll pretend Cloud didn't get it right the first time so Kuja beat him up.
Mmmhm. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmhm.