Sins of Our Flesh (Kingdom Hearts, Cloud/Leon, NC17)
Title: Sins of Our Flesh
Author/Artist: Cyr Anomaly, chaos_anomaly
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Violence, Sex, Dub-Con.
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts: Cloud/Leon, rough sex - Some days he's saner than others
Word count: 1616 for Leon's Part, 1620 for Cloud's. 3236 all together.
Summary: Disconnect from reality and remember your sins.
A/N: Technically I wrote two fics, or one fic with two different PoV. They should be read as separate but they are companion fics to one another, if that makes sense. Oh and the sex? It's there but it's being overrun by introspective "monologues". Sorry if it's not sexy enough, Prompter. Divider Lines shows the division from between segments. One last thing, it's been at least a year since I've actually played KH or been in the fandom. I'm more versed in Squall/Leon than Cloud too so, apologies for any OoC-ness.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon thinks to himself in the confines of his mind.
Pushed down against the gravel of the Bailey, Leon’s cheeks scratches hard against rock and dirt. He’s forced onto his knees in submission, head pulled roughly back. Leon growls low in his throat, not quite baring teeth but his frustration shows in bright eyes. Sharp talons dig into his shoulders, the back of his neck. Blood stains the white fur of his jacket, the leather ripped beyond repair. His knees are scraped raw against the ground, spread wide. The grip on his shoulders pushes him down further, almost hard enough to dislocate.
Leon doesn’t flinch or cry out. He bites his tongue to keep himself relatively quiet; tastes the metal of blood.
A slash of air and a rush of fall’s icy breeze against the newly exposed skin of his back draw out a shiver from Leon’s tensed form.
In the light of the moon, out of reach, Revolver gleams mockingly at its wielder. Leon’s lips tighten. He should fight back but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t feel the need, not now, not anymore.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon repeats in his mind, but today he’s not and fighting only makes it worse. Sometimes.
He fought his fight earlier, when he didn’t realize what was happening. That he was too late. That he couldn’t do anything. That he couldn’t bring him back; that he couldn’t save him. He fought a losing fight against the inevitable and has the injuries to show for it. Not that he gave up easily.
The blood that covers his arms is not only his. The crimson trails that mark his face don’t belong to him. The streaks of carmine runs from the base of his skull to his shoulder blades are, however, his own-from when his head was slammed against the stone wall of the Bailey. A miscalculation during a lunge, an opening Leon unwittingly gave.
He was flung around, swept up against a fury of blows before he collided against the stone. Even now, in the light of the glaring stars and moon, Leon can almost make out the stain.
Teeth drag themselves down his face, on his neck. Leon looks away. He grunts when a surge of intense red hot pain spikes from the junction of neck to shoulder. Is he drinking it, Leon wonders glaring at Revolver, hands tight and knuckles white. Fists clenching against the stone of the wall, Leon looks out to the fields and the cliffs, to Maleficent’s castle and beyond.
Leon grits his teeth, grinding them against another. His legs are spread wider. He starts to lose balance. Bracing himself, he reaches forward, grasping the wall of the Bailey for balance. Teeth nip and nibble at his skin.
He’s pulled up, bent over through the one of the arch openings.
Fingers dig into his hips. A snarl sounds behind him. Leon pays no attention to this. He tries to strengthen his stance. His body aches with electric pain. Leon welcomes that and only that.
His head is bowed, his body stiff. He hears his pants being torn off, the unmistakable sound of leather smacking against gravel. Wearing only his ruined jacket, his ruined shirt and boots, Leon tenses in anticipation.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon thinks to himself. He doesn’t look back. He knows what happens next. This is not the first time. It will not be the last, he knows.
He flinches when he feels himself being spread open. He gasps when he’s thrust into. He growls deep in his throat.
Leon’s hips shake. His knees threaten to buckle. He grips tighter on the stone. Leon’s mind wanders.
He thinks of the past, the old life he had.
He remembers the days when he walked through the Bailey without a care for restoration. He remembers the training of his men, his specialized military faction-Radiant Garden’s SeeD. He remembers the laughter that haunts the now empty corridors of the castle; the pranks and jovial voices of his men as they patrolled along with the standard army or when they come back from a mission. He remembers the day he was ordained as Commander, the proud look on his father’s face and the smiles from a family long lost.
He remembers the first time he wore his dress blues and his first love.
He remembers their first kiss.
Leon forces himself to drift further away, recalling his first mission, his first kill as the sounds of hips slapping loud against another fills the Bailey with sound. He ignores the groans emerging from his throat. He thinks only of the good days, of the man he once was. A man named Squall Leonhart.
His back arches as the memories of his old life transitions into what made him into who he is today.
Leon allows himself to fall into the memories of his darkest days. His nails scratch against the Bailey, fingers bloodied, his gloves long gone and forgotten from the earlier scuffle.
He remembers walking the halls, the rumors of Ansem’s assistants’ private work. He remembers ignoring the signs, doing only his duty, living each moment with no thought of his future. He remembers taking missions to the darkest depths of their world. He remembers losing his friend during one such mission. He remembers coming home, only to cling to his lover in desperation. He remembers proposing. He remembers the party of his engagement.
It was also the last time he saw her.
The darkness came, attacked the town. The world did not end that day. It was the beginning.
Leon closes his eyes tightly, his body moving on its own, meeting his assailant’s thrusts. He gasps when the other stabs at his prostate. His back arches. His head falls back.
Chaos arrived then. Squall had tried his best to establish order but to no avail. Attack after attack came, more and more SeeD lost until only Squall remained of his once mighty faction.
Leon remembers his father’s face as he’s overwhelmed by the heartless. He remembers his father’s military friends falling soon after. He remembers his childhood friends flinging themselves in front of him, a last ditch effort to save a man who could save the world (they once joked about).
He remembers finding his lover’s body while salvaging what he could when the heartless finally receded.
Darkness had enveloped the town. The population dwindled down to only a tenth of what it once was. Then a twentieth. Thirtieth. Hundredth. Soon only he and few others remained.
Leon imagines the final battle, of how he wanted to die, to take as many of the heartless down with him as he allowed what few survivors time to escape. He doesn’t know what happens after he first decided that. Cid once told him, he was dragged forcibly and spelled to sleep before he did such a feat.
He remembers the lectures from Aerith, from Cid and Yuffie. He remembers the moment they arrived in Traverse Town and his first journey to Merlin’s home. He remembers asking Merlin to mar his flesh. One mark for each life lost, each life he could not save.
Leon flinches again as lips kiss a portion of rows and columns on his back. Small slivered scars that remain mostly invisible to the human eye but in the moonlight serves as evidence to his failures. Leon growls low. He flings his arm back, trying to get the other man to stop caressing him in mock affection. His arm’s pulled back, taut against his spine. Leon stiffens and swallows the cry of pain.
Delving back into the memories, Leon forces himself to think of the days before Sora. He remembers the endless fighting, the routine of slaying Heartless after Heartless. He remembers the feeling of uselessness, of weakness when he fails to save another person for the first time in Traverse Town. He remembers seeing Merlin again and again to mark another failure, another disappointment in himself.
He remembers fighting until he’s exhausted, ready to die only to find his second wind and defeat his foes to return back to his new home. He remembers his fervent insistence that Squall was gone and only Leon remained. He remembers his arguments with everyone, his treatment of his new family as objects to be thrown away when he doesn’t need them anymore. He remembers the slow process of eliminating his emotions.
He remembers the depths of darkness he embraced in his mind. He remembered his first thought to protect another person and not treat them as something to be dismissed. He remembers meeting King Mickey. Learning more about his enemies and what he was up against exactly.
He remembers the first time he saw Sora and the Keyblade. Leon remembers how hope burned bright in his heart and how he had thought he was going to die. How he had thought his heart would burst from the prospect that everything could finally end.
Arms wrap against his waist, pulling him flush against a hard body. Leon swims back to the present, feeling warm breath against his wounded neck.
Leon groans softly as the blond spills into him.
For the first time, Leon turns his head, looking at Cloud in the face. He lets go of the wall and reaches out. He nods once and pulls the younger man to him.
They move slowly now until Leon comes. Cloud holds him up helping Leon stay upright through it all.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon thinks to himself in the confines of his mind. Some days he prefers him this way.
Some days he’s saner than others, Cloud thinks to himself in the confines of his mind.
He watches his own hands and fingers become claws and talons. He watches himself attack Leon from the shadows of the Bailey just as the brunet entered. He remembers the tussle and slashes of Leon’s Revolver. He watches his sword stab and slice into the other man’s skin. The blows the older man connected with his sword, his fists and kicks in retaliation before Cloud forced him into submission.
He watches his body moves and fights and ravages as he sinks further into the darkness, unable to find his way back, find his way out.
It is one of those days.
Cloud had hoped they would stop but it never does. He tries to control himself, tries to stop the violence that surfaces every once in a while. He tries to think of the consequences, of the injuries and scars he inflicts on the only man daring to meet him in while he’s in this state. He knows it is the darkness inside him, the ever-present evil of Sephiroth’s taint, causing him to become like this.
No matter how much he gets better, he always becomes like this. Some days, he’s saner than others. Some days, his sanity keeps the darkness at bay. Some days, he doesn’t hurt his friend with his violence. Some days, Cloud knows, he’s a better man that he is at this moment. Now, he is only a monster with violent and carnal desires.
Disconnected to his body, he watches himself force Leon to the ground, slamming him against the walls, pulling him up to push him down. He watches Leon take each blow and hit with the same expression of indifference. This time, Cloud notices the brightness of Leon’s eyes that aren’t always quite there in the daylight, an unnatural glow.
Leon is untouched by darkness, Cloud reasons.
A voyeur of his own body, he watches and waits, he knows how everything goes after Leon is forced to submit. He removes himself from feeling as much as he could. He does not want to know how it feels to have Leon’s blood and flesh against his hands, or hear how loud leather can rib. He concentrates not on what he is doing but somewhere else. He focuses on Leon’s skin and the stories the flesh tells.
He drowns further into the depths of his mind, into the realm of insanity. He clings to the lifeline that is Leon’s body. He allows himself to hold Leon roughly, to keep him close and conquered. Cloud bites hard on Leon’s neck, pulls his legs further apart. He bends the brunet over and thrusts into him hard without hesitation, without affection, without mercy.
Hands that aren’t his but are grips tighter on Leon’s hips. He feels Leon’s blood around him, surrounding him, suffocating him. He gags but growls out. Cloud knows that his eyes are bright with an eerie glow, that his pupils are feline slits. It was the first warning he had earlier when he saw his eyes in the mirror.
Cloud ran off, to hide, to keep himself from hurting the others, to find a safe place to ravage and wail in pain and destruction. It was futile.
He only reached the Bailey before he lost his control.
It was hours later, long after sunset when Leon came. A willing sacrificial lamb, Cloud muses when he first hears the clang of metal and scuffles of leather boots.
Cloud wonders often, if Leon knows what he is doing. Ever since he first arrived in Hallow Bastion, after Sora repaired the worlds, Leon was there, taking his blows, his violence, his lust, his insanity. Leon took everything dark inside of Cloud without fear.
The first time he forced Leon to submit, he remembered nothing but warm, bloodied tight flesh and the smell of gun smoke, metal and leather. He never knew, or maybe he did back then in the back of his mind, that it was Leon who brought him back.
The second time it happened, he started to learn how to disconnect his mind from his darkness, from his urges. He knew it was Leon the moment he saw him. He watched then, just as he watches now, to see if Leon defeated him before he went too far. He never does. Either Cloud’s too strong or it is something else. Leon could never defeat him while he’s like this. The older man always submits in the end. The question was if he was forced to or not.
Cloud hates him for that.
He hates the fact he hurts him; that he needs to make Leon bleed and submit. He hates that without Leon, he could be the next Sephiroth. He hates being helpless in his own body, weak against carnal urges that don’t belong to him.
Watching Leon, watching everything that happens on these days, Cloud takes it all in as a reminder to the sins he creates.
Cloud bites hard once more on Leon’s shoulder; draws out more of Leon’s precious blood. The taste of metallic makes him want to vomit. He rips more of the brunet’s clothing away to expose pale, scarred skin. His once-fingers now talons, dig deeper into Leon’s flesh. The blood on his hands leaves stains that won’t ever go away, even after the red is all gone.
Cloud closes his eyes and rides Leon, grunting as he plunges in and out of the swordsman.
He thrusts hard, makes note of Leon’s gasps. He does it again and draws another noise out.
Disgusted with himself, Cloud pants heavily, watching his body take Leon to the brink only to pull back. He feels the tension in his legs, his need to come. Disconnected as he is, Cloud thinks of himself as a specter, a voyeur in the body of someone else.
Cloud does not know how much time passes since he first assaults Leon earlier. Maybe hours, maybe minutes. He thinks of nothing else other than letting himself stare at the small, miniscule lines that are patterned on Leon’s skin. He’s seen those before, many times before during the days he has control of himself, the nights where it is not violence that brings them to this frenzy.
He never asked but he wants to know.
He wants to know the tale behind each of those marks. The design is simple, rows and columns that line Leon’s back and arms, hidden by the jacket, shirts and gloves of the other man’s clothing. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when Cloud lies awake, unable to sleep, he thinks that he can see those lines move, creating different patterns and designs that only magic could do on flesh.
Cloud inches forward, surprised he can do so much even as his hips, his body does not slow down in its desperation and carnality. He touches Leon’s shoulder, kissing him softly; amazed at the gentleness he is able to bring to this violence. Cloud pulls back only when Leon flinches.
His body, without conscious thought, grabs Leon’s flailing arm. He pulls it taut against Leon’s back. Cloud forces himself to stop from dislocating it. He moves his grip on Leon and thrusts harder, dragging his teeth against Leon’s flesh.
Talons slowly transform back into fingers, Cloud stares down at the hand gripping Leon’s arm. It’s happening sooner than it usually does. He’s coming back to himself, regaining his control, his sanity. His hips don’t slow down. His need to keep Leon underneath him does not go away. Cloud growls low, suckles hard on Leon’s neck, careful not to use his teeth. Leon’s blood tastes sweet, just as it always does.
Cloud sighs, his other arm holding Leon by the waist, pulling him closer to him. Arms trap between them, he massages Leon’s wrist in apology. He tries to slow down, try to stop inflicting pain on the brunet but he can’t stop, does not want to stop. Not yet. He does not have complete control of himself. The darkness is still prominent, still inviting, still waiting for him to be submerged. Cloud fights harder to escape, Leon’s body becoming his battlefield and salvation.
He clings tighter to Leon, uses the other man as more than just a warm body and lifeline. He pulls himself from the depths with each thrust he makes. He breaks away with each groan he gives. He focuses on the now. He focuses on the tight feel of Leon around him. He focuses on the trust that Leon gives him on good days. He focuses on his family, his friends. He focuses on his resolve to not let Sephiroth get the better of him.
Prickles of white light mar his sight. He closes his eyes, turning his head away. He climaxes. Leon groans softly.
Cloud is still behind Leon. He does not say anything. He looks away from Leon’s form despite still being held tight inside the older man. He lets go of Leon’s arm and waits for the other man to say something, anything.
He flinches when Leon reaches for him with one hand. He allows himself to look into Leon’s eyes. They shift and move, until Leon faces him with Cloud still within him.
Falling onto Leon, bracing the other’s back against the wall underneath one of the Bailey’s archways, Cloud holds Leon tight upright. He thrusts slowly and apologetically into the brunet, taking his time, restraining himself from the urge to force himself again. They do this until Leon has his own release.
Some days he’s saner than this, Cloud thinks in the confines of his mind. Some days he’s better than this.
Author/Artist: Cyr Anomaly, chaos_anomaly
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Violence, Sex, Dub-Con.
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts: Cloud/Leon, rough sex - Some days he's saner than others
Word count: 1616 for Leon's Part, 1620 for Cloud's. 3236 all together.
Summary: Disconnect from reality and remember your sins.
A/N: Technically I wrote two fics, or one fic with two different PoV. They should be read as separate but they are companion fics to one another, if that makes sense. Oh and the sex? It's there but it's being overrun by introspective "monologues". Sorry if it's not sexy enough, Prompter. Divider Lines shows the division from between segments. One last thing, it's been at least a year since I've actually played KH or been in the fandom. I'm more versed in Squall/Leon than Cloud too so, apologies for any OoC-ness.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon thinks to himself in the confines of his mind.
Pushed down against the gravel of the Bailey, Leon’s cheeks scratches hard against rock and dirt. He’s forced onto his knees in submission, head pulled roughly back. Leon growls low in his throat, not quite baring teeth but his frustration shows in bright eyes. Sharp talons dig into his shoulders, the back of his neck. Blood stains the white fur of his jacket, the leather ripped beyond repair. His knees are scraped raw against the ground, spread wide. The grip on his shoulders pushes him down further, almost hard enough to dislocate.
Leon doesn’t flinch or cry out. He bites his tongue to keep himself relatively quiet; tastes the metal of blood.
A slash of air and a rush of fall’s icy breeze against the newly exposed skin of his back draw out a shiver from Leon’s tensed form.
In the light of the moon, out of reach, Revolver gleams mockingly at its wielder. Leon’s lips tighten. He should fight back but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to, doesn’t feel the need, not now, not anymore.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon repeats in his mind, but today he’s not and fighting only makes it worse. Sometimes.
He fought his fight earlier, when he didn’t realize what was happening. That he was too late. That he couldn’t do anything. That he couldn’t bring him back; that he couldn’t save him. He fought a losing fight against the inevitable and has the injuries to show for it. Not that he gave up easily.
The blood that covers his arms is not only his. The crimson trails that mark his face don’t belong to him. The streaks of carmine runs from the base of his skull to his shoulder blades are, however, his own-from when his head was slammed against the stone wall of the Bailey. A miscalculation during a lunge, an opening Leon unwittingly gave.
He was flung around, swept up against a fury of blows before he collided against the stone. Even now, in the light of the glaring stars and moon, Leon can almost make out the stain.
Teeth drag themselves down his face, on his neck. Leon looks away. He grunts when a surge of intense red hot pain spikes from the junction of neck to shoulder. Is he drinking it, Leon wonders glaring at Revolver, hands tight and knuckles white. Fists clenching against the stone of the wall, Leon looks out to the fields and the cliffs, to Maleficent’s castle and beyond.
Leon grits his teeth, grinding them against another. His legs are spread wider. He starts to lose balance. Bracing himself, he reaches forward, grasping the wall of the Bailey for balance. Teeth nip and nibble at his skin.
He’s pulled up, bent over through the one of the arch openings.
Fingers dig into his hips. A snarl sounds behind him. Leon pays no attention to this. He tries to strengthen his stance. His body aches with electric pain. Leon welcomes that and only that.
His head is bowed, his body stiff. He hears his pants being torn off, the unmistakable sound of leather smacking against gravel. Wearing only his ruined jacket, his ruined shirt and boots, Leon tenses in anticipation.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon thinks to himself. He doesn’t look back. He knows what happens next. This is not the first time. It will not be the last, he knows.
He flinches when he feels himself being spread open. He gasps when he’s thrust into. He growls deep in his throat.
Leon’s hips shake. His knees threaten to buckle. He grips tighter on the stone. Leon’s mind wanders.
He thinks of the past, the old life he had.
He remembers the days when he walked through the Bailey without a care for restoration. He remembers the training of his men, his specialized military faction-Radiant Garden’s SeeD. He remembers the laughter that haunts the now empty corridors of the castle; the pranks and jovial voices of his men as they patrolled along with the standard army or when they come back from a mission. He remembers the day he was ordained as Commander, the proud look on his father’s face and the smiles from a family long lost.
He remembers the first time he wore his dress blues and his first love.
He remembers their first kiss.
Leon forces himself to drift further away, recalling his first mission, his first kill as the sounds of hips slapping loud against another fills the Bailey with sound. He ignores the groans emerging from his throat. He thinks only of the good days, of the man he once was. A man named Squall Leonhart.
His back arches as the memories of his old life transitions into what made him into who he is today.
Leon allows himself to fall into the memories of his darkest days. His nails scratch against the Bailey, fingers bloodied, his gloves long gone and forgotten from the earlier scuffle.
He remembers walking the halls, the rumors of Ansem’s assistants’ private work. He remembers ignoring the signs, doing only his duty, living each moment with no thought of his future. He remembers taking missions to the darkest depths of their world. He remembers losing his friend during one such mission. He remembers coming home, only to cling to his lover in desperation. He remembers proposing. He remembers the party of his engagement.
It was also the last time he saw her.
The darkness came, attacked the town. The world did not end that day. It was the beginning.
Leon closes his eyes tightly, his body moving on its own, meeting his assailant’s thrusts. He gasps when the other stabs at his prostate. His back arches. His head falls back.
Chaos arrived then. Squall had tried his best to establish order but to no avail. Attack after attack came, more and more SeeD lost until only Squall remained of his once mighty faction.
Leon remembers his father’s face as he’s overwhelmed by the heartless. He remembers his father’s military friends falling soon after. He remembers his childhood friends flinging themselves in front of him, a last ditch effort to save a man who could save the world (they once joked about).
He remembers finding his lover’s body while salvaging what he could when the heartless finally receded.
Darkness had enveloped the town. The population dwindled down to only a tenth of what it once was. Then a twentieth. Thirtieth. Hundredth. Soon only he and few others remained.
Leon imagines the final battle, of how he wanted to die, to take as many of the heartless down with him as he allowed what few survivors time to escape. He doesn’t know what happens after he first decided that. Cid once told him, he was dragged forcibly and spelled to sleep before he did such a feat.
He remembers the lectures from Aerith, from Cid and Yuffie. He remembers the moment they arrived in Traverse Town and his first journey to Merlin’s home. He remembers asking Merlin to mar his flesh. One mark for each life lost, each life he could not save.
Leon flinches again as lips kiss a portion of rows and columns on his back. Small slivered scars that remain mostly invisible to the human eye but in the moonlight serves as evidence to his failures. Leon growls low. He flings his arm back, trying to get the other man to stop caressing him in mock affection. His arm’s pulled back, taut against his spine. Leon stiffens and swallows the cry of pain.
Delving back into the memories, Leon forces himself to think of the days before Sora. He remembers the endless fighting, the routine of slaying Heartless after Heartless. He remembers the feeling of uselessness, of weakness when he fails to save another person for the first time in Traverse Town. He remembers seeing Merlin again and again to mark another failure, another disappointment in himself.
He remembers fighting until he’s exhausted, ready to die only to find his second wind and defeat his foes to return back to his new home. He remembers his fervent insistence that Squall was gone and only Leon remained. He remembers his arguments with everyone, his treatment of his new family as objects to be thrown away when he doesn’t need them anymore. He remembers the slow process of eliminating his emotions.
He remembers the depths of darkness he embraced in his mind. He remembered his first thought to protect another person and not treat them as something to be dismissed. He remembers meeting King Mickey. Learning more about his enemies and what he was up against exactly.
He remembers the first time he saw Sora and the Keyblade. Leon remembers how hope burned bright in his heart and how he had thought he was going to die. How he had thought his heart would burst from the prospect that everything could finally end.
Arms wrap against his waist, pulling him flush against a hard body. Leon swims back to the present, feeling warm breath against his wounded neck.
Leon groans softly as the blond spills into him.
For the first time, Leon turns his head, looking at Cloud in the face. He lets go of the wall and reaches out. He nods once and pulls the younger man to him.
They move slowly now until Leon comes. Cloud holds him up helping Leon stay upright through it all.
Some days he’s saner than others, Leon thinks to himself in the confines of his mind. Some days he prefers him this way.
Some days he’s saner than others, Cloud thinks to himself in the confines of his mind.
He watches his own hands and fingers become claws and talons. He watches himself attack Leon from the shadows of the Bailey just as the brunet entered. He remembers the tussle and slashes of Leon’s Revolver. He watches his sword stab and slice into the other man’s skin. The blows the older man connected with his sword, his fists and kicks in retaliation before Cloud forced him into submission.
He watches his body moves and fights and ravages as he sinks further into the darkness, unable to find his way back, find his way out.
It is one of those days.
Cloud had hoped they would stop but it never does. He tries to control himself, tries to stop the violence that surfaces every once in a while. He tries to think of the consequences, of the injuries and scars he inflicts on the only man daring to meet him in while he’s in this state. He knows it is the darkness inside him, the ever-present evil of Sephiroth’s taint, causing him to become like this.
No matter how much he gets better, he always becomes like this. Some days, he’s saner than others. Some days, his sanity keeps the darkness at bay. Some days, he doesn’t hurt his friend with his violence. Some days, Cloud knows, he’s a better man that he is at this moment. Now, he is only a monster with violent and carnal desires.
Disconnected to his body, he watches himself force Leon to the ground, slamming him against the walls, pulling him up to push him down. He watches Leon take each blow and hit with the same expression of indifference. This time, Cloud notices the brightness of Leon’s eyes that aren’t always quite there in the daylight, an unnatural glow.
Leon is untouched by darkness, Cloud reasons.
A voyeur of his own body, he watches and waits, he knows how everything goes after Leon is forced to submit. He removes himself from feeling as much as he could. He does not want to know how it feels to have Leon’s blood and flesh against his hands, or hear how loud leather can rib. He concentrates not on what he is doing but somewhere else. He focuses on Leon’s skin and the stories the flesh tells.
He drowns further into the depths of his mind, into the realm of insanity. He clings to the lifeline that is Leon’s body. He allows himself to hold Leon roughly, to keep him close and conquered. Cloud bites hard on Leon’s neck, pulls his legs further apart. He bends the brunet over and thrusts into him hard without hesitation, without affection, without mercy.
Hands that aren’t his but are grips tighter on Leon’s hips. He feels Leon’s blood around him, surrounding him, suffocating him. He gags but growls out. Cloud knows that his eyes are bright with an eerie glow, that his pupils are feline slits. It was the first warning he had earlier when he saw his eyes in the mirror.
Cloud ran off, to hide, to keep himself from hurting the others, to find a safe place to ravage and wail in pain and destruction. It was futile.
He only reached the Bailey before he lost his control.
It was hours later, long after sunset when Leon came. A willing sacrificial lamb, Cloud muses when he first hears the clang of metal and scuffles of leather boots.
Cloud wonders often, if Leon knows what he is doing. Ever since he first arrived in Hallow Bastion, after Sora repaired the worlds, Leon was there, taking his blows, his violence, his lust, his insanity. Leon took everything dark inside of Cloud without fear.
The first time he forced Leon to submit, he remembered nothing but warm, bloodied tight flesh and the smell of gun smoke, metal and leather. He never knew, or maybe he did back then in the back of his mind, that it was Leon who brought him back.
The second time it happened, he started to learn how to disconnect his mind from his darkness, from his urges. He knew it was Leon the moment he saw him. He watched then, just as he watches now, to see if Leon defeated him before he went too far. He never does. Either Cloud’s too strong or it is something else. Leon could never defeat him while he’s like this. The older man always submits in the end. The question was if he was forced to or not.
Cloud hates him for that.
He hates the fact he hurts him; that he needs to make Leon bleed and submit. He hates that without Leon, he could be the next Sephiroth. He hates being helpless in his own body, weak against carnal urges that don’t belong to him.
Watching Leon, watching everything that happens on these days, Cloud takes it all in as a reminder to the sins he creates.
Cloud bites hard once more on Leon’s shoulder; draws out more of Leon’s precious blood. The taste of metallic makes him want to vomit. He rips more of the brunet’s clothing away to expose pale, scarred skin. His once-fingers now talons, dig deeper into Leon’s flesh. The blood on his hands leaves stains that won’t ever go away, even after the red is all gone.
Cloud closes his eyes and rides Leon, grunting as he plunges in and out of the swordsman.
He thrusts hard, makes note of Leon’s gasps. He does it again and draws another noise out.
Disgusted with himself, Cloud pants heavily, watching his body take Leon to the brink only to pull back. He feels the tension in his legs, his need to come. Disconnected as he is, Cloud thinks of himself as a specter, a voyeur in the body of someone else.
Cloud does not know how much time passes since he first assaults Leon earlier. Maybe hours, maybe minutes. He thinks of nothing else other than letting himself stare at the small, miniscule lines that are patterned on Leon’s skin. He’s seen those before, many times before during the days he has control of himself, the nights where it is not violence that brings them to this frenzy.
He never asked but he wants to know.
He wants to know the tale behind each of those marks. The design is simple, rows and columns that line Leon’s back and arms, hidden by the jacket, shirts and gloves of the other man’s clothing. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when Cloud lies awake, unable to sleep, he thinks that he can see those lines move, creating different patterns and designs that only magic could do on flesh.
Cloud inches forward, surprised he can do so much even as his hips, his body does not slow down in its desperation and carnality. He touches Leon’s shoulder, kissing him softly; amazed at the gentleness he is able to bring to this violence. Cloud pulls back only when Leon flinches.
His body, without conscious thought, grabs Leon’s flailing arm. He pulls it taut against Leon’s back. Cloud forces himself to stop from dislocating it. He moves his grip on Leon and thrusts harder, dragging his teeth against Leon’s flesh.
Talons slowly transform back into fingers, Cloud stares down at the hand gripping Leon’s arm. It’s happening sooner than it usually does. He’s coming back to himself, regaining his control, his sanity. His hips don’t slow down. His need to keep Leon underneath him does not go away. Cloud growls low, suckles hard on Leon’s neck, careful not to use his teeth. Leon’s blood tastes sweet, just as it always does.
Cloud sighs, his other arm holding Leon by the waist, pulling him closer to him. Arms trap between them, he massages Leon’s wrist in apology. He tries to slow down, try to stop inflicting pain on the brunet but he can’t stop, does not want to stop. Not yet. He does not have complete control of himself. The darkness is still prominent, still inviting, still waiting for him to be submerged. Cloud fights harder to escape, Leon’s body becoming his battlefield and salvation.
He clings tighter to Leon, uses the other man as more than just a warm body and lifeline. He pulls himself from the depths with each thrust he makes. He breaks away with each groan he gives. He focuses on the now. He focuses on the tight feel of Leon around him. He focuses on the trust that Leon gives him on good days. He focuses on his family, his friends. He focuses on his resolve to not let Sephiroth get the better of him.
Prickles of white light mar his sight. He closes his eyes, turning his head away. He climaxes. Leon groans softly.
Cloud is still behind Leon. He does not say anything. He looks away from Leon’s form despite still being held tight inside the older man. He lets go of Leon’s arm and waits for the other man to say something, anything.
He flinches when Leon reaches for him with one hand. He allows himself to look into Leon’s eyes. They shift and move, until Leon faces him with Cloud still within him.
Falling onto Leon, bracing the other’s back against the wall underneath one of the Bailey’s archways, Cloud holds Leon tight upright. He thrusts slowly and apologetically into the brunet, taking his time, restraining himself from the urge to force himself again. They do this until Leon has his own release.
Some days he’s saner than this, Cloud thinks in the confines of his mind. Some days he’s better than this.