I wish you would write a fic where Cloud stumbles across a Shirtless Sephiroth before Sephiroth snapped.
Started writing it, had a break down halfway through, bon appetit:
Cloud's tired and dirty and all he wants is to finally be clean, slink his way into the cafeteria for whatever malboro slop the cooks are calling dinner tonight, and then go collapse somewhere.
But first, he gets to indulge in his single real pleasure these days.
A solitary shower.
He'd been last to come in from patrol, hanging back behind the others in his infantry troop for a solid hour. It's a strategic move on his part, a holdover from his cadet days where he'd learned early on that group showers and him simply don't mix.
The last thing he's ever felt like doing after a training, or now patrols, was dealing with all the roughhousing and shit-talking that always happens in the shower room.
Especially when Cloud knows it'll inevitably end up with him, and the sleek build he'd been born with that had always caused him problems back in Nibelheim too, as the butt of the jokes.
In the end, waiting to get clean and having last dibs on anything in the cafeteria, is a small price to pay for an empty shower room where he can actually relax for a little bit.
A small window of bliss where he can luxuriate in Shinra's endless supply of hot water and the bar of homemade Strife(TM) soap shipped straight to him from his Ma's loving, calloused hands.
Only that's not what happens this time. Not at all.
Because, halfway through Cloud's shower, the door to the shower room opens and someone comes striding in.
And given the lack of shouted greeting or immediate bear hug despite being naked and wet, Cloud knows it's not Zack coming down from on high to harass him good-naturedly.
Cloud, determined to ignore and not accidentally provoke whoever it is, keeps his eyes firmly on the snower knob and speeds up his scrub down.
Hopefully, Cloud thinks, if I'm quick, I'll be able to finish up and get out before they try to start anything.
Plus the shower room is huge and empty so there's plenty of room for two people to shower at the same time and not even have to look at one another.
So, realistically, this shouldn't be an issue.
Which, of course, means that the shower directly beside Cloud is the one that clicks on.
Cloud just bites back the scowl that wants to blossom across his face and scrubs faster, more than a bit bitter at not being able to bask for a little longer in the scent of winter-honey and Nibel flowers.
"Your soap is pleasing," a voice, deep and distinctive, speaks up from beside him. "What brand is it?"
Cloud freezes, his entire body locking into place like he's had a close encounter with the wrong end of Shiva's Diamond Dust.
Which honestly seems like something that'd be much more survivable for him than this situation right here.
Because he knows that voice. Everyone knows that voice.
Cloud finally manages to unfreeze enough to turn his head slowly to his right.
And, sure enough, he sees exactly what, who, he'd thought he would
Sephiroth, the Silver General himself, is standing beneath the shower head directly beside Cloud, silver hair pulled up into a tight, high ponytail, and bare chest and shoulders glistening.
Cloud's had a number of dreams start out like this but he never honestly thought it'd happen in real life. No matter how often Zack might tease him.
Cloud's mind finally kicks in a split second later and his first instinct is to snap a salute.
Only one of his hands is wrapped around his bar of soap and the other had darted down to cover his dick like he's some fair maiden from a novel attempting to preserve her modesty.
"The First Class showers are malfunctioning," Sephiroth offers out of nowhere, seemingly content to ignore the awkward stare-and-flail routine Cloud had just performed. "These were more ,,, convenient."
Cloud just nods, head bouncing up and down like the chocobo Zack always accuses him of being.
"Your soap?" Sephiroth prompts him again.
Naked, wet, covered in soap suds, and trying not to let his eyes drift any lower than nipple level, which is actually pretty difficult considering how much taller Sephiroth is than him, all Cloud can think to do is thrust the sudsy bar of soap out in Sephiroth's direction.
Just like the wolf-bred, moutain hick idiot everyone accuses him of being.
Only, apparently not. Because Sephiroth just dips his head in acceptance, reaches out to take the soap, and immediately starts to wash with it.
Cloud's never going to be able to use that bar again for a number of reasons. If he even gets it back that is.
"I-It's, ah, it's homemade," Cloud finally hears himself saying, voice barely above a whisper. "O-Old family recipe. Helps keep monsters away too."
Winter-honey and Nibel flowers are both poisonous after all even if the Strife's had long ago figured out a way around that.
"Fascinating," Sephiroth replies, and, much to Cloud's surprise, he actually sounds like he means it too. "I'd be agreeable to hearing more."
Cloud tries to make an agreeable noise but he's pretty sure all that comes out is a squeaking sound.
"Would you like to do my back?" Sephiroth asks then, one hand offering the soap back to Cloud.
That's it, Cloud's officially dead and this is some kind of porn-themed afterlife. Or he's actually asleep.
Either way this can't be real.
And either way there's only one answer Cloud could ever give to that question.
"Yes," Cloud nods rapidly, hand coming up to take the soap.
Only when his fingers wrap around it the sudsy bar proves too slick for either of them to hold onto.
The soap shoots out of their hands and up into the air between them.
Cloud watches as if in slow motion as it goes up and then falls back down to land between their feet.
For a long moment there's a ringing sort of silence between them.
And then, when Cloud looks back up, Sephiroth smiles.
275 notes
·
View notes