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Junon smelled like rust and salt water. It always had. The whole city was built on military bones — WRO now, Shinra before that, but the infrastructure didn't care who signed the requisition orders. Steel and concrete sweating in the coastal air, gun emplacements converted to cargo platforms, and no amount of civilian signage had managed to scrub the taste of it from the wind.
Cloud pulled Fenrir to the curb outside the Seaside Grand and killed the engine. Mid-range, business-class. Clean sheets, no questions, the sort of hotel that catered to contractors and logistics staff rotating through Lower Junon's port district. He'd made deliveries here before, but high-value cargo made him careful. He stayed on the bike for a moment longer than he needed to, eyes tracking the street in both directions. Quiet. Two civilian vehicles, a WRO supply truck idling at the far intersection, foot traffic thin for early evening. Clear enough.
He swung off the bike and rolled his shoulders till his neck cracked, half a day on the road ground into the muscle. Dust and engine heat clung to his riding jacket. He'd taken the rough bypass south of Edge to get here, twice the wear on Fenrir and harder than the cargo warranted, though he'd told himself it was only to beat the dark. The helmet came off and the harbour wind hit his face, salt and diesel. He locked it to Fenrir's frame, dragged a hand through flattened hair, and crouched to pull the package from the rear storage compartment, the engine's vibration still humming faintly through his bones.
It was light in his hands, materia sealed in a padded case. The manifest read Mr. Black. Private collection, hand-deliver only. Obviously an alias — but half his high-value clients shipped under false names, gil making people careful, paranoia making them stupid about it. 'Hand-deliver only' meant taking it to the room himself. Nothing unusual there. These types of deliveries came with their own rituals and Cloud wasn’t paid to question them. He was paid to make sure the cargo survived the trip.
He glanced at the instructions one last time. Room 514. He pocketed his phone, shifted the package beneath his arm, and headed in.
Inside, the lobby was quiet, the last of the evening light fading beyond the harbour-facing windows. Two men in business suits were crossing toward the waterfront restaurants as Cloud headed for the lifts, their conversation dropping to a low murmur behind him. The woman at reception glanced up, took in the package under his arm, and returned to her screen. Couriers were furniture in a place like this. The lift carried him to the fifth floor, and he followed the corridor to the end, counting the numbers on the doors as he went.
Room 514. He knocked twice.
The door gave under his knuckles, swinging inward a few inches under its own weight. It had been left unlatched. Cloud paused, then nudged it open a little further. "Mr. Black?"
"Come in." The voice came muffled from deeper in the suite. Whoever it was, they clearly weren't coming to the door. Cloud pushed it open with his shoulder and stepped inside, scanning automatically.
It was a decent room. King bed, desk and chair beside large windows, the first lights of evening reflecting gold across the water below. His attention swept over the layout long enough to orient himself before shifting to the closed bathroom door opposite. He could hear water running — someone washing their hands, maybe.
"Package for Mr. Black," Cloud called automatically as he nudged the door shut with his heel. The package stayed tucked beneath one arm while his phone came out of his pocket, thumb already flicking to the delivery confirmation screen. "Just need a signature and I'll be out of your—"
The bathroom door opened. "Put the package on the table."
Cloud froze. No. He knew that voice. It settled into his spine, and the hair along the back of his neck rose in a way that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. His gaze snapped toward the bathroom, his right hand already jerking instinctively for the sword strapped across his back, but the Fusion Sword was downstairs. Locked in Fenrir. Shit.
Sephiroth stood in the doorway, one hand resting lightly against the frame. Barefoot. A black silk robe hung open over loose black drawstring trousers instead of armour, unfamiliar enough to look wrong on him. His hair fell around his shoulders, silver catching in the room's lamplight. He looked perfectly composed. Calm. Expectant.
The world he'd been living in, the one where Sephiroth was dead and stayed dead, came apart.
"Put the package on the table, Cloud." Spoken like Cloud had never been anything but expected.
He should have stepped back, turned for the door and left, ran. Instead he stepped further into the room while his pulse hammered against his ribs and his breathing remained unnaturally steady. His phone was already back in his pocket and he was setting the package on the desk before he'd made any decision to do either. This isn't happening. Yet even as the thought formed, the rest of it was already falling into place: the alias, the insistence on hand-delivery, the door left unlatched. He hadn't walked into a delivery. He'd been summoned.
Sephiroth's gaze travelled over him with unhurried familiarity before returning to Cloud's face, and Cloud had the uncomfortable sense that there was nowhere to hide beneath that attention. It wasn't the scrutiny that unsettled him. It was the quiet certainty behind it.
"Now move to the centre of the room and kneel."
His body was already moving, and his refusal arrived exactly one second too late to matter. He crossed the carpet and with every step the disconnect widened. He wasn't choosing this. He was watching it happen. Fury surged hot beneath his ribs as he stopped beside the bed. His knees were already lowering him to the carpet and his hands were settling against his thighs, chin level, spine straight, like muscle memory for something he'd never done. He dug his fingers into his thighs hard enough to hurt and fixed Sephiroth with a glare. "You—"
The word tore loose in a low growl before the rest of his voice seized shut, his throat locking hard enough to cut off whatever came next. He tried again. You're supposed to be dead. How are you here?
"Sephiroth."
Not what he'd tried to say. Cloud froze, and for a moment there was nothing. No breath, no sound, just the awful blankness where his own voice should have been. He tried again immediately, forcing the next word up through a throat that suddenly seemed to belong to someone else, but felt it twist apart before it ever reached his lips. His hands flew to his throat, fingers digging into the skin hard enough to hurt, as though pressure alone might force his own voice back into place.
No. No. Stop.
He tried again, but the name came out. Again. Always the name. Like his voice didn't know any other word. Breath caught between his chest and throat, and he dragged in another, choking on it as the room seemed suddenly too small, his own voice no longer his, every attempt to wrestle it back ending exactly the same way.
"Sephiroth."
And then Sephiroth was there, kneeling in front of him. Too close. "Cloud. Look at me."
The sound of his own name cut through the panic and Cloud looked up to find mako-bright eyes waiting for him. Sephiroth's hands were wrapped around his wrists, the steady pressure of his touch drawing Cloud's hands away from his throat and back down to his lap, leaving him blinking, with a gap in the last few seconds he couldn't account for.
"There you are." A faint smile touched the corner of Sephiroth's mouth as he tilted his head, silver hair sliding across his shoulder, and the clean scent of him drifted through the narrow space between them, woody, citrus-fresh, and familiar in a way Cloud couldn't place. The robe wasn't plain black either, now that he was close enough for Cloud to make out the details: subtle Wutaian cranes worked through the silk, surfacing only where the lamplight caught them. That should have meant something too. Wrong things to notice. His brain reaching for anything that wasn't the hands around his wrists.
"Sephiroth?" The name came out softer, confusion threading through it before he could stop it. What did you do to me?
Sephiroth reached up and brushed the backs of his fingers along Cloud's cheekbone. Cloud flinched — a startle more than a retreat — but the hand only followed, tracing down to rest warm against his jaw. "You are afraid. You are always afraid at the beginning." His thumb traced a slow arc against Cloud's skin. "Even though some part of you already knows I won't hurt you."
At the beginning? The beginning of what?
"Sephiroth." He forced the name out, strained, rough with frustration and all the questions trapped behind it. Give it back.
Nothing about this made sense and nothing about Sephiroth had ever been safe. Yet the hand remained where it was, warm against his jaw, and Cloud found he didn't want to move away from it, which was its own problem.
Sephiroth held his gaze. "I know," he murmured, his thumb brushing across Cloud's lower lip. "You are trying to understand, but you don't have to. Not tonight. We will go slowly. We have time, and you don't need to force yourself through any of it."
His body shuddered beneath Sephiroth's touch, the warmth of it settling beneath his skin, sinking deeper with every slow pass of his thumb until it became impossible to separate from the certainty rising alongside it. The feeling made no sense. He barely understood what was happening, yet some part of him already knew Sephiroth was telling the truth. Knew he would not be hurt. Cloud's breath caught softly and, before he realised what he was doing, he had turned his jaw slightly into the touch, his eyes drifting shut.
This was not the first time he'd felt his body slipping out of his grasp. The crater. The Lifestream. The nightmares that still woke him sweating and reaching for a sword in the dark. He knew what it felt like when his hands weren't his. He'd clawed his way back from that before. Yet this wasn't the crater. It wasn't the familiar violation of Sephiroth forcing his way in. This felt as though his body was already where it was supposed to be. Like the kneeling was the right posture, and the locked voice a familiar shape. Some deep, physical, sub-verbal part of him easing quietly into place beneath Sephiroth's attention.
The touch trailed from his jaw down the side of his neck and slipped away. Cloud opened his eyes and found the space in front of him suddenly empty, Sephiroth already at the desk, and Cloud was tipping after him, chasing the retreating warmth a fraction of a degree before he caught himself and stopped. The low hum of the room's climate control seemed suddenly louder than before and heat climbed his throat. Somewhere in all of it he'd stopped taking full breaths.
He shook his head and straightened, jaw setting, as though posture alone might put him back in possession of himself. It almost worked.
"Stand," Sephiroth said, and Cloud pushed himself slowly to his feet.
Sephiroth opened the desk drawer and drew out several lengths of black silk rope. They slid between his palms with a soft whisper while he worked the twists loose with practised ease. Cloud's eyes followed before he made himself look away. "Leave your gear." Sephiroth tipped his head toward the chair by the window, eyes still on the rope. "You will not need it."
Cloud hesitated. The rope still whispered through Sephiroth's hands. He knew where this was going. Stopping was still possible. Probably.
His boots thumped softly onto the carpet. The jacket followed, then the harness, leather sliding free through his fingers before joining the growing heap on the chair, gloves landing on top. The materia bracer remained. Cool metal pressed against his wrist while his thumb rested on the release a moment longer than it needed to. Then the clasp gave way with a soft click. Another piece of himself set aside.
He didn't hear Sephiroth move. One moment there was empty space behind him; the next, warmth settled at his back, and Cloud was aware, suddenly, of how much space he took up.
"Hands behind your back."
The words sent a shiver down his spine, his fingers tightening briefly before his hands went behind his back. Rope wrapped around his wrists, one loop, then another. When Sephiroth tugged it tight, the pull travelled up his arms, rocking him just enough that he had to steady himself. Breath caught in his chest as more rope slid across his skin, climbing beyond his wrists to bind his forearms together, drawing his shoulders back with each pass, his chest opening whether he was ready to give that or not. Each new loop stole away more movement than the last, and by the time Sephiroth tightened the final knot Cloud found he was paying more attention to the rope than to the fact he was letting it happen.
"There." Sephiroth's voice remained low, close enough that Cloud felt it more than heard it.
He pulled against the bindings and the rope bit into his skin, forearm bound tight to forearm in the small of his back. No give. He pulled again, harder, but the rope held his arms, and the only thing that registered was how completely it had taken the choice away from him. There was nothing to decide. Nothing to do but exist inside the restraint and let it hold him there. Everything in his head went still until little remained beyond the rope and the steady rhythm of his own breathing, his weight drifting back until it met the solid warmth behind him.
The brush of lips against his ear made his breath hitch. "The rope always helps." Warm lips followed the line of Cloud's neck while Sephiroth's hands slid to his hips. "You settle faster when you have something to struggle against."
Cloud's breath left him in a rough exhale. "Sephiroth." Barely there. He didn't know if it was a warning or permission.
"Yes," Sephiroth said against his throat. "That's the only word you need tonight."
Fabric shifted against his skin as Sephiroth's hands slipped beneath his shirt and rucked it upward, lips still moving against his neck. Cool air hit his stomach and then a warm palm followed, sliding up from his navel, slow across his stomach, fingers spreading as they climbed his ribs and flattened against his chest — and Cloud's breath left him in a rush because it was Sephiroth's hand. Sephiroth's mouth at his neck, working him open one slow pass at a time, and his arms bound behind him, useless. His pulse was loud in his ears. By the time he stopped struggling, he wasn't entirely sure whether he had been trying to get away from the touch or closer to it.
Sephiroth's hands slid back down his chest, unhurried, and Cloud's breath followed, his skin lighting up beneath the touch, not just where the contact landed but ahead of it. They travelled back down his stomach before catching the hem of his shirt, and then it was moving, drawn up slow before clearing his head in one smooth pull. Cloud tipped his chin and let his shirt be taken.
It cleared his head and then caught, bunching behind his shoulders and pulling his arms tighter together. For a moment all he could feel was the constriction of it, his own shirt turned against him, leaving him barer and more bound at once.
Then Sephiroth's mouth returned to his neck, picking up where it had left off. His hands found Cloud's chest at the same time, spreading wide, and Cloud felt the span of them, the heat — suddenly aware of how much of him was exposed. The fingers drew in slow, circling, circling, closing toward his nipples and never quite arriving, and Cloud's weight shifted forward, chasing contact that kept retreating, until the skin drew tight and his whole chest strained for a touch that didn't come, and so he bit down on his lip, because he wasn't going to ask for it. Not for this. Not from him.
When the touch finally landed, his whole body pulled toward it like the contact was something to be chased rather than received, but Sephiroth kept it light at first. Just fingertips, a whisper of contact, brushing over his nipples, and his breath caught. Sephiroth gave him more, pressure instead of whispers, fingers closing with intent and drawing the sensation out between fingertips until Cloud's spine arched. His chest lifted into Sephiroth's hands without his permission, his bound fingers curling uselessly against the rope.
Sephiroth made a low sound against his neck, pleased, and didn't let up. His thumbs swept slow across Cloud's nipples, circling, pressing, drawing back just before Cloud could chase the pressure. But the touch kept returning, building the same way each time, and Cloud's body started to read it, softening into the rhythm, breath coming slower, leaning into each pass as it came.
He was still chasing the next touch when fingers closed hard instead, twisting. Then Sephiroth's teeth, a heartbeat behind, sinking into the top of his shoulder where neck met muscle, and the two together spiked through him, a bright edge of pain folding into the pleasure — a full-body flinch he couldn't have stopped. Sephiroth kept working the spot, teeth and tongue drawing the ache out, not letting up, fingers still pinching his nipples until they burned, relentless, until Cloud was twisting back against him with nowhere to go and a desperate sound tearing out of him that he couldn't have swallowed back. Sephiroth was marking him, claiming him, and the man wasn't being subtle about it. The hurt only sharpened everything, pulling heat downward in a way he couldn't ignore, and the part of him that had stopped pretending wanted more of it.
Sephiroth’s hands left his chest without warning, and Cloud's nipples throbbed in their absence, the cool air hitting sensitised skin like a fresh touch. He heard something behind him — a soft metallic sound — and then Sephiroth's fingers were back, pinching firm, and the first clamp closed, snapping the air from his lungs. The bite of it was nothing like fingers. Harder. Constant. No give and no relief, just steel holding him at the peak of the sensation whether he was ready or not. Then the second clamp bit down, and his knees buckled slightly, a thin broken sound escaping him, his body wanting to curl away from the bite even as Sephiroth's hand pressed flat against his chest, holding him in place. Sephiroth's mouth hadn't left his neck, working up toward his ear now, the wet drag of it ticklish against his skin, soft where the clamps were merciless. He stayed there, breathing through it, and somewhere in the breathing his body stopped fighting the sensations and started taking them in instead, his head tipping slowly forward, eyes falling shut, the fight going out of his shoulders one breath at a time.
"That's it," Sephiroth murmured, his breath warm against Cloud's ear. "Let me have this part of you."
Sephiroth gave the clamps a sharp twist and the pain spiked white through his chest, along with a broken moan he had no hope of catching. Then those hands were sliding down his stomach, finding his belt, the buckle giving, the zip following, and the denim was being pushed down over his hips, underwear with it, gone. All of it, nothing left to cover him, and he was standing there hard and exposed with Sephiroth behind him and nowhere to put that.
A hand caught his shoulder, spun him, shoved, and the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he was falling. The landing drove the air out of him. His bound arms crushed beneath him sent pain flaring up through his shoulders, and the clamps caught the impact and burned, and for a second his body was overwhelming noise and heat and too much arriving at once to separate into anything useful.
Sephiroth was already moving over him, looping rope around Cloud’s right ankle and cinching it high against his thigh. Then the left. Knees bent and forced open wide. Cloud tried to kick on pure instinct, but the ropes held and suddenly Sephiroth was kneeling between his spread legs — still fully dressed in black silk, silver hair spilling forward, mako eyes drinking in every inch of Cloud’s exposed, straining body.
That look left no doubt about who he belonged to in this. Bound. Hard. Completely open. He couldn't have covered himself if he'd wanted to. And he wanted.
Wanted to touch. Badly. To drag his hands over that pale chest, fist silver hair, pull him down. He wrenched against the ropes until he dropped his head back against the mattress with a choked growl.
Sephiroth’s mouth curved, knowing. "So eager already." He bent low, pressing a kiss just below Cloud’s navel, silver hair brushing teasingly over heated skin. "But I’m not going to let you rush this." His lips moved lower, teeth grazing the crease of hip and thigh. He hadn't known that spot would undo him until Sephiroth's mouth was already there. "Not tonight."
Cloud’s hips jerked uselessly against the iron grip pinning him down. A soft, humiliating whimper slipped from his throat as Sephiroth continued ruthlessly, moving everywhere except where Cloud needed it most. Sephiroth kissed and nipped along the plane of his stomach, lingering at the sensitive crease where hip met thigh, then drifted closer… closer… until the heat of his breath ghosted over Cloud’s aching cock. Only to pull away again at the last second.
So close.
Another broken sound escaped him, his hips straining desperately towards that mouth, but Sephiroth’s thumbs dug harder into the hollows of his hips, holding him down. Cloud turned his face into the mattress, the bedding cool against his overheated skin. His teeth caught his lower lip. He didn't say it.
Sephiroth’s mouth found the base of his cock, lips brushing over heated skin. Cloud’s breath caught hard, stomach tightening with sharp anticipation. For one dizzying second he thought he’d finally get what he craved.
Then Sephiroth moved lower.
His lips closed over Cloud’s balls, enveloping one in slick, devastating heat. The soft pull of his mouth combined with the slow, deliberate drag of his tongue sent thick pleasure spreading through him, crowding everything else to the edges. Sephiroth sucked gently, then firmer, rolling the sensitive weight across his tongue as though there was no particular hurry. Cloud’s legs jerked against the ropes, muscles straining, heels grinding uselessly into the mattress. With every ragged breath the clamps on his nipples tugged sharply, sending fresh sparks of fire licking through his chest.
A needy moan spilled from him as heat flooded his face, but his cock only throbbed harder, leaking steadily, the evidence of it cooling against his belly.
"Sephiroth..." It slipped out, desperate and shaking. Please. I can’t— please.
He hadn’t wanted to beg. But he needed that mouth on his cock right fucking now.
Sephiroth hummed in satisfaction against wet skin and switched to the other ball, lavishing it with the same torturous attention — slow, wet suction and that maddening roll of tongue. By the time Sephiroth lifted his head, Cloud was aching everywhere that mouth had been, drawn up tight against the heat of it. And just as Cloud started to sink into the warm, pulling rhythm, sharp nails dragged slowly down the inside of his thigh. The scrape burned bright, leaving stinging welts in their wake. Cloud hissed, the pain slicing clean through the pleasure, and every time the sting began to melt into heat, Sephiroth’s mouth pulled harder, the sensations shifting and overlapping, pleasure indistinguishable from pain.
Then, finally, Sephiroth took him in, sinking down slowly, wet heat enveloping Cloud’s aching cock until the head nudged the back of his throat. Sephiroth's tongue found the ridge beneath the head, pressing and rubbing firm along the underside as his lips sealed tight around him. After so long denied, the sound that came out of him didn't belong to anyone in control of themselves.
His hips bucked hard, but Sephiroth’s hands clamped down, pinning him flat while his throat worked him in lazy, controlled swallows. He found every place that made Cloud shudder and exploited it ruthlessly, until Cloud was left trembling, panting, his body still fighting the ropes, still getting nowhere.
Bit by bit the frantic desperation drained away until his body simply stopped fighting and began to move with Sephiroth’s rhythm. When the hands on his hips finally loosened, Cloud rocked up into his mouth in short, needy thrusts, rough gasps breaking loose with every roll.
He was cresting, pulling tight, and his eyes dropped to the silver hair across his thighs, the sight of Sephiroth's mouth stretched around his cock. Sephiroth. He was fucking into Sephiroth's mouth, and the thought alone nearly undid him before the sensation could.
"Seph— Sephiroth—" His voice cracked down the middle. I'm... I'm going to...
His spine bowed hard off the bed, every muscle locked. Right there. Right at the edge of it—
and it didn't. It wouldn't.
It just kept building. The pressure winding tighter and tighter, stretching him, refusing to give. Cloud's hips bucked hard, once, twice, the clamps biting with every movement, trying to force himself over an edge that wouldn't let him fall, and he pulled at the rope until his wrists and ankles burned, until Sephiroth's grip tightened on his hips, bruising, holding him down, so close, so fucking close—
He cried out Sephiroth's name until it stopped sounding like a name. Until it was just the noise his body made between every failed breath. Why— He didn't understand, couldn't understand, only knew he was stranded at the peak of it, everything in him oversensitive, Sephiroth's mouth working him apart with nothing left to buffer it, and still he couldn't get there.
Sephiroth drew back, easing his mouth off and gentling the grip on Cloud's hips into something soothing, his thumb finding the welts on Cloud's inner thigh and pressing down — the bright sting of it cutting through the haze, snapping him back — while the other hand closed loose around the base of his cock, holding without working him, letting the peak recede by degrees. Cloud dragged in a breath and nearly lost the next one, his skin damp, every nerve still humming with the denial as the ceiling above him swam and refused to hold still.
"Sephiroth." It came out breathy and ragged, his throat raw, and he swallowed against the dryness of it. You... You did this to me.
When Cloud's breathing had evened enough, Sephiroth took him in again, and a low whine pulled out of him, his oversensitive body catching fire at every stroke, every drag of tongue landing sharper than it should. Sephiroth built Cloud back up with the same patient, knowing skill, his mouth and his hand working together, long steady strokes and deep suction, and Cloud was helpless to do anything but rock up into it, chasing the pleasure, almost— almost— he hit the wall again. And again. Another peak rose only to crash against the same unbreakable barrier, ripping a wrecked "Sephiroth" from his throat before Sephiroth eased him back down. Somewhere after the third time Cloud stopped counting, but still he couldn't stop rocking up into that mouth. All that remained was the helpless certainty that Sephiroth could keep him there forever if he wanted, and Cloud couldn't find it in him to want him to stop.
By the end of it he was ruined, sweat-slicked and trembling, unable to stop even the smallest of movements.
Lips found the inside of his thigh, mouthing softly over the welts still burning there, and Cloud hissed weakly at the contact. Then Sephiroth drew up the length of the bed and lay alongside him, his mouth finding Cloud's brow, his temple, nudging the sweat-damp hair aside and leaving soft kisses against the skin beneath. The warmth of him ran the full length of Cloud's body, solid and real, his cock hard against Cloud's hip, the want of him evident and held back, asking nothing. Sephiroth's fingers traced along his neck, his shoulder, over the bite mark, so light they had his breath stuttering.
Then Sephiroth’s fingers found the clamps. The return of blood was merciless. White-hot fire flooding back into his abused nipples, the sharpness of it stealing every coherent thought. Cloud cried out sharply, body jerking hard against the ropes as the overwhelming throb consumed him. Pleasure and pain tangled so completely he couldn’t separate them. Sephiroth’s thumbs immediately covered the swollen peaks, rubbing firm, slow circles into the burning flesh. Cloud shook violently through it, whimpering, tears slipping free as every pass forced the ache deeper — and hated himself for it.
"Stay like this," Sephiroth murmured, low against Cloud's skin. "Just for me."
Sephiroth rose and drew Cloud up with him, hands sliding under his shoulders, and Cloud went willingly, sagging against his chest, cheek finding the curve of his shoulder. The deep woody scent surrounded him at once, familiar now, and for a moment he simply stayed there, breathing him in.
He was only half-aware of Sephiroth’s hands moving over him: adjusting the bunched shirt, brushing fingers over the raw skin at his wrists and ankles, making small adjustments to the rope as he went. Then those hands took his bound ones in a firm grip and squeezed once, a silent question. Cloud curled his fingers back in answer.
An arm slid around his waist and pulled him higher. Cloud tried to help, but his legs were bound and his body too spent besides, and all he managed was a weak shift of weight before Sephiroth took complete control, moving him easily.
Pillows pressed up under his hips, tilting his pelvis upward. The new angle forced his bound thighs wider apart until he was shamelessly exposed — cock leaking steadily against his stomach, hole presented in a way that made his face heat even now. Sephiroth arranged him with calm precision, like he'd wanted him exactly like this all along. Cloud stared up through heavy lids, watching Sephiroth as he worked, too dazed to examine what that meant.
Sephiroth left the bed long enough to retrieve a bottle of water from the minibar. When he returned, he slid a hand beneath Cloud’s head, steadying it, and pressed the cool rim against Cloud's lips. "Drink." Cloud obeyed without thinking, swallowing in greedy pulls, some of it spilling past his lips and trickling down his chin. Sephiroth wiped it away with his thumb, then finished what remained, setting the bottle aside.
A hand brushed the damp hair back from his forehead, and Cloud turned his face into the warmth of it, eyes closing briefly. Sephiroth looked down at him. "You didn't eat on the way here, did you," he said. Not really a question.
It took Cloud a moment to understand he'd been asked something. Longer still to answer. He gave a small shake of his head. Food hadn't crossed his mind once, not on the ride, not since... whatever this was, but the moment Sephiroth said it, his stomach clenched with a hunger he'd been ignoring.
"No," Sephiroth agreed, the faintest hint of warmth in his expression as he looked down at him. He reached for the menu folder, scanned it briefly, and placed the order for grilled seafood without taking his eyes off Cloud. Cloud drifted, listening to the low murmur of Sephiroth’s voice against the quiet room. It felt oddly domestic… and deeply strange. Sephiroth ordering dinner while Cloud lay trussed up on the bed, aching. Like taking care of Cloud was something he'd always intended to do. None of this fit together.
When Sephiroth hung up, he slid a possessive hand over Cloud’s hip. "We have a little time," he said softly. "Enough to get you ready."
Something in him pulled toward it, despite everything. Sephiroth reached into the bedside drawer and took something out, and Cloud caught only a glimpse before it disappeared into his palm. He moved down the bed once more, kneeling between Cloud’s thighs, and Cloud’s breath suddenly grew shallow, harder to control. He tried to pull his legs together, a weak automatic attempt, but Sephiroth simply caught them and held them open.
"Seph—" The word scraped out of him.
"Easy," Sephiroth murmured.
The hands on his knees tightened briefly, then slid higher, kneading slow and firm into the overworked muscle of his thighs. Thumbs pressed deep, finding knots of tension he hadn't known he was carrying, and the pressure burned for a moment before it gave, the ache unspooling under the steady press of his hands. Cloud exhaled slowly, the tension going out of him in the same breath. Another pass followed, lower this time, working beneath the curve of his ass, and he felt himself go loose, sinking deeper into the pillows, eyes drifting shut on a helpless moan. Palms spread his cheeks, and a fingertip brushed against his hole.
He flinched at the touch, instinctive, his body drawing tight. The soft click of a cap, and then the cool, slick press of a finger pushed into him, pulling a rough, startled gasp from his lips. Sephiroth took his time, working it in and out until the resistance finally softened and gave way. Cloud's eyes fluttered, a needy moan escaping him as the stretch slowly melted into something that had him moving, hips rocking down to meet it.
A second finger pressed in alongside the first. The fuller stretch burned for a heartbeat before blooming into a deep liquid heat that spread through his core. He felt himself opening around Sephiroth’s fingers, scissored slowly wider, and when the fingers curled and found that spot deep inside him, the spark of it ripped through him, his hands wrenching at the rope, a raw cry tearing from his throat as his whole body bore down.
"There," Sephiroth murmured. "Right there."
His free hand pinned Cloud’s lower belly, holding him steady while his fingers stroked that spot with ruthless accuracy. Cloud unravelled under it, his hole clenching greedily around the fingers with every press, his cock throbbing untouched, precum beading steadily at the tip. The denial of any friction its own cruel torment.
He hardly registered the third finger. Lost in sensation, he began rocking down onto Sephiroth’s hand as the need coiled tighter inside him.
"Sephiroth." More. Please.
The fingers withdrew and Cloud was left bereft, suddenly hollow where fullness had been. What pressed against his hole next was broader. It nudged against him, stretching him wider, then pulled back before it was even half way, before he could adjust. He whined at the loss and it returned, pressing deeper with each careful thrust, working him open inch by inch until the thickest part finally breached him, wringing a broken sound from him as it dragged firmly across that sensitive spot, seating deep.
A plug. He clenched hard around it, adjusting to the unfamiliar fullness. It held him. Open, stretched and aching in a way the fingers never had. But it wasn't Sephiroth. His eyes found Sephiroth's face without meaning to, chest heaving, hips making small, restless movements he couldn't quite stop, and he knew Sephiroth could see all of it.
Sephiroth chuckled, low, reaching for a tissue to wipe his fingers clean. "Patience." A thumb pressed firmly against the base of the plug, driving it that fraction deeper, and Cloud's hips stuttered up with a broken keen, beyond stopping. "You'll keep like this until I'm ready for you."
Rising onto his knees, Sephiroth leaned over him, one hand bracing beside Cloud's shoulder, the heat of the man suddenly everywhere — silk robe brushing Cloud's chest, cool silver hair spilling across his overheated skin, the solid warmth of that bare torso pressing close. His other hand found Cloud's nipple, rolling the sore swollen peak.
The sharp jolt of it had barely registered before Sephiroth's mouth came down over his, swallowing the gasp whole, tongue pushing past his lips, deep and possessive. Cloud opened for him, kissing back with a desperation that surprised him, not caring that his nipples still ached or that he was splayed open and plugged and completely at Sephiroth's mercy. Sephiroth tasted cool and electric and not quite human.
Then it came alive inside him, a deep sudden vibration thrumming right against that spot. Not just a plug, then. A broken moan spilled into Sephiroth's mouth, hips pressing down instinctively, but the plug gave him nothing to grind against, no purchase, no relief. Just the merciless buzz, and Cloud writhed under it, pleasure pooling hot with no release. Fingers pinched down hard on his nipple, the bright flare of pain cutting clean through the haze, and he latched onto it, an anchor in the overwhelm, something solid to ride against the relentless thrum.
Cloud lost himself completely to the buzz, the burn, to Sephiroth's mouth. He kissed back hungrily, chasing Sephiroth's lips when they pulled back, whimpering when they returned. Sephiroth licked into him slow, controlling the pace, and Cloud caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down, graceless, wanting him to just— Sephiroth pulled back, touching a finger to his bitten lip. Cloud's whole body rolled restless against the vibration he couldn't escape, struggling against the ropes, lips tender, trembling, chasing him.
Three solid raps at the door, and a muffled voice called through it. "Room service."
Sephiroth kissed him one last time, drawing it out. Their lips clung before parting, and a small, protesting sound escaped Cloud's throat.
"Hush," Sephiroth murmured. His thumb brushed once across Cloud's swollen lower lip, gentle with it, and entirely possessive. "I'll be right back." He pulled away and crossed the room, composed as ever. Cloud tracked him only distantly. The door opened just enough for a tray to change hands and a few quiet words said before it closed again.
The mattress dipped when Sephiroth returned, his weight settling in beside Cloud as he set the tray on the bedside table and lifted the dome. The food smelled good, properly good. Fish, prawns, octopus carrying enough chilli to sting the air. Junon on a plate. Cloud's stomach made its feelings known.
"Hungry?" Sephiroth broke off a piece of fish between his fingers and held it to Cloud's lips. Cloud looked at the fish, then at him. Eating like this? Bound and spread open, the vibrator still running inside him.
"The seasonal catch is supposed to be particularly good this year. I've been told Junon's waters are healthier than they've been in decades." Sephiroth held the fish there patiently.
Cloud stared at him. What did that have to do with anything?
With a sigh, he accepted the bite, catching the tips of Sephiroth's fingers along with the fish. Salt and smoke filled his mouth. Sephiroth didn't pull away. If anything, he seemed content to leave his fingers there, gaze lingering on Cloud.
Heat flooded low in Cloud's body as he realised Sephiroth was waiting for him to keep going. He'd stopped pretending somewhere along the way, Sephiroth, meanwhile, seemed barely affected. He didn't believe it. He sucked, slowly, tongue lingering around Sephiroth's fingers, watching from under his lashes until he caught it: the faint parting of Sephiroth's lips, the briefest held breath. Then Sephiroth drew back, as though nothing had happened at all. Smoke and salt still sat on his tongue as he swallowed and looked away before his satisfaction could become obvious.
Outside, the city had given itself over entirely to the dark. When he'd arrived, the last of the evening light had still clung to the horizon. Now Junon was little more than scattered points of gold against the black, the harbour swallowed whole by the night.
They ate at a relaxed pace, Sephiroth sipping his wine while offering Cloud small pieces of seafood between his own bites.
"All that fight in you," he said, conversationally, "and this is what’s underneath. Stubborn still, but needy." He took a bite of chilli octopus and let the silence sit for a moment, washing it down with a sip of wine. "A pity I do not get to see this side of you more often. Far preferable to you holding a sword at my throat."
"Sephiroth," came the flat reply, with as much dryness as he could manage — which wasn't much, given everything, and that Sephiroth chose that moment to offer him a piece of prawn.
Pain lanced through his calf as he leant forward to take it, so suddenly that he thought he'd pulled something. The resulting jerk drove the damn plug harder against that spot inside him. A shudder rolled through him and all he could do was let his head drop back against the pillow and ride it out.
"And this," Sephiroth said, watching him with open interest, "is a considerable improvement on the glaring." He set the prawn aside and freed Cloud's ankles, the ropes dropping to the floor.
He stretched immediately, a groan pulling free as the burning ache in his calves began to ease. The relief in his legs only made him more aware of the ropes still binding his arms, and he waited to see if Sephiroth would untie him there as well.
Sephiroth reached for the prawn instead.
"Better?" he asked, offering it again and waiting with that expectant look.
He huffed, too worn down for anything sharper, and took the offered prawn. The cramp had been Sephiroth's fault in the first place. He stretched his calf again against the mattress, unwilling to waste the freedom while he had it. Whatever Sephiroth was doing, he'd stopped trying to make sense of it. So he let himself be fed, piece by piece, until the meal was gone and only the wine remained. Sephiroth tipped the glass to his lips and let him drain it, the coolness washing the lingering taste of salt and fish from his tongue.
The warmth beside him disappeared as Sephiroth got up, crossing to the bathroom. Water ran for a few moments before falling silent again. When Cloud looked up, Sephiroth had stopped in the middle of the room, the silk robe slipping from his shoulders. His pants followed, both folded neatly and set on the desk beside the package Cloud had carried in hours ago.
Cloud watched from the bed, taking him in, all of him, lean and pale and dangerous even now. Restlessness prickled beneath his skin. There was that look again. The one Sephiroth wore when he'd already made up his mind about something.
The ropes pulled tight around his arms as he pushed himself higher. "Sephiroth." The name came out rougher than he'd intended. Whatever he meant it to be. Sephiroth seemed to understand.
Sephiroth crossed to the bed, climbing to kneel between Cloud's legs. Without a word, he reached down near Cloud's feet and picked up the remote. The look in his eyes sharpened as his thumb rolled the dial upward, the patience of the last hour gone. The vibration surged through Cloud like a current, and he fell back against the pillows with a helpless cry, his whole body arching as pleasure swept through him and the world slipped away.
He came back to himself in pieces. The merciless vibration first, still thrumming inside him. Then the burn of strained muscles from twisting against the ropes and pressing into the bedding. Then Sephiroth. He had taken himself in hand, slick with lube, working his cock in slow, unhurried pulls. Cloud's mouth went dry. Strung between the vibration trapped inside him and the sight of Sephiroth kneeling over him, Cloud could do little more than watch. He pulled at the ropes, but they held. He wanted his hands free. Wanted to drag Sephiroth down. Get his mouth on him. Just — anything.
"Sephiroth." A demand this time, the name shoved out hard as he strained forward, twisting his bound wrists. Let me. Please.
That did it. Sephiroth's hand paused, lips parting slightly as he exhaled. Then the bed dipped as Sephiroth moved down over him. Instinct had Cloud lifting his hips to meet him, desperate for the contact, only to end up pressed deeper into the pillows as Sephiroth settled along his body, one forearm braced beside his head, keeping the worst of the weight off while leaving scarcely any distance between them. The heat of him was everywhere. Chest pressed to chest, stomach to stomach, his shoulders broad enough to blot out the lamplight, their breath mingling between them.
A hand slipped down, gathering both their cocks together in a single, firm grip.
The first stroke left him groaning. Sephiroth's cock was hot and hard against his own, thick where they pressed together, and the slow pull of that grip, slick with the wet already leaking from him, left him chasing the next stroke before the first had finished. His hips canted up into it, and he pressed himself harder against Sephiroth's body, his mouth finding the bare shoulder above him. The first kiss was clumsy, more impulse than aim. By the third he was mouthing at sweat-damp skin, lips and teeth dragging across the curve of Sephiroth's shoulder.
Cloud could feel everything. Every twitch that ran through them, every throb of pleasure beneath the slow circle of Sephiroth's thumb where their heads pressed together. His nipples stung with every roll of their bodies. Sephiroth's pulse was beating hard against his chest, and his breathing had roughened, stirring the hair just above Cloud’s ear. Pressed together, with his face tucked against Sephiroth's shoulder, Cloud stopped trying to separate any of it.
He couldn't stay still. He kept driving himself into the next stroke, a steady stream of breathless noises spilling from him as he chased the friction, trying to coax more speed from a rhythm that remained maddeningly slow.
Then Sephiroth's hand left them, and a helpless sound escaped Cloud's throat. The absence of that touch left him throbbing, and as Sephiroth rose onto his braced arm, breaking the press of their bodies, Cloud followed him up as far as his position allowed. He felt Sephiroth reach back between them, then the plug was pulled free, tossed aside to buzz uselessly against the sheets. The sudden emptiness hit harder than he expected, a hollow ache that left him whimpering softly and clenching around nothing.
The empty ache lasted only seconds. The blunt head of Sephiroth's cock pressed against him, and then Sephiroth was driving in, one long stroke that stretched him wide, pressure blooming deep where the plug had never reached. It burned, drawing his eyes shut, but the sting vanished beneath the overwhelming relief of having him there. Of feeling complete.
"Breathe." Rough at the edges in a way Sephiroth's voice never was, close against his temple.
Faint tremors ran through him. Every breath made him aware of Sephiroth inside him all over again, of the weight pinning him to the mattress, and the ropes still binding his wrists. Yet some part of him he didn't want to examine too closely felt held. Anchored. The restless urge to struggle eased. He simply lay there and breathed, his face turning toward the arm beside his head, close enough to feel the heat of it.
Sephiroth's hand tightened hard around his hip, and then he began to move. Measured at first. Long strokes that drew almost all the way out before pressing home again, each return stretching him afresh. Cloud found himself moving with him, his hips canting up to take him deeper. Then one stroke dragged across that spot inside him and his body jolted. Heat pooled low in his belly and built with every pass that followed. Cloud gave it voice, each stroke pulling a moan out of him that he made no effort to hold back.
"Sephiroth — Seph—" The name couldn't survive the rhythm; each thrust broke it smaller. Between their stomachs his cock caught what friction the movement gave it, slick and maddening and short of what he needed, every stroke a promise the angle never kept.
His legs came up and locked around Sephiroth's waist, pulling him deeper and knocking a rough grunt from the other man. It was the one thing left to him. He couldn't grip Sephiroth's hips and drive the pace harder, couldn't touch himself where he ached for it. But he could do this. Keep Sephiroth close. Steal whatever friction the slide of their bodies allowed. It helped, but not enough. Nothing was going to be, and his body refused to stop trying anyway.
Sephiroth's weight came down on him all at once — the braced arm gone, a hand fisting in his hair to wrench his head up — and his mouth crashed over Cloud's, rough, breaking apart for a breath only to be dragged straight back in. Cloud met it hungrily. The full press of Sephiroth landed everywhere: friction at last against his trapped cock, his nipples flaring hot where still-tender skin dragged against Sephiroth's chest. No measured pace left. Sephiroth took him in earnest now, and Cloud ground up into him, graceless, giving him everything that was left.
Please. All that remained was urgency. Another stroke landed hard enough to jar through him, then another, Sephiroth's grip tightening to the point of pain. Cloud only arched into it, riding it. Sephiroth was about to come apart. Not yet. Please. Not yet.
The kiss broke. Cloud couldn't have said who broke it, only that Sephiroth's forehead was pressed into the pillow beside his, breathing hard, and Cloud was strung so tight at the edge he couldn't think. He needed something. Anything. He sank his teeth into Sephiroth's shoulder, blood spilling coppery and hot across his tongue. The sound that escaped was nothing like Sephiroth's usual restraint. The hand in his hair wrenched him back, and for one suspended moment Sephiroth just looked at him, at the blood on his mouth.
Then they were kissing again, filthy, Sephiroth licking his own blood from Cloud's lips. He thrust to the hilt and came.
"Cloud—" Not loud. Strangled.
No. No. Cloud felt it all. The pulse of Sephiroth spilling into him, filling every part of him, more than he knew how to hold. For one desperate second he thought it might drag him over with it. It didn't. The pleasure stayed locked inside him, sealed at the peak, and Sephiroth had stopped. Stopped thrusting, stopped moving, stopped fucking him. Reduced to weight and ragged breath above him. Please. Cloud didn't stop. Couldn't. His hips worked up onto the thick weight still buried in him, grinding his trapped cock against slick skin, chasing the rhythm Sephiroth had abandoned — and it gave him nothing. Friction without end. Motion without arrival.
"Sephiroth." Shattered. Whatever pride he had left demolished into a single name, and then just sound.
It was Sephiroth who stopped it. A hand spread over Cloud's hip, pinning the frantic motion down into the mattress and holding it there until his body gave up the rhythm it couldn't have. The fight went out of his legs, loosening from around Sephiroth's waist, and he felt them being eased back down to the bed. Then Sephiroth's slow withdrawal. The emptiness that followed only sharpened the ache. His body still tried to hold onto what was gone, clenching uselessly around nothing. The weight of him lifted away entirely. Cold rushed in everywhere they'd been pressed together, sweat-soaked skin bare to the air where there had only been heat. Cloud pulled at his arms, reaching for him, but the rope held them where they were, and there was nothing he could do but roll his head back against the pillows, murmuring a soft, incoherent sound that wasn't anyone's name at all.
Dimly, he was aware of Sephiroth moving around the room. The buzz in the sheets cutting out, a rustle from the bedside table as Sephiroth tended to the bite Cloud had left him. Small sounds, far away, until only the low hum of the climate control remained.
The mattress dipped, and then Sephiroth was beside him again, hands drawing him up and across, settling Cloud half over his chest. Fingers brushed the damp hair from his face, impossibly careful after everything that had come before.
"Seph?" Barely a word, more question than name. He didn't know what he was asking. Why he still burned. Why Sephiroth hadn't let him. Why he was looking at him like that.
"I know." His voice was still rough, lips pressing against Cloud's temple. "This is the part you never forgive me for." His thumb moved across Cloud's cheekbone, wiping away the tears that had gathered there. "For what it's worth, I'd give it to you, if it were mine to give."
He didn't understand the words, or what any of this night was supposed to be. Somewhere underneath, an older instinct tried to raise its head — this was Sephiroth. What came next, when a man like Sephiroth had what he wanted? The thought surfaced, and slipped, and sank. His body simply refused it. A long breath shuddered out of him, and Sephiroth gathered him in and stayed with him through it.
One hand moved through his hair, the other tracing down his spine, the same slow path again and again.
His body hadn't got the message. It was still wound tight, still strung for a release that wasn't coming, and it had started moving without him. Rocking in tiny helpless pushes against Sephiroth's hip, still trying.
"There's nothing there," Sephiroth murmured against his hair. "Let it go." A hand pressed flat between his shoulder blades, stilling him by degrees, and Cloud's hips slowed, the helpless rocking easing even as his body protested it.
The worst of it was the way he hung there, suspended, the arousal not draining so much as grinding slowly thinner. A small, distressed sound worked its way out of him as he buried his face into Sephiroth's chest. Sephiroth responded with a low hum, wordless and steady, pressing his lips to Cloud's temple again and keeping him close. The gentleness of it landed almost too sharp on nerves scraped raw. Each pass of those fingers through his hair and down his back was nearly unbearable, and Cloud didn't know if he wanted it to stop or to go on forever.
Slowly, by degrees, the edge began to dull. His cock softened at last, the ache receding to somewhere far away, and his body started handing the rest back to him piece by piece: sweat cooling on his skin, the rope-burn at his wrists making itself known again. And lower, where he was still tender, the slow seep of what Sephiroth had left in him. The only thing he'd been given to keep.
Underneath everything came the exhaustion. He sagged into it, into Sephiroth, too hollowed out to do anything else.
"There," Sephiroth said quietly, like he'd felt the moment Cloud gave in, and pressed his lips to Cloud’s brow. "This is the only time you let me do this."
Cloud stirred at a tug against his wrists, sluggish, surfacing just enough to understand that Sephiroth was untying him. The rope came away in slow loops, leaving his arms heavy and stiff. His shirt was eased off the rest of the way and dropped somewhere beyond the bed. Cloud brought his arms around, the movement awkward after so long spent pinned behind him. And Sephiroth's fingers worked at the stiffness, pressing into his palms, up his forearms, kneading into the tight muscle of his shoulders. Cloud groaned as the tension bled out. Sephiroth's touch lingered at his wrists, at the rawness there, gentle over the worst of it, and Cloud let him.
He curled in against Sephiroth's chest, shifting up a little so he could press his face into Sephiroth's throat, nuzzling in. He didn't think about who he was curled against. He didn't want to think at all, only to stay.
"You'd hate how soft you go for me," Sephiroth said, the words brushing against his hair, and there was nothing of the enemy in them. Cloud barely heard him. The fight had gone out of him completely, the desperate edge with it, leaving him quiet and heavy and pliant in Sephiroth's hold.
Beyond the windows, Junon went on without them. The low wash of the harbour, wind off the water. Nearer than any of it, the slow rise and fall of Sephiroth's breathing.
"Sleep, Cloud," Sephiroth said, and when the last of the tension left him, Cloud slept. Sephiroth held him through that too.
A sharp knocking snapped him awake. Cloud sat up fast, heart already pounding, hand reaching blindly for the blade he kept beside his bed and finding nothing, and for a second he didn't know where he was. The sheets tangled around his legs felt wrong, too smooth, smelling of laundry service instead of home. Grey coastal light seeped through the gap in the curtains, washing the unfamiliar room in dull morning colour. A hotel. The Seaside Grand in Junon. Something tugged at him as he sat there, blinking sleep from his eyes, a sense that something should have been there and wasn't. The feeling slipped away before he could get hold of it and he let his hand fall back to the sheets, drawing in a slow breath. He'd made the delivery, handed over the package, got the signature. An older man, he thought, tall, grey-haired, not interested in conversation. The details blurred at the edges the way they sometimes did after long runs, but nothing about them felt unusual.
A second knock landed hard enough to make the door rattle in its frame. "Room service," a voice called from the corridor.
"Give me a minute." His voice sounded awful. He rubbed a palm down his face and squinted at the bedside clock through his fingers. Barely past seven. What did anyone want at this hour? With a groan, he swung his legs out of bed and pushed himself upright. The room felt colder against bare skin without the blankets. He snatched the white hotel robe from the chair, shrugging into it as he crossed the room toward the door.
The man outside stood waiting with the tray balanced in both hands, dressed in the hotel's navy uniform, his smile practiced rather than enthusiastic. "Breakfast, as scheduled, sir." Cloud took it with a grunt, something between thanks and go away, and shouldered the door shut behind him.
He carried the tray to the desk and lifted the cover. The smell of hot food and fresh coffee rolled up at him, and his stomach tightened immediately in response. Eggs, sausages, toast. He stood staring at it for a second, trying to remember ordering breakfast. Then again, he'd been half-dead on his feet last night and barely remembered getting into bed; he'd probably called it in and forgotten. Either way, he was hungry enough that it stopped mattering. He tore off a piece of toast and started eating before he'd properly made up his mind.
His whole body ached too, shoulders and thighs carrying the deep burn of too many hours on Fenrir over the bypass. He stretched until his back cracked and reached for the coffee, better than hotel coffee had any business being; he drank half of it standing there, a small nod to whoever ran the kitchen. It was only when he shifted his weight that something low and deep in his pelvis made itself known, a soreness that sat deeper than muscle. He noticed it. Then he shrugged it off; bodies ached, and his more than most. He'd take the plains road home today. Longer, but a smoother ride.
The coffee went back onto the desk. Cloud tore off a piece of sausage with his fingers and immediately regretted it. Too hot. He juggled it between his fingertips before shoving it into his mouth anyway, hissing a breath through his teeth as he chewed while wiping greasy fingers down the robe. A ship's horn rolled across the harbour, deep and resonant, vibrating faintly through the window glass before fading into the morning traffic below. Cloud listened to it disappear and reached automatically for another piece of sausage.
The food helped. The coffee helped. Neither touched the thing sitting underneath everything this morning. The same low, restless frustration that had been finding him on and off for months now.
Cloud stared down at the tray for a moment longer before setting the rest of the sausage aside. The feeling wouldn't settle. After a second he crossed to the bedside table and picked up his phone, thumbing through to the delivery confirmation automatically. The record appeared on screen. Signature present. Time-stamped last night. Done. He breathed out, heavy.
Mornings like this happened, had been happening, and a man with his history learned not to go turning over every gap in himself looking for what might be crawling underneath. That way lay nothing good. He scratched a hand over the back of his neck and locked the screen. Everything was fine.
A shower would help. He shed the robe on his way through to the bathroom and turned the water as hot as it would go. The first blast hit almost painfully hot, but after a second he leaned into it, letting it hammer across his shoulders and down his back. Some of the tension he'd been carrying since waking finally began to loosen. He'd got as far as soaping his chest when the scent of it pulled at him, woody, warm, familiar in a way he couldn't name, and under the heat and the steam he realised he was hard. Only then did it occur to him that he'd been carrying a dull ache of arousal since waking.
His hand was moving before he'd thought about it, his own grip almost too much, breath hitching with each pull, and that was all the warning he got. A few rough strokes and he was cresting, embarrassingly fast, that woody scent wrapping thick around him. The first pulse of pleasure hit hard enough to make his knees buckle. Cloud caught himself against the wall, eyes squeezing shut, forehead pressed to the tiles, breath shuddering out between clenched teeth as the orgasm tore through him.
Fast, but he wasn't about to complain. Whatever had been riding him all morning eased, just a little.
He went back to washing, rinsing the last of the soap and cum down the drain, and found his eye drifting to the bottle it had come from. Dark glass, heavy, some fancy label he didn't recognise. Different from the hotel's own branded toiletries lined up white beside it, and nicer than the stuff he usually ran into on the road.
When he was done he shut the water off, the steady roar vanishing, leaving only the drip of water from the shower head, and steam hanging thick in the small room. He scrubbed the towel roughly through his hair and knotted it loose around his waist. The mirror had fogged over completely and he wiped a streak clear with the side of his hand. For a moment all he saw were his eyes, bright and mako-rich, then his gaze fell to a bruise on his shoulder. Low, where neck met muscle, faded almost to nothing. He couldn't think where he'd picked it up. The bike, probably. He rubbed at it absently, then looked away as the mirror began to fog over again. He headed back through to the main room.
His clothes and gear were folded neatly on the chair, boots paired beneath it. Cloud frowned at that for a second before starting to dress. The shirt bothered him; it sat wrong across the shoulders, stretched out of shape, the collar refusing to lie flat no matter how many times he tugged at it. Eventually he quit messing with it and left it alone. Dropping onto the edge of the bed, he laced his boots and checked his phone. Nothing that couldn't wait. A message from Tifa sat near the top of the screen; he'd answer it once he was on the road. He pocketed the phone and stood, finishing the last piece of sausage in two bites as he gathered the last of his things. Behind him, the air conditioning died with a faint hum as he pulled the key card from the slot and stepped out into the corridor.
The lift doors opened onto the usual morning rush, and a woman glanced up from her phone as Cloud stepped out, her gaze lingering for a second before dropping away again. Down in the foyer it was the early churn of a working hotel; port contractors in heavy boots and reflective jackets, suits with lanyards and takeaway coffees, somebody's roller case wedged across the carpet while its owner argued with the front desk. The smell of coffee and frying bacon drifted out from the breakfast room as he passed its glass doors, mingling with the clatter of plates and the low murmur of conversation. He was halfway across the foyer when a man in a hurry cut across his path. Cloud sidestepped automatically, the apology already trailing back over the man's shoulder before he'd fully passed.
"Checking out of 514, Mr. Strife?" The clerk took his room card and worked through the checkout process in the practiced, half-awake rhythm of the early shift, pulling up the account, scanning the room back in, asking the standard questions. Had he taken anything from the minibar? Cloud almost said no. His fingers stalled against the counter, the clerk glancing up from the terminal when he didn't answer immediately.
"A water." The answer surfaced out of nowhere. He'd had water at some point. He just couldn't remember when. "One bottle, I think."
She added it to the bill without comment. "All settled to the card on file. You're all set, Mr. Strife. Safe travels."
Outside, the wind off the water caught him immediately, cold enough to bite through his shirt and carrying the smell of salt and engine fuel. Cloud zipped his jacket up to the collar and ducked his chin into it as a delivery van growled past on the road, followed by a pair of dock trucks labouring along in low gear. Overhead, gulls wheeled above the harbour, their cries carrying across the quays. The morning was flat and grey, the sky hanging low and undecided about rain. It was going to be a miserable ride back to Edge.
Fenrir sat at the curb where he'd left it, locked and untouched, beads of dew strung along the chrome and the leather seat damp to the touch. Relief loosened something in him at the sight of it. Cloud ran an eye over the bike out of habit, checking nothing was off, then freed his helmet from the lock and strapped it on.
He swung a leg over the seat, boots finding their place as the suspension shifted beneath him. The engine caught on the first kick and settled into its idle, the familiar vibration travelling up through the frame and into him. Whatever else the day was, this part was always the same; the bike beneath him, the road ahead, the simple fact of moving. The job was done. That was enough.
Kicking the stand up, he rolled out into the street, the wind off the harbour cutting at him as he twisted the throttle, the Seaside Grand slipping away in his rearview mirrors. Ahead, the road stretched north out of Junon, disappearing into grey.
By the time he reached the city limits, he couldn't have said what room number he'd stayed in.