Canon UkeRoth!
um yeah, so I wrote UkeRoth. nc-17 you know the drill.
He is the greatest general to ever grace the planet in known history. He has been called Demon, Angel and God. His troops adore him and fear him and ShinRa sees him as a valuable if slightly dangerous asset. Everyday from the moment he leaves his quarters he is watched, studied, scrutinized; and to these eyes he must be perfect. He must be ever in control, ever calm and collected and reserved.
He does not joke with his SOLDIER’s, he does not casually meander through the slums on his few days off, in fact, he owns no more than three sets of civilian attire. His apartment is within walking distance of his office, and more often than not his free days are spent catching up on tasks not finished during the work week.
He always takes his work home, he needs little sleep after all.
His life is ruled by duty, action, war and attrition. He exists to serve a purpose and in his darker moment’s thinks that is all life is; a weary adherence to rules and regulations that govern the world, brought about by men he doubts have the collective intelligence of Gyashl Greens.
It is when the burden becomes too great, and his patience with the fools in power threatens his control, that he turns to Zack. He can trust Zack. The man has served him, bled for him, nearly died for him, and in his own bizarre fashion, lives for him. He can trust Zack with his life, which isn’t worth much in his own eyes, but more so, he can trust Zack with his control.
Like now. The SOLDIER has come to Sephiroth’s apartment, dressed in the leather and cotton uniform of his rank, unarmed, to release from his General the terrible burden that weighs upon his pale shoulders.
They have something of a routine, hammered out over the years since Wutai and the steamy jungles filled with fire and blood. They each have needs and desires they can only fulfill together. And they each have lines they refuse to cross.
“Seph, why are you still dressed?”
“I was just finishing…” The slap cuts him off mid sentence, a faint blush rising from where Zack’s hand had met his cheek, before fading back to alabaster. The message is clear, tonight there will be no leeway, he is to obey and not speak. Sometimes Zack gives him time to get ready, watching and appreciating the show. Tonight is not one of those nights.
Soundlessly he strips himself of the leather and steel that make up his usual uniform, before sinking to his knees on the berber carpet. It’s not about punishment or masochism as some may think. It’s entirely about control, and giving it up to someone else for a while.
“You’ve been thinking. You’re still thinking. I can hear the wheels turning from over here and it’s making me sick that you're still working.” The smaller man walks around him as he speaks, idly petting silver hair or caressing pale skin. “Your job isn’t to think, pet. That’s my job, and I’m not terribly pleased with you at the moment for assuming to take my responsibilities.” The words rise and fall in cadence, the touches brief and scattered. “I think, you obey. Right now I’m thinking you need a lesson. So go to bed, lay face down, spread eagle and wait for me.”
He knows better than to stand and walk. It takes concentration to crawl and not rub his knees raw and crawl he does, clear into the bedroom and the low lying futon style bed. Then he lies down and waits. He can hear Zack moving in the other room, smell his scent invading the corners of the apartment the way he invaded Sephiroth’s life, subtly but inescapably, and if he closes his eyes he can imagine what Zack is doing.
He knows what this lesson is. It’s a form of meditation. By focusing on the man in the other room, he starts to forget about himself, his duties, and his life. If he can focus on Zack enough, he can forget anything else exists.
After a while he hears Zack approaching, feet whispering over the floor. He doesn’t open his eyes. Already some of the tension that has built up in his body is dissipating, released simply by the act of not thinking about it.
“Better. Not good enough but better.” Solid weight settles over his ass, hard thighs on either side of his hips, rough cloth rubbing into the soft skin as Zack uses him for a chair. Warm oil falls onto his back and he almost groans. No one else would ever do this for him. “Need to relax and let go pet, this is my time.”
Strong hands, callused and rough knead the muscles of his back and shoulders, forcing the knots of tension to unwind and dragging pathetic muffled whimpers from him. By the time Zack reaches his ass, he’s limp.
The warm body on top of him shifts and gets up, the sound of cloth being removed a bit loud in the room but Sephiroth knows what’s coming. It’s in the routine. And he’s stopped thinking, focused on feeling and anticipating Zack, everything else has faded. There is only here, and now, and he doesn’t need to do anything, doesn’t need to be anything but Zack’s pet, Zack’s toy. Because Zack takes care of him. He trusts Zack.
The warm oil is dribbled over his crack and rubbed over his hole with two gentle fingers. Breathing deeply he feels the stirrings of arousal curling through his belly, centered on those two digits slowly massaging his opening.
“So pretty. You have no clue how pretty you are do you? All splayed out and waiting, wanting me. I like this. I like taking care of you. Breath pet, just breath and be, let me do the rest.” Soft words in a throaty voice purred into his ear and he hisses as the fingers pry him open, delving inside to spread the oil and ease the way. It doesn’t hurt. The first time, long ago, it was rough and bloody and he ached afterwards but Zack won’t do that to him again. The dark man refuses to draw blood, even when Seph begs, and the pain in those violet eyes makes him regret asking. He’s learned he doesn’t need the pain in order to let go of the General. But he does need Zack.
He doesn’t make a sound, just bares his neck to those possessive lips and sighs as the fingers leave him. He doesn’t bother to spread his legs farther; if Zack wants him to move in any way the smaller man will simply move him. For now he is the SOLDIER’s doll.
Strong hands settle on his hips as sharp teeth latch onto his throat and he’s speared by the other man’s length, driven down by his not-inconsiderable body weight. It forces a grunt from him, to be so powerfully invaded and *owned* in so short a moment, but before he can get his bearings Zack has begun to move, forcing him down into the futon with each thrust, pinning him with his own body, forcing Sephiroth to *feel*.
There is no time or place for thought.
There is only sensation, pleasure and pain and possession and trust. Absolute trust.
It goes on for decades, each motion ending in a sharp stab at his prostate, every withdrawl scraping raw nerve endings in his bowels making him hunger for Zack’s return; every kiss and lick and bite a message of affection written into his flesh.
He comes screaming into his pillow, untouched.
Above him, Zack grits his teeth and grunts, forcing himself in deep one last time before pulling out reluctantly. He can feel every sweaty inch of his skin, where it’s feverishly hot touching Zack and where it’s icy cold not touching him. He can feel the trickle of semen escaping from his ass to slide down his cleft and make his balls itch. He can even feel how his racing heart matches the pace of Zack’s pulse.
But he can’t remember what he has planned for tomorrow.
“Thank you.”
“Any time Seph.”
He is the greatest general to ever grace the planet in known history. He has been called Demon, Angel and God. His troops adore him and fear him and ShinRa sees him as a valuable if slightly dangerous asset. Everyday from the moment he leaves his quarters he is watched, studied, scrutinized; and to these eyes he must be perfect. He must be ever in control, ever calm and collected and reserved.
He does not joke with his SOLDIER’s, he does not casually meander through the slums on his few days off, in fact, he owns no more than three sets of civilian attire. His apartment is within walking distance of his office, and more often than not his free days are spent catching up on tasks not finished during the work week.
He always takes his work home, he needs little sleep after all.
His life is ruled by duty, action, war and attrition. He exists to serve a purpose and in his darker moment’s thinks that is all life is; a weary adherence to rules and regulations that govern the world, brought about by men he doubts have the collective intelligence of Gyashl Greens.
It is when the burden becomes too great, and his patience with the fools in power threatens his control, that he turns to Zack. He can trust Zack. The man has served him, bled for him, nearly died for him, and in his own bizarre fashion, lives for him. He can trust Zack with his life, which isn’t worth much in his own eyes, but more so, he can trust Zack with his control.
Like now. The SOLDIER has come to Sephiroth’s apartment, dressed in the leather and cotton uniform of his rank, unarmed, to release from his General the terrible burden that weighs upon his pale shoulders.
They have something of a routine, hammered out over the years since Wutai and the steamy jungles filled with fire and blood. They each have needs and desires they can only fulfill together. And they each have lines they refuse to cross.
“Seph, why are you still dressed?”
“I was just finishing…” The slap cuts him off mid sentence, a faint blush rising from where Zack’s hand had met his cheek, before fading back to alabaster. The message is clear, tonight there will be no leeway, he is to obey and not speak. Sometimes Zack gives him time to get ready, watching and appreciating the show. Tonight is not one of those nights.
Soundlessly he strips himself of the leather and steel that make up his usual uniform, before sinking to his knees on the berber carpet. It’s not about punishment or masochism as some may think. It’s entirely about control, and giving it up to someone else for a while.
“You’ve been thinking. You’re still thinking. I can hear the wheels turning from over here and it’s making me sick that you're still working.” The smaller man walks around him as he speaks, idly petting silver hair or caressing pale skin. “Your job isn’t to think, pet. That’s my job, and I’m not terribly pleased with you at the moment for assuming to take my responsibilities.” The words rise and fall in cadence, the touches brief and scattered. “I think, you obey. Right now I’m thinking you need a lesson. So go to bed, lay face down, spread eagle and wait for me.”
He knows better than to stand and walk. It takes concentration to crawl and not rub his knees raw and crawl he does, clear into the bedroom and the low lying futon style bed. Then he lies down and waits. He can hear Zack moving in the other room, smell his scent invading the corners of the apartment the way he invaded Sephiroth’s life, subtly but inescapably, and if he closes his eyes he can imagine what Zack is doing.
He knows what this lesson is. It’s a form of meditation. By focusing on the man in the other room, he starts to forget about himself, his duties, and his life. If he can focus on Zack enough, he can forget anything else exists.
After a while he hears Zack approaching, feet whispering over the floor. He doesn’t open his eyes. Already some of the tension that has built up in his body is dissipating, released simply by the act of not thinking about it.
“Better. Not good enough but better.” Solid weight settles over his ass, hard thighs on either side of his hips, rough cloth rubbing into the soft skin as Zack uses him for a chair. Warm oil falls onto his back and he almost groans. No one else would ever do this for him. “Need to relax and let go pet, this is my time.”
Strong hands, callused and rough knead the muscles of his back and shoulders, forcing the knots of tension to unwind and dragging pathetic muffled whimpers from him. By the time Zack reaches his ass, he’s limp.
The warm body on top of him shifts and gets up, the sound of cloth being removed a bit loud in the room but Sephiroth knows what’s coming. It’s in the routine. And he’s stopped thinking, focused on feeling and anticipating Zack, everything else has faded. There is only here, and now, and he doesn’t need to do anything, doesn’t need to be anything but Zack’s pet, Zack’s toy. Because Zack takes care of him. He trusts Zack.
The warm oil is dribbled over his crack and rubbed over his hole with two gentle fingers. Breathing deeply he feels the stirrings of arousal curling through his belly, centered on those two digits slowly massaging his opening.
“So pretty. You have no clue how pretty you are do you? All splayed out and waiting, wanting me. I like this. I like taking care of you. Breath pet, just breath and be, let me do the rest.” Soft words in a throaty voice purred into his ear and he hisses as the fingers pry him open, delving inside to spread the oil and ease the way. It doesn’t hurt. The first time, long ago, it was rough and bloody and he ached afterwards but Zack won’t do that to him again. The dark man refuses to draw blood, even when Seph begs, and the pain in those violet eyes makes him regret asking. He’s learned he doesn’t need the pain in order to let go of the General. But he does need Zack.
He doesn’t make a sound, just bares his neck to those possessive lips and sighs as the fingers leave him. He doesn’t bother to spread his legs farther; if Zack wants him to move in any way the smaller man will simply move him. For now he is the SOLDIER’s doll.
Strong hands settle on his hips as sharp teeth latch onto his throat and he’s speared by the other man’s length, driven down by his not-inconsiderable body weight. It forces a grunt from him, to be so powerfully invaded and *owned* in so short a moment, but before he can get his bearings Zack has begun to move, forcing him down into the futon with each thrust, pinning him with his own body, forcing Sephiroth to *feel*.
There is no time or place for thought.
There is only sensation, pleasure and pain and possession and trust. Absolute trust.
It goes on for decades, each motion ending in a sharp stab at his prostate, every withdrawl scraping raw nerve endings in his bowels making him hunger for Zack’s return; every kiss and lick and bite a message of affection written into his flesh.
He comes screaming into his pillow, untouched.
Above him, Zack grits his teeth and grunts, forcing himself in deep one last time before pulling out reluctantly. He can feel every sweaty inch of his skin, where it’s feverishly hot touching Zack and where it’s icy cold not touching him. He can feel the trickle of semen escaping from his ass to slide down his cleft and make his balls itch. He can even feel how his racing heart matches the pace of Zack’s pulse.
But he can’t remember what he has planned for tomorrow.
“Thank you.”
“Any time Seph.”