Final Fantasy VI - Beneath It
Title: Beneath It.
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 1/1.
Disclaimer: Squeenix' property, not mine.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, sexual and otherwise.
Rating: R for dark themes.
Summary: Sometimes a fall can last forever, yet not long enough.
Pairing(s): Leo/Kefka.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VI.
Words: 1054.
Notes: I don't have a clue where this came from. I write this kind of stuff when happy and mellow, for some reason.
There's a collar of dark purple bruises around Kefka's too pale neck, vivid and fresh, and Kefka isn't even trying to hide them, for once wearing something that does not cover his skin entirely as he often does. In fact, the green of his jacket seems to emphasize the dark bruises, flaunting instead of concealing.
Kefka doesn't bruise easily, despite his pale skin, it takes force to leave marks on him and with his hair piled up on his head like it is, revealing the entire collar, it's not possible to mistake the marks for anything but what they are, remnants of big hands wrapped tightly around his neck with force enough to leave bruises even the magic in his blood has yet to heal. And Kefka, who usually covers himself from head to toes in several layers of fabric, is delighting in showing them off, as though they're something to be proud of.
All day, when people talk to him, their eyes fall on the bruises and they hesitate, wanting to ask but afraid to offend, afraid of the truth. When he notices them looking, Kefka smiles in the way only he can smile, too wide and with too sharp teeth, lips absurdly red against the white of his skin, matching red nails idly tracing the bruises as he smiles. And just like that, people suddenly have to be somewhere else, or switch to another subject, anything as long as he'll just stop smiling like that.
Leo knows the truth, knows what it feels like to have his hands wrapped around Kefka's throat, choking the smaller man, making him gasp for air, twisting and writhing beneath him. He has his own marks, his back a bloody mess where Kefka's claws dug into the skin, ripping it open while struggling in vain against Leo's superior strength. Leo's marks are hidden well, though, under bandages and two shirts, and despite that, he feels nauseous whenever he feels eyes linger on his back.
Kefka feels no shame, laughing harshly at something nobody else is getting until the Emperor has to ask him to restrain himself a little, and even then, snickering to himself for a long while afterwards.
Leo feels enough shame for them both, though, his stomach heavy with it, struggling to keep it down. He doesn't dare meet anyone's eyes, convinced that they'd know, even if they have no reason even to guess. It doesn't make him feel any better at all, doesn't do anything at all except make him feel even more ashamed. If only they knew what he was really like; they'd all have guessed then, he was sure.
If they knew how close he has come to killing Kefka some times, tightening his grasp on the man's neck a little too much, a little too fast. Kefka is all lethal grace and horrible magic, but he's small and seemingly fragile next to Leo, and he can't use his magic when he can't speak, can't do anything but sputter and gasp as his air supply quickly runs out. Even though he can barely be called human any more, Kefka needs to breathe like anyone else, and it would be so easy for Leo to just not let go.
Someone will realize it eventually. Not many can get close enough to Kefka to cause him bruises like that, and even fewer of those have the strength and size needed. Someone will notice, once the imminent danger of painful reprisal has faded a little. They will notice and everyone will see Leo for what he truly is, not the hero they believe him to be. The hero Leo wishes he was.
Or maybe he will finally slip and kill Kefka first, watching in half horror, half relief as he breathes his last breath, going limp in Leo's arms for the last time.
Either way, Kefka will win the little game he's playing, a game Leo is nothing but a pawn in. Leo has the power to break Kefka physically, and it scares him. Kefka has the power to break Leo mentally, and it delights him. It's what will always separate them, and it's why Kefka allows him to do such a thing to him. He's crazy, and everyone knows that, but he's brilliant in his broken state, and though he doesn't believe Leo has it in him to kill him while he is all but helpless, and has told Leo so between gasped breaths, he has the reassurance that even should he be wrong, he will be taking Leo down with him.
Leo knows he's falling, and he knows nothing can stop it. It's all a question of time. And for every minute that passes, he can almost feel the end coming. In many ways, he welcomes it. Letting go will be easy. Holding on is the hard part, holding on to something that is just an illusion.
Leo isn't a hero. He only seems the hero because Kefka is so obviously a villain. If the people who believed in him knew the truth, if poor Terra only knew, they would lose hope. Without hope, life is nothing. Leo would know; he hasn't had much of any hope since he met Kefka, starting the downward spiral that has brought him here. It's for them, not himself, that he clings to the shreds of his former self. For his troops, for the people, for Terra. It's too late for him, and he knows it.
Kefka knows it, too.
And both of them are only waiting.
Fighting back any reactions that could give him up, Leo goes through the same motions as he ever does. Bow at the Emperor, nod at Cid, smile at Celes even if she never smiles back. Give Terra encouraging looks whenever Kefka isn't looking, as though he doesn't know already. Talk to the lower ranked officers about practice and strategy. It's easy to follow the same patterns as always, and thankfully nobody seems to notice that his eyes don't reflect the emotions he is showing.
Soon it will be over. Leo doesn't know if he means the dinner or the day, or maybe the game itself. It will be over, though. There's only one outcome possible.
The fall is not what kills; the stop is.
And Kefka knows how to fly.
Author: Shaded Mazoku.
Email: herukatto@hotmail.com.
Part: 1/1.
Disclaimer: Squeenix' property, not mine.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, sexual and otherwise.
Rating: R for dark themes.
Summary: Sometimes a fall can last forever, yet not long enough.
Pairing(s): Leo/Kefka.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VI.
Words: 1054.
Notes: I don't have a clue where this came from. I write this kind of stuff when happy and mellow, for some reason.
There's a collar of dark purple bruises around Kefka's too pale neck, vivid and fresh, and Kefka isn't even trying to hide them, for once wearing something that does not cover his skin entirely as he often does. In fact, the green of his jacket seems to emphasize the dark bruises, flaunting instead of concealing.
Kefka doesn't bruise easily, despite his pale skin, it takes force to leave marks on him and with his hair piled up on his head like it is, revealing the entire collar, it's not possible to mistake the marks for anything but what they are, remnants of big hands wrapped tightly around his neck with force enough to leave bruises even the magic in his blood has yet to heal. And Kefka, who usually covers himself from head to toes in several layers of fabric, is delighting in showing them off, as though they're something to be proud of.
All day, when people talk to him, their eyes fall on the bruises and they hesitate, wanting to ask but afraid to offend, afraid of the truth. When he notices them looking, Kefka smiles in the way only he can smile, too wide and with too sharp teeth, lips absurdly red against the white of his skin, matching red nails idly tracing the bruises as he smiles. And just like that, people suddenly have to be somewhere else, or switch to another subject, anything as long as he'll just stop smiling like that.
Leo knows the truth, knows what it feels like to have his hands wrapped around Kefka's throat, choking the smaller man, making him gasp for air, twisting and writhing beneath him. He has his own marks, his back a bloody mess where Kefka's claws dug into the skin, ripping it open while struggling in vain against Leo's superior strength. Leo's marks are hidden well, though, under bandages and two shirts, and despite that, he feels nauseous whenever he feels eyes linger on his back.
Kefka feels no shame, laughing harshly at something nobody else is getting until the Emperor has to ask him to restrain himself a little, and even then, snickering to himself for a long while afterwards.
Leo feels enough shame for them both, though, his stomach heavy with it, struggling to keep it down. He doesn't dare meet anyone's eyes, convinced that they'd know, even if they have no reason even to guess. It doesn't make him feel any better at all, doesn't do anything at all except make him feel even more ashamed. If only they knew what he was really like; they'd all have guessed then, he was sure.
If they knew how close he has come to killing Kefka some times, tightening his grasp on the man's neck a little too much, a little too fast. Kefka is all lethal grace and horrible magic, but he's small and seemingly fragile next to Leo, and he can't use his magic when he can't speak, can't do anything but sputter and gasp as his air supply quickly runs out. Even though he can barely be called human any more, Kefka needs to breathe like anyone else, and it would be so easy for Leo to just not let go.
Someone will realize it eventually. Not many can get close enough to Kefka to cause him bruises like that, and even fewer of those have the strength and size needed. Someone will notice, once the imminent danger of painful reprisal has faded a little. They will notice and everyone will see Leo for what he truly is, not the hero they believe him to be. The hero Leo wishes he was.
Or maybe he will finally slip and kill Kefka first, watching in half horror, half relief as he breathes his last breath, going limp in Leo's arms for the last time.
Either way, Kefka will win the little game he's playing, a game Leo is nothing but a pawn in. Leo has the power to break Kefka physically, and it scares him. Kefka has the power to break Leo mentally, and it delights him. It's what will always separate them, and it's why Kefka allows him to do such a thing to him. He's crazy, and everyone knows that, but he's brilliant in his broken state, and though he doesn't believe Leo has it in him to kill him while he is all but helpless, and has told Leo so between gasped breaths, he has the reassurance that even should he be wrong, he will be taking Leo down with him.
Leo knows he's falling, and he knows nothing can stop it. It's all a question of time. And for every minute that passes, he can almost feel the end coming. In many ways, he welcomes it. Letting go will be easy. Holding on is the hard part, holding on to something that is just an illusion.
Leo isn't a hero. He only seems the hero because Kefka is so obviously a villain. If the people who believed in him knew the truth, if poor Terra only knew, they would lose hope. Without hope, life is nothing. Leo would know; he hasn't had much of any hope since he met Kefka, starting the downward spiral that has brought him here. It's for them, not himself, that he clings to the shreds of his former self. For his troops, for the people, for Terra. It's too late for him, and he knows it.
Kefka knows it, too.
And both of them are only waiting.
Fighting back any reactions that could give him up, Leo goes through the same motions as he ever does. Bow at the Emperor, nod at Cid, smile at Celes even if she never smiles back. Give Terra encouraging looks whenever Kefka isn't looking, as though he doesn't know already. Talk to the lower ranked officers about practice and strategy. It's easy to follow the same patterns as always, and thankfully nobody seems to notice that his eyes don't reflect the emotions he is showing.
Soon it will be over. Leo doesn't know if he means the dinner or the day, or maybe the game itself. It will be over, though. There's only one outcome possible.
The fall is not what kills; the stop is.
And Kefka knows how to fly.