Silver

It rained so hard. Razor sharp droplets seemed to cut the air in half. As Zack walked, hollow steps echoing in the silver night, he looked at the horizon. The city spilling all around him in a multitude of color. It was Midgar in all it's glory, looking like silver beads of mercury in the distance, trying the pour themselves together and become one whole.

He was here. Despite what he wanted to do, no matter how drunk he was, he was here. As if something inside him pushed him and nudged him into this directions.

Everyone had their addictions, and this was his. The silver hair so beautiful, only an angel should posses it. And he did want to. Possess it. Own it. Cherish it, but not love it. Love was a complication. This was about simplisety.

Zack didn't knock, but Sephiroth opened the door anyway. The dark heavy oak and the impossibly white marble. Who knew they could harmonize so well.

It was about control. Or maybe salvation. Or maybe obsession. Zack wasn't sure when he stepped through the doors. Water form the rain outside dripping on the expensive marble. A drink was offered and he excepted, savoring the burning, bitter taste as it made it's way down his throat.

Silver all around him. It was there, outside the window, beckoning to him, hiding in the shadows of the room. So soft, slipping through his fingers. Drowning in the smell of almonds, he reached out for what he came for.

This.

This is why he was here. The icy hot kisses and the fluttering touches. He needed to feel this, to experience this, to know that it's real. Soft, tentative strokes. Kissing words and endearments into the soft skin of the abdomen.

Thank you. Thank you for taking it away for one night. For not asking questions.

He straddled Sephiroth's hips, rocking gently, waiting for the touch. Feeling smooth, sword-calloused fingers running along his skin, tracing the thin blue lines that carried his blood. It would be long and hard and it would be fulfillment, but it would not be love.

Then.

Feeling the hard, smooth muscles beneath him, he would lower himself that one crucial inch. Flushed. Sweaty. Obscured by the blinding passion. Trying so hard not to push. To make it last. Because then he doesn't have to explain, even though he knows he should. He owes him that much.

He owes them both that much.

As Zack came, liquid fire turning into burning ice, he kissed his back, tracing the vertebrates with his tongue and thinking of Cloud.

Later. Spooned. Cradled in his arm and feeling his own heart beating against his chest.

Zack said.

He said, "I'm sorry."

He felt Sephiroth stiffen. All of his muscles going ridged for one terrible moment. Then relaxing again.

He knew the price of those words. He knew before he spoke them. No more icy-hot kisses. No more wordless comfort. But that was the price for Love. And he was willing to pay.