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Sephiroth has always enjoyed the act of watching.
Back in their day, when it lightly recalls having a beating heart and the warmth of the sun through panes of glass, (always through glass), the debut of the silent film. A work of art, modern and futuristic. It was, of course, not meant to be viewed silently, as Sephiroth had been informed quite perjoratively by its peers.
But they rather liked it more, back then. The lack of an orchestra. There were less distractions on the air, sullying the craft of the film. It could simply watch. For every detail. Every fold and crease, every swing and tuck. It was a discipline for them, a very particular act of devotion and appreciation for the craft. They could never be persuaded to waver from the cornerstone of the genre, not to a musical accompaniement, not without a sour expression if they did attend. It is and always has been a purist.
Except for when it comes to Cloud.
It stands at the foot of Cloud's bed and watches as the blonde's bare chest rises and falls. He breathes very shallowly. Eight seconds for an inhale and exhale. But he is sleeping. Sephiroth can see his eyes rolling beneath the lids. The dampened edges of his pheromones verifies it. Despite Cloud's not quite slow enough breathing, he is quite asleep. Sephiroth has been hard since he first caught a whiff of Cloud from far, far further out in the woods.
"I wonder what broke you," Sephiroth asks the still air, expecting no response. It studies the crest of Cloud's chest and the valley between, the shallows of his stomach. Too long with too little. Sephiroth themself has worn its wear before. "Yet you still want it, hm?"
Cloud will not answer, and Sephiroth would never ask him of something he could not give. Sephiroth rounds the bed to sit on the edge next to one of Cloud's strewn out arms. It wraps its fingers around a pale, nearly reflective wrist, picking it up and pulling it across Cloud's chest. Cloud does not stir. He would not. The four pricks, two sets of two on either side of Cloud's right ankle, would not let him. That is why it is doubly frustrating for Sephiroth that Cloud is not breathing slower. It is displeasing for health reasons and makes them want Cloud crying for breath on their cock.
"Hm. That won't quite be comfortable, hm." Sephiroth studies the line of Cloud's body as it pulls the covers away, eyeing the crease where Cloud's sleep shorts have hiked up, bunched in his inner thigh. Reedy with muscle, a dust of golden hairs peeking around the grey pile of fabric. "We'll need to get that off you, won't we."
It is not a question. It would not be a request. Sephiroth hooks their fingers in Cloud's shorts and pulls them off, gentle and slow, just for the pleasure of watching. The way the fabric catches on hair and slips off skin. If they let go at a certain point, leaving the waistband alone, it'll cut into Cloud's skin. The elastic creates a beautiful divot, a sight that makes Sephiroth's teeth ache.
All chapters must end, though, and it pulls the shorts down Cloud's calves and around his ankles, folding each as they are carefully set to the side. Sephiroth will leave them on the chair as a present. It is quite doubtful Cloud will notice. Cloud has never noticed. Sephiroth wishes it could crawl into Cloud's skull and find out whether it is a willful or unwillful ignorance.
With this, they are swift. A pillow beneath Cloud's hips. An adjustment of his arms, tucking his hands beneath his head, leaving his arms up in a particularly erotic way Sephiroth finds it likes. It runs curious fingers through the golden smatterings in the pits of Cloud's arms, finding it bare and clean. Cloud showers first thing when he returns from work. Sephiroth is particularly fond of imagining his silhouette by listening to the impact of the water against his skin, its own body slanted and head tilted against the back wall of the small home. The acoustics are gorgeous. Particularly when Cloud gets a hand on himself and can't help the small grunts that escape him.
And see, that is where the problem is. Sephiroth has never quite been one for sound. Its rebirth only enhanced that. There is a reason it is where it is, off in the middle of nowhere, where at least the sounds it is subject to are soothing. It is wary of wandering close enough to anything living to experience the unpleasantness that is the entirety of a human presence. Even the act of feeding, it dislikes.
And here it is. Stroking a hand down Cloud's side curiously, comparing their complexions. Sephiroth is paler, quite obviously. The difference between them is not as large as it should be, though. Sephiroth will be replacing some of Cloud's groceries again. They can admit, they're quite enjoying pushing the limits of what they can do before Cloud realizes anything has been done at all. Exhilirating.
Sephiroth runs its fingers down the lines of Cloud's ribs, around to the sternum, carefully tracing to the center of his stomach. A finger dips there, presses gently, curves around the edge as it leaves. Sephiroth watches his stomach rise and dip, follows each breath with the pressure of its palm, times them nearly to the throb of its cock between its legs, still trapped in leather. It is in rapture. It can feel the call of it, the allure hanging limp between the legs of the creature beneath them, the journey delayed by a patch of thicker hair from the stomach down.
They grab Cloud's soft cock without any preamble. There is no need. Sephiroth is here for what it is here for, and it wants Cloud hard now. It leans over and, careful not to let its fangs untuck, lets saliva drip from their mouth over the head of Cloud's cock. Their hand is sure to follow, three fingers rolling up and down Cloud's cock, slowly feeling him begin for firm up. Sephiroth lends only a little more wetness and a few more pumps and he is holding a pleasing handful.
"I'll have your hole when you're awake," Sephiroth says absently. That's an old desire, of course. To watch Cloud writhe properly, split open and aching. Sephiroth has had waking dreams of pressing its hand into Cloud's stomach and feeling the pressure against their cock. For the reality to be so close and so far. How bittersweet.
Its other hand undoes its belt buckle, dropping it on the ground and beginning to work their way out of their pants. They do need to stand for a moment, but they take the opportunity to collect saliva to drool over Cloud's cock as they return.
"I've, thankfully, no doubt that you'll be satisfied." Sephiroth lets itself have a low chuckle, flicking its coat out of the way and straddling Cloud's hips. These never take long. No need to shed all its layers. "That's perfect, beautiful. Right there."
Cloud's face is turned into his pillow, short breaths through his nose. His mouth has tightened a bit, but his eyes keep rolling behind their lids. Sephiroth is filled with a fervor to own that piece too, to take its rightful place as a permanent fixture on the peripheral of Cloud's vision.
Its hand reaches behind them to hold Cloud's cock steady as it lowers down, sighing as the crown of Cloud's cock struggles against the pucker of its hole. If Cloud was awake, they would love to torture him with their tightness, but this is more than enough. Sephiroth holds Cloud steady and forces itself down, relaxing and forging forward all at once. It is worth it to watch the miniscule twitch in Cloud's expression, the beginning of a grunt deep in his chest that never reaches fulfillment. Sephiroth watches devotedly and listens religiously, chasing every breath through the bronchi in Cloud's chest.
"Good boy," Sephiroth murmurs as it forces itself down further. The pain is hardly a wink of anything, and they heal faster than any mere man could harm with a dick. "Being quite good for me, aren't you?"
It is a few moments before Cloud's cock twitches inside them, but Sephiroth chuckles like it was a direct answer anyways. They start bouncing. Rolling their hips. Humming under their breath, an old bawdy tune they remember hearing through the walls of brothels as whores writhed in the laps of seamen. Sephiroth was a watcher then, too. Through windows and gaps in curtains.
But no sight is better than what's beneath them. He looks so small there, and that is good. Sephiroth needs to be larger, to shield him from all, to keep him where he needs to be and indulge, indulge, indulge. Indulge in watching him. Indulge in admiring him. Indulge in lusting after him, thrusting against the hip of a tree as the blonde merely does the dishes shirtless, later in the night. Sephiroth fears frothing at its mouth over the thought of Cloud lost in the woods, pinning him in the leaves, yanking his shorts down and having their way until Cloud cries for more.
But that is the beast of them. This is not. This is quite civilized by comparison, the gentle but increasingly loud creak of the bed as Sepiroth bounces and bounces and bounces, heedless of hitting anything pleasurable itself, clenching and pulsing around Cloud's cock. It is single minded.
Cloud is going to cum. They are going to make Cloud cum inside them. He hardly has anything but a wrinkle between his brow. Of course. Sephiroth's venom is not sweet. It is bitter and long lasting, like the best of intoxicating things. Cloud will still be less responsive. Oh well. More for Sephiroth to study. There will be little to see, but they will all be stages of pleasure.
Sephiroth feels it coming, smells it on Cloud first. The spike of his pheromoes. A smoke signal if there ever was one.
It reaches behind and between them and rolls Cloud's sack in its fingers, grasping tight and beginning to squeeze rhythmically at the end of each bounce. They know when Cloud cums, doesn't quite feel it, but sees it in the slight drop of Cloud's bottom lip. There's a tensing in his thighs that rustles the edges of its coat. Perfect.
Sephiroth does not stop.
If anything, it rides with more vigor, not rising quite as far so as to not let Cloud slip out of them. That wouldn't do. Though, they are quite tight, it's not likely for that to happen. Sephiroth rocks back and forth, watching more of Cloud twitch. Fingers. The corner of one brow. The fluttering pulse in his neck. His too short breaths. It's a harmony it never thought it'd enjoy just as much as any sight. If not more.
Cloud goes soft inside Sephiroth for some time, but he hardens back up. His breath quickens. The rate of his heart is to pump blood back to his cock, and Sephiroth cannot help its victorious smile. Its usual success has arrived. Cloud is sure to be dreaming of it, of the concept of it, of being watched and being objectified and used at will, for whatever desire of his audience. This is where Sephiroth's work begins to shine.
The quick and filthy grind they've struck up continues as Cloud fills out again, mouth still hanging open, breaths now at 6.5 seconds. He should be awake and he is not, because Sephiroth made it so, but it is yet so pleasing. This is something Cloud wants, something he longs for fundamentally, and Sephiroth is struck with such affection at the sight of Cloud taking what he's meant for. Its dead heart may yet beat for such a good toy. An adorable, needy, obedient puppet.
Cloud cums again within fifteen minutes. Sephiroth does not stop. Its eyes are greedy, and while a full moan never escapes Cloud, its ears have a new appetite it has never encountered. Every caught breath is a treasure, a tease up the underside of Sephiroth's cock, every cacophany of twitches from Cloud's aftershocks another taunt following the drip of its precum down its fevered flesh. Their body will not always concede to pleasure of this sort, will not always give itself to the lack of control that accompanies falling from that peak, but tonight they chase it. They want more than the weapon they have used it as, merely another piece of their force to achieve what they desire, but they want more now. It wants to own Cloud. Wants to derive something permanent from him, something that cannot be taken away. It needs to carve a space into that shallow breath of Cloud's and make the time shorter, make him choke for air, find the truth of his fear and his love in the depths of his tearful eyes.
Eyes that are closed now, rolling still, likely dreaming erotic dreams. He's just cum a third time. Sephiroth is grinding its hips down against Cloud's, pressings its fingers into the tender pieces of joint and tendon there. They will be covered in bruises by morn, and Cloud will rationalize them away.
Sephiroth is filled with a wave of anger and takes revenge through another two orgasms wrung from Cloud, the last one dry. Sephiroth meanly considers making him wake in his own mess, but rescinds its own idea before even truly considering it. Despite their cravings, they don't wish Cloud harm. Not enough to scare him off at least. Just enough to keep him where he's supposed to be.
Beneath Sephiroth. Writhing through a fifth orgasm so harshly his arms pull down, hands fisted in his pillowcase. He's still sound asleep, only taken by the throes of wave after wave of orgasms, helpless beneath the inflicter of his enjoyment. Sephiroth is duly pleased once it rises from Cloud's cock, watching amusedly as the limp member flops against Cloud's stomach. Coated in streaks of cum. Sephiroth drools, restrains itself, then recalls that there is no reason to do so.
They let a fang loose on the way in and prick the artery in Cloud's thigh, just in case. Its eyes go half lidded as the twitching, overstimulated muscles of Cloud's sleeping body slowly go limp once more. As entertaining as he is, he must rest. Sephiroth does not keep their toys in disrepair.
The leftovers on the skin of Cloud's cock and stomach is wonderful. Sephiroth groans in its throat at the taste, licks its lips for good measure, then gets up and leaves.
A towel is run under warm water, and passed over Cloud's cock and between his legs. Sephiroth shifts the pillow that's beneath his hips and gently raises Cloud's legs, spreading them out so his cock rests against his stomach, leaving his untouched hole on display. There's hair here too, a brighter gold against the duskier skin. Sephiroth will get their mouth around it one day. Not yet. When Cloud's awake. They will.
They leave him there to the cold air as they turn towards the fridge, opening it and perusing its contents critically. Cloud seems to have a few more of the staples. Feeding himself better due to the demand of his existence, a little further inspired by being on his own, perhaps. Then he has days he eats very little. Sephiroth looks forward to the day it can tell Cloud to eat as needed and then they may watch Cloud do so. They'll have it soon. They're quite sure of it.
Sephiroth settles on the milk—simplest—and unscrews the cap. It walks back over to the end of the bed, and, eyes on the tight furl between Cloud's pale cheeks, takes itself in hand.
They've been waiting so long, so enraptured by their puppet's performance, that it doesn't take long for their balls to draw up. A chitter starts from low in their chest, graduating to something of a growl in their throat as their hand jacks and twists around their length. Gods, but would it be a dream to cum right against Cloud's hole, and—
No. No, that's not what Sephiroth wants. That's temporary, and Sephiroth will clean it up, but this, this is what it desires most, to creep inside Cloud, to keep and maintain him as he deserves. They groan, still battling the clicking deep in their throat, and holds the carton in front of them, directing the tip of their cock towards the neck.
Sephiroth sees in black and white when it cums, its chopped up groan ringing through the small home as it pumps itself through each spurt, hearing each impact against the liquid in the container. Cloud never notices. Or he does and doesn't care. He's been wanting it so long, this is what he gets for taunting Sephiroth the way he does. Fondling his tits in the window. Leaving his bathroom naked. He's begged quite plainly to be claimed and owned by whoever can handle him.
Sephiroth considers itself quite suited to the job. The carton is only given a slight shake before its put back in the fridge. Sephiroth knows Cloud won't and doesn't care. Grey shorts are returned to their origins, destined to bunch and roll over Cloud's thighs once more. Leather pants are worked over Sephiroth's thighs and hips. hair collected so it does not catch in the waistband.
"Sweet dreams," Sephiroth hums, the closest it has come to sweetness in a long, long time. It leans over near Cloud's head and, pressing its nose near the apex of his spikes, inhales deeply. The lingering smell of satisfaction and the permanent presence of sleep. It is certainly some of Sephiroth's best work.
Sephiroth catches Cloud's cheek twitch as it pulls away, another twitch following in his arm. Sephiroth smiles and decides to fancy that Cloud is missing them already. Needy little thing. Sephiroth can't wait to remake them.
"I'm quite glad you're broken, puppet," Sephiroth murmurs as it crosses Cloud's threshold, glancing over its shoulder with a small smirk. "I've always quite enjoyed putting things back together."