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Cloud walked out of the Inn to rejoin Aerith, cheeks still flushed from the exertion of his dance and the mortification from the catcalls and the hungry eyes roving around his newly dressed-up form. Sure, he held no qualms about crossdressing in general – in spite of his more conservative backwater upbringing – but the fact that he was the one wearing a poofy flouncy dress was another matter. Did Andrea really need to put him in high heels, thigh highs and itchy lacy lingerie when he had no intention of being fucked by Don Corneo? Cloud shuddered at the thought of the creep using him for his pleasure. And if that wasn’t enough, the uncomfortable weight of the braided hair extensions and the odd heavy feeling on his face from the makeup was having Cloud constantly recheck himself from his insecurities and the new sensations.
And there Aerith was, beautifully radiant in red while beaming away at Cloud’s purple dress. At least someone was having fun, even if it was at Cloud’s own expense. Nevertheless, Cloud could barely stand to look at her, at anyone while he was dressed in a way he wasn’t comfortable with. The flesh-colored paint on his face (foundation, if he remembered what the Honeyboy told him as he gleefully brushed it on his face) was the one saving grace as it hid his burning cheeks and the proof of his shame. Stiffly walking away from Aerith as she expressed her love for Cloud’s makeover, Cloud made a point of resolutely not looking at anything to avoid feeding into his fears. Yes, gazing at the ground was safer, if cowardly to avoid the stares and attention.
Until he sees a black feather looming menacingly on the asphalt.
Noticing his halt, Aerith questioned, “Cloud?” Her green eyes gazed concernedly at him.
Breath hitching, Cloud stopped. How could something so common cause him to freeze, have every nerve firing up and every breath rushing out in panic? Was he truly that pathetic, squandering the loud and small voices telling him that he was? Still the most intense feeling of deja vu sent tingles up his spine, almost reminding him of –
A large leather-clad hand rested upon Aerith’s shoulder, freezing her to silence.
Mouth turning dry, Cloud tentatively raised his head, begging for hope that he hadn’t followed him, hadn’t shown up in his life again, a phantom refusing to be buried.
Sephiroth smirked, silver hair framing his conceited visage, “Hello Cloud.”
Cloud immediately reached for his sword, jumping when he felt only lace and ribbons at his disposal. Wobbling unsteadily on his damned heels, Cloud growled out in frustration, “Let her go.”
Sephiroth’s grip tightened, “Why should I when she is the key to make you mine?”
Cloud brow creased, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The ex-SOLDIER inclined his head, slowly gazing down Cloud’s delicately clad form, causing Cloud to sputter at the indignity. Slit eyes returning to Cloud’s own, contemplating.
Aerith collapsed to the floor.
Before Cloud had even a moment to reach out for her, Sephiroth stepped forward, commanding Cloud’s attention. The mercenary released a groan as fireworks of pain burst in his eyes, static crossing his vision at Sephiroth imperiously loomed forward, a specter of all of his nightmares. His baritone voice proceeded calmly, “Imagine her, lifeless, blood sprouting from a wound of my creation.”
Hands clasped together in prayer.
Lips pursed in the innocence of hope, spreading into a smile at the sight of him.
Sephiroth, an angel of death, soaring down to his target with glinting silver in hand.
Blood blooming onto a pink dress.
Cloud’s failure to save her through his own inaction and weakness.
Seven seconds to save her, seven seconds wasted.
Terror coursing through him as he attempted to reckon with his visions, as a hand clasped around his own, unclenching the tight muscles and forcing Cloud’s to release ( like a puppet’s). Mako eyes stared into his soul, “Would you go down that path to selfishly deny me?”
Cloud hated himself as he shook his head, Sephiroth’s lips triumphantly descending onto his own in a brand of ownership.
For Aerith, as her life is worth so much more than his own would ever be.
In spite of their cool shade, those sapphire eyes burned brighter and hotter than any shooting star. Cloud’s feistiness was a fire Sephiroth would never let burn out.
Reclining languidly on the bed in the rooms he had teleported them to as he waited for Cloud to emerge in his wedding attire (as they were getting married in the ways of flesh and soul), Sephiroth could not believe his good fortune. He had forced his puppet to acknowledge his master’s claim at last. After all, his puppet needed someone to guide him, to harness that potential and give it true powerful meaning. His puppet was a fragile hollow being, and what better to fill him with than his master’s own essence?
Sephiroth smirks while daydreaming about fucking Cloud into Nibel furs, the furs he hunted, he provides for Cloud and now he’s fucking into that tight ass while his little darling is moaning his pleas; Cloud’s all warm and cozy swathed in the fruits of his labor, being fucked silly by his almighty God –
His black wing involuntarily appears from his back.
Cloud’s voice rings out from the bathroom, snarking, “Don’t think you own me cause I’m wearing this you bastard.”
Sephiroth raises his head imperiously, “I own you even when you wear nothing.”
The bathroom door opens, the rustling sounds of tulle and chiffon as they grace along the floor as Cloud floats down the hall, resplendent in a white wedding dress. Sephiroth’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of the lovely (yet sulking) blond, the mermaid cut of the dress perfectly contouring to his dainty waist and ass. His hand reached out to Cloud’s waist, ignoring his flinching to stroke at the silk bodice, “Exquisite.”
Sephiroth sat back down, leaning back against the headboard, “You can sit down and rest your legs from those heels for a while.”
Cloud turned suspiciously towards Sephiroth, eyes narrowing when he realized the implication behind his words, “Fuck no.”
Sephiroth taps his lap in anticipation, a rare Cheshire grin beaming across his full lips, “Go on, have a seat Cloud.”
“I’d sooner shove my own fist up my ass.”
Sephiroth raised his head, “Are you comparing your fist to my cock?”
Cloud sputtered indignantly, quickly shaking his head in denial. The older man beckoned elegantly with his fingers, “Come here puppet.”
Cloud took one sarcastic step.
“Closer, or who knows whether your little friend will make it out alive.”
Cloud grits his teeth, his anger making Sephiroth’s erection twitch. As the blond moves forward, Sephiroth raises his palm, “Actually, I’ve changed my mind; strip for me.”
The look on the younger man’s face was priceless, “You’re just doing this because you know it pisses me off!”
“...and?”
Cloud huffs, hastily tearing off the wedding dress as if the quicker to get this over with (but Sephiroth would never tire of playing with Cloud like this, a doll, a perfect marionette dancing to the motions of his strings).
Underneath, wearing the wedding lingerie of panties and thigh highs that Sephiroth had laid out for him, Sephiroth was particularly pleased with his idea to use his shedded feathers as the material out of possession, the ticklish feathers and the scrutiny making Cloud squirm.
“Spin for me.”
Cloud grunts, turning to reveal the lace negligee had a thong. An intake of breath as the sight leaves Sephiroth mesmerized, “Beautiful.”
Sephiroth beckons Cloud closer, reclining on his side on the luxurious four poster bed, “Come on Cloud, the blankets are warm.”
Cloud huffed harshly, “I’d rather strangle myself with these stupid bed curtains.”
“Now isn’t choking an amusing idea – my hands around your throat, you choking as you search for the air I am denying you; your hole, desperately clutching around my cock in spite of being on the entryway of death, the pleasure from your God the only thing that matters as he finally fills his puppet with his purpose.”
“Shut up!” Cloud roars.
Unable to bear the space between them anymore, Sephiroth tugs his furiously trembling doll onto his lap. Cloud sits stiffly and daintily on the larger man’s knees, an adorable little pet perched in contrast to his larger leather covered thighs. In retaliation, Sephiroth raises his knee so Cloud slumps onto his crotch, Cloud lets out a surprised yelp and wiggles to get away, while Sephiroth enjoys the pressure on his boner, “Now, was that really so hard?”
“Not as hard as your fucking dick you creep.”
“What a romantic you are on our honeymoon. Almost as romantic as the warm glow of flames, the crackling of fire as it consumes all you love.” Tucking the feathery blond head underneath his chin as his puppet trembled and spat at the remembrance of new beginnings, Sephiroth tore off the feathers while Cloud was distracted, eyes gleaming as he took in every curve and dip and length of Cloud’s body, “Even better than I have imagined.”
Cloud jerked, cock bouncing with the movement, “You’ve dreamed of me naked?!”
Sephiroth met Cloud’s eyes as he stilled in fear, thoroughly appreciating the blush and wriggling of the small man beneath him, “Of course, the perfect meal to consume.”
Leather gloves explored Cloud’s peachy skin, cupping his pert buttocks and massaging them, the cheeks swallowed in his large hands as Cloud braced himself on his shoulders. His enhanced hearing allowed him to hear the vibrations from Cloud’s throat, his puppet stubborn to voice his pleasure to his God to the last. Desiring to see his puppet undone, Sephiroth commanded, “Bend over.”
Perhaps realizing he was too far gone, Cloud complied, planting his ass face-up over Sephiroth’s lap. The first strike brought nary a whimper, but as the multitude and intensity of the slaps continued Sephiroth realized his leather pants were becoming slick from tears. When Cloud started to weakly struggle against Sephiroth’s grip, he became aware of Cloud’s shameful erection pressing up against his own. Sephiroth grinded against the smaller man’s cock, Cloud moaning at the pleasant friction.
Cloud’s hands braced against his thighs. Sephiroth is mesmerized by Cloud’s hands, since he’s never seen them before, covered up by those steampunk gloves. Somehow, their absence left the bare skin more alluring because Cloud’s hands were always covered up. These hands could kill him, but now they’re begging for a release that will never come, not when Sephiroth will never let him go. The hand that killed him; the hand that was desperately gripping at him with pleasure.
Later, when Cloud had been prepped, Sephiroth marveled how Cloud’s body willingly accepted every inch generously fed to him. As just one thrust caused his puppet to shatter, making a mess of the bedsheets, Sephiroth cooed, “Oh, you poor puppet, having been denied your master’s cock for so long.”
Cloud gasps, the blush on his face turning into an even darker pink at the humiliation, “S-shut up!”
Sephiroth pronounces his ire with a sharp thrust, Cloud’s eyes rolling back into his head with a whine. His greedy little hole fluttered around him, squeezing tightly around his cock with the heady promise of never letting go. After all, it’s only natural that his puppet cannot get enough from his God.
After all, dolls are made to be played.